Chapter 1: Like a record with a scratch in
Chapter Text
It's dark in their bedroom when she swings her legs from under the covers and gathers her robe from behind the door. The living room is bathed in the pale glow from the street light outside and the curtains are askew, having been hastily pulled open. She glances at the front door, hoping to see his discarded boots on the mat, but a trail of grit and mud leads her to their tiny kitchen instead.
She finds him peering at a sickly flame, twisting the knob on the stove one way and then the other, both to little effect. After a long moment, he huffs, whips his wand from his sleeve and casts. The gas catches with a low roar, and a blue flame spirals high into the air. He steps back, waiting for it to calm with a small smile of triumph, and levitates the frying pan from the draining board to the hob.
He doesn't spot her in the doorway, and she pulls her dressing gown more firmly around her as she watches him move between the fridge and the cooker. He drops far more lard than necessary into the pan, followed by black pudding and bacon, bread and then eggs. It's at that moment that she notices that he's swaying slightly. The smell is intoxicating – the dainty salmon salad she ate five hours earlier, although exquisitely prepared, has left a gap.
"Have you ever cooked anything that's not deep fried?"
His head jerks up, and a broad smile fills his face. "I thought you were asleep." He scoops the fried food onto a plate, and – with an egg and two slices of bacon left in the pan – he points the spatula towards her. "Hungry?"
She is, and she nods. Another plate is pulled from the cupboard, and he eagerly fills it with a mountain of food – far too much for a midnight feast. He grabs the half eaten loaf of bread – half eaten already? – and takes a fresh slice, whipping it around the pan until the grease is mopped up, and then places it on the side of her plate.
"I haven't set the table," he says, extinguishing the flame with a flick of his hand, and levitating both plates towards the sofa. He sits, and leans over the arm, pulling yesterday's Prophet from the magazine rack. She sits next to him as he pulls the newspaper into two unequal halves, folding each and dropping one on her knee, the other on his. Then, he plucks his plate out of thin air and places it on his now-protected lap. "Well?" he says, between gulping bites. "Dig in."
She follows suit, pulling the warm plate onto her half of the newspaper. The food is hot and greasy, and it's difficult to eat in a dignified manner with the dish balanced on her knees. He looks over, knowingly, spearing another whole slice of bacon onto his fork, bending it over and back again until it's pierced four or five times. Then he opens his mouth wide, taking it all in at once and chewing with gusto. His eyes flash with amusement at her horrified look.
"Must you?"
"Come on," he says, his voice muffled by food. "You're not at Tuney's now."
She stiffens at the mention of her sister, but he doesn't notice. He barrels on, not pausing between mouthfuls to swallow his food properly, and she's convinced that if she stops watching him, he could choke at any second. She finds herself entranced by a thin smear of wet yolk that's escaped from the corner of his lips, appalled and disgusted by his gluttony, and not for the first time, left wondering how she came to be sat here. The contrast between her home and Petunia's home - or, more plainly, her boyfriend and Petunia's husband - couldn't be more stark.
He senses her watching him, and he raises his thumb to his chin. He makes contact with the livid orange smear, and then grins bashfully – apologetically. He balances his cutlery on his plate and licks his fingers, rubbing his stubbly skin. "Sorry," he says, and she can tell he means it. He picks up his cutlery once more and makes quick work of the remains of his food, his knife and fork scraping painfully loudly across the plate. With a quick movement, he's up – still chewing his last mouthful – and coils his fingers in a mime. "Cuppa?"
She nods, and prods her fork at her rapidly congealing food. It's now cool to the touch, and far less appetising than it had been five minutes earlier. She half wonders if he had been right to wolf it down, his fingers gripping the plate with a possessiveness that felt as if he was certain someone was about to whip his meal from him.
And then he's back, a freshly brewed drink levitating before her. He holds out his hand for the plate.
"I've not finished," she protests, but it's half-hearted, and he grins – his forefinger rummaging in his mouth, picking between his teeth. "And Severus, must you?"
"We're not in public," he grumbles, whisking her plate away. "You're meant to be in bed, anyway."
"Leaving you free to indulge in all of your bad habits?" she calls after him, leaning up and arching her back over the sofa. "And don't think I haven't seen you stamping around in your boots." He doesn't answer, and she sits back down, plucking her tea from the air. She warms her hands on the mug, the colour of the drink the perfect shade of tan. She sips, knowing it will be far too hot to enjoy properly, but she's keen to wash away the taste of fried bread – and it's then she registers the cooling charm he's cast on the liquid, just enough to make it instantly drinkable.
He returns, and drops down onto the sofa, sliding his hand into hers. "Sorry about my boots-" he starts, just as she begins to thank him for the tea. "You first," he says, but she simply squeezes his hand. He waits for a moment in case she changes her mind, taking a swig of his own drink, but when she doesn't speak again, he breaks the silence. "So? How was Dunderhead Dursley?"
"Sev…"
He snorts. "C'mon Lil, he is a dunderhead."
"Tuney's talking about having a baby."
"Ugh," he groans. "She's not, is she?"
"I just said-"
"No," he interrupts, moving his hand in front of his stomach, in a mime of a pregnancy, "I mean, she's not already, is she?"
Lily shakes her head. "Least, I don't think so. But they're trying."
"They are bloody trying," he mutters.
"He's offered you a job. Again."
"Fuck off."
"Daddy thinks you should consider it."
He sits back, clearly affronted. "And what did you tell Daddy and Dunderhead?"
"I just said you were working hard-"
"Or hardly working, is he?" he retorts, his voice distorting into an eerie mimic of Vernon.
"That's creepy, don't do that."
He grins again. "I'm right though, aren't I?" She doesn't answer, and his smile grows wider. "Bloody hell, he's like a record with a scratch in."
She shifts uncomfortably. "You were late back tonight."
"Thought I wouldn't be missed." She bristles, but he misses it, his head now between his knees as his fingers fight with the tight knots in his thinning laces. "You stayed over last time," he continues, by way of explanation. Again, the tension drops from her shoulders – he's right. The last time she'd attended a dinner party at her sister's, she'd had one too many of Petunia's daiquiris and had spent the night in the Dursleys' spare room, with a hastily transfigured bucket by her bedside. It's at that moment that she suddenly remembers that she didn't transfigure the hideous dog ornament back to its original form, and Petunia's boring non-alcoholic evening suddenly makes a lot more sense.
"She thinks I stole it."
His head jerks up, his eyebrows knitted together in a frown. "Stole what?"
"Last time I was there." Her hand is now raised to her mouth, laughter escaping from behind her fingers. "I transfigured an ornament."
He stops what he's doing, and sits back, forcing his boots off with an angry kick to each heel. He takes her hand from her mouth and kisses it. "Kleptomaniac."
"It was hideous, Sev! A ruddy awful porcelain dog. I reckon his sister gave it to them-"
"Sounds like you did them a favour." He looks up again, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Remind me to transfigure a whole row of terrible dog ornaments for the fireplace for their next visit."
"You wouldn't." At this, he merely raises an eyebrow. Of course he would, and she knows it. "Sev, really. She'd never come over again."
"In that case, I'll do a whole bookcase of them."
"Speaking of which-"
"No."
She stands, and ties her dressing gown a little tighter. "I knew you'd say no."
"Good."
"But Daddy insisted, so-"
"Lil-"
She looks a little abashed, but raises her chin higher, a smattering of colour filling the tops of her cheeks. "He is paying for half of the rent on this place, Sev."
"Your half!" he sputters, angrily. "I pay my own way, thanks very much!"
She glances at his discarded robe, draped carelessly over one of the dining chairs.
"Don't!" And now he's standing, angrily stooping and picking his boots up from the floor. "Don't judge me for how I make ends meet, Lil." He unceremoniously drops his boots by the front door, and casts an anti-Alohomora at the lock. "You've been wined and dined and waited on hand-and-foot at your sister's, and I've been out working all bloody night."
"All night?" The enquiry is mild, but the faint scent of ale and whisky about his person is enough to condemn him.
"I didn't think you were coming back. I only had a drink."
"With?"
He doesn't answer, and this time she reaches for his robe. He darts in front of her, but his dulled reactions are too slow – she makes contact with the cloth, and his potion vials clink against each other.
"Slow night, I take it?" Her nostrils have flared, and he tucks his greasy hair behind his ears, as if readying himself for a fight.
"I didn't go up the Hog's," he finally admits. "I stayed at the Broomsticks. Had a couple with Ros."
"Worked up an appetite, did you?"
He opens his mouth, but thinks better of it. It's an effort, but he holds his dark sarcasm to his chest, and stalks back to the sofa, angrily transfiguring a cushion into a pillow, signifying his intent not to join her in their bedroom.
"Don't be pathetic."
"You really think I'm shagging Rosmerta, do you?"
"I just don't want you keeping secrets from me," she says, venturing a little closer to him. He's practically vibrating with rage, and she places a warm hand on his cool arm. "You always go up the Hog's if you're working."
He stills, a half transfigured cushion in his grasp. "There was a raid." And now it's her turn to freeze, her hand gripping his forearm more tightly. After a moment, he drops the cushion on the sofa, and places his hand over her own.
"You weren't caught?"
"Would I be here now?" He tosses his head. "They went early," he says, shrugging. "Aurors. Dunderheads, the lot of them. Raided the place at half nine according to Fletcher. He came sidling in the Broomsticks at just gone ten, you know what he's like. Looking for Polyjuice."
She shudders at the thought of Mundungus roaming the streets with a vial of Polyjuice. "You didn't sell it to him?"
"Not under Rosmerta's nose," he says, "do you think I'm daft? She'd skin me alive." He shakes his head. "Told Dung I'd see him tomorrow."
"But we're seeing Mummy and Daddy tomorrow."
"You're seeing Mummy and Daddy tomorrow," he corrects. "I've got a bit of business to make up for." She looks pained, and he raises his hand to caress her soft cheek. "Lil, I'm sorry. This is how it is. If I don't make a profit this weekend, I can't replace the ingredients in the stockroom, and if old Jigger notices when he does his stocktake on Tuesday-"
She takes a shuddering breath. "I think you should stop."
"Stop?" His eyebrows lift towards his hairline.
"It's too risky, brewing illicit potions. If you're caught-"
"I won't get caught. I didn't tonight, did I?" He wraps his arms around her waist. "Got an alibi and everything."
"And what about tomorrow? And next week? And the week after?"
"They don't know anything," he says, firmly. "If they had any intelligence, any dirt on me, they'd have raided after last orders."
"And what about Jigger?"
He wraps his arms around her more tightly, and nestles his nose in her hair. "Leave Jigger to me," he murmurs. "Serves the bastard right, anyway."
"What do you mean?"
"He gets far more out of me than he pays for," he grumbles.
She twists in his arms. "Don't risk your apprenticeship, Sev. If Jigger disowns you-"
"If Jigger disowns me, I'll find a new Master. He's hardly got a monopoly on Potions apprenticeships."
"If Jigger disowns you, you won't have the reputation to find a new Master. Once is a mistake, but twice…"
"Lil-"
"I'm just saying, Sluggy won't be able to pull you out of a tight spot again." She kisses him firmly. "Don't go out tomorrow. Mummy and Daddy haven't seen you for ages."
He shakes his head. "I'm brassic. We're brassic. I told you, if I don't sell those potions-"
"I'll get the money."
"We're not taking more off your father." The small frown on his forehead deepens. "And you're not whoring yourself out down Knockturn."
"Sev!"
He gives her a knowing look.
"I wasn't-" She pushes him in the chest. "You know that wasn't what was happening."
"I know that if I hadn't come down there, that's what would've happened." She opens her mouth to protest, but he grabs both of her wrists in his larger hand. "You didn't go there for that, but that doesn't mean that you wouldn't have been taken advantage of. You don't know what they're like."
"I know exactly what your old housemates are like, thank you very much." She prods him in the chest again. "I suppose I should be glad you're just a dealer, and not a Death Eater."
Chapter 2: Boy's wary enough
Chapter Text
He glances over his shoulder and sidles his way to the edge of the dancefloor. His target is young and slim, and her face is covered in sweat. She spots him and smiles, her hot hands looping around his neck, and her body swaying to the music. "Hi."
"Hi," he says, stiffly. "Fletch sent me."
She looks over his shoulder at the short squat wizard who is leaning against a wall and smoking a pipe. He nods towards her, and she nods back, and then she returns her focus to Severus.
"Well?" he asks, impatiently. "Up or down?"
"What's cheapest?"
He sneers. "Cheap is behind the bar. House spirits should see you through."
She holds onto him tightly as he moves to leave. "Don't be like that."
"Quality costs."
"What are we talking?"
He clucks his tongue impatiently. "Uppers or downers?" She rolls her eyes to the top of her head, and he nods imperceptibly. "A galleon."
"Ten sickles."
At this, he wrests her arms from around his neck. He glances back and forth, his heart beating wildly in his chest. "I know a set up when I see one." With a quick swirl of robes, he Disapparates.
She looks over at Mundungus, who shakes his head and scurries towards her. "What d'yer do that for, eh? Boy's wary enough, without you putting the frighteners on him."
"I was only bartering, Dung. Getting the best deal, like you said."
Mundungus huffs, and pulls on his pipe as he stalks away. "Bartering!" he grumbles to himself. "It'll be gone two week before we see him in here again…"
"Bloody hell! Evans?"
Potter looks much the same as he did at school – hair sticking up at all angles, and that familiar confident smirk plastered across his face. He covers his surprise with radiance, reminding her of what it was like to walk into the Gryffindor common room whilst he was lounging in one of the prime seats, his wolf-whistle following her all the way to her room. Behind him, Pettigrew's jaw has dropped, Lupin's eyes have widened, and Black is staring at her with what could only be described as pure loathing.
"Boys," she says, her tone wary, cautious of their mixed reaction. She glances at the older Order members on the other side of the long table – Doge, Longbottom, the Prewett brothers, and Dumbledore himself.
"I'm out," announces Black, pushing his chair away and moving to stand.
"Pads," Potter says placatingly, his hand reaching to grab his friend, holding him in his spot. "We're all friends here."
But Black doesn't spare a glance for Potter. Instead, his eyes are boring into Lily's soul. "You still warming his bed then, Evans? Or is this a declaration that you've finally come to your senses?"
Lily unconsciously touches the chain at her neck, the pendant hidden deep below her robes. "Severus and I are still a couple," she confirms, her voice wavering slightly in face of his fury. She's annoyed with herself; she goes through the same each time she sees Petunia – that same look of dismay and betrayal that she has dared to settle below her station. With him.
"And how is Severus?" Lupin asks, his mild tone in stark contrast to Black's open hostility.
"Fine."
"He's not with you, my dear?"
At Dumbledore's question, Black snorts in disdain. "Snape? Here?"
"He's busy, sir."
"Busy pledging his soul to the Dark Lo-"
"Rather like your brother then," Gideon quips, leaning across the table, "and your father-"
"-and your mother," adds Fabian.
"-and your cousin-"
"-and your cousin's husband, and his brother-"
"-and your other cousin's husband-"
"All right, knock it off!"
Lily suppresses a smile as Black settles back in his chair, his arms folded tightly. Potter claps his hand on his shoulder, but Black's scowl doesn't abate, although it's now transferred from Lily to the Prewett brothers.
"You can't repeat anything, Evans," Potter warns. "Not outside of these four walls. Whether he's that way or n-"
"He isn't!"
Potter holds his hands up in mock defence. "I'm just saying, is all."
"We swear an allegiance," Hestia Jones says, pulling a seat out next to her and indicating that Lily should take it.
"A wand oath?"
"Not quite that serious," Doge smiles. "As James said, we're all friends here."
It's the cut of his robes that confirms Severus has got the right man. He always did have expensive taste. Severus glances left, and right, and then ducks down the alley behind his quarry. He stays a few steps behind, watching carefully as the man heads left, and left again, then right, and then huddles in a darkened doorway.
He lets out a low whistle – that same whistle the man taught him all those years ago. Instantly, the man's hooded head lifts, and the whistle is returned. Severus steps forward, closing the gap between them, and finds himself crushed into a tight embrace.
"All right, Malf," he laughs, taking a step back, and his cheeks colouring at the warmth of his welcome.
"Severus." His voice is rich. "Tell me, how is Jigger treating you? Better than Borage, I trust?"
"Like a house elf."
Lucius chuckles, and fingers the collar of Severus' robe. "You wear your tea-towel well." He pauses, and then drops his grip. "And your Mudblood?" He cocks his head. "She is well?"
Severus nods, not trusting himself to speak.
"Keeping busy, is she?" Lucius' pale eyes lock onto Severus' dark ones, his gaze penetrating. "Whilst you're out?"
He nods again, but Lucius' gaze doesn't falter. After a long moment, Severus adds a little more. "Working for her parents."
"Really?"
"Papers. Accounts. Correspondence." He waves his hand. "All rather boring."
Lucius purses his lips. "It sounds it. How very Muggle. How disappointing."
"Disappointing?"
"I was led to believe, Severus, that despite her…unfortunate background, she was a talented witch."
"She is!" His words of defence tumble hotly from his lips, before he can consider the consequences.
"Good. Because I think it is time you expanded." He waves his hand dismissively. "I don't want you brewing party drugs any longer."
Severus twitches. "I have clients."
"No. You have me," Lucius hisses, his breath warm on Severus' face. "And I do not wish for you to brew party drugs. She can brew party drugs. You are to brew-"
They both jump, as two cats howl at each other, paws lashing as they chase one another down the alley. Lucius is the first to recover, smoothing his robes, and tossing his hair. He points his wand at the younger man. "Not here. I'll owl you. Burn the letter once you've read it."
It's Lupin who corners her. She glances over his shoulder, and she can see Potter and Pettigrew pleading with Black.
"He isn't dark."
"I made no suggestion that he was," Lupin says, softly, "although it's interesting that you feel you need to pre-empt the accusation." At her scowl, he smiles. "And with that look on your face, I'd be tempted to ask if you were he. Polyjuiced, of course." He lowers his voice. "And if anyone had the talent to pull such a feat off-"
"I'm not Polyjuiced, you idiot," she hisses.
"But he does still brew?"
Her frown returns. "Of course he brews. He's apprenticing."
"Ah yes, under…" Lupin trails off suddenly. "No, no, not Borage – he was rather publicly expelled, wasn't he-"
"Look, Remus," she says, her voice suddenly cold. "I am not here to discuss Severus, and I am most certainly not Severus. If you have nothing polite to-"
Lupin takes her hand, and she stops talking. She peers at him as he chews momentarily on his lip, and she can almost see the thoughts echoing around his mind. "Forgive me. I wasn't asking about his apprenticeship progress."
"No?"
"No."
Still, the air hangs heavy between them, and she shakes free of his hand. "Was it his good health you were enquiring about, perhaps?"
"My good health, in fact."
She huffs a soft laugh, suddenly realising the turn their conversation has taken. "No. He wouldn't even consider it."
"I have the money."
"I can't- I won't," she hastily corrects herself, "I won't ask him. He won't do it."
Lupin gives a tight nod of acknowledgement. "So he doesn't know you're here, then?"
"That's not why," she tells him.
He stands for a long moment, as if willing her to change her mind. When she doesn't speak again, he takes a step back. "Forgive me. But I would've always hated myself if I had not dared to ask."
Chapter 3: A factory
Chapter Text
He's stripped back the carpet in the front room. The sofa has moved to the wall, the sideboard has been shrunk to a fifth of its original size, and the gramophone is sat on its side in the kitchen, leaning precariously against the fridge. The only sound she hears from it now is as it vibrates against the sheet metal whilst the fridge hums and buzzes, all of their carefully curated records long forgotten.
When she gets home, he's kneeling in the grate. He blocked the Floo weeks ago, and now there's a permanent cauldron set up in the centre of the hearth. There's a constant yellow flame burning brightly beneath, and a clever little timing charm to the side of it. She can say that, because it was one of her own – she was fiercely proud of its creation during her NEWT study under Flitwick.
It chimes, and he watches intently as the flame shifts to blue, and the cauldron roars to a boil. Ninety seconds later, the chime rings again, and the flame returns to its almost dormant form – a mild yellow flicker surrounding the bottom edge of the black pot. He flicks his fingers, and there's a clink of glass from the kitchen – and steadily, in a neat line, the vials parade themselves through the small flat and come to rest at his boots. He pulls on his old gloves – and she makes a mental note to buy him a new set for Christmas – and dips each vial in the cauldron in turn. Then they're capped, wiped down, and placed carefully in a rack to his right.
"It's like a factory in here."
"The owner's a slave driver," he mumbles, his head still stuck in the hearth – and then he turns, and his crooked smile causes her breath to catch in her throat. "You don't want to work for him, trust me."
She kneels next to him, picking one of the vials out of the rack and holding it up to the light. The mixture is a pale green, but clear of sediment. She remembers from her own Potions NEWT that he must've strained it thoroughly before adding the dragon's blood.
"I know what you're thinking," he says, as he stands and heads to the kitchen. She can hear him washing his gloves and then his hands, before he returns and hangs his gloves up by the cauldron, water dripping from the fingers into the sooty hearth.
"It looks like you've strained it," she says, peering at the mixture more closely. "But you didn't start this until I left at midday."
"And?"
"And that means you didn't have time to bring it to the boil, add the root of aconite, sift in the shrivelfigs, stir the dragon's blood, and strain it." She rolls the vial between her palms. "…but it's completely clear."
"So what does that tell you?"
"I would guess a time turner," she grins, and then waves to his makeshift potions lab. "Only I don't see another dirty cauldron, and I know that you're lazy, and you only wash your equipment after-"
"-you don't know if you'll need it again!"
"-so you did something else," she says, triumphantly. "I don't know what though. One of Jigger's tricks?"
He nods. "If you add frogspawn at the simmering stage," he says, resting his hands on her shoulders as she examines his potions, "the frogs develop, consume the sediment, and then you don't need to strain the mixture. Saves hours. And a cauldron."
"And what of the frogs?"
He points at a wooden box underneath the window, with three wide holes in the top. "I thought we could release them."
"In Hogsmeade?"
He laughs. "Yeah, why not?" He disappears into the bedroom, and then returns, their Muggle jackets bunched in his hand – and suddenly, she realises it was a joke, and he has another destination in mind.
"Cokeworth?"
"There's a river, isn't there?"
"Yes, but-"
"And I didn't see your parents last month, did I?" He's turned away again now, and is talking to the wall rather than her. "Thought you might want to say hello."
"And yours?"
He pauses at her question, momentarily frozen. She pulls on her jacket, and zips it up, and then pulls at his misshapen collar until it looks presentable.
"I wasn't intending to."
"We can't visit mine and not yours," she reasons.
He stuffs his fists in his pockets. "S'pose."
"Come on then," she says, linking her arm through his – and the two set off out of the door, and down the steps. A moment later, his boots thud back up the stairs, and he grabs the forgotten box, and the contents croak their protest loudly as he tucks it tightly under his arm.
She's outside in the yard. The wind is blistering, and the rain is sideways. She pulls the pegs off the clothes, and dumps it all – peg bag, pegs, and damp clothes – into the wash basket. He jumps out of the way as she hurls the broken plastic basket into the kitchen, and he can see how the basket was broken in the first place. He peers back around the corner, expecting her to be traipsing back inside, but she's still stood in that tiny paved yard, her fluff lined slippers turning into a soggy mush.
"Mam?"
She turns her back on him, plucking a cigarette from behind her ear, and he knows she's fumbling in that tatty frayed apron pocket for a light.
"Here y'are," he says, stepping forward, flicking his wand. The end of the cigarette catches, and she inhales deeply – and then, she holds it out for him to take a drag. "Nah," he says. "I don't smoke."
Her eyes narrow. "Since when?"
He jerks his head towards the living room. "Since, y'know." He doesn't need to say any more. His mother's face hardens, and she wraps her lips back around the cigarette. "Yer not comin' back in?"
"Don't think you have to talk like that because he's here." She practically spits the words. "I know you put on your airs and graces when you're over at-"
"-don't, Mam," he says, quickly.
"You're going there next, aren't you?" At her enquiry, he nods, stiffly, and her eyes gleam with triumph, and her next accusation is sharper still. "Here for a cup of tea, and there for what? Candlelight supper?"
"Mam-"
She sniffs, and draws over and over on the cigarette until it's nothing but a filter. She stubs it out against the wall and flicks it into the grate.
"Used to tell me off for doin' that."
"Used to do a lot of things once upon a time."
"We goin' back in?"
"Are you happy, Severus?"
He's already turned to head indoors, and her question catches him off guard. He pauses, and then glances back. "It's different."
"Different." It's not a challenge. She nods. "Cokeworth was…different. To me. Back then."
"I can imagine."
"And now you make the same journey in reverse." She lifts the line prop and rests it by the outhouse, and then ushers him indoors. "I wonder if your child will follow suit, and follow me back?"
She pushes past him then, her narrow hips bumping angrily into his thigh, and whilst he fumbles with the lock at the back door, she's banging the teapot and clinking a spoon in the mugs. When he looks over his shoulder, he can only see two on the worktop – Tobias' and her own.
"We'll be off then, eh, Mam?"
"Say goodbye to your father-"
"Give me chance!" He sticks his head into the living room. Lily is perched on the sofa, pretending to politely listen to the football match that Tobias is engrossed in. He thumps his chair at the commentary, and misses Lily standing up and making her excuses from the room. Severus grabs her hand as she passes, "Say goodbye to Mam," he hisses, pushing her towards the kitchen and then he slides around the living room door. "I'm off now, Da?"
"If yer like."
"Right." He stalls for a long moment, his mouth opening as if to say something more, but Tobias has closed his eyes, entirely focused on the football. He can hear Lily's fake platitudes getting louder, as if she's moving away from the kitchen, so before he can mull it over further, he digs his hand into his back pocket, and pulls out his wallet. He flicks through the notes, counting them quickly, and then stuffs a wad behind the carriage clock on the fireplace before beating a hasty retreat.
"Russ?"
He stops, his hands clutching the doorframe, and tips his head back towards his father. "Aye?"
"Good lad."
Chapter 4: Undesirable political allegiances
Chapter Text
It's warmer at the Evans house, and Severus copies Lily in shrugging off his jacket and hanging it over the newel post. He tugs anxiously at his collar; his mother was right – the removal of their outdoor clothing is a declaration that they're staying, and not merely popping in out of polite courtesy. He stands awkwardly in the hall as his girlfriend is smothered in her mother's embrace, flushing slightly when Rose opens her arms to him.
"Errr," he stalls, unmoving.
"Oh, leave the boy be, Rose," David admonishes, clapping a firm hand on Severus' shoulder and steering him towards a chintz covered chair in the living room, whilst both women head towards the kitchen.
"Should I help wi-" he starts to offer.
"Sit," comes the command, and Severus does. "They'll be talking about…" David trails off and shrugs, realising he doesn't actually know what his wife and youngest daughter will be conversing about. "…they'll be happy talking to each other, put it that way."
He nods, his fingers twining anxiously, and when he catches David's quelling gaze, he stuffs them in his trouser pockets.
"Smoking?"
"I don't."
"No?"
He hates this. David's known him since he was a runt of a boy, and Severus always seems to revert to type around him – awkward, flushing, nervous. Unworthy. He takes his fingers back out of his pockets and holds them up. "Potions stain," he says, by way of explanation. "It's not nicotine."
David sniffs pointedly.
"And I've just been talking to my mam," he adds. "She was… I mean… She does. Still. Outside, like, not indoors. Not near Lily. And I didn't. …it's not, it's not my smoke."
"Right."
It's uncomfortable again. David flicks on the television – Songs of Praise, what else? It is Sunday, after all. David rustles a newspaper, idly flipping the pages over, and Severus stares at the television, the lyrics of the hymns going in one ear and out of the other. It reminds him too much of the other side of the river – of weekly church visits, starched collars, copper coins for the collection and-
"She's not got them."
Severus is pulled out of his thoughts at David's statement. The newspaper has been lowered.
"Sorry?"
"The stains," David says, wriggling his fingers. "Lils. She's not got them." His eyes narrow. "I thought she was doing the same as you?"
This is why he doesn't like visiting Cokeworth. Spinner's End is one thing, with its misery seeping through the walls, but the expectation on this side of the river is stifling in its own way. He can't quite remember the web of lies that Lily's fed to her parents; it doesn't help that he's not always present to witness what she says.
"That's why she left the Ministry, didn't she?" David's not letting it drop.
Severus exhales in a loud huff. "Yeah. Well, she's a bit behind me-" David's eyes narrow again at the perceived slight, and Severus races to continue, "-with the late start and all that. So she's got all the theoretical to catch up on before she can brew."
"It's not a sexism thing, is it? You can brew, and she can't?"
"No."
"Does it pay well, then? This Potions malarkey?"
He shakes his head, and then he catches David's meaning. "I mean, yeah. Eventually. Not apprenticing though. Apprenticing is…"
"Tough, I imagine?"
He scratches his ear self-consciously. "We're all right. I work at the pub as well – the Broomsticks – a few shifts at night. Keeps the wolf from the door."
"And Lily? Does she work in the evenings too? At this…pub?"
"No! I'd never-" he starts, hotly, and then stops, David's fierce glare reminding him of his place. "She doesn't need to. I take care of us. Both of us."
"Good." David reaches for the remote, and turns the television up.
"What did you say to him?" she asks, twirling spaghetti around her fork.
"Nothing."
"About my apprenticeship," she presses. "So I can keep the story straight."
"He noticed your fingers." He pushes his plate away, and leans back on the chair. "Mine are stained and scorched, and yours-"
"Good point. I'll have to do some brewing before I visit again."
"I told him you had to do paperwork before you're allowed to brew."
"Anything else?"
He shrugs. "He wants to know how much money we're making."
"Oh," she says, resting her fork on the side of her plate, "that reminds me." She digs in her handbag, and pulls out a thick envelope.
"Lil, no."
"Yes," she argues, placing the money on the table between them. "He doesn't want me working in a pub-"
"You don't!"
"He knows that," she says, her expression cold. "But he didn't think it was fair that you were working all hours, and I wasn't pulling my weight."
"I never said you weren't pulling your weight." His foot taps loudly on the floor in irritation.
"Don't be impossible, Sev," she says, picking his plate up with her own and putting them in the sink. "Ever since the Ministry passed that law-"
"I never said it was your fault! It's just how it is at the moment."
"At the moment?" She stays by the sink but turns back to catch his gaze. "You think it'll change?"
And now he looks guilty, his hands once again shoved deep into his pockets. The silence lies thick and heavy between them.
She sterilises the dining table, and lays out her equipment methodically – silver knife, glass chopping board, stainless steel bowl, granite mortar and pestle. The tall kitchen cupboard used to house their ironing board, but he broke the board down and took it to the tip. "Who irons robes anyway, Lil?" Now, the ceiling to floor cupboard is full of shelves, each lined with neatly labelled glass jars.
She double checks his tight scrawl, and then collects the ingredients, walking back and forth from cupboard to table. She daren't take more than one a time, lest she drop a jar, its precious contents not easily replaced. Her finger slides down the list once more, triple checking that everything is in its rightful place before she begins; brewing in their flat isn't like brewing in a lab – there's not enough space to make mistakes or start again, or even to go rummaging in cupboards for forgotten ingredients. She rolls her robes up to her elbows, pinning the sleeves in place with a modified sticking charm, casts her wand at the fireplace to set the cauldron to heat up, and sets to work.
"Well?"
She watches as he flips the cork from the top of a vial, and presses his finger across the mouth of the glass. He tips the whole potion over, coating his finger, and then back again. Looking her in the eye, he darts his tongue across the pad of his wet fingertip and then his shoulders relax, and something akin to pleasure flashes in the depths of his eyes. "Bloody brilliant," he says, admiringly.
She looks a little abashed. "It's not that good. I know you can produce these in your sleep."
"You haven't brewed since school," he says, hastily sliding the perfect potions into his robes, "and these are as pure as anything I'd do myself." He leans over and kisses her, and she can taste the wicked salty potion on his tongue.
"Aren't you staying in for tea?"
"Ros wants me in early," he says, sounding genuinely apologetic. He kisses her again. "And then I need to circulate these." He shakes his robe, causing her potions to clink against one another, and then he casts a muffling charm to silence them. "Don't wait up."
Eating alone isn't fun. It's even less fun now that their homely flat has transitioned into an illegal lab, and the pleasure of the afternoon's brewing soon disappears as she sits amongst the bottles and tubes and cauldrons. She washes her single plate, and her single mug, and then – decisively – heads to the bathroom to shower, to wash off the residue of brewing. She dresses, spritzes herself liberally with perfume, and heads into Hogsmeade.
She never liked the Hog's, but she could hardly turn up unannounced at the Broomsticks with her boyfriend sweeping the floors and pulling pints. She orders a firewhisky from the bar; a butterbeer would be laughably out of place, and seats herself in a dark corner. The tang of the liquid is bitter against her tongue, and warm in her throat – and it's gone before she's really paid any attention to the taste.
"Another?"
Table service? she thinks. They don't advertise their relationship, the Dumbledore brothers, but this man towering above her is so clearly related to the great Headmaster of Hogwarts. She fumbles in her pocket for the correct coins, and he waits, his hand outstretched. Then he's at the bar, and back, and the fresh glass he gives her is anything but. Most off-putting of all, it has a smudge of old lipstick on the rim. He looks at her pointedly, as if daring her to comment – but all she can think is that they need a washing up boy, like Severus is for Ros at the Broomsticks.
"If it's not good enough for you, miss-"
"I could help."
His eyebrow quirks.
She powers on before he can dismiss her. "Washing glasses. Sweeping up."
"A bar girl? Got employment papers, have you?"
Her silence tells him all he needs to know.
"It's not me," he says, quietly but firmly. "I have no such prejudices. But the Ministry…"
"You don't need to tell me about the Ministry." And the drink is gone. Downed. It doesn't touch the sides. "Another."
He places a hand on her wrist. "You've had enough."
"I'm not asking."
At this, he smiles, his lips almost entirely covered by thick beard. "Well, I know you're not demanding," he warns, softly, "because as proprietor of this fine establishment, I have the right to refuse service."
"To Mudbloods?" she spits.
"To anyone!" he hisses, grabbing her arm and pulling her roughly into the corridor leading to the toilets. "And this sort of behaviour will get you noticed."
She bristles, pulling her robes around her. "I already am noticed."
Aberforth clucks his tongue sympathetically. "Purged?"
"Yes."
"Did they tell you why?" He catches her exasperated look, and tuts. "No, I know that," he says. "We both know the real reason. But what did they tell you?"
"Undesirable political allegiances."
He appraises her. "You're in that group of my brother's, aren't you?"
"No." She quails under his firm gaze. "Well, yes. Now," she admits, as he tuts loudly, "but not then. They had nothing on me then."
"Why tonight?"
His change in topic causes her to pause.
"Here. Why tonight?" he presses.
She still doesn't answer, and annoyance flits across his face.
"Nobody aligned to that group of miscreants associates in my pub," he explains. "This place is full of dark wizards, dangerous creatures, and anyone looking for a way to forget. And that's not you. You belong at Ros' place, with the rest of the kids." He pauses, staring at her thoughtfully. "So? How did you come to darken my door?"
"…my boyfriend works at the Broomsticks."
"Thin lad? Greasy hair? Funny crooked teeth?" He gives her the once over, and exhales impatiently. "I take it he's got hidden attributes?"
His needless attack on her boyfriend stirs her indignation. "I think our conversation, Mr Dumbledore," she starts, angrily, "is over."
"On the contrary, whoever you are, miss, I think we've just started to solve your little mystery."
"Oh?"
"Oh yes. You clearly do have undesirable political allegiances."
"I told you, the Order-"
"-not my brother. For once." Aberforth leans in a little closer. "But your very own young man."
Chapter 5: Not the enemy
Chapter Text
He doesn't answer her straight away. He continues with his task – quill scratching over parchment – but she can see that a dark splotch of ink has pooled higher up the page, matching perfectly with when she asked her question. When he reaches the bottom of the parchment, he rests his quill on the table, steeples his fingers before his lips, and eyes her suspiciously. "What's brought this on?"
She picks up his wallet and opens it, fanning out the notes inside. "There's not enough here."
At this, he sits back. His lips twist in annoyance, and he scratches his eyebrow. "Not all of our money is kept in my wallet."
"Gringotts?"
He shrugs. "Gringotts, sure." He points at the kitchen, and she knows he's motioning towards the tall cupboard. "Ingredients." And then he points at the cauldrons – pewter, iron, brass, copper – stacked in the corner. "Equipment." Finally, he strides to the edge of the room, and jams his wand into the crack between the floorboards.
"You don't need-"
But he's already lifted it, and below, she can see a collection of their potions nestled between the joists, their contents twinkling and flashing in the light. He sits back on his heels, flicking his greasy hair from his eyes. "Stock." He holds his hand out, waiting for her to return his wallet to him – and she slaps it into his palm more forcefully than she intended. In response, he angrily flicks his wand at the floorboard, which slides smoothly back into place, and he stands before her, his head inclined to the side as he appraises her. "Are you hungry?"
Her eyes narrow. She doesn't understand the question. "No."
"Cold?"
"…no."
"In need of shelter, or clothing? Sickening for something?"
"Sev-"
"Do I not keep you in a fashion that is acceptable to-"
"I don't want to be kept!" she yells, and her anger at his patronising tone causes the ends of her hair to spark.
"We have no choice!" he yells back, grabbing her fists in his hands.
She sees it then, that flicker of anguish and concern that he ordinarily keeps so well hidden. She bites back her retort; she wants to scream that they always have a choice – but she knows it isn't true. Not at the moment. Choices are for Purebloods – for the likes of James Potter, or Sirius Black, or Lucius Malfoy. Choices aren't for poor Halfbloods, or middle class Muggleborns. She swallows it all – her anger, her pride, her self-esteem – and she forces her hands to relax under his touch.
He feels the change – her fists unclenching – and he tangles his fingers in hers. "I didn't mean to shout."
"It's okay," she says, although they both know it isn't. But that's the point, she thinks, as she looks at him – his face gaunt, and his eyelashes long and dark against his pale skin. As long as we both know that this isn't okay. As long as we're still in this together.
"What made you ask?" he says, his voice a little higher than usual.
It must be bothering him. He's an odd man, her boyfriend – he'll needle and jibe and provoke, and he'll never back down from an argument, but as soon as the matter's closed, he's never one to open it back up. Don't pick a wound, he once told her. If it's scabbing, leave it be. She wonders what's caused his change of heart – wonders if it's obvious that this query isn't going to scab on its own, and will fester if ignored.
"I'm brewing."
He doesn't get it. She can see from the confusion flitting across his face that he hasn't made the connection, and she sighs.
He stops her from turning away, and grips her a little too tightly. "No, Lil, tell me."
"Before," she says, "you were brewing."
"What's your point?"
"My point is, you're with Jigger during the day, and you work in the Broomsticks in the evening. At night, you trawl half of Hogsmeade, flogging our illicit potions-"
"And?"
"And," she says, pointedly, "you used to brew. You were always bringing spare potions home from your day in Jigger's lab." She fixes him with a firm glare. "Now I'm brewing."
"You're hardly doing anything else," he retorts, acidly.
"I can't do anything else, can I? The bloody Ministry won't let me!" Her voice is louder now, and she winces as she sees his face harden. "No, Sev, listen-" She grabs his hands tightly again, squeezing them. "What I'm saying is, you used to do the brewing. Now I'm doing the brewing. So what are you doing with your free time?"
His head jerks oddly. "You think I'm cheating on you?"
"How did you get that from my question?" She drops his hands. "My question was about money, remember?" She can tell from his look of recognition that he's finally followed her train of thought. "I know you, Sev. I know that brewing is in your DNA," she continues over his loud scoff, "so I know you haven't stopped."
He runs his hands over his face. "Lil…"
"Tell me you've stopped, then. Severus?" She pulls at his hands, moving them from his face. "Tell me." He is utterly still, and she knows she's hit a nerve, and she's not about to let the moment escape. "So if you're still brewing, and I'm doing the brewing for your little business…"
"Our business," he corrects.
"Fine. Our business." She looks him dead in the eyes. "Then what are you brewing?"
The pause is long, but eventually he answers. "Quantity," he says, and she gives him the most sceptical scowl she can muster. "Fine! Look." He marches to the other side of the flat, and taps the wall with the butt of his wand.
As the wall starts to shift, her eyes widen. "You did this?" she says, unable to keep the impressed tone from her voice. "It's like Diagon Al-"
"Really?" he drawls, "You don't say?"
She elbows him firmly in the side. "You're such a git."
"Shhh," he says, looping his arm around her shoulder. The pair watch as the wall shimmers and then reveals an even larger array of potions. The bottles are four or five deep on the shelves, and the shelves stretch from wall to wall, floor to ceiling.
"You weren't joking," she says, reaching her hand out to stroke the glass vials, recognising the same illegal party potions as the ones she brews herself. And now she looks at him with real fear in her eyes. "If we're caught-"
"We're not going to get caught."
"-but this," she says, waving her hand. "The scale of this. I mean…those," and she points at the floor, "we could argue plausible deniability."
"Plausible? Really?"
"Personal use, or something, but this…" She looks back at the wall of potions. "This is industrial."
"I wouldn't call it industrial."
"No? What would you call it then?"
With a swift wave of his wand, he restores the wall to its usual state, hideous wallpaper and all. "I call it our insurance policy." And then he smiles – it's confident, and smug, and she can see the elation in his eyes.
She doesn't know who he thinks he's pulled one over on, but she throws her arms around his neck, trusting him to take her with him.
She groans, and stretches beneath the warm duvet. Her muscles feel tight, and she rubs at her neck before squinting across the room. Her eyelids feel heavy, but she doesn't succumb to sleep – instead, she watches as he silently moves around the room, adding layer upon layer of black cloth until nearly all of his pale skin is covered. She squints harder, peering at his face, and she can see that he's clean shaven – and now he's leaning towards the mirror, checking that he hasn't missed a patch.
"You look fine," comes her murmured reassurance.
He spins – the layers of black seemingly pausing in the air – and faces her, an embarrassed flush sweeping across his cheeks. "I thought you were sleeping." He takes a step, and then another, and then leans over the bed and kisses her forehead. "Sorry."
Her hand grasps at the front of his robes, and she pulls him down another inch or so, pushing her lips against his own. "Sorry for what?" she asks. "You didn't wake me." They kiss again, over and over, until eventually he pulls back. She touches his face before sliding her hands back under the warmth of the covers. "You're not quite looking your best though."
"Really?" He straightens, and strokes his fingertips through his hair. "I thought-"
"I prefer you with fewer clothes," she teases, and there's a glint in her eyes that makes him flush even harder. "You look even better naked."
He coughs awkwardly, and she knows she's really embarrassed him. "Yeah, right. I think Jigger would have something to say if I turned up starkers."
"Something about taking care near a flame?"
But he ignores her joke. It's as if the mention of his Master causes a Pavlovian response; he glances at the clock, and sets to neatening his sleeves. "Eat something tonight," he says. "Don't wait for me. I've got work, and…" He momentarily trails off whilst he concentrates on the clasp at his cuff, "…I don't know when I'll be back."
"Right," she says, pulling the covers that bit tighter, trying not to let his words bother her. When she speaks, she forces her tone to be lighter than she feels. "I'll be calling Ros out for a duel soon."
His eyebrows lift a fraction, and then he gives a soft laugh, and bends back down to kiss her. "I'm really not worth it, love, believe you me."
"Evans," says Lupin, as she enters the darkened room. There's only one seat free, and it's next to him. He pats it. "Come on, I don't bite."
She looks past him – and she spies Black, who is still scowling at her – but a quick glance around the room shows that there's nowhere else to sit. This room is smaller than the last, and it's darker, and smells a little odd – but she tries not to wrinkle her nose; you never quite know who owns the house, or who rented the room, and she doesn't want to needlessly offend.
"So," Emmeline Vance says, tapping her glass with her quill to silence the room. "As we're all here, shall we call this meeting formally to order?"
"Aye," comes the chorus, and Lily checks the faces of the group – to her surprise Hagrid is in attendance, standing in the corner, as well as Diggle and Bones and Meadowes. The Prewett boys are missing, she notes, and Benjy Fenwick – but there's a weathered face she doesn't know. She meets the stranger's gaze, and he shuffles his way through the pack until he's stood behind her chair.
"Alastor Moody," he mutters, as Emmeline starts giving a rundown of the last meeting. "Auror. You're Lily Evans."
She nods, although his words felt like a statement instead of a query awaiting confirmation. "Pleased to meet you, Mr Moody."
"Young Black says you're sleeping with the enemy."
"I didn't!" Black loudly protests, and the chatter of the room falls silent. "I didn't, Moody."
"You did," chips in Pettigrew, and receives a thump on each arm – one from Potter, and one from Black – for his efforts.
"My boyfriend," she says, loudly and pointedly – and to her delight she notes Potter wincing at her words. Not for the first time, she's disappointed her attendance is a secret from Severus, because she knows he would get a kick out of Potter's obvious dismay at their continued relationship. The room falls quiet, and she continues in the same tone, "is not the enemy." She stares evenly around the room, taking in each of the Order. "He is simply not interested in politics."
"Not interested in politics?" Diggle looks astonished. "In this day and age, with all that's…" He shakes his head and looks towards Dumbledore. "Not interested in politics! And you say he's one of your lot, Dumbledore?"
"Unfortunately," Dumbledore says, stepping forward from the shadows, "Lily's…partner, shall we say, was a member of Slytherin house-"
The muttering now is louder, whispers and grumbles echoing around the space.
"Ah, ah, ah," Dumbledore says, clapping his hands and waiting for silence to fall once more. "As I was saying, Slytherin house poses a few difficulties-"
"On account of it being full of dark wizards and wannabe Death Eaters," Potter huffs, earning him a round of triumphant applause from Black, and a sharp look to the pair from Dumbledore.
"Mr Potter's account is not quite accurate," Dumbledore cautions. "As you well know, Alastor, Slytherin house is not a lost cause."
"Ninety percent of it is," grumbles Moody. "Why's this girl any different?"
"I'm a Gryffindor!"
Moody gives a half smile at her outburst. "So has become apparent."
"And I'm a Muggleborn. And Severus might've been a Slytherin, but his father…"
Black suddenly peers at her, his eyes narrowed in interest. She swallows hard, knowing that if word gets back to him, Severus is hardly likely to thank her – but the room is staring, waiting for her to speak, and the words tumble out before she can stop them, "...his father is a Muggle."
"Bloody hell," says Pettigrew, looking down. "I thought he was a Purebl-"
"Nah," says Potter, dismissively. "I knew he wasn't Pure."
Black looks surprised. "Yeah, but I thought he was at least Half."
"He is Half," Lupin reasons. He looks at Lily. "You didn't say his mother was a Muggle, did you?"
"I'm the Muggleborn. He's Half. His mother is Pure." She twists her hands. "We grew up in the same town."
"A Pure witch? Married to a Muggle? In a Muggle town?" Pettigrew looks bewildered, but before he can continue his thought, Moody interrupts loudly.
"Good! The boy is a runt!"
"Alastor!"
"Why didn't you say, Dumbledore? That's exactly the sort of thing I wanted to hear. If he was a Muggle tainted outcast in Slytherin, then he's not going to rat us out, is he?"
"He couldn't even if he wanted," she says, her voice laced with anger at the way his parentage is being spoken of. "I don't tell him anything of these meetings."
"Good girl," Moody says, clapping a hand to her shoulder. "Even better."
Lily nods tightly, and is relieved when the conversation moves on, a strange thrum of guilt unsettling her stomach. It's not a betrayal, she reasons with herself, but when she catches Potter's half-amused glance, she can't help but feel that it is.
Chapter 6: Perfectly balanced eco-system
Chapter Text
Following an Order meeting a few weeks later, there's a short wizard waiting in the street. She wraps her robe tightly around her and crosses the road, but he follows her. She crosses back, and so does he – so she slides her wand into her hand, and prepares to defend herself.
"Miss Evans, is it?" comes his oily voice, and she slides her wand back out of view, although still within easy reach.
"It depends who's asking."
"Good answer, miss, good answer," says the wizard, trotting up behind her, and offering her his grubby hand to shake. When she doesn't take it, he looks at it and shrugs. "Fair decision," he admits, sniffing it and then recoiling. "Can't remember when I last gave it a wash. I've been ducking and diving a bit today, you know how it is."
She sneers, as if to suggest that she doesn't. She doesn't really want to have this conversation with this dirty man, but glancing behind her, she can see no trace of the rest of the Order, such is the way that they disband following a gathering.
"Now now," he continues, "there's nothing to be concerned about. I am," and he lowers his voice, "one of your lot, so to speak."
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."
He frowns, and steps back, puffing his chest out and pointing at the building that she just came out of. "One of you-" And then he catches himself, suddenly realising. "Ah, yes, miss, I must apologise – very reckless and silly of me. I'm Mundungus Fletcher," he says, pulling his dirty pipe from his sleeve and starting to pack it with tobacco from his pocket. "Missed a few meetings here and there, but I'm fully paid up, fully committed – you just ask Dumbledore himself!" He glances around, and then pulls on her sleeve, walking her a few steps down the street. "Now, I want to talk to you, but I can see that you might want to verify my identity."
"It is hardly unreasonable of me. In times such as these."
"Yes, yes." He presses down firmly on the tobacco and then strikes a light with his wand, before puffing away on the pipe to cause the leaves to catch. "During the next meeting, perhaps?" And then he leans in, his breath hot and smoky, "and bring some of your fella's wares with you. He's gone a bit tight on me these last few weeks, and it's a real pity - business should be booming."
Lucius leans back in the oversized chair, tapping his fingers on the arm. "I thought I told you to be careful."
"I am careful."
"Not careful enough," Lucius snaps. "You're being greedy."
"I'm not-"
Lucius fixes him with a quelling look. "You are greedy," he reiterates. "And if you don't pull your production back to a reasonable rate, I won't be able to help you if things get a little…messy."
Severus pulls out a roll of parchment from his robes, and tosses it across the desk. "See for yourself." As Lucius casts his eye over the figures, Severus waits quietly.
"I see." Lucius places the papers to one side. "If your ledger is accurate-"
"-of course it's accurate!"
Lucius continues, as if Severus hasn't spoken, "-then we have a bigger problem." He pauses, and then yanks open his desk drawer. "Competition."
Severus can feel his heart pounding in his chest. "Competition?" The words fade on his lips as Lucius pulls out two vials – both pale blue, both with a rainbow streak threading through the centre. Instantly, Severus can tell the difference; his is on the right – the rainbow a neat and tidy twist – whilst the one on the left has its rainbow in a graceful looping bow.
"Any difference?" Lucius queries, pushing the vials towards Severus. "Apart from the visual, of course." He points to the rainbow threads. "Subtle, and easily missed, but when you peer closely…"
Severus' palms are sweating now, and he casts to suspend both potions in the air. He takes his own and uncorks it, and then sniffs – it smells as fresh as when he first brewed it – like an urban Muggle summer. It's petrol and cut grass and orange juice, mixed with vanilla ice-cream and hot tarmac. It's a joyful attack on the senses, and for Severus, it's like being transported back to Cokeworth in the summer holidays. Then, he uncaps the other, and inhales – and it's exactly the same.
"Well?"
Severus jerks his head. "May I?"
Lucius waves his hands, and two glasses spin across the room and into his palms. He sets them on the desk before Severus. "Be my guest."
He pours a tiny amount from the left potion into the left glass, and the right potion to the right. The rainbows in the vials twist and spin, and his potion's rainbow remains in the tight twist, whilst the other rainbow twirls and spins and then loops itself into a differently angled bow.
"Interesting," says Lucius, leaning forward. "This," he says, pointing at the twisted potion, "I recognise. It is yours, is it not?"
Severus nods tightly. And then he gulps each potion down, one after the other – and the assault on his mind is instantaneous. Lights flash, and his blood pounds, and the feeling of euphoria shoots through his veins. He can't keep his grin from spreading, and a happy laugh erupts before he can stop it. He can see Lucius' unamused look, and yet the more he tries to suppress his glee, the louder the laugh becomes. He grips the edge of the desk, and laughs, and laughs, and laughs, and there's tears running down his cheeks, and then, just as suddenly as it started, he stops.
"Pulled ourselves together, have we?" Lucius tries to sound unimpressed, but Severus knows him – and he knows that behind those pale grey eyes, Lucius found the display far more amusing than he'd ever let on.
"Sorry, Malf."
"And the difference?"
"No difference in the effect," he says.
Lucius tuts loudly. "But it is a different potion, is it not?" He taps the vial containing the imposter. "This is not yours, is it?"
Severus doesn't know what to say. He can't believe that something so ridiculous has caught them out – how did he fail to spot that Lily's rainbow knot was different to his own? The more he stares at it, the more he can see it; feminine, gentle, graceful.
"Tell me, Severus, did you learn this under Jigger, or under Borage?"
And now the questioning is getting away from him – the longer this goes on; the more that he doesn't answer truthfully, the worse it will be.
"Severus?"
"It's Lily's," he admits, the words feeling as if they're being wrenched from his chest. He sees Lucius' eyebrows lift in amazement, and he sucks in a deep breath. "You told me to get her to brew. She has."
Lucius gives the smallest of smiles, his teeth almost bared. "Indeed I did." He peers at her potion. "It's obvious now that you say," and he taps the vial, "this is far too dainty to be the work of a male brewer."
Severus bristles. "I can do dainty-"
"Hush! I'm thinking…" And he is, his hands tapping on the desk, and then – with a sudden movement – the glasses and the vials are all cast into the fireplace, where they smash loudly, and the remaining contents splash up against the hollow of the chimney. "The problem, Severus, is not that she has brewed, but-"
"You told me!"
"Hush!" Lucius is glaring at him now, his lips thin in tight fury. "The problem, Severus, is that you had not seen this before." He stared at the younger man, his face impassive. "The problem, Severus, is that you are the man who sells these potions. So, Severus, if you have not seen this deviation in the rainbow before tonight, then you are not selling your lady's wares, are you?"
"I-"
"Get out of my sight!"
"But Malf-"
"Out, Severus, before I have you escorted from the grounds."
Severus leaps up from his chair, grabs his robe and scrunches it in his fist. "I was only going to say…" Lucius has closed his eyes, and Severus pauses, waiting to see if he's going to listen, or if the elves are going to be called – and when the older man doesn't react, he blurts the words out. "She sold some in a Muggle nightclub we used to go to, back when we were kids. We went back for our anniversary, and someone saw us taking them, and we offloaded some…" He trails off, watching Lucius intently for any change in demeanour, and hoping that the lie is convincing. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't think they'd get back to the magical world, and I didn't thi-"
Lucius doesn't open his eyes, but his words are even. "You're right. You didn't think, Severus. It's as simple as that."
"I'm sorry."
"It's a perfectly balanced eco-system," he intones. "Supply and demand, and we control the supply. And now this someone in the Muggle world is flooding the market. They're not consuming them, oh no – they're taking my goods, from my brewers, and selling them in my marketplace." Suddenly, his eyes shoot open. "I don't like this, Severus. I don't like this at all. Something smells." He stands, and he moves with such speed across the room, Severus finds himself taking a step back. "If I get to the bottom of this, and I find you've been lying to me-"
"I'm not!"
"If you are," he drops his voice to a hiss, "then Merlin help both you and that Mudblood that warms your bed."
Severus can feel the blood pounding in his ears, and he nods. "Yes, Malf."
And then, as quickly as his sour mood first appeared, Lucius claps his hands and smiles. "But, my word, she's an efficient study, isn't she?"
"Malf?"
"I sampled the potions." Lucius is gazing at him now, with a curious expression on his face. "Identical," he murmurs. "Actually identical. And I've taken a few of those Rain Away potions in my time." At Severus' surprised look, he laughs. "I wasn't always the married stick-in-the-mud that I am now, you understand."
"I wouldn't say-"
"Don't grovel, Severus, it's beneath a man of your talents." Lucius draws himself up. "As I was saying, I have taken a few in my time, and there's always the maker's mark on the potion – a subtle difference in the aroma. But yours and hers? Identical."
"It's the same summer day."
"Hmm?"
"Our day," Severus says, softly. "When you brew it, you draw on a memory – and for us, it's the same day."
"Really? How very interesting." Lucius picks at his nails. "I almost wish I hadn't discarded them. Still," he grins, his crocodile smile sending a shiver through Severus, "it seems that there's plenty out there for me to purchase and sample again if the mood so takes me, isn't that right?"
Severus doesn't know what to say to the jibe, and settles for half a nod. "Should I be on my way?"
"Yes, I rather think you've done enough for the time being," Lucius warns. "Although, Severus," he calls, stopping him as he reaches the door, "there is one more thing."
"Yes, Malf?"
"Destroy your stock of this. And her stock. I want all of it gone."
"But it takes three weeks to bre-"
"I control the market, Severus, not you," Lucius warns. "I want you to stocktake, I want you to brew downers only from this day forward – until I instruct differently – and I want every single vial of Rain Away destroyed."
"…but the ingredients, the outlay, I can't afford-"
"When I receive your owl stating that the deed is done, I will deposit some gold in your Gringotts account as recompense. Given the circumstances, you should think yourself fortunate that I am so benevolent. And Severus?"
"Yes, Malf?"
"Do not test me on this. Else your lovely little flat might be getting a visit from the auror department." He smiles again. "And wouldn't that would be a shame? Especially if your little Mudblood was flagrantly ignoring the law and brewing away…"
Chapter 7: A hierarchy
Chapter Text
She casts their modified unlocking charm at the door, and bumps it open with her hip, her hands full of wand and takeaway. As she expected, the flat is in complete darkness – it's half past ten, and she knows his shift at the Broomsticks doesn't finish for another hour. She strides towards the kitchen, and casts a Lumos before putting her wand between her teeth – terrible habit – to free her hands.
Aware that the boxed food is rapidly cooling, she quickly washes her hands, grabs clean crockery and cutlery, and unceremoniously dumps the noodles from the foil tray onto the plate. She returns her wand to her right hand, picks up the plate with the left, and heads for the table. As she steps through into the living area – if she can even call it that these days, given that every surface is covered with brewing equipment – her Lumos casts light across the sofa and she throws her plate upwards in alarm.
His reaction is swift, so the plate doesn't fall – it's suspended between them, the food frozen at a gravity-defying angle – and she slaps her hand against her chest in horror.
"Merlin's sake! What are you doing, Severus? Sitting in the dark like that! You're meant to be at-"
"What am I to you?" he interrupts, softly – and that's when she can tell he's been drinking.
She grabs the plate from the air and he releases the spell when her fingers make contact with the porcelain. The sudden weight of the plate causes it to sag in her hand, and she bangs it on the table, and reaches for the lamp.
"Don't!"
She stops, and instead she takes a step closer to him, her Lumos spell following her. It's just enough to illuminate him, and she gasps at his appearance – he's clearly been drinking heavily, and his eyes are dark, his cheeks are sunken. It has the unfortunate effect of making his nose seem larger than ever, and his lips are thin and pale. She's still a metre or so from him, and she can smell him, the pungent alcohol rolling off him in waves.
"You're drunk."
"And you're a stupid bitch."
She doesn't know what to do. She knows what she wants to do – she wants to scream at him, and shout, and take her jacket and leave. She wants to slam the door, and ring her parents, and she wants to get away from this drunken creature who is inhabiting her boyfriend's body – because this isn't Severus. She has never seen this Severus, but she knows enough of his childhood to know that if this is anyone, this is Tobias.
There's another part of her willing her to stay – to stand her ground in her own flat, because if there's one thing that she knows about her boyfriend, it's that he isn't his father. She stares at him, and she knows her jaw is slack in confusion, and she can't stop her eyes filling with unshed tears. They've argued before – oh, how they've argued. He calls it passion. Faking up, he once said. It's like breaking up, only you don't mean it – but you still get to have great make-up sex after. But it's usually her that instigates their rows, and he's certainly never done anything like this before.
"You've got five minutes," she says, fighting to keep the wobble out of her voice, "to calmly explain to me what's wrong."
He looks impressed, even in his dishevelled state. "You'd make a good auror." He takes another slug of alcohol. "Good cop, bad cop." His voice has an odd sing-song quality to it, and he crosses his legs at the ankles. "You can join them when they visit."
"I don't understand."
"When they pay us a visit." He speaks slowly, more deliberately, as if she struggled with the words he used and not the concept.
"I know-" she snaps, and then she catches herself, digging her nails into her palms and trying to find her composure. "I understand what an auror visit is. I don't understand why you think they're going to come here."
"Because someone," he hisses, sitting up straighter, "has been selling illegal potions that they've brewed in this very flat. And someone – no, not me! –" he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain, "– has found out. And now someone is talking about calling the aurors." He sits back, as if his entire speech has been an effort. "And I will go to Azkaban, and you, my gorgeous, talented, wonderful witch…" He shakes his head, and he bites his lip so hard, she can see pale pink filling with red, "and you – as an illegal citizen – will be Kissed." It's as if saying it aloud has brought the reality of it home, and he slats his glass across the room. "Fuck! Fuck!"
"Severus, I-"
He holds his hand up, squinting at her, and she can see now that his eyes are also full of unshed tears. "Don't, Lil."
"But-"
"Just don't lie to me, for Merlin's sake, don't lie." His face twitches, as if he's struggling to hold his emotions back. "Because I already know the truth." He gasps a half-laugh, a strangled laugh of disbelief. "What I don't know is why you would do this to us?"
It feels like a production line, albeit in reverse. He's crouched on the floor, pulling the vials from every nook and crevice, and she's by the sink, tipping her carefully brewed potions down the drain – until eventually he slows. She turns and looks, and now he's lying flat on the ground, his face contorted with effort, and she can hear his hand rustling beneath the floor.
"I don't think we pushed any that far in."
He nods in agreement, and slowly raises himself up. She's made him coffee after coffee, but the alcohol is still raging through his system, and his movements are slower – more sluggish – than usual. "I think you're right." He wipes his dirty hands on his trousers, and she beckons him over to the sink. He leans heavily against the edge, and she takes his hands and carefully washes them, rubbing soap between each digit, and caressing the skin. "You don't hav-"
"Shh," she says, and he complies – either too drunk to argue, or her soothing actions making him too relaxed to care.
"You smell better," she says, as he emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, and his long hair still dripping.
"Feel like shit," he grumbles, his hangover feeling ten times worse when faced with the early morning sunlight.
"Least it's Saturday."
He grunts, and heads for their bedroom, and she glances at the disarray in the living room. When he returns, she passes him a mug of coffee and settles next to him on the sofa.
"You don't think," she starts, trying to keep her tone casual, "that the aurors really will come?"
He sighs, and puts his mug on the floor, and pulls her into his arms. "I think it's just a threat," he says. He indicates at the cauldrons, and the glassware that surrounds them. "But even so, we need to get rid of this stuff."
She looks at him critically. "You are an apprentice. Can't you explain this all away?"
"Some, perhaps." He scratches the furrow between his eyebrows, and she's sure it's deepened in the last twelve hours. "But I probably need to rent lab space to make it truly believable. It's one thing to stock a lab, but it's unorthodox to stock a flat."
"You could say you were saving for when you got a lab?"
"It's illegal to brew at home, so if I haven't got lab space, I've got no business having six cauldrons. One or two perhaps, but not six." He kisses her temple. "I'll have to sell them. Carefully. Without arousing suspicion." He groans. "Easier said than done."
She untangles herself from his arms, and heads to the kitchen. When she returns, she's holding a jar which she passes to him.
"What's this?" He unscrews the lid cautiously, and then his eyes widen as he sees the money. "For the love of-"
"Use it. Get a lab."
He's tipping the jar over, the contents spilling out onto the floor, and she can't tell if he even heard what she said. "Lil, there's a small fortune in here! How did…" And then he trails off, and his shoulders slump. "Oh. Of course."
She twists her fingers in her cardigan. "I was saving. To get us a bigger place. A better place. With a room that we could brew in, instead of this poky flat and taking up the living room and-"
He sits back on his heels, staring at the vast quantity of notes in front of him. "No wonder he was fuming."
She kneels next to him, collecting the money together and pushing it back into the jar. "That's the one thing you didn't tell me," she says, warily. "Who the someone is?" When he doesn't answer, she grabs his hand, holding it fast. "Sev, who found us out?"
"Who found you out, you mean?"
"Yes." She squeezes his hand. "I didn't think it would matter, a few extra potions on the market, all from the same source. How could anyone even tell?"
He glances at her, and then looks away. "…you can't just start selling."
"But-"
"There's rules. A hierarchy." He taps the glass jar, full of its contents once more. "People have to take their cut." And then he lifts the jar, moving it up and down as if he's weighing it. "From this," and he laughs, "nobody has been taking their cut."
It's not quite true. Mundungus has been taking a cut – a healthy cut, as far as she could tell – but from Severus' words, and what she saw in his wallet, it's clear that Severus was making far less on each transaction than she was.
"A cut?" She lets the irritation cover her face. "But we do all of the work!" She waves at the cauldrons in the corner. "We take all of the risk!"
"The cut minimises the risks," he says. "My little hellcat," he grins, lifting a piece of her hair and threading it behind her ear. "I felt the same at first, if it appeases you. But…" He looks suddenly uncomfortable.
"What?"
"Do you remember Arisean Nott?"
She nods – the girl was a Slytherin prefect a few years ahead of them.
"Well," Severus continues, "she used to do this. Had the market sewn up. Competent brewer, by all accounts. But she tried to side-step the protection, and-"
"-and now she's in Azkaban?"
"Not quite." Severus looks troubled, and pulls on his ear. "She lost both her hands."
She's glad she's sitting on the floor, because a sudden surge of adrenaline shoots through her legs. If she had been standing, she's not certain she could've stayed upright.
"Accident, of course," he adds, unconvincingly.
"Severus-"
"It's fine," he says, pulling her into his embrace. "Don't fret. I talked our way out of it, and all I have to do now is comply." He gives her a watery smile. "We can keep our heads down and comply, right?"
Chapter 8: What's mine is yours
Chapter Text
He pulls the curtains shut, and then taps the wall with the butt of his wand, watching as it transforms. Once the action is complete, he casts once more, causing the glamour on the bottles to fall. In a smooth movement, the rows of hundreds and hundreds of unlabelled party potions shimmer, and then transform into a wide range of different brews – each carefully dated, and every single vial marked with intricate runes. He can feel the tension rising in his chest at his collection being exposed, and he can't help but look over his shoulder before stepping forward and running his fingertips across the glass.
One day, he thinks, I'll have these on display. For now, confident that none are out of place – certain that nobody has tampered with his wares – he kneels, and on the very bottom shelf, in the right hand corner, there's a small stash of his own version of Rain Away. He removes the vials one by one, placing them into an old shoebox. Then he turns, and picks up his parchment, ready to resume his stocktake. He starts to count, marking the page with dots and lines and five-bar-gates, in a system that wouldn't make sense to anyone other than himself.
He's barely finished with the top shelf when he hears a rapid thud of footsteps on the stairs. He casts quickly, the bottles transforming to their glamoured state before his eyes, and then the wall wobbles, shimmers, and returns to its ordinary appearance. The front door swings open, just as he banishes the old cardboard box to the cupboard under the sink, and he yanks opens the curtains. He turns, and lets out a huge sigh of relief when he sees his girlfriend.
"Bloody hell, Lil. I thought you wer-"
But instead of speaking, her chest heaves, and she sobs, and he slides his wand up his sleeve as he moves towards her. He throws his arms around her, pulling her body tightly against his own, trying desperately to soothe her anguish.
"What's wrong? What's happened?" She buries further into his neck, and he strokes her hair before pulling back and trying to look at her face. "Lil, what is it?" She opens her hand, and he sees it – a scrap of paper rolled up between her fingers. He tugs it, and with his other hand still stroking the back of her hair, he reads:
By order of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Ministry of Magic please note that from this date forward, all payments for goods and services must be rendered from a Gringotts account.
He stops reading, and frowns. "You couldn't pay cash? For the shopping?"
She shakes her head, her damp cheeks wetting through his shirt. "No." She sucks in another breath, and sobs again.
"It's ok, Lil, it's ok." He tips her head so she's looking towards him, and rubs the pads of his thumbs across her cheeks, wiping away her fallen tears. "We've got a Gringotts account. We can use that."
"No," she corrects him, firmly. "You've got a Gringotts account."
"Yeah, well," he winces, "it's a technicality."
"A technicality because I am unfit to hold such an account."
He holds her more tightly. "I gave you equal access," he says, reassuringly. "What's mine is yours. You know that. It's ours."
She shakes her head, tears threatening to fall again. "I can't use it."
"What do you mean, you can't use it?"
"I tried."
He looks stunned now, and grabs his wallet off the table. He flicks it open, takes his Wizarding Bank access card out and taps it with his wand. It flashes, and then a white quill appears, writing in the air.
Vault 247. Owner: Severus Snape. Access granted: Lily Evans.
He turns back to Lily, and points at the writing. "See."
She looks at him, the challenge evident in her eyes, and she takes her copy of his Wizarding Bank access card out of her pocket. She taps it with her wand, and it flashes. He crosses his arms, a frown appearing on his face, as the quill turns white, and then blood red.
Vault 247. Owner: Severus Snape, Halfblood. Access privileges denied: Lily Evans, Muggleborn.
"See?" she says.
He disguises the wobble in his hands by pushing them into his pockets. "It's got to be a mistake." He nods towards his own discarded card. "Try it on mine."
She does as he asks, and this time, the quill turns turquoise.
Vault 247. Owner: Severus Snape. Access only permitted by wands authorised by Severus Snape.
"You authorised my wand, remember?"
"Right. Do it with my wand then," he says, sliding it out of his sleeve, a flinty gleam in his eye. He passes it to her, and she casts again.
Vault 247 it says, in green writing. Owner: Severus Snape. Wand access granted, but further identification required. Place finger on card for access.
They both stare in horror at the writing.
"This can't be right," he says, snatching his wand back. He casts again at the card, and this time, it behaves exactly as expected:
Vault 247. Owner: Severus Snape. Access granted: Lily Evans.
"It's like they didn't want you to know," she says, softly. "As if your access request doesn't matter."
"As if it's being overridden at a higher level," he muses. He picks the leaflet from the Ministry of Magic back up, and peers at it. "Well, looks like I'll be doing the shopping then," he says, forcing joviality into his voice.
"You study and I can't. You work because I'm not allowed. And now I can't even buy a loaf of bread to feed you, or a sponge to clean the bathroom with." She tries not to sound as bitter as she feels but she knows she's failing miserably. "You'll be trading up soon. For a partner who can actually bring something to the relationship-"
"Don't," he says, wrapping his arms back around her. "You're everything to me."
She gladly accepts his embrace, but the thrum of fear spills down her spine; he might think she's everything, but it's obvious that without Severus, she'd be cut off in the magical world.
Severus follows the house elf down the corridor, and they both draw to a halt at the door of the study.
The elf raps on the wood loudly, and Lucius' bored tone echoes through the door. "Yes, what is it?"
"Master Severus is here to see you, sir," the elf calls back, trembling slightly – and then the door is yanked open. The elf winces and throws his arms defensively into the air, as if fearing a blow that - thankfully - doesn't eventuate.
Lucius sneers in disgust. "Back to the kitchen with you." He doesn't need to repeat the request; in a flash, the elf has disappeared – leaving Lucius' attention entirely on Severus. "And you, Severus…"
"Malf."
"-what brings you here this fine afternoon?" Lucius waves him in to the study, closing the door quietly behind them, and then points at the chair opposite his desk. "Be seated."
"Thank you."
"Drink?"
"No, I'm… I've got to work," he says, suddenly uncomfortable under Lucius' steely gaze.
Lucius glances at the grandfather clock in the corner. "Mmm," he agrees. "I must admit, I did not expect my visitor to be yourself." He leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk. "I am, of course, awaiting your owl."
Severus swallows hard. "I know."
"You know?" Lucius raises a single eyebrow. "So you haven't forgotten, and yet…" He opens his hands, expressing that Severus' letter has not been forthcoming.
"I haven't quite finished."
"You haven't…quite…finished?"
"It's a bit full on, Malf. With Jigger, and the Broomsticks, and-" He pauses. "Look, I'll be done tonight."
"Your shift doesn't finish until nearly midnight, no?"
He flushes. "No."
"So what precisely do you have left to do, Severus, that you can achieve in these fleeting moments after your shift at the Three Broomsticks and yet before the midnight hour chimes?"
"I mean, I'll be done by morning. Her stuff's gone already," he says, quickly. "It's just my box of Rain Away. Twenty vials or so. And I need to check the stock figures again, only it's difficult-"
"Indeed. Would you like to borrow an abacus, perhaps?"
Severus gives a slow smile at his old friend's quip. "I've got my fingers, thanks."
"Don't forget your toes."
He rolls his eyes, but he can't help but be amused at Lucius' broad smirk, relieved that the atmosphere in the room has lightened a little. "Yes, witty, Malf. The problem is getting opportunity, if you catch my drift?"
"Oh, I see." Lucius nods. "The Mudblood is in the way-"
"-she's not in the way!"
"Severus, Severus, so touchy," says Lucius, tapping his quill against the desk. "I did not mean anything by it. Although I do not particularly see the problem - send her out."
"I did! I'm not an imbecile."
"Well, not a complete one," Lucius concedes. "And unfortunately she came back, yes? A rather distressing habit these creatures seem to have."
Severus doesn't trust himself to speak, and instead, reaches in his pocket and pulls out the decree, passing it across the desk.
"Oh yes," says Lucius, with a wide smile. "I rather forgot that was coming in this week."
"You knew?"
"But of course," Lucius says, picking up the Prophet and passing it to him. "Do you no longer read?"
"I stopped taking it. Money's been a bit tight," he says, by way of explanation, not wanting to reveal that his real reason for ceasing delivery of the magical newspaper was because Lily was becoming distressed by the rise in anti-Muggleborn rhetoric written within the pages.
Lucius' nostrils flare, and he peers at Severus. "I had gained that impression, yes. I shall reinstate it for you-"
"It's ok-"
"Nonsense," Lucius says, with a flourish and Severus can't help but think that Lucius has seen straight through his claim. "I can't have you being unaware of your surroundings. Consider it done."
"Thanks, Malf." He can't say a lot else.
"And this," Lucius says, picking up the decree once more and wafting it in the air, "is what you've really come to see me about, isn't it?"
"She can't do anything, Malf," he says, earnestly. "Can't shop. Can't spend cash, can't use my Gringotts account."
"Well, of course not, dear boy – that's rather the point."
"But she has access. I gave her access."
Lucius sniffs. "All access privileges have been revoked, depending on blood status. It is explained in the article." He shoots Severus a small smile. "I must say, I had rather forgotten that you'd be caught up in all this."
"There's nothing to be done? An exception, or-"
"I'm afraid not." Lucius shakes his head solemnly, and then pauses, considering. "Well…"
"Well?" Severus leans forward eagerly. "Well what?"
"There is one solution…"
Chapter 9: Public Information Services
Chapter Text
She looks at him, aghast. "You don't get it, do you?"
"Lil, of course-"
"Or do you not care? Is that it?"
He looks pained. "I was trying to find a way around it, a way for you to keep your independence, so you can shop and-"
"Do you know who that exception was made for?" She stares at him, and when he tries to look away, she grabs his chin, forcing him to focus on her. "I asked you a question, Severus." She can feel his jaw tightening, but she doesn't let go, her fingers pressing into his skin. "No? Should I tell you?"
His voice is barely more than a whisper. "I know."
"House elves!" And her voice is a scream. "Bloody house elves!"
He wrenches his face out of her grip, her nails catching and tearing the soft skin covering his jaw. "Fuck," he hisses, swiping the blood away with the back of his hand.
She watches him as he moves to the bathroom. She can hear the tap running as he washes his face, his muttered curses almost – but not quite – drowned out by the water, but she can't bring herself to follow him. She can't ask him how he's feeling, and she most certainly can't apologise.
And then he's in the doorway, two pieces of tissue paper hastily torn and stuck on his face, fixed in place with blood. It's as if he's cut himself shaving. He stares at her, and when she says nothing, he looks as if he's been betrayed.
Good, she thinks, because that's how she feels too.
He clatters around the small flat, picking up his wallet, and his wand, and pulling on his boots. He's making a show of it, trying to goad her into speaking, but she's not going to be manipulated. She's the injured party in all of this.
He's at the door, his fingers wrapped tightly around the handle, before he speaks. "You can't blame me for being Half," he says.
She can't answer him. He's right. She can't blame him for being Half, and she doesn't blame him for being Half. She knows that the changes in the law aren't his doing, and that he doesn't agree, and he'd vote against them if he was given opportunity. But knowing that doesn't change the fact that she's having her rights ripped away, whilst his remain intact.
"It's not just you this hurts," he ventures, his voice softer still, "and if I could swap with you-"
"You can't."
"But if I could-"
She gives an incredulous hiss. She just wants him to go – to stop this pointless conversation when all he has to offer are platitudes and sympathy. She stares hard at the window, willing him to stop talking - willing him to leave.
"Lil…"
"Did you even notice?" she asks, her voice trembling. "No?" She turns back, and picks up the scrunched up decree that's on the table, and smoothes it out.
"We should throw that away," he says, moving towards her. "You need to stop torturing yourself with it."
"I'll stop when you really read it!" she cries, slapping it forcefully against his chest. "Read it again, Severus!"
There's a moment, and then - even though he's reading silently in his head - she knows he's finally read the phrase that's stung her, because his eyes harden.
"Out loud," she says.
His eyes close, and he takes a deep breath, his fingers shaking. She can hear the paper rustling in the air as he tries to regain his composure, and then he stares at the page once more. He starts to say it out loud, but his ordinarily smooth voice keeps catching. "By…by or-order of the Departme, oh fuck."
"Go on." The more that he falters, the colder she becomes. "Read it all."
But now he's crying as much as she is, the tears openly falling down his face. "By order of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," and then he stops, and screws the offending piece of parchment into a tight ball in his fists, and launches it across the room. "Lil, I never even…"
"They're dehumanising us." She sobs, and she chokes, and she wants him to hold her and she wants him to go away, and she just wants all of this to stop. "That should've come from the Public Information Services, not the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures! Magical Creatures! What am I, a hippogriff? A dung beetle? A flobberworm?"
"Lil, don't-"
"And then you find a way around it! Oh, yes, clever Severus finds a way-"
"Lil, I've said I'm sorry-"
"And it's a loophole! It's ingenious, I'll give you that. Yes, you can register me to your store account. As a servant."
"No. No, Lil, no-"
"As a house elf!"
He doesn't go to work. He contacts Rosmerta, and he takes off his boots, and he perches on the edge of the sofa.
She wants to rip those two pieces of tissue off his face, and she wants it to hurt – and then she sees the pain in his eyes, and she wants him to hold her instead. She doesn't tell him any of this. Instead, she stands. "I can't do this," she hears herself say, and she pulls on her shoes.
"Where are you going?"
"I want to be alone."
To her surprise, he shrugs. "You do what you've got to do," he says, and although she knows he doesn't mean a single word of it, he doesn't try to stop her. For a moment, she thinks he's going to – he's at the top of the stairs, and she's at the bottom, and he calls for her to stop. She does, and she checks her robes, wondering what she's forgotten, and then she hears his words, "Be safe, and come back," and she walks away even faster, scared that if she looks back at him, she'll crumble.
The Order doesn't meet on a Tuesday, and there's no point in going to the Broomsticks. He's meant to be there, and even though she's left him in the flat by himself, she doubts he'll change his mind about going into work. Not now, not in the state she left him in – and she doesn't want to have a conversation with Rosmerta about his absence. She can't lie, and she's not sure how sympathetic the older witch will be to their suffering. That's part of the problem – these days, it's impossible to tell who is on your side.
Lily wonders, as she strides quickly past the window of the Broomsticks, if Rosmerta is the type to permit Muggleborns to set up a tab, with the understanding that another witch or wizard will settle it on their behalf. If not, Lily wonders if she'd make an exception for staff – for her and Severus – but she quickly dismisses the thought; it's not too different to the idea he suggested for their shopping, and she doesn't want to think about house elves and creatures again.
She marches through Hogsmeade, and stands for a moment at the front of the Hog's Head, surprised that she's found her way here without intending it. What would Aberforth do? she wonders. What would he say if I asked him to create a tab which I'm not permitted to pay for? – and then she thinks better of entering and asking, deciding that she really doesn't want to know which way his true allegiance lies, Dumbledore by name or not – but before she can turn and head for home, a warm arm loops through her own.
"Looking lost," grins Potter, although his smile instantly drops as he feels her tense at his contact. "Hey, come on. We're old friends, right?"
"Acquaintances," she concedes coldly. "And I'm not lost, thank you."
"Fancy a drink, then?" he asks. "See if we can change acquaintances into friends?" She pauses, and sensing a victory within his grasp, his disarming smile returns. "First round's on me."
"All rounds are on you," she mutters. "Or haven't you heard?"
His shoulders sag slightly. "Yeah," and he runs his hands awkwardly through his roughened hair. "That's pretty terrible stuff. It's not a done deal, though."
"Could've fooled me."
He glances over his shoulder, checking for eavesdroppers. "Well, I could tell you-" As abruptly as he starts, he stops, and the pair stand in silence as a tall man strolls past them. The man walks into the Hog's Head, pausing and peering at them thoughtfully as he pulls open the door, and then he's gone, the door slamming loudly in his wake. "The street isn't the place for this conversation, Evans."
She raises her eyebrows. "And if that wizard has spooked you, we can hardly continue this inside over a firewhisky, can we, Potter?"
"No," he says, "but you're not going to be sensible and come with me alone, are you?" Again, she pauses for a moment too long, and he tips his head ever so slightly to the side, appraising her intently. "Or are you? Is that reckless Gryffindor lion I know so well just bursting to claw out? Come on, Evans, let loose and be wild!"
That roguish smile is back on his face, and the tip of his nose is reddened in the cold. She can barely feel her fingers, wishing she'd thought to pull her gloves on before marching out of the flat, but she can't decide what would be worse – being seen talking to Potter in the Hog's Head, or Severus hearing on the grapevine that she's been socialising with Potter in private.
"I can't," she says, finally.
"Right."
"It's not you."
"No, it's him!"
"Don't, Potter." Her voice is hard – she knows it is – but as angry as she is, all she can see in her mind is the vision of her boyfriend reading and re-reading that rotten pamphlet, and his reaction when the realisation of her predicament finally sunk in. "He's not done anything-"
Potter's lips thin and he presses them together angrily. "Yes, and that's the point! It's about time he realised which side he was on. If this isn't enough to make him-"
She steps away from him. "I'm not discussing my relationship with you, of all people."
He gives her a curious smile. "Of all people?" He takes a step closer to her. "What a weird thing to say."
"What's weird about it?" she snipes, her fury getting the better of her. "You spent years asking me out-"
"-can't blame a bloke-"
"-when you knew I was with Severus! And now you're disparaging him again, and you don't even know him, or anything about him, or what he's-"
Potter's taken a step back now, and he's holding his hands up in defeat. "I didn't mean to offend you, or disrespect Snape, and…" He looks lost for words, and a little unsure of her sudden anger. "I get that this is a stressful time for you both." He glances behind him once more. "I can walk you back, if that's ok with you?"
"No."
"Think about Snape," he says, his voice a little cooler. "Would he want you walking back alone? Because if you were my girl, I wouldn't."
She knows Severus wouldn't. She knows he's probably already furious that she's stormed off, and if she walks back through Hogsmeade in the middle of the night by herself, it'll be something else for him to rant and rave about. Or perhaps worse, he won't rant and rave. Perhaps he'll be silently standing by the window, watching down the street like a bird of prey, waiting for her to return to him. And when she does, he won't speak of their hateful evening spent apart – he'll be gentle, and kind, and he'll have changed the sheets, and they'll make love in the darkness with the smell of fabric conditioner surrounding them – and right now, she doesn't want that either.
"Floo then?" Potter asks, breaking her thoughts. "Aberforth would let us-"
"No." There's no point explaining that their fireplace is blocked; it'd give him too many clues as to the dealings in the flat.
"Bloody hell," he says, looking exasperated. "I tell you, I didn't realise Snape was such a saint putting up with you and your drama-"
"Piss off, Potter. I don't need your help, I didn't ask for it, and I certainly don't want it."
"Right," he says, drawing himself up to his full height. "Last offer. Apparate with me," and he holds his hand out. "You can even do the honours, and I'll leave once I've seen you safely inside."
She stares him down, but knows that his offer is sensible. It's late, and it's dark, and now that her anger has dulled to a roar, the rational part of her brain keeps telling her that there's no point in being outside alone. "Fine, but you'll leave as soon as our feet hit the street."
"Deal." He grabs her hand, and she casts with her wand, and they lurch into nothingness.
As they spin through the air, she spies Severus sitting on the pavement with his feet on the road. The kerb is only a couple of inches high, so it causes his knees to be up to his shoulders, and she's struck by how odd he looks – young, and awkward, and scared, all lanky limbs, and long hair. The distraction leads her to land with an almighty crack – when she's emotional, subtlety isn't her strength – and she stumbles forward.
Potter throws his arms around her to steady her, but she only has eyes for Severus. The sound of her Apparition causes Severus to look up, and she immediately pushes Potter away and runs towards her boyfriend. She's close to him – so close, she can even see the livid red streaks on his jaw from their earlier fight – and her mouth is already half open, ready to explain that it's not what it looks like, when the bulk of Alastor Moody blocks her way.
Chapter 10: Petty discrimination
Chapter Text
"Evans," Moody says, holding her tightly. "Stay there."
"Sev!" she calls, leaning past Moody's arm. "Severus!" She tries to push the bigger man away, but she can't break out of his firm grasp. "Let me past! I need to-"
"Mr Snape here is answering some of our enquiries," he says, not unkindly. He glances at Crouch, who nods, and Moody then continues. "You can go up to your flat, but you mustn't touch anything."
"I'm not going anywhere without Severus."
Moody huffs, clearly not anticipating such dissent, and looks again at Crouch. Crouch appraises Lily, and then Severus, and eventually nods once more to Moody. "Let them both up, Alastor. But don't let either of them out of your sight."
She steps into the flat first, and he grabs her hand when she flinches. The place is a mess – glass strewn over the floor, cauldrons tipped upside down, books with pages ripped out of them. There's an auror stood in the fireplace, methodically unblocking the Floo, and she can see another in their bathroom, tipping her cosmetics bag over the bath.
"Stop that!" she yells, but Severus' hand holds her firmly in place, preventing her from confronting the wizard.
"Leave them to it, love."
"But why? It's just lipstick and mascara. Nothing else." She looks distraught, and he runs a gentle finger across her brow, as if to erase her upset.
"Let them do what they need," he says. "Trust me, they've already done most of it." He pulls her down onto the sofa, and holds her hand. It's comforting, his presence, and although she desperately wants to embrace him, she knows that he's unlikely to be any more demonstrative with unknown witches and wizards filling their flat.
"Have they said what they're looking for?"
"No. They've had a tip off, apparently." His voice is steady, but he squeezes her fingers tightly, causing her to glance at him. "Probably mistaken identity." His expression is impassive, but she can see that flash in his eyes - that glint she knows so well.
She squeezes his hand back, their own silent communication – message received, and understood. She's not stupid, Lily, and she knows that in letting them both back into the flat, it's practically a declaration from the aurors that they've not found anything.
Yet.
Moody's pacing around them, and she knows only too well that he's the real concern. In letting them sit together, in letting them talk, she knows that Crouch has decided that she's the honey - the bait - and Severus is the unsuspecting insect. It makes her think of primary school, of crawling around in the wood with pooters, clamping the flexible tube over the oblivious creature and sucking it into the collection jar.
Moody's looking at her now, and she knows she has to say something, has to keep up appearances and pretend to be normal, but her mind is suddenly blank. What's normal anymore? It's just been one terrible situation after another, and in the end, that's what she goes with – if you're going to lie, her mother always said to her, try and stick as close to the truth as you can.
"Just about sums up my day," she finally jokes. Moody lifts an eyebrow, and Severus grins, and she knows it was the right thing to say.
"And then you had to suffer Potter as well!"
"Terrible, terrible day."
"I'll say." Severus leans back on the sofa, that topic finished for now, although she knows he's going to give her the third degree when the aurors finally depart. "I meant to ask you," he says, his voice steady and calm. "Did you ever finish reading that article that old Sluggy had published in last month's Potions Quarterly?"
"No," she says, grateful for his quick thinking.
"Do you mind if we…" he starts, waving his hand towards Moody, and pointing at the magazine on the floor.
Moody stoops and picks it up, scanning it quickly, shaking it, and then holding it up to the light. Sensing nothing wrong, he shrugs, and hands it over to Lily. "Knock yourself out."
Severus settles on the sofa, pulling Lily against his chest, and she holds the magazine out in front of them both. "Comfy?" he asks, and she nods – but in this position, she can feel his heartbeat thundering. The knowledge that under his smooth and controlled exterior he's as terrified as she is almost tips her over the edge, and she's glad when he starts to read the article out loud, his silky voice a much needed distraction from her whirring thoughts.
The aurors take another hour – hunting and searching, poking and prodding. She feels violated by their presence, hating how they fiddle with every personal possession, every private belonging. They sweep through the bedroom, prying through their wardrobes, and she can feel her heart pounding in her chest as they linger for a little too long in her underwear drawer.
Not even her old schoolbooks are safe. The chubby auror raises his eyebrows at her marks – "Clever little thing, aren't you?" – but she holds her tongue when Severus squeezes her hand once more. He stares at the clock, and she follows his gaze. Not long now. Least, she thinks that's what he's trying to say to her – and if so, he's right; the aurors have already been there for the best part of the night, and their flat isn't that big.
And then Crouch stamps upstairs from the street below, and beckons Moody to the door. A short moment later, Moody waves his hand, and the aurors file out. The do not cross tape is wound back onto its roll, and the aurors outside depart. She glances at Severus, and he glances back, and she squeezes his hand – neither daring to speak.
"Mr Snape, a word?"
"Certainly," he says, releasing her hand and standing.
"Just Severus?" she asks, and Crouch's mouth thins. There's something in his look – almost apologetic, but it's fleeting. "Mr Snape is the registered tenant-"
"Whatever you have to say to me," Severus interrupts, firmly, "you can say in front of Lily."
Moody and Crouch exchange a look, and then Moody whispers to Crouch. Crouch straightens. "As you wish, Mr Snape." He pulls a parchment from his pocket. "This is your record of the search today. The only cause for concern is the quantity of brewing equipment-"
"Two cauldrons is not-" Severus starts to argue, but Moody holds up his hand to silence him.
"Indeed, Mr Snape, given your profession," Crouch continues, "two cauldrons is acceptable, and on this occasion, due to the absence of any other suspicious material, I will overlook the quantity of glass vials you have stored. With that in mind, I feel I must remind you that brewing in the home-"
"I haven't-"
"Don't argue back, boy!" snaps Moody. "Impertinence."
Severus glowers, and Lily quickly stands behind him, entwining her fingers in his in a show of silent support.
"As I was saying," Crouch intones, "brewing in the home is prohibited, even by those apprenticing in the trade. There are no exceptions. If you wish to brew outside your Master's lab, you must procure your own official environment. A list of available locations can be requested in writing from the address on this form. If you find a suitable laboratory for your needs, an official application – countersigned by your Master – must be submitted to the same address." He ripped a piece of parchment and handed it to Severus. "Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"I am also issuing you with a notice," and another piece of parchment is pulled from his robes, "warning about the dangers of blocking Floo access within an apartment." Severus opens his mouth, but Crouch shakes his head. "I have heard your testimony already, and I accept that your actions were due to concerns about unauthorised use and the safety of your chosen partner. Despite this, it is my duty to inform you that such actions are prohibited. However, my aurors have unblocked the Floo this evening, and I am content that no further action is required." He taps the parchment, causing a paragraph to be highlighted. "As explained in this section, you may be required to submit to periodic checks to ensure that the Floo access has not been tampered with without prior authorisation. As you have now been officially warned about this behaviour, please be aware that a reoccurrence will carry a substantial fine, and the possibility of a custodial sentence."
Severus does not dignify the speech with a response, so Crouch waves his wand, the disarray in the flat righting itself. The broken shards of glass on the floor reassemble into full bottles, and torn pages fly back into their books, which - in turn - set themselves squarely on the shelves.
"Thank you for your co-operation this evening," Crouch says, curtly.
"Who was it?"
"Lil!" Severus hisses from the corner of his mouth.
"No, Severus. I think we have a right to know," she says, her chin jutting out proudly.
"Regrettably, Evans," Moody quickly answers, before Crouch opens his mouth, "you don't have all that many rights these days."
She winces, and Moody – for his part – seems somewhat ashamed at voicing such a statement, but she isn't prepared to let the point drop. "And if Severus was asking?"
Crouch sounds almost bored when he intervenes. "The Department is not at liberty to reveal its sources."
"What she means to ask, sir," Severus says, keeping his gaze down and his voice deferential, "is in light of no evident wrongdoing, would it be possible for you to assure us that the query was genuine? Or are we to believe…" He trails off, as if suddenly unsure.
Moody scowls. "You've started now. Spit it out."
Severus draws a shuddering breath, and speaks hurriedly. "Are we to believe that we have been targeted due to my girlfriend's blood status?"
At this, Crouch stands over him, his moustache quivering. "My Department, boy, does not indulge itself in such petty discrimination. You, son, were targeted because you are a disgraced brewer. Oh yes," and he gives a nasty smile. "Are you aware that your little incident with Mr Borage made international headlines?"
An ugly flush rises from Severus' collar, stretching up his neck, but he does not answer.
"And as a consequence, it was not such a stretch to imagine that you in particular would choose to deliberately circumvent the laws of our community. You have a reputation, boy, for making poor choices," and then he glances at Lily – and the slight is not missed by her or Severus, but before either can protest, Crouch continues. "The intelligence we acted upon was from a reputable and reliable source, and given your present circumstances, entirely believable. It is your good fortune that we have not found anything damning within these walls."
To Lily's amazement, Severus doesn't quaver under Crouch's hateful speech. "It is not my good fortune," he spits, defiantly, "that you did not find anything. Your no doubt excellent team of accomplished and talented aurors did not find anything within these walls, for there is nothing illegal to find."
Behind Crouch, Moody looks amused, but he does not speak.
"Be warned, boy," Crouch says, pointing his finger at Severus. "I will be keeping a very close eye on you. A very close eye indeed."
Chapter 11: A pretty girl like you
Chapter Text
He stands at the window, the curtain held back in one hand, and watches as Crouch and Moody disappear into the night. Once he's certain they've gone, he moves to the door and rattles the handle, checking that it's secure.
"Sev?"
"I need a shower," he says, briskly, and then silently places his forefinger on his lips. She glances around the room, suddenly cautious, and then he holds his hand out in invitation. This time, when he speaks, there's a playful edge to his voice. "Why don't you join me, hey?"
He pulls her towards the bathroom, shuts the door, and puts the lid down on the toilet. He points for her to sit, and then snaps the shower on, turning the heat up as far as it will go. He kneels before her, taking her face in his hands, and kisses her softly – her cheeks, her eyelids, the patch of sensitive skin just before her ear.
"Sev," she mumbles – and then he captures her lips.
"Shhhh." He deepens the kiss, rising up on his knees, and threading his fingers through her hair. Her fingers trace the red marks she left on his jaw, and he pulls away, twisting his neck until he's grazing kisses over the fingers that scratched him.
Then he breaks away from her touch completely, and undoes the top few buttons of his shirt, followed by his cuffs, and then slides the garment over his head just like a jumper. He stands, quickly unbuttoning his trousers, and he steps out of them as he reaches for her, helping her to stand and undress in the same efficient manner – and then they're both in the shower, limbs entangled, and the back of her head is pressed against the cool tile.
"It's too hot," she gasps, as the scalding water torrents down onto them, and his hand reaches up and twists the dial.
"Sorry, sorry," he says, moving her so he's stood between her and the showerhead, his body shielding her from the worst of the hot water, and then he grips her wrist to gain her attention. His other hand is back at his mouth again, that same finger on his lips, imploring her silence. The shower screen has misted, and he carefully traces a word in the condensation:
bugged
She freezes.
He kisses her neck, tracing his way up to her ear. "Okay?" comes his careful whisper, and she can feel the vibrations of his murmur in the shell of her ear.
She nods, and then her finger – quaking slightly – touches the glass. She draws swiftly, and it's the perfect symbol of an eye.
He shakes his head, and crosses it out, and then he attempts to draw an ear. He grimaces at his effort, and rubs it away with his hand, and then he draws a pair of lips with a large X next to it.
She writes:
in here?
He shrugs, and she tries again:
living room?
He nods this time.
other rooms?
At this, he looks pained. She understands his hesitance - she doesn't want to think about the whole flat being bugged either. The living room is bad enough, but their bedroom?
how sure?
He waits a long moment, as if he's mulling it over, before finally writing a response:
90%
They're running out of room on the glass, but she's got nearly all of the information she needs. Apart from one thing:
so what do we do?
He writes just one word:
love
Then he wipes the whole screen clear with his forearm, and she doesn't understand what he means. But he wraps himself around her, and kisses her with a fervency she hasn't felt from him in weeks, and as the water pounds down on them from above, she matches his passion with her own.
She finds herself watching him sleep, his legs twisted awkwardly around more than his fair share of the duvet. She can't sleep – not after the day she's had, and the more she thinks about the last few hours, the more embarrassed she becomes. Not merely embarrassed – horrified, frankly – at the thought of those aurors listening in as Severus gently laid her down on their bed and…
It makes her breath catch in her chest to even consider it.
She falls asleep at some point, because she's rudely awakened by the sharp whistle of the kettle, and the even sharper whistle of her boyfriend, and the frying pan banging against the stove. She pulls her dressing gown off the back of the door, and wanders through the flat to find him standing in front of the cooker.
"Frying again?"
"Guilty as charged," he grins, basting the eggs with a spoon, and pointing to the worktop behind him. "Coffee's ready."
She grabs her mug, and inhales the bitter aroma, settling herself at the table. He practically drops a plate in front of her, clatters her cutlery unceremoniously to the side, and before he's fully seated, he starts to shovel his own food into his mouth.
"Honestly, you'll choke one of these days."
"I'm absolutely famished," he says, between mouthfuls – and she can practically hear the laughter in the auror office at his words. "And Jigger wants me in before nine, remember? Need to preserve the grape larva before they start to hatch."
"Sounds delightful," she says, pushing her plate away, and her stomach turning.
"Don't want it?"
She shakes her head, and he picks her plate up, scraping the contents loudly onto his own and shovelling the food into his mouth. "Sev, you're so noisy. It's early."
"It's practically midday."
"It's half eight."
He grins, and wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist, collecting both of their plates and depositing them loudly in the sink. "Meet me in the Broomsticks at six," he says. "There's a few things I want to discuss." And he kisses her – tasting faintly of fried egg and toothpaste – and he's gone.
When she enters the bustling pub, she spots him straight away – leaning on a broom and chatting to Rosmerta. There's a cloth over his shoulder, which she's certain can't be hygienic, and then Rosmerta taps his face with affection, causing him to recoil with a slight grimace. Rosmerta laughs, and then points to a dirty table, and he gives her a mock salute – that mischievous smirk that she loves so much plastered over his face, and she's slightly jealous that he's sharing it with another woman.
He's clearing the table when she walks over. "Just a minute," he says, not glancing up, "I need to wipe it down."
"Sev?"
He looks up through his curtain of hair, and beams at the sight of her. He dances around the table and quickly pulls out a chair for her to sit on. "Hello hello. Something non-alcoholic, love?" He looks a little regretful. "I'm on shift, see?"
She nods and sits, and she watches him stride to the bar. He mutters something to Rosmerta, and then he's back, a glass in each hand. He sets them on the table, grabs the seat next to her, and covers her hands with his own before leaning across and kissing her. As he pulls out of the kiss, she hears him faintly murmur, "Remember last night," and then he settles down across from her.
"How was work?"
"Same old, same old," he says, stretching his legs out and yawning. "Bloody knackered though." He shows her his hands, peppered liberally with thin cuts. "Kept missing when I was slicing the flobberworms this afternoon."
"Sev, you need to be more careful."
"Yeah, well, I learnt my lesson when I was tasked with cutting the lemons for the bar tonight-"
"Ouch," she says, wincing in sympathy, sucking air in through her teeth.
He nods. "Yeah, that was pretty much my expression." He sips his drink. "How was your day?"
"Dull," she says, his warning about the previous night ringing in her ears. She has so much that she wants to say to him, and she thought this was going to be their opportunity, but he's as cautious and as skittish here as he was at home.
"Yeah?"
"I did a bit of cleaning, and some washing - which reminds me, you really need some new socks." As she's speaking, she can see his gaze darting around the room, appraising every witch and wizard sat within earshot of them. "We could go to Diagon Alley this weekend, and get some new ones? And you need a new set of brewing robes as well, because whatever caused that hole in the sleeve, it just won't mend. I've used four different types of stitch on it already."
He gives the slightest of nods. "Yeah, whatever you want. Sounds like a boring day, love, but at least you didn't slice your fingers open." He takes another long sip of his drink. "It was a Snargaluff vine that put paid to my robes. I hadn't properly put into stasis before I sliced into it," he explains. "Sheeeeeeesh," he says, miming it tearing through his sleeve. "You should've seen my robes before I brought them home – the whole arm was shredded."
"What did I just tell you about being more careful?" She shoots him a serious look. "You need to take care of yourself."
"Especially now, hey?" he says, wrapping his hands around hers, and staring at her. That glint is back, and he squeezes her fingers, but she can't work out where he's going with this. "I know it might have happened, love, and it's okay."
She has absolutely no idea what he's talking about, but she can sense the wizard on the next table shifting slightly in his chair. Is he an auror? She forces her voice to be steady. "You know what might happen?"
"Tell me you did the test?" He gives her a cautious smile – a slightly cocky smirk, and slides his hair behind his ear. She doesn't answer – she can't, but he carries on irrespective. "I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions, it's just after you were sick the other day, and then this morning you didn't want to eat, and…" He trails off, as if unsure of himself. "Look, Lil, it doesn't matter if it's a false alarm, but I just wanted you to know that I'm not going anywhere."
"This…this is what you wanted to discuss?"
He leans over the table and kisses her, and she's not quite sure how to respond, and then she feels his fingers reaching for hers and he squeezes them so tightly, she gasps into his mouth. He rests his forehead against her own, his eyes searching hers. "We can do the test when I get home."
And then he's up, and his drink has gone, and he's back behind the bar. As she stands to leave, she notices that the wizards on the table next to her have disappeared as well.
She skips one Order meeting, but plucks up the courage to go to the next. Moody waves her in, but she takes the empty seat next to Potter instead. The meeting is long – nearly two hours – and although several witches and wizards quickly make their excuses at the end, the duration wasn't enough to dissuade Moody from approaching her at the end of the night.
"Move," he says, but Potter just tilts his head at the older wizard.
"'Move, please' is the phrase, Moody," he corrects, laughing, and then laughs even more loudly as Moody tries to tip him out of the chair. Potter falls to the floor, and then brushes his robes down, and shuffles himself next to Lily's feet. "Floor's quite comfy, actually. Think I might stay."
"Get lost, Potter," Moody says. "I want to talk to Evans."
"Yeah, but does Evans want to talk to you?"
"Potter's fine where he is, Moody," she says, intervening between the two wizards. "If he's got nothing better to do-"
"-I haven't," he quickly quips.
"Up to you, Evans," Moody says, settling in his seat. "Your boyfriend's a clever lad, isn't he?"
She doesn't answer – doesn't trust herself to speak, especially not with Potter staring up at her from the floor.
Moody isn't deterred by her silence. "A right randy little bugger, mind," he says, giving a sickening smile when she blushes, "but a clever lad all the same."
"Is that your assessment, Moody, or the auror office's assessment?"
"Mine." Moody fixes her with a curious look. "The official auror office assessment is that you're two lustful, licentious youths who can't keep their hands off each other for long enough to vacuum the living room, let alone have the time to brew an array of illicit potions."
She makes the mistake of glancing down, and catches Potter's shocked expression, and Lily can feel her flush growing brighter.
"Did he have to screw you bent over the back of the sofa to prove his point? Take you pressed up against the fridge - it was the fridge, wasn't it? - and fuck you hard on the living room floor? Tell me, how did that disgusting, dirty boy convince a pretty girl like you that your cover story was so necessary, you simply had to kneel before him-"
She lifts her head in a spark of anger, determined not to let his crude phrasing bother her. "So you're telling me that you've been spying on us? What we do in the privacy of our own flat?"
Moody's temper flares, and he roughly grabs her wrist, twisting it painfully in his hand. "You already know," he hisses. "As does your nasty little boyfriend, and that's why you've both been putting on such a show this past fortnight. Did it turn you on, Evans, knowing you had an audience?"
"That's enough," Potter says loudly, standing up and wrenching Lily's hand out of Moody's grasp. "Whatever you think she's done, or more likely, Snape's done, this…this crosses a line."
At Potter's intervention, he's suddenly flanked – Black and Pettigrew on one side, and Lupin on the other. She can feel her heart beating in her ears, and the shame of the situation is enough to make her want to turn and run – the last thing she wants is to be saved by this gang of boys, who'll laugh and mock her behaviour, and then she's pulled out of her thoughts by the vision of Albus Dumbledore striding towards them.
"What's going on over here? James? Alastor?"
Moody stands, and sniffs. "Nothing, Albus." And then he stoops before her, his eyes dead level with her own. "But I should say congratulations, should I not? Inevitable that he'd knock you up with his bastard child, the way he uses you like a common whore for his sexual gratification all day long."
Her eyes are so full of tears, she doesn't see Potter swing for the older man, or see Black diving in after him – all she can hear are the shouts, and the yells, and the sudden unexpected swirl of side-along, and before she can catch her breath, she finds herself in a quiet room with just Amelia Bones for company.
Chapter 12: Beg me for it
Chapter Text
Amelia digs through the filing cabinet by hand, her back to Lily. Eventually, she pulls out a file from the top drawer and slams the drawer shut, before opening the bottom drawer and pulling out a bottle of firewhisky and two glasses.
"It's a privilege," she confides as she pushes the drawer closed with her foot and turns to face Lily, a cheeky smile on her face. "The higher up you go in the Ministry, the more they turn a blind-eye to such indiscretions." She places the bottle and the two glasses on the table, takes her seat opposite Lily, and lifts her monocle into position. She blinks, and squints, and she peers at the closed file before her. "Now then," she says, keenly. "Evans!"
"…where are we?"
"Of course," Amelia says, without looking up, "how frightfully rude of me. We are in the Auror Office at the Ministry."
Lily immediately freezes. "I don't want to be here. I want to go. Now."
Amelia looks up and smiles – it's sympathetic, and seems genuine. "You're not in any trouble, Lily."
But the feeling of revulsion is crawling over her – she's in the same part of the Ministry as the people who have spent the best part of three weeks spying on her and Severus, listening to their most intimate moments – and her heart is banging in her chest. "I'm sorry, but if I'm not under arrest, I want to leave."
"I don't want to arrest you," says Amelia, dismissively.
"…but you will if I don't co-operate?"
Amelia smiles again, and this time, the smile feels a little less sympathetic. "I'm pleased that we understand each other." She turns her attention back to the file before her, and starts to read. "Now, first of all, I should apologise for Alastor's behaviour this evening. It was crass, and uncalled for, and not how this department operates."
"It is acceptable to invade people's privacy as long as you don't discuss it in public?"
Amelia laughs. "My, you are a one, aren't you? No wonder Alastor has been so very disappointed with the way things have turned out." She flicks over a page in the file, and gives a huff of delight. "And these results! Yes, you were destined for wonderful career." She peers at Lily. "It's so unfortunate with girls your age, and we see it such a lot. You take up with a boy who cares less for your career than his own-"
"No," interrupts Lily, harshly, not wanting to hear this woman's unfair assumption of her relationship. "Severus didn't make me leave the Ministry."
"No?"
"The Decree for Unauthorised Magic saw to that."
Amelia winces. "Yes, nasty business that law, but easily circumvented with the appropriate sponsor papers…" She pulls up short, and stares at Lily in horror. "I do take it you had the appropriate sponsor papers?" Lily stays silent, and Amelia quickly flips the next few pages of the file over as if hunting for the missing documents. "Good grief. So if you've been unable to work, what have you been doing with yourself?"
"My boyfriend supports me." She gives a thin smile. "Sorry, I took up with a boy who couldn't care less about my career. We have a transactional relationship, you see. He feeds me, clothes me, keeps a roof over my head and so on, and I repay him with sexual favours. As you'll have heard, it's quite a demanding position."
Amelia sighs loudly, and then pours a hefty slug of firewhisky into each of the glasses on the desk. "Lily, dear, I think if this meeting between us is to be productive, we must start over." She holds her hand out. "As equals. As members of Albus' Order. What do you say?"
"I want those listening devices destroyed," she says, firmly. "And then we'll shake hands."
"Here at last," drawls Lucius, not turning around from his position on the balcony. The fresh evening air rushes in through the open double doors, and Malfoy's blond hair is gleaming under the stars, almost like a precious metal.
"I came as soon as I could," he says. "Did you require something from me?"
"Stand with me, Severus," he says, beckoning him over. "Enjoy the view over my grounds."
Severus steps through the doors and onto the balcony, taking a space to the right hand side of Lucius. With an almost lazy flick of his hand, Lucius calls, "Nox!" and the lights in the study immediately darken. Severus blinks, his eyes taking a moment to adjust from the harsh glow from inside the manor to the relative darkness of nature. "Give it a moment," Lucius says, and as usual, he's right. Within a few minutes, his eyes have adjusted to the lower light, and Severus can pick out the highlights that surround them – the stars, the glint of the pond, the eyes of a woodland creature. "Beautiful, wouldn't you say?"
"I guess so, Malf."
"Thank you for your owl."
"I thought perhaps you hadn't received it safely," he says, cautiously. "As you weren't in touch after."
Lucius gives him a wide smile. "I rather thought you required some time and space to recover from your little auror adventure. Tell me, have they left you alone of late, or is it possible that you have been followed tonight?"
"It's possible," he says, a little more quietly. "It's quite challenging working out who might be an auror, and who might just be looking for some gossip."
"Indeed. These are difficult times in which we live." Lucius takes a deep breath. "It is why I like to stand here at nights, and just breathe. To appreciate what surrounds us." He turns, and gives a wry smile. "Whereas I feel that you visit me, Severus, not to appreciate the wonders of nature, but to indulge your palate with the varieties of firewhisky not easily afforded on an apprentice's wage?"
"Malf, I-"
And then the older man laughs – a deep, booming, full laugh, and he claps his hand on Severus' shoulder. "I jest, Severus, I jest. And now that we have appreciated the great outdoors, shall we head back inside, for I have things I wish to discuss with you, and as you say-" and he casts a dramatic glance both left and right, "-you can never quite be sure who is listening?"
Her legs feel weak as they stand in the lift, descending deeply into the bowels of the Ministry. When they reach their destination, Amelia casts a Disillusionment Charm over Lily. She gasps as the spell takes effect, as it feels like cool running water spreading down over her body.
"Yes, it's a rather unusual feeling, isn't it? Put your arm out," she instructs, and Lily does as she says. Amelia smiles, as Lily marvels at how seamlessly she's blending in with the surroundings. "Impressive, yes?"
"I've never seen one cast this perfectly."
"I am an auror, and we do have some talents. Now, keep close to the wall, and move smoothly," she warns. "It's not infallible, not by a long stretch, and aurors are far more suspicious than most witches and wizards. Of course, your greatest strength is being with me – that and the fact that most of our top aurors have already headed for home for the evening."
Together, they step out into the corridor, and Amelia strides purposefully through the department. She's right – it's sparsely populated compared to the number of desks and chairs available, and there's merely a handful of tired looking aurors nursing mugs of coffee and dunking biscuits whilst staring forlornly at stacks of paperwork.
"Madam Bones," greets one.
"Percival," she replies, not breaking her stride. "Your casefile on the Hopkirk fight was impressive. Do keep it up."
"Yes, Madam Bones," he calls, a little brighter in tone – but if he says anything else, Lily doesn't hear it, as the two witches quickly round the corner. Eventually, they reach a solid wooden door without a handle, and without hesitation, Amelia places her hand in the centre. The door flashes, and swings open, and she ushers Lily in alongside her.
"This is the evidence locker," she murmurs, and Lily's eyes widen as the lights spring on to reveal a gigantic warehouse – easily the size of at least fifty Olympic swimming pools.
"Evidence locker?"
"Yes," Amelia replies, her amusement clear in her voice. "The name doesn't quite do it justice. Now, stay with me." She leads Lily down several aisles, left and forward, and left again, and three rows forward, and eventually – when Lily is quite sure that she'd have no fortune finding the exit if she was left here alone – she reaches the row she's hunting for, and summons a box into her hands.
"The bugs are in a box in a warehouse?" she asks, dubiously.
"Yes," Amelia responds, as she briskly stalks off, and Lily has to jog to catch up. "We use magic, you see."
"Right," Lily says, trying not to roll her eyes. "How silly of me."
"The contents are transferred to record automatically every 4 hours, ready for the aurors on research duty to review." She gives Lily a regretful look. "Existing records are already labelled and filed, I'm afraid. Once catalogued, they're a nightmare to retrieve. Paperwork like you wouldn't believe." She shakes the box. "But at least our intervention tonight will cease future recordings."
"And these bugs won't be missed?"
Amelia gives a twinkling laugh which is completely at odds with her stern demeanour. "Missed? Of course these will be missed." She pauses, deliberating. "Lily, you and your – how does Alastor put it? Ah yes – your reprehensible boyfriend and his sordid deviancy – I think that was his last assessment of the situation, although I have heard him say worse…" She gives Lily a wicked smile. "Oh, you did both upset him so. Much to the amusement of several of our colleagues. He does rather go on, you see, does Alastor."
"Several colleagues?"
"Yes, several. Unfortunately, Lily, good ruses – and this, if I may say so, was a spectacular one – often have unintended consequences. Now," she says, as they prepared to walk back through the main offices, "keep close to me, and for Merlin's sake, keep quiet."
Lucius stokes the fire, and then sits back in his ostentatious leather armchair. Severus is rather more awkward in his, the increasing warmth from the fire making it a little too warm to sit in comfortably.
Is this what hell feels like? he wonders, as he watches the shadows flicker over Lucius' face.
"To our continued fortune," Lucius says, lifting his glass in a toast.
"Our continued fortune," echoes Severus, copying the action and then taking a sip from his glass. The gifted alcohol is truly glorious – floral and caramel and salt and earth; Lucius wasn't wrong when he identified that his personal firewhisky collection was Severus' favourite aspect of visiting the manor.
"Now, Severus, I wanted to tell you how pleased I was that you followed my previous instructions to the letter." He appraises the younger man over his glass. "And you went above and beyond! Removing four of your cauldrons was a particularly wonderful touch."
Severus pauses, his hand frozen in mid-air. "Sorry, Malf, I didn't quite catch what you-"
"You heard me," he says, more coldly. "I said that removing the cauldrons from your flat was inspired. And was it not beautifully fortunate, given the auror visit just a few short hours after your letter reached my hands? Crouch was incredibly unhappy that the contents of your flat meant that you fell into the realm of plausible apprentice rather than suspicious brewer." His crocodile smile grew once more. "Although we both know that had you not followed my requests to the letter, the evidence around you would've condemned you as an unequivocal criminal."
Severus' mind races with the information that Lucius is providing. Did he call the aurors to verify I'd complied fully with his request? He feels sick – was that my punishment? – and there's a tingling in his wrists – don't think about Arisean, don't think about Arisean. Instead, he forces himself to smile casually, to sip gracefully from his glass, and to present a composed front. "The aurors gave you a report, did they?" he asks, feigning nonchalance.
"Of a kind." Lucius sniffs. "It's an incredibly leaky place, the auror office, if you know where to stand to catch the drips." There's a long pause, as if he's deciding something, and then – decision apparently made – he abruptly stands. "In fact," he says, "I wanted to congratulate you on this."
Severus resists the urge to twist in his seat to peer at whatever Lucius is digging out of his desk. The sickening feeling building in the base of his stomach won't abate, but he tries not to think about it. After all, it's not just tonight – it's been building for weeks now. It's been weeks since he was last able to speak freely to Lily, weeks of fearing being followed, and weeks since he could relax in his own home.
There's a sudden hiss of static across the room, and then a recorded voice begins to speak.
"Which do you prefer? Top lip or bottom?"
"I can't see a difference."
His head jerks – the voices are familiar, but a little soft and a tad grainy, and try as he might, he can't quite place them.
"Can't hear?" calls Lucius. "Not clear enough? Here, let me turn it up."
"You can't see a difference? One shade of lipstick is bright red, and the other's sort of nude."
"Nude? Now we're talking."
"Sev, be serious."
Upon hearing his name, it falls into place, and he jumps out of his seat. "Malf?" His firewhisky spills on his robes as he darts across the room. "Malf, turn it off. Malf!"
"Then come closer, love. Let me look at your pretty mouth. And what colour is on this lip?"
"Cherry Bomb."
"Mmm?"
"Don't! You're smudging it."
"Malf, seriously, plea-"
"Severus, hush now, you're going to miss all of the best parts." Lucius smirks at him, watching Severus' aghast look as the record spins on the gramophone.
"Malfoy, don't do this-"
"Don't do what?" he says, feigning innocence. "Ah! You want me to stop it?"
"Yes."
Lucius offers a laugh of pure pleasure in response. "Really, Severus. You think that if I lift the needle, it's going to be all over? That I can unhear what I've already listened to oh, at least twenty times?"
"And this one? On your bottom lip? What's this?"
"It's called Sweet Nectar. Severus, stop, you're smearing it-"
"-looks better now. I like it more like this. It reminds me of after-"
"I was asking you a genuine question."
Severus stands stiffly, his feet fixed to the spot. All he can do is stare at the record spinning endlessly, round and round and round, and listen as the speaker booms the obscene words – his obscene words – around the room. He grips the back of the chair, steadying himself, and Lucius grins wickedly at the sight of his severe discomfort.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I am taking you seriously."
"Good."
"But to be scientific about it-"
"You don't need to be that serious. It's just lipstick."
"No, no, we do need to test how they'll hold up to the rigours of the day-"
"Listen now, listen carefully! This, Severus, this is my very favourite part," Lucius says, leaning forward to turn the volume up.
"-so before I'll let you wrap those pretty painted lips-"
"Fuck's sake, Lucius! Turn it off!"
"-you need to beg me for it. Beg me to slide my cock betwe-"
He can't take anymore. Before he can think his actions through, Severus yanks the arm from the record, and a screeching howl rips through the speaker as the needle scrapes across the surface of the black disc. He stares at the still spinning record in horror, his chest heaving and his arms trembling.
"You listened to rather more than I thought you would," Lucius chuckles. "Not as much as I did this afternoon, mind. Do thank your good lady for her excellent performance, for I had the most-"
"Where did you even get that?"
Lucius stops the player, and lifts the record, sliding it back into a paper covering and placing it carefully into his desk. "I knew that like any Slytherin worth his salt, you would be concerned following the auror visit," he says, smoothly. "We both know they have a nasty reputation for bugging the homes of suspected criminals, so I thought I would investigate for you. Help you to allay your fears." His lips quirk into a grin. "I suppose we could say that this was an unexpected fringe benefit." He peers at Severus, who is fully trembling with barely suppressed rage. "I really didn't take you for the vocal sort. Or the Mudblood for that matter – what an utterly filthy mouth she has. Still, it's always the shy ones-"
"I want that record."
"Really? Unfortunately, Severus, it has become a firm favourite in this study in a very short space of time. I can see it being played-"
"I'm not messing around, Malfoy." Severus swallows tightly. "I respect you, and I appreciate everything you've done for me, but that's…different. It's personal."
"Personal? Really? You know, I hear you're quite the talk of the auror department," Lucius says, moving behind his desk, and then yanking the drawer back open. He lifts out the record, spinning it over between his hands. "I really was most impressed. They were hoping for something – anything – on you. A lead. A hint. A clue. A whisper of your associates, or your business dealings. And instead, you gave them eighteen days of wall-to-wall hardcore audio pornography. Better than anything you can get in Knockturn, I dare say. There's a certain je ne sais quoi," he smirks, "when the participants aren't paid or performing to a script." With that, he stalks around the desk, and presses the record into Severus' hands. "Take it. You've earned it."
The words almost stick in his throat, but he daren't fall out of the older man's favour until he's left with the record safely in his possession. "Thank you, Malf. I appreciate it."
"Think nothing of it," he says, dismissively. "Thank you for your quick thinking." He picks up his firewhisky and drains the glass. "I know you're embarrassed now, but this entire act – from start to finish – was inspired. Keeping the ruse going for so long has silenced even your most ardent critics. I am impressed." He smiles. "You'll be pleased to hear that thanks to your performances, the aurors have little justification in continuing their surveillance of your property. I believe the bugs will be removed shortly. Continue your behaviour – for any deviation at this late hour will arouse suspicion – and I shall inform you when normal brewing service can resume."
"Yes, Malf." He glances at the grandfather clock in the corner. "It's late. I should probably be getting back."
"Yes, yes, go," Lucius says, waving his hand and sounding bored. As Severus nears the door, Lucius speaks up once more. "Oh, and Severus?"
Severus pauses, his hand gripping the handle, and calls over his shoulder. "Yes, Malf?"
"I won't charge you for the recording, but you do owe me a new needle."
Chapter 13: A mutually beneficial relationship
Chapter Text
She stares at the small grey devices, astonished that such insignificant looking items were responsible for wreaking such harm across her relationship.
"Impressive, aren't they?"
"It's not quite what I was thinking," she admits, prodding one with the tip of her wand. "So, how do they work?"
"These are the receivers," Amelia explains. "The transmitters are identical in both shape and size, and are located in your flat. When not in use, the two parts snap together," and she picks one up, indicating to a groove. "The ones in your flat have the matching tongue. Only the correct two halves will connect together." She smiles. "Saves mishaps."
Lily turns one of the tiny grey devices over in her hand. It's quite small, but not impossible to see, and she racks her brains to try and work out where they might have been placed. "And where are they? In the flat, I mean."
"I can't tell you," Amelia says.
"Because the next time you spy on us, we'll know where to look?" When Amelia doesn't answer, Lily looks irritated. "Hardly the basis for a positive working relationship going forward," she presses.
"At the moment," Amelia warns, "we have no working relationship. We have no handshake."
"The devices haven't been destroyed," Lily immediately throws back. "All this proves is that they exist, and as Alastor was at such pains to point out, we'd guessed that already."
"How?" Amelia stares at her evenly, and then sighs. "I think I've shown a significant amount of trust towards you tonight, Lily. I don't think it's unreasonable to expect a little in return."
Lily shakes her head. "It's not that I won't tell you," she admits, "it's that I don't know. Severus was convinced, and I-"
"Did exactly what he told you?"
"I trusted him," she says, angrily. "I know you all don't think much of him, but believe me, I've heard it all before - off people I admire far more than you."
Amelia gives her a searching look. "And yet not one of these people you admire far more than me has convinced you that you might be mistaken in your faith?"
"I don't know you, and you certainly don't know him." Lily leans across the desk, a real steel in her eyes. "Do you want me to be frank?"
"I prefer it." She meets Lily's gaze. "There is no point dancing around a topic. We are off the record after all."
"My boyfriend would be better off without me."
Amelia scoffs. "I find that hard to believe. Going by this," and she taps the file, "you're exceptionally talented, and I can see for myself that you're intelligent. Your dedication to your boyfriend proves how loyal you are. You're magically adept, you're sensible, you're attractive, an-"
"And it counts for nothing in this world!" she practically yells. "My blood is what I am judged on, and thanks to me, his status is constantly questioned. His mentors pity him-"
"-then they're not worth-"
"Of course they are!" Lily glares at her. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't patronise me. I would've assumed an Order member would be more understanding about the realities of being outcast the way that I am."
Amelia looks a little wounded. "Some of the discrimination that you've been facing - we can look into it, get you a sponsor-"
"It's not just me. What about the other Muggleborns who haven't got such an offer? The Ministry knows that I lost my apprenticeship months ago, and that I haven't worked since, because they were the ones that fired me! Aberforth wouldn't even risk hiring me to wash glasses, not least because of the scandal surrounding my departure, and with the Ministry's latest set of wonderful laws, I can't even go to the shops! And Severus' reaction to all of this? He tells me it doesn't matter. That he loves me, and that's all that counts. Some days," and now she's speaking so quickly, so furiously, small flecks of spittle are shooting from her lips, "he's out of the flat for fourteen hours, working every minute he can spare, all so he can afford for us to live together, despite me bringing nothing in. So to answer your question, no, not one of those people has ever managed to convince me! With every day that I spend with him, the more convinced I am that he - and he alone - has my very best interests at heart."
Amelia gives her a curious look. "...and tell me, Lily, what does your supportive partner think of you being a member of the Order?"
It's funny, really, how the smallest of incidents are the ones that end up sticking in your memory whilst grand moments – the moments you spend days and weeks and months building up to – completely fade away. She'd expected to forget some things. It's not really a surprise that she can't remember much about Herbology classes, or even the full name of the teacher she had for Defence Against the Dark Arts in the second year, but it's disconcerting to realise that she can't remember her seventh birthday party, or the detail of their three week family holiday in the Alps, or what her parents bought her for Christmas when she was fourteen.
But she has lost count of how many times she's recalled a trifling argument that she had with Petunia as a teenager. In itself, it was hardly surprising, as barely a week went by without one of the Evans sisters screaming at the other. Yet, of all of the thousands of arguments she had with her older sister, the Night of the Black Dress – as Lily herself has now dubbed it – was small and relatively insignificant, but it's the one that she'll never forget.
It wasn't even an argument, really – certainly not a screaming fit, or a shouting match, or the type of disagreement that caused her father to intervene whilst her mother hurriedly closed the windows, and quickly slid a classical record on to mask the sounds of her squabbling teenage daughters. Instead, it was Petunia's speciality – the beautifully timed and perfectly executed snide remark, so easily excused as misconstrued critique.
No, Mummy, Petunia would say, I wasn't being mean – I was trying to help!
She wasn't, of course. And Lily can still envisage it now – the three of them stood there, staring at her favourite black dress, each considering Petunia's scathing words – It's hardly black, is it? If anything, it's a faded, washed-out, dingy grey, and I don't know why you would even think of wearing it! – whilst she stamped off to gather evidence to prove her point. When Petunia swanned back into the room holding her brand new black blouse and held it up to compare to Lily's old dress, proving her point that the dress was no longer the deep shade of black that it had been, their mother had been forced to agree with Petunia – albeit with a hint of reluctance.
At least Daddy had bought her a new dress. But that wasn't the part that Lily remembered. What Lily learnt from the debacle was that everyone saw things very differently, especially when they were seeing something for the first time. Mummy had agreed, and had patiently – between wiping away Lily's gulping sobs and holding her shaking shoulders – explained how she never saw the line of dust on the top of the picture frames in the hallway, but Grandma Evans always pointed it out when she visited.
I have to take a step back, her mother had said, and pretend as if I'm seeing the room for the first time. That's when I suddenly see what needs cleaning, or vacuuming, or mending, or painting. We all just walk past it otherwise, because we're used to it. It's not out of the ordinary.
It's this memory that springs to mind when Lily opens the front door to their flat and sees Severus curled up on the sofa. If she didn't know better, she'd have assumed he was naked – his black shorts only becoming apparent when he shifts position, straining to see who is standing behind his girlfriend.
"I thought you were chucking those awful shorts out," she says, trying not to flush with embarrassment at his state of disarray. She glances back at Amelia, and although Amelia's expression isn't betraying her thoughts, Lily has noted her disapproval – she can feel how the older woman has stiffened in stature at the sight of Lily's boyfriend – and at this very moment, she doesn't see her loving boyfriend. Instead, she suddenly sees exactly what Amelia sees.
The Severus sitting before them isn't impressive at all. He's not the silky voice that the aurors have been listening to, his sultry tones encouraging her into debauchery. He's not the devious and dastardly potions brewer, who has been giving the aurors the runaround whilst he peddles his wares to the unsuspecting magical masses. He's not the brilliant mind or the astute thinker who knew exactly how to pull the wool over everyone's eyes.
No. He's just a boy. And not a particularly attractive one at that. In the position he's in, all crunched up on the sofa, all she can see are severe angles; porcelain white skin marred with uneven streaks of black body hair, and his pointed joints highlighted by bright red staining – knees and ankles, elbows and knuckles, and the prominent bridge of his nose.
"Da give ‘em me for Christmas," he says, eventually, his accent thicker than ever. It always is when he's blind drunk. It's then that she spies the firewhisky bottle on the mantel, its contents dwindled to below the bottom of the label. He must've drunk half of it at least, if not three-quarters. He sucks in a breath, and then points his almost empty glass towards Amelia. "Friend or foe?" Then he gives a strained, horrible laugh and before anyone can answer, he answers his own question in a loud declaration. "Foe!"
"Severus-"
"Foe!" he says, decisively, his tone brooking no challenge. "Foe. She's a foe." He stands, almost stumbling, and slams the glass on the mantel. "I know she's a foe coz we ain't got any friends left, love."
Lily watches as the older woman connects the two halves of each device together, and then she casts. The tiny grey devices smoulder, burn black and finally thump onto the table.
"May I?" she asks, and when Amelia nods, Lily picks one up. It's warm to the touch, and smells faintly of burning - like a bonfire on November fifth - with a tinge of sulphur. She shakes it, and as if in protest, it crumbles into a fine powder. "Oh!"
"It's okay," Amelia reassures her, waving her hand over the rest, causing them to disintegrate in a similar fashion. "It happens when they're decommissioned." She produces a small container from her robes, and sweeps the remains of the devices into it, waving away Lily's confused look. "Decommissioned or not, they have to be accounted for. If they're not logged and filed, the assumption will be that you found them and disposed of them yourself, and then replacements will be automatically requested."
The two exchange a look, and Lily knows that this woman has the measure of both her and Severus; knows that the pair of them have spent weeks silently searching the flat, their fingers sliding along every surface, and poking into every nook and cranny. Despite their efforts, the search had been fruitless. Lily had assumed that there was some variety of cloaking spell or invisibility charm cast upon them, and neither she nor Severus had dared experiment with any spells to reveal them, lest the wrong spell arouse unwanted attention from the aurors.
Now that they've been removed, she can't help but gaze around the flat, wondering where the hateful listening devices had been secreted for all of these weeks.
"I'm sorry," Amelia says. Her interruption comes so suddenly, it's as if she's reading Lily's mind. "I can't tell you where they were placed. Our deal was that I would remove them."
"Just…" Lily looks sickened, "…please tell me they weren't in the bathroom?"
"We do have standards." Amelia gives her a sympathetic look. "Well, we do at this early stage of an investigation, put it that way. Next time, perhaps…"
Lily doesn't want to think about next time. "And that's it now?" she asks. "That's the case closed? Because…"
"Because?"
"It wasn't just the devices, was it? We were followed."
Amelia nods. "And are you?" At Lily's confused look, she continues. "I assume you are aware that there was an occasion when the aurors followed you, due to Alastor's mention of your supposed pregnancy? So, are you? Pregnant?"
Lily shakes her head. She wasn't. There was never any chance of it – she takes both Muggle oral contraception and a potion that Severus brews religiously for her. His bizarre choice of conversation that night, she had later realised, was yet another ruse. He was checking whether they'd been followed - checking to see if the aurors were listening in on their plans and acting upon any comments they made in the flat. The aurors' decision to follow them that night had verified that Severus' hunch was correct. Meet me in the Broomsticks at six, Severus had said, there's a few things I want to discuss. And so she had, and they'd had company, so he had pulled a outwardly plausible topic from thin air instead of really talking to her - and they'd continued like that for almost three weeks, with not a genuine conversation passing between their lips.
At the confirmation, Amelia gives a wry smile and glances at the closed bedroom door that Severus had long since retreated through. "He is a clever boy, if a little-"
"He's not normally like this," Lily interrupts. "We've been under a lot of stress with the new Ministry laws, and-"
"Yes, I had gathered that his conduct tonight was…somewhat of an exception." Amelia looks at her critically whilst tidying her own robes, and glancing around the flat. "He was not quite the man that I have heard-" Lily flushes at the insinuation, but Amelia pointedly shakes her head before quickly continuing, "-heard so much about."
"No. I suppose he was not."
She stands, her manner brusque once more. "Now, if this is to be done properly, without arousing unnecessary suspicion, I must return and fill in the required forms before the absence of the devices is noted." She stows her wand, and holds her hand out. "We still have much to discuss, Lily, but I trust that my actions tonight mark the start of a mutually beneficial relationship?"
"Yes," Lily says, shaking Amelia's hand. "Thank you."
Her eyes track back to the bedroom door. "And perhaps I could be properly introduced to your young man at a later date, if he is so amenable?"
Lily nods again, and then gives a slightly watery smile. "If he is so amenable."
Chapter 14: Antidote
Chapter Text
It's hours later when she finally enters their bedroom, and despite him lying so he's facing away from her - facing the wall - she can tell that he's still awake. She slides into her side of their bed, and when she cuddles up behind him, he's clammy and sweaty - the unmistakable cost of drowning his sorrows earlier that evening - and he shifts uncomfortably at her touch. She pauses momentarily, and when he finally settles, she wraps her arms around him and steadily moves her hands lower until her fingers are toying with the waistband of his shorts. Suddenly, as if he's been burnt, his back clenches and his whole body tightens.
"Sev?"
"Don't," he says, trying to wriggle out of her grip. "We don't have to do this. Not tonight."
"I know we don't have to," she says, her fingers halting. He huffs an indignant breath, but doesn't stop her when she moves her hands back up to safer territory. She softly skates the tips of her fingers across his bare chest, reaching down his arms and eventually sliding her fingers between his own. "But we can if we want. And Severus, I very much want."
"I said no."
His words sting. He's never rejected her before. It took him a long time, when they first started dating, to initiate any sort of contact. Even when they were tentatively skirting around each other, their hormones raging and their close friendship on the cusp of becoming more, it was all Lily's doing – it was her hand that snaked into his, her arms that wrapped around his torso, her lips that brushed against his cheek.
His cautious nature was no surprise; he was hounded at school, and belittled at home, and she can remember the way he used to lie on her bed back in Cokeworth, his arms behind his head, pretending that he wasn't staring at her as she moved around her room. She knew he was – she knew he was covertly watching her via the reflection in her dressing table mirror. She knew this, because if she caught the angle just right, she could watch him in her mirror too. And as he would gaze at her, his jaw would slacken, and his lips would slowly – almost reluctantly – quirk upwards, and she knew he was completely entranced. It was a heady feeling – being desired, being wanted.
So then she'd turn, trying to catch him in the act, and he'd look away, pretending he was fascinated – and had been all along – by the skin next to his fingernail. He'd ignore her completely, picking at the skin until it bled. Then she'd lie with him, her ear resting against his chest, and she'd clasp his fingers, stopping him from picking at them. Slowly, gently, she'd wipe away the smear of blood, and then she'd pull his fingertips to her lips, and kiss them with a tenderness that made his heart jackhammer beneath her ear. And then she'd let go, and glance up at him – and he'd be openly looking at her, really looking at her, and it'd always be with the same expression of wonderment, as if he'd been kicking through the undergrowth at the riverbank for hours, and suddenly, he'd unearthed a precious metal.
When they weren't alone, it was as if he was waiting for someone to rebuke him – to tell him to put her down, to stop wasting her time, to let her move on to someone better, someone worthier. As if he was expecting McGonagall to call him up to her study in Gryffindor Tower, or for Dumbledore to summon him to the Headmaster's Office, and quietly – but firmly – explain that the likes of Lily Evans were not for him, and he was to break up with her at once. For years, she'd watch him scanning any room they entered together, his scrawny chest pushed out and his stomach tensed, as if preparing for an inevitable fight.
But the fight never came. She'd chosen him, and he'd chosen her, and although there had been arguments – arguments with his parents, and arguments with her parents, and arguments with Petunia and both Black brothers and Mary and Lucius and Marlene and Narcissa and James and… Well, there had been arguments with almost everyone she could think of, but none of the arguments mattered in the end. If anything, it pushed the two of them closer together; the pair of them against the world. And eventually – finally! – he reached for her hand, and he wrapped his arms around her, and he kissed her lips, and one night, with the sash window cracked open in his bedroom and the curtains still wide open and the stars casting a glow across the ceiling, he'd pulled her down onto his bed, and he'd made the first move from beginning to end, and they'd not looked back since.
So, no. He'd never actively turned her down. Until tonight. They lie in an awkward, uncomfortable silence – she doesn't pull away from him at his unusual refusal, nor does he push her from him, but she doesn't understand his reluctance – and then she suddenly realises that he doesn't know the reason why they had a visitor.
"Sev, it's ok," she says, softly, "Amelia's got rid of them."
"Got rid of what?"
"The listening devices."
He immediately turns to look at her, his body twisting awkwardly. "That witch was an auror?" He drops his head heavily against the pillow. "Bloody hell, you waltzed right in here with her, and I could've been doing anything!"
"You could not have been doing anything," she says, acidly. "Half of the auror department was already effectively in here – as you well know. You wouldn't have been doing anything other than reading a book, or filling in a crossword, or," and now her voice is getting louder, "getting blind bloody drunk on your lonesome because for weeks they've been hanging on to our every word and listening to our every action-"
"All right, all right! I know what they've been doing, you don't have to go on about it-"
"I don't have to go on about it?" She's incredulous now, and she props herself up on an elbow, prodding him angrily in the ribs. "All of this was your idea, remember?"
"I know." He's gritting his teeth, and he looks furious. "You don't need to remind me."
"Yes, well, Severus," she spits, "a little bit of gratitude wouldn't be amiss. You don't have to treat me like I'm some sort of fallen woman, or damaged goods-"
"I'm not!"
She turns away from him, as she continues to speak, "-and if what we did these past few weeks means you no longer find me attractive-"
At her words, his eyes widen and his jaw slackens. "Fucking hell, is that what you really think?" He reaches for her chin and gently tilts it so she's looking at him again. "Lil," and his voice is softer now, "for Merlin's sake, don't say things like that. Of course I find you attractive. You're gorgeous, and brilliant, and you're the best – the best – thing that's ever happened to me."
"…really?"
"Ever," he says, emphatically.
"…so what is it then?" she asks, her voice trembling as she speaks. There's a long pause, but she refuses to let the matter drop, her green eyes staring furiously at him. "Why don't you want me?"
It takes him an age to reply. "I feel guilty, all right?" he says, sharply, dropping his hand from her face and glancing awkwardly away. "Guilty that I didn't protect you properly, guilty that I made you do such-"
"You didn't make me; I agreed. We did this for each other, didn't we?" At his sudden blurted confession, her eyes have softened. "To protect each other?"
"Come here." His voice is gruff as he pulls her into his embrace, and he wraps the covers tightly around them, as if shielding them both from the outside world. He kisses her forehead, just along her hairline, and she sighs as he wraps his long legs around her own, trapping her beneath his warm weight. After a few minutes of settled silence, he speaks. "They've definitely all gone then? The devices?"
"Definitely. I saw them disintegrate. All of them."
"Good," he says, closing his eyes. "Well done, love."
He's tossing and turning, and she rolls away from him – partly to avoid being struck by his flailing limbs, but partly because he feels like a furnace. She pulls at the bed covers, but he holds them fast, even though he's burning up and completely covered in sweat.
"Sev?" She jabs her finger into the skin just below his collarbone. "Sev, wake up."
He grunts as she tenderly runs her hand across his forehead, gauging his rising temperature and then tries again to pull the covers from his torso. Despite the heat coming off his body, she can see the tops of his arms are covered in goose pimples, and he grumbles unintelligibly, grasping for the sheets.
She watches him for a long moment, deciding what to do, and then heads out of the bedroom. She returns a moment later with a glass of water and a murky potion. "Sev?" she says, kneeling down by his side of the bed. "Sev!"
His voice is thick and slurred. "What?"
"Drink this," she orders, tipping the vial towards his lips. "You need it."
He huffs and groans, and he throws his arm over his eyes as she helps him to tip his head back. He grimaces as the thick brew coats his throat, and he grasps blindly at his bedside table, searching for a drink.
"Give it a minute," she says, taking his hand and softly stroking it. "Let it take effect, and then have some water. I've got some here for you."
She wakes again at five when he stumbles out of the bed for the toilet. She doesn't register him leave their bedroom, but she hears him in the bathroom – he clatters against the bath, and the cupboard, and then there's an almighty thump and a muffled groan, and a flurry of hissed obscenities. Then there's a spray of something, and a gush of water, and a repeated clinking, as if he's knocked over all of their toiletries.
"Sorry," he mutters, when he carefully makes his way back into the room. "I whacked my foot against the pedestal of the basin."
She winces in sympathy. "It's okay. How are you feeling, toes aside?"
He gives her a wry smile as he settles back under the duvet. "Lucky."
"Lucky?"
"Lucky that you thought to give me that antidote," he admits, "else I'd be as sick as a dog now. I really need to devote time to creating a hangover cure – I'd make a fortune out of idiots like me."
She reaches for him – and to her relief, he's right, her dosing him with a generic poison antidote has worked. His temperature has regulated, and he's no longer sweating profusely, and he happily coils his body around her.
"I've missed you," he says, nestling his nose into the back of her hair. "I've missed us."
She turns to kiss him, tangling her tongue against his, but she falters when she tastes spearmint. "You've brushed your teeth," she says, pushing away from him slightly, but he holds her tight. "Stop, I've got morning breath."
"Don't care."
"Sev, I must taste horrid," but he ignores her protest, and as she wriggles in his arms, she can smell their soap, and his deodorant, and she realises now what took him so long in the bathroom. "You're clean, and I'm-"
"Perfect as you are," he says, smoothly rolling atop her, his forearms braced against the mattress either side of her shoulders, and the duvet sliding down his back, eventually resting on his hips. "Let me show you," he says, pressing his lips firmly against her jaw, trailing soft kisses down her neck, and caressing his way leisurely down her sternum, "that I'm sorry."
"Sev, you don't ne-"
"Order me to stop then," he challenges, amusement tinging his voice, and his breath hot against her skin, "and I will."
Her back arches, and she gasps, and he pauses for a brief moment. As she glances down, she can just see his left eyebrow starting to lift, wondering if she's going to make him cease.
There's a silent momentary standoff, with neither making a sound, and then his lips buzz pleasurably against her stomach. "Mmmmm? Should I stop?"
She falls completely silent at his prompt, fearful that he's going to give up. Her whimper wasn't an objection. In fact, it was anything but; his languid perusal of her body has sparked a coil of excitement to build within her and her feet twist against the mattress, her body arching up again, desperate for his touch, but he doesn't move. His inaction forces her to find her voice.
"Keep going," she urges, and she feels his triumphant smile against her skin.
Emboldened by her request, he hooks his fingers around the thin strip of elastic looped around her hips, and slowly inches the soft cotton down the tops of her thighs.
Her face burns when she hears his happy sigh, his breath blowing across her and causing her to tremble. It feels like an eternity before he finally ducks his head beneath the covers, and when he does, she tangles her fingers in his hair, holding him firmly in place.
Chapter 15: Cross-contaminate
Chapter Text
He isn't permitted to eat in the lab, and if Jigger catches him at it again, he'll be demoted to sweeping the floors and bleaching jars and - if his master is feeling less than benevolent and forgiving – separating toad intestines for the rest of the week. Slicing up toads is tricky and potentially messy work, requiring a keen eye, a sharp knife and a skilled hand. It's a task mostly given to apprentices in their early days, trying to filter out slackers, and those without either the required temperament or talent.
Severus was hardly a slacker, nor lacking in talent and focus, although he often found in his early days of his apprenticeship, his disposition failed him. He was prone to pushing himself too hard too fast, and erupting in fury when a potion didn't go his way – and Borage seemingly revelled in forcing him to repeat those first few weeks of tedium.
Until you can control yourself, boy, he would intone, you will not be permitted to brew. As this is the fourth time in as many months that you have needlessly screamed at a Bunsen burner, you will spend the rest of this month cleaning this laboratory by hand. I warn you, I do not wish to hear a single spell cross your lips. And did I say you could use gloves, boy? No? Then take them off.
Thankfully, under Jigger, Severus had mostly left those days behind; aside from a stern punishment for being late to work three times in a month, Jigger had been comparatively relaxed – Severus' temper and smart mouth didn't seem to bother him, but eating in the lab was the sort of behaviour that he knew would earn him a severe reprimand.
Severus glances at the window – dusk is starting to fall, and he promised Malfoy that he'd be at the Manor before sundown. He glares back at his potion – once the colour changes to scarlet, he can add the porcupine quills, stir it rapidly for a minute, and then it's ready to decant – but he's still got to wash and tidy and restore the lab to its usual pristine condition. And he's not even meant to still be in the lab at this hour - let alone eating his tea in here - and he most certainly isn't meant to be brewing prohibited potions.
He watches the potion as it changes from apricot in colour to pumpkin, and he takes another bite of his sandwich just as a loud bang echoes on the other side of the door. He looks at his sandwich – there's barely a mouthful left, and he considers clenching it in his fist and thrusting his hand up his sleeve, but his growling stomach overrides his brain, and he opts for stuffing it into his already full mouth. He chews furiously as heavy footsteps make their way towards the lab, and when the door swings open, Severus ducks behind the bench, desperately trying to swallow the last of his meal, whilst pretending to tie his bootlace.
"Boy? Are you in here?"
He's still trying to gulp the sandwich down, so he doesn't respond – can't respond - and he quickly unknots both of his boots to make his story more plausible.
"No Snape? What's this potion doing unattended, Arsenius?"
"I'm here," Severus finally says, bouncing upwards, and glancing at the potion which – thankfully, has finally bloomed into the deep scarlet he was hoping for. "My boots…" he starts, by way of explanation, pointing at the laces.
Jigger huffs in exasperation, and shoots a spell towards his apprentice's feet, which causes the laces to knot themselves neatly. "That's twice," he says, "don't think I'm not counting."
"Sorry, sir."
"Twice is twice too many," Jigger grumbles loudly, and Snape knows that this bombastic display is all for Slughorn's benefit, who is looking vaguely amused. "I told you last time, if you can't tie your laces properly, I'll remove them."
"Sorry, sir," Severus says again, his ears flushing red. So much for that stalling trick, then. He quickly grabs some flasks, and starts hurriedly scooping the potion into them.
"Sorry's not good enough, boy," he continues, "what if you tripped whilst carrying-"
"Now, now, don't be so harsh on him, Arsenius," interrupts Slughorn, smiling at his ex-student. "Severus here was always…"
Severus' neck strains with the effort of not looking up from his cauldron, of not glaring at Slughorn for whatever he's about to say, but he knows the sensible reaction is to keep on decanting his potion, as neither man is really paying any attention to what he's doing, or what he's brewed – and he's keen to keep it that way.
C'mon, Sev, you can handle old Sluggy mocking you, he thinks, it's no worse than what you endured at school. Tune the old fool out. He keeps his hand steady, carefully pouring the brew into the glasses, and efficiently capping each one.
"…and more than a little dishevelled," Slughorn finishes. "Although your robes are looking much more splendid these days, Severus."
"Thank you, sir."
Slughorn peers more closely at him. "Malkin's, are they?"
"Twilfitt and Tattings, sir."
Slughorn beams again. "Ah, yes, of course. Young Lucius' recommendation, no doubt?"
"Narcissa's, sir," Severus says.
"Ah, of course, the lovely Narcissa Black," Slughorn says, this time almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. "She always did have fine taste. She visited not too long ago, and she had procured the finest box of fruit jellies that you ever laid your eyes upon. Marvellous young lady."
"She's not Narcissa Black any more, sir. She's Malfoy now," Severus corrects, carrying his cauldron to the sink and starting the tap. He searches around the wash station, and then settles on a grubby looking sponge wedged between the tap and the wall.
Jigger stamps over to a cupboard at the rear of the room, selects a new cloth from a shelf, and throws it towards his apprentice. "Use a clean soft cloth when washing the silver cauldron, boy. You'll only cross-contaminate."
"Sorry, sir."
"You should know better than that by now."
"Yes, sir, sorry, sir."
"I'm putting him off," Slughorn intervenes, kindly. "Severus was always most particular about his equipment when he was at school."
"Yes, well, pity he's not a little more particular with mine," Jigger grumbles, settling himself heavily against a bench, watching keenly as Severus washes the cauldron out. "So, that's who young Lucius married, is it? One of the Black family?"
"Yes, and what a charming young girl she is," Slughorn enthuses.
"Well, her robes might be in fine taste, but she could do better when it comes to her taste in men," Jigger lazily observes.
"Oh, I don't know," laughs Slughorn, "Lucius is a gentleman, of course, and she could've done worse. For instance, I do believe young master Snape here had his eye that way for a while, didn't you, Severus?"
He's glad he's got his back to Slughorn and Jigger, because he can almost feel the nudge between the two men. He knows that both of them will be highly amused at Slughorn's teasing – although Jigger's amusement will be far nastier than Slughorn's, who is just a bumbling fool; well-meaning, and a little eccentric. Jigger, on the other hand…
Severus ignores the pair, and scrubs the cauldron furiously, pushing the thought of them laughing at him – laughing at the sheer insanity of him desiring a Pureblood like Narcissa Black, laughing at the bare faced impudence of him, a poor Halfblood, daring to think that a woman like Narcissa Black would be remotely interested in him – right to the back of his brain.
And then Jigger's pressed up behind him, his breath acrid on Severus' cheek, and his voice dangerously low. "Professor Slughorn asked you a question, boy. I suggest you answer him."
Severus stops the tap, and sidesteps Jigger, moving swiftly away from the sink. He turns to face the two older men, and bows his head slightly, muttering a drying charm to stop his hands from dripping water onto the floor. "Forgive me, sir, I wasn't concentrating. Professor, I apologise, I was cleaning the cauldron, and I couldn't hear you over the water."
"Ahh," Slughorn says, looking a little uncomfortable at his friend's menacing manner, and the overt display of deference from his old student, "it was something and nothing. Just a little lighthearted jesting-"
"We were talking about the boy's delightful friend, Lucius Malfoy," Jigger chips in, "if that prompts your memory, Horace?"
"Oh yes, that does remind me, Master," Severus hurriedly interrupts, before Slughorn can raise the topic of Narcissa once more, "Lucius has invited me tonight – well, now in fact – and I am expected…"
"Well, by rights, Severus," Slughorn gives a curious look at Jigger, and pointedly pulls out his pocket-watch, "you shouldn't even still be in the workplace at this hour of-"
"Well, then go, boy!" Jigger quickly interjects, banishing the rest of the items from Severus' workstation to the back of the room. "You can clear those tomorrow. First thing."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," he says, grabbing the flasks and pushing them into his satchel, and checking his laces before he leaves.
"And boy!"
"Sir?"
"Don't be late again, else you'll be doing nothing but pickling newt livers for the rest of the month."
He doesn't mean to eavesdrop. He loops his satchel over his head and across his shoulders, casting a muffling charm against the clinking bottles, and he's out of the door and down the cobbled street, relieved to be away from the two hateful men – but as he turns a corner, he feels the cold wind whipping round his ears and down his neck, and he realises he's left his cloak in the lab.
He pauses, wondering whether to go back or to leave it until the morning – although he wouldn't put it past Jigger to peevishly throw it out. He glances up at the sky, and he sees that between the thick clouds, it's still just about light – if he runs, there's just enough time to retrieve it and still get to Malfoy's without being shouted at. He sprints back to Jigger's, and with the outside door still on the latch, he pushes his way in and carefully creeps his way over towards the lab, hoping his footsteps don't announce his presence.
When he presses his ear to the door, he doesn't expect to overhear their conversation; he's simply checking to see if they've retired to the comfort of Jigger's sitting room, meaning he can whip in and grab his cloak. But he's out of luck, and instead, he can hear Sluggy wittering away.
"Yes, well, you know what Libatius is like. I've always found the boy quite likeable, myself."
"Unfortunate background notwithstanding, of course."
"Arsenius," Slughorn sounds disappointed, "not you as well. His mother is Pure, remember."
"Yes, but his father's a Muggle, and as for his muddy bit on the side-"
"Arsenius!"
Severus grits his teeth, but presses his ear harder against the wood – he's hardly surprised, at either Jigger's disparaging stance, or Slughorn's open disapproval at his friend's bigotry. He may have presided over Slytherin House whilst its students openly advocated for the complete eradication of Muggles, but for all his faults, Sluggy himself didn't discriminate based on blood. He was far too pragmatic for such distasteful political views. And like all of the professors at Hogwarts, he'd always had a soft spot for Lily.
"She's a lovely and talented girl," Slughorn enthuses. "Vivacious. Cheeky. Charming. Such a delight to teach. She would've done wonderfully well in Slytherin, if only-"
Jigger scoffs. "Horace, really-"
"No, Arsenius, I know these are difficult times for us all, but you mustn't judge without meeting her." And then the tone of his voice changes. "And not that I should really say such things, but incredibly pretty as well, you understand. Had half the boys in the school falling all over her. Ah, to be fifty years younger-"
Severus grimaces, feeling a little sick – and then realises he's lost track of the conversation. Jigger's voice is unclear, as if he's turned away or is bending down, and Severus pushes his face even harder against the door, desperate to hear his mentor's words, but he only catches the end of a sentence. "…doing with that lanky oik, then?"
"And there is the mystery!" boomed Slughorn, with a chuckle in his throat. "Hidden talents?"
"Well hidden, if you ask me."
"Ah, Arsenius, don't be so hard on the young man. She's certainly stuck by him over the years - and he's quite the quirky personality once you…" and then Slughorn's voice fades. Severus strains, but he can't pick the thread back up again – instead there's a pause, and some mumbling, and then all he can make out are odd words as Slughorn's voice fades in and out, as if he's moving around at the back of the room.
"…times, of…yes, well, and then she'd be the one…and…you'd see…quite the skill…but he's...the black and gold and oh…and a temper…clever charms…yes, yes…blunted knife and then the latest…oh ho, no no, I can't listen to such things…outrageous…where I stand…Dumbledore…the aurors, of course…meetings…fourteen cuckoos…and a cup of tea…well, you wouldn't…and apparently she was there…no, the other Black…yes, a shock to us all…Gryffindor…four of them…nasty business…can't speak of it, really…and you know…did he really ask you…had no idea…perhaps…seventeen…and it was bright blue…Pomfrey knew…no, no, not Severus, just Lily…Ministry…Mundungus Fletcher…you do know him…not as…well yes, and Amelia Bones with the two mischievous…Prewett…yes yes, you do remember…well…what can one say…"
None of it makes any sense to Severus' ears – it's just a jumble of names and words, and then, suddenly, it's as if Slughorn's standing right next to him. "All of that aside, Arsenius, do tell me – how are you finding him?"
Jigger's voice is cool, and Severus has heard that tone before – usually when he's bartering over the price of ingredients. "We had a deal, Horace."
"Oh, that's not why I'm asking! No, no, you'll get your gold, as agreed. Call it…personal interest. He was one of mine, after all."
There's a very long pause, as if Jigger's considering his words. "Your reputation is intact, Horace, have no fear. …the boy is quite skilled. A little sloppy around the edges, and far too emotional for his own good, but he's got an eye for it – and we both know how rare instinct is." There's another pause. "I'm surprised Libatius let him go, frankly."
"Yes, well, with the-"
"I know what he did," Jigger says, loudly. "Nasty business all round. But really, Horace, I don't know what Libatius was thinking. He's a slip of a boy – barely even a wizard where blood counts-"
"-well Arseni-"
"-so there's ways of keeping him quiet. Making him…agreeable. You understand me, I am sure."
Severus feels colder than ever at Jigger's dark words - ways of keeping me quiet? - but he keeps his face pressed against the wood, keener than ever to hear what else the two old friends have to say.
"Be careful, Arsenius," warns Slughorn, his voice a little lower, "he might not have the same connections as a Nott or a Longbottom, but just look at his behaviour tonight."
Jigger gives a snort of derision. "Oh, he was showing off, that's all. Lucius Malfoy inviting him to his Manor? Who'd believe that?"
"On the contrary, Lucius has taken a very close interest in Severus since he started at Hogwarts. The lad used to trail after him from morning 'til night-"
Jigger's words are muffled, but Severus can tell that his tone is derisive.
"You may mock, Arsenius," Slughorn says, coolly, "but I'll warn you that Lucius became very attached to his little fan club. Oh yes, you've heard the boy – yes sir, no sir, three bags full, sir – and if there's one thing that young Mr Malfoy appreciates, it's a healthy dose of respect."
"Him and his father both."
"Ah yes, speaking of whom, I'm glad you've mentioned Abraxas-"
"I'm not," mutters Jigger. "He still owes me for…Horace, tell me, can you hear something?"
And Severus doesn’t have the opportunity to find out what Abraxas Malfoy had procured, because he's sprinting out of the door, and down the dark and empty street.
Chapter 16: Dumb creatures
Chapter Text
He sits on the gravel path, his legs crossed, and his satchel in his lap. He'd stood for the first hour, but having been on his feet all day at work, his legs had started to protest, and even though he's finally sat down, there's still a dull ache creeping up the back of his hamstrings. Knowing Malfoy the way he does, Severus is certain he'll purposely keep him here until sun up - all under the guise of teaching him a lesson.
There's a white pheasant which strolls around him, and Severus peers at it closely – as far as he knows, Malfoy isn't an animagus, but it's the sort of weird trick he'd employ; trying to catch him off-guard. Maybe I should strike it, he thinks, and a perverse thrill shoots through his chest at the idea of laying his hands on Malfoy – of catching him in his own trickery, and doling out a well-deserved punishment. I'm sick of being spied on.
He reaches out, rubbing his fingers together and beckoning the pheasant towards him. It stops, warily, cocking its head and its feet scratch uncomfortably at the ground. And then it chirrups at him, and he realises that it's a she – the magic Lucius has used to make his brood white has stripped away the obvious features of male and female. He drops his hand back down in his lap, all thoughts of the creature forgotten, and stares angrily at the Manor.
It's cold without his cloak – in fact, despite the quality of his cloak, he reckons it would still be freezing with it on; it can't be more than five degrees. The pheasant hasn't lost interest in him though, and steps a little closer before quickening into a sudden run. Her wings flap, lifting her just off the ground and then she settles in his lap, with no idea of the danger he'd briefly posed to her.
"What do you want, hey?" he grumbles, holding out a finger and letting her peck at the tip. They didn't cover pheasants in Care of Magical Creatures, and he certainly didn't see any back at home in Cokeworth, so he finds himself wondering if they're meant to be left outside in the cold.
Is the bird being punished too? His hand absently strokes the crown of her head and he casts a quick Lumos, staring at the vast grounds. He's not quite sure what he's looking for. How do pheasants roost? Trees? On the ground? Does Lucius have some sort of grand coop?
"I leave you alone for twenty minutes-"
It has not been twenty minutes, Severus bitterly thinks.
"-and I find you molesting my pheasants." Lucius' voice is booming, and amused, and his feet crunch loudly on the gravel as he approaches the younger man.
"I wasn't-"
"Let her be," he orders, and Severus stands, shaking the pheasant away – but she circles his feet, unwilling to depart from her new found friend.
"It's not my fault they're tame."
"They're not tame! They're the best hunting pheasants that money can-" and then Lucius seems to catch sight of Severus' alarmed look, and he claps him on the shoulder. "It doesn’t matter," he says, "I'll shoot it at weekend." This comment does nothing to reduce Severus' anxious expression, and Lucius laughs. "Come, Severus, they're only dumb creatures. Mustn't get too attached."
She'd always been popular, Lily. Popular at nursery, and infant school, and junior school. Popular at Hogwarts, despite her unorthodox taste in friends. Popular with the teachers, popular with members of her extended family, popular even when she strolled around Cokeworth during the summer. It came easily to her, in exactly the same way that Severus found it so difficult. Where he was sour, she was sweet, where he was distrustful, she opened her arms, and where he was awkward, she was relaxed.
In a slightly different world, it wouldn't have been any surprise to her that members of the Order soon crowded around her; people always had. But Lily knew that her attraction these days had nothing to do with her scintillating personality, or her kind nature – Lily knew that they were sniffing around her for what she could do for them.
It was a rather unpleasant feeling, and one that Severus had complained about a lot when he was younger – being constantly harassed for help with homework essays, or students from his house wanting him to brew so they didn't have to pay Hogsmeade's apothecary prices when they wanted a potion to help them through the exam period, or being told that he was needed as a lookout whilst some mischief was enacted or whilst an older student made out with their partner – but she'd never experienced such behaviour herself, so although she'd sympathised she'd never quite understood.
There's three of them looking for her tonight – Bones, Fletcher and Potter. Fletcher's the easiest of the three; she knows he wants another batch of Rain Away, although he isn't going to say as much in front of an auror. She's certain that Bones wants to talk about payment – about what's owed for her assistance – and Potter? Potter's an eternal mystery. Following Moody's outburst, Potter seems to have appointed himself as some sort of unwanted protector, and even when he's not stood next to her, he's looking over Black's shoulder – and at those moments, he almost reminds her of Severus; his eyes darting around the room, constantly scanning for trouble.
Fletcher and Bones stand in an uneasy silence, each waiting for the other to depart, and Lily engaging neither in conversation. Potter seems to read her unease, and steps forward.
"All right, Evans?"
"Potter."
"Madam Bones," he says, deferentially. "I believe Professor Dumbledore was asking if you were still here?"
Amelia scrutinises him for a very long moment, and Lily can almost feel her breath catch. Eventually, seemingly convinced that this interruption is truthful, Amelia nods. "Thank you, James." She turns to Lily. "I would like a word before you leave," and then she disappears into the throng of witches and wizards at the centre of the room.
"So, is Dung here bothering you?" Potter towers over the compact man, and then Black joins him, a youth on either side. Black's face is twisted into sheer contempt; it's as if he's suddenly caught the scent of something putrid – sour milk, or rotten eggs, or raw sewage.
"There's no problem between me and Miss Evans," Mundungus says loftily, drawing himself up to his full height, which impresses none of those stood around him. "I was just wanting a quiet word." He glances at the two young boys, and then back at Lily. "Alone."
"Yeah, I bet you want her alone," Black grins, half looking at Potter, who is unamused. It makes her feel uneasy, this attention that Potter gives her – she knows if she'd been Marlene or Mary or Florence or even Bertha Jorkins, Potter would've joined in the laughter at Black's joke – but there's a small part of her, when she sees him glaring at the small opportunistic wizard, that's glad he's looking out for her.
"I suspect I am not the only one," snipes Mundungus, meeting Potter's angry glare and not backing down. "How is your boyfriend?"
"James hasn't got a boyfriend," Black quips.
"I meant, of course," Mundungus says, smoothly, finally turning to Lily once again, "Miss Evans. I haven't seen him for several weeks now."
"You know Snape?"
Mundungus ignores Potter's question, and takes Lily's hand. "We have unfinished business, you and I, Miss Evans. And myself with your boyfriend, if you could pass that message on. He has been rather difficult to reach of late." He gives an oily smile. "Although I must say, I much preferred your company – much easier on the eye-"
"Dung, I'm warning-"
"Ah, ah, Miss Evans will surely agree with me that her chosen beau-" Mundungus grins as Potter scowls at his phrasing, "-is a sullen and standoffish young man. If you had the pleasure of knowing him, you'd understand." He turns back to Lily. "My dear, you must know that our little enterprise was much more fruitful for all parties. I urge you to think on it. You know where to find me." He lifts his hat, and strides away.
"What was that about?"
"Forget it, Potter."
Black eyes her curiously. "What's Snape involved in?"
"Nothing."
"Sounds it."
Lily takes a breath, composing herself, and then moves to push past the pair. "I need to speak with Amelia."
"Going to set up a drug deal with her as well, are you?"
She immediately halts. "Say that again, Black."
Black smirks. "Certainly, I said-"
Potter – ever aware, and having spotted the others in the room becoming interested – grabs his arm. "She heard you all right, mate. We both did."
The two men stare at each other. She wonders what they can see in each other's expression; if it's like when she looks at Severus, and his eyes glint, and his eyebrow raises, and it's almost as if she knows what he's saying without him forming the words, and when he gazes at her, he always seems to come away with the right conclusion. But that's communication between two lovers, she thinks, and as much as Black and Potter are close, she's fairly certain they're not sharing a bed.
"Right. Walk her home, eh, James?" Black says. "There's some right nasty pieces of work out there. We wouldn't want her falling in with the wrong sort now, would we?"
Lucius doesn't invite him into the study, but takes him down to the billiard room on the far side of the Manor. "Do you play?" he mildly enquires, and looks faintly surprised when Severus nods.
"Well, sort of," he concedes. "Pool, not snooker."
Malfoy looks a little impressed. "Good enough," and he points to a smaller table at the far side of the room. "I didn't think you'd have enough space in that hovel your parents call home-"
"Played at the pub."
"Of course you did." He's back to his patronising self, and when Severus takes the proffered pool cue, he looks down. Severus knows that Malfoy will read this as due deference – but he gives a tight smile to himself, allowing a brief daydream about wrapping the cue around Malfoy's neck. "You break," Lucius says, interrupting his thoughts. "Chalk's on the side."
They play game after game, and as a couple of hours slide by, Severus finds himself relaxing – for all that Malfoy orders him about, when he wants to be jovial company, he's more than able. They don't talk about anything serious – a bit of gossip from Bellatrix about the Lestrange brothers, and a story about Avery's mislaid wand in the Ministry – until Lucius calls the final frame.
"This may as well be the decider," he says. "We're on eight apiece."
Severus nods, and places the cue ball in the D, and lines up his shot. His break is smooth, and the balls clatter against the cushions, and two spots drop into the middle pocket.
Lucius bangs his cue enthusiastically on the ground. "Shot, Sev, shot."
He gives a tight smile at the praise, and settles into potting the rest of the colours into the pockets. After so many frames, his eye is good – and aside from the purple ball rattling in the jaws before dropping, he sinks the lot without missing a beat.
"Clear run," Lucius says, admiringly. "You could make money at that." There's an awkward pause, and then Lucius booms another laugh, pointing his cue accusingly at the younger man. "You did."
"Once upon a time." He places the cue on the table and shoves his hands in his pockets.
"Muggles," Lucius sniffs, beckoning Severus to follow him to the bar at the side of the room. He pours them both a drop of firewhisky, and inhales deeply, basking in the aroma. Then he looks at Severus, the glass twisting in his long fingers. "I thought Jigger had spoken to you about your appalling timekeeping?"
"I-"
"You were late."
Severus looks at his own glass, not daring to speak.
"I don’t appreciate tardiness, Severus." Lucius takes a sip of his drink. "Especially without good reason."
"I forgot my cloak."
At this, Lucius raises his eyebrows. "I can see as much."
"I mean," and Severus speaks quickly now, before he can change his mind, "I forgot my cloak, so I went back for it, and I overheard Jigger talking to old Sluggy."
Lucius' pale grey eyes flicker with sudden interest, and he indicates that Severus should sit with him. He leans forward eagerly. "And tell me, Severus, what did old Jigger have to say for himself?"
"Something about your father," he blurts out. "But that's when they realised someone was there."
Lucius sits back, crossing his legs, his interest lost. "That's it? Something about my father? How long were you there before giving up? Ten seconds?"
Severus flushes at the criticism. "No," he says, defiantly. "Ages, actually. But all Jigger said was that your father owed him for something."
Lucius frowns. "Interesting. Nothing else?"
"No, nothing you'd want to hear." He screws his face up awkwardly. "They were mostly talking about me."
"You?" Lucius smiles. "And why wouldn't I be interested? I'm very invested in you, Severus."
"Yeah well, it was just about what happened with Borage, really. They talked a bit about my background, and my mother, and my friendship with you-"
At this, Lucius suddenly looks wary. "Our friendship?"
Severus nods. "Sluggy was warning Jigger that I had friends in high places. Jigger seems to think he can control me." He looks distressed. "Talked about being able to keep me quiet."
"Did he really?" Lucius sips his whisky, taking the opportunity to pause for a moment, clearly thinking, and then he leans forward once again. "Anything else?"
"A bunch of stuff I couldn't really hear," Severus says, "but there was something about Sluggy paying Jigger for me." He frowns, and looks at Lucius earnestly. "Does that make any sense to you?"
Lucius sips again. "Perfect sense."
"Oh?"
"Following your little incident with Borage," he says, disapprovingly, "Slughorn stepped in to grease the wheels." He looks sternly at Severus. "After the investigation-"
Severus' face flickers with fury, "I've told you, I didn't know! I didn't know!"
Lucius holds up a hand, trying not to roll his eyes. "Severus, Severus, Severus, I have heard this a million times before. I am aware." He sniffs. "But the facts as they were…" Severus looks petulant, muttering under his breath, but Lucius continues as if he hasn't spoken, "…meant that no other Potions Master was willing to consider you." He shrugs. "Slughorn didn't just put in a quiet word, you understand."
"No, he bribed Jigger. I heard!"
"Well," Lucius says, slickly, "bribe is an uncouth word. And, of course, Severus, don't go running away with the idea that Slughorn is your saviour."
"No? It sounds like it to m-"
"Sluggy? Really?" Lucius laughs. "Oh, no no no, my little friend. Not at all."
"Then..."
"Who else, Severus?" His crocodile smile returns once more. "I pay Sluggy. Sluggy pays Jigger. And Jigger? He tolerates you." And then Lucius knocks back the remains of his firewhisky. "Now, open that satchel. I wish to inspect the merchandise."
Chapter 17: Genie out of the bottle
Notes:
I should probably point out that the age of consent in the UK in the Muggle world for heterosexual couples was (and still is) 16.
I think it's worth mentioning for any readers from countries where the current AOC is higher. The teenagers waiting until they're 16 is partially a depiction of them being responsible; it isn't meant to be controversial.
I dithered a lot over formatting, but decided that the sheer number of flashbacks in italics would get old fast - so the change in tense depicts a historical scene versus a current scene. Hopefully it's easy to follow.
Chapter Text
They stalk out of the meeting, and although she's glad of his presence as a means to sidestep Amelia, once they're outside, she refuses his offer of Apparation.
"I'm not leaving you to walk home alone," he says. He has a loping stride, but even he's moving quickly, such is her speed. "Or run home, as it seems to be."
She doesn't dignify any of this with a response, and he indulges her silence for several streets, perhaps expecting that she'll burn off some of her anger.
"We could make this journey a little more pleasant if we spoke?" he ventures as they round yet another corner.
She pulls up short, her finger pointed at his chest. "I'm not searching for pleasant. You don't have to be here," she suddenly snarls. "I am simply walking home."
"Yeah, and I am walking you home."
"Because Black told you to."
Potter looks flustered. "Because I want to," he corrects. She huffs, and turns, and he grabs her elbow. "Because it's the right thing to do."
Her eyes narrow, but she doesn't pull out of his grip.
"Sirius is right – anyone could be out here." His eyes roam over hers, debating whether to say it or not – whether it will convince her. In the end, because he's desperate for her not to run off alone, he says it, "And because Snape would want me to."
She doesn't smile. Instead, she laughs – actually laughs – sounding worryingly like the dark Slytherin boy Potter once knew. "Don't be ridiculous!" With two steps, she pushes past him, resuming her breakneck speed down the road.
"Evans." Potter sighs helplessly, and trots after her. "Evans, wait. Wait!"
They're at the end of the street before he catches up with her, and they're both out of breath. He grips the side of his waist, irritated at the thought that walking – walking! – might have been enough to induce a stitch. "You're a right one, y'know."
"I'm a right one? If I were you, I wouldn't have the audacity to pretend that you're doing anything for Severus' benefit." She glares fiercely at him. "You know who I am talking about, right?"
Potter looks confused. "Yes."
"I was checking, because I used his real name, and you spent seven years acting like you didn't know what it was."
"Evans, look," Potter groans. "I was a stupid kid back then. And Sirius. And Remus and Peter, and well, we all were."
She doesn’t look impressed at his confession, and starts to walk again, albeit slower this time.
He wonders if she has a stitch too. "If it – if we – hurt his feelings, then I'm sorry."
She still doesn't acknowledge him.
"I'll tell him."
This makes her stop. "What?"
"I'll tell him. I'll apologise. Me and Sirius. I'll even get Remus and Peter too if that's what Severus wants," and he waves his hands a little, "although it wasn't really them to start with. I mean, sure, they carried it on, but only because me and Sirius thought it was funny."
"And was it?"
"Hmm?"
"Was it funny? Calling him Snivellus for years? Hexing him between classes? Ruining his schoolwork, and crashing his broom during Quidditch? Cornering him in the castle, four wands against one?"
He looks a little awkward, but there's a hint of a wobble to his lips, as if he's trying not to laugh. "Well, look, I'm not proud of it, but… What do you want me to say? Yeah. Yeah! At times, it was kind of funny."
She really doesn't look impressed, and he runs his hands through his hair.
"Would you rather I lied? Would you rather I said that I hated every minute of it, and I had no idea why we gave him grief?"
Her tone is begrudging. "I suppose not."
"Exactly! So what? He was some weird greasy kid with a smart mouth," and he holds up his finger to stop her from interrupting, "and it would've been something and nothing if he hadn't set himself up with those Slytherins. You know fully well that after that first term Lucius Malfoy had it in for me. I couldn't walk down a corridor without getting a detention-"
"-because you were hexing anyone and everyone who walked past you-"
"-it was a laugh!"
"No, Potter!" She shakes her head. "It wasn't a laugh. To you, maybe. And to Sirius. And to those other idiots who followed you around, applauding your humour and inflating your head. But not to Severus. And not to me. And not to anyone else who had the misfortune of meeting you."
"I've said I'm sorry."
He does look mildly embarrassed now, she notes. Good, she thinks. "Yes, well. One apology can't erase seven years."
"It's a start though." Potter looks resolute. "If he's willing to listen, I'm willing to say it. I think that's pretty fair." He holds his arm out again. "Now, for the love of Merlin, will you Apparate us – or are we going to sprint the whole six miles back to your flat?"
She watches him through the window as he prepares to Disapparate. It's funny, really, talking to him after all of these years – there's a maturity to him that he didn't possess at school, but his confidence and his intensity makes her a little uneasy, and she already feels guilty at having invited him in to the home she shares with Severus.
She absently begins to tidy the sofa, sweeping away their biscuit crumbs and plumping the cushions one by one. She stands back for a moment, appraising the room, and after neatening the recently used coasters on the table, she's content that it looks normal - as if she hadn't invited an Order member - that Order member - into their flat. She starts dusting the shelves, throwing herself into her cleaning – anything to distract the chattering voice in her head.
It wasn't just Potter. Everyone thought it was odd that she was with Severus. Everyone. Half the time, she gets the impression that Severus himself thinks it's odd that she is with him; she catches him sometimes, when he thinks she's reading and not looking, and he stares at her with the sort of expression that you'd normally find on someone viewing an exotic animal in the zoo – a recognition that the poor thing is out of its natural habitat, and somehow simultaneously appreciative that they're able to bask in being so close to them, but also terrified that a sudden movement will scare it off.
She sorts through his washing basket – robes, more robes, a pair of jeans, a couple of t-shirts, those awful shorts, a handful of underpants, and so many pairs of socks, it was as if he'd turned into a centipede when she wasn't looking. As she loads the washer, her mind tips back to Potter – Potter, of course, was the sort of boy that her parents were expecting that she'd bring home.
They'd always been unfailingly polite to Severus, of course – but they rather assumed that he'd be a short-lived thing. As a kid, she had always had a bit of a soft spot for an underdog – so they welcomed him, and fed him, and let him sit next to her whilst they all watched tv. And Lily knew now that her parents had been patiently waiting for puberty to kick in, with the expectation that Severus would become a footnote in history, whilst she attached herself to someone with a chiselled jaw and perfect teeth.
But Severus, the dirty, scrawny boy from across the river just didn't go away. Petunia was horribly jealous. Not of Severus, per se – she wouldn't have wanted a Severus - but she coveted the closeness of their friendship. She desired that sort of partnership - of how they would laugh at unsaid jokes, and finish each other's sentences, and how they never seemed to run out of things to say. It was easy, with Severus, and she knew he felt the same.
Once, when they were about ten – and she had teased him about it terribly ever since – she caught him pinching himself:
"Sev, what are you doing?" she had asked, watching in horror as his dirty fingers gripped the skin of his forearm over and over, leaving tiny little crescent blemishes in their wake.
"Me da says if yer havin' a nightmare," he answered, looking bashful, "yer can wake yersel' up if yer pinch yersel'."
"A nightmare! But we've been having a lovely day," she said, her eyes filling a little. "We went to the park, and then into town, and I bought us some sweets from Woolies, and you managed to sneak us in to the back of that film when the usher wasn't looking." She huffed. "I thought you were happy being my friend, Severus!"
And then she saw his regretful expression.
"…you weren't trying to wake yourself up from a bad dream! You thought this couldn't be real."
"I ain't never had a day like this," he whispered, and his lip wobbled just a fraction. "Not ever."
She instantly threw her small arms around his skinny frame. "Well! We can do it again tomorrow, if you like?"
Once they got older, there were a million rules they had to remember – no hugging was the toughest of all; she'd been forever throwing her arms around him when they were small, and he always looked so pleased when she did – but her mum said it was no longer appropriate, not now they were teenagers. Her parents still let Severus go up to her room to talk in private, but all of the doors – bedroom and landing had to remain open, and that meant that they couldn't put their music up very loud, else they'd disturb Petunia, or interrupt her dad watching Z Cars.
Not that they misbehaved in any way, despite her parents' fears.
Lily succumbed to puberty first, as seemed inevitable – but to her parents' confusion, no other boys appeared on the horizon. Instead, every morning of the summer holidays, with the August sun beating down on his reddened neck – "Honestly," her mother used to huff, "has his family never heard of sun tan lotion?" – he'd be the one – the only one – to rap on the kitchen window.
Her parents watched anxiously as puberty caught up with him, and he grew from a tiny, gaunt child who looked as if he'd never make it to five foot, into a lean and lanky teenager who could finally look David Evans squarely in the eye, his voice oscillating wildly between high and low pitches, and his cheeks reddening furiously each time it happened.
Eventually, to Lily's surprise, her parents softened their stance. For all of their early fears about Severus taking advantage – inadvertently or not – by the time fourth year rolled around, they'd relaxed. Petunia was always out of the house with some boy or another, so the doors started to be closed – landing first, then bedroom later – and by Christmas, they even let Lily head over to Spinner's End. Over the river had always been out of bounds, but her parents reasoned that they'd never misbehaved under their roof, so why would they start now? There clearly wasn't anything more to it – they simply were just friends who happened to be of the opposite sex.
Lily reaches into the kitchen cupboard and pulls out Severus' diminished bottle of firewhisky, and pours herself a measure. Even thinking about that night makes her heart race, and seeing Potter now – so reasonable, and so welcoming – and she can't help but wonder that if she hadn't visited Severus that evening, if their lives would've been very different after all.
He was hanging out of his bedroom window, a cigarette between fore and middle finger, and a plume of smoke spiralling from his lips.
"I've caught you," she laughed as she ran across the cobbles, almost tripping in her haste. "Thought your dad told you off for doing that?"
He grinned. "I'm already grounded," he called. "What else is he going to do?"
She knew it was bravado. She knew how his dad could turn funny. She remembered only too well her first meeting with Tobias Snape - back when they were first friends, and they'd both lost track of time down by the river. His dad had marched across the park – and he was a big brute of a man, with thick arms, and thick fingers, and a furious scowl – ranting and yelling about Severus being late, and her new friend had looked at her like he was going to be sick. He'd leapt up, brushing the twigs and grass from his clothes, and his dad had near pulled his arm out of his socket as he dragged him back down the road, berating him all the way.
When she next saw Severus, he'd been odd – not wanting to sit and talk about magic, or lie and look at the river. She'd soon tired of wandering aimlessly around, especially with him being in such a strange mood, and she had eventually taken him back to her house to watch Doctor Who. Instead of being excited, he'd stood awkwardly in the corner, eventually conceding to lean his elbows against the back of her dad's chair and peer over the top.
Petunia had thought he was scared of the Tardis, or the Daleks, but Lily heard her parents whispering in anxious tones in the kitchen – and anyway, she knew Severus wasn't scared of the television – and then her dad called Severus in to talk to them, and the door had shut behind them, leaving her sat with Petunia.
He looked like he'd been crying when he came back in, and he'd got crumbs on his shirt. Petunia had peered at him curiously – they were never allowed biscuits after meals – and then when he'd left a short while later, her mum had stopped him by the back door and hugged him tightly, and made him promise to come back the next day. She'd never done that before. Once he'd gone, the kitchen door had shut again, and there was more anxious whispering, before her parents came into the living room, both clutching cups of tea and looking pensive.
It hadn't made a lot of sense at the time, but similar incidents happened several more times, and Lily was somewhat innocent – not stupid – so she'd eventually worked it out. Last Christmas, sick of her begging, he'd pulled the bottom of his shirt up, and slid an inch or so of his trousers down, and shown her the edge of the fresh marks from where his dad had beaten him with his belt. Severus had turned fifteen a couple of weeks later, and even though she knew it must hurt – because he wouldn't sit on any walls with her for days, and would wince if he accidentally brushed his backside against anything solid – he was tougher than he'd been at nine. She couldn't really think about those sorts of marks being on him the day her parents had given him the biscuits.
So Lily didn't really like his dad – and she knew for certain he could do a lot worse than keeping Severus locked in his room if they were caught – but she missed her best friend, so the reckless side of her won out. She put her hand on the drainpipe and started to shin up it, just as he'd taught her to do.
"You're a real Gryffindor," he said admiringly, leaning his hand out of the window to help hoist her in to his bedroom.
"Brave?"
"Stupid," he laughed, and leant back out of the window. He stubbed the cigarette out on the wall outside, and carefully aimed before flicking the filter into the grid in the yard below. He pulled the window to, and then pointed at his bed. "It's the only place to sit," he said, sounding apologetic. "I'll take the floor."
"You don't have to."
"It's only chivalrous," he grinned. "That's what your lot are into, aren't they?"
She visited him every night for a fortnight, helping him to count down the days until he could step out into the fresh air again. On the fifth night, she took him a new pack of cigarettes that she'd convinced Petunia to buy for her – only by lending her the new Abba record that she hadn't had chance to play herself yet – and he'd looked at her with such gratitude, it had been a deal worth making. She didn't tell him that his funny lopsided smile made her heart skip a little faster in her chest, and she didn't think she could get through the next week without seeing it.
Being there night after night, she soon noticed that there was a different sort of noise down at Spinner's End. On her side of Cokeworth, there were cars and garage doors, turntables and lawnmowers – and in her house at least, there was Petunia, who could make enough noise to drive anyone to distraction. But at Spinner's End, there weren't any cars so there was no need for garages, and there weren't any lawns, so no need for lawnmowers. Severus had a turntable, but his dad had snapped the needle as part of his latest punishment.
Sat in Severus' room, she could hear the faint hum of the radio from downstairs, and some stray cats fighting in the street, and the odd bark of a dog – but mostly, it was the odd sounds of living; the kettle whistling, mugs clanking, and spoons rattling, doors opening and shutting, and with alarming regularity, the screams and shouts of Tobias and Eileen.
"Here we go," he'd said on the first night, putting another cigarette between his lips and lighting it with his wand, and then pushing the window back open. "Here y'are," and he'd held his hand out, "sit on the ledge, and stick your head out the window, and it doesn't sound quite so bad."
"What are they fighting about?"
He shrugged. "Him. Her. Me. Nothing. Everything. The world, the universe and anyone in it."
"Every night?"
He nodded. "Pretty much."
She looked at him thoughtfully. "When people aren't happy living together, they can get divorced."
He took a long draw on his cigarette, and she wrapped her arm around his neck as he blew the smoke out of the window in a steady stream. Then he tilted his head, and he gazed at her with the oddest expression. "Who says they aren't happy?"
She celebrated her sixteenth birthday at Hogwarts, and then again - several weeks later - in Cokeworth. He hadn't celebrated his in either location, apart from receiving a parcel in the Great Hall that obviously came from Lucius, although he wouldn't tell her what was in it – but he did return to Cokeworth at Easter with her, when she'd planned for her 'home' birthday celebrations, both of them keen not to be parted from the other for any length of time.
A few days after the party, she'd gone over to his to revise for their OWLs. It's quieter, she'd told her father, without Petunia. Her father had merely laughed – there wasn't a lot he could say in argument, so she'd packed up her bag of books, and headed across the river. Neither Eileen nor Tobias were home when she'd arrived, and the two best friends had happily set themselves up to study in his bedroom, books strewn over the floor, and them each passionately discussing Charms theory. She was right, of course, but he wasn't one to back down from an argument.
His parents came home a few hours later, but she was spared seeing them. Severus had caught the apprehensive expression on her face when the front door had slammed loudly, as if she was fearing that an almighty row would break out, so he'd taken the initiative and ducked downstairs to grab some food from the fridge. He'd garbled something to his parents about them both studying and needing some peace, and it seemed that neither Tobias nor Eileen particularly cared, as neither had ventured upstairs to monitor what the pair were up to.
Lily knew it was around half seven, because the melodious strains of Coronation Street's theme tune boomed up the stairs, when she shot him her most mischievous look and pulled out a full bottle of vodka from her bag.
"Is that your dad's?" he gasped.
"Tuney gave it me," she said, with a small laugh, waving it from side to side. "Birthday present!"
"Tuney? Blimey, you want to test it's not poisoned," he said. Lily giggled, but his expression showed that he wasn't joking.
"It's fine," she said, pointing at the seal. "Unopened." She sat back on her heels. "Have you got any glasses?"
He raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Yes, I have a full shelf just behind you – of course I don't, you daft sod!"
She stood, suddenly filled with confidence. "I'll get us two, shall I? From downstairs? ...your parents don't care I'm here, do they?"
And he swallowed hard, shrugging a little. "No, they don't care. And yeah, if you want. Third cupboard on the left."
She crept down the stairs, not wanting to disturb their television watching – Petunia always screamed blue murder if someone trod too loudly on the stairs whilst she was watching something. There was a new show last week, The Good Life, and she'd behaved as if their mother had set fire to the house the way she went on. Privately, Lily felt that if Petunia had stopped moaning a little sooner, she'd have barely missed any of it – as it was, they'd all missed a good third, which was a shame – Jerry had been really bloody funny.
She glanced into the living room, but although the television was playing, nobody was in there. She braced herself, preparing for a stilted conversation in the kitchen with either Eileen, or Tobias, or perhaps both – and she was silently praying that it wouldn't be Tobias alone – when she heard the oddest sound. She moved forwards a little more, and she could see the washing up bowl full of water, and the dishes on one side, and then she saw his parents – Tobias pressed against Eileen, her neck exposed, and his stubbled face moving down it. Her eyes widened as she saw his hips moving back and forth.
"But Toby," Eileen protested, "I heard the stairs. I think Sever-"
"-an' I've told yer, soft lad'll be upstairs rest of the night," Tobias grunted, "yer know what he's like with 'is books."
"But-"
"Shhhhhh," he hissed, a little more harshly. "If yer don't shut yer mouth, he will come down, an' then he'll see me fuckin' yer-"
"Toby, don't!"
"What would you say to the little runt, eh?" He sped up a little, and Lily was memorised by the rapid thrusting of his hips. "Would yer tell him that yer wanted this? That yer like it like this, pressed up against the back door, or would yer pretend that I'm some ogre-"
"Toby!"
Lily couldn't pull her eyes away from the scene. She'd never seen two people having sex before, and it was nothing like what they told you in school, or in church, or even what was whispered in the common room. It's meant to be in a bed, both people lying down with the covers pulled up high, with lots of declarations of love and…
"Fuckin' dirty bitch-"
…not language like that.
They passed the bottle of vodka between them, swigging from it, and his frown grew deeper. When she wrote the same line on her parchment three times, he grabbed the quill off her and put it on the floor. "Right. What's up?"
"What do you mean, what's up?"
"What do yer mean, what do yer mean, what's up?"
She stared at him, and then snorted. His accent was so much stronger once he was back home, and it was worse than ever with him drinking. "Idiot."
"Could say the same to yer. Yer've been weird all night. Yer went down to get some glasses, and came back a completely different person." He gave her a curious look. "I wouldn't mind, but yer didn't even bring back any glasses. …what was at the bottom of the stairs?"
"Nothing."
"Yeah, feels like nothin'." He opened his mouth again, ready to make a joke, but when he looked up, he saw her stricken expression. "Hey! Oh fuck," he said, and grabbed her hands. "What the fuck was downstairs? Did he say summat to you, coz I'll-"
"No, it was nothing."
"Yer sure? Coz ever since yer've been acting like Mulciber did on those weird potions he got from Nott's sister." He peered at the vodka bottle, and then sniffed it. "Where did yer say Tuney got this from? Are yer sure it's not contaminated?"
"…can I trust you?"
"Course yer can trust me. I'm yer best friend, aren't I?"
"Have you ever seen anyone having sex?"
"Fuckin' hell!" The swig of vodka he'd just taken stuck in his throat, and he coughed wildly, banging his chest. "Lily, fuckin' hell…" He looked at her with the most incredulous expression – a cross between shock and pleasure and astonishment and glee, and she blushed furiously.
"Sorry."
"No, no," he said, "it's okay. Don't be sorry. Yer can tell me anythin'." He crossed his legs and he looked amused, and eager, and the most interested in a conversation that she's ever seen – and she's seen him after Potions, discussing his pet theories with Slughorn. "Talk to me. Like what? Like real people doing it?"
"Yeah."
"I'm not a pervert," he said. "Course I ain't. …not real people."
She gave him a twisted smile. "Not real people? Like, who then?"
He looked a bit reticent, and then scratched his ear. "Yer won't say nowt at school?"
"Of course not," she answered quickly, the alcohol making her bold, and desperately keen to hear what he has to say.
He leant behind him and lifted his mattress. He pulled out a ratty magazine, and flipped the pages before handing it to her. "It's magical, like," and he pointed at a couple, "so it's moving. Not quite real, but not quite fake."
Her mouth fell open as she watched the two bodies entwine – and then she flipped the pages, humans of all shapes and sizes doing all sorts of things to each other, and she knew her eyes were widening. She looked up, and he was difficult to read – he looked scared and excited all in one glance, as if he was expecting her to throw it at him, or shout at him, or disown him.
"Well?" he said, cautiously. "What d'yer think?"
"I think I want to have a go," she said.
He stared at her, utterly dumbstruck. "What? At that stuff? …with me?"
"Of course with you. I don't see anyone else here." And when she looked at him, his eyes were the widest she'd ever seen – he looked like it was his birthday celebration – not to mention Christmas, and New Year, and every family holiday that he'd never ever had, all rolled into one glorious gift.
He quickly grabbed the magazine. "Yeah? Which one do you think?" He looked so excited, and nervous, and his hands were shaking as she sat next to him, both of them looking at people contorted into all sorts of positions. He laughed nervously as he saw her checking the sudden bulge in his shorts. "You do know that I've not done this before, yeah?"
"Nor me," she said quickly.
"Right. No," he said. "Course not." And then he flipped the pages again. "Lil, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, but I definitely want to do it. With you, I mean."
And she put her hand on his chest, and his heart was thundering, and then – for the very first time – she pressed her lips against his.
Her mum had sat her down one night, a good eighteen months or so earlier – obviously fearful of her teenage daughter being at a school full of hormonal teenagers, and her making the wrong choice.
"The difficulty, Lily," she'd said, "is that once you've let the genie out of the bottle, you can't put it back in." She'd passed the box of Christmas chocolates over to her, and let her take another one. "Once you take that step with a boy, he isn't going to want to go back to holding hands."
"I know," she'd said, flushing. But she hadn't quite understood. If she took that step in the first place, why would she want to go back to holding hands?
She turns the empty glass over and over. Potter had always liked her, she knew that, but she hadn't liked him very much – not back then. The problem, now that Lily thought about it, was that by sleeping with her best friend, she'd shut all of the other doors. She couldn't take a step back from Severus without breaking his heart, and she knew he wouldn't – couldn't, even – have stayed friends with her whilst she dated someone else, and there was no way she was prepared to lose him.
She stands, and pours another measure – his expensive firewhisky now almost gone. Good riddance, she thinks, remembering all of the times she's found him of late, shaking and sweating and on the cusp of throwing up. It reminds her too much of Tobias – of angry, shouting, violent Tobias. Severus looks mostly like his mother, nose aside, but sometimes – especially now he's older, and his chest is starting to broaden a little more – if the light catches him, and his expression hardens, she can see his father. And it gives her the weirdest tremor.
She doesn't like Tobias in the slightest – doesn't like how he treats Eileen, doesn't like how he treats Severus, doesn't like his football or his drinking or his gambling – but there was something in the way he'd behaved that night. Something possessive, or demanding, and it made her feel odd inside. She's found herself looking at Severus, wondering if the same attitude was dormant in him – but he's always been the same old Severus; kind, and thoughtful, and well, grateful. Until this little stint with the aurors, and then there'd been a flash of it – not of anger, or control, but a possessiveness which was at complete odds with the situation they were in.
Maybe that was it, she thought. He acted possessively because he was having to share me with the aurors listening in. Or maybe he just didn't know any other way to be vocal, and he had to give the aurors something to listen to. Whatever it was, whether a secret desire in him, or just him acting, he's reverted back to type now – his usual considerate self.
She sips at the firewhisky over and over, but now the ugly thought has crept into her head, she can't stop thinking about it – if his father hadn't been fucking his mother in the kitchen, would she have gone back upstairs and propositioned Severus? If she'd not gone over to his house that night – if he'd gone away to Lucius' instead of heading back to Cokeworth with her, or if she'd stayed at home and ignored Petunia and chosen to watch tv with her father, or if they'd both stayed at Hogwarts in single sex dormitories at opposite ends of the castle – would they even be together now? Would they be in this desperate situation together, or would she have been worn down by Potter and his constant proposals? Would Severus have had a better shot at a career if she'd let him go off with his Pureblood friends instead of staying loyal to her?
And then she can't take the questions swirling in her head any longer, or the associated guilt, and she pours the remains of the bottle into her glass and downs the lot before banishing both glass and bottle to the sink. She winces as the sudden scorch of the alcohol burns the back of her throat, and the door bangs, and he's stood there, with that silly lopsided grin that she always loved so much.
"All right, love?" he says, taking a step towards her and kissing her lips chastely. "Mmm, you taste good," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around her, and deepening the kiss.
"And you taste of firewhisky," she says, trying not to sound accusatory – but she's irritated all the same. He'd promised after his last bender that he was going to cut down, and he clearly hasn't abstained.
"Yeah, well, so do you," he quickly shoots back, and he moves his hands up to tangle in her hair, and then frames her face with them, kissing her more passionately.
After a moment, he pulls back slightly, and she gasps. "Severus, you're absolutely freezing! Your hands!"
"Better take me to bed and warm me up then," he chuckles, and holds her against him. "Up for the job, love?"
And she stares into his dark eyes, and she can see his adoration and his vulnerability in equal measure. Cold or not – and his fingers are practically blue – she can't reject him. "Yes," she says, and he beams, and takes her hand, and leads her through to the bedroom.
He lays her down carefully, and starts to remove her clothing, but she's completely numb to his considerate actions and his thoughtful movements. All she can think about, as his hands gently roam her body, is that by spending the evening thinking about their past and his father and Potter and what could've been, she's somehow betrayed him, and that he deserves better than that – better than her.
Chapter 18: I can do better
Chapter Text
He tries – oh, how he tries. When her body doesn't react in the way that he's come to expect, he doesn't give up. Instead, he doubles his efforts – he's attentive, doting, assiduous, and she can almost hear his brain whirring, desperately scouring his memory for what else might work when everything he's tried so far has failed. At one point, he lifts his lips from her skin, and longingly peruses her body – and the heat in his gaze and the sheer concentration on his face almost takes her breath away.
She expects him to capitulate – to be angry, to roll over and wrap the sheets around him, cocooning himself against her lack of reaction and presumed rejection – but he doesn't. He just seems more and more puzzled. It's as if he's a small child playing with his favourite hi-tech toy, but finds that it just won't respond, even when he's following all of the instructions and pressing every button in the correct sequence.
If I was a toy, she thinks, he'd find my failure to respond easier to solve. He could tip her upside down and shake her, or slide open the power compartment and change the dead and corroded batteries which are hidden deep inside for new. Or maybe he could throw her in the back of the cupboard, forget about her, and ask for a replacement – the new and latest model – for Christmas. But she's not, so he can't, and it's such a silly thought, because he doesn't seem angry or frustrated when his efforts are for naught, nor ready to cast her away and seek a new and shiny replacement.
Instead, when he's finally forced to admit defeat, he simply looks completely baffled. He props himself up on his elbow and gazes intently at her, and after a long moment, he moves his hand gently towards her head. His fingertips trace along her cheek, and he carefully slides a few stray strands of her hair behind her ear. Now, so long after he arrived home, his fingers are warm to the touch.
"What's wrong, hey?"
She doesn’t answer – can't answer, but he doesn't look away. He nestles her soft cheek in his palm, his touch incredibly gentle.
"Am I…? Is it…?" He looks so unsure of himself as he speaks. "…do you need me to do something different? Something new?"
She doesn't blame him for being distressed. Ever since their first night with that smutty magazine guiding their way and feeding their fantasies, they'd always been compatible. In the privacy of their bedroom and with a rapt audience of one, he was so beautifully expressive, so easy for her to read, and oh so willing to demonstrate exactly how she could please him. In return, he'd been a diligent study of her pleasure, and found no gasped request too arduous - least, if he did, he never let on. He seemed to relish every moment with her, his dark eyes watching keenly at how she reacted to his experimental touch, and whenever she moaned, his face would fill with joy, as if he was the one being caressed – not her.
She wonders if that's what's bothering him now – that if he doesn't keep her content, she'll look elsewhere and find someone new, someone more capable, someone with more skill.
"Whatever it is, tell me," he begs. "I promise I can do better."
She doesn't answer, but turns her head until the tip of her nose rubs against his warm palm, and then she kisses his hand softly.
"I won’t judge. Whatever you need, I can do it." His face is full of longing. "Please tell me."
He's not like this normally. This is the alcohol coursing through his veins, revealing the overly eager little kid that still lives inside him. It makes her smile to think that he's still that same boy that she so fell in love with.
He's a little more restrained now that he's reached adulthood, more guarded with his emotions - far colder, more distant - but he's always been the same where she's concerned; kind, thoughtful, and – the thought makes her wince a little – so incredibly grateful, as if he can't believe his luck that she chose him.
But there's something else in his expression tonight – something a little harder in his eyes, just that hint of an edge. It's then that she realises.
He's scared.
Suddenly, she's scared too. Scared that if she doesn't speak, if she doesn't respond to his overtures, if she doesn't reach out to him and make amends, she'll wake to find that he's back to digging crescent shapes into his forearm.
"It's probably just hormones," she says, eventually.
"Oh!" He seems surprised, and moves higher up on the mattress. He presses his lips against hers in an unspoken apology, and then settles his head on the pillow next to her. His relief at her explanation seems to pour from him. "Are you hurting?"
She shakes her head, unable to further the lie, but accepts his warm hand when he holds it out for her to hold. She swallows hard as he squeezes her fingers and then tangles his long digits with her own in the way that they both find so comforting.
He stares at the ceiling instead of her when he speaks again. "I'm sorry. I just didn't think. I didn't realise…I mean, you weren't," and he's stumbling over his tongue now, a hint of a flush on his cheeks, "you're not…down there, you've not…"
She slips her small hand beneath his chin and turns his head, her lips seeking his out once more. She does this partly to put him out of his misery, and partly to shut him up - and although her actions start chastely, within minutes she’s coaxing his lips to part, and he gives a muffled groan.
He twists his hands in her hair and pulls her closer, her body pressing against his - but a minute later, just as a tingle of pleasure thrums through her, he stops his ministrations and shifts awkwardly, creating a small - but significant - distance between them.
Surprised by his action, she shuffles herself back up against him, hip against waist, her legs twining with his. She slides even closer, clumsily brushing her thigh against his groin, and she suddenly realises why he pulled away so dramatically.
"It's okay," he says, quickly. "I don’t need…I mean, I don't expect...if you're not feeling…"
"I don't mind. I could-"
"No." He closes his eyes. "It'll go away. If I think about something incredibly tedious, such as listing the nineteen primary methods for chopping basic potions ingredients, or thinking about emptying the fridge item by item and cleaning it, or-"
"-sweeping the floors and dusting the bookcases?"
He gives a soft chuckle. "You're not helping."
"You get turned on by dusting?" She can hear her own amusement in her voice. "I didn't realise. I'll let you clean the flat more often if you enjoy it so much."
"No, dusting most certainly does not do it for me," he says, opening his eyes again, and giving her a weary glance, "but I'm trying to pretend that I'm being shouted at by crusty old Jigger instead of lying next to the most beautiful woman on earth. If she will insist on chattering away to me, it rather breaks the illusion."
"Oh. Right. Sorry."
He closes his eyes once more. His face is calm – serene, in fact – and she wonders what he's really thinking about.
Was Jigger such a tyrant that a memory of the old man yelling would do the trick? Or was he thinking about Jigger making him do something boring, like cleaning spilled potions off benches? Or slicing up beetle eyes? Or stirring a cauldron one hundred and sixty three times anti-clockwise, with just one clockwise turn at rotation seventy four.
She's never been in Jigger's laboratory, so she can't even imagine what Severus is picturing.
Is the lab is dark or light, or warm or cold? Is there a window for a day and an oil lamp for night, or is it all magical – a clever line of Lumos charms, perhaps? That's if he's picturing Jigger's rooms at all. Maybe his imagination wasn't strong enough to dampen his arousal, and he is still lying next to her whilst thinking about the most beautiful woman on earth?
She knows he fancies her, desires her, wants her – but he's not usually one to express his feelings so bluntly. He's the epitome of show not tell – of touch and taste and action. Over the years, she's learnt that he's not one to shout his most closely guarded emotions, so hearing him say how he sees her has made her heart race, and now she can't help but slide her hand across his smooth skin.
He tenses, his stomach rippling as her fingers follow the thickening line of hair down from his stomach to his pelvis, and it's at that moment that his eyes jolt open dramatically. He quickly regains his composure, and snakes his hand out, gripping her wrist and halting her in her tracks.
"I'm afraid that fondling me falls into the same category as chattering," he drawls.
"Oh dear. I'd better find another solution for your problem then."
"I'll warn you, Lil, if you get up now and grab a duster, I am not going to be responsible for my reaction."
"If you can’t be responsible," she says, "then I’d best take control." She almost giggles with delight when his Adam’s apple bobs wildly at her unexpected threat. He eyes her warily, and his shoulders tense, and his expression seems to be fuelled by lust and fear in equal measure.
"Lil..."
"I'll stop if you make a noise," she warns, her voice a lilting sing-song. "Put your hands behind your head," she orders, and his compliance is so swift, she has to bite back a laugh. She lifts herself over him, straddling his thighs and running her fingernails down his chest.
He breathes in loudly, as if he's being pushed to his limit, and a moment later she encircles him with her hands, and it clearly takes all of his strength to suppress a loud groan. She watches him carefully, gratified when he screws his eyes tightly shut – because this time it's not in frustration, but from complete and utter pleasure.
She's wrestling in a swirl of bedding, her hands clawing at the duvet, and her dreams filled with ever-growing heat - a stroll down Diagon Alley in the sunshine, cooking in their tiny kitchen on a hot day, a beach holiday overseas when she was small, watching over a boiling potion in Sluggy's NEWT class, and bizarrely, standing on the edge of an erupting volcano and on the cusp of diving in - and that's when she suddenly opens her eyes.
There is something hot. She reaches down under the covers, and pulls out a charmed hot water bottle - it's boiling to the touch - and she puts it to one side. It isn't cold outside, she thinks. I can't remember making that last night. And when she turns to take a much-needed gulp of water from her glass on her bedside table and she sees his note.
Lil,
The bottle is for the pain, if you wake up with any.
The bar is for your happiness. It always lifts my mood when I need it.
See you later.
S
And then she sees what the note was resting on - a thick slab of Honeyduke's most expensive chocolate.
Not having friends doesn't seem to bother him. I've got you, he says, when she asks. She hadn't thought anything of it when they were at school - what were his choices? Reggie Black? Avery? She gives a shudder. Mulciber? In a childish way, she'd always thought it was better for him to do without entirely, if he had to pick from that list.
He wasn't completely alone, though. He had that weird almost brotherly relationship with Malfoy, and he spent a couple of years hanging around with Malfoy's group of Slytherins - and more than a couple of years mooning about over the beauty of Narcissa Black - but she couldn't really remember much about how those friendships all started. She couldn't remember why Malfoy took a shine to Severus, or why Malfoy let him hang about with his friends, or why Severus wasn't closer to his housemates of his own age.
It wasn't that they'd lost touch, but those early days at Hogwarts had been full of new people and places, and her days were taken up with exciting new experiences. She always took the time to meet with Severus, but they had both been a little wary of the reactions of their respective housemates, preferring to keep their interactions out of sight of everyone else.
Consequently, that meant she hadn't spent her first weeks hand-in-hand with her best friend, as she'd expected she would when they'd lazed by the river and dreamt of their days at Hogwarts. Instead, she was quickly drawn into the whirl of life in Gryffindor - midnight feasts, learning the rules of wizarding games, daring each other to run down the corridors after dark, and the ever present quest for the house cup.
The only time she'd really had opportunity to spend time with Severus within lessons was in Potions. It was one of the only subjects where Gryffindor and Slytherin had their classes together, and their desks were arranged like a parted sea: red and gold on one side, green and silver on the other.
During those lessons, she knew he was looking at her as longingly as she was him, but they contained their interactions to simply exchanging knowing glances across the room when other students answered questions incorrectly. She'd always privately applaud in her head when Slughorn cited Severus' work as an example, and she was certain he did the same for her.
That arrangement continued until third year, when Slughorn swept in and announced that he was going to assign seating places. He'd blustered about developing inter-house cooperation, which was met with a not insignificant amount of grumbling, but he stressed to them that it was his job to encourage all of his students to work to the best of their ability. It was at this point that most of the kids in the classroom had stopped listening to their professor.
Whilst others in the classroom were mourning the end of their working friendship with the person next to them, she had been focused on what was coming next. She glanced around the classroom, surveying her likely options, wondering if she'd be sat next to a boy or a girl, a Gryffindor or a Slytherin, even whether they'd be bright - and Slughorn's plan was for them to bounce intelligent ideas off each other - or if they'd be as dense as the trunk of the Whomping Willow, and she'd be expected to foster a love of the subject into a disinterested student.
She was so lost in her ruminations, it took a moment for her to spot that Severus was trying to catch her attention - and when he did, he winked. Surely they wouldn't be that lucky? She sat in silent anticipation until Slughorn called her name and, to her utter joy, pointed at the desk where Severus sat.
"I don't think so," came a disdainful voice. "I'm not having a Mudblood sat next to me."
There was a momentary hush, and she paused mid-step, and the whole class waited for Slughorn’s reaction. Mulciber was grinning at Severus, the smug boy entirely relaxed in his casual bigotry, uncaring at the reaction it caused - whilst Severus' face was impassive; not laughing at or agreeing with Mulciber's comment, but not challenging the statement either.
"The good news, Mr Mulciber," Slughorn said, loudly, "is that you're sitting up here in the front row, as close to me as possible. I suspect you will find the blood status at this part of the room to your liking."
Mulciber's amusement quickly switched to sullenness. "A professor and a blood traitor."
"I don't want to be sat next to a purist," shouted Black, leaning back on his chair. "It goes against my-"
"You go against-"
"Enough!" roared Slughorn. "You, Black, sit properly. You, Mulciber, take the seat next to him. And you," and then his voice softened, a friendly smile back on his face, "Lily, do take a seat next to Snape here." He paused. "You have no such objections do you, Snape?"
"It's your classroom, sir," Severus said, carefully. "If this is how you want us to sit…"
"Yeah, well, if you end up sharing your equipment, make sure you wash your hands before you come back to the dorms," Mulciber hissed as he collected his bag and stood. "I'll know if you haven't."
"Now, Mulciber," barked Slughorn.
Mulciber glared at Lily as he passed her, watching her as she took his old seat. "Dirty blood."
"Hi Sev-"
"Shh," Severus hissed, staring at his desk. "Mulc's watching me. Don't be too friendly just yet."
"Oh."
"Only for a bit," he muttered, still not looking up. "Good though, eh? I asked Sluggy if he could arrange for us to sit together."
She glanced around the room, watching all of the students bickering and groaning as they switched places. "He did all this for you?"
"And you," Severus whispered. "He likes you even more than me. I told him you were the best in this class, and we could learn a lot from each other." He shot her a quick sideways smile. "And you know Slughorn - I think he's got his eye on that Potions Apprenticeship fund."
She looked stunned. "He thinks one of us…"
"Probably you," Severus said, pushing his quill awkwardly around the desk. "But yeah. One of us."
And it's only now, all these years on, now that she's trapped in their flat - unable to work, unable to brew, unable to shop, and seeing almost nobody other than Severus that she's really stopped to wonder about what he was up to during those times they were apart. And she realises that she has absolutely no idea.
She doesn't mean for it to become a regular thing with Potter, but they fall into a routine which makes no sense to break. She tried, at first, telling him she'd got places to go - but he'd never let her leave a meeting alone, insisting on travelling with her to her next appointment.
Her heart catches in her chest when she thinks about Severus finding out about her growing friendship with Potter, and in a twisted way, it makes more sense to invite Potter back to the flat for a cup of tea whilst Severus is working at the Broomsticks, than it does to roam around Hogsmeade where any witch or wizard may spot them together - or even, Merlin forbid, Severus himself.
"Thanks," Potter says, as she puts a mug of tea for each of them on the table and takes a seat next to him. "What did you think?"
"I think the Prewett boys are taking unnecessary risks."
He cocks an eyebrow. "I think they're daring."
"You would," she huffs. "They need to use a little more brainpower."
"And a little less brawn? Ah, the Gryffindor affliction." Potter smiles. "You sound like him, you know."
She doesn't dignify his comment with a response. He doesn't quite dig at Severus; even Potter must be aware that she wouldn't stand for such disloyalty whilst he's drinking from Severus' mugs and sitting in Severus' seat - but he doesn't let their relationship lie for too long. He always worries at it, picking and poking and prodding, in subtle and inventive ways.
"And?"
"I didn't say it was a bad thing," Potter says. "I was simply making an observation."
They sit in silence, sipping at their hot drinks, until Potter glances over once more.
"What?"
"This thing with Madam Bones-"
"-she's just trying to arrange a sponsorship for me," Lily says, quickly.
Potter's eyes narrow - her response was too quick, it seems. "A sponsorship?"
"So I can work."
"I know what one is," Potter looks puzzled. "But why hasn't Snape signed your exemption?"
Her blood runs a little cold. "Severus? He's a Half."
"He's got Pure lineage."
"It doesn't work like tha-"
"It does." Potter sits forward, and grabs a quill from the table. He scribbles a family tree on a scrap of parchment. "Him, Muggle dad, you said? And his mother - Pure."
"Surely that's still Half?"
"But it goes by grandparents," Potter says, sketching up higher. "Now yes, his dad is Muggle through and through." Muggle, Muggle, he writes. "But for her to be Pure..." and then his quill scribbles: Pure, Pure.
"Three of each. Still half."
Potter looks at her as if she's vaguely simple. "That's true, if parentage is mixed - if his mother was Half, and there were other Halves in the bloodline. But Severus' magical heritage is Pure, Lily. They add a weighting to Purebloods."
"So instead of three-three," she says, astonished, "it's more like six-three?"
"Well," Potter concedes. "Not quite six-three, as that would bend the rules a little too far, but four and a half is probably reasonable."
"So he could exempt me?"
"If he wanted." He sits back with a flourish. "You should probably be asking yourself why he hasn't bothered."
She's breathing harder now, and excuses herself to the bathroom. It takes a good three minutes to stop crying, and another five before she's washed her face and added a little make-up to cover her now-blotchy complexion.
"You okay?" he asks, and he's shifted on the sofa, his long arm stretched out along the back. He fills the space differently to Severus, who is all long limbs and sharp-cornered bones; Potter is muscle and meat - not fat, but brawny. Severus' legs are slim, but Potter's thighs are thick - too many hours clenching a broomstick, she thinks.
He's not exactly handsome; he's no Sirius Black - but he's attractive in his own way. He's tidy and neat and clean, with his pressed robes and his expensive glasses, although just like their school days, his hair is still untamed. Despite this, it's as if he's grown into himself, in exactly the way that Severus hasn't - Potter is full of confidence, whilst Severus is still flailing around in his body like a newborn fawn.
"I'm fine."
"Good," he says, and finishes his tea. "Then, can you answer my question honestly? What does Madam Bones want from you?"
She wouldn't have told him. Not until his revelation about the sponsorship. It was her task, and her task alone - but now that she knows that Severus could've made her life easier, she can't stop that little rush of anger from raging in her chest.
Does he want to keep me in here? Locked away from society, so only he can have me? A jealous, selfish boy who wants to keep me for himself?
"She wants me to find out who Severus is working for."
Potter's face fills with greedy excitement. "And I am guessing that the answer she is looking for is neither Jigger or Borage?"
She nods.
"That Sirius' accusation of dealing potions is correct?" Potter is eager, but this time, she doesn't nod - she can't quite bring herself to betray Severus in such bold terms. Potter waits, but when no answer comes, he tries a different angle. "And do you know? Who he's working for?"
"Not yet. Not for sure." And she tilts her chin. "But I shall find out."
Chapter 19: This will do nicely
Chapter Text
He's monitoring the flame beneath the cauldron. It takes precision, this step – too cold, and the dragon's eye won't split open and spill its precious contents into the liquid, but too hot, and the eye will burst under pressure, and the ensuing explosion will erupt messily out of the cauldron.
The mixture has to be on the edge of a rolling boil, and then as the eye bobs up and down in the liquid, right at the moment that the old blood vessels darken and the iris blooms, that's when the heat has to dramatically drop.
As Jigger has explained several times, this is when the eyeball is on the cusp of explosion, and pulling it from the heat leaves it without propellant - and that's why a correctly prepared eyeball will ooze into a potion, whilst a silly mistake will ruin half a day's work.
Severus knows this. He understands the theory, despite Jigger's assertions to the contrary. It's not a difficult concept to grasp, and he's not some thick-skulled dunderhead - but performing it flawlessly is another matter entirely. After reaching this stage repeatedly, he's utterly sick of the early steps of the potion, which are tedious and routine; he could brew the first few hours in his sleep - and he's tired of Jigger treating him with utter disdain.
It is tricky, he thinks to himself. There's nothing wrong with making a mistake on your first few tries.
He's certain that the miserable old man struggled with it himself as an apprentice, even if he's now pretending that he's brewed it successfully since birth.
Severus takes the cauldron off the heat, and practises his spell. He twists his wand in the air, watching as the flame rises and falls at his command.
Inardesco. Defervesco. Inardesco. Defervesco. Inardesco. Defervesco.
He breathes deeply and composes himself - you can do this, Severus - and then replaces the cauldron, and repeats the spell.
He watches gratifyingly as the mixture simmers and boils and cools, and he knows that this time, albeit for the fifth time of trying – "How many dragons must be blinded for you to master a simple method?" – he's going to succeed.
Least, he is until the door bangs open, just as the dragon's eye is cast into the potion and he raises the heat.
"Inardesco!"
"Snape!"
And he looks up, and his concentration is broken. Too late, he points his wand back at the burner, the spell forming on his lips, but the temperature is already far too high and the eyeball explodes across the room.
"Cool," nods Avery, approvingly. He slides his hand out of his robe, and reaches to touch a slither of eye slime that's slipping down the wall.
"Merlin's sake," Severus shouts, rushing over to him and pulling him away, "don't touch it."
"What is it? A dragon's eye? It looks awesome."
"It looks like I'm about to get yelled at. Again."
Avery raises his eyebrows. "He's a taskmaster then? Didn't think old Jigger would have it in him." He watches, not offering to assist, whilst Severus quickly washes down the surfaces, trying to eliminate evidence of his error. "You should've stayed with Borage."
"Didn't have much of a choice."
"Oh yeah," Avery says. "Mulc said that if you asked him, you were lucky not to get thrown in Azkaban."
"And if you ask me, Mulciber needs his head read."
Avery smirks. "You can tell him yourself."
At this, Severus stops his cleaning, and throws the rag he's using at the sink. "He's here as well, is he?" He rubs his hands on his robes. "And to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"He's not here, but he's there."
Severus' eyes nearly roll in the back of his head at Avery's inanity. "He's not here, but he's there. Yes, indeed. How wonderfully insightful you are."
Avery grins. "Still a sanctimonious prick then, Snape?"
"I've worked hard at it all these years," Severus mutters, hefting the contents of the heavy cauldron down the sink and rinsing it under a fierce spray of hot water. "Why give up now?"
They both fall silent, and Severus scrubs the cauldron and wipes it dry before putting it in the cupboard. He cleans his knives, and chopping board, and mortar and pestle, and then he washes the cloths he'd used, pegging them up to dry on a line at the back of the room. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"This is clearly not a social call, Ave," Severus says, his face screwed up as he inspects his fingers. He frowns at one particularly deep laceration, and then pulls a leaf and a stem from a dittany plant on the windowsill. "If you wanted me to head down Knockturn with you, you'd have been talking about randy witches by now. If you wanted a bit of trouble, you'd be grumbling about Muggles, and suggesting that we Apparate to some union march or riot or some such, and start a few fights."
He cuts the plant with his wand, and rubs the sap from within across his hands, hissing slightly as the natural salve makes contact with the open wound. "And if you wanted some advice about your career at the Ministry, then you wouldn't have come to me in the first place."
"Touché."
"So? What can I do for you?"
"Nothing for me."
"Ave, I am losing what little patience I had at the beginning of this visit," Severus warns, his jaw tensing. "Why are you here?"
"Malfoy wants you."
"Malfoy normally sends an owl."
"Yeah, well, this time he sent an Avery."
Severus barely holds back a grin; Avery's attempt at humour is relatively decent - and entirely uncharacteristic.
Someone else must've said it to him first, he thinks.
"Give me some credit," Severus grumbles. "You can do better than that. What do you really want? Hallucinogens? Sleeping aids? Something to impress your latest lady friend?"
"Ha, if only. I'm serious. Malfoy wants to see you. Now."
It's at this moment that Jigger appears, his bulky frame casting a shadow from the doorway. "Unfortunately for you, and unfortunately for young Mr Malfoy," Jigger says, "the boy is on my time, and he isn't going anywhere."
"He's finished here," Avery argues.
Jigger glances at the pristine laboratory, desperate to pick fault. "All clean, boy?"
"Sir."
"Sterilised the knives? Washed the cauldron?" He casts his eyes to the line of rags at the back of the room. "I see you've finally remembered to disinfect the cloths after tidying."
"Sir."
"Perhaps my instructions do not all go straight into one ear and out through the other as I so feared," Jigger says, with a dangerous smile. "Well then, if all is as seems, leave the potion on my desk, and you may go."
Severus tries not to sigh. He knows that Jigger knows that he's failed. Jigger knows there's no potion. Jigger knows there's nothing for him to inspect. Jigger knows that for the fifth time, Severus Snape is a disappointment, and a disgrace to the profession. Only this time, it wasn't strictly Severus' fault. It was Avery's.
Severus composes himself – What does Lily say? Count to ten? – least, he tries, but he's only reached four when Jigger coughs impatiently.
"Sorry, sir," he says. "I greeted Avery and took my eye off the flame, and the potion overheated."
Jigger leans in close to him. "Then the lesson is not to let your friends into your laboratory when you're brewing, isn't it?"
"Sir."
"This is an apprenticeship, boy, not a youth club."
"Sir."
Jigger steps back, seemingly aware that Avery is watching the scene unfold with a look of wonderment. "Yes, well. At least you tidied up after yourself. I trust you found all of the excretions?"
"Yes, sir. I think so, sir."
"There is no 'think so', boy. There is, 'Yes, I have, sir', or 'No, I have not, sir'."
"Sorry, sir. Yes, I have, sir."
"Think carefully, boy, because if I find any trace of dragon's eye around this lab-"
"-you won't, sir-"
"-then I can promise you that you will be very miserable for the next few weeks." He pauses, and Avery is watching with his mouth slightly gaped as Jigger stands over Severus, somehow managing to loom over him, despite Severus' recent growth spurt. "Well? Still sure, boy?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then you may go." Jigger waves his hand. "But from now on, I will be deducting the cost of the ingredients for this potion from your wages."
Severus' heart sinks. Dragon eyeballs are rare – and expensive.
Bloody Avery.
"But sir," he starts, desperate for his Master to reconsider, "I didn't-"
"-and you can cease your continual interruptions of me, boy. When I am talking, you are not. Understand me?"
"Sir."
"Your continued failure at this potion suggests you are lacking in either talent or temperament. Given the general standard of your brewing, I suspect the latter is the cause. Perhaps being financially responsible for your silly mistakes will ensure that you concentrate properly on the matter at hand, and will help you to develop your focus." He draws himself up to his full height. "Now get out of my sight."
"Sir," he says, pulling on his cloak and then indicating to Avery that they should leave.
"Bloody hell, what a git." Avery looks at Severus admiringly, as the two stalk from Jigger's and down the road. "How do you put up with that?"
"With great difficulty," Severus spits. "I'm telling you, Ave, whatever Malf wants, this had better be good. Do you know how much dragon's eyes cost?"
"I dunno what he wants," Avery says, shrugging. "You know what Malfoy's like. Could be anything." He appraises Severus. "But I reckon it might something big. After all, he didn't send a letter, did he? Or a house elf."
"Yes, he sent you," Severus muses, softly – almost to himself.
They round the corner and before Severus can pull out his wand, Avery grips his arm and the twist of Apparation spirals them both through the ether.
"Ugh," grunts Avery as his feet hit the ground.
"Fuck's sake!" Severus yells, as he stumbles forward on landing, grabbing at Avery's arm. "What did you do that for? I can Apparate, you bloody idiot."
"Not to here, you can't," Mulciber says, stepping forward. "Good job, Ave."
Severus looks at Mulciber in alarm, and then back to Avery. He's not here, but there, he thinks, and a cool shudder runs down his spine. "I thought Malf wanted me?"
"He does."
"...so why am I here?"
"We are going together."
Severus throws his hands up, his irritation getting the better of him. "Look, Mulc. Ave. It's great to see you both, but I've had a hard day, right? I just want to-"
Mulciber draws his dark cloak around him, lifting the hood, and taking a mask from his pocket. "As I was saying, we are all going to see Malfoy. This is, shall we say, a precaution."
"A precaution?" Severus looks alarmed, especially when he sees Avery also pulling a mask from his pocket. "A precaution for what?"
Avery slides his mask in place, and if Severus didn't know for certain that the two young men before him were his old roommates, he'd have been terrified; the masks and cloaks reveal none of the person beneath - there's no indication as to whether the figures are friends or foes, or how well equipped they are for a fight.
It's only Mulc and Ave, he thinks, trying to calm his rising blood pressure. He slides his wand into his hand, ready to brandish it if required, and then Mulciber throws a cloak towards him, and he catches it with his non-preferred hand.
"Put it on," Mulciber orders.
Severus scrabbles with the material, dragging it over him and lifting the hood over his hair. He fumbles in the pockets. "Is there a mask as well?"
"Eager?" asks Avery, barely keeping the joy out of his voice. "Told you, Mulc-"
"-not yet," Mulciber says, although it's not clear which man he's speaking to. Mulciber grabs Severus roughly by the arm. "Ready?"
"Wait, no. No! Not at all. You haven't said where we're going-" Severus protests.
"We both have," Mulciber says, sternly. "Ave told you that he'd come to get you to see Malfoy. And I've told you that we're all going to see Malfoy." Mulciber's head moves slightly, but with the mask covering his features, the expression on his face is hidden. "Have those potions fumes addled your brains? You need to be sharper than this, Snape. Trust me."
Trust him? Severus has never trusted anyone less. And then, for the second time in as many minutes, he's dragged through the swirl of another's Apparation - and when his stomach drops, Severus can't tell if the cause is Mulciber's rough magic, or the fear that's been steadily building in his chest.
When they land, it's in a dark room - if he didn't know better, he'd have said it was the ballroom of the Manor, but despite Mulciber and Avery insisting that they were on their way to see Lucius, Severus didn't believe a word of it. It's far too cold to be Malfoy Manor - too sparse, too grey, and as he picks himself up off the floor, he notes that the mosaic tiling is too plain to be commissioned by any of the Malfoys.
As he stands and brushes grit from his palms, and sweeps dust from his newly acquired robe, he quickly takes the opportunity to survey the room - there's a tall figure sat on a large chair at the top of the room, flanked either side by two rather more deferential figures. He glances over his shoulder and there's a throng of people, all wearing the same robes and masks - and this shared uniform strips them all of all other characteristics.
If it wasn't so terrifying, he'd have laughed - he could've been stood in a room with all of his old classmates, or the aurors from the Ministry, or the faculty of Hogwarts, or even random Muggles plucked from the street. It was impossible to tell if these were men, or women, or old, or young, or-
A loud crack of Apparation tugs him out of his thoughts, and he glances to his left as a body hits the ground heavily. Mirroring Severus' actions from a moment earlier, the person shakily dusts themselves off, and stands, and Severus catches a gleam of white blond hair peeking from beneath the hood of the cloak.
Please be Malf, he thinks. Please be Malf.
And then the figure turns to glance at him, and Severus' knees almost give way - for it is Lucius Malfoy - but his lip has been split, and there's a thin line of blood trailing from his eyebrow and down the side of his face.
Severus can't help the gasp that he makes. "Malf-"
"Silence!" roars one of the masked people standing to the side of the seated figure.
Lucius shoots him a look that Severus can't quite read, but it's enough to quell him.
"Stay there, Lucius," comes the command from the seated figure. "You," he says, pointing his wand towards Severus, "come closer."
Severus starts to obey, and then the pull of magic surrounds him, and he's dragged several yards across the floor until he's sprawled on the ground before the seated figure. He starts to pick himself up, but glancing at the figures before him, he's not quite sure what's expected of him, and stalls his movement, leaving him on his knees.
"This one knows his place," the seated figure laughs, and as if on command, the rest of the figures laugh along too, their mirth echoing around the cavernous room. "I like you already." Then his wand flashes, and both Severus and the seated figure are standing, staring one another in the eye.
The commanding man removes his mask with a lazy flick of his wand. The revealed face is extremely handsome, and looks very pleased, whilst Severus is still fighting the rising bile in his throat at being moved forcibly and unexpectedly once more.
Merlin's sake, he thinks, don't throw up.
"No, don't do that."
And Severus freezes.
Did he just read my fucking mind?
He glances at the man, who has now turned to confer with the two masked figures to his side.
He was probably just talking to them, he reasons, trying to compose himself. Get a grip, Sev, he thinks.
One of the masked figures levitates a table towards him, whilst another carries a briefcase. The table is set down just inches from where he's standing, and the case is laid on top - and the handsome wizard flicks his wand, opening the latch, and lifting the lid.
"You are an apprentice brewer, aren't you?"
Severus can't speak - the words are trapped in his throat - and it's all he can do to nod.
"Do forgive me for abducting you in such an uncouth manner," the man says, tapping his wand against each filled flask, and sounding anything but apologetic, "but I have a small problem, and I was hopeful that you might be able to assist."
Again, mutely, dumbly, Severus nods.
"For the benefit of all of those gathered," the man says, tapping his wand against each flask again, resulting in a sharp tinkle that echoes throughout the room, "could you take one of these potions from the case, and tell the room what it contains?"
Severus nods again, and his hand reaches for the nearest flask. He unclips it from the case, and lifts it to the light and inspects it closely, before uncorking it. He places it under his nose, and gently inhales - just as both Jigger and Borage taught him to do.
"There's no point taking great gulping breaths, boy!" Borage had berated him in his first few days as an apprentice, "What if it was a poison?"
But this isn't a poison, Severus is sure, and he inhales carefully again - although it isn't necessary, because he already recognises his own handiwork.
"Ready?" The handsome man leans a little closer. "Then speak loudly."
"It's Unicorn's Fright," Severus says, trying to keep the shiver from his voice.
"Unicorn's Fright," repeats the man. "Unicorn's Fright. How interesting." He stands straighter, his arms outstretched, addressing the room. "Have any of my friends here heard of Unicorn's Fright? Had any use for such a potion?" There's a mumbling of dissent, and Severus can feel his heart thundering in his ears. The man leans back in. "Is it a common potion?"
Severus shakes his head. "The more," and he stumbles over his words, "the more common potion is Unicorn's Delight. You use it to entice a Unicorn, and-"
"I know what Unicorn's Delight does!" screams the wizard, all composure lost - and then, as quickly as his anger came, it disappears. "Tell me, how do the two potions differ?"
As Severus open his mouth to answer, the man loudly continues, "and I do not mean how the creature reacts, as that is evident from the name alone. As you are an apprentice potioneer, I wish for you to tell me the difference in how they're brewed."
"...porcupine quills," Severus says, eventually, his voice desperately shaking now. "At the end of the brew, you add porcupine quills and stir rapidly. That's how you make Unicorn's Delight. And if you don't, you make-"
"This," says the man, waving his hand over the briefcase full of potions.
Severus nods, still not daring to speak directly to the man unless bidden.
"Is it a common request? Unicorn's Fright?"
Severus shakes his head.
And then the wizard leans in to him more closely, his wand twirling dangerously between his fingers. "And do you recall Lucius here requesting that you make Unicorn's Fright?" There's an almighty pause, and then the man smiles. "Or were you supposed to brew Unicorn's Delight?"
Then the man's wand is in the air, and there's a spell, and then there's an intruder deep in his head. Severus falls to his knees and screams loudly as the man rips through his memories. It feels as if his brain is being pushed through a sieve, and desperate for it to cease, desperate to keep this terrifying wizard from discovering any trace of what's truly important to him - his girlfriend, his family, his embryonic business - Severus guesses what the man is searching for, and deliberately brings the brewing session to the forefront of his mind.
Severus thinks over and over about all of the precise steps he'd followed, and Jigger and Slughorn interrupting him at the end, him decanting the potion, and then he starts it over again - it's then that the man finally latches on to the vision, and the evening's brewing feels as if it's being ripped from his hands, and examined against his will. After several minutes, the man withdraws, and Severus slumps onto the floor, panting heavily.
"It was perhaps unfortunate that you were interrupted at the stage you were," the wizard says, generously.
Severus nods, his face flushing. As soon as he identified the potion in the case, his heart had sunk into his feet, knowing exactly what the problem was.
"However, unfortunate circumstances do not restore the inconvenience that I have suffered," he continues. "I would anticipate that a brewer of skill would remain aware of their surrounds, and would not make such errors."
It's like listening to Jigger, he thinks.
"And cannot go unpunished."
Still like listening to Jigger.
"The question is, do I punish you - the idiot brewer - or the man who dared to deliver such goods?" And now the wizard is staring at Lucius. "The man who trusted what he was given. The man who chose his brewer poorly. The man who should know better." There is a long silence, until eventually, the man turns to Severus once more. "You feel my power?"
"Yes, sir."
The wizard makes an irritated noise. "My Lord," he corrects. "Sir is for your Master, or perhaps even Lucius here." There's a ripple of laughter around the room, and then the man's deep in his memories again, pulling out scraps of brief interactions of the pair at Malfoy Manor. "Or not." He looks surprised, and a little interested as he looks at Lucius. "Malf. How familiar you permit the boy to be, Lucius."
There's another ripple of laughter from the assembled crowd, and Severus can see Lucius staring impassively ahead, as if nothing has been said, but the wizard's attention is back upon him, already bored of Lucius.
"And are you familiar with the Cruciatus?"
Severus swallows hard.
Familiar with the Cruciatus? Who can consider themselves familiar with such a curse?
He remembers it from school - the lesson on the three Unforgivables, and the warnings of the horrific pain that one could be subjected to if it was wielded by a wizard with skill, and Severus is in no doubt that this is a wizard with skill. "I am aware of the curse, my Lord."
"Tell me," he says, almost amicably. "Tell me who I should punish. The man who brokered this deal? The man who knew who he was purchasing for? The man who should know better? Or you? The boy who made an innocent mistake?"
They stand in silence for long minutes, and Severus is dumbstruck, with no idea what to say.
The wizard then gives an almost imperceptible shrug, and again, it's as if he's read his mind. "There are no wrong answers. It is of no consequence to me."
Severus doesn't dare glance at Lucius.
This lunatic is going to Crucio one of us. For making a simple mistake.
And then the guilt settles in his stomach - Malf, who had always stood by him, would be Crucio'd for trusting him. And it was his own mistake - wasn't Jigger always screaming at him that his work was sloppy, that he didn't take enough care? Wasn't this whole scenario illustrative of that very complaint?
Thank Merlin Jigger just wants to garnish my wages and doesn't think to curse me with Unforgivables for making errors.
"Me, my Lord," he says, his voice quaking, "it was my mistake, not Lucius'. I have never made a mistake for him before whilst brewing," and his breath catches in his chest when he says it - for all of his rushed work, it was always his apprenticeship that suffered; he always took extra care when it came to brewing his illicit potions, "so I understand why he trusted me, and I do not wish for that trust to be broken. I am the one who deserves your ire, my Lord."
He can almost sense Lucius sagging with relief, and the wizard looks momentarily impressed. "Very well," he says. "The rest of you may go."
Severus hears the crowd behind him departing, footsteps heavy on the ground, and voices grumbling about missing out on some much desired entertainment.
"Not you, Malf," the wizard says, with a dark chuckle, and beckoning him back. "I think that you should stay. When I have finished, your boy might need some assistance."
And now, Severus really does think he might throw up. He glances at Lucius, who looks equally terrified, and then back at the floor. Severus can hear the handsome man seating himself, and when all others have departed and the room is silent, Severus finally peers up from under his hood.
The man nods, as if he was waiting for such a movement, and beckons both youngsters towards him. As they step closer to him, the powerful wizard holds his hand in the air, and there's an almighty pressure on his shoulders, forcing him to kneel. A quick glance to his left shows that Lucius is submitting in the same manner.
"But I am nothing if not benevolent," the man says, his wand twirling between his fingers once more. "Your lesson in this, Lucius, shall be that I reward bravery. And I think we can both agree that your ever so loyal little pet here has been brave."
"Yes, my Lord."
And then his attention is back on Severus. "So, if you please me, young man, I will refrain from using the Cruciatus upon you."
He isn't sure whether to weep with relief, or to shake with fear - because this man, this terrifyingly powerful wizard, wants something from him; wants Severus to please him.
He follows Lucius' lead. "Yes, my Lord."
"Very good. Now, I wish for you to select your own punishment."
Severus doesn't dare breathe.
I don't understand, he thinks.
And now the handsome man is smiling - no, not smiling, leering. "During your life," he elaborates, "you have been punished for misbehaviour, have you not?"
He's fairly sure this wizard saw something when he was peeling through his memories, although he can't quite be sure what as it all happened so fast - perhaps the time his mam backhanded him for drinking the last of the milk and leaving his da without any for his tea at breakfast, or maybe the time the teacher at his Muggle school sharply rapped his left hand four times with the cane and he'd gone back to his desk with his palms pressed firmly between his thighs, blood starting to ooze onto his thin shorts.
Or maybe he didn't see anything. One or two students at Hogwarts had heard whisper of Severus' miserable Muggle background, and he had no idea who was stood in the room watching tonight - or even Lucius himself might've let something slip. Lucius did like to deride Severus' parents' marriage as being a waste of a decent witch, Severus' own failings blamed on his father's useless blood tainting him. Unfortunate. That was the word he heard the most to describe the Snape family. His father was unfortunate. His mother's choices were unfortunate. Severus' faults were unfortunate.
The wizard snaps him out of his thoughts. "If you understand my power," he intones, "and you understand your costly mistake, then I wish for you to choose - to show me one of your previous punishments, and that is what you shall receive tonight in lieu of the Cruciatus." He pauses. "But be warned, if I find your choice insufficient, I will search your memories until I find a punishment which is appropriate for the infraction, and you will submit to that instead."
Severus knows that this wizard would delight in exploring his head, examining his hopes and fears and dreams and memories, and he wants nothing more than to keep this creature out of his brain. So, his heart heavy, he drags his most hated memory to the front of his mind, and nods, indicating that the wizard should commence.
The wizard raises his wand, and casts, and as the awful images flicker across Severus' brain, the wizard seemingly delights in what he's witnessing. He watches the scene repeatedly, forcing Severus to relive every shout and scream, and every howl and whimper, as if this moment itself is a warm up to the main event.
Eventually, the wizard stops and leans back, his wand dangling from his fingers. "Oh my," he says, and he seems utterly gleeful. "Yes, this will do nicely."
Chapter 20: Pandora's box
Notes:
Contains corporal punishment and animal death.
Chapter Text
It doesn't matter how cold it gets, he always sleeps in his underwear; pants only, no vest. She comes from a family where flannel button down pyjamas are de rigueur in the winter, replaced by lightweight cotton in the warmer months - so although she didn't expect him to look as if he'd stepped out of page 472 of the Littlewoods catalogue, she also hadn't anticipated that he'd slide into bed wearing the same y-fronts that he'd worn all day.
"What?"
"They're not exactly sexy, are they?"
"And striped brushed flannel is sexy, is it?" He gives her an incredulous look. "I bet Dursley wears striped brushed flannel to bed."
"You're freezing. I bet Vernon isn't."
He gives her that smug raised eyebrow that he only seemed to acquire after they became a couple. "Why would I need brushed flannel when I've got you?"
"Get the fuck up!"
She doesn't press it as an issue; it's not that big a deal - although she does eventually convince him to take a shower and switch into clean underwear before heading to bed. It's a compromise, she reasons, although when he curls up against her, his torso freezing, she wishes he'd reconsider. Even a t-shirt would help.
Lily doesn't complain too strongly, though - after all, cuddling up next to her loving boyfriend in their own private flat is much more agreeable than staying in Cokeworth with her parents and sleeping in her childhood bed.
Still, it would be nice on cold nights to be embraced by someone who wasn't impersonating an icicle.
"Now! Yer little fuckin' shit!"
His large fist grips the material of his son's shirt, scrunching and clenching the fabric until the tightened neck is choking the flailing teen. The teenager's arms are windmilling as he's hoisted from his slumber, but his father's hold is firm.
"Wha-"
"Don't fuckin' what me, you little fuckin' psycho!"
And then he's thrown against the bedroom wall. He quickly swipes at his eyes, trying to remove the sleep from them before he's hit again.
"Go on, get on wi' yer!"
There's a hefty kick to his side, thudding into his waist and just glancing the bottom of his ribcage. He gasps, and he's roughly grabbed by the scruff of his neck, and shoved unceremoniously through the doorway.
Finding somewhere to live had been arduous, despite both of them being in full-time employment; apprentice wages were far lower than an ordinary wage, and she refused to look at anywhere outside of Hogsmeade. She would've admitted that it was an odd request, until he refused to consider anywhere with stairs.
"You are joking, right?"
"Who needs stairs?"
"...people who want more than a flat. A house, for instance."
"Why do we need two floors? There's only us. We just need somewhere to eat, somewhere to wash, and somewhere to sleep. What's that?" He ticks his points off on his fingers as he counts the rooms. "Kitchen, bathroom, bedroom?"
"Severus..."
"Let's be honest, just a bedroom would do us."
"Severus!"
He grasps for the woodwork, desperately trying to hold onto something - anything: doorframe, bannister, even the skirting board - but the boy's weak grip is nothing compared to his father's fury.
"Don't fuckin' mess me about! Get down them stairs!"
He's shoved in the back, and he stumbles down the stairs, slapping his hands on the paintwork to steady himself and barely keeping himself upright, the heavy footsteps of his father pounding down the steps behind him.
In the end, they'd found a flat which had stairs on the outside, and after testing the lock on the front door, rattling the handle and banging his hip hard against the wood, he'd reluctantly agreed it was suitable.
"The rest of it's fine," she says to the estate agent, "but it's a shame it doesn't have a garden."
Severus looks at her like she's grown another head. "What do you want a garden for?"
"So you can grow your potions ingredients."
"I can get discounted ingredients through Master Borage. Why would I want to grow them?"
"I thought you liked Herbology? You were always in those greenhouses at school. Sprout recko-"
"-because I couldn't afford top quality, that's all. I had to grow my own. I hated it."
"But, Sev-"
"-I just said, didn't I? I hate Herbology, and I don't want a garden. Or a yard. Or anything outdoors."
"Gerroff," he yells, as he's thrown out into the frigid yard. There's the bitter tang of blood in his mouth - although he's unsure whether he's bitten his cheek in the tussle, or if his lip was forced around his teeth when his head was thumped against the pointed edge of the oven. "Get the fuck off me!"
"Don't even think about it, Lil."
"But why? They're so cute with their tiny paws, and when their tails-"
"-no."
"Sev, please - just come with me and look? I'll walk it-"
"-I said no."
"But if you just held one, you'd fall in love-"
"-I'm serious. Bring one of those into my home, and it's the last you'll ever see of me."
"I always knew yer'd do summat like this!"
"Like what?" he screams. "Like fucking what?"
"Yer a fuckin' freak, an' yer gonna break yer mam's heart carryin' on like y'are!"
Severus looks helplessly towards the house, willing his mother to step out of the shadows and intervene, but Tobias' large hand grips Severus' chin firmly, his fingers digging painfully into his sunken cheeks.
"No point lookin' through the kitchen window, yer little fuckin' monster, she ain't gonna fuckin' help yer this time."
"I wasn-"
"-she wants to know why," Tobias spits, and pushes his son's head back against the wall of the house, Severus' skull meeting brick with a sickening crack, "but I don't fuckin' care why. Yer can explain yersel' to her tomorrow. If yer got the bollocks-"
"-I ain't a fucking coward!"
"I bet your mum was pleased."
"Mmm."
"With your mid term report."
"Mmm."
"Professor McGonagall wrote ever such nice things about me, but Mummy and Daddy don't really understand what Transfiguration is, or Arithmancy, and I nearly died when Petunia asked if Astronomy meant I could read her star sign!"
"Mmm."
"I tried to show them what Transfiguration was last summer, do you remember?"
"Mmm."
"And I got a letter from the Ministry. The Ministry! I guess your dad is the same as mine, but at least with your mum, she's been to Hogwarts, so she understands what it all means."
"Mmm."
"Is that all you have to say, Sev? Mmm? Are you even listening to me?"
"Yeah."
"So?"
"So..?"
"Oh honestly, Sev! What did your mum say about your report?"
"Oh. Nowt."
"Didn't Sluggy write anything nice?"
"Yeah."
"Didn't she read it?"
"Yeah."
Tobias shoves him against the wall again, and then grabs at his worn t-shirt, his thick fingers tearing the thin cotton as he shakes him. "Why d'yer do it? That's what them fuckin' psychopaths do, them what yer see on telly and read int paper. What were yer thinkin'? Leavin' fuckin' bloody clothes all round our house, and yer din't even bury the poor fucker properly! Six inches of dirt ain't gonna do it, yer lazy little fuck - if yer gonna bury summat, yer gotta go deep.
Tobias shakes his head in disgust. "I ain't like yer mam. I never thought yer'd come good. I knew yer was a little weirdo - yer always were, but she thought with yer goin' that school and hangin' around wi' that posh girl, yer would get on straight and narrow. An' just fuckin' look at yer."
"I ain't done nowt!"
"That's why yer fancy headmaster writ to yer mam, is it? Coz yer ain't done nowt there either? Yer lyin' little shite! Yer a disgrace at school-"
"-I'm not!"
"-an' I ain't fuckin' surprised. No wonder they don't want yer back."
Severus recoils like he's been slapped, but Tobias carries on, as if his son hasn't reacted.
"An' I don't wan' yer back 'ere 'an all, behavin' like this. Bringin' shame on this fuckin' family. How'm I gonna walk in the pub again, eh? How'm I gonna look John Davies in the eye, eh? Aye, all right Johnny lad - how's yer missus? And yer kids? I'm sorry to hear about yer dog-"
"-Da-"
"-sorry my boy came home fer the weekend an' fuckin' murdered it!"
"But-"
"-no hard feelins' eh? Yeah, that's gonna go down real well, son. Real fuckin' well." Tobias jabs his finger towards Severus. "Whatever is goin' on in yer head, I'm tellin' yer, yer not bringin' this shit to my door."
She taps his open book, interrupting his reading. "Sev! Slughorn's absolutely furious you missed Potions. Have you been here all afternoon? Did you lose track of time or-"
"-just didn't fancy it."
She gives him a funny look. "Yeah, right. Severus Snape didn't fancy Potions class, and next week, pigs are going to fly from the Astronomy Tower."
"Knock it off, Lil."
She drops her bag next to him, and sits herself on the grass. "I just can't imagine you deliberately skipping Potions, that's all."
"I didn't get much sleep," he shrugs. "You've got to be careful when you brew. I'd only end up burning my eyebrows off or something."
"There's loads of people like that at the moment."
"What, with no eyebrows?"
"No, idiot," she laughs. "People who can't sleep. I wondered if it was the owls or ghosts or something-"
He gives a derisive sniff, and she punches his arm.
"All right, no need for the sarcasm," she says, "it was just a theory."
"Ghosts don't keep me awake, Lil. Upcoming OWL exams are what's keeping people awake."
This time, it's Lily who scoffs. "Sev, they're months off yet. Nobody - apart from you - has even thought about them."
"No? I reckon you should."
"Yeah, well, Lupin looked shattered today, and I know he's not been studying."
Severus falls silent, but Lily's fiddling with her shoelace, and misses his wary look.
"But it's definitely not ghosts with him either," she adds. She drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Slughorn sent him up to Pomfrey, and then that third year Hufflepuff - you know, the one with the freckles-"
"Wallace."
"Yeah, Wallace. Pomfrey sent him down with a message, and it turns out that Lupin's mum's sick."
"Oh."
"Yeah. They're sending him home for a few weeks."
"Right."
"It must've been bad, because Sluggy even excused Potter to go and see Lupin before he left. I've never seen Potions so empty."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Lupin, Potter, you-"
He scoffs derisively. "It's not as if anyone would miss me."
"Slughorn did."
"Professors don't count."
"I missed you," she says, and jabs him in the ribs when he rolls his eyes, "and don't say that I don't count!"
"You're my lab partner, of course you missed me. But-"
"Anyway, it wasn't just me. ...Black was very interested in where you were." She looks slightly confused. "In fact, it was after Slughorn was asking where you were that Lupin felt sick-"
"-right, I'd best go and see Slughorn," he interrupts loudly, suddenly standing and looking over his shoulder in each direction. "Better explain myself to him."
"I'll come wi-"
"I can fight my own battles, Lil. I'll catch you later, all right?"
"Yer mam says beatin' it out of yer ain't gonna work," Tobias muses, fumbling with his belt, "but I ain't got any other answers."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Da, I'm sorry, I-"
"Yeah, yer sorry yer got fuckin' caught. That's what yer sorry about. What's next, lad? Some bloke yer get in a fight with, an' yer decide to dice him up? Some bird who turns yer down at the disco, so yer slit her throat behind the bins? Lose yer temper wi' that lass yer follow around like she's got all the answers to the universe, and yer give her a quick slash wi' that knife-"
"-I wouldn't do anything like that! I'm not crazy!"
"Yeah, an' I'm tellin' yer that sane people don't go round killin' animals for no reason, yer sick fuck." He brandishes his belt, the buckle gleaming in the moonlight. "Face the wall."
"Da, please."
"Put yer hands against it, an' bend over."
"Da, I'm begging you. Don't do this. Not out here where the neighbours can see."
"The neighbours are gonna be the last thing yer'll need ter worry about if yer don't get yer hands against the wall right fuckin' now." He snaps the belt in the air with a thundering crack, and Severus quickly complies, his legs trembling with fear. "An' yer can just be thankful I ain't gonna make yer count."
There's a flurry of activity - of voices, of dark laughter, of retreating footsteps - and he's vaguely aware of Lucius throwing a robe over him. He assumes it's an attempt to protect his modesty, but the material hurts so much when it makes contact with the wounds on his back, he immediately shakes it off.
He considers attempting to stand, but the idea of it makes him feel queasy, and even though he's been left alone, he isn't entirely sure he's actually been dismissed - the last thing he wants is for this to have all been pointless, and to end up being held under Cruciatus because of yet another stupid mistake.
The floor is deliciously cool against his hot face, and he whimpers against the tile. He isn't sure how long he lies there - it might've been sixty seconds, or sixty minutes - but then there's a tight grip around his bicep, and someone trying to pull him upright. He grunts in protest - he doesn't really want to stay here, half-naked and bleeding on this strange floor in this unknown location, but the thought of moving his aching body is equally distressing.
"Come on," says Lucius, urgently. He bundles up Severus' clothing, and holds it underneath his left arm, and hoists the younger man until he's standing, one arm looped pathetically over Lucius' own shoulder. He jabs Severus' wand into his hand. "I'll Apparate us-"
"No," Severus says, thickly. "Home."
Lucius lowers his voice. "You know I can't Apparate us to yours-"
"-Floo."
"The Manor is blocked, and I thought you'd taken the same precaution?"
"Aurors." Severus' eyes flutter closed.
Lucius looks a little guilty as the meaning of Severus' words sinks in. "I'll find us a fireplace," he says. "And then I'll get that blocked up again."
"Azkaban."
"They won't put you in Azkaban for having a blocked Floo," Lucius says, his voice oddly soft.
"Said they will." And as if using more than one word in a sentence was the final blow, Severus' eyes close completely, leaving Lucius to drag his dead weight to the nearest fireplace.
"It wasn't for no reason!" he sobs between blows. "It wasn't for no fucking reason, I swear!"
He lies on their bed, his stomach pressed against the mattress, whilst Lucius stalks around in a circle.
"When will she be home?"
"I don't know. Didn't even know she was going out." He winces. "She probably got tired of waiting for me to show up for tea. I said I'd be back by five."
Lucius tuts, and checks his watch. "It's half seven."
"Yeah, and telling me the time still doesn't help me know where she is."
"I don't want to leave you on your own."
Severus groans. "I'm fine. Really."
"Really?"
"Well, you're making me feel seasick with your pacing."
"I meant your-"
"-I know what you meant, but you'll wear a hole in my carpet if you keep that up."
Lucius doesn't apologise, but he ceases his pacing, and sits on a corner of the bed, the mattress sagging slightly with his added weight. "Does it still hurt?"
"Of course it still hurts. Wouldn't be much of a punishment if it didn't hurt, would it?"
"I suppose not."
Severus sighs. "You can go, Malf. I don't need a carer."
"I'll wait until she gets back."
She rattles the spoon in the mug, stirring his drink furiously, and then she presses the teabag against the rim, squeezing out the last drops of tea.
"Thanks," he says, taking the mug from her, holding the sides instead of the handle. The china is so hot, it scalds his hands, but instead of adjusting his hold or putting it down, he grips it more tightly, as if he's relishing the pain.
She watches him curiously, taking a small sip from her own hot mug, her fingers curled around the cooler handle. "Is that why?"
"Why what?"
She taps his hot mug. "Masochism, they call it."
"You think I wanted him to beat me?" His voice is higher, incredulous. "Fuck me-"
"-don't swear!"
"You're the one who keeps letting him hit you! You're the one who wouldn't leave him. Wouldn't stand up to him. I never asked for any of that." He jerks his shoulder, indicating to his torn back. "Or this."
"No?" Her enquiry is mild - a soft, taunting smile playing on her lips.
"Bloody hell, Mam," he says, looking stunned. "You're as crazy as he is."
"And you're as crazy as we both are," she says. "Killer."
He looks wounded. "Yeah well," he shoots back, hotly. "If I'm messed in the head, it's because of you pair. You've made me like this!"
"Us? I doubt it." She stares at him now, her expression serious. "If it had been a cat you'd skinned, I'd have said it was a Manticore-"
He jolts at her unnerving insight but doesn't respond.
She doesn't need him to - his reaction is enough, and she smiles broadly before continuing. "Well done, Eileen. You can take the witch out of the wizarding world…" She pauses for a moment. "So? If it wasn't a Manticore, what was it?"
He shakes his head, and sips his tea, but it's clear that she isn't going to let the issue go.
"I see. He told you not to tell anyone, didn't he? Made you swear it." She purses her lips. "A wizard's oath, perhaps?"
Her eyes narrow when he shakes his head again.
"Or just a young boy's honour?" she guesses.
He gives a stiff nod.
She huffs a cold laugh. "I should come back with you. Give him what for."
"You can't. He'll think I told you."
"And then he'll throw you out." She exhales heavily. "You need to finish school to keep your wand."
"I know."
"...so is it out of your system now?"
He stares at the half-filled mug, and runs a long finger around the rim. "...I don't know."
"Your father won't let you back here in the holidays if you're going to slaughter the whole neighbourhood's pets."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Are you?"
"How long?"
"Weeks," he says, bitterly. "This'll be weeks." He inhales unsteadily. "Some punishments were worse than others. Sometimes it'd heal pretty fast, and you'd only really be in blistering pain for the first couple of days. But this? This was the worst I ever had," he says, "and believe me, it was weeks."
Lucius looks aghast that Severus is able to make such comparisons between punishments, unable to tear his gaze from Severus' damaged back. "He did it often, then?"
"Often enough."
"I can't do anything to help," Lucius says, sounding exasperated. "Dittany's not working - it's as if he's cursed the marks. Is there anything…" He trails off, and looks as if the words are being pulled from him with force. "Could you… ...in the Muggle world… What did you do? He won't have thought of prohibiting a Muggle remedy, so-"
"Nothing."
"Nothing? Nothing at all?" Lucius looks horrified. "But-"
"There was this one time," Severus says, and with his light tone, it sounds as if he's reminiscing about a particularly joyful family holiday, "when I was pretty small, and Lily's parents saw, and they rang the social."
"The social?"
"Social Services. It's this Muggle thing. The authorities. They make sure that everyone's looking after their kids properly - not starving them, or abusing them, or-"
"-beating them?"
"Yeah."
"And what happened? They stopped it?"
"Did they fuck," Severus says, softly. "What happened, Malf, is that my da came home and hit the roof. He beat seven shades of shit out of my mam for letting them in through the door in the first place, and I remember her screaming as he banned me from ever seeing Lily or her family again. Then, when I thought he'd finished, he turned to me and beat seven shades-"
Lucius holds up his hand to stop him from speaking. "I can guess the rest."
"Yeah."
"You know, Severus, you really do tell the most charming stories."
They stare at each other for a long time, before she snakes her weathered hand out to hold his. "I won't repeat a word you say. Not to him, not to the school, not to anyone."
Once more he shakes his head, and she grips his hand more tightly, trying to force him to speak.
"You enjoyed it, didn't you, Severus?"
He's frozen to the spot, one hand being held by his mother, the other still gripping his lukewarm tea. "...I…"
"...yes?"
"...I enjoyed it." He screws his eyes up tightly. "I enjoyed killing it, Mam." And then his chest heaves. "Da's right, isn't he? That makes me a psychopath or-"
"Shhhh," she says, squeezing his hand more tightly still. "Were you thinking of him when you did it? The boy? The wolf?"
"Yeah."
"Then I wouldn't say that makes you a psychopath," she says. "Your father doesn't understand what it is to be in genuine fear of your life. But you weren't torturing an animal for fun - you were getting revenge, weren't you?"
"Yeah."
"A demonstration of your power? A test?"
"...yeah."
"And you're not going to do it again, are you?" And her voice hardens now. "Promise me, Severus."
"...but-"
"I don't care," she says, her voice low, "how good it felt. That's your true punishment. Not the beating."
"...I don't understand."
"You opened Pandora's box, Severus - and now you have to live with the knowledge that you're not just capable of killing, but that you like it. That you enjoy it. But that-"
"-I can never ever do it again."
"Yes. Now promise me."
"I promise, Mam."
"Good boy."
Chapter 21: Eligible chaps
Chapter Text
She doesn't go to every Order meeting. Not through lack of interest, but because Dumbledore and his fellow leaders are canny - the collection of witches and wizards are rightly wary, and Lily's not stupid; she quickly realises they're deliberately spreading information through different groups of people, trying to establish if there's any sort of leak. Given her bed partner and his apparent refusal to sit amongst them, she knows she's viewed with more suspicion than most, so she's gratified when Diggle contacts her for the third time in a week - is this acceptance?
Lily sits, and Potter immediately sits next to her, with Black and Pettigrew next to him.
"Hi."
"Hi yourself," she says, and nods curtly to the other two boys, who barely raise a hand in greeting. "Fourth musketeer got better things to do? Or not invited?"
"He's channelling Hank," quips Black, leaning back on his chair, and clocking the entrants. "Here comes Bones."
"She's missed at least a fortnight," Pettigrew notes. "Didn't Moody say she'd gone on holiday?"
Potter flashes a grin at Lily, and whispers under his breath. "The Ministry believe she'd gone on holiday. We know she went undercover. I think Gideon said she'd been tracking remote creatures."
"How does Gideon know that, and not Moody?"
He gives her a strange look. "Moody knew."
"But-"
"Moody is selective with the truth," Potter says, but before he can continue, Black bangs on the table.
"Hey hey, Vance is here! It's been so long, I thought she'd gone dark."
"More chance of you doing that than her," Pettigrew laughs, and then groans as Black thumps his arm far harder than was strictly necessary.
"Where's Remus?" she tries again. "Channelling Hank?"
Potter and Black chuckle, and she's embarrassed that they understand, and she's as confused as Pettigrew appears to be. She fleetingly wonders how he copes with being the only one of the group not to grasp every observation, or joke, or wry comment made by the rest of his friends - but then she realises that Pettigrew's not listening to their conversation; his attention has been diverted by Alice and Frank who have taken the seats on his left side - and she feels a little ashamed that she'd judged his intellect so sharply.
"Thought you'd know him," Black says loudly, pulling her back from her thoughts, "with your background."
"He's a Muggle singer," Potter explains. He drums his fingers on the table, and starts to sing. "You got me chasin' rabbits, walkin' on my hands, and howlin' at the moon."
"Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww," Black leans over and harmonises.
"...I've heard that somewhere before," she says, a crease appearing between her eyebrows.
"Yeah, I reckon," Black says, with a sneer. "Your man used to sing it in the corridors between classes."
"Without the howl," Potter quickly adds. "He was a bit sharper than that."
She shifts uncomfortably. She can't remember Severus behaving in such a way, but then she didn't follow him down every corridor in their schooldays.
"So we adopted it," Potter adds.
"Private joke and all that." Black shrugs. "Not that this time of the month is very funny for him."
She doesn't know what to say in response, and she's relieved when the door slams shut, and Dumbledore calls for the meeting to start.
Lucius glances over at Severus, who is becoming whiter as the minutes tick by. "Is it getting worse?"
"No."
"You're deathly pale." Lucius appraises the wounds on Severus' back, checking for any obvious blood loss. "Are you still bleeding?"
"No." He sighs loudly. "I appreciate your help, Malf, but you should get back to Cissy."
"I'm not leaving you on your own," Lucius says, firmly, and he looks again at his pocket watch. "Twenty past nine." There's a horrible silence, punctuated only by the sounds of the street drifting up from outside. "...you're worried about her, aren't you?"
"You should get back to Narcissa."
"And leave you to go hunting for your Mu-" He stops himself from using a slur, but gives Severus a look of disdain. "You're not in a fit state to go anywhere."
"Yeah? And what if she's hurt, Malf? What use am I to her just lying here?"
"You're the one who's hurt!"
The meeting is long and miserable, and the only bright moment is her realisation that Moody has stopped actively glaring at her from over the table. The reports of Ministry infiltration are difficult to listen to, and everyone's expressions are grave throughout. When Dearborn pipes up - and it's the first time she's ever heard him speak - and informs the young members that they're all to take exceptional care, both Pettigrew and Potter look troubled, and even the ever-cocky Black exhales loudly.
When the meeting is finally called to a close, Amelia Bones beckons her over, and Lily finds herself standing between her and Emmeline Vance - two of the most magically powerful women in the group - both sipping coffee. Neither of them offers her a cup, but she tries not to read anything into their actions.
"Given your silence until now, I expect you have nothing for me?"
"Not really, Amelia" she admits, feeling ashamed - and useless. "I know you only gave me one task, but-"
"We would rather you do it properly," Vance says, curtly.
"What Emmeline means," Bones interjects swiftly, "is that flawed information is of no use to us."
"No," Vance argues, "what I mean is that flawed information is downright dangerous. It's worse than useless - if we believe it to be true, it can lead us to commit resources to the wrong target." She leans a little closer, and Lily can smell the coffee on her breath. "It's not just that we're wasting time and effort on the wrong person, but it's the distraction. It's the fact that whilst we're looking to the left, the real culprit is scot free on the right. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"So, I don't want quick information; I want correct information." Vance leans back, her gaze fixed on Lily's face, scrutinising her. "...you are a surprise."
"Me?"
Vance waves her hand distractedly. "You're very pretty. It's not usually the pretty ones."
"I don't… I'm not sure what you're saying?"
"There's usually something wrong," Vance says, briskly. "Too tall, too short, too fat, too thin, not very bright, bad hair, crooked teeth-"
"Wrong blood?"
"Good answer," mutters Bones.
"My point is," Vance says, as if neither of the two women had spoken, "what is a nice girl like you doing with him?"
Her fists ball by her sides. "I am becoming rather tired of that question."
Bones' lips quirk in amusement. "Now now, Emmeline - a girl can't help who she falls for."
Vance doesn't look impressed. "Really? There's plenty of eligible chaps in this group. Plenty of eligible chaps who aren't Death Eat-"
"-he's not a Death Eater!" She realises too late that her voice is a little loud, and the room falls silent, all attention suddenly on their small group of three.
Lucius is pacing again. Severus can't watch - he's still lying face down, his face now nestled in his forearms - but he can hear the thud of his friend's boots as he stamps around in circles.
"She'll tell me off."
"She'll tell you off?"
"For your boots," he explains, his voice muffled. "She'll think it's me. She's always telling me off about wearing my boots indoors." Then there's some shuffling, and gentle thudding, and when Severus looks up, Lucius is stood before him in his socks. "I didn't mean for you to take them off."
Lucius shrugs. "I can't have you getting in more trouble tonight, can I?"
"...I'm going to lose my job."
"I'll sort out Jigger."
"Not Jigger," he says, "although Merlin, yes, if you could step in with him-"
"Consider it done." Lucius stands in front of him. "The bar job then?"
Severus gives a slight nod. "I've been missing loads of shifts lately," he says. "Ros'll think I'm unreliable, and Malf, I need the money."
"I'll go and see her. Talk to her."
He tips his head up. "If you go down there now to explain, she'll pass you a cloth, you know. Get you to stand in."
Lucius laughs lightly. "I can clean a glass."
"Without magic? Without elves? I'll believe it when I see it."
"Anyway, I've told you - I'm not going anywhere and leaving you alone."
"So what are you going to say to her?"
"I'll explain the circumstances."
Severus looks stricken. "You can't tell her what happened! You can't tell anyone-"
Lucius waves his hand, and strides over to the window, peering out again - as if willing Lily to return and take hold of the conversation. "I'm not going to give her any details. I'll just…"
"Just?"
"Convince her."
Severus exhales loudly. "There's no need for that. Ros is all right, Malf."
"Merlin, Severus, I'm not going to hurt her."
"No?"
"...I'll just persuade her." He shrugs, and turns back to his friend, a smile dancing on his lips. "And I can be very persuasive."
"Hey," he says, grabbing her elbow as she makes for the door. "Where are you slinking off to so soon?"
"I thought you'd want to go with Black and see Lupin?" she says. She looks behind her, seeing Black talking animatedly to Pettigrew, showing him something from his pocket.
Potter nods. "Sure I do, but I can go later." At her look of surprise, he quickly adds, "I always walk you back. I've got time for us to do that before I go and visit Remus."
She doesn't look convinced, and he appraises her, mistaking her unsure look for concern.
"He's okay," he says, giving a half-laugh. "Blimey, I didn't know you cared so much."
And then she really does look confused, and he immediately mirrors her expression. "Wait," she says, "who do you think I'm worried about?"
"It's fine, you can come with us, I'm sure he won't mind-"
"No," she says, quickly. "I don't want to see Remus. I mean, I hope he's ok but-"
"-you weren't worrying about him," Potter realises.
"I was debating going down the Broomsticks," she admits, pulling her robe around her a little more tightly.
"Oh. I see. Not Remus. Snape."
She rolls her eyes. "Severus," she corrects, with equal feeling. "...something's not right."
"You're fretting over nothing," Potter says, slinging his arm over her shoulder, and giving her a half-hearted hug. "Sniv-Severus," he quickly catches himself at her dark look, "was always the same at school - too involved in his brewing. He's just lost track of time at Jigger's and made himself late for work. He'll come in tonight after his shift like nothing even happened."
"Yeah." She sounds unconvinced.
"...we can go and check. ...if you like?"
She untangles herself from his hold, and gives him an incredulous look. "I'm not walking in the Three Broomsticks with you - if Severus is there-"
"Which he will be."
"-then he'd have a heart attack on the spot!"
"So what then?" he retorts. "You can't go alone - not with the restricted purchasing laws. Someone will challenge you if they see you freely out and about, hanging around in a bar with intent."
Her expression is defiant. "I'll peer through the window."
"You won't," he says, sternly. "I'm taking you home, and then I'll go back and check."
"...I don't want to-"
"Nobody will think twice about me being there - I'm just another pureblood wizard out for a drink."
"But Severus-"
"I'm not going to stay," he says. "I'll walk in, spy him behind the bar, make some excuse and walk straight back out. Easy."
Lucius is staring out of the window, peering at the people who pass - and then he turns, decisively. "Got an owl?"
"Yeah, I've got six out the back," Severus drawls, not lifting his head from the mattress. "Take your pick."
"...funny."
"I thought so."
There's a long moment, and then Lucius pushes open the window, and as the cool evening air rushes in, he casts - calling an owl from Malfoy Manor.
"Malf…"
"I'm going to ask a friend, that's all," he says.
Severus drops his head back onto his crossed forearms, not wanting to look at his friend. "Arrests?"
Lucius winces. "I was thinking admissions to Mungo's."
"Oh."
"...but you're right," Lucius says, softly. "If she's been wandering out alone at this time of night, I'll have to check the Auror office as well. They do a sweep of Knockturn around this time."
At that, Severus makes a weird noise - a mixture between a cough and a sob, and Lucius is back by his side. When Severus doesn't move, Lucius gently reaches forward, and rests his fingertips on Severus' scalp. It's semi-comforting, which Severus realises is the intention, and doesn't pull away.
"It's my fault," Severus eventually croaks. "She'll have been looking for me, and now she's-"
"-we don't know-"
"-I know! I bloody well know!"
"You don't know."
"I do know, Malf, because she's always here, and now she's not." He looks up, his eyes filling with tears. "And I can't do it again, Malf. I can't get her out of whatever mess she's in this time."
"But I can," Lucius says, firmly. "And I will."
Her crack of Apparition is quieter this time, and as they land, Potter stares up at her flat.
"Hey, I think he's there," he says, pointing at a shadow that quickly disappears.
"Where?"
"I saw someone in the window," he says.
She looks up, anxiously, but there's no movement. "It's probably just a shadow from an owl or something." She pulls her robe tight, and walks towards the flat, turning and frowning when Potter follows her. "I thought you were going to the Broomsticks?"
"I'm not letting you go up there alone."
"Potter-"
"-I'm serious," he says. "Either that's him, and I don't need to go to the pub, or it's…" He trails off, looking concerned. "I won't take no for an answer."
"Did you hear that?"
"I didn't just hear it; I saw it." Lucius' face is drawn.
"Was it her?"
He nods, and Severus bounces up from his position on the bed. Lucius raises a calming hand.
"What?" His elation quickly disappears at his friend's reaction. "What is it? Is she hurt?"
"Put something on," Lucius says, grabbing a t-shirt from the top of the wash bin.
Severus sniffs it, and looks at it dubiously.
"I know it might sting," Lucius continues, "but you don't want your wounds to be the first thing she sees, do you?" They both pause, as Severus thinks it over, and then Lucius presses. "You need to find out where she's been - if she sees this, she's going to question you, and not the other way around."
He's right - so Severus carefully slides the fabric over his head, wincing as the cotton brushes his back - and just as he straightens it, he hears the front door open.
"I told you - he's not here."
"Where's that window look out from?" a male voice booms, and Severus' stomach flips over.
"The bedroom," Lily answers.
"Then we don't know he's not here until we've checked. I definitely saw someone in the window."
"You did indeed," says Lucius smoothly, yanking the bedroom door open. "You saw me."
Chapter 22: I think we should both be alone
Chapter Text
Potter's breath catches in his throat, making his voice slightly strained when he speaks, but his incredulous tone says more than his choice of words. "Is that..?" And he takes another step forwards, as if he doesn't trust his eyesight. "Lucius Malfoy?"
"Indeed," says Lucius. The silence that follows is palpable - Lucius stands in the doorway, his frame seemingly filling the space, and Potter stands next to Lily, his hand by his side, but his wand firmly clenched in it. Lily's eyes dart left and right, as if silently checking the flat and its contents, and then she suddenly notices Lucius' socked feet.
"He's here," she says, simply - correctly guessing that Lucius wouldn't have taken his boots off of his own accord.
Lucius gives a stiff nod.
"But why are you?" Potter blurts out, unable to keep his silence.
"I could ask you the very same question," Lucius says smoothly. "I suspect your answer will be that someone who lives here invited you in?" He shrugs. "I shall leave you to draw your own conclusions."
Lily takes a step forwards towards the bedroom, but Lucius blocks her way. "Move," she says.
"I think not."
"Move now," and her voice is suddenly low and fierce. "I want to see him. I need to see him."
"Well, he does not need to see you," Lucius says, dismissively. He reaches behind him, grabs the door handle and pulls it behind him so it almost shuts. He deliberately leaves a gap, ensuring that Severus can listen through the opening, but his message to Lily and Potter is clear; they're to talk to him - not Severus.
"It's my house. It's my bedroom! You can't stop me."
"I can, and I will," Lucius says firmly. "Severus is asleep. He took ill at work - an allergic reaction to some ingredients, I believe - and when you could not be contacted, it was requested that I look after him. I took him to the Manor to recuperate for a few hours, and when he worsened, he was asking for you - so I brought him home." A slow smile creeps across his face, but there's no sincerity in his eyes. "Imagine my surprise to find his flat completely empty, and his girlfriend nowhere to be found - not a note, not an owl…
He lets the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing, "and without his lovely girlfriend to aid him, I found the task of nursing him fell to myself." His pale eyes seem to pierce her own. "Of course, Severus assures me that something urgent must've occurred for you to be absent, although-" and he checks his watch, "-due to the hour, he had started to fret that some terrible ill had befallen you. It took all of my strength to wrestle him back to his bed, such was his distress."
She flushes at the implied comparison between his care for her, and her for him. "I was worried-"
"She was helping me," Potter blurts out, desperately trying to cover for her.
"Oh! Oh, of course. She was...helping you," Lucius says, deliberately, elongating the words. "My, why didn't you both say so in the first place?" He shoots them both another cold smile. "Now that we know the truth, I am quite sure that Severus will understand."
"I need to talk to him-" Lily starts, but as she moves forward, Lucius blocks her way again.
"No."
"You should let her see him," Potter argues, leading the three of them to square off by the bedroom door. "He'll want to see her."
Lucius puts his arms out to the side, holding the door frame on either side, making the barricade clear, and with Lily's way blocked, he turns his attention to Potter. "You said she was helping," he says, softly. "Helping you to do what, precisely?"
Potter draws himself up to his full height, and meets Lucius' eye. "None of your business."
"Of course," Lucius says, smiling once more. "How terribly rude of me. Now, do remind me of your name, what is it? Porter? Cotter? Rotter?"
"Potter," he hisses.
"Potter. Yes, how forgetful of me."
"No matter what happened tonight," Lily says, stepping between the pair, and attempting to break the building tension between the two men, "I'm home now. So, thank you for bringing him back, Lucius, and I'm sure that Severus appreciates your help, but I think we should both be alone now."
"You should both be alone? Tell me, is that you and Severus?" Lucius inquires, mildly. "Or yourself and your young man here?"
Both Lily and Potter talk over each other as they try to refute the idea.
"He's not my-"
"I was just seeing if she-"
At their hasty denials, Lucius raises an eyebrow. "Ah, now do forgive me. It was simply that as you entered, it sounded as if you wished to be alone together? It sounded as if you believed that Severus would be at work, leaving you both free to-"
"No," Lily interrupts firmly, "I was worried about Severus. James was going to help."
"Oh I see!" And now Lucius' grin is so broad, it does reach his eyes. "James was always such a good friend of Severus', wasn't he? I see why you would run to him. And tell me, where have you searched for your boyfriend? Jigger's laboratory, where Severus studies during the day? Or did you call on Rosmerta in the Three Broomsticks, where Severus is employed of an evening? Or his friends, perhaps? Unfortunately, I was not at home to take a social visit, but I am certain that my lovely wife would've directed you to me had that been the case. Or did you decide to start here, at his home," and he checks his watch again, "at ten to eleven at night?" He chuckles. "By now, of course, Severus has only been missing for what is it? 4 hours? 6 hours?" He laughs again, almost revelling in Lily's discomfort. "Well, what's a few hours between friends and lovers?"
Lily draws a deep breath, composing herself, and then stands up to Lucius. "I think you should leave."
He leans down, his long hair glancing her shoulder as he hisses in her ear. "Gladly." He pushes the bedroom door open, and - still blocking the way - summons his boots. He steps into them swiftly, and then he stands, back straight, and tosses his hair. "Good evening, Evans," he says, in a formal goodbye. "And to you too, Trotter."
Potter's jaw is set as Lucius leaves, the older wizard's steps heavy on the outside stairs. "He's such a git."
"He is, but he's also right," Lily says, eyeing the half-open bedroom door. "You shouldn't be here."
"I want to make sure you're all right-"
"I'm fine," she snaps. "And I want to see Severus is okay."
"Severus is fine," comes a dark silky voice from behind the door, causing both Lily and Potter to stiffen, and then Severus steps into the light. "But he thinks it's time you left, Potter."
"Snape-"
"Leave."
"I was just-"
"Leave."
Potter looks towards Lily, who is fiddling with her bracelet and staring at the floor. "Are you okay? You can come with me. You don't have to stay here with him-"
"I am not going to ask you again," Severus says, coolly, stepping forward, his wand gripped tightly and pointing straight between Potter's eyes. "Get the fuck out of my house."
She sits on the sofa, twisting her hands together. "Sev, please? We need to talk about this, and if you're not feeling well, you shouldn't be..." She swallows hard, not wanting to think about what he's doing behind her. "You should be in bed. Resting. Getting well, not getting yourself all wound up with nonsense and things that don't matter."
He doesn't answer, and carries on opening drawers and cupboards, tossing anything of hers to one side as he rummages.
"Sev, come on," she implores. "Come to bed with me."
At this, he makes an odd pained sound, and then he throws the ornament he's holding at the wall, and it smashes into several pieces. Immediately, she jumps up, her mouth gaping. "Severus! Don't-"
"Don't what?" His thin face is filled with anger, and his narrowed eyes have an odd gleam to them. "It's just an ornament. Just some painted plaster or china or terracotta or whatever the hell it is. It doesn't mean anything. Not really."
"It does to me."
"Does it? Does it mean something to you, Lily?"
"Yes. It's sentimental."
"Sentimental?" He laughs, and it's a horrible stark laugh that echoes around the flat. "You want to talk to me about feelings?" He sweeps his hand across the top of the table in a fit of rage, brushing everything - mugs, plates, newspapers, coasters, quills, parchment - all onto the floor, the items clattering around them. "Well, Lily, I don't give a fuck about your feelings."
"Sev-"
"And the only fucking reason you haven't followed your lover-"
"He's not my lover!"
"-through that door-"
"-is because I know too much?" she challenges, stepping in front of him, and pushing his chest lightly. "That's why, isn't it? Because I know all about your scummy dealings, and your dark associates, and-"
He looks astonished, and his voice is shrill. "Know too much? Know too much?" He shakes his head, and grabs the back of her neck, pulling her forehead hard against his own. "No, Lily, it's not because you know too much."
She swallows hard, and tries to look away from his dark eyes. "No?"
"No," and he tightens his grip, "because you know fuck all."
She winces. "Don't, Sev, you're hurting-"
"Good. Because you need to understand this: this has nothing to do with anyone else. This is me and you." He stares deep into her eyes, and she finds it unnerving - those same dark eyes which have followed her movements for years, those same eyes that held such love and such promise, and now they're hard - as if they, and he, are completely closed off to her. He gives a choked laugh. "In fact, this isn't me and you. This is you. This is all you. You've done this."
"I haven't-"
He carries on as if she hasn't spoken. "It'd be easy if you simply knew too much. Lucius will be the first to tell you, there's ways of silencing people who know too much. Temporarily." He shrugs casually. "Permanently. It's no difference. They're all just obstacles. Easy to get over."
"What are you saying? I'm an obstacle?"
"No, but I fucking hope you're easy to get over," he spits, pulling away suddenly.
"Sev, no! No, don't do this, not like this-" She grabs at his sleeve, but misses and lightly catches his back, causing him to yelp in pain. "Sev?" she asks, surprised at his disproportionate reaction. "Are you-"
"The problem," he shouts loudly, ignoring her question and shutting his bag with a flourish, "isn't that you know too much! No. No, it'd be a lot easier that way." He pauses for a long moment, grabbing his robes from the back of the chair and screwing them into a ball, and then, his face twisted in anguish and wringing the dark cloth between his long fingers, he whispers, "...the problem is that I love you."
She takes a step towards him again, but this time, he holds his arms outstretched before him, as if fending her away, creating a barrier between the two of them. "That's not a problem, Sev. I lov-"
"No," he interrupts, "no, you don't. You can't."
"I do-"
"You don't, because you wouldn't have done…" And then he stops, his expression filled with anguish. "Lily, I love you more than anything…anything that's ever been in my life..." He draws to a halt, as if he can't speak.
"And I love you, Sev," she says desperately, tears falling down her face, her arms reaching for him. "Please. Let's talk about it. Don't do this. Don't do this to us."
He shakes his head. "I might love you, Lily, but right now, I can't even fucking look at you."
And then, with a bang of the door, and the clatter of his feet on the stairs, he's gone.
Chapter 23: Are you in?
Chapter Text
She's never slept in this bed without him. They'd both had occasions when one had stayed awake longer than the other, and both had turned in without their lover lying next to them. They might be partners, but they aren't joined at the hip. It isn't unusual for one to stay up reading, or listening to the radio, or to go out with friends and stumble in - worse for wear - several hours after the other had long fallen asleep, but this is different. She's never ever gone to their bed knowing that he wasn't going to join her at some point over the next few hours. Until this night, she's never closed her eyes in this bed, knowing that when she next opens them, she'll still be alone and he won't be lying next to her.
By the time dawn breaks, she still hasn't slept without him. Instead of sleeping, she pulls his pillow to her face, breathing in his scent and watching the door desperately. Every time the flat creaks, or there's the smallest noise outside, she hopes that he'll swing the door open, and pull his clothes off, dropping them haphazardly onto the floor - for her to pick up in the morning - and then he'll slide under the covers, pressing his ice cold body against her own, using her body heat to warm himself.
He doesn't.
By the fourth night, she finally sleeps, but not because she's any less miserable - merely through exhaustion. At the end of the week, she knows the bedding is long overdue a change, and although fresh laundry is stacked ready in the cupboard, she can't bring herself to strip the sheets and rid her bed of his scent.
She doesn't know where he's gone - she visits the lab, and Jigger seems to think he's at some Potions Conference with Slughorn that cropped up at short notice. She quickly chases Slughorn, but he doesn't answer her calls - but then, if he really was at a Potions Conference, he couldn't answer anyway, could he? The only other person she could think of trying was Lucius, but he's consistently unavailable - at a Potions Conference too, she thinks, spitefully - and despite his cowed house elves desperately insisting that they were conveying her messages to their master, he simply doesn't answer. She doesn't dare venture into Rosmerta's - and if Severus isn't at Jigger's, she reasons he can't be working in the Broomsticks either; even old Jigger would notice if Severus was too busy to attend the lab during the day, but managing to sweep up a bar in Hogsmeade of an evening.
She goes back to Cokeworth on more than one occasion, but Spinner's End seems to get darker each time she visits. The Snape house is starting to look increasingly like so many others on the estate - no signs of life at all, as if it was derelict. It can't be derelict. Where would they go? She stands outside and frowns; she can't recall Severus saying his parents were going away - she can't even remember a single time that Tobias or Eileen had ever been on holiday.
It's on her third visit, when she's almost given up, that she finally sees Tobias and Eileen walking down the street together. She runs up to them, but the couple barely acknowledge her, an entirely unsuitable response to her enthusiastic greeting. They quickly make their excuses to depart, evidently not wanting to engage her in more than a quiet hello, but even as she plays the meeting over and over in her head, she has to acknowledge that there's nothing untoward; Severus himself would be the first to attest that neither of his parents were particularly warm or welcoming, and he was their own flesh and blood.
He can't be here, she reasons. They'd have said something.
So then she walks back over the river, her head down and the wind whipping bitterly around her face and through her hair. When she rings the bell, and her mother answers, her resolve finally crumbles. Instead of a hello, she greets her mother with a heaving, wracking sob - and she cries so hard, it takes twenty minutes to convince Rose that somebody hasn't died.
"Right, young lady, you're staying with us," her mother says, plumping the pillows and smoothing down the sheets in Lily's old bedroom. "You're all set up here. No reason to go back there."
"But what if he turns up and I'm not in the flat? What if he leaves again and-"
"And if he's ready to talk, he'll find you. You're at our house, Lily, not an unmapped catacomb. He's a clever lad, he'll work it out."
"I suppose."
Rose stands, her hands on her hips. "Lily, lovey, whatever's happened between you, he's not going to throw away your relationship-"
"I think I already did that for us."
Rose sighs, pulling her youngest daughter into a tight embrace. "If it's meant to be, it can be fixed. I'm a firm believer in that." She lightly brushes her fingers through Lily's hair. "Do you think you and Severus are meant to be?"
Lily gives a half sob. "I thought so."
"I thought so too," Rose says, softly. "I didn't at first-"
Lily pulls back, as if she's been stung. "You don't-"
"When you were little," her mother continues, ignoring the interruption, "I thought he'd just be a friend, and then when you started seeing each other…"
"What?"
Rose gives her a small smile. "You're the best thing that ever happened to him, Lily. The surprise to me and your father wasn't that Severus was keen on you."
"No?"
"No. It was that you returned his attention." She kisses her daughter on her forehead. "And if you love him, I don't see wild horses keeping him away from you. He knows you're the best thing that's ever happened to him." She pats the bed. "Get some sleep. He'll come for you, I'm sure."
But he doesn't.
"What's with her?" The door doesn't quite shut as she storms up the stairs, and Lily hears Petunia questioning her father.
"You've heard of GMT and BST?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"Well, we're working on AS time," her father says, carefully.
"AS time?" booms Vernon's loud voice. "And what's that then?"
"After Severus." There's a pause, as if her father's thinking. "And if my calculations are correct, we're only in the 275th hour."
"She's counting their break up in hours?"
"We're all counting it in hours," she hears her mother saying, and then Lily slams her bedroom door shut so she doesn't have to hear them talking about her any longer.
"I need to go back," she explains, promising her mother that she'll be in touch every day. "I'll never forgive myself if he's there without me, waiting for me."
When she opens the door to the flat, it's strangely cold, and a little eerie. There's still mess strewn over the floor, and cupboard doors left open where he'd been gathering his belongings. There's a funny smell in the fridge, and a mark on the wall where he broke the ornament. The air in the bedroom seems stale, and their bedding a little musty, and it almost breaks her heart to crack open the window - and before she can think better of it, she forces herself to change the bedding. As she bundles the sheets up, she presses her nose to them, desperate to smell him - and then she retrieves his used pillow case, and throws it back on the bed. I need something of him.
She stays there, barely eating, hardly living. Each day, she prays there'll be something - anything - from the post owl, but there isn't. There's nothing from Lucius, or Jigger, or Slughorn, or Rosmerta. It's as if Severus has vanished - as if he never existed in the first place. When a letter finally does arrive, her heart tightens and her chest clenches, and her fingers shake as she tears the envelope open - but when she realises it's from Potter, she drops it to the ground without reading anything further than the salutation.
"I'm not home," she yells through the window when she sees Black and Potter stood outside in the street.
"Evidently." Black tosses his hair. "C'mon, Evans, we just want to talk to you."
"I don't…" She groans. "I can't… What if he comes home?"
Black mutters something to Potter, and he says something back, and although she can't be certain, she's sure they're debating the odds of Severus returning home in the next ten minutes, given that he's been missing for over a fortnight.
"If he comes home, we can Floo out," Black calls up. "But if we keep shouting at you from here-"
"-then we'll be the first thing he sees if he does return," Potter finishes.
She stands there for a long moment, unmoving, and just as Black is about to turn on his heel and Disapparate, she nods.
It's an uncomfortable meeting - both young men standing with their hands braced on the back of the sofa, them not sitting and her not offering them any hospitality. She can see Black looking around at their furnishings, judging how they live, how their relationship was. She can almost see him imagining Severus sprawled on the sofa, and eating at the table.
"Well?"
"What do you think?"
She looks furious. "I don't have time for riddles, Potter," she spits. "Just tell me-"
"He means, what do you think about his proposal, Evans," Black snarls. "You don't have to be so angry with us, we've not-"
"All right," Potter mutters in Black's ear, grabbing his arm to control him as Lily glares at them both furiously. "She's having a rough time, and I've already been thrown out of here once. Let her off, eh?" He steps away from Black and nods. "He's sorry. We mean, what did you think of my letter?"
She hasn't read it, even though it arrived days earlier. She plucks it from the table, and quickly scans it.
"She hasn't even read it," Black mutters, angrily. "Waste of time."
"Shhhhhh!"
She looks confused. "I heard about the Order of Merlin," she says, folding the letter over and then burning it in the grate by casting at it with her wand. "But Belby's patented it. You have to register to be part of the trial. I'm sure he could-"
"He's not registering," Black says, firmly. "You know how the Ministry is being infiltrated-"
"-yeah, you heard Vance and Bones and Moody," Potter presses, and she flinches at the names of the Order members. "That place is full of holes, and word'll get out."
Black looks serious. "But Vance got us this," and pulls a piece of parchment from out of his robes.
Her jaw nearly drops as she scans the looping script. "Is this..?" The methodology is difficult, but not impossible, and not for the first time, she wishes Severus was there - wishes he could see what was in her hands.
"Nobody is licensed to brew it," says Potter.
She looks at them both quizzically. "I thought Borage had the-"
Black sniffs. "He brews under agreement, but it's not a licence. It's not the same."
"I understand the difference," she argues, hotly, and attempts to pass him the parchment back. She's surprised when he steps back and shakes his head.
"It's yours."
"I can't."
"You can," says Potter, eagerly. "I know he's good, Lily." He glances at Black. "But so were you. I remember Slughorn saying that you were going to be his protégé. If it wasn't for these lousy laws…"
"The same lousy laws that will see Remus killed," Black adds darkly. "This will help him."
"It's not a cure, and his condition isn't a death sentence."
"No?" says Potter, lightly. "Then you should've taken us up on our offer to visit him last month." He appraises her. "I can get the ingredients."
Black glances around the flat. "And if he's taken his stuff, I can get you the equipment."
Potter claps his hand on her shoulder. "But we need you."
"I don't know…"
"Not for us," Black says. "For Remus. From one person suffering under these stupid laws to another person suffering under them as well."
When she looks conflicted, the men exchange a small smile.
"This will change his life," Black presses.
"Well?" Potter asks. "What do you say? Are you in?"
Chapter 24: Scrike over a girl
Chapter Text
He stands in the small kitchen, watching as the rain beats down on the window. He loses track of time, spending hours watching the droplets merging into each other and sliding down the glass. Eileen comes and goes, making porridge and cups of tea, passing him a biscuit, and cutting up sandwiches. He doesn't move, and she works around him - sometimes humming, sometimes whistling, but never speaking. Not until gone two, when she wipes down the worktop and then taps his slender forearm.
"Either wash up, or get out."
When he still doesn't move, she rolls her eyes and passes him a tea towel, which he silently accepts. She shrugs her sleeves up to her elbows, and runs the tap, and after a meagre squirt of washing up liquid, the bubbles build in the sink.
"That's a charm," he says. "There's no way that tiny squirt made all those bubbles."
She smiles. "What your father doesn't know won't hurt him." She taps the washing up liquid bottle. "Do you know how much Fairy Liquid costs?"
"...no."
She sniffs. "Don't you wash up, then? S'pose there's a charm for it these days, is there?"
He wipes a glass, then another, and then puts them in the cupboard. "She does it."
"Really, Severus," she admonishes. "I brought you up better than that."
He shakes his head defensively. "I work. A lot."
"And she doesn't?"
There's a long pause as he dries three mugs, carefully wiping the suds from the insides. "They've brought some laws in."
Eileen freezes, her hands no longer moving in the water. "Blood laws?"
"Yeah."
"Are you looking after her?"
There's another long pause, and Severus is relieved when his mother finally passes him a plate. "I was," he says, carefully. And then he bends over to put the clean plate in the cupboard, and his t-shirt drifts up his back. He quickly pulls at it, and she looks at the sink. He stands and turns, tucking the material into his jeans so it won't lift again, and he glances at her, checking her expression. When she doesn't seem to react, he releases a breath and grabs the cutlery. Cutlery's safe, he thinks. No need to bend over to put these in the drawer.
"Will she take you back?"
"I dropped her," he says, stiffly. "It's me who needs to take her back."
"Severus…these laws. It's not safe for her..."
His jaw juts out, and he puts the tea towel on the table, signalling that the conversation is over, and then he taps her cigarette packet in an unspoken question.
"Help yourself," she says, picking up the tea towel to wipe the last two plates that he's left on the draining board. She watches him wander out into the yard, lighting the cigarette with a smooth flick of his wand, and she pulls the plug on the sink.
"You rang?"
Severus looks over at his father, suddenly pulled from his thoughts. "What?"
"Lurch," Tobias explains. "Yer look like Lurch."
Severus glances at Eileen, who is peering at her knitting. "It's on the telly," she says. "He's the butler."
Severus rolls his eyes. "Makes sense, as per usual."
"Makes sense as per usual," Tobias mutters. "Yer ain't even seen it. Yer'd get it if yer saw it."
"Right."
"Sarcastic little shit, y'are."
"You're the one talking nonsense!"
"There's no need to 'ave an argument about every little comment," Tobias huffs, flicking through his newspaper.
"...sorry."
"Yer don't need ter be sorry. I'm jus' tellin' yer to sit yersel' down, soft lad. It's unnerving having yer stood int doorway."
Eileen drops a stitch, and her needles still. "Leave him be, Toby," she says. "He's not harming anyone if he wants to stand."
"Yeah, I like standing," he says, defensively.
"Then you stay stood there, Severus," she says, kindly, and her son watches her suspiciously, his fingers unconsciously tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. "It's just nice to have him home."
"Well," Tobias sniffs loudly, "wouldn't quite go that far."
He's in the kitchen again. There's no rain today, but he's mesmerised by the sunlight glinting across the yard.
"Washing, or drying?"
"I'll wash," he says, and he squirts a tiny amount of washing up liquid in the sink. Bullesco, he murmurs, and then grins when the bubbles multiply, glancing excitedly at his mother. She gives him a pinched smile in return, and he immediately tempers his reaction, causing her to reach for his hand.
"Good," she says - and his smile returns at her praise.
"Wasn't difficult to work out." He starts scrubbing at the pan that had porridge in it. "Did you glue this on?" he complains.
"Your father likes it thick."
"Thick? It's like concrete!" He attacks the pan again.
"...we saw her today," Eileen ventures, cautiously.
He stops, his back straight, his hands not moving but still submerged in the soapy water. "She knows I'm here?"
"No."
"What did you say?"
"Hello."
"That it?" He glances at his mother. "And him? What did he say?"
"Same."
"...and her? She ask about me?"
"No."
Hurt flickers across his expression, and then he composes himself. "Right then."
"She was looking for you, Severus."
"Not hard enough," he snaps.
He moves out of his room, and across the landing, one foot poised to head down the stairs when he hears his father's grumble from the kitchen.
"I'm not sayin' that-"
"It sounds like it," Eileen snaps. "I'm glad he feels he can come here."
"Two and a half weeks, it's been." Tobias' voice gets a little louder. "Eatin' us out of 'ouse and 'ome."
"Hardly," she scoffs.
Severus stills on the stairs, listening intently to their discussion.
"He's had a nasty shock," Eileen continues.
Tobias huffs. "She wasn't gonna stay with 'im, was she? Blind Freddy could see that. She's pretty and clever-"
"He's clever!"
"Yeah, but he ain't pretty."
"-he broke up with her, actually," Eileen interrupts.
There's a break, and Severus strains to hear - his father sounds incredulous.
"Got ideas above his station, 'as he? Forgot to look in the mirror? He needs 'is fuckin' 'ead read. Who else is gonna take up with a lanky streak of piss like 'im, eh?"
"It's not all about looks," Eileen says, briskly.
"I didn't say it were, did I! She's a nice girl!"
"If he's not happy, then-"
"If yer ask me, he just thinks grass is greener. That's all. Collared one, so he reckons he can find another just as easy. He'll find out he can't."
"The wizarding world is complicated," Eileen murmurs, and he can't pick up on her next sentences. "...some kind of trouble."
"I'll speak to him."
And at his father's decisive sentence, Severus turns and heads back into his bedroom.
That night, there's a fumbling at the door, which gives Severus just enough time to pull his t-shirt back on. Then, the door swings open, and his dad stands in the doorway, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
"All right, lad?"
"All right." Severus doesn't look up from his position on the bed, lying on his front and flicking through an old textbook that's resting on his pillow.
"What yer readin'?"
Severus turns back to the front cover. "1001 Bases," he reads aloud. When his dad looks none the wiser, he elaborates. "Every potion has a base. Think of it like cooking gravy or something - you always put in water and flour, but-"
"Yer mam does all the cookin'," Tobias interrupts, a little awkwardly.
"Right."
"Yer like it though? This magical brewin'?"
"Yeah."
"Yer mam said yer had some trouble."
"...oh?"
"Wi' yer brewin' man?"
Oh. "Master Borage?" Severus nods. "Yeah, I left him. Working for another wizard now, Master Jigger."
"Right. Is he better, then?"
Severus screws his nose up. "In some ways. He's a bit more laidback."
"Laidback enough that he don't mind yer takin' three weeks off to scrike over a girl?"
There's a very long silence, and then eventually, Severus speaks. "Come up here for something, did you?"
"...yer mam thinks-"
"I'm not in any trouble."
"Right," says Tobias, looking unconvinced. "I ain't bothered 'bout yer bein' 'ere, lad…" There's another long pause. "But yer flat, like?"
"What about the flat?"
"If yer not workin'-"
"I'm on holiday!"
"...is she payin' the rent man, then? Don't want yer losin' yer little place coz of an argument y'see."
He freezes. The rent. "There's no man," he says, quietly. "It comes out of an account."
"An' yer got enough, 'ave yer? In this account?"
Severus gives a stiff nod.
"Good. Just checkin'."
He knows it'll work, Muggle post. He remembers Petunia's letter to Dumbledore, and he's not ready to go back. He doesn't want to be seen by anyone else, doesn't want to have the conversation with any of them - not Jigger, not Avery, and most certainly not Lily. He uses a chained pen in the Post Office, and scrawls Malfoy's address - URGENT - he writes, across the top of the envelope, and then he licks the back, and affixes the stamp, and shoves it in the bright red box.
It's been three weeks now, and he still doesn't know if he's going back - but there's things in that flat; his books, and his clothes, and his hidden wall of potions. Not to mention Lily. He knows his mam's right about the blood laws - if she can't get access to his account to top it up, and the rent isn't paid, she'll have nowhere else to go.
He wonders how she'll top up the account to pay the rent. Potter. And then he wonders where she'll go if she was evicted. Potter's. So then he stuffs his fists in his jacket and stalks across the playing fields, kicking clods of grass up from the football pitch. The only time he looks up is when a ball lands near his feet.
"Kick it back, eh?" comes the yell, and he taps it with the outside of his foot, positioning it, and then strikes it hard with his instep, sending it sailing over to the group of kids playing on the far side of the field.
"Cheers mate!" one calls, as they resume their frantic game.
He watches for a moment, seeing them run around. It all seemed easy back then.
It's almost a routine now, washing up after lunch.
"Mam…"
"What?"
"How do you know?"
She doesn't answer; it's not really a question, and he's been so skittish since his unexpected return, the wrong word could send him stomping back up the stairs, not to be seen for a day or three.
"...if it's worth fighting for?" He breathes in unsteadily. "How do you know that someone's with you for the right reasons?"
She hesitates, carefully wiping over the worktop whilst she thinks. "And what would you consider the right reasons?"
"What if she's only with me because of the laws?"
Eileen gives him a curious look. "There's better catches than you."
"Thanks, Mam."
She dips her hand into the water, and entwines her fingers with her son's. "I meant blood. If she's with you because of blood, why choose a Halfblood with a Muggle father?"
"I guess."
"...or are you telling me that all of the Purebloods are suddenly sight impaired?"
"No."
"Well then." She taps his hand, and pulls hers out, drying it on the tea towel. "She must see something else in you, or she'd be with one of those. A Black or an Avery or-"
A Potter, he thinks. "Right," he says, and turns his attention back to the pan, scrubbing furiously at the congealed oats.
It's not a small town, Cokeworth. It's not the sort of place where everyone knows everyone else, but there are spots of it - the same locals in the same pub, the same locals in the same betting shop, the same locals buying their eggs at the indoor market, so it's no real surprise when word gets around.
Danny Slater tells his brother Trevor, and he tells their mother over tea, who leans over the fence when bringing in the washing and mentions it to Mildred Jones. Mildred always goes to the library on a Thursday, so she whispers it to Edie Grant - and Edie always was ever so fond of the skinny lad, with his nose forever stuck in a book, and his vivacious friend, both of them so clever, the pair doing so well to get those scholarships to that Scottish school - so when Rose goes in to pick up a new paperback, Edie asks her when Lily and Severus moved back to Cokeworth.
With a promise ringing in her ears that she'll get the kids to drop in and say hello before the week is out, Rose makes her excuses and flees for the Post Office, mirroring Severus' own actions a day or two before. He's here, Lily, she writes. In Cokeworth.
It's awkward. It's early, granted - barely past 7 when she knocks at the door because she came as soon as she got her mother's letter - but it's awkward all the same. Tobias answers, stubbly and bleary-eyed, and when he leads her through to the kitchen and she sees Eileen's look of surprise, she's glad that he was the one who answered - because she suddenly isn't convinced that Eileen would've invited her in.
One firm glance from Eileen across the table, and Lily suddenly knows why the house looked so empty when she passed by all those weeks ago - he was here all along - although she isn't sure if the charm was Severus' own, or one of Eileen's. Doesn't he want to see me? Or has Eileen been protecting her son?
There's a mug placed before her, filled with too strong tea, and Eileen makes the dreaded offer of a cigarette. She politely declines, and watches as the older witch makes porridge, tipping out a bowl for both herself and Tobias.
"Sev not hungry?"
Tobias chews his first mouthful, and then points his spoon at the ceiling. "He ain't gonna be seen afore ten, lazy little shite."
"Toby!" Eileen hisses. She gives Lily a short smile. "He's tired."
"I'm fuckin' tired," Tobias grumbles. "Ain't see me in bed-"
"He works very long hours, you know," Lily interrupts, slightly defensively. "With his apprenticeship, and he's got a job at a bar at night."
Tobias eyes her. "Paid the rent, 'ave yer?"
"Sorry?"
"Wi' soft lad bein' 'ere," he says, now pointing his spoon at her. "Yer paid the rent?"
"Yes."
"Good." He stands, abruptly, and puts his empty bowl in the sink. "I'll go and see Arnold," he says, kissing his wife on her forehead, and then he's gone.
She sits silently, watching as Eileen bustles around the living room, neatening cushions and tidying the newspapers. She's always felt out of place on this side of the river, and she wonders if they felt the same when they came to visit her parents all those years ago. She watches as Eileen checks the coal bucket, and straightens the poker, and wonders how naturally these Muggle things come to a Pureblood witch; try as she might, she can't imagine any of the Purebloods she met at school settling in Spinner's End, content to tidy around after a husband, drinking dark tea and smoking bitter cigarettes.
She wants to ask Eileen if she felt pushed out of the Muggle world in the same way she feels pushed out of wizarding society. She wants to ask if the prejudice has always been the same, and if it goes both ways, and what made her leave in the first place. But they've never had that sort of relationship, not in all the years that Lily has been coming over. A brew and the offer - always declined - of a cigarette, that was the extent of their communication. If Severus could be a man of few words, Eileen was an Olympic Champion.
"He's put a charm on the door," Eileen finally says, breaking the silence. She mimes opening a door, suggesting the handle moving from one side to the other.
"Oh."
"If you're going up?"
"I'd like to."
"The charm gives him a minute before his dad bursts in on him. He's not big on privacy, Toby. But Severus won't mind you."
She isn't quite sure that's true, not at the moment, but she heads upstairs all the same. When she reaches his bedroom door, she casts, and Eileen's right - there's a tremor of magic floating around the handle, and she wonders how Eileen knew. She wonders if Eileen could feel it, as if she's in tune with her son's magic, or if it's something Severus did a lot as a teenager, or if she fell for it the first time - just like Tobias.
With the charm gone, she opens the door smoothly, and he doesn't have time to cover himself, and she's horrified as she realises why Eileen tipped her off. Severus glares at her, his face filled with conflicting emotions - angry, and embarrassed, and shamed, and frustrated - and his hands grab at the sheets, but before he can speak, she's on the bed with him, her arms around his neck and holding him tightly against her. She feels his chest heave, as if he's crying - or, more likely, trying not to.
"Oh, Sev," and she holds him even more tightly, whispering her words into his ear. "Who has done this to you, love?"
Chapter 25: Only you
Chapter Text
He doesn't speak - he slowly unwinds her arms from around his neck, and then frames her face with his hands, his thumbs slowly stroking across her skin. He stares at her, and his black eyes are warmer now - they're not the fierce cold that she kept playing over and over in her mind - and his gaze darts over her face, as if he's mapping it and committing it to his memory. Hesitantly, cautiously, he moves forward, his lips softly touching hers, and she instantly responds - a happy sigh escaping her mouth - and she can feel his lips twisting into a smile at her reaction.
Her response spurs him on, and his hands still framing her face, he kisses her more and more firmly, his lips pushing and pressing against hers, and then his tongue swipes across the seam of her lips. She immediately parts them, and then meets his passion with equal heat. He slides his hands down, and then tips her beneath him on his bed, straddling her waist and trapping her below him.
She smiles at him as he bends back down, his lips meeting hers once more, and she strokes his front softly, her fingers tracing his skin and sliding gently through his sparse chest hair. It's only been a few weeks since she last touched him this way, but it feels as if more has grown in her absence - and she's aware that even now, despite them both being classed as adults, his body is still changing as he transforms from a scrawny teenager into a man. His breath catches as she toys with his nipples, and he grabs her wrists, pinning them above her head, and then - wrists still held firmly away from his body - he kisses her again. She can feel his cock hardening as he shifts position, and she grinds up against him, encouraging him to continue. With her wrists still held in one hand, he starts to unbutton her blouse, and then kisses his way down her body, caressing her skin as it's exposed to him.
"Sev," she groans, as his lips trail across her stomach. He releases her wrists, and helps her to remove her top, followed by her bra, and then he continues his quest to kiss every inch of her body. His movements are leisurely, and she's careful with her hands as she touches him in response, desperate not to hurt him. Her hands reach his pants, and he grabs her wrists again, moving them away. Instead, he undoes her jeans, and she lifts her hips, helping him to slide them off her and they land with a soft thud when he throws them across the room. He gazes at her, his eyes tracing a heated path back up to her face, and then kisses her again.
She tangles her left leg around his, and he braces his arms on either side of her. Not wanting to reach around him, she places her hands on his biceps, and then rests them on his collarbone, conscious of the terrible marks on his back. When she reaches up to taste him again, he's the one who groans, and he grinds his pelvis firmly against her, and then she moans with him.
"For Chrissakes," Tobias complains, slatting his newspaper on the ground. He gets up, stamps across the room and twists the dial on the television firmly until the presenter is practically screaming the news into their living room. Eileen looks at him uncomfortably, as if she's waiting for him to head up the stairs and throw a fit at their son, but Tobias simply looks agitated. He picks the newspaper back up and shakes it, and talks to her from behind it. "Three fuckin' hours they've been at it, an' the only reason I'm puttin' up wi' this," he says, huffily, "is because there's a high chance he'll fuck off back 'ome after."
Eileen smiles tightly, pleased that he's not going to disrupt his son's chances of reconciliation - but then there's yet another loud thud, followed by another, and a squeal, and just as Tobias is about to throw his paper down in another fit, a rhythmic whine fills the room, as if Severus' old bed is protesting the actions of its occupants.
"Arrogant little fucker," Tobias spits, standing up. "C'mon, Leen. I'm not listenin' to Romeo upstairs all afternoon."
"But-"
"Get yer coat. We're goin' out."
He lies on his side, careful not to tip over onto his back, and she nestles into his front, their bodies warm together. He pulls the covers over her, and he closes his eyes, his cheek resting against the top of her head.
"I've missed you so much," she says, breathing his scent in deeply.
"Yeah?"
"...it was like the world was a little bit darker without you," she says, softly, and he wraps his arms more tightly around her, his fingers stroking up and down her arms.
"Like someone turned the lights out."
"Yeah." She pauses. "You too?"
"Mmm."
"We probably need to talk," she says, cautiously, holding him tightly to her, lest he try and bolt.
"Mmm."
"I know you're not a big talker…"
"Mmm."
"Sev," she laughs, tipping her head up to kiss him, before pulling back again. "I'm serious."
"I know." And then he strokes her hair, and breathes in deeply. "But let's just lie here for a while, and forget the world, hey?"
"Thanks," he says, standing in the doorway, with his bag clutched by his side.
"The door is always open," Eileen says. "You remember that."
He nods. "I will." And then he puts his arm around the living room door. "See you, Da."
"Bye, lad," Tobias shouts, not putting his newspaper down.
Lily watches from the front step; the lack of affection in the house is in such contrast to her own family, and she wonders if she smothers him when she constantly embraces him, or whether he's so desperate to be touched, he craves it - but before she can mull on it further, Eileen's called him back, and she can just hear the end of their hushed conversation.
"-whatever's going on right now, things will change. They always change." Eileen steps towards him, and squeezes his wrist. "You look after her, Severus."
"I will, Mam." And then he turns and strides towards Lily. "Shall we head back then?"
He looks anxious as he stands at the front door, appraising the flat. She wonders if he's remembering it from the night when he left, with their belongings scattered all over the floor. She's tidied up since - finally - and even used magic to remove the dent from the wall where he broke the ornament. The ornament itself is long past repair - least, she felt it was, and she decided that even if it could've been mended, she would only have looked at it and remembered their break up, so she put it in the bin. She didn't want a reminder.
He puts his bag down, and moves slowly through the flat, his fingers tapping against surfaces, and then he draws a long breath before approaching their bedroom. He stands at the doorway, not entering, and in the end, she goes to stand next to him, slipping her small hand into his.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
"Glad to be back?"
"...yeah."
She looks at him curiously, and his black eyes are darting around the room. "What is it?"
He doesn't answer immediately, but then he pulls the door shut, and moves them back to the living room. "You hungry?"
"A little."
"Right," he says, decisively. "We'll get some food, and after…" He looks so pained, she's terrified at what he's going to blurt out, but all he says is, "...we'd better have that talk, hadn't we?"
In the end, neither of them eat much - there's boxes of takeaway strewn across the table, but he's probably only eaten a few mouthfuls of rice, and a single swirl of noodles around his fork. There's a stone in the depths of his stomach, and he walks into the kitchen, hunting in the cupboard for his firewhisky. He finds a fresh bottle, and two glasses, and carries them back into the front room.
"I don't want-"
"I do," he says, firmly. He ignores her surprised look, and pours a slim measure, which he quickly knocks back. "I… I don't think I can do this without a bit of extra courage," he explains, and pours a proper measure into the glass to sip from. He then pours a second, and passes the glass to her, capping the bottle and putting it on the table. "You don't have to drink it," he says, his voice even. "It just might...help you with your honesty."
"You don't trust me to be honest?"
He laughs - actually laughs - and sips from the glass, rolling the taste on his tongue. "This is why we get in such a mess, isn't it?" He waves his hand. "It's fine when we're being…"
"Intimate?"
"I was going to say affectionate, but yeah. Then as soon as we start talking…"
"It all goes wrong?"
"Yeah. I say something, and you snap at me, and you say something, and I snap at you…" He looks at her sadly. "When did we stop understanding each other?"
"I don't know."
"You were always the person who understood me," he says, looking fixedly at the floor ahead of him. "Nobody else even wanted to get to know me-"
"Malfoy did."
"Malf's… Lucius Malfoy is a law to himself," Severus finally says. "He's the exception that proves the rule." He gives a small smile. "I remember you at school. Everyone loved you. I think that's why people forgave me, you know?"
"Forgave you for what?"
He points at himself. "Look at me, Lily." And he turns to her, his face thin, all angular lines, and dark eyes. "Greasy weird poor boy. Nobody in their right mind would give me the time of day-"
"Severus, don't talk like-"
"I thought we were being honest with each other?" he says, hotly. "Well, I'm being honest! I didn't get a hard time then, because everyone loved you, and if Severus Snape fell in love with you too, well, it was no surprise. Why would I be immune to your charms, when all of the lads felt the same? It wasn't my fault." He toys with his glass. "But nobody expected you to love me back. I never stopped loving you, and…"
"I've always loved you too," she admits, softly.
At this, his face pales slightly, and he looks at her - confusion etched on his face - and then back at the floor, and then back at her again. "...if I ask you something, will you be completely honest with me?"
"Yes."
"Will you swear it?" She nods and takes out her wand, and he quickly shakes his head, grabbing her hands. "Your word is enough," he says.
"Yes then."
"...did it feel different?"
She looks at him, this time she's the one who's confused. "I don't understand."
He bites his lip, and then tries again, although the topic is clearly upsetting him. "When we had sex, this afternoon."
"Different? Different in what way?" She tilts her head, trying to catch his eye, but he's steadfastly looking away from her.
"Different since you slept with Potter."
"Severus," she says, firmly, grabbing his hands, and pulling them until he finally looks up at her - his eyes miserable, and his expression a little fearful. "Since we started dating, I have never even kissed another person. I certainly haven't had sex with anyone else," and she reaches out now, her hand holding his face, her thumb gently swiping at the tear that's sitting at the edge of his eye, "and I wouldn't dream of letting Potter touch me that way." Her lip wobbles slightly, as she sees the relief in his face. "I can't believe you thought…" She swallows hard, "...and yet you took me back today, thinking that I'd…"
"You were the one who said it - the world was dark without you, Lil," he mutters, pulling her into his arms. "I thought… I thought if this thing with Potter was over, I could…" She can feel him shaking his head above her, his long hair grazing her skin, "...but when we were…" He trails off, pauses - collecting himself - and then tries again. "All I could think about was him touching you, imagining you making the same noises with him - or worse, making different noises with him, better noises because-"
"I've only ever slept with you," she says, firmly.
"...and I thought it was goodbye," he says, finally. "I thought this might've been goodbye." She looks stricken at his confession. "And that's why I had to ask," he says, "before we talked about anything else. Because I thought I could get past it - get over it, if you'd got him out of your system." And then he looks at her, and his expression makes her breath catch in her throat. "But I couldn't, Lily. I couldn't get past it. The thought of anyone else touching you...the thought of Potter -"
"Stop it now," she says, firmly, twisting in his embrace to kiss him, "because it didn't happen." She kisses him tenderly, and he kisses her back, and then she tells him outright, so there can be no misunderstanding between them. "Only you, Sev. There's only ever been you."
Chapter 26: Swing and a miss
Chapter Text
"Do you think this is part of the problem?" she asks, breathlessly, as she picks her clothes up off the floor.
"Leave them off," he says, playfully, gently knocking them out of her hand.
"I'm serious," she says, but she stops what she's doing, and permits him to pull her back down onto the sofa, letting him stroke his fingers through her hair. "We never tell each other anything because we're too busy having sex."
"As hobbies go, I prefer sex to talking."
"I had noticed." She kisses the tip of his nose. "But we should try and straighten some of this out, shouldn't we?"
"Yeah," he sighs, reluctance written all over his face. "So, what do you think we need to talk about?"
She thinks for a long moment. "I'll ask you something, and you tell me the truth - and then you ask me something, and I'll tell you the truth." She nods decisively. "I think that's the best way."
"Okay. Shoot."
"Who hurt you?"
"Don't know," he says - and at her look of disbelief, he laughs. "I'm serious, Lil! I know it sounds fucking stupid-"
"You're right, you do sound fucking stupid," she says, her voice a little cold. "I thought we just agreed-"
"I swear on my life, I've never seen him before."
"And yet you let him slice up your back?" She pulls at his shoulder, getting him to roll off his side and onto his front so she can inspect the damage. "...can I?"
"Be gentle," he says, gruffly, and her fingers lightly trace the welts on his back.
"It looks like-"
"-when my da used to beat shit out of me?"
"Yeah."
"It's because it is," he says, his voice muffled slightly by the cushions of the sofa.
"I've got something," she says, and she's gone for a long minute - there's a rustling in the bathroom, and then she's back, cosmetic bag in hand.
"You're not putting make-up on me," he protests, but she's straddled the back of his thighs, and she holds him down.
"Just some Vaseline," she says. "Tell me if it hurts."
He tenses, and she expects him to yell out, but her touch is feather light and he whimpers in relief as the cool gel makes contact with his raw skin.
"Better?"
"...yeah."
She gently massages the jelly into his back, and then, her voice calm, she asks again. "So what happened?"
"It was a punishment," he says - and she wants to interject. They're forever finishing each other's sentences, and she forces herself to keep quiet - again, reasoning that it's half of their problem; he's too quick to assume what she's going to say, and she's too quick to jump to the wrong conclusions - so she bites her lip, and keeps stroking his skin in soothing circles. "I've been brewing some...bespoke potions. For a friend of a friend of a friend," he says. "And I made a mistake." He clucks his tongue against his teeth. "A really stupid mistake. And the friend of a friend of a friend...well, he got hold of me."
"...and beat you? What sort of a person - what sort of a friend - would do such a thing?"
The only thing that stops her from changing the subject is the feeling of his breathing beneath her - it's shallow and unsteady, and she knows he's wrangling with something, and if she leaves the question hanging, eventually he'll answer.
"I think… I think he might've been You-Know-Who."
Her hands still. "You've been brewing for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"
"No," he says, firmly. "I was brewing for a friend who was passing them to a friend, who was-"
"-but the chain ended with-"
"-I don't know for certain," he interrupts, "but he was powerful, and he controlled everyone, and he wanted to be called... Lord."
"You were brewing for the Dark Lord." Lily moves off Severus, and grabs a tissue, wiping her hands clean of Vaseline.
He rolls to one side, propping himself on his elbow to watch her, concerned that she's left his side following his revelation. "Lil, I really didn't know."
She gives him a tight smile, and points at his back. "He was friendly then?"
He looks grateful at her weak attempt at humour. "Fucking horrifying, Lil."
"And that was you being taken sick, was it?"
"Yeah."
She scrunches the tissue and puts it in the bin, before returning to sit with him on the sofa. "I thought the rumour was he favoured Unforgivables?"
"You'd rather I'd been AK'd?" he asks, cheekily. "Or do you think I've been Imperio'd?"
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah."
"...it's weird," she says. "That the marks look like when your dad-"
"It's not weird," he interrupts, quickly. "It's deliberate. He can...read minds, or something."
She looks staggered. "I've never heard of that."
"Me neither."
"...so he recreated-"
"Yeah."
She exhales loudly, and holds her boyfriend tightly in her arms. "You need to keep away from all of that."
"It's probably not that easy," he says, bluntly, reaching for his glass of firewhisky which had been long forgotten on the table. "Anyway. Enough of that. My turn, surely?"
She nods. "Do your worst."
"...Potter."
"What about him?"
"Well," he starts, his hands flailing a little, "everything, really! The last I remember you having any real contact with Potter is around the time you hexed him by the lake back in fifth year-"
She smiles broadly at the memory, and he has to bite back a laugh.
"Exactly," he says. "So how did we get from him being on the wrong end of your wand to him being in our flat like he's some long lost friend?"
"You're not going to like this," she warns.
"On a scale of one to ten," he says, "with 'working for the Dark Lord without realising it' being a ten, how much am I not going to like it?"
"It's probably an eleven."
His easy smile drops. "Fuck's sake, Lily, I was-"
"-I've been working for Dumbledore's Order."
"Well," he says, putting his hands over his eyes, "that is definitely not what I expected you to say."
"That's how I met Potter."
"And that auror you brought here?"
She nods. "Amelia Bones."
"That was Madam Bones?" He looks astonished. "Amelia, of course, fucking hell - it's so obvious now."
"It's obvious now," she says, "because you were absolutely smashed out of your mind when she visited-"
"-I know." He looks a little abashed. "Made a good show of myself to her, eh?" He gives her a curious look. "...the listening devices…"
She stills, guessing where his question is going. "Yes?"
"You know," he said, softly, "I had a contact in the auror office."
"Who?"
"Friend of a friend."
"I didn't know You-Know-Who was moonlighting for the aurors-"
"-funny," he says, not without humour. "Point is, we'd arranged for them to be disposed of. ...but you got Bones here, and she did it instead."
"Yes."
He leans back, the puzzlement still across his features. "What did you have to give her to get them removed?"
"I promised I'd help her get some information."
He nods. "And? Did you?"
"Not yet."
His eyelids flutter slightly. "Great, so you owe her, and I owe the Dark Lord."
"What a pair we are," she says.
"You're telling me," he laughs. "This honesty lark has been ridiculous. One question each, and we've found out that you're in deep with Dumbledore's vigilante gang, and I'm being dragged into You-Know-Who's regime." He gives her an amused look. "It's your turn, but I'm not sure my heart can take a second question."
"There's one more thing," she says, quickly. "I think we have more to talk about still, but…"
He looks at her curiously, and she can almost see the words written on his face - not Potter not Potter not Potter. She takes a deep breath. "It's about the rent on this place."
"Oh! Don't worry about that. I sorted it," he says, that crooked smile crossing his features. "I made sure there was enough money in the account before it was due-"
"Yes, but when I checked the balance a few days before," she says, quietly, "we were short. And I couldn't make a deposit."
He jumps up and grabs his wallet from the side, pulling out his access card, casting at it. The balance flashes up, and he pales at the high figure - and then he casts again, the recent transactions showing up before him.
"Lucius Malfoy? That's how you sorted it?" Her eyes narrow. "I should've guessed before," she says, "when he brought you here when you were hurt. That's your contact, isn't it? Who you brewed the Dark Lord's potions for?"
"Astutely reasoned," he says, nodding stiffly, "but Lily, I'm afraid I don't quite understand. I accept that you're part of the Order. I accept that James Potter has somewhat befriended you," he says, although the words sound as if they're trapped in his throat, "and I accept that you've had dealings with Amelia Bones. ...but how on earth did you convince Sirius Black to transfer this amount of galleons to my account?"
"No Evans?" Moody asks, pointing at the empty chair. "Not invited?"
Diggle looks up. "She's invited, but I couldn't get a response from her."
Potter looks alert. "Been to the flat?"
"Yes," Diggle says, dismissively. "But these things happen. We're all busy adults."
Black leans over, whispering in Potter's ear. "She's not, though. A Muggleborn practically locked indoors - where's she gone?"
"Snape," Potter whispers back. "That's where she'll have gone."
"I thought she'd deliver the potion tonight?" Black glances at Lupin, who is chatting to the Prewett boys, "I thought if he took it earlier…" He looks back at Potter. "If Snivellus is back on the scene, do you think she'll even brew it - or do you think she's taken our money and run?"
"...I don't know," Potter says. "If it was just her, then yes, but if Snape's back-" and then he suddenly quietens, as Moody calls the meeting to order.
His hands shake as he stares at the parchment. "Belby's Wolfsbane? Lil, do you know how much money you could make if-"
"You saw how much money Sirius Black was willing to give me," she says, simply.
"It's not even the start," he says. "There's entire packs of them. You could do anything with this on the black market-"
"Help them keep their humanity," she says.
"Yeah, well, there's that," he says, "but there are other groups, who'd use this to control them…" He gapes, his finger trailing over the method. "Bloody hell, that's brilliant. Belby's an absolute genius." He looks back at Lily. "So, where were you going to brew it?" And then, at her abashed look, the truth dawns on him, and he grips her shoulders. "Lily? Where have you brewed it?"
At the end of the meeting, Pettigrew and Lupin step over to them, but Potter makes his excuses, and heads for Bones and Vance.
"He's got no chance with either of them," Pettigrew laughs.
"I don't think he's asking them for a date," Lupin says, rolling his eyes. "Don't you think about anything else?"
"I don't," drawls Black, trying to watch Potter's conversation unfold, and then giving it up as a bad job. "Here, Wormtail, go and listen in, will you?"
"Do you really think he's asking them out?" Pettigrew asks, eagerly. "Amelia, or Emmeline?"
"I don't know, that's why I've told you to go and find out," Black says, waving him away. As Pettigrew moves awkwardly across the room, Black turns to Lupin. "And how are you, Moons?"
"Yeah, pretty good," he says, with a smile, and then he lowers his voice. "I can't thank you and Prongs enough. Tastes bloody awful, but-"
Black sits up dramatically. "She got it to you?" he hisses.
"Yeah. She met with me a few days ago in Muggle London." He grins. "I've never looked forward to a transformation, but I'm quite excited…" - but Black has stopped listening, his attention now on Potter who is being hurried to a corner by the two older women, far away from the eavesdropping ears of Pettigrew.
"Well fuck," he says, glancing at his girlfriend.
"Sorry."
"Yeah, I'm not sure sorry covers it, Lil," he laughs. "This is absolutely insane." He shakes his head. "We're living in this crazy society, where you've got fewer rights than a bumblebee-"
"-wow, thanks-"
"-and yet you've brewed one of the most complicated potions ever created, in complete secrecy, and you've not done it in a lab - you've done it in your childhood bedroom out in the Muggle world." He laughs out loud.
"I don't know it works yet."
"I bet it does," he says. "You're meticulous; you'll have followed this to the letter," and he waves the parchment. "When's full moon?"
"Next week."
"We'll find out then, won't we?" He looks at her. "Will Black report back, or-"
"-I don't know," she says. "I don't know much past the initial request." She looks at him seriously. "I wasn't going to do it, you know - after the dealing fiasco. But when I thought we'd lose the flat, and I didn't know where you were…" She swallows hard. "And I'm guessing you've heard about the owl laws?"
He looks wary. "No," he says, "but I feel that I don't particularly want to know."
"I'd have used an owl to track you down," she says, "but now Muggleborns can't use them to send messages. They have to be-"
"-countersigned by someone of a higher blood status?"
"Correct."
He shakes his head. "What a mess, Lil. And you're a finer witch than most of the Purebloods," he tells her, giving her an admiring look.
"You're biased."
"Not just me. You know, Borage, Jigger and old Sluggy would have a fit if they knew. Well, Borage and Jigger would have a grumble about blood status and improper brewing conditions, but Sluggy would be dead proud - and he'd be right to be."
"You think?"
"Yes! And I'm dead fucking proud too."
She gives him a huge grin. "Really?"
"Yes! Really!" He puts his arms around her and kisses her forehead. "I mean, you're going to get us both fucking killed, but I am super impressed at your brewing."
"Sev! I'm being serious."
"So am I, love," he says, holding her tightly. "So am I."
When the aurors descend on Malfoy Manor, the young occupant isn't in the least bit surprised, and he welcomes them in - his manners impeccable - to his study. They take his wand, and place it on the desk before him.
"Am I under arrest?" he asks, mildly.
"Not arrest," Emmeline Vance says, coolly. "Not yet."
"But there's always time," Amelia Bones adds.
His eyebrows quirk. "Wonderful." He places his hands on the desk. "Would you mind enlightening me as to the enquiry you feel I am able to assist with?"
"I have reason to believe that you're dealing in banned potions," Vance says.
"No rights?"
Bones glances at Vance. "You're only read your rights if you're arrested."
"Interesting." Lucius taps his mouth with his fingertip. "And if I choose not to speak now? Am I immediately classed as unhelpful, and then I shall be arrested? And if I do speak, will my words be used in a future case against me?"
Vance looks at Bones, and Bones looks back at Vance - and Lucius leans back in his chair, watching the two carefully.
"Or, perhaps we could arrange some sort of a deal?" he ventures. "An off the record deal," he says, with a smile, "you understand."
"What are you offering?"
"...I want to offer you the name of my brewer."
"We know who your brewer is, thank you. We're looking up the chain, not down."
And Lucius smiles broadly. "And I am fairly certain that you're wrong." He watches, amused, as the two women look at each other. "And if you're wrong about the lower rungs of the chain, then perhaps you're looking in the wrong places upwards as well?"
"Excuse us for a moment," Bones says, pulling Vance to a corner of the room.
Lucius can hear them muttering between themselves, but he can't quite hear what they're saying - and quickly tiring of the wait, he raises his voice. "Tell you what," he says, beckoning them back, "I suggest you write the name of who you think my brewer is on a slip of parchment."
Vance looks at him curiously. "And what will that prove?"
"I shall do the same," he says. "Only I shall provide the name of the person who has genuinely brewed my wares. And then we can compare the two names."
Bones and Vance stare at each other again, and then Bones nods. "Very well. Do you have a quill?"
"But of course," says Lucius, passing a golden feather to her. "Only the best for the finest aurors in the land."
They both turn, and Vance writes on the parchment before folding it sharply, running her fingers along the crease over and over. He mirrors her actions, and then the two place the pages on the desk.
"Thank you," he says. "Would you like to do the honours?"
Bones casts, flicking the parchments open, and Lucius smiles broadly when their page opens: Severus Snape.
"I see" he says, with relish, "but it's a swing and a miss, I'm afraid."
But his words seem to be lost on the pair, as Vance and Bones are both staring at Lucius' handwriting in horror: Lily Evans.
Chapter 27: Gryffindor or a Slytherin
Chapter Text
Vance stares evenly at Bones from across her office. "Amelia, I'm afraid to say we're at a stalemate."
"I can't stand by and watch you arrest her on the word of Lucius Malfoy," Bones says simply. "I think this is a ruse."
"And I think you're blinded by compassion," Vance warns. "You got too close to her, and fell for her sob story."
"I fell for her sob story? It's not a sob story!" Bones looks astonished. "Our society has pushed her kind-"
"Nonsense. Our society is full of loopholes," Vance interrupts, dismissively, "and she's in a position to have taken full advantage of each and every one. She's hooked up with a Halfblood-"
"-not an informed one!"
"No? Is he not?" The disdain drips from Vance's voice.
Bones shakes her head. "He'd have sponsored her if he knew."
"Snape is an associate of Lucius Malfoy's-"
"-we don't really know that-"
"-I do know that!" Vance quickly counters. "I've had an auror trailing Horace Slughorn-"
"Emmeline!" Bones hisses, her hand slamming against her desk. "There are laws about surveillance without-"
"And we both know that laws don't get results! What do you suggest we do, hmm?" Vance stalks angrily around the room, her ruby robes flowing behind her. "Wait and see if Lucius Malfoy politely invites us for dinner with his closest business associates?" When Bones doesn't answer, Vance nods with an air of triumph. "And Snape is a slippery eel - mark my words, Amelia."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Vance stops pacing, leaning heavily against the back of a chair. "I believe Malfoy's testimony - that Lily Evans is his brewer." She points her finger towards Bones. "You don't believe Malfoy's testimony - you stand by our original assertion that Severus Snape is his brewer. Correct?"
Bones nods, and Vance smiles.
"Then he's hardly an innocent lamb, is he - by your very own admission?"
"I'm not suggesting that he is," Bones argues. "But I don't see how this fits together for you to agree that Lily Evans is Lucius Malfoy's brewer. It's a ruse!"
Vance pinches the bridge of her nose, and takes a deep breath, as if she's about to explain a simple arithmancy equation to a NEWT student. "Lily Evans was working for the Ministry. A law was passed meaning that Muggleborns could not continue to work unless they were sponsored. Lily Evans claims that she has no such sponsor, despite being in a committed relationship with a Halfblood with Pure heritage-"
"-a Halfblood who didn't understand the law!"
"A Halfblood who is a close associate of one of the wealthiest and most influential Pureblood families in the land," Vance loudly corrects. "This is a simple case of us looking left whilst the real culprit-"
"You're saying that I'm distracted by Snape?" Bones interrupts, her brow still furrowed. "I'm focused on following him, when she's the real brewer?"
"He's perfect as a decoy. He's a potions apprentice," Vance explains, "and a disgraced one at that. He's known to us as a small time dealer-"
"-Mundungus Fletcher's statement is hardly admissible evidence, Emmeline, as you well know."
"I'm not looking to build a concrete case against Snape," Vance argues. "I couldn't care less about Snape. I'm trying to build the picture, and Dung's statement is part of that. Snape is a small time crook, dealing in simple party potions to simple people."
"And what does that prove, in this grand picture that you're painting?"
Vance flicks her wand at the wall, clearing space and then casts a summary of her points as she speaks. "Snape apprentices with Master Arsenius Jigger. We know from the bug reports that he rises between half 7 and 8, and he's at work before 9."
"But we know they knew about the bugs - his routine could vary wildly from what we witnessed."
"Yes, yes, but we're talking about a youth who is barely out of his teens. Do you really think he's waking in the early hours?" Vance says, dismissing the point. "It's easy to verify when he starts work, and I doubt he'd usually get up earlier, even if the rest of his routine deviated from what we witnessed." She waves her wand. "But you're right - the rest of the information gathered in that exercise is dubious at best, but we know from other reports-"
"-other inadmissible reports-"
"-that he works in the Three Broomsticks," says Vance, giving Bones a pointed look, "which is easily verified."
"You were going to say he deals in the Hog's Head," Bones says, huffily, "which is inadmissible."
"Yes. But it still paints a picture, does it not? A young man who studies all day, works all evening, and deals into the night?"
"...I still don't follow where you're going with this."
"If he's spending all hours working, then he's not Malfoy's brewer." Vance smiles broadly. "But which other highly regarded magical person has suddenly found themselves without employment?" She looks triumphantly at Bones. "The clincher for me, was Potter's comment a few weeks back. Don't you recall the not so hushed conversation his group of miscreants were having at the meeting? You remember," she prompts when Bones looks blank, "when we were in that upstairs room of the Leaky?"
Bones shakes her head. "I barely listen to those boys. Arrogant and impertinent and-"
"-and useful," Vance smiles. "For they were in class with our two suspects, and whilst Snape's talent has been alluded to by many more than just Fletcher, I was completely unaware that Professor Horace Slughorn - or should I say, Master Horace Slughorn - held Miss Evans in equal esteem."
"I've seen her student record," Bones says, quietly. "Her Potions NEWT was virtually flawless. Slughorn holds no blood prejudices, so he wouldn't penalise her." She appraises Vance. "But Malfoy? He just wouldn't hire a Muggleborn, he's a purist."
"Yes, but he's also an opportunist. Snape was probably his intended brewer," she says, triumphantly, the details suddenly falling into place, "but the change in the laws meant that as a couple, they didn't have enough money, so Snape had to undertake paid labour. That left him no time to brew, so she became Malfoy's only option."
"This still doesn't make sense," Bones challenges. "Why wouldn't Snape sponsor Lily, permit her to work, and then brew himself?"
"...because Lucius Malfoy is playing a long game," Vance says, thoughtfully. "And a Muggleborn as collateral damage early on is neither here nor there. Losing Snape at this stage would be far more dangerous, so perhaps you're right - Lucius Malfoy didn't inform Snape of his rights about sponsorship. Perhaps he was out of the loop all along."
Bones shakes her head. "I don't buy this. It's too convoluted to be comfortable." She fiddles with the edge of her robe. "And I wouldn't be misled by the way they behaved during the bugging of their flat," she says. "I don't know much of him, but from the way she reacted…there's a genuine affection between them. I don't think she'd hang him out to dry," and she meets Vance's gaze, "and I don't see him having a Muggleborn girlfriend all of these years with the sole intention to sell her out. She said herself that their relationship has made him an outcast."
Vance eyes her curiously. "Something else is bothering you. Tell me."
"...I can't make head nor tail of the sponsorship," Bones admits. "I can't see Evans being Malfoy's preferred brewer, even if Slughorn did think she was brilliant in her schooldays - why would he go to the trouble of recruiting a bonafide potions apprentice, and then not utilising him?"
Vance looks nonplussed. "Who knows?"
"No," Bones argues, "you were happy to use this information to paint a picture. You can't just throw away the parts of the palette that you don't like." She looks fierce. "Either Snape and Malfoy have a purely transactional relationship, and Snape gains his information about the wizarding world from elsewhere-"
"Like who?"
"His old Head of House?"
"Come on, Amelia. You said it yourself, Horace Slughorn holds no such prejudices, and if he's as fond as either of them as you're suggesting, then he wouldn't mislead them in such a manner."
"Then Master Jigger, perhaps?"
Vance shakes her head. "And why would Arsenius Jigger feed Snape incorrect information?"
"...to keep him out of trouble by ensuring he needed to work in a bar of an evening? To keep him busy? To prevent a similar situation from-"
"-happening as unfolded under Master Borage," Vance finishes, looking thoughtful once more.
"Exactly."
"But if the goods were for Malfoy, why wouldn't he intervene?"
"Perhaps he was going to," Bones says. "Perhaps you're right - perhaps Malfoy did conclude that Evans would be no loss if it all came tumbling out. What's a few years in Azkaban for a Muggleborn he doesn't care about? Surely that's a far better solution than potentially losing the young man who is going to be a fully qualified Potions Master in a few short years."
The two women stare at the wall, entranced by their brainstorming of the situation.
Bones glances across at Vance. "Do you think we're on the right track?"
"I think there's only one way to find out."
Moody escorts her down to the interview room, her wrists tightly bound behind her. She stumbles as they turn down yet another bland corridor, but his reactions are sharp, grasping the back of her robes and helping her to keep her feet. "One foot in front of the other, Evans," he snarls.
"I know how to walk!"
"Then do it," he says, pushing open a set of doors and waving her through.
"You are a hateful man," she snaps, standing in the doorway and blocking him from passing her. "You oscillate between treating me as if I'm a Madonna or a whore." She's too angry to delight in his shocked expression, although he composes himself quickly.
"You could've been someone," Moody finally says, looking at her in disgust. "I saw your file. Ogden and Thicknesse wanted you transferred to us, such was your aptitude and prowess, and yet-"
"-yet what?" Her face is full of fury. "I had no choice in any of this."
"No choice?" He sounds incredulous. "You were the one who didn't bother to get sponsored."
"Didn't bother?" She breathes heavily, her hands quivering behind her back in rage. "Didn't bother? Even if I had someone willing to sign, I couldn't have transferred to your beloved department. I couldn't stay in the employment of the Ministry."
Moody looks momentarily thrown as he pieces it together. "You were purged?"
"Yes," she spits. "Purged."
"Because?"
She shrugs. "Your guess is as good as mine."
He roughly pushes past her, shoving open a door to a nearby room and pulling her in. He kicks a chair, and nods to it, and she tentatively sits - her balance slightly off due to how her wrists are immobilised. "They gave you a reason. They give everyone a reason."
"Undesirable political allegiances," she mutters.
He stands for a long moment, considering her words. "That's all?"
"That's all." She glances at him. "I don't know who they meant."
"Your man?"
"Aberforth thought so," she admits. "But I don't see how. You all said yourselves at the meeting - the Ministry is being infiltrated-"
Moody quickly reaches over and slams the door shut. "Bloody hell, Evans, you pick your moments!"
"-I just meant-"
"I understood what you meant," he says, taking the seat opposite her. "Under Death Eater rule, undesirable political allegiances wouldn't be your fence-sitting boyfriend." He grimaces. "Perhaps it was a push for him to finally declare some?"
She shrugs. "Maybe."
"And has he?"
She shrugs again. "We don't discuss politics."
He clucks his tongue in frustration and leans heavily on the desk. "I've brought you here, as Madam Vance is due to interview you."
"I am aware."
"This," and he indicates to himself and the room, "isn't the interview."
She raises an eyebrow at this, glancing at the interview room, and their respective seating positions. "No?"
"No," Moody says, "but I would like to speak with you further. Off the record."
"And what's in it for me?"
Moody smiles, sitting back in his seat. "I could suggest that's a very Slytherin observation to make." He pauses, waiting for her to rise to his bait, but she doesn't. "You protested that you were a Gryffindor when I met you."
"I was."
"And now?" He leans forward again. "If you were to be sorted now?" He peers at her intently. "What's stronger within you, Evans? Courage or cunning? Daring or shrewdness?"
She doesn't answer, and he smiles triumphantly.
"Want to know something, Evans?" he asks, although he doesn't wait for the answer. "I said to Albus that your snake of a boyfriend-" and he continues loudly when she opens her mouth to protest, "-was rubbing off on you. Can you imagine what he said?"
"No," she says, inviting his reply, although she isn't convinced she wants to know what Albus Dumbledore's appraisal of her was.
"He said that Horace Slughorn had long lamented that you were not housed in Slytherin. That if your bloodline had been different, you'd have been sat amongst his snakes."
"Sluggy's always said that. It's hardly a secret."
Moody nodded. "But most people told you he was wrong, didn't they? They saw how morally upstanding you were," and he lingers over the words, rolling them over his tongue, "and couldn't see a hint of ambition within you. And how right you proved them," he continues, "setting up home with a no-name wizard, and seemingly quitting your role at the Ministry, content to idle your days away at home."
Now, she doesn't dare react at all - he's hitting all of the points that have long haunted her; that in a world where a Muggleborn could be ambitious - and be justly rewarded for being so - she would've been a Slytherin. That Severus' early assessment of her when they were children was uncannily accurate, and wasn't just his childish desire to want his best friend sat next to him, in the house he felt he'd always been destined for.
She'd tried to embody the traits of Gryffindor - of chivalry and nerve, of standing up and saying the right thing at the right time - but she knew that she'd done so wrapped up in the skin of Slytherin shrewdness. She took calculated risks, and she knew that those who observed her closely - the Severuses and the Slughorns of the world - had noticed the duality within her.
"It's not uncommon to share traits across houses. Most people have an element of a hatstall within them," she said, firmly.
"Yes," Moody agreed, leaning even more closely to them. "Your boyfriend concurred with you, didn't he? You've said as much to him, haven't you? The pair of you whispering about how - if these blood laws weren't so prevalent, if purism wasn't a movement - you'd have been in the same house? Sharing classes? A common room?" He arches his eyebrow, knowing his comments have hit the spot.
"And?"
"And," Moody continues triumphantly, "did he ever tell you which other house the hat considered for him?"
He hadn't. She assumed it was Ravenclaw, as for all of his loyalty to her and his dedication to his work, he was hardly a Hufflepuff - whereas his sharp mind and his enthusiasm for learning was clear to see. "No."
"Young Black is interesting, don't you think?"
She frowns, not quite following the shift in conversation. "Because he should've been a Slytherin?"
"Because he should've been a Slytherin," Moody agrees softly. "And because his little gang of friends were so at odds with your boy, weren't they?"
She gives a stiff nod. If Moody is an old friend of Albus - and they've clearly discussed the background of Severus, and his failure to join the Order - then there's no point in pretending otherwise, or feigning lack of knowledge. "Yes."
Moody gives a twisted little grin. "Did your boy ever tell you that if mixed relations weren't so frowned upon by society and if upholding family heritage wasn't so important to him, you'd have been in the same house? Sharing classes? A common room?"
And this time, although she isn't quite sure she's followed his logic the whole way through, she is stunned at his apparent conclusion. "Severus could've been a Gryffindor?"
"It was, I believe, Minerva McGonagall's greatest lament - that she and Horace and Albus were to spend so much time patching up battles between her young lions and your snake of a boyfriend. That if the hat had talked you into Slytherin, or Severus into Gryffindor-"
"-none of that antagonism would've happened." She looks at him, astonished. It makes sense when she thinks about it - Severus is quick, and lives on his wits - he talked them out of trouble when she'd been dealing, and devised the method to evade the aurors - but there's a streak of determination in him; he might not choose to fight as his first means of dealing with a situation, but thanks to Potter and Black's unrelenting pursuit of him around the grounds of Hogwarts, Severus was a first class dueller and not one to back down. Courage, she thinks.
And then she thinks about his whipped back, and his meeting with the Dark Lord - of what it must've taken for Severus, given that he hated talking about his feelings, to permit another to invade his mind, to dredge up such a hateful memory, and then to re-enact it. To stand there and take such a beating - presumably with Lucius Malfoy watching - knowing that this powerful wizard has you outclassed, and there's no other way out. Is that Slytherin self-preservation, she wonders, or Gryffindor nerve?
She can't help but wonder how close they both were to switching houses. She can remember the hat's whispered paradox even now:
Slytherin would be difficult, I shall not lie.
Gryffindor's path is far easier to tread.
And as for me?
I cannot advise you which you should take.
All I can suggest is:
The Slytherin decision would be to choose Gryffindor.
Whilst the Gryffindor decision would be to choose Slytherin.
She idly wonders if the hat had the same discussion with Severus, and whether he'd made the Slytherin choice, or the Gryffindor one.
"I am not like the hat," Moody says, breaking her train of thought. "I am not whimsical, or prone to fits of rhyme," and she can't help but smile at his comment. "Nor am I full of riddles."
"No? You sound it tonight."
"And there's the Gryffindor within you," he nods. "Perhaps the hat did not get it so wrong after all."
"Is there a reason for this reminiscence?" she asks, pointedly.
Moody stands, and moves around the table, and she can smell the musk of his robes behind her. "I am straightforward," he says, leaning over next to her, his hard face pressed next to her own soft cheek. "White is white, black is black, the sky is blue, the grass is green."
"...I don't understand."
"I am a fighter, Evans," he warns. "I'm not a politician. I'm not an orchestrator of plans. I do not infiltrate the enemy."
At this, she jolts. "They want me to spy?"
"And I want you to consider your options very carefully," he says, pulling away. "There will be a proposal - there always is-"
"There are already spies?"
"I have been to many funerals of late." He twitches at her astonished gasp. "Do you understand now why I suggested you revisit the blasted hat's paradoxical prattling?"
And then they both hear clicking footsteps, and he steps smoothly away from her, reaching for the door handle - but then he turns back to face her.
"You think I can't decide whether you're a Madonna or a whore, but my real question is whether you are a Gryffindor or a Slytherin. You should think carefully, Evans," he warns. And then, before she can speak, he yanks the door open.
Lily hears a murmuring outside - of male and female voices mixing - and then she hears Moody's heavy footsteps clunking down the hall and becoming progressively fainter.
"Hello Lily," and a smiling Vance steps into the interview room, the door slamming heavily behind her.
Chapter 28: Conjecture and supposition
Chapter Text
The interview room is cold, and her wrists ache - and the silence is eating away at her. She isn't sure if this is a psychological game, or whether she's supposed to be speaking first, or whether Vance is genuinely reading the papers on the desk before her. Lily's coughed twice and sighed once, and neither has inspired any sort of reaction from Vance. Instead, Vance shuffles the papers, turns them over, and occasionally dips a quill in a pot of ink and scrawls something unintelligible on the papers - and Lily knows that it's code or scribble, because she has always been able to read upside down. She sighs again, trying to count how many pages are in the stack, wondering how long this will go on for.
The study is overly warm and stuffy - the fire roaring in the grate is overkill for the time of year, as whilst the British weather remains as unpredictable as ever, the heat from the fire is entirely at odds with the clement weather outdoors. Despite this, the three men sit in contemplative silence around the grate, before Fudge loudly claps his hands against his knees and stands.
"And you're quite sure, Alastor?"
"In times such as these, nobody can be quite sure," Dumbledore interrupts before Moody can answer. "For me, Alastor's word is enough." He peers intently at the Minister for Magic. "And forgive me, but I would've thought that the word of one of your star aurors-"
"Well," starts Fudge, looking uncomfortable, and shooting Moody an uneasy smile, "I think Alastor himself would be the first to concede that his methods are often unorthodox."
"Unorthodox but effective," Moody clarifies. "Dumbledore, how many have we lost this year?"
"Six," Dumbledore says, quickly.
Fudge looks horrified. "Six? We've lost six spies?"
Dumbledore grimaces. "It is perhaps a kindness to refer to them all in such a manner." He stares evenly at Fudge. "The truth is, barely any of these managed to infiltrate the Death Eater network - the shutters are down."
Moody frowns. "The shutters are down?"
"Muggle parlance," Fudge explains without explaining anything at all.
She's thirsty, and hungry, and now her wrists not only ache, but her fingers are numb - and yet, Vance still keeps flipping the pages over, scratching ink on every third paragraph. Finally, Vance reaches the very last page, and then sniffs, places it on top of the rest of the pages and straightens them loudly, banging them on the table edge. She turns the entire stack over, and Lily's jaw clenches - surely she's not going to start the whole charade again from the top?
She isn't.
Instead, Vance caps her ink and settles her quill on the table. Lily shifts slightly in her chair, desperately flicking her fingers behind her back and trying to bring some feeling back in them.
"Uncomfortable?"
"...yes."
Vance nods. "Would you like me to undo the fastenings?"
"I would like you to," Lily says, warily, "but am I to assume it is going to cost me?"
And Vance beams at her broadly. She moves quickly, and with a quick slash of her wand, the cuffs are broken. Lily groans as she brings her arms to her front, holding them against her chest - she wants to rub her wrists, but her fingers have so little feeling, they're leaden and useless, and unresponsive to her wishes.
"You did well."
Lily eyes her as she moves back across the room. "This was a test? You were testing me?"
"Of sorts," Vance says, an odd expression on her face. "For your own ends, rather than mine."
Lily ponders this, as Vance doesn't offer further explanation. "...you wanted me to know that I could withstand this?"
"Amelia and Alastor have gone to great lengths to assure me of your intellect," she says. "I am pleased that they are not mistaken." She leans forward, and takes Lily's hands, rubbing her wrists gently - and Lily swallows uncomfortably; Vance's hands are warm and her skin is dry, and her movements are not soothing, but instead feel like sandpaper scraping across her sensitive skin.
"And you, Alastor," he says, moving back behind his desk, and hunting through parchment, "you think that this idea of yours is the credible way in?"
"Yes."
Fudge sniffs, and waves his quill around. "It must go through your boss."
"With all due respect, Cornelius," Dumbledore interjects, "effectively you are his boss."
"No, with all due respect, Dumbledore," Fudge argues, stressing the Headmaster's surname, "I delegate for a reason."
"I explained," Moody snarls, "why I did not take this to my boss."
"No," Fudge says, patiently, "you presented me with conjecture and supposition."
"What else is there? The Ministry is riddled with Death Eaters," Moody argues, "and you should not be relying upon the testimony of-"
"-but I should rely on yours?" Fudge shoots him a dark look. "No, no, Dumbledore, I'm afraid that this just won't do."
"Cornelius," Dumbledore says, pointedly continuing to use his old friend's first name, "I implore you-"
"Through the proper channels, Moody," he says, dismissing the pair with a wave of his hand. "Due process."
"Cornelius-"
Fudge raises a hand, and then glances at the portraits on the wall meaningfully, and then glances back at Dumbledore. "Due process," he repeats. "That is how these things are pursued." And then he smiles. "If, indeed, they are to be pursued at all."
Vance pulls out a bottle, and a piece of folded parchment. "And you recognise these, I assume?"
The neat looping bow of rainbow colours shimmers under the artificial light, and Lily points at it. "This, yes."
"And, to satisfy my belief that we're on the same page, would you be prepared to elaborate?"
"...it's Rain Away."
"Just Rain Away?" Vance presses. Lily doesn't answer, and Vance leans forward. "Who brewed this vial of Rain Away? ...your boyfriend, perhaps?"
"...no."
"Then who?"
Lily's heart hammers a little faster, as she prepares to condemn herself. "...I did."
"In a laboratory?" Vance raises her eyebrows, and flicks the stack of parchment sitting next to her. "I ask, because I have checked, and I cannot find registration of-"
"No." Lily's heart is banging faster now, her mind racing, wondering what answer to give if she's pressed further - but to her relief, Vance turns her attention to the parchment instead. She unfolds it carefully and passes it to Lily, and she recognises it straight away. "This is Belby's work," Lily immediately acknowledges.
"Yes, it is," Vance agrees. "How interesting that an unsponsored Muggleborn would instantly recognise such a-"
"It's not interesting," Lily hotly argues, her anger erupting from her, "least, not to you. You gave it to Sirius Black."
Vance sits back now, a triumphant smirk on her face. "Yes. Yes, I did." And then she rubs her hands together. "And you brewed it, didn't you? But where?"
"Unless you are planning to charge for me for brewing illegal potions," she says, narrowing her eyes, "then I don't see what the relevance is." Lily folds her arms over her chest. "And if you're going to charge me for brewing illegally, then…"
"Yes?"
"...I might be inclined to reveal the source of the parchment."
Vance shrugs. "Yes, and I imagine that a grand total of four people would believe you: Sirius Black, James Potter, Remus Lupin and your beloved boyfriend, Severus Snape." She smiles nastily. "You might understand that the rest of the wizarding world wouldn't be so willing to take the word of a disgruntled Muggleborn."
Lily's heart is hammering again, but she merely inclines her head, remembering Severus' cool response when the aurors trapped them in the flat: You might be terrified, she thinks, but Vance doesn't have to know you're scared, Lily. Keep calm. Do what Severus did.
"Oh, how silly of me," Vance says, suddenly standing and pacing back and forth. "Five people!"
Lily stares at the pacing woman - is she about to suggest Pettigrew, the fourth in Potter's sorry band of delinquents? Or Moody? Or-
"Lucius Malfoy," she says with a flourish, interrupting Lily's internal monologue.
"Lucius Malfoy?"
And then Vance is back at the table, slamming her palms on the wood and leaning in closer. "Yes, Lucius Malfoy. Your broker. The middleman. The intermediary. Your go-between."
"That went well," Dumbledore beams, clapping Moody on the back.
Moody looks at him, horrified. "Did we both just attend a different meeting?"
"The walls have ears, Alastor," Dumbledore says, smoothly. "Even in the Minister's office."
Moody's stricken look doesn't abate at his placating. "Then why did you let me speak so frankly? The whole point of me raising the idea of her being an infiltrator-"
"-now now, Alastor. Let's see what comes back, shall we? That is the point of the meeting."
Alastor looks at Dumbledore, unable to comprehend what he's hearing. "No, Albus, the point of the meeting was to stop her before she did any more damage."
"You heard my statement," Dumbledore says, softly. "We have lost six."
"Because of the likes of her."
"If it is her," Dumbledore says, quickly. "Perhaps it is not. That's what this was about." He puts his hand on Moody's shoulder. "I appreciate, Alastor-"
"-no, you don't." He flinches, knocking Dumbledore's hand away. "This isn't a game, Albus. People are dying. Good people are dying."
At this, Dumbledore's eyebrows raise. "And did you spare such a thought for the boy?" He smiles at Moody's lack of response. "Of course not. He's merely collateral damage. Skirted a little too close to the railway line, perhaps? Deserves what he gets?" Dumbledore shrugs. "And who could disagree with you? But still, what a shame for him - and what of his lovely girlfriend?"
"His lovely girlfriend is laying down on the tracks as we speak."
Vance takes Lily's silence as confirmation that she's on the right track, and sits back down, her expression a curious combination of pleased and proud, and altogether too self-congratulatory for Lily's liking - especially as she was completely off the mark. Then Vance is at the door, conversing with a house elf, and a few moments later, she's back and there's a large jug of water on the table and a plate of biscuits.
Vance waves at them, and indicates that Lily should help herself, and although Lily is wary as to the content of the water, she's so thirsty, she can't help but gulp it down - although she attempts to allay her fears by subtly sniffing it first, remembering Severus' instruction, relayed to her following his own lessons in his apprenticeship: Sev, you're being ridiculous. When will I ever need to know this? - and although he'd smiled and pulled her into his arms, he'd carried on his explanation irrespective - We're on the brink of war. The world is ridiculous - now listen up, love. I'd never forgive myself if I didn't show you… As it is, Vance doesn't seem to notice her pressing her nose into her glass and inhaling before imbibing.
"As we're being honest with each other," Vance says, sipping from her own glass, and casting a charm to warm the room, "I feel I should explain that this has come as a surprise to some aurors." She smiles again. "But not me."
"Oh?"
"No, I thought the idea of Snape being Malfoy's brewer was all too obvious," she says, jabbing the air with her half-eaten biscuit. "But, of course, he's not involved at all, is he?" She pauses, and when Lily doesn't answer, she nods. "No, Snape isn't involved in your little enterprise, so I am sure you're worrying about what his reaction will be?"
And then she pauses again, and this time, Lily is the one to nod.
"I wouldn't," Vance answers. "Your real concern is the fact that Malfoy thinks so little of you, he has sold you down the river."
Her face pales now - Malfoy has given my name? - and in a twisted way, she's silently pleased that her reaction doesn't go unnoticed - this is surely how I'd react if Malfoy was my broker, surely how Severus would react if he was sitting here, knowing that his old friend had ratted him out.
"It was a test that was expected to go one of two ways," Vance explains. "The Wolfsbane was either supposed to lure your boyfriend into the Order - a way of ensuring that he pledged himself to those within the group-"
"Or a way of proving that he was brewing outside of Jigger's laboratory, therefore declaring himself to Malfoy and the Death Eaters?" Lily guesses.
Vance lifts her glass and takes another slow sip before speaking. "Yes. Of course, we already know Snape brews here and there."
Lily tries her hardest to keep her face impassive, and not to reveal anything, and it seems to work, as Vance continues quite happily.
"We've seen him dealing in small time potions, but given his supposed prowess, there's no reason for us to believe that he couldn't do so during his apprenticeship hours. A few cauldrons of Rain Away or Sundown or Night Rhythm would barely be noticed - and certainly wouldn't be commented on by the likes of either Borage or Jigger, would they? But Wolfsbane... Wolfsbane is a different matter entirely."
Lily ignores the question, determined not to fall into any traps. "But Severus didn't brew the Wolfsbane."
"No," grins Vance. "No, he did not. And there was the big surprise. His sudden departure was a concern to me, as I had already set the trap with Black and Potter-"
"They were in on it?"
Vance shakes her head. "They merely facilitated the deal. I had something they wanted, and they didn't think to question it." She smiles. "My good fortune was in not realising that they wouldn't wait for Snape when he disappeared - instead, they found the real brewer for me." She sits back triumphantly. "Which is good news for me. And perhaps also for your lover, else he'd be sat opposite me now instead - and I suspect I would be a little less gracious towards him."
Lily shuffles awkwardly in her seat. "Less gracious than keeping someone bound for hours on end?"
Vance gave a small laugh. "Now now, that was barely anything. I would be less gracious because we both know that his story writes itself - he's a little darker than he should be, and at best, he doesn't care too much where his money comes from." She sniffs. "And at worst? At worst, he's a fully paid up Death Eater."
Lily daren't argue with this damning assessment of her boyfriend - daren't even breathe, but fortunately, Vance doesn't seem to require her further participation in the conversation.
Instead, Vance taps her fingernails against her empty glass. "But you, Lily Evans, you're much more interesting. Why would a Muggleborn be working for a purist? And why would that Muggleborn working for a purist decide to join the Order of the Phoenix?"
Lucius places his hand on Severus' shoulder, and pushes him onto the sofa. "Honestly, Severus, this is helping nobody." He points at his friend's boots. "And you said it yourself, she'll be furious if she sees you've tramped mud across the-"
"I don't care about the bloody mud!" he yells.
"No, but you care about the muddy-"
"If you don't fuck off, right now, Malf-"
Lucius raises his eyebrow. "As you're upset, I shall overlook this, Severus." He pulls out a chair from under the table and sits in it, opposite his friend. "You need to calm down."
"I can't fucking calm down, Malf. She's missing. Again. And this time she's not with fucking Potter, so this time, this time, Malf, she just might be in trouble!"
Lucius smiles. "I'm sure not, Severus. I'm sure not."
"I was looking for a way out," Lily says, desperately. "That's why I joined the Order." She glances at the older woman, and hopes that her skin stays pale, and an unwanted flush doesn't creep up onto her face. "You're right that Severus introduced me to Malfoy, but he has no idea of our true relationship." She looks at her hands. "You know Severus works at the Three Broomsticks?"
"Yes."
"He's always been adamant that we earn our money in an above board manner-"
Vance snorts in derision. "When did he decide this? Before the deaths, was it?"
Lily stiffens. "That was an accident."
"So the record states," Vance says, dismissively. "Although your point is valid - I can see why he would choose to keep his head down." She stares at Lily. "So how did Malfoy approach you? How did he convince you?"
"...does it matter?" Lily stares at Vance, willing her not to ask her any further questions - desperate not to commit herself to a web of lies that may be easily contradicted by the ever malevolent Malfoy.
"Yes."
"I asked him to sponsor me," she blurts out.
"You, a Muggleborn, asked Lucius Malfoy to sponsor you?" Vance's eyes narrow suspiciously.
"Severus isn't pure enough," she says. "His father is a Muggle, so his blood is equal. It's not enough."
Vance gives her a pitying look. "It's unfortunate that you believe that," she says.
"It's true!" she argues, knowing that it isn't, but knowing this is the safest argument. "Severus and I asked-"
"Don't tell me," Vance laughs, gleefully, "you asked Lucius Malfoy, didn't you?" She shakes her head. "He must've seen the pair of you coming."
Lily sits a little straighter, as if pretending not to be hurt by the slight. "And Malfoy said he couldn't sponsor me, as it would affect his name - but a few days later, he proposed an arrangement where I would brew for him." She shrugs. "We needed the money. I couldn't work. It was an easy decision. ...but I got cold feet, and I wanted out - so I joined the Order, hoping that we could overthrow the likes of Malfoy."
"And Snape? Does he know of this arrangement?"
"No," she says, quickly. "My father has been paying for my half of the flat for months. Severus thinks that the money is still coming from him."
"Good," Vance says. "Keep it that way."
"...you want me to continue?"
"I want you to continue," Vance affirms. "Business as usual."
"But you said that Malfoy gave you my name," she argues. "How can I possibly continue?"
"He did," Vance says. "But then, he doesn't know you're here now, does he?" She smiles broadly. "So let us both pretend that this little meeting didn't occur. Keep in touch with Malfoy through your usual channels, and wait for my instruction."
"Instruction?"
"Oh yes," Vance says, her expression hard. "Because unless you want to go to Azkaban for the next decade or five, you will do exactly as I say."
Chapter 29: Prey
Chapter Text
He beats himself up about it, even now. Stupid stupid boy. He remembers reading about those killers in the paper when he was a teen - the ones without any remorse; the ones who treat murder like a cheap alternative to a Saturday night in the pub - and he knows that if anyone was to ever scribble down his story, if anyone ever had cause to ruminate on his life and his behaviour, that moment in the tunnel was the turning point.
And it was just a moment - a handful of seconds where he felt the blood beating in his ears, and smelled the sweat and the piss and the blood, and heard the terrible howl of anguished transformation which was so unlike anything he'd ever witnessed in McGonagall's classroom.
His knees had wobbled, his limbs had suddenly felt loose in their sockets, and he'd caught sight of the bloodied jaws and the furred snout, and then there'd been a warm hand around his neck and Potter screaming - and it wasn't like his usual yawping down the corridor, or his boorish yelling during the middle of a Quidditch match - his eyes were bulging, and his face was red from exertion, and his chest was heaving and he was screaming at the top of his voice, "Get out get out get out now get out now now get out now!"
It was futile. Severus couldn't move; he was fixed to the spot - and that oft-cited fight or flight response had deserted him, because he couldn't flee and yet, staring at the horrific monster before him, he knew he couldn't fight. He was nothing. He was nobody. He was prey.
And then Potter had grabbed him again, pulling him and pushing him, shoving him, manhandling him, and somehow - even though Severus' body was conspiring against them both - had dragged him away. Potter's hand remained firm on his collar, and Severus had stumbled over and over, his legs and feet ignoring his brain's terrified commands, and when they emerged at the base of the Willow, he was scuffed and dirty, bruised and bloodied. He instinctively put his palm to his mouth, ignoring the grit that was mixed with thick scarlet, and sucked at the deepest wound.
"Don't do that," Potter warned, gulping in great breaths of air, leaning heavily against the thick trunk of the now stilled tree.
Severus paused, unsure. Don't do that? Don't do that? Was that all? Was this his grand rebuke for sneaking down the tunnel and discovering that the weird sickly Lupin kid was a werewolf? Don't do that?
And then, seeing Severus' confusion, Potter pointed at his damaged hand, and then back at the tunnel. "It's not dirt that you're sucking out of that scrape," he said, through ripples of laughter, "it's probably rat shit."
Sometimes, when he's stirring a cauldron during a particularly boring part of a brew, his mind will wander and he'll mull on whether it's as obvious to everyone else - or whether he's only able to isolate the moment because he knew he felt something snap.
He wasn't prepared to be prey.
It was obvious to his mother, and to his father - but he wonders if that was purely because they saw the blood on his hands, and the proof of his newfound deviancy. Perhaps it wasn't obvious, isn't obvious - perhaps if he keeps his secrets tightly pressed to his chest, nobody else will ever work it out.
He has a lot of these secrets. He's good at keeping secrets. He's had a lot of practice at keeping his mouth shut. But sometimes, secrets slip out - sometimes other people work out the truth. Sometimes they send the social around. Sometimes they realise you've murdered a dog. And that means that one day, he thinks, as he stirs the cauldron more vigorously, someone might realise that you're on the brink of doing something terrible.
He's never understood women. Not really. It's a trite statement to make, and it's the sort of disparaging comment that he associates more with his father than himself - he prides himself on being an intellectual, and far less dismissive of a little over half of the population of the planet. Still, it's a phrase that rings true with him, even if he has to acknowledge the source as being Tobias; he'd heard his father mutter it on more than one occasion.
Sometimes he'd say it directly to Severus, despite it being wholly inappropriate to whine about his wife to his son, but more often than not, it'd be the sort of sentiment he'd keep for the ears of his work colleagues. Occasionally, Tobias would dare to use it when Eileen herself was in earshot, and on those days, Severus knew that it was deliberate - a goad.
It's not a nice phrase, he knew that even as a child, but it's not filled with real malice - and Severus knew only too well that if a man wanted to damage his woman, there are fists and boots and belts to do that; words are nasty and spiteful and mean, but they don't leave black eyes or reddened scars.
No, it doesn't do real damage. It's simply the language of the mill, of the pit, of the building site. It's the tone of the pub and the bookies and the working men's club, but Severus has never been sure whether it's the genuinely held belief of the men that Tobias associates with, or Tobias' own belief, or whether it's just words - a stock phrase that's uttered without thought behind it, like the endless commentary on the weather, or the proper way to queue for a bus. Although Severus couldn't blame Tobias if he did truly believe it; Eileen was hardly the sort of woman who lent herself to being understood, even if she didn't admit to it.
She never explained herself to Severus. Instead, she had always tilted his focus away from her, and back to his father - forcing him to acknowledge his father's worst faults, seemingly in an effort to stop him from following in Tobias' footsteps. Eileen had starkly warned him against spouting such nonsense, and she had clipped him so hard around the back of the head when he'd dared voice such words himself, his vision had briefly shimmered - like the haze on the road on a summer's day.
"Fuck, Mam, that hurt!" he'd exclaimed, gripping the back of his head - and for his language, she'd belted him as hard again across his other ear.
"I'll tell you now, Severus Snape, you'll never find yourself a good woman," she had warned, "behaving like him."
She hadn't needed to explain who he was. Severus never bothered to answer her when she rebuked him for behaving like Tobias. It's not my fault if the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, he used to think. You chose him.
When he was a kid, he used to hope that it wasn't a done deal - that Tobias' genetics weren't his genetics, and that his da wasn't his da. Instead, his real father was an enigmatic and dangerous wizard, and that one day, he'd waltz down the street and claim his child and rescue his downtrodden wife, and whisk them out of the misery that they were living in. He'd be on the run, this wizard - naturally. An enemy of the state, with expensive flowing robes, and a patch over one eye, and a scar down his chin - but he'd be talented and powerful and magical, and he was simply waiting for the political tide to turn. Then, he'd no longer be an outlaw, but a respected member of wizarding society, and his wife and child would be welcomed - no, exalted - and they'd live in a big house together, and they'd never go hungry, and nobody would shout or slam doors or swipe the ornaments off the mantelpiece or order him to lower his trousers and force him to listen for the whistle of a belt.
Oh yes, he knew all about fantasies, did Severus Snape. He clutched onto the daydream for far longer than he should've - for far longer than was sensible.
As a child, it was easy to convince himself it was possible that Tobias wasn't his father as Severus himself was the spitting image of Eileen. Although his father was clearly the better looking of the married couple, Severus couldn't bring himself to wish that he looked like the man who shared his mother's bed. Instead, he desperately wanted to look like anyone other than Tobias - to rid himself of the Muggle blood running through his veins, and to just be magical instead. But as the years passed by, he found that his newly maturing body mimicked his father's more and more - the hints of his da were suddenly not just mere shadows or tricks of the light, but at times, it was as if Tobias were the one peering into the mirror and not Severus. It wasn't just the shape of his ears and nose - oh, that nose - but it was the jut of his jaw, the widening of his shoulders, the way his wiry biceps and triceps were thickening with all that cauldron carrying, the rope of vein that stuck out along his forearms, and the ever-spreading body hair. To his shame, he was long - too long - into his Hogwarts career before he finally accepted that his fantasy was nothing more than childish nonsense. He wasn't just a Snape by name; he was a Snape by blood.
But if his dreams were nonsense, so was Tobias' and Eileen's marriage. For the life of him, Severus couldn't understand why they stuck it out - and each anniversary seemed to pass with a tight smile and a grim nod instead of an enthusiastic celebration of their monogamous devotion. It wasn't a happy moment, but some sort of twisted penance of their own devising - not a chain of Hail Marys and Our Fathers, or each of them chalking another line in their five-bar-gate on a cell wall: 5 years, 10 years, 15 years - "It's a life sentence. Yer'd get less for murder. I'd be out by now if I'd wrung someone's neck, an' I'll tell yer, there's been some days when I've come close..." - but some sort of acceptance. This was their lot, and they were content to struggle through, even if there was no promised pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. From where he was sat on the sidelines, Severus wasn't even convinced there was a rainbow.
He could remember when he'd finally realised that all wasn't what it seemed on the surface; that there was more to the marriage than he'd been able to comprehend as a child. Everyone is quick to cite the glorious summer of 1976, but Severus could remember the summer back in August of '75, when the horribly cold start to the holidays suddenly gave way to a furious heatwave - and that's partly why this memory was burnt so clearly into his brain; the feel of the sun beating down on his back is enough to drag him back to the stifling heat of that summer in Spinner's End. He could remember the house feeling like an oven, the air so thick, it was difficult to breathe.
His parents had battled with him about leaving his bedroom door open.
"It creates a breeze if yer keep yer door open," his da had explained, with more than a hint of impatience.
"If you keep your window open, and we keep our window open, and we have all of the doors open," Eileen had elaborated, "it helps the house to cool down."
He could hardly argue with them, least, not effectively - it was simple physics. Their house was impossibly hot, especially upstairs, so even the smallest improvement was welcomed and the slight breeze created by the open windows and doors did make a difference. So, he'd swallowed his pride and acquiesced - but open doors were difficult; he was 15 after all. He'd done his best to abstain, to keep his hands up by his head, and he could remember the horrible feeling of sweat trickling down his body as he lay naked on the mattress, his sheets bundled into a ball and placed strategically over his groin to preserve his modesty, lest either of his parents glance across at his room as they walked across the landing.
He'd been at home for less than a fortnight when his da collared him. His mam was hanging out the washing, and Tobias had stalked over to him, and slammed his fist down on the table so fiercely, the tea in his cup bounced. "I know it's hard, son," and Severus had flushed crimson, certain by the twisted smile that Tobias was shooting towards him that his father's choice of words was deliberate, "but a bit of respect wouldn't go amiss."
It was ironic, really - because they were complaining about him daring to give in to his hormone fuelled urges under the cover of darkness, as if he didn't have to listen to the tell-tale grunts and groans emerging from their own room, and as if those noises didn't cause his stomach to twist in a way that he found incredibly unnerving.
It bothered him. Not in the way that other people talked about their parents having sex - he'd always been pragmatic, and accepted that if people in relationships had sex, it would be bizarre if his parents didn't also have sex. No, it was more than that. When he was a kid, what had bothered him was that his mother had chosen to stay with Tobias. When he was old enough to leave home for the relative sanctuary of Hogwarts, he'd shrugged the thought off - if she was stupid enough to stay with some violent Muggle drunk, then it was none of his business; in a few short years, he wouldn't have to put up with either of them any longer.
But what he overheard that summer - what he inadvertently witnessed - it really bothered him. It bothered him on a visceral level that he couldn't explain away as simply knowing that his parents were having sex. It bothered him, because he was certain that his father was hurting her, and as he had eyed them both curiously over tea whilst he stirred his vegetables into a soggy mush, he'd realised that Tobias was doing it on purpose. He couldn't quite fathom why, and he spent the nights as an unwilling voyeur ruminating on Tobias' motives - Is he drunk? Or stupid? Does he not realise? Or is he trying to prove something to me?
As the weeks wore on, his focus moved to his mother's lack of reaction at being used in such a way when her son was just a few feet away across the landing - Why doesn't she kill him? ...I'd kill him. And then, one night, as he'd shoved his head under his pillow in a futile attempt to block them out, it'd occurred to him that maybe she didn't kill him because she found it just as arousing as Tobias did - that she was getting off on the pain and the exhibitionism and the humiliation. As the thought dawned, he'd pulled the pillow off his head and stared in horror at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the silken path of a spider who was making the long journey from the window to his lightshade, and the noises seemed to grow louder and louder and louder.
He didn't tell anyone. Ever. He was good at keeping secrets. Not even Lily, even when she asked him outright. "I'm not a pervert," he'd said. And he wasn't. Least, he didn't think he was. He hadn't sought them out, and he couldn't help if he'd reacted to what he'd heard. It was natural. "You can get a hard on for all sorts of reasons," Lucius had told him, and he knew it was true - when he was doing his homework, when he was sat in the Great Hall, once most inconveniently when he was traversing the stairs to the Astronomy Tower. It's not as if he had a thing for the moon, was it?
No. It was them, not him. Both of them. Not just Tobias, but Eileen as well. At least Tobias he could sort of understand, on a base level. That urge. But his mother? He didn't understand her at all. So, just like his father, he would repeat the mantra for years to come: I don't understand women, I really don't. Never have. Never will. It's funny, really, how - for all his mother's efforts - he turned out just like Tobias in the end.
So, when Lily had finally returned home, her eyes tired and her face drawn, and she'd briefly explained her version of the evening's events, he had chosen not to press the issue. Don't pick the scab, son. He didn't force her to tell the truth. He didn't pick up on the inconsistencies in her tale. He simply raised his eyebrows, and shrugged at all of the right moments, and made sure he looked outraged or shocked or dismayed as her story unfolded. There was a moment, right at the end of the conversation, when he'd started to ask her a question, but she'd quickly changed the subject - and as the new topic led to her rapidly removing first her clothes, and then his, he wasn't particularly motivated to change the subject back.
Lucius presses the issue with him more than he himself had done with Lily. He feels somewhat shamed that it catches him off-guard, and that he doesn't have his answers prepared and memorised, ready for the intense bout of questions that were clearly going to be flung his way.
"She was caught without papers, Malf," he snarls. "Like an idiot."
"They pulled her in for that?"
The story sounds pathetic to his own ears, but this time he can't weave a deft web of lies, because he simply doesn't know enough about Lily's skirmish with the aurors to make it believable - least, not to someone who has their own hotline to the department and can verify every word he utters. All he can do is parrot the same trite answers she gave to him, and they sound as hollow when he repeats them to Lucius as they'd done when she'd told him her story. The only difference was, she'd stopped him from asking further questions by sinking to her knees and sucking his cock until his knees had buckled. Remembering it causes Severus to give a wry smile to himself. It might stop Malf asking further questions, but I'm not doing that ...
"You've found the funny side of the situation, I see. Care to share?"
Severus quickly adjusts his expression. "It's just the sheer ridiculousness of it. They let her stew for hours. She was only walking down the street."
Lucius shrugs. "The announcement was all over the press. The Ministry did warn that carrying papers was to be made mandatory." Despite his unsympathetic words, he looks surprised. "Mind, I didn't expect them to react quite so harshly this early on."
Severus' voice is incredulous. "You didn't expect them to react harshly to a..."
"...you can say it."
Severus gives his friend a dark look. "I am not saying it. I know the Ministry wants to control how we think, but they can't force me to use the words."
Lucius looks uncomfortable. "Promise me that if they pull you in, you won't make this the hill you die on."
"Meaning?"
"It's a very noble cause," Lucius says, "and I'm sure she appreciates it." He rolls his wand between his fingers, and then slides it back into his cane.
"But?"
"If people realise you're deliberately abstaining-"
"It's hardly abstinence! It's just a word that I choose not to use."
"Exactly. It's just a word." Lucius shoots him a dark look. "People will use anything to rile you, Severus. And if calling your witch a Mudblo-"
"Don't!"
"This is what I'm talking about!" Lucius thumps his cane against the ground, punctuating each thought with a dull thud. "That is the Ministry approved term. That is what she is. That is what her papers say."
"...I'm not saying it."
He leans over his cane. "Like it or not, Severus, your favoured terminology has been removed. There are Purebloods, and Halfbloods, and Mudbloods. There is no such thing as a Muggleborn. She is a Mudblood."
Sickeningly, he knows Lucius is right and he thinks back to when he was a kid, and when he'd have to listen to Tobias going on and on about women being seen and not heard, and how men couldn't understand them. He thinks about how he knew back then that words couldn't hurt, or that - at the very least - they didn't hurt in the same way that beatings did.
And then he thinks about Lily's face when she'd opened her new papers. He thinks about his own magical documents, emblazoned with his photograph and the proud proclamation that he was Severus Snape, wizard. The photographs were taken just after they'd officially graduated from Hogwarts and had become full members of the magical community. His grin was broad and full of crooked uneven teeth, and the tip of his wand twirled into the moving picture as he flicked it happily into the air. He'd been full of joy, and hope, and promise - and so had she.
But now, her happy picture had been replaced. He'd been at work the day she'd been taken down to the local auror office, and her photo had been snapped in the custody suite. She'd told him, through tears, that the only thing to distinguish her from the criminals was that she wasn't holding a prisoner number - but instead, the piece of wood she was holding was emblazoned with a single word: Mudblood.
He'd stared at her new papers for ages that night, marked with the awful new terminology, comparing them with his own. His nose was large and his hair was greasy, and he could see a horrible and painful patch of impetigo around the corner of his mouth - but it hadn't been enough to dampen his excitement of receiving his papers; his licence to live in the magical world.
They'd always been an odd pairing, with her beauty and his sour features, but he'd taught himself to be grateful, and not to question her choice. Yet even he couldn't reconcile the two of them together when he compared the pictures, albeit for opposite reasons - he was every inch the exuberant youth, with his whole life to look forward to, whereas it seemed that a few short years had drained the life from Lily; her lips were grey and her eyes were reddened, and her skin was blotchy. She looked miserable, like a woman with nothing left to live for, and he couldn't imagine the cheerful teen in his photograph stopping to buy her a drink at the bar. Not for the first time, he found himself reconsidering whether words could do damage after all.
She's still seeing Potter. Letting him walk her home. He hasn't told her to stop. He doesn't think he can - not after he sees that photograph; if he takes this from her, she'll have nothing. He doesn't want her affiliated to the Order - it's far too risky - but then, if she knew just how deeply his relationship with Lucius Malfoy ran, she'd probably argue the same - and that's an argument he can't have; he simply can't choose between her and Lucius. Not because he doesn't love her, but because Lucius holds all of the threads of his life - the flat, the job, the dealing, and he's certain that the threat of Azkaban would be floated his way once more.
She's happy that he hasn't raised Potter as an issue again, he thinks. She can't see it, he's certain - she can't see that Potter looks at her like a starving man who has spied a thick-sliced sandwich. But he can see it, and Potter knows he can see it - and they both know that his and Lily's relationship is walking a tightrope; all Potter has to do is stand at the bottom with a net, ready to catch the spoils. Severus can't stop Lily from straying - he can only trust that she won't. Voicing any suspicion risks accidentally pushing her away; the grumpier he becomes, or the more possessive he becomes, the more he bolsters Potter's chances.
Don't pick the scab, son. Worse still, he can't go over the top - he can't smother her, can't overwhelm her. Doing too much would have the same result as doing too little. It's a game - like Chicken or Coward - and all he has to do is steel himself and wait until the last possible moment before he makes a move. Too soon, and he'll lose face, too late, and he'll get hit by the train. It's simple, when he thinks about it logically - and he's good at logic. Most Purebloods aren't; it's a Muggle thing, logic - puzzles and crosswords and conundrums. But the problem is, when it comes to Lily, he doesn't think logically.
When he sees her, it causes a rush of primal thrill, and he strains to keep it hidden. He feels like he does when he remembers those nights at Spinner's End, with his parents in the next room - an uncomfortable surge of power and desire, of wanting to dominate and humiliate. He feels like he does when he remembers the dog, its innards spilled on the dark ground and the knife gleaming in his bloodied hand, he the master of its life. He let a little of his mask slip when the aurors were spying on them, listening in - testing how far he could go before she pulled away in disgust, and when she did nothing but trust him, opening herself to him, he found it harder than ever to put that dark side of himself back into its box.
Maybe she won't run, he thinks, in those darker moments. Maybe she wants this too. But once he's satisfied himself, and showered, and pulled on clean robes, he shakes the thought from his mind. Of course she doesn't want this. She's a good girl. A nice girl. So he pulls himself together, and he strains to be the boy he should've been - the boy he could've been if it wasn't for that blasted wolf, or his damned parents. You were doing so well, he thinks, put these thoughts back in the shadows where they belong. Be the boy next door. Be her best friend. Be the man she deserves.
Potter has caused this, he thinks, as he heaps his fork with baked beans and shovels them into his mouth, his dark eyes watching as she moves through the flat, her hair wild from sleep and her dressing robe untied, revealing her smooth skin. His eyes trace a heated trail from her breasts to her navel, and not for the first time, he fantasises about her carrying his child.
It's yet another nonsense fantasy, he knows that. They can't afford a child; they're not ready for a child. He's not ready to be a father - not patient enough, not kind enough - and she's at risk with the everchanging laws. It'd be their luck that she'd conceive and their relationship would be outlawed, their child excommunicated from the magical world, or taken from them, or…
He lets the thought go - a baby is not logical, after all - but the primal thrum still resonates around his body. Logic doesn't stop him from wanting her ripe with his seed; a declaration to the world that she's chosen him.
"What?" she says, a little self-consciously, pulling her robe tight and knotting it.
"Nothing," he mumbles, his mouth full of beans, and he scrapes the plate loudly with his fork.
"You were staring."
"I just fancy you," he deflects, a pink flush appearing on his cheeks, "it's not a crime, is it?"
She looks pleased at his proclamation. "Not yet," she says, kissing him, and tangling her fingers in his hair, and even though it'll make him late for work, he pulls her over to the sofa and forces himself to forget that he witnessed her taking her Muggle oral contraception an hour or so earlier, desperate to play out the fantasy of her growing his child within her womb.
Don't hurt her, he thinks, she's chosen you - and although the primal scream yells through his brain, begging him to unleash, her love for him is enough to dampen the shriek. He braces his hands either side of her head, forcing himself not to grab her wrists, not to pin her down, not to claim her as his own. Gentle, he thinks. He ignores the voice that begs him to push further, harder, faster and he falls into their comfortable rhythm of gentle lovemaking.
I am not my father.
Chapter 30: Out of the box
Chapter Text
When he gets home from work, he notices that she's quieter than usual, and he figures that this latest arrest has finally knocked the fight from her; it's certainly knocked him for six. The evening edition of the Prophet is a miserable read for anyone affiliated with...he still can't bring himself to say the hated word, although he knows Lucius is right - his one wizard crusade to retain Muggleborn is on a hiding to nothing, and most likely, will simply out him as one of those wizards who can't be trusted. The last thing that either of them need - him or her - is unwarranted focus from the aurors. He needs to practice saying it in a mirror so he doesn't flinch when the slur leaves his lips. Mudblood.
He doesn't push her to talk - it seems facile to talk about the weather or the radio when the papers are full of witches and wizards who are being stripped of their wands.
"It's bad, isn't it?" she ventures, as his frown deepens whilst he's reading.
He can't lie to her. There's no point. "It's not great, love."
"Do you think…" - and then she falters, and he doesn't miss the water at the edge of her eye, "...do you think we'll be next?"
"They're traitors," he says, folding the paper over and tucking it under his arm. He doesn't want her to read it - he can't see the point in her dwelling on the hateful words.
"They're not!"
"I know they're not," he snaps, "but that's what they're saying. They're traitors, and we're not. So we've got nothing to worry about." And then a horrible thought crosses his mind and he glances at his girlfriend. "Unless you've got something you need to share?"
"Of course not."
"You said that," he says, with a tight smirk to show that he's not as annoyed as his accusation sounds, "as if you hadn't joined Albus Dumbledore's vigilante group."
"Says ye, the Dark Lord's brewer."
"Maybe I'll get a Ministry commission," he grins, pulling his boots on. "By order to the Dark Lord."
She laughs, but it's more hollow sounding than normal, and he knows she's not quite over the shock of his potions having landed in the lap of the Death Eaters. It bothers him too - he'd never really thought about it before; he loves brewing, and he does whatever Lucius Malfoy wants, and somehow, he hadn't really thought the whole process through.
He shakes the thought from his head - it's not helpful; he's a dealer - he brews, he sells, and if his buyer sells his goods on, then what's it to him? He has to tell himself that, else he wouldn't sleep at night - not with the sheer number of vials of Polyjuice that he's been brewing. It simply doesn't bear thinking about.
"What do you reckon they had on them?" she asks, as he stands to leave. "What made them stand out as traitors?"
He chews his lip, and pulls the paper back out again, casting his finger across the list of names. "They're all…" - and he still can't say the word, so he coughs, "...you know, like you." There's nothing else obvious, so he flicks a few pages over until he reaches the gossip column, because although he holds no love for Skeeter, she hasn't let the change in Prophet personnel stop her from spreading her usual brand of rumour and innuendo. He quickly reads it, and then turns the page to Lily, pointing out a paragraph halfway down: The Ministry must surely be rejoicing at its good fortune, for each of the condemned traitors were coincidentally due to stand trial later this year for their part in the protest last month. Keen readers will recall our questions about how much the trial of forty-seven witches and wizards would cost, and it seems that the Ministry has neatly sidestepped such expenditures.
"They're all part of the Fearless Fifty," she gasps.
"Mmm," Severus agrees, taking the paper back from her and folding it over again - he has no intention of letting her dwell on the dark news.
"Then it's a fix!"
"Of course it's a fix," he says. "It's all a fix, Lil. Which is why I keep saying to you - keep your head down, and your mouth shut, and let's hope that I've got enough magical blood for the both of us." And then he kisses her, trying to show her how much she means to him - and he knows the message has reached her, because she wraps her arms around his shoulders, and kisses him like it's their very first night together, and he's so surprised at her heated reaction, he drops the newspaper on the floor.
It makes him late for his meeting. He laughs to himself - if anyone in his sorry life would forgive him for being late because he'd spent the last hour with Lily Evans wrapped around him, it was Horace Slughorn, but even Severus wasn't cheeky enough to tell his old Housemaster the truth. Instead, he makes up some lame excuse about his cauldron boiling over.
"Ah yes," says Slughorn, welcoming him into the school laboratory. "I can imagine that such a young, vibrant cauldron bubbles over fairly often?" And Severus freezes at being caught out, but Slughorn merely laughs heartily, clapping him on the shoulder. "Come now, Severus," he says, jovially, welcoming him past the line of benches and cauldrons and into the Slytherin Housemaster's private study, "we're all men together." He pours a generous measure of firewhisky into a glass, and hands it to his young protégé.
"Are you not partaking, sir?"
"I have rounds," Slughorn says, seating himself heavily in an armchair, and motions for Severus to join him in the seat opposite, "but my favourite part of visiting my old schoolmaster was always sampling his finest wares. An apprentice wage does not stretch far, after all." He gives Severus a knowing wink. "I see no reason to break with tradition."
"Thank you, sir," Severus says, before sipping, and allowing the alcohol to bloom in his mouth.
"And how is Arsenius?"
"He's his usual happy self, sir."
Slughorn grins at his old student. "And you, Severus, are you keeping your head down this time?"
"Yes, sir. I've learnt my lesson, sir."
"Not too well," Slughorn says, sharply, "I hope."
"Sir?"
"...Libatius sold you down the river," Slughorn says, softly, glancing around the room. "Arsenius knows it, and I know it." He peers at the young man before him. "And I know you know it."
"...sir."
"He's been rather stupid," Slughorn suddenly says, his voice hardening. "Letting a boy of your calibre out from under him." He pauses then, considering, and then he tips his head. "I would've taken you, Severus."
"At Hogwarts?" He can't keep the incredulous note from his voice. "To teach?"
Slughorn waves his hand. "Teaching is nothing. You'd cope."
And he thinks about the kids he went to school with - the students who didn't study, who didn't pick up a book. He thinks about the ones who blew up a cauldron as soon as look at it, and the fights in the corridors, and the pressures of being a Housemaster, of the responsibility of being the man that so many would look up to. "I don't think I have the skill set, sir."
"Nonsense," Slughorn dismisses his concerns with a flick of his moustache. "A fully kitted out laboratory, a large budget for ingredients, and the most precious thing of all, Severus - time ."
And he opens his mouth to protest, but then he realises it's true - he thinks of the occasional visit he'd made to Sluggy's lair, and how his Housemaster was always brewing or preparing ingredients - and now that he's spent so many hours under Jigger's watch, he knows how convenient it is to be able to brew all hours of the day, or to leave a potion simmering for its full duration, instead of using time turners or charms.
"But alas," he continues, "I could not convince Albus that I required an apprentice in this cycle."
"And you'd have chosen me, sir?"
And then it's Slughorn's turn to colour slightly, and cough. "Well, certainly, Severus. You or the delightful Miss Evans, of course."
"She can't work, sir."
"No, so I have heard." And then he peers at Severus, his eyes hard. "I have heard that you didn't sign her exemption papers."
"I couldn't, sir."
"I've heard that too." Slughorn looks disappointed. "I thought better of you, Severus - such lies will catch up with you."
Severus looks confused now. Lies? "I thought you understood what happened with Master Borage, sir?"
Slughorn leans forward, his pudgy elbows resting on his knees. "I do, but I do not see the relevance of that sorry incident, and you misleading your young lady."
"I didn't mean to," he argues hotly, his manners suddenly forgotten, "I signed her exemption form, but it was rejected!"
"Rejected?" Slughorn's frown deepens. "But your mother is Pure - I taught her myself!"
"It wasn't a problem with my heritage," Severus says, softly. "The problem was the deal I signed with Borage when he released me from my apprenticeship." At Slughorn's blank look, he elaborates. "The admission of guilt."
Slughorn gives a derisive snort. "Admission of guilt," he scoffs. "You and I both know that you had nothing to do with those deaths. Borage was out of his depth, cut a few corners with his remedies, and you - the unknown apprentice brewer - took the fall."
"I'm glad someone believes me, sir."
"But you signed a form to say otherwise, I take it?"
"I had no choice. It was the deal, or to take my chances in front of a full jury. With Master Borage's testimony against me, I'd have gone to Azkaban for sure, and then what would've happened to Lily?" Severus looks astonished at Slughorn's surprise. "I'm sorry, sir. I thought you knew, sir."
"If only I did," Slughorn says, thoughtfully. "If only I did."
"And you can only apply for an exemption once a year. I should've explained it to her properly, but I didn't see the point in raising her hopes, only to have to tell her that I'd ruined it by rushing ahead and not thinking." He looks abashed. "I thought it was better she didn't know at all. I should've come to you first, sir. I just didn't think that they'd reject the application. I didn't think they'd be so strict."
Slughorn looks wary. "I don't think anyone of us truly understands the rules, Severus. I suspect that on a different day, with your papers reaching a different official, your story could've been very different." He shrugs. "Happens all of the time. It's like having an essay marked at school - if your teacher's in a good mood, you might get a few marks here, a few marks there. If your teacher is not so benevolent…"
"I understand, sir." And he did - but the analogy felt poor; this wasn't an essay or an exam - this was Lily's livelihood, and their life together. If she could've carried on working, he wouldn't have been forced to take extra hours at the Broomsticks, and she wouldn't have joined the Order, and she wouldn't have made friends with Potter, and she wouldn't have brewed the Wolfsbane and… He looks up sharply, realising his thoughts have run away with him, and Slughorn is staring at him with a curious expression. "Sir?"
"Tell me, Severus," he says, not unkindly, "for whilst your company is not unwelcome, the hour is late, and my rounds are due - what caused you to seek my companionship this evening?"
When the house elf flings the doors open, he stands, his blond hair gleaming in the light cast from the fire - and when he sees the woman before him, he smiles.
"Do you have a moment?"
"Of course," Lucius says, dismissing the elf with a flick of his hand, and ushering the witch into his study. "For you, Miss Evans," he says smoothly, "I have all of the time in the world."
"Do you remember, sir," he says, willing his face not to flush, "when I was having some trouble, back in my OWL year?"
Slughorn looks thoughtful, and Severus is hit with the sudden realisation that although his problems felt overwhelming, they were but a minor footnote to those around him - a brief meeting here, or a mentoring session there. "Ahhh..."
"With the nightm...dreams, sir," he presses. "About the-"
And then Slughorn clearly does remember - who could forget a boy transforming into a werewolf - and he shuffles awkwardly, straightening his jacket. "I hope this isn't about Belby, Severus." He gives the young man a hard stare. "That potion isn't for amateurs."
"I'm not-" he starts, and then catches himself, remembering his place. "No, sir. It's not that. It's just…" He takes a deep breath. "When I came to you, sir, and I said I was having trouble sleeping - that I had some memories that were bothering me." He looks Slughorn square in the eye. "You taught me how to put it in a box, sir, do you remember?"
"Yes."
"I was wondering, sir, if there was a limit?"
"A limit?"
"To how many things you could put in the box," he says, "because I think things are starting to leak out."
Slughorn sits back in his chair, a frown creeping across his face. "It was a long shot when we tried it," he admits. "It's an old technique, and I don't fully understand it myself."
"Is there anything I could read, sir?"
"You say the memories are leaking out of the box?" He gives Severus another hard stare. "Just how many memories are in the box?"
Too many. The wolf. The dog. The punishment. The incident by the lake. The encounter in Hogsmeade. His parents having sex - more than once. The Dark Lord. It was the Dark Lord that started all this off, he realises - that dragging his father's punishment out of the box had somehow prised off the lid, and left all of his other carefully hidden secrets spilling over the floor, and try as he might, he couldn't jam the lid back on.
"I'm not sure, sir," he lies. "But one came loose, and the rest just...tumbled."
At this Slughorn stands. "Interesting, interesting," and he runs his finger along a line of books before plucking one off the shelf and flicking through it. "This is the technique," he says, passing over the tome, "although I claim to be no expert. I use it sparingly - only for keeping stressful thoughts at bay. Stress dreams are a..."
Slughorn suddenly tails off, as if realising the stark implication of the conversation; that he uses the technique occasionally and successfully, whilst the young boy before him is cramming half of his life into a hidden container, pressing so much in, it bulges at the edges and then buckles.
Severus stares at the chapter title in front of him. "I've never even heard of this. It's not taught at Hogwarts, is it, sir?"
"No. Never, to my knowledge. I'd wager that only a few pureblood families even know what it is," Slughorn says, almost dismissively. "The arts of the mind fell out of favour many decades ago."
"Can I borrow this, sir?"
"Of course, Severus. That's why I gave it to you," Slughorn says, checking his watch. "And now, I must away to rounds. Do return it in person when you've finished - I look forward to hearing about how you've mastered the lost art of Occlumency."
Chapter 31: Be my guest
Chapter Text
He props the book up against his mug of tea, and carefully dips the tip of his quill into his ink pot. With a flourish, he swipes the quill across the blank parchment, line after line, until a perfect three dimensional cube sits on the page. He remembers this part from last time.
"What does the box look like, Severus?"
"I don't know, sir."
"You must know! Close your eyes," Slughorn commanded, "and think of a box. Is it made of paper or card? Or is it wooden? Are the corners reinforced with tape, or metal? Is there a lock? Can it fit beneath your bed, or do you hide it in the wardrobe?"
He hadn't really taken it seriously at the time. A box is a box. But now, with his box leaking his precious memories, he realises the importance of a carefully crafted image, and with a final glance at the instructions in the book, he draws another cube on the page. Then another, and another, and another, his quill slashing broad strokes across the parchment - and he doesn't stop until the page is full of scribbled boxes; some neatly drawn, and others with broad lines that don't quite meet at the edges. Some have clasps, and some bear key locks, whilst others have combination locks fixing them shut. Some are big and some are small, and then he sees the one that he wants, and he turns the page and transfers it to a brand new sheet, drawing the edges with bold definition.
For all of his numerous faults, Lucius is nothing but a gracious host. He stokes the fire, and offers his best chair, and when she declines his offer of expensive alcohol, he commands a house elf to bring an array of refreshing fruit drinks - rosehip cordial, lemon and lime tonic, raspberry tea and something she can't make out by smell alone - elderflower and rhubarb and...ginger? She wrinkles her nose, and puts the glass down; she hasn't visited the Manor to sample Malfoy's delights.
He doesn't push her to speak. Instead, he sits in the chair next to hers, one foot on the floor and his other resting on his knee, his manner almost casual - as if she were an old friend - and waits.
"I believe you've been telling tales about me," she says.
"I could suggest the same."
She scoffs. "Hardly."
"No?" His eyebrows raise, and a slow smirk spreads across his face. "The last I heard, you were confessing to being my loyal illegal brewer." She doesn't respond, and he puts his foot to the floor, leaning more eagerly towards her. "No? No longer? Have you since relinquished your claim to such a role?"
"You sold me down the river."
He shrugs. "I do not recall holding a wand to your head, and forcing you to agree to my accusation." He watches as her hands grip the arms of the chair, and he has to fight not to reveal his triumph at her discomfort. "Surely," he continues, unable to resist provoking her, "you could have put the record straight? Corrected the mistaken aurors? Proven to them that you'd never been here, never corresponded with me, never spoken to me?"
"You were protecting Severus." Her accusation is swift, and almost catches him off guard.
"I was protecting myself."
"By protecting Severus." She stares at him evenly, her jaw tilted slightly upwards in defiance.
"Perhaps."
"Then I was doing the same."
At this, he smiles.
He sips his tea, and reads the passage over and over, determined not to rush - not to miss a step. He knows now why his original box failed - on reading the chapters fully, it's clear that Slughorn had helped him to contain one memory, but by cramming the same weakly defined box with thoughts and feelings he didn't want to experience, he'd exhausted the limits of his magic.
The revelation had surprised him - it wasn't another box that was required, as he had assumed - he simply needed to package his thoughts carefully and neatly into the space.
He hadn't done that previously - he'd simply grabbed onto his thoughts, just as Slughorn had taught him, and yanked the lid off the box before thrusting the memories in, and thumping the lid tightly on again. When the Dark Lord had forced him to reveal that memory, he'd yanked the box open and tugged at the thread, but all of the other memories were tangled amongst it, and they'd spilled free.
Concentrate on each thought, from start to finish. Relive every moment - every sight, every smell, every sound. Remember how the experience feels, how the emotion builds inside of you, and then play it over and over and over. When you have successfully isolated the memory - when you think of it and your brain does not drift to other thoughts - then imagine placing your wand to your temple, and drawing the memory from your brain. It will spill from your mind like a colourful gas, pulsating and living, and then imagine holding a vial and twisting your wand until the memory spirals into the glass container. Cap it, label it, and place it carefully in your newly created box. You can now rest, safe in the knowledge that this memory is under your control. It is now only accessible to you, and as it is neatly labelled, you will not wonder at its contents and open it by mistake.
He winces to think of his previous box, with its mixed slurry of memories, all fighting against each other - the box rattling and thumping in his mind, as if the thoughts wanted to return to their rightful place in his memory - and then he closes his eyes, and imagines his brand new box, empty and ready to be filled.
"Why me?"
Lucius shrugs. "Whyever not?"
"A Muggleborn brewing for a Pureblood?"
She waits for him to correct her terminology, but he simply waves his hand.
"Well?" she presses. "You don't think that's unconvincing?"
"The aurors evidently didn't. A skilled-" and the admission seems almost torn from him, "-Mudblood with no other options but to brew for a rich Pureblood seemed rather more believable than an untalented Pureblood brewing for me. Who would you have preferred I said? Rosier? Nott? Mulciber? Avery?" He tosses his hair. "Ridiculous. No, no, you were far more convenient."
"Then why not Severus?" Her eyes narrow. "Why not let him take the fall? He's far more believable than I am - a poor Halfblood, and a disgraced apprentice brewer. He has pure heritage, and he's an old housemate." She stares at him. "...you realised his record would condemn him, didn't you? I would escape unscathed from such an accusation, whilst he would be sent to Azkaban?"
"And have you?" he enquires mildly. "Escaped unscathed?"
"Not exactly."
"Well then," he says, with a look of derision, "it seems to me that I made the right choice."
He groans, and drags himself to the shower, forcing himself under the cold spray. The book is much more thorough in its teachings than Slughorn ever was - previously, it was enough to simply recollect the key points of the event, and then to jam them into the box, but tonight's method is far more involved and much more distressing, and he's not got nearly as far as he had hoped.
He runs shampoo through his hair, and then grabs the soap, rubbing it across his prickling skin as if scrubbing his body raw will be enough to block his emotions. He can see now that his earlier efforts weren't enough. Now that he's gone through the process properly, it's no wonder that he could wrench the previously locked away memory to the tip of his mind with such ease - it was as if he'd simply kicked it into the corner and thrown a moth-eaten blanket over it. He thrusts his hair under the spray, scrubbing painfully at his scalp, trying to rinse the unease from his brain. It's no wonder that he still feels blistering hatred for Potter each time he claps eyes on him, no wonder that he's sent spiralling back to those hidden muddled sexual desires each time the sun beats down, no wonder that he's terrified of wolves and dogs and anything else with bared teeth and drooling lips.
One. For all his efforts, that's all he's managed. One lousy memory, capped and labelled and secured in the box. One foul werewolf safely restrained.
"If you did not escape unscathed, and yet you are sat here…" He eyes her curiously. "They offered you a deal, didn't they?"
"Yes."
He clucks his tongue against his teeth. "And that's why you're here?"
"I need your help."
"You don't need me," he argues. "Make it up. Tell them whatever they want to hear."
She shakes her head. "They'll know."
"And then what?" He shrugs, his palms tipped upwards. "They'll condemn you? Revoke your papers? Strip you of your magic and send you back to the Muggle world?" He looks unconcerned. "It is of no consequence to me."
"It is of consequence to Severus."
"Tell me," he hisses, "is it of consequence to Severus, or is it of consequence to James Potter?" He sits back triumphantly. "Because Potter's whore is of no consequence to either of us."
When the elf answers and leads him through the hallways, he's surprised to be deposited in the drawing room instead of in Malfoy's study. Narcissa looks up, and gives him a genuine smile before gently touching his clean hair and his tailored robes. "Ermine lined?"
"Fake," he admits, but he's gratified at her approving nod.
"I'm pleased that my recommendation of Twilfitt and Tattings did not go unheeded."
He pulls at the sleeves, a little uncomfortable under her unflinching gaze. "I always appreciate your recommendations, Cissy."
"I take it by your surprised expression, you were seeking Lucius?"
"Not exactly," he says, shaking his head when she wordlessly invites him to join her and be seated. "No, I'm not staying."
"Shame."
There's a long pause - he likes Narcissa, perhaps a little too much, and he knows she knows it - and he has to force himself to glance up at the chandelier so his gaze doesn't linger too long on her pale skinned beauty.
"So, Severus," she says, "if you are not looking for Lucius, and yet you are not staying, how may I be of assistance to you?"
Severus had told him repeatedly that her anger was legendary, but Lucius had no reason to believe it - not until she flicked her wand, and the jug full of lemon and lime tonic was hurled into his face, the charmed icecubes clattering on the polished floor. He shook his hair angrily, casting in quick succession - binding her arms to her side, clearing the mess from the floor, and finally summoning a damp towel to wash away the sticky liquid from his skin.
"You're a little hellcat, aren't you?" he murmurs, twisting his wand in his hand and forcing her to kneel.
"Don't!"
"Don't what?" he spits, towering above her.
She glares at him, her arms pinned, and her nostrils flared. "Let me go."
"Don't let you go?" He smiles now, his eyes glinting at her distress. "Why, who'd have thought-"
"You think you're clever, Malfoy-"
"It's a clever diversionary tactic," he interrupts, slowly circling her, "throwing things in a temper, but it hasn't gone unnoticed that you haven't denied my accusation. Potter's whore," he enunciates.
"I haven't done anything with Potter," she says, quickly.
"Really?" He brushes her hair to one side with his wand, and leans down, his breath hot on her now exposed neck. "I don't believe you."
"Severus believes me."
Lucius stands back up, a little straighter, and sniffs dismissively. "Severus is not a worldly man. He is...still a boy." He circles her again. "I know what you want. I know what you crave." And this time, he pauses before her. "Severus can't give it to you, and neither can Potter. Silencio!"
He casts, and her voice disappears, and he suddenly tosses his wand to the floor behind him. He takes a step closer to her, and runs both of his hands through her hair, his touch certain and powerful - and if the fingertips caressing her scalp were the potion stained digits of her lover, her heart would be hammering in exactly the same manner, but for very different reasons.
"But I am a worldly man," Lucius drawls, moving even closer, "and I assure you that I can."
Severus laughs as he strolls down the corridor, three thick tomes from the private Malfoy library tucked under his arm, and nods his gratitude once more to Narcissa. "I do appreciate all that you do for me," he says.
"Nonsense," she answers, waving him through the double doors. "You're always welcome here, Severus. I know Lucius sees you as practically family and-" - and she gives him that smile, the one which he first noticed at the end of his second year, and still makes his stomach flip over - "-you know how fond of you I am," she finishes, gripping his bicep through his robes.
He smiles tightly in response, and then points awkwardly to the top of the corridor. "Did you say he was with Avery?"
Narcissa shrugs lightly. "Dobby merely said he had a visitor, and I didn't care to enquire further." She rolls her eyes. "It'll be one of those terribly dull boys you roomed with. Yes, Avery or-"
"Mulciber?"
"No, it'll be Rabastan," she says, all of a sudden. "Bella did say he'd be coming over."
"Bast?" Severus looks eager. "Right, I'll just nip in and say hello. Be friendly."
Narcissa smiles that same smile. "Yes, be my guest. It's always wonderful to see you being friendly, Severus."
Severus knocks, but it's barely even a courtesy, because he immediately pushes open the heavy study door without waiting to be invited. He grins broadly, expecting to be greeted by the sight of Lucius and Rabastan and Lucius' best bottle of firewhisky - but instead, he falters, and his hand grips the door handle more tightly as he takes in the scene before him; of his best friend's hands tangled in the hair of a woman kneeling before him - a woman who isn't Narcissa.
"Severus-"
And at the mention of his name, the stilled woman pulls her head away from Lucius' hands, and turns. Her movements are awkward, as if her body is bound, and then her eyes meet his, and he freezes.
"Oh," he says. His voice betrays no emotion, but he slams the door loudly, causing the paintings on the wall to quiver, and then he turns his back and dumps his carefully collected books onto Lucius' desk.
"Severus-" Lucius tries again, but Severus shakes his head and straightens his robes and lets out a loud exhale before he turns to face his friend.
"Tell me, is this a private party, Malf?" he says coolly, stalking quickly across the wooden floor. He stands shoulder to shoulder with Lucius, and reaches down, twisting Lily's hair in his right hand, his dark eyes meeting her green ones. "Or can anyone join in?"
"Be my guest," Lucius says softly.
And then Severus clenches his fingers together and pulls at Lily's gripped locks in a manner that he knows will be painful, and he's gratified when her eyes fill with tears.
Chapter 32: How naive
Chapter Text
He's angry. He's angrier still when her tears fall faster, the translucent liquid silently streaming down her cheeks and leaving trails of dark mascara in their wake, and he shows no mercy, twisting his fingers even more tightly in her hair, and yanking her to her feet.
"We both thank you for your hospitality, Malf, but I think we'll be going," he murmurs softly, his eyes hard and not leaving her gaze - and then she gasps loudly, as if she's emerged from being underwater, and then, her breathing still laboured, her arms suddenly flail wildly at her sides. At her abrupt change in actions, Severus finally relinquishes his hold on her hair, and turns to look back at Lucius, who is rolling his cane between his hands.
"Of course, Severus. Miss Evans. Do call again."
She shivers involuntarily, but Severus' hand is quick to rest on his girlfriend's shoulder.
"Come," he says, bustling her from the room, summoning the previously discarded books as he leaves.
"Owl me, Severus," Lucius calls as the door opens and then bangs shut, but Severus doesn't answer, and the older man is uncertain as to whether his words were even heard.
"Sev-"
"I know what you're going to say," he interrupts, propelling her down the richly decorated corridor, "and I'm not interested."
"Severus, please-"
"Keep your mouth shut," he hisses, "although if this evening's anything to go by, I imagine that might be a little difficult for you."
"Fuck!" he yells, when they're finally both in the safety of their flat. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!"
"I swear, it wasn't what it looked like, I didn't say-"
"I know exactly what that was," he shouts, angrily ripping his boots off and tossing them across the flat at the now locked door. They meet the wood with such force, they bounce back into the room, only barely missing her. "Fucking Malfoy!"
She looks slightly shaken as she realises his anger is directed at someone other than her, and she grips the back of the sofa, not trusting her knees not to slump in relief. "Sev, I didn't-"
"He forced you to the floor, didn't he?"
She doesn't answer him, but sobs in earnest, her whole body shaking, and he thumps his fist against the table and then swipes across it, sending the parchment on it flying.
"I'll fucking kill him. I will. I'll kill the bastard."
"I thought..." she trails off between sobs. "What you said. In the corridor."
"I didn't mean it," he spits. "That Manor has walls with blasted ears - magical portraits and elves and who knows what else!"
"He took me by surprise-"
"He's dangerous," Severus says, his fists clenched by his sides. "You should never have been alone with him. Narcissa didn't even know you were there. What were you thinking?"
"I thought-"
"-you didn't," Severus snaps. "You didn't think at all."
"I did!" she screams, and her eyes are swollen and bloodshot, and her hands are still shaking. "I went there because of you." He just stares at her, uncomprehending, so she elaborates, her voice wavering. "They arrested me for being his brewer! I went there to talk - to find out what he knew, to see if I could strike a deal!"
When she emerges from the bathroom, her face is blotchy and her eyes are red-rimmed, and he's sitting on the edge of the bed, his leg bouncing up and down.
He doesn't look at her; his gaze fixed on the floor. "You okay?" he asks, his voice oddly soft.
"Yes," she says, but she's obviously not, and the wobble in her voice betrays her true feelings.
"Right," he says, and abruptly stands - still not looking in her direction - and summons his pillow from their bed. "I'll only be out there. Just shout if-"
Immediately, she reaches out and wraps her fingers around his wrist. "Don't."
He looks confused, his neck jerking oddly, and he finally meets her eyes. "Don't? Don't what?"
"Don't leave me."
"I was only going to sleep on the sofa," he says, quietly. "I thought you'd want to be alone. I thought you'd have had enough of men-"
"I want you to hold me," she says, tears forming again at the edge of her vision, and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her to his slender chest. "You're not him, Sev. You're nothing like him."
He convinces her to take some Dreamless Sleep - one of his more potent versions, one of the ones he keeps for the nights when he's plagued by his memories - and although he closes his eyes and goes through the charade of their nighttime ritual, he doesn't succumb to slumber. He doesn't tell her, but has no intention of sleeping; he needs to keep watch - he needs to protect her.
So when her breathing becomes steady, and her hold on him is somewhat loosened, he rolls over and sits up, and summons one of his newly acquired books. He swishes his wand, moderating his Lumos so it's a weak light - enough to read by, but not so bright that it'll wake Lily - and he quietly reads through the night.
He looks shattered when she wakes from her potion-induced slumber, and she reaches for his hand.
"You stayed up all night?"
He grunts, flipping a page over in the book that he's reading - and then it's as if he remembers the events of the evening before, and he tilts his head towards her, his gaze a little softer. "Any plans for today?"
"No."
"I think we should visit your parents," he says.
"You look exhausted. I think you should stay in bed, rather than being awkwardly polite to my mum and dad." She shoots him a wary look. "And it's Saturday - you know Petunia visits on a Saturday."
He grunts again. "I don't have to stay. I could just drop you off."
She sits up, suddenly concerned. "Don't go to Malfoy's."
He sniffs. "I have to."
"Not today, Sev. Give it some time. We need to talk."
"I want you out of the way," he says, ignoring her argument and throwing back the covers. He stands, and glances at himself in the mirror, and then recoils, scratching his stubbly face. "I'd better shave if we're going to Cokeworth."
"I'm not going-"
"You are," he says, sternly, calling to her as he strides into the bathroom. "And I think you should pack a bag for a few days. Lay low."
She shakes her head stubbornly, and then realises he can't see her reaction through walls. "No, Sev. I'm not staying there without you."
"You are, love," he says, moving back into the doorway, shaving cream lathered on his cheeks and chin. "Because I can't protect you whilst I'm at work."
Her argument that she didn't need protecting fell on deaf ears, but in the end, she convinces him not to leave her straight away - and the two join her parents on a morning tour of endless DIY shops. He yawns loudly, repeatedly, and her mother apologises profusely for dragging them from one side of town to the other. At the third garden centre, Severus sits on a bench by a water fountain, and briefly closes his eyes.
"Is he sickening for something?" Rose whispers. "He looks awfully pale, Lily."
"No," she says. "He's just overworked."
This seems to satisfy her mother, who marches over to David, and although Lily can't hear the words as she stays seated next to Severus, she can see her mother's arms waving, and her father's shoulders slumping, and a few minutes later, they're all back in the car and heading for her parents' home.
Petunia arrives at 1pm, punctual as ever, and although Severus makes it through a polite light lunch without yawning too often, when Vernon starts making pointed comments about Severus' occupation and his lack of promotion, Lily takes her boyfriend firmly by his hand.
"Do excuse us," she says, pulling Severus towards the stairs, and calling over her shoulder, "lovely to see you both!"
"It's bloody not," Severus grumbles, and she gently slaps his arm in rebuke, her eyes full of mirth, but happy to be leaving Vernon's disparaging and condescending comments echoing behind them. She leads Severus across her small bedroom, smiles as he carefully removes his boots, and they lie together in her single bed. He sighs deeply as he pulls her to him, their arms and legs entwined, and she gently strokes his hair as he finally succumbs to sleep.
There's a soft knock, and the door opens a slither, and then she can see her father's face poking around the door. "Lils?"
"Come in," she whispers, beckoning her father in, "but keep quiet. Sev's asleep."
"Your mother says he's not unwell," David whispers, appraising the sleeping figure of Severus, "but he looks-"
"He's just tired. ...I got into some trouble. He stayed up all night to look after me."
David is suddenly attentive, glancing at the magical equipment stashed in the corners of the room. "Trouble?"
"Nothing that will follow us here."
"I don't care about that," he huffs. "I care about my little girl." And then he sniffs, and nods towards the sleeping young man that she's cradling in her arms. "And that daft young lad she's fallen for."
When he wakes, she's asleep, and it's dark outside. He glances at the flashing digital clock - it's just past midnight, and he untangles himself from her leaden limbs. He shuffles awkwardly through the dark house, desperately trying not to wake anyone, and uses the loo, and washes his face, and when he returns to the bedroom, she's sitting upright.
"Sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"You're leaving." It's not a question; she's already seen his boots on his feet, and he nods.
"I need to have it out with him. I thought he'd stopped doing this sort of shit."
"...what do you mean?"
"He gets a kick out of Imperiusing people. He used to do it all of the time in the common room - he'd force the lower years to do his bidding." He winces at her horrified look. "It wasn't so bad. Nothing horrific. Just...power games, that's all."
"The lower years. He used it on you?" she guesses.
He gives a stiff nod. "He wouldn't now," he says, sliding his wand up and down his sleeve. "He knows I can throw it off." He pauses, thinking. "I should show you."
"He didn't use it on me."
He looks at her oddly. "He did!"
"Not Imperius," she says, and she looks drawn at the realisation that if Severus hadn't walked in, Lucius could've done worse if he'd chosen. "It was a sticking spell - he held my arms to my sides, and then he quietened me. Nothing illegal."
"And he lifted the spell when I grabbed you," he murmurs. "I knew he'd done something, because I was trying to hurt you."
She looks stricken, and he reaches for her.
"Not to punish you," he says, quickly. "I knew you wouldn't sit there in silence - and you moved oddly when you realised I'd walked in. I figured something was amiss, so I did something awful to try and get a reaction from you - and when you were screaming but you weren't making a noise...that forced him to lift it."
"You think?"
"Yes. He must've known I wasn't far from working it out." He pauses, thinking. "I wonder if he thinks he's got away with it. ...he might think I was angry at you, and not him. For cheating on me-"
"I didn't cheat-"
"I know," he says, sounding annoyed. "I'm thinking through what he might say to me."
"Sev, don't go to him," she begs. "He's not worth it."
"I want you to promise me that you'll stay here," he says, kneeling by the bed, and holding her hands. "I need you to be safe."
"Stay with me. Tonight, Sev, stay with me."
"I can't," he says, simply, and he kisses her fingertips. "It'll look odd if I'm away from the flat and he goes over - and even odder if I don't contact him. He'll know that I've sided with you if I don't get in touch." He swallows hard. "And as angry as I am, I need him," he mutters. "He's got me strung up, Lil."
She gives him a tight smile. "He'll explain his way out of it, I expect."
"Oh, I am sure. But that doesn't mean I'll forgive him." And this time, he brushes his lips against hers, before standing and heading to the door.
"Sev," she calls, and he stills.
"Yes, love?"
"Nothing happened," she says.
At this he turns. "What do you mean?"
"He was toying with me… I think - like a game. But he hadn't, when you walked in, he'd not... It was just the spells."
"Good," he says. "But I still might kill him."
And then he's gone.
"I know you said to owl," Severus says, apologetically, "but…"
Lucius opens the door to his study widely, and welcomes him in. "No explanation necessary." He strides to the cabinet, and pours a hefty slug of firewhisky into two glasses, and passes one to Severus. "I'm glad you came...I owe you an apology."
Severus takes the glass, and glances at Lucius, careful not to look him directly into the eye - not now he's studied his books so carefully. "Oh?"
"I got a little carried away," he says, and to Severus' surprise, he looks sheepish.
"That's what you call 'a little carried away'?"
At this, Lucius smiles grimly. "I am not going to pretend to be a saint, Severus." He rolls his glass between his hands, taking a deep inhale of the smoky liquid. "I thought it was over. Between the two of you."
Severus scoffs. "Really?"
"She's shagging Potter, isn't she?" Lucius sips from his glass. "I couldn't imagine you wanting to bury yourself where he'd already been."
The spark of anger rises up in Severus' chest, but he manages to hold it in, and he eyeballs his old friend. "No, she hasn't. Not with Potter. Not with anyone else. There's only ever been me."
At this, Lucius raises an amused eyebrow. "Ah, now that does explain a lot."
I am actually going to fucking kill him, Severus thinks, his temper flaring in his chest - and to his horror, Lucius laughs loudly.
"No no, Severus, you are not," he grins, and then he claps a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Don't look so shocked; we both know why you've borrowed those books of mine."
Severus looks away, and Lucius laughs at his reaction.
"Yes, it's a useful tool, Legilimency, Severus. Rather a shame that it's such a lost art."
"You've got a fucking cheek," Severus spits, staring at the floor. "After what you've done-"
"Enough!" Lucius' cold tones reverberate around the room. "I understand you're upset," he says, a little more softly, "but I won't accept impertinence from you in my own house."
"You assaulted my girlfriend in your own house."
"Nothing happened."
"But it would've," Severus argues hotly, now staring at the wall over Lucius' head, desperate to keep his gaze away from the older man.
"Yes! Yes, it would've," Lucius snaps, "but only because we both wanted it."
"No, she-"
"I suspect that you and I will utilise Legilimency for very different purposes," Lucius says, darkly. "I am a cad, Severus. A bounder. I am not loyal to Narcissa, nor she to me," and he grabs Severus' chin, forcing him to look him in the eye, "as I suspect you well know. ...yes," he drawls, triumphantly. "Miss Evans has only ever been with you, but it's not quite true the other way around, is it?"
"I haven't fucked Narcissa."
He smirks. "I didn't say you had." He gives Severus an appraising look. "My wife's an excellent kisser though, isn't she?" He leans in, the firewhisky pungent on his breath. "She was ever so disappointed that it didn't go further."
"Look, Malf-"
He sighs loudly. "Come, Severus, my point is, we're all grown ups here. I'm not a complete beast. I thought Miss Evans was fair game now that she's shagging Potter-"
"She's not shagging Potter!"
"How was I to know? Certainly looked that way to me when they both came to your flat hand-in-hand."
"They weren't hand-in-hand!"
Lucius shrugs. "I merely thought she'd got a taste for better blood, for purebred stallions, I thought I was in with a cha-"
"Fuck you, Malf!"
This time, Severus' fury spills over, and he flings his tumbler of firewhisky across the room, and it shatters into pieces when it meets the wall, causing Lucius to flinch.
Then Lucius roughly grabs Severus' robes, and stares deeply into his eyes. "Do you want to know the truth, hmm?" he hisses, spittle flicking from his teeth. "I used Legilimency on her, Severus. She wanted that domination. I thought I was giving her what she desired." He stands up to his full height, and straightens his friend's now dishevelled robes. "...apparently, I was wrong."
"You were!"
"Yes, I fucked up. And I'm sorry." He takes a deep breath. "And if you bring her to me, I'll tell her it myself." He stares at his old friend, his chest heaving. "I realised I'd fucked up just as you walked in."
"Yeah, convenient that!"
"I didn't have any idea how naive she was!" he hisses. "How naive you both are! I thought she was playing along - I thought she'd played these games with you, and with Potter, and I thought she was getting off on it! And then," and now he looks horribly guilty, "I looked into her eyes again and I realised that she didn't want me at all, but if it had been you, she'd have carried on."
Severus looks stunned. "She's never-"
"Never behaved like that with you?" Lucius looks surprised. "I swear to you on the Malfoy name, as soon as I realised, I was going to stop. But don't take my word for it - you've got my books, Severus. Have a look in her pretty little head. I think you'll be surprised."
Chapter 33: Seconded
Chapter Text
There's sweat beading on his brow, and he desperately wants to brush it away, but neither of his hands are free and his wand is already engaged, pointing at the flame and carefully controlling the heat: high, medium, high, medium, high, low, medium, low, high, low, high, low, medium. He has repeated the same cycle eleven times so far, all whilst his other hand keeps stirring the contents of the cauldron to a steady beat of twenty clockwise swirls, followed by three anti-clockwise, eleven clockwise, two anti-clockwise, three clockwise, and one anti-clockwise - before starting the whole process over and over again.
He's been following the same set of commands for almost three and a half hours, and he's starting to wish he hadn't had that last cup of tea before he started. His upper arms are burning from exertion, and the awkward stooping position he's found himself in is causing his lower back to ache - and just as he's about to raise the heat again for another run through, Jigger suddenly moves across the room and claps his hands firmly on both of Severus' shoulders, disrupting his rhythm.
"Master, I-"
"I've seen enough."
Severus watches helplessly as his Master casts the cauldron to the side, tipping its contents into the sink. "I'm sorry, sir."
"You've done well, boy," Jigger says, his voice a little less sharper than usual, evidently realising his apprentice's distress. "Both your concentration and composure of late have been far more in keeping with the standards expected."
"Thank you, sir."
"I stopped you because I'd seen enough." He snaps his fingers, and a piece of parchment flies through the air. "I wish for you to consider this, boy."
Severus wipes his hands on his robe, and lifts the parchment suspended before him. "Seconded?" He looks surprised. "You're sending me to another Master?" He stares at the parchment, unable to comprehend the situation - Has Sluggy stopped passing Malfoy's money to Jigger? Or has Malfoy stopped paying Sluggy altogether?
"It is not a commentary on your work," Jigger drawls, leaning heavily against the bench. "On the contrary, I rather feel that you will learn a lot under the tutelage of another."
"I appreciate the offer, sir," he says, quietly, trying not to let disappointment cross his face, "but I have already been disgraced once. If I work under another Master-"
"-with my agreement," Jigger interrupts loudly.
"...even so, sir, I fear that some will believe you have sent me away for poor behaviour."
"Nonsense. You'd still be my apprentice." At this, Severus gives a tight smile. He's going to keep taking Malfoy's money then. Jigger gives him a curious look, oddly pleased at Severus' smiling reaction, and incorrectly assuming that Severus was proud to remain his apprentice. When Jigger speaks, his tone is the kindest that Severus has ever heard. "Boy, do you not know what seconded means?"
"Not really, sir."
"It means that you would be sent to work alongside other eminent potioneers - to learn your craft from them, as well as me." He eyes him carefully. "I dare say you learnt different techniques from me to Borage?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then you see the worth of working under another?"
"Yes, sir." Severus glances at his feet. "It's just, sir, I…"
"Spit it out, boy."
"...Borage didn't treat me well, sir. Not like you, sir. And if I upset another, sir, then-"
"Slughorn would be my first choice."
"Sorry, sir?"
"I'll send you to work beneath Slughorn. At Hogwarts." Jigger gives a slight smile. "He's already asked."
"But Dumbledore-"
Jigger scoffs. "Dumbledore only has the power to appoint his own staff. The Ministry decides who can be taken as an apprentice, and whom by." He shrugs. "If I decide that working under Slughorn is what is required for your education, then the Ministry can sign off on the papers." He pulls another piece of parchment out of the air. "In fact, you should find that they already have."
He knew Slughorn wanted him, but seeing it in black and white - or inky blue and a pale tan - makes his knees weaken slightly. "But Dumbledore-"
Jigger stares at him evenly. "Forget Dumbledore. You should be thinking about Belby."
"Sir?"
"Are you deaf, boy? I may not have the connections to get you in with Belby, but Slughorn does. That is the goal. Impress Slughorn, and you'll be seconded from Slughorn to Belby."
Severus' mouth gapes. "Belby, sir? ...but he never takes an apprentice."
"Which is why you would be a fool to turn down such an offer."
"Don't - not whilst I'm brewing!"
"Mmm? Not even this?"
She groans when his arms wrap around her torso, and his lips burn a hot trail up her neck to behind her ear.
"Sev! You'd go mad if I did this whilst you were working!" She grabs his hands and removes them from her waist, holding them out to the sides. "Sit on the bed and behave, like you promised."
"I promised no such thing," he retorts, but he relinquishes his hold on her, and sits back on the bed. His long legs stretch out on the mattress, and he crosses them at his ankles. "Anyway, you haven't even started yet."
"And I wouldn't get started at all if it was up to you."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
Lily moves over him, her hands braced on the wall, and kisses him, pressing her tongue against his lips until he parts them and permits her entry. He arches upwards as she deepens the kiss, his left hand reaching to cradle the back of her head, and then she pulls away.
"Lil…Lil...come back..."
"That's just a taste of the celebration we can have when I've finished," she says with a cheeky grin, and he can't help but laugh at how pleased she looks.
"You're a menace." He eyes the cauldron on the floor and the magical fire that she's starting, "and a criminal."
Her eyes flicker with amusement as she sets out the ingredients on the dresser. "So the Ministry believes. And I figure I might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb."
His voice is slightly petulant when he responds. "I'd rather you weren't hung at all."
There's a long pause, and she carefully wipes her silver knife before setting it next to her glass beakers, and then she walks back over to him and runs her fingers down his face. "It's just a saying."
"...you shouldn't joke about it." He groans. "You shouldn't be doing this at all. And I shouldn't be bloody letting you!"
"Letting me?"
"You know what I mean."
"Yes," she says, coldly. "I do. But I haven't quite been reduced to the status of your household pet just yet, thank you, Severus. I am capable of making my own decisions."
"I didn't mean-"
She leans down and picks up an armful of records, and unceremoniously dumps them onto his stomach, causing him to groan loudly.
"Make yourself useful, at least," she says, "and put something decent on the player." She flashes him a cheeky smile. "That way I don't have to put up with your griping."
"I don't gripe!"
"You do. Don't hold the knife like that. Don't stir the cauldron with your left hand. Don't pause when you're tipping bluebottle eyes into the mixt-"
"All right, I'll keep schtum."
"I've heard that before," she laughs. "Just play something loud enough so nobody else can hear you moaning."
He raises an eyebrow and gives her a lewd smirk, and she shakes her head. "What?" he says, feigning innocence. "If they hear your record player going loudly, that's what they're going to think." Then he shoots her a wicked smile. "And if I get my way, it's what we are going to be doing whilst that first stage is simmering."
"Sev! My parents-"
"Are grown adults," he says, loftily. "They must know we miss each other."
"Let me come home then."
He doesn't answer, and she pauses, her breath catching in her chest, wondering if he'll relent.
"...I miss you," she presses.
"I miss you too."
"Then let me come home. I don't have to do this."
"What about the wild wolf, eh?" He waves his hand. "You can't brew this at ours. It's too risky."
"Since when have you cared about the wolf?"
He gives her a thin smile. "We don't need any more enemies, Lil. I don't much fancy waking up to find Black and Potter breaking in and holding me at wand point to wreak revenge."
She nods stiffly, but she can see in his eyes that it's not the idea of Black or Potter making their way into their flat in the dead of night that's bothering him.
As she stirs the potion, she watches him out of the corner of her eye. Now that the interesting stages of the brew are over, his attention has waned and he's engrossed in one of Malfoy's books that he'd brought over the previous week.
"I thought you'd already read them," she says.
"I have."
"Then why are you reading it again so avidly?"
He smiles. "Checking that I've taken it all in," he says, tapping the side of his head. "Not that it really matters - these ones are for you."
"Don't fancy yourself as a mindreader, then?"
"No." He keeps the book open, and rests it on his chest, pages down. "But it's important that you can do it."
"...because?"
He just grins, and picks the book up again - and for a moment, she wonders if Malfoy has told him about the spying, and if he's trying to help.
He can't have - Severus was carrying these books when he burst in on us. Maybe that's how he can throw off Imperius and that's why she needs to learn it? No, it can't be - he said he hadn't heard of Legilimency when he thought He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had used it on him.
She stirs the potion with deliberate movements and she eyes him curiously, watching his face for a clue of what he might mean, but his expression is completely blank.
Severus waits patiently in the entrance hall of Hogwarts, nodding curtly as the Baron passes by and then ducking dramatically as Peeves rushes towards his head and then bursts into fits of laughter.
"Peeves!" Professor McGonagall strides across the stone floor, dismissing the ghosts with a strong flick of her wand. "Severus Snape."
"Professor."
"I believe you are to study beneath Horace?"
"Yes, professor."
"Then Minerva would be more suitable, Severus."
"Yes...Minerva." The name feels odd on his tongue, and he glances at the floor, suddenly feeling embarrassed at the litany of names that had poured from his mouth about Lily's old Head of House whilst he was a student - none of which were complimentary.
She gives him a pinched smile, as if she can guess at his thoughts. "He's currently teaching," she explains, waving him towards the steps down to the dungeons, "and I imagine his class has run over."
"Yes, pr- Minerva." He walks a little faster to catch his old professor. "I know the way to Professor Slughorn's classroom, I can-"
"-but still, you shall experience none of the delights of the classroom," she continues, not breaking stride and acting as if he hasn't spoken. "It's been a long while since Hogwarts has had an apprentice who was not also an apprentice teacher."
"Yes."
They reach the door, and she stops, that same pinched smile on her face. "Fancy Severus Snape being the first since 1758." Her hand rests on the door handle, and until she moves - either to open the door and let him enter the classroom, or to sweep away - he can't move either. "Do you recall the name of such a previous apprentice, Severus?"
"No, Minerva."
"She was a goblin," she says.
He stiffens. Is she slighting my Muggle father? He quickly racks his brain - Minerva McGonagall presides over Gryffindor House, but what was her actual blood status? She was always kind to Lily, but she wouldn't be the first to appear unprejudiced on the surface and then-
"Between the rebellions," she explains further. "Dilys Derwent has always been held in very high esteem by Albus." And then without further ceremony, she pushes the door open and propels him in, and Severus finds himself standing in front of thirty sniggering teenagers.
"Bloody hell, it's Snivellus Snape!"
"Apprentice Snape, to you, Westenberg," Professor McGonagall quickly rebukes.
"Yeah, they've sent him back to school after he killed all those people with his crappy potions," one boy in the back row shouts.
"Detention, Lockhart!" Professor McGonagall snaps, and the laughter stops instantly. "Anyone else have anything to say? No?" Nobody speaks, and Professor McGonagall nods in approval before pointing her wand at a spotty wizard in the second row. "You, Jones, where is Professor Slughorn?"
"He went to his office thirty minutes ago," Jones starts, and Professor McGonagall's look of disapproval grows.
"Thirty minutes?" She tuts loudly. "You're dismissed, class. Do wait here, Severus, I shall find Professor Slughorn."
He nods, mutely, and forces himself to ignore the hissed commentary from the teenagers as they file past him and out of the dungeon - but as soon as they were through the door, the students' whispers erupt into unmistakable shouts.
"Did he really kill a bunch of people?"
"Yeah, course he did! Look at him!"
"My dad reckoned he should've got Azkaban for it."
"He looks like the sort of guy who'd deliberately put poison in your drink when you get up to dance."
"If you ask me, he looks like the sort of guy who'd slit your throat if you stared at him funny. Like he tried to do to Black that time."
"I'd forgotten about that! By the lake?"
"No, that was when Potter stripped him naked an-"
"Oh, that was so funny!"
"When did he slash up Black then?"
"Hogsmeade, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, don't you remember that they stopped all visits to Hogsmeade for weeks?"
"Look out, look out - he's peering round the door...he's staring right at you, Lockhart!"
"Shut up, Westenberg."
"No, seriously, I'd check your goblet in the Great Hall tonight! You're for it, Locks."
"Don't worry, Locks. I'll write to your mother and make sure she gives you a nice send-off."
"Yeah, what song do you want playing when they bring your coffin in?"
He feels sick to his stomach, and is tempted to spin on his heel and head right back out of the front doors when he hears a loud crash, and Professor McGonagall's voice booming down the corridor.
"DETENTION, ALL OF YOU! MY OFFICE AT SEVEN, AND DO NOT BE LATE!"
And then, before he can make the decision to bolt back to the flat or even to Lily in Cokeworth, Professor McGonagall steps back around the door to the virtually empty classroom. "Do go through to Horace's office, Severus," she says, kindly. "And ignore those ridiculous boys. I shall be having a strong word with them all."
He takes a deep breath, straightens his robes, and then - grateful that the corridor has now emptied - heads to Professor Slughorn's office.
He pushes the door gently open. "Master Slughorn," he starts, his head slightly bowed.
"Ah, Severus! We were waiting for you!"
We?
"Come in now," Slughorn continues, "take a seat!"
Severus glances cautiously around the room, but he can only see Slughorn. He shuts the door and sits, and then just as he opens his mouth to speak, another very familiar voice fills the room and a tall blond man steps out from the shadows.
Chapter 34: Precious ingredients
Chapter Text
Lucius nods in appreciation as Slughorn pours out a measure of firewhisky into his still-quite-full glass, and then pours a fresh one for Severus. "Thank you, Horace."
"You're quite welcome, Lucius. In fact," and he pauses, staring at the small print on bottle, "I do believe this is one of your own?"
Lucius gives a smug nod.
"So, Severus," Slughorn says, with a broad smile, "it seems we are indebted to Lucius here."
"Aren't we always?" mutters Severus, his voice barely above a whisper.
Slughorn gives no sign of having heard his remark, but Lucius frowns deeply.
"Here we are," Slughorn says, passing a glass into Severus' hands.
"Thank you, Master."
"Ah, now," Slughorn says, settling himself in front of the fire. "None of that, thank you, Severus. No need to stand on parade in this study - after all, we've all known each other long enough."
Severus shoots a confused glance at Lucius, and clears his throat. "But, the protocol, Master - the etiquette that-"
"What Horace means to say, Severus," Lucius swiftly interrupts, "is that he is not to be your new Master."
Severus stills, his fingers clenching his glass. "But, Master Jigger said… My apprenticeship, I'm...I'm not close to being signed off - I need the papers and I need-"
"Severus, Severus," Lucius says, in his most patronising tone. "Tell me, when have I ever let you down?"
"Do you want it in date order or alphabeti-"
"Oh ho!" laughs Slughorn loudly, completely unaware of Lucius' dark expression at Severus' biting retort. "He is a one, Lucius! Now, Severus, what Lucius means to say-"
"You're lucky I don't hex your bollocks off," Lucius hisses in Severus' ear as he moves past him, "pull your bloody head in."
"-is that you won't be seconded under me. No no, you have spent far too many years in my classroom already," and then he shoots an amused look towards the younger man, "blowing up my equipment and wasting my precious ingredients in the name of research and experimentation. You've already completed eighteen months of full study, is it?"
"Sir."
Slughorn gives him a pointed look. "Horace, Severus."
"Yes. Eighteen months, Horace."
"And how many cauldrons have you blown up in that period?"
Severus flushes. "A few."
"A few?"
He flushes harder. "Well...quite a few."
"I cannot recall the last time I blew up a cauldron," says Slughorn and Severus' shoulders stiffen, the insult piercing his core - but unlike Lucius' often pointed barbs, Slughorn doesn't seem to be seeking for a reaction. Instead, Slughorn's watching the fire as he continues, "...I am not that sort of potioneer, as I am sure you have noticed. ...but Belby! Now, he's very much like yourself, Severus."
Not everything is an insult, Severus, you berk, Severus thinks as he realises now what Slughorn had meant. This is why Lucius encourages you to hold your tongue.
Slughorn takes a sip from his glass. "Now, Belby is inventive. Experimental. Likes to push boundaries. He's quite a rarity in the field; I'm afraid the rest of us are stuck in our old-fashioned ways." He nods. "Yes, Belby. He'd be good for you."
"But Master Jigger has seconded me to you, si… Horace. He will suspect if-"
"Yes, yes, it's important to keep up appearances, even if it is merely Arsenius, the boffs in the Ministry, whoever," Slughorn waves his hand dismissively. "So, I have prepared a few weeks of brewing for you. Nothing that a wizard of your calibre will find particularly taxing. The potions need brewing properly and with care - but otherwise, do treat it as a holiday. Then, after a sufficient period of time has elapsed, you shall be seconded to Master Belby." He takes another sip from his glass. "Of course, whilst I am happy for you to be rather familiar with me between these walls, please do remember your place when you move across to Belby."
"Yes, Horace."
There's a long pause as the three men sip at their expensive drinks, and Severus glances from Lucius to Slughorn, back to Lucius again, and then stares at the floor. Finally, he lifts his head.
"Whatever it is you want to ask, Severus," Lucius drawls, "do so. You are acting like you are at Wimbledon." He mimics Severus looking left and right and left and right. "I am close to summoning a house elf to bring us strawberries."
Severus pointedly ignores him and looks straight at Slughorn. "Why? Why bother bringing me here? Why didn't you arrange for me to be seconded straight out to Belby?" He shoots a confused look at Slughorn. "I understand the desire for a few weeks off from brewing for the hospital wing," he says, with a slight smile, "but surely a keen NEWT student could brew a Pepper Up potion if you could not spare the time?"
Slughorn laughs. "I don't want you to brew for the hospital wing," he says, and then he looks thoughtful. "Although it is a damn fine idea - I bet you've got amendments for all sorts of potions, haven't you?"
Severus groans. "I don't want to brew Pepp-"
"You won't make a convincing apprentice to Belby with an attitude like that, Severus," Lucius smoothly admonishes. "My, you've been in here twenty minutes, and you have already forgotten your place."
"Sorry, Horace," Severus says quickly, looking abashed. "I'll brew whatever you require-"
"Of course, you won't have time to brew Pepper Up if you're going to brew for me," Lucius finishes.
"For you? Here? At Hogwarts?" Severus turns to look at Lucius, his mouth slightly agape. "Under Albus Dumbledore's nose?"
Lucius grins. "A rather fine idea, if you ask me. It's the last place that anyone would think to look. I can't see Moody putting his grubby paws all over the castle - not on old Dumbledore's watch."
Slughorn stands, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "If that's settled, I'll show you to your laboratory and rooms."
"Rooms?"
"You can't stay in Hogsmeade and travel in," Slughorn says, as they make their way out of the study and down the corridor. "It's not expected of any of the other members of staff."
Lucius nods in agreement. "It'd look awfully odd. Besides, that horrible poky little flat-"
"I like that flat!" Severus immediately argues. "Lily likes that flat."
"-has been compromised by the aurors. You've had Moody in there. Alastor Moody, Severus! Crouch! Bones! Not to mention Potter and his ilk. No, you're not staying there. I want you well away from the lot of them."
They fall silent as they venture down a stone staircase that Severus has never seen before, despite his extensive exploration of the castle as a teenager. Slughorn murmurs at a painting and the occupant nods and strides away. Then with a wave of his wand, the frame expands, and transforms into a grand doorway. Slughorn leans forward, throws the wooden door open and beams at the two younger wizards. "After you, boys."
Lucius nods to Severus, indicating that he should step in first, and when Severus enters the room, his jaw nearly drops. The large laboratory is big enough for several to work in - just like the classrooms in the dungeons - and as finely stocked as Borage's was, with gleaming cauldrons and glinting utensils and beautifully conditioned benches.
Lucius stands behind him, and claps a firm hand on his shoulder. "Do you like it?"
He steps forward and trails a finger across one of the benches. "...yes. I do. It's amazing, Malf. Horace."
"Good!" Lucius beams, and with a wave of his wand at another portrait, and a mumbled password that Severus can't quite make out, he leads him through to what will be his private rooms. There's an office with a large desk and an even larger bookcase, and a separate sitting room with a settee and a single comfortable chair by the fire, and a wooden dining table and chairs in the corner. He strolls through to the bedroom, and he's instantly transported back to his student days - the room is the same size as his teenage dormitory, but there's one much larger four poster bed in the room instead of five individual ones. The green canopy with silver lining makes him smile, and he fingers the edge of the four poster bed's curtains.
"These'll have to be transfigured," he says, lightly, "if we're moving in."
"Hmm?"
"The canopy. Green and silver? She'll have a fit - she doesn't even like it when I wear green socks," Severus grins.
"Oh yes," Lucius says, "I had almost forgotten to mention it."
"Mention what?"
"You need to break up with your girlfriend."
Severus turns to him, his expression horrified. "You want me to what?"
"You heard," Lucius says, sounding almost bored. "Drop her, dump her, bin her." He shrugs. "And Severus? Do make it convincing. Something public should do the trick." He grins, and leans in to Severus' ear, speaking with a stage whisper. "Tell her you fucked Cissy."
"For the last time, I haven't fucked Narcissa!"
"Details, details," Lucius says, his leering smile growing again. "Of course, we could make it happen, if it would-"
"Malf!"
"...she's feisty, as we both know - if you told her that, I'm sure she's obliging enough to hex you in the face."
"Hex me in the face?"
"Yes, yes. A fight in public should do it. A shop, or that dreadful bar you work in, or...oh, I've got it! The Ministry atrium-"
"No."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said, no. I'm not breaking up with her." Severus pulls himself up to his full height, and stares furiously at his old friend, his voice growing louder. "And I'm certainly not telling her that I've shagged your wife! I like the lab and the rooms, and I'm really very grateful to you and Sluggy - but I don't want any part of it."
"It is interesting to me that you have ceased to trust your old friend," Lucius drawls. "Severus, whatever have I done to cause you to treat me with such disloyalty?"
"It's not about me not trusting you - it's about the price being too high! I'm not prepared to lose Lily."
Lucius looks annoyed. "I have moved the earth for you here, Severus!"
"I didn't ask you to!" Severus looks furious. "And if you'd bothered to ask me, I could've saved you the hassle!"
Then, he feels an gentle brush across his mind - he's felt it before in Lucius' presence. It's subtle, and not particularly powerful, but now that he knows exactly what it is, he immediately closes his eyes and grimaces as he imagines metal shutters - just like the ones that litter the town centre in Cokeworth of an evening - sliding down behind his eyes, blocking his brain from prying eyes. Severus opens his eyes again, and this time when the brush comes, he can almost hear it thudding gently against the steel.
"Oh," Lucius whispers with a look of elation, "well done, Severus!"
At this, Slughorn puts his head around the door. "Ah Lucius, have you stopped teasing the boy and put him out of his misery?" Slughorn smiles broadly, but now that Severus is concentrating hard on blocking Lucius, he can't force his face to respond in a natural way. If Slughorn notices this, he doesn't comment, and carries on with enthusiasm. "Now now, nobody expects you to break up with the lovely Lily, Severus."
Severus shoots a sceptical look at Lucius. "No?"
"Perhaps I should've told you that your first task is to brew Polyjuice," Lucius smirks, "by the bucketful - just as you already do for that filthy brute Fletcher." And he smiles, lifting a piece of Severus' hair with his cane. "You are to be seconded to Belby. But I rather think another Severus will be studying here at the same time. Under Horace. A Severus who perhaps presents a little more cauldron control, shall we say?"
"Lily? Here? Apprenticing?"
Slughorn grins broadly, his moustache almost quivering with excitement. "It's a jolly good ruse, isn't it? If she's broken up with you, nobody will suspect that she's at Hogwarts as well."
Lucius leans in. "Like I said, break up with her, and make it good. Make it convincing. Make the world think that there's no way you'd ever consider getting back together."
Severus pauses, thinking hard. "...I understand. But won't someone realise that I'm in two places at once?"
"With all due respect, Severus, I don't think anyone will be paying you sufficient attention," Slughorn says.
Severus looks incredulous. "Lucius, you know I've been stalked by half of the auror department for the past few weeks, and Horace, you're well aware that I've spent most of my life avoiding being harrassed by Albus Dumbledore's band of Gryffindors. Now I'm going to be living and working in his castle - only half of the time it's not actually going to be me - all whilst I'm sneaking out to work for the most famous potioneer of the moment?" He stares from one man to the other, and then speaks very slowly and deliberately. "And you both don't think anyone is going to notice?"
"We're not saying that you don't need to take care. It's imperative that you aren't seen to be in two places at once, but Belby is a recluse," Slughorn says, dismissively. "I shall keep Lily in these hidden rooms, and if you travel quickly and with caution, nobody will be any the wiser."
"Besides, you'll be rather more anonymous once you denounce your Mudblood," Lucius adds, ignoring Slughorn's wince at the term. "Potter and Black will soon lose interest in you then."
"Me, perhaps," Severus agrees, "but Potter will be sniffing around Lily-"
"Not possible. Miss Lily Evans is going to disappear from the wizarding world entirely."
"Malf, honestly! Why on earth would she disappear? Why wouldn't she keep the flat, and-"
"Miss Lily Evans can't keep the flat, because Miss Lily Evans is a nobody," Lucius says, firmly. "I did not think I would need to explain this to you - I thought you of all people were well versed in the laws."
"I am."
"Good. Besides, Miss Lily Evans is going on the run because I do believe the aurors have gained the impression that she's dealing in illegal potions."
Severus stares at him dumbly, and when he speaks, his voice is an octave higher than usual. "The aurors have gained the impression that she's dealing in illegal potions? How do you know..." Severus gives him a sudden dark look as the realisation dawns on him. "You told them that she was your brewer, didn't you? Instead of me!"
Lucius laughs loudly. "Don't put this all on me, Severus. She corroborated the story!"
Severus' face flushes with fury. "I don't bel-"
"Now now, boys," Slughorn says, ushering them out and walking ahead as he makes his way back towards his office. "Never mind all of that. All's well that ends, well, yes?"
"How is it going to end well if the aurors have testimony that Lily is brewing illegal potions? They'll hunt her down and arrest her and send her to Azkaban, or break her wand, or...or..."
"Or ask her to spy for them-"
"Yes, Malf, exactly! They'll ask her to spy for… Oh fuck!" A deep chill runs down his chest, and he grasps for the wall. "Fuck off, Malf. You can't be serious."
"Calm down, Severus. Really, such language - and in front of Horace here."
"But she can't, Malf! She can't! You can't let her be exposed to-"
"They've only asked her to spy on me," he says, calmly, "and I have no intention of letting Lily Evans spy on me for the aurors."
Severus stops and crouches down, exhaling loudly and his hands shaking. Lucius glances at the departing figure of Slughorn who hasn't noticed that the pair have stopped. Smoothly, Lucius pulls Severus to his feet and throws his arm around his shoulders. "You however, Severus, are a very different matter entirely."
"Well, that's ridiculous! The aurors aren't going to believe a word I say!"
"No. You're quite right," Lucius nods, and propels them both towards the stone staircase.
"So what then?"
Lucius bounds up three steps and then turns, and taps his cane loudly on the wall. "You're a clever boy, Severus. Use your brain." And he grins. "Else I might just have to throw you over in favour of your delightful young lady after all."
Chapter 35: Two lovers who can't bear to be separated
Chapter Text
It's boring, Cokeworth - even on the nicer side of town. He's told her to lay low, which is ridiculous; Death Eaters are hardly likely to spring an attack on a dull old industrial area that nobody's ever heard of - not when there's London or Manchester or Birmingham to focus on - and as her dad has mumbled more than once whilst watching the news, "Can't do much worse than what's already been done."
If Sev was here, he'd laugh at that. Laugh at the griping of a man who took early retirement, presented with his gold plated pension and a carriage clock and a firm warm handshake.
He's still sprightly, her father - there's only a smattering of grey hairs around his temples, and his back doesn't ache, and his shoulders aren't stiff, and his knees don't creak when he gets out of the chair. Working in an office for years means he's a little soft around the middle, but there's none of the erosion of his bones that comes from decades of manual labour.
Lily realises that since retirement, her parents are shorter on money than previously, but it's all relative. After all, there's nothing on tick, the house is paid for, and the car is new, and both the kids have grown up and left home - even if her dad has been lining his youngest daughter's pockets to help out with her portion of the rent.
There's nothing to do when you're retired, she thinks, as she watches her parents drift aimlessly around their comfortable home - and feels a small pang that the only thing to keep them going might be an introduction to the next generation. Her mother's keen to see grandchildren, she knows, and that brute Dursley is always yawping about a dynasty, but Sev's been very quiet on the topic - not that she's surprised, not given his own upbringing.
She leans on the windowsill, and props her chin on her fists and imagines two toddlers waddling around the garden, squatting to peer at the grass and squealing at the ladybirds in delight. They'd be opposites, of course; a rotund Dursley with his blotchy ruddy face and tiny piggy eyes, and a Snape with Sev's thin raven features - irises as black as his pupils and lank unmanageable hair.
She almost smiles. Any of their offspring would be better served with the Evans genetics; Tuney's blonde locks - even if she's assisted by the bottle of late - and her own auburn hair, and the piercing aquamarine eyes that both of her parents passed down - her mother's sharp blue for Tuney, and her father's bright green for Lily.
Lily lifts her gaze from her parents' neatly shaped and well-tended garden - another bonus from retirement - and her imagined family and peers into the distance. She can't see Sev's parents' house from her window, but she can see the filthy derelict chimney which looms large over the dilapidated rows of old two-up-two-down Victorian terraces.
She glances behind her at the bubbling cauldron, checking the clock once more. It's almost ready, the Wolfsbane - and this time, she's even more confident. She knows she's brewed it perfectly, despite Severus' amorous interruptions, and she can't deny that there's a little thrill of excitement bubbling inside her at pulling one over on wizarding society - at a Muggleborn brewing a potion that most others lacked sufficient talent to even attempt.
When they were youths, Sev used to shout about rebelliousness and sticking two fingers up to the man - although he rarely elaborated on exactly who the man was, and she privately reckoned it changed from week to week - and she'd always rolled her eyes at his passion; rallying against nothing was a fruitless exercise, but now she understood. It isn't rallying against nothing - it's rallying against those who hold you back, who keep you in your place, who close off doors before you've even had chance to knock on them.
Somehow, on this nicer side of town, the words on Sev's lips, the words forged in the misery of Spinner's End had never quite struck a chord with her, but now, as someone oppressed within their chosen world, she can't help but stare at the intimidatory tower in the distance - the one which blocks the direct sunlight to Sev's bedroom window, and casts the house in a cold shadow - and she wonders at how many doors were shut to hateful Tobias whilst her father David waltzed right through.
He flings his old bedroom window open, and hoists himself out onto the ledge, his long thin legs dangling outside in the air. He flicks his wand, and lights his cigarette, and then stashes his wand behind his ear. He leans his head against the window frame and lifts the cigarette to his lips, drawing on it deeply and exhaling loudly.
"Thought she had got you to stop that filthy habit."
"Fuck's sake, Mam," he says, gripping the frame of the window with his free hand. "Nearly fucking fell out!"
"Shouldn't sit in the window then, should you," she snipes back, but there's no heat in her voice. She moves to stand behind him, her thin face resting on his shoulder, peering out across the rows of houses. He draws again, the acrid taste filling his mouth, and then he silently passes her the cigarette - mother and son exhaling plumes of smoke into the crisp evening air, looking at the rows of dark houses.
"Do I want to know?"
"No," he says quickly.
"You didn't even ask what I-"
"-whatever you're going to say, Mam, you don't want to know," he says, his voice low. "It's dangerous."
"They're nice people."
He frowns and twists slightly, trying to see his mother's expression. Nice people? "Who do you mean?"
"Her parents."
He barks a laugh. "You do not think they're nice people." He nods downwards. "And neither does he."
"Saw her the other day."
"Her?"
"Rose."
"Oh."
"They're not like us," she warns, "that's what I mean." She takes a long draw on the cigarette. "They'll be devastated if anything happens to her."
"Nothing's going to happen to her! I'm looking after her!"
"Good." And with that, Eileen passes him the stub of his cigarette and steps away, her footsteps loud as she retreats out of the room and down the stairs.
He scowls, and grips the inch of the cigarette that's left, his dirty fingernails pressed tight to his lips as he desperately sucks on the filter, letting the bitter taste of home fill his senses.
"Who's joining us?" she asks, as her mother sets the dining table for four.
Rose looks up sharply at her daughter. "Isn't he upstairs?"
"Who? Sev?" Lily frowns. "No, he'll be at work. You know he comes by on Sundays. ...what made you think he was upstairs?"
Rose pauses, holding the fourth fork in midair, as if trying to decide whether to set the place or not. "Your father saw him this afternoon."
"Sev? This afternoon? In Cokeworth?" She's trying to be calm, but she knows her voice has an odd tone to it - a pitch higher than normal.
Her reaction seals Rose's decision, and she whips away the fork, and the mat, and bundles them back into the kitchen. "He must've been mistaken," she calls over her shoulder, "you know how your father gets."
Lily follows her through. "Daddy won't have been mistaken. How many lads around here look like Sev? They're all skinheads."
"Oh, Lily, they are not."
"They are! Name one who isn't," she challenges.
"Well, there's Alice Barrett's son for a start."
"Matthew Barrett is twelve, Mummy!" Lily shoots Rose a hard glare. "If Daddy saw Sev, then he's here."
"Perhaps he went to see his parents," Rose says, conceding the point without explicit acknowledgement, and turning her attention back to the stove. She starts to dish up the meal, but there's too much food now, and Lily watches as her mother's hand hovers, uncertain whether to overface the three of them, or to scrape the remains into a tupperware box.
"He hates going to see his parents."
"They're still his parents," Rose admonishes softly. "I know he finds it...difficult-"
Lily shakes her head angrily. "Difficult! It's not difficult! They fucked him up and-"
"Lily Evans!" Rose interrupts sharply, and shakes her wooden spoon in the air, wagging it in front of Lily's face. "I will not tolerate such language in this house." The spoon clatters down on the worktop, and there's a long pause.
In the silence, Rose wipes the edge of one of the plates with a tea towel, removing a smear of gravy that has dripped down the side, and then speaks again more quietly, "Severus' parents did the best they could with what they had."
"He beat him. For years!" Lily's words come hotly, and she can see the spirals of steam from their plates dissipating, her mother's afternoon of hard work rapidly cooling and congealing on the plates, but now that they've started, she can't put the discussion to rest. "Tobias. His dad!"
"We know, love."
"He scarred him. Permanently."
At this, Rose winces. They'd always known, her and David - and they'd always felt so helpless when the odd boy had swung his leg over the fence - Severus, must you jump over the fence and race over the back garden and rap loudly on the dining room window? Could you not find it in yourself to walk up the front path and knock politely on the door? - with fresh telltale signs of abuse; it was rare that the cuts and bruises and reddened marks would be on show, but he often carried himself oddly, as if compensating for a limb that was sore, and he reacted weirdly, flinching and ducking and occasionally even trembling if David got annoyed and shouted a little too loudly at the television.
"On his back," Lily continues, pointing to the small of her back and then smoothing her hand around her waist, "and his hip, and more a bit further down."
"I know you don't like him, but Tobias is still his father, Lily. Families can be complicated."
"It's not just me! I have to force Sev to go," she argues. "Whenever we come here, I make him go there first, Mummy, and it's always horrible! Eileen never says anything and just smokes those horrible cigarettes, and Tobias listens to the radio, and Sev's always putting his hand in his pocket to find them money-"
"He went there when you broke up," her mother reminds her, gently. "He obviously gets something from his relationship with them, and Eileen thinks-"
"Something's wrong," Lily interrupts. "He went back to them when we'd split up, but it was only because he had no-one else to turn to… If he's gone there now…" Lily turns to grab her shoes, and as if reading her mind, her mother grabs her wrist, holding her firm.
"No."
"But he needs me-"
"If he needed you," Rose says, her tone brooking no argument, "he'd have come here." She looks her daughter squarely in the eye. "Do you trust him?"
"...yes."
"You're certain?"
"Yes!"
"-then let him come to you," Rose says. She points at the plates. "Now, you can either explain to your father why his dinner's cold, or you could whip up one of those warming charms you're so proud of…"
The knock is rhythmic, and loud, and obnoxious. Tat-a-tat-tat-tat-a-tat-tat. At this time of night, there's only David who ordinarily answers the door, but before he can reach it, Lily's flown down the stairs and has rudely pushed past her father, her fingers scrabbling at the Yale lock. David opens his mouth to protest, but when he sees the lanky young man at the front step, he simply shakes his head - and then, as Lily throws her arms around her boyfriend, kissing him soundly, David coughs awkwardly and steps back into the living room.
"Who is it, dear?"
"Severus," he says, and his tone isn't disapproving, but he glances at the clock - it's gone ten. "Who else?"
Lily scoffs loudly, and shakes her head. "No, absolutely not. I've spent days on this!"
"It's not safe for you to meet him," he hisses. "Give me the potion and I'll get it to him."
"You're willing to meet with the wolf?" she says, scornfully. "Yeah, right."
Severus shakes his head. There's no point in lying. "No."
"Your best friend Potter, then? I'm sure you can't wait to see him!"
"Lil, I'll get it to Lupin." He stares at her. "I'm serious, Lil."
"So am I, Sev," she argues. "You're going to pass it through a network, aren't you? Who? Malfoy? Fletcher?" She shakes her head firmly. "Adding more people to the mix adds to the risk. I'll meet with Remus, like I did last time, and-"
"They'll be watching you," he says, his voice low.
"...they know I'm here?"
His shrug is slight. "I'm worried, that's all."
"I'm safe here," she says. "You said so yourself. They're more likely to be watching you, if they're following anyone!"
"And they've ruled me out as the brewer," he says, hotly, "so there's no risk if I take it, is there?"
"I haven't got time for this. Remus is expecting me," she says.
"...you're not going alone," he says, finally, and she smiles, pleased to have won a victory - even if it's small. "Well?" he says, more briskly, unwilling to dwell on the fact that he's relented. "Where are we going, then?"
"Waterloo," she says. "I Apparated under the bridge nearest to the station, on the South Bank. He'll be waiting at the entrance to platform 10."
"10?"
"Close as we could get to 9 and ¾," she laughs.
"You'd both be useless as spies," he mutters. "Come here, love," he says, and she's gratified when he pulls her into his arms instead of arguing further.
She drags him through the air, the spiral of Apparation squeezing them both, but he lands gracefully, steadying himself against the wet brickwork which forms the tunnel.
"Stay here, love," he says, kissing her quickly, and wrapping his coat more tightly around him.
"No, he's expecting me, not you!"
"Stay," he hisses. "It's not like he doesn't know who I am. He'll work it out."
She doesn't. He's barely five feet away when she starts to follow in his shadow. She keeps close to the wall, and deliberately strives to keep her footsteps light, but after twenty yards - just as he's jogged up the steps to the concourse - he turns unexpectedly and grabs her wrist. He twists her against the wall, her head just brushing the frame of an old advertising poster as he pushes her hard against the bricks, his body pressed tightly to hers, and his breath hot and smelling of old smoke.
"Sev…"
He doesn't answer, just pins her warm body beneath his, and then his lips meet the soft skin where her jaw meets her neck. "Why don't you listen, love?" he murmurs, covering her neck with firm kisses. "Why can't you see I want to keep you safe?"
"You can't lock me in a box," she warns, twisting her face so her lips meet his, and she draws him into a lingering kiss - and when he loosens his grip on her, she wraps her arms around his neck, her fingers twisting to cradle the back of his head, and pulling him down closer.
"I would," he whispers, "if it'd keep you safe."
"Stay with me tonight," she gasps as his fingers meet warm skin, "let me come back with you." Her bright eyes meet his dark ones, and she captures his bottom lip with her teeth, gently pulling him towards her and causing him to groan. "Please, Sev."
"...yes," he says, his voice husky, and he frames her face with his hands as they kiss more deeply, ignorant of their surroundings, and until she pulls away from him, he's almost forgotten why they headed to London in the first place.
"What time is it?" she asks, breathlessly, trying to view the station clock over his shoulder.
"Don't know," he answers, pulling her back into a deep kiss, "and I don't care." They're both lost to the sounds around them until he feels a sharp prod on his shoulder. The two immediately break apart, and he's about to argue with the intruder - station staff, policeman, beggar, whoever - when he realises that it's the wolf.
"Oh, it's you."
"Remus," she says, brushing her clothes down, and meeting the man with a far nicer tone than her boyfriend had managed.
"I didn't think you were bringing company, Lily," Lupin says lightly.
Severus pulls himself up to his full height, standing between Lupin and Lily. "Got a problem with it?"
"Don't, Sev," she says, slipping her hand inside Severus' jacket and pulling out the glass vial, glancing to each side of them as she does. "And don't you get caught with this, Remus."
"I think I can manage to remain inconspicuous," he laughs. "Unlike you two."
"Just two lovers who can't bear to be separated," she says, lightly. "Normal for a train station."
"Right. As you were then." And Lupin taps his forehead with his finger, in a semi-salute of thanks, and then strolls away across the concourse.
"Good riddance," Severus says, wrapping her arm tightly around his, "and now that errand is done…"
"...yes?"
"Tell me more about these two lovers who can't bear to be separated," he says, walking her briskly in the opposite direction.
"Well, he's this intelligent and secretive man-"
"...go on..."
"And she's the femme fatale."
"Of course."
"And she wants him very very much."
"Oh good," he says, pulling her into a dark alley, readying them to Apparate, "because he wants her, and-"
Then the familiar spiral of his spell pulls them both through the air, and she can't quite hear the end of his sentence, although she's fairly certain she hears him say his. They land in the street before their flat, and he holds her tightly in his arms.
"What did you say, Sev?"
"I said, welcome home, love."
Chapter 36: Stay of execution
Chapter Text
She's glad, afterwards, that he brought her back for one last night. There's nothing of either of their personalities left in their flat - there's the kettle, some chipped crockery, and the bent forks that they'd tried to make cups of tea with and laughed at on their first night - but that's it; the touches that made the flat their own have been removed, and it's bizarre seeing it reduced to bare floorboards and buzzing white goods and ugly furniture that they don't own.
The next morning, she stands in the stark living room. It feels cavernous without their belongings, and she's struggling to imagine how it was just a few short weeks ago - full of books and cauldrons and magazines and the warm rug and her dainty ornaments.
She's naked under his travelling cloak - using it as a makeshift dressing gown because their clean clothes are long packed and vanished - and she's nursing a mug of tea when he comes up behind her, wrapping his arms around her warm body.
"It doesn't feel like home. I wasn't sure you'd want to see it like this," he says.
"No," she agrees. "I probably wouldn't have. But I'm glad."
She is, and she isn't - but the thought of never coming back, of never getting to say goodbye to the walls where they made their first home is far worse. At least this way, he's been honest with her - told her of Malfoy's ploy and Slughorn's plotting, and although the thought of fighting with Severus in public is making the muscles in her back tense, she's relieved that he's had the sense to tell her.
Once upon a time, not so long ago, he'd have kept it to himself - deciding that it would all come out in the wash, fearing that her reaction to such a fight wouldn't be realistic if he tipped her off beforehand - but following those hateful weeks apart, even Severus isn't quite so cold as to think she'd forgive him for such a betrayal.
"Started practicing those tears?" he says, and his tone is forced - he's trying to be lighthearted, but she knows him so well, she can tell the whole idea bothers him too.
"What are you going to say?"
"Does it matter?"
It doesn't. Not really. But she thinks it's going to sting. She knows it has to be good - has to sound real, so what else can he say but things based in truth, and deeply hidden truths always hurt.
She's almost outside when he suddenly lunges for her, and pulls her back towards him, his other hand reaching over the top of her head and banging the front door firmly shut.
"Sev, what-"
But she can't say anything else, because his mouth is over hers, and as she clings to his shoulders, he slides his right foot between her feet, gently knocking her stance wider until he can press his thigh between her legs, pushing his bodyweight firmly against her, and giving a satisfied groan when she understands his intent and grinds against him.
In ordinary circumstances, she would've been annoyed and pushed him off, unhappy that he'd let her dress - albeit in yesterday's clothes - and perfect her hair and make-up before ruining all of her hard work. But today isn't an ordinary day, and the stay of execution appeals to her. She's desperate to hear the silky timbre of his voice ushering soft declarations of love into the shell of her ear instead of spewing the torrent of resentment and hatred that she knew stepping out of the door would bring.
"I spent ages layering this mascara," she whispers in his ear, "so it'd run when you shouted at me."
"Yeah, but will it run when I fuck you hard against the door?" he murmurs back, and she gives a small gasp at his sudden crudeness, squealing with delight as he hoists her leg around his hip and drives himself into her.
He's sprawled on the floor and watching her with interest as she dresses.
"You make me feel like I'm in a zoo," she protests, but he just laughs and doesn't avert his gaze.
"I'm not sorry," he elaborates, giving her a smug smile. "I like looking at you." And then he gives an even wider grin. "I especially like looking at you when you're all dishevelled - when you look like you've been ravished."
"I have been ravished," she laughs, brushing at the marks across her pale chest, faint purple blooming around the red where he'd sucked and bitten her skin. "I don't know what got into you," she says, and as her eyes meet his and she sees the feral glint in his eye, she suddenly realises he did it on purpose. "Tagging me, were you?"
He shrugs, nonchalantly, and then stands, pulling his own clothes back on. "Wanted to make sure you didn't forget me."
She freezes, as if the veins to her heart had stopped pumping warm blood and had been switched with icy slush. "Forget you?"
He sees the panic in her eyes, and he quickly envelopes her in his embrace. "I just… You're coming with me," he says, "that's the plan. It is the plan. It's just…"
"Just what? Tell me."
She can feel his heart beating unevenly in his chest, not too fast, not too slow, but a little out of time - thadunk-dink-thadunk-dink-tha-thadink-dunk - and then he exhales loudly through his nose.
"I don't know what's going to happen," he says. "I don't know who's going to be there, or what I'm going to say. I don't know if someone's going to be your knight in shining armour, and I'm going to have to duel my way out, or if-"
"-if I'm going to be chased out, like the hated Mudblood-"
"Don't!"
"...so you gave me something to remember you by," she says, with a tight smile. "As if I haven't been living apart from you for weeks already. As if you're easy to forget."
"Yeah, well," he says, stepping back, and pulling his boots on. And then, as if he's thought of something, he steps forward with a wicked grin, and kisses her. "Don't wash me away," he whispers in her ear.
"Sev!"
"I mean it," he says, and his voice is hard, but his smile is playful. "Don't wash. Not until we're together again. You're mine. Remember that."
And then he pulls the door open, and jogs down the steps, and she wonders if the show of semi-Neanderthal possessiveness is a one-off, a reaction to their extreme circumstances, or whether it's been hidden under a swirl of black robes all of this time.
It was awful. It wasn't a surprise; she knew it was going to be - but hearing the venom in his voice and the disgust that adorned his face made it impossible for her to reconcile the person in front of her with her lover, with the man who had spent most of the night making reverential love to her in their bed, with the man who'd spent a hurried half hour staking a final furious claim to her body before they'd stepped out into Diagon Alley.
She knew he was acting, but it was hard to believe when he was so convincing, and she hadn't been able to help herself - she'd looked, at one point, right into his eyes - brushing him with her embryonic efforts at Legilimency, but her non-verbal spell was weak, and there was something steely in his gaze. If she hadn't known better, if she wasn't still aching and sore from his earlier attentions, she'd have thought that he truly hated her.
The wizards and witches in Flourish and Blotts most certainly did.
"You're a leech," he'd spat, "a selfish, greedy, blood-sucking stain on my name and my property and my success."
Unbelievably, it had been Peter Pettigrew who had come to her aid, his wand clenched in his fist. He was nervous, no doubt about it, but he'd stepped into the crowd - maintaining what he clearly assumed to be a safe distance from Severus - and made his challenge. "Leave her alone, Snivellus!"
"Oh, and here comes Pathetic Peter. Where's the rest of the tribe?"
Pettigrew had flinched, and she didn't need Legilimency to see that he was weighing up his options - debating whether to lie and convince Severus he was outnumbered, or to tell the truth and hold his own - but as he mulled over the decision, another wizard started to move from the back of the room. Pettigrew didn't see him, but Severus did.
"If you want my cast-offs, you can have them!" Severus had quickly snarled, unwilling to let the spat spiral into something he couldn't cleanly handle. Breaking up was one thing, but a genuine all out fight in Diagon Alley and a subsequent interrogation from a heavy handed auror was something else entirely.
When Severus was satisfied that the other wizard had stopped in his tracks, he'd moved forwards and loomed over her, his head tilted and a leering sneer fixed across his face. "We all know that filthy Mudbloods are only good for one thing. Pity she's no good at it, even though I gave her plenty of practice." And then he'd stepped back, and laughed, and saluted at Peter. "You'll still be visiting your favourite whores down Knockturn, believe me."
He'd been right in his fears. Neither of them could anticipate what would come next - which was why she found herself in the Order's safehouse instead of in her boyfriend's arms in the depths of Hogwarts.
Pettigrew keeps looking at her with an uncomfortable mixture of pride and concern and what she fears is a hint of lust, whilst Black and Lupin play chess in one corner. Potter paces around the room, tapping his wand angrily against his palm, and Bones holds her as she sobs. Well, she has appearances to keep up, after all.
"He's not worth it, Evans," Potter barks when she reaches for yet another tissue.
"We'll fuck him up when we see him next," Black says, his tone lazy. "I owe him anyway."
Lily shakes her head, panicked, and Bones glares at the group of men.
"Enough, boys," Bones says, "retaliation won't help. It won't make Lily feel any better, and it'll only draw that group's attention to us - it'll make them realise that we're protecting her."
"Might not make Evans feel better, but it might give me some satisfaction," mutters Black. "My right arm's never been right since he cast that shitty spell at me."
She knows the spell. She knows the fight - but she's never heard Black speak of it before. Even when it happened, even when the rumours were in full flight around the school, neither Black nor Severus had openly talked about what had gone on. And then he's standing before her, Black, shrugging off his outer robes, and revealing a t-shirt beneath. He tugs it off, and spins around, and then she sees the livid scars criss-crossing the top of his back, creeping over his shoulders, and the thick gouges in his upper arms.
Severus did that, she thinks, and although she knows that the boys were enemies, somehow seeing the deep wounds makes it rather more real. "Do they hurt?" she asks, finally.
He shrugs. "Sting a bit sometimes," he admits, picking his shirt back up, and tugging it over his head.
"Stop!"
And he does, and she untangles herself from Bones' loose embrace, tracing the single thin laceration that has escaped from the cluster on his shoulder. The uneven line tracks across his collarbone and just up into his neck.
"He only stopped because I came over," Potter says, darkly. "His wand was right there."
"I reckon he'd have done it," Black says, pulling the shirt on, and smoothing it down. "He's unpredictable. Like today. There's something weird inside him, something that makes him snap."
Something that makes him snap? Like feeding him to a fucking wolf, she wants to shout, but she doesn't - and the more that she looks at Black, the more uneasy she feels. Would he have done? If Potter hadn't come over, would Severus have drawn his wand across Black's neck? Bled him out? Decapitated him? Killed him?
And then she sobs again, and this time, she's not quite sure who or what she's sobbing for.
They assemble with relative ease, given the short notice. There's offers from a few quarters - a meal to take, a bed to stay, a shoulder to cry - and there's a few who look genuinely pleased at the news; Potter, obviously, but Moody as well. Dumbledore's as placid as ever, giving nothing away, whilst Vance eyes her suspiciously across the table.
When the group breaks for refreshments, she corners her. "Convenient."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Convenient," Vance says, a little more venomously. "I ask you to spy, and you immediately find yourself expelled from your little group of darkness. How long were you dating him? Four years, was it? Five?" Her eyes narrow. "And now it's over? And now what? You'll shack up with Potter and align with the Order and believe that all is forgiven? Because that's not how this works, Lily."
"No," she says, hotly, her mouth running away with her before her brain can catch up. "As you're so well informed, I'm amazed you didn't hear. Sev dumped me because he found out I'd been fucking Malfoy."
As soon as she says it, she wonders if she'll regret it - but the stunned look on Vance's face makes the lie worthwhile.
"Lucius Malfoy?"
"Yes, Lucius Malfoy. And why not?" Lily gives her a tight smile. "I'm hardly marriage material, not for a Pureblood, but he runs a nice line in pretty jewels." And then she deliberately fingers the bracelet on her wrist - the Prince heirloom that Severus gave to her all those years ago. "You'll get your information, don't you worry - but I am sure you'd agree that it will look awfully odd if I don't at least give the appearance of mourning my relationship." She gives a tight smile. "Now if you don't mind, I have a bed to arrange with some kind soul."
Vance's retort is waspish. "Lucius Malfoy's benevolence doesn't run that far, I see?"
"It does, but I fear Mrs Malfoy might notice something is awry if I turned up alone at this late hour. Now, please, do excuse me."
Chapter 37: Overt display
Chapter Text
It's a funny little house, The Burrow - a hotchpotch of bricks and wood, and of rooms stacked precariously upon each other. As they near the house, she spies several bright haired young wizards careering around on broomsticks.
"Boys, inside!" Arthur calls, as he ushers Lily through the door. "I'll take her from here, Gideon, thank you."
Gideon flashes her a grin, and pumps Arthur's hand. "Right you are, Arthur," he says, cheerfully. "I won't come in - Molly will chew my ear off, and I'm meant to be meeting Fabes at six." He drops a careful kiss on Lily's cheek. "You'll be fine here," - and before she can say anything, he's disappeared in a quick flash.
"Dad, was that Uncle Gideon?"
"Inside, Charlie! How many times?" Arthur says, pushing his sons into the crooked house.
"Are you sure you don't mind?" she asks nervously, watching as Arthur looks pointedly outside - in both directions - before slamming the door shut behind him. "I don't like to be any bother, and-"
"A friend of Alastor Moody's is a friend of mine," he interrupts, heartily, placing his hat on the kitchen table.
"Of both of ours," Molly adds, bustling past with a large steaming pan of stew. "Bill, dear, stop winding your brothers up-"
"I wasn't!"
"-if you wake the twins, then-"
An immediate hush fills the room, and Lily looks at Arthur in surprise. "You've got more? Twins?"
"They're little babies," Charlie helpfully chips in.
"They're little horrors," Arthur laughs, settling into the chair at the top of the table. "Better off asleep, if you ask me."
They're welcoming, the Weasleys - but they make an odd group; one mother, one father and five small boys. Of the boys, Bill talks to her the most, but Charlie couldn't be less interested - he's always climbing a tree, or trying to coax a pigeon out of a bush. Percy's very quiet - shy, she'd have guessed - and spends his time equally split between trailing after his older brothers, and sitting proudly next to the twins, as if he was their protector.
"Split personality, that one," Molly says, when she spots her watching Percy from across the room. He's sat next to the twins, a reading book carefully placed on his lap, and at every other page, he steals a glance at his younger brothers. "Can't decide if he wants to be the smallest of the bigger ones, or the biggest of the smaller ones."
It's then that Lily notices the start of a bulge around Molly's midriff. Surely not another? So soon? But it's rude to stare, and ruder still to ask - it could just be baby weight.
Lily glances at the mess - not mess, chaos is a fairer assessment - and she wonders for a brief moment what such a house would look like with her and Severus at the helm, with dark haired and green eyed children sprinting between the rooms instead of ginger haired boys with faces full of freckles.
"Fabian said it was a nasty scene," Molly adds, as if catching her sorrowful gaze. Her knitting needles clatter loudly against each other. "You didn't see it coming, then?"
She's grateful that Arthur appears from work at that very moment, his eyes tired but his arms full of an overfilled cardboard box, which is bulging at the seams in the same way that The Burrow itself seems to be with its many occupants.
"Ah, Lily! You're a Muggleborn! Come here and take a look at these for me," he calls, with an excited smile.
"Arthur, please, not on the table - Bill and Charlie haven't finished eating."
Arthur ignores his wife, rummaging in the box and spilling its contents across the table. "What do you think of this?" he asks, thumping down a bundle of wires onto the table.
"What do I think of it?"
"Yes, what is it?" he presses.
"Well, it's an extension cable."
"Ingenious!" he says, excitedly, turning it over in its hands.
"Useful, I suppose," she admits, not quite seeing her host's excitement.
"Dad's always like this with plugs," Bill says, scooping another forkful of peas into his mouth.
"It's not a plug," Arthur rebukes. "Lily just said it is an exten…"
"Extension cable," she fills in, quickly.
Charlie waves at it with his spoon, pointing at the plug at the end. "Can't be. That's a plug."
"You put the plug in the socket in the house," Lily patiently explains, pointing at the cables, "and then you can take this out of the house and still have electricity. It extends the supply."
"An extension cable," Arthur adds, pleased with his new knowledge.
"Yes, we have one for mowing the lawn."
"How exciting!" Arthur says, hunting through the box. "Lily, tell me more."
She isn't sure how much more there is to tell, but she gives Molly a smile and sits, happy to indulge Arthur's enthusiasm, as long as it keeps her from having to answer any questions about Severus.
Lily stands in the window, looking out across the countryside, and she's at a loss as to how she's going to manoeuvre her way to Hogwarts. It's been three long days since Gideon had Apparated her across the country, and then trekked her through fields to get to his sister's house.
"Lovely people," he'd said. "My brother-in-law's a bit… Well, you'll see." And then he'd grinned, and clapped his hand around her shoulder. "But you'll be safe, and that's the main thing."
But she didn't want to be safe out here, imposing on this unknown young family, and with no way of getting to Severus, or to her parents, or to Vance or Malfoy or anyone else. She was out on her own, with a young family who had twins who screamed through the night, and small boys who yelled through the day.
She needed to have something of worth for Vance for their next meeting, and she needed to tell Severus about her lie about Malfoy, and… She twists her robes in her hand. She didn't really want to think about Malfoy finding out what she'd said; didn't want him getting the wrong impression. She isn't sure now why she said it - it seemed like a terribly good idea at the time, but now she wonders what Vance will ask of her next. Maybe she'll want a way into the Manor, or something from Malfoy's private possessions - his bedroom, even - and she'll have no way of doing that, and then she'll be exposed.
Severus, she thinks, that's who I need.
He's not in the best of moods when he's summoned to the Headmaster's office. It's been days since their fight in Diagon Alley, and nobody has seen any trace of Lily. Malf has assured him that he's been looking, and has told him to keep his head down and his mind focused on his newfound role at Hogwarts, but Severus can't settle - and he certainly can't sleep. At least during the day he can lose himself in his brewing, but once the night rolls around, he pulls what will be her pillow close to his chest, and wonders if she's thinking about him in the same way that he's thinking about her.
Severus can't put the meeting off any longer - Slughorn had poked his head through to the laboratory half an hour earlier, and reminded him that Professor Dumbledore had requested his presence, and then Slughorn had barged his way in twenty minutes later, his tone impressing upon Severus that the meeting was less a request, and more of a demand.
Severus had washed his equipment quickly, and he'd started the lonely trudge up the long staircases. It's not an unfamiliar route to him; he'd been called up there more than once in his own Hogwarts career - far more than once - and it had never been a pleasant experience.
He raps lightly on the door, hoping that Dumbledore won't hear and he can descend back to the dungeons in peace, but to his dismay, the door swings open immediately.
"Severus," Dumbledore says, welcoming him into the warm office. "Thank you for joining me. Please, do take a seat."
"Thank you, Professor," he says, perching on the barest edge of the offered chair. "Professor Slughorn said that you wished to speak with me."
"I do," Dumbledore says, taking his own seat opposite Severus in a swirl of brightly coloured robes. "I have been informed that you have been drawing some attention to yourself-"
"-sir-"
"-and I wished to impress upon you that this is an inclusive school," Dumbledore says, firmly. "I had rather hoped that your committed relationship with Miss Evans meant that you did not see things in the same way as some of your old housemates," and at this, he peers over his spectacles, his bright blue eyes catching Severus' own.
Immediately, without thinking his actions through, Severus pulls down his imaginary metal shutter, instantly shielding his thoughts from the Headmaster's prying eyes.
"...interesting, Severus."
"I don't know what you mean, sir."
Dumbledore leans back in his seat. "Now, Severus, let us not play with each other." He twirls his wand absently in his left hand, and the movement of the wood is almost hypnotic. "You caused quite a stir in this school a few short years back."
Severus bristles, not quite sure which moment Dumbledore is referring to - his school career was hardly uneventful. "On which occasion, sir?"
And at this, Dumbledore gives a soft chuckle. "Indeed, Severus. ...I am, of course, referring to the moment that you and young Miss Evans rather publicly declared your... interest in each other."
He knows why the older man emphasises the word in such a way - it wasn't him bending on one knee to ask Lily to a ball, or them being caught passing notes in class. No, their declaration of interest was Potter and Black goading him, as per usual, and Lily finally seeing red, and storming over, her temper flaring:
"What did you just say, Black?"
Potter jabbed Black in the ribs. "Here she is. You're for it now, Pads."
She glared from one boy to the other, her hands firmly on her hips. "No, go on," she spat. "I want to hear you say it again."
"Lil," he'd weakly protested. She might want to hear it so she can rebuke Black properly, but Severus didn't wish for it to be repeated - and now that the whole of the Great Hall was listening in, and not just the small group around his end of the Slytherin table, his embarrassment would be magnified. "Leave it, will you?"
"Yeah, Evans, listen to the greaseball and forget-"
"Shut up, Potter!" Her wand was pointing at the pair of them, moving between the two smirking Gryffindors. "Now, Black. Say it!"
Black held his hands up in mock surrender, his eyes glinting as he stared at Severus. "You heard the lady, Sniv, I've got no choice."
Severus' own wand had fallen into his hand at this point, sliding down the sleeve of his robes. He tried again, desperate to halt the scene. "Lil-"
But Black wasn't about to let the opportunity slide, not now he had a large audience hanging off his every word. "I said, until he took his clothes off-"
"I didn't take my clothes off! You sick idiots stripped me!"
Potter sniggered. "As if we'd want to take your clothes off, it's bad enough looking at you as it is."
And then, before Severus could retort, Black continued more loudly, "I said, Evans, I thought Malfoy had made this greasy little virgin into his pet eunuch-"
"Hit him, Snape!"
"Don't have that, Snape!"
"Black, he's got his wand out!"
"Yeah, go on, Snape, hex him!"
"Do him, Potter, before he hits you!"
"Get him, Black!"
"Potter, smack him!"
"Quick! Now, Snape!"
"No! Don't!" Lily had stepped between him and Black, and Potter had pulled the laughing Black in the other direction, preventing him from firing a shot off.
"-and then he stood there in all his glory, and it turns out Malfoy hasn't," Black laughed maliciously. "Still, Sniv, if you show Malfoy that pathetic excuse for a body over the summer, he still might. There's hardly anything worth saving."
There was a sudden commotion at the teachers' table, but due to the braying laughter echoing around him, Severus couldn't wait until an adult intervened - he couldn't help himself. With a flash of anger, his wand was raised and the curse was on his lips, but before he could strike, Lily had grabbed him around the neck and clamped her mouth over his own, her lips pressed firmly against him, and her tongue searching for his.
"No way!"
"Merlin!" Potter sounded broken. "...is she getting off with Snivellus?"
"Bloody hell, Prongs. I didn't think-"
"Is she actually getting off with Snivellus?" Potter's voice became louder behind them. "Is this some sort of hex? Has he jinxed you, Evans? Is this a potion?"
And then Potter grabbed his shoulder, and tried to pull him away, but Lily held him even more tightly, refusing to break the kiss.
Severus pulled back the smallest amount, just enough so he could whisper under his breath to his girlfriend. "Fucking hell, Lil," he murmured, as they continued to kiss each other, horribly aware of the entire student body watching their every movement. "What are you doing?"
"What I should've done ages ago," she murmured back, and then - her arms still wrapped around Severus' neck - she turned to Black. "What are you looking at, Black?"
"...nothing."
"No? You think you're looking at nothing?"
"Lil, leave it."
"No, I'll tell you what you're looking at - whilst you've been trying unsuccessfully to get off with half of the girls in Gryffindor," she smirked, "Severus has been shagging me for months."
And then there really was a hushed silence across the Great Hall.
"Yes, well," came Slughorn's booming voice across the hall, quickly making his way down from the top table and stepping between the student tables. "Enough now. Back to your own meals, all of you."
Severus watched as Lily, Black and Potter moved back towards the Gryffindor table, and then he felt Slughorn's warm hand on his shoulder, steering him back to his own seat, where Avery, Mulciber and the younger Black were all staring at him, with expressions of horror, disgust and glee in equal measure.
"And you, Mr Snape, ten points from Slytherin."
"Ten points! But-"
"For that overt display," Slughorn said, disapprovingly. "No cavorting in the halls. You know the rules."
"Should be from Gyffindor, sir! That Mudblood grabbed him," Mulciber spat angrily, "it's not like he wanted her disgusting tongue down his throat. You should give Snape ten points for not hexing her-"
"And ten more points from you, Mr Mulciber." Slughorn glanced at his students. "Does anyone else have anything to say? Are we to fall behind Hufflepuff in the House Cup again, because none of you have the sense to keep quiet?"
The table fell silent once more, and when Slughorn trotted back up to his place on the stage, Mulciber jabbed his fork into the back of Severus' hand.
"Fuck!" Severus hissed, yanking his hand away and sucking on the bleeding wound. "What was that for?"
"Is it true?"
There was a long silence.
"I asked you a question, Snape. Are you doing that Mudblood?"
Severus nodded, stiffly. There was no point continuing to deny it, as he had been doing up until this moment - not now, not after that display.
"And you're just using her? For practice?" he asked, his eyes narrowed. "Until you get someone better?"
Severus glanced over his shoulder, and he could see that Lily was now alone at the Gryffindor table - all of her friends had shuffled over, giving her a wide berth, but her back was straight, their lack of support unable to knock the pride from her. If she can do it, he thought.
And then Severus looked back at Mulciber, and took a long swig from his goblet. "Nah," he said, standing, "she's good enough for me." He collected his books, and shrugged them under his arm, leaning back over the table. "And what's more, Mulc, I've had her in your bed." He grinned broadly as he stalked off towards the dungeons, calling loudly behind him, "Nice pillowcases!"
It had been hell. Absolute hell. He'd raced back to the dungeons to throw his belongings into his trunk - and he'd been right to do so. Mulciber had thrown him unceremoniously out of the dorm, and he'd been forced to sleep in the common room - which often wasn't vacant before 2am, and he was always rudely awakened by the elves at 4am when they came through to clean.
In the end, Haughty - one of the oldest elves - had taken up his cause and led him to a private room deep in the castle; he'd later found out that it was under the instruction of Slughorn, and in their final year, Lily had joined him more often than not. It hadn't been quite so bad for her in Gryffindor, but she was no longer enjoying Hogwarts in the way she had previously; she walked to lessons alone unless he was with her, and she didn't have that gaggle of girls hanging around her as she'd always done in her younger years.
He hadn't been certain that it was Slughorn's intention that the two of them would turn his new private room into a sanctuary for both of them, nor that Dumbledore or McGonagall approved of what they were doing in there of an evening - but if they felt strongly about it, none of them commented. It was indisputable that the pair worked hard as they both continued to gain high grades, and with them locked in their own room deep in the castle, Severus wasn't fighting Potter or Black, or even Mulciber and Avery, and Lily wasn't being cold-shouldered by the entirety of Gryffindor Tower.
They walked around the castle hand-in-hand, neither keen - when they could help it - to leave the other one to the mercy of those they ran into in the corridors.
"I remember, sir," he says, flushing a little.
And then those piercing eyes are staring at him again. "I admired you then, Severus."
"...sir?"
"It takes great courage to stand up to bullies," he says, "and it takes even greater courage to stand up to your friends. ...am I right in thinking, Severus, that until that moment it had been your intention to join He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"
Severus doesn't answer immediately. He can't. The shame weighs heavily on him, because it was true - horribly true - but back then, he'd thought that the world was a little different. He'd been so angry at his parents, at his Muggle father, at his bullies - at the world. He wanted power, and at the time, Malf had been whispering in his ear about him being someone - about how he'd be elevated amongst his peers, and he'd be the one ordering Avery and Mulciber around, and…
"...I am glad I didn't, sir."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
And Severus swallows hard, knowing that surprise is etched across his own features. "But, sir, you-"
Dumbledore raises his hand, stopping him from continuing. "I am sorry to hear that, because I do not believe a word of your tantrum in Diagon Alley."
"Sir, I-"
"Shh now, Severus. Your old friends, now yes, they will be very happy to hear of your change of heart. When prejudices run so deeply, some find it only too easy to accept someone's words when their beliefs mirror their own."
"I-"
"Indeed," Dumbledore says, ignoring the younger wizard, "I suspect that with your little outburst, you will find a sudden flock of owls coming your way, and I am certain that with careful wording, you will be able to convince your old contemporaries that you were briefly led astray by the natural urges of a young man."
Severus' mouth gapes. "But-"
Dumbledore continues, as if Severus hadn't spoken. "Yes. A young girl was willing to offer herself to you, and you weren't thinking rationally." He then reaches over with one long finger, and gently taps the side of Severus' temple. "You weren't thinking with this. ...it is understandable. Believable." There's a momentary pause, and then his finger taps against Severus' temple again. "And this," he says, with feeling, "this is more skilful than previously, isn't it?"
Severus nods, dumbly, the old man's thin finger cold against his face. He knew I was using Occlumency before? "I'm still learning, sir."
"Yes. I think you could be rather useful to me, Severus."
Chapter 38: Disposable pawn
Chapter Text
They've only been sat in the kitchen for twenty minutes, and this is the third time that they've been interrupted by a small boy in pyjamas. Lily watches as Percy climbs into his mother's outstretched arms, and Molly then whispers comforting words into his ear. A few minutes later, after Percy has taken a sip of milky tea from her mug, the small boy is passed to Arthur, who carries him from the room - and from the creak of the stairs, back up to Percy's own bed.
Having seen a variation on this same scene played out repeatedly over the week, Lily couldn't help but wonder if Molly ever got to consume a hot drink in peace without a small mucky face clamping itself to her cup and slurping loudly.
If it wasn't great gulps of tea being taken by the children, then it was the constant taste of biscuit that Molly was left with. When Lily collected the mugs for cleaning, there always seemed to be a thick silt which lined the bottom of Molly's mug, comprising of sunken crumbs that had been lost into the liquid as tiny fingers carelessly dunked their biscuits.
"You don't mind," she says, as if realising what Lily's thinking. "I thought I would, but when they're your own…" She smiles kindly. "But if the twins take after the other three, I might need to invest in a bigger mug."
Lily laughs, and when Arthur strides back into the room, she can't help but imagine Severus in the same role - the strong and caring father, carrying his dozing child up to his bed. She can remember her father doing similar for her, especially after that flurry of nightmares she experienced when she first started Muggle school - and then she feels an odd pang when she thinks about Severus, wondering if Tobias had ever done the same for his small boy.
If he hadn't, she finds herself wondering how Severus would cope if he found himself thrust into that position. Would it come naturally, with him knowing instinctively how a father should really behave, or would she have to nudge and cajole him every step of the way? Before she can mull on it further, there's a gentle knock at the door which breaks her from her thoughts.
"At last," says Arthur, cheerfully, and after peering through the window to verify the wizard's identity, he pulls the door open.
Lily's jaw drops. "Moody!"
"I knocked gently. I hope I didn't wake the tribe," he says, knowingly. He claps Arthur on the back in greeting, and kisses Molly's hand, and then he appraises Lily, who stands awkwardly before him. "Sit down, Evans, no need to stand on parade."
They all sit down at the table, the wooden chair legs scraping on the tile - Molly to her left, Arthur to her right, and Moody straight opposite - and Arthur looks eagerly at his old friend.
"So? Any news from your side of the Ministry?"
"We're circling around an infiltrator," Moody gruffly says, his tone making clear his sincere disapproval.
Molly closes her eyes, as if the news physically pains her. "Not another?"
"Not another."
"But they only just caught Damien," she protests.
"Moody doesn't think old Vector was an infiltrator," Arthur says, his voice low, throwing a cautious glance at Lily.
"Not an infiltrator? Arthur, he went to Azkaban!"
"...without trial," Moody adds.
Molly looks troubled. "I thought you said you were in court with him."
"A kangaroo court is a court all the same," he says. "There's little point making a distinction these days, not with his lot crawling through the ranks."
There's a brief silence, as they consider his words, and then Molly looks up sharply. "What does Fabian think? He did his work experience with Damien."
"I haven't told him my fears," Moody says. "I don't think it's good for morale."
"Better that he thinks Damien's a traitor to our cause? Better that he suspects all those around him?"
Moody reaches for Molly's hand. "Better that as few people know as possible. I don't want to let out that I'm onto them."
And at this, Molly shoots a sideways glance at Lily - it's fleeting, but all understand its meaning; why are her brothers kept in the dark, whilst this slip of a girl is told the truth?
Lily takes a deep breath, and stands. "I think I'll retire for the night, Molly, Arthur. Thank you again for-"
"Sit down, Evans," barks Moody.
"But-"
"As much as I enjoy the company of Arthur and Molly here, it would be disingenuous of me to claim that the reason for my visit was to enjoy their hospitality."
"No?"
"No, Evans." And then he flashes a dark grin towards her. "I came here tonight because I wish to talk about Lucius Malfoy."
The kind hospitality that she had become accustomed to dramatically cooled, as if she'd opened the freezer door at her parents' house and stood before it.
Molly let out a small gasp, and Arthur eyed her warily, his eyes flitting between the smiling Moody and the unsmiling Lily. "You're a friend of Lucius Malfoy?"
"...not exactly."
Moody barks a laugh. "Not exactly. Beautifully put, Evans. Evasion is a undervalued skill." Then he grins at Arthur. "If you believe Emmeline Vance, this pretty little thing here is fu-" - and then he glances at Molly who looks furious, and he modifies his language. "Evans here is sleeping with Malfoy."
Arthur's usually jovial expression has hardened, but a confused look crosses Molly's face.
"This is the same Lucius Malfoy who has openly advocated for the Muggle and magical worlds to be separated?"
"Yes."
Arthur catches his wife's train of thought, and quickly leaps onto it. "And you think he's sleeping with a..." He trails off, still unhappy about using the Ministry approved slur.
"Nonsense, isn't it?" Moody says, happily, and jabbing a finger in the air towards Lily. "And yet Emmeline Vance believes every word of it."
"And you don't?" Lily challenges, her chin tilting upwards. "You think that Lucius Malfoy isn't the sort of man to take advantage?"
"I think Lucius Malfoy is exactly the sort of man to take advantage," Moody says, softly, "but you forget that I know you, Evans. I had to listen to every sickening grunt and groan that passed between you and that wretched drug dealer you fastened yourself to."
Molly's eyes widen at the claim, but Lily shakes her head, refusing to be cowed. "You said yourself that we were putting on an act."
"Nobody is that good," Moody says. "Not for weeks. I might find it revolting and impossible to understand, but there's something genuine between you. So imagine my surprise when I hear that he's disowned you in the middle of Diagon Alley. Not an argument at home, not a fight over the dishes or over who ate the last chocolate frog - but he hoards up all of his venom for a bitter, spiteful, angry attack on your blood status in the middle of the wizarding shopping district. It's funny."
"It's not funny."
"It's odd," he clarifies. "I've been doing some digging on the pair of you - on him, mostly, but you as well, Evans. And do you know what I found?" He bares his teeth as he lowers his voice to a whisper. "He's dangerous. Got himself in some trouble with the Muggle authorities back in your hometown, didn't he?"
"He's not dangerous."
"No? He's hardly unblemished in our world either, is he? By all accounts he was well on the way to being welcomed in the Death Eater ranks-" and at this, Molly gasps loudly, and Arthur reaches for his wife's hands, squeezing them firmly in reassurance.
Lily shakes her head firmly. "He has never-"
"No! No," Moody agrees, "he hasn't. And why hasn't he? Why didn't he follow the rest of the wretched snakes into the clutches of You-Know-Who?" He glances at the Weasleys. "Any ideas, Arthur? Molly?"
Both shake their heads, and although Moody stares at her for a long moment, Lily refuses to answer.
"It's because he very publicly attached himself to a..." and Moody pauses too, a look of distaste crossing his face as he says the word, "Mudblood."
She can feel Molly and Arthur's confusion, can sense them staring at her in surprise, and she gives a tight nod.
"We started dating at Hogwarts."
"A wannabe Death Eater and a Mudblood. And yet you've been together ever since."
"...we've had a wobble or two." She risks a glance at Molly. "What couple hasn't?"
Moody gives her a stern look. "And is that what you'd call this latest incident? A wobble?"
When she doesn't respond, he continues forcefully.
"Your little spat has gone down beautifully with the others - the rest of the Order is baying for his blood, and that was the plan, wasn't it? But here's the curious thing, Evans - nobody has seen him. The ever elusive Mundungus Fletcher has turned up to both of the emergency meetings we've called this week, pacing near the door and awaiting a replenishment of his supplies, but with the two of you out of action-"
"You deal in potions?" Molly looks even more horrified at the thought of who she has let into her family home.
Moody glances at Molly. "The boyfriend does. She doesn't. Well…" And then he gives another twisted grin. "Unless you believe her claim that she brews for, guess who?"
"Lucius Malfoy," Arthur breathlessly finishes. He puts his head in his hands, rubbing his fingers over his face in despair.
"She's sleeping with Lucius Malfoy, she's brewing illegal potions for Lucius Malfoy, and you bring her here," Molly says, her chins wobbling, "to our home!"
Lily looks guilty. "Molly, I'm sorry-"
"Evans, shut up," Moody barks. "Molly, Molly," he says, placatingly, placing his large palms over her quivering hands. "Evans isn't a brewer for Malfoy, and I would bet my left arm that she's not sleeping with him-" Moody exchanges a knowing glance with Arthur. "-although not through Malfoy's lack of trying, am I right, Evans?"
Lily daren't speak, the memory of the night in Malfoy's study burning too brightly in her memory.
"Now isn't the time for silence, Evans."
"He tried," she admits.
"And what does your nasty little boyfriend think of that, eh?" Moody exchanges a quick smile with Lily, the triumph written all over his face. "I knew it." He leans a little closer. "Malfoy's taken him off the streets, hasn't he?"
"...yes."
"For his own protection, I suppose?"
Arthur snorts. "For Malfoy's own protection more like. I'd kill any man who dared touch my Molly."
"And your controlling boyfriend is the jealous type, isn't he?" Moody prods. "He's a lustful, dark, covetous, selfish little boy." He gives her that chilling smile again. "Did he hex him? Or did he channel that Muggle blood inside him and use his fists instead?"
Lily shakes her head, refusing to give him anything further - but she doesn't miss the quick look of glee that Arthur gives to Moody at the idea of Malfoy meeting his comeuppance. "With all due respect, Moody, this is between me, Severus, Lucius and Emmeline," she says, desperately trying to gain the higher ground.
"Snape has gone missing, and the only thing you can be certain of when Malfoy opens his mouth is that he's lying," Moody says, a little more loudly - and then he stares Lily right in the eyes, "and you, my dear, are merely a pawn in Vance's game."
"A pawn?"
"A piece to be taken advantage of, and then to be tossed aside when it's no longer needed."
"Alastor," Arthur says, softly, looking horrified at Lily's hurt expression. "She's just a kid."
A rush of anger flares in Lily, and she interrupts angrily. "And what about you, Moody? What does that make you?"
"Well, I," he says, with a wide smile, "am a very clever man."
Lily scoffs. "Really?"
"Yes," he says, with a confident smile, "because you're about to be upgraded from a disposable pawn in Vance's game to a valuable decoy in mine."
There's a long and heavy silence - the room is so quiet, they can hear the gentle breeze rushing past the kitchen window, and the occasional leaf being blown along the path.
Eventually, she speaks. "Who are you after?"
"That's why I wanted you in the first place," Moody says, begrudging respect in his voice. "I thought for a moment you had lost the ability to think three steps ahead. Telling Vance that you were sleeping with Malfoy was the height of stupidity." He gives her a strange look. "I would say it was fortunate that she believed you, but there is now the very real risk that you might have to follow through on your statement." He eyes her thoughtfully. "I'm sure Malfoy won't say no, but I'm not sure your possessive boyfriend will be quite so accepting - even if it's for a worthy cause."
"You didn't answer my question."
Moody stands, his heavy cloak flapping. "Vance."
This doesn't make any sense.
"Vance is your boss."
He gives a firm nod. "Get me Vance," he says, "and I'll make sure your man walks free."
"Severus?" She wants to hear him say it.
"Snape," he agrees, and then he stops, and gives her a twisted smirk. "Unless you find yourself gaining a taste for Malfoy along the way. I'm flexible, Evans. Just like you."
He closes the door slowly, taking care not to wake the slumbering children, and Lily looks awkwardly between Molly and Arthur, who are now eyeing her with strange suspicion - not outright hostility, but there's a troubling vibe between them all; there's a history with this family and the Malfoys, that much is obvious, and she can't work out how this is going to play out - if they're going to sympathise with her, seeing that she's being taken advantage of in a power game that's far beyond her control, or whether they're already thinking ill of her.
She doesn't know the Weasley family at all, and the Prewetts only from the Order - both lines of this family had long left Hogwarts by the time she started - although she now has the clear impression that Arthur and Molly and Lucius had crossed paths at some point.
But just as she was an unknown to them - a young woman in need of shelter - so is Severus. They don't know him by name, or by sight, and perhaps not even by reputation. All that her hosts have to go on is the tale of Severus' hateful actions in Diagon Alley, and Moody's disparaging commentary on his personality. She wonders if either Molly or Arthur picked up on Moody's throwaway remark about Severus channelling his Muggle blood or being in trouble with the Muggle authorities.
She wonders now if they're viewing her with pity - viewing her as a young woman who has been dragged into something awful, and with no opportunity to escape - or whether they believe that she's as twisted as those she associates with, those mired in dark magic, and if she's on the cusp of it herself.
With five young boys in the house, she can't imagine that they'll want to harbour a criminal - whether they deem her the brewer flooding the market with illegal and addictive potions, or merely the silent partner, merely the lover of the man happy to line his own pockets by the misery and misfortune of others. And then she thinks about the outcry following the incident with Borage, and she wonders that if they're given long enough, the Weasleys will suddenly remember where they've heard the name Severus Snape before - suddenly remembering the names of the victims that were solemnly listed in the Daily Prophet.
It wasn't like that! It isn't like that! she wants to scream, even though neither of them has said a word - and before either of them can speak, she's up and off, the door yanked open and she's sprinting after Moody - and when he doesn't immediately turn, she's yelling his name, all care about the sleeping children completely forgotten. The relief she feels when he halts and turns floods through her, as if someone's thrown her into a cold swimming pool.
"I'll call for you," he says, briskly, resuming his walk through the fields. "Stay here."
"Get me to Hogwarts."
At this, he stops. "Dumbledore?" There's a long pause between them as she weighs up her options, and then he laughs. "Does he know?"
"Does he know what?"
Moody's eyes narrow. "Does Albus know that your boy is holed up at his precious school?"
"I didn't say-"
"-you didn't have to," he says, pulling her into a sudden swirl of Apparation.
Chapter 39: Mongrel
Chapter Text
Moody pulls her roughly through the grounds, and as his stride is much longer than hers, it causes her to move far more quickly than she finds comfortable. When her feet slip on the dewy grass for the fifth time, she tugs her arm away from his grip, and stands firm.
It takes him a moment to realise that she's not following. He halts, a metre or two ahead, and sighs. "Come on, Evans. I don't have time for this."
"I can make my own way from here."
His cloak billows as the wind snaps around them, and he looks troubled. "I brought you here," he says, gesturing towards the gates. "I used Dumbledore's trust in me; a trust he shares with no other auror."
"And I thank you for it, Moody."
"I don't want your thanks," he growls. "I want you to understand that this isn't a game, Evans. That people in your position get hurt."
"In my position as a pawn, or in my position as a decoy?"
He recoils at her words, almost as if she's slapped him. "I'm not trying to put you in harm's way," he hisses. "I want to see you…"
"See me what?"
He glances away, as if the words lay heavy on him. "By rights," he says, "you should've been someone. That thrill of talent you have," he says, waving his hand, "it comes off you in waves."
"You can feel it?"
He shrugs. "Some wield it like a weapon."
"Me?"
"No," he says.
"Death Eaters?"
"Yes. But others as well. Aurors. Some in the Ministry." He eyes her curiously. "Your boy has it too, you know."
She didn't need him to tell her about Severus; as soon as he'd brought her attention to her supposed pulse of magic, her mind had flitted straight to her boyfriend. She's always felt that steady thrum of magic erupting from him, but she'd always thought it was only him who had it - a side-effect of him being unable to control his emotions, perhaps - and hadn't realised she was the same.
She wonders now if that's why Tobias eyes her so curiously when she descends on their house, as she's certain that half of Severus' physical punishments stemmed from Tobias' determination to beat that invisible force out of his son. It's then, as she thinks harder, that she realises she hasn't felt it off Eileen, and although Black and Potter and Malfoy have been in close proximity of her of late, she can't say she noticed it from them either. That can't be right. She flexes her wand arm experimentally.
"Power?"
"Talent," Moody pointedly corrects. "Power is something else entirely." He looks at her curiously. "They should've taught you this up there."
"I think there's a lot we should've learnt and didn't," she says, quietly.
"Don't let someone take advantage," he warns, and he holds his hand out before her, a few inches from her chest. "Can you feel that?"
"Yes." And she can - she's felt it from Severus enough times, an invisible pulsating wave.
"That's you," he says, pulling his hand away. "Raw, untapped magical talent."
"How did you know Severus had it as well?"
"It was noted in his file when he was arrested."
"It's unusual?"
He nods stiffly. "There's a little in everyone, but by the time you come to Hogwarts, it's usually under control." He gives her a curious look. "But of course, you're a... ...and he's a Muggle mongrel." He gives a soft laugh. "Quite an oversight by everyone."
"How do we stop it?" she asks.
He gives her a curious look. "You can't just put the brakes on. It's natural; it's within you. It's an expression of talent that wants to be shaped, controlled, cowed," he says, earnestly. "Once it's sated, it'll stop. You'll still be powerful, but within parameters." He waves his hand. "Not this raw pulsing energy that you're currently emitting to all and sundry."
"That's what I mean - how do we contain it?"
"And I've already told you - you don't."
She looks exasperated. "You told me once that you don't speak in riddles, Moody, but right now…" She glances towards the castle. "There's hundreds of students in there. How do they-"
"To have it like this... It's unusual," he says, his hand casting before her again, as if hypnotised by her. "It's not just rare, but it's exceptionally rare, and it's a coveted attribute by anyone taking an apprentice."
"But what does it mean? How do we sate it?"
"The more you learn - the more you're taught - the more knowledge that the magic absorbs, the more controlled it becomes."
"...which is why it's desirable in an apprentice."
"Yes. No wonder Malfoy is interested in you both, and no wonder your boy wasn't slung out of magical society entirely after that debacle with Borage," he muses. "Jigger could see it in him as well, I wager."
Slughorn, she thinks. He must be able to sense it - in her, and in Severus. He'd always wanted them - one of them, at least - at his side.
"And you," Moody continues. "I think we've just got to the bottom of why you were purged." He gives a tight smile. "They would've expected you to have contained it within your first few weeks of work, and when you didn't..."
"...they deemed me to be dangerous?"
"Dark magic," he says, softly.
"I've never cast a dark spell."
He holds his hand out again, and his eyes briefly close, as if he's basking in the wave of magic floating over him. "I didn't say you had, Evans. But that thirst for knowledge...it's a dangerous beast. It takes you to wicked places when it can't be satisfied by what it's already been given. Sinful places that once you've visited, you wish you'd never heard of them in the first place." And then he looks at her again. "He's dark, isn't he?"
She can feel it now, that chilling edge she knows Moody has - that desire to entrap his prey.
"You can trust me, Evans," Moody says, softly. "Your boy has done things you'd never imagined possible, hasn't he? He's...different, isn't he?"
She won't be tricked that easily. "Take me to Slughorn," she begs, quietly. "Not Dumbledore."
"Evans… Tell me. Has he killed?"
"Please, Moody," she begs. "If you trust me to go undercover for you, then trust me in this."
"I don't-"
"A week!" she interrupts, loudly. "It was meant to be a few hours, or a day or something, and we've been apart a week! A week, and I don't even know if he made it here, and as I've been hiding in some ramshackle house in the wilds of the country, he doesn't know where I am, or if I'm hurt or dead and you're standing out here, accusing him of being a murderer, and all I want is to see if he's safe!"
He steps back from her then, as if the spell between them has been broken, and a shadow casts across his face as he glances over his shoulder towards the castle. "You're loyal to him."
"He's loyal to me," she shoots back, hotly. "And I love him."
"I knew from the moment I heard about it this was a ruse."
"He loves me," she says, confidently, pleased to utter the words once more after spending a week pretending that her lover couldn't stand the sight of her.
Moody says nothing, but resumes their walk, pulling her once more towards the castle, but this time aiming at a side entrance instead of the main gates.
"Thank you," she says, when she realises what he's doing, but he simply scowls.
"He'll be the death of you, Lily Evans," he warns, coolly.
"He won't," she immediately counters. "He'd never harm me."
"I didn't say that," Moody argues.
"And he'll lay down his life to save me before he lays down mine to save his."
And then Moody smiles - and although his words bother her, his smile isn't unkind. "Oh yes," he says. "I'm most certain he will."
The meeting with Slughorn is quick, perfunctory - least, her part of it is. She's quickly excused by her old professor, and she finds herself not caring what discussion is ensuing between Moody and Sluggy - although she knows that Severus will later suggest that she should've secreted herself behind the closed door and listened intently in case they discovered anything useful.
Least, he would in ordinary circumstances, but the look on his face when she pushes open the door to his - their - chambers tells a very different story and she's pleased she didn't dawdle, and didn't deny him their reunion a moment longer. His mouth opens, and glee covers his face, and he scrambles to his feet, pulling her into his warm embrace.
"Lily, Lily, Lily," he murmurs into her hair, and she wraps her arms around his body, pulling him close to her.
"Are you ok?" she asks, and when he pulls back to answer, his eyes shine and his grin is broad.
"Right now? Never better. You?"
"Same."
And then he doesn't give her chance to speak again - to tell him where she's been, or what she's done, or to query what he's been doing - because he's pushed her up against the wall, his lips seemingly determined to map every part of her exposed skin.
His fingers make light work of her robes, pulling them open, and tugging them off her body - and his digits graze over the old bruises he'd left scattered across her chest, staking his claim to her. He lowers his head, and kisses them reverentially - softly at first, and then when she makes the slightest groan, he retraces his steps, catching the damaged skin between his teeth and causing blood to rush back to the surface.
"Sev," she gasps, grabbing his hair.
"You love it," he mutters in response, and when she doesn't disagree, he flashes a wicked smile. Then he pulls free of her grip, standing upright once more and towering over her. She rests her head against his chest as his hands delve lower, and as his fingers skate over her navel and below, his voice is rich and warm in her ear. "Am I… Did you-"
"No," she says, quickly, before he can fully form the question. "I'm sorry, Sev. It's been a week. I couldn't not shower for a whole week-"
He silences her by kissing her, his fingers steadily caressing her between her legs. When he pulls away from their kiss, he stares into her bright eyes.
"How long before you did?"
"Almost two days," she says, and she's surprised at the sparkle of triumph in his expression.
"For two days," he murmurs into her ear, his fingers keeping a steady pace, which makes her squirm on the spot, "you spoke to other people, yes?"
"...yes."
"Who?"
"The Order," she says, and for this, she's rewarded with a slight quickening of his hand - and she grabs onto his shoulder to steady herself.
"Who in the Order?"
"Pettigrew," she says, starting with the wizard who supposedly saved her. "Bones. Lupin. Moody. Vance. Gideon. Fabian. Frankie Longbottom."
"And?" His voice is thick and low.
"Alice. Marlene. Diggle. Meadowes. Fenwick."
"Who else?" he hisses, and his hand briefly slows, and she knows what names he wants to hear.
"Black," and then she gasps as he speeds back up, this time applying more pressure. "He showed me the scars you gave him."
"Did he?" he whispers, pressing her hard against the wall, gripping her wrist in his free hand, and then biting her where her neck met her shoulder.
"Severus!"
"Did he show you the mark here?" he asks, laving her bitten skin with his tongue, and she remembers the thin angry line that sits in almost exactly the same place on Black's neck.
"Yes."
"I could've killed him," he hisses, and then his hand quickens once more, as if he's fearful she'll come to her senses and spiral out of the dark spell that he's weaving if he doesn't push her to the very edge of her control. "And who else?"
And this time she knows for certain the name he seeks, his fingers teasing her to the brink of completion. "Potter," she gasps.
"Yes, Potter," he says silkily, and she groans loudly as his fingers dart across her sensitive skin. "You casually chatted to Potter whilst my spunk dried on your thighs, didn't you?"
She blushes crimson at his claim - not quite knowing what's worse; the filthy words he's murmuring in her ear, or the fact that on this occasion, it's undeniably true. As his fingers push her over the edge of orgasm, her head tips back against the wall, the acknowledgement of his sinful words on her lips - but before she can come back to her senses, his hand is at her mouth, his fingers teasing her lips, encouraging them to part. She can see from the gleam in his eyes what he's seeking for, and she captures his long digits in her mouth. He smiles triumphantly, and then he positions his cock between her legs with his free hand, filling her with a deep groan.
"My good girl," he says, watching her with interest for several long minutes as she tastes herself on his fingers, and then he pulls his hand free, and kisses her deeply. "Mine, mine, mine," he murmurs, gaining a steady rhythm, and then he braces himself against the wall and takes her in their new rooms in precisely the same manner that he did when they left their old flat.
She doesn't know what's causing this primal rush of possession in him - they've been apart for longer periods before - but when she walks back into their bedroom and sees him lying confidently across their bed, his body tangled in the sheets, she knows she's drawn to it. She wonders sometimes if the darkness inside him has always been a siren call to her - he'd always been a little off when they were kids, sometimes his responses to situations were a little skewed, or his reasoning a touch unusual.
Her eyes gaze over his lean body, purposely perusing him the way he does to her so often. He catches her eye, and then he smirks - not looking remotely concerned or abashed by the way she's greedily viewing his body; if anything, he looks defiant and proud - and then he throws off the sheets, his body's excitement at her actions clear, and he holds out his hand towards her. She takes it, and he pulls her across him, seating her atop his thighs and sighing when she adjusts herself, sliding him deeply within her.
"You're incorrigible."
"What did I do?" he says, his voice joyful.
"Insatiable, that's your problem."
"I'll have you know, I was asleep."
"You were not," she says, pushing his chest playfully.
"No, I wasn't," he admits, "but you could've got into bed like a lady, and not straddled me like I'm some sort of hired gigolo-"
At this, her eyebrows raise - and he knows he's pushing it - but thankfully, her smile doesn't disappear. "Oh yes," she says, moving to lift herself from him. "I was going to sleep-"
Immediately, he spins them over so she's trapped beneath him, keeping himself inside her, and pinning her body into the soft mattress. "I've got a better idea. Sleep's overrated, witch."
"So it is," she agrees, wrapping her arms around his neck and reaching up to pepper his face with kisses, until he finally lowers his torso, and she welcomes him into her embrace with a soulful kiss that sends tremors through the pair.
"Fuck me," he murmurs when she releases his mouth.
And then she gives him that same sinful grin that had him lost all those years ago. "Gladly."
"Sounds like bullshit to me," he says, wolfing down the last of his cereal and reaching for a piece of thickly buttered toast.
"Sev…"
"What?" he says, speaking with his mouth full, and then swallowing abashedly when he realises that the way he's eating is the source of her complaint. "Sorry. I'm starving."
"You're always starving," she says, dropping a light kiss on his forehead. "I don't know where you put it; there's nothing of you."
"Burnt all the calories off last night," he laughs, and she can't help but laugh along as she spies the genuine mirth on his face. "I'm so glad you're home, love," he says, quietly as she walks away. His voice is so quiet, she almost misses it, and when she turns to acknowledge his comment, his expression is blank - as if he'd never uttered a word. "Anyway," he says, taking another piece of toast, "that's just what Moody told you."
"He sounded serious, Sev." She glances at him. "I feel it off you."
"Yeah, and?" He shrugs. "I feel it off you too." He waves his butter covered knife in the air. "I think it's just a compatibility thing. It means we're right together."
"But then why can Moody feel it from me?"
He looks a little uncomfortable. "I dunno, all right, Lil? Maybe he's got the hots for you."
"Sev, be serious!"
"All I'm saying is that I don't feel it with anyone else, not even when I'm in close proximity to them. Not Malf, not…" and he momentarily falters, before continuing, "…not Jigger, not old Sluggy. Just us. When we're together."
She gives him an odd look. "You were going to say someone else then."
"Wasn't."
"You were, Sev." And now she's back over to the table, towering above him. "When you said Jigger. You were going to say someone else."
"Borage."
"Not Borage." And then she dances her Legilimency over him, and he slams down his Occlumency shields so quickly, she's pushed backwards by his thrum of magic, causing her to stumble. "Sev!"
"...I didn't mean that," he says, standing and watching her intently as she gets to her feet. "You ok?"
She doesn't answer, but she stares at him suspiciously. "Who did you cheat on me with?"
"I've never cheated on you." His rebuttal is swift. Almost rehearsed, even if never used until this moment.
"Fine, you've never cheated on me."
He looks relieved at her acceptance, and she can't believe that such an innocuous conversation has taken such a dark twist, but now that she's pulling at the thread, she can't stop herself.
"...but it's obvious that at one point when we've been apart, you've been with someone else, haven't you, Severus?"
There's a long and empty silence, and she stands in the corner, her chest tight, and it's as if she's forgotten how to breathe.
He sits back down at the table, his eyes practically boring a hole in his empty plate. "I…" And then he glances at her, and she's looking at him with such hope. "I…"
"After that guilt trip you gave me when you thought I'd slept with Potter!" She gives a pained sob. "Don't tell me, Severus, it was years ago, and it meant nothing, is that right?"
He doesn't answer. He can't seem to form the right words, and the more he looks at her with a sorrowful gaze on his face, the angrier she becomes.
"You know what? You're pathetic! You are such a stereotype."
"Lil-"
"You've always made such a big deal about how you're different to everyone else - how we're different to everyone else, but when it comes down to it, Severus, you're just the same as the rest of them!"
"Lil, don't-" He pushes his chair back, and he reaches out for her, but before he can make contact with her, the door has slammed loudly and she's gone.
Chapter 40: They saw
Notes:
Please note that this chapter deals with some difficult themes - bullying, humiliation, sexual manipulation, and has some moments of dubcon.
The characters involved in any sexual scenes are 16 or over. That is the age of consent (in the Muggle world) in the UK *now*, but when this was set (in the 1970s), 16 was the age of consent for m/f, but it wasn't for m/m.
I think there's a reasonable argument that the wizarding world and the magical world aren't quite aligned - BUT if that historical breaking of the law bothers you, please skip the final memory. I think you should be able to tell from the conversations between the characters that it is upcoming.
This story is deliberately set as Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings - but fandom is supposed to be fun; my aim is not to trigger anyone. So, if you're unsure about the content and/or want to check something before deciding whether to read, do feel free to drop me a message in the comments or on Tumblr.
...and finally, I broke this chapter in half, as it was quite weighty - so there's another update coming very shortly...so not too long to wait for the resolution of the cliffhanger.
Chapter Text
Slughorn looks ill-at-ease, and somewhat confused when Lily appears at the door to his private chambers. They hold an awkward, stilted conversation, where the rotund teacher points out that she is supposed to be disguised as Severus before she takes to roaming the halls of Hogwarts.
Lily quickly spins a chain of lies about how Severus is feeling unwell, and how she doesn't want to disturb him. Slughorn doesn't seem entirely convinced by her tale - not least because he'd furnished the young couple with a full set of private rooms, and if Severus is unwell and confined to their bed, Lily should be free to lounge in their sitting room instead of searching for somewhere else in the castle to while the day away.
Still, Slughorn doesn't press the issue; he's always liked Lily, and as he casts against the door to his private study, preventing anyone from stumbling in without him and discovering the hidden witch, he gives a contented smile at the sight of her kneeling on his comfiest armchair, a large stack of books from his private collection flanking her on either side.
"Something in particular caught your attention?" he asks, briskly moving across the room and rifling through the top few titles that she's selected. "A broad range of subjects, Lily," he says, a flicker of confusion crossing his brow. "If I might be so bold, I would suggest choosing a specific area and then focusing on it exclusively; flitting from one topic to another means that you won't cover any in sufficient depth, and you'll find all topics somewhat lacking."
She nods, but tips her head to one side. "What if I'm trying to find the topic that excites me, sir, before committing to a course of study? So much time has been wasted already, sir, and I don't want this opportunity to-"
"Horace," Slughorn quickly corrects her at her use of his old salutation, but he gives a quick nod and a smile. "Then I would say that I am in keen anticipation of hearing which topic you settle upon," he says. He steps away, and then back, as if he's deciding on whether to speak.
Lily notes his action, and puts her finger between the pages she's on, and closes the book, trying to coax him non-verbally to say what's on his mind.
"...I am aware that this arrangement suits you and Severus," he says, eventually, "but I also feel quite fortunate."
"Sir?"
"I always wanted you as my apprentice, Lily Evans," he says, teasing his moustache as he speaks. "And before these dratted laws, I thought it was a given."
"I thought you might have had your eye on Severus, sir."
"Horace," he says, again, and he sighs. "I am not disparaging the boy. You both have potential."
And she wonders then if he means that thrill of magic that Moody was so enraptured by, but before she can ask him, Slughorn checks his watch.
"I must away to class," he says. "Don't wander out of here until I return," he warns, "it's imperative that nobody spies you."
"Yes, Horace."
She wasn't going to move anyway; she had no desire to explore the castle and accidentally run into Dumbledore, and she certainly didn't want to head back to see Severus - and leaving Hogwarts entirely would be a fool's errand in this climate. As furious as she was with Severus, it had taken her a week to get into the castle, and she's aware that the next time, she might not be quite so fortunate.
"Have fun," he calls, as he closes the door and locks it behind him, and she curls up on the chair, a large book levitating before her.
Slughorn wakes her a few hours later, and her neck is aching from being twisted into an awkward position. She thinks he might be displeased, but to her surprise, Slughorn has a knowing smile on his face, and he merely chortles at the sight of her.
"Sorry, Horace," she says, stretching into a yawn.
"I suspect that your boyfriend is also ailing from exhaustion, as opposed to needing the hospital wing? Don't trust yourselves to be in the same room together?" He gives another knowing laugh.
She doesn't mind the insinuation, after all, he's almost right - she is exhausted because she was up for most of the night with her boyfriend - but she suddenly feels uncomfortable; Slughorn has started to shuffle around the room, and his deliberate actions are clearly an unsubtle method of making her aware that his hospitality has come to an end. She knows it's rude, but she isn't sure she wants to return to Severus - so despite it being socially impolite and increasingly awkward, she remains seated, eyes fixed on her book.
"I am terribly sorry, Lily," he says, reluctantly, when she doesn't make to move of her volition, "but I have a Slug Club meeting and you really cannot be down here when the students-"
"Sorry, Horace," she says, closing the book and standing quickly. "I didn't mean to impose. I am very grateful for you permitting me to be here today."
"You're welcome," he says, watching as she tidies behind her before leaving. "Now, Lily, I don't intend for us to start your independent study until the end of the month," he says, as she reaches the door. "That's when Severus will be called to go to Belby. I've already explained to Severus that he should take this time to relax, and I recommend you do the same - don't burn yourself out trying to get ahead. Enjoy your little holiday together," he adds, with an unsubtle wink. "I won't disturb either of you unless absolutely necessary."
A holiday. It should've been blissful, she thinks, as her hand encircles the doorknob, and she twists it firmly. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust as the room is shrouded in darkness, and she fumbles her way through the rather sparse office. She would ordinarily cast Lumos to guide her, but there's part of her that doesn't want to signal her return - silly, she thinks, he's probably already heard you.
She isn't sure what she wants to happen next - isn't sure if she wants him to beg for forgiveness, or to pretend it didn't happen - and she finds herself holding onto the next closed door for rather too long as she mulls over what she wants to happen next.
She listens carefully, trying to hear that telltale clink of glass on glass, but to her surprise, it doesn't come. He's always been a drinker, and there's part of her that worries that when she opens the door, that's how she's going to find him - drunk and bitter, anger and alcohol coursing through his body in equal measure - but when she moves into the sitting room, she's surprised to see it's dark as well. He's in bed?
And then, she pushes the bedroom door open, and with the rest of the rooms empty, it's no real surprise to find him there. He hasn't lit the wall torches, and there's just the glow from the fire lighting the room, which shines an odd flickering amber glow across the furniture. He's sitting on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chin, and the fire casting an odd shadow against him.
As she blinks rapidly, the low light not giving her much opportunity to view her surrounds, she notices that he's changed the sheets on the bed, and it's neatly made - unrumpled, uncreased; he's clearly not been in it without her, nor even sat on it.
"I didn't know if you were coming back," he says, gruffly.
"I fell asleep in Sluggy's office," she says, just as stiffly, her hand unconsciously reaching to her sore neck, and rubbing the aching spot.
"Come here," he says, spreading his legs, and tapping the floor between them.
She hesitates, and after a long pause she acquiesces to his wish, settling her body between his legs, and she hears his steady exhale of relief behind her. She feels his hands on her neck and shoulders, and he carefully collects her hair into a bunch, and then places it over her left shoulder.
"Tell me if it's too hard," he says, and then his hands start kneading and pressing the muscles in the top of her back, and across the base of her neck. He's patient and tender, and he massages her for a long time before she groans, indicating that he's finally hit the right spot, the trapped nerve finally releasing under his careful ministrations.
"Thank you," she says, softly, and he slowly draws his hands away, as if he's reluctant to lose his excuse to touch her.
"Did you just sleep?" he asks. His voice is deliberately gentle, and without seeing his expression, she can't make out his motive. "At Sluggy's?" he prompts, when she doesn't immediately answer.
"...I started to read," she says. "But I was tired."
"Anything inter-"
"No, Sev," she says, quickly, turning to face him. "I can't do this."
He looks injured at her comment, and he glances away, staring at the blank wall over his shoulder. "I was only-"
"I can't sit here and make small talk with you," she says, the words spilling from her. "I can't sit here between your legs, with you touching me like that, and you murmuring in my ear, because I know how it'll end up."
"I only asked what you were reading."
"And one question will lead to another, and then before we both know it, you'll end up fucking me on the floor," she says, simply.
He smirks at that. "And is that so bad?"
"No," she says, pushing his knee. "But we do this every time, and it doesn't solve anything."
"Well," he says, standing up and brushing himself down, "I'm glad you came back, because whilst you were snoozing, I came up with the answer to our problem."
It's her turn to shoot an incredulous look in his direction. "...oh?"
He reaches down, and she takes his hand and allows him to pull her upright - and when she's standing, he frames her face with his hands and then he very gently strokes her temples with his forefingers. "I want you to break into my mind and examine my memories."
"Sev, no…"
"Shhh," he says, leaning forward to rest his forehead against her own. "You said it yourself, we've been here before, and Lil, I know we said we were going to talk more...be more honest…"
She can hear his boot scuffing awkwardly against the ground.
"...I can't, Lil. I'm not that sort of a guy."
"I can't just march into your mind and take whatever I want."
"You can," he says, "if you're going to stay with me," and then he looks as if he's been hit by a wave of nausea at the idea she might leave. "You need to know the truth. It's easier if you just see it."
"But your memories are what makes you… Giving someone else that power over you..." She looks solemn. "That book warned against the overuse of Legilimency; it warned about the dangers of rifling through someone's brain without being skilled-"
"You're brilliant," he says, quickly. "The most brilliant witch I've ever met, and I trust you. I trust you to do it properly, and I trust you not to abuse the offer - to know your limits, and to know mine too."
"It's too much," she argues. "What if I get it wrong? If I slip, and if I see something you wanted to keep private-"
"You won't," he says, and then he flashes her a quick grin. "Most of it you already know," he says, "and the rest is pretty boring."
She knows that isn't true - she knows what it's taken for him to make such an offer. His usually impassive dark eyes are expressive, his face imploring, and eventually, she nods her agreement. "We can try."
"Good," he says, his eyes briefly closing, and he reaches for her hand, giving it a tight squeeze. "You know I'm a bit fucked up, right?" He swallows hard, and when he opens his eyes again, she can see unshed tears lining them.
"I wouldn't have you any other way," she says, pulling his head to hers.
"That's a relief," he says, with a tight smile. "Else you might see something and pack your bags anyway."
"...is it that bad? You...and this woman?" She almost spits the word, her chest tightening again at the thought of him being with another.
He shoots her a sad smile. "I don't think what you're going to see is anywhere near what you've imagined." And then he looks downcast. "But…there's a lot of stuff that..." He trails off, and then he shakes himself and gives her a tight smile. "This is why we're doing this, right? So I don't have to put it into words." He jumps on the bed then, a sudden spring in his step. "Come on, love, get your wand and do your worst."
She slides her wand out of her sleeve, and she sees the slight tremor in his hand as he sits cross-legged on the bed. You've got two choices, Lil, she thinks. You either hope that this is nothing - like you and Potter - and you can carry on as you were before, or you need to decide that whatever happened is long in the past, and a man who is willing to let you rummage in his head to keep hold of you…
"Before I get too scared, love," he says, breaking her concentration. He gives her a weak smile and pats the bed before him. "I thought we'd sit somewhere soft in case I accidentally pull my shields down without meaning." He looks a little ashamed. "Like earlier. I didn't mean to-"
"Stop apologising," she says, moving to sit in front of him. She sits there for a moment, her wand twirling between her hands, and she can see that he's becoming increasingly tense. Without thinking, she reaches up and kisses him.
He's hesitant to respond, but as she kisses him more insistently, he reacts, his arms cradling her to him. She smiles when she pulls away, satisfied that he's calmed, and then, one hand braced against his chest, she holds her wand up in front of his eyes, and whispers the spell. "Legilimens!"
She's never actively hunted for a memory before; her efforts until now have been focused on trying to glimpse a thought at the forefront of someone's mind, and although she's read the chapters on Occlumency that Severus is studying as well as her own chapters on Legilimency, neither of them prepare her for the cavern of swirling thoughts that she finds herself wrapped in. There's wisps of smoke, of various colours, all swirling and pulsing through the air - some solidify into full lines, and some are loosely entwined with others, and many of them are knotted tightly together.
She takes a deep breath and remembers the breathing exercise that's listed in the front of the book, and tries to stop overthinking the process. She focuses on the fact that Severus wants her to understand him, so he'll be pushing key memories to the fore, and when she looks back at the confusing swirl, she can see one that's blinking and flashing and practically screaming for her attention. She reaches for it, and as she grabs at it, it wraps around her, cocooning her, and she almost gasps when she's pulled into a firm vision.
"You've got it, love," she hears him whisper, as the images flit across their minds together.
"What's Malfoy doing sending you a parcel so soon after Christmas, Snape?" Avery asks, his expression clouded. "Are you sure you're not bending over for him?"
"Get fucked, Ave," he spits.
The venom takes her by surprise; she didn't expect his emotions to be carried over, but when she pauses and thinks, it makes sense - what are memories, but a flurry of colour and sound and emotion?
"That's what he's saying," Rosier lazily chips in from the corner of the common room. "You know the rumours about Malfoy. Why else would he be sending you expensive parcels-"
"It's my birthday, you dunderheads."
"What are you? Fifth year? Sixteen?"
"Yes," he says.
"Happy Birthday, Snape," Rosier drawls.
"Thanks."
But he's quickly distracted, and she can feel his surprise - and then his horror - as the parcel is taken from him.
"Come on, lads," he protests.
"Jazz mag, jazz mag, jazz mag," Avery says, pulling the contents of the box apart. "Snape, do you do anything but wank?"
"Ave, for fuck's sake-"
"Hey," says Mulciber, leaning in and pulling out a calling card, and then showing it to Avery. "This is for Discreet Knights."
"What's that then?"
"The knocking shop down Knockturn," Rosier says, with a laugh. "Looks like he's sick of sending you jazz mags, Snape."
"Let me see," Avery says, grabbing the card and twisting it over in his hands, his mouth gaping when he reads the back. "He's put money on an account, Sev."
"Sev is it now?" he says, bitterly.
"You've got enough money here for two whores," he says, excitedly. "I could go with you. What do you think?"
"Sounds like a bloody marvellous idea to me," Mulciber says. "I'm sick of the pair of you playing with yourselves behind your curtains every night. I've told you before, curtains are not walls."
Both boys look embarrassed, and Rosier's laugh across the common room is loud. "Poor Mulc, shacked up with two horny dogs without a bitch in sight. Keep your own curtains closed, eh? Just in case the ever enigmatic Malfoy has turned this one here."
And she feels it then - the swirl of shame and anger, all set against a rumbling background of desire.
The memory pulses, and fades, and then she's stood with the two youths by the entrance to Discreet Knights. It's innocuous - there's no sign, and the windows and doors are all painted in a shade of dark purple, and covered with thin metal grills. Now that she's viewing it in Severus' memory, she can remember going past it herself, but she hadn't given it a second glance, and would never have guessed what sort of establishment it was.
"Go on then," Avery says, pushing him forward. "It's your name on the account."
The next flashes of memory move faster, as if affected by time, or if he's tried desperately to block them - and there's a woman, and a thick ledger, and her nails are long and brightly painted, and she licks her fingers as she turns the pages, and then she makes marks with her quill, and she sends both of the boys through a beaded curtain.
Avery looks excited, and disappears through one door, and then she sees Severus turn to the line of girls, and he looks awkward and terrified as he points one out, and as they move into the room, she's almost overwhelmed by the desire to be sick. To her surprise, she realises it isn't her urge; it's his.
The memory jolts again, and he's crouched in the corner of a room, bent over a bin and throwing up.
"If you see Mary," the woman is saying to him, "she'll refund you."
"I don't want to come back," he says, and then he winces as she looks offended. "It's not you. You're very...nice."
She laughs. "It's no skin off my nose," she tells him. "Easiest galleons I've made all day." She eyes him curiously. "Birthday?"
When he nods, she laughs again.
"Hogwarts students," she says, knowingly. "Slytherin?"
He nods.
If she can guess the house, how often does this happen?
"You Purebloods are all the same," she sniffs. "It's not a badge of shame, virginity. It's not something you need to get rid of the moment you turn sixteen."
And then it swirls. There's a flash of him and Lily, a flash of them holding hands awkwardly whilst watching Quidditch - and she remembers this herself. He isn't to know, but she'd intended to slide her hand into the pocket of her robes, but she'd missed, and slipped her hand into his, and to her shock, he'd accepted it and hadn't pulled away.
They'd sat there for over an hour, with neither of them daring to move - not daring to pull their hands apart to clap, reluctant even to let go when the match was over, but never mentioned by either of them afterwards. It's as odd seeing it from his perspective, and bizarre to feel him as confused by the situation as she was - but there's something else mixed in with his uncertainty; cautious happiness.
And then he's back at Discreet Knights, in a different small room, with a different woman - and she's peering at him in surprise.
"You one of those talkers then?"
"A talker?"
"Some people get off on that," she says, matter-of-factly. She passes him a card. "It's cheaper to Floo if you don't want to be touched and you just want to talk dirty."
And there's that flicker of shame again.
"I'm just waiting for my mate," he says, awkwardly.
"...it's even cheaper to wait outside." And then she gives him a knowing smile. "You don't want him to know you're not shagging as well, is that it?"
He nods, looking as if he wants to be anywhere but in this tiny room.
"Well, you could at least make some noises," she says, putting her knee on the bed and bouncing it until the springs squeak. "Doesn't do any good for my reputation out there if it doesn't sound like you're having a good time."
The scene pulses again, and this time, the memory is a fleeting swirl - they're in the Slytherin dormitories, and Avery is leaning into Severus' four poster bed.
"Ave, give it a rest, will you?"
"I'm just saying you could ask."
"Isn't twice enough?"
Avery gives him a weird look. "Twice in an afternoon, maybe. ...I could go every week. Every day!"
"Do us all a favour, and ask Malfoy, Snape," Mulciber shouts across the room. "He won't do it for Ave here, but he'll do it for you. He can afford it."
"Enough," he suddenly shouts, and she retreats. He lies back on the bed, and there's sweat on his brow, and he's panting heavily.
"Sev-"
"I'm ok," he says, resting his forearm across his head, and looking the complete opposite. "I just… It's intense." He gives her a curious look. "Well?"
She isn't quite sure what the meaning of all these scenes are, and she's terrified that when she breaks back into his mind, she's going to see him finally hooking up with a prostitute - worse, choosing to pay for sex whilst he's meant to be seeing her - but she trusts that he must have reason for showing her these oddly embarrassing moments.
"Well," she carefully ventures, "I know now why you wouldn't show me what Lucius Malfoy sent you for your birthday."
He gives a lopsided smile. "I did!"
She frowns, and then it dawns on her. "...that magazine under your mattress at your mum and dad's."
"Yeah, it was in the box," he says. "That was the best one - my favourite."
"I could tell."
He laughs again, and reaches for her hand. "Let me have a glass of water, and we'll go again, yeah?"
The next memory moves faster, and is choppier - he's quite a bit older, and he's at Malfoy Manor, that much she can determine, but there's so many faces, and the memory is messy; all loud music, strobing lights, and people shouting. He's drinking too much, and she can feel his actions becoming looser as the alcohol takes effect.
And then the scene jumps, and he's no longer at the main party, but in one of the bedrooms.
"I was surprised you stayed behind," Narcissa says, sitting herself on the bed next to him, and using his shoulder to steady herself whilst she tugs her high heels off. "These shoes, honestly."
"They looked good," he says, and she can hear the inebriation in his voice.
"Well," Narcissa says, a radiant smile covering her face, "if you think I looked good, that makes the pinched toes and the sore heels worth it."
"Let me see," he says, patting his knee and she obediently puts her feet in his lap, and groans as he starts to slowly massage them.
"You've got clever hands," she says. And then her eyes narrow slightly, and she puts her hand under his chin. "You weren't interested tonight, then?"
"Sorry?"
She can feel his desire - she can feel how beautiful he finds Narcissa, there's a thundering of attraction, of excitement.
And then Narcissa touches his lips with her thumb.
She can feel the urge he has to kiss the digit pressing at his mouth.
"The boys," Narcissa explains. "They've all gone to Knockturn. Apart from you."
And then he freezes; she can feel it, as if he's been plunged into ice, and from the look on Narcissa's face, she feels it too.
"Not your thing?" she whispers, and then she kisses him. It's the barest of touches - her lips grazing Severus'. The ice is fighting with heat, with a flame that's burning from the soles of his feet, and up his legs, and churning in his chest.
"No."
"Your account is well used."
He ducks his head, and lets go of her feet, straightening himself. "I might head home-"
"No," she says, stopping him from standing. "You're not using it, we know. Who is? ...Mulciber? Avery? Rosier?"
He gives the tightest of nods. "Ave. ...how do you know?"
"The girls told Madam Mary that two Hogwarts students keep visiting, and one of them is...enthusiastic. The other, apparently, just sits quietly and waits until the clock ticks down. Madam Mary spoke to Lucius because she was concerned that he would find out, and believe that she was complicit - taking advantage of his financial generosity. My fiancé is a valued contributor to her establishment, shall we say."
Lily can feel the unease that's swirling in him, and the relief that his secret is out.
"Is he mad with me?"
And Narcissa laughs - it's a high, tinkling, genuine laugh - and she cradles his thin face in her hand. "No, not at all," she says. "It was meant to be a source of joy for you; not a chore. You must've been frightfully bored."
"Sorry."
There's such a swirl of mixed emotions that she can't untangle them all - there's guilt and awkwardness, and blessed relief that Narcissa's touching him like this.
"But I want to know why," she says, touching her lips to his again. "Lucius asked if you were gay, because there's other establishments that cater for-"
"I'm not gay," he mumbles - and again, there's a swirl of emotions.
They'd whispered in hushed tones about fancying men and women when they were best friends instead of lovers, so the topic isn't new to her - but she's taken by surprise at the strength of the swirl of confusion and anger that envelopes him. That's not how she remembers him reacting to their discussions.
"They all think I'm gay," he spits, bitterly. "They all think… Lucius. They think that's why he favours me."
"He favours you because he likes you. Because I like you. Because you're a talented and powerful wizard who is going to be wonderfully important in our world."
He blushes under her praise. "...thanks."
"Now, who says you're gay?"
"Ave. Mulc. Rosier. Black-"
"Which Black?"
"Both of them! And Potter, Lupin, Macnair, Pettigrew, Crouch." The names tumble from him, until she presses her finger against his lips. "The Quidditch changing room is hell," he says, mumbling against her finger, "they saw, they saw when…"
"They're stupid boys," she interrupts, harshly, kissing him again. "Any woman can see that you're not gay," she says, running her tongue against his. "You wouldn't be so into me doing this, if you were."
As if there's a point to prove, he turns, and captures her in a long kiss, taking more of the initiative as he explores the taste of her. "I am into this. I fancy women."
"But you draw the line at the pretty painted whores in Knockturn?"
He breaks off the kiss then, his ears flushing, and he scratches the back of his neck. "It's pathetic. I'm pathetic."
She raises an eyebrow. "I am sure you're not."
"...you'll laugh."
"I promise I won't."
"...I wanted my first time to be with someone who cared about me. Someone who actually wanted to be with me and not just because they were getting paid." He almost whispers it, and he looks ashamed, as if the admission somehow weakens him - but Narcissa's face fills with delight.
She starts to slide her dress from her shoulders, and straddles his lap whilst her fingers make light work of discarding her bra.
"Cissy…"
She takes his hands, and places them on her now exposed breasts, and he leans his head back, as if he's drowning in bliss. Lily can feel his excitement and pleasure thundering through the memory.
"I care about you, Severus." They sit together like this for a while, his hands and lips exploring her naked skin, and then she reaches down to touch him, and he stills. "It's okay," she whispers, running her fingers up and down his torso, pulling at the buttons on his shirt, and then returning her attention once more to his tented trousers. "Trust me."
"Cissy…"
"I promise to make it special for you," she says, kissing him again, but he jerks out of reach.
"I'm not..." he starts, and he encircles her wrists with his hands to stop her, holding her just out of reach.
Narcissa's gaze hardens, instantly switching from heat to irritation, and he sighs.
"I'm not a virgin. ...I've already done it."
"And you don't want to do it again?" She eyes him curiously, the pieces falling into place. "Severus...are you still with this witch?"
"...I think so."
She looks dubious. "You think so?"
"We're not exactly dating."
"But you're having sex?"
"It's complicated," he says.
There's the first real pulse of guilt now, and she can feel him trying to shake it away.
He looks troubled. "I don't think I should be doing this."
"Not if you have a girlfriend," she agrees. "You should find out. Ask her."
He scowls, and then she taps his lips with her finger.
"Learn to communicate, Severus."
The guilt is growing inside of him.
He shakes his head. "It's not just me, is it! What about you? What about Malf?"
"Lucius would be delighted," she says, giving him a tight smile. "He knows I want you. And I know you know that. And knowing Lucius the way I do, he'll want to watch."
He knows his voice has an odd pitch to it when he speaks. "Malf wants to watch?"
"It's the power," she says, "being in control." At his confusion, she pauses for a moment, as if considering something. "He gets off on it. He likes to instruct. I might be having sex with someone else, but it's Lucius who is making it happen. It's Lucius who decides what happens next."
Then there's another swirl - a pulse of anxiety, of awkwardness, of desire and of shame - and there's the briefest flash of something she's never seen before; as if he's outside and... but before she can follow that thread, it's yanked away.
"Don't look like that," Narcissa laughs, kissing him on his lips and straightening her dress. "Sex isn't so serious. It's meant to be fun." She kisses him again. "We'll put this on pause," she says, "and if things change in the future, you know where to find me." And then she gives him a wicked smile. "And Lucius too, if you get over being shy."
"Narcissa Malfoy."
He nods. "Black back then."
"I thought…" She runs her hand through his hair, pulling his forehead to rest on her shoulder. "I thought you'd slept with someone."
"I still shouldn't have done it," he says, his fingers awkwardly twisting together. "I was drunk, and we - I mean, us - we were-"
"We were dodging around each other, not sure if we were friends or lovers-"
"-and trying to be both, but it felt like we were neither," he finishes. He reaches for her hand, tangling his fingers with hers, in the way that he knows they both find so reassuring. "I could never work out what you wanted from me." He looks almost shy when he admits it. "When you'd knock at the door, I didn't know how the day was going to go. Whether you'd just want to talk about music or school or whatever Tuney had been up to, or whether you wanted me to kiss you or touch you or…"
"I wanted you," she says, "I kept waiting for you to do something, but you never initiated anything. I thought you weren't interested - I thought that you only slept with me because I kept pestering… Merlin, Severus, I was practically begging you."
He looks stunned. "I was always interested! I thought you…" He trails off. "I never knew," he says, "never knew that you wanted me at all until that day in the Great Hall."
She pulls him away from her shoulder, looking him in the eye, surprise etched across her features. "How could you not know? We'd been sleeping together for months by then."
He gives an awkward shrug. "I thought I was just safe practice," he mumbles. "Getting off with your ugly friend when you were horny so you knew what to do when a real boyfriend came along."
"Sev, how could you think that?"
"I have this really cool thing," he says, a hint of mischief in his voice. "I don't know if you've ever heard of it, but it's called a mirror."
"You are an absolute idiot," she says, pressing her lips to his. "It's a pity you didn't take Narcissa's advice."
"What? Fuck her in front of Lucius?"
"No, idiot," she says, kissing him again. "Learnt to communicate."
"I thought that was what we were doing now," he says, rolling her over on the bed.
It takes him by surprise when she asks - she brings him to the brink first, her small hand gripping his cock tightly, and then she whispers in his ear. "Would you now?"
"Right now I'd do anything," he groans, his hands helplessly twisting in the sheets, and his hips pushing upwards.
"That's not what I asked. Would you fuck Narcissa with Lucius watching?" she repeats, her hand twisting around him, causing him to writhe beneath her. "Be honest."
"I'd fuck Narcissa," he admits, groaning loudly when she rewards his honesty with a slide of her hand, "but I don't want another bloke there."
"Not even Lucius? You used to say-"
He wraps his hand around hers, and forces her to move faster. "I know what I used to say," he gasps, "but I was just a stupid kid back then."
His grip is bruising over hers, and she watches him as he tenses, feet first and then the rest of his body, and then he reaches for his wand, casts a vanishing spell and he lies back, sated, his eyes closed and a contented smirk on his face.
She's staring at him when he wakes, and he gives an embarrassed laugh.
"Sorry."
"I'm used to you falling asleep after," she says, dropping a kiss on his lips, and then letting herself be pulled over his warm body, settling into his embrace.
"I'm not that bad. I was just a bit worn out from last night, that's all," he says, defensively. "Not all of us curled up for a snooze in Sluggy's study." He gives her a curious look.
"What?"
"He fancies you, you know."
"Sev!"
"He does," he says, his hand stroking down her back. "He said it to Jigger. He said if he was fifty years younger…" Severus sniffs. "I mean, it's only Sluggy, and I think he's pretty decent, but-"
"-you wouldn't go falling asleep in his study."
"Mmm. I don't want you being taken advantage of." He cups her cheek with his hand, and then kisses her firmly, surprised when she doesn't respond in kind when his tongue brushes against her lips, causing him to pull away. "What's wrong? ...you're not still thinking about Narcissa, are you?"
"Can I see more?"
"More of what?"
"Your memories."
"That's all I've done with someone else when we were together. Sort of together," he clarifies, briskly.
"You've done something with Lucius," she guesses, and she feels him tense beneath her. "...you said, 'they saw'. I want to know what they saw."
She can feel his heart thundering in his chest, and he swallows several times, as if he's lost the ability to speak. "It's irrelevant."
"It means something."
"It doesn't."
"I remember you saying that you didn't fancy blokes, but you'd make an exception for Malfoy. And now you're not interested at all, not even to shag Narcissa?" She eyes him critically. "I know how you feel about her. I could feel it too, Sev, in that memory."
"I… She's just kind to me, that's all. Not many people are."
"So's Lucius."
"It doesn't mean… I was just a confused kid when I said that stuff, like what you said about Alice. It meant nothing."
"Well," she says, mischievously, "I still would. Alice is beautiful."
"I thought doing this would answer your questions, not create more."
"Please, Sev," she urges. "I want to understand."
He looks a little sickened as he sits upright. "It was before me and you did anything. Weeks before we got together."
"When?"
"I went to a party at his. Late January, or February or something, it was. ...but there's not just that, there's more to it..." He looks away, and then back at her. "I don't know."
"Please, Sev."
"It'll change how you see me-"
"It won't. I love you, Severus. I've loved you for years," she says, kissing him. They lie like that for an age, kissing and caressing and stroking, and she can see that he's mulling it all over. Finally, he pulls away from her touch, and briskly nods his consent. Before he can change his mind, she points her wand directly at him.
She's not surprised when Malfoy Manor spirals into view, but this time, Severus is a little younger, and far more inebriated. The edges of the memory are hazy, as if she's looking through a kaleidoscope, but there's plenty of witches and wizards shaking his hand, and kissing his cheek and clapping him on the back - and the party seems to be in recognition of something that he's done, or is going to do.
She can hear a faint murmuring behind Severus; Lucius' voice, she realises, pointing out each and every influential person, and then Lucius' hand keeps reaching out and replenishing the rapidly disappearing alcohol in Severus' glass.
"Severus!" Narcissa bounds over, and throws her arms around his neck.
There's a thrill running through him at Narcissa's appearance, and Lily can feel him gazing at her body appreciatively. Lily almost gasps aloud when she feels a surge of mischief build in him.
Narcissa kisses him on the cheek, but he cheekily twists his face so their lips meet instead.
"Really, Cissy," drawls Lucius, but his voice doesn't sound disapproving, and he seems to be watching on as Narcissa and Severus kiss, which goes on for far longer than is respectable in polite company.
Lily can feel Severus' excitement and pleasure, and she can feel him warring with himself about where to place his hands, whether to dare to slide them up to the underside of Narcissa's breasts or down to the top of her bum, or whether to leave them on her waist.
And then she can feel Lucius pressing tightly behind Severus as Severus kisses Narcissa, and Lucius is warm and hot and hard and the mixture of the two people is confusing to him.
"Such debauchery in public." Lucius gives a throaty laugh. "You could at least wait until the after party, when the plebs have departed."
The memory swirls, and now, it's even more blurry - even more confusing, and difficult to follow Severus' heightened thoughts; he's excited and drunk and ridiculously happy.
"Still standing?" Lucius laughs, resting his hand on Severus' shoulder as they look out over the grounds. It's dark out here, and the rest of the party is still continuing inside, and the dull throb of the music thumps in the background.
"Feel a bit weird," he admits. It's an understatement; his vision is flickering at the edges.
"You didn't take any of Nott's potions, did you?" Lucius sounds disapproving. "He gets them from his sister, and she can't brew like you. Merlin knows what she puts in them."
"No."
"Just alcohol?"
"Yes."
"You're not going to make it to the end of the night," Lucius observes, a hint of disapproval in his tone.
"I'm okay."
He's not. Lily can tell he's not.
"Good," Lucius says, and then he twists him in his arms, and he brushes his lips. He's not like Narcissa - not soft and gentle, but firm and demanding, and his tongue wrestles against Severus', his light stubble scraping across Severus' chin.
She can feel his knees weaken, and his mind is a haze of emotions, but they're all weirdly blunted by the alcohol, all the doubts and insecurities overridden by the excitement and desire thundering through him.
"Malf," he says, weakly, pressing his hand against Lucius' firm chest.
"I wanted to give you a birthday present."
"You already gave me a present."
"Are you enjoying it?"
He doesn't answer; he doesn't want to tell Malfoy that Avery is the one who has been enjoying the attentions of the witches that Lucius has been paying for - but he's also unsure as to whether Lucius is even talking about that, or if he's talking about the way he's touching him now, the way Lucius' fingers are drawing down the zip on Severus' trousers.
"Not enjoying it? Want me to stop?" Lucius asks, just as he slips his hand through the gap, sliding beneath the cloth of Severus' underwear, and wrapping his large hand around Severus' rapidly hardening cock.
"Fuck!"
It's difficult to make sense of the rest of it - the alcohol interferes with the edge of the memories, and she can't untangle his excitement and pleasure and arousal from his fear and shame.
"Ohhh, fuck!" Severus makes the same cry again a few minutes later, and Lucius laughs, and withdraws his hand.
"So quick, so eager," he says, kissing Severus, and then zipping Severus' trousers back up and patting the younger man right on his crotch, his hand lingering there as he kisses him.
The shame is stronger now, an odd mixture of both contentment and regret, and she notes that Severus hasn't opened his eyes at any point, and then she feels his blood start to throb as his excitement starts to build once more.
"Good boy," Lucius says, as Severus starts to harden again beneath the older man's gentle ministrations. "I think you're going to be a valuable asset. You just need a bit more stamina." He bites at Severus' earlobe, and then whispers. "Cissy wants to fuck you."
Lily feels Severus becoming even more excited at this prospect.
Severus' hips thrust against Malfoy's hand. "I'd be no good," he whispers. "Not compared to you."
"You're a quick study at everything else," Lucius murmurs. "If those whores you're fucking aren't helping, I can show you-"
But before Lucius can finish his statement, there's a voice, and Lucius rapidly spins away from Severus, peering out over the flowerbed as if he didn't know Severus was also outside, leaving Severus fumbling awkwardly, trying to cover his obvious erection.
"We're off now, Malfoy," Rosier says, flanked by Avery and Mulciber. "You coming, Snape?"
And then there's a loud snigger from Mulciber.
The emotion this time is loud, screaming, pulsating over the alcohol: they saw they saw they saw they saw they saw they saw they saw they saw they saw.
Chapter 41: Blood be damned
Notes:
Please note that this chapter deals with some difficult themes - bullying, humiliation, sex and violence.
The characters involved in any sexual scenes are 16 or over.
This story is deliberately set as Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings - but fandom is supposed to be fun; my aim is not to trigger anyone. So, if you're unsure about the content and/or want to check something before deciding whether to read, do feel free to drop me a message in the comments or on Tumblr.
...and finally, this is the second half of the previous chapter, which is why it probably feels quite similar thematically.
Chapter Text
She sits back, surprise etched on her face, and he grabs the hand that's holding her wand.
"Again," he urges.
"Sev, I-"
"If you've seen this much, you need to see it all," he says, and he forces her wand back into position. "Do it!"
She looks at his distraught expression, and then, hating herself for asking this of him in the first place, she casts. "Legilimens!"
He's lying on his bed in the Slytherin dormitory, and the door's open, allowing him to hear the snatches of conversation floating up from the common room.
"Yeah, I know that, Ave, but does he actually fuck any of them?"
"How would I know? He goes in one room and I go in the other; we're not doing it together."
There's a muffled response, and then a laugh, and then Avery speaks again. "Seriously, leave off him, hey?"
She can feel a hint of hope in Severus - that he's being defended by his friend.
"...if you piss him off too much, he'll stop taking me."
She can't hear anymore, as Severus rolls onto his back, pulls his pillow over his head and yells into it in frustration.
The memory shifts, but she doesn't recognise the room at first - but the Slytherin banners and scarves make it clear that it's the changing room that he'd complained about to Narcissa in a later memory. He's in a shower cubicle, naked, and his towel is slung over the curtain rail.
"Leave off," he shouts, as he sees his towel being grabbed out of his reach. Chasing after it would leave him to walk through the changing rooms naked, but to her surprise, he's got his wand tied up in his hair instead of in the locker with his other belongings.
She feels his sudden sense of despair - a feeling of having been through this before.
He pulls his wand out of his hair, and casts, summoning the towel back to him. He's obviously learnt from a previous occasion.
"No magic in the changing room, Snape," Mulciber shouts. "You know the rules."
"Get fucked, Mulc," he snaps, wrapping the towel around him, snatching the shower curtain open, and stalking over to his locker.
"Heard that's what you did at Malfoy's," Mulciber immediately retorts.
"We all heard it!" laughs Rosier.
She can feel the rage burning inside him - it's more intense than any anger she's ever felt in herself - as if there's a prickling surging up and down his skin, as if he's on the verge of doing something he'll regret.
And then he grabs his clothes from the locker, and storms back towards the showers, intent on changing in peace.
It shifts again; on more familiar ground this time - the library. Sirius Black sits down on the opposite side of the table in what Lily recognises as the quietest - and consequently Severus' favourite - corner, and carefully takes his books out of his bag.
"What do you want?" Severus hisses, glancing over at Pince who is patrolling between the desks, hunting for miscreants to throw out. "There's a whole library for you to sit at."
"It's not a crime for me to sit here, Snivellus," he says, making a great show of uncapping his ink and selecting a quill.
She can feel the concentration slipping away from Severus; he'd been engrossed in the book before him, but now he's reading the same sentence over and over.
"Heard some good stories about you."
"Sod off, Black."
"Don't you want to hear them? I thought libraries were good places for stories."
"They're good places for being silent," Severus hisses, glancing again at the ever omniscient Pince - terrified that she'll come over and throw them both out.
Black leans across the table. "I can whisper them."
"I'm not interested in your stories."
"...heard you sucked Malfoy off."
That same flush of anger roars in his chest, and she can almost feel the blood thundering around his head.
His voice is even when he eventually answers. "Heard wrong then, didn't you?"
"Did I?"
There's a prolonged silence, and when Severus glances up, he wishes he hadn't - Black looks smug, and amused, and confident, his arm stretched across the back of his chair. Black glances over at Pince, and as her back is turned, he mimes the act of giving oral sex, his fist pumping in the air and his tongue thrusting obscenely against the inside of his cheek.
"Just fuck off, Black."
"You need your filthy mouth washing out," Black suddenly hisses, leaning menacingly across the table. "Dirty little boy, pathetic cocksucking-"
Severus grabs his books, his cheeks burning, and stalks out of the library, Black's laughter loud and hearty behind him.
The memory shifts again - and the next scenes move rapidly. She tries to linger, but it's as if he's forcing her through them, pushing her past these moments, and not permitting her to dawdle. It doesn't matter - she's already got a version of them in her brain, but she was keen to see how he reacted to the experiences she remembers of their Easter break in Cokeworth - of her propositioning him, of sharing that magazine, of him exploring her body, and her exploring his - and for the first time, she feels a peace sliding across him; no anger, no shame, no confusion - just acceptance and pleasure and happiness - and she's disappointed when the memories jolt back to Hogwarts.
She recognises this one too - after OWL exams, and by the lake. He's minding his own business when Potter and Black set on him, and again, she finds his rage and his anger oddly compelling, even though the end result of his blinding fury is that his spells are ineffectual and poorly timed.
She gasps at how his feelings surge - and at the point that she sees herself walking over, he's livid but powerless. She watches herself arguing with Potter, and then she feels it - shame, embarrassment, disgust.
"Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you," Potter says, and then she sees her own fury from Severus' perspective; sees her unleash the spell with such vitriol, it knocks Potter backwards into Black, and three birds flutter out of a nearby tree. Both boys scramble for their wands - but her actions have changed something in Severus. Hope.
"Eyes up," Lupin says, intervening quickly. "McGonagall's on her way."
Potter mutters the countercurse to release Severus, and she feels the crunch in his bones as he falls to the ground, just as Professor McGonagall rounds the corner.
"What's going on here?"
"Nothing, professor," the large group choruses, and the older witch eyes them all with deep suspicion.
"Then there's no reason to be out here," she determines, pointing back towards the castle. "All of you, inside."
Most of the students obediently file back to the castle, but Severus takes his time, still collecting himself after his dramatic fall to earth. Black and Potter eye him with dislike as he rubs his sore elbow.
"What are you looking at?" Severus hisses, when he glances up and sees them peering at him.
Potter is at his side immediately, and kicks Severus hard in the ribs, causing him to drop back to the floor. "Evans might've saved you this time, but you'll keep," mutters Potter.
"You and your smart mouth," Black adds.
"You are a student at this school, are you not, Mr Black? Then why are you standing around making light conversation, and not making your way up to the castle? And that includes you as well, Mr Potter," McGonagall snaps, turning a fraction too late to have seen the blow. "And Mr Snape, stop laying around on the floor - you've scattered papers everywhere."
She feels it again then, that surge of righteous anger.
He kneels without comment and gathers the papers that blew out of his satchel when he was violently flung upside down. He looks up, and she follows his gaze - and she can see herself walking into the castle with her friends, and then she disappears through the door.
She'd heard about this moment from the others in the common room, but she didn't really know the truth of what had happened, as Severus would never speak of it. She watches as Severus glances down the path, his eyes landing on McGonagall and then, only a few feet away from him, he sees Potter and Pettigrew whispering to each other, and then he sees Black standing back over him.
"Say what you want about Snivellus, but he knows his proper place when there's Purebloods about," Black mocks. "On his knees."
"Inside, Mr Black!" McGonagall shouts from further up the path, watching the pair from a distance. "And you, Mr Snape - back to the dungeons. I'm waiting."
But she wasn't. Pettigrew had run up to her, and was gesticulating wildly, and McGonagall's attention was drawn to the window of the Astronomy Tower - and Potter was back.
"You got lucky," Potter mutters, his wand trained on Severus. "Two damsels have saved you," he laughs. "Evans and McGonagall. Big macho man, aren't you? Saved by girls."
"Female solidarity with Sniv here," Black laughs. "Sisters in it together."
"Fuck off, Black!"
"Hit a nerve, Pads," Potter says, with a leering grin. "Let's have a look and see if you're right, shall we?"
"Fuck your mother, Potter."
She can feel the grim satisfaction as the words leave his mouth. It's fleeting, as what little pleasure he gained from his comment is almost immediately doused by Potter's actions.
Potter swings his wand, and before Severus can block the spell, all of the fastenings on his clothes slide open, and the seams split. He forlornly reaches to grab a piece of material - any material - but then Black vanishes the lot, and Severus desperately cups his manhood. His anger is incandescent, but fear and mortification and shame have him locked to the spot.
She can feel his unease that he's holding his wand in his hand, and his hands are covering his privates - it's entirely too close for comfort, and he hasn't forgotten those horror stories that were shared in the Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons in third year.
Potter and Black have moved backwards a few steps, as if disassociating themselves from being the perpetrators of the attack. Black's laughter is loud, but something in Potter's expression has changed as he takes in the scars on Severus' body. Black elbows him, and Potter belatedly joins in the laughter - although she notes that it's not as hearty as usual, but it's enough for a group of students who are entering the castle to turn back and stare, and then the laughter starts in earnest.
Severus awkwardly manoeuvres himself over to his satchel, and loops it over his shoulder, resting the largest part of the bag over his crotch.
She can feel his relief that his satchel had remained untouched, and then the sickening feeling in his stomach as he realises that he has a wide audience.
He glances down, and starts to shuffle his way towards the castle, intent on keeping his eyes focused on the path, determined not to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing how much this has bothered him - and then he makes the mistake of looking up as he reaches Potter, who can't disguise the horror in his expression at the livid scars that litter Severus' skin.
The shame rages in Severus - it burns in his chest, and he draws himself to his full height. "I don't need your pity, Potter," he spits, and then he lifts his head, and marches towards the castle, his chin in the air.
She can feel his rage getting hotter as he marches through the castle, his resentment building as his bare feet slap loudly against cool stone as he hurries into the dungeons.
Then, the scenes flash as quickly again as they had before - memories of that summer in Cokeworth, of warm ale and stolen cigarettes, and them learning even more about each other's bodies and lying on the grass by the river, and him grappling with Tobias - screaming and shouting and ripped collars and flailing limbs.
There's other mixed feelings tangled up; weird dreams and daydreams and wet dreams about Narcissa and Lucius and Death Eaters, and confusing emotions of power and anger and fear. There's something about a howling animal - Lupin, she assumes - and there's a scrambled vision about a dying dog - but he doesn't pause to let her understand it properly; she can see his bloodied hands on the animal, but she can't see if he's tending to it, or slaughtering it, and it doesn't feel like a linear memory, but an old one, or perhaps a dream.
She's semi-relieved that he's somehow pulling her past it, her Legilimency not strong enough to remain where he doesn't wish her to linger.
And then the memories jolt violently; it's not the summer holidays, it's long past autumn - long past Christmas, even. Going by his older appearance, it's past his encounter with Narcissa, and past Lily's declaration of their relationship in the Great Hall. The memory is fragmented and there's an odd quality to it. It's as if he's been drinking, that weird wobble is back at the edges, but he's a student roaming around Hogsmeade, so he can't have been inebriated - not to the extent that he was at Malfoy Manor - and then she wonders if the memory is somehow damaged by him examining it retrospectively.
"Stop," he gasps, before she can explore the scene further, and he rolls away from her on the bed. "It's Black in that, when I…"
"Sev, I don't mind-"
"You already know I slashed him up," he says, bitterly. "Black showed you his scars. Showed you what I left him with."
"Yes, but-"
"Then go past it," he mutters. "You don't need to see it."
And she's confused at his sudden censorship after everything else that he's shared. She's simultaneously disappointed and a little scared - there's an odd relief running through her; a relief that she won't have to witness Black being injured at the wand of her lover, a relief that she won't have to feel the surge of guilt inside her if she can't muster up the appropriate horror and sympathy she knows that the outside world would expect of her on witnessing such a scene - but it's unsettled by a burning curiosity in the back of her mind; of wanting to see Severus in control, of wanting to see the teenage boy that Black was so fond of emasculating and humiliating gaining the upper hand and enacting his sickening revenge.
"Go past it, love," he urges. "Trust me."
She obediently holds her wand back out again. "Legilimens."
He's in a boys' bathroom; she doesn't recognise it, but it's not difficult to determine - it's almost the same in size and shape as the ones she'd used for years - and he's twisted the taps to fill a pool sized bath.
He's elated - exhilarated; excited.
He's quick to strip off his bloodied clothes, and he shoves them into a canvas bag that she's never seen before. He paces for a moment, watching as the water reaches the right level.
And then she feels it - the panic rising in him, keeping pace with the bubbling water.
At that moment, just as it threatens to become overwhelming, he dives into the pool, parting the bubbles in a smooth entry - lean, and graceful, and serene - and then he emerges at the other end, gasping for breath and smoothing his wet hair out of his eyes. There's a thin trail of scarlet in his wake; the blood of Black contaminating the fresh water.
Time jerks slightly - now he's washed and fresh and calm, and he sits on the edge of the pool, a towel wrapped around his waist and his feet dangling in the water. He lifts his wand, drawing the canvas bag to him, and he turns it over in his hands for a minute.
Then, decision made, he throws it in the air and casts again, suspending its descent and holding it fast in mid-air. He whips his wand, and a flame shoots from the end, catching the bag on fire. It - and its incriminating contents - burns quickly, the flames climbing through the air, and he can feel the heat emanating from it. When he's convinced that there's nothing left to tie him to the attack, he lifts the suspension on the burning bag, and gravity draws the ball of fire underwater where it's immediately doused. He lifts his feet out of the large bath and pulls the plug, and watches as every trace of his deviance swirls away.
All is calm.
Then the memory jolts again, and he's in Dumbledore's office - Dumbledore, and Severus, and McGonagall - and McGonagall's pacing, holding a letter aloft. She looks pale, and drawn, and as if she hasn't slept in days.
"The aim would be to resolve this within these walls," Dumbledore says, quietly. "This has been brewing for a while, I fear."
"I too wish it were possible, but you simply cannot sweep this aside, Dumbledore."
"I have spoken to Mr Black, and he is of the opinion that this was merely the latest regretful incident in a war between the houses. He has suggested that if Slytherin and Gryffindor were separated more thoroughly-"
McGonagall sighs. "Black might say as much, but Potter is the real problem. The account he gave to his parents was…" She glances over at Severus, who is fixedly staring at the floor, his slender fingers spinning his wand over in his hands.
"You can't expel me," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I am very sorry, Mr Snape," she says, in her clipped accent, "but something must be seen to be done. Potter's parents - they intend to pursue it through the Ministry at the highest level, they-"
"No," he interrupts, his voice a little louder. "You misunderstand. You can't expel me."
At this, Dumbledore sits straighter, and he and McGonagall exchange a look.
"I will tell Lucius Malfoy," Severus continues, "how Black lured me to my death. What would've been my death if Potter hadn't got cold feet." He looks up then, glaring fiercely at Dumbledore. "Either Black should've gone then," he argues, "or this is just tit-for-tat. My life one week, his life the next - the latest disagreement in a silly schoolyard battle. ...that's what you said it was back then, wasn't it?"
"Severus, we've discussed this. You agreed that you would not speak about what happened in the Shrieking Shack-"
"I said I wouldn't tell anyone." And then he stands. "But I should inform you that I have already sent Lucius a letter. ...I realise that Potter's parents have influence in the Ministry, but so does Lucius Malfoy." He swallows hard. "You fought me for my silence. Now you should fight Black for his."
The memory jolts again. Lucius is stalking around Severus' private room at Hogwarts - the room she so often shared with him - but it's evident that despite Severus' threat to Dumbledore, Lucius knows nothing of Black's preferred method of murder; he's entirely focused on discussing Severus' reintegration back into Slytherin House.
"You have been making waves," he says, smoothly. He pats the bed. "Setting up home with a Mudblood-"
"Malf-"
"Shhhh," he says, looking annoyed at the interruption. "And now slicing up a Pureblood in Hogsmeade. What are you thinking?"
And then she can feel it - the brush of Legilimency.
There's a pause, and then Lucius nods. "I'm going to reinstate your funds at Discreet Knights-"
"Malf-"
"-and you're going to find Avery," he continues loudly, "and make it up with him. Tell him whatever you want about this thing you have going - tell him she's not enough, tell him she's a crap shag, tell him you just wanted to spite Potter - tell him anything. But you ingratiate yourself back in with your house."
"And what do I tell Lily?"
Lucius looks nonplussed. "That is not my concern."
"This all started because of that night at yours," he spits, bitterly. "They saw!"
"Avery?"
"Mulciber! Rosier! And they spread it around half the school - told everyone I sucked you off, or that I take it up the arse, and people said I was gay, or that I'm a girl and then Black-"
"Enough." Lucius' voice is quelling, and he brushes non-existent lint from his front, and straightens his outer robe. "I am pleased you brought this to my attention. I have enough time this evening to pay a visit to my old friends."
Then he peers at Severus. "And that's what this is, is it? This is a demonstration of your sincere heterosexuality, blood be damned? Has your Muggle breeding affected you so strongly, that you are unaware that is worse to lie with those with dirty blood as opposed to those of the same sex? Your name is to be sullied as your mother was before you? Is it in your genes, Severus - sleeping with Muggles, cavorting with those without magic?"
"She has magic! Malf, she's so powerful, I can feel it. You just have to meet her, she's-"
"I don't want to hear your half-baked excuses." He sneers at him. "It's worse than that, isn't it? You actually believe what you're saying, don't you? That she's worthy of being in our world?"
Severus doesn't answer - challenging Lucius once was enough.
She can feel the confusion and shame and defiance building in him.
"Your housemates are stupid. They are jealous, can't you see that? They are sexually frustrated teenage boys," Lucius hisses, "and you are even more stupid than they are. They would sell their grandmother to have your place at my side and here you are, paying attention to their childish envy and ruining your future in the process."
He waves his arm, indicating to the room, but clearly referring to Severus' relationship with Lily. "This is incredibly reckless, and what for? All for the sake of shouting to the world - a world that does not care! - that you're not sexually deviant." Lucius looks furious. "You are drawing attention from all of the wrong quarters, and you are making all of the wrong choices! There are consequences to these actions, doors which are being closed-"
"I can make my own way!"
"You cannot!" Lucius argues. "The world doesn't work in the manner which you may hope." Then his voice softens. "Severus...my innocent boy." He places his cane against Severus' cheek, and it's cool to the touch. "Tell me, are you still brewing?"
"Yes."
"Still top of the class?"
"Yes."
"An apprenticeship," he says. "That's your goal, now."
"But I thought you wished for me to take-"
Lucius shakes his head. "No longer. You have earned the distrust of your comrades." He gently rakes his cane across Severus' cheek. "But who needs those imbeciles when you've got me instead?" He snaps his cane away. "Get the grades, get an apprenticeship, and I'll set you up with whatever you need. Somewhere to live, startup capital-"
"Startup capital? If I'm an apprentice…" As he speaks, it dawns on him. "What do you want from me in return?"
Lucius smirks then. "Clever boy." And then he beams. "I have a vacancy for a talented brewer. ...you've heard about Nott's sister, haven't you? Terrible terrible tragedy."
"He manipulated you," she says, her voice low.
"Malf's good to me."
"He isn't, Sev!"
He looks annoyed now. "I knew you wouldn't understand. We'd be destitute if it wasn't for him - he got the flat, he got us in here, he-"
"-and whatever he gives to us, he holds it over you," she says. "I know you know this. You've said as much to me before."
They sit in silence - she wants to say it's a minute, or five, or ten - but it's longer. Or it feels it. Finally, he looks at her, his eyes dark.
"...he gets me though, Lil. He gets me. The real me."
"And I don't?"
"I've never shown you the real me." The words are out before he can think about the consequences - but she doesn't recoil, and he can feel a pulse of excited magic emanating from her, which sends a dark thrill rippling inside him.
"Then show me."
"...you want me to show you who I really am? You want to watch when I sliced up Black? When I created the spell to gut him like a fish?"
"Stop it."
He's defensive now, his eyes flashing. "Stop what? You asked, and that's what I'm saying to you, Lil, that's what I am!"
"Who says that's the real you?" There's a fizz of anger in her chest. She's never experienced anything like it before; it's not as sharp as the anger in Severus' memories, but it's alive and growing and she can feel it bubbling in her. "After what he did to you by the lake, after how he spoke to you in the library, I'm tempted to gut him myself. He deserved it."
Severus doesn't move, but something flashes in his eyes. "Yeah? You think?"
"Yes."
He snaps his head away from her. "I'm influencing you. The darkness, the sickness inside me - I'm making you just like me," he says, miserably. "Sick and twisted and dark."
"You're not sick and twisted and dark." She lies next to him, sliding her hand into his, and stroking his fingers. "You're the same boy I made love to last night."
He gives a half-gasp, as if he's in pain. "I don't mean to be evil," he blurts out. "He… I didn't… I couldn't help myself…"
"I know you're not evil."
He's utterly silent, and then he rolls over her, positioning her wand back at his head. "Look," he commands.
"I don't need to see. I understand-"
"You do," he says. "You can only understand me properly if you see it." He takes a deep breath. "I only stopped you before because I had to retrieve it properly. It's why it seemed fuzzy."
"You use Occlumency to bury it?"
He nods. "I bury a lot of things, but this… This is one of the deepest. ...I'm ready now."
She was curious a minute ago, but now she's scared again; scared that he isn't all talk, scared that this isn't machismo, scared of what can be in the memory if he forces it so deep within him.
"Sev, if you keep it hidden, I don't want you to unearth it and cause-"
"Go on, witch," he urges. "You want to see. I want you to see. Do it, do it now."
"Legilimens!"
This time, there's no wobble to the memory; it's as clear as his others, and it's obvious he's not under the influence of alcohol. She wonders, at first, if it's accidental that he's walking into the same shops as Black, and strolling the same pathways and pavements - but then she notices the way he presses himself to the walls, and shrouds himself in shadows.
She watches breathlessly as he stalks Black around Hogsmeade - his footsteps are light, and Black is none-the-wiser; he shares a laugh with Potter and Pettigrew, and he and Lupin indulge in some light shoving outside Honeydukes - something and nothing over their place in the queue, and who is buying for who - and then Black's whistling at some girls, and then he's racing up towards the Shack.
Something burns. She can feel it, it's a monstrous desire that's building in Severus, and she feels him tossing caution aside.
Severus sneaks across the main street, checking that Potter's still in Scrivenshaft's, and Pettigrew's with Lupin outside Honeydukes, and then he breaks into a sprint, chasing Black as hard as he can. He can run, Severus. He's thin, like a greyhound - his da would say like a whippet, but whippets are fast too - and his stride is long. He chases Black up the dirt path with ease.
Get him get him get him get him get him.
It's unnerving, the chase - the desire in her boyfriend is building, burning, growing, and the dark inside him is yelling, as if it's hanging off Severus' arm - as if it wants to whoop and cheer and scream with delight as he charges after his quarry.
And then Black slows, and Severus doesn't, and then he's on him. Black's tough, but the monster in Severus is angry, and his wand is high, and he screams - he screams with the fury of a man who's been bullied and taunted and maligned for years.
"SECTUMSEMPRA!"
"What the-" Black yells, and instinctively throws his hand up to his shoulder to shield his body from the slicing action of Severus' wand, but the cuts come fast - slicing him, dicing him, and his shirt shreds, and his blood spills onto the dirt path below, and the monster inside Severus is elated.
Get him get him get him cut him cut him cut him do him do him do him.
It's intoxicating, the mantra repeats over and over in his brain, and blood is thundering in his ears, and Black is screaming and yelling, and both of Severus' knees sink into Black's chest, pinning him to the dirt.
"ON MY KNEES," he screams, spittle flying from his mouth. "That's what you wanted to see, isn't it?" and then he lifts and drops his right knee heavily onto Black's chest, winding him, and then his wand slices again.
Severus is lost to the darkness now, utterly lost. She can feel it.
Finish it finish it finish it.
The call has changed, and the blood that's spilled on the ground, the staining on his shirt, the gouges in Black's arms - it's all feeding the monster that lives inside Severus, and the monster can feel that satisfaction is near, if it can just pull its host over the line.
FINISH IT FINISH IT FINISH IT.
And he obeys the monster's call, his wand poised above Black, and with the terrified boy pinned below him, he traces a line with his wand, up and across his shoulder, and then slides towards his neck. Blood is pouring from the newly created gash, seeping across Black's pale skin and staining the dirt track below.
Severus' eyes almost shutter closed in ecstasy, the glee almost overwhelming him - he's in control, and he holds a life in his hands, nudging it along the tightrope of death, and one stumble... He - Severus Snape - is finally someone. Someone to be admired. Someone to be feared. Judge, jury and executioner. He's a god. And he's hard with the thrill of it all, and he briefly wonders if Black can see his excitement, wonders if-
"Don't, Snape, don't!" Black begs, his eyes wide, and real terror in his eyes.
He's hurting, and the voice is laughing loudly in Severus' head.
Good.
But there's something else now, something whispering in his ear.
They'll expel you. You'll go to Azkaban.
It's not enough to make him hesitate, his wand continues on its slow trail, tearing into the delicate skin, and then he hears his solemn words to his mother so long ago.
I can never ever do it again. I promise.
And then he halts, his wand burning at the base of Black's neck, and Black is whimpering - but Black's fear is just background noise to the screaming of the darkness in Severus' head.
Now now now now now don't stop don't stop don't stop don't stop don't stop yes yes yes yes yes.
"Expelliarmus!"
And then Severus' wand flies through the air, spinning over and over, and skittering across the ground. The monster in him howls in anguish.
It's over.
Now disarmed, Severus lifts himself up slowly, his hands raised in surrender, and he smirks at Potter who has his own wand outstretched and pointed right at Severus.
"He's all yours," Severus says, cautiously making his way over to his wand, and stooping to pick it up, his eyes not leaving Potter.
"I should kill you."
"Do it. I hear Azkaban's nice this time of year."
"You should be glad, because there's a cell with your name on it after this," Potter warns, his wand still focused on Severus.
"Prongs, please."
And then Potter's attention is drawn back to his best friend. Black is still bleeding heavily, a bright red halo surrounding his shoulders, and Potter crouches next to him, trying to stem the flow from the wounds.
Severus - his own wand now outstretched, and trained on Potter as he retreats from the scene - takes the opportunity to race back down the hill and towards Hogsmeade. His mind should be full of thoughts about Hogwarts, and Slughorn, and Dumbledore, and the aurors, and detention, and expulsion, and what the Black parents - no, not the Blacks, he's living with the Potters now - what the Potter parents will say and do, but it's not - the darkness is back on his shoulder and it's howling with glee.
Nearly nearly nearly nearly nearly next time next time next time next time next time you can do it you can do it you can do it you can do it you can do it.
He knows he should feel terrible. He knows he should feel guilty. He knows he should feel remorseful.
But he doesn't.
There's blood running down his fingers - Black's spilled blood - and he doesn't care at all.
He sits back from her, and he's panting heavily - as if he's just run the path back to Hogsmeade, as if it wasn't just a memory. She stares at him, her wand held loose in her hands, and he tilts his head, his eyes narrowing.
"I'm sorry." And he is. Not for Black, and not for Potter, and not for anything near to the right reasons. He's not sorry that he created the spell, and not sorry he enjoyed slicing a man to shreds, not sorry that he showed Black the door of death and almost shoved him through it, but he's sorry that she's going to pack her bags and leave him, and that his decision to be honest - brutally honest - is going to push her away. "I'm not like you," he rasps, and his heart won't slow - the memory of the blood and the fear and the revenge is coursing through him.
"But that's exactly why I'm drawn to you," she says, and then she reaches for him.
The scream of darkness is back - it's been dormant for so long, and it's gleeful, and it's cheering him on, and he can't help himself. He springs forward, and grabs her, rolling her over on the mattress - and then he roughly pins her under him.
"I'm dangerous," he hisses in her ear. "You don't understand. I keep this side of me locked away."
"Let him out," she whispers. "Bring him out to play with me."
The words are wicked - they're everything he's ever dreamt of; acceptance, and understanding, and the sick leer on his face grows wider. "I'm going to make you beg," he promises in a low murmur, his voice rough and gravelly in her ear. "I'm going to make your body sing, and your pretty mouth scream, and I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll never forget that you're mine."
She wriggles her hand free from his punishing grip, and grabs his head, roughly turning it so she can tangle her tongue against his - it's furious and messy and without finesse - and as he's grinding himself against her, she twists her face away and bites the pulse point in his neck, and sucks as hard as she can, causing him to straighten and hiss with pleasure.
"I'm yours," she agrees, "but you, Severus Snape, you are mine." Her voice is triumphant and exuberant as he slides himself inside her, his hips snapping hard against her as he fucks her as fast and as powerfully as he can. "You're not Malfoy's boy, or Narcissa's next conquest," she pants, breathlessly, trying to keep rhythm with his frantic pace. "You're all mine, Severus."
His heart is screaming with acceptance as he spirals towards completion.
She understands, she wants you, she wants this, she wants you, she's not afraid, she wants you.
"Mine," he roars, and then his arms wobble, and he collapses to the side of her. He reaches across, pulling her face towards his, and dips to capture her lips. "I love you," he whispers, his breathing unsteady, and his heart banging, and then he kisses her again. "I thought…" And then he stops - the darkness is looming again, screaming in his brain.
Don't fuck this up, she wants the dark, don't fuck this up, she wants your darkness, don't fuck this up, take her, dominate her, make her yours.
"You thought what?"
"Get up," he says, firmly. "Get on top."
She gives him a cautious look, glancing at his spent cock, but dutifully slings her leg over his torso.
"Not there," he chuckles darkly, "up here." And then he leans down and drags her roughly up his body, bringing her to his face, causing her to squeal with surprise.
She steadies herself against the headboard as he tugs her firmly into position, and she squirms uneasily. "Sev, I need to wash, you've just-"
"Hush," he says, darkly, running his fingers along her swollen sex. "I warned you - I intend to make your body sing. Only make a noise when you're close and-"
She pushes her hand through his hair and scrapes her nails across his scalp as he speaks. "Ohh," she moans, immediately disobeying his command when he smoothly slides two fingers inside her.
"-don't you dare come without asking my permission first." And then he roughly pushes her legs further apart and buries his mouth between them.
Chapter 42: Profitable potion
Chapter Text
She knew that jealousy and envy were powerful emotions. Moody had been accurate when he had described her lover as covetous and selfish, but Severus was curiously particular - he was covetous and selfish, but only really when it came to her. She realised over the years that he desired very little - but the few things that he wanted, he yearned for with an almost unhealthy desperation, in an almost lustful manner.
Yet, his desire for her aside, it wasn't entirely obvious to others. He wasn't routinely jealous or envious, and he didn't sit around stewing about how Lucius Malfoy or Regulus Black or Evan Rosier were richer, or more handsome, or had better social connections. Instead, Severus seemingly revelled in standing in the wake of those who had the power he sought to achieve, as if by tagging along behind, he might be lifted into the slipstream of their success.
No, in Lily's life, envy and jealousy were the domain of Petunia Dursley. Envy and jealousy had forged a deep separation between the two sisters, their tight childhood bond ripped into a gaping schism as teenagers, worsened now as adults, with Petunia embracing her role as a social climber, desperate to outflank her perfect sister in society. Whenever Lily visited Petunia and Vernon's precisely maintained house in leafy suburbia, an almost carbon copy - albeit with a larger lawn, a conservatory, and an extension over the garage - of the house they'd grown up in with their parents, she was always struck by Petunia's expression.
Although Petunia's pride in her achievements was clear, she never appeared to be satisfied. When she walked Lily through the seemingly never ending tour of each freshly decorated bedroom and bathroom, and when she pointed out each tree and bush and plant and flower in both the front garden and the back, she didn't appear to be showing Lily her home out of happiness - she didn't appear to be requesting that Lily share in her joy. Instead, it was as if she was begging for Lily's judgement - as if she were in a courtroom, doling out her evidence of a life well-lived, of achievements hard fought for.
"Look at me, Lily!" she seemed to be screaming, craving her younger sister's acknowledgement that she, Petunia - the distinctly unmagical child, the girl who was not special - she was the sister who had scaled great heights. She was the child that their parents could be proud of. She had followed in their footsteps, and had followed all of the rules, and had been justly rewarded with a perfect life in a perfect neighbourhood.
But it didn't appear to be enough, because these things were not a just reward in of themselves - Petunia seemed to need Lily to nod sadly and sigh and admit that whilst Petunia had made a success of her life, she had failed. She, Lily Evans, the bright eyed, vivacious, intelligent, talented, attractive and charming girl had floundered. She, Lily Evans, had run off to some dingy poky flat with her ugly dirty boyfriend, never speaking of a job or a social life, and having no achievements to display.
So each time Lily visited and had Petunia's apparent success pushed in her face, each time she saw the smirk on Vernon's lips when he enquired after Severus' career path, each time she saw the twee ornaments on display and the lace doileys on the dining table, she could feel her annoyance growing stronger - but she still wasn't jealous. Or envious. Lily could tell that her lack of emotion drove Petunia to distraction, and that next time, the stakes would be higher - the evening meal would be lit by candelabra, the food would be sourced from a luxury shop, and the wine would be of rare stock, impossible for most people to have opportunity to purchase, never mind afford.
Sadly, Petunia seemed unable to comprehend that this wouldn't be enough. Even these actions would not cause the response from her sister that she so desperately craved, because despite their shared genetics, Lily Evans wasn't like Petunia Dursley. Whilst Lily had had moments of doubt and of concern, moments of worry that the magical world was isolating her and that she should've stuck to the Muggle world, or that she'd attached herself to Severus without either of them considering how such a relationship would be received amongst their peers and whether it was the right thing for either of them going forwards in life, Lily Evans had never felt envy or jealousy of the type that Petunia wished for her to display. Lily Evans had always been fortunate, and had always been competent and clever, had always been well-liked and highly-regarded. Lily Evans had charmed parents and teachers and friends - and she'd always been content in herself to feel genuine joy for others when their lives were brushed with happiness or success.
It had been Severus who'd pointed it out to her, all those years ago.
"She's jealous, int she," he'd said, in the days when he could barely reach into the overhead kitchen cupboards, and his voice was an octave or two higher.
"Sev, don't be mean."
"I ain't bein' mean," he'd said, huffily. "Just tellin' the truth. Yer can do summat that she can't, and she don't like it." His eyes had narrowed then. "How would yer feel if she could do it and yer couldn't?"
"I suppose I'd be sad that I couldn't do it too, but… I'd be happy for her."
"Bingo." He'd smiled broadly, showing his crooked teeth. "Whereas if yer gave Tuney a wish, she'd take yer magic off yer - not grant it for herself."
"Sev-"
"It's true. Coz it's still unknown, so she can't compete wi' yer. She might 'ave magic, but she might be bad at it. So it's safer to bring yer back to her level."
It was a year or so later when she'd asked him outright.
"Do you remember?"
"Remember what?"
"When you said Petunia was jealous?"
He'd nodded, a small frown creeping across his brow, as if he was fearful of what the next question would be. "Yeah."
"I've never been jealous."
"I know."
It was her turn to look surprised. "You know? How do you know?"
"You ain't got nowt to be jealous about." And then he'd grinned.
"But… My life isn't perfect…"
"It ain't about bein' perfect."
They fell silent for a moment, and then she'd tentatively brushed his greasy hair behind one of his ears, enabling her to see him clearly. "Do you get jealous, Sev?"
"Me? Nah."
"Never? Not even of someone like Sirius Black?"
"Definitely not," he'd said, his voice sharper. "There's things I want, y'see," he'd elaborated, when she looked as if she didn't understand, "but I'm gonna get them eventually. So ain't no need to feel jealous of someone else."
"But if they're happy..."
He planted his hand over his heart. "Ain't got to be happy to be content in 'ere." And then his hand had moved quickly to her sternum, taking her by surprise, and she'd glanced anxiously towards her house, hoping her mother and father - or worse, Petunia herself - hadn't spotted her friend touching her chest, innocently or not. He didn't seem to notice. "Yer content in 'ere," he'd said, a little gruffly. "Just like me."
He did this, sometimes - this show of self-assurance, and it had always confused her. He was oddly impressive, even when they were kids, even with his mismatched clothes and his unkempt appearance.
She remembered going around to his one year, in the quiet days between Christmas and New Year, and their house was as unrelentingly miserable as it was the other fifty weeks of the year. She could tell that there'd been an argument and some sort of a fight - that much was clear by the ripped paper streamers, and the skewed picture hanging on the wall with a newly splintered frame, and the upturned Christmas tree that lay in the yard with smashed baubles still clinging limply to the branches.
She'd stood in breathless silence in the front room, neither Tobias or Eileen acknowledging her or doing anything to alleviate the awkwardness that she felt. The tick of the clock was almost deafening, only interrupted by a loud swish of the newspaper as Tobias angrily flicked over another page, or the gentle huff of Eileen exhaling yet another stream of blue-tinged smoke.
When he'd finally clattered down the stairs, Severus had been as cheerful as ever, as if he hadn't noticed the atmosphere in the house, and he'd excitedly shared a Fry's Five Centres chocolate bar with her as they'd walked down the slippery cobbled streets, looking thrilled as she listed the copious presents she'd received a day or so earlier. She'd only paused for breath when their feet crunched across the frozen grass as they crossed over the deserted park.
"And what did you get?"
"Chocolate," he'd said, fingering the empty wrapper that was in his pocket, and she'd had a sudden horrible feeling that the bar he'd shared with her had not been one of many. "This and that, y'know." As if hit by inspiration, he'd hoisted his trouser leg, showing her his sock. "New socks. D'yer like 'em?"
She'd never been envious, but she was embarrassed then - embarrassed that her life was so different to his - and confused that he didn't react in the same way that Petunia did; that if Petunia was jealous of her magic, then surely Severus would be jealous of her life - of her parents, and her house, and her Christmas presents.
If he noticed a change in her demeanour, he didn't say anything - he just leapt onto a swing, and leant back, thrusting his legs through the cold winter air, pushing harder and harder until his momentum built and he climbed higher and higher. His hair streamed out behind him, his cheeks pink from the chill, and his hands gripping the chains were bright white - and then, at the height of the movement, he flung himself into the sky, his arms pinned behind him as if he was emulating a jumper on Ski Sunday, a roar of pure joy and exhilaration accompanying his leap.
And then she'd realised; Severus didn't need to be jealous - he just saw what he wanted, and worked to get it himself. He'd seen her attempting to fly a few years before, and he'd copied her diligently until he could do it too. It was a good method, she'd thought, and adopted it herself - so even when the Ministry laws were handed down, even when her career dissolved and his continued, even when she couldn't function as a full being in the magical world, she remembered how he'd behaved - don't be jealous of what others have got, but strive to achieve it for yourself instead.
Which was why it was so odd when she'd added the willingly given strand of his hair to his carefully brewed potion, and had swallowed it in one - because until that moment, she'd never thought of being Severus. She'd never thought of what it would be like to stand in his frame, to walk in his shoes, to speak with his voice. She'd never wanted to be anyone else, and now, she found herself stood in their chambers, her visage no longer that of Lily Evans, but of pure Severus Snape.
He doesn't like it - she knows that much. He didn't say anything, but he'd swallowed hard when she first transformed, and didn't say much else for the rest of the night. She thought that as the days went on, he'd become used to it, but if anything his scowl deepened, and seeing his dismay upon being confronted with himself, she took care to try and ensure that she smuggled herself back into their rooms with his cloak covering her transformed face, and only emerging from the bedroom to speak with him once she was back to her usual appearance.
But as much as Severus didn't like seeing her in his skin, she could see the benefits - he was taller, which made selecting ingredients from the store cupboards far easier and allowed her to see over students in the corridors, and he was stronger, so she could add more pressure when slicing ingredients, ensuring that her cuts were smooth and accurate. She'd complimented him before on his dexterous fingers, and they were useful in the lab too - although his hair was increasingly annoying, constantly falling in front of her - his - face, and utterly impossible to do anything with. Being Severus was fun, really - although she had to take care to sour her expression, and not to be too enthusiastic when she ran into Professor Flitwick or Professor McGonagall or even Professor Dumbledore.
Thankfully, Professor Dumbledore's appearances in the dungeons were few and far between, although Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn shared far more of an acquaintance than she'd anticipated. It was unfortunate, for although she'd become rather attached to Professor Flitwick during her NEWT studies, she held a deep seated admiration for Professor McGonagall - something she'd always assumed had been reciprocated - which made it far harder when Professor McGonagall was curt or dismissive towards her. Or, rather, towards Severus.
Her head snaps up from over the bubbling cauldron when she hears Slughorn's heavy footsteps in the corridor.
"He is doing rather well, I must say." Slughorn's voice is loud and his enunciation excessive, sounding rather more as he does in the classroom than the tone he would ordinarily use around friends and contemporaries. She quickly guesses that he's doing it on purpose, and then she hears confirmation - Jigger's booming voice filling the corridor.
"No explosions from the boy?"
Remembering Severus' stern words about Jigger's desire for cleanliness, she quickly tidies her bench, rubbing the workspace down with a cloth.
"None at all," Slughorn replies, his voice even louder.
"Typical. He spends months destroying my equipment, and after a few weeks with you, he seems to find his competency-"
"Ah now, I'm sure-"
"-what did you do to cause such a change in his behaviour? Beat him soundly?"
"Arsenius!"
"You can - it's in his contract. He was foolish enough to sign it."
To his credit, Slughorn genuinely sounds scandalised. "Don't tell me that you-"
"Fret not, Horace, that's more Libatius' style than mine." There's a pause. "Although I must admit to being sorely tempted at times. Do you know how many dragon eyes the boy tore through in a month?"
It's a shock of information - the idea that apprentices can be treated in such a way and that even if Jigger hadn't raised his arm to Severus, Borage may have done - but before she can fully process it, the door bangs open and she finds Severus' mentor peering at her.
"This," he says, briskly, pointing to the cauldron. "What's next, boy?"
"Shredded foxgloves," she says, wincing as she hears Severus' voice crack, making him sound like he's a third year Hogwarts student once more. Jigger waits and then frowns, and her eyes widen, realising her mistake. "Sir."
At this, Jigger gives a thin, nasty smile and glances at Slughorn. "I thought you'd forgotten your place for a moment there, boy."
"No, sir, sorry, sir. You took me by surprise, sir."
Jigger sniffs. "By surprise? You might be studying under Professor Slughorn, but I thought you were clear on this - you are still my apprentice, and you shall conduct yourself in the presence of other Masters with the decorum that I have always demanded of you."
"Yes, sir."
He peers at the cauldron, and then appraises her - and she almost wilts under his fierce gaze. She can't work out if he's sensed something amiss, or whether he always behaves like this, and then as she reaches to stir the cauldron, she spots a tiny mole on the inside of her wrist. She almost ignores it, as she's so used to the sight, but then alarm builds inside her: the mole is not Severus', but her own.
"Professor Slughorn," she starts, her eyes darting towards the storeroom where the vials of Polyjuice are hidden - her meaning clear.
"Master Slughorn, boy," Jigger interrupts, his exasperation clear. "As your schoolteacher, he was your professor, as your-"
"Severus, go and get a glass of water. Now!"
At Slughorn's barked command, she darts towards the storeroom where the vials of Polyjuice are secreted, and she can hear Jigger's argument with Slughorn raging behind her.
"You are far too soft with him, Horace! You will make him weak, sloppy, a-"
"Nonsense, Arsenius - the boy looked as if he was about to pass out. A glass of water when required has never ruined an apprenticeship."
She drops one of Severus' gifted hairs into one of the prepared potions and gulps it down. As she puts her hand on the handle to return, she pauses - remembering Severus' words about listening in when the opportunity arises.
"Tsk! And now you're putting the foxgloves in for him-"
"-there is no point in wasting a potion because-"
"-it isn't a waste, it's a learning process. He needs to be aware of his surroundings. He needs to be aware that it is his sloppiness that's caused this failure, and that he can't simply stop brewing because-"
"-the boy is sick, Arsenius!"
"Sick? Well, that's a new name for it, I must say."
"A name for what?"
"Oh come, Horace," Jigger tuts, "you and I both know that the boy is a drunkard."
There is a deathly silence. Even the air seems still, and her heart - his heart - is banging.
"Arsenius…"
"Don't tell me you haven't noticed, hmm? That tremor in his hands? His bloodshot eyes?" His voice drops even lower. "The overpowering stench of firewhisky in the lab when his freshening charm wears down over the course of the morning?"
The silence can only have been for a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity, as Slughorn fumbles to find an answer. Of course, he doesn't have an answer, for he's not been tutoring Severus Snape - he's been tutoring the always delightful, and ever-so-sober Lily Evans.
"Ridiculous," Jigger says, abruptly. "I thought…"
"Arsenius-"
"I thought sending him to you… But if you haven't noticed, then it has rather answered my question."
"Which is?"
There's another long pause. "He brews. When he thinks I'm not looking."
"Brews what?" Slughorn's voice is tinged with impatience - but also somewhat cautious. She knows that Slughorn is aware that Severus brews for Lucius Malfoy, and that anything seemingly damning could be straight for sale rather than consumption by its creator.
"Some sort of antidote. He's been working on it for a while. Evidently it's working." There's a pause, and then a clap of hands and a chuckle. "Come now, Horace, there is no need to look so uncomfortable. I am not complaining about his little side brews - we both know that he is not the only brewer in the country in the employment of a Malfoy-"
"Speaking of Abraxas-"
"No, Horace," Jigger says, his voice stern, "I am not so green to as fall for that. We are discussing the boy." There's another pause. "He's brewing something to counter the effects of inebriation."
"I will speak with him."
"Then I shall wish you luck, for my words on the subject fell upon deaf ears. We both know that brewers have tried and failed-"
Slughorn's tone is jovial, but sounds forced. "You sounded as if you believed the boy had been successful, but now-"
"Does it matter if he has?" In contrast, Jigger sounds less than amused. "He's either dabbling in brews that he should not be touching - brews that would send the sanest of men to the asylum, brews that may blind, brews that can dissolve your organs-"
"Arsenius, really-"
"-really, Horace! Else, he's been successful. Successful enough to fool you, at the very least. And he'll be filthy rich."
Slughorn chuckles. "And now you're talking our language, Arsenius. As his Master, of course, you'd be in for a healthy cut-"
To her surprise, Jigger makes a disparaging noise. "He'll be dead before he's patented it."
"...I am aware that you do not agree with the Malfoy style of business, but-"
"I am not fearful of Abraxas or his loathsome son muscling in on my territory," Jigger spits. "If the boy has been successful, then he is not experimenting-"
"-which is your complaint-"
"-no, my complaint, Horace," Jigger says, sounding out Slughorn's name as if he was a recalcitrant child, "is that the boy is brewing whatever this potion is with regularity. To my knowledge, it has not appeared on the market."
Slughorn's voice is now oddly soft. "No, nor to mine."
"And such a profitable potion-"
"-would not be sat upon by Lucius Malfoy."
Jigger gave a triumphant noise. "Indeed. And if you have not noticed the signs of inebriation that were becoming young Snape's trademark, then there is only one possible conclusion: he's drinking to excess, and hiding it by consuming vast quantities of whatever it is he's created."
Slughorn tuts. "There are two conclusions."
Jigger pauses for a moment, considering Slughorn's words. "...you think he's stopped drinking?"
"He's back here, at Hogwarts," Slughorn says. "I do believe the boy regarded it as a home-from-home, as some might say. There's an element of protection here. He has no concerns about paying rent, or other bills-"
"His girlfriend left him. Hardly the circumstances to cease drinking."
"He left her, by all accounts," Slughorn corrects. "I suspect there was some pressure upon him from his acquaintances."
"Lucius Malfoy."
"Perhaps." Slughorn sighs. "Severus is of mixed stock himself, as you are well aware. I fear that the pressure of his relationship, the pressure of his friends, the pressure of expectations from his parents... It's a lot for a young man to cope with."
"Lucius Malfoy I can understand, but you're suggesting that his parents wanted his relationship to fail?"
Slughorn gave a small noise of dissent. "On the contrary, I believe they wanted it to succeed. It is proof, is it not, that his mother made the right choice all those years ago when she rejected our world outright?"
"Yet he and his girlfriend did not make the same easy decision?" Jigger makes a disparaging noise. "Especially in this climate. They could've set up outside of our world, had-"
"Ah. I believe he was in some sort of trouble."
At this, Jigger sounds intrigued. "With the Muggles? With-"
Lily pushes the door open, stepping back into the room, her arms filled with ingredients - not granting Slughorn any opportunity to spill more of Severus' secrets. "I apologise, Master. I apologise, sir."
"Now, Severus-"
"I thought your Master sent you for water, not for-"
But before either wizard can continue, Lily quickly collects the items on her workstation, and banishes them to the sink.
"Boy?" Jigger is watching her curiously, his eyebrows raised as she discards the almost perfect potion, and lays fresh ingredients out before her.
"I left the potion for too long at a vital stage of the brew, sir," she says, trying to keep her tone steady. "I appreciate Master Slughorn's efforts to assist, but my brewing is my responsibility and-"
"Put your hands out. In front of you. Like this," Jigger barks, holding his own aloft. She copies him, her hands - Severus' hands - completely still and steady. Jigger nods, firmly, and then steps closer, staring deep into her eyes. She wonders if he can use Legilimency, but she doesn't feel any brush of contact, so she decides against attempting the basic Occlumency techniques she'd read in Severus' books, lest she provoke the older wizard's curiosity. He nods then, and steps away. "I'll bid you good day, Horace."
"Always a pleasure, Arsenius."
"And as for you, boy..."
"Sir?"
"Behave yourself for Master Slughorn here." He points his wand at the clean cauldron. "This… Make no mistake, boy, I am not impressed with your ill-health." He pauses, and she's sure it's a taunt - it takes all of her effort not to argue back, not to interrupt, and he looks as if he knows it - and appears vaguely amused when she doesn't rise to his bait and speak. "...but I am impressed," he finally continues, "with your acknowledgement of your mistake, and your efforts to rectify the situation. Do see it continues, boy."
"Yes, sir."
"I feel I should inform you that no matter what Master Slughorn arranges on your behalf, I will not release you to Master Belby unless I am satisfied with your brewing and your behaviour."
"Yes, sir."
"On which note, I am sorry to hear of your relationship breaking down, boy."
"I am not, sir," she quickly counters, her voice waspish.
He raises an eyebrow. "And this of the boy who begged me on bended knee for not just one but two anniversaries to be granted as paid holiday. My, how fickle young love is." Her heart skips at the information, and then Jigger gently tilts his hand, in a symbolic gesture of a drink. "Despite your earlier mishap, I hope your improved appearance today is testament to you ceasing this."
"I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean, sir."
He gives a soft laugh. "And with your actions today, I thought we had made progress with your honesty. Perhaps next time, boy. Think on it."
Chapter 43: For your pleasure
Chapter Text
She stays to complete the potion, but Slughorn doesn't return - doesn't give her opportunity to comment on Jigger's accusations. As the minutes pass by, she realises this is by design - she'd always liked Slughorn, but there had always been an element of cowardice to his character. She continues to brew, Jigger's commentary on Severus rolling over and over in her head as she follows each step. She's seen Severus drinking - seen him drinking to excess, even - but she'd never thought it was something quite so bothersome, not imagined his drinking was something his employer would notice.
But then, if he's taking a potion to minimise the effects, how would you know? And when you gave him that antidote, he talked about trying to brew a hangover cure - he said he'd make a fortune, she remembers.
She's relieved when the potion finally shimmers and can be decanted, giving her something else to focus on other than the words echoing in her head. She makes quick work of tidying up after herself and heads up to Slughorn's study. As she rather expected, he's nowhere to be seen, so she leaves the potion for him to inspect, and heads back to the rooms she shares with Severus, taking care to pull on his thick outer cloak and raise the hood as she enters.
"How long?" he asks, not looking up from the desk when she enters. His head is bowed, his dark hair skirting the edge of the page he's writing on, and she's semi-gratified that his hair is as troublesome to him as it is to her. She can see that there's two or three open books intermingled with parchment and ink before him. She doesn't intend to, but she can't help but glance at the bottle of expensive firewhisky on the bookcase - a housewarming gift from Lucius; his manners were impeccable, of course - and she lets out a sigh of relief when she sees that it's still sealed, and there's no sign of a crystal glass on the desk. Despite having ample opportunity whilst she has spent the day working with Slughorn, it's evident that Severus is sober and hasn't imbibed in her absence.
Perhaps Jigger's wrong.
"I had to take more," she says. "A while. I'll go and sit in the bedroom until it wears off."
To her surprise, he turns, and indicates that she should pull the hood down. "You don't have to. ...I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I know it unnerves you," she says, holding the hood with each hand, not quite ready to reveal his face, uncertain as to what's caused his change of mind and how permanent it may be. "It must be weird, seeing yourself. Like an enchanted mirror, or-"
"It's not that," he says, quickly, standing up and putting his hands over hers - his. It's strange, normally his larger hands cover hers entirely, but with identical hands, they fit together instead, and her - his - hands twitch under his own, experimenting with the feel of the matching skin.
"What is it then?"
He closes his eyes, and leans forward, and she meets him with a tentative kiss. It's almost, but not quite, the same for her - he tastes the same, and his lips feel the same, but even she can feel the difference in how her - his - nose brushes his cheek, where hers wouldn't touch his skin at that angle. She's surprised he continues, kissing her more insistently, and skimming his tongue across her - his - lips, but he does - and she wonders what's happened in her absence; what's made him crave affection to the point that he's not willing to wait for her to revert to her usual appearance.
He helps her to take the hood down, and then he assists as she takes off the cloak altogether, and hangs it on the back of the door. His fingers fumble awkwardly as he tries to undress his own body in reverse, but he finds the buttons and clasps difficult to undo in the opposite direction, his brain being quickly confused by the mirrored image of his usual actions.
"You don't have to do this," she says, as he kisses her again. "If any of this makes you feel uncomfortable."
"It makes me feel sad," he says, not stopping, "because I bed the most beautiful woman on earth, and you…"
"I'm hardly the most beautiful woman on earth," she argues, and he laughs, interrupting her, and stopping her from continuing her thought. It's a gentle laugh, and self-deprecating, and his breath is warm against her shoulder. "I'm serious, Sev-"
"And so am I. You deserve better than," and he vaguely waves his hand towards himself, "this." He places a long finger over her - his - lips, a flicker of a frown as he feels the roughened texture of his skin where his stubble is already starting to grow despite him shaving earlier that day. "If I was Lucius," he says, "then this would just be narcissistic. He's probably already done this," he laughs, "I can almost imagine it."
"Me too."
"Poor Cissy." And then he laughs again, his fingers tracing over her - his - skin.
"It's no different," she says, quickly. "For Narcissa, I mean. Or me. I look at you all of the time. It's you who sees the difference."
"And that's what my problem is, my wonderful witch," he says, capturing her in a kiss once more. "You deserve so much more. At least Lucius looks at himself, and Cissy looks at him, and they both see someone handsome."
"I see someone handsome."
He scoffs, kissing her again. "Liars get punished."
"Wizards with low self esteem don't get laid," she says, kissing him more insistently, trying to show him with her actions what he means to her. "I've told you, there's no difference."
"No?" he murmurs, turning her around so he's stood behind her, his warm body pressed up against her. His hands pull at the belt she's wearing and it clinks as he deftly unbuckles it before moving to unbutton the trousers. It's clearly easier for him like this; just like undressing himself. He lowers the zip, pushing the material lower and lower, and he's gratified when she gasps as his hand wraps around her - his - sensitive skin. "No difference?" He grips harder then - harder than she would've done to him, and she can feel blood pulsing against his firm hold. "How about now?"
"Merlin!" Her hand reaches behind her, holding onto his hip to steady herself. "Sev, I-"
"How long do you have left like this? In my body?"
"I, ohhh." She pauses, her eyes briefly closing as he starts to steadily move his hand, and then collects herself. "Twenty five, no, that's when I left..." she corrects, glancing at the clock on the desk, "eighteen minutes."
"We'd best hurry this along then," he says, a wicked smile spreading over his face, and his hand moving a little faster.
"Thank you," she whispers afterwards, when she's sitting in his lap on the settee. Her auburn hair spills across his shoulder as she kisses him just below the ear, his neck being the only part of his torso exposed, his body still fully clothed despite her nakedness.
"Shhh," he says, and she knows as he strokes her bare arm with his fingertips that he doesn't want to dwell on her pretending to be him.
"How did you know?"
He taps the edge of her forehead. "I've reached a point where I need to understand Legilimency to progress further with Occlumency. So I've been looking into it a bit," he says. "Not that I really needed to use it," he laughs, before she can become indignant at him breaking into her mind without asking. "Every time you were in the bathroom and wearing my skin, every time you had reason to touch my body whilst you were inhabiting it, I could almost hear your thoughts screaming through the walls."
"Really?"
"Mmm." He simply smiles, and she can't decide if he's serious or not. "That and the fact that most people feel the same," he finally admits. "I think everyone would be curious." He grins then, and kisses her. "Most people would've just done it without asking."
"I'm not most people."
"I know," he says, his fingers still stroking her skin.
"I'd have felt like I was taking advantage."
"You would've been," he says, quietly. "I'm grateful that you didn't."
"It'd have felt wrong doing it behind your back. Invasive."
"Mmm."
"You can too," she says, leaning back to look at him, and pulling on her hair, making her meaning clear, offering him her own hair for the potion. "If you want."
"Narcissist."
"You've never wondered what it feels like?"
The look in his eyes is odd. "I don't much fancy being a woman."
And then she quietens, suddenly recalling the taunting from Potter and Black, remembering how they stripped him to humiliate him, accusing him of being a girl. She's aware of her nakedness then, sat in his lap whilst he's still fully clothed, and she wonders if this is why he resisted her attempts to undress him - wonders if his unease at her being a man, even when the man's body was his own, was due to the way that Lucius had touched him and shamed him. The thoughts swirl in her mind, and she doesn't know what to do. She wants to show him how much she loves him, but she feels suddenly unsure - fearful of undressing him whilst those thoughts rage through his mind, even though she's now transformed back to her usual self.
"Come on, love," he says, giving her a gentle tap on her bottom and easing her from his arms. "Fun's over. I'd best finish what I was working on."
She's relieved that he could tell what she was thinking, and took the lead so she didn't make a misstep and hurt his feelings. "I'd best get dressed."
And then he smiles that wicked smile that always makes her tingle with excitement. "You don't have to on my account. In fact, I'm rather in favour of you not."
She casts against the door, over and over, and he watches her efforts without lifting a finger to help, a semi-amused look on his face.
"I think you've got it, love."
"What?" she says, defensively, turning to place her hands on her hips and rebuke him - but he simply smiles more broadly, and she realises that the effect of her temper is rather dampened when she's standing before him without her clothes.
"Nobody's going to get through there," he reasons, slapping the wood with his hand. "I doubt even a house elf would manage, or Dumbledore himself."
She pales at the thought of Dumbledore bursting in on them, seeing her completely naked - it's not the same as Severus being naked with her; there's something comparatively sinful about her parading around without clothes whilst he's fully dressed.
"For my amusement," he mutters darkly, and she looks at him in shock. "That's why you're ashamed. You're naked for a reason - it's not because you're warm, it's not because you've showered, it's not because you've just woken up. You're naked because I want to look at you." His words strike an odd chord within her, and he seems to sense it, as before she can speak, he pulls her towards him, running his hands down her sides. "Are you okay?"
"...yes."
"It's turning you on? Being naked for me?"
"...yes."
"Good girl," he murmurs. Then he lifts her and carries her over to the desk. With a wave of his hand, he clears a space, and gently places her down, standing between her legs and kissing her deeply, his hands twisting in her hair.
When he releases her, she's breathless, and she wonders what he's going to do next - but to her surprise, he settles himself down next to her and picks up his quill. She watches him as he starts to copy text from a book, huffing and tutting regularly. She's amused when it seems to get too much for him, and he pulls out a jar of red ink, and starts to impatiently make amendments against his freshly made notes, almost as if he's correcting the textbook's statements.
After a few minutes of watching him work, she slides off the desk. He doesn't say anything, but his quill stills and as she walks across the room, she can feel his eyes on her, raking over her body as she peruses the bookcase. She selects a slim book - one about brewing techniques that she can recall Severus reading during his first weeks with Borage - and then returns to her place at his side.
He doesn't speak when she sits back on the desk, but he slides his free hand up her inner thigh - and as she sits and reads whilst he touches her, she isn't entirely sure if this is reward for her acquiescing to his desires, or a means of restraining her so she doesn't move again without his prior permission.
He's been calm and happy all evening, which is a welcome change to the stress of the previous few months. She's content in his presence, sat in comfortable silence - and as the candle on the desk starts to flicker, the yellow flame touching the pool of liquid wax instead of solely the wick - he closes his books and sits back. He doesn't speak, but she can tell that there's an elation and a playfulness to him that's been missing for so long - she can feel his excitement prickling the air, his magic almost tangible as it pulses and surges around them. He moves methodically through their rooms, dousing the lights, and urging her to walk two paces ahead, affording him a wonderful view of her naked body.
When they reach the bedroom, he shuts the door, and then he stands behind her, his voice silken in her ear. "Did you enjoy that as much as I did, love?"
She doesn't answer, and he presses himself against her, making sure she feels his erection through his clothes.
"Too embarrassed to admit it?" he guesses. "Only one way to find out," - and her breath hitches, her hands reaching around him as his long fingers delve once more between her legs. "Oh yes. I think you liked being on display for me very much."
She squirms on his hand, her feelings racing - she's both oddly turned on and yet somehow a little unsure of the game that they've been playing.
"Yes," he says, twisting his fingers as she moves, rewarding her gasping dance with more and more pleasure. "Tell me, love, tell me and I'll give you everything you want."
"Sev…"
"Everything. For as long as you can stand it. Until you beg me to stop."
Her voice is barely a whisper. "...yes."
"I can't hear you, love," he says, his voice teasing, and his fingers unrelenting.
"...yes, I enjoyed it."
"And what is it precisely?" His voice sounds huskier than normal, as if he's aroused by making her vocalise her pleasure and it's clear that he's going to make her say it if she wants him to fulfil his promise - which sends another odd excited tremble through her, magnified by his delicate touch.
"...I enjoyed being on display for your pleasure."
"Yessss," he hisses, and he picks her up and carries her to the bed where he lays her down, intent on finishing what his new game and his experienced hands have already started.
She stirs in their bed, her hand fumbling for him in her slumber, and when she can't locate him lying next to her, her eyes snap open. "Sev?"
"Mornin'," he says, cheerfully, his accent briefly slipping back to their days in Cokeworth. He looks relaxed and comfortable, his shoulder bearing his weight against the door frame. "Well, aft'noon."
She moves then, panicked at it being so late - but he's quickly by her side, his fingertips gently touching her cheek. She finally takes in his appearance and realises that he's not dressed for the day either - well, he's wearing those awful shorts, but that hardly counts as sensible clothing.
"I'm sorry."
There's the slightest movement of his eyebrows, an almost frown skirting across his brow. "What are you sorry about?"
"For sleeping in."
"I wore you out," he says, with a wicked grin. "Besides, it's Saturday - who cares what time we get up?" He kisses her, his fingers not moving from her cheek, and as she sighs happily, he pulls back.
"I need a shower," she says, lifting the covers, signalling her intention to get out of bed.
"Thought we could take it easy. Today. Do some reading," he says. "Got my notes out for you."
"Your notes?"
"From Borage, when I started studying under him." He scratches the back of his neck. "I've got the original books too, if you'd rather read the source material, but-"
"I know how you feel about textbooks. I saw last night!" She laughs at his defensive scowl.
"You can have the books."
"I'd rather read your notes. ...thank you."
He nods then, her compliment soothing the perceived slight. "I'll make you a drink whilst you shower."
If he's surprised when she sweeps into the room fully clothed, he doesn't say anything - but he makes no move to change from his own minimal attire. There's a cup of tea for her on the side, as he'd promised, and he silently breaks several chunks off a large slab of chocolate and hands them over, before tossing a piece in the air and catching it in his mouth, a triumphant - and somewhat childish - smile adorning his face.
She flicks through the notes he left for her, and he resumes his reading. His notes are detailed and his writing is cramped, and although the topic intrigues her, she finds her eyes drifting from the page to study him instead of the words on the page. He's compelling even now, even as he's utterly engrossed in his book, his forefinger toying with his bottom lip as he considers the theories raised by the author.
She wonders then, if his choice of wearing his shorts is deliberate - a way of showing her that last night was a one-off; that it wasn't something he expected her to do all of the time. She idly flips another piece of parchment, and then wonders if it's the opposite - if he's wearing little as a way of cajoling her into doing the same - but then she figures that it doesn't make sense. Half of the thrill of the night before had stemmed from him being entirely opposite to her, fully clothed whilst she-
"Just ask, love," he says, firmly, but with an amused tinge to his voice.
She can't help feeling defensive as he catches her staring at him. "Ask what?"
"Your thoughts are practically screaming at me; I'm surprised one of the house elves hasn't responded."
"Really? So what am I thinking?" she challenges, her eyes narrowing at his continued amusement.
He puts his book down. "We need to talk about yesterday."
"Why did you ask me to do it?"
"Why did you do it?" he immediately counters.
"I asked first."
He laughs, offering her the bar of chocolate, and then sitting back on the settee, his eyes not leaving her. "You did it because it turned you on," he says. "You did it because it felt wrong. You did it because it went against everything you believe in - being objectified, your sole purpose being my pleasure. It's humiliating."
She colours then. "That isn't what I asked."
"It is. Because I am your equal and your opposite. I asked you to do it because it turns me on."
"You enjoy humiliating people?"
"...no. I enjoy seeing the most powerful woman I know - the most attractive, the most talented, the most intelligent woman I know - doing something that unnerves her because she knows it will bring me pleasure." He reaches forward, cradling her face in his hand. "I like that power. Lucius… He forces people. He Imperiuses them, he binds them, he removes their voices so they can't dissent. ...I don't think that's power. Not true power." He gives her a dark look. "Power isn't removing someone's agency. True power is giving them a choice and-"
"Them agreeing?"
"I wouldn't say agreeing. Power is me suggesting it and you actively choosing. You chose to prioritise my desire and pleasure and-"
"-but I enjoyed it too."
"I know you did." He gives her a lazy smile. "You prioritised my pleasure over your discomfort, over your sense of unease. You didn't prioritise my pleasure over your own. And I wouldn't ask you to." He leans in closer then, and touches his lips to hers. "I want you to get as much enjoyment from this as I do. I rewarded your bravery richly last night, did I not?"
There's a surge of heat in her chest at the memory of the night before, and she leans her head forward, her forehead settling against his, her voice just a whisper. "How long have you wanted to play like this?"
"Almost as long as you've wanted me to."
"Years," she breathes, wanting him to say it.
His agreement is quick, and eager. "Yes."
"Then why didn't you? Why now?"
He doesn't want to bring Lucius into it again; he doesn't want to tell her that he'd clued him in to her desires - doesn't want to tell her that he'd always wondered, always hoped, but had always talked himself out of it, doesn't want to acknowledge that Lucius' terrible methods had rewarded them both.
He breathes in deeply, and settles on the truth - the other truth. "Because of the world we live in. Because you were being told by our society that you weren't a witch - that you were less than a person. You were told that you weren't worthy to be my partner. My equal. You lost your job, and your status, and your ability to move away from me. I know what it feels like when someone takes your choices from you. I know what it's like when someone hurts you, or humiliates you. I know what it is to be shamed, and mocked.
He gently presses his lips to hers. "I have no wish to submit to another," he says, softly, "and I know what it's like to be powerless. ...this needed to be a choice. Your choice. You're safe here - you're not alone with me. If you said no, and you feared my reaction, you could call on the inhabitants of the castle to intervene. And you needed to know that it was about excitement and pleasure, for both of us. This isn't me agreeing with the twisted version of our world that the Ministry is conjuring up - me asking this of you isn't me agreeing with them. You're the same feisty, powerful, talented witch that I met all those years ago - and that's what makes this all the more exciting for me."
She kisses him so hard then, trying to show him that he's right - that she wants this as much as he does, and he reacts instantly, meeting her every movement. He happily lets her take the lead, but he matches every touch of her mouth - every kiss, every bite, every slip of her tongue - with one of his own.
"Sev, can I ask you something?"
"Anything," he hisses, as she bites the lobe of his ear.
"Not about this."
He pauses then, his expression darkening. "...what about?"
"Did you cut down on your drinking?"
"You said I should."
She gives a wry smile at his deflection. "And did you?"
"...yes."
"Jigger thinks you're a drunk."
He gives a soft laugh. "Jigger visited, did he?"
"Yes. He was pleased that I - you - seemed sober."
"He's got a cheek," he grumbles. "Do you think I look like a drunk? You live with me. You put up with my drunken behaviour of a night, and my hangovers in the morning." He doesn't let her answer then, he presses his mouth against hers in a bruising kiss, his tongue sliding between her lips, leaving her breathless when he pulls away.
"...no."
"Well then," he says, triumphantly. "Bloody Jigger."
"But he thinks you've created a potion." She looks into his eyes, but he doesn't answer instantly this time, and now that she senses something is amiss, she can't help but pull the thread. "To counter the effects. So you could be a drunk, but you're covering it."
His eyes briefly close, and there's a thin smile playing on his lips. "Clever."
"It is clever," she agrees, "but if it's true, you'll kill yourself before too long. Potion intoxication and alcohol abuse aren't laughing matters even in isolation, but the two together could be lethal."
"I've never pretended to you, love. I like a drink. You've always known that."
He's right. She has always known it. She might've been the one to turn up at his house when they were teenagers with a smuggled bottle of vodka, but their underage drinking was usually driven by him, right from an age when she hadn't really understood the appeal - when all of his smuggled and stolen alcohol tasted sour, or sharp, or like something that her dad kept in the garage for cleaning the bumper of the car. She'd eventually gained a taste for it - for certain alcohols - but Severus was far less picky, happy to swig anything and everything, as long as the end goal of inebriation remained guaranteed.
Her voice is cautious when she responds, not wanting to offend him, or start a fight over a subject he's previously been touchy about. "Sev, there's a difference between liking a drink and the things Jigger was saying - turning up to work with tremors and bloodshot eyes and-"
"Yeah, well, I struggle when things are strained between us. I probably did overdo it at times. Jigger argued with me a lot - said I was throwing my talent away."
"He's right."
"No, he's not. I should've told him the truth. That although I was drowning my sorrows and my fears and occasionally my boredom - and I won't lie to you and pretend any different - I was experimenting as well," he admits, softly, "because he's right. There is a potion, love...but it isn't for me." Then he kisses her hard, trying to remove the touch of doubt he can sense in her. "Next time I deliver it, you can come with me. See for yourself."
She relaxes into his arms then, her trust somewhat restored. "I'm...relieved. I was scared. I can't lose you."
"I told you," he says, earnestly. "Anything you want to know, ask. Don't fret and let it grow into some big thing that we can't deal with. Ask. I might not find the words easy to say, but if I can't, I'll always show you."
"...there is something else." She can feel his chest moving beneath her as he laughs. "What? You just said-"
"I know, I know," he chuckles. "I just didn't expect it to be instantaneous."
"This stuff we did…"
He sits up a little, his curiosity piqued. "Yes?"
"...earlier last night. ...I know why you don't want to be me. After what happened with-"
"Yes," he interrupts quickly, not wanting to think about it all, not wanting to think about the men in the Order, or his oldest male friend, preferring to focus on the warm and willing witch in his arms instead.
"But I can't go back to the Order because I'm meant to be spying on Lucius, and even if you tell him, I don't really want to be in his company, not alone and-"
He laughs, touching his finger to her lips again to silence her. "It amuses me that both you and Malf have had the same thought. He started this, after all. And as much as it disturbs me, I fear the only way out of this mess is for me to don your skin."
"Sev, you don't need to do that."
"I don't see any way around it. I'm certainly not letting you be alone with him, but it's too risky to have you disappear completely, no matter what he thinks. If you're going to pass information back, you have to be seen in his company."
"Or I could just not go back to the Order."
There's a long silence, and then he shakes his head. "Not whilst we live in Dumbledore's castle, love."
"But he doesn't know-"
He gives her an uneasy look. "We think he doesn't know, but…" He shrugs. "I wouldn't be surprised if he finds out. Or if he knows already. Moody's an old friend of his, after all." And then he kisses her again. "I don't want him to think your loyalty has been shaken, or that you are truly aligned with Malf. You need to be amongst them. You never know when you might need their assistance once more."
Chapter 44: Hogsmeade is flooded
Chapter Text
She stands in the stuffy corridor and desperately tries to muster up the courage to twist the ornate door handle and enter the Order meeting. Severus was right - she has to remain aligned with the Order and their cause, and moreover, she wants to. These are the people that she wants to stand with, the magical men and women who are broadly fighting for her freedom, no matter their individual differences.
That's why her stomach is pulsing anxiously. From the very first time she'd sat in with the Order, she'd placed her trust with them - especially in those early days, when Severus didn't know where she was going. It wasn't truly a betrayal of Severus, as he felt the same when it came to blood status, of that she was certain. His beliefs on Muggles were confusing and complicated, and he contradicted himself more often than not - but his stance on Muggleborns had always been clear: they were magical, and just as magical as he was as a Half, or his Slytherin peers were as Pures.
Occasionally, she found herself wondering if Severus had not met her when he did - not befriended her at such an early point of his life, and formed his opinion without the negative influence of wider wizarding society - if his opinion would've been less certain. She can't imagine him being a purist, but she wonders if his now determined stance would've been weak enough to be affected by the whispering of Malfoy or Rosier, of Avery or Mulciber, of the two beautiful Black sisters and their youngest male cousin - all of whom would rather have been seen dead than fighting for the Muggleborn cause.
It was of no surprise to her that despite his private beliefs, Severus did not join the Order's ranks, and she didn't blame him for his supposed inaction - to do so would've been social suicide for him, and he'd already committed the gravest of sins amongst his housemates by standing by their unusual relationship.
Despite this, she couldn't help but feel a note of admiration for the people who counted themselves amongst the Order's most loyal members; not least those of Pureblood heritage, who had nothing to gain and everything to lose by standing up for their beliefs.
So the thought of spinning another chain of lies to the people who had accepted her history, accepted her blood status, accepted her life - well, not quite her life as they barely accepted Severus - but now, thanks to their carefully crafted web of deception, even he was no longer a fly in the ointment, or a barrier to her complete acceptance. No, these people accepted Lily Evans, and the thought of adding another layer to the deception was making her feel a little sick.
After all, she, Lily Evans, was now one of them - a young maligned witch who was on the run from the Ministry, her name perhaps somewhat blackened by vague association with Lucius Malfoy - although even she isn't sure who amongst the group truly believes that aspect of her curious tale.
Moody being the notable exception. And unless Severus' assumption was correct, and Dumbledore was also privy to the truth, Moody would be the only person in the room who knows for certain that she is still Severus' partner. She isn't quite sure how she feels about the most sceptical auror in the Ministry knowing the most about her, but it isn't for that reason that her heart hammers in her chest as she reaches for the handle. She isn't frightened of Moody, but she is terrified at how the Prewett twins and Potter and his band of miscreants will react to her reappearance.
"Lily!"
She needn't have worried. Potter's cheer is gleeful, and hearing his exuberant yell of delight calms the nerves twisting in her stomach. Relief floods over her when she realises that she hadn't been excommunicated in her absence - they don't hate you - and she quickly moves to sit between Potter and Black.
"Hey," Lupin says, leaning over and squeezing her knee. "Thanks. For… You know."
"Not here," she whispers, her eyes darting over towards the aurors seated on the other side of the room: Bones, Vance and Moody - all deep in an animated discussion with Dumbledore.
"They all know," Black mutters, almost under his breath. "Vance got us the recipe, remember?"
Potter gives a slight nod. "And Moody knows everything."
"Bones too?"
"Thick as thieves with Vance," Pettigrew says, quietly. "I followed them-"
"You followed-"
"Shhhhh!" Black reacts quickly, elbowing her hard in the ribs - and the group all stare at the aurors, relieved to see that they remained engrossed in conversation. "Merlin, Evans, I thought you were meant to be a spy of some sort?"
"Sorry."
"That's why you're involved with Malfoy, isn't it? Brewing for him-"
"Mmm, I thought Peter was saying something important?" she quickly deflects, hoping that Vance has shared nothing further of her supposed involvement with Lucius Malfoy.
Pettigrew gives her a grateful smile, his chest inflating at her apparent praise. "Yes, thank you." He glances across at the aurors, and then continues, "I followed them, and Bones and Vance are deep. Moody, not so much - but it's harder to keep trace of him. You know what he's like."
"Paranoid," Potter chips in.
"He's not one of them," Pettigrew says. "I might not be able to keep tabs on him, but I can keep tabs on the two women - and he's not as close to them as he might suggest."
Lily squirms a little uneasily in her seat, thinking of Moody's declaration: Get me Vance, and I'll make sure your man walks free.
"Why do you think he's on the outer?" she asks.
Black scoffs. "He's not on the outer. Bones worships the ground he walks on, even if she is his superior."
"I thought Vance was Moody's boss?"
"She is," Lupin says. "Bones and Vance are equals-"
"-but Moody now works in Vance's department," Pettigrew finishes.
"Now?"
"She was in the field," Potter says, his eyes not leaving Dumbledore, keenly watching for an indication that their conversation should be brought to a halt.
Lily's eyes widen. "Undercover?"
"And old Moody doesn't like that one bit," Pettigrew mutters. "I learnt that much." He gives a sniff. "He reckons that to be able to pass undercover, you've got to have a bit of-" He pauses, struggling to find the word.
"Sympathy," Black snaps. "Empathy. Whatever you want to call it."
"To be convincing to the other side, you've got to lean a little that way yourself," Potter adds.
"Exactly." Black leans back on his chair, almost triumphantly. "I'd be rubbish at it. What you see is what you get with me."
Pettigrew smiles. "Nor me. I'd be too worried that I'd say the wrong thing to the wrong person."
"I'm like a bludger to the face," Potter laughs. "What about you, Moons?"
Lupin's voice is oddly contemplative when he speaks. "I don't know. ...not now." When Potter gives him a blank look, he sighs. "Before this… Before what Evans has done… The monster in me, he was never in me, do you understand? It was like snapping off a light, or closing a door. One minute I'm here, the next minute, the wolf is in my place."
"But now it's not?" she asks eagerly, leaning over Black to focus on Lupin, her academic interest now aflame. "With the…" and she drops her voice to barely a whisper, "...potion?"
"Yes." He looks torn, and runs his hand through his hair. "It's brilliant; life-changing. But...there was a line before, and now there isn't. Now, I look down and it's me. I am the monster."
"You're not, Moony," Potter says, quickly. "You're not a monster."
Lupin doesn't answer, but looks away - and before anyone can say anything else, Diggle slams the door shut and announces the start of the meeting.
Many miles away, Jigger strides up to the doors of the Leaky Cauldron and steps in, marching straight over to the table at the very back of the bar. "Horace."
"Ah, about time," Slughorn says, although his tone is far softer than his rebuke. "I was starting to think you'd stood me up. Drink?"
"On me," Jigger says, and points at the three empty glasses on the table. "I see you've got a taste for it. Same again?"
She's never seen Mundungus Fletcher take centre stage at a meeting before, but the rest of the Order are hanging on his every word, his hands twisting against each other as he talks loudly. "It's a fluctuating market."
"A fluctuating market?" Vance shoots him a sceptical look. "You make it sound like your trade is honorable."
To his credit, Mundungus doesn't falter. "We are all well aware that in happier times, I would be a much higher priority to your esteemed department-"
"-don't flatter yourself."
At this, Mundungus straightens his jacket. "I am an entrepreneur."
"A drug dealer," Potter stage whispers to Black.
"I am a mover and shaker," Mundungus says, loudly.
"Yeah, he shakes parcels to see if they clink with illegal potion vials," Lupin quips.
"And then moves them so they change into coins in his pocket," Pettigrew finishes with a grin.
Still, Mundungus ignores them all - and although she has little time for the oily man, she can't help but admire how steadfastly he ignores their provocation. "In all businesses, there's supply and demand. I ensure that the two continue to meet."
Potter snorts. "Yeah, and ensure your pockets are filled-"
"Get to the point, Fletcher," Bones interrupts, shooting a stern look over at Potter.
Mundungus whips a vial out of his jacket and plants it on the table. "This is the point."
Bones is quick, but Vance is faster, and her small hand grips the bottle. "It's unlabelled."
"Indeed."
"So what is it?" Moody says, stamping over to stand behind the two women, his curiosity suddenly aroused.
"Try it."
There's a long silence, and Moody shoots Mundungus a withering glare. "Fool."
"No, don't be hasty," Vance says, with a thin smile. She stands, and uncaps the potion, and then she hands it to Mundungus. "Go on then."
Mundungus glances around the room, his eyes widening. "I'm… No."
"If you do not, then how are we to know if this is anything other than water?" She peers at the liquid again, tipping the vial slightly so it moves - but the liquid looks innocuous, and gives away no clues as to its contents.
"It was a joke," Mundungus says, hastily, looking increasingly unnerved. "It's Imperatum."
There's another silence as the horrified group digests the information.
Bones' voice is low. "And you say Hogsmeade is flooded with this?"
"All of the public houses."
"Who? Why?"
"I wish I could help," Mundungus says, softly. "It's terrible for business if my clients do not know their own minds, but it's..." He shrugs apologetically.
"Dumbledore?"
"I'm afraid it's the first I had heard of this," Dumbledore says, softly. "It is most concerning." He fixes Mundungus with a hard stare. "When did this start, Mundungus?"
"I've only been able to procure a vial in the last day or so, but I believe contaminated products have been flooding the usual locations - the Leaky, the Broomsticks and the Hog's - for the last few weeks."
She notices that Dumbledore looks uncomfortable, but the room is soon distracted as Moody gives a soft laugh. "And with your patrons no longer knowing their own minds, they've lost interest in your line of increasingly expensive party drugs, is that right, Mundungus? That's how you stumbled across this, yes?"
Mundungus shoots a glance at Lily, and she suddenly feels uncomfortable, knowing that the recent rise in expense of Mundungus' products is because of her and Severus' relative unavailability. "It is of no matter," Mundungus huffs. "I'm not into that any longer."
And now Moody guffaws. "Not into dealing, Mundungus? Since when?"
"Not dealing, brokering!"
"...and why the career change?"
"No reason."
It's a standoff at this point, and it's obvious that Mundungus will be pushed no further. She watches as Bones and Vance discuss the potion in hushed tones, and whilst the concerned glance between Dumbledore and Moody doesn't bypass her, all she can think is that she wants to get her hands on that vial so she can see Imperatum for herself.
"Tell me," Jigger says, leaning back in his seat. "How long has it been?"
Slughorn gives him a surprised look. "Since we last met, or since we last did this?"
"This! Been out and about like ordinary wizards." He lowers his voice. "Like it was before the last round of purges-"
"They're not giving a reason now," Slughorn murmurs. "Before they told everyone the same thing-"
"Undesirable political allegiances," Jigger quickly finishes. "I know, I've heard it enough times."
"-but now they're just burning their papers, and banishing them."
"Burning their papers? Banishing them?" Jigger looks astounded, and Slughorn loudly hushes him.
"Unless you wish to be next," Slughorn says, looking nervously around the pair, "I suggest you lower your volume."
"...noted."
They sit for a moment, Slughorn sipping at his drink whilst Jigger toys with his glass - and then, Slughorn suddenly looks up and smiles. "I say, it's been a long time since I heard this."
"I should think so," Jigger says, "it came out before you were able to grow a moustache."
"Now now, I don't think it's anywhere near that old," Slughorn laughs, but then a frown replaces his joy. "...when did the Leaky start piping music through the bar?"
Jigger gives a tight smile. "Oh, I believe it's a recent development."
"I think this topic has been covered," Vance says, her tone weary. "Now, is there anything else to report from you boys?"
"All I'm saying is that there's no chance of any of us lot getting close to him now. Not now he's being protected by Slughorn." Black looks apologetically at Lily, his comment clearly pointed towards Dumbledore, who is pretending not to hear - least, she thinks the great wizard is pretending; Black's hardly subtle, and as far as she knows, Dumbledore's hearing isn't failing, despite his advanced age. "I thought we'd get him for you sooner than this, Evans," Black adds, darkly, "but there's still time. Snape can only hide at Hogwarts for so long."
Black seems to miss the glance that Gideon and Fabian share, but Lily easily spots it. Moody's words have clearly spilled back to them - and she wonders just how much Molly has told them. She can hear Vance wrapping up the meeting, but she's lost in her thoughts - do the Prewett boys know everything? Nothing? Do they know that she's still in love with Severus, and he with her? Or do they think that Black's angry behaviour is unwarranted? Without knowing their history, Black's blinkered focus on just one wizard is a little unusual given that their world is full of anti-Muggleborn and Death Eater sympathisers, all of whom would be far more deserving of Black's ire than a politically insignificant low-level drug dealer.
She glances around the group, and it feels as if her brain's spinning with the possibilities; instead of a room of friends, it's as if the room has been populated with potential enemies, all of whom believe different tales about her. She knows Vance thinks she's fucking Malfoy, whilst Moody knows she isn't, and she suspects Dumbledore knows she's holed up at Hogwarts with Severus, but she can't prove it. Instead, she has to pretend that she's sleeping in spare rooms and on sofas, running and hiding from the darker forces within the Ministry - only whilst taking care not to sound too distressed, lest another kind-hearted soul offers their hospitality.
"You should join the department, young Black," Moody mutters, clapping his hand on Black's shoulder. "We could do with a few terriers like you."
"Within the laws, Alastor," Bones calls over, her right eyebrow slightly raised.
"I didn't say outside of the laws," he grumbles, gripping Black's shoulder even more tightly. "I like this boy's approach. Like a dog with a bone."
"You've got that right," Potter grins, and it clearly takes all of Pettigrew's effort not to laugh.
Moody scowls, and just as she thinks he's going to rebuke the group, he indicates that she should rise. "Time for us to leave, Evans," he says.
Potter immediately stands. "I walk her home-"
"Sit down, Potter," Moody barks, and Black's eyes widen when Potter obeys the older man. "You don't know where she's going."
"And you do?"
Moody doesn't dignify the question with a response, and she shoots the group of friends an apologetic look as Moody sweeps her out of the room.
"I reckon he's taking her for a drink," Pettigrew laughs, elbowing Lupin - but his joke that Moody would try and lace Lily with Imperatum falls flat, and Potter looks at him with disgust. Pettigrew's blushes are saved when it's clear that the rest of the Order aren't paying them any attention, still mumbling in their small groups. Seemingly embarrassed by his failed quip, Pettigrew looks at Potter, Black and Lupin thoughtfully. "Want me to follow them? I know I said that Moody's difficult, but I can probably tag Evans easily-"
Lupin gives a subtle shake of his head, and positions himself so his back is to Dumbledore, who has suddenly taken an interest in the group. "Dumbledore," he mouths, and the four boys start a sudden and loud conversation about the merits of the latest line of Cleansweep broomsticks.
"Really, there's no need-"
"You've had Merlin knows how many of those drinks," Jigger says, his arm firmly clamped around Slughorn's waist, "I won't take no for an answer."
Slughorn sighs loudly. "If you insist."
Jigger shoots Slughorn a strange look. "I meant to ask you - the Snape boy and his girl, I forget her name…"
"Evans? Lily Evans?"
"Yes. What did you think of her?"
Slughorn gives a derisory snort. "Mudblood, of course. Acceptable to look at, but suitable for little other than satisfying the most base of a wizard's urges. Still, what more can you expect from that stock?"
They're at the foot of the grounds when they land, and as soon as Lily catches her breath, she stares at Moody in wonder. "Imperatum?"
"Not you or your filthy fellow then?"
"No!"
"Good."
"Who else do you suspect?"
"There's only a few skilled enough to brew it. Slughorn, Jigger, Borage or Belby. From what I've seen, your boy is talented enough, but you say it's not his handiwork." Moody appraises her. "And if the rumours are true, yourself."
"You shouldn't listen to rumours."
"And you shouldn't be brewing unlicensed potions."
She tosses her hair. "I'm not dignifying that with a response."
"Be careful, Evans," he hisses. "This is new and different."
"Borage," she says, firmly. "After what he did with Severus, I wouldn't…" She draws to a sudden halt.
"I see you've caught up," he says, stiffly. "If it is Borage - and there's no saying it is, as those other Masters are skilled enough in their own right - then your boy had best be on his guard, lest he find himself taking the fall again." He gives her a strange look. "Tell me it isn't you behind this."
"It isn't."
"Swear it," Moody hisses.
"I swear!"
He gives her another searching look, and then he places his hand out before her. "You're different," and although it's an accusation, his tone is mild - and before she can argue, she can feel that he's right; the pulse of magic reflecting back at her is stronger and more insistent than before. "Bored?"
"No."
"It's supposed to be contained," he says. "It's not supposed to be building."
"What does it mean?"
"Snape's is the same?"
She shakes her head - Severus has still got that thrill of magic surrounding him; she could feel it coming from him in waves in their quarters earlier, but it's at the same intensity it's always been. Her eyes flutter as she basks in the rebounding flurry of waves.
"Addictive, isn't it?" Moody says, his voice darkening. "Has he done this to you?"
She opens her eyes to stare at him. "Done what?"
"Is that why neither of you have contained your magic?" he asks, and she can hear the pondering in his voice - as if this thought hasn't occurred to him previously. "Are you somehow feeding off one another? Being excited by each other?"
"This," she says, angrily, "is not Severus' fault. He hasn't done anything." She flushes when she thinks of their most recent games, and pulls her robes more tightly to her.
Don't be daft, Lily, she thinks. It can't be that.
She steps out of Moody's vicinity, breaking the pulse of magic that was flooding over her. "I am rather tired of him being the victim of nonsensical accusations."
He doesn't apologise, and she isn't expecting him to, but he does start to walk up to the castle instead of immediately Disapparating, which she takes as an apology of sorts.
"Does Dumbledore know I'm here?"
"Yes."
I knew it.
She moves a little faster, her shorter legs making Moody's fast pace difficult to maintain. "Why hasn't he said anything?"
"He doesn't want you or Severus to know that he knows," Moody says.
"Why not?"
Moody halts again, and this time, he looks pained. "...he wants you to be safe."
"That's not what you were going to say."
He shakes his head but doesn't elaborate, and she stops walking. "Come on, Evans," he says, tiredly. "I want to go home."
She throws her arms down by her sides in fury. "And I want you to tell me the truth! I'm tired of being lied to and misled!"
"Get me Vance," he hisses. "The rest will take care of itself."
They walk in unhappy silence for a couple of minutes before the thought finally crosses her mind. "...he wants Severus, doesn't he?"
Moody doesn't break stride, but his back stiffens and she hops along excitedly next to him.
"No!," she exclaims. "Dumbledore doesn't want Severus - he's already got Severus. Severus thinks he's here because of Lucius Malfoy, but it's not Malfoy who arranged this, it's Dumbledore, isn't it?"
"Get inside," Moody says, roughly propelling her towards the castle which is now looming over them, and before she can protest or add to her theory, he's gone.
Slughorn is pacing back and forth across his office, his meaty hand over his mouth. "I wouldn't, I can't-"
"It happened, Horace," Jigger says, darkly, pointing once more at the borrowed pensieve. "How much more proof do you require?"
"But I don't hold such views!" Slughorn shouts, his voice so loud, the hangings on the wall flutter.
"...I know you don't," Jigger says. "You were merely repeating what you'd heard."
"I do not share such company, I do not surround myself with those with such views, I-"
Jigger gives him a pointed look. "Could you not hear the wizarding wireless?"
"Of course I could," Slughorn says, his cheeks still flush with fury. "I commented to you about the song - the Celestina Warbeck one-"
"-but not of the discussion between the songs?"
"There was no discussion between the songs."
"No? You heard nothing?"
Slughorn looks frustrated. "It was seamless music as far as I noticed."
"You missed the subtle comments between the songs, then?" Jigger reaches into his pocket and pulls out a vial, and Slughorn's face falls.
"Imperatum? You gave me Imperatum?"
"Tom gave you Imperatum."
Slughorn looks disgusted. "Tom wouldn't give me Imperatum. Tom wouldn't even know how to get hold of Imperatum. The only way Tom would give me Imperatum-"
"-was if someone was lacing his alcohol supply with it."
Slughorn sits down heavily, as if his legs are suddenly too weak to hold his weight. "...to make them susceptible to the propaganda being piped through the wireless." He looks at Jigger, his expression aghast. "That's why the Leaky suddenly has a wireless. That's why I said those things."
"Because in that moment, you believed them." Jigger pulls another vial from his pocket and shakes it. "Lucky I gave you that antidote in your final drink, isn't it? Else Merlin knows what you'd have said over breakfast tomorrow in the Great Hall."
"But who would brew such a thing?" Slughorn shakes his head. "Especially knowing what it would be used for, and-"
"Well, that's just it, Horace. ...I didn't know."
Chapter 45: Subliminal messaging
Chapter Text
Slughorn looks furious, and there's a speckle of spit on his lip as he thunders, "But we are talking about Imperatum, Arsenius!"
"And I told you, Horace," Jigger shouts back, instantly on the defensive, "I have had this arrangement for years without incident! I didn't expect-"
"-you've had this arrangement for years?" Slughorn looks horrified. "Brewing Imperatum? Who on earth for?"
Jigger looks Slughorn squarely in the eye. "I fear you have just discovered the true nature of my longstanding business relationship with Abraxas Malfoy."
"Abraxas Malfoy?" Slughorn's voice reveals his astonishment. "I was aware that you interacted on occasion, and that you'd recently had a sale or two, but I thought you barely had any dealings with him, I thought-"
"-he preferred for me not to advertise our connection," Jigger interrupts, softly. "I know his acquaintance with you is rather more tenuous these days, but back when this started, he believed that having a number of brewers in his pocket could be looked on rather unfavourably by the Ministry if rumours ever took hold."
"But I've never brewed for him."
Jigger gives him a fleeting look of triumph. "Exactly. Any accusation of brewing would be lain at your door, and you had ample proof that you were not his brewer. He ensured that my relationship with him was kept in the shadows." He draws in a breath. "No grand meals at Malfoy Manor for me," and his lips quirk, "not like my young apprentice."
"You don't think Severus-"
"No." Jigger's quick to shake his head. "The boy's not involved. He has no idea. You're quite right, of course, he's full of starry eyes about the younger Malfoy, but I refuse to indulge such topics of conversation within the laboratory. He is entirely ignorant of my involvement in that family's dealings." He gives Slughorn a searching look. "It's why I was not best pleased to discover their connection - it brings the wolf a little too close to my door."
"Indeed." Slughorn runs his large hands over his face, and then teases his moustache back into shape. "And how did Abraxas make the suggestion to you?"
Jigger laughs, a dark and deep laugh. "How does Abraxas make a suggestion to anyone? He's insanely powerful - he was instrumental in the appointment of Cornelius Fudge, you do realise?"
Slughorn's sudden twitch betrays him, revealing he knew no such thing. "...I was not aware that Cornelius was so affiliated."
Jigger gives a tight lipped smile. "Everyone believes he's Dumbledore's man, but that's the beauty of him - the only reason Fudge leans on Dumbledore so heavily is because he was pushed into post far too soon."
"I don't think-"
"No? There were numerous candidates far more suitable for the position - not just Dumbledore, but the likes of Crouch or Scrimgeour - but that's what makes Fudge so appealing to the likes of Abraxas."
"Incompetency?" Slughorn looks sceptical. "I can't see Abraxas being impressed by incompetence."
"But Fudge's incompetency is a byproduct of fear. He's frozen with indecision, led by inept ministers who are not loyal to him, and being plotted against by those who feel he usurped their place in the hierarchy. He's spineless, weak and therefore easily manipulated. He feels that as long as the Ministry operates on the surface - as if all appears well, no matter how blackened the core and how nasty and insidious the rot within has become - he won't speak up. He has no cause, no real political affiliation, and he most certainly won't dare to speak out against the likes of the Malfoys - not with the funding they push the Ministry's way."
Slughorn appraises his old friend. "And it is this funding that so convinced you, I assume?"
Jigger holds his hands out in mock surrender. "I make a living, Horace. We all do."
Slughorn shakes his head. "I cannot reconcile this in my mind, Arsenius. Abraxas! I am not ignorant of his family's beliefs, and their unusual methods of manipulation, but what are you suggesting? Years, you said! What was he doing with it?"
"Controlling his house elves," Jigger says, softly. "Least, that's what he always told me."
Slughorn gives a scornful laugh. "House elves? And you believed that?"
Jigger looks uncomfortable. "Perhaps, in the beginning. But I have long suspected that his wife and son were the primary recipients of the potion."
Slughorn's breath hitches, and Jigger can see him reevaluating the family with his new knowledge. "But why?"
"The only conclusion I was able to draw was that he came to me and made his request after the rather public revelation of her affair."
Slughorn is pacing the room now. "Yes, I remember - Ignatius Prewett, of all people! I spoke to Abraxas a few times back then. I thought he would divorce her in those first few weeks, but then he suddenly said that was all behind them," and he waves his hand, "it was a moment of madness, and she was back to her usual self again." He looks troubled. "I remember the dinner party where we discussed it. We - the three of us - retired to his study, and I was surprised he even raised the topic in her presence."
"And what did she say?"
"That's just it - she sat in the corner of the room as Abraxas talked, and she was smiling absently at the fire. I remember being surprised that she was silent - you know how feisty she was - but I thought that was her concession given the circumstances. She'd brought shame upon him, and now she was to remain silent whilst he cleared up the mess."
Jigger nods. "Indeed. He may have said it was behind them, but he never forgave her - not for the scandal she brought to their name. He said on many an occasion that he could no longer trust her to remain true to him. Once I realised, I could see that the dates made sense - but what was I do to do, Horace? Stop? Imagine the fall out if he was lacing her in such a way!"
Slughorn takes a deep breath, looking horrified at the idea. "And you believe Lucius was a victim as well?"
"I think he didn't want the boy getting any ideas about aiding his mother. Until that moment, they had been rather close - far closer than father and son."
"I'm afraid I do not recall," Slughorn says, shaking his head. "I simply remember young Lucius following his father around the manor, keen to emulate him whenever opportunity arose."
"And hasn't he just," Jigger muses. "...I've heard rumours that the boy has twisted ideas on consent."
"That and power," Slughorn confirms, swallowing hard. "It was somewhat of a problem in Slytherin House when he was a student; he was forever forcing the younger students to bend to his will. He always protested it was a joke, but…" Slughorn looks ashamed. "I thought I'd put a stop to it, and that he'd grown out of it. I had no idea..." He pauses. "So, what are you suggesting? That this isn't Abraxas making use of your potion?"
"I do not believe it is Abraxas," Jigger says, softly. "I was brewing for Abraxas, but as you long heard me complain, his payment schedule had become somewhat erratic."
"So you've let Lucius take the reins?"
And once more, Jigger looks uncomfortable. "Not young Lucius - although he seems the obvious choice, doesn't he? No, I was approached by an interested third party. Someone who felt that the potion was worth more, and with Abraxas being reluctant to pay his bills, I was just incredibly grateful that someone saw fit to line my pockets appropriately, especially as the brews were already completed." He pulls out a scrap of parchment and passes it over, and Slughorn's eyes widen as he reads the name at the foot of the page.
"Arsenius, please tell me that you didn't do business with Rodolphus Lestrange?"
Severus wanders through their shared quarters, his long lean arms stretching over his head as he yawns loudly. He pushes Lily's half-eaten breakfast to one side of the table and focuses on the unopened post, rifling through the letters, all addressed to him. Obviously. He rips open a stained envelope first; it's wax-sealed, although there's no crest - but from the state of the outside, he knows it's from Mundungus Fletcher. He reads and nods, and then burns the letter - and then he rips open its polar opposite; a pristine envelope containing luxurious bond paper in an eggshell tone. Malfoy didn't need to stamp the familiar crest on the back for Severus to recognise the sender. His lips move silently as he reads, reaching absently for Lily's half-eaten cold toast.
The only positive thing Aberforth can say about his older brother is that at least he has the good sense to descend upon his bar in the morning, before the Hog's Head is open for the day - it doesn't do for business for the self-confessed dregs of society to run unexpectedly into the upstanding and righteous Headmaster of Hogwarts.
"Aberforth, it would be easier for us to converse if you were to turn around," Albus prompts gently, and Aberforth's body tenses at the apparent rebuke.
"View's fine this way."
"I am in no doubt that is the case," Albus chuckles lightly. "...I am unhappy that you did not bring this latest development to my attention."
Aberforth runs his cloth across the bar, scrubbing angrily at the wood, and refusing to turn and face Albus. "And if I had, what would you have done? Leapt upon your pack of Thestrals and headed to the Ministry, demanding to be seen by your best friend?"
"Cornelius Fudge is not my best friend."
"No?"
"No."
With a last grand swipe at the pristine bar - it's now the best it's ever looked, weeks of stains and dirt finally washed away - Aberforth retreats to rinse his cloth before heading out into the main area to wash down each table. Albus frowns as he watches him, confident that Aberforth has never previously made such an effort to clean his establishment, but makes no move to leave the building. As Aberforth wipes down the last table, he glances over his shoulder. "That it, then? Got what you came for?"
"It's not just the subliminal messaging," Albus says softly, his hand reaching out to touch one of the beer pumps on the bar. "It's the drink."
"I'm no fool."
"I didn't say you were. I can understand you failing to notice that it is laced..."
Aberforth finally turns, his cloth forgotten and his arms folded across his chest. "I am as much a wizard as you. I did not fail to notice."
"Then-"
"What should I have done, Albus? The stocks were dry. I bargained and bartered with various breweries for weeks - Tom and Ros did the same - but each and every agreement fell through. Nobody could help, and when it looked as if we were all going to have to shut up shop permanently, the Ministry came forward with a deal," and he holds his hand up to stop his brother from interrupting, "and no, they did not explain that Imperatum was an integral ingredient." He shrugs. "Ros and Tom did the same - signed on the dotted line - and we're not the only ones."
"Nobody protested?"
"...old woman Scrivenshaft," Aberforth says, eventually. "Not the Imperatum - you can't sell that in a quill shop, but the wireless. Said it interfered with the customers shopping. Distracted them."
"I was under the impression that Marta had recently retired? Just last week, or-"
Aberforth gives a tight smile. "Oh yes, she has. Her son, Henrich has taken over the day-to-day running of the establishment. He stood by his mother at first, but he has different views on the wireless these days."
Albus' blood runs cool. "And of Marta? She is...happily retired?"
"It is said that she no longer rises from her seat before the fire in their parlour."
Albus bows his head. "I am to assume that she is no longer capable?"
Aberforth swallows tightly. "I'm a busy man, Albus."
"Aberforth, this is unconscionable. If only you'd swallowed your pride and had come to me, if-"
At this, Aberforth spins, his fists clenching by his sides. "You can lecture me when you've lectured the rest of the owners down these wizarding streets, and not a moment before!" He takes a step forward, his body large and looming, despite Albus' own height. "And I wouldn't put it past you to do so, but I can tell you that you'd be best speaking to your beloved Minister, because he was the one who signed this decree." Aberforth looks disgusted. "And as far as I remember, you helped him into his position - so don't look at me like I'm the wizard with blood on his hands." He steps back, and his chest is rising and falling as a rush of adrenaline surges through his body. "You know where the door is. You can see yourself out."
It was weird enough being Severus, and she's not entirely sure this is his greatest plan - but he was so earnest at wanting her to see that Jigger's accusations of alcoholism were incorrect, she found herself being swept away with his enthusiasm and she knocked back the Polyjuice with the mysterious hair contained within.
That's her explanation for shivering in a darkened nook from the side of Knockturn Alley, despite the afternoon sun lashing Diagon Alley. The buildings here are cramped together, and imposing, and she can tell from the moss growing between the cobbles that this part of wizarding Britain is mostly untouched by sunlight. It's clearly why Mundungus Fletcher has chosen it, and his eyebrows quirk when he sees her, even in her new unfamiliar form.
"Mundungus."
"Good afternoon, Snape. Mr Avery. I wasn't aware this was a social gathering."
"Where is he?" Severus says, sharply.
"I didn't realise you had better things to do with your time," Mundungus sniffs, giving Lily a sideways glance. "I wanted a private word with you-"
"-if you've given me the wrong time because you want to bend my ear-"
"I didn't realise you'd have company!" Mundungus shouts. At Severus' furious look, he collects himself, breathing deeply before speaking again in a low whisper. "It's about these potions-"
"I'm not brewing," Severus says, glancing anxiously around them following Mundungus' outburst.
Mundungus gives him a sceptical look. "Apart from what's in your robes now."
"This is different. Pre-arranged."
"I thought we had an understanding," Mundungus starts, giving Lily a suspicious glance. "And I don't understand why you've brought this great lummock along with you."
"Oi," she chips in, feeling certain that Avery wouldn't let such a remark slide.
"Shut up, Ave," Severus says, before rounding on Mundungus. "When's Bast getting here?"
Rabastan Lestrange?
"Just something, Snape. That's all I'm asking. Fair's fair, I stood by you."
Severus gives him a disdainful sneer. "Stood by me when?"
"When those accusations were flying around. I trusted you to keep supplying, believed in your abilities."
Severus shakes his head. "I can't. Not under Dumbledore's nose."
"He'll never know! I just need something to keep business ticking over."
"Let's go, Snape," she says, daring to speak, certain that this conversation isn't going to end the way either man wants. "We've got better things to do."
"Things?" Mundungus scoffs. "That's what you call those whores down Knockturn, is it?" He laughs. "No wonder you brought him with you when I gave you this location."
Severus' back tightens, and he whips the potion from his robes. "Get this to Bast," he says, his voice low, "and get me my galleons by the end of the week. I am a busy man, and I do not have time for your nonsense-"
"Snape, come on-"
"-and if you fuck me on this," he hisses, his wand in his hand and pointing threateningly at Mundungus, "I swear, I will-"
"I won't," Mundungus answers quickly, sudden fear evident in his eyes. He takes a step back from the younger man, and composes himself. "I'll get your money to you."
"I should charge you for wasting my time," Severus snaps, pulling his robes tightly around him. "You're not the only broker in town, and you'd do well to remember it."
"I'm the only broker you trust," Mundungus says, making sure he stays several steps away from Severus, and glancing nervously at Avery. He gives a slight nod as he backs away from them. "Mr Snape. Mr Avery." And then just as he rounds the corner, a safe distance from them, Mundungus gives a nasty smile. "Have a good afternoon, gentlemen. Enjoy your paid company."
"Rabastan Lestrange?" she breathes, as they settle back into their rooms. "He's an alcoholic?"
"Not Bast," Severus says, shrugging off his cloak. He glances at her, seeing her hair starting to turn back to its usual colour. "That was close. I thought we weren't going to make it back."
She can feel the change starting to take place, and Avery's thicker features slowly melt away as she returns to her own appearance. "When you started arguing with Mundungus, I thought we were through," she calls, heading towards the bedroom to change into her usual clothes.
"You and me both," he says, sitting on the sofa and untying his boots. "Merlin knows what time Bast was due to turn up."
"Who is he giving it to if he's not using it himself? Bast, I mean."
"A relative," he says. "I'm not sure who - I lose track of who is drunk, and who is just fervent in their ridiculous purist beliefs." He flashes her a grin as she sits down next to him. "It's hard to tell the difference."
"You've been a guest at the Lestranges? You know them?"
"Three times, I think," he says, his eyes narrowing as he tries to recall. "Four, maybe? I was last there a few weeks back, but I wouldn't say I know them. They tolerate me because of Narcissa."
"Not Lucius?"
He laughs. "Malf is not their favourite person. They approve of Narcissa because Bellatrix married Dolph, do you remember?"
She digs him in the ribs. "How could anyone forget? It was in the Prophet for weeks on end - wedding of the year."
"Yes, Malf was most annoyed that his coupling with Cissy didn't get quite the same reception." He settles back, and pulls her into his embrace. "I don't think all of the elders realised my background when I was introduced," he says. "I can't say I'd be keen to go back in a hurry - not these days."
"They didn't know we were together, I'm guessing?"
"I'm insignificant," he laughs. "The elders had no idea, and the younger ones assumed their parents and grandparents were tolerating me for reasons unknown to themselves. It's a risk I'd rather not take."
"No."
"Although maybe I have recently redeemed myself," he says, ghosting a kiss down her neck. "I was rather keen to hear what Bast had to say on the topic. Bloody Mundungus."
She leans into his touch. "I thought you broke up with me so people would understand why you'd moved back to Hogwarts."
"I did."
"But you're really hoping to get back in with your old friends?" She tries to keep her tone light, but she isn't sure how successful she's been when she's greeted with silence.
"...I've been asked to do so," he says, eventually, but he doesn't elaborate as to who, and when he kisses her more insistently, it's obvious he's not prepared to say more.
Lily peers at herself in the mirror, opening her mouth widely whilst she gently traces lipstick across her lips. She presses her lips together, ensuring even application of the colour, and then opens her mouth again to check the bright stain, intending to correct any missed patches - and it's at that moment that she catches Severus' dark eyes in the reflection, watching her from their bed. She pauses, her eyes meeting his in the mirror, letting him know that he's been caught and then she hears him chuckle.
"Got me red handed."
"Haven't you got better things to do other than watch me dress?"
"Most definitely not. This is in my top three favourite things to do."
She laughs. "You're an idiot. What about you getting ready - you were the one who said we needed to get there early."
"I am ready."
At this, she turns and gives him a sceptical look. "You're naked, and sprawled over our bed."
He laughs again. "I can't help where you left me." Before she can argue, he points at his already selected robes hanging on the outside of the wardrobe. "I only need to throw those on. Bit of aftershave, maybe. Half a minute, tops." He settles back on the bed, his arms behind his head, and then a small frown crosses his face. "I'm not bothering you, am I?"
"I don't mind. I just don't understand what's so fascinating about watching me get ready."
He doesn't answer - and when it becomes obvious he's not going to explain, she gives a small shake of her head and continues to apply her makeup, knowing his eyes are roaming over her with her every move.
Severus pulls her into a swirl of Apparation, and the two land gently outside the wrought iron gates of Malfoy Manor. He holds her hand, and they walk down the path, the gates swinging open, as if they were sentient and aware of who had approached them.
She notices him glancing around, and she grips his hand a little more tightly.
"Okay?" he asks.
"Yes," she says, but as the Manor looms into view, she can't help but tense slightly.
To her surprise, he stops - as if he's sensed her discomfort - and he kisses her cheek. "I don't want to mess up your lipstick," he says, before she can comment on his chasteness. "There's nothing to worry about, love. Malf doesn't send polite invitations via owl post if he's intending to start a brawl."
"He wants you for something. Or me."
"In our finery?" Severus glances at her beautiful robes - funded by her parents when she'd told them that she'd be expected to attend a Ministry gala during her apprenticeship; an invitation that never came - and then down at his own, Malfoy-funded attire. "This isn't business. This is a celebration."
"And he wants me in attendance?"
Severus shrugs nonchalantly, but she can tell from how his fingers grip hers that the thought has already crossed his own mind, and he doesn't have an answer.
As it turns out, there was nobody else joining them; Severus and Lucius, Lily and Narcissa - all in their finest of robes, all eating the most exquisite of meals in the ornate dining room. She sits opposite Severus, and next to Lucius, and although they make eye contact at several points throughout the meal, she misses the comforting hand of her boyfriend nestled within hers - and when she glances at Lucius with his wide crocodile smile, she's certain the seating arrangements are deliberate.
An hour passes, and then another, and she's still no closer to understanding why they've been invited - and Severus looks equally blank. When she opens her mouth to enquire, he shoots her a dark gaze - how could he tell I was going to ask? - and she swerves into a compliment about the raspberry coulis instead.
Narcissa smiles. "Regrettably, it's the only part of the meal I made myself."
"Not the elves?"
"For reasons unknown to the rest of us," Lucius mutters, "Cissy has always been keen to take the lead in the kitchen."
"Desserts only," Narcissa corrects, smiling fondly at Lucius, who reaches over the table to take her hand, their wedding rings sparkling in the light.
"And here I thought you enjoyed scrubbing pots and pans filled with congealed sauces," Severus drawls, with a smirk. "I was about to invite you around to my parents' house."
To Lily's surprise, Narcissa laughs. "I know, it's terribly Muggle of me-" and then she falters, her eyes meeting Lily's, and all of the participants in the polite dinner suddenly freeze.
Severus' eyes dart from one Malfoy to the other, and Narcissa glances up at the grand chandelier - and then Lily sees Severus reaching for his champagne flute, his eyes communicating that she should do the same. In unison, they sip from their glasses, and thankfully - to the relief of the entire party - one of the house elves appears at Lucius' side, murmuring in his ear.
"I do apologise," Lucius says, pushing his chair back abruptly and dropping his napkin on the table. "I have some family business to take care of." He waves a hand towards the table and speaks directly at the house elf. "Dobby, clear this away and aid Cissy with preparing the room for dancing-"
"-I'll do that," Severus interjects.
"Nonsense, we are your hosts, Severus-"
"I believe Lily hasn't been fully acquainted with the Manor. Perhaps it would be more befitting of a hostess to accompany her on a tour?" Severus suggests.
Lucius pauses, and then gives a stiff nod. "Of course. Dobby can take care of the particulars in here. Severus, do take the lead and order him if his changes are not to your liking. I'll return shortly."
When she was a child, her parents would take her and Petunia on guided tours of grand stately homes, and this felt no different - only instead of the servitude being historical, she was only too aware that this was living and breathing; that the Malfoy family had money and status far beyond her own dreams, let alone those of Severus.
She nods politely as Narcissa whisks her from floor to floor, opening doors and pointing out paintings - and she feels herself warming to the witch in a way she hadn't previously, despite the unspoken issue of blood status hanging over them like the sword of Damocles. She idly wonders if Narcissa would understand the reference - glancing around the rooms, she can see the influence of Muggle art and literature, and she wonders if the Malfoys realise it, or if their purism is so deep, they're entirely ignorant of how their worlds must once have collided.
"Our peers believe he's disowned you," Narcissa says, as they reach the top corridor, "but Lucius insisted that you were to be his date tonight."
She almost daren't breath - this very real discussion is so different to the polite murmurs of small talk they've shared over the evening, and she desperately doesn't want to damage Severus in any form. "Severus is keen to do as Lucius wishes."
Narcissa laughs politely. "Oh, isn't he just. And yet you agreed to accompany him, despite his behaviour towards you?" And then she reaches forward and takes Lily's hand. "You've been together a long time."
Lily lets the words hang, and doesn't respond - choosing instead to stare out of the window and across the vast grounds.
"I know he loves you," Narcissa tries again, and this time, Lily's breath hitches. "He doesn't believe in the cause in quite the way Lucius and I do, does he?"
It's obvious that Narcissa is not going to drop the subject, and Lily turns back to face her. "I think you should ask Severus himself."
"Lucius can get you papers," Narcissa says, suddenly.
"I'm sorry?"
"The trees," she says. "You've not missed the decree that all wizarding families must display their family tree and magical heritage in their entrance halls, have you?"
She has. The decrees are coming thick and fast these days - it makes her head spin to keep up with the new and inventive ways that the Ministry are concocting to subjugate those who share her blood. "We were unaware."
"You saw ours on the way in?"
"Yes." She had - but she'd assumed it was usual, and not newly acquired. She wonders how Hogwarts is exempt from the decree, and hopes that it doesn't find itself caught up in a rehash of the legislation.
Narcissa gives a tight nod. "He can help. Not a Malfoy or Black heritage, you understand - but a Prewett line seems likely. A distant cousin. Newly discovered."
"And they'll accept that? The Ministry?"
"They do if the right number of galleons cross their palms," she says, tightly. "And it would be enough for Severus to be protected."
And then she understands. This isn't about her - it's about Severus, and his destiny, and their joint investment into him. Lily's voice is a little colder when she speaks. "He is protected already. We have separated."
"Yes, I can see that," Narcissa says, drolly. "You should think about it. Talk it through with him."
"I shall," Lily affirms, but Narcissa sighs loudly, as if she can tell that she won't.
"If something should happen to him," Narcissa warns, "you will require all of the help you can get." She pauses. "We may be willing, but if you remain at your current blood status, it might be impossible for us to do so." Then she straightens her back, and ushers Lily to the door. "Now, finally, I must show you the nursery. It is where Lucius himself grew up."
The lights are dimmed, and the records are loud, and she watches fondly as Severus waltzes Narcissa carefully around the grand room. Not too long ago, she'd have been jealous or concerned, but she knows Severus - and after tonight, she knows that Narcissa understands how he feels about their relationship. Instead, she happily watches as her man glides the willing witch around the floor with ease, his steps matching hers in perfect synchronicity.
Lily doesn't take Lucius' hand to dance, and he doesn't offer it again. He seems more on edge than on previous occasions, and although he has not commented as to the variety of family emergency disturbed him, it's clearly unnerved him. He composes himself enough to clap Severus on the shoulder when the song ends, and takes his place with his wife, quickly moving her across the dance floor.
Severus drops down onto the seat next to Lily, a gleam of sweat on his brow. "Don't want to dance?"
"Not with him."
He gives a low chuckle. "Keep that thought to yourself, love."
She watches as the married couple move around the room, and Lily can see Lucius' influence on her boyfriend - it's just like watching Severus, and she quickly realises that the Malfoys likely taught him how to dance. "They're good."
"I'll show you," he says, raising his hand a little in offering, but she doesn't take it.
"I'll embarrass you."
He leans behind her, reaching for their drinking glasses, and passes one to her. "Impossible."
She takes a sip and points at Narcissa's feet. "Look at how gracefully she moves. I'd trample you."
"People always think that leading is harder," he muses. "The men move, and the women follow - but wherever I place my foot, there will be no other. Men have no such fear." He sips his drink. "Lucius taught me before unleashing me on Narcissa. He made sure I knew how to control my movements. If you can follow, you can easily lead."
"He danced as the lead? And you as-"
He's up then, joining his friends, and she can hear a low laugh - Lucius? - as he mumbles something to them. Then Narcissa casts at the record player, and the music abruptly changes into something faster and more upbeat. Lily watches in surprise as Lucius pulls Severus into his embrace and the two move jauntily together, keeping perfect time with their steps.
"Shall we?" asks Narcissa, who has swept across the floor to invite her to join her, and this time, Lily feels as if she cannot refuse. She follows the older woman to the floor, and she catches Severus' eye as he moves past at a pace, a broad grin on his face.
Severus looks anxious as Lucius makes his excuses once more, and departs from the room. "That's the third time. Should I go with him, Cissy?"
Narcissa shakes her head immediately. "It's his father."
At this, Severus straightens in his seat. "Mr Malfoy has returned from overseas?" He puts his glass down. "I can assist, if-"
"No, Severus." Narcissa's slender hand touches the back of his own. "Lucius has it under control."
"Is that what this is in honour of?" Lily asks, daringly - ignoring Severus' furious glare. "This...celebration?"
Narcissa gives a soft laugh. "Abraxas Malfoy looming large over Lucius once more? No, that is nothing to celebrate, my dear." She shoots them both a curious look. "I thought one of you may have noticed whilst we were dancing, but perhaps we were not close enough for you to sense it." She reaches for Lily's hand, and gently places it near to her stomach.
Lily's mouth opens a little wider, and Severus blinks rapidly, as the implication dawns on them both. "The fresh paint upstairs," Lily comments, entranced by the faint swirl of magic she can feel around her hand.
"A child?" Severus asks, gruffly.
"Feel," Narcissa says, reaching for him to join Lily, but he pulls away.
"There's no need," he says, with a tight smile. "Congratulations to you both." He stands, and Lily looks at him oddly, but he darts a kiss onto her forehead. "I know he's busy, but I feel I should speak with Lucius directly."
And before Narcissa can protest, he's gone.
Chapter 46: Our fathers' sons
Notes:
There's a brief mention of some historical dubcon in this chapter.
Chapter Text
It's been years since he's been in this part of the Manor, and Severus doesn't know what to expect when he sprints down the corridor and into Abraxas' large study. Whatever he'd imagined he'd find, he didn't anticipate that the two Malfoy men would be at wand point. Severus quickly slides his own wand into his hand and points it between each of them, not quite having decided who his target should be.
"Good evening, young Severus," says Abraxas smoothly. "It has been a long while."
"Mr Malfoy." Severus glances at his friend. "You all right, Malf?"
"Go back to Cissy, Severus," Lucius says, his wand not moving from his father. "Father and I have some things to discuss."
Severus doesn't move his feet, but his wand continues to track between the two men. "Oh yes? Things you didn't manage to discuss on your previous visits here this evening?"
Abraxas chuckles. "The boy has your measure, son."
At that, Lucius flicks his wand, and before Severus can react, Abraxas has been disarmed. Lucius' pockets his father's wand, and then quickly binds his wrists.
"Malf, come on-"
"Yes, come on. Listen to your sensible friend, Lucius. Stop being so hot-headed-"
"Silencio!" Lucius casts quickly, and then drops his father's wand on the desk. "I apologise for my lack of decorum, Severus. Father has rather been trying my patience of late."
"I didn't even realise he was back."
At this, Abraxas shakes his head strongly, and Severus frowns.
"...you didn't ever go away?"
Abraxas nods, and Severus looks at Lucius with barely disguised horror.
"Enough," Lucius says, sounding weary. He summons a bottle of brandy from the other side of the room, and pours a generous measure into one glass. "Let us celebrate the return of old friends." He swirls the generous measure of liquid in the glass, and then holds it out before his father, pressing it firmly against his closed lips. "Drink up, Father."
Abraxas stares at him, his eyes narrowing, and as Lucius tips the liquid insistently against his face, he shakes his head firmly.
"Malf, I-"
"You are making a mess," Lucius scolds, as if Severus hasn't spoken. Lucius reaches over, and firmly pinches his father's nostrils closed. Severus can barely continue to watch as Abraxas struggles to breathe without opening his mouth, his cheeks filling with dark scarlet.
Lucius gazes at his father impassively, unaffected, before Abraxas' jaw finally drops open, the battle lost. His body silently gasps for air in great gulps, and Lucius takes his opportunity, forcing the alcohol into Abraxas' mouth. The alcohol dribbles down the stubbled chin of the older man, falling onto his fine robes, and finally spattering onto the floor.
"Malf, I really don't think-"
"Keep out of this, Severus," Lucius mutters, banging the empty glass down onto the desk. "This is between myself and Father."
Severus doesn't comment again - daren't comment again - and watches dumbly as Lucius stands next to his father, muttering something in his ear. He stands in silence as Lucius reverentially unbinds Abraxas' hands, and places Abraxas' wand back into his grasp. Lucius runs a gentle finger down the side of Abraxas' cheek and smiles at him fondly, before helping him out of his chair and bodily moving him across the room.
Then, as if he's remembered he has company, he looks over at Severus. "Either you can stare at me disapprovingly as I drag him back to his room, or you can assist."
It's not a question. Severus quickly hoists Abraxas' other arm over his shoulder and the two shuffle the older man out of the study and up to his bedroom.
"Are we going to talk about it?" he asks quietly, anxiously passing the tumbler of whisky between one hand and the other.
"You can drink that," Lucius says, not answering the question. "There's nothing wrong with it. Watch." He throws his head back, dramatically downing his own drink, and then pours another. "Drink, Severus."
With a hint of reluctance, Severus brings his glass to his mouth and takes a sip. It tastes normal. "Thank you."
Lucius stares at him for a long moment, and then sips his drink. "We should get back to the girls. They'll wonder where we are."
"Can we talk about it with them? Does Cissy know?"
"Know what? That Father's in the Manor? Of course she knows. She lives here."
"And she knows that you're drugging him, does she?"
Lucius gives a sharp shake of his head. "She thinks he's sick." He pauses. "It's not far from the truth, of course."
Severus looks pained. "You don't have to do this. There are places you could send him - places where people could look after-"
"I am looking after him," Lucius snaps. "I look after him, and I look after Cissy, and I look after the Malfoy name." He shakes his head angrily. "He was ruining us, Severus!"
"...ruining you?"
"It was my father bankrolling the Dark Lord," Lucius says, his voice hard. "Those anti-Muggleborn campaigns when we were at Hogwarts? All Malfoy money."
It's as if Severus' heart has stilled. "Your father ?"
"I do not care to repeat myself." Lucius pours another measure and hands the bottle to Severus.
"And does he still?"
There's a long silence. "A little," he admits. "I would rather not, but I am aware that pulling away entirely would be suicide for us all."
Severus nods, remembering only too well his own encounter with the Dark Lord. "And the Dark Lord has forgiven you for the dramatic drop in his income?"
Lucius swallows hard. "He was not pleased, but the Dark Lord appreciates that I cannot be held responsible for my father's decisions. All of the money that leaves this estate bears his name."
Severus stares evenly at his friend, piecing the puzzle together. "Your father signs the cheques, and you choose where they go."
"Indeed."
"The Ministry included?"
"...I do not select their vendettas," he says, stiffly, "if that's what you're asking."
"You can't do something about these ridiculous laws?"
"I put Fudge in post," Lucius says. "For now, that is enough."
"You count Fudge as an achievement?" Severus looks astonished.
Lucius stares at his friend evenly. "It is."
"And what does your father think of his name being attached to such a...weak Minister? He doesn't complain?"
Lucius laughs darkly. "He has no choice." He pauses. "He has little knowledge. A quill mark here and there. He has no need to know the recipient."
Severus looks a little green. "And if he does find out? If he does-"
"What can he do? You saw what happened tonight, and that's the furthest he's ever got. It shall not be happening again." Lucius says. "I need to control the dosage a little more firmly, that is all."
"Imperatum doesn't work like that." Severus sips his drink, and then places it to one side, his intellectual curiosity piqued. "Imperatum is a compliance potion. You should know yourself that taking it day-on-day, week-on-week, or even year-on-year doesn't cause tolerance or immunity."
Lucius' eyelids shut as the fact dawns on him. "...no."
"Compliance is compliance." There's a long pause as Lucius takes this in, and Severus can practically see the thought swirling around his friend's mind. "Unless you're giving him Imperatum by pipette instead of by glass?"
Lucius shakes his head.
Severus continues, "Then it's impossible for the dosage to be weak enough for him to break out like he did tonight."
"If it's not the dose, what could it be?"
"This has come on all of a sudden? No warning signs?"
"No warning signs."
Severus sniffs. "It's something he's consuming."
"His diet is the same as it ever was," Lucius says, mulling it over. "I cannot think what it could be. One of the elves interfering, perhaps? I could threaten them with clothes, see if that stops it?" He looks pained. "Perhaps it would be easier for all concerned if my father were to…" He doesn't finish the thought. He doesn't need to.
The silence is almost overwhelming, and then Severus leans forward. "And when the time comes," Severus whispers, "when you can no longer hide behind your father's name when ink meets cheque, what will you do then?"
"I do not know. It all depends on which way the wind blows." Lucius gives him a strained smile. "...I think we understand each other."
They sit in quiet companionship, sipping from their glasses, until Severus looks up once more. "Do you feel anything?"
"Such as?"
"Guilt?"
Lucius takes a shuddering breath. "No." And then his gaze meets Severus' own. "I never knew he was doing it until you pointed it out that day."
Severus knows the day that Lucius is referring to - he can remember being offered a drink in Abraxas' study, and sensing the liquid had been tampered with. He can remember Lucius' manner shifting ever so subtly after imbibing. He can remember sitting down and writing the letter to Lucius which contained his suspicions. He knew that letter had caused a rift in the Malfoy family - Abraxas had suggested to the wizarding world that he had business overseas, but Severus had known at the time that his departure was for other reasons. And now, tonight, it turns out that he didn't leave at all. Tonight, it turns out that the rift between father and son hadn't healed, and his friend had been exacting his revenge in the only way he knew how. Severus feels pained, as if he was somehow partially responsible.
"Give him no mercy, Severus," Lucius hisses, as if realising the root of his silence. "After all these years of him controlling me and my mother, it felt fitting to turn the tables against him."
There's something in Lucius' hard look that bothers him, and Severus downs his drink, keen to return to Lily. "We should head back."
"No," Lucius says. "Why were you looking for me? I thought I instructed you to stay with Cissy."
"I thought we should celebrate," he says, the words almost sticking in his throat after what he's just seen, "your impending fatherhood."
"With our experiences of fathers, I do not think it is worthy of celebration."
Severus gives him a tight smile. "You're not Abraxas. You're Lucius. You'll be just fine."
"I appreciate the sentiment, Severus, but the fact remains, it is not much of a celebration if you cannot be sure that your wife's child is your own."
Severus laughs loudly, expecting it to be a dark thread of humour - but when he catches Lucius' furious look, he stills. "Malf? You can't be serious?"
"Deadly."
"Cissy? She's devoted to you. Of course it's your child!"
"Women. They're all whores."
"Merlin...you are serious. Malf, you can't think that of Cissy, she-"
"-she what, Severus? She'd have fucked you if you'd have had her!" Lucius snaps. He exhales loudly - angrily, and it's as if the stress of the night has taken its toll on him. "All this! Look around you, Severus - all of this, and yet she'd have fucked you."
"Because you wanted her to," Severus argues, his jaw set. "She throws herself at men because she thinks that's what you want her to do. No, don't look like that - she told me as much!" He grabs his friend's arm, pulling him to meet his gaze. "Want to tell me that I'm wrong? No? That's because you can't!"
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"I do! She told me! Told me that you get off on the control - on the power you hold over both her and whoever she's shagging."
Lucius stares at him fiercely. "I didn't ask her to behave like that."
"Malf, are you..." Severus shakes his head, struggling to believe what he's hearing. "You've encouraged her all along!"
"She needed little encouragement from me."
"You're hardly loyal yourself!"
"What's the point in being loyal to someone who's sleeping with half of-"
"-no, no, you forget that I was there when this all started," Severus spits, his fury building. "In my fourth year! You think I've forgotten?"
Lucius shakes his head repeatedly, getting up and pacing around the room. "It's not the same."
"You forced her that night!"
"I did not!" Lucius squares up to him then, and Severus stands, both men with their hands balled by their sides. "I didn't make her do anything. She wasn't under a potion, she wasn't under a spell-"
"But her boyfriend," Severus grinds out, his chest heaving with anger, "ordered her to suck Bast off, didn't he?"
"It's not the same. Her will was her own. It was a stupid drunken game, and I only said it to see if she would. To see what she was really like."
"Fuck me, Malf, how are you this stupid? She did it because she thought you'd dump her if she didn't. She did it because you told her you wanted her to - that it was turning you on, and if she loved you, she'd do it! I heard what you said - I was there!"
"She didn't do it to please me. She did it because she's as much of a whore as the rest of them!"
"I always thought you loved her," Severus says, quietly, sitting back down and holding his head in his hands. "I thought you were devoted to her."
"...I am."
"Then how can you speak that way about her? If you think so little of her, why did you go ahead and marry her?"
And Lucius looks up, his eyes haunted. "Because if they're all the same - if they're all destined to sleep around behind your back, then at least she was willing to keep up appearances. To obey me. To let me control the situation, so the Prophet doesn't run riot with tales of debauchery." Lucius shakes his head at Severus, when he opens his mouth to speak. "You don't even know the half of it. I let her do as she pleases, and she permits me the same freedom - and then we both put on the public face that you know so well." He gives a twisted laugh. "How can I do that if the child is born and it is not of Malfoy stock?"
"I thought my old man was bad enough," Severus says, aghast, "but your twisted father really did a number on you, didn't he?"
They finally head back to the women, but the evening is over - Narcissa is tired, and Lucius looks drained. As they walk down the corridor to the entrance hall, Lily glances between the two men, but their forced joviality betrays nothing of what had transpired over the previous hour. She stands outside the house with Narcissa, politely watching as Narcissa absently pets one of the peacocks, and Lily pretends not to witness Severus and Lucius embrace. She can just about see Severus' hand threading through Lucius' hair as he murmurs into his ear.
"Don't do anything you'll regret," he says, softly. "There are ways of finding out parentage."
"After it's arrived."
"Before," Severus says. "Long before. I'll find a way." And then he pulls back, his hand resting on the back of Lucius' neck. "Look after her. She'll need you more than ever." He wants to say more, but Narcissa steps back towards them, and the look in Lucius' eyes is odd. "Thank you for the hospitality, Malf." There's a moment, and then Severus blurts it out, no longer caring if he's speaking out of turn. "Don't let history repeat."
Lucius gives a tight smile, and places his arm around his wife's waist. "What can I say? We are our fathers' sons."
Severus shakes his head. "No, Malf. We are so much more."
And with that, he takes Lily's hand and they march back up the path to the wrought iron gates.
He's silent once they arrive back at Hogwarts. She wants to ask him what happened - wants to ask him what his and Lucius' riddles about their fathers were all about, but she can tell from the steely look on his face, it wouldn't be a welcome discussion. She doesn't know Lucius' father, but she knows Severus' only too well - and it's somewhat of a relief to hear Severus acknowledging that his path doesn't have to be the same as his father's. It was something her parents quietly fretted about, she was aware of that much. And here Severus was, keen to point out that he was not prepared to stand in his father's shadow.
It makes her want to hold him - makes her want to find out what had brought such a sentiment on, but he's quiet. Too quiet. She gives him some space, and goes for a shower, and when she returns with a large towel wrapped around her and using a flannel to rub water from her ear, she sees him sitting cross-legged before the bookcase, engrossed in a thick book.
"Busy?"
"Mmm," he grunts, flicking another page.
"That was a nice evening."
"Mmm."
"The dancing was enjoyable."
"Mmm."
"And the food was lovely."
"Mmm."
She narrows her eyes, certain he's not listening. "Cissy offered me papers."
"Mmm...she what?"
"Papers," she says, and now he's standing, the book dropped on the floor and long forgotten.
"Cissy can get you papers?" he asks, keenly.
"Lucius can," she corrects, "but they're one and the same."
He doesn't answer that, but he inhales slowly. "What sort of papers?"
"Halfblood ones."
"And the cost?"
She shakes her head. "I think you've already paid."
He scoffs. "No such thing. Not where Malf is concerned." He stares at her, his mind racing. "I don't understand why. I know they were kind to you tonight, but-"
"-you don't have to remind me that they're purists, Severus."
"Exactly. What reason did she give to you?"
"That it's to protect you. Why else would they bother?" She smiles thinly. "They're certainly not interested in my scintillating personality."
"No," he says, taking her hand as he snaps the lights off with his wand, "but then I rather suggest that is their loss."
He lets her take the lead. It's as if she can tell that he's emotionally exhausted, because she doesn't ask anything of him - she undresses him reverentially, and kisses him gently, and when she suggests that he lie back on the pillows and rest, her fingertips dancing across his skin, he finds himself drifting off to sleep.
"Sorry," he says, his voice a little thick as he jolts back awake. "I didn't mean-"
"-it's fine," she laughs, kissing his collarbone.
"It's not fine," he says, petulance in his tone. "I wanted you. This evening, when you were getting ready."
"When you were watching me?"
"All I could think about was what I would do to you when I got you home," he mutters, "and now I'm here, I've fallen asleep."
"You're insatiable," she teases. "You'd only just that moment had me." She gives him a strange look. "Ready to tell me what that was all about?"
He shakes his head, his smile playful. "You want me to tell you all of my secrets."
"No, just the ones that concern me."
He grins, and she can't continue the thought because he pulls her closer, his warm mouth meeting hers. They lie entwined together, their bodies pressed against each other, and then as he finally positions himself between her legs, he murmurs, "I don't want to keep any secrets from you."
A small groan escapes her as he moves inside her, and she slides her hands around his neck - suddenly reminding her of the possessive hold Severus had had on Lucius before they returned home. "...he's going to be a father."
The comment causes him to falter in his rhythm, and he gives a soft laugh before gently nipping at her neck. "Thinking about Malf, are you?"
"They're going to be parents."
"Mmm."
"Lucius and Narcissa."
"Mmm."
"She'll make a good mum, I think."
"Mmm."
"And it might be just the thing for Lucius to-"
"-Merlin, Lil," he groans, snapping his hips harder against her, "can you whisper something sexy to me instead of talking about bloody Malf? Or are you trying to tell me something?"
"I am trying to tell you something," she says, and this time he stops completely - as if he's been slapped, or frozen, and his jaw tightens, and his eyebrows raise.
Are Lucius and Abraxas right? Are all women the same? If she's thinking about him when - and then she grabs his left hand and presses it against her stomach, and his heart almost stops. He pulls out of her, his mouth gaping, and his hand fixed in place. "Lil…that's..."
"It's not my magic," she whispers.
"Oh fuck."
"You can feel it?"
"Yes," he says, hoarsely - and he knows she's right; the swirl is different, and he can't believe he hasn't noticed until this moment. His fingers dance over the same patch of skin, almost basking in the gleeful spiral of magic emanating from her. "When did you know?"
"Not until tonight. I didn't know it manifested like this. Not until I touched Narcissa, and then it fell into place. Moody said something to me the other day, and it-"
"Moody knows?" He looks terrified.
She shakes her head. "No, don't worry. Moody just commented on my magic pulsing more strongly. He didn't determine it was different. He's got no idea."
"I don't want him to find out."
"He won't," she says. "I won't let him get close enough to work it out." She pauses, and then kisses him. "He thought you'd done something to me."
He gives a soft laugh. "Well, I have, haven't I?" And then he drops his head to where his hand still lies, and kisses across her soft stomach. "Merlin's beard, love. What the hell are we going to do?"
Chapter 47: Trapped
Chapter Text
He hadn't always been a skulker. As a kid, he'd been the opposite - he'd had presence, and he was quick, and his reflexes were fast. He'd been cautious and quiet when he first started hanging around at the park - he'd watched Lily for weeks, and when he'd realised she had magic, he desperately didn't want to scare her away. However, once they were friends, he was back to his usual energetic self - prone to charging around with his hands windmilling through the air, leaping off play equipment or out of trees or scrabbling over railings, yelling and whooping, and letting off steam in exactly the way his parents disapproved of when he was in the house.
The change came when he reached Hogwarts. It might have been in the first year, or maybe the second. And it might have been the onset of puberty which wrenched him out of his childish exuberance, causing him to become self-conscious. His demeanour shifted, betraying his lack of confidence - an act which coincided with the unrelenting onslaught of misery bestowed upon him by his bullies. He learnt to duck and dodge, evade and run, and their group taught him that retaliation was best served from the shadows, crouched in darkness, instead of in an open duel pitted one wand against four. Either way, he was haunted, the long school corridors were full of enemies - some wearing red, others wearing green - and his body grew far too quickly for him to remain agile. Instead, his limbs were suddenly oversized and awkward, giving him an elongated, lanky appearance, and causing him to appear clumsy, his previously smooth actions replaced by gawkish fumbling.
It wouldn't have been fair to have said he was universally reviled at Hogwarts - there was Malf and Narcissa, Reggie Black and Avery, Mulciber and Evan Rosier, and best of all, there was Lily. But more often than not, the shouts of his name in the corridor weren't accompanied by a cheerful clap on the shoulder and a high-spirited greeting, but instead were sneering condemnation - if his real name was used at all.
"Snivellus."
Even now, he can hardly bear to think about the hated name; it makes his skin crawl, and his gut clench.
"Oi, Snivellus!"
Finding his body awkward in those middle years, he'd started to slink and skulk, desperate not to be noticed, and striving to blend into the background. He stuck to the castle's shadows and became an expert in avoiding pools of illumination. He learnt to press his body against the cool brickwork as he traversed the castle, his features obscured by his cloak and the relative darkness. Nobody else walked in the shadows, so he made it his domain - and without anyone to talk to, he simply listened to the bustle of conversation around him, overhearing fragments of conversation as other students passed him - and if he was sufficiently intrigued, he'd silently follow them, often resulting in him ending up on the wrong side of the castle to wherever his next lesson was meant to be.
"Late again, Mr Snape? That's the second time this week and it's only Wednesday. Detention with Mr Filch tonight."
Still, he learnt a lot that way.
Then in sixth year, he grew again - becoming taller and stronger, and adding lean muscle to his frame. He was still underweight and he'd never attain the sort of athletic body that could be found on the inner pages of League Quidditch Monthly - he was far too interested in reading to start hanging off broomsticks like Potter and Black, with their thicker, muscular bodies - but he was starting to see the benefits of his extra height, and his longer limbs. One spring holiday, he followed a cat around Hogwarts, studying how it leapt and crept, and then spent the rest of the week emulating it.
Oh, to be an Animagus.
His practice paid off, but although he may have become nimble on his feet, in daily life, Severus Snape remained a skulker. His new height gave him a long, quick stride, and he was more than capable of breaking into a fast sprint when required - but he didn't power down the corridors of Hogwarts with a commanding presence. He didn't saunter like Black, or strut like Potter, and he didn't fill the space as the four Gryffindor friends did, bantering and jostling for position, refusing to give way to anyone walking in the opposite direction.
No, Severus Snape skulked. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, hunched his shoulders, and rounded his back. He kicked at invisible scuffs on the floors, creating marks where the stone had previously been unblemished, earning him Filch's ire. He followed, and he watched, and he may have been increasingly quick to raise his wand when he sensed danger - but most of all, he skulked.
Which is why it was a surprise to the teaching staff of old to see Severus Snape moving down the dungeon corridor with a smirk on his face, and a bounce in his step.
A dad.
He's always been rational - far more so than Lily, who has always been prone to flights of fancy, or following her heart no matter the consequences - and deep down, he knows this is a terrible idea. He ticks off the problems as he scales the stairs of the castle, adrenaline pumping through him - starting with the war, and the Dark Lord, and Dumbledore. He thinks about Slughorn and Jigger, Belby and Borage, his apprenticeship and hers - and living at Hogwarts. Can a baby even live at the school? He thinks about Malf and Cissy and their impending child, and Petunia and Dunderhead Dursley and whether they've managed to conceive since they saw them last - or whether he and Lily winning the race will be a sore point within the wider family for decades to come.
And then he thinks about his mam and his da and what they'll say - if anything at all. His da might just keep listening to the football and reading the paper, and his mam drinking her tea and smoking her ciggies. Maybe she'll ask him if they are going to bring the baby up in the magical world, or do what she did and retreat back to Cokeworth and - oh fuck - they'll have to tell her parents, which will be a million times worse.
He doesn't really care what his parents will or won't do - he doesn't care if they'll approve, doesn't care if they shout at him, or throw things, or scream at him that he's ruined his life, or Lily's life, or both of their lives. He doesn't care if they shake his hand, or congratulate him. He knows Tobias and Eileen - he knows that they'll come around eventually, and that their hearts are generally in the right place, even if they say the wrong thing to begin with. He knows that at some point, he'll take a kid - his kid - to the door, wrapped in a bundle of blankets, and clutching a teddy bear, and his mam will spend the afternoon doting on the baby, whilst his da stands around with his hands in his pockets and his chest puffed out, talking nonsense about responsibilities that the Lord himself knows that Tobias never kept. All whilst keeping a safe distance from the youngster - Tobias was once bitten twice shy when it came to babies and accidental magic. Severus caused more than a few upsets with his father before he could even babble coherently. He's not sure if Tobias has even really forgiven him now, two decades on.
No, Severus doesn't care at all about his parents - they'll come around, or they won't - but there is a cold twist of trepidation within him at the idea of the two Muggles he's come to view with something nearing affection, the ones Lily still calls Mummy and Daddy, being displeased. Being displeased at the baby, being displeased with him, being displeased with her. And if they are displeased, he'll have to sit there with his head bowed, not like a respected father-to-be, but as a fumbling awkward boy who needs to be berated by David. Or maybe David won't merely berate him. Maybe it will be even worse - maybe David will refuse to acknowledge the news, or he'll try and change the subject, or maybe he'll cough disapprovingly, with his eyebrows raised. Severus had been on the receiving end of one of those coughs before. This time, the implication will be that they should get rid of the child - that Lily shouldn't shackle herself to Severus. Maybe Rose will cry, and if she does, how will he know if they are tears of joy? Maybe she won't be thinking about babygrows and baby clothes, and cots and blankets and booties and cardigans. Or if she is, maybe she'll be propelled back in her memories to the days when her girls were swaddled, and how he - the undeserving waif who had stumbled across their youngest child in a perverse twist of fate - has not only stolen her from their world, and dragged her into his world of magic, but now he's stolen both her innocence, and her opportunities.
And when he thinks about it like that, it's enough to make him feel a bit ill.
Maybe this isn't a happy occasion. Maybe his exhilarated reaction is silly - after all, Lily was so quiet when they were whispering to each other as he held her in his arms in the darkness - maybe she doesn't feel the same. Maybe she thinks that he's ruined her life. Maybe, instead of talking about the baby, he should've been talking about marriage. He should've married her already. Should've married her when this blood status nonsense started - if she'd have had him.
Blood status.
He grimaces, thinking about blood - thinking about the new legislation about family trees, which he had been completely unaware of. He wonders which of their Muggle names would be best to bestow on a child in a world where magic is the only thing of importance. There aren't any magical Snapes, him aside, he knows that much - but are there any Evanses? Maybe Malf could get them some papers. Maybe they could delve into his mother's family tree, and find a Prince - a male Prince. For years, he'd looked more like his mam; maybe he could find an old portrait or a moving photograph where he looks like a long lost uncle or second cousin, and maybe it will be enough for them to build a credible story around. Anything to give their child the opportunities that his parents hadn't had. Anything to spare the kid the ignominy of having a tainted name. After all, this child wouldn't be a Muggle or a Muggleborn, or even a Halfblood child who grew up ensconced in the Muggle world.
Their child would be a Half, just like Severus - but unlike Severus, their child would have everything. They'd be a true Half. A Half living in the magical world, with all the benefits that would bring. He or she - and he couldn't bring himself to think about the differences just yet - would be loved and cherished and adored, and he'd be the sort of dad who'd spend time with their kid - teaching them to read and to brandish a wand. Oh! What a witch or wizard their child would be, with his and Lily's magic melding together, all that talent and energy poured into one single human. After all, Slughorn always knew Severus had potential - still has it, even - and Severus can still literally feel Lily's magic thrumming around her. He knows Slughorn had felt it from the pair of them from the moment he met them, and he had been keen to harness both of their abilities, so how much more powerful would their offspring be with all of their powers combined?
The idea of a baby is still unnerving, but Lily could do all the stuff he found so difficult - the declarations of love and the bodily contact that small humans apparently craved. Maybe he could even do that himself when it came to it. He managed to do it with Lily - showing her how he felt, tangling his fingers with hers or pulling her into his arms, kissing her on the forehead and remembering to be affectionate when he woke up in the morning, or departed for his day at work. He could do that with his kid, couldn't he? It would be no different. He just needed to forget how his parents acted - do the opposite, in fact! - that's all he did with Lily; thought about how Eileen and Tobias behaved, and disregarded it entirely. He could do all of those things he'd secretly craved as a kid - all the things he'd desperately hoped his parents would do, like being read to at bedtime. If he'd wanted that to happen, then his own child would be no different, surely? But either way, he's been able to show Lily how he feels, and so the child would know - the child would know that Lily loves Severus, and Severus loves Lily, and they both want and adore their child.
That idea - the idea of a loving partner and a child who hero-worships their father - is enough to keep a wide smile on his face, even though deep down, he knows this is definitely a bad idea. It's illogical. He's too impatient to be gentle with a baby, and they're both too poor, and the world around them is at war. He knows that babies make a mess, and a noise, and they ruin your sleep. He knows they cost a fortune, and he knows that he and Lily have got few galleons saved.
Despite all of that, he can't bear to think about the alternative. He can't bear to think about a future where they actively did something to change it. He can't think about potions or charms, he can't think about hospitals and healers. A week ago, the thought of a child would've terrified him, and if he'd been offered, he'd have said no. But now that the child exists, all he can think about is his baby growing inside his girlfriend. He wants to see her rounded with his offspring, a declaration that she's chosen him - above all others - to be her best friend and boyfriend and partner and mate forever and ever and ever.
Mine mine mine mine mine.
He should've married her. He feels oddly guilty about it - ashamed, even. She should have a ring, and a declaration of his love and his sincerity to stand beside her, providing for her and their family. Yet somehow, this is deeper than marriage. Their DNA mixing together to create a new life means that their relationship will live on, long past his death or hers.
And that possessive primal howl bellows inside him, his grin growing ever wider.
Mine!
His excitement dumbfounds her.
She doesn't know what to expect when she blurts the news out; she wasn't intending on saying anything. The revelation that there is a small life growing inside of her is fresh in her own mind, and she had spent the final hour at Malfoy Manor in quiet contemplation, although she hadn't permitted Narcissa to refill her glass with alcohol.
Narcissa shot her a curious look. "You don't have to abstain on my account. I don't mind."
"Us girls have got to stick together," Lily said, with a tight smile, and she raised her empty glass - which, with a snap of Narcissa's fingers, was quickly filled with fresh orange juice by an obliging house elf.
When Severus and Lucius returned, their mood was sombre, and Severus was drawn and quiet when they reached Hogwarts. From his parting words to Lucius, it was evident that fatherhood had been addressed, but she was unsure whether it was Lucius' father, or Lucius' impending fatherhood that had been the centre of their discussion - but his quiet mood was hardly conducive to dropping the bombshell that he, Severus, would be joining his best friend in such a life-changing event.
She excuses herself to use the bathroom, telling him that she was planning on a long shower, and he quietly nods, happy to settle himself before the bookcase. They had a Muggle pregnancy test in the bathroom cupboard, and once she's cast against the door to stop him from bursting in unexpectedly, she digs it out. Her mother had given it to her when she'd first moved in with Severus, despite her protestations that it was unnecessary.
"Mummy, we're safe-"
Rose gave a slight shake of the head. "If I had a pound for all of the teenagers in Britain who've said the same-"
"Severus has a potion! And I take the pill, and-"
"No method is one hundred percent," Rose said, pulling her daughter close to her, and squeezing her in a warm hug. "I know you're both sensible, but there will come a time when something happens - when you're sick and you throw up a potion, or when you don't make it to the pharmacy to refill your prescription, or-"
"We won't!"
"-and," Rose continued, as if Lily hadn't spoken, "there will be a night when something doesn't feel quite right, and you will want to check." She waved the package, and then pushed it into Lily's hands. "This is for that night."
And now, all those months on, this was that night.
It is a strange contraption, all things considered, and it looks as if it would be more at home on the shelves in Slughorn's laboratory instead of being sold in a Muggle shop. Worst of all, the packaging advises that it will take two hours for the results to show.
She casts a timing charm by the sink, and carefully places the used test inside the cabinet. She forces herself to take her time - to slowly and deliberately clean her teeth, and remove her makeup, and file her nails - and once she can't stall any longer, she heads for the shower. She stands under the spray, and groans, trying to relax under the torrents of water. After washing her hair - twice - and adding ample conditioner, she can't help but roam her hands around her body, checking for any signs of change - any signs of a new life settling inside her. To her dismay, everything looks and feels exactly as it had a month ago, and the month before that, and the month before that.
She hasn't experienced sickness or pain, as Narcissa had complained so heartily of, and she wasn't tender, or sore, or excessively tired. In fact, if it hadn't been for that tell-tale swirl of magic around her navel, she wouldn't have ever guessed. She idly wonders how long she'd have remained ignorant - a week? Two? Would she have skipped a period and started to worry, or without any signs, would she have assumed that it was a hormonal blip? Would it have taken two months, or three? Would she have started to show before she guessed - or would Severus have been the one to work it out? She waves her hand back over her stomach, and she feels the soft pulse of magic, growing stronger as her hand glides over her skin.
"You're definitely in there, aren't you?" she asks, softly - and she finds herself wondering if she wants there to be life within her, or not.
Perhaps it's not a baby. Perhaps it's something else.
She snaps off the shower, half wondering if Severus will start calling for her to hurry up and join him in bed - but he is utterly silent. She presses her ear against the door, and she can't hear anything, which suggests he has either tired of waiting for her and has headed for bed - which seems unlikely - or he is still reading, which is rather more in line with Severus' usual behaviour.
When she finally emerges from the bathroom, her towel wrapped around her, he's still sitting before the bookcase, his nose stuck between the pages of a thick book. He hasn't even made it to a chair, so it's of no surprise when he doesn't comment on how long she has taken - she doubts he's even noticed.
The positive result of the test is burning on the tip of her tongue, but he is distracted - barely responding to her, so she deliberately avoids the subject. Instead, she raises the issue of Narcissa and the offer of papers, because the issue of blood status is screaming in her mind; if they were to have a child it would be better if he or she could be registered as the offspring of two Halfbloods, instead of being tainted by the touch of a Muggleborn.
As she expects, the mention of papers catches his attention, and then they end up in bed, and she really didn't mean to say anything at that point. She meant to touch him, to love him, to reassure him that whatever had gone on between himself and Lucius, she adored him. She doesn't want him dwelling on Tobias, or whatever else he and Lucius had been discussing - especially not now. She could pick the topic up again tomorrow, after breakfast, when they were both fed and sober - or maybe even after their evening meal, when work was done, and they could both relax by the fire, certain they wouldn't be disturbed. That seems like the best idea, and she's ready to put the thought to the back of her mind, to focus on his body touching hers in exactly the way that got them into this mess in the first place - but then he mutters the words that make her heart skip: I don't want to keep any secrets from you.
And then, with skin touching skin, she can't bring herself to keep any from him either.
She really doesn't know what to expect when she blurts it out, but his reaction is of pure elation - it's almost overwhelming to see how proud and pleased he is, particularly given that such a development was unplanned. She braces herself, expecting that he'll ask her about the potion, or her Muggle contraception, confused about why they'd both failed when they'd been so careful - but he doesn't. It's as if he doesn't care. Instead, for the first time that she could recall, he appears to have little interest in the practicalities; he is happy.
His enthusiasm would've been been intoxicating, but her own excitement is tempered when she gets up the next morning and walks in on him locking away the vials of Polyjuice, and telling her that he will be taking her place with Slughorn whilst she must remain indoors.
"Why?"
"Because we don't know what Polyjuice might do to the kid-"
"I've been taking it up until now! I took it all last week, and the week before, and-"
"-and you were drinking alcohol last night as well, but you're not going to now, are you?"
There's a long and bitter silence, and then he kisses her.
She tries again, striving to be calmer in her tone, desperate to convince him. "Sev, one more day won't hurt."
"It's not just the Polyjuice. What about when you're brewing? The heavy cauldrons? The hot flames? What if something explodes or-"
"-it won't! I'm not like you, I don't go around routinely exploding cauldrons just because I want to see what happens if I put two incompatible ingredients together!"
"No, love," he says, firmly. "Look, I've got to go, else Sluggy will shout about me - you - being late."
She scowls at him as he departs, and then sinks heavily onto the sofa, her thoughts swirling around her mind. She wants to be excited - she wants to share the glee and joy that Severus does - but the practicalities are looming large in her mind. The Muggle and magical worlds are not quite aligned; in some ways, the magical world is more progressive - the balance of workers in the Ministry was an almost even split between men and women, and such things could not be said for the Muggle world - but at other times, its conservatism shines through. Pregnancy out of wedlock would scarcely be accepted back in Cokeworth, and although she can't say for sure that it would be frowned upon in the wizarding world, she cannot recall a student from school who came from an unmarried household. There were a few kids where one of their parents had died, but she couldn't think of any parents who, for want of a better phrase, lived in sin.
She wonders if there's a way to conceal the pregnancy, to stop anyone from finding out - but then quickly realises that it would bring its own problems - if nobody knew she was pregnant, then what would they say when they found her and Severus strolling around with a babe-in-arms? The purists were already obsessed with talking about Muggleborns obtaining magic illegally - if she were to be accused of stealing a magical baby, she'd definitely be hauled up in front of the Ministry, or thrown in Azkaban, or likely - knowing the way that the world was turning - she and the child, and perhaps even Severus as well, would suffer at the hands of a band of vigilantes. What was she meant to do? Stay hidden and below stairs, like some domestic servant defiled by her master, with their child destined to be farmed out to an elderly couple who couldn't conceive?
The thought vexes her, and she grabs a cushion, pulling it against her and squeezing her frustration onto it. As if those thoughts weren't bad enough, from his behaviour this morning, it seemed as if continuing her apprenticeship would be a non-starter as far as Severus was concerned. She was going to be bored stiff - locked up for months and months on end, with her body changing and nobody to talk to. And if keeping her pregnancy hidden was a priority, then Severus wouldn't be able to Polyjuice into her - which would mean that her alibi and agreement with Vance was off, and she would be back to being a wanted woman.
It was almost overwhelming. What she would give for the wise words of her mother or her father in this moment. For the very first time since she'd arrived at Hogwarts and stepped foot in these specially designed chambers - a place where she'd finally felt safe, loved and at home - Lily can't help but feel completely and utterly trapped.
Chapter 48: Room at the inn
Chapter Text
He pushes the door open, and when he finds their quarters in complete darkness, his chest clenches. He would've been a liar if he had claimed that he was completely blindsided by the development, but he had hoped that his fear that she'd be scared, or overwhelmed at their news had been unfounded.
Last night, when she'd told him about their baby, he hadn't brushed her mind with Legilimency. He hadn't intruded, so he'd had no way of knowing exactly what she was thinking when she hugged him tightly, with him whispering words of love and joy in her ear in the darkness. He wasn't sure how she'd wanted him to respond, so he'd opted for enthusiasm - and he was enthusiastic - hoping his support would be enough to allay any fears that she held but hadn't yet shared.
When she'd been so angry in the morning, it had left him carrying a nagging doubt in the back of his head all day long. It had been there whilst he brewed potion after potion, but he hadn't downed tools and run back to their quarters because if Severus knew anything about his girlfriend, it was that she was prone to flying off the handle. Given a few hours of solitude, she might've calmed down, or resolved the problem, or at the very least, she'd have had enough time to create a knitted effigy of her reckless boyfriend so she could start punishing it. He'd had a bout of pins and needles in his left thigh at about half past three, and he had idly wondered if that was the option she'd gone for - but glancing around the room now, he couldn't see any trace of such a doll.
That prickling feeling wasn't voodoo, Sev. That's guilt.
Now that he's had more than five minutes to think about it, he realises what a schoolboy error he's made. He should've gone to Slughorn and told him that she was sick, and he should've holed up in their rooms with her, wrapping themselves in their blankets and spending the day discussing their future. Instead, he'd been an idiot, far too focused on covering their tracks and keeping up the ruse.
All in all, it had been an odd day - he hadn't just been Severus Snape in Slughorn's rooms, but Severus-pretending-to-be-Lily-pretending-to-be-Severus, and he wasn't entirely sure that he'd done a fantastic job at it. For one thing, Slughorn had seemed unconvinced by his behaviour; he'd caught the older man looking at him curiously from the corner of his eye - but then, that might've been because Severus couldn't keep that daft smile off his face. Severus Snape did not smile. He certainly didn't grin inanely. And Severus wouldn't normally have plastered such an expression across his features, nor - he was sure - would Lily when she was pretending to be him. On top of that, he had a burning desire to share his news. He wanted to tell someone - anyone! - that he was going to be a father, but Hogwarts was hardly comprised of people who he could trust, so he'd wrapped up his elation and kept it hidden deep within. That silly smile being the exception, of course.
So he'd quietly looked forward to tonight as he'd prised snails from their shells, and sliced flobberworms, and strained doxy blood. He had daydreamed about walking in, pulling Lily into his arms and murmuring about their future - but the further he goes into their rooms, the more that reality hits home and his happiness drains from him. At first, he fervently hopes that she is simply curled up in their bed, exhausted with the weight of emotion, or suffering from a sudden onslaught of pregnancy nausea - but as he casts at the wall lamps and finds each and every room empty, he realises it's beyond foolish to hope to find her coiled form in their bed.
"Lil? You in here, love?"
He's foolish. What can he say?
When the bedroom door swings open, he is greeted with naught but darkness and silence. His hope has disappeared entirely, and the realisation that she's walked away catches him like a bludger to the throat. He pauses before casting at the bedroom wall lamp, and when he does, his spell is weak. The lamp emits a dim glow, as if he's done it deliberately - and he has done so many times before, whenever he was planning to be seductive. Seduction. That's what's got them into this state, and the very thought makes his stomach roll. He drops to his knees, his palms covering his face, and his elbows digging in to the mattress. His breathing is awkward and loud, stuttering and uneven, and when he finally composes himself, and pulls his hands away, he presses his palms together and touches his forefingers to his brow.
Severus had spent his childhood being troubled by his father's Muggle values. Tobias' obsession for correct posture during prayer was no exception, but with Lily gone, it somehow seems like the only appropriate response. He's obviously read the situation incorrectly, and if he's messed it up so badly that she felt it necessary to walk out of the door to get away from him, he feels that he needs nothing short of a miracle to get her back.
The sky is grey in Cokeworth, and by the time he's walked over to her parents' house, the rain has left his face damp and his hair clinging to his cheeks. At first, it had been the sort of rain that you don't prepare for - it's just a spot of drizzle - the sort of rain that doesn't require an umbrella, and you don't think to raise your hood until it's too late and you're already soaked. Not that he has a hood on this cheap jacket; an Ethel Austin's reject rack special, which has always had a hole under the arm where the left sleeve meets the body - a fair return for a few pence off. Or so his mother would've thought when she bought it for a Christmas present a few years back. He shrugs uncomfortably as he walks up the path, the nylon sticking to his arms.
He wouldn't have been completely soaked if he hadn't wandered over to the park first. He didn't really expect her to be there, but he found it grounded him in some way, going back to where they'd first met. He'd sat on the wooden swing - her wooden swing - the wet wood damp against the seat of his jeans, and he'd pushed his feet against the ground. His effort was lacklustre and the resulting swing was shallow, the toes of his boots dragging across the dirt below - nothing like the way the pair of them used to sail to the highest peak, flinging themselves through the air without care for any of the bones in their body.
It was as he sat on the play equipment that the rain grew harder, more relentless, almost painful as it pummelled his skin. The pack of cigarettes in his top pocket pressed against his chest, begging him to open them - although he'd be hard pressed to convince one to catch light in this weather - but he stood, resolute; he couldn't avoid it any longer - and turning up at her parents' house as the father-to-be was one thing, turning up as a father-to-be who was soaked the skin and stinking of a habit that he'd sworn he'd forsaken was another.
The lights were on downstairs, and he rapped sharply on the door before immediately thrusting his hands back into his pockets, his fingers twisting anxiously against the thin lining as he waited. David pulled the door open - and he suddenly seemed rather terrifying; greying and serious, older and taller - although that was because he was stood on the step, whilst Severus stood on the ground - and far more sure of himself. Severus took in a halting breath, his words sticking on his tongue now that he was confronted with the reality of Lily's father.
You've knocked up his daughter.
He wanted to say that he was going to look after her - that he realised he'd messed up, and he wasn't going to make another mistake because he was going to put all of this right - but he suddenly felt infinitesimally small, and incredibly weak, and he was too aware of his hair plastered against his face, and his horrible jacket clinging to his skin. Who was he kidding? He wasn't going to make a father. David is a father. David, with his good job, and his sensible shoes, and his terrible jokes. David is a father. A great father. Severus isn't a father; Severus is just a stupid kid playing make-believe.
"I'm..." And he falters, and then stops completely. He wants to apologise - wants to say that he's sorry and that he didn't mean to hurt her. He wants to say that he's going to come inside and put his arms around her, and he's going to tell her that he loves her, and then she's going to want to come home with him, and he's going to put it right, but as he's standing outside, the rain seeping through his jacket, and the relative success of her parents staring him in the face - with their nice house, and their neat garden, and their brand new car - he realises that she might not want that. She might not want him.
After all, she's not answered the door to him, and she's probably sitting inside the warm, dry house with her mother, the two of them hoping that he'll go away, sending her father out as her protector. He feels sick as he realises that she's probably come to her senses after all of these years - this news being a sharp shock - a painful slap that's pulled her out of her silly world, where she's been playing along with his daft dreams and desires - and now that it's all become too real, she's going to withdraw, and start a new game with someone else. Someone better. Someone worthier.
You should just leave, he thinks. Don't embarrass her by making her say the words. Don't beg. Just walk away with as much dignity intact as you can muster.
It's hard to muster dignity when you can barely see through the rain, and your socks are wet through, and there's water running down the back of your neck and sliding beneath your t-shirt, but just as he straightens his back and makes to turn away, David surprises him.
"Severus." The older man steps out of the house in just his socked feet, and onto the puddle covered path, walking towards him until they're uncomfortably close.
Oh. He's going to beat shit out of me.
"Come here, son," David says, roughly pulling him into an embrace, the likes of which they've never previously shared.
David doesn't take him through to the living room. He waits with last week's newspaper whilst Severus unknots his boots in the hallway, but his wet fingers conspire against him, and it seems to take forever for the laces to slide free. When he finally kicks the scuffed boots off, David passes him several scrunched up pages.
"Put these in the them to dry them off," he says, and then he leads him upstairs.
"Is she up here?"
"No," David says, leaning into the airing cupboard and passing out a large fluffy towel. "She's with her mother in the kitchen."
Severus swallows, not sure where this is going. "Can I speak with her?"
David gives him a small smile. "You're soaking wet. You need a warm shower, some dry clothes, and a cup of sweet tea."
"I don't take sugar."
"You do tonight," David says, firmly. "Get in the bathroom, pass me your clothes from behind the door so we can dry them, and get in the shower."
He does. He'd be reluctant, but David's tone brooked no argument, and seeing as ten minutes ago, he thought he'd be tramping his way back to Hogwarts alone, he's not keen to rock the boat. He steps into the bathroom, peels his wet clothes off his skinny body and shoves them through the door.
"What should I do when I'm out of the shower?"
"I'll be out here."
It's not reassuring. Not for Severus, who isn't used to this level of attention. Whenever his father behaved like this - well, never quite like this - it wouldn't end well. It wasn't in Tobias' nature to be nurturing, and Severus didn't know how to react to the sudden shift in his behaviour. He'd try to be good and appreciative, but he'd always make a mistake - he'd say the wrong thing, or he'd spill something - and Tobias would snap. On those nights, something would usually break - a cup or a plate or an ornament - and when his mother saw whatever was smashed, she'd always sigh loudly and start to clear up, her expression tinged with a strained look of sadness.
"Why can't you just behave for your father? Why do you always have to play him up?"
"I wasn't! I dint mean to play 'im up!"
"Yer bloody was! And now yer talkin' back to yer mam, yer little shite."
Severus shakes his head. There's no need for this, Sev, he tells himself. David isn't Tobias.
He pulls the shower curtain across the avocado coloured bath and twists the chrome controls on the wall. The shower head bursts into life, and he tangles awkwardly with the hose as he tries to position it correctly. He hadn't exactly planned to leap into the shower upon arrival - he wanted to speak to Lily - but now that the water is warming his rain-chilled body, he is grateful for David's intervention. He soaps himself quickly, and pours a liberal amount of shampoo from the bottle of Vosene on the side of the bath onto his hair, scrubbing his scalp harder than necessary and then dunking his head under the spray, washing the shampoo out - and then a stream of it bleeds into one of his eyes. Severus hisses and recoils, splashing clear water against his face, but he's already crying, and now that he's started, it's as if the floodgates have opened. He finds he can't do anything but put one hand against the wet tile and wait for his own strangled sobbing to stop.
It's odd, sitting in the front room and wearing David's formal clothes. He sips his overly sweet tea - now he does look like a father, with the borrowed pressed khakis and stripey shirt, and the blue woollen jumper which is making the back of his neck itch.
"A little warmer now?"
He nods stiffly. "Thank you."
"Your jeans and t-shirt are in the dryer," David says. "Not sure how long it'll take. More Rose's thing than mine, but I'll ask her to keep an eye on it. Jacket's in the airing cupboard."
"Oh!" Severus stands, abruptly, but before he can explain, David puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him back down. "No, David-"
"It's here," David says, pressing it into his hand, and clapping him on the back. "Now, finish your tea, and then you can go up to Lily. She went to bed whilst you were drying off."
It's the second door he's knocked on tonight, but he looks a little more presentable - if not like his usual self - when Rose opens Lily's bedroom door.
"Hello, Severus," she says, hugging him before he can even say hello. He flushes when he sees Lily's amused look from her position on the bed, and he knows that beneath his hair, even the tips of his ears have turned pink.
"Rose."
"Stay tonight, Severus," she says, moving past him. "Plenty of room at the inn." Rose shuts the door quietly behind her, leaving Severus standing on the opposite side of the room to Lily, who is nestled in her duvet.
It must be ok, the voice in his head screams. David wants you to stay. Rose wants you to stay. Lily...
"Hello you," she says.
"Hello yourself."
"Nice threads. The middle aged look suits you."
He glances down and gives a soft laugh. "Got a bit soaked coming here. An unexpected trip, really."
"Sorry about that."
He moves swiftly, sitting at the foot of the bed and reaching for her hand. "Bit overwhelmed?"
She nods, and she swallows, and then tears form at the edge of her eyes. "...I'm sorry."
"Hey," he says, quickly, shuffling up the bed and pulling her into his arms. "Shhhh. It's ok. It's ok, love."
They sit there for a long while, holding each other closely. He smells unusual, having used her mother's shampoo and wearing her father's clothes, but his body is warm, and his grip is firm and she finds herself relaxing into his familiar hold.
"I'm glad you came," she says, finally.
"Yeah?" He looks relieved, and gently moves some of her hair behind her ear so he can see her face clearly. "...what happened? I thought we'd got better at this talking thing?"
"We have."
"Then why are you here and not at home?"
"I wanted Mummy and Daddy. I was scared," she says, quietly.
"Scared? Scared of what? I'll look after you."
"You can't, Sev! It's not that easy." She looks down. "Besides, it's not just the baby. ...it's you."
He stiffens, as if he's been insulted. "You're scared of me?"
"No!" She shakes her head, exhaling loudly. "No, not you, but..."
"But what?"
"The way you reacted," she says, her fingers toying with the duvet. "You were so excited, and you didn't stop to think any of it through. They want to banish my kind from the wizarding world, Sev, and you want to bring a baby into that!"
He runs his free hand over his face, and when he lifts it again, he looks as if he's aged five years in as many minutes. "...I was trying to be supportive." He stares at her, imploringly, and then he pulls out the box that David had retrieved for him out of his sodden jacket.
"What's that?"
"What do you think it is?" And then he slides off the bed, and Lily shakes her head, closing her hands over his, stopping him from opening it.
"No, Sev."
His voice is suddenly colder, tighter. "No?"
"You don't have to do that."
"It's not because I have to, it's because I want to."
She shakes her head, and pulls at his hands, pulling him back towards the bed.
He capitulates, but he roughly shoves the ring back in his pocket, his ego clearly bruised. "You want to get rid of it, don't you?"
"Sev…"
"It's ok," he says, in a tone of voice that suggests that it isn't. "I don't want you trapped in a relationship you don't want to be in."
"Oh, Sev," she says, and this time she throws her arms around him, squeezing him so tightly, it's almost painful. "This isn't about us. Or you."
"I was trying to do the right thing. I didn't want you to think I blamed you for what happened."
Her voice is small. "...but it was me. I didn't take anything when I was staying with the Weasley family. I didn't have it with me - the tablets or your potion, and I just didn't think."
He closes his eyes, the realisation dawning. "It wasn't all you. I barely let you get your foot in the door that night," he says.
She takes his hand, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I wanted you as much as you wanted me."
"But you don't want our baby?"
There's another long silence, and eventually, she takes a deep breath. "What sort of life would our child have?"
"We'd be good parents."
She smiles at that, her fingers stroking down his cheek. "We would. But I don't think our world is going to let us try. Think of baby Malfoy and the sort of life he or she is going to have, and then think of our baby."
"Things might change."
"Things might get worse."
He puts his head in his hands. "I thought I was coming here tonight and I was going to walk away with a wife and a kid, and…"
"I didn't say I didn't want to be your wife."
"Lil, you sort of did."
"No, I said I didn't want you to propose now. I don't want you proposing like this, because you feel you have to."
"I don't feel I have to!"
"No?" Her voice is getting louder, and more shrill. "Then why didn't you ask me last week? Or the week before? Or the week before that?"
"...I've had the ring for a while."
"But not like this," she says, trying again, her voice softer. "You had it planned out, didn't you?"
He doesn't speak, and she squeezes his fingers.
"Sev?"
"...yes."
"Then I can wait. Until that moment that you'd dreamed of."
"The moment doesn't matter."
She kisses him - her lips soft and gentle - and before he can respond, she pulls away. "It does. When we're old, and we're telling our grandchildren about how we got engaged, I want you to be able to tell them. I want you to tell them about our perfect day, and our perfect date, and our perfect meal in the perfect restaurant where a talented violinist plays Boccherini whilst we eat, and there's a beautiful red rose in the vase on the table-"
"Lily-"
"-no, I'm on a roll-"
"I can see that," he interrupts again, drolly, "but it's a lily. Not a rose. In the vase, on the table."
And then she kisses him again, harder this time, and his hands come up to touch her cheeks as she deepens the kiss. "I want that," she says, a little breathlessly. "I want that memory. I want that moment that you've dreamed of."
"And you still want me?"
"I still want you."
His lips meet hers, and she drags off the jumper, and unbuttons the shirt, and when he's dressed only in his own underpants, she lifts the duvet and invites him into her bed. He presses kisses down the back of her neck, his arms wrapping around her as they shift to make a single bed comfortable enough for two - three - and she places her hands on top of his own. As he shifts, trying to get in the right position to sleep, his hand skitters over her stomach, and a swirl of magic pulses around the pair of them.
"...did you feel that?" she whispers.
He swallows hard. "Yes."
They lie like that, their hands wrapped in their child's magic, until she lets out a soft sob. "I don't think I can do it, Sev."
"It's ok," he says, his voice steady, but his heart quietly flipping over at the thought of not ever meeting his child.
"No, I mean, it sounds logical when I talk it through," she says, "but when I can feel our baby…"
"What did your mum say?" he says, softly, desperately hoping that Rose said something useful.
"She said she'd help in any way she could."
He strokes his fingers across her body, the baby's magic entwining with his digits. "And do you think that could be enough for us to find a way through this?"
"If I have the baby, you will stand by me, won't you, Sev? You weren't just saying it?"
"Forever, love. I'll stand by you forever."
Chapter 49: Specific task
Notes:
There's a very brief mention of historical miscarriage in this chapter.
Chapter Text
The four of them eat breakfast in near silence, and despite her parents' warm words last night, she feels uneasy, fairly certain that in the cold light of the next day, both her mother and father are now less than pleased at the situation. She saw her father's pointed look at her bare ring finger as she sat down, and her mother's pointed look at Severus, but neither of them have actually asked.
When Lily was curled up against Severus last night, he whispered in her ear that David had spotted the ring box in his sodden jacket, and she's positive that when the two of them descended the stairs that morning, her parents were poised to congratulate them on their upcoming betrothal, assuming it would've gone ahead, and assuming that she'd have said yes - but the fact remains that neither of them have asked, and as far as Lily's concerned, if they can't bring themselves to ask her, she's not going to explain.
Besides, she doesn't need to marry Severus to prove a point or to get him to stay. He's here, isn't he? She smiles to herself as she looks at him. He seems entirely oblivious to the mood of the room, sitting happily between her parents, shovelling cornflakes and milk into his mouth, and gulping his tea - in short, behaving as he always does at mealtimes, as if someone's going to whisk his food away at any moment and it's a race to consume as much as humanly possible in a short timeframe. She remembers him being sick more than a few times in their early days at Hogwarts, his small body unable to cope with him gorging on the copious amounts of food before him, and his brain seeming unable to switch off the feast-or-famine concept that had clearly been drilled into him at a young age. Got to make hay whilst the sun shines, Lil, he'd say, stuffing cakes and bread rolls into the pockets of his robes.
Before anyone else has come close to finishing their cereal, he's loudly scraping the bowl clean, and then he leans over and grabs greedily from the toast rack. She notes the look that passes between her mother and her father, all three of them watching as Severus carefully smears a thick layer of blackcurrant jam on one of the pieces of toast, and then pauses, placing the spoon on the table and leaving a dark smudge where the juice of the jam meets the pristine white cloth. Thank Merlin Petunia isn't here to see this. Severus then picks up the jar of lemon curd in one hand and the jar of strawberry jam in the other, and he twists the jam in his hand, scrutinising the contents, before eventually discarding the lemon curd untouched and committing the red preserve onto the next slice. Her parents glance at each other again, and she isn't sure quite what that look means - likely amusement or displeasure at his lack of table manners - but before she can comment in his defence, he swiftly cuts the two slices of toast in half, and places a piece of each variety on a plate, and passes it over to her.
"Thanks."
"S'alright, love," he says, practically inhaling his own toast, and then rubbing his sticky fingers on his jeans. "No bits in the strawberry. I checked."
She smiles. "No, Mummy and Daddy know I don't like seeds."
"Yeah, course," he says, looking a little abashed, as if it was stupid of him to forget that her parents know her as well as he does - or even better. He drains his tea, and claps his hands against his thighs, non-verbally announcing his intention to depart, and then stands, pushing his chair back under the table, and moving towards her so he can kiss her forehead. "Best get back to Sluggy. Make sure you eat something." And then he straightens, suddenly more formal, as if he's remembered his surroundings. "...thank you, both. For last night. ...and this."
"It's only breakfast," Rose says, kindly, as Severus heads towards the door, but Lily knows what he means - she isn't convinced that this would be the reception they'd have received on the other side of the river if he'd run to his parents instead of she to hers.
David stands, quickly joining Severus. "I'll see you out."
"And come back tonight. I'll make dinner," Rose calls - and although Severus is almost through the door, David in tow, he pauses.
Lily glances down at her uneaten food, wishing her mother hadn't said anything - she doesn't want this argument, not this early in the morning. Her mother's being generous and welcoming, reminding Severus that he's part of the family, but Lily knows that it's the wrong thing to say. He's not intending to come back tonight, because he doesn't want me here at all. She wonders for a moment if he'll say anything; years ago, he'd have just nodded his head and held in his feelings, going along with whatever everyone else wanted, but he's a little tougher now. After these last few months, they both are.
"...I thought Lil would come home with me."
"Right now? She's not finished eating."
"This evening, probably." He looks defensive. "When I've worked out a way."
"She needs rest, and that castle-"
"-the castle is the safest place for her. For us both."
David places a hand on Severus' shoulder. "Come back tonight, and we can talk more about it."
"Lil?"
She glances from her mother to father to boyfriend, all looking at her expectantly. Her mother's hand reaches out and strokes the back of hers in a soothing manner, and the longer she's silent, the stonier Severus' expression becomes.
"I can't, Sev."
It's like she's hit him. He almost recoils, his left eyebrow momentarily arching before it falls back into place. "Right. As you were then."
"No, Sev," she says, quickly, getting up and moving to put her arms around him. He's tense when she hugs him around his waist, and although he puts his hands on her hips, she can feel his reluctance. It's not an embrace. "I want to come back with you-"
He looks surprised, and she knows that behind her back, it's her parents who now look stunned. Don't look, she thinks. It's harder if you know for certain.
"Lily, you said that the magical world was unsafe," her mother ventures from her seat at the table.
"Severus will look after me," she says, with a certainty she isn't sure she feels on the inside. "And our baby."
He smiles, his hands now holding her more tightly. "Yes, love."
"But I can't get back into the castle without Polyjuice." She gives him a pointed look, and the smile drops from his face.
"No."
"Just once!"
"I said, no!"
"I've been doing it up until now! Before we knew! Once more isn't going to hurt!"
Their embrace has quickly morphed into a standoff, with both of them stood back a little from the other. He breaks eye contact first, shaking his head. "Moody."
David steps forwards, putting his hand protectively on Lily's arm. "I'm sure there are lots of emotions running high at the moment, Severus, but there's no need to diminish the way Lily's feeling because you don't agree with her decision."
To his surprise, Lily lets out a snort of laughter. "Daddy, no. Moody is a ...policeman. A magical one. He's on our side."
"Your side," Severus corrects.
"Our side. And you're right, he can get me back in to Hogwarts." Lily nods tightly. "But to get to Moody, I need to get into an Order meeting first."
"You can't face Vance again."
"I can, but only if I have something."
"...you need some dirt on Malf."
She looks guiltily at him. "...are you going to-"
"I don't know," he interrupts, roughly, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Because you don't want to be a-"
"-because we don't know whether it'll have any effects the other way around!" He looks irritated - more irritated than she expects, even though she knows this is a touchy subject with him. "What if I'm…" He can't even bring himself to say the words. "...and what if I get hurt, and it somehow carries back to you?"
"Polyjuice doesn't work like that."
"Expert on it now, are you?" he snaps, running a hand through his hair.
"No, but Sluggy probably is. Ask him."
He doesn't answer, but kisses her on her lips - more chastely than usual, but then, her parents are watching them both keenly. "I'm late." And then he's gone, through the door and up the path.
"...I didn't understand at least 80% of that."
Lily ignores her father's comment and runs up the stairs, and back into her bedroom. She lifts the net curtain and presses herself against the window, watching as Severus walks down the street and eventually, turns into a speck on the horizon.
She can hear plates and cutlery clinking together as her parents tidy the breakfast things away, and her heart twinges a little when she thinks that she didn't eat the toast her boyfriend had so thoughtfully prepared for her. She looks behind her at the dishevelled bedclothes, where he'd held her throughout the night, and although he had been in her arms a few moments earlier, when she looks around the empty Muggle room, it feels as if a wizard had never been there at all.
Severus places the vial of Polyjuice on the bench, and carries on brewing. He keeps trying to remember where he faltered when he was genuinely brewing for the first time; he doesn't want Slughorn thinking that Lily is some sort of prodigy - regular genius will suffice - and if he brews with the experience he has behind him already, Slughorn will draw the wrong conclusion.
Luckily, when Slughorn enters the room, he is rather more distracted by the vial sat openly on the table. "Ah, now, Severus," he says, pointedly, whipping it into his grasp, "a little more care with your belongings, please."
"It's there for a reason. I wanted to ask you about it."
"Oh? Well, fire away!"
Severus casts at his cauldron, pausing the brew he's working on, and wipes his hands with a cloth. He doesn't know how to approach this. He doesn't know Slughorn that well, not really, not considering that he was his housemaster for seven years. They got on well enough, and Slughorn was always fairly amiable towards him - not like McGonagall, who had mastered the skill of looking down her nose whenever he raised his hand in her classroom - but he didn't have the sort of relationship with him that Lily had. Lily could've asked him. Lily would've thought of the right way to raise the topic so that Slughorn didn't blink, or miss a beat.
But of course, stood here, he was Lily. Or Lily-as-Severus. In Slughorn's eyes, anyway. He just needed to think of the right way to approach it - he could hardly blurt out that she, or he, or she-as-he, or... Well. He can't tell Slughorn that Lily is pregnant. He can't let anyone know. So he needs a different way to approach it. A logical way. Come on, think. What would Slughorn think was feasible? Get him talking about Polyjuice before he smells a rat!
"It's such a chore drinking it all day long. It's an awful mixture."
"I sympathise greatly, but I am afraid not much can be done about the taste." Slughorn settles himself against the bench. "Many have tried to modify the potion, but all with limited success. My dear, I would suggest that if you were looking for a topic to study, there are other areas with greater untapped potential."
"You do not think it is worthy of any experimentation? If not the taste, then longevity, so I would only need to drink it once?"
Slughorn sighs. "If it's a topic you're truly interested in-"
"-it is, Professor," he says, trying forlornly to remember what Lily-as-Severus would call Slughorn. His days with Borage and Jigger mean that 'sir' isn't far from his lips, but he's certain that would immediately expose him as an imposter. Ask her tonight, you idiot. "Severus will be bald at this rate, Professor."
Slughorn suppresses a smile. "I think he has plenty to tide him over. ...Lily, you should bear in mind that such a potion would have limited appeal. Few wish to transform for extended periods of time. There are laws," he says, absently scratching his ear.
"Yes, the Ministry Act of Imitation 1359."
"Very good!" Slughorn looks impressed. "It prevents most from wishing to transform for more than an hour - the risk of prosecution outweighs the benefits, not least because it's trivial to hold a witch or wizard in custody-"
"-the Ministry Act of Deceitful Conduct 1386."
"Two in a row. I see Professor Binns managed to impart a little of his knowledge."
"So you do not think it's possible?"
"I believe it's possible." He smiles tightly. "I simply do not see the use-case scenario."
"I almost cannot say it, Professor." Severus tries to blush, but although his cheeks redden at the most inopportune times, his body fails to respond at will.
Slughorn looks amused. "I shall not betray a confidence."
"...Severus has a friend. I have a friend." Severus glances away, hoping to pique Slughorn's curiosity.
"Go on."
"They like to play, Professor, if you understand my meaning."
"Ah."
"So it would be useful for the Polyjuice to last a little longer. In those circumstances. Privately."
Slughorn looks a little embarrassed. "I suppose it would, although I imagine the penalty in the Ministry for holding such a potion would be no less. As it stands, with the potion as it is, they could likely argue personal use - but a potion which lasts for an increased duration? It's a dangerous area. Really, who needs to be transformed for more than an hour?"
Severus has to stifle a laugh. Old Sluggy's a ten minute man, is he? He quickly changes the subject. "I also wanted to know, Professor - can it affect the source?"
"The source?"
"If I were to burn myself," he says, quickly, "would Severus be hurt?"
Slughorn looks amused. "Now, this is why it has been such a joy to teach you both - you are so very different in nature."
"I'm afraid I don't understand, Professor."
"Your boyfriend," Slughorn whispers, leaning in conspiratorially, "would simply have burnt himself. As a test."
It makes his stomach twist to think how well Slughorn knows him. It's the obvious solution, but he doesn't dare test the theory, lest Lily or the baby be harmed in any form. "I don't think Severus would hurt me deliberately."
"Not deliberately. But perhaps in the name of investigation. A little nick of the knife here, or a scald there." He clamps a hot hand over Severus' own. "Lily, my dear, there is no need to be concerned. If you become as reckless a brewer as your worse half, then you won't hurt him," and he gives a bellow of laughter, "so I hereby give you permission to channel his curiosity and blow up that cauldron!"
"...could a child be hurt, Professor?"
This makes the smile abruptly drop from Slughorn's face. "My dear, a student-"
"-not a student. An unborn child." The words fall from his lips before he can stop them; he wouldn't forgive himself if he didn't explicitly check.
Slughorn appraises him, and the silence is almost oppressive. "...your friends, I assume?" Slughorn eventually asks, quietly. "They are with child?"
"I believe so, Professor."
"Am I correct in thinking that this is a new addition to the Malfoy family tree?"
He stills, but he's certain his frozen demeanour has given Slughorn all of the information he needs. "I cannot say, Professor. I must not break a confidence."
Slughorn smiles broadly. "Indeed, but you do not have to. As much as I like your boyfriend, I am almost certain that he only has one friend who would confide such things to him. ...he hardly invites the sharing of secrets, does he?" His eyes narrow. "But Severus is a brewer, so Lucius would have good reason to confide in him." He grins, triumphantly, as the pieces fall into place. "The rather narcissistic Lucius is concerned that his deviant behaviour will have an impact upon his unborn child? And he would well be worried, with the history of the Malfoy lineage - of the children that were lost in the womb." Slughorn leans a little closer, his breath warm on Severus' skin. "Tell Lucius, or Narcissa - if what you're saying is truthful and you now count her as your friend, Lily - that there is nothing to be concerned about. Lucius may partake in such potions, but Narcissa must not." And then Slughorn grins broadly. "Although, from what you've said, I imagine that might just put a little dampener on his escapades. I somehow can't imagine Lucius as..." He trails off, and gives a little shake of his head. "On the other hand, I would rather not imagine any of this at all."
"And brewing, Professor?"
Slughorn looks thrown, and Severus has to swallow his amusement. How is he more surprised at the idea of them brewing, instead of indulging in sordid sexual games?
"Did you say brewing?"
"Is it safe to do so? When pregnant?"
"I wasn't aware that Narcissa had such an interest."
Shit. "I merely mean that if Lucius brews around her, if she walks in on him brewing then-"
"Lucius is going to brew this modified potion, is he? Not yourself or Severus?" Slughorn's expression is a mixture of surprise and amusement. "Well, young Lucius was a promising brewer in his day. I was rather disappointed that he dropped the subject instead of carrying on through his NEWT."
It isn't surprising. Abraxas forced him to quit, fearful that his son would discover that he was being dosed with Imperatum. But Severus keeps the thought to himself, and nods. "I think he might wish to try. So that the potion doesn't need to be transported between locations."
"Thus reducing the opportunity to be caught in the act?" Slughorn nods, looking slightly impressed. "Clever. He does rather think of everything, doesn't he, Lucius?"
"It is a trait I am quickly becoming accustomed to."
"Yes, well, don't fall for one of his others - the ability to get something for nothing," he says. "Lucius will attempt to sweet talk you into almost anything, but don't you go giving away any discoveries you may make. He has a purse full of galleons, a vault full of gold, and a mansion full of treasures - make sure he rewards you handsomely for your creations." He moves towards the exit then, the conversation clearly over, but as he nears the door, he turns. "Oh, and Lily?"
"Professor?"
"I always told you all when you were at school to patent any such inventions. If you do manage to extend the effects of the potion…" He raps his knuckles on the door. "Well. I'd recommend that you leave this one off your curriculum vitae."
Severus swings the door to their quarters open, and he immediately grabs his wand from his sleeve when he spies a figure in the shadows by the bookcase. "Lumos!"
"My deepest apologies, Severus," comes the gentle voice of Albus Dumbledore, who - now that the room is lit, Severus can see - is trailing a long, thin finger across the spines of Severus and Lily's books. "I did not mean to startle you."
Severus moves out of his defensive stance and shrugs uncomfortably, wanting to snap about switching a light on instead of standing around in the darkness - how was he even reading the titles of the books without any light? - but as he's very aware that he's living in the castle as a favour, he doesn't want to start an argument with the Headmaster.
"You are right, of course," Dumbledore says, smiling, "I should've put on a light. I had quite forgotten how dark it gets down in these dungeons, even when the sun is still shining brightly over the grounds above. When one lives in a tower, it is easy to forget such things."
"I didn't say anything about putting a light on."
"You didn't need to." Dumbledore sweeps his robes and moves out of the study and into the cosy living area, where he sits, uninvited, on the sofa. "I thought you'd been practising?"
Severus follows, casting at the wall lamps to cause them to ignite. "I haven't had time."
Dumbledore looks at his fingers, and then up at Severus. "Please, be seated, Severus."
He acquiesces with irritation. Be seated. Be seated! It's my bloody room. Well... it's his bloody castle, I suppose - and then he catches sight of the clock in the corner. Don't drag this out. Lily's expecting you. He glances quickly down, not wanting Dumbledore to read his mind again. "Was there something I could help you with, Headmaster?"
"I am pleased to hear that following our discussion you have been reconnecting with old acquaintances," Dumbledore says, airily.
His eye twitches as he realises. Mundungus saw me with Avery. Bloody Fletcher. "As you suggested I should do, sir."
"Tell me, how is Avery?"
"Good, sir."
"Good?"
Severus nods. "Seems happy enough."
"Seems...happy...enough." Dumbledore drags the sentence out, as if he's mulling it over. "Any reason for such happiness, Severus?"
Well, whenever I'm with him, he's getting his end away down Knockturn so… "No, I don't think so, sir."
"Well, I'm very pleased to hear that he's doing so well." Dumbledore flicks a piece of lint from his robes. "What of Lucius Malfoy, Severus? How is he?"
"Fine, sir."
"And his lovely wife, Narcissa?"
"Also fine, sir."
Dumbledore gives a soft hum. "Lucius is keeping himself busy, I trust?"
"I don't know, sir."
"You don't know?"
"No, sir." Severus scrabbles frantically through his mind for something - anything - to give to Dumbledore, but he can't think of anything damning. "The last time I saw him, it was a social occasion."
Dumbledore looks interested. "Oh yes? And who was at this gathering, Severus?"
"Just me."
"Just you?" Dumbledore sighs. "Young Mulciber?"
"...I haven't seen him for a while."
"Evan Rosier?"
Severus shakes his head. "No. Sorry, sir."
Dumbledore leans forward, his hand absently stroking through his beard. "Would you find collecting information for me easier if I gave you a specific task, Severus?"
His heart is suddenly thundering in his chest. "I… I don't know, sir. I'm very busy at the moment-"
Dumbledore stands, and heads to the wooden dining table in the corner of the room. In the middle, there's a bouquet of freshly picked flowers, and he runs his hand across one of the flower heads, his fingers gliding down the style to the stigma, a small collection of orange pollen collecting on his skin.
"I like your flowers, Severus. It's a homely touch. Rather feminine." Then he smiles. "And I believe that Professor Slughorn has been most pleased with your progress under him. Naturally, I was rather surprised to hear that you were covering topics that I was certain would've been dealt with under Master Jigger, or indeed, Master Borage…"
"Sir." The implication of Dumbledore's words is not lost upon him. I was right. He knows she's living here with me.
"If you are...revisiting such areas of study, would I be forgiven for thinking that you currently have a little more free time than you did when you were working under Master Jigger? Revision is always easier than learning a topic for the first time. Am I not correct, Severus? Or have my years as an educator been wasted?"
"...yes, sir. I mean, no sir." He flounders slightly, and Dumbledore's gaze narrows further. "The revision is easier, sir," he clarifies, trying not to stumble over his words, "than learning a topic for the first time."
"I pride myself on my role as Headmaster, Severus. I take great interest in the whereabouts of all of my students and ex-students," Dumbledore's voice is kind and soft, but his blue eyes are piercing. "I was most impressed with your conduct and work ethic upon leaving Hogwarts."
"Thank you, sir."
"Not only were you working under Master Borage and then Master Jigger, but I seem to recall mention of your face appearing behind the bar at the Three Broomsticks?"
"Sir."
"And Mundungus Fletcher, he always has such positive things to say about you." Dumbledore smiles. "I believe your paths may have crossed on occasion?"
"Sir."
"My brother, on the other hand, is a little more-"
"I understand, sir," Severus interrupts, not wanting Dumbledore to list any further extracurricular activities that he's been involved in. Has he got eyes everywhere?
"Good!" Dumbledore claps his hands together and looks pleased. "Now that your schedule is a little more open, shall we discuss how we can make best use of your time?"
Chapter 50: Flesh and blood
Notes:
Lots of swearing. Lots of accent.
Chapter Text
He sits on the back step, his elbows resting on bent knees, and watches a group of moths dancing near the looming streetlamp, ducking and diving to chase the elusive light within. He doesn't even know what he's doing here - doesn't know what possessed him to visit in the first place. A sense of honour, perhaps? Or rather, guilt. Guilt that her parents knew and his parents didn't. It seemed like a good idea - like the right thing to do, but as always when it comes to Spinner's End, whatever he thinks is best always turns out to be the wrong decision.
He doesn't know whether just to up and leave, whether to just slink out of the back gate like he'd never visited in the first place, or whether to storm through the house as he'd been prone to doing at fifteen, limbs swinging wildly, yelling and slamming doors, and making the sort of scene that made the neighbours come to the windows. Another evening showdown at the Snape house. Roll up, roll up, if you missed the matinee, the show's about to start again! Tickets are free, but be sure to duck, because the scars are permanent!
"She don't mean owt by it, lad."
"Right."
"Shove up, eh?"
Severus does, sliding along the step to his left, and leaning his long legs outwards, the toes of his boots pointing up at the sky. There's a grunt as Tobias heaves his weight onto the kitchen floor, and squashes into the too small gap. He pushes his own legs out, his battered boots almost aligning perfectly with his son's.
"She sent yer out 'ere, has she?"
"Yer've grown again. Legs as long as mine now, lad."
"So people keep tellin' me." He glances at his da. "Mam disowned me then?"
"Gone corner shop. For some cigs." Tobias leans in his pocket and pulls out his battered rolling pouch, offering it to Severus with a smile.
Severus nods in gratitude, and takes a paper, and a filter, and a clump of light brown tobacco. His fingers tremble slightly as he tries to roll the cigarette cleanly, and before he's even straightened the inner contents, Tobias is licking his own paper and sticking it down.
"Here y'are, soft lad," and with an elbow to his ribs, Tobias has gifted him the rolled cigarette and taken Severus' loose pieces for himself. "Yer makin' a right state of it."
"Don't 'ave much call to make rollies." He flicks his wand and lights his thin cigarette.
"S'pose not," Tobias says, and accepts Severus' proffered flame to light his own. They sit like this, dusk falling around them, until the cigarettes are nearly to their ends. They haven't spoken - just sat together, father and son partaking in the constant huff and pull of smoke.
It's eerily silent and sombre at this time of night - the only sounds are their deep exhalations and a stray cat screeching down the back alley - but it's not a relaxing quiet. It feels as if there's an underlying tension, and a fight is going to surge from somewhere. Worse still, the yard smells of sewage and overripe bins, although the tobacco at least goes some way to covering it - from where they're sitting, at least.
"Thought yer'd given up smokin'."
"So yer mam thinks an' all," Tobias says, tapping his pocket. "But a man's gotta 'ave 'is secrets. You'll know that, lad, now yer grown."
"Not really. Lily doesn't like secrets."
"Is that why yer told us?"
"Shouldn't 'ave bothered."
"She'll come round."
Severus gives a soft laugh. "I don't reckon so. Not this time."
"Aye, she will. I know yer mam right and proper."
"She hates Lily," Severus mutters.
"Hate's a strong word."
"It's the right fuckin' word!"
Tobias lifts his hand, and clips Severus around the ear. He winces, but it's not painful - his da's fingers have barely connected. He shoots a glance towards Tobias, wondering if more is coming, but Tobias has settled back against the doorframe, plucking his pack of tobacco out of his pocket again. "Me mam never liked yer mam either, y'know?"
He didn't know.
"Really?"
"I need another fuckin' ciggy."
"Me an' all, Da."
"Thought yer'd given 'em up, now yer shacked up wi' that bird o' yers?"
"Only 'ave 'em when I'm here."
Tobias laughs then - and to Severus' surprise, it's a rich, gruff laugh, building in Tobias' chest and sitting in his throat. "Aye, when yerse can cadge off yer old man, I get it."
"I don't cadge off yer! I din't even know yer still fuckin' smoked 'til tonight."
"Cadge off yer mam though, aye?" He passes Severus another tightly rolled cigarette. "An' who gives her money?"
"Government."
"Fuck off wi' yer government bollocks."
"I'm just sayin', yer dole ain't work, is it?"
"Government stole me fuckin' job," Tobias mutters, sniffing loudly. "Least they could fuckin' do is see me an' me missus right."
"Not yer son an' all?"
"Son's got enough brass bollocks of his own."
The silence falls around them again. It's even darker now, and the orange lights at the ends of the cigarettes are stark. "Thought yer was gonna tell me about me gran?"
"D'yer talk like me… When yer round me, I mean, to..." Tobias waves his hand. "Yer know."
He does.
"To appease you?"
"Yeah."
Yeah.
"No."
"Yer mam don't like it."
"I know."
"Is that why yer do it?"
Yeah.
"No."
Tobias appraises him, his eyes disappearing under his thick eyebrows as he squints. "Why then, lad? Yer talk proper when yer over the river, when yer chattin' to 'er mam and da, don't ya? An' at that school, an' them fancy fellas yer mam's always goin' on about yer knowin'. Lord Malfing and Professor Slugson."
"Yer think that's me, d'yer? Rolling 'r's and unflattening me 'a's? Stickin' me little finger out when I drink from a cup?"
"I dunno, lad. That's why I'm askin' yer."
"...I dunno. I dunno who I am, Da." Severus looks pained. "Everyone wants summat different from me."
"That's jus' growin' up, lad. These new responsibilities messin' wi' yer head, that's all."
I knew he'd bang on about responsibilities.
"It ain't just that," he mutters.
But Tobias is on a roll, and it's as if he hasn't heard his son speak. "Yer wouldn't think I was made out to be a da if yer'd seen me when I was yer age."
Too fuckin' right I wouldn't! You were a fucking shit da, Severus wants to scream, but he ducks his head, and looks at the ground. "Right."
"It's…" Tobias pulls on his cigarette, and then flicks the end into the yard, and claps Severus on the shoulder. "Just don't be thinkin' we got room for a little 'un here, if owt's gonna 'appen-"
"Fuckin' 'ell!"
"All right, calm yersel'. It's just, yer mam's always talkin' about some war or summat that's gonna happen. I'm just sayin'-"
"I'm not gonna do that." Severus spits angrily on the ground.
As if I'd leave my flesh and blood here with you. And her! Serve her right if I never bring the kid round - never show either of this pair what my kid looks like. Do the kid good, I reckon, he thinks, sourly, not to be tainted by these two.
"Good. Coz yer forget, see, what it's like 'round 'ere."
I don't forget. How could I forget?
"Right."
"Ain't no good for a kid. Not round 'ere."
"I know."
Tobias tilts his head. "Yer know much about the war then?"
Severus sighs. "There isn't a war, Da. It's just Mam witterin' on again about nowt."
"There's always wars. There's wars now. What d'yer think's happening over the Irish Sea, eh?"
"How I'm s'posed to fuckin' know what the bloody Muggles are up to?" Severus snaps. "I've got my own stuff goin' on, Da, if yer ain't noticed!"
"Muggles." Tobias gives a harsh laugh. "Yer mam used to say that, once upon a time. Yer great Muggle. Insult, innit?"
Severus looks uncomfortable. "Not really. Just a word for yer. Non-magics, like."
"Just a word." Tobias looks thoughtful. "Them and us, is it?"
"Summat like that."
"Got a word for that girl o' yers, 'ave they?"
"Muggleborn."
"An' yersel'? Muggleish?"
Severus looks at his boots. "Half. Coz me mam's Pure, and me da's-"
"-a Muggle," Tobias finishes.
"Yeah."
"Yer thought any worse of, are yer? Coz o' me?"
"They don't know," Severus mumbles. "I mean, some of 'em have figured it out, I reckon. Unusual surname, see? But Mam's Pure-"
"I don't get it."
Severus smiles, picking at the lace of his boot. "She ain't never told yer, has she? Yer wanna see her books up in the attic. Full of it in there."
"I know she was runnin' from summat, that's all. Pure?"
"Magic an' magic an' magic all through yer family if yer Pure," Severus explains. "So I reckon even though I'm half Muggle-"
"-the lowest of the low?"
"Yeah," Severus laughs, cheekily, "I'll be all right, coz I'm half Pure."
"An' yer girl?"
He gives a slight shake of his head. "I'll look after 'er."
"I din't ask yer that."
"Muggleborn. Might as well say Muggle for some." He looks at his father earnestly. "They're wrong though. She's magic all the way through an' all."
"What about this kid then?"
"Be Half."
"Yer don't sound sure."
He doesn't sound sure because he isn't sure; the laws change faster than he can keep up with, and although the child will be his - the son or daughter of a Half - Severus can't deny that his lineage isn't Half and Pure, or Half and Half, or even Half and Muggleborn. His child will have three Muggle grandparents, and a witch who turned her back on the magical world.
"It'll be all right."
Tobias shifts his weight and stamps his foot. "Leg's gone dead sittin' 'ere," he grumbles. "Yer wanna watch it if there's a war, y'know, lad."
"There ain't a war, Da!"
"Yer grandad died in the war. An' yer uncles."
"Muggle one?"
"Yeah." Tobias briefly looks at the sky, and crosses himself.
"Fightin'?"
"Yeah." He looks at Severus sternly. "Don't fight, lad. If yer can help it. That's how yer get yersel' killed."
"I ain't a coward."
"Yer sayin' I am?"
Severus shakes his head quickly. "Din't say that."
"I ain't sayin' shirk yer duty. I din't shirk me duty! I'm sayin', don't go stickin' yer hand up, that's all. Not wi' a kid on the way. Don't go volunteerin'. If there's a bullet wi' yer name on-"
"-we don't use bullets," Severus interrupts. "We've got wands."
There's a pause. "Yeah, well. Same's same. An' as for yer mam…" Tobias sniffs. "She wanted better for yer, that's all."
Severus stands then, his back aching from having sat on the step for too long, and he kicks his feet in the air, trying to get blood to rush back to his toes. "What d'yer mean?"
Tobias has quickly moved into the vacant space on the step, his larger frame filling where the door ordinarily sits. "Yer a kid, lad. Yer ain't even got t'key t'door."
It's a stupid phrase. Key to the door. A Muggle phrase. As if being 21 makes any difference.
"Wizarding majority is 17, Da."
"Aye, an' she was a kid, an' all, when she met me. Wizarding majority," Tobias snorts. "Means nowt, lad." It's his turn to look at the ground. "I reckon in that world of yers… She coulda been someone, yer mam," he eventually says, quietly. "I never knew she was special, see?"
"Yer mean yer din't know she was a witch."
"Not 'til we had some nightmare of a kid who started settin' fire to the fuckin' curtains."
"I was a baby! I din't mean to do it!"
"Aye, I'll believe yer an' thousands wouldn't, yer little shit. But me mam..."
"She guessed? An' that's why she din't like Mam? ...Da, yer mam, did she like me?"
But before Tobias can answer, there's a loud slam of the front door, and Tobias stands, abruptly. "Yer stayin' or goin', lad?"
"What happened to me gran, Da?"
"She died when yer was a babe."
"I know that, I'm not right thick, yer know." Severus waits, expectantly, but Tobias doesn't say anything else - and he can hear internal doors being slammed, and cups being thumped against the worktop, so Severus puts his finger to his brow, and then points it at his father in a mock-salute. "I'm off. Thanks for sharin' yer stash, Da." He retreats out of the gate, and as he pulls it to, he sees his father waving him back. "What?"
"Boy or a girl?"
"Dunno yet."
"Rather one than the other?"
"Nah."
"It's not too late to scarper. If what yer mam's sayin' is right, 'bout this war?" Tobias shrugs. "Men desert women all the time. She'll just be one o' them statistics, an' her family are posh enough. Government will see 'er right. If yer scairt to get tied down too early?"
"I ain't scared."
"Gonna stand by her then?"
"Course."
Tobias nods stiffly. "Good lad, Russ."
Chapter 51: Bean
Chapter Text
It's after ten when Severus shows up at the Evans house, and although David shakes his newspaper in quiet disapproval when he enters, Lily runs over and embraces Severus tightly.
"Oh, Sev, you stink!" Before he can duck his head to kiss her, she pulls her face away, and wrinkles her nose in displeasure. "No, don't you dare kiss me, you'll taste horrid."
"Sorry." He rummages in his pockets, looking for an elusive stick of chewing gum - and then he finds one; a warm, thin slice of Juicy Fruit, still in its silver paper wrapping. "It's not mint," he says, apologetically, folding it into his mouth, and screwing the paper up into his pocket.
"You'll ruin your dinner," David admonishes, watching him chew.
"Sorry," he says, again. Can't do right for doing wrong, he thinks - but Lily squeezes his fingers and gives him a tight smile, and he feels on solid ground with her at least.
"How did they take it then?" she asks. "The news of their grandchild?"
He tilts his head, surprise etched on his face. "How did you know that's where I'd been?"
"I already told you," she laughs, moving away from him, but keeping her hand in his, "you stink of cigarettes. You only ever smoke when you're with your mum and dad."
David rustles the paper again, disapprovingly.
"I don't always smoke," he says, awkwardly, looking over at David's chair warily. "Just the odd one. Now and again. If they offer."
"That's good then, isn't it? If your mum offered, she must be-"
"Mam went out," he says, abruptly. He bends down to untie his laces, breaking contact with Lily as he does so. "Spoke to Da."
Lily exchanges a look with her parents, the meaning of this not lost upon them.
"Severus, lovey," Rose quickly interjects, "there's a meal in the oven for you. I've left it on the lowest setting."
"That chop'll be tough," David says, loudly. "Dinner was four hours ago."
"I'll put some gravy on it. Won't take a minute." Rose disappears into the kitchen before Severus can protest, and he can hear saucepans and spoons clanging against the stove.
"I don't mean to be a bother," Severus says, quietly, and although David gives a loud sniff of displeasure, he doesn't speak, and carries on reading his newspaper. Severus looks helplessly at Lily.
"It's okay," she murmurs, toying with his fingers again. "What did your dad say?"
"Rattled on about the war. You know what he's like for being inappropriate. What else would you say when your kid tells you you're going to be a grandparent?" He adjusts his voice into a gruff mimic of Tobias. "Well, son, that's great an' all but 'ave I told you 'bout the time the Tommys climbed out of a trench and blew up the Jerrys? Kaboom!"
David lowers his newspaper a fraction, a frown etched on his brow. "Which war was he talking about, Severus? Do you know?"
"Muggle one. Some Irish one."
"The Troubles?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"Got trenches in Ireland, have they?
Severus shrugs. "Look, I dunno. You know my da, he's all over the shop. I lose track. Some big war or something. Can't have been that long ago because he said his brothers died in it. And I know he's old, but he's not that old."
Lily looks surprised. "I didn't know that. About your uncles."
"Nor me," says Severus. "And my grandad Snape, apparently."
"Bloody hell."
"Lily, language!" David looks over at them. "Most families lost someone in the war - like your mother's Auntie Mary and-"
"-Great Uncle Joseph, and little Billy," Lily choruses, as if she's heard it a hundred times.
"Didn't think your mum was that old?"
David shakes his head. "She's not, you cheeky so-and-so," but although his words are stern, there's amusement playing around his lips. "Rose's father's side of the family. They were bombed, and her cousin Billy was only a nipper." He looks at Severus pointedly. "Like Rose was herself." He pauses. "Perhaps your news made your father think about his own childhood, Severus?"
"I asked him once, when I was little, and he said he didn't have any brothers or sisters-"
"-if they were dead by then, I suppose he didn't," Lily says, logically.
"It's not the spirit of the question though, is it, love? He could've just answered me like a normal person," Severus mutters, bitterly. "It's probably not true. He's probably just telling me stupid stories again."
David looks over. "The war affected a lot of people, Severus. Everyone copes differently."
Severus doesn't look convinced. "You're managing to talk about it, aren't you?"
"How old is your dad, Severus?"
Severus shrugs. "Fifty something. He had that party at the club a few years ago."
"Yeah, I remember that," Lily says. "I wore your Slytherin tie and you wore my Gryffindor one." She grins at him, remembering what Eileen caught the pair of them doing when the last song was playing - and by the look of sudden cheer on Severus' face, she doesn't need to remind him.
"So he'd have fought," David quickly reasons. "It's different for him, especially if he lost his brothers. The war was over when I was still in school. Younger than you both were at that party, if my maths is correct."
"You don't know what he's like, all right?" Severus shoves his hands awkwardly into his pockets. "It doesn't mean he has to put a dampener on our good news, does it? Talking about war when I'm telling him I'm having a kid."
Lily shoots her father a dark look, imploring him to let the topic of war drop. She slides her hand into Severus' pocket, reaching for his hand, and smiling at him when he slides his fingers between hers. "So? What did he say, Sev? About the baby?"
Severus shrugs again. "Seems fine with it. As long as we don't inconvenience him."
Lily smothers a giggle. "How would we inconvenience him?"
"He was afraid that I'd leave the kid with him." He looks vaguely amused. "As if! I wouldn't leave a half eaten stick of rock with him, great useless bastard he is."
This time, Lily doesn't smother her giggle. "Oh Sev, I'm sorry. I'd have come with you if you'd said. For support."
"Best you didn't."
"We'll have to make sure we invite them out."
Severus gives her a puzzled look. "Invite them where?"
"So they don't think we're going to impose on them when we take the baby round."
"I don't think Severus means that, Lil," David interjects, peering over his paper again. "I think Severus' father was worried he'd end up raising your child."
Her eyes widen in horror. "He thinks I'd give him my baby?"
"Told you," Severus says, with a grin. "He's tapped in the head. So yes, best you weren't there. Besides, I wasn't there that long."
Lily looks pointedly at the clock. "No?"
"I didn't get there until nearly nine," Severus grumbles. "Bloody Dumbledore took up most of my evening."
"Dumbledore?"
At Lily's exclamation, David lowers his newspaper, clearly still following the conversation intently. "Are you in trouble again, Severus?" he asks, sternly.
"No."
Lily grips his hand more tightly. "So what did Dumbledore want with you?"
"Just wants me to do something for him, that's all," he says, rubbing his free hand over his eyes.
David's gaze is unrelenting. "That's hardly an answer. What would that something be?"
"Severus!" Rose calls from the kitchen.
Saved by the cook.
"I'd best go," he says, moving towards the kitchen and looking apologetically at David, although his sincerity is lacking, "Rose wants me. You heard."
"Really, Daddy!" Lily hisses once the door has closed behind him. "He's already had an earful tonight, by the sounds of it. Both ears!"
"Lils," David says, patting the arm of the chair and inviting her to sit next to him, "what do you think of Severus' father?"
"Honestly?"
"Honestly."
She perches on the arm, and lowers her voice. "I think he's a bully."
"Just a bully?"
Lily glances towards the closed kitchen door, as if it bothers her speaking of Severus' family when he might suddenly burst back into the room. "He's violent."
David nods. "Anything else?"
"He shouts a lot. He doesn't make Sev very happy."
"And his mother?"
"From what Sev says, he treats his mum the same too."
David smiles tightly. "No, I meant, what do you think of his mother? Separately."
"She's odd," Lily says, picking at the skin on her finger. "Quiet. Sometimes she's ok. Sev likes her more than he likes his dad, but that's not saying much." She pauses. "I don't know what tonight means, though, if he spoke to his dad and not his mum."
"Do you think they're stupid people, his parents?"
She picks harder at the skin on her finger, and David reaches out and clamps her hands, stopping her from tearing the skin from the nailbed. When she desists, he loosens his grip.
"Sorry."
"Don't hurt yourself."
She swallows hard. "No, I don't think they're stupid. I think they're… Unhappy. No, not unhappy! I think… I think they're unkind, but…"
"But?"
"...I don't think they mean to be." Lily looks distressed. "That's what's so awful about it all. I don't understand them. I don't understand why they treat Sev so badly, and I don't understand why he keeps going back when they keep hurting him."
"Because they're his parents. You come back to us when you need help."
"But you treat me well!"
David looks at Lily and gives her a gentle smile. "Does Severus know that?"
"Yes," she says, quickly, indicating to the room around them. "He can see for himself!"
"That's not what I mean. You said to us when you were kids that he didn't have many other friends-"
"-he still doesn't."
"So, do you think that Severus believes his parents aren't that bad because he hasn't got other relationships to compare them to?"
She thinks about Lucius and Abraxas, and whatever strange dynamic had been going on at Malfoy Manor the other night - and she thinks about the way Lucius treated her with his power plays, and the way Severus mutters disparagingly about Avery, and the way that Borage and Jigger treated him, and the way McGonagall looks at her when she thinks Lily is Severus, and the way he'd told her about Narcissa being nice to him, and Lily's heart tightens.
"Nobody's ever treated him well. Not really."
David nods. "So if he believes that his parents care for him," and before Lily can interrupt, he raises a finger, "no, Lily, let me finish. I think they do care for him. In their own way. It's not a way that you or I or your mother understands, but he is their son. And tonight, he tells them that their family line will continue, which is cause for celebration for most-"
"-you didn't exactly celebrate."
"We didn't walk out either, did we?"
"...no."
"But his mother did. His mother, who is the only one of us who is magical, walked out. And she leaves his father to ramble on about war, and death, and warning him not to leave their grandchild with them..." He opens his hands. "Well."
"He told them something that made them think he was going to die."
David picks his newspaper back up. "When he's had something to eat, I think you need to talk with Severus about whatever Professor Dumbledore wanted from him."
It's not that easy. Asking Severus. She wants to take her father's advice, and as soon as they're in the privacy of her bedroom, she wants to take his hand and ask him what he told his own parents to make them react to their happy news in such a way - but as he steps into her bedroom, he looks drawn, and scared, and tired, and he sighs so happily when she holds him in her arms, she can't bring herself to question him.
There's always tomorrow.
But she doesn't ask him tomorrow. Or the day after. Or the day after that. Because he left the next morning - long before the milkman had delivered the morning's round - and he still hasn't returned. Her father keeps glancing at her, and she knows he wants to be kept informed about what's going on, but she doesn't know. So she doesn't venture, and he doesn't ask - so they dance around each other, all politeness and light, as if they're partaking in some odd performance art. She stays in the Muggle house in Muggle Britain with her Muggle parents, and neither of them ask when he's coming back, or what's happened to his assertion that she'd be safest at the magical castle in magical Britain with him, her magical boyfriend.
She knows they're concerned. They don't have to say the words for her to know. They like him, she's certain of that after all of these years, but she knows they're scared. Scared of his background, scared of whatever he's wrapped himself up in, scared of whatever his parents are saying to him, and scared that - for all his talk - he's feckless. They're worried that he was saying the right things, and doing the right things, but as soon as the realisation of what's truly ahead has dawned upon him, he's run for the hills.
She has no such concerns. She knows Severus, and she knows he'll come back for her. He's just working out a way. She's sure of it. So when he turns up, a week or so later, clutching a battered duffle bag which she can tell - just from the shape of it - he's enlarged magically, she runs out of the house and throws herself at him, long before he's reached the front door. He puts the bag down, and as she leaps into his arms, the beaming smiles on both of their faces tells her parents - who are watching from behind the living room window - all they needed to know.
He perches on the edge of her bed and finishes his second cup of tea whilst Lily sits on the floor and looks at the wide array of brewing equipment strewn around them. She recognises some of it as having been in their rooms previously - but other pieces that they've unpacked together are new, such as the copper cauldron, and the pewter measuring scales.
"I take it from this that you've decided I'm not coming back to Hogwarts then?"
He shakes his head. "I don't trust Moody."
She sits back on her haunches, holding two glass beakers aloft and comparing them. "No?"
"No."
"I don't see the difference."
He takes the beakers from her and holds them up to the light from the window. "This one," he says, shaking his left hand, "has been purified with distilled water." He tosses them gently back to her, one at a time. "See it now?"
"Yeah," she says, "but I think you mixed them up when you threw them at me."
"Lil, let me have them back," he huffs, reaching for them, but she laughs and moves them out of his way.
"I'm only joking," she says, bouncing up and putting them on separate shelves in her wardrobe. "I meant Moody."
"What about him?"
"I don't see any difference in him before I got pregnant, and now. I don't think he's anything to worry about."
"Maybe not, but I think Dumbledore is," Severus says, his tone a little softer, "and Moody is tight with him." He shrugs. "I don't want you owing him any favours, and I don't want him spending more time with you than necessary. Not after what he said about," he waves his hand towards her midriff, "you know."
"I can't ignore him though, can I? If I go to an Order meeting, I need to get back to you somehow. I need him. Or Dumbledore, I suppose."
"But you should be able to get back with Polyjuice!"
Lily furiously digs into the duffle bag, grabbing a handful of measuring spoons from it and putting them on the floor. "You are such a pain, Severus. You just told me what Slughorn told you, that I can't keep taking Polyjuice, and now you're standing there-"
Severus puts his hands out to stop her from grabbing more things from the bag in a temper. "Lil, just stop a second," he says, "you'll mess up the equipment-"
"-is that what really matters in this? This stuff?"
"No, but there's knives in there! …and I'm saying it all wrong," he sighs, and he looks so weary and defeated, she stops, her temper quickly waning.
"Go on then," she says, trying to keep the petulance out of her voice, and giving him a tight smile. She hands him the bag. "Get the knives, and try and say it right."
"I know you can't take Polyjuice. You know you can't take Polyjuice," he snaps, pulling the knives out by their handles and placing them on the top of her dresser. "But Dumbledore doesn't know that, and Moody doesn't know that, and they both know you're living in the castle, and from what Dumbledore said to me, he knows you've been brewing with Sluggy."
Lily nods, suddenly understanding. "I'm with you. It was okay when Moody helped me previously, because he didn't know I had a way of getting back. But if I don't take it with me this time, and I ask Moody-"
"-they'll smell a rat," he finishes. "He's as paranoid as they come, old Moody, and he's already suspected something's amiss about..." He trails off, and moves behind her, placing his hand on her stomach.
Although she's anxious at first, knowing that his quiet touch is the precious subject of what Moody would be suspicious of, she can't help but smile up at him as the little thrum of magic within her seems to beat harder at his touch. "Feel that?" she whispers.
He smiles broadly back, his grin spreading across his face. "Yeah. ...do you think it knows?"
"That you're Dad?" She nods. "I think so. But you need to stop calling our child 'it', Sev."
He shrugs. "We don't know if it's a he or a she though."
"What did I just say?"
"Well, what do you want to call…" He pauses and rubs his hand across her stomach again, "'Thing'?" He grins at her, but his glee is short-lived as she prods him just below his ribs. "Ow! That hurt, you demon."
"You deserved that," she laughs. "'Thing'! What is wrong with you? I'm not calling our child 'Thing'." She leans back into his touch, playing with his hand that's still caressing her stomach, and then twists her neck to look at him. "'Pea'?"
His look is incredulous. "No child of mine is being called 'Pea'."
"I didn't mean permanently. Just...a name for now. Better than 'it', anyway. I can think of 'Pea' growing inside me. Besides, 'Pea' probably is as small as a pea. Seems apt."
He scowls. "I hate peas."
"Doesn't have to be the food. Could be like those flowers in the garden - sweet peas."
"It's getting worse," he warns, with a smile. "Anyway, 'Pea' reminds me of a urinal."
"Sev!" She bats his arm with her hand. "'Pea' not pee! You're disgusting."
"Hey, I didn't call our kid an awful name."
"You come up with something then, if you're so smart."
He pauses for a moment, his long fingers stroking over her stomach. "'Bean'."
"'Bean'? That's no better than 'Pea'!"
"Yeah, it is," he says, with a smile. "Still small enough to grow inside you. And they have magic."
"Beans have magic?"
"Yeah!" He's laughing now, seemingly fuelled by the look of disdain on her face. He grabs her hand, and squeezes it. "Come on, Lil, like in that Muggle fairytale. You've got it somewhere," he says, breaking away from her and scouring her bookcases.
"Magic beans?" She finds herself chuckling at his keenness. "You're not even joking, are you?"
"Nope!"
"Sev, honestly-"
"This one!" He pulls the large picture book triumphantly off the shelf, and settles on the bed. "Come on then," he says, reaching for her, and pulling her to sit between his legs on the mattress. "Time for a story."
She laughs as she leans back against him, her head on his chest, and her arms resting on his thighs. "Sev, you are ridiculous. You're not really going to a read a fairytale to me, are you?"
"Not to you. You already know it. But Bean doesn't." He grins, wickedly. "What did your mother say? It's not too soon for the baby - sorry, for Bean - to start learning." He puts his hand back on her stomach, and she can't help but laugh even harder at his infectious enthusiasm. "Hush, Mummy," he chastises gently, holding the book with one hand. "You're being very noisy, and Bean needs to listen carefully. Now, once upon a time..."
Chapter 52: Knut or three
Chapter Text
London Waterloo is an assault on the senses, even at this late hour, with trains noisily pulling in and out of the platforms, flanges squealing, adults shouting to one another, high-heels and brogues both clattering across the floor, and an overbearing smell of diesel fumes mixing with cigarette smoke, the smell of old chips, broken toilets, and fresh newspaper print.
I'd hate to be here at rush hour. Severus watches as groups of Muggles move across the concourse, from station to train, from train to station. There's barely any commuters now - most of the Muggles seem to be shift workers travelling in to London, or brightly painted partygoers heading for the next venue.
He pulls at his jacket awkwardly; compared to most wizards, he's relatively successful at merging into a Muggle crowd - he's lived too long in Cokeworth not to have an eye for what's acceptable to the Muggle eye - but London is a different beast altogether. London feels five years ahead, or fifteen years behind - he's sure he's seen Tobias in a shirt like the one the lad across the platform is wearing - or perhaps both, simultaneously, with London resurrecting the fashions of yesteryear for a new generation. If it's going to be the next in thing, I might nick it from Da's wardrobe, he thinks. He never much liked it anyway.
He flicks the platform ticket between his fingers, and leans over the arm of the bench to watch the 9.55 draw in. On time. Five minutes and counting.
"She's a good one, the old Crompton. Go on, son, get a good look at her. Fine specimen of British engineering."
Severus looks over at the man who's spoken, and tries not to seem alarmed at the interruption. To speak, or not to speak? What will draw more attention? But the man looks at him expectantly, so he gives a slight nod in return. "...yes."
"The Class 33s are a cut above the 26s and 27s, although," and the man gives a low whistle, "were you there for the launch of the 253s? I don't think - I never forget a face, you see - I don't think I saw you there. Were you there?"
"...no."
"Oh, you missed a fine day! But I knew it! I told you, I never forget a face! Like I never forget a train either. I still make a note, but I don't need to." He taps his head with his finger. "All in here, you see."
"...right."
"You're not from round here, are you?"
Thought I'd hidden my Cokeworth accent well enough. Obviously not. "...no."
"Well, I can tell you, the 253s are something else. Have you seen one yet? Not here, mind, you'll need to get over to Kings Cross, and I know what you're thinking! How can I get there? Well, I can tell you the way, you'll-"
"-yeah, I've seen one," he says, desperately trying to stop the man from talking.
"Of course you have. I bet you went there first, didn't you? Before coming here? Fine train. Fine, fine train! She set the world record for diesel traction a few years back, but - oh, listen to me, telling you things you'll already know - you knew that already didn't you?"
"Yeah." Severus glances at the man, and the station clock just behind his head. Two minutes and counting. How have only three minutes passed? It feels like twenty listening to this bore. Severus slowly slides his platform ticket back in his pocket, trying to work out the best way to extricate himself from the conversation. "Now I've seen the, er, Crompton, I'll-"
"Go round the corner! Across that part of the concourse there, and down to platform 3, and you'll see a beauty." The man pauses, his finger aloft, and then breaks into a wondrous smile. "A Class 20."
Severus looks blankly at the man. "A...20?"
The man grins even more broadly, mistaking Severus' confusion for wonder. "Yes, you heard me right the first time! A Chopper! It's your lucky day, son. Go on now, or you'll miss it. Round that corner there, like I said!"
Bloody Muggles.
Severus slopes off platform 10, and - with one eye on the irritating man who is now waving at him like he's some long lost relative, and pointing wildly in the direction of the furthest part of the station - he dodges behind a stall, and then a bench, and roughly pushes himself into a throng of people heading towards the Underground. He walks with them until he can escape unseen out of the other side instead of descending into the bowels of the station. He slinks along the back wall, and leans next to the advertising board where he and Lily had met the wolf on a previous occasion. He looks at the station clock. One minute past. Late. But surely the wolf will still try his luck?
Severus' fears are unfounded, because the wolf does - a minute or two later, he comes into view, strolling across the concourse and scanning each and every platform, whilst trying not to seem suspicious. For the first time in his life, Severus feels almost joyous to catch the eye of Remus Lupin, who, when he meets Severus' gaze, doesn't look quite so pleased.
"You."
"Wolf."
"What do you want?"
"Walk with me," Severus says, as he pushes off the wall.
"With you?" Lupin looks at him as if he's grown another head. "You want me to walk with you? Walk where?"
"I've got what you came for," he hisses, "but there's a damn fool Muggle trying to talk to me about trains. Look interested in diesel engines or something, in case he's looking over-"
Lupin looks at him incredulously. "Look interested in diesel engines?"
"At least it's a good reason for us to be lurking round here with these," he says, flicking his platform ticket.
"You've got a platform ticket?" Lupin smiles. "I had no idea you were such a law abiding citizen."
"Been kicking my heels here for a good half an hour," Severus mutters. "I didn't know if you were going to show, and I didn't fancy being picked up for loitering with intent or fare-dodging." He nudges Lupin. "Are you listening to me? Just point at a diesel engine whilst we pass him, and I don't know, look happy. But don't look too interested, or he'll come over and start talking to you too."
"Fine," Lupin mutters, and the two of them walk across the concourse. "Like this?" And then he points and smiles, but his face falls when Severus immediately pushes his arm down. "What? What did I do wrong?"
"That's an electric, you idiot. I said diesel."
Lupin smirks. "Severus Snape, trainspotter, I'd never have-"
"-if you want this potion poured down that drain, I'd keep going, wolf."
Lupin immediately falls silent, and Severus roughly drags him towards the opposite end of the station, and then points at a bench, where they both sit next to each other.
"How did you know I'd come?"
"Desperate animals do desperate things."
"...and this is a trap now, is that it?" Lupin looks desperately around him, his heart pounding. "Got your Death Eater buddies to surround us, have you?"
Severus shoots him an annoyed glare. "Yeah, sure. That old fella in the corner, he's one of ours. And that young girl with her mother, she's definitely one." He rolls his eyes. "Satisfied now, are you? Brought enough attention to us, or do you want to start busking as well?"
Lupin clucks his tongue against his teeth. "I think I can be forgiven for being a bit anxious. We're hardly..."
"Friends?" Severus gives a harsh laugh. "No, you're right there. We're not friends, wolf."
Lupin bristles. "So why are you here? What do you want from me?"
"Cold hard cash. Same deal as before."
"Sirius isn't going to transfer money into your bank account now you've broken it off with Evans."
"Get Potter to do it then."
"If Sirius won't do it, James most certainly won't."
"Do I have to stand here listing your dopey friends for you? It doesn't matter who - just get one of them to do it."
"And say what?" Lupin looks exasperated. "Besides, I know Evans is the only person who knows how to brew," and he lowers his voice to a whisper, "Wolfsbane."
"Is that so?" Severus opens his jacket pocket and flashes the vial of Wolfsbane. "I beg to differ."
Lupin looks stunned. "Where did you get that from? You haven't brewed that - you can't have!"
"Funny, because it looks like I did."
Lupin narrows his eyes. "If you brewed it, then you could've put anything in it."
Severus smirks. "Do you need me to deny it? In writing? What do you want, a certificate of authenticity?"
"I don't care what you say, I know that Evans is the only one who has the method, so…" Lupin eyes Severus suspiciously. "...what does this mean? You and Evans are still together, or-"
"I swiped it from her before we broke up!" he interrupts, angrily. "She needs to take better care of her things. And yes, I brewed it! It may have escaped your attention, but I am an expert in such matters." He gives Lupin a nasty grin. "I warn you though, I do like to experiment."
"You have put something in it."
Severus shrugs. "Maybe. Maybe not. I might have brewed it perfectly, or maybe I got a little flash of inspiration - a little spark of creativity!" His feral smile bares his crooked teeth. "Maybe it's pure. Maybe I improved it. Or maybe - just maybe - I made it worse…" He taps the vial. "Who knows, wolf? Certainly not you! Question is, do you want it or not?"
"She always said you were innocent, but I can truly believe you killed those people, you sick fuck."
Severus looks amused, and stands. "Right, that's me done-"
"No!" Lupin stands next to him, and presses his hand on his shoulder, imploring him to sit down. "I'm sorry! That was..."
"Uncalled for?" Severus nods. "Yeah, I'd say so."
Lupin rubs his hand over his face. "You don't make this easy, do you? Let's say this is the real deal - no changes, no extras, no improvements…"
Severus sits again. "You want it under those conditions and those conditions alone, is that it?"
"No. Yes! I mean, I do want it pure, but that's not the problem we've got." Lupin takes a deep breath. "Look, it's not that I don't want it, but…"
"I'm getting bored of this, wolf."
"...I don't know if I can get the money into your account-"
Severus abruptly zips his jacket shut, and stands again. "That's unfortunate."
"Snape, sit down!"
"I don't know what sort of agreement you expected, wolf, but I'm not a fool and I'm damned sure I'm not a charity!"
"Please, Snape." Lupin tugs at the hem of Severus' jacket. "Sit down. Please. People will stare."
"Same deal. Those are my terms."
"I can keep the amount the same," Lupin sighs, "but they'll only agree if it goes to Evans."
"That’s no good to me. You're not dealing with Evans anymore."
"Snape, be reasonable. It's not that I don't trust you-"
"-no, obviously," Severus says, the disdain dripping from his voice. "Apart from accusing me of tampering with an already volatile and experimental potion that takes an age to brew."
"You were the one saying…" Lupin looks astonished, and then sighs. "Fine. Whatever you say. But tell me this, how do I talk Sirius and James into putting money into your account? Especially after what you've done!"
"Not my problem, wolf."
"It is your problem," Lupin reasons, "because I assume you're not doing this out of the goodness of your heart, are you?" He looks quizzically at Severus. "So why are you doing it? Either you and Evans are still-"
"Yeah, or maybe I don't like the idea of dark dangerous creatures roaming around where I live and work," Severus spits. "Maybe that's it, wolf."
"It's not. There's more afflicted with this illness than just me."
Severus shrugs. "What can I say? No other wolf has ever tried to tear me limb from limb-"
"-that wasn't-"
"You? No. No, that was Black, wasn't it?"
Lupin gives a little laugh. "Is that what this is? You want your arch enemy Sirius Black-"
Severus scoffs. "He is not my arch enemy-"
"Fine! Whatever he is to you…" Lupin stares at Severus. "I'm just saying, if he pays you, he'll think that you're still with Evans."
"He'll be wrong."
"Wrong or not, you know what Sirius is like for shouting his mouth off - and although he's been unceremoniously discharged from his immediate family, he knows how to get word around, if you know what I mean? So if you have staged this little break-up-"
"-I'm not with Evans, you dumb wolf!" Severus looks disgusted. "I'm not with Evans, I despise Muggles, and I really, really fucking hate wolves. Present company most definitely included. In fact, present company right at the top of the fucking list!"
Lupin shrugs. "I don't need your potion, Snape. I can handle the transformation."
"That's why you were sniffing around here tonight, was it? Why you were willing to line Evans' pockets for this one little brew?"
"I'm not pretending it's a pleasant experience!" Lupin finally snaps. "So yes, if I can get it, I'll take it. But if not, it's out of my hands. When that moon rises, and shows its full face, I don't get a say in any of this anymore. It'll happen whether I like it or not." He shakes his head. "Wouldn't you pay handsomely to evade your destiny?"
"...I'd pay handsomely for a lot of things if I could use Sirius Black's galleons instead of my own."
Lupin gives a soft laugh. "Touché. But that doesn't solve the problem of getting the money to you, not unless you want Sirius thinking you're still hooked up with your Muggleborn witch."
There's a long silence. "He does have a nasty habit of leaping to the wrong conclusion and running his mouth off," Severus concedes. "...all right. Use Fletch."
"Fletch? Mundungus Fletcher? From the Or-" And then Lupin realises what he's started to say, and clamps his mouth shut.
Severus shrugs, pretending that he hasn't heard Lupin's slip of the tongue. "Yes, Mundungus Fletcher. He has a line in brokering transactions. Get them to give him the cash - and make sure that you keep out of it. The more degrees of separation between us the better, especially after this ridiculous meeting tonight." Severus glances anxiously over his shoulder. "And tell Fletch… Well…on second thoughts, I don't care what you tell him."
"We've got to tell him something, else how will he know to give it to you?"
"Oh, he'll know," Severus says, his voice low. "Now, wolf, we're agreed - same deal?"
"Same deal."
"You need to add twenty percent for Fletcher's cut."
"Split evenly between us?"
Severus gives him a withering look. "We just agreed, same deal. Don't shortchange me, else we won't be meeting again."
"Snape, that's not-"
"Not what? Why are you even bothered? It's not your money." He leans forward, sliding the vial into Lupin's hand. "Tell Black it's a seller's market. He'll understand. If he's not got enough, I'm sure the Potter coffers can lend you a knut or three." He straightens, zipping up his jacket once more. "And not here next time. Euston."
"Euston?"
"Fewer spotters," he says. "Unless you're going to learn the difference between a diesel and electric for our next happy meeting?"
In spite of himself, Lupin smiles. "I wasn't planning to."
"Right. Euston it is. And make it 9."
"Platform, or time?"
"Both. Some of us have homes to go to."
Chapter 53: Traitor
Chapter Text
Five days. It's a long time to have to wait before she sees him again, but she understands his reasons for not wanting to travel from London to Cokeworth before heading back up to Hogwarts. When she'd dragged the truth out of him - of where he was intending to go, and what he was intending to do - he'd looked unnerved, and she'd had to fight the urge to hold him and reassure him that he wouldn't be followed, to tell him it was just paranoia.
The truth was, she couldn't - her adulthood experiences in the magical world had taught her that his concern was not unfounded, and his caution was reasonable. It was sensible that he kept a sizeable distance between their safe haven with her parents from his dealing, even if the purchaser on this occasion was someone aligned with - as she saw it - the side of the righteous.
"You can't trust any of them," he had said, scornfully, when she'd offered to go with him, desperate to stay near him for a little while longer. "Stay here where it's safe."
She doesn't agree with his assessment about not trusting those in the Order. Least, not when it comes to Remus Lupin. She had never been close to the boy at Hogwarts; he was in far too deeply with Black and Potter, and Severus had always been at odds with the pair, meaning she had no interest in befriending Lupin - it would've felt far too disloyal. Yet, from what she saw in the common room, Lupin was a little like Pettigrew, an affable enough boy who was hanging on the fringes of the boisterous twosome who roamed the halls of Hogwarts. Away from Slytherin and surrounded by Gryffindors, he was generally likeable, with a cheerful laugh, and a mischievous smile.
"He was hardly like Mulciber, put it that way," she'd argued as she and Severus had talked it out.
Severus had been equally adamant. "The wolf was just as bad as the two idiots," he'd lamented.
She'd tried to suggest that Black was the instigator, and Potter the perpetrator, and the fault lay with those two alone, but Severus wasn't having any of it.
"Lupin and Pettigrew may not have drawn their wands first, but it's only because they're cowards. They were quick enough to join in when I was being bested and they had nothing to fear - so no, Lily, he is as bad. Both of them are. They laughed along, and they encouraged the pair of them. They're enablers."
She didn't like to point out that she'd heard of times when he'd - allegedly - been with those in Slytherin house who behaved in a similar way. Granted, she'd never heard of Severus holding an innocent at wandpoint with malicious intent as those Gryffindor boys routinely did to him, but she had spied him in the corridors at a distance, walking near Avery and Mulciber and various others dressed in green and silver, with either a broad smile or a nasty smirk on his face.
It wasn't as much of a stretch as she would've liked to imagine him flanking them and behaving in a similar fashion to a Lupin or a Pettigrew, unwittingly encouraging his associates' behaviour, whether he agreed with it or not - but she didn't want to get into a discussion with him about what's good for the goose, or whether the chicken or the egg came first, or anything about reaping what you sow, or any other trite expression - not when her boyfriend was about to walk away for another week, and having to pause for a pit stop in enemy territory on the way.
It makes her feel queasy. It's only been ninety minutes since he left, his hand raised in a wave, but it feels like hours since they were sat in her room together, her head resting on his shoulder, and the Top 40 counting down on Radio One. She sits between her parents, quietly watching the television, trying to remember to laugh in all of the right places - but she's half a beat behind, because her mind is on Severus and not the programme blaring from the far side of the room.
It makes her uneasy to think of him going alone to meet Lupin. Not because she fears Lupin's reaction to him - he'd be grateful, surely? - but Severus himself. He's still a little prickly, although he's more composed than when he was a teenager, and she can't help but fear the idea of him squaring up to his old antagonist, unable to hold his tongue. And it would be Severus who would be the one in trouble; he's the one carrying the potion which would see him convicted and surely sent to Azkaban if he was caught. The list of offences is long - illegal brewing, potion dealing, stolen methodology, patent infringement - and the worst case scenario simply doesn't bear thinking about. Especially not with his existing record.
But she can't help it, and her mind keeps wandering back to the idea of him standing there with the vial secreted on his person, and a burly auror grabbing him by the scruff of his jacket, rifling through his pockets. Yet again, she glances at the clock on the mantelpiece - four minutes have passed - and the more she thinks about what could be happening, the sicker she feels.
He won't be back in touch now, not until next weekend, and without any way of communicating with him, there's no way for her to be reassured. She can't be certain that the meeting with Lupin was successful and uneventful until Severus is standing on the doorstep, waiting for her to pull open the door with that familiar smile on his face - and at best, that's five days away.
It's almost unbearable. She can't sit with her parents any longer, pretending that all is well. She feels an overwhelming need to be close to her partner, even though - in the most positive scenario, with the deal successfully completed - he's hundreds of miles away.
She retreats upstairs to her bedroom; the room filled with his equipment, and his messy but detailed notes in his scrawled, spidery handwriting, and she starts to brew. As she touches the pages in his books, and reads his words, she can almost imagine his hand over hers, guiding her to stir the cauldron in a specific manner, and silkily whispering the methodology into her ear.
When he turns up the next week, she throws herself at him, and after a heated kiss on the doorstep, she drags him upstairs with a beaming smile. He doesn't say very much, and his face remains placid, but as she sits on the bed, she glances across and notices that he has a hint of a smirk playing around his lips. She wonders what he's thinking, but her brush of Legilimency yields nothing, as he suddenly twists and passes her his notebook before sitting down next to her.
"I'm sorry," she says, ten minutes or so later, her attention focused on his notes from the past week, "this must be terribly boring for you."
He looks stunned. "What? Being here? I'm with you, Lil, and-"
She laughs, sliding her arms around his waist. "That's good to know, but I meant this," and she holds the notebook up, tapping the pages. "Going over old ground with Sluggy."
"Ah." He relaxes then, his arms looping around her in return. "Yeah, it's not the most interesting way to spend my day." He drops a light kiss on the top of her head. "But it feels unfair. I've been taught the same techniques by two - well, three - Masters, whilst you're stuck here, trying to follow an apprenticeship in a Muggle room and from my notes."
"It could be worse."
"Don't, love."
She looks at him then, pulling her face away from his chest. "It's the truth. Most Muggleborns-"
"You don't have to tell me," he interrupts, his voice a little cold. "I've rather been having my fill of magical politics, of late."
"Dumbledore?"
"And the rest," he mutters.
"Avery?"
"Mmm."
"...Mulciber?"
He pulls away from her then, and pushes himself to the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor. "Tell me about your brewing this week, love," he says, abruptly changing the subject. "Any difficulties with techniques?"
She sighs, but from his tense demeanour, it's obvious that their previous conversation is over. "Sev…"
"I'm being useless," he says, loudly, "what sort of tutor am I? I need to check your brews." He jumps back up off the bed and bends at his hips, peering at the neat line of vials on the dresser. Her heart beats a little faster as he picks each up, holding it to the light - or, at some points, removing the stopper and sniffing or tasting. He places the last one back down, and then he catches her expression, clearly having been lost in the moment of evaluating the potions.
"Well?"
"Nervous?" he teases, the left side of his mouth quirking in amusement. "You shouldn't be."
She feels the tension draining from her. "Thank you."
"I'd give them all a T," he says.
Her eyes widen, and her mouth gapes, and then she sees his grin growing wider. "You git, Severus."
"The one and only," he laughs, holding his arms up to stop her from grabbing him - and then he grabs her instead, kissing her forehead. "I didn't do any better myself," he admits, "when I brewed these for Sluggy last week."
She gives him a critical look. "You are trying to pretend that you haven't done this before though. If you were brewing legitimately, then you'd probably outclass me."
"Missing our competitive school days?" he smiles. "You just want another chance to wipe the floor with me."
"Twice," she says, rolling her eyes. "I beat you twice."
"And I've still not come to terms with either occasion." He steps away, and looks again at the potions. "I'm not lying. These are as good as I've ever brewed. And without a real teacher!"
"Your notes are flawless," she says. "And if I remember Potions at school correctly, I'm sure that Sluggy wouldn't have written it out for me in such detail." She taps the notebook. "These amendments and improvements are all your own, aren't they?"
He shrugs. "You still brewed it. I'm impressed, love." He glances at the ceiling, pretending to check for splatter marks. "And with no explosions either."
"...no, Mummy would have a fit! The decorators only painted this room last summer."
"Well then," he laughs, settling back down on the bed, "you're definitely one up on me. I blew up at least three cauldrons when I brewed this set of potions for the first time. Borage nearly had an aneurysm."
She catches the odd look in his eye, and her skin crawls as she remembers the terms of his apprenticeship, and what his punishment for such reckless behaviour might have been. She sits next to him, his notes still in hand, and nestles herself under his arm. "What did you brew this week, then? What's in store for me next?"
"I want you to investigate Polyjuice."
"Polyjuice? You're not serious, are you? Surely Sluggy hasn't had you brewing Polyjuice?"
"No, but I want you to do so."
"That's adding insult to injury, Sev."
"It's not meant to be," he gripes. "I told Sluggy that you - as me - wanted to investigate it. I needed some way of finding out whether or not it was safe for you to take, or if it was safe for you to brew any potions at all!" When she doesn't answer, he huffs. "...sorry, I suppose, " he belatedly adds, but he doesn't look in the least bit apologetic.
"Right." Her voice is a little colder than she intends, but it feels laughable - to be forced to brew the potion that had given her a little bit of freedom in their world, only to now be unable to consume it.
"And he's going to ask," he continues, oblivious to her continuing displeasure, "how your experimentation is going, and Merlin knows, Lil, I'd do it myself but with pretending to be you pretending to be me, and doing what Dumbledore wants, and seeing Malf, and trying to keep on good terms with Fletcher-"
"Keep in with Fletcher?" She eyes him suspiciously. "Have you been brewing for Mundungus again?"
"...no." He winces at her annoyed look. "Well, yes, a little."
"Severus! You said you wouldn't."
"He was causing me a few problems."
"I thought you said you could handle him."
He sighs. "I can, but it's tricky. This situation with the wolf…"
"Mundungus is involved?"
"He's brokering the deal," Severus explains. "With us broken up, Black won't put the money into my account."
"I didn't think of that."
"Me neither," Severus sighs. "I should've."
"Lupin's not telling them you're brewing it, then?"
Severus shakes his head. "Not a chance. It was bad enough when I was the greasy wannabe Death Eater, but now I'm the evil bastard ex-boyfriend to boot." He chuckles. "So the money has to go to Fletcher, who doesn't reveal the recipient to the dunderheads."
"And don't tell me, Mundungus wants his cut?"
"He's already getting his cut, but he wants more." Severus looks pained. "Greed, pure and simple. He knows what he wants, and he saw a way to get it."
Lily shakes her head. "I thought he was going to diversify."
"Reckons he has," Severus sighs, "but you know Fletcher, he'll tell you anything. And party drugs are where he makes his money - but that means I had to speak to Malf before brewing anything, and balancing the two of them...it gives me a headache, Lil. They both have very different ideas of what the market should look like."
"I can imagine."
"You know Fletcher, he's a 'line his pockets' type, whereas Malf… Malf wants to take over the world," he says, his gaze darkening - and as annoyed as she is, she can't help but remember seeing that same grumpy expression on his face when he was a little kid; his jaw set firm, and his black eyes narrowing - and it makes her smile. "What?" he grumbles. "What are you looking at?"
"You, you idiot," she says, and leans up to kiss him.
He reciprocates - once, twice - and then he pulls away, looking awkward. "I've got to go."
"You're not staying?"
"I've promised-"
"It's fine," she says, coldly. "It's not like I've waited all week to see you."
"Lil…"
She doesn't look at him, and busies herself with reading his notes. "I've said, it's fine."
"I'll come back later," he promises.
"Whatever."
"...I don't have to," he snaps, irritation getting the better of him. "I could stay out."
"You do what you want. I'm sure you're busy with your new friends."
He sighs, exasperatedly, and grabs his outer robe. "I haven't got time for this, Lily."
She doesn't relent, and still doesn't look at him. "You can take those with you," she says, waving vaguely towards the potions she had so carefully brewed. "I have no need for them. Not here. Not in this Muggle world."
She's already in bed when he returns, his knock at the door rousing her from her sleep. She hears her father welcoming him in, and a muffled conversation between Severus and her mother, and then the stairs emit several loud creaks as he slowly climbs up them. His tap on her bedroom door is a little softer, and he pushes the door gently open when she doesn't reply. She quickly shuts her eyes, pretending that she's unaware of his presence - and then she hears him mutter something under his breath, and the landing light snaps off.
He fumbles around in the dark, and the familiar sounds of him stripping and dropping his clothes in a heap on the floor seem louder than ever in the silence, despite his intent to be quiet - t-shirt first, then his left sock, then his right, and then finally, his jeans. He pauses then, and she's almost tempted to open her eyes to see what he's doing - but then he quietly steps around the bed, and carefully lifts the covers, and slides in - and he does so with such consideration and concern, she doesn't want to reveal that she's been awake all along.
The tables are turned the next morning, when she wakes before him. She watches him for a while, his eyelashes long and dark against his pale cheeks, and his expression relaxed - and she finds that despite wanting to talk to him, to whisper an apology, and to seek comfort in his embrace, she can't bring herself to wake him. She wonders if he would mind, given her final words to him, and his to her - but then she remembers that he came back, despite the late hour, and even when he found her apparently sleeping, he chose to stay.
Nor did he wake her, she realises. He's worn out, she thinks, and she lifts the duvet carefully, trying not to disturb him. She slips out of the bed, and scrunches the duvet back around him, fighting the urge to bend and kiss his forehead.
Shower. He might be awake when you return.
It's the dresser drawer opening which wakes him, but when he sees her bent over and rifling through the garments, selecting what to wear for the day, he is anything but annoyed. He watches hungrily as she pulls off her nightie, and when he sees her bare skin, it's all he can do not to groan. She turns then, and he shuts his eyes, keeping up the pretence of sleep - but after a moment, he cracks one eye open again, and she's turned away, her gaze now focused on the handful of bras that she's clutching.
When she's clothed, there's barely any bump, but he's so used to her naked body, the subtle rounding of her abdomen screams at him that she's with child - his child. She holds up one bra and then the other, inspecting the cups, and his gaze lingers on her breasts, which seem fuller each time he sees her. He'd been so desperate to ply them with affection in those early days, unaware of how tender they'd been until she pulled away from him, her protest clear. He hasn't touched her since then - hasn't dared - and watching her try each bra on before discarding it makes him crave her all the more.
Choice made, she throws a couple onto her dresser - clearly now too small for her changing body - and then slides the drawer shut. He can tell from how slowly and deliberately she closes it that she's trying not to wake him, and he immediately snaps his eyelids shut again to continue the pretence. He listens intently, trying to hear the soft click of the catch of the door which indicates her departure, and as soon as he does, he rolls over so that he's flat on his back and slides his hand into his pants.
The image of his naked witch is burnt into his mind, and he can't stop himself from fantasising about her, knowing that after that unexpected spot of voyeurism there's no chance of his morning erection wilting of its own accord. He drags his underwear over his cock and down to his thighs, licks his palm, and with the image of Lily fresh in his mind, he strokes himself.
He's fairly sure that she's showering - fifteen minutes at least - and is mostly reassured that nobody will discover him, but then, just as he's finding a rhythm, for no good reason, he thinks about Rose knocking on the door with a cup of tea, or David bursting in with an offer of a cooked breakfast, and a flash of fear shoots through his chest. How shameful it would be to be caught pleasuring himself - more shameful than being caught having sex with their daughter, even, as if he was a randy teenager incapable of controlling himself instead of a mature adult.
This thought causes him to apply more pressure, to grip himself harder. You need to finish, quickly, he thinks, and he moves his other hand to cup his bollocks. Finish before you're caught, finish finish finish - so he closes his eyes again, forcing his fears out of his brain and focusing once more on Lily.
He thinks about the way she looked that morning, relives how she would touch him and caress him, and the dirty words she'd whisper in his ear. He thinks about the way her body is changing now that she's carrying his baby, and the way she would bring him to completion with a swift swirl of her hand. His jaw falls slack as his body starts to tighten, and he's so lost in the moment, he's a half second too late to react when the door swings open.
"What are you doing?"
Fuck.
He opens his eyes, confronted with the furious face of Lily. His breathing is ragged, and he can feel that his cheeks are flushed, and he leaves his hand wrapped around his still stiff cock beneath the duvet. She closes the door, and places her hands on her hips, her lips pursed. She was hardly impressed with him last night, but this is something else - it's been a while since he's seen her this angry, but then what does he expect, wanking alone in her bed whilst her parents are downstairs.
"Well, Severus?"
The more he doesn't answer, the angrier she seems to get - her skin is drained of colour, which makes her freckles stand out more than ever, and as she tilts her head to appraise him, his cock twitches in his hand. Traitor, he briefly thinks. It's behaving like that which got me into this mess in the first place.
"Honestly," she spits, stamping over to the dresser and yanking the drawer open, "it's bad enough you don't fancy me anymore-"
"Don't fancy you?" He sits upright immediately, his eyes wide.
"I know I'm putting weight on, and I'm barely a witch these days, not like those Purebloods you're friendly with-"
"Fucking hell, Lily, of course I fancy you! This is because of you. You're driving me crazy, witch."
She pauses, her hand still on the dresser. "Really?" It's presented as a question, but the disbelief in her tone tells him that she's not keen to listen to what he has to say.
He stares at her, his mouth slightly agape before composing himself. "Really, witch," he says again, more firmly. "Not just any witch, but my witch."
"Then why don't you want us to have sex?" She mumbles the sentence, the words running into one another, as she finds it difficult to put her concerns into words. "Unless you think I'm unattractive?"
"I can't hear you. Come here, love," he says, beckoning her towards the bed. "Come and talk to me properly."
She's reluctant, but she moves towards him, sitting where she'd been lying earlier. "Is it Avery?"
"Avery?"
"I know you go down Knockturn with him, and I know he likes to visit Discreet Knights-"
"-you know I don't do anything when I go there," he interrupts, sternly. "It's Avery, you know what he expects of me when we're together - you know what he's like."
"...I don't," she says. "Not really."
"Yeah, well, that's probably for the best," he mutters. "I'm not hanging out with him for fun," he says, shuffling closer, "but because Dumbledore wants me to. Please, get back into bed, Lil. ...please?"
She doesn't move towards him, but she lifts her legs onto the bed so she's lying down, and she doesn't pull away when he lifts the duvet in invitation, accepting it covering her when he gently sets it down. "Why?"
"I saw you," he says, honestly, "this morning. Sorting through your drawer. Naked, and..." He groans. "I'm sorry, Lil, I didn't mean to…I don't know, disrespect your parents by-"
"It's not about disrespecting my parents! I don't care about my parents!" She's almost shaking with anger, such is her outrage.
"Then, what?"
"It's about the fact that you find me so repulsive that you won't touch me anymore, and-"
"Wait, Lil," he says, propping himself up and touching her cheek with his fingertips. "...you want me to touch you?"
She exhales loudly, her eyes roaming over his face, not sure what to make of his confused expression. "Don't ask stupid questions."
And then he leans over her, his hands braced above her head, and she can feel the heat coming from his body as it invades her space. "I thought," he murmurs, his lips grazing the sensitive skin where cheek meets ear, "you'd find it frustrating. Me doing this."
"...I am frustrated," she whispers, her neck twisting as he kisses along her jawline.
"But if we can't… If we can't make love-"
"We can. Mummy and Daddy know we're together, and-"
"Not them," he murmurs, "but our baby?"
She realises then, and she swallows hard. All these weeks. "You won't hurt the baby, Sev."
His surprise causes his arms to buckle slightly, and she gives a soft moan as his hard cock brushes against her thigh.
"Are you sure?" he asks, breathlessly.
She turns her head, and captures his open mouth, kissing him with a ferocity that stuns him into submission. She takes the lead, rolling him over onto his back, and sitting astride him. He groans as she grinds against him, and then she rakes her fingernails down his chest, over and over, harder and harder, until the faint pink lines she's created on his skin start to turn red, and he squirms beneath her in what appears to be a silent beg for mercy.
"Too much?"
He shakes his head. "No," he says, and then he leans up, capturing the back of her neck with his hand and roughly pulling her in for a searing kiss. Her moment of dominance is lost, as he turns them back over, and his fingers stroke leisurely down her sides, his fingertips moving in gentle circles across her hips, and down the outside of her legs. He's slow to move back up, and as his fingers softly caress the insides of her thighs, she whimpers. He stills completely at her reaction, and she groans in frustration, spreading her legs wider in invitation.
"Sev…"
"You want me," he breathes, and for a moment, she doesn't know if it's a question or a statement, and then she catches that flash of self-confidence in his eyes. A statement.
"And you still want me," she says, arching her back as his fingers dance their way higher. Ten minutes ago, it would have been a question, but now her statement is as sure as his is. He wants me.
"Oh yes, witch." His breath is hot in her ear, and he gently teases at the lobe. "Do you know how beautiful you are? How much you turn me on? With my child - our child - blooming within you."
She doesn't answer, her confidence in her body still undermined from the past few weeks, and then she gasps as he sucks hard at her neck. "Sev! My parents will see-"
"They already know that you're mine," he growls, nipping at her skin. "What's a love bite compared to a baby, hmm?" And then he bites her shoulder hard, as if to prove a point, and she tumbles him over, pinning him to the bed.
She leans down, her teeth capturing his nipple until he hisses, and in response, he thrusts upwards, over and over, the friction between them causing her to moan. She writhes against him, and he doesn't tire of this, his eyes bright with amusement and heat, clearly enjoying the way that she's reacting - and in the end, when she feels as if she won't last much longer, she's the one to halt his game, reaching down and guiding him to her entrance, moaning as his next thrust buries himself deep inside her.
If she needed a shower before, she definitely needs one now - she's hot, and sweaty, and sticky - but she's happier than she's been for weeks, and one glance at Severus tells her that he feels the same. There's a relaxed and contented smile on both of their faces as they lie together. She toys with his mouth, her forefinger gliding teasingly over his lips until he eventually parts them, and captures her digit, caressing it with his tongue.
"I've missed you," she says. "This. Us." She gives him the saddest smile. "I can't believe you thought-"
He groans, and lets her finger slip from his mouth. "I can't believe I thought that having sex would harm you both," he says, his eyes momentarily closing in obvious dismay. "Weeks, Lil! I've not wanked this much in years."
"I should've realised there was something wrong," she says, gently. "I know you got your sex education from those magazines Lucius gave you, and not much else."
"You," he says. "You were the something else. You were my education."
"So your parents never told you-"
"No," he says, sharply. There's a momentary pause, and then he groans, slinging his forearm over his eyes. "Merlin, I've been driven wild, Lil, wanting you so much and not daring to touch you, and-"
"We need to keep talking," she interrupts, seriously, her hands still roaming his skin. "I can't seem to read you anymore. I tried yesterday, but..."
Severus looks a little guilty, and peers out from beneath his arm. "Occlumency," he mutters. "I need to keep the walls up more often now that I'm working for Dumbledore, and I find it hard to let it drop."
"Even when it's me?"
"Even when it's you," he says, softly. "I can't seem to switch it on and off. It's all or nothing, and I daren't let my guard down. I daren't show any sign of weakness."
"Then you need to talk to me," she warns, threading her fingers through his hair - and although he briefly looks anguished, she kisses him before he can protest, "and I know you find it impossible, but I can't go through this again."
He responds strongly, his arms wrapping around her as they kiss more deeply, and when he pulls back, he nods. "Me neither, love. Me neither."
Chapter 54: Taste of a bad boy
Chapter Text
Avery yawns, and kicks a loose pebble. "How long did you say he'll be?"
"He'll be here any minute," Severus replies, frowning at the cobbled ground. "I know you're bored, Ave, but don't go drawing attention to us."
"It's just a pebble."
"A noisy one."
Avery stops, and puts his hands up in mock surrender. "So, what've you been up to? Been into the Muggle world recently?"
Severus freezes, his hand toying with the vial in his pocket. "No," he says, taking care to ensure his voice is even. "Should I have been?"
"I went the other week and wished I hadn't bothered. Pointless," Avery says, lightly. "I thought there'd be more fighting after all those strikes the other year, but it's gone quiet."
"The Winter of Discontent."
"What?"
"That's what they called it," Severus explains. "The Muggle press."
"Sounds stupid."
"It's from Richard III."
"What happened to Richard I and Richard II?"
Severus leans his head back against the wall, wishing he hadn't mentioned anything. "They died."
"Brutal, how?"
"The second starved to death, and the first was slain by an ant."
"An ant?" Avery looks confused.
"You've never heard of Richard the Lionheart?"
Avery's blank look says it all. "Is he Richard IV?"
"...yeah," Severus says, wearily. "Something like that." He pushes off the wall and paces up and down the small cobbled alley, resisting the urge to peer into the adjoining street.
"Snape?"
"Yeah?"
"This ant. How big was it?"
Fucking hell.
"It's metaphorical, Ave. King Richard-"
"Wait, which one of them was a king?"
"They all were."
"Bit of a coincidence, isn't it? All having the same name? Not very imaginative."
I might actually murder him.
Severus takes in a deep breath. "King Richard," he says, not pausing to allow Avery to interrupt him, "was also called Richard the Lionheart, because he was a fierce and respected warrior. A kid, not much younger than us, shot him with a crossbow. Hence the ant. The ant slaughtered the lion. Understand now?"
"Yes," Avery says, although the look on his face suggests otherwise. "And this kid's name was Antony, right?"
"...right," Severus says, giving up.
"You know a lot of weird shit about Muggles, Snape. How do you even know this stuff?"
Before Avery can probe further, there's a soft pop of Apparition, and to Severus' relief, Rabastan Lestrange strides over to the pair. "Snape." He looks Avery up and down. "Who's this?"
"Bast, this is Avery. Avery, Bast," Severus says, quickly. "Avery was in Slytherin with me."
Rabastan nods but still eyes Avery curiously. "Snape here is a brewer. What do you do, Avery?"
"This and that," Avery says, looking a little awkward. "You're Dolph's brother, aren't you?"
"This and that?" Rabastan murmurs. "Who do you do this and that for?"
"I can't say," Avery says, looking panicked.
"He spends a lot of time with Mulciber," Severus interjects, aware of his friend's discomfort.
"Good to hear," Rabastan says, suddenly smiling broadly, and holding his large hand out for Avery to shake it. "Can't escape the grunt work. Can't all be brewers like Snape here."
"You've done your share of grunt work though, haven't you, Snape?" Avery says, generously, keen to make a good impression. "That fight we had in Lewisham in the summer holidays before seventh year, remember?"
Rabastan looks interested. "Oh yes?"
"Yeah, some big Muggle march - loads of protestors, and-"
"They were just Muggles," Severus drawls, disdainfully.
"Doesn't mean it's not fun to fight them." Avery grins at Rabastan. "Show them their place."
"And did they know that you were a wizard, Avery?"
"...well, no. The statute and all that."
Rabastan looks amused. "So you weren't showing them their place, were you? You were just another Muggle thug." He appraises Severus. "And you were there as well, were you, Snape? I'd have thought Muggle scrapping was beneath you, what with the way Malfoy talks about you."
"I was a kid," Severus says, quickly, glaring at Avery. "It was just a way to let off steam. Wanted to hurt some people who didn't matter."
"Ah," smiles Rabastan. "Now that is a better answer." He reaches into his robes and pulls out a pouch. "A little more for you," he says, placing the heavy coin bag into Severus' palm, "now that we've cut out the filthy middleman."
"Who's the-"
"Shut up, Ave," Severus snaps, pulling out the small vial and passing it to Rabastan. "As agreed, Bast."
"Pleasure doing business with you, Snape," Rabastan says, sliding the vial carefully into his pocket. "And it was interesting to meet you, Avery."
It's quite appealing, Avery's flat - or it would be, if it was clean and tidy. The ceilings are high, and the fireplaces ornate, and the tiled entrance is intricate, all confirming the wealth that Severus always knew was behind the Avery family; the wealth that means that Avery can afford to wander around both the Muggle and magical worlds, causing strife and picking fights.
No apprenticeship for Avery. No sweeping up behind a bar for Avery. No dealing illegal potions for Avery.
Severus looks at the dirt on the floor, and the dust on the dado rail, and doesn't pause to take his boots off. The living room floor is strewn with newspapers and magazines and empty packets, and every flat surface is covered with smudged drinking glasses. He follows Avery through to the kitchen, where the worktop is littered with dirty plates and used forks.
"Drink?"
Not if it's out of a glass.
"Any bottles of beer?"
Avery opens the fridge, which emits a strange smell, causing Severus to recoil. "Butterbeer Extra," he offers. "It's a bit sweet, but it's got much more of a kick to it than what you get in Hogsmeade. 8%, I think."
Severus nods his gratitude, and as he follows Avery back to the living room, he rubs the cap on his robes before prising it off, and then rubs the mouth of the bottle against his sleeve. "Cheers."
"So what do you want to do?" Avery asks, swiping rubbish from the sofa and onto the floor so the two of them can sit down.
"Thought you said Mulc was coming over?"
Avery shrugs. "Mulc promises a lot of things. He's probably with Rosier, and forgotten about me." He taps the side of his bottle. "...I'm glad you're back with us, Snape."
"Yeah."
"I'm serious," Avery says, more insistently. "Reggie and Mulc reckoned you'd never come back to the right way of thinking, not whilst you were balls deep in that Mudblood."
It takes all of Severus' effort not to wince - at the crudeness, and the slur. "Yeah?"
"They're not like us."
"...who isn't?"
"Ros and Mulc and Reggie," Avery explains. "They don't understand. Especially not Reggie with his pretty boy looks." He takes another angry swig of his drink. "Face like mine - face like yours! No offence, Snape."
"None taken."
"I'd have banged her as well. She was hot. ...for a Mudblood." He nudges Severus with his elbow. "Bet you had some right fun with her."
"Yeah."
"Bet you got her to do stuff that Purebloods wouldn't, right?"
"Of course," he says, airily.
"Course you did," Avery laughs nastily. "Else you wouldn't have stayed with her." He leans his head back. "Fucking hell, that's brilliant. ...you know Potter wanted her, don't you?"
"Yeah," Severus grins. "That made it all the more satisfying."
"He'd have even married her, probably."
"Yeah."
"And you were just humiliating her. Using her. And stupid Potter would've married her. He's a disgrace to Purebloods."
"Yeah."
Avery looks triumphant. "They all want a bit of the snake house, those Gryffindors."
"Yeah."
"And the Mudbloods. They want it too. They're all craving someone purer. Someone worthier."
"Yeah."
Avery swigs his drink. "Go on then. How did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Get her interested in you in the first place?"
I'm her very best friend.
"Who says I did anything? Maybe she just wanted a taste of a bad boy."
"Be serious, Snape. Did you slip her something?"
"To get her to date me?"
"Yeah, like, a potion or something?" Avery leans forward eagerly. "Can I get in on that?"
"The only thing I slipped her was my dick," Severus says, leaning back on the sofa. "No love potions."
"Fuck." Avery looks disappointed. "Oh well, at least there's Knockturn. It's better now you're coming along with me more often. Looks less obvious when you walk down the alley in a two. The others don't ever want to come. Don't need to," he spits, bitterly.
"They're all right with me being back then?" Severus asks, cautiously. "Reggie and Ros and Mulc?"
"They will be," Avery says. "Once you've settled back in properly."
"But you're all right with me?"
Avery nods. "Course I am. They don't know you like I do. I knew you'd come back to us. I've seen you, when we'd get in those brawls, in amongst those marching." He gives Severus a gleeful grin. "Remember when you slashed that guy, that big Muggle-"
"That was a long time ago."
"Not that long." Avery takes another slug of his drink. "Do you still carry it?"
"Carry what?"
"The knife you used to slice him up. You did Reggie's brother with it, didn't you?"
He shakes his head. "No."
"Thought you'd got a taste for it."
"It wasn't a knife on Black," Severus explains. "It was magic. I used a knife on the Muggle, but it was confiscated when I was arrested."
"If you had a magic slicing spell, then why didn't you use that on the Muggle?" Avery's eyes narrow. "Doesn't it work the same on them?"
Severus turns his drink over in his hands. "I thought I'd get caught under the statute if I used magic on the Muggle," he explains, "but it was stupid." He takes an angry swig from his bottle. "I wasn't underage, and my wandwork is quick. Really stupid. They'd never have caught me if I'd used magic."
"Should've Disapparated like I did," Avery laughs.
"Yeah."
"Or disillusioned the knife at least."
"I was trying not to use magic, remember?"
"Oh, yeah. You should've."
Severus sighs. "I know that now."
"Heard Malfoy had to buy you a Muggle suit."
"Yeah."
"For the Muggle court case."
"Yeah."
"Did he go with you?"
"No," Severus lies. "Went alone."
"Didn't think he would," Avery says, swigging his drink again. "Can't imagine Malfoy around Muggles."
"No."
"I would've gone with you."
Severus raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"Got to stick together, right?"
Like you stuck by me when you Disapparated and left me to be handcuffed by those three police constables, Severus thinks.
"Yeah. Thanks, Ave. I'll remember that for the next time I'm dragged up in a Muggle courtroom."
There's a moment of silence, and then Avery turns to look at him. "...Snape?"
"What?"
"Would you show me?"
Severus frowns. "Show you what?"
"The spell you used to slash up Black."
"Nah," Severus says, draining his bottle of Butterbeer. He stands, and shakes it. "Mind if I have another?"
"Not if you get me one," Avery says, tossing his own empty bottle on the floor.
When Severus returns, a fresh bottle in each hand, Avery is leaning back on the sofa. "Thanks."
"Thank yourself," Severus smiles, as they remove the caps, and clink the bottles together, "it's your booze."
Avery takes a long drink. "Snape?"
"What?"
Avery leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "Why not?"
"Why not what?"
"Why won't you show me that knife spell?"
Snape toys with the label on the bottle, peeling the edge of the paper from the glass. "It's dark, Ave."
Avery sniggers. "Yeah, and so what? That's what we are. Dark."
Despite himself, Severus laughs. "Oh yeah? How dark are you then, Ave?"
"You really want to know?"
"Wouldn't have asked otherwise," Severus says.
"Avada'd someone."
He stops then, his bottle halfway to his lips. "You did?"
"Yeah," Avery smiles. "Didn't think I had it in me, right?"
Hoped you didn't, Severus thinks, but he simply shakes his head.
"I've seen you fighting," Severus says, quietly. "I knew you had the will. The mental strength." He pauses, almost not wanting to hear the answer to the question he's about to pose. "...done anything else?"
"An Avada isn't enough?"
"Feels like the tip of the iceberg," he says, quietly. "I think you're capable of so much more, Ave."
"I knew you'd believe in me," Avery says, his grin growing wider, and his arms moving in a more animated fashion. "That's the problem with Mulc and Ros and even Reggie, you know? They don't think I can do things. But you, Snape, you're different. You get me." He claps Severus on the back. "We're the same."
"The same," Severus says, raising his bottle in celebration.
They sit quietly for a few minutes, and there's a strange look on Avery's face that Severus can't quite reconcile - and then Avery leans forwards and puts down his bottle. "Snape?"
"What?"
"Got something to show you," Avery says.
"It's not your dick, is it?"
"You're not at Malfoy's now," Avery laughs, pulling his sleeve up. "Look."
On his forearm is an intricate marking - the skin's raised but the etching is pale pink, not dissimilar in appearance to the fingernail trails Lily had scratched into Severus' chest a few nights earlier.
"Pretty cool," Severus says, nodding his approval. "Not sure I'd have got it in pink though."
"It's not a tattoo," Avery says, his finger lightly tracing the mark. "It's a brand."
"Like livestock?"
"...I don't get it."
"Livestock. Animals. Farmers brand their cattle, or their sheep, so they know who owns what."
Avery mulls on this for a moment, but then shakes his head. "It's not about being owned. We're all as one."
"No?"
"It's about being accepted. Part of something. A leader of others."
"And your little leadership gang thought pale pink was the best colour to signify that?"
Avery huffs. "It's not pink, it's skin. It's red most of the time. It's faint at the moment because it's not active."
"Not active?"
"We can communicate through them. Sometimes it's black. Cool, yes?" He holds his arm closer to Severus' face. "Can't you tell what it is?"
Severus puts his bottle down on the floor, and grips Avery's wrist, twisting his arm so he can see it clearly, and then his heart jolts as he realises what the image is - he's staring at the insignia which haunts the magical world when it hangs in the air, signifying that an atrocity has taken place in the spot below. "That's the Dark Lord's symbol."
"Yeah!"
"...he brands you? The Dark Lord?"
"He accepts us. Trusts us to enact his vision," Avery says, proudly. "And if he can see the dark in me, he'll see the dark in you too, brother."
Chapter 55: My shield
Chapter Text
It's boring, Cokeworth. It had always been boring when she was growing up, but at least back then she had lots of distractions - Petunia, and Muggle school, and after school swimming lessons, and choir practice, and netball, and even those difficult few months where she decided she wanted to learn how to play the piano, even though she never quite got further than the basic chords. Recorder, on the other hand, she had excelled at - or, at least, she did until Petunia teased her mercilessly.
"And who famous plays a recorder these days? Do you think you're going to get on Top of the Pops with a rendition of Greensleeves?"
The nasty comment had been enough to make her cease playing altogether, the wooden instrument subsequently hidden below her winter woollens at the back of her wardrobe, and whenever her parents commented on its absence, she simply shrugged. "I grew out of it. Playing the recorder's for little kids."
Thankfully, the disdainful Petunia was eventually replaced by ever-excitable Severus - and suddenly those dull days were anything but, filled with make-believe adventures on the park, and hunting for creatures down by the river, their hushed conversations filled with dreams of a magical world far away.
As it turned out, their pretend world had been far superior to the magical reality they were confronted with; Lily maligned within their world for her family background, and - as she's slowly been realising the extent of what transpired during their schooldays - Severus being bullied mercilessly throughout Hogwarts, propelling him closer to both those with power, and those with distasteful political views.
She idly wishes, at times, that their version of the magical world had been attainable. She thinks of the magic that thrums through the pair of them, she thinks of how others have desired that within them both - and she thinks of the skill that they've both demonstrated, particularly with his brewing and her charms, and she remembers how he used to shout about him being someone, someone big and powerful and - her heart almost clenches - feared.
Her desires hadn't quite aligned with his. She'd wanted to be Minister for Magic, or a member of the Ministry at the very least, operating within the bounds of authority, but able to create the laws. To be kind and fair and just and sincere. She'd asked him - shouted at him, really, as they were both racing through the air on the swings at the time - why he didn't want to be Minister himself, why he couldn't gain his power that way, through the appropriate channels.
"You could be Head of the Auror office," she'd offered.
"When yer the Minister?"
"Yeah."
"Won't happen." And then he'd twisted to give her that crooked smile, the one where his eyes would crinkle - the genuine one that she so loved. "I'll be dead by then."
"Sev!"
"Or in Azkaban. Or Strangeways maybe," he'd added, emphatically. "But yer should definitely be Minister. I'd vote for yer." And then he'd laughed - a hearty, joyous laugh, and had flung himself from the swing, his arms flailing as he sailed through the air.
She can't help but wonder, especially in these long days of nothing, what made him so jaded back then - what had made him so adamant that he would never have the opportunities that she simply assumed would come her way? She wasn't sure what was worse - the fact that she truly believed that the world would be just and fair, only to discover it wasn't, or Severus' deeply ingrained cynicism, setting him on a darker, more difficult path from a very early age.
At least he knew, she thinks. Is it easier not to have your hopes and dreams dashed? Easier to set your sights elsewhere - to have different, achievable goals, instead of aiming for the moon and then realising you were only given a handcart instead of a rocket ship?
He's not like that when they're together now. Not these days. He's no longer cynical. He's the little kid she knew was desperate to claw his way out of his dour exterior. She sees their similarities then - she sees that spark of talent and enthusiasm, she sees him poring over his books, and she recognises herself within him. She's certain that's why he was so taken with her - she wasn't just another magical person in the vicinity, as Petunia liked to spitefully suggest, telling her that if there had been another magical child - a boy, perhaps, or someone taller, or someone with fewer freckles - he'd have chosen them instead.
But, as she spent more and more time with the strange boy from over the river, she realised that they had more in common than just the magic pulsing through their veins. She's always known, deep down, that he wanted her - she's seen the way his eyes light up when she speaks, his expression when she touches him, and although she's always known, she's found herself realising, in these days of separation, that she craves him just as much as he wants her.
Their natural alignment scares her, sometimes. She thinks of how easy it is - how easy it was! - to simply secrete themselves away from the rest of the planet, her and Severus against the world, living quietly amongst their books and spells. They'd almost achieved it at Hogwarts, in those first few weeks of silently living in the castle, hidden away from almost all others. The bonus was the addition of Slughorn - being tutored by him after being unceremoniously dropped from the Ministry was as if someone had opened the curtains, and filled her life with light. It gave her something to leap out of bed for; not just learning for its own sake, but learning with a purpose - with goals, and exams, and real achievements.
And yet the pair of them had messed their golden opportunity up. She cups her slight bump, the skittering pulse of Bean's magic flickering against her hand, and she tries not to feel regretful. A little more care - a potion or a tablet or a charm - and she'd still be at Hogwarts with Severus, side-by-side, hand-in-hand, ready to fight the war together. She'd be brewing alongside Slughorn, instead of being cramped over a cauldron set on the dresser, vials and ingredients lining her bookcase, flanked oddly by childish stories and finger marked trophies of long forgotten achievements.
She tries not to dwell upon what was lost, and instead fantasises about what her and Severus' house might be like, if they did manage to disappear from the rest of the world. She, and Severus, and Bean, all hidden away in an untouched part of Britain - their bookcases full to bursting with thick tomes of magical theory, an experimental laboratory with enough space for the two of them to work side-by-side in the basement, and a spare bedroom where she can practice her charmwork, and he can craft his spells.
The longer she spends in Cokeworth, the more she daydreams about it - the more she thinks about being in the wilderness of British countryside, a carefully constructed cottage to house her and her family. She thinks about being upstairs, the evening sunlight fading, the sun having dipped low behind the trees over the horizon, but her being so focused upon weaving spells to improve the magical world, she hasn't thought to close the curtains and light the wall lamps. And then, just as she's about to cast once more, her work being interrupted by the clatter of tiny footsteps on the stairs, and a small face peering around the door.
"Daddy says tea'll be ready in five minutes. Are you ready to come down, or does he need to put a warming charm on it?"
Bean. Their Bean. She cups her bump again - thinking of their child in this way, even in an abstract fantasy, where their child is neither male nor female, makes it feel more real, and suddenly, she feels a shard of guilt piercing her. She wants their child, no matter the sacrifices - no matter the brewing in a bedroom, no matter the war, no matter the long days in Cokeworth.
She doesn't even know if Severus wants to be Daddy or Dad or Da or Pa - it's another part of their relationship that she's not had chance to discuss with him. Their weekends together are precious, and without opportunity to be close to him during the week, she's the instigator more often than not of pulling him into bed, wanting her partner to hold her tightly - wanting Bean to know that despite the disapproving glances from the neighbours which upset her so, their father - their Daddy or their Dad or their Da or their Pa - is very much part of their life.
She thinks back to her time in the Weasley household; of Molly and Arthur's tight relationship, and their band of children roaming around the house and surrounding gardens. She isn't convinced that she quite wants that - doesn't want to be the mother tied to the house and the children, or to the boring domestic chores. Nor does she want to condemn her future husband to a low-level rung in the Ministry, slogging away to provide for her and his brood. It's difficult for her to be sure, especially now, with Severus' thoughts locked away behind his rigid Occlumency shields, but she doesn't think that's his idea of a dream life either.
But as she sits in the waiting room at the hospital, her back ramrod straight, and her chin held high, she can't deny that she wishes she was anywhere but here. All heads had turned, of course. Not when she'd taken a seat in the sterile surrounds, but when the receptionist had read her name from the clipboard, an eyebrow aloft.
Miss Evans.
Scandalous.
She refuses to think of Bean as a scandal. Refuses to think of her love with Severus as something less than worthy, despite the stares and the coughs and the frowns of those around her. Her age was a factor in their disapproval, of that she was sure, but her lack of a ring was worse.
She half wishes that she'd taken Severus up on his hasty offer - half wishes that she hadn't pushed him to secrete the ring back into his pocket, all because of silly hopes and dreams, all because she was hoping for a romantic moment that could've been lifted from a trashy paperback romance - the likes of which her grandmother favoured in her later years. Her grandmother would approve of such actions, at least, even if Lily was ruing her decision now.
Severus shrugs when she tells him, his long legs stretched out on her bed. "Use it then," he says. "The ring, my name, whatever you need."
"I can't-"
"You can do anything you want," he says, dismissively. "What are they going to do? Just change the paperwork. Quick wave of your wand will do the trick." He gives her a dark grin. "Obliviate them if you must."
"Sev, I can hardly do magic when-"
He doesn't let her continue, pulling her down into a heated kiss. His fingers settle at the back of her neck, holding her fast, and she feels him smiling against his lips. "Mrs Snape," he whispers. "I like it."
"You don't like it," she whispers back, "you've always said you hated your dad's name."
"I like you having it," he murmurs. "Severus Snape and Lily Snape and Bean Snape-"
"Bean Snape?"
He kisses her more insistently. "Do it Lil. Marry me."
"I don't want to marry you-"
"Wound a man, Lil."
She reaches for his hand, and grips it, trying to reassure him. "I do want to marry you, idiot."
"Well, that's a better answer," he concedes, "but if you could accept my proposal without throwing abuse at me, then-"
"-I was explaining that I don't want to marry you just because that's what society expects."
"That's your reason?"
Lily nods. "You know it is."
"So if that's your reason why you don't want to marry me…" He gives her a mischievous grin. "...why do you want to marry me then, Miss Evans?"
And then she laughs. "That's obvious, Sev."
"Tell me." He swipes his nose against hers, and nuzzles her cheek. "Go on, Lil. Undo the damage to my ego. Is it my wonderful personality, or my devastating good looks?"
"...I'm in love with you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
His smile is radiant, and infectious, causing her to beam back at him. "Then those are the only reasons we need."
"We agreed-"
"Marry me, Lil."
"But they'll think-"
"I don't care what they think," he says, turning them both over until she's pinned beneath him. "If we don't get married…"
"Yes?"
"...Bean won't have my name."
She gently bites at his lip, causing him to groan, and he places his hand over their growing child. He smiles as he feels the now familiar pulse of magic emanating from her, and she kisses him deeply. "Bean will have your name, Sev," she promises, "whatever happens."
"Whatever happens? You're rejecting me again, aren't you, witch?"
Lily smoothly hooks her leg around his hip, pulling his crotch to meet hers, and he huffs a loud breath, trying to fight the look of satisfaction that he knows is spreading across his face at the feel of her around him.
"Does this seem like a rejection?" she says, grinding against him, and her hands reaching to fumble with the zip on his trousers. "Or does this feel like I love you?"
He's not stupid. There's a time for arguing, and this isn't it.
"Just wear it," he says, after, tossing the ring box towards her.
Does he carry it with him permanently?
"But we said we were going to wait and do it properly."
"I'm not saying this is the proposal," he hisses, buttoning his shirt up and pulling his long hair from beneath his collar. He stands, and peers at the forgotten line of vials she's prepared, "but I don't want you being treated like a scarlet woman." He glances over his shoulder at her, his eyes narrowed. "I know what those Muggles are like."
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
He pauses, and straightens, and then slowly turns to look at her. "...you said they were disapproving," he says, quietly. "I'm merely agreeing."
Her gaze hardens. "Agreeing with me, or agreeing with Avery?"
He scoffs, and turns back to her potions. "Are you going to talk me through these, or not?"
"Or Nott's right," she says, icily. "Or Mulciber. Or Malfoy, with their ridiculous views on-"
"Bloody hell, Lil, can you give it a rest?" He shakes his head, as if trying to dislodge a persistent fly from buzzing around his ear. "You know I don't pay attention to any of their nonsense. That ring is yours," he says, emphatically. "It's yours in three years time, when we finally get around to that proposal we've both been dreaming about. It's yours in thirty years time, when we're welcoming our first grandchild into the family, and in one hundred and thirteen years when they drop me into the ground, ashes to ashes, and you're still standing-"
"Sev!"
"But more importantly, it's yours right now, when you need it. And you do need it, Lily. It's a shield - my shield - to protect you and Bean from the nosey-parkers and battle-axes and do-gooders who have nothing better to do than to pry into our private business - who want to label my child, and who want to disparage the woman I love."
He twists so he's facing her, and she sees the raw pain in his face, and she suddenly thinks better of the retort that's on the tip of her tongue. This isn't him hating Muggles, she reminds herself, this is him protecting you.
And somehow, looking at the fury in his thin features, his lithe limbs quivering with barely suppressed rage, and she can't help but be reassured, despite the awful company he's being forced to keep.
This is still Severus, she thinks. He's done this before and it didn't change him. He knows what he's doing.
Despite his words to the contrary, she knows his mood is changing - she can sense it when they're together. His eyes seem darker, but she puts it down to his Occlumency, and although she feels comforted when he presses himself up against her in her bed, his fingers gently resting against the skin where their child is growing, she can tell that he's jealous.
"I'm not," he'd muttered when she'd argued the point with him earlier - but even without Legilimency, she knew he was lying.
He'll need to work on that if he's going to carry on working for Dumbledore.
"Muggle hospitals don't let fathers in for scans," she'd patiently explained. "Even if you hadn't been at Hogwarts, you couldn't have been there. They'd have made you sit outside."
He hadn't replied. He'd sat quietly for a while, pretending to be engrossed in a book that she knows he's read twenty times or more already, and then talked about having a shower. He'd left the room for what felt like an eternity, so she'd given up waiting for him to come out of his sulk and was already in bed when he returned.
He lifts the covers, and immediately seeks her body for comfort. Despite her irritation, she relaxes into his touch, even though his skin is clammy from where he hasn't quite dried himself properly.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice low. "I just wanted to see Bean as well."
"I know."
"...they didn't tell you if Bean was a boy or a girl, did they?"
"No."
She feels his breath against her neck as he exhales. "What's Bean look like, then?"
"Hard to tell," she chuckles, pushing herself against him. "A head. Tiny feet and knees."
His hand skirts over her stomach. "Tiny feet and knees?"
She places her hands over his, and then she twists to kiss his lips. "Half you," she says. "That's all you need to remember. Our baby Bean is half you."
The weekend is over too quickly. It feels as if she spends her life counting down the hours from when she sees him to when he departs, and as the evening draws to a close, she finds herself unwilling to stop touching him - as if letting him go is an admission that he's about to walk out of the door.
She appraises him, wondering about the stress that he's under - the things he's not telling her. He seems to wind the clock back when he's with her - the creases around his eyes are less pronounced on a Sunday night compared to a Friday evening when he's pounding at the door - so she doesn't comment on the change in him, but just kisses the bridge of his hooked nose.
He hadn't taken too well to her fussing when he'd first appeared, his hair greasy and his face unshaven - although he had seemingly taken the hint that she was less than enamoured with his appearance, and he had quickly retreated to the bathroom to wash and shave and change his clothes from his well worn robes into the ones in his rucksack.
Was that stress as well? Or laziness, now that she wasn't around - now that she wasn't living with him, now that there was no sex on tap, he has no reason to fall into bed with clean skin and smelling fresh?
She wants to berate him for that, but there's a small part of her that's peevishly pleased; if he's behaving like that, he can't have replaced her. Still, not for the first time, she finds herself wishing that she could find a way into the castle, find a way to lie in their bed once more with him, to force him to take care of himself.
If she's truthful, it isn't just about Severus looking after himself, but also the idea of being able to surround herself with magic once more - to be able to brew within Hogwarts, to access the library, even send messages about magical theory to Slughorn.
Instead, she listens as Severus excitedly talks through the potions that she's brewed. Quietly, she is proud of what she's achieved, in these most Muggle of surrounds, and it's intoxicating to see his utter delight reinforcing her own feelings. If he thinks this is excellent, she thinks, then it must be. Yet, she's far more modest when she talks with him.
"Supposedly," she corrects, when he enthuses about the idea of Polyjuice lasting longer. "It's all theory. I'm hardly in a fit state to test."
"I can though," he says, tipping the capped vial over in his hand.
"Not now," she warns. "What if it lasts longer than we think? You've got to be you for tomorrow. For Sluggy."
"I could call in sick. Stay here." His smile is sinful. "Could spend a bit of time getting to know you better."
"Don't tempt me," she says, pecking his lips. "As much as I want you here, there's no point in arousing Slughorn's suspicions." She pauses, wondering whether to raise the issue, before forging ahead. "Besides, I thought you might prefer to be someone else when you tested it."
"Someone else?"
"Not me."
He raises an eyebrow. "Not you?"
"Lucius, maybe?" she offers, quietly. "You're around him enough to be able to get a hair."
"He'd kill me."
"He doesn't have to know."
Severus looks away. "I don't know."
"It's better than being me," she says, placing her hand on his upper arm. "I know how it troubles you."
"...I've got to do it at some point," he says, but the reluctance in his voice is clear. "You," he says, "are going to have to turn up at an Order meeting."
"You've got some studying to do then."
"Studying?"
Lily laughs at his grave look. "That's what I'm talking about. That dark glare you give whenever someone says anything you disagree with. ...I don't do that."
He scoffs. "Yeah? You'd be surprised at how your furious facial expressions can wound." He tugs at his shirt. "I think I've still got the scars under here."
"Don't start."
"Don't start what?" he laughs, pulling her closer to him. "You think I don't know you, witch?"
"I didn't say that."
"No? Sounded like it."
"I'm just saying," she says, resting her cheek against his chest, "that you need to practice being me."
"I will," he says, abruptly letting go of her, and walking to the bedroom door. She thinks that's it - his start of his goodbye, shutting his emotions down and pulling away from her, and then suddenly he turns. This is when she usually runs towards him, embracing him one last time, but this time, she's rooted to the spot.
I don't want you to go, she thinks. This weekend wasn't enough - not for either of us.
Then he surprises her, setting his back against the door, and pushing, ensuring that the latch has caught. He stares at her intently as he slowly slides down the wood until he's sat on the floor.
"Sev? I thought you were going."
"I'll go in the morning. You're right, I think I need to do some vital studying," he says, playfully. "I think it'll be easier if I watch you closely."
"Watch me do what?"
He tries - but fails - to suppress a smile. "Touch yourself."
"Sev, my parents are downstairs-"
"-and I'm pressed against the door," he reminds her. He holds his wand aloft. "I can repel anyone from entering." His eyes darken, and his heated gaze makes her feel more excited than she wants him to know. "Go on, love," he murmurs, dropping his left hand to his trousers and deftly unsnapping the button, and sliding down the zip, his hand settling on his crotch. "Strip for me, and I'll join you."
"...you just read my mind."
"Complaining?"
She takes a deep breath, wondering how she feels about the intrusion - and then she catches sight of the Muggle alarm clock on the side, realising that if she pushes him away now, he'll leave and return to Hogwarts - and she catches the closed look on his face, impossible to read once more, but she knows Severus, she knows that he's on the cusp of feeling rejected, unwanted, and although half of her wants to berate him, she pulls her t-shirt over her head, revealing herself to him - and as he gives a gasp, there's a happiness that spreads through her, the thrill in his eyes evident. Occlumency can't hide that, she thinks, triumphantly.
She knows he's going to shout when he discovers what she's done, but she's so bored, she can't help but take the risk. It wasn't as if she did it without testing on a number of other objects first, but even so, the wand in her hand shook a little as she cast the concealing charm at her midriff. She immediately presses her hand to Bean, and there's the usual heartbeat of magic, which reassures her.
She's read a lot - and isn't sure how he smuggled half of these books from Hogwarts and into her possession - and although Polyjuice is out, plenty of other magical actions are still within grasp, from brewing, to spell crafting, even to transportation using Floo powder and Apparition. Apparition was what had really surprised her; she was certain that was going to be prohibited, and her delight to discover that it wasn't - her delight to realise that she could step foot in the magical world once more, even if her face needed to be disguised, it made her heart sing.
"I'm not angry," he complains, although the tone of his voice suggests otherwise. "I'm just asking, what's the practical purpose of this?" The rest of his thought is evident, even though he leaves it unsaid: You're safe here. Why would you leave?
"I'm bored."
"Bored is a good reason, is it?" He runs his hands through his hair and groans. "I thought I'd done enough."
"You've been great, Sev," she says, quickly reassuring him, "but there's more to life than being locked in a bedroom, brewing a few potions here and there. ...you're never here, you know?"
"I make sure I'm here every weekend," he argues. "Even though that takes some explaining, I can tell you."
"Explaining to who?"
"...Dumbledore's asked me to dig a little deeper."
She already knew his answer before she asked the question, but somehow, hearing him say the words, it's so much worse. When she speaks, her voice is almost trapped in her throat. "Deeper how? Deeper than Avery and Mulciber?"
"Yes."
"...you mean, spy for him? Sev-"
"You're a fine one to talk," he argues. "What about you and Vance?"
"That was different."
"Course it was."
She shoots him an exasperated glare. "Lucius trapped me," she reminds him, "and you trust his decision making, don't you?"
"...yes," he says, eventually.
"Well then. And I only want to see one person. ...Narcissa."
"Narcissa?" He looks unconvinced.
She powers on before he can argue. "Yes. She's pregnant too."
He gives her a sharp look. "You can't tell her about Bean."
"I won't," she says, not missing the fact that he hasn't protested, hasn't outright forbidden her to meet with his old friend. "But if I offer her a friendly ear, she might be able to share some secrets with me - tell me things about magical pregnancy that I can't get elsewhere. And remember, Sev, she offered me papers. I need to talk to her about it."
There's a very long pause, and she's almost transfixed by his bouncing knee; she's certain he's not doing it deliberately - it's an ingrained reaction to a stressful decision.
"Right," he says, finally. "Narcissa. Just Narcissa." He glances up. "You want me to set a date, or-"
"I'll reach out to her," she says, firmly. "I want this to be Lily approaching Narcissa, not me-as-Severus'-girlfriend."
"They accept you because you're my girlfriend," he warns, as if she doesn't already know the truth - as if she believes that the Malfoys would welcome a Mudblood into their abode if they didn't already adore Severus.
"But she's more than Lucius' wife," she explains. "And that's how the dynamic works between you all, isn't it?"
"No," he grumbles, quietly. "I like Narcissa for Narcissa. It's not because she's with Lucius."
"I think you'd be surprised if you asked Narcissa how she feels," Lily says, sitting next to him, and seeking his hand. "I know she likes you," she says, trying not to let jealousy build within her, "but does she know that you like her?"
He doesn't answer, just toys with her hand, his long fingers twisting within hers, and then he reaches over and kisses her. "Go and see Narcissa," he says, "but for Merlin's sake, be careful."
"Thank you," she breathes, relieved at his acceptance. "And you too."
"Me? With what?"
"With whatever Dumbledore's getting you to do," she says.
He gives her a wry smile. "Nice try, Lil, but it's better you don't know." He gives her a sad look and slides a piece of hair behind her ear, trailing his fingers down her soft cheek.
"I can feel it," she says, touching his face. "You're changing. You're...darker."
"I can control it," he assures her, tipping her face and then kissing her deeply.
She pulls away after a moment, and murmurs in his ear. "Just don't go believing what they're saying. You're better than they are."
"I'm not," he chuckles.
"You're not like them," she reminds him.
"I…" He trails off, dismissing whatever he's about to say, and swerving onto a different topic instead. "I'm yours, Lil."
It's not a convincing switch of topic; she's dying to know what his admission was about to be, but she stalls, not wanting to probe where he doesn't want her to tread, and equally relieved that the importance of their partnership is what he falls back on. Her voice is gentle when she asks, "And knowing that is what keeps you grounded?"
"Yes," he whispers.
"Then whatever he has you doing, know that you're mine, Severus Snape."
Chapter 56: Serpent bearer
Chapter Text
It starts with Mondays, and then Wednesdays, and then before she knows it, she's racing home on a Friday, hoping to return to Cokeworth before Severus arrives at her parents' doorstep. It's laughable, when she stops and thinks about it - an alliance between herself and a Pureblood; a Pureblood married to another Pureblood, no less, both of whom hold abhorrent views - of that, Lily has no doubt - and yet, Narcissa welcomes her into their home as if she had grown up alongside them, as if her blood was as pure as their own.
She'd never quite understood their acceptance of Severus - how he, as an impoverished half-Muggle, came to be held in such regard by the pair of them, but as the days ticked on, it started to dawn upon her; the Malfoys lived by different rules. There was a confidence to them, an arrogance of birthright which permitted them to be belligerent. Rules were for the rest of society, so whilst it was reasonable to preach that blood was sacred, and Mudbloods should not be welcomed into the magical world, there was an internal justification within them that if anyone were to break such a rule, it should be themselves - they, and they alone, were worthy of making such judgement calls, of deciding the exceptions.
Lily couldn't accurately judge its effectiveness as a policy - whether the Malfoys were able to hold such views and remain admired in society - for nobody in wider society knew the depth of their friendship. Indeed, she was certain that if the truth were to spill out, they'd disown her sooner than accept the inevitable shame that she would cast across their family.
It was a strange friendship, one built upon lies and half truths. Although she was incredibly aware of how deep the Malfoy and Snape loyalties lay, even though she was at the Manor three times a week, she never once saw him; never even heard his name uttered by a passing house elf, or a grumbling portrait - but she knew he must've passed through the Manor, knew he must've had some involvement with Lucius. It made her heart clench, at times, to think that he might be sat in Lucius' study, nursing a firewhisky and discussing the woes of the wizarding world all whilst she was sat several rooms away, in a luxurious room with Narcissa, cooing over baby clothes and adornments for the nursery.
Narcissa and Lucius had no idea about Bean, of that she was certain. They thought she was at Hogwarts still - so she had to be careful; had to make sure she didn't arrive too early, when Slughorn wouldn't have released her from her studies. She knew that her behaviour - increasing the frequency of her visits - was fraught with danger; it would only take one double sighting - a comment made about her being at Hogwarts whilst she was actually with Narcissa - and Lucius would be on to them. His curiosity would be instantly piqued as to why Severus was studying under Slughorn and she was drinking tea with Narcissa - but there was something wonderful about Malfoy Manor, something intoxicating about the magic seeping through the walls, and even more joyously, something exhilarating about Narcissa's excitement about her impending child.
"Have you chosen names yet?" Lily asks, taking the offered seat in the parlour and accepting a cup of tea from a house elf.
"Adhara," Narcissa says, settling herself down opposite, "if the baby is a girl." She gives a tight smile which Lily can't quite read the meaning of. "Lucius is rather set on Ophiuchus if we have a boy."
"Serpent bearer," Lily smiles. "He would have a hard time if he was sorted anywhere other than Slytherin."
Narcissa raises an eyebrow. "All Blacks, our dear Sirius aside, have been in Slytherin for the past three centuries," she says, smoothly. "And the Malfoy family have been in Slytherin for far longer - five, or six, I believe."
"Not a concern then."
"No," Narcissa says, and then her voice softens, "but I do think it's rather difficult to pronounce. Ophiuchus. I can't even begin to imagine how you'd shorten it." She gives Lily a piercing look. "I do wish for him to have friends."
"Children will find a way," she says, reassuringly. "Or they could take a leaf out of Severus' book, and use his surname. Call him Malf."
"Speaking of Severus, he has forgotten his way home," Narcissa says, toying with her drink.
"He's been busy."
"Indeed. I cannot recall the last time I saw his face. Lucius said as much last night." She looks troubled, and leans in. "He's taken up with Avery."
"I know."
"And Mulciber."
"Yes."
"...Lucius is not so aligned, you understand?"
She gives a stiff nod, pretending that she does - but she doesn't, not really. At school and in the Order, the wannabe Death Eaters were all the same: the enemy - and their internal allegiances and alliances meant little. "What about Sirius' brother? Does he have some family loyalty to you?"
"Reggie?" Narcissa sits back a little. "He should, but that branch of the tree… It's diseased." She trails off, and Lily feels uncomfortable at the insinuation. "He's no Sirius," Narcissa continues, "but little Reggie goes where the wind takes him."
She learns a lot about Narcissa from these visits, and quite a lot - as was her intention - about magical pregnancy. She learns about a magical nursery rhyme that the Black family always whispered to their newborns, and several useful charms to monitor the baby's movement when the baby is asleep in a crib and the parents are in another room. She tries not to smile too broadly when Narcissa demonstrates a Muggle repelling charm.
"Babies can have fits of accidental magic," she warns, "and although I am not one to mix in such circles, you realise, if I were to stroll through Muggle Britain…" She takes a breath, and wrinkles her nose, as if the very idea is an affront, "...then it would be imperative that this charm covered the pram. Babies want things. Accio is a very common spell; harder for grown children to master, but babies who are extremely single-minded, babies who want that item with a ferocity rarely paralleled in adulthood… Well," she says, "they're hard to stop." She taps her wand briskly. "This spell does that."
"And fire?"
"Fire?"
Lily gives a small smile. "I've heard that some babies are a little prone-"
"-you?" Narcissa asks, but Lily hesitates for a moment too long and Narcissa smiles triumphantly. "Ah, Severus?"
"...yes."
"His mother couldn't have used the charm," she says, thoughtfully, "else his Muggle father couldn't have ventured near to him." She laughs. "He set fire to things? He always did have a flair for the dramatic, did Severus."
It gives her a lot to think about, when she's back home, brewing another experimental batch of Polyjuice. Just like Eileen, she can't use such charms either, lest her parents be forced away from their baby - but the idea of a magical child wreaking havoc in their home isn't wholly desirable either. Maybe she could explain it to her parents without telling them the full truth, suggest that Bean was fussy and only wanted to be held by Mummy or Daddy and not Granny or Gramps - but it's another thing she hadn't thought of. It makes her feel somehow inadequate, as if she's not worthy of being a mother - certainly not a mother to a magical being. It's made all the worse when she goes down for her evening meal and is presented with a babygate that her parents had collected earlier in the day from Argos.
"I know you'll want your little one to be able to roam free, but we can't have them toppling down the stairs," Rose warns. "I almost had a heart attack the day you slipped."
It's something else she hadn't considered, and she feels even more guilty; guilty that her parents are thinking of things that hadn't occurred to her, all whilst she plots to hide her child from them.
You're protecting them and Bean, she thinks - but it's not a convincing thought, and more than ever, she wants Severus to come home and tell her that everything is going to be all right.
He does come home, but not on Friday. He descends on Saturday evening, and his visit is short. He looks unwell - there's dark circles under his eyes, and his cheeks are hollow, but she doesn't want to raise it with him - not after the way he snaps at her mother at the dinner table, and then, his face flushing, apologises profusely and offers to wash up the plates in recompense.
He's still sulking now, sat on her bed, toying with his wand. She knows he's embarrassed, and she knows that he doesn't want to talk about it, but she can't seem to shift his dark mood.
"How's Avery?" she tries, forcing her tone to be light.
"Fine."
"And Mulciber?"
"What do you care, Lil?" he snaps, twirling his wand over and over. "They're scum."
"...I was only making conversation." She shoots him a disgusted look. "I know you're not happy, Severus, but you don't need to take it out on me."
"I know where I'm not wanted," he says, abruptly. "I'll see you next week."
"Severus!"
But he's already clattering down the stairs, and with a loud bang of the door, he's gone.
When the house elf summons Narcissa to the drawing room, she's pulling on her silk dressing gown, her hair damp, and her eyebrows arch in surprise. "Lily."
"I'm not interrupting your rest, am I?"
"No," Narcissa says, taking her by the elbow, and escorting her to the comfortable chairs on the far side of the room. "What's he done?"
"I'm that obvious, am I?" she says, but although her tone is even, she can feel her lip wobbling.
"Lucius said…" Narcissa sighs, her hand squeezing Lily's elbow. "...he's been in some trouble."
It was exactly what she wanted to hear and didn't want to hear in equal measure. She wanted there to be another explanation for his mood - one that didn't involve her, or Bean, or her parents - but at the same time, the idea of him being in danger makes her freeze. She could solve anger aimed at her, least, she hoped she could, but anger at someone or something else was far trickier.
"Oh?"
"I can get Lucius," Narcissa offers, standing, and although this is new - the idea of Lucius joining them, and she's still not quite sure how she feels about him - her desire to understand Severus' outburst is stronger, and Lily nods in agreement.
"What do you know?" Lucius asks briskly, without a greeting or a smile, and Narcissa rolls her eyes behind his back. "Cissy, darling, please don't roll your eyes at me in front of our guests, it's terribly rude."
Narcissa grins widely, and Lily has to suppress a giggle - especially when she sees Lucius soften at Narcissa's mischievous look.
"...I know he's befriended Avery again."
"And Mulciber and Rosier and Reggie?"
She nods, tightly. "They were a bit of a loose group at school, weren't they? Before-"
"Yes," Lucius quickly interrupts, and they both know that she was going to cite his party - cite the moment when the boys saw the two of them outside, and they turned on Severus as a consequence. "And now with you out of the picture and Severus' politics assured once more, the band of merry outlaws has returned."
"So why's he in trouble? Don't they accept him?" she asks, cautiously. "Rosier? Mulciber?" She can't believe that it's Avery; from what little Severus has said, he'd always appeared dull-witted and over-eager to please - she can't imagine that he'd be causing Severus any strife.
"Rodolphus was raided by Magical Law Enforcement earlier this week," Lucius intones. "We're not...close, he and I," he admits, but he jerks his head towards Narcissa, "but there is a family grapevine."
"He's my sister's husband," Narcissa needlessly explains, as if Lily had somehow managed to be unaware of the marriage of the century, between the Black and Lestrange houses.
"They think Severus is to blame?"
"Bella did," Lucius smirks, "but then, Bella's always been a little unhinged-"
"Lucius, please-"
"What, dear?" Lucius laughs at his wife's indignant look. "I don't know why you defend her so." He turns his attention back to Lily. "Droma got the unfortunate political allegiances, Cissy here got the brains and the beauty, and Bella…" He sniffs and pulls himself up to his full height. "Bella inherited the Black sickness."
"Lucius!"
"Tell me I'm speaking out of turn," he challenges, his voice a little firmer. "Bella is unhinged, Cissy. I know she's your sister, but she's...beyond fanatical." He points at Lily. "She wouldn't have this, for a start."
"Fine, Lucius," Narcissa interrupts, unwilling to let him explain in transparent terms exactly what her family would think of her associating with a Mudblood. "I told her she was wrong, Lily. That Severus was clean."
"But she didn't believe you?"
"Bella doesn't think well of anybody who is associated with me," Lucius interrupts, "her sister included, and most certainly not your Halfblood, Mudblood-loving boyfriend...but Bast is a little more reasonable, and thankfully, has given Severus the benefit of the doubt."
"And what about her husband? Rodolphus?"
"They both know it's Mundungus Fletcher," Narcissa says. "Apparently Rabastan cut him out of a profitable deal."
"No apparently about it," Lucius drawls. "Bella's question was whether Severus was also in on that, but that's Bella's problem, you see." He taps the side of his head. "She's looking for connections where none exist."
"Bella's point," Narcissa explains, quietly, "is that Rodolphus wasn't part of any such deal. So it doesn't make sense that Fletcher would shop the wrong brother."
"It makes perfect sense!" Lucius erupts. "How many times, Cissy?" He shakes his head, glancing at Lily. "You follow the logic, do you not?"
"Fletcher won't shop Severus; he's his party potions supplier."
"Yes."
"And Fletcher won't shop Rabastan, because he's part of an expensive trade that he wants to be part of once more."
"...yes."
"But he wants to give the pair of them a scare," Lily explains, thinking it through, "and the best way to do so is to lean on someone close to them. In this case, Rabastan's brother - Rodolphus. It makes Rabastan fear that somebody is on to him, and makes him wary of dealing directly with Severus, especially as this has happened just at the moment that they've deviated from their usual routine."
Lucius gives her a dangerous smile. "He always talks about how clever you are," he says, smoothly. "He's right."
"Thank you, Lucius," Narcissa says, snippily.
"You're too busy defending Bella to see the woods for the trees," Lucius argues. "This is Blackmail 101, Cissy."
"Yes, well, the Malfoy family have always been rather more well versed in that than the Black estate," she sniffs, her head held high.
"Cissy, Cissy," he says, placatingly. "Look, it's late, we're both...tired. Why don't we retire to my study - all three of us," he says, extending his hand to his wife, "and we can have a pleasant conversation about something else, perhaps?"
She isn't sure, when she first takes a seat - but she's reassured by the presence of Narcissa, and ever since the night when Severus rescued her, Lucius has been nothing but polite - reserved, even - when in her company. She finds it hard to relax, despite that, especially as he's now leaning forwards, his elbows on his desk and his chin resting on his hands, quizzing her about her apprenticeship with Slughorn.
"We moved heaven and earth," he says, and she knows it's not quite true - she knows that Lucius only got his way because Albus Dumbledore wanted Severus in his grasp, but she also knows that Lucius himself might not know that, so she forces herself to glance down at the floor instead of permitting him to make eye contact with her.
When she glances up, she skitters a loose thread of Legilimency against him - nothing harsh, barely a whisper, and she can hear his interest in her behaviour; demure, he thinks, and she has to bite back a smile. Severus would laugh himself sick at the idea of his fiesty girlfriend being labelled as meek and reserved - but for now, it serves her well, so she keeps her head bowed as Lucius bores the two of them with explanations of all the help he's given Severus of late.
"I do apologise," Narcissa whispers, as Lucius departs for the bathroom, "he does rather like the sound of his own voice."
She shares a giggle with Narcissa, and when Lucius walks back in to the two of them smiling, he looks pleased - as if their pleasure was somehow derived from his deliberate actions, and he sits back in his ornate chair, his chin aloft.
"Severus tells me that Slughorn is highly impressed with your work."
"...yes." It feels like a lie, but at the same time, she doesn't want to contradict whatever story Severus has concocted - and besides, Severus has always been praising of her work when he's inspected it at the week's end. Apart from this week, she thinks, but then she forces the thought out of her brain.
"I have a question for you," he says, glancing at Narcissa, who nods.
It's interesting, she thinks, watching how the two of them interact - seeing that he waited for Narcissa's agreement before inviting her into a secret, and then, when he speaks, she understands why.
"My father," he says, briskly. "Severus has perhaps told you?"
"...very little."
He nods. "There is a potion. Imperatum."
"Yes."
"Father takes it." Lucius waves his hand. "For his...nerves."
It's a terrible lie, and they're all aware that she knows it. Narcissa takes a deep breath, as if she's wondering if Lily will argue the point, but she doesn't. "I believe it is useful for such maladies," Lily says, instead.
Lucius smiles, sharing a glance with Narcissa.
They trust me.
"...it is not quite taking effect," he says, slowly. "Ordinarily, I would ask Severus, but he's…"
"Otherwise engaged," Narcissa finishes. "It is not in Severus' interests to be seen in our company."
"Can I see a vial?" she asks, and Lucius yanks open his desk drawer, and passes one to her.
"See it, smell it, drink it for all I care," he says, sniffing. "There's something amiss, but I cannot place it. ...I've been procuring this for years."
"Same brewer?"
"Same brewer," he affirms. Then he shoots her a curious look. "Could you brew it?"
Probably, she thinks, but she isn't prepared to. Brewing Wolfsbane is dangerous enough, but adding Imperatum into the mix would be begging the aurors to take an interest where they shouldn't.
"Yes," she says, "but the problem isn't with the brew. This is perfect."
Lucius' shoulders slump slightly. "I didn't think it was possible to gain immunity to it."
"It isn't," she says, frowning. "He's taking something else."
Both Lucius and Narcissa sit a little straighter. "Something's interacting with it?" Narcissa asks, her eyebrows raising. "Like what?"
"He can't get anything else." Lucius looks around. "Not from Cissy, not from me."
"Who else comes here?"
"You," Lucius says, pointing his finger, and only dropping it when Narcissa rolls her eyes. "Severus. ...Bella, sometimes?"
Narcissa nods. "She brought Rabastan to that meal, remember?"
"Occasionally one of the underlings," Lucius sniffs.
"Avery?"
"No," Lucius says, dismissively. "Rosier. Yaxley, I don't know if you've met him?"
She shakes her head. "The base of this is Wiggentree," she says, twisting the vial thoughtfully in her hands. "Which means that it's something directly opposed to it."
"Bowtruckles?"
Her head snaps up, surprised at Narcissa's insightful comment. "Yes."
Lucius frowns. "Bowtruckles?"
"They guard the tree," Narcissa says, fiddling with the cuff of her robe. "I remember Sluggy teaching it."
"I can't think of a potion which has bowtruckles in it," he says, and Lily nods in agreement.
"Nor me, but it makes sense. A private commission by your father?"
Lucius purses his lips. "I need to think on this." He holds his hand out, and she passes the vial back to him. "Thank you," he says, his chin tilting upwards. "I...appreciate your insight."
"Should I ask Severus?"
"Yes," Narcissa immediately replies.
"...if you remind him where his loyalties lie with such knowledge," Lucius adds, quietly.
"He is appreciative of you, Lucius." Lily glances at Narcissa. "And of you, Narcissa."
"We know," Narcissa says, standing, and resting a hand on Lucius' shoulder. "These have been a difficult few weeks for us all." She offers a watery smile. "Remember to return to us on Monday, Lily. And if you happen to see Severus tomorrow-"
"I doubt it," Lily interrupts.
"Well, if you do," Narcissa says, calmly, "do ask his opinion."
She's wrong. He does turn up on Sunday, but he doesn't knock at the door like he does normally. He stands in the garden, the rain lashing against him, and he hurls pebble after pebble up at her window until she realises the cause of the noise and moves towards the glass, her eyes widening when she recognises the dark figure outside.
She fumbles with the window, and pushes it wide open, leaning out of it into the wild night. "Sev, what are you doing?"
"Do you want to see me?"
"What sort of stupid question is that?" she yells, her voice full of righteous anger. "Stay there and I'll let you in-" - but before she can move, he's launched himself at the drainpipe, and shins his way up, heaving himself in through the open window. "Sev, honestly," she laughs. "Daddy's told you that you'll pull the drainpipe off the wall doing that."
"Magic'll fix it back on," he mutters, dismissively, peeling off his soaking jumper and t-shirt.
She grabs him a towel from the laundry cupboard, and wraps him in it. He doesn't thank her, but she can see a slightly blue tinge to his lips, and she rubs the towel more forcefully against his torso, trying desperately to warm him. "Merlin, Sev, how long were you out there?"
"A bit," he says, looking awkward.
"Doing what?"
"Was watching you," he finally admits. "I thought you might send me away, so I thought I'd just...get my fill."
"You are such an idiot, Sev," she says, kissing him firmly. "Lucius told me."
He jerks away. "Told you what?"
"About Fletcher. About you."
His eyes narrow. "When did Lucius tell you that? Friday?"
"...last night."
He exhales sharply. "Seeing him, are you?"
"Sev, don't be stupid. After your little temper tantrum, I went to see Narcissa. She asked Lucius-"
"Talking about me then."
"Yes!" She rips the towel away from him, and flings it across the room, where it hits the wall and slides down onto the floor. "Yes, I was talking about you to your best friend, because you can't be bothered to communicate with your fiancée."
It takes him a minute, but then he spies his ring on her finger, and his eyes widen, and a broad smile stretches across his face. "You're serious? We're going to do this?"
"Not if you pull a stupid stunt like this again," she warns, kissing him fiercely. "You're so prickly of late, Sev. You need to remember that you can talk to me."
"I'm sorry," he says, quietly, holding her tightly to him. "I've just had a lot to think through."
"Like what?"
"Dumbledore wants me in with Ave and-"
"Mulciber and Rosier and Reggie," she finishes.
"-yeah," he says. "But they don't run in the same circles as I would've done."
"As you would've done? If you hadn't got with me? ...if you'd followed whatever path Lucius was talking about in your memories?"
"Mmm."
"And these others? Avery and Mulciber and Rosier and Reggie… They're...what? Doing worse things than what you would've done?" She looks at him, her fear evident. "They're hurting people?"
"...something like that," he says, quietly.
"They want you to hurt someone?"
He doesn't answer, but he holds her in his arms for a long time, savouring her touch, and then, just as she's about to break the silence, he speaks again, his voice shaking. "They want me to fuck over Malf."
Chapter 57: Family
Chapter Text
He sits on the edge of her mattress, his feet firmly planted on the floor, and his head between his knees. She can see him picking at the skin around his nails, and when she spots a thin trail of blood running down his left hand to his wrist, she pulls a tissue from the box on the dresser and gently presses it against his fingers, causing him to jerk his head upwards, his black eyes boring into her.
"I don't need-"
"Shh," she says. "Enough now."
He doesn't argue, but silently watches as she carefully dabs at his fingers, and then presses a clean tissue to a particularly deep slice, trying to stem the gentle, but persistent, flow of blood. When it stops, she casts a cleansing charm, and tosses the tissues in the bin on the opposite side of the room. She moves to sit next to him, her arm loosely resting on his shoulders. He's tense - there's a fraction of a quiver coming from him; not visible to the naked eye, but she can feel the tremor of his shoulders under her hand.
"Tell me in your own time, Sev," she offers, quietly, but firmly - and although when she says it, she wonders if he'll recoil - if he'll suggest that he can handle it himself, or that it's best she doesn't know - she's gratified to feel him relax beneath her touch; as if she's said exactly what he was hoping to hear.
Not that she'd know otherwise, because he doesn't confide in her. He picks up a book, and lies on her bed, his legs crossed at his ankles. She picks up his stack of notes, and - quill in hand - starts writing out her own thoughts and theories, cross referencing his work with the stack of books that he's brought from Hogwarts.
It's hard to concentrate when she knows he needs to talk his problem through, but she doesn't want to push him - she can tell from the way his eyebrows are knitted together and the fact that he hasn't turned a page for over forty minutes that his focus is on Lucius and whatever has happened with Avery or Mulciber or whoever he's keeping company with these days. Despite this, he doesn't speak.
Instead, he finds his voice hours later, when with inky fingers and tired eyes, she slides beneath the covers. He joins her, nestling himself behind her, his hand resting on her hip - and then, she hears a soft murmur, his warm breath tickling the back of her neck.
"They want me to stop his supply."
She slides her hand into his, her fingers holding his tight. He's brewed for Malfoy since he left Hogwarts. "Do you know why?"
"Galleons," he whispers. "It's always galleons."
"They don't want him making money, or they don't want you helping him to make money, or-"
"His father used to donate. To the cause."
She can't help but breathe in sharply, and then she feels annoyed with herself. Just because Narcissa has opened her door to you, you shouldn't be so ridiculous as to forget what sort of people the Malfoys truly are. She plays Severus' words over in her head, and this time, she realises what he's said. "Used to? Lucius' father was a backer and then he stopped?"
"Apparently," he says.
"Do they know why?"
"No." He pauses. "It happened abruptly - unexpectedly. ...they think Malf is to blame. It was just as he was becoming powerful in his own right instead of hanging on to his father's cloak."
"And do you think the same?"
"No," he says.
She draws in a breath. Stupid, she thinks, hoping that Lucius had some moral sense that meant her warming to the Malfoys wasn't unwarranted. "Oh."
"I don't think the same, love," he mutters. "I know for certain."
She wants to turn and cradle his face in her hands - she wants to know exactly why Lucius has stepped back from the Death Eater cause if his father was so aligned, but it's taken Severus so many hours to start talking, she doesn't want to spook him - doesn't want to give him reason to stop. "Do they know you know?"
"No. I don't think so."
"So Lucius has cut off their funding, and now they're trying to ruin him?"
"Yes." And then he strokes his hands over her bump, and he touches his lips to her neck as Bean's magic pulses back at him.
"And will you?"
"I don't think I have a choice." He hesitates. "...I was thinking… I wondered if you'd brew for him instead."
There's a very long pause as she mulls the idea over. "But won't they think you're still brewing?"
"Yes," he says, reluctantly. "Or they'd think you really were his brewer, and that would open up all sorts of problems." He sighs. "I know you think he's a monster, Lil, but I can't just hang him out to dry. Not after everything he's done for me."
"I don't think he's a monster," she eventually says.
It's a strange silence that falls over them. It's not awkward or uncomfortable, but she genuinely doesn't know what to say, and she's certain that he feels the same. It's not the sort of conversation where you can smoothly switch topics - she can hardly discuss her mother's garden or her father's endeavours with repositioning the television aerial to get a more reliable reception - and yet, with the idea that Severus is going to have to reject his best friend looming over them, sleep seems like an unfathomable concept. Instead, she lies back and thinks about her new acquaintances, and the semi-pleasant evening she shared not just with Narcissa but Lucius as well.
He's not a monster.
"Sev?"
"Mmm?"
"I saw Lucius the other night. When I went to see Narcissa."
"You said."
"...he asked me a strange question."
His hand across her bump flexes; a reflex action, and she instantly places hers over the top of it, but his voice is still sharp when he speaks. "Oh?"
Not like that, she thinks. "His father takes Imperatum. ...for his... nerves."
Severus gives a small chuckle, and his amusement reassures her that she's not the only person who saw straight through the unconvincing lie. "Yes, I believe so. I'm surprised he told you."
"And this is where you tell me there's more to the story than I already know?"
"Of course."
"And this is where you also tell me that you're not prepared to break his confidence?"
He laughs again. "I would, if it was relevant - but Malf… Let's just say he has his reasons."
"And you agree with them?"
There's a pause. "Agree is a strong word."
"He asked me," she ventures, "if I could think of a reason why Imperatum would stop working."
Severus stills. "He asked you?"
"Is that really so surprising?" she snaps. "I might be a Mudblood-"
"-Lil, don't!"
"-but I do have a brain."
"It's not… That's not in question, love," he says, his voice distant, "but I already told him what I thought."
"What's wrong with a second opinion?"
"Why would he need one?" He draws in a deep breath. "Unless he doesn't trust me?"
She shakes her head. "That doesn't make sense. Why would he ask me if he doesn't trust you?" she asks. "He knows we're together."
"Mmm," he says, but he doesn't sound convinced. "And tell me - what did you say?"
"The potion was perfect when I inspected it, and he said there had been no change in supply. The only thing I could think was that there's a conflict with something else his father is consuming."
"Yes."
They lie again in silence, and she nestles herself closer to him, enjoying the feel of his body against her own - and then she remembers the real question she wanted to ask him.
"Sev?"
"Yes?"
"Can you think of a potion that uses bowtruckles?"
"Particularly grim, love," he says, somberly. "You realise the implication?"
"Oh please," she retorts. "You think nothing of crushing beetles and slicing up flobberworms. Just because bowtruckles have a personality-"
"I hope you don't talk like this around Hagrid."
"I know better," she laughs.
His fingers strum an amused pattern across her bump. "Your mother is dark, Bean," he murmurs.
"You're right though," she muses. "It's enough to put most people off."
"Most," affirms Severus.
"So how are they added to a brew? I couldn't find anything in the books."
"You won't find anything in the books because people are squeamish," he says. "Excellent brewers neglect to mention such techniques, else they draw unwanted attention to their work."
"Like those Scamander followers?"
"Exactly! You can't get anything patented at the Ministry if they decide to campaign on the steps outside on the grounds of cruelty to magical creatures. It's ridiculous - bowtruckles are very useful...especially when they're ground to a fine powder."
"Been using them?" she teases.
She can feel his smile against the back of her neck. "Of course, love. How else would I know?"
"What in?"
And then, just as quickly as it arrived, his smile disappears, the implication of her line of questioning dawning upon him. "Oh fuck."
It's unsurprising that neither of them can sleep. It's even less surprising that Severus can't, seeing as he spends most of the night pacing around her bedroom, his hands clasped behind his head, ranting about his own idiocy.
"Sev, come on," she says for the umpteenth time, struggling to keep her voice low. "Stop beating yourself up over something you can't change."
"But how could I have been so stupid?" he spits, real venom in his voice. "You even asked me!"
"...did I?"
"Yes," he scowls. "You asked me if Rabastan was an alcoholic, and I said no - I was so quick to answer, so quick to accept his sorrowful tale of misery, and I didn't even think of any alternatives. I didn't even bother to verify why he wanted such a potion! Borage would've murdered me for such an oversight!"
"Thankfully, you're not still working for Borage. Come on, Sev, it's not as if you're intimately acquainted with the Lestranges," she says, trying to calm him. "It wasn't obvious."
"It should've been!" He swipes his bare foot at the carpet, his face filled with anger. "Stupid, Lil. Stupid!"
She pulls the duvet around her, and watches helplessly as he moves around the room, hoping that his louder-than-usual footsteps don't rouse her parents. "It isn't just you," she ventures. "He's had access to Abraxas to supply the potion - you said yourself, he's been there of late, hasn't he? At Malfoy Manor?"
Severus stops, and turns to face her, his black eyes feeling as if they're boring a hole through her. "...go on."
"You said…" She almost doesn't dare say it - now that his furious mood seems to have been briefly stemmed, she doesn't want to send his emotions spiralling - but she needs to tell him, so her words flood out in a quick stream. "When you rescued me from Lucius' study, you said…you said you were expecting Lucius' visitor to be Rabastan."
He nods, stiffly, his eyes narrowing and his cheeks colouring slightly. "Yes."
"And when I was talking to Narcissa and Lucius the other night…"
"Yes?" he asks, a little more impatiently. "What?"
"Narcissa mentioned that Bellatrix brought Rabastan to a meal." She shrugs. "I assume that's not the only time he's been to visit. He is family."
"Family," Severus scoffs.
"Of a sort. With him being her sister's brother-in-law, and-"
"Yeah, I know how they're family, thanks! You don't need to spell out the Malfoy family tree, for-"
"There's no need to be so rude, Severus," she snaps. "I was only pointing out that if the Lestrange brothers are frequenting the Manor, then there's ample opportunity."
He falls quiet, his expression a little abashed, and then he sighs. "Look, family or not, Dolph hates Malf," Severus explains, quietly. "And there's no love lost between Malf and Bella either." He gives a short laugh. "In fairness, there's no love lost between most of us and Bella - we are but minions who share her precious oxygen - but there's something about Malf that really riles her. At least she sees me as a cockroach or something equally unthreatening."
It's Lucius' acceptance of whatever suits him, she thinks, knowing Bellatrix Lestrange's fierce reputation. "She's a convert to the purist crusade, isn't she?"
He nods, the slightest of movements. "I don't think she needed to be converted as such."
"And that's the problem, Sev. She's a zealot. Convinced of the cause. But Lucius…"
"He's not. He's slippery," Severus nods again, giving her a quick grin. "Out for himself, and whatever suits him and his present circumstances."
"So she wants to be the one to bring down the disloyal Lucius? And in doing so, she'll be the one who reinstates the funding path between the Malfoy family and…"
"The Dark Lord," Severus finishes.
"And who better to help her than her newly acquired pureblood family? Her own is scarred, with Andromeda and even Narcissa… In Bellatrix's eyes, anyway." And Bellatrix doesn't even know about Narcissa befriending a Mudblood.
Severus looks thoughtful. "Yes. Dolph will happily donate Bast to the cause, and Bast would do anything for his brother. Bella's the one who gets to dance before the Dark Lord as his loyal servant - as the brains behind the operation." He gives her an admiring look, a smile playing on his lips. "Bloody hell, you're good, love. I'd never have pieced that together on my own."
She smiles tightly back at him, holding her hand out and beckoning him towards her once more. "We don't know I'm right."
"I do," he says, kneeling before her. He slides his hand through her hair until he's holding the back of her neck. He kisses her insistently, and then topples her back onto the bed until she's trapped beneath him. "You're amazing," he murmurs, wrapping them both in the covers, and roaming his hands over her.
"Amazing?" she laughs, writhing as he kisses his way across her body.
"Yes. Amazing," he says, punctuating his words by pressing his lips to her skin. "And do you know what's even more amazing?"
"No," she whispers back, running her hands through his hair and encouraging his actions. "Tell me."
"That you're mine."
"We both are," she breathlessly corrects, as she throws her head back, his teeth nipping at her neck. "We're both yours. The three of us together. We're a family."
"Yes," he agrees, peppering her face with quick kisses. "Mr and Mrs and," he slides his hand across her midriff, "our Bean."
Lily places her hand over his, not missing his look of ecstasy as his engagement ring on her finger brushes his skin, and she captures his lips in a heated kiss.
Chapter 58: Convenient scapegoat
Chapter Text
It's the fifth time he's used Polyjuice to transform into her, and his acting still hasn't improved. She makes it look effortless when she masquerades as him, roaming around Hogwarts with ease, his favourite cloak billowing behind her and her revelling in how fast his longer legs can transport her around the castle - but when it comes to him pretending to be Lily, he can't seem to grasp her mannerisms. His mood is too sour, and his gait is awkward, and he has a tendency - when left unchecked for more than three minutes - to sit with his legs splayed, his knees pointing outwards.
If there weren't such serious consequences to such a failure, she'd laugh - her mother would have palpitations seeing her with her legs akimbo in such an unladylike pose - but knowing that he is due to walk into an Order meeting, she knows he has to be perfect, and his inability to pass as her isn't a laughing matter.
It's ironic, she feels. She daren't say as much to him, but as a youth, he'd always been slightly feminine in his appearance; his hair a little too long, his sharp features somewhat delicate, and even his graceful limbs were almost womanly - especially when contrasted with the thick muscle of some of their contemporaries. So many of the sportier teenagers saw the benefits of spending hours on a broomstick, but he'd always shied away from exerting himself on the Quidditch pitch, preferring instead to flex his brains in the library.
He'd started to noticeably change again during the past few months. Her puberty had been over years before, and his growth spurt from boy to teenager had taken place a couple of years later, with him finally overtaking her in height - much to his relief. Whilst Lily then remained the same height and shape and size as she had from fifth year, Severus was still developing all these years later - this time, changing from a lanky teenager into a man. The more time they spent apart, the more obvious it was - he'd grown again over the past few months, yet another inch or so taller, and he'd become a little broader. His shoulders were wider, and his stubble seemed darker, and although his chest hair was still relatively sparse, it was a little thicker than it had been before. He was hairier all over, in fact - his arms and legs covered in a dark layer that hadn't been quite so obvious against his pale skin when they'd first started dating. Even her own mother had commented on Severus seeming much more like Tobias than he ever had before, and she was certain Severus himself had noticed too.
Yet, until this moment, it had never really struck her that his body becoming more masculine wasn't the only change in him, but that his mannerisms had drifted too - the way he held himself, the way he walked, the way he moved - and as soon as he was forced into a woman's body, he clearly struggled to behave in a delicate and refined way. Not that Lily would've ever called herself delicate and refined, but Severus was struggling to even sit on a chair without causing her anxiety.
She's certain that this is all wrapped up in his insecurities, because he's usually a good actor - a witty mimic, and a quick study. He looks in pain when he adopts her visage, as if every action is wrenched from him - as if he doesn't want to be skilled at being a woman, as if he doesn't want to succeed. But each time he fails, he's angry with himself, and she's certain it's not deliberate.
Subconscious, perhaps, she thinks - maybe he's sabotaging himself without realising? Whatever's happening, it's disconcerting watching yourself being sick. As she stands in her parents' bathroom with him, one hand wrapped in his - her - hair, holding it out of the way, she wonders if this is what it would be like to be a twin.
"Sorry," he mutters, and then he twists the cold tap on, cupping fresh water in his hands and swirling it around his mouth and spitting it out. He reaches for his toothbrush, and quickly brushes his teeth, replacing the sour taste in his mouth with mint, and then rinses with water.
"I don't think we should do this," she says.
He freezes, still bent over the basin, facing the other way. "Do what?"
"You being me. You're not convincing."
"I've been trying my best, Lil!"
She places her hand soothingly on his - her - back. "I know, Sev, and that's the problem. If this is your best, then you're never going to be convincing enough."
"It'll be fine," he snaps. "It's not as if anyone there knows you well enough to notice the difference."
She arches an eyebrow, and hands him a towel to dry his hands. "I think they might notice if you slump in a chair, open your legs, and flash your knickers at Potter."
"I won't do that."
"No? You did it three times in twenty minutes downstairs!"
He sniffs. "Fine, I'll remember not to do that. Anything else?"
"Don't go throwing up with the stress of it all."
"This isn't stress," he mutters.
It is.
"Go on," he says, "I can tell there's more you want to criticise me for."
"Sev, it's not a criticism, but there's hundreds of things!"
"Hundreds?" he huffs, putting the towel back on the rail. "You're being ludicrous."
"Potter and Black and Pettigrew and Lupin shared a common room with me for seven years," she says, disdainfully. "I think they know my mannerisms more than you'd credit them. And they'll be suspicious after I've been missing for so long - they'll be looking out for oddities."
He turns then, flashing her a smile. "I'm an oddity, am I?"
"And you know it," she grins back, squeezing his - her - cheek between her finger and thumb. "Come on, come back to my room before Mummy and Daddy get back and wonder what on earth we're up to."
The hour was almost over when they stopped practicing, so he isn't in her room long before he transforms back to his usual appearance. Once again, he's grateful he only tried the standard version of Polyjuice instead of experimenting with the vials she's brewed that would ensure the potion lasted for a longer duration.
"How are you feeling?" she asks. "Better now?"
"Yes." He flings his arms over his head, a broad grin crossing his face. "It's no slight on the host body, but I'm bloody glad to be back. I hate being so short."
She knows it isn't just his lack of height that bothers him, but she doesn't press the issue. "At least you won't have to do it again," she says. "Who knew that life as Lily Evans was so bad, hey?"
"Come here," he says, gruffly, pulling her into a tight embrace, and dropping a light kiss onto the top of her head. "You know it's me that's messed up, and not you."
She holds him tightly, refusing to let go when he shifts his weight, signifying that their hug should end, and she can feel his laugh rumbling in his chest as she continues to grip him. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," he replies, squeezing her slightly, and then relaxing into her hold. "I like it. Just you being you."
"...speaking of which," she says, eventually.
"Mmm?"
"Of me being me. I'll go. To the Order meeting."
"Lil, no."
"Sev, yes." She moves half a step backwards, allowing her to gaze up at his face, which is filled with concern. "Keep that evening free."
"I don't follow. I'm meant to be his spy," he says, cautiously.
"And you've said yourself, you've seen Dumbledore roaming the dungeons more often than usual."
"It means nothing. It's his castle - why wouldn't he be down there?"
"He's looking for me and you know it." She runs her hand gently across his jaw. "We need a story for why I'm not there. For why I've not attended any meetings until now. ...and for why I can't Polyjuice into you and get back into Hogwarts after the meeting."
"And how does me turning up at an Order meeting change any of that?"
"I didn't ask you to attend the meeting," she says, mischievously. "Like I said, we need a story."
He visibly relaxes at her words. "...and from the tone of your voice, I am to assume you've got one, have you?"
"But of course, Sev!" she laughs.
"And what do you need me to do?"
She reaches up and presses her lips to his. "Trust me," she says, and then she squeals loudly as he picks her up and spins her around, her legs wrapping around his hips.
"I always do, love," he murmurs, kissing her earnestly in response. "My clever, clever witch."
There's no dancing at Malfoy Manor during their next visit. The two couples eat grand meals from dishes made of bone china and using hallmarked silver cutlery, but the record player remains silent, the wall torches are dim, and the mood is muted. Whilst the elves tidy and clear the drawing room, all four retire to Lucius' study - the door firmly locked, bolted, and then spell upon spell from both Lucius and Narcissa's wands cast against it.
As the well mannered hosts they are, Narcissa presents Severus and Lily with goblets, and Lucius brings out a fine bottle of wine - but Lily shakes her head.
"I'll join you with apple juice, Narcissa," she smiles. "It's unfair to drink whilst you cannot."
"And I'll join you with wine, Lucius," Severus grins, making sure that his interruption serves as a distraction, ensuring that there is no argument against Lily's refusal, "for it would be unfair to leave you as the only one imbibing."
"Such a sacrifice you make for friendship," Lucius laughs, clapping him on the shoulder as he passes him. "I know you've seen the date on the bottle, you cad."
"But of course," Severus smiles. He points at the large armchair nearest to the fire. "Do you mind?"
Lucius shakes his head. "Go ahead."
Severus casts his wand at the armchair, extending it until it will comfortably seat two. He sinks into it, and then beckons Lily towards him, settling his arm around her shoulders when she sits beside him.
Narcissa does the same with another seat, and when Lucius has finished filling Severus' goblet with wine, he sits next to her, sipping first from his own glass. "Ah, how impolite of me," he chastises himself, and then raises his goblet in the air. "To friends."
All three raise their goblets in the air to join him, their voices chorusing his toast.
"I thought for a moment you had forgotten your manners," Narcissa teases.
"Just another thing for you to berate me in private for, Cissy," Lucius says, giving his wife an affectionate look when she rolls her eyes. "Just as you're going to do for this."
She looks slightly flustered. "I dread to think… Please don't embarrass us in front of our company, Lucius."
He carries on, undeterred by her objection. "I think your sister is behind all of this."
"No, Bella isn't behind-"
"-then why else would Rabastan betray me in such a way?"
"I was unaware that Rodolphus and Rabastan did not have minds of their own," Narcissa says, icily and Severus quickly flashes Lily a quelling glance when he sees the amusement on her face. "I did not realise that they woke in the morning, and awaited Bella's instructions before they did as much as dare crawl out of bed."
"I didn't say-"
"You did, Lucius!" Narcissa's face is pinched as she sips from her goblet. "As far as I can see, there's nothing in what Severus has told us that remotely suggests Bella's involvement in this whole sorry affair."
There's a petulant edge to Lucius' voice when he speaks again. "She has never liked me."
"And neither has Rodolphus, and he seems a far more obvious suspect," Narcissa bites back.
"Yes, and I should shop them both - Rabastan and Rodolphus - for this! Then we'd see who was truly to blame."
"Oh, don't be so ridiculous, Lucius."
The group falls into silence at Narcissa's rebuke, and Severus and Lily share an awkward look. It's not often that Narcissa overrules her husband - especially not within company - and to their surprise, Lucius doesn't shout or lay down the law, but he tilts his head, as if he's been slapped, and he flares his nostrils, breathing deeply.
"I could," Lily ventures, ignoring Severus' widening eyes at her words, "shop them, if that's what you're intending."
"Lil, be careful," Severus warns, placing his hand over hers.
"We discussed this, Sev," she argues, softly. "I need something."
"You?" Lucius leans back in the chair, moving his focus from his wife to Lily. "You could bring them down?"
"The Ministry believes that I'm spying on you, remember?" she says, quietly. "I haven't passed any information of late - the story we've fed back is that I am laying low whilst I try and ingratiate myself within your ranks, but what better way to return than with tales of nefarious dealings within the Malfoy estate?"
"Rising like a phoenix," Lucius mutters, chewing on his lip. "It's interesting. You could."
Narcissa leans forward. "Not Dolph," she says, quickly. "Bast, yes, but not Dolph. Bella would never forgive us."
"Well, I'd personally appreciate it if you didn't turn Bast over to the authorities either," Severus drawls. "Given our little involvement, I fear that I would be raided - and whilst I may have evaded Azkaban once, I believe I might well be made into the convenient scapegoat."
"They won't trace it back to you," Lucius says, dismissively.
"No? This is a potion of my own creation, which leads to very few likely suspects. In fact, I rather fear the shortlist would be me, me, and oh yes, me again."
"Well something needs to be done about Bast," Lucius shoots back.
"Even if it means me being tortured by Dementors for a decade or seven?" Severus arches his eyebrow.
Lucius looks mildly abashed. "There must be ways of avoiding such an outcome. We'll get you a talented solicitor."
Severus rolls his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure that would restore my position in wizarding society. I'm already labelled as a murderer, or an incompetent-"
"Sev, let it go," Lily says, squeezing his hand.
"-besides, even if I weren't convicted, I doubt Dumbledore would take kindly to me causing the auror department to descend upon his school." He glares at his friend. "It's not just you at stake here, Malf!"
"That's that then," Lucius huffs. "I shall just sit around whilst the Lestranges destroy my family, and my name, and my-"
"I didn't say that," Severus interrupts, loudly. "I'm sure there's another witch or wizard we could involve."
"...to take the heat? Instead of Bast?"
Severus nods. "We set somebody up, they take the fall, and as they know nothing legitimate about any of this, they can't point their finger at me as the supplier."
"Sev, you can't-"
"He can, and it's a bloody wonderful idea," Lucius beams. He pauses in his enthusiasm when he sees Lily's look of uncertainty, and then he gets up and stands behind their extended armchair, placing both hands on her shoulders, gently massaging them. "He's right. It'll cement your standing as a spy for the Ministry, and we can scare off Bast," and then he shoots a pointed look at his wife, "and Dolph and Bella, all whilst Severus doesn't come under any suspicion. It's perfect." He lets go of her shoulders, and reaches for the wine bottle. "More, Severus?"
Severus nods, quickly draining his goblet, and then holding it out to be refilled.
"But who?" Narcissa says.
"Someone easy," Severus says, toying with the rim of his goblet. "Someone nobody will miss."
"Avery."
"Not Ave," Severus snaps back immediately. "He's my connection. I need him."
"I thought I was your connection," Lucius argues.
"Yes, your standing within the Dark Lord's regime is looking really solid at the moment, Malf! Be Malf's associate," he sneers, "and you can be stabbed in the front as well as the back!"
"You are most insufferable, Severus!"
"Behold his power, Caesar has nothing on him! Et tu-"
"Boys. Boys!" Narcissa stands, holding her hands out between them, as if to break up an impending brawl, and only lowering them when Lucius moves back to their seat. "Lucius, please think about this logically - is the Ministry likely to believe that Avery would mastermind-"
"He doesn't need to be the brains behind it," Lucius scowls.
"No? Because if he isn't," Lily joins in, firmly, "then they'll start looking for who is. Someone who has put him up to it. Someone such as Rabastan, for instance."
"...who then?"
"What about Rosier?" Severus offers.
"He's too sharp."
"Reggie?"
"Absolutely not," interrupts Narcissa.
Severus bites back a laugh. "Bloody hell, I forgot."
"That's the problem with Purebloods," Lily says, lightly, "you're all related to each other."
"All right," Severus says, quickly, with a slight shake of his head. Come on, love, he thinks, you can push it too far. "What about Wilkes? Jugson? I'd say Crabbe but he's so unbelievably stupid, that if you think Avery isn't convincing, there's no possible way that Crabbe could be involved."
"And he has a little one on the way," Narcissa says. "It wouldn't be fair."
Lucius suddenly stands back, a beaming smile across his face. "I've got it. Isolated from his family, too young to know any better, and clever enough to have come up with such a ruse."
"Oh yes?" Severus smiles. "Sounds too good to be true."
All through the meeting, Potter keeps touching her. It's nothing overly offensive - a nudge of his elbow, his hand on her bicep, his warm palm on her shoulder - all accompanied by hearty laughs, and smiles, and cheeky winks.
"Bloody hell, you had me worried, Evans," he teases when the meeting is finally over. "I thought all that hiding out had finally got to you, and you'd gone to ground. Nobody's seen or heard of you!"
"It's rather the idea, Prongs," Black drawls, with a quick nod towards Lily. "She's gone dark."
"She hasn't gone dark," Potter quickly retorts. "She's working for Vance."
"Sure, working for Vance and fucking Malfoy," Black says, with a grin. "Dark."
"She's not fucking Malfoy!"
"Potter!" she hisses, elbowing him hard in the ribs. "Will you keep your voice down?"
"I'm just saying! Sniv was bad enough, and now you want us to believe that…" He trails off, as if the thought has suddenly struck him. "Please tell me you're not? Not Malfoy?"
She tosses her hair. "Either I am, and it's none of your business, or I am not but it's just part of an elaborate cover, and I would be stupid to tell you to the contrary."
"Good answer," grins Black. "Told you, Prongs. Cunning enough to be a Slytherin. Dark."
"There's more dark wizards and witches in one rung of your family tree than there is in generations of mine, Black," she scowls, "so like Potter here, you can get fucked as well."
"Lovely," Black says, kissing his teeth, and looking highly amused. "Picked his language up, have you?"
"At least Lucius has manners," she argues - and just as she can feel herself on the verge of saying something she'll regret, Moody makes his way over to the three.
"Evans, a word?"
Without further comment, she permits Moody's much larger hand to envelop hers, and allows herself to be whisked over to the corner of the room.
"...Moody," she finally says. "How are you keeping?"
"What happened?"
About what? Not wanting to volunteer information to the most talented auror in the Ministry, Lily purses her lips, pretending to deliberate over the question. "What happened with what?"
To her surprise, Moody smiles. "Good, Evans. You've been learning. Trust nobody."
"Including you."
"Including me." Moody waves his hand before her. "But you know what I'm talking about. Your magic...it's different again. That strange pulse," and he waves his hand around her torso, "has gone. Or changed, at the very least. Dulled, perhaps?"
Bean.
"Oh," she says, frowning, and moving her hand in the same area. To her relief, she can feel Bean still there - but Moody is right; Bean is quieter than usual - her child's burgeoning magic is barely a gentle rumble instead of the fierce pulse she's used to feeling. Don't fret, Bean's still there. "I guess so. I hadn't noticed."
"Been learning anything different?" Moody asks, gruffly. "New spells?"
She shakes her head, aware of Moody's unrelenting gaze. "Not enough time."
"Speaking of time," a woman's voice says, interrupting, "it's been many weeks since you stood amongst your friends here."
She turns to face Vance and Bones, who are now stood slightly to the left of her. Stop panicking, she thinks. This is what you came for. "Hi," she says, a little weakly.
"It's good to see you, Lily," Bones says, with a smile. "We were worried, weren't we, Alastor?"
Moody sniffs, but Lily doesn't miss the slight twitch of his eye. He was concerned. She wonders what Dumbledore has said to him - whether he's mentioned that she was missing from the castle, but Vance powers on before she can say anything.
"And now that's the pleasantries dispensed with," Vance smiles sharply, "what do you have for us, Lily?"
"...Abraxas Malfoy is the money man," she says, taking a deep breath.
"Tell us something we don't know," Vance scoffs.
"Behind Imperatum," she says. "I think."
"You think," Bones presses. "What makes you think that?"
"...I heard him talking."
"Lucius?"
Lily shakes her head. "Abraxas."
"You've branched out into spying on Abraxas now, have you?" Vance says, her voice tinged with amusement. "I wanted Lucius, if you recall?"
"Not intentionally," she says, quickly. "I was in the corridor. Narcissa had come back, so Lucius had told me to run-"
"Yes, yes, " Moody quickly interrupts, "we get the picture."
"And you ran," murmurs Vance, "until you reached Abraxas' study, and then what? You stood outside eavesdropping?"
"I didn't know that was Abraxas' study," she complains. "He's only just returned."
Bones nods. "From overseas. Switzerland, I believe?"
She shrugs. "I'm not sure. Do you need me to find out?"
"Yes," Vance says, at the same time as Moody shakes his head.
Bones looks from one colleague to the other, and then pulls each of them by the arm. "Do excuse us for one moment, Lily." She casts a complicated charm with her wand, and their voices suddenly drop to a whisper, and although Lily strains to hear what they're saying, it's difficult for her to follow the conversation - but then she catches sight of Moody's wand moving behind his back, and their voices boom back at her, as if someone has just flicked a switch.
"No, Emmeline," Moody says. "The girl needs to focus on what's important."
"This is important!"
"It isn't. You're being sidetracked."
"I'm being sidetracked? He gave our aurors the slip, Alastor," Vance hisses. "I want to know how he got in and out of the country without being spotted. If we know which country-"
"I'd agree normally," Bones says, "but I think Alastor is right. I know you've been in the field, but Lily...she's just a young witch who has been caught up in all of this."
"Caught up?" Vance scoffs. "Caught up by shagging as many Death Eaters as she can get her hands on. First Snape, now Malfoy, and who knows who else! She is not an innocent!"
"Do I have to remind you that she is a Muggleborn?"
"A Muggleborn who knows which side she wants to be on if our Ministry falls," Vance mutters. "That's what this is about. Playing both sides. If Muggleborns were allowed in Slytherin…"
Bones shakes her head. "You're being unfair. She's simply done as you've requested. And we don't know that Snape is a Death Eater." She pauses. "Or Malfoy, for that matter."
Moody scoffs. "There might be a question mark over Snape, but there isn't one over Lucius Malfoy. He's in as deep as they go."
"And why has it taken her this long to come back to us? All of this waiting and just to find out that Abraxas Malfoy is funding some nefarious business deal. It's not information, Amelia! It would've been a struggle to suggest it was useful information fifty years ago. What's going to be her next revelation? The sky is blue? Grass is green? Water is wet?"
"By all means," Moody hisses, looking unimpressed at her outburst, "instruct Evans properly - tell her what you need her to find, but don't complain that our spy is still alive after weeks in the field. Not after we've lost so many."
"Fine," Vance says, and at her agreement, Bones whips her wand, cancelling the spell that she hasn't realised has already been removed.
"Lily," Bones says, warmly. "We appreciate the information you've provided."
Sure, thinks Lily, striving to pretend that she hasn't heard the rest of their conversation. "...is there a but?"
Moody's expression twitches. "There always is."
"Abraxas might end up being of interest to us," Bones explains, "but Lucius is our focus at the moment." She lowers her voice. "I know he's been in some sort of battle with Dung."
"Territory," Lily says, quickly. "That's all. Nothing important."
Vance nods dismissively. "Fletcher's barely within the laws himself." She gazes at her, her eyes roaming across Lily's features as if she's checking for any inconsistencies. "If you've got nothing on Lucius… How about anyone else he's close to? Have you seen your ex, by any chance?"
She shakes her head quickly. "No, thank Merlin," she says, deliberately averting her gaze from Moody.
"You already know Dumbledore has him under lock and key," Moody says, his tone almost bored.
Bones pauses. "What about her side of the family?"
"Narcissa? You mean Bellatrix?"
"Or the Lestrange brothers," Bones adds.
Fuck.
"No," she says, quickly. When she sees the look of surprise on all three faces, she mentally kicks herself. You said no too quickly.
"Not at all?" Bones sends a confused look towards the pair of youths sitting at the end of the table, and it's obvious she's indicating to Sirius. "I thought from what we knew, the Blacks were a rather tight unit. And yet you're saying that you've never seen Bellatrix or her husband, or-"
You need to distract them. "I don't spend much time around Narcissa for obvious reasons," she says, trying not to sound disdainful. "Although…"
"Although?"
"I don't know if it's important, but I did hear...and this is the strangest thing," she says, trying to look puzzled, "I'm certain I heard Abraxas mention a Klout?"
"Klout?"
"Or Grounce?" She shakes his head, trying to look innocent. "Ounce? Rount? I don't know, it was hard to hear through the study door." She feigns thoughtfulness. "Bertie Grount, I think that was it - I think that was what he said." She watches as the three exchange a confused glance, and Bones plucks a quill from the table, quickly scrawling a note on a piece of parchment.
"And what did you hear about this...Grount?" she presses.
This is it, she thinks. "He's found a way to break the effects of Imperatum. I guess that's why it's been released onto the wizarding public," she adds, the lies tripping off her tongue.
"Because all of those involved can circumvent it," Vance says, looking stunned. "Very well. We need to find this Grount." She makes to leave, and then abruptly turns on her heel, facing her once more. "Thank you, Lily," she says. "I look forward to your next report. Try to remember that it is Lucius that we're after."
As Vance marches off, Bones places a warm hand on Lily's shoulder. "Yes, thank you, Lily. I'll let Alastor take you to wherever you're staying," she says, "but if you find yourself in need, try and alert one of us, and we'll assist however we can. It's important you get information for us but-"
"-don't take unnecessary risks," Moody interrupts, gruffly. "Malfoy's a nasty piece of work."
"I won't," she says, waiting for Bones to depart, watching as she joins Vance in an animated conversation with Hestia Jones.
"Come on then," Moody says, whipping his wand before him. "Let us depart."
"Let's just say," she says, drawing in a breath, "that I don't think either you or Potter will want to walk me out tonight."
"You brought him here?"
She shakes her head sharply. "Not here. But not a million miles away either." She tilts her jaw upwards. "I'm going back to his. I believe Narcissa is away."
Moody's nostrils flare, and he practically drags her to the door. When they're outside, he speaks, and his voice is barely more than a whisper. "And what happened to that nasty little grub you were so keen on? Our deal's off, is it?"
"I didn't say that. I'll get her for you."
"So I was right. Change of plan? We're swapping her for Malfoy's freedom?"
"I didn't say that either."
"...her for Snape's freedom, even though you're sleeping with a married man?"
"The deal was for Severus to walk free, yes."
His eye twitches again. "I don't like things that don't make sense."
"And I don't like people who are obsessed with who I'm sleeping with." She gives him a haughty once over, and then sets off down the street. "You're getting as bad Potter," she calls, over her shoulder.
"It's not the same," Moody scowls, hastily moving to catch her up. "Potter wants you for himself." He glances at her, and seeing the smirk on her face, he shakes his head. "And you can hold that thought. Don't flatter yourself."
"Well, why else would you care so much with whose bed I am warming? This isn't the 1800s!"
"It's because there's a bloody war on, you naive fool," he hisses as they round a corner. "You're choosing to hop between the bed of one dark wizard and then another - and yes," he says, angrily, "Snape is a dark wizard, I know it! I've seen enough of them in my time."
She bristles angrily. "He's not-"
"-if he's not, then he's on the verge," Moody warns. "He's been seen. And believe it or not, I have grown a little fond of you, and I'd rather not be picking the pieces of you up after the Death Eaters and their followers have had their fun tearing you apart."
"Oh." She can't help but give an involuntary shudder at the vivid picture his words paint.
He gives her a nasty smile, accompanied by a smug nod of his head. "I've seen a lot in my line of work. You're dancing with dragons, and…" He tails off, drawing suddenly to a halt as he sees the figure of Lucius Malfoy leaning casually against a lampost.
"Thank you for the conversation," she says, her hand raised in a goodbye. "I appreciate your concern, but I do know how to look after myself."
Moody nods, and then moves into the shadows, watching as Lucius looks left, and then right, and then reaches down to kiss her passionately. "Make sure you do," Moody whispers, as he watches Lucius lead her into the night.
"All right, love?" Lucius asks as he pulls her into an alley. "No trouble with Potter and his gang?"
"Hardly a gang," she says. "There was only him and Sirius there."
"No wolf?"
"No. No Pettigrew either."
"What about the others? Dumbledore? Vance? Bones?"
"No Dumbledore either," she says, solemnly.
"Bloody hell, that was half the point of going!"
She grabs his hand. "It's fine - the news will get back to him. Bones or Moody or someone will fill in him."
"And as for Bones and Vance and Moody… They took the bait?"
She nods. "I think so."
"Good," he says, a wide smile creeping across his face. "What was up with old Moody when he walked you out? Looked like you were having a mothers' meeting the way you were chatting - I've been waiting out here nearly an hour!"
"Warning me off the likes of you," she says, squeezing his hand.
"Me?" he asks, "or me?"
"Both of you."
"Oh yes? Don't tell me, he thinks I'm a dangerous dark wizard?"
"Yes."
He flashes her a grin, his pale grey eyes twinkling. "And tell me, Lil, would that be me or me?"
"Both of you, Sev," she laughs, pulling him close. "And if you've been out here nearly an hour, we'd best get you back."
"No rush," he murmurs, enjoying the feel of his witch against him. "I took one of those vials you made, to see if it does last longer." He holds his arm - Lucius' arm - out to the side and admires his hand. "All seems well." Then, he snakes his arm back around her, pressing her against him, and suddenly, he freezes.
"What?"
"Bean," he says, ghosting his hand across her abdomen. "Bean's quiet."
"It's the concealing charm," she says, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. "Bean gets quieter the longer I use it - I noticed the other night; I thought Bean had just fallen asleep whilst we were talking to Lucius and Narcissa, but an hour or so after I lifted it, Bean's magic was back."
"Then let's get you both home, love," he says, seriously, wrapping his arms tightly around her. "Are you Apparating us, or me?"
Chapter 59: Concealment
Chapter Text
Safely back in Cokeworth, she removes the concealment charm hiding Bean, and then quietly smuggles Severus-as-Lucius into her parents' house, and up into her bedroom. She tells him to be silent, and then heads back down the stairs, explaining loudly to her parents that Severus is feeling under the weather so he's gone straight to bed, and as she's tired, she's going with him - and they don't want to be disturbed. Her parents don't as much as raise an eyebrow at this statement - although her father does when she fills her arms from the fridge, bundling an array of foods upstairs.
"Cravings," she says, and her father nods tightly, letting her pass without comment.
"You're an accomplished liar, love," Severus smiles, lying on the bed and watching as she casts against the door, ensuring her well-meaning parents can't enter unannounced.
"And it's so weird hearing your words coming from...him."
Severus smiles, flicking Lucius' blond hair over his shoulder. "How long do you think it'll last?"
"I was going for as long as possible. Might be a few hours yet."
He nods, and pats the mattress, beckoning her towards him. "How's Bean?"
"Quiet," she says, holding her bump, "but don't worry. Feel." She takes his hand and shrugs her top upwards so he can make contact with her bare skin. "Yes?"
"Bean's definitely in there," he says, softly, seeming reassured. His fingertips make lazy circles as he caresses her, and he smiles as he feels a soft thrum of magic spilling back at him. "And Bean knows Dad's here," he grins.
"Can't fool Bean with Polyjuice," she says, nestling against him.
They sit together in silence, his hands moving over her skin, until he clears his throat. "Lil?"
"Yes?"
"You were saying… What did Moody say about Bean?"
"Not Bean exactly," she admits, "but Moody recognised my magic had changed."
"...because of the concealment?"
"Yes."
"Just the concealment?" He pauses. "Because compared to your magic, Bean feels really different."
"Like a white light under your hand?"
"Yes!"
"An innocent."
"Yeah." He shrugs. "You don't feel quite like that normally."
"Nor you."
He gives a soft laugh. "No. No, I wouldn't have thought so. I don't think I've ever come across as innocent."
"Idiot," she says, kissing his cheek. "You're a good man, Sev."
"Even when I grind up bowtruckles?"
She laughs, and grabs his arm, wrapping it around her and pressing herself against his warm chest. "Speaking of bowtruckles, they accepted your story about the Imperatum."
"Good," he says. "Trying to track down the mysterious man should keep them busy for a while."
"Do you think a little bit of hearsay will be enough to condemn him?"
"By the time Lucius has finished it will be," Severus says, coolly. "Speaking of which, I have a potion to adjust."
"Rabastan's?"
"Not by much," he says, sensing the concern in her tone. "Just enough to give Malf the edge over his father."
"You don't think they'll trace that back to you?"
"Not if Malf keeps the payments up. That's all Bast has been after. As far as he's concerned, there'll be no change - I keep delivering the potion, and Abraxas keeps handing over the money."
She sighs. "I think you and Lucius are being too clever for your own good."
"Really?"
"Yes! They'll still be able to trace it back to you."
"They won't," he argues. "What are they going to trace? An inert potion they find in Abraxas' study?"
"And you don't think Rabastan is going to be suspicious?"
"Bast will simply be relieved that he's dodged a lengthy stint in Azkaban." He shrugs. "Bast doesn't know that I'm only brewing it for him, and with the sudden influx of Imperatum on the street, it's not surprising that someone would discover my potion's secondary use. An accident." He gives her a wicked grin. "And if the aurors listen to your suggestion and arrest who Malf is hoping, that person can't give up my name anyway."
"Because he's innocent."
"I don't think I'd quite say that."
"Of this charge though," she warns. "What if they use Veritaserum?"
"The Ministry won't," he laughs. "They're sick - you saw what happened with the Fearless Fifty."
"That isn't how it works," she whispers. "He's not just any wizard, is he? People like that...they get around the laws."
He gives her a dark look. "Unless they're a fitting poster boy for a political cause," he says. "If they've got someone who is sufficient deterrent for the rest of society, that'll do. Make an example of them."
"Sev, what if he finds out we've set him up-"
"He's not going to find out," he says, gently. "We don't run in the same circles. I'll be the last wizard, and you'll be the last witch, that he would even think of."
She looks sceptical. "Maybe not you or I, but what if he points the finger at Lucius?"
"What about it? If he thinks Malf is behind it, then so what? Malf can look after himself." He gives her a tight smile. "Come on, love, don't panic now - you know this is the best solution."
She nods, remembering the heated discussion in Lucius' study - the four of them trying to work out how best to resolve the Rabastan situation. "As long as it works."
"It will. It puts Bast in the clear, but scares him into stopping buying it - not because it hasn't been working, but because he doesn't want to be caught holding such a potion if the aurors are swooping."
"-and if he doesn't? If he still wants it?"
Severus shrugs. "I could stop brewing it. I could profess that the new heightened interest in such concoctions have stopped me from procuring the necessary ingredients-"
"-or that Dumbledore suspects something and has lain down the law if you want to stay at Hogwarts?"
"Exactly."
She lets out a deep sigh. "I'm not happy about this."
"Me neither, love," he agrees, "but I think we've made the best of a bad situation. Now stop worrying about it."
"Easier said than-
"-yes, but there's no changing what's done, and all this fretting is bad for you both." He pauses and kisses her forehead, and then slides off the bed, kneeling and whispering to her bump. "You'll upset Bean." When she runs her fingers through his silken hair, he gently presses kisses against her bump, smiling as he feels their child's magic pulsing happily back at him, much stronger than before. "And Daddy doesn't want an unhappy Bean, does he?"
He hasn't slept well - not like he usually does when he's pressed up against Lily, but he thinks it's because she keeps moving away from him in the night. At one point, he wakes to find a pillow shoved between them, and when he moves it, she groggily protests. "You don't smell right," she murmurs, pulling it back.
He'd spent a sleepless fifteen minutes sniffing at his skin, trying to work out if he does smell like Lucius, but he has no idea what Lucius normally smells like - he's usually doused in thick aftershave, and as good as Polyjuice is, it doesn't come with such accessories. He lies on his back and makes a mental note to swipe some when he's next at Malfoy Manor; there's no point in looking the part if something as trivial as aftershave might give him away.
He's somewhat disappointed to wake and find that he's still Lucius, although he's stunned at the longevity of her potion - and feeling inspired to brew, he quietly disentangles himself from the covers, and with the softest of kisses to her temple, he kneels on the floor and starts to experiment with her brewing equipment.
"Morning," she says, her voice thick with sleep.
"Morning, love," he says brightly, leaning over her cauldron, and dribbling ingredients in from a great height.
"Do you have to add them like that? Does it make a difference?"
"No," he says, with a grin, "but I like being flamboyant. It suits my current appearance."
She can't help but laugh. "How long now?"
"Seventeen hours," he says, and there's clear admiration in his voice. "I am starting to fret that I won't turn back at all."
She quietly wraps herself in the duvet, and it's obvious from her expression that the thought unnerves her.
"Hey," he says, leaning over to brush her chin with his fingers. "It'll be fine. I'm only teasing. Just make sure your parents don't come in here today, yeah?"
He's decanting a translucent purple potion into vials when it finally happens - his hands start to change shape and the skin becomes more pale as he scrapes the ladle around the cauldron, and then he hears her excited gasp from the other side of the room when his hair transforms from blond to black. As he caps the last vial and sets it on a rack, he turns to face her, and she leaps onto him, pushing him back against the carpet.
"Bloody hell, love," he laughs, "you've winded me!" But despite his protest, there's glee on his face as she kisses him, and he immediately rolls her over in a crushing embrace. "How long was it?" he asks, twisting to see the time on her alarm clock.
"Too long," she murmurs, pulling him back down for a heated kiss. "Far, far too long."
In contrast, it doesn't take Vance or Bones or Moody long to swing into action and Severus can feel the tremor in his legs as he peruses his copy of the Daily Prophet at the breakfast table in the Great Hall a few short days later. There's a sweeping whisper around the tables, and Slughorn glances at him a little anxiously, whilst Severus toys with his coffee mug.
"Did you know about this?"
Yes.
Severus shakes his head. "No."
"I don't know what Fudge is thinking," Slughorn murmurs, reading the article over and over. "A raid! An arrest is one thing. Questioning is another. But a raid!"
"Is that where Dumbledore is this morning?"
"Yes."
Severus exhales. "Thought so."
"There'll be a coup if Fudge isn't careful. This sort of heavy-handed behaviour causes disgruntlement within the movers and the shakers of our world." Slughorn folds his edition of the paper, and then stands, clapping his hands together. "Enough!" he bellows, causing all of the tables to turn and stare at him, their gossip briefly halted. "Class begins in ten minutes. Breakfast is over." He pointedly stares at the Gryffindor table. "For those of you attending Potions this morning, I advise you not to be late into the dungeons. Tardiness shall be punished by means of taking house points, and," he says, turning to face the Slytherin table, his eyes boring into each and everyone one of his students, "I will personally be affronted if I have to remove points from my own house. Do I make myself clear?"
He exits in a grand billow of robes, striding between the tables and out of the main doors, and both tables of students stand in shock, pushing books into their bags, and uneaten toast into their pockets. In Slughorn's wake, Severus stares helplessly at the arrested man on the front page - the young man's eyes wide, his teeth bared, and even in the black and white newspaper ink, Severus can see the deep contrast between the striped Azkaban prison robes and the youth's mop of fair hair.
"I know it's a shock, Severus," Professor McGonagall says, resting a firm hand on his shoulder, "but as Horace says, you really must pull yourself together when you're in front of the students."
"...he was in my house," Severus says, quietly. "Another Slytherin taken for Azkaban. He'll be Kissed, won't he?"
She sniffs, and pulls herself upright. "The darkest amongst us forget that even their own wings can be clipped."
"Is that all you'll think will happen, Prof- Minerva? Given his father's standing? Not Kissed? There's hope for him?"
"Hope?" She scoffs, and then lowers her voice. "His father's status may have saved him from a few scrapes up until now," she whispers, "but from what Dumbledore tells me, there is blood in the water, and the sharks are circling - and his father is amongst them. They will do whatever is deemed necessary to stamp out the rise of darkness within our world."
He takes a shuddering breath, and she grips him more tightly - understanding his relieved reaction to be misery.
"I'm sorry, Severus," she says, "I know Crouch was an acquaintance of yours when you were a student, but," and she gestures towards the rest of the Great Hall, "as we always say, the show here must go on. Business as usual. The students need to be taught. Do join Horace in the dungeons, and put this sorry state of affairs from your mind."
"Yes, Minerva, I shall. Thank you for your kind words." He stands, brushing crumbs from his robes, and as he moves to descend from the stage, she stops him, her hand gripping his.
"And Severus?"
"Yes, Minerva?
"If you drew back from such..." She pauses, and then continues evenly, staring at a spot over his shoulder instead of into his eyes, "then you are to be congratulated. Such affiliation - it is a sickness. An affliction."
He's lost for words. "I…don't, I..."
"Don't play games," she says, sternly. "I know your history, Severus. Horace…" She draws in a deep breath. "He tries - oh how he tries - but the forces within Slytherin…" She shakes her head, finding herself unwilling to say more. "It's time for class. Dismissed, Severus."
"Yes, Professor," he says, almost tripping on his robes in his haste to depart.
Chapter 60: Date night
Notes:
Hi - many apologies for the brief hiatus on the story - it was unplanned, and then went on for a little longer than I anticipated.
When I came back (as those of you on Tumblr know), I took the opportunity to clean up the chapters before adding any new ones, so if you read back at any stage, you might notice that there have been a few subtle changes. I stress that you don't *need* to read back - all of the changes were stylistic or corrections to typos etc. - I was very careful not to alter the plot. (Although I will admit to correcting a mistake where I referred to the wrong Lestrange brother in a previous chapter, ahem).
Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for your patience, and we should now be back on course now for the usual update schedule. If you continue to read the story from this point, thank you for sticking with it, and I really hope you enjoy it going forwards.
...and here's a nice gentle chapter to ease us in. :)
Chapter Text
It's warm in the Ministry - uncomfortably so - and Severus pulls at the neck of his robes as he makes his way over to the lifts on the far side of the atrium. He glances at the gaudy signage overhead, which indicates that all of the lifts are between floors and in use, and he sighs heavily - until he notices that the lift furthest away from him is open and awaiting custom, with a bored looking lift attendant standing in the corner of it.
"Broken?" Severus calls.
"Just the sign," the young lift attendant shouts back. "Makes for a boring day. I've lost count of how many people have stood around watching the screens instead of asking."
Severus spots a throng of middle aged workers heading towards him, so he hastens his step, and enters the vacant lift.
"And which floor would we be heading to this afternoon, sir?"
"Errr," Severus starts, scrabbling in his pocket for the piece of parchment that contains the office's address.
"Which floor, sir?"
"Just wait," Severus snaps, "I'm looking."
"Calm down, Snape," the lift attendant huffs, tapping the sign which says that all workers must be prepared to announce their intended floor when entering the lift. "Only doing my job."
When the lift attendant uses his name, Severus pays him a little more attention - and suddenly, he recognises the dense brush of freckles across the youth's face. "...it's Wallace, isn't it?"
Wallace grins. "It is! Didn't think you knew me."
"The amount of time I spent in the hospital wing," Severus mutters, "I thought we were practically on first name terms."
"Devon," Wallace says, "if you'd like to be…" He pauses. "It's Severus, isn't it?"
Severus nods. "Didn't expect to see you here, Devon. Weren't you hoping to be a healer?"
"Mungos is oversubscribed," he says, quietly. "Doing this for a few months, until the next intake." He straightens. "I don't mind. Gives me chance to work on my application."
"Right."
"Heard you were back at Hogwarts."
"Yeah."
"Say hello to Pomfrey for me, will you?"
"Course," Severus says.
"Found that floor yet?"
Severus colours slightly, and resumes picking through his pockets. "Sorry-"
"-just tell me the department," Wallace grins. "I've memorised them all anyway."
"Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."
"Been in some strife, have you? No surprise if what I've heard-"
"No," Severus interjects quickly. "Meeting a friend."
"In MAC?" Wallace frowns as the lift pulls into action. "Can't think who you might know in MAC, Severus. Penrose is a right duffer, and Boot-"
"Avery."
"Oh," Wallace says, his voice even. "I forgot you were-" - but the lift interrupts him by binging loudly, indicating that they've reached Severus' destination, and the doors clatter open.
"Good to see you, Wallace," Severus calls over his shoulder, as he strides down the corridor. "I'll remember you to Pomfrey!"
"Well," Avery says, eagerly. "What do you think?"
"I'm impressed," Severus replies, inspecting the ornaments on the mantelpiece, and then tapping the wooden fireplace. Solid oak. "They've given you your own Floo."
"I know."
"In and out?"
"Yes. And get this - out with no restrictions," Avery says, with a smirk, "but only authorised personnel in."
"Made the big time," Severus says. "Congratulations."
"I thank you," Avery grins. "Do take a seat, young sir."
Severus chuckles and takes the chair opposite Avery's desk. The desk is grand and clean and tidy, and when he remembers the state of Avery's flat, Severus can't help but wonder how long it will take until it - and this office - is in a similar state of disarray.
"I didn't think you'd get the time off work to come and see me," Avery says.
"Sluggy's usually in a good mood on a Friday," Severus explains, "and I think he's pleased to hear that one of his Slytherins is climbing the ranks in the Ministry. You know what he's like - he'll be writing to you and asking for favours next."
"I wouldn't mind for old Sluggy," Avery says, levitating a bottle of firewhisky and two tumblers towards his desk. "He was always pretty decent to me. Not like Flitwick - now he was three foot of pure monster. ...do you see him at all?"
"Not so much in the dungeons, no." Severus shakes his head as he sees the whisky bottle advancing towards them. "Ah, Ave, it's a bit early."
"Nonsense," Avery says, dismissively. "You're celebrating with me!"
He pours out a measure for both of them, and Severus accepts the proffered glass, sniffing the whisky before imbibing. Can't be too careful.
"Smells good, doesn't it?" Avery says, turning the bottle over in his hands and peering at the label. "Says here it's got overtones of marmalade and grass, hints of citrus and stewed apple, all met with a sherry finish," and he sniffs the contents of his own glass, "but I can't get any of that. Smells like vanilla to me."
"Yeah, well, they'll tell you anything," Severus says, sipping the alcohol. "I've had enough at Malf's to know that what's on the label doesn't always match with what's in the bottle." He sips again and then smiles. "Whatever's in it, it tastes marvellous though."
"Better than one of Malfoy's?"
"Well," Severus says, carefully, not wanting to be disloyal to his old friend, "I've had a lot at Malf's." He catches sight of Avery's fallen expression, and he quickly adds, "This is definitely up with the best though. You've got an eye for it, Ave. Good choice."
"I didn't choose it."
"No? A gift? Who from?"
"The Minister himself."
"From Fudge?" Severus arches an eyebrow and leans back, looking impressed. "Well done, Ave." He rests the glass on his knee. "Anyone else been down to see you?"
"Reggie wrote to me," Ave says, clicking his fingers and summoning an envelope. He passes it to Severus. "Read it, if you want."
Severus does, and it's boring - a staid and dull congratulatory notice from an even duller friend. "...rather reserved, isn't he?"
Avery snorts. "Yeah. But at least he bothered."
"Nothing from Mulc?"
"Nor Ros. Pair of arseholes." He grimaces, and sips his whisky. "Jealous, I think."
"Definitely," Severus agrees - and although he's sure that they both know the idea of Mulciber or Rosier being jealous of Avery's new poky office in the Magical Accidents and Catastrophes department is nonsense, Avery looks cheered.
"Thanks Sev. I knew you'd be pleased for me."
"Ave," Severus starts, looking a little concerned, "about Mulc and Ros…"
Avery bristles. "What about them?"
"They haven't pushed you out because of me, have they?"
"No."
Severus places his glass back on the table, and leans forward. "I'm serious, Ave. I don't want to come between you and your other friends. I can step back if it's a problem-"
"No!" Avery sounds alarmed. "No, Sev, it's not you. You've been great! It's them. They've always been like this," he grumbles. "Too busy clapping each other on the back, and when it's my turn for something…" He straightens. "Truth be told, I'm glad to have you." He seems as if he's going to say something else, but it's as if he changes his mind, choosing to raise his glass in the air instead. "Forget them. Here's to us."
"To us? I didn't do anything," Severus laughs. He raises his own glass. "To you, Ave," he says, emphatically, "and your continued success."
Severus quietly reads the Daily Prophet as Avery busies himself behind his desk - there's a few pieces of parchment to sign, and the occasional letter which comes whizzing through the air for him to read through and file - but as he watches Avery opening and shutting the same desk drawers for the fifth time, yet neither putting anything in or taking anything out, Severus has the overwhelming feeling that Avery's new grand job is little more than a title.
"Prefer this to being out on the streets?"
Avery looks up. "What? Being behind a desk?"
"Yeah."
"...it's warmer," he says, with a soft laugh. He bounces on the chair. "And comfier."
"Thought you were someone who liked to get his hands dirty, that's all."
Avery leans forward keenly, lowering his voice. "Funny you should say that." He glances over his shoulder. "It was felt that this would...complement my other role."
Severus frowns. "I'm not following."
"You know."
"...no, Ave," Severus says, softly. "I don't. That's why I'm asking."
"I thought you knew?"
This is going to be another long afternoon, Severus thinks, with a sudden pang of sympathy for Mulciber and Rosier.
"Knew what, Ave?"
"I'm a," and Avery lowers his voice to little more than a whisper, "Striker."
"You're a Striker?" Severus exclaims.
"Shhhh!" Avery looks alarmed, glancing at the door fearfully. "Keep your voice down, Sev!"
"Sorry," Severus whispers.
"Not everyone here is aligned to our way of thinking, remember?" He gives a quick grin. "...yet."
"You surprised me, that's all."
"Yeah?" Avery's voice has a defensive tone to it. "Thought you believed in me."
"I do."
"You sound like the rest of them," he says, angrily, fishing in his pocket, and pulling out a badge, slamming it on the desk in front of Severus. "See."
Severus picks the silver badge up, and turns it over in his hands, marvelling at how the snake is poised to attack. "Impressive."
"Yeah. Flash that, and you can get in anywhere."
"Get you," Severus smirks. "Avery the mini-auror."
"Reckon Strikers are better," he says.
"Not as many rules?"
"Something like that. It's the exact opposite of this sort of work," he says, taking the badge back, and indicating to his office.
"I get it now," Severus says, "why they've moved you off incident reversals."
Avery smiles. "Looking after their Striker volunteers, that's all. I can't go round clearing up after Muggles during the day, and hit the streets at night."
"Good job that chair's comfy," Severus says, with a grin.
"Yeah, I should get a kip or two in," Avery laughs. He pauses, as if he's thinking something through, and then he lowers his voice again. "You should try and get in on it."
"Become a…"
"Yeah. One of us."
He shakes his head. "I've got my apprenticeship, remember?"
"They'd work something out. You could ask Sluggy to let you start later or reduced hours or," and Avery looks pleased, "what about weekends? You don't do any apprenticeship work at weekends, do you?"
No, but I spend every second I can with my fiancée.
"I appreciate you trying, Ave, but they wouldn't have me. Too well known with the do gooders. What use would I be roaming around Hogsmeade with Potter or Black tailing me?"
Avery gives a soft laugh. "By all accounts, you really upset them when you ditched your Mudblood, you know."
"I know."
"Anyway, it doesn't have to be there. There's more places than Hogsmeade and the Magic Alleys."
"Yeah?"
"They could put you on Muggle stuff with me."
"Muggle stuff?" Severus raises an eyebrow. "Like what?"
"Come with me on Saturday," Avery says, with a grin, "and I'll show you."
"The meat's lovely and tender," David says, pausing in the middle of his evening meal. "Thank you, Rose."
"Thanks Mummy," Lily dutifully echoes. She knocks her knee pointedly against Severus' under the table when he remains silent.
"Hmm?" He looks blankly at Lily, and she pointedly stares at her plate and then her mother. "Oh. Oh! Yes, it's nice. Thank you."
"You're welcome," Rose says, casting a glance at David that Lily can't quite work out the meaning of. "I thought we could get a few more things for the little one tomorrow," Rose adds.
Lily shoots a stricken look towards Severus. "I'm not sure we've got enough money at the moment."
"I've got your jar still. From when you were working with Dung," Severus says, slowly. "But I need chance to get it converted at Gringotts. I've changed some, but I can't do too much at once - it'll set a flag off if I have a sudden need for Muggle money."
"We were saving that," she says. "I thought we could use that to get a place for the three of us."
He shifts awkwardly in his seat. "I was thinking… I might ask Malf to help us."
"You can't run to Lucius every time we get into trouble."
His shoulders tighten, and he lowers his voice. "What else do you want me to do? I can't ask Jigger for a raise, can I? This move to Hogwarts has been an all-inclusive deal. Room and board all in. He'll want to know what I've been spending it on."
"And what will you tell him?" Lily hisses. "Your unborn child, or the endless evenings out?"
"That's not-" He looks at David and Rose who are fixedly looking at their plates, and then he reaches for Lily's hand, but she pulls away. "Lil, that isn't fair, and you know it."
"No? You've turned up here tonight stinking of firewhisky-"
"I've had one!"
"Kids," Rose interjects, gently, "we know money is tight. We're happy to help-"
"No," Severus says, gruffly. "This is my family."
Rose shoots David a quick glance, before trying again. "...it was difficult for us too, when we first got together."
"Let us help you," David says, firmly. "And if you want to pay me back in the future, Severus, then we can arrange that. A loan, with a proper payment schedule."
"We can go up into the city in the car tomorrow," Rose says. "It'll do the four of us good to get out of Cokeworth for a family trip. I've made a list of things that will see you through those first few months."
"And as we're out doing that all day," David adds, "I'll shout us to a takeaway on the way home. No washing up, so you girls can have a cup of tea and a chat, and I can see if the pool shark here can teach me a few tricks in the pub over a pint afterwards. What do you say, Severus?"
"...I can't."
"What do you mean, you can't?" Lily objects.
Severus winces. "I'm seeing Avery tomorrow night."
"I think we can all see where Severus' priorities are," Lily snaps.
"It's not about what I want!"
"You promised you'd be here at the weekends, and now all of a sudden, Avery is more important."
Severus looks annoyed. "You do realise that Crouch is-"
"I know," she says, quickly, her eyes widening - and it's as if she's imploring him not to carry on this topic in front of her parents.
He gives a slight jerk of his head. "And how do you think it would look if I suddenly dropped Avery? Bit suspicious, hey?"
She glances at her parents again. "What does Avery have to do with Crouch?"
This time, it's Severus who looks at David and Rose, and then David suddenly stands.
"I think we'll wash up," David announces, carrying his plate into the kitchen.
Rose follows suit, squeezing Lily on the shoulder as she passes. "There's dessert in the fridge if you want some later."
They sit in silence for several minutes, and then, to his horror, Severus notices a tear falling down her cheek. "Oh, Lil," he says, reaching for her hand more insistently this time, and feeling relieved when she accepts it. "I'd do anything to be here with you instead of with them, love. I thought you knew that. ...Avery got a new job, and I had to go and see him. Congratulate him. That's why I've had a drink - just one, in his new office at the Ministry."
"It's like we're living two different lives."
"I know, love."
"And it's only going to get worse when Bean's here, isn't it? We'll be here, and you'll be there, and-"
"No," Severus says. "You and Bean are both coming to Hogwarts with me. You'll be able to use Polyjuice then."
"...I don't think we'll be able to keep Bean hidden," she says, concern filling her voice. "Dumbledore will find out, and maybe Sluggy, and then-"
"I'll work something out," Severus says, solemnly. "Let me talk to Malf-"
"-don't tell him about Bean."
Severus runs his hands over his face. "But if I do-"
"Don't, Sev."
"-he might have a solution."
Lily reaches for him again, taking his hand and squeezing it. "He might, but look what he did to Crouch. He might stand by you, Sev, but he doesn't have that same loyalty to me. Look what he told the aurors!"
"He didn't know you then."
"He knew I was your girlfriend," she says, "and that wasn't enough to stop him."
Severus looks pained. "He wouldn't do it now. I think he regrets it."
"And what use is regret to us after he's told someone about our child?"
There's a pause whilst Severus considers this, and then he nods. "I promise I won't tell him."
They sit together in silence, and then Lily squeezes his hand again.
"So," she says, her tone jovial, but he can tell it's forced, "date night with Avery? Should I be jealous?"
He laughs, and stands, and pulls her into a tight embrace. "Absolutely not, love. Absolutely not."
They spend Saturday afternoon roaming around the grey and drizzly city centre, and he tries to not to yawn as yet another set of genderless baby clothes are held aloft. At one point, presumably as bored as Severus is, David drags him over to a toy shop, and after far longer than is strictly necessary testing out toy hammers and toy pots and pans, Severus finds himself carrying out a plastic shapes game.
"What else have you got?" Lily says, as she turns over the box and looks at the brightly coloured shapes. "Don't pretend, Sev," she laughs, "I can see the bag."
He hands it over, and she smiles when she sees the wooden train and track in the bottom. "I hope you're playing this with Bean," she says. "I never understood the attraction of pushing a train endlessly around a track."
"Not even if you can pretend it's the Hogwarts Express?"
Her expression softens. "But this is blue."
"Not for long," he whispers. "I reckon I can magic that up later." He points at a piece in the bag. "Think she'll make a good trolley lady?" he asks, kissing Lily's cheek before she rests her head against his shoulder, and both of them miss the relieved smiles her parents share behind them.
He carries the bags of clothes and toys and more practical items upstairs to Petunia's old room, which is now more like a cross between a nursery and a storage unit than the twee teenage room full of posters of Muggle pop stars that he recalls from his youth, and then he heads back downstairs, and wolfs down his takeaway, finishing much earlier than the rest of the family. He makes his reluctant excuses, apologising for rising from the table before anyone else has finished, and feeling more than a little awkward at having rebuffed his father-in-law-to-be's hand of friendship that evening.
"I'm sorry about the pint," he says. "I would've liked to play."
"It's fine, Severus."
"Are you coming back?" Lily asks.
"I don't know when Avery'll finish up. Might be late."
"Come anyway."
He kisses her cheek. "Only if you promise not to wait up."
She glances at her parents. "I'll leave the window open."
"No," David says, sternly. He gets up from his half-eaten meal, and takes his house key off his keychain. "Take this, and don't lose it." He sits back down and shakes his head. "Climbing up drainpipes," he tuts, "you'll have the neighbours calling in a burglary."
At this, Severus' eyes widen slightly. "Yeah, don't want that." He pockets the key. "Thanks, I'll keep it safe," he says, and then kisses Lily's cheek again. "See you later, love."
It's almost jarring to be thrown from the very Muggle afternoon he's enjoyed into the collection of wizards gathered on the walls of York. They're all dressed as Muggles, but their wands are visible, and the conversations are all wizarding in nature.
He stands with them for several minutes, the other wizards talking and laughing around him, but nobody speaks to him. With nothing better to do, his attention is drawn to a plaque, and within moments, he's engrossed in the tale of Roman conquest - until Avery grabs him by the scruff of the neck and yanks him up.
"Stop that," Avery hisses.
"I was just reading!"
"Yeah, reading Muggle shit."
Severus shrugs. "Might come in useful."
"Might come in useful!" he hears another wizard scoff.
Avery scowls and drags Severus further away from the group. "Look, Sev, I know you're into learning anything and everything, but not everyone here is like that."
"No?"
"Just follow me," he says, and the pair of them rejoin the group.
They stroll through the streets for hours, and it's unclear to Severus what the aim of the group is. There's seven of them, and they all pass for reasonable Muggles - jeans and shirts, polished shoes, hair gel and aftershave - to anyone looking twice, they're just a group of men out on a Saturday night.
They venture into a bar or two, and that's when Severus notices the wizards messing with the patrons - a drink is Accio'd down the bar when its owner visits the toilet, the fruit machine refuses to pay out when the jackpot is won, and the jukebox is forced onto repeat. Little things.
And that's when Severus realises that they've been following the same group all evening - there's a Muggle with cropped dark hair, and another with a moustache, and one with a tucked in shirt, and as the men are subtly foiled - a trip here, a nudge in the arm whilst carrying drinks from the bar there, a packet of nuts that explodes open instead of tearing neatly - their rage grows.
He thinks, when they finally step out into the street, that there's going to be a fight. He can feel it in the air; their fury is palpable, and it's only a matter of minutes before one of the Muggles turns to them and picks an argument - taking a dislike to their attire, or their accent - but to his surprise, Avery jogs over to them first, and somehow, there's a brick in his hand.
Where did he get a brick from?
"Fucking rip off," Avery says, "them in there," and he points to the pub they've just left. "I saw what happened with the jukebox."
"Yeah?" says the Muggle with the moustache.
"They were messing with you all night."
One of the other wizards jogs to catch Avery up. "Can't have that, lads."
"We could fuck them up," Avery offers.
"Yeah, we could." The other wizard points at the rest - Severus included. "There's enough of us."
The Muggles look at each other, and cautiously nod, and the group makes its way back towards the bar. Before any of them can step forward, Avery launches the brick towards the window - and there's a scream, and a shout, and then the men charge at the building.
It's not a quick fight. It's vicious, and loud - glasses shatter, and punches are thrown, and Severus is glad that he's fought with his fists before. He dodges and dives around the action at first, but when a fist connects with his ear from behind, the rage builds inside him, and he picks up a pool cue and smashes it, before swinging it wildly towards the presumed perpetrator.
Inevitably, the police are called, but this time he's prepared and both he and Avery grab their wands with bloodied hands. Just as he's about to Disapparate, Avery pulls him into a firm embrace, and he's dragged into Avery's swirl of Disapparation instead of creating one of his own.
"What," Severus pants, squatting down on his heels and pressing his palms to his bleeding head, "the fuck was that all about?"
"Stay there," Avery says, holding his wand out and pointing it straight at the laceration on Severus' forehead. "Move your hands."
"I'll sort it, Ave."
"No," he barks, swatting Severus' hands away. "I've got it." And then he casts, and Severus can feel the broken skin knitting together in a sudden, sharp pull.
"Fuck!"
"Hurts, doesn't it?"
Severus swipes his hand across his head, checking to see if it's stopped bleeding. "How often have you used that spell?"
"Few times," Avery says, rolling up his sleeves, and showing Severus a handful of scars. "Muggle had a knife that night." He pauses. "That's why I was asking you. For your spell."
Severus stands, a little shakily, and leans against Avery's hallway wall, his legs still weak - whether from the blood loss or from the surge of adrenaline, he's not quite sure.
"Sit down," Avery says, pointing at the front room. "I'll get us a drink."
Severus slumps on the sofa, casting at the wizarding wireless until it plays a tune he doesn't find completely offensive to his ears, and steadily works his way through Avery's stash of high alcohol Butterbeer.
"I should've told you more."
"Yeah," Severus says. "I didn't know we were going for a fight." He looks at Avery. "He hit me on the back of the head. That's not Queensberry."
"What's Queensberry?"
"Never mind," he says, opening another bottle. "What I don't get, Ave…"
"Yeah?"
"Is what that has to do with being a Striker?"
Avery smiles, and sits forward. "The ones you know," he says, "are like aurors."
"Yeah, sweeping the streets of the Alleys, stopping the sale of potions or street whores-"
"Unauthorised sales," Avery corrects.
"Yeah, same thing," Severus smirks. "It's a racket. If you pay enough money to the Ministry, the Ministry lets you do what you want."
"And here's to Madam Mary and her overflowing purse," Avery laughs, raising his bottle in the air.
Severus matches his salute, and then sips from his bottle. "Aurors could do that though, couldn't they? Keep the miscreants of Knockturn Alley in line?"
"Aurors are busy catching dark wizards." Avery laughs even more loudly. "Strikers get to enforce the laws a little more creatively," he says.
"I know Strikers beat people up-"
"-it's not about beating people up," Avery huffs. "It's a little correction, that's all. Saves time in the courts. Saves paperwork." He grins. "We're saving the Ministry money."
"Did Dung stop paying?"
Avery looks surprised. "Dung? Mundungus Fletcher?"
"Yeah. Used to see him a lot."
Avery raises an eyebrow. "Did you really, Sev?" He elbows him. "Got something you need to confess to me? In my professional capacity as a Striker, that is?"
Shit.
"When I used to pop down Madam Mary's," Severus says, quickly. "Before you and me were hanging out - but now that we go together, I haven't seen him. Not the last few weeks."
"Yeah," Avery nods. "He had that patch sewn up for a while."
"Bribed a Striker, you mean?"
"It's not just money. You've got to be in with the right people." Avery shrugs. "Looks like Fletcher fell out with someone in the big time. I'd have guessed Malfoy, but you'd know that if it was the case."
"Nah," Severus says, dismissively. "Don't see much of Malf these days."
"No?"
"Got better friends now."
At this, Avery smiles broadly. "Yeah, Sev. Yeah, you have." He gives Severus a sharp look. "Think Malfoy's gone a bit quiet with all this Crouch stuff. He seems to have gone underground."
Oh fuck.
Severus strives to keep his voice even when he speaks. "...Malf was involved in whatever happened with Crouch?"
Avery shakes his head. "Not in what happened. Least, I don't think so." He leans in conspiratorially. "Between us, Malfoy's been asked to stump up for the defence."
"Crouch's defence?" Severus sits forwards on the seat, his mouth agape. "I didn't think they even knew each other. Crouch was younger than us, and Malf was barely at Hogwarts when we were there."
Avery pauses, as if mulling something over. "It's not to do with knowing him. ...he's gone a bit tight, Malfoy," he says, quietly. "Let's just say it's got less to do with being a good friend, and more about being a good brother of the movement. Putting his money where his mouth is."
Severus takes another sip of his drink. "But if even Crouch's own father is against him, won't that cast a light of suspicion on Malf if he defends him? Won't that make the Prophet start looking at Malf as if he's a dark wizard?"
"He is a dark wizard."
"So are we," Severus hisses. "Fuck, Ave! First Crouch, then Malf, then who? You and me with our names in the Prophet?"
Avery laughs. "Don't worry about it, Sev. Fuck him, Malfoy's a dick anyway. Like you said, you've got me now and I've got friends in high places - I'll look after you."
"...thanks, Ave."
"And now you've seen what those Muggles are like, you're going to share that knife spell with me, aren't you?"
Do I have a choice?
"I just don't understand," Severus swerves, evading the question, "if Strikers are vigilante law enforcers, then what was tonight about?"
"Bit of unrest," Avery says.
"...bit of unrest?"
Avery shoots him a dark look. "This goes no further?"
"I promise."
"There's more coming. Big things. Bigger things. And what we need is a bunch of communities who have turned on each other."
"But that was just some drunken guys. That's not a community turning on itself - that's just a handful of idiots."
Avery shakes his head. "Come on, Sev, we're better organised than that. The Muggle with the shaved head? His father's the...I don't know, can't remember, some Muggle thing. Important."
"A businessman?"
"No, politics."
"Councillor? Mayor?" Severus pales. "Not the MP?"
"Yeah, that's it!"
Severus exhales loudly. "And now the MP will be dragged into a court case? Because his son's been arrested for inciting violence in a bar?"
"Inciting violence? He wishes." Avery takes a swig of his drink. "Nah, he'll go down for murder."
Someone died.
Severus knows his voice is strained when he speaks again. "It'll cause a riot."
"Probably."
"A court case, and the media…" Severus trails off. "It'll be ugly there for months."
"Our work is done!" Avery grins. "The Muggles will fight amongst themselves." He leans in to Severus. "And imagine this all over the country - fights, squabbles, neighbour against neighbour." And then Avery grins. "And then we graciously offer to step in and help them out."
"Help the Muggles out?"
"Yes," Avery nods. "Because it won't be like when the statute was broken before. This time they'll be oh so grateful to us, their new wizarding overlords." He raises his bottle in the air. "And I'm happy to drink to that!"
Avery offers him the sofa for what's left of the night, but he makes his excuses. When he lands in Cokeworth, he's shaking - he's not sure if it's the shock of the fight, or Avery's revelations, or the alcohol he's consumed, or the aftermath of his injury - but he's glad he doesn't have to scale the drainpipe.
He lets himself into the Evans house, and kicks his boots off at the door, moving silently through the house in his socked feet until he reaches Lily's bedroom.
"Hey," he whispers when he enters and sees her sitting upright in bed. "You shouldn't have waited up."
"I woke up because I needed the toilet," she says, "and I couldn't get back to sleep. I was worried about you. Where've you been?"
"It's not for you to worry about," he says, but when she pulls him to her and she sees the bloodstains on his shirt and the freshly healed gash on his forehead, she gasps.
"Sev, you're hurt."
"I'm ok. Don't fret, love," he whispers, holding her tightly in his arms. "I'll sort it."
"No," she says, firmly, pulling the covers around them both, "whatever this is, we'll sort it together."
Chapter 61: First choice
Chapter Text
He wakes, and stretches, and immediately groans when his body protests his movements - his ribs ache, and his head is pounding, and there's a swathe of ugly bruises developing over his knuckles. He's dreading easing himself out of bed and having to face Lily's parents, but just as he's mustering the courage, the bedroom door swings open, and Lily stands there with two mugs of tea.
"I thought I heard you grumbling," she teases, moving towards him and holding out his cup.
He reaches for it, and immediately wishes he hadn't - and at his dramatic wince, her face falls.
"Sev?"
"I'll be ok," he says. "Could do with some of those pain potions I've got back at Hogwarts."
"I've got paracetamol," she offers, and he huffs a soft laugh as she shakes the bottle, the pills inside rattling.
"Anything." He holds his hand out and she tips two tablets into his outstretched palm.
"And if you promise to stay here and rest instead of running back to Hogwarts," she says, "I'll see what I can whip up on the potions front."
He knocks the tablets back, and swigs his tea, and then lies his head back on the pillow. "What would I do without you, love?" he murmurs, his eyelids fluttering closed.
When he wakes, he heads for a shower, and then spends the afternoon sitting cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom, wand in hand, adapting each piece of the train and its accompanying track until it's beautifully painted. Finally, he picks up the most important piece of the set - the wooden engine - and he carefully casts a series of Transfiguration spells on it, slowly changing the paintwork from bright blue to regal red, with black and gold accents.
"What do you think?" he says, leaning back and holding it up for Lily to see.
"Looks accurate," she says, dismissively.
He twists around, grunting as a bolt of pain shoots through his neck, and he looks at her anxiously. "That good, hey?"
"I said it looks accurate, Sev."
"I know," he mutters, "but you said it in a tone that suggests Bean will hate it."
She stops what she's doing, and wipes her hands on a towel before casting at the cauldron to stop it from boiling over. She takes the toy train from him and holds it in the air, inspecting it from every angle. "It's perfect," she says, leaning down to kiss him. "Bean will love it."
"Good." He reaches up to kiss her more insistently, and she laughs against his lips.
"I knew this was what you were up to when you were fishing for compliments. Don't you start distracting me."
"Why not?" he murmurs. "I've finished painting now."
"But I'm still working," she says, "I've got a patient waiting for pain relief."
"Really? I've heard he wants a different type of relief," and he gives a sinful laugh.
"Get on the bed," she says, playfully, "and I'll see if the doctor has got time to give you a once over when she brings through your potions."
With that, his eyebrows raise, and although he grunts as his body protests, he heaves himself back up onto the bed and eagerly awaits the end of her brewing.
By teatime, he's feeling a little stronger - his ribs still ache, but her pain potions have worked wonders. Purple and yellow bruises marr his knuckles, but the only remedies she can find for those take several days to brew. She offers to cover them with foundation from her make-up bag, but he looks so angry throughout her attempt, she gives up, and he quickly washes his hands to rid his skin of the beige concealer.
She keeps her word, and strips him of his clothes, before checking each and every mark on his body. He thinks it's a game and permits her to inspect him thoroughly, but she's quietly relieved he made such a suggestion, as it's given her an excuse to check his body, and to ensure he can't hide anything from her.
Her gentle treatment is soothing, despite his aches, and in combination with the relaxing nature of the pain remedies, he finds himself falling asleep under her touch. When he awakens half an hour later, he mutters about a wasted opportunity, and his scowl is so deep, she can't help but take pity on him, resuming her slow and considered massage of his body. He's less patient this time around, squirming under her hands and trying to get her to fondle his cock - and when she skirts around his groin, teasing him, he reaches down and gently hooks her hair behind her ear.
She gives him a puzzled look at his intervention in her game.
"I want to see your face," he murmurs, by way of explanation, and then he threads his fingers through her hair, holding her thick locks firmly at the back of her head. "Suck me."
She can't help but giggle at his determination, despite his injured state, but then she does as he wishes, and it's not long until his deep scowl is replaced with a look of contentment.
When they finally venture downstairs, he hobbles from one step to the next, but there's a smile on his face as he eases himself carefully onto one of the dining chairs.
They eat in relative silence, and although Severus is much improved from the state he was in when he arrived in the middle of the night, his appearance - so changed from a mere 24 hours earlier - has evidently unnerved her parents. They share anxious glances, and Severus assumes that the only reason they haven't quizzed him over his injuries is because Lily has begged them not to.
Unusually, it takes him far longer to eat his meal than anyone else, and he's still struggling with his dessert when David breaks the silence.
"This Avery boy is trouble then?"
"Daddy," Lily weakly protests.
"It's all right, Lil," Severus interrupts. "It's not just Avery," he says. "They're all trouble. I'm not doing this out of choice."
Rose looks anxiously at David. "Severus, what has Professor Dumbledore got over you that means you're having to do...this."
Severus glances at Lily. "There's some trouble," he says, slowly, stirring his rice pudding. "David, you asked me a while ago if they didn't let Lily do the same things as me because of sexism."
"Sev, they don't-"
"I think they need to know, love."
"Know what?" David prompts.
"It's not sexism. It's not because she's a woman," Severus says, angrily. "It's blood. ...they don't let Lily do things because she has…"
"Us as parents," Rose finishes.
David looks as Severus quizzically. "It's not the same for you? With your father?"
"His mum is magic enough," Lily says, simply.
Rose sighs. "Oh Lily, why didn't you say anything?"
"We thought it was temporary," Lily says, quietly. "There were always problems - a few fights at school, but nothing we couldn't handle."
"But now it's worse," Severus adds. "Much worse. There's regulations and all sorts. She can't work. Can't do anything really."
David's voice shakes with barely suppressed rage. "That's why you left your Ministry job?"
"...yes."
He turns to Severus. "And that's why you were working at the pub as well as studying?"
Severus nods.
"And how does Professor Dumbledore fit into all of this?" Rose asks, a little more calmly than her husband.
Lily takes Severus' hand. "Eat your pudding, it's going cold," she says to him, stroking the back of his injured knuckles, before looking at her mother. "He offered me a chance of doing my apprenticeship for real - under my old potions teacher, Professor Slughorn."
"I remember him. He liked you, if your report was anything to go by."
"He did. He does."
David frowns. "But if you can't work-"
"There's a potion you can take, and it makes you look like someone else. So Severus let me pretend to be him, but-" and she pauses, roaming her hands over their baby.
Rose nods. "It's not safe to use the potion with the baby."
"And the price of Lily's apprenticeship was your willingness, Severus, to do…" David waves his hand.
"Yes," Severus says, through mouthfuls.
It's close enough to the truth.
"High price."
"Nothing's too high for Lily," Severus says, immediately - and although he doesn't say anything, David's lips quirk.
Right answer.
"And if you didn't go back and do these things?" David asks, staring Severus right in the eyes. "If you stayed here with Lils?"
He shakes his head. "I can't walk away that easily," he says. "Everyone thinks Lily has gone to ground - she sees the odd friend now and again - but to the law? She's gone. But I'm different. I've got a life - an apprenticeship, a Master who I'm contracted to, I've got friends-"
"Some friends," Rose murmurs.
Severus shoots her a small smile. "I've got some real friends as well as these idiots," he says, indicating to his bruising. "But I've got enemies too, and between them, they'll talk, they'll work it out - and they'll follow me here, and they'll find Lily, and then-"
"Sev, calm down," Lily says, stroking his hand.
"I'm just telling you how it is."
David nods. "The door is always open," he says, evenly, "and there's a home here for you and Lily, and your child."
"Thank you."
"...have you told your parents all of this, Severus?" Rose asks.
"Some," he says, noncommittally. "Mam doesn't like talking about this stuff." He scrapes his bowl clean. "Neither do I, really."
It hurts her to watch him walking up the path, his usual gait hampered by his injuries - but his final words to her reassure her somewhat, knowing that he's promised to visit Madam Pomfrey when he lands back at Hogwarts.
She's still surprised that he'd agreed to tell her parents what was going on - when she'd whispered it to him in the middle of the night, he'd bristled, and told her that they didn't need to involve them, but over the course of the day, he'd clearly re-evaluated.
He'd warned her before they went downstairs that they'd need to be economical with the truth - not to spare her parents' feelings, but because if the worst happened, and a witch or wizard stumbled across them, her parents would be open books for any Legilimens to read. She felt that they'd struck a fair balance - revealing enough for her parents to understand without being overly angry with the two of them for not coming to them with their problems sooner, and without putting them all in any unnecessary danger.
She wonders what made him change his mind, and she wonders if her mum will try and speak to Severus' parents if she sees them in town. She thinks about what he told her of Avery and his plan - of the hated Strikers, and of Crouch, and of Lucius being set up for a fall by the Dark Lord. She swallows hard at the thought of the solemn promise she made to him not to visit Narcissa. Just until I find out what's going on, love, he'd begged earnestly - and when he stared at her with those fresh cuts littering his face, she couldn't tell him no.
With all of these thoughts swirling in her mind, she can feel Bean stirring unhappily, and she runs her hands soothingly over her bump. "Don't worry, Bean," she murmurs. "Daddy'll be back soon."
She doesn't feel like sitting alone in her room with her problems any longer, so she has a shower, and changes into her nightie, and goes downstairs to sit with her parents in the living room - and although she does her utmost to concentrate on the television, she's distracted by the feel of her father's worried gaze on her.
Pomfrey fixes his wounds quickly, although not before she calls Dumbledore to the hospital wing, so Severus scowls through his treatment as Dumbledore paces up and down the empty hospital bay.
"I'll heal faster without an audience," he finally snaps, sick of seeing the older wizard looking at him with feigned concern - and although Dumbledore raises an eyebrow towards the witch, he acquiesces to Severus' demand, and asks Pomfrey to send Severus through to his study once she's finished.
"Really, Severus," Pomfrey scolds, ripping a piece of quick-heal plaster off his face without pausing, and he yelps in pain. "You deserved that," she mutters.
"Sadist," he grumbles, rubbing his face. "I've got a splitting headache, and he wants to lecture me."
"And he's well within his rights," she warns. "As a member of staff here-"
"Hardly!"
"You sit at the staff breakfast table, do you not?"
"Mmm," he grunts.
"Well then," she says. "And you cannot expect to sit in front of the students like this."
"Could've skipped breakfast tomorrow."
"Put your hands out," she says, and after appraising the bruises, she applies a cool gel across his skin.
He recoils at the smell. "Merlin, that stinks."
"Keep it on for at least three hours," she advises. "The bruises won't be visible tomorrow if you do."
"Three hours?" He mutters as he pulls his robes back around his shoulders. "I'm going to bed in a minute."
"You're going to the Headmaster's office."
"Oh well, three hours will be fine then," he quips, with a cheeky grin. "Good job I don't have anyone waiting for me back in my rooms. They'd run a mile at the smell of this." He sniffs the ointment on his hands cautiously, checking to see if it has improved any, and then recoils again, his face screwed into a grimace.
She gives him a tight smile. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me what happened, are you?"
"I wasn't planning on it."
"Severus…" She looks troubled. "You aren't still in opposition to those boys, are you?"
He shoots her a knowing look. "Are you asking if this attack was Potter and Black as it always was previously, or are you asking if I'm aligned against the Headmaster and his movement?"
She gives a short laugh. "You always were perceptive." She pauses. "I was...dismayed to hear of your break up. Lily was a nice girl, and you seemed well suited."
"Would I be here?" he asks, and before she can formulate an answer to his cryptic reply, he eases himself off the bed. "I'd best away to the Headmaster. Thank you for your assistance," he says, pulling on his boots. "First class service, just as I remember it."
He reaches the door before his interaction in the lift on Friday crosses his mind, and then he looks back over his shoulder. "Oh, before I forget-"
"Yes?"
"Devon Wallace sends his regards."
Her mouth opens slightly. "You saw Devon? You've already been to St. Mungo's? I thought those cuts looked as if they'd been treated and-"
"He didn't make it in," Severus interrupts, his voice solemn. "He's at the Ministry. But he seems quite philosophical about it. Is he a…" he trails off, not quite able to say it.
She shakes her head. "But he was an orphan."
"No papers?"
"None that are any use," she says, softly. "Good night, Severus."
"Good night, Madam Pomfrey," he says, shutting the door quietly as he departs.
His fingers drum anxiously on the arm of the chair as Dumbledore's quill moves across the parchment.
"Seven of you, did you say?"
"Yes, Headmaster," he says.
"Yourself, Mr Avery, and five other men you did not recognise?"
"Yes, Headmaster."
"I shall check with the aurors - see if there was a death reported."
"Sir," he says, panic rising in his chest, "it will be obvious if you enquire."
Dumbledore raises an eyebrow. "You do not trust that I shall be discreet, Severus?"
"It is not your discretion that concerns me, sir." He pauses. "Would the Muggle press not report it themselves, sir?"
There's a long moment, and then Dumbledore nods. "I will verify the information via sources other than the aurors if it puts your mind at ease, Severus."
"It would, sir, thank you."
Dumbledore hesitates, his quill poised. "And is there anything else you wish to talk through this evening?"
"...what should I do, sir?" He leans forward in his seat. "Avery, he wants me-"
"It is important that you remain close to Mr Avery."
"Even though-"
Dumbledore nods.
Severus sits back, and takes a deep breath. "Yes, sir."
"Anything else, Severus?"
"...sir, about Barty Crouch-"
Dumbledore immediately stands, and turns away from his desk. "I do not believe this is a topic of conversation-"
"But, sir, I-"
Dumbledore turns back. "Focus on Avery. If you can find out any information about Strikers - where they're next planning to meet, or attack," he waves his hand, "any information of that nature would be useful for the Order." He gives Severus a piercing look. "But Severus, do not put yourself in unnecessary danger - it is imperative that you remain trusted," and he pauses, and smiles, "and even more imperative that you return. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good," he says, walking towards the door to let Severus depart. "I shall inform Madam Pomfrey that you may be in need of her services over the coming weeks, and I will ensure that she does not ask any uncomfortable questions."
"Thank you, sir."
"You are to report to her immediately after returning to the castle. I do not wish for you to attempt to treat any injuries yourself, am I understood?"
"Perfectly, sir."
"Dismissed, Severus. Sleep well."
It's been a tough week - tougher than any of late, and it's hardly been emotionally smooth sailing since she came running back home. Her parents, Lily knows, think she's worried about Severus and his actions at the weekend, but in reality, it's the ban from seeing Narcissa that's truly frustrated her. She knows it's temporary, and she knows - from what Severus has told her about Crouch and Lucius - that it's the sensible thing to do, but as she brews yet another potion to combat her swollen ankles, she can't help but yearn for the easy conversation that Narcissa provided.
She's lucky, she realises, that she's had Narcissa's assistance throughout her pregnancy. The older witch remains entirely unaware of Bean's existence - but Lily has played her part as the doting and curious friend well, and Narcissa has seemingly rejoiced in having someone younger to share her knowledge with - and her sheer delight at carrying her own child. Lily wonders if it's a reaction to Narcissa being the youngest sibling - Lily herself always enjoyed teaching others, and now, having seen Narcissa in action, she ponders whether it's a universal condition.
With Severus being an only child, she can't ask him - although Severus' childhood was so unlike either hers or Narcissa's, she thinks his viewpoint would be skewed irrespective - and the more she learns about Abraxas Malfoy, the more Lily realises that Lucius' upbringing was far from normal as well.
She downs her morning fortifying potion, as well as one to combat morning sickness. She doubts now, all these weeks in, if she needs it - but her memories of being queasy for days on end at the start of her pregnancy are firm in her mind, and she prefers to be safe rather than sitting miserably in the bathroom without her partner to hold her hand and comb back her hair.
She dresses quickly, and smoothes her hand over her bump - Bean's really starting to show now, and if she presses gently on her skin, sometimes she can feel Bean. She wonders if it's a hand or a foot or an elbow or a knee - and she daren't ask the strict looking midwife when she goes to the hospital; she's never dared, not since the old harridan peered at her name and sniffed during that first appointment - even though Lily has since taken Severus' advice and waved her wand over her medical records, and Mrs Lily Snape is the name which is now called down the hallway when it's her turn for her appointment. The midwife is friendlier now, of course, but Lily's never quite looked at her in the same way.
When Lily goes downstairs, she sees two envelopes on the table - both with just her name on the front. She flips them over, and the one on the right has a wax seal - someone from the magical world - and her heart skips over as she tears it open. A single card falls out, and in neat, careful handwriting in the centre, it reads:
To Ms Lily Evans,
You are cordially invited to 'date night' with Mr Severus Snape. The dress code is black tie. You need not bring anything other than yourself. Please be ready on Saturday evening at 6pm where you will be collected from your door.
From the quill of,
Mr Severus Snape
She puts her hand to her mouth as she laughs in delight, and then she flips over the card - where there's a scrawl of Severus' usual handwriting; spidery and cramped, and an ink blot to the side:
Date night with you would always be my first choice.
Love you so much, Lil.
Sev x
She presses it against her chest, holding his words to her heart, and she cries. She wants to blame pregnancy hormones, or stress - but it's not. Seeing him writing his thoughts in plain English makes her miss him all the more, and she knows what it's taken for him to go to such effort - and she can even imagine the gleeful smile on his face as his quill darted across the card, scribing his message of love.
"Everything ok?" Rose asks, gently, walking in behind her. She places her arm around Lily's shoulders, and she's relieved when Lily smiles up at her.
"Happy tears," she says, showing her Severus' card, and Rose smiles.
"I'll know not to cook for you on Saturday," she says, squeezing Lily's arm. "The other one's from your dad," she says.
"Oh?" Lily reaches for it, and slides the envelope open, pulling out the letter. She scans it, and then looks at her mum, her eyes wide. "A job? For me? But I'm pregnant, and-"
"And radiant," her mother says. "Brian's an old friend of your father's. He's already explained that you can't work for a while-"
"And how has Daddy explained that?"
"...a pre-existing commitment."
Lily runs her hand over her bump. "Bean is not exactly a pre-existing commitment."
Rose smiles gently. "No?"
"I don't know," she says, reading over the letter again. "I don't know what Severus will think."
"Your father wants you to have a safety net. In case this continues for longer than you think. In case you can't go back."
"I can't keep living without Sev," she says. "I need him. Bean will need him."
"Then this is a good idea. It'll give Severus some breathing room," Rose says, placatingly, "so he's not constantly distracted by being worried about money when he's doing…" There's a pause. "This will make you self sufficient."
"Self sufficient?" Lily's voice trembles as she looks at her mother. "This isn't about helping Sev, is it?"
"Lily-"
Her voice is calm, but inside, she's screaming. "You're preparing me for a life without him, aren't you?"
Chapter 62: Mudblood babies
Notes:
There's some quite graphic rape fantasies spoken by one of the characters in this chapter.
Chapter Text
They sit together on a bench opposite the town hall, Severus' eyes trained on the grand entrance, whilst Avery keeps watch of every person who passes by.
"Sev?"
"What?"
"Glad you could get the evening free," Avery says, flashing him a smile. "Would've been boring doing this myself."
It's boring doing this with you, Severus thinks.
"Yeah." Severus glances at the town hall clock. "What time do you think he'll come out?"
"He won't leave until after 8," Avery says.
What the fuck are we doing here at 6 then?
"Oh?"
Avery grins. "But I like to be early," he says. "Get a feel for the place. And you never know, if something unusual does happen, then we're prepared." He leans in. "And trust me, the Dark Lord would prefer that we wasted two hours sat outside in case something happens, rather than us turn up on time but miss something out of the ordinary."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Avery nods solemnly. "That's how I got this position."
Severus gives him a curious look. "Oh?"
Avery lowers his voice. "You know Davison?"
"Tall bloke with that scar on his neck?"
"That's him." Avery leans in even more closely. "He just used to turn up at the last minute. No preparation. No checking the target first. It's no way to run things." He sits back. "That's how we did those Muggles in York."
"Yeah?"
"Followed that Muggle target for three weeks," Avery says. "Knew where he'd go. Knew what he'd do." He lowers his voice again. "He'd had an argument in that pub the week before. Almost got barred." He smiles. "That's when I knew we'd got him."
"Because he was already upset with them?"
"Yeah," Avery says, happily. "Knew if we messed with his head in there, he'd think they were winding him up, and he'd be ready to snap." He gives a chuckle. "Preparation, Sev."
Fuck me, Severus thinks. Ave is actually pretty good at this stuff.
"People have always underestimated you, Ave," he says, with a smile.
"All thanks to you, Sev."
What?
"Me?"
"Yeah," Avery flashes him a grateful grin. "I used to watch you at school. Always preparing the next essay, weren't you? Everyone else barely scraped by with their homework for that week, but you were always reading ahead - not just the week after, but months ahead, years even! Clever." He taps his forehead. "I didn't get it back then - I was always too busy hanging around with Mulc, but since he…" He looks awkward. "Well, Mulc's got a few different talents to me. Got himself noticed by the Dark Lord, didn't he?"
Severus nods, alarmed at how bitter Avery sounds. "I guess he has. I only know what you've told me."
"Well, I didn't want to be a nobody forever, Sev. I didn't want to be waiting around for Mulc to throw me a bone, so I thought about what you would've done. And I started doing the same. Sort of."
"...that's...really something," Severus says, not quite sure what to say.
"Yeah," Avery grins, mistaking Severus' silence for admiration. "All thanks to you, Sev. This is all thanks to you."
He hasn't got a good excuse lined up for when Avery asks him for a drink afterwards, so he finds himself in a Muggle bar on the outskirts of the city.
"I haven't got any Muggle money," he mutters, but Avery pulls his wallet out.
"On me, Sev," he says, peering along the pumps. "Dunno what any of this Muggle stuff means. What's golden ale?"
"Get a pint of the cheapest lager," Severus says, looking around the room for a seat. "Get me one as well, and I'll grab that booth in the corner."
He does, and Avery does, and as Avery's got more money than sense, and Severus doesn't have a plausible excuse to leave, they sink pint after pint - until the pair of them have relaxed a little, and are talking a little more openly than they ordinarily would amongst Muggles.
"Hey, Sev?"
"What?"
"Is it nice?"
"Is what nice?"
"The stuff you did."
"What stuff?"
"You know…"
Severus makes a show of putting his pint down dramatically and steepling his fingers before his face. "Ave, are you being deliberately obtuse, or has someone slipped a babbling beverage into your drink when I've not been looking?"
Avery bristles. "...you know what I mean."
"I do not," Severus enunciates clearly.
"All right, no need to get grumpy with me," Avery says, sulkily. "I just wondered, that's all."
Severus pinches the bridge of his nose. "I understand that part. What were you wondering about?"
"Whether it was nice?"
"For the last time, Ave-"
"-what you and that Mudblood used to get up to?" he suddenly blurts out.
Severus snorts. "What? Sticking your dick in some bird? Course it's nice! Tell you what, Ave, you want to get your money back from Madam Mary if her whores aren't letting you do that much. You're meant to be taking them for a ride-"
"-yeah, yeah, shut up!"
"-not them taking you for one." Severus grins broadly at Avery's irritated expression. "Nah, come on, tell me - what are you doing behind those doors if you're not getting your dick wet? Catching up on the Daily Prophet? Writing poetry? Reading a book?"
That's what I do.
"You're a git, Sev," Avery says, a blush appearing on his cheeks. "Course I shag them!" His eyes narrow. "I fuck them good. Really hard. Fuck them into the middle of next week."
"Too much information, Ave," Severus drawls, taking a sip of his pint.
"You asked."
"I most certainly did not."
"Yeah, well, you insinuated! It's kind of the same!" There's a long silence, each of them taking long draws from their drinks, and when he speaks again, Avery's voice is timid. "Look, what I mean is… ...being wanted by someone."
Severus takes a deep breath, momentarily stunned by Avery's admission, and not quite sure how to react to his heartfelt words.
Avery instantly looks up at the ceiling, misinterpreting his friend's reaction. "I know, I know - I know you were just stringing her along and all that, but…"
"But what?"
"Well, you still got all the stuff that comes with having a girlfriend, didn't you?"
"I've told you, Ave, it's just like having a fuck down Knockturn, only she tells you to pick your socks up off the floor afterwards and expects that you'll make her a cup of tea in the morning."
"I didn't mean that."
"What then?"
"Like, I don't know, sleeping next to her, and her kissing you because she wants to, and getting you a birthday card-"
Getting me a birthday card?
Severus is surprised at the vulnerability in Avery's expression, which is totally at odds with his earlier crude commentary of his supposed sexual prowess. "...yeah," Severus finally answers, deciding that for once, honesty is the best policy. "Yeah. I'm not going to lie to you, Ave, it feels pretty good when someone wants you."
There's another long silence.
"...Sev?"
"What?"
"Being with a girlfriend...is it really like having a fuck down Knockturn?"
"She was just a witch," he mutters, not wanting the topic to linger on Lily for longer than it has to. "One witch is no different to another."
"I know it costs a bit, but at least down at Discreet they know what they're doing." At Severus' blank look, Avery lowers his voice to a whisper. "Don't worry, I know it wasn't all that."
"Know what wasn't all that?"
"I heard. On the grapevine."
"Heard what on the grapevine?"
"You said she was no good. At...you know. Even though you had her doing it a lot."
Did I?
Severus strives to keep his expression neutral. "No good?"
"When you ditched her, remember? Said that Gryffindor loser who tried to stick up for her could have her, but-"
"-he'd still be visiting his favourite whores," Severus finishes, suddenly remembering his outburst in Diagon Alley during their faked break-up.
"Was that right, then? Girlfriends aren't as good?" Avery asks, keenly. "And they don't get any better, even if you make them do it all the time?"
"Stick with Knockturn, Ave. It's a lot less hassle," he says, fighting to keep the smile from his face. "I'll tell you what, if it means that much to you, I'll even send you a bloody birthday card." He claps his hand over Avery's on the table. "I draw the line at sleeping next to you though."
"Yeah, right - in your dreams!" Avery laughs, but he mirrors Severus' action and slaps his free hand against Severus', in an unspoken acknowledgement of their friendship.
After a moment, suddenly uncomfortable, they pull their hands away, and Avery stands, collecting their two empty glasses. "Are we having another pint, or what?"
"You ever wanted to knock some chick up?"
"...no."
"Never? Not even when you're banging away, and she's screaming your name, and you could do it, right then? Fuck her right up."
"What, and land myself with some kid?"
"You wouldn't be bothered by the kid," Avery's face is greedy, "but you could ruin her life, couldn't you?"
"I guess you could," Severus says, sounding unconvinced. "I've never thought about it before."
Avery gives a slight shake of his head. "I don't believe you. You've never thought about it? Never?"
"No."
"Not even when you cast the barrier charm before you put it in? That's when it hits me," Avery says, darkly. "Makes me remember that I'm the one in control."
"...I don't use the barrier charm." Severus indicates at himself. "Potions apprentice, remember, Ave?"
"Oh yeah." There's a pause. "Does that work then, the potion?"
Severus straightens. "Of course it works. What are you suggesting?"
"Touchy," Avery laughs. "I didn't mean your brewing. I meant with her being non-magical."
"She's not non-magical!" The retort is out of his mouth before he can think it through.
Avery raises an eyebrow. "Well, she's not like us, is she? Not proper magic." He nods. "It was pretty clever of her, really. Almost more Slytherin than Gryffindor."
I almost don't want to know, he thinks.
"What was?"
"Guess you don't have to be magical to be quick witted."
Severus stuffs his hand in his pocket, his fist clenched, trying desperately not to show Avery that he's provoking him.
You're both too drunk for this argument.
"What was quick witted of her?"
"Shagging you when school got too difficult for her." Avery flashes him a knowing smile. "She could've had Potter, but he might've ditched her once he realised that she wanted to use him, but you…" He holds his hands up. "It's no disrespect to you, Sev, but she knew you weren't going to get another girl to bang even when you realised she was using you." He nods in solidarity. "I don't judge you for it, Sev. I'd have done the same." He pauses, and suddenly looks regretful. "Wish I'd studied a bit harder in school if I knew the girls were thinking of doing that."
"I didn't help her. She was talented enough without me."
Avery laughs. "Yeah, right, what was it that attracted her to you then? Your devastating good looks? Your charming personality?" He laughs even harder as Severus' back stiffens. "Come on, Sev, this is me! You don't have to pretend. I understand!"
You don't.
"We're the same, Sev!"
We're not.
"You shouldn't rely on the barrier spell," Severus says, changing the subject before he says something he'll regret. "It's weak. It can be cast incorrectly, or it can be reversed during-"
"-I know. That's the point."
Severus' eyebrows raise at Avery's smug interruption. "...you deliberately reverse it? You whip out your wand mid-shag?"
"Yeah," Avery chuckles. "I like doing it. Holding that power over them. All their dreams gone." He clicks his fingers. "Their whole future ruined in an instant."
Severus gives him a curious look. "You like doing it? ...who'd shag you again after you pull that stunt the first time?"
"...well, I haven't actually gone through with it," Avery says, looking mildly ashamed at Severus' criticism, "but right at that moment when I'm threatening to do it, they don't know that I'm not going to, do they? And then," he says, his eyes now sparkling, "I've got all the power." He flexes his hips. "In. Having a baby. Out. Not having a baby. In. Having a bab-"
"-yeah, I get it," Severus interrupts, holding his hand up.
Fucking hell.
"No wonder you never get a second date, Ave."
"If only," he mutters.
Severus pauses, taking in his comment. "Wait, you mean…" He turns to look at his friend, the realisation dawning upon him. "You don't mean a date, do you? You pull that sort of stunt at Discreet Knights?" He laughs out loud. "That's why Iona blanks you when we go in, isn't it?"
Avery shrugs. "She's not said that's why..."
"Fuck me, Ave, you do realise that they're on about four different types of contraception, don't you? They're not relying on your shittily cast barrier charm!" Severus laughs even louder, ignoring Avery's injured look. "Bloody hell, just tell Madam Mary you're into that shit when you make an appointment. They'll cater for almost any kink as long as you don't drop it on them mid-stroke."
"Really?" Avery looks dubious. "Any kink?"
Yeah, like, staying in all of your clothes and reading a book whilst your mate gets his rocks off next door.
"Probably. Just ask."
"With any of the girls? Even Iona?"
"Well, maybe not Iona. Not if you threatened her with a barrier charm removal when you were about to blow. Fuck's sake, Ave, you're lucky Madam Mary didn't ban you."
"I thought that was pretty standard behaviour."
"Believe me, it's not."
There's a long silence whilst Avery mulls this over, and then he stares Severus in the face, forcing his friend to make eye contact. "You're not into power games then, Sev?"
Yes.
"No."
"Really? You don't get off on forcing a girl do whatever you want?"
"No."
It's not about forcing her. It's about her wanting to do it to please me.
"Bloody hell, Ave," Severus continues, "can you imagine what Madam Mary would've said if you'd knocked one of her girls up? You'd put her out of action for months."
"Nah," Avery laughs. "She wouldn't have been out of action. That's got to be a kink, hasn't it? Pregnancy sex?"
Hell yes.
"Not for me," Severus says, dismissively, "and I don't think many others would be into it."
"No?" Avery makes a crude gesture at his chest. "There'd be way more of a handful. Imagine the jiggle!"
"It's a sign of damaged goods. Too close to another man's seconds for my liking."
"Right. Yeah. Didn't think of it like that." Avery looks thoughtful. "Although that's quite hot, isn't it?"
"Not really."
"Yeah! Banging some guy's wife." He smirks. "I would. I'd love that. And you would, I bet."
"It's not my thing."
"It should be. It's super hot," Avery argues. "You're telling me you've never done that with Malfoy's wife?"
"No."
"Really?" He leans in, his voice low. "I've heard she's a bit of a go-er. She'll do anyone apparently." He catches Severus' eye. "I heard she was well into you."
How the fuck does Ave know?
"...she's attractive," Severus admits, reluctantly, feeling backed into a corner, "but I've heard Malf likes to watch. I'm not into that."
"Not just watch by all accounts," Avery mutters. "Likes to get involved."
Severus straightens. "And I'm definitely not into that."
"She's gorgeous," Avery says, "but I don't blame you. That's enough to put me off, that is. And Malfoy's always had a bit of a thing for you, hasn't he?"
Yes.
"No. That was just-"
"-it's all right, don't worry! I understand you're not that way. I'm with you," Avery nods. "Always been a bit 'backs to the wall' around Malfoy, if you know what I mean? It wouldn't be like that if we did it."
What?
Severus' eyes widen. "...if we did what?"
Avery laughs loudly. "Don't look like that, Sev! I just mean, if we banged a chick together."
"Look, I'm not really into-"
"We could though! At Madam Mary's. They've got to cater for that, haven't they?"
"Don't take this the wrong way, and you're a good mate, but I don't want to have a threesome with you, Ave."
"-I wouldn't do anything weird! I wouldn't even touch you!" He looks keen. "But imagine that, Sev, imagine what we could make a witch do if there were two of us to overpower her." His smile is dark. "And Iona likes you. I reckon she'd do it if you were there."
"Iona doesn't like me. I'm just another paying customer."
"She does! She always tries to get you to choose her."
No, Iona always tries to get me because she knows she's going to get paid to sit around and paint her nails whilst I read a magazine. And I often choose her because I know she isn't going to tell anyone the truth.
"If you want to shag Iona again, you don't need me." Severus shrugs. "She's a whore, Ave. And if you actually bloody told her what your kink was, she'd probably accomodate you. Just chuck more galleons at her until she says yes."
That's how I bought her silence.
Avery shakes his head. "It's not the same if I've agreed it in advance. It's not power, is it?" He looks disappointed. "Well, if that's off the cards, I might get some Mudblood bird and do it with her. Just to see her face. And with her being non-magical, she wouldn't be able to fight back, would she? Couldn't disarm me! Might actually knock her up. Get her preggo."
Non-magical!
"...and what do you think the Dark Lord might say about that, Ave, hmm?"
"Reckon he wouldn't mind," Avery says, thoughtfully. "We could breed them out."
Severus gives him a confused look. "Breed...them...out?"
"Yeah, yeah! Like that experiment Sluggy had us do in second year, do you remember? The water purification?"
He nods. Of course he remembers. "So we're the sand in this analogy, are we?"
"Yeah, and they're dirty Mudbloods. We fuck them and give them our seed, and boom, out comes a purer kid."
"...you are fucked in the head, Ave."
He shrugs. "What's the alternative? Let them be knocked up by Muggles and then they can have more Mudblood babies?"
"Wouldn't a Muggle and a Mudblood have a Half?"
"Nah," chuckles Avery. "With four Muggle grandparents? That kid's got no chance." He finishes his pint. "One more for the road, eh?"
Avery's words are still ringing in his ears as the week draws to a close. He'd had a horrible hangover the morning after their evening out, and he'd had to raid his stores for the potion that he'd been brewing for Rabastan.
I need to brew more of this, he thinks, as he seeks it out once more - but as he's not heard from Rabastan, and Fletcher's gone underground, he's not going to start actively looking for trouble.
He knocks the last of the potion back, and he's pleased at just how effective it is - it allows him to brew with Sluggy without arousing his suspicions, although he still has to force himself to be enthused with Sluggy's overeager demonstrations.
Remember you're Lily-as-Severus, he has to keep reminding himself.
As irritating as Slughorns' ever-cheery enthusiasm was, being with his own thoughts was worse, and Severus' mood sours the longer that he brews throughout the day.
That kid's got no chance. An orphan. That kid's got no chance. No papers to speak of. That kid's got no chance. Eager little Devon Wallace is stuck as a lift attendant. That kid's got no chance. No papers. No chance. No papers. No chance.
He watches the clock keenly until it strikes five, and then he grabs his outer cloak, and he departs from the dungeons.
"Severus," Lucius says with a relieved smile, pulling him into an embrace, and ushering him into his study. "Dismissed, Dobby. Bloody elves," he mutters, casting against the door to stop anyone from entering.
"Someone else here?" Severus enquires, mildly.
"Cissy," Lucius says, "and my father. And that's enough, is it not?"
Severus nods, knowing that Abraxas is the real cause of the spell, and not Narcissa. "Still having difficulties?"
"Fewer."
"Either of the brothers been to visit?"
Lucius shakes his head. "No sign of the terrible two, or my nightmare of a sister-in-law." He pauses. "Is that why your girlfriend has not been to visit this week? Cissy is positively climbing the walls, and frankly, Severus, there are only so many stuffed toys that I can pass comment upon. I've already said it looks adequate - what else is there to say?"
Adequate.
Severus stifles a smile. "I was concerned, yes."
"Well, I'm bloody concerned - get her back round."
"I'd heard a few things."
Lucius stills, and then visibly composes himself, walking around and stoking the fire, and inviting Severus to sit before it.
Severus takes his usual seat, waving away the offer of a drink. "...about a certain famous son who is in a spot of bother. And your involvement."
Lucius nods tightly. "I see."
"A set up?"
"Well, I'm hardly the first on his Christmas card list, Severus! Of course it's a set up - in what other universe would I be the person who pays for Crouch's defence team?"
"Offer more," Severus says, quietly. "Double it."
Lucius' voice is cold. "No amount of money is going to acquit Crouch - in fact, the idea of Crouch being acquitted is far worse, is it not? If his counsel is decent, and anyone works out our involvement then all of us are in strife!"
Severus opens his palms. "Malf, calm down and think for a moment - nobody knows about what we did, yes?"
"...I suppose."
"So this is a horrible coincidence, yes?"
"...yes."
"And, please correct me if I am mistaken, but this is simply a punishment for you not funding the Dark Lord, yes?"
"...I assume so, yes."
"Then fund the Dark Lord," Severus hisses. "The alternative is that you're outed as a supporter of a dark wizard-"
"-not necessarily," Lucius argues. "I've been thinking, and I'm sure we can spin a suitable story. Crouch was one of us in Slytherin-"
"-he joined Slytherin when you were leaving!" Severus scoffs. "That looks worse, if you ask me - as if you were grooming a politician's son from the moment he stepped into Hogwarts as a child when you were already of your majority. If Crouch is sent down as a dark wizard, his father will start a crusade and you'll be cited as the man who pulled him onto that dark path to begin with - and that's a lot worse than what we're looking at at the moment!"
Lucius sighs, and runs his hand over his face. "...Cissy has said much the same."
"Then listen to Cissy and listen to me, and pay off the Dark Lord."
"There is no such thing, Severus," Lucius warns. "You do not simply pay off the Dark Lord."
"You say not, but is he stupid?"
"Severus," Lucius gives a soft laugh, "you should not even dare to utter such words."
"Exactly. He's the leader of a movement. He's got aims and goals-"
"I have not got the faintest clue where you're going with this, Severus."
"Think about it, he's not self sufficient, is he? Else he wouldn't have taken it so badly when the Malfoy money stopped rolling in," Severus presses. "Politics is an expensive game. Dirty politics - with bribes and pay offs - is even more expensive, and war…" He waves his hand. "War is even more costly."
"You think he can be bought?"
"I don't think he can paid off with a lump sum, put it that way," Severus says, "but I doubt he'll slay the golden goose. If you keep the Dark Lord's pockets lined, is he going to risk you being sent to Azkaban? Risk you falling in status within wizarding circles, and your fortune being seized as a consequence?"
"I suppose not."
"Then it's simple - don't pay for Crouch's defence, but give the Dark Lord that money, and then more on top. Tell him that your father has set you up with your own finance stream, and you've decided to pledge it all to the Dark Lord. Tell him that you'll be able to sign money over to him every month." He pauses. "If you don't, and you and Narcissa have a child…"
"I know," Lucius says, quietly.
"Then there's no question, is there? Tell the Dark Lord the good news as soon as possible, and then go down to Gringotts next week and lodge the paperwork. It's the only way."
"...Merlin, I've missed you, Severus."
"Believe me, I've missed you too, Malf."
He declines the offer to sit and dine with Lucius and Narcissa, but stays in Lucius' study instead, flicking through a book about Obliviation.
"Still on mind charms?" Lucius asks, when he returns. "Mastered the old Legilimency now, have you?"
"Nowhere close," Severus laughs. "Fascinating stuff though, isn't it?"
"Borrow it," Lucius offers. "It'll give you something to do whilst your lovely witch is here," and he smiles, "because you're telling her to come back next week, aren't you?"
Severus smiles, and puts the book down. "Put your finances in order, and it's a deal."
"So," Lucius says, arching his eyebrow in surprise when Severus again waves away his silent offer of a firewhisky. He pours one for himself, and then sits opposite Severus by the fire, "although your appearance has been greatly appreciated this evening, Severus, I assume that you have a motive for knocking upon my door?"
His lips quirk, and he looks slightly ashamed. "It would ordinarily be enough just to converse with you, Malf."
"Flattery will get you everywhere," Lucius says, rolling his eyes. "What do you need?"
"Two things," he says, daringly.
"Go on."
"Have you got a Muggle suit?"
"In court again, Severus?" Lucius asks, mildly. "What did you do with the one I bought you last time?"
"Posher than that," he says, with a grin. "I'm taking the better half out on a Muggle date."
Lucius smiles. "In a posh suit? Black tie? Birthday?"
"Yes, yes, and no."
"Some sort of anniversary?" He pauses, and his eyes narrow, and then he laughs. "You're going to marry her, aren't you?"
Severus nods.
"And the ring?"
"She's wearing it," he says, with a smile. "But it was a bit hurried. I wanted to do it properly."
Lucius puts his hand out for Severus to shake. "Congratulations to you both." He sits back in his chair. "Where are you eating?"
"Langan's Brasserie," he says, with a smile.
Lucius raises an eyebrow. "She likes Muggle art?"
He nods. "And my efforts at Confunding the maître d' at the Dorchester failed," he admits with a laugh. "I couldn't even get past the door staff at the Ivy."
Lucius looks most amused. "I applaud your persistence. ...do you have a room?"
He shakes his head. "I can't afford the best places at London prices."
"I'll arrange a suite at the Ritz. It's around the corner."
"Malf, I can't-"
"You can. Call it a wedding present," Lucius grins. "That and the suit. Don't worry about Confunding the door staff - you'll be dressed appropriately, and I'll put you in as Mr and Mrs, naturally. Make sure she wears her ring." He pauses. "And the second thing?"
This time Severus looks uncomfortable, and he stares at the floor instead of at his friend. "...I know it's a big ask, but Cissy suggested to Lily that it might be possible…"
"Yes?"
He digs in the pocket of his robes and pulls out his Wizarding Bank access card, and taps it. "...I haven't got much, Malf," Severus says quietly, "but what's in here, I can transfer. I can do it tonight."
"For what, Severus?"
"...Lily needs new wizarding papers. Halfblood ones."
Chapter 63: Congratulations
Chapter Text
She feels like she's floating when she spots him through her bedroom window. She places her fingers on the glass, as if she can touch him, and she watches him stride down the street, her eyes lingering on him as he stands on the pavement and fiddles with his cuffs. She drinks in his appearance - and then he stops, and glances up, and she steps back from the window. She hesitates for a moment, and then she realises that he hasn't seen her, and she takes a step closer to window as he opens the garden gate and approaches the house.
She's never seen him looking so smart - not when he was in court with Lucius in that Muggle suit that she's never quite been able to stand the sight of since, and not even when he wore his finest robes to his Ministry hearing. His polished shoes shine in the light as he walks up the path, and she turns away, spritzing perfume on her wrists and neck, and then picks up her clutch from the dresser.
When she makes her way across the landing, she can hear his voice rumbling whilst he talks to her parents. She starts to make her way slowly down the stairs, and he immediately stops talking - and she knows his eyes are trained on her. She savours the moment, walking far more slowly than is necessary, especially as she's wearing flat shoes instead of the heels she would've preferred.
As she descends, he tilts his head, looking rather like a curious owl. She can tell what he's thinking without the use of Legilimency - he's wondering why she's allowed to wear her shoes indoors when she's forever berating him about his boots, but it's different. It's different when you're checking your full ensemble in the only full-length mirror in the house, different when you're being forced to wear flat shoes with a dress that you're not convinced matches - but at this stage of her pregnancy, even the most powerful cushioning charm isn't going to enable her to wear heels. It's different. It's different when you want everything to be right and your confidence is at a low.
They'd stood for a long time in the shop, Lily and her mother, with Lily muttering and grumbling and rejecting shoe after shoe - but eventually, her mother had found a pair which would match her dress, with a high gloss finish, and a dainty bow at the toe - and Lily had been forced to reluctantly admit, after checking them over and over, that they were suitable.
Her mother had the patience of a saint, and Lily's certain it's only because she's not usually picky about these sorts of details - but with all of the upset and uncertainty that's surrounded her and Severus of late, she feels as if she can't settle for anything less than perfect. Lily wasn't doing it for herself. Not really. She wanted to take his breath away when he saw her. She wanted to imprint herself on his mind - to remind him what he was struggling for when he was out on the town with Avery; for their family, and their freedom. She wanted to remind him that he's not a free agent.
He loves you, her mother had said when she'd voiced her fears. Look. And she had, she'd looked at his invitation, and she'd seen the effort he'd gone to. The words black tie said it all; she knew he was going to throw everything at this date - and he wouldn't have done that if he didn't love you - and she didn't want to be a disappointment to him. Not when this is Severus at his most exposed; showing her with his actions what he often found so difficult to put into words.
She wanted this date to be everything he'd fantasised about when he'd put quill to parchment.
From the look on his face, she's succeeded in her goal. He takes a shuddering breath, and a wide smile appears on his face as she moves down the final steps - and he holds his hand out, pulling her into a short embrace. His hand ghosts over her midriff, over Bean - who is concealed once more - and as his fingers linger and Bean's faint magic pulses, she looks at him, as if awaiting his approval.
"You look stunning," he murmurs. "...you'd have looked stunning with Bean showing too."
"I wasn't sure what sort of establishment we'd be going to. Whether it mattered-"
"It wouldn't matter. You've got my ring, love," he says, lifting her hand, and kissing the engagement ring on her finger - and before she can reply, before she can point out that it's an engagement ring and not a wedding band, he holds his arm out. "Come with me. Our table's booked."
He's unusually quiet during dinner. She wonders if he doesn't want to talk about what he's doing, or the wizarding world in general, or about Bean - and then she wonders if there's something else bothering him, she wonders if Avery's been whispering in his ear, and telling him things that'll make him question being with her - but if that's the case, he doesn't show any sign of it.
Instead, he keeps smiling, and asking her questions, and in trying to fill the silence she finds herself wittering on about something and nothing, about things she's heard on the radio, or read in the Muggle news, or what her mother overheard at the market, and even that article her father gave her about a new exhibition in the British Museum that they'll probably never visit.
She worries that he'll be bored as she flits from one topic to the next, but he just sits and he smiles, and each time she tries to convince him to take the reins of the conversation, each time she tries to convince him to speak, he shoots her an amused look, and takes a slow sip of his wine, and deflects the question, asking her another, and putting the focus back on her.
She plays his game all throughout the starter and the main, but just before dessert, she presses him. But he quirks that same smile, and all he says is, "I'm listening to you, love. Indulge me, please," - and he looks so happy, so content, she doesn't want to provoke an argument. So she does as he asks, and indulges him - and she has the overwhelming feeling that he's watching her as if she was his favourite television programme - as if he's savouring her every action, memorising the way she picks up her fork, or toys with her glass, or the way she brushes her hair behind her ear.
And it makes her smile all the more, seeing him like this - seeing him relaxed, and seeing the look of wonderment on his face. He looks entranced, she thinks, as she makes her way to the toilets, glancing behind her to see him contemplating her, his elbows on the table and his chin resting on his hands and his eyes trained on her.
"Thank you," she says, as he takes her arm and they step out into the night. "I've had a lovely evening."
"Good."
"Shall we Apparate?"
And then he smiles - a smug, self-assured smile that she's only seen on his face a few times before, and he chuckles. "Apparate? We're only going around the corner."
"But-"
"Shhhhh," he says, placing his hand on her cheek and brushing his thumb over her lips. "I thought we could make a night of it. If you're not already tired of me?"
Her legs wobble as he walks her up towards the glamorous hotel, but he doesn't show any signs of inferiority or concern as they reach the entrance. She's glad she's hidden Bean, even if Severus makes a show of introducing them as Mr and Mrs Snape and signs the register with a flourish and a grin on his face. She's glad she didn't know his plans in advance - she'd have worried herself sick throughout the meal, fretting that they'd be looked down upon - for their age, for their baby, for their lack, but Severus doesn't seem in the least bit concerned, acting as if this is a routine destination. The staff do their part - if they notice that she feels uncomfortable there's no comment from them; the porters are welcoming, and the concierge is professional and courteous, and she finds herself relaxing as she watches Severus navigating the hotel with a sense of belonging.
The mucky boy from Spinner's End, she thinks, as she watches him straighten his lapels and stride across to the resident pianist. A short conversation passes between them and then Severus returns to her side, and the pianist starts to play with enthusiasm.
"Boccherini," she says, after a moment, with a small laugh.
"I failed on the violinist," he says, solemnly, "but I believe the minuet is still as impressive when played on piano."
She stands, entranced, her hand in his - until the final notes play, and he silently leads her to the lifts.
It's grand. There's no other word for it. The lobby is grand, the gallery is grand, the room is grand - the hotel is grand. And Severus looks so impossibly pleased with himself when she enters the room and she sees a bag on the side. She shoots him a confused glance, and she peers in it, spying her own belongings and smiling widely.
"I brought them from Hogwarts for you," he says, stepping behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. "And I brought a few things from the bathroom. Your toothbrush, and your hairbrush, and your robe, and-"
"I was wondering what I was going to do," she interrupts, turning in his arms and stroking his cheek with her fingertips, "when you said we were staying." She kisses him softly, and rests her face against his chest, her hand brushing through the pleats of his shirt. "You've thought of everything."
"I wanted this night to be perfect," he says, holding her against him. "Just us."
At his words, her hand immediately runs over Bean, and Severus places his hand over hers.
"Yes," he murmurs, "take the dress off and drop the charm. I want to see all of you. I want to see everything that's mine."
"I need to…"
He ghosts light kisses across the top of her hair. "You need to what, love?"
"...change," she says. "Freshen up." She glances up at him. "I think my mascara streaked when we were listening to the piano and-"
He tips her head back, and presses his lips to hers, silencing her. His kiss is slow, and chaste, and it reminds her of those early days when everything was new. They'd leapt into their relationship, going from nought-to-sixty; having sex before they'd barely even held hands - and she can remember them trying to awkwardly retrace the steps they'd skipped past in their haste. She can remember sitting in his bedroom, kissing, in the days after they'd first slept together. In her mind's eye, she can still see the look of dismay on his face when she'd pulled away from his overenthusiastic efforts.
"Softer."
"Great, I'm doing it wrong."
"I didn't say that," she said - trying not to think about how many times they'd bumped noses, or their teeth had clashed. She could see a blush of shame on his face, and she wished she hadn't said anything. "Sev, you're not doing anything wrong."
But he'd already sat back, his arms folded, his ego clearly dented.
"Do you trust me?"
"...yes."
"Close your eyes."
He'd blinked three or four times, as if he wasn't quite sure, and then he'd closed them fully - his eyelashes long and dark against his pale cheeks. She'd moved closer to him, and she felt his chest rise in anticipation as her lips skittered across his cheek, barely meeting his soft skin.
She pressed gentle kisses across his cheekbones, and over the bridge of his nose and down to the tip, and then she finally met his lips. Her touch was light - barely there, even - and she slowly built the kiss from a brief brush of their lips to a more assured connection.
That's how he's kissing her now, those early lessons fully learned. He moves gently and steadily, but with the confidence of a lover who knows what his partner enjoys. She tries to deepen the kiss, to slide her tongue against his, but he pulls away before returning to press his lips to hers once more, and she can feel his smile against her lips.
"Not giving up control?" she whispers.
He gives the barest chuckle in response, his dark eyes fixed on her own. "You don't want me to." Then there's a hesitation. "Do you?"
"...no."
"Then I think you need to do what I said," he murmurs more confidently, permission now granted, gently turning her until she's facing away from him. He brushes her hair over one shoulder, and softly draws his lips down her bare neck as he slowly pulls the zip on the back of her dress down. He carefully lifts the material from her shoulders, and lets the garment slide to the floor where it pools around her feet. "Now the charm," he mutters, his hands sliding around her waist, as he presses kisses across her exposed shoulder blades.
"...my purse."
"Hmm?"
"My wand. It's in my purse."
He slides his own wand from his sleeve, and her purse hurtles through the air. She catches it, and he smiles, and then she takes her wand out and reverses the concealing charm - her body slowly revealing its natural state. Again, he gently turns her, his eyes roaming over her body as if he's never seen it before - and then he takes a step back, and another, and then he shrugs his jacket off and tosses it on the floor, and hitches the material of his trousers - just enough to give him leverage to sit on the bed - and then, his eyes never leaving her, he starts to detach his cufflinks.
"Undress for me, love," he says, untying his bowtie, and then opening the stiff collar of his shirt. He stretches his neck, and she can see a thin flush of red where the wing tip collar has rubbed him - but he's so enchanted by her, he seems not to have noticed. He places his hands behind him on the bed, and leans back, ready to enjoy the show as she finishes undressing before him.
She slowly peels the rest of her clothing from her body, and he watches her keenly, his gaze hooded, and a small smile playing on his lips as she reveals herself to him.
"Gorgeous," he murmurs, holding his hand out - and when she takes it, he pulls her to him, and helps her onto the bed next to him, his hands running through her hair and his lips finding hers once more.
She wonders how it'll work between them, this barely explored dynamic, with her ever-changing body. They'd barely had a moment together before being pulled apart, and she'd loved the way he'd taken control, loved the way she'd turned the tables on him, pinning her under him. She wants that wrestle for dominance; to do as he bids, but to meet him as an equal, challenging him, to play. She wants more - she's desperate to use the new information she's learnt about him to tease him, to take him to new heights, to make him desire her all the more - but she can't, not with Bean to consider.
It's the elephant in the room, but she isn't sure he's noticed. He encircles her wrist with forefinger and thumb, exerting a little pressure, holding her against the mattress. She can see it in his eyes then - and it excites her, the idea of being held, of him being in control, and it's that thrill that she fights to dampen down. It's on the tip of her tongue to warn him to be careful, but then he smiles, and releases her, and he handles her so reverently, she wonders if he's read her mind - or maybe if he's read a book, or a magazine, or even asked Lucius about his exploits with Narcissa and the unborn Malfoy child.
"Stop thinking," he murmurs, his shaved cheek unusually smooth against her own as his voice rumbles in her ear. "Your poor brain is overworked."
"I can't."
"You can. Let go, and trust me." He turns and reaches for the pillows, and pulls them down from the top of the bed, loosely arranging them in centre. "Settle back, love," he says, "and get comfortable."
It's then that she knows - she knows he understands, and she moves them, plumping them and arranging them beneath her back, securing herself in a position where she's settled and Bean's supported, and then she tries to do as he wishes - tries to relax. She closes her eyes, and squeezes his fingers, and he touches her slowly, reverentially - and she starts to focus on what he's doing to her body.
She breathes deeply, enjoying the feel of his skin against her own, the gentle tickle of his hair brushing against her smooth limbs, the heat from his lips, and the soft but insistent ministrations of his fingers. He touches her as if he's the pianist from the lobby and she's the expensive grand piano, his fingers gliding over her and slowly working her into a crescendo.
"I want to hear you," he says, as he brings her to the brink.
Her hands grip his biceps as she arches upwards. "Sev-"
"Louder for me."
"Sev, more-"
"Louder," he says, firmly.
Her breath hitches, her fingernails digging into his skin. "Talk."
"Stolen moments," he hisses, his hand moving steadily, "that's all we've had. Moments pressed together in that single bed-"
"Yes," she gasps.
"Cringing each time the frame creaks-"
"Yes-"
"My hand clamped over your mouth so your screams don't wake your parents-"
"Yes-"
"Like this," he says, lifting his free hand and pressing it over her mouth in demonstration, and leaning down, his breath hot in her ear. "And now we're together, alone, as we're meant to be, and you can be loud-"
"Mmm." Her groan is muffled by his hand.
"Louder."
"Mmmmmm!"
"Louder still," he grins, a wicked gleam in his eye, and her body jerks beneath his touch. "Scream for me," he demands, and then he tears his hand away just as she cries out, and there's adoration in his expression as he watches her come apart.
She pants raggedly, and falls back on the nest of pillows, and as she composes herself, breathing deeply, one hand still gripping his arm, he kisses his way down her body, not stopping until his lips meet her sex. Immediately, her breath catches, and her hand moves from his arm to his head, smoothing through his hair. "Sev, I don't know if I can, not so soon, if I-"
"You can," he says firmly, "you know you can, and what's more, you will," - and then he sets about proving his point, over and over, until her chest is flushed and her voice is hoarse.
He gently throws the pillows at the headboard as she departs to the bathroom. When she returns, he's lowered the lights even further, and he's lying back on the pile of pillows, his expression smug, and he pats his lap in invitation. She straddles his thighs, and together they remove his crisp white shirt, and then she tugs at his trousers, helping him to shrug them down his legs until he can kick them off. Her fingers hook in the waistband of his pants, but he stops her and she looks confused.
"What?"
"You can't love a guy wearing just his socks," he says, holding her tightly as he reaches around her to remove them one at a time and then throws them as far across the room as he can.
"You won't find those tomorrow," she laughs.
And then he joins her, his loud laughter making her giggle all the more. Their joy is contagious, and in the end, she doesn't know what she's laughing at, or what he's laughing at, and whether she's laughing at him, or he's laughing at her, or whether they're both laughing together, and then she laughs at the silliness of the situation.
She composes herself, eventually, and she puts her fingers under his chin and tilts his head upwards. "I love you," she says, and the oh-so-earnest look on his face makes her stomach twist, and she kisses him. Not the tender, chaste, teasing kiss that he'd used earlier to seduce her, but a vibrant and passionate kiss - the melding of two hearts, and two souls, and two lives, and this time he doesn't protest as she removes his underpants. She groans as she rocks atop him, and he holds her to him, moving his body until they fit together perfectly.
He's gentle when he wakes her. He's washed, and dressed, and shaven - and he sits by her side, stroking her hair. It's then that she notices that he's wearing casual clothes, and not his suit, and then she spies her own set of casual clothes set out ready on his side of the bed.
"I transfigured them so you don't have to hide Bean," he says, "but I was guessing." And then he gives her a small smile. "Don't be offended if I got the size wrong."
"I won't," she says, smiling back at him, and reaching for his hand. "Thank you," she says, "there's nothing worse than walking around in the morning in last night's party clothes."
"I know. I remember you saying so a few years ago."
And she did - she'd forgotten until he said, but they'd been out dancing in the club at Cokeworth, and he'd taken her to his after, and she'd done the so-called walk of shame across the river. Not that anyone had said anything - not until Petunia had caught her in the kitchen, and had made poisonous comment after poisonous comment. After that, he'd always made sure that he'd got clothes that she could borrow - a jumper, or a t-shirt - and he kept her old pair of trainers in the bottom of his wardrobe.
She showers, wondering if anyone will remember that she didn't appear pregnant when she checked in last night - but then she dismisses the thought; they're just two anonymous guests amongst hundreds, and people will believe what they see before them, assuming that they were mistaken. Or, and she smiles to herself, they'll think the dress worked wonders. Instead, it's another thought that's bothering her when she walks back through and sees him sitting on the bed and reading.
"How did you afford the Ritz, Sev?"
"I didn't," he says, quietly. "Malf sends us his congratulations." And then he grins. "Mrs Snape."
"You told him you proposed? That we're going to get married?"
He nods. "It's his wedding gift. A little early."
"And the meal?"
"That was all me," he says, happily. "The Snape bank account could afford that much, at least."
She dresses efficiently, and he doesn't interrupt, so she guesses that their time in the room is nearly at an end. As she applies a dash of make-up - just enough to cover the lack of sleep - she turns to him. "He's not upset?"
"Who?"
"Lucius. At you marrying a…"
He quickly moves over to her, his hands resting on her shoulders. "You know Malf," he says. "He's malleable in his opinions. If he likes you."
"He likes you," she says. "It has nothing to do with me."
"Cissy likes you."
"Perhaps," she says.
"She does! Besides," he adds, nonchalantly, "there'll be some papers with your name on at the Ministry soon."
"Papers? With my name? At the Ministry?"
"Oh yes. And as your husband, I should be the first to congratulate you, Mrs Lily Snape."
"But we're not married yet."
"We will be," he says. "And then you can flash those papers to all concerned."
She frowns. "...but it makes no difference, Sev. Me marrying you doesn't mean-"
"It does!" And then he beams, his wide smile causing the skin around his eyes to crinkle. "It does when those papers say: Mrs Lily Snape, Halfblood."
Chapter 64: Benevolent Lord
Chapter Text
When he's lying in his bedroom at Hogwarts and thinking over their weekend, he's annoyed with himself. Annoyed that he didn't tell her about Malf's solemn promise sooner - annoyed that he didn't tell her when he picked her up, or over dinner, or even when he was holding her in his arms as she drifted to sleep in the luxurious bed they were sharing.
He didn't want to examine the reasons too deeply - he didn't want to scrutinise his own insecurities. He didn't want to acknowledge that he'd feared making yet another mistake, inevitably ruining all of the effort he'd put in to ensure that their night would be perfect. He didn't want to open his mouth and say the wrong thing - he was doing that all too often, and he had so few hours with Lily, he didn't want to spend those precious moments with her annoyed with him, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes cold, and her arms crossed.
He wanted her to look forward to being with him - he wanted his nights with her to be the highlight of her week; for her to count down the hours to seeing him as much as he counted down the hours to seeing her. He didn't want to keep messing things up, and risk her looking elsewhere. He didn't want her walking into Cokeworth and meeting a handsome, polite, rich Muggle who could treat her right - a Muggle who could spend his days and nights with her, and provide her with all of the opportunities that he, Severus, couldn't.
No. He didn't want that. So he thought it was better to keep quiet - and he did, very successfully, right up until she'd started with the probing questions as they were leaving the room, and then he hadn't been able to help himself - he wanted her to be as excited as he was. He'd been walking on air ever since Malf had promised his assistance, and he wanted Lily to share in his glee. It was her life and her papers, after all.
As soon as the words left his lips, she threw her arms around his neck, and the look on her face meant she didn't have to say anything for him to understand how delighted she was. And then, his only wish was that he'd said something sooner - that he'd murmured it as they'd Apparated to London, or as he'd walked her up to the hotel - because then they could've shared the excitement and anticipation together.
Instead, they were separate once more, their weekend together over. He feels the loss so keenly, it's almost as if it had never happened. He rolls over, and in Lily's absence, he pulls a pillow to his chest and holds it tightly. He thinks about how she'd lain in his arms - him cradling his wife-to-be and his unborn child - and he smiles when he thinks about how the new papers are going to solve so many of their problems.
He's not daft, and he knows there's still a lot to work through - particularly now he's embroiled with Avery and his Strikers, and especially as Dumbledore's been pressing him for more detailed information - but the idea of papers has given Severus the one thing he's been missing for months.
Hope.
And not just for Lily, but for Bean. As a child of a Half and a Half, Severus feels certain that Bean's papers would be free from that Muggle taint which had so affected Lily, and had occasionally affected Severus himself. Severus knew that if his mother hadn't been Pure, his own experiences would've been a lot worse, but now Bean didn't have to worry about any of that. Severus could sit with Lily and together, they could sketch up a family tree full of Halfbloods and Purebloods, and nobody would challenge it.
She'd been worried about that. Naturally. Worried about the lies, worried that someone would spot an anomaly, worried that someone would speak out, but Severus knew better - he'd lived amongst status obsessed families for years, and he knew that it didn't matter that people had once known Lily Evans as having a different blood status. Severus knew that the majority of the Purebloods in Slytherin had gone to great lengths to either cast off the unsavoury elements of their family tree or to hide any branches which could bring shame upon them. No Halfblood trying desperately to prove their own Pureblood credentials was likely to point the finger at someone else - no-one was going to accuse another of being a liar, lest they inadvertently shone a light on their own status and family.
Everyone has a skeleton hidden away.
Besides, if they gave it a few months, and if Severus made a name for himself within society, maybe few would connect the teenager Gryffindor Lily Evans with the sophisticated Mrs Snape, mother of Severus' child. Especially if Lily changed her appearance - dyed her hair, or learnt a foreign language and pretended to come from a different country. Or maybe they could forgo the pretence and just hide away in the countryside, only emerging in public when Bean was ready to go to Hogwarts, and then - in over a decade - nobody would even remember what Lily Evans looked like, much less care.
He holds the pillow even more tightly, trying not think about how his hands ache following the Avery-led skirmish he'd been part of earlier. Pomfrey had seen to his injuries, as Dumbledore had promised - and although she hadn't asked many probing questions, her disapproving look had almost reminded him of Lily. Then again, everything reminds him of Lily - the longer they're apart, the worse this feeling becomes, and he's sick of not having her by his side. He flicks his fingers loosely in the direction of the wall, and the light extinguishes.
Not long now, Sev, he thinks. Get those papers for her, and then you can finally be together - all three of you.
"Poppy," Dumbledore says, peering over his glasses and staring at the figure at the doorway to his study, "do come in and be seated."
"Headmaster."
"And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company at," and he pauses, glancing at his pocketwatch before standing. "Poppy, it is almost midnight. Has one of the students taken seriously ill? Do you need an escort through to St Mungo's?"
"No, Headmaster." She takes the seat opposite him, her hands twisting. "It's about Severus."
At this, Dumbledore settles himself back in his chair, turns over the page of parchment he'd been reading, and pushes his glasses up his crooked nose. "He has been to visit you this evening?"
She nods. "Several times, in fact, since we last spoke."
"And he is healed?"
"I can mend most of his wounds-"
Dumbledore's eyebrows raise. "Only most?"
Pomfrey meets him with a fierce glare. "I take it you are not calling my skills as a mediwitch into question?"
"Of course not," he says, amiably. "His welfare is a task I would trust to no other." He gives a tight smile. "But your statement - and your very presence in my study at this hour - gave me reason to believe that there is a problem? He is ailing?"
"It is his mind," she implores, leaning forward. "His flesh can be stitched and his bones regrown - but these are only his visible injuries…"
"He is suffering from internal difficulties?" Dumbledore asks, his voice low. "...kidney failure, or heart damage, or-"
"His brain!"
The pair fall silent at her sudden outburst - the only noises in the room being Dumbledore's collection of mechanical instruments clicking and clacking, and Fawkes repeatedly ruffling his feathers.
Eventually, Dumbledore takes off his glasses, and rubs at his eyes. "I assume that you are not telling me that he sustained a blow to his skull this evening?"
"Albus," she says, more earnestly, "the boy returns to this castle sore, and bloodied, and beaten, and yet he does not utter a word."
"I have told him not to."
"So I take care of him the best I can, with the limited information that he gives me - he doesn't tell me how he sustained the burns, or the cuts, or the bruises - but when he keeps all of this to himself…" She shakes her head. "He needs someone to talk to."
"I always meet with Severus following such an occurrence."
"And do you listen to everything he has to say?"
"That is rather the point."
"Or are you simply collecting information from him?" she adds, acidly. "The two, with the greatest of respect, Headmaster, are not the same."
Dumbledore runs his hand over his eyes again, and then picks up his glasses, adjusting them on his nose. "Severus has a role to play in this war. As do we all."
"He's just a boy," she warns. "If you do not safeguard him appropriately, you'll break him."
"On the contrary," he says, dismissively, "I believe that Severus is a surprisingly strong young man."
Once Poppy departs, Dumbledore flips the parchment back over and continues to read intently. He carefully makes notes with his quill as he reads the list of charges, followed by the detailed analysis submitted by the Ministry prosecution team - but his eyes narrow as he reaches the section where the defence comments should lie.
"Everard, I require your assistance," he says, sharply, causing the slumbering portraits to awaken.
"Dumbledore?"
"I need you to pass an urgent message to Cornelius." He waves the parchment. "The papers for Barty Crouch Jr's hearing have no defence listed. If the Wizengamot convenes next week, as scheduled, he will be without representation. I require a meeting with all concerned parties - before noon on Thursday."
"The boy has no representation?" Dilys says, her voice shrill with alarm. "But then he shall be Kissed."
"One of mine?"
"Good evening, Phineas," Dumbledore says, quietly. "I did not mean to stir all of you - merely Everard."
"Hardly evening," Phineas sniffs. "Still, Crouch is a name of great importance in our world."
"This is not the time to be concerned with purity," Dilys argues, hotly.
"It should make you all pause," the clever-looking wizard in the portrait continues, as if he hadn't been interrupted, "if a celebrated name such as Crouch can't find someone to defend him in these troubled times…"
Dilys huffs. "Really, Phineas! A young man's life is at stake-"
Phineas rolls his eyes. "There is always a life at stake, Dilys. My concern is for due process."
"As is mine," says Dumbledore, quietly. "As is mine."
When he's presented with the robes and the mask, he's almost as fearful as he was the first time - then, it was the fear of the unknown; this time, he knows exactly what he's walking into, and he's terrified.
Avery cocks his head when Severus stalls pulling on the robes. "Problem?"
"No," he says, quickly - but he knows his voice is watery and unconvincing.
"...I don't know," Avery says, finally.
"Don't know what? Why we've been called?"
"We rarely know why we've been called," Avery says, "but that's not what I mean." Avery places his mask over his face, sealing it with a stroke of his fingertip along the edge. "Whatever happened last time that's made you go as white as a sheet."
Severus tightens, pulling the robe over his head so he doesn't have to look Avery in the eye. "I'm fine."
"Sev, this is me you're talking to. You don't have to pretend. I know you displeased the Dark Lord, but…"
"But what?"
"I don't know what he did to you as a punishment. None of us do. ...if that's what's bothering you."
Severus nods, and silently presses his new mask to his face, trying to seal it in the way that Avery had. He runs his finger across it, but it doesn't take - and then Avery steps forward, pressing his cold digits against Severus' skin, and the mask adheres.
"You'll get used to it," he says - but Severus isn't quite sure whether he's referring to the mask, or something else entirely.
He lands with more grace on this occasion, keeping his feet, and he quickly follows Avery's lead - backing into the crowd of people until they're several rows from the front, and well out of the Dark Lord's line of vision.
Just as before, all of those gathered are wearing the same robes and masks, and he can't distinguish any of them. He can't tell if Malf is present, or Mulc, or Ros, or Reggie Black - but he does spy the Dark Lord, flanked once more by two figures.
The same two, he thinks - the favoured.
"Welcome to my brothers and sisters, old and new," booms the Dark Lord.
Severus swallows hard, and then the Dark Lord stands, and all of the robed figures around him fall to their knees.
"Down!" Avery hisses, yanking at Severus' sleeve.
Severus drops too - suddenly, heavily - and his knees painfully hit the mosaic floor. He can hear footsteps marching around the room, and he glances to his side, where he sees Avery staring fixedly at the floor before him. Severus doesn't dare to look up, taking his lead from his friend. The footsteps echo, and then pause, and every part of him wants to lift his head - he wants to see what's made the Dark Lord stop, and wants to make sure that he isn't the focus of the Dark Lord's attention.
"Just the wizard I wished to see," the Dark Lord suddenly says - and Severus feels his heart skip when he hears the voice coming from the far side of the room.
Thank Merlin. He doesn't want me.
"Do stand, Lucius, and follow me."
It takes a jostle of Avery's elbow to cause Severus to get to his feet. As soon as he stands, he looks towards the front, seeing a hooded, masked and robed figure striding behind the Dark Lord, and then stopping before the grand throne. The Dark Lord seats himself, and then nods, and Lucius removes both his mask and his hood, his platinum hair bright despite the dim glow from the wall torches.
"My Lord. I am at your service."
"Indeed you are, Lucius," says the Dark Lord in an amused tone. "I wished to welcome you back into the fold."
"My Lord, my faith never wavered."
There's a low, dark chuckle from the seated wizard. "No," he says, solemnly. "No, that was all your father, wasn't it?"
"My Lord."
"And yet he has now had a change of heart." The Dark Lord gives a tight smile. "Perhaps his wanderings around Europe have given him a new outlook upon life."
"Perhaps, my Lord."
"...tell me, Lucius, where did you say your father had been? Scandinavia, was it?"
"For a while," Lucius says, and Severus can hear the evasion in his voice.
"For a while," repeats the Dark Lord, the smirk on his face growing. "And where else did your dear father rest his head for a while?"
"Central Europe," Lucius says, a little more forcefully. "The usual places of interest for learned wizards, such as ourselves."
"Learned wizards?" The Dark Lord pauses, as if contemplating this thought. "And I assume he met other learned wizards on his travels?"
"I do not know, but I would assume so, my Lord."
The Dark Lord moves a little closer. "And these learned wizards, tell me, Lucius, would they be Grindelwald loyalists? Those who have yet evaded capture?"
Lucius' mouth opens slightly, the question catching him off-guard - and then he composes himself, pulling his shoulders tight. "Grindelwald?"
"The money stops," the Dark Lord says, quietly, "and your father disappears to the continent. I can only conclude that your father has decided to follow another. A dark wizard who is weak," he says, his voice growing louder, "a so-called dark wizard who could be defeated by the pious Albus Dumbledore is no dark wizard!"
"I assure you, the male Malfoys remain your loyal servants, my Lord."
"All of the male Malfoys?"
Lucius nods. "All of us."
"You and your father?"
"Yes, my Lord. Always."
The Dark Lord nods, looking pleased. "I wish to speak with Abraxas. You shall set this in motion."
"Yes, my Lord."
"I am displeased that this situation continued for so long," the Dark Lord continues. "I have been displeased that you have failed to show your strength until this moment," - and the room seems to hold its collective breath as the Dark Lord's eyes flicker with malice, "but I am gratified that once you were given opportunity, you have made great efforts to make amends. This pleases me, Lucius."
"That is all I aim to do, my Lord. I am but your faithful servant."
"This must not occur again," he says, softly, "but I shall not punish the son for his father's deeds."
Severus watches his old friend keenly, seeing the softening of his shoulders as he realises that on this occasion, he's not to be punished.
"And what of your son, Lucius?"
A sudden sharp gasp floods the room, and Severus' stomach rolls.
The colour in Lucius' face that had returned a moment earlier immediately drains. "I'm…I..."
"You are to have a son," the Dark Lord presses, loudly. "Your wife, you cannot have failed to notice, is with child." He points his wand at Lucius' robes. "Roll up your sleeve."
Lucius hurriedly pulls at the cloth covering his left arm, dragging it to his elbow, and bares his forearm to the older wizard. The Dark Lord presses the tip of his wand against Lucius' skin, and instantly, about a tenth of the room hiss, and clutch at their own forearms.
Severus looks around, grateful that his mask is concealing his alarm at seeing so many bent at the waist, anguish clear in their body language - and Avery amongst them.
His brand! Lucius must have it too.
"You belong to me, Lucius."
"My Lord."
"And your son shall join my ranks. He shall belong to me."
"My Lord."
"All those who feel my magic pulsing through your veins - you belong to me!"
"My Lord!" the group choruses.
"All those who remain unmarked - this is what your future holds. You are mine, and I? I am yours. I am your faithful and benevolent Lord. I alone have the power to lead us to a brighter future - and as a witch or wizard who supports me, you will be richly rewarded. You and your families." He presses the tip of his wand to Lucius' skin once more, and those marked all groan - as if he's shot pleasure through the mark instead of pain. "You shall aspire to join my select group. The most ardent. The most loyal. The most talented. What say you all?"
"Yes, my Lord," the room choruses - and Severus' voice is loud and strong and clear amongst them.
Chapter 65: I chose my path
Chapter Text
"Knock knock," he calls, poking his head around the open door of Avery's office.
"Sev!"
Severus grins, and steps in, closing the door behind him. "You sent for me?"
"I did." Avery rummages in his drawer. "Got you something." He pauses. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Close your eyes," Avery says, looking a little disgruntled. "That's what you do when someone has a surprise for you."
Severus instinctively slides his wand down into his hand. "Oh?" He gives a soft laugh. "I was best mates with Malfoy, remember? I never closed my eyes in his company."
Thankfully, Avery's irritation is quick to disappear when Severus slights Malfoy, and he laughs loudly. "Those days are over, Sev. Now close your eyes."
He does, and he listens intently, trying to gauge where Avery is in the room - and then he feels his left hand being lifted from his side. He relaxes it, and permits Avery to turn it over, his palm facing upwards. Then he feels something small and slender being placed in it.
"Can I look?"
"Yes."
Severus opens his eyes, and they widen further when he sees the Striker badge in his hand.
Avery beams. "Told you I'd look after you, Sev." He nods, looking pleased with himself, and then heads back around the desk, sitting heavily in his chair. "You've done well."
"...haven't done much."
"You have," Avery says. "Fourteen full incidents, I've counted. And all of those reconnaissance missions with me."
Silently, he pockets the badge. "And now? Now that I'm in the fold?"
Avery shrugs. "No difference. Just turn up when I say you should."
"And that's enough?"
"They understand that you're stuck with your apprenticeship. I've explained."
"Thanks."
"You stick with me," Avery grins. "I'll see you right, Sev. Now, about that warehouse storing fireworks in Ipswich-"
She's feeling more and more isolated with each Order meeting she attends. There's something going on with the group of troublesome boys - Potter still smiles when she enters, whilst Lupin eyes her curiously, but it's Black and Pettigrew that strike fear into her.
She's certain that Potter's still interested in pursuing a relationship with her, so she sits a safe distance from him - she doesn't want to turn him against her, but without the shield of a visible partner, she doesn't want him to misinterpret their friendship as being potentially something more. She isn't sure how she'd react if he made an overt move, and she wants Potter to remain entirely oblivious to the truth about her and Severus.
It's where Lupin has started to become a concern. Every few weeks, as the moon waxes in the sky, Severus' mood becomes darker, and his muttering becomes louder - but she knows he's still faithfully delivering her potion to Lupin as they'd agreed. She knows Lupin's desperate to quiz her about the arrangement - desperate to hear that it's still her potion and not the handiwork of Severus, but such confessions would confirm their relationship, and would put everyone in the group a step closer to finding out their most important secret that they've gone to such lengths to conceal - their beloved Bean.
So she doesn't invite conversation with Lupin, and as much as she can sense his curiosity, he doesn't press the point, evidently fearful that if he causes trouble, the potion may stop being delivered entirely - and a potion apparently brewed and delivered by Severus is better than no potion at all.
Despite these problems beating away in the background, Potter and Lupin aren't the two causing her heart to race. Instead, it's the constant whispering and staring emanating from Pettigrew and Black which is her concern. It's not hatred on their faces, or even dislike - it's not akin to the memories that Severus shared with her, where Black was bullying him, and baiting him, and attacking him. It's confidence, and arrogance, and perhaps even triumph - and Pettigrew is sniggering and smirking, and Black's ruffling his friend's hair, and she can't quite make head nor tail of their behaviour.
She briefly thinks about asking Severus what he thinks she should do when he arrives at weekend, but then almost immediately dismisses the thought - since their wonderful date, he's been increasingly distracted during their visits, sometimes tired, sometimes even injured - and she doesn't want to open old wounds and cause him to fret over his old enemies, particularly if Dumbledore is already pushing him into the line of fire.
Besides, she knows Severus so well, she doesn't need to ask him - she knows what he'd say. Don't bother with them anymore, love. She can almost hear the words in his voice - and then she looks around the room, taking in the odd group who oscillate between treating her as if she's one of them, and then as if she truly is the easy witch who lies with the nearest Death Eater. It troubles her that her path of deception has led so many of them to distrust her - and she never quite knows which combination of members will be in attendance, and therefore, which reception she's due to receive when she walks in the door.
As if pregnancy wasn't tiring enough already, she thinks. It might be no loss if I were to stop being part of the Order, and then she takes a deep breath, as if the thought has stunned her. Is that what I really feel?
She looks around the room once more, and her eyes meet Black's, and he grins, and it's unsettling, and she's on the brink of standing and leaving - not just this meeting, but for good - and it's at that moment when Potter slides into the seat next to hers, familiar cheer on his face.
"Glad you're here tonight, Evans," he says. "These meetings are never the same without you. So! How's life on the run?"
Severus is certain Dumbledore knows what he's been doing, and can tell that he's enjoying himself a little too much. He's sure that Dumbledore can sense it, even smell it on him - that exhilaration and joy, the love of the fight and the rush of adrenaline.
He knows.
They sit opposite each other, a desk between them, and there's a firm challenge in the older man's gaze, even if his voice remains neutral, and his demeanour is affable and calm.
He doesn't know. How can he know?
Dumbledore's ostentatious quill scratches across parchment, noting Severus' commentary from his latest raid, his garbled version of events faithfully transcribed and committed to page, just like all of the ones before.
Stop being paranoid.
Black eyes meet blue, and this time, he's not so sure that Dumbledore has the measure of him. This time, he doesn't see challenge or rebuke in Dumbledore's eyes, but something else. Interest? Curiosity? Concern?
Not concern. It can't be concern. Not for me.
Whatever it is, it causes Severus to pause, his long fingers rammed deep into his pockets, twisting the inner material to soothe his anxiety. He wonders how much Pomfrey is reporting back, even though she's sworn that she's Severus' confidant and not Dumbledore's spy, but Severus is too old to believe in such fairytales.
If he tasked me to spy amongst the Death Eaters, then why wouldn't he task his mediwitch to spy upon his spy?
So he doesn't say much to her. Nothing that he wouldn't say to Dumbledore in these sessions. He's clipped in her presence - perfunctory, and although his own behaviour sickens him when he glances over and catches her wincing at his caustic refusal of aid, he shakes the feeling of guilt away. This isn't personal. He can't let her in. He can't let his guard down.
This is a test.
It's clever, really - but then, Dumbledore always is. Slughorn wouldn't perform the role of confidant adequately - too self-involved, and self-obsessed, and skirting on the edges of danger himself, keeping company with Borage and Jigger and Belby and Malfoy - yet rationally, there's nobody else credible. He wasn't like Lily, universally adored by the teachers - and he was never a devoted disciple of Flitwick, as she was. McGonagall has thawed of late, her tone softening since his latest appearance in the castle, but their history was too long and cold for such a turnaround to be plausible.
He might be daft enough to spy on the Dark Lord, but he's not so stupid to think that the professors accept him.
There would've been Sprout, perhaps, in those early years. She was jolly and well-meaning, but her gentle attitude towards him had soured when he'd neglected his outside crops. He'd begged her for months to permit him access to the private patch near to the kitchens, and yet despite a positive start, he'd let the plants wilt and die and rot. She'd assumed that it was lack of fortitude - lack of stamina when it came to nurturing a seedling from scratch, unprotected from the outside elements, the wind and rain and frost unforgiving without the glass confines of the greenhouse to assist.
"I'm surprised at you, Severus," she'd said, in a tone that suggested disappointment rather than outright shock.
He'd wanted to say something, but he'd never been able to tell her why. He couldn't tell her about the nightmares - about the wolf, and about his father, about the dog, and the scars, and being kicked down the stairs, or the knife sliding through skin, or the whistle of the belt, and most of all, he couldn't confess to the thrill he'd felt when those warm innards spilled across his bloodied hands. He couldn't tell her why he didn't want to be outside - in a yard or in a garden or even in an allotment by the kitchens. It wasn't overly rational even when you knew the whole story. A hotchpotch of truths would be even less believable, so he simply hadn't bothered to construct a tale of sufficient woe.
"Sorry, professor," he'd mumbled, instead.
It wasn't enough, and he was fairly sure that she would never forgive him. She'd believed in him, and he'd let her down. He'd made her believe he was someone different, someone trustworthy and loyal and reliable, and it turned out to be a pack of lies. Of course, as was her way, she congratulated him whenever she saw him leaving the greenhouses, his arms full of harvested ingredients - but there was a new chill to her tone that he couldn't escape, not even when he'd returned to the castle as an adult.
As for the rest, Binns was a non-entity, Kettleburn a danger to be around, and although there had been Defence teachers he'd idolised, none of them had stayed for more than a few months - and there was nobody else he could claim to having a genuine relationship with, positive or not.
Severus had been quiet in class, and a Slytherin by colour, a no-name bullied Halfblood with dangerous friends in his youth, and in a socially endangering relationship with a Muggleborn in his later years. He was invisible at first, and then infamous later - but nobody truly knew him. Not on the staff.
But Pomfrey was different. It was Pomfrey who had tended to him that night, Pomfrey who had argued with the Headmaster, Pomfrey who had smoothed his greasy hair from his face as he'd tossed in the bed, the salivating wolf parading fearlessly through his private slumber.
If he could talk to anyone, it would be Pomfrey, but he knew that Dumbledore knew that - so he didn't.
"Anything further you wish to add, Severus?"
"No, sir."
Dumbledore pauses, his quill still on the page. "It does not matter how inconsequential it may seem. The slightest hint might give us an advantage in the future."
Severus shakes his head. "Sorry, sir. I don't have anything else. Not tonight."
At this, Dumbledore nods sharply and caps his ink. He wafts the parchment, encouraging the words on the page to dry, and then places the page in his desk drawer. To Severus' surprise, the older man places his elbows on his desk, and steeples his fingers before his face. "And you, Severus."
"Me, sir?"
"What of you?"
Severus feels his lungs tighten. "...I don't understand."
It's fleeting, but a hint of irritation casts across Dumbledore's face - but as soon as Severus recognises it, it disappears, and the older wizard's visage is kindly and understanding once more. "I am concerned about you, Severus. Particularly in light of your recent change of status. I have not given you the easiest of tasks."
"I can do what needs to be done."
Dumbledore smiles. "I am certain of it, else I would not have requested your assistance." He pauses, wiping his glasses on his sleeve, and then returns them to his face. "But that as may be, I know that it must be a terrible strain for you, informing on your friends."
"...they're not my friends."
"Your former friends," Dumbledore amends. "You were close at one time."
"At one time," Severus echoes, dully. "With respect, sir, I am exhausted."
And in no mood for riddles, he thinks.
Dumbledore nods. "If you'll indulge me once more before you retire for the evening-"
"Sir?"
"...do you believe you are any closer to being accepted within the wider group, or do all of your hopes lie with Mr Avery?"
Severus jolts, as if he's been slapped. "If I didn't have Ave, we'd be nowhere."
"Severus-"
"This isn't easy! Do you know what they hiss at me, for betraying them for a Muggleborn for all those years? What they say about her? What they imply about me? No?"
"...I can imagine."
"Good!" His eyes glint with hard delight. "I'm glad you can imagine it, because there is no chance that I'd be taken seriously as a wizard amongst them if Ave didn't have my back."
"Severus, please do not take my words as a criticism," Dumbledore says, gently, "I am grateful for all you have done. You have clearly proven yourself to be worthy of Mr Avery's friendship."
Severus sniffs dismissively, but his shoulders relax, indicating that he's sufficiently mollified by Dumbledore's speedy reaction to his perceived slight. "Because you asked," he says, eventually. "Remember that."
"And what do you see Mr Avery's motive as?"
"He's a purist. Doesn't the Hogwarts' book tell you that? Decades and decades of unsullied blood-"
Dumbledore gives a slight shake of his head. "You misunderstand my question," he says. "Not his motive for following, but his ready acceptance of you - for which," he quickly adds, noting Severus' mutinous expression, "we are extremely grateful." He pauses, and then elaborates further. "I realised you had an association at Hogwarts, but I didn't expect him to welcome you so openly after so long."
Severus shrugs. "Ave always was a bit of an outsider. Mulciber and Rosier, they weren't ever my closest friends, but they…" He glances at his shoes, and then back up at Dumbledore.
"Go on, Severus."
"They feared me. They wanted to look down on me, treat me as lesser - and they did! Ave had it the other way around. He was one of them to begin with - better name, better robes, better blood. But he wasn't talented, wasn't special."
"But you were."
This time, there's a very long pause. Severus' eyes track Dumbledore's, neither of them giving anything away.
"Tell me more about how you were special, Severus," he requests, his voice deadly soft.
"...Ave was a hanger on," Severus deflects, ignoring the question. "He laughed loudly at their jokes, and he took the fall for their misdemeanours, but he wasn't ever one of them." He glances away again. "I didn't have the name or the blood, but I had the talent. I might've been one of them. If I'd stayed."
"But you didn't stay."
"I couldn't."
"Because Miss Evans rather publicly chose you."
"And I chose her!" he retorts, hotly. "I had a choice! I chose my path! I could've said no. I could've pushed her away and laughed at her, agreed with them when they said I was using her for a cheap..." He falters, running his hands over his face, and then his volume drops, but his voice hardens further, his words fierce. "I could've had a different life. An easier life. It was mine to take, and all I had to do was follow them." He gives Dumbledore a pained look. "I chose her. I chose Lily. I chose us!"
Dumbledore nods, only the tiniest twitch of his lips betraying any emotion at Severus' outburst. "I recall. But despite those actions, Mr Avery is ready to believe your change of heart."
"He thinks I never changed. That she was just… That I was using her." He shakes his head.
"And you've convinced him of this? Solidified his belief?"
Severus nods, glumly. "But he's wrong."
"Good," Dumbledore says, leaving Severus uncertain which part has pleased him. "Do you think he will convince the others of your never lost fervour?"
Severus gives a half shrug. "That all depends on what's in it for Ave. He wants me because he's got nobody else."
"I see. He's, would you say, insecure? Jealous? Perhaps keen to show off that he has a new friend, yet less keen to share him with others?"
The thought of Avery's desire for a threesome suddenly swirls in Severus' mind, and he quickly looks away from Dumbledore's gaze. "Something like that," Severus mutters.
"As much as I applaud your current efforts, I must ask-"
"-I can't drop him."
"I am asking whether you believe that Mr Avery is sufficiently involved within the machine to continue to be useful to us?" Dumbledore appraises Severus, and then lowers his voice. "To our shared goal, Severus."
Severus thinks, inhaling deeply before answering. "I'm not denying that association with Mulc or Ros or Reggie might be more fruitful," he says, "certainly in the short term. But Ave isn't the dullard you're making him out to be. He leads his group of Strikers. He'd be a dangerous enemy for anyone to have."
"I didn't request that you make an enemy of him."
"No? If I betray him and join forces with the others, then that's how he'll see me!"
Dumbledore gives a tight smile. "I have no intention of you breaking your association with Mr Avery. You said yourself," and he rifles through some parchment, checking his handwritten notes, "Avery might not be popular amongst the others, but he's got a reputation amongst the leaders for getting things done." He raises an eyebrow. "He is trusted by those above, would you say, Severus?"
"Yes!" Severus looks earnest. "He does the dirty work. The stuff that nobody else wants to do, and that makes him valuable to the movement."
"And if Mr Avery is valued, if he is trusted by those above, do you think you might also be trusted?"
"...I don't know," he says, truthfully. "I'm a nobody. And they trust Ave's results, not his taste in friends. This isn't school - this isn't a popularity contest!"
At this, Dumbledore smiles more broadly. "Indeed it is not." He leans forward. "Tell me, Severus, how would you feel if we were to increase that trust?"
Chapter 66: Swish of a cloak
Chapter Text
It's late in the evening, and it's a Wednesday - so when he swings her bedroom door open, she looks up from the cauldron, startled.
"Sev! ...what is it? What's going on?" She casts a quick stasis charm at the cauldron and quickly heads towards him.
As she moves, he notes that her bump is more prominent than ever, and a rush of protectiveness showers him. He welcomes her into his embrace, cocooning both her and Bean in his arms, and breathes in deeply. He lets out a small sigh of contentment as the familiar scent of her - her shampoo, her soap, her perfume, her - invades his senses.
"I love that you're here," she murmurs into his chest, almost hating to interrupt the moment, "but why, Sev? It's not weekend."
"I've got news," he says, and he gently places his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face towards him.
"What?" she whispers, anxiously - but she relaxes slightly as she takes in his expression; his eyes are warm, and his smile wide, and he kisses her softly before resting his forehead against hers. "What is it, Sev?"
"Cissy," he says, beaming, "she's had their baby."
Immediately, her hand runs over Bean, and Severus' joins her, the pair of them smiling at the thrum of magic that beats back at their actions.
"Is she-"
"Blooming," he says, kissing the concern from her knitted brow. "Radiant."
"Exhausted, I bet."
He grins. "That too. And their boy's got a set of lungs on him," he laughs, "so I doubt Malf'll be getting much sleep for a while."
"...do you think he'll mind?"
"The way he looked at his son?" Severus gives a slight shake of his head. "I reckon that kid could play drums all night every night until he's forty eight, and Malf would still worship the ground he walks on."
"...and you?"
"Me? I reckon Malf would Avada me if I went around and started playing drums through the night. They've got a new baby, you know."
"Idiot," she laughs, holding Severus more tightly. "I meant, is that how you're going to feel about Bean?"
He kisses her again, and then drops to one knee, his hand trailing over her swollen midriff. He tugs at the material of her top, sliding it up from her hips to expose bare skin beneath, and then he kisses her bump. "I can't wait to meet you, Bean," he says, happily, "but if you're going to take up drums, I might ask you to start sleeping over at Cissy and Malf's."
She laughs again, and taps him gently on his nose - and when he stands once more, she takes his hands, squeezing them tightly.
"You okay?" he says, his eyebrows rising at her unusual reaction. "She's fine, Lil, I promise. And baby, he's fine too. He's this pink scrunched up thing with some weird blond fuzz, and Malf - well, Malf's probably not fine because he's walking around like an inflated balloon, and he looks like he's about to burst with pride."
He shoots her a lopsided smile, trying to get her to laugh at his silly joke - but her face crumples, tears forming in her eyes, and he looks fearful. "Lil, what's wrong?"
"...I'm scared, Sev," she says, her voice wobbling. "It's not long now for me, for us-"
"You'll be fine."
"It's going to hurt! And what if you're not here like Malf was for Cissy-"
"I'll be here," he says, solemnly, "I promise."
"But you don't know-"
"-and I'm here now," he continues firmly, holding her tightly. He reaches behind her, and casts his hand at the cauldron, causing the stasis charm to elongate.
"No, I need to-"
"You need to get into bed with me, love," he says, "that can wait until tomorrow."
"But what about Hogwarts-"
"What about it? I can stay tonight and head back tomorrow." He smiles again, brushing a piece of hair from out of her eyes. "Besides, I want to fall asleep holding you both in my arms."
She gives him a tearful smile as she watches him tidy the ingredients whilst she undresses and gets under the covers.
A few moments later, he tears off his own clothes, leaving them in a messy bundle on the floor, and then slides into the bed beside her, before snapping the light off with a controlled flick of his fingers in the air. "Comfy?" he murmurs, as he pulls her closer.
"Yes," she says, nestling her head in the crook of his neck. "Sev, I miss this. I miss you so much."
"I miss you more," he says, and then he lightly drops a kiss on the top of her head, "but we're together now, and that's all that matters."
Later, when she thinks about it, she realises that she knew there was something amiss. She knew he had an ulterior motive - that he wouldn't turn up unannounced midweek just to tell her the news about Lucius and Narcissa's baby. When she thinks it through, she realises that he might've been concerned that she'd go travelling up to Malfoy Manor and fear the worst when she was turned away by an unpleasant house elf - but even so, it wasn't a strong enough motive for him to visit. And she knows for certain that he wouldn't have turned up midweek just because he missed her - he misses you every day, like you miss him - or because he wanted to hold her in his arms.
She knows he's not lying about any of those things. She knows that he wouldn't tell her that Cissy was fine unless she was, and he wouldn't pretend that he missed her if he didn't - and he'd looked so peaceful when he was sleeping, so content to be coiled around her, she knew he'd been telling the truth.
As the clock strikes midday and she's still staring at the book from the Malfoy library, tears blurring her vision, she can't decide how she feels. She's terrified at his request - scared that he trusts her, and trusts her ability to such a degree - and then she marvels that he was able to sleep at all with this playing on his mind. She can't believe that he'd come to her in need, and when he'd found her wanting, he'd put her first - she needed his support, so he was the partner that she needed him to be rather than requesting her assistance.
But his plea had come the morning after, just before he'd travelled back to Scotland, and now the tears won't stop, and she has to move the book away from her lap lest the pages crinkle - and she presses her right hand to her mouth, and her left hand against Bean, and she sobs. She sobs for Severus, and she sobs for herself, and she sobs for Bean's future. It doesn't take long until her mother makes the climb up the stairs, and sweeps her daughter into her arms, and Lily sobs even more loudly, the book on Obliviation falling heavily onto the floor below.
"Wondered when you'd show," Avery grumbles, locking his desk drawer and shrugging on his cloak. "We need to start following that Muggle at eight, and I'm starving-"
"One thing," Severus interrupts, holding his finger aloft, "before we get started on the good stuff." He glances dramatically left and right, as if expecting Cornelius Fudge himself to leap out from behind the cloak stand.
"What?"
"...Dumbledore's heading this way. He was preparing to leave as I was heading down the hill."
"Dumbledore? Here?"
Severus nods. "For an important meeting with Fudge, Crouch, Scrimgeour," and then he trails off. "I don't know who else, but with that group of wizards? I reckon it's about Barty."
Avery's expression is greedy. "And you want to get us in on it?"
Severus gives him a withering look. "I doubt either of us will pass for a senior Ministry official and be welcomed in for tea and biscuits," he says, "but Dumbledore's a suspicious creature."
"I don't get it."
"They're not going to discuss the good stuff in Fudge's office," Severus says, slowly. "He's paranoid, and those portraits talk-"
"We can get a portrait!" Avery eagerly stashes his wand up his sleeve, readying himself to move. "Threaten it with turpentine!"
"Perhaps," Severus says, trying to keep calm in the face of such a ludicrous suggestion, "but we could just listen in, and find out where they're going to hold the real discussion."
"Yeah, I guess," Avery says, looking a little deflated.
"Then we follow them, and then we'll have something useful for the Dark Lord," Severus grins, looking mischievous.
"And then he'll reward us handsomely," Avery says, clapping Severus on his shoulder. "This is the best chance we've had in weeks. I knew you'd be a natural at this Striker stuff, Sev. I knew it!"
Don't mess this up, Ave, Severus thinks, as he watches his friend loitering near Fudge's office. He glances around, checking that one of the keen young aurors - a Thicknesse or a Shacklebolt, perhaps - wasn't about to happen upon them, and then looks back at Avery with a questioning look on his face.
Come on, Ave. Surely Dumbledore's given the agreed location by now?
Avery shakes his head to the unspoken question on Severus' face, and indicates that Severus should concentrate on keeping watch. Severus does, knowing full well that Dumbledore can't be long off uttering the agreed location - the disused storage room near to the toilets on the uppermost floor, biding his time - and then Severus sees Avery's eyes widen, glee on his face, and he watches as Avery lopes up the corridor, trying desperately to keep his footsteps quiet.
"That old storage room on the top floor," Avery says, breathlessly, "by the toilets."
Severus glances over his shoulder again. "And are you going, or me? Or both of us?"
"Not both of us. Too obvious having both of us hanging around."
"You want me to go then?"
"No," Avery says, quickly, greedy for glory once more, "you stay here." He grins broadly, and sets off down the corridor, traversing again in front of Fudge's office as he heads towards the staircase.
With one final look over his shoulder, Severus whips his wand from his sleeve and casts a tripping jinx at Avery's feet, causing him to land heavily outside Fudge's office. To Avery's horror, the door is yanked open whilst he's sprawled on the ground.
"Avery? What's the meaning of this?"
Severus races to the upper floor, and secretes himself in the toilets. He thinks about removing a panel in the ceiling, and genuinely listening in - but then decides that the fallout isn't worth it if he's found.
Don't go taking unnecessary risks.
Instead, he puts the seat down in the sole cubicle, and sits, turning the created story over and over in his mind, making sure there's no holes in his practised monologue - or the execution of the plan he's putting all of his faith in.
Don't panic. Wait this out, then get to Lily. You can do this. She can do this.
With a deep inhalation of breath, he pulls the imaginary cloak over the box in his mind.
"Fuck," Avery says, hours later, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he paces around his flat. "This is gold, Sev. Gold!"
"What do we do?"
"...we need to tell someone."
Severus glances up from his position on the sofa. "What, like Ros?"
"Haven't seen Ros in weeks. Or Mulc." Avery shakes his head. "They'd take this off us."
Severus does his best to look surprised. "They'd take the credit?"
Avery gives a scornful laugh. "Course they would! Look, you don't know what they were like once you…" He looks betrayed. "They're only in it for themselves. We're keeping this for us, Sev."
Severus exhales loudly. "So what, do we wait for a meeting or…" He points at Avery's arm, a sudden grin appearing on his face. "You said he can call you, but does it work the other way? Can you communicate with him?"
"I can alert him," Avery says, looking fearful, "but I wouldn't want to without good reason."
Severus pores over the sheet of parchment where he's faithfully transcribed Dumbledore's words. "Do you think this is good reason? ...I mean, if we wait, and it's important, and then he finds out..."
After a long moment, Avery nods. "But you should come with me," he says, "when he summons me."
"I'm not really one of you."
"You are!" Avery insists. "And this was all you. You did all the work, whilst I spent half an hour explaining why I'd taken a wrong turn to Dawlish." He grimaces. "Bloody Dawlish."
"...what did you say to him?"
"Said I got out of the lift at the wrong floor. Blamed that dull looking attendant."
Wallace.
"Oh? Won't he be-"
"What?" Avery laughs. "Don't go getting your knickers in a knot about some Mudblood lift minion, Sev. He's no loss. They can have house elves do that work. Or goblins. Or some other creature." He shrugs.
"Dawlish, Ave," Severus says, coolly, and trying not to let his temper get the better of him, "you were telling me about Dawlish."
"Yeah, he reckons he's going to keep his eye on me," Avery mutters, "you know what he's like. Thinks he's some big shot just because he aced the auror exam. He's a Ravenclaw, of course he aced it!" Avery snorts. "...I could've aced it."
Aced it? Yeah, if acing it means getting just one mark out of five hundred.
Severus hides his thoughts behind his Occlumency barriers and smirks. "But we both know that being a Striker is better."
"Exactly, Sev, exactly!"
The pair look as green as the grass outside when they hear heavy footsteps outside of Avery's flat, but when Severus peers through the window, he sees that it's not the Dark Lord responding to them.
"It's Mulc," Severus hisses, and Avery scrambles to open the door.
"Mulc," he says, swinging the heavy door backwards, and inviting him in with a wave of his hand, "what are you doing here?"
"Never mind what am I doing here," he starts, angrily, "but what the bloody fucking hell are you two idiots doing trying to summon the Dark Lord?"
They Apparate together, and then they follow Mulciber through the winding building. Severus' first thought all those months ago was correct; it's not a Malfoy owned mansion, but the feel is similar - starker, less ostentatious, but grand all the same.
Maybe a Black or a Lestrange or a Yaxley.
Neither Severus or Avery are masked, or even hooded - but Mulciber seems not to care. They don't encounter another soul as Mulciber briskly marches them in and out of rooms, up large staircases, and down long corridors, until he finally comes to rest at a set of double doors. He knocks loudly, and then they hear the unmistakable tones of the Dark Lord.
"Enter, and kneel."
Severus gives a startled glance towards Avery, who shrugs, and as they both step forward, Mulciber puts his hand out, stopping them from moving.
"He means me, not you two fools," he hisses. "Stay here until you're summoned directly."
Avery's first to be called, and Severus stands alone in the corridor, his mind racing. He doesn't know what to expect - doesn't know if Avery will earn the Dark Lord's wrath for daring to disturb him, or whether Mulciber's later assessment of the situation was correct - whether the information they could provide was worthy of bringing to the Dark Lord's attention.
This is more terrifying than the group meetings, he thinks, fighting the urge to start pacing up and down the corridor. At least in the group meetings there's witnesses. Here… Here, he could kill us and nobody would know.
Severus tries to dampen down the thought. He knows the Dark Lord can read minds, and he doesn't want the Dark Lord to see how terrified he is, lest he exploit it. A little awe is enough, Severus thinks, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate on ordering his pulsing thoughts. Admiration. Respect. A touch of fear. That's what he wants to see.
When Mulciber calls him through, Severus sees Avery kneeling before the Dark Lord, his forearm bared. Severus' feet automatically still at a distance from the pair, not daring to venture too near - not until the Dark Lord raises a long finger and beckons him.
"Come closer. I do not wish to raise my voice," the Dark Lord intones. "It is so uncouth when the room is so sparse."
Severus glances around him, and the Dark Lord's description is accurate - aside from the grand chair in which he is seated, and a fireplace on the far side, the room is empty. Mulciber stands behind Severus, by the door, and Avery is on the floor before the Dark Lord. Severus swallows hard, and then strides forwards, settling on his knees next to Avery.
"My Lord."
"Avery here has brought me some news this evening."
"Yes, my Lord."
"It is from your mouth, is it not?"
"Yes, my Lord."
The Dark Lord hisses loudly. "It is unfortunate."
He doesn't know what to say to that, so he keeps silent, his eyes trained on the floor before him.
"Eyes on me," the Dark Lord instructs, coolly.
Severus slowly raises his head, and when the Dark Lord's gleaming eyes meet his own, it feels as if he's been plunged into a bath filled with ice. He gasps, unwittingly, and the Dark Lord gives a harsh laugh at his reaction.
"We have been through this before, have we not?"
Severus nods, quickly, annoyed that he'd given reason for his previous encounter to be revisited; terrified that the Dark Lord has reason to reveal the beating he'd endured previously - to shame him before Avery, and worse, Mulciber.
Then, the Dark Lord chuckles, and the chill disappears, and the terrifying wizard settles his gaze on Avery, and Severus has to grip his fists by his side, his fury building.
What the fuck are you doing, being so transparent! Focus! He'll see everything!
And then he feels panic rising in his chest, strangling him, and he watches helplessly as the Dark Lord raises his wand, and murmurs something at Avery, and Severus can't hear anymore - can't hear the spell - because his blood is beating so loudly in his ears, and he wants to fall on the floor and scream, and he wonders what he's doing here and then, just as suddenly as it started, the panic starts to wane.
What the fuck am I doing here?
He controls his breathing, glancing sideways and seeing Avery being held at wandpoint, the Dark Lord tilting his head one way and then the other, as if examining Avery's eyes.
Why did I come back to this mad man? I was here, with Malf, because I messed up on that potion - and then he beat me, and then the box failed, and I went to Sluggy, and we did the box and…
It takes all of his effort not to shake his head; he can't piece the puzzle together. He can't remember why he started hanging out with Avery instead of Malfoy, and he can't remember how he's ended up on his knees on this floor. He can remember the piece of parchment at Avery's flat, and he remembers the words tumbling from his mouth, and he can remember sitting in the toilets, the monologue forming in his mind - and he can remember being in the hallway, and him jinxing Avery, and…
Nothing. Why would I pretend to spy on Dumbledore?
It doesn't make sense. He thinks there might be something - something in the box, but he remembers enough of last time not to want to touch it. The box is sturdier now, that much he knows - when he tries to envisage it, he can almost touch it, but then there's a darkness, like a swish of a cloak, and the box is covered and disappears and it's gone, but he knows it's there, and then he's not sure, and then-
"Do you ignore Dumbledore's orders as well, I wonder?"
At these words, Severus immediately jolts. "My Lord?"
"Tell me," the Dark Lord demands, "the boy who lives at Hogwarts, how often do you see Dumbledore?"
Severus stares the Dark Lord directly in the eyes, knowing that it's expected - knowing it's the only way to prove his word. "Rarely. He has no use for a no-name Slytherin," he spits.
The Dark Lord pauses, and Severus can feel the older wizard's smooth entry into his memories. This time there's no chill. His touch is gentle and probing, softly seeking proof - and then it falls away, like the tide rushing back from the beach.
"None at all?" The Dark Lord peers at him. He gives a nasty smile. "Bare your mind to me," he demands, "I wish to see more! I wish to see every time you passed in the Great Hall! I wish to see your visits to his study, and his visits to your dungeons, and every single word that has been uttered between you!"
And then he raises his wand, and Severus braces himself as the Dark Lord starts to tear through his mind.
He's left on all fours, his forehead pressed against the floor, and panting heavily - and he can hear the Dark Lord pacing backwards and forwards, his wand tapping against his hand. He's saying something, but Severus feels so sick, he can't concentrate on the words - it's like hearing music coming from behind a closed door, thudding and pounding, the bass clear but the high notes deadened.
Pull yourself together, he thinks, as he tries to sit upright. You chose to come here. What did you think was going to happen when Ave summoned the Dark Lord?
"Welcome back," the Dark Lord murmurs, noticing his movement.
"Thank you, my Lord," and he's not sure if it's the right thing to say - whether he's showing the right amount of deference or if he's verging on obsequiousness.
"He doesn't realise, does he?" The Dark Lord gives Severus a thin smile, and trails a long cold finger down the side of Severus' face.
"My Lord?"
"He doesn't know that you're here," he says, quietly. "He doesn't realise. He can't."
"I don't understand, my Lord."
A flash of annoyance crosses the Dark Lord's features. "Dumbledore!" he shouts. "Dumbledore doesn't know where your heart lies! Dumbledore doesn't know that you attend these meetings, your face masked, your hood high, your robes dark!"
Doesn't he know?
Severus frowns, struggling to comprehend what's being said. It's true - he lives at Hogwarts, alone, working with Slughorn, and something about Malf, but it's blurry and unclear, and he can't think why Dumbledore would've welcomed him back to the castle - and that's just it, that's the bit where he keeps stumbling; Dumbledore hasn't welcomed him back to the castle. In all of the memories the Dark Lord has poured over, Dumbledore's barely given him a second glance - it's all Sluggy, and Avery, and meeting with Strikers, and violence, and that slashing spell being cast in unison and spilling crimson on Muggle pavements.
"I wonder how disappointed he would be to discover all of this," the Dark Lord murmurs, tapping his wand against the palm of his hand. He pauses, his wand twirling in the air, and Severus watches it, entranced, fear building in his heart.
Have I been hurt? Has someone hit me? Is that why none of this makes sense? What am I doing, daring to live in Dumbledore's castle whilst being a Striker, and spying for the Dark Lord, and fighting Muggles in the streets?
He inhales through his nose, trying to keep calm.
Does it matter? You are what you are. Is this what I am?
Then the Dark Lord's voice hisses again, "I wish to see every moment, every single word that you overheard."
And this time he watches the raised wand in abject horror as he recalls that the words on the parchment, the words he'd so easily spilled to Avery, were from his own imagination. He fleetingly remembers sitting in the toilets, the monologue on his tongue, and he wonders whatever possessed him to suggest that he'd successfully spied on Dumbledore - wonders what sort of stupid fool he's become to try and trick the Dark Lord, to try and ingratiate himself deeper into this powerful group, and then the spell strikes, and instead of showing the Dark Lord the truth, he finds himself rapidly illustrating his story, conjuring up images of wizards he's met in passing, arguing and bickering.
The Dark Lord isn't happy, he can sense that much - the faked memories aren't clear or coherent, and then he feels a sharp pain in his chest and he tries to pull away, his left hand hitting the floor behind him. There's a burning sensation - like a hot knife being dragged through his skin, and then he hears the Dark Lord hissing in his ear, telling him that the pain will help him to focus, warning him that if he doesn't offer up the memories, the Dark Lord will rip into his mind and take them, and Severus' heart skips again.
He doesn't want that - he hasn't got the memories for the Dark Lord to find, so he starts inventing and creating, and he doesn't have time to stop and mull on the scenes as they flash before his eyes - Dumbledore's robes are purple, and Crouch's are grey, Scrimgeour is loud, and Fudge is mealy-mouthed. There's accusations and slander, and there's a thick layer of dust on the bookcase that Crouch leans against, and Crouch winces when he realises, angrily swiping at the dust that's clinging to his expensive robes. The images come thick and fast as he recalls the words, and he's silently amazed at his own inventiveness.
He leads the Dark Lord a merry dance, dragging him through a conversation where it's clear that Crouch's son will be damned by the laws of the land - and he can feel the Dark Lord's rage building, and he's not sure if his anger is aimed at the inevitable fate one of his loyal servants is destined to meet, or if he's realised that Severus is spinning him a false tale.
If you're going to die, Sev, you might as well go down swinging.
But he doesn't die. The anger isn't aimed at him. The Dark Lord retreats, his teeth bared, and his wand aloft.
"He doesn't know?" he shouts, once more.
Does he mean Dumbledore?
"No, my Lord," he says, finally, unable to say anything else.
"And if Dumbledore doesn't know, he can't feed his apprentice with nonsense stories to recite in my presence."
"I am not his apprentice, my Lord."
At this, the Dark Lord gives a thin smile. "Nor are you mine." He points his wand at the back of the room. "Mulciber, he is mine." He points his wand at the still kneeling figure of Avery. "Avery, he is also mine." And then, he points his wand squarely between Severus' eyes. "But you, Severus Snape, to whom do you belong?"
Chapter 67: I'm not yours
Chapter Text
He's reeling, blood soaking through the material of his shirt, and he's wandering the streets of Cokeworth. He doesn't know what's led him back here - led him back to the hated house that his parents share, but as he stands in the backyard and stares at the cold bricks shrouded in darkness, he can't bring himself to knock.
He stalks down the alley, dodging overflowing bins and wrinkling his nose at the stench. He leaves the cobbled streets and crosses over the river, and as he approaches the park, a furrow grows between his eyes as he spies the swings. He quickens his pace, something nagging in the back of his mind, and as he leaps onto one, it's as if a wind has swirled in his mind, and suddenly there's a box - and the box is leaping and dancing, as if it wants him to pull it open, and he's breathing heavily, and he grabs onto the chains of the swing and pushes himself into the air, and in his mind he unlocks the padlock, and yanks at the lid, and then as he soars high into the sky, his eyes widen and he yells in relief as he remembers why he's in Cokeworth.
He doesn't care that he's been told not to scale the drainpipe. It's three in the morning, and the house is dark, and he can't knock at the door. He taps at the window - gently at first, and then desperately, his fingertips beating a rhythm on the glass. His left bicep burns with the effort of clinging on to the pipe, his right hand tapping, and then - just as he's starting to lose hope - the light snaps on, and the curtain swishes back.
There, framed by the window, is the dishevelled and sleepy face of Lily - who looks at his bloodied form in abject horror.
"I'm fine," he says, hoisting himself in through the window.
"Sev, you're bleeding!" She grabs a box of tissues from the bedside table, and pulls him over to the bed. She tugs at his clothing, revealing the cuts to his chest, and she picks up her wand, vanishing as much of the blood as she can, before pressing the tissues against his wounds.
"Sorry," he mumbles, resting his forehead against her shoulder. "I'm sorry."
She kisses the side of his face as she tends to his wounds. "Don't be sorry, Sev. You've got nothing to be sorry for. You're safe here with me."
He takes off his trousers, and sits on the edge of the mattress in just his socks and pants and his open bloodied shirt, his head in his hands. "I shouldn't have come here. I'm meant to be treated by Pomfrey."
"...what do you mean, Sev? You're meant to be treated by Pomfrey?"
He stalls, and he looks frightened, and then he gasps for breath. "I don't know!"
"...you do," she presses. "You said that quite lucidly." She sits next to him, and takes his hand in her own. "Something in your head knows that Pomfrey looks after you. Why would she?"
"...I don't know, nothing makes any sense."
"Think, Sev."
His movement is slight, but she doesn't miss it - he rocks backwards and forwards whilst he's speaking. "I live at Hogwarts, don't I?"
"Yes."
"Then, I don't know, it's part of the arrangement. Like when we were kids." He moves more wildly, his face a mask of anguish. "But if I live at Hogwarts, why am I spying on Dumbledore for the Dark Lord?"
"...because Dumbledore asked you."
He recoils as if he's been slapped - and he drops her hand, and he moves away from her on the bed, his eyes wide. "...but he can't have."
"He did."
"I do things, Lil! I hurt people! Me, and Ave, and we do it for him! In his name!"
"Because Dumbledore wants you," she repeats, calmly.
"It's not Dumbledore! Dumbledore never speaks to me, he-"
"I Obliviated you," she says, her voice even, and then she stands and takes the book from her bookcase, and passes it over to him - the book from the Malfoy library.
He silently opens it, his face stricken at the sight of the title, and he removes an envelope - sealed, with the wax seal that he occasionally uses; the Prince family seal from his mother's trunk that he pocketed when she showed him her school belongings before he started at Hogwarts.
"It's from you," she says.
He can't argue - it's his family's seal, it's his writing, and it sounds like him when he reads the words, but it doesn't make sense. It all seems fantastical - like a film that his father would watch on the television.
"You did this to me?" he breathes, reading the words over and over. "You took my memories?"
"You begged me."
"I don't remember."
"...that's rather the point."
He laughs - a horrible, sharp, wheezing laugh, and then he looks at her, lost for words. "I remembered you."
"I know."
"But I didn't," he says, his voice faltering. "At first. And not in there. When he was…" He gasps again, rubbing his hand across his forehead. "I thought I'd become… What had I become, Lil? Some fucking psychopath - Avery's bloodthirsty sidekick!"
"You're an apprentice," she says, softly, sitting next to him. "A very talented brewer of potions. You're a son. You're Lucius Malfoy's best friend-"
"Not Avery's?"
"No. And you're my fiancé," and then she grabs his hand, and places it on her stomach, "and my baby's Daddy. That's who you've become, Severus."
He nods. "Yes."
"It's in the box in your mind."
"Yes." He looks troubled. "It's as if everything's disjointed." He scans the letter again, and then he flicks through the book. "Which method?"
"The first one," she says, guiding him to the right section.
He scans it quickly, and he smiles. "Clever. You didn't take the memories, but you cut the ties."
"It makes them inaccessible," she says. "You know how one memory jogs another? Well, this breaks those chains."
"And the box?"
"The box is Occlumency," she says. "You use it a lot, but we-" and then she takes the book from him, and flicks again, and then he reads the paragraph she points out. "We threw a cloak over it."
"Fucking hell," he breathes, tracing his finger over the words. "That's exactly what it was like! It was there, and then it wasn't."
She nods. "But then it came back?"
"When I was on the swings. At the park." He gives her a tight smile. "Our swings."
"Yes."
He closes his eyes. "What if I hadn't come to Cokeworth?" He swallows hard. "I could've gone anywhere - with Avery, or-"
"-you didn't," she says, kissing him softly. "And that's what matters."
He nods, and then he scours the book again. She lets him read in silence, until he holds the book aloft, tapping a page.
"Do this," he says, presenting it to her.
"But if it doesn't work-"
"If it doesn't work, it makes no difference! I haven't got the memories now, so if they're lost completely, how does that make me worse off?"
She looks pained. "Sev, I'm not an expert at this, we could find someone who specialises-"
"But it was your spell! Of course you can do it!"
"And if I can't?"
"Lil, I want my mind back," he says, his voice cracking. "I need it! I can't live with these holes in my head, and things in hidden boxes, and memories that don't make sense!" He brandishes the book again. "Look, you chose the easiest one! You didn't wipe my memories, you just cut a few strings. All you need to do is tie those threads back together."
She gives him a pained look, and she turns the letter back over. "Read it again for me, Sev. Please."
"I've read it!"
"Read it once more," she implores. "Read why you asked me to do this to you. You were terrified that the Dark Lord would find that you were working with Dumbledore. Think about the consequences before we try reversing it."
"I want my memories."
"And if I tie those threads back together, what then? We can't keep shredding them each time you go back to him - read the book! They're not meant to be broken repeatedly!"
"Do it, Lil," he says. When she doesn't move, he silently slides his wand into his hand, and then tips it so he's pointing it at his head.
"Sev, what are you doing?"
"Do it," he says, calmly, "or I'll do it myself."
"Come on."
"Lil, I'm not tired."
"We're not sleeping," she says, firmly, "just talking. But I'm cold, and you…"
He bristles. "I what?"
"Get in," she says, knowing that telling him that after such an ordeal he's in need of comfort - in need of being held, and hugged, and reminded that he's loved and cherished and safe - won't end well. "Bean's freezing."
He pauses, as if debating whether to argue, but then he throws the covers back and gets into her bed.
She wants to pass comment on him keeping his bloodied shirt and dirty socks on, but she's so relieved that he's agreed to rest with her, she keeps her counsel, and merely smiles when he holds the duvet aloft for her to get in next to him. It's a tighter fit than ever, with Bean growing quickly, and Severus moves as close to the edge of the bed as he can, and then nestles himself against her warm body.
"Liar," he says.
"What?"
"You're not cold," he murmurs, his breath hot against her neck.
"Bean is," she says, and reaches for his hand, and places it on her bump. "Daddy's here, Bean." It's the right thing to say - she feels Severus' lips twisting into a smile against the top of her shoulder, and that same smile growing even broader when Bean's magic pulses.
They lie together for a long moment, and she twists her legs through his, enjoying the feel of her partner next to her - and when she feels Severus finally relax, she turns in his arms until she's facing him.
"How are you feeling?"
"Drunk," he says. "Like all my memories have been cut to pieces and thrown in the air, and I don't know how to fit them back together. My life is like a smashed jigsaw."
"You need to give your brain chance to heal," she says. "That spell, think of it as being like using Skele-Gro for your mind. You'd give a broken bone chance to grow, wouldn't you, if you fell off a broom?"
"Yes."
"Then give those precious strings chance to knit back together. Stop thinking and rest." Then she trails her finger across the cuts on his chest. "And this damage isn't like last time. It's mostly superficial. You should be fine in a few days."
"He was only mildly upset this time," he says, softly. "I escaped lightly."
"...Sev, you never told me…"
"What?"
"What made you think he'd find your memories of Dumbledore? Why did you want to hide those?"
"...Dumbledore gave me some information. The idea was to elevate me, or Avery, or both of us in the Dark Lord's standing. To make us more useful. To accelerate the war effort."
"But it didn't work?"
He gives a dark laugh. "Oh, it worked! It worked a treat, Lil."
"But..?"
"I was right to ask you," he says, thoughtfully. "The Dark Lord wanted to see for himself. He scoured my memories for a trace of Dumbledore, to see if we were playing a game, and thanks to you, there wasn't anything! Well, not anything useful." He gives her a tight smile. "I was terrified when I asked you, I remember that much."
"You didn't look it," she says, gripping his hand. "You were fierce. Adamant."
"I knew you wouldn't agree if you thought I was uncertain."
She doesn't want to think about the consequences if she hadn't acquiesced - or if she hadn't succeeded. "You can't do it again," she warns. "If you break those threads again-"
"I think he's satisfied," Severus mumbles. "I don't think he'll go looking for proof like that now he's already seen what he thinks is the truth."
"You could try a different way? Maybe using the box?"
"I put you in the box," he says, holding her more tightly to him, "I didn't want him poking around in there." He gives a quick smile. "I reckon I can master that cloaking spell. Then maybe I could have more boxes."
"But?"
"Who said there was a but?" he laughs, softly.
"I can tell. There's something else, isn't there?"
"...I don't know if I'll need them."
"What do you mean, Sev? Do you mean you're not going back?"
He shakes his head. "No, but he didn't just look for my memories with Dumbledore," he says. "He checked to see if my information...he checked to see if it was a set up."
She tenses. "But it was a set up."
"I think it's mostly true," he says, "if I had listened in to the meeting. But I didn't dare risk it, which means I didn't have the memory when he looked."
"...but if you didn't have the memory-"
"I panicked, and I faked it. I faked a story! He looked me in the eyes, Lil, and..." He closes his eyes in anguish. "It's like his heart was telling him that something was wrong - something was missing, but this is the Dark Lord! He knows how powerful he is, and me? I'm just some useless runt, Lil-"
"Sev, you're not-"
"-he's the DARK LORD!"
"Shhhhhhhh!" Lily looks up at the door, fearful that her parents will awaken.
"...sorry." He swallows hard. "But you don't understand! I lied. I lied to the Dark Lord!"
"But that's good, Sev? That he doesn't know?"
"He knew something was amiss," Severus says, pointing at his injuries. "So he tried to force it out of me - he tried to hurt me whilst he cast the spell, to cause me to lose my concentration." He shakes his head. "And I didn't. The more he hurt me, the more the fake memory solidified. It's as if I was feeding off his suspicion."
Lily looks at him, confusion crossing her face. "That makes you stronger than him."
"...I doubt that," he says, grimly, "but it makes me into a weapon. For Dumbledore."
"Don't tell him," she says, quickly. "Don't tell him what happened."
And then Severus gives an anguished sob, his thin face creasing in sudden pain.
"Sev, Sev," she says, alarmed. She wraps her arms around him, holding his shaking body close to her. "Severus, we can get out of this. Whatever's going on, we can escape this."
"I can't," he sobs, hot tears running down his face and landing against her nightdress, "not anymore."
"We can, and we will," she says, holding him tightly, and her voice firm. "Look at all we've achieved so far. Together, we're stronger than anyone thinks possible."
He shakes his head. "It's not enough."
"It is. You're mine, Severus Snape."
"No," he gasps, as if the words are being wrenched from deep within him. "No, Lil, I'm not."
To her horror, he twists away from her, and just as she's about to demand an answer to his strange reaction, he wrenches his bloodied shirt from his body, revealing his defiled forearm. He brandishes it before her, and she almost recoils at the sight - his pale skin damaged beyond repair.
"Do you see now? I'm not yours, Lil. I'm his."
Chapter 68: Manifesto
Chapter Text
She's seen him crying before. Not often, but she has.
Boys dunner cry, Lil.
She could still hear his protest in her mind, although it was increasingly difficult to recall the precise cadence of the higher-pitched and heavily accented voice he'd once had - back in the days when they were both small, and he was even smaller and slighter than she.
They'd been running, and he'd tripped, falling heavily on the path and grazing his knees. She'd helped him up, gasping at the sight of blood, but he'd remained stoic. He'd silently raised the heel of his palm to his lips, and sucked hard at the grit embedded in the broken skin. His efforts were fruitless, and didn't cause the dirt to dislodge - although she was sure he'd probably contracted six different diseases by trying - so she'd taken him to her house, him grumbling all the way.
He'd kept his composure even then - even when he was stood in the pristine kitchen, his small face screwed up in pain, and her mother dousing the angry wounds with Dettol. Lily had been on the receiving end of that treatment before. She'd cried more times than she could count when her mother had pressed the brown liquid to a cotton wool ball and then held it against her damaged skin, swiping the dust and dirt and gravel away. Petunia had given the same reaction - her wails could be heard on the other side of the house, sometimes even before her mother had made contact, the knowledge that it would smart causing her to weep long before the sting could register.
But Severus didn't cry. Severus had winced, and he'd protested that it was unnecessary, and he'd sucked air in through the fresh gap in his teeth - he was still waiting for the tooth fairy to reward him under his pillow as she had done for Lily a few weeks earlier - but he didn't cry.
Even when they were small, despite not seeing him crying, despite his protestations that boys weren't allowed to, she knew he did. She could remember how he'd stepped out of the kitchen that day, when her parents had quizzed him about his homelife, his face tear-stained and pale - and although he's never confessed as much to Lily, since she's learnt more about his childhood, she's absolutely certain he must've cried during those punishments from his father - or, at the very least, afterwards.
He must've. She's seen the scars.
He's been crying more of late. More since they left Hogwarts. More since they've been navigating the world together, alone, and although it's still not often, his emotions overwhelm him at moments which catch her off-guard. It seems to happen when she thinks he's going to be angry - when she expects him to shout, or to throw something across the room in frustration, and then he doesn't. Instead, water fills at the edge of his eye, and he swipes at it angrily, as if it's a sign of weakness. He's rarely crying about himself; it's always about her, it's about them, it's when she's threatened, or they're in strife - and although she hates witnessing such a display, there's a small part of her that is quietly reassured when she sees him tearful.
If he's upset enough to cry, he really and truly cares. He cares more than he'll ever admit with words.
At first, she wondered if she should be scared at his sudden demonstration of vulnerability, or whether she should be proud of the change. She wonders if his tears are a sign of their world growing darker much more quickly than he ever anticipated, or whether his tears are a sign that her love for him has broken down the barriers he'd erected around his heart at a young age - proof that a loving environment can make a difference.
But tonight, as she holds his shaking body in her arms, his hot tears splashing against her skin, she feels neither scared nor proud. It's as if there's a ringing in her ears, and pins and needles in her limbs, and she hugs him tightly, her arms wrapped around his shuddering shoulders, and she wants to feel those emotions and more - she wants to feel anger and fear and resentment, she wants to shriek and sob and fight, and she wants to be led by her gut; she wants to wreak revenge on everyone who has brought them to this point - because in her eye, she can still see him.
She can still see that grimace on his youthful face when he picked himself off the path after falling and scuffing his knees, and she can see him as a teenager anxiously peeling his shirt up and edging his trousers down and revealing to her the livid purple marks on his rear, and she can remember his quivering hands when he'd told her how he'd been practically evicted from Slytherin, excommunicated from his housemates because he and Lily had announced that they were a couple - and she remembers how, even in those stark moments, he hadn't cried. He hadn't ever cried.
Severus didn't cry.
But now, that same boy she remembers - the boy who would jut his jaw, and bite his lip, and toss his head at almost any misfortune that came his way - that boy has been broken, and as she holds the shattered pieces of him in her hands, she wants to feel something - anything - but she can't.
She's completely numb.
She falls asleep eventually, but her slumber is fitful and her dreams filled with nonsense. Her hands grip the sheets, and the duvet, and him - and then suddenly, when she reaches for him, he's not there. The sudden lack causes her to stir, and she blinks as she wakens, her thoughts muddled.
Where is he? Was he even here? Was that a nightmare?
A moment later, the memories hit her and it's with such force, it's like a bludger striking an unsuspecting Niffler. She remembers the tap on the window and the blood on his shirt and the carving in his arm, and she sits upright - but the room is quiet and his boots have gone, and the net curtain is fluttering, a gentle breeze blowing through the window left ajar.
He hasn't slept. Not really. It's no surprise; he can't imagine he'll ever sleep again - not with the image of the Dark Lord poised above him, his gaze determined and his wand focused, intent on claiming Severus as his latest follower. The horror of the moment has drained him, and he looks as if he's lost a week of sleep - not just a night. His eyes are bloodshot, and his face is unshaven, and his shirt is covered in dried blood.
Stained. Ruined.
The neck of his previously white shirt is open, and the sleeves are buttoned, but he can spy the livid, lurid scarring through the gap in the left cuff, and it makes him retch.
Stained. Ruined.
He splutters his way through a coughing fit, and then rams his fists into his pockets so he can't glance at his forearm through the gap near the cuff. He stalks in the direction of the town centre, not caring about his appearance, not caring who sees him. It's a long walk from Lily's side of town, and he ducks through back streets and identical estates, and the milkman gives him a curious look as Severus marches past, his greasy hair swinging.
"What are yer fuckin' lookin' at?" Severus shouts, his temper rising - and the milkman turns away, his attention back on the doorstep. "Yeah, fuckin' thought so an' all!"
There's nobody else around at this hour - a couple of cats, and a dog, and some birds. There's the rumble of an early morning train as he closes on the railway, and he can see the hotel looming in the distance. He takes the shortest route, the most direct, scaling fences and climbing over walls - and then he turns onto the high street and enters the shop on the corner; the only building open.
It used to be Alfie Laycock's newsagents when he was a boy, and then Laycock's wife ran it alone when Laycock died. Judy, her name was - she'd always throw an extra sweet in a bag of mix if he remembered to say please and thank you. Then it was Mr Singh, the old man who chased him down the road when he tried to slide a Curlywurly in his jacket - not for himself, but for Lily for her birthday - and then old man Singh left or died, and his brother ran it, or maybe his son.
Severus can't really remember because he didn't dare go back in, not until they'd gone, not until they'd all moved to Yorkshire or Shropshire or wherever it was they went. Then it was the Welsh chap, the one who never said much - and now? Now he walks through the door, and the lad behind the counter looks up, and as Severus scans the back wall for the cheapest carton of cigarettes, the lad stands, clearly trying to make himself seem imposing.
"Not today."
"What?"
"Yer heard," says the lad, his hands braced on the newspaper covered counter. "I don't want no trouble."
Severus glances down at his shirt, and then gives a soft laugh. "No, don't worry, this int what it seems."
"No?" The lad gives him an odd look, and then leans back, calling through the door which leads towards the back rooms. "Da? Da!"
"I just want some cigs," Severus tries again, "no trouble. I've got the money."
He reaches for the wallet in his pocket, looking down as he fumbles with the fastener, and when he looks up, he sees an older man flanking the younger - older, and broader, and Severus' eyes widen. He looks again at the lad, and he can see it now - it's been years, four or five, and whilst Severus has grown a little taller himself, the lad has changed considerably - from a small boy into a much bigger teenager.
"Din't know yer were back round 'ere."
"I'm not, Mr Davies."
The older man scoffs. "Don't fuckin' Mr Davies me, yer little fuckin' savage."
"I'm goin'," Severus says, holding his hands aloft. "I din't realise-"
"Lot you din't realise," the lad calls as Severus moves towards the door.
Severus stops then, that spark of temper rising in him again. "I said I was sorry," and he pauses, desperately trying to remember the boy's name, can't remember if this is Paul or Daniel, the older of the two Davies sons or the younger - and he can't tell how old he is by sight alone. "I din't mean anything by it."
Johnny Davies scoffs again, now deliberately moving the stacked newspapers, preparing to open the half door in the counter. "Accident was it?"
"Summat like that."
"Yer hand slipped, did it?"
"It was a mistake."
And it was a mistake coming here, he thinks. Of all the fucking shops.
"A mistake? Yer dunner look like yer've learnt yer lesson if yer ask me."
No-one was fucking asking you.
Severus shakes his head, fighting to keep his temper under control, his fingers grazing the bloodied marks on his shirt. "This is… It's not… It's mine, all right?" He tugs at his shirt, roughly pulling the buttons through their holes, revealing the wounds on his chest. "It's my blood!"
Johnny Davies doesn't seem reassured by this statement, his eyes have narrowed, and he's still fiddling with the lock, poised to swing the door open.
Quickly, Severus fumbles with the buttons of his shirt, trying to fasten them back together. "Yer don't have to come out, I've said I'm goin'."
"Too fuckin' right yer are." Johnny jerks his head towards his son. "Broke 'is fuckin' heart, yer did. Nine years old, an' yer stole 'is best friend."
"I'm sorry," Severus says again, stepping backwards out of the door and onto the street, and then he heads down the road, checking over his shoulder to make sure he's not being followed.
Johnny Davies looms in the doorway, half in, half out, watching him leave - and when Severus turns and glances back, the older man makes eye contact, a sneer on his face. "Go on wi' yer! Fuck off!"
Stained, Severus thinks. Ruined.
He opens the warped back gate, the latch clicking softly as he shuts it behind him, and then he tries the handle of the back door, giving an irritated hiss when he realises it's locked. He whips out his wand, casting a quick succession of spells at the lock. An Alohomora won't do - he remembers that from when he lived there - but he can't get the lock to move. He kneels, peering through the keyhole, and that's when he realises that the key is in the door.
He laughs to himself, and heads to the bin by the gate, digging through it until he pulls out a soiled brown paper bag. He presses it against his leg, straightening the creases. He kneels once more at the door, and then he slides the paper through the gap at the bottom. He sits up on his heels, and he grips his wand in his fist and jabs it through the keyhole, causing the key to tumble onto the paper. He checks to see his wand is undamaged, and then secretes it down his trouser leg before pulling the paper towards him, and palming the key.
He opens the door as quietly as he can, and then places the key on the side. He moves quickly through the house, finding the kitchen and living room empty - they're still in bed - and then he edges his way up the stairs, creeps across the landing, and slips into his old room, closing the door behind him.
There's not much left here - a few old schoolbooks and his knotted tie, a faded photo of Lily pinned directly into the wall, and a calendar from 1977 still hanging on its nail - but he knows from his last visit that there's some clothes in the drawers; some pyjama bottoms he inherited from Tobias, odd socks and old fraying pants, a pair of jeans, and a pair of shorts. He rifles through, hoping for a jumper or a shirt, but he's not in luck - there's three short sleeved t-shirts, and in the end, he grabs one and slams the drawer shut.
Shit.
He hastily tears off his bloodied shirt and screws it into a ball. He picks up his pen pot that sits on the window sill, and tips it out, dried up biros and broken quills falling onto the bed, and then he casts Aguamenti. He splashes the conjured water up himself, trying to rub away any remains of blood, and he carefully tips some across the fresh scarring on his arm.
It throbs, dully, and Severus can still feel the heat of the spell as the dark wizard carved his insignia into Severus' flesh. He pauses, sickened by the shape - sickened by the pattern that he's seen so often in the Prophet, even if he's never seen it in person. It takes all of his effort not to run his finger along the raised skin - you don't want to accidentally summon him - and then he hears a movement. It could be the house settling, creaking, or it could be a footstep. He dries the pot using the edge of the bloodstained shirt, and then hastily stuffs the pens and quills back into the pot, setting it back on the ledge.
He pulls the door open, peering through to check that his path is clear, and then creeps back down the stairs, and through into the kitchen where, to his horror, he sees his mother standing by the stove, kettle in hand. Her eyes meet his, and he instinctively moves the bloodied shirt behind his back, but she lunges for him, grabbing his wrist.
"Gerroff!"
"Show me," she says, twisting his arm up in the air - and although, at first, her eyes are fixed on the stained shirt, her attention is soon drawn to his freshly scarred skin. She looks at him in horror.
"Mam, it's not what you think, I didn't-"
"You foolish, foolish boy!"
Eileen thought she'd escaped this. She remembers finding his manifesto - manifesto! - when he was thirteen, a tirade against Muggles and a proclamation of wizarding superiority. She remembers only too well the heated words that passed between them as she spelled his wrists together and stuck him to his father's chair, and forced him to watch - his limbs thrashing helplessly against his bonds - as she levitated the parchment over the smouldering fire in the front room.
She lectured him about his lack of understanding, his failure to comprehend history, and she steadily added wood and coal that they could ill-afford to the grate - all to create the spectacle, all to provide a lesson that she hoped would never be forgotten. She watched his face as the flames grew taller, the pain in his expression growing as orange light licked at his carefully scribed words, until finally, his hard work charred and crumbled into the roaring heat below.
She didn't tell Tobias. This was between mother and son, between witch and wizard. She couldn't have a Muggle involved. It annoyed her that she'd had to resort to magic in order to restrain her boy - and when his eyes widened in excitement when he first saw her wand, she briefly wondered if she was creating the environment which caused her son to pen such words - but once she'd started, she couldn't stop. She knew Severus would fight back given the chance, so before he could draw his own wand - in the moment when he was looking at her in astonishment, with a hint of glee, as if she was about to leap into the magical world with him, forsaking their Muggle existence - she attacked.
She had no choice. Although Severus hadn't shot up to his father's height - yet - he'd grown since he was last home. It's the food at Hogwarts. He wasn't big, but there was a strength to him which belied his wiry appearance; he wasn't a child anymore. Of course, Tobias wouldn't have needed magic to dole out a punishment; he was still far taller and broader and thicker and stronger, and whilst Eileen could only hope that her message had sunk in, she knew that a punishment from Tobias would've been on Severus' mind for days, imprinted in scarlet on his body.
But Tobias couldn't dole out this punishment. Tobias reacting angrily, violently, would simply reinforce Severus' beliefs; that Severus needed to grow more powerful, and then he could be the master of the house. What did the essay say? Magical supremacy over Muggles. So Eileen became judge, jury and executioner, and afterwards, she kept her counsel. This was their secret, hers and Severus'. After all, there was no point confiding in Tobias - he'd either erupt and make the situation worse, or in the unlikely event that he didn't react, she knew it would gnaw at him, knowing that their son was plotting against them - plotting against him.
Still, her silence wasn't enough to keep the afternoon's actions hidden. He felt the heat, Tobias, when he swung the door to their tiny terrace open - and he threw a fit, shouting and bawling about the wasted fuel that they couldn't easily replace. Tobias made a bad situation worse, as he always did in his moments of fury, tipping over the remnants of the coal bucket, the dark dust spilling onto the threadbare carpet, blackening their socked feet for more than a week.
It took a similar amount of time for the dark shading around her eye to fade.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
When no answer came, she sniffed and carried on clearing the kitchen, opening and shutting the cupboards loudly, banging the doors as she put away chipped cups and mismatched plates.
"For yer eye."
"You didn't hit me," she said, simply. "Besides," - and then she looked him up and down, an unpleasant scowl on her face, "it was worth it."
She thought it had been a phase. She'd prayed every night to the God that Tobias believed in, hoping her son would have his head turned by the redheaded girl he worshipped - the one with Muggle blood. He was secretive, Severus, even as a child, and he grew even more reclusive as a teenager, but he didn't have to confide in her for her to know. Eileen knew when her prayers had been answered and it had happened - she could smell her. There was something jarring about Lily's distinctive aroma of perfumed soap, and deodorant, and shampoo, all battling with the scents that were usually found in Spinner's End - damp and bacon fat and cigarette smoke.
Lily's aroma steadily grew stronger in Severus' bedroom, masking the smells to which Eileen was accustomed - of his muddy boots and wet jeans and dirty socks, and sweat and metal and blood and a tinge of vinegar - he's been dissecting and pickling frogs again - and occasionally, when he'd been studying hard, she'd pick up the smell of darkest ink - his favourite - and the scent of fresh parchment and musty books, and if she closed her eyes, she was almost transported thirty years, back to her own days in Scotland.
But Lily wasn't just confined to his room; she was suddenly everywhere - on his jacket and his scarf, and his jumpers and his shirts, and then it wasn't his clothes, it was him. She was in his hair, and on his skin, and finally, as Eileen stripped the bed in anger - I told him to do this a week last Wednesday! - she noticed the same floral scent lingering on his pillow and in his sheets.
"I'll speak to 'im," Tobias had offered.
"You will not!"
And nor did she. She did what she could to smooth the process along. She ushered Tobias to the pub with money they couldn't spare, and cast spells at Severus' bedroom door, layering silencing charms whenever she suspected the girl was in the house. Severus was prickly and sensitive, so she was careful to continue referring to Lily as just a friend, not a girlfriend - and she took Tobias to task if he mentioned anything about girls, so much so, Tobias had eventually asked her outright if their son had said anything to her about being on the wrong bus or batting for the other team.
Eileen had known about this burgeoning relationship for months, but it was only confirmed by the comment in his Hogwarts report - fleeting, in Slughorn's familiar cursive:
Severus has had a difficult year within Slytherin. After experiencing the loss of several friendships, he has demonstrated that he is a resilient young man, and it is credit to his studious nature that his grades during this time have not unduly suffered. I am pleased to report that Severus has developed a newfound maturity during this school year which I believe can be, in part, attributed to the positive relationship he has embarked upon with a delightful young lady from another house.
Delightful. She wasn't sure about that, Eileen - but she showed Tobias all the same. Toby pretended not to be interested, but she could tell from the arch of his eyebrow that he was relieved. A delightful young lady. Being delightful didn't matter to Tobias, but the source of Severus' affections being female clearly did.
She didn't tell Severus. Didn't tell him what what his report said, or what his father had feared, or what she'd suspected all along. And then, one night in the middle of the summer holidays, she'd clumsily stumbled across them. It was entirely innocent - the pair of them sitting on the wall outside, both staring at the stars, her head on his shoulder and his arm slung around her waist - and to Eileen's dismay, the back door loudly slammed shut before she could retreat unnoticed.
Rumbled.
"Severus. Lily."
"Mam."
"Mrs Snape."
If she was ever going to stop pretending, this was the moment.
"If you're walking her home, you'd best make a move, son."
Lily jerked her head up, looking disappointed that their evening was at a close, whilst Severus - ever obedient - instantly put his palms on the wall, ready to jump off.
"Or if she'd rather stay, you can sit out here as long as you like. Just remember to lock the back door on your way up."
The two teenagers had looked at each other, their eyes wide, and Eileen had smiled to herself as she slipped back into the house.
This moment isn't playing out the way she used to expect, all those years ago, in the days before Lily was a permanent fixture of his affection, when a defiant Muggle slur would always be on his lips. She'd feared it then - feared that he'd become one of them, feared that he'd be seduced by the very words that had terrified her. She'd held countless imaginary conversations with him whilst washing up, or brushing down the yard, trying to think how she'd reason with him, how she'd convince her little boy to return to her from the brink of darkness.
Eileen hadn't been having the conversations recently. She hadn't needed to. Not since Lily had burst into their life, a shower of colour in their monochrome world. She wasn't quite Eileen's type, Lily, but then, she had something better - something more appealing than a personality that she, Eileen, could connect with - Lily Evans had Muggle blood.
So, until Severus broke their news, until he'd told them about the baby, and until he'd told them about Dumbledore and the war, she hadn't given any of it a second thought - he's safe if he's in love with a Muggleborn - and to her horror, by the time she realised, she knew it was all too late.
And now her only child was stood before her, that ugly insignia of hate permanently etched into his delicate skin.
She makes him tea, and when he murmurs about Johnny Davies and the corner shop, her eyes briefly close.
"I didn't know they had it now."
"I should've told you." She sips from her cup. "I'll go and see him."
"Don't, Mam," he says, softly, "it'll only make it worse."
"I'll send your dad."
Severus rolls his eyes. "He will make it worse."
"He smoothed it over once," she says.
"...I was wearing that." He points at the stained shirt.
She places her cup on the worktop, and rubs a weathered finger between her eyes, trying to soothe the crease. "Do I want to know?"
"Probably not."
"They suspended that sentence."
"I didn't…" He roughly tugs his t-shirt, revealing the fresh wounds on his chest. "The blood, it's mine."
She looks surprised. "Not as quick with your wand as you think you are?"
He drops his t-shirt, but doesn't answer.
She shakes her head, and reaches for her packet of cigarettes. She takes one, then another, secreting it behind her ear, and then she throws the half-empty packet towards him. "Take them," she says, "if that's what you went the shop for."
"Thanks."
Her fingers are shaking as she flicks the lighter, and it takes several tries - one, three, five, eight - for the flame to catch. She sucks hard on the rolled tobacco, pursing her lips, and then exhaling, scrutinising him.
"What?"
"He'll call it in. Johnny Davies."
"I figured."
"Then what are you still doing here?"
"Right." He stands, sliding the packet into his back pocket, and reaching for his wallet. He drops a clatter of coins on the worktop, and then he kisses her on the cheek. "For the cigs."
"Does she know?"
"Lily? About…?"
She points at his arm with the burning cigarette before raising it to her lips again.
"Yeah," he says. He waits, but when she doesn't speak, he turns to leave.
"If you're going back," she says, as his hand touches the door, "go and see her first."
"I've seen her."
There's another pause. "I'll get your dad to go down," she says, "but you know how Johnny is…" She looks Severus dead in the eye, tapping the ashen end into the sink. "Make sure you see her."
She doesn't need to tell him why. She doesn't need to spell out for him the consequences of Johnny Davies calling the police and informing them that he's been seen wandering the streets covered in blood, even if it was his own. He treks back across the park, and a slim smile crosses his face - it'd be one way to evade Dumbledore and the Dark Lord; a stretch in Strangeways - but almost as soon as the thought occurs to him, his smile falls.
You're only weeks off meeting Bean. You don't want Bean's first memories of Dad to be across a formica table, or in a room of strangers, or whatever the process is.
He thinks about taking her with him - taking her back to Hogwarts, somehow smuggling her in - but then he thinks about her pregnancy and whether she'd go into labour whilst they were hiding there, and he wonders whether he could tell Pomfrey, whether she could deliver Bean. He's hopeful, his feet quickening as he walks towards Lily's street, but then he realises that such actions will mean placing Bean in Dumbledore's lap, and he's not prepared to do that either.
Malf? I could take her there. She could be with Cissy. Two mothers and babies together.
It's an option - but he realises that it means confiding in them, and it's not that he doesn't trust Lucius; he trusts him with his life - but Lucius is in the same situation that he's in, tethered to the Dark Lord, and he doesn't want Bean threatened in the same way that Lucius' son was.
It's a step too close. The Dark Lord can never know.
He doesn't have a solution when he walks briskly up the path, but his mind feels clearer than it did when he last approached this house in the dead of night - and although he knows he looks a state, and Rose and David's alarmed expressions confirm it, when he sees the relieved look on Lily's face, he's glad he's returned.
He tells her everything - tells her what happened at the shop, and with his mother, and his fears about having to hide from the Muggle world, and the ways he's thought of to get around it. She looks as emotionally drained as he feels when he finishes, and he holds her face in his hands, his forehead resting against hers.
"I don't want you to worry about this," he says, between kisses. "Mam'll send Da down, see if he can make Johnny see sense, and she'll get word to me if the filth come knocking."
"You can't go back to court," she says, and she masks her distress with a laugh. "I hate that suit Lucius got for you."
He laughs then too, but it's hollow, just like hers. He pulls her close to him. "Are you ok?"
"Yes," she says, honestly. "I am now that you're here. I was so worried."
"Sorry."
"You seem...better."
He gives a soft laugh. "I left here and made things ten times worse, and yet..." He shakes his head. "I was a bit messed up this morning. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. You've got nothing to be sorry for."
"No?" He scoffs. "I've got everything to be sorry for. I've fucked everything up. Again and again, it's like I never ever fucking learn."
She holds him tightly, and then leans up to kiss him again, as if she knows their affection is about to be rationed. "It was fucked up already, Sev," she murmurs. "This morning was just bad luck."
"Fucking Avery," he says, exasperated. "It was Ave on that march, and Ave who fucked off and left me to be arrested, and it was Ave who said they'd never find me if I skipped bail and stayed at Hogwarts, but they fucking did, Lil!" He groans. "If I'd made that court date, if I'd been sentenced at the time, I might've been tried as a youth."
"They took your age into account," she says, a little coolly, "that's why they suspended the sentence, and they ran your failure to surrender concurrently. You were incredibly lucky given the circumstances. They normally run those charges consecutively, and then the judge wouldn't have been able to suspend it."
"...I know," he says, finally. It's already a sore point between them, and has been the cause of many arguments, so he doesn't want her to think he's playing down his own culpability.
It's not Avery, he thinks. This was all you, Severus. You went to the march. You stabbed the Muggle. You got caught and you got yourself arrested. You ran off to Hogwarts, hoping they'd never find you. And it was you who went wandering through the streets in a blood covered shirt this morning, right into the workplace of the man whose dog you slaughtered. None of this was Avery. This was all you.
"...but if I'd come back sooner," he continues, "it'd all be over now. It wouldn't still be hanging over me, and the police wouldn't be interested in whatever Johnny Davies has to say. I was such an idiot."
"They might not be interested."
He looks annoyed. "Fuck's sake, Lil, I'm on probation for stabbing someone, and I've been wandering around Cokeworth covered in knife wounds and blood. I think, I think they might just be fucking interested!"
"It's done," she says, simply. "Stop fretting over things you can't change. It's what we do next that matters." She kisses him again and again, insistently - as if trying to prove a point - and then delves her tongue between his lips.
He's slow to react, trying to work out if she's telling him to stop fretting over Johnny, or the probation, or the horrible mark on his arm - but he can't fathom it, not with his brain swirling. She kisses him harder, as if she's irritated by his lack of response, and he raises his right hand to the back of her head, the fingers of his left hand entwining with hers, finally deepening the kiss. "You still want me?"
"Yes." And then she shoots him a mischievous grin. "I've put up with you for this long, haven't I?"
Even with her teasing, he seems gratified - but as they kiss, he holds her more tightly, as if he's afraid she's going to change her mind. Eventually, he pulls away. "...I can't stay, love," he says, reluctantly, breathlessly.
"Ask Lucius to get us somewhere - a hotel, anywhere that's not here," she says, drawing him back to her, her kiss even more heated. "Tell him it's my birthday, or that I'm begging you for a holiday, or tell him that Dumbledore's causing trouble so you need somewhere for us to go in private. Get him to put it in a fake name - not yours!" And before he can protest, she kisses him again. "Only seeing you at weekends-"
"-I count down every hour, every minute-"
"-and now, if it's not safe for you to come back... It's unbearable, Sev. Ask him-"
"-I will-"
"-get him to do something. Promise me."
"I promise."
"Good," she says, "because I can't do this anymore."
It's because he's overtired, and his brain's started to play tricks on him, but his heart skips at her words. She doesn't want to put up with your shit anymore, Severus. She wants someone who can be here all the time. Someone who hasn't got this baggage. "You can't do what anymore?"
"I can't keep living without you."
He gives her a weak smile, relief flooding his body. "No? Got a thing for complete and utter idiots, have you?"
"Oh yes," she laughs, "only prime dunderheads get to warm my bed."
He leans back towards her, kissing her firmly, and then to her surprise, he pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it across the room, before resuming their heated kiss.
"I thought you had to go," she murmurs.
"And I thought you realised that I'm an idiot who makes terrible decisions," he says, with a sinful grin. "Now get out of those clothes, because if I'm going to be arrested for being here, you'd better make it worth my while…"
Chapter 69: A dark wizard in need
Chapter Text
Despite his fearless words, he doesn't stay long - she can sense the moment when his lust fades, and common sense returns. He whispers words of love in her ear, and dresses quickly - and after pressing a kiss to her bump, he departs.
There's a soft knock on her bedroom door a short while later, and an invitation downstairs, to sit and talk over lunch. Her parents say it's to talk, but they don't - they nudge, and they prod, and eventually, they ask - but they don't talk. She talks. She talks, and they listen. Her mother nods, and offers her hand, and one tissue after another, whilst her father looks solemn.
It should be shocking, but after all of the revelations in recent weeks, her words don't cause the reaction that she'd expected. Her parents already knew that Severus was deeply involved with something dangerous in the magical world, and although they knew Severus had been in some trouble within their own community, Lily had always been successfully evasive with the details. Fortunately, Johnny Davies kept company with the likes of Toby Snape, not David Evans, so although there had been murmurings in the neighbourhood of some strange behaviour by the youngest of the Snapes, her parents hadn't given much credence to the rumours. Such rumours were only repeated within the four walls of the Evans house by Petunia - and her word was easily dismissed, given her behaviour towards both Lily and Severus.
Jealous.
David and Rose were all too fearful of pushing their daughter fully into another world, so they opened their arms and accepted Severus - dealt with him as they found him, and for his part, Severus always played the part of polite suitor. They'd fretted at first, and although their initial worry had never fully disappeared, it had reduced over the years as they watched him grow into a young man who cared deeply for their daughter, and appeared to be studious and sensible, and who had aspirations far beyond the dilapidated terraces where his parents lived.
Lily could see in Rose's face that she couldn't quite accept Lily's words - couldn't believe that the Severus they'd welcomed into their house had stabbed someone in cold blood a few years earlier, or murdered an animal. She couldn't believe that the boy who sat at her dining table and passed her the salt had done such things. Her father was different - his jaw a little more square, his expression harder. He could believe it. She could tell.
"And you?"
Her eyes briefly closed. "Never."
"He's never raised a fist to you? Or a weapon? You've never been scared of him, or-"
"No!" It comes out shriller than she'd intended, but she's had enough. They'd fought, and he'd thrown things in frustration, but so had she - and she couldn't ever remember him hurting her deliberately. "You've seen how he is with me." Her hand reaches for her bump. "And with our baby. I love him. We love him."
Rose and David exchange a look, and then Rose stands, pulling Lily into a hug. "Your father was only checking," she says, gently - and Lily's certain that they're exchanging silent words over her shoulder.
"This doesn't change anything. He's still just Severus," Lily says firmly.
But somehow, in the eyes of her parents, she knows he isn't.
Severus doesn't visit at the weekend, but as she doesn't hear from Eileen either, she tries to dampen down her fears. Maybe Tobias talked Johnny out of calling the police. Then she gets a note - he's not coming the next weekend either, but there is an Order meeting scheduled, and he's arranged for Lucius to pick her up after. Lily can't stop herself from re-reading his note, trying to work out if Lucius will be picking her up, or whether Severus is intending to masquerade as the older wizard once more - and if it's the former, where he'll take her, and if Severus will be there.
When she enters, her stomach is already in knots, not helped by Pettigrew openly staring at her whilst she scans the room for a seat. There are more witches and wizards at this gathering than she's seen for a long time - and it's evident that this meeting is of great importance, all thoughts of a traitor or a leak long forgotten.
Not forgotten, she thinks, but Dumbledore wants everyone to hear these words. Is that the only reason I've been included?
Both the Prewett boys give her a strange glance when she takes a seat next to Lupin, but neither is unfriendly towards her. Gideon passes her a cup of weak tea, and Fabian leans over to push the plate of biscuits in her direction, and when Lupin smiles as she passes the biscuits down the table, she wonders if she's imagining enemies who don't exist - especially when Pettigrew takes two from the plate, and nods his gratitude towards her.
The varied and gentle murmurings in the room suddenly halt as a furious argument breaks out in the corner, the loud noise stemming from a small group of mostly older witches and wizards - Dumbledore, Moody, Vance, Bones, Diggle, and Frankie Longbottom, who appears to be the main cause of the noise, as he turns away from the group.
"Absolutely not!"
"Frankie-"
"Don't Frankie me, Amelia," Longbottom hisses, pulling his arm away from her. "No matter what Dumbledore thinks, this isn't a game."
"Nobody suggested it was," Moody says, gravely - and then he glances up from the small gathering, noticing the Prewett brothers making their way over. "Sit down, Gideon."
"I want to know what you were talking about."
"Yes," adds Fabian, "what's Dumbledore proposing?"
"It doesn't matter," Frank says, firmly. "We're not doing it. I've got a kid on the way-"
Fabian scoffs. "A lot of us have families. That's why we're fighting."
"Seconded," adds Gideon, with a quick grin. "So?" He flicks his wand, causing all of the empty chairs around the table to slide backwards. "Are you going to tell us all, or have you gathered us together to watch you all bicker amongst yourselves? Because Fabes and I can pop around our sister's if we want to watch a bunch of children arguing."
Pettigrew gives a sudden snort of laughter at this, and when Lily glances over, she can see all four of her old housemates holding back laughter - and then she looks back at the furious expression on Frank Longbottom's face, and the trepidation on Moody's, and she can't help but wonder if Severus sees the same thing in his own meetings - whether the Death Eaters have such a motley crew, all with different outlooks and hopes and fears, or whether they're all on the same page.
"Certainly," Albus says, smoothly, taking a seat at the head of the table and indicating that everyone else should also be seated. When the group finally settles, he stands, so it's clear he's leading the group. "I have gathered you all here tonight to propose that we invest some of our funds into the judicial system."
"You're going to fight He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named through the Ministry?" Lupin says, sceptically - and he's immediately bolstered by jeers aimed at Dumbledore's words.
"We need action, not words," adds Black.
"The Ministry," Bones starts - and before she can continue, the jeering gets louder.
"-is corrupt," shouts Pettigrew. "They're after innocent creatures!" He claps Lupin on the shoulder, and Lupin's eyes widen, shrugging his friend's hand off, and shooting him a warning glance, before he can spill his secret further.
Lily's heart is briefly in her mouth - and she looks over at Vance and Dumbledore, both of whom look solemn - and she can feel the collective sigh of relief when Pettigrew seems to think better of his statement, and sits back down.
"Sorry," he murmurs to Lupin, who nods, his eyes fixed firmly on the wall behind Black, not daring to look at the rest of the witches and wizards gathered.
"He's right though," Black says, breaking the sudden silence that's fallen around the room. "You-Know-Who has only surged in popularity since the Ministry has tried to placate him. His followers are everywhere," - and he punctuates this word heavily, casting a fierce look around the room, and meeting Lily's own eyes with a slight sneer. "We need action."
"I am glad you agree, Mr Black," says Bones with a tight smile, "because our plan isn't just to fight You-Know-Who in the courtroom. Our plan is to infiltrate his inner sanctum."
"Impossible," says Pettigrew - and this time it's Potter who jabs him in the ribs.
"Not impossible," Potter adds, quickly, "we wouldn't know that, would we, Peter?"
Again, Pettigrew's eyes widen, and he looks a little abashed. "I mean, no, I just mean - if it can be done, then one of the others would've succeeded by now."
"The boy is right," Moody says, briskly. "Too many have been lost."
"Too many because their tale is not convincing," Vance says, darkly, and her eyes reach Lily.
I'm going to be sick, she thinks - because she knows what's coming next; she knows they're going to out Severus, and Potter and Black and Pettigrew and Lupin are all going to scream about how he's untrustworthy, and Moody is going to stare at her with that same unflinching glare, and Bones will sigh, and Vance will-
"Which is why," Vance continues, "we propose that we use this avenue to ingratiate ourselves within his regime."
"Ingratiate ourselves?" Hestia Jones frowns. "Who exactly amongst us?"
"And how?" demands Gideon. "What avenue are you talking about?"
"We are going to mount a defence for Bartemius Crouch Junior."
The gasps echo around the room at Dumbledore's words.
"No," Frank says again, standing. "I won't be part of it."
"Nor me," says Black, also standing. "I'm not going to be someone who defends a Death Eater."
"That's a pity," Vance drawls, sharing a glance with Bones, "because we were rather hoping that you would fund such an endeavour, providing you with a pathway into the inner circle."
The room is silent, but there's a ringing in Lily's ears - Black! They mean for Black to spy, not Severus!
"No," Potter interrupts. "Nobody would believe it."
"Nobody?" Diggle presses. "Not even though he carries the Black name?"
"Nobody who knows him!" Potter shakes his head angrily. "Nobody we know! Nobody here! Nobody who went to school with us, and you're forgetting - his family are dark!"
"I assure you that we are not forgetting," Vance says with a small laugh. "His dark family are the reason why we selected him for this task."
"It could be his way of making amends," Bones offers. "He wishes to take his seat at their table once more."
Lupin laughs derisively. "They'd smell a rat. They'd kill him on sight."
"They'd take the money first," Black mutters - but his eyes meet Lily's, and she can tell he's mulling it over; the chance to be a hero - a chance to be involved, to do something instead of sitting around and waiting.
"You can't," Pettigrew says, urgently, "they'd expose you immediately. They'd get you to do something - a test, and when you failed, they'd kill you."
"He's right," Gideon agrees, and he seems gratified when the rest of the table nod along, "just funding a defence for Barty Crouch isn't going to be enough to convince the Death Eaters that Sirius is one of them. They'd make him do something that would break him."
"I'm not that easy to break," Black argues, hotly.
Fabian stares levelly at Black. "And could you? Could you keep your cover when they demanded that you do something terrible?"
"No," Potter interrupts. "He's not like that."
"No? You couldn't do it for the cause?" Vance pushes.
"...I'm not sure," says Black, finally.
Vance eyes him curiously. "I thought you were keen to see action?"
"If they deserved it," he argues, "then sure. That's easy."
At his words, Lily runs cold - she knows what he's thinking, Sirius. She knows he's imagining holding Severus at the end of his wand, and exacting his revenge. She looks down, barely listening as he continues.
"...but I couldn't turn on one of us, and if little Reggie or cousin Bella was in the same room, it'd be over. They'd know if I hesitated. She'd know."
"There's nobody else who can do this," Vance says firmly.
Gideon leans back in his chair. "So forget it," he says, lazily. "What's the point of this anyway? Are we hoping to win the case? To show Crouch is innocent? Do any of us believe that?"
There's a rumbling of dissent around the room, and Fabian quickly nods. "Exactly! How do we benefit from a Death Eater walking free?"
"You shouldn't focus on the specifics of the case," Dumbledore says, softly. "We are hoping to prove to the Ministry that due process must be followed. Barty may be guilty, but if he is prosecuted without proper representation, then it opens the door-"
"What Dumbledore is saying," Moody interrupts, "is that if the son of a politician can be executed by the state without a single word said in his defence-"
"Alastor!" Bones looks horrified.
"It's the point we're making!" Moody argues. "If Crouch is killed, then next week it'll be," and he lifts his stick, pointing around the room, "one of those boys at the back, then it'll be Diggle or Jones or Frankie, or you, or me, or Dumbledore himself."
"...and if Crouch didn't get representation," Fabian muses, softly, "then neither will we. And you saw what happened with old Vector."
"Exactly," says Moody, nodding.
Dumbledore gives the room a serious look. "The judicial system needs to be applied fairly to us all - not just those we agree with. We cannot write young Crouch off just because he isn't one of ours."
The room falls briefly silent as these words sink in - and then Pettigrew grins.
"I've got it!"
Black arches an eyebrow. "Got what?"
"The way in," he says, with a broad smile. And then he points a podgy finger at Lily. "Evans is fucking Malfoy. Get Malfoy to stand the money. Crouch is represented, Malfoy is celebrated by his friends for helping a dark wizard in need, and Evans provides the money-"
"-and there's nothing more a Malfoy likes," Black grins, "than a favourable deal that costs him nothing."
The room turns towards her, expectation on their faces, and she tries desperately to come up with a credible reason to dash the idea.
"No," Vance says, suddenly. "It's too obvious."
"The idea was to gain spies," Bones adds, quickly. "Not to expose the only person we've got in their regime."
"She's the only person we've got?" Diggle says, exasperatedly. "No offence, dear."
"None taken," she mutters.
Gideon shakes his head. "I'm with the ladies," he says. "We shouldn't be risking Evans here, and Malfoy would smell a rat if Evans suddenly offered him a bag full of galleons."
"Not necessarily," Black argues. "I know that family. He might be blinded by the chance to be Crouch's saviour."
"If he felt that way, he'd have already done it," Lily says, quietly - and she's gratified when Potter and the Prewett brothers nod along.
Fabian raises his hand. "I vote we support Crouch's defence openly - for the right democractic reasons."
"To show we're better than they are," Hestia Jones says, raising her hand. "To show we believe in democracy."
"I'm in," says Gideon, raising his hand.
"All in favour raise your hand and say 'aye'," Moody says, using his stick to count the votes. "And the nays?" He counts again, and then nods. "The ayes have it. Looks like your bag of galleons is going in under your own name, Albus."
"Put it in under mine," Potter says, suddenly. "It's the sort of cause my father would've supported." He shoots a look at Black. "A father shouldn't leave his son unsupported, even if he turns out like Crouch."
Lily watches the two, and she knows that Potter's statement is more about reinforcing his own steadfast belief in Black, reminding him that blood isn't what counts - that since renouncing his own, Potter is his family.
"It doesn't matter where it comes from," Fabian says, quietly, "but speaking of a bag full of galleons, why isn't Dung here?"
Mundungus Fletcher doesn't like this side of Diagon; his old patch by Knockturn was much more lucrative, but the last few weeks have been more than unkind. He isn't sure exactly who has placed the target on his back, having been hounded left and right by Strikers - and all Strikers who are unwilling to hammer out a mutually beneficial deal with him.
Unheard of, he thinks. Malfoy is the obvious candidate, with his connections with Snape and his links to the Lestrange brothers, who seem convinced that he's interfering in their livelihoods.
"That's the problem with these Purebloods," he mutters to himself as he packs his pipe with loose tobacco, "they're paranoid. See things that aren't there."
"Is that so?"
Fletcher almost drops his pipe at the sudden interruption, and in his efforts to catch it, he's wrong footed, and finds himself pinned against the wall, Rabastan Lestrange's wand pointed squarely at his forehead.
"Rabastan," Fletcher says, his voice an octave higher than usual. He coughs softly, hoping to correct it. "Good evening."
"Yes, good evening to you, Fletcher," adds Rodolphus, stepping out from the shadows, a nasty smile stretching across his face. "I'm glad we've stumbled across your new patch. ...I think it's time we had a little chat."
Fletcher swallows hard, and gives the smallest of laughs. "And does this chat have to take place under duress, or do you think your charming brother could lower his wand?"
"Bast," Rodolphus says - and just the use of his name by his brother is enough to make Rabastan's wand edge downwards, pointing at Fletcher's feet instead of his head.
"Oh wonderful, now you're just going to blast off my toes," Fletcher smiles insincerely, "I can see how that's much better."
"Come now, Fletch," Rabastan says with a nasty grin, "I can't have you running away from us, can I?"
"You sound ungrateful to me, Fletcher. Bast can blow out your brains if you prefer," Rodolphus says, almost lazily. "You heard him, Bast - put your wand back up."
Chapter 70: Family
Chapter Text
"Quickly," she says, grabbing Lucius' hand and pulling him down an alley. "They're full of crazy ideas tonight," she warns. She doesn't pause to work out if this is Severus or Lucius - she's too fearful of one of the Order following her and spying Lucius Malfoy, and deciding to recruit him for their cause, inadvertently pushing both her and Bean in more deeply with the Dark Lord.
Thank the heavens for the Prewett brothers.
"This is new and different and exciting," he says, with a dangerous smile, as she pulls him down one street and then another. She suddenly stops and wraps her arms around him, readying herself to Apparate - and at that moment he halts her with his wand. "Now now, as much as I'm enjoying you taking such an energetic and masterful lead-" and then he gives her a feral grin, "-is that what dear young Severus is into these days? Being pushed around? Bossed about? Dominated by his witch?"
"Our relationship is none of your business, you insufferable wizard! I'm only Apparating us, and I assure you, I am perfectly capable! Now quickly, before they follow us!"
Before she can cast the spell, Lucius chuckles and grabs her, pulling her body close to his, his hips pressing against hers, and his breath uncomfortably warm in her ear. "This isn't about ability, you insufferable witch," he drawls, tightening his hold on her, his wand in his right hand, and his left arm wrapping around her waist until his palm is firmly planted on her midriff, "but I must be the one to Apparate us because only I can bring us both through the protections of Malfoy Manor."
They land heavily on the outskirts of the grounds, and she brushes leaves from her cloak as Lucius straightens his own. "Are you quite all right?" he asks. "You're looking a little green."
"Fine," she says, although he's right - she does. Apparation through pregnancy hasn't been an issue until this moment, and his bumpy landing so late in proceedings has left her feeling a little queasy. "Why the Manor? Is Sev here?"
"Up there," he says, pointing a long finger to an illuminated window - and her heart thumps harder when she sees her partner cradling a baby to his chest, a contented smile on his face as he alternates between looking out over the grounds, and gazing at the child in his arms.
Lily's about to move forwards when she sees Narcissa appear behind him, her arm around his waist, and then one of his around her shoulders. Lily's heart slows as she watches Narcissa contentedly resting her head against Severus' shoulder, her fingers toying with the baby's shawl.
"Are they…" She trails off, unsure of what she intends to ask.
"Irritatingly close?" Lucius mutters, holding his arm out for Lily to take. "Yes." And then he walks her up the gravel path, and glances over at her, a shark like smile on his face. "You needn't fret - she wouldn't do anything without my express consent, and Severus knows better than to cross me."
She's certain he means this to be reassuring, but she remembers how Severus felt in his memories, and the whispered words of desire from Narcissa, and she can't help but pull Lucius up the path at speed, desperate to reach the Manor and break up the cosy scene between their respective partners.
"Lily!"
It's Narcissa who reaches her first, as Severus still has his arms full of wriggling baby, and when Narcissa pulls her into a hug, Lily can feel her own jealousy melting away.
"Cissy, put her down," Severus says, lightly, after a moment. "It's my turn."
Narcissa releases Lily, and smiles, kissing her on the cheek, and then turns back to Severus. "Forget Lily hugging you," she says, teasingly, "let her hold Dray."
Lily shoots Lucius a quizzical look. "Dray? I thought you wanted to call your son Ophiuchus?"
"This is Draco," Narcissa answers, proudly, taking her son from Severus and nuzzling him for a moment before gently passing him into Lily's waiting arms.
"Cissy's idea," Lucius says, with a small smile. "Dray is a more palatable nickname than Ophi, I suppose."
"Dragon is a pretty cool name altogether," Severus grins. "Better than Severus anyway."
At his words, Narcissa looks up sharply. "You don't like your name?"
"Sounds too fantastical for the Muggles," he mutters, "so they shorten it."
Lucius arches an eyebrow. "To what? To Sev? It's not such a hardship, surely?"
"To Russ," Lily says, adjusting baby Draco in her arms so he's resting comfortably, his small hands clenching into fists by his face as he yawns. "Russell is a Muggle name, so…"
Lucius scoffs. "Ridiculous. Severus is a Muggle name! What was that emperor's name? Septimius Severus?"
"An emperor having it is not proof of it being a Muggle name," Severus says, sinking into a nearby chair. "Maybe a few thousand years ago, but not in modern Britain." He gives a soft laugh. "Apart from in my father's mind."
"Your father named you?"
"Gosh, Draco's absolutely adorable," Lily says, noticing the dark look growing on Severus' face, deliberately drawing Lucius' and Narcissa's attention back to their child. "I love his name. It suits him somehow."
Lucius grins. "Strong and powerful, just as a Malfoy should be. None of this astronomy nonsense."
Lily raises her eyebrows towards Severus, who silently shakes his head, warning her not to mention the constellation.
Narcissa doesn't retort directly either, but she smoothly takes Draco away from Lily, cradling her son in her arms. "Don't you listen to your father," she murmurs, softly, "because he talks such nonsense."
"And on that topic," Lucius says, loudly, "what were you babbling on about when you dragged me through half the streets tonight?"
At this, Severus' head snaps up. "What happened, Lil?"
She glances at Lucius and Narcissa, and then back at Severus, her implication clear.
"You're amongst friends," Severus presses. "Tell us, tell me. Now, Lil."
"...they're going to defend Crouch," she says, quietly - and then she looks at Lucius, who is smirking, and she can't help but wonder if he's smirking at her responding to Severus' stern command after his earlier accusation of domination. She takes a deep breath. "They wanted you to fund it, Lucius. Through me."
Lucius looks over at Severus. "Absolutely not."
"No, listen to what she's saying," Severus urges. "Wanted, not want. Who are they going with instead?"
"Potter."
Lucius throws his arms in the air. "Potter? Potter! It's between me and Potter?"
"They wanted Black," she says, quietly.
"No," Narcissa says, quickly crossing the room, Draco fussing quietly in her arms as she moves. "They wouldn't believe him."
"That's what he said," she says. "So they thought they'd come through me."
"To me," Lucius says, heavily. He exchanges a look with Narcissa, and both Severus and Lily note the glance he makes towards his son.
"They said the…"
"Dark Lord," Severus fills in, guessing at the reason for Lily's hesitation, knowing she would be unsure how to refer to him within Lucius' company.
She shoots him a grateful smile. "They said he would reward you for stepping up to help, and you would relish spending someone else's money for your own benefit."
Severus chokes back a laugh, causing Lucius to glare at him. "And you didn't agree to this plan?" Lucius presses.
She shakes her head. "I said you wouldn't believe that I could come up with such money, and it would blow their only spy."
He pauses, mulling this over. "Good."
"They aren't going to defend Barty then?" Narcissa asks.
"They are," she says. "They talked a lot about due process, and if the right thing wasn't done now, then it would make it easier to prosecute them in the future."
Lucius briefly closes his eyes. "We should've realised they would see it in such a way."
"...and how does Potter fit into this?" Severus says, his face darkening.
"They're doing it themselves - under their own name," she explains, moving to stand by Severus' seat, reaching for his hand. "To prove that they are the righteous, and that justice is for everyone - not just those aligned one way, or those with money, or those with a certain type of blood."
"And Potter's keen to present himself as the most worthy and righteous of them all," Severus says, looking sick.
"Now, Severus, if Potter wants to put himself in the limelight," Lucius says, with a small smile, "then we shouldn't stand in his way."
"No? Why shouldn't we? It's school all over again," Severus argues, his voice getting louder. "He always comes out of things smelling of roses, perfect fucking Potter-"
"Severus," Narcissa admonishes, indicating to the baby in her arms, "language, please."
"He can't hear me," Severus mutters, colouring slightly at being rebuked in such a way, "and you all know I'm right! This is all about Potter coming out on top, being revered for his saintly actions-"
"Putting himself in the limelight," Lucius reiterates. "Making himself noticed." He gives a tight smile. "You shouldn't be angry - you should be celebrating, Severus. I think our friend Potter is about to find out what it is to be notorious..."
"Come now," Fletcher says, his hands unsteady as he pockets his pipe, "I have no argument with you good fellows."
Rodolphus glances at Rabastan. "No?"
"You sold Rodolphus here to the aurors."
"I didn't!"
Rabastan trails his wand up and down, and then points it at Fletcher's heart. "You did. They ripped up his house, and hassled his wife. Why? Revenge, was it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Fletcher protests. "I'm just a simple mover and shaker."
"And Bast moved and shaked you out of his deal," Rodolphus says, loudly.
"That would be moved and shook," Fletcher corrects, and then instantly gives a weak laugh when both brothers raise their wands to his face again. "No, no, I didn't do anything. Always disappointing to lose business, but I'm not one for retribution. Besides, I'm out of that game now."
Rodolphus shoots him a sceptical look. "Really?"
"I've heard Snape's been supplying you again," Rabastan says.
"Did you hear that?" Fletcher gives him an uneasy look, glancing towards the end of the alley, and hoping that someone will venture down. "Seen Snape, have you? Horse's mouth, was it?"
"Malfoy," Rabastan says, quietly. "He's family, remember?"
"Not yours."
"Mine," Rodolphus says, drawing his own wand. "He's my family. And Bast here is mine too."
Rabastan gives a nasty smile. "So that makes him my family. We're practically brothers."
"And Snape?" Fletcher asks, almost innocently. "Whose brother would he be?"
Rodolphus gives a nasty laugh. "I'm not sure it's a brotherly relationship, but I believe Snape and my brother-in-law are close, if you catch my meaning?"
"I see." Fletcher adjusts his collar. "And here I was thinking that Snape spent his time getting his end away with Avery, but no! You're all brothers together."
Rabastan jabs his wand into Fletcher's neck. "Get to the point, Fletcher."
Fletcher swallows uneasily, the wand biting into the soft skin of his neck, realising that he pushed too far. He sniffs. "And so what if Malfoy told you that Snape's been supplying me? It's hardly a secret that Snape and I have a business relationship of sorts. You knew as much from your own interactions with him."
"I'm not interested in Snape," Rodolphus says, angrily, his wand raised. "I'm interested in why you brought the aurors banging at my door."
Rabastan twists his wand in Fletcher's neck. "And I'm interested as to why you thought blackmailing my family-"
"It wasn't blackmail," Fletcher protests loudly. "I didn't do anything-"
Rabastan sneers. "You thought you could gain revenge for me cutting you out of a lucrative deal with Snape, didn't you?"
"No, I swear-"
"Cutting him," Rodolphus grins, his wand pressed against Fletcher's cheek, "now there's a good idea, Bast-"
"No, boys, please! Please!" Fletcher begs. "I swear I didn't, I wouldn't," and he shakes as Rodolphus' wand digs into his face, "I wouldn't start shopping my contacts! I've got a business to think about, a reputation-"
"You said a moment ago that you weren't in this business," Rodolphus sneers. "Which is it? In or out?"
"I'm in, I'm in!" shouts Fletcher, his knees wobbling as the wand digs in harder. "I'm in the business, and I keep my customers happy! All of you, buyers and sellers alike! And I don't hold a grudge, I don't blame you and Snape, Rabastan," he says, desperately, "I still deal with Snape! I haven't done him any harm! I wouldn't call the aurors!"
"You wouldn't do Snape harm," Rabastan hisses, "because he's the brewer - without him, you have no business! But me? Me, you'll fuck me, and you'll fuck my brother here! What do we matter to the likes of you?"
"I haven't done anything to you," Fletcher wails, "either of you," he says, desperately, meeting Rodolphus' eyes. "I wouldn't do such a thing - why would I draw attention to my business in such a way? This Imperatum thing is a mess and-"
Rabastan pulls his wand away from Fletcher, and puts his hand on Rodolphus' wand arm, holding him still. "What do you know about Imperatum?"
Fletcher looks anxious. "The punters don't want my potions," he says, "not since the Ministry's been flooding Hogsmeade. Come on, lads," he says, earnestly, "you can't have missed it."
Rabastan and Rodolphus exchange a glance that Fletcher can't read. "...that potion I was getting from Snape," Rabastan says, quietly, "did you have any other deals for him?"
Fletcher nods - and again, the two brothers glance at each other, and Fletcher watches each of them desperately, hoping to glean something from them.
"Deals which are still ongoing?"
Fletcher nods again.
Rabastan gives a greedy smile. "Then I think we should put this little incident to one side, and I'll do you a deal, Fletcher."
"As one of my most respected, most trusted customers," Fletcher says, hurriedly, "a deal would be most welcome."
"...Dolph here will lower his wand," Rabastan offers, "and in return, I want some information."
"Information?" Fletcher swallows hard. "What sort of information?"
"I want to know about Snape and his deals."
"Rabastan," Fletcher says, earnestly, "I won't have any deals if word gets around that I reveal my sources. That's what this is about - protection for the buyer and seller alike. If you know what he's brewing, and who for, you can undercut him-"
"Undercut you, more like," Rabastan hisses, "that's what you're worried about!" He leans in menacingly. "We're not all on the make, you horrible little wizard."
"Wait," says Rodolphus, slowly, and then he mutters something in Rabastan's ear, who eventually nods. Rodolphus flashes Fletcher a small smile. "We appreciate your predicament, Fletcher, and we can be reasonable."
"Thank you."
"We'll keep off your turf, and off Snape's back. You have our solemn promise."
"...and what do you want in return?"
"One deal. That's all. One."
Reluctantly, Rodolphus' wand still pressing in his face, Fletcher nods. "I can offer one."
"Good," Rabastan says, with a dark smile. "Because I want to know every last detail of the most expensive deal you're brokering for Snape."
Fletcher nods again, and holds his hand out, watching warily until Rodolphus lowers his wand and both wizards shake hands with the broker.
"Need to take us to check your records?" Rodolphus asks. "I don't want you fobbing us off, telling us it was eighteen hundred vials of Polyjuice or something else ridiculous. We're talking about his most lucrative individual potion here, not industrial batches of common brews."
"...no need for records in that case," Fletcher says, his voice a little more steady now that the immediate threat has been removed, "the most expensive potion I broker for Snape is his most memorable one."
"Come on, Fletcher," Rabastan hisses, "don't make me drag it out of you."
"The most lucrative potion that Severus Snape sells is," and Fletcher pauses for dramatic effect, enjoying the greedy look on the two brothers' faces as they hang on his every word, before whispering loudly, "Wolfsbane."
Chapter 71: Unwanted attention
Chapter Text
Lucius groans when Narcissa untangles herself from his embrace, and starts to stand up from her place on the sofa. "Cissy! Cissy, for Merlin's sake, leave the boy be. He's perfectly fine."
"He should be asleep in his cot," she argues, "it's not good for him to get used to being rocked to sleep."
"I promise I won't continue it with him, Narcissa," Lily quickly jokes, "when we go back home."
Lucius laughs loudly at the idea of Lily rocking Severus to sleep, earning himself a cold look from Narcissa - fearful that he'll wake their baby, and Severus shoots Lily an equally cold look and fusses with the edge of Draco's blanket.
"Very funny, Lil," he grumbles.
"I thought so."
Severus looks up at Narcissa, who is now standing over the pair. "Cissy, you heard Malf. Draco's fast asleep, and if you move him-"
"-he'll scream for hours and hours and hours, like he did last night," Lucius warns. "Let Draco use Severus as a mattress. He doesn't seem to mind being dribbled on." He opens his mouth to say something else disparaging, but seeing Severus' fierce scowl, he thinks better of it, and keeps quiet.
Narcissa looks reluctant to leave her child, but the combination of Lucius beckoning her back towards the sofa, and Lily looking adoringly at Draco being held against Severus' chest, dissuades her from arguing further. "Half an hour," she concedes, "then he'll have to be woken up anyway. He'll want feeding."
"He always wants feeding," Lucius grumbles.
"He's sounding more and more like you, Sev," Lily teases, stroking the tip of Draco's soft cheek, and smiling when a tiny hand reaches and grips her forefinger.
"Bloody hell," Severus mutters, softly, watching the scene unfolding before him with fascination, "what's this, get at Severus night?"
Lucius grins as Narcissa sits back down next to him, and he pulls her close to him. "You're showing your sensitive side, Severus - it's far too tempting to prod that soft underbelly we didn't know you had."
Narcissa gives a soft laugh. "You're like a little hedgehog - spiky on the outside, and squidgy in the middle."
"Yeah well, I've had enough. You can have him back," Severus grumbles, but Lily's hand stops him from shifting Draco away from his chest.
"Don't be so prickly," she whispers - but her choice of word earns her another angry scowl. "Sev, stop it, we're only teasing." She lowers her voice further. "And this look suits you. Really suits you."
He straightens slightly. "Yeah?"
"Yes."
"It's rude to whisper," Lucius calls, loudly. "I do hope you're not filling my son's mind with bad manners and nonsense."
"A nursery rhyme," Lily says, quickly. "A Muggle one."
Both Lucius and Narcissa look a little alarmed, but Narcissa quickly gains her composure. "...I think perhaps he prefers the wizarding ones."
"Yeah, the one about flapping Thestrals is much more suitable than Old King Cole," Severus laughs, adjusting Draco in his arms. The sudden commotion jolts Draco out of his semi-slumber, and he squirms and murmurs, his tiny legs kicking against Severus' chest.
"Great King Rat more like," Lily laughs, remembering Severus' love of the Queen song which stole the riff from the nursery rhyme, causing Severus to laugh even harder.
Lucius looks appalled. "What are you calling my son? King Rat?"
"No, it's Queen," Severus says, trying to stifle his laughter, his chest heaving. "Oh shit, I'm going to wake him-"
Quickly, Narcissa stands, and takes Draco from Severus. "I think Draco needs his own bed now," she says, wrapping his blanket more tightly around him to stop him from kicking out, and then gently kissing her son's forehead as she holds him to her.
"Queen?" Lucius asks, dubiously.
Lily nods. "One of Severus' favourite bands."
"Kings and queens are royalty at least," Lucius mutters, stretching. "Well, if that's the babysitting over, shall we have a drink?"
Severus nods. "You can twist my arm. All this baby holding is exhausting."
"Lily?"
"No, thank you," she says, quickly standing. "I'll help Cissy settle Draco to sleep. I haven't seen the nursery since he's been in it."
Lucius shoots her a curious look, but doesn't say anything - and then nods, and smiles. "Then please excuse both myself and Severus, as we shall retire to my study for a nightcap," he says. "Severus?"
"I won't be long, love," he says, kissing Lily as he passes her. "Don't go to sleep without me."
"Perhaps when Draco's settled down, you could show Lily to the room the elves have set up for our guests this evening, Cissy? I'll send Severus along when I've finished with him."
"If Narcissa's busy with Draco, I'm sure I can find my own way," Lily starts to say, but Narcissa nods at her husband, and kisses him chastely on the lips, before turning back to her friend.
"It's no trouble," Narcissa says.
She starts to say something else, but Lucius ushers Severus out of the room and down the corridor before he can catch what's said. They walk briskly along until they reach Lucius' study, and Severus follows Lucius inside, jumping as Lucius waves his wand, causing the door to slam loudly behind him.
"Bloody hell, Malf, they're barely down the hall. Your kid will be up screaming if you keep making that sort of noise, and I won't protect you when Cissy hexes the daylights out of you." He grins. "And I'm done for the night - I'm not getting up to rock him back to sleep when he starts crying."
Lucius simply laughs, and pours a measure into two glasses, taking one for himself and passing the other to his friend. "...congratulations, Severus."
Severus chuckles and raises his glass, mirroring Lucius' own actions. "Congratulations? What for? Not dropping your boy?"
"No," Lucius smiles, "although I am pleased that you managed to hold onto him." He pauses, sipping from his glass.
"What then?"
"First things first," Lucius says, stalking behind his desk and yanking a drawer open. He takes out a rolled bundle of parchment, the pages tied together with a silk bow. "Here."
"What's this?" Severus says, placing his drink on Lucius' desk and taking the parchment. He deftly unfastens the knot, and his eyes widen as he scans the page. Lily Snape, Halfblood. "You did it. Bloody hell, Malf! Thank you! You're right, this is a congratulations!" He grins widely. "We should've done this with the girls."
"Well," says Lucius, sitting back in his chair and nursing his drink, "it is a cause for congratulations, but that wasn't what I was offering them for." He smiles, taking another sip of his drink. "You still owe me for those."
"I haven't forgotten."
"And have you had any thoughts upon the method? ...I have heard rumours that you have been developing a taste for-"
"No," Severus says, quickly. "It's not appropriate."
Lucius smiles again. "That's what I was hoping you'd say." He leans forward. "I was concerned that you would...lose your way."
"What do you mean?"
"In that lust," Lucius hisses, his voice low. "I know how it feels, Severus - that thrill of power, that desire, and no-" he says, holding his hand up and stopping Severus from protesting, "I know what you've been doing. You and Avery. Avery, Severus!"
Severus scowls, casting his wand to send a chair hurtling towards him, and then sinks into it, his petulance emanating from him. "I didn't realise you were the jealous type," he spits.
"Oh hush," Lucius chides. "I thought you were a behind-the-scenes man," he continues, "I thought you were happy to hide in the shadows - and then I hear you've been slicing up Muggles in the streets. Again." He sniffs, and sits back. "Fancy your chances in Muggle court, do you? You've forgotten that Avery ran away the last time, leaving you to carry the can?"
"...I know what he did."
"And that last sentence hasn't yet been spent, has it?"
"...no."
"Shall I get your suit ready? Fancy a few years in a Muggle dungeon instead of Sluggy's, do you?"
"Look, I get it, Malf! Leave off, yeah?"
"Well then," Lucius says, triumphantly, "a little more caution might be in order when you wander the streets at night. Take a little more care. These rumours will bring unwanted attention to your door."
"Your distress has been noted," Severus says, waspishly.
"It's not my distress!" Lucius argues, his voice full of disdain, and his temper building. "If you're to do this for me-"
"I said I would!"
"-then remember that you're no use to me if you're getting a reputation - and, don't look at me like that, Severus, you are! It's not just the Muggle world, is it? I know you've been at the Dark Lord's meetings! I spent months keeping you out of them, and you've managed to find your own way in. You and bloody Avery."
"You used to want me to be in," he says, angrily.
"Yes, well, things change. I was...less experienced then."
Severus nods tightly. "It's not out of choice, Malf. I've been dragged in."
"Then get out," Lucius warns, fiercely, "get out of this whilst you're still anonymous - before you're noticed! The more meetings you attend, the harder it is to leave."
Severus silently reaches into his pocket and pulls out the Striker badge that Avery had so proudly bestowed on him.
"...shit." Lucius runs his hand through his hair, and Severus notes that his fingers have a new tremor to them. "I didn't realise you were legitimately a Striker - I thought you were just building bridges with Avery, crafting a backstory which would allow you to maintain your favoured stance on the fence. Whatever possessed you to sign up to something so ridiculous? A Striker, Severus! It's little more than a thug. A bully boy." He peers at him. "...or have I got you all wrong? Is this what you've secretly wanted all along? You do so enjoy the thrill of the fight, don't you?"
"I didn't choose this!" Severus shouts, and then, seeing Lucius' arched eyebrow, lowers his voice. "...come on, you know what Avery gets like. He's full of it, Malf, full of trying to prove himself. Mulc and Ros and Reggie have left him on his own, left him to make his own decisions, his own choices-"
"-and he's doing very successfully, by all accounts."
Severus nods. "And he wants me… Wants me to be with him."
"How charming," Lucius smiles, and then reaches over to tap the parchment in Severus' grip. "I shall send these back and get new ones made. Severus Avery has quite a ring-"
"-fuck yourself, Malf!"
"No, fuck you, Severus!" Lucius shouts, standing. "I've been trying to cover for you-"
"Not for me! For you!"
"Yes, for me! For me, and for you, for all of us!" Lucius looks pained. "I'm trying to keep us all above water here!"
"And what do you think I'm doing?"
Lucius gives a half laugh. "That's the problem, isn't it, Severus? I haven't got a clue what you're up to anymore." He exhales loudly. "This isn't… I didn't bring you in here to rebuke you."
"Good."
"...but I need this situation to go away. As quietly and as neatly as possible."
"I know." Severus drains his glass and sits back down. "You shouldn't worry so, Malf. Avery… It's fine, it's nothing to get upset about." He looks pointedly at his empty glass, and Lucius rolls his eyes, casting so the bottle of firewhisky spirals towards them. Lucius catches it, and pours another measure into their glasses.
"Happy?"
Severus nods, taking a sip. "Marvellous." And then he holds the glass aloft. "I thought a potion would be neatest."
Lucius shakes his head. "Not another. Not on top of all the others. I can't trust what Father's taking - can't trust it'll interact properly."
"Not another one. I've been modifying Bast's potion," Severus says, his voice low.
"...you've changed it?"
"I haven't supplied him with it, but I've done it in the lab," he says, quietly. "I'm certain that I've got the dose right. It's ready to go."
Lucius swallows hard. "How certain?"
"Getting cold feet?" Severus gives a dark smile. "We don't have to-"
"We do," Lucius interrupts, taking a long draw from his glass - but his voice is weak when he speaks. "I do."
"We need a cover story," Severus says, quietly. "I can get it into Bast's hands through Fletcher, and then he can get it into Abraxas' mouth on one of his visits, which means it's best if you're not here."
Lucius looks conflicted. "...you mean for Cissy to take the fall?"
"No!" Severus looks appalled. "No, but I mean for Cissy to be here, with Bella. She should invite her sister for an afternoon indoors, and you should take Draco-"
"Me? And do precisely what with him?"
"You are the boy's father, are you not?" Severus laughs. "It's only for a few hours. Take him for a walk in a park, or a stroll around the Malfoy vault at Gringotts - that'll take half a day with all of those treasures you've got stashed away." He leans further forward. "Bast will invite himself when he hears Bella is coming over, because it's too good an opportunity to miss, especially with you out. He'll do the deed, the potion will take effect and Cissy will be sat with Bella. She's got a witness - the mouthiest witness of them all - and you'll be miles away from the scene."
Lucius runs his finger around the rim of the glass, his expression unfathomable - and for a moment, Severus thinks he's going to dismiss the idea, but then he nods.
"Yes?"
"Yes," Lucius agrees.
Severus looks relieved. "I thought you were getting cold feet. ...when it comes down to it, he's still your father."
"In name only," Lucius says, darkly. "He's a liability. He brings danger to my door. It needs to stop. For Draco and Cissy's sake."
Severus nods. "Then get Cissy to set a date with Bella, and I'll put the rest in motion."
"...have you told her?"
"Lily?" Severus shakes his head. "Is there any point upsetting her? ...have you told Cissy?"
"Is there any point upsetting her?"
"Touché," Severus says.
They sit quietly for a moment, sipping their whisky, and then Lucius suddenly raises his glass. "You've thought of everything. I should congratulate you."
"On my potion?" Severus gives a broad smile. "I'm pleased with it, but don't forget, you helped, Malf, you got me the apprenticeship-"
"No," Lucius says, a strange look on his face, "although your work is commendable and appreciated." He pauses, taking another sip of his drink. "I dare say that this had rather less thought put into it."
"...I don't understand."
"I'm fighting for my family," Lucius says, "for myself, and Cissy, and Draco."
Severus freezes, his glass halfway to his lips.
"Who are you fighting for, Severus?"
"...Lily," he says, quietly.
"And yourself?"
He nods.
"And anyone else?"
There's a momentary pause, and then Severus places his glass on the desk, and he stands, and when he speaks, his voice is low and even. "And who else is there, Malf?"
"...you tell me, Severus." Lucius raises his glass and shakes it. "I rather thought that's what we were celebrating." Lucius stands, putting himself at eye-level with his old friend. "It's clever, I'll give her that," he says, quietly. "Cissy couldn't tell, although it hadn't gone unnoticed that Lily was overly interested in her preparations for our child these last few months."
"Just a Muggleborn interested in wizarding customs, that's all," Severus says, quickly. "I grew up mixed, so I don't know either-"
"And then I pulled her into my arms tonight, intending to Apparate her along with me, and it's curious, Severus, because you really can't tell just by looking, but when you're pressed up against her, there's something not quite right."
Severus raises an eyebrow, trying to look nonchalant. "And what are you doing pressing yourself up against my witch? You can sidealong without attaching yourself like a limpet."
Lucius smiles. "Yes, you can. ...but I prefer a firm grip." He eyes Severus curiously. "There's no magic, though."
"...you're talking in riddles."
Lucius gives a sly grin. "Don't be coy, Severus. You can feel a magical child when you're close enough - when you know what you're looking for, and I've spent months feeling Draco's magic pulsing away under her skin. ...but with Lily?" He shakes his head. "Just her usual thrum."
Severus shrugs. "I don't know what else you were expecting."
"Ah, now I understand! Of course, it's understandable, with the unfortunate Muggle heritage on both sides, it's no wonder your child would be lacking. A squib is a terrible shame-"
"Fuck you, a squib! My kid's bursting with fucking magic!" Severus yells, his fury getting the better of him. "That's just the concealment spell, you utter bastard," - and then, as Lucius moves around the desk, his arms open wide and his grin even wider, Severus' heart sinks, realising what he's been goading into revealing. "You utter utter bastard."
"Severus, Severus, don't look so disheartened. We're on the same side," Lucius says, pulling him into his arms. "You can trust me. You can trust Cissy." And then he claps his friend on the back, and pulls back, this time cradling Severus' thin face with his large hand. "I'm thrilled for you. Both of you. Really."
"Yeah?"
"Yes," Lucius says, firmly.
"And Cissy knows?"
"Her suspicions are the same as mine," Lucius says, "and with your permission, I'll tell her about this little conversation."
There's a long pause whilst he thinks it over. "Cissy," Severus eventually agrees. "Nobody else. Not the elves, not Bella or Dolph or Avery or-"
Lucius nods, understanding. "Nobody else." He lowers his voice. "I understand that this news mustn't reach the Dark Lord."
Severus nods. "...thank you."
Lucius grins again. "Are you excited?"
"I'm absolutely terrified," Severus says, quietly.
"Well, if that little display tonight with my boy is any indication, you're going to do just fine." He pulls Severus into another embrace, whispering in his ear, mirth evident in his voice. "Just think, Baby Malfoy and Baby Snape - they're going to cause mayhem when they hit Hogwarts together, hand-in-hand. Slytherin house won't have seen anything like it before. Not even in our schooldays. Congratulations, Dad."
And this time, hearing Lucius' excited words, Severus reciprocates the hug, holding his old friend tightly to him.
Chapter 72: Unblemished
Chapter Text
He visibly winces when Cissy emits a high-pitched squeal and throws her arms around Lily, pulling the younger woman to her and hugging her tightly, before excitedly encouraging her to drop the concealment spell. His breath catches in his chest as Lily does as she requests, his eyes raking over his fiancée's body, watching as the presence of their baby is announced, and no longer plausibly deniable.
"You're not comfortable?" Lucius asks, stepping up to Severus, his voice low and soft in Severus' ear. "With us knowing?"
"...it's not that," Severus mutters, twisting his empty glass in his long fingers. "I'm not particularly comfortable with any woman shrieking."
Lucius gives him a curious look. "Not even in happiness?" Then he gives him a knowing smile. "Of course. I should've let you speak to Lily alone. First. Before I announced your news to Cissy."
He shrugs, tightly. "Perhaps."
"Or I should've let you announce it?" Lucius' eyebrow lifts as he watches Severus' demeanour. "Is that it? Did I steal your thunder?"
"It's no matter, Malf. What is done is done."
"Severus, Severus," Lucius chastises, his tone amused. He swiftly summons a cowed house elf, who appears instantaneously at the snap of his fingers, brandishing the bottle of whisky they'd been drinking from in Lucius' study. A brief frown flickers across Severus' face, trying to fathom how the elf has responded to the request so quickly - but before he can question it, the glasses are refilled, and the elf has disappeared once more into the ether.
Lucius passes the newly filled glass back to his friend, and then pats his cheek. "Sulking does not become you." He then points with his glass towards the two excited women, who are lost in their own joyful conversation. "I should think you have reason to be pleased. Your good witch seems to have taken to me - to us - knowing your little secret rather well, all things considered."
"She hasn't had opportunity to say anything to the contrary as yet," Severus mutters.
"You're concerned about what shall be said after hours? When we have retired to our respective chambers?"
Severus nods, stiffly, his eyes focused on the glass in his hand.
"I do not think you need concern yourself. I think it is valuable for her to have someone to confide in," Lucius says, quietly. "Just look at how cheerful Cissy is compared to earlier this evening. It's clear that she's so terribly pleased that her suspicions have been confirmed."
"Her suspicions? What's that supposed to mean?" Severus scowls. "Been talking about us behind our backs, have you?"
"Oh, always so touchy, Severus. Yes, yes! On occasion, my wife and I have discussed our mutual friends, and for that I refuse to apologise," Lucius says, rolling his eyes. "Mark my words, this is good for both of them. And for us! They can bore each other with the tedious minutiae of child-rearing and share techniques for," and Lucius gives a broad smile, waving his hand, "swaddling or whatever it is they intend on doing with all of those blankets."
"...I guess."
"47 blankets, she's bought, Severus. 47! What child requires 47 blankets?" He pauses. "Dare I ask, do you have the same problem?"
"I can't say I've had cause to check how many blankets she's purchased. I have better things to do when I'm with her than count the contents of her bottom drawer," Severus drawls.
"I didn't count them, thank you very much. I simply read the receipt left on my desk." Lucius lets out a sigh. "Still, she can have as many damned blankets as she requires if it keeps her content. And I should thank you both," he continues, thoughtfully, looking over at the two women, "I thought Cissy would've been happier now that she has Draco, but look at her now."
Severus gives a small smile. "She does look pleased."
"Your news has caused a spark in her that I've not seen in a long while." He pauses. "Have you seen the way that they can't keep their hands off each other? They're squealing and hugging and-"
"Jealous?"
Lucius scoffs, and then sniffs loudly. "I'm merely pointing out that Cissy has shown Lily more affection in the past five minutes than she has me in five months."
Severus bites his lip, trying not to laugh. "She has been rather preoccupied carrying your child, Malf."
"Yes, and don't I know it," Lucius mutters, "wittering about sickness and tiredness, and-" He pauses, watching the two women take a seat by the fire, their conversation not ceasing, "-I bet that's what they're doing now, comparing stories about constant aches and pains and sore-"
"It hurts constantly?"
Lucius shoots Severus a curious look. "From what she's said, I would surmise as such. Least, if not constantly, the pain is frequent enough to cause her to be miserable. ...I rather thought she would've cheered once he was delivered."
Severus' gaze doesn't drop from the two women, his eyes boring into the back of Lily's head. "...you mean to say that Lily's been going through all of that without telling me?"
"Merlin, she's a keeper," Lucius says, slapping him on his shoulder. "It's all I heard from Cissy, morning, noon and night. She once woke me at 4am to tell me that she had leg cramp, as if there's anything I can do about leg cramp at 4am. 4am, Severus! And I had to be up 6, which she bloody well knew!" When Severus doesn't respond, Lucius pauses, his joviality briefly stalled. "...you'd want her to wake you and tell you about that?"
"Yes! I want to know about her tiredness, and sickness, and the aches! All of it, Malf, I want to know all of it!" Severus bangs his glass down on a small side table, whisky sloshing over the sides and onto the polished wood, and the sudden noise causes both women to look up sharply from their side of the room.
"Excuse us," Lucius calls, pressing his hand into the small of Severus' back and smoothly leading Severus out of the room - and then, when the door shuts behind them, he shakes his head. "You need to control your temper."
"This isn't about what I need to do! What about her? She needs to not be keeping things from me," he spits, ignoring Lucius' advice, "I'm meant to be her other half, and what? I bet she's in there telling Cissy things that she's never said to me-"
"Good!" At Severus' furious expression, Lucius sighs. "This is good," he stresses. "She needs someone to confide in."
"...if it's been such a struggle for her all of these months, and I've not been there for her, if she couldn't even tell me, then what does that make me, Malf?" He looks pained. "I'm her partner. Not Cissy."
"Lily knows that."
"And I'm… I'm Dad!" He shakes his head. "She should be telling me this stuff, not bottling it up-"
"She's not bottling it up-"
Severus gives a harsh laugh. "No. No, she's not - not now! Not now she's got someone worthy - someone useful, someone she trusts to talk to!"
Lucius winces as Severus' outburst increases in volume, and with a shake of his head, he steps back into the room, leaving Severus alone in the corridor. Before Severus can follow, Lucius returns, holding Severus' glass in his hand. He presses it firmly into the younger man's grip, and closes the door behind him. Then, in a smooth movement, he claps his palm firmly against Severus' shoulder - once, twice, three times - before eventually leaving it to rest, warm and heavy, and gently steers him down the corridor and away from the room where their respective partners are talking.
"Where are you leading me?"
"Tell me, Severus, if the delightful Lily is not at Hogwarts, and you're spending your evenings roaming the streets with Avery-"
"This has nothing to do with-"
"-then you're not spending much time together, are you?" Lucius quirks an eyebrow. "You and Lily, I mean. Not you and Avery. I've rather gathered that you two are joined at the hip."
"I see her whenever I can," Severus says, defensively. "Whenever it's safe."
"Which is what? Once a day?" Lucius turns to stare at him, his gaze unrelenting. "Once a week? Or less often? Every ten days? A fortnight? Merlin, Severus, monthly?"
Severus doesn't answer, but Lucius can feel the younger man's shoulders stiffening beneath his touch.
"Severus?"
"It's not monthly! It's not like that. There's no fixed schedule. I see her whenever I can - for as long as I can! Days, sometimes. Whole weekends, even."
"Forgive me, Severus," he says, softly, "but you've had a lot on your mind of late, have you not?"
There's a long wait, but eventually, Severus nods. "There's a few things going on."
This time, Lucius doesn't answer immediately, but he squeezes Severus' shoulder tightly. "Then she was protecting you."
"By keeping me in the dark!"
"And you do not do the same for her?" Lucius scoffs. "Tell me, Severus, is keeping you in the dark about aches and pains in pregnancy worse than you not telling her about our plot," and he lowers his voice to barely a whisper, "to see my father's end?"
"...it's not the same."
"No?"
"No!" Severus says, shaking Lucius' hand from his shoulder. "She doesn't need to know about something she can't be involved in."
"And you do not think the same about her pregnancy? What would you do to assist if she confided in you? Rush back from your adventures with Avery to mop her brow and rub her feet?" Lucius gives a small laugh. "If you can't be with her, then there's no point worrying you with it all. Besides, Cissy understands, Severus. In a way that you and I never can. Don't let your jealousy take this from Lily-"
"-I'm not-"
"-or from Cissy," he warns, his voice low. "Their...friendship, Severus, means the world to the mother of my child. I will not have you endanger it with your bruised ego."
Severus' eyes narrow. "I would never harm Cissy."
"Good," Lucius says, with a smile. "Then I shall permit you to go and wrest your good witch from mine." Then he leans in, his tone wicked, "Be quick, whilst you're still her number one."
Instantly, Severus bristles. "What is that supposed to mean? Cissy-"
"Not Cissy. I'm merely pointing out that you should make the most of your time alone with Lily, because you're about to be relegated to second place in her affections by a whining, incapable, needy child."
"Nonsense," Severus says, downing his drink before handing the empty glass back to Lucius, "she'd never prefer you to me."
When she finally enters the bedroom, he's already in bed - although he sits up with a curious look when he realises there's a small trail of boxes following her in. She casts at the door, causing it to close behind her, and he laughs when he sees the boxes following her wand and stacking themselves obediently against the far wall.
"You've got them well drilled. Dare I ask what's in them?"
She smiles, and opens the top box, pulling out a selection of impossibly small baby clothes - three romper suits, a hat, a handful of bibs - and holds them aloft. "What do you think?"
He shrugs. "I thought we'd already got clothes for Bean? Ones we'd chosen. Together."
"Apparently Draco has more than he needs."
He arches an eyebrow. "Really? A Malfoy with more than he needs? You do surprise me."
"Oh hush," she says, with a happy smile, turning to put the clothes back into the box. "It's not just clothes - there's creams and wipes, and toys and a changing mat and at least half a dozen blankets…" She trails off, and then laughs. "I've forgotten already what's in the bottom ones! Honestly, Sev, it's very kind of her. Of both of them - her and Lucius."
"It'd have been more kind if Malf had left well alone," Severus grumbles, dropping back against the pillows, and pulling the duvet up to cover his bare chest.
When she turns back and sees the covers wrapped around him in such a defensive manner, she stills. "You're annoyed?"
"...are you?"
"About what?"
Severus peers at her, and she can see the anxiety in his face. "About them knowing."
"Not especially," she says, quietly. "I admit, I didn't expect you to tell him-"
"I didn't tell him," he argues, "Malf's got a way of finding things out."
Her eyebrows raise. "What, you're saying he Imperiused you?"
"No!" Severus looks annoyed. "Not a spell. ...he tricked me."
"Lucius tricked you?" At this, Lily puts her hands on her hips. "I don't believe it."
"Fine," he snaps, "don't believe me."
Lily watches him warily, slowly walking around the bed until she reaches his side, but she stays out of his reach. "You're so irritable lately. You're always on edge."
"You're the one who doesn't believe me!"
"I didn't mean…" Lily sighs heavily. "I meant, are you sure you didn't want him to find out? You're so good with secrets normally. I can't imagine anyone getting something from you that you didn't want them to know." She moves forward, and gently pulls at the covers near to his face, moving them away from his mouth. "...Sev?"
"...he...said things."
"Lucius did? About you?"
"About Bean!" Severus says angrily, pulling the duvet more tightly around him, and turning away from her. "About you! About us!"
"...like what?" She waits for his response, and when it doesn't come, she places her hand on his duvet covered back. "...Sev, talk to me."
Reluctantly, he rolls over, his eyes finally meeting hers. "He said that when he pulled you to him to Apparate he could tell that you were pregnant, but he couldn't feel any magic, so he knew our baby was going to be a squib."
"A squib?" She bites her lip. "And you fell for his goading? You fell for him telling you that with my weakened magical heritage our baby wouldn't - couldn't - be magical?"
"It's not just you and your heritage, is it? It's me. It's my father too!"
"...you know it's nonsense."
Severus looks pained. "It's what lots of people believe."
"I know," she says, softly, giving him a small smile, and running the fingers of her left hand down his cheek, her right hand resting on her obvious bump. "And you leapt to Bean's defence."
"To your defence. To our defence," he says, gruffly, arching into her gentle touch. "You're mine. That's what I'm here for. To protect you both."
Lily smiles. "I know, Sev." She steps away from him, and he mutters under his breath as she removes her hand, his dark eyes watching her every move as she steps around the room. "Anyway," she says, with a smile, "I think it's been a good thing."
"Really?"
"I'm glad I can speak to Narcissa."
"You can speak to me."
She pauses, watching him closely. "I do speak to you," she says, carefully, "but I thought you wouldn't want to hear about heartburn and swollen ankles and back ache-"
"-I can rub your back."
The petulance is so clear in his voice, she can't help but laugh in response. "Sev, we only get a few hours together each week - you don't want me filling the time moaning about all the new ways my body is hurting."
He sits up, the duvet falling around his waist, and his gaze earnest. "I don't mind! I am half responsible." He scratches the back of his neck. "I want to help. I don't like the idea of you suffering-"
"-it's not all so bad," she says quickly, her bright eyes meeting his. "There are other things too."
"...yeah?" He looks uncertain when she doesn't respond. "Good things, or…?" He waits for a response, but Lily suddenly seems embarrassed - and he flings the duvet off his legs, scooting over the large mattress until he's as close as he can get to her without leaving the bed, and he holds his hand out. "Lil?"
She nestles her smaller hand in his, her eyes briefly closing as his fingers stroke reassuringly against her palm.
"Lil, you can tell me anything. Tell me."
"...I want you so much," she whispers.
His eyes widen in surprise, and he beams, gently pulling her closer to him, causing her knees to press against the edge of the bed. "You don't need to be shy about that. Bloody hell, love," he says, kneeling up on the mattress so he can touch his lips to hers, his hands threading in her hair, "that's brilliant."
She laughs at his enthusiastic reaction, and kisses him hard in response. "It's all the time, Sev," she says, hiding her embarrassment with another laugh. "I think about sex all of the time. I'm insatiable."
"No," he says, between kisses, "I am still not hearing any downsides."
"It is when you're not around."
"I'm here now," he says, kissing her more insistently.
"...Cissy says she couldn't bear to be touched."
So I heard, he thinks. He pulls back, the look on his face full of mischief.
She gives a shy laugh at his expression. "What?"
"So I can help you with these symptoms, you're going to have to tell me more."
"Sev, stop, it's embarrassing-"
"Is it? Well, I'm not embarrassed!" he laughs. He pats a space on the mattress, indicating that she should sit near to him, and when she does, he nestles himself behind her, trailing kisses up and down her neck. His fingers move swiftly across her clothes, helping her to undress, and the tip of his nose nuzzles the soft skin behind her ear. As she leans back against him, a groan already on her lips, she hears his sinful whisper, "so I can be supportive, you need to tell me in great detail what you've been thinking about," and then he bites her earlobe - and she twists in his arms, determined to capture him in a heated kiss before he can say anything more.
His movements are slow and gentle, and it's not enough. She rocks back against him, her hand threading in his hair and tugging, trying to demonstrate that she needs more. He permits her to pull his head down to meet hers, their lips touching - and then she releases him, biting at his pale neck, her actions hard enough to bruise but he doesn't shy away at her rough treatment. Instead, he tilts his head, exposing a fresh stretch of unblemished skin.
"Mark me," he hisses, holding her head firmly in place so she can't change her mind, "and make me yours."
She willingly does as he instructs, the spectre of the ugly scarring on his forearm looming over them. Don't think about it, the thought screams in her mind as she nips at his skin, leaving faint red trails in her wake. Don't think about how he belongs to another.
As if he's reading her mind, he suddenly relaxes his hold, permitting her to pull away from his neck - and then he kisses her. He's gentle again, and she doesn't want it, not tonight. Tonight she wants the possessive man she fell in love with, the demanding boy with his sinful words and a glint in his eye - so she takes the lead, her tongue wrestling with his, and each time he attempts to slow the pace, she pushes back, her kiss furious and needy and refusing to bow to his will.
She feels his amusement at her actions, and his fingers dart up and down her skin, softly tracing routes across her arms and her chest, her swollen stomach and her breasts, and her breath hitches and she pulls him closer to her, silently begging him for more - and it's as if he hears her unspoken desperation, and suddenly his touch is firmer and faster, his fingers quickly dancing over her skin, and he scratches and pulls and presses, and she sighs in contentment, wrapping her arms around his marked neck, and smiling into his biting kiss as he pulls her into his lap.
There's an unusual anxiety hanging over them. She knows her ever-growing body has him nervous; nervous of doing something wrong, of somehow hurting her or hurting their child - and she doesn't know how to form the words to reassure him. All she knows is that there's a hormone fuelled desire burning inside her, and she's been craving this, craving him - and she's desperate for him to act as he would've all those months before, desperate for him to play, to grip her, to pull and wrestle and hold, to take her roughly and savagely, and she knows that he won't; she isn't even sure herself that he can. So she leads him, showing him what she wants, what she needs, what she can take - and to her delight, he keenly follows, mirroring each and every of her actions with enthusiasm.
It's heavenly when she finally lies on her side, him positioned behind her, the mattress and pillows taking the strain of her aching body - but when he enters her, she groans in frustration.
"It's not enough." She can feel his amusement at her complaint, his chuckle rippling through his body.
"I know it's shallow, love," he says, thrusting his hips more firmly, "but rest a while." He reaches around her to caress her, his fingertips stroking a wicked pattern across her thighs that has her squirming back against him. "You can get on top after," he murmurs, "if you haven't worn me out by then."
"I'm too big-"
"You're gorgeous," he says, quickly, his tone stern. "You're so beautiful to me like this, filled with our child." He kisses the top of her shoulder, his fingers still moving in that same frustrating, passion building pattern. "I like you on top. I want to watch. I want to see."
She arches back against him, trying to feel him deeper, but the position works against her efforts. "I miss us. What we were before. When we didn't have to be careful, or gentle, or-"
"-wait for our honeymoon," he murmurs into her ear, thrusting his hips harder. "We'll have Bean by then, and we'll get married, and when we go on our honeymoon, Bean'll stay with your parents, or mine, or Cissy or something, and then we're going to do all the things we can't do now. All the things we fantasise about."
"Yeah?" She twists, trying to glimpse him from the corner of her eye. "And what do you fantasise about?"
"...Lucius said to me tonight that I'm about to be relegated to second in your affections."
She twists more aggressively, trying to bring him into her line of sight. "Sev…"
"Shhh," he murmurs, not losing pace, "and he's right, love. When Bean's here, Bean will be your priority. Which will make me second in your affections."
"It's not-"
"I don't want to be second."
"You won't-"
"I want to be third," he says, abruptly, his hips snapping harder and harder against her, "or fourth, or fifth."
Before she can quiz his strange statement, he pulls away and shifts positions, helping to lift her so she's kneeling over him. He thrusts back up into her, and then he grins broadly as his eyes rake over her heavily pregnant body. He leans up, kissing her furiously, and letting his hands wander over her skin.
"I love you like this," he says, thrusting harder and faster, "I love seeing you with my child, and I want this again and again. I don't want Bean growing up lonely like I was, Lil. I want a family."
Our family, she thinks, as she reaches for him, pulling him into a heated kiss. Mine.
She relaxes into his embrace, her eyelids fluttering as she rests - one of Severus' hands firmly planted on Bean, whilst the other strokes through her hair.
"I need to talk to you, love."
She doesn't want him to talk. She doesn't want whatever revelation he's going to offer. She wants to lie with his limbs tangled in hers, his familiar masculine scent - part Severus, part aftershave - washing over her, far away from any part of reality. But she doesn't say as much. Instead, she squeezes his hand, and she steels herself to listen intently, terrified of what he's going to say.
"If Bean's a girl," he says, "I think we should carry on your family tradition."
It's not what she thought he was going to say. Not that she had any real expectations of what he might say, but now he's in the Dark Lord's service - and that's what he is, one of them - she's been quietly preparing herself for him to utter all sorts of terrible words in her ear.
"And what's that?"
"Rose, Petunia, Lily," he explains. "I know there's more."
"Auntie Lavender, and cousin Hyacinth."
"Yeah. But they sound quite old-fashioned," he says, "not like Lily. So I grabbed a Herbology textbook from the library at Hogwarts, and I came up with five."
"Go on."
"Ivy, Azalea, Holly, Daisy," and then he smiles, "and my favourite - Jasmine."
She nestles against him, enjoying the feel of his warm body pressed to her. "I can't believe you made a list of names to fit in with my family," she whispers. "And if Bean is a boy?"
"If Bean's a boy, then I suggest we don't call him Jasmine," he grins.
"I had an idea, but it's along similar lines."
"Oh? A flower for a boy's name? Like, Lotus or Aster or something?"
"No. Evan," she says, quietly. "And don't say anything, because I know it's not a flower, and I know you're thinking of that awful boy Rosier, but it's my surname, Sev."
"Not for long."
She gives a soft laugh. "No, not for long. But that way, he's both of us - both of us together. Evan Snape. And..."
"And?"
"I like that his nickname would be like yours. Sev and Ev. You'd be my two boys."
"Yes," he says, kissing her neck, and his hand resting on her bump, "if that makes you happy, love, then that's what we'll do."
"Here's to Jasmine Ivy Azalea Holly Daisy Evan Snape," she laughs, placing her hand over Severus' own, "whichever Bean may turn out to be."
She sleeps more soundly than she has done in weeks. The bed is comfortable, and her partner is alongside her, and when Bean shifts in the night and wakes her, she's left wanting again. She wasn't lying when she'd confessed to Severus how her hormones had left her filled with desire. She snakes her hand into his, gently squeezing, seeing if he'll rouse - and to her delight, he does. She wonders if he'll grumble, but he doesn't - although when she sits astride him, she can see the exhaustion in his eyes, but the grin on his face encourages her to take what she needs.
"There's something else," he says - and this time she doesn't miss that he's looked at the clock first - doesn't miss that there's something big to this confession; that he's preparing his exit before he's said the words.
"Something bad?"
"...something good," he says, and he slides out of the bed, his pale skin seemingly gleaming in the morning light that's seeping around the curtains. She catches sight of the darkening marks she left on his neck, and a prickle of shame floods through her at how aggressive she'd been a few hours earlier.
He bends to pick up his robes, catching her eye, and then he reaches for his bruised neck, a smile playing on his lips. "Don't fret," he smiles, running his fingers along his marred skin, "I like it. I've heard witches can be territorial when they're nesting." And then he chuckles, and delves into his discarded robes, fumbling in one pocket and then the other, and then he's kneeling by her side, a piece of parchment outstretched before her.
She rubs at her eyes, sleep blurring the words - and then she sees what it says. Her name - her new name, their family name: Lily Snape, Halfblood.
"That's more than just good," she says, darting a kiss against his lips, "this is amazing. Incredible. I can't believe Lucius managed it." She kisses him again. "We need to thank him, and we'd better organise that wedding."
"...there's something else."
She doesn't think she can take this cat-and-mouse style of revelation anymore, and she lies back, breathing heavily, her elation almost immediately doused. He drops the parchment, and sits next to her, pulling her into his arms, and holding her tightly.
"It's not so bad, love."
"No?" She sniffs against his arm.
"No."
"You're lying, because I already know."
"Already know what?"
"I can feel it," she says, placing her hand before him, and twirling it in the air. "You're different. Darker. You've done something, and now you're going to do something more, aren't you? Something worse, and then you're-"
"-it's still there, though," he says, grabbing her hand, as if trying to feel his own magic. "You can feel that thrum still?"
"Yes."
"Then I'm not too far gone," he says, although the tone of his voice isn't reassuring.
"Is this Avery?"
"No."
"No?" Her voice is strained, despite her best efforts. "Are you sure? He's not having you behave like he did before, is he? Fighting and-"
"It's my apprenticeship," he says, quietly. "Sluggy gave me some books. Some...restricted texts. Remember what you said? What Moody told you? That you can feed it, tame it? That the desire, that urge to learn gets it under control?"
She does, but there's something strange in the way he's looking at her - something that she can't put her finger on. "And that's it? You've...fed it?"
"That's it," he nods, resting his forehead against hers. "...for now."
Her heart skips over, and she daren't look up, daren't move, daren't breath. "Only for now?" There's a long silence. "Sev, there's something else, isn't there? You're going to do something, and-"
"-I need to pay Malf for your papers."
She feels him tighten, and his anxiety is so great, she can almost touch it, almost cradle it in the palm of her hand. "And I am to understand that Lucius wants his pound of flesh?"
They sit, foreheads pressed together, for what feels like hours - but she knows that it's barely more than a moment before he speaks, his voice almost inaudible. "He wants me to kill him. Abraxas."
"No!"
"It won't be messy, it-"
"Sev, no! No, it'll break you, it'll tear your soul, it'll-"
"They'll arrest you." His voice is oddly dull, as if flattened by the weight of his quandary. "They'll arrest you, and they'll outlaw Bean, and they'll take you both away from me. Lil, listen to me, we need these papers, and I accept that these papers come at a cost. You need to do the same."
"Sev, don't - don't do this. There must be another way, you can't-"
"I can," he interrupts. "I can, and I must."
Chapter 73: Squib blood
Chapter Text
Severus sprints up the empty corridors, ignoring Peeves' caterwauling about his tardiness, and in his haste, he flings open one of the doors to the Great Hall with a strength he didn't realise he had, watching in horror as it crashes loudly into the wall. Hundreds of young faces turn to look at him, heaped spoonfuls of porridge and cereal halfway to their open mouths, and he immediately shrinks a little in stature. A deep flush creeps from under his robes and rises onto his cheeks as he closes the door quietly, and then he composes himself, pushes his shoulders back, and strides forwards to take his usual seat next to Slughorn.
"Overslept, Severus?" Slughorn asks, with a teasing smile and what Severus thinks is an attempt at a wink. "Late night?"
It makes his skin crawl when Slughorn does this, not least because Severus knows only too well what his old housemaster thinks of Lily - and the 'all good chaps together' camaraderie does nothing for him; not now, not after all the years he spent sitting on the sidelines whilst at school - out of favour due to his appearance, or name, or demeanour, or heritage, or behaviour, or blood - and he's relieved he at least remembered to apply a glamour to his throat before leaving his rooms.
"Sorry, sir," he says, choosing the safest response he can think. Slughorn's comment rankles because he's almost right - Lily and Severus had spent most of the day at Lucius', and after enjoying a luxurious evening meal in the company of their friends, Severus had escorted Lily back to her parents' house. They'd sat in the garden, her unwilling to go indoors, him unwilling to leave - both unwilling to bid goodbye to the other. So, they'd sat on the grass for hours, Lily in his arms, and they'd held each other and kissed, as if they were still teenagers at school instead of being on the verge of marrying and becoming parents themselves.
It was gone midnight when they heard David locking up, and although he hadn't appeared outside to summon them indoors, they'd both stood in acknowledgement that it was time for Severus to leave. They'd moved towards the back door, hand-in-hand, but when she turned to go inside, Severus pulled her back towards him, and pressed her against the brickwork - and when they spent another ten minutes making out, David snapped off the outside light, and they could hear the living room door bang as he made his way through the house, his patience with the pair evidently having run out.
Once she was in the house, the door locked behind her, Severus finally left - but not without one last look of longing towards her bedroom window. Then, with a swirl of his robes and an angry crack of Disapparation, he'd headed to Hogsmeade, intent on sniffing out Fletcher in order to set his and Lucius' plan into action.
Severus didn't get far, as he ran into Avery and Mulciber instead, who were celebrating something - although he didn't find out what precisely, as their inebriation was so advanced. He found himself being dragged from bar to bar, his glass filled over and over, and with no sign of Fletcher anywhere, he sat back and watched the odd power play between his old housemates - with Avery keen to enthuse about their friendship, seemingly in an effort to make Mulciber jealous, or envious, or some other emotion that Severus couldn't quite fathom through the haze of the unending delivery of beer from the bar to their table. By the time he shook Mulciber's hand and awkwardly hugged Avery farewell, and finally slid between his sheets at Hogwarts, it was almost time to get up.
"May I?" he asks, pointing at the discarded Prophet in front of Slughorn, whilst waving his wand to fill his mug with strongly brewed coffee.
"If you're looking for news about Crouch," Slughorn says as he passes him the paper, "it's not good, I'm afraid."
Severus stares in confusion at the front page, expecting to see Barty's face, but instead he's greeted by a waving Fudge outside the Muggle Houses of Parliament, with what appears to be two aurors whispering a fair distance behind him. He peers more closely at the page, and it looks like it could be Vance or Bones, or both, or neither - and he finds himself squinting, desperate to see who the two figures could be. "No word on Barty then?"
Slughorn reaches over and takes the newspaper back, flicking through the pages until he reaches page 18, and then he hands it back. "There."
"Page 18? I thought this was big news?"
"So did we all," Slughorn murmurs.
Severus scours the page, his hands trembling - we've got away with it - as he takes in the details of the conviction. "They've done it," he says, feeling a little sick. "They've Kissed him. I didn't realise they could move so quickly."
"They can't. Well, they couldn't," Slughorn corrects himself. He lowers his voice. "I believe there were failed efforts to mount a defence-"
"-from who? You mean from who Barty was working for, from He-Who-Must-"
Slughorn sharply shakes his head, his moustache quivering as he does so. "No." He winces. "If he was working for…" and Slughorn takes a sip of his tea so he doesn't have to say the name, "I'm afraid he didn't come to his defence."
"Then who?"
"The Potters."
Severus can't help the small scoff that escapes his lips, but he tries - rather unsuccessfully - to cover it with a cough. "Potter defended a Slytherin? Why?"
"A pursuit of justice, I believe." Slughorn reaches for the paper, flicking back over to the front page, and then he passes it back, tapping a thick finger against a paragraph near the foot of the page. "And now this."
Severus' heart skips as he sees the emergency amendment tabled by the Lestrange family. "Fast track retribution?" He lowers the newspaper to the table. "I don't understand."
"There have been incidents which threaten law and order. Not just in our world."
Strikers.
"So? What does this mean? Why is the Minister seeing the Muggles?"
"It's thought that they need our assistance and to get such legislation - emergency legislation to assist non-magical persons in times of need - through our own Ministry, they must first prove that our system is a success." Slughorn pauses, letting the words sink in.
"...are you serious? You think Fudge intends to exert magical control over the Muggles? And this with Crouch is his proof that he has absolute power in our world?"
"What better way to control society," Slughorn murmurs, "than to remove any chance at justice? You tell ordinary people that if they are law-abiding, they have nothing to fear, that the aurors and the Ministry are simply taking a hardline against criminals-"
"I don't understand why this proposal has come from the Lestranges," Severus interrupts, his voice low. "Why would they introduce such an amendment? Why would they want the likes of Moody and Bones and the rest of the aurors to have this sort of power over anyone arrested? What if Rabastan or Rodolphus were-"
Slughorn shakes his head sternly, as if he's fearful that either of the brothers will emerge from beneath the table. "I do hope you are not suggesting that such a well established magical family as the Lestranges behaves in a way that is contrary to the laws of our land."
Severus scoffs. "No, sir, of course not, sir."
"The Potters and the Lestranges have long been enemies," Slughorn says, softly. "It is perhaps no wonder that the elder Lestranges would take offence at a youth trying to subvert the Ministry decision."
Severus gives him a disdainful look. "Believe me, I have no love for Potter-"
Slughorn gives a tight smile. "Of that I am aware-"
"-but if Barty hasn't had a proper trial, how can that be subverting anything? That law, that amendment, that's all about gaining power over the Muggles, isn't it? The first sign of dissent and-"
"I would drop this topic, Severus."
"But what if someone is falsely accused, and the Ministry punishes them in such a way, and-"
"-and what? Are you suggesting that you have evidence that Crouch did not do these things, Severus?"
"...no, sir. Theoretically speaking, sir."
"Then theoretically, this is justice for all," Slughorn says, eyeing him curiously. "The article explains it further."
Severus turns the page, and traces the printed text with his forefinger and he starts to read aloud, "Whilst we recognise that these proposals will not be suitable in all cases, we recommend that swift action should always be taken when dealing with the known underclass - criminals, halfbreeds, and those unworthy - to preserve the rights of those with legitimate claim to our world." He trails off, looking disgusted. "Does that sound as if it's for all, sir? Classing real wizarding convicts alongside creatures and those with little or stolen magic, as if they're the same-"
Slughorn twitches, and drops his fork on his plate with a loud clatter. "It sounds to me as if you should take care with your words, Severus," he says, sternly, his eyes narrowing. He stands whilst he drains the last of his tea, the conversation clearly over.
"I was merely reading out what the newspaper has written!" Severus argues, fury building in him. "And that's what it means, and I don't understand how the son of a minister can be Kissed when his blood and his magic is pure!"
Slughorn stops, and leans over, his bulk casting a shadow over Severus' coffee. "Now forgive me, Severus," he mutters, his voice low, "but after your stint with Borage, you fall into that exact group, do you not? The criminals, the halfbreeds, and those unworthy?"
Severus swallows hard. "...sir."
"Then believe me, you would be well advised to keep your mouth shut, and your head down. I realise that he was a friend of yours," he says, not unsympathetically, "and this apparent injustice may be difficult for you to reconcile, but you must remember that you are not responsible for what happens to young Barty." He grips Severus' shoulder, a sad smile flickering across his features. "It is noble that you intend to fight for what you believe to be right, but for your own sake, I warn you that this is a battle you are best keeping out of. The system will right itself eventually. It has done so before, and it will do so again."
"I understand."
There's a long pause, as if Slughorn's deliberating, and then Slughorn releases his shoulder. "And Severus..."
"Yes, sir?"
"Did you go out drinking last night?"
Severus glances up, surprised at having been caught out. He subtly sniffs at his robes, wondering if the aroma of alcohol has lingered. Or maybe my eyes are bloodshot, he thinks, realising he'd barely had chance to get dressed, let alone look in the mirror.
"You should take care when drinking in public," Slughorn advises, his voice low. "I think it would be wise for you to study alone today, and keep your thoughts to yourself."
If his head wasn't filled with fears about Abraxas and Lucius and Rabastan, or Lily and Cissy and Bean, Severus might have paid more attention to the warning signs in Slughorn's breakfast outburst. If he'd had a little more sleep, and a little less alcohol raging through his system, he might've even remembered that despite Slughorn's explicit instruction that Severus should remain hidden, Lily should still be brewing.
But Severus was distracted, the article in the Prophet filling his head further with thoughts about Crouch and he suddenly wonders if that's what Avery and Mulciber were celebrating; the passing of a law tabled by Rodolphus or Rabastan or even Bellatrix, or their parents. He still can't fathom it, but he tries to shake away the thoughts, trying to focus on what he's meant to be doing. He reaches his rooms, and he sees the pile of books on the desk, and whilst it would normally excite him to have a free day to study, the stress of the Abraxas situation is eating away at him.
Instead, he strips off and heads for the shower. He drops the hastily applied glamour from around his neck as he steps under the spray, and he flexes his forearm experimentally, wondering if he could hide the ugly scarring - although it is now faint and pale - from his view day-to-day, or whether the Dark Lord would be able to tell if there was a spell layered over the top.
He dismisses the thought and as the water pounds his skin, he decides that he isn't going to study as Slughorn has instructed - but he's going to brew. He's going to ensure that his potion is perfect for delivery, and once the school day is over, he can hit the streets of Hogsmeade until he finds Fletcher, and can set his and Lucius' plot in motion.
And then I won't have to fret about it any longer.
Decision made, he moves quickly, drying and dressing, and heading for his cauldron - and he's barely fifty minutes in to the intricate brewing process when there's a sharp rap on the door, and Slughorn throws the door back, marching in without waiting to be invited.
"And is this what you call studying, Severus? With cauldron in hand, and not a book to be seen?"
"...no, sir."
"And where is she?"
Severus pauses, and casts at the cauldron to keep the potion stable, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Sir?"
"Don't toy with me, Severus!" Slughorn steps further into Severus' rooms, causing Severus to cast again at the potion, this time putting it under a stasis spell. He's unable to do anything to stop Slughorn's movements - unable to do anything other than follow as the older man checks the living area he and Lily once called home.
"She's not here, is she?" Slughorn says, his voice louder, as he marches back and forth, each heavy step filled with anger - and it's now that Severus realises that Lily's feminine touch has long since departed, and the rooms now carry an unmistakable air of a young man's bachelor pad.
"She only left this morning." It's a terrible lie, and he can't meet Slughorn's eye when he says it.
Slughorn scoffs. "This morning? Would that be after you compared her to a creature?"
Severus stills, a slight twitch flickering in his eye. "I did what?"
"Do you drink in Diagon, or Knockturn, or Hogsmeade often, Severus? Is this how this has come about?"
"How what has come about?"
Slughorn's eyes narrow further. "Your split. Your break up! How long have you been pretending to be her? All that nonsense you kept feeding me, telling me that you were keen to fill holes in your theoretical knowledge - telling me that Borage and Jigger didn't give you opportunity to study, begging me for time before I seconded you out to Belby, and now, now I find out this!" Slughorn's full cheeks are pink with rage, and spittle flies from behind his moustache as he rants. "Now I find you've been standing next to me, not a vial of Polyjuice in sight, brewing first year potions that you can likely do blindfolded with your hands cuffed behind your back! I trusted you - I trusted you both, and-"
"She's gone to visit her parents," he interrupts, loudly, and he's gratified when his words cause Slughorn to stop pacing. "That's all. Just today." He fumbles his way around the lie, trying to come up with a credible story - and then he thinks to touch his neck, drawing attention to his bruises. "We had a fun day yesterday," he says, lingering over the words and deliberately stroking beneath his chin and down his Adam's apple, pleased when Slughorn notices the fresh lovebites on his neck, "and then she wanted to study, so I went out and got a bit drunk and…" He shrugs, not insincerely. He can't think of anything else to say - can't think how to elaborate on his fake tale. "I can't remember much else." Severus watches the older man keenly, and when Slughorn's shoulders sag, Severus silently congratulates himself on the right choice of words.
"...so you did suggest she was lesser?" Slughorn prompts, inhaling deeply.
"I don't know," Severus says, softly. "I can't remember."
"And this was your first time out in a while?"
Severus nods, dumbly. "Sir. I mostly drink here, if I drink at all. I've been trying not to of late." When Slughorn nods, Severus is suddenly grateful for Jigger's insinuation of an addiction, lending his story a credibility it wouldn't otherwise have.
"The bars…" Slughorn looks pained. "You mustn't repeat this, Severus, but the bars - their alcohol, it's tainted. It causes you to...suggest political allegiances you do not have."
I know.
He doesn't say as much. Instead, Severus does his best to school his features into a shocked expression, his eyes wide and his eyebrows raised. He doesn't tell Slughorn that he took a potion before he started to drink, doesn't tell Slughorn that he's been wary of drinks ever since his teenage years, ever since he saw what happened to Malf, doesn't tell Slughorn that the Imperatum can't have taken effect - not with him, and that his words were his own. "What did I say?"
"Sorry?"
"...to you," Severus says, slowly, as if he's struggling with the idea of him espousing views which are not his own. "What did I say to you that made you realise I'd been affected?"
"You compared those of Lily's heritage to creatures," Slughorn says, looking uneasy, "and suggested that neither those with lesser blood, or those with mixed heritage - part giant, part troll, part elf, part goblin - are the same as real magical people. Like Hagrid, Severus. And that magical criminals - no matter their misdemeanour - remain superior to those who have little magic or who steal their magic, like our colleague Mr Filch, or perhaps even Lily herself-"
Severus holds up his hand, willing Slughorn to stop - to stop him from repeating his words with such disdain and disgust. Thankfully, Slughorn seems grateful for the reprieve, and takes Severus' sickened look as contrition. The rest of the conversation is a blur, with Slughorn talking about potions and radios and keeping out of trouble and apologising and winning her back, and then the door slams, and he's gone, and Severus returns his attention back to his bubbling cauldron.
He yanks the ruined brew from the flame, and tips the contents of the cauldron down the sink, banishing it to the corner of the room with a clatter. He summons a fresh cauldron, collects a new set of ingredients, and starts to chop with fury.
I'd never say Lily stole her magic, he thinks, or that she's unworthy. His knife slices through piles of bowtruckles, paring their lean limbs from torso before slatting them into a pile, readying them for grinding.
She's too powerful for that. Muggles are unworthy. Squibs are unworthy. Filch is unworthy, scrubbing the floors by hand, and Hagrid. Hagrid! He started school and got kicked out because he wasn't powerful enough. It's right that people think they're unworthy. They're not talking about witches like Lil. She didn't steal it. Couldn't steal magic that powerful. There's squib blood somewhere, and the genetics have missed a generation or two. On both sides of the family, probably, he reasons, throwing a handful of bowtruckle heads and stomachs into the mortar and pressing down hard with the pestle, mashing them into a paste.
If David and Rose both had squib blood, then that's probably why they were drawn to each other in the first place - and those bits of genetics didn't mix with Petunia which is why she isn't magical at all, but Lil got the full force of both squibs. He looks pleased when he scrapes the paste out onto his workbench, and picks up another handful, starting the process again.
I'm not wrong, he thinks, banging the pestle into the mortar and rocking it from side to side, squibs and giants don't have proper magic - they can't have proper magic. Everyone says so. It's basic biology, like Avery said - like mules being infertile. Then he scrapes the contents of his mortar onto the workbench, and then he levitates the grounds into the cauldron with his wand. And Muggles aren't worthy, he thinks, stirring his potion, and giving a beaming satisfied smile when the colour starts to change. I've created and adapted this potion, and Lily's modified the Polyjuice and brewed the Wolfsbane over and over, and I don't see Johnny Davies and his dunderheaded lads or the magistrates in that court or those police or Da doing anything like this.
No. They're just not special. Not like us.
Chapter 74: His choice
Chapter Text
They visit the Manor again, but this time, Severus' stay is short and Lucius is nowhere to be seen. "He's in his study," Narcissa tells her, but Lily has no way of knowing if this is truthful or not, for the door remains solidly closed.
She doesn't know where Severus is heading, and whether it's with Lucius or without, and she doesn't dare ask - not under this roof, not with the portraits so keenly listening. Severus kisses her as he leaves, but he barely glances at Narcissa or the baby, and as Lily watches him stride down the path towards the gate before disappearing in a sudden swirl of magic, she half wonders if this is the life she's carving for herself; of the forgotten witch, dismissed and left behind with babe-in-arms.
Not that Narcissa seems dissatisfied with such a situation. She wraps Draco in blankets, and holds her wand aloft, spiralling innocent colourful charms from the tip, causing her son to watch, open-mouthed, at the sight, gurgling with joy.
"Can he see those?"
Narcissa turns, a small smile on her face. "I believe so," she says, "if I keep the casting close and the shapes simple." She waves her wand again, and another shower of sparks fills the air, twirling majestically before fading away. "I've been doing it for the past few days, and he seems entranced," she says, dropping a gentle kiss on Draco's tiny forehead. "I can show you, if you wish."
"Thank you."
Narcissa casts once more, causing Draco to wriggle in excitement, his tiny hands reaching up towards the swirling lights, and then she stows her wand in her sleeve before turning back to Lily. "Do you know yet?"
"I'm sorry?"
"We knew," she says, shifting Draco's weight in her arms, "but then, it was an inevitability." At Lily's confused look, Narcissa smiles kindly. "Whether Severus' child will be a son, as Lucius' was?"
Lily can't help frown at her statement. "Our child," she corrects. "No, we don't know."
There's a brief moment when Narcissa's smile fades, but she quickly rectifies it - although the replacement is an insincere curl of her lip instead of her usual genuine smile when in Lily's company. "It is the magical parent who takes precedence," she says, quietly. "This is Lucius' son," she affirms, "and you are carrying Severus' child."
"Not yours?" Lily asks, trying not to bristle at the inferred slur.
"The Black family history is long and sacred," Narcissa says, quietly, "but the Malfoy lineage predates us by a decade." There's a pause. "Or a century. Or both. I forget. It's hardly important, but Lucius could fill you in on the detail if you were interested."
I'm sure he could, she thinks, ignoring the urge to roll her eyes. She can imagine Lucius enjoying lording his unearned status over others - not just her and Severus, but Narcissa as well - as if he himself was personally responsible for the undiluted history of the Malfoy name.
Instead, she simply shakes her head. "I am happy to believe you." She glances over at the tiny boy curled in Narcissa's arms. "You always knew then? You were tested, or-"
"-the Malfoy line is male only," she says, quietly. "One boy." At this, Narcissa's smile falls, and then there's another quirk of her lips. "It's how it's always been."
"I'm so sorry," Lily says, quickly, thinking of Severus' murmured desires - of his wishes for a large family.
Narcissa pulls the blanket a little more tightly around Draco. "Don't be. I've always known." And then she looks up, a fixed insincere smile plastered across her face. "It could make each moment with him especially sad, knowing that I won't ever experience this again," she says, "but then, some parents are in the same situation, but they don't know, do they? They don't know that this is the only opportunity they'll have - don't know that they should cherish it, for it can never be revisited. At least I know."
Lily doesn't know how to respond to that - doesn't know whether to applaud Narcissa for her pragmatism; for her acceptance of her situation, for her desire to live in the moment, or whether to hug her, to hold her, to soothe her for her loss. Is it even a loss, Lily thinks, if she's always known it's something she can never have?
She wonders then, about herself - about Severus, and their child. She thinks about her parents, and how they had two children - herself and Petunia - and she wonders if Severus being the only offspring of Tobias and Eileen means anything, or whether it's coincidence.
"Don't pity me," Narcissa says, her voice soft and low, but not threatening. "I've always known that this is what marriage to Lucius meant. He hardly hid it from me. Our families have associated for generations, and I have always known what fate would befall any Mrs Malfoy - long before my marriage to him was on the horizon. His father was the same before him, and little Draco here will one day follow suit."
She wonders if Severus is capable of having more, or whether Bean might be their - his - only child, and how he'd react if that was true - and then Lily can't help but wonder if it's kinder to know - to know that you will successfully bear a child, a son, but that he'll be the only one. To know that there'll be no daughters - never a chance that your child will look exactly like you as you did at that age.
Lily thinks once more back to Severus and Eileen, and she wonders if that's what Eileen feared when she gave birth to a son, whether she was concerned about not seeing her offspring in her own image. In Severus' case, he looked so much like his mother when he was small - before testosterone built his shoulders and elongated his fingers, before he developed his father's deep voice, and his father's body hair, and his father's hooked nose.
It's easy to imagine a girl - Jasmine - with her own dainty features, with a shock of auburn hair, but then she tries to imagine a girl with Severus' dark features, and all she can see is Eileen. It's easier for Lily to imagine a boy in the mould of Severus - like father like son, but perhaps a boy - Evan - would take after her, with bright green eyes instead.
Maybe we'll have both, she thinks. Or if Severus gets his way, all four. The thought is fleeting, as Narcissa's words swirl in her mind, and Lily considers the idea that she and Severus might already be condemned to having a single child - an inevitability that neither of them are yet aware of, a curse of a magical lineage that they both know so little about, or whether they might yet have the family that Severus so dreams of.
That Severus so dreams of, she thinks, her palm pressing against Bean, unsure of whether she has the desire herself to go through all of this again.
The visit is over too quickly for her liking. She never sets eyes on Lucius, and she's long asleep when Severus finally slides into the bed beside her, his hands and feet cold, and his breath smelling of alcohol. He says little about where he's been or about anything at all, but he takes her in the morning, or she takes him - she can't really tell which of them is seducing the other these days, with his reverential treatment of her, and her hormones screaming - but she appreciates the look of wonder on his thin face when she begs him for more, begs him to move faster and harder and he grips her hair at the base of her neck, and he hisses in her ear, and his teeth bite her lip.
And then he laughs as her eyes roll into the back of her head as she vocalises her pleasure - and it's a happy laugh. It's a laugh that builds from a gentle rumble in his chest until it peaks into peals of amusement, his naked body pressed firmly against her own, skin-to-skin, soul-to-soul, and as she stares into his dark eyes, a joyful smile playing on his pink lips, all she can see is his innocence. She sees that spirited boy she met at the park, she sees the trembling teenager who claimed her as his own on his creaking bed, she sees the hopeful young adult who punched the air when he received the piece of parchment through owl post telling him that he was to be assigned to Master Borage as an apprentice, and she can't reconcile it - she can't imagine him, Severus, the father of her unborn baby and the man she loves so desperately, coldly and clinically ending the life of another.
He takes her back to Cokeworth and then he departs. Her parents' house seems grey and dull in comparison to the opulence of the Manor, but the three of them - Lily, her mother, and her father - make small talk all afternoon, right up until David decides to mow the lawn. Lily sits on a deckchair and watches as he heaves the rusted machinery from the garage, roughly battling with it - scratching his head, and holding his hands on his hips - before she can take it no longer, and she silently casts with a wave of her hand, causing the engine of the mower to burst to life with a roar. Her father steps back in surprise, but the smile on his lips reassures Lily that she made the right choice by intervening.
The noise from the mower soon irritates her, and by Bean's sudden movements, it's irritating her child as well. It takes Lily far longer than she'd like to admit to lift herself from the low seat, but she finally turns to head back into the kitchen when her mother grabs her elbow, squeezing the skin tightly, and Lily jumps, clasping her hand to her chest.
"Merlin, Mummy, you nearly made me go into labour," she laughs - but her mirth is short lived when her mother ushers her quickly through the house, into the front room, and far out of the earshot of her father - not that he could've heard them over the noise of the mower. "What? What's going on?"
"What's he done?" Rose asks, perching on the arm of the chair, and indicating that Lily should sit down on the sofa.
"What's who done? Daddy with the mower? It wouldn't start, and-"
Rose shakes her head. "Don't be cute, Lily. We're going to talk about this now," she says, firmly, "whilst your father's busy. Else we can have this conversation with him here. Would you prefer that?"
"No," Lily says, reluctantly, "but you're always so quick to assume Sev's done something, that he deserves what's happening to him…" She trails off, wringing her hands.
"And what's that then?" Rose glances anxiously towards the window at the back of the house. "Lily, please be honest with me. What's he done?"
"He hasn't done anything."
"Then what's happening to him?"
"He owes someone."
Rose straightens, and nods, content to have discovered a problem with a simple resolution. "Your father will lend him whatever money he requires and I know what you're going to say, that Severus won't take it, but we can convince him-"
"It's not money, he doesn't owe them money. They don't need money." Lily drops her head, hot tears springing from the edge of her eyes. "Mummy, you don't understand. He isn't bad - he's doing this for me. For us, so we could be together. But now..."
Rose moves quickly, kneeling by her daughter's side, and stroking her hair away from her face. "But now?" She stares at Lily, trying to read the upset on her face. "But now what, Lily? Are you trying to say that you don't want to be with him anymore? If he's not right for you, we can help, your father and I-"
"I do!" she interrupts, her tears coming harder. "I do want to be with him, but he's… Mummy, if he's caught, it's all my fault."
Rose wraps her arms around her sobbing daughter, and kisses the side of her forehead. "Severus' choices are not your fault," she says. "You've told him you don't want him to do whatever this is?"
Lily sobs even more loudly. "Not in so many words." She inhales, her breathing jagged. "He hasn't got any other options."
"There are always options," Rose says, firmly, "and you, young lady, are not going back there with him."
"Mummy!"
"I'll ask your father to speak to Brian." At Lily's look of confusion, Rose squeezes her hand. "Your father's friend, the one who offered you the job. You remember? We'll see if he'll send some work over early, so you can dip your toe into the water," she says, her tone brooking no argument, "and it'll give you something to take your mind off all of this. Then when you've had the baby, your father and I will help, and you can go to work. You'll be able to get yourself a proper career, without any of this blood nonsense that's been holding you back."
"...and how does Sev fit into your fantastic plan?" Lily folds her arms stubbornly. "I'm not leaving him."
"You can tell him that his girlfriend and his child are here, and he's welcome to visit at anytime." Her mother leans back from her daughter's standoffish stance. "I understand his reluctance to return to Cokeworth, but his probation won't last forever. He doesn't even have to wait for it to be over, there's nothing stopping him from returning home and keeping out of trouble."
"It's not like he goes looking for it, trouble just finds him," Lily argues, "like that with the shop - he hadn't done anything!"
Rose looks horrified. "Hadn't done anything? He was covered in blood!"
"He hadn't hurt anyone! It was his own!"
"Severus needs to grow up, get himself a proper job, and start behaving responsibly. He doesn't need magic to do that. It's all very laudable that he says he wants to look after you - well, you can tell him that he can do that here! With us to support you both."
Lily looks at her mother, tears openly falling down her cheeks. "He'll never live like a Muggle. He just won't do it."
"Then that is his decision."
"No, Mummy, you don't understand! It's like living with your arms tied behind your back, not using magic, and it's not just him, what about me, what about if I don't want to live without magic, what if-"
"I don't see the problem," Rose interjects, coldly, "his mother has managed all of these years."
"His mother is the reason he doesn't want to stay in your world!"
"Our world," Rose argues, loudly. "He has options, Lily, and you shouldn't pretend otherwise. If he wants you and your child-"
"He does!"
"-then he will make the decision that is the safest for his family." Rose purses her lips. "I didn't bring you up to be a sacrificial lamb for some boy-"
"Severus is not just some boy!"
"Yes well, if he's as serious about you as you are about him, then it shouldn't just be you that's making all of the sacrifices, Lily!" Rose shakes her head when Lily opens her mouth to argue. "No, you listen to me, you've told us that you can't live freely in that magical world of yours - but you'd have a chance of a life here! You and your child, you'd be safe here, with us!"
Lily stands, wiping the tears away from her eyes. "But it's not just me and my child, Mummy. It's me and Severus and our child," she says, shakily, trying desperately to forget Narcissa's words, ignoring the fact that in the magical world the exact opposite of her mother's words would be true - that their child would be seen solely as Severus' heir.
Bean is ours, she thinks, fiercely. Both of us. Together.
Registering the look of horror on Lily's face, Rose softens. "I've already said that Severus is welcome here too, Lily. If he wants. It's his choice."
They've been kneeling for what feels like hours, their heads bowed. Avery to his left, Reggie Black to his right - and he's certain Lucius is somewhere near the front, his reputation restored once more. It's a big room - bigger than usual - and there's space to walk between the rows. He can't see much with his hood blocking his peripheral vision, but he can sense when someone approaches - the clatter of their boots, the swish of their robes, the smell of either clean fabric, or mud, or blood, or worse - and then they've passed, in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment, and he's back to staring at the same section of mosaic floor.
He's been staring at the intricate pattern for so long, it's almost hypnotic. His kneecaps ache, and his neck's stiff, and he's got pins and needles in his feet - but apart from the steady in-and-out of breath, and the rhythmic footsteps building and fading like the rush of the sea, the room is silent, so he doesn't dare move.
"Three more," announces the Dark Lord, and there's a sudden exhalation - as if the group of hundreds is as one. "Him, and her, and," and then he pauses, and the footsteps grow louder, and then Severus almost leaps up in surprise when he feels the Dark Lord's long cold fingers through the hood covering the back of his head, "this one."
Severus stands, grimacing as his numb feet try to find purchase on the ornate tiled floor, his gaze firmly fixed on the swirling pattern beneath his boots, not daring to look up - not until the Dark Lord places a long finger beneath his chin and firmly tilts Severus' head upwards.
"Come," he says, and Severus obediently follows his master, his footsteps loud on the tile.
Chapter 75: Don't get caught
Chapter Text
Following their argument, they haven't spoken for three days, which has made mealtimes desperately awkward - but she's spent the rest of the time in her bedroom, obstinately and deliberately re-reading every magical book Severus left for her, her hand ghosting over Bean.
It isn't as simple as Mummy thinks. It's not just me, and it's not just Severus, but it's you as well, little one, she thinks, her hand spiralling in Bean's thrum of magic. How can we keep you from the magical world? We can't - you'll have to go in eventually, to Hogwarts, and then what if you stayed, without us?
She breathes in deeply, the thought of her unborn child leaving her causing her heart to clench - and then she can't help but wonder whether this is what's at the root of her mother's sudden fury; that she doesn't want to wave her child off once more, and certainly not with her only grandchild in tow.
He tries not to laugh when he sees some of the combinations of clothing the others are wearing - jeans and ties, sharp shirts with denim jackets, sandals and overcoats.
"You won't pass," he says, zipping up the thin anorak he's pulled over his faded t-shirt.
"They're only Muggles," Bellatrix sneers, disdainfully.
"They lack magic, they're not visually impaired," he spits back, tossing a blouse from the pile of clothes towards her. "That with a skirt," he says, rummaging in the pile, "or this dress. But not that abominable combination you're currently wearing." He turns to the wizard beside him. "And you, take that snorkel off!"
Rodolphus laughs from the far side of the room, and when the others don't move, he claps his hands loudly. "Well, do as the runt says," he shouts, "what's the point in having a Muggle infested halfbreed with us unless he's of use? Listen to him, and get changed!"
Severus' head jerks at the slurs, his cheeks colouring slightly, but then he peevishly kicks at the youth sat on the floor in front of him, his boot connecting squarely with the small of his back. "Go on, what are you waiting for? You heard Dolph!"
Lily breaks her silence when her father calls her down to the dining room, and spreads the papers across the table. He sits with her whilst they work through Brian's instructions, and she finds herself relaxing, losing herself in the work. It's more interesting than she thought it would be - policies and amendments, legislation and research - and as she sorts the files, she finds herself drawn into the content.
"How long has he been doing this?"
"Brian?" David shrugs. "Ever since he took his pension from the civil service. Three years, I think. When you were still at Hogwarts."
She laughs, taking in the mountain of paper. "He didn't want to rest, and take holidays by the sea, or potter about in his garden?"
"Early retirement does that for you. Leaves you full of energy." David pauses, flicking a pen restlessly between his fingers. "...it's a good job, Lily, the civil service."
"Daddy…"
David smiles, and stops the pen, holding his hands aloft in mock surrender. "I'm only saying. Think of it as an option."
After her mother's rant, she's sick of hearing about options, and she can't help the acid retort that leaps from her tongue. "An option for me, but not for Severus?"
Her father doesn't rise to the bait, his tone even. "Not as a convict, I wouldn't imagine. It does rather restrict your life choices."
She wishes now she hadn't said it. She wants to start the argument, wants to point out that this is why they were moving to the magical world - that Severus has options in the magical world that he won't have in Cokeworth. She wants to shout and scream, and try and make them see that he's intelligent and worth more than what he'll amount to in the Muggle world. She wants them to understand that if he comes back here, with his record and his name and his reputation, he'll end up treading the same miserable path as his father - manual labour, followed by no labour, and then they'd end up like his parents.
Or worse, knowing Severus' hot temper - he'd be goaded into a fight or three, and he'd do something stupid, and he'd end up in court again, and then she'd really be in strife - the single mother of his babies, whether it's just Bean or more, as he'd suggested when they were last properly together. It seems like a lifetime ago now, that night, lying together in the guest quarters at Malfoy Manor, surrounded in luxury - and her thoughts then weren't on Severus ending up in Muggle prison, leaving a large destitute family behind.
She holds her tongue with all of it. Partly because saying it will make her cry, and partly because prophesying Severus' failures in Cokeworth won't help her cause with her parents - and it most definitely won't if she suggests that he'll drag her down with him. She takes a deep breath, and runs her hand soothingly over Bean - unsure whether the action is reassurance for her, or for their baby stirring uneasily inside her - and then she flips over the next page, her mind still racing.
Maybe we could wipe his records, like we did with my name on my medical charts. Give him a fresh start.
Severus saunters into the auditorium, his hands stuffed in his anorak pockets. He casually casts his eye over the crowd - there must be a thousand crammed into the school sports hall - and then makes his way over to an empty chair in the middle block of seats.
There's an excited surge of chatter around him, and he exchanges pleasantries with the neighbours on either side - a jolly, thick-set man with a wispy moustache, and a woman who looks deceptively like Lily, which causes him to do a double-take.
She doesn't look like Lily, you idiot. You miss her so much, every woman looks like Lily at the moment.
When he turns back for a second look, he realises he's right - her hair's too short, and her freckles covering her nose are too dense in pattern - but then he's staring, and she smiles shyly at him, and he gives an awkward cough, relieved when the lights drop and the applause starts.
It's the fifth rally he's been to, and his staged interruptions trip off his tongue with ease - questioning the Dark Lord's political plan, nodding sagely and looking impressed when his master answers, and whooping and clapping and cheering whenever Yaxley signals they all should by shooting a pulse of pleasure through the mark. He still doesn't much like the etching, doesn't like the idea of being branded, but the flurry of electricity that surges under his skin thrills him.
He can't describe the feeling - it's not the white-hot intensity of an orgasm, but more akin to the pleasurable build up. It's like the moment of anticipation he has when Lily sinks to the floor with a teasing smile on her face - that excited feeling when she runs her tongue across her lips and unbuckles his belt, and he knows as she reverently unbuttons his trousers that he's her sole focus, the centre of her world, and she's on her knees ready to worship him.
That is what it feels like, and it makes him want to throw his head back and groan with delight.
This is the best rally they've done so far. They're barely thirty minutes in and the whole crowd is up and cheering - the fat man is enthusiastically clapping beside him, the not-Lily woman is smiling at him, and he whistles and he whoops, caught up in the pleasurable sensations flooding through his arm, and the ecstatic atmosphere around him.
Severus sits in Dumbledore's office, all too aware of his unwashed state. He's been wearing the same Muggle clothes for almost a week, casting freshening charms before each rally, and it didn't seem important to change. Nobody has said anything to him - not that he knows many of the Dark Lord's followers who are taking part in the rallies; Bella and Dolph are the only two he can reliably identify, and having been outed as a halfbreed by Dolph, the others have chosen to barely speak to him, despite Severus having been hand-selected by the Dark Lord himself for this mission.
Like their blood's any better. Pure and none is better than Half and Half anyway, he thinks, bitterly.
But now he's away from the road, now he's no longer pretending to be an anonymous Muggle who is caught up with the exciting new political stance being offered, he feels dirty and grungy and entirely out of place, and he casts a freshening charm at his mouth just as Dumbledore strides in.
"Ah, Severus," he says, sweeping past him, giving Severus' outfit a curious once over. "You have news for me?"
"Urgent news, sir."
"I had rather gathered that from your...unusual appearance. Your absence in the Great Hall this week has not gone unnoticed. I trust that all will be back to normal shortly?" Dumbledore picks up his quill, and when Severus doesn't react to his pointed comments, he waves his hand. "Very well, Severus, proceed."
"He isn't just launching attacks," Severus warns, "but then promising to find the perpetrators immediately afterwards."
"Go on."
"We - the Strikers - do something. Pressworthy. Local, at the moment, not national, but if it continues…" He pulls at his collar, looking uneasy. "And then when the local community is whipped into a frenzy, he holds a rally nearby - a few towns over."
"A pincer movement?"
Severus nods. "He destroys with one hand, and then promises retribution with the other. He queries how it could happen, how our - their - politicians have turned their backs on them, how their police is powerless to help them."
"He promises them safety?"
"Safety. Protection." He picks the skin at the edge of his finger. "He shows them what he can do - he offers them power, he…"
Dumbledore leans forward, his voice quiet but his eyes eager. "He shows them what, Severus?"
Severus swallows, and without being aware of his movement, idly scratches his forearm. "He calls on us, his followers, as if we're ordinary Muggles in the crowd..."
"Yes? And?"
"And he demonstrates the powers he's bestowed upon us because we've chosen to follow him. He offers them - the Muggles - the same power, and a place by his side, if only they believe."
Dumbledore looks horrified. "He offers them salvation."
It's Avery who calls on him, who trusts him. He knows the others don't - not yet. He's too new. Too Muggle, he thinks, sourly. But Avery gives him opportunities that the others don't; they party and they drink, and Avery whispers words of temptation and evil in his ear, luring him into the darkness that he's been working so hard to avoid.
It's not small anymore, not like when he first started - not when it was causing arguments in bars, or setting people up to fight. It's bigger, more organised - it's about spreading fear and causing chaos, it's plotting to derail trains and start fires, and although there's always been a part of him that's happy to lash out, that wants to cause pain to those who've been complicit in hurting him, this change of tactics makes him uneasy. They haven't hurt anyone yet, not seriously, but it's only a matter of time.
He laughs his concerns off in Avery's company. He helps Avery to prepare, helps him to organise - but inside, it makes him feel grey. It's different, somehow. Less personal. He can understand a grudge, can understand sparring with a particular person, but these victims, they could be anyone - a child, a parent, a magical person in the wrong place at the wrong time, even. These attacks are indiscriminate, and although he sits in the bar and he laughs, and he helps Avery to jot down notes, and he researches where to buy supplies from without alerting the Muggle authorities, Severus can't live with this new knowledge without doing something.
It's risky, meeting him here in broad daylight - but Dumbledore must've sensed the anguish in the garbled message he left with Aberforth, as he's standing on platform 3 at Leeds at 5.15pm, as promised. Severus rolls his eyes when he strides towards him - he could've worn something a little less conspicuous, something a little less fluorescent, something a little more...Muggle.
As he approaches, it's as if Dumbledore reads his thoughts. "Don't worry, Severus," he says, holding his arm out, and as soon as Severus touches it, they spiral into a whirl of Disapparation, "we're not staying."
When they land, the wind is howling on the cliffs, and Severus' jacket is caught by the gale, throwing him off balance. He reaches a hand out to steady himself, realising with alarm how close to the cliff edge and how high up above the sea they are - and when he looks back at the older wizard, Dumbledore is the epitome of serenity; his robes still, and his beard not moving.
"How are you doing that?"
"Focus," Dumbledore says.
As always, it's cryptic, and it means nothing, and Severus' frustration gets the better of him, his hair whipping painfully around his face. "You couldn't think of somewhere else we could've gone?" he yells, struggling to make himself heard over the weather.
Dumbledore smiles, and shrugs. "Forgive me, Severus, but you said you did not wish to be overheard." He indicates to the barren landscape around them. "I have no such fears here."
Wanker.
"They're going to set fire to a shopping centre," he says, struggling against the elements to hand Dumbledore a scrap of paper with a hastily scribbled postcode on. "I talked them out of the Saturday, which would've been carnage - but it'll happen on Tuesday. Next Tuesday." He looks earnestly at Dumbledore, who hasn't shown any reaction to the news. "It'll kill people. They're going to block some of the exits, and blame the management company, blame the council. You need to do something - stop them, or contain it, or warn someone!"
Dumbledore nods and pockets the piece of paper. "Very well."
Severus gives a short smile, relief flooding through him. "Good. Good!"
"This is excellent work, Severus," Dumbledore says, looking impressed. "You must be trusted at the highest level."
"Not really. Just Avery," he admits, "but when he gives me information like this, this is enough, yes?"
Dumbledore gives him another smile. "Keep going," he says, "and whatever you do, whatever happens on Tuesday, remember, Severus, do not break cover."
His knock is so distinctive, Lily knows it's him as soon as she hears the door, but Bean weighs her down, and her father is up and talking to him before she's even got to her feet. She glances at her mother, her breath caught in her chest, wondering if the murmuring between the two men on the doorstep will cease, wondering what her mother has told her father, wondering if her father will even stand to one side and let him in, or if there'll be an almighty row instead.
"All right, love?"
Severus looks comfortable in a set of Muggle clothes that she's never seen before, an uncertain smile on his face - and she rushes over to him, and his smile solidifies and broadens. She wraps her arms firmly around his waist, inhaling his scent, and clinging to him.
"I've missed you," she says, tears prickling her eyes - and he looks aghast when he spies them, stroking them away from her face with his thumbs.
"I've missed you too, love," he says, kissing her chastely, and then holding her tightly to him. "Are you both ok?"
She nods, her face pressed against his unfamiliar t-shirt. "It's late, but dressed like this, you're not staying are you?"
"No."
She inhales, trying to dampen down her disappointment. "You're here to collect Remus' potion, aren't you?"
"I can let him down if you haven't brewed it," he says, quickly. "It's not a problem. In fact, I'd quite like to see the look of disappointment on his face."
At his sharp words, she leads him by the hand, taking him away from the prying eyes of her well-meaning parents who seem concerned by his comments. She slowly makes her way up the stairs to her bedroom where the potion is bottled and sitting on her bookcase, ready and waiting for delivery.
He pockets it with a smile. "I might pretend I haven't got it anyway."
"Sev, don't."
"No? The thought of the look on the wolf's face is tempting," he grins.
"Don't start wasting time and hanging around," she warns, concern filling her expression. "Don't get caught."
"I'm joking," he says, brushing a strand of her hair from her eyes, and settling it behind her ear. "I won't see him. I've asked Dung to broker the full transaction for me the last few times. I have absolutely no desire to have that wolf's filthy snout anywhere near me." He kisses her. "I won't get caught. And speaking of which, don't you go to Cissy's this week. In fact, don't go anywhere at all - stay here until I come for you."
He expects her to argue, or - at the very least - to quiz him as to why, but instead Lily takes a sharp intake of breath, steadying herself against the drawers.
"Lil?" He's immediately holding her, his hands gripping her wrists tightly - too tightly. "Lily, are you ok?"
"...you're going to do it, aren't you?" As soon as the words leave her lips, she has her answer - she can already see the tell-tale bulge of the bottle in his other pocket: her brew for Lupin on the left, and Severus' brew for Rabastan on the right.
"I've told you not to worry about this, love," he says, firmly, "what's done is done." Then he kisses her again, as if seeking some form of forgiveness or reassurance, and as much as she wants to push him away, wants to scream some sense into him, she can't do it. She can't bear to think of causing a fight at this moment when he's already poised to leave and unable to stay. She can't risk him running into this dark situation recklessly, believing her not prepared to stand with him in the future - so, as much as it pains her to accept his intentions, she says nothing and welcomes his kiss instead.
As she holds him against her, she basks in the familiar pulse of his magic washing over her, and she can't help but fear that it's the last time she'll feel it. She can't help but fear that this nefarious plot of Lucius' will finally kill off the spiral of untamed magic that has always drawn her towards her lover, and she can't help but fear that Severus' hand in Abraxas' demise might irreparably damage the boy that she loves so dearly.
Chapter 76: Concrete shoes
Chapter Text
If he was a better man, he'd feel a pang of guilt - but Mundungus Fletcher is no such man. Mundungus Fletcher has been here before, and he knows what it takes to keep his head above water. Guilt has no practical purpose. Guilt is a pair of concrete soled shoes, and wearing them merely drags you beneath the undertow.
Although it sent an anxious ripple through the magical community, Barty Crouch Jr's death has undoubtedly been good for business. It's not that Fletcher minds diversifying, not that he minds getting his hands dirty, but there was something about brokering - about dealing - that suited his specific talents.
This has been the worst year since he's been in this game, the market stunted by punters affected by Imperatum - and to think, he'd held such high hopes for this year. Business had been booming, steadily growing ever since his forced change in brewer. He had initially been displeased when poor Arisean Nott was forced into early retirement, but young Severus Snape had been Merlin-sent - Malfoy-sent, he laughs to himself. Not to speak ill of the injured, as Arisean's brews were more than adequate for his requirements, but there was a special something about the boy's potions.
Fletcher wasn't a regular user; he'd been in the game long enough to know that sampling the wares led to ruin, but whenever a new brewer crossed his path, he'd have a little taste. It's important to know your product - and there was something delightfully different about Snape's potions. They had an edge that Arisean Nott's didn't - a seductive quality that begged you to take a little more, an addictive thrill that started screaming as soon as the initial hit wore off: again again again again.
As a broker, it was music to his ears, and the punters came to love it - happy to ignore their growing addictions, as long as the potions delivered the promise on the label. There was a lot to be said for consistency, for reliability, for quality. And for Fletcher? It meant punter loyalty. He had the market sewn up. It should've been a great year.
He was richer than ever, Fletcher, when Miss Evans started pushing her equally delightful potions his way. She was even better than Snape. Not her brews, which were of equal quality, but she was pleasant. He liked her, as much as he liked anyone in this game. She was nicer and kinder and softer, and far easier on the eye. Oh yes, he liked dealing with Miss Evans - and not just for that pretty smile, but because there was no spectre of Malfoy, and no Malfoy meant a bigger - a much bigger - cut. He wasn't greedy, Fletcher - least, not overly. It was a better deal for her too, a bigger cut, an equal share of the profits without the usual hangers-on. A marriage made in heaven, or so it had seemed.
There was something daring about Miss Evans. A recklessness that Snape didn't possess, but then, Snape was scared of Malfoy. Fletcher wasn't, and he had the sense that the lovely Miss Evans didn't care much for Malfoy either. He was a just another man, and for all his arrogance, Malfoy was barely out of short trousers - and Fletcher had seen a dozen Malfoys come and go in his time. It was a coveted position, king pin, but a dangerous one; there was always someone queuing up to knock the powerful from their pedestal, to take their place at the top of the food chain - and Malfoy's time would come, of that much, Fletcher was certain.
She'd briefly changed the hierarchy, Miss Evans, with her disregard for the rules, and there was nothing Fletcher liked more than money in his pocket. Cutting Malfoy and his parasites out of the transactions had briefly been a boon - and then, like a house of cards, it had all come tumbling down. Malfoy was behind the fall, he was sure - it was too much of a coincidence that Snape dropped such a tantalising witch, and then she was found to be warming Malfoy's bed.
If you fuck me, went Malfoy's favourite phrase, I'll fuck you - and he'd evidently made good on his threat. It was at times like this that Fletcher was grateful he wasn't a woman; Miss Evans had apparently been on the receiving end of the most literal of interpretations - although, if the rumours surrounding Malfoy were true, perhaps he wasn't so safe after all. He'd retreated then, Fletcher, back to his favourite position in the shadows - important enough to make a profit, but insignificant enough to be overlooked. He didn't want to be next on Malfoy's fuck list, literally or otherwise.
It had all happened so fast, he hadn't paid much mind to the fact that Snape was brewing less and less. Fletcher still had some back stock at first - not much, Snape wasn't one for offloading huge quantities, but combined with the drop in demand, it was enough to briefly dull the impact of his brewer failing to deliver. Once his hands were empty, that's when it hit - boom to bust. Reduced to skimming a percentage of Snape's meagre deals was barely enough to scratch any sort of living - "What more do you expect from me? I can hardly brew under Dumbledore's nose," Snape had protested, and Fletcher couldn't argue with the young wizard's logic.
Fletcher doesn't like to think about those words, doesn't like to think about the lie that tripped so easily over the scrawny boy's tongue. Fletcher blamed himself, at least in part. He should've known better, should've known that he shouldn't trust the word of someone so young, so pliable, so easily manipulated, so in the pocket of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. He'd nodded, Fletcher, like a dumb dog and accepted Snape's word - hadn't pushed him, hadn't pressed him for the truth.
All the pieces had seemingly fit together, but only because he hadn't looked closely. The market had dwindled, and demand was down, so Snape's failure to supply hadn't really mattered. If there's no-one clamouring for the goods, it's somewhat of a relief not to be holding them. That's how you get caught. But the market hadn't dwindled. Demand wasn't down. He - Mundungus Fletcher - had been cut out. Unthinkable. Fletcher simply hadn't realised how arrogant the boy had become until the deals came flooding back in - and for that piece of good fortune, he can thank Barty Crouch Jr.
Fletcher briefly wonders if Snape feels guilt. He wonders how much of this subterfuge, this sabotage was Snape's own invention, some sort of misguided retribution for his girl being stolen - Mudblood she may have been, but she was still miles out of Snape's league - and how much was Malfoy orchestrating in the background, pulling the puppet strings. Duplicitous, the pair of them. Fletcher can't help but wonder if Malfoy even knows of this change-of-heart, if he knows Fletcher is back in the fold, back where he belongs, or whether this is pure Severus Snape, driven by fear.
Because he is fearful, Snape. Fletcher can tell. And not just of Malfoy. No, Snape meets with him, and he silently hands over his potions, but he barely lifts his ugly face from beneath that long curtain of hair, which seems to grow greasier and lanker by the day. He's terrified - terrified of being caught, terrified of going to Azkaban, terrified of being Kissed, just like Barty Crouch Jr - and there's a not so small part of Fletcher that hopes Snape's terrified of him too.
He should be, because Fletcher holds all of his secrets. All, of course, but one.
Concrete shoes, Fletcher thinks. Concrete shoes.
It's a blow, the knowledge that he's given such a significant cut of all of his deals back to Fletcher, but Severus knows it's worth it for the veneer of plausible deniability. After all, what better method of plausible deniability is there than deals being done without him - of Rabastan and Fletcher swapping goods and money - all whilst he, Severus, sits hundreds of miles away in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, sipping a cup of strongly brewed coffee and staring out at hundreds of students?
If Abraxas' potion comes directly from him, there's simply no denying it's his handiwork, but if it's passed through Fletcher's grubby mitts, then there's always the potential for it to have been modified along the way - to have been mixed up, to have been incorrectly allocated.
Still, it doesn't make it any less galling, handing all of his hard-won deals over - and oh, how Fletcher's face lit up as he listed them; he could practically see the galleon sign in Fletcher's eyes - but giving him the Rabastan deal in isolation would've been far more suspicious, far too obvious, even to a minion like Fletcher.
If Severus was a better man, he'd feel a pang of guilt - for plausible deniability can only cover one man, and his cover is forcibly wrenched from Fletcher, who'll find himself exposed, and under scrutiny - but Severus Snape is no such man.
Canis canem edit, he thinks. They won't be able to prove anything, can't pin it on Fletcher, not really. They might just shake him up a bit. And if it does come back to me? I could claim I provided it for personal use - a favour. I could claim that I didn't know it was going to be sold on - I didn't anticipate it appearing on the black market. I'd have tailored it specially, if only I had known.
Severus wonders how long he'll have to wait until the deed is done, how long he'll have to look over his shoulder. He's always been curious - nosey, his mother would say, interfering - and almost as soon as he drops the potion with Fletcher, he swears he can feel his fingers itching, desperate to put quill to parchment, desperate to seek Malf's reassurance - to hear the plan, to know the timeframe - but he knows that it's best that he's not privy to such information.
Ignorance should be the easy part. All he needs to do is keep his nerve, and as much as it goes against every instinct, he needs to stay out of the shadows - he needs to be seen amongst his colleagues at Hogwarts. He needs to ensure that he cannot be linked, no matter how tenuously, and most of all, he needs to have faith in the process; faith in Fletcher, faith in Rabastan, faith in Malf. He's done his bit - and now he must let the fates orchestrate without him.
He's utterly lost in his thoughts, distracted, and almost as soon as he steps out of Knockturn Alley, Severus is grabbed from behind.
The move is sudden and unexpected, but smooth - practised. An auror, Severus thinks, not a Striker. Severus' wand arm is wrested behind him, a tight grip pinning his wrist, and then thick fingers are wrapped around his neck, his face shoved painfully into the brickwork.
Severus twists his neck, scraping his cheek against the bricks as he tries to see his captor. "Get off, I-"
"Shut up," the auror snarls, his wand jabbing into the exposed skin behind Severus' ear.
Moody.
"I haven't got-"
"Shut up," Moody stresses, using his wand to push Severus more firmly against the wall. He can't get any closer. The rough surface cuts harshly into Severus' skin, and Severus can feel the tell-tale trickle of blood on his cheek. "Funny looking robes you're wearing, boy."
Severus doesn't answer. Daren't. He's rueing his decision to come here - stupid - especially after being cautious and meeting Fletcher in Muggle London. The cover of the Muggle world is a precaution that Severus doesn't take when supplying any other brew, but carrying Wolfsbane down Diagon Alley is a risk too far. Even with his record, he'd likely only get a slap on the wrist for anything plausible - Rain Away or Sundown or Night Rhythm. He might even get away with a few vials of Felix Felicis, or a small quantity of Polyjuice, but Wolfsbane's another matter entirely, and the mere thought of bottles in his cloak clinking and attracting the attention of a keen auror is enough to make him jittery.
To Fletcher's credit, although he rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath when Severus first suggested the Muggle location all those weeks earlier, he never seems perturbed by the non-magical surroundings when the transfer is made. Beggars can't be choosers, Severus reasons, and with business so weak and such a healthy remuneration on offer - it was solely Black's galleons paying Fletcher's cut, after all - it shouldn't have been a surprise that Fletcher acquiesced to his unusual demand.
No, in the Muggle world, Fletcher isn't uncomfortable. He's his usual self, and doesn't miss a beat. He handles the potion reverentially, rolling it between his palms, as if he's checking through the glass for defects in the liquid. There aren't any, there never are - no matter how tempting it might be to adjust it, to make the wolf's experience just that little bit more miserable - and although Severus doubts whether Fletcher could even tell a tampered potion from the real thing, his heart stalls until Fletcher finally pockets the potion, and the smirk on his lips is replaced by the promise of a purse full of galleons.
Severus wouldn't see Fletcher then, not for a week or three, not until the money was ready. He'd always been the same - "Never contaminate a drop," he'd say, "potions and payment do not mix." His stance made sense - if an auror intervened, it was difficult to make the charges stick. "This, guv'nor? No, this is for personal use. My friend here? I just ran into him as he was out for a stroll; he's got nothing on him at all." It had a tinge of plausibility to it, a veneer of legitimacy - even if Severus was certain that Fletcher was investing the funds on the side, and that was the real cause for delay.
Such caution, such forethought - that's what made Fletcher such a good broker. With brewing and other pressures, Snape couldn't make the same sacrifices with his time - couldn't arrange to meet over and over and over, a vial here, a galleon there, a bottle here, a coin bag there. He hadn't really thought about it when he was dealing directly - he'd become over-confident, and too keen to take the money. Complacent. If he or his target had been stopped - him in cuffs one side of the alley, and them on the other - they'd both have been sunk.
"Turn your pockets out, boy," Moody says, his wand still digging into the skin behind Severus' ear.
Good job I've gone back to Fletcher, he thinks. Good job this isn't a few weeks ago, when I'd have just met with Bast, coins jangling in my pocket, illicit potion burning a hole in his.
"I haven't got anything," he protests. Moody's wand twists painfully, and Severus hisses.
"My command wasn't an invitation for debate, it was an order. Turn out your pockets."
He doesn't move - least, not quickly enough, so Moody mutters something under his breath, and the tip of his wand burns white hot, and Severus yelps, and struggles, yanking his neck back and forth, the wand tip scorching across his skin as he tries fruitlessly to escape the pain.
"Ready to co-operate?" Moody asks, gripping him tightly. Severus doesn't react to the question - doesn't make a sound, doesn't nod, doesn't dare move an inch - but the lack of response is enough for Moody, who nods, and smirks, and loosens his grip. "Now, empty your pockets," Moody says. "Slowly. One at a time."
Severus isn't carrying anything in his pockets. Not really. His wallet and his wand and his papers - and he slides them out carefully, one after the other. He hasn't got his Striker badge with him - didn't want to risk Fletcher spying it, didn't want to be coerced into owing the grubby little man a favour, and now that Moody's rustling through his belongings, he's relieved. I don't want him knowing anything. Moody holds him firmly against the wall, his thick elbow pinning Severus right between the shoulderblades whilst Moody holds his wand aloft.
"Lumos," he mutters, and then he scrutinises the younger wizard's papers in the bright wandlight. He takes his time, glancing between the papers and Severus, a nasty smile on his lips. "Ugly runt, aren't you?"
Severus doesn't dignify the insult with a response. He can almost hear Lily's voice in his mind: he's goading you, rise above it.
"All seems to be in order," Moody eventually admits, gruffly, handing Severus his belongings back. "Anything else?"
Yes.
He doesn't answer.
"Right, hands against the wall," Moody instructs, clenching his own wand between his teeth, freeing up both hands.
Fuck. Severus can't say no - even if he coughs up his wares, it won't stop Moody from going ahead - but as soon as his palms make contact with the wall, his chest heaves and his legs tremble. It's like that night in the yard, being forced to brace to receive his father's lecture and his fury, but instead of the whistling belt cutting into his skin, two large weathered hands grab him, grope him - and Severus involuntarily draws a shuddering breath.
Behind him comes a bitter laugh, but it's tinged with uneasiness. "What the...?" Moody's unfinished question hangs in the air, and this time, the silence between them is almost tangible.
Severus' breathing is jagged and he is certain the tremor in his right leg is obvious, but he simply presses his forehead against the brickwork. "Just get on with it," he begs.
Moody seems as uncomfortable as he is, and doesn't comment further on Severus' bizarre reaction, but his touch is quick and awkward - fast pats up and down Severus' body - chest, abdomen, quivering legs. Moody pauses at the hem of the jacket, running his fingers beneath it and then digging his hand into the waistband of Severus' jeans.
"You said you had nothing on you, boy?"
"I didn't say anything."
Moody laughs - still bitter, but this time, the uneasiness is absent. "It may harm your defence-"
"-it's nothing. You know it's nothing."
"Nothing?" Moody holds the small glass object in the air, peering at its contents. "Are you accusing me of planting this?" When Severus doesn't react, Moody's temper gets the better of him, and roughly twists him around until he's forced to acknowledge the retrieved vial.
"It's for personal use."
"And what personal use do you have for snallygaster claws?"
"Potions apprentice," Severus spits back, his black eyes unfathomable.
Like staring into a deep well, Moody thinks. Could be ten feet down or ten miles.
"I know that," Moody snarls, roughly gripping Severus' hands behind his back and binding them with a flick of his wand, "but apprentice or not, these are prohibited. As you well know."
Moody's right - snallygasters aren't native to Britain, so neither Jigger or Sluggy hold any part of them in their stores. If nothing has changed in the last few months, Borage has a handful of jars he keeps under lock and key - shed skin, broken teeth, and a pickled eye - but it's impossible to obtain such ingredients through the usual legitimate channels. There's only one place in magical Britain which offers them for sale, and it's not a wholesalers or an apothecary, but an importer on the black market; no tax, no returns, and certainly no guarantee.
"So, tell me - what are you brewing with snallygaster claws?"
A barely tested, rarely brewed vampire repellent.
And then Severus' eyes close, and he grunts - a cross between a groan and a sigh, his body sagging as the realisation hits him. Fletcher asks me for an experimental potion, so I come down here looking for exotic ingredients, he thinks, and this setup couldn't have been more obvious.
He sits on the floor in the cold cell, back against the wall, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He wonders who is going to come for him - if anyone at all. It isn't so long ago that it would've been Lily - in those early days together, before they took her papers, and stole her legitimacy, and ruined both of their lives. If life was different, she'd be banging on the front desk, demanding to see him.
His new best friend Avery might, and given his ever-growing stature around the Ministry offices he might just have enough sway to get him released - although Severus remembers only too well how Avery left him to hang with blood on his hands when he knifed the Muggle. Maybe not.
There's always Malf, ever-reliable when one is in a fix - although he's the last person Severus wants to see right now, not because his affection for his friend has waned or because he fears Malf's efforts won't be successful, but because neither of them need a paper trail. The thought of official documentation of their close connection just as the preparations are being made for the modified potion to find its way towards Abraxas sends a shiver through him, and he can almost hear Malf's voice ringing in his ears: I know I told you to lie low, but Azkaban is above and beyond as an alibi, old boy.
Not that this is Azkaban. Not yet. Not without charge - least, he doesn't think so. The laws change so thick and fast under Fudge, he can barely keep up. And then it hits him, and he sits up straight, all remaining colour draining from his face: fast track retribution for the known underclass - criminals, halfbreeds, and those unworthy.
Criminals. Severus can't help but pick at the skin surrounding his thumbnail. Get a hold of yourself, he thinks, his inner voice angry as he rips into his skin. How is anything about this fast track retribution? You've been here for hours - night has already turned into day, and day back into night. Unless, and he smiles to himself, this is fast by Ministry standards.
He stands then, and paces back and forth in his cell. He should've gone back up to the castle instead of roaming around Knockturn. The memory of his discussion with Dumbledore plays on his mind - he'd promised that all would be back to normal, that he'd return for his meals, that he'd be seen in the Great Hall, taking his place once more next to Slughorn.
Slughorn. That's the answer, he realises - his registered Master. He's briefly cheered, moving backwards and forwards around the enclosed space faster and faster - if Dumbledore asks Slughorn of his whereabouts, and it's noted he's entirely absent from the castle, one of them will realise. They might check the arrest notices in the Ministry atrium - and Slughorn can vouch for him.
He breathes, and he smiles, and then - almost as quickly as it came - the relief dissipates. Idiot, he thinks, if Slughorn's asked to vouch for you, they'll interrogate him about those prohibited ingredients and what he's got you brewing, and he'll either unwittingly cement your sentence, or you'll drag him down with you.
A tray is pushed through the hatch on the floor every few hours, and although the offering is grey and lukewarm and wholly unappetising, it's the only thing that reassures him that he hasn't been locked up and left to die. He's being melodramatic, he knows, but other than the food, it's as if he doesn't exist. Nobody visits, nobody checks on him. They might be monitoring you with a spell, he reasons, and his eyes scan the walls of the tiny cell, checking each and every brick for a crack or a fissure - for a viewpoint.
There isn't one. He isn't sure if he's relieved or not.
He's bored rigid; he's recited every potion ingredient list and method he can think of, he's counted the bricks, he's counted the bars, he's even punched the wall, and then writhed around in pain, his hand wedged between his thighs. It was a distraction at least, he reasons, although it hurts his knuckles when he tries to flex his fingers on his right hand.
Lily would go ape, he thinks. At the self-inflicted bruising, at his arrest, at him losing his marbles after a short spell in solitary confinement. Not that it's that short a spell. For the past few hours, a thin shaft of sunlight has been steadily moving across the cell, and is now hitting him squarely in the eye, but he can't even be bothered to move his head. Three times it's changed now, from night into day. Or is it four? I shouldn't have lost count so quickly. He squints for a while, and then slings his arm over his eyes. Lily wouldn't have lost count. Lily, Lily, Lily. ...Lily doesn't even know you're here.
The thought hits him square in the chest, and the pain is worse than any damage his hand suffered. She's waiting for you to turn up, for your word to reach her, locked in her own confinement, he realises, and suddenly he's terrified that he won't get out of here - terrified that if this goes on much longer, she'll leave the sanctuary of her parents and come looking for him.
She wouldn't walk around Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, he's certain of that, not without papers - not after last time, but she might reason he's at Hogwarts. Would she try her hand there? He shakes his head. No. Not with Bean. Not now, not after staying away for so long.
He pauses. Think like Lily, think! If you can't roam the streets, and you can't search at Hogwarts, who would you turn to? Where was he seen last? He sits a little straighter. Mundungus Fletcher. She'd go to an Order meeting. He swallows hard as the imaginary scene plays out in his mind; he can almost hear her asking Fletcher whether he made the potion drop, and how would Fletcher respond? He can see his hands rubbing together, a deal to be done. A month ago, he'd have exchanged his information for a brew or two - but now he's got me back in the fold?
He can't see it. Not now. Insurance, he thinks, now that's a possibility - especially if he realises that I'm missing. He closes his eyes, trying to imagine what the scene would be like - would she manage to get him alone, or would someone overhear? What if Potter sticks his nose in, or Vance, or Bones, or Dumbledore himself? What if Moody strode across - would he tell tale of this arrest? Or would he just listen, hoping for more incriminating material to come his way?
If she reveals the nature of the deal he'd just come from, if she connects him - and herself - to Rabastan and Lucius and Abraxas… He picks at his thumb again - there'll be no skin left. She won't. His inner voice is loud, insistent. She won't start shouting her mouth off at an Order meeting. How many times has she told you that she isn't sure of herself there, isn't certain of their loyalty? How many times has she told you that none of them have infiltrated the Dark Lord's group? How many times has she told you that the Ministry staff amongst them are outflanked, outnumbered, outmanoeuvred?
No, he thinks, she might test the waters, rattle a few tins, shake a few trees, but she wouldn't give anything away. Think, Severus, his inner voice screams, if you were in her shoes, where would you go? And then he stands, the thought coursing through him like a shot of adrenaline. She'd go to the same place you would - to someone with some influence, to someone with power, to someone who understands. To the only people who know about Bean. He almost whimpers aloud. To the Manor. Into the murder scene itself.
Chapter 77: Lost all hope
Chapter Text
He's stopped pacing. Stopped sitting upright, even. He just lies, staring impassively at the bricks, barely acknowledging the change from night to day and back again. When his food trays are pushed through the hatch he ignores them until the weak tea is tepid, and the gruel is even colder.
When he eventually heaves himself off the bed, he sits cross-legged on the floor, prodding the congealed mush with the plastic fork. Scarcely any passes his lips, but seeing as it tastes worse than it looks, he can't bring himself to force it down. In another lifetime, he'd worry about becoming weak, worry that he couldn't fight whatever forces he was due to face next - but there's hardly any fight left in him.
What's the point when there's nothing to fight against?
It's the boredom that's eating away at him; the lack of stimulation. No fresh air, no conversation, nothing to read or watch. There's just the daylight through the window. He should worry about wasting away but he's doing so little, doing nothing more than sleeping and breathing and blinking and overthinking, he can't imagine he needs much sustenance.
He briefly wondered if he should fear hallucinations, brought on by lack of food - but he's so fed up, he can't help but feel that they'd be a welcome distraction. It's the only thing he's got left - that little escape in his mind. He fantasises a lot. Not like that. Fantasises about little things - about walking down the street and the feel of the pavement beneath his feet. He thinks about the sun beating down on his arms, and standing in the rain without a jacket, and the crunch and texture of an apple between his teeth - anything instead of this beige gruel.
He thinks about butterbeer and firewhisky, and fried eggs and bacon, and the array of treats on the tables at Hogwarts. He thinks about goblets of juice and goblets of wine, and the cacophony of voices filling the corridors, and Dumbledore calling the Great Hall to order. He thinks about the smell of grass when he lands at the Manor, and the cautious call of the peacocks when his feet crunch across the gravel path. He thinks of the furniture polish, and the smell of Narcissa's shampoo, and the heavy scent of Malf's aftershave, and the surprising weight of Draco when he's pressed against his chest. He thinks about Lily's smile - her smiling at Draco, her smiling at him, her smiling at both of them together. He thinks about her hair, and the freckles across the bridge of her nose, and the creak of her single bed when he nestles himself in it behind her, and Bean's spiral of magic beneath his hand. Bean.
He stops thinking then. It hurts too much to think like that, to think of them. It hurts his brain and it hurts his heart, so he slaps the wall, and he kicks it, and elbows it - and although he creates fresh bruises down his pale skin every day, he doesn't feel any better by the time he's finished.
You're losing the plot, Sev, he thinks.
For all his parents' promises that this is where he'd inevitably end up if he didn't get his act together, he doesn't know much about prison. He's been in holding cells before - Muggle and magical - and it's meant to be more humane than this, he's sure. He's not been charged, he's not even been interviewed - and he's been stuck in a claustrophobic cell for days on end, with a guard who won't respond to his shouts, and a toilet that's little more than a glorified metal bucket in the corner.
Not that he's complaining about the bucket. It's the only magical object in the room and it empties itself, so he won't pretend that he's not grateful for that small mercy - at least there's some sort of toilet. Being grateful for pissing in a bucket. If someone had told him he'd be thankful for that a month ago, he'd have been horrified. It's funny how quickly your perspective can change. It's almost enough to make him laugh. All this for a handful of snallygaster claws.
There's no indication, no warning. One minute he's lying there, staring at the wall, his eyes absently tracing the shadows of the bars created by the sunlight streaming through the window - and the next, he's keeled over, forehead pressed against the ground, and his right hand clenched tightly around his left forearm.
"Fuck!"
It comes in waves, the pain. The brand on his inner arm burns black, the angry snake wriggling and writhing, its scales twisting as it slithers out of the fearsome skull's mouth, and then it halts. It all halts - the movement, the burning, the pain - and he almost cries with relief as it ebbs away, a lasting sting pulsing up and down his arm.
But his relief is short lived; merely a moment of respite, a stark juxtaposition between calm and punishment, because then it hits him again. It's like being burnt - like the time when he was eight and his mam held his arm against the oven. He'd watched in horror as his skin seemed to melt against the hot metal, her spitefully counting down as the pain seared through him - "5, 4, 3, 2 and a half, 1 and three quarters, are you sorry now, you little shit? No? Seven tenths, two thirds, I saw what you did! Three eighths - stop your scriking!" It was a torture of her own cruel invention - never knowing when the countdown would end and the punishment would cease. At least she'd never shared it with Da; Severus would probably never have sat down again if Tobias had belted him with such gleeful sadism.
There's no countdown this time - just the heat of his skin burning, then a brief lull, and just as he's panting his way through the dull ache, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, the process starts up again - a furious fire that scorches a path deep into his veins.
It doesn't take him long to realise that it's not going to wane - that it's going to worsen each time it returns. If this goes on much longer, I might die, he thinks, and then his chest clenches as he wonders if that's the point.
The first few days, he'd stared hopefully at the cell door. It felt inevitable that someone would come - a friend or a colleague, or even an auror. He'd hoped that a guard would start a conversation, and he could casually mention that he was a Striker, or namedrop Avery - or, if the guard was an old timer, politically aligned away from the Dark Lord, he could mention his position at Hogwarts, whisper that Dumbledore needed to be informed.
It was a little over a week when he stopped staring at the cell door. He stopped a lot of things then - stopped pacing, stopped eating, stopped hoping.
You've been left here to die.
He hadn't truly believed it, not at first - but as the days wore on, it was the only conclusion that made any sense. He couldn't quite fathom it, couldn't work out what he'd done to Moody, couldn't work out what perverse thrill he was getting from all of this; couldn't work out why Moody hadn't just killed him outright - used the Avada curse, or Apparated him to a motorway and shoved him in front of a lorry, or thrown him from a bridge.
Why let me waste away in here?
It didn't make sense.
He didn't think anyone knew about the Dark Mark. He'd never heard mention of it, and Dumbledore hadn't warned him of it. His mother came closest, when she'd spied it freshly etched into his skin - but when he played the memory over and over in his mind, he couldn't tell if she knew what it was, what the branding was for and how it could be used, or whether she was just horrified to see the insignia.
But, he thought, as the pain rushed through his left arm, maybe Moody knew. Maybe Dumbledore doesn't - he's a Headmaster after all, but Moody? Moody's a fighter, an auror, a dark wizard hunter. Maybe Moody's seen the Dark Mark - touched it, felt it, witnessed the burn. Maybe that's what this is, he thinks, bile building in the back of his throat as the burning reaches a crescendo, maybe that's why he locked me in here; to hurt me, to punish me, to kill me - and all without it staining his conscience. Why get his hands dirty when the Dark Lord will do it for him?
His mind's racing now, almost delirious with the searing and unrelenting pain. Despair has a stranglehold on him, and he's clawing at his burning skin, throwing himself against the walls, kicking and thumping and screaming, his throat hoarse and his eyes red. His face is bleeding, and his arm is bleeding, and his hands are bleeding, and his wailing is echoing back at him, bouncing off the walls, his screaming louder and louder, and in the height of his anguish, that's when he finally loses all hope - because if nobody comes for him now, with the burning and the bleeding and the bellowing, nobody is ever going to come.
"I've already told you, as soon as the screaming started, I sent for Moody-"
"Moody was on a raid! You should've summoned someone else!"
"-Moody told me that no-one was to enter!"
"He didn't tell you to stand by and do nothing whilst the man lost his mind!"
Bickerstaff flared his nostrils, and stood up a little straighter, refusing to break eye contact. Admittedly, Moody hadn't quite told him to stand by and do nothing, but it wasn't far from the truth. He'd reported back with each and every change, as he was meant to. He'd told Moody about the prisoner not eating, and he'd told him about the general malaise, and the progression into self-harm - and with each development, Moody had nodded, as if he could barely hear, and had signed the papers to extend Severus' custody.
"I don't mean to be impertinent, sir," Bickerstaff had said on the ninth night, as the freshly signed parchment folded itself up into a paper aeroplane, and then launched itself into the air.
"Then don't," muttered Moody.
"...I think he's ailing."
Moody had sighed, and sniffed, and picked up the Prophet. "He's not ailing, Bickerstaff. He's simply having some thinking time."
"But he's not been charged, sir."
"He doesn't need to be charged to think." And then Moody had tucked the Prophet under his arm, and stood. "Nox!" he'd called, and the room was plunged into darkness. "Run along, Bickerstaff. You've got a prisoner to monitor."
He had said something. But now he was going to be blamed. Nobody ever came down this far, down to this level - but something had happened tonight, something big, and Shacklebolt and Dawlish were filling the overflow cells - and they'd stopped in their tracks when they heard the disturbance.
"Bickerstaff?" Shacklebolt was swift on his feet, his brightly coloured robes streaming behind him. "Is someone already being held down here?"
At that moment, Severus let out another blood curdling scream.
"Bloody hell!" Dawlish had yelled, waving his wand to turn a patch of the door transparent, and freezing in his tracks when he saw the state of the cell, and the man contained within it. "Don't just stand there, Bickerstaff - get one of the seniors down here!"
"Can't it wait?" Moody snaps, his fingers still gripping the collar of his latest arrest. "I'm booking in."
"Greene can book him in."
"But-"
"Now, Alastor," Bones says, icily.
She leads him to an empty office on the fifth floor.
"Take a seat."
"I'll stand," Moody says, "I'm not staying."
"Alastor," she starts, her voice imploring, "you can't ignore this. Young Bickerstaff has made a statement-"
"Burn it," he says, harshly.
"Burn it? Burn it! You can't adapt the law for your own ends!" She moves in front of him, her eyes flashing with anger. "You can't hold a young man in custody for weeks-"
"-days," he interrupts.
Her lips thin. "Don't split hairs with me. The custody book shows his admission date, Alastor! If Emmeline sees this, it's all she'll need to get rid of you-"
"Then don't fucking show her!" he shouts, his temper flaring.
"And what, burn the custody book too? Wipe Kingsley's memories, and John's? What about the prisoner?" She squeezes her wand, her knuckles white. "What if he lodges a complaint? Over two weeks in solitary confinement for…snallygaster claws?" She lets out a harsh laugh. "Merlin, Alastor, what were you thinking?"
"...I was thinking," he says, quietly, fury etched on his face, "that Dumbledore tasked me with getting him off the streets, and given that half of his recent associates have been booked in tonight for terrorism charges, I suspect Dumbledore had good reason."
"Dumbledore is not in charge of this department. You don't answer to him."
"No?" He points his wand at Bickerstaff's statement. "If you don't do it, Amelia, I swear I will."
She twists it away from him, stopping him from firing the spell. "And John and Kingsley? What of their statements?"
"I'll speak to them."
"And Snape? If he lodges a complaint?"
"He won't," Moody says, confidently. "Hold out Bickerstaff's statement, Amelia. ...please? For Dumbledore? For the cause?"
"Alastor…"
"For me?"
He isn't certain she will, not at first - and then, slowly, reluctantly, she brings the page around. Before she can change her mind, he shouts the spell, and a quick burst of flame shoots from the end of his wand, lighting the parchment, and Bones hurriedly lets go. Both of them watch as the young auror's words go up in smoke.
"Forgive me," Moody says, straightening his back.
"I dare say it is not my forgiveness that you seek."
"Where is he?"
"Finish booking your other suspects in," she says, quietly, "and I'll have him moved to one of the interview rooms."
"Thank you."
"You'll need to charge him with something. If the intention was to give him an alibi."
"I know."
She looks pained. "He already has a record."
"I know that too."
"One charge," she says. "And Alastor?"
"Yes?"
"If what Bickerstaff wrote is correct…" She trails off, her face sickened. "Just...be careful with him."
Moody doesn't really know how to do careful - not in interviews. He marches in, and the smell of Severus hits him long before he sees him; it's the stench of fresh blood and old sweat and layers and layers of dirt. Everything about the young wizard is repulsive, from his greasy hair to his roughened stubble to his overpowering body odour.
"Merlin," Moody exclaims, swinging his wand and coughing. "Scourgify!" He throws a few more charms towards Severus, none of them discreet. He peers at him from a distance, noting with horror the litany of injuries on his exposed skin - hands, and face, and neck. "I thought someone would've seen to you?"
Severus doesn't answer - doesn't even look at him. Moody grabs a chair, and twists it, moving it closer to his suspect before sitting astride it. "...I didn't think…" He looks awkward. "You should've been allowed to wash," he says, finally.
Nothing.
Moody exhales loudly, running his fingers through his hair. He didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't this - Severus hadn't been in there for that long. Longer than anticipated, sure, but Dumbledore had made it sound like an emergency. Too efficient, Moody thinks, that's my trouble.
"What was the screaming and carrying on about? Hey?" Moody shuffles the chair a little closer. "Bickerstaff says you were silent for days on end, and then tonight you scream the place down? Blood on the walls, blood on the ceiling. ...what was that about?"
It's involuntary, the movement, Moody's sure of that - but he's been an auror for a long time, so the flex of Severus' forearm doesn't go unnoticed. Before Severus can speak, he reaches out and grabs his wrist, slowly twisting his arm over. He grabs the custody cloak, standard issue for prisoners when their own clothing has been damaged - or in Severus' case, covered with blood. He roughly shrugs the sleeve up Severus' arm until the material settles in the crook of his elbow.
Nothing. There's no Dark Mark, there's no brand, there's no scar. There's nothing to explain the screaming, nothing to hint at the furious pain that ate away at his very soul.
"Just a twitch then?" he says, releasing Severus' arm and sitting back. "Nervy sort, aren't you?"
He still doesn't answer.
"You nearly pissed yourself when I frisked you," Moody presses, staring into those dark eyes. "...gasped like you thought I was your worst nightmare-"
"I didn't."
Gotcha. Moody raises his eyebrows. "No? Not your worst nightmare?" He gives a dark grin. "I get it. Like it like that, do you? Man behind you, playing rough? Was that what the trembling legs were for-"
"Fuck you."
He smiles then, Moody. He can't do anything with silence, but anger? Anger he can work with. He reaches for his quill. "Shall we get this charge sheet filled out?"
Severus is weak - from pain, from lack of food, from delirious daydreams that he never thought he'd escape. The interview room is bright with artificial light, brighter than his cell was, and the chair is soft. An hour ago, he thought he was going to die - alone, and screaming, in a pool of blood on an unforgiving floor - and now he's staring at the details of his life, written out in neat block capitals in Indian Ink, as if his very essence is no more important than a shopping list or directions to the nearest village: Name, blood status, sex, parentage, age, occupation, distinguishing features, education, charges. It's not a life - it's just a list of words.
He isn't convinced that this isn't just another stage in the game - another trick, to mess with his mind, to coerce him into doing something or not doing something. He barely nods his way through his answers, and then, just as Moody's quill hovers at the point where the arresting officer needs to scribble his signature and then he can leave, Moody stops.
What now?
"...I knew your mother."
Oh, Severus thinks. This is a game. He stares at the auror, his face impassive, and then he leans forward. "Yeah? Just like I knew yours?" He curls his lip, and he flexes his hips, his meaning unmistakable.
Moody smirks. "Not quite the response I was looking for," he says - but relief floods through him; the boy is unscathed after all. He signs the paper with a flourish, and then passes over the quill. "She was in Slytherin."
"I know."
"Last of the Prince family."
"I know."
"...caused a terrible scene with her family when she ran away with that Muggle," he says, a little more quietly.
Severus stops moving - almost stops breathing - the quill poised in mid-air.
That Muggle? You mean my da.
"Disowned her. Cut her out of the will, you name it. It was as if she'd never been born. Did you know that?"
No.
"And then the marriage…" Moody trails off. "A right stir, that was."
"It's not that uncommon," Severus mumbles.
"She never thought of coming back? To the magical world?"
Severus shrugs. "You should ask her, not me."
"Is that an invitation?"
"Only if you want to be greeted with the same hospitality that you showed to me." Severus roughly shoves his chair back and stands. "...are we done?"
Severus' last words to her are all Lily can think of as she stares at the television in horror, her mother's dainty hand raised to her mouth, her father looking solemn.
"I won't get caught. And speaking of which, don't you go to Cissy's this week. In fact, don't go anywhere at all - stay here until I come for you."
Is this what he meant? Did he know?
"It'll be the Troubles again," her father says, and her mother nods, but Lily stares at the tiny screen, scouring the picture for any trace of her partner. She wills the newsreader to stop talking, for the footage to go back to horrific scene of carnage - and she watches, her heart in her mouth, as figures traipse one-by-one past the camera.
"That's not…? He's not, surely?"
Lily glances at her mother, her gaze fierce, daring her to finish the question. "He? Are you talking about Sev? No," Lily says, sharply, "it's not him."
David sighs. "It does look a little like-"
"It doesn't!" Lily argues, hotly. "You'd think he'd never set foot in this house the way you two are behaving! Sev's taller than that guy, and his hair's longer - a lot longer!"
"Your father was only…" Rose trails off, as Lily storms past her. "Lily? Lily! Lily, lovey, where are you going?"
"To bed!" she yells. "To bed, where I don't have to listen to you complaining about the father of my baby!"
Moody takes him to Hogwarts. Severus doesn't want to be at Hogwarts - he wants to be in Cokeworth with Lily and Bean, but he can't say as much. His legs are so weak, Moody has to half-carry him into the Headmaster's study, and Severus knows he still looks a state when Dumbledore hesitates at the sight of him.
"Severus. Alastor."
"Your boy here's been in a spot of bother."
Severus doesn't know what they're talking about; he can see them - can see that Moody's showing Dumbledore his charge papers, but their voices are hushed, and Pomfrey is banging drawers and pulling curtains and stamping back and forth, huffing and tutting.
"Really," she says, briskly, "I am seething!"
He wonders what Moody's telling Dumbledore about his ordeal - whether he'll be honest and mention the solitary confinement, and the boredom, and the food, or whether he'll leap straight into explaining the blood and the screaming and the hysteria. Severus tries to catch Moody's eye, wants to intimidate him - to guilt him into revealing the truth, but before he can, the curtain is pulled closed with a loud swish, and Pomfrey is unbuttoning his stained shirt, a washcloth and a basin of hot soapy water hovering beside her.
He doesn't need to tell Pomfrey about his ordeal. She catches his eye as she washes his hands, encrusted blood still beneath his fingernails, and bright green and purple bruises littering his pale arms.
"I'm furious, Severus," she says, not unkindly, as she cleans him. It's soothing, her ministrations - like a mother caring for her son - and his eyes involuntarily shutter closed as she rubs the soapy cloth in small circles across his chest.
Lily tosses and turns, uncomfortable in every position, anger and fear streaming through her body. She wants to be furious at her parents, furious that they believed Severus would be involved in something so horrific - a terrorist attack on a Muggle shopping centre, no less - but rationally she knows she can't be too angry, because she was scouring the screen looking for him too.
But you didn't see him, the voice in her head reminds her - and there's a nagging doubt in the back of her mind. It's been two and a half weeks since he left, two and a half weeks since he warned her not to leave the house, two and a half weeks since she pressed her lips to his and kissed him goodbye. She can't remember the last time they spent so long apart without any sort of contact. He could've written you a letter.
Lily's written to him. Four letters so far, but she hasn't sent any of them - hasn't known where to send them. Hogwarts is the obvious address, but she's not certain he's there, and she doesn't want to draw attention to him - or his absence - unncessarily. She makes a mental list of all the places he could be - from the entirely unlikely, such as Eileen and Tobias', to the possible, such as the Manor, to the probable - Hogwarts.
But if he was at Hogwarts or the Manor, surely he'd have written to you? And if he was in Cokeworth, he'd have come over by now, even if he'd tapped on the window in the dead of night.
It strikes her then, a cold spiral of fear. What if he didn't make it to Mundungus Fletcher? What if he was caught carrying Wolfsbane? What if he's imprisoned, and needs assistance? She frets, worrying her lip between her finger and thumb, feeling stuck and useless in this Muggle world. She can't track down Fletcher - not in his usual haunt around Knockturn Alley, not without papers to hand.
But you have got papers. Those papers Lucius got for you.
She spins the prospect over in her mind - Severus has moved heaven and earth to get those papers, and risking them being scrutinised before all the pieces are in place, before they've even married - it's a gamble she's not willing to take.
No, trawling after Mundungus Fletcher isn't the solution. And then she sits upright and smiles as she realises the answer was staring her in the face all along. There is someone else she can call on - someone else who would know if the potion was delivered safely, and the transaction between Mundungus and Severus took place: Remus Lupin.
Chapter 78: Caution to the wind
Chapter Text
Her heart is in her mouth when her father brings the letter upstairs. At first, she'd thought it was from Severus - hoped it was from Severus - but the perfect formation of capital letters in blue ink on the envelope soon put paid to that idea. Her boyfriend's scrawl was almost always in black, almost always accompanied by an inkblot or three, and even his block capitals were decorated with a flourish.
Lupin.
It's the next best thing. Her hands tremble as she pulls the letter from its confines, and she scans Lupin's neat and tidy writing, breathing a sigh of relief as he confirms the time and location for them to meet instead of rejecting her outright. She holds it to her chest for a moment, and then she stuffs the envelope and the letter beneath the mattress, sitting back down atop of it instantly - as if the action of hiding it from plain sight means she's not betraying Severus.
I'm not betraying him. I'm trying to find him, she chastises the muttering voice in her mind. He'd do exactly the same if the roles were reversed.
It's quiet in the hospital wing, but it's not like the harsh isolating silence of the cells he languished in a few days earlier. There's few people here, but there are other signs of life; he can hear the wind whistling through the trees outside, and faint cheering from the Quidditch pitch - there must be a match - and the occasional chirrup of birdsong. He feels included, as if he's part of the world that's moving around him. He drifts in and out of sleep as Pomfrey wheels beds and moves cabinets and clinks bottles, and when she stands over his bed every two hours, with her hands squarely on her hips, he obligingly swallows the potions she administers.
There's nothing sinister in her prescriptions, but equally, there's nothing that'll work a miracle. She's dosing him with small amounts of Draught of Peace, a refined version of Pepperup that makes his limbs feel warm and relaxed, and she's smothered his bruises in that awful smelling gel. It doesn't take him long to realise that he's not here for the medicine - with a cauldron and a handful of ingredients from Sluggy's store, he could've brewed these himself - but he's here for the company and the comfort - an antidote to the isolation he'd suffered, if not an apology.
I don't need to be with Pomfrey to be comforted, he thinks. I need to be with Lily and Bean. He can't argue for this though, not without revealing their presence - and not with the Headmaster popping by every hour or so, and certainly not with Pomfrey shooting concerned glances towards him whenever she thinks he's not looking.
It's not just the Headmaster who stops by. There's a gentle ebb and flow of visitors - of house elves and teachers and students - and he's surprised at how busy she is, and how many minor ailments she treats from morning through to night. I'd never have come here for a simple graze like that, he thinks, peering from beneath his covers as a second year is treated for skinning his knee after a mishap on the stairs. Indeed, to Severus' surprise most of the visitors have trivial ailments, and they drop by for a potion - I'd have brewed my own - or a carefully aimed spell - I didn't know you could use Accio to get grit from a scrape.
She's skilled, he realises, and patient and diligent. It's not just in how she treats each witch or wizard, but in how she records each and every event, no matter how small. She's methodical, taking the large book from the shelf, scribing the incident, and then replacing it - all things in their place - and then she updates the medical inventory for the infirmary, keeping a running total of her supplies. If she's reached the end of a bottle or a vial or a box or a tube, she fills in another piece of parchment - spelled blue, no less - which immediately folds itself up and launches itself into the air.
He's seen those blue medical request slips before. So I don't lose it on my desk, Slughorn had once boomed at him - and having seen the state of Slughorn's desk, Severus is certain that when the parchment was its usual colour, that's exactly what had happened.
Despite the continuing cycle of visitors, there are no major crises, so the interruptions are fleeting. She deals with each case with care and a hint of concern, and yet it's all tinged with a cool indifference. It's as if she's quietly reminding them that she's a member of staff, not their mother. It's necessary, he supposes, in a boarding school with children who've never been separated from their parents for an extended period before - else there'd be first year kids clinging to her robes from the moment she opened the doors in the morning.
She's nicer to you than she is to them, he thinks, as he watches her rebuke a fourth year for over reliance on Dreamless Sleep - and he wonders if it's because he's no longer a student, or whether she has a soft spot for him because he wasn't a bother at their age. He always managed his minor injuries himself - fancy going to Pomfrey for a scrape - so whenever he dragged himself to the hospital wing - or, more honestly, whenever Lily badgered him to go to the hospital wing - he was seriously injured.
Lily. He pulls his bedcovers tighter around him. Don't think about Lily.
Lily plasters a fake smile on her face as soon as the second man steps from the shadows. "You didn't say-"
"No, I didn't," Lupin admits, cutting her off, "but he wouldn't take no for an answer. I'm sorry I didn't ask first."
"You didn't need to ask - why would Evans say no?" Potter laughs, looping his arm through hers. "Old Moons here is far too cautious."
She glances over her shoulder, checking down the deserted alley as they set off. "Or he's just the right amount of cautious."
Lupin has already set off, silently leading them through a maze of streets, so Potter doesn't reply - or if he does, it's lost to the distance between them. Lupin's movements are brisk, and she finds herself falling back, soon out of breath with his quick pace.
"All right, Evans?" Potter says, turning to face her but still walking backwards so he doesn't fall too far behind Lupin. He frowns. "Thought you could burn up the track with the best of them?"
"...I've been a little unwell," she says, pressing her hand against her side, trying to alleviate the burning stitch. Not now, Bean, she thinks, desperately. Hold tight. This is for Daddy.
Potter stops then, and moves to stand next to her, putting his arm over her shoulders, and giving a low but piercing whistle. "Oi, Moony, slow it down a bit, yeah?"
Lupin is almost at the end of the street, but at Potter's call, he trots back towards them, his eyebrows slightly raised and his eyes darker than usual - but he doesn't complain. He leans against a wall, patiently waiting until she's ready to move once more. This time, his pace is far slower, and his wand is out, and she can sense that Potter is watching her anxiously as their tiny group heads through the streets.
It takes a little longer than they anticipated to reach their destination - a bar below ground - and the anxiety of their late entry shows on Lupin's face, but it's Potter who draws his wand and makes a show of checking the area before he ushers her down the steps and into the underground pub. They hesitate before the doorman, who sniffs and slowly nods, and she can almost feel the tension draining from Lupin as they enter the room.
It's dark and dingy, lit by candles and filled with smoke, but hardly unexpected of a bar underground. She's never been here before, and by the gawking looks in their direction from a group near to the bar, she'd wager that it's not a location that either Lupin or Potter frequent with any regularity, and she wonders how Lupin knew the man at the door, and why they've chosen this location.
"Butterbeer," Lupin says, pointing at Potter. It's not a question, and Potter doesn't react. Lupin silently points his finger at Lily next, and when she doesn't state her preference, he rolls his eyes. "Come on, Evans. What are you drinking?"
"Just water, thanks."
"Just water?" Potter scoffs. "You can't have just water. Three Butterbeers, Moons-"
"No, not Butterbeer."
"Not Butterbeer?" Potter's eyes narrow. "Firewhisky more your thing?" He gives a light laugh. "Feisty this one, Moons. Hardcore. Who'd have thought it of our Evans, hey?"
"Water. I've been sick," she hisses, but Potter just laughs and she watches helplessly as Lupin stands at the bar. To her relief, when Lupin returns it's clear he has accepted her protest, even if Potter didn't, and he places a glass of lime and soda before her.
"No vodka," he says, with a lopsided smile, "I swear." He clinks his glass of Butterbeer against Potter's, and then holds it out to her, offering her the same.
She gratefully accepts, touching glass against glass, and then sips tentatively. He's not lying to you. It's just flavoured soda water. "Thank you."
"So," Lupin says, subtly glancing from one side to the other, "what's wrong?"
She gives a tight smile. "Why would there be anything wrong?"
Potter smirks from behind his drink. "He means, what gives, Evans?" He takes a long swig, and then thumps his glass onto the table. "We never see you, not unless it's a," and he lowers his voice, "meeting of like-minded individuals. And now you write to Moony, out of the blue-"
"It's hardly a crime."
Lupin smiles at her response. "Not in the slightest," he says, his fingers toying with his glass, "but it makes me curious. Me, I mean," he says, with feeling. "I would've been more surprised if you'd written to Peter, even if he was your saviour-"
Potter scoffs. "Yeah, and don't we know it, he bangs on about it night and day!"
"-but I could accept one of the others. After all, Sirius is the money man, and James here…" Lupin trails off, and shrugs.
"What about him?"
"...forgive me," Lupin says, smiling, "but I thought he was the one of us you were closest to."
She can't help but glance at Potter as Lupin speaks, and he looks simultaneously proud and pleased and carefree, and she wonders if that's how the four see her - as someone who doesn't have much to say to Pettigrew, and sees Black as an endless financial pit, and perceives Lupin as a charity case, but there's something close to affection between her and Potter.
It's not far from the truth. You do like him.
It's a traitorous thought. It's the sort of thought that would have Severus erupting - he wouldn't even need his wand for his anger to manifest as magic; it'd crackle through his fingertips, the sort of magic that breaks ornaments and leaves scorch marks on the walls.
But it's true.
He's not the boy he once was, Potter - not this man who visited her at their flat, the man who welcomed her into the Order, the man who now has his hand on her knee, and his fingers are warm, and his smile is welcoming.
"Get your hands off, Potter."
"I thought we were friends."
"We are."
He smiles even more widely. "Good. I thought we could talk-"
"You don't talk with your fingers," she says, coolly, peeling his hand from her knee.
"No?" He sits back, sulkily, his hands shoved in his pockets. "I bet Malfoy does," he mutters.
"Me," Lupin says, interrupting and deliberately breaking through the tension at the table. "You wrote to me." He leans forward, his eyes raking over her. "Why?"
"Yes," Potter says softly, although now his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, "why him?"
There's a long silence. She hadn't anticipated that Lupin would bring anyone else - not Black, not Pettigrew, and certainly not Potter. She'd thought she could just casually ask how his transformations had been going - it'd be enough if he mentioned his last one, then she'd know he'd received the potion - but it'd be difficult enough to pull off with just Lupin's eyes trained on her, with Potter hanging on her every word, she's certain the pair will put two and two together.
"It's about the potion, isn't it?" Lupin's voice startles her out of her thoughts. He glances at Potter, who nods - a previous agreement clear between them. "What's wrong? Are you struggling to get the ingredients, or is it too difficult brewing on the run?"
"We'd understand," Potter interjects. "Moony here says it's heaven-sent, but if you can't keep a cauldron bubbling under Malfoy's nose, we get it." He glances at Lupin. "Maybe you could teach one of us."
"You're not good enough," she says, quickly.
Potter leans back, crossing his arms. "Thanks Evans. That's two insults-"
"It's not even one."
"You just said I couldn't brew-"
"She's right," Lupin interrupts, "it's unbelievable that she can brew it. This is Slughorn's level, not OWL or NEWT. One mistake and..." He exhales loudly.
She looks from one to the other, not daring to speak.
Potter sighs. "Maybe that's the answer? Sluggy might do it."
"He wouldn't brew something patented to another Master," she says. "I know it seems ludicrous to us, knowing the good it does, the suffering it stops," and she smiles kindly at Lupin, "but Sluggy's a stickler for the rules. There's a code of honour amongst brewers."
Lupin nods. "Besides, I wouldn't trust anyone else."
"Yeah, thank Merlin we didn't get Snivellus to brew it," Potter says, running his hands through his hair. "What a mess we'd be in now."
Lupin's eyes don't leave hers, his lips thin. "I only trust you, Evans. It's important to me that it's your brew."
She stares at him, her gaze fierce, and she wills him to understand that this isn't a conversation they can have with Potter present. "I know," she says, eventually.
"All right, Moons. We get it. No Slughorn," Potter says, sipping his drink. "So what's the problem then, Evans? You're not having trouble with Dung turning our money into Muggle cash for you, are you?"
She shakes her head. It's not quite a lie - the profits do turn into Muggle cash, but not through Fletcher's direct actions. The payment goes straight into Severus' pockets, and he trickles it into his Gringotts account, and then he slowly changes as much as he dares into sterling and passes it to her.
"If it's not ingredients," Lupin presses, his eyes raking over her, "and it's not a problem to brew it, and it's not the cash, then what is it?"
Potter looks equally blank, and she knows that the two men are trying to piece together different puzzles - she knows that Potter's wondering why she's here, and what she's doing with Malfoy, whilst Lupin's mulling over the triangle between her and Severus and Lucius, and why she'd lie about breaking up with Severus, and why Severus would lie, and what Dumbledore knows or doesn't know.
It makes her head spin. She doesn't trust Lupin, but there's part of her that wishes that Potter hadn't turned up and that she could talk to him frankly - and then she wishes that she hadn't written the letter in the first place, and then she figures that having already made her decision, she might as well get the information she came for.
"The last full moon," she says, "earlier this week. How was the transformation? The same as usual? With the potion, I mean?"
At this, Lupin frowns. "...I don't recall a difference. Should I have noticed something?"
"You took it in exactly the same way?"
"Yes."
Potter leans forward eagerly. "Did you change something?"
"Just the standing time," she says, quickly. "I had to race to decant it, and I wondered if it had an effect. It was only a few minutes."
Lupin chews his lip. "Not that I can recall." He gives a tight smile. "Good news though, yes? If it saves a few minutes?"
"Good news," she says, shooting him a genuine smile, and raising her glass. He got it. Severus delivered the potion. "To good news."
He can't keep closing his eyes every time the Headmaster steps into the hospital wing, but it's a ruse that has seemingly worked for the past two days, so Severus tries his luck once more when he hears the door being pushed open.
This time, he's not successful. He can't hear the door swinging open or slamming shut or the sound of footsteps retreating. Instead, to his dismay, he can sense that the Headmaster is standing before his bed. He tries to control his breathing, and keeps his eyes firmly shut - and then he hears a low murmur from Pomfrey, and light footsteps, and the next thing he knows, he can hear the curtain around his bed being drawn. Now he's absolutely certain there's someone by his bed, but he daren't open his eyes in case it's Dumbledore, and he almost jumps a mile when he feels Pomfrey's slim hand on his forehead.
"I know you're not asleep," she whispers.
He cracks open one eye, and when he realises that Dumbledore is still on the other side of the curtain and unable to see him, he opens both. "I don't want to talk to him," he whispers back.
"I know," she says, straightening his blankets, "but the Headmaster will keep returning until he finds you awake." She pauses, and then smoothes his hair with her hand. "Severus, listening to what he has to say doesn't mean that you can't still be angry. You have every right to be angry."
"And I have every right not to talk to him."
"He's not asking you to talk," she says, "but just to listen."
Before he can protest further, the curtain swishes, and Dumbledore appears behind Pomfrey. "Ah, Severus," he says, with a kindly smile as he takes the seat next to the bed, "I thought I heard your voice. I am pleased you are finally awake."
When Potter makes his excuses and heads to the toilets, Lupin leans over the table. "Look, I'm sorry for bringing him along without asking."
"Good," she says, briskly.
"...I thought you might've brought someone."
"Lucius Malfoy sends his regards."
"That's not who I meant."
"From your choice of bodyguard, I can imagine who you expected." She sighs. "There's more than one reason Severus pushes that potion through Fletcher, you know."
Lupin narrows his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?"
She gives a soft laugh. "You needed me to tell you that Severus doesn't like you?"
"No, about the brewing time," he explains, looking irritated, "when I picked it up from Fletcher. Merlin, Evans, what's got into you?" He sits back. "What was it? You didn't think I'd take it if you told me there might be something wrong?" His eyes widen. "Wait a minute, did you ask Snape to warn me and he didn't? And that's what this is about - you coming here now to check, because you were worried that something had happened?"
She watches as Potter makes his way from the toilet and heads to the bar. "Severus wasn't the problem," she hisses. "I trust him. I didn't trust Fletcher to pass on the message. And I was right, wasn't I, if this is the first you're hearing of it?"
"Wait until I get my hands on Fletcher," Lupin says, shredding his paper coaster.
It's on the tip of her tongue to protest, to warn him not to say anything to Fletcher - but then she smiles, realising the obvious trap. If she warns Lupin not to speak to Fletcher, it's clear she's lying - so she keeps quiet, and after a long moment, Lupin smiles back.
"I knew you were still together. You and Snape."
She gives a tight smile. "Severus feared as much." She glances at Potter who is still standing at the bar, galleons in hand. "And the rest of them? Potter, Black, Pettigrew - do they know?"
He shakes his head.
"If you still want this potion, make sure you keep it that way."
"Fine. I have my own condition," Lupin says, his smile as equally tight as Lily's. "I'll take whatever amendments you make, but not his."
She gives a small laugh. "You shouldn't deride him. He's a talented brewer."
"He's a talented brewer who-"
"-don't you dare say you believe that nonsense about him killing people with his potions," she spits, hotly. "You of all people should know what it's like when people spread rumours."
"Not that," Lupin says, a dark look in his eyes. "Now how did your delightful boyfriend say it to me? Ah yes, I remember - he said, I fucking hate wolves." The tight smile is back on Lupin's lips. "He might not have killed anyone. Yet. I certainly don't intend for him to start with me."
"The day was wrong."
Severus can't help the explosion of shocked laughter that erupts from deep within him, and then he stares, mouth gaping, at the Headmaster. "Are you…" He shakes his head. "Are you serious? That's what you lead with? I got the wrong day?" He gasps - it's not a laugh, and it's not a wheeze, but a twisted version of the two; a strangled sound, full of disbelief.
Dumbledore smiles at him, not unkindly. "The fact remains, the day was incorrect. The attack didn't happen on the date you provided."
"Normal people would say that they're sorry."
"This is a war, Severus." There's a pause. "Had it been the correct day-"
"Oh, it's my fault now. I see, how silly of me."
This time, Dumbledore's voice is a little cooler. "I arranged for you to be pulled off the streets because I was concerned for your safety."
"You mean you didn't trust me to play my part."
"Yes."
Severus looks a little surprised at Dumbledore's plain admission. "...right."
"Was I wrong?" He gives a small smile. "Forgive me, Severus, but would you have done as we discussed? Would you have stood your ground alongside Mr Avery and your other associates? Or would you have tried to help someone - perhaps a child? Or a young family? A pregnant mother, or an elderly grandfather? Would you have opened a fire door that you'd been told to barricade shut? Would you have outed yourself in the process, or would you have been discreet? Or would someone have seen, and sent whisperings of your treachery back to your Dark Lord?"
He doesn't say anything.
"We both know the answer," Dumbledore says, softly, "and I am pleased that you are a man of such fine moral fibre."
"Yeah, so pleased you had me locked up." Severus scowls at him. "I thought the plan wasn't that I would be put in such a position. I thought the plan was that I gave you the information about the attack and you would stop it!"
Dumbledore removes his glasses, and gently taps them with his wand, causing the streaks and smears on the lenses to instantly disappear. "And if I had stopped it," he says, quietly, "then who would your Dark Lord have blamed? Me? Certainly. The Order? Most likely. The Auror Office? Of course. But he'd also have blamed you, and your friend Mr Avery, and you would've both found yourselves excluded - or worse." He places his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. "I knew you weren't prepared to stand aside, and I knew I wasn't able to stop the attack."
"So you had me arrested."
"And I wasn't prepared to lose you."
Dumbledore says it with such feeling, it causes Severus to pause. He frowns, his dark eyes scrutinising the older wizard, as if trying to fathom whether he's telling the truth. The tension in the air is heavy - oppressive - and as his chest tightens, Severus wishes he hadn't declined Pomfrey's earlier offer of another dose of Draught of Peace.
"For what it is worth, Alastor regrets his part in what happened." Dumbledore leans in a little closer. "I regret what happened."
"He pulled me in thinking the attack would be Tuesday?"
"Yes," Dumbledore says. "And we waited, and we waited, and it didn't happen. Without you, we didn't have any ears on the ground - and having made the decision to take you off the streets, I didn't want you released and thrown straight back into the action."
"And Fletcher? He's in on it too?"
"Confunded."
Severus barks a laugh. "Excellent. I should be concerned that my broker is so pliable."
"I imagine that's his selling point." Dumbledore absently twists his wand in his hand. "The charge you were given-"
"Procuring without licence-"
"-yes," Dumbledore says. "I want you to understand that it's nothing to concern yourself with."
"It's three months in Azkaban."
"It's three months suspended."
"...I could contest it."
"And if you do and you lose," Dumbledore warns, "it's twelve." He sighs. "It's the lowest credible charge they could find."
Severus scowls. "All those laws and they couldn't come up with a warning?"
"Not once you were held over ten days." Dumbledore looks solemn. "Severus, you must understand that this wasn't the intention. You were meant to be in there 48 hours, 72 at most. You could've been charged with disorderly conduct, or resisting arrest, or-"
"He could've told me," Severus interrupts, softly. "That's what I can't forgive. Just a word in my ear - a sign, a clue!"
"And if they'd used Veritaserum? The Ministry isn't the place it once was, Severus. There are aurors looking to secure their own position in whatever regime-"
"You sound paranoid," Severus interrupts. "You're suggesting that someone inside the Ministry wants rid of one of the most decorated aurors they've got?"
"Indeed, Severus," Dumbledore says with a smile, and sounding more cheerful than the topic would suggest. "I would suggest that Alastor's uncanny ability to capture dark wizards makes him a key target."
There's a silence as they mull this over, and then Severus lifts his head. "So what now? I admit that I'm guilty, and…" He shrugs. "I keep my head down? Go back to brewing?"
"You go back to the Dark Lord," Dumbledore says, quietly.
Severus' heart sinks as he hears the command. "It's not better for me to just lie low, keep under the radar?"
"It is too suspicious if you suddenly disappear after being so involved." Dumbledore sighs. "And this time, Severus, whatever happens, you must play your part. We can't risk pulling you out again. It is imperative that the Dark Lord believes you to be his loyal foot soldier, or there's no telling how he may react."
Dumbledore stands, and he places his hand on Severus' shoulder, his fingers gripping the younger man's tricep firmly - as if he was communicating an apology he was unable to put into words - and then the curtain swishes, and he departs.
She stacks the pillows against the headboard and sighs as she leans back, her tired legs and aching feet stretched out on the mattress. With the concealment spell now lifted, her bump is in view - I can barely see my feet - and she strokes her hand across Bean, toying with the magic spiralling from within her.
"You're a powerful little thing, aren't you?" she murmurs. "If Daddy was here, we could have a good long argument about whether you take after Mummy or Daddy."
If Daddy was here, he'd insist you take after me, she thinks. And if Daddy was here, it'd be his hand on my bump. And if Daddy was here, I wouldn't be leaning against pillows, but he'd be holding us to him. Three weeks since we've seen him. She takes a deep breath. Stop thinking like this. This isn't helping you and it isn't helping Bean. Be practical. Logical. Think like Severus.
She closes her eyes, her hand moving absently but methodically against Bean. "So now we know Daddy gave Fletcher the potion," she murmurs, "but where did he go next, Bean?"
He held it together well - or so he thought. Right up until the moment that Dumbledore said he had to go back - right up until the moment that he'd gripped him, and he'd felt something. Not quite an apology, not quite regret - but something.
It was impossible for him to know how much of their conversation Pomfrey had overheard, but she doesn't pull the curtain back, so he's certain she's heard something, and she was giving him time and space to regroup. I could definitely do with that Draught of Peace, he thinks, and to his horror, when he absently scratches his cheek, he realises it's damp. Fucking crying again, he thinks. Avery'd have a field day. He sniffs, and angrily rubs his palms against his eyes, as if scrubbing any hint of emotion from his face - and when he removes his hands, that's when he sees it: a floating piece of blue parchment.
"Knock knock," comes the familiar voice, and then there's an awkward laugh. "Can't knock on velvet."
"Sir?"
The curtain swishes back and Horace Slughorn stands before him, his concerned smile almost fully covered by his large moustache. He reaches for the blue parchment awkwardly. "I came by to drop off the latest batch of supplies. I didn't know you were here, Severus."
Severus props himself up on his elbow, relieved that he'd wiped the tears from his face. "I didn't hear you come in."
"Neither, I think," Slughorn says in a low voice, pulling the seat towards him and sitting down heavily, "did the Headmaster." He sighs heavily, stroking his finger and thumb against his moustache, his expression aghast. "The Dark Lord, Severus."
"...how much did you hear, sir?"
"Enough to be alarmed." Slughorn sits in silence, as if contemplating his next move, his fingers toying with his moustache. "I feel that you should know that I prepared your rejection papers last week," he says, finally. "To return you to Arsenius."
Oh fuck.
Severus' Occlumency shields are in shreds following his period in isolation, and he knows his devastation is clear on his face. He pulls the covers up to his neck and buries his face in them.
"It isn't just that you went missing, but you've been lying to me," Slughorn continues. "Very competently too, I must say. I had no idea that Lily hasn't been in the castle all of this time. You've been very cunning. There was the moment last month when the mask slipped, you might recall, but you manoeuvred your way out of it with ease," he says, almost with a hint of admiration. "Young Lucius would be proud." And then he looks uneasy. "Of both your purist beliefs, and your talent for pulling the wool over my eyes."
Severus looks up then, his black eyes peering from under the blanket that's still pressed against his face.
"Tell me, Severus, how long have you been pretending to be her?"
Severus gives a light shrug.
"Days? Weeks? Months?" Slughorn exhales loudly, his expression furious. "Merlin's beard, Severus, was that what all the stalling was about whenever I suggested I go ahead and send you over to Belby? Was she ever under my tutelage?"
He lowers the blanket a fraction. "She's been brewing every potion that you set, sir."
Slughorn looks even more pained, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "And now you're talking to me in riddles. I cared for you! For both of you! Offered to help, and this is how you've repaid me! She's Merlin knows where and you're off cavorting with the Dark Lor-"
"On the Headmaster's instruction," Severus sharply interrupts, suddenly at the end of his temper. "Did you miss that vital part of the conversation when you were listening in? I don't want to be there! He is forcing me to do this!"
There's a momentary pause - the room silent other than the two men breathing heavily. "And that's why Lily broke up with you? Because of whatever mission Albus has set for you?"
"She hasn't broken up with me," he snaps, suddenly not caring about the consequences, utterly sick of having to hide the best thing in his life, "and I most certainly haven't broken up with her." He can feel his heart banging in his chest. "I've asked her to marry me, and she's said yes."
Slughorn looks stunned. "Then why on earth have you been standing in my classroom instead of her?"
At this, Severus finally drops the covers from his mouth, and takes a shuddering breath, throwing all caution to the wind. "Because she stopped being able to take Polyjuice. Sir."
Chapter 79: Can't and won't
Chapter Text
Severus can't recall the last time Horace Slughorn was lost for words - least, not like this, with his mouth agape and his teeth showing from beneath his large moustache. "...Merlin's beard, sir," Severus prompts, softly.
It takes Slughorn a minute to register that the younger wizard has spoken. "Sorry?"
"Merlin's beard, sir," Severus repeats. "I'm guessing that's what you're thinking."
Slughorn exhales loudly, and rubs his hand over his face, fingers massaging his eyebrows. "Indeed, Severus. Congratulations are in order, I suppose."
"We're happy."
At this, Slughorn lowers his hand from his eyes, and his gaze is piercing. "Are you? Both of you?"
Severus bristles. "Yes."
"And the Headmaster? Is he aware of this development?"
Severus shakes his head. "No, and please don't-"
"I won't." Slughorn's promise is swift, before Severus can even ask it of him. "Lily's agreed to marry you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do it before the child is born. There is time."
Severus inhales sharply at the statement, but before he can explain that there probably isn't - that the days are closing in on them - realisation crosses Slughorn's face.
"It wasn't young Lucius' deviancy," Slughorn says, thoughtfully, "when you were making enthusiastic queries about Polyjuice."
"No, sir."
Slughorn counts back on his fingers, recalling the conversation he had with Severus all those months before. "It's tight," he says, "but still achievable." Sensing Severus' hesitation, Slughorn leans forward. "You do understand, don't you, Severus?"
"...not really, sir." Severus looks awkward. "It's complicated."
Slughorn sits a little straighter. "Complicated? I thought you said she'd agreed to marry you?"
There's a moment of hesitation, and Severus' dark eyes glance around the empty hospital wing.
"Come, Severus," Slughorn says, quietly, "you've told me this much."
"...I have better papers for her," Severus whispers, his voice barely audible. "In her married name. When she has my name."
"Ah. And if you marry at the Ministry, the marriage certificate will record the bloodstatus she carries on her current papers. The papers with her maiden name."
"Yes."
Slughorn looks thoughtful, teasing his moustache between his fingers. "Would it matter? Would anyone really think to look?"
"It's not worth the risk," Severus says, looking earnest. "Anyone can request a copy of those records."
"There are many families with a few inconsistencies in their family tree. Plenty more in these past few months." Slughorn gives a tight smile. "It's curious how many former Muggleborns have discovered magical ancestry since these new laws have passed. I appreciate your concern, but I think you are being overly cautious."
"I've never been popular," Severus says, with a wry shake of his head, "and I've always had a nasty habit of making enemies. That's all it takes - for someone to take an unnatural interest in me, and if there's even a hint of misconduct, someone will find it-"
"Severus-"
"-I know I sound paranoid," he interrupts, "but if there's to be any hope of us integrating into wizarding society, our papers have got to be watertight. I'm not prepared to lose her over something so trivial." He picks at the blanket held tightly between his fingers. "I'm sure with the right financial incentive we could find someone who would overlook what her current papers say, but it might take some time. I'm not sure I can do it before Be-the baby," he hurriedly corrects himself, and coughs. "I'm not sure I can get the funds in the right place before the baby arrives."
Slughorn sits back in his chair, his eyebrows knitted together in a frown. "Hmm, I believe you're overthinking this."
Severus eyes him curiously. "You've got another suggestion? ...I was thinking about Confunding, but I'm not brilliant at it, and if I'm caught-"
"My, you have been spending rather too much time with Lucius," Slughorn murmurs. "Despite what Mr Malfoy might tell you, not every problem needs to be resolved with trickery and duplicitous deeds - although I dare say this rather simple solution would not have occurred to your good friend." He gives a small triumphant smile. "There is no place for bloodstatus on a marriage certificate if the ceremony takes place in Muggle society."
"A Muggle wedding?"
"A Muggle wedding," Slughorn nods.
"And what? Our marriage would still be recognised as legal here? Even without her bloodstatus on the official documents?"
"Our worlds are not so different," Slughorn says, quietly, "as much as some may wish for you to believe." He pauses. "Your mother's marriage was so recognised."
"Oh!" Severus says, looking a little abashed at the realisation. "Yes, Lily found the notice in the Prophet in the library a few years back."
"Lily found it?"
"I wasn't that interested, but Lily wanted to know more about my mam's time at Hogwarts." Severus gives a half shrug. "Not that she found anything, not really."
Slughorn nods. "Your mother preferred not to draw attention to herself."
"Unless it's Gobstones," Severus chuckles. "Mam never says anything about school - not unless it's about Gobstones."
"And you haven't considered following in your mother's footsteps?" Slughorn asks, carefully.
"Didn't fancy Gobstones captaincy."
"There's no need to be flippant."
"Never." Severus' serious answer is quick and fierce. "I want my kid to grow up surrounded by magic. ...I never had that. Nor Lil."
"Even in times such as these?"
Severus nods stiffly. "Even now." There's a long pause, and Severus twists the blankets between his fingers. "You don't understand, sir. Not unless you've been there. It's not that they're…" He looks up, his expression awkward. "...but they're just not the same as us."
"Not even your father?"
Severus splutters. "Mostly definitely not him."
"Her parents?" Slughorn gently probes. "Are they so very different?"
Yes, he thinks, they are so very different to my father - even though he knows that's not the question Slughorn is asking. "...still Muggles," Severus says, eventually. "They love her." He looks up, his gaze steely. "But her sister's a nightmare, and her sister's husband is even worse."
"It's difficult for me to believe that Lily doesn't share the same traits as her family." Slughorn gives a tight smile. "I taught your mother. I can see her in-"
"Lily's not like them," Severus interrupts, with feeling. "Lily's like us."
There's another long pause, and Slughorn's thick fingers reach up to fiddle with his moustache. "If you were both to leave, both to live in the Muggle-"
"I just said-"
"I know what you said!" Slughorn hisses. "And have you already forgotten what the Headmaster wants you to do?" He trails off, exhaling loudly. "Severus, come now, be sensible."
"And do what?" The disdain drips from Severus' voice. "Hide? I'm not a coward."
"Nobody is suggesting that you are, but you have responsibilities now, you have-"
"I know!" Severus tugs the blanket more firmly around himself. "I know what my responsibilities are, and I know what I need to do to keep her and my child safe." He glares at Slughorn, the fury clear in his face. "And turning my back - our backs - on the magical world is not the answer. If we were going to give up, we could've done that months ago."
"It's not giving up."
"No? Sounds like it."
"And it doesn't have to be forever," Slughorn says, placatingly. "In a few years this will all have blown over."
"And if it hasn't?"
"It will. We've been here before, trust me. These movements come and go."
"And what happens when the next one comes along? We run away again?" Severus gives a twisted smile and shakes his head. "Besides, you heard the Headmaster. I'm in too deep."
"There's no such thing, Severus."
"...they'd come looking for me."
"Who? The Dark…" Slughorn inhales sharply, unwilling to say the name once more. "No, Severus. He wouldn't find you. Not if you were careful."
It doesn't matter how careful you are if his magic thrums through your skin, Severus thinks, fighting the urge to scratch the spot where the Dark Mark had once sat, desperate not to somehow cause the now invisible brand to regenerate. He leans back on the bed, his eyes briefly closing, and rests his head against the metal headboard. "I can't. I won't."
Slughorn looks conflicted, as if there's something warring inside him, and he paces back and forth. "Can't and won't are not the same. Which is it?"
"Both."
"Why not?" Slughorn stares down at the younger man. "Is it because of that trouble you were in? With the Muggle authorities?"
"It's got something to do with it, yeah," he mutters.
"Or perhaps, Severus," Slughorn says, his voice low, "it's not that at all. Perhaps, Severus, I am to understand that your fierce opposition to spending your life with the woman you tell me that you love-"
"-I do love her!"
"-and your unborn child, has roots elsewhere?" He's still pacing back and forth, his footsteps echoing around the room. "Why would you not wish to retreat from this madness? Why would you not wish to take your family and run?" Slughorn stops pacing. "Unless…"
"Unless what?"
"Unless you do believe those words that your peers whisper - that Lucius so often recites, that young Avery favours?"
"What words?"
"Do you truly believe Muggles to be beneath you? To be lesser? To be other?" His words hang in the air. "And Muggleborns the same, Severus?"
Severus' eyes snap open. "No."
Slughorn's expression is stern. "I thought it was Imperatum," he says, "when you were spouting such nonsense-"
"What? When I said that stuff about Filch and Hagrid?"
"So you do remember?" Slughorn looks triumphant. "Perhaps your education under your other Masters has been lacking after all."
"It's not… I don't…" He looks pained. "I don't understand."
"Tell me, Severus, how does Imperatum work?"
Severus frowns, his forefinger absently tracing his lips as he thinks. "The victim becomes susceptible."
"And?"
"You can suggest things to them."
"And?"
Severus gives a small shrug. "It's a compliance potion."
"That's the same point three times." Slughorn gives him a stern glare. "You are ordinarily a much better student than this, Severus."
Severus looks annoyed. "What else is there to say? You can't build tolerance to it. Nor immunity." He scowls. "Unless you're going to say that's the same point twice?"
"What else?"
"...I don't know."
"You do," Slughorn presses. "I realise you've had a difficult few days, but I want to you to think carefully before you answer. What happens when you take Imperatum, Severus?"
"Other people can influence you."
"And..?"
"And make you do things."
Slughorn pinches the bridge of his nose. "Severus, concentrate! I know you know this." At Severus' blank look, he sighs. "If you were to take Imperatum now, and I was to instruct you-"
"Oh!" Severus' eyes widen as he realises the answer. "The victim doesn't remember the instruction. Their memory of any events is subdued."
Slughorn smiles. "Their memory of any events is subdued," he repeats.
Severus scoffs. "So what are you trying to say? That I didn't take Imperatum after all? That I actually believe that stuff?" He shakes his head. "How could I do that? How could I make sure that my beer wasn't laced with it when you said it was all tainted?"
"I ask because you seem to recollect our conversation well enough. As if you weren't suffering the effects of such a potion."
"I only remember it because you told me what I said," Severus argues hotly, hoping that he isn't caught out in the lie. "As if I'd compare my wife-to-be to a creature."
Slughorn gives a small nod. "And what else do you know about Imperatum?"
"Like what?"
"Severus," Slughorn says, his tone weary, "pretend this is an examination. Go through the normal processes - composition, brewing time," he waves his hand, "the usual."
Severus sighs heavily. "Imperatum is a colourless, odourless potion, but the trained potioneer can sense the unique shimmer-"
"I've read the textbook, Severus, I don't need you to recite it word for word. A summary will suffice."
"Fine! It's a complicated and tedious potion to brew, and it has similarities to the far simpler Wiggenweld Potion."
"Good. Why?"
"They're both potions about power. Wiggenweld is about subverting power. Imperatum is about wielding power."
"Very good! And what is the base of the Wiggenweld Potion?"
"Wiggentree. Obviously."
"And Imperatum?"
"Also wiggentree."
Slughorn nods. "So, tell me, Severus, if you were to brew something designed to circumvent-"
"I wasn't." He's sitting upright now, his blankets clutched tightly in his fists.
"Bowtruckles, Severus," Slughorn says, quietly. "It's quite ingenious, but with the quantity you've been using, I'm surprised we haven't had a petition sent to us."
"Scamanderists."
"They usually keep a keen eye on such processes." Slughorn gives a tight smile. "You have been fortunate. Clever and fortunate."
"Not fortunate."
"No? Not fortunate? I dare say Barty Crouch Jr would disagree with you." Slughorn draws in a shuddering breath. "Did you know he was taking the fall for your creation?"
"I didn't know!"
"You didn't know when you sold it to him?"
"I didn't sell it to Barty," Severus protests. "As far as I know, he never touched my potion. I think someone set him up."
Slughorn looks troubled as he considers these words. "Do you know who set him up?"
Me. Malf. Cissy and Lily.
"No," he lies. "But I'm certain that's why they pushed his trial through the Ministry so quickly - I don't think they had any evidence. They can't have, because I wasn't dealing it to him."
"Unless the person you dealt with sold it on?"
"I suppose."
"So who knew about this potion? Who were you brewing it for? Him?"
Severus shakes his head. "I don't brew for the Dark Lord." I'm not trusted to do so - not since I screwed up that potion all those months ago.
Slughorn inclines his head, his fingers twisting his moustache even more firmly. "Then who else would want to procure such a brew, to help resist the effects? Someone associated with the auror office, perhaps? ...surely not the Headmaster?"
"No," Severus mutters. "That's the thing, this potion, it's not meant to be an antidote for Imperatum." He looks troubled. "It's just a side-effect. An accident."
"But it's a side-effect others know about?"
Severus shrugs. "It's not widely known, sir. My potion, it's not even really on the market."
"If it's not on the market, who told you about the interaction, Severus?"
"...Lucius."
Slughorn sighs. "And if anyone in the wizarding world were to notice the effect of Imperatum failing, it would be one of the Malfoy family." He absently walks around Severus' bed, as if the act of moving helps him to think. "But once Lucius made you aware, you started taking it yourself?"
"I'd heard rumours."
"About the tainted alcohol supply?"
Severus nods.
"So you started to take it when you knew you would be expected to drink in such venues?"
Severus nods again.
"And you took it the night before we spoke, didn't you?"
This time, his nod is fleeting.
"Didn't you, Severus?" Slughorn pushes, wanting to hear him confess.
"...yes."
"So those words, Severus - those comments you made about Hagrid and Filch… If you were not under the effect of Imperatum, but instead you were taking this potion of your own creation, am I to understand those were your true thoughts?"
"...no, sir."
Slughorn's eyes narrow. "But you remember making them? You remember your comments in the Great Hall?"
Yes. But it's not just those thoughts - it's not just the ones that Slughorn challenged him over. It's what happened after, when that flush of fury was coursing through his veins, when he was brewing, and grinding up bowtruckles, and how his mind was filled with thoughts about Lily and Petunia and parentage and David and Rose and squib blood and mules and Avery and infertility, and his mouth opens a little wider because he hadn't quite forgotten, but until now, the thoughts were almost deeply embedded within his mind - as if he shouldn't be able to access them, but to his horror, he can. How did I not notice?
"Severus?"
"It's not working," he gasps, a sudden tightness gripping his chest. "My potion! It used to work! It used to work, to stop the Imperatum but all that stuff - that stuff I was saying, and I was thinking… I remember it!" His eyes are wide as he throws his blanket back and moves to stand. "It can't have been working properly!"
"Severus, get back into bed," Slughorn says, earnestly, looking over his shoulder as if fearful that Poppy Pomfrey would emerge from her office and catch her patient in distress.
"No, sir, you don't understand, I don't think like that, I don't believe those things! And if the potion isn't working-"
Slughorn places his hand firmly on the younger wizard's shoulder and pushes him back down onto the bed. "Severus," he says, sternly, "don't make a scene. This can wait until morning."
"It can't." He gives Slughorn a desperate look. "Besides, you said yourself, I need to get to Lily, get her to marry me.
"You do," Slughorn says, with his hand still firmly holding Severus to the bed, "but I doubt that you will be able to do anything productive at this time of the night."
"I'll catch the Knight Bus."
"You'll do no such thing, Severus," Pomfrey suddenly interrupts, marching over towards them, her heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor - and Severus scowls as he sees the flicker of triumph cross Slughorn's face. "And you, Horace, why are you manhandling your apprentice?"
"He's too keen to get back into the lab," Slughorn says, with a jovial smile. "He heard I was preparing his rejection papers."
Pomfrey looks appalled, a deep scarlet rising into her cheeks. "Horace," she hisses, "the boy has been through a traumatic ordeal, and you come up here not to wish him well, but to inform him of your intention to eject him from the castle?"
"Not at all, not at all," he says, soothingly. "I will hold onto these papers, Severus, now that I am fully apprised of the situation."
"Hold onto them? You should burn them," Pomfrey says, angrily wrestling with Severus' bedcovers until he's tightly pinned back into the bed.
"It's too tight," Severus complains, "you're cutting my circulation off."
"Hush!" Pomfrey turns back to Slughorn. "And I don't want you bothering him until he's well."
"No, of course not," Slughorn says, with a smile.
"No!" Severus says, fighting against the covers to try and sit up. "I want to… There's something I need to say."
She puts her hands on her hips. "Well?"
"To my Master."
Pomfrey rolls her eyes. "Severus, if this is about your apprenticeship, it can wait. Professor Slughorn will-"
"Just five minutes? Please? In private? That's all I'm asking."
She looks between the two men, her gaze hardening as she glances at Slughorn. "Two minutes. Then these lights are going off for the evening." With a sceptical glance behind her, she retreats to her office, the door shutting firmly behind her.
"I truly didn't know, sir," Severus says. "It's all been a misunderstanding." He pauses. "If I knew I had an antidote to Imperatum, I'd have looked to put it on the market, wouldn't I? I'd have made a fortune. And you could ask Fletcher - he'll tell you that I'm not selling such a brew."
"I try to keep a healthy distance from Mundungus Fletcher." Slughorn looks pained. "Has Fletcher ever asked you for such a creation?"
"Not in so many words," Severus says, "but the influx of Imperatum was affecting his business. He hinted a few times that there must be a solution."
Slughorn sighs. "There is the possibility that Crouch's punishment was a message intended for you, Severus. A warning not to explore such a creation." He leans forward. "Whatever you do, tell nobody about this brew. Burn your notes, and arrange to speak to Lucius. Make sure he doesn't speak to anyone about it."
"Yes, sir."
"And if Fletcher mentions it again, tell him that it's impossible to brew such a potion."
"Yes, sir."
Slughorn glances towards Pomfrey's office, as if terrified that she's about to burst out and throw him from the hospital wing. "So if this potion wasn't intended to be an antidote for Imperatum, what on earth were you using bowtruckles for? What did you believe you'd brewed?"
"Master Jigger already told you," Severus says, quietly. "It's an antidote, sir, but it's not for potions."
Slughorn runs his hands over his face, and Severus can hear the slight groan emitting from his old housemaster. "So his accusations were correct?"
"No," Severus says, hotly. "I'm not an alcoholic."
"By all rights," Slughorn says, "I should be encouraging you to set the wheels in motion to marry young Lily, and now I find that you have problems with drinking and-"
"-I don't. I've got it all under control, sir."
"Because you take this potion?"
"No. I don't need it. I'm fine." Severus can tell his words are falling on deaf ears, so he sighs. "Besides, sir, she already knows what I drink, and how much I drink, and how frequently I drink. We've been living together for a long time. Ever since we left Hogwarts."
Slughorn looks thoughtful. "And you say you've got it under control?"
"Yes, sir."
"And Lucius, you say? He struggles this way also? Is Narcissa aware?"
"No, I brew for Lucius," Severus says, quietly. "I always have, ever since school. Any new creations I make, like this, he examines them. It's part of our agreement."
"And he samples them himself?"
Severus shrugs. "I don't know what he does with them, but he's the one who determines whether they should see the market. I brew for fun," he says, his eyes sparkling, "because I like the challenge of creating. Lucius lives for profit, and he wouldn't want me putting something out to the punters that affects his bottom line."
"But he managed to spot the interaction with Imperatum..." Slughorn frowns. "Severus, did he… Did Lucius say why he'd been using Imperatum?"
"I don't think he does," Severus says, quickly - almost too quickly. "Use it, that is. I certainly don't brew it for him. For anyone! He's never asked me for it." Severus stops then, aware that his anxiety is causing him to ramble.
There's a strange look on Slughorn's face, and Severus wonders how much he knows about Lucius' life as a boy, and whether he is drawing the obvious - but incorrect - conclusion that history is repeating itself, and that Lucius is doing the same to his wife and son as Abraxas once did to his own family, and secretly dosing them with Imperatum.
Sorry Malf, but it's better that than Sluggy realising that Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange are at the bottom of all of this, Severus thinks.
Severus pointedly stares at Pomfrey's office then, willing Slughorn to stop thinking about Lucius and Imperatum. "Sir?"
Slughorn nods, as if he's been jolted back to the present. "It is a rather unfortunate coincidence that this nasty business with Imperatum has taken place." He glances at Severus with a hint of admiration. "Many other brewers have attempted to create a potion that combats the effects of alcohol, and all have failed."
"Master Jigger said as much, sir."
"In different circumstances, we would all have been rather rich," Slughorn says, with a forlorn smile, "but alas, it is not to be…" He sniffs, and straightens. "Yes. Well, I will hold on to those rejection papers of yours, just in case they come in useful. Perhaps failing your apprenticeship would be a plausible backstory for you to disappear into Muggle society," he says, ignoring the look of protest on Severus' face, "if such a scenario should come to pass. And I'm certain Arsenius would sign something to corroborate a plausible story." He gives Severus a dark look. "Perhaps a little something about your fondness for the bottle would add an air of legitimacy to the proceedings." Before Severus can argue, Slughorn leans over him, his expression cheerful once more, and grips Severus' slender shoulder, his meaty palm warm through Severus' nightshirt. "I sincerely meant it when I offered my congratulations to you, Severus. To you both. In a world that seems incredibly dark, such news is a welcome light."
"Thank you," Severus says, quietly. "And I hate to repeat myself sir, but you do promise not to tell anyone? Not even Madam Pomfrey?"
"You have my word." Slughorn takes a step away, and then another, and then turns back, his hand gripping the foot of the bed. "Severus?"
"Yes, sir?"
"This potion..." Slughorn looks conflicted. "There's no chance that you could've missed a step? Brewed it incorrectly, and that's why it didn't work as anticipated?"
Severus bristles. "I know how to brew."
"Even the most talented potioneers can make a mistake. ...I know Arsenius has said before that you are sometimes careless, a little sloppy-"
"I'm not," Severus argues, his chin tilted upwards. "Not these days." Not since the Dark Lord whipped the life out of me for making such an error.
"And," Slughorn looks even more uneasy, "your child, Severus?"
His breath catches in his chest. "What about my child?"
"I am correct in thinking this has been an…" he pauses, and waves his hand, "unplanned pregnancy?"
"...yes."
"Then forgive me," Slughorn says, "but you were both in my NEWT class when we covered contraceptive potions. Am I to understand that the cause of this was a brewing error as well?"
Severus gives a soft laugh. "No, the cause of this was the forced break up to get us into Hogwarts. She didn't have any potions with her when we were apart and…" He trails off, looking a little embarrassed. "...and we were rather keen to see each other when we reunited, if you follow my meaning."
Slughorn coughs and looks away, the tips of his ears pink. "Well. As I said, see to it that you marry quickly."
"It's just…"
"Just what, Severus?"
"I can hardly organise that now, can I?" Severus glances anxiously towards Pomfrey's office. "Madam Pomfrey will be under instruction to look after me, to keep me here, and then Dumbledore-"
"I'll arrange for you to have some time away from the castle tomorrow."
"It's not just that, sir. I thought Lily might like to wait. Until she's not pregnant. So we can enjoy the day a bit more, and-"
"Severus, no." Slughorn grips the metal bed frame more tightly. "For you to claim the child, you must be married." He draws in a breath. "And in times like this, whether Lily has new papers or not, I would suggest that it was of great importance that as a Halfblood, you ensure you are recognised as the father. Do you understand me?"
Severus swallows hard. "Yes, sir, I understand."
Chapter 80: Dear departed Daddy
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Oh, Cissy, don't be so squeamish!"
"It's not squeamish-"
"-it is," Bellatrix protests, her smile wide, "they're just Muggles."
Narcissa shifts awkwardly in her seat. "I just don't like the sight of blood."
"We're only discussing what happened. It's not as if you can actually see it," Rabastan drawls, idly flicking his wand over in his hand.
"The mere thought of it perturbs me," Narcissa clarifies, "bodily fluids of any kind, really."
"I thought you'd just had a baby," Rabastan laughs. "That's all they are, isn't it? Milk and snot and piss and blood and-"
Narcissa sniffs loudly, distaste clear on her face. "I thank you not to speak of my son in such a manner."
Bellatrix gives a high pitched laugh at Narcissa's outburst. "Yes, Rabastan," she says, sternly, "know your place. You're at Malfoy Manor now, are you not aware? We do not speak of such things here."
There's a moment of unease, as Rabastan and Narcissa both watch Bellatrix's expression, a cruel smile creeping across the older witch's face.
"And where is little baby today, Cissy?"
"Draco is-"
"Lucius, I mean," Bellatrix interrupts, that cruel smile growing ever-larger - and Rabastan dutifully laughs loudly at her jibe.
Narcissa squares her shoulders, her hands clenched tightly together, her lips pinched. "Father and son are together."
"Not here? And to think that I haven't yet held the child," Bellatrix mourns. "Your own sister. His own aunt." Her eyes narrow as she appraises her sister. "Is there to be some sort of celebration of his birth, or are we deliberately pretending that he doesn't exist, and that this sorry turn of events didn't occur-"
"Don't," hisses Narcissa, her expression glacial.
"As fascinating as this sisterly bonding is," Rabastan says, standing, "I'll excuse myself to the facilities whilst you resolve this between yourselves." He leaves the room, his outer cloak folded over his arm, and as the door bangs behind him, Narcissa stands.
"How dare you, Bellatrix!"
Bellatrix laughs. "Cissy, Cissy-"
"Don't Cissy me!" Narcissa draws in a deep breath. "It is quite enough that you visit here and make snide comments about Lucius-"
"-he's a pig-"
"-before Rabastan no less-"
"-and a coward-"
"-but I will not-"
"-and a fool-"
"-sit here and listen to-"
"-and a liar and a cheat-"
"-you disparaging my son!" Narcissa shrieks.
Bellatrix stops, and for the first time, seemingly appreciates Narcissa's anger. "...I do not have a problem with your son," she says, soothingly, "although it is a shame that you have tainted the Black heritage with Malfoy stock." There's a slight pause, and at the silence, Bellatrix inclines her head, a small smile playing on her lips once more. "He is, I assume?"
"Take that back."
Bellatrix chuckles. "Don't be coy, Cissy. We all know. We all know what dastardly Lucius is like." She grins, her eyes sparkling. "Is that why little Draco isn't here today? Does he have a shock of red hair, or unexplained black eyes? You always did have a thing for that slimy little Halfblood-"
"-at least I'm not barren," Narcissa hisses, and she smiles broadly as Bellatrix visibly recoils at the sudden attack. "Have you confided that little secret to darling Rodolphus yet, or are you saving that for an anniversary surprise?"
"Well," says Bellatrix, standing and straightening her robes, "at least I know one witch who will be welcoming me to the club. Enjoy your time with your only child, Cissy, and let us both pray to Salazar that no hardship shall befall him."
"I want her here now, please, Lucius."
Lucius carries on writing, as if Narcissa hasn't spoken, his quill moving quickly over the parchment. He halts a moment later, and places the quill on his desk, and then sits back in his chair, appraising his wife. "It is not so simple."
"I don't see what the problem is. She was here three or four times a week-"
"-she is now heavily pregnant. Severus does not wish-"
"Severus? Severus? Severus is not so controlling."
Lucius flinches. "And what exactly are you suggesting? Severus is not, but I am?"
"...I want to see Lily."
"Bellatrix was her usual charming self this afternoon, I understand?"
"Don't make it worse, Lucius." Narcissa tilts her chin. "I don't ask you for much."
Lucius arches his eyebrow, and picks up his quill. "No?" He keeps his gaze trained on the parchment, but he waves his hand. "This glory, this splendour that I keep you in, the jewellery and the robes and the finery, this is not much?"
"That's not what I mean."
"Besides," he drawls, "it is not my permission you seek. I could not care less if she was here day and night. Move the witch in for all I care." He glances up, his expression unfathomable. "It is dear Severus you have to convince."
"Then bring him here. I shall ask him."
"I cannot," Lucius says, his tone bored, "for I do not know where he is."
She takes a step forward, gripping the back of the chair which faces his desk. "You do not know? Lucius, it's been weeks since we saw-"
"-and I hear from Dobby that Rabastan accompanied your delightful sister on her visit today? How is he?"
Narcissa gives a slight shrug. "I was too busy with Bellatrix to notice."
Lucius smirks. "Of course. And tell me, was Bast a willing participant in the latest Black sister catfight, or was he wise enough to make himself scarce? Dolph is rather more well versed in your behaviour and he knows exactly what to expect when you two are left in the same room, but I fear Bast is rather more innocent. Now," he drawls, without pausing to let her answer, "do we have any ornaments left in the drawing room, or shall I arrange for your purse to bulge appropriately so you can organise a therapeutic shopping trip?"
"The ornaments are fine," Narcissa says, coolly, "and no, Rabastan briefly made his excuses and when he returned five minutes later, both he and Bella left."
"Five minutes? Is that all?" Lucius asks, thoughtfully.
"It was more than enough."
He stands, and moves around his desk, and pulls Narcissa into his arms. "I apologise for your sister's behaviour. I know how it distresses you so."
"She'll never accept this," Narcissa murmurs into his chest, "never."
"Then it is her loss," Lucius says, sternly, his hand gripping hers.
"She's…"
"She's what?"
"Scathing," Narcissa whispers. "Scathing about you, and scathing about me for being married to you and…"
"And? What else, Cissy?"
"...scathing about our son. Suggesting..." She trails off, and then sighs. "You know fully well what she is suggesting."
Lucius runs his fingers beneath Narcissa's chin, and then gently tilts it upwards until she's staring into his eyes. "And this distresses you?" he murmurs.
"Yes."
"Do you remember our vows?"
"Yes."
"Remind me," he says, his voice a low rumble.
"Love, honour and obey."
"Obey," he repeats with a thin smile, and then he presses his lips against hers. "What else?"
"In sickness and in health-"
"-til death do us part," he finishes, and then he kisses her again, more firmly, his hands reaching up to hold her face as he ravages her mouth. "You," he says, breathlessly, "are mine."
"Yes."
"'Til death."
"Yes."
"Few men would offer you the life I provide."
"I know, Lucius. I'm not saying-"
"-she - Bellatrix - is jealous," he continues, kissing her between his stern statements, his hands moving lower down her body, "jealous of you, jealous of our relationship, jealous of everything I provide, jealous of everything I permit you to do. Do you think Rodolphus allows her such liberties?"
"...I do not imagine so."
"Or even your beloved Severus?" Lucius murmurs, turning her against his desk, his mouth hot against hers, and his fingers trailing across her thighs. "Do you think he shares his witch? Do you think he happily watches as another man takes his pleasure with the woman he calls his own?"
"I know that he doesn't."
"No. No, he doesn't. And yet Bella whispers lies to you, Bella tells you it's because I think less of you," he says silkily, lifting her robes and freeing himself, "but does this look like I think less of you?" He presses his mouth back against hers, his hard cock sliding against her bare inner thigh, trailing a slow path up her leg. "No, it's because I think more of you. I trust you, Cissy, I trust you to take your pleasure elsewhere and then to return to where you belong," and then before she can answer, he groans as he presses himself inside her, bracing his arms against his desk. "Am I right? You know where you belong, yes?"
"Yes," she breathes.
"Bellatrix," he says, as he thrusts inside his wife, "lusts after a man who is not hers." And then he smiles, a wicked, dangerous smile. "And she cannot have him. For her husband is not like me. Her husband," and then he thrusts forcefully into Narcissa, "does not permit her to play. And that's all it is. Play." He reaches down, and twists her neck, and captures her mouth, his tongue wrestling against hers with a passion she'd almost forgotten in these past few months. "I've missed you," he hisses as he traces her ear with his tongue, "I've missed this, I've missed us."
It's quick, their coupling - a rush of temper and possession, and he's stuffing himself back into his fine trousers before she's even started her slow climb to pleasure, and when she looks at him with that self-confident smirk across his face, she can't be certain that his actions weren't deliberate.
"Come," he says, with feeling, and she winces, knowing now for certain that this is yet another of his games. She glares at him, and he looks amused at her annoyance - and then he grabs her once more, his grip tight around her bicep, and he spins her into an embrace, his mouth moving over hers until her knees weaken. "I think we should both check on my father and then," he promises, his voice low in her ear, "I'm going to take you upstairs and I'm going to make you remember why after every sordid, deviant little dalliance you partake in, you always return to my bed."
With Lucius, there's always an undertone of malice, of spite, of power - but his mood darkens further as soon as they enter Abraxas' study. She watches as his pale eyes dart around the room, settling first on Abraxas who is seated behind his desk, and then on the firewhisky bottles by the bookcase, and then finally on the empty glass on the desk. She almost reaches for him as he marches forward and grips the empty glass tumbler on his father's desk, inhaling deeply.
"Well?" Abraxas' enquiry is mild.
"Well what?" spits Lucius.
"Is it in there?"
Narcissa frowns, glancing at Lucius in confusion. "Is what in there?"
"Whatever your beloved husband intended for me to consume," Abraxas smiles at Narcissa, "it hasn't worked." He grins, and indicates to himself. "Still here. Still fighting fit."
"Lucius-"
"Shut up," Lucius hisses, his eyes not leaving his father. "Rabastan poured this drink for you, I assume?"
"I had taken my leave for a walk around the grounds, and I did not have the pleasure of seeing Mr Lestrange. It matters not - he was kind enough to leave me a trinket of his affection in my absence, as appears to be his wont these days. I wonder what has caused him to behave in such a manner these last few months? Perhaps he's attempting to leverage himself into my will? Now, what was it, little one?" Abraxas' tone is light, carefree. "What scene were you steeling yourself for when you entered? The chance to appear stoic before your screaming wife when you saw my cold body laid out on the floor?"
"You didn't drink what Rabastan left for you."
"Oh, but I did." Abraxas summons the small bottle from the bin, Rabastan's parchment still spelled to it, and holds it aloft, the bottle clearly empty.
Lucius glances at Narcissa. "Leave."
"If you truly wish to murder me, Lucius," Abraxas says, with a smirk, "then what does an audience matter? If I know the Blacks as well as I think I do, she might even find it a turn on."
"Lucius, don't! Don't listen to him-"
But it's too late - his wand is in his hand, pointed directly at his father.
"Lucius, no!" She grabs him by his wand arm, and drags him into the corridor, slamming the door loudly behind them, and casting at it furiously to prevent Abraxas from following them.
His pale eyes rake over her face, his breathing laboured. "What was that for?"
"You're asking me?" she shrieks, knocking his wand out of his hand with a well timed swipe of her arm. "You were about to...about to kill your father!"
"It would be no loss!"
"Lucius, listen to yourself-"
"-no, you listen to me, Cissy!" he hisses, pushing her against the wall, his body pinning her against the solid brick. "He will be the downfall of our family, of me, of you, of Draco-"
"-then disown him, don't kill him!"
"I knew you wouldn't understand."
"And that's why you didn't tell me what you were plotting," she says, her voice even. "But you told someone else of your intention, didn't you?"
He shakes his head.
"...the potion," she presses, when he refuses to answer. "Severus? Is that why you've not heard from him?"
"Perhaps," he says, softly, "if he's being cautious. But I rather thought…" He looks disturbed. "It's nothing. Maybe he's just waiting to hear from me first."
"So the glass you sniffed… It was Severus' potion?"
Lucius makes a slight movement, and she takes it as an agreement.
"Meant to kill your father?"
He nods more firmly this time.
"Why?"
Lucius breathes heavily, a sharp intake of breath that almost seems to wound him - and Narcissa threads her arms around him, holding him close to her.
"Lucius, please tell me. The truth. Tell me the truth."
"Because he was threatening you." And then his pale eyes rake over hers. "Threatening me. Threatening our son." He shakes his head. "And I can't have that. I can't have anyone coming between us."
"Threatening us how?"
"He bankrolled the Dark Lord," Lucius says. "For years."
"I know. My father also." She gazes at him, as if trying to read his innermost thoughts. "But we are so aligned, are we not?"
"She fucked a Prewett."
"Who?"
"Ignatius." He almost spits the name, as if it's poison upon his tongue.
"Not him, her. Who is she?"
Lucius inhales deeply, as if there's a spear piercing his chest, preventing his lungs from filling properly. "My mother. My mother, she fucked Ignatius Prewett!"
Red hair. Narcissa's hand flies to her mouth as Bellatrix's pointed jibe falls into place.
"And my father? Well, he fucked my mother," Lucius says, pressing himself even more firmly against his wife. "He changed her."
"Changed her how?"
"She was my…" He trails off, changing track. "It deadened her, Cissy. Behind the eyes. The potion, he gave it to her night after night, and to me! To me, Cissy! To his own son, his own flesh and blood! To stop me from aiding her, to stop me from noticing."
Her heart is hammering so loudly in her chest, she can barely breath. "Which potion?"
"Imperatum," he says, his gaze fierce. "Imperatum." He gives a harsh laugh. "He controlled her, and he controlled me, and he has done nothing but bring shame and dishonour on this family."
"Not your mother?"
It's a dangerous question, and his hand flinches and flexes, and reaches to her neck, as if to grip her, choke her, and then he pulls away, his nostrils flaring and his eyes glinting. "Because she slept with another man? Because, Cissy, if you think he's morally correct," he murmurs, his voice low, "you really don't have a leg to stand on-"
"-no, I fuck others because you beg me to," she argues fiercely, her long nails catching his bare neck and raking beneath his hair, scoring thin pink lines across his shoulders, "not because I want to. I fuck men I can't stand. I fuck good men and bad men and handsome men and ugly men, and I kiss them and I fondle them and I suck them, and I do it because my husband - because the man I love - tells me it turns him on. I don't do it because I like it," she hisses, "but because it is what he expects of his wife."
He swallows hard - once, twice - and then he grabs her and he kisses her ferociously, his hands holding her flush against the wall, his body trapping her. "You do it for me," he says, and it's not quite a statement, and not quite a plea, but she answers in a way that's music to his ears.
"I do it only for your pleasure," she says, and then he pushes her to the floor and he takes her, and it's hard and it's brutal and it's without mercy - and the house elves can do no more than shield their eyes when they stumble across the master and mistress of the house rutting furiously in the corridor outside Abraxas' study.
That's how Severus finds them. When he lands at the Manor and asks Dobby to take him to Lucius, he expects to be guided towards his study, and his heart briefly flutters in his chest when Dobby leads him down the hallways towards Abraxas' study instead.
Is it tonight? Am I too late?
They round the corner, house elf first, Severus second - and when he sees his two friends in flagrante in the corridor, he can't school his shock. He glances at Dobby, and he realises that the house elf was already aware that Mr and Mrs Malfoy were behaving in such a way, his large eyes shielded by his hands.
"Ahem," coughs Dobby, causing Narcissa to sit up, and Lucius to glance behind him at his house elf and visitor, "Master Severus to see you, sir," - and then before any admonishment can be made or any punishment issued, Dobby disappears, leaving Severus standing alone, his cheeks flaming and his gaze locked on the ornate ceiling.
"Malf, Cissy," he says in greeting, his gaze not wavering and his voice hoarse. "Sorry to interrupt."
"You," Lucius says dismissively, immediately turning his attention back to Narcissa causing her to writhe beneath him.
He hadn't quite been sure what reception to expect, Severus, arriving at the Manor after such a prolonged absence, but it certainly wasn't that. He takes a step backwards, eyes still trained on the painted ceiling, when Lucius snaps his fingers loudly, causing Severus to look at him.
"If I were rather more pleased with you," Lucius says over his shoulder, his cloak not quite covering the back-and-forth movement his hips are making, "I would be ordering you to make yourself useful." At Severus' blank look, Lucius grins rakishly. "To get yourself down the other end and get your dick wet."
At his coarse comment, Narcissa's hand reaches up and grips her husband's neck, pulling him towards her - and Lucius permits himself to be guided down, his mouth close to Narcissa's ear.
Severus can't hear what his friend is mumbling, but from the rapid breathing coming from Narcissa, he's certain it's filthy and sinful and almost certainly involves him. He stands, awkwardly, his hands thrust in his pockets, not quite sure of what's playing out in front of him or what his expected role is. There is no expectation, he reminds himself, they didn't know you were going to visit.
"But maybe that's the answer."
Lucius' sudden statement breaks his concentration, and Severus steps backwards as if to retreat from the scene, but Lucius immediately snaps his fingers again, not breaking his rhythm.
"No! No, Severus," he barks, "I did not dismiss you."
"Yeah, but Malf-"
"-but nothing! You're lucky I don't order you to fuck her, because that would be a suitable punishment for you, wouldn't it? Hmm?" Lucius' movements are faster now, and Severus is relieved that there's just enough of Lucius' cloak to cover most of what's playing out in front of him. "For most people, that would be a delight, a pleasure, getting to fuck my beautiful wife - can you imagine what your lovely friend Avery would say if such an opportunity were gifted to him? But for you, Severus…" Lucius plants his hand against the wall and moves even faster, Narcissa gasping beneath him. "You are a very different man. You are loyal to your witch, so if I were to force you, what would you do? Be disloyal to her, or to me? And it would be a punishment so delicious, wouldn't it? Because you do want to fuck Cissy, don't you? You always have."
Lucius deliberately moves his cloak to one side, and Severus can see Narcissa's naked body beneath - her pale skin, the breasts he'd once fondled, and he can't find the words to disagree; she's as gorgeous as she's ever been, and he can feel himself stirring at the sight of her.
"And that would make it all the more delightful," Lucius hisses, and Severus can't help but watch, his gaze transfixed as his two friends fuck before him, hot and hard and fast and breathless and Severus jams his hands into his pockets even more firmly. "Wouldn't it?" Lucius presses. "Knowing that you were relishing every minute, every second, yet in the back of your mind, the guilt would be eating away at you. You'd never be able to look at your witch again, would you, knowing what you've done, what you've spoilt between you?"
Severus doesn't answer, can't answer - and then thankfully the silence is suddenly broken by Narcissa, a graceful gasping, and then Lucius groans - a guttural, feral sound, and before he can challenge Severus further, Lucius is standing, brushing himself down, straightening his clothes and whipping his open cloak from around his shoulders and throwing it across his wife's naked body, where she lies before them on the floor.
"You don't deserve to fuck her," Lucius sneers, pushing Severus down the hallway. "To my study. Now."
The room is prickling with tension, and Lucius is pacing, walking back and forth like a caged animal.
"I came here as soon as I realised."
"And what use is that to me?"
"I didn't know!" Severus runs his hands through his hair. "How was I meant to know? I'm not like you, I don't use Imperatum! Why didn't you notice it was different?"
"I don't take it!"
"But the appearance, the odour-"
"-it's the same!" Lucius rages, slamming his fist against his desk. "It's the same as it's always been."
"Then if you weren't to know and you have it in your possession, how do you expect me to? I don't touch the stuff! I don't even brew it!"
Lucius stares down his nose at the younger wizard, and then starts to pace once more. "Where the fuck have you been hiding, anyway?"
"Haven't been hiding."
"No?"
"Got arrested."
Lucius stops, and turns slowly to face him. "Arrested? Cavorting with Avery, were you? More Muggle fighting? Can you not help yourself? Is it that unfortunate Muggle blood that pumps around your body, that-"
"-aurors," Severus interrupts, angrily. "Aurors. I was arrested by aurors."
"She knows, I take it?"
Severus shakes his head. "I realised about Imperatum, so I came straight here."
Lucius takes in a deep breath, and then seats himself behind his desk, as if suddenly gratified that Severus made his way to him before visiting Lily. "...how did you realise?"
Severus puts his hand on the seat opposite, and when Lucius waves his hand in agreement, he sits down. "Sluggy. I was locked up for quite a while and I wasn't in a great way. Moody released me to Dumbledore. Dumbledore put me in the hospital wing. Sluggy went to replenish the medical potions and saw me." It's a close enough summary. "We got talking."
"About the arrest?"
"About lots of things." Severus swallows, his fingers tapping on the edge of the desk. "And he made me realise that the potion I'd created...he made me realise it's not quite been working as I thought."
"Because of the Imperatum? It's somehow different?"
"Yes."
"Father has been very resistant these past few weeks," Lucius murmurs. "It's what was making me so keen to move things along to the next stage."
"The deed was done?"
"Rabastan visited earlier today," Lucius says, "and the potion apparently delivered, but my father is much the same. Worse, if anything."
"I won't ask what you were doing fucking outside his door."
"It's my Manor," Lucius says, sharply, "and she's my wife, so if I want to fuck her outside his door, against his door, inside his study on his fucking desk right before his eyes, then that is up to me."
At Lucius' harsh tone, Severus' shoulders stiffen, and he sits still, not moving, barely breathing. "Yes, Malf," he eventually whispers.
"Yes, Malf," Lucius repeats sarcastically. "And now what do we do, Severus?"
Severus still doesn't move. "...try again?"
Lucius stands, and moves across the room, pacing back and forth once more. "And what? Provide Fletcher with another potion? Send it through the same channels and into Bast's hands? Coerce Cissy into sitting through another hellish afternoon with her appalling sister? And what then, if it fails once more?" He peers at Severus. "Do you even know what's in Imperatum these days? Do you know why it failed? Can you reliably counter it?"
"No," Severus starts, looking harassed, twisting in his seat to face his friend, "but I can experiment, I can try-"
"Yes, because we have weeks, months, years! Who cares what fate will befall us all when the Dark Lord finally brings my father before him, and he speaks tales of my duplicity?"
"I can be quick-"
"No," Lucius interrupts, harshly. "No, Severus, you cannot. You've already been missing for weeks-"
"I wasn't missing, I was arrested!"
"You keep shouting that at me as if it's anything to be proud of!" Lucius yells, slamming his fist against a cabinet door, causing the fine china inside to rattle.
Severus looks at the floor. "...I'm not proud."
"And so you shouldn't be," Lucius sneers. "Caught by the Muggle police, caught by the aurors-"
"-I was stitched up," he argues, hotly.
"Oh yes? By whom?"
Severus doesn't know then, whether to trust him or not. They'd become so close, just like it used to be, like it was in the days when he'd trail around behind Lucius, hanging on his every word, happy to take the scraps that fell from his table - and now it was like those dark days when he first went public with Lily, when he knew Lucius was looking at him with barely disguised disgust, appalled that he was sleeping with a Muggleborn.
"If you know," Lucius warns, his voice low, "then be prepared to tell the Dark Lord. If I am to believe the tales, his fury when you did not appear to play your part was something to behold."
Severus is shaking, he knows he is, and he jams his hands in his pockets in the hope that Lucius won't see the tremble in his fingers, won't realise his fear. This isn't anything you didn't already know, he thinks, trying to calm himself. You felt his wrath through the mark.
"Fletcher. Fletcher sold me out," he says.
Lucius scoffs. "And why doesn't that surprise me?"
"Convinced me to procure exotic ingredients, and then Moody saw an opportunity and pulled me in."
"Charged?"
He nods. "Eventually."
"Eventually?"
"He held me for seventeen days."
"Seventeen days?" Lucius erupts, his face filling with anger. "Seventeen? And what was his justification for that?"
"Do the aurors even need justification these days?" Severus shrugs. "He wanted something bigger out of me, I think, but I didn't give anything up - not about you, not about Avery, not about the Dark Lord."
"Good. Such a tale might find you some grace in his presence." Lucius looks thoughtful. "Do I need to see if I can get you out of the charge?"
Severus shakes his head. "It's not worth the risk. It's Azkaban for sure if I'm found guilty. The only thing that'll save me is an early admission of guilt." He shrugs. "Not much I can do - he's got me red-handed."
"Could try and scupper the evidence. What was it?"
"Snallygaster claws."
Lucius sucks in a deep breath. "Nasty. They'll have those under lock and key."
"It's fine," Severus says, in a tone of voice that suggests that it isn't. "Three months suspended isn't so bad." He gives a tight grin. "Not as much as what the Muggles gave me."
"Harsh given the circumstances. First offence?"
"Second, if you count the incident with Borage. Which they will."
"Ah, yes, I'd forgotten," Lucius nods. "And it was Fletcher who set you up, you say? Well, at the very least, I think we can arrange to repay the favour. Leave that with me." Lucius takes a deep breath. "But that doesn't resolve my little issue, does it?"
"If there's no time for it to be a potion," Severus says, hesitantly, "then it has to be a spell."
"Not an Unforgivable," Lucius says, quickly.
"I thought those were your specialty."
Lucius gives a nasty smile. "Oh and they were, once upon a time. But I can't have the aurors flocking here and checking my wand, can I?"
Severus swallows hard, the implication clear. "I can't cast an Unforgivable, Malf."
"Not got the bollocks?"
It's a goad. He's been here before with Lucius - just like when he tricked him into revealing Bean's presence. Don't fall for it, he thinks.
"Probably not got the power to perform it," Severus says, finally. "You've got to mean it, yeah? And your father?" He shrugs. "He's not that important to me."
"No, no, you misunderstand. You've got to mean the spell," Lucius corrects, moving to stand behind him. "You've got to feel that righteous fury thundering through your veins. You've got to want to hurt someone, want to inflict that pain." He lowers his mouth to behind Severus' ear, his voice low. "You need to imagine it's your father, or one of those Gryffindors who tormented you so, Black or Potty or Loopy or whatever the other ones are called."
The wolf.
Severus turns then, his eyes wide. "No...not an Unforgivable," he says, excitedly. "A creature! Not magic, an attack by a creature!"
Lucius scoffs. "What, here? With Draco fast asleep?" He shakes his head. "Absolutely not."
"Take Draco out."
"I can't keep taking Draco out, can I?" Lucius argues, his voice growing louder. "It's a bit suspicious that attempts on my father's life keep being made when my son is absent."
"...yeah." Severus taps his fingers against his wand. "What if… What if we faked it? Made out as if something had gained entry? And your father bravely fought it off?"
Lucius straightens, his expression thoughtful. "I like it." He stands, his chest out, his hand waving through the air. "Abraxas Malfoy, grandfather, hero, fallen warrior." He grins. "It has an air of sophistication about it. Might even find himself in the running for a medal. Posthumous, of course."
"We've missed full moon."
"Doesn't bother Greyback."
Severus winces. "You want to set up Greyback?"
"Not particularly," Lucius muses. "He's hardly an enemy I'd relish. Not with Draco and Cissy to think of."
"Lupin then," Severus says, "but we'll have to wait. It's only been a few days."
"We can't wait. Father needs to die tonight."
"Then how?" Severus demands. "If you can't wait for a full moon-"
"You said yourself, it doesn't need to be real." Lucius strides back and forth, flicking his wand between his fingers, and then he grins. "Bast didn't see my father earlier - he left the bottle for him."
"So?"
"That little slicing spell you were showing Avery," Lucius muses. "Can you make it look like a gash? A slash from a claw?"
Severus grins as Lucius' flicks his wand, and a cushion spirals into his hands. "I can practice until it does."
"Good boy," Lucius smiles. "I'll prepare the cellar."
"The cellar? Not his study?"
"Not if Bast was in there this afternoon," Lucius says. "Besides, it reads well, doesn't it? A dark creature breaking in and skulking around in the depths of our beloved family home? And my father, doing a stock take of his wine collection, not trusting my input?" He gives a feral grin. "It rather writes itself. We've not been speaking of late, you see, Severus. I've become rather suspicious that he intends to write me out of his will, so we had a blazing argument - to which the house elves will attest. I haven't seen him for a few days but the Manor is large, and his sulking is legendary. Then I have someone over - I don't know, someone interesting, a nice keen young auror who is looking to make a name for themselves. Thicknesse, maybe?"
"Shacklebolt?"
"Perhaps. Would he accept an invitation from me? Perhaps not. Dawlish might."
"They were the ones who found me-"
"Who? Thicknesse?"
"No, Shacklebolt and Dawlish," Severus says. "And Bickerstaff was watching over me."
"Bickerstaff?" Lucius repeats, pursing his lips. "Do I know that name?"
"Invite them all over," Severus says, earnestly. "Make them think it's about my arrest."
"And then I shall send Dobby to procure us a bottle of Father's wine - only the best for the auror department, you understand."
"Naturally."
"And to everyone's shock, Dobby discovers dear departed Daddy." Lucius smiles triumphantly. "By jove, Severus, I do believe we've got it." He taps the cushion Severus is holding. "Get practicing that spell of yours. The night is yet young."
Notes:
One thing I realised earlier - I sometimes am so enthusiastic to reply to the content of reader's comments, I am utterly useless at saying thank you for posting them in the first place.
So I just wanted to say that. Writing this much is a labour of love, and hearing what you all think of each chapter is an incredible gift, and makes the hours spent worth it. I appreciate all the comments here, and the reblogs on Tumblr - it truly makes me want to write more.
And I just realised I hadn't said thank you for that for ages. So thank you. :))))
Chapter 81: Deliberate challenge
Notes:
This chapter contains non-con.
Chapter Text
"Severus! What on earth are you doing to our best cushions?"
He jolts, immediately lowering his wand and sliding it into his sleeve, guilt covering his face. "Cissy, I didn't hear you coming in."
"Evidently," she smiles, glancing around the room, and flicking her just-washed hair over her shoulder. "No Lucius? Does he know that you're venting your frustrations on his soft furnishings?"
"I didn't… He asked…" Severus trails off, and shrugs helplessly.
"I see," she says, in a tone that suggests that she doesn't. She flashes him a small smile. "I shall assume that I do not wish to know."
He smiles back, relieved that she sensed his discomfort and chose not to press the issue. "Something like that." He quickly casts a quiet Reparo spell at the cushion, and the surface material instantly knits back together. He tosses it on the armchair nearest to the fire. "See. Good as new."
"I thought he'd be in here with you." When Severus doesn't respond, she fiddles absently with her hair. "Lucius, I mean."
"I know."
She sighs at his non-answer. "...am I to understand from your silence that I should also wish not to know that either?"
This time, Severus nods in response. "Yes."
"Honestly, I despair of the pair of you," she says, tightening the belt around her silk dressing gown and then slowly settling herself into the seat opposite Lucius' desk, her legs carefully crossed in a grand display of modesty. "How does my mirror cope?"
Severus frowns, his dark eyes narrowed in confusion. "Your mirror?"
"My mirror. My opposite number. Your better half, Severus."
"Oh! Lily!"
"Yes, how is she? I haven't seen her for weeks."
You and me both, Severus thinks - and now the guilt of his decision to see Lucius first grows inside him, creeping across his skin like a insect crawling across his bare back, cold legs skittering, ticklish and uncomfortable.
"...got arrested," he says, eventually, figuring that half an explanation is better than none at all.
Narcissa's hand immediately rises to her mouth, and she stands. "Lily?"
"No," he says, rolling his eyes, "me. I haven't seen her for weeks either."
"Then what are you doing here, you silly boy?"
Her harsh tone causes him to take a half step backwards, recoiling at her annoyance. "...I had something I needed to tell Malf."
It sounds feeble to his own ears. And what else can you say? She doesn't know about Abraxas. You can't tell her it was life and death.
"Oh, Severus. Don't you go sacrificing your relationship for my selfish husband," Narcissa says, a little more calmly. "I'm sure whatever you needed to tell him can wait." She waves her hand. "And as he isn't here, this isn't you telling him anything, is it?"
"...no."
"So what are you still doing here? Go home to your witch. I'm sure she's desperate to see you." Her smile is kind again. "If I were in her shoes, I would be."
"He's asked me…" Severus swallows hard. "Lucius needs me to help him with something."
"Does he really? Well, he and I had other plans for this evening before you turned up, so I suggest you go home and help Lily with the something you've left her with, and I will entertain Lucius."
"I can't-"
"You can."
"But Malf-"
"Leave Lucius to me," she says, firmly. "He's in a ridiculous mood this evening. It's best you're not here to earn his wrath."
Severus gives a half laugh. "Too late for that."
"What did you do to get yourself arrested? Something for Lucius?"
"No. Got caught carrying," he says, noting her half sigh of relief that her husband hadn't been involved.
"Prohibited items?"
"Snallygaster claws"
"Oh, Severus."
"I know," he mutters. "It was such an obvious set-up and I was incredibly stupid to fall for it."
Narcissa winces. "And don't tell me, Lucius has offered to help you in exchange for…" she trails off and waves her hand, "...whatever it is you're doing with these cushions?"
Close enough. "Something like that."
She eyes him carefully, gazing between his wand and the now repaired cushion. "Does Reparo work on humans?"
He instantly flushes. "...sorry, what?"
"Merlin, Severus," she breathes, "you need to work on your composure if you're going to go through with whatever he's tasked you with."
"I don't know what you mean."
"You do," she says, urgency filling her voice. "You're not like him, Severus. I know you think you are - I know you admire him, and I know you think he's impressive and dangerous and powerful-"
"Cissy, come on-" he interrupts, a blush filling his face.
"-but you'll be the one who takes the fall for him."
"He's my friend."
"Some friend," she argues, "getting you to practice knife spells with your wand, and where's he, hiding away? What's this, the next attempt on his father's life, now that your poisoning failed?"
Severus falters, his mouth gaping slightly at her astute reasoning. "...what do you know about that?"
"Cissy," Lucius booms, entering the room loudly, "what are you doing in here with Severus? I thought you were showering?"
"I've finished," she says, pointing towards her still wet hair. "I thought we were having an evening alone together? Or have you thrown me over for Severus?"
Severus stares at his friend who has stilled - not moving, not blinking - and the tension in the room suddenly feels oppressive, like a thick smog smothering them. It's overwhelming, and he wants to open his mouth and gasp for air, as if he's drowning. Both he and Narcissa watch Lucius keenly, Lucius' pale grey eyes fixed on a spot on the far wall, above both of their heads.
Severus' Legilimency skills are still raw - far more embryonic than Lily's, having spent his time focusing on Occlumency instead - but there's not even the slightest temptation to attempt to skim Lucius' thoughts; not through fear of being caught, but because his stony expression tells Severus all he needs to know.
He doesn't know how to control this.
Severus dares to glance towards Narcissa, and then he spies it, spies what's caused Lucius to pause - that hint of mischief in her eyes, of daring and deviousness - and Severus knows then; he knows that this was a set up, a deliberate challenge, a means of antagonising Lucius so he focuses his attention on her, and not on him, and not for the first time that evening, Severus feels a rush of affection towards Narcissa.
Lucius breaks the silence by striding forwards, and then he taps the surface of his solid wooden desk. "Up," he says, his voice barely more than a whisper, but the room is so quiet, his solitary word seems to echo in Severus' ears.
Narcissa glances at her husband, and then at Severus, and then back at Lucius. Lucius tilts his head, his expression hard, and his eyebrows start to raise at her continued inaction.
Severus watches, fascinated, as Narcissa quickly reacts to his fierce look, and gracefully lifts herself to sit on the corner of the desk, legs still crossed and now hanging over the edge, facing Severus and with her back to her husband.
Lucius stalks behind her, back and forth, as if he's mulling something over in his mind. Finally, he draws to a halt, and with his gaze firmly locked onto Severus, he places his large hands on her waist. "What were you talking about behind my back?" he murmurs, his tone deliberately low.
"I asked him about Lily," she answers quickly.
"My wife is missing your witch," Lucius says, his voice a little louder, and his gaze not leaving Severus.
"So she said."
"I'm not the only one. Severus is missing his witch too," Narcissa interjects, and once more, the room falls utterly silent.
Severus glances at his shoes, trying to keep his composure.
She's doing this for you - so you can escape.
"Look up, Severus," Lucius instructs, his voice dangerously low once more.
Severus does, his eyes tracing a path up Narcissa's long bare legs to the hem of the silk gown, and then up to where Lucius' hands rest on her waist, and then higher and higher until his eyes first meet Narcissa, whose expression is blank, and then Lucius, who looks irritated.
"Good," Lucius snaps, and then he moves his hands from Narcissa's sides, sliding them to the front of her robe. As he starts to unthread the knot on the belt of the gown, her breath hitches - and Severus doesn't need Legilimency to sense her silent scream of protest.
Severus doesn't want to watch this - it's exactly what he'd complained of when he discussed deviancy with Lily; he doesn't want to watch someone forced against their will, and Narcissa's body language is stiff and uncomfortable. He wants to tear his eyes away, to look back at the floor, to step from the room - but Lucius stares fiercely at him, the challenge clear on his face, his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed - so Severus quails under his scrutiny and keeps his head up, watching unhappily as the scene unfolds before him.
It's the right response. Lucius smiles, a slow and self-satisfied smile that gradually spreads wider on his cheeks, and then he presses a chaste kiss against the bone of Narcissa's jaw, just below her ear. She arches back towards him, exposing her neck to him, and Severus can almost hear her heart hammering. Least, he thinks it's her heart, but the way his is thundering in his chest, it could very well be his own.
Severus continues to watch the scene unfolding before him, his eyes locked on Lucius' fingers which toy threateningly with the knot, teasing and then retreating.
Don't don't don't. Don't do this, Malf.
"Why so shy, Cissy?" Lucius murmurs, giving a tentative pull on the belt, his threat clear.
"Lucius," she breathes, her hands fixed by her sides, and Severus doesn't miss the flex of her thighs as she tenses, pressing her legs together more tightly.
"It's nothing that Severus hasn't seen before," Lucius says, softly, his fingers holding the ends of the belt more firmly, and then slowly starting to pull, steadily easing the knot apart.
Instinctively, Narcissa moves her hands over his, preventing him from untying the belt, and holding the gown together.
Severus seems to realise before she does that this is the wrong reaction, and his eyes widen as Lucius peels her hands away and then roughly tugs the belt open, exposing her naked body.
Severus shakes the empty glass again in a silent request for more, and the barman gives him a quelling look.
"You've been here half an hour, and that's your fourth."
"I've got the money, haven't I?"
"Takes twenty minutes to hit you," says another man at the bar, who has been nursing the same half pint for the entire time Severus has been drinking. "You should take a breather, see how you feel in a few minutes. Cost you a fortune drinking like that."
"Another," Severus demands.
There's a pregnant pause, and Severus holds his note aloft, practically begging the barman to take it from him and place it into his till.
"One," agrees the barman, finally, taking Severus' money before reaching for the solitary bottle of whisky on the back shelf, "and then you're done for the night, lad."
He might be done at that pub, but he isn't done for the night - not by a long shot. Loose coins jangle in his pocket as he walks to the next pub, and the next - and it's only as he's drunkenly swaying at the door of the fourth establishment that he thinks better of entering.
You'll end up in a ditch if you carry on.
He wants to tell himself to fuck off - he knows that this is a destructive way to spend his evening, but that's exactly what he intended, so why stop now? As soon as he marched down the gravel path of Malfoy Manor, he knew he'd end up in a backwater pub and demolishing the shelf of spirits. Whisky was expensive, but its effects were quicker than beer. He didn't want to indulge in a session ale - didn't have the bladder or the time.
You were meant to be seeing Lily.
He balls his fists as he stalks down the street.
There's still time to see her, if you go now.
And then he gives an anguished laugh - a feral cry of pain, as if the events of the last few weeks have built up within him. Of being locked away and isolated, of a new criminal record hanging over his head and another court case, the newly discovered pressure of needing to marry Lily before Bean appears for Bean's protection, of almost losing his apprenticeship after all those months of acting and having to confess all to the notoriously untrustworthy Sluggy, fearing what the Dark Lord's reaction will be when he finally gets hold of him, of missing Lily and Bean - and then there's a dead weight in the pit of his stomach, because he doesn't feel as if he can go and see Lily, not now. Not after seeing that between Lucius and Narcissa.
It was bad enough when he arrived, but at least that was well underway before he'd turned up. He's seen them fucking before - he's always been an exhibitionist, Lucius. He's seen her fucking Lucius, and he's seen her fucking other men - a few of Lucius' closest friends, but Severus knows the rumours, and he knows the true figure is likely far higher. And he's always known what Lucius was like - he saw him Imperiusing others in the common room, fell victim to it himself even. He's been witness to Lucius' deviancy taking a more sexual edge, coercing Narcissa to do his bidding, and Severus swallows hard as he recognises that it's not dissimilar to the dynamic he's aware exists between his own parents - the very same dynamic that sends a thrill through him when he thinks of Lily bending to his will.
Guilt. This is guilt.
He straightens his jacket and strides through the doorway.
He twists his glass in his hands, the amber liquid gently sloshing from side to side. He's not sitting at the bar in this pub; he couldn't take the stares or the questions, and couldn't trust himself to keep his mouth shut and his hands in his pockets. He's slumped at a corner table, on a high backed bench - practically a pew.
A pew. Keep this up and you'll be on your knees all night praying to a porcelain god.
Speaking of gods, he needs to go to church, and the thought makes him take a sip of his drink. Needs to arrange the banns, he remembers that much - remembers the muted excitement of an impending marriage, and the questions every Sunday, delivered with solemn grace from the pulpit, but all whilst the congregation was full of smiles. He can remember the good-natured jostling between his father and Mick Price when it was announced that Tina was going to marry Mickey - the punching of arms, and ruffling of hair as the grown men pushed each other through the graveyard outside.
Ain't got a month, he thinks, twisting the glass over and over again. Could try and Confund the vicar. Make him think he's announced it three weeks on the run. But what about the congregation? Can't Confund them all, even if they're only Muggles.
He drains his glass, digs in his pocket for his wallet, and then heads to the bar.
"Same again."
The more he mulls on it, the more he's certain he can solve the marriage problem - as long as he can convince Lily that their parents can't attend. Find somewhere small, somewhere they've never been to before and will never return to again, cast a few spells over both the paperwork and whoever's holding the pen, and nothing can go wrong. Granted, it's not the wedding he'd dreamt of when he first thought of proposing, and he's certain it's not close to the wedding she'd dreamt of - but if she knows it's to keep Bean safe, he's certain she'll agree.
You should go and talk to her. The sooner you can explain it to her, the quicker you can move.
He takes a sip of his drink. He doesn't like this whisky - it's harsh and it feels as if it's sitting uneasily in his stomach.
That's not the flavour of whisky, idiot, he berates himself. It's sitting uneasily because of the amount you've drunk.
He pushes the glass across the wooden table, slightly out of reach.
Is it the amount you've drunk, or is it that guilt eating away at you again?
He's been trying to push the events of the evening out of his mind, and it had briefly worked, but now that he thinks about seeing Lily, the image of Narcissa is burned into his brain.
She did it to help you. She did it to get you out of there, to stop Lucius' plan. She did it to get you back to Lily before you and Lucius did something stupid and reckless and irreversible to Abraxas - before you both got yourselves carted off to Azkaban. And how are you repaying Cissy's efforts, sat here and drinking yourself into a stupor instead of going to Lily?
It's fucked him up, he knows that much, and his inner voice is muttering at him, getting louder and louder as he walks. What Lucius did, it's not the same - it's not the same as between me and Lil.
There's a dissenting voice in the back of his mind, pressing him. Are you sure? Are you sure it's not exactly the same? Are you sure that's not what you're doing with her?
He sways as he walks through Cokeworth, his fists stuffed in his jacket pockets. It's not the same, he thinks, trying desperately to quell the argument raging in his head. I told her this. I explained. We talked about it. She understands that she needs to consent. I haven't done anything she didn't want me to.
He rounds the corner unsteadily, stepping off the kerb and then taking a step or two on the road before making it back onto the verge. Did Cissy ever consent? Maybe it was staged, maybe Malf staged it, maybe there's an agreement already between them? Why else would she come through to his study dressed in just a gown?
It makes him feel better for half a pace, but he soon shakes the thought from his head. You're a grown man, Severus, stop believing in fairytales. She walked around in a dressing gown because it's her house, and he's her husband, and you're their best friend. She trusted him, and she trusted you, and he abused her, and you stood there and did nothing.
He takes his hands out of his pockets and presses them against his temples, as if he wants to wrench the vision out of his head.
You stood there and did nothing. You did nothing. Nothing. You stood there and did nothing.
He's paused now, bent over at the waist.
Coward.
I'm not a coward.
Coward, coward, coward, coward, coward.
I'm not a coward!
You're scared of him. Scared of standing up to him, scared of saying no to him, aren't you? You should've done something. Said something.
He crouches down on his haunches, fingertips pressed against the ground, steadying his drunken form.
There's no talking to him when he's like that. He's always been like that. You've known that for years. She knew that when she married him.
And what's that supposed to mean? It's her fault now?
"Fuck!" The word bursts from his mouth without him realising, and he groans, trying to stop himself from yelling in the street.
It doesn't make any of this right, he thinks, and the words are spiralling around his head now. It doesn't matter that Malf's always acted like this, or Cissy's always accepted it. What matters is that I stood there and watched.
Yes, you stood there and watched it all unfold, didn't you? How long did you stand there, Severus?
"I couldn't fucking do anything," he hisses, his nose almost pressed to the ground, drunkenly slurring at the poorly laid tarmac pavement.
You didn't want to do anything.
"Shut up, shut up," he says, grasping his head again, kneeling low on the ground. "Shut up."
You didn't want to do anything because you were getting off on it. You got off on him fucking her, and you got off on him exposing her, controlling her, forcing her.
"No."
You stood there and watched it all. And you were hard. Deny it, Severus, and the admonishing voice in his head is practically screaming at him, taunting him. She saved you not once, but twice, and how did you repay her? You watched him assaulting her and-
"No, no, no." His voice is strained and desperate now, begging himself to stop this train of thought.
-you stood there with a hard-on.
"Fuck!" he screams, and he punches the ground as hard as he can. He's drunk so much alcohol, the sensations are dulled - he knows there's pain running through his fingers and up his arm, but it's like hearing underwater - as if it's happening in another world, so even though he knows he's going to regret this tomorrow, he pulls his arm back and he punches the ground over and over, and he doesn't stop, not even when he hears the sickening pop of his smallest finger being pushed out of its socket.
Chapter 82: Daddy's home
Chapter Text
Severus sits on the ground for a long time, his mind swirling, struggling with what he should do next. He desperately wants to be with Lily, but at the same time, he can't let her see him like this - he's meant to be her rock, and he's let her down yet again. She needs a man, not a stupid little boy, he thinks. Look at you - drunk, bloodied, upset. Pull yourself together. She needs you. Bean needs you.
He flexes his fingers experimentally, and winces at the dull ache that throbs through his knuckles and radiates down his little finger. It'd be worse if you were sober, he thinks - and then he gives a half laugh. This never would've happened if you were sober. He stares at the awkwardly bent finger for several minutes, turning his hand over, as if debating whether it's a penance he should carry - a just reward for his earlier inaction.
He considers this for a long time, but then he realises that if he walks around with a broken finger, he'll be asked how it happened - and even if he lies about its origin, the injury will be a permanent nasty reminder of the events of the evening.
You need to forget it happened, he thinks. You can't carry an injury like this. Malf will ask and Dumbledore will ask and Sluggy will ask and Lily will ask. Lily! And what do you tell your wife-to-be about what happened between Malf and his wife? About her friend? About how you watched, and how you enjoyed and…
No. It's too dangerous - too much of a giveaway. There'll be opportunity for penance another time, he thinks, slowly drawing his wand over his battered hand, sucking in a hiss as the wood skitters down his crooked finger. Thank fuck I'm a wizard. It's not the first broken knuckle he's sustained, nor is it the first that he's mended himself, and when he's finished, he holds his hand in the air, peering at his swollen digits under the glow of the streetlight. Not quite as good as new, but close enough. His skin is starting to bruise, but he can do little about it - he'll need a story for Lily, but the discolouring will disappear sooner rather than later, and then he can put this whole sorry state of affairs behind him.
With his finger mended, he's calmed a little now - the adrenaline that was coursing through him has dissipated, and the sharp edge of his anger and guilt and shame has dulled. He sits quietly for a while longer, contemplating his next move, and then, decision made, he pulls a vial out of the inside pocket of his jacket. There's nothing to fear, he reassures himself, it was just Muggle alcohol - and before he can overthink it and fret about Imperatum and its various interactions, he knocks back his potion in a smooth movement.
It's the right decision. The effect is almost instantaneous, sending him on a familiar but dramatic cycle of intoxication, pushing him rapidly through his hangover. It's a horrible few moments, and it leaves him breathless but sober. It's disconcerting to move so rapidly through the various stages of drunkenness, but as the potion wears off, he immediately stands, leaving himself little recovery time.
You came here for a reason, he reminds himself, not to loiter on a pavement - and then, with a quick glance over his shoulder to check for Muggles, he casts a series of half-remembered spells about his person; freshening his breath and smoothing the creases from his shirt.
He remembers only too well the day he'd learnt these spells. It hadn't been something that had held particular interest for him, but Pomfrey had summoned all of the boys from his year, and amongst a lecture about washing thoroughly and how they should make use of the provided facilities, she'd explained a few useful charms for moments where they were legitimately in a fix - being unable to shower before the next class after an overrunning Quidditch match, or wanting to be confident before kissing someone at the end of a ball.
Severus wouldn't have mentioned it to anyone else, but he had made good use of the spells during his earlier teenage years, not least when he was being teased about Malf and he was trying his best to avoid showering with any sort of an audience. It had been a while since he'd had to fall back on them, and he'd never before thanked Pomfrey under his breath as he did now. He simply didn't want to risk heading back to Hogwarts just to wash, nor did he want to return to the Manor, or even run the gauntlet of receiving an unwelcome reception at his parents - but neither could he bring himself to turn up unannounced on her parents' doorstep, dishevelled and smelling of alcohol.
Lily. He wanted Lily. So he straightens himself, and stands a little taller, and then he lightly jogs towards her street. Lily. Finally.
She's tired, Lily - she has been for weeks. Ever since Severus' absence spun into weeks rather than days, she's struggled to sleep - it played on her mind during the day, but the nights were exponentially more difficult, as every possible scenario buried into her brain, each more troublesome than the last. Every night, it took hours for her to drift off, and it seemed that as soon as she started to sleep, Bean would invariably kick out and settle on her bladder - and as soon as she got up to use the toilet, the whole sorry sleepless cycle would start over again. Her troubled gaze had so regularly traced a path on the ceiling between lampshade and window, she was almost surprised there wasn't a visible trail on the paintwork.
She's slept a little easier since meeting with Potter and Lupin. It's small comfort, but comfort all the same, to know that Severus made it safely to Mundungus Fletcher, and hadn't been captured whilst carrying Wolfsbane - but she was stuck as to where to go next. The Malfoys were the obvious answer, or perhaps an Order meeting where she could hope to corner Dumbledore, but Severus' insistent words kept ringing in her ears.
He thought something like this would happen, she thinks. He can't be long now. You've stuck it out this far. She tries to keep focused, but the skin around her nails has been shredded, and she can't seem to stop herself from running her hand anxiously over her bump. Lily's certain that Bean's picked up on her distress - not least because their tiny child's magic had started to flicker and stutter, rather than feeling like the smooth spirals that used to emanate from her midriff.
It might be nothing, she keeps reminding herself. Maybe all magical children do this. She's asked her mother, but she couldn't recall anything similar - but then, her parents hadn't been expecting a magical child, so they wouldn't have been looking for such an expression. It gave Lily reason to pause, as when she mentioned it, her parents looked astonished - and she couldn't help but wonder then if they couldn't feel the magic rolling off her child, or even herself or Severus - or if they could, whether their non-magical brains were somehow suppressing it, holding it deep in their subconcious. Whatever was going on, neither her parents nor the Muggles at the hospital were any use. Narcissa, she thinks. Narcissa would know.
It had been another long day, with still no word from Severus. She was becoming tired of it all - sick of the lies and sick of hiding, sick of being half in one world and half in another, sick of the way her parents glanced at her with pity and concern in equal measure - all whilst encouraging her to support herself, and she knew that they were trying to prepare her for a life where this is the status quo; no Severus in sight.
It infuriates her - she wants to be focused on the things she should be sick and tired of by rights; tired of aching legs and swollen feet, sick with worry about their baby and whether Bean will be healthy and happy and whether there's anything more she could do - but instead, she's fretting about Severus, and it makes her so angry because she knows that in a million alternate universes, he'd be the constant by her side, possessive and unwilling to let anyone else take care of her.
If we'd been born twenty years earlier, she can't help but think, then I'd have had chance to have a normal pregnancy. Right now, Severus would be at work and I'd be resting, and he'd come in with a grin on his face, kicking his boots off by the door. He'd chastely kiss me hello, and then he'd shower, making sure he'd got rid of any experimental potion residue. Then he'd walk back in - probably wearing those awful shorts, she concedes in her daydream with a smile, and then he'd wrap his arms around me, and ask me about my day, and tell me about his, and then he'd cook for us both, and we'd sit together and read until the candles flickered, the flame hitting the pool of liquid wax - and then he'd send me to bed whilst he locked up and doused the candles, and then when he opened the door to the bedroom and saw me leaning against the headboard, he'd beam and cheerfully slide in next to me, his hand smoothing over Bean, and our lips touching.
She couldn't sit downstairs any longer - not now the phone had rung and she was having to listen to her mother's side of a tedious conversation with Petunia. She'd kissed her father good night, and headed up the stairs. You'd have sat reading together, she thinks, remembering her daydream, and she pulls out one of Severus' magical books. She sits on the bed, her hand trailing through the pages, touching where his hand had once been, her breath catching as she leaned in closer and the scent of his favourite ink spiralled from the page where he'd scrawled notes and jotted down his thoughts.
She would never tell him so, but his additional commentary was her favourite part of reading his textbooks - she loved seeing how his mind worked, and how he drew conclusions from the information on the pages, and how he revised his thoughts as he progressed through a book. Most of all, she loved it when she stumbled across a rare strikethrough, always accompanied by a hasty revision - his letters always poorly formed, and she could feel the speed at which he'd clarified his thinking. She could feel his passion and his enthusiasm for his work spilling off the page, and she could almost see him bent over the text, his shoulders rounded and his quill scratching furiously as his hand struggled to keep pace with his thoughts.
Lily was lost in another daydream, startled out of it by the noise of her parents locking up downstairs, and she quickly takes the opportunity to visit the bathroom. She takes one last lingering inhale of the pages of Severus' book, and then slams it shut and lies back on her bed, with a stern word to Bean - I love you, baby, but please try and lie on a different organ tonight. Mummy's so tired.
She pulls one of the pillows flush against her front, holding it tightly. It's not a match for her partner, but she felt it was more comforting than her arms being empty for yet another night, and she'd willed herself to drift off instead of fretting. You can make it like that daydream, she thinks, her eyes firmly closed. Severus coming in from work. Both reading together. Little Bean resting in my arms. Severus leaning over and kissing Bean's forehead. Nearly there now, Lil - just get through the next few weeks.
Her house is shrouded in darkness, but he doesn't falter in his step. It's late - long past her parents' bedtimes, and with Lily so heavily pregnant, he reasons that she will have retired to bed much earlier in the evening than she would've when they were living together as a couple. He makes short work of scaling the gate, and slinks down the side of the house until he reaches the back garden. He immediately gazes upwards towards her window, and frowns when he sees it ajar.
You might be in Cokeworth, Lil, he thinks, disapprovingly, but leaving it open? It's summer, but the night isn't overly warm, and he can't fathom why she'd take a risk for a spot of fresh air - not when there are dark wizards and dangerous enemies all around. He leans into the drainpipe, and scales the wall - he's grown again, he realises, as his fingertips brush the sill. He smiles to himself as he steadies - he can remember when he was shorter than Lily, and it felt like he was climbing forever. Now, he's at her window within a couple of stretches. He reaches again, expecting to grip the sill and swing himself in, but an invisible force rejects him, knocking him back against the pipe.
He slides clumsily down the wall, scraping his palms on the bricks, and despite his ungraceful descent, he beams. Clever witch, he thinks, wiping his hands on the backs of his trousers and reaching for his wand. This time, as he ascends, he casts squarely at the gap between sill and window, and he can feel her layers of magic thrumming back towards him.
He frowns, pipe gripped in one hand, wand in the other, concentration etched across his face as he starts to unthread the protection charms. Her spellwork is impressive - it always is - and it takes him several attempts to untangle the complicated chain of spells. He smiles in triumph as the last charm breaks, a line of sweat beading in his eyebrows, and he's certain that if he wasn't so intimately familiar with her style of casting, it would've taken him three or four times as long to gain entry.
He jumps back off the wall, slides his wand back up his sleeve and then takes a few breaths before scrambling back up the drainpipe. He lunges for the window, and hoists himself in - and when he finally stands in her room, he can't help but grin. Lily! He stands for a moment, watching her slumbering form, covers half-strewn over her body, bare feet sticking out from beneath them, her arms wrapped around a pillow that she's clinging to her front. He quietly closes the window, and then unlaces his boots and removes his socks, balancing uneasily on one foot and then the other. He tidies his footwear beneath the window and then he glances at Lily. She hasn't moved, so he continues to undress, stripping off his shirt, then trousers, and he lays each piece of clothing carefully over his boots.
The room already feels stuffy, and reluctantly, he cracks open the window again - but not before pulling his wand from his discarded shirt and casting a few charms at the framework. Nothing as complex as Lily's spellwork, but they won't need charms like that - not now he's here to protect her. He jabs his wand into his open left boot, and then he quietly treads towards the bed. He stands for a long moment, gazing at her in the faint moonlight glowing through the thin curtains, and then he eases himself into the bed behind her.
Severus' breath catches as Lily stirs at his movement, but she doesn't appear to wake. She kicks a couple of times, twists her shoulders, and a tiny murmur escapes from her lips - but then she stills once more. He waits for a while, half in the bed, half out, and then he slowly moves again, his nose getting closer and closer to the back of her head. The smell of her is utterly intoxicating - he's always been entranced by the combination of her floral soap and shampoo and hairspray and perfume, and having been separated from her for so long, it's all he can do to stop himself from burying his face in her hair and drawing a deep breath.
Instead, he presses himself against her, his body flush with hers, listening carefully for any change in her breathing, any sign that she's recognised that he's with her - but she doesn't move. He waits, patiently, and then he can't help himself - can't help but snake his hand across her stomach, and a slow smile spreads across his face as his palm rests on her skin.
Hello Lily, he thinks. Hello Bean.
She groans as she starts to stir, and instinctively, her hand reaches down to her bump. Bean is twirling and twisting, and as her hand moves lower, the magic spiralling from her is throbbing with an intensity that causes her to gasp. She opens her eyes just as her hand brushes Severus', and immediately she twists, tentative joy filling her face as she realises her partner is lying alongside her.
No wonder Bean was practically doing flips - Daddy's home.
She turns over and trails her hand across Severus' face, the soft pads of her fingers tracing across his scratchy stubble, as if she can't believe that he's real - and then she bends her head and kisses his cheek, softly at first, then more firmly, and then she kisses down to his lips and as she moves her mouth against his, he finally stirs.
He doesn't speak, but reaches his hand behind her neck, running his fingers into her hair, and holds her firmly in place as he kisses her soundly. She's breathless when he finally permits her to pull away, and she pauses, drinking him in, as if she's terrified that she's hallucinating and none of this is real, and if she closes her eyes for a moment, he'll disappear - and then she inclines her head, intending to lean back towards him to kiss him again. Severus reads her movement perfectly, and in the same moment, pulls her to him, holding her flush against his body and twisting his tongue against hers. There's fire within his kiss - a passion that's tinged with desperation, and it reminds her of the night that they were reunited, when he took her against the wall, and she meets him with equal fervor, hoping to leave him as keen and wanting as she finds herself.
They kiss over and over, and he settles them down, face-to-face, nose-to-nose, lips touching. She wants to lie in his arms for the rest of the night, his silken voice murmuring in her ear and his fingers trailing patterns up and down her body, but Bean has settled uncomfortably in this new position, and she gasps into Severus' mouth before pulling away.
He looks stricken, alarmed at the way she pulls from him, and he sits up. "I'm sorry," he starts, but before he can continue she presses a firm kiss against his lips.
"It's not you. Bean's kicking my bladder," she explains, quickly, "I need the loo." She stands, one hand still holding Severus', and with a wince she pulls away. "Don't you dare go anywhere."
He doesn't. Instead, when she returns, he's sitting up in bed, covers tucked around his waist. He lifts them, inviting her to settle next to him, and as soon as she takes her place on the mattress, he resumes kissing her.
"How," he murmurs, between kisses, "are you even more gorgeous than when I left?"
"Sev!" She swats him playfully, and sighs loudly. "I'm not gorgeous. I'm huge. And I'm wearing this horrible nightie that Mummy got from the market because nothing else fits, and-"
"-and you look radiant," he finishes - and before she can protest, he gently bites her bottom lip, tugging it towards him, and causing her to groan.
"You're tired."
She doesn't want to ask him how he knows. She wonders if it shows on her face, or if he's skimmed her mind, but before she can refute his words, his hand gently cradles her face - as if she's made of porcelain. He smiles at her expression, a quirk of his lips, and his dark eyes crease, and she feels the chuckle in his chest before it bursts from his lips.
"So angry, Lil," he says, his voice lilting. "I can feel it. You're so angry, love."
"You've been missing for weeks," she argues hotly, "and you're surprised I'm angry!"
"Shhhhhhhhhh." He pulls her more closely to him, holding her in a firm embrace. She wants to be annoyed with him, but his grip is comforting and soothing, and the tighter that Severus holds her, the more she feels Bean relaxing within her. "Don't be angry. I can explain," he says finally, "but we both need to sleep. Yes?"
"...yes."
"Then rest with me, love," he says, relaxing his hold on her, and threading his legs between hers.
"Don't get too comfortable," she warns. "If we sleep like this, I'll only have to get you up when Bean kicks my bladder again."
"Then wake me up." He runs a line of kisses down the back of her neck. "Wake me up over and over. As long as I'm here with you, it doesn't matter."
"Promise me you won't leave before I wake."
"I promise."
"I mean it, Sev," she says, twisting until green eyes meet black. "I can't cope with you disappearing again, not knowing where you are, not knowing if you're-" she trails off, her breath hitching.
"Lil, come on-"
"-if you're dead! Oh!" She whimpers, having finally said the words that have plagued her for so long out loud, and he grips her hands, squeezing them tightly.
"I'm right here. I'm not dead."
"...I thought you might be," she whispers.
He can feel her chest tensing as she admits her fears. "Well, I'm not," he says, lightly. "How could I be? I've got a little Bean to meet, remember?"
Lily laughs softly. "The way Bean's spinning around at the moment, I can hardly forget."
"Hey," he says, moving their hands over her bump, palms against skin, "what are you doing in there, Bean? Be good for Mummy now," he murmurs, his voice low and soothing in her ear, "and let us all have a big sleep together."
Chapter 83: If you still love me
Chapter Text
"Sorry," Lily says, gently pushing away from him for the third time.
Severus groans, his voice thick with sleep, but he unwraps his arms, releasing her from his hold.
When she returns, he's sitting upright again, leaning against the headboard. She shoots him an awkward glance, upset that she's woken him. "I did warn you."
"I know."
"I can't help it." She runs her hand over her bump. "We just can't seem to get comfortable, can we, Bean?"
"Do you want me to move, or-"
"No," she says, quickly, "it's not you. I'm glad you're here."
"Then come back to me, love," he says, holding his hand out, "I missed you."
She tuts and shakes her head, a smile playing on her face. "You're ridiculous. I was gone two minutes."
"Two minutes too long," he says, pulling her towards him.
She steadies herself as she climbs back into their bed by placing her hand on his bare chest, her fingers threading through his thickening chest hair. She's momentarily distracted, and his eyelids flutter at her gentle ministrations.
"...you're going to say it's grown."
"It has," she says, ignoring the grumble in his tone. "You're changing."
He places his hand beneath her chin and tilts her face towards his, kissing her chastely. "Yeah? Well, you're a fine one to talk," he murmurs against her lips.
"It's not the same. This is temporary."
He quirks an odd smile.
"Stop," she says, "whatever you're thinking, you can stop."
"I didn't say anything!"
"You didn't have to, I know what you want."
"And you don't?"
"It's not that, Sev." She looks apprehensive. "...I'd like us to get through having the first one before we plan any others."
He grabs her fingertips and kisses them. "I'd just like it if we had chance to do this again. Properly."
"Bean's not a trial run," she warns. "You can't just keep having babies until everything is perfect. It's never going to be perfect."
Severus pulls her into his embrace. "It's not about being perfect. It's about us going through it together."
"We're together now, Sev," she says, resting her head against his shoulder, enjoying his hold, and smiling as she watches his hand moving over Bean. "And we'll be together once Bean's here. That's all that matters."
She wakes first, courtesy of Bean kicking against her side - and when Bean doesn't relent, she reaches for Severus' hand in his sleep, holding it against her so he can feel their child. She watches his face, sleeping and calm and distant, and then as the movement registers in his unconscious mind, she sees a slow contented smile slide across her partner's face - until finally, he wakes, with a huff of amusement and a broad grin.
"Bean's awake then?"
"Yeah," she says.
"Mummy too?"
"Hard not to be with Bean behaving like that," she laughs. "Are you?"
"Maybe," he says, closing his eyes. "Sort of."
"What do you mean, sort of? You just closed your eyes again!"
"I'm checking my eyelids for leaks."
"I'll amuse myself then," she says, a dangerous lilt in her tone. She sits up and leans over him, pressing her lips to his. He doesn't open his eyes, and he only barely parts his lips, but he does respond tentatively to her soft kisses. She continues this for several long minutes, then she presses more firmly until he relents, her tongue finally moving against his own.
It takes him a moment, but he eventually props himself up on one elbow, his free hand cupping her face as he responds to her insistent kiss, his nose pressing hard into her cheek as she stakes her claim to his mouth.
She runs her hand into his chest hair again, her fingers gripping and then relaxing, her fingertips brushing over his nipples. The movement is accidental, but he groans deep into her open mouth, so then she makes the action deliberate, her fingers circling and her nails scratching across his sensitive skin.
"Feels good?" she whispers, but he doesn't answer. With no other response, she eventually tires of the game, and steadily slides her hand down his chest, the trail of his hair thinning as it reaches his stomach, and then thickening again as it runs down to his groin. As her hand moves lower, he tenses and she pauses - but he doesn't speak, so she shakes the movement away, as if she imagined it. Her fingertips resume their slow path, and then he wildly jerks his hips away, his hand grabbing her wrist before she can reach her intended destination.
"No," he says, breaking their kiss.
It hurts, his grip, and she stares at him, confused. She glances down at his pincer-like hold, then back up to his blank face, his dark eyes now boring into hers, but she can't fathom what's wrong. "...I was only going-"
"-I don't need you to do that."
"It isn't about need-"
"Just being here with you is enough," he interrupts, quickly.
She sits back, and at her retreat, he releases his tight hold on her arm. She pointedly rubs her wrist, and he looks mildly abashed at having caused her pain, but he doesn't attempt to explain his reaction further. She looks at him, and he looks away, his head turned and his gaze on the window.
She waits for a moment, and then she reaches for his hand. "So…"
"So what?" His voice is like ice, and that's the Severus she recognises of old - the cold and prickly boy who is quick to throw up his defences in reaction to a perceived slight. She doesn't understand how he's slid seamlessly from her partner, playing the part of returned lover and kissing her passionately, to the distant stranger looking at her impassively.
"Fine," she says, in a tone which suggests the exact opposite, and she settles down in the bed, careful to keep her distance from him beneath the covers.
"What's fine?"
"Severus, give it a rest, will you?" she snaps, her green eyes flashing with fury as she pulls the bedding over her. "It's six in the morning. I don't want an argument, just shut up and go back to sleep."
He doesn't. He shuffles gently towards her, closing the gap between them - and although her body is tense, he coaxes her back into his arms.
"You're a fucking idiot," she hisses, as he presses a kiss to her neck, but she lets him hold her and doesn't pull away.
"I know," he says, softly, his hands grazing across her skin.
She wriggles gently, disrupting his movements. "And you can stop that."
"Stop what?"
"Touching," she says, a cool tinge flooding her voice, "if you're so repulsed by me-"
He gives a strangled laugh. "Repulsed? Lil, I told you, you're gorgeous-"
"You say the words, but you don't mean them."
"I do!"
"-then why did you keep your eyes closed? Was kissing me that awful?"
"Lil, don't be daft! I told you I was tired."
"Tired," she repeats, her tone incredulous.
"I am!"
"You soon woke up when I tried to touch you."
She can feel his chest rising and falling, and in the silence, she can even hear his mouth opening and closing, words failing to form on the tip of his tongue. She waits, anxiously and angrily, as the seconds grow longer and yet he still doesn't reply.
"Told you," she says, her voice hard, "repulsed."
"No, Lil, please."
There's something desperate in his intonation which makes her turn, despite her fury, and when she sees his expression - embarrassment, shame, guilt and distress, all clearly plastered across his face - she softens, and cups his cheek in her palm. "Sev?"
Again, there's a pause - but then he takes her hands, and he squeezes her fingers. She normally loves it when he does it, but this time, she wonders if the reassurance is intended for himself, rather than for her. He's breathing heavily, unable to speak, and she squeezes his fingers tightly in response.
"I'm here, Sev. Talk to me."
"I can't."
"You can," she urges.
He reaches over her and grabs her wand from the bedside table. He presses it into her hand, and points the end towards his head.
"Sev, what-"
"-I need you to understand, love. See for yourself."
She turns her wand over in her hand, and then she silently casts. She gasps out loud when she slips into his mind with ease, and she recoils instantly, as if she's been scalded, and she looks at him in horror. "You're not Occluding," she says, her voice filled with panic. "Sev, what happened? You've been Occluding since-"
"Look," he repeats, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against hers. "Please look, Lil. You need to see. You need to see everything."
He sits on the bed, legs crossed, his mind open, for what feels like hours. He gets pins and needles in his feet, and a cramp in the back of his calf, but he doesn't move - doesn't protest. He watches, silently, as Lily moves through his recent memories.
She's graceful in her movements, and he doesn't put up any opposition - he tries to order the memories in his mind, trying to pull her through in a logical sequence, showing her Dumbledore and Moody and Pomfrey and Slughorn and Malf, and then she's at the moment he's been dreading, when he knows Narcissa is about to enter Malf's study.
"Stop," he gasps, leaning back - and she immediately pulls away, concern on her face.
"We've done too much in one go," she says. "You should've told me to stop sooner."
"No," he says, reaching over and taking a swig of water from her glass by the side of the bed. "I'm just…"
She reaches for him, grabbing his hand and holding it tightly. "You should rest. We can do this another day."
"No," he says, taking another gulp. "You need to see this."
"We need to talk about-"
"We can talk after," he says, and he forces her hand up until the wand is pointing back at him. "You'll have plenty to say, I'm sure."
And then she casts, and he breathes in sharply, a pain growing in his chest as he watches the events play out in his mind.
They don't talk about it. Instead, she immediately presses on to the next scene - to the pubs, to his distress in the street, to his spells and his entrance to her bedroom. She pulls out of his mind, and grabs his hand, peering at it and marvelling at how well it's healed - and then, when he thinks she's about to eviscerate him, she holds her wand back to his temple.
"Show me again."
He does as she requests - over and over and over again - and as he watches Narcissa's distress for the eighth time, he wonders if this is Lily's method of punishment. He wonders if she can feel the strength of emotions pulsing through him, whether she's picked up on his excitement and his fear and his horror. He wonders who she's watching - Cissy or Malf or himself, and then to his relief, he hears the crunch of gravel as he marches away from the Manor, and he feels Lily withdrawing from his mind.
"Thank you."
He exhales loudly, resting his head in his hands, his mind swirling.
"...we need to talk about this."
"I know," he says, his voice barely a whisper.
"And I don't feel half as guilty now telling you about Potter and Lupin-"
His head snaps up. "What about Potter?"
"And Lupin," she corrects. "...I went to see them. When I was looking for you."
"Great place to start looking. Thought I'd crashed at Potter's did you?" he sneers.
"Don't take what happened at Lucius' out on me," she snaps, and then she holds her hand out, as if to stop him from speaking. "Sev, we can't have this conversation right now. You need to put your Occlumency barriers back up first."
"But I needed you to see-"
"-I know. And now I've seen. So you need to protect your mind again because at the moment, you're an open book and as soon as one of them sees you, whether it's Dumbledore or You-Know-Who, they'll tear you apart."
"They won't."
"Sev, they will!"
"No, they won't. ...because I'm not going back."
His words hit her with such force, she looks as if she's been slapped. "What did you just say?"
"...I said, I'm not going back," he repeats, more forcefully. "If you still want me, that is. After what you've seen."
"But Sev-"
"Tell me you still love me, and tell me you still want me, and I'll stay right here with you. Forever."
Chapter 84: Bloody Rillwych
Chapter Text
Lily grabs him, and kisses him - soulfully, deeply - as if she's searching for an answer that only his lips can provide, and then she withdraws, the tips of their noses barely touching, and her breath warm on his face.
"Please, Lil, say it," he urges, "and I'll stay."
"...I can't."
The look of anguish and betrayal on his face is immediate, and he jerks from her grip.
"No, Sev, listen," she says, reaching for him and pulling him close again.
His dark eyes narrow, and confusion fills his face, but he permits her to hold him. When he speaks, his voice is barely more than a whisper. "I don't understand. I don't know what you want from me."
"I can't make you stay here, because you'll resent me."
He stays frozen in place, his breathing stilted. Is that all? "...I won't."
"You think you won't, but you will, Sev. You'll resent me, and you'll resent Bean, and you'll hate whatever life we build for ourselves."
"You think? Well, I hate this life!"
She gives a slight shake of her head. "No, you don't. You love magic, Sev. I know you do!" She leans behind her and picks up the textbook she'd been reading the night before, and flicks through it, each page clearly filled with his intelligent words. "This! This is you. This brilliant magical brain-"
"-and what use is it? Where has that brilliant magical brain ever got me? Where has yours ever got you?" He closes the book, and tosses it on the bed, pulling her back towards him. "Believe me, Lil, I hate this life."
"And you think this," and she waves her hands at her ordinary bedroom, "is any better?"
"I'll be with you." He shrugs. "That's all I need."
"We used to fight, remember? Before all this started. Before the laws and the legislation."
"I know."
She gives him a stern look. "All the time."
"I know."
"About stupid things."
"I know, Lil."
"About whose turn it was to cook, and who did the shopping, and cleaning the bathroom, and drinking milk straight from the bottle, and when you wouldn't take your boots off-"
He interrupts with a smirk, and points at his boots, neatly tidied beneath the window.
She can't help but laugh. "...you're not Severus," she says, with a gentle dig in his ribs, "what have you done with him?"
"I'm not like I was when we first got together," he says, "not now. I've grown up. Had to." He twists some of her hair around his fingers. "You've grown up too."
"...yes."
And then he gives her a cheeky grin. "But we can still argue, on occasion."
"Sev-"
"-because the sex after is incredible."
She laughs. "I haven't forgotten your fondness for faking up."
"Then let's start again," he urges, "because the magical world has nothing for us."
"You always hated Cokeworth."
"We don't have to live in Cokeworth."
Lily rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean."
"What? You're saying I hate Muggles?" He gives a slight shrug. "Hate's a strong word."
"It's the right word."
"No," he argues, "it's not. I can tell you what I hate, and it's not Muggles. I don't care about them. I hate not being with you. I hate pretending to be someone I'm not. I hate hanging around with men who don't like me or don't respect me or see me as someone convenient to use up and throw away. I hate sitting in a brothel and pretending to pay for sex. I hate brewing for people who'll sell me down the river as soon as look at me. I hate having Azkaban hung over me like a dark promise if I don't obey." He cups her face in his hands, his voice low and dangerous. "And what I really hate is being a nobody."
"You'll be a nobody in the Muggle world," she stresses, pressing her forehead against his. "Worse, even. You'll have no job-"
"-I can get a job."
"How? You won't have any work history, you won't have any references!"
"Okay, fine. I'll get a shit job."
"You won't even get a shit job, Severus - you've got a criminal record!"
"I'll find something." He shrugs. "Labouring or something cash-in-hand."
She gives him a withering look. "Labouring? You?" She picks the textbook back up. "This is you, Sev. Brains, not brawn, remember?"
"Then I'll apply for every job in the newspaper. I'll write letters every week. Every day! Someone will give me a chance."
"They won't."
"I only need to get lucky once, Lil. Just one person needs to believe in me, that's all."
"They won't, Sev! They won't even look at your CV. They all want qualifications, like Tuney's got. CSEs at least, if not O-levels."
He sighs bitterly. "We both studied all these years, and what's it got us? Nothing."
"She went to night class," Lily says, quietly.
"Petunia? What for?"
"To learn how to type so she could work in an office. That's how she met Dursley. Maybe we could do that?"
"I don't want to type, and I definitely don't want to meet a Dursley."
Lily shakes her head. "They do other things. Maths and English and History. Courses that we would've done at Muggle school."
"We can't work and study and bring up Bean and cook and clean and all the rest of it. We'd never see each other."
"It might not be that difficult," she says, holding his hand. "We're both bright. It'll be like revision."
"It'll be like treading water," he grumbles. "Jumping through hoops for no good reason when we've got brilliant qualifications already."
Lily looks at him then, her eyes bright. "Sev, what did your mum do?"
"Argued with Da and smoked mostly."
"No," she laughs, elbowing him again. "I mean, when she moved into the Muggle world. Did she get her Hogwarts certificates converted into Muggle ones?"
He looks up and grins widely. "You're right." He leans over and kisses her soundly. "Lil, you're a genius - there must be a way!"
It feels like forever since she's seen him like this. She was meant to be filling in her own sheets of paper, but she's long given up any pretence of doing so - instead, she watches him as he lies on his stomach on her bed, his long legs gracefully bent up in the air, preventing his feet from dangling awkwardly off the edge of the mattress. He crosses and uncrosses his ankles as he thinks, the tip of the blue biro tapping against his lip, and then he adds another thought to one of the pages before him.
He seems relaxed, in a way that she almost can't remember - not since the early days of his first apprenticeship, before Borage started belittling him - which seems inconceivable given the gravity of the task he's undertaking.
On each of the pages, there's a heading in her looping handwriting: Muggle, Magical - Dumbledore, Magical - Dark Lord, and each page is bisected into two: Pros and Cons.
It seems ludicrous that they've resorted to this, but despite his extended time in solitary confinement, she's had far longer to think through the realities of their situation. He's swung from one task to the next, placating various allies and foes until he doesn't know if he's coming or going - and she knows from his earlier outburst that although his love for her is genuine, he's not thought through any of the practicalities.
"We both need to fully understand the implications of us leaving the magical world."
To her surprise, he'd agreed without much argument - and he's taken the exercise seriously. She watches his face, his frown of concentration waxing and waning, despite his relaxed demeanour. This was the sort of task he always excelled at when they were at Hogwarts, and presenting their problem to him like this has given him the space and opportunity to approach it logically, as if it were a brainteaser in his father's newspaper.
Her pages are relatively empty in comparison to his, which are filled with the entanglements and relationships he's had the freedom to create. Her life in the magical world had long been curtailed, and although the Halfblood papers in her name promise to change all of that, she can't quite believe it'll happen - not like Severus does.
For all of his cynicism, there's a wide-eyed innocence to him; a belief in a higher power, in a just-world, in a meritocracy of sorts. It's as if he believes that if he waves the official papers that say she's legitimate, and she waves her wand that proves her excellence, the world around them will suddenly forget all of her years at Hogwarts as Lily Evans - Muggleborn.
She doesn't believe in such fantasies.
But there's a part of her that does believe in his new suggestion - of Slughorn's recommendation to hide. She hasn't dared tell him yet about the job her parents have arranged for her - although she has written it in one of her columns - unsure as to whether he'll be grateful for its existence, or perceive it as a dent to his masculine pride.
Would he be too proud to stay at home with Bean whilst I worked?
She doesn't want his offer to stay in the Muggle world to be a rash decision, blurted out as a desperate means of trying to retain her affection. She doesn't want him to regret the path they take - she wants him to do it with her, hand-in-hand, together, wherever it may take them.
As long as we're together.
Severus sits with his back against the headboard, his legs splayed on the mattress, and Lily sat between them. He puts her papers down on the bed, and nuzzles the back of her neck.
"You're meant to be reading."
"I've read them," he argues, brushing her hair to one side so he can kiss her more easily, "you barely wrote anything." He picks one of the pages back up. "Five sentences. I'd give this a T, Miss Evans."
"Would you really, Professor Snape?" she laughs, twisting to look at him.
"Don't even joke about it," he says. "Imagine working for Dumbledore for the rest of your life."
Lily taps one of the pages. "Isn't that what this says?"
"Yeah, and look at my cons column for it," he says. "Definitely not."
"...I thought he was a good Headmaster. I mean, if the war wasn't on, he might be good to work for? Sluggy's stayed all this time, hasn't he?" She pauses. "Funny to think that in a different world, you really could be at Hogwarts as his apprentice."
"In a different world," he says, quietly, "it would've been you. Not me. Old Sluggy wanted you."
"And we're definitely drawing a line on this one, yes?" She holds the page bearing Dumbledore's name before him. "...it feels wrong."
"What does?"
Lily looks troubled. "Morally wrong. ...you know I think he's right."
Severus nods. "About a lot of things. Like Muggleborns."
"And he's the only one who'll be able to defeat You-Know-Who."
"I'm not even sure he can. Him and Moody? It's not enough."
"There's the rest of the Order."
Severus gives a harsh laugh. "What? The dream team of Potter and Pettigrew? Black and the wolf? Mark my words, love, even Avery could destroy them."
"You said yourself that everyone underestimates Avery."
"They do, but that's not the point, Lil." He runs his hand over his eyes. "What I'm saying is, there's a lot worse than Avery. Mulciber. Rosier. Wilkes. To name a few."
"Right-"
"-there's the Lestranges and Bellatrix-"
"-yeah, I get it."
"Yaxley, and Dolohov, and Malf, even!"
"All right, Sev!"
"Well then," he mutters, his tone moderately triumphant. He snakes his arm around her, holding her close, his voice lower. "I'm just saying, they wouldn't last five minutes in a confrontation. This isn't them picking on me in a corridor at school, fighting four-on-one. This is the real world now."
She circles one of the sentences on her page. The right side of history. "You don't think this one outweighs the cons?"
He draws in a deep breath, his arm holding her a little more tightly. "In an ideal world," he whispers, "I'd say yes."
"But this isn't an ideal world," she says, sadly, her pen poised to cross out the section.
"...no," he agrees. "This is the sort of world where having morals means you end up dead, and I've got you and Bean to think of."
The next topic is harder still. She already feels sickened that they've so easily cast aside Dumbledore and the Order - so readily dismissed doing what feels right for the world in favour of keeping themselves safe - and even reading through the upsides of cultivating Severus' standing with the Dark Lord makes her feel distressed.
"I could go in harder with Ave," he muses, drawing an asterisk next to the paragraph he's written about his embryonic friendship with the odious boy.
"Not Lucius?" She peers at him. "You're bothered about what happened the other night?"
"It's not that. Malf's tainted in the Dark Lord's eyes. Ave might be scum, but he's useful, obedient scum, whereas Malf's got a mind of his own." He gives her a tight smile. "A dark and twisted mind, but it's definitely his own."
"If you go back to the Dark Lord, Lucius won't let go of you. You might want to be best friends with Ave, but-"
"-I know."
"He'd force you to help him murder Abraxas. He isn't going to let that slide."
"I know, but I would with either of these options," he says, softly, touching the discarded page with Dumbledore's name on. "There's only being in the Muggle world which saves me from that fate."
Then choose the Muggle world, she wants to scream, desperate to keep her man innocent of the most wicked of all of the sins.
"But this way, you'd still get to see Cissy," he muses, "and Bean would get chance to grow up with little Draco."
"You just said that Lucius is tainted-"
"-he is, but he's still got standing. He might not be trusted, Lil, but he always manages to land on his feet. I don't see that changing any time soon." He picks at the skin next to his thumb until she places her hand over it, stopping him. "Sorry." He draws in another deep breath. "Malf's unpredictable, that's all. If I was stuck, I know he would come through for me."
"...at what cost?"
He doesn't answer. He doesn't need to - they both know the cost if he goes back this week, and they both know that it's a line that only needs to be crossed once, and then it'll be a service requested over and over.
"Lucius likes you," she says, quietly, "but he's jealous."
"Of what? Of us?"
She turns to look at him again, a slight frown on her face. "You think?"
He nods. "Yeah," he says, "not me and not you, but of what we have together."
"He's got that with Narcissa."
Severus shakes his head. "I know that, but he doesn't." He pauses, as if debating how much to reveal. "He doesn't believe that she really loves him."
Lily's eyebrows lift, her expression incredulous. "He thinks she doesn't really love him? With all the nonsense she puts up with from him?"
"He thinks she does that for the pride of the Malfoy name."
Lily huffs. "He is so full of his own self-importance." She squeezes Severus' hand. "I meant that he was jealous of you two. You and Narcissa."
This time, it's his turn to look amazed. "Me and Cissy? We're just friends."
Lily toys with his fingers, deliberately not looking at him. "She likes you. You fancy her."
"I…" He exhales loudly. "She's my best friend's wife. Anyway, I've got you."
"And if you didn't have me?"
"That's a stupid question," Severus says, abruptly. "I've got you, you're stuck with me, and Cissy and Malf can get on with their own drama together."
"...right."
"What?" He straightens, and sniffs. "What?"
"Nothing."
"No, go on. You might as well say it."
Lily gives him a strange look. "He looked into my mind and saw that I didn't want him." She shrugs. "I think when he looks into Cissy's, he sometimes sees a trace of you."
"Cissy loves Malf."
"I didn't say she didn't."
Severus groans. "Then what are you saying? That she's secretly pining for me? Don't be so daft."
"No, I'm saying that sometimes Lucius is a git! So then she looks at us together, and she looks at you, and she wishes that Lucius was a little more like you." She swallows hard. "A bit more loving. More thoughtful."
"I'm not either of those things."
"You are, but Cissy doesn't know that you leave a terrible mess around the house," she says, airily. "She'd soon tire of picking up your dirty socks."
"She's got house elves for that."
"Not if she divorces Lucius."
He laughs, and pulls her hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips. "When we're back living together, I'll pick up my socks," he promises.
"See," she says, turning her head to kiss him. He responds enthusiastically, and she can feel his heart beating in his chest under her palm.
"See what?" he whispers between kisses, reluctant to move his mouth from hers.
"Thoughtful," she whispers back, and she punctuates it by nipping his bottom lip between her teeth until he hisses, and then she swipes her tongue soothingly across his bitten skin.
"It feels stupid," he complains, picking up the page, "if we've already decided we don't want to be martyrs for Dumbledore's cause, and if we don't want to be an integral part of the Dark Lord's new world order-"
"-but that's the wrong way to look at it," she argues, "because then you're blinding yourself to all of the bad things about the Muggle world-"
"-I'm not blinding myself, but are any of these bad things going to outweigh the bad things from these two choices?" He taps the discarded sheets, both detailing the positives and negatives of the magical world.
"I'm just saying, it's not going to be easy."
"I know, love."
"And once we do it, there's no going back."
"I know."
She looks distressed. "And I know you didn't want to be a Muggle."
"I won't be," he says, a quirky grin on his face. "I'm still a wizard. You're still a witch." He runs his hand over her bump. "And Bean is still a magic bean."
"Bean'll have to go to Hogwarts."
"We can teach Bean."
"But-"
He places his finger over her lips. "Shh, love, stop fretting. We were both exemplary students. We can teach Bean." He shrugs. "Or maybe everything will be fine in a decade, just like Sluggy said."
"Even if it is fine, if we bail out on Dumbledore, I'm not sure I want Bean going to Hogwarts."
"Then we'll send Bean overseas. Durmstrang or Beauxbatons or Ilvemorny."
She looks horrified. "Abroad? Without us?"
"Lily, love," he interrupts loudly, but with a wide smile, "you've just jumped into the 1990s. Let's focus on the here and now, yes? We can argue about schools in a few years."
They sit quietly, reading over each other's pages, and then Lily frowns. "Sev?"
"What?"
"... will we give up magic?"
"Well, we might have to learn to drive. We can't go Apparating in the street. The neighbours might notice."
"I don't mean that. I mean small spells, like Accio."
He shrugs. "As long as you do it indoors. Away from prying eyes."
"And what about Bean?"
"What about Bean?"
She gives him an exasperated look. "What if Bean does something magical?"
"All magical kids do weird things," he says. "I did. I bet you did. In fact, I saw you doing it!"
"Yeah, but-"
"-Muggles aren't looking for it," he says, dismissively. "They'll accept any old explanation, as long as it seems plausible."
"Your mum doesn't use magic though, does she?"
"Not much."
"Because she wanted to be just like a Muggle?"
There's a silence.
"Or because your dad didn't want her to use it?"
"...I don't know," he says, eventually. He gives her a curious look. "Moody mentioned her."
"Your mum? When he was debriefing you?"
"Yeah," he says, sitting up straighter. "Said he knew her."
"Was he at Hogwarts at the same time?"
Severus shakes his head. "Don't think so. Moody's way older." He looks thoughtful. "He said it caused a stir when she ran off with Da. Her family disowned her."
"Maybe the aurors were called to a disturbance?"
He nods. "Yeah, maybe." He flashes her a quick grin. "Sounds like my family."
"We could ask her."
"We could," he says, his tone disinterested, "but she probably won't talk about it. She never does."
"You never wondered?"
He barks a laugh. "I wondered all the fucking time, Lil. From the moment I was old enough to feel the magic thrumming through my fingers." He shakes his head. "She never explained why she made the choice she did."
"Would she now? If we asked? If she knew what we were planning?"
He shrugs. "I don't know."
"We could-"
"I don't really care," he interrupts, "her and Da are not the same as me and you, so it's irrelevant. Anyway, love," he says, smoothly changing the subject, "what's this you've written here about a job?"
She stands in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning heavily on the frame, and watching as he expertly chops the vegetables for the evening meal.
Rose flashes her a smile as she pats Severus' shoulder. "You've saved me a good fifteen minutes there," she says. "You're very fast. Very neat."
"He's a brewer," Lily says. "He can chop and slice anything, any style you like. Thick, thin, ribbons, cubes, julienne - you name it."
"You'd make a good chef, Severus."
He catches her eye then, as if mentally making a note of a potential Muggle career and Lily rolls her eyes.
"I'll leave you to train him then, Mummy," she says, "because he's never cooked me anything that wasn't fried."
She thought it would be uneasy, the first meal between them all - but her parents are on good form, and for his part, Severus is calm and relaxed. He seems to be in an even better mood since discovering her job - as if it's taken a weight off his shoulders. She thought he'd be upset about the idea of looking after Bean whilst she earns a living, but when she thinks about the alternative - of him watching innocent people dying, and him begging for mercy from a controlling master - she understands why he looks so laid back at the prospect of changing nappies, and bottle feeds at 3am.
Anything would feel like a holiday in comparison to the Dark Lord's scrutiny.
After their meal, Severus helps Rose to wash up, whilst David waters the garden - and then as the evening news blares out, Severus pulls her into an embrace on the sofa.
Her parents don't comment on their overt display of affection, and after watching the news with a frown - and she knows he was watching to see if any familiar faces appeared in amongst the Muggle features - he picks up a pad of A4 and a pen. She watches as he starts to make a plan of their next steps - of the loose ends which need tying up before they can make a successful retreat into the Muggle world, and before long, the television is long forgotten, and she has picked up a pen of her own to join in creating their plan.
Lily walks back into her bedroom after her shower and smiles broadly at the sight of Severus lying in her bed, his arms behind his head.
"You're a sight for sore eyes," she says.
"Yeah?" He sounds nonchalant, but he looks pleased at her compliment. "You reckon?"
She flips the covers up, and settles herself next to him. "Put it this way, I'm happier than I was when I went to bed last night."
"Good," he says, nestling against her.
"Bean too."
He smiles against the back of her head, and she can feel his cheeks moving against her hair. "Double good," he laughs. "We'll have our own place soon," he murmurs, "we can go down to the council, get ourselves on the waiting list."
She turns, a slight look of surprise on her face. "We could go private."
"With what money?"
"The money Potter and Black keep pushing our way. There's more than you think. I've barely spent any of it."
"Their money's going to dry up if we go Muggle," he warns.
She briefly looks anxious. "We can't stop. He'll suffer."
"No." He shakes his head. "It's enough of a risk now. We can't think of doing it if we've gone to ground." He pauses. "How much money have we got?"
"Enough for five months rent," she says.
"What? Here in Cokeworth?"
She shakes her head. "Rillwych."
"Rillwych? You want to live in Rillwych?"
"Beggars and choosers, Sev."
"Yeah, it's full of beggars, all right." He exhales loudly. "Bloody hell. Rillwych. And I thought Cokeworth was a dump."
"We've not got enough for two months if we stay here."
"Even over the river?"
"Three over there."
"That'll do."
She gives him a strange look. "I didn't think you'd want to be anywhere near your parents."
"I don't, but I don't want to live in bloody Rillwych either!"
"I'm not asking you to become mayor," she says, jabbing her finger into his ribs.
"Ow!"
"People know we're from here."
Severus sighs. "Lily, Rillwych is all of six miles away! It's signposted from town! It's hardly hidden."
"And if Lucius decided to pay your parents a visit," and he opens his mouth to interrupt, but she quickly places a finger on his lips, "then he won't run into us, will he? He might walk around Cokeworth, but he's not going to venture over to Rillwych. He won't find us."
"He won't because I'd be too bloody embarrassed to show my face in the street if I lived in Rillwych," he mutters. "Bloody Rillwych."
"You sound just like your dad. You know he only hates Rillwych because they stole the promotion off Cokeworth United."
"That was years ago! I was a little lad back then."
"And you think he's forgotten?"
He shakes his head. "It's not just that. You know what they say about people from Rillwych."
"Is that…" She pauses, a smile creeping across her face. "Is it? Is that you, Tobias?"
It's a risk when she says it, but to her surprise, his face lights up and he laughs at her teasing. "Comparing me to that waste of space? You're dead, love."
"Am I?"
"Yeah," he says, biting her earlobe, "I prescribe death by a thousand love bites."
"Mmm," she groans, holding him close to her as he lovingly attacks her neck, "at least it'll keep you quiet about Rillwych for a bit, yeah?"
"I know what it was that excited you."
There's such a long pause in the darkness, if she couldn't hear him breathing so unsteadily, she'd have assumed he was asleep.
"...at the Manor," she presses.
He swallows uncomfortably. "What, love?"
She knocks gently on the wall. "Up."
He exhales, and she can feel the warm rush of his breath on her chest, and she smiles, knowing from his reaction that she's right.
"Yes?" she prompts.
There's a long pause, and then she hears a soft, barely audible hiss. "Yessss."
She laughs, and leans down, capturing his lips in a kiss. "I knew it."
"You watched it enough times."
"You liked that he gave her a one word instruction, and she did it."
"Not quickly enough," he murmurs, biting gently on her tongue. "I wanted her to do it immediately."
"But his look-"
"-she did it then," he says, breathing a little more raggardly as Lily cups him under the sheets, "when he raised his eyebrow."
"And you liked it."
"I like being obeyed." He pauses, throwing his head back. "I didn't like it after."
"When he was threatening her."
"No."
"You just like it when people do what you say."
"...not really."
Her eyes narrow, remembering his words of old. "No, that's wrong, isn't it?" She grips him more tightly, and he gasps. "Remind me, Sev."
"...I like it when people want to do what I say. When they choose to do it. There's a difference."
She rewards his honesty by sliding her hand up and down him, her grip unrelenting, and causing him to groan.
"If it was just me and you," she murmurs, her voice hot against his ear, "what would you have done?"
"If I'd done that-"
"-knocked on the desk and said-"
"-Up," he hisses, turning to capture her mouth with his own, "and you'd done it-"
"-I would've, if you'd said it-"
"-I'd have come there and then," he laughs, thrusting his hips against her hand.
"But you didn't. Not at Hogwarts. Not when we did it there."
He lifts himself up onto his elbows, trying to increase the friction against her closed grip, a broad smirk on his face. "You don't know that, love."
"...you didn't."
And then he laughs. "No, I didn't." He smiles - that familiar quirky movement of his lips that just bares the edge of his teeth, the mirth reaching his dark eyes - and then he kisses her. "I didn't then, but I have done since."
"Doing what?"
"Thinking about it."
She smiles. "Us at Hogwarts?"
"Yeah."
"Do you think about it a lot?"
"All the fucking time," he murmurs, moving his hips faster, "and it's my only regret over Bean-"
"-that we didn't get chance-"
"-to finish what we started," he gasps, and then he tightens - and she immediately draws him into a languid kiss, full of unspoken promises from both sides.
She watches him dress, buttoning his shirt from bottom to top, and then pulling his trousers up, reaching for his belt and slotting it through the loops on his trousers, breathing in and fastening it at far too tight a notch for it to be comfortable. He kneels awkwardly, and yanks on his laces, left and then right, tying his boots tightly, and then he rolls down his sleeves, fastening the cuff on his right arm. Before he can fix the left, she reaches for him, and slides the sleeve back up, staring at his now unblemished skin.
"There's nothing there, love."
"...it just...went?" She can hear the disbelief in her own voice, even though she saw the scene play out in his mind.
"It didn't just go," he stresses. "It hurt like fuck." He pulls from her, and shakes his sleeve down. "Bled like fuck too. Burnt. You could smell it - my flesh, like it was on fire."
"There's not even a scar. It's as if it never happened."
"He's gone," he says, pulling his jacket over his shoulders and then kissing her deeply. "Gone."
"But if he hasn't-"
"-he has-"
"-but if-"
"-shhhhh," he interrupts, his thumb tracing over her lips. "He's gone." He kisses her again, and then reaches for his wand and stashes it in his sleeve. "Come on, love, it's market day - if we want to go and pester Mam, we need to catch her before she heads into town."
Chapter 85: Two sisters
Chapter Text
It's a glorious summer's evening, so when Lucius makes the suggestion that his unexpected guests should avail themselves of a tour of the magnificent grounds of Malfoy Manor, there's little room for any of the Lestranges to dissent.
However, Rabastan raises an eyebrow when Lucius halts at the grand entrance, his intention to remain behind abundantly clear. "Not joining us then, Malf?"
Narcissa turns sharply at this development, but neither of the Malfoys speak - and then Lucius gives a thin smile, barely more than a sneer, and holds his hand up in mock apology.
"I am afraid that I have business to which I must attend," he says, softly. "It has been a pleasure, as always, Rabastan - and thank you for being so thoughtful as to bring along your brother," and then Lucius nods towards Rodolphus, "and his charming wife-"
"His wife? Narcissa is my sister! And I shall visit her whenever-" Bellatrix immediately screeches, and Lucius winces, as if he's been slapped - his face twisted in disgust.
"-you are welcome to visit your sister at any time you wish," he interrupts, calmly. He shoots a furtive glance at Narcissa, who looks stoic at the notion of Bellatrix dropping in for more unannounced visits, although he's certain that his wife's stomach will have dropped at the thought. "We are family, Bellatrix, are we not?"
There's a heavy pause - and then, finally, Bellatrix sniffs and takes a step towards the rows of lavender, her hand outstretched to meet the purple flowers. Narcissa looks behind her at the two brothers, who shrug and nod, and then the impromptu tour commences with Narcissa at the helm, whilst Lucius retreats indoors.
"And this?" Bellatrix barks, pointing at a gaudy maroon petal.
"I am afraid I am not certain," Narcissa says, peering from a distance at the flower.
"In your own garden? Or am I to understand that these are his?" The scorn in Bellatrix's voice is palpable.
"...Lucius arranges the grounds," Narcissa admits, her voice low.
"Of course he does," Bellatrix says, struggling to keep the glee from her tone. "Yet he could not find the time to tour with us." She scrutinises her sister. "Why is that, do you think?"
Because he cannot bear to lay eyes upon you, Narcissa thinks, staring at her feet. She looks up, a sweet smile on her lips. "Your arrival this evening was not by prior arrangement. Neither myself nor Lucius could excuse ourselves fully from our commitments-"
"I know you were feeding his child," Bellatrix says, her hand drifting violently across the flowers, pollen scattering in her wake, "but what was he doing? What is he doing now?"
"And am I to ask the same?" Narcissa counters, tilting her head. "Of what was of interest to you and your husband and your brother-in-law in the corridor-"
"-we were-"
"-looking for the bathroom," Narcissa finishes. "So you have already said. I did not realise that the Manor was so large that you could so easily lose your way. All three of you, no less. You surprised us, given your upbringing, your breeding, your familiarity with such buildings. Now if you were Muggles-"
Bellatrix's nostrils flared. "How dare you, Cissy!"
Narcissa shoots a cold smile at her sister. "How dare you, Bellatrix," she enunciates clearly. "How dare you enter my house, and how dare you attempt to thwart my husband-"
"-he is-"
"-we have done this already!" Narcissa shouts - and when Rabastan and Rodolphus look over, she immediately looks at the hedge, her heart banging until she sees Bellatrix waving the two men away.
"...indeed we have, Cissy," Bellatrix agrees. "Rodolphus and Rabastan," she says, placatingly, "wished to discuss events with Abraxas-"
"-and you have been told that Abraxas is unwell-"
"-he is of the old ways," Bellatrix hisses, "one of us!"
"So is Lucius! So am I!"
Bellatrix gives her a knowing look. "Are you, Cissy? Are you really? You and Lucius both? And your son? Is he with us too?"
Narcissa hesitates at the mention of Draco, but then nods. "We are all loyal. As one."
"Hard to believe when you see her now," Rodolphus says, strolling next to his brother and watching as the two sisters move alongside each other, the atmosphere between them clearly icy, "babe in arms, and him playing the devoted father."
Rabastan grins. "Lucky I had an audience to bear witness."
"She still does it," Rodolphus says, twirling his wand in his hand. "Apparently."
At this, Rabastan looks interested. "Does she?" His eyebrow quirks. "With his knowledge or without?"
"With. They're a package deal, so I'm told." He lowers his voice. "He likes to watch."
"Who told you that? Bella?"
Rodolphus shakes his head.
"Go on, Dolph," Rabastan says, eagerly. "You can't just say things like that."
"Why? After a repeat, are you?"
"What can I say?" Rabastan smirks. "She sucks a mean dick."
"Yaxley," Rodolphus says, watching his brother's face carefully for a reaction.
"That ugly old fucker? He's had her?"
Rodolphus gives a nasty grin. "According to Yax, him, Mulc and Malf, if you get my drift."
Rabastan stares at the lithe form of Narcissa, bending over to sniff one of the flowers ahead, pointedly ignoring her sister. "The three of them at the same time?" He lets out a low whistle. "Dirty fucking bitch." He glances at his brother. "Would you?"
"Bella would castrate me."
"You must be the only one of us who hasn't."
Rodolphus nods. "You'd expect that the way the Dark Lord has been recruiting, her percentage would be falling, but that's not the way I hear it."
Rabastan laughs again, more crudely. "Yaxley though. That's bottom of the barrel stuff."
"More bottom of the barrel than Snape?"
"She hasn't done him."
Rodolphus peers at his brother, his expression scornful. "The amount of time he spends with Malfoy? He must've."
"I'm serious."
"Why not? Because he's a Half?" Rodolphus gives a disdainful sniff. "I don't believe it for a second. Granted, I don't understand why Malfoy would choose to keep such company-"
"-oh, he's not so bad, Snape-"
"-he's a Half, Bast!" Rodolphus shakes his head. "But still, if she's lowering her knickers for the likes of Yaxley and Mulciber-"
"-she hasn't done Snape," Rabastan insists. He glances around him and then leans towards his brother, a grin on his face. "Put it this way, it's more likely that Malfoy's the one doing the fucking where Snape's concerned."
Rodolphus' eyebrows raise. "Oh really?"
"Really."
"I thought that was just silly schoolboy rumour."
"He's one of us, Snape," Rabastan says, quietly.
"I know."
"Marked."
"I know."
"Well then."
Rodolphus pauses midstep, and turns to face his brother. "Well then what? I'm not following."
"Rosier told me that he caught Malfoy with Snape's dick in his hand."
"Yeah? Invited him to join in, did he? Another debauched threesome?"
"Rosier's not like that."
"But you're saying Snape is?" Rodolphus shakes his head. "Didn't he go missing for a while with some girl-"
"-a Muggle," Rabastan laughs.
"Is that what she was?"
Rabastan nods. "As good as. And it doesn't make sense, does it? I mean, fair play, he's an ugly fucker - no chance he's pulling a Bella or a Cissy-"
"Merlin, no."
"-but one of us, with a Mudblood?" Rabastan shakes his head. "Doesn't make sense. Unless it didn't matter. Unless she wasn't really his girl. Unless she was covering for him."
"...because he was really Malfoy's bitch?"
Rabastan nods, and indicates towards Narcissa. "And that explains why Malfoy's happy for the lovely Cissy to spread her legs for anyone and everyone. Including Yaxley."
"Whilst he just watches," Rodolphus finishes, looking astonished. "Bloody hell." There's a pause. "The kid…" He doesn't finish the sentence, but his question is clear.
"It's a Malfoy," Rabastan says, firmly.
"Because of the blond hair?"
"Don't forget the grey eyes."
Rodolphus frowns. "Charms can cover a lot these days. How can anyone be sure? It could be any of ours." He pauses. "Well, not mine. Not yours either, by the sounds of it. But anyone else's."
"Malfoy's a calculating fucker. He'd have drowned it if it was a bastard," Rabastan says, his voice impassive and his eyes not leaving Narcissa. "So now she's popped out the next in the long and illustrious Malfoy line, do you reckon she's still up for it?"
Rodolphus looks disgusted. "Probably all stretched out now."
Rabastan laughs more loudly - crudely. "Yeah." Then he glances at his brother. "Not long until Bella's in the same position, mind. Then what'll you do?"
"Different when she's your own witch," Rodolphus says, straightening his collar. "When she's the mother of your heir."
"Nothing yet?"
Rodolphus shakes his head as they round the corner. "She bled the other week, so I've spent most of the past few days pounding a Bellatrix shaped hole into the mattress-"
"-all right! I get it, thanks," Rabastan interrupts, screwing his face up, as if he's in pain.
"What? You didn't mind talking that way about her sister. What's the difference? They're both of pure Black heritage. No Muggles here."
Rabastan grins. "Bella might still be, but with what you're saying about Cissy? She's reduced herself to nothing more than Malfoy's whore. Whereas Bella…" He gives a sharp intake of breath, failing to find the words. "Bella is..."
"You don't need to pretend to be courteous," Rodolphus laughs, "as if you think my wife is a pure, respectable lady."
"I do think that!"
"I know you're scared shitless of her." Rodolphus claps his brother on his shoulder. "Truth be told," he grins broadly, "so am I. No wonder Malfoy married the obedient one. Bella would've put up too much of a fight for his liking."
"Is that so?" Rabastan arches his eyebrow. "But not for yours?"
"Oh no," Rodolphus smiles, twirling his wand once more, "I find her unpredictability rather exhilarating."
"Well, Narcissa," Rodolphus says, bowing low and kissing her hand respectfully, "I must thank you for a most delightful evening."
"Myself also," Rabastan adds, taking her other hand and mirroring his brother's movements. "I am terribly sorry that Lucius has found himself otherwise engaged and unable to bid us farewell."
Bellatrix barely represses a snort, and Rodolphus straightens, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly.
"He will be most distressed to have missed your departure," Narcissa says, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
"I may drop in again," Rabastan says, quietly, his lips quirking into a small smile.
"You are always welcome." Her response is instantaneous; almost mechanical.
"I may bring one of the others," he says, probingly.
"Of course. We are all one."
"Indeed," Rabastan grins, "I was thinking perhaps Yaxley and Mulciber may wish to visit and wish your delightful family well."
Narcissa stiffens - barely, almost imperceptibly, but all three are watching, and there's an unspoken moment of glee from her visitors.
Bellatrix leans in to her sister, her voice low. "Have you heard from Snape?"
Narcissa refuses to look Bellatrix in the eye. "No."
"He's gone missing."
"So Lucius has said."
"And he didn't tell Lucius that he was leaving?"
"Not that I am aware."
The three Lestranges share a glance, and Narcissa looks from one to the other.
"Is he in trouble?" Narcissa asks.
Again, the three Lestranges share a look.
"Bella!"
Bellatrix places a cool hand on Narcissa's forearm. "There was interest in commissioning him."
"But if he's nowhere to be found-"
"-maybe he's busy trying to shag another Muggle," Rodolphus says, brightly - and Rabastan barely holds back a snigger.
Narcissa holds her wand tightly, trying desperately not to show her fury. "Perhaps." She straightens. "And, if I may enquire, what was the nature of the commission?"
Rabastan shakes his head. "We'll tell Snape that ourselves."
"You can tell him we're looking for him," Rodolphus says, "if you see him before we do."
"I am sure he will be delighted to hear that there are interests in his talents."
Bellatrix scoffs. "After the last time, he's lucky that the Dark Lord is so benevolent."
"Desperate," mutters Rabastan.
"He wants Severus to brew?"
Rodolphus looks surprised. "You haven't heard about Goldstein?"
"Borage's apprentice?" Narcissa frowns. "He replaced Snape when…" She waves her hand awkwardly.
"When Snape was convicted," Bellatrix crows.
"He wasn't-"
"-Goldstein's dead," Rabastan interrupts, coolly.
"So the Dark Lord requires a new brewer," Narcissa finishes, her eyes wide. She immediately exchanges a look with Bellatrix. "...and how did Goldstein die?"
Bellatrix smiles. "And why on earth would you ask that of me, Cissy?"
The night is almost silent, and the four adults stand and stare at each other, wands clenched, but not yet drawn.
"It is true," Rodolphus suddenly says, loudly breaking the silence, "that my wife has a distaste for those who shun the artistry of spellcraft, and choose to focus upon the menial task of brewing, but I must request that you do not make such accusations outside of the family, Cissy."
"Narcissa," she corrects, firmly.
Rodolphus smiles. "Narcissa." He gives a half bow. "Do tell Snape that we were making enquiries of him." He holds his arm out. "Bella?"
"Goodbye, Cissy," she says, planting a kiss on her sister's cheek, and then she takes her husband's arm, and with an explosive crack, the three interlopers Disapparate from the grounds of Malfoy Manor.
"They were looking for your father!"
"I know."
"And now they want Severus!"
Lucius looks up sharply from his paperwork. "Severus?"
Narcissa nods. "Goldstein's dead."
At this, Lucius stands up from his chair behind his desk. "Dead? Goldstein?"
"You do not have to repeat everything I say." She shoots him a dark look. "You sound like an ill-educated parrot."
Lucius ignores her, and strides towards the fireplace, his hand gripping the mantelpiece. "If Goldstein is dead, they'll want Severus to brew."
"I said as much."
He looks at her then, his pale eyes connecting with hers. "And did they deny it?"
"No."
Lucius turns back to the fireplace, and places his other hand on it, bracing his weight against the mantelpiece, the tension rippling through his body. "She killed him." There's a pause. "Goldstein," he clarifies.
"...I think so."
"You think so?" He glances over his shoulder, his teeth gritted. "You think so?"
Her voice is softer. "I know so."
"Yes," he drawls, his voice shuddering as he draws a breath, "yes, your delightful sister has taken another brewer. How many is that? Five? Six?" He grips the mantel. "At least, this time, it wasn't one of mine."
"Don't."
"What?" he says, talking to the empty fireplace, his voice echoing oddly from the chimney. "Am I not permitted to be irritated that she saw fit to rid Arisean of her hands?"
"...Nott was undercutting-"
"-she was my problem!" he thunders. "Not your sister's, and Bellatrix has never, never been interested in aiding me." He stands, and releases the mantelpiece, and straightens his sleeves. "She dismembered Arisean because it suited her. It was an added bonus that her actions disrupted my business, although I had to carry that! I had to pretend to one and all that I was not displeased - that this sort of behaviour was acceptable! That these were the actions of a family aligned to one another, of loyalty and honour amongst us. Worse, for this, I owed her." His movements are slow, deliberate, and then he turns to face her. "And pray, Cissy, if she continues in her quest-"
"Lucius, no-"
"-and if Severus were to meet his end by Bella's wand, which of us would then have blood on their hands? Me, for encouraging him to specialise in such a line of work, knowing your sister's proclivities?"
"No, please-"
And then he stares at her with such dislike, such hatred, her breath is almost yanked from her lungs. "Or you, for creating the fury which lies within her?"
She inhales sharply, and he's beside her in an instant, his arms wrapped around her, his nose in her hair, and his mouth at her ear.
"I know," he murmurs, and she can feel his breath on her skin.
"Do you?"
"Yes," he hisses, and then he traces the shell of her ear with his tongue, "I know what you did."
Her breath catches. "And now you know, you'll do what? Leave me? Leave your son?"
He moves back from her then, his hands still at her hips, but he holds her at arm's length, his eyes roving her face. He watches as she tenses, her body rigid, her jaw set, her eyes flashing - and he gives the broadest of smiles, his chest inflated, and his expression smug. He raises his right hand, and tips her chin.
"I do not intend to do anything."
"...why?"
"Because nothing has changed." He gives her a disarming smile. "Cissy, I've known for years."
She falters, and he catches her, pulling her into a swooping embrace, his arms encasing her.
"Shhhhhh," he says, adjusting her and lifting her back onto his desk, insinuating himself between her legs, and running his fingers through her hair. "Why so distressed, Cissy?"
When she speaks, her voice is weak. "Because if you know…" She looks at him helplessly. "If you know…"
"Let me be clear," he says, his voice low. "I know what you did." He leans in towards her. "But I have always been uncertain as to why." He gives her a small grin. "Apart from that which unites us."
"...which is?"
"The pull of the darkness," he says, huskily, and before she can say anything further, he finds her mouth with his, and kisses her hungrily, like a man who has been starved of affection.
She pulls him towards her, meeting him equally in the kiss, her hands roaming down his back as he lowers her onto the desk, his clothed pelvis grinding against hers. "How?"
"Your mother told my father that Bellatrix was suddenly unavailable, and that I was to focus my attentions elsewhere."
"To me?"
He gives her a lascivious grin. "That was not part of the instruction. That was my own decision."
"Why?"
"You took from me, so I took from you," he replies, simply, and then he tears at her robes, his mouth biting at her skin.
"I'm not…" She gasps as he blemishes her neck and swollen breasts, leaving a trail of scorching kisses down her chest. "Lucius, I'm not…"
"Not what?" he murmurs, sliding his hand into her robes and fondling her through her knickers. "Not ready?" He presses harder, and then pulls his glistening fingers from her, pausing to look and then sucking her juices from his skin. "I beg to differ, witch. You're wet."
She inhales deeply, and he watches her as if he's hypnotised by the movement of her breasts - and then, when she says nothing further, he slides his hand back beneath her robes, pulling her underwear tight against her.
"I want you to come like this," he says, his face inscrutable. She doesn't speak, doesn't move, her eyes darting over him - and then, he yanks the material tighter, and she whimpers. The pressure is so great against her sex, she can't help but groan as she rocks against the material.
He looms over her, his mouth back at her ear. "Good girl," he murmurs, "how you please me when you take your pleasure in such wanton ways." He pulls on the material again. "If you're a very good girl," he says, "then I'll replace your soaked knickers with my cock."
She groans again in response, her hips moving more rapidly, and her fingers gripping his shoulders. "Yes," she whispers, hoarsely.
"Then tell me."
She doesn't speak, and he tightens his hold further on the material - the elastic is taut, and she's convinced it's going to break, or she's going to break, but his gaze is like steel and his grip unrelenting.
"Tell me, Cissy," he demands. "Tell me what you were going to say. You're not what?"
She thrashes her head from side to side, the pleasure building within her. "I'm not...dark."
He laughs loudly - a deep, booming laugh, and then he shifts the material he's holding tightly, pulling it to the side, and he thrusts himself deeply inside her, throwing his head back and groaning in ecstasy as she encases him within her. "Fuck me," he says, pistoning his hips back and forth, pinning her to the desk with his arms to stop his thrusts from propelling her across the surface - and she's not sure if it's an exclamation or a demand. "You twisted your sister into being the depraved murderous bitch that she is, and you say that you're not dark." He thrusts into her harshly, his eyes glinting. "What was it then? A sibling spat? Just a joke with unintended consequences?"
"...no."
The only indication that her answer has surprised him is that his rhythm stutters - but within seconds, he resumes his relentless pace. "No?" he presses, thrusting harder and harder, making her wince as he hits her cervix. He leans down, hissing in her ear. "You're pretending that you knew what would happen? That you'd put yourself willingly in the cross hairs? Were you such an innocent, you didn't anticipate that I would react in such a way?"
When she doesn't answer, he reaches for the material again, and twists it tight, the new angle capturing her clitoris in a way that makes her grasp his shoulder, her nails biting into his skin.
"I'm not unhappy with the deal, witch. I like the idea of consequences," he hisses, harshly, "of crime and punishment, of pleasure and pain. You made your own bed with your actions and now you have to lie in it." He pulls on the material again, his hips somehow moving even faster. "But you owe it to yourself to be honest. To say it. Tell me, Cissy," he hisses. "Tell me now!"
"I did it because I couldn't stand by and watch her claim you," she wails, pleasure coursing through her, and then she grabs him as she reaches her peak, "when her heart already belonged to another, and I wanted you for myself."
"Oh fuck!" he yells, her words pulling him over the edge. He pants heavily through his climax, and then, his chest heaving, her stares deep into her eyes. "You're lying."
"I'm not."
"You wanted...me?" His left eye twitches, an involuntary movement of the muscle.
"Yes," she says. "I chose you, Lucius Malfoy, just as much as you chose me."
And then he kisses her forcefully, his mouth plundering hers greedily, and when she reacts with the same fervour, she feels his body relax, the tension flooding from him.
Chapter 86: Fruit of the tree
Notes:
There's some domestic violence in this chapter.
Chapter Text
He's been agitated all day - ever since he knocked at the door, and a dishevelled looking Tobias informed him that he was too late; Eileen had already left for town.
"We'll just come back later," she says to Tobias, pulling Severus down the cobbled street and back towards the river.
"We've got to get moving with all of this stuff, Lil," he snaps, "I haven't got time for this."
"He can't help it if she's gone out."
And then he turns so quickly, his hair swings and whips his cheeks. "She's not gone out," he hisses. "He was hungover."
She glances at him, his pace now making her stumble on the cobbles, and she clings to his arm, causing him to slow.
"Sorry," he grunts, and then he slides his wand down his shirt sleeve and she feels a weightlessness charm being cast at her feet.
"Ohh," she groans in relief, this time squeezing his forearm in gratitude, not in anguish.
"You can go back to your parents'," he offers, replacing his wand in a swift movement, "have a rest with Bean."
"What did you mean, Sev?"
He doesn't answer, but his posture stiffens, and she can feel the muscle in his forearm tensing and relaxing and tensing and relaxing.
"Sev?"
"She was hiding in the bedroom," he says, quietly. "I saw her in the window when we came up the street."
"But why-"
"-he'll have hit her."
She doesn't need to ask him how he knows; she knows that he's lived with an undercurrent of domestic violence for most of his life, and that he'll have seen this exact scene, or ones very similar, played out many times before.
"She used to say it was me," he says, unprompted.
She glances at him, and his face is drawn and pale, his black eyes darker than ever. "You?"
"That he only hit her because of me. Because of what I did, or what I didn't do." He fumbles in his pockets and retrieves a cigarette, flicking it between his lips and lighting it with his wand, and then he sucks in a large breath, holding the smoke in his mouth and then turning his head and exhaling it away from her.
She doesn't like him smoking, but she knows it's a sign of his distress - one of the visible stains from his upbringing, like the scars on his back and his hip and his rear. She doesn't rebuke him - just walks silently next to him, knowing that if she doesn't speak, he'll find the words if he needs to say them.
They're three streets away before he does. "It's not true."
"What isn't?"
"Because I wasn't there, so he's just a…" He shudders, and then pulls on the stub of the cigarette, looking mildly irritated to have reached the filter. He pauses, and drops it to the ground, squeezing it below the sole of his boot and the pavement, and then kicking it into the grid.
"It was never you," she says, sliding her hand back into his.
"Oh, it was!" He barks a sharp laugh, and shakes his head. "I was no saint, Lil. You know that."
"But he's still doing it."
"She reckons he never did it before I was born," he muses, leading her onto the main road back to town, and away from the miserable estate where he was born. "I was the catalyst." He shrugs. "Thought he'd stopped, but he obviously can't change his ways now. Been doing it too long."
Lily looks at him, reaching up and straightening his shirt collar. "...do you think she lied to you?"
He seems genuinely surprised at her words. "Mam?" He shakes his head. "No. He didn't know about her magic until I was born. Reckon that's when it started. When he realised she was different."
She opens her mouth to reply, but he throws his arm over her shoulder and tucks her into his side.
"Come on, love, enough about them. Let's go and look at a house for us in beautiful Rillwych."
He covers his anguish masterfully, and although she's pleased to realise that he must've been silently working on his Occlumency shields, it still distresses her to know that he can pull his grief into a box within himself, and ignore it, not showing it to anyone else.
The day is otherwise pleasant - they head to the lettings agents, and they look at particulars, and they even manage to visit two properties; both long empty. The first one was cheap, even by Rillwych's standards and it showed - the sink held stains that she doubted even magic could remove, and when Severus inspected the hob, a worrying smell of gas filled the air and refused to dissipate, even when the agent flung open the kitchen window.
The second was much more promising, although Severus had seemed concerned when he touched the living room wall and his hand came away wet.
"Damp."
"It'll go."
"It's the height of summer, and it's damp," he says, more insistently. "It'll be worse come winter."
"Nothing a good fire won't sort out," the agent helpfully chips in.
"We've got a little one on the way," Severus scowls, his tone so fierce, the agent coughs, and moves away to inspect the worktop in the kitchen.
"Sev," she murmurs, pulling his attention to her, and tapping his arm, just where she knows he keeps his wand hidden. "I think we can keep it warm enough to get rid of the damp," she says, a little louder, intending to catch the agent's attention.
At this, the agent turns, and smiles. "Good, then we can-"
"-if," Lily interrupts, "we have enough money to spare for coal."
Severus catches her eye, and then he scowls at the agent again. "Coal doesn't grow on trees. We've barely got enough to keep the wolf from the door now," he says, sharply, "and by winter, we'll have an extra mouth to feed. We can't afford to overload the fire to resolve a problem that isn't ours to begin with. We should wait. See what the other agent can offer. Maybe look at Cokeworth again."
"Yes, you're right," she says, meekly, glancing down. "Sorry, I got carried away. It just seemed so right otherwise. Cokeworth it is, I suppose."
"Well, let's not be too hasty," the agent interrupts, striving to keep a tone of alarm from his voice, and a broad false smile on his face. "The property has been vacant for a while. I'm sure if I discuss it with the landlord, we can come to some arrangement."
"For him to sort out the damp?"
"...ahhh," the agent falters. "More likely a reduction in the rent to help with the coal."
"Not to help," Severus presses, "to cover the cost of the extra. And I want it in writing, in the rent agreement."
"But then you'll take it?"
Severus glances quickly at Lily, and then away again, her expression giving away that their bickering had been a ruse. "We could wait-"
"-your good wife looks fit to burst-"
Severus shoots him a quelling look.
"I mean," the agent quickly says, stumbling over his words, "that you must want to get settled, ready for your exciting new arrival. If you wait to look at Cokeworth properties with another agent, then you might run out of time."
"Please, Sevvy," she wheedles, taking his hand in hers, and he struggles not to laugh out loud at her earnest acting. "If the nice man from the lettings agency can help us…"
"Fine," Severus sighs, as if it's a great hardship. "Do we sign back at the office, or here?"
After they sign the papers at the lettings agents, they walk out, hand in hand, and then - without warning - he pulls her into an alley.
"Sevvy? Sevvy!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she laughs, kissing him. "You were marvellous."
"You weren't so bad yourself, love," he says. "The perfect damsel in distress."
"And we can wave our wands at the walls-"
"-and pocket the rent reduction."
"Save up for a proper place of our own," she says.
"Yes," he says.
"With no damp."
"Yes."
"And a garden."
He smiles at this. "For Bean to play in."
"Save going to the park."
"Hey," he says, pulling her close to him, "going to the park was the very best thing I ever did when I was a kid."
"And why would that be?"
"Dunno," he teases, leading her out of the alley and towards the bus stop so they can get back to Cokeworth. "What about you? Wasn't the park the best thing you ever did?"
"Maybe."
"Just maybe?" He pretends to be affronted as he sits on a wall near to the bus stop, helping her to sit next to him.
"Well, I did lots of interesting things at junior school."
"Oh yeah? Like what?"
She pretends to think for a moment. "Well, I painted a great picture of our family holiday in Spain when I was seven."
"Yeah?"
"Don't look so cynical," she laughs. "It was good! So good, in fact, it was hung up for display outside the Headmaster's office. It stayed there for three terms."
"Three terms? Gosh," he says, sarcastically, his eyebrow arching. "Anything else I should be aware of?"
"Well, I played recorder at all of the Christmas services in 66, 67, 68 and 69."
"I remember you saying at the time. The last couple, anyway."
"Yeah," she smiles. "And then when I was nearly nine..." She trails off, a mischievous look on her face.
"...go on."
"I won first prize for a story. Imaginative creative writing. Apparently I was very inventive."
"I don't doubt it, love. What was the story about?"
"It was all about a strange boy I met at the park over the summer holidays, and how we were going to have big adventures in another world."
"Strange boy?"
"He couldn't help it."
He grins broadly at her cheek. "Shall we focus on the big adventures part instead, hey? ...what was this other world like then?"
"Well, there were games to play that nobody had ever heard of, and fancy shops - including a joke shop and a sweetshop with all sorts of treats that you can't get in ordinary shops, and you went to school in a big castle-"
"-sounds completely unrealistic-"
"-and there was so much food that you could eat and eat and eat and the plates would just keep filling-"
"-glutton-"
"-but it wasn't all good, because there were fearsome creatures which stalked around a terrifying prison-"
"-you put that in your story?" he interrupts. "Merlin, Lil, you always were obsessed with bloody Azkaban. I wish I'd never told you. Every sodding day you'd ask me about Dementors and trials at the Ministry and-"
"-you," she corrects.
"What?"
"I wasn't obsessed with Azkaban," she says, softly. "I was always obsessed with you."
He looks as if she's slapped him, frozen and stunned - and then he leans over, framing her face with his hands. He kisses her gently, his nose brushing against hers. "Bloody hell, love."
"I still am."
"And me you," he whispers.
"I love you."
"I love you too." And then, as if sensing the disapproving looks from passersby, he kisses her once more, and pulls away. "Just you wait until I get you home, love. Just you wait."
Her parents take the news of them moving out in their stride, although they look a little surprised, and she can see the concern in her father's face. Despite any misgivings he might have, he offers his hand to Severus, and shakes it warmly.
"Glad to see you both settling down somewhere secure again," he says - and before anything further can be said, Rose calls for them to sit at the table.
"The Last Supper," David jokes, as he picks up his knife and fork.
"David!"
"I just meant-"
"We know what you meant, Daddy," Lily says, lightly, passing the salt to Severus, who has wisely kept silent. "Mummy, we were talking today about how we met. ...how did you and Daddy meet?"
"In a nightclub," Rose says, smiling at David. "He was acting like such a buffoon with his friends, and then I saw him dancing."
Severus grins, as he spears a carrot with his fork. "Got the moves, David?"
"I had them at one time, but I think they've since left," he smiles back.
"And that was it?" Lily pushes. "Love at first sight? Or second, even."
"Well," her mother flushes slightly, "not quite. I dated his friend-"
"Alan."
"Alan?" Lily looks shocked. "Not Uncle Alan?"
"He's not really your uncle," David says, quickly.
"I know but-"
"Two years," Rose says.
"You dated Uncle Alan for two years?"
"Lil," Severus says, softly, glancing between her parents. "It's not like it matters now."
"And then he cheated on your mother with Auntie Pamela," David says, trying hard not to look smug and not entirely succeeding. "So I offered to take her out for a drink, be a shoulder to cry on."
"You have got the moves," Severus murmurs, and this time Lily kicks him under the table.
Rose smiles at David, as if she hasn't heard Severus, and puts her hand on his. "And now look at us." She looks then at Lily, and then Severus. "And your parents, Severus? Do you know how they met?"
"Not a bloody-" he stops suddenly at David's unimpressed look, "er, sorry, not a clue. They don't really talk about stuff like that."
"Well, neither do we," David says, quickly.
He laughs when they're alone upstairs. "Neither do we, Lil!" He sits back on her bed and his laughter is infectious. "Bloody hell, no wonder they don't talk about it if she was sleeping with-"
"-Sev, don't, they're my parents."
"Sorry, love," he laughs, "but that's hilarious. How many Christmas gatherings have you had with the whole family, including Uncle Alan and Auntie Pamela?"
"They're not my real-"
"It's hilarious, Lil," he giggles, and she throws a pillow at him when his laughter doesn't abate. "I thought that was going to be some boring family story, all about a nice twee meal in a restaurant, and it turns out that there was a big love triangle going on."
"You really don't know?" she asks, sitting on the edge of the bed, and her tone clearly changing the subject.
"What?"
"About your parents. How they met?"
"No."
"You've never asked?"
"Can't say I'm interested."
"Sev, they're your parents. Wouldn't you want Bean-"
"Bloody hell, Lil, you didn't know about yours either!" He shakes his head.
"I think you should ask."
"I don't care," he says, exasperatedly. "What's done is done." He reaches for her hand and kisses it. "Look, if you really want our child to know all about us, you can read Bean your prize winning story at bedtime, all about that strange boy you were obsessed with."
"You're a git."
"One hundred percent," he says, kissing her. "And don't you forget it."
He's restless when they're trying to sleep, and she knows that it's the situation at Spinner's End playing on his mind. After a while, she whispers the question in his ear - asking him if he intends to return the next day, to try again with his parents - but he simply grunts noncommittally, and she can't blame him. It was one thing to guess at what was going on behind closed doors, and another thing entirely to be presented with irrefutable proof; to know for certain.
He does go back. She walks with him, hand in hand, and they're almost silent on the journey over. Once they're indoors, it's not much better. It's tense, just as she remembers his house being when she was a young teenager. It never really seemed to bother him back then, but now, she can see that his breathing is shallow, and she can tell from the tilt of his arm that his wand is only an inch from his wrist - cautious, prepared. She idly wonders if he's fundamentally changed, or whether he just didn't know any different when he was younger; didn't know that people lived without a constant background refrain of arguing and fighting and smashed plates and broken bones.
Severus was right. Tobias had hit Eileen, although neither of them admit as much. Severus, for his part, doesn't actually ask - and neither does she, both of them pretending not to have noticed - but make-up only covers so much, and does almost nothing for lips which have been split.
The atmosphere is strained - moreso than usual, because Eileen and Tobias aren't talking; aren't even pretending to do so. It's not so surprising, given the circumstances, but it does make for an uncomfortable ten minutes when all four of them crowd into the living room, all of them stood or sat in stony silence.
The Snapes have never been big on small talk.
Then, clearly having had enough, Tobias huffs loudly, and reaches over for the radio, snapping it on. A sports talkshow booms loudly into the room, and Eileen and Severus exchange a look that she doesn't quite understand, and then they both depart for the kitchen.
"I'll be back in a minute, love," he says, as if preempting her question. She doesn't really want to stay here, in this room, with Tobias - but he's trying to edge as close to the radio as possible, leaning on the arm of his chair and staring at the empty fire, as if he's entirely disinterested in her presence.
Safest that way.
It takes longer than she expects - almost half an hour ticks by, but then it happens - their voices start to carry, seeping through the wall at a level where they can be heard.
"You made your choice! You told me!"
"Things have changed!"
"What things?"
"What things? What things? Mam, you'd know if you picked up a wizarding newspaper once in a while-"
"-and is that what you're going to do, is it? A nice little house in Rillwych amongst the Muggles, and owls bringing newspapers to your door everyday? You think they're blind, do you, you idiotic boy?"
"I don't think-"
"You don't think, that's right, son!"
"This is the best-"
"-you're a coward."
"I'm not a fucking coward!"
Lily glances helplessly at Tobias, who gives a tight shrug and twists the volume up on the radio. Now she can only just hear the argument, in between the analysis of the cricket, but there's enough anguish in Severus' voice for her to know that this isn't the productive discussion that he was hoping for.
"You ran … from the police here … now here … from the enemies you've made … and there won't be anywhere left!"
"...that's all you're…"
"I never … I didn't say-"
"-you didn't need to!" Severus' voice suddenly gets louder. "That's all you're fucking worried about, isn't it? Not me! Not her! Not our little kid! But yourself, you selfish old bitch!"
"I'm selfish? I'm selfish? I told you to make your choice-"
"I DID MAKE A CHOICE!"
"AND NOW YOU'RE BRINGING THAT TROUBLE HERE!"
Tobias sits straighter, then reaches for the radio, twisting the volume even higher - and the loud commentary hurts her ears. The interruption seems to calm the mood in the kitchen, and she meets Tobias' eyes as the arguing dulls back to a low rumble - but now she can't make out a thing that either mother or son are saying.
It doesn't take long - five minutes, maybe as many as ten - but then she hears a loud bang. She's startled, and she struggles to her feet - and even Tobias looks at her anxiously, as if he's terrified that she's going to birth a child before him. He stands too, and takes a step towards the door, but before he can reach it, it's thrown open and Eileen storms in, Severus close behind.
"Get away from me!"
"I only-"
"I said, get out! Get out of my house!"
"No! You still haven't answered me!" he screams, his face red and filled with rage, and Lily notes that his wand is clenched in his fist. "WHY?!"
Eileen pauses by the front window, composing herself, and then she turns to Lily, ignoring her son who is quaking with fury. "I do hope you do not indulge him when he speaks to you like this," she says, calmly.
"Don't fucking speak to her," he interrupts, moving to stand between them. "You're talking to me."
"I have had quite enough of talking to you."
"You're twisted," he spits, his anger written all over his face. "I asked you a simple question-"
"-and I was giving the mother of your child some hard won advice," she says, coolly. The temperature in the room seems to drop four or five degrees, as each of them glance at the other, taking in the covered bruises on her face, and Tobias' hardened but still somewhat sheepish look.
"Yeah, well, she doesn't need your advice."
"No? If she's marrying you-"
"There's no fucking if about it!"
"-then surely she wishes to know if the apple falls far from the tree."
"And which tree are we talking about? The rotten oak in the corner-"
"Oi!"
"-or the poison ivy in front of me?"
To her credit, Eileen doesn't flinch, but instead, smirks - and her expression is eerily reminiscent of the look Lily so often sees on Severus' own features. "If the fruit of the tree is an apple…"
"...then the tree is an apple tree," Lily quietly finishes.
Eileen smiles at her triumphantly. "Ten points to Gryffindor."
Severus scowls. "Ten points to Gryffindor," he sneers. "It's the only fucking thing you've said about that place-"
"-I've already told you-"
"-and you're both missing the point! My relationship with Lil has nothing to do with you!"
"If you do not answer to me about your relationship, then I do not answer to you about mine with your father," she waspishly retorts. "I will not be made to feel guilty-"
"-I wasn't trying to make you feel guilty!" he yells.
"-about a decision I made decades ago, because some jumped up wizard-"
"Get fucked!" he snaps. "Come on, Lil, we're going." He turns back to his mother, his chest rapidly rising and falling, his heart thundering, "I came here for some advice-"
"Advice? Advice? I'll give you some advice-"
"-I don't want to hear it!"
"You're just like your father," she spits as he reaches the front door, his fingers on the handle. Eileen smiles nastily as he falters, and then she looks at Lily, deliberately reaching up to tentatively press her fingers against her bruised face. "That's what you wanted to know, isn't it? It's that brute in there he takes after. Not me." And then she smiles thinly, her eyes locked on to Lily as she grasps her hand. "I do wish you luck."
"Sev." He storms ahead, and she calls after him. "Sev, please, wait!"
He turns then, as if realising that she can't keep pace, not in her pregnant state and he swings back to face her. "They," he spits, "are never ever meeting our child."
"Sev, don't-"
"-I mean it," he says, his black eyes glinting oddly. "Bean is never stepping foot in that sorry excuse for a house, with those sorry excuses for…"
"...parents?"
"Humans, I was going to say," he mutters, disgust filling his tone.
"Did she tell you anything useful?"
"No."
"Nothing at all?"
"I just said no," he barks, his irritation clear.
"Did you ask-"
"Yes!"
She pauses, letting him walk on until he realises that she's not keeping step with him.
He stops then, and turns back. "What? Come on, Lil, I've had enough for one morning."
"You said yes, and you didn't know what I was going to ask."
"...what were you going to ask?"
"Why she moved away-"
"-yes," he interrupts, irritation filling his voice again. "Yes, I fucking asked her. I asked her how she met him, and why she left the wizarding world, and why she doesn't use magic, and why she lets him beat her black and blue-"
"-and she didn't tell you anything useful?"
There's a very long silence - all the way over the river, through the park, and back to her parents' house. When they reach the door, he stops, and waves her inside.
"Sev…"
"I'm going to go and put down the rest of the deposit at the lettings agents so we can set a move in date," he says, his voice oddly distant. "Then I'm going to go and see Sluggy."
"No, Sev," she says, reaching for him. "You're too vulnerable."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
"Lil, just fuck off!"
She takes a step away from him then, her expression wary, and Eileen's words suddenly whispering in her ear. He's just like his father.
"No," he says, anguish filling his face, his hand outstretched and taking a step towards her. "No, I didn't mean that."
"...you did."
"I didn't."
"Severus, just…" She looks at him, and shakes her head. "I'm going back to bed. Go for a run or something, burn some of that anger off." She lifts her hand, and takes his, and then she runs her fingers gently down his face. "But don't go into the wizarding world like this. Go to Rillwych, if that'll make you feel better, but don't involve Sluggy. Not right now."
He nods, stiffly, and she can see his Adam's apple bobbing in his neck.
"Unless you want to talk?"
He shakes his head.
"Then come back upstairs when you're ready," she says, dropping her hand from his.
He watches her as she enters the house, and then, as the door closes, he exhales loudly. He walks around the back of the house, waiting for her to appear in her bedroom window, and then he watches her close the curtains - but if she sees him, she gives no indication of it.
Then, he stalks to the front of the house, and does as she suggested - he runs. His pace is slow at first, his limbs unused to the movement, and then he picks up speed - like his body finding its rhythm, muscle memory flooding back. He runs around the estate, and it works, cleanses him somehow - the breeze in his face, through his hair, and as he becomes out of breath, he pants, all thoughts of the morning shoved roughly to one side in his brain; the bruises, the anger, the accusations, the blame.
Put it in a box, put it in a box, put it in a box.
"Just run," he mutters to himself, trying to fight the voice roaring in his head, "run away."
Yes. Run away. Like a coward.
Although his boots were not ideal for running in, and he's certain he's got a blister forming on the back of his heel, he feels calmer when he approaches her house again. The back door is wide open, and he greets Rose in the kitchen, then excuses himself for a shower. He's quick, perfunctory, but he feels better when he heads back to their room, clad in just his underwear.
He softly knocks on her bedroom door, clutching the rest of his clothes to his chest, and then he gently pushes it open. He smiles when he sees her lying in the bed, and he puts his clothes on the floor and climbs in next to her.
"Hey," he murmurs, placing his hand on her hip, and smiling when she rests her own on top.
"Feeling better?"
"Yes." He kisses the back of her neck. "I'm sorry."
"I know."
"They get under my skin."
"I know."
"It's not just him."
"I know."
He sighs loudly. "She's worse, in some ways. He's just...violent. Angry. Frustrated at the world and all who sail within her."
"And she's not?"
"She's a spiteful, vindictive bitch."
His words hang in the air for so long, he starts to feel uncomfortable. She's still your mother, he thinks. You don't say stuff like that to the mother of your child. He draws in a breath, about to apologise, when Lily slides her fingers between his own.
"...what did she say to you, Sev?"
"...lots of things." He chews on his lip. "She blames me for the state of them."
"That's ridiculous. You haven't lived there for years."
He gives a sharp intake of breath. "I think seeing us together doesn't help. She can't bear to see us happy. ...I was serious about Bean."
"...I thought you were." She turns then, twisting her neck to look at him. "We can do whatever you think is best."
They lie together, the sunlight shining around the curtains, but the room in shade - the sort of semi-darkness that only happens in the middle of the day in the summer.
"I wanted her to love Bean."
"Oh, Sev." She turns fully, pressing her forehead against his, and holding his hands tightly.
"...it was stupid," he says, his voice cracking, "because she never fucking loved me."
"She did, Sev," Lily says, soothingly, "she does. In her own way. She's just not great at showing-"
"-she told me that I was some sort of miracle, an against-all-the-odds child."
"See," she says, a small smile playing on her lips. "A miracle."
"Not for her," he says, and now there are tears openly falling down his face. "She told me that she wished I'd never been born."
Lily can't help the gasp of shock that emits from her lips. "Sev, this is insane. I know she's…" She pauses, breathing heavily. "I know things haven't always been great between you, but she has been there for you in the past."
"Sometimes."
"Yes, well, that's what I mean. And now you're saying…" Lily pulls him closer to her, and reaches to wipe the tears from his cheeks with her forefinger. "What on earth were you talking about for her to say such awful things?"
His voice is low, barely audible. "There was an article in the newspaper. About that new political movement. A picture."
"Oh, Sev."
"Of me."
"Sev, that's-"
"Da saw it. Hit the roof." He gives a twisted laugh. "Hit her, more like." He looks pained. "So, she was right. It is me. I am the cause."
"No," Lily argues, "he is responsible for his own actions."
"But I light the touchpaper, Lil, that's what she's saying. If it wasn't for me-"
"-did you tell her? About Dumbledore?"
"I showed her my arm. Now it's blank again. Thought that would convince her."
"And?"
"...she reckons she's seen this sort of stuff before."
"The Death Eaters?"
"Yeah."
"So, she doesn't think that he's...gone from inside you?"
He gives a tight shake of his head. "I think, Lil, we might not be able to hide in Rillwych." And then he presses his forehead against hers, and she can feel his tears splashing against her face. "I think… I think I'm going to have to go back."
Chapter 87: Closing in
Chapter Text
Jigger steps into the packed hallway, and immediately winces. From the grounds, the grand house had appeared to offer respite - a sanctuary with its promise of shade from the unrelenting heat of the midday sun; a sun determined to roast them all in their uncomfortable robes, a preview of the hell which seemed to be their inevitable final destination.
"You seem morose, Arsenius."
Of course I'm morose, he wants to sneer, this is a bloody funeral - but he doesn't. He offers a tight smile and a nod, exchanges pleasantries, raises his empty glass, and pushes his way through the throng of wizards and witches. He passes through one room and then another, deeper into the house, until he finally recognises his quarry in the corner of a stuffy parlour. The room is filled both with mourners and ostentatious furniture, topped with the stench of sweat and awkwardness, and carrying an inescapable tinge of despair.
"Horace."
"Arsenius, there you are," greets Slughorn, whipping out a hip flask from his robes and pouring a healthy amount into Jigger's proffered glass. "Terrible, terrible day."
"And yet such days are mounting."
Slughorn nods, and after replenishing his own glass, slides the flask back into his robes. "Indeed."
"Tell me, did you have a visit from the Ministry's finest?"
Slughorn sips his drink. "Bones. You?"
"Vance."
"And did she tell you anything?"
Jigger shakes his head. "Nothing to tell. Apparently they can't see a pattern."
"No pattern, despite this being the sixth death."
"It's not a death, it's a murder," Jigger corrects. "Someone is murdering us."
"Well, indeed. I see it, and you see it, and yet the brightest minds in the Ministry cannot find a link." Slughorn draws in a deep breath. "It seems to me that the connection is rather obvious."
"Mere coincidence."
Slughorn seems surprised at Jigger's change in tone. "Coincidence? You think so?"
"No, of course not," Jigger says, sharply. "Vance. The aurors. That's all they say. Wrong time, wrong place. Could've been anyone - a professor, an auror, a Ministry employee. The fact it was a brewer was just unlucky. ...again."
Slughorn huffs. "Did you see Libatius outside?"
"For my sins," Jigger says, dismissively, scanning the room. "Merlin's beard, Horace, it's more uncomfortable in here than out."
"I was starting to burn."
"And unless the auror department has a sudden revelation, so shall we all," Jigger mutters, and if Slughorn hears, he pretends he hasn't. Jigger straightens, and draws from his drink. "Our boy not here to pay his respects to a fellow learned brewer?"
"No."
Jigger shoots Slughorn a curious look. "He didn't know Goldstein?"
"Oh, he knew him."
At this, a slow smile spreads across Jigger's face. "I see."
"You don't, Arsenius," Slughorn says, sounding weary.
"No?" Jigger glances around the room, judging the audience before lowering his voice. "Tell me, Horace, have you heard about Abraxas?"
Slughorn shakes his head cautiously, his eyes darting back and forth, making note of their company. "...no."
"He's been unwell."
"He is a fair age-"
"-unwell," Jigger enunciates. "Poisoning."
There's a momentary pause, and Slughorn fiddles uncomfortably with his glass. "...and you suspect…"
"Not me. Abraxas said it himself."
Slughorn looks astonished. "Abraxas accused Severus?"
"And if he had performed such a deed, it wouldn't be the first time he's killed."
Slughorn shoots a dark look at Jigger. "We both know that's nonsense." He sighs. "Abraxas said this? To you?"
There's a silence, then an admission. "...not to me."
"Arsenius," Slughorn says, wearily, "you know better than this."
"The Lestrange brothers are gentlemen-"
"-who are in direct opposition to Lucius," Slughorn argues, "and as much as Severus should be regarded as my apprentice, or your apprentice, we both know-"
"-I know," Jigger snaps, "but I am being pressured, Horace. There comes a time when we'll both have to choose which-"
"Professor?"
Both Slughorn and Jigger jump at the sudden interruption, but Avery merely smiles broadly, and offers his outstretched palm.
"Young Mr Avery, fancy seeing you here," Slughorn says, shaking his hand and then indicating towards Arsenius. "This is-"
"-I know," Avery says, with a grin, offering his hand to Jigger, who takes it with a grimace and offers a weak handshake.
"We've met," Jigger drawls. "Friend of Snape."
"Roommates as I recall," Slughorn muses, teasing his moustache idly, "along with Mr Mulciber. Do you see much of him?"
"A little," Avery says, "but our paths don't cross often."
"You went into the Ministry, didn't you?" Slughorn says, with a frown.
"Yes, sir."
"And Mulciber? Remind me, where did he end up? I fear I have rather lost touch with some of those within your school year."
Avery looks a little discomfited. "As I said, sir," he says, flushing, "our paths don't often cross."
"Well, don't let us keep you from mixing," Jigger says, dismissively. "I'm sure you must know a lot of people here, being a friend of Goldstein's?"
Avery seems momentarily surprised, and then smiles broadly, quickly - but far too slowly to cover his initial delay. "Of course. Good friend of mine, Goldstein."
"Indeed. Why else would you be here?" Jigger smiles, raising his glass - and watching warily as Avery reluctantly moves into the crowd of people. "Affable sort," he says, insincerely.
"Arsenius-"
"-good friend of Goldstein's, and a good friend of Snape's, yet Goldstein and Snape are not friends, and that boy is here, whilst Snape is nowhere to be-"
"-Arsenius-"
"-this is the sort of thing the aurors don't see," Jigger hisses. "I must say, I thought rather better of your intellect, Horace. It's obvious you have a soft spot for Snape for whatever reason. Now, I admit that spiral of magic he emits is of interest, and yes, he might have demonstrated a modicum of aptitude over the years, but he socialises with the wrong sort - like that buffoon over there, he behaves-"
"-I've signed his release papers," Slughorn mutters.
Jigger stops, his mouth agape. "Snape's? Horace, really? You're releasing him? Libatius will be unbearable - he said this would happen. He will gloat, he will-"
"-I need you to corroborate," Slughorn continues, staring straight ahead, refusing to look at Jigger. "Else Severus will return to you, and forgive me, but it sounds as if you do not wish-"
"-in this climate? I am not willing to take such a risk," Jigger says, firmly. "The boy is trouble, and this, this, Horace, is where such trouble ends, with a room full of people wearing ill-fitting, moth-eaten robes, pretending that they care about a life cut short." There's a long silence, until eventually Jigger gives a soft cough. "Horace, if I may ask, what is your reasoning? This aside. Officially, I mean."
"Alcoholism."
Jigger nods. "Then I am happy to corroborate." He sighs. "His potion didn't work then?" He doesn't wait for an answer, but shakes his head sadly. "Crying shame. We would've been rich if it had."
Severus looks exhausted, sat on the floor, his back against the sofa.
"You've got paint in your hair," Lily fusses, picking at the magnolia flecks in amongst the black strands as she leans over him.
"Yeah, well, so would you if you'd been stuck up a ladder all afternoon," he laughs. "You were out of harm's way on the sofa."
"And what? You expected me to help in my condition?"
"No, no, I wasn't criticising," he says, quickly, tilting his head back until he makes eye contact with her. "I just feel like I should be rewarded for my solo efforts," he says, pursing his lips.
"Get on with you," she laughs, batting his shoulder with her hand, "you're covered in paint."
"One kiss," he barters, and when she doesn't relent and lean towards him, he pushes up off the floor until he's sat next to her on the sofa.
"Sev, you're covered in paint! You're getting it on the pattern!"
"Come on," he presses, "don't you think I've done a good job?"
She follows the movement of his hand, looking at the freshly painted walls of the living room, and then she glances at the dribbles on the fireplace and the splotches on the floorboards.
"Ignore those," he says, touching her chin and pushing her head gently, trying to break her eye contact with where he'd erred, "look at the walls."
"Yes," she smiles, and kisses his thumb, "you've done a good job."
"But?"
"But what? I didn't say anything."
He gives her a knowing look. "I can feel it, love. You're about to say 'but'..."
"I've told you, you're getting paint on the sofa," she says, shoving his side and trying to dislodge him from the seat. "You need a wash."
He groans, but he stands, and pulls his t-shirt over his head as he heads towards the kitchen.
"I meant we could go back to Cokeworth," she calls, and then she laughs when he reappears in the doorway, the tin bath hoisted over his shoulder.
"Welcome to Rillwych," he laughs. "Least it's not cold, love."
"Let's go back to Mummy's so you can have a proper shower. You'll never get that paint off otherwise."
"Did the other night," he grumbles, "when I painted our bedroom. You didn't even know that's what I'd been doing when I got back."
"Full of surprises, aren't you?"
"A few."
"That bath for one."
He laughs. "I can hardly magic up a bathroom without the neighbours realising. You'll have to get used to it sometime," he says, knocking the metal so it clangs. "Tin baths for all - you, me, and little Bean."
"Not you," she muses, "not if you're in Hogwarts."
"I'll be here as much as I can," he says, putting the bath down, and returning to the sofa, pulling her close to him.
"You'll have to be careful. Don't let anyone see you coming and going."
"I know." He draws a shuddering breath. "It's going to kill me sitting in the Great Hall knowing that you're both here."
"At least you can Apparate," she says, sensibly. "It's not like I've got to wait for the Hogwarts Express to pull in."
"Have you told your mum and dad yet?" he asks, kissing her hair.
"That you're going back?" She shakes her head. "No. It's not worth the argument."
"You could stay in Cokeworth," he says, softly, "with them. I don't mind. We can still keep this place. The only bright spot of me going back is that I can get that potion to the wolf, so Black's money won't run dry."
"I love Mummy and Daddy, but I don't much fancy staying under their roof with a baby."
"They'll help."
"They'll moan about us getting married without them, and they'll moan about Bean crying at night, and they'll moan about-"
"-and even then, they'll still love you. It's me they'll blame for leading you astray."
She reaches for his hand. "I don't want them to blame you, it's not you!" She sighs. "It's magic interfering, again."
"Not magic," he says, "not really. Just these stupid laws."
"I know."
"And if I'm not around," he interrupts, "because of these stupid laws, then I don't want you struggling alone."
"But I don't want them interfering in how we bring Bean up," she says, squeezing his hand. "The longer I stay with them, the harder it'll be to leave. I know what they're like, they'll stop seeing you as Bean's Dad. They'll take over, say they know better."
He stiffens, and she can see his Adam's apple bob in his neck.
"...it's better if I leave as soon as this place is ready," she says, quietly.
"It'll be tough."
"It's going to be tough no matter what happens," she says, quietly. "It's been tough all the way through, but we got here, didn't we?"
He nods tightly, and then exhales loudly. "I just… I won't be upset, love, just remember that. If you change your mind."
She doesn't answer, but he can tell by the way that she strokes her fingers against his that it was the right thing to say.
Jigger knows before he enters that there's someone in his rooms. The door is shut - locked, even - but there's a feeling of unease that creeps from his ankles to his ears, and Jigger finds himself hesitating on the pavement, keys in one hand, wand in the other. As he steels himself, the door swings open.
"Come in, Arsenius," Rodolphus calls lightly down the corridor.
Without setting eyes on him, Jigger can already picture the scene - of the younger man sat in his chair, his booted feet atop his desk with no regard for the importance of what might lie upon it. "Mr Lestrange," he replies, cautiously, but does not move.
"I've poured a drink for you, Arsenius, do come and sit with me," Rodolphus continues, "it is rather more pleasant to do business indoors than in the street, do you not agree?"
At this, Jigger steps inside, and slams the door behind him. He shrugs off his cloak, resting it over his forearm, and then steps into his office - where his imagination is proven correct, with Rodolphus Lestrange lounging in his seat. "I was out."
"So I saw," Rodolphus smiles, "but I thought we had a deal?"
"We do."
"And is today not Tuesday?"
"It is."
"And the time not-"
"-I had to attend a funeral this afternoon," Jigger interrupts, "of which you are well aware."
"I did not know you were so fond of Goldstein," Rodolphus snaps. "The funeral, if I am not mistaken, was six hours ago."
"It would've looked odd," Jigger argues, "if I had not attended the wake. I am sure someone of your good breeding understands the importance of good manners."
"Brewers code, is it?" Rodolphus looks mildly amused. "So, the others in attendance, were they? Borage? Slughorn?"
Jigger nods.
"Snape?"
There's a pause, and it's long enough for Rodolphus to swing his legs from the desk, suddenly intrigued. "No? No Snape?" He tuts. "Not made the grade? Not enough qualifications to break bread with the professionals in mourning? I shall remember that."
"I doubt he is aware of Goldstein's sudden demise," Jigger ventures, finally, his eyes darting around the room. "I'll send message to him that you were so concerned."
"Will you?" Rodolphus smirks, his eyebrow quirking in amusement. "Because this came for you, whilst you were at your soiree." He passes over a ripped envelope.
"You opened my post."
"Think of me as a willing secretary," Rodolphus smiles, nastily. "...you have no objections to my assistance, I assume? We have no secrets, you and I, do we, Arsenius?"
"No, Rodolphus."
"Good." Rodolphus smiles, and points at the envelope. "You should read that."
His hands tremor as he pulls the parchment from the envelope, and then he swallows hard as he recognises Slughorn's handwriting.
"So where were you this evening?" Rodolphus continues, as Jigger reads down the page. "Because in the past few hours, your esteemed colleague Horace Slughorn has managed to return to Hogwarts, dismiss your apprentice from his tutelage, and send out the paperwork to you. Or am I to understand that Slughorn is also not the sort of company you are keen to be seen with?"
"Horace retired early," Jigger says, his voice little more than a whisper.
"And you're signing that, are you?" Rodolphus presses. "Releasing Snape from his contract?"
Jigger glances between the papers and Rodolphus. "I didn't realise you were so invested in his apprenticeship. Keen to sign him up, are you? I thought we had an understanding - an arrangement?"
"I am not," Rodolphus says, with a smile, "but I am not the only wizard looking for a competent brewer." He sniffs and stands. "Although if word in that is accurate, perhaps I should advise those who have interest that he is not a worthy prospect." He pauses. "A drunkard. Very interesting. Explains why he can stand to listen to the inane witterings of Lucius Malfoy," he adds, peevishly.
Jigger grabs a quill from the desk, roughly dunks it into the open inkwell, and scribbles across the parchment. Eyes fixed on Rodolphus, he circles the desk, yanks open the right hand drawer and pulls out a fresh envelope and a seal, enclosing the papers within.
"And the boy's career is over," Rodolphus muses, watching carefully, "in the blink of an eye."
"I prepared your potions before I departed," Jigger says, straightening. "They're in the laboratory."
"I saw." Rodolphus opens the left hand drawer to reveal several pouches, practically bursting at the seams with galleons. "And I prepared your money. Pleasure doing business, Arsenius."
"As always."
Rodolphus stands, brushing down his robes, and then reaches for the sealed envelope, looking mildly surprised when Jigger tugs it away. "No? I am on my way out, I thought it would be useful if I sent it on its way for you. Surely there is no point in stalling if the dark deed is done?"
"I will send my own owl, thank you, Rodolphus."
"So be it," Rodolphus smiles, insincerely. "It will be a terrible disappointment to Snape, of course, when he sobers up enough to understand your missive. Perhaps you would oblige me by adding in a little note for him?"
"These papers will be lodged with the board at the Ministry and the board will communicate with Snape directly."
The faint smile on Rodolphus' face drops. "So you were misleading me earlier, when you suggested you would speak to him?"
"Of course not," Jigger says, evenly, "but now that I have signed these papers, I do not believe Snape would wish to correspond with me, nor I with him." He moves towards the office door, and pulls it open. "Thank you once again for your custom, Rodolphus. I will endeavour to be here on time for our next meeting so you do not find yourself having to entertain yourself in my meagre quarters. I appreciate what a terrible bore it must've been."
"On the contrary," Rodolphus smiles, "I found it all rather illuminating."
There's a sharp knock at the door.
"Enter," Avery calls, without looking up from his papers. He hears the door opening and closing, but he doesn't raise his head. Make them wait, that's what he's learnt in these past few months. Power.
"Busy? They shouldn't work you so hard."
Immediately, Avery's head jerks upwards. "Ros!"
"Thought you were so engrossed that you weren't going to greet me," Rosier says, a thin smile on his face. "What do they have you doing down here?"
"Never mind that," Avery says, sweeping his papers into his desk drawer, and gesturing towards the chair opposite his desk, "sit down, sit down. Firewhisky?"
"Not at eleven in the morning," Rosier says, disdainfully, peering around the room.
"Right," Avery says, his enthusiasm knocked, and he waves his wand to banish the bottle back to the bureau. "So, what brings you down here, Ros?"
"Evan is surely more appropriate within these walls," Rosier says, with a tight smile. "A little more professional, perhaps."
"Yes, sorry. Evan."
"Did you find him?"
"I'm sorry?"
Rosier sighs. "You were seen."
"I'm not following."
"At Goldstein's funeral," Rosier says, a little more forcefully. At Avery's startled expression, he smiles. "As I said, you were seen."
"I was simply paying my respects."
"You didn't know Goldstein."
"He was at Hogwarts-"
"-we were all at Hogwarts," Rosier interrupts, annoyance flooding his tone. "No, no, let us not toy with each other. You were looking for Snape."
"I…"
"Say it. Say it to me. 'I was looking for Severus Snape.'"
"Ros-"
"Evan."
"Look, Evan, we're friends, right?"
"No-"
"Me and Snape, I mean."
"So do I. Malf is his friend," Rosier corrects, "and apparently Malf doesn't know where he is."
Avery tries not to look alarmed. "Malfoy's not seen him?"
Rosier sits back in his chair, fiddling with his cuff. "No. And neither have you. And you've been...associating with him for a while now, yes?"
Avery nods, keen to gain back ground. "Since our first day at school, really. Roommates. Special bond, isn't it?"
"Yes, I heard from Mulciber about your special bond." Rosier gives another thin smile, amused at Avery's sudden discomfort. "So you were always close? Even when he was fucking that Mudblood?"
"...well, you know. Lost touch for a bit."
Rosier grins. "And you've lost touch with him again now. Rather careless. Rather unlike friends, I would wager."
"I've not lost touch with him. He's just spooked," Avery says, defensively.
"Really? So you have spoken to him?"
Avery sighs. "No, but it stands to reason. You heard what happened."
"We've all heard," Rosier says, tapping the desk. "Moody needs to be dealt with." He tips his head. "Seems fitting for this department. Perhaps I can leave that with you?"
"I clear up after magical catastrophes," Avery snaps, "I don't cause them. I certainly don't cause them to aurors who have the ear of the Minister-"
"-pity," Rosier drawls. "It might just flush Snape out if he thought his best friend had his back."
"I do!"
"Well," Rosier says, standing. "I'll leave that with you."
"He's still one of us," Avery abruptly blurts out, as he mirrors Rosier's action and stands.
"Sorry?"
"Snape," Avery says, "he's loyal. Devoted."
"Good," Rosier smiles. "When you find him, you can tell him that the new ceremonies are planned."
"New ceremonies?"
"You didn't think our Lord had forsaken us, did you?" Rosier snaps open his cuff, and presents his blank forearm. "It was a precaution."
"After the arrests," Avery guesses.
"Obviously."
Avery exhales loudly. "...I thought-"
"-yes," Rosier sneers, "the upper echelon knows what the underlings thought. You should trust in your Lord," Rosier adds, sternly. "Snape, now, he's a rather different prospect. Given the circumstances, I can understand Snape's concerns."
"Oh?"
Rosier smiles. "You had nothing to fear. Loyal to the last. You turn up on time, you nod, you do whatever is asked-"
"-that is my role-"
"-and you do it well. But Snape? Locked in a cell, unable to attend, unable to play his part? He was punished, of course, for his cowardice - for his desertion."
"...punished? How? Through the Mark?"
"The Dark Lord was displeased. It would be fair to assume that Snape believes himself to be excommunicated from the group. Unwelcome. Yet, once the Dark Lord realised that he was detained, unable to attend rather than unwilling…" Rosier sniffs. "You should understand, the Dark Lord is benevolent towards his loyal servants."
"Yes, Evan."
"Find him." Rosier swiftly buttons his cuff and reaches for the door handle, before turning back. "Before the ceremonies take place. That's an order."
Severus stands for what feels like an eternity at the front gates, until Filch marches down and peers through them.
"Thank Merlin you've come down," Severus says, with a smile, "I couldn't get in. Been stood here for half an hour or more!"
"What do you want?"
Severus looks confused. "What do you mean, what do I want? Filch, it's me. Severus. Severus Snape."
"What do you want?" Filch repeats.
"...I need to see Sluggy."
"Professor Slughorn is busy."
Severus frowns, his mouth slightly open. "Busy? Doing what?"
"Teaching."
"Filch," Severus argues, "the students have gone home for the summer."
"Professor Slughorn is busy."
"Fine, he's busy!" Severus snaps. "Take me to see Dumbledore then."
"Professor Dumbledore is busy."
"Filch, what's going on?" Severus gives him a helpless look. "You can't just turn me away, I've got my stuff in the castle."
"Your belongings have been packed and removed from the building."
"What? By who?"
"By me," Filch says, with an oily smile. "Severus Snape is no longer an inhabitant of this castle, and as such, his belongings are no longer the responsibility of Hogwarts."
Severus' nostrils flare as the fury builds in him. "Oh yeah? Says who?"
"Your contract is over," Filch adds, nastily. "The paperwork arrived this morning. Oh, Professor Dumbledore was not happy, but I did as the papers instructed!"
Severus' blood runs cold. "...and what did the papers instruct?"
"Your copy will be through soon, I've no doubt. Meanwhile, I've packed up your belongings, and I've sent them to the last address on record."
Mam and Da's.
"Fuck!" Severus yells, and kicks the gate angrily. "What the fuck for?"
"Good day, Mr Snape," Filch says, bowing slightly as he turns.
"No, fuck, no!" Severus rattles the gate angrily, his temper spilling over. "Fuck you, Filch! Get back here! Now! I need to see Sluggy! I need to see Dumbledore! FUCK!"
But his words are lost on the breeze as Filch treads his way back up to the castle.
Severus has considerably more luck when he barrels through the protections at Malfoy Manor, but his anger is such that the gravel from the pathway spills into the air when he lands, causing the peacocks to scatter. Before he has chance to brush himself down, Narcissa is at the doorway, Draco screaming in her arms.
"Severus? Is that you?"
"Cissy," he calls, marching towards her. "Malf in?"
"No," she says, pushing the door open so he can enter. "Just myself and Draco. I trust we will suffice?"
He pauses and kisses her cheek, and Draco's forehead - although his small face remains screwed up and angry - and Severus accepts her kiss to his cheek in response. He lingers in the entrance as she shuts the door, and then he follows her through the corridor until they reach Draco's nursery, Draco's cries echoing through the Manor as they walk.
"Bad night?"
"I was feeding him," she says, simply, "and then there was an awful commotion outside, so I stopped and rushed to the door."
"Ah. Sorry."
She laughs. "I've forgiven you, although I'm not sure this little one has." She pauses, awkwardly. "Do you mind..?"
"Mind?" he frowns, not understanding, and then he looks surprised when he realises that she wants to continue feeding her son. "No. No, er, no, no. No. That's… I mean, yes, that's fine." He flushes and looks at the ceiling.
"Do take a seat," she says, settling herself on the far side of the nursery, and positioning Draco back onto her breast. "Lucius will be back this afternoon, and you're more than welcome to wait." She pauses. "I rather thought you were keeping your distance from him at the moment."
Severus perches on the edge of the seat, his gaze still fixed skyward. "I know, but I didn't know who else to turn to."
"...Severus, what's happened?"
"I can't get into Hogwarts. I went back, this morning - I went to see Sluggy, and the gates wouldn't open. I tried to get in, and Filch came down, and said he'd chucked out my stuff."
"Why would Filch do something like that? Do you think old Sluggy knows?"
"He must do," Severus says, bitterly. "Filch was rattling on about papers." He breathes heavily as the realisation dawns. "...it's my fault. I told him."
"Told him what?"
"About Lily. About...our baby."
"You told Filch?"
"No!" Severus runs his hand over his face. "I told Sluggy."
Narcissa adjusts her hold on Draco, and sighs. "You told Sluggy that Lily was pregnant, and now he's kicked you out? Severus, this doesn't make any sense - from what Lily's told me, and Lucius, and what you've said at times, Sluggy has always been very supportive of you both being together."
"He's not doing it because he's unhappy with us," Severus explains, "but he's told me to run - to hide. To live like a Muggle!" Severus swallows hard. "I told him I wasn't going to."
"So he's made the decision for you. Forced your hand."
"Seems like it."
"You'll get a crick."
"Sorry?"
"In your neck," Narcissa says, gently. "You don't need to stare at the ceiling whilst Draco feeds."
"Oh." He scratches the back of his head awkwardly, and lowers his gaze.
"It's natural, Severus," she says, kindly. "If we were having a normal conversation, you'd look at my face - you don't need to look at Draco at all if it makes you feel uncomfortable."
"Right," he says, exhaling.
"You'll need to get used to it. Especially if you're not going back to Hogwarts."
"I can't not go back, Cissy," he says, earnestly.
"No? We wouldn't forget you both," she says, kindly, "if that's what's worrying you. Lay low for a while, and then…" She smiles. "Things will work out."
He shrugs his sleeve up to his elbow, and presents the blank skin to Narcissa. He doesn't speak, but he can tell from the way she stills, and how her hold on Draco tightens that she understands the movement.
"I can't run, Cissy."
"I didn't know you'd joined the ranks." She frowns. "Does Lucius know?"
"I didn't want to be," he admits, softly. "It was...forced upon me."
"Oh, Severus."
"I'm not… I'm not really like the rest of them," he whispers. "How can I be? I'm half Muggle, my fiancée's a…" He trails off, and exhales loudly. "I think it was a test. Or a message." He gasps. "And I think he knows. The Dark Lord. I think he can tell that I'm not really his."
"...Lucius' isn't there either," she says, quietly. "If you're going to escape, now's the time."
There's a very long silence - so long, Draco stops feeding and she holds him upright. Severus glances away as she adjusts her top, and then she snaps her fingers, summoning a muslin cloth to her shoulder, before holding Draco against it, and winding him.
"Mam reckons he's not gone."
Narcissa frowns. "You told your mother?"
"Sort of."
"...forgive me, Severus, but I thought she spurned our world?"
"She did."
"Then how would she know anything about the Dark Lord and his magic?"
He shrugs, tightly.
Narcissa gives him a searching look. "And you didn't think to ask?"
"She's not the talking type," he mutters. "She just...flew off the handle." He groans. "And now Filch has sent all of my shit to her house, so now she's got another reason to kick off again. Fuck's sake."
"Severus," Narcissa says, sternly, indicating towards Draco.
"Sorry." He rests his head in his hands, pressing at his pulsing temples. "You don't know what she's like."
"She's not happy at the idea you might return home?"
"Happy? She was horrified."
"Severus, surely not, you're her son."
He looks up, watching as Narcissa rubs circles on Draco's back, nuzzling her lips against her son's ear, and when Severus speaks, the words are strangled, as if they're being tugged forcibly from him. "She's not like you, Cissy. Or like Lily." He gives a strange laugh. "It's funny, really. I've spent my life being told I've got the sort of face that only a mother could love, and yet, she doesn't - she doesn't love me at all."
Lily's resting at her parents' house in Cokeworth when the shouting starts, and it's Bean who reacts to the commotion. She instantly soothes her hand across her bump, but Bean thumps against her side, all elbows and feet, as if practicing how to stand - as if preparing to run.
She shuffles to the edge of the sofa, and pushes herself up, and then peers through the window, holding the sill. To her surprise, her parents are in the front garden, their voices muffled but their irritation clear, and Tobias is gesticulating wildly, cardboard boxes strewn across the ground.
It takes her a while to reach the door, and when she does, her father is the first to react.
"Back inside, Lils," he barks.
"But that's Severus' stuff-"
"-that's why it's fuckin' 'ere," Tobias yells, "'is mother's told 'im 'e's not welcome, an' what's he go an' fuckin' do?"
"Severus brought his things to yours?" She steps out onto the path, holding the door frame. "That doesn't make sense."
"Lily, go back inside," her mother says.
"But he wouldn't do that," she says, trying to look into the boxes. "Mummy, Daddy, look! Those are his books! And his clothes! And that's a photo of us that he keeps on the desk!" She looks up at Tobias, distress etched on her face. "You heard their argument."
Tobias nods, his hands rammed into his pockets.
"Well then!" she exclaims. "You saw how upset he was. He had no intention of going back to your house."
"No? I've 'eard that before."
"He meant it this time."
Tobias sniffs. "An' I'm telling yer, he's a fuckin' little psycho. Likes to wind us up. Pullin' a stunt like this, thinks it's funny to put t'cat amongst pigeons."
"Lily, that's enough, go inside," David interrupts. "Mr Snape, we'll-"
"No!" She shakes her head. "No. No, Sev's not like that. And even if he was, he wouldn't do that with his things, our things! He'd have brought it here," she says, "to me."
"Right," Tobias says, gruffly. "Well," he says, indicating to the boxes strewn over the front lawn, their contents spilling across the grass, "'ere now, in't it?"
She mentally cross-references the contents of their rooms in the dungeons; his clothes, her clothes, their books, his brewing equipment, her ornaments, their bathroom supplies - and she pauses. "This isn't everything."
"Yer tellin' me," Tobias huffs. "It's all over t'street at ours, but funnily enough, our Lord an' saviour only give me two 'ands."
"I'll get the car and drive you back over, Mr Snape," offers David, heading back into the house to fetch his keys, whilst Rose smiles awkwardly, and bends down, collecting the strewn objects together.
"Mummy, I'll-"
"You shouldn't be picking things up in your condition, Lil," Rose quickly rebukes, and she glances at Tobias, trying to shame him into helping, but he simply thrusts his fists deeper into his pockets.
"I'll walk," he says, after an uncomfortable moment. "Tell yer man I'll see 'im over at ours." With that, he turns, and stalks down the road - and as Lily watches him depart, she can see where Severus' familiar loping stride stems from.
He's just like his father.
There's a sudden loud slam of the door, and David emerges, keys in hand, and then he gives a disgusted sigh as he spies Tobias striding away. David shakes his head, and steps over the awful shorts that Severus so cherished - which are now lying across the path, carelessly discarded - on his way to the parked car.
This doesn't make sense. He'd never dump this stuff in the street, especially not down at Spinner's End. Not when he could bring it here, or take it to Rillwych. She presses her hand to her side as Bean wriggles inside her. I know, Bean, she thinks. I know.
She's always been good at listening, Narcissa. "Comes with having two older sisters," she would always say. "Can't get a word in edgeways."
He watches Draco sleep as he talks, his voice low, and her answers soft, both of them taking care not to wake her slumbering child.
"You mustn't do this," she warns, as she watches Draco's small fingers wrapping around Severus' finger. "You'll drive yourself mad."
He pulls his finger away, and Draco stirs unhappily, but doesn't awaken.
"I didn't mean you should stop being affectionate with him," she says, softly, and then she places a warm arm across his shoulders. "But when Lily has your child, you can't spend your time wondering why your mother didn't feel this way about you."
"I wasn't thinking that."
Narcissa squeezes his shoulders, her hand patting against his upper arm.
"I wasn't," he protests, twisting to look at her.
"No?"
"Not really," he says. "...only a little."
"When Droma left, my mother always said that what was done, was done. And with Bella..." She trails off, giving him a sad smile. "What I'm saying is, I can't mend my relationship with my sisters, but I can give this little boy all the love and attention in the world." She squeezes Severus' shoulders again. "You can't change your mother, but you can shape your child." She pauses. "I worry about Lucius."
"Because of Abraxas' influence?"
She nods. "Abraxas definitely shaped Lucius," she says, "and I wonder if my love is enough for Lucius not to channel Abraxas' influence into our son."
"Malf wouldn't do that. Not to Draco."
"No?"
"Trust me, Cissy. He loves Draco, and he loves you."
"Well, we'll see, won't we?" She rubs her eyes, delicately, one finger at a time, and he's not sure whether she's removing sleep - she does have a baby after all - or if tears have formed at the edge of her eyes.
"I'll make a shit Muggle," he says, abruptly, hoping to shift the conversation to more comfortable ground.
"I've heard about you setting fire to the curtains as a baby."
Severus laughs. "Lily told you that?"
"How is she?"
"Grumpy. What did she say to me last night? My everything hurts," he grins. "I offered to rub her feet, but I didn't know where to start with everything."
"I won't lie to you, it's miserable, the last stretch."
"Yeah. She tries to be pretty upbeat, but I know she's putting on a front for me." He shrugs. "I'd rather she talk to me."
"She's probably trying not to add more pressure to you," Narcissa says, wisely. "...I miss her."
At this, his head snaps up. "Yeah? I reckon she misses you too." He shrugs awkwardly. "But with all this Abraxas stuff… I can't let her come, you know? Not with Malf-"
"-being unpredictable," Narcissa nods. "He's been calmer the last few days, but if it's a concern, I could come to you? I need to get out of here - I need to see a friendly face who isn't Draco, and isn't Lucius, and most certainly isn't Bella!"
Severus winces at Bellatrix's name. "She's been doing the devoted relative part, has she?"
"Some days, it's just me and the walls, and they feel like they're closing in. It's suffocating."
"I didn't think you'd want Draco to be around Muggles?"
There's a pause, and he can't quite read the look on Narcissa's face - there's an internal wrangling, he's certain of it, but he can't quite put his finger on which way she'll leap.
"I need to see my friend," Narcissa says, eventually.
He almost feels embarrassed on her behalf when he hears the yearning in her tone; he recognises it of old, from his own voice when he was a kid, so desperate for things to go his way.
"I could talk to Lucius," she offers, suddenly. "You could come then? Both of you, together." Her eyes light up. "He wouldn't push you, not with Lily here."
He nods, unwilling to dampen her spirit. "Yeah. Yeah, all right. But if she cries about the wedding-"
"-the wedding? It's imminent?"
"Yeah."
"I thought you were waiting. ...your baby," Narcissa realises. "You need to."
He nods. "I thought we could do it after the birth, but Sluggy told me-"
"-I can't believe we didn't think of that. Severus, I'm so sorry, we should've-"
"-no, it's fine, really! I'm just...I'm working up to it. I've done all the paperwork, and I've found the perfect place, but there's not enough time to do it properly - not to make all the announcements. So, I need to practice my Imperio so everyone is convinced that we did it all above board, and I'm paranoid about screwing it up and giving the game away." He gives an awkward laugh. "I was never that great at those sorts of spells. My soul's not dark enough for an Unforgivable, I guess."
"Lucius can do it."
"...Cissy, no."
"But he's a master at Imperio," Narcissa says, "it's been his favourite spell ever since he was out of short trousers."
"I know, I'm not disputing that - I remember what he was like in the common room!" Severus runs his hands through his hair. "...but I can't owe him again, Cissy. I already owe him and I can't pay that debt! Merlin knows what he'll ask me to do for the next favour."
"You won't owe him," she says, firmly. "I'll owe him."
"Yeah? And what will I owe you?"
She smiles broadly. "I want to be at the wedding."
"That's it? You just want to throw some confetti at us?"
"And…"
He shakes his head, his dark eyes flashing. "I knew there'd be an and. Go on, Cissy, and what?"
"-and if you both go into hiding, I want a way of contacting you."
Chapter 88: Barbaric
Notes:
There's a content warning for this chapter of historical non-consent, abortion and persecution of abortion.
Chapter Text
He knocks violently on the door, his jaw set, steeling himself for the inevitable argument. Nobody answers - not at the first knock, or second, but the anger within him is blazing, and he wants this over with, so he pounds at the door with both fists, over and over and over until Tobias finally flings it open, his face filled with fury.
"An' you can fuck off."
"Where's my fuckin' stuff?"
"Not 'ere."
"Don't lie, it fuckin' is, I know it is!"
"It ain't," Tobias yells, and then he turns and disappears, leaving the door ajar.
Severus hesitates, one foot in, one foot out, not sure whether it's an invitation to follow, or a warning to stay on the doorstep - and as he's wrangling over what move to make, Tobias returns, a letter screwed up in his fist. He presses it against Severus' skinny chest.
"You read my post?"
"Yer mam's beside 'erself."
Severus takes the paper, and scans the words - and although he already knows what it will say, even though he was well aware that he'd been kicked out of Hogwarts, seeing it written in ink is somehow so much worse.
Years of work down the drain.
He reads the words repeatedly, the foot of the page signed by Slughorn, countersigned by Jigger - and in his mind's eye, he can see the almost identical parchment that he keeps in his least favourite textbook, the one signed by Borage.
Losing an apprenticeship position once is unfortunate. Twice is foolish.
"Yer said yer'd get yer 'ead down this time."
"I did!"
"Yeah? Fuckin' looks like it, lad." Tobias exhales loudly, his meaty hand resting on the doorframe, holding his weight up, as if the strain of Severus' behaviour has weakened his legs. "Yer got a little 'un on its way. Yer can't be fuckin' about like this."
"I know."
"An' now yer drinkin' on top."
"I'm not!"
"Does she know?"
Severus sighs, and stuffs the letter in his back pocket. "It's bollocks, Da."
"It says it there in black an' white! I might not be able to do fuckin' magic, but I can fuckin' read, soft lad!"
"Da, it's just an excuse to get rid of me." He squares up to Tobias. "Look! Smell me! I'm not a drunk! You should know, you spend enough time down the club-"
"-cheeky fucker-"
"-serious, Da, listen! Do I look like a drunk? Really?"
There's a pause.
"Eh, Da? Have I ever seemed like that, like the old soaks who prop up the bar all day, eh? D'yer think she'd stay wi' me if I was?"
Tobias props the door open with his leg. "...yer best come on in an' speak wi' yer mam."
She offers him tea, which he refuses, and then a cigarette, which he accepts. They stand apart - her by the door, him by the fridge - mirroring each other's movements; the same hollowing of cheeks, fingers to lips, the spiral of smoke. She's pulling deeper than he is, smoking her way down to the filter faster, and he's still got half an inch left when she offers him another.
He silently accepts.
"He's a coward."
He sucks on the cigarette, drawing a long, slow, deliberate breath, before exhaling in a steady stream. He tilts his head and looks at her, but her gaze is fixed on the wall through the window.
"Who, Mam?" There's a moment. He jerks his head. "'Im?"
"Not your father." She gives an empty laugh. "He's an idiot, not a coward."
"Who then?"
"Professor Horace Slughorn."
He swallows, and it feels as if there's a knut stuck in his throat. "...yeah?"
"A house elf," she says, with a twisted smile. "In Cokeworth."
"What? Brought my stuff?"
She nods. "Decades I've lived here, me and your father, and…" She huffs. "Well, you and your tantrums aside-"
"Hey!"
"-there's been no magic to speak of. And today," she leans across the worktop and picks the cigarette packet up again, tipping another one out, "there was a house elf."
"I'm sorry-"
"-it's not your fault."
He's so surprised at her concession, he loses coordination, and instead of flicking the ash from the tip of his cigarette, he flicks the entire cigarette across the kitchen - and it bounces on the floor near to her feet.
"Shit."
She stamps on it, quickly, and he can see the dark nicotine smudge it leaves - on both the sole of her worn slipper, and on the dirty tile. She kicks the cigarette away - towards the back door, and reaches for the carton and tosses it towards him. "Take better care."
He nods, and coughs, and when he speaks, his voice is strained. "Thanks."
"I thought he might look after you a little better," she says, eventually, "put you on the straight and narrow, especially after all that with the boy-wolf. I thought you'd end up doing something sensible."
"Brewing's sensible."
"Something respectable."
"Brewing's resp-"
"-don't be smart, Severus!"
"Well, like what then? You tell me, Mam, what passes for sensible and respectable in your book?"
"Being an auror."
"Piss off, Mam," he scoffs. "An auror? What, like Moody?"
She stiffens at the name, but moves the conversation on before he can press the point. "And then you signed with Libatius Borage."
"You were pleased when I signed with Borage."
"You were pleased," she corrects, firmly, "I was not."
He focuses on the cigarette he's holding between forefinger and thumb. Wasn't she? He can't remember much about it - he remembers the letter, and the drinks he'd had with Lucius and Cissy, and the meal with Lily and her family - the way Rose had kissed his cheek, and David had clapped him on the shoulder, and even Petunia had managed a vinegary smile. They had all left the restaurant together, he and Lily hand-in-hand dawdling behind, and he'd casually mentioned that he needed to tell his parents his news.
He remembered that much, but not the reaction of his parents. Telling them hadn't been important. It was just an excuse, a reason for a detour - it didn't matter to him whether he told his mother and father that night, or that week, or even that month. All that had mattered was that it gave him and Lily a reason to separate from the group - for him to pull Lily down the alley next to the off-licence, where he'd hitched up her skirt and they'd had a hurried, celebratory shag against the wall. The rest of the night was a blur.
"...when you were released from Borage," she continues, "it was a relief."
"A relief? A relief? Bloody hell, Mam, I thought I was going to Azkaban."
"Better that than being under Borage," she snaps back.
"...I didn't realise you thought he was so terrible."
There's a pregnant pause, and he finds himself mesmerised by the way she's drawing on her cigarette - the slight tremble in her grip the only indication that there's anything amiss.
"It's not anything against Libatius. Or Arsenius Jigger. Or even…" She trails off, unwilling to say Slughorn's name. "It's a wizarding fact, Severus - brewers are always at risk. Dark families love dark potions, moreso than dark spells. Spells can be traced, wands examined. Brewers and brewers alone take the fall for their creations."
It's a stand-off. Mother and son. He's desperate to know more, but it's like coaxing a feral animal - he knows from times of old that if he pushes too quickly, too firmly, she'll retreat, clam up, and then it'll be years before she speaks again.
I need to know.
She puts the kettle on - the splash of water from the tap, the hiss of gas, the high-pitched whistle.
"No," he says, when she offers him a mug - and she replaces it on the stand. One for Tobias. One for her. The spoon clinking around and around. She's only gone for a moment - to the front room, tea almost spilling from its overfilled ceramic confines, and there's a mumbling, from both him and her. She's back, her hands wiping against the pocket of her grubby apron, and she fumbles once more for a light.
"You drink less than he does."
It's not a question - a statement, and he doesn't need to know who he is. Tobias.
"I told 'im already, and I'll tell you the same: I'm not a drunk."
She nods, her gaze fixed on the wall again. "He's a coward."
Who now?
"Borage?"
"Slughorn."
Oh. Still Slughorn.
"What did you do?"
Nothing.
"Nowt."
She briefly looks at him, her eyes narrowed. "Nothing?"
Knocked up my girlfriend and pretended to be her for months and months.
"Not really."
There's something odd in her expression - he's seen it before; when she knows he's lying, when she held his arm to the cooker…
"You're not pretty enough."
His eyes widen, and his breath catches, and when the realisation screams through his mind, she smirks.
"Yer know what I'm thinkin'." He swallows hard. "Fuck, Mam, that's-"
"-magic."
He fights the urge to throw his Occlumency shields up - she'll know - and stares at his feet instead.
"It's a curse," she says, quietly - and when he looks up, she gives him a pinched smile. "Not literally."
"Oh."
"...can you?"
He shrugs. "A little." He looks at her then, taking the question as invitation, but despite his best efforts, her mind doesn't permit him entry; it's like slapping his palms against a thick glass wall. "Not enough."
"No," she agrees.
"I thought…" He pauses. "I thought yer din't use magic."
"You try. That's the difference."
He looks at her curiously, his head tilting. "You don't intend to read minds? You just...do?"
"I worried you'd inherit it."
"I didn't. Not like that." He reaches for another cigarette before looking back, the admission falling from his lips. "Can do the opposite though. Can do that wall."
"A black one," she nods, "like a solid curtain."
"Yer've seen it?"
She smiles.
"What were yer lookin' fer ter see that?" He shakes his head, flicking his wand to light the cigarette, and then drawing on it. "In fact, don't tell me, I dunner wanna know."
He sits on the worktop, long legs dangling in front of the cupboard, limbs weighed down by his tightly laced, heavy soled boots. He leans back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling, puffing smoke upwards.
"Yer read 'is mind?"
"Your father's thoughts are written all over his face."
"I know that."
"Yes."
"Does he know?"
"No."
He eyes her cautiously. "Does he know yer do magic at all?"
"Not really." She knocks the ash off the end of her cigarette. "But then I don't really do magic."
"Just mind readin', eh?" He shakes his head. "Fuckin' 'ell, just the big stuff." He pauses then, looking uneasy. "Yer still got yer wand?"
"For all the use it is."
"Why? Coz he dun't like yer usin' it?"
She shrugs.
"Fuckin' 'ell, Mam, throw us a bone or summat 'ere, will yer?" He drums the worktop with his fingers, his anxiety spilling from him. "Yer read 'is mind, but yer draw the line at usin' yer wand?"
To his surprise, she puts her hand up to her face - and there's a sudden sharp bolt of anguish that courses through her expression. He waits - one moment, then two - and then, to his utmost horror, she starts to cry.
"Fuck!" He pushes himself off the worktop and stands before her, his arms awkwardly outstretched, as if he wants to embrace her. It's what he'd do if this was Lily, but it's not Lily - it's his mam, and they've never really had that sort of relationship, never had that sort of contact, not since he was a tiny little boy.
She's so tense, she's shaking, like an over-tightened violin bow on the cusp of shattering - and now doesn't feel like the moment to throw his arms around her for the first time in a decade or two. He steps back. "Fuck, Mam, I'm sorry…"
If Tobias hears her crying, he doesn't react - doesn't come in, doesn't investigate. She sobs, in a way that Severus has never seen before - not even when fists have been flying or plates have been thrown. It's a gut-wrenching, gulping, messy fit of crying - and then, almost as abruptly as it started, she stops.
"I'm gonna owe you a pack at least," he says, passing her another cigarette. His chest hurts now - it feels like someone's been grating his lungs, and yet, he can't break the connection - not now he's so close to getting some answers.
She looks older, more tired, her skin grey and haggard. There's deep wrinkles on her face that he hadn't noticed before, lining her eyes and her lips. She squeezes the bridge of her nose, in the spot right between her eyes, and then she lights the cigarette and turns from him. "It hurts."
"What does?"
"You feel it, don't you? Through your veins, like blood pumping around your body? So powerful, it's trying to erupt from you, trying to spill from your fingertips?"
Magic. She's talking about magic.
"Yes."
"It's trying to burst out of you."
That spiral of magic. She can feel it. She must've felt Lily's too. And Bean's.
"Yes."
"You don't need a wand."
He shakes his head. "I mean, sort of. I use one."
"You use it to guide your spells."
"I guess. It's a focal point. Helps me concentrate, helps me build power." He gives a tight smile. "I suppose yer gonna say it's like stabilisers," he says, bracing himself for the insult, "that I need to grow up and-"
"-I don't feel it."
He stills.
She doesn't feel her magic?
She gives him a tight smile. "No, son."
"But yer can read my mind?"
"There's a hex," she says, her voice barely more than a whisper, and she traces a thin line across the base of her neck, across her collarbone. At his startled look, she smiles. "You know it?"
"They use it. In the Ministry."
Her eyes shutter closed, and she tuts. "In this day and age."
"...they've only just brought it back."
"Barbaric."
"So yer head…"
She nods. "It's all in here." She holds her arms out. "But it's frozen in here."
"From the neck down."
"Yes." She fiddles with the end of her cigarette, watching as it burns, grey and white flecked ash sagging from the end. "I can cast. If I really try."
"How?"
"Spite."
He laughs - a short, sharp laugh, but a laugh all the same. "That's how it works, eh?"
She smiles at him. "I have to concentrate. The tiniest of spells feels like I've been in a ferocious battle."
"You used that one with the washing up liquid," he remembers.
"Yes." Her eyes look tired. "If you'd told me when I was at school…" She shakes her head, suddenly not wanting to follow the thought.
"That's all you do? Make a few bubbles?"
"And if I am really desperate," she says, "I can focus enough for a short burst. I need my wand, like you say, as a focal point. But it's disappointingly weak, no matter how hard I try." She clenches her fist to her chest. "It hurts, in here. Like I'm warring with my soul, forcing it to behave in a way that's unnatural."
"And if it hurts so much, what made you so desperate? Surely there's other things you could do to achieve what you need? Especially around 'ere, it's all Muggle innit?"
It must be Da, he thinks, and a jumble of thoughts spiral through his mind - of Tobias screaming and shouting and ranting and raving and kicking and swearing, and yet, in all of those memories, Eileen's never one to fight back; she shouts and she screams, but there's never a spell or a wand…
A wand.
"Me. You used your wand on me."
She nods. "My boy who spouted magical supremacy."
He puts his hands over his eyes. "...fuck."
Severus sits on the floor, his back against a cupboard door, his knees up by his chin with his arms loosely slung across the top. He watches as she paces backwards and forwards, another cigarette being demolished.
"Professor Horace Slughorn is a coward," she says, finally, picking back up where she left off several hours earlier. "You've heard of the Sacred Twenty-Eight?"
He nods.
"And the Hallowed Fourteen? The Exalted Twelve? The Celebrated Seven?"
"No."
"I thought you'd read your grandfather's books?"
He shrugs. "I haven't been in the attic since I was little."
"They were the forgotten families," she explains. "The list - the twenty-eight - it's political. You've seen how the Purebloods treat their family trees."
"Burnt off."
"Exactly. Now imagine that a family has crossed you." She swipes her cigarette through the air. "Gone. Stricken from the history books. The Sacred Seventy-Six-"
He scoffs, but stops short at her fierce look.
"Weren't you taught any of this in History of Magic?" She draws on her cigarette. "The Hallowed, the Exalted, the Celebrated," she says, "they were the ones who fought their expulsions. Made their own lists. We made it as far as the Sacred Thirty-Four."
"And then the family was cast aside?"
"Yes. Your great-great-great-great-great grandfather Prince and his brothers. The family fought hard against it."
"But lost."
"So they joined the Exalted instead. It never carried quite the same standing, but it was better than a nothing-name, you understand."
"Like Snape," he quips.
She gives him a twisted smile. "Like Snape."
"So if you were Exalted, how did you end up marrying…" He glances towards the closed interior door. "...a Muggle?"
She pulls on the end of her cigarette, and then crunches the filter into an ashtray. "He had the best cigarettes."
"Mam, fuck's sake!"
He doesn't think she's going to answer - not seriously - and then, to his surprise, she lights two more; one for him, one for her - she doesn't even give him the choice. He rests the lit cigarette on his lip, dangling precariously - but he's not sure if he can smoke it; not so many in such a short space of time, but he doesn't want to throw her off.
"I won a placement. In the Ministry." She inhales deeply. "My OWL scores were forecast to be impressive, and I was certain that my NEWTs would continue in the same vein. I wrote to the Minister of Magic, and asked for experience - and with Horace Slughorn's letter of recommendation attached, the Minister was only too happy to oblige." She pauses to tap her cigarette against the ashtray. "I spent every weekend during the summer term there, from Easter onwards, and then the agreement was that I would work during the week all through the summer break. I had dreams of being the Minister myself."
He can't help the thought that spirals across his brain, taking in the sight of her in this dingy Muggle terrace, wearing worn and tired clothes, reeking of smoke.
"I know, Severus," she snaps, sharply.
The mindreading thing, he thinks. Shit.
"Did they teach you the Unforgivables? In Defence Against the Dark Arts?" she continues.
"Sort of. About them, but not how to cast."
"How to defend?"
He nods. "After a fashion. Theoretically. But what use is theoretically? Unless someone's actually casting it towards you, how do you know if you can repel it?"
Her nostrils flare. "I thought perhaps they would've rectified that." She draws on her cigarette again. "I was a girl with a half name."
"Not a Sacred," he says, understanding.
"A Pureblood," she elaborates, "no real risk of muddying the bloodline, but likely not a relation." She waves her hand. "Twenty-eight families. It's not diverse enough."
His mind jumps to Lucius, and his claims of the disease within the Black family. Bellatrix. Sirius. "Inbred."
"For all the grandiosity of the titles - Hallowed, Exalted, Celebrated - the women are neither," she spits. "Broodmares to improve the lineage, to keep the blood flowing, and then their history burnt away."
"The lesser families removed from the family tree so it looks as if it's only the Sacreds in it?"
"Not even removed," she says, "but never included. Not wives. Mistresses. Kept below stairs - out of sight."
"Mam, that's terrible."
"It wasn't the life I wanted," she explains, and he can see that the tremble in her hand is back. "I wanted to be someone. No, I deserved to be someone." She pulls hard on her cigarette. "Ivan Travers thought differently."
No no no no no.
She looks at him and shakes her head. "No, Severus." She looks exhausted - worse than ever, as if someone's sucked the life from her with a straw - like he imagines a Dementor victim to look. "You are your father's son."
He exhales loudly, and then grips his own cigarette and pulls on it. You almost weren't a Half then, lad, he thinks, darkly. I never thought I'd be relieved to be my father's son.
"He was older."
"How much older?"
She twists her lips, as if mulling the question over. "Forty-"
His eyebrows raise at there being such an age gap.
"-no, maybe, fifty years between us."
"Between?" He can't stop the horror in his voice. "He was, what, in his sixties?"
"Cast by the right person, it's a powerful spell, Imperio," she continues, as if he hasn't spoken, "and once the deed is done, once a seed is planted - you'll know this if that mediwitch of yours taught you boys anything - there's no alternative."
"There is," he argues, "there's potions."
"Maybe now."
"I'm sure there was then," he says, frowning, struggling to remember his lessons.
I have a brother. Or a sister. A sibling. A Pure half-brother or half-sister. Maybe I've met them without knowing.
He taps his foot on the floor as he tries to remember. "It had an ancient Latin name…"
"Yes?"
"Hostis...Hostis, Hostis… It's on the tip of my tongue," he mutters. "Hostis Hystericus!" He leans forward now, ever the eager student. "That's it! Hostis Hystericus. Not a simplified English potion name, but the Latin - a potion almost as old as time."
"But not a popular potion, if its name wasn't translated."
"No, there's not many like that," he concedes. "Makes it sound more like a spell. Dark, granted, but an option."
"A dark option," she echoes. "...and with that dark option, how does the potion prevent the child?"
"It renders a witch's womb inhospitable. The foetus can't attach to the wall. But it's indiscriminate."
"Meaning?"
"It doesn't just abort that specific pregnancy - the damage to the witch is permanent and irreversible." He looks up, keen for recognition for his academic aptitude - but as soon as he does, he catches his mother's expression. The colour immediately drains from his face as he makes the connection. "...you said I was a miracle."
"I drank the potion rather than suffering the fate of becoming Travers' Imperius-controlled mistress," she says, her tone clipped. "I had no intention of single-handedly replenishing the Travers family tree, my every movement, my every thought controlled."
"But if you…"
"Yes, Severus, I am well aware."
"There's different rules for Purebloods!" he blurts out.
"It is unfortunate. It rather makes wizards from certain families act with impunity. If what they want isn't freely given, they just take."
"We did this in History of Magic…"
She gives him a tired smile. "Oh, I am sure you did."
"1427?"
"Yes. Preventing the birth of a Pureblood is against the Baby Blood Laws of 1427," she recites, softly. She inhales sharply. "I told Ivan I'd lost the child - it was early enough so as not to rouse suspicion, and I returned to Hogwarts in the September with no intention of going back to the Ministry ever again. I spoke with my housemaster-"
"-Sluggy?"
"-and told him that I had changed my mind about my career." She draws on the cigarette again. "But it was no use. Ivan would not take no for an answer. He harassed me - letters, at first. The other girls thought it was so romantic. Then he appeared in Hogsmeade. Even in the grounds at Hogwarts on one memorable occasion."
"Mam, that's awful."
"He begged my father for my hand, and eventually, he gave it."
"I thought he wanted a mistress?"
"His wife died at the Christmas." She shrugs. "Maybe if I had, my children would've at least made it onto a family tree." She exhales loudly. "But it was of little consolation that I would be a wife rather than a hidden woman. Severus, he was an old man! I admit, I rarely thought of marriage - but when I did, it was of young men, kind men, handsome men! So when Slughorn broke the news to me, I'm afraid I did not take it well." She gives him a watery smile. "...so I told him. The truth. About how Ivan had used... How he had pursued me. The child I'd lost. The reason why I didn't want to go back."
His chest tightens as the truth rings in his ears. "And the potion? You didn't just say you lost the baby, you told him about the potion, didn't you?"
"As a moral upstanding citizen and responsible brewer, Horace said he had no choice but to report it-"
"-fuck!" Severus jolts his head back against the kitchen cabinet, hitting it loudly - and although it should hurt, it's nothing compared to the feeling in his chest, as if a manticore has sat atop him and squeezed every last drop of air from his lungs. "He fuckin'... He ratted you?"
"He said he couldn't keep such a secret." She gives Severus a sad smile. "I should've gone to another professor," she says. "Stupid, really."
"...because he was a brewer?"
She nods. "He was scared that they would think he supplied the potion, scared that I would bloody his hands through my actions. It didn't matter that I said I would assure them - if it came to it - that the potion was my own creation. He said the risk was too great. I told you, he's a coward. He puts himself before anyone else."
"Bloody hell, Mam."
"He gave me the same advice he's given you. He told me to run. Gave me that chance, at least. I collected my things, and in the dead of night, I left."
"Good."
"It was a mistake."
He frowns. "You think you should've stayed? Told someone else?"
"No, but it didn't matter where I went," she says, "whenever I used magic, the Trace gave me away."
He groans, a spill of bile rising in his throat. "You were only 16."
"But once I realised, it served me well," she says, matter-of-factly. "Most wizards can't follow a train timetable, so I crossed the country, and outran Travers that way."
"And how does Da fit into this tale of woe?"
She smiles - and it's the first genuine smile he's seen for what feels like hours. "It was a while later. Weeks. Months. The start of spring, just as the nights were drawing out, and your father was standing outside the cinema-"
"-the one in town?"
"-and he was the only person left outside. A handsome man. Bunch of flowers in his hand. A kind man. It was obvious that he'd been stood up. He was...upset."
He's only ever seen Tobias express distress in one way. "Shouting?"
"No, he was silently sulking," she laughs, "but his unhappiness was spiralling from him."
"You mean you read his mind."
"I didn't mean to. His unhappy thoughts practically screamed at me from across the road."
"And..?"
"So I waved at him, and asked what a handsome chap like him was doing stood out in the rain with such a beautiful bunch of flowers. I told him I'd had read my fortune read-"
"-Merlin, Mam!"
"-said I was meant to meet a tall, handsome stranger and he fit the part perfectly." She laughs. "I could tell from his thoughts that I wasn't quite his usual type - not bottle blonde, at least - but I'd complimented him, and on a rainy Tuesday in Cokeworth when your date has done a runner, that was enough."
"And they say romance is dead." He stubs his cigarette out on the floor.
"You can say what you want about him," she says, softly, "Merlin knows he has his faults, but he stood by me. When they found me."
"I thought he didn't know about magic until I was born?"
"He didn't. He thought that I was in some trouble with the police. He sat in the police station whilst they questioned me - only he thought I was in interview room two, whilst I was really in the depths of the Ministry."
"Bloody hell."
She gives a tight smile. "It was quick, at least. Trial. Sentencing. Over in hours, rather than weeks. Fast track punishments, I think they called it."
"Retribution. Fast track retribution."
"That's it," she says, her eyebrows lifting. "How did you know that?"
"They used the hex? Bound your magic for life? ...for something small like that?"
"I wouldn't say small. I cost an innocent baby their magic, so they restricted mine. What does your father say? Eye for an eye?"
Holy shit.
"But they let you keep your wand? Even though you didn't finish Hogwarts?"
"That's the rule, but what use is a wand if the magic within you is frozen? I dare say they would've lifted it by now," she says, "if I'd played along and gone back with them. But I couldn't leave Tobias in that waiting room. Couldn't stand him up."
"Better him than a wizard?"
"Your father may have a temper," she says, evenly, "but he can't use magic. He might bruise me, but he can't control me."
"He does a bit."
She shakes her head. "It's not the same. Imperio gives you no choice. With Toby, I have a choice."
"Yeah? You still put up with a lot of shit, Mam."
"And he puts up with a lot of shit from me," she says. "...I put salt in his tea when he really upsets me."
"That ain't the same."
She gives him a strange look. "I've done worse."
"I don't need to know."
"And I've still got my wand. If it was too much, one day." There's a pause. "And if I was ever really frightened…"
"...what?"
"I could always ask my powerful son."
He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Fuck, Mam."
"But it's never come to that," she says, airily. "And for all of your father's faults, I wanted him, Severus. I like him. I like his voice, and his smile, and the way his eyes crinkle, and his hands, and-"
"-all right, Mam, I get the picture!"
She looks a little embarrassed. "I'd have chosen him."
"Whereas you'd never have chosen Travers."
"No. And I wouldn't have had the stamina to bear him fifteen children. At least Tobias only wanted one."
"Da wanted me?"
She shrugs. "Your father wanted a lot of things. ...you were a surprise."
"If you took that potion, then yeah, I bet I was," he says, running his hands through his hair. "Does it wear off then?"
She gives another slight shrug. "Not as far as I know. I put it down to Tobias being a Muggle - maybe his genetics worked differently. It's an old Pureblood potion, after all - I doubt it was ever tested in a mixed marriage."
"...but?"
She smiles tightly. "We didn't ever take precautions. I didn't think we needed to. But afterwards - when we had you - your father was excited. Said maybe a girl would've been nice. Or a brother for you to play with."
"But it didn't happen?"
"Tell me, Severus, do you have a brother? Or a sister?"
"All right, Mam, lay off."
"Well, there's your answer." And then she moves closer, until she's standing over him, her hand close to his face. "Maybe it was because your father was a Muggle," she says, her warm fingers trailing down his cheek, "or maybe you're just a survivor."
Chapter 89: 'til death do they part
Chapter Text
Severus lets himself into their house; it smells of fresh paint, and it's cool inside despite the heat of the day.
So that's why the walls are damp.
He kicks the front door shut with a backwards flick of his boot, causing the door to rattle loudly in the frame, and then he unceremoniously dumps everything he's carrying in his arms onto the sofa - or as close as he can get to it, as the room is enveloped in darkness and he hasn't quite got his bearings in this unfamiliar property yet.
Somewhat unsurprisingly, he hears something fall to the ground with a soft thump, and he swipes his hand along the exposed floorboards, trying futilely to find it - before admitting defeat and sliding his wand down his sleeve. "Lumos!"
The sharp flash of light illuminates the room, and he spies the fallen item, hoisting the worn teddy bear up by its arm. He smiles at it before clamping his wand between his teeth - just as Professor Phillips warned us not to do.
"What do you think of your new home, Terence?" he asks, his words muffled by his wand. "Not bad, eh?"
And now you're talking to a teddy bear.
He laughs to himself, settling the bear next to him on the sofa, and removing his wand from his mouth. He concentrates hard on making it float in the air near to his head, creating a makeshift light. He ruffles the bear's head, holding back a chuckle at its bright eyed look, despite being squashed and misshapen.
It's as if it's pleased at finally seeing the outside world after being stuck in a box for years.
"Been a while since we had some adventures," he laughs to himself.
It's a fucking soft toy, idiot - he rebukes, mentally, but the thought doesn't stop him from leaning over and carefully teasing the bear's ears back into shape.
Severus leans back and casts his eye over the rest of his treasures: five of his grandfather's books, his mother's favourite set of gobstones that he was never allowed to play with - for Bean, the half pack of cigarettes that she pressed into his hand when he was leaving despite his protests that his lungs already felt torn to shreds, and a half bottle of firewhisky with a batch date of 1907 that he didn't know she had and she hadn't wanted his father to stumble across following their trip into the attic.
He touches his finger to the bear's face again, struggling to keep the smile from his face - can't believe I walked from Cokeworth to Rillwych with a fucking ancient teddy bear in my arms - and then he flicks open the first book, unscrews the top from the firewhisky, and tips it against his lips.
Merlin, that's better than half of Malf's stock.
He settles back on the sofa - Lil was right, I definitely left paint on it - and starts to read by wandlight, the toy bear falling against him, as if trying to look at the pages. With no witnesses, Severus laughs, and pulls the toy towards him, nestling it in the cavity between arm and chest, and although he would never admit to it, he holds the book in such a way that if the soft toy were sentient, it could read the pages.
It doesn't take him long to fumble in the cigarette carton - as much as he felt earlier as if his lungs wouldn't ever recover from the hours cramped in the kitchen at Spinner's End, the siren call of nicotine soon sings to him as he swallows the harsh affection of the firewhisky. He yanks his wand from its position in the air, and cancels the Lumos, using it instead to light the cigarette between his lips. Surrounded in darkness, he leans his head back, drawing deeply on the acrid smoke, allowing it to fill his chest, and then exhaling in a smooth movement.
Lil would go nuts if she could see you, he thinks - and then there's a thrum of guilt. Lily. You shouldn't have come to Rillwych; you should've gone to Lily. He pauses, cigarette held in mid-air. After this cigarette, he resolves.
He draws the smoke into his lungs again, his eyes briefly closing as he thinks about the long-hidden truths his mother confessed, and what he'll tell of it - if any of it at all - to Lily.
It's an uncomfortable thought; hiding information from Lily, yet as it took his mother decades to take him into her confidence, he doesn't feel entirely happy about the idea of repeating his mother's secrets - not least because he's not entirely convinced his father knows everything himself.
Is it fair to tell Lil stuff that Da doesn't know?
Shaking the thought from his mind, he casts once more, intending to pick his book back up - but as the light spills from the tip of his wand, he sees a sudden surprising glint from inside the cigarette packet. He frowns, and grabs the carton with both hands, hurriedly tipping the contents onto the cushion beside him - seven stark white cigarettes with amber and yellow flecked filters tumble out with ease, but he can sense there's something else in the packet; it's too heavy, and he shakes it firmly but to no avail.
He grabs his wand again, and firmly raps the bottom of the carton with the butt of his wand, and then he shakes it again, hoping that whatever it is will have worked lose - but when the packet refuses to shed its contents, he tips it upwards so he can peer inside.
A sharp glint of metal sparkles at him, and he rips at the packet - and suddenly the palm of his hand contains two rings; one plain, one ornate. He draws his hand closer, his mouth agape, as if peering at a specimen in Care of Magical Creatures, his wand poised over the top - and as he stares at the careful scripture inside each of the precious bands, it dawns on him: these are Prince heirlooms.
His mother already has a wedding ring, but it's Muggle - not magical. His father has one too, but rather less worn; Severus can remember his protestations that it would get caught in the machinery at the mill - although he briefly suspected as a teenager, when the mill was nothing but a distant memory, that Tobias' abstention had more to do with pretending that he was single and carefree - although Severus never had any evidence to prove his theory.
He might've been telling the truth, he concedes now, turning the weighty rings over between his fingers, maybe he just didn't like the feel of it between his skin. If Mam can read minds, she'd have known if he was shagging about behind her back.
Severus slides both rings on, experimentally - one on his left hand, one on his right. The plain band, paradoxically, is heavier, despite the jewels on the ornate offering. Delicate, he thinks, as he tips it over in his hand.
Given what Eileen has told him tonight, it's of no surprise that she didn't wear it herself - and he can't help but wonder what tale she ever told his father; of her history, of her family - both when they first met, and later, when the threads started to unravel.
He imagines she pretended to be as poor as a church mouse when they met - it's what he would've done, and although he racks his brains, he can't remember his mam ever working - can't imagine what she could've been doing as a teenager in the Muggle world to earn a decent living.
Tell fortunes, he suddenly thinks, remembering his mam's odd statement when she first happened across Tobias. I could imagine that - her knocking on doors, and offering to read cards, to gaze into the future, drawing out the innermost wishes and desires of the Muggles, and promising them that the future will have a lining of silver.
Even so, it'd barely be enough to scratch a living or to keep the wolf from the door - so she could hardly pull out two matching rings partway into the courtship, especially two which were so obviously - even to the untrained eye - heirlooms of value.
He wonders how many arguments that he can recall as a child were - as she so readily complained - rooted in Severus' magic, and how many more were fuelled by him digging through those books in the attic and shouting about her history, his childish delusions and desires of grandeur - his desperation for the life he felt he should've had, far away from the starving streets of Cokeworth and the furious temper of Tobias Snape.
He flips the ancient rings over in his hand again, wondering what it cost her emotionally to gift them to him, even in this silent, underhand manner. He realises that this is her acceptance of a Muggleborn into the Prince line - whether fuelled through approval of Lily, or spite towards her ancestors - and knowing that Tobias was never granted access to the jewels, not even to pawn when times were especially hard, causes a thrill to flutter in his chest.
She knows I understand what they represent.
If she'd handed them over before - when he first dated Lily, or moved in with her, or reunited with her following their breakup - he wouldn't have fully understood; wouldn't have been able to acknowledge that these weren't simply emblems of his magical heritage, given for him to waft before the eyes of the Malfoys and the Blacks and the Lestranges. Instead, with a child of his own on the way, he knew what the symbols meant - a sign of a family willing to ostracise their own daughter based on the brutal actions of another, their child's best interests likely not at the heart of their behaviour.
But despite all that, they might help Bean's standing in the future, he thinks, turning the golden bands over in his hand. Even if I run, even if Lily runs, there might come a time when a Halfblood kid - a Halfblood kid with three Muggle grandparents, no less - needs to be able to flaunt Pureblood artefacts in order to be accepted.
And then he smiles wryly to himself. This is Mam all over - hiding a gift of great worth in a tiny symbol, a Muggle symbol! She'll have known that I would only discover it when the inherited drive for tobacco becomes so great, I'm forced to rip the package open - that very same urge that Lily despises; the triumph of mother over lover.
"Never change, Mam, you wonderful, vindictive witch," he mutters, putting the firewhisky bottle to his lips - and then he holds back a laugh as he sips. Doesn't matter if you wanted her to, soft lad, he thinks, the voice in his brain emulating his father, she never ever will.
He falls asleep where he sits, the gentle lull of warming firewhisky coaxing his soul to sleep and he only wakes, his neck protesting at the painful angle its found itself in all night, when he senses someone standing over him, silhouetted by the sunlight pouring in through the window.
"Shit," he grunts, his voice thick with sleep, and his eyes bleary. "Shit, sorry."
"Not as half as sorry as you're going to be, Severus Snape," Lily says, firmly, her hands on her hips. "Where in Merlin's name have you been all day and all night?"
She's a vision when she's angry - all flowing auburn hair, and flashing green eyes, and freckles that seem to jump from her skin, begging him to pull her down and lie her down next to him, allowing him to trace each and every one with his finger, spending an hour or three counting them.
I've done that before now, he thinks. I can think of worse ways to spend a morning.
But his lazy smile isn't the right response to her tirade, and her mouth thins in anger, her lips paler than usual.
"How long have you been here? Look at the state of you! You've been lying here drinking, and I've been worried sick!"
Bloody hell, you're gorgeous, love. What I would give to bend you over this sofa right now.
He shuffles slightly, attempting to shake the unhelpful thought from his brain and ease the sharp ache in his neck and subtly cover his morning erection, when somewhat to his relief, she gives an unexpected high pitched laugh, her anger suddenly pushed to one side.
"Replaced me already, have you?"
And then he sees his old bear poking out from under his arm, and he gives her an embarrassed grin, ruffling the bear's ears. "Yeah, well, he doesn't snore as much," he quips, and before she can protest, he's gently pulled her down onto the sofa with him, his early morning stubble rough against her skin as he murmurs loving words into her ear.
"What's his name?"
This is why I love you, he thinks, running his fingers through her hair. Not 'why are you lying on the sofa with a teddy bear', not 'where did he come from' - just, 'what's his name' as if he's a new friend that I've not bothered to introduce to the family yet.
He's comfortable like this - his back against the arm of the sofa, Lily between his wide open legs, Terence the bear sat on her swollen stomach - on Bean.
"Terence."
"And why have I never met Terence before?"
Because Mam freaked out and stuffed him in a box in her wardrobe, and then hid him in the attic under a load of old curtains and I haven't clapped eyes on him since that day, even though I cried myself to sleep without him for months.
"Dunno," he deflects, "I'd probably grown out of him by the time I met you."
"How could you grow out of him?" she coos, stroking the bear's silken fur. "He's lovely." There's a pause, and when he doesn't reply, she glances at him. "...so, Sluggy not pleased to see you?"
He chokes a laugh. "Yeah, something like that."
"Your dad said you were kicked off your apprenticeship."
"He's got a big fucking mouth," Severus mutters. "Bet your mum and dad loved that."
There's another short silence. "Does this mean you'll have to go back through Avery rather than Dumbledore?"
He gives her a smug look. "Spoke to Cissy-"
She can't help but bristle, despite Narcissa being her friend. You're supposed to run to me, she thinks. "Oh?"
"-she reckons Malf's mark has gone too," he says, excitedly. "I think..." He inhales a shuddering breath. "...if I disappear now, we might get away with it."
They lie together, and she can feel the tension escaping from both of them - the idea that this truly could be their life; the three of them together in Rillwych, with nobody looking for them. It somehow feels fraudulent; she knows that a few years ago, neither her nor Severus would've counted hiding away in the Muggle world with a baby as a win, and yet now, it's the thing she wants most in the world - and she'd bet her life and soul that Severus would agree. She lets her eyes drift close, her lover's breath warm against her hair as they rest, and enjoys the feeling of relief that floods across her.
"Sev?"
"What, love?"
"Why did you go to your mum's instead of back to me?"
"I went to pick up those boxes that I'm now guessing are in Petunia's bedroom if the lovely Tobias paid your lot a visit."
"Bingo."
"Sorry," he says. "I should've come to you first, but I just wanted it over with, and I didn't want you feeling like you needed to be in the middle of another argument." He kisses the top of her head. "And you wouldn't have let me go alone, would you?"
"No," she admits. She twists her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of his face. "...how was it?"
"Okay."
"I figured it can't have been too bad," she says, squeezing Terence's paws and making him bounce, "else you wouldn't have this little chap."
"Mam found him. Sent him for Bean."
"That was good of her."
"Yeah."
"You made it up?"
"Yeah."
"Good." She doesn't press further, and Severus leans forward, inhaling her scent.
"She sent you something too," he murmurs.
"Me?"
"Yeah."
"What would she send to me?"
He reaches down beside her, and fumbles in his pocket. "Sorry," he mutters, as he tries to keep his knee from digging into her whilst he moves position, and then he holds his palm outstretched before her. "Here."
"Oh Sev!" This time, she does turn, her mouth open almost as wide as her eyes. "Sev, look at these! Your mother sent these for us?"
"Not bad, hey?" he says, and despite himself, there's a tinge of pride in his voice.
"They're incredible," she gasps, turning them over in his hand, admiring the set of the stones.
"That one's yours."
She laughs. "I'd guessed that much. I didn't think it'd be your style." She nudges the thick, plain band with her fingertip. "But this'll suit you."
"Glad you think so," he says, "because I don't ever intend on taking it off."
It's the right thing to say - and she presses her mouth to his, her kiss warm and steady and familiar, and as he pulls her tighter against him, her body held flush to his, he feels a sense of calm flooding through him.
She spies him standing at the opposite end of the nave, fiddling with something in his hand - her ring, probably - and she stands for a long moment at the entrance, peering around the column, taking in his tense expression. There's only metres between them, but his face shows that he's truly miles away, lost deep in thought - and although she's been privileged enough to delve into his mind on more than one occasion, she finds herself desperate to know what he's pondering.
She's on the cusp of bolting towards him and asking, of disregarding tradition, wanting to offer him comfort and support and - the very foundation that their relationship was first built upon - friendship, but before she can throw caution in the air, Narcissa appears behind her, steering her gently, but firmly, away.
"He looks very handsome," she says, with a small smile, "but you're not supposed to be seeing each other. Not until the music starts."
"I thought that was just grooms not seeing brides?"
"And if you ran down the aisle, what do you think would happen?"
"...that's fair," she laughs, after a pause.
"You're a vision yourself," Narcissa says. She leans around Lily, and glances around the column.
"Now you're doing it."
"I'm allowed," Narcissa says, batting her away. "Be patient. He's getting into position."
"Sev?"
"No, the organist." Narcissa turns and smiles. "Well, yes, Severus as well - he's standing now," - and the organ blares loudly, suddenly, and Narcissa takes her hand, peering around the stone once more. "He looks almost as nervous as you."
"I can't believe you brought Draco."
"Well, what else were we supposed to do with him? Let Cissy carry him and run the risk of him dribbling all down the lovely Lily's dress? Leave him in the clutches of the ever-delightful Bellatrix, telling her we were off to a Muggle wedding? Or perhaps I should've locked the Manor behind us, and left him to his own devices - after all, this should only take a few hours, yes?"
"...I'm just saying, it's weird."
"It's not weird. Having no groomsmen is weird," Lucius mutters. "Consider it this way, you have benefited. You can look people in the eye and say that you had both a best man, and a groomsman."
"I don't care what other people think. Besides, I'm not sure it counts if the extra groomsman can't stand on his own two feet."
Lucius flashes him a disarming smile. "Oh, I am sure he's not the first member of a wedding party unable to stand on the big day."
Severus rolls his eyes. "...yeah."
"And speaking of two feet, there's still time to run," Lucius drawls.
"Funny, aren't you?"
"No need to be so tetchy, Severus. ...nervous?"
Yes.
"No."
"Good, because she's coming now."
Severus quickly turns, and he can feel his hands trembling as he sees Lily walking towards him, Narcissa holding her arm-in-arm, their movements slow, deliberate - and he stares at her, trying not to blink, desperate not to miss a moment.
"It's impressive, that bit of spellwork," Lucius observes.
"Shut up."
"No, I'm just saying, you can't sense the child at all-"
"-I'm not asking, I'm telling you, Malf," Severus hisses. "I'm trying to remember this moment, and I don't want your running commentary in the background."
There's a small huff - and Severus can't quite tell if Lucius is amused or offended, but he can't bring himself to care - not when Lily's walking towards him, dressed all in white, a broad smile on her face.
She wants this. She wants you. She wants to be your wife.
The thought echoes around his mind as she moves even closer, and his heart is thundering in his chest, and his smile so broad as she stands beside him, it feels as if the edges of his mouth have reached his earlobes.
"You look stunning."
"You're not so bad yourself," she laughs - and it hits him then, that this moment that he'd never have dared dream of when they were small, would never have believed would come true when they were teenagers, was actually happening; Lily Evans wanted him - Severus Snape - not just for now, but forever and ever, 'til death do they part.
Chapter 90: Lend his brewer
Chapter Text
Lily could lose herself in moments like this; the sun dancing across her skin, the heat transferring from the brick wall they're sat on through her dress to the backs of her thighs, the smell of freshly mown grass mingling with Severus' earthy aftershave, his fingertips gliding up her bare arm, their kiss gentle but passionate, and she's pouring everything that she's got - acceptance, adoration, love - into their embrace.
She doesn't want this to end, and she can tell from the way that he deepens the kiss each time she makes the slightest movement - his own silent plea not to part - that he feels the same. He moves closer, every bit of him filling her senses, and she raises her hands to frame his face - not to stop him, but to encourage him - and then he places his hands over hers, and he eventually pulls back, pressing a kiss to each of her palms, entwining her fingers in his.
"Mrs Snape," he breathes.
"Kiss your wife, Mr Snape," she insists, capturing his lips, and he moves his hands to the back of her head, holding her firm as he acquiesces to his wife's command to claim her as his own.
"Well, this is becoming tedious. How long do we have to stand here?"
"It's a nice day," Narcissa says, not answering the question. "I like how they've grown those trees."
"What trees?"
"Over there, by the edge of the graveyard. And I wonder what they did to they shape those roses growing up that wall - I would've thought they'd have wilted in the hot sun we've been-"
"-enough, Cissy! I don't want to hear about trees and flowers - I want us to leave."
"I'm only enjoying the view. Severus has chosen a lovely location."
"Don't be absurd. He didn't choose the location because it was lovely, or for the view - he chose it because it was secluded. And look at them! They are most certainly not looking at the view!"
"No, they're not," she snaps, "but it wouldn't hurt you to keep quiet and give them a few moments together."
"But they could be doing that anywhere," Lucius grumbles, his tone petulant, "and they've already had more than a few moments. Draco's becoming restless."
"Bounce him then," Narcissa says, not looking at her husband, her gaze now firmly fixed on the loving couple. "They're so happy."
"Well, at least two of us are. ...I'm starting to think you care more about them than you do me."
Narcissa loops her arm around Lucius' waist, tutting. "Lucius, please don't be such a miser - you only have one wedding day. Anyway, I'm happy, that's three. Draco's fine, that's four. And as for you," she smiles up at him, "I know you're happy for him." She places her hand over his heart. "Somewhere deep in there."
He grunts noncommittally, a smile playing on his lips at his wife's teasing. "...but really, Cissy - a Muggle wedding?"
"You know they had to."
"...I could've got the papers changed. Lily Evans, Lily Snape, it's all the same in the end."
"Did you offer?" Narcissa waits, and then holds back a smile at his failure to respond. "And with the Ministry as it is, I dare say it is safer this way "
"At least it was just us and not hundreds of the vermin," Lucius mutters, "although the longer we stay here…"
"You think there's a risk?"
"They're only Muggles, but the Imperio I cast was weak. I didn't want to bring any attention to ourselves - I didn't imagine we would be dawdling."
"I'll ask them to hurry up."
"I thought they wanted photographs," he huffs, "but they've been snogging like teenagers for the past ten minutes."
"Memories last longer," Narcissa says, with a smile.
Severus lies on the kitchen floor, his head deep in the cupboard beneath the sink, groaning with the effort of holding the pipes above him firmly together whilst the sealant takes effect.
"...Sev? Are you ok?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
He hears her approaching, her footsteps slow and heavy, and then drawing to a halt. He bends his head at the neck, and he can see her standing over him.
"Leave it until tomorrow," she urges. "You've done more than enough these past few days."
"It's almost done now - it just needs to bond."
"You shouldn't have been doing it at all. I thought we agreed to have a day of rest." She smiles down at him. "Of celebration."
"I know, but I was waiting for the kettle to boil and the dripping was driving me mad. ...should've just used magic instead of trying to do it the Muggle way," he grudgingly admits. "I live in fear of taking a magical shortcut and then finding out magic wears off over time or something stupid-"
"-that doesn't happen, does it?"
"-and all the pipes bursting and the furniture breaking apart and all of the pictures falling off the walls-"
"-at the same time? Merlin, Sev, don't say things like that!"
"Yeah," he grins, pleased that she can visualise the same destructive scene that's been playing on his mind, "now you see why I didn't use my wand. Good job Da gave me some of that sealing stuff."
"I'll definitely get you a set of spanners for Christmas."
"Thanks love, I can't wait," he chuckles, and then he shuffles out from under the sink. He reaches to the side of him, grabs a stained rag and wipes his hands on it. "I've got to say," he adds, rubbing his hands on the rag, and then standing, throwing the cloth into the sink, "I didn't expect my wedding night to be like this." He pauses, and then gives a cheeky grin. "Well, there might have been one or two fantasies where I ended up on the kitchen floor…"
"Idiot," she says, pecking a kiss against his lips.
"Your idiot," he corrects, kissing her harder, "forever and ever and ever."
"And ever," she agrees, sliding her arms around his waist.
"Let me quickly test and see if it's stopped the leak," he says, turning from her and twisting the tap until a torrent of water gushes from it. He bends over and peers under the sink, where the bend is fully sealed, gratified to see that there's no sign of a leak when the water splashes through the plughole. He twists the tap back off. "Fixed! Not bad, eh?"
"Not bad at all," she concurs, pulling him towards her again. "So, Mr Fix It, are you worn out and ready for bed?"
His eyebrows raise slightly. "It's only eight."
"It's been a long day." She looks a little concerned. "I know it's not quite how it's meant to be, but I can't-"
"-I know, love."
"...do you think it matters?"
He steps closer, running his dirty thumb across her eyebrows, as if trying to erase her frown. "Does what matter?"
"That we won't consummate our marriage."
Immediately, he places his hand on her midriff. "I put a baby in you, love. Our baby. No-one can contest that." And then he kisses her soundly. "And when you're ready-"
"-it'll be weeks, months yet-"
"-I'll be waiting," he promises, with a final kiss. "We'll have our wedding night when you're ready." He pauses. "I don't mind if you want to go up and sleep. I'll tidy this stuff here, and then I can read for a bit. I promise to be quiet when I come to bed."
"...but I wanted you to hold me."
She holds her breath at her admission, wondering if he'll be resentful of her request that he join her in retiring so early, but he simply smiles - that same beatific smile he offered her when she walked towards him down the aisle. He doesn't say anything, but reaches over his head and tugs his t-shirt from his body, unbuttons his jeans, and steps out of them, leaving them where they fall, before holding out his hand and pulling her towards the stairs.
"Honestly," Narcissa says, walking backwards and forwards as she winds Draco, "this constant surveillance is tiring, Bella."
"I merely asked you where you had spent the afternoon! It's a normal question for a sister to ask!"
"...I went for a walk."
"Lucius too?"
"Yes."
"And little Draco?"
Narcissa rolls her eyes. "No, Bella, I left him in charge of the house elves. Of course Draco came with us."
"Nice walk?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Did you see anyone on your walk?"
"No."
"Nobody? Not one soul?"
"It was a walk," Narcissa huffs, "not a party."
"Not seen Snape then?"
"Why in Merlin's name would I have seen Severus?"
"Maybe he was also out for a walk."
Narcissa sighs, and kisses Draco's forehead, holding him close to her. "You're suddenly very interested in Severus."
"I've already told you, I want to speak with him."
"I was under the impression it was the Dark Lord who wished to speak with him. Or are you the Dark Lord's appointed spokesperson these days?"
There's a momentary pause, Bellatrix's wand twirling over and over, almost hypnotically. "How's Abraxas?"
"...fine, thank you."
"Did you know that Abraxas told Rabastan that he thought Snape had modified one of the potions he takes."
"Severus doesn't brew for Abrax-"
"-no, but Bast buys from Snape!"
"And are you telling me that your brother-in-law is drugging my father-in-law?"
A silence falls between them.
"I am telling you that Snape has tried to poison Abraxas."
Narcissa scoffs. "And why would Severus do that, Bella?"
"You tell me, Cissy," Bellatrix shrieks. "First Barty, now Severus!"
"First Barty what? He was-"
"-yes, we know what the aurors say Barty did, but you and I both know that's nonsense."
The colour drains from Narcissa's face.
"...Barty is - was," she corrects, "not someone I socialised with."
"I have heard that Abraxas gave his name," Bellatrix crows, "only Abraxas has never heard of him. Barty had a potion about his person, yet Barty is no brewer."
Narcissa takes a deep breath. "Bella, you're jumping to the wrong conclusions."
"I haven't jumped to any conclusions," Bellatrix says, lazily. "But isn't it funny that Barty would be found with a potion. Who do we know who brews potions?"
"Lots of people brew potions." Narcissa's eyes narrow. "Granted, far fewer of late-"
"Snape!"
"No, Bella. Severus and Barty were not friends."
"Doesn't mean much. Not many people are friends with that greasy Halfblood," Bellatrix spits, "halfbreed brewer, Muggle lover-"
"-Bella!"
"-apart from the Malfoys," she laughs. "Oh yes, and you both just fall at his feet, don't you?"
"We do no such thing. Severus is just a boy we know," Narcissa argues.
"Oh, yes, and I know just the sort of boys that Lucius likes to know," Bellatrix gives her a nasty smile. "Perfect for-"
"-that's quite enough, Bellatrix!" Narcissa runs her hand over Draco's back, soothing his cries following her sudden outburst. "Merlin help me, say what you will about Severus, but do not disparage my husband."
"Fine," Bellatrix snaps. "Barty was murdered by the Ministry, because he was holding a potion-"
"-supplying, not holding-"
"-which enabled ordinary witches and wizards to circumvent Imperatum."
"...we should be rather more concerned that the Ministry has resorted to such underhanded means of controlling its people."
"Not if you know what I know."
Narcissa sighs. "And what do you know, Bella?"
"...the Dark Lord himself flooded the Ministry."
Narcissa raises her eyebrows. "The Dark Lord is controlling-"
"-yes," Bellatrix smiles, "and we do not want the masses ignoring the messages from His Excellency."
"...and did Barty know this? That the messages were from the Dark Lord?" Although she fights to keep her composure, Narcissa's voice is higher - panicked. "Is it not more likely that he was fighting back against what he saw as a corrupt Ministry - a Ministry which contains no other than his own father?"
Bellatrix leans closer. "Oh, I am certain that Barty had no idea."
Narcissa swallows hard, her gaze fixed on Draco.
"Did you know that the Dark Lord ordered that Imperatum be altered, Cissy?" Bellatrix continues. "Adapted. Developed. The recipe adjusted." She smiles, and holds her hands out before her. "And now look - Abraxas is sick."
"And this has what precisely to do with Severus?"
"Bast had access to that very same potion. The one that circumvents Imperatum."
"So?"
"That means Snape was selling it, not Barty!"
"Severus sells lots of potions, Bellatrix. I'm sure he's not even aware-"
"-oh no! Snape says it's to combat the excesses of alcohol, but we all know that's nonsense; we all know that creating such a potion is impossible."
"And what, pray tell, Bella, was Bast doing purchasing that potion? Is life so acrimonious in the Lestrange household, that you've driven not one, but two brothers to dri-"
"-my husband is not the one who locks himself in his study with a bottle of firewhisky-"
"-and why was Bast feeding such a potion to Abraxas, who we can both agree is no such drunkard?"
There's a pause - a long, sullen pause, and Narcissa gives a thin smile when Bellatrix does not - cannot - answer.
"Wheedling out of trouble, as per usual," Bellatrix sneers. "You, and Lucius, and Severus, you're all the same. Slippery. I thought rather better of you."
Narcissa sighs, her irritation gaining the better of her. "Severus deals in potions - that should come as no surprise to you. If he was openly selling a potion that happened to coincidentally circumvent Imperatum, he likely didn't know."
"Lucius would've known. He's as paranoid as they come," Bellatrix pushes. "He used to test everything, back in the days when Nott-"
"-not every potion Severus brews is sanctioned by Lucius."
Bellatrix sneers. "I do not believe that for a second."
"He trusts Severus."
"...does he? With his riches? With his industry?" There's a pause as Bellatrix considers this, her eyes narrowing. "No, there's no reason for Lucius to trust that little runt." There's a pause, and her smile becomes twisted. "Unless Rosier is right, and there's some great love affair-"
"-Bella, I am warning you-"
"-then Lucius is in this as well - deep! As deep as it goes!"
"You're mistaken."
"Am I? Am I, Cissy?"
"Yes! Why would Lucius want his brewer creating a potion which would enable his father to break Imperatum?"
Bellatrix gives a thin smile at the admission that Abraxas has been consuming Imperatum. "So Lucius does drug his father. Inconvenient, is he? Abraxas? Wanted him dead, did you?"
"That is a leap, Bellatrix."
"Poor old Abraxas."
"Abraxas is an important part of our family. I have no such desires-"
"-you might not, but Lucius does!" Bellatrix thunders. "Not you personally! Lucius!"
"Abraxas is fine."
"Abraxas will be killed," Bellatrix says, looking away from Narcissa, "at the order of your husband. We know that Snape has tried-"
"-he hasn't-"
"-and failed," Bellatrix continues. "Maybe Snape isn't yours after all?"
There's a large pause, and when Bellatrix turns, her smile is broad.
"Oh yes, that hurts, doesn't it? What if Snape didn't kill Abraxas, not because he couldn't, but because he wasn't loyal to you both?"
"It won't work, Bella," Narcissa replies, her tone weary. "I am above your goading. I have not tried to kill Abraxas. Lucius has not tried to kill Abraxas. Severus has not tried to kill Abraxas. If Rabastan has had difficulties with a potion he has purchased-"
"-difficulties!" Bellatrix shrieks. "It almost killed someone!"
"Abraxas was not almost killed, Bella! Abraxas is an old man, and old men sometimes become unwell. Lucius has paid for him to be seen-"
"-oh yes, seen by who?" Bellatrix splutters.
"The finest doctor-"
"-you mean Grant?"
Narcissa straightens. "Kingston Grant is a fine doctor whom the Minister himself has recommended-"
"Kingston Grant is utilised by Cornelius Fudge," Bellatrix spits, "precisely because he will provide the diagnosis which is paid for."
"Bellatrix, will you listen to yourself?" Narcissa snaps. "First you drag Severus' name through the mud, then Lucius', and now Kingston's - not to mention the Minister-"
"-you have no respect for the Minister," Bellatrix sneers.
"And I have no respect for you! As nobody has perished of late - and in that, I include Abraxas - I would suggest that there is no grand conspiracy, as much as you may wish otherwise. If Abraxas was gifted a potion without his other medication being thoroughly checked first, then that is unfortunate. Indeed-"
"-Cissy, you should hear yourself! You sound just like him!"
"-indeed," Narcissa continues, more loudly, as if Bellatrix has not spoken, "myself - and Lucius - are both grateful for you bringing Rabastan's inappropriate behaviour within our property to our attention. We will, of course, request that Kingston attend the Manor as a matter of urgency, as it may transpire that Abraxas' unfortunate recent illness is due to reckless misapplication of unnecessary potions by an uninvited third party."
"Don't you dare attribute this to Bast!"
"And don't you dare attribute this to Severus!" Narcissa shouts. "Severus would not brew a potion with the intention of murdering another."
"No?" Bella smiles, nastily. "I believe Borage would argue differently."
"If you believe Borage at all, then neither your nor your family have any business purchasing potions from Severus," Narcissa says, coldly. "We both know that if Rabastan was using a potion for a secondary purpose, without informing the brewer, then the brewer cannot be held responsible for the outcome." She leans closer to her sister. "So if Imperatum was adjusted on the orders of the Dark Lord, and Rabastan was using the potion to counter its effects, then the onus would be on Rabastan to inform his brewer of the change. Else how would Severus know that he needed to make modifications?"
There's a silence.
"If Abraxas suddenly reacted poorly to a combination of potions that he has apparently been consuming for some time, logic suggests that he was reacting to the change in Imperatum," Narcissa finishes.
"The Imperatum your husband gives him."
"The Imperatum my husband had no reason to believe had changed, for we are not in the Dark Lord's confidence." Narcissa gives Bellatrix a triumphant smile.
Bellatrix mirrors her sister's smile. "But Lucius has not purchased any of the changed Imperatum. It is not for sale. Snape, by his own admission, doesn't brew it." She leans forward. "The Imperatum Abraxas was given was unchanged. ...so logic suggests, dear Cissy, Snape changed his potion, and I want to know why."
Narcissa takes in a deep breath. "Then I suggest you converse with him directly."
"That is what I am attempting to do! Nobody has seen him! Vanished!"
"Perhaps he's heard you're looking for him."
Bellatrix bristles. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
"Bella, you have been hateful and antagonistic towards him since the day you first met," Narcissa observes. "He would rightly be suspicious of any commission from you-"
"-he would be paid handsomely-"
"-you could promise him your first born child and I would doubt he would take the work." She gives a nasty smile. "Although no, I suppose you can't even offer him that."
"My first born is promised to the Dark Lord," Bellatrix says loudly, ignoring the slight. "The Lestrange line is ancient and majestic-"
"-not for much longer," Narcissa interrupts, maliciously. "Has Rodolphus worked it out yet? Or is he still behaving like a dog in its first heat, desperate to breed his bitch, blissfully unaware that she is infecund-"
"-Cissy!" Bellatrix hisses. She pauses, composing herself, and smoothes her robes. "...I have spoken with the Dark Lord about my predicament. He is sympathetic to my plight," she says, with a loving smile. "He has agreed to lend his brewer's time to committing to finding a cure-"
"-and let me guess, Goldstein showed no interest in investigating such a malady, so you decided to dispense with his services?"
"It is true, Goldstein believed such a task to be beneath him," Bellatrix says, lightly. "Borage's brewers ordinarily show more willingness to abide by the instructions given. Borage has a way of...breaking them."
"Instruction from the Dark Lord, perhaps. Not those from his underlings."
"This instruction came from the Dark Lord himself!"
"And instead of calmly raising Goldstein's failure to comply with the Dark Lord, you've rashly taken matters into your own hands and killed him! You are your own worst enemy, Bella. There'll be years to wait until Borage's next apprentice is anywhere near ready. ...that is, of course, assuming anyone dare become a brewer in this climate, given the high mortality rate."
There's a very long pause, and then Bellatrix smiles as she sees the thought dawning on Narcissa.
"...and that's why you want Severus," she breathes.
"He was once Borage's brewer," Bellatrix says, with a smirk. "I know Lucius has brainwashed you, little sister, but I think it would be worth your family's while if you lent your talents to my cause."
"I don't-"
"-I want Snape, and I want him fast. I don't care what you have to do to get him - pay him, beg him, seduce him - but I will not leave your family in peace until I have him." She places her cold hand over Narcissa's. "I know Lucius came between us with his actions, but the Dark Lord…" She pauses, that same loving smile growing at the mere mention of his name. "...the Dark Lord has reminded me of the importance of family. Lucius and I may have had our difficulties, but it is not your fault that he set his attentions upon you after-"
"-but-"
"-I know you like to think of your coupling as a grand love story," Bellatrix says, squeezing her hand more tightly, "but we both know that you were just a trophy-"
"-I am no such thing! Lucius loves me-"
"-he doesn't know the meaning of the word-"
"-then why-"
"-he took you because he could! Because it would hurt me! Because he knew how devastated I was at the desertion of Andromeda, and he used that knowledge against me, stealing my baby sister from my arms and giving her the life that I should've had." She gives a thin smile. "Never again shall I permit a man to know such a weakness. ...given the company you keep, you would be well advised to do the same."
Chapter 91: Nowt for yer to worry 'bout
Chapter Text
Lily wakes first, and her heart skips when she sees him sleeping next to her. You're being ridiculous, she thinks, how many times have you slept like this with him? How many times have you seen his limbs splayed out, his hair dark against the pillow, his eyelashes fluttering as he dreams?
Still, there's something supremely innocent about him, lying sprawled in their bed, in their house, a golden band wrapped around his ring finger and marking her claim to his person - and she can't help but grin at the glee that fills her. My husband. I'm his wife. Severus Snape and Lily Snape. A week or so, and it'll be baby makes three, she thinks - and she reluctantly slides out of their bed when Bean moves, once more seemingly content to use her bladder as a pillow.
When she makes her way back to their bedroom from the toilet - it's a long way downstairs and outside in her advanced stages of pregnancy - Severus is awake, sitting upright, his smile lethargic and his eyes tired.
"Hello husband," she says, with a smile, getting back in next to him, sitting with her back squarely against the headboard.
"I missed you," he says, leaning over and kissing her.
"You always say that," she laughs.
"I don't like waking and finding you gone." He looks so young - so forlorn, she wants to smooth his upset away.
"You're daft, I only went to the loo." She kisses him again, over and over, and then moves across his cheek to his ear, then down his jawline, pressing the same small kisses across his skin. He closes his eyes, a faint smile playing on his face, and then she drops her affection to his neck - kissing softly at first, then more hungrily.
"Don't," he rebukes, gently, "don't tease me."
"Feels good?" she murmurs, not relenting, her hands roaming over him as her teeth score along the sensitive skin of his neck.
"Merlin, yes." He throws his head back against the headboard, exposing his pale neck to her. "Go on then," he encourages, his protest quickly lost in the wake of her ministrations, "do whatever you want to me, wife."
"If only I could," she says, earnestly, kissing her way down his neck, and smiling as he arches up. She strokes her fingernails across his bare chest, and when she licks and sucks and then blows a cool stream of air across his nipples, causing the small buds to stiffen, he groans.
"You can," he says, "I'm all yours, love."
"No, I physically can't," she says, flicking her tongue across his right nipple, and bringing her hand up to tease the bud of his left.
"I don't know," he murmurs, "you're doing all right so far."
"You have no idea of the things I'd do to you…" She trails off as she leans over, her lips drawing a steady line down his sternum, following his trail of hair across his soft stomach to the band of his pants.
"Love," he says, warningly, his hips bucking, "don't. If you can't continue this, don't start."
She ignores him, and eases his pants downwards, his stiff cock jutting out, weeping from the tip, and he jerks his hips upwards again, his face covered in ecstasy as she brushes her hand against him.
"Please," he begs - and then he groans loudly, obscenely, as she engulfs the tip of his cock with her mouth, wet and warm and inviting.
"I recall, once upon a time," Lucius says, smoothly, leaning back in his chair, "when this Manor was a place of tranquility, of solitude."
"Are we such an inconvenience to you, Malf?"
"Now now, I said no such thing, Dolph," Lucius smiles, insincerely. "It is always a pleasure to play host to my extended family. I believe Bellatrix paid a visit to my wife yesterday, and now the two of you have descended upon me on this fine morning. It is an honour to know that we remain in such demand." He pauses. "Now, how do you believe I can assist?"
"Wolfsbane," Rabastan says, without preamble.
"Wolfsbane? Ah, yes, I think I have read a little something in the Prophet-"
"-don't play innocent, Malf," Rodolphus says, quickly. "You have it, and we want it."
"Me? Oh no, I assure you that I do not. Surely you are mistaking me for Belby. Malfoy, Belby, Malfoy, Belby-"
"-cute," Rabastan interrupts, "but you don't impress us, Malf."
"Rabastan," Lucius smiles, insincerely, "Rodolphus. I am afraid that I cannot help you fine gentlemen in your endeavours. I am humbled that you believed I was in such a position-"
"-this is your area of expertise."
Lucius pulls a face. "My inability to assist is not through lack of willing, you must understand. I simply don't have such a potion available to me, nor do I have the means to acquire it. You are both aware, I am sure, that the potion is patented? Only available under strict licence?"
"Dumbledore has it."
There's an elongated pause, and Lucius twists his quill in his fingers. "Then I dare say you should make enquiries at Hogwarts-"
"-if Dumbledore can get his hands on it, then so can you."
Lucius sighs. "I have never heard of anyone other than Belby brewing it, and I certainly have no idea why Albus Dumbledore, of all people, would have use for it."
"Snape."
Lucius smirks. "Now, I know he can appear a little feral, but believe me, he's no werewolf."
Rabastan exchanges an exasperated look with his brother. "Snape is brewing it, not taking it."
"No," Lucius hisses, "he is not. Snape doesn't brew those sorts of potions."
"No?"
"No. He deals in party drugs - uppers, downers, the sort that wear off within a few hours-"
"Yes, yes, Rain Away, Night Rhythm, Sundown, I know what he says he brews," Rabastan sneers, "but it doesn't change the fact that the Order have it."
"And you suspect Snape is selling to the Order?" Lucius scoffs. "Why would he be brewing for Dumbledore? There is no love lost there, I assure you."
"He likes money, doesn't he?" Rodolphus asks.
Lucius quirks an eyebrow. "Doesn't everyone?"
"And he's capable of so much more than the potions you apparently have him brewing, so why wouldn't he branch out?"
Lucius gives a lazy smile. "Well, when you put it like that, why wouldn't he?" He picks up his quill, his attention drawn to a parchment on his desk. "Unfortunately, I am entirely unaware of any such deal, so to my regret, I will be unable to assist you further with an enquiry of this nature."
"But he's your brewer!"
"He brews party potions for me!" Lucius snaps, his irritation getting the better of him. "Nothing more, nothing less. Neither of us have any interest in brewing or selling a patented, prohibited potion. It's more than our positions are worth, especially with the streets filled with aurors."
Rodolphus snorts. "You'd sell your grandmother if the price was right, and I bet Snape is no different, aurors or not."
"I've told you my stance," Lucius says, firmly. "If you feel Snape would give you a different answer, I suggest you converse with him directly."
"I deal with the organ grinder, not the monkey."
Lucius rolls his eyes. "Gentlemen, please-"
"We're talking to you, because you manage him," Rabastan pushes.
"As a learned man, I understood your brother's reference, Rabastan, but thank you for translating." Lucius gives a thin smile. "No, please do not be mistaken by our old friendship. Snape is decidedly his own man. In fact, I haven't seen him for weeks."
"So you and Cissy keep saying-"
"-and I will thank you to keep Narcissa out of such enquiries-"
"-nobody has seen him! You, Malf," Rabastan says, threateningly, "you know where he is."
Lucius pauses, deliberately. "I do not. Although…"
"Yes?"
"...he was in deep with Fletcher, last I heard."
"Don't talk nonsense, Malf," Rodolphus says, leaning forward, "brewing for Fletcher! He's a pusher - a nobody. Snape is your boy. We all know it."
"I beg to differ."
"Then you'd better beg," Rabastan hisses, standing suddenly, his palms on Lucius' desk. "We want Wolfsbane."
"And Snape can do it. He's talented enough," Rodolphus says, flanking his brother, "even if he's never brewed it before, you can tell him that this is his time to try-"
"-as intriguing as I'm sure he'll find such a request, it's simply impossible. He won't have the methodology, the ingred-"
But Lucius' words are cut off by the parchment that's tossed on his desk by Rabastan.
"The Malfoy coffers can't stretch to a few ingredients?" Rabastan prods the page between them. "The methodology, granted, is a little tougher to come by, so I suggest you get this to him. The sooner the better. We'll be sending someone to collect."
"Merlin, love," he laughs, "if this is what married life is going to be like-"
"-don't get too smug, I'm keeping a tally of what you owe me."
He laughs even louder. "If you're going to wake me up like that every morning, it'll be my pleasure to return the favour." He lies back on the bed, his arm loosely slung across his forehead. "Fucking hell, in fact, put down that I owe you two for that."
That evening, Severus clatters down the stairs, rubbing his hands on the bottom of his t-shirt. "Lil? Lil? Lil! LIL?"
"Shhhhhh!" she says, coming in from the yard. "It's late, and you're making an horrendous noise."
"I just wanted-"
"-it looks great," she says, with a smile, "and I like the pale green you've chosen."
"How did you know what colour I was using? I've had the door shut, and you're not meant to be peeking!"
"Bean's room has a window, Sev," she laughs, "and you've spent most of the day blaring the radio out of it."
"You can't see the walls from out there!"
"No, but I saw all the spatters on your shirt when we were eating tea," she teases.
"Well, come and see properly," he says, his enthusiasm not waning, and holding out his hand until she takes it. Once she does, he hurriedly pulls her towards the stairs.
"Slower!"
He tuts but he slows, taking her up to the smallest room of the house. "I cast a charm at the walls, so the paint's already dry," he says, "so don't worry about brushing against them."
He pushes the door open, and although the smell of paint is overpowering, she can't help but leak a tear at the sight of the room her husband has carefully created for their child; at the varnished shelf he's screwed to the wall with Terence gleefully peering down, his paw resting on the train that Severus previously painted in her bedroom at Cokeworth, or the set of drawers he's built - with a changing mat atop, or even the second hand crib that David and Rose bought for them, which he's nailed together and hung a jungle themed mobile above.
"Look at the parrot," she smiles, tapping it. "And the little monkey!" She turns, nestling herself in Severus' open arms. "Sev, this is wonderful. Bean's going to be so happy."
"And books," he says, turning her and pointing at the small bookcase behind the door, "we can get so many books."
"And Daddy can read them all to us," she says, kissing him soundly. "I can't wait."
"Me neither, love," he murmurs, unable to keep the grin from his face, "me neither."
The mood between them is oppressive, and she holds Draco tighter in her arms.
"It is far too late. My son should be in bed."
"He wants attention."
Lucius gives her a withering look. "He wants to sleep. ...you're using him as a shield from me."
"I'm not." Her retort sounds weak, even to her. "It's just…"
"Say it, Cissy. I don't have the patience to draw it out of you over the course of several hours."
She swallows, tightly. "I think you're making a mistake-"
"-well, that you have already said! There is no need to sulk on the point."
"Lucius, stop being such an arse! Oh!" She moves away from him, exasperation clear on her face.
"Is it any wonder that I am displeased? First your sister, then her husband and his brother, who shall come calling next? The Dark Lord himself?" Lucius inhales sharply. "I do not wish for trouble like this at my door. And if you had any sense, neither should you."
There's a moment - a standoff.
"Don't sell him out, Lucius."
"And how have the Order got Wolfsbane, Cissy? Answer me that!"
"You don't know that they're telling the truth-"
"-if it's not Severus, then the only other person it could've been-"
"-no." Narcissa shakes her head violently. "Absolutely not. She can't brew potions like that in her current state."
"No? I am not aware that there is a law against it. Consumption, yes, that is ill-advised, but creating? No."
"I cannot believe it of her."
"But she has contact with them, Cissy! How many hours have I had to listen to Severus complaining about James blasted Potter?" Lucius looks pained, and rubs his hand over his eyes. "Frankly, it is far worse for all concerned if one of either Mr or Mrs Snape isn't the brewer." He passes the parchment to her. "The techniques in this are intricate - difficult! I know I dropped Potions, but even I can see-"
"-this is far beyond NEWT level," Narcissa says, her eyes wide. "It won't be Lily, and if you're sure it isn't Severus then it must be a Master brewing it. Maybe even Sluggy himself?"
"Not Slughorn. He won't. He has a limit of how far he can be pushed. He draws the line at-"
"-for you, maybe, but for Dumbledore, I meant," she explains. "If the Order have a requirement, Dumbledore may have asked him to bend his own rules - to brew for them? He is his employer."
Lucius gives a slight nod, his expression drawn. "It is perhaps possible. That said, the sooner I get this to Severus, the better. He'll need to study - sharpen up on some of these skills, and I doubt if he's covered all of them yet."
"Did they say when they wanted to collect it?"
Lucius shakes his head. "No, but they were less than patient." He looks troubled. "Before the full moon, I would suggest."
"Severus might not agree to brew it, he-"
"-he will."
Narcissa bites her lip. "He's preoccupied."
"So we all saw," Lucius says, sharply, "but with his apprenticeship lost, he'll need me. I'll convince him, one way or another."
Narcissa shoots him a doubtful look, stroking the back of Draco's soft head. "In ordinary times, yes - but at the moment? Apprenticeship or not, you are simply not his priority. He's going to be locked behind closed doors with his gorgeous wife…" She trails off at Lucius' raised eyebrow. "...what?"
"You'd long cut me off."
"Pardon?"
"When is the lovely Lily due? This week? Next? Already gone over?" He gives her a thin smile. "And you reckon she's still showing Severus a good time?" He leans closer to her. "You were barely half way when you rejected me-"
"-every woman is different-"
"-and yet you're suggesting they'll be having wall to wall-"
"-that's not what I was-"
"-you'll never deny me again," Lucius mutters, his hand gripping Narcissa's chin, and then darting a kiss onto her lips, preventing her from responding. "If the baby is imminent, I'll send word," he says, finally, in acquiescence, "in case he finds himself distracted."
"But how - now that he's not at Hogwarts-"
"-I'll find him," Lucius resolves. "Don't you worry about that."
"It's going cold!" he yells, folding the remnants of his toast in half and pressing it into his mouth.
"I said I'm coming!"
There's something in her tone that makes him stop, and he heads towards the hall from the living room, mid-chew.
"Sev, go away, I don't need an audience."
His eyes don't leave her as she slowly makes her way down the stairs, clinging to the bannister. "...do you think you should go back to your mum and dad's?"
"No-"
"-just until Bean's born," he says, quickly. "If you go into labour here, how am I going to get you to the hospital? Apparition?"
She ignores him, walking into the kitchen and feeling the side of the kettle.
"I've already made you one," he calls, "it's here, when you've finished sulking."
She stalks back in and grabs the mug from him - or tries to, but he holds it slightly out of her reach. "Sev, don't-"
"Give me a kiss first," he barters, "I'm not having you annoyed at me for being practical."
"I don't want to be back with them," she mutters, pecking his lips. "I want to be here with my husband."
"I'll come back with you then."
"You said you were going to paint the kitchen."
"I'll do that when you're in hospital. It'll keep me busy and out of mischief."
"...but then the house will smell of paint when I bring Bean back-"
"-the house already smells of paint." He kisses her again. "Please, love. We've got no phone-"
"-you could Apparate to Cokeworth-"
"-we said no Apparating too close to home in case anyone gets suspicious-"
"-and get Daddy to drive you-"
"-but then we're driving from Cokeworth to here, then here to the hospital and I don't want us wasting time-"
"-it's not a ten minute task, Sev," she huffs, exasperatedly. "I'll be in labour for hours and hours - a few minutes here or there won't matter."
"Please, love," he begs, "do it for me. We're only talking a night or two."
She fiddles with her wedding ring. "...are you coming with me? I don't want to sleep alone - what happens if I start labour in the night?"
He smiles, sensing that the battle is won. "Wild horses couldn't keep me away from you. I'll be there, holding your hand, I promise." He kisses her again. "Anyway, we need to go to your mum and dad's because I need to start moving those boxes over - all our stuff from the dungeons."
"You can do that when I'm in the hospital," she says, "unpacking those really will keep you out of mischief."
The unusual sound causes Tobias to stop abruptly on the stairs. He frowns, stands on his tip-toes, and tries to peer through the grimy fanlight towards the street outside, certain that there's a couple of cats fighting - but the morning sun is high in the sky, its beams of light cascading through the glass, blinding his view and merely highlighting the thick swirling dust in the hallway.
The noise comes again.
"'Leen?"
There's another muffled sob, and he thunders down the remainder of the steps, throwing the kitchen door open with a bang.
"'Leen, what's…" He steps back at the sight of the grand owl flapping in the kitchen. "What the fuck?"
"I knew this would happen!"
"Knew what wud 'appen? It's just a fuckin' daft lost bird." He flaps his hands towards it. "Go on, yer overgrown fuckin' crow, fuck off!"
"It's post, Toby! It's got a letter!"
"Got a…" He trails off in disbelief, spying the letter in the owl's claws. He huffs, rolls down the sleeve on his right arm, and then darts his hand out, tugging the letter out of the owl's grasp. "Now get on wi' yer! Fuck off!"
"It won't just leave! You have to give it something," she says, her tone distraught, "for the delivery."
Tobias sighs loudly, opening the fridge. "Well, what d'yer want?" The question is barely more than rhetorical, and he tears at the tin foil covering the remainder of the chicken carcass, ripping some meat from the leg.
"Toby, no, that's for tonight's tea-"
"-ain't nowt else!" he snaps, holding the shredded meat out. The owl gobbles it down and - evidently insulted - with a furious flap of its wings, departs. Tobias angrily slams the fridge door, and then the back door, rubs his greasy hands against his open dressing gown, and roughly tugs at the envelope.
"No, it's not..."
He pauses, cautious, the wax seal still unbroken. "Not what? Not safe?"
Her voice is timid as she points to the side of the envelope facing her. "...addressed to me-"
"-then what are yer fuckin' werritin' about? Fuck's sake, all this fuckin' noise over nowt!"
"But why now? Why would a magical letter suddenly come here-"
"-an' I'm tellin' yer, ain't gonna be fuck all do wi' yer if it ain't got yer fuckin' name on!" He turns it over. "Severus Snape, esquire," he reads, huffing disparagingly. "I'll give 'im es-fuckin'-squire when I fuckin' see 'im," he spits, tearing into the envelope, "little shit he is."
"Toby, no, it's for him, not you!"
Tobias rips into the letter. "Yeah, well, he dun't fuckin' live 'ere, does he? I'm the man o' this 'ouse last I fuckin' looked."
He reads it slowly - too slowly for Eileen's liking, and she wonders if the wizarding words have tripped him up, or the inked cursive - but just as she's reaching for her pack of cigarettes to soothe her jangling nerves, he gives a short sigh of what she recognises as relief.
"...what does it say?"
"Nowt, love. It's just that Malfoy fella he's friends with. Wants a forwardin' address now soft lad's left the school. Too fuckin' right he wants a forwardin' address, I want him to have a fuckin' forwardin' address an' all! Fuckin' birds in 'ere at seven in the mornin' afore a man's 'ad is breakfast, fuckin' ridiculous."
"I'm sorry."
"Ain't yer fault," he says, softening. He passes the letter to her, brushing his thick fingers against the side of her cheek. "Ain't nowt for yer to worry 'bout. Nowt at all."
Chapter 92: Idle hands
Chapter Text
She's always smoked, ever since he first met her - but now her habit is heavier, much heavier. It's only become worse recently; worse since the argument they had, worse since the argument she'd had with the lad, worse since that evening where the pair of them shut themselves in the kitchen.
He'd stayed out of it, Tobias, sat in his chair in the front room, hand poised over the volume control of the radio, readying himself to twist it when the shouting started - waiting for them to spiral violently through the tiny house, slamming doors and dragging their argument from the kitchen to the front room to the hallway, screaming at each other on the doorstep so half of the neighbours could hear.
But this time, none of those things happened. Doors weren't slammed, and tempers weren't lost, and voices weren't raised. Their voices had remained so low, he didn't have a hope of listening in - and she'd brought his mug of tea out to him, so there wasn't much excuse for him to go clattering through to find out what they were yabbering about. He'd thought about going to the loo, but he knew she'd think he was sickening for something - or she'd be suspicious that he was trying to spy on her, prising out her close-kept secrets.
Not that I was interested, he thinks. Not in that witchy stuff they keep fightin' over. All stuff an' nonsense.
He was a bit different nowadays, the lad. When he was younger, there was an innocence to him - his apparently pointed comments weren't pointed at all, but just the ruminations of a young mind - although that didn't stop Tobias from reacting as fiercely as if they had been deliberately scripted, carefully scribed to flay him raw, exposing his faults and insecurities.
It started once the lad could read those blasted books she kept in the attic. It was all he wittered on about - night and day - about things Tobias couldn't make head nor tail of. Severus had perfected his look of scorn, the one he had inherited from his mother - her disdainful sneer seeming incongruent on the boy's delicate face.
And he'd stopped. The lad. Stopped wanting to be like his da. "I dunner want to listen to the footy." Stopped wanting to be at home. Hogwarts this, an' Hogwarts that. Stopped being interested in anything other than magic. Magic, magic, magic - it was all he wittered on about, as if being magical was something worthwhile, something to be proud of.
As if bein' like me wasn't ever good enough for 'im.
Truth be told, he'd feared the lad would come back all powerful, spells at his fingertips. Lord knows, Severus was frightening enough when his magic would spontaneously erupt from him; the thought of him being able to control it, to wield it, was more than Tobias could take.
Despite his fears, it didn't happen. When Severus returned in the holidays, he didn't throw the door back with the surge of unbearable confidence that Tobias had long anticipated. Instead, he was moody and miserable - and if they managed to cajole him from his bedroom, he sat with his arms crossed, scowling and glaring until they said he could be excused.
"Bleedin' 'ell! I'm sick o' lookin' at yer! What's rattled yer cage, face ache?"
"Jus' fuck off!"
And then he'd stormed upstairs, feet stamping, doors banging.
"Wonderful, Toby."
"Fuckin' 'ell, I only asked 'im what's wrong! Yer tol' me to take an interest in him!"
"There's nothing wrong with him. He's a teenager!" his missus had said. "They're all like this."
"I wasn't," he'd spitefully bitten back.
It didn't get better. Not for years. Severus became more and more awkward, skulking around the house, sullen and dark tempered and prone to jumping at the sight of his own shadow - drawing that bloody wand at the slightest creak of the stairs or whistle of the kettle. When he did speak, his comments weren't doused with the wide-eyed innocence he'd once had, but were so sour, he practically curdled the milk in the fridge.
Severus might still be acerbic, even now, but he's different. Different since she did more than hold his hand, different since he moved out, different since he strolled himself back in and announced he was going to have a kid of his own. She was good for him, the lass, there was no doubt about that.
But it was obvious that his son's improvement came at his wife's decline.
Coincidence, he thought. Nowt in it.
It annoyed him, Tobias, when he couldn't quite work out why. Couldn't work out why she was smoking more, couldn't work out why she was short tempered, couldn't work out why she stormed out when the lad gave his news. Couldn't work any of it out - and then they'd stood together, mother and son, whispering between them, excluding him.
It ain't any wonder they din't include yer, he thinks, angrily, ain't got nowt to do wi' magic. Got more to do with yer hittin' 'er. The flush of shame fills him again. It's all yer own fault, Tobes.
He watches her intently, that same slow rhythm - the lift of her hand, the pull, the spiral of smoke, the turn of her wrist, the knock of the ash - she's three foot across the room, yet it's as if she's miles away. The television's been blaring out for the past hour, but he couldn't say what programme it was, and he'd wager she couldn't either.
Not all your fault, Tobes, he silently corrects his inner voice. Fuckin' soft lad's fault, this, he thinks. Bloody wizards and witches and magical shit, bloody fightin' wars and spyin', that bloody school and that bloody headmaster, should've sent him the fuckin' comp, should've got 'im proper exams, might've even got in a university or summat, wi' a scholarship or a grant.
Pay my taxes, he thinks, ignoring the fact he hasn't worked since the mill closed. That's what I paid 'em for. For the likes of my lad. So 'e could 'ave a better life, an' what's he gone an' done? Knocked up the first local bird e's cast eyes on an' paradin' around the papers with some...political shite.
It was bad enough when he flipped the page and saw the lad's face, bad enough when his eyes scanned over the article - but somehow, it was worse when she read it, and he saw her expression. He'd worked out enough from the headline and from the gushing of the person cited in the byline; Tobias Snape didn't need the summing up of the closing paragraph to understand what was meant by a mysterious but charismatic figure. He didn't need to hear about an impressive and imposing leader with radical and unorthodox views. He didn't need to hear about brave statements and rallies and enthralled audiences lapping up promises. He didn't need to hear about what a fantastic change it was for the reporter, following all of the bad news which had recently enveloped the area, to be able to report on a positive movement - on a vehicle for change.
No, Tobias Snape had seen this sort of shit before, and one glance at his stressed wife suggested that she had too - and that this time, she knew more than he did. Not much unnerved Tobias these days - he was too big and too ugly and he'd seen too much to be bothered by most people and most causes - but this? This troubled him.
Deep down, he'd known this was coming - he'd known ever since the moment she'd stormed out of the house, all those months earlier, when the lad had been over and filling their ears with Dumbledore this and baby that. Tables had been turned that night; she'd lost her temper and scarpered, and it was Tobias who had pulled out his own cigarettes and picked up the pieces, smoking with his lad in the kitchen.
Ever since then, he thinks, she ain't been the same. He shifts in his chair, and flicks his hand in a vain effort to clear the smoke-filled air.
"Ain't got no more money. Giro's been an' done."
"What?"
"Yer smokin'," he huffs, picking up his newspaper. "If yer go through 'em all, can't afford no more."
"I'll manage."
"Manage? Manage, my foot! Yer pilin' thru' 'em like there's no next week! Then what'll yer do?"
There's a pointed silence, and she draws on the cigarette, her lips pinched.
"I'm jus' sayin'," he tries again, "ain't no more."
"I heard you the first time."
He huffs again, and wriggles in his chair, struggling to settle into a comfortable position.
"I'm watching this."
"Yer ain't," he snaps, crossing his legs. "Yer've been lookin' at t'picture on't wall all fuckin' night."
There's an oppressive silence, and she pulls furiously on her cigarette, as if she's striving to smoke through it at record speed.
"I'm gonna take it round 'er's."
Eileen pauses, the cigarette inches from her mouth. "Take what?"
"Soft lad's letter," he sniffs. "To 'er parents. Ain't comin' round, is 'e?" He risks a glance at her. "Yer thought 'e might."
"Yeah, well, I was wrong," she snaps, stubbing her cigarette out angrily. She stands, and so does he, grabbing her by the wrist - and wincing when she flinches, her face preemptively turning as if to soften the expected blow.
"...I thought 'e might an' all," Tobias says, softly, his shoulders sagging.
"Severus, sit down," David says, looking up from his book, "you're unsettling me with all that pacing."
"Sorry," he says, abruptly halting and sliding onto the sofa. "Think they'll be long?"
"I think this is exactly why they've gone out in the first place," David mutters, putting his bookmark in his book and then resting it on the arm of the chair. "Don't smother her."
Severus looks affronted. "I'm not! I was ready to paint the kitchen, but she said she wanted me here with her."
"Here?" David emphasises.
"Well, no," Severus says, colouring slightly, "being here was more my idea. I was worried about getting her to hospital. Without magic." He straightens. "But she does want me with her, when she goes into labour." He gets up again, and paces back towards the window, peering through the net curtain. "Did they say what they were going into town for? It's late."
To get some peace from the anxious father-to-be, David thinks.
"It's early evening," David points out. "They've only gone to get some fresh air."
"Fresh air," Severus mutters, still peering through the net curtain, "they've taken the car!"
"I'm sure they've got the windows open."
"You can get fresh air in the garden," he scowls.
"You need to relax, Severus. It could be weeks yet," David says, lightly.
"Weeks!" Severus' eyes widen. "But she's due, her date-"
"-well, perhaps not weeks," David concedes, "but the first one is often late. Lils couldn't get here soon enough, but Tuney… Well, she was trouble."
"...no change there then."
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," David says, but to Severus' relief, his smile doesn't slip. "I'm trying to remember how long over Rosie was with Tuney… I think it was ten days late and the labour was twenty-"
"-the labour was twenty hours?" Severus looks horrified.
"...seven," David finishes. "Twenty seven hours."
"Twenty seven," Severus breathes. "Merlin. Does Lil know this?"
"I reckon she will after this all-girls talk," David says. He gets up and claps Severus on the shoulder. "You need something to take your mind off it. How about looking at those boxes your father brought over?"
"I'll just take them over to the house."
"You should sort through them first - make sure you're only taking what you need."
Severus scratches his ear. "I can sort them out back there."
"You'll have a newborn to think about once you're back over in Rillwych. You won't have the time that you do now."
"Could go now."
David sighs. "Are you going to run back to your house every time Lils goes out with her mother? Is my company so horrifying?" There's a pause, but before Severus can think up a convincing lie, David claps his hand on Severus' shoulder again. "Come on, get yourself upstairs. I'll get you a bin liner, and you can start poking through them. It'll give you something to do when Lily is otherwise engaged. Can't have idle hands, can we?"
Potter ducks his head as he enters the basement bar, his wand straight out before him, his eyes scanning the room.
"Good, Potter," Moody says, catching his eye.
"Clear!" Potter calls back up the stairs, stashing his wand up his sleeve - and there's a clatter of footsteps as Black, Lupin and Pettigrew descend behind him.
"Less good," Moody mutters, as the others enter. "Could you be any louder?"
"YE-"
"Shut up," Lupin hisses, jabbing Black in the ribs with his elbow.
Black rubs his side, rolling his eyes. "Always here to spoil the fun, aren't you, Moons?"
Pettigrew glances around the room as he takes a seat. "No Dumbledore?"
"No Dumbledore, no Longbottom, no Fenwick-" Bones starts.
"The Prewett boys send their apologies," Moody chips in.
Vance pulls a chair out from the large table. "Hestia can't make it either."
"She's not made the last few," Potter says, "what's the story there?"
Bones exchanges a look with Moody and then with Vance. "...not every absence has a story, James."
"Most do," Pettigrew says, insolently. "Like Evans."
Moody straightens, and covers his movement by reaching for a biscuit - which he places before him, rather than eating it. "I don't think you should expect to see Evans here for a long time to come."
Potter looks horrified. "What's that supposed to mean?" He stands. "Has something happened to her?"
"Sit down," Moody says, indicating with his finger that Potter should return to his seat. "Dumbledore has suggested that it is not in his spy's best interest to be closely affiliated with our meetings." He casts a glance around the room, his eyes settling on each of the four boys in turn. "You never know who is listening."
"Are you suggesting that one of us-"
"-we're loyal to the cause-"
"-none of us would-"
"-even think about going dark-"
"-we're not like that-"
"-is that why the others aren't here-"
"-excluding us-"
"-so insulted-"
"-can't believe you'd think-"
"Enough," Vance says, raising her hand as all four boys start talking over each other, protesting their innocence, "that is not why we called you here."
"But there is a reason?" Black asks, his eyes narrowed. "A reason for separating us from the rest of the group?"
Bones sips her tea, and quietly places the cup down on the table, licking her lips before speaking. "...we wished to speak to Remus in private."
"Not very private!" Potter interrupts.
"The three of us and the four of you?" Moody challenges. "Seems pretty private."
"You know that we know," Vance says, quietly, staring at Lupin.
He nods, stiffly.
"And do you know that your kind is in demand?"
Black leans back on his chair, exhaling exasperatedly. "Absolutely not, Moons, you're not doing it."
Vance looks irritated. "You do not know what we wish to ask, Sirius-"
Black slams his chair back down onto four legs, and leans forwards menacingly. "No? You want him to go undercover with the wolves, don't you?"
There's a pause.
"No," Bones says, quietly. "That isn't our intention."
"Yet," Moody adds.
"See!" Black exclaims, his arms in the air. "I knew they'd try and use you!"
"Alastor," Bones quietly rebukes her colleague. She pushes her cup to one side. "Remus, have you seen the law that's come into force?"
He looks down at the table, and then, eventually, nods. "It's been a long time coming." He balls his hand into a fist, and then releases it, and then clenches it again. "I thought… I thought it wouldn't pass. It's been so long since they started work on it."
"And have you? Registered?"
He shakes his head. "No." He looks at the three aurors. "You're going to force me?"
The three of them share a strange look that he can't read, and then Vance leans towards him. "We thought you might intend to run."
"And you intend to stop me?"
"It depends," Moody says. "Have you seen his proposals?"
"As reported in the Prophet?" Lupin glances at his friends, and then nods.
"We all saw," Pettigrew chips in. "Could hardly miss it."
"And what are your thoughts?" Vance presses.
"I don't believe a word of it," Lupin mutters. "Wolfsbane for all?"
Vance raises a surprised eyebrow. "Really? His policy was very clear."
Black snorts. "He isn't in power. He can promise what he likes but it doesn't mean it'll happen."
"Manifestos can be dangerous even in opposition," Bones warns. "I can see how many afflicted witches and wizards-"
"Afflicted witches and wizards!" Lupin scoffs. "The Ministry does not ordinarily refer to us as such."
"But he says he will," Vance argues, quickly. "That he will value you. Assist you. Is that not enticing to you?"
"Are you suggesting I'm not loyal to the Order?"
"I didn't say such a thing."
Lupin pushes himself up in a quick movement, his hands braced on the table. "That's exactly what you've said! If I were to prefer the Dark Lord's policy over the Ministry's, then it would stand to reason that I would join him!"
"Moons," Potter says, pulling on his sleeve, "sit down, mate. She's not saying that. She's just saying, what if."
Vance nods. "Yes. What if the Ministry did have it as a policy?"
"They did!" he exclaims. "Or have you already forgotten? They were trying to trick us into registering with the promise of being on Belby's trial."
Vance gives him a quelling look. "It was no trick. Those who signed up were permitted access to Belby's potion." She pauses. "You should be grateful that you managed to acquire the potion through other avenues."
"I am," Lupin stresses, "but you all don't get it, do you? If you need to declare your illness to be eligible, this is just another way of making you register - whether the Ministry is forcing us into it, or You-Know-Who is promising us a better life. It's just another trick."
Bones shakes her head. "Not necessarily."
"It should be available to purchase! Just like any other potion - no papers, no checks. It's medicine," Lupin argues.
"I've seen these patents before," Bones explains. "They're simply checking that the people purchasing the potion are the ones who need it."
"Who else is going to want it, apart from people like me?"
She fixes him with a look. "Lucius Malfoy, for one. What would stop him from purchasing all of the stock, and then selling it on at a profit?"
Potter sighs. "She's right, Moons. There's got to be some sort of register else it won't work."
Lupin sits back, his shoulders slumped.
"Doesn't say much for its efficacy," Moody muses, "if you're not desperate enough to sign for it."
"It has nothing to do with that," Lupin argues. "It's incredible. I have never said differently. But I'm not prepared to sacrifice the rest of my values for it."
Bones gives him a friendly smile. "Well, in that case, just you make sure you're not caught with it, Remus," she says, kindly. "Belby is on the warpath-"
"-is that what all that fuss was about yesterday?" Vance gives a half laugh.
Moody nods. "He wouldn't leave the patent office until I threatened to arrest him for trespass."
"And then he went?"
"No, then Alastor arrested him," Bones smiles. She looks at the four friends. "Now, if you've not met Belby… Well, put it this way, he's a one-off."
Potter takes his glasses off and wipes them on his sleeve, before replacing them on his nose. "And what? You reckon he's on the Dark Lord's payroll?"
"Well, no, that's just the point isn't it," Bones says, keenly. "Belby was furious because he's not on the Dark Lord's payroll."
"Why would he be furious? It'd be a relief if you asked me," chips in Pettigrew. "Can't think of much that would be more terrifying."
"No, you idiot," Potter says, rolling his eyes, "she means that Belby knows that his potion is out amongst the masses."
Pettigrew frowns. "How? Does she know about Moons having it?"
"Merlin, Wormy, how thick are you?" Black sighs. "It's not just that You-Know-Who is promising it for all once he gets into power, but he's offering it now! If afflicted people join his cause."
"So, if Belby isn't brewing it for the Dark Lord, someone else must be. Ergo-"
"-don't use big words, James, you'll confuse him," Black laughs.
"Big words? It's only four letters."
"All right," Pettigrew says, slumping in his seat. "I was only asking."
"Yeah, and I was only telling," Potter says. He glances over at Moody. "And you think he's innocent?"
Moody pauses. "I don't consider anyone innocent."
"Wrong person to ask, James," Black laughs. "You, Vance?"
"It sounds too much like a good cover to me," Vance says, dismissively. "Belby's the only one who can brew it, so to stop us from knocking at his door, he's making a song and dance ahead of time, so we're led on a false trail."
"He's forgetting that we know he permitted Borage to brew under agreement," Bones says. "And if Borage had it-"
"-then Goldstein would've had access to it," Moody finishes. "And now he's dead. Suspicious."
"Whoever it is," Bones says, "we need to put a stop to it. If the werewolves are tricked into following You-Know-Who, there's no saying what might happen."
"I'll trail Belby," Moody offers.
"And what do we do about Borage?"
Vance huffs dismissively. "It's Belby! We don't have enough resources to follow Borage as well."
"We can't rely on it being Belby," Bones argues. "If we can't spare the manpower to follow Borage, then we need to keep an eye on the usual haunts - the usual drops."
"We could pull Fletcher in."
"No," Bones says. "Leave him out on the street. If he's brokering it, it's better we catch him in the act."
"Besides," Moody adds, "if you pull Fletcher in, anyone else brokering will get cold feet and stop."
Vance nods. "Looks like it's you and me patrolling Diagon and Knockturn then," she says to Bones.
"And you," Bones says, pointing at Lupin, "keep your head down. Whatever deal you have going on for your supply, keep it off the wizarding streets."
"I will."
"Then, if there's nothing else, I think it's time this meeting disbanded."
As the four friends stand, with Black grumbling under his breath about the waste of time it had been, Moody grips the arm of Potter, holding him back as the other three depart ahead of him.
"What?"
"Look after him," he warns, his voice low. "If You-Know-Who wants to recruit wolves, he won't stop at offering them a few potions."
Potter nods. "I won't let him out of my sight."
"And we haven't been instructed to start sweeping up unregistered werewolves," Moody says, his voice even lower, "but if I know the Ministry, it'll come."
Potter pales and swallows. "Right."
"Keep him out of sight the week of his transformations. None of us can afford for him to be seen whilst he's under the weather."
"Thanks, Moody. I appreciate you looking out for him."
Chapter 93: Couldn't happen to a nicer bloke
Chapter Text
Tobias doesn't go straight away. He has to work up to going over the river.
They'll look down on yer no matter what yer look like, he thinks, as he stands over the kitchen sink and runs his razor over his stubbled cheeks. Still, no point in showin' t'lad up.
He puts on a fresh shirt, and kisses Eileen before he leaves - he can taste her addiction on his tongue, but he doesn't recoil. Instead, he kisses her more firmly, holding her left cheek in his large hand, and he's pleasantly surprised when she responds with equal enthusiasm.
Might be on a promise here, Tobes, he thinks, and then he stands in the hallway, debating whether the weather will turn and he'll need a jacket. Yer stallin', he thinks, and he grabs his keys and slams the door, marching up the road before he can change his mind.
"Hello you," Lily says, poking her head around the door. "Daddy said you were up here sorting boxes." She laughs as her husband scrambles to his feet, putting the book he was engrossed in to one side. "I didn't know you had to read the books to sort through them."
"Cheeky witch," he laughs, pulling her into the room and into his arms. "Did you have a nice time with your mum?"
"Yes, thank you."
There's a strange pause and she frowns, brushing a piece of his hair behind his ear, and then she kisses him on the lips.
"You're not angry with me, are you?" she asks, cautiously.
"...no," he says.
"That's a yes," she smiles, her eyes glinting. "I can read you like a book, Severus."
"Yeah?" he says, sitting back down on the floor and pointing at a space on Petunia's bed where Lily can settle. "Is it a good one?"
"It's not a very complicated one."
"No?"
"There's about seven words on each page and it's made out of cardboard."
"You wound me," he says, dramatically, clasping his hands over his heart. "Bloody cheek."
She sits back on the bed. "So? Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"
He shrugs, and pokes through one of the boxes. "I found some good stuff in here-"
"-Sev!"
He sits back on his haunches, and sighs. "Look, I came here to support you, and you go out with your mum, leaving me with your old man."
"He's not so bad."
"To you, maybe. I'd rather be painting our kitchen."
She rolls her eyes. "Mummy just wanted to talk to me about being in labour. I thought you wouldn't want to hear about that."
"Might do," he shrugs.
"I'll tell you all about it," she laughs, "just you wait until you're ready to drift off to sleep. I'm going to whisper nightmares of days of labour in your ear."
"Not days. Twenty seven hours."
She raises her eyebrows. "How did you know that?"
"Your dad," he says. "We had a bit of a chat." He pauses. "About giving you some space." He folds the cardboard flaps together on a box, closing it. "Didn't realise I was smothering you."
"You're not."
"...I can go back to Rillwych-"
"-don't you dare," she says, heaving herself up. "Ow."
He bounces up immediately, his hands reaching for hers. "Ow?"
"I've just got cramp."
"Where?" he says, dropping to his knees, his hands reaching for her calf. "I'll sort it." He massages her lower leg for several minutes, until she squeezes his shoulder.
"Thanks." She beckons him to stand, and slides her hand into his. "I'm glad you're here."
"Me too, love. Me too."
"Shall we go downstairs and be sociable?" She laughs at his immediate dark scowl. "I'll take that as a no."
"I'd rather go to your bedroom and hang out with my wife," he murmurs. "Just the two of us. Whilst we can."
"Then let's do that, husband," she says, letting him lead her out of her sister's old bedroom.
The four men crowd into Lupin's small apartment; Pettigrew and Potter on the seats of the two-seater sofa, and Black perched on the arm, his feet resting on the coffee table.
"Do you have to, Pads?" Lupin sighs, when he enters with four bottles of Butterbeer dangling precariously from his fingers, the necks of the bottles clenched between his digits.
"Don't mind if I do," he laughs, grabbing one of the Butterbeers. "Seriously, Moons, you need to lighten up."
"Lighten up? We just attended a bespoke meeting where three aurors asked me if I was joining the Dark Lord!"
"...sounds like you've already joined him," Potter laughs.
"What?" Lupin snarls.
"You said the Dark Lord," Potter points out, sipping from his bottle. "Honestly, Moons," he says, his expression half amused, half concerned, "Pads is right, you need to relax."
Pettigrew frowns. "What's wrong with saying the Dark Lord?"
"That's what his lot call him," Black answers. "Worms, do you concentrate on any of what's going on around you, or do you just float from one minute to the next?"
"Just because I don't know what dark wizards call their leader, that doesn't make me stupid," Pettigrew argues, angrily. "In fact, it's suspicious that you know!"
Black laughs heartily, and Potter grins. "Calm down, Worms, bloody hell, first Moons, now you."
"Don't call me Worms."
"Fine, idiot," Black says, swigging from his drink.
"And don't call me-"
"All right," Lupin says, sitting down on the floor, his legs crossed and his back against the wall. "If you don't knock it off, I'm chucking all of you out."
Pettigrew glances at Lupin anxiously. "But we're all friends, aren't we?"
"Yes," Potter says, firmly. "And we're all in this mess together. We need to look out for each other." He points his bottle at each of his friends in turn. "Go around in pairs from now on."
"Prongs-"
"I'm serious, Pads," Potter says. "You and Pete," he says, with a smirk, "and I'll stick by Moons."
"Why not Moony and Wormy?"
"What's wrong with me?" Pettigrew instantly argues. "Don't you want to hang out with me?"
Black rolls his eyes. "No, no, nothing wrong," he says, but he shoots an angry glare over Pettigrew's head towards Potter. "Just surprised."
"I can handle myself," Lupin says, taking a drink from his bottle. "I don't need a babysitter." He gives a nasty grin. "Haven't you heard? I'm a dangerous wolf."
"Yeah, and You-Know-Who wants you on his side," Potter says, hotly.
"And you're going to stop that from happening, are you?" Lupin shakes his head. "It's better I'm on my own, in case the worst happens."
Black shakes his head. "Absolutely not. I'm definitely assigning Prongs to look after you."
"I'm not a child!"
Potter stands up and moves to sit next to Lupin on the floor, gripping his shoulder tightly. "None of us are saying that. What we're saying is, you're vulnerable, and you're our friend, and we want to look after you."
"Vulnerable," Lupin mutters, swigging again from his bottle.
"I think it's a good idea," Pettigrew says, quietly. "You never know when you might be approached."
"Especially if you're still dealing with Fletcher," Black adds. "You heard what Bones and Vance said." He shakes his head. "You need to be careful, going down there and dealing. If you're caught-"
"They won't pull Moons in though," Pettigrew says, his mouth open. "They know he's not involved in anything!"
"They might not," Potter says, darkly, "but what if someone else ends up covering for them?"
Lupin scowls. "Like who?"
"Longbottom."
"He's one of us," Black argues.
"But if he arrests Moons before he realises the full story, it'll be too late," Potter warns. "Let's just be sensible."
An awkward silence falls amongst them, and then Black stands and heads towards the record player in the corner. "Got anything worth listening to, Moons?"
"Probably not," Lupin mutters.
Potter punches him on his upper arm. "Come on, Moons! Cheer up!"
Black groans as he sneers his way through Lupin's record collection. "This is all trash, Moons."
"Just stick anything on," Pettigrew says.
"He's right," Potter says, casting with his wand so that one of the records leaps onto the player, and music suddenly fills the room - and Black reluctantly heads back to the sofa, taking Potter's vacant seat, and sprawling out.
"...how long do you think it'll take them to pick someone up?" Pettigrew asks.
"Dunno," Black answers. "Vance seemed pretty certain that Belby was the brewer."
Pettigrew nods. "Makes sense if he's the only one who can brew it."
"But that's just it," Potter argues. "Vance knows he isn't the only one."
"Bones mentioned that Borage was brewing it under agreement," Black says, with a frown. "So that's two."
Lupin nods. "Yes. Which means Goldstein probably was as well. Three."
"Goldstein's dead so we're back to two," Pettigrew adds.
"But Vance also got us the method," Potter says, "and we gave it to Evans." He pauses. "Back to three."
"And the rest," Black murmurs, "because if Vance gave it to us, what's to say she didn't give it to anyone else?" He exchanges a look with Potter. "Or what's to say Evans hasn't spilled the beans?"
Potter takes another gulp of his drink. "And if someone else is brewing it? What would be their reason for taking such a risk? They must either know a werewolf-"
"-or they're selling it." Lupin exhales loudly. "So do you think they will pull Fletch?"
"Bones said they wouldn't."
"What they say they'll do and what they actually do are two different things," Black says. "Makes sense to me - give him a shake and see if he'll talk about his suppliers?"
"...they reckon Snape still brews for Fletcher," Pettigrew says, cautiously.
"Sniv?" Black sits upright. "Is he still out there dealing?"
"So I've heard."
"Who from?"
Pettigrew looks a little taken aback at Black's intensity. "I… Just in Diagon one day. Overheard someone."
"Overheard someone?" Potter jeers. "What? Been spying again have you, Wor- Pete?"
Pettigrew takes a large gulp from his drink and leans back on the sofa. "Course not," he says, striving for nonchalance in his tone. "And I don't want you saying that sort of stuff to Dumbledore."
"Your animagus form means you'd be good at it," Black muses.
"Yeah, well, I don't fancy the death sentence," Pettigrew argues. "I just overheard, that's all."
"Hope they get him," Potter says, keenly.
"Yeah, serve the ugly git right," Black adds. "You know he's been charged for carrying already?"
"Has he?"
"So the rumour goes. Snallygaster parts, I heard."
"Sounds like you've been spying too," Pettigrew mutters.
"Bloody hell," Potter grins, ignoring Pettigrew's interjection. "What an idiot. Azkaban?"
Black shrugs. "Might do. He's slippery though. Reckon Malfoy will give him a good defence and he'll get away with a slap on the wrist." He pauses, as if considering something. "But it'll be his second offence. If he's caught again, he'll definitely get himself locked up." He raises his bottle. "And it couldn't happen to a nicer bloke."
Lupin stares at his feet as Potter and Black cheer over Snape's misfortune, and then he downs the end of his Butterbeer, drinking over half of it in a few short moments.
"Bloody hell, Moons! Thirsty?"
"Something like that," he mutters, pushing himself to his feet. "Any more for any more?"
"I'll have another," Black says, gulping his down.
"You don't need to neck it first," Lupin says. "Pete? James?"
"Sure."
"Yeah," Potter says, standing as well. "I'll help."
"You don't need-"
"-I'm up now," Potter argues, following him through to the kitchen. He leans against the worktop as he watches Lupin taking four beers out of the fridge, and then reaching into the cupboard to get some to replenish the cold bottles. "You ok, Moons?"
"Fine."
"You don't seem fine," Potter says, stepping in the doorway and preventing Lupin from leaving. "No matter what's going on, I'll make sure Evans gets that potion to you-"
"-you will?" Lupin scoffs. "I can do that myself, thanks."
"Look, Moons," Potter says, barricading the doorway, "tell me what's wrong."
Lupin stands before him for a moment, as if deliberating over whether to push past, or whether to talk - and then he sets the bottles back onto the worktop.
Potter gives a small, but triumphant, smile.
"...she's been making my life worth living," Lupin says, quietly. "And now she might get caught."
"...Evans?"
He nods. "And if not Evans…"
"What do you mean, if not Evans?"
"She's brewing it," he affirms, "but if she's giving it to someone else to get to Fletcher…"
Potter flinches. "Did she tell you that?"
"She's not said-"
"-fuck!" Potter exhales loudly.
"James, don't-"
"-I haven't said anything!"
"Don't tell Sirius," he hisses.
"Don't tell Sirius what?" a lazy voice calls down the corridor, and to Lupin's horror, Black smiles at him over Potter's shoulder. "Come on. We're all friends here, aren't we?"
"Read it again," she says, nestling her head against his bare chest.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Bean liked it."
He laughs, and she loves the way she can feel his deep chuckle reverberating through her. "Bean liked it," he teases, "or Lil liked it?"
She closes her eyes, her left hand drifting down to hold his. "Both."
"I can't turn the pages if you hold my hand."
"You'll manage," she murmurs, and she pulls his hand over her stomach, both of them feeling for Bean as Severus reads, his dulcet tones low in her ear.
When he turns the final page, he leans down and places the book on the floor, and when he sits back up on the bed and sees the disappointed look on her face, he laughs.
"What?" he says. "It doesn't have a different ending if I read it again, you know."
"I know," she grins. "I was just enjoying the moment. Didn't want it to end."
"There'll be plenty more," he says. "Won't be long until we're doing this and holding Bean."
"Yeah."
"Scared?"
"A bit," she says. "You?"
"A bit," he agrees, wrapping his arms around her.
She shifts a little, tilting her neck, and kisses him. She's surprised when he doesn't break the kiss but gently deepens it instead. It's less hurried than usual - not a heated promise of more, but something calmer. A declaration of love, she thinks, as she relaxes into his kiss.
They're so lost in each other, they don't hear the door, or the footsteps on the stairs, or the entry into and retreat from Petunia's room. It's only the brief knock on Lily's bedroom door which startles them - but Rose has already pushed her way in before they can extricate themselves from each other's lips.
"Oh, I am sorry, you two," she says, looking a little awkward. "I didn't realise you'd already gone to bed."
"It's all right, Mummy," Lily says, although Severus looks a little more chagrined. "We were only kissing."
"Your father's downstairs." There's a brief pause, and when neither of them react, Rose clarifies. "Your father, Severus."
"Oh!" He moves off the bed, and picks his t-shirt up off the floor, pulling it over his head, and then stepping into his jeans and buttoning them. "Won't be a moment, love," he says, pecking Lily on her lips.
"I'll come too-"
"-no, stay there," he insists. "I'll only be five."
He isn't five minutes. She knew he wouldn't be. They're polite enough to each other, the Snapes and the Evanses - they nod if they see each other across the aisle in a shop, and greet each other and promise to catch up properly if they meet in the street - but they're not friends. Rose and David rarely head over to Spinner's End, and Tobias and Eileen rarely make the return journey over this side of the river.
If his dad has come over at this time of night, there's something wrong.
She ventures slowly down the stairs, and she can hear their voices creeping through the wall.
"What's the big secret?"
"It's not a secret," Severus argues, "but I just need some space-"
"-aye, an' we dunner need yer shit comin' to our door 'coz yer after some space!"
"Bloody hell, Da! It's been two minutes!"
"Have you lot been then?"
She hears the rumble of her father's voice. "To their house? No."
"Summat wrong wi' it? That why yer here?"
"Lily and Severus just wanted to be somewhere with a phone and a car, in case they needed to get to the hospital in a rush," Rose explains, her tone soothing.
"But yer ain't seen their 'ouse?"
He's offended, she realises.
"For the last time, Da," Severus argues, his voice getting louder, "yer ain't missing out! I've been, Lil has been. That's it. Not her parents, not you and Mam. Just us two. I dunno what yer mitherin' about."
She can't work out what's happening now - something must've been passed between them.
"She's upset."
"What is it, Severus?" David asks. Again, there's something happening that she can't fathom - and then David continues. "Well, he's just a friend of yours, isn't he?"
"I've been gone two minutes." Severus' voice sounds anxious. "He shouldn't need me this quickly."
"I thought yer weren't goin' back?"
"I thought you were," Rose interjects. There's a pause. "I can't keep up with your comings and goings."
"I wasn't," Severus explains, "and then I was. But now I thought I might be able to stay away." There's a pause. "Until this."
"Do you have to go?" David asks.
There's a prolonged pause, and Lily can feel her heart banging in her chest. Don't go back, Sev. Don't go back.
"Yer mam's worried sick."
"Right, tell 'er not to worry, Da," Severus says, abruptly. "I'll sort this."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Severus, lovey," Rose starts.
"Look," he says, his voice gruff, "I can't have wizards descending on my mam and da just because that's my last known address."
"You can't have them descending on you and Lils and the baby in Rillwych either," David warns.
"I know that!" There's another pause. "I'm sorry. I know. I'll sort it." He sniffs. "Yer lookin' dressed up, Da. Pub tonight?"
"Wasn't goin' to," Tobias says, "but might just wet me whistle on the way back." There's another pause. "Yer after a pint an' a game o' arrows?"
"Nah," he says, "I need to talk this through with Lil."
She creeps back up the stairs then, slowly, willing each step not to creak - and although she can't see the group, she's certain that her parents will be as pleased as she is at his response.
He's not his father after all, she thinks.
"Can you two even hear yourselves? You make me sick," Black sneers.
"If I'm right and Snape's involved, then he's partly responsible for a huge change in my condition! This has been life-changing!" Lupin yells back.
"And what about me?" Black yells even more loudly. "Last I looked, I was the one paying for you-"
"-me, actually," Potter interjects. "It's been my money. Your account, Pads, but my galleons."
Black turns, his eyes narrowed. "No, your father's galleons."
"And whose galleons are yours when you thought you were using those?" Lupin argues. "Your uncle's? It's all the same!"
"Yeah, you're right there! All not yours!" Black shouts. "Fuck! Fucking Snivellus!"
His shout seems to echo off the walls of the small kitchen, and the three men stare at each other, betrayal and anguish etched on their faces.
"...how could you even take something he's touched?" Black says, his fists clenched by his sides.
"...I don't think he's brewing it."
"Then how do you think he's involved?"
"Fletcher," Lupin says, quietly. "I think he's running it."
"We already know he got caught carrying recently-"
"-that wasn't Wolfsbane," Black argues, "we'd have heard if it was. Bones or Vance or Moody would've said."
"But he was down there and dealing," Potter reasons. He glances from Lupin to Black. "I hate to say it, but it makes sense."
Lupin nods. "In some ways it's better like this."
"How is having Snivellus involved in anything we're doing a good thing?"
Lupin glances at Black, and then at Potter. "...what do you think would happen to Evans if word got out that she can brew Wolfsbane?"
There's a long pause, and Potter's face pales.
"A few people know already," Potter breathes. "Vance for one."
"And what?" Black says. "You think this is some sort of elaborate trap? That they want her to go waltzing down to deal with Fletcher?"
"They said they didn't want him off the street," Potter warns, "and they told you to be careful, Moons."
"Oi!"
The three men look down the corridor, where Pettigrew's peering around the living room door.
"I thought we were having new beers?" he asks, brandishing his empty bottle. He walks towards them, and they pass it between them, placing the empties in the bin and then Lupin hands out the fresh bottles he'd collected from the fridge.
"Sorry, Pete," Lupin says.
"What are you talking about?"
"Spies," Black says, leading them back towards the living room, as they all settle back down again.
"Spies?" Pettigrew's eyes widen and he picks at the label on his bottle. "Like who?"
"Evans," Black says. "Who else do we talk about when Prongs is here?"
"Shut up, Pads," Potter says, flushing slightly. "But none of this makes any sense."
Black raises his bottle in the air in a mock celebration. "Yes! Finally! This is what I've been saying all along!"
"We know what you think," Lupin mutters, swigging from his bottle and then wiping his mouth with his shirt cuff. "...but I don't get it. Evans is our only spy."
Black snorts. "Some spy. We haven't seen hide nor hair of her in months."
"No, come on, Pads, Dumbledore mentions information from his spy-"
"-and you think that's Evans?" Black shakes his head. "I don't buy any of it. I don't buy any part of her story. She's tapped."
"Mate, you're totally out of order," Potter argues.
"Look, I'm on your side here, Prongs," Black says, animatedly, "I never got why she would fuck Snivellus but at least it made some sort of twisted sense."
Potter scoffs. "I wouldn't say that."
"Lived near each other, didn't they?"
"Yes," Lupin says.
"I didn't know that," Pettigrew says, looking surprised.
"She told us!" Black exclaims. "Months ago! Weren't you listening?"
Pettigrew colours. "I just forgot."
"I remember it well," Black sneers, "and I remember you didn't know he wasn't just a Halfblood, but half Muggle. He hides it well, granted-"
"Pads, come on, there's no need for that-"
"-but at least I can see how it happened between them. Long and lonely summers? Two horny teenagers stuck in the Muggle world with no other magical people in sight?" He shrugs. "Thinking of it makes me feel sick, but I can believe it."
"Yeah, we get that you believe it," Potter scowls. "Thanks for the graphic mental imagery."
Black gives a slight laugh. "But what I can't imagine is her dropping him now? When the laws are in full flight and she can't work?"
"He dropped her," Pettigrew argues, "or have you forgotten? I was there, remember!"
"Yeah, and if you believe that…" Black scowls. "Taking up with Malfoy? Evans? Evans wouldn't touch that Pureblood narcissist, and even if we think the worst of her, even if we say that she was in awe of him-"
"-Malfoy wouldn't lower himself," Lupin finishes.
"Exactly! A Purist sullying himself with a…" Black trails off, and waves his hand. "It doesn't make sense. None of my family would behave like that."
Potter nods. "You're right. I never liked it. She said herself that it could be a story."
Pettigrew looks miserable. "But everyone believed it."
"So if she's not fucking Malfoy," Black says, triumphantly, and acting as if Pettigrew didn't speak, "then where is she?"
"Brewing for the Dark Lord," Pettigrew guesses.
"A Muggleborn? Brewing for..." Potter shakes his head in disbelief. "Do you even know what the Dark Lord stands for, Wormy?"
"Call me Pete," Pettigrew mutters.
"Maybe she's just gone back home," Black guesses. "I would, if I was Muggle."
"She's Muggleborn," Potter stresses. He glances at Lupin. "We've seen her."
"James…" Lupin trails off, weakly, as Black looks stunned.
"Where?" Pettigrew asks, eagerly. "How?"
"Nowhere."
"Nowhere?" Black scoffs.
"Nowhere special, I mean. Just somewhere. Anywhere. She wrote to me," Lupin says, quietly. "Said she'd made some modifications to the potion."
"...then that's how we'll find out if she's the Dark Lord's brewer," Black says, with a slow smile. "If we can get our hands on the potion that's being supplied-"
"-no," argues Lupin, instantly. "There's no difference in it."
Black looks crestfallen.
"And I don't like the way you're assuming that she's brewing for the Dark Lord. This potion has changed my life."
"...I don't think she is," Black argues. "I think Sniv is. I think she taught him how to brew it-"
"You always think the worst of him."
"No," Black argues, "it was as soon as you said she'd made some modifications-"
"-that was always Snape's thing," Potter agrees, as the thought strikes him. "He was forever experimenting in class, blowing up cauldrons and the like!"
"It all fits," Pettigrew adds. "If Belby isn't the Dark Lord's brewer-"
"-Belby isn't. You-Know-Who wouldn't want someone like Belby," Black agrees, "they'll want someone they can control. Manipulate."
"And kill off if they're too much trouble," Potter adds.
"Like Goldstein," Lupin nods in agreement.
"And if what I've heard is right, he always takes Borage's brewers," Black says, softly.
"Which is why we kept tabs on Snape when he was apprenticing with him," Potter adds.
Pettigrew laughs scornfully. "Yeah, that's why you were doing that."
"Shut up, Pete."
"That settles it then," Black says, decisively.
"What does?"
"Well, they're all dead - Borage's apprentices."
"...apart from Snape," Pettigrew finishes, breathlessly. "He must be the brewer."
Potter gives Lupin a twisted smile. "How do you feel about him now, hey?"
"...fine, I was wrong," Lupin mutters, his cheeks colouring. "But we've got to be careful," he warns. "What if he's not involved? What if it is Evans who is doing the transfer and she gets caught?"
"We could warn her," Potter says, eagerly.
Lupin shakes his head. "No, I'll do without for a couple of months."
Black looks surprised. "You can manage until after all this has died down?"
Lupin nods. "I've managed most of my life," he says, "I owe her this much."
"We all do," Potter warns, pointing the neck of his bottle at each of them in turn, "I don't want Evans taking the fall for this."
"Not unless you're there to catch her," Black quips, raising his bottle in cheer again, and swigging from it. "Here's to you, Prongs - maybe there's hope for you yet, you lovelorn soul!"
Chapter 94: Loaded weapon
Chapter Text
It wasn't until they got to Hogwarts that she became aware that Severus' behaviour was more than a little odd. When she first started to play with him at the park, she had noticed that he was quite different to both her and her sister, but those differences hadn't remotely bothered her.
They bothered Petunia.
Petunia seemed unable to stop herself from interfering. Instead of being pleased that Lily had found a new friend that she liked, Petunia had gone to great lengths to point out just how strange he was, as if Lily's insistence upon being friends with him was because she'd become temporarily blind and deaf in his presence, and was incapable of seeing his many flaws so it fell to Petunia to point them out.
It was a task she took seriously. Petunia would stand at the door to Lily's bedroom, making fun of everything she could think of about Severus; his name, his clothes, his accent, his hair, the part of town he came from, and even his insistence that he was magical and destined for a better life in another world - to the point that her complaints were so ridiculous, it almost became comical.
Perversely, Petunia's desperate opposition to Severus made Lily all the more curious. Besides, Petunia was wrong - it wasn't that Lily hadn't noticed that he could be a little peculiar. Despite Petunia's loud claims to the contrary, Lily wasn't blind - she could see that he often carried the same smudged lines of dirt from one day to the next, and his hair was unkempt, and his clothes didn't fit him. Nor was she deaf - she could hear his thick accent, and his common phrasing, and his mispronunciation of words he'd obviously read but never heard spoken out loud - but none of these things bothered her, because Lily could sense something that Petunia couldn't.
Ever since Moody had pointed out her thrum of magic, she'd half wondered if it had been something magical, their untamed spirals of innate talent calling to each other - or whether it had just been him. To Lily at least, there was still something compelling, almost magnetic, about him. It had been even more pronounced as a young child - he was curious and interesting and excitable, and he had boundless energy, the sort of spirit that led them into misbehaving. His lack of boundaries led him to behave dangerously - Lily herself had pulled him gasping out of the river on more than one occasion - and all of that, as far as Lily Evans was concerned, made him a much more fascinating friend than someone who Petunia would consider worthwhile company, such as someone who reliably brushed their hair in the morning.
Severus was unlike anyone else she'd ever met and in her childlike naivety, she had decided that all wizards must be the same as he was; it was the only explanation. Back then, Lily hadn't really understood what he meant when he talked about his parents arguing. She'd never really understood why Mr and Mrs Snape being angry at each other meant that Severus' hair went unwashed, or why he sometimes looked half starved, eyeing up the fruit bowl when he waited for her to put her shoes on in the kitchen before they headed off out to play.
She simply thought he was different because he was magical, because his mother was magical - and she used to think that they were trying to fit in with Muggles by not performing magic. In case they went to Azkaban. In her mind, it explained a lot - explained why they couldn't conjure food to eat, and couldn't conjure clothes, and couldn't use magic to wash. Not that he'd ever told her anything like that, but it was the only thing that made sense.
So Lily had been shocked when she started at Hogwarts, when she sat on the train and wasn't confronted with a carriage full of children just like Severus. Instead, they were just like she was, with their nice clothes and nice hair and nice manners - and it had been somewhat startling to discover that her strange friend was as much an outlier at Hogwarts as he had been in Cokeworth.
He improved at Hogwarts. Those superficial traits that Petunia had so despised were smoothed; he was better groomed, as the Heads of House were strict over ensuring that every child adhered to a daily routine, and the feasts in the Great Hall ensured that he was better fed. She wasn't sure what caused his Cokeworth accent to erode; whether it was the myriad of accents within Hogwarts that caused it to soften, or whether it was a deliberate effort, perhaps steered by Lucius, or Narcissa, or the rest of the Purebloods in Slytherin house.
Despite those developments, his behaviour remained fairly constant - Hogwarts hadn't really changed him. He was still cutting and sarcastic, although he was a little more anxious and jumpier and prone to berating her if she crept up on him, but she didn't pay it much notice - she thought it was retribution, given how much he seemed to love sneaking around.
It seemed to be his favourite hobby. Whenever she saw him, he was always watching other people - sometimes simply monitoring their comings and goings, but at other times, he'd clearly be following them, hanging off their every word. He eavesdropped on private conversations, often hushing her if she started loudly speaking - but his behaviour was at its most deviant when she found him snooping through various letters.
"What?" He'd looked defensive. "Shouldn't have left it out in the open if they didn't want it read."
She'd finally understood the cause of his behaviour when she went over to Spinner's End. Not the first time, or the fifth time - but when she was older and she'd visit more frequently, keen to hide away with her boyfriend in his bedroom with his parents unlikely to disturb them. It was then that she realised that the background refrain of bickering was a constant, simmering away until the touchpaper was lit, and then the argument would boil over into a violent explosion.
It didn't take her long to piece together that his habit of snooping and sneaking had little to do with the content - he was rarely interested in the minutiae of the secrets he discovered, and despite him being fascinated by other people, she struggled to get him to gossip about what he'd overheard - but instead, he was monitoring the atmosphere around him.
When she was ensconced with him in the tense environment of Spinner's End, she soon realised that for Severus, listening through walls and closed doors for fragments of conversation was a means of survival; he was constantly checking for mood, for sudden shifts in tone - judging whether he could stay out later than usual without earning his father's ire, or whether a white envelope with the words Final Demand stamped all over it in red would mean that an innocent but ill-timed comment during tea would see him sent upstairs for the rest of the evening, or grounded for a day or three, or clipped around the ear or the rear.
Even when she didn't understand his actions, she'd been relatively happy to go along with his behaviour, because it wasn't all snooping and sneaking - he was daring and cheeky, and her mother would've said he was naughty - and she enjoyed the mischief he led her into. Most of all, she liked having him as a willing protective shield, deflecting criticism for her own actions onto him.
"It was Severus' idea! He thought his mam said it'd be ok!"
The lies tripped off her tongue a little more easily when he was stood by her side, and he never disputed her version of the facts in front of adults, even if she was laying the blame at his door. And with his shabby clothes and his unkempt appearance so at odds with her neat presentation, the adults were only too keen to believe what she was saying - her parents included.
It didn't seem to bother him. He always handled the consequences to their actions far more stoically than she did. She wanted to be as reckless and as uncaring as he was, but she wasn't as resilient as he was. When Petunia had found out that they'd read her letter from Dumbledore, Petunia had been devastated, and her parents had been devastated, and it had led to Lily being devastated - hurt that the rest of her family were furious and disappointed in the two best friends and their bad behaviour.
Severus had simply shrugged.
At the time, she'd put it down to Petunia and Severus not being friends - but now that she's older, she understands that politely listening to a lecture from her parents about respect and boundaries, and having to hear how sorely disappointed they were in having their trust in him broken, was barely a chastisement as far as Severus was concerned; not compared to the manner of punishment his parents routinely used to correct his behaviour.
Even then, there'd been something different about his motivation. She'd wanted to know what Dumbledore could've said to her sister - wanted to know why he was contacting Petunia when she'd already missed her admission date and hadn't shown any trace of magical ability. Severus didn't seem to care about that - he simply wanted to know if there was a chance they'd be starting at the school, only to find Petunia sitting with them in the Great Hall.
That changed, as they grew. He became sneakier over the years - not just absorbing the atmosphere around him, but actively controlling it instead. Whereas years before, he'd have stayed silent about his undetected misdemeanours, she'd witnessed him dropping unprompted confessions of his misbehaviour into conversation with his mother, even though he knew she'd react angrily.
"I can't believe you, Sev! Why did you tell her?"
"If she found out on 'er own, she'd 'ave grounded me for a fortnight. Least this way's only a week."
"Only a week! Only a week! A week's bad enough! I thought we were going to hang out tomorrow."
"C'mon Lil, use yer 'ead. Fair's in town nex' week, an' we don't wanna risk missin' that, do we?"
Lily had even seen him destroying those letters with fierce language on the envelope - the type that never came through her door on her side of Cokeworth - because he was certain he'd somehow take the fall, and lose his freedom when he'd already got plans.
"Sev! Don't!" she'd hissed. She'd glanced over her shoulder at Eileen bustling about the kitchen, tending to the whistling kettle, and the three empty mugs. "You can't just burn it, they'll need to pay it!"
"Won't make any difference," he'd argued, tossing the envelope into the fire. "Ain't paid it 'til now, ain't never gonna pay it. Don't see why I should get shit for summat they should've sorted weeks ago."
And then he'd grabbed the poker and mashed the thick letter into the coals when it didn't burn rapidly enough for his liking, before settling back down on the sofa next to her, his expression full of innocence when Eileen returned with a tea-stained tray, the three mugs clinking as she walked across the room.
The worst was when they'd stolen and read Petunia's diary. Lily had clocked its location weeks earlier - behind Petunia's stash of old Jackie magazines on the second shelf of the bookcase - and a combination of curiosity, irritation at Petunia's continued snide comments, and a lust for revenge led them to sneaking into Petunia's room.
Severus stood at the top of the stairs, watching for any movement - and Lily darted in. Her heart had thumped in her chest as she stepped over piles of discarded clothes and discarded books, desperately trying not to knock anything out of place, and then she carefully extricated the diary. She paused, listening for Severus' warning call - but nothing came, so she took her time ensuring that the scene of the crime was undisturbed, and then she'd slid the diary up her jumper and made her escape.
In the safety of her room, they'd passed the diary back and forth between them, pointing out entries that made them giggle. After a while, Severus appeared bored by most it, flicking through the pages carelessly.
"Sev, don't rip them! She'll know!"
"Blah blah blah," he said, although he was noticeably more gentle when he turned the next page. "She doesn't 'alf moan a lot, yer sister."
"Give it back then," she'd said. She'd sat reading it whilst he hunted through her music collection, searching for the next record to put on. Before he could make a decision, Lily sighed audibly and shot an amused look in his direction. "Doesn't like many people, does she?"
"Yer tellin' me. Where are you up to?" he asked, leveraging himself off the floor and onto the bed, peering over her shoulder. "The eighteen or so entries about some girl called Tracy? That was a real yawn-fest."
As Lily held the diary out towards him, a short rush of wind blew in from the window, causing the pages to flick over and Severus' eyes lit up. "Did yer see that?"
"Yes," Lily said, frantically searching the diary to find the pages again, "those entries were in code!"
"That's gonna be the good stuff," he grinned. "I knew even Tuney couldn't be this borin'!"
Lily grabbed some loose paper from her desk, and she faithfully transcribed the upside-down, back-to-front, coded fragments, whilst Severus started sketching out a grid to help them to crack the code.
It took over an hour, but eventually they worked it out, and the two sat with their heads together and their mouths open as they realised what the apparently prim and proper Petunia was getting up to on a Saturday night.
"...you don't have to keep reading it, Sev."
"Sorry," he'd said, looking a little embarrassed, and putting the pages down. "...did yer know that she'd done it?"
"...no."
"More than once," he said, glancing at the pages again.
"Yeah, and you've read those more than once," Lily said, grabbing the pages and stuffing them in her desk drawer.
"It's disbelief!" he protested with a grin. "I can't believe she's been givin' us shit-"
"-Sev, don't-"
"-an' she's been doin' it on 'er knees, in that alley round the back of the club!" He gave a half laugh. "An' she thinks I'm scum. At least I had the good manners to shag you in my bed."
"Sev, shhh!" Lily coloured slightly at his crass phrasing. "...we probably shouldn't have done that."
"I thought we'd agreed-"
"-not…" She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. "...not us having sex, but reading Tuney's diary."
"Oh. That." He looks bored - as if he hasn't been involved in reading it for the past couple of hours. "Put it back then."
She gave him a dark look. "I will, but I can't unless you keep watch."
He pushed himself off the bed, and pressed a kiss to her lips as he passed her. "As long as you make it worth my while after."
She'd thought Petunia's reaction had been bad when she found out that they'd read her letter from Dumbledore, but it was nothing like her ire when Petunia revealed to her parents that Severus and Lily had read her diary. Lily had broken down, full of remorse and apologies, and Severus had remained unrepentant, almost stoic in his lack of regret.
"So what?"
She can still hear his nonchalant tone of voice now, muffled by his hair as he tipped himself upside down on the crossbar of the goalposts.
"I can't believe you sometimes."
"What?"
"We were so careful, and then you leave the decoder you made in the dining room!"
"It was an accident."
"What were you even doing with it out of my room?"
"Just dropped it."
"Sev, this isn't funny! She's furious."
He swung himself upright on the crossbar, sitting on top of it, his legs straddling the bar. "How furious? ...she say anythin' 'bout us?"
"No."
"Good." He shot her a wicked grin. "Didn't think she'd dare rat us out. Not after the filth she put in that diary."
"...Mummy and Daddy have said that we're not to go into her room anymore."
He shrugged. "An' she's not allowed ter go in yers, right?"
"That's what they said. They said we were to keep away from each other."
And then he'd pushed himself off the bar, landing in the dirt below with a low bend of his knees, like a practised gymnast. He stood, with his arms outstretched and his grin broad. "Excellent."
It hadn't occurred to her until later, much later, that whilst she'd been fuelled by curiosity - fascinated by what her sister could be up to in a world that she was no longer part of, desperate to compare herself to her older sister and check that she was hitting the same milestones and in a similar manner - Severus had been looking to protect Lily and their embryonic relationship.
It had been Petunia who had realised that the dynamic between the two friends had changed, Petunia who had caught Lily playing silly love songs on her turntable, Petunia who had deliberately burst in on them one evening when Severus had his hand up Lily's blouse and his tongue in her mouth.
Petunia had apologised for interrupting them and Lily had quickly accepted it, terrified that letting the situation develop into an argument would lead to her parents being involved, and risking them forcing her and Severus to split up. Petunia had seemingly sensed this, and had drawn out the apology into a lengthy affair, effusing about how deeply sorry she was for the accidental intrusion. Severus had said nothing - he'd kept his head bowed, staring at the pattern in the carpet. Not long after, he'd made his excuses and left - and now, she can see that whilst she'd been keen to put the incident to rest, he hadn't remotely believed that Petunia's apology was close to genuine; he'd guessed that she was storing the information up to use against them, waiting for the opportune moment to break them up.
That had been the catalyst for them reading her diary - Lily because she was curious about the content, keen to see whether Petunia was as pure as she made out, or whether she'd also succumbed to a boy's charms, whilst Severus had clearly gone along with the plan because he was hoping to find a loaded weapon that he could use against her.
And he had.
Despite its usefulness as a technique being proven, she's never really been one for snooping - but she's relieved that she listened in to Tobias' visit, and has already heard Severus' intent to talk things through with her, because when he returns to their bed, he's quiet and withdrawn.
She prompts him, gently, but he bats her concerns away with ease, telling her that it was something and nothing. When she pushes harder, he sighs, and mutters a lie about Tobias being after money - and she can't help but feel concerned about how easily the deception trips off his tongue. With him reluctant to confide in her, she changes the subject, trusting - hoping - that his statement downstairs was his true intention, and that when he's ready, he'll find the words he needs to explain.
He does. When darkness has fallen, and she's settled comfortably against his chest, his arms wrapped around her, he gently murmurs her name into her ear. There's a cynical part of her that wonders if he was hoping that she'd fallen asleep and earned himself a reprieve, or whether it's just taken him this long to put his thoughts in order.
"Not tired?" she says, stroking her fingertips over his hand.
"...Da brought me a letter."
She lets the words hang, deliberately not pressing him for more.
"...it was from Malf."
"Is he ok? Is Cissy?" She runs a little cold. "Draco?"
"I don't know," he answers, honestly. "It just told me to get in touch with him." He pauses. "Something's really wrong for him to contact me like that."
"Why did he write to your parents?"
"Not to them. Just the address," he explains. "I gave it him. When I was a kid."
She twists and gives him a curious look. "...but why didn't he just let his owl find you?"
"...I'm untraceable," he says, quietly. His eyes widen as the implication hits him. "Aren't you?"
She shakes her head - and he reaches immediately for his wand, and there's a sudden rush of magic that trickles over her body.
"What did-"
"-you don't need people sending you owls to trace your location," he mutters. "I thought you'd already done it. Reckon everyone else thought the same, else you'd have been inundated."
"From who?"
"Dumbledore. Moody. Potter," he spits, venomously.
"Just lucky, I guess," she says.
"I guess," he snaps. There's another long pause. "Bloody hell, love," he whispers, and when she glances down at his hands, she can see his fingers trembling. He appears more shaken now that the danger as passed, and she presses a kiss to his bare chest.
"Sorry. I didn't think…" she says, trailing off.
They sit quietly for a moment, and she traces her hand over his stomach, drawing invisible circles over his smooth skin.
"Sev?"
"What?"
"Why were you untraceable? As a kid, I mean?"
It takes him a long time to answer, and she only doesn't break the silence because he's gently stroking his hand through her hair, and she knows he's deliberating something, and she doesn't want to stop him from confiding in her.
"I never knew," he admits, eventually. "Just… Mam said, when I went to Hogwarts that there wasn't any point in expecting owls at the holidays, because we were classed as Muggles. Said that she didn't even get the papers because of it."
"But that wasn't true?"
"Do I look like a Muggle to you?" he laughs - but it's not a genuine laugh. "It's a spell. Most don't use it, least not permanently - getting post is terribly useful, after all." He eyes her critically. "Unless you're embracing Muggle life."
"And you've always used it?"
"She lifted it when I moved in with you," he says, quietly, "but I put it back on when we went to Hogwarts." He shrugs. "Everyone knew I was at the school, so they could address their letters to me there. Didn't see the point in letting everyone trace me every minute of every day."
"...so when you were a kid, because Lucius' owl couldn't hope to find you, you gave him your exact address? Told him to use Royal Mail?"
There's another long pause. "Nobody wanted to be my friend," he says, quietly.
"I was-"
"-you were in France! Or Germany! Or Spain, or wherever your parents had decided-"
"-it was only for a few weeks-"
"-yes, but I was always so lonely!"
He says it with such passion, it causes her heart to clench, and she stills.
"...it was somehow worse, once we'd been friends," he admits. "I always wanted a best friend - any friend! - but you can't really miss what you've never had, right? But once we were friends and then you weren't there for weeks and weeks and weeks…" He trails off. "It doesn't matter," he says, gruffly, "I know you can't really understand - you were adored by everyone, always popular, surrounded by people-"
"-not after we went public."
He pauses in his tirade then - and she doesn't know if that's better or worse; whether it's better that he acknowledges that she lost virtually all of her friends when she publicly staked her allegiance to him, or whether spelling out to him that he was so desperately unpopular, her friends of so many years were content to desert her when she chose to be with him.
"I'm not sorry, Sev. Not now, not then," she adds, urgently, gripping his hand, "you're worth a million of them."
"You're...kind," he says, kissing the top of her head - although she knows that's not what he's really thinking.
"So you gave Malf your address," she says, bringing the topic back onto safer ground. "Did he write much?"
There's another pause.
"At home, I mean," she clarifies. "I know he wrote to you at school. I remember the parcels arriving at the Slytherin table."
The bribes, Severus thinks, understanding with an adult head on his shoulders what the unreciprocated parcels from the older teenager genuinely represented.
"...a few times," he says, finally. "It was fine for a bit - he used to send me this and that, and if I was in, the owl would come to my window."
"...and if you weren't in?"
She can feel him shrugging, and his arms tighten around her.
"I told him to stop."
You can guess what happened, she thinks, you don't need him to relive whatever argument was had, or whatever punishment he endured.
"And he didn't?"
Severus shakes his head, his long hair tickling her shoulders. "No, that's just it - he did. He knew it was a...hassle, and he stopped." He gently squeezes her shoulders. "Unless I was grounded-"
"-those letters you used to give me to post!"
"He must've thought my parents were ogres." He grins. "Don't judge me too harshly. I was pissed off with them and locked in my room anyway, so I'd write to him as therapy - get the unfairness of the world off my chest, and hope that he'd take pity on me and my tale of woe, and send me chocolate or alcohol or a book or something. Anything to alleviate my boredom."
"Not cigarettes?"
He gives a low chuckle. "The wizarding ones are shit. Besides…"
"What?"
"...I needed something to ask the pretty girl from across the river for. I was always hoping that she would be willing to scale the drainpipe and come to my rescue."
"She must've been mad."
"Oh, she was," he agrees, laughter in his tone, "quite, quite mad." His voice drops. "And I was so very grateful, love."
"I know, I've seen how addicted you are."
He bristles slightly. "It wasn't really the cigarettes. ...it was seeing you." He carries on, before she can interrupt to discuss his heartfelt statement. "So this is fucking weird, love. Really fucking weird. Malf knows I don't want shit going to my parents-"
"-and yet he's decided that's the best way of getting hold of you."
"Yes."
"And it's only been days since we last saw him."
"Yes."
"And he knows that Bean is due-"
"-yes," he interrupts, and then he kisses her, and she knows that he's trying to shut her up.
She takes the hint, and keeps quiet when he breaks the kiss. Instead, she nestles closer to him, pressing her bare skin against his, trying to show reassurance. He responds by holding her more tightly, and she can feel his heart hammering, and although she waits for several minutes - minutes that stretch so long, they feel more like hours - she can't think how to help.
He suddenly groans, as if the weight of it all is too much for him, and his hand disentangles from hers, and he places it over his eyes.
"Sev?"
"Mam," he says, his hand fixed in place, "had some trouble."
"What sort of trouble?"
He ignores the question. "I need to do something. The last thing she needs is magical people on her doorstep."
"You can speak to Lucius, surely? Just ask him-"
"And if I do, he'll understand the power he has over me - he knows then it's a weapon-"
"-but he's your friend-"
"-until he's not," Severus snaps. "Look, love, Malf is my mate. He's done a lot for me, but if push comes to shove, and it's me or him?" He sighs. "Well, I reckon it's me. Me, and you, and Bean, and my mam and da. Saying to him, 'Oh eh, Malf, mind not botherin' me mam, yeah? She's a bit jumpy about the wizard stuff' - that'll get me fuck all, Lil!"
"Shhh," she hisses, trying to quieten his temper, hoping her parents won't overhear and knock on the door. "Sev, that's not what I'm saying. Just tell him you're not contactable there anymore."
"And how do I do that, eh, Lil?" he argues, his temper flaring. "If I even bring it up with him, he knows I've got his letter! So that proves the exact opposite - that he can get to me through them!"
"Then you have to give Lucius another way of contacting you."
"Not Rillwych," he says, instantly, "I'm not giving him a direct line to you two." He gives her a grim look. "And if Cissy's right, then this is the time to run. I don't want to leave any trace of us."
"But he's already got-"
"-I know." He sits up then, gently pushing her from him.
"Sev-"
"-I need to speak with him," he says, in the sort of tone that brooks no argument. He grabs his t-shirt and pulls it over his head.
"Severus, don't go rushing off-"
"-and if he thinks he can threaten my parents, then all bets are off, Lil."
"Not Draco."
"Yes, Draco!" he snaps. "Malf got me into this mess to start with, and I'm not having him keep me in it - not when I've got you and Bean to think of. If that means pushing his buttons, then that's what I've got to do." He pauses, and reaches for her, holding her cheek in his hand. "I love Malf, Lil, and I think the world of Cissy - but they hold no affection in my heart when it comes to you and Bean."
"Or your parents?"
He pulls back, slightly, and she can't read his expression. "...my mam's been through enough," he says - and before she can ask him to explain, he bends down and kisses her.
"I'll come with you," she says, her forehead pressed against his.
"If you were anything other than hours off giving birth," he says, "I'd be begging you to come with me - but right now, I need you to look after our little Bean. Let me take care of Malf."
"But you need me."
He gives the smallest of laughs - and she can only tell because his breath is warm against her face. "I need you to stay safe. Trust me to sort this, love," he says, and then he kisses her again, offering her the love and reassurance he so often struggles to put into words.
"I do trust you," she says, her fingers touching his cheek, "but get that shirt off and get back into bed, because you'll solve nothing at this hour."
"I need-"
"-they'll know your parents saw you if you go now," she warns. "Go in the morning, as if you got the letter in the post."
It's enough to make him pause, and then, just as she thinks she's lost the argument, he tugs his t-shirt back over his head and settles into the bed next to her.
Chapter 95: Happy band of Slytherins
Chapter Text
Lucius leans back on his chair, both hands clamped over his eyes, and groans dramatically. "This Manor is busier than Kings Cross in September." He exhales, and drags his hands down his face and straightens his chair.
Dobby peers from left to right, as if expecting a steam train to come rushing through the walls. "Dobby is not understanding, Master."
Lucius doesn't attempt to explain, but instead holds his temples in his hands, massaging them gently.
Dobby takes a tentative step towards Lucius. "...should Dobby be sending the wizard away, Master?"
"Just wait! I'm thinking!" Lucius snaps, and Dobby immediately cowers.
"Dobby is apologising, Master," Dobby mutters, tugging on his ear. "Dobby will be punishing himself for this, Dobby will be ironing his ears and trapping his feet-"
"-will you be quiet!" Lucius thunders, slamming his fist on his desk, and looking even more antagonised.
Dobby quakes, and although he silences, he pulls harder on his ears as he waits for Lucius to make a decision.
"Let him in," he says, finally, "but do not let him stay longer than fifteen minutes." He peers into Dobby's wide eyes. "Do I make myself clear, elf?"
"Yes, Master," Dobby replies, nervously. "Dobby is to be interrupting Master in fifteen minutes if the wizard is not leaving."
"Good." Lucius turns his wand over in his hand. "Well? Dismissed!"
There's a loud knock, but before Avery can speak, the door swings open and a stocky wizard marches in to his office.
Avery sighs, and casts with his wand, causing the door to slam shut behind the wizard. "Forgotten your manners, Mulc?"
"Forgotten your place, Ave?" Mulciber retorts, taking a seat opposite him.
"Why, how lovely it is to see you, Mulc, old friend. Do come in and sit down-"
"-stop being such a sarcastic arse!" Mulciber snaps. "I can tell you've been hanging out with Snape again..." He trails off as he catches sight of Avery's bruised face, and he recoils slightly, his teeth bared. "Shit, I didn't realise you'd been hurt. How did you get that?"
Avery raises an unsteady hand towards his eye, glancing the skin below the bruise with his fingertip. "This? It's nothing."
"Yeah, looks like nothing." Mulciber peers at him, wincing. "Anyone looked at it for you?"
"No."
"You should get it seen to." He pauses. "Or are you worried about Mungo's asking questions?"
"I can look after myself."
"Pull the other one."
"Seriously," Avery says, hotly. He swipes his index finger gently across his stitched eyebrow and down the bridge of his nose. "Look. Usually I can spell damage away, but this was bad. It'll heal though, with these stitches."
"You did that yourself?" Mulciber looks momentarily impressed. "Show me properly." He leans closer, his fingers gripping Avery's chin, and twisting his face into the light from the window. "Not bad," he admits, "but you should still see someone professional."
"Mulc, I've told you, it's fine-"
"-Grant," Mulciber says, reaching into his robes and pulling out a business card. "Tell him I sent you."
"Private?"
Mulciber gives him a lazy smile. "Can't afford him?"
"...I can," Avery says, affronted, "but it'll heal just the same-"
"-Dark Lord's got an account." He motions for Avery to turn the card over. "Quote that reference. It'll be taken care of, bill and all."
"I can't do that."
"What do you mean, can't? You were fighting for the cause, weren't you?" His eyes narrow. "Or was this something personal - some scrap over a witch?"
"Line of duty."
"Well then, shut the fuck up and take the offer of assistance," Mulciber says, looking bored. "Can't have you running around with an eye missing."
Avery gives his old friend a tight smile. "No."
"Difficult enough with that Order lot taking pot-shots at us - we don't need friendly fire coming from you as well because you can't bloody see."
"Besides, it's not a good look for the ladies," Avery chips in, his bravado building.
"The girls at Madam Mary's don't give a fuck about your looks, they care about your galleons," Mulciber laughs, "which is good news for you!"
Avery bristles. "Yeah, all right." He pockets the card. "Not like you to come down here."
"No? What can I say? I don't get much opportunity. Don't know many lads on this floor."
"I sent you an open letter," Avery says, defensively. "When I got this post."
"An open letter?"
"An invite. To come and see me. Here."
"Didn't get it," Mulciber says, dismissively. He knocks on the desk. "I'm here now though - and this is looking good, Ave."
"Yeah, you think?"
"Yeah, I'd say so. That's what we like. The right faces in the right places."
Avery sits a little straighter. "Thanks, Mulc."
"Knew you'd do all right for yourself," Mulciber says, leaning back in his chair. "You're the right sort."
Avery nods, grinning. "Yeah. One of you." He looks flustered when Mulciber raises an eyebrow. "Us, I mean. I'm one of us."
"...speaking of people who are one of us, how's your mate?"
"...my mate?"
Mulciber grins. "Your little shagging partner. Heard he's gone back up in the world."
"Oh?"
"He's moved back onto real witches now. Whores, mind, but at least their blood runs more pure." There's a pause. "...you go down Knockturn together, don't you? I've heard that right, yes?"
"...yes."
"Good. You were looking at me like a glassy-eyed plimpy - thought I was mistaken there for a moment." He coughs. "Been recently?"
"No. Not really looking my best," Avery jokes, pointing at his eye.
Mulciber looks unimpressed. "The advantage, Ave, of paying for a shag is that the women don't care about such things."
"Yeah, but even so, I like to make an effort-"
"-you're not still trying to pull that Iona, are you?" Mulciber gives a sharp, loud laugh. "You're as bad as he is! What a pair you are together - him fucking Mudbloods, and you wanting to date a whore-"
"-I don't want to date a whore!" Avery shouts, his face colouring.
Mulciber puts his hands up in mock defence at Avery's sudden outburst. "Of course not. Apologies, Ave."
Avery takes a deep breath, willing the red to drain from his cheeks. "...as good as it is to see you," he says, stiffly, "what brought you here, Mulc? Something I can help with?"
"Not you as such. I wanted to speak to your friend. Thought you could make the connection."
"Oh yes? Which one?"
Mulciber snorts. "Which one? Which fucking one? Like you're surrounded by hundreds of them, Ave! Merlin, give me strength!"
The vein in Avery's neck strains against his skin, and he swallows hard, unwilling to concede the point. "Which friend, Mulc?" he repeats, slowly.
"The Muggle lover! The one we were talking about not thirty seconds ago. You remember him - he dropped you at school to go and fuck a Mudblood-"
"-if you mean Snape-"
"-how many other Muggle-fuckers do you know-"
"-I haven't seen him." Avery gives him a derisory look. "And neither's Malfoy."
"...Malfoy hasn't heard from him?" Mulciber looks surprised. "How do you know that? Big pals with Malf, are you now, Ave?" He gives him a nasty leer. "I get it. That's why you've not been down Knockturn. Moved on from paid whores onto the Black bike, have you?"
Avery's mind races - how close is Mulc to Malf? How likely is he to find out if this is the truth or not?
There's a moment whilst he considers his options, but then Mulciber's smile grows even wider, and he leans closer, his tone conspiratorial, and the choice of confessing yanked away. "She's not bad for free. ...I fucked her with Yax."
Avery's voice lifts an octave. "With Yaxley? Both of you?"
"And Malf," Mulciber says, "although I kept my distance from him. You know what he gets like."
Fucking hell.
Mulciber gives a soft laugh. "Yeah, so don't go falling in love with that one, either, Ave. She might not take payment, but she's taken as much cock as Iona. Believe me."
Avery nods, silently.
Mulciber gives Avery a thoughtful look. "It's a pity he isn't interested in witches, else you could smoke him out that way."
"Who are you on about?"
"Snape," Mulciber says. "Could've had a private party, the four of you - but he's the only one of us who hasn't fucked Malf's wife."
"It's not mandatory."
"Oh come on, Ave! Snape's been favoured by Malf for years, and yet he hasn't," Mulciber gives a chirpy up and down whistle. "I'm just saying-"
"-you sound like Ros-"
"-there's got to be a reason." Mulciber gives him a knowing look. "I know what I saw. You know what you saw."
"Yeah, well, that was all Malf. Not Snape."
"You're close, aren't you? You two?"
The blood burns hot in the tips of Avery's ears, and he has a sudden memory of Rosier making unwanted insinuations about his friendship with Snape.
Not like that. I'm not that way.
"..and now Snape's missing, and you're getting friendly with Malf. Funny that."
Avery inhales, slowly, and gives him his best disdainful glare. "Look, I know what Ros thinks but he's wrong. Snape's interested enough in women when we go down Knockturn."
"Yeah?" Mulciber shrugs. "Well then, sounds like we've got a plan."
"A plan?"
"Fuck's sake, keep up, Ave! Invite Snape to Malf's. For a private party. You, Snape, your new best friend Malf, and the ever obliging Cissy can have a little fun together." He laughs at Avery's scandalised expression. "What's up? Worried about Malf being overly friendly? You could kill two birds with one stone - shove Snape his way, and we'll get an answer to the big question." He smirks. "Might put a bet on with Ros - if you're right in your defence of Snape, that's some easy galleons! You know how convinced Ros is."
"Mulc, look, there's no way Malf will-"
"-what? He does it all the time - it's an ordinary Saturday night in the Manor! And as soon as you've got Snape in earshot, tell him I want to see him," Mulciber says, standing and straightening his robes. "Well, it can wait until he's blown his load, I suppose. But don't forget why you've invited him in the first place - I need to speak with him. Urgently."
"Don't tell me - before the ceremonies."
Mulciber stops, his hand on the back of the chair. "...who've you been speaking to?"
"No-one."
"Then how do you know about the ceremonies?"
"Got my sources."
"Who?" Mulciber frowns, but Avery doesn't speak. "...your new pal Malfoy, isn't it?"
"I'm not at liberty to say."
"I didn't realise he knew about the ceremonies. ...what have you heard? Or, don't tell me, you're not at liberty to say that either?"
Avery shoots him a triumphant smile. "That the Dark Lord wants to speak with Snape. Wants to explain to him that there had been a fault in communication."
"Fault in communication," Mulciber nods. "That's one way of putting it." There's a pause. "Do you know what he did when Snape didn't show?"
"Punished him."
"Obviously," Mulciber says, quietly, "but do you know how?"
A test. I wasn't there, but the Dark Lord has two spells he favours over all others, and Legilimency won't work from a distance.
"Crucio," Avery says, with confidence.
Mulciber nods, and sits back down. "Bet that hurt like fuck," he says, "prolonged Cruciatus." He taps his forearm. "Straight through the bloodstream."
"Poor bastard."
"Yeah." There's another moment - the two of them quietly contemplating the suffering that the Dark Lord is capable of unleashing on his followers. "You seen him since then?"
"...no."
"Heard he was in a bit of a state when he left the Ministry."
"Apparently he was locked in a cell when it happened." Avery pauses, racking his brain for what Rosier had revealed, wondering whether to hedge his bets. If the Dark Lord was able to continue his punishment, nobody must've found him. "Nobody came to him."
Mulciber raises an eyebrow. "That's what I've heard."
"Shows you what the aurors think of us."
"Perhaps."
"There's no perhaps about it, Mulc," Avery presses. "Moody's the one responsible for him being there. Would he have left one of his own in that state?" He lowers his voice. "Look, I know Snape's tough enough, but Cruciatus? Through the bloodstream? He must've been screaming the place down."
"My, you are well informed," Mulciber says, admiringly.
Avery sits back, his expression cocky once more. "Reckon we might need to teach him a lesson or three. Moody, I mean."
"Well? Aren't you going to offer a man a drink, Ave?"
"...you're staying?"
"Oh yes. It occurs to me that we've got plenty to discuss."
Lucius pulls his pocket watch out of his robes and sighs. "I thought you said he'd be waiting?"
Rosier paces back and forth. "He said he would."
"I don't have time for-"
"-don't mess me about, Malfoy," Rosier snaps, "we both know you sit in that Manor twiddling your thumbs all day."
Lucius stands a little taller, his expression haughtier. "Five minutes, and then I'm departing."
The house elf leads her into the drawing room, and her visitor turns and stands. She manages to hold in her gasp of surprise, but he can still tell from her wide-eyed expression that him answering Lucius' missive is a shock.
"You came."
"Of course I came, Cissy," Severus says, his tone defensive. "Malf called, so I jumped - I thought that's how our relationship worked?"
"He's not home."
"Early start or late night?"
She ignores the question. "I don't think he'll be back until after lunch."
He shoots her a lazy grin. "Company looks good, I think I'll wait."
Narcissa laughs. "Smooth," she says, "although I imagine you're talking about this gorgeous one. Here."
She offers him Draco, and Severus accepts - with a small pang of guilt shooting through him when he thinks of the weak threat he made about the tiny boy only hours earlier. Draco doesn't sense that anything's amiss, snuggling into Severus' chest without protest, and Severus can feel his demeanour softening.
I came here prepared for a fight, and now I'm cuddling a baby, he thinks. Is this what having a kid is going to be like? I'm going to be a wimp from morning to night.
"A friend called on him," she explains, without really explaining at all, and she clicks her fingers, and issues a few commands, and before he has sat back down, there's an array of light mid-morning snacks before him, and a cup of tea brewed in precisely the way he favours.
"You spoil me, Cissy," he says, not breaking eye contact with Draco, whose slumbering form has him entranced.
"Nonsense," she says, taking a seat next to him, and peering over his shoulder at her son. "Of all our many guests, you are my favourite."
"Finally," Rosier says, when Mulciber lumbers into view. "Took your time."
"Had an interesting meeting," Mulciber says, standing between the two wizards. "About you, Malf."
Lucius turns, his expression guarded. "About me?"
"You and your good wife," Mulciber says, smirking.
"I shall pass on your well wishes," Lucius says, smoothly, "from both yourself and…?"
Mulciber stares into Lucius' pale grey eyes. "...Avery."
Lucius' expression is blank, staring back at Mulciber with equal strength - and then his nostrils flare, and an insincere smile spreads across his face. "Avery? My, I would have to find a photograph of our schooldays to point him out to Narcissa-"
"-she doesn't know him?" Mulciber's accusation is quick.
"Not at all," Lucius drawls. He smiles again. "I am intrigued, what could Avery possibly have to discuss with you about me?"
Rosier glances between the two men. "Yes, do tell, Mulc. I thought you'd gone to rattle his cage-"
"-to shake out Snape," Mulciber finishes, furiously. "But I think he's been leading me a merry dance…"
"Ah, and I will have to bow out here," Lucius says, taking a step back, "I'm afraid I have absolutely no contact with young Severus."
"Not like you, Malf," Rosier says, pointedly - but Lucius lets the insult glide off him, like rain skating over a swan's feathers.
"He's avoiding me," Lucius smoothly lies. "He cut me out of some deals he's been running with," and he twists his expression into a sneer, "Mundungus Fletcher, of all people." He shakes his head. "He cuts corners, Snape," he warns, "if you don't keep a close eye on him, he makes substitutions - cheaper ingredients, fillers, you name a bad habit, and he does it. If I had my time over again…"
"You'd keep Arisean?" Rosier asks.
"She was at least loyal."
Mulciber looks thoughtful. "They can't do anything with her hands, then?"
Lucius shrugs. "To my regret," he says, "I have never enquired. I fear, given my family's involvement in her accident, she would not take kindly to such a suggestion from my estate. Now, if I cannot help you fine gentlemen further, I really must return to the bosom of my family," he says, with a smile.
Lily doesn't know how to explain his hurried disappearance to her parents, but as they were privy to the conversation with Tobias, they're not pushing her for detailed answers. Instead, she dozes for most of the morning - relaxing in the sunlight streaming through the window of the front room - and it's only after lunch that she feels restless.
When she suggests going over to Rillwych, her mother and father exchange a look.
"What?" she says, defensively. "I know it's not Cokeworth, but Sev's worked really hard-"
"-he told his dad last night that we hadn't been. I think it's important to them that you don't favour us."
"Don't favour…" She's lost for words. "Mummy, you've been putting us up for months-"
"-you up," Rose corrects.
David looks over. "Well, Severus has been here enough…"
"Don't, David," Rose snaps, "it's not helpful."
"Well, Lils is right," he says. "How long are we going to keep this charade up for? Until the baby's three months old? Three years? Thirty?"
"Don't be flippant."
"I'm just saying, do we have to have a dinner party where we all turn up at exactly the same time, or-"
"-I'm just saying that it should be Lily and Severus' decision," Rose says.
"He won't mind," Lily says, firmly. "Besides, I've got a present for him that I want to set up. He'd be more angry if I went alone and went into labour than if I took you with me."
Lucius strides into the drawing room, and although he feigns annoyance, his relaxed demeanour betrays him. "Been waiting a while?"
"Almost as long as you've been gone," Narcissa answers.
"I was asking the boy. I see you've made yourself comfortable," he says, indicating at the cigar Severus has half smoked, and the almost empty glass. "My best cigars and my best firewhisky," he says, with a half raised eyebrow, "my, you must have good news for me, for Cissy to indulge you so."
"You called for him, and he answered," Narcissa snaps, "I know no other wizard so loyal."
"Mmm, although quite some time has passed."
"I only just got your message," Severus argues, hotly.
Lucius snaps his fingers - and a house elf appears from the ether, instantaneously providing his master with a cigar and refilling both Lucius and Severus' glasses before disappearing. Lucius lends a critical eye to the pour in Severus' glass, and gives a half laugh. "I don't recall asking for your glass to be refilled-"
"Well, evidently our elves have better manners than you-"
"-enough, Cissy!" Lucius rolls his eyes and sits opposite the pair. "And Draco?"
"He's sleeping in the nursery." Narcissa looks affronted. "I wouldn't have let Severus smoke otherwise."
"Good," Lucius says, taking a long draw on his cigar. "So, Severus. What do you have for me?"
Severus looks between his two old friends, the confusion clear on his face. "What do I have for you? You wrote to me, Malf, remember? I thought you wanted me."
"Not had your ear to the ground? No rumblings I should be aware of?"
Severus glances at Narcissa. "Er, no, Malf. I've been a bit busy."
"Ah yes, the newlyweds," Lucius says, his tone darkening.
Severus gives a half laugh. "Malf, you saw her yourself! Lil's about to give birth - there's nothing like that going on."
"No? Nothing? Nothing at all?"
Severus colours slightly, thinking of how Lily had blown him the morning after they married, but he glances down, not willing to share their secrets. "You didn't want me here to discuss my relationship."
Lucius pauses - and Severus can feel his gaze burning into him - and then claps his hands. "You're quite right. I wanted to talk to you about Wolfsbane."
Lily slowly tours them around the house, and although the stairs are tiring and her parents immediately protest that she needn't show them every room, she can't help but feel a flutter of pride when she leads them into Bean's room.
"This was all Severus," she says, her hand running over her bump. "The paint, the shelves, the toys."
"He's done well," her father says approvingly.
Rose picks Terence up and beams at the bear, places a firm kiss between his ears and settles him back onto his shelf - and if Lily didn't know better, she'd have said that the toy's expression showed how pleased he was to have been shown such appreciation after so many years of being ignored.
Severus stares in horror at Lucius. "But why would he behave in such a way? I don't agree with him wanting such disgusting creatures on our side," he spits, the words sticking in his throat, "but why would he wish for them to be neutered? Surely if they were to be of use-"
"-the Dark Lord wishes them to be loyal to him and him alone," Lucius says. "Severus, you must understand, he is not currently bartering with the wolf within, but the skin suit it parades around in."
"So he offers them a place," Severus breathes, "within the regime."
"Equals as wizards and witches," Lucius nods, "and this medicine ensures that their affliction is no barrier to success. Acceptance."
"And as the Ministry is forcing them to register as dark creatures," Narcissa chips in, "it's a powerful offer."
Severus grips his glass tightly. "I don't understand. I thought the Ministry was being controlled by the Dark Lord?"
"Not overtly."
"Well, I know there's no sign over the door!" Severus argues. "But I thought it was understood… I thought we all knew that he's influencing the decisions which are being made? That's why those blood laws-"
"-yes, he does have influence within the Ministry," Lucius interrupts, his tone bored. "But he's also creating the conditions where the wolves will follow him blindly. He might surreptitiously control the Ministry for the moment, but there's no guarantee that it will stay within his grasp." He gives a tight nod towards Severus. "I rather think we could compare this situation to Strikers."
"Outsiders desperate to be accepted," Severus says, his voice low.
"You said it," Lucius says, smiling, and raising his glass in his direction.
If Narcissa understands the point being made between the two men, she ignores it, and instead, gives Severus a tight smile. "It is far more useful to have followers he can put into the Ministry-"
"-than convert the Ministry loyalists into being Death Eaters," Severus finishes.
"Yes," Narcissa agrees. "And over time, the Ministry loyalists and the Death Eaters will be one and the same."
Severus toys with the his glass anxiously, his fingertip sliding around the rim over and over.
Lucius stares at him earnestly. "When the time comes - when he needs to harness their power, who knows what method he'll favour. He might outlaw Wolfsbane, or halt production, or artificially inflate the price. Maybe it'll become such a scarce resource, he will offer it as a prize to those who do his bidding. Or he could even do all of those things, and lay the blame upon a third party." Lucius gives a thin smile. "Out of his hands, you understand."
"Fuck!" Severus gasps, the thought of a pack of vengeful werewolves unaccustomed to the pain of transformation roaming around the wizarding world causing a shimmer of fear to flit through his bloodstream. He lifts his glass to his lips, draining it. When Lucius raises his hand to request an elf fill it, Severus shakes his head. "No, thank you. I've probably had enough whisky for one afternoon."
"I have tried to steer them away from you, Severus," Lucius says, sitting back. "Only this morning I have met with Rosier and Mulciber-"
"-Ros and Mulc?" Severus looks panicked. "They're looking for me?"
"Calm yourself," Lucius says. "I've planted the idea that they attempt to recruit Arisean Nott-"
"-she's got no hands!" Severus looks aghast. "Merlin, Malf, if that's your solution…"
Lucius gives a small laugh. "Come, Severus - we are wizards, are we not? I think the Dark Lord can stretch to some prosthetics for his newly favoured witch."
"Some prosthetics?" Severus knows he sounds dumbfounded. "Malf, brewing is an art! You can't… She wasn't even that good in the first place, and now…" He runs his hands through his hair. "Malf, even if those replacement hands are the finest in the land, and even if she was an amazing brewer, she'll be out of practice. Wolfsbane is tricky, it's-"
"-and it's not the only problem," Narcissa says, sneaking a furtive look at her husband, who gives a slight nod. "My sister has also requested your assistance."
Severus looks even more pale.
"She has asked the Dark Lord for his permission already," Narcissa continues.
"Indeed, she is insistent that the Dark Lord's brewer, and his brewer alone will have the requisite skills to aid her," Lucius adds, "although we all know that Bellatrix does not anticipate that Arisean Nott will be given such a role within the regime."
Severus lets his eyes close slowly, and when he reopens them, he stares directly at Lucius. "On second thoughts, I may have another drink after all."
"Do you really want these boxes in your bedroom?"
"Well, I don't think there's anywhere else," she says, frowning.
"There's barely enough room to swing a cat in there already," David warns, "and this is only the first half. There's lots of these left at ours!"
"We rented this because it was cheap, Daddy, not because it was spacious."
"And what are you going to do with the rest of them?"
"Those boxes are doing no harm in Petunia's room," Rose offers, and although her tone is gentle, Lily knows it of old - knows that her mother will take no argument. For his part, David grunts noncommittally, and although she's certain that he's grumbling his way back and forwards from the car, Lily breathes a sigh of relief, knowing that her mother has prevented an argument.
"I'll send him to the shops," Rose says, squeezing her daughter's elbow.
"We don't need-"
"Butter and cheese won't go bad," her mother says, as if Lily hasn't spoken, "and eggs last a long time. Tins of beans, porridge oats, sugar and salt and vinegar - you'll need those!" She peers at the empty cupboards. "Bread will go stale and milk will go off, so you can have some from ours once the baby is born, but if we get some tinned meat and some rice pudding-"
"-Mummy, you don't need-"
"-that'll keep you going for a while, and we can bring round a meal or two..." She trails off, and squeezes her daughter's upper arm. "You'll both be fine. He's done a sterling job."
At her mother's praise for Severus, she softens. "Yeah? You think?"
"Your dad was having a poke around under the sink - no, Lily," she says, immediately, stopping her from interrupting, "he was only checking after what you were both saying the other night! Severus has sealed that leak well." Rose smiles. "I think your father is quietly impressed. Especially with the painting in the baby's room."
She beams. "It looks good, doesn't it?"
"Yes."
"I think he put his all into it."
Rose nods. "A labour of love, they say." There's a small pause. "...magic?"
Lily shakes her head. "No."
"Well," her mother says, straightening, "I am impressed. If you're loaning Severus out, our dining room needs painting," she teases. She smiles as they enter the hall and watch David heaving another box up the narrow staircase.
"Don't mind me," he yells, half sarcastically, panting with the effort, "I'm fine!"
Rose looks up the stairs at her husband's departing figure. "Cup of tea, David?"
"Finally!"
Avery presses himself against his office wall, his eyes fixed on Rosier's wand.
"Look, Ros, this is all just a misunderstanding-"
"Your source isn't Malfoy," Mulciber says.
"I didn't say it was! You assumed."
"You let me assume," Mulciber snaps. "And now I find out you've been spinning me a merry tale - half of it was from Ros here, half of it was guesswork, and half of it was your sordid little fantasies!"
"That's three halves," Avery says, quietly.
"Enough!" Rosier interrupts, his wand still fixed on Avery's face. "I don't care who your source is."
"See!" Avery says, relaxing slightly - and then immediately tensing when Rosier moves his wand even closer to Avery's nose.
"But I care that you're covering for Snape," Rosier continues, "when you know that we want him. I told you to find him when we last met."
"You said you wanted me to get revenge on Moody."
"I wanted you to do both," Rosier says, annoyed.
Mulciber's eyes narrow. "I knew you were covering for him."
"I'm not!"
"Then," Rosier says, with a nasty smile, "I suggest that you stop indulging in dirty fantasies about Narcissa Malfoy and make it your business to find him."
"But he's disappeared-"
"-and you're his friend!" Mulciber shouts. "I know it, Ros knows it, Malf knows it - and believe me, Ave, the Dark Lord knows it. Have you forgotten your little stunt where the pair of you tried to summon him?"
Avery's voice is quiet. "...no."
"You are not sailing under the radar," Rosier warns. "You are very much on the radar."
"And if I can't find him?"
"The Dark Lord doesn't like the word can't, Ave," Mulciber says, with a hint of glee. "I'm sure he'll be only too keen to demonstrate to you."
Avery balls his hand into a fist, hoping that neither wizard has spotted his fingers shaking. "...and if I do find him? What then? I'll be richly rewarded?" he jokes, his voice at a much higher pitch than normal.
"It depends on what you do when you catch him," Rosier murmurs. "He's a man very much in demand."
"Sell him to the highest bidder?" Avery quips.
Mulciber leans in. "You could. You could sell him to the Lestranges, who'd sell you down the river. Or you could sell him to Malfoy, in the hope that he'd let you loose on his wife. But do you think any of them would let you take any of the credit for finding him?"
"Or you could bring him to us," Rosier says. "We're old friends, Ave, after all." There's a pause. "Aren't we?"
Avery nods. "Yes, Ros."
"It'll be good to have the gang back together," Mulciber says. "Me and Ros and Reggie-"
"-and you and Snape," Rosier grins. He claps Avery on the shoulder and lowers his wand. "Make it happen, Ave, and you'll make us a very happy band of Slytherins. Brothers, remember?"
Narcissa settles Draco in his cot, and glances anxiously towards Severus, who is leaning against the doorframe of the nursery.
"He doesn't mean to be so abrasive," she offers, over her shoulder.
"Nonsense. Apart from a tiny dribble on my shirt, Draco's been perfect company."
She offers him a small smile. "You and I both know I was referring to my increasingly awkward husband."
"It takes more than Malf being in a difficult mood to offend me," Severus says, with a slow smile.
"No matter what he might say," she continues, "he doesn't expect you to drop everything simply because he needs you."
"He does."
She pauses, fiddling with Draco's blanket. "Well yes," she concedes, "he does expect that, but it doesn't mean you should feel obliged to do so. Not now you're a husband and about to be a father yourself."
Severus watches as she fusses over her son, reluctant to tear herself away - until she slowly retreats, a step at a time, until she's stood by Severus in the doorway.
"I'm glad you came."
"Yeah? Even though I dropped everything, just like a good husband and father shouldn't?"
"I didn't mean that," she says, with a slight sigh. "...I just didn't think you'd come at all. Not after our last discussion."
"No?"
Narcissa squeezes his elbow. "How did your parents find you? Did they owl Lucius' message on? I rather had the impression that your mother had cut herself off entirely-"
"-she has," he interrupts. "Don't let him send anything else there."
He can hear the clock down the hallway ticking, such is the silence between them.
"Are you staying with them?"
He doesn't answer.
"I thought you weren't particularly close?"
He stands as if he's frozen, unmoving, barely breathing.
"No, it can't be that. You said you came immediately," she reasons aloud, "so there was a delay whilst they got the message to you. You're staying with Lily's parents, aren't you?"
"Cissy," he says, finally, elongating her name in a wheedling tone, "don't do this."
"Tell me I'm wrong."
"You told me to run," he says, glancing behind him, checking the corridor, "and that's what I'm doing." He gazes at her earnestly. "I can't do that if Malf insists on pestering my mother."
She looks concerned. "...this wasn't his decision, Severus. Lucius is being leant upon."
"And if I come up with the goods," he warns, his voice low, "then whoever is leaning on him will expect more and more." He tenses. "If I provide Wolfsbane, and the Dark Lord has a plan to control a pack, then that won't free me. It'll tie me to him permanently - every four weeks for the rest of my life."
"If Lucius can't find you, they're not going to give up," she warns. "They'll simply punish Lucius for failing, and they'll find you anyway."
"My mam was careful. They won't find her, and if they can't find her, they won't find me."
"She doesn't use magic at all?"
He shakes his head.
"That's something at least," Narcissa says. "If the Ministry does fall, they could start monitoring spells from unknown sources-"
"-I'd already figured."
"And has Lily realised the same?"
He shakes his head again.
"You haven't told her?"
"It's one thing to decide to live amongst Muggles, but it's something else again to not be able to use our magic at all."
Narcissa gives him a tight smile, and pointedly looks at Draco. "I do not think it is Lily's magic, or your magic, that you need to be concerned about."
"I know," he breathes, "but there's no easy answers when it comes to children." He runs his hands over his face, as if he can erase the thought from his mind. "I've already decided that there's no point in worrying her. It might not come to that."
"And if it does," she presses, "how will you even know? The Ministry could be at your door before word has reached you."
"...I'll think of something," he says - and then he flashes her a grin. "But I can't tell you, Cissy, else you'll use it to find us."
She gives him a tight smile in response. "I don't want to think about not seeing her again."
"She's the same, I'm sure."
"And our children… They'd have been good for one another."
"It might be fine," he says, lightly, his voice full of a reassurance that neither of them believe. "A couple of years laying low, and then we'll all be laughing about this over drinks in Lucius' study."
It sounds hollow even to his own ears.
"How does she manage?"
He frowns. "Lil?"
"Your mother." Narcissa's expression is unreadable. "Living like a Muggle. You get that twitch, don't you? That urge to cast?"
"Yes."
"And she doesn't? She isn't at all interested in waving her wand?"
He pauses, unsure what - if anything - he should reveal, but his pause is telling enough, and Narcissa gives him a thin smile.
"Or she can't?"
He glances behind them, checking the corridor once more. "...you know something about my mother."
"That didn't sound like a question," she says, with a half smile.
"That didn't sound like an answer."
"Purebloods tell tales," Narcissa says, finally. "They say it's worse than being Kissed, the hex."
"If you're Kissed, it's over. You've got to live with the hex," he reasons, quietly. "You understand, don't you, Cissy? Sending wizards to her door is as good as a death sentence."
"I'll make sure he stops."
He nods stiffly. "Thank you."
Without warning, she grips his hand. "But find out how she did it and get word to me, else Bella will track her down herself."
"...did what?"
"Had you, Severus," Narcissa says, her voice low. "Lucius is mistaken and for that, we can be briefly thankful - but believe me, Bella doesn't want you because you're the next in line to be the Dark Lord's brewer; Bella wants you because she's heard the rumours that you were born to an infertile witch."
"It's not a natural condition," he quickly explains. "It won't be the same. Mam took a potion."
"As did Bella."
His eyes widen. "Willingly?"
"No." There's a brief pause. "Well, yes. Willingly, but unwittingly."
"Uninformed," Severus nods, understanding. "Rodolphus gave it to her?"
"No."
"Rabastan?"
"No." Narcissa squeezes his hand to stop him from guessing. "It's the last person you'd ever imagine."
He stares at her, his dark eyes fathomless. "Well, then that's easy," he says, his voice strained, "because the last person I would ever imagine would be you."
Chapter 96: Look after her
Chapter Text
"I was surprised you went for a house," Rose says, as she fills the kettle and places it on the hob, "but it looks as if he's coping."
"Coping?"
Rose pauses, listening to David's heavy tread on the stairs, and then looks pointedly at Lily. "From the washing you both leave out, I didn't think he was even wearing pyjamas yet."
Lily grips the worktop, the realisation dawning on her. "I didn't think! He hasn't said anything!"
"That's good-"
"-it's not," she frets, running her hand over Bean. "You're right, he's still not sleeping in clothes-"
"-it is rather hot, Lil-"
"-no, you don't understand," she says, panic covering her face. "When we were hunting for the flat, he was so insistent that we couldn't have stairs, and he didn't even want a yard, but now we've got both. I didn't even think, and just pushed him into it and Mummy, this house is all wrong for him-"
"-he's done a lot of work on it if he thinks it's all wrong," Rose muses, quietly. "He obviously feels safe with you. You've done enough to help him put whatever's troubling him-"
"-no," Lily shakes her head, "he still dreams about it, I know he does!"
Her mother covers the kettle with a teatowel, and removes the whistle, leaving the water boiling - saving their ears whilst they finish their discussion.
"He's been at ours and coped. We have stairs and a garden. Two gardens!"
"It's not the same."
"Then ask him," her mother says, wisely, "before you get yourself wound up over nothing."
"He won't say even if it does bother him," Lily says. "We can't afford anything else."
As Lily speaks, Rose's gaze drifts through the window and she eyes the small brick building which houses the toilet in the yard.
"No heating," Rose says, "no bathroom. It might be for the best if he does struggle. You could stay with us for a while longer-"
They'll forget that Bean's ours, treating us like three children instead of two parents and a baby, she thinks.
"It's fine, Mummy," she says, her resolve firmer. "You're probably right. If he was upset, he'd have said something."
"And he's fine with a tin bath, is he?" Her mother looks unimpressed. "And the baby?"
"If Severus can fit in a tin bath, so will a baby."
Rose gives a small laugh. "And you, Lily? How do you feel about it?"
Lily shoots her a mischievous look. "You've already seen my present for him, haven't you?"
"I opened the boot to help your father squash in the boxes earlier," Rose admits, "but I don't understand how you're going to use a tap shower if there's no bathroom."
Lily leans in, her tone teasing. "...magic."
Rose gives another laugh. "I thought as much. I'd love to see how you do it."
Lily is glad that her mother is there, and willing to manhandle the tin bath into the corner of the living room for her. Even after all of these years, she feels a mixture of shyness and pride as she starts to cast with her wand, aware that her parents are still in awe of her ability.
"It's not ideal," Lily concedes, suddenly aware of how inappropriate a shower is in the corner of a living room but the thought of a hot shower in her new home - sharing a hot shower with her new husband in their new home - spurs her on, and she waves her wand over and over until the tin bath is encircled with a spell, preventing water from spilling out of its footprint. She casts again, spelling the shower hose into the air so it sits perfectly above the tin bath, and elongating the hose so it'll reach the taps in the kitchen.
Rose watches, entranced, as Lily finishes the set of spells and then waves her wand to start the water - and the makeshift shower starts to operate.
Lily smiles, pleased at her effort, and makes one final movement with her wand, creating a handle which seems to sit in mid-air. She leans forward and pulls it, and an invisible door slides open - and the pounding water sounds so much louder - and then she closes it again, and the noise is muffled.
"It's fully self-contained," her mother marvels, trying to reach into the spray but being held back by an invisible force. "David! David, come and look at what Lily's done!"
Severus and Narcissa sit in the grand dining room, the antique table comically shrunk to accommodate just the two of them - a bottle of firewhisky before Severus, and a dusty - vintage - bottle of wine before Narcissa.
When they'd first walked in, she'd banished the house elf and magically sealed the doors, so with no elf to serve, Severus recalls his manners and picks up the bottle, pouring his hostess her drink. He holds the bottle steady, waiting to hear her protest that her glass is full enough, but she lets him pour and pour and pour until the deep red liquid is almost at the brim.
He takes the hint that this is to be a difficult conversation, and pours more than a healthy slug - closer to four or five shots - of firewhisky into his own glass, before capping the bottle and burying his nose in the glass, inhaling the scent. It's the bonus of firewhisky - the aroma is part of the experience - but both parties know that he's not simply taking his enjoyment, but subtly checking that the liquid isn't laced.
"Cheers," he says, finally content, holding his glass aloft - and she copies his actions, and then she takes an unladylike swig from her glass.
Not the behaviour of the Mrs Malfoy I'm accustomed to, he thinks.
She places her wine glass down on the table, and fiddles with the stem. "Whatever you tell Lily about today, don't tell her this," she says. "What will she think of me?"
"Oh, I don't know," he says, with forced joviality, "you've never met Lily's sister."
Narcissa gives him a thin, watery smile. "She must truly hate her."
"Like you truly hate Bellatrix?"
"I don't hate her."
He can't stop his eyebrows from raising. "No?" It's his turn to give a thin, watery smile. "Merlin, I can't wait to see what you'll do to someone you hate."
She doesn't laugh. "...it's not that simple. You don't have any siblings, do you?"
He shakes his head. "But then, if you know my mother's condition, you'll understand that it is no surprise."
"But if she could circumvent it once-"
"-it wasn't deliberate," he confides. "Her life would've been easier if I hadn't been born."
"No magic."
"No magic."
She looks distraught. "If your mother doesn't know how…"
"She wondered… She wondered if it was because my father was a Muggle."
"Oh," Narcissa gives the briefest of laughs. "Well, that is no solution. Not for Bellatrix."
"I don't think that is the reason," Severus continues, seeing Narcissa's despair, "because they tried. Apparently. After me. They tried for another. If it happened once because he was Muggle, why wouldn't it happen again?"
"...what do you think was the cause?"
He shrugs. "It's impossible to know without researching it. As a guess, I'd say she took something. A Muggle medicine, or some food, or a drink - or a combination. Something that interacted."
"Something as inconsequential as that?" Narcissa's tone is sceptical.
He exhales. "I don't know much about fertility," he admits. "Hostis Hystericus is a nasty potion, I know that much - but I don't really know why it works, or why its effects are permanent. I've never had reason to look."
"Only now we know it isn't permanent." Narcissa looks at him keenly. "Yet no brewer has ever discovered-"
"-I'd wager that no brewer has ever believed it possible," Severus murmurs. "In fact, I'd wager that no brewer has ever investigated it. Nobody attempts the impossible."
"You always talk about liking a challenge."
"A challenge, yes," Severus agrees, "but researching the impossible is the road to madness. The improbable, now that's where glory lies! But the impossible? Not a chance."
"Unless the Dark Lord is breathing down their throat."
"Indeed," he says, taking a long swig of his firewhisky. "What a delightful picture you paint, Cissy." He eyes her curiously. "Tell me, if you don't hate Bellatrix, what made you do it?"
Her eyes meet his, and she drinks steadily from her glass - and then, with only a small pool of liquid at the bottom, she reaches for the bottle, her hand shaking.
He places his hand over hers - but he doesn't prevent her from lifting the bottle, as she initially expected. Instead, he guides the bottle neck to her glass, taking the weight of the bottle, and holds it firmly as she pours - and she's silently grateful for his intervention, as her hand feels weak. He doesn't offer any comment, and when they place the bottle back on the table, he leaves his hand resting on hers for a moment - a second, or two, or five - and then he gives the most gentle of squeezes.
"You know I knifed your cousin."
It isn't what she thought he would say. "...yes."
"And you know I knifed a Muggle."
"Yes."
"I've been plotting with your husband to commit murder."
"I know."
He gives her a small smile. "You are not confessing to an innocent man, if that's your concern."
"You will still think badly of me, Severus, innocent or not."
"Does Malf?"
She glances down. "...he knows, but he doesn't understand. Not truly."
Severus smiles again. "But that has always been Malf's weakness," he offers. "A collector of information, yet too bloodyminded to interpret it effectively."
It's her turn to smile. "He thinks I did it because I am like he is. Dark."
He scoffs. "You're not dark."
"That's what I said." She sips from her glass, the thought clearly troubling her. "But he says-"
"-did you do it to hurt her?" he interrupts loudly.
"Sorry?"
"Bellatrix," Severus presses, "did you do it to hurt her?" He leans in closer across the table, his thin face filled with greed - as if the thought arouses him. "Did you ruin her body because it excited you?"
"No!"
"Then what was it, Cissy? Were you desperate to cast her aside? Your family had already put paid to one sister, and now only Bellatrix stood in your way? Did you crave that importance, that power? Did you want to be the only eligible strand of the Black family tree? Or was it Bellatrix herself you were keen to control? Did you want her dangling like a puppet on a string, ready for you to bark commands at? Did it fill you with pleasure, that thrill of power as you removed her choices and dictated her path in life?"
"No!" She looks uncomfortable, pulling her glass closer to her and away from him. "Absolutely not. No," she reiterates, "nothing like that."
"Then you're not dark," he says, triumphantly, mirroring her actions and sitting back with a smug grin on his face. He takes a long draw of his drink. "That's why Malf would've done it."
"And you?"
He shakes his head. "It's too distant for me," he says, his voice low. "If I want to hurt someone, it's personal, I want them to know that I…" He trails off and picks his glass up, swigging from it.
"That's why you knifed Sirius," she guesses.
He gives her a dark look. "...I liked the feel of his blood on my hands." He takes another drink from his glass. "But we're not discussing my misdemeanours."
"She thinks it was an accident," Narcissa offers.
Severus holds back a laugh. "An accident? You were innocently carrying the potion and your hand slipped, dropping it in her tea?" The laugh he was holding back escapes him, and he shakes his head. "Merlin, Cissy, I've heard some tales in my time-"
She can't help but laugh at his amusement. "She believes the brewer mixed up the order."
His laughter soon stops. "So the brewer took the fall?"
"And every brewer since," Narcissa murmurs.
He takes another swig of firewhisky, draining the glass, and abruptly grabs the bottle and pours another slug. "And so, there is a target on my back?"
"No."
"Not yet?" He gives a hollow laugh. "Not if I can circumvent the consequences of your actions." He caps the bottle. "I never thought it would be a witch so pretty who would send me to my death."
"Severus…"
"You still haven't told me why," he says, thoughtfully. "You've told me that you're not dark, and you've told me that she thinks it's an accident, and you've told me who you've let take the fall instead," and then he leans forward, his eyes flashing, "but you've still not told me why. I think, Cissy, if I am to die for your secrets-"
"-I don't want you to die!"
"-you owe me that much at least."
She takes another gulp of her wine. "This," she says, with a broad sweep of her hand, "was to be Bellatrix's. She was promised to Lucius."
He blinks rapidly. "Malf and Bella?"
"Many years ago," Narcissa says, softly. "He was a regular at our estate, little Lucius. I used to follow him everywhere." She gives Severus a warm smile. "I liked that he was like me."
"Fair of head."
She nods. "My locks were the only thing I had that made me stand out amongst my sisters. Droma and Bella were the family beauties-"
"-Cissy," he complains, immediately, "don't speak utter nonsense!"
"They were," she insists. "I was just a child, whilst they were dressing up and wearing make-up and…" She looks troubled. "He was always kind to me. We made a good pair, Lucius and I. The adults would pass comment that we seemed well suited, but I always knew that he wouldn't be mine." She fiddles with the glass again. "He had already been promised."
"To Bellatrix?"
"She had eyes for another," she says, earnestly, "and I do not know what Lucius has told you of his lineage…" She tilts her chin upwards. "There is only ever one Malfoy child. A boy."
"Lily said."
"She would've shamed him."
He frowns. "How?"
"Like a cuckoo," she whispers. "His nest, but not his children."
"And then the Malfoy line would die?"
She nods.
"She told you this? Her intention?"
This time, her nod is barely visible. "The cause, Severus. She would sacrifice anything for it. Her interest in Lucius was purely down to appearances - his standing, his estate, his money." She glances down. "To not have continued the Malfoy name, it would've destroyed him."
"Surely he could've separated from her? Had a child with another?"
"Not if one of those children was his."
He rubs the crease between his eyes. "Surely this is one or another, Cissy? Either she is to have his son, or she isn't."
"Why not both?" she argues. "She would've had children with both partners-"
"-then there are tests-"
"-and tell me, Severus, how does one expel the mistress of the Dark Lord from one's property?" She gives him a nasty smile as he realises the implication of her words. "I fear a man's standing would be left in tatters if he were the one to put the Dark Lord's offspring onto the streets."
"So he would've had to hold his silence. Split his estate amongst those who do not carry his blood."
"And even if he held his head high and kept up appearances, we all would've known," Narcissa explains. "We all know about the Malfoy curse."
Severus exhales loudly, running his left hand through his hair. "So where do you fit into this? Why did you care so much about protecting Malf and his heritage?"
This time, her smile is genuine. "You should know better than anyone, Severus, that you cannot help who you fall in love with." She pushes her glass away, her eyes sparkling. "He'd come to the Manor with his father, to meet with my mother and father, and Bella and Droma. I was excluded, of course, even though I was only a little younger than Lucius. When I started at Hogwarts, he was the perfect gentleman - always holding open doors and insisting on walking me to class."
"But he knew he was marrying Bellatrix?"
"I think he was just being kind but Droma ran straight to Bella and told her." She fiddles with the base of her glass again. "Bella hauled him to the house - his father too - and she screamed for a good forty five minutes. I stood outside, intending to press my ear to the door, but it wasn't necessary; she could be heard over several floors. I was told to keep away from him." She swallows hard. "I did. I'd do anything to keep on Bella's good side, so I tried to make it up to her, tried to be a good sister."
"Not one secretly in love with her husband-to-be."
She nods. "And the closer we became, the more I realised about the Dark Lord. She told me that I couldn't hope to join - wouldn't be accepted - but I lived vicariously through her stories, of her tales of brave wizards who were fighting for our-" She stumbles, briefly, acknowledging her company.
"Pureblood rights," he graciously finishes, tipping his glass towards her. He waits a moment, and then pulls it back and sips from it. "Go on, Cissy. I'm not offended."
"She was hopelessly in love with one of them. I could tell, because the way she spoke about him was the way I thought about Lucius."
"You didn't think of trying to date someone else?"
"I tried," she says, refusing to look at him, "but my heart wasn't in it. A few kisses here and there, but no more. Frigid, the boys called me."
He has to fight to school his expression, knowing fully well that such a description may have been given to Narcissa Black, but would never again be applied to Narcissa Malfoy.
She looks up, and he knows that she knew what his reaction would be - he understands that she looked down so she didn't have to acknowledge the comments which are made about her behind her back, amongst the very wizards Bellatrix so admired.
"It was the night that Droma left home," she says, swiping at the tear falling from her right eye. "It was awful, Severus. Christmas Eve. She'd been carrying on with that Tonks," and she practically spits the name, "for months."
"And your parents found out?"
"No. Bella found out." Narcissa takes another gulp of wine. "She told us that she had a family surprise for us, and Severus, it was Christmas! I was so excited."
"And she outed Andromeda?"
The tears are flowing more openly now. "The fight was terrible, Severus. You can't imagine anything like it."
I probably can, he thinks, but he doesn't speak.
"Spells thrown, furniture damaged - and the accusations!" She shakes her head, reaching again for the bottle of wine, but he beats her to it, silently refilling her glass.
"Droma was waiting for it," she says, drinking faster. "She didn't have more than a couple of minutes to get her things together, but she had a case with her."
"She'd already packed."
Narcissa nods. "Bella chased her down the drive, and I stood upstairs, on the balcony. I couldn't do anything but watch, Severus. And then she screamed at Bella, at the top of her voice - so loud that the robins in the tree scattered." She gulps again from her wine. "Bella was yelling about her running away and bringing shame on the family, and Droma said…"
He reaches for her hand, holding it tightly. "Droma said what?"
"That Lucius deserved better than someone who was sleeping around behind his back." The tears carry on falling down her face. "She looked up then, Droma, looked at me, Severus! And she said that Bella would bring shame on both families." She gives the smallest of laughs. "Bella had a field day with that," she gasps, through her tears, wiping them away with her hand, "but Droma took another step away, another step towards the gates, her wand pointing at Bella but she was still staring at me! And then she said, 'You can't pass another wizard's child off as his.' ...and…"
"...and what, Cissy?" he gently prompts.
"And Bella said 'Just watch me!'" At this, Narcissa's face crumples, her composure entirely lost and Severus pushes his chair back, and kneels next to her, wrapping his arms around his shaking friend.
"Shhh," he says, soothingly, "shhhh, it's all right, Cissy. It's all right."
"It's not, Severus!" she exclaims. "I loved him. I couldn't just stand by and watch-"
"-I know, I know."
"I had to stop her! I knew that if she couldn't have a child, Abraxas wouldn't let Lucius marry her. I didn't think he'd choose me," she says, pressing her face against his shoulder. "I was only trying to save him."
He runs his hand in small circles on her back. "And he rewarded your loyalty to him by marrying you?"
She shakes her head. "I never told him." Her tears fall more heavily again. "Oh, he knew, apparently. What I'd done. My father must've told his, and he must've told Lucius." She twists her hands together. "But I didn't know. We only spoke about it last month."
Severus' voice cracks. "Last month? You've been married for years!"
"He said that it wasn't love between us. ...he said that I had stolen Bellatrix from him, so he took me as revenge - so that I would understand consequences."
"Fuck's sake," Severus hisses. "Does he know the whole story?"
She shakes her head.
"You should tell him."
She looks at him in such distress, his heart tightens. "...I think that's why he makes me do things. With other men. It's a punishment."
"I'll fucking kill him," Severus mutters, holding her more tightly.
"No, he's right. I deserve it, Severus."
"Bloody hell, Cissy," he says, holding her close. "I thought my family were fuck-ups, but they've got nothing on yours - and I include Malf in that." He pulls back, holding her at arm's length, his hands resting on her shoulders - and then he reaches up and wipes her tears from her cheek with his thumbs. "...Malf's got issues of his own."
"His father."
"You know what happened?"
"He told me. Last month."
What the hell happened last month?
He looks at her in disbelief. "And you know about his mother?"
"The affair?"
"The Imperatum," Severus says, his voice low.
She nods.
He gives her a thin smile. "I think in your efforts to save Malf, you put the fear of Salazar into him." He strokes a piece of loose hair from her face and puts it behind her ear, smiling more widely at her confused expression. "A witch willing to drug a family member," he explains.
"...I didn't think of it like that."
"I'll speak to him," Severus says, standing.
"No, I can do that."
"...I can have a word," he says, his voice carrying more authority than he suspects he's really got. Nothing to lose, Sev, he thinks. "Tell him…" He waves his hand awkwardly. "...that making you fuck other wizards isn't appropriate."
"It's fine, Severus."
"It isn't," he snaps, immediately. "Not if… I always thought…" He trails off, pushing his chair under the table. He grabs his glass and drains the last of his firewhisky, and then points at the empty wine bottle and the half-drunk bottle of firewhisky. "Well, this confession cost him a fair bit," he says, with a quick grin, "there's that, at least."
"Severus?"
"What?"
"Do you think you can help her?"
"Bellatrix?"
"Yes."
There's a pause. "Not if I want out, Cissy," he says, firmly, "and I've got my family to think of."
She closes her eyes.
"I'm sorry," he says. His stance is awkward, but his expression is serious. "You understand?"
"Yes," she whispers. "I understand."
He takes a step away from the table, and she grabs his hand.
"Thank you," she says.
"For what?"
"For understanding."
He squeezes her hand. "You've understood me plenty of times," he says, batting the complement away.
"Fidelius."
"What?" He moves a step closer to her. "What did you say?"
"Cast the Fidelius Charm at your mother's," she says. "They'll find another brewer - they always do." She turns, staring him straight in his eyes. "But Bella wants you, and she's persistent. I'd like to think that Lucius wouldn't crumble but…" She looks away. "Cast it, Severus."
"I don't know how."
She pushes her chair back, standing unsteadily. "There's a book in the library."
"Tell me where," he says, gently pressing her back into her seat, his right hand lingering on her shoulder, "I'll get it."
"No," she says, and then she clicks her fingers, and Dobby appears with a book in hand.
"How do they do that?"
She smiles fondly at him, and gestures for the worried elf to pass the book over.
"Thanks." He tucks it under his left arm. "I'll get this back to you."
"It's not worth risking it," she says, placing her hand over his, where it rests on her shoulder. "You mustn't come back here. Call it a leaving present."
"Cissy-"
"-look after her, Severus."
Lily wonders if her parents can tell when Severus has been drinking, but if they can, they say nothing. He's slightly unsteady on his feet as he strides down the path, but so is she - for very different reasons. She meets him on the doorstep, and they kiss - she expects it to be a chaste moment of welcome, but with neither of her parents in sight, he manoeuvres her against the wall, her head glancing the light switch as he wrestles his tongue against hers. It's the sort of heated welcome that she would've expected in their flat, or their rooms at Hogwarts, or even perhaps Rillwych - but not in the hallway at her parents'.
He gasps when they pull apart, and then, with a smirk, he kisses across her cheek, tracing a path to her ear.
"What did Lucius want?"
"Not much. My life, my soul," he answers, jovially.
"Sev-"
"He wants Wolfsbane."
Her heart thumps in her chest when she hears him talk of the prohibited potion.
"I can teach you," she offers, but he shakes his head.
"Not a chance. I'm not brewing it." He gives her a strange look. "The Dark Lord wants it."
"I'd guessed as much."
"It's a step too far," he says. "I can't have wolves roaming around, neutered or not."
She gives a tight nod. "Did he say anything else?"
"He left pretty quickly," Severus says. "I've been talking to Cissy mostly." He passes her the book nestled under her arm. "And I need your help, love."
"What's this?"
"Cissy says I can hide Mam if I cast Fidelius…" He stops short at her expression. "You've heard of it?"
"Yes," she says, "in History of Magic, don't you remember?"
He shakes his head.
Lily opens the book and checks the index, and then flicks to the right page. She reads it carefully, her mouth silently moving as her finger traces along the page. "It looks difficult."
"Exactly. I don't think my magic is strong enough," he confesses, "but I thought if both of us…"
"Yes," she agrees, and then she snaps the book shut and presses a quick kiss to his lips. "Let me get my shoes."
"What? Now?"
She gives a soft laugh. "Too pissed?"
"No," he says - and then he chuckles. "Got one of my sober up potions handy?"
"All of your potions are in the top drawer of my dresser."
He immediately darts up the stairs, and she grabs hold of the bannister.
"Sev!"
He stops. "What, love?"
"In the third drawer, there's a vial of Wolfsbane-"
"-I don't-"
"-I want you to carry it," she presses. "I know you don't want to brew it, but in case something happens. In case they find you and you have to hand it over."
He nods, understanding as well as she does that this could all still be in vain - that Narcissa might be mistaken, and his magic might still run through Severus' veins.
When Severus returns, he's steadier on his feet, and his tread is softer but his expression is darker.
"What?"
"Where've the boxes gone?"
"What were you doing in Tuney's room?"
"Door was open," he says, frowning.
She hadn't expected to confess so quickly to him, and although his visage darkens further, he doesn't voice his disapproval when she tells him that Rose and David visited Rillwych with her earlier in the day - and she can tell from how he stands a little taller, a little prouder, that he's pleased at their approval of his work on the house.
"You're a menace, love," he says.
"There's something else."
He laughs. "There always is!"
"I left you a present."
He can't help but think back to Narcissa's Christmas tale, of Bellatrix's present for the family, and he bristles. "...a good present?"
"It wouldn't be much of a present otherwise," she teases, kissing him on the lips. "I used a bit of magic in the house."
He smirks. "I leave you alone for five minutes..." He shakes his head. "If whatever it is explodes, I'm holding you responsible. Remember that!"
She taps the book. "If you're ready, shall I ask Daddy to drive us to Spinner's End?"
He shakes his head. "I'll Apparate us-"
"-you said you didn't want-"
"-I know what I said," he argues, "but this is it, Lil."
She swallows hard at the resolve in his face. "...this is it?"
"If we cast Fidelius at my parents' house, then that should stop anyone from sending owls to the address - and even if they do, they won't be able to find it, whether it's witch, wizard, or owl. Yes?"
"Yes," she agrees.
"And if you stay here with your parents, they'll be able to get you to hospital."
"You're not coming back with me?"
"Lily, they're looking for me."
He stands before her, his hands in her hair, his dark eyes drinking her in - and that's when she knows; she's seen this look before, she's witnessed him memorising her - and she knows before he says it that they're about to be torn apart once more.
"The Dark Lord and Bellatrix and whoever else they've roped in to find me want me," he continues. "They won't find me, I'm sure - but just for now, I want to make sure that I don't accidentally lead them to you."
"Sev," she says, holding his shirt tightly in her hands, "please don't leave me."
"I'll only be at Rillwych," he says. "Waiting for you, and waiting for Bean," and then he grins, a wide, cheerful, happy smile, "painting the kitchen-"
"-you're such an idiot," she says, through tears.
"-don't cry, love," he says, kissing her tears from her face. He slides his hand down and over her bump. "And as soon as this little one makes a move, as soon as you're in the hospital, your dad can come and get me."
"And if they do find you?"
"They won't," he insists, "but if they do, I'll have your Wolfsbane, and I'll do some quick thinking." He kisses her again. "But you needn't worry, love, because by then, I'll be old news - presumed missing or dead, and they'll have given up. The Dark Lord is not known for his patience."
"I'm not sure that's as reassuring as you think it is."
"Trust me, Lil - I'll lie low for a few days whilst the danger passes, and then we'll be together, all three of us, just as we were always meant to be."
Chapter 97: Together
Chapter Text
"I'll walk from here," Severus says, leaning between the driver and passenger seat.
"Nonsense, Severus. I can park right outside-"
"-I'd best warn them," Severus says, his voice a little harder. "It's getting late."
She's aware that she won the argument - that knowing they were soon to be parted, he'd backed down and permitted her parents to drive them, but there's consequences for such actions. Well intended or not, a visit from the in-laws is a visit from the in-laws, whether it's eight in the morning or eight at night - and Tobias and Eileen are unlikely to be overly welcoming to David and Rose at any time of the day.
David glances behind him at Rose, who is sat next to Severus on the back seat, and then towards Lily who is in the passenger seat next to him.
Lily opens her mouth, the words on her lips to support her husband, ready to remind her father that Severus knows his parents better than anyone - to warn her father that Severus needs to prepare his parents for such an unexpected visit, but evidently, her expression says it all.
David takes his foot off the accelerator, and roughly changes gear, and pulls over. His huff is audible as he gets out, the engine still ticking over as he manoeuvres the seat forwards to free Severus from the back of the car.
"Thanks," Severus says, dusting down his shirt, and straightening himself to his full height. "...give us a few minutes, yeah?"
"Is five enough?"
Severus nods. "And maybe leave the car round the corner. Curtains twitch around here."
Before David can say anything else, Severus turns, gives a small wave towards Lily through the windscreen and strides down the street, heading for his parents' house.
Lily had realised it would be awkward, but she hadn't anticipated just how surreal it would be to see them all together - Rose, David, Eileen, Tobias - crammed into the tiny terrace where Severus grew up. Severus appeared to be blissfully unaware of any tension - instead, his expression was serious and he was focused, immediately whisking both her and his mother into the kitchen, leaving the rest of the adults - the Muggles - in the front room.
He flips open Lucius' book on the worktop by the cooker, and talks animatedly about the spell, tapping pages with his wand, confidence in their joint abilities spilling from him. She loves watching him like this, utterly absorbed in his magic, and it gives her a tiny pang of pain to think that they're both walking away from the world and its potential - their potential.
Severus is so excited by the spell, he doesn't notice that his audience is distracted - Lily by him, and Eileen by the unexpected visitors to her home. Severus barrels on, entirely unaware, but Lily follows Eileen's line of sight, slyly sneaking glances through to the living room where Rose and David are flanked by Tobias, each of them standing awkwardly.
Lily wonders what Eileen is thinking, but the older witch's expression gives nothing away. For Lily, she's struck by the incongruity of seeing her well-turned out parents stood in the meagre surrounds of Tobias and Eileen's. Over the years, she's become used to Spinner's End, with its worn carpets and worn cushions and worn ornaments and worn occupants - and yet as she watches her parents, she can't help but see it afresh. It's jarring to be so suddenly reminded of the abject poverty that Severus came from, that his parents still live in, and more than ever, she sees the gulf between their two families.
There is the smallest of frowns upon her own mother's face, and Lily feels her stomach sinking like a stone in the dirty river a few short streets away. She knows in that moment that Rose is silently comparing Spinner's End to Severus and Lily's new house in Rillwych; that she isn't just gazing politely around the room, but she's steeling herself, preparing herself to finally accept that her daughter is being dragged down to this level, rather than Lily managing to raise Severus up to theirs.
Lily's certain that Eileen can sense this judgement too - the silent accusation that Rose and David's grandchild will lack, will want, just as Severus did himself.
"Right, I'm having a cig," Severus announces, pushing himself up from where he's leaning on the worktop, "and then we can have a crack at it, if you think you're ready, Lil?" He pauses. "Lil?"
The tone of his voice drags her from her thoughts. "...oh! Yes, yes, I think so."
He hesitates, a brief shadow of confusion crossing his face. "You feeling ok, love? Need anything?"
"No," she says, quickly, not wanting him to worry. "I'll have another look at the book whilst you smoke," she says, arm outstretched.
He smiles, and carefully passes her the ancient tome - and then he turns to his mother, a cigarette half pulled out of the packet, and he raises it in offer. "Mam?"
Eileen nods, and before Lily can say anything further, the pair of them are in the yard, the back door slammed shut behind them. She doesn't think they're talking, but their backs are to the window, so if they are, there's no chance of lip reading.
Lily glances at the book, but her attention is soon dragged back to the living room. She can't quite see Tobias from this angle, but she's certain he's in his usual seat - and she can see her mother perched awkwardly on the sofa, David stood by her side. The television is on, and it's the only sound she can hear.
Tobias must've run out of small talk.
She wonders if she should go in and break the ice, or offer them a drink - but she glances up at the tannin stained cups on the mug tree, and wonders what her parents would make of them - or worse, the embarrassment that Tobias might feel, assuming that they'd be looking down on them.
Severus bursts back in then, the faint air of cigarettes clinging to his shirt and fingers, and he takes her hand. "Ready, love?"
"I think so." Lily looks at Eileen, who has followed her son back inside. "Are you going to be the Keeper?"
"No," Severus interrupts, before Eileen can speak, "I am."
"It's dangerous, what if-"
"-it's not dangerous," he scoffs.
Lily looks helplessly at Eileen, silently begging her for help.
"I'll do it," Eileen offers, quietly. "I said I would."
"No, Mam."
"I don't think anyone would even recognise me as a witch these days."
"No, but they'd recognise you as looking like me," Severus argues, "and that's what we're trying to stop, remember?" He looks defiant. "We're hiding you so they can't find me. If they find me, then this Secret doesn't matter. Nobody's looking for Eileen Snape, not now." He cocks his eyebrow at Lily, almost daring her to disagree. "You can't argue with me, love. You know I'm right."
"...was he always this insufferable?" Lily says, lightly.
"He's got worse recently," Eileen murmurs.
Severus tosses his head, as if shaking the insult away. "Get your wand out." There's a pause, and then he puts his hand up, as if directing traffic. "Not you, Mam," he says, kindly. "We can cover this."
And then he stands slightly behind Lily, her back pressed flat against his chest, and he folds his wand hand - wand encased within - over her own. The wood feels odd against the back of her hand, and gripping her tightly, he moves their hands together, their wands tracing through the air in synchronisation.
He takes a deep breath, and then he lightly kisses her hair, just above her ear. "Ready, love?"
"Yes."
"In an' out like a bloody yo-yo-"
"-they're doing their best," Eileen argues, batting Tobias' shoulder as she propels him back into the house.
"Yo-yos go up and down, don't they?" David whispers.
"Shhh," Rose hisses, shooting him a dark look as they step back into the house.
"I'm not doin' this all bloody night." Tobias sinks into his seat. "Messin' me about."
"He's not messing you about!"
Severus stands by the kitchen door, his hand braced on the frame. "He's such a bastard."
"Sev, you know he's not seen much magic-"
"-aye, that's fuckin' right," Tobias yells, "ain't seen owt tonight! Made fuck all difference, 'aven't yer?"
"Fuck off, Da!"
"Sev, ignore him - one more time," Lily urges, watching as Severus pushes back from the door frame, and paces angrily around the tiny kitchen.
"It's useless-"
"-it's not, that was almost right!"
"Almost isn't good enough, Lil! Almost never kept anyone safe!"
"That's enough," Eileen hisses, pulling the kitchen door shut behind her, and warily looking between the warring young couple. "And you, don't go winding your father up."
"Me? I'm not winding him up! He's winding me up! You heard him," Severus snaps, "and he's right!"
"Since when have you ever listened to your father?" Eileen gives him a withering stare, and he stiffens at her chastisement, folding his arms defensively across his chest.
"Seventh time's the charm," Lily says, gently.
Severus scoffs.
"You might as well give it one last go," Eileen says, "seeing as you're both here."
He glances between the two witches, and then he exhales loudly. "Fine." He grips his wand, and moves towards Lily - surprised when Eileen steps between them. "Bloody hell, what now, Mam?"
"Take a moment and read that passage again," Eileen says, pulling a cigarette out and tossing the empty packet on the side. "You've got a few minutes to spare whilst I smoke this."
It feels different this time, and he knows she can feel it too - the spiral of magical energy around them is intense, and as he repeats the location over and over, a mantra ringing in his mind, there's a ripple of magic that flows within him, making his fingers tingle and his knees tremble.
"Did you feel that?"
"Yes," she breathes, leaning back against him.
They take a moment, and then, hand-in-hand, they step outside of the house and Lily can't help but bring her hand up to her opened mouth.
"Yeah?" he asks, a thin smile creeping across his face.
"I can't see it." There's a pause. "But you can?"
"Yes," he says - and then he pulls her tightly to him, and cups his hand around her ear, his voice deep and his breath warm as he whispers the secret.
She can't help but emit a squeal of delight as the terrace reforms before her eyes, returning his childhood home to its rightful place on the street - and then, his smile broad, he goes back into the house to grab his mother.
The three Muggles stand on the cobbled street, frowns etched on their faces.
"You can't see anything?" Severus prompts.
"I can see a great big ruddy 'ole where me fuckin' 'ouse used to be!"
"Toby, keep your voice down!"
"Mummy? Daddy?"
Rose and David exchange an anxious look. "No," Rose says, quietly. "There's just a gap."
"Sev, tell it to them again."
"There's no point," he says. "I've already whispered it, and shown them it written on paper." He shakes his head. "Something's wrong. It worked for you, and for Mam… It must be…"
Because they're Muggles, she thinks - but she doesn't say it. "I'll get the book."
She returns, a moment later, the book held tightly in her hands, her eyes rapidly scanning the pages. "There's nothing in here about Muggles."
He nods, tightly, reading over her shoulder. "It must be that then." He trails his fingertip across the page. "The secret can be shared through speech-"
"-which we've done-"
"-and written-"
"-we've done that as well-"
"-or a person can be forcibly carried through the enchantment." He looks up. "Worth a go." And before anyone can protest, Severus marches forwards and grabs Tobias' bicep.
"Oi!"
"Come on, Da," he says - and he roughly drags him towards the front door - or, for Tobias, where the front door once used to be. The two men disappear.
They all watch on, each holding their breath, and then suddenly Tobias emerges again.
"Bloody hell. It's still there." He stares, blinking furiously, at the space where his house should be. "It looks like there's nowt there, an' then…"
"That's the point," Severus mutters, striding back out of the house. He holds his hands out. "Rose? David? Might as well test it properly?"
They agree, and he takes them through the barrier, and then back again.
"Try it now," he urges, "now you know the secret."
The three Muggles step forward, one by one, but none of them can find the house again - not until Severus takes them by their hand and leads them through.
"So you could leave of your own volition, but you need Severus to help you to enter each time?" Lily muses.
"What about you, Mam?" Severus says, turning to the worried looking witch. "Can you take Da through, or is it just me?"
Eileen silently takes her husband's hand and successfully leads him through the enchantment - and then Tobias reappears first, followed by Eileen.
Severus sighs, running his hands over his eyes. "Close enough, I reckon."
"Close enough?" Tobias says, his voice a little higher than usual. "I can't see me own fuckin' 'ouse!"
"That's the point, Da!" Severus argues. "You can't, but neither can any other fucker."
"Severus," David rebukes - and then Tobias shoots David the most disgusted, fiercest glare he can muster, and David takes half a step back.
"I'm tryin' to keep yer safe," Severus hisses, pulling Tobias' sleeve, pulling him away from the Evans family and towards Eileen - two separate camps stood on the street.
"It'll do for now," Eileen says, softly, "but your father's right-"
"-too righ' I am!"
"-he needs to be able to come and go."
"Man can't even go t'pub."
"Don't be so ridiculous! You can come and go," Severus says, hotly, "you just need to be organised."
Tobias' eyebrows rise on his forehead. "Organised?"
"Yeah, like, tell Mam yer gonna be in at midnight, and she can look out fer yer."
"A curfew?"
"Toby, leave it-"
"-leave it? I'm bein' treated like a bairn, all 'cos of soft lad 'ere! In for midnight. In for fuckin' midnight!"
"Doesn't have to be midnight. Could be one or two."
"An' who decides-"
"-yer can sort it out between yerselves," Severus snaps. "Get a bloody watch like a fuckin' adult, an' be grateful I care enough to try an' keep yer both alive!"
There's a brief silence following his outburst, and Tobias tilts his chin, not daring to look at his wife.
"I was on'y sayin'."
"Aye, well so was I," Severus mutters.
"He'll sort it, Toby," Eileen says, soothingly, taking her husband by the hand, "won't you, Severus?"
"Yes, Mam," he says, obediently - although he has no idea how he can amend something as complicated as a Fidelius charm - and then he watches anxiously as the two disappear into the house.
Lily's footsteps are soft as she approaches him, sliding her hand into his. "You ok?"
"...yeah."
"You're not."
He clicks his tongue against his teeth. "They'll be all right."
"They will," she affirms. "You did well."
"Couldn't have done it without you."
"No," she says, with a smile.
"Partners in crime, eh?"
"Yes. And don't you forget it."
They crush back into the car - Severus and Rose in the back, David and Lily in the front - and David drives them around to Rillwych.
"Don't get out, love," Severus says, but she ignores him, flinging the car door open wide. "Lil, seriously-"
"-Lil, nothing," Lily retorts, leaning on the roof of the car as she pauses for a moment. "I wanted to show you my present."
He gives the smallest of eye-rolls, and then he grins, and walks around the car to take her hand. "Come on then, show me what you've got."
As the pair fumble with the key and open the front door, Rose leans over and taps David on the shoulder. "Turn off the engine. Let them say their goodbyes."
He looks surprised, but amused, and he wraps his arms around her as they both stare at the corner of the living room where her magically constructed shower stands.
She flicks her wand, twisting the taps in the kitchen, and water floods from the shower head, contained within the metal bath by her spells - just like a shower.
"Merlin," he breathes.
"It's just like a protection spell," she says, dismissively, batting away his compliment. "You're just containing the water."
"It's ingenious," he says, watching it - and then he casts with his wand, turning the taps back off.
"Better than hauling that bath in and out."
"Yes," he says, realising that her statement was really a question. Then he gives her a wicked smile. "You didn't make it opaque."
"...I didn't try. I didn't think!" She slides her wand into her hand, and he immediately grips it, stopping her.
"I didn't say I didn't like it," he continues, his voice a low murmur. "In fact, I think I will look forward to the evening's entertainment-"
"-Sev-"
"-when I can sit on the sofa and enjoy the show-"
"-Sev!"
He laughs then, looking immensely pleased with himself. "You're brilliant, love, you know that?"
"So you tell me."
"Good, don't forget it."
She kisses him, softly, gently, and then she pulls back, and brushes a loose strand of hair out of his eyes. "You're brilliant yourself," she whispers, "that at your parents, you almost didn't need me."
"I couldn't have done it without-"
"-you could," she insists, "I barely did anything." She rakes her fingertips through his hair. "It's almost scary, how powerful you are."
"Lil, that's nothing-"
"-how powerful you could be," she continues, as if he hasn't spoken - and then she pulls him closer, holding him tightly.
"...you underestimate your own magic," he murmurs, relaxing into her embrace. "Together…"
She leans back slightly, smiling up at him, unsure of what he's thinking. "Well, in that case, Bean's going to be formidable."
A strange look crosses his face, but it's fleeting - so fleeting, she thinks she's imagined it, or it's a trick of the light.
"Yes," he says, pulling her back against him, wrapping his arms around her even more tightly, "our little magic Bean."
Chapter 98: Could be almost anywhere
Notes:
Just a quick warning as there's a rather intense sexual scene involving Avery at Madam Mary's in this chapter.
Chapter Text
It's suffocating, living with James Potter. Lupin had protested at least seventy six times that he didn't need Potter to stay over - didn't need him watching over him night and day. In fact, Lupin had told him lots of things, all of which had fallen on deaf ears. He'd told him that he didn't need a babysitter, or a carer, or bodyguard, or whatever other descriptor Prongs felt fitted his self-appointed and entirely unnecessary role.
"I'm looking out for my friend," Potter had said. "I care about you, Moons."
It made it all the harder to argue with him, knowing that his affection was genuine.
"And I'm better house trained than Siri," Potter had added, picking up his cup from the coffee table and taking it to the kitchen and making a show of washing it.
"You're just being silly now!"
"Rather I left it in the living room for a fortnight to grow mould?"
"Not really."
"Well then." And Potter had grinned. "Pads would've."
Washing up aside, having Potter in the house was annoying. He was annoying. It wasn't that he played his music too loud, or used up all the hot water before Lupin could shower, or had a habit of wiping toothpaste on the hand towel in the bathroom - well, it was those things, but it wasn't just those things. It was the fact that Lupin liked having his own place - liked living alone. It's why he'd moved out of his parents' as soon as he could.
But he didn't really feel he could argue - not when Potter was paying most of the rent. Potter's parents, he reminded himself. Still, Lupin simply didn't want a flatmate - deer shaped or otherwise.
When the fourth post owl of the day finally flies back in - hours and hours after all of the others - letter still clutched in claw, Avery swipes a sheaf of parchment off his desk. The owl gauges his reaction and instead of flying towards him and releasing the letter on the desk as he's expecting, she pulls up short, and perches on the top of the coat stand, keeping her distance.
Irritated at being made to get up, Avery marches over and roughly yanks the letter out of the owl's grip. She immediately flies off, not waiting for any sort of reward - clearly not wanting to witness his inevitable fit of rage.
Avery rips open the envelope, in the forlorn hope that he's somehow mistaken - that it isn't a non-delivery, but that Severus has received his missive and sent it immediately back to his friend, a sarcastic comment in his tight scrawl contained on the parchment within.
It is a forlorn hope, and he's soon disappointed - it's just another failed delivery. He sighs, tosses the letter on the desk, and slumps back into his chair. Four letters, four owls, four failures: Severus, Slughorn specifically, Hogwarts more generally, and even Jigger.
Calm yourself, he thinks, twisting his quill over in his hands. You didn't really expect this to work. Not something as simple as a tracking letter - not when the wizarding world and its dog is hunting for him without any joy. This isn't about instant success. This is about going back to basics, back to the start. This is about crossing t's, and dotting i's. This is about forgetting that you're hunting for your lost friend, and treating him like a suspect, like a target - like a victim.
"This is horrible," Lily murmurs into his chest, her voice muffled by his shirt.
He keeps his left hand wrapped around her waist, holding her tight in their embrace, but he extricates his right hand. He strokes his fingertips across her cheek, and slides his fingers beneath her chin, gently tilting her face upwards so that her gaze meets his. His dark eyes are filled with concern as he takes her in, and then he offers an uncertain lopsided smile.
"I can't hear you when you talk into my shirt," he murmurs, "what did you say?"
"...it's horrible."
"Horrible?" He looks amused. "I've never had complaints about my hugging technique before. Bit late to start now, wife."
"Idiot," she says, resting her face back against his chest, and squeezing his middle a little more tightly. "This isn't horrible. But saying goodbye is. Again."
She waits, expecting him to make a reassuring comment about it not being for long, or how she's being daft - but he doesn't speak. He runs his fingers through her hair, and she closes her eyes, lost in the sensation of his neatly trimmed nails trailing across her scalp. They stand in silence for several minutes, and although she knows she should move - that her parents are waiting outside - she can't bring herself to pull away from him.
It's Severus who finally breaks their embrace, stepping back and running his hand through his own hair, his eyes not leaving hers. "I'll start painting."
"Now?"
He chuckles. "Tomorrow. Then maybe it won't smell so strongly when you come home with Bean in a day or so."
There it is, she thinks. A day or so. It's not for long. You're being daft.
"And thanks to this," he continues, pointing towards her constructed shower, "I won't be covered in flecks of paint when I first get to hold my kid."
"It's important to make a good first impression."
"Yeah? Good job you didn't judge me on that front."
"Jumping out of the bushes and yelling that I was a witch was not your finest moment," she says with a grin, her green eyes flashing with amusement. "It was hardly suave."
He laughs. "Maybe I just wanted to be memorable."
Lily runs her hand unconsciously over her bump. "Yes, well, don't go giving your child any ideas." She glances down. "You can arrive nice and normally, Bean. No grand entrances like Daddy, thank you."
Severus moves back towards her, his hands gently pressed over hers, both of them feeling for their baby within her. "Yes, you listen to your mother, Bean."
She turns her head and kisses him, and although he responds at first, when she wraps her arms back around him, he starts to pull away.
"Don't," she protests, tightening her hold on him, "don't let me go."
"I know, I know," he whispers, looking pained, "but it's not going to be for long."
She feels him take a deep shuddering breath, and she reluctantly loosens her hold - just a fraction. It's as difficult for him as it is for you, she reminds herself.
"I'm going to miss you."
"And me you," he says, with a sad smile, "but your parents will want to get home. They'll be cursing me…" He trails off as he catches her expression, and frowns. "There's something else worrying you, isn't there?"
"...yes."
"Tell me, love."
"What did you mean, earlier? When you said 'Nobody's looking for your mum, not now'? What does now mean?"
Lily feels him tense in her arms, and when she glances up at his face, his gaze is fixed on the blank wall, his expression giving nothing away. She knows him well enough to keep silent - to let him work out whatever internal battle he's having in his mind.
He glances towards the window, where David and Rose's car is visible on the road. "I'll tell you," he says, finally, "but it's too long a story for tonight." He runs his fingertips gently down her cheek. "She was in trouble with the Ministry, and they…" He swallows hard. "They restricted her magic."
Lily's eyes widen in horror. "What did she do?"
"She didn't deserve it, if that's what you're asking," he says, his voice firm. He gives her a tight smile. "She already told you that the apple doesn't fall from her tree. She's not like me. Twisted."
"You're not twisted, Sev!" Her eyes dart over his face, desperately trying to gain a sense of what he's thinking. "...is that why she's with your dad? Because she had no magic?"
He shakes his head. "Not really. They were together before the Ministry did the deed." He draws his finger across his neck, mimicking where the spell was cast.
"Oh," she says, quietly. "So the Ministry were the ones looking for her."
He looks conflicted. "I did the right thing, didn't I? I know it's been years but..."
She holds him tightly. "Yes."
"Da's well pissed off. I can tell."
"He'll come round, I'm sure, Sev."
"It isn't just Malf and Bella, but Moody - he mentioned Mam too, remember? He only has to speak to the wrong person, remind people that she exists."
"You did the right thing, Sev."
Severus exhales loudly. "She's so vulnerable, Lil, and I can't be responsible for people turning up and…" He grimaces. "Merlin knows what they'd do. The wand she's got is barely more use to her than those twigs we used to chuck off the bridge-"
"-and race down the river." She nods, remembering how many hours they whiled away playing the game they'd found in one of her favourite books. "I can't believe she didn't tell you sooner. About her magic, I mean. You used to rage for hours when we were kids that she would never cast around you."
He looks slightly shamed, remembering the long drawn out rants he used to go on, disparaging his mother's apparent lack of interest in magic - it not occurring to his young mind that there could be something else causing her behaviour. "Never when I was a kid," he says, "but she sort of said something when we broke up." His voice is low - as if he doesn't want to bring the memory to the fore. "When I was staying with them…"
"I remember."
"I told her that they'd stopped you from working."
"The laws." She can't bring herself to elaborate as to which laws, and she knows from his expression that he needs no reminder.
"And she knew, Lil, she just knew! She knew without me saying anything that they were to do with blood, and she was rattled." He runs his hands over his face. "I should've worked it out then - she's a Pureblood! Why would she be frightened by blood laws? But no, I was too wrapped up in my own-"
"-Sev, don't," she says, firmly. She takes his hand and squeezes it. "None of this is your fault."
"But I had no idea, Lil. No idea at all."
"And now that you know, you've done something about it," Lily says, her tone stern. "You took Narcissa's advice, and we've hidden them."
"...yeah, until Da kicks off again-"
"-we've still got the book. Either we'll think of something or," and now Lily gives him a knowing smile, "your dear old dad is going to have to get used to it."
"He-"
"-and if he was with your mum before they took her magic," Lily continues, loudly, "then I'm sure she can explain to him why this is important. If he'll listen to anyone, it won't be me or you - it'll be your mum. His wife." Then she flashes him a wide smile. "Just like you listen to me, yes?"
To her relief, he laughs - a small, short laugh - but she can tell from the way that the skin around his eyes crinkles that it's genuine, and then she holds him close, as tightly as she can.
Potter taps Lupin's book as he sits down next to him on the sofa. "What are you reading?"
"Nothing interesting."
"Why are you reading it then?"
"So I don't have to talk to you."
"Oooooh," Potter laughs. "You're very touchy today. Time of the month, is it?"
"Don't call it that," Lupin snaps, closing the book with more force than necessary. "And no, it's not. Not for another week."
"Talk to me, Moons," Potter says, a little more softly. "Can I help?"
"...I know I said I'd be fine," he says, eventually, "but I'm scared."
"Of transforming?"
At first, Lupin nods, and then he shakes his head. "Not the transformation, but...during."
"You won't hurt anyone."
"I'll be mindless again. Not me. Him."
Potter puts his hand on Lupin's shoulder. "It'll be fine. I'll shackle you. You've still got your chains."
Lupin looks pensive, staring at the empty fireplace.
"I know it's not nice," Potter continues, filling the silence, "but-"
"-I can slip them," Lupin confesses, the words spilling from him. "I'm...stronger than I was when we were kids." He gives a weak smile. "I'm… He… It," he settles on, "It is a fully grown werewolf."
Potter exhales. "So what were you doing? Before Evans. If you weren't looping those chains around you."
Lupin refuses to look at his friend.
"...Moons, what were you doing?"
"Running," he says, finally. "Like we used to."
Potter looks horrified. "Where?"
Lupin shrugs. "Anywhere. I'd just Apparate, and… It's a big country, Prongs." He glances at Potter. "I've never hurt anyone."
"Yet." Potter leans forward. "Sounds to me like Evans' potion came along at just the right moment." He draws in a breath. "We could come with you. Like we used to. Keep you in line."
"...I don't think you'd be strong enough," Lupin says, quietly. "Not now. No offence." He seems subdued. "I didn't mean for you to worry."
"You should've said something sooner," Potter says. "You're too busy being chivalrous, whereas if we'd known that we needed to get that potion-"
"-I don't need-"
"-you clearly do!"
Avery hates walking down this part of Knockturn alone. It's bad enough in the winter, when darkness has fallen, and the only risk of being spotted in the shadows is if someone casts their Lumos a little too brightly - but in the summer, with the long light nights, there's nowhere to hide.
He tries to walk a little taller, with his head held high - but he can feel other people looking at him, guessing where he's going, judging him.
They're not wrong, he thinks - and in his embarrassment, he almost falters, almost walks past - but then he regains his composure and pulls the door open.
It's your money, he reminds himself, as he makes his way up the stairs. He nods towards a wizard who passes him, and gives a tight smile to Madam Mary on the front desk. Over her shoulder, through one of the broken beads of the curtain, he spies Iona deep in conversation with Carol - and to his happiness, she seems to look him straight in the eye.
He blushes. Should I wave? No, that's too uncool. I could smile. I should smile. Just as he grins at her, he realises that she's looking over his shoulder, as if she's seeking out someone - and looking disappointed when he's nowhere to be seen.
She's looking for Severus. Bastard. What's he got that I haven't?
He takes a deep breath, trying not to let his rage show on his face.
Money, he thinks, suddenly remembering the conversation he had with Severus. Just chuck more galleons at her until she says yes.
"Madam Mary."
"Mr Avery."
"I choose Iona," he says to Mary, getting his wallet out.
She gives him a tight smile. "I am afraid that Iona is not available."
He swallows, understanding the implication of the refusal. "I want her," he says, a little more firmly. "Double rates."
"She has a client-"
"-she doesn't! I've just seen her talking…" He trails off, trying not to lose his temper, trying to compose himself. "Triple. I'll pay triple."
There's a pause, and Mary stares at him intently, before pushing her chair back and standing - closing the thick ledger and holding it against her chest. "Take a seat, Mr Avery," Mary says, pointing at the waiting room chairs. "I will discuss her bookings and see if we can make an arrangement." She shoots him a firm look as he sits down. "This is merely an enquiry, you understand? Not a promise."
He nods. "I understand. Thank you."
In the end, the wait isn't overly long - ten minutes or so, and then Mary approaches him and beckons him towards the desk.
"She's agreed?"
"For triple," Mary says, writing an agreement and passing it to him, "I shall provide two girls."
"I don't need two-"
"-two girls is the agreement. Iona and Tracey."
He falls silent. He's had Tracey before, and he doesn't want to offend her - doesn't want two women refusing to see him. He nods. "Two girls."
"And your wand is to stay out here."
"No."
She opens up a magical box that he's not seen before, with three other wands concealed inside. She offers it to him. "Please, take one."
His eyes narrow. "This isn't Ollivander's."
She looks irritated and shakes the box. "Take a wand. Take all three if you wish."
He puts his hand out, but try as he might, he can't grip any of the wands - they slip and slide through his fingers, and he's unable to gain purchase on any of them.
"Put your wand in," she instructs, quietly.
"No."
"Just to see the effect." She smiles at him warmly. "You can still leave afterwards if you do not wish to go ahead."
Ros would be yelling at you, telling you you're an idiot, he thinks. And Mulc. Giving away your wand again, especially after what happened in the Ministry. He glances through the beaded curtain, and he can just about see Iona eyeballing him from the doorway to one of the rooms. She'll do this if you agree to her terms. And then if she's done it once, there's no reason why she won't do it again…
He slips his wand out of his robes, and places it into the box. Mary closes the lid, and then re-opens it, passing it to him. He dips his hand in, and although he still cannot pick up the other wands, his own leaps right into his hand - solid and firm, and he withdraws it.
"It is quite safe, Mr Avery," Mary smiles. "Only the wizard may pick up his own wand."
"And these others…"
"There are wizards within these walls who agree to the same terms," she says, quietly. "It is not such an unusual request."
"Right," he says - and then before he can change his mind, he pushes his wand back into the box. "I agree."
The owl flies back into the room, the post he's carrying clearly unopened - unread.
"She's made herself untraceable."
Lupin paces around the room. "We should leave it."
"We can't," Potter argues. "You need that potion. ...at the very least, we need the method from her."
Lupin's eyebrows rise. "You didn't think to keep a copy?" When Potter stays silent, Lupin huffs a disbelieving laugh.
"I didn't think we'd need to. I didn't think she'd be-"
"-anywhere other than in your bed," Lupin quips. "...you really should get over her, Prongs."
"There's nothing to get over," Potter says, defensively.
They stand in silence, watching the owl picking at his feathers.
"Should I let it go?"
Lupin shrugs. "I can't think of anyone else we can use to find her." He pauses. "Unless you want to try...him?"
Potter shakes his head. "No."
"Don't fancy a fight?" Lupin grins. "That's a first."
"No," Potter says, wearily, "because there's no point. He's always been untraceable."
Lupin frowns. "He's always been… How on earth would you know that?"
David sits up in his seat as he hears the front door swing open. "Finally!" he says, twisting the key in the ignition, causing the engine to roar into life. Her parents watch as Severus holds Lily's hand, guiding her carefully down the step and onto the pavement, and then walking her over to their car.
"I thought she wasn't ever coming out-"
"-hush, David, they'll hear you-"
"-you said they were saying goodbye! It's been forty five minutes! I'll miss the start of Question Time-"
"-shhh!"
Severus yanks open the car door and ushers Lily in, who gives an apologetic look to both of her parents. "Sorry about the wait," she says, as she sits down. "We had a few things to talk about."
"No problem, you two," Rose says, kindly. "Have you got enough food in the house, Severus?"
"I'll be fine," he says, ignoring Lily's look of concern.
"Sev-"
"-it's fine, love, I've got legs," he says, "I can go to the shop if I need anything."
"But if the baby, if Daddy-"
"-Severus is right. If anything happens," David says, firmly, "and he's not at home when I call for him, I'll wait. I'm not going to leave him behind just because he's gone to get a loaf of bread."
"See," Severus murmurs, leaning in for a chaste kiss, "I told you not to worry."
"I love you," she says, kissing him back.
"Love you too," he says, and just as he's tempted to deepen the kiss, David revs the engine loudly, and Severus pulls away, looking embarrassed - as if he'd briefly forgotten his surroundings. "Right, I'll let you go," he says, awkwardly, tugging at the neck of his shirt. He slams the door and bangs on the roof as a goodbye, and then he steps back onto the pavement.
She twists her neck, watching him through the rear window as he moves back up the step towards the house - and he stands, tall and lean, braced against the door frame, his arm fully stretched above him, waving and waving - until their car turns the corner, and he disappears from view.
"I'm not falling out with you!" Lupin yells, pulling the drawer out and rifling through it.
"No, doesn't look like it!"
"I'm just saying…" Lupin looks aghast. "He's a fucking creep, I know. He sends shivers down me as well, he always has-"
"-well then!"
"But you and Pads… You always took it too far! What were you doing, writing to him in the holidays?"
Potter looks unperturbed. "We were messing about. Just thought we'd send him a few letters, that's all. Nothing else. We were only kids."
"You were teenagers."
"Yeah, and what? He's practically a serial killer-"
"-he sliced Pads up because Pads tried to use me to murder him! Or have you conveniently forgotten that bit?" Lupin shoves the drawer roughly back in, and pulls out the next one.
"...what are you looking for?"
"Just go home, James," Lupin says, not looking up. "I appreciate you looking out for me, but I think… I think we're suffocating each other."
"I don't want to leave you-"
"-come back tomorrow," Lupin offers, knowing that it's the only way he'll see the back of his friend. "When we've both calmed down. Before we both say something we'll regret."
Potter takes a step back, and then nods. "I'll get my cloak."
Avery feels on edge. It's bad enough being without his wand, but being so close to Iona after so long is unnerving him, not least because she's staring at him oddly.
"What do you want?" she asks, her voice clipped - and although he knows if he challenges her she'll play innocent, and retort that she's asking a reasonable question about the scene, he knows there's a message in her question.
What do I want? What do you want? he thinks, watching her. You want him. Severus. There's a thrum of jealousy within him. You're being a fool. This is just her job.
"I want my dick sucked," he says, fighting to keep his voice calm, and taking a seat on the bed. He points at Tracey. "You."
The women exchange a surprised look, and then Tracey shrugs and joins him on the bed.
"What? Just thought you were the witness, did you?" he smirks. "If I'm paying for you, I might as well get my money's worth, and I know you give good head."
"Is that my role then?" Iona asks, her tone wary. "Witness?"
"No," he says, and then he groans as Tracey wraps her hand around him, and takes him into her mouth. He leans back on his hands, watching Tracey's enthusiastic actions.
"Then I should..?" Iona shrugs. "Strip for you? Join in? Sit here and wait my turn?"
"I don't know," he hisses. "I didn't ask for two."
Iona looks at him warily. "No, you didn't. You asked for me. Why?"
"...I wanted to talk to you."
"This is an expensive way to have a conversation."
Tracey pulls her mouth off his cock and laughs. "And I thought you'd lost that punter." She quietens instantly at Iona's dark look.
Avery silently puts his hand on the back of her head, pushing her mouth back onto his cock, and thrusts his hips forward. He stares at Iona, his hand still firmly clamped on the back of Tracey's head. "What did she mean?"
"Nothing."
"You lost what punter?"
"She didn't mean anything by it."
He tightens his hold on Tracey's hair, causing her to grunt. Iona's eyes widen slightly, and just as he thinks she's going to protest, he speaks, trying to distract her. "Tell me. What punter?"
"Some punters…" Iona starts, cautiously - and as soon as he loosens his grip on Tracey, she continues. "They get off on other things."
"Not fucking."
"...not fucking," she agrees.
"Like what, then? Like talking?"
"Yes."
"Dirty talk?"
"Yes."
"You like that?"
Iona tries not to roll her eyes. "This is my job. Do you like your job?"
I like being a Striker.
"And you've lost the guy who was into that? Talking?"
"There is no such thing as lost. Some clients are regulars. Some are not."
"But he was a regular?"
"I wouldn't say so," Iona says.
He flexes his hips, pushing deeply into Tracey's mouth. "You must be annoyed. Easy way to make money."
"None of this is easy," she says, evenly.
"No? Saying a few words isn't the same as getting fucked. You must've been laughing to the bank."
She bristles. "If it is the client's preference, then that is what we do." She gives him an icy look. "The problems we have are through non-communication - when the punter doesn't explain what he expects from the experience."
"Experience," he scoffs - but her pointed words are not lost on him, and he can't help but retort. "You're not a theme park. You're nothing but a cheap shag. Nobody cares about you, nobody wants to waste the money on a date with you. You're just convenient. A dirty whore in a dirty room."
She looks away, and he can't tell if his insults have landed.
"...I shall tell Madam Mary that you are unhappy with the cleanliness of the facilities-"
"I saw what you did," he rages, "when I came in! I saw!"
"Saw..?"
"Looked over my shoulder."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You were looking for someone, weren't you?"
"I didn't look over your shoulder."
"You were looking for my friend-"
"-he has not been in without you," she snaps, cutting him off, "if that is what you are worried about. He hasn't dumped you-"
"-so is it him, then?"
Iona looks at him. "Is what him?"
He came here for a release - to relieve his anger, to drain some tension - and he suddenly feels that he's closer to his goal than he's been in weeks. All from a chance encounter with a whore.
"My friend," he says. "The one who hasn't been in."
"What about him?"
"Is he your talker?"
Iona gives him a faint smile. "I do not discuss one punter with another."
"He's my friend."
"He's still my punter," she says. "You would not like it if I discussed you with another paying customer."
"...I wouldn't mind."
"No?" Iona raises an eyebrow. "You wouldn't mind? Your performance? Your cock size? Your kinks?"
Avery swallows hard, and holds Tracey's hair even more tightly, causing her to give a muffled protest, her hands pressing against the tops of his thighs as she tries to push away. He holds her firm, ignoring her discomfort, and he doesn't break eye contact with Iona - who looks increasingly concerned. Then, just as he thinks she's going to say something, he wrenches Tracey off him and pushes her away - and she falls back on the mattress, drawing in huge gasps for breath.
"Your turn," he says, beckoning Iona towards him. "Get over here and ride it."
She stalls for a moment, and when she moves, she moves slowly. It's not disobedience. Reluctance, perhaps. Whatever it is, it's not the seductive actions of his fantasies. He doesn't care whether she looks at him adoringly, or filled with fear - either is good - but she isn't doing either. She's impassive - going through the motions, and even casting a lubrication spell at herself before approaching him.
He winces at her action, and then composes himself. What did you expect? She's a whore, not your girlfriend. She doesn't have to be attracted to you for you to get what you want.
He props himself up against the headboard, and watches as she lowers herself onto his cock. He lets her do the work, and his gaze doesn't leave her face. He knows he's staring, and he knows he's being weird, and he knows that if he doesn't knock it off, she'll refuse to do this again - triple pay and a witness or not.
"I'm sorry," he says. He doesn't know where it comes from - he certainly doesn't mean to say it - it just slips from him, right as she's making his blood rush from his head, as if she's drawing the life from him - and she looks as surprised by his confession as he does. "I was out of order."
"You were," she says - and he isn't sure if she's accepted the apology or not, but she rides him a little faster.
He leans his head back, and thrusts upwards to meet her. "Talk to me then. If that's what you like doing."
"I can talk if you want me to," she says, quietly. "What do you want me to say?"
"Do it like you talk to him. Tell me what you'd say if he was here."
"To who?"
"My mate."
"...I don't talk to him."
"No?" He thrusts harder and harder. "He just fucks you then? What does his cock feel like? As big as mine? Does he fill you like I do?"
When she doesn't answer, he sits upright, holding her in his lap, his cheek against hers, and as he gropes her breasts, he whispers in her ear. "We talked about fucking you together, you know that? Not another chick, not another whore, but two...punters, as you'd say. Him and me." He slows his thrusts down deliberately, grinding against her. "What would that cost? Single rate for each of us? Double?" His words are punctuated by his panting into her ear. "Don't pretend you're not interested. I always want to fuck you when I come here, but you always want to fuck him. I saw the disappointment on your face tonight."
"He's just a punter," she protests. "He pays, just like you do."
He grabs her face, roughly with one hand - and he can feel Tracey watching them, uncertain as to whether he's crossed a line, or about to cross it, but he ignores her and stares right into Iona's eyes.
"He pays just like I do? You'd make him pay triple, would you? Bring in someone for protection from him?"
She doesn't answer.
"Tell me honestly," he whispers, "and I'll never bother you again. Why do you like him so much?"
"I don't like him!"
"Does he pay you more than I do?"
"No."
"Then what is it? Has he got a bigger dick than me?" He watches her, the two of them unmoving, him waiting and her unwilling to answer, and then he gives a roar of irritation and tips them over so she's lying beneath him on the bed. With his right hand, he lifts her leg in the air, and he grips the wooden headboard with his left hand, and then he fucks her as hard and as fast as he can. "Fucking bitch," he spits. "Tell me. Tell me what I'm doing wrong!"
He keeps his gaze fixed on Iona, who is impassive - her face entirely blank, which enrages him all the more. As he thrusts more roughly, he can sense movement - can sense Tracey walking to the side of them, watching their coupling intently, and he tries to rein his temper in, tries to ease up slightly - terrified that Tracey's going to call Madam Mary in, or call the whole thing off.
Severus drags the cloth down the door frame, and then wrings it out, filthy water dripping from it into the sink. He tosses it onto the draining board, and dries his hands on his t-shirt, appraising the kitchen. It's not quite sparkling - not quite how Lily would have it, but it's cleaner, if not clean. No cobwebs, no dust, no grime. Clean enough to paint, and that's all he needs.
He locks up and stands for a moment in the living room, staring at the makeshift shower cubicle. It's not his favourite thing, showering. He does it for Lily because he knows she likes it, but left to his own devices, he'd be happy to skip a day or three. He did, when he was alone at Hogwarts - not caring what anyone thought, and not having Lily to impress - but this feels different.
What if David comes for you in the night?
He doesn't want her to screw her nose up at him when he arrives at the hospital, so he closes the curtains and quickly strips. She's set it up masterfully, and he casts to start the water. It's just the right temperature, and he groans loudly as the spray hits him in all of the right places - not realising until this moment how much his work in the kitchen has made him ache.
The water pools around his feet in the tin bath, so he doesn't linger. He roughly dries himself off, wrapping the towel around his waist - and sets about investigating how to use his wand to siphon the dirty water out of the bath and down the sink.
After, he heads upstairs and enters their bedroom, hunting for clean underwear - and then laughs in surprise when he sees the array of boxes. He swaps the sodden towel for pants, and then peers inside one or two.
"Either Lily's sorted a bunch more," he says, aloud, "or this isn't all of them."
He collapses on the bed, staring at the boxes, wondering whether he should start looking at those and put their contents away, lest David take it upon himself to bring the rest over, or whether he should continue with his plan and paint the kitchen.
You promised her the kitchen would be painted, he thinks, as he closes his eyes.
"Then I'll paint the kitchen, brain," he murmurs to himself, casting to extinguish the light, and then wrapping himself in the sheets.
It takes him just under an hour, but he finds it, eventually - Lily's letter. There's no return address, but he didn't expect to find one. Lupin runs his wand over the letter, trying to draw out of it any sense of where it stemmed from.
He remembers this much from his brief stint at the National Owl Office - the four months he'd enjoyed there before they became suspicious about his illness, and he'd decided to run before he could be exposed.
Most witches and wizards didn't tamper with their post - didn't use disguising spells, or masking spells - and it was useful to those in the Office, because in very rare circumstances, an owl could fall ill on its travels and become disoriented. In the case of the post being returned to the Office, they could use an array of spells to attempt to determine its originating source - to find out whether the owl was on its way to or from a location.
It rarely worked. It was a difficult and arduous job, attempting to extract vestiges, and it was nearly always thankless. Results were snatched away by the aurors more often than not, and credit wasn't given - whilst failures were pounced upon by superiors, and despite his short stint there, Lupin could remember being berated on several occasions. The truth remained, witches and wizards weren't owls, and didn't have that innate ability to locate each other - and the traces left on parchment were rarely enough.
It doesn't stop him from trying.
He casts over and over, trying to cause the letter and envelope to spill its secrets - and by the end, he's sweating, and his wand feels hot - although he acknowledges that could just be caused by his too tight grip - and he's got little to go on.
He stares at the parchment before him. The landmarks are vague - a railway, a river, a park, a hotel.
Could be almost anywhere.
And then, as he casts for the final time, hope almost lost, a faint name rises from the parchment: Cokeworth.
Chapter 99: Gotcha
Chapter Text
She isn't the first unexpected visitor that he's ever had in his time in the Magical Accidents and Catastrophes department, but she's the first one that he's been unable to successfully palm off on either Penrose or Boot.
"I've tried, sir," Boot had protested, earnestly, his head stuck through the Floo, "but she's most insistent that she sees you!"
When the woman refused to leave, settling herself in the hallway for over an hour, Avery had grumpily agreed - but not before forcing her to wait for another forty minutes.
"I'm a busy man," Avery had said by way of explanation, but the truth was that he was vindictive and petty, and he was disgruntled at his afternoon being disrupted by a bloodyminded witch.
When she is finally brought into his office by Boot, who looks most apologetic towards both parties, Avery's eyebrows rise and his mouth opens - and then, when she smiles sinfully at him, he collects himself and straightens, puffing out his chest.
"Dismissed, Boot," he says, trying to keep his voice level - and he marches across the room, ushering his colleague out and firmly shutting the door. "Now, do take a seat, Tracey," he says, "and tell me all about the distressing magical catastrophe that you've witnessed."
For all of her strength in front of Severus, now that she's back with her parents, stuck in Cokeworth whilst he's another town over, Lily can't help but feel miserable. She knows that she's being moody, sitting morosely after picking at her lunch, not really speaking to either of her parents - but somehow, she was coping better when she went for long stretches without seeing Severus. Having been so close to him - having gone to bed with him at night and woken up with him in the morning - it makes it even more difficult, as if it's their first night apart all over again.
She sits quietly in the front room, twisting her wedding ring around her finger. If her parents have noticed - and they must've - they haven't asked her about the jewellery. They probably think it's just a good cover story, she thinks, like me lying to the midwife and pretending that I was married. A precaution, so I'm not scorned as a young, unmarried mother.
Lily pretends to read, going as far as holding the book up in the air, but she can't bring herself to complete the charade and turn the pages. When David walks through the living room for the fourth time, and realises that she is sitting in the same position, the pages unturned, he sighs and turns the radio on. She protests, but he insists. For company, he says.
That was the problem. It wasn't general company that she was lacking. She didn't want her mother's company, or her father's company, or the clipped tones of Paul Burnett, Andy Peebles or Peter Powell - she wanted the Cokeworth stained accent of her husband murmuring in her ear.
She didn't turn it off. It wasn't worth the argument - and although it seemed silly, there was a small part of her that knew it was highly likely that Severus had kept his word, and was toiling away in their kitchen. And if he's painting, he'll have the radio blaring. In a strange way, knowing that her husband was listening to the same songs that she was, at the same time that she was, and perhaps even humming or whistling or singing along, it made her feel a little closer to him, even though they remained miles apart.
It's not that Lupin's ashamed of what he's done - desperation does funny things to a man - but each time Potter strolls past his room, he shoves the map and the envelope and Lily's letter under his pillow, and attempts to sit nonchalantly on his bed.
"Right," Potter says, after he'd been to the toilet for the third time in an hour, "you're coming downstairs."
"I'm busy-"
"-you're being weird," Potter argues, standing in the doorway of Lupin's bedroom.
"I'm being weird? You've got something wrong with you, needing to go to the toilet every five minutes-"
"-and whenever I walk past, you're stretched out oddly on your bed, like…"
"-like what?"
Potter throws his arms up in the air. "I don't know, Moons! Like you're trying to seduce me."
"I'm not trying to seduce you."
"I know," Potter says, his eyes narrowing, "so what are you hiding?"
He takes a step into Lupin's bedroom, and Lupin instinctively places his hand over the pillow.
"What," Potter repeats, "are you hiding, Moons?"
"Nothing!"
"Stand up then," Potter challenges, taking another step forward.
"I don't need to justify myself-"
"Evanesco!" Potter yells, suddenly whipping his wand out, and casting at the pillow, vanishing it into the ether.
"That was my pillow!" Lupin protests.
"And what are these?" Potter points his wand at the papers which had been hidden beneath the pillow. "Accio!"
"No!" Lupin yells, diving off the bed and tackling Potter around the waist, the two men wrestling on the floor, the summoned papers crumpling beneath them.
Avery isn't overly surprised when she tells him that there was no catastrophe. It isn't because they don't occur, but because nobody has ever insisted upon seeing him personally, despite him being the most senior figure in the department. He'd instantly felt uneasy at Boot's request, convinced that something was awry - although he couldn't quite determine what. The Dark Lord and his followers would've simply marched in, and not bothered with an appointment.
Still, he hadn't been wrongfooted until he laid eyes upon her. Granted, she looked a little different fully clothed. Not fully clothed, he corrects himself, conservatively dressed - because it wasn't as if she strolled around naked at Discreet Knights. Just not the sort of clothing you'd wear at the Ministry, he thinks.
"So…" he says, sitting uneasily in his chair, "...how can I help you?"
She smiles, holding her hat in both hands in her lap. "I was hoping that I could help you."
He takes a deep breath. He isn't prepared for this - isn't prepared to see her in this situation, in his workplace. You see her in hers, he thinks, and then he instantly shakes the thought away. It's not the same. If she notices his internal wrangle, she doesn't comment on it - just waits, patiently.
"Help me how?" he says, leaning forward slightly, and picking up his quill - resisting the temptation to make an awkward quip about Madam Mary offering home visits. "You have information about-"
"-I have information about your friend."
He stills, quill in hand. "...my friend?"
"The man you ordinarily visit us with. The man Iona was discussing with you."
He has to fight to keep the smile off his face. Severus. "Yes?"
"He prefers her," Tracey says, quietly, "but she isn't the only one to have had an appointment with him. Over the years, I mean."
Avery leans further forward. "But he prefers Iona. She prefers him."
"Yes. And having had him, I know why."
His eyes narrow. "And you're prepared to tell me?"
Tracey smiles. "Yes."
"...why? Iona wouldn't break his confidence." He shifts in his chair. As much as he hates to admit it, Iona was right - he doesn't want to think about the girls talking about him behind his back, telling others his behaviour and fantasies and deepest of secrets. "What makes you different?"
"I just don't think you should be wasting your money on Iona." She gives him a hard look. "Triple, you paid."
"For two."
"You didn't need two of us."
Iona doesn't trust me alone. "No," he says. She seems confused that he was willing to pay so much for the scene a day or two before, and he stares at her, trying to work out what she knows about him - if anything at all.
If Iona truly doesn't talk about punters behind their back, maybe she hasn't said anything. Maybe Tracey thinks I'm being taken advantage of. He fights to hold back a smile. "But you said you'd come here to talk about Severus - not to give me a refund." He can't resist raising his eyebrow. "Or is that what you're offering? Reimbursement of services rendered?"
She rolls her eyes. "No refunds from me. I was only paid my normal rate." She stares at him evenly. "I could cater specifically for you," she says, "like she caters specifically for Severus. I wouldn't overcharge you."
The implication is clear. Not like Iona.
"No?" he says.
"Time and a half," she offers. "You'd always be my priority booking, and I'll consider any kink."
He leans back. "Any?"
"Any."
"I'll consider your offer," he says, quietly. "And is that what Iona has done for Severus? Any time he likes? Any kink he likes?"
She gives him a tight smile. "Well, there's the thing. He does have an unusual kink." She leans forward, her hands on his desk. "...he does nothing."
"What?" he scoffs. "He's lazy? Makes you do all the work?"
She glances down and smiles at her lap, and then looks back up. "No."
"...what? He just...watches you get off?"
"No," she says, more loudly, "nothing. He wants nothing. He does nothing. He says nothing." She smiles at his shocked expression. "He sits and counts the minutes down. Iona likes him because she can paint her nails and get paid for it. It's why she won't tell you anything about him, because you're right - he's the best punter she's got."
"And yet you have no such loyalty to him?"
"I've seen him three times," she says, "he's not my punter." Then she gives him a beaming smile. "I'd rather see you regularly."
There's part of his brain screaming at him - telling him that she's only ratting Severus out because she's not the lucky recipient. He knows why she's doing this - jealousy. She's trying to replace Iona in his own affections, so Iona isn't gaining triple pay from him for doing relatively little, and single pay from Severus for doing nothing at all. He knows it's the green eyed monster fuelling her behaviour, but he can't help but quietly feel thrilled that she's taken such a risk. She wants you.
There's another part of him silently rolling around the accusations that flew across the Slytherin common room all those years ago, when Severus protested he wasn't gay, when everyone suspected that he was doing Malfoy, or getting fucked by Malfoy, and doing absolutely nothing with the women at Discreet Knights - but Avery never really believed it. Why would I believe it? Handed to him on a plate, and he'd still say no? Not until now. Now, now that Tracey is telling him, and now he has to believe it.
He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what to think. Is Severus queer after all? Is he doing Malfoy? Does he fancy me? Or is it something else? Or is it still that Mudblood? …I'd rather be queer, he thinks, than sully myself like that.
"I appreciate you bringing this to me," he says, standing and moving around the desk, and helping her up from her seat. "I will remember your loyalty to me."
She smiles broadly as he ushers her to the door, her mission clearly accomplished. "Well," she says, "I do hope to see you soon."
He grins back. "Oh, I'm sure you will."
"Radio One!" Severus grins as he hums along to the radio, and coats the roller in another slick covering of pale yellow paint.
Merlin, Sev, you're even humming along to the jingles now. As if Lily wouldn't have laughed her socks off twenty minutes ago hearing you singing along to something as soppy as a medley from the Detroit Spinners.
He rolls the excess paint away in the plastic tray, making sure that the roller is evenly covered, his thoughts running away with him.
Would she? Would she laugh?
He runs the roller in the tray again, pressing down a little harder - and then he glances over his shoulder, as if he's checking that he's definitely alone, and nobody will burst in and read his thoughts.
She quite likes it when you're soppy, he concedes, with a small smile to himself. You know she does. He's never really found it easy - the outpouring of affection that seems to be required of a boyfriend, of a husband, of a father - even if that's the way he truly feels inside. It's why we were using Legilimency. You should try harder, he thinks. She'll like that.
He knocks the roller against the edge of the plastic tray, making sure there aren't any drips - and then he pauses, as if gripped by fear.
What if you can't? What if you do and she thinks you're being strange? What if you go to say something and it comes out wrong, or…
He frowns, and heaves the roller into the air, connecting it with the top of the wall and then dragging it down angrily before running it back up again, smoothing the paint onto the surface.
You're doing this, he thinks, trying desperately to stop his mind wandering. This is how you're being affectionate. Making a good home for the three of us. Showing her you love her.
He returns the roller to the plastic tray, and quickly covers it in paint again.
Just love her, he thinks. Just love her like you've always done. That's all you both need. Stop overthinking this.
"Yes, Sev," he murmurs to himself, "stop thinking about nonsense and concentrate on doing this job properly." He reaches over and turns the radio up, lifts the roller back to the wall, and runs it up and down, his foot tapping along to the blaring music as he works.
The silence is oppressive. Lupin on the bed, Potter on the floor - both watching the other warily. Lupin's shirt is ripped, and Potter's face is scratched, and both wizards have their wands clenched in their fists.
"You chucked me out to do this," Potter says, eventually. "The other night. That's why."
"...yes."
"Because you don't trust me?"
"Because you would've wanted to come."
"I am coming-"
"-this is why!"
Potter sighs loudly. "What if it's a trap?"
"How can it be a trap," Lupin argues, twisting his wand in his hand, "if I had to bust a gut to extract the address from the letter? Do you know how difficult it was?"
"I'm not disparaging what you've done-"
"-sounds like it."
Potter glares at him. "Just seems convenient. I think it'd be safer if I went with you."
"You just want to see Evans," Lupin argues. "You'd be a distraction. Like last time."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"She won't speak freely when you're there!"
"Because of him," Potter spits.
"And this is why I don't want you there," Lupin erupts, "because you can't put your feelings for her-"
"-I don't have feelings for her-"
"-or for him to one side-"
"-and I definitely don't have feelings for him," Potter laughs.
"You think you're funny," Lupin snaps, "but you're a pain."
"Fine," Potter says. "Don't take me. Take Pads-"
"-and risk Snape being there? They'll kill each other!"
"Then take Pete," Potter says, with a sneer. "But don't be surprised when he's not powerful enough to help-"
"-you put him down too much-"
"-you underestimate Sniv," Potter retorts. "This isn't about Pete. It's about what you might be walking into."
Lupin looks conflicted. "She's still just Evans."
"And if you're telling the truth," Potter says, "then she might still just be Evans, but she'll be an Evans who doesn't expect you on the doorstep. An Evans who hasn't invited you, but an Evans who might be scared witless that you've found her."
"...I didn't think of that."
"And an Evans who is scared witless, who is hiding away with Sniv, well..." Potter takes a deep breath. "I know you don't think he's that bad, but I think he's a psycho, and Pads thinks he's a psycho - and you turning up might be just enough to make him flip." He reaches over and grips Lupin's shoulder. "I'm all for you speaking to Evans," he says, "but promise me you won't go alone."
Avery should feel pleased, having finally got to the bottom of Iona's preferential treatment of Severus - but he mostly feels uncomfortable. He's been struggling with his one-sided friendship for a while, unwilling to accept that perhaps Severus didn't think as highly of him as he'd once assumed.
So desperate to be liked, he thinks, bitterly. You didn't wonder why he came crawling back. You didn't blame him once he disappeared. Always in his corner, and he must've been laughing himself sick. You, fucking whores, and him sitting in the next room, knowing that it was all beneath him - that he didn't need to pay for it. Not desperate. Not like you. Pitying you with every minute that ticked by.
He feels sickened. It feels worse than when the others had dropped him, one by one, Rosier first, then Mulciber and finally, Regulus. He hadn't thought about Snape much back then - he was long lost to the friendship group, long lost to the cause, attached to that Mudblood and having long rejected any of the politics of the Pureblood movement.
You weren't really a good friend to him then, he thinks - but he instantly shakes the dissenting thought away. It's not the same. He chose his path, and I left him be. This time, he found me. He came to me! He promised me… Avery slumps further into his chair. And all this time, he was laughing at me. Laughing at me with Malfoy. Malfoy's little bitch.
He's so angry, his fingers twitch. I could do with a fight, he thinks, spill some blood. He reaches in his pocket and grabs his Striker badge, placing it on the desk before him. I could cause some mayhem tonight. He pauses, staring at it for a little too long. Severus taught you that spell, the one that slices people open. He must've liked you a little to share it with you. Why else would he teach you? Because you got him the Striker badge?
He sits up in his chair, his eyebrows knitting together. What if he did mean it? What if none of this is his choice? What if someone's pressuring him? Just because he was lying to you about fucking some witch, it doesn't mean he wasn't your friend. He was a good enough mate to go with you - to do it and not say anything. Maybe he just didn't want to embarrass me?
Avery stares at the badge, desperate for some sort of sign. I can't talk this through with the others - they'd laugh themselves sick. But what if he's still hurt from being imprisoned? From the Cruciatus? What if he needs his mate? What if they all get to him first, and…
It hits him then - and it feels like a slow motion punch to the stomach. Cruciatus through the Dark Mark. He rolls up his sleeve and stares at his blank forearm, and then he gazes at the Striker badge. He yanks open his desk drawer, pulling out page after page of parchment, hunting for the documents he's certain he's hidden away in the office.
Fifteen minutes later, he shoves all of the parchment back into his drawers and taps his fingers angrily against the desk. He eyes the filing cabinet, fearful of the hundreds of pieces of paper he's shoved in there over the previous months - and then he angrily stands, and crosses the room, yanking it open and furiously flicking through the contents, his eyes scanning each page before discarding it at his feet.
It's got to be in here somewhere.
He's never been particularly organised when it comes to protocol. He much prefers being on the frontline and getting his hands dirty, as opposed to processing pieces of paper. Administration is for wimps, he always thought - and whenever documents came his way, he'd just shovel them into the nearest file or folder or drawer. Nobody ever asked him for them, which simply reinforced his belief - it was all nonsense. Creating a job for someone, that's all, he would think, spitefully, giving each item forged in the Ministry a unique serial number.
And then he straightens, his feet covered in a sea of parchment, suddenly embarrassed by his idiocy. You're a wizard, he thinks, and he raises his wand. "Accio badge registration papers!"
Instantly, the required parchment flies into the air and he grips it, his smile widening. He twirls his wand, slamming the filing cabinet closed, and kicks his way through the mass of discarded parchment and back to his chair, settling in with a smile as he opens the documentation, running his finger down the list of serial numbers and names. Sev Snape, he reads, #044-982173.
David places his knife and fork neatly together on his empty plate, and glances over at Lily, who is - for yet another meal - pushing her food around with her fork. He opens his mouth to comment, and immediately, Rose reaches across the table and places her hand over his.
Don't say a word.
Lily can practically hear her mother's unspoken thought, as if it's been shouted across the silence - and her father's huff of exasperation is less than subtle.
"David," her mother says, her voice low.
"I didn't say anything!"
Lily bristles. "I'm just not hungry, Daddy," she says, answering the unasked question.
"You're meant to be eating for two, not mooning over the father. Half a week this has gone on for! It's ridiculous!"
"David!"
"No, I'm not having this, Rosie. Severus is only in Rillwych - this misery act-"
"-ignore your father, lovey," Rose interrupts, turning to her daughter. "You don't have to eat if you're not hungry."
"Pass it here." David reaches over and drags her still full plate across the tablecloth towards him. "I'll put it in the fridge in case you want it later."
"No, I'll do it," Rose says, standing.
"You've not finished yourself."
"I have," Rose says, picking her own plate up - a small pile of vegetables, and a forkful of minced meat still on it - and indicating that David should hand over his empty plate, and Lily's full one.
David looks between his wife and daughter, his frown growing. "Now, Lils I can understand! It's ridiculous, but I can understand it. But you, Rosie? What's wrong with you? Who are you pining over? The milkman? The newspaper boy?"
"That's it, I'm going upstairs," Lily says, pushing her chair back from the table.
David goes to argue, but Rose glares at him fiercely - so the two stand in silence, watching as their heavily pregnant daughter departs, listening to her footsteps echoing up the stairs, and finally, her bedroom door slamming shut.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"What was all that about?" David looks astonished. "I've never known you not finish a meal. Lily's spent all this week moping, so I can understand her not eating, but-"
"-into the kitchen," Rose instructs. When David follows her, she points at the fridge.
"What about it?"
"Open it."
He pulls the door - and frowns, and then sighs. "You could've just said."
"I didn't want to. Not in front of Lily."
"And the jumping up mid-meal? What was that in aid of?"
"If you'd come to put her meal in here, you would've shouted about there being enough leftovers in this fridge to feed an army." Rose gives him a knowing look. "Wouldn't you?"
"...well, I may have commented on the amount of food here," David sheepishly concedes.
"And then she'd have worked it out," Rose insists. "She'll only have demanded that you take her with you, and Severus was adamant he wanted her kept here."
"...take her with me? Rosie, I'm not going anywhere, it's already gone seven and we've not washed up-"
"-I'll wash up. Now, tell him that he'll get three meals out of that cottage pie," she says, pushing past him and taking the casserole dish out of the fridge, "if he puts some vegetables with it. I've put some green beans and some carrots in the paper bag by the door."
"The paper bag by the door…" David sighs in disbelief. "Rosie, really?"
"Yes, David, really!" she says, sharply.
David reluctantly takes the proffered casserole dish, his frown growing even deeper. "He won't want me bothering him."
"Have you seen your daughter recently?"
He looks at her like it's a trick question. "...yes."
"So if you've seen the state of her, then how do you think he's going to be, the father-to-be? Cooped up alone in that damp house, waiting anxiously for a sign that his baby is on the way."
"And say what to him?"
"Take him to his father," Rose says, firmly.
"What? In the house that cannot be seen?"
Rose smiles sweetly at him. "We both know that Tobias Snape is more likely to be stood at the bar of the Victoria than sat in his front room."
There's a lengthy pause, and just as Rose is certain that David is going to protest, he sighs and puts the casserole dish on the worktop. "Fine. I'll get the car out. But if the boy ends up as drunk as a lord with his father, and the baby starts to arrive-"
"-I'll take the blame," Rose says, with a happier smile.
They land heavily, having never been to Cokeworth before, and Lupin and Potter reach for each other, steadying themselves on the football pitch.
"Good thinking, Moons," Potter says, admiringly, glancing around the park. "Grass is a much softer landing than pavement."
Lupin nods. "And I thought if we were a bit out, it wouldn't matter so much," he says, indicating to the large field, "whereas if we got it wrong in the street, we might've ended up in the middle of some traffic lights or a roundabout or something."
"So where now?" Potter asks, peering over Lupin's shoulder at the map.
Lupin traces his finger to three locations. "I've narrowed it down to here, near to the railway station. This one, closer to the river," and then he taps the page higher up, "or this street, on this estate."
Potter stares at the options. "We need to think this through," he says. "What do you know about Evans?"
"What do you mean, what do I know about Evans?" Lupin repeats, incredulously. "I thought you were her biggest fan?"
"I just mean," Potter says, irritatedly, "that she must've given us some clues." He moves his finger between the three locations. "I can't see her living near to the river. Rivers are at risk of flooding, so property is always cheap."
Lupin nods, understanding. "And railways are noisy. Trains through the night, that sort of thing."
"So property near railways is cheap," Potter says with a smile. "And I always got the impression that our Evans wasn't cheap."
"Let's start with this one," Lupin agrees, pointing at the estate. He turns in a circle, trying to get his bearings. "I think," he says, staring at the map and then looking around the park, "I think we need to go that way."
Avery wouldn't pretend to understand quite how the Dark Mark worked, but it reminded him of a modified Protean charm. I could make his badge burn, he thinks, send him a message. He picks his own badge up, moving his wand over it, checking the layered spells. There's a few cosmetic charms, preventing the badge from being scratched or becoming tarnished - a few anti-theft charms, most of which are deactivated.
Interesting, he thinks. He casts again, wondering if he can slide a Protean in amongst them without it conflicting - and his mind drifts. What if he's injured? What if he can't answer the message? I need to find him, he thinks. An Homonculous charm? Aparecium? Appare Vestigium? Avery's frown grows deeper. I wish I'd studied harder at Hogwarts.
And then, a small smile creeps across his face. I don't need to know the spell to use, he thinks, I just need someone who does. He stands, brushes down his robes, and strides out of his office - and heads down into the atrium of the Ministry.
David's knock is loud - it has to be, for Severus to hear it over the blaring radio. David wonders if he hasn't heard, and raises his hand to knock again, but then the radio abruptly shuts off, and Severus flings the front door open. There's a broad grin spread over his face, and he leans one hand against the wall whilst he drags his boots on. "I'm ready, I'm ready! I'll just lock up!"
"Calm yourself," David says, raising the casserole dish in the air. "Nothing's happened."
"...oh."
"Lily's resting at home, but Rose thought you might be hungry."
Severus stops struggling with his left boot, his expression suddenly despondent. "Errr. Thanks."
David steps inside, and heads into the kitchen. "I'll put this in the fridge, shall I?"
"Don't lean on anything," Severus shouts after him. He lines his boots back up on the mat and locks the front door, and then follows David through to the small kitchen. "It's not quite dry. It's still tacky when you touch the walls."
"Rose has sent you cottage pie," David continues, putting the bag of vegetables on the worktop. "Says there's enough to make three meals."
Severus nods, dumbly - not quite over the shock of David appearing and thinking that Bean was on the way.
"You know to warm it through properly?"
"Yeah."
"It's got to be hot in the middle, else you'll give yourself food poisoning."
"Yeah. I know."
"Can't have that, father-to-be. Can't have you up at the hospital as well."
"No," Severus says, quietly. He gives a tight smile. "When you came, I thought-"
"-I know," David interrupts. "Rose. You know what she gets like. She was worried about you being here, all alone."
Severus shrugs. "I'm all right."
"Well, it's coming along nicely, the kitchen."
"...yeah."
"You've done the corners nice and neatly."
"Thanks."
"You've cut it in well, with the ceiling."
"Yeah."
"I like the colour."
"Lil chose it."
"Goes well with the worktops."
"Yeah, suppose so."
It's like pulling teeth, David thinks. "...and you," David finally ventures, "are you doing all right?"
Severus nods.
It's awkward, moreso than usual - with no television to put on, and no newspaper to pick up, and no interruptions from Lily or Rose, and absolutely nothing to carry the patches of silence between the two men.
"Right, well, if you're all right with warming that cottage pie through, I'll-"
"-is she ok?" Severus asks, just as David readies himself to leave. "Lil, I mean."
David bites back a smile at his clarification. I didn't think you were enquiring about Rosie. "She's fine. Bored. I dare say she's miserable without you."
"But nothing's wrong?"
David shakes his head. "There's nothing to worry about. She's got her feet up." Another pause. "So what's your plan for tomorrow?"
"...need to do the finishing," Severus says, pointing at the woodwork. "Gloss the sills. Door frame. Door."
David glances at the tiles beneath his feet. "You need to do-"
"-something about the floor," Severus nods. "I know. Got drips all over it from the ceiling." He gives an embarrassed laugh. "Not done much painting before."
"Do you wet shave?"
Severus gives him a confused look. "...yeah."
"A new razorblade will clear that up," David says, decisively. "Angle it carefully - mind your fingers - and cut the dried paint off the tile, and then wipe it with a bit of hot water and vinegar…" He trails off, and then gives a wistful smile. "...or I suppose you've got a magical way-"
"-no, I appreciate it," Severus starts, awkwardly.
"-there's no need to placate me," David interrupts, with a soft laugh. "I'm used to it, with Lils."
"You shouldn't be," Severus grumbles, with a thin smile, "she wasn't meant to be doing magic outside of school."
"I know," David says, looking amused. "Those letters from the Ministry said as much." There's another pause, and David jangles his car keys. "I think you should go and have a pint. I'll take you."
"Cheers, but I'm all right."
"I insist," David continues, "it's not good for you, being cooped up here alone." He indicates to the freshly painted kitchen. "You've been working hard. You need a rest."
"I'm fine."
"Before the baby gets here," David says, more firmly, "you'll need all the energy you can muster. One last night of freedom."
Severus pulls at his ear, looking uncomfortable. "I appreciate the thought but…" He looks away from David, his voice a little lower. "...well, look at us. I haven't got much to say."
"Not with me. With your old man," David says, causing Severus to look up in surprise. "He offered you a drink the other night, and you weren't able to take him up on it-"
"-but if the baby-"
"-if the baby comes, I'll know where to find you." David claps him on the shoulder. "I'm not taking no for an answer. Put your boots back on, son."
They walk down the street, scanning the houses for clues, but neither of them know what they're looking for. Short of Lily running outside to greet them, they're lost - they don't know what sort of house she lives in, or what sort of car might be outside, or whether her driveway is gravel or tarmac or concrete or non-existent.
"We could knock on the doors," Potter suggests, as they head down yet another street.
"And say what?"
"Could offer to wash cars?"
"At this time of night?"
"Collecting for charity?"
Lupin shakes his head again. "Not at this time of night."
Potter sighs. "I'm out of ideas. ...unless, we could just pretend that we're lost? Ask for directions?"
"It'll only work on a few houses," Lupin warns. "We can't walk from one house to another. It'd look weird if we went next door straight after asking for help."
"Then we need to whittle it down. Make an educated guess."
"And how do we do that?"
Potter smiles, throwing his arm over Lupin's shoulders. "Easy! Look at the windows." He points at the house they're passing. "There's a stuffed toy in that one."
"...so?"
"Evans has got a sister, remember?"
Lupin shrugs. "I don't know, has she?"
"Yes! An older one. One far too old to have a stuffed toy in the window."
"So that's not her house?"
"Got it." Potter grins, and taps Lupin on the chest. "Come on, Moons, we can do this!"
It's quicker than he thought it would be - although he'd had to sign six different forms to authorise his use of such a spell. A modified Avenseguim, he thinks. I'd have been here all month if I'd needed to come up with that myself. Not that he was bothered about putting his name to the request; if he found Severus, he'd be rewarded, and the Dark Lord would think nothing of erasing any incriminating papers.
Avery points his wand at his own badge. "Geminio!" Instantly, a duplication of his badge appeared on the desk. He picks it up, scanning it for imperfections. "Aparecium!" The serial number on the reverse of the badge reveals itself, and Avery grins. Not so dumb after all, he thinks. He holds his wand over the serial number of the copy and erases the digits, replacing them with a number which hasn't yet been issued.
With his heart in his mouth, he points his wand at his original badge, and casts, screaming the new serial number in his mind as he pours his magical energy into the spell - and just as his will is waning, just as he fears that it's not going to work, the copied badge starts to vibrate on the desk, rattling and shuddering as it shakes and then, his wand arm straining with the effort, a set of coordinates flash on his original badge. He quickly notes them down, and ceases the spell, sweat pouring down his face. He sits back in his chair, his hands shaking, and his mouth open in disbelief.
It's a quick drive, to the Victoria - and David realises too late, as he watches Severus get out of the car and saunter towards the open door of the pub, his right hand fumbling in the pocket of his jeans, that Severus likely hasn't got much money. Sighing to himself, David cuts the engine, locks the car up and follows him in.
The inside of the pub is dark - dingy. The bar is thick with smoke, and there's an overpowering yet not unpleasant scent of ale and tobacco and cheap aftershave which fills the air. David scans the room, and politely pushes past one or two drinkers - each of whom look at him with a raised eyebrow, as if registering that he isn't a regular.
It's Tobias he spots first, in the back room, pool cue in hand, gesticulating wildly. He's holding court, his voice loud and his laughter louder. Popular. David is surprised when he looks at the men in the room - some playing cards, some playing dominoes, and a cluster sat around a table obstructing the oche. No darts tonight. And no sign of Severus.
Before Tobias can spot him and make his way over, David turns his back and checks the bar - and that's when he sees the round shouldered figure of Severus making his way towards him, head bowed, hair long, a half pint of lemonade clutched in his hand. The environment makes him seem young - so much younger than the gruff, stubbled men standing around them - and David sighs.
"Thanks," David says, intercepting him, and placing his fingers around the glass, intending to take it from him.
Severus looks up in shock, his eyes widening. "I thought… I thought you…" He grimaces. "I thought it was just me and Da, not some inlaws thing… No offence." He glances over David's shoulder - towards Tobias - and there's a look that David can't quite fathom, of guilt or fear or shame, and somehow, Severus looks even younger than he did a moment earlier.
"I wanted you to enjoy your evening."
"I will, I..."
"...to have a drink," David emphasises, looking at him sternly.
Severus flushes red. "I couldn't afford-"
"-I realised," David says. He pulls at the glass of lemonade, which Severus finally releases - and then David pushes a bunch of notes into Severus' open hand - three green Isaac Newtons, two blue Duke of Wellingtons, and one brown Florence Nightingale.
Severus looks at the scrunched up notes in his hand, and his eyes widen further - and again, he glances over David's shoulder before looking his father-in-law directly in the eye. "It's too much. Look, I can't, I-"
"-have a good night, Severus," David instructs, draining the lemonade, and then passes him the empty glass. "Now take that back to the bar and get yourself a pint. And your father too."
"Evans." Tobias' voice comes from behind David.
David watches Severus hastily stuff the money into his pocket, and then David turns to greet Tobias - pool cue, thankfully, no longer in hand. "Good evening," David replies.
"Din't realised yer played," Tobias says, his jaw tilting upwards. "Winner stays on t'table," and then he points at the dominoes, "fives and threes, corners at a crown-"
"-Da! It's fifty pence, not a crown no more-"
"-or," Tobias continues, as if Severus hasn't spoken, but he flashes a grin, "yer can take yer chances at gin rummy wi' the lad, but I'm tellin' yer now, yer ain't got a chance, not wi' 'is witch mind-"
"-Da, shurrup," Severus hisses, looking around.
Tobias clocks David's empty glass and Severus' empty hands. "Thought you'd gone the bar, lad?"
"Aye, I'm goin' now," Severus says. "Pint o' mix?"
Tobias nods. "Aye, if yer offerin'. What 'bout yer man 'ere?"
Severus looks at David. "Yer gettin' off, aren't yer?"
"Yer call 'im Mr Evans," Tobias says, firmly and then looks at David with a shrug. "No manners, my lad. Been dragged up, not brought up-"
"-I've got to get home-"
"-well, if yer ain't stayin'," says Tobias, "I'll see yer out."
"There's no need-"
"-nonsense." Tobias escorts him to the door - and when the two men step outside into the summer evening, the light is bright and the air is fresh and warm. Tobias blinks - twice, three times - and then stuffs his hands awkwardly into his pockets. "No news from yer lass?"
"Still waiting," David says. "No sign yet."
Tobias jerks his head towards the pub. "He's a bundle o' nerves."
"I think I was with our first."
"Me an' all."
"And the second, for that matter."
"I wouldn't know…" Tobias trails off, and then nods, stiffly. "...thanks for bringin' 'im."
"It's not a bother."
"An' 'is wallet," Tobias says, eyeing David. "He walked in without it. Only 'ad a bit o' silver in 'is pocket."
"I realised."
"Left it in t'car, did he?"
"...yes," David says, as he opens the car door and settles in the driver's seat.
Tobias gives a slight nod. "Aye, well, I'll tell 'im to keep better 'old of 'is stuff." He moves towards the driver's side, and waits for David to roll down the window. "I 'preciate it, 'coz I know yer wunna come in 'ere embarrassin' me by payin' the lad's way in front of me mates," Tobias says, his voice low in David's ear. He holds his hand out, and shakes David's hand. And then he raises his voice. "Thanks fer lookin' out fer 'im. I'll see 'im righ' now."
When the commotion starts, neither Lily or Rose pay much attention to it.
"That dog," Rose complains, reaching for the remote control to turn the television up a little louder, "the Atkins really need to do something with it."
"Sev would say they should bury it," Lily laughs, glancing at her mother.
"Oh, Lily! You shouldn't encourage him. Especially as-"
"-yes, and they shouldn't have a dog that barks the street down," Lily argues, not wanting her mother to dwell on dead canines. "It's a ridiculous amount of noise for this time of night. What if I'd had the baby and was trying to sleep?"
"If you'd had the baby," Rose says, getting up and making her way over to the window, "you'd be in Rillwych."
"What is it, Mummy?"
"...that dog only barks around strangers," Rose muses, "but it's late. Who's knocking on doors at this time of night?"
The thought of strangers roaming the neighbourhood makes the hair on the back of Lily's neck stand on end, and she starts to get up, but Rose quickly waves her away.
"Stay there."
Lily does, but she reaches for the remote and mutes the television, listening intently to the sounds outside - and then, her heart freezes, because after seven years sharing a common room, she would recognise that voice anywhere: James Potter.
Avery picks up his wand again, and stares at the registration papers, memorising the serial number of Severus' Striker badge. Composing himself, he inhales deeply, and then points his wand at his badge and repeats the spell. This time, he can't see if he's successful - doesn't know if Severus' badge is responding to the call, whether it's moving or not, so he daren't let up. His wand is shuddering violently in his hand, and it's taking all of his effort to keep it pointed directly at his badge, his jaw clenched in concentration.
Severus groans to himself when the toilet door swings open and Tobias marches in, standing next to him at the urinal trough.
"Da," he complains, "seriously? Shove over."
"Wanted to speak wi' yer."
"Fuck's sake, yer can speak when I'm not 'avin a slash," Severus grumbles.
"Get on wi' it then. Thought wi' seven pints down yer neck, yer'd be pissin' like a racehorse."
"I would," Severus protests, "but yer puttin' me off. Fuck off an' wait outside like a normal bloke."
Tobias doesn't wait outside, but he does turn his back, letting his son use the facilities without being watched. Severus zips himself back up, and heads to the sink, scrubbing his hands before putting them under the hand dryer.
"Noticed that."
"Noticed what? Washin' me 'ands? Yer wanna try it."
"Cheeky sod." Tobias taps his wedding ring. "Yer got 'itched."
Canny fucker.
"Yeah."
"Din't want me and yer mam there, then?"
"Din't 'ave anyone there," Severus says. "We needed to do it quick, Da. For magical reasons. For the baby." He puts his hand out. "Mam give us the rings."
Tobias pauses. "Yer mam did?"
Severus can almost feel the confusion radiating off his father. She's never told him that she had valuable jewellery. Better not set up a fight - she doesn't need another black eye.
"Aye," Severus says, "you need to be magical for 'em to 'ave meanin', so she kept 'em in a box. Wi' the magic stuff." He grins. "I din't know she 'ad 'em."
It's not quite the truth, but he sees Tobias' irritation at not being included evaporating.
"An' what do 'er parents think?"
"They dunno," Severus says, with a cheeky grin.
"They ain't blind, lad," Tobias warns, but he looks pleased - pleased that the Evans family haven't been involved in the wedding either.
"She's been tellin' the midwife that she's married for ages," Severus says, "to make sure they're not funny about the baby." He shrugs. "They'll just think it's part of the lie."
"...an' when are yer gonna tell 'em?"
Severus shrugs. "Might have a blessin' or summat."
"The vows ain't the same. Can't just go 'round pretendin'."
"Dun't matter, Da," Severus says. "When the baby's born, they ain't gonna care."
Tobias nods. "Yer playin' well tonight." He looks at his son critically. "I thought yer'd 'ave cleared up on the cards. Made a fortune."
"Nah," Severus says, "thought it'd put noses out of joint if I took everyone's money. Stayin' on at pool is neither 'ere nor there."
"Aye, well, Mick's noticed yer."
"Yeah?"
"Captain." Tobias tries to look nonchalant. "Reckon he'd 'ave yer. If yer wanted to play regular, like. Only once a week. An' practice on a Sunday."
"I'd have to speak to Lil."
"Right." Tobias nods, stiffly. "Well, dunner go turnin' 'im down straight off if yer fancy it." He pulls the door, and then stops. "An' dunner go tellin' 'im yer gotta ask yer missus fer 'er permission first-"
"-it ain't permission!"
Tobias shakes his head. "Aye, well, whatever it is, lads'd 'ave a field day. An' get yer 'and back in yer pocket, pool shark," he says, flinging his arm around his son as he steers him back into the bar, "it's yer round."
It was a quick argument, as Rose soon abated when she saw how distressed Lily was becoming. She watched in horror as her daughter cast the concealment charm at herself, hiding her pregnancy, and then threaded the telephone through to the kitchen, the stretched cable making it obvious that she'd relocated it.
"They'll see, they'll work it out-"
"-they're wizards, they won't," Lily argued - and then she'd hugged her mother, and told her to listen in - to ready herself to ring 999 if it sounded as if she needed the assistance.
Lily knew she wouldn't - whatever Potter wanted, the Muggle authorities were unlikely to be able to help, but it was a useful distraction - a way of hiding her mother from any trouble.
Lily opens the door, and steps onto the driveway, walking slowly towards the street, checking all around her as she takes each step. It doesn't take long for Potter to spot her, Lupin in tow - and she drags both boys inside.
"What on earth are you both playing at?"
"He needs it," Potter babbles, breathlessly. "The potion. Moons. Needs it."
"If you've got it," Lupin adds, bent over at the knee, and breathing hard. "Merlin, that dog!"
"The whole street has heard you!"
"Yeah, well, blame the dog," Potter snapped. "Feral thing!"
Lupin looks at her earnestly. "Have you got it? I know it's meant to go through-"
"-no," she says, honestly, thinking of how the vial is safely with Severus, in case the Dark Lord or one of his many minions manages to grab him. "No, I didn't brew it this month."
"Fuck," Potter breathes, looking at Lupin in alarm.
"It's fine-"
"-it's not, Moons!" Potter looks helplessly at Lily. "You've got to help him, Evans-"
"-I'm fine!" Lupin protests. He shakes his head. "I'm sorry for bothering you." He breathes heavily. "It's probably for the best."
She eyes him warily. "What do you mean, for the best?"
"They're having a crackdown," Lupin warns. "Don't push anything through Fletcher." He looks at her seriously. "Anything."
She nods, understanding that he intends for her to warn Severus. "And are you in danger?"
"Yes," interrupts Potter, "they're looking for wolves."
"And Wolfsbane," Lupin adds. "Brewers too." He glances around the Muggle living room. "Good hiding place."
"Well, it was," she argues, "until you two idiots came pointing a giant arrow towards this house. How did you even find me?"
Lupin looks guilty. "The letter you sent me," he admits.
"Burn it," she says, fiercely. "Burn it, please. Because if you've found me, then anyone-"
"-yeah, he'll burn it in exchange for you brewing-"
"-shut up, Prongs," Lupin spits. "Yes, I'll burn it."
Potter huffs. "I'm just trying to barter-"
"-I don't need you to barter! She's not refusing to help," Lupin argues, shoving his friend roughly, "she hasn't got it."
"I'll brew it," she says, quickly. "If it's that important."
Lupin stills. "Really?" He looks keen. "You'd need to start now. Full moon's imminent."
"Yes," she says, "and I'll leave it somewhere."
"I'll collect it," Potter offers, "so you can stay inside, Moons. How about that park we were in? By the swings?"
"No," she says, not wanting them near to a place that had been so special for both her and Severus. "Any child could get hold of it. The railway station. Under the bench outside."
Lupin grabs her hands. "Thank you so much. You don't know what this means."
She nods tightly. "But don't come back here. No matter what happens, you must promise me, you'll never ever come back here."
Lupin nods solemnly. "I promise."
"Yeah," Potter agrees, "I promise."
Suddenly, tucked away in the bottom of a cardboard box, a small badge starts to move. Slowly, at first, and then faster and faster, quivering and juddering, and then rattling violently against the sides of the box, bouncing against the other objects inside - the quills and the paperclips and the unopened bottles of ink and the blank parchment and even the paperweight that used to sit on Severus' desk at Hogwarts. It was an odd array of items, but then, Argus Filch hadn't paid much attention at all to how the boxes were packed, as he'd swept through Severus' rooms, unceremoniously dumping the young wizard's belongings into box after box after box.
And then, almost as suddenly as it started, the movement abruptly stops.
Hundreds of miles away, Avery clutches his own matching badge, his eyes wide as a set of coordinates flash before him, and he hastily scribbles them onto a piece of parchment - and then he laughs out loud, scarcely daring to believe that it's worked.
"Gotcha!"
Chapter 100: A hope
Notes:
Sorry for the short hiatus - I was a little unwell. I'm happy to say that I am much better now - so onward we go! :)
Chapter Text
Avery leans back in his chair, wand gripped between both hands. He would never admit as much, but there's a thrill of fear bolting through his veins. Until this moment, he'd managed to distance himself from the reality of what he was seeking; pretending that Severus was just another faceless name, behaving as if this was another of the Dark Lord's quests and that he, as a leading Striker, was merely fulfilling his duty.
It's almost true.
Severus was clever - he always had been at Hogwarts, spending so often in the library, the others would jest that someone had cast a permanent sticking charm between his robes and his chair. Avery gives a wry smile, suddenly remembering when someone did just that in their early days at Hogwarts.
Not that he'd personally witnessed the event - you'd never catch me in a bloody library - but he can remember the whirlwind as Severus spiralled into the bedrooms immediately afterwards, his face flushed, gripping his shredded robes, and dragging the curtains around his bed. Severus had refused to speak, despite his and Mulciber's best efforts.
In the end, Mulciber had spoken to Rosier, who had a word with Wilkes, and somehow, at the end of it all, someone had convinced Lucius Malfoy - Head Boy, no less - to stroll into their dormitory. Avery can remember the pang of resentment he'd felt, when Lucius simply said Severus' name, and the curtains had parted in invitation - as if he and Mulciber and Rosier and countless others hadn't tried the same and been steadfastly ignored.
"Can you hear what he's saying?"
"Shhh!"
They'd all tried to listen in, but the voices were low and the conversation quick, and when the pair finally emerged, Severus was positively drowning in Lucius' luxurious outer robe, Severus' small fingers barely visible at the ends of the overly long sleeves. He'd paused then, Severus, catching their surprised looks - and he'd flushed bright red, but Lucius' hand on his shoulder was firm, and he steered him from the room.
"Come, Severus. Cissy is far better at these sorts of spells than I," he'd intoned, not breaking step.
When Severus had finally returned to the bedroom, Lucius' robe perfectly transfigured and fitting as if Madam Malkin had adjusted it herself, he'd sat on the edge of his bed, this time with his curtains wide open. Avery and Mulciber had shared a glance, and just as Avery was working up the courage to stand and speak with him, Rosier and Wilkes had walked in, their hands resting on Severus' bedposts.
"Which Gryffindor did it then? Traitor Black?"
"Potter."
"Potter?" Wilkes barked. "Which one's he?"
"The one with glasses." Severus had sounded bitter.
"Tall?"
"No, that's Ikin's brother, isn't it?" Rosier said. "He's got those tiny ears, hasn't he?"
Severus scowled at their chatter. "Potter's the Quidditch player. The one always messing with his hair. He's an idiot."
"Well, whoever he is, don't take it lying down," Rosier had warned, "else they'll do it again. They're all the same in that house. Ripped robes for Merlin's sake!"
"I was stuck to the chair, what else could I have done? Sat there all night? Pince was throwing everyone out!"
"He's telling you not to bring shame on Slytherin," Wilkes said, the older boy's tone stern. "Malf's patience will wear thin. Once is an accident, twice is a victim." He'd leant over then, his nose almost touching Severus'. "You're not a victim, are you, Snape?"
"No!"
"Good. Then fight back. It's the only language vermin like that understand."
Avery stares hard at his badge, and then at the circled location on the map, and then back at the badge again. He half wonders if it's a trap - but it seems too complicated. A clever boy like Severus would bait a trap, lure his quarry into his lair - but this trap wasn't baited; Malfoy and Rosier and Mulciber had all failed, but he, Avery, had succeeded and he was certain that nobody expected him to - Severus included.
He stares again at the map. Muggle. He still can't fathom it; still can't shake the thought that he's been wrong all of this time - that Severus is still pining for that Mudblood. Still with her, even, he thinks. It'd explain his reluctance down Knockturn. He tips his wand over in his hand. But then why break up with her? Unless it was Malfoy's doing. There's no denying he brews for Malf - maybe it was affecting business, being associated with one of the underclass. ...or maybe Malf was jealous.
Avery can't really imagine Malfoy being jealous - not the man who freely shares his wife with others, but as he mulls on it, he can believe that Malfoy would pretend that a business decision was driving an emotional need.
Malfoy would never admit to being jealous, never admit to a weakness - but he'd tell Severus something pragmatic, and see how high he could get him to jump. To the sky, he thinks, bitterly. To the sky, and the stars, and the moon. That's how far Severus would jump for his best friend Malf.
Avery picks up the map again.
Lily hurriedly pulls her brewing equipment from the wardrobe. Despite the noise of the cauldron clanging, and the drawers and doors in her bedroom furniture opening and shutting, she can hear the voices of her parents drifting upwards from the kitchen - the distressed tones of her mother explaining to her father about the visit; about James Potter and Remus Lupin and the barking dog and the pair banging on almost every door in the neighbourhood.
It had been a strange sort of evening. She'd been briefly surprised when she'd headed back downstairs after a short sulk in her room, expecting to see both her mother and father washing up, only for her mother to explain that David had gone to help Uncle Alan trim the hedges. It seemed odd, but Lily couldn't argue that the evening was cooler than the heat of the day, and unlike Daddy, Uncle Alan hadn't yet retired, so perhaps it really was the most opportune time to do some gardening.
It just seemed strange that he hadn't said anything over their tense evening meal when he'd appeared to be searching for conversation - that he'd simply been gone when she next ventured downstairs, and she'd briefly fretted that her bad temper had caused him to depart, until her mother had assured her that it was no such thing; it had all been long pre-arranged.
She shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to acknowledge that it was the thought of Uncle Alan and her mother having once been together - he's not your real uncle - that was really troubling her, as opposed to her father assisting an old friend with hedge cutting of an evening. Something doesn't feel right, she thinks - and then she wonders if this is some sort of traumatic response to the past few months of living in a high stress environment, searching for problems which don't really exist.
Focus, she thinks, searching the dresser for her preferred glass stirring rod, and praying that it hasn't somehow already made the move to Rillwych without her. She pulls open one drawer, and then another, until finally she yanks open the drawer containing an array of Severus' potions, and she glances her fingertips over the vials.
"What I'd do for a wit-sharpening potion right now," she whispers, her fingers lingering on the bottle containing the shimmering potion. It seems to call to her, the liquid gleaming and seemingly dancing in the light, and it takes all of her strength to push the drawer shut. You don't need outside help, Lil, she thinks, you've brewed this potion many times before. You just need to concentrate. No distractions.
As if tuned in to her thoughts, Bean shifts and she gives a soft laugh, rubbing her hand over her bump. "I know I've been begging you to make an appearance, Bean," she murmurs, "but if you could just hold on for a few hours more whilst I brew this, Mummy would be very grateful."
He wonders whether it would be wise to Apparate somewhere secluded, such as an alley - or somewhere central and heaving with activity, like a station.
Are you trying to fit in, or hoping not to be noticed at all?
He thinks back to Severus' useful comments when it came to clothing and hiding in plain sight amongst Muggles - and then the decision is made for him; if he blends in with a crowd, it can go both ways - there's a risk that Severus might spot him amongst a throng, invisible himself, and evade him.
Avery looks again at the map. It's just a street off a street off a street. Nowhere to hide if he Apparates right onto the doorstep.
But that goes both ways, he thinks. If I Apparate onto a main road and then walk the rest of the way, he might spot me approaching and Disapparate himself.
He glances again at the map, his finger trailing a line through the streets.
Why is he hiding here?
The thought is uncomfortable as it builds in the back of his mind.
Maybe he thinks the Dark Lord won't locate him here - in this Muggle landscape. But what will he do? Stay here forever?
He can't help but think back to their schooldays, and how Severus had seemingly taken Wilkes' advice, forever snapping and snarling at those who took aim at him. It didn't stop the Gryffindor group from attacking him, but nor was he content to lie down and be a victim - and from his top marks in Defence Against the Dark Arts at both OWL and NEWT level, and his efforts as a Striker, Avery was certain that the Gryffindors had done wonders for Severus' duelling skills.
Avery keeps staring at the map. So if he wouldn't lie down back then, he must still be hurt, he thinks, going back to his earlier train of thought. He's injured from the Dark Lord's actions, and that's why he's kept away from the magical world. Not a victim, but vulnerable.
He grips his wand more tightly. And you're about to lead the world and his dog to his door, because once they know you've found him - Malf and Mulc and Ros and Bast and Dolph - they won't let you go until they've sunk their teeth into him.
He stands then, decision made. A reconnaissance mission, that's all. He's done them a million times before - with Severus and without. He's sat in Muggle environments, watching the world go by, collecting information.
Pretend this isn't Severus and do what you're good at, he thinks. A bit of intelligence gathering before you involve anyone else. No-one can argue with that, no-one can be angry that you went alone. No-one wants to be troubled with a hope rather than a promise.
He glances at the badge on the desk, and then sweeps it into his pocket.
And that's all this is. A hope.
It takes them far longer to walk home than usual - not least because for every five steps forward, the pair seem to take two back. Not that either of them seem to mind - Tobias is jovial, and the smile across Severus' face is wide, and the two are leaning on each other, arms braced across shoulders, neither of them certain who is holding the other upright.
"Yer goin' wrong way, lad."
"Walkin' yer back."
Tobias gives a snort. "Like a gel. Never thought I'd see the day, lads'd piss 'emselves, Toby Snape, bein' walked 'ome in case he canner 'andle 'imself."
"Give over," Severus laughs, "but I bet yer told Mam yer'd be in by midnight."
"An' what? Dunner tell me she's bin bendin' yer ear, an' all?"
"She ain't said owt to me, but I'm just sayin' - it's half one now."
"'kin 'ell," Tobias says, his eyes widening. "Yer'll get me shot, lad. Half one? Yer 'avin' me on?" He yanks his sleeve up, and peers at his watch.
"See."
Tobias rolls his sleeve down. "I'll believe yer when thousands wun't."
"Yer dunner 'ave to believe me," Severus laughs, "yer jus' fuckin' looked at yer watch!"
"Aye well."
Severus shoots him an incredulous look. "Aye well what?!"
"I canner fuckin' see it, lad!"
At this, Severus laughs more loudly, which causes Tobias to laugh, and the two slowly make their way up the road towards Spinner's End.
"...yer a good lad, Russ."
"Yer reckon?"
"Aye," Tobias says, "makin' sure yer old man dunner 'ave ter sleep int neighbour's yard."
"Yer ain't bin doin' that, 'ave yer?"
Tobias peers at him bleary eyed, his smile not abating. "Twice now. Since yer magic stuff. Now, Robbie ain't never said owt, but 'is missus, she's summat fierce-"
"-she told yer to fuck off?"
"Tol' me to fuck off? She fuckin' chucked a bucket o' water at me, and threatened to 'ave words wi' me good lady wife," Tobias laughs. "Lord fuckin' knows what Leen's said to 'er."
"Probably told 'er to put bleach int water fer next time, if I know Mam."
"Aye, lad. Aye! Fuckin' she would an' all." Tobias pauses and gives him a critical look. "An' dunner yer go givin' 'er any fuckin' ideas, she's twisted enough wi'out yer wicked mind eggin' 'er on."
"My lips are sealed," Severus says, gripping his father more firmly. "I'll come in wi' yer," he offers, "explain, like."
He's surprised when Tobias nods. "Aye, good lad. She'll be pleased, see yer mixin' wi' the lads."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, she's worried."
"'bout what?"
Tobias shrugs. "Werritin' 'bout the world at the minute," he says, and although his tone is dismissive, his frown is deep. "Yer can keep yer magic-"
"Shhh!"
"Ain't no-one fuckin' 'ere, soft lad, they're all in bed!" Tobias argues, loudly. "Yer missus and yer, well, yer can control it, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"No fits of temper? No explosions?" Tobias gives him a stern look. "No curtains on fire."
"I was a baby!"
"An' that's what I'm sayin'," Tobias says. "Kid's gonna be a baby an' all. An' if anyone is lookin' fer 'er-"
"-they're not-"
"-or fer yer…"
Severus stays silent.
"Fuckin' thought so," Tobias says, triumphantly. "Yer both can hide but that kid is gonna be like a fuckin' light'ouse." There's a long pause, their boots heavy as they tread on the pavement. "That's why yer on yer own, innit?"
"...yeah."
"An' she's at her la-di-da-"
"Da, don't!"
"They are fuckin' la-di-da," Tobias spits, "fuckin' poshos-"
"-they've been good to me," Severus says, quietly but firmly.
"Aye, an' what a fuckin' way to repay 'em," Tobias warns, "'coz if they find 'er-"
"-they won't!"
"-they'll kill 'em, coz, how d'yer say it-"
"-Da, don't-"
"-Muggles," Tobias stresses, "they're only Muggles, and them magic folk will do anythin' ter find yer, soft lad." He gives his son a critical look. "There's always collateral damage in war, an' yer can quote me on that."
There's a long moment as Tobias' words sink in, father and son making their way towards Spinner's End.
"They won't find her," Severus says, eventually. "Me an' 'er, no-one knows we're together. They think it ended badly."
"An' they all think that, do they?" Tobias raises his eyebrow. "I fuckin' 'ope yer sure about that, soft lad. I do. I 'ope yer fuckin' sure."
Lily wipes the sweat from her brow as the cauldron bubbles, filling the room with heat. She slides her hair back behind her ear, scanning her hastily established work area for the next ingredient, checking that she's prepared everything required for the next ten minutes.
She's always found this part of brewing easy, whereas at school, others seemed to become bored at how ritualistic it was and missed important steps, or failed to apply lessons learnt in earlier classes which were no longer explicitly spelled out in later lessons.
For her part, Lily had approached Hogwarts the same way that she had primary school - as she'd always been able to read quickly, she'd torn through her textbooks, eager and keen, desperate to get a head start on future lessons. So, unlike most of the other students, she'd taken the time to memorise the laws and regulations found in the back of the Potions textbook, such as never adding any ingredient containing blood during a rolling boil.
From her memories of Potions class under Slughorn, she'd have bet that most of the students hadn't ventured towards the back of the textbook to read such useful instructions - or were simply incapable of memorising them.
Except Severus, she thought, with a smile. He was different again. He knew the laws, and was more than happy to breathlessly quote them back and forth with her when they were racing on the swings, trying to see who could reach the highest peak the fastest - but he couldn't help himself from disobeying them.
"Sev! What did you do that for?" she'd hissed, throwing him a cloth to mop up the spill from the cauldron. "You've lost at least half of your potion - Sluggy'll go spare!"
"Wanted to see what would happen," he'd said, with a lazy smile.
"You already know that beetles have blood, and-"
"-you shouldn't add bloody ingredients during a-"
"-that's not quite what that law says-"
He'd given her a wicked smile. "Whatever. You know what I mean. Beetles contain blood. My cauldron contained a boil."
She'd glared at him. "So why do it then?"
He'd shrugged. "Why not? You shouldn't blindly trust what crusty old books tell you."
She'd gazed at his messy workbench, and the spill down the front of his robes, and arched a critical eyebrow towards him. "You do whatever suits you. I rather think I shall."
"You just want to be top of the class."
She grinned at him, and scooped a perfect potion out of her own cauldron, before smugly capping the bottle and extinguishing the flame beneath. "And you've just helped me to get there."
She can't decide if she's glad that he's not here to start experimenting, or whether she'd be grateful of a trusted and steady hand by her side. Brewing Wolfsbane should be easier now, having brewed it several times before - the method somewhat familiar in her mind, but her pregnancy is a bigger barrier than she'd like to admit. She can recognise the increased difficulty between the stages - although she's certain much of this is due to the undesirable working conditions.
You shouldn't be hunched over on a bed, trying to finely chop ingredients on the spongy surface of a mattress.
Still, this is the last time I'll need to do it like this, she thinks - and then her mind starts to wander, wondering whether she'll ever need to brew it again at all, whether Severus will reconsider their decision - whether they'll lead the sort of life which means that the extra money in their pocket is all too desirable, or whether he'll draw a firm line once they're finally together in Rillwych.
Deep down, she's sure she knows the answer - she knows Severus hates having the wolf anywhere near him, and that he'll refuse to entertain the idea of Lupin knowing where they live, especially with Bean there with them - and he's hardly likely to agree to swapping the potion with Potter or Black instead. Maybe Pettigrew, she thinks. Severus might agree to that.
It makes her feel uncomfortable, and she wonders what must've happened between Lupin and Fletcher when he went to collect his potion as usual, only to find that she and Severus hadn't supplied it. He must've been desperate to come to me - to trace me to here. What sort of measures will he resort to if I can't keep supplying him? Perhaps we'll need to Secret-Keep this house, she thinks, now that Potter and Lupin know where it is - and Rillwych too.
She isn't happy about the idea; she's certain that hidden properties amongst the Muggles will draw some sort of unwanted attention. Magic isn't infallible. The problem with magical people is that they think they're the only ones in the world - that Muggles are stupid. But they'll realise there's something awry - their eyes sliding over buildings which previously existed. Maybe not a Muggle, but a witch or a wizard, living incognito - just like Eileen. Or maybe a Squib.
She stirs the potion carefully, anti-clockwise and then clockwise, in a perfect rhythm. You might be worrying about nothing, she thinks. Narcissa wouldn't lead you both wrong. But then, Narcissa knows nothing about the Muggle world - maybe one house in one town would escape notice, she thinks, but two? And another a few miles over? Will the proximity of them all give something away? Something in the Ministry, maybe? She shakes the thought from her mind. Concentrate on this, and talk to Sev when you see him. He's probably already thought of this. He'll know what to do to keep us all safe.
"It's only us, Mam," Severus yells, as he pulls his father through the enchantment and through the doorway. He catches sight of her, stood on the stairs, wand outstretched in front of her, but he looks away, as if he hasn't seen, and when he glances back, her wand has disappeared into her clothing.
"And what time do you call this?" Her voice is like ice.
"I wasn't stayin' out, but I've bin wi' the lad, Leen," Tobias says, tugging at the laces of his boots. "What was I s'posed ter do, fuck 'im off?"
She huffs. "Leading him into temptation, no doubt."
"We 'ad a game o' pool."
"One game? Until this time? Forgot how to play, did you?"
"Right, I'm gonna head off," Severus says, uncomfortably.
"I can't keep doing this, Toby. All hours of the night!"
"I'll be home on time next-"
"-you said that when you went out tonight!"
"I didn't know the boy was gonna show, did I? Fuck's sake!" Tobias makes his way unsteadily up the stairs, and Severus notices how his mother seems to shrink in stature as Tobias heads upwards, seemingly growing taller with each step.
Severus watches, his breath in his throat, praying that she won't slip a poisonous comment Tobias' way, and he won't raise a hand to her. Thankfully, Tobias makes it to the top of the stairs without incident, and mother and son both hear him retreat across the landing and into the bedroom.
"And you, Severus, you can't be behaving like this-"
"-all right, Mam-"
"-it's not all right, Severus!" She looks at him, anguish on her face. "None of this is all right."
"I'll sort it," he promises, "I didn't realise it would be such a problem. I'll do summat to the spell, make it so he can come in on his own."
She sneers at him. "Not tonight, you won't. Not if you've had as much as he has." She pulls her cardigan more tightly around her. "I thought better of you."
"What's that s'posed to mean? Thought you'd be pleased I was getting on with him!"
"About ten years too late," she snaps. "Tobias isn't the only Muggle in the world. If you're going to live here, you don't have to live like him, drinking your life away-"
"-I'm not going to-"
"-spending money you don't have on yourself, letting your child starve-"
"-bloody hell, Mam-"
"-selfish, thoughtless, irresponsible-"
"Oi! I've had one fuckin' night out, an' me kid ain't even fuckin' 'ere yet!"
"Don't talk like that. Like him. You're better than that."
Severus gives her a cold look. "Am I? Yer din't think so a moment ago, when yer were comparin' me to 'im," he spits, deliberately making his accent harsher.
"By all means, keep it up." Her eyes flash with anger. "But don't come crying to us when she leaves you." When he winces, she knows her pointed comment has landed, so she twists the knife further. "She's not like me. She can do better than you. Much better."
He can't help but let his wand slip into his hand. "Yer want this spell takin' off then?"
She shrugs. "I don't see why you're asking me."
"Yer fuckin'..." Severus trails off, exhaling heavily. "Yer jus', one fuckin' minute ago… I'm too fuckin' pissed for this." He brandishes his wand. "On or off, Mam?"
"Do whatever suits your father. That's what we always do in this house."
He watches as she moves up the stairs, and then he shakes his head, pulling the front door closed behind him. He grips his wand, staring up at the property, still close enough for it to be visible to him.
It'd serve her right if I did take it off, he thinks, poisonous bitch - and then, as he holds his wand aloft, he thinks about the effort it had taken to get it right; how long he and Lily had spent working on the spell together.
He thinks about what Lily would say, if she heard that he'd flown off the handle after a silly argument and done something so reckless, endangering his parents - endangering himself - instead of trying to find a proper solution.
He slides his wand back into his sleeve, and moves away from the house until it disappears from view. He'd never openly admit as much, but the encounter has upset him. He was much better at handling it as a kid - more used to traversing through their respective moods, treating the house like a minefield, with each occupant potentially being on the cusp of exploding.
He pauses mid-stride, and glances back at the now-hidden house. Were you better at handling it as a kid, or are you just happier now that you don't have to live amongst it? He swallows tightly, his throat feeling as if it's constricting, and jams his hands into his pockets.
When he reaches the top of the road, he pauses. It shouldn't be a decision - he should return to Rillwych, but he can't help but stand and stare in the opposite direction. She's only on the other side of Cokeworth. You could just nip over. No-one's going to be trying to find you at this time of night. She'll be happy to see you. You could slide right into bed next to her, and fall asleep with your arms full of your loving witch.
Avery lands in the dark street, and grabs the lamppost to steady himself. He glances all around him, wand within reach but not visible, treading a slow circle.
The house has no real distinguishing features - it doesn't look like anywhere he could imagine Severus living, but then, he'd think that about any of his Slytherin brothers and the Muggle world.
It's drowned in darkness, all of the lights off - the occupants asleep or away - and he makes a slow circuit of the street, drinking the environment in, before finally settling behind the house, watching it intently.
Why here, Sev? Why here?
She heard her parents heading for bed an hour or so before - the same ritual of locked doors, and closed windows, and extinguished lights.
Despite the late hour, she isn't asleep - resting, but not asleep. She'd intended to grab an hour whilst the potion was between stages, but although she'd turned off the light and laid on the bed, sleep refused to come.
Although there's a timing spell over the cauldron, she doesn't want to miss this vital step, desperate not to have to start again - and she's certain that it's this fear that's stopping her from falling into a slumber.
After this next part, she thinks. It needs to settle for six hours - plenty of time to sleep then.
The timing spell starts to buzz, gently, quietly - and she instantly sits upright and casts, stopping it from waking her parents, although she's almost immediately foiled because a car door slams and then roars down the street, and she's certain that the noise outside will have woken them both.
She casts at the light switch, filling the dark room with illumination before groaning, and slowly edging herself off the bed. With a deep sigh, she kneels before the cauldron, pestle and mortar in hand.
A few miles away, Severus slams the car door shut, and raises his hand in thanks as one of the men who knows his Da - William? - drives away. He'd still have been walking back to Rillwych into the early hours if the bloke hadn't spied him and intervened, kindly offering him a lift.
Would you, Sev, or with the prospect of walking miles, would you have weakened and gone over to Lily's instead?
Instead, the drive was quick - quicker than it should've been - and as William speeds off into the night, engine roaring, Severus unlocks the front door as quietly as he can, trying to be mindful of the neighbours and heads into the house, wrinkling his nose at the smell of paint. He moves upstairs, where the smell is less potent, and snaps on the bedroom light, recoiling slightly at the brightness.
You're going to regret drinking so much in the morning, he thinks, undressing slowly, struggling with his co-ordination, and then falling back onto the bed, casting with his wand to send the room back into blissful darkness.
Lily works rapidly, carefully adding each ingredient, stirring in the precise pattern required, and then setting yet another timing spell.
This time, you really must sleep, she warns herself, glancing at the methodology. The next stage is complicated, and there's no room for error.
She eases herself back onto the bed, and casts at the light switch, sending herself back into darkness.
Avery ventures a step closer to the house, watching closely as he hears a car door slam at the front of the house, and then the engine roar away. There's a moment or two, silence seemingly enveloping him, and then - just as he's wondering whether he should head around to the front of the house to investigate - a light snaps on upstairs.
He stares at the window, but he can't see anything - can't tell if it's a curtain or a net or a spell obscuring his view, or whether the occupant - surely Severus - is on the other side of the room.
He takes a step back, hoping the new angle will permit him to peer in - to glimpse his friend - but then the light suddenly snaps off, leaving him in darkness.
Avery waits - five minutes, ten minutes, over an hour in the end - but there's no further movement. There's a bit of noise in the street - the occasional car, the yowl of a cat, and a few footsteps - but nothing from the house.
Reluctantly, Avery steps away - and with one last look at his surrounds, memorising the location for his next visit - he Disapparates.
Chapter 101: Without prior invitation
Chapter Text
Sunlight spills in through the curtains, but it takes the insistent buzz from the timing charm to draw Lily fully from her slumber. She stretches, yawns, and reaches for her wand with one hand and her stirring rod with the other.
She drags herself out of bed, and stirs the contents of the cauldron, peering keenly at the thickening mixture. With a measured swish of her wand, she increases the flame beneath it - and then she heads to the toilet before embarking on the next part of the process.
"Just today to get through," she mutters to herself, as she pushes the bedroom door back open, "and then you'll probably never have to brew this potion again. You can do this, Lil."
Sunlight spills in through the curtains, and Severus groans. His tongue feels furry, his breath tastes stale in his mouth, and his head is pounding. He emits a low whine as he reaches for his wand, slides out of the bed, and then he squints in the bright morning light as he sluggishly descends down the stairs and into the kitchen.
The smell of paint is still strong, and he opens the kitchen window, hoping it will abate before Lily joins him with Bean. Not long now, he thinks - and then he winces. Actually, hold on for a day or so longer, Bean - Daddy's got a hangover. A quick rush of guilt fills him at the idea of him hoping that Lily doesn't go into labour, after him desperately wishing for it to happen every single day for the past week. Just until this afternoon, he thinks, I'll feel more human by then.
He gulps down a glass of water, and realising how thirsty he is, he refills it, water from the tap spilling over his hands. He downs it almost as quickly as the first, clumsily places the empty glass on the worktop, and then heads outside to the toilet. When he returns, he washes his hands in the sink, and then stands in the middle of the kitchen, wondering if food will help or hinder his recovery.
Severus cautiously opens the fridge, and one sniff of the cottage pie Rose so kindly sent over for him makes the decision for him. He slams the fridge door firmly shut, refills the glass with tap water for the third time, and makes his way shakily back up to bed.
"I'll have the morning off," he mutters, his feet feeling leaden, "and I swear, I'm never ever doing this again."
Sleep doesn't come easily for Avery. He stares at the ceiling with the morning light pouring through the open curtains as he wrangles over his next step. He didn't quite see Severus during his excursion into the Muggle world, but he's absolutely certain that the spell was accurate, and try as he might, he can't think of a reason why Severus would dump his Striker badge in a Muggle location.
It must've been him, in that room, in the darkness, he thinks. Avery plays the scene over and over in his mind, but he can't picture a figure in the light of the window. You can picture the house though, he muses, and the street, and all the ways in and all the ways out. If you wanted, you could trap whoever it is inside - and then you'd know.
I don't need to trap him, he thinks. I know that was Severus. He turns over and over in his bed, twisting his sheets one way and then the other, unable to lie comfortably.
So what are you going to do then? Go alone, and risk him not being injured and actually hiding? What would you do if he ran away from you, leaving his badge behind? How would you ever find him again then?
The thought makes him feel a bit grey inside. Going alone offers the greatest reward - ensuring that he's the only recipient of acknowledgement and glory - but it's the most dangerous of all of the options.
You could trust one person - Lucius Malfoy would go with you, but at what cost? He could push you out. He'd take one look at whatever Severus is suffering with, and know exactly how to find a solution. Severus would be so grateful for Malfoy sweeping in and fixing him up, that he wouldn't protest when slippery Malfoy inevitably tries to take all of the credit for finding him. A sour look crosses Avery's face. As if I hadn't been pivotal. As if I didn't exist at all.
Or should I trust in my old friends Mulciber and Rosier? The glory would be spread thinly between the three of us, and if Severus was trying to run from the wizarding world, we can't conjure a convincing story - not like I could with just Malfoy in tow, telling him that it's his best friends simply looking out for him. He swallows hard. No, if I turn up with Mulciber and Rosier, Severus would know that we didn't have his best interests at heart - that it was nothing more than a coup.
But think of the Dark Lord's reward, the greedy voice in Avery's mind screams. Think of the recognition, of the riches!
He groans, and pulls the sheets more tightly around him. If Severus is injured, he'll be pleased if you turn up alone - intending to help him, taking him to the Dark Lord so all can be explained. If Malfoy sweeps in, there's no saying you'll be pushed out - you can explain how you managed it; it's not as if Malfoy has a Striker badge.
And Mulc and Ros? He grips the sheets in his fists. They might be telling the truth - they might want us all back together; the five of us, like it used to be - no Mudblood, no Malfoy - just me, Mulc, Ros, Sev and Reggie hanging out, just like the old days.
He smiles to himself - just a small smile. That's what I want, he thinks. The Dark Lord out front, and us standing behind - flanking him, his worthy and loyal subjects. Decision made, Avery screws his eyes up more firmly, pulling his pillow over his head. Sleep first, he resolves, the day is yet young.
When Lupin drags himself out of bed, Potter is already standing in the sun-filled kitchen, licking jam from his fingers, and his plate empty - baring a few scattered toast crumbs.
"Hungry?"
"No," Lupin says, and then eyes the empty bread packet and jar which has been virtually scraped clean, "good job, really."
"I'll buy some-"
"-it's fine." Lupin reaches past him for the teapot, but as soon as he picks it up, he realises that there's not enough left within to pour himself a cup.
"I can make more-"
"-it's fine," Lupin repeats, in a tone of weariness that suggests that it isn't.
"I didn't think you were getting up yet," Potter says, defensively. "I was going to go shopping. Thought it was like when we were at school. When you'd get tired before, you know..." He lowers his voice. "...it happened."
Lupin shrugs tightly. "I didn't realise you'd noticed."
"Not noticed? Moons, you used to fall asleep in the common room halfway through a game of chess!" Potter fills the kettle and sets it to boil, and then leans against the worktop. "I'll get some food and check the drop."
"Not yet," Lupin says, quickly.
"Won't do any harm just to look."
"The potion won't be ready."
"It'll take two minutes for me to check."
Lupin stares at him as if he's grown another head. "I said no, Prongs. It won't be ready, and we don't need you drawing attention to yourself, turning up for a non-existent train every hour."
"It's a station, no-one will notice."
"I hate to break it to you, but Evans isn't staying in the bright lights of a major city - she's from some backwater industrial town-"
"-it looked fine to me-"
"-her bit, yeah! But where do you imagine Snape was from? Next door, with a nice manicured garden and a lovely new car out front?"
"All right, point taken." Potter shrugs uncomfortably. "But I don't see what Sniv has to do with catching trains."
"If the rest of the town is made up of people like him, the station isn't going to be busy." He pauses. "Least, not busy enough for you to pop up unnoticed fifteen times a day."
"Fine. I'll go after lunch."
"Tomorrow."
"This evening."
"James!"
"I just don't want it sitting there. Like she said, any kid could come up and take it, and then what will you do?"
Lupin eyes him curiously. "You just want to run into her planting it, don't you?"
Potter sniffs, ignoring the question. "So, have you got a plan if she hasn't got it for you?"
"She will. She won't let me down."
There's a pause. "...if, that's all I'm saying, Moons. Be prepared, like Moody keeps telling us."
"I'm a werewolf, not a dark force," Lupin snaps, "I don't think Moody's dire warnings are much use."
"I just mean-"
"-I know what you just mean, James," Lupin says, stiffly, "but I know Evans will do this. She's not the sort to go back on her word."
"No?" Potter looks uncomfortable. "...have you thought about why she didn't brew it this month?"
Lupin quietly empties the teapot, and then takes the kettle off the boil, using some of the water to rinse the teapot, warming it through. Then he adds a scoop of tea and the rest of the water, before letting it sit to brew. "I assumed she had, and it was with Fletcher."
"You know as well as I do that's not what she said," Potter says, softly. "She said-"
"-all right, I know."
There's a pause, and then Potter moves towards Lupin, gripping his elbow, causing Lupin to look up and stare at him. Potter looks earnestly into his eyes. "...I think they know."
"Who does?"
"Sniv, or Malfoy, or whoever it is she's working for. About the werewolves and His plan. I think they already know." Potter stares at him keenly. "I think they know about Fletcher being watched, and Belby making a fuss, and I think they've told Evans to keep her head down."
Lupin looks tired as he pours his tea. "You think that they used Evans to get the methodology for You-Know-Who. The one we gave her."
"The one Vance gave us." Potter nods, solemnly. "I think the aurors weren't as clever as they thought they were being. They thought they could smoke Sniv out, but look what's happened!"
"It's a bit messy, Prongs. If You-Know-Who wanted Wolfsbane, then I thought some of his Death Eaters had Borage's ear."
"Path of least resistance," Potter says. "By all accounts, Borage is a miser and a difficult git to boot. Maybe they're frightened of him. Maybe he set the price too high, and they knew the Ministry would scream foul play if they stole it from under his nose."
"...as is happening. You heard how Belby reacted to the news at the patent office. He must've screamed blue murder at Borage as well."
"Borage wouldn't have let it slip into common knowledge; he's too greedy for that. But if you're right and Evans is still with Sniv…". Potter trails off, looking vaguely pained at the thought.
"Then she will have told him," Lupin finishes. "Not maliciously, but because it's something Snape would be interested in. Academically."
Potter nods. "And he'll have told Malfoy - and we know that Malfoy likes to think of himself as a big player." Potter sneers. "...and Sniv doesn't know the value of anything. He'd sell the potion for a pittance if he thought it would buy him some respect with the bigger boys."
"I don't know," Lupin says, quietly. "I don't think Snape's in as deeply as we all thought, and I include Bones and Vance and Moody in that."
"Come off it, Moons. He's been dark ever since we were kids!"
"I don't think he has. Evans wouldn't be with him-"
"You only think she is," Potter argues, hotly. "And even if he isn't dark, he's spent the past ten years fluttering his eyelashes at Malfoy. Believe me, if Snape knows the methodology for Wolfsbane, so does Malfoy."
Lupin looks pained. "I know they were friendly…"
"Right," Potter interrupts, loudly, "seeing as you're his latest fan, where is Sniv now?" Potter stares furiously at Lupin, his voice growing more angry. "Nowhere to be seen! He leads her into the pit of snakes, lets the likes of Malfoy devour her-"
"-I don't think-"
"-and where's he? Disappeared! Always slithering and sliding out of trouble-"
"-Prongs-"
"-like the greasy, slimy-"
"-James, let it go-"
"-I wish I'd never saved him!"
His ferocious words seem to echo around the kitchen, and Lupin's expression tightens.
"No, wait, I didn't-"
"-I thought you saved him to save me," Lupin says, harshly, "from the consequences of Sirius' stupid, reckless, thoughtless actions."
"I didn't mean… Of course I…" Potter looks contrite. "Look, I'm just angry at the way things have turned out."
"Aren't we all," mutters Lupin, taking his cup of tea and heading for the hallway. "I'm going for a shower."
Lily sets a second cauldron to work, keeping a careful eye on the initial brew. It's one of the complications of Wolfsbane - several ingredients need to be freshly combined before adding them to the main mixture, requiring simultaneous brews. It isn't difficult, she thinks, just requires concentration.
She sits back as she waits for the second cauldron to reach the correct temperature, surveying the cramped workspace before her. There's a sudden gentle movement from within her, and she runs her hand soothingly over her bump. She waits, seeing if there's more - wondering if today will be when the long-awaited contractions finally start, but Bean quickly settles.
She smiles to herself, her hand pressed against her child. "Have I made life in there too comfortable for you, little Bean? Mummy can't wait to meet you, and if I know Daddy, he's going to be thinking the same."
Severus lies weakly on the sofa, the curtains firmly shut and his face planted into a cushion - doing his utmost to avoid any trace of light meeting his eyes.
"You're meant to be glossing the window sill," he mutters to himself, "not lying here feeling sorry for yourself."
It takes another fifteen minutes before he swings himself upright - and another ten of him sitting on the edge of the sofa, cradling his thumping head in his hands, before he steels himself and stands.
How long has it been since I felt like this?
And then the thought strikes him - he realises that he doesn't often feel like this because of his potion. Doesn't even have to be that potion - any sort of replenishing potion would take the edge off.
Almost immediately, his stomach sinks - remembering that Lily had mentioned his potions when he'd turned up with Narcissa's book. They're not here - they're in her dresser drawer. He sighs, and glances towards the kitchen. There's no escaping it. Gloss paint with a hangover it is.
Severus sits for a moment longer - and then he reaches for the pile of books in the corner of the room, Narcissa's on the top.
Or I could have a look through this and see if I can work out a way to solve the spell for Mam and Da, he muses, flicking through the pages. Just until my stomach stops rolling enough to start painting.
Potter wanders through the wizarding market, filling his arms with all of the food that he can remember eating over the last few days at Lupin's. When he goes to settle up and he's informed of the amount outstanding, his eyes widen.
No wonder Moons is pissed off with you. Who knew bread and jam cost so much, he thinks, ignoring the two crates of Butterbeer by his feet. He presents his wizarding bank card, casts a featherlight charm on the crates, and strolls away with his shopping in hand.
Could get him something as a peace offering, he thinks. Moony always liked a bit of chocolate post-transformation. He grins to himself. Who doesn't like a bit of chocolate at any time? It'll be good to have some with the Butterbeers when Siri and Pete come over.
He strides over to Honeydukes, buys an array of sweets to treat them all - just as he used to back in their schooldays - this time not blinking at the expense. The shopkeeper takes one look at his overfilled bags, and packs his treats for him, ignoring his protests that he'll balance the packets on top of the crates of Butterbeer. He takes the bag from her gratefully, with a smile and a promise that he'll return soon.
Potter pauses, shifting the bags in his hand, and then he whips out his wand. He tells himself that he's intending to Apparate back to Lupin's - before the heat of the sun sends the milk off - but he can't help but be tempted by the pull of the station at Cokeworth.
He lands awkwardly, the unfamiliar setting throwing his spell off, and it causes him to twist his ankle sharply. As he steadies himself, he notes with irritation that Lupin's fears were accurate - the station is relatively quiet; fifty people across the platforms at most. He remembers to pretend to hoist the crates into the air, as if they were their real weight, and hobbles outside, at first feeling annoyed that he's much more memorable with a limp, but then smiling when he realises it's the perfect reason for a young man with a lot of shopping to settle on the bench outside.
He places the crates at his feet, and the bags next to him, and casts a quick spell under his breath, checking for any magical activity - but there's nothing. No potion beneath the seat, and no witch - Evans - or wizard - Sniv - nearby. His shoulders slump dejectedly. Moons was right. With a subtle glance at the people around him, he stands, collects his shopping, and Disapparates.
Avery straightens his robes, and walks into the busy restaurant. He immediately spies the irritated expressions of both Mulciber and Rosier, and he greets them with a broad smile. "Gentlemen."
"What time do you call this?"
"I rather thought it was lunchtime," Avery says, innocently.
"You said we should meet here at half past one. It's gone two now," Rosier snaps. "Five minutes more, and you'd have been dining alone."
Avery pulls out a seat, and then picks up the menu, staring intently at it. "It's lucky that you're in no rush," he smiles, glancing up, "because I think you're about to cancel your plans for the rest of the day."
Mulciber leans forward eagerly. "What's that supposed to mean? You've found him? Snape?"
"The one and only."
Rosier and Mulciber exchange an impressed look, and Avery drinks it in, committing it to memory.
If I died tonight, he thinks, I'd want that moment to play in the flashback of my life before I succumbed to death.
"How?"
Avery shakes his head. "I've found him, that's enough."
Rosier smirks. "Who'd have thought you'd get so smart?" He grins at Mulciber. "Wants to keep the credit for himself when we see the Dark Lord."
Mulciber offers a lazy smile. "Is that right?"
Avery shifts in his seat. "Fair's fair, boys. We're all part of this. All of us together."
"But evidently some more than others," Mulciber says, sounding bored, and turning his attention back to the menu. "Is Snape also joining us for lunch then? Guest of honour, perhaps?" He raises an eyebrow at Avery's expression. "Merlin, don't tell me that he's also intending to be fashionably late," he drawls, "I don't think my stomach can wait much longer."
"No, he's not coming here. I thought you'd want to come with me. To see him."
Rosier looks intrigued. "What's his deal then? Sick? Injured? Scared?"
Avery shrugs. "I don't know."
"You don't seem to know much," Mulciber scoffs. "Are you sure it's Snape you've found and not his double?"
"Yes!"
Mulciber laughs, beckoning a waiter over. "Although I'd pity the poor fucker who happened to be Snape's doppelganger. That's an unlucky hand to be dealt." He tips his glass towards Avery. "You know what I mean, it'd be like some poor bastard looking like you."
Avery wants to bite back, but with the waiter standing between them, he doesn't feel it's decent - and when the waiter departs, orders in hand, Rosier immediately changes the conversation.
"Right," Rosier says, "if you're certain about this, Ave-"
"-I am!"
"-then we'd best start making plans to bring him back into the fold."
"We won't need to convince him," Avery says, looking worried. "I've told you, he's one of us."
Mulciber offers a nasty smile. "Oh, I am sure he is. Once one has been fortunate enough to be admitted to the Dark Lord's service, who in their right mind would wish to leave?"
Rosier nods. "But we are all aware, are we not, that our dear friend has just been released from his second apprenticeship in almost as many years?"
Avery stays silent.
"So our dear friend," Rosier continues, "may be under the impression that it's time for a career change. I am sure that in present company, there is no need to remind anyone that our Dark Lord has a vacancy for a competent brewer. No more, no less."
Mulciber nods. "Couldn't have put it better myself."
"Ave?"
"Whatever you say, Ros," Avery intones, dully - and as he watches his two old friends gleefully plotting, he can't help but wonder if he should've trusted Lucius Malfoy instead.
Lily hears the timing charm ringing out as she's halfway through her soup. She pushes her chair back and stands.
"What's that noise?"
"It's a charm, for a potion I'm brewing," she says.
Her father gives her a strange look. "In your condition?"
"It's nothing strenuous. It's just like cooking," she says. "Sorry, Daddy, I need to go and see to it."
When she returns, her father has placed a plate over her soup bowl, but the contents are cold to the touch.
"I'll zap it in the microwave," he offers.
She shakes her head, and casts with her wand. "I've got it."
The look on his face is a combination of pride and envy and confusion. "I don't know how you can keep it all straight - what you can and can't do."
"It's just a warming charm."
He nods. "What about with the baby?"
"What about it?"
"Kids talk," he says. "You did, and Petunia was a right little chatterbox. What happens when your little one tells the neighbours that Mummy and Daddy heat up their food with sticks?"
Lily laughs dismissively. "They'll laugh, just like you would've done."
"I wouldn't laugh now."
"No, but that's different, isn't it?" she argues. "You know. It's not the same."
"I went to the city this morning, did your mother tell you?"
Lily shakes her head, grateful that the conversation has moved onto steadier ground. "No, I've not really been downstairs much. I've been brewing."
"I went to meet with Brian." He glances at her when she doesn't react. "I take it you're still interested in the job he's offering?"
"Yes."
"Severus doesn't mind the idea of you working? Leaving him with the baby?"
"It looked like I could do a lot of it from home."
"That's what we were discussing," David says, looking tense. "A couple of days in the office - just to keep in contact. You might need to get a telephone too," and at her anxious expression, he shakes his head. "Brian will pay."
"I'll see what Severus says."
"See what he says! He should be bloody grateful you've been given the opportunity," her father snaps. "If you don't take up Brian's offer, what are you going to do for money instead?"
"I think Sev wants to look for work. Thinks his Dad might know someone."
"This would be his father who hasn't worked ever since we've known Severus? How long's that? Twelve years? Fifteen?" David sighs. "You would both do well to remember who of the two of you is bringing the money in. You doing some work from home doesn't mean you should be doing everything. Babies are hard work."
"He'll pull his weight, Daddy," Lily says, exasperatedly. "He's not lazy - he looked after me for ages when those blood laws were brought in."
"It's not so easy to find work around here. And not with his record."
"Then I'm sure he'll support me by looking after the baby," she argues. "We've been together a long time - I know what it's like to live with him."
There's a pause before David speaks again. "Lil, what-"
"-Daddy, for the last time, I'm happy!" she interrupts. "I swear it. I know Severus seems a bit rough around the edges but..." She trails off when she catches his amused look. "You weren't going to say anything else, were you?"
David shakes his head, but he looks somewhat pleased at her passionate defence. "No. I'll leave it for you to work out between you. ...I just want to look after my youngest, that's all. You'll both understand when you have yours." He pauses. "...Lil, those special sweets you used to bring back from school…"
She gives him a strange look. "What about them? You've suddenly got an urge for Acid Pops? I thought it was supposed to be me with the cravings." She grins. "Although I wouldn't say no to a Cauldron Cake right about now."
"What's the shop called?"
"Honeydukes. ...why?"
His smile falters. "Thought so. There was a wizard at the station at lunchtime. Carrying a Honeydukes bag."
Potter.
"What I want to know, Lil, is - was he after you, or Severus?"
At their scandalised looks, Avery wishes he hadn't invited the pair of them back to his flat. Severus didn't sneer at your flat, he thinks.
"Drink?"
Mulciber swipes at the sofa, moving some of the clutter to one side with an old copy of the Daily Prophet. "...I don't think I'll risk it." He looks at Rosier, a smirk on his face. "Seat, Ros?"
Rosier appraises the room, looking as unimpressed as Mulciber. "I'll stand."
"Right," Avery says, pausing in the doorway. "I thought we could wait here for a bit."
"...so did we," Mulciber says, disdainfully. "What time did you want to turn up?"
"I was thinking late. Under the cover of darkness."
"What, and get the poor bastard out of bed?" Rosier shakes his head. "We should go now."
"People will see. Muggles."
"We're going to talk to him," Mulciber says, his tone placating, "not rough him up." He grins. "Well, not unless he's uncooperative."
Avery swallows hard, uncomfortable at the shift in tone. "He won't be uncooperative."
"Anyone else there?" Rosier asks. "At this house amongst the Muggles?"
"Don't know."
"Some stakeout, Ave." Mulciber rolls his eyes. "Nothing gets past you Strikers, eh?"
Rosier looks thoughtful, nudging a discarded plate with the toe of his boot so he can shift his stance. "There must be," he reasons. "Severus wouldn't be able to get his hands on an empty house. They must be some sort of relatives, or friends..."
Avery glances between his two friends, knowing that they're both thinking about her - the Mudblood. "Not necessarily," he adds, quickly. "Might've evicted them. Fought them off."
Mulciber scoffs. "Thought you said he was injured?"
"...I said I didn't know."
"Oh yes," Mulciber says, with a roll of his eyes, "how could I forget?"
Rosier gives a tight smile. "I think the answer to this question is at your house, Mulc."
Avery looks dumbfounded. "He's not there!"
"Merlin," Rosier whispers, under his breath. "Not getting any brighter as the years go by, are you, Ave?"
"Back to mine? You just want to sit down, don't you, Ros?"
"...well," Rosier smiles, "there is that. But I seem to remember you coming across something very interesting of Snape's…"
Severus reluctantly pries open the can of gloss, holding it at arm's length, trying not to inhale the scent of it. You need to do something productive today, he thinks, seeing as you failed miserably with the spell.
He sips his glass of water, and then dips his brush in the can, carefully wiping the thick paint against the rim before applying it to the woodwork. It's strange, painting without the soundtrack of the radio blaring, but even now, he's not sure his head can take it.
It's not that you've failed with that spell, he internally berates himself, as he paints, it's that you managed to read about three sentences and then promptly fell asleep. He paints a little faster, flecks of white spraying back at him.
Doesn't mean it's impossible. See what Lil thinks when she's here. You can talk about it together. She's great at designing charms. Practice on this house, even. Get it right, so Mam and Da don't start whinging again.
Severus summons a rag, and wipes a drip from the underside of the window sill. "Still need to sort out the floor," he mutters to himself, glancing at the marked tiles. "Well, plenty of time tonight, Sev. It's not like you're going out." He grimaces - even just the thought of more beer makes him feel a little grey inside.
"Unless…" And then he pauses, and smiles to himself. "Unless you finally fancy making an appearance, Bean. I'll happily go out then."
He's so lost in his thought of finally meeting and holding his child, he doesn't notice the brush dripping on the floor until there's a fresh smear of white paint at his feet. "Oh, who cares," he grins, "I'll clear it up later."
Lily knows her mother well, and can tell that despite her cheerful air, she's tense - the tea towel wrapped around her fingertips will attest as such.
"You didn't say that the boy last night was the…"
"He's a werewolf," Lily says, plainly. "You can say it."
"It's a lot to take in," David says, quietly. "And it was him I saw at the station?"
Lily shakes her head. "No. Well, I can't say for certain, but I'd imagine that was James. The other one." She looks troubled. "I don't know why he'd come so early - this potion isn't simple, Remus knows it takes a while to brew."
"So when should he have come?" David presses.
"Not before tomorrow. Evening at the earliest."
Rose looks astonished. "You've got to keep this potion bubbling that long?" She straightens the tea towel, and hangs it over the radiator. "Lily, lovey, I'd bet this house on you going into labour in the next few hours. You can't keep watching over a potion, and I don't like that you're jumping up and down every few minutes."
"I'm hardly jumping up and down," Lily protests.
Rose turns back to her daughter, her expression filled with concern. "Can't Severus do this?"
"He's never brewed it."
David looks astonished. "Never brewed it? I thought that was his bloody job!"
"...it's complicated, Daddy."
"This werewolf thing," David continues, "it happens every full moon?"
"Yes."
Rose and David exchange a look, and then Rose places a gentle hand over Lily's. "Then why did these boys ask you for your help so late? Why didn't they ask you last week, or the week before?"
"...I do it every month," she says, quietly. "But I didn't give it to them this month."
David straightens, reaching for his car keys. "This is ridiculous."
"Daddy, no-"
"-I'll go to the station and see this wizard, and give him what for, expecting her to brew potions in her condition-"
"-no, Daddy, don't tell them!"
"David," Rose says, firmly. She strokes Lily's hair. "They don't know you're pregnant, do they?"
"No."
"...so what did you think was going to happen, if you normally brew the potion for him? Did you think he wouldn't ask this month?"
When she speaks, her voice is small. "...I did brew it. I gave it to Severus."
"Gave it to Severus!" David thunders, slamming his hand on the worktop.
"David, calm down!"
"And what's bloody Severus doing with it? Is he a werewolf now as well?"
"Daddy, don't."
David looks furious. "If he doesn't need it and this boy does, then why hasn't he handed it over? Making our Lils brew in her condition-"
"-no, you don't understand! They're after him," she sobs incoherently, "the ones looking for him. They think Severus can brew it and they want him. That's what the letter was about. I gave him the potion in case they found him - so he could give it to them, and buy him some time."
Her parents seem to sigh in unison - a deep, fearful groan, which builds from the bottom of their lungs.
"I was so scared for him."
"You should be bloody scared for him, just wait until I get my hands on him," David mutters.
"Please, Daddy-"
"-Lily, let your father go and speak with Severus. They can both give the potion to this other boy." Rose smoothes her hand across Lily's hair again. "Severus would be so upset if he knew what you were doing."
"Don't be angry with him, Daddy."
"He won't, will you, David?" Rose says, sternly. "They'll go to the station, hide the potion so it can be picked up, and then David will bring Severus here."
At this, Lily's head snaps up, her eyes still filled with tears, and Rose smiles kindly.
"I thought you'd like that," Rose continues. "And he can finish brewing this potion you've started, under your instruction. I'm sure he can do that, even if he hasn't brewed it before?"
"...yes."
"And I'm sure Severus is more than used to being bossed around by you," Rose gently teases, causing Lily to give a half-laugh through her sobs.
"Don't be angry with him, Daddy. It's not his fault," she pleads.
"It never bloody is," David says, but at Rose's sharp look he puts his hands up in mock surrender. "I'll bring him here in one piece," and then as he shuts the door behind him, he mutters, "but I'm not promising any more than that."
The three wizards stare at the key on Mulciber's dining room table, and Avery tentatively pokes it with his wand.
"Don't just prod it," Rosier says, "test it."
Avery does as he says, and casts, his frown growing deeper. "Nothing."
"Nothing," Mulciber says, with a triumphant smile. "And what does that tell you, Ave?"
He looks from one wizard to the other. He's always hated quizzes - hated being called on in class. It's not that he can't handle being wrong - in fact, more often than not, he knew the right answer - but it's the fear of getting it wrong that he hates, the fear of being laughed at, being shamed.
"Merlin save me," Rosier mutters. "Nothing, Ave! Nothing on the key, yes?"
"Yes, Ros."
"So if there's no vestiges of magic on the key, no little traces, what does that tell you about the lock it goes into?"
"...it's not a magical lock."
"It's not a magical lock!" Rosier repeats, more loudly. "See, wasn't so hard, was it?"
"I knew that," Avery grumbles under his breath.
"Not just that," Mulciber adds, "but it's a Muggle lock that's never had a spell cast against it. Not an Alohomora or even an anti-Alohomora…" He pauses. "You know what those are, Ave?"
There's a silence; Avery refusing to dignify the question with a response.
"Ave? No? Shall we send you all the way back to the first year of Hogwarts?"
"Yes," he hisses, angrily, "I know what those are!"
Mulciber laughs. "Good. So this key, Ave, has got no traces."
"No magic. You've said."
"So this key," Rosier says, picking it up and tossing it in the air, "opens that house he's got."
"...we don't know that."
"We do," insists Rosier, "because we've already surmised that he's staying with someone - relying on their hospitality-"
"-you're guessing-"
"-if he was on his own, he'd be using spells." Rosier pauses, planting the key back on the tabletop. "And this has been going on for some time. Because you got this key off him… When was it, Mulc?"
"When you and Snape tried to summon the Dark Lord, Ave," Mulciber finishes. "We checked everything you were both carrying and this little key seemed odd." He pauses. "Why would a man living at Hogwarts need a Muggle key?"
"...so you took it."
"Yes," Mulciber says, with a dark smile, "so we took it."
"That can't be where he's staying then, because he'd have noticed!"
"If he was on his own, yes," Rosier barks, "but not if he's staying with someone - with someone prepared to let him in."
"Or someone who realises he's a bit of a clumsy oaf - someone who thinks he's left it in his other pair of trousers back at the school. Maybe they've even replaced it for him, thinking it's long lost."
Avery swallows hard at Mulciber's words. But then, that would mean that Severus has been staying with Muggles even when we were hanging out - when he was a Striker, when we were drinking and waging war on those opposed to magical supremacy. "You're just guessing. That key could be from anywhere."
At this, Mulciber grins. "I assure you, Ave, it's not from anywhere. It's from the pocket of your best pal Snape."
Rosier claps him on the shoulder. "Besides, there's only one way to find out, isn't there? Let's go and try it."
Severus is leaning against the worktop, radio playing gently, mug of tea in hand and waiting for the gloss paint to fully dry when there's a loud knock at the front door.
"Yes!" he whoops, carefully reaching over the sink to pull the kitchen window closed, trying not to touch the still tacky paintwork. He carries the mug of tea over to the door, yanks the door open, and presses the mug into David's hands. "Hold that," he instructs, bending down and pulling on his boots, "I'll drink it on the way."
"Severus-"
"-I won't spill any on the seat, I promise," he says, straightening, a broad grin on his face - and then when he catches David's solemn expression, he leans heavily against the wall, his knees buckling. "They're both all right, aren't they?"
Severus' sincere look of fear causes David to soften, and he puts his hand on Severus' shoulder. "Yes."
"Then what?" Severus presses, anxiously. "Why are you here if she's not-"
"-two wizards visited the house-"
"-oh fuck," he says, his wand sliding into his hand. "Fuck! Where is she? Where-"
"Severus, she's fine," David says, calmly. "These aren't some enemies of yours, but two old schoolfriends, James and…"
"Remus," Severus guesses, a dark look crossing his face.
"Yes," David smiles. "And they want a potion from Lily, which she's been trying to brew-"
"-she's brewing Wolfsbane? Merlin's sake," he hisses, "she's about to give birth to our child!"
"...that's rather what we said," David agrees. "So I said I'd come here and we'd deliver the potion she gave you, and use it to get rid of those two wizards." He gives a tight smile. "And then you can come to ours, and Lily can tell you how to finish this brew she's started. All from the comfort of her bed."
He nods, dumbly. "...how did they find her? I thought I made her untraceable?" He flicks his wand over himself, checking that his own spell is intact.
David shrugs. "Beyond me - but then most of this is." He sighs heavily, and jangles his keys. "I'm just the driver." There's another pause. "You're fine with coming to ours, if I give you ten minutes to put some bits and pieces together? Lily thought you might protest."
Severus shakes his head. "I was only trying to keep her safe. I thought someone might follow me," he explains, "but nothing so far." He lets out a soft laugh. "I'm hiding away, and yet someone's found her. I'm being paranoid." He swallows tightly and draws himself up to his full height. "I'm better off being with Lily, so I can protect her - and I'm going to start by finding out how those two idiots located her."
The three wizards grip each other tightly, and Avery's side-along is impeccable, causing both Mulciber and Rosier to look at him admiringly.
"How long did you say you'd spent here?" Rosier asks, dusting himself off.
"A couple of hours."
"That was flawless," Mulciber begrudgingly admits. "No wonder the Dark Lord sends you on stakeouts if you can Apparate other people with you like that."
Avery stands a little taller at their praise, and the three wizards stare at the house.
David pulls up in the car park outside the station, and turns off the engine. "I'll put it under the bench if you'd rather stay out of sight," he offers. He gives Severus a calculating look. "I rather got the impression back there that these two men are not quite the friends Lily suggested they were."
"We all know each other well," Severus says, dodging the question, "so there's no need for me to hide. I want to speak with him." He gives a strange smile. "Catch up with our old school friend James. It's been a while."
David shoots a worried glance towards Severus' hand, where his wand is visible, protruding from the bottom of his sleeve and resting in the palm. "I think Lily and Rose are expecting us back - she'll want to head off to bed soon, and if I know Lily, she'll want to see you before-"
"-I just want to know how he found her," Severus says, forcing a feigned jovial note into his tone. "And if you saw him here earlier, then he'll be along again shortly, I'm sure. He always was rather...eager."
David glances at him, surprised at the sudden shift in Severus' demeanour - finding it difficult to reconcile his blank expression with the joyous young man who had thrust a half-finished cup of tea at him in his haste to rush to the hospital, in anticipation of his child being born. David takes a shallow breath, and looks through the windscreen, peering at the sign on the wall. "It says parking is free for the first forty minutes."
"Then we shall wait for forty minutes." Severus offers David an insincere smile - one that sends a dark chill down the older man's spine, one full of crooked teeth and thin lips - and instead of mirth, there's a trace of malice, of dark intent gleaming in his black eyes. "A quick catch up, that's all."
David drums his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel. Truthfully, he's been slightly unnerved ever since they'd discovered Severus' criminal record. Lily was always quick to see the best in others, always keen to explain his actions away - usually attributing little or no blame to Severus at all. For his part, David can't say that he's ever felt unsafe around Severus - he might've readily believed him capable of all of those things Lily told them about - much more readily than Rose ever did - but he never really sensed danger around Severus.
It was only 24 hours ago, he thinks, that he was clutching that half glass of lemonade in the pub, shoulders hunched, shuffling through the group of men like a frightened rabbit.
He doesn't look like a frightened rabbit now. Looking at Severus now, David can feel the magical power pouring from him - a strange thrumming energy building in the confines of the car - and for the first time, as the energy seems to swirl around them, David can vaguely understand how Severus found himself in so much trouble with Dumbledore and dark wizards and wars in the first place.
David coughs awkwardly, hoping to lighten the oppressive atmosphere. "Maybe we should leave the potion, and you can catch up with this James boy another time? When it's not so late?"
Severus laughs coldly, his voice soft and threatening as he toys with his wand. "No, it is important that I offer a gentle reminder to James. He has forgotten his manners, and has not appreciated that it is terribly rude for old friends to descend upon us without prior invitation."
David pauses, contemplating Severus' changed speech, now deliberate and chilled.
I never thought I would miss hearing that awful dialect he usually favours.
"Lily..." David trails off weakly, and then tries again. "This boy, the wolf..."
"What about him?"
"He hurt you, didn't he?" David doesn't look in Severus' direction. "Lily told us about a dog, about you and a dog, but she said-"
"-it was all a long time ago," Severus interrupts, but then he falls silent once more, his eyes scanning the entrance to the station.
David stares at him, desperate to get to the truth of what he's inadvertently stumbled into, wondering whether he's about to witness a brutal battle between two wizards instead of this being the simple task he thought he'd signed up for. "Severus," he tries again, "this James boy… He's not your old friend at all, is he?"
"No," Severus says, his smile now more of a twisted leer as he openly twirls his wand in his hands. "No, David, he most certainly is not."
The pop of Apparition is quiet, but it's an unusual noise in a Muggle community, and Lily immediately stands away from the cauldron she's been so carefully watching over, and peers through the net curtain.
When she sees nothing untoward, she hurries through to her parents' bedroom and checks through their window. She takes a step back when she spies the three men standing on the pavement. She instantly recognises Avery, but she's less certain who the other two are. That might be Mulciber, she thinks, trying to remember what Severus' housemates looked like a few years earlier.
"Mummy!" she calls, anxiety making her tone higher pitched than usual - and then, with barely a glance towards her own room where the bubbling potion threatens to erupt from the cauldron, she moves as quickly as she can across the landing and to the top of the stairs, shouting down it, "Mummy, Mummy, lock the doors! Quickly!"
Chapter 102: Make yourself comfortable
Notes:
I said a while back that I would warn, so please be aware that we are heading directly into peril territory.
This is true for all characters, and will be the case for the next few chapters. In this one, it notably affects Rose, Lily and Bean - so if you choose to read on, you may wish to steel yourself.
Chapter Text
David Evans has considered himself as being many things during his adult life: capable, dependable, kind, practical - and if he were truly honest with himself, a little impatient and overly critical - but he had never once regarded himself as being particularly naive.
He can remember the specific evening, many years earlier, when Lily had appeared in their back garden, interrupting him from clearing out the shed and Rose from the rather more tedious task of washing the cuckoo spit from the lavender bushes, and formally summoned them both of them into the living room.
With Lily's expression so grave, it had been a confusing walk indoors for the pair - her parents fearing whatever misdemeanour she was going to confess to, wondering whether it involved yet another heated spat with her older sister, or the rather more troubling prospect of a third angry letter from the Ministry of Magic in almost as many weeks.
Severus had already been quietly standing at the far side of the living room, wearing what appeared to be his smartest clothes - although, at the time, smart was still a relative term in the Snape household - and he was nervously considering a painting on the wall, as if it was the first time he had set eyes upon it, despite it having been hung in the same position since Rose and David first moved in, way back in 1959.
Lily had taken a deep breath, marched over to Severus, gripped his hand, and loudly announced that the pair were no longer merely just friends, but that they had become much closer. A couple. Severus, for his part, had looked as if he was about to throw up all over his clean socks and their nice new beige living room carpet.
Rose had reacted exuberantly, whether she truly felt that way or not, embracing both Lily and Severus in turn. David, with one eye on the expensive carpet, had suggested that they all move into the kitchen where they could get some glasses and have a toast in the garden to celebrate.
All in all, David felt that he and Rose had taken the unexpected announcement in their stride. Whilst the changed relationship between the two teenagers hadn't been obvious to either of them - that much they'd both agreed in private discussion much later - nor was it a shocking revelation. Quietly, neither David nor Rose had failed to notice Lily's lack of interest in all others, or Severus' quiet and continued devotion to their daughter, and in many ways, the announcement had felt like a natural progression of their friendship.
Eventually, even Petunia softened - although David wouldn't go as far as to say that she accepted Severus as Lily's partner, that much was clear by the laundry list of potential suitors she insisted on regaling to Lily on each visit. It appeared to David that such suitors were mostly comprised of Vernon's business partners, or golf partners, or tennis partners - and even, on one memorable occasion, rowing partners, when Lily had loudly poured scorn on the idea that Vernon had ever got within ten metres of a boat, let alone rowed in one.
"Oh, he's the cox, is he?" Severus had enquired, before sniggering behind his empty wine glass.
Petunia had moaned about Severus' uncouth behaviour for four solid months, and Severus had found himself disinvited to at least three family meals - until Lily had threatened not to attend any future gatherings. David had offered his own solidarity in the matter - although he was simultaneously motivated by the idea of not having to listen to any more of Vernon's pompous prattling - although it did mean that he found himself caught in the middle of a vicious argument between Rose and Petunia, when Rose attempted to explain exactly why it was inappropriate for Petunia to attempt to arrange a marriage for Lily whilst Lily's current boyfriend was also sat at the table.
To Lily and Severus' credit, neither of them appeared to pay much attention to Petunia's actions; her acceptance - or lack thereof - didn't appear to bother them in the slightest. Their failure to react to her goading was a sign to David and Rose that the two had matured past the childish arguments that so plagued their house during Lily and Petunia's teenage years - and it was this newfound maturity that caused Rose and David to acknowledge that the relationship between Severus and Lily was rather more serious than perhaps it first appeared.
David would've been the first to admit that he had been convinced that their relationship was merely one of convenience - the first flush of youthful experimentation, destined to burn brightly before rapidly extinguishing - but he'd been pleasantly surprised when he was proven wrong, and it instead developed into a steady and serious courtship.
Still, there had been one aspect of Lily and Severus' relationship that neither he nor Rose had been fully prepared for. Later, he'd reflected that they'd been lulled into a false sense of security due to Severus' parents living in their world, and choosing to forgo magical society. It wasn't that David and Rose had a problem with Lily moving out, or Lily living with Severus - but that they had both errantly assumed that upon leaving Hogwarts, Lily and Severus would emulate his mother, and set up home in the Muggle world.
Worse still, it was shamefully late when they'd realised - when Lily had casually mentioned over dinner that she would need some assistance getting her things to the flat that she and Severus intended to rent in Hogsmeade.
Once Lily had moved out, leaving the Muggle world far behind her, the relationship between the four of them had changed. Severus had never been one to stand around and chat, but his visits had undoubtedly altered - from a teenage boyfriend coming to call and sitting upstairs playing records with his girlfriend, to a serious young man performing the ritual of Sunday visitation with the future in-laws, proving to her parents that they were both well and coping and content.
Consequently, David has spent countless awkward afternoons with Severus over the last two or three years, sat together in strained silence whilst Rose and Lily happily chattered in another room - the women barely pausing for breath, whilst the men struggled to form more than a handful of sentences between them.
David had regarded it as a necessary tedium, for the sake of his wife's and his youngest daughter's happiness, and one look at Severus - who spent most of his time in the Evans' living room sitting stiffly, and pretending to appreciate the Sunday film matinee or Grandstand or Songs of Praise or whatever else was on the television that they could put on in the background as a distraction - told him that Severus felt much the same.
This time, in a stifling hot car with the windows wound up tightly on either side, the silence between the two men is not awkward, but brimming with tension and anxiety and apprehension.
He glances over at Severus, who is sitting in the passenger seat of the car, openly toying with his wand, his gaze trained on the station entrance, his dark eyes unblinking. Severus has been completely silent for the past twelve minutes. David has counted every single one.
The pressure within the vehicle feels as if it's increasing with each second that ticks by, to the point of being tangible - a solid force that David can almost feel resting upon his chest and compressing his lungs, making his breathing ragged and laboured.
David wonders if Severus has noticed his increasing unease - if he can sense David's distress, but another sideways glance suggests not. Unlike David, Severus' breathing is slow and moderated, quiet and deliberate, the young wizard entirely focused upon recognising and ambushing his quarry; a fully-fledged predator poised for action, determined to capture and restrain its prey.
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.
"Mummy! Mummy! Hurry!"
"...he might not come."
"He will," Severus says, firmly.
"Lils said the potion takes a while to create, so if it's too soon-"
"-it was too soon this morning," Severus interrupts, his tone even and calm, "but that did not stop Potter from appearing." His nostrils flare and he turns his head, staring straight at David. "You have to understand, nothing stops Potter when it comes to Lily."
He's a rival, David thinks. For her affection.
"He isn't," Severus says, sharply - and then, at David's surprised look, he turns his head back to face the front, gazing once more through the windscreen.
"...I didn't say anything."
"I would advise you to think more quietly."
"Think more…" David trails off, stunned. "You can read minds!"
Severus straightens his shoulders. "That isn't how we speak of it." He glances at David, who looks aghast. "And I can't. Not really."
"You did."
"You gave me no choice," Severus protests, running his left hand over his eyes. "You practically rolled down the window and screamed it to the universe."
David stares through the windscreen, both hands gripping the steering wheel, barely daring to breathe, let alone think.
"It was written all over your face," Severus continues. "I am sure Rose has said that much to you before."
"Rose isn't… Rose can't…"
"There is a difference between a secret cradled in the darkest depths of your mind, and a thought that you're about to express - one which is on the very tip of your tongue. It was momentary," Severus explains. "I saw it a half second before you shared it." He pauses. "You were about to say it, weren't you?"
David gives the barest of nods, his gaze fixed on a point in the distance.
"Then I did not intrude," Severus says, decisively - although the look on David's face suggests that he does not entirely agree with Severus' assessment. "Eye contact is required for this sort of magic." Severus allows a strange smile to spread across his face. "If it makes you feel more comfortable, I will not look at you again."
David nods, this time more vehemently - and despite Severus' gaze remaining fixed on the station entrance, David adjusts his position in his seat, so he's staring through the driver side window, and away from the wizard on his left.
Spooked, Severus thinks, as he senses David's movement.
"...do you do it a lot?"
"I'm not skilled at it."
David's head snaps around, the action almost involuntary, and he stares at Severus in shock. "Not skilled? You could've fooled me."
"I just told you," Severus argues, hotly, "you screamed that thought at me. I could not care less what's rattling around in your mind." He thumps the roof of the car with his fist, and then taps the glass window to the side of him with his wand. "And this! This makes it worse. An enclosed space, with nothing to compete for my attention - no sounds, no smells, no touch-"
"-it's a sense?"
Severus shrugs.
"And all magical people can do this?"
Severus gives another shrug.
"Just you?"
Severus lets out a soft laugh. "I'm better the other way."
"The other way?" David repeats, dumbfounded. "Do I want to know?"
"Keeping people out."
"It must be tiring living in the magical world," David says, looking at the younger man critically, "hearing everyone's thoughts."
There's a long and heavy pause - so long, David is certain that Severus isn't going to answer, but he leaves the comment hanging.
"Most cannot," he says, finally. "The most powerful can - Professor Dumbledore, and the Minister for Magic, and some of the aurors." He stops, twisting his wand between his fingers. "They're like the police," he offers, "in case you didn't know." He doesn't wait for David to acknowledge his comment. "One or two others can do it. Friends."
"Your friends use it?"
Severus looks uncomfortable. "It's not common. Not taught. They say… They say that the Dark Lord is the master." He shifts in his seat. "I didn't know of it at all. Not until he performed it on me…"
The Dark Lord. David lets out a long exhalation of breath. "So this is one of those spells that would be considered dark? One that would get you sent to that wizard prison?"
"For Merlin's sake, don't tell Lil that," Severus says, with a weary smile. "She'll start fretting about Azkaban again."
David pauses, the implication of Severus' words sinking in. "Lils can do it? My Lils?"
My Lil, you mean, Severus thinks - but he doesn't say it out loud. "Oh yes," he says. "She's talented. Brilliant, in fact." He sneaks a glance towards David who looks shaken. "Don't worry, she doesn't read yours. Or Rose's." He tilts his wand to his own temple, pressing it deeply into the skin. "She needs her wand. Places it here, and she's in."
David swallows hard. "In your mind? She's been in your mind?"
"Yes. I asked her to do it." Severus' smile doesn't falter. "There's no need to fret. She wouldn't read your thoughts unless you requested it. She's one of the good ones."
"...you did. Without my permission." David risks a glance towards him. "Read my thoughts, I mean."
At this, Severus quirks his eyebrow, his gaze still fixed on the station entrance. "Ah yes. So I did."
Avery slowly lowers his hand from the door knocker, and takes a step back from the front door, staring at the upper windows. "No answer."
"I thought he'd answer to you," Rosier murmurs. "Thought he'd be a little more amenable if he saw you first."
"He might've gone out."
Rosier stalks diagonally across the garden, trampling across a border of lovingly maintained dahlias and pinks, and then cups his hands on the window, trying to peer in. "Are you sure this is the place, Ave?"
"Certain, Ros. Should I knock again?"
Without answering, Rosier raises his fist and pounds on the glass window, beating it with all of his might.
Lily stands at the top of the stairs, her wand clenched tightly in her fist, and her legs feeling like jelly - as if someone has vanished the bones inside her limbs. She stares helplessly down the stairs into the hallway below, knowing it will take her too long to lumber down, and instead, she listens, striving to hear the sounds of Rose locking them safely inside.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
It was bad enough when the banging was on the door, but she can tell that someone has moved towards the window, the flesh of their palm slapping loudly against the glass. Instinctively, she runs her hand soothingly over her bump.
"Mummy!"
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!
The banging on the glass is painfully loud, and her own blood is beating so ferociously in her ears, she struggles to hear if Rose is replying to her. She tentatively puts one foot onto the first step, and calls out again. "Mummy!"
"I'm looking for my keys," Rose shouts.
"Hurry!" she yells, desperately. "Faster!"
Thud-thud-thud-THUD-THUD!
Lily takes a step back, her hand pressed firmly against her bump, hoping that Bean remains blissfully unaware of the commotion. I should cast the concealment charm, she thinks, in case anyone sees us - and as she steadies her wand to do it, she looks at the stirring rod in horror, realising that she picked up the wrong item in her haste.
She moves as quickly as she can, away from the stairs and back into the bedroom. She spies her wand still resting on the bed, and as recklessly as she dares, she lunges for it. Lily discards the stirring rod onto the mattress, and with a practised flick, she casts at the still bubbling cauldron, withdrawing the flame from beneath it. A house fire is a complication we do not need, she thinks.
Thud-THUD-THUD! Tat-tat-tat-TAT-TAT-TAT! Thud-THUD-THUD-THUD!
In ordinary circumstances, it would've pained her to see the potion that she'd dedicated so much time to - indeed, had laboured over - being pointlessly ruined. But these aren't ordinary circumstances, she thinks, and with her heart in her mouth, she risks glancing through the net curtains, trying to ascertain the threat.
She spies a man standing in the back garden, but he's not looking towards her. She quietly moves across the landing and into her parents' bedroom, and looks through the window. Through the fine gauze, she sees Avery staring straight towards her - and she immediately jolts out of sight, pressing herself as flat as she can against the bedroom wall.
"Mummy!" she yells, desperately, at the top of her voice. "Now!"
TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT! THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD! TAT-TAT-TAT! THUD! TAT-TAT-TAT! THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD!
It sounds as if someone's beating a thunderous drum at a Quidditch game, following a Chaser's path across the pitch, the prelude to the eruption of the spectator stand when the Quaffle is hurled through a hoop, with hundreds of pairs of hands clapping, and hundreds of pairs of feet stamping.
Resentment pierces her then - a sudden and painful spear through her chest - when she thinks of the time that was wasted at Hogwarts. Time wasted on the sports pitches and on ridiculous inter house rivalry, time wasted on irrelevant History of Magic lessons taught by a ghost who couldn't captivate his audience and couldn't explain why history will inevitably repeat if the lessons of the past are not learnt, time wasted on temporary Defence professors who couldn't master the art of teaching as they didn't stay for longer than a year. And most of all, the thought of the wasted opportunity presented by Muggle Studies - a class filled with outdated information, merely an optional topic, shunned by all but the most eccentric of the Purebloods.
There's so much I don't know, she thinks, holding her wand tightly. Can I even Disapparate with a Muggle? The Fidelius at Spinner's End didn't work for Tobias or Mummy or Daddy. Am I risking leaving Mummy behind?
She takes a deep breath, trying to control her breathing, and she presses her hand firmly against her bump whilst she casts the concealment charm. Bean first, she thinks.
Almost as soon as she completes the spell, and her bump disappears from view, the banging falls silent. Is that a good sign, or not? She can barely breath as she moves out of the bedroom and back towards the stairs, hoping to greet her mother at the top.
Muggle or not, it's worth the risk, she thinks. There's no other way out of this.
David looks at his watch, and then shrugs his sleeve back over his wrist.
"How long?"
"We've been waiting for twenty two minutes," David says. "He's got eighteen minutes left to show his face."
Severus scoffs. "It'll take as long as it takes."
"We could revert back to the original plan, and leave the potion."
Severus ignores him, fumbling in his pocket for some loose coins. "If we run out of time, I can feed the meter." He gives a quick, tight smile towards David. "Technically, you're feeding the meter," he concedes," because this is the change from the pub."
"Come on, we can't sit here all night-"
"-we don't have to," Severus interrupts, sharply. "If you want to go home, then do so - but I'm not leaving."
David sighs. "...the girls, Severus. They'll be waiting - they'll be worried."
Severus gives him a dark look. "And if I don't sort this out, they'll be right to be worried."
There's a silence, and David drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "This James fellow…"
Severus' shoulders tighten. "What about him?"
"Lils wasn't worried, but you think he's...what? Dangerous?"
Severus briefly sneers, but then looks away and composes himself. "...it isn't about Potter."
"No?"
"No. It's about knowledge. It's about who knows that we're here."
"...Lils must know you feel this way?"
"Yes."
The relief that floods over David is like the tide ebbing in to the shore. "Then she'll already have asked him to keep it a secret."
"Oh, I'm sure she has," Severus says, lightly - and then he taps the side of his head with his wand, "but I've told you, this isn't about Potter."
"I don't understand."
"This isn't about Potter's honour, or whether he decides to be a hero." Severus looks sickened. "This isn't about him getting to choose whether his…" He trails off, his wand gripped tighter than ever, tapping it harder and harder against the side of his head. "...friendship with Lily is more important to him than getting one over on me."
"I'm sure-"
"-this is about who can extract that information."
David looks in horror at Severus' wand, and then at Severus himself.
"David, David, don't look so concerned," Severus says, calmly. "I'm not going to hurt him." He shoots him a nasty smile. "I'm simply going to help him to forget that Cokeworth has ever existed."
"There's someone upstairs, Ros," Avery calls. "I've just seen him. In the window."
"He hasn't gone out then. Try the key."
Avery hesitates, his fingers wrapped around the small piece of metal. "I don't think we need to. I think he's heard us. I think he's coming down."
Rosier presses his face back against the window. "No, he's downstairs now! He's going around the back! The key, Ave! Now!"
"He might be letting us in that way! We should let Mulc know that he's-"
"-if he goes out the back when we've knocked on the front," Rosier hisses, whipping his wand out of his sleeve with a flourish as he stalks back over towards Avery, "then he deserves everything he gets. Open that fucking door!"
Avery slots the key into the lock, and twists it - and his eyes widen when it clicks, and swings open.
Severus strides back from the meter, ticket in hand, and gets back into the car. He slaps the ticket onto the dashboard, and settles back in his seat, not looking at David. "Two hours. I suggest you make yourself comfortable."
It had been a great source of consternation to Severus that another Slytherin didn't immediately follow in Lucius Malfoy's footsteps and become Head Boy - but Lily had liked Alex Hooper, the affable Gryffindor who succeeded Lucius a year later.
He was always a presence in the common room, and he took the attributes of Gryffindor House seriously - almost too seriously. He'd often be found surrounded by his yearmates near the fireplace, crafting scenarios and arguing about how they'd react in various situations.
The younger students loved it, and hung on their every word, creeping closer and closer, leaning over chairs or shuffling nearer on the rugs, until the game involved all seven years, and not just the oldest of the Gryffindors. James and Sirius were particularly enthused, Remus and Peter less so, she remembered that much - but even Lily would find herself putting down her Charms essays to listen in as they envisaged lively fights on dragon back, or described running into burning buildings when they heard someone yelling for help.
The most applauded answers were those involving bravery and chivalry, rewarding the students with the most imagined nerve. She hadn't always agreed with the group's consensus - sometimes she could see why the Sorting Hat had debated sending her over to the Slytherin table, because at times, it made more sense to her to try and barter her way out of a situation instead of drawing her wand.
Not that she'd have dared tell that to the other Gryffindors.
"The back door is locked," Rose calls, sounding shaken as she rushes from the living room. She places one foot on the stairs, and then turns back to the front door. "Did I check the front-"
"-hurry!" Lily yells, her arm outstretched. "It doesn't matter!"
Rose looks up, a worried expression across her face. "The baby. Is that the spell again? Is it safe to use now you're so far on?"
"Come up, come up!"
Rose puts one foot on the stairs and then another, and it feels to Lily as if the scene before her is playing out in slow motion. The silence that surrounds them is in stark contrast to the previous slamming and pounding, and in its own way, it's almost as deafening; thunderous in its absence.
The calm before the storm, Lily thinks, eyes fixed on her mother - and then, there's the smallest click. It reverberates around them, as if someone was standing right next to her and had snapped their fingers into her ear, and it's as if the sound is a trigger, breaking the trance of slow motion and leaping into fast-forward.
Rose is just seven steps away from Lily when the door is slammed backwards, and a man crashes through.
"INCARCEROUS!"
Lily's eyes widen in horror, as invisible cords stream out of the end of the man's wand, aimed directly at Rose. Lily takes an involuntary step backwards and opens her mouth, expecting to scream, to call her mother's name, to do anything - but nothing comes out.
"Go," Rose silently mouths as the thin cords slither around her.
Lily shakes her head, tears openly falling down her face, and raises her wand, her hand trembling.
"The baby," Rose mouths, as the cords start to pull taut.
"STUPEFY!"
And then Rose's head drops forward sickeningly, as if she's fallen asleep standing upright - and her body is forcibly yanked backwards down the stairs.
Chapter 103: Get the potion
Notes:
As previously warned, peril for all concerned - particularly Rose, Lily and Bean. Also a trigger warning for threat of rape.
Chapter Text
"...I can listen. If it helps. There's plenty of time."
A small frown flits across Severus' face, but he keeps his eyes trained on the station entrance. "Listen to what?"
"Lils told us a little," David says, "about what happened. At school. With the wolf. I take it that this is the same boy?"
Severus tenses, his hand gripping his wand so tightly, his knuckles turn white.
"It must've been terrifying, Severus, accidentally stumbling across a werewolf."
"...I don't talk about it."
David watches him carefully, as if he's a startled animal, and then continues. "You must've been very brave. Evading such a creature, and then managing to sit in classes with him afterwards. I don't know that I would-"
"-I said, I don't talk about it."
"You choose not to talk about it," David presses, "or nobody has ever asked-"
"-I don't want to talk about it!" Severus shouts. He slams his wand against the dashboard, the parking ticket fluttering up in the air, and the resulting noise reverberating around the close confines of the car.
Severus' breathing is loud, as if he's just sprinted across the car park and back again, his chest heaving as he inhales and exhales, and it takes him several minutes to fully compose himself.
David watches Severus closely, waiting until he's in control of his emotions once more. "...I just wanted you to know that we could talk. If it helped."
"It won't help."
"It might. We could try."
"...nobody cared enough to want to talk about it back then," he says, evenly, "so I learnt to cope in my own way."
"Not even Lils?" David seems surprised. "I'm sure she cared."
"We weren't… Back then, we weren't like we are now." He picks at the skin at the edge of his thumb.
"Maybe not quite as you are now," David concedes, "but I remember how close you were. I find it hard to believe that she wouldn't have cared."
They sit quietly, both staring through the windscreen, each waiting for the other to speak.
"...they silenced me," Severus eventually spits, bitterly. "Said he didn't deserve to lose his chance at a normal life." His voice cracks. "What about mine?"
David's arm twitches, as if to reach over and grab the prickly boy, to reassure him - but the movement causes Severus to jerk away, his posture defensive. David touches his own hair, running his fingers through it, pretending that was always his intention. Then he gently places his hand back onto the wheel, sensing Severus' eyes watching him the entire time.
"When you left Hogwarts," David says, a moment or two later. "That's when you told her?"
"I don't talk about it."
David frowns, mulling his repeated statement over - and then Severus silently lifts his wand, sliding it through his long hair and up towards his head, pausing when he reaches his temple. David looks astonished. "She saw it?"
"I told you, she's good." After a moment, Severus lowers his wand. "So I appreciate the offer, but I don't like to open up old wounds."
There's another short silence. "And this James opens these old wounds for you, doesn't he? It's not just that he carries a torch for Lils, is it?"
"It doesn't help," Severus mutters.
"But it's more than that, isn't it? It's because he's the wolf's friend?"
"...sort of."
"Sort of?"
"There's two more."
"Werewolves?"
"No," Severus says. "Boys. Men. In their group. One of them set me up to meet it. Him. It," he finally settles on.
"To meet it? The wolf?" David's mouth falls open in astonishment. "It wasn't an accident? It was a...trick?"
"Yes."
David looks aghast. "Some trick."
"Some lives are worth more than others in our world," Severus says, quietly.
"So Rosie and I have gathered." He appraises Severus. "But I thought you had better blood than Lily. So to speak," he adds, when he spies Severus' wince.
"It's not all about blood. Although I dare say there are some who don't like the fact that my father is a Muggle." He twists his wand in his hand. "Your Petunia didn't like me much."
David shuffles uncomfortably in his seat. "Ah well, Petunia is-"
"-just like all the other Muggles," Severus says, darkly. "She thought I was too common, too poor, too dirty, too offensive, too...everything to be Lily's friend."
"Severus-"
"-I'm not stupid! I know what people say about my family," he continues, ignoring the interruption. "Wizards and Muggles are not so different. All of the things that were wrong with me here in Cokeworth were wrong with me up in Scotland too."
"...but a werewolf," David protests, weakly. "I know Petunia wasn't always polite…"
"I have no doubt that she would have sent me to meet a werewolf if she'd had one at her disposal."
"Severus! Really!"
"It's true," Severus says, staring fixedly through the windscreen. "Not now, perhaps, but as a reckless teenager? She hated me for stealing her sister - for dragging her off into a magical world where she couldn't follow. It wasn't personal. It wasn't me specifically. It was what I represented." He picks at his thumb again. "She wanted me to go away so she could have Lily back, and she would've used any means necessary."
"And that's what happened with this James and his friends? He wanted you to go away so he could be nearer to Lils?" David looks troubled. "Even if it meant your death?"
"The problem with magic is that most things can be fixed, with a wave of a wand, or a spoonful of potion."
"...you think they hadn't considered the outcome when they started this trick?"
"I don't think whether I lived or died was truly a factor in their thinking," Severus says, solemnly. "The wider consequences suddenly occurred to them, I suspect."
"The reality of a dead school child? Or the reality of them being found responsible?"
"If I had died, I would merely have been a tragic footnote in the school's history. I wouldn't be the first child to have perished since it opened. I wouldn't even have been the first child this century." He picks another thin slither of skin from around his thumbnail. "I think they assumed they could hide the truth." He looks pained. "But if I'd been murdered by a werewolf… It would've had consequences for the wolf as well."
"I'm sure."
"Damned by the Ministry, assuming it could even live with itself." His expression clouds. "Assuming it wasn't in on the idea, desperate for a kill, driven by bloodlust."
"You can't think that boy knew-"
"-I don't know how wolves think!" It's brief, Severus' flash of anger, and he almost seems to grab it with both hands, shoving it back down within him. When he speaks again, his voice is almost monotonous. "The wolf would've been damned. If their part was discovered, they would've been expelled. And the staff would've been under scrutiny for letting it all unfold under their noses." He pauses. "I doubt Dumbledore would still be Headmaster."
"I'm sure you're right."
"But Potter," Severus waves his wand absently, "got cold feet. He realised. It was almost too late, but he realised."
"He informed a professor?"
"No." Severus looks sickened. "He intervened. He was celebrated as a hero."
"But I thought you were sworn to secr-"
"-we were! I was! But Hogwarts is full of dark and dangerous creatures, especially in the forest at night! There's a reason they call it Forbidden - it's not just a name." He picks at his thumb again. "As far as the story went, there was a danger, and silly, reckless, idiotic Severus went sneaking where he shouldn't have been, whilst brave, calm, heroic Potter risked his life to save him…" He sighs, anguish clear in his tone. "It was like someone spitting in my face, having to hear about how wonderful he was, and how pathetic and stupid I was. Even Lil…" Severus looks miserable. "Even Lil was taken in by it."
"I'm sure she wasn't."
Severus lets out an involuntary shiver. "She was. I always wondered if that's what he was hoping for when he came after me. That whatever happened, she'd see him in a new light, and she'd..." He has torn the skin so badly by his thumb, a small rivulet of blood is running down his wrist, but he doesn't stop picking at the skin. "...and she'd think badly of me. Then he would've won, wouldn't he?"
David keeps staring at Severus, who is fixedly watching the station entrance. "...and how does the dog back home fit into this?"
"I thought he'd have shown his face by now," Severus mutters, ignoring the question, and wiping his wrist with his other hand.
"What happened? You were in shock and thought the dog was the wolf?"
There's a long pause.
"Or was the dog some sort of revenge?"
"Does it matter?" Severus shifts in his seat. "What matters is that I don't trust Potter as far as I can throw him, and I want him and that mangy wolf as far away from my wife and child-"
"-wife? Your rings aren't just a ruse?" David looks heartbroken. "You married Lils without us? Without me and Rosie?"
Severus continues staring straight ahead. "I love her."
"No-one's disputing that," David says, angrily, "but we're her parents! Rose will be devastated-"
"-I'm not apologising," he says, looking mutinous. "Everyone always wants to split us up-"
"-split you up? Severus! Rose and I have supported you both for years, we've looked after-"
"-and now they can't," Severus continues, belligerently. "Not my parents, not you and Rose," and he grips his wand again, "and certainly not James Potter and his rabid pet wolf."
And then, just as David opens his mouth to continue the argument, Severus grins and points his wand towards the windscreen, training it on two men in the distance. "My my, talk of the devil, and he doth appear."
"Anything round the back?"
"No-one came past me," Mulciber says, walking through the kitchen and following Rosier into the front room. On one of the dining room chairs, Rose sits, restrained by wrists and ankles, still unconscious. "Hello, who's this?"
"Some Muggle," Rosier says, disdainfully. "Owner, I assume." He points his wand towards the ornament covered mantelpiece. "Although there's no photographs. Might not even be her house. Cleaner?"
Mulciber bends down, and peers at the unconscious Rose. "Not bad looking for a scrubber," he says, with a smirk.
Avery laughs. "Yeah!"
Mulciber shoots him a withering glance. "Fucking hell, Ave, put your dick back in your shorts." He moves towards Rosier. "Point stands."
"Which is?" Avery asks, his tone abrasive.
"Well, looking like this she isn't related to the ugly git we've come to find, is she?"
Rosier nods sharply. "That would be my reading of the situation." Then he gives a wide grin. "Although if he was her son, it'd explain the lack of photographs. Who'd want that face leering back at you whilst you're reading the newspaper?"
"Stay here."
David watches through the windscreen, his chest tightening as he sees Severus striding over to confront the two men. He can't hear anything that's being said, but he can tell that they're shouting at each other, hands gesticulating wildly, and faces filling with colour.
Suddenly, there's a flash, and then wands are drawn by all three men. Severus and Potter are stood apart, and the third man - the wolf - is standing between them, his arms outstretched, panic written all over his face.
David gets out of the car, and stands behind his open door, shielding his body.
"No. There's no way. Absolutely not," Potter yells. "We've got a deal with her already. I don't want another one with you."
"Just hear him out, Prongs."
"Why does this even matter to you, Potter?" Severus snarls. "I thought your loyalties lay with your wolf-"
"-don't call him that!"
"Both of you," Lupin panics, looking around wildly, "keep it down!"
David places his fingers in his mouth, and whistles loudly, causing all three wizards to turn and look at him - and several bystanders as well. "Lads," he calls, "don't fight. Come and talk in here. Away from the audience." At this last comment, a few of those entering the station look embarrassed to have been caught in the act of gawping, and hasten their exit.
"...who on earth is that?"
"That's Lily's father," Severus says, quietly.
Potter looks stunned. "You're here with Evans' father?"
No, a smug voice in Severus' brain shouts, not Lily Evans' father - Lily Snape's father, but he holds his tongue.
Lupin looks between the two rivals, and then over at the car. "Come on. It's better than causing a scene."
Potter shakes his head. "It might be a trap. Snape here might've confunded him."
"I wish someone would confund you," Severus snaps.
"This was just meant to be a simple collection, not a meeting. It feels like a trap-"
"-it's not a trap, it's just a car with a Muggle in it!" Severus takes in a deep breath, his dark eyes blazing, and then to Potter's surprise, Severus slides his wand up his sleeve. "Right. Show of faith. I don't want a fight. I just want a discussion."
Lupin nods, and stows his wand. "Yes. James, do the same."
"I don't trust him."
"And I don't trust you either, Potter," Severus adds, wearily, "which is why we're all in this very sorry situation in the first place."
Lily creeps back across the landing, listening intently. It doesn't seem two minutes since she was in this same position, listening to her mother and father and Severus and Tobias, and she strains to hear the sounds coming from the living room.
This is all your fault, she thinks. They followed Remus and James here, they must've. How else would they have found this house? Severus will go mad when he…
Severus. She swallows hard. I could Disapparate to Rillwych, and get Severus. And then it hits her - Daddy's already gone to pick him up, to take him to drop the potion. I could go to the station. She holds her wand firmly, trying to picture it. But what if they're not there? What if they're on their way back, and Severus bursts into the scene downstairs and Mummy still thinks I'm up here and he comes charging up here...
Think! her internal voice screams. How long would it have taken Daddy to get to Rillwych and explain to Severus? Then they'd drive to the station and come back to Cokeworth. She taps her fingers, counting it out. There's no point in me doing anything - they'll be here any minute. She takes a deep breath, a sense of relief flooding through her veins. Just hold tight and wait for Severus. He knows these men. He'll know what to do.
There's a sudden noise, but it's muffled, and she tries to focus, to concentrate on what's being said downstairs. She hasn't heard her mother speak at all, but she can hear two men, or perhaps three, and then the living room door is thrown open and she instantly recoils, trying to edge out of sight once more.
Mulciber strides into the hallway and heads straight for the front door. He runs his hands across it, checking for damage. "You didn't need to break in?"
"The key worked."
"Fuck me, you got the right place, Ave," Mulciber concedes. "Impressive."
"But no sign of him."
"Yet," Mulciber says, casting a quick glance upstairs, and Lily takes a shuddering breath, hoping he hasn't seen her. She sits, rigid, unmoving, until she hears his footsteps moving away. "But even if he isn't here, we can have some fun with this Muggle bitch whilst we wait."
Lily's hand tightens around her wand. Not my mother.
"Yeah?"
"Be a sport and stand by this front door, Ave." And then Mulciber looks in her direction again, and Lily's heart feels as if it's going to leap out of her mouth. It feels like he's staring for a minute or more, but it can only be a split-second, and then he looks away, a smile on his face. "Make sure no-one comes in or out whilst we have a pleasant discussion with this Muggle."
Potter gets into the car first, followed by Lupin, and then Severus and David push down the seats, and resume their original positions - Severus in the front passenger seat, David on the driver's side.
"Merlin, it's hot in here."
"It's summer, James," Lupin says, shifting awkwardly on the back seat. "Snape, can you push your seat forward a bit? My legs are crushed."
"The lever's by the side of the seat, Severus," David says, pointing to it.
Severus huffs under his breath, but wrenches it, deliberately slamming it back into Lupin's legs before moving it forward and creating space. "Sorry," he mutters.
"You're not sorry. You did that deliberately," Potter accuses, his eyes narrowing, and he moves as if to release his wand until Lupin spies his action and catches his arm, preventing him from completing the movement.
"Prove it."
"Lads," David says, sternly. "Can you please sort this out before night falls?"
Severus huffs again, but opens the glove box and retrieves the Wolfsbane potion. He holds it aloft, showing it to the two men in the back of the car. "I believe this is what you came for."
"Thank you," Lupin breathes. "I didn't think it'd be ready in time."
Potter looks suspicious. "Didn't know you could speed up brewing like that."
"Didn't you? Then why did you come looking for it?" Severus counters.
"Lads!" David gives a stern look in the mirror towards Potter, and then another towards Severus. "Lils had already brewed it."
Potter leans forward eagerly, his hands on the driver's seat. "Evans had? Then why didn't she-"
"-she didn't have it," Severus interrupts. "I was carrying it."
"To give to Fletcher," Lupin finishes.
Severus throws a stern glance towards David, silently warning him not to interject. "Yes. She didn't want you two idiots-"
"-oi!"
"-trying to track me down yourselves. She thought telling you that she needed to brew it would give her enough time to get a message to me." He shrugs. "And she was right."
David glances over at Severus, uneasy at how calmly and easily the lies trip off his tongue.
Potter looks irritated. "So why not just drop it under the bench like we agreed? Why the big scene, Snape?"
"Why the big fuss in the first place, Potter?" Severus' dark eyes flash with anger. "Why did you both come sniffing around here? Why didn't you wait for the potion to come through Fletcher?"
"It's too risky. There's raids," Lupin starts. "Ow!" He moves away from Potter, rubbing his side. "James, knock it off, he needs to know this stuff-"
"-he doesn't!"
"We told Evans!"
"And Evans is our friend! He's not! He's the enemy, Moons, if you hadn't forgotten!"
"Severus is not the enemy," David interrupts, and the three wizards look up, surprised, as if they'd forgotten he's in the car. "He's my daughter's husband-"
"-fuck off!" Potter leans back in his seat, placing his hands over his face. "Absolutely fuck off! I told you he'd confunded him!"
Lupin leans forward. "Snape, is that true?"
Severus can't help the thin smile that spreads across his face. "It isn't common knowledge," he says, but he raises his left hand, wedding ring on show, "but yes, it's true." His smile grows broader as he hears Potter groaning in despair. "So I must correct Potter's comment earlier, for this is not Mr Evans, Lily Evans' father. This is Mr Evans, Lily Snape's father."
Lily's heart is thundering in her chest as she watches Avery standing in the hallway. His wand is trained on the front door, but he's watching the action in the living room through the open internal door.
She moves as close as she dares, listening intently as Rosier and Mulciber attempt to rouse her mother from her forced magical slumber.
"I want to talk to Remus," Potter says. "In private."
"We'll get out," David offers, "leave you alone for five minutes."
"No, we will," Lupin says, immediately. "I think it'll help if we get some fresh air."
David looks at Severus, who gives a small nod of agreement - and they step out, freeing the two men from the back seat. Lupin stretches and Potter groans.
"I don't know how you can sit in those all day," Potter says, taking in great gulps of air. "It's like an oven."
"Please allow us ten minutes," Lupin says, pulling Potter away.
David glances at Severus as the two men stride across the car park. "Are you happy to let them walk away?"
"Not really," Severus mutters, sliding back into the car, "but I've made my argument. Can't force them to agree to it."
"...no?" David gives him a stern look. "Are you sure? I had the impression earlier that you were gearing up for a fight."
There's a pause.
"Who needs mind reading?" Severus says, quietly, a small smile creeping over his face. "But they don't need to know about Plan B when they're still deliberating over Plan A." And then he turns, and smiles widely at David. "Besides, all credit to you. You may have clinched it for me."
"What did I do?"
"Telling Potter that Lil had married me," Severus says, unable to keep the grin off his face. "Might just be enough for him to realise that keeping tabs on her isn't worth it - that she's a lost cause, no matter how much he sniffs around." He gives a soft laugh. "And even if they don't agree, I think I will die a happy man if I can replay that moment over and over. His reaction was everything I'd ever dreamt of."
"No, Moons, I don't like it," Potter protests, stalking back and forth. "He's sitting there and blaming us for not going through Fletcher, but he was carrying the potion!"
"And?"
"And that means Fletcher didn't have it by his usual time, so even if you had tried to obtain it through the usual channels, you'd have been left empty-handed!"
"He might've been busy."
"Yeah, busy getting fucking married!"
Lupin looks at him, disgust covering his features. "And there it is."
"What?" Potter says, crossing his arms. "What?"
"This isn't about you," Lupin says, more dangerously. "This isn't about you and Evans, or you and Snape, or even Evans and Snape." He leans in a little closer, his voice a little lower. "This is about me. I don't care if they're married. I don't care if they want to live at the top of the tallest castle, or in the depths of the ocean. I don't care if they push potions through Fletcher, or leave them outside train stations, or make me jump through fifty hoops to get them-"
"-don't let him hear you say that," Potter mutters.
Lupin grabs Potter by the neck of his shirt, scrunching the material and almost lifting him off his feet. "I don't care. I thought I could do without it, but I need this potion, James. I need it. And if that means worshipping at Snape's feet-"
"-don't even say it-"
"-then that's what I'll do! And if you're my friend, you'll do the same."
Potter sighs heavily. "But he doesn't want that, does he? He wants to get in your mind and mess about. In my mind and mess about!"
"He wants to protect his wife," Lupin says, quietly, relaxing his hold on Potter. "And if he's told us the truth-"
"-and why would he-"
"-and why wouldn't he, with his father-in-law sat next to him?" Lupin stares at Potter in despair. "There's no other way of getting this potion, Prongs. Not without registering, not without pledging my soul to-"
"-I know."
"I'm glad you know," Lupin says, looking devastated, "because that's what he's just said to you as well. The magical world is a mess. He's running, and she's running, and I want to run too."
"I didn't have you down as such a coward."
"And I didn't have you down as such a poor friend."
Potter reels backwards, as if he's been slapped. "I'm not! Just because I don't want Snivellus meddling in my mind, obliviating me!"
"I think he's been more than reasonable. He's asked for this instead of getting paid this month. He's even offered to cut the brewer's fee for the future! You heard him - we provide the ingredients and drop them at a neutral, mutually agreed location, and he'll make sure a potion is returned in its place."
"Yeah? And what's in it for him?"
"He's already told you. He wants to make sure that nobody can trace him and Evans… Lily back here." Lupin shrugs. "And if he's had the aurors and Merlin knows who else on his trail, who can blame him? He just told you he's lost his apprenticeship again. There's absolutely nothing left for him, especially if he's just married a-"
"-he won't live his life out as a Muggle, I don't care what he says," Potter says, decisively. "He despises them."
"Yeah? Well, tell that to his father-in-law," Lupin says, pointing back to the car where Severus and David are sitting, out of earshot, watching the heated discussion between the two friends. "We need to give him a chance."
Potter shakes his head. "You're as green as grass, Moons. He's lost his job and he's offering to drop the price of the potion? Ludicrous."
"It isn't!" Lupin argues. "He's removing Fletcher's cut from the deal, and the cost of the ingredients! Remember, I said I'd provide them, saving him from going into the magical world?"
"Mark my words, if you're not lining his pockets with galleons, he will not keep delivering that potion to you. He's dropping the price so he can tell Evans that you've reneged on your deal, so she'll walk away without feeling guilty."
"I'm doing it," Lupin says, finally. "Nobody else can get the potion for me."
"Moons!"
"I don't have an alternative." Lupin stares at him, unblinking. "Are you in or out?"
"Well? Do you know him? Severus Snape?"
At the mention of Severus' name, Rose gives an involuntary movement - and Rosier grins broadly.
"Now, now, what was that, Mrs Muggle?" He bends down to look directly in her eyes, a faint smile on his face. "I'd take the silencing spell off, but I think you're going to be a handful, aren't you? Nice neighbourhood like this, if you started screaming, I bet they'd all come running, wouldn't they?" There's a long pause, and then Rosier grins. "Yes, I thought so." He spins his wand in his hands. "Let's play a game - I speak, and you nod for yes, or shake for no. Do you understand?"
Rose sits stiffly, her eyes scanning the room.
"Bit thick," Mulciber laughs, "but then, that's Muggles for you."
"I think she's scared," Avery calls from the hallway.
"Fuck me, Ave," Rosier laughs, "you think that might be the case, do you?" He grins and puts himself back at eye-level with Rose. "My associate out there thinks you might be scared." He points his wand between her eyes, touching it to the bridge of her nose. "Are you? Scared?"
She doesn't move.
Rosier looks surprised at her failure to react, and withdraws his wand. "Not scared, but I can't tell if she's extremely brave or extremely stupid."
"She might not know what it is," Avery offers again, "or what you can do with it. Your wand. If she's a Muggle, I mean."
"I thought you were keeping watch, Ave," Rosier says, pointedly.
"Fair's fair, Ros, he's talking sense," Mulciber says, striding towards Rose. "For once." He flicks his wand and summons a dog ornament off the mantelpiece, catching it deftly in his hand and presenting it in front of Rose. "Did you see that?"
She doesn't move.
"No? Missed it?" Mulciber shrugs. "Then see this." He tosses the ornament into the air. "Reducto!" The porcelain dog explodes, smashing into thousands of tiny shards.
Rose struggles against her bonds, forlornly trying to shield her face from the flying fragments.
"Understand now?" Avery shouts, unable to hide the glee in his voice.
Terrified, Rose nods.
"Good Muggle," Mulciber says, patronisingly, as if he's speaking to a household pet. "Time for a reward." He swirls his wand, and then casts again. "Reparo!" He smiles as the ornament reforms, and he holds it before her, showing her that it's fully repaired. "All better. Good as new."
She nods.
Rosier smiles. "Excellent demonstration, Mulc." He places his wand back between her eyes. "So, Mrs Muggle, would you like us to show you the spell again?"
She doesn't move.
"On something else," Rosier says, quietly. "Not an ornament. I don't like to watch repeats." He pauses. "Perhaps, on yourself?"
There's another pause, and then Rose shakes her head.
Rosier smiles broadly. "Good. It would've made a terrible mess, and I dare say you wouldn't have joined back together quite so neatly." He lowers his voice. "Now that we're all on the same page, I shall ask my question again, Mrs Muggle. Do you know Severus Snape?"
There's a long pause, and Rosier frowns. "I've been very patient, but I'm afraid that I do not intend to ask again. I shall count down, and I suggest you do not allow me to reach zero, unless you would like to feel the effects of that spell upon your body. Five. Four. Three. Two."
Rose hastily nods.
"Good. And one more thing, Mrs Muggle, because you're getting really good at this game..." He lowers his voice further. "Is Severus Snape in this house right now?"
She doesn't move - and after a long moment, Rosier smiles, and flicks his wand in Avery's direction. "I don't think I need to count again. He's upstairs."
"But she didn't say!" Avery protests, glancing up towards where Lily is hiding, who immediately moves further back on the landing.
"Severus Snape is hiding upstairs," Rosier repeats, "and if he's not, I'll turn my wand over to the Dark Lord myself. But don't upset yourself, Ave, you won't be forgotten in all of this. No matter the outcome, both you and Mulciber have performed your parts admirably, and I know how the Dark Lord likes to reward his followers. He would wish for me to continue the tradition, I am certain."
"Thanks, Ros, but service to the Dark Lord is enough-"
"-don't grovel, Ave," Mulciber laughs. "His Lordship can't hear you now. I'm rather interested in what Ros is offering us as a consolation prize."
"If Snape isn't here, before we depart, I will let you both indulge in what I know are your favoured hobbies." Rosier gives a nasty smile. "Mulc, I know how fond you are of playing with cursed fire."
Avery is breathless. "You can cast Fiendfyre?"
"It would be entertaining for you, Mulc, and useful for me. I trust that you would be able to destroy all of this," and Rosier waves his hand, indicating to the house around him, "before the Muggle authorities see fit to descend upon us?"
Mulciber smiles. "Naturally, Ros. You know how I like to keep my hand in."
"And me?" Avery asks, greedily.
"And for you, Ave," Rosier throws his arms open, "I bequeath to you Mrs Muggle herself."
"You want me to…" Avery looks stunned. "With a Muggle?"
Rosier grins. "I don't see why one would be beneath you, Ave. It certainly hasn't been beneath your friend Snape, has it?" He leers nastily in Rose's direction. "Speaking of being beneath, I bet you've been under Snape, haven't you, Mrs Muggle? Is that why you let him stay here? Pays in kind, does he?"
Rose doesn't react to his goading, staring straight ahead, as if the horrifying prospect of being left to Avery's mercy has rendered her deaf, unable to react to such awful statements being made about her and her daughter's partner.
"I told you Snape was a Muggle-fucker," Mulciber laughs. "Now get upstairs, Ave," he barks, "and discover all of our fates."
Lupin approaches the car, Potter two steps behind, and David and Severus get out to meet them.
"Made a decision, boys?" David asks.
"We're in," says Lupin.
Severus stares directly at Potter. "Both of you?"
"Yes," Lupin says, firmly.
Severus looks pleased, smiling as he draws his wand.
"Don't leer at me like that, Sniv," Potter snaps, "else this whole thing is off."
"Do James first," Lupin interrupts, leaning heavily on the car. "Then give him the potion-"
"-no potion until I've taken the memory from both of you."
"You're not wiping both of us without giving us the potion," Potter snaps.
"Do as he says, Severus," David says, wearily. "Some of us want to get home this evening."
"He's being inaccurate," Severus complains, "and missing the point entirely, as per usual. I'm not wiping your memory, Potter. You can have the potion after I've done it."
Lupin holds up his hand. "Talk us through it again. You poke around and find the memory of this town, and then cut it out?"
Severus nods. "A pure obliviate is too strong. I'm not trying to wipe the last week or so from your minds. Not even most of this evening, for that matter." His eyes narrow. "Although I could probably do without you knowing that I am now a married man."
"Merlin, you can get rid of that memory," Potter says. "Gladly!"
Severus' lips twist into a smile. "Then that's where we'll start, shall we?" He takes his ring off, placing it into his pocket. "I'll get rid of your knowledge of my marriage, and if we're happy with the results, I'll get rid of Cokeworth."
"Then James goes with the potion," Lupin barters. "You take him somewhere. Disapparate."
Severus looks dubious. "And leave you intact? Here? Alone?"
"I'll be with Mr Evans."
"He's a Muggle." Severus catches Potter's furious look. "It's a statement of fact, Potter. If he decides to Disapparate himself-"
"-I won't. Bind me," Lupin offers. "You can bind my wrists, and take my wand, and I'll sit in the car with Mr Evans until you come back." He nods. "Then you can do the same to me, and take me to James."
Potter groans. "Unbelievable, Moony."
Severus nods, ignoring Potter. "And where do you want dropping? Somewhere like Diagon? The Leaky Cauldron?"
"Not with Wolfsbane, you fool," Potter snaps. "Haven't you listened to a word that Moony's been telling you? Muggle London will do."
"And what will you both make of being there?" Severus argues. "It'll seem strange."
"Back to mine then," Lupin says.
Potter shakes his head. "I'm not having him know where you live if we can't know where he is."
"Hogsmeade? We would assume we were going for a drink in the Hog's Head?"
"I'm not dropping you at the Hog's," Severus argues. "It's Death Eater central."
Potter looks at him, suspicion crossing his face. "And how would you know that?"
"Round the back of the Three Broomsticks," Lupin says, immediately. "That'll do."
"Fine," barks Severus, lifting his wand. "Let's get on with it. I need to find the memory to disconnect it first, so look at me, Potter."
Potter looks perturbed. "Just that one memory. Don't go poking around in anything else."
"You'll be able to see everything that I touch," Severus says, placing his wand at the side of Potter's head. "I suggest you try and bring the memory to the foreground, as it will save me from needing to dig. Now, prepare yourself. Legilimens!"
Lily hears Mulciber's command a split second before she sees Avery's boot hit the stairs, and she hurries across to her parents' bedroom in a blind panic. She looks through the window, hoping to see her father's car pulling into the drive, or Severus loping up the path, but neither of them are in sight.
Where are you, Sev?
The footsteps are loud, and she can hear movement in Petunia's bedroom, as if someone's tipping over the boxes, spilling the contents within. If he sees what's in those, he'll definitely know that Severus has been here. She darts out of the master bedroom and into her own bedroom.
She's shaking, pressing herself behind the door as she hears the footsteps cross the landing again, this time entering the bathroom. She can hear the door being swung violently open, and the shower curtain being ripped off the rail, and then the footsteps enter the master bedroom.
She looks at her wand. I can't leave Mummy. You have to, she thinks, think of Bean. She places her hand against her side and scrunches up her eyes, trying to think of somewhere to run to - destination, determination, deliberation, she chants, but the images are blurry, and although fear is gripping her heart like ice, there's something steely inside her. You won't. You can't. You can't leave your mother here, to suffer brutality at the hands of Avery, to perish in Mulciber's fire. Where's that Gryffindor bravery, Lily?
There's another crash, and another thud, and then the footsteps start across the landing again - bang, bang, BANG.
Gryffindor bravery? More like Gryffindor stupidity, she can almost hear Severus sneering. She brushes a tear from her cheek and inhales deeply, removing her wedding ring from her finger. Her hand shakes as she reaches for the middle dresser drawer, drops the ring inside, and fumbles amongst the vials of the perfectly brewed potions for everything she needs - and then, bile burning in the back of her throat, she tips the glass bottle back and forces herself to swallow the contents in one.
Her bedroom door is wrenched open with such force, it splinters on its hinges. Lily tries not to jump, tries not to leap up from the floor in surprise, where she's now sat, a cauldron - containing a long dead potion - positioned between her feet.
She tries to exude a laconic air, hoping that her casual demeanour is successfully covering her furiously banging heart and the internal voice which is screaming incessantly.
Taking a deep breath, she offers the man a lopsided smile and her very best impression of her husband. "Hello, Ave. What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here? Fucking hell, Sev! What the fuck are you doing hiding away in a place like this?"
Chapter 104: A wanted man
Notes:
All chapter warnings from the previous two chapters apply. Peril for all concerned.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Lily leans back from the cauldron, and indicates to it with her open palm. "What does it look like I'm doing?" she asks, Severus' lopsided smile fixed on her face. "I'm brewing."
"I can see that much, Sev," Avery says, crouching down so that his face is level with Lily's, "but you can brew anywhere." There's a brief pause, and Avery glances over his shoulder, his voice a little lower. "Normal places."
She shrugs, turning her attention back to the potion. "I don't mind it here."
"You don't mind it here?" Avery looks lost for words. "Sev, come on, be reasonable. Look around you," he presses, earnestly.
Lily rolls her eyes, and makes a show of looking left and right. "What?"
"Muggles! That's what!"
"...how did you find me?"
He ignores the question, but straightens, towering above her. "Whatever's happened, we can sort it out." He glances around the room, absently at first - but then he catches her stricken expression, Severus' face unusually full of fear, and he takes a step over towards the set of drawers, his fingers lightly trailing up and over some old childhood ornaments, even fumbling with the delicate lace doily beneath a plant, protecting the wood from water seeping from the pot.
She can feel her blood racing in her ears - or rather, Severus' blood racing in Severus' ears - and as she breathlessly watches Avery taking in the room and its decor, his eyes roaming over her belongings, and her eyes following in his wake, she feels bile rising in her throat.
It only takes one thing, she thinks. One small item that we've forgotten to pack, and he'll work out that this isn't a nest that Severus has forcibly cuckooed his way into, but a room into which he was lovingly invited and warmly welcomed.
She watches as he makes his way over to the bookcase, thick fingers caressing the spines of her books - her personal childhood library. As the thought strikes her, her hand begins to shake. He only has to open one of those books up, and see the name inscribed in the front - some in her own childish writing, some in her mother and father's hand, some carefully typed. Books as presents, books received as awards, books inherited from Petunia - with Petunia's name carelessly scrawled out and, "This book belongs to LILY," carefully scribed below, lest Petunia take it upon herself to try and reclaim it at a later date.
He can't see that this is my room, she frets. He'll know that Sev and I are still together, and that's irrefutable proof that Severus didn't willingly walk back into the fold, his change of heart true and just - but that this was always a setup, from the very start.
She shifts, subtly - and it works, it's enough to distract Avery from the bookcase. Of course it is, she thinks, barely daring to watch him, why would a wizard want to start looking through a bunch of books aimed at seven year olds?
And then, to her horror, Avery grips the drawer that contains Severus' potions and tugs it open. Her heart flutters, terrified that he'll spy her wedding ring - terrified that he'll recognise its magical properties, terrified that she'll have to talk him out of taking it, terrified that she'll need to rustle up a story about why Severus would secrete a witch's wedding ring in a Muggle house that he was temporarily hiding in.
"Been busy," Avery comments, swirling his hand through the drawer, the potion vials clinking against each other.
"What can I say," she mutters, daring to put her hand onto the drawer. She locks eyes with Avery, and then, she deliberately hardens her gaze, doing her best to provide a credible imitation of her husband - and she pushes the drawer shut, "I've always liked brewing."
To her surprise, Avery doesn't protest - but steps away.
Oh, she thinks. He regards Severus as his equal.
"Then come home with me. You can brew there."
She doesn't have an answer for this, and she looks down, staring at the flame beneath the cauldron.
"...Sev," Avery tries again, "look at me."
Reluctantly, she lifts her gaze to meet his.
"We can sort this out. Whatever's happened, whatever you've done - we'll be ok. I'm your mate, remember? You just need to tell me what's going through your mind."
Lily almost flinches at his phrasing, and instinctively glances away again. Can he use Legilimency? She desperately scours her memory for any mention Severus made of Avery - but she's drawing a blank. In her terror, she can't recall whether Severus simply hadn't mentioned Avery's likes and dislikes, skills and talents - or whether she wasn't listening, or whether she just can't remember in the throes of panic.
Breathe, she thinks. I can't remember Sev mentioning it. He probably can't use Legilimency. How many even know about it? She exhales slowly, trying to regain her composure. ...but you can't rely on guesswork. You know Sev was practising Occlumency, and he constantly had his guard raised when he was being sent amongst them. Maybe this is why - maybe they can all do it.
"Sev?" Avery leans in over her, and even though she's in Severus' form, with his much longer limbs and far taller frame, Avery's imposing - a broad man with broad shoulders and an even broader brow. "Sev… You should know that Mulciber and Rosier are downstairs. We need to get this straight before we go down. I can't back you up unless I know the truth."
I know they're downstairs. With my mother! She barely trusts herself to speak. "Here?" she says, feigning ignorance. "Mulc and Ros are here? What are they doing here?"
"They want to talk to you," Avery says, his voice lower again, "and look, Sev, I want to help you."
"Help me how?" She narrows her eyes, hoping that she's accurately emulating Severus' suspicious glare, and as they make eye contact, she feels herself slide into the front of Avery's thoughts - it's so smooth, it's like a spoon sliding through yoghurt, and she has to hold back a gasp of surprise. The feeling of guilt ringing within Avery's mind is almost overwhelming, and she immediately slips back out before he can sense anything is awry. "...you brought them both here, didn't you?"
Avery blinks, dumbly, and then she sees the guilt that she'd intruded on in his mind now splashed all over his expression instead. "...I didn't have a choice!" The guilt quickly evaporates, replaced by a more resolute look. "You need to understand that you're a wanted man. In demand."
"I know I'm a wanted man! Why do you think I'm hiding?" she hisses.
"That's what I was asking!" Avery glances behind him again, as if fearful that the door is going to slam open. "We haven't got long. You need to trust me, Sev. We can tell them your story and-"
"-I'm not going back," she says, quickly, deliberately touching her forearm.
A glimmer of triumph flashes across Avery's face. "I get it. I get it, Sev."
"You don't, Ave."
"I do. You don't have to be scared. It was all a misunderstanding," he says, his tone filled with excitement. "The Dark Lord understands that you were incapacitated. That your failure to appear wasn't desertion."
"It felt as if I was on fire," she intones, dully, remembering Severus' graphic description of the punishment administered via the Dark Mark. "The spell was so powerful, the smell of my burnt flesh lingered in my nostrils for days. I bled like a waterfall." She shoots Avery a dark look. "I thought that's how they'd find me, dead-"
"-Sev, don't-"
"-lying in the Ministry's cell, in a pool of my own blood. My life, extinguished through a tattoo." She shoots him a dark look. "And you think I shouldn't be scared? I'm fucking terrified, Ave!"
Avery's fingers rest on her shoulder, gripping it. "He thought you were lost to us."
"He almost made it so."
"But now you are found, brother," Avery says, his fingers squeezing her flesh more tightly, "so let's get you out of this Muggle cesspit and take you home."
"Confundus!"
"No, stop, you didn't say-"
"-shut up, wolf!" Severus' face is screwed up in concentration, his wand pointed towards Potter. He twists his wrist, and then flicks his hand, and then he steps backwards.
David looks shocked, staring between Lupin and Severus and the stunned form of Potter. "Is he going to be okay?"
"Yes," Severus says, his eyes not leaving Potter.
"We don't know that," Lupin says, fiercely, concern etched on his face.
"We don't," Severus agrees with a sneer, "but I do." He keeps his wand angled in the same direction, eyes trained on Potter.
"You didn't need to hit him with a confusion-"
"-he needs to be disoriented when he comes around," Severus argues, loudly, "else he'll try and put together the pieces."
"That works?" Lupin frowns. "I thought the point of this was that you were going to cut out the threads of the memory?"
"I have! But it's magic, wolf, not infallible. I think this gives us the best chance of success." With a huff, he swishes his wand again, and then takes a step backwards.
As if a light has snapped on, Potter recoils and then blinks furiously, first taking in the three men standing next to him, and then the railway car park, and he frowns at first, as if trying to place the unusual Muggle surrounds.
Lupin reaches for him, concerned at his apparent disorientation. "All right, Prongs? Know where you are?"
"Yes," Potter says, shrugging Lupin's warm hand from off his arm, "I'm fine."
"And you know what you're doing here?" Severus asks, his wand still gripped in his hand.
Potter nods stiffly.
Severus rolls his eyes. "Care to share with the group?"
Immediately, Potter's wand is in his fist, his face filled with hatred. "You're such a-"
"-James!" Lupin grabs him again, pulling him away from Severus. "Calm down, we're working together, remember?"
"You owe me for this, Moons, that's all I can say."
Lupin gives a tight smile. "Oh, I am certain of that." He indicates towards Severus. "And why are we here?"
"We've come for the potion."
Severus points his wand towards David. "And do you know who this is?"
"Evans' father."
Lupin grins broadly. "Lily Evans?"
Potter gives him a strange look. "Yes, Lily Evans. How many Evanses do you know, Moons?" There's a pause, and then Potter smirks, looking at David and then back at Severus. "But it does remind me…"
Lupin exchanges a fearful look with Severus. "...yes?"
"I seem to remember Peter's favourite tale of how he saved Evans from your evil clutches, Snivellus. And yet here you are. With Evans' father."
"Prongs, don't do this-"
"-no, no, Moons," Potter says, with a dark smile, "I'm looking forward to hearing the truth straight from the source. I thought the big story was that she had befriended Malfoy, and that you and her were history, Sniv?"
Severus' shoulders tense. "You want to spend less time reading Witch Weekly," he snaps.
Potter smiles more broadly. "I'm wounded," he laughs. "What's rattled your cage, Snivvy? Have I hit a nerve? You've lost Evans to someone worthier, and now you can't convince anyone else to look twice at you? Had to run to her family to try and talk them into taking up your cause?"
"Worthier?" Severus scoffs. "I thought your lot didn't believe in blood purity?"
"I didn't say it was your blood that was the problem." Potter grins. "Go on, Sniv, you can tell us - are you some sort of masochist? Can't help yourself from sniffing around, even though she was cheating on you, fooling around with another wizard?"
Severus steps forward, wand still in hand. "That's rich, coming from you! You've pestered her for years, hassling her-"
"-I didn't hassle her, I was offering her an option!"
"She didn't need options! She was with me!"
"All the more reason for me to show her what else was available! I was giving her an opportunity, reminding her that there are other avenues, better wizards-"
"-and you did that in my flat! Sneaking in to see her behind my back, whilst I was at work! Drinking from my mugs, your feet under my table, sitting on my sofa! We all know what sort of wizard you are, Potter!"
Potter steps closer, threateningly. "No different from your old friend Malfoy, then, am I?"
"You don't know anything about me - not about me and Malf, and certainly not about me and…Evans."
"No? I don't know anything?" Potter looks amused. "How about this - I know you tricked her into being with you-"
"-I didn't trick her-"
"-why else would she even look twice at you-"
"-we were friends!"
"Some sort of love potion, was it? Lust potion? Or something that temporarily blinded her?"
"She chose me! Over you, Potter, remember that! Over you!"
"Whatever it was that you gave her, it was some sort of long lasting thing," Potter laughs. "Or maybe you've been drugging her all these years, all through school and all-"
Severus catches sight of David's horrified expression and interrupts angrily. "Fuck you, Potter! I haven't given her anything!" he insists, as much for David's benefit as Potter's. "I wouldn't have ever needed to. She wanted me. Desired me. I know it's difficult for you to understand seeing as she never reciprocated your advances, but she wasn't just a willing participant, but the instigator of our relationship!"
"You're clever enough to create such a potion, I'll give you that. But what does it matter?" Potter says, refusing to be distracted from his tirade. "It's worn off now, and she's seen the light, and I think I might try my luck now that she's back on the market."
"She isn-"
"How dare you!" David shouts, swiftly stepping between the two boys, pushing them apart with his arms outstretched. "How dare you both talk about my daughter as if she was nothing more than chattel for your own amusement."
"Sorry, David," Severus says quickly, his face still filled with rage.
"Apologies, Mr Evans," Potter adds, not taking his eyes from Severus.
Lupin steps uneasily next to David. "I think we should focus on the potion. We're in agreement, yes? Snape removes the memory of this location, and then we can make the exchange?"
Severus nods, his wand still poised in the air. "The sooner the better."
"James?"
"I'd rather Moons did it-"
"-the wolf doesn't know the spell," Severus snaps, "it's me, or nothing."
"Nothing it is!"
"Snape is doing it," Lupin insists, resolutely, before Potter can dissent. "James, you will need to bring all of your memories to the foreground - how we got here, the map, the way we knocked on the doors-"
"-I thought Sniv just said you can't do this? Sounds to me like you're an expert on this sort of magic, Moons!" Potter scowls, straightening his shoulders.
"Just do as he says, Potter, and focus on those memories so I can find them easily," Severus hisses, pointing his wand at him, "else I'll enjoy myself, having a little poke around in your mind-"
"-no way," Potter says, turning - but before he can stride off, Lupin grabs him, and pushes him back towards Severus.
"Don't you dare," Lupin hisses. "Best friends, remember?"
Potter's nostrils flare.
"Remember?" Lupin presses. "Or have I dreamt the last few years? I thought you'd got my back, and I'd got yours?"
Potter stares over Lupin's shoulder - towards Severus - with intense dislike, his expression dark.
"Best friends or not, James?"
"...yes," Potter admits, eventually. "Best friends."
"Good. Thank you," Lupin says, moving back to the side of him, squeezing his hand.
"How very touching." Severus offers a sarcastic smile as he places his wand to the side of James' head.
Potter flinches, his wand outstretched once more. "And you can wipe that sick leer-"
"-off my face," Severus finishes, his smile even wider. "Yes, I do believe I've heard such sentiments from you before."
"Don't be reckless, Snape," Lupin warns.
"What?" he scoffs. "I merely-"
"-just do what we said, Sniv, else this whole thing is off," Potter snaps, before looking apologetically at Lupin. "Best friends or not."
Immediately, Severus' expression becomes blank, as if he's drawn a mask over his face, and when he speaks, his tone is icy. "As you wish," he says - and then he takes another step forward, closing the gap between them, and he presses his wand against Potter's head. "Brace yourself, Potter! Legilimens!"
"You don't have to rush," Avery says, keeping his distance as he watches her hurriedly tidying the cauldron, "I could tell them-"
"-no, it's fine. It's finished."
"Really? I know how funny you are about potions - how volatile they can be if you don't do precisely what the instructions say." He grins. "Remember that dragon eyeball?" He mimes an explosion, glee over his face.
"Yes," she lies, hoping that he isn't about to embark on a story that she needs to know specific details for, "but don't worry, I've got this under control." She quickly decants the useless contents of the cauldron into a vial. "See? No explosions."
"Good," he says, pulling the door open, "let's go then."
She knows that with the combination of the concealment spell and the Polyjuice, there's no chance of sensing Bean within her - but as she follows Avery across the landing and down the stairs, she can't help but run her hand over Severus' abdomen, desperately seeking for a sign of the child that she's been so used to feeling over the last few months - but there's nothing. She jams her hands into Severus' jeans pockets, forcing the fear from her mind, and instead focusing on perfecting Severus' saunter as she follows Avery into the living room.
"Well well, no need to turn yourself in, Ros," Mulciber says, with a wide grin, "although I am disappointed that I won't have the opportunity to practice my favourite spell."
Rosier, for his part, slowly claps as he sees Severus appear behind Avery. "Well done, Ave. Welcome back, Snape."
"Ros," she says, trying to hide the tremor in her voice. "Mulc."
"Not greeting your lovely host?" Rosier says, pointing towards Rose. "I would've thought you two would be intimately acquainted."
Lily glances at her mother, who looks at her in horror - and Lily can't tell whether Rose is terrified at the situation, or her sudden transformation into Severus and what that means for her and Bean, or both.
"We were having a little wager, the three of us," Mulciber says, moving towards her and clapping her on the shoulder, "as to whether you really were letting Malfoy fuck you and the Mudblood you were shagging was a cover, or whether you were still pining after the only girl who has ever sucked your dick without you paying her."
"All right, lads-" she starts, weakly, desperately ignoring the look of shock on her mother's face and swallowing hard as Mulciber takes a step towards Rose. "No need for any of that."
"But looks like Malf's the one who's been out of luck," Mulciber says, quietly, his finger running down Rose's cheek, "if this little Muggle is anything to go by. Is she a good lay, then?"
"I'd have preferred he was fucking a wizard, as long as he was Pure," Rosier says, lazily, "rather than whatever this is."
"It's not!" she almost shouts, and at their look of surprise, she colours, and lowers her voice. "I wouldn't… I wouldn't fuck a Muggle," she protests, still not looking at her mother, "course I wouldn't. This is… This isn't…" She falters, desperately trying to think of a cover story. "She's a relative."
Avery raises a sceptical eyebrow. "This Muggle is a relative?" He scoffs. "I've seen a photo of your mother. She looks just like you." It's his turn to take a step closer to Rose, his hands now on her shoulders. "This bitch looks nothing like her."
"My da," she says, quickly. "You know my background. It's his cousin. This is his cousin's wife. Big family. We're close."
"Close?" Avery looks cheated. "I thought you'd left all that stuff behind you. I thought you said your family was-"
"-I am with you," she interrupts, earnestly, glancing at Mulciber and Rosier, unsure of how much of Severus' background they already know for certain - not even sure how much Avery himself is aware of.
Rosier gives her a disdainful look. "You are hiding out amongst Muggles, distant relatives or not. Hardly the actions of a loyal Death Eater." He pauses, taking in her strained expression. "Correct me if I am wrong, but you were marked, were you not?"
"I saw it," Mulciber interrupts.
Rosier raises his hand, silencing him. "I didn't ask you, Mulc. I asked our friend Snape, here."
The familiar sting of bile builds in the back of her throat as she mulls over her answer, fearful that the wrong answer might send her - send Severus - to meet with the Dark Lord, intent on resurrecting the ugly magical stain on her husband's arm.
"...yes," she says, finally.
"That was a very long pause," Rosier observes. "Had you forgotten the particulars of that evening?"
"No," she says, answering more quickly, "but…"
"He means that it's not there now," Avery chips in, trying to be helpful and then immediately shrinking back against the wall when he sees Rosier's angry expression.
"Yes. I wasn't sure… I wasn't sure what that meant." This time, she can't keep the tremor out of her voice.
Rosier and Mulciber exchange a look that she can't quite read; as if they're hunters amused by the fearful actions of their prey.
Please, Merlin, don't let them take me to him, don't let him mark me!
"I can prove I'm with you," she blurts out, throwing all caution to the wind.
Mulciber laughs at her outburst. "You can, can you, Snape? Even without your mark?"
"Yes," she says, more confidently - and she slides the vial of half-brewed potion down her sleeve and presents it to them. "I heard you were looking for Wolfsbane."
Notes:
And if you made it this far, hello again! I'm really glad you're still reading. :)
I apologise for my unexpected absence. It turns out that my apparent recovery was er, 'the eye of the storm' instead. I have to take it easy over the next few weeks, but fingers crossed, I should be on the mend now. :)
Chapter 105: Sniv
Chapter Text
Despite the car windows and doors being firmly shut, Severus' furious crack of Disapparation rings loudly in their ears. David looks over towards Lupin, who is sitting pensively in the passenger seat, his wrists tied tightly - too tightly - together with magical rope.
"So," David says, uneasily.
"So," Lupin echoes, and the two fall back into silence.
They sit for a moment, watching two pigeons battling it out over a piece of discarded bread. And I thought watching Songs of Praise in polite silence with Severus was tedious, David thinks.
"I can't say this is how I imagined I would spend my evening," David offers, eventually.
"No," Lupin agrees, with a warm smile. "Me neither."
"Does it hurt?" he asks.
Lupin looks alarmed, and then when David points towards his hands, he understands that he's referring to his immediate plight, and not his cursed affliction. "Oh! Yeah," he says, moving them awkwardly. "Smarts a bit."
"Severus could've left them a little looser," David muses. "Let me see."
Lupin dutifully holds his arms out, and David peers at the bonds, wincing as he sees how deeply the magical twine is cutting into Lupin's skin.
"I could try to ease it."
Lupin gently withdraws his arms, and settles his hands back in his lap. "It's magical." Then he offers David a quick grin. "And personal."
"So I see," David says, looking unimpressed.
"A day or so yet," Lupin says, cheerfully, "but I imagine Snape doesn't monitor the full moon as closely as I do. I understand his concern."
"I think of his father as Snape," David says, absently tapping his fingers against the driver side window, "not Severus."
"And now your daughter," Lupin says.
"Yes." David looks thoughtfully towards Lupin. "Were you surprised?"
"No."
"Really?"
There's something unnerving about David's intense look, and Lupin shrugs uncomfortably. "You know them better than I do."
"Hardly. I'm her father. You were peers."
"I was Lily's peer," Lupin hastily corrects. "I didn't know Snape."
"Sniv."
"I…" Lupin trails off, his brow furrowed. "I'm sorry, I don't think I heard?"
David offers him a strange smile. "I think you did. Your friend. That's what he called Severus." His smile doesn't drop. "So it does sound like you know him."
"A little," Lupin concedes.
"Strange nickname. Sniv."
"He's a strange wizard."
David gives Lupin a quelling look. "What does it mean?"
There's a very long silence - so long, David is certain that Lupin isn't going to offer an explanation - but he waits patiently, hoping that Lupin will answer the question. It takes longer than he expects, but eventually, Lupin looks sheepishly towards him. "Snivellus. It's short for Snivellus."
"Snivellus?" David frowns. "I don't understand the reference. Was he particularly tearful at school?"
This time, Lupin doesn't offer an answer.
"Or was it just that it rhymed with Severus?" This time, David doesn't wait for an answer. "Whereas Severus' nickname for you is rather more literal, isn't it?"
Lupin stiffens.
"Wolf," David continues. "That's what Severus calls you."
At this, Lupin shuffles uneasily in his seat, his eyes darting across the car park, as if willing Severus to return. "Yes," he admits.
"Not nice."
"No."
"...which came first?" David presses. "Sniv or wolf?"
"Does it matter?"
David shrugs, a slight smile playing on his lips. "I was just making an observation."
There's another silence.
"Sniv," Lupin says, eventually. "Sniv first."
David nods, tightly. "You don't use it yourself."
"No. Not now."
"Not now," David muses, understanding the implication in Lupin's words, "yet he still calls you wolf."
Lupin looks awkward. "I haven't seen him for years. It didn't seem right to speak to him like that anymore."
"...not now he has a potion that you need."
Lupin looks away, colour filling his cheeks. "I don't… I didn't always agree with what they did, but Snape… He's difficult."
"I can imagine," David says, purposely looking away. "I've known him since he was a boy."
"And he was always the same?"
"I think you've known him almost as long," David says, quietly. "The other boy…"
"James?"
"...has it always been like that between them?"
"Oh no," Lupin says, lightly, "it used to be much worse." He offers David a weak smile, as if he's relieved to be discussing others rather than himself. "They provoke each other."
"I would say, as a bystander, that your friend James was goading Severus."
"You're his father-in-law, you're hardly unbiased!"
"...I didn't say I was impartial. I said I was a bystander."
"Well, you saw how Snape bit back," Lupin says, loyally. "They're as bad as each other."
"And all this is because of Lils?"
"Because of a lot of things," Lupin says, carefully. "There's houses-"
"-I know about the houses."
"Yeah? Well, Snape was a Slytherin, and we were all in Gryffindor." He shrugs. "Says it all."
David gives a dismissive laugh. "Hardly. Lils was in Gryffindor, and she married him."
"And James would say that there was no accounting for taste."
"If only he could remember that they are together."
"If he can remember, we're all in strife," Lupin repeats, with a smile. "...I'm glad we'll forget."
David looks astonished. "You're glad you'll forget? You dislike Lily's choice of partner that much?"
"You've heard of love at first sight?"
David gives a wry smile. "I wouldn't say that they-"
"-I'm not talking about the happy couple," Lupin clarifies quickly. "James and Snape. They were the opposite of love at first sight. They despised each other at first sight - as soon as they set eyes on each other. It grew worse with each year that passed."
"But why?"
Lupin sighs. "Blood is an issue, even if James says it isn't. Money. Their standing in the school - prefect badges, and sports cups, and academic prowess. Friends. And I know you dismissed the idea of the houses being important, but they are when you're there. They seem destined to be tied into our political beliefs. Politics matters in our world. Especially at the moment."
"Politics?" David sounds sceptical. "At eleven? That sounds even more unlikely than Lils being the cause."
"I believe they had some sort of a fight on the train before they even got into Hogwarts, and long before either of them truly set their romantic sights on Ev-Lily," Lupin corrects himself. "And after that…" He shrugs. "I think I'm right in saying that James' politics are more like Lily's, and I know I'm biased as I'm his friend, but James has everything else too! He has more money, he has better blood, he is the better sportsman, he was Head Boy at school, he has important connections in society, and…" Lupin leans over, conspiratorially. "...although I am no expert, I would say that he has much nicer hair."
Despite himself, David smiles. "Well, it looked a little unruly to me, but I see what you're suggesting." He looks thoughtful. "And do you think there's any truth in what James was saying? About Severus' treatment of my daughter? Of why they're together?"
"There's no such drug."
"He's meant to be some sort of expert with these potions."
"Snape is, but there's no such thing. ...I hate to say it, but James is jealous," Lupin explains. "Losing out to a Pureblood wizard with the riches and standing of Lucius Malfoy would've been one thing, but to a Halfblood nobody like Severus Snape?" Lupin shrugs. "James doesn't understand it. He thinks she's been drugged because he can't see any other reason why she'd choose Snape, least of all over him. All James can see is the nasty, angry, greasy kid that he used to fight with - and he can't see how Lily sees anything different."
"And is that how you see Severus?" David presses. "A nasty, angry, greasy kid that you used to fight with?"
"I wouldn't put it quite like that. I don't really think about him at all. I'm grateful for his involvement with getting me the potion, and that's about it."
"You'd consider yourself friends with Lils?"
Lupin pauses. "I'd like to think so."
"But not her husband? Even though you say he also has a hand in this potion?"
Lupin shakes his head. "No. Even if we both lived to be three hundred, I doubt we'd ever be friends."
"...because you tried to kill him?"
Lupin recoils, as if he's been slapped. "You know about…" He exhales loudly. "You know, and you're still willing to be sat here with me?"
David raises his eyebrow. "I have to say, I was surprised. Talking to you like this. You seem a reasonable sort."
"And what? You were expecting some sort of feral monster?" Lupin spits, harshly.
"Truthfully, I didn't know what to expect. It's not everyday that I meet a man who transforms into a dangerous creature."
"No?" Lupin stares at him, bitterness etched across his face. "He slices people up, do you know that?"
"...I am aware that Severus has been in such trouble." David stares at Lupin, his voice even. "Is that why you decided to attack him? To stop him from hurting others?"
Lupin gives a harsh laugh. "I didn't decide anything. It was all Sirius."
"I'm sorry?"
"Sirius. He's a friend of ours, and if you think it's bad between James and Snape, you've not seen anything yet. If Sirius had been with me today instead of James, I think one of them would've finished the other off."
David looks alarmed. "And is he another love interest? This Sirius?"
"No, not at all. Least, I don't think so." He looks thoughtful. "I think even if Sirius did like Lily, he'd have stepped to one side because James has been so emphatic over the years."
"Ah. A true friend."
"Yes," Lupin says. "We all are."
"Even though you say he was the instigator of…" David waves his hand, uncertain how to put the event into words. "I don't think I could see him as a friend after that." He peers at the young wizard. "Unless Severus was right, and you were aware-"
"-no!" Lupin looks at him, aghast. "I'm a man, not a monster!" He stares at David in horror. "I have no desire to hurt anyone. That's why I want the potion. It helps me to keep my human mind during the change."
"The kids said that this potion is a recent invention. You didn't have your human mind when you were face-to-face with Severus," David reasons, softly.
"And if Snape had been completely successful in his uninvited intrusion into my hiding place," Lupin spits, "yes, it's likely he'd have met his end." He stares at David earnestly. "But it wouldn't have been intentional! Not from my side! I've told you, I don't want to hurt anyone! Why would I have risked my education, my life, just for some silly fight between Snape and Sirius or Snape and James?"
"You said they were your friends. James has risked a lot for you tonight. Maybe you felt like you owed this Sirius boy? I'm sure your good friends would've helped to make it seem like an accident."
"I'm not a murderer."
"And what if Severus was?"
Lupin stiffens, his eyes darting over David's face. "What are you saying?"
"You told me that he slices people up," David says, quietly, "and I know that's true." He leans towards Lupin. "You said you are from different houses, that you have different politics - that yours are like Lily's. And what does that mean? That Severus' are different?"
Lupin gives a slight nod.
"...so what if you thought you were doing a good deed? Getting rid of someone dangerous? Murdering an innocent teenager is one thing, but what about killing a killer, a killer who believes in a different political regime?"
There's a drawn out silence, and then eventually, Lupin's shoulders slump. "I wasn't involved," he reiterates firmly, and then he continues, his voice soft, "...and I only know that Snape started knifing people after…" He trails off.
"After?"
"After." Lupin looks sickened. "He was always a bit odd," he says, "but he wasn't like that. Not until that night. Something in him changed."
David nods, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "Pretty scary, being fed to a wolf, I imagine."
"Pretty scary almost being decapitated by a magical knife with a lunatic wielding it over you and screaming in your face," Lupin counters, his expression dark. "I don't care what he's told you, or even what Lily has told you, Snape is not some sort of innocent victim in all of this. He didn't have to retaliate! He went out of his way to get his sick and twisted revenge."
"You just said that the encounter changed him."
"Yeah, and so what?" Lupin looks angry. "If Snape changed that night, he's responsible for letting that happen! Look at me - I don't let the monster inside me take control. I control it."
David looks at him curiously. "But not without the help of a potion."
"I take responsibility," Lupin argues. "I find a way. I used to isolate myself - I used to take myself somewhere remote. Before that, I'd chain myself up. So no, I won't apologise for using a potion, for making myself safer!" He grimaces. "This is an illness. I don't want it - I didn't choose this affliction, but I can choose how I react to it. I don't let it control me." He exhales deeply. "If you ask me, Snape was just looking for an excuse to indulge the darkness within him."
David opens his mouth to answer, but Lupin's door is yanked open, making them both jump.
"Right, that's Potter delivered," Severus says, with a broad grin. "Your turn, wolf - and we'd best be quick. I threw an extra strong Confunding charm at Potter this time, but if I don't get you there before it wears off, Merlin knows what strife that idiot will get himself into. Well, what are you waiting for? Wrists out!"
Lupin glances at David, and then raises his hands in the air. Severus quickly flicks his wand, and his spell slices through the bonds with surgical precision. David inhales sharply, and Lupin swallows hard.
Severus pauses, glancing at David and then Lupin, and then he straightens. "What? Have I missed something?"
"No," both men chorus quickly.
Severus stares at them with dislike, clearly not believing either of them. "Get the fuck out of the car then, wolf," Severus snaps, "and stop wasting my precious time."
The three wizards share a look that she can't quite read. I daren't use Legilimency in this room, she thinks. Avery seems easy enough, but these two? She watches as Rosier holds the vial in the air, his eyes narrowing as he appraises it.
"...and how did you find out we were in the market for such a potion?"
"Malf," she says, swallowing hard.
"Malfoy got word to you?" Mulciber snaps, harshly - and another glance that she can't understand is swapped between Mulciber and Rosier.
"When?" Rosier presses.
She shrugs. "I can't… The days blur in a place like this." At Rosier's sceptical look, she continues quickly, trying to distract him. "I brew night and day, trying to keep my mind off losing my apprenticeship, trying to-"
"-but he knew you were here," Avery presses, looking unhappy.
"I didn't say that," she corrects, hastily. "I said he got word."
"How?"
"His owlery is of top quality-"
"-you're untraceable!" Avery shouts, his temper getting the better of him. "He didn't do it by owl! I tried owl!"
"...not me," she says, quietly. Hating herself, she points towards her mother. "Malf knows I've got a big family. When I went to ground, he tracked them down instead."
"He would have Muggle contacts," Mulciber spits, "I've told you, he's a strange wizard. In more ways than one."
Rosier sucks air in between his teeth. "Careful, Mulc, if Malfoy hears you speaking that way of him-"
"-I'm speaking amongst friends, am I not?"
Rosier shrugs, sending a pointed look towards Lily, who hides behind the thin strands of Severus' long, lank hair. "That's what we don't know, Mulc." He looks at the vial again, inspecting the potion. "...when's your friend Malfoy coming to collect, Snape?"
"He isn't," she says, desperately. "He told me that you needed it. He said it would be a good idea for me to brew it."
Mulciber's eyebrows raise. "In case we happened to drop in? Merlin, Snape, you must think we were born yesterday."
"Now, let us not be hasty," Rosier muses, still checking the potion, "I assume Malfoy was going to fence it for us. Perhaps we are all friends after all." He waves it in front of Lily. "This is definitely the right potion?"
"Yes."
"Reckon it'll work?"
"I'm certain of it."
"No need to be cocky," Mulciber says, his tone soft. "Pride comes before a fall."
"Shhhh," Rosier says, handing the vial back to Lily, and then straightening his shoulders. "Good work, Snape. I am pleased to inform you that the drop is in Knockturn."
"You want me to go to Knockturn Alley? With this potion?" She looks horrified. "I'm not carrying this down-"
Rosier's wand is instantly at Lily's throat, digging uncomfortably into the soft flesh on the underside of her jaw, the tip pressing against the bone. "It is where the Dark Lord has set up the drop. I assume you are not questioning the decision making process of the Dark Lord?"
"I'll get caught if I go down there! The place is filled with aurors!"
Mulciber leans over. "Don't fret. You're Strikers. You'll both be fine."
"Both?"
"You and Ave," Mulciber smiles, "who else?"
Avery pales. "Me? You want me to go with him?"
"And with both of you looking out for the other, neither of you have any business getting caught," Rosier smiles. "You're always crowing about how good you are at this stuff, Ave - now it's time to prove it."
"Right," Avery whispers, looking as if he's about to throw up. "Who are we making the exchange with? Maybe I can watch the target from a distance-"
"-thanks very much, Ave!"
"One of our most trusted and most feared," Mulciber grins, causing both Avery and Lily's eyes widen. "Greyback."
"Fuck!" Avery looks horrified. "No. No way. Count me right out! Sorry, Sev, but there's no way-"
"-you're right," she interrupts. "A brewer dropping a potion is far too dangerous," she argues, trying to keep her tone calm. "I broker all of my deals."
"So I've heard," Rosier says, "but I am not prepared to lose the gratitude of the Dark Lord."
"You won't, I can get word through Fletcher that you were the one responsible."
Rosier scoffs. "Absolutely not. If you put this through Fletcher, the credit will go to the Lestranges." He gives her a strange smile at her surprised look. "Or did you not know that Fletcher was their puppet?"
She doesn't answer, but swallows hard, staring at her feet. Since when?
"And I shouldn't need to remind you that the Lestranges and the Malfoys are not friends," Rosier continues, lightly.
"No," she counters, thinking it through, "but if the Lestranges don't get some credit, they will think Malf has deliberately circumvented them - they'll punish him-"
"-and if the Lestranges get any credit, they'll ensure that Malfoy is sidelined completely," Rosier warns. After a pause, he smiles. "...it is evident that you are not in his confidence."
"I…"
"You might be his brewer," Rosier continues, "but he doesn't tell you the half of what he's dealing in, does he?"
"There are lines you don't cross," Mulciber adds. "Such as promising your hand to a witch and then running off with her little sister." He gives a low laugh. "For anyone but Malfoy, that would've been enough to make him a social pariah."
"He loves Narcissa," she says, almost without thinking.
"Course he does," Rosier sneers, "that's why he lets the world and his dog fuck her. Like you..."
Like you? Lily swallows hard, balling her hand into a fist. Is he about to tell me that Severus has been lying to me all along? That it did go further that night - that he has slept with Narcissa?
"...he uses her to get what he wants," Rosier loudly continues, not seeming to have seen Lily's shift in body language. "Just like he uses you to get what he wants." He smiles. "The Dark Lord wants Wolfsbane, and Lucius Malfoy will be the one to get it to him, and Lucius Malfoy will once again come up smelling of roses. ...he almost managed it, didn't he?" Rosier grins more broadly. "But he fell at the last hurdle. Now it's Evan Rosier who is the supplier."
"And me," Mulciber chips in.
"And me," says Ave.
"Indeed," Rosier says, "and fret not, Snape, you won't be forgotten." Rosier pinches Severus' thin cheek between finger and thumb. "If that's what you're worried about. I look after my own, and I will look after you far better than Malf ever did. Leaving you to live with Muggles?" He looks sickened. "No, that won't be happening on my watch."
"...and what will happen to Malf?" Her voice sticks in her throat. And Cissy, she thinks, unable to ask the question.
"Don't you worry about Malf," Mulciber says, with a smirk, "his good lady wife is far too good a shag for the rest of us to piss him off too much." He pauses. "Although, not that you'd know… Why is that, Snape? If you're not taking it off Malf-"
"-I'm not!" Lily protests, trying to portray the anger that she remembers Severus showing her in his memories when the rumours started at school, terrified of the consequences if they thought Severus was sexually involved with Lucius. "I fancied her, all right?" she says, gruffly, ignoring their disbelieving looks. "Back when we were at Hogwarts - but not now. I don't fancy her now."
"You're the only one of us who doesn't," Mulciber scoffs. "She's hotter now than she ever was back then."
"I don't like the idea of sleeping with someone else's wife," she says, hurriedly. "Or the conditions that come with it."
At this, Mulciber smiles knowingly. "I see. Well, yes, we all know what Malf is like. Bit handsy, and I can't deny that he took a special shine to you. Can't blame you for not feeling you could keep him at bay."
"Looks like I owe you fifty galleons, Mulc," Rosier says, with a surprised look on his face. "I can't say that I'm displeased at hearing that you're not close with Malfoy after all, Snape - and on that note," he holds out his hand for Lily to take, "you're my brewer now."
"But-"
Rosier suddenly whips around, and levels his wand at the previously forgotten form of Rose. "But what, Snape?"
"Nothing, Ros," she says, quickly - desperately.
Rosier laughs, and lowers his wand. "Good. I'm glad we could come to an agreement." He strides forward, and places his hand under Rose's chin, tilting her gaze towards him. "And this is a lovely place you've got here, Mrs Muggle," he says, indicating towards the wider room before staring straight at Lily, peering into Severus' dark eyes, "it would be a terrible pity if anything happened to it."
Severus' return is much quieter; there's barely a whimper of Apparition, let alone a fearsome crack. If David hadn't been intently peering out of the window awaiting Severus' return, he might've even missed his landing.
To David's surprise, Severus doesn't approach the car, but instead quickly strides over towards a brick building on the far side of the car park - the back of the ticket office - and stands with his back flush against it, wand still clenched in his fist.
Severus' eyes scan the car park, over and over, back and forth, raking over each and every vehicle, and each and every person. David notices that Severus' gaze keeps returning to his landing position. He thinks someone has followed him, David realises - and he leans over to lock both car doors. Just in case.
After many long minutes, Severus seems satisfied that he hasn't been followed, and lopes over towards the car. Before he can rap on the glass, David leans over and unlocks the passenger side door, and Severus pulls it open.
"Successful trip?"
"Yes," Severus says, sliding into the vehicle. "...thanks."
"I didn't do anything."
"For waiting," Severus explains, his voice barely audible over the roar of the engine. "I know you could've left me to it - left me to deal with them alone."
"And have you outnumbered?" David says, lightly. "What sort of parent would that make me?" He drives down the quiet streets - one road, then another - before speaking again. "You handled them well."
"Thanks."
"I'm surprised Lily even bothers with that James fellow."
"...she doesn't."
There's a brief pause, and David looks curiously at Severus. "You said he'd been in your flat? Drank from your mugs? Sat on your sofa?"
Severus swallows tightly, and turns his head, looking out of the passenger window. "I shouldn't have brought that up. It was a long time ago."
"A long time ago," David repeats. "...was that when you broke up?"
"Yes."
There's another pause, and the quiet in the car is only disturbed by the intermittent clunk click of the indicator as David negotiates a series of turns.
"...I didn't know Lils initiated your relationship."
"It's my irresistible charm," Severus smiles - and when David doesn't say anything, he shifts awkwardly in his seat. "You're thinking about what he accused me of, aren't you? Of me drugging Lily?"
"I realise he's not your biggest fan," David says, carefully.
Severus gives a scornful laugh. "Yeah. Something like that." He looks earnestly towards David. "It's nonsense. Complete and utter nonsense."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"You probably should've taken her to get her eyes checked out or something," he says, with a forced laugh, "but I promise you, she decided that she wanted me. I would never force her to do anything she didn't want." This time, his laugh is a little more genuine. "I don't think I'd have any luck trying to force her to do anything that she didn't want."
David glances over at Severus. "That's the Lils I brought up."
"And it's the Lily I love," Severus says, almost under his breath. He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out his wedding ring.
David watches as Severus silently slides the golden ring back onto his finger. "...did she initiate that as well?"
"You know I asked her to marry me."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it," David says, his tone cold.
"It was a joint decision," Severus says, stiffly. "It isn't that we were excluding you - we did it for our baby, so the magical papers will be legitimate." His tone hardens. "Merlin knows we've had enough trouble with Lily's. We didn't want the same thing to happen again. There wasn't enough time to do it properly - to invite you all."
David is silent - right up until they pull into their street, and then he glances across at Severus. "Promise me that you'll arrange a blessing ceremony. Your parents would hate to miss out."
Severus nods. "I promise."
She's almost given up hope when she hears the kitchen door being pushed open.
"Rosie?" David calls, cheerfully.
There's no answer.
"We're back!" he yells again. "Lily! Severus is here!"
When there's no answer from either of the women, the two men exchange a fearful look.
"Lil?" Severus shouts. "LIL?"
The two men don't pause to take their shoes off, but barrel into the living room, half expecting to see Lily in the act of giving birth - but instead, they're confronted with the sight of a single dining chair placed incongruously in the middle of the living room, with a tearful Rose perched upon it.
"Rosie?"
"Don't," Severus says, grabbing David's sleeve and pulling him back. He sounds calm, even to himself, but his mind is racing. It's as if he's so terrified, he's separated himself from his body - as if he's looking down and impartially watching the scene playing out, as if he's not an active participant.
Where's Lily? Where's Bean? Why's Rose like this?
"Is there anyone else here?" Severus asks, his voice low.
Rose shakes her head violently from side to side.
"And is it safe for me to approach you?"
She nods rapidly.
"Good," Severus says, and he moves towards her. He casts quickly, and it doesn't take him long to reverse the silencing spell, and Rose gasps loudly, her sobs filling the room.
"Rosie, what's happened?" David asks.
Severus carries on casting, trying to battle a particularly nasty sticking charm that's been used to keep Rose in place.
"Three wizards."
"Wizards? Here?"
"Yes. And they took Lily back with them."
Severus feels his blood turning to ice, and his knees sway. David quickly grabs him, helping him to keep his feet.
"Where to, Rosie?"
"I don't know." Rose sobs loudly. "But it wasn't… It wasn't Lily. She was…" She looks in horror at Severus, her tears preventing her from speaking as she takes in huge gasps of breath.
"What do you mean, it wasn't Lily?" David presses, exchanging a confused look with Severus.
"It wasn't Lily that they wanted." Rose's tears cascade down her cheeks. "Severus… She was…"
"She was what?" Severus demands, finally finding his voice again. "Rose, what was she?"
"She was… She was you!"
Chapter 106: Keep going
Notes:
Abide by the previous warnings - it's all still perilous.
Chapter Text
David and Rose lock into a tight embrace, clinging to each other as if they haven't set eyes upon one another for a decade or more. Behind them, alone, Severus sinks onto the sofa - pointed elbows on pointed knees, and pale long fingers splayed across his even paler face.
There's barely any sound in the room - just the unmistakable hitch of distressed breathing. After a few minutes, David extricates himself from Rose's hold and approaches Severus' stricken form. He places a firm but gentle hand on Severus' shoulder, and Severus sits upright with a gasp, as if he's been jabbed in the base of his spine.
"Severus," David starts - but he trails off as Severus lowers his hands, and David can take in the utter devastation on Severus' face.
His cheeks are wet and his eyes bloodshot, grief and shock starkly stencilled across his features. "I didn't think anyone would find them here," he whispers, hoarsely. "I thought… I thought they were safe."
She's relieved when Avery grips her arm and pulls her through his whirl of Apparition. She realises a moment later that it's a matter of trust - that they didn't trust that she would follow them, but she's terrified that in her distressed state, she'd splinch herself. And in Severus' body, who knows what consequences that would have when the Polyjuice wears off?
She deliberately pushes the thought from her mind. Fretting about Bean isn't going to help, she thinks. The best thing you can do for Bean is to get through this and get back home to Severus, with everyone none the wiser as to Bean's existence. She resists the urge to feel for her child, which she knows will be futile in Severus' body. Hang in there, little Bean, she thinks. Mummy is having one last adventure.
At David's last job, the first afternoon of every month was reserved for catastrophe rehearsal. They didn't call it that, the managers - they preferred terms such as contingency planning or preventative measures or crisis response.
For his part, David hadn't ever been convinced that his dull office on a remote industrial estate would ever be on the receiving end of anything that could fairly be deemed as a crisis - certainly not any of the newer threats that were so eagerly dissected on the television.
"That's the problem with the world today," he'd told Rose and Petunia and Lily over their evening meal, "everyone's far too keen to be caught up in the newest disaster. As if someone's going to let an atomic bomb off in Cokeworth." He'd tipped liberal amounts of salt and pepper over his meal before picking up his knife and fork. "A fire drill, that's what we used to call it."
"But what if it isn't a fire, Daddy?"
He'd scoffed. "That's what it'll be, mark my words. What else is going to happen? I'll eat my hat if we suffer anything other than a fire - and even that's unlikely." He'd waved his fork in the air. "Although that new receptionist Janice seems forgetful. I suppose she might not stub out her cigarette fully or something."
He was right. Least, he was half right. David had retired thirteen years later, and whilst the fire brigade had been called twice in the intervening years: a cigarette - not Janice's - in a wastepaper bin, and a malfunctioning electric kettle - no other disasters befell the office. The roof didn't cave in, water didn't flood the site, and there were definitely no bomb threats - atomic or otherwise.
Still, no matter the difference in name, the content of the exercise remained identical. One senior sounded the alarm and took the list of who had signed into the building that day - whilst another pulled on the special reflective armbands and started to blow the designated red whistle.
The staff understood these cues, and learnt how to evacuate efficiently - no stopping to collect personal belongings or to pull on coats, despite the heavy rain. Seniors from each zone would herd their colleagues safely out of the building, shouts of, "Clear!" ringing audibly over the pulsing alarm as they all marched to the assembly spot and then - on the rare occasion that it was a legitimate incident, instead of returning to their desks, they patiently waited for the professionals to attend, to take the matter from their hands.
This time, there was no routine to follow - no staff list, no armbands, no alarms, no whistle. There was no precedent for this - no professionals to calmly walk in and take control. There's no point in calling the authorities, because although this might feel like the aftermath of an explosion - might feel as if a bomb has destroyed their family and threatened their lives, it hasn't. The danger isn't tangible, and there's nothing to isolate or neutralise - certainly nothing that he, or any other Muggle, can assist with.
Instead, David has a shaken and sobbing wife, and an utterly broken son-in-law. He doesn't know what to say or what to do, so he embarks upon surveying the material damage, moving from room to room, numbly righting furniture and straightening ornaments and closing cupboard doors, as if returning their living environment back to how it was before will make a difference, as if he'll return downstairs and find Lily safely sitting amongst them - as if the bomb hadn't exploded at all.
They're in Covent Garden, which isn't the destination that Lily had been expecting - but as she looks at the milling crowd, she realises that it's the perfect cover; if anyone noticed them appearing out of the ether, they will have been pushed along with the pedestrian traffic, before they could exclaim or comment - and the three men she's with quickly thread through the throng of Muggles.
"Where are we-"
"-Charing Cross," Avery mutters, "then to the Leaky."
"We're all going in via the Leaky?" she says, surprised.
"Haven't you been listening, Sev?" Avery sounds harsher than she imagined he would. "We're not all going in - when we hit Charing Cross Road, Mulc and Ros will go in the opposite direction."
"Leave us to it."
"Yeah."
She walks a little faster. "Do we have to go through the Leaky? Won't they be watching the Leaky?"
"They're watching everywhere, Sev," Avery says, "you know that as well as I do." He gives her a reassuring smile. "But it's Dawlish in the Leaky Cauldron tonight."
She turns away, composing herself, hoping that she didn't offer Avery a surprised look. "...Dawlish?" she says, straining to keep Severus' voice even. "I didn't think he was one of us. I thought he was by the book?"
At this, Avery grins. "Right and right again, Sev." At her confused look, he grins even more widely. "He hasn't pledged," he explains, "but he's more useful than a true ally. You said it, he's by the book."
She doesn't respond - doesn't dare. It's as if the fear of guessing incorrectly has built within her, and she doesn't want to speak out of turn and cause Avery's suspicion to raise.
At her continued silence, Avery frowns slightly and then digs in his pocket for his Striker badge. "Get it now?" There's another pause, and then Avery sighs. "I reckon those Muggles have ruined your brain, Sev. You were always quicker than me at this stuff." He waves the badge before her. "If something happens after a loyalist lets us through, then the finger will be pointed at the loyalist." He pauses. "That's how the house of cards comes tumbling down - when they know who the sympathisers within are."
"But Dawlish isn't a sympathiser."
"No," Avery agrees. "Dawlish is a rules man. Dawlish swallowed the doctrine of the Ministry, and will uphold every little law that is created."
"Even those the Dark Lord puts into place."
At this, Avery smiles. "Yes. Dawlish is the sort of wizard who would never openly agree with the Dark Lord, but if the rule is on the Ministry's law books, he'll follow it." He pauses. "It isn't that he's dark," he explains, "he'd follow Dumbledore's laws if they were written on Ministry headed parchment. He's just a rules man."
They turn right on Charing Cross Road, heading towards the station, and as they walk briskly over the crossing, she decides to take a risk. "...who told you all of that, Ave?"
"What?"
"It's a brilliant theory," she says, with a quick grin, "and I know you're right."
"But?"
"But it sounds as if you've read it out of a book," she continues. "The Ministry doctrine? That's not the Ave I know."
She watches, her heart in her mouth, as Avery digests the criticism - and then, Avery laughs.
"Fucking hell, Sev," he says, with a broad grin. "Those bastards are always giving me grief over pretending to be someone I'm not, but you just come out with it in a way that…" He shrugs. "You get me, you know?"
"I know."
"You know me," he says, looking more cheerful than he has all night. "I have missed you, mate."
"And I've missed you," she lies. "It's been a strange time."
He gives her a calculating look. "You shouldn't have gone and hid with those Muggles."
"I was scared."
"...I get scared sometimes," he admits, to her shock. "But running away isn't the answer." There's a pause. "You could've come to mine."
"Thanks."
"I'm serious."
"I know," she says, certain that this earnest boy does genuinely value his friendship with her husband. "Thank you."
"Remember that," he says, looking behind him as he waves her in to the Leaky Cauldron. "Go on. After you."
They occupy the same space, three very different souls, each of them processing the events of the evening in their own way. David keeps tidying, clearing the table so they can all sit together, and Rose brings cups of tea. David takes one, almost mechanically, but when Severus doesn't move, she forces a cup into his hands.
"I'm not thirsty."
"It'll help," she says.
He obediently takes the cup, not wanting to refuse when fresh tears are still silently rolling down her cheeks, but he winces when he sips. It's sweet - far too sweet.
Rose catches his grimace, and she reaches for him, her hand tightly holding his. "Sugar's good for shock," she says.
He knows. He's heard that before. Good for shock. Her words echo in his mind - and then he stands, pushing the chair back. You're an idiot, Severus.
"Severus?"
He doesn't answer, but walks through the house, his legs feeling leaden as he scales the stairs. He hesitates in the doorway to Lily's bedroom, taking it in. She was here. It feels uncanny, unreal, his sense of unease heightened by there being nothing out of place - not even a shred of evidence of her having been brewing.
That doesn't make sense - she was working on Wolfsbane. Then he remembers David stalking around the house, his footsteps echoing, and Severus realises that the bedroom has been tidied. As if nothing bad had happened.
Severus reaches for the drawers and rifles through his potions, removing two - both Calming Draughts. He seeks for another, his hand digging through the vials, and then the pad of his finger connects with something metal instead of glass, and he frowns, pulling it from the drawer.
He sucks in a sob, and grips the dresser, staring at Lily's glinting wedding ring, the precious stones shining in the light. He looks back at the room, and he can imagine the scene only too well - he can see Lily stood at the drawer, her hand running over Bean, removing her wedding ring and hiding it before she drinks down the Polyjuice.
How desperate were you, love? he thinks, holding the ring tightly. How desperate did you have to be to think that risking Polyjuice was the answer?
He stares at the ring again, and then carefully places it in his pocket. I probably took mine off at the same time, he realises, and he grips the wooden dresser again, as if he's been punched in the stomach. Is that a sign?
He shakes the thought away from his mind. Not helpful, Severus. Get what you came for. He reaches for another Calming Draught, and gulps it down, followed almost immediately by a dose of Draught of Peace. He wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and exhales in a steady breath. It's working, he thinks, realising that his breathing is no longer laboured, no longer shuddering and jarring.
Severus pockets the other two potions and heads downstairs, passing one to David and one to Rose. "Drink it," he says, firmly. "I have. It'll help."
He isn't confident that it will - magical remedies don't always work with Muggles - but almost as soon as the vials have been emptied, he can see the difference; David sits a little straighter, and Rose's sniffles, which had been seemingly unending, halt entirely. Hopefully just one does the trick. I daren't give them another potion on top of that.
David, for his part, looks more composed - as if he means business. He looks Rose directly in the eyes. "Can you tell us again what happened, Rosie?"
"No," Severus says. "I want to see."
Rose frowns. "See?"
"Oh," David says, quietly, realising Severus' intention.
"Oh what?"
"...Severus can look at your thoughts."
Rose looks uneasily between the two men. "But I've told you what those wizards looked like."
"Do you think this is linked to those two boys we saw?" David asks. "Their other friend. Sirius, was it?"
Severus looks startled at Sirius' name, but quietly collects himself instead of speaking.
"Sirius? They didn't say anything about a Sirius," Rose continues, not noticing Severus' alarmed expression. "Rosier, Mulciber, Avery. Those were their names." She turns to look at Severus. "You must know of them, Severus?"
Yes. "Perhaps. They may have been other wizards - using fake names," Severus says, evenly. "It could be another trap."
"But Lily didn't question-"
"-forgive me, Rose," he interrupts, his manner stern, "but you witnessed your daughter transforming into me, did you not?"
There's a silence.
"I just want to be certain of who they really were," he says. "I want to see them." I know who they really are, but I want to see exactly what they did. I want to know why Lily felt taking Polyjuice was her only option.
Rose glances at him, her expression horrified. "Just how many wizards are after you? How many enemies do you have?"
David looks sickened, his jaw set. "You're looking to see if these people share your politics or Lily's, aren't you?"
Rose's eyes widen further. "What does that mean?"
Severus doesn't acknowledge the question, but grips his wand tightly in his hand. "It won't hurt, Rose. I promise." He places the tip of his wand against her forehead, ignoring her shudder. "But for me to see, I'm afraid you'll have to relive everything that happened." He pauses. "I'm sorry."
She casts a stricken look at David. "You'll hate me when he tells you."
David looks bewildered. "I won't."
"I didn't do enough to save our little girl."
"If they were wizards, then they had magic," Severus interrupts, firmly. "You couldn't have done anything. Please, let me see. I need to know what we're fighting against, otherwise I won't be able to get Lily back."
Instinctively, Rose reaches for David's hand, gripping it tightly.
"I'm here, Rosie," David says, softly. "Let Severus do what he needs."
"Yes," she nods.
And then, before she can change her mind, Severus casts the spell. "Legilimens!"
Lily refuses his offer of a drink. Avery seems surprised, but shrugs, continuing with his own order. When the Butterbeer is placed before him, he stares at her expectantly, waiting for her to order.
"I've not got my wallet," she says.
He sighs, and waves Tom back over. "And another, Tom."
Tom eyes the two suspiciously, but dutifully pulls another drink and places it on the bar. "Not setting up a tab, Mr Avery?"
"Not tonight, Tom." Avery passes the correct money over to him, and then nudges Lily hard in the ribs. "Take it then, Sev."
She picks it up and they move over to a table in the corner, in the darkness.
"What was that all about?" he says, irritation filling his tone as he settles heavily on the seat.
"I thought you wanted to get the drop over with," she hisses. "It feels like it's burning a hole in my pocket."
"I thought you did this stuff all of the time."
Lily gives him a stern look. "I run through Fletcher, you know that." She watches as he takes a long swig from his drink, his eyes fixed on her glass - and she reluctantly picks it up and takes the tiniest sip.
"Not thirsty?"
"Nervous," she says, eyes darting around the room. "I'd rather get it over with."
"It'd look odd, if we just walked through," Avery says, evenly. He takes another gulp from his drink. "You know what I always say." He pauses, evidently waiting for Severus to finish the phrase.
"...yes," she says, weakly.
He looks surprised. "Merlin, Sev, those Muggles did a right number on you. You don't seem yourself at all."
"It wasn't them," she says, hastily. She scratches at her left sleeve. "...I've not been right since…"
"Right, yeah," he says, sounding a little awkward. "You need to put that behind you. You can't let it turn you into some meek little mouse."
"Yeah," she says. "You're right."
"Blending in, that's all we're doing," he explains, in case he really believes that Severus has forgotten Avery's basic rules of being a Striker. "Look like you fit, then nobody remembers you." He nods towards her drink. "They'll remember an untouched drink."
Reluctantly, she picks it up and takes a swig. "Not really in the mood, that's all," she offers, as she puts the glass back on the table.
Avery glances around, and then in one swift movement, he roughly shoves his half finished Butterbeer before her, and takes her glass with his hand, drinking quickly from it.
"...thanks."
He puts the glass down in front of him, and rubs his mouth with his sleeve. "Drink that much at least," he says.
She lifts it, gratefully. "I will." She drinks a little more and then places it down. "Been a while since I tasted this."
"Yeah, can't get anything like Butterbeer in those Muggle holes," Avery says. "That lager stuff isn't anything to shout home about."
"I thought that's all I'd be able to drink for the rest of my life," she says, with a thin smile. "Until you turned up, I thought I'd ruined everything. It felt like there was no place for me-"
"-there is," Avery says, quickly. "I told you, the Dark Lord has since been informed of the circumstances." He shoots her a smile. "He has no anger for the way you have reacted, Sev."
"Even when Ros tells him I've been living with Muggles?"
Avery winces, and sips from his drink again. "I think we best play that bit down," he says, "but this isn't the disaster you're imagining."
She arches an eyebrow. "No?"
"He likes to be feared," Avery whispers. "He likes to feel the power he has over people." He shrugs. "If you'd waltzed in the next day and not seemed at all affected, I think he'd have been more furious - but you ran, Sev! You made yourself invisible, desperate not to be found."
She nods. "Yeah, I've told you, I was terrified."
"And I'm telling you," Avery smiles, "that is a reaction the Dark Lord will reward." He takes another sip from his drink. "You'll see, at the ceremonies."
She swallows hard. "Ceremonies?"
He grins. "He's marking again," he says, conspiratorially. "And don't worry," he says, mistaking her look of horror for one of concern, "you're on the list."
"But…" She can feel the words sticking on her tongue. "Why did the mark disappear in the first place?"
"Because we were all arrested," Avery explains. "That shopping centre attack…" He trails off, suddenly realising that she doesn't know any of the fall out. "Merlin, Sev, I forgot you weren't around for any of this." He leans forward, his voice low. "Someone ratted us. They took in at least a hundred witches and wizards, and it's taken the Dark Lord this long to engineer us all out of custody."
"He got everyone out?"
Avery gives an awkward shrug. "One or two losses, but then there always is." He sniffs. "But the mark would've sunk us for sure," he says, "would've created a certain connection between us. So he yanked it."
Severus is safe. If I can get out of this, the Dark Lord doesn't live within his skin.
"It's terrifying he can do that. From afar, I mean."
"Mad, isn't it?" Avery grins, and she isn't sure that they both have the same understanding of the word. "But word is, he's modified it. That he can make it appear and disappear at will." Avery smiles broadly. "So there's no fear if we're taken into custody - you can just touch it, and he'll withdraw."
And who is that protecting, Ave? You, or the Dark Lord?
He seems to mistake her silence for admiration. "Brilliant, hey?"
"Yeah," she says, quietly. "Brilliant."
"And you're with us, Sev." Avery looks even happier. "It'll be good to belong again." He lowers his voice again. "Truth be told, I've felt naked without it. Lost, somehow." There's a pause. "Haven't you?"
She doesn't commit to an answer, and sips from her glass.
"No, I get that," Avery says, trying to be fair. "Different circumstances with you." He glances around them. "Look, Sev, you can just say what you think. I'm not judging you. You can be honest," he says, his voice a little lower. "About this stuff, and more." Then he leans over, elbows pressed against the table. "I know. About Iona."
Lily freezes, uncertain as to what he's talking about - and she can't decide how she should respond.
To her relief, Avery takes her silence and blank look as a deliberate cover. "Come on, Sev," he laughs, "you can drop the act. I know."
She hides her face in the glass. "Know what?" she mumbles around a mouthful of Butterbeer.
"I know that you don't shag her," he says, exasperatedly. "I know that when we go to Madam Mary's, you just sit in a room and wait for me."
Lily has to fight to keep the elation from her face. Ever since Severus showed her those memories, she'd believed him when he insisted that he did nothing - but it had still been difficult to accept that he was frequenting such a place of sordid temptation. "...oh," she says, impassively. "What makes you think that?"
Avery opens his mouth, and she's briefly certain that he's going to tell her exactly what he knows and how he knows it - and then a weird look crosses his face, and he takes another gulp of his drink. "I have my ways," he says, "and don't bother denying it, because I know it's true." There's a pause. "...I'm not angry, Sev."
She nods, tightly, unsure of how to read his reaction.
Then he gives a small laugh. "I'm fucking flattered, in a weird way, you twisted bastard." He looks a little awkward. "I wish you'd said something - I've told you, we're mates, aren't we?"
"Course we are."
"Well then," he says, "I wouldn't expect my mate to spend all that money just to wait for me." There's another pause, and he looks down at his drink. "But you did," he says, more quietly. "Rather than disappoint me, or tell me I was a loser for…" He trails off. "I'm just saying, I think you're a good mate, Sev."
"I think you're a good mate too, Ave."
At this, he grins broadly. "At the risk of sounding soft, I have really missed you. Been a bit bored on my own."
"Not all in with Mulc and Ros then?" she asks, with a lightness to her tone that she doesn't feel.
He grimaces. "They reckon we can get us all back together, all five of us - Reggie as well - but…" He looks conflicted. "...well," he says, spreading his hands out, "where are they now?" He shrugs. "I reckon even if we did, it'd be the same as it ever was. Them and us, even when it's meant to be us, if you know what I mean?"
"I know what you mean."
Avery nods, looking satisfied. "I knew it wasn't just me. I knew you felt it too." He toys with his glass, and she sits quietly, certain that he's about to offer more - and after an extended silence, he looks up. "Doesn't have to be Ros' name."
She leans in, eagerly. "What do you mean?"
His voice is barely more than a whisper. "He wants the credit but I found you," he says.
She wants to stop him - wants to ask him how - but he carries on before she can interrupt.
"And you brewed it," he whispers. "So that's me doing something, and you doing something. And what did they do?"
Terrorised my mother, she thinks, but she doesn't say anything.
"Exactly," he says, more forcefully. "And yet Evan Rosier thinks he can take all of the credit. I don't see why he should."
She smiles. "Then we can push this through Fletcher after all?"
"No," Avery says, quickly - and she knows the disappointment shows on her face. "They're both right - if it goes through Fletch, it'll be the Lestranges who get the credit." He shrugs. "Maybe Malf, I suppose, depending on who's threatened Fletch most recently."
Lily frowns. "So what are you thinking? That we do the drop alone?"
"Yes. Just you and me. We don't mention Mulc and we don't mention Ros."
She looks sceptical. "And you think Greyback will support our story?"
"The Dark Lord is going to be so pleased," Avery continues, "that he'll reward us. Richly." He sneers. "And he won't listen to whatever Greyback has to say. He's a werewolf, Sev."
"Ros'll be furious," she warns. "We'll never be able to show our faces around here again."
"Might see to it that Ros is sidelined," Avery mutters, sullenly. "He's not as popular as he thinks he is."
"That won't work, Ave," she says, reasonably.
"It might," he argues. "Malf, yeah, you can't cut him out, even if people don't particularly like him. Same with the Lestranges or Reggie. They're all interbred, goes back generations. The Goyles are the same - there's a few of them around. Travers, Yaxley, Wilkes. All big families." He pauses, lowering his voice. "But Rosier?"
"Rosier is one of the names on the Sacred Twenty-Eight," she hisses.
"The Rosiers wrote the Sacred Twenty-Eight," Avery laughs - and at her look of surprise, he laughs even more loudly. "Yes, yes, they say it was anonymous but I know better."
"I thought the rumour was that Nott's family wrote it?"
He leans in, looking smug. "The Nott family and the Rosier family are equally happy for you all to believe that."
"And how do you know the truth?"
He ignores the question, as if lost deep in thought. "Snape isn't a good name, but your mother was Pure, wasn't she?"
"Yes."
"What did you say her maiden name was?"
"Prince," she says, hoping that Severus wasn't keeping that secret.
"Prince, that's it, yeah, I remember you telling me!" Avery grins. "Thirty-four," he says, "that's as far as they got, the Princes." He shrugs. "Must've upset great great great great great grandfather Rosier, or whoever."
"Must've. But I don't see what this has to do with us."
"I'm telling you, Ros is on the outer. He's not one of us - and his family's name is only on the bloody list because they wrote it." His eyes gleam with triumph. "They're not a popular family, and I reckon we can take him down, and I reckon the rest of the wizarding world wouldn't miss him."
"Ave," she says, placatingly, "I don't think we need anymore enemies. And definitely not the likes of Evan Rosier." She glances around, as if checking for people listening in. "Think how annoyed I'd be if someone pushed you out."
"...I guess," he says, warily.
"Well, think how Mulc is going to feel if we shaft Ros," she says, patiently. "He'll be baying for blood."
"They only got to Fifty-Six."
"Pardon?"
"The Mulcibers," Avery explains. "Soon struck off."
She gives him a curious look. "You're an expert on this stuff."
He shrugs, but he looks quietly proud. "Mother taught me," he says. "I can recite all of the changes. Along with the dates."
"Merlin."
"Ros doesn't think I'm good at anything," Avery muses, "but I'm better than he realises."
"So I tell anyone who will listen," she says - and Avery beams under her praise. "Bide your time, Ave," she warns. "If you want to sideline Ros, I'm not going to stand in your way - but it needs a plan."
Avery looks miserable again. "But if we don't strike now, this is his moment," he says. "He'll be rewarded for this, believe me."
"Then let's tag along with him a little while longer," she says, evenly, "and we can all be rewarded for this. Then we'll drop him next time." She looks conflicted. "Maybe speak to Malf. See what he says."
Avery frowns, and sips his drink. "You think Malfoy wants rid of Ros? I didn't think they were very close."
"Exactly. They're not, so I think Malf will be furious if Ros gets the credit for something I brewed."
"Ros wants you as his brewer. He doesn't think Malfoy will put up much of a fight."
"He's wrong. Malf won't give me up that easily," she says, confidently. She gives him a small smile. "He's all right, really. Malf, I mean. Once you get to know him. I can swing you an invite or two - introduce you."
At this, Avery looks a little more satisfied. "Yeah, that'd be good. Thanks, Sev." He looks up at the clock behind them. "Shit, is that the time? Come on," he says, draining his Butterbeer and then standing, shoving his chair roughly under the table, "drink up - we've got a date with a hound."
He's never had reason to use Legilimency on a Muggle - certainly never found himself in the situation where he's had his wand pressed against the forehead of a Muggle, and them actively welcoming his intrusion.
It's different to reading a magical person, he thinks, as he slides into Rose's thoughts. It's easy. Too easy. There's not even a token resistance to his efforts - her mind is wide open, and welcoming even, as if willing him to kick his boots off at the mat and settle himself in for a long stay.
I'll need it, he thinks, as he watches hundreds of threads of memory swirling around him. He grasps at one or two, quickly disappointed by the flashes that he sees - of Lily and Petunia as young children, of David with an ill-judged moustache, of old family holidays and television shows and Rose's own schooldays. Then he's sharply ejected from the memory of a young Rose buckling her shoes, and thrust into one not of his choosing - of Rose and David, of bare skin, of...
"No," she mutters, weakly. "Please stop."
He withdraws sharply, causing her to recoil. David grabs her quickly, protectively, and Severus hisses, sucking in a deep breath between his teeth.
"That's private," she says.
"I didn't want to see it," he snaps. "You propelled me into it. You need to focus."
David instantly leaps to Rose's defence. "If she didn't want you to see whatever that was, then it's your-"
"-no," he argues, hotly, "it's nothing to do with me! She was so frightened of me seeing that memory, she actively conjured it and accidentally pushed me into it." He exhales loudly. "I told you, I'm not as good at this, not like…"
He clams up, but it's not quick enough - David knows for certain who he is referring to, and one glance at Rose proves that she's intelligent enough to put the pieces together. A second glance at Rose shows water prickling at the corner of her eyes, and a rush of guilt shoots through him, intermingling with his anger and fear and frustration.
"That's enough. She's trying, Severus."
"Well, if she keeps trying like that, we'll be here all night!" His anger wrestles the rest of his feelings for supremacy, successfully pushing them out, hiding them deep within him. "And if we're here all night," he continues, furiously, "then they'll both be dead!"
Rose already looked as if she was going to throw up, but Severus feels as if he could attest to the moment that he saw the blood drain from David's face.
"Tell me, then," Rose suddenly urges, "tell me what I need to do."
At her willingness to continue, Severus can feel his anger subsiding. The calm that follows his fury isn't the gentle retreat of a man descending a ladder that was recently scaled, but more akin to the crashing fury of a wave - the rising crescendo, and then the freefall from the top, rolling downwards and slamming into the calm surface of the sea, instantly dispersing as soon as contact is made, leaving just a few ripples in its wake - the only sign that anything was awry in the first place.
"Try and remember," he murmurs, softly, taking her hand as he places his wand back at her forehead. "Close your eyes, and think about what happened - think of what you were doing just before you were disturbed. Think of what you could hear, what you could feel, what you could smell. Try and play it out in your mind, try and paint the picture in your brain."
He can feel some of the tension from her grip disappearing as he guides her through each step. He keeps his voice even, and continues his gentle instructions as he slides smoothly into her mind. "Think about where you were, and where Lily was, and then show me what happened next," he says, smoothly.
It's strange for him, being in her mind whilst he instructs her - there's a strange vibrating vision in the corner of her mind, like a oily pool of darkness that jolts with his every word. Is that how her mind perceives my voice?
But he can't dwell on the thought, because the threads of her mind seemingly entwine and dance before him, no longer battling to deliver him to disparate thoughts, but keen to drag him before a single vision - and as he follows their lead, he finally finds what he was so desperately seeking.
"Mummy!"
"Well done," he murmurs. "You're doing brilliantly. Keep going."
"Mummy, Mummy, lock the doors! Quickly!"
Chapter 107: All your fault
Summary:
The warnings still apply...
Chapter Text
Just as Avery suggested, Dawlish is at the entrance to Diagon Alley, and he raises his wand, halting their progress. "State your business."
"Strikers," Avery says, in a bored tone, flashing his badge.
Dawlish scrutinises it, and then relinquishes his hold on it. He puts his hand out for Severus' badge, and then raises his eyebrow when it isn't forthcoming. "And yours?"
She makes a show of patting her pockets. "Ave," she hisses, "I left it behind."
"Merlin, Sev," Avery says, with a slight roll of his eyes. "Look, John," he says, "I can call you John?"
"No," says Dawlish.
"Well, John," Avery continues, with a nasty smile, "we're here on official business, so kindly lower your wand."
"You're free to pass," Dawlish says, firmly, "but he stays until he can explain himself."
At this, Avery sighs. "I can give you his badge number." He stares at Dawlish fiercely. "I administer the scheme."
"I know who you are."
"Well then."
"And rules are rules."
She has to hold back a laugh. Avery had him pegged, she thinks. "I can go back and get it," she offers.
"Fine," Avery agrees, turning back - and then, just as Dawlish gives a triumphant smile, Avery spins and casts, taking the auror by surprise. "Imperio!" he hisses, and Dawlish's jaw falls slack, his eyes glassy. "You've seen Severus Snape's badge, and you're happy to nod him through," Avery mutters, and then he steps back.
Dawlish takes a moment, seeming dazed, and then he looks at both men and nods sharply. "All seems in order," he says, "carry on."
"Thank you, Dawlish," Avery says, as he drags Severus through into Diagon Alley.
"Please. Call me John," Dawlish smiles, raising his hand in acknowledgement as the two men pass by him.
Rose looks as sick as he feels, and he's silent when he withdraws his spell.
"Do you need anything else?"
He shakes his head. "No. Thank you."
"Did you learn anything that'll help you to get her back?" David asks, his expression hard, and his tone harder.
"They all know something I don't," he says, softly. "First the wolf, then Potter, now Lily - none of them want to carry Wolfsbane through wizarding London."
"And that's helpful?" David presses.
Severus looks solemn. "I don't know. It's something I would never do," he says, "but then, I'm a brewer. I know what the risks are for a potion like that." He gives a tight shrug. "I get that the wolf would know - it's his potion, after all, but…"
"...but what?"
"What's rattled Potter's cage?" he muses. "He's the sort of wizard who flies by the seat of his pants. Whatever trouble he gets into, he knows he can get out of - whether it's through his apparent charm," he spits, looking sick, "or his father's money."
David nods. "Yes. He rather struck me that way."
"So the consequences must be bad if he thinks he couldn't worm his way out of it." Severus looks troubled.
"Were they who they said they were?" Rose asks.
"Mulc and Ave and Ros?" Severus nods. "Yes."
"Even if they'd taken that same potion-"
"-they were here a while," he muses, "and they were in no rush."
"There's a time limit?"
This time, he flashes her a quick smile, full of crooked teeth. "Usually," he concedes, "but not with the version that Lily took."
David raises an eyebrow. "You modified it?"
"She did," he says, trying not to smile. "I've told you before, she's brilliant." He glances at the clock. "We have a while." He looks back at Rose, who doesn't seem reassured by his statements, and he reaches for and squeezes her fingers. Lil likes this. Like mother, like daughter, I hope.
"Believe me," he continues, his tone more gentle, "if they'd taken Polyjuice, they'd have been moving a lot faster - they'd have been clock watching. They might even have brought supplies and sipped from them - and maybe if I was watching this from Lily's perspective, I'd be more worried." He offers her another smile. "But you were there throughout, watching Rosier and Mulciber, and I didn't see a hint of them taking a potion." He pauses. "Did you?"
"No," she says, quietly.
"No," he affirms. "So it was Mulciber, and it was Rosier, and I am deathly certain that it was Avery with them." He gives her fingers another squeeze and looks at David. "And maybe that's not so awful. Avery certainly considers himself my friend."
David raises an eyebrow. "Really?"
"After a fashion," he says, with more confidence than he feels. Now isn't the time to mention the time he left you in the hands of the Muggle police, left you to face the music alone. "But that's enough for Lil to work with. It's a good thing that Rosier has paired them together."
"And who is Greyback?"
David's head jolts at Rose's question, and Severus pales slightly.
"He's a werewolf," Severus admits, eventually.
David grips the back of the armchair. "It seems to me that you know more creatures than wizards."
"The problem isn't Greyback," Severus says, "although he isn't anything like…" He pauses, the name sticking on his tongue. "...Lupin. He's much darker." He looks sickened. "Lily thinks that Lupin does idiotic things because he has idiotic friends. She thinks he doesn't pose a real threat - that he's practically inert."
"Evidently you don't think the same."
"Whereas Greyback is a different beast altogether," Severus continues, as if David hasn't spoken a word, "he's dangerous and dark and devious and disgusting and deadly - all with a capital D."
Rose pales at his words, and David shoots him a dark look.
"That's enough, son."
"You asked," he mutters, petulantly.
"But if Lily has gone to meet him-"
"-I've gone to meet him," he corrects. "With Ave in tow." He straightens, and sounds calmer than he feels. "You must understand, this isn't Lily Evans, pretty woman, Muggleborn who has gone to a meeting. This is Severus Snape, ugly man-"
"Severus," Rose admonishes.
"-Halfblood," he finishes, ignoring the interruption. "I am one of them. Least, they think I am," he concedes, "and if she can play along, then she's in no real danger." He sucks in a breath. "If she talks quickly, then I'm sure she can convince those who follow Him that I am committed to the cause. It's the aurors I am worried about."
"The police?"
"If she's gone down to Knockturn Alley with a prohibited potion," Severus says, "then that's a risk in itself." He looks pained. "But they all know something," he says, earnestly, "something else. Something the wolf knew, something that Potter knew, and something that even Lil knew. She was worried enough to speak up and protest, but was ignored - so either Rosier and Mulciber are in on a setup, which is possible, but I doubt it," he muses, twirling his wand absently in his hand. "I think that Dumbledore and the Order know to keep away from Knockturn - and that's the sort of information that comes from within. I think the aurors are keeping a closer eye than usual and…"
"And," Rose presses, urgently. "And what?"
"And…" He trails off and gives her an insincere smile. "And nothing," he says. "I'm worrying about nothing. She'll make the drop, and then she'll sink a few beers with Ave-"
"-sink a few beers! In her condition!"
"She'll have to play along - at least for a while," he argues, "but then she can make her excuses and come home." He nods, tightly. "I can't run after her - we can't have two of me running into each other." He shrugs. "I can go to Malf, perhaps, see if she thinks to go there."
"I think you should stay here," David interrupts. "I think you're right - I think running after Lily only runs the risk of someone seeing that there's two of you."
Rose looks to be on the brink of fresh tears. "But we can't stay here! What if they come back?"
"I can stay here," Severus says, levelly. "You can stay with my parents-"
"-we wouldn't want to intrude. We can go to the hotel by the station," David offers, quickly.
"Good idea," Severus agrees.
Rose gives him a stern look. "And you're coming with us."
"No. Lily needs to be able to find me."
"Then go to your parents'. I don't want you here alone overnight, Severus," Rose says, reaching for him. "If they know about this place…"
"Rillwych then," he says, quietly. "If you don't want to stay with my mam and da, I don't want to worry them. Lil will know to find me at Rillwych."
"Go to your parents," David says, sternly. "You and Lil want to live in Rillwych when this is all over."
"And you have that protection up at your mother and father's," Rose adds. "Lily knows how to get into there if she needs to."
"It makes sense, Severus. You won't be in any fit state to help Lils when she returns if you've spent all night jumping at shadows."
Severus looks torn, but eventually he nods. "Fine."
We stalled for too long, she thinks, as they approach Knockturn Alley. Even from the junction where it meets Diagon Alley, she can see Greyback prowling, stalking back and forth, irritation emanating from him.
"He doesn't look in the best of moods," Avery mutters. He glances behind them, his wand gripped in his hand. "Come on, Sev, best get it over with."
She nods enthusiastically. It's so close now, she can almost touch it - the drop is moments away, and then all she needs to do is sit through another polite catch up with Avery, before making her excuses and returning back to Cokeworth.
The two of them walk towards the werewolf - Avery first, Lily half a step behind. He looks up as they approach, and he grins - a dark, feral smile which reveals his teeth, and he moves towards them. As he does, there's a movement in the shadows, and before she can react, there's a deafening crack of Disapparition, and she's flung to the ground.
She looks up, watching in horror as Greyback sprints down Knockturn Alley, straight into the wands of three aurors - and then a forceful hand presses on the back of her head, and she hears her cheekbone crack as it connects with a cobble, the sudden sting of pain radiating through her face.
To Severus' quiet relief, Tobias isn't home when the three of them descend upon Spinner's End. It would be a stretch to suggest that Eileen welcomed them in, but they all crowd into the living room, and David starts to explain. He's only a few sentences in, and Severus spies Eileen reaching for her cigarette packet and lighter.
For his part, Severus doesn't feel as if he can relive the events of the night again, and he excuses himself. He heads upstairs, entering his parents' bedroom first and marching over to the window, straining to see across the rows of terraces - checking for enemies. He retreats after a moment, and heads into his old small room, sliding the window open and staring out.
"Your old school tie."
He jumps at the sound of Rose's voice, and then glances across to where she's pointing. "Yeah."
"Didn't take it with you."
He shrugs. "In the wizarding world, you don't need your old tie for people to know which house you were in," he says.
"And Lily," Rose says, moving closer to him, and touching the photograph pinned into the wall.
"Yes."
"It's a good photo."
"...it was my favourite," he concedes, looking embarrassed.
"But you didn't take it with you?"
"I didn't need it," he mutters, "I had the real thing." At this, he looks pained, and turns back to the window.
"Checking to see if anyone followed us?"
He nods.
"David was watching his wing mirrors more than the windscreen."
"He's a clever bloke," Severus says, quietly. "What's Mam said about it all?"
"I don't think I've heard her speak so far. She hasn't stopped smoking since we arrived."
"You'll hear her if she catches you up here," he says, with a half smile. "Where does she think you were going?"
"The loo."
This time, his smile grows wider. "Aye, well that's outside," he says, his accent suddenly broader.
She wonders if he knows he's doing it, whether his phrasing is deliberate, or whether once he stands within these four walls, his subconscious takes over and brings out the Cokeworth boy within.
"Merlin, she'll have a field day," he continues, "when she hears you came up here."
"I forgot that you didn't have a bathroom inside-"
"-yer don't need to apologise," he says. There's a pause. "Not ter me, anyway. Besides, it might just take her mind off all this shit that's gone on."
"...she loved it here," Rose says, quietly. At his blank look, she smiles. "Lily. It's all she used to talk about. Severus' house this, Severus' bedroom that."
He laughs. "Well, there's no accounting for taste." He shrugs. "It looked better than this back then," he says. "Not nice, or anything, but… It was more me." He waves his hand at the few schoolbooks which remain on the shelf. "Books and parchment and records. Stuff like that."
"More you would be exactly why she loved it," Rose says. Then she squeezes his arm. "I'd best go and give David some support."
He nods, and he follows her as far as the landing, but he doesn't follow her down. "Rose," he says, as she's halfway to the bottom, causing her to twist her neck to look at him. "Don't worry. I'll get her back. I'd do anything for her."
"I know," she says, and then she continues down.
There's a flurry of voices, and he leans back against the stair wall, watching as David and Rose leave. There's various platitudes, and Eileen is as stiff and curt as ever - but he knows that this has shaken her. He watches as she shuts the front door, and then checks the handle over and over, before finally pressing her back against it, fingers fumbling in her pocket for yet another cigarette. She lights it, and draws on it deeply, her eyes closing as she puffs out a long stream of smoke.
"Won't be any left fer tomorrow if yer keep chainin' 'em all night," he calls.
"You're going to buy me a new packet tomorrow," she says, not opening her eyes. "After all, this is all your fault."
Lily's pinned against the wall, held in position by a wand, trying desperately to hear the muffled discussion between the two aurors who are stood a short distance away. There's a lot of disbelieving huffs and mutterings, but then she can sense them moving closer.
"Good evening, Mr Snape," one of the aurors says, her tone fierce - and Lily straightens as she recognises the voice: Amelia Bones.
"Good evening, Madam Bones," she says.
"What are you doing down here, Mr Snape?" the next auror says - and this time, as the voice is closer, she recognises this woman too: Emmeline Vance.
"Stretching my legs."
"Stretching. Your. Legs." Vance moves closer to her, her wand jabbing into Lily's side. "Plenty of places to stretch your legs in wizarding London, Snape."
"And this is one of them."
"Plenty of places a little more salubrious than Knockturn Alley." Vance jabs her again. "What else were you doing tonight, other than stretching your legs?"
Lily understands why Vance is pressing the point - she and Severus had more than one furious argument about Knockturn Alley when they first lived together, with him encouraging her to return to Hogsmeade after work instead of socialising down any of the Alleys.
"And what's wrong with Hogsmeade?"
"They don't want to travel up here-"
"-it's hardly travel!"
"It's more convenient," she huffs. "And there's something exciting about Diagon, don't you think?"
"No," he says, sullenly.
"It's magical!"
"We're magical - everything we touch is magical!"
"Suit yourself," she says, sniffing. "It just reminds me of getting ready to go to Hogwarts." She gives him a slight smile. "Remember when we used to go and get our books?"
In spite of himself, he smiles back. "Yeah." He sighs, rolling his eyes. "Yes, all right, there's something special about Diagon," he concedes.
"Thank you!"
"...but it's not Diagon that's the problem."
"If it's not Diagon that's the problem, then there's no problem," she smiles.
"I'm just saying, all roads lead to Knockturn, Lil-"
"-can you hear yourself? You are being ridiculous, Sev."
"And you're being reckless! We both know that a drink down Diagon turns into a drink down Knockturn - and that's full of wizards looking to take advantage."
"If that happens, I can look after myself, thank you."
"If? If! I know you've been down there."
"I haven't."
"Don't lie, Lil."
"I'm not."
"You've been seen!"
She scoffs, annoyed at having been caught out. "Been spying on me? You can't help yourself, can you? Can't bear to think of me having fun with other wizards-"
"-they will ditch you at the sight of the first pretty available girl-"
"-they're not like that-"
"-they're all like that! We're all like that!" he spits. "And then you'll be on your own, you'll be vulnerable-"
"-I'll come home if they leave me-"
"-and they'll eat you alive, Lily," he spits. "The wizards who hang around down there are not soft like me."
"You're not soft."
"No, but I'm not like them," he says, invading her space, gripping her arms. "I could be, if that's what you want, if that's why you're risking us by going down there-"
"-you're hurting me."
He immediately releases her, his expression darkening. "Nothing good comes from going down Knockturn, Lily, believe me."
"Fancied a shag," she says, trying not to wince at how coarse the statement sounds.
Bones gives a disappointed sigh. "Which way did you enter the Alley?"
"Through the Leaky."
"And that's what you told Dawlish, was it?" Vance presses. "Does our esteemed colleague admit anyone who," and she sneers, "fancies a shag? Is he also on the payroll of Madam Mary, perhaps?"
"You'd have to ask him. Or Madam Mary."
"Only Ministry personnel are permitted in these streets tonight," Bones says, "did he tell you that?"
No.
"There was a dementor attack earlier," Vance explains. "The whole area is on lockdown." She gives a thin smile. "Apart from, it seems, to young men who just can't keep it in their pants."
Lily straightens, trying to look unaffected. "A dementor? From Azkaban?"
"Why did Dawlish let a scrawny good-for-nothing runt like you past the blockade?"
She pauses, deciding that a half truth is better than none. "...I'm a Striker."
"I see. Another bully boy Striker looking to take advantage of those poor witches at Mary's." Bones gives what sounds like a disappointed sigh. "Papers."
"...I'm not carrying them."
"Not carrying them?" Vance's tone is incredulous. "What sort of world do you think we're living in these days, Snape?"
"I just forgot to pick them up when I left."
"We thought you were such a clever boy," Vance continues, her tone mocking, "when you were giving our colleague Moody the run around - and now look at you. You can't string a lie together to save your life."
"You disgust me," Bones says.
"I only came here for a bit of fun," Lily protests.
"Yes, well, the way you treated that young woman… There's a name for wizards like you."
"She's better off without me."
There's a short laugh. "Nobody is disputing that," Bones snaps, "and look at you now, so desperate, you're paying for a witch's attention."
"And you seem to think you're above the law, swanning around here without your documents," Vance adds.
"I just forgot."
"I remember seeing your name on the boards recently," Vance continues. "You've been charged with something."
"That was ages ago. Years."
"No," Vance says, thoughtfully, "not that incident with Borage. Something recent. Moody had you in."
"Carrying," Bones chips in. "You were held for carrying."
"Then that's good enough reason for me to conduct a search," Vance says, firmly, before Lily can argue. "You've forgotten your papers, so let us see what you remembered to bring along with you to your little jaunt to Madam Mary's."
"Nothing! There's no need-"
"-there's every need," Vance interrupts. "Now, turn out your pockets - and believe me, with your record, you'd better hope that there's nothing other than fluff in them."
Reluctantly, she reaches into her pockets and withdraws the vial.
"And what is this?"
"Nothing."
"Don't play with us," Vance says. "I'll start you off - it's a potion, yes?"
Reluctantly, she nods.
"Your turn," Vance continues. "What sort of potion is it?"
She doesn't speak.
"No? You don't feel like answering our questions? I'll tell you what I think it is," Bones says, firmly. "Three of our colleagues have a werewolf apprehended-"
"-no-"
"-at the other end of this alley," Bones finishes. "And here you are, the disgraced apprentice brewer."
"It's not what it looks like-"
"-Belby's been ranting and raving about his methodology having been stolen-"
"-but I haven't-"
"-and here you are, no job, no identification, no authority-"
"-I've told you, I came here for a shag!"
"No, you nasty little boy! You came here to get a payday for this little vial of Wolfsbane," Vance interrupts with triumph, sealing the vial into an evidence bag and then secreting it in her pocket. "And unluckily for you, we were available to intervene. Hands out."
"Please, no, you don't understand, it's not Wolfsbane-"
"-we'll have it tested," Bones says, sounding bored. "We'll soon find out."
"But if I'm not passing Wolfsbane, then you've got no reason to hold me!" She knows she sounds desperate. "It's just a potion I was working on!"
"And carrying around with you? For good luck?" Vance gives an incredulous scoff. "Hands out, now," she repeats, firmly, "or we will take you in by force."
Lily holds her hands out, watching despairingly as the magical cuffs wind around her wrists.
"Severus Snape, you are under arrest for contravention of the Ministry Act of 1347."
Her heart sinks as the rest of her rights are recited - she knows how sweeping the powers of the 1347 act are; that if she doesn't find herself prosecuted for one crime, the aurors will conjure another in its stead.
"You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."
She's barely listening, staring out into the night, trying to get a glimpse of Greyback - who, as she was informed, appears to have been subdued at the far end of the alley.
"Do you have anything you would like to put on the official record at this moment in time?"
She shakes her head.
"Then take him back to the Ministry," Vance says to Bones, "and put him in a holding cell whilst I think about what we're going to charge him with."
Chapter 108: Snape
Chapter Text
Although Lily's previous visits to the auror offices had hardly been resounding successes, she still somewhat retained her longstanding faith in the police and the authorities and the judicial system at large. Lily came from a family of good, moral, upstanding citizens, and it had been instilled in her that the police would always help people like her - people in need.
Severus, on the other hand, had never quite shared that same belief. He'd always been suspicious of people with power - whether they were a teacher or a traffic warden - and he would lower his gaze and stuff his hands in his pockets and cross the street rather than walk directly past a police constable.
"Lil, I've told yer, don't give 'em anythin'."
"I only smiled at him!"
"Yeah, well, that's what I mean. Don't smile, don't engage, don't give 'em an inch. That's how yer bring trouble back to yer door."
"Oh, Sev! You're being silly."
"An' you're being naive."
"You should hear yourself. You sound just like your father."
"Yeah, well," he muttered, darkly. "You sound just like yours."
Lily was slowly beginning to see his point. The first time that she'd been truly unnerved was during her perfunctory visit to the tiny auror outpost near to Hogsmeade. It was rather small, containing a handful of offices and interview rooms, a tiny corridor full of even tinier cells, and hardly any staff. It was innocuous looking from the outside, solid brick from top to bottom, and the plain architecture suggested to Lily that the Ministry must've had a tight grip on its finances when it was established.
For Lily, despite its less than imposing appearance, she would forever associate the boring looking building with the dark day when they summoned her in and burnt her papers, forcibly exchanging them for new ones - ones emblazoned with that hateful derogatory slur. Mudblood.
She can remember the boiling hatred she felt at the aurors' complicity as they took her photograph, as if she was a common criminal, and the distaste in her own mouth as she quietly bowed to their demands and took part in their charade.
You were as complicit as they were. By not protesting their actions, you gave them legitimacy.
Most of all, she can remember hating that there was a queue of Muggleborns, hating that they were being forced to line up, to wait their turn - as if it wasn't degrading enough to be reduced in the eyes of the law, in the eyes of society altogether, but that they had to stand there and beg to be treated in such a manner.
You had no choice. It was that or expulsion from the wizarding world.
The main auror department, housed in the Ministry of Magic, was a different beast altogether. She'd spent a fair few months inside the Ministry in her early working life, and although Moody and Thicknesse and Ogden and a few others had murmured that she should join them in the auror department downstairs, the move hadn't come; the political landscape shifted before she could realise her potential, and she was cast out entirely.
She had been into the auror department as a civilian - admitted whilst on the other side of the table, with Moody quizzing her intently off the record, and by Vance even more forcefully afterwards. She'd even waltzed through the offices with Bones, on her quest to retrieve the recordings of her and Severus when the aurors had bugged their flat all those months ago.
Lily hadn't been comfortable in the company of the aurors on any of those occasions - she'd been miserable when her papers had been taken, righteous when being spied upon, angry with Moody, and defiant with Vance - but she hadn't been truly fearful.
On each of those occasions, even when she was concerned or unnerved or even a little scared, she held out a thread of hope - that others would recognise her for the hardworking, polite, respectable young woman that she was, even if aspersions were cast upon her blood status. She relied on being able to talk people around, to engage with them - to make them want to help her, or forgive her, or at the very least, turn a blind eye.
This time, she can't find a thread of hope, and fearful is the only word to describe her state. As she is booked in, Severus' particulars are noted down - name, blood status, sex, parentage, age - and she can feel the dislike radiating from across the desk. Once they reach the later sections - address and occupation - for which she has no answer, the scorn coming from the auror is palpable.
She knows, just by looking at the angry auror, that there's no common ground or help to be found here. She is no longer Lily Evans, a kind young witch who finds herself in unfortunate situations - but she is Severus Snape, a no good wizard who actively courts trouble, and who deserves everything that comes his way.
Severus sits upstairs, alone, not wanting the inevitable confrontation with his mother - but she has no such qualms, and after thirty minutes, she's stood in his doorway.
"Mam."
"Didn't think of changing into her then?"
"Thought of it," he mutters, "but Muggleborns…" He shrugs. "It's not like it used to be."
Her face hardens. "You said that the laws-"
"-they've been getting worse," he admits. "But Lil's been staying with her parents, so I didn't think it was worth worrying her."
"She's a grown woman. You should let her make her own decisions."
"What was I meant to do, throw the Daily Prophet in her face with every visit?" he shouts. "Here y'are, love," he mimics, bitterness filling his tone, "they're rounding your lot up and calling you disgusting vermin this week! Let's flip over to the back page and check out the Quidditch scores!"
"You can cut the attitude if you think you're staying here tonight." There's a pause. "And you couldn't be someone else?"
"Who?" He looks furious. "I'm not some freak who keeps a collection of loose hairs, Mam. It's me, or her, or her parents, or…" He trails off, glancing at her. "And I didn't think yer'd want that."
"I don't think it would do you much good pretending to be your father," she says, deliberately.
"Well then," he scowls.
"...do you want one?"
He looks at the offered cigarette in her hand, and after a drawn out pause, he takes it. "Surprised yer've got any left, the rate yer've been going."
"Don't pretend you haven't got a packet of John Player Specials stashed in that drawer."
"Don't pretend you haven't been sneakin' through my drawers," he shoots back.
"My drawers," she corrects. "You've got your own house now."
"An' what? Finders keepers? Fuckin' 'ell, good job I never stashed me riches 'ere, eh?" He gives a dark laugh through the smoke, and then yanks open the drawer, the black and gold packet sitting atop a pair of jeans. "An' I never left 'em like this either," he mutters, flicking the pack open.
"Haven't taken any."
"Nah, just rifled through an' counted 'em, yeah?" He scoffs, and kicks the drawer shut with his foot. "Take what yer want," he says, holding the packet out, and Eileen takes five, placing them in her own empty packet.
"What about that Lucius?"
"What about him?"
Eileen looks thoughtful. "You could be him."
"I considered it," he says, after a long moment. He draws on the cigarette. "But I'd need to visit first - and either explain and hope he agreed, or somehow take a hair from him and excuse myself quickly."
"You think that he wouldn't help you?"
"It's not that." He gives her a sharp look. "Malf has fingers in many pies. ...I'd only have to say the wrong thing to the wrong person, and his empire would come tumbling down, and it'd be curtains for both of us."
"The Malfoys have always been rather full of their own self importance." She takes a long draw on her cigarette. "But you don't worry about that with her? With you?"
"I ain't got an empire to lose," he scoffs. "Besides, she's done it before," he says, "at Hogwarts. Pulled it off. Fooled Sluggy."
Eileen harrumphs. "It's not saying much."
Severus gives a wry smile. "I'll tell yer summat, Mam - she knows me better than I know myself, and Merlin knows, I don't have any secrets from her."
It's cold in the cell, and she's strangely grateful to be in Severus' body - at this late stage of pregnancy, with aching knees and aching ankles and an aching back, the last thing she would need is to be struggling in a cell with a thin mattress and a scratchy blanket.
If you weren't in Severus' body, she thinks, they wouldn't have put you in this miserable place to begin with.
There wasn't a clock at the front desk when she was being processed, and she's quickly losing track of how long ago it was that she swallowed the Polyjuice. She doesn't really know how long the effects will last - the only vial of this experimental version that was tested was when Severus pretended to be Lucius, and if she remembers rightly, it lasted all evening, through the night, through the morning and into the early afternoon.
There's time yet, she thinks - but then she glances at the darkness through the small cell window, knowing that it's already into the night. Breakfast isn't for another 8 hours, but 8 hours waiting is 8 hours lost. I need to take a few risks if I've got any chance of escaping here whilst still appearing to be Severus. Merlin knows what they'd charge me with if I transformed back in front of them.
Resolutely, she slaps on the cell door - over, and over, and over.
"Anything of note?" Bickerstaff asks, as he signs the parchment that marks him in for his shift.
"Four lucky guests of ours - the occupants of," and Moody pauses, flipping the parchment back and forth, "A26, B3, B17 and C9 are all being transported from their cells to Azkaban tomorrow. Wake them before 6, and offer them use of the showers." Moody flicks through the arrest book. "Steady night," he says, "forty three new faces - although most of those were due to that scuffle behind the Three Broomsticks." He gives a tight smile. "Let them sleep it off and a word to the wise, Bickerstaff, make them scrub the cell clean before you release them."
"Sir."
"I don't know about you, but I always think Butterbeer has an unmistakable odour when it travels in reverse," he says, his lips twisting in disgust. "Turns my stomach, and it never seems to leave a cell once it's in it. Lack of ventilation."
"Yes, Moody."
"As for the rest of them, there's no hardened criminals amongst this lot - all stupid kids making stupid mistakes." He gives a satisfied nod. "Should be an easy night for you. You'll get the odd one who cries it out - you know the type I mean - the ones just out of Hogwarts who thought that Filch was the toughest authority they could meet." Moody laughs as he slams the book closed and passes it over. "And they don't even let him use his manacles these days."
"I know the ones, sir."
"Good. Don't fall for their sob story - my suggestion is to leave them to it. You don't need to be coddling them at this hour - they'll feel better in the morning after a sleep. And that goes for the drunks as well." He grimaces as he stands, grabbing at his hamstring. "That's what I tell myself, anyway, with this blasted leg." He grins. "A good sleep solves a mountain of ills."
Bickerstaff looks uneasy as Moody hobbles away, his leg injury clearly bothering him. "Sir…"
Moody stops and sighs. "I knew that signing over wouldn't be as simple as passing you the book." He turns. "Well? Out with it, Bickerstaff."
"The lads… The lads downstairs, they said - they said that a werewolf was taken in tonight, sir." Bickerstaff looks a little green. "Should I take precautions?"
Moody arches an eyebrow. "Seeing as the wolf has been drugged and is currently chained up in Azkaban-"
"-without trial?"
Moody hobbles closer, dislike covering his face. "Rather him here, would you, Bickerstaff?"
Bickerstaff gulps. "No, sir, no, not at all-"
"-it can be arranged," Moody says, with a dark smile. "If you feel strongly-"
"-no, sir, that's fine. It's just-"
Moody's nose almost touches Bickerstaff's, and his voice is barely more than a growl, "-you should think yourself lucky, Bickerstaff, that your seniors are keeping an eye out for you. Just think how many would've left you here, manning these cells alone, with a transforming wolf to handle-"
"-sir."
"Now run along, Bickerstaff - and don't pay attention to those gossips manning the custody desk."
"Sir."
"I'll wait up fer 'im," Severus offers, poking his head around the living room door.
"I don't think I'll sleep."
"Me neither," he says, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "Thought I'd offer." He curls his fingers in the mime of a drink. "Brew then?"
She nods, and he takes himself off to the kitchen, trying not to watch the clock as he boils the kettle. A few minutes later, he returns, walking quickly with the hot cup which he bangs down on the mantelpiece before going back and collecting his own.
"Thanks."
"It's your tea," he says, blowing on the hot liquid and then sipping, wincing as it burns his tongue.
Eileen follows suit, and instantly recoils as she tastes it. "Who taught you to make tea like this? You shouldn't put scalding water in. Burns the leaves. Makes it bitter."
He ignores her commentary, but cradles his cup in his hands, letting the heat sting his palms.
"And put it down if you're not drinking it. It's that damned hot, you'll get a blister." She pauses then, and gives a harsh laugh. "Or is that the point? Back on your twisted penance, are you?"
"No."
"Better to have some physical pain to focus on, to take your mind off what's ailing your heart?"
"Give it a rest, Mam."
She does, and they sink back into an uncomfortable silence.
Least Da would put the radio on.
Lily keeps slapping the cell door. The palms of both of her hands are bright red, so she knows that if she's not being heard, it's not through her own lack of exertion.
She clenches her fist, and starts to knock - first with her knuckles, but after a while, it smarts - so she turns her hand, and beats the door with the fleshy edge of her palm.
"Hey!" she shouts, for good measure, between knocks. "Hey! Hey! Hey!"
Bickerstaff swills down his lukewarm tea, and then runs his quill across the list of new names. There seemed to be more witches and wizards falling foul of the new laws than ever, and although this wasn't the busiest night he'd been part of, it would be unfair to deem it as quiet.
Faced with an inmate list of this length, some of the old timers would talk about the good old days, when wizards and witches would be given a quick slap on the wrist - a fine at most - and sent on their way. These days, under Fudge, most miscreants found themselves confined to the cells for at least a few hours - if not a few days.
"Helps sharpen their focus," he mutters in a high pitched tone, mimicking Amelia Bones' statement during the last department briefing. He hadn't seen any evidence of that, despite everyone's insistence that it was an active deterrent; as far as Bickerstaff could see, the same faces just kept rebounding - they kept making the same mistakes, and the same aurors kept picking them up, until eventually, they'd been picked up enough to convince the Wizengamot that a trip to Azkaban was required in order to rehabilitate the offender into wizarding society.
It seemed to Bickerstaff, not that he would dare voice such an opinion in public, that certain aurors held certain grudges and set up certain situations so they could make certain arrests. At the very least, it was an effective method of keeping their arrest numbers up when they were experiencing a slow patch - after all, nobody wants to sit opposite Emmeline Vance during a performance review, and appear inefficient when compared to the rest of the aurors in the department.
Bickerstaff ticks off each name on the parchment, checking it against the chalked board at the top of each corridor of cells. If it doesn't match, he'll do a sweep of the cells, peering inside at each and every criminal, making sure the name matches the face - but he's hoping that won't be the case tonight.
And then, as he reaches the last four occupants, his hand stills and his blood runs cold. "For Merlin's sake," he mutters, his quill hovering above the scrawled name, "not you again."
"There aren't any biscuits," Eileen says, and Severus gives her an incredulous look in response. She stiffens, and sniffs. "I was just saying. In case you were wondering why I hadn't offered. ...I wasn't expecting visitors."
"Mam, fuck's sake, do I look like I care about a fuckin' custard cream!"
"Do you really think she'll come here, then?"
"Yes."
"Not back to her parents'?"
"It's not safe there. It's had wizards crawling all over it."
"Like this place then."
"Yer not funny," he snaps.
"You don't think she's more likely to go to yours? In Rillwych?"
"Safer here," he says, finally. "With the spell."
"You haven't done the same at your house?"
"I didn't think I needed to!"
"It seems to me that you didn't think of a lot of things!"
I wish I'd stayed in that fucking hotel with Rose and David, he thinks, sourly.
"Well, bugger off with them, then," Eileen snaps. "I didn't ask you to bring trouble to my door, did I?"
And I forgot she could do that.
"She is the cat's mother."
He throws himself deeper into his Occlumency, thinking about building walls and locking boxes, frowning in concentration - and then he sees Eileen smiling strangely at him.
"What?"
"Better," she says. "Over the last hour or so, you'd let it slip."
"Look, Mam, I didn't mean-"
"-keep those walls up," she instructs. There's a pause. "You're getting better at it. Every time I see you, there's been an improvement."
"Thanks," he says, grudgingly, not quite sure how to take her deliberate interruption, nor her sudden unexpected praise. He flicks open his packet of cigarettes and takes one, lighting it - and then he passes it to his mother. She accepts and pulls deeply on it as he takes out another and lights it for himself. "Yer can't see owt then?"
"A wall of darkness."
He nods, tightly. "Complete darkness?"
"There's a few cracks - not many," she adds, hastily, at his despondent look, "it'd be enough to keep most out. But you need to keep practising. Someone powerful can get in through those cracks."
"Right. What time's Da comin' in?"
"He said before midnight, so anywhere between now and 4am," she says, her voice weary.
"Is he takin' the piss? I'll 'ave a word wi' 'im."
She looks tired. "I don't need you to tell him how to behave," she mutters. "I just need you to take all of your drama away from this house."
"...I'm sorry."
"And so am I, Severus. Believe you me, so am I."
"Oi! Oi!"
She keeps up the rhythmic banging for at least half an hour, alternating her shouts and thumps - until both hands are sore and she's starting to doubt whether anyone can hear her.
They left Severus in solitary confinement for over two weeks, she thinks, swallowing hard. Why would they treat him any better this time?
She carries on thumping the metal.
Because last time was a setup. Last time, Moody was carrying out Dumbledore's orders. This time, it's a mistake.
She thumps even harder.
Or is it? Why would You-Know-Who arrange for a drop when the streets were closed off? Why wouldn't he get word to one of them - to Avery? Why didn't Avery back off when Dawlish stopped us? And why did he run? Was it like him deserting Severus last time - when he left him to carry the can, him acting through fear? Or is it darker than that - premeditated? Has You-Know-Who forgiven Severus as Avery kept saying, or is this his punishment - his real punishment?
It almost doesn't bear thinking about. She bangs the door with both fists this time, alternating faster and faster. "Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help!"
Bickerstaff's barely at the entrance to the corridor when he hears the familiar voice calling out, and he runs hot and then cold, a shiver spreading through his limbs. His robes stick to his chest, a thin layer of sweat covering him, and he creeps along the corridor, following the shouts.
"Help! Help! Help!"
"All right," he says, slamming the metal grille back and peering in. He does it in one movement, his hand trembling, terrified that he's going to be greeted with the same sight as last time - broken skin and blood.
To his surprise, Severus appears to be fairly composed - relieved, almost, at him being at the door.
"You all right?" He squints, trying to peer at him in the dim light. "That's a bruise and a half on your cheek."
"Yeah," Severus says, brushing his face with his fingers. "I fell when I was arrested."
"Fell? Not pushed?"
He gives a thin smile. "I don't believe there is a difference."
Bickerstaff looks uncomfortable. "What's all this shouting about? Half of these prisoners want to get some sleep, and I suggest you think about joining them."
"No!" Severus says, his voice suddenly desperate. "Please help me. They kept me here for weeks last time, you know they did, you-"
"-I know," Bickerstaff says, curtly.
"Are they going to do it again?"
He shakes his head, with a confidence he doesn't feel. Depends when Moody notices you're locked up again, he thinks. "It's not what we normally do."
"What do you normally do?"
"72 hours at most," Bickerstaff says. "Representation within 48."
"It's not quick enough."
"It's how things work around here. You can't go making special demands. There's a bunch of you who've been booked in tonight."
"No," Severus says, pressing himself against the door, "it's not fair. I did my waiting last time. Two a half weeks, I was here!"
"It won't be that long this time."
"You could fast track me."
"It doesn't work like that."
"Please, I'm begging you. Please."
Bickerstaff looks torn.
"I'll scream all night," Severus suddenly threatens. "Hurt myself."
"Snape, don't threaten me-"
"-I know you won't care, I know what you let me do last time. Wouldn't have cared if I'd walked out of here with my skin inside out, with my-"
"-it's not that I don't care," Bickerstaff hisses, "it's that it'd look suspicious if I started pulling favours."
"Who says it's a favour for me?" Severus argues, his voice tinged with desperation. "Just tell them I was a nuisance," Severus offers. "Tell them that me being here last time upset you, and you couldn't face going through it all again. They might not care about me, but they'll care about you - you're their employee."
I wouldn't bet on that, Bickerstaff thinks. "What charge have they got you on?"
"1347."
Bickerstaff winces. "Nasty."
"So I need help, sooner rather than later."
"...what did you get charged with last time?"
Severus gives a strange smile. "Procuring without licence."
"Merlin," Bickerstaff says. "For holding a few prohibited potions ingredients? You've really wound someone up, haven't you?"
Severus nods in agreement. "And I don't know how to fix it. I know you're one of them, but some of these aurors follow me around all day and all night. They're just waiting for me to trip up."
Bickerstaff flares his nostrils, appraising Severus and his desperate appearance and then he nods, lowering his voice. "If I can get someone to see you, then who-"
"-Lucius Malfoy," Severus says, immediately.
"After breakfast-"
"-no, do it now! Please," Severus begs.
"Now?" Bickerstaff gives an incredulous laugh. "It's long past midnight."
"He won't be asleep," Severus insists, his eyes wide. "Please, please - and if you say it's me, he won't hesitate. I promise you, it won't be a waste of your time." There's a pause. "He'll come now. We could get it all out of the way, before the rest of the aurors troop in for the day, whilst all the other prisoners are asleep." He lowers his voice. "Before someone like Moody realises I'm here and holds my papers back like he did last time. Else I'll be locked up for another two or three weeks with you - or more!"
Bickerstaff stares intently at Severus' desperate look, and then he exhales loudly. "The only reason I am entertaining this is because of what you went through last time."
"Thank you, thank you!"
"More than my job's worth, this is," Bickerstaff mutters, putting his hand up to the grille to close it. "Don't start hollering again or the whole thing's off. I'll come back and let you know one way or another."
Lucius paces back and forth in the drawing room, a screaming Draco cradled in his arms. When Narcissa appears in the doorway, tightly knotting her dressing gown at her waist, Lucius smiles over at her fondly. "He's fine."
"He sounds it."
"And I've got it under control. I told you to get some sleep, Cissy."
"I can take him-"
"-he's fine," Lucius insists, turning away from her, rocking their son. "He can scream into my arms just as effectively as into yours." He turns back again, catching Narcissa's gaze. "I meant it when I said you should rest. He's been doing this all week."
"It's called sleep regression."
"It's called sleep disturbance. Our sleep disturbance," he says, flashing her a quick smile.
She moves towards him, touching her finger across Draco's furious, screwed up face. "Nonsense, Lucius, you're never asleep before 2 anyway."
He slides one of his hands from under Draco, cradling him tightly in one arm, and then gently smoothes Narcissa's long blonde hair behind her ear, pressing a firm kiss to her cheek. "Get some sleep."
"But what about you-"
"-I'm wide awake," Lucius says. "As you say, I'm never asleep before 2." He gives her a kind smile. "When Draco gives in and stops screaming, I'll come to bed."
"And if he starts crying again-"
"-then I'm disowning him," Lucius smiles, staring intently at his son. "Aren't I, Draco?"
Narcissa doesn't quite laugh - the sound she makes is a small huff of affection, her demeanour stressed through lack of sleep.
"Sleep, Cissy," Lucius instructs. "Take a potion if you must-"
"-then I'll never wake if Draco does-"
"-I will," he says, firmly, his gaze once more returned to Draco. "Looks like you'll have to wait until tomorrow to be disowned, young man."
"Lucius..."
"Go to bed, Cissy." This time his tone brooks no argument, and Narcissa compliantly kisses Draco - who is still wailing helplessly - on the forehead, and then kisses Lucius full on the lips.
Immediately, Lucius' hand moves to the back of her head, holding her there for a moment longer, parting his lips to deepen the kiss - and when he eventually lets go, shifting Draco in his arms, he smiles.
"Master-"
"Go away," Lucius says, firmly. He casts with his hand before the house elf can protest, ejecting the elf from the room.
"Lucius," Narcissa admonishes, "really! There was no need for that. You don't even know what it wants."
There's another crack of magic, and Dobby reappears, large eyes locked on Lucius' hand, apprehension written across his small face.
"And so it immediately returns," Lucius mutters, "how wonderful."
"Master-"
"-why, Cissy," Lucius says, loudly, "does this idiotic elf keep pestering me? Whatever happened to one of those with manners? Dinky or Blinky or-"
"-Bella killed Twinky."
"Oh yes, that's right, I'd forgotten. Damned shame, fine elf that one. Not like this foolish creature." There's a long pause, and then Lucius glances at the terrified elf. "Well?"
"Dobby is apologising to the fine master and the lovely mistress, but there is a Ministry wizard-"
"-a Ministry wizard?" Lucius looks astounded. "At this hour? At the front door?"
"At the Floo-"
"-the Floo is blocked!"
"Dobby is apologising again to the fine master and the lovely mistress-"
"-there's no need for sycophancy. Get on with it, elf."
"The Floo is not disconnecting from the other fireplaces," Dobby explains, "just blocking. The Ministry wizard is being behind it."
"Being behind it?" Narcissa looks astonished.
"Being behind the bricks where it is blocking."
Lucius passes Draco to Narcissa, and straightens the front of his robes. "And he's there now, this wizard? Behind the fireplace?"
Dobby's eyes widen further. "No, Master, he is blasting his way through. But Dobby is not bringing him upstairs. Dobby is making the wizard waiting in the hallway."
"Lucius? What's happening?"
"Stay here with Draco, Cissy," he orders, drawing his wand. "And you, elf, stay here with them. Not a witch or wizard is to step foot in this room, Ministry or not. Understand?"
"Yes, Master. Dobby is to be protecting the lovely mistress and the smallest wizard."
Eileen ushers Tobias upstairs, and then hovers in the doorway to the living room. Severus is sat on the sofa, his fingers pressed against his forehead, anguish clear on his face.
"Don't wait up all night."
His head jerks up at the sound of her voice, but he doesn't answer - he just slowly returns his head to his hands.
Eileen tries again. "If she needs you tomorrow-"
"-she'll need me tonight. She's coming home tonight," he says, pointedly emphasising the word.
"-then you'll need to be rested," Eileen continues, as if he hadn't spoken.
He looks up then. It's only because the living room light is off, and the light from the hallway is creating odd shadows, that she sees it, but as he shifts to look at her, she spies the damp patches beneath his eyes.
He's crying.
She swallows hard and looks away. "I'm going up now. Before your father spreads himself across my side of the bed."
"Yeah," he says, raising his hand weakly, in acknowledgement of her departure. "Night, Mam."
"Goodnight, Severus," she says, and then she lingers in the doorway for a moment longer, her mouth open - as if there might be more to say - and then she turns, the living room door quietly closing behind her.
Lucius strides down the ornately decorated hallway, and in the distance, a young wizard pushes himself out of a chair. He stands - he's not especially tall, and his wand isn't in his hand. Lucius doesn't break stride, nor does he remove his wand from his own hand, but he tilts his chin upwards, and tosses his hair.
"Odd time for you to be calling..." he calls, when he's still several metres away. He holds his hand out, waiting for the wizard to complete the sentence.
"Bickerstaff, Mr Malfoy," the younger wizard says, looking a little awkward. "I apologise for the intrusion at such a late hour."
Lucius stands before him, glancing at his dusty robes. "It seems you were so eager to see me, young Bickerstaff, you decided to break in."
Bickerstaff swallows a gulp and holds himself a little straighter. "I did not break in, Mr Malfoy," he says, firmly. "It's a crime to block Floo access."
Lucius smiles. "And if it had been blocked, you would not be stood here."
"It was blocked! Just not properly. Didn't think to do it yourself?" Bickerstaff guesses. "Sometimes the house elves are not as compliant as you might believe." He drops his gaze when Lucius flinches at the suggestion that he might not hold full control over his house elves.
Lucius gives a loud sniff. "Forgive me, Bickerstaff, but I assume you do not routinely descend upon respectable households at this hour. I assume there is a reason for you to be imposing upon my hospitality." His eyes narrow. "Who exactly are you, anyway? The elf said you were a wizard from the Ministry."
Bickerstaff fumbles in his pocket for his auror card, which he presents to Lucius. "I'm an auror."
Lucius checks his paperwork, and then raises an eyebrow as he passes it back. "An auror. I don't believe we've had the pleasure."
"No."
"Yet your name rings a bell," Lucius muses. "How new are you?"
"I wasn't hired yesterday," Bickerstaff says, "but I'm not quite as long in the tooth as Moody or Ogden."
"I see. More of a Shacklebolt, are you?"
"Bit younger," Bickerstaff says.
"Not in the field yet then?"
"I'm working in the custody suite-"
Lucius straightens, as if he's been slapped, suddenly conjuring the memory of his conversation with Severus. "And Bickerstaff was watching over me."
"-and one of the prisoners requested that they speak with you. As a matter of urgency." Bickerstaff looks awkward. "I shouldn't really be spending time here - I was hoping this would just be a quick Floo call-"
"-I'll come to the Ministry," Lucius says, firmly. "Which fireplace did you enter through?"
"The kitchen," Bickerstaff says, allowing himself to be propelled along by Lucius' firm hand on his elbow. "But... I've not told you who-"
"-you don't need to," Lucius quietly murmurs. "Let me gather my cloak, and we shall away."
Bickerstaff grabs the metal grille and slides it open. He's spent much of the past hour regretting agreeing to help, especially when he found himself blasting through an illegally blocked Floo - which I should really report to one of the seniors, although explaining how and why I know about it would be difficult - and arguing loudly with a belligerent house elf.
All in all, that had been the worst part of the journey. Lucius Malfoy himself had turned out to be far more compliant than he would've ever expected, given the tales which were so often told about the man.
He'd followed Bickerstaff with a minimum amount of fuss, and the only real argument they'd had was regarding his wand - which he'd steadfastly refused to give up. Bickerstaff had only relented because wands which weren't registered to aurors were muted within the custody suite and the cells - although he wasn't sure whether this was common knowledge, and he wasn't about to reveal it to Lucius Malfoy.
Better that he think he's got his own way over something.
Bickerstaff had smuggled him in through the auror only entrance, and successfully ushered him into one of the darkened interview rooms. He'd hastily shoved a cup of coffee towards him, and a few spare pieces of parchment and a quill - and then he'd locked him in.
It was at that moment that Lucius had looked somewhat surprised - and a little chagrined, as if he'd been tricked into being imprisoned himself - but the look was fleeting, and soon replaced by his usual air of self-confidence.
Bickerstaff had hastily made his way back towards the cells where, to his utmost relief, all was silent. He strode down each of the corridors, casting cursory glances into each cell - and then, when his heart had dulled to a more gentle rhythm again, he headed for Severus' cell.
He hadn't anticipated just how relieved and grateful Severus would be. Bickerstaff shackled him to his own wrist, glancing all around them, before pulling him out of the cell and shutting the door behind them.
"Thank you, thank you. Thank you so much, you don't know what this means-"
"-shhhh!" Bickerstaff shoots him a pointed look as he marches him up the corridor. "You'll wake the rest of them. Can't have them seeing a man out of his cell."
Severus nods stiffly. Their silent walk seems to take forever, the same grey cells repeating over and over and over, until they finally reach the stairs. Bickerstaff leaps up them with haste, and Severus matches him, step for step - and then, a few corridors later, Bickerstaff bundles him into another darkened corridor, and then yanks open a door to a brightly lit room.
"Lucius!"
"Severus," Lucius says, standing, watching closely as Bickerstaff unlocks the handcuffs.
"Sit," Bickerstaff orders, pushing Severus into the seat opposite Lucius, "and put your hands behind you."
"You don't need to shackle him. I'm quite safe with him."
"Just like I didn't need to take your wand?" Bickerstaff mutters, pressing his hand down on Severus' head.
"It's all right, Malf," Severus says, breathlessly, willingly putting his arms behind him. "He's helped me."
Bickerstaff cuffs Severus' hands together, locking them behind him. It hurts Severus' left shoulder, his arms being twisted into such an unnatural position, but he doesn't complain.
"Thank you," Severus says, twisting his body to look at Bickerstaff. "I mean it."
"You've got about thirty minutes," Bickerstaff says, glancing at the clock. "I can't do any better than that. The cleaners come by here around then."
"Thank you."
Both men wait until the door closes behind them, the metal lock sounding impossibly loud as it confines them to the stark room.
"...well, Severus," Lucius says, leaning back in his chair, his eyes darting around the room, "what in Merlin's name have you done this time?"
"Snape," he says.
A slight frown crosses Lucius' face. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again, then opens it. He leans forward, staring intently at Severus. "That's a nasty bruise on your face. Affected your brain, has it?"
"Look at me, Lucius," Severus says, intently, dark eyes meeting pale grey. "Look at me. Snape."
Lucius seems even more confused at Severus' use of his first name, but does as his friend requests, his eyes locking onto Severus' gaze - and then he grips the table, his eyes wide as he sees a desperate image being thrust towards him.
I'm not Severus. I'm Lily.
"Snape," Lucius echoes, dully, his face draining of all colour. "I see."
Chapter 109: A year in Azkaban
Notes:
If you've read this far, you'll already be well aware of the peril that Lily and Bean find themselves in...
Chapter Text
Lucius closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. His grip is so firm, she can see crescent shaped indentations forming, marking where his fingernails are digging deeply into his skin.
"...I'm sorry," she ventures.
"I do not require your apology."
She shifts in her seat, uncertain how to take his firm words. "For disturbing you so late, I mean," she clarifies. "I didn't know who else-"
"-I knew what you meant," Lucius interrupts. "You did the right thing."
"...you're going to say but, aren't you?"
He offers her a wry smile, and then opens his eyes. "You always were astute." He leans back in his seat, deliberately taking in every aspect of the room - floor to ceiling, wall to wall, corner to corner. "If I were amongst the Ministry's finest," he says, carefully, "I would believe it prudent if I monitored this room."
She nods, stiffly. Don't give anything away.
"How long have you been here?"
"What time is it?"
Lucius reaches into his robes and withdraws his pocket watch. "After two."
"A few hours. Four. Maybe five. I'm not quite sure when I was taken in."
His right eye twitches, and she almost laughs out loud at his composed reaction to her statement. I wouldn't want to play you at wizarding bluff, she thinks. She watches him intently as he mulls this piece of information over, knowing that he's puzzling out how it could be possible - how she's achieved such a feat, knowing that Polyjuice barely lasts for a full sixty minutes - or whether the failing is his Legilimency, and he's misunderstood the situation entirely, and that instead of being opposite Lily, he's really sat across from Severus who is trying to pass him a message about Lily instead.
After a long moment, Lucius responds by deliberately smoothing his hand down the front of his robes, slowing his pace when he reaches his stomach, his palm resting firmly against it. He stares at her intently, unmoving, his eyebrows raised high, and his unspoken question clear: are you still with child?
She nods, and he straightens in his seat, reaching for the parchment and quill on the table. He doesn't start to write, and she wonders if it's merely a distraction - that the quill is simply something to hold and toy with whilst they talk.
"Bickerstaff told me that they're holding you under 1347."
Lily nods. "I know it's not good."
Lucius looks unconcerned. "You shouldn't worry. It doesn't mean anything in itself," he explains. "It's a convenient law which provides the aurors with sweeping powers of arrest. They'll hold you under the act until they've gathered enough evidence to charge you with something that will stick." He gives a tight smile at her grimace. "Or, if you are entirely innocent, until they exhaust their efforts - and then you can walk free."
Her breath catches in her throat. "...how long will they hold me?"
Lucius shrugs.
"But I need to get-"
He coughs suddenly - loudly and she instantly falls silent. "I realise," he says, after a pause, "that you have commitments which will be playing on your mind, but unfortunately, the aurors alone will determine the length of your stay here."
"What about bail? Couldn't you-"
"-there's no opportunity for bail until you've been charged - and you will not be charged until the aurors are satisfied that they've discovered the extent of your crimes."
Lily looks pained. "And how long will that take? Hours? Days? Weeks? They held h- me," she quickly corrects herself, "for weeks last time!"
Lucius inhales deeply. "As a Halfblood, they can hold you for up to 21 days." He gives her a pointed look. "Think yourself lucky that you're not a Mudblood. The law permits them to be held for 56 days."
She sucks in a breath. "Without charge?"
"Without charge." He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "You might remember, Snape, the article in the Daily Prophet about the changes to Mudblood sponsorship." He pauses, but she doesn't react. "No? You didn't read that article? Not of interest to you? I shall summarise: Mudbloods who miss work for 49 consecutive days have their work sponsorships automatically revoked."
"Purged," she breathes.
"Purged," Lucius repeats.
"Because they were held by the aurors?"
"Yes."
Lily looks sickened. "And if they're not charged with anything?"
"I think you are already well aware that once you've been purged," Lucius says, quietly, "that there is no route for recourse."
"But under the circumstances-"
"-there is no route for recourse," Lucius repeats, firmly, "no matter the circumstances."
"They can at least reapply for their exemption the following year?"
Lucius gives her a sorrowful look. "Mudbloods can only apply once every five years."
Lily shoots him an aghast look. "Five years? It was a year! One year!"
"There aren't as many job openings at the moment," he says, carefully. "Businesses are cutting back. Exemptions made sense when the community required a workforce - but the economy is in a slump. With the Ministry's budget being cut, it's unpopular for the wizarding population to see a Mudblood with a role that could've gone to a Pure or a Half."
She looks horrified. "So even those with existing exemptions are under threat? If they're arrested, even if they've done nothing? How is anyone supposed to make a living if-"
"-the Ministry understands the concerns of the Mudblood population, and has introduced the popular repatriation programme."
"Repatriation." She pauses, thinking it over. "...sending them back from where they came?"
"You always were a clever boy," Lucius murmurs. "Mudbloods, remember, were born Muggle. Once a Muggle, always a Muggle." He glances away, seeming embarrassed to say the words to her face. "Their stolen magic is removed, and they are returned to their rightful place."
She sucks in a deep breath and offers him a watery smile. "Good job I'm a Halfblood then, isn't it?"
"Isn't it, indeed," Lucius murmurs.
Lily stares at the table before her, not daring to look at Lucius. "...and is there anything I can do to hurry this process along? Or do I have to sit here for the full 21 days whilst they decide on my charges?"
"You could expedite matters by confessing."
"Confessing? To what?"
"To whatever they think you were doing to get yourself arrested in the first place," Lucius hisses. He leans in closer, his voice barely audible. "Which was?"
"A drug deal," she whispers. "They confiscated the potion I was carrying."
Lucius frowns, looking pained, his voice still low. "Since when did you deal in person? I thought you stopped that months ago? I thought you were brokering through Fletcher?"
"My hand was forced."
He winces. "Not ideal. Who was the punter?"
"Greyback."
This time, his eyes briefly close, and he groans. "Wolfsbane?"
She nods.
"Fuck me," he breathes. "There's no fighting that. You're a dead man walking."
"But they're wrong," she whispers, her eyes wide, "I wasn't carrying Wolfsbane."
Lucius frowns. "And they couldn't tell that? I believe it's a distinctive enough potion." He pauses, tapping the quill on the page. "No, they can tell that. That's why they haven't charged you - because if they had you in possession of Wolfsbane, they'd have already thrown the book at you: patent violation, possession of prohibited potions, intent to supply prohibited potions…" He trails off, his eyes narrowed. "So what were you carrying?"
"Nothing."
He scoffs.
"I'm serious! It was botched. It was...nothing. I don't think it'll do anything." She looks at him, hope etched on her face. "And if it isn't Wolfsbane, they can't send me down for-"
"-they'll test it," he interrupts, "and if it's botched, Merlin knows what it'll come back as." He pauses. "You should pull the rug from under them - confess to substandard brewing." He lowers his voice even further. "Lead them a dance - tell them it was something new, something experimental. Not an attempt at Wolfsbane."
"Why would it matter?"
"They can place you in a known location for dealing, meeting with a known werewolf, with this concoction coincidentally in your pocket," Lucius warns. "They have enough to send the jury into a spin. Don't risk it - the sentence for substandard brewing is light. A year at most."
"A year?" She feels sick. "I can't go to Azkaban."
He stares at her, his pale eyes intense. "Severus, you may not have a choice," he warns, and his use of Severus' first name is not lost upon her, "but as you well know, substandard brewing is hardly the crime of the century. At the very least, they'll offer you bail whilst they consider your punishment, and I would suggest that alone is worth the confession, is it not?"
Lily's heart skips at the offer of bail - you can get Bean and yourself out of here - but it is immediately tempered by the knowledge that it would send her husband to prison. I can't send Severus to Azkaban. "And then what?"
"And then they'll call you back for sentencing, and you'll spend a few months holidaying with the Dementors." He sits back. "It's the best option."
"I'd hardly call Azkaban the best-"
"-it might not even be that long," he interrupts. "In other circumstances, I am aware of them letting people with the same charge walk with barely a chastisement - a large fine, and a flea in their ear."
"Yeah? Like who?"
"Nott for one," he says. "Her situation was comparable to yours. A young drug dealer with a few dark associates." He gives her a weak smile. "I suspect that they were happy for her to continue to peddle her inadequate potions - they're willing to take the risk that she'll poison her own, if you understand my meaning, and do their jobs for them." He leans forward. "It's the best option, Snape," and then he lowers his voice further, "and if you need to get out of here in a hurry, I would suggest it is not just the best option, but it is your only option."
"...there's nothing else?"
"Well, you could request a full trial - but the aurors will be aware by now that you have been released from your apprenticeship, and released from Hogwarts." Lucius' lips are set in a thin line. "...they know you no longer have Dumbledore to fight your corner." He shrugs. "And it may come down to being your word against Greyback's, and who knows what sort of deal he might cut."
"But when they test it, they'll see that it wasn't Wolfsbane!"
"If he says you lured him there with the promise of Wolfsbane, then at best, they will find you guilty of incompetence. At worst, they may find you guilty of deception or even intent to wound. You have a history with werewolves-"
"-they don't know that."
"A handful of people know it," Lucius says. "I know it. You know it. Dumbledore knows it. Those idiot friends of that werewolf know it." He gives her a hard stare. "And who knows who'll they trot out to testify against you? Do you really want to take your chances in the dock against Sirius Black?"
"...no."
"They may even argue that you deliberately tampered with the potion to cause mayhem in the streets - to make werewolves believe that they won't be harmful, and when they don't take proper precautions, ordinary wizards and witches will be in danger."
"But that's ridiculous! I wouldn't do anything like that!"
"No? As a criminal Halfblood who has been ejected from Dumbledore's school in suspicious circumstances? Snape, our world is paranoid. There have been a lot of law changes under Fudge," Lucius warns. "I realise you do not read the papers," he says, "but Crouch Junior's punishment was unpopular amongst those with the purest of blood."
She swallows hard. "Fudge's position is under threat?"
Lucius nods. "He's been pushed into a corner, and instead of backing down, he's come out with his fists swinging. The more that people clamour for his head, the more he digs his heels in - the more he insists that the harsh punishments are right and true and just." He leans forward. "It's why the aurors have been ordered to clamp down on the werewolf population. It's an easy win - they're feared halfbreeds, and as such, the law to deal with them is already on the books."
"To deal with them? You mean, to push them through the same process that saw Barty Kissed?" she breathes, swaying slightly in her seat at the thought of her meeting the same fate.
"The punishments are being doled out thick and fast," Lucius says, giving her a grim look, "and if Barty Crouch's name couldn't save him, then I doubt Severus Snape's will hold much weight in court." He gives her a sorrowful look. "A trial would be risky in ordinary circumstances, and with the liberal use of the Kiss, it would be downright reckless of me to suggest you fight whatever they decide to charge you with."
You can't be Kissed, she thinks, horror written all over her face. You need to get Bean safely out of here. And if you're Kissed as Severus, then what will become of Severus if he returns to the wizarding world? Would he be arrested and Kissed as well?
"...I have nightmares about Azkaban," she whispers. "I always have. Ever since I was a little g…" She trails off, catching herself before she slips up. "Ever since I first heard of it."
"It's only a year," Lucius says, kindly. "What's a year in the grand scheme of things? A little longer than a pregnancy," he says, pointedly, his eyes locking on hers. "It'll be over in a flash." Then he speaks a little louder. "If you wish to fight the aurors, as your old friend, I will support you at trial and pay for legal counsel - but as this appears to be a silly mistake and a minor misunderstanding, I am sure you will be happy to take a well deserved rap on the knuckles for your idiocy. You are rather young, after all - and you still have a lot of growing up to do. Everyone makes mistakes - it's how you deal with them that matters."
She stares at the table, not trusting herself to look at Lucius with tears in her eyes. I can't do it. I can't send Severus to Azkaban.
"Snape, you wanted my advice, and I'm giving it to you - the only way you get out of this place within the next 24 hours is if you tell the aurors what they want to hear. Confess."
"And condemn myself to a year in Azkaban," she whispers, finally looking up at him.
"And condemn yourself to a year in Azkaban," he agrees, staring into her eyes, "but the Severus Snape I know is tough, and he'll make it through unscathed. I know you understand me when I say that the alternative doesn't bear thinking about. Confess, Snape," he says, firmly, "it's your only option."
When she's back inside the dark, cold cell she thinks of all of the questions she should've asked, or the hundreds of things that she could've told Lucius. At the very least, I should've asked him to find Severus, she thinks, to speak to him, to tell him that I'm still here, still fighting. She grips the thin blanket in her hand. To warn him that he's going to Azkaban.
She lets out an anguished gasp - the thought of sending Severus to Azkaban for months on end is almost too much for her to bear. We were going to escape, she thinks, we were going to be safe. She twists the blanket between her fingers. How far does the Ministry's jurisdiction carry? She thinks about Severus skipping on his bail in the Muggle world, retreating into the magical world, and wonders if they could do the opposite - if they genuinely didn't intend to return to the magical world, if they could evade the Ministry.
But it didn't work, she reminds herself. Severus was found by the Muggle authorities, and he was sentenced, and he was punished. And if the wizarding world has become as harsh as Lucius was telling me, then they won't show him the same sort of clemency that the Muggles did - just look at Barty; they won't make excuses for his youth.
She draws in a deep breath. And you don't want to be living in continual fear - you don't want to spend the rest of your lives looking behind you, waiting for the inevitable tap on the shoulder. What if Severus is taken away when Bean is three, or eight, or thirteen? Would that leave a bigger scar than Severus being missing for the first year of Bean's life, but then returning as if nothing ever happened? Bean won't even remember.
But Severus will, she thinks. He'll live out the rest of his life knowing that he missed every first experience with his first child - missed the first time Bean smiled, or rolled over, or ate from a spoon, or - and she grips the blanket even more tightly - Bean's first word. All through no fault of his own. All through my actions.
Lily can feel tears welling in her eyes and she rubs them away with the edge of her thumb. Having been forced apart from Severus for so long, she'd spent countless hours daydreaming about the perfect life they were going to embark upon once they were reunited - and one of her favourite imagined scenarios was thinking about whether Bean would say Mama or Dada first, and how she and Severus would react.
She'd always quietly hoped that Bean would say Mama first, but she could easily imagine Severus lying on the floor next to Bean, encouraging his child to say Dadadadadadada over and over and over until he emerged the victor. How Slytherin.
But if Severus is locked away in prison, then Bean won't have any reason to say Dada. She rubs again at the tears falling down her face. I could encourage Bean to say Dada, she thinks, even if Severus isn't with us. Then when he gets out and comes home, Bean could surprise him.
And then her face falls. It isn't the same. Bean won't know that Severus is Dada. It'll just be a word, and not a name. Artificial, she thinks, angrily. She lies back on the uncomfortable bed, holding the blanket against her stomach. I wish you were here to talk to, Sev, she thinks. I don't want to make this decision without you.
She watches the dark shadows on the wall, trying to imagine Severus lying next to her - and she rests her hand on her chest. She stares at Severus' fingers, and tries to imagine that she's not in his body, but that this is his hand touching her - that he's next to her, with her.
You already know what he'd say, she thinks. He's self-sacrificing to a fault. Could've been a Gryffindor with his attitude. Faced between him going to Azkaban and me transforming back into a… Mudblood, she thinks, her inner voice laced with anger, and facing all manner of charges for being an imposter - deception, fraud, and who knows what else - then he'd tilt his jaw upwards, and offer her a smile. It'd be the same smile he always wore when he willingly took the blame for their joint misbehaviour when they were kids.
"I can't do it. I can't send you to Azkaban," she can imagine herself saying.
"Malf is right. It's the only way."
"But it'll be awful."
"I'll be fine. I'm tough." She can imagine him reaching for her hands, that same smile playing on his face. "When we married, I promised you that I'd look after you both - please let me do that. Just promise that you'll wait for me."
And then she can't stop the tears from freely falling down her face. I'm so sorry, Sev. I'm so so sorry.
Chapter 110: Lying under oath
Notes:
There's still peril. There isn’t any self harm in this, but Sev’s thoughts wander around that topic (if that is triggering for you). And Tobias is back, so bad language abounds...
Chapter Text
Severus doesn't bother going upstairs to bed. He knows his mother is right - that he needs to sleep if he's going to be capable of helping Lily through whatever dire situation she's found herself in - but he also knows that there's no way he'll fall asleep, not with his wife and unborn child in danger.
You don't even know what danger they're truly in, he thinks, picking at the skin around his fingers. His thumb and forefinger are already stripped raw, but he doesn't relent, furiously twisting and pulling at the skin.
He hates to admit that his mother was right about that too, but he finds something calming in the stinging pain. He can't decide if the way it hurts is simply a welcome distraction, or if it's indicative of something more sinister - perhaps his own version of a punishment.
Severus shakes the thought away, not wanting to dwell on the idea of him taking over from Tobias, bestowing upon himself the punishments that he so deserves; the punishments that his father can no longer mete out now that Severus is a fully grown wizard, with enough magical power to fight back, and no lingering fear of expulsion from the magical world.
You had one job, Severus, he silently berates himself. To be a good husband and a good father, and in just a couple of weeks, you've already fucked everything up.
Lily doesn't remember falling asleep, but as soon as she hears cell doors being flung open, she bounces up off the uncomfortable bed, and stands keenly by her own door, desperate for it to be opened. She waits and waits, but nobody appears to be intent on retrieving her - so, her patience wearing thin, she knocks and knocks and knocks, hoping that Bickerstaff will take pity on her once more.
It takes a few minutes, but eventually the grille is slid back - but to Lily's surprise, it's not Bickerstaff who is staring impassively back, but the thinner form of Thicknesse. Which is ironic, she thinks.
"Well?" he barks. "What's all this knocking about? What do you want?"
"I need to speak with someone," she begs, earnestly.
Thicknesse glances at something to the side of her cell door, and she assumes that he's looking at what she's being held for, and how long she's been incarcerated.
"You only got here last night. You'll be assigned three Floo calls," he says, "later this afternoon. You can arrange for representation then."
"I don't want representation," she interrupts, hurriedly. "I want to speak to an auror. I want to confess."
Thicknesse can't help the look of surprise that floats across his face. "A confession? Didn't you enjoy your overnight stay?" he smirks. "You're not the first, but still, a confession before breakfast is a novelty. Bickerstaff will be pleased that his methods are so effective."
"Please," she begs.
"Fudge's policies have their detractors," Thicknesse continues, "but I say it works wonders, a short spell in these cells. He's right - a little time alone, a little time to think is all it takes," Thicknesse says, clearly relishing the moment. "What changed your mind? Guilty conscience stopping you from sleeping? Or just the bed being uncomfortable?"
She ignores his goading. "Can you take my statement, or do I need to see someone else?"
Thicknesse appraises her, a frown crossing his face. "It depends on what you're being held for. I'll check the record, see who your arresting officer-"
"-it was Emmeline Vance," she interrupts, "and Amelia Bones was there."
"I know for a fact that Madam Bones has meetings today," he says, "but I'll speak with Madam Vance, and see if she can spare the time to meet with you."
And before Lily can speak - can urge him to hurry - he slams the grille shut, their conversation clearly over.
It's early when Severus hears Eileen's footsteps on the stairs. I bet she didn't sleep either. He collects his cigarettes and his wand, and he stands. He listens for her, waiting to see if she'll enter the living room to check on him - but then he hears her in the kitchen, the clatter of the kettle and a cup against the worktop giving away her location.
Severus peers around the edge of the living room door, and then he slinks out of the front of the house. I can't take another argument. Not before six in the morning. He puts a cigarette in his mouth, wincing at the sight of the yellow staining on his thumbnail. Lil'll go fucking nuts when she sees that, he thinks, inspecting his thumb more closely.
He lights his cigarette and as he smokes, he becomes engrossed in casting cleansing charms at his digits, trying to erase any sign of cigarette induced discolouration on them. A repeated Scourgify seems to take care of it, and he exhales a long stream of smoke as he holds his hand up in the light, inspecting it keenly.
It's then that he takes notice of the house next door, where there is an owl perched on the television aerial, and his heart lurches. That's Malf's owl. He darts back into the house, through the hallway and into the kitchen, yanking the fridge door open.
"Severus!"
He doesn't answer his mother, but grabs a piece of corned beef from the fridge and rushes back out to the front of the house. He waves the cold meat in front of him, trying to coax the owl down. "C'mon," he says, holding it aloft and then giving a low whistle. "Yer 'ere fer me, I know y'are. And I know yer know who I am."
It's a brief standoff, between man and bird, and when Severus is certain that he's going to have to clamber up onto the roof to convince the owl to hand over its letter, the bird suddenly glides gracefully down towards him, and lands on his shoulder, its talons tearing through his shirt and drawing blood.
Severus doesn't protest. More pain to distract you, he thinks, bitterly. Instead, he silently holds the owl's reward aloft, permitting it to feed directly from his fingers. Once the owl is focused on gulping down the beef, Severus pulls the letter from the owl's grip - and he no longer has to wonder whether it's Lucius or Narcissa trying to reach him, as he instantly recognises Lucius' precise handwriting.
Thicknesse doesn't return, and as the morning light spreads through her cell, Lily is practically crawling the walls. How did Severus manage day after day in here? The auror who delivers her breakfast is one she hasn't ever seen before, and her attempts to draw him into conversation are less than successful. When he returns to collect the tray, she clings to it, hoping it will cause him to engage - but he simply casts an Accio at it, and she's left empty handed, the grille firmly shut once more.
It must be nine by now, she thinks. It's been at least twelve hours, if not more. I can't have long left in Severus' body - six hours, perhaps. Maybe seven. She inhales deeply. Don't panic. If it's nine, this would be a normal time for many of the aurors to start their shift. Thicknesse has to find Vance, and Vance has to prioritise my case over everything else. She sinks back onto the bed. If something else has happened - something more urgent, then I've got no chance.
It's a pity that Bones is busy, she thinks. I know her better than Vance. I'd be tempted to tell her the truth - or some of it, at least. She's a member of the Order, and she knows some of my history - I'm sure she'd listen. Lily shakes her head. This is futile. Bones isn't available, and there's no point thinking like this - there's already a paper trail; a record of arrest. Even if Bones listened, it isn't like she could really do something, especially not just based on my sob story. Even if I corroborate my version of events by staying here until I transformed, then what? Bones can't just vanish the paper trail of Severus' arrest - and how can they explain Severus' sudden disappearance? And then everyone will know all about Bean, and then Merlin knows what might happen.
Don't be defeatist, Lily thinks, trying to pull herself together. It's a good thing that Bones isn't available - a good thing that you're not tempted to do anything reckless. Stick to Lucius' plan. If it's an ordinary day and Vance isn't drawn into other auror business, then surely Vance will be intrigued? She'll want to hear my confession before she invests her precious time and resources investigating further. Sit tight, she thinks, and wait - it could reasonably be ten or eleven before she agrees to meet with me.
And if that's the case, you'll only have a few hours left to make your argument. Three, or four at most. She inhales deeply. Don't panic. Cross that bridge when it comes to it. Create your story, practice it, rehearse it, she tells herself. Make sure it trips off your tongue smoothly. Don't give her any reason to doubt you, or to want to investigate this further. See this from her perspective - getting a low level drug dealer off the streets and into Azkaban for a year will be an easy win. You need to convince her that's the right option.
Lily ignores the nagging feeling that nothing about this feels like the right option, and she closes her eyes and waits.
Severus reads the last page of the letter over and over, with Eileen's hand firm on his injured shoulder.
...even with the best defence that galleons can buy - and I assure you, Severus, you will have that defence - I suspect that a custodial sentence is likely. For this, I deeply apologise - although, as I informed your wife, you must remember that you are resilient and capable, and I know that you will handle a short stint in Azkaban with ease.
I remain unaware of the exact events which led to your wife being held in the Ministry whilst masquerading as yourself. However, I am well aware of your exceptional talent with potions - it should not come as a surprise to me that you have adapted Polyjuice in such a manner, if that is indeed the method Lily has used. In different circumstances, I would be chastising you for not sharing your creation - although perhaps we should each forgive one another for our sins in this situation in advance; it would not do to waste our energies by making enemies of each other.
Severus, I appreciate that my missive will come as a terrible shock, and I can only hope that in the fullness of time, you come to understand the decision I made for you and your family in your stead. Your wife was in a desperate situation and requested my assistance, and I gave her the only solution that I felt was realistic.
It pains me to think of our positions being swapped, but if such a fate were to eventuate, I would trust that you would do your utmost to preserve the lives of my wife and child, and I hope that you believe me when I swear upon my family that my actions were formed with noble intent. I can only reiterate that I would encourage you to do the same for me if such an unfortunate situation were to arise.
If all runs smoothly, and my understanding of Ministry protocols are correct, I would anticipate that Lily will be released just after midday. I will arrange for her to be escorted in secrecy to Malfoy Manor, and I shall send word to you so you can join us. You can then be reunited, and we can discuss these events in greater detail. I know that Cissy will be anxious to see both of you, to reassure herself that you have both escaped this misadventure unscathed.
Severus, I am sure you are already well aware of this, but it is imperative that you do not leave the Muggle world until I get word to you that Lily has been released. I am certain I do not have to expand upon the fate that would befall the both of you if two of you were spotted, and I know that you would not do anything reckless which might jeopardise the safety of your wife and child.
I trust that my contacting you under these circumstances is not unwelcome, nor causes your mother undue distress.
Your friend,
Lucius
They've been sat in the interview room for less than ten minutes, but to Lily, with one eye firmly on the clock, it feels like hours. She watches breathlessly as Vance finishes reading the parchment in front of her, and slides it towards Lily.
"Check the contents are accurate and sign at the bottom," she snaps.
Lily takes it eagerly and scans it.
"It's nothing exciting," Vance sneers, surprised at Lily's enthusiasm, "those are the details you gave when you were checked in to custody. You are simply confirming that they have been transcribed accurately."
Lily frowns when she reaches the section on Severus' parentage, and she stills. "My father." She glances at Vance. "He's been crossed out."
Vance sighs and takes the parchment from her, scanning it herself. She gives Lily a strange smile, and hands it back. "The section for parentage is for those with magical ancestry. Your father does not meet the standards required."
It sends a chill through her - especially when she thinks of how her own papers would look, with neither of her parents being able to be listed. That's the point, Lil, she chastises herself. This is what this has all been building towards.
"Right," she says, taking in the rest of the parchment and then signing it at the bottom. "In that case, it all looks correct."
"You've read the paragraph about making false statements, and you understand the consequences for lying under oath?"
"Yes," Lily says.
"And you understand that this statement is being taken under oath?"
"Yes."
"Excellent," Vance says, taking the parchment back. "I shall write your comments in the boxes here," she says, showing Lily the pages, "here and here. You are to check that my statements are accurate, and then you are to sign here," she shows her the parchment again, "and here. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Lily says.
"Good." Vance spreads the parchment out before her and dips the tip of the quill into a pot of ink. "Then, let us begin. Tell me, Severus Snape, what were your intentions when you entered Knockturn Alley on the evening in question?"
Tobias reads Lucius' letter intently. He reaches the end, and then he stares at his wife and son, taking in their drawn expressions. "Righ'," he says, "what's this Azkaban then?"
"It's like a prison."
"It's not like a prison, Severus," Eileen snaps. "It is a prison."
"Yeah, all right, Mam. Give over wi' yer pedantry."
"And it's not anything like the prisons you are thinking of, Toby," she continues, as if Severus hasn't spoken, "it's worse than anything you can imagine."
"How? Surely bein' locked up is bein' locked up? Magic walls look different do they?"
She draws shakily on her cigarette. "They don't have prison officers, they have Dementors."
"Yer've lost me."
"They're dark creatures which actively feed on happiness and revel in despair."
Tobias gives a weak grin towards Severus. "Sounds like Mickey Price's missus, Tina-"
"Don't!" Eileen shrieks. "Don't, Tobias! Don't you dare joke about this, you don't understand how serious this is!"
"Mam," Severus says, standing and reaching for her arm, shooting an apologetic look at his father, who seems stunned at her furious outburst. "Mam, it's all right."
"It isn't, Severus! It isn't all right! These creatures, they can suck out your soul-"
"-I'm not being Kissed," he argues.
"Yer both talkin' in riddles," Tobias complains. "What's bein' Kissed?"
"It's what they call one of the worst punishments the Ministry can sentence yer to," Severus explains.
Tobias looks between his wife and son, confusion on his face. "Worse than cuttin' yer magic?"
Severus shrugs. "Dunno. I think the hex is bad. Yer've got ter live wi' it, knowin' yer magic has been taken away."
"The Kiss is worse," Eileen confirms. "I realise you might not think so, Severus, but I am still a human. I might not be able to perform many spells, and I might not be considered a witch, but I still have emotions. I can feel. If I'd been Kissed…" She shakes her head. "Put it this way, none of us would be here now."
"So bein' Kissed stops that?" Tobias asks, with a frown. "Stops yer feelin'?"
"Being Kissed stops everythin'," Severus says, quietly. "Yer very soul is removed, leavin' just an empty shell behind."
Tobias frowns. "Bloody 'ell, give me strength. It's a death sentence. Jus' come out an' say it instead of dancin' around it."
"No," Eileen says, sharply, "it isn't a death sentence. That's the point. You don't die. Your body remains. You exist as a shell. Still alive, but empty. A void. No emotions, no personality, nothing. Your very essence is removed."
"And in our world, when yer die, it's not always over," Severus explains. "Yer can be called back as a ghost. But yer need yer soul."
"An' this Dementor takes it? Yer soul? By Kissing yer?"
Severus nods.
Tobias runs his large hand over his face. "But yer jus' said that yer not bein' Kissed."
"No."
"So what's all the mither about?"
"They guard the prison, Toby! They might not Kiss him, but he'll have to live with them in close proximity for a year." She shoots a dark look at Severus. "When he gets out, he'll be a wreck."
"Ah," Severus laughs, "it isn't goin' ter be that bad, Mam. I won't be a wreck."
"You will, Severus!" she argues, furiously. "I've seen better adjusted wizards than you go to Azkaban, and I've seen them again when they've been released."
He falls silent, picking at his fingers again. "Yeah, well, I'm not some dumb wizard you used ter know. I'll be fine."
"Will you, really?" Eileen's mouth thins. "Every day, every hour, a Dementor will float past your cell and will draw on your thoughts. It will actively seek out every happy experience you've ever had, every positive thought, every cheerful memory. It will feed from them, and drain them from you-"
"-why would anyone put 'em in charge of yer prison?" Tobias interrupts, looking baffled. "Ain't bein' locked up bad enough fer yer in yer magic world?"
"It's to stop yer from attemptin' to escape," Severus says, softly. "If yer believe yer've nowt to live fer, yer've got no reason to try an' leave. Compliance."
"They will steal every good experience from you, Severus," Eileen warns, "and when they have finished, when there's nothing left for them to take, you'll be as evil as they are."
"Mam, Merlin's sake, I won't!"
"They'll bring all of your worst traits to the surface, and you won't have any redeeming qualities left. You'll come out the other side, and whether she's your wife or not, believe you me, she won't want you."
Severus stiffens. "She will. She'll wait fer me, I know she will."
"She will wait for you," Eileen corrects, "but it won't be you who comes back out. There'll be a man who looks a little like you, but he'll be cold and unfeeling, pessimistic and miserable. Haunted." She shoots a sharp look at Tobias, as if daring him to make a joke - and Tobias immediately looks away, his mouth firmly shut.
Severus looks defiant. "An' so what? She's not fickle, Mam. She'll know why I've ended up in Azkaban, so she'll make allowances whilst I adjust. She loves me."
"She might at the moment, but I assure you that she won't when they've finished with you. Mark my words, Severus - if you go to Azkaban, then this relationship of yours is over."
"Your potion was an experimental vampire repellent?" Vance says, raising her eyebrow. She flicks through the parchment on the left hand side of the table. "If I remember correctly, that's what you said you were trying to brew when you were arrested last time?"
Lily nods, her heart in her mouth. "Yeah. Well. Vampires scare me."
Vance shoots her an incredulous look. "Then I would suggest it would be safer to stay indoors once darkness falls, and not go creeping around Knockturn Alley."
"...I know. I was stupid."
"You were," Vance agrees, reading a piece of parchment which Lily assumes is from Severus' last arrest. "But you weren't holding snallygaster claws this time." She pauses. "Already in the potion, are they?"
"No. I didn't have the opportunity to purchase them," Lily says. "I was taking the potion to show my supplier - to prove that I needed them for the potion to work."
Vance sighs heavily. "Despite already awaiting sentencing for carrying those parts?"
"I know. I'm sorry. I don't mean to do bad things," she says, in a rush. "I just want to create potions."
Vance sits back, appraising her. "I don't know what's worse - the fact that you carried on brewing such a potion, despite awaiting sentencing for your last arrest, or that you're carrying ruined potions around with you." She leans forward. "You do realise that you can be prosecuted for supplying potions of poor quality?"
"That's what I want to confess to," she says, quietly. "I wouldn't intend for anyone to end up with a half-brewed potion," she says, "but I realise that was my mistake. I should leave my experiments in the laboratory." She sighs loudly, as if speaking the truth pains her. "...I keep losing my apprenticeships for losing concentration - for brewing without due care and attention. I realise the consequences of this can be dire-"
"-your first arrest did have some impact then," Vance interrupts.
Lily nods, glumly. "I was angry that Slughorn released me," she says, "and I was trying to prove that I was still capable. I wanted to invent something impressive that would make everyone apologise to me, make everyone realise that I do have talent."
"But you're not as good as you think you are."
"No," Lily says, and the heated blush on her cheeks is real. It's not through embarrassment as Vance might assume, but the fury of hating every moment of her supposed confession. "I'll give up brewing, I swear. But this with Greyback is just coincidence. If he was meeting someone it wasn't me."
"Convenient." Vance shakes her head. "As compelling as your tale is, I still want to wait for the results of the test before I make a decision. If it comes back as Wolfsbane-"
"-it won't," she interrupts. Lily can see that her opportunity is slipping away from her, and she sucks in a low breath, knowing that her next statement is a risk. "You asked if I was scared of vampires," she says, "but the truth is that I am utterly terrified of werewolves."
Vance scoffs. "You'll convince me that you're scared of your own shadow next, Snape."
"Remus Lupin is a werewolf," she says, throwing all caution to the wind. I'm sorry, Remus. "He was at school with me, and he almost got loose one night - almost tore me limb from limb." She leans forward, channelling all the malice she can into Severus' tone. "I hate werewolves. I wouldn't brew Wolfsbane if it was the last potion on the planet. I wouldn't give a wolf anything other than a silver bullet between its eyes - and even that's too good for them if you ask me."
"A silver bullet?" Vance stares impassively at Severus. "Or a silver knife? That's more your style, isn't it?"
When Lily doesn't react, Vance pulls out a plain piece of white paper from the small pile of parchment and passes it over.
Lily reads it, her blood running cold. "Where did you get this?"
"Our worlds are not as separate as they may seem," Vance says, with a smile. "You stabbed a Muggle." She lowers her voice as she leans forward. "And although you were not prosecuted for it, I have seen the scars on Sirius Black. Dangerous, aren't you?"
"No! That's what I'm telling you! This is all because of the situation with the wolf! That's what all this is about!"
Vance places her quill on the table, and steeples her fingers before her mouth. "I'm not using your testimony to condemn others to certain death, do you understand? I am striking all mention of your schoolmate from the record."
Lily nods, somewhat abashed that the tough auror before her has more concern for Remus than she does. "...that wasn't my intent. I was just explaining the situation."
"I think you have explained the situation extremely well," Vance says, with a tight smile, "I have a very vivid image in my mind."
"I didn't-"
"-enough," Vance says, raising her hand. "I've heard more than enough."
Lily obediently falls silent and watches as Vance scrawls on the parchment, filling the empty boxes with long sentences, until eventually, Vance stops writing and passes the quill and parchment across to Lily.
"Read it through, carefully, and if you are satisfied, sign at the bottom."
"And then what happens?"
"And then I'll put you through processing," Vance says. "You'll be out just after lunch."
Lily casts her eye over the auror's neat writing, stilling when she reaches a sentence referencing Severus' probation for the knife attack in the Muggle world. "And if I don't?"
"Then you'll sit in the cells for the full 21 days," Vance says, her smile becoming increasingly malicious, "whilst I satisfy myself that I've unearthed every possible misdemeanour that I can throw at you. I understand that you didn't enjoy yourself when you stayed with us last time."
"I've told you everything."
"Good," Vance says, pushing the pot of ink towards Lily. "Then read that statement through and sign it." She smiles again. "I am very fair, Snape. Do understand that the choice here is entirely your own. It is of no consequence to me whether you sign or not - I am satisfied that I will be able to build a case against you, whether that's with your cooperation or without." She taps the parchment. "So if you want to be punished on your own terms, I suggest you check your confession, and sign in both places." She leans over, pointing the sections out again. "Here, and here."
Lily stares at the parchment, her vision swimming through unshed tears as she reads Vance's stark assessment of her well-intentioned statements. She makes him sound like a common criminal, she thinks, in horror. I can't sign this.
And then another sentence rings in her ears. You'll be out just after lunch. Lily picks up the quill, gripping it tightly. He'd tell you to sign. Cissy would tell you to sign. Lucius would tell you to sign. Her fingers leaden, she straightens the parchment and carefully scribes Severus' signature twice over.
Chapter 111: Taken into account
Notes:
Peril still for Lily and Bean.
Chapter Text
Lily places the quill on the table, and looks up, meeting Vance's eyes. She expects to see a note of acceptance - an acknowledgement that Severus, as she so appears, had sat in the Ministry and had finally taken responsibility for his apparent criminal actions.
To Lily's surprise, instead, Vance gives her a self-satisfied smirk and reaches for the signed papers. Instinctively, panic flooding through her, Lily grabs at them, and grips them tightly in her hand.
Vance's smirk doesn't falter. "Changed your mind already, Snape?"
Lily grimaces, Vance's apparent glee sitting uneasily with her. She thinks rapidly, trying to piece together everything she can recall of the fierce auror - of every Order meeting where they'd crossed paths, of how Vance had treated her when Lucius had named Lily as his brewer, and then, suddenly, she recalls her discussion with Moody as he'd met with her at the Burrow and returned her to Hogwarts, delivering her safely into Severus' arms all those months ago.
Who are you after? Lily can hear her own question to Moody ringing in her mind.
"I've changed my mind. I want representation," Lily says, suddenly.
That's why I wanted you in the first place. I thought for a moment you had lost the ability to think three steps ahead.
Vance raises an eyebrow. "Representation comes at a cost, Snape," she warns. "Back to the cells for a week or two, I should think."
You didn't answer my question.
"I'm permitted Floo calls," Lily argues. "I know I am."
Vance.
"Learnt from last time, have you?" Vance murmurs. "Representation takes time to arrange. You seemed anxious to leave."
Vance is your boss.
"Let me see another auror," she begs. "Bones-"
Get me Vance.
"-Madam Bones will make the same decisions that I have," Vance says, sounding irritated. "We are not mavericks in the Ministry. We adhere to and uphold the laws as are passed by the-"
And I'll make sure your man walks free.
"-Moody then!"
At her desperate request, Vance stills, a deep frown covering her face. For the first time in the past half an hour, she seems disconcerted. "I rather believed that you and my colleague Alastor were at odds," she says, evenly - although Lily can sense the caution in her carefully chosen words. "I believed you to be somewhat disturbed by his treatment of you within these walls." She eyes Lily suspiciously. "Yet now you wish to speak with him?"
Get me Vance.
"Yes."
The rest will take care of itself.
Vance shakes her head. "They call it Stockholm Syndrome-"
"-he can help me-"
"-I have helped you!" Vance towers above her, her jaw square. "Believe me, Snape, this could be a lot worse for you. Three arrests in as many years-"
"-you all know that Borage set me up!"
"Your record shows that you took responsibility for your actions," Vance says, her voice becoming sharper. "You also admitted to the charges of procuring without licence-"
"-I was-"
"-set up for that as well?" Vance shoots her a disgusted look, disdain clear on her face. "And your arrest in the Muggle world? This arrest too?" She leans a little closer. "You are a dangerous young man who is incapable of taking responsibility for his actions. I thought when you came to me with an admission of guilt that you were genuine-"
"-I am!"
"Then you have no need to see Moody, Bones, or any other auror you can conjure in your imagination!" She shakes the parchment so fiercely, the movement reverberates up Lily's own arm. "You have two choices. You can submit this confession - which, may I remind you, you freely signed - or you can go back to the cells and await the charges as laid to you."
"And if I go back to the cells," Lily bluffs, pointing at the signed confession, "what happens to this?"
"This? Your signed admission of guilt?" Vance gives her a thin smile. "It may be submitted as evidence against you."
For a brief moment, Lily feels mutinous, distrustful of Vance and certain that Severus' chances of a lesser punishment lie with meeting with Moody, or maybe even Bones
It's not worth it. Vance will wait you out, and with Bean to consider, you haven't got time to spare. You can risk an hour, maybe two - and it'd be worth it to save Severus from a year in Azkaban, if he could only serve three or four months instead - but if you push Vance too hard, she could leave you languishing for days instead of hours, and then the Polyjuice will wear off, and…
She looks down, unwilling to think about the consequences, her heart heavy. I'm sorry, Sev. "I'm sorry," she says, refusing to look Vance in the eyes. "I didn't sleep well. It's just overwhelming, that's all." She releases her hold on the parchment, and Vance quickly whips the papers from her, as if fearful that she's going to renege on the deal once more.
"You'll be escorted back to the cells whilst I submit these," Vance says.
"But it won't be long?" Lily can hear the panic in her own voice. "I'll be given bail and I'll be out of here after lunch?"
Vance nods. "I've already told you that you'll be out of here this afternoon."
Severus leans against the worktop, staring forlornly into his empty cup. Can't read your fortune when you use a teabag - not that he ever took Divination very seriously when he was a student. He puts the cup down and debates putting the kettle on for another drink. Rather have a smoke, he thinks, patting his pockets, searching for his cigarettes.
He spies his packet by the cooker, and grabs it, flipping it open - but to his dismay, it's completely empty. Mam's had the last one. He leans back against the worktop in a huff, tossing the packet to one side, just as Tobias walks in and wordlessly approaches the fridge. Tobias peers into it, and then looks over the top of the open door towards Severus, a deep frown on his face.
"What's wrong wi' yer?" Severus snaps.
"Nowt wrong," Tobias says, watching him warily. "I jus' thought this corned beef weren't open?" He prods the packet with feeling.
"Oh. Yeah, sorry, that was me."
"Hungry was yer?"
"Fer the owl."
Tobias rolls his eyes. "Course. Fer the fuckin' owl. Man can't get no scran-"
"-can't get no scran," Severus repeats, incredulously. "Can't get no scran! Yer goin' on as if I've emptied the whole house of food. I gave an owl a single slice of corned beef, that's it!" He shakes his head. "Mitherin' about corned beef when yer eat fuckin' porridge for breakfast!"
"Aye, well, I fancied corned beef this mornin'."
Tobias' tone is so petulant, Severus gives an explosive burst of laughter - and it's so incongruous in the situation, Tobias turns to stare at him, a strange look on his face.
"What's so fuckin' funny, soft lad?"
"You," Severus says, grinning as he rinses his cup out in the sink. "Yer never change."
"Aye, well," Tobias says, straightening his shoulders, "there's a lot to be said fer a man bein' a stable influence in his 'ome."
Severus can't hide the wide smile on his face as he tips his cup upside down on the draining board. "A stable influence? Is that what yer call it?"
"Bit late for breakfast, anyway. Can't 'ave porridge at this time. Was gonna 'ave a sandwich." Tobias gives him a serious look. "Was gonna offer yer one, but unfortunately fer you, lad, the owl's 'ad yer slice."
"I'm not hungry."
"No? What about yer mam? She eaten?"
Severus shakes his head.
"Aye, I din't think so. ...she din't sleep a wink last night either." Tobias eyes him curiously. "...I noticed yer bed ain't been slept in."
"Wasn't tired."
"No? Yer look like fuckin' shit, lad. All bloodshot round yer eyes. Yer wanna get yer 'ead down."
"I'm waitin' to hear from Malf," Severus says, quietly.
"Letter said after midday, an' then that mate o' yers needs to get word ter yer. I bet yer won't hear owt 'til gone two. Yer should get some kip while yer can."
Severus shakes his head. "It's not worth tryin' now, Da. By the time I get ter sleep, it'll be time ter get up again. I can go to bed when she's back wi' me."
Tobias gives him a quelling look, waving the butter knife in his direction. "Aye, well, take my advice - if yer think yer gonna be cuddlin' up to 'er-"
"-Da! I din't mean like that!"
"Yer can get yer 'ead out o' the gutter," Tobias huffs. "I'm tellin' yer, father to son, she ain't gonna touch yer wi' a bargepole if yer don't get a wash. Yer fuckin' stink."
"I don't!"
Tobias scoffs. "Summat wrong wi' yer nose, is there? Smells like yer jus' come off shift at Gallaher's. An' yer mam does an' all, so thanks fer that!" He puts his hand up in the air as Severus opens his mouth to protest. "Dunner bother whingin' at me - I seen yer both, pair on yer are as bad as each other-"
"-I ain't done nowt-"
"-yer been pilin' through them ciggies like there's no fuckin' tomorrow." He gives Severus a stern glance. "An' yer a fuckin' idiot. This time last year, yer'd give 'em up! An' now look at yer, startin' that shite again."
"I'm an idiot? Yer one to talk, Saint Tobias, I've seen yer smokin'!"
"A couple of rollies twice a week. Not forty a fuckin' day, soft lad."
"Ain't smokin' forty, fuck off."
"No?" Tobias tuts, and carries on making his sandwich. "She ain't far off it, an' she was never that bad. Half a pack a day, and now she's at the corner shop every mornin'." He pauses. "Bet that's where she is now, in't she?"
Behind him, Severus surreptitiously sniffs at his shirt, and then nods. "Aye, all right, fair enough." He collects his things, stuffing his wand in his jeans. "What?" he says, when Tobias turns and frowns at him.
"I realise yer probably ain't familiar wi' the process, but yer dunner stick yer clothes on to 'ave a bath."
Severus huffs a laugh. "Funny, Da. I'm gonna nip back up the road, get a shower at mine. Tidy round a bit before she gets back. Clean sheets an' all that."
"Yer got a shower?" Tobias raises his eyebrows. "In Rillwych?" He sniffs. "Yer mam dunner wanna move from 'ere, but if there's showers goin', might 'ave ter look-"
"-it's not Rillwych," Severus interrupts. "Rillwych's a dump. It's magic."
"Righ'."
"Yeah," Severus says, awkwardly, heading down the hallway to put his boots on.
Tobias leans around the door, calling after him. "An' yer can't do that magic 'ere?" Tobias gives him a longing look. "Wun't mind a posh shower fer me achin' bones-"
"-achin' bones? Dunner tell me," Severus grins, "coz yer've bin a workin' man all yer life?"
"Yer a cheeky fucker."
"Lil did it," Severus says, shrugging. "I'll ask 'er. But it's in the livin' room. Can't see yer puttin' up wi' it next ter yer chair."
"An' it jus' works?" Tobias eyes him curiously. "Or d'yer need to do summat special ter make it start an' stop?"
Severus pauses as he laces his boots. "Errrr, I'm not sure." He gives his father an apologetic smile. "I just...do it."
"Comes natural."
"Yeah."
Tobias nods and sniffs. "Righ'. Yer comin' back 'ere after lunch then?"
"Yeah," Severus says. "An' then I'll go Malf's an' leave yer in peace for a bit." He turns, his hand on the door, and then Tobias' voice echoes down the hall again.
"Russ?"
"What?"
"Leave yer mam some money if yer've got it," Tobias says.
Severus looks surprised at the request, and fumbles for his wallet. "I ain't got much, Da, wi' the baby an' that-"
"-I wun't ask," Tobias says, looking embarrassed, "but I've told yer, she's buying cigs mornin', noon, an' night, an' when I looked last, there ain't any notes left ter pay the tickman."
"'kin 'ell," Severus says, striding into the living room and pulling out his sole ten pound note, leaving his wallet empty. He stashes it behind the clock in the living room. "I've stuck some behind the clock, Da, but it's all I can spare. I need my change for the bus to Rillwych," he calls. "If I walk, I won't make it back quick enough."
"Keepin' off yer magic?"
"Yeah, don't want to risk drawing attention to myself. You never know who is watchin', especially at the moment." He strides into the hallway and stares at Tobias. "Anyway, what've yer been buyin' on the never never?"
"Leccy went on the oven," Tobias explains. "Yer mam was doin' magic at it ter make the flame, but it was wearin' 'er out."
"The starter's gone? An' what, she ain't 'eard of a match?" Severus looks irritated. "I thought yer'd only just paid the fridge off. Yer need to start puttin' a bit away, and not keep gettin' stuff on tick."
"Nowt wrong wi' tick. Jimmy's all right-"
"-he's a fuckin conman," Severus mutters, "they all are. This ain't Littlewoods Catalogue offering yer hire purchase, this is some hard nut comin' ter yer door and givin' yer a loan that yer end up payin' back double!"
"Jimmy's not like that," Tobias says. "I've known 'im years."
"He's only not funny wi' yer coz yer've always paid up," Severus says, angrily. "Yer can't be trustin' the likes of 'im. If yer can't pay fer it there an' then, yer shouldn't 'ave it."
"Yeah, well, we could pay fer it - before she started impersonatin' a chimney, an' whose fault's that, eh?"
"All right," Severus says, jamming his wallet back into his pocket. "Point taken. I'll 'ave a word."
"Dunner bother," Tobias says, carrying his sandwich towards the door, "she ain't never listened to me all these years, so she ain't gonna listen ter a mitherin' streak o' piss like yersel'." He takes a bite of his sandwich. "Jus' try and keep yer drama down to a dull roar, eh? That's all she needs, you stirrin' all 'er memories up."
"That in't fair! I din't ask fer any of this!"
"And," Tobias says, readying himself to shut the door behind Severus as he leaves, "yer can give up them ciggies. Yer missus dunner want it, and yer shouldn't be doin' it around yer kid."
Severus waits for the inevitable blunt statement - and being addicted to nicotine is going to make for an uncomfortable year in prison - but to his surprise, it doesn't come, and Tobias continues his thoughts in a different direction.
"An' I dare say yer mother'll calm it down a bit if yer not round 'ere encouragin' 'er, yeah?"
"Yeah," Severus says, roughly shoving his hands in his pockets, relieved that his father isn't planning to lecture him further. "Sorry."
"Ain't no need to be sorry," Tobias says, raising his arm in the air as a half-wave. "Jus'... Yer was doin' well fer yersel' until all this war stuff-"
I spoke too soon.
"-Da, I can hardly help what happened-"
"-an' then yer get yer lass pregnant-"
"-my kid," Severus says, furiously, "is the best thing that's ever happened to me."
"I'm not sayin' it's a bad thing! I'm jus' tellin' yer, that's life, lad. There's always summat. Ain't never gonna be perfect. Yer jus' gotta smarten yersel' back up again, that's all."
"Right, Da."
"Don't let the bastards grind yer down, Russ."
Severus gives a begrudging laugh. "Yeah. Got it."
"An' get some fuckin' soap behind yer ears!"
Severus flushes as the door slams behind him, and he glances down the street, desperately hoping that nobody else has heard his father teasing him - and as he strides up the road, he subtly sniffs himself again, wrinkling his nose as he inhales the overpowering scent of stale tobacco.
As the minutes tick by, she starts to wish she hadn't started to argue with Vance. You had nothing to gain, she rebukes herself, stalking around the cell, only time to lose. She groans. The list of her frustrations seems endless, from her anger that her husband is inevitably being sent to Azkaban, through to the knowledge that she was unable to fight for him due to her condition. I should've been able to sit this out and get proper representation for him from Lucius, she thinks. If only I wasn't at risk of transforming back into myself.
The only thing Severus would want you to do right now is escape, and get yourself and Bean to safety. She balls her fists, squeezing tightly. Knowing that Severus would approve of her behaviour is little consolation when faced with the reality of losing him for a year.
I wish I'd thought about Moody's comments sooner. From her experiences at Hogwarts as Severus earlier in the year, Lily was already well aware that her husband's path through life was not always as smooth as her own had been - least, had been until the changes to the laws around her blood status. She had initially been startled that the professors would react to her so differently when she was in Severus' body rather than her own, but it meant that Lily was fairly certain that some of Vance's standoffish behaviour had roots in her being before her as Severus.
Lily was equally certain that some of Vance's irritation was also due to how Severus' arrests appeared on paper, to someone who didn't know him as an individual. His misdemeanours in the magical world all revolved around potions - brewing incompetently, procuring prohibited ingredients, and now hawking dangerous brews. Even Lily could see that it created a depiction of a determined criminal; of someone incapable of learning from past mistakes or punishments.
It wasn't just that. There was something else. Ever since the thought had struck her in the interview room that Moody was at odds with Vance, his old words had echoed endlessly around her mind: Get me Vance, get me Vance, get me Vance. She paces back and forth. I never did find out what Moody thought Vance was capable of - why he deemed it necessary to rake up dirt upon her. A rush of shame flushes through her. Maybe if you'd held up your end of the bargain and found out, you wouldn't be in this desperate situation. Or if you were, you'd at least know what sort of threat you were dealing with.
Stop fretting, she thinks, sternly. Forget Moody and his pact. You became pregnant with Bean, and there was nothing more you could reasonably do. She takes a deep breath. And don't worry about Vance. You didn't tell her anything you shouldn't have. You didn't confide in her. She has no reason to think that you're anyone other than Severus - and she has no axe to grind against a low-level nobody like Severus Snape. Moody's vendetta is background noise; it doesn't concern you.
Severus moves rapidly, like a man possessed - the sort of movement that only comes from hours and hours of sleep deprivation, the sort of movement that has roots in hope when all seemed previously lost. He tidies with enthusiasm, moving books into a neatened pile, straightening the sofa, and scooping up dirty cups and plates. He collects his painting paraphernalia - it doesn't smell too strongly of paint in here, not anymore - and stacks it up in the corner of the kitchen.
With one eye on the clock, he hastily drags a cloth across any flat surface he can find, stopping and rinsing it in the sink each time it gets a little too grubby, and then he rushes upstairs. He peeks into the nursery, and winks at Terence who seems to be sitting expectantly on the shelf, as if also eagerly awaiting the new arrival.
Severus heads into the master bedroom and strips the bed, replacing the sheets with fresh ones from the cupboard - Lily's favourite ones, with the flowers on. He quickly strips down to his socks and underwear, and scoops up all of his discarded dirty clothes which were strewn across the bedroom floor and jams them into the washing basket. He pauses for a moment, and then sniffs the basket, recoiling a little when a waft of old, lingering tobacco smoke reaches his nose. He picks his wand up, and casts a freshening charm at it - and then manoeuvres it out onto the landing. That way, if the charm wears off and it starts to smell funny, it won't leak into the bedroom. She won't want a smoke-filled bedroom when she gets back.
"Snape!" The cell door bangs open. "You're up," barks the auror from the breakfast shift. She stands, glancing behind her, unable to break the habit of checking that she hasn't left anything behind - as if she brought anything into the cell with her in the first place. She quickly looks back at the auror, who smirks. I bet I'm not the first to do that, she thinks, looking down, trying not to blush.
She steps out into the corridor, somewhat surprised to see three other prisoners stood with their backs against the wall.
"Go on," the auror says, sounding annoyed, "line up."
Lily doesn't need telling twice, and she queues behind the others - and then the small group makes its way up the corridor in silence. Every few doors - every ten or so - they stop, and another witch or wizard joins the group. When they finally exit the cells and they're led into a larger hallway - almost an atrium - there's at least fourteen others with her, although she daren't look back too often to count the faces.
Thicknesse is stood at the far side of the room, a door on either side of him, and he and the unfriendly auror have a hurried, hushed conversation, before Thicknesse nods and starts reading from a clipboard.
"Flint," Thicknesse says, in a commanding tone. "Stand here. On the left."
One of the witches pushes her way to the front, and stands in the spot before the left hand door which Thicknesse is pointing towards with his wand.
"Abbott. Over to the left, behind Flint here. Cattermole, you're on the right. Williams, also right. Brewster, left. Cox, left. Scott, right. Parker, left." He pauses. "Come on, come on, Parker, we haven't got all day!"
The wizard - Parker - moves a little faster, joining the queue behind the witch called Cox.
"Hodges, right. Lundie, right. Snape, left."
Lily quickly falls in line behind Parker, not wanting to risk Thicknesse's wrath. She stands in silence, watching the rest of the magical criminals being sorted.
"All right, Snape," Parker breathes, leaning back. "Haven't seen you for ages. Heard you were at Hogwarts."
"I left," she whispers, unsure of who Parker is, and deeply uncomfortable that he's seen fit to engage her in conversation.
"You still mates with Malfoy?"
She nods, tightly.
"And he's not got enough clout to get you out of whatever you've done? Or you couldn't get hold of him?" Parker looks sympathetically towards her. "Reckon you'll go down?"
She nods again. "A year, I think."
"That's shit, sorry."
"I'm hoping for bail today, whilst they set up a proper trial."
He nods. "Good luck with it."
"You?" she whispers.
"Third offence. You know the rules, no chance of bail - they should throw the book this time." Then he grins, and it's a wide grin full of straight white teeth. "But Uncle knows Crouch, so I'll probably get away with a fine." He shrugs. "Or Azkaban for a month, but I can handle it. McNair did two months and he said it was easy."
Lily looks back, seeing Thicknesse and the other auror engaging in conversation with two of the witches at the back of the room, one of them seemingly unwilling to stand in the correct line.
"Poor bitches," Parker hisses, noting her interest. "I wouldn't want to get in that line either."
Lily keeps her voice low. "Why? What happens in that line?"
"That's the Mudblood line," Parker explains, drawing his finger over his neck. "They'll be neutered for sure."
"Neutered?" Her blood runs cold. "They'll have their magic taken from them?"
"Well," Parker says, suddenly sounding more jovial, "fair's fair, Snape - it wasn't really theirs to begin with, was it?"
Satisfied with the tidied bedroom, Severus grabs some clean clothes from the drawer, and heads downstairs with them in hand. He casts towards the radio, filling the living room with background music courtesy of the BBC, and then he casts towards the shower, watching with a smile as it springs to life.
"I'm still impressed, you clever witch," he mutters under his breath, a broad smile playing on his lips - and then he pulls off his socks and underwear, and steps into the shower, groaning with relief as the spray hits him. He stands under the water, his limbs suddenly heavy with exhaustion, and after enjoying the sensation of the spray for a minute or two, he grabs the soap and starts to scrub at his body furiously, trying to eradicate the tobacco scent that he knows Lily so dislikes.
Parker turns to her, his fingers tightly crossed. "Wish me luck," he mouths, and then he heads into the room.
"Into the doorway, Snape," Thicknesse orders, in a bored tone.
Lily steps into the space that Parker has vacated, and looks into the small hearing room. She can see various members of the Wizengamot on the far side of the room, and Barty Crouch Senior presiding. It's hard for her to hear, and she idly wonders if they've cast a spell to cause it, or whether the room is acoustically poor. It's hardly like the great chambers of the Ministry, she thinks, remembering the grand balls that were held in her early days of work. This is a forgotten room for forgotten witches and wizards.
Despite not being able to hear properly, she can see Parker moving his arms animatedly, clearly engaged in discussion with Crouch - and then a wizard stands from the throng of the Wizengamot members, interjecting, and then Crouch moves his hands to silence all. Suddenly, as if someone had grabbed her from being submerged in a pool of water, her ears clear and Crouch's words ring out loudly.
"In ordinary circumstances, three infractions would be dealt with extremely seriously, but I have taken into account the testimony given here today by both yourself and our esteemed colleague, and the glowing recommendation from your arresting auror," Crouch intones. "I should warn you, Parker, if you find yourself before me again, I will have no choice but to send you to Azkaban."
"Thank you, sir. I won't waste your faith in me."
"As I am not imposing a custodial sentence upon you, you still need to be punished in some form. To that end, I will be issuing a fine of 500 galleons," Crouch says, smiling maliciously as Parker seems to wince at the amount, "as a reminder of your infraction, and to ensure that the Ministry is reimbursed for the time wasted upon your arrest. Dismissed."
She watches as Parker is led from the room by another auror, and she is so engrossed in watching him, she almost jumps in the air when Crouch calls her name.
"Snape!"
Lily steps forward, and takes a deep breath, preparing to beg for clemency. Put your argument gently and sensibly, she thinks, anything you can do to reduce Severus' sentence means that he can come home sooner.
Crouch rifles through the confession that she recognises from earlier, and then through some more papers - which Lily assumes are details of Severus' previous arrests. Don't fret, she thinks. You're not like Parker, he hasn't been prosecuted three times. You can get bail.
Then she sees a sudden flash of white paper, and Crouch's scowl grows.
Severus' Muggle arrest papers.
Crouch stares at her, his gaze hard, a sneer on his face. "Severus Snape, I can see from this that you are clearly a hardened criminal-"
"-wait, that's not-"
"-don't interrupt me!" Crouch shouts, his voice booming around the room. She stills, her heart banging in her chest, and she stares in horror at the members of the Wizengamot, who all seem uninterested in her plight. "Now, as I was saying, you are clearly a hardened criminal - this is the second time that you have been before the Wizengamot, although I note that you are awaiting full trial over a previous offence, and you have been similarly tried in the Muggle world."
There's a pause, and Crouch lets his words hang in the air, a nasty smile on his face. Amongst the Wizengamot members, there's a few hushed whispers and the shuffling of feet.
"It says here that you're on Muggle probation," Crouch murmurs. "If you'd pulled a stunt like this in the Muggle world, you'd be sent straight to prison, isn't that correct?"
She can feel her ears burning, and she feels sick as she opens her mouth. "...yes."
Crouch frowns again, peering at the arrest papers before him. "You're a Half, aren't you, Snape?"
"Yes, sir."
"Mother is Pure?"
"Yes, sir."
"Father is an Unfortunate?"
This time, her voice is barely more than a whisper. She's never particularly liked Tobias, but seeing him being reduced to a disgraced footnote in a court of law sits uneasily with her. "He's a Muggle, sir."
"A Pureblood witch and a Muggle man," Crouch says, still staring at her confession, "it's not often you see that combination." He looks up. "Bastard, are you?"
"No. My parents are married, sir."
Crouch looks surprised. "A relationship, and not…" He trails off. "And father is still on the scene?"
"Yes," she says, defensively.
"In that case, I assume you grew up as a Muggle?"
She swallows tightly. "I am a wizard, sir."
"But you lived in the Muggle world, am I correct?"
"...yes, sir."
"Then if you are half Muggle already, I would be inclined to follow their procedures. If I am reading these papers correctly, that would mean two years in Azkaban-"
"-two years?" She grabs the front of the wooden pulpit that she's standing in. "No, please, I can't go to Azkaban for two years."
Crouch peers at her. "You know the rules for three infractions-"
"-I haven't had three prosecutions-"
"-and by rights, with the Muggle prosecution included-"
"-I've already been punished for that!"
"Not effectively enough," Crouch barks at her, "else you wouldn't be stood before me today, would you?"
Lily falls silent, not wanting to make the situation worse.
Crouch flicks the parchment back and forth, twisting his wand in his hand whilst he thinks. "Your arresting auror is less than complimentary," he murmurs, tracing Vance's words with his finger, "and what deeply concerns me is the theme of your arrests." He looks up from the parchment and stares directly at Lily. "You signed a deal with Master Borage to avoid a full trial here at the Ministry, following the deaths of a number of magical people. Your incompetence at brewing was cited as the cause, and-" he continues loudly, sensing that Lily is about to interrupt and argue, "-you admitted as much."
Crouch shuffles the papers, picking up the next charge. "You are currently awaiting trial for procuring without licence. You had no recorded comment, but you were found with snallygaster parts about your person." He collects the next charge sheet. "And today, we are gathered here because you were found to be peddling incompetently brewed potions."
"I wasn't peddling them. I was-"
"-you were carrying a useless potion," Crouch says, thoughtfully. "You say it wasn't finished, but we all know that laboratories are for unfinished potions, not Knockturn Alley. It is also on record that you have been released from your apprenticeship with Master Jigger, is that not correct?"
"...it's correct."
Crouch frowns at her.
"Sir," she hastily adds.
He sits back, a weak smile on his face. "Where did you brew the potion?"
Lily freezes, her mouth opening and then closing rapidly. "I…" She trails off, terrified of saying the wrong thing.
"I ask," Crouch says, smugly, "because I know you have been warned previously about brewing outside of official environments." He smiles nastily. "I know this because I was the one to issue you with one such warning." He leans forward, eagerly. "If you have no Master, Snape, you have no business brewing. Where. Did. You. Brew. The. Potion?"
She holds her arms by her sides, hoping that nobody can see that she's shaking. "It was one I'd already brewed. Before I was dismissed."
Crouch scoffs loudly, and there's another set of muttering from the representatives of the Wizengamot.
"Then your story doesn't stack up," Crouch says, moving a quill across the parchment. "You can't have been attempting to procure snallygaster parts to add to a potion if the potion was one that had been brewed prior to your release by Master Jigger. I am no expert, but even I am aware that you cannot hold a potion indefinitely during its creation." He gives a broad smile, his voice now a little louder, and very obviously performing for the Wizengamot. "Unless that is your problem, Severus Snape - that despite your years in the system, you are so incapable, you don't know the basic rules of brewing. It would certainly explain a lot about your behaviour."
Lily doesn't answer, and Crouch narrows his eyes, his gaze raking over her. "I have a problem, Snape. Either you're incompetent, or you're a charlatan. You either make foolish mistakes because you're incapable of brewing correctly, or you deliberately make schoolboy errors because you are creating a facade so you can cause wanton death and destruction whilst believing you will be absolved of blame." He pauses. "Whichever it is, it matters not - you are dangerous." He waves the white sheet towards her. "And this charge is a horrifying addition - a depiction of your bloodlust."
"I'm not-"
"-I'm speaking," Crouch interrupts, swiftly. "I am not inclined to offer bail-"
"-but that was the deal! For my confession! I was promised bail!"
"Enough!" Crouch straightens his robes, and sits a little taller in his seat. "On reflection, nor do I think a trial with the potential for a sentence in Azkaban is suitable. I think you are unrepentant, as displayed here, attested to by your arresting auror in your confession, and the breathtaking arrogance of you repeating the very actions that saw you held in these cells a short time ago. The reckless behaviour you displayed in the Muggle world appears to be a testament to your impulsive nature, which we have seen evidence of in this room today, as you have been unable to hold back from interrupting and shouting out of turn." He tidies the papers together, and places them to one side. "I believe you to be a dangerous individual, who has little regard for the rules and regulations of our world. I do not think you can be trusted to cease brewing, as evidenced by your behaviour following your dismissal from your apprenticeship, and the only way I can be satisfied that you do not continue to wreak havoc in our society-"
"-please, you've got it all wrong-"
"-is for you to meet with the punishment reserved for your sort, the criminal underclass-"
"-please, I am begging you," she says, tears openly falling down her face. "Please, don't do this, please-"
Severus sings along to the radio as he rinses his hair under the shower, and then reaches for the bottle of Lily's conditioner. He doesn't usually bother to use it, but Lily is forever complaining that he doesn't look after himself as well as he could, and he wants her to see him and fall into his arms, rather than being disappointed.
He turns his back on the spray and squeezes the bottle hard in the middle, causing a healthy splurge of conditioner to land in his palm before dropping the bottle unceremoniously into the bottom of the tin bath. He rubs the conditioner furiously between his hands, creating a lather, and then massages it into his hair. He presses his fingers firmly against his scalp, trying to relax - how long does she say I'm meant to leave it in for? One minute? Two minutes?
He bends down and picks the bottle back up, trying to peer at the small text of the instructions on the reverse of the bottle. Five minutes, he reads, and he scoffs. "No wonder you're forever in the bathroom, Lil," he mutters, dropping the bottle back between his feet.
To her horror, it's not a faceless auror who steps up to lead her away, but Vance - who is positively beaming.
"...you promised," Lily gasps, "that I would get bail."
Vance smiles, her lips thin. "Unfortunately, it seems I was wrong." She gives a slight shrug as she leads Lily back out into the atrium, and then propels her over to the right hand side of the room.
Lily can see a queue on the left side, with many still awaiting their fate, but there's only one witch before her on the right hand side, who is sobbing into her hands.
"Please don't do this," Lily begs, "you know I don't deserve this. You know this is all a misunderstanding."
"I said that you would be out this afternoon," Vance says, glancing at her watch. "I can keep that part of our agreement at the very least." She leans in, that same smirk on her face. "It's quick. Not quite painless, but remarkably fast."
Severus finishes miming to air guitar as the song finishes, and he runs his hands through his hair. "It is softer," he murmurs, grumpily admitting to himself that his wife was correct, "and that has to have been five minutes. That guitar solo went on forever." He leans forward, and starts to rinse the conditioner out of his hair, when there's a sudden almighty crash.
"Fuck!" he shouts, putting his arms above his head to shield himself from the collapsing shower. He stands for a long moment, startled and naked in his living room, frozen to the spot and horrified by the destruction that surrounds him. "...what the fuck just happened?"
Chapter 112: Lies
Notes:
Desperate situation still, and heed this warning carefully - there is unresolved peril for Bean in this chapter.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The room is sterile - clinical. Aside from row after row of bunk beds, there's nothing to look at - it's empty and cold, with walls covered in ceramic white tile. There's no decorations, no artwork, no ornaments, no flowers - not even any simple signage.
Lily lies despondently on her side, staring impassively across the room, taking in the other witches and wizards - ex-witches and ex-wizards - who share her fate, and who all look as drained and as stunned as she feels herself.
The only thing Vance hadn't misled her over was the speed of the procedure, which had been quick. Lily had been marched forwards to the centre of the room, and had been manacled by a spell, wrists bonded tightly to the bench before her. Her hair had been gathered in one hand by an auror, and raised upwards, and then she'd felt the auror's breath on her neck, such was his proximity, followed by the tip of the auror's wand burying deeply into her collarbone, before slowly tracing its way around her neck.
It had felt intimate, almost - exposed, her neck bared, even if proffered against her will. She'd tried to distract herself, staring at her bound hands - Severus' hands - his long fingers splayed against the bench.
The auror's wand trailed around her neck again and again, and if she'd closed her eyes, she could've imagined it was a lazy Sunday morning like the ones she used to share with Severus when they'd lie together naked, legs entwined, and he'd stroke his fingertips across her body, tracing a path across her bare skin.
Around and around the wand moved, and she'd tried to push reality away - tried to focus on the idea of Severus' forefinger circling her neck, followed by the rest of his fingers trailing upwards, when he'd eventually touch her cheek, tilting her mouth towards his own - and then he'd gently, finally, press his lips to hers.
When they first lived together, she decided he was the devil - a wicked boy who didn't want to do anything other than spend their weekends wrapped naked in their sheets, intent on working her into an unholy frenzy, not stopping until he'd coaxed a flame within her that spread through her limbs and didn't cease until the heat practically radiated from her - desperate for her to sing aloud and worship him as her newfound deity.
When the wand tip was removed, the burn that eventually shot across her neck was nothing like Severus' sensuous thrill of passion, but was like molten metal dripping under the furious flame wielded by a welder, scalding her skin with such intensity, she tried to shriek - but when she opened her mouth to scream, her voice had been stolen from her.
Silenced.
She had felt her legs sagging beneath her, and she had slumped forward, her bodyweight resting on her bonded wrists. The auror's arm had looped around her waist, holding her upright, and just as she had thought she was going to throw up with the pain and the horror of it all, the burning sensation suddenly stopped.
Instead of relief, the feeling was replaced by a freezing spiral flooding through her veins, as if someone had replaced her blood with ice - and instantly, she knew that the procedure was over and the deed was done.
I can't feel my magic.
"You need to lie down," the auror had said, unshackling her and propelling her clumsily through to the plain room, where she'd been ushered onto a firm mattress on one of the empty bunk beds.
She'd complied, exhausted, and had lain down - her actions mirroring those of the other occupants of the room, who were all entirely silent, their fates similarly sealed.
"There's a bucket here."
It had been shoved towards her, skidding along the floor.
"You probably won't need it."
"...how long do I have to stay here for?" I need to get out of here.
"We monitor you for fifteen minutes." It wasn't the auror speaking this time, but another voice. "Then you'll be sent for processing."
Processing. The word seemed to echo around the room. Vance had known what her fate would be all along: "I'll put you through processing. You'll be out just after lunch."
Lily closes her eyes, sickened and betrayed, trying not to cry - trying not to show any emotion. You can't cry. You're Severus Snape, not Lily Evans. Severus Snape wouldn't cry.
"She's going to fucking kill me." Severus summons his wand into his hand, and immediately casts through to the kitchen to prevent more water from spilling through the living room. With another flick of his wand, he silences the radio - so I can think - and then he waves his hand to summon his towel. It flies through the air, and he grabs it, wrapping it tightly around his waist before bending down and peering at the broken shower.
"It was fine the other night," he mutters, poking at the shower hose with his wand. "What did I do wrong?"
They're lined up in another corridor now. There's three people before her; two witches and a wizard, and the wizard is loudly pleading with the auror. Lily looks away - she wants to go up to him and grab his arm, wants to shake some sense into him, wants to tell him that there's no mercy to be found in a place like this - but instead, she stands quietly and waits and listens, because she has no other choice.
"I need to see my wife! My children, I've got three children, they don't know-"
"-there is no return to the magical world," the auror intones, as if this is a conversation that she's experienced many times before, "it wouldn't be safe for you. In your release packet, you will find that the Ministry has been quite generous - there is a small sum of Muggle money-"
"-I have no use for Muggle money! I'm not a Muggle!"
"You are," says the auror, much more firmly.
"I'm magical, I'm-"
"-you do not have magic, you cannot use magic, you are not magical. You are a Muggle."
"I have a house! I have a bank account! At Gringotts!" His pleading seems to increase with every statement he makes. "I need access, I need-"
Lily looks up at the sudden silence, and then she sees the man's arms flailing, his mouth moving without sound, and the auror stashing her wand back in her pocket. She silenced him. She used magic against him because he was an inconvenience. There's a tremor in her hand, and she shoves it deep into her pocket.
"20 Muggle pounds," the auror continues, as if nothing untoward had occurred, "and a blank railway ticket. You will be taken to Kings Cross, and once you board a train of your choosing, the ticket will transform, displaying your destination and becoming valid. Any questions? No? Next!"
"Reparo," Severus says softly, pointing at the shower hose, and to his surprise, the hose starts to shift, as if it wants to rise. "Huh," he says, with a small laugh, "didn't think a spell that simple would work." He squares his shoulders, and points his wand firmly at the broken shower, and takes a deep intake of breath. "REPARO!" he commands, his voice firm and his intent certain - and the pieces of the shower knit back together, as if nothing untoward happened in the first place.
Severus casts several drying charms around the base of the tin bath, not stopping until the carpet is dry. He puts his head through into the shower, and tentatively casts towards it - and he smiles when the water starts to flow as before. She'll never know. He unwraps his towel, and tosses it towards the sofa before stepping back under the spray and rinsing the conditioner out of his hair.
He's quick this time - less than sixty seconds - and he dries off just as quickly, watching the now dormant shower warily, as if fearful that it'll collapse again at any second. "I obviously overdid it," he mutters to himself, as he pulls on his clean clothes.
He grins to himself as he starts to syphon the remains of the dirty water out of the tin bath with his wand. "I bet she did that to stop me from only having a shower every few days." Five minutes every day is better than thirty minutes once a week, Sev, he can almost hear her saying. "You're a menace, witch," he grins. "Just wait until I get my hands on you."
Lily's been to Kings Cross many times before, but always in much happier circumstances - always when heading towards Hogwarts, or heading home from Hogwarts - and it feels surreal to be walking through a place that she'd always associated with magic after having been stripped of her own.
It's distressing, not feeling the comforting thrum of her magic - it's something she'd always been aware of, but wouldn't have been able to verbalise the sensation until it was missing. Her body feels odd, as if she's been plunged into ice from the neck down - as if her magic is locked in her cells, frozen in place. She can almost feel her magic screaming to be released - as if it is yelling into a soundproofed room, its cries muffled by the padded walls.
She wonders if this feeling will dissipate with time, when it becomes clear to her magic that it's over, that the hex isn't going to be reversed - or whether it's a dull ache that she'll have to put up with for the rest of her life.
"Concentrate," she mutters, as she stares at the boards, a list of destinations before her. She's never travelled solo to Cokeworth from London before - her parents had collected her for the first few years, and Severus had led her through the maze of stations and stops when they were first dating, before they'd finally got their Apparition licences, and trains were long forgotten as a mode of transport.
I think it's Euston for Cokeworth, she thinks, staring at the unfamiliar place names. I can probably get the tube with this ticket. She flips the blank ticket over between her fingers, wondering how it's going to work. What if they're tracing me through this? What if this wasn't a goodwill gesture, but was a means of keeping tabs on us - especially now that we're vulnerable? We're all likely to head to our place of safety - our childhood homes, and not move from there.
She shoves the Ministry issued ticket back into her pocket, and then heads to the ticket office.
Severus sits down on the sofa, a plate of cold cottage pie in his lap. I haven't got time to warm it through if I'm going to get the bus back to Mam and Da's - not after spending so long tidying the mess after the shower blew up. As he starts shovelling the meal into his mouth, he glances around the room. Looks like nothing even happened, he thinks. She'll never believe me when I tell her. She'll think I'm having her on.
It takes longer than she expects, but she finally reaches London Paddington - the £20 gifted from the Ministry already broken into notes and coins, and she spies a throng of Muggles moving as one towards a platform. She glances at the departure board: Penzance.
That'll do.
She hurries behind them, and joins the crowd about to board the train. Silently, she pushes the Ministry issued ticket into the open handbag of a lady standing in front of her - and then she deliberately jostles against her, as if she's been shoved, before smiling and apologising.
"I was pushed," she explains, doing her best to look nonthreatening - as much as is possible in Severus' skin - and casting a scowl over her shoulder towards the people behind her. She turns back, and the woman is looking at her furiously.
"I'll get on a different carriage," Lily offers, quickly, trying to sound deeply apologetic - and she takes a step back, and then another. She watches, checking that the woman is safely on the train - the ticket must've registered the destination by now - and then she quickly trots back up the platform, across the concourse, and back into the Underground.
Destination Euston.
Severus washes up but doesn't dry, leaving the plate to drain. He checks each room, making sure that the house is ready for Lily's return, with nothing out of place, and then he glances at the clock. The bus is in seven minutes.
He laces his boots and locks up. You'll have her safely back here tonight, he thinks. And then you'll need to see Rose and David, make sure they're ok - and you'll need to do something with their house. Malf might have some ideas. He takes a deep breath. Bean. He's been trying not to think about their baby, trying not to think about the implications of the Polyjuice, and desperately shoving the thought to one side in his mind. Not quite in a box, but not far off.
Remember what Mam said about you, he thinks, as he strides down the street and towards the bus stop. You're a survivor. Stands to reason your kid will be too. Bean's going to be fine, you'll see. He shoves his hands in his pockets and starts to whistle loudly, unwilling to let his mind dwell on the alternative.
Lily stares at the timetable on the wall in horror, realising that it's hours back to Cokeworth. Despite growing up in Muggle Britain, she'd somehow forgotten the reality of it - the reality of relying on traditional modes of transport instead of whipping out a wand and instantly arriving at a destination.
She looks over at the main clock suspended from the ceiling. I've got an hour left like this at most, she thinks. I can't transform from Severus into me, heavily pregnant, whilst on a train. Someone might see, and then what?
I need to get Severus to me, she thinks, jangling loose coins in her pocket - and she heads over to the payphones near the entrance. But how? His parents don't have a phone, and if my parents have any sense, they won't still be at our house. She pauses, and then picks up the receiver.
"What d'yer mean, yer dunner go over the river?"
"Yer thinkin' of the 6," the driver says, "this is the 9. We go up to the hospital, round the old shopping centre-"
"-fuck all use that is-"
"-and back up to Rillwych."
"When's the 6 get 'ere then?" Severus says.
"They stopped it."
"Since when?"
"Last month."
Severus runs his hand over his eyes. "Fuck me, how's anyone s'posed ter get ter Cokeworth then?"
"They replaced it with a new service."
"Well, when's that get 'ere? I'll get that."
"You're on it, lad. They replaced the 6 with the 9, that's what I've bin tellin' yer."
Severus slams a couple of silver coins onto the driver's payment tray. "Ridiculous this is!"
The driver shakes his head, looking as annoyed as Severus feels. "Aye, well, I dunner make the rules - I just drive the bleedin' thing!"
Severus sulkily grabs his ticket, but he refuses to take a seat. Instead, he petulantly holds one of the poles near to the front of the bus to steady himself.
When the bus stops half a mile down the road to let two pensioners on, there's some grumbling about him being in the way, and he overhears the driver suggesting to the older man that Severus thinks he's intimidating him by standing at the front.
"You young 'uns," the older woman mutters, as she passes him. "Din't 'ave any of this sort of thing in our day, did we, Albert?"
As the bus reaches the centre of Cokeworth, Severus presses the bell, deciding that he'd prefer to walk the rest of the way. "Not goin' over the river," he mutters to himself, as he strolls down the street. "Da's fuckin' right, bloody cuts all over the place."
He's only crossed two streets when he hears a sudden shout.
"Russ! Russ! Oi, Snape!"
Severus turns, surprised to see his father's friend Mick calling to him. "All right, Mick?"
"Hold up," Mick says, lightly jogging towards him, "just the fella."
"This about playin' pool? Coz I'm a bit busy at the moment-"
"-nah, Derek was just gonna send one of the lads down to see yer Da, but yer've saved us a trip. Just pop in the Vic wi' us for a second."
Severus sighs, pushing his hands deeper into his pockets. "If he owes Derek a fuckin' tab, I ain't got any-"
"-yer Toby's boy all right, aren't yer?" Mick claps his hand on Severus' shoulder. "Nah, some lad rang the pub askin' fer yer Da. Had a message about summat in London."
A shudder runs through Severus. "When?" he says, his voice breaking. "When was it?"
"Oh, only about five minutes ago," Mick says, as they head out of the daylight and into the dingy pub. "Oi, Degs! Look who I found walkin' the streets."
Derek smiles when he sees Severus, and rips off a piece of paper from a pad near to the phone. He passes it over the bar, but he doesn't release it instantly. "An' tell yer old man I ain't 'is receptionist."
"Will do," Severus says, keen to grab the note. "Thanks!" He nods towards Mick. "Cheers Mickey."
"Cheers yersel'," Mick says, "saves one of us runnin' down to Toby." He gives Severus a curious look. "Who's he fuckin' know in London, anyway? Thought he fuckin' hated southerners?"
"Aye, well, yer know Da," Severus says, noncommittally. "I'll see yer."
"Oi, Russ," Mick calls again, just as Severus' hand is on the door, "come down next Sunday if yer wanna try yer 'and at some pool. Yer were good t'other night, and yer dad said yer might be stayin' around for a little bit?"
Severus nods. "Aye, might do. Thanks Mick."
Severus steps back out into the bright sunlight, and unfolds the note. He can barely read the older man's scrawled capitals, but he can make out enough: 8 tins of beans at Euston for urgent collection.
Severus ducks into an alley, and grips his wand. What were the chances of me ending up on that stupid bus, and coming through town? Someone must be looking out for us, he thinks, and he Disapparates loudly.
Lily stands on the concourse, looking down at platform 8. The old man who'd answered the phone at the Victoria had been amiable enough - he'd certainly known who Tobias Snape was, and had promised to pass the message on. She didn't really dare move, just in case Severus suddenly appeared - although she knew it wasn't realistic; she had no idea how long the man would take to get the message to Tobias, and how long Tobias would take to get the message to Severus - if Tobias even understood the coded message in the first place.
She can feel an ache starting in the back of her hamstrings, and she glances down at her hands, shocked to see slightly longer fingernails than usual on Severus' hands.
I'm changing. Shit!
Lily quickly puts her head down and walks up towards the toilets, before changing her mind - too many people in there - and ducking onto a relatively empty platform, where a train is about to depart. She waves her hand in the air, as if she intends to board, and then walks as far as she can, as quickly as possible, and hides behind one of the large pillars.
The whistle blows and the train pulls away - and by the time it has disappeared down the track, she's returned to her usual form. She leans against the pillar, tears in her eyes from the searing pain in her legs and back. Lily can't decide if racing around as Severus has made her ache more, or whether the switch from his body to her pregnant body has made her realise just how much she had been struggling.
She immediately moves her hand down to her stomach, trying to feel for Bean within her, but although she smoothes her hand over and over her midriff, she can't feel any movement. Stop this, she thinks. You're just panicking. Get back on the concourse, you need to be visible when Severus appears.
She wipes the tears from her eyes, and starts the slow, heavy walk back up towards the main concourse, her hand still trying to track Bean.
Severus lands noisily at the front of the station, causing a couple of tourists to drop a camera. He ignores their shouts, and stalks into the station. They'll think they imagined it, he thinks. He pulls the note out again. 8 tins of beans? It's got to be platform 8. He pushes through a group of people, intent on his destination, and he's winding his way towards the platform when suddenly, he sees a heavily pregnant red-haired woman moving very slowly down the concourse from platform 2.
"Lil!"
"Sev!"
"LIL!" He sprints as hard as he can, hurdling over one passenger's suitcase, and almost barrelling into another. He's breathless when he reaches her, and he pulls her into his arms, holding her tightly against him, and he kisses her - full on the lips at first, and then over and over, on her cheek and in her hair. "Fucking hell, Lil, fucking hell," he murmurs.
"Sev…" Tears cascade down her face, huge gulping sobs stealing her words from her as she tries to speak. "Sev…"
"It's ok, love," he says, rocking her against him, "I've got you, you're safe now. I'm here."
"It's all gone wrong, Sev," she sobs into his chest. "The Ministry."
"I know, I know, Malf wrote to me," he says, soothingly. "But forget it for now, love. Whatever's happened, we can sort it out, I promise."
"I don't think we can," she says, pulling away from him, tears still openly pouring down her face. "I need to go to hospital."
He stills then, his face pale and drawn, and she knows even before she utters the words - even without Legilimency - that he knows what's coming next.
"I can't feel Bean," she sobs, her hand tracking her stomach once more. "Ever since… I can't feel Bean."
"Let me," he says, calmly. His heart is slamming against the front of his chest so fiercely, it feels as if it's going to burst through his rib cage, but his hands on Lily are gentle. He tugs at her blouse, freeing the bottom of it and he slips his hand underneath and upwards and onto her bare skin, moving his palm steadily across her bump.
"Can you, Sev?" she asks, desperately, her eyes filled with water. "Can you feel Bean?"
And then he smiles at her - his eyes dark, and his smile confident and reassuring. "Yes, love," he lies. "Yes, I can feel Bean just fine."
Notes:
I'm away next weekend, so there won't be a Sunday update (8th) - but I may have opportunity to add a new chapter midweek (9th onwards).
Sorry to leave it in such a terrible place.
Chapter 113: Our little Bean
Notes:
And if you're watching these notes to see when the peril will stop, the end of this chapter marks the end of the peril for Lily and Bean :)
Chapter Text
Severus is reassuring, with his confident smile, and his calm words, and his warm fingers gently squeezing her hand. He steers Lily through the concourse, and out to the front of the station, walking her past the entrance to the Underground.
"I've brought this for you," he says, with a smile, pulling her wedding ring out of his pocket.
"You found it! In the drawer?"
"Yes," he says, and he lifts her hand carefully, delicately, and slides the ring back onto her finger. "Better, Mrs Snape?"
"Better, Mr Snape," she whispers, almost smiling, but her voice still hampered by her tears.
"Good. Now, hold me tightly, love," he instructs, moving her hands to his waist, and before she can speak, he flicks his wand and they Disapparate.
She panics when they land in the hospital car park. "Why are we here? I thought you said you felt Bean-"
"-I did, love," he says, staring intently at the traffic and ushering her across the painted tarmac, "but it's best to get checked out. If we go home, that's all our parents will tell us to do, so let's cut out the middleman."
Lily falters in her step at the mention of her family, and he's quick to grab her - to steady her.
"Hey," he says, gripping her tightly, "it's ok. We're just getting a quick check, that's all. We'll be in Rillwych before you know it."
"But Mummy-"
"-they're both fine," he says, realising the source of her distress. "Rose and David are fine. I'm fine and my parents are fine. Everyone is fine," he promises, his voice soothing, and then he reaches up and smoothes a piece of stray hair behind her ear, "and now we're going to make sure that Lily is fine too. That's all we're doing, love. That's all."
She lets him help her into a seat in the waiting room, and she watches him intently as he strides to the front desk.
"It's not me, it's my wife, she's pregnant," she hears him say, and then she sees him gesticulating towards her - but then he turns his face away from her, and there's a faint buzzing in her ears, and try as she might, she can't hear a word of what he's saying.
"We can't feel our baby," he says, earnestly, filling the form out as quickly as he can. He looks up. "We've just moved house, do you want her old address too?"
"In the box below," the receptionist says. "And when did this start?"
I don't fucking know.
"Just," he says. "Today. In the last couple of hours." He looks at the receptionist helplessly. "I don't know, I was at work," he lies, "and she told me when I got home. I got her here as quick as I could." He grimaces, trying not to let his emotions best him. "She's… We've been under a lot of stress. Someone needs to see her. Urgently."
"Please take a seat with your wife, Mr Snape. One of the nurses will call her over."
Severus has read about long waiting times in Tobias' newspaper, and Tobias is always complaining about them - even if he hasn't personally visited the hospital himself in years.
The waiting room isn't overly full, but the queue doesn't seem to be diminishing quickly either. Severus glances around him, trying to survey the wounded, trying to ascertain their need.
He looks fine to me, he thinks, bitterly. And she's got a twisted arm, so what? Probably did it herself, probably did something stupid, probably deserved it. And what's that old codger doing here? He's old enough to drop off his perch without bothering anyone here, he must be ninety if he's a day. What's wrong with people - can't they tell when they've had a good innings? And that lad's ankle can't be that painful, he thinks, staring at a young man's leg which is propped up on a chair, it's hardly even swollen. Time waster. Shouldn't go playing football if you can't take a knock on the shin, pal!
He holds Lily's hand, staring at the clock on the wall, tracing each circuit of the second hand as it completes its revolution around the face of the clock.
None of these people are more important than Lily and Bean. They deserve to be seen. They've done nothing wrong. They weren't being reckless. They don't deserve this.
"Sev…" Lily says, breaking his train of thought.
"What?"
"I didn't mean… For this, I mean. I'm sorry-"
"-you've got nothing to be sorry for, love," he insists, gripping her hand more tightly. "Nothing at all."
"Lily Snape?"
He leaps up first, waving his hand in acknowledgement of the call of her name, before helping Lily to her feet. He spies the time as he helps her down the corridor - we've only been here thirteen minutes - and although he wants to cheer - I knew we deserved to be seen first - it worries him just as much as it it reassures him.
They must be taking it seriously. They've moved her up the list. And so they should - as if a broken arm is more important than Bean's life.
But he can't stop the voice in the back of his mind from screaming: They've got times and targets and queues. Thirteen minutes is fast. Really fast. They obviously couldn't risk waiting any longer - and that means that something is really really wrong.
The staff shuffle them quickly, efficiently, from one room to another. At first, it's a barrage of faces - someone checking her blood pressure, someone offering her a plastic cup of water and then re-filling it and offering it to her again, someone else taking blood, someone feeling her abdomen - and then a porter whisks her into a wheelchair and pushes her through corridor after corridor and finally into a smaller room, with Severus following at a trot half a step behind.
"Peter will be along in a moment," the porter says to the woman in the room as he passes over a clipboard, "I've just seen him leaving X-Ray."
"Thanks, Gary," the woman says, and the two of them help Lily onto the bed, before the porter departs.
The woman doesn't speak further, but stares at the clipboard before placing it on the side. Then she raises Lily's top, feeling methodically across her abdomen. "I see that your baby's a little overdue. When was your last check?"
"What are all those monitors for?" Severus blurts out, hovering anxiously in the doorway, his thin jacket twisted in his hands.
"Is this husband?" the nurse asks Lily, her tone brusque.
"Yes, don't send him away," she pleads, "please, don't!"
At her tone, the nurse suddenly seems to register the terrified expressions on both Lily and Severus' faces, and she beckons him in. "Pull the door to," she says, gently, "we're just going to check the baby's position with a scan. The radiographer is coming down."
Severus pushes the door shut, and then hesitates, looking at the nurse. "Is that bad?"
"Your wife's had plenty of these scans already, Mr…"
"Snape," he finishes. "We're both Snape."
"Mr Snape, if you hold your wife's hand, you'll be in the right position to see the screens."
He doesn't need telling twice, and he moves across the room to hold Lily's hand, staring earnestly at the blank monitors.
"This gel might feel-"
"-I know, I've," Lily interrupts, and then before she can continue, she starts to cry, overwhelmed at the idea that this could be the last time that she sees Bean.
"Love," Severus says immediately, hunting in his pockets, "love, it's ok." He looks helplessly at the older woman, who tugs some paper towel from the dispenser on the wall and passes it over.
"I'm sorry," Lily gulps into the tissues, "it's-"
"I know it can be overwhelming," the nurse starts.
"We've been under a lot of stress," Severus interrupts, "she's been through a lot the last few weeks, and the last day or so-"
"-it's always difficult to manage expectations when they don't run to the timetable," the nurse says, kindly, "especially when it's your first." She pauses. "This is your first?"
Lily and Severus nod simultaneously.
"Sometimes babies turn late," the nurse says, just as the radiographer pushes the door open and steps in, "it's really nothing to worry about."
"But… It's not the position, we're not here because the position's wrong! I couldn't feel… Sev said he could feel, but I can't!"
"Here," the nurse says, grabbing Lily's hand, and pressing it firmly against her swollen abdomen. "Can you feel now?"
Lily presses hard against her side, and sobs again when she feels Bean moving against her hand. "Bean," she cries, gripping Severus' hand with her free hand. "Bean's moving, Sev. Bean's there."
"Oh, love," he says, blinking furiously, trying to stop his own tears from falling - and then he glances awkwardly at the two hospital staff. "Bean…" He trails off. "...it's what we call-"
"-we've heard them all," the radiographer laughs, as he sets himself into the chair. "I like Bean. That's rare."
"We get a lot of Baby Surname," the nurse adds, "and Little Surname."
"Yes, although you get the occasional Pea-"
At this, Severus and Lily share a smile.
"-but I've always been fonder of beans," the radiographer grins. "Now, let's have a closer look at this little one and see what they've been up to."
Severus leans against the wall at the top of the ward, the large black phone receiver pressed hard against his ear. "No, we don't need anything," he says, "but can you tell Mam and Da for me? Tell them what's happened. They'll be worried that I didn't go back when I said I would."
He moves anxiously from one foot to the other, listening earnestly, and nodding his head. "No, no, it's fine, David. She's fine." He lowers his voice a little. "Just high blood pressure. Yeah. Wrong position. Yeah, that's all they've said. I know, but as she's already overdue-" He pauses. "Yeah. Yeah, no, they said that-" He pauses again. "Hi Rose. Yes, she's fine. No, no, I've been with her. Yeah, that's what they said. I know. I know that's why but-"
He leans heavily against the wall again, running his free hand through his hair. "Yeah, but it's not coming down, and that's what they've said is best." He pauses again. "I know, but it doesn't matter that she's safe now, she's so worked up." He pauses. "No, I don't know. I don't know. She said she couldn't feel..." He trails off, and he turns away from the entrance to the ward, his voice even lower, "I couldn't either. I told her it was all right because I knew it would make things worse if she thought-"
He turns back, sighing. "I know, I know, I wouldn't lie to her normally! But they examined her and they weren't worried. They felt… Yeah, and they've done a scan and we both saw… Yeah, yeah. Heartbeat is fine. Just the wrong way, and..." He picks absently at the phone cord. "Yeah, they said that. Something about a low placenta, whatever that means. They said… Yeah, Lil's fine. Absolutely fine. Just worried, that's all. Upsetting herself, you know how she gets. Look, Rose, I've got to go - they'll let me in if I'm with her. Yeah. Yeah, we've already signed the form. No, we don't need anything. No, no, I'm not hungry. Yeah, if you could, I mean, if you don't mind. They'll be worried. No, I know. Just… I dunno, get David to beep his horn outside - one of them will come out and look. Please. Yeah, yeah, put him back on."
There's another brief pause. "Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, but…" He runs his hand through his hair again, pulling at the roots. "David, I don't know. They said it'll be quick but I don't know when… Yeah, yeah. No, I mean, I don't know. Yeah, ring the ward, they'll let you know. Yeah. Look, I've got to go, the phone's beeping at me - can you hear that? Yeah, the pips, that's what I mean. I need to hang up, I need to go with her. Yeah, yeah, I'll tell her. She already knows but I'll tell her. Yeah, I promise. I will, I will. And David, David - quick, before it runs out... I just wanted… I just wanted to say thanks."
"Did you get hold of them?" she asks, as soon as he pushes the curtain back. "Are they ok?"
"They're fine, love," he says, with a smile, pulling a plastic chair nearer to the bed so he can sit next to her. "I spoke to them both. I told you, they're staying at that hotel near to the station. They're worried about you, that's all."
She reaches for his hand, holding it firmly. "I'm ok."
"Good, because that's what I told them," he says, with a smile. He turns her hand over, and his finger carefully traces the skin around the cannula in the back of her hand. "What've they been doing to you behind my back, hey?"
"Just giving me some fluids they said. I think there's something else in there, because I feel a bit woozy," she says, quietly. "They don't think I am coping. I heard them talking about me."
"You're doing marvellously, love," he says, brushing his fingers through her hair. "Better than anyone else would, I'm sure."
"I'm so glad you're here with me."
"Me too, love," he says, that crooked smile playing on his lips.
"Don't let them send you away, Sev."
"I won't."
"Even when I go into theatre. Promise me."
"I promise," he says, soothingly. "I already spoke to the sister, and she said it's fine. Husbands go in all of the time. I'll be with you every step of the way." He gives a soft laugh. "Not that I'll be much help. This bit's all on you, love."
"It's not on me. Not now I've messed it up. It's on the doctors," she says, and then tears prick at the edge of her eyes again. "Sorry."
"Shhhhh," he says, leaping up and grabbing some paper towel from the end of the ward. "Here," he says, as he returns, pressing them gently to her cheeks.
She takes the paper from him, rubbing it across her eyes. "Sorry."
"You don't have to be sorry. You've got nothing to be sorry for. You haven't messed anything up."
"It's my fault Bean's the wrong way-"
"-Lil, it's not anyone's fault. It's one of those things, and if you weren't already over-"
"-no, Sev," she argues, tears starting up again, "Bean was the right way. I had a check up the other week, and Bean was in position, was ready-"
"-and babies move! You heard what the guy said, the guy with the scanner-"
"-it's not that, Sev! It's because I took…" She sniffles. "It's because I changed into… I'm sure that's why."
"And so what if it was," Severus says, holding her hand tightly, "hey? So what if that made Bean move about a little bit, what does it matter?"
"It was," she insists, "because they said that it was unusual that the placenta would drop down so low-"
"-unusual, not impossible-"
"-as well as Bean moving out of position. What if that's not the only thing wrong, what if-"
"-there's nothing wrong," Severus says, "they checked. Bean was wriggling away in there-"
"-I know, I know, but what-"
"-little heartbeat banging away on the screen. I saw it!"
"Yes, but what if, what if-"
"-Lily, love, listen to me," he says, sternly but kindly, "you are working yourself into a terrible frenzy. I heard what that nurse said earlier - she told you to take some deep breaths and to try and relax. I've spoken to your mum and dad, and they're both fine, and they're going to speak to my parents, and then they're going to come down." He runs his hand steadily through her hair, his touch gentle. "And I'm staying here with you, and we're just waiting for the operating theatre to be ready, and then we're going in together, and I'm going to hold your hand the whole time, I promise."
"I'm sorry-"
"-I don't want you to be sorry, love," he says, earnestly, "you've got nothing, absolutely nothing, to be sorry for."
"I'm so tired, Sev."
"I know, I know. But I'm here, and all the doctors, and the nurses, and we're all going to help you through this next bit. You've done so well, love, you've been so strong, and..."
She stares at him, tears still forming in her eyes. "And what?"
"I love you so much, Lil," he says, wiping his own tear away. "Look at this, ridiculous," he mutters, with a thin smile, "you've got me at it now." He grins broadly, wiping his hand on his jeans, before holding her hands tightly.
"I'm so-"
"-and don't you dare say you're sorry," he laughs, leaning forward to kiss her. "Don't you dare. You can tell me that you love me, and nothing else."
She laughs - a small, half laugh, but a laugh all the same. "I love you and nothing else, Sev," she teases, her voice sounding dreamier and more and more distant.
And at that, he grins broadly. "Exactly right, love. Exactly right."
He looks strange, wearing theatre clothes - although his are a different colour to the staff, and even though his hair is covered - has he tied it up? - she can tell from the way he's standing that it's Severus.
When she was first wheeled in, one of the staff had pointed to where he should stand, and he's not deviated from that spot. He didn't even move when they were manhandling her into the right position for an epidural, or when the anaesthetist was talking to her.
It's as if he's been stuck to the floor with glue.
The thought makes her want to laugh, and she smiles up at him, and she sees a moderate flicker of a frown cross his face before he smiles broadly back.
"You ok, love?"
"Yes," she smiles, dreamily, "but I can't feel my legs."
"That's the numbing stuff they gave you," he says, stroking her fingers. "Remember?"
"Sev?"
"Yes, love?"
"And my knees, I can't feel my knees."
"Well, no," he says, with a smile, "but your knees are part of your legs."
"Oh yes." She smiles up at him then. "I know that. What did they give me, Sev?"
"Just something to stop the pain," he says, soothingly.
"But we learnt about it," she says, her voice still distant, "it shouldn't make me feel like I'm floating."
"The epidural isn't making you float. They gave you something earlier," he says, gently, "in the drip." He turns her hand over to show her the cannula. "In here."
"Why?"
"Because your blood pressure was really high."
"They told me to stop worrying. I tried, Sev."
"I know you did, love, but they wanted to help you and Bean, so they gave you something to calm you down."
"I am calm."
"I know," he says, squeezing her hand. "You're doing so well."
He listens intently to the conversation going on between the medical staff, wishing desperately he could see behind the screen - and each time he looks at Lily, she seems more distant than ever.
What in Merlin's name did they give her whilst I was on the phone?
It seems never-ending; a cuff around her arm, more intravenous medicines, an injection - and although he listens intently to their reassuring explanations of what everything is, and the reason for using it, he can't help but feel more and more nervous.
"I can feel something."
Lily's voice jolts his attention back to her, and he immediately puts his hand to her cheek. "Are you hurting? Do you need to stop?" His eyes dart around the room, as if begging someone to help him.
"It doesn't hurt. It feels like someone tugging."
"All normal. Just a bit of pressure," one of the hospital staff says, cheerily, "and you're nearly there."
"All normal," Severus repeats, although as the words trip off his tongue, he wonders if he's saying them for Lily's benefit or his own. "Nearly there."
And then, there's a sudden high pitched cry, and a palpable feeling of relief resonates around the room - and, as far as Severus is concerned, the world's tiniest baby is raised upwards.
Bean.
Her memory of her initial hours in hospital is vivid. She can remember every single second - of waiting in Accident and Emergency, of the blood pressure test with the stethoscope held against her and the nurse counting against the clock, the touch of the cool gel against her skin before the ultrasound - but the rest is a haze.
Severus left to call her parents, at her insistence - manners have never been his strong point - and when he returned, they'd given her some new painkillers, and everything from that point became steadily fuzzier. She can't remember what she told him, or what they talked about - but she remembers him holding her hand, and telling her how strong she'd been, and that he loved her.
She can remember being wheeled through to the operating theatre, and the stark white ceiling, punctuated by lights and doorframes, and she can remember the clothing - blue and green and maroon in colour - and the bright lights glinting off the metal operating instruments. She can even remember the touch of Severus' fingers in hers, and his voice being reassuring in tone, and how the screen looked - but the rest of it is blank.
"They lifted him up," Severus tells her, his voice low. He's perched on the bed, half sitting behind her, one foot squarely on the floor.
Her head is against his shoulder, her hospital gown shrugged down, their baby boy held in her arms against her chest, Severus' larger hand reaching around and supporting her hold.
"Over the screen," he continues, "for us to see him."
"And then what happened?"
"Then they took him off to be washed and weighed, whilst they were finishing up with you - putting your stitches in."
"I don't remember that bit at all."
"And then they let us hold him."
"Both of us?" she asks, her tone earnest.
"Yes," he says, kissing the back of her head, "both of us. Together. A bit like this."
"I don't feel tired anymore. I just want to stare at him all night."
He laughs. "I know. Me too." He glances at the clock. "But you'll have to do my bit, because they'll kick me out at eight."
"I don't want you to go-"
"-I don't want to go," he says, "but I'll be back as soon as I can. And I'll bring all of your stuff. A proper nightie, and all those things the nurse was saying you needed, and some of the clothes we chose for…" He grins, moving his hand so he can run his index finger gently across their baby's tiny cheek.
"No," she says, as if guessing his next word.
He pauses, his finger resting against their baby's cheek. "I thought… I thought we agreed on a name-"
"-it was him, Sev," she says, her voice cracking, "he was the ringleader. I don't want Bean named after him."
"Shhhhh," he says, his voice soothing once more. "Then we won't. Of course we won't. We can have a think, can't we? A new name, the perfect name for our little Bean."
"You really don't mind?"
He kisses the side of her head, just above her ear. "No. In fact, looking at him, it's the wrong name. Wouldn't suit Bean at all."
She turns and smiles at her husband, darting a quick kiss on his lips, before turning her attention back to their newborn son. "I quite like..."
"Quite like what?" He holds his breath, wondering if she's come up with a new name without him.
"I quite like that he's still our little Bean. Just for a while longer."
Severus smiles, holding them both to him. "He'll always be our little Bean, even when he's taller than you, and maybe even if he grows taller than me."
She laughs at that. "Do you think he will?"
"Who knows, love," he grins, kissing her again, "but I can't wait to find out."
Chapter 114: Be the bad guy
Notes:
To reiterate, there's no more peril for Lily and Bean now. :)
Chapter Text
Severus shifts position on the uncomfortable plastic chair at the foot of the bed, finally setting on stretching his long legs underneath the frame, ignoring the metal edge digging into his thighs. He watches the midwife intently, as she helps Lily to position their son against Lily's breast.
He can't help the small crease of concern that appears across his forehead - the one mirrored on their son's tiny forehead - as they adjust Bean several times.
"And how does that feel now?" the midwife asks.
"Strange."
"But it doesn't hurt anymore?"
"No," Lily says, watching their son closely. "It doesn't hurt at all. It's just… It's strange. Intense."
"Good, remember that feeling. That's what the latch should feel like. If you have any pain, don't be afraid to gently remove him and try again."
"This is the fifth time in less than a couple of hours," Severus ventures, worry creeping into his tone. "Is he getting enough to eat?"
"I'm doing my best-"
"-I didn't say you weren't!"
"No, no," the midwife says, quickly, placatingly, "it's quite normal. He'll feed in tiny amounts at first-"
"-see-"
"-I wasn't criticising," Severus grumbles, folding his arms. "I was just asking a question, that's all."
"It's a good question," the midwife says, her tone still soothing. "Mum's doing the right thing, being led by little one's appetite - and then when Mum's milk comes in properly over the next few days, he'll stay feeding for longer."
"Longer? He doesn't need to stay any longer. He fell asleep earlier," Lily says, a note of anxiety in her voice. "I thought he was feeding but he just...drifted off."
"Lots of babies do. Don't overthink the first few days," the midwife says. "That goes for both of you. It's all new, but you can be guided by what your baby needs - and for now, he'll only want to eat and sleep." She turns to Severus. "And Mum will as well, so it's Dad's job to make sure you take care of them both."
"I will. I'll look after them."
"Any other little ones at home?"
"No," he says, "it's just us three."
"It's especially exciting when it's your first," the midwife smiles, "and I am in no doubt that your family will feel the same - they'll be knocking on the door and wanting to visit."
Her family might, Severus thinks, but I'm not so sure about mine.
"My advice," the midwife continues, "would be for you to cocoon yourselves against the outside world."
Lily looks aghast. "To not let them in?"
"Let them in on your terms. Invite them around rather than letting them drop on you."
"Baby led feeding, parent led grandparent visits," Severus grins.
The midwife smiles. "Exactly. Don't be rude, but don't be afraid to say no - and that goes for friends as well, when they come knocking. This is your time together."
"Sev," Lily says, her voice suddenly higher, "my parents. Have you spoken to them? They'll be worrying."
"Oh, hell," he says, glancing at the clock. "I'll go and call them now." He stands, and looks warily at the midwife as he moves a little closer to Lily, as if checking to see if she'll rebuke him - but when she remains silent about his approach, he cups Lily's cheek in his hand, the metal of his wedding ring cool against her skin, and darts a quick kiss onto her lips. "Sorry," he whispers, "I wasn't suggesting you were doing anything wrong, I was worri-"
"-I know. We're both overtired, Sev, I know."
He nods, and the movement of his head is slight, but it's accompanied by a relieved smile. "Any messages?"
"Just tell them… Tell them that he's perfect, Sev."
"She's fine, she's totally fine," Severus says, the glee in his voice apparent. "They said she needs to stay in for a few days because of recovering from the surgery, but she's awake and he's feeding… Yeah, yeah! He's so tiny, Rose, so so tiny. Yeah, he was 7lbs and 6ozs. I know, I know, but he just seems so small. He's feeding loads… Yeah, yeah, they said that, they said not to worry. He went to sleep on her before!"
He feels as if he's walking on air, as he bounces from one foot to the other whilst he listens to Rose talking. "No, we've not got… No, not yet. Yeah, we did have one but it's different when you see them, isn't it? Didn't seem to suit him. Yeah, yeah, put David on."
There's a pause, and then Severus grins even more widely and laughs. "Yeah, from one dad to another, hey? Well, not just Dad, you're Grandad now too!" He laughs again. "They'll kick me out at eight. ...yeah, I know, I'm really sorry, I meant to ring earlier, but it's just been hectic. They had me holding him for ages whilst she… Yeah, just whilst it wore off. She's a bit woozy still, but I think they're happy that she's… Yeah, she's holding him fine. They showed her this funny way of holding him… Yeah, yeah, because of the stitches."
He nods emphatically. "I am a bit now, yeah. They gave us a sandwich each but I let her… Well, she did all the work, didn't she? I know, but it's at yours… No, no, don't go there! Don't, David, I'll… Wait for me to… Yeah, yeah, I'll tell her." He glances at the clock. "There wouldn't be enough time for me to get back if… Yeah, they're dead strict on it, apparently. Right, yeah, that'd be great if you didn't mind… I will, I will. Oh, David, put Rose back on, will you?"
"Right, I nearly forgot," he says, "Lil said to tell you - and this is a direct quote, so write this down…" He laughs then. "Yeah, yeah, get a pen! She said, 'Tell them he's perfect, Sev'. Yeah, yeah, and then she said, 'Just like his dad.'" Then he lets out a booming laugh. "No, no, no, she didn't say that, scratch that from the record. ...I know, I know!" He grins broadly, laughing into the receiver. "Although she's been that out of it, I reckon we could tell her she said that and she'd believe it. Yeah. Yeah, I will, Rose. I will, I will. Great, tell David I'll be in the car park at five past. Thanks again, see you soon!"
Severus strides back onto the ward, and he pokes his head around the privacy curtain. "Hey you," he says, his smile wide, "it's only me."
"Hello only you," she smiles back, adjusting Bean in her arms, pulling his blanket more firmly around him as Severus slips around the curtain. "Were they ok? What did they say? They weren't annoyed, were they?"
"They're not annoyed at all - they're excited. They can't wait to see you both."
She stifles a yawn. "Are they coming down?"
"They'll come tomorrow."
"Not now?"
"It's already half seven," he says, wincing. "I felt bad. I should've called them earlier, but-"
"-we were a bit preoccupied," Lily smiles.
"Just a bit," Severus says, kneeling next to her, and stroking their son's head through his tiny woollen hat. "Is he asleep again?"
"I wish I was. Come and sit next to me," Lily tells him, pointing to the chair at the foot of the bed.
Severus had reluctantly moved the chair when the midwife had been with them, giving her space to work with his wife and son. He doesn't need telling twice, and he enthusiastically drags it for a metre, before realising the metal legs are making an awful scraping sound against the tiled floor.
"You're a menace, Sev," she teases, as Bean moves in her arms.
He screws his face up apologetically and lifts the chair up. "Sorry. Did I wake him?"
"No, I don't think so. He's a bit restless - fast asleep one minute, wide awake the next."
"It'll do him good to hear some noise," Severus says, putting the chair down next to her. "If he gets used to absolute silence, we'll struggle when we take him home."
"Especially as his father is prone to dragging chairs about," Lily quips, ignoring Severus' scowl. "Come on, Daddy, sit down," she laughs.
"I hope you're not going to take after your mother, Bean," he mutters, sitting down and leaning close to them both, "picking on me night and day-"
"-I don't pick on you-"
"-she's awful, Bean, I don't know how I put up with her-"
"-don't you listen to a word your father tells you," she laughs, staring intently at their son. "...I can't believe he's here, Sev."
"Me neither, love."
"I keep thinking I'll wake up and it'll have been a dream-"
"-it's not a dream," Severus says, his voice reassuring. "Or if it is, it's one we're having together." She smiles up at him, and when his eyes meet hers, his breath catches in his chest. "Love, you're exhausted."
"I know," she says. "I daren't sleep-"
"-he's not going anywhere," he says, leaning over to stroke his fingertip gently across Bean's cheek. "I promise this isn't a dream."
She nods, and he can see her swallowing hard. "You should have another hold of him," she says, "if they're going to kick you out soon."
"Come here, Bean," he murmurs, accepting their son from her, and then gently cradling him to his chest.
Lily smiles, watching them for a moment - marvelling at Bean, and then at Severus himself, who is utterly absorbed in their son, taking in every inch of his skin, and every detail of his face.
A minute or so later, out of the corner of his eye, Severus spies Lily leaning back against her pillows, her eyes closed, and the top of her head touching the metal frame of the bed.
He waits for a moment, and when she seems to be fast asleep, he turns his attention back to their son. "You'll have to have a long cuddle with Daddy whilst Mummy checks her eyelids for leaks," he chuckles. "She's been learning from the best."
Severus shoots periodic glances at Lily, checking that she's ok - but he can't help but be entranced by their son - astonished that after so many months of waiting, he's finally here - safe and warm in his arms. Severus feels his chest swelling, and a lump growing in his throat - pride and affection building inside of him, and feeling a powerful surge of protectiveness towards the small child in his arms.
"I'll do anything for you, little Bean," he murmurs. "You heard what that midwife said - your mummy is going to look after you, and your daddy is going to look after the both of you, I promise."
Remember this moment, Sev, he thinks. You're going to need every second of this day forged in your mind for when you go to Azkaban: happy memories of your happy family, with both Lily and Bean eagerly waiting for you to return to them.
The nurse pulls the privacy curtain back, just as he's cradling Bean in one arm, and gently trying to rouse Lily with his other hand.
"It's already ten to," the nurse warns.
"I know," he says, looking at her helplessly, "but I don't want to go without saying goodbye…" He waves his free hand towards his wife. "She's worn out. I don't think I've ever seen her like this before."
"She'll have had a long day. Here, let me hold your little one," the nurse says, "and if your wife doesn't wake in a moment, you can borrow a pen from the desk to leave her a note."
A note isn't good enough.
Severus looks down at Bean, not wanting to relinquish his hold on his son, and then he looks back at his sleeping wife, torn equally between them.
"They're both in good hands," the nurse says, gently. "This ward is always a favourite of all the nurses," she smiles, as she carefully lifts Bean from Severus' arms. "We're all seeking baby cuddles - they're the best part." The nurse holds Bean tightly to her, and walks up and down with him. "Aren't they, little one? Aren't they the very best part?"
Severus touches Lily's shoulder again, but she doesn't awaken, and he stands back, quietly appraising her - taking in her relaxed and peaceful expression.
I can't disturb her, not just for a goodbye, he thinks - so he jogs over to the desk, and scribbles a quick note:
Lil,
They're kicking me out and I couldn't bring myself to wake you.
Sleep well and I'll see you and our son Bean tomorrow.
I'm so proud of you.
S
He has to resist the urge to underline the words 'our son' more than once, and then he jogs back over and forlornly attempts to prop his note on the bedside table. He leans it against a tissue box, and then against a plastic cup of water, but it keeps sliding down.
Severus quickly scans the floor - if it falls down here, she won't see it, and she'll think I just left her, as if I don't care - and after his fourth attempt at balancing his message, he glances over his shoulder, checking the whereabouts of the nurse.
When he spies that she's two beds away and with her back turned to him, he murmurs a weak sticking charm under his breath. He steps back, a beaming smile on his face as the note adheres to the plastic, and then he leans over the bed and gently kisses his wife on her cheek. "I'm off now, love," he whispers, "I'll be back tomorrow."
And then he takes a step back, pulling the curtain around her bed. He turns, looking for the nurse, who beckons him to follow her down the corridor.
"Where are you taking him?"
"The babies sleep in a dedicated room," she says, showing him the room full of newborns. "Mum can come down at any time she wants."
He looks panicked. "No, no, they said Lily can't walk just yet, because of the stitches, she'll want-"
"-we'll have her moving around tomorrow," she interrupts, "but in the meantime, we can always bring him back up to her. We'll do what's best for her, and what's best for baby."
Severus draws in a deep breath, staring at the other babies in their cots.
This is normal. Stop fretting. You're tired, and it's making you irrational.
"Can I at least say goodnight?"
She smiles at him, with a quick glance at the clock, and passes Bean over. "You've got one minute, Dad," she says, "and then I'll come and evict you."
"Only a minute hey, little Bean," he murmurs, his large nose nuzzling his son's soft cheek. "One minute for Daddy to tell you how much you've changed his life in one afternoon." He presses a soft kiss against their son, and then gently lowers him onto the small mattress.
Severus holds the side of the transparent cot, looking at the rows and rows of almost identical children in a line - and then a sudden thought strikes him, and it's with such fury, it feels like a physical blow to his chest.
I'm not risking anyone taking him from us.
He fumbles in Bean's blankets for his small foot, not pausing this time to marvel at his impossibly tiny toes, and eventually he finds what he's seeking - the blue family name tag secured around his ankle: SNAPE.
Another sticking charm is almost on his lips, until he realises that it might cause havoc when Bean is bathed if the tag doesn't let anyone wash beneath it - and he pauses, a deep frown on his face.
Thirty seconds.
He slides his wand from out of his sleeve. "Forgive me, Lil," he mutters, glancing furtively around him, and then he levels the wand at Bean's ankle. "Pingo cutis," he whispers, drawing his wand across Bean's perfect fresh skin.
Severus' heart is banging as he slides his wand back up his sleeve, but Bean doesn't react, doesn't cry - just lies, his eyes closed, peacefully sleeping - and Severus takes a second to admire his handiwork.
A little bean birthmark for our little Bean.
He pulls the blankets back around their son, and then the nurse is back - and she tidies them more neatly than Severus could himself. He thanks her profusely, and with one final kiss ghosted across Bean's woollen hat, Severus departs.
Sometimes, it's difficult for David to reconcile his son-in-law with the image he still holds of him as a child - a scruffy, wary boy, who had so often stood in the shadows of their kitchen, hungrily eyeing up the half-eaten packet of biscuits on the worktop, calculating if being patient might see a reward, or whether it was worth risking sneaking a hand out, swiping one and concealing it in his palm.
Tonight is one of those nights. When David spies Severus exiting the front of the hospital, he seems tired, his jacket screwed up under one arm, and his other hand slowly raking through his long hair, pulling it away from his eyes as he scans the car park - but unlike the small boy in the kitchen, he stands tall and proud, as if challenging the world to take him on.
David rolls down his window, and leans out, waving his arm. "Severus! Severus, over here!"
Severus raises his arm in lazy acknowledgement, and lopes towards him - and David reaches over, unlocking the passenger door.
"Thanks, David," Severus says, his grin broad, "appreciate you coming down for me." He throws his jacket in the footwell, and stashes some papers on the dashboard, and then climbs in.
"You're very welcome." David pauses, waiting as Severus clips in his seatbelt, and then he pulls away. "How's Lils?"
"Fast asleep," Severus says. "They both are." He grabs the papers off the dashboard. "I got one of these for you - it's the phone number for the ward, along with the visiting hours. There's two sessions - afternoon and evening." He scratches behind his ear, his mouth pinched. "...I'm sorry you missed out. Tonight, I mean."
"If she's asleep, there wouldn't have been much point," David says, reasonably. "Rose will be keen to go as soon as possible, if that's all right with you?"
Severus nods. "Yeah. Sure. She'll be pleased to see you."
"And when she was awake?" David watches the traffic intently at the junction, waiting for a gap. "How was she then?"
"On a different planet," Severus says, a daft grin creeping across his face. "They gave her some sort of painkiller and…" He waves his hands in the air.
"Miles away?"
Severus nods. "But not in pain, and that's the important thing." He gives a loud yawn. "I reckon it'll have worn off a bit by tomorrow, so you'll probably get more sense out of her than I did."
"And your parents? Are they going?"
"I've not spoken to them," Severus says, looking awkward.
"They've usually got a visitor limit," David says, pointing at the leaflet, "so the new mother isn't overwhelmed. I remember Rose's father insisting that his cousins - all seven of them-"
"-Merlin," Severus breathes, doing a quick count in his head, "that's more than all of us on both sides." His head suddenly snaps up. "Petunia and Dullard Dursley don't want to come, do they?"
David suppresses a smile. "I am sure we can dissuade them for a day or two. Although Lils will want to see her sister eventually." He gives Severus a searching look. "It won't do for Tuney to think Lils is excluding her."
"Mmm."
"In the long run, Severus."
Severus shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "...yeah. I guess."
"They are sisters. Tuney will-"
"-I'll tell you what Tuney will do," Severus mutters, "she'll be as jealous as hell-"
"-she won't be jealous."
Severus scoffs loudly. "Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England." He shakes his head. "I don't want her upsetting Lil, and that's what she'll do! She'll go in there and criticise Lil, or criticise me, or criticise our baby, and I'm not having it. She's not going to heap misery on my family."
"...she's expecting too," David says, softly.
Severus stares at David, his mouth agape. "Petunia?"
"Rose is overjoyed. She was always pleased that Tuney and Lils were close in age-"
Dursley's offspring is not coming anywhere near Bean.
"-so she loves the idea that they'll be close in age," David continues, "although, personally, I think it spells double the trouble-"
Only one of those kids is going to be using spells, Severus thinks.
"-and double the expense," David finishes with a grin.
"And I'm the last to be told, am I?" Severus tries to force his tone to be light, but he can hear the bitterness in his words. "Lil already knows?"
You're not really part of this family, Severus. Not accepted. Not one of them. Not like Dursley is.
David glances at Severus, taking in his defensive body language. "No, Lils doesn't know," he says, quietly, "and please don't tell her. I'll ask Rose to have a word."
"Right."
"Between us, they've been trying for a while - Tuney and Vernon - and I think Tuney has…" David trails off. "Pregnancy isn't always smooth, Severus. I think you know that. She's worried."
Severus swallows hard, knowing only too well what that fear feels like - especially with the events of the last day or so. He shifts slightly in his seat, and then he reaches forward, turning the handle and lowering the window a fraction, as if it'll release the emotions he doesn't want to dwell on from the car.
They drive in silence for a minute or two, and then David swings into the petrol forecourt. "I'll top up whilst we're passing," he says, leaving Severus to pick awkwardly at his seatbelt as he quietly mulls.
Lily will want Petunia to visit, he thinks, slumping in his seat, but I know what she's like - she'll take one look at Lil's ring, and she'll slate it, mocking us for not having a wedding that she was invited to. There's a swirl in his stomach, a sickening feeling that's building and building. She won't be able to help herself. She'll say something poisonous, something that'll have Lily in tears, something...Tuney.
And then I'll say something. He runs his hands over his face. I'll say something, and then I'll be the bad guy - even though I'm only defending her, defending Bean, defending us. She'll have her own baby, and then she'll throw it in our faces - Dursley will have the best clothes, and go to the best school, and have lots of toys and lots of friends and…
...and you'll be in prison. He twists awkwardly in his seat. You can't provide for Bean like Dursley can provide for their kid. You can't provide for Bean like Malf and Cissy can for Draco. You're a failure, and you haven't even started properly yet. You didn't even manage to ring her parents in time.
Dursley will - Dursley will ring them straight away, and they'll be down there, arms full of balloons and cards and flowers. And what have you left Lil with? She's not even got her own nightdress on, stuck in a scratchy hospital gown, separated from Bean. Both of them alone.
Severus watches as David replaces the fuel hose, and heads to the small shop to pay.
It's history repeating, only instead of a baby boy being brought up by the Snapes in Cokeworth, you've managed to sink further - a baby boy being brought up by the Snapes in Rillwych.
You were a miracle baby, he thinks, his mind drifting back to his mother. She might want to see your son. And Da - Petunia's got nothing on him - you saw how jealous he was over the house, and over the wedding. If you don't include them he'll sulk for months - especially as David and Rose are so involved. And Bean's their only grandchild - David and Rose will have Dursley's child to indulge and spoil. Lil might need them, if you're not around to bring up Bean.
When David saunters over the forecourt, he's holding two Marathon bars and a bag of crisps, as well as his keys and a small box that Severus can't quite make out.
"Here," he says, pushing them into Severus' arms as he settles himself back into the driver's seat. "Heard you were chivalrous over your sandwich at the hospital."
Severus immediately fumbles for his wallet, and David puts his hand on his arm to stop him. "You don't need to pay me back."
"I'm not a scav-"
"-you're my family," David insists, putting his key back in the ignition, "and you looked hungry."
"...I'm half starved," Severus eventually admits, tearing the wrapper from one of the Marathon bars, almost choking as he eats it so quickly. He rips the wrapper off the second, and repeats his action - albeit a fraction slower.
"Lils wasn't wrong when she said you inhaled your food."
"I haven't eaten for hours," Severus says, looking a bit guilty. He turns over the crisp packet to read the front - salt and vinegar - and then he pauses as he stares in surprise at the box of cigarettes.
David pulls away from the pumps, eyes fixed on the road. "I don't know if that's your brand-"
"-I didn't expect-"
"-just don't have them around Lily or your child."
"No, of course not."
"I realise the last day or so has been stressful."
"Not even had chance for a smoke since I've been with Lil," Severus says, eyeing the packet hungrily. "I haven't left the ward - not once."
"Wind the window right down," David says, with a shake of his head, "and don't tell Rose I let you smoke in here."
Severus quickly demolishes the crisps before drawing the window fully open and lighting one of the cigarettes with his wand. He inhales deeply, and leans back in his seat, suddenly seeming exhausted.
"You look shattered."
"I didn't sleep well last night," Severus says, flicking ash out of the window. Then he laughs. "In fact, I didn't sleep at all."
"I know the feeling," David nods. "Rosie and I were the same."
"And my mam too. I think. Well, Da was saying she didn't sleep." Severus pauses. "Which I guess means he didn't either." He shrugs. "Although he'd had a skinful, so he might've been flat out."
"Where next, then?" David pulls into a side street, his indicator still clicking loudly as he draws to a stop. "Rillwych, so you can get some sleep? Or over to your mother's?"
"We need to get Lil's bag from your place," Severus says, taking another draw on his cigarette. "I promised her that I'd bring it - she's got one of those horrible hospital gowns on, and I know she wants one of her own nighties." He looks awkward. "She said there's some other stuff in the bag too - stuff she got with Rose. Stuff the nurse said she needs."
David pauses. "I don't want you to attempt difficult magic if you're worn out."
I am shattered.
Severus stares out of the window, his shoulders high and his neck stiff. "How are you set up for staying at Railview? Paid up for tonight?"
David eyes him, watching his body language carefully. "...we're there for the rest of the week," he lies. He holds back a smile as he sees the tension practically evaporating from Severus.
"...we've got a few days, then?"
"We've got as long as you need. We can stay there indefinitely - I think they're happy for the business-"
"-I didn't mean them," Severus snaps, "I meant you, I meant the cost."
"I knew what you meant, and it's under control." There's a pause. "I'll take you back to Rillwych," David says, decisively. "I don't want you under any more pressure."
"No," Severus says, "we'll go and get Lily's bag. I said we'd get it for her, and I can check the house over and secure it at the very least…" He taps his cigarette out of the window again. "And… I don't like to put on you, but if you've got half an hour to spare, we could always move the last of our boxes across to Rillwych?"
David looks at him apprehensively. "You're too tired to be manhandling boxes about."
"I'm fine. I'd rather get it done," Severus says, as David pulls back out into the traffic, manoeuvering the car through the busy town centre. "...that spell is tricky to modify," he says, staring through the passenger window. "It's not really designed with Muggles in mind."
"How's your father going on with it?"
"It's caused a few arguments, but…"
"But?"
"...if they weren't arguing about that, they'd be arguing about something else." He shrugs. "They're not like you and Rose, my mam and da."
"If they're coping with it, I'm sure Rosie and I-"
"-no," Severus says, flicking the filter from his cigarette out of the window. "It's different. With Mam living there. I don't want you imprisoned, relying on me or Lil to get you in." He shakes his head. "What if someone waits outside, on the street, and you're as blind to the house as they are? That's no protection." He rolls up the window. "I'll think of something. I promised Da I'd sort it."
"...and on that note," David says, as they pull up to a set of traffic lights, "before we head over to ours, do you want to see your parents? I told them earlier that Lily was in hospital with you, but I haven't been back - they don't know that you're definitely a dad yet."
There's a pause, and Severus stares at the red light intently.
"It's only a quick trip over the river," David presses, gently.
Severus watches as the light changes from red to amber, and then as it moves to green, he nods. "Yeah, best had." He taps the leaflets on the dashboard. "Give them one of these."
"...it weren't personal," Severus explains, looking anxious, "just the Railview's got a phone. That's all."
"Mr Evans was kind enough to visit us earlier," Eileen says, squeezing Severus' forearm as they all retreat from the hallway and into the kitchen, "so we wouldn't worry. Didn't he, Toby?"
"Not that we were frettin'," Tobias huffs. "I knew it would work out fer the best in the end. A little lad, eh?"
"Yeah."
"Got a name fer 'im?"
"No."
Tobias raises an eyebrow.
"Not yet," Severus continues, paling under his father's scrutiny.
"Not yet? Not yet?" Tobias gives a soft laugh, and picks his newspaper up off the table. "What the bleedin' 'ell 'ave yer been doin' for the past 9 months? Din't think yer kid needed a name, eh?"
"All right, Da," Severus says, standing a little straighter, "give it a rest, eh? I've had a long day."
"Give it a rest? 'ave yer 'eard this idiot, Leen? This is the easy bit, soft lad! How yer gonna cope gettin' up all through the night if yer can't even pick a name?"
Eileen rolls her eyes behind Tobias' back, and picks up her mug of tea, blowing across the top of the liquid to cool it. "How is she?"
"Just tired, Mam." He shoots a dark look at Tobias. "Like I am an' all."
"Aye, we're all fuckin' tired," Tobias mutters, heading into the living room with his newspaper stashed under his arm and his cup of tea in hand. "Kippin' at yer own 'ouse tonight, are yer?"
"You can stay here if you want," Eileen says, quickly.
"It's all right, David's going to take me home, thanks Mam."
"Thank fuck fer that."
"Ignore him, Severus."
"I am doing…" Severus waits until Tobias is out of earshot, and then whispers. "What's upset him?"
Eileen shrugs tightly, and looks away. David glances at Severus, his eyebrows raised, but Severus subtly shakes his head, warning him not to speak.
"Anyway," Severus says, a little more loudly, "I've come to bring yer this." He passes Eileen the leaflet for the ward. "It's got the visiting times on."
Eileen puts her mug of tea down, and reads the back of the leaflet before looking up at David. "When are you going?"
"We thought we'd go to the first one," David says, "but I need to double check with Rosie. I'm sure that would be her preference, if that's fine with you."
"We'll go in the evening then," she says, decisively.
"No," Severus interrupts, quickly, remembering the midwife's comment. "You should all go together."
David raises an eyebrow. "We don't want to inundate-"
"-everyone treated t'same," Severus says, with feeling. "Don't want anyone feelin' left out."
Eileen glances towards the living room. "You don't need to worry about silly things like-"
"-and ter get it over with," Severus says, and then he shrugs awkwardly at David and Eileen's surprised looks. "I don't mean it badly. We want yer to visit but…" He picks at his thumb. "I want the evening to be ours - mine and Lil's. ...we've been apart long enough."
Eileen nods stiffly. "Afternoon it is."
"I can give you a lift," David offers.
"No, there's a bus-"
"-there ain't," Severus interrupts, "not from this side of the river. Yer've gotta go ter town-"
"-stop speaking like that, Severus," she warns, icily. "You don't want your son growing up as common as muck."
He rolls his eyes. "You can catch the bus from the town centre," he says, deliberately enunciating each word, "but it is a walk from this side of the river-"
"-there's the 6-"
"-there isn't," he insists. "They swapped it with the 9, and the 9 doesn't come over the river. Trust me, Mam, I had a massive argument with the driver-"
"-wonderful. Just like your father-"
"-I was standing up for myself! Yer always bangin' on about bein' treated like scum because of where yer live-"
"-honestly, I meant what I said," David interjects, watching warily between mother and son, "I'm happy to pick you both up and drive you over. You too, Severus. It's the least I can do."
Eileen nods, stiffly. "I'll speak to Toby."
"Nah, I'll tell 'im," Severus says, "I'm sick of this mither already." He pokes his head through to the living room. "Oi, David's gonna drive yer to see my kid tomorrow, right? Be ready fer quarter ter one."
"Right," Tobias calls back without argument - much to the surprise of the rest of the adults.
Eileen looks between the two men, her lips in a thin smile, and then she shakes her head. "Quarter to one it is, then."
"Oi, soft lad!"
"Or not," she mutters, as Severus puts his head back around the door.
"What?"
"Get thinkin' 'bout a name. Yer only get a couple o' weeks ter register 'im."
"Yeah, all right, Da!" He rolls his eyes as he looks at David. "We headin' off then?"
"I think that's a good idea. Good night, Mrs Snape," David says, courteously. He leans into the living room as he walks past. "Mr Snape."
"Bye, Evans," Tobias says, sounding bored - and then he looks up from his paper. "Oi, Russ!"
David pauses at the front door.
"You go ahead," Severus says. "I'll catch you up."
Tobias appears behind him, watching as David heads back to the car and starts to unlock it. Tobias then turns, looking towards the kitchen - and as if sensing the atmosphere, Eileen shuts it.
"Fuckin' hell, Da, what?"
"Sort this fuckin' house out, soft lad."
"...are you fer real?" Severus gives a disbelieving laugh, running his hands over his face. "Da-"
"-I've bin patient, an' yer mother too-"
"-patient! My kid is…" Severus shakes his head. "...my kid is four hours old or summat like that, an' yer pissin' in my ear-"
"-yer said yer'd do summat-"
"-I've been a bit fuckin' busy, Da! If yer ain't fuckin' noticed!" Severus looks at him, astonishment clear on his face. "My wife was fuckin' kidnapped-"
"-yeah, well, that just proves me point," Tobias snaps. "Yer should've done their house an' all, if what yer mother's said to me-"
"-shouldn't be fuckin' talkin' about me-"
"-is right, tellin' me about wizards comin' round startin' trouble-"
"-or about my wife, behind our backs-"
"-can't 'ave that round 'ere-"
"-that's what the fuckin' spell is for! Fuck's sake, Da, can yer fuckin' hear yersel'? Yer givin' me shit for not puttin' it on at their house, and then yer givin' me shit for yer not bein' able to walk through it here. Make yer fuckin' mind up!"
Tobias sniffs, and straightens his shoulders - suddenly imposing, filling the small hallway - and Severus can't help but glance at the staircase, old memories flooding back.
Don't think about that.
"A promise is a promise, lad," Tobias says, his voice low and his tone threatening. "I brought yer up better than this."
"It's not like I'm not workin' on it," Severus mutters, his heart pounding in his chest. "I said I'll do it, and I will."
"...before yer go to this prison, lad."
Oh.
And then Tobias raises his arm, and it takes all of Severus' nerve not to flinch - not to step back - and then Tobias flings it around his shoulder. "I'll not mither yer again. I know yer a good lad really - I know yer keep yer word."
"Right, Da."
"An' congratulations on yer kid. Get some kip, an' we'll see yer tomorrow."
It's like being struck by whiplash, Severus thinks, as the door shuts behind him, and he approaches David's car. Friendly one minute, unreasonable the next.
"Everything ok?"
"Fine," Severus says, settling into the passenger seat and yanking the seatbelt across him. There's a pause, and then he looks over at David, who appears to be debating whether to speak. "We movin' or what?"
"Is there something wrong? With your father, I mean?"
"Nowt more than usual," Severus mutters. There's another pause. "Was what he said true? About the names?"
"There's a time limit, yes, but I think it's a month, or five or six weeks," David says, frowning as he starts the car and drives away. "...but that's not what's bothering you. Or your father."
"It doesn't matter."
"...Severus," David tries again, "I can help. Whatever's worrying you, or your father, we can sort it out."
"You can't. It's fine."
They drive in silence - it's quick crossing Cokeworth in a car, and they soon draw up at the darkened house. David kills the engine, and unclips his seatbelt, watching Severus carefully.
"...we don't have to move the boxes. If you're tired-"
"-I'm going to prison," Severus blurts out, staring fixedly out of the passenger window.
David can't help but let his jaw hang open. "Prison?"
"That's what's wrong with Da. He wants me to sort some stuff with him before I go."
"Severus, prison!" David looks at him in astonishment, and puts a firm hand on his shoulder, forcing the younger man to turn and look at him. "What on earth for? What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything," he snaps, shrugging David's hand from his shoulder, breathing heavily. "...not here. Not Muggle prison."
"Azkaban?"
"I know Lil has told you about it," he says, with a thin smile. "Yes. Azkaban." He picks at the seatbelt, and then unclips it, the sound of it winding back into the holster echoing loudly around them. "When they took her…"
He stops, and leans forward, his elbows on his knees, and his face planted in his hands. "...I'm sorry."
"Take your time, son," David says, gently, placing his hand on Severus' back - and this time, Severus doesn't shake it off.
It takes him a moment, and then he sits back upright - and then he yanks down the window, and lights a cigarette, his hands shaking. "...when they took Lil," he starts again, "they weren't looking for her. They were looking for me."
"Which is why she took that potion. The one that changed her into you."
"Yes." He draws on the cigarette and then lets out a long exhale through the open window. "They wanted Wolfsbane."
"I remember." He raises an eyebrow. "It's in demand, that potion. That's what the boys at the station were after."
"Yes." Severus shoots a quick look at David. "It's new. Expensive. Very difficult to get hold of the methodology - and even if you can, most wouldn't be able to brew it."
David looks confused. "...but Lils brewed it in her bedroom."
"Lil is a very special witch," Severus says, with a proud smile. "Immensely talented. Brilliant. If she wasn't…" He pauses, not wanting to dwell on her blood status in front of her father. "Put it this way, if the wizarding world was different, she'd be running the place by the time we reach forty - believe you me."
"They wanted her to take that potion somewhere that she wasn't happy about," David says.
Severus nods. "And it wasn't the real thing."
"I thought she took the one she was brewing upstairs? Wasn't that Wolfsbane?"
"It wasn't finished," Severus says. "They set her up to deliver it to Greyback, and then the aurors-"
"-the police-"
"-yes. They swooped."
"And that's it?" David looks alarmed. "You get sent to prison just for having this potion?"
"It's complicated. Firstly, she wasn't just carrying it," he says, ticking his points off on his fingers, "she was dealing it." He swallows hard. "That's especially difficult because I'm a known dealer."
David looks horrified. "Like a drug dealer? A pusher?"
Severus ignores David's comment, not wishing to have the argument, and carries on, tapping his middle finger. "Secondly, the potion is patented. It's one thing to brew and sell party potions to people looking for a good time," he says, ignoring David's look of disapproval, "but something that's meant to be under lock and key? They can hit you with all sorts of contravention of patent laws."
"And they wouldn't believe you'd coincidentally devised your own version?"
Severus laughs. "Not a chance. Not with this potion." Then he taps his ring finger. "Thirdly, it wasn't Wolfsbane that Lily had. She had a half-formed, half-brewed potion-"
"-then they can't hit you with a patent law, surely? If it wasn't the exact potion?"
"Probably not," Severus says, "but they can hit me with misrepresentation. If they caught me meeting with Greyback, a known werewolf, and he tells them that I'd lured him there with the offer of Wolfsbane…" He trails off and shrugs. "And I don't much fancy getting on the wrong side of yet another wolf."
"What a mess." David lets out a long breath. "You think it's definitely prison? There's no chance of a suspended sentence?"
"Not according to Malf." Severus shakes his head tightly. "Look, I've not… I've not got the best record, David," he admits, quietly.
"No. Well, apparently you're a known drug dealer."
"Potions," Severus corrects, sharply. "It's not quite the same."
"No?"
"No," Severus says. "Besides, I've never been prosecuted for being a pusher," he says, his laugh soft. "Funnily enough." He offers David a pinched smile. "It's not… I've never done anything terrible, and even this on top doesn't deserve Azkaban, but…" He draws on his cigarette again, breathing smoke out through the window.
"...but Lil needed to escape before that other potion wore off, so she accepted a punishment worse than you would've got if you'd have fought it," David says, piecing it together.
Severus nods. "I've got a mate."
"This Malf?"
"Yeah. Well, both of us. Lil is friendly with his wife too," he explains, tripping over his words. "Bit of a foursome. Anyway, Malf's quite powerful, and Lil got in touch with him, and…" He shrugs. "Look, she got out, right? And that's what matters."
"Do you know how long you'll be sent down for?"
He shakes his head. "He said a short stint, and knowing the Ministry… I reckon at least a year. 18 months, maybe. A couple if I'm really unlucky."
"Two years wouldn't be a short stint," David says, trying to be the voice of reason. "Let's say a year."
Severus nods, flicking his cigarette stub out of the window. "Yeah. But still. A year." He grimaces. "He's fuckin' tiny, David, my kid - he's this tiny baby, and he's gonna be…" He trails off, trying to subtly wipe away the tear that's forming in the corner of his eye. "A year. She's going to need you both." He gives David a stern look. "And don't let Tuney get to her. Don't let her start winding Lil up about me being a criminal."
"There's nothing this friend can do to help you now? This Malf?"
"I doubt it. Not if the Ministry has granted me bail - which they have, because she wouldn't have been freed otherwise. She'll have signed something that damns me."
"...could you just…not go back?"
Severus gives a soft laugh. "I tried that once. The other way around." He runs his fingers through his hair. "And they got me, so… They're a bit more proactive the other way around," he says, quietly. "They're not going to let a wanted wizard run riot amongst the Muggles."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Severus says, suddenly opening the door and getting out. "She did the right thing." He leans back in. "I'd much rather I was punished than her."
Chapter 115: A message
Notes:
Sorry for missing last week's update - this is the first of two chapters this week to make up for it. :)
Chapter Text
Severus moves quickly and silently, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, his arm outstretched, his weapon brandished before him.
Wielded like a knife.
He checks each room carefully, peering behind furniture, opening cupboards - spaces so small, no-one could realistically be hiding inside - and poking his wand into the darkness, and as he criss-crosses the room, he sends spirals of light upwards towards the ceiling.
Nothing.
David wasn't unnerved at the prospect of returning to the family home - not even when shrouded by the darkness of the night, but the sight of Severus pressing himself against walls and closely examining each and every recess in each and every room causes his heart to beat a little faster.
"Clear," Severus mutters, pushing his way into the living room and starting the process over again.
"Can I help-"
"-just stay where you are," Severus orders, trailing his wand around the room, and murmuring a litany of Latin under his breath. His wand creates several flashes - and it causes David to take a step back.
He's seen Lily casting before, and he's spotted both of their hands silently moving in a deliberate and controlled manner, as if casting without their wands - but their spells have always been innocuous, despite Petunia's repeated proclamations that the two of them were conjuring devils and demons and all manner of evil spirits. Indeed, David and Rose have only ever seen them summoning things, and turning lights on and off, and reheating food.
Not magic like this.
This is different. David's got no idea what the spells are doing - looking for traces of magic? - but the spells are bright and compelling, spiralling and twisting, and despite David's anxiety rising at how seriously Severus is behaving, he's utterly captivated by the dancing light.
Without forewarning, it's over, and Severus stands straighter and nods. "Clear. I'll check upstairs."
"I'll come-"
"-no," Severus interrupts, waving his wand hand behind him, and as it slashes through the air, David watches it warily, all too aware of its capabilities. He takes a step backwards, his hands raised slightly, as if surrendering - although Severus doesn't stop and glance behind him to see the movement.
"I won't be long," Severus continues, and he carefully eases the living room door open, silently slides around it, and disappears into the darkness.
I can't hear him.
It's eerie, being stood in his front room like this. Uncanny, even. It's as if he's looking through a glass screen with a smudge on it, or through a pair of old spectacles with the wrong prescription lenses. It's not unrecognisable - it's obviously their beloved family home, the place where so many warm memories were created, but there's an odd and distant air to it, instead of it being the familiar sanctuary to which he was accustomed.
David shifts uneasily - his heart is still pounding, and it feels as if someone's wrapped a belt around his chest, slowly pulling it tighter and tighter, crushing the air within his lungs, and making it impossible to take his next breath. He moves his hand to his collar and wrenches the top button of his shirt open, and when his breathing is still laboured, he tugs at the second and third.
It isn't your shirt choking you.
He still can't hear Severus, whose tread is careful and quiet, and David traces his eyes across the ceiling, trying forlornly to work out which room he might have entered, listening intently, trying to determine whether he's crept into danger.
Or whether he's up there creating it.
David grips the back of the sofa, and tries to inhale deeply through his nose. It had always been a haven, their house - a wonderful, loving, caring home, shared between him and his wonderful wife, and their spirited daughters.
And I'd always been able to protect them.
He's not like Tobias, David - he's not one for bristling or sulking, not prone to fits of rage and jealousy and feelings of inadequacy - but in this moment, he can feel a small pang of empathy with Severus' father.
Is this what it feels like to be on the outside?
After all of these years, after always being considered Rosie's protector, and Tuney's protector, and Lils' protector, suddenly he's being looked after by someone else - standing around whilst someone else risks their safety.
Usurped. Deposed. Redundant.
David swallows hard, listening keenly for Severus' light footsteps, straining to hear a door catch clicking overhead, or the sweep of wood against carpet - but there's nothing.
He's like a cat.
David glances around the front room, tidy and clean and cared for, everything scrubbed and polished - and yet, it feels forever tainted, the indelible stain of the image of his traumatised wife being held hostage. He tries to shake the thought from his head, but it's impossible; he can't reconcile the hundreds of happy memories they'd had as a family in the house with that moment of darkness - the moment which seems all-consuming.
The tension is broken by Severus' footsteps suddenly booming across the ceiling, and then he clatters down the stairs with his usual vigour. He bursts back into the living room, stowing his wand back into his sleeve, a tight smile on his face. "Clear."
David releases a relieved sigh. "That's something, at least."
"I don't think they'll come back."
"No?"
"No," Severus says, his voice firm. "That's one thing about an impending stint in Azkaban - I'll be regarded as a liability rather than an asset." He gives a weak grin. "They won't want to be associated with a known criminal - they don't want to give the aurors reason to start investigating them."
"That makes sense," David nods. He glances around the room once more, still struggling to make sense of the events over the last few days. "Severus, how do you think they traced you here?"
There's a long silence before he answers. "...dunno."
"Could they have followed you?"
Severus gives a half shrug, rolling his shoulders high into his neck, as if protecting his body from a blow, and holding the position for a moment too long, before letting them slide back down. "I was always careful."
"I didn't say it was your fault, I was only asking if-"
"-I'm shattered, David," Severus interrupts, looking away, colour rising in his sallow face, "let's get on and move those boxes."
Lily holds Bean tightly against her, watching as the nurse helps her to turn him, ensuring that there's no risk of him kicking near her stitches. "Thank you," she says, staring intently at Bean's small features. "I'm sorry to keep calling you-"
"-the buzzer is there for you to use," the nurse says, firmly. "How are you? Comfy?"
"Everything aches," she says, quietly, "but as long as this is real and I'm not dreaming-"
"-you're not dreaming."
Lily tears her gaze away from Bean, and smiles at the nurse. "It feels like I've been waiting forever for this moment."
"Enjoy it," the nurse advises - and then she takes a moment to adjust Lily's pillows and blankets, and then she steps back, watching as mother and baby settle. "Now, remember - if you feel sleepy, call and we'll take him back down."
"...I don't want him left alone."
"He won't be alone," the nurse says, "and your rest and recuperation is just as important."
Severus leans over the folded down passenger seat, and places yet another box on the crammed back seat of the car. He ducks his head as he moves away, taking care not to crack his skull on the doorframe.
He moves towards the house, stretching his arms high above his head, which causes his t-shirt to hitch upwards, exposing a deathly pale band of skin around his midriff. His yawn is loud and laboured, and David shoots him an amused look.
"I'll get the last few," David offers.
"I'm not so tired that I can't carry a box or two," Severus protests weakly, his argument immediately contradicted by him releasing yet another loud yawn.
"Get in the car," David commands, pointing at the vehicle as he heads back towards the house. "I won't be a moment."
Severus pauses, and then relents, pulling the passenger seat back into position and sinking into it. He sits quietly, watching keenly out of the windows, checking for intruders.
Jumping at shadows more like, he berates himself.
He jolts when he hears a door banging loudly, and before he can consciously determine the cause, he's already barrelling out of the car, wand in hand - and then he pulls up short, realising to his embarrassment that it's a false alarm.
"Sorry," David says, before muttering what sounds suspiciously like a curse word under his breath. "The wind caught the door." He tries to cradle a box in one arm, two more stacked precariously on top of the first, as he struggles with his house keys.
"Give them here," Severus offers, loping towards him - but he misjudges the distance, and as David turns, the boxes topple, crashing onto the driveway. Both men take a sharp breath, and two of the cardboard boxes fall gracefully - but the third box lands awkwardly, spilling its contents.
It takes less than a second, but it feels as if time is in slow motion, and they both watch helplessly as flashes of silver and glass and beige spiral around them, parchment and quills slowly falling through the air, bottles of ink descending with speed, smashing into the ground and spilling their dark contents across the drab paving slabs.
"Shit. Sorry."
This time, David's enunciation of his curse word is loud and clear, and Severus gives a wicked laugh. "It's all right," he says, flicking his wand.
"Severus, that box is damaged, don't put it back-"
"-it's fine," Severus says, peering at it, and then he carefully draws his wand over its edges, strengthening them so it doesn't break open again. "Well," he grins, "it is now."
David stoops, fingertips meeting an unbroken bottle of ink, and then suddenly, it's whisked from his grasp. He looks up, and he can see Severus muttering a spell under his breath, magically collecting all of the scattered items, and drawing them into the newly reinforced box.
At David's surprised look, Severus smiles. "I don't want to miss anything in the dark, that's all," he explains. "I'm sure something rolled into the flowerbed."
"I'll replace anything that's missing or broken-"
"-needn't bother," Severus says, dismissively. "It's just my desk things by the looks of it - spare parchment and ink and quills. I think the ink's done more damage to your driveway."
Another indelible stain.
Lily hates not being able to get out of bed, and her body aches in unusual ways, and she keeps fighting the urge to sleep, desperate to hold their child in her arms for as long as possible, fearful that the nurse will spy her eyes closing and whisk him away.
"If they take you again, just know that Mummy loves you, little Bean," she murmurs, stroking the back of her knuckle across his cheek. His face is the only part of him that's visible, the rest of him covered in material, from the tiny hat on his head, to the snap suit beneath his blankets.
She stares at him intently, trying desperately to determine whether he takes after her or Severus, but unable to see either of them in him. "I don't think you look like me," she whispers, "but you haven't got Daddy's nose yet, either."
I should ask Eileen if she has any pictures of Sev as a baby. Mummy's sure to have lots of me, and then we could compare and see who Bean takes after.
It's late, and the roads are empty, so the drive back to Rillwych is quicker than usual. Severus seems to gain a second wind, and the two men make quick work of moving the boxes from the car into the hallway - and although the pile is smaller than the collection which already exists in the bedroom, the hallway is tight to begin with, and the imposing wall of cardboard adds to the claustrophobic feeling.
David catches Severus' scowl and gives him a stern look. "Leave it now, Severus."
"I didn't-"
"-you're not sorting them now," he says. "You're going to go to bed and get some rest."
Severus offers him a thin smile. "And I didn't know that mind reading was a family trait."
"I'll pick you up tomorrow. Half twelve?"
"I'll be at Mam and Da's for quarter to one."
David gives him a surprised look. "You don't have to put yourself out, Severus - it's no trouble to collect you first."
"I want to look at that spell for them," Severus says, stretching his arms over his head and yawning again. "I won't have long to sort it, and I promised I would."
At his words, David gives him a sorrowful look - and somehow, and Severus isn't quite sure how, what starts as a firm handshake turns into a rough embrace.
"We can get through this," David murmurs, his voice low, "all of us together. As a family."
The next few hours are a haze for Lily - of broken sleep, and ever-changing nurses with different faces and different accents and different hairstyles. One minute, she's awake, with a warm bundle pressed against her chest, and then almost seamlessly, she's back asleep, her arms empty once more.
She aches, and she's frustrated that she can't walk, that she can't retrieve their son herself. It feels like an endless battle, of waking and finding him gone, and begging for his return - but then he's asleep on her, and she's asleep holding him, and he's taken away again.
It's mid morning before she wakes fully, and she finally feels as if a fog has lifted - still battered, still bruised, but herself once more. There's another new nurse, moving her around, and bringing Bean back to her - but although she knows she should be full of smiles, there's an overriding chill spiralling through her veins.
It's your magic. It's fighting to get out, struggling against its unnatural bonds.
"Are you still in pain?"
Yes, her magic screams, but Lily simply swallows and shakes her head and smiles sweetly, turning her attention back to the tiny boy that she's nursing, refusing to look the nurse in the eye.
They're Muggles. They don't have a cure for this.
Potter washes his face, cleans his teeth - heeding the words from their last argument and remembering not to spit into the towel - and sprays a liberal amount of deodorant under his arms. He coughs, and wafts his hand.
Too liberal.
He strides out of the bathroom, pausing outside Lupin's door, his ear pressed against the wood - but there's no sound of movement.
Still asleep.
He takes care to tread lightly down the stairs - his loud footsteps having been the source of yet another previous argument - although this time, he'd have to admit that Lupin's protests had fallen on deaf ears; his changed behaviour on this occasion was entirely due to him not wanting to wake the slumbering and unchained werewolf.
He's not a werewolf, he thinks. Not this time. This time, he's still Remus. Thanks to Evans.
Potter settles himself at the kitchen table, three slices of toast on his plate, a mug of strong coffee in his hand, and with a subtle wriggle of his fingers, the fridge door opens, and a jar of jam levitates its way towards him. He grabs it, and then waves at cutlery drawer, summoning a spoon.
The drawer obediently slides open, but the spoon doesn't come. He tries the spell again and again, before slamming his chair back and marching over - and then he realises that there aren't any. He grumbles to himself, and summons a dirty one from the sink, casting a hasty cleansing charm at it and then scooping out a hefty portion of jam onto each slice.
He's in the middle of chewing the first piece when the post owl taps at the window, and after a quick exchange of money and newspaper, Potter sits back at the table, the Daily Prophet grasped between his sticky fingers.
He flips over the pages, skimming the articles which bore him, and before he knows it, he's at the middle of the paper. Notice of Banishments and Punishments. He doesn't like lingering on this page - there's always far too many familiar names in the list, and with each passing week, the list gets longer and longer.
They're not usually witches or wizards he is closely acquainted with - most of his close friends are Pure or Half - but many of the names listed are ones he recognises, from announcements in the Great Hall, or registers in the classroom, or even commentary on the Quidditch Pitch.
He scans it quickly, his fingers readying to turn away, to move to the sports section - and then he stills, his jaw dropping open in disbelief.
Lily smiles as she holds Bean, getting used to the feel of him. He's mostly still, with the occasional movement of his limbs, and she's astonished at how quickly he drifts in and out of slumber - suckling one minute, then fast asleep the next.
She hates handing him over, but she gratefully accepts the midwife's help to sit up on the edge of the bed. It seems to take an eternity before she feels able to stand, her eyes still fixed on her son - as if she's terrified that he'll be whipped away.
"The sooner we get you walking, the sooner we can get you down to bath him," the midwife says.
"And," the nurse interrupts, "the sooner you're in a routine with him, the sooner we can send you both home with hubby."
It's all the impetus Lily needs, and with the midwife's arm carefully supporting her, Lily takes a step forward.
Narcissa stares impassively at the wall, Draco held upright against her, peering over her shoulder. His small arms flail, determined but uncoordinated hands banging against her - hitting her neck and upper arm and face, tiny fingers gripping long strands of hair - but she doesn't make any movement to deter him.
"I'll take him," Lucius says, and it's a command - not an offer. He lifts their son, his large hands grasping him under his arms, and Draco kicks his feet happily in the air as Lucius swings him around.
"Like mother, like son."
"Don't, Cissy."
"You know what they say!"
"I know what-"
"-they say it's worse than being Kissed!"
Lucius lets out a deep breath. "I know. I know, Cissy."
"And for what?" She pushes the open newspaper away from her, ignoring the tell-tale crinkle of the page where water has met newspaper, the spots where ink has mingled with tears. "For what, Lucius?"
Lucius swings Draco around again, who emits a gleeful noise, and it's a startlingly incongruent scene - the devastation of his wife brutally juxtaposed with the playful nature of his son.
"...I don't know-"
"-for nothing!" she shrieks, standing. This sudden shift causes Draco's face to crumple, unhappy tears filling his eyes.
"Shit," Lucius murmurs, jostling Draco in his arms, and trying to stop him from wailing out loud. "Cissy, come on-"
"-you know, they haven't even listed it," she spits, grabbing the paper once more, and shaking it. "They normally list it - the misdemeanour! It just says it's his third strike, and that he's part of the known underclass." She throws the paper forcefully back onto the table. "What does that tell you? Lucius? Lucius, it tells you that they know! They know that it was unwarranted! You should do something! Sue them! Take them to court, hire the-"
"-it's a message," Lucius says, quietly.
"A message!" Narcissa sinks back into her chair. "A message." She covers her face with her slim, pale hands. "He didn't turn up. You sent for him, and he didn't come… Oh!"
Lucius takes a careful step towards her, cradling a bewildered Draco against him, and he places his large hand on her shoulder. "...Cissy, there's something I need to tell you."
"I don't think I can take any more," she says, refusing to pull her hands away from her eyes. "Not now, not with Severus' magic being remov-"
"-it might not be Severus," Lucius interrupts.
She peels her hands away from her eyes, and stares at him, confusion across her features. "What do you mean?" she says, grasping for his hand. "How can it not be Severus?"
Lucius swallows hard. "It may well be." His own breathing is laboured as he speaks, his lungs tight. "As you say, he didn't arrive here when I summoned him, and he's usually so obedient. It may well have been him, but…"
"But? But what?" She grips his hand tightly. "Who, Lucius? You think it might be mistaken identity? Who? Avery? Ev-"
"-Lily." The pain on his face is evident, and immediately mirrored in his wife's expression. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice low - and he watches helplessly as first his wife, and then his son, burst into loud tears.
Severus rattles his spoon in his mug, squeezing the teabag against the edge, and then flinging it towards the bin - a rapid spell firing from his other hand, causing the lid to flip open.
"Who said I wasn't sporty?" he grins, as the teabag hits its target. He wanders through to the hallway, eyeing up the boxes, and then the clock. Three hours, he thinks. Plenty of time to get rid of these.
He pulls the first one down, and carries it through to the front room, and determinedly starts to sort through - a pile to keep, a pile to throw, and a pile for Lily to inspect.
He's been desperate for the loo for the past half an hour, but he's been determined to finish the box in front of him before getting up - only three boxes left - and now he's jiggling his leg, trying to distract himself.
He finally finishes, and with a huff of relief, he jumps up and heads out of the kitchen and into the yard. He uses the outside toilet, and washes his hands in the kitchen sink. He glances around, spying that the hand towel has fallen on the floor and he grimaces, not wanting to wipe his hands on it.
He mutters under his breath, and heads upstairs, pulling a clean towel out of the cupboard in Bean's room - and then he pauses. He silently retraces his steps in his head, and then he slowly moves down the stairs and back into the kitchen, rubbing his hands against the towel, deep in thought.
It's too far, he thinks, counting the steps in his head. Too far when she's just given birth, too far if she needs to keep getting up in the night, too far if she's got a wound. He looks back at the living room, and then he stoops, picking up the empty cardboard box and tossing it into the hallway.
He appraises the sofa, and then he's on his knees, poking at the covers and the cushions, picking at the fabric and the material - and then he loosely measures it, holding his arms out and pacing by the side of it, and then touching the walls with his hands, and striding across the room.
It'll be tight, he thinks, as he slides his wand into his hand and prepares to cast, but worth it.
Dumbledore silently passes Slughorn the folded newspaper, the important article roughly circled in navy ink. They sit in silence - Dumbledore waiting, and Slughorn not trusting himself to speak. The name seems to leap off the page and dance before him - Severus Snape Severus Snape Severus Snape.
The door swings open, and McGonagall strides in, quickly approaching the two men. "You've seen the Prophet?"
Dumbledore extends one long finger towards Slughorn, but doesn't speak, whilst Slughorn keeps staring at the article.
"And?" she demands, taking off her hat and sitting down next to them. "Horace, surely you can do something? He is your apprentice!"
"No," Dumbledore interrupts, a strange smile on his face, but his voice the coldest she's ever heard, "he isn't."
"Well, no, not now he's lost his magic," she admits. There's a pause, and she glances between the two - the old friends, the Headmaster and the Head of Slytherin, and she waits and waits, but neither of them speak. "Do you know what he's done to warrant this?" she tries again. "Three strikes? I know he had a little upset with Borage-"
"-I must head to the dungeons," Slughorn interrupts, handing the newspaper back to Dumbledore, and heaving himself to his feet, "and prepare my lessons."
McGonagall's mouth falls open, her protest on the tip of her tongue, but Dumbledore reaches out a calming hand, firmly gripping her arm - a warning to stay silent.
"Indeed, Horace," Dumbledore says, cheerfully, "the show must go on."
When the door is slammed shut, she turns on Dumbledore, her eyes blazing with fury. "What was that about, Albus? Does he not care for the boy? Severus is his apprentice for Merlin's sake!"
"I would suggest that the emotion Horace is currently experiencing is one known as guilt," Dumbledore says, his tone light. He stands, and brushes down his robes. "I regret to inform you that Severus was no longer his apprentice, for Horace had dismissed him-"
"-dismissed him?" Her eyes widen, her expression perplexed. "When? For what?" She stands, pacing back and forth, her fingers at her temple. "I hadn't seen him for a week or two, granted, but I thought he was busy brewing - you know what those sort get like, head down in a book, or in a cauldron-"
"-I believe Mr Filch was ordered to remove his items from the castle," Dumbledore says, wearily.
"Without your knowledge?"
"Without my knowledge."
She eyes him critically. "And had you known, would you have stopped it?" She looks at him, her jaw set. "...no, you wouldn't have, would you?"
"He was Horace's apprentice. It was not my place to interfere."
"He had turned his back on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" she yells. "He was vulnerable! And look what's happened now!" She shakes her head. "First Barty, now Severus. The Ministry, it's disgraceful, laughable-"
"-the Ministry is doing the best it can-"
"-the best it can! And what are you doing, Albus? Are you doing the best you can? Forgive me, but are you not best friends with the Minister? Do you not merrily associate with the auror of the moment in Alastor Moody?" McGonagall shouts, her temper besting her.
"I think we should resume this discussion at a less emotive time-"
"-and I think you should be doing something to win this war," she argues, snatching her hat and slapping it onto her head, "and not hiding from-"
"-I assure you I am not hiding-"
"-power when you are a good man, Albus! Far more a man than Cornelius Fudge, who is a mere puppet, and far more a man than Alastor Moody, who-"
"-I won't hear a word against Alastor. Alastor is doing everything he can in difficult circumstances."
McGonagall tosses her head angrily. "And I am sure Severus quite understands that he is nothing but a victim of difficult circumstances. After all, what is a little magic between friends?" she fumes, drawing herself up to her full height. "It is one thing that Horace is a coward, but I thought rather better of you, Albus." She turns on her heel, and heads to the door, and as her hand meets the doorknob, she hears her name.
"Minerva," Dumbledore says, his voice calm and even, "I must ask you to desist in your activities."
She presses her back against the door. "I beg your pardon?"
"I believe you heard me."
"My activities?"
"The sad news we have been met with today demonstrates that the wider auror department is not to be trusted," he says, quietly. "This isn't just the Ministry. There has to have been an arrest, a charge."
She raises an eyebrow. "You blame the auror who dealt the final blow?"
"I am merely saying that if you wish to provide the Ministry with information-"
"-at the moment, the only thing I wish to provide the Ministry with is a piece of my mind!"
Dumbledore gives her a broad smile. "Good. You have my approval to do that much," he says, and his blue eyes have an odd steel tone to them, "but I must insist that you do no more."
"...Albus, I need to help. I can't stand by whilst-"
"-I have invited you more than once-"
"-and I have told you," she says, her voice firm, "I am not prepared to join your renegade outfit. The aim should not be to circumvent the law - the aim should be to use the law."
"May I remind you," he says, coolly, "that the law will have been used in this sorry state of affairs."
"Don't," she argues, "don't you dare twist my words. The problem isn't the Ministry - the problem is the corruption within, and that's what you should be fighting against! Not providing Alastor Moody with the means to do as he will-"
"-but Minerva," he says, with a calm smile, "isn't that exactly what you're doing, in your role as informant? Bypassing the Ministry's own protocols and procedures? Transfiguring yourself-"
"-the passing of information - useful information is at worst benign and at best it is useful, it is-"
"-it is playing into their hands," Dumbledore counters. "You said it yourself - the Ministry is corrupt, and today we have seen evidence of that." He pauses. "What if it was your information that saw-"
"-I have never passed anything to do with Severus-"
"-no?" The enquiry is mild. "Perhaps not Severus. Perhaps one of his friends?"
"I am not in the habit of tailing around after Lucius Malfoy."
"No, but one of his old Slytherin comrades? They were a merry gang of men, weren't they? Mulciber and Rosier and Avery-"
"Are you suggesting that Severus hadn't left You-Know-Who's side? That he was still associating with-"
"-and the younger Mr Black, of course," Dumbledore continues, ignoring the question. "Not dissimilar to your favourite group, a Black and-"
"-Potter and Black are-"
"-useful members of my team," he finishes. "They would be elated if you were to join us."
"I won't, Albus."
He nods, curtly. "Then do nothing," he says, sweeping past her. "As you often say to our most overenthusiastic students, sometimes, less is more."
Severus stands, hands planted on his waist, appraising his handiwork. He's removed the sheets from the bed in their room, and pulled them tightly over the new bed that he's created by transfiguring the sofa. It's not quite as roomy as the bed in their bedroom - with it being the living room, he's had to leave some space for them to walk through, rather than running the bed from wall-to-wall - but he gently sits on it, and bounces the makeshift mattress experimentally, testing to see how comfortable it is.
"Not bad, Severus," he grins, looking around, "not bad at all."
He walks into the hallway, grabs the remaining boxes that he and David had brought over the night before - there's not enough time to finish sorting through them - and heads upstairs. He carries them into their bedroom, and he stares at the pile that's looming ominously over the bed already. The ones David brought over with Lily and Rose.
Adding just three more seems overwhelming, but then he rolls his eyes at his own hesitance. It doesn't matter if it's imposing if you're sleeping downstairs, he thinks - and he hoists them upwards, stacking each of them on the columns of boxes.
He moves into Bean's room, and grabs the crib, hoists it above his head, and then goes downstairs with it. He manoeuvres it into the corner of the room, next to the bed, next to Lily's preferred side. He reaches over the mattress, and lowers the side of the crib. So she can reach Bean easily.
Severus carefully steps around the bed, almost bumping into the shower, and although the room is terribly cluttered and looking most unlike any living room he's ever been in before, he can't help but grin broadly at the idea of his wife and child returning home.
It's Dad's job to take care of you both, he thinks, the words from the midwife echoing in his mind, and that's just what I'm going to do. He looks at the clock - just enough time for a cup of tea - and as he moves into the kitchen and sets the kettle on the stove, there's an almighty crash from upstairs.
He leaps quickly across the cluttered room, into the hallway, and up the stairs. Bean's room is clear, so he opens the door to their bedroom and he groans when he sees the box on the bed, its contents strewn across the bare mattress.
"It's the same fucking box," he mutters, recognising the magically reinforced sides, "what a joke." He quickly scoops up the stray items, throwing them in - and they're as dull as they were the day before; ink and parchment, quills and a paperweight - and he packs them carefully away.
This time, he casts a quick sticking charm to the base of the box, and then stacks it on top of the others. You're not falling down this time. As he stands back, something glints on the mattress, shining in the shaft of sunlight spilling around the drawn curtains, and he reaches across for it.
"My Striker badge," he mutters, flipping it over. "Ave's merry band of miscreants." It feels like a lifetime away, he thinks, remembering the hours of watching and waiting, of fighting and coercing - and he can't believe how different his life feels now, with his family home, and his Muggleborn wife, and their child. Thank fuck it's over.
He jumps when he hears a loud, unrelenting whistle, and it takes him a moment to realise that it's the kettle screeching in the kitchen. He hastily shoves the badge into his pocket, and runs down the stairs, charging through the living room and into the kitchen and lunging to lift the whistle, intent on stopping the kettle from caterwauling.
"You're going to have to get faster at that, Sev," he grins to himself, as he turns the gas off and waits for the water to cool slightly, "else little Bean's going to scream the house down every time you make a hot drink." He pauses. "I wonder how Lil feels about drinking cold orange squash for the next year or two…"
"Missy is announcing Master Rodolphus is-"
"Get out of the way," Rodolphus says, barging his way past the diminutive house elf, "Bast, what the fuck have I just read in the Prophet? Snape! Severus Snape!"
"It wasn't a misprint in mine, then," Rabastan says, standing and walking across the room to greet his brother, embracing him lightly. "The Dark Lord will be furious-"
"-will he, really? Will he be as furious as my wife, who is currently screaming and clawing at the walls of our mansion?" Rodolphus snaps, his face twisted in fury. "Eighteen paintings, three rugs, a chandelier from the sixth century, seven statues, and she's still going!"
"Merlin. I knew she was keen to impress the Dark Lord but…" Rabastan looks sickened. "Seven statues? Not Mother's? Not the one in the hallway?"
"The very one."
"I knew I shouldn't have let you take it."
"I hardly realised that she was going to fly off the handle in such a way!" Rodolphus argues.
"It'll never be the same, even if one of the elves repairs it," Rabastan sighs. "Well? Have you spoken to Fletcher, or should I get my cloak?"
"Fletcher? This isn't Fletcher's handiwork-"
"-we told him to find Snape-"
"-and you believe he did?" Rodolphus scoffs. "Fletcher is a slippery, oily, oik, who does nothing unless he's forced…" Rodolphus shakes his head. "This has Malfoy's fingerprints all over it."
"Malf?" Rabastan looks conflicted.
"No? You think I am mistaken?"
"I don't think you're mistaken as such," Rabastan says, carefully, "but I think that Malf wouldn't let the Ministry treat his favourite pet like this. He'd have put a stop to it." He summons the newspaper into his hands. "And this is weird - no crime listed. You and I both know that plenty of our comrades have had three infractions - why would Snape be singled out as a criminal? Something doesn't sit right."
Rodolphus leans in menacingly, his stale breath hot on his brother's face. "What if this was a message from the house of Malfoy? Malfoy and Cissy have been most insistent of late that he's not in their employ."
"Well, that means nothing," Rabastan scoffs, "we both know that Malf's an accomplished liar."
"You heard what Rosier said-"
"-and Ros is as big a liar again," Rabastan adds, heatedly. "I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him."
Rodolphus looks thoughtful. "Even so, they're not friends, Ros and Malf. They're not likely to be covering for each other, and their stories align."
"Then what they're saying is the truth. Ros has confirmed Malf's position - that Snape cuts corners, and takes irresponsible shortcuts." He looks up at his brother. "And he's not wrong - he might've been trained by Borage, but he released him-"
"-Borage is notoriously difficult, that's hardly-"
"-and Snape fucked up when Malf commissioned him to brew for the Dark Lord, remember?" Rabastan gives him a triumphant smile.
"It's all very convenient," Rodolphus grumbles, "this feels like a play-by-play of what Malf would want us to think if Snape was still his brewer. I think he was spreading rumours to try and scare us off."
Rabastan looks away from his brother, his eyes darting around the room as he thinks. "...why can't it be both? What if Malf had a falling out with Snape, and he was spreading rumours so that nobody else took him under their wing? It fits with Slughorn firing him - you didn't believe for a minute that Snape was an alcoholic, did you?"
"No," Rodolphus agrees.
"And old Sluggy's under Malf's influence, that much is for certain."
Rodolphus' eyes widen. "They'd gone their separate ways, but our interest in Snape was his undoing. Malf doesn't want him, but that doesn't mean he wants anyone else to have him."
"It explains the rumours about his apparently shoddy brewing. You wouldn't have thought he'd have lasted so long as Malf's brewer if he was as terrible as Malf is suggesting." Rabastan gives his brother a dark smile. "Your theory sounds much more like the vindictive Malf we know and despise."
"Doesn't it just? I think our brother-in-law, the esteemed Mr Malfoy, has a few questions to answer…"
Chapter 116: Will you always love me?
Notes:
As promised, here's the second chapter for today. :)
Chapter Text
Tobias stands behind Severus, staring his scribbled notes. "An' yer reckon this'll work?"
"Reckon it's worth a shot," Severus says, tapping his wand against the book that he'd borrowed from Narcissa. "There's nothing in here about Muggles, but that's the way of the wizarding world," he says, oblivious to his father's wince.
"But yer've come up wi' summat?"
"There's a Squib at Hogwarts." There's a pause. "The school."
"Aye, I know what yer fuckin' school was called, soft lad," Tobias says, huffily. "Ain't heard of no Squib afore though."
Severus grimaces. "Yeah, sorry. Right, a Muggle is no magic at all, right?"
"I've got that. An' yer witches an' yer wizards are Pure, Halfs an' Muggleborns."
"All magical," Severus nods, "but with parents who have different magical ancestry. Squibs are the opposite of Muggleborns."
Tobias takes a moment, and then his eyebrows raise. "Magic can miss a generation? A witch an' a wizard, but their kid ain't..."
"Yeah. Some reckon that's where Muggleborns come from," Severus says, tracing his wand lightly over his notes. "It's rare fer Squibs ter stay in the wizarding world - too much shame fer the family." He shrugs. "And shite fer 'em, I imagine. There's so much magic in our world, Da. I know yer can't quite imagine it, but it's everywhere. It permeates everything."
"So how d'yer get a Muggleborn from a Squib?"
"I ain't sayin' that's definitely how it works," Severus says, hastily, "but Squibs leave the wizarding community, and they're cut off the family trees. Ain't no trace of 'em."
"An' then they marry a Muggle an' eventually, down the line, there's enough magic fer it ter crop up?"
"Makes more sense than it appearin' out of nowhere," Severus nods.
Tobias gives a hearty laugh. "Like a ginger kid showin' up mysteriously, an' everyone thinks yer missus 'as 'ad it off wi' t'postman."
Severus shoots him a dark look. "Aye, all right, yer can cut that out. ...Lily's got auburn hair."
Tobias chuckles to himself. "So what's this Squib got to do wi' owt?"
"It ain't that one so much," Severus mutters, "he's a bit of a bastard, come to think of it…but it got me thinkin', an' I found this." He flips the pages of the book triumphantly, and hidden in an incredibly dull and dense chapter about Charms and best practice, deep in the footnotes, there's a strange sentence about being mindful of word order around wizards and witches and others. "Weird, hey?"
"It's all fuckin' weird to me, lad."
"And others. Others. Why specify others? I reckon there's summat untapped there." At Tobias' blank look, Severus stands up straight, and starts to explain patiently. "In English, yer've gotta get yer words the right way round, else it dunner make any sense. Subject, verb, object."
"The boy kicked the ball."
Severus shoots him a surprised look.
"All right, fuck off," Tobias mutters, straightening his shoulders, "I ain't as thick as yer might think. Not all of yer brains are from yer mam, yer know."
Quickly, Severus continues, making sure Tobias doesn't dwell on the perceived slight. "Latin, it doesn't matter. I mean, it ain't random, but yer've got the freedom to choose yer style."
"An' yer reckon it might do the trick?"
Severus shrugs. "It was only a thought. It might not. Muggles and Squibs ain't the same, an' it's not even clear what they mean by others. Might not be Squibs. Might be magical creatures or summat."
"Worth a go though, lad."
"Aye, I'm jus' sayin', dunner get yer hopes up, that's all. What are the chances I'm gonna crack it first time?"
"If yer try, yer might. If yer dunner try, yer definitely won't."
Severus laughs. "Yeah, well, when yer put it like that…"
"Yer need yer missus?"
"She ain't gonna be up to it fer a bit," he says, checking his notes again, "an' modifying spells ain't as difficult as casting in the first place. It's already there, I'm just… titivating." He pauses, ignoring Tobias' incredulous look. "So to speak."
"D'yer wanna wait fer yer mam to get back from town?"
Severus looks at the clock. "Nah, not if we want ter try this before David comes to pick us up. Besides, it's you I need, not Mam. We can sort this between us." He buries his head back into his notes, missing his father's broad and beaming smile.
"Aye, lad, that we can," Tobias says, cheerily, putting his empty mug in the sink. "I'll put t'radio on, give us a shout when yer want me to test owt."
"I can't wait until he gets here with my bag," Lily says, holding Bean carefully as the midwife lifts her hospital gown, inspecting the wound and dressing, "I packed the world's most comfortable nightie, and the cutest babygrow that I'm sure he'll be out of by next week." She pauses. "He's got such long legs."
The midwife reapplies the dressing and laughs. "It's the mistake we see most - new parents with a thousand sleepsuits for the first month, and nothing useful a few weeks later." She pulls the gown back down, and rearranges the blankets around Lily. "There's a noticeboard at the top of the ward - there's a baby clothes group which swaps and shares. You might find it useful if you've got too much early clothing."
"Thank you," Lily smiles, "I'll ask my husband to note down the details later whilst I get changed into my own clothes." There's a pause. "Not that I don't appreciate these."
"But it's not the same as your own," the midwife finishes, kindly. "Lunch is coming around, if you want me to take little one-"
"-I can manage," Lily says. "I'll have to once I'm back home."
"Bloody hell, lad," Tobias says, standing on the opposite side of the road and staring at his house. "Yer've only gone an' done it."
Severus grins. "I can't believe it."
"Me neither," Tobias says, walking in and out of the house, marvelling as it doesn't disappear. "Never thought I'd set eyes on this little place again."
"I barely did anything," Severus says quietly, watching proudly as his father comes and goes. "I can't believe it was that easy."
Tobias returns to stand next to him. "Aye, yer mam'll be right made up, now she can go ter bed wi'out me botherin' 'er." There's a pause, as Tobias leans over to ruffle his son's hair, and slings his arm around his shoulders. "Yer a good lad, our Russ. I knew yer wun't let us down."
Lupin looks haggard as he makes his way downstairs, his dressing gown tied loosely over his pyjamas. He shuffles into the kitchen, pushing the door open. "I'm back."
"Hey," Potter says, with a tight smile.
"Is that it?" Lupin raises an eyebrow. "You spent the night sleeping in the next room to an unchained, transformed werewolf and that's all you've got to say? Hey?"
Potter grimaces, and pushes the newspaper towards him. "I reckon the Ministry have just stifled your chances of a dose next month, that's all."
Lupin sinks into one of the chairs as he reads the notice, his devastation clear on his face. "What did he do?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Potter mutters, "although he's been on thin ice for a while." He shrugs. "Looks like he fell through."
"Fell through? Fell through!" Lupin tears at his hair, both hands dragging roughly across his scalp. "I need this, James."
"You don't need him. Evans was brewing the potion."
Lupin pushes the paper away, unwilling to look at Snape's name any longer, unable to accept that his lifeline has lost his magical ability. "Evans was using Snape to get it to me, and there's no way she's going to stick her head back above the parapet if he's not able to protect her."
Potter gives a tight shrug. "That's your theory."
Lupin rolls his eyes. "I'm certain I'm right."
"And if you are," Potter mutters, "maybe this'll be the push she needs to stop hanging around with him. What use is a wizard who can't use magic?" He shoots Lupin an awkward look. "Now that you're up, I'll have a shower."
"She won't leave him," Lupin calls after him. "Not over this. Not if it's a miscarriage of justice."
Potter steps back into the kitchen. "And if it isn't?"
"She's stuck by him through all sorts."
Potter scowls. "We'll see." He points at Lupin. "Do the drop of ingredients as agreed, that's all I'm saying. You had an agreement. And if you're right," he continues loudly, ignoring the look of dissent on Lupin's face, "she'll be the breadwinner - if he's neutered, he can't continue his grubby little street deals, so you might find that potion works its way back to you after all. You might be her only customer."
"I don't think-"
"-it's some ingredients, Moons. That's all it's going to cost you to find out. It's no big deal. We'll pick them up later this week." He gives a tight nod. "Spread the purchases between us-"
"-I can buy a few ingredients-"
"-you're not buying anything," Potter says, quickly. "Me, Pete and Siri - we'll pick them up. A few each. If they arrest us for buying Wolfsbane ingredients, we won't transform whilst they hold us - but if they arrest you…"
Lupin straightens. "I'm Half, thank you very much. They can only hold me for 21 days. As long as I buy the ingredients soon-"
"-you know what they're like with werewolves," Potter says, his voice low. "I wouldn't risk it. I wouldn't put it past someone to delay your release."
"It's illegal to hold me past-"
"-and you were just telling me how you thought Sniv was the victim of a miscarriage of justice!" Potter snaps. "They do not care, Moons!"
"...fine. Do what you want."
Potter nods, and retreats, and Lupin listens intently to the bathroom door shutting and the shower starting.
"You always fucking do," Lupin hisses, satisfied that Potter is out of earshot. He flips the newspaper back over, staring in horror at Snape's name. "Fucking hell, Snape," he mutters, and although he wants to put it out of his mind, he can't help but wonder if Snape's arrest had anything to do with his involvement in passing Wolfsbane. He tries to shake the thought away.
James is right - he's been up to his ears in dirty deals and dark deeds for years. He could've done anything - he could've even slashed someone up, just as he slashed Sirius up. Or, if he's finally crossed the wrong person, it could be that he's done nothing - that he's been set up.
Or maybe, the little voice screams in his head, maybe he was found with something on him that connects him to Wolfsbane, and maybe, just maybe, this is all your fault.
"Not bad, eh?" Tobias says, proudly.
"I'm amazed," David says, running his hand along the woodwork of the front door.
Tobias squares his shoulders, as if insulted. "He's got as many brains as yer lass."
David glances at Tobias. "He's a very clever young man," David says, carefully, "I didn't intend to suggest otherwise. I would've been just as amazed had Lily done this."
"Righ'."
"He was talking about it on the way home last night," David explains, "and he didn't sound confident. That's all I meant."
Tobias nods. "Aye, well. Could be anythin', lad like 'im. Jus' needs a bit o' luck on 'is side, that's all."
"I'm sure."
It's awkward then, the silence between them - but thankfully, Eileen exits the small house, ushered out of the door by a beaming Severus.
"Not bad, hey?" he laughs, clapping his hands together loudly, and staring back at the house, unaware of how similar his speech is to his father's. "Thought it'd take ages, and boom, first go! Didn't even need to do the secret bit again - must've stuck from the first time." He pauses. "Yer can see it, right?"
"Yes," David smiles, gripping Severus' shoulder. "Well done."
They both watch as Tobias locks up, and then Severus nods at David. "I'll do your place next. I'll work on the spells tonight, although it'll be harder with yer both bein' non-magical."
"There's no rush," David says, squeezing his shoulder again, before letting go. "Wait until Lils is back home and you're both settled with your little one." He points at the car, and then looks between the two Snape men. "Right, who's sitting in the front, and who's squashing in with the ladies-"
"-I'll get in the back," Severus offers, catching the dark look on his father's face, and before anyone can protest, he pulls the car door open. "Hi Rose, thanks for coming," he smiles, before turning to Eileen. "Can yer shove over a bit, Mam, eh? My legs are way longer than yours…"
Avery sits in his office, his head in his hands, the text on the newspaper blurring in front of his eyes. It takes him a long moment - too long a moment - to register that it's not the newspaper print at fault, but his eyes which have filled with tears.
"It's a mistake. It's got to be."
You'd know if it was a mistake or not, nags his inner voice, if you'd stuck around when those aurors appeared - if you hadn't been so focused on saving your own skin. If you'd stood by your friend.
"I didn't mean for this to happen, Sev," he whispers, "I thought you'd have Disapparated as soon as you saw them too. I didn't think you'd hang around to be arrested."
He rubs his eyes with the back of his sleeve, and then shoves the newspaper across the desk - as if no longer seeing the declaration means that it didn't really happen.
Severus can't keep the smile off his face as he walks onto the ward, and when Lily spies him striding across to her bed, she mirrors his gleeful expression. He bounds over, cupping her cheeks in his hands and he kisses her several times - chastely, softly, but full of meaning - before turning his attention to their son, dropping an equally soft kiss onto Bean's forehead.
"Just you?" she asks, pressing her head against his shoulder as he settles next to her.
"Am I not enough?"
Lily laughs, and kisses his bicep through his shirt. "That's not what I meant, and you know it." She glances at his empty hands. "I thought you were bringing my things?"
"Your mum and dad are coming," he explains, "they're just parking up." He pauses. "And they've brought my parents too."
"All four of them?" Lily sits up, shuffling Bean in her arms. "Sev, I've not even had chance to brush my hair-"
"-they haven't come to look at your hair-"
"-but I look frightful, I-"
"-I'm sorry, but I wanted to get it out of the way," he says, his voice low, "so I could have you to myself at visiting tonight."
Lily looks at him, astonishment on her face. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah," he says, a small burst of colour rising in his cheeks. "I know they're excited, first grandchild and all, but…" He shrugs. "He's our son, and you're my wife. I shouldn't have to fight for your attention. I figure they can have this session, but then you're all mine."
"Kiss me again," she says, and when he obliges, she rests her forehead against his. "I'm so glad you're here."
"Me too, love, me too."
"Did you say they'll be long?"
"They dropped me at the front and then went to park, but that was about five minutes ago, so about thirty seconds, I reckon," he murmurs, his dark eyes staring intently into her bright green ones.
"Here," she whispers, pulling away, and passing Bean into his arms, "have a quick hold to keep you going until later. If all of them are coming, he's going to get passed around like a rugby ball."
Severus laughs. "Hello little Bean," he says, cradling their child against his chest, "have you been good for Mummy?"
"Angelic," Lily says, watching them both intently. "What about Daddy? Has he been good without me to keep an eye on him?"
Severus shoots her a broad grin. "Daddy has been busy modifying our living room."
"What do you mean? Modifying it how?"
"I thought we could all sleep there," he explains, "it's a long way to the loo from upstairs." He gives a nonchalant shrug. "Did a bit of work on the sofa to make it into a double bed and I've brought Bean's crib downstairs and… Well, it's only temporary. It'll do for now." He glances at her, his jaw dropping slightly when he sees a tear on her face. "Lil, Lil, I'm sorry, I didn't mean… I shouldn't have done it without speaking to you first, I'll undo-"
"-don't you dare touch it," she says, wiping her cheeks with her fingers. "I'm not unhappy."
He watches her cautiously as she blinks away the rest of her tears. "Your parents will kill me if they come in here and think I've made you cry."
"It's a good cry."
"That's a thing, is it?"
She gives a small laugh. "Yes. …and see! This is what I meant when I said you were thoughtful."
"Oh, that's just a rumour," he grins, batting away the compliment.
"You're an idiot."
"A thoughtful idiot," Severus says, toying with Bean's blanket, "well, son, I'll be honest with you - I've been called worse."
"…I've missed you, Sev," she smiles - and before he can respond, there's a sudden jumble of voices, and when they both look up, their parents are stood at the foot of the bed.
"Mummy! Daddy!"
"Here he is," Severus grins, standing proudly, Bean still in his arms.
"Oh, you two," Rose says, venturing forward, her hand covering her mouth. "He's gorgeous."
"Here," Severus says, moving a step closer and carefully passing Bean to a delighted looking Rose, "you hold him first."
"Well done, Lils," David says, moving around the other side of the bed to embrace Lily, "he's a little smasher."
Lily watches as Severus disentangles himself from Bean and Rose, and looks anxiously towards his parents. He seems uncertain of their unusually quiet reaction, and Lily can feel her own heart beating erratically as he steps closer - and then Eileen grips his hands, and Tobias winks - and Lily sinks back into her pillows, relief washing over her as she spies her husband beaming with pride.
Bellatrix stalks up and down the length of the drawing room, her wand lolling between her fingers - not poised to strike, but ever-threatening. Narcissa watches her from the far side of the room, holding Draco protectively in her arms, grateful that he is slumbering and entirely unaware of the tension within the room.
The grand doors swing open, and Lucius marches in. He greets both brothers, meeting each with a handshake and a warm hand on the back of their neck, pulling them towards him for an embrace.
"Friendly, Malf," Rabastan says, taking half a step backwards once Lucius releases him.
"Are we not family?" Lucius mildly enquires, ignoring the shared look between the two Lestrange men. "Bella?"
"I do not wish for a handshake nor a hug," Bellatrix sneers, not breaking stride. "I do not wish to be here at all."
"That is-"
"-you know where the door is," Narcissa interrupts, her voice clipped, "if you do not wish to be here."
"Cissy," Lucius says, his voice soothing. He steps behind his seated wife, placing one hand on her shoulder, and raking his other through her hair, "so feisty." He leans down, and kisses beside her ear, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Don't let them see that you're rattled," he murmurs, before standing back up with a broad smile. "Lunch?"
"Your hospitality is appreciated," Rodolphus says, moving closer, "but we are not intending to impose-"
"-it is not an imposition-"
"-we merely wished to discuss the fate of your brewer," Rodolphus continues, ignoring Lucius' interruption.
"My brewer?"
"Don't be coy," Bellatrix hisses, her wand slashing through the air.
Lucius' eyes widen, and he follows her movement, giving a small exhale of relief when he realises that there was no spell from her lips - no precious item destroyed in her wake. "Coy?"
"You've seen him," Rabastan says. "Snape. Don't pretend you haven't."
"The Dark Lord will be furi-"
"-no, Rodolphus!" Bellatrix shrieks, crossing the room towards her husband. "You should not speak in front of those who are not committed to the cause."
Lucius looks affronted. "I should remind you-"
"-I am talking about dear Cissy!" Bellatrix says, her wand pointing at her sister.
"Ah. I see. I assure you, whatever you have to say to me can be said in front of my wife," Lucius says, calmly.
"That is not your decision to make, Lucius. The Dark Lord is the one who decides who is amongst us-"
"-then perhaps you should not repeat any of the Dark Lord's words without his explicit permission," Lucius argues. "Perhaps I also should not be privy to his statements, if he has chosen not to confide in me directly?"
"I shall go," Narcissa says, standing and neatening her robe, whilst adjusting Draco onto her other shoulder, "as I have no intention of intruding on what is evidently an important discussion. Good day to you all," she says, with a thin smile, "and as your visitors are not staying to dine with us, I shall expect you for a late lunch in half an hour, Lucius."
Severus settles back next to Lily, and takes her hand. "You okay?" he whispers.
"Yeah."
"Bit overwhelming?"
Lily nods.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought them all at once-"
"-no, it's better this way," she says, squeezing his fingers. "They're all being treated equally, and it'll be lovely to just be us later."
"A bit much now though," Severus murmurs, watching as David passes Bean over to Eileen.
"I'm just grotty," she says, shrugging uncomfortably. "This hospital stuff is awful."
"I'll help you to get changed," Rose offers, overhearing their conversation, "we brought your things."
Lily can't help but wince, certain that her mother will take the opportunity to speak with her alone - to try and find out what happened once she left with Avery and Rosier and Mulciber - and she knows that her parents will be desperate to know the truth - to know that she truly escaped unscathed, mentally as well as physically.
I want to tell Sev first, she thinks, I owe him that much.
To her relief, Severus catches her eye and swiftly interjects, reaching for Lily's bag and hoisting it determinedly over his shoulder. "I'll do it," he says, firmly, "I'm her husband."
It's only a strip wash, in a basin rather than a bath, but she does feel better once she's freshened up, despite the floor tiles being cold on her bare feet. She grips the basin and he kneels in front of her, holding her hip tightly, and inspects her wound carefully.
He slides his wand into his hand. "Let me heal it for you."
"No, Sev."
He pauses. "You don't trust me?"
"They'll be suspicious," she says, toying with his long hair, "if it's anything out of the ordinary. I don't want to give them any excuse to keep me here."
He nods, stiffly. "When we get home then," he promises, and he gently affixes the bandage back into place.
He makes quick work of brushing her hair, but swapping one nightdress for another is much more problematic. Lily can't help but giggle as Severus wrestles with the material, twisting it one way and then the other as he tries to pull it over her head.
"Sev!"
"What? It's you, you're the one wriggling!"
She pulls away from the nightie, and takes it from him, before laughing again. "That," she says, with feeling, "is the arm, Severus. This is the neck hole. No wonder I couldn't get it over my head."
He bites his lip, trying not to laugh. "In my defense, it all looks the same," he grins, peering at it. "They could at least put a collar on it or something."
"I take it all back," she smiles, as he helps her to step into her dressing gown, "you're just an idiot."
"Why thank you," he says. He takes a tentative step closer to her, letting her choose how firmly she holds him, watching her face carefully, checking that he doesn't inadvertently brush against any part of her which still hurts. "Does that feel better?"
She hugs him for a moment, and then steps by his side, keeping a tight grip on his hand. "Much," she says, threading her fingers between his longer digits, "but I miss Bean. Is that silly?"
"Not at all," he says, kindly, "let's go and rescue him from his grandparents."
I should tell him.
"Sev…"
"What?"
When she doesn't answer, he stills and turns, and he lifts his free hand up to her face, stroking her hair behind her ear. She glances at his wedding ring, glinting beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, and she feels her face fall.
"Hey hey hey," he says, breathlessly, "love, what's wrong?"
She shakes her head, unable to say the words.
"Is this because we've left Bean behind?" He gives her a small smile. "Come on, we'll go and get him. He's only a short walk away, and I can carry you if it hurts too much-"
"-will you always love me, Sev?" She doesn't mean to blurt it out, but the words escape her lips before she can think them through.
He frowns. "What's brought this on, hey?" He watches her expression carefully, but when she doesn't answer - can't answer, he gently places his arms around her shoulders and kisses her forehead. "If this is because having Bean has changed your shape…" He trails off, awkwardly. "Listen, Lil, I feel the same. I'll always feel the same. I know I don't say it enough, but I promise you - I love you."
This time, when Rosier and Mulciber burst through his office door, Avery immediately slides his wand into his hand and points it towards them.
"It's only us, Ave."
"I know who it is," he says, keeping his wand up. "What do you want?"
Mulciber glances at Rosier, who raises his eyebrows. "To talk."
"About?"
"What happened, Ave?"
Avery's nostrils flare in anger, and he brandishes his wand towards Rosier. "You set us up."
"Aurors?"
"Don't pretend like you don't know," he spits, his voice growing louder.
Mulciber looks awkwardly over his shoulder. "All right, Ave, you'll have half of the Ministry wondering what's going on in here if you-"
"-I don't care!" He swings his wand back towards Mulciber. "I don't care - you both stitched us up, and now look!"
"...it's true, then?"
Avery gives the slightest nod of his head.
"Fuck."
"Why?" Avery tracks his wand between the two of them. "Why!"
Mulciber puts his hand out, trying to seem reassuring. "Look, Ave, you've got this all wrong. This wasn't a set up. We wanted this deal to go through."
"I wanted Snape as our brewer," Rosier insists. "He was destined to fall into the lap of the Dark Lord, and I wanted my name attached to him."
Avery shakes his head, not daring to trust his two old friends. "So what happened? Who else knew we were there?"
"Greyback was the only other-"
"-you want me to believe that Greyback sold himself out? He's in Azkaban! Why would he willingly-"
"-Ave," Mulciber interjects, softly, "Ros didn't say that Greyback was a grass." He scratches the back of his head. "But maybe Greyback spoke to someone."
Rosier stares earnestly at Avery. "And you? Who did you speak to?"
"Don't put this on me!" Avery looks astonished. "I didn't even know, not until you sprung it on us-"
"-he means, who did you see when you went down Diagon," Mulciber says, his voice still soothing. "Did you say anything to Tom?"
"No, of course not!"
"And Snape, he kept quiet, did he?"
Avery nods. "Yes."
"And it was Dawlish on the door, as we expected?"
"Yes."
"Anyone else? Anyone listening in at your table?"
"You think I'm an amateur."
Rosier sighs. "No, I think you've been unlucky. We've been unlucky."
"Sev's been unlucky," Avery spits.
Mulciber nods. "Yeah. He really has."
"And gentlemen, we're about to be as unlucky as he is once the Dark Lord discovers the truth." Rosier pauses. "There was nothing else you can think of, Ave? Nothing else out of the ordinary?"
"No."
"You and Snape didn't raise your wands to anyone?"
Only to get past Dawlish, Ave thinks, but that wouldn't have caused anyone to be onto us. ...would it?
Avery swallows hard. "No, course not. Why would we?"
Rosier nods, and sighs. "I think we should have a word with Malf."
Mulciber frowns. "You think Malf's at the bottom of it?"
"Who else do you know with a hotline to the auror department?" Rosier gives him a wistful smile. "Malf's been full of derision for Snape of late - he even thought Arisean Nott was a better brewer."
Avery can't help the look of shock crossing his face. "Malf said that?"
Mulciber nods. "I was there." He sucks his breath in between his teeth. "I hate to say it, but it fits - Snape was terrified and hiding in the Muggle world, and Malf's had the knife out for him." He shrugs. "Looks like Malf got wind, and-"
"-it was curtains for Snape," Rosier finishes, drawing his finger across his neck. "I think it's about time we, as Snape's friends, paid a visit to our esteemed colleague Lucius, don't you think?"
I'll tell him tonight, she vows, as they slowly make their way back onto the ward, when we're alone.
Their parents stand to one side, as Severus helps her back into the bed, and she smiles as she sinks back into the sheets, glad to be off her feet once more.
"Looks like yer," Tobias says, suddenly, nodding towards Severus. "Yer looked just like 'im when yer was tiny."
Severus smiles broadly. "Yeah? You think?"
"I was going to ask," Lily says, suddenly remembering, "if you had any photos of Severus when he was little. I wanted to see what we both looked like, and then we could see who he takes after."
"He'll take after you both in time," Rose says, kindly, "children usually do. I think he's got your chin, darling."
"Severus," Eileen suddenly says, breaking her silence. She beckons him towards her, away from the bed - and Lily watches intently as they have a quick conversation, in low tones.
He nods, and then he looks at the rest of the group. "Anyone else want a drink from the canteen?"
There's a quick show of hands, and David instantly offers to go with him. "I'll help you to carry them back."
"No, he doesn't need any help," Eileen interrupts, "he can get a tray."
Everyone looks surprised at her harsh tone, and Severus glances around the group before nodding awkwardly. "Right, yeah. Won't be a minute then," he says, and with half a wave, Severus disappears around the corner.
There's a tense ten or fifteen seconds - and then Eileen steps forward. Tobias readies himself to pass over the baby, expecting that his wife wants to hold her grandson once more, but instead, Eileen walks straight over to Lily and grips her hand.
"I'm so sorry."
Lily stares at her in horror.
Rose looks between the two women, a frown growing on her face. "Lily? Mrs Snape? What's-"
"Does he know?"
Lily shakes her head.
Eileen sighs. "I'm surprised he hasn't noticed." She reaches forward, and her crooked index finger touches Lily's neck - as if she knows exactly where the spell was cast. "...it hurts."
She can't stop the tears from falling as she nods. "It does."
"What's happened?" David interrupts, his tone stern. "Lily, what's all this about?"
"Leen?"
"And our baby too?" Lily stares earnestly at Eileen through her tears. "I can't… I wasn't sure. I thought if Sev hadn't noticed anything wrong, then maybe it was just that I couldn't sense it…"
Eileen shakes her head. "It doesn't work like that."
"And you'd know," Lily sobs, her face creasing up in pain.
"I'm so sorry. There's nothing there."
"Will someone please tell us what you're both talking about?" Rose exclaims, looking helplessly at David, as if silently begging him for support, before turning back to Lily and Eileen. "What's wrong with the baby? What's going on?"
"Whatever happened when Lily was taken…" Eileen looks down at the floor. "...the Ministry has stolen your daughter's magic."
"It's not just me," Lily sobs, her voice breaking. "It's him as well."
Tobias stares down at the tiny baby in his arms - the child who looks so much like his own son did at that age - and his mouth gapes open as he realises what they both mean.
"...because he was inside her, once they took her magic-"
"-it took his too," David finishes. He places his hands on Rose's shaking shoulders, as Rose brings her hands to cover her mouth. "I'm so sorry, Lils."
"You need to tell Severus," Eileen says, firmly.
"You need to tell me what?" Severus says, as he rounds the corner, balancing the tray of drinks. "Are you not paying me back? Are these on me or something?" His smile falters as his joke falls flat, and he takes in the solemn expressions around him - and then he registers Lily's tears, and realises that his mother is holding her hand.
Why's Mam sat next to her? Why not Rose?
"Lil?" he says, pushing the tray of drinks towards David, who willingly takes them from him. "Lil, love, what's happened? What's wrong?"
"Sev," she sobs, "I'm...so...so...sorry."
"It's not your fault," Eileen says, kindly. "Severus, sit down."
"I don't want to sit down! I want someone to tell me what the fuck is going on!"
"...they took our magic, Sev," Lily blurts out, her voice cracking. "Mine and Bean's."
Severus freezes, unable to move. He can hear people moving around him, and he can hear Lily crying, and then Bean's crying, and there's someone screaming and yelling - and then there's medical staff, and then he's moving through the whitewashed corridors, his feet barely touching the floor, and he's half-carried, half-propelled by the tight grip of Tobias and of David, pushing him through the hospital.
He can feel his arms fighting back against them, although he doesn't know what he wants, or where he wants to be. He just wants the awful gut-churning screaming to stop, and it's not until he's outside in the fresh air, and the desperate shrieking is still ringing in his ears, and his throat feels strained and raw, that he suddenly realises that the yells are his own.
Chapter 117: Monster
Notes:
There's graphic violence in this chapter. Steel yourselves.
Chapter Text
Rose rocks Bean in her arms, soothing away his whimpers, and wishes she could do the same for her own child, who is quietly sobbing into a handful of tissues. Eileen's a few metres away, having an intense but hushed conversation with an agitated nurse and even more disgruntled midwife, and to Rose's amazement, Eileen somehow manages to smooth the situation over, and she returns to Lily's bedside.
"Stop this now," she says, brusquely, sitting on the bed and holding her hand out, demanding the used tissues.
It's a far cry from Rose's own style of consolation, and when Rose thinks back to when Severus would visit their house as a young teenager, his hidden bruises clearly causing him discomfort, she can see where his silent and secretive nature stemmed from.
There's no point crying if there's no sympathy to be found.
Rose can't help but be surprised when Lily acquiesces to the unfeeling and stern command, and - still sniffling - screws the tissues into a ball and places them on Eileen's outstretched palm. Eileen immediately tosses them into the bin, and then, her mouth pinched, she reaches for Lily's hands, boney fingers gripping her tightly, her thumbs pressing insistently into the backs of her palms.
"Where is he?" Lily asks, as Tobias and David walk in, their expressions unfathomable.
"Lad needs a bit o' space," Tobias says, his hands jammed into his pockets, "that's all."
"He's left me."
David looks across at his wife, and runs his fingers through his hair. "Lils, he hasn't left you," he says, "but this has been a shock for him. He's just gone for a walk."
Lily gives a strangled laugh. "A shock for him?"
Rose steps closer to her daughter. "Lily-"
"-and what did he think it's been like for me?" Her tears stream openly down her face. "Like getting a lovely, thoughtful present on Christmas morning?"
"Yer wun't want him back in 'ere." Tobias' voice is gruffer this time. "Not the way he was goin' on."
Eileen shoots a fierce look over her shoulder towards Tobias, and then she focuses back on Lily. "Enough," she says, her tone firmer, "what's done is done."
"Don't you dare tell me that this will be all right," Lily whispers, her voice breaking.
"I won't placate you," Eileen promises, tightening her grip on Lily's hands. "Severus told you what happened to me."
It sounds as if it should be a question, but Lily knows it isn't. "Not really," she says, "he just said you'd been sentenced to the hex and that you didn't deserve it."
"And the hex is how you lose your magic?" David interjects.
"It's not lost," Eileen tells him, "it's still within me. Walled in."
"But it's as if it's beating against the walls, desperate to escape," Lily adds.
David frowns. "It's there, but you can't use it?"
Eileen nods at David. "It's mostly inaccessible."
A strange look passes across Tobias' face, unnoticed by his wife who has her back to him, but clearly noticed by David and Rose and Lily.
"Was it definitely the same thing? Or has it changed since you had it?" Rose ventures, looking between the two witches. "After all, Severus is magical, and yet you said…" She trails off, but the room follows her gaze to the small child in her arms.
"I wasn't pregnant when they performed the deed," Eileen says, simply, her gaze not moving from Lily. "Severus came later. Much later."
"This hex. Was it afore yer met me?"
She turns then, Eileen, as if surprised at her husband's interruption, and when she speaks, her voice is softer - kinder. "After, Toby."
He doesn't uncross his thick arms, and his frown remains deep, but he tilts his jaw upwards. "When?"
"You remember when you went to the police station and waited all day for me?"
Tobias' nod is curt. "But they let yer go. Yer din't 'ave ter go back."
"It wasn't the Muggle police who were looking for me - and no matter what they said to you, they weren't interviewing me, Toby. They summoned me to the Ministry, I was charged, and they contained my magic."
"I din't…" He trails off, looking uncharacteristically unguarded. "I 'ad no fuckin' idea, Leen. I din't think… When they din't come back, when nothin' 'appened, I din't say owt, I din't ask."
"You were just relieved that it was something and nothing. Mistaken identity."
"I should've said summat. It in't that I din't…" He glances at David and Rose awkwardly, and then back at his wife. "Dunner think it din't bother me, lass."
"I always knew how you felt," she says, staring directly at him.
David takes an involuntary half-step backwards, his back meeting the wall, Severus' words rattling in his ears. "Eye contact is required for this sort of magic." He looks down at the floor, shooting occasional glances over towards Tobias and Eileen, hoping that they've not noticed his strange reaction - but they seem entirely engrossed in each other.
"An' that's it? They did this ter yer, an' then they never came back?"
David's mind races. What did Severus say last night? "And I didn't know mind reading was a family trait?" Hiding the truth with a deflection. He knows his mother can do this, even with her magic contained.
Eileen stares at Tobias intently, and then she looks away. "I wasn't important, Toby."
"Yer must've bin, Leen! They came after yer! We'd bin together months by then, an' yer din't whisper a word o' magic ter me! Not until soft lad made an appearance, an' yer 'and was forced!"
"It wasn't about me personally," she says, firmly. "I was a public deterrent - a message to anyone else with the same idea. As I said to Severus, if I'd gone back with them, if I'd played along, I'm sure they'd have lifted it by now."
There's a long silence, and it's obvious that they all want to ask the same question - what on earth could you have done that required a public punishment as a deterrent? - but none of them, not even the notoriously blunt Tobias, dares voice it.
Instead, it's David who speaks. "Why did you stay here? If they would've given you your magic back?"
Her laugh is sharp, and then she looks at David, a twisted smile on her face. "Because we all do senseless things when we are in love."
Severus lands softly on the gravel and glances up at the imposing Manor. Ordinarily, he'd feel self-conscious about the idea of turning up in his very Muggle clothing in the midst of the grand Malfoy grounds, but today, he doesn't care about his incongruous appearance.
He creeps across the path, trying to keep his footsteps as silent as possible, hoping that the peacocks don't react and give his arrival away. He wonders whether anything else will clue Lucius or Narcissa into his arrival - whether he'll set off any spells, or if the house elves somehow monitor the paths.
As he approaches the front of the Manor, he hears a tell-tale crack of Apparition behind him and he instantly dives behind a carefully shaped, ornamental hedge. Severus has never shared Lucius' love for topiary - although he's always suspected Lucius' appreciation of grand sculptures has been due to his ostentatious nature, as opposed to having green fingers.
Severus is grateful for the large fan of branches, clearly meant to emulate a proud plumage of one of Lucius' many peacocks, which easily hides him from view. He listens carefully - there's more than one visitor, and their footsteps crunch loudly across the gravel.
Unlike his silent approach, their actions cause a house elf to appear at the front steps, and as they walk towards the entrance, he can see them clearly: Rosier, Mulciber, and Avery.
What do they want with Malf? Are they working with him? For him?
Severus creeps around the styled bush, crouching down, his wand drawn, determined not to be spotted.
You should get out of here whilst you still can, his inner voice murmurs, before anyone sees you, especially like this - dressed in Muggle attire.
They exchange a word or two with the house elf, who looks argumentative - but then Rosier and Mulciber pull out their wands, and the elf's demeanour shifts. Avery seems discomfited by the scene, and stares out across the grounds, as if entirely mesmerised by the muster of peacocks on the lawn.
You can't leave. You came here for answers. He thinks back to the letter that he read over and over and over. Malf didn't mention anything about her losing her magic - about her suffering the hex.
He crouches lower, the knee of his jeans brushing the manicured lawn, his eyes fixed on Avery, checking that he hasn't spotted him.
So maybe he doesn't know, his inner voice reasons. Maybe he's in danger. What if this motley crew came for you first, and now they're looking for Malf?
He stares up at the house, where the elf has finally stood to one side, and all three wizards march in, the door slamming firmly behind them.
Or maybe, whispers a dark voice in his ear, maybe Malf orchestrated all of this. Maybe you should fuck him up.
"He wouldn't," he murmurs under his breath, tossing his head, as if trying to shake the thought away, "this isn't Malf. I know it isn't."
But it was Rosier, the dark voice whispers again, and it was Mulciber and it was Avery. And here they all are.
His wand twitches in his hand.
This is fate.
Severus gets to his feet, brushing grass from his jeans, and runs towards the house - his footsteps as light as ever - and he presses himself into the shadows beneath the eaves.
Someone needs to pay.
With his back to the brickwork, he takes a flurry of sideways steps, heading towards the rear of the building.
You need to make someone sorry.
"Severus told me that they'd brought it back recently as a punishment."
Lily nods. "The hex was outlawed, but the Ministry…" She swallows hard. "It's changed. It's not like when we first went to Hogwarts - they brought in all of these rules, they stopped me from working, they force everyone to carry papers, they-"
"-it sounds exactly the same to me," Eileen murmurs.
"They crossed his father out," Lily says, her tone almost apologetic. "On his arrest papers."
"Not enough magic." Eileen exhales loudly, and the look on her face shows that she's wishing she was holding a cigarette instead of her daughter-in-law's hands. "So any Muggleborn arrested can't list their parents."
"Which means they must've stolen their magic," Lily nods, tears filling her eyes again.
"For which the punishment is banishment," Eileen finishes.
"And that's what this is?" Rose asks, still cuddling Bean. "They've banished Lily because of us?"
Eileen shakes her head. "Not for being a Muggleborn. They didn't punish Lily, remember? They punished Severus."
"But you're a witch…" Rose trails off. "Unless, because they banished you it doesn't count and-"
"-no," Eileen interrupts, "I am still a witch, and so is your daughter."
"He did summat."
"He's been accused of a few things," David says, glancing at Tobias, "he told me all about it last night."
"Sev did?" Lily looks astonished that Severus would choose to confide in her father.
"He was worried about leaving you and the baby whilst he went to Azkaban-"
"-he isn't going to Azkaban," she says, urgently. "This was his punishment - the removal of his magic." She looks astonished. "Sev thinks he's going to Azkaban? Why didn't he say anything to me when he was here?"
They all look at each other, not one of them daring to point out that she hadn't chosen to confide in him about losing her magic either.
"...lad likes ter be stoic," Tobias says, suddenly. "Takes pride in takin' 'is punishment like a man."
Lily looks sick. "Where did he go?" When Tobias doesn't answer, she turns to David. "Daddy?"
David glances back at Tobias, who shrugs awkwardly. "We don't know exactly, Lils, he-"
"-he's walking around thinking that we've got no magic and he's going to Azkaban!" Lily erupts.
"Lily," Rose says, her tone warning, one eye on the nursing staff, "calm down."
"No, Mummy," she says, horrified, "you don't know Severus like I do. We've got to find him, before he does something impulsive."
Severus pauses as he appraises the hatch door, checking it with a careful waft of his hand - and unsurprisingly, an invisible force pulses back towards him. He twists his wand in his hand, mulling over which spell to use, and then he casts in a quick flurry, sending one inventive charm after another, trying to circumvent the longstanding protections on the door.
"Lil would have this down in seconds," he murmurs - and then reality hits him, and it feels as if he's plunged his face into water, mouth wide open, and inhaled deeply, water filling his throat, stopping him from breathing.
She can't, not now, the dark voice hisses in his ear, she'll never ever ever be able to do this again, and the men in this building are the ones responsible.
The thought causes him to focus, and he casts more furiously, picking the threads of the spells apart, and this time, with the white hot heat of anger on his side, he breaks through, shredding the old spells as if they're little more than decorative paper chains.
"Should've renewed those at least once this century, Malf," he smirks, and then he clamps his wand between his teeth as he crouches down to inspect the door. He slides his fingers along the wood, and with a flick to the latch, he pulls the creaking hatch door upwards.
He pauses, the door open less than four inches, and he casts a lubrication spell at the ancient hinges. He lowers the door an inch, and this time, it is quiet, with no whimper of protest. Severus grins around his mouthful of wand, and then pulls the door fully open. He stands for a moment, peering at the wooden ladder down the side of the hatch, counting seven steps before it disappears completely into the darkness.
He walks around the edge of the door, and then removes his wand from his mouth, and points it downwards. "Lumos," he mutters, checking over his shoulder that nobody has crept up behind him whilst he's been working on the door, and then he stares down into the newly lit cellar. He can't see much more - eleven or twelve steps instead of seven - but he's certain this leads into a benign area of the Manor, such as the wine cellar.
He clamps his still-lit wand back into his mouth, and starts to climb down. He pauses at the third step, and reaches up, pulling the cellar door back over his head, closing it tightly above him. He pauses, thinking, and then he casts a quick protective spell against it - nothing that would stop him from bursting through if he needed to escape in a hurry, but a simple spell which would dissuade any potential intruder.
When he reaches the bottom, he takes his wand out of his mouth, and holds it overhead, lighting up the dull cellar. There are seemingly unending rows of wine bottles, and he wipes his hand over one of the dust covered labels, revealing a date from several centuries earlier.
He creeps slowly through the cellar, fighting the urge to sneeze, inching his way across the floor, and trying to map the Manor above his head. He walks at least half of the length of the house, and then he spies a stone staircase leading up to a small door.
Severus quickly scales the steps, and then he shoots an experimental spell at the door, but it comes back blank - as if there was no magic layered on it at all.
Open it open it open it open it open it open it open it open it.
The voice in his head is getting louder, and more reckless, and he stands for a long moment, his hand clasping the metal handle, warring within himself whether to risk turning it, or whether to check more of the cellar before making a decision.
There might be a better option, a more sensible voice spirals into his brain, this could lead straight into Lucius' study - right into Rosier and Mulciber and Avery's laps.
Open it open it open it open it open it open it open it open it open it open it open it open it open it open it.
The voice grows ever louder, wailing in his ears - and Severus grips his wand tightly in his hand, holding it at eye level, preparing to barrel through the door, and then, just as he thinks he's worked up the courage to burst through, he lets go of the handle.
There's a scream of anguish inside him, whimpering and groaning as he retreats, but he ignores it, and he continues his exploration of the cellar.
Could've done it could've done it could've done it could've done it should've done it should've done it should've done it you could take them you could do it you could take them you could do it you could do them you could do them you could do them.
He springs lightly around the cellar, darting from foot to foot, checking behind racks and racks of alcohol, running his hand along the brickwork, checking for false doors.
You could do them you could do them cut them hurt them you could take them you could hurt them you could get them you could do it you can do it you can get them you can hurt them you can do it get them get them get them get them get them get them.
The voice is like a train in his mind, building a dark rhythm, dragging him along with its intensity, almost drugging him.
Get them get them get them get them get them get them get them get them get them get them get them.
A minute later, he spies a door in the corner which is wide open, and he can feel the excitement within him building as he spots it, dull light from the corridor spilling into the darkness, drawing him towards it.
He practically whoops for joy as he makes his way over - and although the voice inside him is excited, he's still careful, still creeping, his wand poised, but his heart beats wildly.
Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes go through go through go through go through go through here we go here we go here we go here we go no stopping us now no stopping no stopping don't stop don't stop don't stop hurry hurry hurry hurry hurry hurry hurry hurry hurt them hurt them hurt them hurt them yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes.
He peers around the open door, checking left and right, and then he looks down at the ground, wondering if there's any trace of whoever left the door open. He casts, but he gets nothing in response.
Doesn't matter doesn't matter doesn't matter choose one choose one choose one here we go here we go here we go you can take them you can take them you can take them hurt them hurt them hurt them hurt them make them pay make them pay make them pay go go go go go go go go go go go go.
He moves quickly, dashing down the stone corridor. It's cool and cramped, with barely enough room for two to pass, and his head is almost brushing the ceiling - and he knows that this is out of the ordinary for the grand rooms he's been accustomed to in the Manor, all with outrageously high ceilings, and even the smallest of the rooms being at least five times wider than the living room he'd shared with his parents back in Cokeworth.
Lavish - yet this corridor was anything but, and as Severus makes his way up the tight staircase, its stone steps heavily worn but still steep, he knows that he's in the traditional servant quarters. Was the Manor a Muggle Manor at one time? Or were house elves prevented from using magic, and forced into Muggle style servitude?
He shakes the thought from his head, as his fingers trail along the cool walls, and he knows that he's reached the ground floor. There's another set of steps leading upwards again - to the bedrooms - or he can break off and head back towards the centre of the Manor - Lucius' study.
Study study study study study study study study they'll be in the study in the study in the study all of them in the study in the study in the study you'll find them there let's get them there find them corner them find them corner them find them corner them get them get them get them get them get them, the monster screams - so Severus heeds its desperate call, his footsteps silent as he whips his way through the tight corridor.
This time, the doors are clearly marked - thin strips of dark wood with golden letters, carefully scribed in elaborate cursive, and when he reaches the study, he presses his ear against the wall - but he can't sense any movement on the other side. He wrangles with whether it's worth bursting in, but although it's tempting, he resists.
Too soon too soon too soon too soon too soon too soon try again try again try again try again think think think think think think think.
Severus races down the corridor again, checking the room names - but none of them are inspiring; library, hallway, entrance - and then it strikes him.
Too early for drinks in the study, but just the right time for a conversation in the parlour.
Clever clever clever clever clever got them now got them now got them now here we go here we go here we go hunt hunt hunt hunt hunt hunt hunt hunt yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes.
"Severus was angry, and what?" Lily gives her father a searching look. "You both just let him go?"
"I wouldn't say we let-"
"-lad jus' wants some answers, that's all." Tobias interrupts, jamming his hands back into his pockets. "Said he 'ad ter speak ter a few people."
"Oh, and I know what sort of speaking he's going-"
"-he's on'y gone ter talk."
Lily's eyes shutter closed in despair. "I'm never going to see him again."
"Lily," Rose says, her tone firm, "this is ridiculous. I'm sure Mr Snape is right, and Severus has just gone to speak-"
"-and what do you imagine he'll say if he meets one of those wizards who came to our house?" Lily opens her eyes, staring straight at her mother. "Do you think he'll talk nicely to them, or do you think he'll lose his temper?"
"Lily, if he thinks he's going to prison, he won't have gone looking for trouble-"
"-you don't know him like I do," Lily warns darkly, and her eyes close again, determined to evade the confused expression on her mother's face, "if he thinks he's going to prison anyway, he might think he's justified in doing something to warrant it."
"I'm sure he won't-"
"-and even if he doesn't hurt anyone," Lily continues, her intonation dull, and her eyes still firmly shut, "even if he just uses his wand and someone sees him, they'll arrest him again. They'll think he's circumvented the hex and that'll mark him as such a dangerous criminal, he really will be thrown in Azkaban."
Severus presses his ear against the wall, and this time he can hear a rumble of deep voices. He can't pick them out, but there's more than four men speaking, and his nostrils flare.
Who else is here?
He wonders if Abraxas has been paraded before the guests, but then he hears a sudden shriek - Draco - and then two high pitched voices - Cissy - and then there's a noise, a sound of breakage, and then a sinister laugh, and he knows exactly who is stood on the other side of the wall - Bellatrix.
Severus takes a step back, ignoring the howling from the monster clawing within him, desperate for him to throw caution to the wind, desperate for him to unleash.
If Bellatrix is here, then the other voices are Dolph and Bast.
He presses his ear against the wall, silently counting on his fingers as he works each voice out.
Cissy, Draco, Malf. Ave, Mulc, Ros. Bast, Bella, Dolph.
He's straining now, desperate to hear the content of what's being discussed - but despite the flurry of activity previously, all seems calm, and their voices are too low for him to hear specifics.
This isn't Malf under duress; this is a visit of like-minded individuals, the monster mutters, and you need to make them all pay.
Severus spins his wand in his hand, and cricks his neck.
He's been stringing you along, hisses the monster, you should've known better. As if Lucius Malfoy would've accepted a Muggleborn into his life, as if he would've helped her - he set her up and set you up and now he needs to pay. Make him pay make him pay make them pay make them pay make them pay.
This isn't Malf, whispers another voice, but it's quiet, you know this isn't Malf.
You don't know that you can't know that you can't know that you don't know that get him get him get him make him pay make him pay make him pay get them get them get them make them pay make them pay make them pay.
"Enough, Bella!" comes a sudden shriek, and it's so loud, he can hear each word clearly. "I don't care that you are unable to deliver your preferred brewer to the Dark Lord - some of us have lost a friend!"
Cissy.
It's enough to make the monster within him pause. Severus eyes the door carefully, and then his gaze fixed upon it, he gently eases it open - just a fraction. When he finally hears unmuffled voices, he wishes he'd done it much sooner.
"And that's rich coming from you," Avery says, suddenly, "when your husband was behind Snape being arrested-"
"-I assure you I was not." Lucius' voice is swift and clipped, and Severus recognises only too well the steel within the statement. "I have no interest in Severus being caught by the aurors - only last week I was offering him assistance with regards to his previous incarceration-"
"-frightfully unlucky that he keeps running into aurors," Rosier says, his tone almost lazy. "Perhaps someone keeps informing them of his whereabouts?"
Narcissa scoffs. "Severus is a family friend, and Lucius and I both resent the implication."
"No implication intended," Rosier smiles, holding his hands up.
"Were you unaware of the details of his latest arrest?" Lucius asks, his tone even.
"Me?" Rosier gives a shrug. "I cannot recall-"
"-it was in the papers," Lucius continues, "or have you stopped reading?"
"I still take the Prophet."
"But you missed the announcement of his arrest?" Lucius pauses. "Avery, you're a close friend - you knew what he'd been arrested for, didn't you?"
"All I knew was the Dark Lord dished out Cruciatus through his mark," Avery says, "and Moody let him suffer."
"Procuring without licence," Lucius says, putting them all out of their misery. "Does that ring any bells with anyone?"
There's a silence, until eventually Mulciber nods. "Yeah, I heard that."
"Good. Someone who pays attention," Lucius says, and even though he has his back to the door that Severus is peering through, Severus can sense the crocodile smile growing on his old friend's face. "So if you knew he'd been shafted by Borage and," he holds his hand up, "no, no, do not pretend, we all know he was taken for a ride by Borage - and then if you knew, Mulc, that he'd been arrested for procuring-"
"-I only just remembered-"
"-then why would you send him to meet Greyback?" Lucius' voice is furious now, his temper rising. "Why would you let him handle a deal, without a middleman?"
"Snape always deals without a middleman."
Bast.
"He most certainly does not," Lucius hisses.
"Not your deals, granted," Rodolphus smirks, "but he has been known to fly a little close to the sun."
"I don't believe you."
"I've dealt with him," Rabastan says. "He's brought Avery here along with him for protection before. Do you remember, Ave?"
There's a silence.
"No? When you were bragging about scrapping with Muggles?"
Lucius' fury switches to the youngest man in the room. "Do tell all, Avery."
Avery itches his finger beneath his collar. "Nothing to tell really. There was a bit of a fight. A laugh. That's all, Malf."
"Don't call me Malf," Lucius hisses, his voice icy. "My friends call me Malf - not those who lie about me, who lie about my wife, who lie about my friends-"
"-I didn't-"
"-you did," Mulciber chips in, helpfully.
"And did you tell Bast about the consequences of that Muggle scrap?"
There's another pause.
"No, he did not," Rabastan laughs, looking eager.
"Severus was arrested." Lucius waves his hand towards Avery. "Avery here, evaded the police and ran." He leans close to the seated man. "It is a familiar tale for us, is it not, Ave?"
"Don't call me Ave," Avery mutters - and a flurry of amusement echoes around the room at him petulantly mirroring Lucius' earlier request.
"You fucked him," Lucius says, and the monster inside Severus tilts its head, listening to his old friend keenly. "You deserted him at school, you deserted him amongst the Muggles, and now you've left him in the hands of the aurors."
"I was set up as well-"
"-you were not," Rosier argues.
"I didn't go willingly! You two forced us!"
"Forced you?" Rosier scoffs. "You came to us, remember? You were the one to find him, and you came running to us for help."
Avery, the monster whines in dismay. Avery found us.
"You told me to find him! Threatened me!"
Severus takes a step back, his nostrils flared, his wand brandished, desperate to burst through the door and challenge him.
"Why would we threaten you, Ave? You're our friend."
Get him get him get him get him get him get him get him get him get him, howls the monster.
Lucius steps forward again, looking thoughtful. "If Avery is the mastermind behind this," and when he turns, there's a darkly amused smile on his face, "then why would he put himself down Knockturn?" He points his wand at Rosier, and then at Mulciber. "Why wouldn't he send one of you, instead?" He smiles again. "Unless, I put it to you both, that Avery here wasn't behind this plan."
"Seniority," Mulciber answers, quickly. "Him," he says, pointing at Rosier, "me, Avery. That's all it was-"
"-it wasn't my idea-"
"-doesn't matter whose plan it was-"
"-I didn't want to go-"
"-you didn't say-"
"-I did! And so did Snape!"
Lucius holds up his hand, stopping the argument, his eyes fixed on Avery. "You found him and then what happened?"
"I told Ros and Mulc." Avery looks guilty. "They're old friends of ours - mine and Snape. Mulc roomed with us back at Hogwarts," he says, hastily, as if justifying his decision.
Lucius turns to look at his other two visitors. "And what did you want with Snape?"
Mulciber shrugs, deferring to Rosier, who mirrors his action. "He's a friend-"
"-no, he's my friend," Lucius snaps, "and maybe, in his duller, baser moments, he might occasionally associate with Avery," - and Avery looks as if he's unsure whether to be pleased or offended at being cited in such circumstances - "but he most certainly is not your friend."
"An old school friend," Mulciber says, quickly.
"A respected comrade," adds Rosier. "We saw an opportunity to line his pockets-"
"-to line your own pockets," Rabastan interrupts.
"-given his misfortune in losing his apprenticeship," Rosier finishes, as if Rabastan hadn't interrupted.
"Nonsense. He was ours," Rodolphus says, "we were to present him to the Dark Lord."
"He was ours! We found him," Mulciber argues, truculently.
"He's mine! He's my brewer!" Lucius yells, his eyes blazing with fury. "And now, thanks to your inept machinations-"
"-he's nobody's brewer," Bellatrix spits. "He's just a Muggle."
"You shouldn't gloat," sneers Rosier, looking over at Bellatrix.
"I am not gloating," Bellatrix says, brandishing her wand, "I wanted Snape amongst us-"
"-you've always disliked Snape, and it's your fault that the Dark Lord is in this mess in the first place-"
"-say that again," Rodolphus says, standing and whipping his wand out of his sleeve, his brother immediately flanking him.
"Gentlemen, please."
The men don't desist, but they watch warily as Narcissa winds her way through them, Draco held against her shoulder. She nestles her hand in Lucius', and then turns to face them.
"Throwing us out, Cissy? Is this too delicate a discussion for poor little Draco's ears?"
"Not at all," Narcissa says, smoothly, ignoring her sister's goading and smiling sweetly at her, "but the hour is late, and lunch is rapidly transforming into high tea."
"Cissy, you should've eaten without me," Lucius chides, his tone gentle.
"Where would my manners be?" she says, smiling up at him. She glances around. "I trust you will all join us. You must be famished."
The room falls silent, the distinct groups staring at each other, debating whether to agree.
"If you are to stay, I really must insist," Narcissa says, with a pinched smile, "it is already late."
"We're not hungry," Bellatrix snaps.
"Then Lucius will be free this evening, after Draco and I have retired," Narcissa continues, her voice firm. "You are welcome to stay and dine with us-"
"-and I have already said-"
"-do not act as if I am not offering you a choice, Bella," Narcissa snaps. "Either stay and eat with us all, or take your leave - but our meal has been prepared by the elves, and has been ready for the past half an hour. You were adequately warned of our intentions, and I am not prepared to wait any longer."
"Then-"
"-then we shall graciously accept your generous offer," Rodolphus says, suddenly. He steps forward, and he meets Lucius' eye - who immediately releases Narcissa's hand. Rodolphus takes it, and kisses the back of it. "Please, lead the way. I am certain your elves will have prepared a delightful spread, and I trust it will not trouble them unduly to accommodate unexpected guests."
"It's no trouble for family," Narcissa says, with a smile.
"Then we are delighted to join you, aren't we, Bella?"
"If we must."
"The invitation was to you all," Narcissa says, turning back to Rosier and Mulciber and Avery, who look unsure of themselves, "if you have business to continue to discuss-"
"-I've got nothing left to say," Rosier says, standing.
"Nor me."
"Then we shall bid you good afternoon," Narcissa says. "Bella?" She takes her sister by the hand, leading her out of the room with Rodolphus and Rabastan following behind.
Lucius, Mulciber and Rosier look at Avery, who remains seated, fiddling with the arm of the chair that he's sitting in.
"Come on, Ave, let's go."
"...I'm hungry."
"Fuck's sake." Rosier gives a disdainful laugh.
"You're welcome to join us, Avery," Lucius says, "Cissy was very clear in her invitation."
Severus recognises the tone of Lucius' voice, laced with intrigue, giving nothing away, certain that vital information is about to fall into his lap.
"That's what he's waiting for," Mulciber laughs, his voice low, "an invitation. Mark my words, Malf, Ave thinks if he comes in here and minds his ps and qs, the lovely Cissy-"
"-it's got nothing to do with Narcissa. I want to speak with Malfoy, actually," Avery argues, his face flushing an ugly shade of red.
"Then let us speak," Lucius says, a broad smile crossing his face. "Avery, do join the others in the dining room, and I shall be with you shortly."
Severus watches as Avery departs, the monster screaming in his head, desperate to force Severus to follow, desperate to capture Avery and make him pay - for finding him, for finding Lily, for ruining their lives - but he keeps his feet planted to the ground, watching the remaining men intently: Lucius, Rosier and Mulciber.
"I think this little one wants his mummy," Rose says, gently passing Bean back to her - and although Lily can sense the reluctance of her mother to let go of her grandchild, she's glad to have him back.
She uses his feeding as an excuse for her to keep hold of him - to keep hold of the only part of Severus she still has near - and even after Bean has been winded, she refuses to let him be passed around again.
The nurse warns them that visiting time is nearly over, and there's a flurry of questions - but none of them seem to matter, her parents checking that she's got the right clothes and whether she wants them to bring anything, or to buy anything.
In another universe, they'd be wonderful, caring, useful questions - but in this reality, with both hers and her son's magic contained, and her husband missing, it all feels trite and silly, as if all of the things she'd been fretting about were nonsensical.
She says little, but accepts a stiff hug from Eileen, and a warmer one from her mother, and then her father wraps his arms around her.
"We'll find him," he promises, and although she believes him - her father has never let her down - deep down, she knows it's a promise he shouldn't be making.
She wants to ask how, she wants to demand to know his plan - she wants to be part of tracing his footsteps, and she wants to know what he was thinking when he disappeared. She wants to know what frame of mind he was in, and any clues he might've left behind - whether he's gone to Lucius and Narcissa's, or whether he's gone to Hogwarts to beg Dumbledore for assistance, or whether he's gone to chew out Avery, or whether he's got something else up his sleeve.
But she doesn't say any of these things. Instead, she nods. "Thank you," she says, and then she cuddles Bean tightly to her, watching as the four adults traipse from the ward - and once they've gone, her gaze returns to their son, her eyes tracing across his tiny features.
Tobias is right, he does look like Severus, she thinks, and Lily can't help but wonder if Severus is going to return, and if he does, if things can ever be the same between them.
"No, really, Malf. I've got things to do," Mulciber says, dismissively. "Ros?"
"I'll follow you," Rosier says, nodding to him.
"You're..?" Mulciber raises his eyebrows, but when Rosier stands firm, Mulciber doesn't protest further - simply staring at his friend and then shrugging. "I'm going out, I'll see you tomorrow," he says. "Thank your wife and your elves for the hospitality, Malfoy."
"Of course."
Mulciber pauses, staring at Rosier expectantly, as if still hoping he'll change his mind - but he doesn't, so with one last hard look at Lucius, Mulciber stalks from the room.
"He was rather unhappy," Lucius observes. "It seemed as if he expected you to leave with him."
"He's rash," Rosier says, dismissively. "This stuff with Snape has upset him."
Severus presses himself closer to the door, peering through the crack, watching as Lucius schools his expression - he didn't fall for it.
"Indeed, such news has upset us all," Lucius says, courteously. "Are you certain I cannot convince you to dine with us?"
"I have some business to which I must attend," Rosier says, smoothly, "and I fear my absence will be noticed."
"Then, Mr Rosier," Lucius says, courteously, "what can I do for you?"
"...I need you to know that this wasn't intentional, Malf," Rosier says, firmly. "Avery came to us with Snape's whereabouts-"
"-how?"
"Pardon?"
Lucius doesn't smile. "How, Ros? How did Avery find Snape, given that the rest of the wizarding world was searching high and low for him without success? The Dark Lord wanted him. Dear Bast and Dolph wanted him. Darling Bella was keen, for once, to be seen with him-"
"-but not you, Malf."
"We weren't discussing me," Lucius says, calmly. "We were discussing Avery."
"I don't know."
"You don't know."
Rosier looks wrongfooted. "We asked, and he wouldn't tell us. He wanted to speak with the Dark Lord himself - wanted to make sure we weren't due to take all of the credit."
"But it was his plan, was it? To go down Knockturn and meet Greyback?" Lucius' eyes narrow. "You must think I am a fool, Evan."
"I stayed to clear the air with you, Malf-"
"-you stayed to save your own skin," Lucius says. "I know you were behind the movement to stop my supply-"
"-I wasn't-"
"-and now I find you trying to entrap my brewer."
Rosier shakes his head. "You've got it all wrong, Malf."
"Have I?"
"I will not pretend to you that the Dark Lord wasn't unhappy with the Malfoy galleons being diverted-"
"-my father controls the estate-"
"-as you have said, and," Rosier pauses, a pinched smile on his face, "we are all well aware that you have managed to talk him around, which is to your credit, and I admire you, Malf, I always have."
"I particularly dislike when people grovel."
Rosier gives an exasperated huff. "I admire you even though you're a difficult bastard," he grins. "I'll level with you, Malf - I couldn't let Snape fence the potion through Fletcher because Bast and Dolph have Fletcher on a string, and the credit would've gone to them."
Lucius nods. "Go on."
"Ave's always going on about how great he is at sneaking around, so we thought it was a good use of his skillset. I didn't expect him to fuck it up. I had no idea he'd dropped Snape in it before - I thought those two were as thick as thieves. Best friends. You've heard about them turning up at Discreet Knights hand-in-hand, haven't you?"
"And where do I sit within your plan, Evan?"
There's a pause, and it's a moment too long.
Get him, Malf, whoops the monster, get him get him get him hold him hold him hold him on the ropes on the ropes on the ropes finish him finish him finish him finish him.
"So I thought," Lucius says, his smile widening. "You were to take the credit-"
"-no, Malf-"
"-and Severus was to become your brewer-"
"-you've got it wrong-"
"-and that means you needed me out of the way, so what was the plan for me, Evan?" Lucius' voice is dark and dangerous, and it reminds Severus of those nights he spent in the Manor as a young teenager, with Lucius' wicked words whispering in the shell of his ear.
Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes, screams the monster, certain once more which side Lucius is truly on.
"You've got it wrong, there was no plan, I didn't intend-"
Trap him get him trap him get him trap him get him trap him get him no escape no escape no escape no mercy no apologies no mercy no apologies no mercy no escape no escape get him trap him get him trap him get him trap him get him get him get him.
"-you wanted to be me," Lucius muses, taking a step forward, "you wanted my brewer, and you wanted my position with the Dark Lord-"
Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes take him take him take him take him now now now now now now do it do it do it do it do it make him pay make him sorry make him pay make him sorry get him get him do it do it do it do it do it do it.
"-no, Malf, I swear-"
And then, Severus can't help himself - he can't contain the monster any longer, and as it's screaming in his head, he summons the remainder of his composure and slides his fingers through the gap, slowly tugging at the door.
As it swings back to reveal him, he raises his left forefinger to his lips, his dark eyes fixed on Lucius' grey ones - and he's grateful for Lucius' unparalleled composure.
"-this house, were you looking for this too, Evan?"
Now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now do it do it do it do it don't wait don't wait don't wait don't stop don't stop don't stop got him got him got him got him got him now now now now now now now now now.
Behind Rosier, Severus raises his wand, twisting his wrist, turning the wood until it is lined up directly with the base of Rosier's neck, where skin meets robe, and Severus squints down it, as if taking aim.
Got him got him got him got him got him got him got him got him got him got him got him got him got him got him got him got him got him got him got him got him got him got him.
"What else did you want of mine?"
Do him do him do him do him do him do him do him do him do him do him do him do him do him do him do him do him do him do him do him do him do him do him do him do him do him do him.
"Malf, this is-"
Cut him cut him cut him cut him cut him cut him cut him cut him cut him cut him cut him cut him cut him cut him cut him cut him cut him cut him cut him cut him cut him cut him cut him.
"-my wife, perhaps?"
Make him pay make him pay make him pay make him pay make him pay make him pay make him pay make him pay make him pay make him pay make him pay make him pay make him pay make him pay.
"No, I…" Rosier gasps, as Severus' wand brushes against his neck.
Now now now now now now now now nearly there nearly there nearly there nearly there don't stop don't stop don't stop don't stop NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT.
"You didn't take his wife," Severus murmurs, his voice cold, and then he casts viciously, just as Rosier turns - and the surprise which was etched on his face at hearing Severus' voice morphs into his shock as he takes in Severus' wand - and then he reaches up, and grabs at his neck with both hands, wrapping his fingers around the deep laceration.
Rosier falls forward onto his knees, gasping as he tries vainly to stop his blood from gushing from his neck, his hands slick with crimson. "Snape, no," he gurgles, moving his hand desperately, trying to grab at Severus' jeans - but Severus neatly dances away, evading him.
"How?" Rosier gasps. "Why?" Rosier peers helplessly up at him. His voice is thick, the blood still spilling, outwards and upwards, covering his fingers and his teeth and his robes.
Severus crouches down low, just out of reach. "You took my wife from me, and my child, and in doing so, you destroyed my life," he hisses, "so I am taking yours as recompense."
Rosier is dumbstruck, not understanding Severus' statement - and Severus recoils, standing, as if the monster within him is furious at the lack of acknowledgement, the lack of contrition, and then he swipes his wand again and again. He swipes with such fury, his shoulder burns and his hair whips from side to side, but he doesn't stop, his teeth set in a grimace, and his spell slicing mercilessly through Rosier's fingers clutching at his neck - until eventually, Rosier's head slumps forward.
It takes Severus a moment to cease, his arm still wildly swinging, uncertain as to whether Rosier's movement was an attempt to block further damage to his neck, or whether he's succumbed to his injuries - but then there's a quelling hand on his shoulder, and Lucius is staring at him, his gaze lingering on him, drinking him in, rich with lust and danger, and then Lucius embraces him, holding him close, long fingers gripping his hair, and Lucius releases a gleeful, sickening laugh down his ear.
Chapter 118: You were here
Chapter Text
The rug is saturated. A wild spray of scarlet ensured that no part of the room escaped unscathed - stray blood touching antique furniture, brushing expensive fabric, flecking flocked wallpaper.
Severus is entranced by the dark pool of maroon which surrounds the corpse. It's as if he's staring at the weather map, an island surrounded by sea - but instead of lush greens and fresh blues, he's staring at a waxen face, devoid of sentient expression, drained of life, slumped in a puddle of deepest burgundy.
Lucius' breath on Severus' neck is warm, his hands grappling in his hair - and then he roughly slides his fingers to the back of Severus' head, halting at the crown, twisting his fingers into a clump of hair at the root, and then firmly tugging Severus' gaze away from Rosier's crumpled form.
Pale eyes gleam as they meet black, and Lucius steps forward, his hold firm, and he shoves Severus against the wall, his hands cushioning Severus' head from the blow, his boots meeting skirting board, Severus' spine hitting solid brick, and before Severus can speak, Lucius roughly moves his mouth over his.
It's just as Severus remembers - hard and hot and powerful, familiar yet unfamiliar; so different to kissing Lily, even in the height of their passion. Lucius is determined and heated, his kiss unforgiving, mouth wide open, teeth biting, his tongue forceful and demanding.
Severus is pinned against the wall, Lucius' larger body firm and angular, square planes of muscle and bone, the woody scent of his aftershave flooding Severus' nostrils. Lucius lowers his right hand, cupping Severus' erection through the thick material of his jeans, rubbing him through the denim, his attack on Severus' mouth unrelenting.
Severus' heart is racing, adrenaline from the thrill of the chase and the elation of the kill still coursing through his veins, and he recognises this feeling; recognises the sordid excitement caused by the swirl of darkness, remembers the pulse of domination that spiralled through him when Sirius Black was pinned beneath him, desperately begging to be spared.
Lily stalls when the nurse enquires about bathing Bean. The early visiting hours were long over, so she knew there was no hope of Severus appearing before the next session, but it somehow felt wrong to go through the experience without him.
You know he'd want to be here for this.
Her mind wanders as she cradles Bean, and each possible scenario as to where Severus could be and what he might be doing is starker than the last. She adjusts the blankets around Bean's feet, and holds him closer, her thoughts spiralling back to her and Severus' lessons about the dark forces in their world at Hogwarts.
Potions had been their second favourite class, but whilst she was a natural talent at Charms, Severus' favoured topic had always been Defence Against the Dark Arts - and like Potions, it was a class that they'd shared together.
Mary rolled her eyes at the excited conversation behind her in the corridor, and Lily ducked her head to hide her smile from the group of boys who were encouraging each other to describe increasingly gruesome acts.
"I'm glad I'm not the only one who feels this way," Mary murmured, linking arms with her as they entered the classroom. "Why can't we have this class with the Hufflepuffs?"
"It'd be bad enough with Potter and Black anyway," Lily said, as they took their seats. She looked away as Mulciber passed by her desk, hissing a slur in her direction, Avery slapping him on the shoulder in congratulatory fashion. Following half a step behind was Severus, who stared straight ahead, refusing to look in her direction, his face impassive - but his fingers glanced the edge of her wooden desk in an unspoken apology, and she darted her hand out to meet his touch, appearing accidental to anyone who might happen to notice, but her actions were enough to cause his lips to quirk.
"They're not as bad as the Slytherins," Mary argued, her head buried in her bag as she hunted for her quill. "Stupid, yes, dangerous, no. I don't even know why they'd teach us half of this stuff - it's just encouraging them."
"They know it already," Lily said.
Mary's head jerked, her thick curls bouncing with the movement, looking behind her at the huddle of teenagers emblazoned in silver and green, and then back at Lily, her expression aghast.
"This class is for us," Lily continued, "so we know what's coming - so we can defend ourselves."
Severus had shown her nearly everything when she was examining his memories, laid himself bare before her - but he hadn't shown her this; hadn't shown her all of his actions in the bathroom when he'd washed the blood away following his attack on Black.
He'd hesitated, fearful of showing her his brutal attack on her housemate until she'd wheedled her way into gaining his trust, and afterwards it seemed somewhat egregious to retrace his steps solely to demonstrate how the dark had fuelled his desire - how he had celebrated his sickening triumph with orgasm after orgasm, before elation had finally subsided and given way to contentment and calm.
She was intelligent, Lily - keen and clever and astute - and she'd seen the way he'd reacted when she'd witnessed the scene with him, she'd seen how reliving the event had brought those heightened emotions to the fore, she'd encouraged him to indulge - embraced him, desired him, welcomed him.
It wasn't just you who was excited, he thinks. She wanted that side of you - she was excited by the monster that lies within you.
It wasn't just Black. It wasn't an isolated incident. He knows now that this is part of the routine, part of the ritual. He remembers scrubbing blood from his hands after he murdered the dog, rubbing his skin so violently it tore, a thin trickle of fresh blood pouring persistently from a laceration in his raw thumb, where nailbed meets flesh.
He'd hissed, and opened the tap further, water thundering a song into the metal sink, and he'd rinsed as much as he could down the plughole, but the cut wouldn't abate, and he couldn't bear to ignore the urge any longer - the desire screaming in the back of his mind, blocking out all rational thought.
He'd jammed his stinging thumb in his mouth, the coppery tang tasting odd on his tongue, and then he'd crept up the stairs as quickly as he could, eager to succumb to the desperate need channelling through his brain, desperate to feel the release washing over him, just as the water had washed away the stain of his sins. He'd ensconced himself in his sheets, hiding from the world, not caring as his own blood ran down his hand and around his rapidly moving wrist.
He breathes harder, his erection verging on painful, encased within his jeans and straining for release. Lucius' movements are repetitive, insistent, and Severus throws his head back, lost in the feeling - caught up in the darkness, his emotions spiralling.
There's a pressing within his chest - an odd burning sensation growing from the inside, but the rhythmic slide of Lucius' hand is countering it, mingling pain with pleasure, and he can't find the strength within himself to tell Lucius to stop.
"This is boring, sir," Mulciber grumbled, slatting his quill on his desk, "I thought we were going to learn about the Unforgivable Curses."
"We are learning about the Unforgivable Curses," Professor Thornsbirch had said, moving between the rows of desks, his robes swirling behind him as he passed their seats and approached the Slytherins.
"No," Mulciber countered, "we're learning about feelings."
"What did you expect," Black sneered, turning around in his chair, "a practical demonstration?"
"Looks like you've got a volunteer, sir," Potter laughed, "I suggest the Avada."
"Piss off, Potter," Avery said, crumpling up a piece of parchment and throwing it squarely at his head.
"Ooooooooh," chorused Black and Pettigrew.
"Enough!" Professor Thornsbirch flicked his wand, causing the lights to flash off and on, and the students heeded the warning, sitting straighter and falling silent. "Mr Mulciber, we are learning about compassion-"
Mulciber gave a loud snort, elbowing Severus in the ribs, and Avery sniggered along with him.
"-and consequences. It is all very well knowing how to cast these curses-"
"-but we don't know how, sir, because you're not telling us-"
"-but we are here to learn Defence Against the Dark Arts," Professor Thornsbirch said, emphatically. "You are not only defending against the curse if it is cast towards you-"
"-you can't defend against Avada, that's the whole point-"
"-you can evade it though-"
"-they do say that-"
"-my uncle did-"
"-he did not, you talk such shit, Ave-"
"-I swear-"
"Boys!" Professor Thornsbirch stood before them, his hands planted on the desk, and leaning threateningly forwards. "I am not prepared to instruct you in the usage of dark curses. I am encouraging you to consider the consequences of such actions. Unleashing these curses tarnishes your soul. In the worst circumstances, it tears it irreparably."
A hush fell across the classroom, until eventually, Severus raised his quill into the air.
"Yes, Snape?"
"Is that true, sir? Irreparable damage?" He flicked through his textbook eagerly, and she had to hide a smile at his obvious enthusiasm. "Merrythought says here that it can be restored-"
"-I know what the textbook says, Snape," Thornsbirch said, firmly, ignoring the murmur of laughter that came from the Gryffindor side of the room. "I believe it is unlikely that any witch or wizard driven to such darkness could ever truly find sufficient remorse within themselves to repair the damage such curses inflict." He turns, and points at a young wizard at the front of the room. "Yes, Lupin?"
"What about other sorts of killings, sir?" Lupin's eyes darted around the room as he asked his question, his head slightly bowed. "Not the curse, but…"
"Yeah, and does it matter if it's deliberate?" Black chipped in. "What if we were playing Quidditch, and I knocked Pete off his broom, and he fell to his death-"
"-oi! Why me?"
"-does that count? An accident? Does that stain your soul?"
"In this scenario, were you deliberately attempting to dislodge your friend from his broom?"
Black scratched the back of his neck. "No."
"Then no. It's merely an accident."
"What if it's a yes?" Potter interrupted. "What if the aim was to knock Pete from his broom-"
"-you're such gits, I'm good at flying!"
"-but it was only meant to be a scare? What then?"
Mary glanced at Lily, and then raised her hand. "That's manslaughter."
"Muggles," Mulciber hissed under his breath.
"Detention, Mulciber. See me at the end of the class." Thornsbirch paused between the desks, eyes focused on Black and Potter. "If the Ministry found you not guilty, would you still feel responsible for the death of your friend?"
Pettigrew looked at them eagerly, but neither of them answered, and Thornsbirch grinned. "Ethics are difficult."
"It's not difficult," Pettigrew argued, "I think you would feel bad if I died - if anyone died!"
"In that case, Mr Pettigrew, if you were the perpetrator instead of the imagined victim, I would think there would be a stain upon your soul."
Pettigrew scowled. "Dead in one scenario, broken soul in another," he muttered.
Avery frowned, and raised his hand. "So it's dependent on you feeling guilty, sir?" He turned to Mulciber and Severus, a dark smirk on his face. "If you don't feel bad about it, then there's no damage?"
"I think you underestimate your own emotions, Mr Avery."
Black leant back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. "What if it wasn't a friend? What if it was an enemy? Why would you feel bad then?" He shot a dark look over his shoulder towards Severus, who reflexively grabbed at his wand. "What if you didn't mean to kill them - just injure them - but you're not exactly sorry that fate took your idea in a better direction?"
Lupin raised his hand again. "Or what if you fired the weapon, but it wasn't your idea, sir?"
Thornsbirch rested against the desk, staring out at the eager faces, his hand stroking over his chin. "Good. How do you think soldiers in an army feel? Should they feel guilty for something that they're commanded to do?"
Lily paused before she slowly raised her hand. "Sir, there's a difference between the idea of 'should feel guilty' and them actually feeling guilty." Her statement is met by silence, and she looks around, suddenly uncomfortable. "I mean, the soldier is only following orders, so perhaps they shouldn't feel guilty - but that might not stop them from feeling responsible. They're not expected to be upset, but they are."
"So their soul is damaged because they care," Mary nodded.
"It's down to the individual," another voice adds, and Lily turned to smile at the voice on the other side of the room.
"One soldier might feel guilt, whilst another doesn't," Thornsbirch said, writing the words on the blackboard.
"But does that mean that one of them is wrong, sir?" Severus asked, his hand half raised again. "How can they both behave in the same way, but only one of them is punished for it? How is that fair?"
"Is it meant to be a punishment? The soul tearing?"
Severus shrugged. "I'm just saying - does the one who doesn't feel guilt evade the stain on their soul, or do they both have it?"
Lily nodded eagerly, twisting in her seat to look at her friend. "And if they both have it, does only one of them recognise it?"
"Spurring one of them on to do worse and worse things," Severus grinned, "because they think they're not tainted - because they can't feel it?"
"Great questions," Thornsbirch said, and pointed at the clock. "I expect to see them thoroughly explored in a three foot essay due on…" He trailed off, flicking through his diary, "...let's say the 23rd-"
"-there's an international Quidditch match that weekend, sir!"
"Very well," Thornsbirch smiled, "the 30th it is."
"Thank you, sir!"
"But be warned, if you hand it in on the 30th, I expect at least five feet of critical prose. The choice is yours."
"Sir!"
"Sir, come on, that's not fair, sir!"
"But, sir-"
"-dismissed, class," Thornsbirch said, turning away from them, "except you, Mulciber. Remain seated, I'll be with you in a moment to discuss how you may assist Mr Filch tomorrow evening."
Lucius presses his own erection against Severus' thigh, his hips moving in time with his hand, bringing both of them to the brink - and then Lucius' hand tugs at Severus' fly, pulling at the metal buttons, and Severus has a sudden flash of awareness.
He blocks Lucius, batting his hand away, and Lucius pauses, breathing heavily, resting his forehead on the wall over Severus' shoulder.
"...I can't," Severus says, pushing away from Lucius, taking two or three steps to the side, clenching the back of a chair, and sucking in deep breaths, as if he's just sprinted from one side of the Manor to the other.
"You can," Lucius drawls, "you were."
"I wasn't."
"It's exciting." Lucius steps closer to him, reaching for his hand, but Severus jerks it out of reach. "That's all this was. A celebration." There's a pause, both men staring at the dead body by their feet. "A fitting one, if you ask me."
Severus looks up, his gaze meeting Lucius', the slightest hint of a frown on his face.
"It was our good friend Rosier here who set us on these paths, was it not, Severus?"
He doesn't need to explain further; Severus knows exactly what he means - following the party in the Manor all those years earlier, it had been Rosier who had been the gleeful instigator of the rumours at Hogwarts, inadvertently empowering Black in his bullying, adding fuel to the situation which would later cause Severus to react so violently, ultimately prising him out of his friendships with Avery and Mulciber and Reggie, excommunicating him from the boys who would become the Dark Lord's devotees and hustling him down a path which saw him tumbling headfirst into a relationship with Lily.
"You are drawing attention from all of the wrong quarters, and you are making all of the wrong choices! There are consequences to these actions, doors which are being closed."
Until this moment, it hadn't occurred to Severus that he wasn't the intended target. He'd always been aware that Rosier was envious of Lucius, but he'd taken it personally, perceiving the attack to be aimed directly at him - just as Black and Potter and Lupin and Pettigrew had done so - taking aim at the younger, weaker, impoverished, Halfblood boy who grew up amongst the Muggles with a Muggle father.
"And that's what this is, is it?"
It was difficult to see it as anything else when he was the one continually confronted with wicked whispers of rumour and sneering laughter - having to hear his sexuality questioned, mocked, and derided, causing great amusement to his enemies, and making him realise that the so-called brothers in his house were little more than acquaintances, happy to see him shunned, happy, even, to join the pile-on, compounding his distress.
"This is a demonstration of your sincere heterosexuality, blood be damned?"
It dawns upon him now, as they both stare down at the young man's unmoving form that none of this had ever been about Severus, but was solely about hurting Lucius. He had just been collateral damage - nothing more than an implement in the machinations of another.
"Your name is to be sullied as your mother was before you? Is it in your genes, Severus - sleeping with Muggles, cavorting with those without magic?"
"...I love her, Malf."
Lucius laughs. "And what does that matter? I love Cissy."
"It's not the same," Severus hisses, running his hands over his face and through his hair, staring down at the dead body on the floor. "We're not the same as you."
"No? Not even a little bit?"
"Not at all."
The blood in the carpet is now so dark as to almost be black, and the effect of pallor mortis upon Rosier's body has rendered it almost white, and as Lucius joins Severus in staring upon the havoc he's wreaked, the background of the room appears to fade into grey, and Severus twists his lips into an ugly sneer, as if darkly amused by the irony of sudden onset monochromatism.
Lucius shakes his head. "Far be it for me to be the voice of dissent, but Severus, my friend, I rather think you are."
"At least they're not talking about beheadings today," Mary murmured as they queued up behind the Slytherin boys.
"Yeah," Lily said, half-heartedly, her attention focused on the boys. Whatever their topic of conversation, Severus seemed a little distressed, even though his jaw was tilted upwards in an explicit expression of defiance.
"Do you think-"
"Shh," Lily whispered, shaking her head, and as the class started to enter the room, she took the opportunity to walk as closely as possible to the Slytherin group, listening in.
"That's not the point, Snape! He said three feet if you handed it in today, or five feet if you handed in next week," Mulciber complained, watching as Severus clutched a thick bundle of parchment to his chest. "You're such a suck up."
"It was interesting, Mulc!"
"Yeah," Mulciber shook his head as he sank into his chair, "course it was." He leant over towards Severus, but he didn't lower his voice, and his speech was still audible from Lily's desk. "What's the verdict then?"
"I'm not doing your homework for you."
Mulciber grinned. "I'm only asking whether it would irreparably stain your soul if you finished off one of those blood traitors you're always scrapping with?" Mulciber stared across the room, his eyes settling on Black, and Lily couldn't help but follow his gaze towards her housemate. "So?" Mulciber continued. "Did you work out if there was a loophole for enemies?"
He wants a cigarette and a wank, and not necessarily in that order - but the interlude with Lucius has distracted him, thrown him off-course. He steps closer to Rosier, and as he stoops to lift him, Lucius intervenes.
"What are you doing?"
"You can't leave him here. Not like this."
There's a silence.
"Lucius, are you fucking insane?" Severus throws his arms up in the air. "He's dead!"
"I am well aware that you murdered a man in cold blood in my house," Lucius smiles, "but moving the body will cause the aurors to suspect foul play-"
"-you're not leaving him here for the aurors to inspect!" Severus lunges towards the body again, but Lucius is faster and bigger and stronger, and heaves him away. "Fuck! Get off me! Fuck, what's wrong with you?"
"Calm yourself," Lucius murmurs, his voice low, "and think."
Severus stills, taking Lucius' lead, but watching him warily, nostrils flaring. "We leave him here?"
"Yes."
"And then?"
Lucius smiles broadly. "When the aurors are called, they will determine that there was merely Rosier and the killer present."
"Me?"
"Were you here this evening?" Lucius flashes that crocodile leer that Severus knows so well in his direction. "No, I rather think you were not on the guest list."
Severus swallows tightly. "And what of you? You were here."
Lucius smiles, looking at the grandfather clock against the opposite wall. "If we hasten, I think we will both find that I wasn't."
Chapter 119: Farewell
Notes:
Hands up, I have a quick confession to make. I took out a thread from the previous chapter when I posted it, and as one of my loyal commentators (thank you!) pointed out, it affected the viewpoint of the Hogwarts memory in the chapter.
I toyed with it for a while, and I decided it needed fixing, so I made an edit to the last chapter last week. If you've not read it since it was posted, it's worth casting your eye down it. The change is small - it basically inserts Lily so she has ownership of the memory, and there's a minor tinkering with the memory so it's clearly from her POV (which it wasn't in the original draft).
Many apologies - I try not to make major edits once I've posted, but it was a mistake that I felt was going to haunt me if I didn't rectify it!
Chapter Text
When the nurse asks for a second time, Lily doesn't feel as if it's appropriate to reject her again.
If I knew Severus was definitely coming to visit tonight, I'd ask her to wait until he arrived, and then we could bath Bean together, but how can I ask her to hold off when I don't know when he's coming back - or if he's coming back at all?
Lily reluctantly passes Bean to the nurse, and then eases herself out of her bed. Lily's relieved to note that it's finally easier to move around - even if she feels as if she's been in a furious wand fight with every step that she takes.
Except there won't be any wand fights. Not now. Not for you. Not for an ex-witch.
The thought causes her heart to clench and she visibly winces, causing the nurse to lay a sympathetic hand on her arm.
But that's what Severus might be doing. Right now. Locked in a dangerous battle with one - or all - of those awful men, with fury fuelling him, and nothing holding him back. No reason to come home - not now that his wife and child are non-magical.
She tries to shake the thought away, and listens intently as the nurse guides her through the process of washing their baby. Lily gently cleans Bean's face with a dampened piece of cotton wool, marvelling at the softness of his skin, carefully wiping between each and every skin fold, and gently brushing wet fingers through the few wisps of dark hair on his head.
Just like his Daddy.
Severus trails his fingers greedily over one of the dark artefacts - a mask contorted into a screaming face - as he watches Lucius sorting through an ornately decorated box.
"Aha!"
The exclamation causes him to leave the mask, and he steps closer to Lucius, his mouth opening as he realises what his friend is holding. "Is… Is that what I think it is?"
Lucius doesn't answer but simply grins, returning the rest of his treasures to the box, and locking it away once more. He casts with his hand quickly, returning the cellar to its previous state - appearing as if it's an endless store for alcohol, and nothing more nefarious.
"I thought you had a lot of plonk," Severus mutters, feeling a little ashamed that he hadn't noticed the dark spellwork concealing even darker objects, disguised by duplicated bottles of wine.
"I do," Lucius smiles, "which is what makes this such a good hiding place. Who can tell the difference between three thousand bottles and four?"
Severus looks unimpressed. "Still. I can't believe I walked straight past this."
"It is rather the point, old boy," Lucius laughs, shooting a grin over his shoulder. "I'm pleased you didn't pick up on it. If you didn't notice, then if I happen to be raided, there's a high chance that the aurors won't either."
"I wouldn't bet on it," Severus says, "I was a little distracted when I came by. Aurors performing a raid will be more focused." He pauses, and points at the object dangling from Lucius' fingers. "More to the point, I thought the Ministry had outlawed those?"
"They have."
Severus frowns. "And what? You applied?" He scoffs. "Malf, the application form takes about a week to fill in, let alone-"
"-why do you think I keep it hidden?"
"...no licence?"
"Severus, Severus," Lucius says, unable to keep the glee from his voice, "why ever would I need one?" He smoothly unlocks the clasp of the necklace. "After all, this isn't one of theirs."
"It's a knock-off?"
"I detest such terminology. This is not a knock-off, as you so crudely put it. I assure you, this is of finest quality and of exemplary workmanship."
Severus sighs. "What's wrong with it?"
"There's nothing wrong with it, per se-"
"-Malf, what's wrong with it?"
"It doesn't permit the full five hours, but that's still ample time-"
"-how long?" Severus stares at him earnestly, wishing that he was wearing his watch. "How long have we got? Bloody hell, Malf, what were you doing wasting time-"
"-I was savouring the moment of your triumph," Lucius murmurs, his voice deep and low. "Celebrating as my protégé became of age."
"I'm hardly your protégé," Severus says, shrugging uncomfortably. "And that was decidedly not my finest hour."
"Regret it already?"
Severus straightens, staring directly into Lucius' pale grey eyes, and although he knows that not everyone will react in a similar manner to his explosion of violence, he can't bring himself to suggest he was at fault. "No. I don't regret it. Not in the slightest."
"Shhhhh," she says, soothingly, jostling Bean in her arms, "don't whimper, little one, Mummy's here."
He twists and turns his small face in her arms, wriggling against her, and she looks at the nurse helplessly.
"Wind?" the nurse guesses, and she passes Lily a muslin cloth from Lily's bag. "Pat him against your shoulder. He'll find it soothing either way." The nurse watches as Lily adjusts Bean, alternating between soft pats and running her hand in circles. "You had a crowd here earlier."
"My parents and the in-laws."
"It looked exhausting," the nurse says, carefully. "Are they all returning later?"
"No."
"Just Dad?"
There's a long pause, and Lily briefly closes her eyes, not wanting to see the nurse's pitying look. "My husband… He works long hours."
"Oh." It's sympathetic, her tone, and Lily opens her eyes again, meeting the nurse's gaze. The nurse offers her a small smile. "I'm sure Dad'll get here as soon as he can. I haven't had much chance to talk to him, but I've seen him walking around here as pleased as punch."
That's because he was. Before he knew his son was a Squib.
It's almost hypnotic, the way the necklace lolls from its chain, swinging back and forth between Lucius' fingers.
"I don't see what the problem is. You've already done it once."
"That was different," Severus argues, a tightness twisting in his chest. "Personal."
"This is personal," Lucius says, not lifting his eyes from the chain, "for me."
"If you've got a time turner, then why don't you do it?" Severus takes a step forward, debating whether to reach its hand out and grab at the chain, stopping its momentum, breaking its spell. "You could be in two places at once."
"I know I could," Lucius says, looking irritated. "This has never been about whether I had the stomach for murder. This has always been about not being caught. If I am found responsible of patricide then the estate-"
"-you won't lose the estate! You said yourself, Mulciber will go down for murdering Ros-"
"-and if they check my wand?" Lucius shakes his head. "With two suspicious deaths in one afternoon, I rather suspect that will be one of the first things the aurors choose to do." He stares keenly at Severus. "But your wand…"
There's an elongated pause.
"...I'm sorry, Malf," Severus says, carefully, "it's not that I don't want to help-"
"-you still owe me for those papers."
There's another long pause.
"I see," Lucius continues, "you are not a man of your word, it seems, Severus."
Severus gives a dark laugh. "Don't be so ridiculous. You were the one who promised Lily that confessing was the safest way-"
"-you disagree with my actions when your wife requested my assistance in utmost distress?"
"Yes, I fucking disagree!" Severus hisses. "Thanks to you, my wife is barely more than a Muggle."
"I don't see how my advice-"
"-so neither she nor I have any need for those blasted papers. The deal's off, and no matter how much you beg me, I am not murdering your filthy father!"
Severus can feel the fury building in him again, and he can almost hear Lily's voice in his ear, loud and clear, warning him that if he murdered once for Lucius, it would be a task requested of him over and over.
How wise you are, love. How well you understand him.
Lucius flicks his wrist, grabbing the time turner in the palm of his hand, and secreting it in the pocket of his robes. It's almost as if he's goading Severus - daring him to speak, daring him to wail or whine.
"...I don't need you to save me," Severus breathes, eventually. "You think that's what you're offering me."
"That is exactly what I am offering. You have just murdered a man in cold blood."
"It matters not. As you well know, I am already destined for Azkaban."
Lucius frowns, his eyebrows knitting together. "Really, Severus, I did not have you pegged for such a fool."
Severus flinches, and Lucius laughs as he spies Severus' wand falling into his hand.
"...you are not going to Azkaban, you deliriously stupid boy," he laughs, slapping his hands onto Severus' cheeks, and ignoring Severus' jerk away, holding him firmly before him. "If I am correctly tying the threads of this story together, from both the report in the Prophet and your little outburst, then she had her magic bound as your punishment. That's it. There's no trial, no sentence, no Azkaban. You, Severus, are away, unpunished, unrestrained, entirely scot free."
Time is moving so slowly, it feels as if the minute hand might as well be running backwards. Lily nurses Bean, her finger gently stroking his cheek as he feeds.
We waited so long to meet you, she thinks. So many nights lying together, his hands on my stomach, feeling for every wriggle and kick. And now you're finally here, Daddy's nowhere to be seen.
Severus sits, his head bowed, his knee jiggling with anxiety.
"I am merely suggesting you consider my proposal," Lucius drawls, watching him carefully, as if he's a frightened animal, who might disappear at the slightest sudden movement. "One small action, and I promise that I can keep you safe."
"I'm not leaving her."
"It wouldn't be safe for her here," Lucius says, calmly, "if she has no magic."
"It wouldn't be safe for me either," Severus argues, lifting his head, "if I'm meant to be without magic. If anyone catches me doing just one spell-"
"-nobody will catch you-"
"-nobody? It only takes one person stumbling across me-"
"-the Manor is large, Severus, we can hide you-"
"And you think that Bella won't go poking around? Bast? Dolph?" Severus voice gets higher as he lists the names off.
"You are being ridiculous. They are family, they would not-"
"-then a Ministry raid! The Dark Lord himself, perhaps?"
"Severus-"
"-no, Malf! No! I have a wife and a child to protect."
Lucius falls silent, looking conflicted. "...a child?"
Severus stares at him intensely. "Lily gave birth. I have a son, Malf."
"Forgive me," Lucius says, inhaling deeply, "from the way you spoke to Rosier, I believed the worst had happened. I thought…" He gives a sharp nod. "It matters not. Cissy will be pleased."
"She won't," Severus says, twisting his head away from Lucius so he can't see the distress on his face. "He's not… He's not like us."
"Not like… You mean to say he's a Squib?" Lucius looks briefly dumbfounded, and then his face darkens. "When they took Lily's magic…" He exhales loudly. "Severus, I'm sor-"
"-and if they both don't have magic, they need me to look after them," Severus interrupts, decisively, still not looking in Lucius' direction. He stands, and straightens his shoulders. "I don't want to listen to these offers of yours. I don't owe you. I don't owe anyone anything."
"Severus, don't be hasty, we can-"
"-there is no we, Malf. Not here." He meets Lucius' gaze. "I didn't mean to bring this trouble to your door, and if you get that time turner back out, I'll help you to cover it up."
"And if I don't?"
Severus shrugs. "Then I disappear into the Muggle world and leave you to explain yourself to the auror department. You said it yourself - I wasn't seen by anyone."
Lucius holds his hands upright. "Forgive me, I shouldn't have asked."
Severus squares up to Lucius, his dark eyes cold. "No, you shouldn't - and given that as far as the Ministry is concerned, I have just had my magic forcibly taken from me, and Mulciber will attest to leaving Rosier in your company, I strongly suggest that it's in your best interests to get on with it."
"They keep telling me to sleep when you do, Bean," Lily whispers, but she knows that sleep is a folly. She won't rest until visiting time has been and gone - until she knows whether Severus is going to stride around the corner, scuffs on his boots and paint flecks on his jeans, a smile on his face almost hidden by his too-long hair.
She closes her eyes, and she can almost imagine him with them - almost feel him behind her, his arms around her waist, drawing her head to rest on his shoulder, his lips touching in her hair as he supports her holding their son.
Lily snaps her her eyes open, staring at the clock, willing the hours to pass.
Don't let me down, Sev. Please, don't let us down.
"You're an utter shit," Lucius mutters, although his complaint is half-hearted. "I swear, Severus, if Cissy wasn't so fond of you, I would've-"
"-let's not argue," Severus interrupts. "Not now. Don't let it end like this."
"But what will you do?" Lucius is uncomfortably close, the tip of his nose almost touching Severus'. "Be a Muggle?" The word drips with disdain as it leaves his lips.
"...so it seems," Severus says, his smile faltering. "Her parents always thought she'd stay near to them." He shrugs. "They get their wish. I dare say my mam doesn't mind the idea either, although you'd never catch her saying so."
"But what will you do?" Lucius presses. "For money."
"My da made a career out of sitting on the dole-"
"-Severus, really-"
"-but," and Severus meets Lucius' gaze, "I wondered if we could do a deal."
"A deal? With me?" Lucius scoffs. "I've been on the wrong side of your deals before. About ten minutes ago, in fact!"
Severus laughs, and looks down before looking back up. "You've lost your brewer."
"Don't remind me."
"At Hogwarts, in the rooms that Sluggy gave me and Lil…"
"The rooms I gave you," Lucius corrects.
"...I have a large collection of potions."
Lucius takes in a sharp breath. "...street potions?"
Severus nods. "All the usual - and more. Nothing that'll cause the aurors to look twice at you - nothing like Wolfsbane, but enough to keep you solvent whilst you find a new brewer." Severus gives Lucius a critical look. "Assuming you aren't serious about fitting Arisean with new limbs. Her potions are atrocious, Malf."
Lucius smirks. "Not at all. Hogwarts, eh? Did you leave anything else there?"
"I don't think so. Filch packed our stuff," Severus says, "when I was dismissed, but the potions…" He shifts uncomfortably. "I had them in the flat, hidden by a series of charms. I did the same when I got to Hogwarts. Filch is the one person who'd be none-the-wiser - he wouldn't have been able to sense them."
"And what exactly do you mean by street potions? All the usual? Uppers? Downers? Sleeping draughts? Pain relief?"
"Everything you've ever told me to brew, and a few others. Experiments. All correctly labelled." Severus pauses, and gives a small laugh. "All except Rain Away. I was told to destroy the lot by my money man."
"My my, he sounds like a tempestuous fellow," Lucius grins. "And this is your offer? You'll show me how to reveal them?"
"Yes," Severus says, sliding his wand into his hand, "but I want something in return."
"Naturally."
Severus reaches in his pocket for his wallet, and pulls out his wizarding bank card. "You can have my vault."
"I thought we were negotiating payment-"
"-I want the contents," Severus says, "but I can't get into it. I've been expelled, remember?"
Lucius gives a sharp nod.
"Double it. The contents twice over. Payment for the potions."
Lucius stares at him. "Double?"
"Forget it then," Severus says, sliding his card back into his pocket.
"Severus," Lucius laughs, reaching out and pulling him into a hug. "Still so fiery. That wasn't a no."
"No?"
"Double it is," Lucius agrees, quietly certain that Severus' stock will be far more valuable than the set price, aware that the few brewers still operating will be in demand - not least with the Dark Lord. Lucius loops the necklace around two of them, his fingers fumbling with the clasp. "Any last requests whilst I'm feeling sentimental and benevolent?"
"Go back as far as it will let you."
"There's no need for that. It may not be the Ministry's, but it is precise. I can take us to when you arrive-"
"-please," Severus begs, looking at his old friend. "I want to say farewell to Cissy. She deserves that much. To hear from me about Lily's fate and…" He swallows hard. "About my son."
Lucius pauses, looking briefly away - and then, to his surprise, Severus is the first to move, pulling him into a tight hug.
Lucius closes his eyes, gripping his old friend closely, not quite believing the turn that the evening has taken. "Then I am to understand that this is farewell?"
"For now."
"But not forever?"
"I'm too much trouble to avoid you forever," Severus grins.
Lucius laughs, holding him even more tightly. "Cissy will be glad to see you, but don't lose track of time talking to her."
"I won't."
"Cissy must behave exactly as she has done already this afternoon."
"I know."
"This isn't a game, Severus. Terrible things happen to wizards who meddle with time."
"I know."
"You must not see yourself."
"I won't." There's a pause. "Malf…"
"Yes?"
"Thanks."
Lucius frowns. "For what? I didn't do anything."
"You did. You believed in me."
Lucius hugs him closer, and then he steps back, adjusting the golden chain of the time turner. "Give the Muggles hell, Severus," he murmurs, one hand resting on Severus' cheek, and then he flicks the hourglass, and the earth tumbles from beneath their feet.
Lily's been staring at the entrance to the ward for the past few hours - since before visiting time started, and each time she hears footsteps in the corridor, her heart beats a little faster - only for her hopes to be dashed as the figure finally comes into view.
Not Severus.
Not Severus.
Not Severus.
It doesn't matter if she counts to twenty, or holds her breath, or stares at the floor or stares at the ceiling. It doesn't matter how many promises she makes to herself, it's never the outcome she's looking for.
Not Severus.
Not Severus.
Never Severus.
Severus has always admired Narcissa's composure and grace, and as his tale spills from his lips, he can't help but be impressed by her willingness to listen. She's the opposite of Lucius, who is too eager to speak, keen to disrupt and challenge. Instead, she appears content to let him speak without interruption, and her eyes are full of warmth and compassion instead of suspicion.
"And Lucius? What did he say?"
Severus shrugs, his movement tight. "I've left him the remains of my business." He gives a short smile. "His business."
"I didn't mean that."
"I know." Severus takes a deep breath. "I've left him a mess."
"He's dealt with worse."
"Within the Manor?"
This time, it's Narcissa's turn to smile tightly. "He'll cope." There's a pause. "And he's happy with this, is he?"
"There's nothing to be happy about. There's no choice for me, Cissy."
"No?"
Severus glances over her head, not wanting to make eye contact. "I won't leave them."
"He asked you?"
"He wanted me to stay here-"
"-we'd both welcome you-"
"-I won't leave her."
There's another pause, and then Narcissa moves until she's directly in his eyeline. "I wouldn't ask that of you. Bring her. Bring them both."
He scoffs. "Cissy, listen to yourself - it's not safe for me in the wizarding world, let alone them! They have no magic." He shakes his head. "And thanks to me, the aurors will soon be crawling over this place…" He trails off, the shame clear on his face. "And for that, Cissy, I apologise most sincerely."
"I don't want your apology," she answers, swiftly, "I want you to keep your promise."
"I kept my promise. You were at the wedding."
"You know that isn't what I mean." Her gaze is piercing.
"I can't."
"Please, Severus," she begs, and her tone catches him off-guard. "You swore."
"Then I have broken my word to both you and Lucius," he says, with a strange half-smile. "I have declined to murder Abraxas, and now I must also resist your request."
She reaches for him, Draco held on her hip, her other arm snaking around his neck - and it hits him again, that strange burning sensation aching through his chest. It's fleeting, but it causes him to gasp, and Narcissa breaks away.
"A way of contacting you, that's all I'm asking. You've seen how quickly the laws have changed - what if they change back again?" she presses, her tone insistent. "You would want to know, wouldn't you?"
"Cissy, don't…"
"Lily would want to know. What if there was a way out of this-"
"-there isn't! There won't be!"
"And if there is? Do you think Lily deserves to be kept in the dark? Forced to live as a Muggle, when we both know of the magic that beats within her?"
He looks away. "I can't risk her safety, Cissy."
"Severus, this is me asking you. Not Lucius. Me, Severus."
The time drags, with the rest of the ward filling up with visitors full of good cheer, and eventually, when the minute hand strikes the final hour, and the nurses usher the last of the visitors out, Lily stands.
At least you don't have to wonder any longer, she thinks, bitterly, you know how he feels.
Severus sprints down the corridor, and cracks the door open, just as he had the parlour door earlier - not wide enough to be immediately spotted, but just enough for him to eavesdrop successfully.
There's nothing else he can do but wait. He can almost hear his own breathing as he stands, peering through the gap at the empty dining room. It's tense - he's tense, and as he touches the whitewashed walls with his fingertips to steady himself, the cool brickwork almost makes him recoil.
His breath catches when he eventually spies Narcissa and Draco and Bellatrix appear, followed closely by Rodolphus and Rabastan. He stares at the entrance to the room, his eye pressed to the gap, barely daring to inhale, and then he sees the door swing open once more and Avery shuffles in, looking a little awkward.
"You?" crows Bellatrix. "You're staying?"
"...Lucius said I could," Avery says, his face flushing again.
"And you are most welcome," Narcissa says, gracefully. She directs him towards a seat. "Is Lucius following?"
"Mulc and Ros are still talking to him," Avery says, as he sits down. "I think he might be showing them out."
"Showing them out? I am not quite so crass," Lucius booms, as he steps in through the door and closes it behind him. He looks across the room, his gaze connecting with Severus, and then he smiles and looks away. "I have servants to show people to the door. No no, I have topped up their drinks and invited the two of them to reconsider our offer."
He's made it.
"Is that wise?" Bellatrix asks, her eyes narrowed. "I don't think I would leave such uncouth sorts unsupervised in my house…" Then she smirks. "Although what passes as a Malfoy family heirloom has nothing on a Black or a Lestrange-"
"-up until about 24 hours ago, at least," Rabastan mutters, barely under his breath.
Lucius ignores the slight, and moves around the room, kissing Narcissa on the cheek. "It is a shame that they are reluctant to join such a feast, but if they do not show an interest shortly, I am certain one of the elves will escort them from the grounds."
"How long do you think they may be?" Narcissa asks. "I was about to request that the elves serve."
"I would not wait," Lucius says, not breaking stride as he stalks around the table, catching Severus' eye as he approaches the servant's door. "It would not do to linger."
Severus steps back, his movements in perfect synchronisation with Lucius', just as Lucius reaches forward and slams the door shut - and Narcissa's response is lost, muffled between thick layers of wood and brick.
He knows he shouldn't, but he's aware that there's enough time to double back. He could creep along the corridor and watch the show play out, with him as the star, and Lucius as his sidekick. There's no uncertainty - nothing to fear. He knows exactly what happens next - knows that he's not overpowered, overthrown, knows that he's victorious.
There's an itch on his palms, and his wand twitches in his hand, and a dark tone whispers in his ear - go back and watch, be a voyeur, revel in it, enjoy it, this is your moment, your triumph, you deserve this - but the mantra is muted and dull, barely persuasive, little more than an echo, and so, it is easily shaken away, the monster quelled and tamed and quietened, whilst the scream of self-preservation is far louder.
Run.
She rests Bean gently on the mattress, a faint look of surprise on his face at not being held, and she pulls the privacy curtain around the bed - not wanting to speak to the well-meaning staff about why nobody came to visit, nor wanting to have a discussion about whether Bean should go back to the nursery so she can sleep.
I can't let him out of my sight. Not now. I'm all he's got.
Lily pauses, feet fixed to the spot, one hand still holding the curtain, the other clamped over her mouth, and with her gaze on her son, she quietly starts to sob.
It's just me and you together, little Bean.
"Excuse me," a voice calls, as he marches down the hospital corridor. He doesn't stop, his focus determined - but then she calls again and again, and then there's a second voice, and he slows.
He briefly closes his eyes, and inhales, recalling how Lucius deals with those he deems lesser, and then he turns on his heel, his smile disarming. "I'm sorry, were you talking to me?"
"Yes. Visiting hours are over," the nurse says, firmly. "You can come back tomorrow."
"Oh yes," he says, his smile fixed on his face. He glances between the two nurses, and he nods apologetically. "I was at work. I lost track of time. I apologise."
"I'll walk with you," the nurse offers - and although he starts to bristle, realising that she's intent on seeing him off the premises, he graciously accepts. He watches out of the corner of his eye as the second nurse retreats, content that the situation is dealt with.
"That's very kind of you," he says. They walk quickly, briskly, and as they round the top of the corridor, he corners her, his left arm flying out before her and he pins her between the wall and the door.
"Silencio!" he hisses as her mouth falls open, a scream on her lips, and he gives a twisted laugh as her efforts are for naught. "Shhhhhh," he says, leaning a little closer, "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to see my wife but you're in my way."
He checks over his shoulder, left and then right and then left again, but the corridor is empty, and he trails his wand down the nurse's cheek. "You must understand, it gives me no pleasure to do this," he murmurs, "but if I don't, I know you won't cooperate."
She shakes her head rapidly, her eyes widening, and although her voice has been stolen by his magic, she mouths over and over that he's mistaken.
"This won't hurt a bit," he promises, quietly. "In fact, you won't remember a thing." He pulls his wand back, and then flicks it. "Imperio!"
His whispered instructions are quick, and the memory modification charm is quicker still - and then he straightens, checking her glassy eyes for any sign of weakness in his spell, before triumphantly sliding his wand back up his sleeve.
Lily physically jolts when the privacy curtain is pulled back, and despite knowing that the tear stains on her cheeks will make her outraged outburst less effective, she's poised to release a litany of fierce words, terrified that the entrant will attempt to steal her sleeping child from her arms.
I'm not letting any of them - nurse or midwife - take Bean from me. Not now. He's staying right here, where I can see him and keep him safe.
And then, she stares in shock at the interloper.
Am I hallucinating?
"...Sev?"
"Evening, love," he beams, his lopsided grin causing her stomach to twist. "Sorry I'm late." He bends down, and kisses Bean on the forehead. "Hello, Bean."
I thought I'd never see him again - least, not like this, not with a grin on his face, not looking at us both as if he's just won on the pools.
Severus moves quickly, tidying the curtain behind him, locking the world out - and then, before she can say anything, he's bending to untie his laces, kicking his boots beneath the bed. He tugs his jeans down, folding them and placing them on the chair beside her bed, and Lily stifles a shocked laugh.
"Sev, you can't! What are you even doing here? Visiting time finished-"
"-the nurse said I could," he says, smoothly, and he bats away the weak protest from his conscience as he throws his t-shirt onto the chair - it isn't quite a lie.
"Which one? They're so strict-"
"-the one with dark hair," he says, dismissively, "and I'll have you know, I'm very persuasive when I want to be." He gives her a dark grin as he climbs into the bed behind her.
"I can't believe you're here," she says, holding onto him, gripping him as if she believes he might suddenly disappear. "I thought-"
"-don't," he whispers, helping her to settle back against his bare chest, running his hands soothingly down her arms. "I'm here."
"I was so worried, Sev."
"I'm sorry."
"You ran off."
"I know," he says, his voice soft in her ear. "I'm sorry."
"I thought you'd left us."
"Never," he swears, his tone earnest, "I'll never leave you."
"I thought you'd… I was worried that you'd do something stupid."
There's a silence, and Lily can feel her heart dropping to the pit of her stomach.
"Sev?" She snakes a hand out from holding Bean and reaches for Severus' hand, holding it tightly. "Sev, what happened? What did you do?"
"There's nothing for you to worry about, love," he murmurs, his breath warm against her neck as he nuzzles his nose against her. "I'm here now, and I promise that I'm going to stay right here with you and Bean, forever."
"Forever?"
"Forever."
"It doesn't matter about our magic?"
"It doesn't change how I feel about you," he says, his voice low. "I'm going to stay with you forever and ever and ever," he reiterates, and then he gives her a wicked grin. "Or, at least, until the sister of the ward finds that I've snuck in, and then I reckon me and that soft-hearted nurse are both for it."
Lily leans back, twisting to capture his mouth in a gentle kiss - and then the two of them sit quietly together, wrapped in the bedsheets, Bean slumbering contentedly in their arms.
Chapter 120: The murderer who ran away
Chapter Text
With his eyes closed, and Lily and Bean resting in his arms, and the bedsheets loosely wrapped around them all, life is almost perfect. Severus can almost imagine them all safely ensconced at their house in Rillwych, resting in the bed that he's conjured.
The only jarring element in the daydream is the pervasive scent which taints each and every surface - that distinct aroma of hospital, of harsh cleaning agents and disinfectants mingling and lingering, the unique smell even penetrating the linen sheets which surround them.
He rests his head over her shoulder, nestling his face against hers, warm cheek against warm cheek, and his breath little more than a whisper in her ear. "When are you coming home?"
"The last nurse said a day or two," Lily says, leaning back against him. "I'm hoping for tomorrow."
"Forget hoping. Tell them you need to leave tomorrow."
She's surprised at his earnest tone, and she twists to look at him, causing him to move backwards. Her eyes eagerly scan his face but his expression is entirely blank.
He's occluding. Something's wrong.
Lily swallows tightly, and then grins up at him. "Miss me, do you?"
"So much, love. So very much."
Black angrily stirs his coffee, the spoon clattering against the sides of the cup over and over and over.
"Pads, leave it."
Black's hand stills, although he stares at Pettigrew with barely disguised contempt. He slowly raises the spoon out of the cup and then drops it from a height, letting it bang loudly against the table, causing several tables of witches and wizards to turn and stare at the pair.
"I don't know why you're so pissed off. It hasn't done anything to you," Pettigrew ventures, looking up from his newspaper.
"I'm drinking so much of this stuff," snaps Black, taking a small sip of his drink, "I'm practically bouncing off the walls."
"We don't have a choice. Not if we want to keep our minds. You know what the consensus is about what's being added to our alcohol," Pettigrew mutters, his voice low, and his eyes darting around the room, as if checking for eavesdroppers.
"Then we should've stayed home."
"You heard what Prongs said. He's trying to get Moons out of himself."
Black shakes his head. "Don't call him that. Not in public."
"Pr-"
"The other one," Black hisses. "Merlin's sake."
Pettigrew scowls and returns his attention to the newspaper. "I don't see what the big deal is."
"You were the one whining that you didn't want to purchase your share of ingredients for-"
"-shut up!"
"Same difference," Black says, triumphantly. "You don't want to be associated with…" He trails off and waves his hand. "Because you don't want to be accused of being one of them. Think how much worse it is for other people," he says, insistently, "to have that accusation pointed at them." He sits back in his chair. "At least they could lock you up for a few weeks-"
"-they couldn't," Pettigrew argues. "I'm Pure."
Black rolls his eyes. "That's what the law says, but they can do whatever they want in practice. I'm saying that if you were locked up for over a month, it'd be obvious they were barking up the wrong tree with you."
"But if they did the same to-"
"-exactly," Black interrupts, glancing around them. He sighs loudly. "I just miss having a beer, that's all."
"If you're so upset by this, you should've put your foot down and insisted that they come over to mine."
"We've been through this. There's not enough room at yours. There's barely enough room for the both of us."
"You're being ridiculous. Only two of us have to sit on the floor. We can take turns."
Black scoffs. "Take turns? That's rich coming from you - you always claim the best seat. What do you call it? Householder's privilege?"
"You can't use that against me. It's not like I get to keep the seat all night. As soon as I go to the loo, someone's sat there-"
"-I just want things to be normal again."
Pettigrew folds the Prophet over. "You're blowing this all out of proportion. I don't think things have changed that much."
"No? You don't remember what it was like when we could walk around freely without having our papers checked every five minutes? They've swept this place twice since we've been sat here."
"It's no big deal," Pettigrew laughs. "We already carry our papers - what's the problem with showing them?"
"What happened to innocence before guilt?" Black stares at Pettigrew earnestly. "Remember when we used to sneak down the tunnel and go to Hogsmeade?"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Well, imagine that now! Imagine if we were at school, sneaking out-"
"-we wouldn't do that now. Not if we were students. Not with all these things happening-"
"-that's what I mean," Black says, triumphantly. "Best days of our lives those were, and there's kids out there now who can't do things like that."
Pettigrew gives him a long stare. "I thought you were in favour of dark wizards being hunted down."
"I am," Black says, and then he takes another swig of his drink before leaning in more closely, his voice barely audible, "but this checking of papers has nothing to do with that."
"Course it does," Pettigrew says, jovially. "They want to know who is in each location, that's all."
"No, it's not that."
"It is! If your cousin or your little brother is going around causing trouble-"
"-leave Reggie out of your hypothetical-"
"-from what I've heard," Pettigrew snaps, "it's not a hypothetical."
"You've heard wrong," Black argues, immediately.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." There's a pause. "Pete, think about this logically."
"There's nothing wrong with my logic," Pettigrew huffs. "If a dark witch or a dark wizard did something right now, the aurors would know exactly who was here. I reckon that's a good thing."
"Not if the dark wizard had just walked in. After the last sweep by the aurors and before the next." Black drains his drink. "I know you don't really believe the Ministry's line, Pete."
"I do."
"Then more fool you," Black scoffs, "I'm telling you - they aren't using the laws to find dark wizards. They're using the laws to monitor ordinary citizens, like us."
The clicking from the gears inside the grandfather clock's mechanism and the corresponding ticks and tocks of the second and minute hands are the only loud noises in the room.
The visitors stand in horrified silence, the hosts appearing to be in shock, with Lucius pinching the bridge of his nose and his eyes firmly shut, and Narcissa burying her face against Lucius' shoulder, deliberately holding Draco so it is impossible for him to view the dead body on the floor.
Near to them, Avery is clinging to the door handle, as if it is the only thing keeping him upright, whilst Rabastan and Rodolphus stand either side of the body, and Bellatrix prods Rosier's face with her wand.
"Bella…"
"Dead," she says, abruptly, looking at Rosier with disdain.
"We can see that," Rabastan drawls. He indicates at the spray of dried blood across the furnishings. "And by how that blood has soaked in, he's been that way for a while."
"I shouldn't have left him in here with Mulciber," Lucius says, suddenly. "They were arguing," and then he looks over at Avery, whose face has drained of all colour, "about you, Ave."
"Me?"
"About what happened to Snape. About who was responsible."
"This is no time for your pettiness over Snape," Rabastan snaps.
"And about accepting our hospitality this evening," Lucius finishes, smoothly, his eyes trained on Avery. "I shouldn't have left them. I thought my presence was not helping-"
"-you didn't mention a word of this," Rodolphus challenges. "You swept in, said you'd topped up their drinks-"
"-and so I had-"
"-not that one of them had murdered the other in cold blood!"
"I had no idea!" Lucius turns his attention back to Avery. "They were bickering, talking about who should speak to the Dark Lord, who should take responsibility for finding Snape, take the fall for the arrests - not just Snape, but Greyback-"
"-and you didn't think to tell me any of this?" Avery grips the door handle more tightly.
"You didn't think to tell anyone," Rabastan adds.
"I didn't think it was my place," Lucius says, his pale eyes meeting first Rabastan and then Rodolphus. "I was hardly the man to help them to resolve their differences-"
"-you should've told Avery-"
"-should I, Bast?" Lucius holds Narcissa more tightly. "Despite their protestations, I do not believe that either of them were true friends of Severus."
"We're not talking about Snape, we're talking-"
"-about Avery," Lucius smoothly finishes, "but Avery was also Severus' friend." He shoots the room a despondent look. "If I was not the man to talk them around due to my friendship with Severus, then I fear, Avery was not that man either."
"But Mulciber," Bellatrix says, circling the body, "I didn't think he'd have it in him."
"Mulc is tough," Avery says, his voice low. "Tougher than you might think."
"Tough enough to kill?"
Rodolphus gives a dark laugh. "There's no point in debating it. The proof is before us."
"Indeed," Lucius adds, coolly. "It is to my regret that I believed that they would resolve their differences. I had no idea that such an event would unfold."
"I don't think we should be present when the aurors attend," Rodolphus says, suddenly.
"No, I quite agree," Rabastan says, the two brothers flanking Bellatrix. "It will only confuse matters."
Lucius exchanges a sharp look with them. "I think not."
"We're leaving," Bellatrix says, as if Lucius' argument has decided her position.
"It will be worse for all concerned if the aurors discover you were here after the fact."
"There is no possible way the aurors can discover that we were here," Rabastan says, smirking, "not if you all keep your silence. Now, if you'll excuse us-"
"No," Avery says, evenly, slamming the door shut. "Malfoy's right, you can't leave. If the aurors find any evidence of you being here, they'll pull you in, and they'll charge us with concealing evidence."
"They won't find out!"
Avery looks horrified. "They will! I work in the Ministry, I work in the Magical Catastrophe department, and you've not seen what they're like! They can get blood from a stone, especially with their new powers."
"He's right," Lucius says, quietly. "I think you underestimate the desire of the Ministry's finest to land something at our door." He solemnly points around the room. "Can you imagine Alastor Moody's face when he has chance to pin such an act on one or all of us? On myself? On you, Bast, or you, Bella, or you, Dolph?"
Bellatrix shakes her head. "And you think that simply staying will stop him from doing that? He will do that anyway!"
"If you let him check your wand," Lucius says, firmly, "then what evidence can he have against you? But if you run, he can suggest that you somehow tampered-"
"-you can't tamper with wands!"
"You don't have to be able to do it for the aurors to make the argument," Avery adds, quietly. "The aurors talk in hushed tones about the Dark Lord, about his powers-"
"-the Dark Lord has nothing to do with any of this," Rodolphus scoffs.
"All roads lead back to the Dark Lord," Lucius says. "Cissy aside, we all follow him."
"Snape was lost on a mission for the Dark Lord," Avery agrees, "and Greyback."
"Greyback wasn't one of us," Rabastan disagrees.
"But Rosier was, and Mulciber is," Lucius argues, "and that means that the Ministry will have a vested interest in sending as many of us down as possible."
Avery nods. "I think if we all stay, and we all have the same story, it will keep the aurors' minds focused on the man responsible."
At this, Bellatrix raises an eyebrow, and stares at Lucius. "Oh yes? And who would that be?"
"The murderer who ran away," Lucius smiles, his pale eyes not breaking from Bellatrix's gaze. "Mulciber."
"What a life," Severus murmurs, sliding his finger into Bean's palm, and smiling when Bean instinctively grips it, holding him close, "just eating and sleeping, with not a care in the world."
Severus' strained smile causes Lily to pause, and she lifts her hand from beneath Bean, placing it over Severus' own and gently squeezing his fingers.
"Is everything ok, Sev?"
"I can't believe he's so hungry."
"Takes after his daddy," Lily smiles.
"That's three times he's fed since I've been here."
"Are you hearing this, Bean? From the man who can eat two helpings of tea and still has room for half a packet of custard creams afterwards," she teases, turning to kiss Severus' cheek. "Is it any wonder our son's a chip off the old block?"
"You reckon? Well, I'd rather he took after you than me."
"I don't think there's much chance of that," she murmurs, looking at the faint strands of dark hair on Bean's head. "Your dad said as much - he's all you."
Severus doesn't answer, so Lily threads her fingers between his. "Is something wrong, Sev?"
"No. Have you thought any more on his name?"
Lily frowns at the unsubtle deflection. "Have you?"
"I asked first."
"I can't stop thinking about it," Lily concedes, fiddling with Bean's blanket, "but nothing seems to suit him." There's another pause. "I thought we had it right with Evan."
Severus' shoulders stiffen, and although it's the slightest movement, the sudden shift causes Lily to look at him.
"Sev?"
"...sorry," he says, grimacing. "Just hearing his name brought it all back…"
Lily looks back at Bean. "Mummy showed you what happened, didn't she?"
He gives a terse nod.
"All of it?"
"Enough."
"I hate him, Sev." There's a pause. "I know it's illogical. I know there were three of them, all to blame-"
"-but he was the ringleader," Severus agrees.
"He'd have burnt the place down. I heard him say it."
"I know."
"I grew up there. All of my memories, all of Tuney's - not to mention Mummy and Daddy's!"
"I know."
"All of their belongings. Clothes. Photographs!"
"I know, love," he says, soothingly. "Please don't get upset. You'll upset Bean."
"But I heard him, I heard what they were saying, and…" Her voice catches, and she falters. "And… It wasn't… It wasn't just…"
"Shhhhhhh." Severus holds her in his arms, resting his chin on her shoulder, the side of his head pressing against hers once more. "Shhhhh, Lil. He's not worth it."
"You don't understand, Sev," she cries, "if I hadn't taken that potion, if I hadn't risked what could've happened to Bean, he was threatening-"
"-you made the right choice," Severus interrupts, firmly.
"You're only saying that because Bean's ok!" Lily can't help the tears falling down her cheeks. "What if he wasn't, what then? But we don't know, we can't be sure, what if I've done something-"
"-we are sure, Lil. The nurses are sure, and the doctors are sure, and the midwives are sure - from the hair on his head to the tips of his tiny toes, Bean is perfect. Just like his mother, who needs to stop working herself up like this."
Severus looks towards the tissue box, which he can't quite reach - and he debates using his wand, before tugging the top blanket upwards, improvising instead, using the corner to gently wipe her cheeks. "Please stop crying, Lil."
"But he told Avery… I heard him..."
"Told Avery what?"
"...he told him to… He told him he could... With my mother. As a reward." The words stick in her throat, and Lily cuddles Bean closer to her. "You need to do something to protect her for me, something to the house-"
"-David and Rose are not staying at the house," Severus says, swiftly. "They're in a hotel."
"-because what if he comes back?"
"Is that what's upsetting you?" Severus gives a strange smile as he tucks her hair behind her ear, resting his hand behind her head. "I promise you, Lil, Evan Rosier will never ever bother us again."
She shakes her head, tears still pooling in her eyes. "How can you be so sure?"
"Do you trust me?"
"...yes."
"Then believe me when I say I've got everything under control," he breathes, and he tilts her towards him, his hand firm on the back of her head, and he meets her lips in a steady, slow, decisive kiss. He touches his forehead to hers, his nose nestled next to hers, pressing against her cheek. "I swear to you, Lily Snape, on my life, Evan Rosier will never bother us again."
"I reckon they'll sweep again soon. It's been nearly an hour since the last one," Pettigrew says, glancing around the room.
"Are you counting?"
"They're so frequent nowadays, that's all."
"He's right," agrees Lupin. "It's been intense recently."
Potter frowns. "That's a point - they didn't ask when we first came in."
"They asked us when we arrived," Black says, looking interested. "What's the difference between me and Wormy-"
"-call me Pete-"
"-and you and Prongs?" Sirius continues.
"At least 30% charm-"
"-idiot-"
"-50% sophistication-"
"-and 200% arrogance," Black laughs. "You're lucky, that's all I'm saying. We were checked on the way in, and it makes my hands itch to think about it. They must have some sort of a ledger on us, watching our every move-"
"-I reckon we should head off before they come around hassling us again," Pettigrew says.
"Yeah, I'm getting tired of being treated like a criminal. Besides, I'm surprised all this folding and unfolding hasn't damaged them somehow," Potter agrees, holding his papers up to the light and squinting at the crease.
"They won't get damaged," Lupin says. "They're magical."
"Well, yeah, obviously," Potter laughs, standing and pushing the seat back under the table, "I'm just saying, if they weren't-"
"-do you think that's why they keep checking?" Pettigrew asks, quickly copying Potter's actions. "So if they found some that were damaged, then they know they're not the real thing…" He trails off, and silently draws his wand across his neck.
Potter gives him a strange look. "Fake papers? I reckon if there's a trade in them-"
"-of course there's a trade in them," Black interjects.
"-then they'd be of the highest specification. You wouldn't want to pay a lot for papers that are obvious fakes."
"What if people haven't got a lot? Don't you think there'd be a market for low quality versions, as long as they were cheap?"
Black shakes his head. "No way, if you're going to risk your own papers by running a criminal enterprise, you're going to want to command the highest possible price."
"And you don't want to risk a disgruntled customer selling you out to the aurors once the papers fail."
Pettigrew flushes. "Right. Yeah."
"Who'd carry fake papers anyway," Lupin adds, bending to tie his shoelace, "surely anyone high profile enough to need fake papers is already well known?"
Black frowns. "Like who?"
"I dunno," Lupin says, standing, "but say, someone from your family. Bella-"
"-my relatives thrive on our family name," Black mutters, "nobody is going around with fake papers-"
"-or Reggie-"
"-and what's everyone's sudden obsession with Reg?" Black glares at Lupin, his gaze not abating until Potter forcefully claps him on the shoulder.
"So who do you think would want fake papers?" Pettigrew presses, ignoring Black's sudden shift in mood. "If not the likes of your family-"
"-my family isn't all dark, thank you very much-"
"-then who?" Pettigrew shakes his head. "All the big families think the same as you, don't they? Lestrange, Avery, Rosier, Travers, Malfoy-"
"-would you know every single one of them if you fell over them?" Potter says, pointedly, holding the door open.
"Everyone knows the Malfoys."
"But does everyone know all of the Travers family," Lupin mutters, as he jostles behind Pettigrew as the small group heads out into the darkened street, "that's what he's saying."
"I don't," says Pettigrew, hastily, "but the aurors might. Wouldn't look good if you were holding papers with a different name."
"Face it," Black says, striding ahead, "there'll be a market for them. The bleeding hearts amongst us," he says, looking pointedly at Potter and Lupin, "would want to think that it's Muggleborns using them, masquerading as full witches and wizards-"
"-Pads-"
"-but it's just as likely to be someone on his side - someone covering their tracks." He pauses, his expression clearly unnerved.
"What's up?" Potter quickly covers the ground between them. "What is it?"
"What if they used us?"
Lupin and Pettigrew exchange a troubled look.
"What do you mean, Pads?"
"The papers," Black says, reaching for his own, "what if they're not passing off fake names? What if they're stolen identities? What if we're being cited as being-"
"-all this coffee is making you paranoid-"
"-conspiracy-"
"-doesn't make any sense-"
"-it does!" Black yells, ignoring their dissent. "It makes perfect sense." He gives Lupin and Pettigrew a disdainful look up and down, and then turns to Potter. "Maybe not those two, but us-"
"-nobody is going to believe that someone from my lineage," Potter says, cheerfully, "is on his side."
"Yeah? Well, not all of us can make such claims."
"Come on, Pads," Potter says, slinging his arm over Black's shoulder as Lupin and Pettigrew catch them up, "they're right, you're being paranoid."
"I'm not paranoid."
"You are," Pettigrew chips in. "First you're saying they're not for finding dark wizards, and now you're saying that dark wizards are going around claiming to be you."
"It does sound a bit paranoid," Lupin agrees, quietly.
"I'm not paranoid!"
"We know you're not. It's all that coffee," Potter says, trying to appease Black. He turns to the others. "Why don't we hit the Muggle bars? Just for a few beers. No caffeine, no checking of papers."
"I haven't got any Muggle money," Pettigrew says, quickly.
"I haven't got any money," Lupin adds.
"I've got some," Potter says, "back at mine."
"You mean mine," Lupin corrects.
"It's sort of ours," Potter grins, steering Black ahead of the small group. "Let's go and get some beers - that'll lighten the mood."
"Did you hear that? Sort of yours, Moons," Pettigrew laughs, elbowing Lupin in the ribs, as the two march behind Potter and Black.
Narcissa stands over Draco's cot, watching as he fights falling asleep - each time his eyelids close fully and his head lolls back, he jerks himself back awake, his expression full of exhaustion, but as if he's desperate not to miss out.
"Sleep now, little dragon," she coos, bouncing a soft toy against his chest, smiling as he grasps it between his fingers. "Sleepy time now."
"I don't see why I am doing your filthy husband's dirty work," Bellatrix hisses, stalking in behind her.
"Please don't wake him, Bella," Narcissa says, urgently. "I've only just got him to sleep."
"He's got us all carting artefacts down to the cellar-"
"-and you'd rather they were here for the aurors to rake over, would you?" Narcissa snaps. "As if the aurors aren't going to have a field day as it is, finally having an excuse to crawl through my house, poking through our belongings."
"Cissy," Bellatrix says, her tone placating, "they won't be interested in anything of yours."
"They visited Severus' flat," Narcissa says, not looking at Bellatrix, "a year or so ago. They went through everything - personal, private, intimate, it doesn't matter to them-"
"Cissy, he was a nobody," Bellatrix laughs, "they were just shaking him up. They wouldn't dare treat someone of your standing that way."
"They even placed listening devices in their flat, eavesdropping on their conversations-"
"-they won't do that to-"
"-listening them to having sex!"
Draco gives a loud wail, and Narcissa sighs, reaching back into his cot to pick him up. She carries him about, jostling him in her arms, trying to soothe him back to sleep.
"...they wouldn't dare to that to someone of your standing, Cissy," Bellatrix repeats, firmly. "Snape was living with that Muggle girl, wasn't he?"
"Muggleborn."
"Muggle," Bellatrix says, dismissively. "One and the same thing." She gives a harsh laugh. "Ironic really, that he would meet the same fate."
"Bella."
Bellatrix immediately holds her hands up, her face filled with mirth. "I don't mean any ill by it, Cissy. You know I wanted him at the Dark Lord's side."
"Recently you did. Before that, you could barely stand the sight of him."
"A witch can change her mind, can't she?" Bellatrix gives her another thin smile. "But the point stands - if you lie with pigs in the dirt, don't be astonished when you're classified as one as well." There's a moment, and then Bellatrix gives a light snort.
Narcissa doesn't rise to the jibe, her attention entirely focused upon Draco. "He's not going to go back to sleep now," she says. "I might as well come downstairs and help."
"We don't need your help. We've almost finished," Bellatrix says. "I believe Lucius is going to call the aurors shortly."
"As if we've just finished dining and made the discovery?"
Bellatrix nods. "We think that's for the best."
"Has he remembered to unblock the fireplaces?"
"Avery is helping him. Bast and Dolph are moving that ugly cabinet full of skulls, and then we're done." Bellatrix gives a small sneer.
"I didn't think such items bothered you."
"They don't," Bellatrix says, flashing her sister a smile, "but I don't see the glory in hoarding another's achievements. If I were to have such a cabinet, it would be full of my own trophies."
Narcissa's eyes briefly shutter closed, a grimace passing across her face. "For Merlin's sake, Bella, please don't say such things to the aurors, else we'll all be for Azkaban tonight."
Lily watches Severus intently as he dresses. His gaze is fixed on the ward sister, and he looks half-amused, although she can tell that there's a belligerence to his actions. His actions are deliberate - neither overly slow nor quick.
She can't help but think that even a year or so ago, his reaction would've been very different - that he'd have leapt out of the bed as if he'd been stung, a flush creeping across his cheeks and even down across his chest, hiding himself behind garments as he hastily dragged them on, bent double to conceal as much bare skin as possible.
Tonight, he's practically the opposite. He's proud and defiant - almost smug. He leisurely stands and stretches, and then turns to take his t-shirt off the chair. Lily watches in astonishment, amazed that he's comfortable being on display - especially when the sister gives an audible gasp, reacting to the pale marks crossing his back.
They're worse than ever, ever since the Dark Lord reenacted that hateful punishment, although he's never said as much himself. The aged white scars had been littered around his lower back, marring his slender waist and bony hip and the soft flesh of his cheeks, but the fresh ones, from each slice of the Dark Lord's wand, are still raised - still pale pink - and are spread more broadly across his skin. Some cover the previous scars, whilst others reach higher, his shoulder blades littered with the remnants of the wand's stinging kiss.
To Lily's further surprise, Severus seems to savour the sister's horrified reaction, his lips twisting into an odd grin, and then he picks up the t-shirt and turns back around to face her. From the front, there's nothing untoward - he looks exactly as anyone would expect, and he pauses, straightening the t-shirt and carefully turning it inside out, before finally pulling it over his head.
If Lily didn't know better, she'd have assumed that his leisurely manner of dressing was his effort at taunting the sister, goading her into losing her temper, trying to provoke a reaction.
He's showing her that he's suffered worse than whatever her verbal tirade can hope to achieve; showing her that he doesn't care for whatever authority she thinks she wields over us.
Severus bends, yanking hard on his thinning laces, one boot and then the other, and then he straightens. He takes a step closer to the bed, and he strokes his large hand across Bean's head before bending to kiss their son on his cheek, and then he lifts his head, his smile broad as he kisses Lily - and although she thinks his kiss is going to be fleeting and chaste, he surprises her, bringing his hands up to frame her cheeks as he kisses her deeply, gently pressing his tongue into her mouth.
"It is entirely inappropriate."
She can feel his chuckle reverberating through his mouth, but he reluctantly pulls away, his smile wide.
He darts another peck on her lips before standing upright, and then he turns to face the sister, a smirk on his face. "I disagree. She is my wife."
"Your being here is entirely inappropriate, Mr Snape. Visiting hours for all patients finished hours ago."
"I had to work."
"There are no exceptions. You expect me to believe that one of the staff willingly broke our policies to let you in after hours?" She gives him a hard stare. "Did they also invite you to strip and get into the bed?"
To Lily's horror, Severus simply laughs - a laugh that seems to explode from within him, and the more disapproving the sister becomes, the more amused Severus is.
"What?" he laughs. "What exactly do you want from me? To beg for forgiveness on bended knee? I'm not apologising for loving my wife," he says, standing a little taller. "Nor will I apologise for loving my son, and as you insist on keeping them both here, away from me, I won't apologise for intruding on your ward."
"Your behaviour in here tonight, Mr Snape, has been entirely inappropriate."
"How is it inappropriate? We weren't doing anything," he says, looking astonished. "Besides, we're married! We've already got a baby, it's a bit late for worrying about-"
"-Sev, no!" Lily hisses. "She doesn't mean that." Lily looks at the sister directly. "I'm so sorry, it's been a tough few weeks for us. I begged him to find a way in. I've missed him." She glances at Severus, trying to impress upon him that he should quell his temper. "We've missed each other."
"I just want her home," Severus says, his stance softening slightly. "Both of them. I don't see why you're making her stay. I can look after her."
The sister looks between them, noting the equal distress on their faces. She takes a step forward, picks the clipboard up at the foot of the bed, and starts to read. Without looking up, she directs a question towards Lily. "How's baby feeding?"
"Really well," Lily answers.
"Problems with the latch?"
"None at all."
"How do you feel? Any pain from the site of the scar?"
Lily shakes her head. "No. The blonde nurse - Julia, is it? She checked it earlier and said it was healing nicely."
The sister makes a mark on the page, and then she looks uncomfortably at Severus before returning her attention to Lily. "Bodily functions?"
"What do you need to know that for?" Severus splutters.
"Sev," Lily admonishes, "it's her job to check. Yes, thank you, everything is fine."
"Any clots?"
"A few," Lily says, watching as the sister's pen hovers over the page, "but nothing to worry about."
There's a brief pause, with the sister appraising Lily. "Nothing to worry about?"
"They're only small. Tiny, really. I've had worse on a period."
"Lil!"
At Severus' horrified reaction, the sister suppresses a smile, and makes another mark on the page. "We'll check your wound again tomorrow, and if all is well, we can book the first home visit for you with the midwife."
Lily's eyes light up, and Severus gives her an astonished grin.
"That's it? She's coming home?"
"If nothing changes overnight," the sister says, replacing the clipboard, "and only because I cannot have this ward overrun with overeager fathers sneaking in behind my back. I really have no idea how you managed to get past all of the staff."
"I'm sorry."
"No, you're not," admonishes the sister.
Severus looks astonished at her blunt reaction, and Lily poorly disguises a laugh as a cough, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth.
"So, Mr Snape," the sister continues, "I must insist that you leave before you cause anymore disruption tonight, and before I change my mind about discharging your wife tomorrow. Go on, off with you."
"Night, love," he calls, not daring to approach the bed again, "I'll collect you and Bean tomorrow."
And with a swish of the curtain, he retreats.
Avery sighs heavily as Lucius leads him to yet another room with yet another fireplace. "Seriously, Malfoy, how many of these do you have? That's eleven-"
"-then this is the last," Lucius says, calmly, "but if you prefer, Avery, I can ask Bast to swap places-"
"-no," Avery says, quickly, "I don't much fancy carting skulls down to the cellar." There's a pause. "That necklace was cursed, wasn't it?"
"Which?"
"The one looped around the book."
"Which book?"
"The one Bellatrix was peering at - One Hundred Wondrous Writings for Wicked Warlocks."
"Oh yes," Lucius smiles. "Cissy asked me to lock it away after Draco was born. Hence me wrapping the necklace around it."
"What does it do?"
"What does what do?" Lucius says, frowning as he casts at the fireplace. "The book, or the necklace?"
"Either. Both."
Lucius straightens. "What does any dark artefact do, Avery? The tales are a curse - perfectly safe if someone reads them in their head, but reading them aloud causes the magic imbibed in the pages to enter the wizard," and then he smiles, "or witch, should the case be." He pauses. "Perhaps I should check that Bella hasn't secreted it upon her person…"
"And it does what? Once this magic has entered the wizard."
"It strengthens your magic and compels you to murder the closest person," Lucius says, his tone bored, as if he's tired of the topic. "It is no mistake that the title elaborates that these are for wicked warlocks, and not wicked wizards. It's a subtle difference," and then he shoots Avery his famed crocodile smile, "so I do not anticipate that you would understand."
"I don't appreciate that, Malf."
"Don't call me Malf."
"Did you read that book tonight?"
Lucius gives a harsh laugh. "What are you suggesting? That I sought to empower myself and-"
"-he taught you."
"I beg your pardon?"
Avery casts towards the door, causing it to slam shut. "Sev. That spell. He taught you."
"I have no idea what spell you are prattling on about, or-"
"Sectumsempra!"
Lucius watches in horror as Avery's spell spirals across the room and neatly decapitates a stuffed owl.
"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?" Lucius shoots an anxious look towards Avery, and then casts a powerful Reparo, causing the owl to knit back together. He Vanishes the feathers lying on the floor, and then he peers at the owl. "You've changed its expression." Lucius taps the beak of the owl. "He looks most disgruntled."
"Nonsense. It was already dead."
"Even so-"
"-like Rosier. He's dead. You murdered him."
There's a very long pause, and then Lucius shakes his head. "No."
"No?"
"No, and I don't appreciate such accusations."
"Those cuts. That spray of blood." Avery swallows tightly. "It's Sev's spell. I know it is."
"It cannot be. Severus has lost his magic."
"But he taught me the spell," Avery argues, "and as you were at pains to point out, you were more his friend than I was. He taught you. You murdered Ros."
"I assure you, Avery, I did not murder Rosier," Lucius says, his voice level, and his smile even wider, "and Severus did not teach me any such spell."
"I don't believe you."
"No? Well, you can say as much to the aurors when they visit." Lucius offers him another insincere smile. "I am sure they will be very interested to hear your theory."
Chapter 121: Cooperate
Chapter Text
The overconfidence exuding from Lucius is enough to make Avery pause, his eyes narrowing. "...you're not even going to attempt to stop me?"
"I have no interest in whatever you choose to say to the aurors," Lucius says, sounding bored, "for I know you are mistaken. I shall warn you - you will be proven to be incorrect, and then it will be your future testimony that is ignored, and your reputation which will be sullied." He offers Avery yet another insincere smile. "I would be very careful to ensure that you are entirely satisfied of the truth."
Avery twists his wand anxiously between his fingers. "...he really didn't teach you that spell?"
"No," Lucius says, his tone almost mocking, "he really did not teach me that spell. Or any spells, for that matter." Lucius stands back from Avery, scrutinising the younger man intently. "Forgive me, Avery. As Severus' close friend, I rather assumed that you were privy to the nature of my relationship with Severus."
Avery colours slightly, his ears turning pink. "Listen, I don't know anything about that."
"I am not referring to Rosier and Mulciber's scurrilous lies," Lucius sneers, the disgust practically dripping from his lips, "but our business association," he enunciates. "You do understand why they would say such things, do you not? Rosier was jealous of our joint success, and so, he whispered about us behind our backs because he could not understand why Severus would choose to work for me over him."
Avery swallows tightly, knowing that it isn't quite true. He knows that Rosier wanted Snape to join his enterprise - to be his brewer, but he also knows only too well what he saw that night, of Lucius' concealed hand and that look of ecstasy mingled with shame across Severus' thin face.
"I…" Avery trails off. "I didn't realise you were in competition with Ros."
"There was no competition between us, except within his own mind. I deal in black market potions," Lucius says, "and Severus was my talented brewer. I instructed him and he created. Together, we sold - sometimes through a broker, sometimes through the hand of Severus himself."
Avery nods. "I know."
"Good. Now, between you and I, Severus' great strength was his ability to create vast quantities of potions whilst retaining exceptional standards of quality. Consistency is key to cornering a market. In my experience, most punters are willing to pursue a transaction, despite the risk from the ever-present auror department and the increasingly harsh legislation from the over-eager Ministry, as long as the end product is exactly as they anticipate. Do you follow?"
"I think so."
"It is rather simple, Avery. Nobody purchases an apple and expects to receive a banana."
"Or an orange."
Lucius' quirks an eyebrow. "Indeed. Between myself and Severus, we controlled the supply. A greedy businessman doesn't think about controlling the supply. A greedy businessman floods the market and takes the easy money-"
"-easy money sounds pretty good-"
"-it does, doesn't it? But there's something better than a greedy businessman. A canny businessman. And a canny businessman enjoys the pleasures of a choked market. The canny businessman simply places his boot on its neck and crushes its airway." Lucius emphasises his point by clapping his hands together after each word. "Constant pressure upon the supply leads to strangulation."
Avery swallows hard at Lucius' bombastic display.
"And then," Lucius smiles, not having paid any attention to Avery's discomfort, "the punters scream for more. They desperately desire what they cannot have, like tiny toddlers, wailing and begging. That's where the danger lies - when the competition smells blood in the water, and it tries to rise in response." Lucius pauses, inhaling deeply, as if excited by the exhilaration of explaining his business enterprise. "I make it impossible. The brokers don't know when the potions will run dry, and brokers don't make a habit of keeping a backstock. Illicit potions are far too hot to handle."
"Yeah, but if you're that unreliable, the brokers will just stop using you - move to someone else!"
"Will they?" Lucius drawls, with a smile. "No, they will not. It takes time to mobilise. Ingredients to procure, and I have a few contacts who are willing to strangle that market when required - it costs, but it's worth it. The trick, Avery, is to never choose a brew which takes less than a fortnight to create - else someone can snatch the market from beneath your nose." He leans closer to Avery. "Choose something more complex - one that takes a month or more, and then they'll be writhing like suffocating fish in your net."
Avery takes a step back. "The brokers will?"
"The brokers. The punters. They'll all pay more - if the product is scarce, you can request a premium. Rare vials often go for multiples - three times the value, five times the value, ten times the value. The brokers like that - less stock to carry, more profit to be made. Not least because many of them offer money lending services as well." He quirks a smile. "Now, imagine - five vials bringing in the profits of fifty! Those odds help us all to avoid length stints in Azkaban, all whilst bringing money to the bank."
"I don't see how people can afford to pay ten times as much for a potion. Surely they'll-"
"-exactly! They'll try something new. A deal. An offer. But they don't know what they need, so they'll ask for advice - and the broker will pass them whatever they want to offload. Of course, we've filled his pockets with new delights beforehand. A wondrous new high, or a cushion from the lowest low. We'll offer it at cost, or a loss - but there's a price that the punter will pay that they don't expect."
Avery can feel his heart beating in his chest at the sudden feral look in Lucius' eyes. "W-what do you mean?"
"It's simple, Avery. Galleons come and go, but these potions are harder, stronger - they worm their way into your soul until it's no longer just a party drug. It's not something fun to take on a weekend." Lucius' pale eyes seem to burn with their intensity. "It's an addiction that you crave from the moment you wake up until the moment you fall asleep - except you can't sleep! It's a constant itch under your skin, it's dancing through your dreams, the taste is on your tongue, and the desire beats through your blood. You need it. You need it to party, and then you need it to function - and then," he smiles more broadly, "then you're hooked as my ever loyal customer."
"Right, Malfoy."
"And Severus was a key part of that enterprise. I'd tried to control the market before, but the quality just wasn't there," Lucius says, clucking his tongue against his teeth. "It's one thing to hook the punters, but if the drug isn't the same, they lose the desperation for it - one bad trip, and they're suddenly looking for a way out. Severus was consistent. Severus was important to me."
Avery nods, his eyes not meeting Lucius'.
Lucius gives a broad smile. "You don't have any inclination as to why I'm telling you this, do you?"
"Not really."
"Avery, I am telling you this so you understand that I was not spending my valuable time learning spells from Severus Snape. Nor was I encouraging Severus to spend his time crafting spells - and I am displeased to hear that he was behaving in such a manner."
"Well, look, I think he created it years ago actually-"
"-I was paying Severus to invest his time and energy into creating potions of an exceptionally high standard," Lucius interrupts, loudly.
"Right."
"And so, I have no reason to have knowledge of the horrifying charm that you chose to spiral thoughtlessly across my room which decapitated my precious stuffed owl. That owl was my very first post owl. He was family."
"Sorry, Malfoy. I get it. I understand."
"But Avery," Lucius says, gripping his shoulder tightly, "I am not sure that you do. For now the aurors will be called, and I am certain that with a death on these premises, they will surely check all of our wands." He gives Avery a tight smile. "It is for this reason that I instruct you to finish unblocking that last fireplace, Avery - else if you are correct in your assumption and Severus' spell was used tonight, a quick cast of Prior Incantato will show that your wand contains the murder weapon."
The blood drains from Avery's face as he realises the consequences of his reckless spellcasting during his earlier accusation. He quickly lifts his wand, and casts a series of spells towards the fireplace, and then he creates a few innocuous ones for good measure - Lumos, Nox, Accio.
"Yes," Lucius drawls. "Good. Some nice, normal, standard spells."
Avery still looks as if he's about to be sick, horrified at how close he came to taking the fall. "...why are you helping me?"
"Friends help one another, and I was Severus' friend, and you were Severus' friend - so I believe that makes us on friendlier terms than most wizards."
"...I guess. Thanks, Malfoy."
"I do not require verbal platitudes," Lucius says, with a smile, "but I do think we should have a little discussion about just how much you owe me for my assistance, because with Severus departing my service-"
"-no, no, I'm no brewer! I can't brew quality or consistency or quantity or anything else that you need!"
"I know," Lucius says, soothingly, "I know. I would not ask such a service of you."
"Then what could you possibly want from me?" Avery looks increasingly alarmed, his eyes darting around the room. "I haven't got much free money, it's all tied up in the family..."
Lucius raises his hand to prevent Avery from carrying on, and screws up his nose in disgust. "I certainly do not require your money."
"Then what?"
"I want your agreement to the pact we made downstairs. The aurors will be arriving shortly. I realise that you have theories that you may wish to share, but I would suggest that the consequences will be better for us all if we are unanimous in our suggestion that Mulciber is the murderer," Lucius insists, staring deeply into Avery's eyes.
But we don't know he was! And if he's charged, Mulc will be Kissed!
"-and then once this trivial matter is dealt with," Lucius continues, "I may have a job or two which requires a little muscle."
"And what?" Avery gapes. "You want me for that?"
"Well, yes. It is unbecoming of a man of my position, you understand. I thought that's where your talents lay?"
"...what sort of muscle? I need to know what I'm letting myself in for."
"Of course," Lucius smiles. "I will require your assistance in accessing some potions. You may be aware that the Dark Lord is already in the market-"
"-are you out of your mind? I can't go against the Dark Lord!"
"And nor would I ask such a thing. I never intend to go against the Dark Lord, Avery - and nor should you. The Dark Lord will, naturally, have first pick of the brewers on the market. All I require is protection for the brewer that we then choose from those that remain."
"That we choose?"
"This will be our enterprise," Lucius smiles.
"Ours?"
"Yes," Lucius repeats. "Ours."
"With me as bodyguard."
"With you as bodyguard."
Avery inhales deeply. "It's not that easy, Malfoy. They keep dying. These brewers. In suspicious circumstances."
Lucius gives him an amused look. "Yes, so it seems. Really, Avery, why else do you think I require your services?"
Pettigrew pauses as their small group marches towards the Leaky Cauldron - Potter and Black first, then Lupin, then himself. He reaches forward as Potter and Black enter the pub, and he grips Lupin's sleeve. "Moons!"
"Hush!" Lupin snaps, irritably, shaking his arm free. "Don't call me that!"
"Sorry," Pettigrew says, "it's just…"
Lupin glances behind him, and when he catches Pettigrew's concerned expression, he softens. "Come on, there's no need to be so worked up," he says, kindly. "They're just Muggles. We'll be back before you know it."
"It's not that," Pettigrew says, quietly. He points towards the entrance. "See anything wrong?"
Lupin stares at the pub, his frown deepening. "...no. Looks normal to me."
"No aurors. Again! There's nobody checking papers," Pettigrew says. "No one on the doors."
Lupin looks at him, sudden astonishment on his face. "You're right. And nobody checked us in Hogsmeade."
"Not since you arrived," Pettigrew agrees. "And nobody has stopped us in the streets on the way to yours, or on the way here. The streets are normally flooded with aurors, poking their noses into everyone else's business." He looks around. "Or worse, with the Strikers out in force."
"I keep well away from them," Lupin says. "They make my skin crawl."
"Yeah, they will," Pettigrew concurs. "They're wannabe aurors who weren't good enough to pass the entrance exam."
"They reckon You-Know-Who funds them," Lupin says, his voice low.
"Reckon that of everyone. Even the aurors." Pettigrew looks thoughtful. "Maybe he does. Maybe that's why they're not here."
Lupin glances around them. "You think he's ordered them not to turn in?"
Pettigrew shrugs. "Maybe."
"...or do you think something big has happened, and they're all attending? A crisis?"
"Maybe," Pettigrew repeats.
"So either something awful has happened, and the aurors are busy-"
"-or something awful's going to happen, and the aurors have been purposely distracted."
"Then we've definitely chosen the right night to get out of here and visit the Muggles," Lupin says, grabbing Pettigrew's arm. "Come on - before we lose track of Pads and Prongs."
The house elves stand in stunned silence, their eyes widening as Thicknesse loudly demands that they turn away from their master and mistress and face the wall. Despite his furious tone, none of the elves respond to the brisk instructions from the auror - although their fear of reprisal for disobedience is evident from the way their small bodies tremor.
"Now!" Thicknesse bellows, losing his composure.
Dobby cowers from the stern auror and stares desperately across at the dining table, urgently trying to make eye contact with one of the Malfoys. "...but it is not the master or the mistress who is telling," Dobby ventures, his voice wobbling.
"Turn and face the wall, elves," Lucius drawls.
Thickness turns. "I didn't ask you to speak, Mr Malfoy."
"Had I not, we would've been listening to your increasingly infuriated demands all night," Lucius says, crisply. "The elves simply would not turn without my command or Narcissa's." He pauses, and gives Thicknesse a disdainful look, judging him from head to foot, causing Thicknesse to straighten his robes under Lucius' sneering gaze. "I suppose you must come from a background where you have had little experience with house elves-"
"-enough. This room is to be silent," Thicknesse interrupts, scowling first at Lucius, and then at the wider group seated at the long dining table. "You will have your opportunity to speak when you are Floo'd to the Ministry and your statements are taken."
"To the Ministry," Lucius scoffs. "I don't see why you couldn't conduct the interviews here at the Manor, there's plenty of rooms, I would be happy to accomodate the Ministry's finest-"
"-yes, we're unfortunate witnesses, we should not be treated as common criminals-"
"-the emotional distress of being cuffed to chairs-"
"-simply unbecoming of witches and wizards of our reputation and-
"-I for one shall not be donating to the Ministry's coffers during the next fundraising-"
"-speak to Minister Fudge immediately in the morning and see what he has to say about this sorry state of affairs-"
"I said, enough!" Thicknesse bangs his fist onto the table and eyes the occupants with disdain. "Once work has been completed to lock the Floo down so that the only possible destination is the Ministry, we will depart." He shakes his head. "You are incredibly fortunate that Madam Vance did not arrest you and haul you publicly in for questioning. I would suggest that the headline of tomorrow's Daily Prophet-"
"-I'd sue them to insolvency if they dared to write one word out of place," barks Lucius.
"As would I," Rodolphus agrees.
"Would you really?" Thicknesse's sudden smile grows. "Do you think you would win? She's careful, Skeeter, in how she crafts a story. A well-timed photograph often says more than what she puts in print. Handcuffed. Flanked by aurors. Entering the Ministry with a scowl upon your face."
"Unlawful arrest," Lucius counters. "Mistaken identity. It would ultimately reflect negatively upon the Ministry, as opposed to myself. Auror incompetence."
Thicknesse remains undeterred, and starts to stride around the table as he speaks. "Esteemed entrepreneur and investor, Lucius Malfoy, voluntarily spoke to Ministry officials yesterday following a mysterious death on the Malfoy estate. It is understood that Mr Malfoy was not at home alone when an as yet unnamed visitor suffered a medical emergency and was later pronounced dead at the scene."
Thicknesse pauses behind Avery, planting his hands on the back of his chair, clearly warming to his theme. "The Daily Prophet understands that a senior member of the Magical Accidents and Catastrophe department was already at the scene when aurors were finally called."
Thicknesse releases Avery's chair and stalks towards the Lestrange brothers. "Mr Malfoy's family members, including his wife Narcissa Malfoy née Black, sister-in-law Bellatrix Lestrange also née Black, and brothers through marriage, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange were all in attendance, as were both the youngest and oldest members of the Malfoy dynasty. Baby son Draco is believed to have remained at home, at the scene of the unexplained sudden death, whilst Mr Abraxas Malfoy, the most senior member of the Malfoy family, was questioned by the Ministry earlier today."
There's a silence. Thicknesse appraises the room, his smile growing wider. "Should I continue, or are we in agreement that an appreciative silence between us all is more suitable?"
Lucius shifts uncomfortably in his seat and turns his head away from Thicknesse's piercing gaze, but he says nothing.
Severus strides up the pavement to their house in Rillwych, and unlocks the door. He tugs his boots off, placing them in the hall, and then he locks the door behind him with the key, casting at it with his wand for good measure. He strolls into the living room, and then he halts, peering at the wand in his hand.
Shit. Reflexive magic. Again.
He glances back into the hallway. What do I do when Lil comes home with Bean? Will it keep her safer if I lock her in - or will it put them both in danger, with Lily unable to get out on her own terms?
Severus frowns, and slides his wand back up his sleeve. He moves into the kitchen and sets the kettle to boil. He quickly makes a cup of tea, levitates it through to the front room, and falls dramatically backwards onto their new bed.
He smiles as the mattress bounces, his hair splayed out behind him - and then he scrambles upwards into a sitting position. He grabs both of their pillows and punches them into a back support, leaning them against the wall so he can sit upright, and as he reaches up to grasp his floating mug, he pauses.
She won't be able to levitate things. She'll need a coffee table, somewhere to perch a cup or a plate.
His frown grows deeper as he takes in the overfilled living room. When they'd first viewed it, it had seemed a reasonable size - noticeably bigger than his parents' tiny terrace down at Spinner's End, but with a double bed and a small crib and a makeshift shower, and the fireplace cutting into the room, there wasn't much space left - certainly not for extra furniture.
She can't have a table anyway, Bean might pull a hot drink from it and burn himself. She needs a shelf. ...I could conjure one against the wall.
His eyes move around the room, seeking the perfect location.
High or low? Too low, and Bean might be able to grab whatever's on it. Too high, and she won't be able to reach if she's sitting down and feeding him.
Severus sits straighter, and mimics the action of cradling his son before reaching his other arm out, testing out the height required.
She's got shorter arms than you, Sev, he thinks - but as he stares at his outstretched hand, it feels as if any shelf would be in Bean's reach. We'll need to watch him all of the time.
I could make it move. A shelf that moves up and down, so she could get it within reach when she needs it, and put it out of reach to keep Bean safe. ...I could do that, but could she use it? Mam has a bit of magic - Lil might have enough to move a shelf if I keep the action simple.
He pauses, his wand dangling loosely from his fingers.
But Mam said it hurts, remember - as if she's warring with her soul every time she casts. And she has to use her wand. Lil isn't going to want to grab her wand and war with her soul each time she picks up her cup or puts it down again.
Deflated, he miserably plucks his mug from out of the air and takes a large swig of tea, ignoring the stinging burn that trails down his throat as he swallows the hot liquid.
They're sitting on chairs in a darkened corridor in the depths of the Ministry. The air is cool, and having their arms cuffed behind their backs for so long is causing their shoulders to ache. Nevertheless, all of the witches and wizards are silently grateful that they're out of sight, ensuring that their names are kept out of the Prophet - tomorrow's edition, at least.
The sole exception to the setup is Narcissa, who only has one hand cuffed to her chair. Her other hand is free to comfort Draco, who is joyfully jumping in a magical bouncer, entirely unaware of the meaning of the unfamiliar surroundings.
She watches him intently, trying not to shudder when she thinks of how many children have been housed within the same contraption, drooling and biting at the straps - but she holds her temper, aware that any protest could lead to a situation which is far worse.
After half an hour, Shacklebolt bursts through the door, followed by an array of aurors. Shacklebolt beckons the witches and wizards to stand, and then directs them towards a set of rooms.
"Fill up rooms numbered one to six," he orders, whilst he points his wand at Narcissa's sole handcuff. The lock springs free, and Narcissa immediately rubs her wrist where the metal dug into her skin. "Room seven for you, Mrs Malfoy," he says, grabbing the top of Draco's magical bouncer, "I'll bring your son through behind you."
Potter laughs as they stumble through Covent Garden. "Oh come on, Pete! You're sounding as paranoid as Pads," he warns, throwing his arm over Pettigrew's shoulder.
"They're both right," Black says, "it's a bit weird that there weren't any aurors on the door either side of the Leaky. One door, sure - but both of them not being monitored?"
"Big deal," Potter scoffs, "so the aurors weren't bothering to check papers tonight. If I was an auror, I'd definitely ditch that task too!"
"But they were," Pettigrew argues, "that's my point. They were until you and Remus came out."
"Maybe they're scared of the big bad wolf," Potter jokes.
"Shut up!"
"There's nobody here!" Potter says, spinning around with his arms outstretched. "You could howl at the moon and nobody would bat an eyelid."
Pettigrew stares at Potter intently. "You really think the aurors know?"
"No, Pete," Black says, rolling his eyes. "Believe me, if they knew, Remus wouldn't be stood here with us."
"It's just coincidence," Potter says, firmly. He leads them towards a public house, and points at an empty booth. "Sit down, I'll get a round in."
"Do you really think it's coincidence, Siri?" Pettigrew presses, as they squeeze into the booth.
"I don't think the world's fallen in, put it that way," Black says, sitting next to him. "James is right. It's a good thing if they've stopped checking our papers. It was getting tedious."
"But what if something bad has happened?"
"So what if it has?" Black looks exasperated. "Merlin's sake, it's like you want to hear some terrible news! It'll be something and nothing. Something stupid."
Pettigrew looks slighted. "Yeah? Like what?"
"Do you think they could be struggling for staff?" Lupin asks, toying with a placemat and tapping it against the table. "Or an unexpected raid, maybe?"
"Yeah, seems likely. Everyone's having a late summer holiday, and something interesting has come in. All hands on deck. I'm betting on a potions sting," Black says, confidently. "Snape's little Muggle problem will have sent a shockwave through the black market. I wonder how Malfoy's going to fill that little hole."
"They reckon brewers are getting killed left, right and centre," Lupin says, his voice hushed. "I can't see anyone jumping at the opportunity."
"Money talks."
Pettigrew frowns. "Do they earn a lot then, brewers?"
"Evans took enough off us for your mixture," Black says, nodding towards Lupin.
"Special case, though, surely?" Lupin frowns. "It was a huge risk for her to take."
Black nods and laughs. "Yeah, that and the fact that James wanted to see her solvent."
"I don't get it."
Black shoots an incredulous look at Pettigrew, and then turns his attention to Lupin. "Do you want to swap our setup? Me for Prongs? I promise I won't use all the hot water."
"You're such a dick," Pettigrew snaps. "Living with you is hardly easy!"
Lupin shakes his head towards Black, and then smiles at Pettigrew. "Ignore Sirius, Pete. All he's saying is that Evans couldn't work."
"I know that much," Pettigrew grumbles, "but I don't see why James would want her to have our money. Surely if she was that desperate, she'd have been willing to take a lower price? We could've cut a deal."
"James wanted to make sure she wasn't reliant on Snape's income - which she had been."
"And so what if she was?"
"It gave her a reason to stay with him. If she had no money, she couldn't move out - and she couldn't afford to kick him out."
"Bloody hell," Black mutters, sliding back out of the booth, "I'll go and give James a hand carrying the drinks whilst you help Pete catch up on the past couple of years." He taps the table as he leaves. "Use short sentences, hey, Remus? You might have a chance of him following you if you do."
Pettigrew watches Black leave with barely disguised loathing, feeling the embarrassment crawling across his skin.
"Ignore him," Lupin repeats, gripping Pettigrew's hand, "he's just on edge."
"It isn't just him being on edge. He's like this all the time. Always snapping at me, always belittling me."
"Take a deep breath and rise above it."
"It's easy for you to say," Pettigrew shakes his head. "I wish I was living with you."
Lupin glances over his shoulder. "It's not worth it, Pete."
Pettigrew sits back, his expression sulky. "You don't want me either? I thought… I thought we were special friends, just like those two are."
"It's not that," Lupin says, his voice low, "but I think my time's up."
"...how?"
"I think the net's getting closer," Lupin says, his voice cracking, "and when the Ministry inevitably puts a bounty on the heads of unregistered werewolves, I think-"
"-but nobody knows about… Except us! And we won't say anything," Pettigrew says, earnestly.
"Yeah, us! And Dumbledore and Pomfrey and McGonagall and Filch and Slughorn and Flitwick and-"
"-but they're teachers! They wouldn't-"
"-and Moody and Bones and Vance and Snape and Evans-"
"-oh."
"Exactly," Lupin says. "Oh." He rubs his hand across his face. "I think Snape might've told Malfoy. He was his brewer, after all."
"I thought he was more than that," Pettigrew laughs. "But even if he has, why would Malfoy want to collect a price from your head? Malfoy's got more than enough money already."
"And Fletcher - I'm worried about him. He knows what we were dealing, and now there's no money coming his way, why would he bother to keep the secret?"
"...I guess. But Fletcher doesn't know for certain." Pettigrew gives a small shrug. "I don't see what any of this has to do with us moving in together. They'd both be happier if they lived with each other instead. We'd all be happier!"
"Yeah," Lupin agrees, "up until I'm inevitably arrested. And then Prongs will never forgive himself for moving out, and believe me, both he and Pads will blame you. I'm not prepared to do that to you, Pete."
Vance paces behind the long two-way mirror which covers the length of the ten interview rooms - seven of which are now occupied, with each interviewee sat with an auror. Each flick of Vance's wand enables her to speak to the aurors directly - either all at once, one on one, or to a select group at a time.
It's a feature that was fast-tracked into the Ministry with their development staff working overtime, and it remains one of Vance's favourite features - the ability to live question entire groups, all whilst monitoring them all in real time. Each answer given can be contrasted immediately with their counterpart - no need to pause or check the record, no opportunity for the witness to think.
It builds paranoia, with the aurors easily able to tell each interviewee that the others are leaking details - that if they don't speak up as well, they're the one who'll take the blame and receive the harshest punishment.
But tonight, the technique is ineffective. Each question returns the same answer, in the same monotone - apart from Abraxas, who seems entirely unaware of his surroundings, let alone being able to give reliable answers to the questions posed to him.
"They've rehearsed this," Vance says, irritably.
"The briefing notes suggest that the time of death was at least two hours before we were called." Bones nods in agreement. "Plenty of time to have practised their story."
"Any chance of memory extraction?"
"The Wizengamot won't take it."
"Still? They need to move with the times."
"They say it's not foolproof," Bones sighs, "that memories can be tampered with."
Vance shakes her head. "You've seen a tampered memory. It looks nothing like the real thing." She pauses. "I might hold them all and question them again tomorrow. See if anything changes in their story after a sorry night on those cold benches in the cells."
"The Prophet would have a field day if we held them, especially with the baby in tow," Bones warns. "Not to mention the Minister's response. He's close with Abraxas Malfoy, remember?"
"...of course he is," Vance says, trying not to roll her eyes. "All except Abraxas then."
"That's transparent."
"Transparent? Have you seen him? It looks as if he's taking his dying breaths now," Vance says, stepping closer to the glass and peering through at him.
"No wonder the wizarding world has seen neither hide nor hair of him of late," Bones says, staring over Vance's shoulder. "I wonder what he had been up to in Europe."
"Contracting dragon pox, by the looks of him." Vance flicks through their notes. "That's settled. We could send old man Malfoy home. The wife too - she isn't going to contradict her husband, and the baby will become a problem if we hold her for too long."
Bones looks conflicted. "That's rather the point - they're all problems. We've arrested 1/7th of the Sacred families in one swoop."
"I don't much fancy putting that on my arrest sheet."
"And it isn't just their family names - they're powerful in their own right. Malfoy, the Lestrange brothers, the Black sisters." Bones shakes her head. "Even Avery is high up in MAC. The case against them would need to be airtight." She glances at the notes over Vance's shoulder. "Frankly, I'm amazed they've spoken without representation."
"I'm not," Vance says, spinning her wand in her hand, "they're all in it together. This is a prepared story. If it wasn't, they wouldn't be sharing anything with us at all."
Behind them, the door swings open behind and Moody shuffles in, offering them a broad smile and holding a piece of parchment aloft. "Permission granted."
Bones mirrors his wide smile, whilst Vance's reaction is far more muted.
"Merlin, I thought that would put a smile on your face," Moody grumbles, as he shuts the door, "but evidently it takes more than that."
"And what? So we can check their wands," Vance sneers. "Do you really think we'll find anything more than Lucius Malfoy desperately unblocking a fireplace?"
Bones gives a tight laugh. "Perhaps not."
"Ah," Moody smiles, passing the parchment towards the two women, "I wasn't clear. Permission for the modified spell has been granted. It seems Paul Chambers has been very busy with his spell-crafting of late."
"Modified?" Bones says, her eyebrows raising. "Modified how?"
Vance immediately takes the parchment from Moody's hands and reads it keenly. "It extracts the last twenty seven spells?"
"And this is definitely admissible? As evidence?" Bones can't help but keep the elation from her voice. "If young Rosier was murdered with magic, we've surely caught the culprit. Even in two hours they're unlikely to have used twenty seven spells." She pauses, looking baffled. "What an odd number."
"Ask them," Moody says, settling into a chair.
"Who? Paul? As to why it's twenty seven?"
"No. Ask them," he says, gesticulating towards the two-way mirror, "who did it."
"To receive another prepared answer?" Vance looks incredulous. "And what purpose would that serve?"
"Tell them we're going to check their wands, and ask them if they have any suspicions as to who the murderer was. Tell them it may help their defence if they are willing to cooperate and able to provide us with a credible lead."
"It would be inadmissible. It's a leading question."
"We're not going to convict someone based on their statements," Moody explains, "but one of them will crack and give us something surprising to work with."
Vance looks sceptical. "And if they don't?"
"And if they don't, we simply explain just how many spells we can now check. Brilliant, Alastor."
Vance frowns, clearly unconvinced. "And you think that's enough to scare them?"
"Not scare them as such," Moody says, "but we will soon see who is in a hurry to change their version of events." He pauses, offering a thin smile. "In fact, I'm rather looking forward to seeing how the ever slippery Lucius worms his way out of this."
Bones gives a short scoff. "Really, Alastor? After the rings he's run around us over the years?"
Moody pauses, as if considering her question. "Ah yes, I should clarify," Moody says, "I am rather looking forward to hearing his inventive tale - as this time, we've got him. It will give me great pleasure to watch him knot a noose of lies around his own neck." He settles into a seat, his smirk broader than ever. "I don't know about you, but I am greatly looking forward to the show."
Chapter 122: Prophesying
Chapter Text
"I detest this stuff," Pettigrew says, pushing the half drunk pint glass away from him. "It's not half as good as Butterbeer."
"Merlin, Pete, what's got into you tonight?" Potter gives him a friendly punch on the arm. "You're a right misery."
"It's not like I haven't joined in - I've had three! I just prefer Butterbeer, that's all."
"Butterbeer is far sweeter," Lupin agrees.
"You could have a cocktail or something," Black says, leaning around a pillar to stare at the bar. "They must do them. Girls have them all the time."
Pettigrew glares fiercely at him.
"What?" Black splutters through his pint. "I was giving you an option!"
Pettigrew turns towards Potter. "He gets at me all the time, James. ...don't you fancy mixing it up? You sharing with him for a bit, and I can take your place?"
"No can do, Petey," Potter says, cheerfully, "we're living it up, aren't we Remes?"
"Remes? Petey?"
"Yeah, I think you've had enough, Prongs," Black says, moving Potter's pint glass out of reach.
Potter laughs and then beckons them to lean in, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Right, the stuff. We've all got it?"
"Got mine yesterday," Black says.
"Me too," nods Potter. "Pete?"
"Not quite had chance to finish getting it all," he says, awkwardly.
"Not quite had chance to finish getting it all?" Potter repeats, incredulously. "What was so hard about buying a few ingredients?"
"It's fine, James," Lupin says, quickly. "I'm sure Pete'll finish off when he's had chance."
Black stares intently at Pettigrew. "Tomorrow."
"Yeah, yeah," Pettigrew says, taking a sip of his drink. "Probably tomorrow."
"I'm dumping my stuff at your place, Pads," Potter says, "we'll keep it there, and then Pete can add his bit to it."
"It's my place, not Sirius'!"
"He knows that," Black mutters.
"And I don't think I want it all in my house! What if someone checks?"
"And what if someone checks mine and Lupin's, hey?" Potter gives Pettigrew an incredulous look. "I'll tell you what'll happen, they'll send you and Pads down for a week or two, and then they'll discover that you're not werewolves. If we leave it at mine-"
"-I get it, I get it."
"Good," Black says, firmly, "because I'm starting to think there's something wrong with your brain."
"Or your loyalties," Potter says, his stare fierce. "I thought we were all in this together. One for all."
"We are!" Pettigrew protests, hotly. "I've just been busy, that's all. No harm intended." There's a brief pause. "...how long do we need to keep the stuff at mine?"
Potter looks at Lupin. "When do you think we should deliver it? Does it all need to be fresh?"
"I don't think so, but stasis charms might help." Lupin gives a thin grin. "I'm sure we'll get some feedback if it's wrong."
Black raises his eyebrows. "Evans that much of a task master, is she?"
Pettigrew frowns. "Where exactly are you leaving it?"
"Yeah, that's a point, you've not said," Black presses. "Half thought we might see Evans making her way in here tonight, the way you were talking." He pauses. "Although Prongs here hasn't got his best shirt on, so maybe not."
Lupin rolls his eyes. "We used to exchange at a train station. I'm guessing it'll be similar."
"Guessing?"
"I won't know until there's a codeword in the Prophet. That's the signal."
"All this effort and it might not even be a sure thing?" Pettigrew looks astonished. "What is Evans doing these days for her to be so picky about who she works for?"
At Potter's strained look, Black quickly intervenes. "I think we're getting a bit loud, lads. You don't know who's listening. Shall we sink these and head back?"
"Mulciber," says Bellatrix.
"Mulciber," Rabastan says.
Rodolphus gives a grimace. "Mulciber."
"In light of the rest of us being in the dining room, and there being no suggestion of suicide," Narcissa says, softly, "I can only suggest it was Mulciber."
Bones sighs as Narcissa finishes her statement, whilst Vance gives both Moody and Bones a smug smile.
"Fine, you were right."
"I was right," Vance says, triumphantly. "The Lestrange brothers say Mulciber, and the Black sisters say Mulciber."
Bones frowns. "Have they found him yet?"
"No," Moody grunts.
Vance scoffs. "No? How difficult is it to locate one wizard?"
"I've pulled as much resource as I can off the streets."
"Which is how much exactly, Alastor?"
"Six teams of aurors."
Vance shakes her head. "If those degenerates down Knockturn realise that we're undermanned, they'll be summoning demons and dealing dark potions, prophesying-"
"-and I'll go out myself once we've finished here."
"I'll go with you," Bones offers, immediately.
"Then let's hurry this along," Vance says. "Who next? Malfoy senior, Malfoy junior, or Avery?"
"Merlin's sake, is that Abraxas? I almost didn't recognise him! What's wrong with him?" Moody says, staring hard through the mirror. "He looks as if he's been dragged from his deathbed."
"We said as much."
"Abraxas then," Moody says, quickly, "before he keels over and we have to fill in some highly tedious paperwork."
"I am afraid I have no idea. Young Lucius no longer includes me in such gatherings, and I was entirely unaware of any visitors to or from the Manor. This whole situation has been a complete shock."
"Ask Avery," Vance orders, and the three watch keenly as the auror within Avery's interview room leans forward.
"Mr Avery, I must make you aware that the courts have granted permission for us to check your wand."
You owe Malfoy, Avery thinks. Your wand would contain Sectumsempra if it wasn't for him.
"Before we do, we wish to ask you, as we have asked the others, do you have any suggestions as to who the murderer may have been? It may aid your defence if you cooperate and are able to offer us any leads."
They want me to say Mulciber - but it wasn't him. I know it wasn't him. No matter what Malfoy says - no matter how much he protests that Sev didn't show him that spell, I don't believe him. His relationship with Sev wasn't some purely transactional bullshit, some business deal with handshakes and money. There was more to it, I know there was. And those brewers keep dying, and now he wants me to look after one - and that means I'll die too!
Avery looks down, unable to look at the auror.
"Mr Avery?"
Ros is dead. Sev is as good as dead. There's only me, Reggie and Mulc left. If I screw Mulc over now, he'll die, and then it'll surely be my turn.
"Malfoy," Avery says, looking up. "I think it was Lucius Malfoy."
Severus is even more downhearted when he casts at the shower, and suddenly realises that it also requires magic to work. Lil's going to hate every minute of living here, he thinks, as the water starts pounding. She'll be entirely reliant on me for everything.
He removes his clothes, checking his pockets carefully and emptying them. Wallet, keys, wand. He places the items on the bed, keen not to lose sight of them. He can remember too many arguments from the flat where either he or Lily would lose something - putting purses and wallets in drawers whilst deep in discussion, and then the next day, spending twenty minutes ripping apart the flat looking for them, all whilst blaming the other for being late.
You can't argue like that now Bean's going to be here. Everything's got to be perfect. You can't go behaving like Mam and Da - you need to be like David and Rose. Best behaviour all of the time. No arguments. No shouting. No fighting. Just perfection.
Severus steps into the shower, and groans as he shuts the door and the water beats against his exhausted body.
"Ask him why he thinks that," Vance says, immediately.
"What makes you think that Lucius Malfoy is the culprit?"
"He was the last one with them," Avery says, deliberately. "We were all in a room together, and then the girls and the baby and the Lestrange boys left to get some food." He takes a sharp intake of breath. "There was me, Rosier, Mulciber and Malfoy. I said that I was hungry so Malfoy sent me to join his wife and the others. I left, and shortly afterwards, Malfoy joined us in the dining room."
"How shortly is shortly?"
The auror repeats Moody's question.
"Minutes," Avery says. "It was quick."
"And what about Mulciber in this story?" Bones asks.
"And what happened to Mulciber?"
"I think he'd have left," Avery says. "Malfoy's not close with either of them, not really. Rosier and Malfoy have some business disagreements, and I think Malfoy took his opportunity."
Moody raises his eyebrows. "Getting rid of the competition, eh? Got a ruthless streak has young Mr Malfoy."
"We know that already by the way Lily Evans disappeared," Bones muses.
"Evans?" Vance looks surprised. "I thought she'd just got scared."
Moody shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "I think that's likely. Young, hot headed, in too deep. She ran."
"I don't agree. I think she was a very intelligent, likable and earnest girl," Bones says, quietly, "and she got in with Malfoy, and she's not been seen since. I think it's clear what happened."
"You truly believe that Evan Rosier isn't Lucius Malfoy's first victim?"
"I'm almost certain of it. And I think I am very keen to see Lucius Malfoy's wand."
The four men step through the Leaky Cauldron, and Pettigrew shakes his head as they aren't challenged at either doorway.
"I'm just saying-"
"-give it a rest, Pete," Potter says, covering his face with his hands. "We know!"
They stroll down Diagon Alley, and then Black suddenly stops, a deep frown on his face.
"What's up, Pads?"
Black glances around them, and then he nods at the entry to Knockturn. "No time like the present, Pete."
"I can't go shopping at this time of night," Pettigrew squeaks, his voice unusually high. "It's suspicious."
"It's always suspicious down Knockturn," Potter says, "you might as well do it without an audience. That's why the shops are open so late."
"And what about you three?"
"We'll walk ahead if we're bothering you."
"No!" Pettigrew flushes at his high voice. "I mean, maybe you all fancy the walk with me?"
"Not me," Lupin murmurs.
"Yeah, we'll head back," Potter says, "but you go with Pads." He exchanges a look with Black, who nods - the two of them clearly unimpressed at Pettigrew's reluctance to purchase the ingredients needed for Wolfsbane in a timely manner. "Once I've dropped Lupin off, I'll nip back around yours with the ingredients I've got."
"I don't need dropping off."
"I'm not saying you do," Potter laughs, looping his arm around Lupin, "but two wands are better than one, you know that. See you two in about half an hour!"
Vance waves her wand to forge the connection to the auror sitting opposite Lucius. "Ask Malfoy who he thinks did it."
"Mr Malfoy, I must make you aware that the courts have granted permission for us to check your wand. Before we do, we wish to ask you, as we have asked the others, do you have any suggestions as to who the murderer may have been? It may aid your defence if you cooperate and are able to offer us any leads."
Lucius considers the auror sitting opposite him, and then he glances towards the two-way mirror. "Would it possible for me to make an admission off the record?"
The auror glances at the two-way mirror.
Vance, Bones and Moody exchange a frown, and then Vance nods. "Yes."
"Yes," repeats the auror.
"To my embarrassment," Lucius says, "I realised that some of the fireplaces within the Manor were not to the Ministry standard, and I must admit that I took measures to rectify this before the auror department were called."
"Tell him that it's not a traditional Prior Incantato," offers Moody, "see if that puts his mind at rest."
"The spell they're going to use to check the wand is not the traditional Prior Incantato," the auror dutifully relays.
"No? Interesting," Lucius says, leaning back slightly. He turns towards the mirror again. "A modification. I had heard from the Minister that the spell-crafting department were doing exceptional work of late. He was practically gushing with praise for Chambers - it is Chambers, isn't it? Tell me, how many spells does can it extract?"
"Tell him it's none of his business."
"I am afraid I am unable to divulge that information, Mr Malfoy."
"Tell them I have a few fireplaces."
Vance gives a loud scoff. "Ask him again. On the record."
"Returning the conversation back to the record, the question posed to you, Mr Malfoy, was whether you had any suggestions as to who the murderer was."
"...I am afraid I have little information that could be of use," Lucius says, looking solemn. "My good wife and child departed with her sister and my brothers-in-law, leaving myself, Avery, Mulciber and Rosier. Avery followed shortly after, and myself maybe thirty seconds, or sixty seconds later."
Vance and Bones exchange a look.
"That quickly?" presses Moody.
"Are you sure of the timings?"
"Oh, quite sure," says Lucius. "I left Mulciber and Rosier conversing. They were undecided as to whether they should join us for our meal, but I was aware of my wife's anxiety about the late hour, so I hurried back to join them. We all stayed in the dining room until we made the joint discovery of the body a good hour or so later."
"Joint discovery? Who made this joint discovery?"
"All apart from my father, who did not dine with us, and Rabastan who went to the toilet after eating and before joining us - but I assure you, it could not have been Rabastan as it was evident that Rosier was long dead." Lucius pauses, a sudden frown on his face. "Which reminds me, Avery also left the dining room to use the facilities," he says, "between courses." There's an elongated pause. "I say, I was going to suggest that only Mulciber had opportunity to perform such a deed, but perhaps Avery…"
Vance immediately cuts the spell and moves it to the other rooms. "Ask them all - apart from Avery and Abraxas - if anyone left the dining room to use the bathroom during the meal."
"Avery."
"Avery."
"Just Avery."
"Avery did."
There's an elongated pause as the three aurors stare at each other, and then Vance points her wand towards the two-way mirror and the room Avery is sat in with an auror. "Ask Avery if he left to use the bathroom between courses," she instructs.
"Whilst eating at the Manor, did you leave the dining room at any point?"
Avery frowns, and then nods. "Errrr. I did, yes." He gives a short laugh. "But I only went to the toilet. A minute, two minutes. Well, maybe three or four but only because I got a bit lost on the way back, but…" He trails off, and then he looks at the auror in alarm. "...I went to the toilet," he says, insistently, "that's all."
"Shove the packet in your trousers," Black hisses, as they step out of the shop and into the darkened alley.
"I'm trying," Pettigrew says, "but they're a bit tight. Can't you carry it?"
"No."
"But it's all right for me to get caught with it?"
"You won't get caught if you keep your voice down!" Black gives him an incredulous look. "I carried my ingredients yesterday. Fair's fair, Pete." They stalk away from the shop front. "I don't know what you're grumbling about, it's just some powdered silver - it's hardly prohibited. I'm starting to think you don't want to help Remus."
"Of course I do!"
"Just not enough."
Pettigrew shrugs tightly. "It's not that. It's Mother. She'll be heartbroken if I get into trouble."
"Yeah, well, family isn't all it's cracked up to be-"
"-you would say that with your lot." There's a pause. "Seen Bellatrix lately?"
"No."
"Any contact with little Regulus?"
"I don't speak to them - any of them! You know that," Sirius hisses.
"I was only asking-"
"-all right, shut up," Black says, elbowing Pettigrew hard as he spots two woman sitting at a small table, dealing cards between them.
"Good evening, gentlemen-"
"-not tonight, thanks," Black replies breezily, dragging Pettigrew alongside him, pulling him past.
"And you, sir?" the second woman asks, snaking a hand out to grip Pettigrew's arm. "Your friend is closed to the readings, but you - you have an eye."
"He does not have an eye," Black scoffs, "and you're a con-artist."
The women both roll their eyes. "That's offensive," the first woman says.
"Rude."
"Uncalled for," the first woman concurs. "We are both seers."
"You can't be," Black laughs. "It's all nonsense. Crystal balls and fire omens."
"Like we were taught at Hogwarts?" Pettigrew says, staring hungrily at the cards. "None of that stuff ever came true."
"Because you do not have the gift," the second woman says. "Not all are blessed with the inner eye."
"But you are? What sort of thing can you tell?" Pettigrew asks, swallowing tightly, his eyes darting between the two women.
"What has happened-"
"-I can tell you that," chips in Black. "Being able to say what happened yesterday is not a gift."
"-is happening-"
"-and I can tell you that too!" Black explodes.
Pettigrew stares at the cards more intently. "Yeah? And what about what lies ahead?"
"We can tell you what lies ahead," the first woman agrees, jangling her bracelets as she collects the cards together and shuffles them again.
"Pete, come on-"
"-it'll only take a minute," Pettigrew argues, watching the woman shuffling the cards, "it's just some cards. There's no harm."
"Reversed High Priestess," the second woman says, as the card is placed on the table - and the two women exchange a worried glance.
Pettigrew pales at their reaction. "That's bad?"
"How can it be bad?" Black says, his eyes flashing with anger. "It's made up!"
"Eight of Swords."
Both women look increasingly alarmed, inhaling air through their teeth.
Black looks even more irritated. "Come on, Pete. You don't have to listen to these two charlatans."
"Why?" Pettigrew looks alarmed. "What's wrong with the Eight of Swords?"
"It means crisis," Black says, hotly.
"Not entirely. It means hopelessness, victimisation, dilemma-"
"-silenced, paralysed with fear, anxiety-"
"-yes, I feel all those!"
"We all feel those, Pete!" Black exclaims. "That's how this tripe works - every single one of those cards will say something to everyone."
"Ten of Cups. ...reversed."
"That's it, we're going."
"No," Pettigrew argues, staring at the cards, his fingers glancing over them, as if he can feel the energy rising from them, "I want to know what it all means."
"It means disconnection in your future," the first woman says, and then she turns to give Black a toothy grin, "of struggling relationships. Your friend already knows."
"This isn't even how you do these," Black argues. "A three card spread is meant to be past, present, future - not three false promises of what's going to happen."
Pettigrew turns on Black, his tone accusing. "For someone who says this is rot, you seem to know an awful lot about how this works!"
"Auntie Druella was obsessed with this sort of stuff, which is why I know it's a pack of lies!"
"You know what those cards mean?"
"I'm telling you, Pete, if those were my cards, I'd give up now." Black tugs at his arm. "They're trying to lure you in. They'll promise you another reading in a moment - a salve for the pain."
Pettigrew looks at the cards in horror. "I've chosen the wrong path?"
"That's the indecisiveness," the second woman observes. "Feel hopeless, do you, boy? We can-"
"-I told you! Look, he doesn't feel hopeless!" Black reaches in his pockets. "Here's five galleons for your trouble - now leave him alone."
"The cards can help with your uncertainty-"
"-or we can offer a reading through crystal-"
"But Sirius-"
"-and you should both pack up," Black loudly continues, "I can hear the aurors coming. You know the rules about doing this on the street, Knockturn or not!"
The two women look alarmed, clearing the cards and standing. The second woman shrinks the table and chairs, and secretes them in her robe pocket.
"If there's aurors coming," Pettigrew says, watching the two women, "maybe we should get out of here as well."
"Yeah," Black says, half-heartedly. He strolls backwards, watching the women retreat further down the alley in the opposite direction. "I can't believe you were taken in by that shit."
"You must've thought it was fair if you paid them!"
"I paid them because there's no such thing as a free reading," Black groans, "didn't your parents teach you anything? It's not worth being cursed for the rest of your life."
"They can curse me?" Pettigrew looks back in horror, seeing the women pausing in their tracks. "Pads, I think they're coming back! Where are the aurors? They'll scare them away."
"There are no aurors," Black hisses, "I thought you'd worked that much out tonight." He swallows uncomfortably as the two women stalk towards them, their voices getting louder as they approach.
"Always like this now," the first woman says.
The second woman nods. "Frightful manners they have today, the lot of them. Tricksters and fools and charlatans."
Black grabs Pettigrew's arm. "Back up to Diagon - quick!"
"Sceptics everywhere."
"Liars and cheats and thieves and-
"-the nemesis has arrived."
Black turns wide-eyed towards Pettigrew. "What did you just say?"
"I didn't say anything!"
"You must've, that was a bloke!"
Pettigrew looks behind them again - and this time, the first woman has her head thrust backwards and her arms outstretched before her. "Pads, look!"
"She's in a trance! It's her! That deep voice is her," Black gasps.
"The nemesis has arrived," she repeats, "emerging from darkness-"
"Come on, let's go-"
"-the challenger is born."
"-no, Pete, it's a prophecy, we need to listen!"
"A boy once so wanted-"
"You just told me that it was all claptrap!"
"-scorned and ignored."
"Not these, not when the voice changes! These are real prophecies!"
"Marked by another, loyalties torn-"
"This is legitimate?"
"-methods unexpected, nemesis of the Dark Lord."
"Merlin's beard! Nemesis of You-Know-Who!" Black looks agog, his mouth wide open. "Do you realise what this means?"
"No," Pettigrew says, already breathless, "no, no. The cards! They were right! We're going to die for this!"
"Come on, let's go," Black says, sprinting down the street. Pettigrew is half a yard behind him, clutching at his trousers, trying desperately not to drop the pouch of precious powdered silver secreted within his waistband.
Behind them, the woman cricks her neck, and then her mouth opens, the words tumbling from her lips again without pause, "The nemesis has arrived. The nemesis has arrived. Emerging from darkness, the challenger is born. A boy once so wanted, scorned and ignored. Marked by another, loyalties torn, methods unexpected, nemesis of the Dark Lord."
Chapter 123: Fill the prophecy
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Draco nestles into the crook between Lucius' neck and shoulder. His eyelids shut and his head lolls, and then he jerks himself back awake, pale irises surrounded by red where there should only be white - his tiny body warning that he desperately needs to succumb to sleep, but the excitement of his surrounds stopping him.
"Sleep now, baby boy," Lucius commands, his voice low and deep.
"I'll take him," Narcissa immediately offers, her arms outstretched.
"Take Father," Lucius says, with a small shake of his head. His eyes meet Narcissa's, and he quirks an eyebrow, and he half wonders if she understands what he's thinking - that he daren't perform side-along with his father, doesn't trust himself to complete the move successfully. The urge to extricate himself from the remnants of his father's control by finally dispensing with him is strong, whilst simultaneously being aware that such reckless behaviour in present circumstances will cause the aurors to fixate upon him further - in all of the ways that he has made it his mission in life to evade.
He doesn't have to say anything along those lines. She knows. He knows that she knows. He knows that she could sense the darkness within him following the murder within their home. He has no way of knowing what happened between Severus and Narcissa after they utilised the time turner - although he strongly suspects that Severus may have knelt before her on bended knee, spilling his confession, even begging for absolution of his sins - but such displays are decidedly not Lucius' style.
Where Severus may carry regret or compassion, Lucius is filled with the thrill of desire and passion, his hedonistic tendencies spiralling to the fore - and whilst Severus may have looked to her for solace or redemption, Lucius knows his wife; Lucius knows Narcissa.
Lucius knows that despite her protestations, the dark enthralls her, entices her - remember, this is the woman who dispensed of her competition, sister be damned, in such a ruthless manner. His pale eyes rake over his wife. Yes, she's drawn to it as much as I am - and it is this solemn thought which confirms his belief that she fully understands the temptation warring within him, Severus' violent actions coaxing his own dark desires to the surface.
Unspeaking, Narcissa silently steps backwards and compliantly takes Abraxas' arm, her eyes not leaving Draco.
"He's fine."
Narcissa nods tightly, and then turns her attention to Shacklebolt. "And my sister?"
"She's already been released."
"Before us?" Lucius' voice is calm and measured, but his eyebrow flicks upwards.
Shacklebolt nods. "L before M, Mr Malfoy."
Lucius makes the slightest movement - a small relaxation of his shoulders - but it isn't missed by Narcissa.
"And I always thought I was favoured for my family's standing and heritage," she says, sweetly, "but it appears I was simply fortunate enough to be before most others alphabetically. What a step down your name has been, Lucius," she teases, with a twisted smile.
Before either Lucius or Abraxas can retort, she reaches her hand out, taking her wand gratefully from Shacklebolt, and immediately twisting it in her hand. With a graceful step forward and Abraxas' sleeve still gripped tightly in a finely manicured hand, there is a gentle snap and both she and Abraxas disappear.
Lucius follows suit, his hand outstretched for the return of his wand. Shacklebolt eyes him distrustfully, not relinquishing his hold on Lucius' wand until Lucius loses patience and tugs on it firmly, pulling it out of the auror's reach. "I trust you have finished with my wand?" Lucius sneers.
"I must warn you that it would be ill-advised to block those fireplaces once more on your return."
"How disappointed you must've been," Lucius smiles, "that my wand did not damn me - not even with your fancy new creation."
"There is no disappointment. We simply seek the truth, Mr Malfoy."
"Indeed. In keeping with the truth, I feel it only fair to inform you that I shall be requesting a meeting with the Minister to discuss the events of this evening," Lucius warns. He steps forward, preparing to Disapparate as efficiently as his wife before him, when he feels Shacklebolt's firm hand on his free shoulder. "...is there a problem? I need to return my son to his bed."
"You are aware of the punishment for lying under oath?"
Lucius' nostrils flare, belying his false smile. "I am - although I hasten to add, I do not understand the relevance of your statement."
"They will bring in pensieve testimony."
"They have not done so yet."
"There is no statute of limitations."
"Nor," Lucius' smile grows wider, his grey eyes like steel, "is there support for double jeopardy."
"But there is for perjury," Shacklebolt counters.
Lucius pauses, toying with the wand between his fingers. "Am I to understand that you have a problem with my testimony this evening?"
"No problem, Mr Malfoy," Shacklebolt says, his tone suddenly cheerful.
"Good." Lucius stays fixed to the spot, as if fighting an internal battle, and then he leans closer to Shacklebolt. "For the record, I wish to make it clear in your mind that I did not murder Evan Rosier."
"And for the record," Shacklebolt says, leaning closer still, "qui cum canibus concumbunt cum pulicibus surgent." He steps backwards, a content smile on his face. "If you lie down with dogs, you-"
"-I can speak Latin," Lucius interrupts, haughtily. "It seems that it falls to me to remind you testis unus, testis nullus. If you have no further reason to keep me and my infant son here, I bid you goodnight, Auror Shacklebolt."
Bellatrix kneels on the stone floor, but the cold seeping through her skin barely registers in her brain, her mind entirely focused upon the powerful wizard circling her, his cloak swirling behind him, his dragonhide boots rhythmically pounding against the floor as he moves. She doesn't look up, but she can sense his wand pointing at her, an extension of his outstretched arm.
"Tell me, when did these events occur?"
"Today. This evening, my Lord," she says, eyes firmly focused on the floor before her. "I came as soon as I was released - as soon as I was able."
"And your husband?"
"My loyalty is to you, my Lord."
He smirks, but it's fleeting - almost immediately masked by a curl of his lip. "I am to understand he escaped unscathed?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"And his brother also?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"...and what of the rest?"
"They were still being held by the aurors when I departed."
He moves around her, his boots coming into view, and then he reaches down, his fingers cool as they meet her skin, tipping her chin upwards.
"Show me."
Avery lies on the thin mattress, staring blankly at the ceiling. He feels sick to his stomach - sick that Rosier is dead, sick that he's one of those accused of being involved in his friend's murder, sick that he went to Malfoy Manor, sick that he stayed, sick that he ate amongst them and, most of all, sick that he was stupid enough to excuse himself in the midst of the meal.
He thinks of those arrested with him - of beautiful Narcissa and terrifying Bellatrix, evasive Lucius and the duplicitous Lestrange brothers, and Abraxas - the sick, old man he hadn't even been aware was residing in the Manor until the aurors had hauled him amongst them.
Avery's mind wanders to his role in the Ministry - of his usual office all those floors above, and what those who work with him will think of this turn of events. The ignominy bites, and his nostrils flare, and he thinks of how the others will be feeling in their cells - their outrage was palpable when they were escorted in, all of them convinced that they'd be released and not needlessly held.
They must be in the cells on this corridor too. All three Lestranges and all three Malfoys. Powerful families - through lineage, through marriage, the Blacks intertwined.
He swallows tightly, suddenly aware of how alone he now is amongst them - the Lestrange brothers, the generations of Malfoy men, and the Black sisters.
There were three of us to start the night, he thinks, Ros, Mulc, me - and now there's just me. Alone. You should've thrown Mulc over. You could've been Malf's boy. Taken Sev's spot, filled the vacancy of loyal pet. Malfoy offered it - practically presented it on a gilded plate. Took you into his confidence, explained his business, protected you. All he asked was one thing.
Avery shifts uncomfortably on the mattress.
And you didn't toe the line. So now you're all in here, incarcerated, waiting to be questioned further. He'll know that it was you who dissented, who didn't stick to the story - and now the aurors are following a lead that isn't one; a visit to the toilet that was nothing more than a simple call of nature.
They'll all know. Malf and Bella and Bast and Dolph and Cissy. She won't forgive him, lovely Cissy, if she's still here too, Malf's baby in her arms. And for what? Mulc's friendship?
He can't save you now. Either Malfoy's right and Mulc was the killer, so he won't come to your defence - or you're right, and Malfoy's the murderer...and either Mulc wasn't on the premises, and can offer no support, or…
Avery runs cold, his heart thumping erratically in his chest.
...or Mulc was in on it.
"No," Pettigrew cries, his voice getting higher, "you can't tell him! Promise me you won't tell him!"
Black doesn't stop pacing around Pettigrew's living room, tapping his wand against the palm of his free hand. "He needs to know."
"But if you tell James, he'll tell Remus."
"Not if we swear him to secrecy."
"And you think he'll manage to keep it to himself? He lives with Remus! They share a flat together, they sit together in the evening, they cook together, eat together-"
"-I do that with you, and I don't feel the need to share my most intimate secrets!"
"But this isn't an intimate secret," Pettigrew shoots back, immediately, "this has nothing to do with Prongs. He isn't going to closely guard it as if it was a secret of his own!"
"Of course he will! He's one of us!"
"And what of Remus?" Pettigrew gives a tight triumphant smile as Black flinches. "Hmm? Is he not one of us too?"
"I was the one who said we should tell them both - you're the one who was against mentioning it to Remus."
Pettigrew shakes his head, his jowls swaying gently. "You said it yourself, Remus is the one most likely to join You-Know-Who."
"I didn't say that."
Pettigrew gives him a cruel smile. "You did. I remember. James said that your family was a concern to our security, and you scoffed and said that it was Remus who we should be worried about seeing as he was a dark creature."
"I didn't say he was a dark creature. I said he was marred by a dark creature," Black argues, hotly, "and for Merlin's sake, don't go saying shit like that to him - he's tetchy enough!"
"Is it any surprise, given that's the sort of thing you're whispering behind his back? He's not stupid - he already feels left out of our group. Telling James about this will only make him more suspicious."
Black runs his hand over his face. "You're twisting what I mean. This is fact, Pete. Greyback infected our friend, and no matter his personality, no matter his fortitude, no matter his beliefs-"
"-he's just a wolf-"
"-no!" Black looks torn.
"Go on, say it," Pettigrew taunts, "you've said it before - he'll always be a wolf."
"That creature controls him," Black says, finally. "Whether we like it or not, he fights the call of the darkness every month."
Pettigrew appraises him. "And you said that without the potion, he'd just be one of them."
"That isn't what I said."
"It's true though." Pettigrew stands straighter, tightening his back. "If he loses his humanity… He needs to be kept in check, and we're not strong enough to do that anymore." He gives a tight shrug. "If he knows about this prophecy, then it's currency."
Black closes his eyes.
"It's a risk," Pettigrew presses, as if sensing that Black's argument is on the ropes. "A needless risk. Just me and you, we're the only people who need to know."
"...James will never forgive me."
"It isn't James we have to worry about," Pettigrew says, firmly. "I'm more concerned with the Dark Lord coming after us!"
"We can't keep it to ourselves! This prophecy could finish him!"
"It could finish us!"
It takes all of Bellatrix's resolve not to quail before him. He peels through her mind with disregard for the sanctity of the contents - instead of a practised, careful tread, he roughly ploughs through her mind, churning memories up and rifling through them before cruelly discarding them with barely more than a trifling glance.
His search feels aimless - one minute, he's watching the interrogation and then he's peering at her earlier anger, watching her furious destruction of Lestrange property. He sees her bickering with Narcissa, and her lack of interest in Draco, and her waspish comments towards Lucius and Avery. He lingers over her meal, over the caustic conversation, over Lucius' actions in the periphery of the scene, of Abraxas being handcuffed and hauled in amongst them, and the gasp of surprise from Avery as he sees Abraxas' dishevelled state.
She tries to focus, tries to push relevant memories towards him - but he jerks back, as if she's spat at him, and then he grips her chin more tightly, his wand dangling above her, and he delves back in. This time he's merciless, ruthless, and he rakes over historical memories - her third birthday, Andromeda's birth, Narcissa's first birthday, her own first day at Hogwarts, Slughorn welcoming her into Slytherin, her watching from her bedroom window as a young Lucius walks up the path towards their mansion with flowers clutched in his hand and Abraxas' hand on his shoulder, that potion sticking in her throat and Andromeda fleeing and Narcissa screaming and Lucius smirking and Rodolphus holding her - and as the intensity ramps up and she struggles to maintain the eye contact necessary, he swerves and his spell swiftly moves back towards the events of the night.
It feels as if he's swirled his wand within her mind, mixing memories in the same manner that one would casually stir fruit into yoghurt, causing emotions to spiral within her, leaving her heart beating wildly, a heady mix of jealousy and betrayal and lust, and now that he's in full control of her mind, he coaxes her recent memories into a coherent narrative, showing him the exact events at the Manor.
"Abraxas is unwell."
She nods.
"And Mulciber? Where is he now?"
"I do not know, my Lord."
He taps his tongue impatiently against his teeth. "You truly believe him to be the wizard responsible for this crime?"
"...I have no knowledge as to who may be responsible, my Lord."
"Yet you gave Mulciber's name to the aurors," he says, smoothly.
"I was acting in line with Lucius' request, my Lord."
"You carry a torch for him still."
At this, she bristles, her face twisted in indignation and the Dark Lord laughs - a deep, sonorous, mirth-filled eruption.
"I am incorrect?"
"I have never been so affected by Lucius Malfoy," she hisses, practically spitting his name, and in her anger, almost forgetting to append her response with the appropriate form of address, "my Lord."
He gives a small scoff at her slip. "He is under your skin."
"Never, my Lord." She meets his gaze again, her dark eyes fixed on his own. "Only one wizard has captured my heart, my Lord, and I shall remain his loyal and devoted servant until my dying breath."
Potter drops by and when he whips his invisibility cloak off, his smile is broad and his arms full of ingredients. He hurries into the kitchen where Black dumps the contents of a cereal box into the bin, and Pettigrew secretes the precious ingredients inside, hiding the box behind two others in the back of a cupboard.
"Better hope that none of your visitors like cornflakes," Potter jokes, but the other two don't laugh. "Tough crowd," he mutters to himself, as he follows them out of the kitchen and back into the living room.
The three stand awkwardly, Pettigrew with his hands in his pockets and Black with his arms crossed. Potter scratches the back of his head, trying to make sense of the shifted mood.
"Busy down Knockturn?"
"No."
"Why should it be?"
Potter raises his eyebrows at the vehement responses. "No reason. ...did something happen?"
"No," the two chorus together.
This time, Potter's eyebrows knit together in a frown. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Black says, firmly, not making eye contact with his oldest friend. "Pete's tired."
"So's Sirius."
"We'd best go to bed."
"And you should get back to Remus," Pettigrew adds, ushering Potter towards the door.
"Right," Potter says, looking between the two anxiously. "Night then, Pete." He stares at Black. "Pads, can I have a quick word?"
Pettigrew shakes his head. "Whatever you want to say to Pads you can say in front of me."
Potter gives an incredulous laugh. "What's this? Are we back at school?"
"Might as well be, the way you lot carry on," Pettigrew says, standing his ground. "We're all friends, aren't we? So why can't you speak in front of me."
"Prongs?"
"I was only going to ask him about your birthday present," Potter says, raising his hands to his chest in a display of defeat, "but if you want to listen in, it rather spoils the surprise…"
Black hides a smirk as Pettigrew looks surprised and then suitably chastened.
"Right," Pettigrew says, a tiny flush growing on his cheeks, "I'll get off to bed and let Pads see you out. Night, James, good to see you."
"Good to see you too, Pete," Potter says, his amusement clear in his tone. "Night, mate."
When his footsteps retreat, Black turns to Potter and sighs, shaking his head.
"What was all that about?"
"Don't even go there," Black answers. "What's up?"
"Are you good to do the drop? If we get the go ahead?"
"Depends where it is, but I don't see why not."
"...or should we ask Pete?" Potter says, thoughtfully. "He could transform after the drop - nobody would spot a rat disappearing."
Black scoffs. "He won't do anything for anyone."
"Pads."
"It's true! You should've seen him down Knockturn tonight - a bit of powdered silver and he was bricking it." He pauses. "It's pointless even thinking of it - he won't risk carrying all of those ingredients at once."
"Was it busy down there?"
"...not really," Black says, looking over his shoulder and not meeting Potter's eyes.
"I thought with the aurors not being around-"
"-no, it was dead."
"Not even the usual crones?"
Black moves from one foot to the other. "I don't know what you mean."
"Course you do," Potter laughs, "they've usually set up camp down there, trying to trick anyone who passes by. I was speaking to that one with blue hair not so long back, when I was queuing up in Gringotts - she reckoned they do a good trade with those lingering near the knocking shop." Potter pauses, looking thoughtful. "I guess if you're desperate enough to pay for sex, you're probably desperate enough to be enticed into hearing that the future holds better." He gives a wide grin. "So, unless the aurors had pulled them in… Merlin, you don't think that's it, do you?"
"What?"
"That the aurors were missing because," and Potter lowers his voice to a hushed tone, "something was prophesied. Something big."
"You're being ridiculous, Prongs."
"No, listen, Pads! It makes sense! Why else would-"
"-they were down there, all right?"
Potter stops mid-sentence. "...what? Who was?"
"All of them! Women with tarot cards, aurors demanding to see papers-"
"-you said it was dead-"
"-it wasn't! All right? It was normal!"
Potter takes a sharp inhale of breath, appraising his old friend, taking in his distressed demeanour. "Pads, what happened? The aurors, they shook you up? Was this after Wormy picked up the-"
"-we got the stuff," Black says, "and we got back here unscathed. That's all that matters."
There's a long pause, and then Potter places his warm hand on Black's shoulder. "...if you need to talk-"
"-I'm fine."
"About anything."
"I said, I'm fine," Black says, shrugging his shoulder to dislodge his friend's hand.
"I can get Dumbledore to call a meeting."
"For what?"
It's Potter's turn to shrug.
"Look, Pete's right," Black says, "you should head off. Get back and look after Remus."
"Right," Potter says, awkwardly, clearly not understanding the tension between them. "Night then, Pads."
"Night, James."
"But enough about your husband."
She laughs dismissively, and stares up at him from under heavy lidded eyes, her lips pursing into a pout. "Not my husband, my Lord."
It's a game they've played before, and he doesn't have to delve into her mind to know that this was the outcome she was seeking when she fled to his door, leaving her husband at home with his brother, and her sister and husband and nephew still languishing at the Ministry - favouring him over all others, even those with whom she shares genetics or a family name.
He reaches his hand down to cradle her face, and then he moves his fingertips lower, taking her hand, helping her to her feet. He doesn't break eye contact, watching as she stands, refusing to relinquish her grip on his hand.
"My Lord," she breathes, and then before he can react, she takes a step forward and presses her lips against his.
He indulges her bravery, accepting her passionate kiss, permitting her to take another half step towards him, wrapping herself in his robes, in his scent, her fingers reaching around his neck and her tongue moving against his.
"Always my most loyal," he murmurs, "the devoted witch who wishes to feel my magic within her."
"Yes, my Lord," she affirms, gleefully.
"No more misbehaviour, Bellatrix," he warns, his teeth biting her lip.
"My Lord?"
"Your efforts at retribution are...admirable," he drawls, his eyes flashing in amusement, "but your desire to carry my child will never be met if you insist on eradicating the necessary expertise from the wizarding world." He steps back, breaking the contact between them.
Bellatrix emits a low whine, reaching for him, but he evades her, neatly catching her elbow in his grip. She glances down at his fingers and then back up at his eyes, clearly unable to decipher his motive.
"Do you understand me?"
She watches, fascinated, as he runs his wand across the material of her sleeve, silently slicing it in a perfectly straight line, causing it to part and fall away, exposing her white skin where his mark had previously sat.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Good," he says, his voice soft, the tip of his wand dancing across her skin, full of promise. "You'll enjoy this," he murmurs, "the feel of my magic."
Bellatrix is almost breathless when she speaks. "Your magic, my Lord?"
"My magic," he smirks, twisting his neck. "The last effort was crude, it was imperfect-"
"-never, my Lord!"
He scowls, and she immediately cowers. "It was imperfect," he repeats, this time without interruption, "it lacked finesse, lacked control." He gives a thin, triumphant smile. "But this time, with my magic rippling through you all…"
She watches his wand tracing across her blank arm, her mouth slack, almost drunk on desire, desperate for him to do as promised and slide his magic beneath her skin and into her veins, but then, once more, she is disappointed as he pulls away.
"My Lord?"
"I shall be calling a meeting," he says, sliding his wand back into his robes, "and my most devoted followers will be gifted my ensignia - the power of my magic." He cradles her face with his hand, gazing at her in an approximation of affection. "Can you control yourself, Bellatrix? Refrain from slaughtering the next brewer I bring into the fold? Trust that they will bring your dream to fruition?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"I can feel your anger towards Lucius, little one." He appraises her, his eyes raking over hers, and she stares back at him, not ashamed, not embarrassed. "Yes, your hatred is strong," he hisses. "Would it please you if I were to shun him? To refuse him the honour of wearing my emblem?"
She swallows tightly, amazed that the offer is being made - the decision being handed to her. "He is your faithful servant, my Lord."
He laughs - a short, sharp, terrible laugh. "But is he, Bellatrix? Is he any more my servant than he is your husband?"
"He has promised his son to your cause, my Lord."
At this, the Dark Lord nods, a self-satisfied smile creeping across his face. "How wise you are, witch, and how well you will be rewarded for placing your Lord's interests before your own," he says, and to her joy, he moves back towards her, resuming their heated kiss.
As the morning light pours in through the thin curtains, Black sits on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. He silently wishes that James' parents were still alive - that he could go for tea and some friendly advice, and then he feels a little sick, knowing that the next best thing is James himself yet sharing the knowledge with him has been ruled out.
Pete's right, you can't tell James and not Remus. And if Evans doesn't show up with the potion and Remus becomes distant - more distant than he is now - if he's drawn into the pack that he's spent his life running from, then who's to say that he'll keep it a secret?
He presses his fingers firmly into his temples, trying to remember what the old textbooks said in the library at Grimmauld Place. He'd never been much of a student, least, not in the traditional sense. He wasn't like Snape, always skulking around the library and carrying stacks of books around, reading in every location possible, under trees and in crevices in the castle. He hadn't needed to be.
For Black, magic had been a manifestation of pure, raw talent - and as much as he resented the politics of his parents, he had always secretly wondered whether he and Potter had never really had to try due to their magical heritage. Success at school came easily, from Charms to Potions to Transfiguration. His achievements were effortless, and although he realised that had he studied hard - studied at all! - he'd have excelled, and perhaps could've broken records, the thought of poring over dusty old tomes had never interested him.
Days lost on the Quidditch pitch, or evenings roaming around the castle, escaping into Hogsmeade or the Forbidden Forest, causing mischief and mayhem, joking and pranking and teasing and daring and duelling and fighting and warring - those were the things that appealed to him, and the only time he'd bothered venturing into the library at Hogwarts was when he was seeking to goad Snape into a frenzy.
Snape wasn't like him. Snape was always in the library, always studying - and Evans wasn't much better. The two of them were lost in books and sharing parchment, biting on quills, ink staining their fingers and their faces - and in their later years at Hogwarts, the library was a location that all four Marauders avoided, lest the sight of the great greasy love affair set James into a furious spiral. Besides, they didn't need the library anyway; they were good enough without it.
Maybe there was something in the blood thing. To a point. Even Pete was no slouch, he thinks, graciously. He could be lazy, unwilling to turn in homework, always sleeping instead of working - but he was capable of everything we achieved; he turned himself into an animagus, joined us on every adventure in the forest, and even designed the clever little spell which animated the footsteps on the map.
At the time, Black hadn't liked to admit to that being a good idea. He and James had come up with the concept, and had poured the bulk of the charms into it, whilst they'd assigned Pete to stake out all of the rooms that they couldn't reach, a rat finding it easy to tread where humans - and most certainly werewolves, stags, and dogs - could not hope to sneak.
To his credit, Pete had been meticulous, bringing back descriptions and dimensions, helping Remus to painstakingly draw out each and every room in the castle - and it had been Pete who had insisted that they include the tunnels on the map, helping them to further understand how Hogsmeade and Hogwarts were linked together.
No wonder, Black thinks, he always was a worrier. Wanted the tunnels written down in case he made a mistake when he was in charge of the map - in case he forgot which corridor was which, and was left shouting Dissendium at the wrong statue as Filch hunted him down.
Black gives a soft smile to himself, in spite of the situation. It's no surprise that Pete's so fearful now - you saw his reaction when he thought those witches were truly reading his fortune. He's always been nervous - to have such a tremendously powerful prophecy in his hands, he mustn't be sleeping soundly either.
He runs his hands through his hair, inhaling deeply. Does he even understand? Or is he simply terrified at the mention of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Does he realise what a prophecy means?
Black knows about prophecies. He knows about fortune telling and crystal balls and fire omens and tarot cards and tea leaves - he knows that the oldest of the families take notice of them, even if they heap scorn upon those who make such pronouncements. He knows the difference between real claims, and those designed to empty a wizard or witch's wallet. He knows that prophecies are not permanent, not fixed - that those involved have to be aware of them. He knows that the allure of the prophecy is the willingness of the participants to pay attention to them, to heed them.
It isn't necessarily saying that there is a boy who will defeat the Dark Lord, he muses, but if the message leaked out, then it provides the impetus for someone to stand up, to claim their role in the war, to identify themselves as being willing to fight.
It's more than that. He twists his hands in his hair. It's saying that the Dark Lord has a challenger - that the war isn't a foregone conclusion, that what we're fighting for as the Order isn't a lost cause, but that there's hope. A nemesis. That whoever stands up to fight isn't leading a fruitless battle, but that they could genuinely triumph.
I need to convince Pete to tell Dumbledore, he thinks. It might be the motivation we need - the push to win. He pauses, clenching and unclenching his fists. But if the Dark Lord discovers it, his actions will be swift - a deterrent to anyone who seems to fill the prophecy, stopping them from daring to rise.
Black swallows tightly, not wanting to think about the destruction the Death Eaters are capable of wreaking. But it's important he knows, a nagging voice whispers in his ear, because it will rattle him - it will make the ground unsteady under his feet. Right now, he thinks he's unstoppable, but this will shake him - make him realise that he might be destined to meet someone who can hold his own, who can best him. He'll be poring over the words, distracted from his other goals as he tries to work out who the someone is who fills the prophecy and how to defeat them.
The thought hangs heavily over him and he taps his fingers as he runs through the words again. Emerging from darkness - Sirius Black. He closes his eyes. A boy once so wanted, scorned and ignored - he was his parents' first born, the heir they'd desired - the boy who ran away to the Potters and was cut out of the family tree in retribution. He reaches up, fingering the scars that Snape littered across his upper body with that dreadful spell. Marked by another. Loyalties torn. He swallows tightly, thinking about his family and his recurring nightmare about meeting Reggie in a skirmish, their wands raised towards one another.
"Fucking hell," Black breathes, lying back on the bed, his hands covering his face. "Fucking, fucking hell."
Notes:
I am terribly sorry that there is no Severus and Lily in this chapter. I desperately wanted to jump to them, but this part of the plot was more timely and pressing.
...but I wrote this chapter with the idea firmly in my mind that I would post a Sev/Lily centric chapter as a Christmas Eve treat. Alas, this chapter took longer than I hoped, so now it does rather depend upon how pushed for time I am after work tomorrow. I will do my best - else it will be a post-Christmas / pre-New Year gift instead. :)
Chapter 124: Safe in your arms
Chapter Text
A grey pigeon, its wings flecked with purple and green, studiously pecks at the remnants of a bread crust, grabbing it in its beak and ruthlessly shaking it, and then chasing the crumbs across the cobbles. A few feet above, resting on the roof of an outhouse, a ginger tomcat watches keenly, whipping his tail as the bird hops along entirely unaware, entirely engrossed in its mission.
Before the cat can pounce, switching predator into prey, the serene scene is broken by a loud crack of Apparition. The moment is lost and the pigeon skitters away in terror, wings spread wide and high, bread long forgotten. The thwarted cat turns tail, leaping across walls as if his paws were singed until he is safely stood atop a black bin at the end of the narrow alley, his back in a perfect arch.
The soles of Lily's shoes slide against the frictionless cobbles as she lands, the ground underfoot still wet from the early morning rainfall, and she almost loses her footing. Severus' reactions are quick - instantaneous - and with one arm still cradling Bean against his chest, he immediately reaches out with his other hand, gripping Lily's blouse by the neck.
Severus twists the material roughly, trying to keep a firm hold on both her and the wand in his hand, desperate to lose neither. His grip is like a vice and his reaction so sudden, so violent, the thin fabric of her top tears under his touch.
They both let out a gasp as they hear the material ripping, feeling the split against skin - against the back of Lily's neck and beneath the pads of Severus' fingertips - and although it's over in an instant, the harsh sound of the material shredding seems to envelop them, echoing around the tight brick confines of the alley.
They stand for a moment, catching their breath, and it's Severus who speaks first, Lily's ruined blouse still twisted around his fingers, him refusing to release his hold on her until he knows that she's safe. "You all right, love?"
"Yes," she whispers, willing her heart to cease pounding. She steadies herself, and when her legs stop wobbling, she gently pulls away from him, and he immediately relinquishes his hold, permitting her to extricate herself from his tight grip. "I'm fine," she assures him, straightening the now ruined blouse, her hands running across the back of her neck to assess the damage, "my feet just slid away from me on landing."
"Sorry. It wasn't meant to be bumpy-"
"-it wasn't," she says, quickly. "The cobbles were wet. It was nothing to do with your magic-"
"-but I should've realised with the rain-"
"-you got us all home safely, Sev," she says, offering her husband a tired smile, "that's all that matters." She takes a step closer to him, leaning over Bean, marvelling at his still sleeping form. "I can't believe he's still asleep. When you said you intended to Apparate us, I was certain he'd announce our arrival to the neighbours with a flurry of loud screams - or worse."
Severus laughs softly. "Same," he admits, "I've been practicing my Evanesco all morning. Side-along is normally a little rough on the stomach, especially if you've never done it before." He gives her a grin. "I remember you throwing up the first time-"
"-err, and you weren't much better, Severus Snape, thank you very much!"
He beams at her hot protest, biting his lip in amusement. "Bean here must be a natural," he jokes - and then, as he spots the dismay falling across Lily's face, he immediately cringes. "Lil… I didn't… I didn't mean…"
"I know you didn't," she says, her tone a little more clipped than usual, and he can see the swell of tears at the bottom of her eyes. "It's fine," she says, blinking rapidly, and looking over her shoulder, as if desperately trying not to cry in front of him.
It's not, he thinks, standing awkwardly, mentally kicking himself for being so thoughtless. He opens his mouth not once but twice, trying to think of something compassionate to say - something to paper over his error, but his mind is blank except for one thought: idiot idiot idiot idiot.
He looks down at his son, still fast asleep, little mittens covering his tiny hands. Come on, son, Severus thinks, help your daddy out. Dig deep and give us a distraction - put those lungs to good use.
Then, before he can seriously entertain the idea of deliberately waking Bean to cause a scene, Lily tosses her hair and exhales deeply before offering Severus a weak smile. "Can I take him?"
Severus nods, grateful for the change of topic, and gently passes their son over to her, almost immediately missing the warm dense weight from his arms. He swings her hospital bag off his back and dangles it by the side of him, carrying it by the straps, not caring as it bangs against his shins as he follows behind her, his free hand resting possessively on her hip as she leads the way towards the front of their house.
Lily watches Severus intently as he unlocks the front door with the key and then moves his wand in a complicated pattern. It's a different charm to the one they'd been using previously, but his wand movement is familiar and after a brief moment, she recognises it as one of her own. The dull ache she first felt in the depths of her stomach when Severus joked about Bean's magical prowess grows a little heavier.
Don't do this, Lil, she thinks. You can't be envious over every little action. He's still magical, even if you're not.
She holds her tongue and doesn't say anything, and when he finishes his spellwork, she smiles warmly at him. He grins and pushes the door open, his arms splayed wide, indicating that she should enter first. She dutifully steps in, Severus right behind her, and when she peers into the living room, she gives a small gasp of surprise.
It causes him to move up behind her, leaving the front door wide open. "Is it all right?" he asks, anxiously peering over her shoulder. "I know you said it would be fine, but if you don't like it now that you've seen it, I can change it, I can-"
"-it's perfect, Sev," she says, tears threatening to spill from her eyes again. "You've worked so hard. Is that bed really our sofa?"
"Yeah," he says, stepping away from her to shut the front door.
"And it's comfy?"
"Seems so," he calls, glancing over his shoulder as he locks the door behind them, "although I'm not a good judge of what a bed's like when I'm alone. It doesn't feel right unless you're there."
Lily turns to watch him as he waves his wand over the lock, the charm magically sealing all three of them inside. Don't say anything, she thinks, he's trying to keep you safe, that's all. He probably hasn't even realised that you can't get out.
He kicks his boots off, leaving them by the door, and she briefly closes her eyes - as if stunned by the weight of the realisation that their lives won't be the same and that despite all that's been said and promised between them, without her magic, it's not as simple as picking up where they left off.
"And I brought down Bean's bed," he continues, moving to stand behind her once more. He loops his arms gently around her waist, taking care not to position his hands too high or too low, ensuring he doesn't press against her tender skin. He softly rests his chin on her shoulder and as he inhales, she can feel the tension draining from him.
"Thank you," she whispers, leaning back into his embrace.
"Do you want to see if he'll settle now? Get him used to it before tonight?"
"Tonight? He'll sleep all day."
"I know that," Severus says, flushing a little. "I didn't mean that he's got a bedtime." He unwraps his arms from around her body and shrugs awkwardly, defensively. "I just wanted to check that it was comfortable for him - and for you." He scratches his ear. "The right height and everything, when you're in bed as well, so you can reach him easily when he's hungry." At her continued silence, he draws in a low breath, and stands and straightens. "Right," he says, a little more loudly - a little more distant, "I'll stop pestering you and let you get settled. Drink?"
She nods in agreement, and he heads off towards the kitchen. Still holding Bean firmly against her, she kicks her shoes off and tentatively makes her way into the living room. The room is overly full, and it takes her a moment to navigate around the bed, the pathway incredibly narrow between the now large collection of furniture.
Bean stirs in her arms as she sits on the bed and gently lays him on his own tiny mattress. She watches, heart in her mouth, as he shuffles, legs kicking, but his eyes don't open, and Lily carefully drapes his blanket over him.
She feels the bed shift, and then Severus is behind her, a frown on his face as he concentrates on steadying their drinks in his hands; the soft, uneven surface of the mattress almost causing him to lose his balance.
"Thanks," she says, taking one of the cups from him, and pressing her lips against his, emphasising her gratitude.
"I didn't hear him cry."
"He barely noticed," she says, blowing across the top of her drink.
"I cooled it already."
She looks up, and then touches her lips to the cup - and the liquid is exactly the right temperature. It's been so long since they were together like this - together without any pressures, without any interruptions - she's almost forgotten that he knows her likes and dislikes, that he knows how to brew her tea to the perfect shade of tan, how much milk and sugar to add, even how warm it should be.
"So you have," she smiles back, taking a larger mouthful. "Thank you."
"It's no trouble," he says, earnestly. "Nothing is too much trouble. I want everything to be right."
"It will be." Lily takes another sip, and then falters, her hand moving to place the cup in thin air - forgetting that she can't levitate it. She recoils and then pretends that she was adjusting her position, but he doesn't fall for it, his larger hand wrapping around hers and the cup.
"Let me," he says, and he takes the cup from her, levitating it before her. "Can you take it?"
She reaches for the handle and plucks it from thin air, and she gives a slight nod.
"Good," he says, and then he takes it from her again, levitating it back into the air with a flick of his fingers.
"I won't be able to let you out of the house," she jokes, but her tone is cooler than usual.
"We'll work it all out, Lil."
"You'll be sick of me by Friday."
"Not a chance," he laughs, levitating his own mug and shuffling nearer to her, pulling her to lean back against him. "I'm so relieved to have you back home. Both of you."
She finds his hand, tangling her fingers between his, smoothing her thumb across the back of his hand.
"You're glad, aren't you?" he presses, squeezing her fingers. "To be home, I mean?"
"Yes," she says, softly. "It's just…"
"Just what?" He looks eager, as if whatever she says he will be able to fix - and the longer that she's silent, the more anxious he becomes. "Lil," he presses, when she doesn't speak, "what's wrong, love?"
"Is the back door protected in the same way? With that charm of mine?"
"I knew you'd recognise it," he smiles. "Is that what's bothering you?" He squeezes her fingers again. "Nobody is going to find us, and if they did, they can't get in. I won't let anything happen to you or Bean, I swear."
She nods, looking down, and then she pulls her hand from his.
He recoils, as if stung, and he stares at her in confusion. "Lil…?"
"It's good that nobody can get in," she says, not looking at him, "and you've been so thoughtful making it so we can sleep downstairs…"
"But?"
"...but I can't get out to use the toilet, Sev."
He exhales, reaching for her hand again. "Is that all?"
"What do you mean, is that all? I think it's a pretty big deal!"
"Shhh!" he hisses, looking towards Bean, who hasn't stirred despite his mother's raised tone. "Lil, come on - be reasonable."
"I'm not being reasonable? Wanting to use the toilet?"
"That's not…" He groans, rubbing his eyes. "It's just for a couple of weeks, Lil. That's all I'm asking - until I've protected your parents' house, until we're certain that nobody has found us."
"And what do I do in the meantime?"
"Ask me."
"And if you're asleep?"
He gives an incredulous laugh. "Then wake me." He catches her hurt expression, and he immediately wraps his arms around her, turning so he can press his forehead against her own. "Lil, I can't make this go away - if I could, I would. I'd turn back the clock and stop Avery from finding us, I'd stop you from taking that potion, I'd go to the Ministry and let them take my magic instead of yours."
"...I know," she cries.
"But I can't do any of that, so all I can do is keep us safe from now on - and that means locking the doors and windows with every charm I can think of. Especially the ones my brilliant wife designed." His eyes are sorrowful as he stares into hers. "I will work something out, I promise - but in the meantime, whatever you want, whatever you need, just ask. I'll do anything. It's the least I can do."
Lily reaches up with her hand, wiping the tears from her cheeks, and offering him a small smile. He smiles back, looking relieved, and he chastely kisses her lips - and then he presses gentle kisses across her face, catching the tears that she missed with her hand.
"I wanted this to be a marriage of equals," she whispers.
"It is."
"Not like Cissy and Lucius - not like when he says his family is older, or that Draco's his son."
"Bean's ours," he emphasises. "Ours, Lil."
She kisses him softly on the lips, and then she winces slightly as the mattress shifts, the position uncomfortable. At her recoil, he frowns and then he settles behind her back. He touches his fingers to her cheek, gently tilting her face so he can resume kissing her - kissing her lips, across her cheek and along her jawline, ghosting his lips down towards her chin and then back up, across her cheekbone and then finally pausing at her ear.
"Get undressed for me," he whispers, his voice low and husky, and she feels her heart lurch again.
Does he really expect…?
"Sev…"
"Now, love," he murmurs, more insistently. His voice is low and rich and smooth in her ear. "I thought you liked obeying me."
He mustn't know, mustn't realise-
"...Sev." Her heart's banging wildly now, and she glances across at Bean, who's still slumbering - arms up, hands either side of his face - and then over at the hallway, knowing there's only a locked door beyond.
Trapped.
It makes her feel claustrophobic. She's never suffered from such a feeling before - she was always able to travel in the Ministry's lifts without a second thought and able to climb into small spaces with Petunia when they were exploring the attic - but now it feels as if there's a solid weight pressing on her chest, stealing the air from her lungs.
Before she can say anything, before she can explain, he reaches over the top of her, his wand in his hand, and the shower suddenly roars to life. He places his wand back on the bed and then his lips are back at her ear, that sinful voice playful, his fingers reaching around to fumble with the buttons on the front of her blouse.
"Work with me, love, I can't heal your wound with your clothes on," he explains, "and I thought you'd like me to do it before you get in the shower and wash the hospital away. Then you can rest here with Bean whilst I make us something to eat."
She sags against him, relief coursing through her as she realises that he has no such intentions - that he's simply trying to take care of her, just as he'd promised he would.
"I'll be gentle, I swear," he continues, taking her silence as being an indication that she's uncertain of his ability, lacking confidence in his healing spells. "I had a lot of practice when we were at school, remember?"
Instead of answering, she relaxes back in his arms, placing her hands over his and helping him to undress her, the two of them working in silent synchronisation as the shower beats its steady rhythm in the background.
"Thanks, Sev," she says as he walks back in from the kitchen, carrying a plate in front of him.
"Don't get too excited," he smiles, levitating the plate to within her reach, "they're only sandwiches. Nothing fancy."
She plucks one from the floating plate, inspecting it as he settles next to her on the mattress. "Not fried," she laughs, "who'd have thought?"
"Cheeky witch," he mumbles, shovelling one greedily into his mouth. "Shit, I've left the tea on the worktop-"
"-it's fine, we can have it after-"
"-no, I'll get it," he insists, his voice muffled by the sandwich. He bounces up and then a moment later, he's back, a cup in each hand.
"Fireplace?" she suggests.
He looks at the mantelpiece, frowning slightly. "You can reach from there?"
"I think so."
"I don't want you stretching," he says, glancing down, as if he can still see the site of her now healed scar through her nightie.
"I need to be independent, Sev."
"I don't mind. I told you, I-"
"-and if you go out-"
"-I can stay in-"
"-you can't loom over me all day long for the next five or ten years," she says, looking down. "I need to… I need to remember what it was like. Before."
"There was no before," he mutters, sitting next to her, looping his arm around her back, "you were always a witch, and-"
"-Sev-"
"-you'll always be a witch," he continues, ignoring the pained look on her face. "You never thought my mam wasn't a witch, did you?"
"There was no chance of thinking differently. You were always going on about it-"
"-I was not!"
"-when you came bounding out of that bush-"
"-I did not bound-"
"-you're a witch! I'm a wizard! My mam's a witch!" Lily laughs.
He shakes his head, pretending to be irritated at her teasing, but she can tell from the relief in his eyes, he's pleased to hear her laugh.
"...you sound just like Petunia," he mutters before shooting her an amused smile.
"Yes, well, you watch out. We're more alike than you think. Especially now."
"Merlin save us, Bean," Severus says, leaning back against the pillows, "next you'll be collecting hideous dog ornaments, encouraging me to apply for promotion, hosting candlelight suppers-"
"-that's not a bad idea-"
"-where?" He sits up, astonishment across his face. "Oh yeah, I'll just levitate the shower, bring a table in, shove Bean up against the fireplace, send out some invitations to our famously wide social circle-"
"-not the candlelight suppers," Lily says, playfully pushing him in the chest.
"Not the dog ornaments? I hate dogs."
"The job, Sev," Lily says, a little more seriously.
"I can't get a promotion if I haven't got a job to start with." He settles back against the pillow again, taking another sandwich off the plate and taking a bite. "Besides, you need my help."
"I can manage. We're going to need money."
"We're fine."
"Our savings are going to run out," she warns, her voice getting a little higher.
"-it's fine, Lil."
"How is it fine? Sev, this is serious! There's only enough for a couple more months rent, and we need to buy food and Bean's going to need-"
"-I've sorted it."
She pauses, green eyes tracking over his face. "...sorted it? Sorted it how?"
"Malf's sending me some."
"I thought you said we were hiding." She frowns at him. "Is this why you didn't care about Apparating after being so cautious-"
"-I could hardly bring you both home on the bus."
She gives him another critical look. "No, but you could've asked Daddy for a lift."
He shifts and gives a loud sniff, reaching for another sandwich. "You not hungry?"
"Don't change the subject, Sev." She reaches out with her hand, her fingers gripping his wrist and stopping him from taking a bite. "Sev, talk to me, please."
"...there's nothing to say."
"Tell me why you didn't want Daddy to pick us up."
He scowls, looking away. "That nurse was right. This is meant to be about us - about our family, about me looking after you and Bean."
"I don't think she meant we can't have any help-"
"-I need to put their house right," he says, a little more gruffly, a little more quietly, "and I don't know how."
Her sigh is soft, but full of compassion. "Is that what you're worrying about? Daddy wouldn't say anything."
He nods. "I know, but that somehow makes it worse. My da kicked off-"
"-kicked off? About what exactly?"
"About not being able to get back in without Mam's help," Severus explains. "Especially when he thought I was about to be carted off to Azkaban for a decade or two. Can't get between him and the pub."
"Oh, Sev." She reaches for him, and this time, it's her arm that slides around his back. "Didn't he realise you had enough to cope with?"
"I managed it," he says, scratching the back of his ear, still not looking at her, "but I had to strain to concentrate and my head's full of other stuff at the moment. It's like my brain's not working properly."
"Because of me."
"Not just you - not because of you," he corrects himself, quickly - and she waits, breath held in her chest for him to say more, but he sidesteps the subject, "I need to look at the spells again for your parents' house and I wanted to ask you for help - when it comes to charms, you often see things that I miss - but…"
"But?"
He turns and gives her an awkward smile. "It felt like rubbing it in, you know?"
"...I know." She straightens. "Mummy and Daddy are staying at the Railview?"
Severus nods. "Yeah, and I'm sure they're paying a pretty penny for the privilege, so I don't want you asking them for any money-"
"-I wasn't going to-"
"-you were!" He moves off the bed, his finger pointed accusingly at her. "Lil, love, you always do!" He takes the last sandwich off the plate and hands it to her, before plucking the plate out of thin air and taking it back to the kitchen.
"...so, if we've got no money, and I'm not allowed to ask my parents for money, you're getting a job then, are you?"
"No," he shouts, his voice muffled slightly as it comes from the other room.
"Starving isn't a great look," she calls back. "Sure, I can spare a few pounds after Bean-"
"-don't be stupid," he says, immediately poking his head around the door, "I won't have you talking like that."
"-but you're skin and bone, Sev, and that's with you shovelling eight meals a day down your neck-"
"-I do not eat eight meals a day," he laughs, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't you listen to your mother's scandalous lies, Bean."
"So what are we going to do then?"
He gives her a smile. "Do you remember that wall of potions I had?"
Lily nods, and immediately looks around, as if expecting him to have secreted them somewhere inside their house.
"They're not here," he says. "I sold them."
"Sold them?"
"Yeah."
"There were hundreds! Who to?" It barely takes her a moment to realise, and she lets out a gentle exhale. "Lucius."
He nods.
"And he paid you well?"
"He will," Severus insists, his voice full of confidence.
"He will?"
"Do you have to repeat everything I say?"
Lily gives a tight laugh. "It's just… Hard to believe."
"There's nothing hard to believe about it. Malf's handling the closure of my Gringotts account. He's going to double the contents, exchange it all into Muggle money, and deposit it in your account."
Lily winces. "Sev, I like Lucius but…" She touches her fingers between her eyes, and then looks at her husband, her expression full of sadness. "...you trust him far too easily."
"He'll come through."
"And if he doesn't, you've just handed him all of the galleons you've ever earnt."
"I got them from him in the first place," Severus shrugs.
"Sev, don't be so flippant. You worked hard and took risks for them! Besides, they're not just from him," she snaps, "they're from Borage and Jigger and Sluggy-"
"-Sluggy didn't pay me-"
"-but Jigger and Borage did!"
"A pittance!" He looks at her in despair. "You know fully well that I got more from Malf paying me under the table than I ever did through legitimate means."
"And now you've just given it all back to him."
"And what else was I supposed to do, Lil? Go waltzing in to Gringotts? They'd have me up in front of the Wizengamot before I even opened my mouth!"
"I didn't say-"
"-that money's as good as gone, so I thought getting double for it was a pretty good deal in the circumstances! I'm doing my best, and I'm sorry if that isn't good enough for you!"
At his loud argument, Bean wakes, his face crumpling and Lily shoots Severus a furious look, her eyes narrowed. "Well done."
"Don't say that's my fucking fault," he snaps.
"Hush, little one," Lily says, picking Bean up and rocking him, trying to soothe his gulping sobs, "it's ok, Daddy's just being very noisy and very, very silly."
Severus stands in the doorway, watching as Lily feeds Bean, her finger stroking softly against Bean's cheek.
"...I'm sorry."
His apology comes quicker than she expected - faster than his apologies have ever come before. She looks up, offering him a pinched smile.
"I didn't mean to argue," he continues.
"Arguing is fine-"
"-it's not."
She can't help but laugh at his immediate disagreement, and the more she tries to reply, the more she laughs. "Can you hear yourself, Sev?"
He moves into the room, slowly, checking her reaction - and when she doesn't shy away, he sits next to her, stroking his fingers gently through the wisps of hair on Bean's head.
"Just don't shout," Lily says, "that's all."
"Shouldn't be arguing in the first place," Severus mutters, not taking his eyes off Bean, "it's no good for him." He glances up, darting a look at Lily. "Or you. Us."
"No," she agrees, resting her head on Severus' shoulder, "but we've been through a lot. We're all tired."
"You've been through a lot," Severus says, quietly.
"...is that where you went, then? To Malfoy Manor? Once you found out about… About what they did to me?"
He doesn't answer immediately, his eyes fixed back on Bean. "I went to Malf's, yes."
"Why?"
"...he wrote to me," Severus explains, "he said he'd take care of everything, and that he'd get you back to me safely. But he didn't."
"So you went to confront him?"
"Something like that."
"And ended up talking him into doubling our money?" She turns to look at him, her green eyes seeming to sparkle as she meets his gaze. "Sev, did you threaten him?"
"...not really."
"Not really?"
Severus swallows a laugh at her incredulous expression. "He needs those potions, Lil. Without me brewing for him, his empire is in pieces."
"He can get a new brewer." She holds Bean upright, over her shoulder. "Do you want to wind Bean?"
"Can do," Severus says, grabbing a piece of muslin from the discarded hospital bag by the side of the bed, and draping the cloth over his shoulder before taking Bean, settling him in position and rubbing his back.
"So, what? Your little deal will keep Lucius solvent for a while?" Lily frowns, fixing her nightdress.
"That's the plan."
"And then what will he do? When his stocks need replenishing?" She pauses, watching as her husband gazes at their son, entirely entranced with him. "...he asked you to stay, didn't he?"
Severus' head snaps up, and a small smile floats across his face. "Clever witch."
"And?"
"Does it look like I stayed?" Severus strokes his fingers in tight circles, and then rhythmically taps against Bean's back, patting over and over.
"I always knew he was tolerating me because of you, but even I didn't think he'd expect you to leave your wife and child, especially when-"
"-it wasn't anything to do with you," Severus says, quickly, "either of you. He thought… He thought something bad had happened."
"Something bad did happen."
Severus grimaces. "Something worse. But he was wrong, and I told him he was wrong. I don't think he'd have asked if he knew you were a factor." He gives her a genuine smile. "He knows there's no competition between you and him in my affections."
"I don't like to think of you there," she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. "They said - Daddy and your father - they said you were upset."
"I was."
"And you went there! Sev, anything could've happened!"
"Shhhh, what did we say about being loud?" he murmurs, and Lily looks abashed. He settles Bean down into his arms, pulling the contaminated muslin cloth off his shoulder with a wince, and with a flick of his fingers, he immediately banishes it to the kitchen sink.
"When you ran off, I was so worried that you'd do something stupid."
He rocks Bean in his arms, leaning down to press a kiss to his son's forehead, ignoring the statement. "I think he's going back to sleep." He glances back at Lily. "Should I put him down?"
"No, hold him," Lily says, leaning over, resting her head against his shoulder again, "he'll feel safe in your arms."
Despite his best efforts, Bean doesn't settle, and the next few hours are taken up with anxiety - holding him in different positions, rocking him, walking with him - and nothing works until Lily sits with him, skin against skin, letting him nurse.
Severus doesn't say anything. He silently tidies up, picking up used cloths and dirty plates and cups, and she can hear the water splashing in the sink as he starts to wash up. She shifts position on the bed until she can peer through the door at him, hoping that he'll flash a smile in her direction, or that he'll notice that Bean has finally calmed - but instead, he stares fixedly out of the kitchen window, his back stiff.
After all of these years, she knows exactly how to read him - she knows that he's furious with himself, and she doesn't need to see his face to know that he's silently beating himself up, berating himself - as if by waking Bean up earlier, he's somehow failed him - somehow failed her.
He makes more cups of tea than she can reasonably drink, and he cooks - after a fashion. He grumbles about the lack of ingredients, acknowledging that beans on toast is not a suitable evening meal for the mother of his child, and promises to go to the shop tomorrow - although she can see by the look on his face, he doesn't like the idea of leaving her and Bean alone.
And I don't like the idea of you locking us both in here.
Severus washes up again, and makes another cup of tea - and then he disappears upstairs. He surprises her when he comes back down, dressed only in his underwear, clutching a clean pair of underpants and a nightdress. He tosses the pants on his side of the bed, and then holds up her nightdress.
"For you to sleep in," he explains, "I thought you might feel better if you sleep in something different to what you've been wearing all day."
It's an odd thing for him to think of - he's often thoughtful, but this isn't the sort of thing he'd usually pay attention to, but before she can comment, before she can thank him, he's started up the shower and he's under the spray, his back to her.
When he steps out, he asks her to stand and he kneels before her, towel wrapped around his waist, his hair dripping, and he lifts her nightie, checking that the healing spell has taken effect. He nods, a small smile twisting on his lips, and then he drops an affectionate kiss on her hip before letting her nightie fall back into place, and standing and towelling himself dry.
She changes into the fresh nightdress and he douses the lights, pulling the covers over the two of them. Sleep comes in fits and starts, both of them waking when Bean does, his high pitched cries rousing them both.
After the second wake up in less than an hour, Bean finally settles, and Lily cuddles up to Severus, wrapping her arms around his waist. It's rare that he sleeps with his back to her - rarer still that he'll accept a hug from this position - but he seems to relax under her touch.
"If he's asleep, we should be too," he chides, gently.
"I know, but I can't drift off. Can you?"
"Not with you whispering in my ear," he murmurs, and she can feel his abdomen moving under her hands as he huffs a soft laugh.
"I miss it."
"Miss what? Sleep? We'd better get used to it, love."
"Your magic," she explains, "me not being able to feel your magic."
"Oh," he says, his voice low and gentle. "Yeah. Same."
"And you didn't do anything wrong earlier," she murmurs. "Babies cry. It's a defining feature. I'd be more worried if he was silent."
"I shouldn't have raised my voice."
"He gets under your skin."
"Bean?"
She can hear the confusion in his tone, and she has to bite back a laugh. "Lucius."
"Oh." He sniffs. "Yeah."
"And that's twice now that you haven't answered me."
"What? I just said you were-"
"-I keep asking you if you did something stupid when you left the hospital, and you keep changing the subject." She squeezes his waist a little more tightly. "Talk to me, Sev. You trust me, don't you?"
He doesn't answer, but he doesn't move either - and she knows that if he was unwilling to discuss the topic altogether, he'd have shrugged her off - pushed her away. Instead, they lie together in silence, both listening to the gentle sound of Bean breathing behind them, and then Severus' hand slides over hers.
She lets him thread his long fingers between hers, feeling the pressure of their digits pressing against each other, trying to reassure him through touch.
"...I kissed Malf."
It isn't what she expected him to say, and she can't help but let out a sharp inhale of breath. "You kissed Lucius?"
"I'm sorry," he says, but he sounds angry, not repentant. "It didn't mean anything."
She pauses, struggling to know what to say, struggling to make sense of what he's telling her, struggling to piece it together with what she knows of Severus and Lucius and their history.
"What made you do that?"
"...I don't know."
"You must know."
"I don't." His voice is sulky and distant.
"Perhaps you were trying out what a wizard would be like now that you've lost your witch."
"No!"
"Did it help you to decide whether you should stay with him, or come back to me and Bean?"
"Merlin, Lil, can you hear yourself? I've told you, I'm never leaving you and Bean. It never even crossed my mind."
"Then what was it? You're not in the habit of snogging other people, are you?"
"No, you know… Come on, Lil, you know that's not… You know I've only got eyes for you."
"So what was it?" she presses. "If you don't go around kissing people at the drop of a hat, there has to be a reason why you would suddenly decide to kiss Lucius Malfoy."
"...I don't know."
"You've got to know."
"I don't."
"A goodbye? Was that it?"
"Yeah. Something like that."
"I don't believe you, Sev," she says, gently, squeezing his fingers, "and I don't believe for a second that you would kiss Lucius - but," she carries on, her voice a little louder, as if sensing he was going to interrupt, "it's exactly the sort of thing that Lucius would do to you." She pauses, and there's a hint of triumph in her voice when she speaks, "You didn't kiss Lucius. Lucius kissed you."
He turns over in her arms, his dark eyes searching for hers in the dim light. "You always were an exceptionally clever witch." He gently touches his lips to hers. "I'm sorry," he says - and this time, she can hear the remorse in his voice. "I shouldn't have let him-"
"-shhh," she says, kissing him in return. "Do you love me?"
"I'm in love with you," he affirms, brushing the tip of his nose against hers, "it's only ever been you."
"Then forget him," she says, deepening their kiss. When she breaks away, he looks happier - as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, and she strokes her fingers across his face, cradling his cheek in her palm. "Was it just Lucius? Did you see Cissy?"
"For a time. She was very upset. About you. About Bean." He gives the slightest shake of his head. "She wanted me to bring you and Bean to stay with her - with them."
"At the Manor?"
"We can't. It wouldn't be safe."
"I thought the Manor had protections-"
"-Malf's in more trouble than you think," he warns, "the aurors-"
"-he's had aurors there? I thought he had them wrapped around his wand?"
Severus swallows. "Hypothetically."
Lily's eyebrows raise slightly. "Hypothetical aurors?"
"Or the Dark Lord," Severus says, a little more quickly. "That power struggle with Abraxas is still playing out. If the Dark Lord decides to seize Malf's assets…" He trails off. "I don't like the idea of us waking up in the basement only to discover that He is sitting at the head of the table when we go for breakfast."
"No."
"Besides, even if everything was fine, Malf would have us both hidden away, brewing from sunup to sundown-"
"-you'd love that," she teases.
"Maybe," he laughs, "but I want Bean to have a normal life. If he's… It's not fair to him, surrounding him with magic… You saw how twisted your sister was."
"She was always jealous, long before you turned up - it wasn't just magic."
"It doesn't matter. I don't want that for Bean. I don't want him envious, trailing after Draco full of resentment."
"Neither do I."
"Then it's better he's here - better that we're here," Severus says, quietly. "This is the right choice for us. All of us."
She kisses him - her lips barely touching his. "Yes," she whispers. "I'll miss her."
"She knows," he says, with a thin smile. He gives a small groan. "I can't think about not seeing them again. He's always been there for me."
"After a fashion. If it's convenient for him."
"Always," he says, firmly. "And I can't help but feel that I'm walking away from him just as he needs me."
"...Sev, did something else happen?"
He flinches, but quickly covers the movement.
"You've always been certain that he can get out of any trouble he lands in," she presses. "Why are you so worried now?"
He looks away. "He only tells me what he feels I need to know. There's vultures circling at the moment." He pauses, looking back into her eyes. "I think you know that."
"I gathered as much from what Avery said," she says, quietly. "There's a power struggle."
"Yes."
"It wasn't just about the money, was it? That's why you sold the potions to him. You were offering him some breathing space."
"He'll struggle to find a new brewer. The Dark Lord was after me," Severus says, quietly, "which means there can't be many more viable options." He gives her a solemn look. "I messed up when I brewed for the Dark Lord - for him to be so desperate to give me a second chance…" He sighs heavily. "I wanted to see Malf right. I wanted that money from Gringotts. It seemed like a win for us all."
"You know that he'd put Cissy and Draco before you."
"I know."
"Then he'll understand why you can't stand by him," she says, soothingly. "He'd do the same for his family."
Severus gives a short nod. "It just doesn't sit well, that's all."
"I know." She runs her hand down through his hair, resting her palm on his chest. "You mustn't bottle these things up, Sev. We need to talk to each other - be honest with each other."
"I don't find it as easy as you do," he admits. "Talking." He looks at her sadly. "It was better when you could just look."
"It's no different. Not really."
"It is. It's harder," he whispers, and his face is so close to hers, she can feel his words against her lips. "It's difficult to say it out loud. It comes out wrong."
She captures his top lip between hers, and kisses him fiercely. "We'll find a way. I love you, Severus."
"I love you too," he breathes - and then almost immediately, his hand reaches up to grab at his chest, an odd burning sensation building inside him.
"Sev?"
"Sorry," he says, rolling away, massaging his hand against his chest, "it's just indigestion."
"You're not eating enough," she frets, "and when you do eat, you're racing, shovelling it down without chewing-"
"-shhh. Stop worrying." He rolls back towards her, gathering her back in his arms. "It's nothing. I'll be fine."
They lie together, forehead pressed against forehead, for several long minutes - and then she kisses him once more before turning over so her back is to him.
She sighs softly as he cuddles up behind her, his lean body pressing warmly against her own. "We'd better get some sleep before our boy wakes us again."
He doesn't answer, but he wraps his arms a little more tightly around her, his actions ever-possessive.
He lies in the darkness for what feels like an eternity, but can't realistically be more than half an hour. He can't hear the familiar sound of her breathing, but Bean's constant inhalations and exhalations sound impossibly loud.
So much noise from such a small little Bean, he thinks, with a smile.
It bothers him, the idea of committing his thoughts and feelings to parchment - although he likes the idea of not having to say it out loud. He's always been confident in his essay writing - excellent at building a logical argument, offering supporting evidence, and establishing a conclusion. It's speaking out loud that trips him up - where his emotions get the better of him and he stumbles over his words, inevitably flushing and making a fool of himself.
And Lil's not great at listening.
Severus moves even closer to Lily, nestling his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply and smelling the sweet conditioner that she favours.
That's not fair, he thinks. It's not that she's not listening - she's always attentive, hanging off your every word. He inhales again, cuddling her closer. It's that she listens so intently, so actively, that she tries to jump ahead - second guessing everything you're about to say, fitting words into your mouth, and then - and he gives a wry smile - if she's not pleased with her assumption, she'll hang, draw and quarter you before you've opened your mouth to protest your innocence.
He drops a light kiss to the back of her neck, and she groans, reaching back and running her hand up and down his arm.
Innocence, he thinks, bitterly. I've got no such thing.
"You ok?" she whispers.
Maybe that's the answer, then.
"Yeah," he murmurs, and he kisses her again. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
You just need to tell her - ask her! - to be quiet whilst you talk.
"I wasn't asleep."
No interruptions.
"You should be," he murmurs.
You need to be able to explain exactly what happened.
"I was worried about you."
"Lil…"
"Sev…" she repeats in the same tone, a teasing lilt to her voice. She turns over in his arms, kissing him on his lips.
"Ignore me. You'll regret being awake now when Bean's crying in an hour or two."
"I don't ever regret being awake with you," she whispers, and he takes a sharp intake of breath, gripping again at his chest.
"Fuck."
"Sev." She sits bolt upright, her hand over his, both of their hands over his heart, her eyes full of alarm. "Sev, this isn't normal."
"It's nothing."
"It's not nothing," she says, brushing her hair out of her eyes, "and it's not indigestion. I know that much."
He bends over in the bed, the covers now at his waist, his right hand clamped over his pec, fingers gripping his skin so tightly that he's leaving small red marks behind.
"You need to go to the doctors."
"I don't. It's stress. I've had it for a while now."
"Oh, Sev." Her reaction is immediate, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his cheek. "I know it's been awful, but we're safe now. All three of us are together, safe in the home you've made for us all."
"...yes."
"Can I do anything to help?"
Tell her.
He shakes his head. "No, love," he says, offering her a small smile. "There's nothing you can do. It'll go away, I'm sure."
"You're sure?"
Tell her, you coward.
"I'm sure."
Chapter 125: The chosen one
Chapter Text
Lily can't tell whether she's woken up due to maternal instinct or simple good timing, or if Bean had let out a loud wail before resorting to his current state of quietly sniffling. She checks on him, noting that his cheeks are a little pinker than usual and there are deep frown lines appearing across his soft forehead.
Lily looks over at the soundly sleeping form of her husband - and she knows one thing for sure; if Bean had cried, he certainly hadn't woken Severus. She picks Bean up, and he breathes faster and heavier, almost panting as he wriggles in her arms - and she finds herself mirroring his frown, holding him against her, checking that there's not something wrong.
There's nothing wrong. He's fine. He's just acknowledging you've picked him up - that his discomfort has been noted.
She cuddles him, and then when she spies him moving his fist across his lips and starting to root, she reaches behind her and punches her pillow, fluffing it up. She settles down into the side-lying position the nurses had shown her in the hospital, and unbuttons the top of her nightie. She gently places Bean between her and Severus, and helps him to latch on, carefully shielding him with her arm.
Lily watches her two boys intently, making sure that Bean is feeding contentedly and that Severus - with his long legs spread diagonally across the bed, and one arm thrown over his eyes - doesn't unconsciously shift from his current sprawled sleeping position and roll towards their tiny son.
With her towel wrapped around her and her hair still damp, Lily pulls open the wardrobe, rifling through it for something to wear. This would be a lot easier with magic, she thinks, discarding yet another top that no longer appears to be the right size. She pauses at one of her favourite maternity blouses, mentally kicking herself for being lazy and not adjusting it when she had the opportunity - and if it didn't fit properly last month, it's hardly going to now that I'm breastfeeding.
She clutches the fabric in her hands, reluctant to let it go, wondering whether she should go downstairs and ask Severus to adjust it for her - and then she remembers the torn blouse from yesterday. He's got enough to do without me asking him to tailor half a wardrobe for me, and I don't want to keep reminding him that I'm no longer magical.
Her hesitation is enough to motivate her to search again, in case she's missed a suitable top in her haste, but a few minutes later, she closes the wardrobe doors in defeat. Standing with her back against them, she suddenly spots a pile of recently laundered clothes in the corner of the room, stacked on a chair.
Lily excitedly pulls the pile apart, realising to her delight that some of her more recent maternity clothes are amongst them - the ones she did adjust. The clothes I was wearing after we married. He must've done some washing when I was staying at Mummy and Daddy's and he was here painting.
With the added hunt for suitable clothing factored in, it had taken Lily far longer to dress than she'd anticipated when she'd first headed upstairs - but when she brushes her hair and pulls it into a ponytail, she smiles at herself in the mirror, suddenly feeling better for being out of her nightwear and in more usual daytime attire.
She heads down the stairs, pausing halfway when she hears Severus' unmistakeable low tones babbling away to their son. She bites her lip and takes the last few steps as slowly and as carefully as possible, striving not to break the moment - and she can't help the beaming smile that spreads across her face when she looks through the open living room door, and she spies the two of them together, father and son.
The bedcovers have been thrown aside, and Severus is kneeling on their bed with Bean lying on his back against the mattress. She watches as Severus leans over Bean, resting his upper bodyweight on his elbows, his long hair falling down around his face and shielding Bean's head from view.
"You are such a good boy, Bean," Severus murmurs, "such a good little boy. Such a perfect little boy, look at these tiny fingers."
Severus places his smallest finger in the palm of Bean's hand, and Bean grabs it instinctively.
"Four tiny little fingers, and one tiny little thumb, one, two, three, four, five," Severus continues, as if in a trance, "and on this side as well, Bean, look at these! Five more! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!"
She can't help but let out the tiniest laugh of delight at hearing him engaging with Bean in such a way, but the sudden sound is enough to make Severus kneel up, sitting back and away from their son.
"Don't stop," she says, immediately.
"Oh, what? No, I wasn't doing anything, I was just checking he was ok," Severus says, his voice a little gruff. "Here, sit down and I'll get us some breakfast…" He trails off, suddenly noticing what she's wearing. "...are we going out?"
"You said we needed some food."
"I can go-"
"-together," she says, earnestly. "I want us to do it together."
"It's not too soon?"
"I want some fresh air."
"Right." He moves off the bed and with a watchful eye on Bean, he drops a gentle kiss on her lips. "I'll get dressed then."
"Honestly, Sev, I only went to the toilet," she says, rolling her eyes as she steps back onto the yard, and seeing Severus standing there with Bean cradled against him, "you don't need to hover over me."
"That pram your parents bought us is massive," Severus says, ignoring her comment. "It's taken me at least five minutes to get it out from under the stairs. Lil, have you been in that corner shop? We'll never get it down the aisles."
"We don't need to take the whole pram. The top comes off," she says. "I can carry him."
He shoots her an annoyed look. "They told you not to carry anything. Your wound, remember?"
"You've healed it."
"But it'll be your muscles as well," he says, looking conflicted. "If I've not gone deep enough - if the spell has only healed the surface-"
"-I'm sure you've done it right."
"You don't want to have lasting damage, Lil. What if you tear something?"
"Sev, even if you hadn't healed it, they didn't mean that I can't carry our son. I've got to be able to lift him to feed him."
"And the extra weight from the carrier? They said you could lift that too, did they? Not to mention the walk itself - it's not like picking him up for a short feed." He shakes his head. "I'll carry Bean."
"If you're carrying Bean, what are you going to do with the shopping?"
"I can carry the shopping too," he nods.
"Well, then you don't need me-"
"-yeah, exactly! I said I could go-"
"-in fact, you might as well take Terence instead," she mutters, pushing past him to go back in the house, "seeing as I'm about as much use as a stuffed toy."
Severus stands in her wake, helplessly holding Bean, looking shell-shocked. "...I think Daddy's messed up," he murmurs, and when Bean unleashes an unhappy wail - in apparent agreement with his father's assessment - Severus hurriedly follows Lily back inside.
With Bean fast asleep on his own mattress, Severus and Lily lie together on their bed, Severus leaning back against the pillows and Lily nestled between Severus' legs, her head resting on his chest.
"I'm sorry."
"You've got nothing to be sorry for."
"I just wanted to get back to normal. I thought," she says, quietly, "I thought with you mending the wound, I'd be fine again."
"I set this room up so you could rest here as long as you needed," Severus murmurs, "so you didn't have to worry about going up and down the stairs, or getting dressed, or doing anything you didn't want to do."
"But I want to go out."
"Anything you're not quite ready for," Severus says, gently correcting his statement. "You have been through so much, Lil - not just the pregnancy, but everything else that happened. I failed-"
"-you didn't fail-"
"-I didn't protect you." He entwines his fingers with hers. "And Bean's up every couple of hours, so you're exhausted. Let me look after you, Lil," he pleads, his voice soft, "even if it's just for the next few weeks. Then you can get back to bossing me around."
"...I don't boss you around," she says, her voice equally soft.
"No," he says, his hands stroking down her arms, "not recently."
"I've never-"
"-not since we've been apart-"
"-not since ever, Severus Snape, you utter git," she laughs, jabbing him in the arm. "You are rotten."
He doesn't answer - just laughs, and she lifts her head, sitting slightly away from him, untangling her hand from his. He frowns as he watches her, but he doesn't speak, although his amusement has disappeared, like a shallow puddle evaporating under the summer sun.
Severus silently watches as she unbuttons the top of his shirt - two buttons, then a third - and then she parts the material, staring at his chest.
Oh.
She grazes her fingers across his pecs, ruffling the hair on his chest.
"Lil, I'm fine."
"Has it gone, then?" she asks, pressing her palm against his skin. "The pain?"
"Yes."
"How strange. Can you remember exactly when it started?"
He pauses - deliberating over his answer. "It started when I went to Malf's."
"Only recently then," she muses, her hand comfortably warm against his chest.
"Yes."
"Heartbroken that you're not going to see them again?"
He quirks an odd smile. "I don't think it's that, love."
"...what do you think it is?"
Tell her tell her tell her tell her tell her tell her tell her.
"I told you," he says, calmly, "I think it's just a bit of stress, that's all. I'll be fine once my brain's convinced that you two are safe and well."
She kisses his chest and then buttons his shirt back up, resting her head against him again. "We are."
"And you're going to be ok if I nip out and get us some food?"
"Yes," she says, "but don't lock us in." She looks up at him. "You can use the key but I don't want you using magic if you're not going to be here, Sev."
He doesn't say anything, but she can feel his body tensing beneath her.
"Please, Sev. I might need to go out to use the loo."
"I'll only be gone for ten minutes." He looks irritated. "Think of it from my perspective, what if something happens whilst I'm gone?"
"Well, what if something happens inside the house," she counters. "What if the oven catches fire-"
"-then don't cook-"
"-or next door catches fire and we needed to escape too?"
He scoffs and shakes his head. "You're being ridiculous now."
"And so are you," she presses, her voice soft but firm. "Nobody knows we're here - the lock on the door is enough. You said it yourself - you'll only be gone for ten minutes."
He's silent for a minute or more, looking between her and Bean until eventually he gives her a tight nod. "Fine."
She beams and throws her arms around his neck, littering his cheek with kisses. "I knew you'd understand," she says, touching her lips to his. "I knew."
"I'm not trying to trap you. I just want to protect you both, that's all."
"I know."
He glances over at the clock. "I'd best move," he says, "and see if I can get back and cook before Bean wakes up and wants feeding. We need to keep your strength up."
He reluctantly moves off the bed and steps into the hallway, collecting his coat and checking his pockets for his wallet and his keys and his cigarettes, before crouching down to pull his boots on.
"Sev?"
"What?"
"Can you get me some pear drops?"
"Pear drops?" He stands, and leans back through the doorway, a frown on his face as he straightens his shirt.
"I just fancied some," she says, and then she gives him a broad smile. "They'll help keep my strength up."
He laughs. "Will they now?"
"Yes, I'm sure of it."
"Pear drops it is," he says, cheerfully. "I won't be long."
She hears him opening the front door, and she moves across the bed, waving at him, trying to gain his attention. "Sev?"
He stops and turns back. "What, love?"
"And the Radio Times."
He pauses, his hand holding the door open, his frown now deeper than ever. "The Radio Times?" He indicates to the living room with his free hand. "We don't have a television."
"We have a radio."
"We only listen to Radio One," he says, looking at her incredulously. "I can practically recite the schedule, it starts with the breakfast-"
"-please, Sev."
He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Right. A quarter of pear drops and the Radio Times. Anything else?"
"No."
"You're sure?"
"Completely sure," she says, smiling at him.
"No other weird cravings, apart from boiled sweets and a television guide for our non-existent television?"
"No other weird cravings," she laughs, "I promise."
Severus takes slightly longer than she expected, although he's back at the door within twenty minutes, smelling faintly of both smoke and spearmint. The gum he's chewing to disguise the fact that he's used the walk as an excuse to have a cigarette isn't quite strong enough to mask the tell-tale aroma.
That's why he took his time, she thinks, trying not to smile. Probably had one there and another on the way back.
He immediately disappears into the kitchen with the bags, and he's so secretive over the shopping, she half wonders if he's forgotten the sweets she asked for - especially when he shuts the door, citing his need to concentrate on his cooking.
Severus emerges forty minutes later, and she watches - wide eyed - as he carries two clearly heavy plates.
"Sev, there's enough here to feed an army! I can't eat all of this."
"You can. You need to keep your strength up," he says, balancing his meal on his knee and attacking it with gusto.
"Broccoli and carrots and boiled potatoes." She prods each vegetable with her fork, as if checking that there's nothing else hidden beneath it. "You're going to have to go back to the shops tomorrow if you keep cooking like this."
"Be honest, you just enjoyed having some time to yourself without me," he teases, stabbing a piece of carrot onto the end of his fork.
"What's the pie?" she starts to ask, just as he cuts into his, and she sees the brown gravy spilling over the plate. "Steak."
"Mmmhmm," he says, spearing another potato and stuffing it into his mouth. "Come on, love," he mumbles, "it's not for you to look at, it's for you to eat." He waves his knife in Bean's direction. "Else he's going to wake up before you've finished."
"I don't think there's any question of that! Sev, it's going to take me half of the afternoon to eat this."
Severus glances towards Bean, and then scoops up another large forkful of food. "If he wakes, I'll take him," he offers. "Better hope he's not hungrier than his mummy, because I'm not equipped to help out."
"I'll dry," she offers, when he stands to do the washing up.
"I'm fine."
"I didn't ask how you were," she teases, "I offered to help."
"I can do it."
"Sev. Please. You'll burn out at this rate."
"It's just some dishes, Lil. I can handle a few dishes." He stares at her and it's a momentary standoff, and then, to her surprise, he capitulates. "Come on then," he says. "Bring our boy with you."
Despite his apparent change of stance, he doesn't permit her to pick up a teatowel. Instead, he holds Bean whilst she follows his instruction to sit on the worktop, and when she's settled, he carefully passes their son to her.
"This isn't helping you to wash up," she observes, as he starts the water running.
"You're keeping me company," he grins, agitating the water with his fingers, "and as far as I'm concerned, that's helping."
Severus rolls up the duvet and places it at the head of the bed for them to lean against. "I don't want to mess with the spells on the sofa," he explains, as she watches him work, "but I think we need some sort of distinction between night and day."
"Else it's like being sick. Staying in bed all day," she nods. "That's how I felt when I was getting dressed - as if I was part of society again."
"Exactly," he says, and then as he indicates that she should sit down, he disappears back into the kitchen. When he returns, he holds two small paper bags of sweets in the air, and she can see the Radio Times tucked under his arm. "Pear drop, love?"
"Thanks," she says, with a beaming smile, taking the proffered paper bag, "I knew you wouldn't forget." She takes one out and pops it into her mouth, and then holds the bag open towards him. "Do you want one?"
He shakes his head, and opens his own bag, showing the contents to her. "Got my own, thanks."
"Ew, Sev. I don't know how you can eat those."
"Pontefract cakes are delicious," he says, throwing two into the air, and grinning with delight when he catches them in his mouth.
"They're horrid."
"And," he continues, in a tone of voice which suggests he is sharing state secrets, "they contain an ingredient that makes them extra special."
"I thought they were just liquorice? What else have they got in them?"
"Lily-repellent," he laughs, "which means I get to eat them in peace without a certain someone snaffling them all behind my back."
"You'll pay for telling lies," she says, doing her best to seem annoyed, but the smile playing around her lips undermines her efforts.
"Your mother is talking, Bean," Severus says, sliding down on the bed so he's lying flat on the mattress, his face level with his son, "as if she hasn't got a habit of stealing my sweets."
"Once. I did it once."
"Gone, Bean. Daddy opened the cupboard-"
"-Sev, they were out of date!"
"-I'd spent all afternoon dreaming about spogs-"
"-they'd sat there for over a year!"
"-imagining how nice it would be to sit down and read a book-"
"-you knew they were stale-"
"-eating delicious spogs-"
"-which is why you hadn't eaten them-"
"-deliberating over whether to eat pink or blue first-"
"-and it took you two months to even notice!"
He laughs when she reaches over Bean and tickles under his arm, and he wriggles away. "No," he laughs, "don't tickle me, not with Bean between us."
"Then apologise!"
"I'm sorry."
"Really?"
"Yes," he grins.
"For?" She tries to give him a stern glare, but just as before, the amusement in her eyes breaks the effect.
"For not," he starts, and then he jumps off the bed with a loud laugh, "buying myself sweets that you like so you could steal them from me-"
"-you are dead, Sev! Get back here!"
Their raucous chase ends when she corners him in the kitchen. She feints left and then right, expecting him to try and dive past her, and she squeals in surprise when he wraps his arms tightly around her and picks her up instead. His movement is smooth, causing her legs to bend at the knee and her body to fold into him, cradled against him just as she cradles Bean against her.
She gazes at him, and he looks happy and triumphant, as if his surprise move has won the battle - and he carries her into the living room, slamming the kitchen door shut as they leave.
"Shh!" After a quick glance in Bean's direction to check that he's not moved, Lily turns her attention back to Severus and kisses him. "You even taste of liquorice," she complains.
"And your pear drops make you taste like nail polish," he laughs, kissing her again, "but you don't see me griping."
"How would you even know? I didn't know you had a habit of eating my nail polish," she teases - and Severus lets out another loud laugh, immediately followed by Bean letting out a cry.
They both jolt, both looking towards their son and Severus slowly lowers Lily back to the ground, and she moves across the room - quickly, guiltily.
"We were a bit noisy," she whispers, settling on the bed and picking Bean up, "and we shouldn't have both run out of here."
Severus sits next to her, a slight frown on his face. "We were five seconds at most," he murmurs, his voice barely audible.
"It doesn't matter. If he'd rolled off-"
"-he didn't," Severus says, "but I promise we won't do it again." He places his hand over his heart. "I, Severus Snape, do solemnly swear-"
"-you are such an idiot-"
"-not to lead you into temptation," he finishes, "and the first person to leave a room automatically forfeits any argument."
Her smile is immediate. "So I won?"
"The rule takes effect from now," he hastily adds, flashing her a cheeky grin. "Having said that," he says, "we can't live in silence. We agreed that our Bean needs to get used to some noise."
"Like the kettle and the washer and the hoover," she says, softly.
"Yeah," Severus agrees, his voice still low, "and when we go out, there'll be cars and buses and people…" He leans across and fiddles with a strand of hair which has escaped from Lily's ponytail during the chase, tucking it behind her ear. "Merlin, Lil, I know this place isn't much-"
"-don't say that-"
"-it's true! It's not as good as the flat we had," he says, his frown still in place, "and although your shower is great, not having a bathroom is awful, and the toilet situation sucks, and the kitchen is too small-"
"-Sev, it's fine for us-"
"-I want better - better for Bean! A better catchment area-"
"-it's too soon to be worrying about schools-"
"-but," and then he gives her the widest smile, "having you both here makes it feel like a real home. Just hearing you laugh when we were in the kitchen..."
"Yes," she agrees, returning his beaming smile when he trails off, "I've missed you so much - missed us having fun together. And I meant it," she adds, kissing him, "when I said how hard you'd worked. When you were washing up, I couldn't stop looking at the kitchen - how good it looks now you've painted it."
"It was nothing."
"You've made this house into a home for us."
"I think you've made it into a home by bringing this little one safely here," Severus says, resting his free hand on Bean's stomach.
"That reminds me!" Lily says. "Where did you put the Radio Times?"
"Really? It'll be Peter Powell on now," he says, glancing at the clock before reaching down the side of the bed for the Radio Times. He waits until she lays Bean down on his mattress, both of them pausing to see if he dissents, but to their relief, he settles happily.
"I don't want the radio on," she says, lying back down and flicking through the pages until she reaches the television listings.
Severus watches her in silence, his dark eyes narrowed, struggling to comprehend what she's up to - watching her slim fingers sliding across the pages.
"Right," she says, with a grin, "are you ready?"
"For what?"
"BBC One, half past eight-"
"-we're not getting a television by half eight tonight-"
"-written by John." She pauses and looks at Bean, and Severus' eyebrows raise as he realises her intention. "No, Bean doesn't look like a John to me. Starring David."
"We can't give him your dad's name, Da would've have a fit."
"Nicholas."
"Like the Gryffindor ghost? Absolutely not."
"Lennard," she says, with a grimace, "or Roger-"
"-here, let me see," Severus interrupts, moving over so he can read the names. "There's loads of ideas here," he says, sounding impressed as he flicks the pages over. "Ian, Charles, Michael, Howard…"
"No, no, no and no," Lily says.
"Great minds," he laughs, and the two lie happily together, whilst they work through each page, testing out each and every potential name.
They lie in the darkness, Lily nestled in Severus' arms, their voices deliberately low so as not to risk waking their slumbering son.
"You didn't like any of them, did you?"
"Not really," Severus admits. "They're all a bit...ordinary."
"I thought we should try for ordinary," she whispers, "if he's… If he's staying here."
She can feel Severus' Adam's apple moving in his throat as he swallows, and she wraps her arm around him more tightly.
"You always said your name was a pain."
"Growing up around here it was. I hate it when people call me by the wrong name." He lets out a soft groan. "Do you remember that bunch of kids on the park who used to call me Seth?"
"You were so angry with them. And your dad calls you Russ."
"I don't mind Russ," he mutters, "not so much."
"No? You said I couldn't call you it."
"Yeah, well, it's Da's name for me. It's fine when Da does it. It's when other people call me Russell, that's what gets me."
"It must be annoying."
"I know Severus is unusual and a bit strange, but it's not exactly difficult to pronounce. You've always managed!"
"I like it," she says. "It suits you."
"You would," he laughs, "you're contrary."
"And you're unusual and a bit strange," she grins, "so it fits." There's a pause. "We could keep to the same theme with Bean," she offers.
"What theme? Unusual and a bit strange?"
"No, gaining inspiration from Roman emperors."
He chuckles. "My da did not name me after a Roman emperor, so we don't have to think about calling Bean Augustus or Septimius or Commodus." He gives a strained laugh. "Or, Merlin help us, Lucius."
"God, no," she laughs, "I couldn't bear how smug he would be."
There's a short silence, and then she cuddles closer to her husband. "So…"
"So..?"
"If you weren't named after a Roman emperor, who were you named after?"
"What makes you think I know?"
"There's hardly hundreds of Severuses," she reasons, "and if you know it's not the emperor, then..." She lets her logic hang in the air, knowing she's caught him out.
"He was a saint," he finally admits, softly - and there's a long pause, as if he expects her to laugh.
"Saint Severus."
"Patron saint of weavers," he says, and he knows as soon as the words leave his lips that he won't have to explain further - he knows that Lily is aware of his father's employment history, and of the weekly church visits he endured in his early youth. "Apparently. I don't even know which saint Severus he is-"
"-there's more than one?"
"Yeah."
"Your dad must know."
"I doubt it," Severus laughs, "knowing him, it'll be something he was told in the pub one time as a joke, and he took it seriously."
"Did you ever look it up?"
He moves slightly, as if he's shrugging his shoulders. "It doesn't make much sense to me - all the stories seem to bleed into one. Ravenna or Barcelona or Avranches. One of them, I forget which, was a weaver. He'd only gone to watch the new bishop being selected."
"And it turned out to be him?"
"Indicated by a dove, no less," Severus murmurs. "The chosen one."
"Then maybe we should keep to a theme-"
"-not unless we're going down that route," he interrupts, "and taking him to church every week. I don't think he should carry a name with that sort of legacy if he's not a part of it." He shifts to stare at her, barely making out the shape of her face in the dim light. "Other people will know the meaning of his name, and it'll create expectations."
"I suppose."
"Besides, I'm sure that saint of mine was flogged and had nails stuck in his head."
"Sev!"
"Gives me a headache just thinking about it."
"No exotic saint names then," she says, her fingers unconsciously dropping to his hip, stroking against the old white scars across his skin.
"And nothing dull from the Radio Times," he murmurs. "Arnold. Bob. Richard. They all sound like grandads."
Lily sighs. "I didn't think it'd be this hard. What about a name that has meaning to him?"
Severus frowns. "Like what? We've only got a couple of weeks - we can't wait a couple of years until he's got his own personality-"
"-I meant his appearance," Lily says, quietly. "There must be lots of names that mean that he's dark eyed or dark haired…"
He tightens his hold on her. "That's a great idea, love," he says. "I'll go to the library tomorrow and see if I can find a book of baby names and their meanings."
"Don't look."
"In the library?"
"No, don't look inside the book at the names until you bring it home," she implores, interlacing her fingers with his, "I want us to see them together. Promise me."
He drops a soft kiss on the top of her head. "Of course, love. I promise."
Chapter 126: Visitors
Notes:
I should acknowledge that this chapter includes a derogative term - it makes sense historically and in the context of the story; I'm sure I don't need to explain that it shouldn't be used today.
Chapter Text
Lily looks up when the front door swings open. "Blimey, Sev, that was quick." Her eyes narrow slightly as she takes in the time on the clock. "Too quick. Apparition?"
"I was hardly going to take the bus. I told you, I don't want you left here alone."
"But why would you take the bus into town?"
"I didn't go to town, I went to Cokeworth," he explains. "I couldn't be bothered with the hassle of trying to set up a new library card. They'll want identification and letters and it'll take-"
"-so you Apparated to Cokeworth Library? Sev, that's even worse! That street is always packed, especially at this time in the morning."
"I didn't Apparate to the town centre, Lil," he says, fiddling with a knot that's pulled tight in his thin bootlace, "I'm not a complete idiot."
"Where then?"
"From the alley that leads to the car park behind the indoor market," he says, hissing as he yanks harder at the lace. "You know, the one that smells of stale piss."
"Sev, really!"
"What? It does, and you know it! It's a great place to Apparate from, because nobody uses it. Well, unless they want to nip to the loo," he concedes with a wicked grin, before giving his lace another fierce tug. "Fuck's sake!"
"Don't pull at it, you'll make it worse."
"Too late for that." He angrily wrenches the boot off his foot, almost causing himself to overbalance, landing heavily against the doorframe, and then he holds the boot up to his face, peering at the tangled lace intently.
"You need to separate the knot," Lily says. "Keep an eye on Bean," she orders, pointing at their son on the bed before heading off into the kitchen.
When she returns, she silently holds her hand out, and Severus reluctantly passes the boot to her, swinging it by its lace.
"Well, that's half the trouble. You should put it down on the floor," she says, calmly, "else the weight of it hanging from the lace pulls the knot tighter." She places it on the ground and carefully threads one of the prongs of the fork through the centre of the knot, and wriggles it, causing the knot to fall open. "See."
"Magic," he grins, and then he winces, leaning his head back against the doorframe. "Shit, I didn't mean-"
"-I know you didn't," she says, bouncing up brightly - much more brightly than she feels. "Don't castigate yourself over every little word, Sev," she says, kissing him.
"I meant to say, Miss Grant said to say hello," he says, quickly changing the subject. "She was very excited when I told her we were married, although she was disappointed that we didn't give her chance to wear her best hat."
Lily laughs. "That subject just happened to come up in polite conversation, did it?"
"She saw my ring," Severus says, defensively, and then he chuckles, pulling two thick books out of a carrier bag, "and I think these gave the rest of the story away." He gives her a smile. "Not that you could've blamed me if I'd walked in there and announced it at the top of my voice."
"I think that sort of thing gets you kicked out of a library, Sev."
"And your mother would know all about that, Bean," he laughs, lying back on the bed, speaking directly to his son. "I remember when old Pince banned her for a month from the school library."
"Banned us both, thank you very much!"
"You were the instigator! I was just collateral damage." He gives her a wide smile. "You decided that you couldn't keep your hands off me-"
"-you were the one sneaking around the Restricted Section-"
"-and you were the one trying to distract me," he grins.
"Worked though, didn't it?" she laughs, sitting next to him and running her fingers through his hair. "You didn't get your hands on that awful book."
He averts his gaze, and Lily immediately leans over him, grabbing his chin so he has to look at her, and stares directly into his eyes. "Severus Snape, tell me the truth, right now."
Severus gives her a thin smile, and then he gently pushes her away from him. He slowly gets up and walks upstairs, reappearing a few minutes later, holding a book out before him. She stares at the title in horror: Dark Spells for New Mages - Anon.
"You stole it? A book from the Restricted Section?"
"It's not the school copy," he says, ignoring her pained expression. "I wrote to Malf. He bought it for me."
"Of course he did." She sits back, appraising him, eyeing the book warily. "And Slughorn didn't realise you had such a dangerous text? Not even when it was delivered to you in the Great Hall over breakfast?"
"Why would he? He didn't pick up on any of the others that Malf sent."
Her blood runs a little cold. "Any of the others? How many of these do you have?"
"...a few."
"How many is a few, Severus? Three? Five? Ten?"
His nostrils flare. "I shouldn't have shown you."
"Shouldn't have shown me? Merlin, Severus, you should've shown me years ago!" she counters, immediately. "I can't believe I never knew you had this. Did you shrink it down, or-"
"-it was on our bookcase," he says, shrugging his shoulders. "They all were."
She stares at him, astounded. "This," she says, incredulousness dripping from her tone, "was on our shelves?" He doesn't answer, and her green eyes flash in anger. "Severus?"
He lifts his chin defiantly, and then he runs his fingers over the book cover and her mouth falls open as the letters rearrange into a different but much more familiar author and title.
Knowledge Samplers - S A Farnon
"I've read this!" She puts her hand to her mouth. "Sev! I've read this book!"
"I know you have. More than once."
"But I don't… I'm not…"
"You are interested in dark magic," he says, evenly, "but only if you don't know it's dark."
She carries on staring at the book, swallowing tightly. "No wonder I could never find more by the same author."
He gives her that same smile, only this time, it's tinged with danger. "I knew you enjoyed it."
"It's not about…" She trails off, exhaling loudly. "Honestly, Sev, I feel as if we're two opposing forces."
"What, me and you?" He scoffs. "This just goes to show that we're not so different-"
"-no, me and Lucius, with you in the middle!"
He frowns deeply. "I don't get it."
"You can't swim very well."
"And what does that have to do with anything?"
"So imagine I keep catching you when you fall into the swimming pool…"
"...right."
"Lucius is over here," she says, pointing at the book, "encouraging you to climb up to the highest diving board-"
"-Lil, come on-"
"-and when you finally reach the top, if he can't talk you into jumping of your own accord, he'll just shove you off." She picks up the book and waves it at him. "This is him urging you to jump."
They sit in a strange silence, as if both of them are holding their breath, neither of them daring to speak, their focus seemingly entirely on their books.
She slips out to go to the toilet, and when she returns, she finds a cup of tea hovering near to her book, and she smiles at him in unspoken gratitude. He nods, barely lifting his gaze from his book.
It takes another half an hour for her to notice that he's not writing names down, and when she peers around at the book he's reading, she realises that he's slid Dark Spells for New Mages between the cover of the baby naming book.
"Honestly, Sev!"
"What? I haven't read it for ages," he says, obstinately.
"...I still can't believe you had it when the aurors searched our flat."
His voice is quiet. "They didn't find it."
"But they should've! They pulled that place apart."
"They weren't looking for it. They were trying to pin me down for illegal brewing. When they didn't find hundreds of potions all neatly labelled and ready for market, they weren't interested in finding anything else," he says, placing both books down. "I was just some nobody that they wanted to intimidate because they'd had a tip off. They weren't about to start flinging countercurses recklessly at every single item we owned on the off-chance that we had a disguised book that's on some watchlist."
"It makes me feel sick just thinking about it."
"And what would they have done? Malf's got a whole library like this," he says, squeezing her hand. "Most of the Purebloods do. You said it yourself, even Hogwarts has a copy - and it's kept where any kid can try and take it! Face it, if they'd have gone hard at me for a couple of innocuous books-"
"-but that's the point, Sev - they have gone hard at you! Other people, people like Lucius, people like Parker - they walk away unscathed, but you don't! You only have to look at me, look at your son, to see that!"
She stands behind him, watching as he tops and tails and slices far too many carrots for two - and then, as he reaches for the potatoes, she coughs.
"Did you want a drink?"
"I wanted to apologise."
He drops his head, and looks away. "You don't need to apologise."
"I shouldn't have brought it up. I told you before to not castigate yourself, and then…"
"You're right, though," he says, briskly, "you lost your magic because of me."
"No, not because of you, because of the Ministry."
"And our son lost his magic because of me," he says, even more loudly, as if he hasn't heard her speak, "and I think about that every minute of every day."
They eat in silence, and he refuses her help when she offers to wash up with him. He emerges from the kitchen after twenty minutes but he doesn't look in her direction - or in Bean's. Instead, he leaps up the stairs, and then clatters back down a short while later.
She can see that he's carrying something under his shirt, but he's hiding it, his arm slung over the strange bulge, walking with the determination of a man intent on not being stopped. She hears the back door swing open and then slamming shut again.
Lily sits with Bean for almost an hour, and when darkness falls, she moves into the kitchen, holding Bean tightly. Without turning the light on, she stares out of the window, and she can see Severus sitting on the wall - one of his legs dangling down, the other foot planted on the top of the wall, knee bent upwards, elbow leaning against knee. He's holding a book in one hand, and he's dragging furiously from a freshly lit cigarette.
After a few minutes, when he's halfway down his cigarette, he suddenly sits bolt upright, as if someone has hexed him. He places the book on the wall, pages down, keeping his place, and his hand comes up to grip his chest.
"Fuck!"
It's more of a low hiss than a yell, but she can still hear his exclamation through the single glazed window. She steps back but he doesn't look in her direction. Instead he swings around, both legs now dangling off the wall, and he leans back, staring at the sky. She can see his cigarette perched on his lip, and both hands tearing at his chest - and then after what feels like a lifetime, he slumps forward.
She gasps and reaches for the door handle - but almost in synchronisation with her, he sits upright. She pauses, peering through the glass panes in the door, and watches as he pinches the bridge of his nose before sucking hard on his cigarette.
He frowns, moves the cigarette away from his lips, turning it around and staring at it - and then, with a loud sniff, he pulls out his wand to relight it. He takes a long drag - successful this time - and blows a chain of smoke into the cool evening air, and then reaches behind him for the book.
She waits until he stubs out the cigarette against the wall, and flicks the end into the gutter - and then she counts to thirty, and switches on the kitchen light. She sees his head snap up, and she opens the back door, a cool breeze instantly surrounding her. She pulls Bean's blanket a little more tightly around him, and Severus watches her, frowning.
"Don't let him catch a chill."
"What are you reading?"
"Just a book on mind magic," he says, holding it so she can see the cover.
She takes in the raised hairs on his arms. "Are you not cold?"
"I'm fine."
"You shouldn't read in the dark. It'll strain your eyes."
"It's dusk, not dark." He holds his wand aloft. "I've got light if I need it."
She stands a little longer, unwilling to head back indoors without him.
"Come back in, Sev. It's late."
He looks away.
"You can finish reading inside."
"I'll stay here. I want to have a smoke."
You've just had a smoke.
She straightens. "Before you do, I need you to change the shower so I can bath our son," she says.
He turns to her again, and this time she can see the guilt on his thin features.
"I thought you'd like to bath him with me," she continues, "but I can see you're busy."
"Of course I will," he says, jumping off the wall, "you should've said something-"
"-I was waiting for you to come inside."
He quickly locks up, casting at the door. "What do you need me to do?"
"The container spells need to be lifted so we can reach in to wash him," she says, "and you need to put some water in for me. As if it was a normal tin bath."
He pauses, sniffing his smoky shirt. "Let me grab a shower first."
He's quick - quick to undress, quick to shower, quick to brush his teeth, quick to Scourgify the bath. He doesn't stop to dress, just keeps his towel wrapped around him, and then he shrinks the bath.
"It's easier if it's his size, yeah?" he says, when he spots her frowning.
"Yeah, I can't believe I didn't think of that."
"You were busy getting everything else ready," he says, pointing at the cotton wool and the changing mat and the fresh nappy and sleepsuit, "you can't be expected to think of everything."
It's easier than she thought it would be - he's easier than she thought he would be. There's no trace of his earlier sulky mood, and he's completely engaged with both her and Bean as she walks him through the steps that the nurse had shown her in the hospital, the two of them gently running lukewarm water through Bean's thin hair and wiping cotton wool across the soft folds of his skin.
"Have you seen his birthmark?" she says, turning Bean's ankle as she washes his foot. "It's the weirdest thing - it's shaped just like a little bean. It's as if he knew his own nickname."
"What a strange coincidence," Severus murmurs, suppressing a smile and deliberately sitting back on his haunches so Lily doesn't see his amused expression.
"Calidus," Severus murmurs, running his hand across a towel, and then lifting Bean out of the bath and wrapping him in it. "How's that, Bean?"
"Did you just warm his towel?"
"Might've," he says, with a grin.
"Might have to get you to start doing mine," Lily says, wrapping her arms around Severus' shoulders, and staring down at their son. She inhales deeply, and then pauses. Without breaking her hold on her husband, she looks at him. "Have you been using my conditioner?"
His shoulders stiffen. "...you said I should."
"It wasn't a criticism," she murmurs, breathing in again. "You smell divine."
"That's Bean."
"That's you," she says, holding him more tightly, "and if you put the shower back to normal, I'll jump in next." She turns her attention to Bean who is wriggling in his towel. "Daddy is going to get you dressed, Bean," she says, and then she turns back to Severus, her voice sweet and soft in his ear, "and then Daddy is going to use his clever warming spell on our sheets whilst we talk through some names for our favourite little boy."
Severus gives her a slow smile at her words, and she can feel the tension draining away from his shoulders.
When Lily gets out of the shower, she wraps her towel around her, and immediately breaks into a huge smile. "You warmed it for me, Sev!"
"Can't go showing favouritism, can I?"
"And how's Bean?" she asks, leaning over the bed to look at him. "I haven't heard him cry once."
"He's been as good as gold," Severus says, tilting his arms so Lily can see Bean's face. "Unlike his mother, who is now soaking our nice warm sheets with her shower water."
She gives a small chuckle, and picks her hands up off the duvet. With a wicked smile, she then places them on Severus' cheeks. "Better?"
His lips twist, and she can see him fighting the urge to laugh. "You're incorrigible."
"Tell me about it," she says, leaning down to kiss him - just a peck at first, and then she feels his lips smiling against hers, and she deepens the kiss, smoothing her damp fingers through his hair.
Given their earlier argument, she's surprised at how peaceful the evening becomes. Whilst she dries off and pulls on her nightie, Severus lays Bean down to sleep on his own mattress - and then when Severus leans back against the pillows, he pats the mattress between his legs, beckoning her to sit.
When she does, he clicks his fingers in the air to start the radio playing softly, and then he leans forward, looping his arms around her, and resting his chin on her shoulder.
He turns his head and inhales, breathing in deeply, and then she can feel his laugh in his chest when he asks, "Have you used the same conditioner as me?"
"And you call me incorrigible," she teases.
Severus slowly draws his fingers through her wet hair, and Lily lets out a deep sigh at the sensation of his fingernails running along her scalp.
He seems surprised at her reaction, and he does it over and over - and then, to her dismay, he places a kiss on her ear and manoeuvres himself out from behind her and darts upstairs.
When he returns, he's holding her hairbrush and he raises it in the air. "...I could brush it for you?"
"Yes."
He quickly slides back onto the bed, and with steady hands, he parts her hair into sections, and gently works his way up, inch by inch, making sure that no tangles catch in the brush.
She relaxes into him, feeling almost boneless as he touches her. When he finishes, he draws the brush through the full length of her hair, the synthetic bristles running soothingly across her scalp, and she groans at the feel of it.
He smiles, and repeats the action over and over, leaving a delicious tingling sensation in his wake. "Relaxed?"
"Yes," she murmurs, and she slowly slides down against him until her head is resting in his lap and her eyes are firmly closed. "Merlin, Sev, that was so good. Why've we never done that before?"
He leans down and kisses her forehead. "It never occurred to me before."
"I should do yours," she offers, but her eyes remain closed.
He can't help but smile as he watches her. "My hair's already dry, love," he says, "besides, I thought we were going to choose some names?"
"We are," she murmurs, but despite her agreement, she doesn't move and when she falls fast asleep in his lap, Severus is loathe to wake her.
"There's always tomorrow, Bean," he murmurs, clicking his fingers to snap off both the radio and the light.
"I didn't mean to fall asleep on you last night," she says, apologetically, as he stands and stretches.
"It's fine," he says, leaning back across the bed to kiss her forehead, "I didn't wake with Bean in the night, so I think we're even. Cuppa?"
"Please."
When he returns, she shoots him another apologetic look. "We were going to choose names," she says, settling Bean against her to feed. "Sev, I'm-"
"-don't say you're sorry," he interrupts, dropping a quick kiss on her lips. "We can do it now."
"I had a list," she says, pointing at the mantelpiece.
Severus obediently jumps up and grabs it. "Are these ones you like?"
"They're anything that means dark," she explains. "Dark eyed, dark haired, or black."
"Cole, Donovan, Onyx," he pauses. "Onyx? He'd spend half of his life telling people how to pronounce it."
"And the other half explaining how to spell it," Lily agrees.
"Dunstan. Sullivan. Raven." Severus pauses again. "I quite like that."
"Raven?"
"Raven, Raven, Raven," Severus repeats, and then he wrinkles his nose. "It's the nickname that's no good. Rave? Ray?" He shakes his head.
"I thought that about Dunstan. Dunce is not a great name to be shouting down the street or across the park."
Severus gives a soft laugh. "No, absolutely not. Sully. Sull. Van?"
Lily shakes her head. "No."
He returns to the list, running his finger down it. "Jet?" He sounds uncertain.
"I think it's meant to be like 'jet black'."
Severus' eyebrows remain raised. "I don't think so." He carries on reading. "Hadrian." There's another pause. "What? Like the bloke with the wall?"
"Yes."
"No," he says. "Nigel."
"No," Lily says, immediately. "It'll make him sound old."
He laughs. "Why write it down if you don't like it?"
"I wanted you to see what we had to reject," Lily says, "else I know what you're like - you'll be seeking the impossible."
"Perran." Severus clucks his tongue behind his teeth. "It's different, I'll give it that."
"I thought that was reasonable," Lily nods. "I think I wrote down the meaning next to it?"
"Little dark one," Severus reads. "Suits him. Tynan?"
"I wasn't as keen. Ty's not a bad nickname though."
"Mmm," Severus murmurs, noncommittally. "Keiran. Keir. Kern."
"What do you think of those?"
"Kern's unusual. What's that mean?"
"They all from the same name, so they all mean little black-haired one." She stares down at Bean as he feeds, fondly running her hand through his wisps of dark hair. "I don't think he's suddenly going to go blond," she says, with a smile. "It'd suit him."
"Kern," Severus murmurs, and then he stares back at the page.
"You're not sure?"
"I don't know. Can't we just call him Bean and be done with it?"
Lily laughs. "Is it definitely a no on Raven? Sullivan?"
"What does Sullivan mean, again?"
"Black-eyed one."
Severus moves his hand back up the page. "I like the meaning, but I prefer Raven to Sullivan."
"I like the V sound in both of them," she says. "Raven. Sullivan. Severus."
"You can't call him Severus," he teases, "that's already taken." He reaches his hand out and silently summons one of the baby name books into his hand. "Names with a V in, then?"
When he suggests taking a break, she doesn't expect him to help her into her coat and lead her through the back yard to the alley. Once there, he pulls her and Bean into a tight embrace, and she almost jolts in surprise when they land in the car park behind the Railview Hotel.
"Thought you might like to see your parents," he says, with a shrug.
The receptionist is sullen but efficient, and when David comes down the staircase, his gait so familiar, Lily's face fills with excitement.
"Here we go, Bean," she says, moving his blanket away from his face, "come and say hello to Daddy."
"Grandad to him," David corrects, with a smile. He places his arm around Lily's shoulder, and brushes his finger against Bean's cheek. "And how are you, Lils?"
"So good," she says, nodding. "He's such a gorgeous boy, Daddy."
"And Bean's pretty well behaved as well," Severus adds, drolly.
David grins at Severus over Lily's head, both men ignoring Lily's groan.
"Sev's been brilliant, even if his jokes aren't funny."
"Good to see you've picked up the art of dad jokes already, son," David says. "Shall we take this little one up to see Granny?"
Severus peers out of the bedroom window, watching the activity on the platforms of the railway station below, whilst Lily and Rose and David sit together on the bed.
"What do you mean, you haven't chosen a name yet?"
The conversation seems to loop in circles - talking about feeding and names and sleep, or lack of it. He can't help but yawn as he watches the express fly through, followed by two shunters moving trucks, and then a flurry of activity on the right hand platform when a pigeon steals a sandwich out of a child's hand.
"Sev?"
"What?" He turns back to look at the occupants of the room.
"Trainspotting?" David grins. "Thought we'd lost you there for a moment."
"Oh, sorry," he says, dropping the net curtain and moving back towards the group, "half asleep still."
"We were just talking about Tuney," Lily says. "It'll be strange having two little ones around the same age."
"Yeah," Severus says, sounding disinterested. "Still, with them in Surrey, I guess there's not going to be that much crossover between us."
"They haven't been up too much of late," Rose says, looking at David, "although they are due…"
"The baby?"
"To visit," Rose says, hastily. "No, no, their baby isn't due for a while yet."
"Might even have a name for this one by then," David jokes.
Severus stuffs his hands in his pockets. "When are they coming up?"
"Next Fri-"
"-there's no date, Severus," David interrupts, reassuringly.
"Friday?"
"It's not confirmed," David says, shooting a look at Rose. "You take your time."
"I've not even had chance to look," Severus admits, his breath tightening in his chest. "I've been a bit swamped."
"I've needed him at home," Lily says, quickly, clocking her mother's disappointed look.
"And I said it was fine," David adds, firmly. "Take your time, Severus. You've got your own family to focus on first. We can wait."
Lily watches Severus as his attention drifts back to the trains outside, not even joining in the conversation when her father enquires about money. She tells them about Severus selling the remains of his potions stock and that they're due a small payout, but when Bean interrupts the tale by crying for the third time, she stands and makes their excuses.
As she hugs her mother, telling her that things will settle down and Severus will have the opportunity to look at the house, she can see David clapping Severus on the shoulder, and murmuring something in his ear. She fervently hopes it's the same message - one of reassurance, one of patience.
She moves over to her father as Severus gives her mother an awkward hug, and she's relieved when the comforting voice of her father tells her again that there's no rush - that they're both safe and well in the hotel, and that it's quite pleasant to have a cooked breakfast every morning without the nightmare of washing up afterwards.
"Are you going to your parents' now, Severus?"
He looks as if he's been caught out by Rose's question, as if it's something he's not considered in the slightest.
"Yes," she says, coming to his rescue, "but we came here first. To check you were ok," she explains.
"You'd better head off," David says, kissing Lily on the cheek, "it's lunchtime now, and your little one will start becoming unsettled if you're out all day."
If he was stiff at Railview, it's nothing as to how awkward he is at Spinner's End. Eileen seems surprised to find the visitors there when the door opens, and Severus has to argue with his father for several minutes before the television news is turned down to a level which they think is acceptable for Bean's ears.
"Go in then," Eileen urges, and when Lily steps into the room, she can see Tobias and Severus standing face to face, almost nose to nose.
"Jus' wanted to see t'headlines!"
"Aye, well, they're on again at six," Severus snaps, turning the television off. "Be summat fer yer to look forward to."
"Yer a cheeky fucker."
"An' yer ain't seen kidder yet."
"Saw 'im at the 'ospital," Tobias grumbles, but he softens slightly when he sees Lily. "Not keepin' yer up all night, is he?"
"Just every other hour," she smiles.
"Have you chosen a name?"
"No," Severus says, looking at his mother. "Not yet."
"Fuckin' told yer ter get a move on-"
"-stop swearin', Da!"
"Yes, Toby," Eileen says, sternly, "we don't want his first words to be fuck, do we? I think even Severus managed Mama and Dada first."
Lily represses a smile, and Eileen touches her arm.
"A word?"
Lily looks surprised, and when she looks over at Severus, so does he.
"Give Bean here," he says, gruffly, unzipping his jacket and shrugging it away from his shoulders so when he accepts Bean into his arms, he doesn't run the risk of the zip running against his skin.
"Got yer fuckin' well whipped, lad," she hears Tobias say as she follows Eileen into the kitchen, but she doesn't hear Severus' response.
"Tea?"
"No, thanks," she says, looking around the cramped kitchen.
Eileen puts her own mug back on the stand, and then reaches in her pocket for her cigarettes, striking up without offering one to Lily.
Lily takes a step back, and Eileen notices - she doesn't stop, or apologise - but she opens the back door and moves to stand by it. When she draws on her cigarette, she turns her head and exhales outside, keeping the smoke as far away from Lily as possible.
"How are you?"
"I'm fine," Lily says. "Bit sore, but I'm fine. Sev's been great-"
"-your magic," Eileen interrupts, bluntly. "Not the baby. People have babies every day."
She's briefly taken aback by her brusque attitude, but when she catches Eileen's dark eyes, she can see the concern on her thin face - it's a fleeting glimpse, almost immediately repressed.
"...Sev's been great," she reiterates. "He does anything magical I ask and more besides." She glances down. "Lights on, warming charms, summoning things."
"And your magic? It still feels the same?"
She nods. "Like it's fighting to get out." She pauses, glancing at the closed door. "He's been reading some books."
"He can't bring your magic back."
"I didn't…" She trails off. "I haven't asked him."
"Good. Because he can't, and he's a fool if he thinks he can."
"It's frustrating more than anything," Lily continues, as if Eileen hasn't spoken. "Seeing him reading things and I know he wants to share ideas with me, but he's… It's a sore point between us still."
"He thinks you blame him."
"I don't."
"You should," Eileen continues, with a strange twist of her lips. "It wasn't your punishment to take."
"He's being punished as well," she says, quietly. "He can't go back, even if he wanted to - because if he did, this," and she holds her arms out, indicating down her body towards her locked and frozen magic, "would be his fate."
"Trapped." Eileen takes another long draw on her cigarette. "No signs of magic from your boy?"
Lily shakes her head. "Do you think there's any chance..?"
Eileen turns her head, blowing out a steady stream of smoke. "I have no idea," she says. "I've never heard of a pregnant witch being subject to the hex before. I dare say if you asked the Ministry, they wouldn't know themselves."
A strange look falls across Eileen's face, and Lily takes a step closer to her. "What? What is it?"
"They punished me because…" She trails off, and then tries again. "They said I had taken away a baby's magic," she says, pointing her cigarette towards Lily's abdomen. "I wonder if the officials who administered your punishment should meet the same fate as me."
Lily gives a soft laugh. "I doubt it'll ever come to that."
"They stole your son's," Eileen says, shaking her head and stubbing her cigarette out on the wall. "But there's been no other changes? No strange sensations in your arms or legs?"
"Nothing," Lily says. "Are there things to look out for?"
"I had a dull sensation in my wand arm for a year," Eileen says, absently running her other hand up and down it, "but the process was probably different back then. They've probably refined it now."
"The only thing that's weird," Lily says, as Eileen locks the back door, "is lying next to Sev at night and not feeling that pulse of magic. I think I got so used to feeling his magic and feeling Bean's magic, and sometimes if Severus held his hand in the right position, I could even feel mine rebounding from him." She gives Eileen a soft smile. "I miss that."
Eileen stares at her, unblinking, to the point that it's unnerving, and then, just as Lily's about to say something - anything to break the tension - Eileen drops her gaze and moves towards the kettle.
"What do I think? I think yer want yer fuckin' 'ead read, lad."
"All right, Da!" Severus jostles Bean in his arms, trying to distract him from the sudden raised voices. "A bit quieter in front of the boy, eh?"
There's a pause, and Tobias sniffs loudly. "Point stands."
"Yer ain't got no legs to stand on," Severus hisses, "yer called me fuckin' Severus! Hardly a great English name for the ages, was it?"
"Then yer should know this wi'out me needin' ter tell yer," Tobias argues. "If yer couldn't stick bein' called a few nicknames when yer was a kid-"
"-wrong names!"
"-then that's one thing, but 'ow are yer gonna feel when yer kid comes 'ome and tells yer he's been passed over fer a job or fer a flat-"
"-you didn't think of that with me!"
"Yer name was Latin, not Irish, an' the last I fuckin' looked, lad, half the signs around these parts said, No Tinkers, no Travellers."
Severus shakes his head. "You said half yer family was Irish. I thought it'd be fitting."
"Aye, me mam's side is all Irish - how else d'yer think I know about this shit, eh?" Tobias stresses. "Yer din't see 'er doin' summat so bloody daft as to call me an obvious Irish name, did yer? I'm tellin' yer, lad, yer dead ancestors don't need a tribute to know where yer blood's from."
Severus' voice is soft. "It was only an idea."
Tobias looks away, scratching the rough stubble on his neck. "Yer call 'im what yer think best, but I'm tellin' yer, yer already disappointed that he ain't magical, an' yer gonna be even more disappointed when he turns sixteen and he can't get his foot in the door because they're chucking his CV in the bin, along with Paddy O'Malley-"
"-Da, yer bein' ridiculous, it's not like that! They're not racist like that these days-"
"-they fuckin' are! Use yer fuckin' 'ead, lad," Tobias says, "if not fer yersel', fer yer kid coz he's gonna be the one cryin' about it in a few years."
When Lily goes back into the living room, she can tell that there's been an argument - Tobias is sat in his chair, staring fixedly at the same page of the newspaper, whilst Severus is walking back and forth, rocking their unsettled son.
"Do you want me to take him?"
"I think we should get him back," Severus says, and he gives her a dark look, which she immediately understands as his desire to leave.
"Here," she says, holding her arms out and cradling Bean against her. "Oh yes," she says, playing along, as she rocks him, "he's worn out. We'd best get him back."
"Not staying for a cuppa then?"
"He's shattered, Mam," Severus says, indicating helplessly at Bean. "Sorry."
Eileen disappears back into the kitchen, and Lily and Severus exchange a look when they hear the kettle being half emptied into the sink before being put back on.
"Whoops," Lily mouths, as Severus laces his boots up.
When he finishes lacing up his own, he moves to tie Lily's, saving her from disrupting Bean.
"Thanks," she says, when he stands upright, pecking a kiss on his lips.
"Right, we're off, Da," Severus calls, sticking his head back around the living room door.
"Bye Lily!"
Severus turns to Lily, his astonishment clear on his face - his mouth wide open and his tongue digging into his cheek.
"What did you fall out about?" she hisses, but before he can answer, Eileen returns to the hallway.
"Don't be strangers," she says. "Severus?"
"What?"
She doesn't answer, just jerks her head, beckoning him closer. He frowns and takes a couple of steps towards her, and then she grips his hand.
"What is it, Mam?"
Before he can react, Eileen puts her arms around his waist, and he twists his neck, looking over his shoulder at Lily, seeming even more astonished by his mother's emotional reaction than he was at being blanked by his father.
They walk together, Bean in his arms, Lily's arm looped around Severus' waist.
"We can just go home," she says, after a moment. "We don't need to walk over to the house."
"Your mum wants to move back in," Severus says, "and Tuney wants to come up and visit next week. You can go back if you're getting tired, but I want to take a quick look."
"No, I want to stay with you - I want to help."
"Just say if the walk gets too much, love," he says.
"It's nice to have some fresh air."
They follow their old route automatically, over the river, standing by the old bridge and looking downstream.
"Dirty old river, must you keep rolling," Severus sings, softly.
"I don't think they were referring to Cokeworth with that song, Sev," Lily laughs. She takes a deep breath, and then screws her nose up. "Although you're right, eww. I think it's more polluted than ever. I can't believe we used to wade in it."
"It's all the fault of that feral boy who used to lead you astray," he laughs. "I don't remember Tuney ever getting her socks dirty with river water."
After a moment, they head off, leaving the riverbank behind and cutting across the park. To Lily's surprise, instead of moving diagonally, he suddenly swerves, heading towards the swings.
"Sev, what are you doing?"
"Having a rest," he says, settling back into the swing, unable to stop himself from pushing back with his legs and setting it rocking.
"He's either going to love that or hate it," Lily says, sitting on her own swing and watching Bean intently.
"He's not screaming yet," Severus laughs, kicking his foot against the floor to keep the propulsion going, "I think it's a hit."
They sit for a moment, both moving their swings gently back and forth, barely moving them from their stationary position - not like the days when they were children when they would race to get as high as possible, and then would throw themselves off at the highest point.
"It doesn't seem two minutes since we were playing here, does it?"
He glances over at his wife and shakes his head. "I'm half expecting Tuney to come out from behind that tree, screeching at the top of her voice."
"Sev!"
"Merlin, Lil, can you imagine what that kid's going to look like? Half Tuney, half Dursley."
"Sev!"
He laughs, pushing the swing a little higher. "You're not saying it, but I know you're thinking it, love." He fiddles with Bean's blanket. "He's not going to be a handsome boy like you, is he? Not with those Dursley genetics."
"...what's up with your dad?"
Severus huffs a laugh. "What isn't up with him? What did Mam want with you?"
"Just asking about my magic."
"Oh." He glances away. "...Da wasn't hot on the idea of Kern. Or Sullivan. Or Donovan. Anything Irish, for that matter."
Lily frowns. "I thought your dad was Irish somewhere along the line?"
"Yeah, that's the problem," he says, scuffing his boot along the ground to slow the swing down. "Reckon's it'll cause trouble for Bean in the future - when he's after a job."
"Do you think it will?"
Severus shrugs, tightly. "I would hope not, but… I dunno, Lil, we haven't been living around here, have we? I guess Da knows."
"I don't think we were exactly sold on the name ourselves. Maybe there's something else we can think of," Lily says, looking around. "Something from around here to inspire us."
"What?" he scoffs. "Like Park? Swing?" He points over towards the slide. "Helter-Skelter? See-Saw?"
"You're such an arse," she says, rolling her eyes and jumping off her swing. "Come on, let's go."
"Hey," he says, scuffing his boot along the ground until it slows the swing down to a point where he can stand, "I'm not the one who wants to name our kid Roundabout!"
"Road. Car. Pavement. Traffic Light. Double Yellow Lines."
"You're not funny."
"Bean's not laughing, Lil," he grins, "believe me."
"I just thought there might be a nice natural name for him, that's all," she says, glancing upwards.
"A natural name?"
"You know what I mean. Inspired by nature. Like, Sky or something."
Severus nudges her arm. "I know what you mean. I'm only teasing."
"I know, but we need to come up with something. Tree names, maybe? Ash or Birch or-"
"-River." Severus stops dead. "River, Lil."
"River," she repeats, as if testing the name on her tongue. "River."
"It's where we used to hang out," he says, excitedly.
"And it's got the V in," she agrees, with a grin.
"Not Irish."
"And Riv is so much better than Rave as a nickname," she says, looking down at their son. "Riv and Sev. River and Severus."
"River Snape."
"River Sullivan Snape," she says, looking up at Severus. "What do you think of that?"
"I think we've got ourselves a name, love."
As they walk up the road, Lily reaches for his hand. "It looks so unlived in. Not like Mummy's and Daddy's at all."
"No," he agrees. "It looks weird without your dad's car here, even." He glances around. "I'm surprised the neighbours haven't come knocking and asking questions."
"They might've done," Lily says, quietly. "We wouldn't know."
They stand for a long moment, and Lily can't stop staring at the trampled plants in the front garden, remembering how they'd been surrounded by the three wizards, them beating on the windows.
She swallows tightly. "So, what's the problem with the spell? You don't think you can make the house visible to them because of their lack of magic?"
"No, I can do that," Severus says. "That's what I did for Da."
Lily frowns. "That's the hard bit, surely?"
"No, the hard bit is casting it in the first place," he says. "That's what I'm struggling with."
"Oh, Sev!" She leans against him reassuringly. "I bet you can do it - you did most of the heavy lifting that night when we placed it on your parents' house."
He's quiet for a moment, staring at the upstairs windows. "...you underestimate yourself," he says, quietly. "I had a quick go at casting Fidelius on ours."
"And?"
"It didn't work, love."
"I realised that," she answers, softly, "but what happened?"
"It just didn't take."
"And you think it's lack of power?"
He carries on staring at the upstairs window, refusing to look at her. "I don't think it - I know it. It took us both enough tries at Mam's. I've got no chance on my own." He lets out a loud sigh.
"Maybe you just need to practice," she says, soothingly, resting her head against his shoulder. "Daddy will understand, even if it takes time."
He moves his hand up to ruffle her hair. "You ok, love?"
"Just tired."
"It's been a long day," he says. "Come on, let's go into the back garden and we'll Apparate."
"Daddy will have locked the gate," she says, tugging his hand, "but Mrs Williams always leaves hers open."
They head next door, ducking under the branches of the trees, hoping that the dark shade will allow them to slip unnoticed into the back garden. Severus opens the gate, and as it clicks shut behind them, they hear a sudden pop.
Severus immediately thrusts River into Lily's arms, and pushes her against the house, his wand outstretched. He looks around, but there's no sign of activity in the garden, and with his finger on his lips, he indicates that Lily should crouch down.
Her heart is banging, and she's staring at their son, willing him not to wake - not to suddenly cry out and give away their hiding place.
Severus takes a step forward, followed by another, creeping his way into the flowerbed, and then he peers through the fence into Rose and David's back garden.
She watches Severus intently, and she sees his back stiffen, and she knows immediately that something's badly wrong. Severus stands completely still, as if frozen to the spot - and then he twists his neck, his eyes raking the ground, checking to see if he's about to step on a twig, or somehow make a noise.
Slowly, deliberately, he inches his way back from the fence, and then with his finger back on his lips, he wraps his arms around the quaking form of Lily, and he Disapparates the three of them.
Chapter 127: You don't know what I'm capable of
Chapter Text
The soles of her shoes brush the ground, but instead of releasing her, Severus' arms remain tightly wrapped around both her and River. Before Lily has time to steady herself, let alone regain her bearings, the familiar swirl of Apparition jolts her from her feet once more.
Severus is relentless and he repeats the action again and again - three times, five times, nine times - and when he finally lands them in the alley behind their house in Rillwych, even his usually sallow complexion is tinged with green.
Lily's stomach clenches and cramps - not just with the discomfort of repeated Apparition with barely enough time to take a breath between each spiral of the spell, but with the anxiety of the sudden encounter at her parents' house. Her eyes are fixed on River, his tiny face bright red and his mouth wide open in a loud unending scream, and both his blankets and her coat covered in his sick.
Before she can say a word, Severus puts his arm around her shoulders and steers his wife and child towards the front of their property. "Inside," he orders, his eyes darting around as they walk.
Once he's ushered them inside, he shoots her an apologetic look at the state of her clothes and River's unabating scream. With a casual flick of his wand, he sets the shower running.
"Sev..."
"Get cleaned up," he says, dismissively, without looking at her. He kneels down before the front door and starts to weave an intricate web of magic around the lock. "I need to strengthen these protection spells."
"Who was there?"
He doesn't answer, his long fingers gripping his wand, twisting the tip one way and then another, his free hand mirroring his movements, as if somehow duplicating the cast of magic emanating from his wand.
"Sev? In the garden? Who was it?"
Severus slices his wand through the air, and then sits back, panting with the exertion of the spell. He rubs his wrist across his forehead, and shoots her a pained look. "I need to secure the back door."
She stands before him, blocking his way, stopping him from standing, stopping him from moving. "Sev, answer me."
"...Mulciber. It was Mulciber."
Thicknesse leads Mulciber down the corridor, the silence awkward and uncomfortable between them. When they reach their destination - a plain door in a plain wall, Thicknesse pauses, his hand on the handle.
"What?"
"I wasn't aware you were a practising wizard of the law and yet here you are."
"Here I am."
"Again."
"Again," Mulciber repeats, coldly.
Thicknesse appraises him. "I heard it took several hours to track you down for questioning."
"I was out with friends. I had no idea anyone was looking for me. I wasn't hiding from the law." Mulciber shrugs. "Would I be here if I was?"
"And now you can't keep away."
"He's entitled to visitation."
"From his solicitor."
"From any suitable advisor."
Thicknesse gives a short laugh. "And that's you, is it?" He shakes his head. "No accounting for taste," he says, and before Mulciber can retort, he pushes the door open, revealing Avery, who is sat in the stark white room, his arms manacled to the back of his chair. "He's all yours."
As soon as Thicknesse steps out, shutting the door behind him, Avery grins at Mulciber. "You came back."
"I promised."
"And? Anything?"
Mulciber shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Ave."
Avery slumps in the uncomfortable chair, his hands twisted behind him. "He wasn't there?"
"He wasn't there. Nobody was there."
Avery's eyes briefly close, and then, with a deep frown etched across his face, he hisses, "Muffliato!"
Mulciber stares at him in astonishment. "What was that?" His eyes narrow. "I didn't know you could do wandless magic in these rooms." He smirks. "I didn't know you could do wandless magic at all, Ave."
"I don't know if it's possible either," Avery murmurs, ignoring the slight, his eyes fixed on the door, "or even if I've cast it right, given that I'm chained up," he says, tugging against his handcuffs fruitlessly, "but if it's worked, it'll block our conversation from anyone listening in."
"Clever little spell."
"It's not mine."
Mulciber gives a lazy smile. "I'd worked that much out for myself."
If Avery's offended, he doesn't show it. "There was definitely nobody there? Not even that Muggle woman?"
"No, not even her. I've been back twice a day since you asked and there's no sign of life - the only person I've seen there was the postman." Mulciber sits back and sighs. "You didn't really think he'd be there, did you, not after our little visit?"
"All I'm saying is that it was Sev's spell. I know it was."
"And you know as well as I do that Severus can't be responsible for what happened to Ros - you know what the Ministry did to him," Mulciber says, trying not to shudder at the thought of the power held within the building they're sat in.
"I never thought it was Severus," Avery insists, "I just wanted him to tell us if he told Malfoy about the spell." His expression is earnest. "To me, that proves it."
"Proves what? You can't prove anything."
"I can! If it was Sev's spell and it wasn't Sev who used it, then it proves it was Malfoy."
Mulciber exhales deeply. "You need to drop this obsession with Malfoy. Take it from me, Malfoy's a dangerous enemy to make, Ave."
"More dangerous than being in here? They'll send me to Azkaban! Or worse!"
"And what exactly do you think's going to happen, Ave? You think they're going to send Lucius Malfoy to Azkaban instead?"
"But I'm telling you the truth! He did it! He murdered Ros."
Mulciber stares at him intently. "Did you see him? Were you there when he used the spell? Did you witness the murder?"
"...no."
"Then you know no such thing, and you shouldn't be running your mouth off when you certainly can't prove it."
"I might not be able to prove it was him, but I know it wasn't me, Mulc." Avery stares at him earnestly. "You know that, don't you? You know that Ros was my friend."
"I know, Ave," Mulciber says, heavily.
"And you're my friend." The statement hangs in the air, more of a question than a declaration.
"...yes."
"I stuck up for you," Ave says, insistently. "I could've done what Malfoy said, done what all the others did, given them your name!"
"You don't know that they gave my name."
"I know what the plan was. The question you need to ask yourself," Avery continues, "is why Lucius Malfoy decided that you were going to be the fall guy."
Mulciber leans forward. "The question you need to ask yourself," he repeats back to him, "is why Lucius Malfoy decided to make you the fall guy."
"But he didn't! Not at first." There's a pause. "Look, ask Dolph," Avery says, quickly, "you said he told you I was here in the first place. He'll tell you that I'm speaking the truth."
Mulciber looks thoughtful. "And if Dolph agrees with your version of events, then something changed Malfoy's mind."
"Not something! Someone! Me! He knew I was on to him. He knew I wouldn't betray you! He's done this to silence me!"
Mulciber sits quietly, considering him. "How did you know it wasn't me? You know I was in the room with the two of them."
"I keep telling you, I knew the spell! That's Malfoy's problem - he didn't expect me to recognise it."
"And if Dolph hadn't told me you were here? If I hadn't visited you?" Mulciber's eyes narrow. "What would you have done then? Changed your story? Named me? Assumed I was in on Malfoy's lies?"
"No," Avery replies, his voice a little strained. "I knew you'd come." He leans over the table. "You were Ros' friend. More than me, even. I knew you'd want to catch the wizard truly responsible."
Mulciber sits back. "This spell. It's one you say Snape designed himself?"
"I had to beg him to show me. You know what Sev's like - precious about his inventions."
"Too secretive," Mulciber mutters. "I can hardly believe he showed you."
"He did."
"More likely you stole it out of his notes, like that Levicorpus spell that went round school like wildfire."
"He was working under Slughorn back then. Living at Hogwarts. I was hardly likely to be able to get in there under Dumbledore's nose, was I?" Avery shakes his head. "He showed me, Mulc." There's a pause, and then Avery shoots him a triumphant smile. "Just like he showed me the hearing blocking spell."
Mulciber scoffs. "He did not call it 'the hearing blocking spell'."
Avery smirks. "He called it something wanky. You know what he's like."
"But why? Why would he show you?"
"Because I was his friend. And Malfoy meant more to him than I did, you know that."
Mulciber gives a tight nod.
"So if Sev showed me and I was just a friend, then he definitely showed Malfoy. I'm certain of it," Avery continues. "Malfoy knew I was onto him, so he set me up."
"I don't like this, Ave. Malfoy's powerful, you know that - and he's got half of this place wrapped around his wand." Mulciber looks conflicted. "Besides, you said it yourself, you used the spell. They've got you."
"I was proving a point to Malfoy! I didn't use it on Ros."
"But Malfoy's wand must have been clear for them to have let him go."
"He was casting all over the Manor," Avery hisses, urgently, "he was concealing that he'd used the spell, I know he was!"
"It doesn't change that they've got evidence against you, Ave!"
"I didn't murder Ros - and if by some miracle, this stitch up fails, then I'm warning you, Malfoy will be pointing his finger back at you," Avery says, insistently. "It's in your interests to help me."
Mulciber gives a gentle shake of his head.
"No?" Avery looks betrayed. "What, you're happy for me to go down as long as you're not in the firing line? I stood up for you! For all I knew, you could've been in on this, but I trusted you, Mulc! I thought you were my friend."
"Of course I'm your bloody friend," Mulciber spits, "and you know better than to assume that I'm in on Malfoy's machinations."
"You've spent enough time enjoying his company with his wife," Avery spits, bitterly.
"I've spent enough time stalking around a Muggle hovel on your say so," Mulciber hisses, nastily, "which has been far less enjoyable!" He scratches the back of his head. "Like it or not, friends or not, I don't see how I can get you out of this. As far as the Ministry is concerned, your wand contains the spell that killed Ros."
"But my wand didn't kill him," Avery urges. "My memories prove it!"
Mulciber scoffs. "And you know as well as I do that the Ministry doesn't accept pensieve testimony. What do you expect me to do - convince the Wizengamot of an urgent change of policy before your trial? You're being ridiculous."
Avery leans over the desk, his chest practically touching the surface and his voice barely audible. "The Ministry doesn't accept pensieve testimony, but our Lord and Master has his methods, doesn't he?"
Severus grimaces as he closes the kitchen door. He carefully carries two cups across the room, and then sits next to Lily on the bed. He levitates her cup in mid-air before taking a long drink from his own. "What's all this noise, Riv?" he says, looking at their screaming son.
"I can't do anything to soothe him," she says, helplessly. "I've tried holding him and rocking him and feeding him and changing him, but he just screams louder and louder."
"Just got to let him cry it out, I guess," Severus says, although his flippant tone is contradicted by the clear concern on his face. "It must've been a bit of a shock for him."
"For us all."
"I didn't have much choice," Severus snaps, "I didn't want to risk anyone following us here-"
"-Mulciber appearing," Lily clarifies, "not your Apparition."
"Oh," he says, sounding somewhat chagrined. He takes a slow sip from his drink. "Yeah."
"Mulciber. What could he possibly want from us?"
Severus gives a tight shrug.
"Do you think Rosier sent him?"
"No."
"He might've."
Severus shakes his head sharply. "He didn't."
"You don't know that, you don't know-"
"-listen to me, Lil," Severus interrupts, "I didn't know Rosier that well, but Mulciber? Yeah, once upon a time, he was..." The words seem to stick in his throat. "...he was a friend."
"If it has to be a friend who is after you, then why not Avery?"
He shrugs. "Maybe something's happened to him. He was with you - with me - when you were arrested."
"Your arrest and punishment must be all over the Prophet by now."
"Yeah."
"They'll know you can't help them," she says, frowning hard as she jostles River in her arms, his high pitched cries not showing any sign of drawing to a halt.
"Yeah."
"Perhaps he thinks there's more Wolfsbane in the house."
"Perhaps," Severus repeats, but his tone of voice tells her instantly that he doesn't think it's likely.
"You don't think so?" Lily gives him a searching look. "What does he want then?"
"I don't know, love."
"It doesn't make sense, Sev. Mulciber barely said three words to me at Hogwarts - he's hardly going to want anything from me or my parents, and as far as we know, he's got no idea that's my parents' house." She presses a light kiss to River's forehead. "Come on, River, hush now," she murmurs. She looks back up at Severus. "It can't be me. They must be looking for you."
"I suppose brewers are few and far between," Severus says, uneasily. "Maybe the Dark Lord thinks I can lead someone else through the process of brewing Wolfsbane, even if having my magic restricted means I can't brew myself."
Lily's face drains of what little colour was in it, her visage in stark contrast to their son's reddened cheeks, but Severus doesn't seem to notice.
"It'd be like walking into a bear pit," he muses, "if I had lost my magic. Imagine being surrounded by Bellatrix and Rabastan and all the rest and not being able to defend myself." He lets his cup hang in the air and he nudges her. "Your tea's going cold, love. Let me have him for a bit."
He reaches forward, taking River from her, cuddling their still crying son against his chest. "Come on, Riv, don't cry," he urges, rocking River back and forth. "If you keep this up, Mummy's going to have a headache. I know all of that jumping around was scary, but we won't be doing it again, I promise. You're safe at home. Shhh now, shhhhhhh."
Mulciber can't kneel any lower. His back aches from being rounded over his body, his forehead pressed against the cool floor, and his hands clasped behind his back, almost in a mimic of Avery's Ministry restraints.
He's never been made to hold the position for so long - not since his earliest days following the Dark Lord, before the missions with Dolohov and Karkaroff, before he'd proven his worth - and he'd almost forgotten how uncomfortable it could be.
It isn't just the position, it's the anticipation - the waiting, the fear, not knowing when it will end, not daring to move a muscle.
Mulciber closes his eyes, and starts to quietly count in his head, hoping it will serve as a distraction.
When he reaches thirteen hundred and fifty seven, he feels a sharp tug on the hood of his cloak, and he relaxes his limbs, allowing himself to be hauled to his feet. When he stands and his hood falls backwards, he's surprised to see that it isn't a hand helping him to his feet - for the only other being in the room is the Dark Lord, who is idly slouched across his favourite grand seat on the far side of the room.
Instead, it was a pull of magic, and just as Mulciber steadies himself, his feet prickling with pins and needles, he's yanked from his standing position, landing heavily on his knees and sliding across the floor until he's within arm's reach of the Dark Lord.
He keeps his eyes fixed on the Dark Lord's boots, not daring to look up, trying desperately to regain his composure, feeling the Dark Lord's fierce gaze peering down at him.
"My Lord," he says, his voice quavering, "I am honoured that you would spare the time to hear my request-"
"-silence!" Voldemort orders, icily. "Look at me."
Severus creeps down the stairs, trying to move as silently as possible. He gently shuts the living room door and sits on the bed, peering over at the sleeping form of River, wincing as he takes in his tiny tear stained cheeks.
"He's finally worn himself out," Lily murmurs.
"My ears are ringing."
"Yours and mine both. I thought he'd never calm down." Lily looks pained. "I thought we'd broken him, or something."
"Here," Severus says, roughly, pushing a vial of a pain potion into her hand. "Take it. It'll take the edge off your headache."
"He'll be all right, won't he?"
"I imagine so," Severus says, uncapping his own vial and knocking it back. "He'll have to be," he says, wiping his lip with his thumb, "there's no undoing this afternoon."
"...do you think he'll find his way here? Mulciber?"
"No."
"There's nothing at Mummy and Daddy's that'll give away where we are, is there?"
Severus shakes his head. "We emptied your room, me and David. It's all upstairs - our boxes, everything."
They sit for a moment, silently, and then Lily grabs his sleeve. "Sev?"
"What, love?"
"If Mummy and Daddy went back-"
"-they're not going back, they're at Railview."
"But if they did," she presses, "what if Mulciber held them hostage again? To get to us? To get to you?"
"They won't leave Railview without our say so."
"Mummy wants to see Tuney." There's another pause. "Sev, what if Tuney turns up at the house?"
"You have to want to save someone for them to be useful as a hostage."
"Severus!"
He can't help the guilty laugh that escapes his lips, and he looks at her, silently begging her to join him in being amused, but her expression is fierce.
"All right," he sighs, "fucking hell, it was only a joke."
"It's not funny, Sev! None of this is funny! How would you feel if it was someone you really cared about at risk? Like your parents?"
He gives a small laugh. "That's an oxymoron."
"You're such an idiot," she hisses, getting off the bed. "I can't believe you're being so selfish."
"You don't need to make artificial scenarios up to try and guilt me into feeling bad," he calls after her - and when she doesn't turn back, he gets up and follows her to the kitchen. He stands in the doorway, glancing between his wife and his son. "You two mean the world to me, and I've spent the last few weeks constantly fretting about you both being in danger. Don't lecture me about being unfeeling!"
She doesn't move, her arms still folded, facing away from him.
"Lil, come back and sit with me and Riv," he says, his tone wheedling. "Tuney's not going to turn up unannounced, and your parents are safe and well in the hotel. You're worrying about nothing."
"Do you think he got into the house?"
"Mulciber?"
"Yes."
Severus gives a bemused shake of his head. "He didn't seem as if he was making himself at home. He was peering through the dining room window, and then the kitchen window."
"If he gets inside," she says, dully, "then he'll see the post sitting on the mat."
"And what?" He gives a soft laugh. "You're worried he's going to pay the electricity bill?"
She turns, her face full of fear. "He might find their Access statement."
He frowns, clearly not following her line of thinking. "Access statement?"
"Their credit card bill, Sev! It'll show him where they're staying."
When River wakes, he's his usual happy self - calm and content once more. She changes him swiftly, one eye firmly on Severus, who she can see standing in the kitchen and staring out of the window.
She can tell that Severus is itching for a cigarette, but that he's equally reluctant to remove the spell securing the back door. When she snaps River's babygrow back together, she lifts him up, carrying him against her shoulder.
"Have a cigarette."
"What?" Severus turns at the sound of her voice, and darts a quick kiss onto her lips, and then onto River's forehead. "He's quieter."
"Thankfully."
"Want me to take him?"
"Go and have a cigarette," she repeats, brushing her hand against his knuckles, his fingers white from the strain of clutching the sink. "I need the loo anyway," she says, sensing the dissent forming on his lips, "so you'll have to unlock the door sooner or later."
"You go," he says, taking his wand out from his sleeve. He picks apart the intricate spell at the lock, and then holds his hands out, lifting River, who wriggles as he's passed between his parents.
"Don't bring him outside," she warns, "it's too cold now."
His expression is hard to read, but she can see the mutiny in his eyes.
"Sev, don't."
"We'll stand at the door. Be quick."
It's enough of a compromise, although she isn't sure how pleased she is that he's holding River with one hand and his wand with the other, so she rushes out. When she returns, he looks relieved, and she takes River back off him, surprised that his babygrow is warm to the touch.
"Is that the same spell you used on the towels?"
"Might be," he smiles, shutting the door and kneeling to set the spells against the lock. "You said you didn't want him to catch a chill."
"No," she says, putting her hand on his head and running her fingers through his hair. "Don't lock up yet. Have a smoke. You'll feel better."
She thinks he's going to argue, but to her surprise, he stands and reaches for his cigarette pack. "Ten minutes, tops," he promises.
It's closer to twenty minutes later when she hears him locking up and washing in the kitchen sink. He'd never seemed overly bothered before - happy to sit in Spinner's End amongst the plumes of smoke, never really noticing the lingering smell of tobacco that hung to his clothes - but ever since River's been born, he's been more thoughtful.
When he finally joins them, he's shirtless, his chest hair still damp from his wash in the sink, and a small line of soap bubbles peeking out from his underarm where he's missed drying himself off. He tosses a book onto his pillow and practically bounds onto the bed and when he kisses her, the tang of mint toothpaste on his tongue is almost sharp enough to overpower the taste of smoke.
"What's the book?"
He holds the loan from Narcissa aloft.
"You're going to have another go at the Fidelius? At Mummy and Daddy's?"
"Here first," he says, flicking to the right page. "If I can do it, I'll try it there."
She's silent for too long, and when he realises, he looks up, frowning at her worried expression.
"It's a big if, love. We've been through this."
"It's not that. It's the midwife, Sev," she says, quietly. "I need her to be able to visit. She's due in a couple of days."
He exhales loudly, clearly annoyed. "I can take you to the midwife."
"They're meant to see everything at home."
Severus sits for a long moment, considering their quandary. "I don't even know if I'll be able to do it, love. I've not been successful so far."
"But if you do manage," she says, quietly.
"...then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, love." He swallows tightly, his shoulders stiff. "I'm not going to lie to you, I'd rather keep this place between family - the fewer people who know the secret, the safer we are, but," he says, continuing quickly as he sees her opening her mouth to interrupt, "I can see it's important to you. It's just one Muggle midwife."
Her lips wobble slightly and she presses them together in a tearful smile. "Thank you. I thought you were going to say no."
He reaches for her leg, squeezing her thigh. "You wouldn't have said anything if it wasn't important."
"No."
"Besides, I can always Obliviate the midwife," he laughs, dodging out of her reach as she tries to swat him on his arm.
"You're awful, Sev."
"Right, back to work," he says, keenly, placing the book between them. "I thought we could read it together," he says. "Maybe you'll see something I've missed."
"Fuck!" He leans heavily against the wall, sweat pouring down his face and his wand held loosely in his hand. "Fuck!"
"Sev, don't be so hard on yourself."
"I'm not being hard, I'm being realistic!"
"You're not," she says, calmly. "It took several attempts at your mum and dad's - maybe you're near to succeeding and you don't realise it."
"Don't realise it," he mutters sarcastically. "Lil, I'm not even close. I can't feel it! You felt it with me last time, like a wave flowing through us, and now there's nothing - not even, not even a drip!" He throws his wand onto the bed and rubs his hands over his face. "I'm not as powerful as I thought I was."
"You are."
"I'm not," he snaps. "I needed you the first time, and now I've got no chance." He gesticulates towards the book. "We're kidding ourselves, pretending that it's a sentence we've not read properly when we both know that I'm...weak."
"This is complex magic," she says, her voice soothing, "and you're under stress. You know what old Flitwick would say - the three Rs."
"Resting, reading and restarting is not going to help," he says, fury clear on his face. "That's what we've been doing! That's what tonight was all about!"
There's a strained silence, and Lily busies herself with straightening River's blankets, ignoring her husband's spiralling dark mood.
"...I can't keep you safe."
Her heart clenches at his words, and she immediately looks over at him, distraught to see how his face is filled with anguish. "Oh, Sev."
"I promised I'd keep you safe, and I can't do it."
"Nonsense. You've put some powerful charms against the doors and windows - we don't need anything else."
He still looks pained, so she gets up and slides her hands into his, kissing him.
"I'm sorry."
"Come to bed, Sev," she says, kissing him again. "Forget all of this and just lie next to me."
Lily's exhausted, but Severus is as sleepless as River is, both boys waking her intermittently - one tugging and pulling and kicking at the sheets, and the other crying insistently.
Sometime after four, Severus manoeuvres her to his side of the bed, and whispers in her ear that she should get some sleep whilst he looks after River - and the next time she wakes, the room is filled with sunlight, and Severus is gripping her shoulder, his face full of apology.
"Sorry, love," he murmurs, "but he's hungry."
The morning is lazy, the three of them sliding in and out of sleep, before Severus finally drags himself out of bed and returns with breakfast. After, he dozes lightly - River snoozing on his chest - whilst Lily showers, and then they swap places. Lily sits on the bed, brushing her hair and tickling River, and when Severus starts to soap up, Lily lets out a low whistle. Severus throws his head back in laughter and flexes his arms at her.
Lily gives the cashier a thin smile. "Thank you for checking," she says, before rejoining her furious husband at the front of the building society. "Sev, don't make a scene. Maybe he hasn't had chance yet."
"Not had chance? That duplicitous fuck, he's got no intention of giving me the money! He swore to me!"
Lily glances at the queue of people who are clearly listening into their conversation, and pulls Severus out of the door and onto the street.
"And you don't need to drag me about!"
"Stop this," she hisses. "You can't change what's happened, throwing a tantrum doesn't help anyone."
"A tantrum? I'll fucking kill the bastard when I get my hands on him."
"He knows you can't," she says, evenly.
"You don't know what I'm capable of," he mutters.
"I wasn't commenting on your horrible temper," she says, her eyes narrowed, "I can see that for myself! I was saying that Lucius knows you can't risk showing up in the magical world. He's got you over a barrel."
"Yeah? Well, I hope he chokes on those potions. I hope they bring him nothing but bad luck," he spits. "I hope he forgets the spell to reveal them, I hope Dumbledore catches him trying to get into Hogwarts, I hope-"
"-have you quite finished?" Lily asks, mildly.
"No," he says, sulkily, "I was just warming up."
She sighs heavily, sliding her hand into his. "We'll work something out, Sev. We always do."
"Yeah? Like what?"
"I could ask Daddy to sub us."
"You'll do no such thing," Severus snarls, snatching his hand back. "He's already paying for a hotel - he's not made of money!"
"So what's your great idea then? We ask your parents, do we?"
"Don't be stupid."
"I'm not being stupid," Lily argues, "I'm being practical. You saw the balance of my account - we can't lose the house!"
"I'll speak to the agent, see if we can work something out with the landlord."
"He already agreed to a rent reduction when we moved in. He won't for a second time." She reaches for his hand again. "Please, Sev, let's just go and see Daddy."
"We're not taking money off him."
"It doesn't have to be money. He might have some ideas of what we could do."
"It's like rubbing salt in the wound. We've already fucked up his life, ruined his home, and now we're going cap in hand-"
"-Daddy's not like that, you know he's not. He'll want to help."
He sighs loudly. "We'll end up borrowing off him, I know we will."
Rose and David are as welcoming as ever, passing River between them, fussing over him and his name, and behaving like the big happy family they should've had opportunity to be. Somehow, hearing them like this makes him feel miserable - as if he's failed Lily in more ways than one.
It's not the first time he's stood in the company of Rose and David and felt unworthy, but this is the worst he's ever felt, watching his wife holding their son, a burning shame filling his face as the conversation moves ever closer to the topic of money.
"Are you all right, son?" David asks, moving to stand next to Severus and clapping him on the shoulder. "You look like you're about to be sick."
"Not sleeping well," he says, not looking up from his feet.
"Oh, I meant to say, Tuney suggested that David and I go down to visit," Rose says, her voice suddenly louder.
"That's a good idea," Lily says, quickly, sharing a knowing look with Severus.
David catches her eye and frowns. "What is it, Lil?"
Severus shakes his head, but Lily stares harder at him, her eyebrows lifting.
"No, Lil," Severus says.
"Yes."
"No."
Rose looks astonished. "What's going on? Will one of you please tell us what the big secret is?"
"We saw a wizard at the house," Lily blurts out, ignoring Severus' angry flinch.
"At our house?" David grips Severus' shoulder and pulls him before him, staring into his eyes. "At our house?"
"...yes."
"Doing what?" Rose asks, a strong wobble in her usually steady voice.
"Peering in," Severus says, quietly. "Looking for...something. Someone, probably. ...me." He looks miserable. "And before you ask, I can't do anything to help - I can't do that spell."
David's voice is calm, his hand smoothing up and down Severus' shoulder. "Why not?"
Severus scoffs bitterly. "Why not? I'm not a good enough wizard, that's why not."
"He's an incredible wizard," Lily argues, "but it's a difficult spell."
"You don't need to make excuses for me. I've failed."
"But you did it at your parents'," Rose interjects, "you can do it - we know you can do it."
"We could do it when it was both of us together," Lily continues, "and that was mostly Sev - but he's been through a lot. He might be able to look at it again when he's had chance to recuperate a little."
Severus shakes his head. "Recuperate? What, are they going to put me into a rejuvenating stasis for six years, and hope I come out as someone else entirely? Lil, I wasn't anywhere close when I tried last night, you're kidding yourself!"
"We understand how taxing magic can be," David says, quickly. "I think you should give Tuney a call, Rosie, and we can set something up."
"She'll be pleased to see you both," Lily smiles, "and it saves paying money hand over fist here."
"Speaking of money," David says, smoothly, "how are you two doing? Did that payout from your business come through, Severus?"
Severus sends another furious look over at Lily, and this time, she doesn't speak out of turn. "Not yet," he grinds out. "It'll come."
"And after that?" David asks. "Are you still going to look for work, Severus?"
"I haven't had chance."
"You're going to need to start. Get ahead. Then you can keep that pot of money as a nest egg - some savings to fall back on when times are tough."
Lily exhales deeply. "He can't look for work, Daddy. I need him at home." She stares at her parents. "We just said, there's wizards roaming around. It's not safe for me to be alone with River. Not without my magic."
"What about that job with Brian?" David asks. "We could set that in motion, although it would mean Severus looking after the little one."
"Not yet, David," Rose admonishes, "Lily needs to recover. There's a reason why maternity leave exists."
"Right. Sorry."
"And if they've got this little bit of money coming through, there's no harm in them enjoying these early days together," Rose smiles, kindly. "I'd have killed to have your father at home instead of in the office when I had you and Petunia," she confides. "It was doubly hard with you, having Petunia as a toddler and trying to keep you both entertained."
"Point taken," David says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Anyway, I'm being overly pessimistic - you've got that agreement with those boys to fall back on."
There's a silence.
"...which boys, Daddy?" Lily asks, her light tone not betraying her true feelings, whilst Severus stares at the carpet, praying that it'll swallow him whole.
"You know - the ones where one of them turns into a wolf."
The silence has been almost overwhelming - they made their excuses, and Apparated back, and she immediately disappeared upstairs, taking River with her.
Severus sits on the bed, one hand gripping his chest, the pain under his skin almost unbearable - whilst his other hand is balled into a fist, and he repeatedly bangs it against his forehead.
Lily winces when she walks back in, and she gently places River down on the bed, before grabbing Severus' fist in her hand. "Stop that."
They stay like that for several long minutes, Severus still gripping his chest and Lily holding his fist in one hand, her other hand stroking through his hair.
"I wish you'd told me."
"I was trying to take care of you," he whispers.
"But you agreed that we'd continue to provide Wolfsbane? After everything that happened?"
"I had no idea. When I agreed to it - it was when you had been taken. It was that night, before I found out. I thought that's what you'd want me to do - that you wouldn't want me to turn the wolf away."
"No," she agrees, "you were right. I wouldn't want that." She strokes her fingers through his hair over and over. "So why didn't you tell me? You knew you'd need my help to brew it."
"...I changed my mind about doing it. With everything that happened, and then once Malf said he'd get me the money… It seemed like a complication we didn't need - like sticking a beacon on our sanctuary here."
"But Lucius hasn't kept his part of the bargain."
"No."
"We could still do it."
He shakes his head. "It's too risky, Lil."
"What Daddy said sounded reasonable enough. It's not as if we have to source the ingredients. We just do the drop."
"Just do the drop," he repeats incredulously. "You make it sound so easy."
"We've been doing it for months."
"We've missed this month."
"Not quite. Not yet."
"We need to get word to them, get the ingredients, brew it, get it back…" He trails off. "It's too tight."
"Then next month."
"They won't trust us next month. Not after letting them down the first time." He swallows tightly. "Besides, our story doesn't add up - not with me supposedly losing my magic."
"They don't have to know who is doing the drop."
"...they'll want you back - he'll want you back! Potter! He'll want to see you and then he'll work it out, he'll work out that you've lost your magic, and Black will open his mouth, Black will correct the Ministry and they'll come after us, come after me-"
"-Sev, they won't."
"They will!"
"And what about Remus?"
"What about him? What about us, Lil?" There's a long pause. "The Dark Lord already heard that I was providing it and came after me. He won't lose interest that easily. It only takes one of them speaking out of turn, and someone, somewhere, will work it out."
"...we should send Remus the method," Lily says, quietly. "At the very least. He could get someone else to brew it."
"They've got the method - they gave it to you, remember? They're stupid, but they're not that stupid."
She lets out a long breath. "So what do we do about this place?"
"We've got time yet," he says, quietly. "Maybe you were right, maybe something's happened to Malf."
"You always say he's never let you down yet," Lily says, placatingly, sitting on his knee, and kissing him. "Something's delayed him, that's all."
Yeah, something like a murder in his own house, he thinks, guiltily.
He screams with the intensity of the pain, his limbs flailing against the cold, hard floor. There's a warmth around his groin which causes shame to flood through his brain, knowing all too well that the rest of the Death Eaters gathered are watching the show with interest.
He's hit again by the curse. The first time, it felt as if someone had set fire to his feet and his body was being burnt from the inside out, the raging heat growing higher and hotter, the flames wrapping around his bones as they licked their way through his body - but this time, it's the opposite sensation.
Instead of fire, he feels as if he's been thrown into the coldest ocean, his veins rapidly filling with slush. He tries to inhale, but it's as if his lungs are frozen, the air sticking in his nasal passage, his nose hairs suddenly like stalactites formed of ice. He screams again, bile rising in his throat, no longer caring for the reaction of the audience - and there's blood in his mouth and down his chin, as if he's bitten through his cheek or his tongue with the intensity of the pain.
And then, almost as suddenly as it started, the spell is lifted and he slumps, small aftershocks ricocheting through his hands and feet.
"Resume the position."
Every part of him aches - even blinking feels painful, and it takes all of his effort to push himself up onto his knees. He doesn't lift his head - can't lift his head - and then he retches, and even as blood thunders in his ears, he can hear a familiar whoop of harsh female laughter behind him.
"Now, Lucius," intones Voldemort, stalking around the dishevelled wizard, making a show of stepping over where Lucius has soiled himself, "I think you may find yourself in a more agreeable state of mind - and this time, do not attempt to hide anything from me. Legilimens!"
Chapter 128: Truly formidable
Chapter Text
Lucius leans heavily against the ornate sink, fumbling to extract his wand from his cane, and then, his forehead pressed against the cool mirror, he casts Tergeo at his clothing. He winces as he feels the damp material drying against his skin.
Humiliation.
He closes his eyes, unable to reconcile the blotchy, tear-stained face staring back at him as being his own visage, and after a long moment, his hand trembling, he twists the tap. He reaches into his pocket and shakily thrusts his handkerchief under the flowing water, and then uses it to wash his face.
"Have you quite finished feeling sorry for yourself?"
The harsh words cause him to freeze, and then Lucius slowly opens his eyes and pulls back from the mirror, staring intently into it, eventually glimpsing the lean form of Regulus Black over his shoulder.
"Our Lord requires your presence."
Lucius turns the tap off and slowly, deliberately, wrings out his handkerchief. He points his wand at it, drying it under his breath, and then he returns it to his pocket. He exhales silently, his lips positioned as if he were mid-whistle, repositions his mask and hood, and then he straightens and turns, nodding to the younger wizard. "Black."
To Lucius' surprise, Regulus grabs his elbow as he moves past, and Lucius stops. Lucius stares at him, his pale eyes narrowing, moving his gaze slowly from Regulus' exposed face, tracking slowly down to where his fingers grip Lucius' robes, and then back up again.
"Our Lord's rage is contained," Black murmurs. "You have no need to fear."
Lucius gives a small nod, and he graciously indicates that Regulus should lead the way out of the bathroom.
No need to fear, he thinks, his limbs still quivering from the after effects of his torture. He follows the younger man down the hall, Black reattaching his own mask as he walks effortlessly, but Lucius' movements are stiff as he tries to emulate his usual stride, and although his expression doesn't falter, when Regulus waves his hand before them, causing the ballroom doors to fling open, Lucius feels his stomach drop at the sight of the collected Death Eaters on their knees.
"Thank you, Mr Black," Voldemort says, raising his hand to cause the ballroom doors to gently swing shut behind the two men. "Mr Malfoy."
"My Lord," Lucius says, immediately dropping to his knees. "You are most gracious for permitting me to collect my thoughts."
Voldemort shoots him a twisted smile. "Your fellow comrades were gathered here for a celebration. The smell of urine was disturbing the mood."
The ripple of laughter is instantaneous and Lucius drops his head. He's incurred the Dark Lord's wrath before - no Death Eater has escaped without feeling his fury - but although he's witnessed some terrible displays of anger, he's never been so ritually shamed himself. Not just shamed - embarrassed, humiliated.
He can't help but think of Severus, remembering the teenager's distress when he met with him in those private rooms in the depths of Hogwarts all those years ago, Severus' cheeks burning with shame, his dark eyes filled with fury, screaming at him for ruining his life, for touching him, for the subsequent rumours which haunted him.
Lucius swallows hard. Severus. The last time he'd faced the Dark Lord in such a malicious mood, Severus had been next to him, both men on their knees, and the Dark Lord had offered Severus the chance to be spared - had offered to punish Lucius in his stead, if only Severus made the choice and nominated his friend.
"I am the one who deserves your ire, my Lord."
He can almost hear Severus' quaking voice now, that tremble so unusual upon his lips, and Lucius has to fight to keep his expression from changing. There is a sick irony, Severus, in you bravely taking my punishment back then, he thinks. Had I stopped you, would we be in this position, where now I am the one paying for your hot temper?
"All rise."
Lucius gets to his feet, and it's a struggle, pain still shooting through his legs and feet, his toes numb, and he feels bile rising in his throat as he sees Voldemort's wand pointing directly at his chest.
"I shall require your company at the end of this gathering, Lucius."
"As you wish, my Lord."
"Form a circle," Voldemort instructs, drawing an imaginary circle with his wand.
"My Lord," the voices repeat, as one.
Without moving his head, Lucius glances at those gathered. Despite the masks and hoods and robes, he can identify some - he knows for certain that Reggie is amongst them, and he can tell from the stance of the three to the left of him that Bast, Dolph and Bella are also in attendance. He's reasonably sure that the Carrow siblings are stood together, with Karkaroff to their right, and Dolohov to the right of Karkaroff.
That might be Selwyn. Yaxley and Mulciber must be here, and perhaps that's Macnair.
Keeping his head still, his gaze flits around the circle again.
Was that Nott?
"Now," Voldemort says, interrupting Lucius' train of thought, "you will be-"
Whoever else is here, one thing is for sure, they all know that you're in attendance.
"-gratified to know that I have hand selected you all to bear my Mark," Voldemort continues.
"My Lord," the voices chorus once more.
Lucius' head is spinning, his humiliation ever present, the knowledge of how he screamed under the pain of the Cruciatus curse, of how he begged and cried for mercy, of how those gathered witnessed his fear and terror and desperation.
But he's still chosen you to be amongst his inner circle.
"I have refined the process from its last iteration," Voldemort intones, breaking through Lucius' thoughts, "the scarring was...unrefined," he enunciates. "The circumstance when it was required to be withdrawn was unfortunate," he continues, "but it brought to light certain requirements."
Lucius glances at Bellatrix who is practically bouncing on her toes, utterly entranced by his words.
"Morsmordre!"
Lucius' eyes are instantly drawn to the Dark Mark conjured by Voldemort, the green glittering snake and skull writhing in the air, slowly rising towards the lofty ceiling.
"The requirement to withdraw the Mark at will." Voldemort looks around the room. "Controlled by myself, and by yourselves. If you find yourself in a situation where you fear that your loyalty to me, your loyalty to our cause will be exposed, then you are to place your index and middle fingers upon the skull's eyes. Press firmly, and the Mark will extinguish."
Voldemort slowly turns, staring evenly around the circle. "I will know when you choose to do this. I have the power to return the Mark to you."
Lucius takes a sharp inhale of breath, understanding perfectly the sentiment behind his words - knowing how fiercely Severus was punished through his mark, understanding the warning that if one of his followers thought they could escape such punishment - indeed, escape his clutches at all, it was a folly.
"The Mark is for you to identify one another when you are working for our cause." Voldemort turns, slowly moving his hand in the direction of the conjured Dark Mark. "I wish for you to claim your work. The Mark should be conjured whenever you have achieved greatness."
"My Lord."
"But this comes at a risk," Voldemort says, his lips in a thin smile, "of impersonators. Of those aligned to our enemies, who may attempt to conjure it to confuse our message."
He strides around the room, behind the circle, and each Death Eater stands straight, desperate not to be singled out.
"I fear that despite our best efforts, it is only time before your Marks are discovered and copied."
"Never, my Lord!" Bellatrix gasps. "Never would one of us betray you in such a way. With your refinement, we can be trusted only to withdraw the spell when we fear discovery-"
"-nevertheless," Voldemort interrupts, smoothly - and if Lucius didn't know better, he would've sworn there was a hint of affection to the Dark Lord's tone, "we must be prepared. For this reason, I have arranged for the snake in this Mark to writhe when it is pressed against another Mark. If you press your Mark against one and it does not move…"
There's a long pause.
"...you are to murder the impersonator on the spot."
"My Lord."
"You are to summon me by pressing firmly on the snake's head, and followed by the open mouth of the skull."
"My Lord."
"Running your fingers along the snake's body three times will cause all of your comrade's Marks to burn."
"My Lord."
"Upon feeling the burn, you are to move to a safe location and Disapparate. The Mark will take care of the destination."
"My Lord."
"The Mark will be pale red when it is inactive. It will turn dark green when a comrade summons you. It will turn black if I summon you. I may choose to summon you individually, or collectively."
"My Lord."
"When you are called, haste is of the essence."
"My Lord."
"Move into a line."
"My Lord."
The Death Eaters quickly follow his instruction, and Lucius is certain that he's now stood between Yaxley and Goyle.
"Roll up the left sleeve of your robe. To here," Voldemort says, indicating on his own arm with his wand, pointing to the midpoint of his bicep.
"My Lord."
"Bella, you were so keen to speak earlier. Explain the magic behind the previous Mark."
"You etched your wand into us, my Lord," she says, sounding gleeful at having been chosen. "You scored the design into our skin."
"The magic, Bella."
"Yes, my Lord," she says, hastily. "Your wand imbued your intent into our skin. My understanding would be that you used a specific spell, and when you channelled that spell through your wand, the scarring on our skin recognised its owner."
Voldemort makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat, and then slowly, steadily, he claps - once, twice, three times. "Close enough, Bella. Impressive."
He strides up and down, his eyes meeting those of his Death Eaters through their masks. "The scarring was useful, but as you saw, it was insufficient for our ambitions." He reaches the end of the row and then turns back again. "Tonight, I shall be burning my brand into you all."
At his words, one or two of the Death Eaters jerk their heads, but given the torture that Lucius has endured this evening already, he barely reacts.
"This is not a single spell. Tonight, I will be burying my magic into you-"
Lucius winces as he hears Bellatrix give a high pitched squeal.
"-you will feel my power."
"My Lord," a solitary voice comes - and Lucius is certain that it's Macnair.
"A question?"
"If it pleases my Lord," the voice continues.
"I shall indulge it."
"It has been many a year since I last studied, and I am certain my Lord-"
"-get on with it, Macnair."
"Yes, my Lord, I apologise, my Lord. It was my understanding that in order to split your magic, there had to be a ritual - a death."
Voldemort gives a thin smile. "You are quite correct." He turns to the Death Eater stood at the far end of the line. "Black, bring him in."
Lucius takes a ragged breath, knowing all too well that the growing smile on Voldemort's face means that something distressing is due to occur.
A moment later, Black half walks, half carries a young man in - eighteen at most, and by his attire, Lucius is sure that he's a Muggle.
"Thank you for joining us this evening. Do take a seat," Voldemort says, with a half bow, and indicating to a newly conjured chair with his wand.
The Muggle stares in amazement at the row of people wearing robes and masks, and despite Black cajoling him, he doesn't move from his position. "What the fuck is this?"
"You weren't asked to speak," Black hisses, shoving the man roughly into the seat.
"Oi! Gerroff me, pal! Who the fuck do you think-"
Voldemort tuts, and then flicks his wand, silencing the Muggle. "Dear me, such language. It seems that you were under the impression that there was a need for you to contribute to our discussion. I assure you that we do not wish to hear from you." He flashes another unnerving smile. "Can you manage to sit nicely, or shall we restrain you?"
The Muggle gapes, his mouth opening and closing, clearly trying to shout, and then he stares at Voldemort, fresh fear covering his face. He shakes his head, and sits obediently, his knees pressed together and his back straight.
"Very good." Voldemort turns back to the line of Death Eaters. "As I was saying, Macnair, you are indeed correct. There is a ritual."
"My Lord, this magic stems from your soul?"
"Yes, Nott," Voldemort says, "my soul." He steps forward, his face almost touching Nott's mask. "My soul will touch your soul, and it will burn."
"My Lord," comes another voice - female this time, and although he strains, Lucius can't quite place it. "For this to work, is there a requirement for our souls to be...fragmented?"
"I stated that you had been hand selected," Voldemort intones, almost sounding bored. "I assure you that you have all met the criteria."
"But, my Lord-"
"-what exactly do you intend to tell me?" He gives a nasty smile as he strides over to the witch. "That two souls do not live comfortably in one vessel?"
"I apologise, my Lord."
"My soul is my own," Voldemort hisses, "this is a mere splinter! You will find that it will strengthen you, it will harden your resolve! My magic will coil itself around yours, our powers working in synchronisation."
Lucius inhales sharply. He knows this family of spells - least, he's aware of them. He's heard the rumours. He remembers his History of Magic lessons, of the warnings not to meddle with forces of magic which are unnatural, and the repeated fourth, fifth and sixth year essays on the dangers of symbols and sigils - and a quick glance towards the Muggle, where Regulus Black is standing stiffly behind him, one hand on his shoulder, he knows that Regulus Black has also recognised the Dark Lord's intent.
"Lucius!"
Lucius wishes he hadn't made a sound. "My Lord," he croaks, weakly, not wanting his attention.
"You are a learned wizard," Voldemort continues, and behind him, Lucius spots the Muggle reacting, turning to Black, who instantly - roughly - repositions him on the chair.
"You are most kind, my Lord."
"Tell your comrades."
"My Lord?"
"You recognise the spell, do you not, Lucius?"
"I believe so, my Lord," Lucius says, cautiously. When Voldemort waves his hand, indicating that he should continue, Lucius coughs. "There is a series of spells which can only be employed by those who have embraced the darkness - by those who have taken a life."
"Indeed," Voldemort agrees, "the act of murder splits a soul, and although there are those who would favour the path of remorse and penitence, aiming to knit the soul together once more, those who are truly dark recognise the potential of a soul transformed."
"Yes, my Lord," Lucius nods. "A magical person's innate talent is stored within their soul. Once a child's potential has been reached - usually through some form of education - you can no longer feel the thrum of their magic. Their soul, their magic - it is stable."
"Occasionally, it continues for longer - past our usual schooling - seeking something," Black adds, from across the room, "but it's rare."
"Of course, in Purebloods," Lucius intervenes, "it's almost unheard of." He shoots a glance at Black. "Those who carry it to adulthood almost certainly missed a branch of their magical education."
"It's not the only way for that pulse of magic to disappear," Black says. "You can break your soul before it has opportunity to stabilise."
Voldemort smiles broadly at Black's words. "For those of us with the correct heritage, those of us who were skilled enough to absorb all of our magical education within the expected years, or those of us wonderfully dark enough to have broken our souls before that potential could be met," Voldemort continues, to a small ripple of laughter, "there are spells which can emulate the soul's state during childhood - that can offer untapped potential within an already apparently fulfilled soul."
Voldemort paces up and down the row of Death Eaters, his smile distant and strange. "The act of tearing the soul means that it can be rebuilt, and darker spells can be used to make the soul stronger, more powerful. The soul can become whole once more, but it is knitted together with darkness - entirely unrecognisable to those who have never touched the dark."
Lucius' voice is almost a whisper. "And there are also spells to ensure that the soul will never again be whole."
Voldemort is immediately at his side, his voice equally soft. "Spells to insert part of a soul into another vessel - to consume it, to possess it." He runs a finger down Lucius' mask. "You need worry not, Lucius, for we are not so indulging. Today."
"This relationship, my Lord..."
"Yes?"
"It is perhaps symbiotic, my Lord?"
Voldemort smiles. "It is indeed symbiotic. Think of my soul as a thread, a piece of twine. Think of your souls as a sapling. Weak! But with potential! My magic will wrap itself around yours, tethering you. With your magic no longer flailing for stability, it is free to grow - to become powerful and mighty, to blossom!"
"My Lord!" The chorus of voices booms around the room, all in attendance clearly elated at their leader's words.
For Lucius, it feels as if time has ground to a halt, his brain screaming that the Dark Lord is unlikely to be participating in anything as benign as commensalism, much more likely that his actions are mutualism, if not parasitism - although Lucius acknowledges that the description the Dark Lord has given does not suggest a situation where his followers are due to suffer - indeed, it is the opposite.
His mind is racing whilst everything around him appears to be moving in slow motion, and he watches Voldemort start to undress, moving his hand down his robe, the buttons unfastening, and the robe sliding from his shoulders. To Lucius' surprise, Voldemort is wearing a pair of trousers beneath the robes. How Muggle, he thinks, and then looks down, lest the Dark Lord sense his disloyal thought and focus upon him once more.
Lucius counts to five and then looks up again, his eyes wide at the sight of the Dark Lord shirtless, his pale skin contrasting with the black lines of intricate symbols drawn strategically across his skin.
He watches, his mouth falling open as Voldemort touches his wand to each of the symbols. He touches some more than once, and although Lucius can't tell which sigil will be next, he can tell that there is a deliberate order to the movements.
"I am sure," Voldemort intones, "that you, Mr Black, and you, Mr Malfoy…" Voldemort turns, appraising the crowd. "Perhaps also you, Mrs Crabbe and Mr Yaxley and Mrs Lestrange, will be wondering why this part of the ritual is necessary."
Voldemort holds his arm out straight, his wand practically an extension of his limb, like an overly long, boney finger. "And you would be correct, for I have met the requirements for this piece of magic many times over but," and he takes a quick step - two, three - towards the Muggle, "I prefer to work with fresh ingredients. Avada Kedavra!"
Lucius doesn't flinch when the Muggle slumps over, bending his body awkwardly at his waist, the dead weight of his head pulling his torso down. Lucius only flinches when it is his turn for the Dark Lord to stand before him, his hands pressing firmly on Lucius' head, pushing him down onto his knees.
Lucius holds his arm out and for the second time in a few short hours, he feels an intense burning - but it's different to the Cruciatus. It's focused, as if someone is branding him, as if it's a white hot piece of metal pressing against his skin - and then the Dark Lord bares his teeth and moves his wand, and Lucius gasps, falling forward.
Voldemort steadies him, his hand gripped in Lucius' hair, and then he touches his wand to the symbols on his own skin before returning it to the smouldering black Mark on Lucius' forearm. This time, Lucius feels nothing but elation - a spiral of joy flooding through the previously painful skin, and he realises that the Dark Lord was correct, that his magic feels like a thread, like a support, twisting and coiling around his own magic.
"Like a snake," Voldemort hisses, as if he's read Lucius' mind, and then he yanks the wand away, and Lucius falls back.
Lucius waits, patiently, for the rest of the Death Eaters to join him in being branded with the Dark Lord's insignia, and then, when the last Death Eater is marked, Voldemort shoots a series of spells through the Mark, and Lucius can feel tears of happiness falling down his face and escaping from beneath his mask, dripping onto his robes and the floor below. He moves his foot to rub them away, to disguise them - and as he glances down, he notices the rest of the Death Eaters making the exact same movement.
Lucius glances up, his eyes meeting Voldemort - who grins.
"Welcome home, my children."
Lucius can't help but be apprehensive as the rest of the Death Eaters file out, leaving him alone in Voldemort's presence - that is, with just a dead Muggle for company. He waits, quietly, unmoving. He's been in the Dark Lord's service for too long to make a rookie mistake - to move out of position or to speak without first being spoken to.
His patience is rewarded when Voldemort raises his hand, and Lucius finds himself standing without actively intending that he should. His limbs still ache from the earlier rounds of the Cruciatus and he has a desire to move from foot to foot, but he remains still.
"Stand before me," Voldemort orders, and Lucius obediently moves towards the chair that Voldemort is sat in, fully aware that he's now standing in the exact same spot where he previously lay whilst he was being tortured.
"Your knowledge of the magic used tonight is to your credit."
"Thank you, my Lord. You are gracious."
"Tell me, Lucius, have you ever dabbled?"
"Not so, my Lord," Lucius says, quickly. "Only the truly formidable would consider splitting their power - transferring part of their magic to another."
"And that is not you?"
"No, my Lord. I must confess that I am greedy by nature - that I would not wish to share my magic."
Voldemort hums in approval. "You answer me with honesty."
"Always, my Lord."
"You are aware, are you not, that your memory of the events at the Manor does not match Mr Mulciber's?"
"I was not aware, my Lord."
"You were not aware." Voldemort pauses, his speech much slower. "Tell me, were you aware that your memory matches Mrs Lestrange's?"
"She was at the Manor during the events, my Lord."
"Mr Mulciber was also at the Manor during those events, was he not? Explain to me why Mr Mulciber's memory would be so different."
"I cannot, my Lord. I can only show you what I experienced."
Voldemort leans forward. "Mr Mulciber is convinced that you murdered Mr Rosier."
"He is mistaken, my Lord."
"And the Ministry's aurors are convinced that Mr Avery murdered Mr Rosier. Are they also mistaken, Lucius?"
"...I have little knowledge of Avery's events that evening, my Lord," Lucius says, more calmly than he feels. He stares straight into the Dark Lord's eyes, as if challenging him to rip into his mind again - as if warning him that his words are the truth.
Voldemort shifts in his chair, as if moving for his wand, and Lucius almost quails, but manages to keep his composure.
"It matters not."
Lucius almost feels his knees buckle at the Dark Lord's sudden dismissal of the situation.
"I was distressed to learn of Mr Rosier's death - he was a useful follower, but in times of war, I accept that there are casualties."
"My Lord."
"I was equally distressed to learn of Mr Snape's fate," Voldemort continues, watching Lucius' expression closely. "It was unfortunate. You must've taken the news badly."
"I did, my Lord."
"Vengeance is a powerful emotion, isn't it, Lucius?"
"My Lord."
"I required a brewer, and he is now lost to me." Voldemort pauses. "You shall return to my side, Lucius."
"I have always been loyal, my Lord, I-"
"You have been permitted too long a rope, Lucius," Voldemort continues, loudly, "but the time for games is over. We have successfully infiltrated most quarters of the Ministry. Our influence can be seen far and wide, with our laws being accepted by our citizens."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Not just accepted," Voldemort corrects himself, "but I believe some of the Ministry's judicial system have relished the opportunity to relieve Muggleborns of their stolen powers."
"I believe so, my Lord."
"And the wider wizarding public celebrates this." Voldemort gives an unpleasant smile. "Excellent."
"Yes, my Lord. It is."
"I permitted your little empire," Voldemort enunciates, the word sounding disparaging on his tongue, "because I understood the struggles you had with your father, the requirement you had to stand as your own man."
He doesn't want to compete with me for a brewer.
"I was very grateful for your stance, my Lord."
"You learnt a lot. I have watched you, Lucius - I saw the associates you made in the Ministry, the useful relationships you have cultivated."
"You flatter me, my Lord."
"I wish for you to use those talents for more powerful tasks."
"Yes, my Lord."
"I trust you can keep the potions supply steady, even though your brewer is no longer with us? You have back stock?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"Good. Then for your first task, I wish for you to lean on the Ministry and absolve Mr Avery of any involvement in this unfortunate situation concerning Mr Rosier."
There's a very long pause.
"Is there a problem, Lucius?"
"No, my Lord," Lucius says, and this time, there's a tremor in his voice.
"No, my Lord," Voldemort repeats, mockingly. "Are you sure, Lucius?"
"You saw our memories," Lucius says, looking down. "I have no evidence that can absolve Avery."
"Mr Mulciber tells me that the evidence the aurors hold is based upon a new spell."
Paul Chambers' work.
"...I believe so, my Lord."
"Have it discredited. Have it thrown out." Voldemort stands, signalling the end of the conversation. "You have your instructions, Lucius. Bring Mr Avery back amongst us. To his family."
Chapter 129: Gems and jewels and Pureblood regalia
Chapter Text
Narcissa sits upright, watching as Lucius jerks restlessly in his sleep, their crisp white bed linen scrunched beneath his fingers. He'd told her not to watch over him, not to worry - what else are house elves for, Cissy? - but she's seen the cruel aftereffects of the Cruciatus curse before.
She watches her husband for hours. Each time he wakes and gasps for air, her own breath catches in her chest, her slim hand reaching for his - and then, as if her gentle touch grounds him, he exhales loudly, in a shudder rather than a steady stream, before succumbing to fitful sleep once more.
He fights their sheets several times, but on this occasion, his hand grasps at the thin air around his head, and his whimpers grow louder - and she knows that his increasing distress is due to his inability to locate his wand in his dream.
Narcissa reaches over and trails the tips of her fingers down the side of his cheek. "Lucius," she murmurs into his ear, "Lucius, you're dreaming. You're safe."
River wakes far earlier than either Severus or Lily would've naturally woken themselves, and whilst Lily feeds him, Severus sleepily disappears into the kitchen, returning with two mugs of tea and two roughly buttered slices of toast.
When he slides back under the duvet, Lily squirms away, knowing all too well that his bare feet will be cold from the kitchen tile and that he's looking to seek out the backs of her calves to warm them.
"Sev! You're awful," she squeals, twisting her legs. "Here, I've fed him - you do your part and wind our son."
Severus grins and takes River from her, and then laughs as he realises that in handing River over to him, she's freed herself - not only enabling her to eat her toast in relative peace, but ensuring she can evade his cold feet under the covers.
"Come on, little Bean," he murmurs, rubbing and patting at their son's back, "breakfast is over. Daddy wants to drink his tea and go back to sleep."
Lily finishes her toast, and licks her fingers, and then kisses Severus on the lips. "Let me out," she says, climbing over him as she gets out of their bed, "I need the loo."
Severus throws the covers back and follows her - River held tightly against his shoulder whilst he removes the charms on the back door. He waits for her in the doorway, moving from one foot to the other - the awkward dance of a man unwilling to stand on a cold floor - and sneaking looks towards River's slumbering form, his forehead sliding down until he's resting against Severus' pronounced clavicle.
"He can't be comfortable," Lily laughs as she steps back in. She takes their son from Severus and returns to the living room, whilst Severus makes quick work of reactivating the charms on the door.
A moment later, Severus strides back into the living room, smiling at Lily as he sees River fast asleep on his own mattress, his arms raised upwards, hands near his ears. Severus dives back under the covers, rubbing his feet against the mattress in an effort to warm them up. "It's meant to be summer," he complains.
"Barely."
"A slow gradual decline into autumn, that's what I was expecting," he mutters. "It's dropped about fifteen degrees from last week. Ridiculous. We'll have to think about getting some coal if this keeps up."
"Here, I'll warm you," she murmurs, curling up against him, and it takes all of his effort not to shove her away in shock as her cold skin draws the heat away from his own.
"You are freezing," he laughs, shaking his head. "I can't believe I just fell for that."
"I was trying to help," she teases.
"You're a menace," he murmurs, and then he runs his hands across their sheets.
She beams as she recognises the spell as it leaves his lips, and their bedding instantly feels as if it's just come out of the tumble dryer. She wraps her arms tightly around him. "That's a brilliant spell," she whispers, "I wish I'd learnt it years ago."
His reaction is slight - almost unnoticeable - but she feels the way his muscles tense at her comment. She wonders what he's thinking - what he might say, but he remains silent and simply pulls her closer. She can't help but continue to stare at him - and after a long moment, he seems to notice, and he squeezes her in their embrace.
"Go back to sleep, love," he murmurs - and then he kisses her, once, twice, before settling back down against the pillow, "we've got a busy day ahead of us."
Even now, all these hours later, Lucius' nerves feel as if they're on fire. He tries to prop himself up on one elbow when Narcissa enters the room, and he immediately winces - throughout the night, the touch of the pillow against his scalp was almost unbearable, but his upper bodyweight resting on his arm is far worse.
"You don't need to sit up."
He hesitates, grimacing.
"Lucius, lie back down." Narcissa moves across the bedroom, casting at the door to close it behind her.
"Where's Draco?"
"He's asleep in the nursery. Dobby knows to come for me immediately if he stirs," she says, sitting on the bed next to him. She reaches for his hand, and when he pulls away, she sits back. "He was displeased?"
Lucius gives a short laugh. "That is one word to describe his mood."
"For what happened to Evan?"
"For what happened to Evan," Lucius repeats, half closing his eyes. There's a momentary silence. "For me not running to him to immediately report back."
"How would he know?"
"You have to ask?"
This time, it's Narcissa who closes her eyes. "Bella."
"Bella." Lucius repeats.
"But she stuck to the story? That it was Mulciber?"
Lucius gives her a strained smile. "For me trying to take charge of the situation."
"He punished you for coming up with the story? He should be thanking you, for ensuring that we were consistent and not easily caught out!"
"He is our leader, Cissy. It doesn't do to overplay one's hand." He stretches. "And for losing one of his followers on my property."
"Lucius, that's ridiculous, you're not responsible, you could've hardly done anything-"
"-well, that's not strictly true," Lucius says, a note of laughter in his voice. "Had I truly cared about Rosier's good health, I'm sure I could've convinced our furious friend to calm his temper somewhat." He opens his eyes fully, and his pale grey eyes connect with Narcissa's gaze. "Evan Rosier was a threat to us, and as far as I'm concerned, despite current appearances to the contrary, Severus did us all a favour."
Severus clatters down the stairs, and as he spies Lily dusting the mantelpiece, his shoulders slump fractionally. He moves swiftly towards her, looping his left arm around her waist, and placing his right hand over hers, and presses a kiss against her neck. "Didn't you hear what your mother said?"
"The midwife is due in ten minutes, Sev!"
"And you getting yourself steamed up isn't helping," he says, "I said I was going to sort out the house."
"There's so much to do! I was trying to help."
"You've already washed Riv, and changed him, and put him into his third outfit of the day. You're meant to be taking it easy."
"It was just some dust, and it needs-"
"-and I told you, I'm taking care of it," he says, calmly. "I'm going to dismantle the shower, turn our bed back into a sofa, and then I'll dust. And yes, before you say anything, I'll remember to hoover the floor, so you," he says, taking the duster from her hand and throwing it onto the bed behind him, "my love, I'm afraid, are getting in the way."
"Sev!"
He ignores her protest as he picks her up, and calmly deposits her on the worktop in the kitchen. "Stay there," he warns, and although her immediate reaction is to open her mouth to argue, she catches sight of the clock, and realises that with the midwife due at any moment, this isn't the time to start an argument.
Severus darts back in, this time carrying River under his arms, and he looks pleased that she hasn't moved. "You have some time with Riv," he says, "and cover his ears when I set the hoover going."
By the time Severus has finished, the living room looks nothing like the room she's become accustomed to - it seems incredibly empty now that River's bed has been returned upstairs, and their bed is now back to being a sofa. Severus has laid out a playmat on the floor - another gift from her parents - and she lies River on it, and then settles down next to Severus, who is sitting cross-legged on the floor.
"Ok, love?"
"Yes," she nods, resting her head on his shoulder. "I just hope the midwife thinks it is too."
Narcissa doesn't keep asking him if he's well, knowing that he doesn't like to show weakness, although she does ensure that one of the house elves periodically offers him a set of pain relieving potions.
She watches him carefully throughout lunch, keeping an eye on his appetite, and she's relieved when he says that he intends to spend the rest of the afternoon in the library.
He must be feeling better if he intends to read instead of sleeping.
Narcissa dotes over Draco, changing him and feeding him and creating shapes from her wand which seemingly dance up the walls and over the ceiling. Draco's tiny eyes light up, watching in delight, and it doesn't take him long for his tiny hands to reach towards her wand.
He eventually tires and falls asleep, and Narcissa takes the opportunity to check in on her husband. When she enters the library, she's taken aback by the piles of books on the table, and many more which are littered across the expensive rug on the hardwood floor.
"Shall I call for one of the elves? To help you to put these away," she says, pointedly.
"I might as well shelve them myself. I didn't think they would find keeping these blasted books in order such an arduous task!"
Narcissa takes a step closer to one of the bookcases, reading across the spines. "They seem to be in order to me. What are you looking for?"
"Ministry Regulations," Lucius barks.
"There's hundreds of-"
"-no, not those," Lucuis snaps, striding towards her, and then pointing his wand towards the uppermost shelves of the bookcase she's standing next to, "the ones which lay out the process for what is considered admissible evidence in the courts."
She raises an eyebrow. "Are you planning a change of career?"
"The Dark Lord… The Dark Lord has asked me to ensure that the charges against Avery are dropped."
"They didn't hold Mulciber? After we all said-"
"-they had no evidence against Mulciber," Lucius snaps, "but Avery was dimwitted enough to shoot off that horrible spell of Severus'-"
"-Avery knows Severus' knife spell?" She can't help but cover her mouth in shock. "He's always been so secretive about it, even after he used it to attack Sirius-"
"-I know," Lucius mutters, "but seeing is believing, and believe me, I saw it." He gives a thin smile. "And so did the aurors, thanks to Paul Chambers' spell modification."
"And the Dark Lord wants you to have the modification thrown out?"
"Inadmissible," Lucius nods. "Only I can't find the blasted book I need to make my plea with the Minister. They'll have missed a step in their haste, I know it - but I need to have it in black and white, Cissy!"
Narcissa frowns, and then points her wand into the air, towards a bookcase on the far side of the room. A book gracefully slides out of its place, glides towards her, and falls into her outstretched palm. "Would this help? Grogan Stump's Processes for the Establishment of Laws, Divisions, and Departments?"
Lucius takes the proffered book, his eyebrows raised. "Where was it?"
"Where it was meant to be, darling," she says, bouncing up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "I'll leave you to your machinations, dear," she says, turning and heading for the door, "if you want me, I'll be in the-"
"-Cissy!"
She stops at his insistent tone, and turns. "Yes?"
"Viridian's works. Where are they?"
Narcissa pauses, a look of surprise on her face. "I don't see that Vindictus' writings on curses and counter curses will aid your cause with the Ministry."
"Not Vindictus," Lucius clarifies, "but his grandfather, Plinius."
"I didn't think-"
"-I know your father gifted his work to you," Lucius interrupts, his voice hard.
She seems stunned. "Plinius' writings? Lucius, my father… They're not - his thoughts, they've long been discredited."
"Unfairly."
"Lucius…" She frowns deeply. "Apart from his exemplary writings on Fidelius, the scholars agree that there is no worth in his work. Vindictus himself admitted as much."
"Even so," Lucius says, "I would like to read it for myself. To draw my own conclusions."
"And this is for Avery? For the Ministry?"
Lucius shakes his head. "For my own research. My own interests."
Narcissa relaxes slightly. "Well, you can't. I lent everything of his to Severus."
"To Severus?" Lucius throws his head back in exasperation.
"Be reasonable, Lucius," she snaps, "this is the first time in months that I've seen you even showing an interest in reading a book! And you know what Severus is like - if you leave him alone in here, he's like a toddler in Honeydukes." She looks disapprovingly at the disarray in the room. "Rather like yourself this afternoon, although I dare say that Severus bothers to read the books he pulls from the shelves."
"And what else of mine has he taken?"
"He has taken nothing. Over the years, I have lent him a series of books," she says, standing a little taller, her annoyance getting the better of her.
"Such as?"
"Plinius' writings, Agrippa's bibliography-"
"-the entire bibliography!" Lucius' eyebrows rise. "What does he need with the entire bibliography?"
"-Balfour Blane's three books on experimental charms, Wenlock's arithmancy calculations, Cadmus Smith's essays on gems and jewels and Pureblood regalia, that thick book on Montmorency's methods-"
"Montmorency? Montmorency? Is Severus branching into love potions now?"
"-Hipworth's Remedies, Penworthy's critical view of Platt's goblin murders, Picardy's work on werewolves, the biography of Herpo the Foul-"
"-you gave him Herpo the Foul's biography? No wonder I couldn't find anything of worth in this blasted library! Here I was, thinking we were cultivating a collection for our family, but oh no! Instead, it turns out that you've been secretly harbouring career aspirations to become a librarian! I shall speak to Dumbledore and see if Pince is due to retire, as I now know the ideal candidate to take her place!"
"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Lucius! There's thousands of books in here, and until today, you didn't miss any of them! Besides, Severus always returns his loans in excellent condition." Her eyes narrow. "I know he does, else you wouldn't have lent him your collection on the various magics of the mind, which I also assume he still has?"
"They are all lost to us," Lucius mutters, casting at the books on the floor so they reshelve themselves, "given that he won't be returning to us."
"...you don't know that our paths won't cross again."
He looks at her, his face solemn. "I fear it, Cissy - and if the Dark Lord's temper was anything to go by last night, then I dare say that he and Lily and his son are better out of our world."
There's something in Lucius' expression which makes Narcissa frown, and she takes a step closer. "You have sent him the money you promised him, haven't you?"
There's a long silence.
"Lucius!"
"...the Dark Lord will be watching my expenditure, Cissy, I know he will!"
"Then you should not have promised!" She runs her hand across her face. "You just said that it was better for him not to be here, and then what do you go and do? This is exactly the sort of thing that will cause Severus to descend upon us-"
"-he won't! He won't dare, Cissy!" Lucius shouts, moving closer to her, his eyes flashing. "He knows the Ministry will haul him in, strip him of his magic, and he's terrified!"
"Oh yes, I could see that! I could see how terrified he was when he broke in here and murdered a man in cold blood!" She steps back, fury on her face. "He trusted you, Lucius. I trusted you."
"And I have kept his name from the Ministry, and from the Dark Lord! Cissy, believe me, if I were to push money his way, this precarious house of cards could come tumbling down! This is for the best," he shouts, but she slams the door so furiously as she leaves, he isn't convinced that she's heard a single word he has said.
Lily laughs at Severus' disgruntled expression as he shoves the sofa back into the middle of the room. "Sev, she wasn't that bad."
"Not that bad?" he repeats, incredulously, as he performs a set of charms on the sofa to elongate it back into being a bed. "She was a right nosy old crow!"
"It's her job to ask questions!"
"Yeah? Insightful ones like, 'What on earth are you doing here, Mr Snape?' What's that supposed to mean? I do fucking live here!"
Lily suppresses a laugh at his indignant tone. "She was just surprised to see the both of us, that's all. I guess most husbands are at work when she calls."
"Yeah, don't remind me! How many bloody questions did she ask about that? Mithering you about your job and my job and how much money we've got and when-"
"-and you soon shut her up when you said we'd just sold our business," Lily says, picking up their two pillows and placing them on the bed. "I should be worried at how easily such lies trip off your tongue."
"It wasn't really a lie," he mutters, "brewing was our business - you and me both! - until Riv came along. And I have just sold it." He sniffs as he throws the duvet back over the bed. "She had a bad attitude."
"Sev, come on! You're just upset because she kept calling you hubby and sent you off to put the kettle on."
He glares at her. "It was unnecessary. Whatever she had to say to you, she could say in front of me." He pauses. "...what did she say?"
"Nothing much. She checked my scar, and was astonished at how well it had healed."
He looks a little more pleased at the inadvertent praise. "Good."
"And she just wanted to remind me to take things at my own pace."
"What things?"
Sex.
"Everything. Life, I guess. It's a big change, becoming parents."
He stuffs his hands in his pockets. "That's what I keep telling you. You need to rest more. Let me take care of things."
"You are taking care of things, Sev," Lily says, reaching into his pockets and trying to force her own hands in as well so she can hold his, causing him to laugh. "And you heard what she said about River - he's eating well and gaining weight, and he's healthy, and-"
"-he's perfect."
"He is," she smiles, kissing Severus. "Besides, you're forgetting - she was very complimentary about you changing Riv."
"I'll do anything for him - for you both," he says, earnestly.
"I know."
At her solemn look, he takes one hand out of his pocket and moves it up to her face, stroking her cheek gently with the back of his index finger. "What's up, love?"
"...we were talking about work…" She feels him freeze.
There's a moment, and then he shuffles slightly, and sniffs. "What about it?"
She takes in a large draw of breath before speaking, and her voice is more hesitant than usual. "...it wouldn't be for a while anyway…"
"What wouldn't?"
"I was asking if you could help feed River," she says, the words coming out in a rush, "if I expressed." At his blank look, she elaborates. "I can put my milk in a bottle, and you can feed him if I'm asleep. Or at work," she adds, quietly.
"At work," he repeats, equally quietly.
"It can't be for a while anyway," she continues, hastily, "not until he's in a proper routine, which could take a couple of months, and she was saying that some babies refuse."
"And that's what you were talking about when I was in the kitchen?"
"She showed me some pump thing," Lily says, biting back a laugh, "but she said I wasn't ready for it yet, thankfully!"
"A pump thing?"
This time, she does laugh. "Sev, it was awful! Some huge monstrosity with a plunger and some sort of cup, oh!"
He stands back, and she can't quite read his expression - as if he's unsure, not certain whether to be offended or not. "...so, we're not doing that, then? This...expressing?"
"It depends how good you are with your wand, Mr Snape."
Severus still looks apprehensive, uncertain of what he should say, and he gives a small shrug.
"I've got no intention of using that beastly Muggle thing, Sev - not when Cissy showed me a charm! Only, you'll have to do it, but it seemed simple enough. I assume it'll work, even if I'm not the one performing the spell."
"Yeah. Yeah, I reckon I can do the necessary," he says, sliding his wand out of his sleeve. "I can… You can teach me. Now, if you like?"
They spend almost an hour in their bedroom, River lying happily on their bed, and them each searching through the boxes for the gifts they received from Narcissa. Finally, just as they're about to give up, he opens the box with a set of bottles in.
Lily scoops River up, and Severus takes the entire box downstairs into the kitchen. He listens intently as Lily instructs him as to how he should cleanse the bottles - although he does roll his eyes more than once, before reminding her loudly that he did study for years as an apprentice brewer, and therefore is quite capable of sterilising some glass.
They sit together on the edge of the bed, and he feels more nervous than he has in years. She shrugs out of her top, baring her breast, and then reaches for Severus' wand hand, placing her hand over his, clenching his wand with him.
"The movement is like this," she says, moving his hand, and they repeat the action over and over. "Now you do it."
He traces the same path, albeit with less surety without her hand to guide him, and when he's completed twenty flawless movements, she nods.
"Now the incantation," she says, and then she looks at him, and jabs him in the ribs.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"Ogling me when we're busy," she laughs.
"I wasn't…" He trails off. "All right, I was, but it was only a little ogle."
"Nonsense, I thought your eyes were going to fall out of your head."
He laughs. "I was just thinking that I'd have concentrated a whole lot more in Charms if I'd been taught every spell by you whilst you were half naked."
"You wouldn't have been concentrating on the right things," she says, swatting his arm. "Come on, I'm getting cold whilst you're messing about."
"I don't know if this'll work on skin," he mutters, and before she can say anything, she hears him murmuring a spell under his breath. He tentatively touches his own arm with his fingertips, and then he gives her a broad smile. "Here," he says, and he gently runs his hands across her back and down her bare arms.
"Oh!" She arches into his touch, appreciative of the warmth, but when his hands snake around to her front, she places her own onto his, stopping him from touching her chest.
"No?"
"Still too tender," she says, "but it's nice across the rest of me."
He silently continues his movements, up and down her arms, into the crease of her elbows, across her back and neck, and then he runs his fingers under her chin and tilts her face so he can kiss her. "Not so cold now?"
"No," she says, kissing him back. "The incantation you need is Effluo. You remember the movement?"
"Yes," he murmurs, and he reaches for one of the bottles.
She places it at her breast, and then he moves his wand over and over before pressing the tip of his wand to her.
"Effluo," he says, calmly, his movement deliberate - and they both look as surprised as each other when a slow but steady stream of breast milk leaks from her, guided by his wand movement into the bottle.
"It works!"
"I knew you could do it," she says, grinning. They both watch for a moment, and then she puts a quelling hand on his. "That'll do, if we're not starting him off with the bottle yet, it'll only go to waste."
He pulls his wand away as if he's been burnt, but the sudden movement surprises her and causes her to drop the bottle. He reaches towards her to catch it, just as she does, and then he gasps loudly as a sudden warm stream of milk hits him in the face.
Lily looks at him, her mouth wide open, her expression a curious mix between horror and hilarity - as if she wants to burst out laughing but daren't. She holds her hand against her, trying to stem the flow, watching him intently as she reaches behind her, seeking a pad.
Severus straightens, and silently - but very calmly - runs his hand down his cheek, wiping the milk from his face. He stares at his hand for a long moment, as if in disbelief, and then he brings his palm to his lips and tastes it. "...it's warm."
This time, at the look of sincere surprise on his face, she does burst out laughing. "It's body temperature! I don't sit in the fridge, Sev," she laughs, "and Riv's not complained about it yet."
"I can't believe you just hit me square on."
"It worked though," she says, earnestly, "so when we're sure River's settled in a feeding routine, if I'm tired or…" She trails off, and then she looks up at him. "...or if we need a different income," she says, her voice lower, as if terrified of offending him.
To her relief, he just flashes her a small grin. "Yeah," he says, "we can." He picks up the bottle and kisses her full on the lips. "I'll just go and clean this out. And maybe wash my face."
Every movement of Narcissa's is brisk - the way she rifles through her drawers in her dressing room and swaps her necklace and bracelet, the way she rifles through his drawers in his study for the information she needs, the way she wraps herself in her luxurious travelling cloak which she pulls around her shoulders, the way she instructs the elves - in clipped, haughty tones - not to inform Lucius of her departure.
She isn't convinced he'll even notice - not with Draco strapped to her. If she'd left him behind, Lucius would've noticed her absence at his first wail - but with them both gone, and his focus entirely upon his task for the Dark Lord, she's certain she can complete this errand without him noticing.
She ventures to Diagon Alley first, idly peering through the window at Madam Malkin's and then onto Twilfitt and Tatting's, followed by the Magical Menagerie and Eeylops Owl Emporium.
When she's certain that all is calm - that the aurors aren't about to descend and that it's an ordinary shopping day, she hastens and moves swiftly into Knockturn Alley. She ignores the calls from the supposed seers, knowing all too well the folly of taking heed of such tall tales, and ducks into a shop in the shadows.
It takes her a moment to adjust to the dim light inside the shop, the bell ringing sharply as the door closes behind her.
"Mrs Malfoy," comes the oily voice of Borgin, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"
Severus lies on their bed, a book held open with one hand, River once again sound asleep next to him.
Lily watches him as she showers, taking care to angle her face away from him so as to create the impression that she isn't looking in his direction. She's fascinated at how he peers at the text and frowns, flipping the pages back and forth - and ever since his revelation about Knowledge Samplers really being a dark text, she's eyed each one of his books with suspicion.
She massages shampoo into her hair and rinses, and before she's had chance to stoop and pick up the bottle of conditioner, she sees his hand fly up to his chest, gripping his pectoral muscle, his teeth bared in anguish.
"Sev?"
"I'm fine," he shouts back, but his face makes a mockery of his words.
"Stop the shower," she says - and before he can react, she's out of the shower, her towel loosely wrapped around her.
"You're getting the bed wet again," he gripes, but before she can retort, he leans back, panting heavily. "Fuck."
She glances at River, making sure the commotion hasn't stirred him, and then turns her attention back to her husband. "Sev, you need to see a doctor-"
"-I'm fine," he spits, his voice filled with venom. He swings his legs around, so he's sitting on the edge of the bed, and he doubles over, almost pressing his chest to his thighs.
"Sev-"
"-finish your shower."
She doesn't move, and the water thumps rhythmically in the background as she stands over him, not daring to touch him. After what feels like an eternity, he suddenly sits upright - and then he lets out a long sigh of relief, and falls backwards against the bed.
Lily immediately moves to his side. "...Sev? This can't carry on - you need to see someone."
"Finish your shower, love," he says, pushing her away, but this time, he doesn't sound annoyed - just exhausted.
Narcissa stands, back straight, nose in the air, watching as Borgin peers through his pince-nez at the two pieces of jewellery on the counter.
"Does Mr Malfoy know these items are for sale?" Borgin enquires, mildly.
"The items are mine."
Borgin gives a pinched smile. "Of course, Mrs Malfoy. Of familial importance too, I can see," he says, "the crest is very clear." He puts the bracelet down and moves onto the necklace, inspecting the pendant closely. "When you entered, had I known you were looking to sell jewellery, I would've anticipated to have seen the crest of the House of Black," he continues, smoothly, "but I can see that is still being worn with honour."
"A price, Mr Borgin," she demands, "before I take my business elsewhere."
He snatches his pince-nez off his nose, and stares directly at Narcissa. "There is limited worth in jewels from the house of another."
She scoffs, and reaches for the two pieces but he swipes them out of reach, pushing them along the counter by a few inches.
"Mrs Malfoy," he continues, "please do not be insulted. The jewellery is fine, there is no doubt of that - but most of my customers would have no reason to wear the Malfoy crest." He gives her another oily grin. "One heir all the way down, isn't it?" At this, he looks directly at Draco.
"A jewel is a jewel."
"And so it is!" Borgin agrees. "But a jewel commands far less. I could melt down the gold and extract the jewel, and sell each successfully - but the true worth is in the sum of its parts." He stares towards her neck. "I would find it easier to sell an heirloom from the House of Black with its many branches." He walks around from the counter and takes a step towards her, his hands outstretched towards her neck. "To save you setting your son down, may I?"
She nods, and flinches when he fumbles with the clasp. He soon removes it, and gazes at it triumphantly, his pince-nez back on his nose once more.
"Does it have a matching bracelet, as the Malfoy set?"
"Of course," Narcissa says - and when he moves towards her, she bats him away with her hand. "Your assistance is not required, Mr Borgin." She neatly unclasps it, and coils it in her hand before placing it on the counter, deliberately ignoring his outstretched palm.
"Delightful," he beams, peering at the two pieces. "Again, the crest is very clear, and the gemstones have been well looked after - no deep scratches, and they refract well in the light."
"How much?"
Borgin stares at her for a long time, his fingers absently scratching his face. "Cash or shop credit?"
"Cash."
He sucks his lips against his teeth. "Today, or to an account?"
"Today."
Borgin gives a small laugh. "You have expensive taste, Mrs Malfoy. Expensive choices. Let me check my safe."
He disappears into the back, and when he returns - a good five minutes later - Draco has started to grumble. Narcissa jostles him, murmuring in his ear, but Borgin can't help but smile at the scene knowing that the boy will serve as a distraction.
"350 galleons for the Black set."
Narcissa snatches both sets of jewellery off the counter. "Don't waste my time-"
"-Mrs Malfoy, please!" There's a momentary stand-off, and Mr Borgin steps around the counter once more, his hands up, almost placating. "Let's not be hasty. We've both invested time into this deal."
"350 is an insult. If that's what you're offering for this, I dread to think what you would've insulted me with for the Malfoy set."
"It was no insult, Mrs Malfoy."
"1000 galleons would be a good deal for you, and we both know it."
"If I had a buyer lined up, perhaps - but you are the third sister, are you not?" His eyes narrow. "Had this been Mrs Lestrange's jewellery, then the price would've been higher - but this is not the finest example of Pureblood jewellery. With so many descendants, the legacy is diluted."
"And yet you would not offer me a high price for the distinguished Malfoy jewels."
His smile slips slightly at having been caught out. "400."
"900."
"500."
"800."
"600 and my final offer," Borgin snaps.
"700 and we're done," she says.
"I have been," Borgin mutters, but he nods his agreement to the deal.
Lily knows that Severus is sulking - that he's angry and embarrassed and ashamed that she's seen him in such a position of weakness. He doesn't say as much, but she can tell from how his movements are sharp - the bounce of the knife as he chops vegetables in the kitchen, the slam of the saucepan onto the hob, the thudding of the back door as he stands outside in the rain, fighting to keep his cigarette lit against the unseasonable weather.
From his silence during their meal, she knows that it will be fruitless to push the issue, so she points towards the long forgotten book.
"What were you reading?"
He pauses, mid-chew, and then twists his fingers in the direction of the book, causing it to flip over and reveal its innocuous title.
"Sev," she presses, her tone full of warning.
Severus gives a small laugh, and then moves his fingers again, and this time, the author and title rearranges itself into a name which is far more familiar to Lily.
"Plinius Viridian?" She frowns. "I thought his works had been entirely discredited."
"Almost entirely," he corrects, "but you'll recognise this." He moves his fingers again, causing the book to fall open, and the pages to turn.
She holds her plate in one hand, and leans a little closer to peer at the chapter. "He wrote about the Fidelius Charm?" She scours the page, recapping his thoughts. "And have you found anything useful?"
"Nothing I haven't already thought of," he mutters, spearing the last of his boiled potatoes onto his fork before getting up to take his plate out of the room. "Cuppa?"
"Thanks," she nods, and then she hastily flicks through the rest of the pages, easily losing herself in Plinius' writing.
A few minutes later, Severus stands over her, a look of amusement on his face and his hand outstretched.
"What?"
"Give me your plate if you're finished with it," he says, shaking his head. "I should've known you'd have found yourself engrossed."
"Have you actually read this?"
He stalls, a thin smile on his face. "The chapter on Fidelius, or the whole book?"
"You have!" she accuses, looking irritated. "Sev, these other chapters!"
"What about them?"
She looks at him as if he's grown another head. "He sounds like a man who fell out of the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down."
Severus suppresses a smile. "And as I understand it, the wizarding world agrees with you."
"Do you?"
There's a pause. "You've only had the book for three minutes. You've barely skimmed it."
"Severus!"
Narcissa hurries to Gringotts, pulling her cloak more tightly around her, protecting her face from the harsh wind whipping down the street.
When she reaches the front of the queue, the teller serving her - Ragnok - seems to be deliberately unhelpful, taking an especially prolonged amount of time to go through extensive security steps, despite her insistence that she doesn't actually require access to the Malfoy vault.
She hates doing it, but when Draco stirs unhappily again, she draws herself up to her full height and loudly proclaims that the standards of service are atrocious, and that she will be instructing her husband to speak with the Minister to see if there is any worth in the idea of the Ministry taking over the bank once more.
Almost immediately, Bogrod steps in, dismissing Ragnok and almost falling over himself to be apologetic about the atrocious service that Narcissa has endured. For her part, Narcissa plays along, profusely thanking Bogrod for reaffirming her confidence in the goblins and their abilities.
If he's suspicious when she pulls out several pouches of galleons and asks that they be converted into Muggle money, he doesn't say anything - although he does advise her that the process for such an amount can take three working days, and when she asks how long it will take for the sum to then be anonymously transferred into a Muggle account, the duration grows to fourteen.
"And if one of those pouches were not to be exchanged?"
"Mrs Malfoy?"
"...if it were to fall into your hands."
There's a silence, and then Bogrod nods. "Exchanging 600 galleons can, of course, be processed far more rapidly than 700."
"How rapidly?" She glances pointedly at the clock, which is nearing closing time.
"I shall be able to do so by close of business today."
"And the transfer?"
"There are limits on Muggle accounts," he says, warily. "An anonymous entry would look suspicious, but I can enter it as a rebate from the Muggle tax and revenue department."
"Yes, that would be wonderful."
"It will still take ten days to clear. Regrettably, Gringotts has no control over the Muggle banking system."
Lily holds River, standing in the doorway whilst Severus sorts through the boxes, tossing every magical book he can find into an empty box on the bed.
When he stoops to pick up another box, his head upside down and his hair almost touching the floor, he gives her a wicked grin.
"It's not funny."
"It is," he grins, "I feel like a naughty boy who's been caught." He rights himself, and plucks another handful of books out of the box before replacing the lid.
Her eyes are trained on him as he picks through the rest of their belongings. "...I really wish you didn't read such things," Lily says, quietly. "They're filled with anti-Muggleborn propaganda."
"I don't believe any of it."
"I know you don't." She shifts River from one side to the other. "But when you're reading it every day… It must have some effect on you."
"It doesn't! I've been reading these books for years, and you had no idea," he argues, "besides, there's some good stuff in here - knowledge that we'd never otherwise have! This is the magic that's passed down from mother to daughter, father to son - through families, through legacies! We don't have that, Lil!"
"I don't have that," she corrects. She rummages through the box, sighing at the sight of two books about Pureblood jewellery and gems - and then her blood runs cold. "What is this?"
"What's what, love?" He glances up from the box he's sorting through, looking in her direction.
"This." She pulls out a leather bound book, holding it limply between thumb and forefinger. "Lupine Lawlessness: Why Lycanthropes Don't Deserve To Live by Professor Emerett Picardy," she reads, her tone full of distaste. "You know that this is nonsense - we were taught as much in Defence! Why would you even have this, Sev?"
"Because it's better to read the primary sources yourself," he argues, hotly, "even if they're discredited." He straightens, throwing another couple of books into the box. "I just wanted to see for myself why he drew that conclusion." He holds up a weighty book, determined to change the subject. "And stop pretending that they're all awful. You'll like this one."
"As much as I did Plinius?" she says, dropping Picardy's work back into the box.
"Twice as much," he laughs. "No, seriously," he says, flipping through the book and holding it open before passing it to her, "Hipworth invented Pepperup."
"You've got Hipworth's Remedies?"
He grins broadly. "Told you," he says, watching as she gleefully reads the text. "The Master at work!"
"It's not all Pureblood mania in these books then."
"No. Well, just about three quarters of them," he jokes.
She finishes reading the page, and then places the book into the box. "Are these all Lucius'?"
"Mostly," he says, rubbing his back where it aches from being bent over for so long. "A few are Cissy's."
"You mean to suggest that the Black library is more prestigious than the Malfoy library?"
He grins at her. "Don't let him hear you say that." He taps the box. "And a few are mine. Presents." He pauses, a fearful look covering his face. "What are you going to do with them?"
"I'm not going to burn them, if that's what you're worried about."
He doesn't answer, but she can see the tension escaping from his shoulders in relief.
"I want them downstairs," she continues, "in full view. Real titles, real authors."
He nods, evidently not daring to speak.
"Sev, I don't care what you read, but I don't want any secrets between us." She leans over and kisses his cheek. "I'll take Riv down - you bring the books."
Half an hour later, Severus finishes erecting their old bookcase in the hallway, and he quickly fills it with the magical books from the box - although he pauses and frowns at the array of titles. "Lil," he calls, "come here!"
She walks through, rocking River in her arms.
"Shit, was he asleep?"
"No, but I think he'll drift off if we keep our voices down." She appraises the bookcase. "It looks good."
"Even with the titles like this?" he says, doubtfully. "What if that midwife of yours needs to come back? Or your parents?"
"Perhaps Creative Curses for Curbing Charlatans should be disguised," she says, half laughing. "Can you make it so I can see what you're reading, but anyone else can't?"
He drums his fingers on the top of the bookcase, considering her words, and then he grips his wand. "I can change the covers but not the title pages," he says, confidently. "So anyone opening it will realise what it is - but it'll mean nothing to any Muggle who visits."
"Perfect," she says, bouncing up and kissing him - and then she plucks one from the shelf.
"Hipworth's Remedies again?"
"I can't believe you've been hoarding this all of this time!"
A few minutes later, he joins her on their bed where she's quietly watching River sleep, and she silently passes him Plinius' book. "Here, I've finished with this one," she whispers. "Have it back."
He looks at her, surprise etched across his face. "I thought you didn't want me reading this?"
"...if you think it'll help you work out the Fidelius," she says, evenly, "then you need to read anything and everything you think might help."
"Thanks, love."
"But, Sev, Merlin help you if I find you reading the rest of it. The whole book is filled with darkness. Especially those last few chapters…" She trails off, giving a visible shudder.
"You read them?" He eagerly flicks through the book. "The ones about-"
"-the potential of a soul transformed," she finishes. "He can write in flowery language all he likes, but we all know what he means! How many times did we have to write essays for Defence and History of Magic about the untold evil of breaking your soul?"
"...countless times," he whispers.
"Exactly! It's even Mangle's first directive!"
"Breaking your soul is an act so heinous, no witch or wizard ever truly recovers," Severus intones, dully.
"Exactly! No matter what wizards like Plinius Viridian say. Merlin," she laughs, "no wonder he was laughed out of society!" She rolls over, pressing herself against him, and moving his arm so it's draped over her hip in a loose hug. "Comfy?"
"...yeah."
"You're quiet."
"Just thinking, that's all."
"Not upset about me finding out about all of those horribly dark books you've got?"
"...no."
"I didn't make you burn them."
"I know, love." He swallows tightly.
"Even if we do need to get some coal."
He doesn't laugh.
She nudges him with her elbow. "Are you sure you're ok? You're not getting hung up on me being unhappy about Plinius Viridian, are you?"
"I'm fine."
"Yeah? Well, you're doing better than me," she laughs, "just thinking about broken souls is enough to give me nightmares. I only read a few pages and I feel a bit sick - I'd much rather read Hipworth's tales about discovering Pepperup any day."
"...yeah," he says, quietly - and then, just as she's about to speak, he tosses Plinius' book onto the floor and grabs Hipworth's book instead. "In fact, that's a great idea, love. Why don't you read Hipworth aloud for the both of us, hey?" he murmurs, nestling his nose into her hair. "Clear both of our heads, else you're right - we'll never get to sleep with all of those thoughts about broken souls and dark magic running through our minds."
Chapter 130: Whole once more
Chapter Text
Potter's expression darkens further as Lupin turns the Daily Prophet over, returning his attention to the front page once more.
"That'll be the third time."
Lupin lowers the paper infinitesimally, his eyes peering over the top. "I'm sorry?"
"That you've read it."
"I didn't realise you were keeping count," Lupin says, evenly.
"The photographs might move, but the words don't change," Potter warns, standing and putting his toast crumb-strewn plate into the sink.
"I was just catching up on the news."
"You were looking for the codeword," Potter says, sharply, placing the plug into the sink and twisting the hot tap on. "Face it, Moons, it's over."
Regulus rests his quill across the top of his pot of ink, and runs his index finger across the furrow in his brow as he compares the description in the auction listing against the ceramic bowl before him. He turns the bowl around in his hands, his fingers moving against the runes - and then he stands, and carries it out of his study and through into the dusty library.
He places the bowl down on the desk, and with a swish of his wand, the wooden ladder moves into his hand. He strides towards the shelves on his left, braces the ladder against them, and quickly scales the steps. When he gazes along the shelf, he keeps his hand several inches from the spines of the books, not daring to touch them - and when he spies the title he requires, he casts against it before plucking it from its place on the shelf.
Regulus slides down the ladder, a foot on either side, just as his older brother had taught him all those years ago, and he sinks into the chair behind the desk. He turns to the back of the book, checking the index, and then, his fingers marking his place, he flips through the sections, staring at the runes on the bowl, trying to match them to the book.
Regulus is so engrossed in his work, he doesn't hear the door opening - and he only jerks his head upwards when Kreacher gives a small cough.
"Kreacher!" Regulus smiles broadly, and places the book down onto the table. "Were you looking for me?"
"The mistress is complaining to Kreacher, young master, the mistress is saying that the young master must not be working, that the young master is above such behaviour."
Regulus gives a loud laugh. "Mother need not worry herself. I am researching, not working."
"It is uncouth for a Black, the mistress is saying, uncouth to desire a wage when the riches of the family are at the young master's fingertips, when-"
"-I am not drawing a wage," Regulus interrupts, a smile still on his face. "Kreacher, tell me, what has concerned Mother so?"
"There is a man calling for the young master, Kreacher went to the young master's study but the young master was not there, and then the mistress saw, and the mistress-"
"-a man?" Regulus stands, slamming the book closed, before hastily grabbing the ceramic bowl and pushing it unceremoniously into one of the desk drawers. "What man?"
Kreacher passes a business card to Regulus, who reads it and sighs. "Caractacus Burke?" He snaps his fingers. "Come on then, Kreacher," he says, beckoning him to follow, "before Mother's temper sees him thrown from the premises before we find out what he can possibly want from me."
Pettigrew flashes Black a broad smile when he peers into the living room and spies Black reading a letter earnestly, the envelope limply dangling from the fingers of his other hand.
"What?"
"What?" Pettigrew repeats, a little defensively. "You've got a letter."
"Nothing gets past you, does it, Pete?" Black drawls.
Pettigrew isn't deterred and steps a little closer so he can view the letter himself. "Evans has come through with the drop?"
Immediately, Black yanks the letter away from him and stuffs it back into the envelope.
"Pads?"
"It's not from Evans," Black says, shoving it into the inside pocket of his robes.
"Sniv?"
"Neither of them."
"But Remus! He turns on-"
"-I know," Black snaps, "I know when the full moon is!"
"...and that letter isn't from her?" Pettigrew pauses, taking in the unspoken meaning. "So, what? She isn't going to brew it for him?"
"...I doubt it," Black shrugs. "Not now. There isn't time."
"Then why are we keeping the ingredients?" Pettigrew asks, his voice a little higher than usual. "Why would she ask us to get them? They're in my flat! If anyone came in here-"
"-I think that's exactly why we're keeping them," Black says, almost under his breath. "We don't have any other ingredients, so we can't argue we're intending to brew something else and it's just a coincidence that we have these."
"But Evans-"
"-it wasn't Evans who made the deal."
Pettigrew looks horrified. "Sniv wanted us to be caught red-handed with the ingredients?"
Black nods. "So that one of us would be publicly identified as being a werewolf."
"But why? Why would he do that?"
"I think he knew that his number was up," Black says, softly, "I think after that elongated stay in the cells, he was certain that it was only a matter of time before he found himself on the wrong side of the law."
"He knew he was going to lose his magic?"
"I don't know that," Black says, "but I bet you that he isn't such a tough guy without that blasted knife spell at his fingertips, and we all know that Snivvy is scared of the big bad wolf."
Pettigrew grimaces. "Can't blame him. Not really. Not after-"
"-we both know that Moons wouldn't hurt him."
"Sniv thought we were all in it together."
"I know what he thought," Black snaps, "but he was wrong. Again." He pauses. "But there's only one type of werewolf he doesn't need to be afraid of - and that's one which is safely contained."
"By taking Wolfsbane?"
Black gives a slow smile. "Wolfsbane is one method, but if Sniv can't brew-"
"-I thought Evans was brewing it!"
"It doesn't matter! If he's magical as a Muggle, he can't guarantee that the potion will keep getting to Moony." Black gives Pettigrew a searching look. "So what's the alternative?"
"He gets someone else to brew it?"
Black sighs. "No… Pete, if Sniv wants to make sure that Moons is safely contained, and he can't use Wolfsbane and he has no magic to make sure that other people can provide Wolfsbane, then…"
Pettigrew shrugs. "Then…?"
"Merlin, if your brains were Floo powder," Black mutters, "you wouldn't have enough to get you to Diagon Alley. Listen, Pete - it's quite simple! He's planted these ingredients on us so we're hauled in, so Moony is hauled in - because we all know that the only type of werewolf in this country which doesn't need Wolfsbane to keep them from running amok is the type safely contained in Azkaban!"
Lily sits on the bed, looking despairingly at River, and then at Severus, who is standing in the doorway, one hand gripping the architrave, the other slung across his eyes.
"It makes me feel like a failure."
"You and me both," Severus agrees. He glances at his wife, her eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. "Go upstairs," he says, "and get some sleep on the bed."
"But he's upset-"
"-he's been upset all night, and all morning, and I get the feeling he's not going to stop - not now he's got a world record in sight," Severus snaps - and when he sees the hurt in Lily's eyes, his expression softens. "Sorry."
"He can't help it."
"I know, but…" He trails off, and sighs. "One of us needs to get some sleep," Severus says, moving forward to dart a kiss onto her lips, "there's no point us both listening to him and both being worn out."
"You go."
"You were up earlier than me, and we can swap later." There's a pause, and he kisses her again. "Please, love."
Potter leans back into the house, one foot out of the door. "See you, Remus!"
Black can't hear the response, but Potter seems satisfied and pulls the door shut before clapping his hand on Black's shoulder. "Merlin, am I glad you came over."
"Something wrong?"
"He's not heard from Evans," Potter says, walking in step with Black, "and it's getting him down. When I offered to get his chains out of the basement, he practically slammed his bedroom door in my face."
Black gives Potter a searching look. "And you?"
"What about me?"
"How do you feel about Evans letting him down? Letting us down?"
Potter glances away. "There's nothing to say. She's not who I thought she was."
Black knows he must look astonished, and he fights to keep his voice even. "Yes. Best forgetting about her. Plenty more fish in the sea."
"So!" Potter says, his voice full of false bravado. "What can I help you with, Pads?"
"Read this," Black says, pulling the letter out of his robes.
Potter skims through it, and he frowns deeply. "From Borgin? And what? You're interested, are you? In the old heirlooms from the Black dynasty?"
"...it's not that," Black says, quietly, "but you know what they say about such items."
"Old magic."
"Old magic," Black agrees, "and if - and yes, Prongs, it's a very big if - I ever decide to settle down, then my wife would be a Black."
"And all you can give her is the name."
Black nods. "It's worth a look, at least - and I trust your judgement."
"You don't think you can pick a Black heirloom from Borgin's collection?"
"It's not that. I don't trust him. Borgin."
Potter slings his arm loosely around Black's shoulder. "Don't fret, Pads, I'll keep him from tricking you with a tarnished brooch from the undistinguished House of Yaxley."
"Reggie!"
Regulus stops in his tracks, and follows the beckoning hand of Rodolphus Lestrange into the Leaky Cauldron, where he's met with the sight of Rabastan.
"What are you doing here, Dolph?" Regulus asks, grinning. "Muggling it up for lunch?"
Rodolphus and Rabastan exchange a look.
"We're waiting for someone," Rodolphus answers, pulling a chair over so that Regulus can sit with them.
Regulus glances warily between his two distant relatives. "You didn't know that I would be here."
"The world doesn't revolve around you just yet, little Reggie," Rabastan laughs, "although I like your narcissism. It's an undervalued trait."
"Speaking of narcissism," Rodolphus says, neatly segueing onto the next topic, "have you heard who is arranging Evan Rosier's funeral?"
Regulus frowns, the protest that Evan wasn't a narcissist almost on the tip of his tongue, and then he suddenly follows Rodolphus' train of thought. "I hadn't heard, but I assume it's Malf?"
"You assume correctly," Rabastan nods, sipping from his firewhisky.
"I didn't think they were so close."
"Drifted from Ros a bit, didn't you?"
"Even so."
"Even so," Rodolphus repeats, "it's fair comment. Still, dear old Lucius was the Dark Lord's choice, and so, we all acquiesce."
"Least the wake'll be good," Rabastan chips in, "that's the one thing about Malf - he throws a bloody good party."
"You think that's why he was chosen?"
The brothers share a look, and then Rodolphus grips Regulus' shoulder and squeezes it tightly. "I think it is not for us to question why."
"Speaking of your old friends," Rabastan says, toying with his glass, "have you heard the news about Avery?"
"No."
Rodolphus gives a small scoff. "Consider yourself a good friend, do you, Reggie?"
"If you're not careful, you'll find yourself as isolated as dear Sirius."
"It's nothing like that," Regulus argues, hotly, "I was asked, no, instructed to…" He suddenly trails off, taking in the keen expressions of the two men sharing his table.
"Do go on," Rodolphus says, his voice dangerously low.
"I should not speak out of turn."
Rabastan meets Regulus' gaze, and then slowly brings his left arm up and places it onto the table. His robes still cover his skin, but he rests his right hand over the Mark. Regulus silently nods, and Rabastan removes his hand from his forearm, and then his arm from the table.
"You have already spoken," Rabastan says.
"And you are amongst friends here," Rodolphus adds, quietly.
Regulus glances around the room, and over each shoulder, before speaking in a low voice. "I think he regrets his early methods." He glances around again. "We do not have anonymity."
"Not when our glorious leader insists on such public displays of punishment," Rabastan mutters. "Not that I am complaining about last week's show."
"That's exactly it - the lesser ones, the ones not in the circle, they're not at risk. They're always masked, always hidden."
"But our identities are revealed to one another," Rodolphus finishes. "If the tide turns-"
"-then we're exposed. Easily named, easily brought down by one another-"
"-we would do no such thing," Rabastan hisses.
Regulus swallows. "Not us, no. But are we all so true, so fearless?"
There's a moment as his words sink in, and Rodolphus leans back, exhaling loudly.
"Look at the misstep with the Mark," Regulus continues, his voice still low.
"You dare say such," Rodolphus scoffs.
"Only when I'm certain he's not in the room," laughs Regulus. "So that's why I'm out of the loop. He asked me to distance myself."
"Has bigger things in mind for you, has he?"
"Something like that."
Rabastan tilts his head, his left eyebrow raised. "...yes, what are you doing these days, Reggie?"
"Artefact acquisition," Regulus whispers, glancing around the room once more. "He said that someone with my name, my background, that I'd understand the true worth of such items."
"And is that why you're in the Alleys?" Rodolphus smiles. "Come to drive a hard bargain for an antique candelabra at Borgin and Burkes, have you?"
Regulus ignores Rabastan's snigger, and rolls his eyes. "Not you as well. Mother nearly had a heart attack when old man Burke showed his face at ours yesterday afternoon."
"Burke visited you?" Rabastan lets out a low whistle. "He must have you pegged as an easy touch."
"What did he want?" Rodolphus asks, ignoring his brother, noticing the hurt expression on Regulus' face.
"I don't know," Regulus answers, honestly, "Mother banished him before our elf fetched me."
"Lazy bloody elves," Rabastan mutters, still not noticing Regulus' growing irritation, "they're all the same."
"So you're half right," Regulus says, a little more loudly, as he stands and pushes his chair under the table, "I have business to attend to."
Before Rabastan can say anything, Rodolphus places his hand on his bicep, the tight squeeze of his fingers a clear and unsubtle warning.
"See you at Malf's for Rosier's send off," Rodolphus says, raising his glass.
"See you at Malf's," Regulus echoes.
Lily makes her way downstairs, her tread gentle on each step, listening intently for River's cry, her heart practically in her mouth - and then she hears a high pitched coo, and she moves faster.
"Who's this, River?" Severus says, holding their son aloft, and then gasping. "It's Mummy!"
"He's stopped crying," she says.
"Did you sleep?" Severus asks, glancing over at her, and then lifting River up in the air again before pulling him back down to his chest. "And up again, Riv? Here we go! Ooooooooh!"
"A little," Lily says, lying next to Severus on the bed and smiling up at their son. "Hello River. Aren't you a happy little boy?"
Severus pulls him back down and transfers him to Lily. "Here," he says, with a grin, "I need the loo."
"What's your secret?"
He stops in the doorway. "You mean with Riv?"
"Stopping him crying?"
"I took his socks off," Severus says, pointing at River's bare feet.
"All that screaming over a pair of socks?"
"Yep," Severus nods. "So much anguish over fashion. Just like his mother."
When Severus returns a minute or so later, he smiles broadly at the sight of Lily happily cuddling River - and River contentedly resting in her arms.
"Are you going for some sleep?" she asks, looking over at him. "It's only fair."
"It's time for lunch, love," he says. "Fancy some soup?"
"I can do it-"
"-we talked about this," Severus says, immediately. "You said you'd let me look after you."
"Soup takes all of five minutes."
"Then there's no problem me cooking it, is there?"
Lily doesn't have a sound argument for that, and as he cooks, she settles back on the bed, peering at the book that he's left on his pillow, the pages open on Plinius Viridian's ruminations on the Fidelius Charm.
With River now slumbering against her, she reaches for the book, and as her fingers touch the edges of the pages, she feels a gap, and she instantly spins the book around, staring at the top corner - and then, with one finger keeping Severus' place on the Fidelius Charm chapter, she flips the pages until she reaches the folded down corner.
She can feel her heart pounding oddly as she scans the page quickly - it's two chapters past where she stopped reading, and although the language is dense, the sentiment is clear. She can't help but feel unnerved at the idea that Viridian's writings can't have simply been speculation; that if a wizard felt that a soul could be strengthened by breaking it and rebuilding it, he must've indulged in such experiments himself.
Lily glances towards the clock, and then to the kitchen - how long does tomato soup take to warm through? - and then flips through another page or two, reading intently. She almost gasps when she spies Herpo the Foul being cited - didn't I see his biography when Severus was collecting his books together? - and although the idea of placing a soul fragment into another vessel is abhorrent, she can't help but be entranced.
She flips the page, and then she hears the loud clatter of a saucepan landing in the sink followed by the tap loudly running, and she hastily returns the book to its previous place, taking care to position it perfectly.
A moment later, Severus bursts through the door - and then, his eyes widen when he realises that River is fast asleep. "I haven't woken him, have I?"
"No, Sev," she says, reassuringly.
"Thank Merlin for that," he says, breathing a sigh of relief. He watches as Lily positions River against her thigh, and then takes her soup bowl.
"How's the research coming on?" she says, pointing her spoon at the book.
"It's interesting, but as I keep saying, I don't think the problem is technique," he confides between mouthfuls, "after all, I've already done it once - we've already done it." He rips into his bread, dipping it into the bowl. "I think the problem is power."
There's a small chill of fear that runs through her at his words, and she can't help but glance at the book, knowing full well that he's been reading more than just the chapter on Fidelius - knowing full well that he's been reading about strengthening spells. The words almost stick in her throat when she speaks, "And does Plinius offer any ideas about power?"
If he's surprised at her question, he takes it in his stride, and looks up, catching her eye. "Not so far," he says, his tone even.
"But he might? That's why you're reading his work?"
"Anything's possible," he says, with a slight smile, and then he points at her still nearly full bowl. "Eat up, love - nothing worse than cold soup."
Black stands before Borgin, watching as the oily man reaches into a drawer and then pulls out two items - a dainty bracelet, and a much heavier necklace. Borgin carefully places both onto a piece of black cloth, taking the time to present them, straightening each and every gem and each and every link.
"Exquisite examples, I am sure you will agree, Mr Black," Borgin says, waving his hand over the two items. "Despite their age - for make no mistake, these are true heirlooms, which I have dated back to the 14th century - the exquisite gems in both pieces are flawless, and the princess length of the necklace would make it ideal for the future Mrs Black." Borgin pauses, taking in the form of James Potter, and smiles. "Or perhaps Mr Black, if such is your wont."
"Show me the crest," Black demands, ignoring the comment.
Borgin picks up the necklace, and turns it so the clasp is facing Black, and then passes him a small loupe for him to peer through.
"I can't see it."
"Here," Borgin barks, his grimy thumbnail running over the crest, and Black grimaces as he sees it up close - but before he can protest, the crest appears and he peers at it eagerly.
He's seen it a million times before - on wax seals and stamps, on letters, on cutlery and crockery and cups and shields and banners and weaponry and embroidery - and there's no denying that this is the crest of his family.
"Let me see," Potter says, and Black hands the loupe to him before Borgin can protest.
"Both fine pieces," Borgin continues, "truly excellent examples of-"
"-how much?"
Borgin pauses, taking in both of the younger men. "I am to understand that you are interested, Mr Black?"
Black exchanges a look with Potter. "I didn't say that," he says, carefully. "I asked you for the price."
"For both?"
"It's a set," Potter interjects, "they come as a set." He glances at Black, the warning on his face clear.
"For both," Black nods.
"For a valued customer such as yourself," Borgin says - and Black has to hold in a scoff, knowing very well that he hasn't purchased anything from Borgin and Burkes since his brief foray into locomotive charms in his sixth year - and then Borgin pauses, clearly mulling something over in his mind, "Two and a half thousand galleons."
Potter is the first to react, and his laugh is loud. "I think not. Come on, Siri," he says, placing his hand back on Black's shoulder and steering him towards the door, "time to go."
"You've been cut from the will," Borgin says, loudly, causing Black to freeze. "You won't have anything."
"I don't need anything of theirs," Black hisses, looking back at Borgin. "It means nothing. It's just a name."
"Just a name," Borgin repeats, with a thin smile. "Well, Mr Black, I will keep these safe for you, in case you have a change of heart."
Regulus strides down Knockturn Alley, his back straight and his nose in the air, ignoring the calls from the traders and pedlars, entirely focused on his destination. Suddenly, the door to Borgin and Burkes is flung open, and he pauses, watching as the all too familiar form of his older brother is bundled out of the building by none other than James Potter.
Regulus freezes, his wand sliding into his hand, readying himself for the inevitable confrontation - but to his relief, the two men head to their right without so much as looking in his direction. Regulus watches as they walk, an animated discussion clearly taking place between the two of them, until they disappear around a corner.
"Looking for your fortune to be read, deary?"
At the interruption by the hag now gripping his arm, Regulus snaps back into the present, and shakes her from him, hastening his step and darting into Borgin and Burkes, the bell ringing loudly as he enters.
"I thought you were going to head upstairs and have your turn at sleeping," Lily chides, holding River against her as she peers into the kitchen where Severus is washing up.
"The dishes won't do themselves."
"Sev."
"What?" He dries a plate and puts it away, and when he turns back to the draining board, he catches her scowl. "Lil, it's just some dishes."
"We agreed," she says.
"I'm not tired."
"You look absolutely knackered!" She jostles River. "This little boy kept you up as much as me last night, and you were right - a couple of hours sleep did me the world of good."
"I can hang on until tonight."
"And if River starts screaming the house down again as soon as your head hits the pillow?" She places her free hand against her hip. "You can't go another night without sleep."
"I haven't got time for snoozing in the middle of the day. I need to go to the shop."
"Sev," she says, grabbing his arm and forcing him to look at her. "Get some rest. It's not a weakness. We can both go to the shops tomorrow - when you're not an exhausted mess."
"Make a bloke feel good, Lil."
She raises her eyebrows. "You've not shaved in at least three days," she says, and as he self-consciously runs his palm across his stubble, she reaches up and kisses him. "We'll go tomorrow. Together. Clean shaven." Then she flashes him a cheeky smile. "Well rested."
"Fine," he says, hanging the tea towel up to dry. "You win."
He tugs off his t-shirt as he walks through the living room, screwing it up and tossing it onto their bed and then he scales the stairs noisily, leaping up them two at a time.
She listens for the click of their bedroom door, and then she sits back on their bed downstairs, fussing over River and listening for any movement. After a long twenty minutes, when she's convinced that he's not about to come bounding down the stairs, she pulls the book into her hands once more and flicks to the chapter she'd been so avidly reading.
Regulus approaches the counter, where Borgin is attempting to conceal the jewellery, and stares Borgin straight in the eye. "My brother. What did he want?"
"Mr Black," Borgin smiles, "what brings you to our establishment this fine day?"
"Was this what he was looking at?" Regulus demands, tugging Borgin's sleeve to reveal the necklace and bracelet on the counter. "Tell me!"
"Your brother came to make a purchase," Mr Borgin says, that same smile fixed on his face.
Regulus glances over his shoulder. "These? Is this why Burke left me his business card?" he asks, pulling it from his robes and slapping it on the counter.
"You were not home."
"My mother…" Regulus trails off. "I came as soon-"
"-and your brother came sooner," Borgin says, with a nasty smile, "and now we have an agreement."
"He's coming back?" Regulus stares at Borgin. "Sirius? For these?"
"No doubt you saw him heading to Gringotts," Borgin says, calmly, "for his vault access is not what it once was."
"For these?" Black repeats, prodding the jewels on the counter. He points at the loupe. "May I see?"
"Of course," Borgin says, passing him the loupe, and twisting each piece of jewellery so that Regulus can see the house crest, "but I have already made an agreement with your brother. It is such a pity that you were not home and were unable to call sooner."
Bloody Rodolphus, Regulus thinks, eyeing the necklace carefully.
"Whose were these? Trixie's?" At Borgin's blank look, Regulus corrects himself. "Bella. Bellatrix."
"Ah!" Borgin gives a wide smile. "No, Mr Black, they are not Mrs Lestrange's."
"Not Droma's, surely?" Regulus turns them over in his hand. "No, she wouldn't come down here. Would she? Or did you go to her?"
"...close, Mr Black, closer still." Borgin leans forwards. "What if I were to tell you that the Black family jewels were not the first to lay on my counter that day? What if I were to tell you that I was first asked to appraise the Malfoy jewels instead?"
"Cissy."
"The lovely Narcissa. Your mother always said that you were a bright boy."
"Cissy was hawking the Malfoy jewels?" Regulus stares at Borgin, and then looks back at the jewellery, his frown deepening.
"Fine though they were," Borgin says, casually, "who would want to drape themselves in the trappings of the Malfoy house? I would not have found a buyer."
"More likely you wouldn't want Lucius Malfoy banging at your door and demanding their return," Regulus guesses, "because I'm assuming that Cissy did this behind his back."
"I couldn't possibly comment."
"But you knew he wouldn't care about the Black jewellery, and you knew you had a buyer for these lined up," Regulus says, turning the jewellery over in his hand. "My brother."
"I didn't take him for a follower of Cadmus Smith," Borgin says, airily, "but then, your family is full of surprises."
"Nobody believes in Cadmus Smith's wild theories," Regulus scoffs.
"Not since your great-great-granduncle set out to sow the seeds of doubt," Borgin muses, "but there are still those who hold with the old ways, and it seems your brother is amongst them. Perhaps he sees a way to strengthen his claim to the House of Black."
"How much?"
"Oh, I must apologise, Mr Black," Borgin says, snatching the loupe from Regulus' hand, "I did not intend to mislead you. I am afraid that these items are simply not for sale."
"How much has he agreed to pay you for them?"
Borgin stalls, scratching his cheek, and glancing towards the door - as if expecting Sirius to barrel through at any moment. "It is not the way to do business, Mr Black."
"How much?" Regulus appraises the jewellery. "A grand?"
Borgin flinches, and sucks in air between his teeth. "No no no, Mr Black, I can see you have an untrained eye. These are worth far more-"
"-two grand?"
"Three," Borgin says, with a wince. "Three thousand galleons."
Regulus glances back towards the door. "And if I were to offer you four?"
Borgin makes a show of pretending to consider the younger man's offer, as if he's wrangling with his conscience, and then he leans forward. "Can you seal the deal before your brother returns, or do you also have to disappear to Gringotts?"
Regulus offers him a thin smile, and reaches into his pocket, where he withdraws his wizarding bank card and holds it aloft. "Unlike Sirius, I still have access to the Black family vault."
It's unnerving, reading Viridian's bold thoughts, and nothing like anything else she's ever encountered. His language is complex, but to such a degree, she's confident that it isn't natural, but that he was ensuring that his text remained inaccessible to the masses - or, at the very least, he was making a concerted effort to appear highly educated and extremely intelligent.
She isn't sure about that - but the more she reads, the more engrossed she becomes in the concept he presents, and the more that Severus' favourite lament about dark magic rattles around in her brain.
He's forever complaining that the reason dark magic isn't utilised is because everyone is fearful of it - that it's just a tool, a branch of magic to be understood, to be tamed, to be brought under control.
She turns over the page, excited to read his conclusion - but the page is blank, and so is the next and the next and the next. Lily sighs in frustration, and flips the book back over to the front, scanning the introduction until she sees the reference to the next book.
I wonder if he's borrowed the next one in the series, she thinks, and with a quick glance towards the slumbering River, she quietly sneaks into the hallway. She moves swiftly, pulling books off one after the other, checking the title pages and then reshelving them - until finally, she finds what she's looking for.
She clutches it to her chest, and guiltily stares upstairs, as if fearful that Severus is going to burst out onto the landing and catch her in the act.
And so what if he did? He'd be pleased!
Lily shakes the thought off and silently creeps back into the living room, determined not to disturb River. She opens the book and starts to devour it, flipping through the pages faster and faster.
Her mind is racing as she devours Viridian's pontifications about how to rebuild the soul, and how to incorporate both light and dark magic. It seems like a contradiction, the idea of mixing both, but she can almost hear Severus' deep voice murmuring in her ear, muttering that he'd told her so - that the two can live in harmony.
Without one, there isn't the other.
She glances at the door again, as if expecting to see him there - and then she shakes her head and focuses back on the page before her. I wonder if Sev's read this, she thinks - and then the thought strikes her, and she closes the book and peers at the top edge.
There's several neatly folded corners. He has! She greedily flicks to each saved page, wondering what has piqued her husband's curiosity - gasping in surprise when she spies thin red ink lines highlighting some of the passages. She lifts the page to her face, almost touching her nose, trying to gauge whether it seems like Severus' handiwork - but without catching him in the act, she can't be certain.
It could be Lucius. It could be any of the Malfoy ancestors, or the Black ancestors. Or they could've lent this book to more than just Severus - it could've been any of Lucius' friends, or Cissy's friends.
She reads quickly, trying to memorise the sentences, trying to work out why - if Severus was the culprit - he would choose to highlight such passages. She flicks to the next page, and this time, she knows that Severus is the person responsible because in the margins, there's the unmistakable scratch of Severus' own hand.
Lily peers at his writing, trying to decipher the tiny cramped letters, but it's impossible to read - either deliberately illegibly scrawled so that nobody can borrow his ideas, or written in some form of code. She's reluctant to move on without working out his thoughts, but she glances at the clock, aware that he could come down and interrupt at any point, and she knows it will bother her if she doesn't have opportunity to check each of the pages with their bent over corners.
She hastily flicks from page to page, and her mouth falls open when she reaches a series of sigils, heavily drawn in thick lines of ink. There's a number above each, and then next to them, there's words in the same ink as before.
Lily fights the urge to slam the book shut. The professors at Hogwarts had been emphatic in their dismissal of sigils, warning again and again about their dangerous nature - not just in Defence Against the Dark Arts, but in History of Magic and, to Lily's surprise, in Flitwick's NEWT Charms class.
She knows that nothing good can come from these pages, yet, she fully understands why Severus would be so tempted - so drawn to the symbols full of promise. There's a thin asterisk next to three, and this time, she can just about make out the words he's scribbled next to them - power, love, restoration.
Lily's mind is racing, and she flips the page over, matching the numbered symbols to each paragraph and her heart starts to pound in her chest. Power? Is this about the Fidelius? Or… Restoration. Does that mean my magic?
She almost daren't contemplate such a prospect, and she traces each sentence with her finger, reading keenly. Despite this, she can't follow Severus' line of thinking, can't see how such a thing is possible, and glumly, she sits back on her heels and concedes that she's made a wild assumption.
Or he's working off references in another book, she thinks, because his comments don't match what Viridian says here. Lily can't help but become excited again, and she flips back to the start of the chapter, a page or two before the folded corner, intent on checking if there's anything to contextualise the passages after the sigils, desperate to find a clue which might give her hope that her clever husband has found a way to make her whole once more.
Beneath the chapter title, in black and white, with a thick red link scribbled repeatedly beneath it - as if the author was intending to break through one page and onto the next - is the stark warning: These sigils are only for use by those whose souls have already been irreparably broken.
Chapter 131: Evils of that book
Chapter Text
The floorboards creak loudly as Severus gets out of bed, and she hastily reshelves the book on the bookcase in the hallway before dashing back into the living room.
His footsteps on the stairs are quick, and although he looks dishevelled when he bursts through the door, he seems less tired. He grabs his crumpled t-shirt, pulling it over his head. "Sorry."
"What for?"
"Being so long," he says, looking at the clock. "I only meant to sleep for an hour." He indicates towards River. "How's he been?"
"Out like a light. All that screaming must've tired him out."
"Him and me both," Severus laughs, running a hand through his hair. "What about you, what've you been up to?"
"Just thinking," she says, quickly.
He arches an eyebrow. "Just thinking?"
"Yeah," she replies, and then before he can question her further, she stands. "I'm getting hungry, I'll put some tea on."
"I'll do it," Severus says, indicating that she should sit down. He moves towards the kitchen, and she hears him opening the fridge, and then the cupboards, and then the fridge again.
A moment later, he reappears in the doorway. "We're out of vegetables," he says, looking irritated. "I knew I was going shopping for a reason."
"Have we got any bread?"
"Couple of crusts."
"Egg on toast will do."
He gives her a searching look. "You're feeding Riv," he says, "egg on toast is not enough to keep your strength up."
"It's one meal," she says, reassuringly.
"It's two," he mutters, "lunch was hardly filling either." He moves across the room and grabs his wallet, peering inside. "I could nip to the shop."
"It's late."
"It's open 'til 10."
"And River? He's fast asleep," she warns, "and I know you don't want to leave us here, not now you've seen Mulciber in Cokeworth."
He swallows tightly, looking back and forth between his wife and their child.
Lily leans over and looks at the money in his hand. "You've barely got enough for a bag of potatoes and a handful of carrots," she says, eyeing him critically. "Wait until tomorrow. We'll go into town, nip to the bank and take some cash out, and then we can do a proper shop - one that'll last a week or more." She looks at him, taking in his uncertain expression. "Sev, it's one night. Egg on toast is fine."
"First thing tomorrow."
"First thing tomorrow," she agrees, and when she sees the hesitation on his face, she can't help but add, "and you never know, maybe Lucius will have deposited that money."
"Yeah, you're right, love." He gives her a small smile. "Voice of reason, as always."
Narcissa descends gracefully down the grand staircase, her expression inscrutable as she takes in the sight of Regulus, patiently waiting in the hallway, staring avidly at one of the Malfoy portraits.
"Regulus, what a surprise," she says, greeting him as she moves down the final steps, "I apologise for your wait."
"Cissy." He turns to her and smiles, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. "It's been too long."
"Lucius is away on business. I have no idea why the elves made you wait when they know-"
"-it was your company I was seeking," Regulus says, smoothly, his eyes darting back to the painting. "Is this a Koller?"
Narcissa moves to stand next to him, furtively glancing across the painting to see if she can spot a signature. "It is. You have a good eye."
"He preferred painting landscapes, of course," Regulus muses, peering more closely, "you can see that in the detail of the tree through the window."
Narcissa copies her cousin and looks more closely at the painting. "I had not noticed."
"Mother threw out ours," he says, stepping back, "crying shame. Magnificent, it was - the lighting on the river was something to behold." He shoots her a smile. "I often did. Stood there for hours in the attic, staring at the gentle curve of the water."
"I had no idea you were such an aficionado. I had heard of your new line of work-"
"-it's not work-"
"-upon the family grapevine," she continues, "but I didn't realise that it was a calling."
"We all need a hobby," Regulus deflects, "although I dare say this is far more unique than anything we once owned - a Koller portrait. It'd command some at auction."
"I do not believe Lucius intends to sell," she says, with a smile, "and I hope you do not intend to lean on our family connection in hope of me talking him around."
Regulus takes a step back and smiles broadly. "Of course not. I would not be so crass."
"So if you did not call around to see Lucius, and you did not call around to acquire the paintings from our walls, then how may I assist you, Regulus?"
"Cissy," Regulus says, looping his arm through hers, "so formal. Call me Reg." He glances at the array of paintings, all of them watching the two keenly. "Somewhere a little less crowded, perhaps?"
Lily laughs as Severus struggles through the door with two overloaded plates, and puts her hands across her mouth.
"What's so funny?"
"Sev!"
"What?" He sits down next to her and passes her a plate, and a knife and fork, and starts shovelling food into his mouth.
"How many eggs did you scramble?" she asks, prodding the mass of yellow on her plate. At his silence, she stares at his plate. "There must be eight here, if not more."
He chews slowly, his eyes darting over her face. "...I used them all."
"A dozen! Sev!" She stares in horror at the plate.
"No, we had one each for breakfast, remember?"
"That's still ten," she says, starting to eat. "Five each. Five eggs! No wonder we've got no food."
"Five eggs to make up for one lousy slice of bread," he points out, tapping his knife against his plate. "I've told you, you've got to keep your strength up."
"I'll be the size of a house if I keep eating like this." She looks down at herself. "I thought I'd soon lose this baby weight."
He doesn't respond to her comment but simply frowns - and as he clears his plate, and she pushes her food around in the circle, his frown grows deeper. Eventually, he taps her plate with his fork. "Eat up, love. I'll cook smaller portions if that's what you want, but don't let it go to waste."
After their meal, Severus lies back on the bed as he watches Lily feeding River, and then he picks up Viridian's book. She can't help but move her attention to him, watching as he flicks through the pages.
"What?"
"I didn't say anything," she says, turning away from him as she adjusts her top and settles River on her shoulder to wind him.
"You didn't have to," Severus says, reluctantly putting the book on the floor.
"You said you weren't going to read the rest of those chapters." She shoots him an anxious look. "That stuff about souls," she says, "it's dark."
"I've read worse."
She gives him a firm stare. "That isn't the reassuring statement you think it is, Severus." She pauses, her eyes raking over him. "Worse in what way?"
"Montague's Methodologies," he says, after a moment, "that was pretty graphic."
"That book on torture? Sev! Professor Thornsbirch gave an entire lecture on the evils of that book!"
"Because he knew it was being passed around the Slytherin common room," Severus says, dismissively, "not because it was anything special."
"Passed around the..? Did Sluggy not take any interest in what your lot were up to?"
"He didn't take any interest past his few favoured families and his oh-so-precious club - of which you were a member, let me remind you," Severus mutters.
"It wasn't just me! Just because you turned him down-"
"-I didn't turn him down," he interrupts. "I wasn't invited."
She frowns. "When I showed you my letter, you said you got one too! You said it was full of stuck-ups and suck-ups and you couldn't see why anyone would want to attend, let alone-"
"-yeah, well, I was an accomplished liar at the tender age of fourteen."
"He didn't invite you? But you were great at Potions! Better than me! And your Pureblood heritage-"
"-that was the problem." He glances at Lily. "I didn't know at the time, but it turns out that he had a run-in with my mother when he taught her." He shrugs tightly. "Untended wounds rarely close neatly."
She knows him well enough not to press the topic, so she lightly steers the conversation away. "Have you read any of his other books?"
"Who? Montague?"
"Viridian."
He looks uncomfortable. "One, maybe. Or two."
"It was pretty dark, Sev, you've got to admit that - all that about breaking your soul and rebuilding it. ...how was Montague worse?"
He picks at his thumbnail for a long time, and then he peers over the top of his hand at her. "Montague inflicted damage on others. Viridian's methods are all about the self."
"Do you even think Viridian performed half of what he talks about?"
"Montague did," he says, simply. "Nobody questions him."
"They did question him," she says, firmly. "They locked him in Azkaban."
Severus shrugs. "You prove my point. He deserved it. That's the difference between him and Viridian - you can't go dragging other people into your experiments."
"But what if Viridian didn't do any of those things he wrote about? What if he was just pontificating? Or what if he was trying to coax others into breaking their souls?"
"To what end, Lil?" He sits up, a small smile on his face. "No, I think he was onto something interesting. You've got to ask yourself - why else would the Ministry move heaven and earth to discredit him?"
Regulus bides his time, sipping on Lucius' firewhisky - not best firewhisky, he would wager, but an adequate dram nonetheless. He enquires after Draco - asleep, and Abraxas - asleep, and Lucius - out. Narcissa's answers are short but not rude, and whilst she isn't friendly, she isn't snatching his glass from his hand and bustling him out of the door.
Regulus watches her as she sits before the fire, sipping her own drink - lemonade instead of wine - and after ignoring him for a long minute or more, her eyes suddenly connect with his.
"How is your mother?" she asks. "I haven't seen her since the funeral. It must've been a terrible ordeal for her."
He nods. "She's not been the same since." He turns his glass around in his hands. "Father was her rock."
"They had a strong marriage."
Regulus nods again. "I think… That day…" He falters, and stands, and moves over to the grand piano on the far side of the room. With one hand still clutching his glass, he lifts the fallboard and runs his fingers across the keys.
"She thought your father's death would prompt Sirius to return to the fold," Narcissa guesses.
Abruptly, Regulus lowers the fallboard, but his movement is a little too quick and it slams against the wood. He looks over at Narcissa. "Sorry."
She waves her hand, dismissing his apology as unnecessary.
"He didn't care," Regulus says, still standing behind the piano. "Mother says she doesn't either, but she does."
"I know."
"She says it's the price her and Father paid for the perfect marriage," he says, slowly moving back across the room, "a deal with demons or goblins or vampires." He gives Narcissa a strained smile. "Or whichever creature is the current moral panic of the Prophet."
Narcissa returns his strained smile. "I see."
"Yes," Regulus says, sharply, "you would."
She tempers her reaction well, although Regulus knows Narcissa of old, and knows that beneath her cool facade, she is fighting to keep calm.
"And what exactly do you mean by that?"
"Trouble in paradise, Cissy?" He takes the bracelet and the necklace out of his robes pocket and holds them aloft. "Perfect marriage not quite so perfect?"
When Lily is certain that River is fast asleep, she moves into the kitchen and picks up the teatowel.
"You don't need to do that, love."
"I want to," she says, making quick work of drying the plates and putting them back into the cupboard. They stand in companionable silence, washing and drying, and when they finish, she moves to head back into the living room, but Severus reaches for her hand.
He pulls her towards him, wrapping his arms around her, nestling his nose in her hair. "Thanks."
"I can do a few dishes. I'm not an invalid, Sev."
"And I didn't mean to overface you," he says, holding her close. "I added more eggs to compensate for the lack of bread."
"I know," she murmurs into his chest. "Eating it isn't the problem. Stopping eating is the problem." She pulls her arm free of him and presses her finger into her side. "This is the problem."
"Are you fucking serious?" he says, standing back from her, his hands dropping down to her hips. "Lil, you are gorgeous."
She drops her head, not looking at him.
"Right," he says, and he lifts her up.
"Sev!" she squeals, and then she clamps her hand over her mouth, looking through the doorway towards where River is sleeping.
"He's fine," Severus says, with barely a glance over his shoulder, "stop trying to distract me." He settles her on the worktop, and then stands between her legs, looping his arms around her neck. "Now, where were we?"
"I have no idea."
"Oh yes," he says, leaning forward, and capturing her lips with his. When she kisses him back, he parts his lips and pushes his tongue against hers, his kiss increasingly insistent and full of promise.
"Sev," she murmurs, pulling her mouth away from his, and he responds by pressing open mouthed kisses across her cheek and her neck and back up again. She leans her head back, the sensation of his lips and teeth and tongue, kissing and nibbling and sucking is almost too much, and she lets out a groan. "Sev, stop."
"Stop?" he murmurs, his breath warm in her ear.
"I can't," she whispers, "we can't."
He pulls back, a knowing smirk on his face. "I thought you were going to say my stubble was scratchy," he laughs, running his hand across his jaw.
"Well, that too," she says, reaching out with her fingertips to fondle his cheek.
"I can shave," he says, quickly, and then he reaches forward again, lips meeting hers, his fingers raking through her hair, deepening their kiss.
After a moment, she pulls away. "Let me out," she says, tapping his chest.
He seems astonished and hurt in equal measure, but almost as quickly, he schools his expression.
"I need the loo," she explains, pushing herself off the worktop.
"I know they're yours," Regulus continues, holding them aloft. "Rather, were yours," he says, correcting himself with a smile. "They're mine now."
Narcissa tilts her chin upwards. "Your own inheritance is so inadequate, you have to scrabble in the dirt for another's castoffs?"
Regulus gives her a thin smile. "Nice try." He takes a step closer, the gemstones sparkling in the light from the fire. "You didn't intend to sell these, did you?"
She doesn't answer, and he takes another step closer.
"I know you put the Malfoy jewels on the table," he continues, his voice low.
"I doubt you would dare make such a claim if my husband were home."
Regulus pauses, the jewellery held aloft. "Would you prefer it if I waited until he returned? You can't intimidate me, Cissy. I know what you tried to sell, and I know why Borgin refused." He looks at the necklace and the bracelet. "Do you know, Cissy? These are fine examples, but you were third in line, were you not?"
"...Bellatrix is the firstborn and the primary recipient of the inheritance."
"And we do not speak of Andromeda, do we, Cissy?" He pauses, knowing that his words have stung. "Yet you drape yourself in the Malfoy finery, and it is refused in favour of the Black jewels. Third class Black jewels. Poor Lucius - for all of his pomposity, even a pawn shop in Knockturn-"
"-I can see that Mr Borgin is not the height of discretion."
Regulus flicks his wrist, catching the jewellery in his fist. "Did he tell you why?"
"The Black heirlooms would be easier to sell on."
Regulus gives a sharp smile. "He wasn't wrong." There's a brief pause. "But it's not the only reason. Your husband won't miss these," he says, brandishing his fist in the air, "but the Malfoy jewellery would leave a hole on your dressing table." Regulus leans down, his voice barely more than a whisper. "No matter how angry you are at him, Cissy, Borgin doesn't want to be in the middle of a lover's tiff."
She opens her mouth to argue, but Regulus holds up his finger.
"No, no, we both know - and Borgin knows! - that as soon as he spotted their absence, Lucius would descend upon their shop and demand their safe return, payment not forthcoming." Regulus straightens. "Mr Borgin felt that you would fall in line behind your darling husband, the ever dutiful wife that you are. So he requested the Black jewellery instead, for Lucius Malfoy would have no interest in its rescue."
"It is true that there is only one Malfoy heir," she says, evenly, "a buyer from the House of Black is far easier to find. As you yourself have proven."
"Not me." Regulus gives a short laugh. "I had no idea that my brother was such a devotee to Cadmus Smith. My brother, the eternal sceptic-"
"-you're in touch with Sirius? He gave you these?"
"Not 'in touch', no. I prefer to think of it as 'in competition'," Regulus says, with a dark smile. He reaches for Narcissa's wrist and twists her hand upwards, and then places the jewellery into it, forcing her fingers closed around them. "I purchased them. I trust you will not let them out of your sight again."
"I did not require your assistance, Regulus."
"Who said I did it for you?" Regulus enquires, his tone mild. "Sirius left our family. He can't simply buy his way back into our legacy. I will thank you not to make it easy for him."
"Oh, such is brotherly love-"
"-if the family rumour mill is accurate, you're a fine one to talk about siblings."
Narcissa gives a sharp laugh. "Indeed. Indeed, I am." She appraises him, her eyes narrowed. "I have no intention of paying you for these."
"I understand. Cissy, your primary motivation for selling has not passed me by. Since Father passed, similar bills have started to reach my desk. I can imagine what it must be like for Lucius with the upkeep of the Manor, a new baby, his existing commitments, the loss of his brewer…" He pauses, glancing around him, taking in the grand room. "And now, with the Dark Lord's latest request. It must be a trying time."
Narcissa glances away. "Lucius has influence."
"I half thought it would be my responsibility, given our past association."
Narcissa gives him a startled look. "Your past association? I was not aware you were so acquainted with Cornelius Fudge."
Regulus frowns. "What does Fudge have to do with Ros' funeral?"
"Evan Rosier's funeral?"
"You don't know?" Regulus looks astonished. "The Dark Lord has requested that Lucius host," and then he stares into her eyes, "and pay for all costs." He lets out a deep breath. "I thought… I thought that was why you were selling heirlooms."
Narcissa gives a sharp shake of her head. "We are not so near the gutter, Regulus."
"Why then?"
"Just a dress Lucius and I disagreed upon," she says, breezily, standing. "I desired it, and he refused to purchase it. At the time, selling his ancestors' jewellery felt a fitting punishment." She stares directly into his eyes. "I see now that my rash actions have opened us up to unwanted and scurrilous speculation, and I assure you that both my husband and I thank you for your future discretion."
Regulus takes a step back from her, not quite able to read the look in her eyes - and although he's fairly certain she's lying about the reason for selling, there's a hint of steel in her voice, and the whisper in the back of his mind about how she tricked Bellatrix won't abate. He opens his mouth to quiz her further, but suddenly, the doors billow open and a diminutive house elf stands before them.
"Draco has awoken," she says, brusquely, before the elf can speak. "Thank you for your visit this evening, Regulus. I only commented to Lucius last week that it was disappointing that you had been excluded from our usual social events - how long has it been since we last met?" She lets the question hang in the air for a brief moment. "Weeks? No, months, I think. The Dark Lord has been keeping you in splendid isolation." She smiles. "Perhaps Lucius will be in attendance when you next deign to visit. Now, do excuse me. Dobby - please escort cousin Regulus from the premises."
"I'll lock up and get showered," Severus says, when she returns to the living room.
Lily settles next to River, watching as Severus shaves and showers - and although his face falls when she declines his offer of a shared shower, he seems to recover his good mood when he dries off and she starts to undress.
He settles back on the bed, a broad smile on his face.
"Sev, come on, you're not really going to watch me shower, are you?" she asks, her forearm forlornly trying to cover her midriff, as he pulls on his underwear.
"It's in the centre of the living room, it's a bit hard to miss, love," he says, with a cheeky grin, placing his hands behind his head. "Besides, you just watched me!"
"As you said, it's a bit hard to miss," she says, stiffly.
A strange look flits across his face. "You don't want me to watch?"
"I thought you had books you wanted to read."
He doesn't answer, but he obediently retreats into the hallway, and by the time he returns with a book, she's already in the shower. Each time she glances at him, his head is down, entirely focused on the pages. She makes quick work of showering, and as she's drying off, Severus silently gets up and clears the water from the tin bath.
She pulls her nightdress on and checks on River - who is still fast asleep - before heading into the kitchen, expecting to see Severus still in there. Instead, when she steps onto the cool tile, she spies him standing in the yard, still undressed, cigarette in one hand, the other tangled tightly - painfully - in his hair.
"Fuck! Not again," he exclaims, and to her horror, she watches as he collapses onto his knees. She braces herself against the sink, lifting herself up onto her arms, peering out of the window at him.
It makes her heart twist, seeing him bent double once more, cigarette forgotten and smouldering on the floor. She waits, her heart in her mouth - and then, eventually, he kneels up, his head tilted backwards and she jumps back from the sink, hoping that he hasn't seen her. She waits for a moment, watching as he gets to his feet - and once she's satisfied that he's no longer in pain, she moves back into the living room, certain that he wouldn't have wanted her to witness the scene.
He returns inside, and she hears him adding charms to the lock. When he walks back into the living room, to her surprise, Severus doesn't return to their bed - instead, he stands at the edge of it, looking at her with a frown.
She glances up at him, trying to ignore the red fingernail marks on his bare chest where he's scraped his skin whilst trying to rid his chest of the pain and the fresh grit stuck to his left knee. "Not coming to bed?"
"Is there any point?"
"Because you slept half of the day away?" she asks, lightly - and it's then that she notices his stiff posture, his tense shoulders, his arms positioned awkwardly, as if they're glued to his sides. "Sev? What is it?"
His hand ghosts over his chest, and she's certain that the movement is subconscious, because as soon as he sees her staring at it, he pulls his hand away, as if his fingers have been burnt.
"Sev, is that pain in your chest back? I think you should go to the doctors-"
"-been spying on me?" he asks, his eyes narrowed.
"Your chest is red raw!" she exclaims, and then she glances back at River, worried that her sudden shout will have woken him - but he doesn't stir.
"Oh, so it's ok for you to look at me, but it's not ok for me to look at you-"
"-that isn't why-"
"-why do you keep pushing me away?"
Lily genuinely looks surprised at his words, and even more surprised at the look of hurt that crosses his face. "I haven't been, I didn't think I had-"
"-you pull on that nightdress," he continues, that pained look still across his face, "as if it's the Berlin wall between us. You won't let me hold you in bed - not like we used to, you daren't let my bare skin touch yours, and now you don't even want me to see you naked in the shower. And what about earlier? We were kissing and then it was as if you suddenly came to your senses and wanted to stop. It's as if you're repulsed by me!"
"Sev," she says, taken aback by his sudden emotional outburst, "I love you, of course I'm not repulsed by you."
"No?" he asks, his tone bitter.
"No," she says, holding her hand out - and although he takes it and permits her to pull him under the covers with her, his movements are tentative.
"I'm doing my best," he says, darkly, "but if it isn't enough, if you've changed your mind about this, about us-"
"-it's not that. ...we can't, Sev, that's all."
He shoots her an incredulous look. "You keep saying that, and what? You think I'm after sex?" He gives a short laugh. "I know we can't have sex, love, for Merlin's sake, you've just had our baby."
Her eyes close briefly. "I didn't think you'd realised."
"I'm your husband, not some ogre. I'm not like Malf, Lil! I'm nothing like him." He lowers his voice. "I miss my wife."
"I didn't want to lead you on and then have to push you away. I didn't want you to think I was rejecting you, I wasn't even sure," she starts, and then she trails off.
"You weren't sure what?" he asks, turning to look at her, but she keeps facing away from him. He reaches out, his hand running gently across the back of her head, trailing his fingers through her hair. "Weren't sure what?"
"If you'd still want me like this anyway," she whispers.
"Fucking hell," he murmurs, turning her and wrapping her tightly in his arms.
"I don't look like I used to, that's what the nightdress is about, what the shower's about," she carries on, the words coming thick and fast, "and I haven't got any magic. I'm not the witch you fell in love with, not the witch you married-"
"-you're still you, Lily Snape," he says. "I fell in love with you. It doesn't matter to me, none of this matters to me." He presses kisses to the side of her face, still holding her tightly. "Fucking hell, love, I thought you didn't want me. I thought you couldn't bear to be with me, with what I did-"
"-it wasn't your fault," Lily interrupts, "I've told you a million times, I don't blame you."
This time, he doesn't answer, and just holds her against him, his arms wrapped firmly around her.
Lucius stalks around the dining room, loosening his cravat and unbuttoning his cuffs. He folds the material of his sleeves back, rolling them up to his elbows, and then undoes the top two buttons of his shirt.
"You have a dressing room for this, darling," Narcissa says, coolly. "I am trying to eat."
"Two hours I had to wait to see him."
"Who?"
"Cornelius Fudge, who else?" Lucius snaps. "It's far too hot in those offices."
Narcissa picks up her wine glass and takes a sip. "I see. Your meeting went well, I assume?"
Lucius roughly pulls out a chair and snaps his fingers, calling one of the house elves to his feet. "Bring me the same as Cissy," he demands, "and a hefty slug of firewhisky."
A moment later, the elf returns with his requests, bowing as low as possible before disappearing with a loud crack.
"He says it's not his jurisdiction."
"The Wizengamot are the ones with the power?"
"The very same," Lucius says, stabbing roasted parsnips mercilessly with his fork, "and with Dumbledore and his cronies-"
"-it's not impossible. Especially if Fudge makes a recommendation."
"He won't."
"Have you asked?"
Lucius gives her a hate-filled look. "There is a conflict of interest," he says, slowly.
"Between Fudge and the Wizengamot?"
"Between myself and this case," Lucius continues. "The murder was here, on my grounds! I was held for questioning, as was my father and my wife!"
"I see."
"Any pressure from me would be read as… Interference."
"And you are the only person with sufficient influence?" Narcissa asks, mildly. "No one else could raise this with Fudge, for him to pressure the Wizengamot?"
"The Dark Lord was emphatic that I should resolve this."
"Then the Dark Lord is ridiculous," Narcissa says, placing her knife and fork together on her empty plate, and dabbing her face lightly with her napkin.
"I look forward to you telling him so," Lucius mutters, darkly, violently stabbing an asparagus spear.
"Yaxley could do it."
"The Dark Lord has not asked Yaxley."
"No," Narcissa says, calmly, "the Dark Lord has asked you. But the Dark Lord has not yet forbidden you from delegating the task at hand, has he?"
Lucius pauses, his fork in the air. "...no."
"Then recruit Yaxley, he's deep in with the Ministry-"
"-wrong department, it would be suspicious-"
"-or someone else, Lucius, do I have to do everything for you?" She slats her napkin down on her plate. "Honestly, this isn't difficult."
"If it's not so difficult, who then? Are you suggesting I Imperio someone?"
"Imperio isn't always the answer, Lucius," she snaps. "It doesn't have to be someone inside the Ministry - just someone with enough standing to approach the Minister themselves. Someone clean, a relative unknown."
"That's not a bad idea," Lucius says, sitting back. "What about one of the Flints?"
"Whatever you think."
"Or I wonder if I could lean on one of the Abbotts."
Narcissa gives him a sceptical look. "Good friends of yours, are they, the Abbotts? Or were you intending to use Imperio again?"
"Fine," Lucius says, rolling his eyes. "Imperio is a bad idea, I am hearing you loud and clear."
"I'm glad to hear it," Narcissa says, offering him a sweet smile, "because speaking of bad ideas, I wanted to ask you - given the circumstances, why on earth would you agree to us hosting Evan Rosier's funeral?"
They lie together in the darkness, bare skin against bare skin, and she's certain from the way his breathing is uneven that he's not asleep.
"Sev?"
He gives a low chuckle. "I thought you were asleep."
"Not a chance," she says. "Riv is, which means he'll be waking us up just as we drop off."
He gives another low laugh.
"Sev?"
"What?"
"Promise me that you won't try anything in that book?"
"Viridian's book?"
"Yeah."
He shuffles her in his arms so he can look at her. "Even the Fidelius?"
She glances down. "Mummy and Daddy were talking about seeing Tuney," she says, quietly. "I think if they went to Surrey, that's probably safer than them staying in Cokeworth."
He doesn't answer, and she reaches for his hand, squeezing his fingers.
"It's not that I don't trust you," she says, quickly, "you're such a talented wizard, Sev-"
"-I don't feel it-"
"-you are." She swallows hard. "But it's just not worth the risk - if that's what it takes to keep them safe…"
"We can speak to them," he says, quietly. "Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow."
There's a long silence, and he cuddles her close, his eyes closed. He can feel himself falling, drifting into sleep and then-
"Sev?"
"Mmm?"
"Did you mean it?"
He fights to open his eyes. "What?" he says, sleepily.
"When you said it didn't matter. About my magic."
Severus stifles a yawn and pushes her hair behind her ear so he can look into her eyes. "I told you before and I've told you again tonight, I love you, Lil."
"But my magic was part of me, part of what you fell in love with."
She can feel him taking a deep breath, his black eyes unreadable.
"Does it matter to you?" he asks.
"Does it matter that I lost my magic, or would it matter if you lost yours?"
He shrugs. "Either."
"...I miss it." She trails her left hand down her wand arm. "Some days it burns, some days it's numb."
"And if I could bring it back?"
She knows that this is the moment, the glint in his eyes a desperate desire to succumb to temptation, and she places her hand on his chest.
"Viridian again?" she says, mildly. She laughs - a casual, dismissive laugh, the exact opposite of the desperation she feels, the opposite of how the magic inside of her is screaming to be released. "If it means experimenting with broken souls, then the cost is too high." And then she nestles her face into his chest, determined not to look at him. "Besides, your mother said it was impossible. If you can live with me like this, then…"
"Then?"
"Then I can live with me like this as well," she murmurs, wrapping her arms around his waist. "As long as you still want me. That's all that matters to me - you and River."
He doesn't answer, but he cuddles her close, and they fall into another long silence, her face pressed against his chest. This time, he can't imagine falling asleep, part of him ecstatic to have his naked wife back in his arms, whilst part of his mind churns over and over and over.
"What if the cost isn't too high, Lil?" he asks, eventually, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I know what you're going to say," he continues, before she can answer, "that my soul is precious but… It's too late. Something has already happened to my magic. I've let you down, I've let you both down, you and River," he gasps, "and I think I broke something. I think that's where this pain keeps coming from, I think, I think I've done something unforgivable. I've think I've already done it, Lil - broken my soul beyond repair."
To his horror, she doesn't answer, and when he finally dares twist his neck so he can look at her, he realises that she's fast asleep against his chest, her auburn hair streaming out and covering the fresh red scratch marks across his pale chest.
Chapter 132: Trapped in here
Chapter Text
It happens so quickly, Avery's head is almost spinning; one minute, he's lying in a cell and the next, he's sat staring at a rather smug looking Yaxley.
At first, when he'd been hoisted from his cell, wrists locked painfully behind him, he'd fretted that he was being fast tracked. The rational part of his brain knew that it was nonsensical - impossible - given that he'd spent so long locked up, but he couldn't help the gnawing fear growing in his stomach that his fate was to be the same as his friend Severus'.
That was, until he was hauled into a room and his cuffs were removed. He barely has time to recover from the shock - barely even has time to rub at his wrists - before another wizard appears at his side.
"I'll take it from here, Bickerstaff."
"Sir," Bickerstaff says, retreating from the room with a nod.
"Yaxley," Yaxley says, holding his hand out for Avery to shake.
"Avery."
"Oh, I know. You have friends in high places, Avery," Yaxley says, pushing the door open. "Walk with me."
"I do?" Avery says, raising his eyebrows as he follows Yaxley out of the Ministry and out into the street. He can't help but sigh in delight at the feel of sunlight on his face, and he takes several deep inhalations of fresh air.
Yaxley gives him an amused look. "You do indeed. The Minister himself intervened in your case."
"Fudge stood up for me?"
"I can list on one hand how many people can count on the Minister for their assistance," Yaxley continues, a faint smile on his lips. "You're honoured."
"Friends in high places." Avery stands a little straighter. "Well, yes, the Minister did send me a bottle of firewhisky when I took up my current role in Magical-"
"-he does that for all the new starters," Yaxley interrupts, dismissively.
Avery shifts from foot to foot, clearly discomfited by Yaxley's abrupt slight. "But he helped me?"
"You know what they were holding you on, don't you?"
"Evidence from my wand. A modified Prior Incantato."
"Inadmissible evidence from your wand," Yaxley clarifies. "I dare say that none of us shall be so lucky next time." He presses a piece of parchment into Avery's hands. "You should say a silent prayer for Gawain Robards. My understanding is that Emmeline Vance is tearing a strip from him as we speak."
"Gawain Robards helped?"
"Unwittingly," Yaxley says, tapping the parchment. "After all, when Alastor Moody barks at you to jump, you jump. And sometimes, you forget to have your permission form signed in triplicate."
"A clerical error?" Avery holds the parchment in front of his face, peering at it intently. "And the Wizengamot accepted that?"
Yaxley smiles. "They pride themselves on being righteous and playing fair. It wasn't law when they arrested you, nor - thanks to Robards' oversight - was it law when they used it."
"I can't believe anyone spotted it."
"Neither could the aurors," Yaxley says, his grin far wider. "You have a very diligent, very powerful friend."
"A mutual friend?"
Yaxley gives a subtle shake of his head, as if warning him not to mention the Dark Lord's name. "Perhaps not the one you're thinking of. A little less powerful."
"Mulc?"
At this, Yaxley splutters. "Mulciber?" He lets out a low chuckle and shakes his head. "Try Malf."
"Malf? Lucius Malfoy did this? For me?"
"He did indeed." Yaxley grips Avery's shoulder. "And believe me, you should be very, very grateful that he's such a good friend of yours."
Lily's good mood is infectious, and Severus can't help but laugh when he sees her dancing along to the radio as she gathers their washing together.
"I said I would do that," he says, cradling River in one arm as he follows her into the kitchen. "Your mummy is so naughty, Riv."
"I thought you were busy reading to our son?"
"For some reason, the selected works of Cornelius Agrippa aren't holding his attention," Severus laughs, tapping River's tiny nose gently with his fingertip.
"Agrippa? Is that really suitable?"
"Well, it doesn't have any lift-the-flaps," Severus muses, a wide smile on his face, "but apart from that, I think he's really been enjoying the theories."
"Idiot," she laughs, shaking her head, before suddenly pausing. "Wait, you're not reading to him about the witch trials, are you?"
"No," Severus says, ducking back into the living room and then returning to the kitchen, holding a book aloft, "this is by Agrippa, not the grisly hunts he inadvertently started." He pauses. "Well, they weren't really his fault. The Muggles panicked."
"I had nightmares for weeks over those deaths," she says, picking through the pile of clothes on the floor. "I don't think Binns should've been teaching us that in the first year."
"If it makes you feel any better, half of Slytherin felt the same as you, love," Severus says, leaning against the doorframe.
"You included?"
"Obviously not me, I'm tough," he grins. "At least you had reason to be fearful, sleeping in a room next to Tuney. She'd be the first to put you on a bonfire and cheer as the flames-"
"-Severus!" She gives him a horrified look. "Really? In front of Riv?"
"Riv's fine! You're a tough boy like your daddy, aren't you, Riv?" he says, holding his son in the air and then pulling him back in for a hug. "Yes, you are!"
"I might start monitoring what you're reading to him," she says, as she stoops to separate the washing into lights and darks.
Severus laughs and lifts River in the air several times, and then he pauses, River held at arm's length from him. "Are those my jeans?"
"Yes."
"What are they doing down here? They don't need a wash."
"They're filthy."
"They're fine!"
"Sev, they're covered in dirt! Honestly, I don't know what you got up to in them-"
"-I was emptying those storage boxes," he says, defensively. "It's just a bit of dust."
She raises an eyebrow. "Then a wash will do them good."
"Lil-"
"-I don't interfere when you're cooking," she says, putting her hands on her hips, "go back into the living room and read Agrippa to your son."
"I thought we were going into town? To the bank? To your parents?"
"We are," she says, "but if I put a wash on first, your jeans can be drying on the line whilst we're out."
"Yes, love," he says, obediently, before leaving the room and muttering under his breath, "although if you didn't wash them, there'd be no need for them to dry, would there?"
"I heard that, Severus Snape!"
The sun's still shining brightly when Avery returns to his flat, and although he draws the curtains to let the light in, the disarray around him is depressing. He moves a carton, some leaflets, a magazine and a dirty shirt off the sofa and settles down, his mind still spinning.
Not Mulc. Malf.
"It's a good job I checked your pockets before I put the washer on," Lily says, walking through the living room with a handful of items, "else these would've definitely broken the motor. Do you want them?" she asks, holding them out.
"I've got my hands full," he says, glancing down at River in one arm and the book he's holding. "What've you got?"
"Loose change mostly. Some other bits of metal, Merlin knows what this is," she says, prodding one of the items in her hand, "and this looks like the top off a spanner." She gives him a dubious look. "That's without mentioning the broken quill and what looks like half a Marathon bar wrapper."
"Bin the wrapper and the quill," he says, "but stick the rest in my jacket and I'll look later. The change might come in handy."
"You could look now," she says, disapprovingly.
"I can't just stop reading unexpectedly," he says with a smile, turning his attention back to his book.
"Our boy's changed his mind on Agrippa, has he?"
"Absolutely," Severus grins, "River's fascinated by this bit."
"I'll give you River's fascinated by this bit," she laughs, throwing the rubbish into the bin and shoving the rest of the items into his inside jacket pocket and zipping it up, before bouncing onto the bed and cuddling up next to Severus. "What's our boy so fascinated by then, hey?" She looks at the page. "Pensieves?"
"Mmmm."
She leans back and stares at Severus critically. "What's River reading about pensieves for?"
Severus holds the book aloft. "We were going chronologically," he says, flicking through the pages, "that's all."
Lily seems satisfied by this answer and leans back on the bed. "Did you ever see it at Hogwarts? In Dumbledore's study?"
"Yeah."
"Really? Actually out and in use?"
"...yeah."
"You did?" She sits back up again. "I only saw it locked away. Did you get to use it?"
"I didn't, no."
"But it was out when you were in there? In the office?"
"He was using it," Severus says, quietly.
"And?"
"And what?"
"What does it look like?"
He shrugs stiffly. "I'm sure it's more impressive if you're actually using it. From the outside, it looks weird - as if you've fallen unconscious in a bird bath."
She stifles a laugh. "I can't believe he let you see him using it."
"...it was my memory he was looking at."
"Your memory?" Her face falls as she realises the likely cause. "Lupin?"
He nods and turns to a fresh chapter in the book. "We've learnt enough about pensieves and memories for today, haven't we, Riv?" he says, not looking at Lily. "How about something more important - something like understanding the implications of thickness of cauldron bottoms and how they impact your brew?"
Malf, not Mulc. Malf. Malf, not Mulc. Malf.
It's like a mantra playing in Avery's head, over and over - irritating and loud, like a five year old beating a tambourine just slightly out of time.
He showers and shaves and - towel wrapped around his waist - he spends a long minute standing in the kitchen with his fridge door open, scowling at the meagre contents, scowling at the blast of cool air on his still clammy skin.
Half a jar of out of date mustard, eight bottles of Butterbeer, and a can of sardines. What a life.
Avery slams the fridge door shut, and heads into the bedroom to finish dressing. Once he's wearing clean clothes, he feels better - stronger - and he heads out to the Alleys, ducks through the Leaky Cauldron, and out into Muggle London.
It's not weird, he reassures himself, I just don't want to talk to anyone. I don't want to be quizzed about court cases or Ros or Malf or anything else. I want to be anonymous.
He ignores the first two bars he finds, both filled to the brim with boisterous drinkers - it's midday, don't the Muggles work? - but he lucks out with the third. It's reasonably quiet, and he has no trouble getting a table in a dark corner.
I didn't want a window seat anyway.
He can't bring himself to attempt to flirt with the waitress, but he smiles gratefully when she takes his order and brings over his pint of beer.
Malf, not Mulc. Not Mulc, Malf. Malf, not Mulc.
It's intrusive, the way the thought rattles around his brain.
He'll want something. Payment. He gives a small scoff under his breath before sipping his drink. In blood, knowing Malf. He sits back as the waitress brings over his food, and again, he says little but simply smiles in gratitude as he places a napkin over his legs.
Why wasn't it Mulc? Yaxley didn't say that Mulc had recruited Malf - didn't even say that the Dark Lord had intervened. It was all Malf. Did Mulc not try to help me? Was he just pretending when he visited? Making false promises, because he knew I had no way of checking what he was doing?
He swallows, but he can feel his steak going down in lumps, sticking awkwardly in his throat.
And if he lied about helping, what else did he lie about? Did he even bother to check on Sev? Or was going to that house a lie too?
Avery cuts his steak angrily, his knife sawing loudly against the plate, blood seeping across his chips.
If Malf set me free, then he can't have been the one setting me up. And that means that I've been confiding in Mulc all this time, but he's…
He puts his knife and fork down, appetite lost.
I wish I could speak to Sev. He'd know what to do.
Lily steps into the living room, looking pleased. "I've hung the washing out - are you going to lock up so we can head into town?"
Severus points to River, who's fast asleep. "Don't think we're going anywhere for a bit, love."
"Bored him to sleep did you?"
"Hey," Severus laughs, throwing his book to one side and pulling her down onto the bed, enveloping her in a hug, "I'll have you know that cauldron bottom thickness is a scintillating topic."
"Is it really?"
"Engrossing," he says, dropping a light kiss on her lips, "in fact, I predict that his first words won't be mama or dada."
"No?"
"He'll definitely start off by reciting Agrippa's weights and measurements."
"The full list?"
"Naturally."
Lily suppresses a smile. "And would that be the 1508 version, or the 1517 revision?"
"1517 of course," Severus laughs, "he's not a heathen."
"I remember when you were memorising those," she says, resting her forehead against his. "I thought you were going to wear a hole in the floor of the flat, the way you used to pace around chanting numbers."
"Merlin, don't remind me-"
"-reciting the differences between the two versions-"
"-Borage was such a bastard," he says. "As if anyone needs to know the original measures. They were revised for a reason!"
"You were certain he wanted you to fail."
"I think he was gathering evidence for my supposed poor performance even then," he muses.
"Don't," she says, putting her hands on his cheeks and kissing him, "don't give him a second thought."
"Whatever you say, wife," he murmurs, kissing her in response. He slowly starts to lean backwards, guiding her with him, their kiss steadily deepening, and when Lily runs her fingers through his hair, he lets out a low moan.
She hesitates, her fingers stilling and she pulls back slightly. "Sev?"
"Don't stop," he murmurs, reaching to kiss her again, "don't stop." He turns her on the bed, lightly pinning her beneath him, his hands covering hers, their fingers interlocking - and when he sees her hair splayed out on the bed, he lets out another sigh of pleasure before resuming their heated kiss.
Avery stands on the driveway, staring at the house. It feels like a lifetime ago, when he last visited, with Mulciber and Rosier flanking him. He glances at the border, the plants doing their utmost to recover from where they were unceremoniously trampled into the flowerbed.
Despite the sunlight refracting off the windows, the house seems dark and grey, with its curtains firmly closed. He moves towards the gate, which is locked, and pulling on it only causes it to rattle loudly.
He glances around, as if terrified that such an action will alert the neighbours - but although he stands in the same spot for a minute or more, nobody comes out to enquire about the nature of his visit. In this new position, he notices a strange dark stain on the ground, and he moves back across the driveway, crouching down low to peer at it.
Was that here last time?
Lily loops her arm around Severus' waist, slipping her hand under his jacket and t-shirt until skin meets skin.
"All right, love?"
"It's a nice day."
"Yeah, it's a bit cold," he says, glancing up at the sky as he pushes the pram down the pavement, "but the sun's out."
"I meant us," she laughs, resting her head against his shoulder, "we're having a nice day."
At this, he twists his neck to press a kiss against her head. "You're still swooning over Miss Grant's reaction to River. I didn't think you were allowed to make a noise in libraries. Least, not that much noise."
"I'm sure River's still got bright pink lipstick on his ear."
"Like father, like son," Severus grumbles, swiping his hand across his cheek and through his hair.
"She was excited," Lily laughs, squeezing his waist, "and at least now you've got some proper books to read to him."
"What's wrong with Agrippa? Honestly, you read your son one little wizarding textbook-"
"-you know what I mean," she says. "And we got an answer from the bank."
"I don't want an answer. I want my bloody money."
"Our money."
"Our money," he agrees.
"At least she explained how long a transfer would take, which saves us from having to go back every other day." She lifts her free hand and counts out the days of the week. "And you've got to factor in that Lucius might not have dropped everything and made the transfer as soon as you agreed a price."
"I suppose."
"And we don't know what restrictions the goblins will put on it. It's all well and good saying that the Muggles take ten working days, but what about the goblins?"
"They're not usually difficult about exchanges," Severus says, "not when I've had to do it."
"Not when it's a large amount?"
"...I suppose," he concedes again.
"Right," she says, as they reach the supermarket, "I've got the list. Do you want to push the trolley and I'll push River?"
Avery tentatively reaches out and touches the dark stain on the ground - dry. He stares at the mark - once a pool of black ink, he thinks. He stays there for a moment or two, staring intently at it, but no matter how much he looks, he can't recall whether the stain was there on his last visit.
It's not a sign that Sev has been back here. Even Muggles have black ink. It means nothing.
He reluctantly straightens and with a last look over his shoulder, he heads towards the tall gate and hoists himself over, and lets out a strangled huff of exertion as he lands, his knees deeply bent.
Not really built for scrambling over gates, he thinks, as he dusts his palms off. He strides around the garden, peering in at the kitchen window and the dining room window, but it's as deserted as Mulciber had told him.
Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he did come out here after all.
Avery lets out a deep sigh.
Or maybe this is just bad timing. Maybe he's gone out for a walk.
He takes his jacket off and throws it on the lawn, and settles back down on it, legs crossed, eyes trained on the house.
"Don't they call it baby brain when new parents make bad decisions, Mummy?" Lily laughs, as Severus and David return with the last of the shopping, hauling both it and the base of the pram upstairs.
"I'm not sure it covers you, Severus and your father," Rose says, with a smile.
"We really should've come here first, or gone home with the shopping first, Sev," Lily says, as he puts the shopping in the corner of the room.
"You didn't need to drag the base of the pram upstairs, David," Rose admonishes, "it would've been safe downstairs."
"The amount we paid for it," David says, straightening his back, "I'm not leaving it out in a communal hallway."
"Yeah, he's right - that's asking for it to be stolen," Severus chips in, moving to stand by the window.
"Sit down, Severus," Rose says, indicating towards the bed, "don't stand on parade."
"I'm fine here," he says, peering through the net curtain at the railway station, "I like looking at the trains."
"Well take your coat off at least," Rose pushes. "It looks like you're not staying."
He obediently takes off his jacket and tosses it over the chair to the dressing table, and then turns his attention back to the window.
Rose and David exchange a look, and David gives a slight shrug. "How's the boy doing, Lils?" David asks.
"Yes," Rose says, turning her attention back to River, "how is my favourite grandson?"
"He's been an absolute angel today," Lily says, passing him to her mother, "although watch out for pink lipstick when you cuddle him."
"Pink lipstick?"
"Attacked in the library," Severus says, without turning around. "We all were."
"Oh, Edie Grant," Rose smiles, knowingly. "She's ever so fond of you two."
"Doesn't Severus know it," Lily teases, "I think he's still covered in the stuff as well."
"In fact," Severus says, stepping back from the window, "mind if I use the loo?"
David leads him out of the room and down the hallway to a shared bathroom, before returning to his room.
"I think he's scrubbing his face off in there," David says, re-entering the room with a smile. "You're both looking well, lipstick attacks aside."
"It's been nice having him home, just the three of us together," Lily says, with a contented smile.
"You've been keeping yourselves busy?"
"Just with this little one," Lily answers, looking fondly at River, "but we're happy. Although," she concedes, "if it weren't for the sun outside, I wouldn't be sure if it was night or day at times."
"But you're getting out and about?" David presses. "It doesn't do to spend all day inside with only each other for company.
"We're here, aren't we, Daddy?" she teases. "Oh, and the midwife came around-"
"-yes, how did that go?" Rose asks, breaking momentarily from cooing over River.
"Really well. And Sev's been great, Mummy, so good. Cooking, cleaning, you name it."
"Good," David says, with a broad smile. "Thought that boy of yours might be the making of him." He takes a step closer to Rose and Lily, peering down at River. "He looks just like him. Two peas in a pod."
"I still think he has your chin," Rose says, smiling at Lily, "and I bet he's got the famous Evans righteous temper."
"Mummy!"
"Careful, Lils, else you're about to prove your mother right," David observes with a smile.
"I spoke to Tuney last night," Rose says, cuddling River close to her. "Your father and I thought we'd go down to Surrey tomorrow, spend some time with her and Vernon."
"Save a bit of money on this place," David says, leaning against the wall.
Lily moves awkwardly on the bed. "We have been busy, and Sev has been looking-"
"-it's not a criticism," David says, quickly.
"Although..." Rose says, before trailing off at David's loud sigh.
Lily looks between them. "Although what?"
"I know your father's not going to ask, so I will," Rose says, quickly, ignoring David's even louder sigh, "but we could do with going back to the house - just to collect some bits and pieces. Clothes. You know how it is, lovey."
When it starts to rain, Avery stands.
If nobody's turned up in three hours, they're not going to now, he thinks, shrugging his jacket back on. It's pointless sitting here just to get soaked through. He looks towards the house, his shoulders slumped. I really thought you might be here, Sev.
He takes out his wand, turning it in his hand as he mulls over his next move. To Malf's? To Mulc's? Or back home?
And then a sudden thought hits him, and he reaches into his pocket, yanking out his Striker badge. He stares at it for a long moment, barely daring to consider that the same trick might work for a second time, ignoring the mocking voice in his head - what would Severus still be doing, carrying his Striker badge if he's got no magic? - but with no-one around to witness his foolish endeavour, he decides it's worth the risk.
Lily gives a tight nod. "I'll ask Sev what he thinks. He'll want to go with you."
"And I don't think you should be going at all, Rosie," David says, firmly. "You can give me a list of what you need."
"I can handle five minutes-"
"-your mother's been having nightmares," David interrupts, looking at Lily - but before either woman can reply, there's a sudden buzzing sound, like an angry fly trapped in a glass, and all three adults look around the room sharply.
"Is that a bee?" Lily asks, quickly moving to cover River's face with his blanket.
Avery wipes sweat from his brow and points his wand back at his badge again. To his disgust, he's weaker than he was - you were locked up for days on end - and although he can hold the spell, the coordinates won't display on the badge. There's a brief shimmer, as if they're trying to form, but then he loses concentration and they fade away.
Severus returns to the hotel room, rubbing his damp hands on his t-shirt, and then looking surprised as he sees Lily cradling River and Rose and David peering anxiously around the room.
He immediately approaches his wife, throwing his arm around her protectively. "Lil? Is Riv all right?"
"He's fine, we think there's a bee trapped in here," she explains, "or a wasp."
"We heard something buzzing," David explains, shaking the curtains.
"I can't hear anything," Severus says, and they all freeze, listening intently to the silence.
At his growing look of scepticism, Lily looks at him earnestly. "It was really loud, Sev, we all heard it."
He shrugs. "You sure it wasn't a train?"
"Trains don't buzz," Rose says, insistently. "This was a buzz."
"Maybe it's flown away. If it found a way in, it must've found a way out," David offers.
Rose looks unconvinced. "The window's closed, David. Keep his face covered, Lily," she says, indicating towards the blanket loosely draped across River.
"Get rid of the lipstick, did you, son?" David asks, patting Severus on the shoulder.
"I think so," Severus says, with a tight smile, "although I might never sleep again with the trauma."
At his quip, Lily looks back towards Rose. "What was Daddy saying?"
"Nothing," Rose says, stiffly.
"What've I missed?"
"Mummy and Daddy were talking about going to Tuney's."
"Oh."
"And going to the house first to collect some things."
At Lily's addition, Severus' head snaps up. "You can't," he says, "it's not safe."
"Just us, Severus," David says, quietly. "Just to collect some clothes. Five minutes."
After a long moment, Severus exhales loudly. "You can let me know what you want from the house," he says, "and I'll go. Alone."
"No," Lily argues, "it's you they're after!"
"And I'm the only one of us who has any chance of fighting back if there is someone there!"
"Don't, Sev - Mummy's already been having nightmares-"
"-Lily!"
"-Lils!"
"Talking out of school, Lil," Severus says, with a light laugh. "Nightmares, Rose?" He moves forward and crouches down in front of her. "About what happened?"
"What else?" David says from over the other side of the room.
"I can speak for myself, thank you, David," Rose says, sitting a little straighter. "I'm fine, Severus, it's nothing."
He shakes his head. "It's not nothing." He looks away, scratching his eyebrow, and when he turns back, his dark eyes are searching. "I understand."
"Sev, you don't have to talk about-"
"-something happened to me," he says, the words coming out in a rush, "when I was at school. They offered something to help - something to stop the nightmares, and I refused."
Lily frowns. "Are you on about Sluggy and the box?"
"I didn't refuse the box," he answers, looking over at his wife. "Dumbledore."
"That's why he had your memory in the pensieve," she guesses. "To see if you could cope with it in your head?"
"Apparently," Severus says, stiffly, "although I reckon he was checking how much I knew - how much I could repeat out of turn."
Rose stares at him intently, as if trying to decipher an untold message in his expression. "But you refused his offer? Even though you were having nightmares?"
"I couldn't leave Hogwarts - didn't want to leave Hogwarts," he says, quietly, "but the thought of being around the perpetrators without that knowledge in my head… The knowledge of what they were capable of, what he truly was…"
David comes towards them, a hand on Rose's shoulder. "A group of boys lured Severus towards a werewolf," he explains.
"Oh Severus," she says, raising her hand to cover her mouth, her eyes immediately filling with tears.
"It was a long time ago." He slides his wand into his hand. "I had to know what they were capable of, so I could keep myself safe - but there were so many sleepless nights when I wished I'd made a different decision." He gives her a tight smile. "What I'm saying to you is that Lily's safe and River's safe and you and David are safe, so there is no worth in you knowing what happened that night with those sorry excuses for wizards."
"But you said they're still there, still-"
"-you're going to Tuney's, Mummy," Lily says, quickly. "You'll be safe there."
"And Severus is working on the protections for the house," David says, calmly, "so you won't need to know when we come back."
Rose looks between her family members. "And if you can't alter the protections on the house, if you can't do what you did for your parents?"
"He's trying, Mummy!"
"I'm only asking," Rose says, calmly, "what if it's not successful?"
"Then I can give you the memory back," Severus says, reassuringly, "if that's what you decide is best."
Avery takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and tries to regain his composure. What was it that miniature git Flitwick used to preach? The three Rs? He shakes the thought from his head - not much use in the real world, he scoffs.
"Let me see," Severus murmurs. The touch of his wand is gentle to her temple, and his voice is soothing - coaxing. "Just one more time, and then you'll never have to see it again."
This time, Rose knows what he needs, and his entry is smoother - there's no battling for the right memory, being distracted by tangled threads - instead, he's thrust right into the action, his heart jolting as he hears Lily's panicked scream.
"Mummy!"
He swallows hard, composing himself. It's over, he thinks, in the past - but somehow, it's worse, seeing it played out again. The first time he saw this memory, despite his outwardly cool composure, he was terrified that he'd lost everything - his wife, his child, his life - and his desperation to find answers meant that he saw the scene through a narrow lens, his focus solely on finding where Lily had gone, and who had taken her.
It's not like that this time. It's worse. He frowns as she pulls him through the first part of the memory; he doesn't remember any of this - the slamming and the pounding, the silence, Rose escaping up the stairs, the sudden click, and then the thundering slam of the door as it's thrown open, Lily's terrified expression, her hand outstretched and then pulling back, Rose urging her to save herself.
No, not just herself - River as well, he thinks, as he watches Rose silently mouthing the words, "The baby," - and he feels sick, as if he's on a boat that's lurching from side to side, waves pounding on the sides.
The memory falls black, and it gives him just enough time to compose himself before he's thrust back into the action - and when the memory resumes, Severus almost falls backwards, as his vision is filled with the booming voice of Evan Rosier, larger than life, his face looming over them.
"Well? Do you know him? Severus Snape?"
Rest, Avery thinks, that was the first of the three Rs.
As much as he doesn't want to admit it, there's some merit to Flitwick's teaching - after taking a breather, he feels stronger, more powerful, in control. He raises his wand once more.
You can do this.
The buzzing starts again - gently at first, and then louder and louder. Lily immediately shields River's face against her shoulder, causing him to wake and wail, whilst Severus breaks his Legilimency, stumbling backwards, away from Rose.
"I'll open the window," David says, pushing it open widely, "give it chance to escape."
There's a long pause as they all listen to the buzzing, and then Lily frowns. "It doesn't sound like a buzzing sound anymore," she says, "more like something rattling. Clinking. Like, metal hitting metal."
"You're right, Lils," David says, a frown growing on his face as he tries to trace it in the room. "Whatever it is, it's not a wasp."
Severus sits back, his mind still racing from witnessing Rose's memories over again - and one glance at her face tells him that she feels much the same.
They watch as David moves steadily around the room, pausing and listening intently, repeating the action every few inches. "Stand over there, Lils," he says, indicating to the corner by the headboard, "the noise is coming from this end of the room."
He moves past the window and wardrobe and towards the dressing table, and then he looks back sharply. "Severus, I think it's coming from your jacket."
"My jacket?" Severus leaps up, wand still gripped in hand, and lifts his jacket up. Sure enough, the jacket jumps as he holds it aloft, bouncing lightly in the air.
"The pocket, Sev," Lily gasps, "the zipped pocket."
He tears at the zip, dragging it down roughly and then reaching in - and his heart almost stops as he feels the Striker badge bouncing around in his hand.
"What is it, Severus?" David asks, leaning over his shoulder.
Severus withdraws his hand and stares dumbly at the badge, holding it firmly and twisting it over in his hand.
"Sev?" Lily says, her eyes wide. "What is it?"
He opens his mouth to answer, and then there's a sudden deafening crack outside, and all of them jump. Severus is the first to regain his composure, racing to the window and staring out of it.
"Fuck," he hisses, slamming the window and violently drawing the curtains before resting his back heavily against the wall, his hands gripping his hair. "Fucking hell, fuck!"
David looks between Severus and Lily and back again. "Would one of you please explain what on earth is going on?"
Lily looks horrified. "I have no idea, Daddy! Sev?"
"Outside," he says, his voice shaken, "on the platform. It's Avery." He stares in horror at the Striker badge. "Avery's found us."
Chapter 133: Your greatest wish
Chapter Text
"Depulso!" Severus shouts, pointing his wand directly at the badge, and when it doesn't move, he looks over at Lily, a helpless expression on his face. "Depulso! DEPULSO!"
"Sev," she says, putting a hand on his arm, "stop."
He shrugs her hand away. "Deletrius! Deletrius! DELETRIUS! DEPULSO!"
"Sev, just stop!" Lily insists, and at the harsh tone in her voice, he ceases his spellwork. "Look," she continues, "it's obviously not working - there must be some sort of strengthening charm on it-"
"-then what? What should I do?" he says, turning to look at her. "Reducto? Expulso? Confringo? Bombarda?" He raises an eyebrow. "Bombarda Maxima?"
"No, Sev," she says, urgently, "they're all too risky."
He scoffs. "They're not risky."
"Bombarda Maxima is! You could bring the entire hotel down!"
"Only if I miss, and I won't miss!" He shakes his head, ignoring Rose and David's simultaneous gasps of shock. "Fine, forget Bombarda - Reducto then?"
"No! It's still too dangerous."
"Reducto's tame, Lil, and you know it!"
"-it's dangerous! You remember what Andy Stebbins did to the ceiling in Flitwick's-"
"-Stebbins was a dumb fourteen year old Hufflepuff who didn't know one end of his wand from the other! I know how to control my magic!"
"And you're in control now, are you?" she argues, holding River tightly against her. "Or do you feel as angry and scared as the rest of us? Why did you even start with Depulso in the first place, if you thought you could control Bombarda? We both know you're not focused enough!"
He draws in a breath but doesn't answer, and the pause is enough for David to silently move between the two of them, his arms outstretched.
"Severus, Lils," David says, gently, "I don't think you should be considering anything risky-"
"-Reducto isn't risky or dangerous," Severus snaps, and he brandishes the badge before David, "but this is, and we need to get rid of it."
"If this wizard has already found us," Rose says, causing all three of them to look at her sharply, "then what does it matter?"
"You don't have to destroy it. You could Disapparate with it," Lily suggests, "drop it somewhere across the country."
"Isn't that more suspicious?" Rose says, gently. "If it was here, then it's suddenly not…"
"She's right," Severus says, his voice gruff. "Can you look out of the window and see if you can see him, David? You're the only one of us he doesn't know. About my height, stocky, short light brown hair. Looks like he's been punched in the face repeatedly."
"Sev!"
"What? He does, love." He points to his eyes. "Eyes further apart than normal."
David cautiously pulls the curtain to one side, trying to discreetly peer through the window. "I can't see him. He's not on the platform."
"Then he'll be coming up here. We've got to go," Severus says, pacing back and forth.
"Oh!" David glances behind him at the group in the room. "No, I see him! He's by the ticket office." He frowns, leaning closer to the glass. "It looks as if he's in the queue."
"David, stand back," Severus hisses. "Don't let him see you."
"You should both take River back to your house," Rose says, insistently.
"No, Mummy, if Avery comes up here, he'll remember you! He'll know you!"
Severus looks between them all, clearly torn between his concern for his wife and their child, and his loyalty to his in-laws.
"And so what?" David interrupts, his voice stern. "As far as this wizard knows, he and his friends broke into our house and terrorised my wife. Severus disappeared and Rose and I moved into a local hotel because we were too fearful to return home." He shrugs. "It's not beyond reason."
"But they won't stop at finding you, Daddy," Lily argues, "not if they want Severus! You saw what they did to Mummy! He's magical, he can do things you can't! He'll have ways of finding out if you know where Severus is and where-"
"-he can't read minds," Severus says, suddenly. "Ave. He can't do it, Lil."
"But he can still threaten, he can-"
"-and do what? We're just two ordinary people," David argues.
"And when he asks you where Severus is?"
"There's no reason we'd know," Rose says. "Who was it you said I was? Severus' father's cousin's wife? We don't have to be close."
"You were close enough that he was staying with you."
"That was then, not now. Not now that she's Severus' father's cousin's traumatised wife," David adds. "It's not unreasonable for us to say that we've not seen him since that day. Maybe we ran away from him as well as from the house."
"And the badge? How'd you explain having that?"
"We swept up something that didn't belong to us in the panic," Rose says, "that's all."
"Give it here," David demands, his hand outstretched.
"No, I can destroy it," Severus counters, refusing to let it go. "One spell, that's all."
"And if you miss?"
"I won't fucking miss!" Severus argues, his eyes flashing in anger. "I can control myself!"
Rose looks at him sharply. "If you do destroy it, you'll only show him that you were here, Severus. It's no different to disappearing with it."
"Rose is right," David agrees, "if you destroy the badge, it'll prove that you know what it is - else why would you suddenly panic, right at this moment, and destroy it?"
"They're right, Sev."
Severus runs his hands through his hair. "I don't like this. I don't like this at all. I don't want you here when he comes up. It should be me who confronts him."
"He might not come up. He's standing at the ticket office. Maybe whatever spell he's using isn't that accurate - maybe he won't ever work out that we're in this room," David says, calmly.
"He'll bang on all of the doors, I know it. Kick them in. I know what he's like. There's no saying what he wants - what he'll do."
Rose looks surprised. "You said he was a friend."
"Was," Severus argues, "before he broke into your house to strong arm me to go parading down the Alleys with fucking Wolfsbane! He left me to be arrested, and it's not the first time he's hung me out to dry!"
"He might have come to apologise," David reasons.
He might have come to avenge Rosier's death.
"No," Severus says, fiercely. "Nothing good can come of this - as far as he knows, I've lost my magic. So what? What can he possibly want from me if he thinks I'm no more than a Muggle?"
Rose looks over at Lily. "Could he still be after that potion you were brewing?"
"I have no idea, Mummy."
"Where is he now?"
David pulls the curtain back again. "He's talking to whoever is manning the ticket office."
Severus grabs a suitcase and starts throwing clothes haphazardly into it. "David, lock Rose in the car, come back and check out."
"Sev-"
"I can check out with David-"
"-we've been through this, there's only one of us he won't recognise, Rose," Severus argues, "and that's David! You can't stand at the front desk checking out if Ave decides to waltz inside!"
"He's right," David agrees, zipping up the suitcase, and helping Severus to fill the next one.
"I'll take Lil and River back to Rillwych," Severus says, not slowing as he pulls shirts and blouses off hangers, "and lock them in. You pay up, drive off, and I'll meet you in town."
"Where?"
"At the car park behind the indoor market," Severus says. "I Apparate there sometimes."
Lily looks pained. "And what do we do with the badge?"
He tosses it into the wastepaper bin, and then grabs the newspaper and crumples it over it. "David and Rose chucked it," he says, by way of explanation, "when they were leaving." He looks over at Rose. "You didn't know what it was, so you assumed that someone else left it behind."
Rose nods, helping David to collect their things together, and Lily watches, almost breathless, as her mother and father depart the room. After a minute, Severus moves towards the window and when he puts his hand on the curtain she shakes her head.
"Sev, don't!"
"I was only going to see if your mum was in the car."
"And if Avery spots you?"
He reluctantly lets go of the curtain.
"We should go."
"I want to make sure they get out of here. How long does it take to check out?"
Lily shrugs. "Depends if there's a queue at the desk."
"For checking out?"
"For anything. Hair dryers. Irons. Argument about the temperature of the water. Inadequacy of the breakfast."
Severus sighs heavily, his fingers creeping back towards the curtain.
"Sev…"
"One look."
"I'll do it," Lily says, handing River to him, "if he glimpses me, he might not place me."
She can feel her heart beating wildly in her chest as she slides her hand up to the side of the material, and then slowly peels it back.
"Where were they parked?"
"In the corner, between the blue Mini and the red Escort, opposite the white Fiesta."
"An expert on cars and trains," she muses with a small laugh, "who'd have thought?"
"Lil-"
"-I can see Daddy walking over to the car," she says, her attention suddenly focused.
"And Ave?"
"Can't see him anywhere," she says, her eyes focused on her parents. There's a moment, and then she drops the curtain. "They've driven off."
"Good," he says, with a thin smile. "Time for a distraction."
Before she can argue, he darts out of the room with a blanket in his hand - and she hears his sudden shout of Incendio! - and there's the piercing blare of the fire alarm, causing River to wail in perfect synchronisation.
When Severus strides back in, looking pleased with himself, she can't help but shoot him an astonished look.
"Severus! What have you just done? You can't go around setting fire to things! The blanket, the hotel!"
"I can, and I just did," he says, his grin broader, "and if Ave has traced us to here, the panic might just be enough to stop him in his tracks. No receptionist is going to help him with a list of who has booked in or checked out if they're busy fighting a fire."
"Sev, you can't, someone could get hurt!
"On that note," he says, taking one last glance around the room and then wrapping his arms around his wife and their son, "it's time for us to go, love."
It only takes a couple of minutes to drive across town in their car, and at this point in the late afternoon, the car park is almost deserted. David pulls into a space and kills the engine, and he and Rose sit, hand-in-hand, alternating between looking at their watches and staring through the windows of the car.
"They'll have made it home now, won't they?"
David nods. "I'd have thought so."
"I wonder how long it'll take him to secure the house," Rose says, her eyes fixed on a wall in the distance. "Some of Lily's spells were so fast - just a wave of her wand, or her hand."
"I think these will be trickier."
"We saw how long it took them at his parents' house," Rose adds.
"I remember."
"What do you think? An hour? Two?"
David shrugs. "I don't know. I'd be surprised if it was that long. I think they've been using magic to lock themselves in ever since…" He trails off. "But I don't think they're using anything as complicated as what they put on at his parents'. He kept saying he couldn't do it."
"I don't mind waiting here," she says, pulling her cardigan more tightly around her. "I'd rather he did it properly, and not make a mistake. He shouldn't rush something like that."
"I'm sure Lils will keep an eye on him."
"She was saying he didn't have control of his magic-"
"-and he said he did."
"He didn't try that spell he was talking about though," Rose says, giving David a searching look, "despite his protests. If he truly had control over his magic, he would've."
"We don't know enough about it to know," David reasons. "It's obvious that he listens to Lils - and that's a good thing."
They sit quietly again, eyes fixed on the various entrances to the car park, and after a few minutes, Rose looks at David.
"What do you think he'll do?"
"Once he's here?" David drums his fingers on the steering wheel, and then grips it. "I don't know, Rosie. I imagine he'll send us off to Petunia's." He looks at her. "We won't be going back to the house. Not now."
"No, I realised."
"It's not a big change of plan," David says, although when he speaks, Rose isn't sure whether he's trying to convince her or himself. "A few days away. Surrey will be nice at this time of year. The south always gets the best of the weather, especially this side of summer."
"The nights are coming in."
"Yeah."
"Soon be winter."
David gives a small laugh. "Got to get through autumn yet."
"I'll look forward to Christmas," Rose says, decisively, "Lily and Severus will be excited to have their first presents with River, and," she says, sounding buoyed, "Petunia will be due. It'll be nice for them to all get together."
"If you say so."
"He's not so bad - Vernon," Rose says, gently swatting her husband's shoulder, "not once you get to know him. He thinks the world of Petunia."
"That counts for something, I suppose," David says, staring keenly out of the windscreen. "He's a little bombastic for my tastes."
"And I remember when Severus was a little rough for your tastes," Rose says, with a smile, "and look how he's turned out." She straightens her skirt, brushing it down. "Perhaps if it doesn't work out for Lily with Brian-"
"-it's a good job, Rose-"
"-I'm just saying-"
"-it's not up to Severus if she works or not-"
"-one of them needs to look after River," Rose argues, her voice soft, "and sometimes minds change. It's different once you hold them. I could never imagine leaving my babies with someone."
"...I wouldn't have been someone," David says, leaning back in his chair, "I was their father." He shuffles uncomfortably. "But I was always the breadwinner."
"I'd never have earned more than you."
"Exactly," David says, a note of triumph in his voice. "And Severus' prospects pale in comparison to Lily's, especially what she could have with Brian. It makes sense that the person with better earning potential is the one who works."
"I'm just saying," Rose says, quietly, "that perhaps we could speak to Vernon. He was open to hiring Severus the last time you asked him."
David lets out a low sigh. "Rosie, I'm not sure-"
"-if Lily wants to stay at home-"
"-we don't know that-"
"-but if," Rose presses, "then it's worth asking. It's what families do. Look out for each other."
"I doubt either Severus or Vernon consider each other family."
"Then maybe that should change," Rose says, sitting a little straighter.
"I'm not even sure Petunia and Lily do," David adds, quietly.
Rose gives a loud sigh. "Well, I've had quite enough of it. They're not thirteen year old kids bickering about playing records too loudly anymore - they'll all be parents themselves. I think it'd be good for Petunia and Lily to be a little closer."
"And have you asked Tuney or Lils any of this?" David muses, not looking at his wife. "I'm not sure they'd agree that they'd want to be closer. Tuney ran off to Surrey at a drop of a hat, and Lils made it abundantly clear-"
"-she's lived with us for almost a year-"
"-because she had to," David warns, "not because it was planned." He turns to Rose, a slight frown on his face. "Make no mistake, Rosie, this isn't like Severus' mother choosing to shun their magical world - Lily and Severus are only back here because their hand was forced."
"They'll want to make the best of it, and the best of it means having your family around you."
"Tuney has always struggled with Lily being magical."
"And now she's not. Problem solved."
"Rosie!"
"It's very sad, David," Rose says, firmly, "but sometimes the world works in mysterious ways. Maybe this was meant to be."
David raises a sceptical eyebrow. "So Tuney and Lils could bond over her lost magic? You and I both know that the first time Tuney suggests it's a good thing, Lily will storm out."
"I'm sure Petunia won't even mention it," Rose says, "we can speak to her. Warn her."
"Yes, dear," David says, shaking his head, "I'm sure Petunia will spend the rest of her life on her best behaviour."
"That's the point though, David. Now that Lily is the same as Petunia, I'm sure Petunia will be more content. And there won't be any of that anguish this time around, not with both babies being non-magical."
"River maybe, but we don't know what Petunia's baby might turn out like. Could turn out like our Lils did."
"David, don't be difficult."
"Besides, Severus is still magical," David says, lightly, "and I'm sure that he isn't going to rest until he's found a way to cure Lily of this...hex, or whatever it was."
"Jealousy," Rose continues, as if she's not heard a single word David has uttered, "that's what drove them apart and life's simply too short for such nonsense. Family's important."
River reacts as badly to the repeat Apparition and Disapparition as he did the first time, but neither Severus nor Lily relent, with her encouraging her husband to change location over and over, desperate not to be tracked.
When they land in Rillwych, he bustles them into the house and layers charm after charm against the back door, whilst she does her utmost to calm their screaming son.
"I'm going to seal the upstairs windows," he calls, taking the stairs two at a time.
When he comes back down, jacket pocket bulging, he's relieved to hear that River's excruciating cries of distress have reduced to a persistent low wail.
"I think he's almost forgiven us," she says, and although he knows she's joking, her expression is filled with fear and despair, as if laughing is the last thing on her mind.
"You're doing well with him, love," he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and enveloping them both in a hug. "I've sealed the house as well as I can," he says, "and I'll do the front door as I leave."
"Sev?"
"What?"
"If that badge was here all that time, does that mean that Avery knows about this place?"
He freezes momentarily, and then trails his hands through her hair, holding her close. "I don't know. I hope not, love. I hope not." He pauses. "I can stay. A while."
"No," she says, although he can see the reluctance in her expression. "Mummy and Daddy will be waiting for you."
"Then I'll be as quick as I can," he says, his expression apologetic as he runs a finger down the side of River's face. He takes a step away, and then another, and then he turns back. "Lil?"
"Yes?
"...Mulciber was at your parent's house," he says, quietly. "Avery came to the station." He gives a slight shake of his head. "The badge… It was in the boxes your dad and I brought over here-"
"-you knew it was here?"
"I came across it when I was sorting them," he says, quickly, "and I threw it back in. I didn't… I had no idea what it could do!" He takes a deep breath. "But I'm saying that we've been here all this time, and we've not seen anyone." At her dubious look, he presses the point. "Least, I haven't seen anyone. Have you?"
"No, but then we've hardly been out."
"I have," he says, quickly, "I've been out! Two or three or four times a day for a smoke - and there's never been anyone there. No Ave, no Mulc, no-one."
"No Rosier."
He nods tightly. "No Rosier," he echoes.
"So you don't think they know about here then?"
A sudden flash of memory strikes him - of standing behind the door in the Manor, of hearing Rosier arguing with Avery, of the claim that Avery was the one to locate him - and this time, the shake of his head is emphatic.
"No, love," Severus says, "the more I think about it, the more that I'm certain that they don't." He steps back towards her, running his hands through her hair again and then kissing her. "I won't be long," he says, and although he makes to leave, when he has the door handle in his hand, he turns back. "I love you, Lil. You and Riv. I love you."
"I love you too, Sev," she says, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. "Don't be long."
"I won't."
"Keep them safe."
"I will."
"And come home."
At this, he gives her a broad smile. "You can count on it."
David watches as Severus appears into view, leaping over a wall with ease, cat-like in his movements. Severus glances left and then right, and then darts towards the car.
"Severus," Rose says, getting out of the car and quickly embracing him. "They're both all right?"
"Fine, Rose," he says, glancing around him. "Can I get in?"
They quickly move the seat, and Rose climbs into the back, leaving Severus to sit in the passenger seat.
"David."
"Son," David says, clapping him on the shoulder. "Lils and the baby safe at home?"
"Yeah," Severus nods, "although I'll be happier when I'm with her."
David nods. "Let's get on then. Where to?"
"Petunia's," Severus says, settling back in the seat.
"You're coming all the way with us to Surrey?" Rose says, the surprise evident in her voice.
"No, just to the first service station on the motorway," Severus explains, "and then I reckon we'll be far enough away from here to do a little magic without Avery or anyone else stumbling across us."
David obediently puts the car into gear, and manoeuvres out of the car parking space, watching through his windows carefully. "Magic?"
"I promised Rose I'd get rid of that memory for her," Severus says, his eyes darting around the horizon, "and I always keep my promises."
"You don't think it's better I know what's going on," Rose ventures, "after what's happened today?"
He twists in his seat, flashing Rose a smile. "No. Especially not after what happened today," he says. "You really mustn't worry."
"But they keep appearing-"
"-they won't be able to find us again. Not now we've worked out how they're tracing us."
"They really are very persistent," David notes, rounding a corner, "these men who are after you. I had no idea you were so popular."
Severus gives a short laugh.
"Was I right?" Rose presses, looking between the two seats. "Are they still after that potion?"
"Yeah," Severus lies.
"Some potion," David says.
"They'll get bored eventually," Severus says, watching as the town starts to fade behind them, heading out into greener pasture. "Find another source."
"If they can do that, why haven't they?"
Severus twists in his seat to look at Rose. "Path of least resistance, Rose. At the moment, it's between looking for me and hoping that I've got a stash of the potion versus finding a new, skilled brewer who is capable of creating the potion, and isn't going to charge them a fortune." He shrugs. "All we need to do is make finding me more difficult than finding a new brewer."
David glances towards him. "And how hard is it for them to find a new skilled brewer?"
"Almost impossible," Severus says, turning back to look through the windscreen, a small smirk on his lips, "but I've always enjoyed a good game of hide and seek."
When they pull up at the services, Severus and David get out of the car, and David stretches his back as he stares over at the main building in the distance.
"Sorry," Severus says, flashing him an apologetic smile, and then he indicates towards the empty spaces around them, "but it's quieter up here on the lorry park. Less chance of anyone seeing."
"Do you need me here whilst you do this?"
"No." Severus ducks his head back into the car. "You're all right with that, aren't you, Rose?"
"I'll be guided by you, Severus."
"Right," David says, patting his pockets and making sure his wallet is on his person, "I've got a long drive ahead, so I'll head for the toilets." He stares over at the building again and then flashes a grin at them both. "As it's about three miles away, I may be some time."
As he strides off, Severus pulls the car seat up and helps Rose from the back seat before settling her sideways in the passenger seat, leaving the door wide open so her feet can touch the ground outside. He crouches down so he's eye level with her, and slides his wand down his sleeve.
She eyes it nervously. "Do you need to see that memory again?"
"No," he says, giving her a reassuring smile, before lifting his wand to her temple. "Just relax, Rose. You won't feel a thing."
When David exits the main building, he's surprised to see Severus standing outside.
"Severus? Are you done already? Did Rose come in to use the facilities?"
"Yes, yes, and no," he says, with a smile. He holds a packet of polo mints aloft, and then presses them into David's hand. "She says she sometimes feels a bit car sick, so I offered to get her some mints."
"Car sick? Rose?"
"It's a long way to Surrey," Severus says, quickly. "She didn't want you to have to stop again."
David nods, and the two men fall in step, walking across the car park.
"Overpriced."
"Sorry?"
"These mints you've bought," David says, holding the packet up, "they'll be overpriced. Always are at the services. Captive audience."
"Rob you blind," Severus agrees.
"...how is she?"
"You won't notice any difference," Severus says, quietly.
"If I slipped," David says, turning to look at Severus, "and mentioned anything about that night…"
Severus gives a light shrug. "She'll think you've lost your mind, not her." He taps the side of his forehead. "For her, that night just didn't happen."
David frowns. "So what does Rosie think happened then?"
"Nothing," he says.
"Nothing? Isn't that a bit odd?"
Severus glances across at him. "Do you remember what you did on the evening of Wednesday 24th July, 1974?"
"Severus, come on, that's ridiculous."
"Worked late? Stayed at home?"
"I have no idea."
"You must," Severus presses, "you must have some idea. I'll give you a clue - Lily and I were back from Hogwarts. Was that one of the weeks you were on holiday?"
David frowns. "No, I don't think so."
"You worked."
"I guess so."
"Had tea at the normal time?"
"It was always on the table for six."
"Washed up after?" Severus presses. "Cup of tea? Did Rosie watch Coronation Street?"
"She usually did."
"And Tuney? Lils?"
"Tuney used to watch with us, but Lils was probably out with that reprobate from across the river."
Severus grins. "I think you're probably right."
David scratches the back of his head. "Forgive me, Severus, but what exactly is your point?"
"You haven't got a clue what you did that evening," Severus says, "and why would you? It wasn't out of the ordinary. Your mind files all of those memories as inconsequential." He shrugs. "That's if it files them at all."
"And what does this have to do with Rosie?"
"You can't remember what you did that evening, but you can make a good guess at it because your brain fills in the gaps. You can't remember that night, but you know what a summer evening feels like. You'll remember driving home with the window rolled down and the heat of the car door when you slam it shut. You'll remember that the windows were open, and there were flowers in the front garden, and there's the smell of freshly cut grass. You'll remember that the nights were light, so you wouldn't have been worried about Lily being with me across the park. If I'd have said 10th of December, you'd have probably remembered dark nights and headlights, frost on the windscreen, ice on the path, hedges and trees with no leaves-"
"-I get the picture, Severus."
"And so will Rose," Severus says. "She'll fill in the gaps from the rest of her experiences. As far as she's concerned, she won't be missing that night at all."
"But it wasn't an ordinary night," David counters, as they both walk behind a stationary lorry. "After that, Lils was in the hospital with River. Won't she think any of that is weird - that her daughter was heavily pregnant and living with us, and yet she can't remember her going into the hospital?"
Severus gives a thin smile, his wand sliding into his hand. "No, David. No, she won't think any of it's weird at all. Stupefy."
Petunia flits between the kitchen and the living room, wooden spoon brandished in one hand and duster in the other. She keeps a careful eye on the gently simmering stew, and then returns to the now-gleaming mantelpiece. With a flourish, she gives the wood one last blast with the polish, rubbing it furiously, before stooping and starting to place all of their favourite photographs back upon it - all of her and Vernon on various dates and holidays; London, Paris, Berlin.
He knows how to spoil her, Vernon. She holds one of the photos in the air - one where both he and she were bright red from the sun, their eyes screwed up tightly as they smiled, holding cocktails in aloft in celebration - and smiles at it fondly before putting it back.
This was the part of the day that she disliked the most - the endless wait for Vernon to return home. It had become worse of late, but as she places the rest of the photographs back, she straightens her shoulders.
This is what you get for falling in love with a high-flyer, she thinks, a go-getter! A man in the rat race!
There was a promotion on the cards at Grunnings, and whilst Vernon was certain that he was within consideration, he was keen to curry favour - going in early and staying late, making sure that his efforts were noticed by his bosses.
"I don't want to stay on the sixth floor forever, darling," he'd said loudly, as he'd piled mashed potatoes onto his plate. "Now, the ninth! That's where the action is!"
After a fortnight of ruined, congealed dinners, Petunia had taken to cooking meals which wouldn't spoil if he didn't return in a timely manner, and had decided to focus these lost hours on cleaning and tidying, on making their perfect house into the perfect home, knowing that within a few months, their focus would be entirely upon the child they'd so desperately hoped for.
When her parents had phoned and suggested that they both come down to visit, rather than her and Vernon travelling up to Cokeworth, she'd initially been rather put out, certain that her hateful sister and that awful boy she absolutely refused to dump had told her parents that they didn't want Petunia or Vernon anywhere near their child.
River, she thinks, banging each photo frame down angrily onto the mantelpiece, horrible, nasty, bohemian name. That's Lily all over, always trying to be different, pretending to be special!
She returns to the kitchen, putting the duster and the polish back into the cupboard before slamming the door. Not that I wanted to see their child anyway, ugly little thing it's bound to be, especially if it takes after its father. Not like our child, our precious little bundle. Lily might've won - might've been first, but she'll see, they'll all see! It'll be our child who is the brightest, the smartest, the best behaved, the most well mannered. She runs a hand over her bump. You won't want for anything, little one, she thinks.
It's a relief, she thinks, running hot water out of the tap and starting to wash the cooking utensils, to not have to go up there and pretend to be happy for them. Mummy and Daddy can stay down here, with us, and see how successful we both are. It'll be a nice change for them, to see what a real couple - a real family - should look like.
The knock at the door takes her by surprise, and she pulls off her rubber gloves and hastily stuffs them in the pocket of her apron, smoothing her hair as she passes the mirror in the hallway, before pulling the door open - and then, her mouth falls open.
"Hello Tuney," Lily says, with a wide smile, "long time no see. May I come in?"
He might have asked the question, but he doesn't wait for the answer. Severus barrells into the house, slamming the door behind them, and before Petunia has chance to say anything spiteful, he pulls out his wand.
"Stupefy!"
He bundles her into a chair in the living room, and then he runs around the house, checking each and every room - even the bathroom - for Vernon, before finally realising that his car hadn't been in the driveway.
Severus runs down the stairs, clocking the smell of stew from the kitchen.
He won't be long if tea is already cooking.
Severus strides back into the living room. "Rennervate," he says, his wand pointed lazily at Petunia - who immediately comes to and shrieks at the sight of him. Of her.
"Put that awful stick away, Lily Evans!"
He can't resist, and he lets a dark smile creep over his face. "It's Lily Snape, now, Tuney," he says, with a laugh, "but I suppose you wouldn't know as we forgot to invite you."
"Good! There wouldn't be much to celebrate, you marrying that freak of a boy. Both of you - freaks! And you shouldn't be here! Mummy and Daddy coming to stay is one thing, but not you or him! You're not welcome here!"
"Tuney, Tuney," he says, soothingly, "don't be so angry. I've come to give you your greatest wish."
"I don't want anything from you!"
"No?" he says. "Are you sure?"
"Quite sure!"
He can't help but laugh at her adamance. "Really? You're not even curious? Your greatest wish?"
"And," Petunia says, her nostrils flaring, "what would that be?"
"To be an only child again," he says, pointing his wand directly at her. "Obliviate!"
Chapter 134: Don't you dare
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Severus paces back and forth, stalking the full length of the bay window - one long stride followed by another, then half a step and a sharp turn - before repeating the same short journey in the opposite direction.
His lips move infinitesimally as he nervously counts the laps under his breath, and when he hits thirty, he pauses and swishes back the net curtain. He pins the thin fabric against the plastic window frame with his slender fingers and peers down the street towards the horizon, his gaze fixed on the rise where the motorway sweeps down into the town in the distance, before letting the net fall once more.
Nothing.
He turns to stare at the two slumbering figures - Petunia dumped unceremoniously on a chair, her long neck sagging sideways, whilst Vernon's bulk is sprawled across two seat cushions on the sofa. Severus takes a step towards them, bending to stare intently at their faces, his wand in hand, checking for any sign of them having shaken off their magically induced sleep.
Nothing.
Satisfied that neither of them are about to move, he stows his wand and checks the clock, and he resumes his pacing: step, step, half-a-step, turn.
After he drops the curtain for the fifteenth time, he pats his pockets. "Fuck it," he says, with a glance towards Petunia as he pulls out his cigarette packet. He flicks a cigarette out and balances it between his lips. "What Tuney doesn't know won't hurt her."
Severus glances at the clock once more, his eyes tracking over the still slumbering Dursleys, and then returns his attention to the window, his gaze fixed on the junction in the distance.
Come on, David, for Merlin's sake. Put your foot down.
Severus pulls on his cigarette and then holds it aloft as he exhales a long stream of pale smoke, anxiously rolling the filter between forefinger and thumb as he waits.
Three hours and seventeen minutes, five cigarettes, and two further casts of Stupefy towards his in-laws later, and David's car finally pulls into view on the horizon. Severus presses his face against the window, tracking the familiar car as it swoops down the hill, as if not daring to believe that they've finally arrived.
He shakes his surprise off, and moves quickly. He darts through to the kitchen and pulls a chair out, and then he runs back to the living room, grabbing the dead weight of Petunia under her arms and hoisting her through to the kitchen, unceremoniously dragging her heels across the carpet and then dropping her onto the chair, her head lolling uncomfortably forward against her chest.
Severus grabs the wooden spoon off the worktop - and then he lifts the lid of the still gently simmering stew and quickly stirs it, before placing the spoon carefully in Petunia's hand and pressing her fingers around it.
He gives a slight grunt of exasperation when her unconscious body doesn't grip the spoon, and then he lays it awkwardly in her lap, her hand draped possessively over it.
Close enough.
He unlocks the back door and then he runs back through to the hallway and into the living room. He barely moves out of the doorway, his wand pointedly squarely at Vernon.
"Rennervate."
Severus doesn't pause to see if his spell was successful. He immediately spins and scrambles back through the house, hoping that Vernon will be too dazed to give chase - too dazed to even have noticed his presence. Severus darts through the kitchen to the back door, and then he turns back towards the still unconscious Petunia.
"Rennervate!"
He's further away from her than he was from Vernon, and his shout is louder - and he hesitates, waiting for movement. Petunia gives a jolt, as if she's been rudely awakened by a loud noise, and then she knocks the spoon off her lap, sending it skittering across the kitchen floor.
It's enough to convince him that she's unharmed by the experience, and with Petunia briefly distracted, Severus makes his escape. He immediately bolts across the garden and scrambles over the fence, landing light-footed in an equally well manicured garden. He doesn't pause to take stock, but charges at speed towards the next fence and vaults over it.
He repeats this over and over, his jacket billowing behind him as he sprints across grass and gravel, refusing to glance sideways at the houses, not wanting to see if anyone is standing in their kitchen or bedrooms to witness his strange actions.
He quickly loses count of the houses - and his progress - and then he lands in a garden where the next fence is higher. He grimaces as he stares upward - it's easily twelve feet high instead of the usual six.
He takes a step or two backwards and then charges towards it, hoping that the momentum from his running leap will be enough, but although his fingertips glance the top, he's tiring, and his grip isn't enough to hold on and pull himself fully over, although it is just long enough for him to glimpse over and realise that this is the final garden; there's pavement on the other side of the fence.
Nearly there.
He drops back down, his hands planted heavily on his knees as he catches his breath, taking in his options. Unlike the other gardens with their neat privet hedges, there's a thick trunked tree at the foot of this garden, and although the lower branches have been harshly pruned back, it's clear that the wide branches nearer to the top offer a route to sanctuary - or at least, to the pavement on the other side of the fence.
Just as he's weighing up the difficult climb, working out how to shin himself up, he spots the gate just hidden from view behind it - and with a sigh of relief and a small chuckle, he pushes it open and walks freely out onto the street. He brushes himself down, rubbing his hands against his jacket before stuffing them into his pockets, and then he saunters casually around the front of the houses, as if he's out for a simple evening stroll.
As he approaches Petunia and Vernon's, he spots David and Rose standing on the driveway, unloading their suitcases from the car. Severus crosses the road, his eyes fixed on the property, watching keenly as Vernon marches out of the house and down the driveway. He claps David on the shoulder and enthusiastically pumps his hand, before taking Rose's suitcase from her and kissing her on the cheek.
Severus tilts his head upwards, checking the house - and sure enough, he can just see Petunia behind the net curtain, rubbing a duster furiously against the glass - did I smear it when I was peering out earlier? - and then wildly spraying something - air freshener?
"Evening," Severus calls as he passes, raising his hand in polite greeting.
"Good evening," David calls back, his tone pleasant.
"Hello there," Rose choruses, "lovely evening."
"Isn't it just?" Severus agrees, offering them a wide smile. "Suitcases? Moving in?"
Vernon gives a booming laugh. "No, no - not us! Dursley, Vernon and Petunia Dursley," he says, "you'll have heard of us in the parish magazine, of course."
"Oh, you're Vernon Dursley!" Severus says, with a wider smile. "How wonderful to put a face to the name."
"And you are?"
"Steven," Severus lies, "my grandparents live up…" and then he trails off, indicating to the direction he's walked from. "The Joneses, you'll know them, I'm sure."
"Oh yes, I know them," Vernon says, insincerely. "Good to see you. Must get on!"
"Yes, I'll let you get back to it," Severus says, with a wave. He walks on until he's certain that they're not watching him, and then he doubles back, bending down behind their front hedge, pretending to tie up his shoelace whilst peering through the branches at them.
"What lovely, friendly neighbours you've got," Rose says, turning to Vernon who is now hauling her suitcase up towards the front door.
Vernon pauses and puffs his chest out, "It's one of the reasons we were so keen to move here. You might remember when we were searching, we'd narrowed it down to here or-"
"-Spratling-on-the-Wold," David interrupts, as if he's heard the tale a million times before.
"Yes!" Vernon enthusiastically agrees, not noticing David's note of sarcasm. "It was a lovely little cottage in Spratling, but I can tell you that Tuney did not like the look of the woman in the bungalow opposite."
"Did she not?" David says, with a mild smile. "Our Tuney?"
Vernon shakes his head. "She could barely bring herself to speak, and we just couldn't live there after that. Still, no regrets," he says, boisterously, "this place was the right choice - as you've just seen for yourself. You'll like it here. We won Britain in Bloom last year, you know-"
"-yes, Tuney mentioned it once or twice or eighteen times," David says, with a slight roll of his eyes.
"David, behave-"
"-what, Rosie?" He gives his wife a mischievous smile. "I'm sure it's well deserved, but there's nothing wrong with…" He trails off, suddenly looking confused, as if he's struggling to find the place name he needs - but he's saved by Petunia rushing out of the door.
"Mummy! Daddy!" Petunia moves quickly down the path towards them, kissing them both on the cheek and wrapping her arms around them. "I can't tell you how happy Vernon and I both are that you've finally come to your senses and decided to join us here. We'll have you settled in no time, ready for this little one's arrival," she exclaims, running her hand over her bump. "Your first grandchild!"
Severus freezes and then gives a tight smile before pushing himself back up and striding away quickly, Petunia's shrill voice carrying across the hedge and seeming to follow him as she excitedly regales her parents.
"Now, you must stay as long as you like - our house is your house and the guest room is at your disposal, but when you're ready to search for a property, Vernon and I will be happy to help. I'll ring Gemma Fairclain in the morning, you'll simply love her, Mummy, she knows all of the estate agents in the area, and she has a way of finding the most perfect of properties - we'd been looking for months before she helped us to find this, and it's such a beautiful gem, did we ever show you the conservatory…"
Severus lands heavily back at the lorry park, almost losing his footing as he hits the rough asphalt surface. He immediately springs backwards, his reflexes cat-like, grabbing his ankle with his free hand.
"Fuck," he mutters, and he tentatively places his foot back down, experimentally putting some weight on it. He sucks in air through his teeth in a hiss of pain and then pulls his boot off and his sock down. With a quick glance around him to ensure that nobody is watching, he sits down on the grass verge and slides his wand into his hand, pointing his wand at his ankle, and groaning as the icy air rushes across his exposed skin.
Could've been worse, he thinks, thought I'd splinched myself.
He takes in the scene around him as he cautiously flexes his arms and fingers and wriggles his toes in his other boot.
Definitely not splinched.
Despite being almost dark, it's busier than before, with the car park filling rapidly, and a handful of lorries already parked. After a moment, he pulls his sock back up and drags his boot on, although he doesn't lace it up.
It's just a sprained ankle.
He stands.
Mind over matter.
It takes him a moment before he moves, and then he hobbles towards the service station, walking down a pathway flanked with amber emitting streetlights.
Memorise this place, he thinks, as he tries to take in the specifics of the surrounds, ignoring the ever-changing vehicles. Trees, buildings, bins, paintwork, fences, railings, signs, he thinks. Once he reaches the main building, he slips inside and uses the toilet, nodding at one or two people as he passes, before heading back outside and up towards the lorry park.
Eight lorries now, he thinks, glancing up towards the cabs, trying to see if the occupants are inside - but they appear empty, as if the drivers are in the service station, or settled into the back of the cab for a rest.
With a final look around him, he slowly strolls up to the boundary of the lorry park and counts his paces - one, three, seven, fifteen - until he reaches seventeen and then his left boot connects with a solid but invisible object.
He flicks his wand, and grins as he successfully reveals River's pram and a bundle of shopping bags. He quickly puts his hand inside River's pram, checking that the shopping bags he's stored inside are still being held under his cooling charm.
You can do this in three trips, he thinks, grabbing the shopping bags from the floor, sprained ankle or not. Bottles and jars first, fresh food next, and then the pram. He flicks his wand again, disillusioning the shopping and the pram once more, and then with a quick glance over his shoulder, he Disapparates with his arms full.
Lily hears the crack of Apparition outside and she immediately pulls River against her, holding him tightly and standing, her legs feeling leaden as she cautiously moves towards the kitchen - towards the source of the sound.
Was that Severus? Or Avery?
She stands in the doorway, trying to simultaneously hide behind the kitchen cupboards and look through the window, and just as she's about to take another tentative step forward, the back gate swings open with a mighty crash into the whitewashed wall, and she sees her husband hastily dropping shopping bags in the yard before rushing back to the alley, slamming the back gate as he departs.
He's back and he's safe, she thinks, clutching River against her, her legs almost sagging with relief - and then she can't help but give a small laugh. And he even remembered the shopping.
"Sev! I was so worried-"
"-stay inside, Lil," he interrupts, grabbing their shopping bags and dumping them on the kitchen floor.
She follows him towards the back door, taking care not to tread on their scattered groceries spilling from the bags, and then leans through the door. "They're safe? Mummy and Daddy?"
"Yes," he says, grunting as he straightens, struggling with the effort of picking up too many bags in one go. He turns back to her, wincing as he puts his weight on his damaged ankle.
Her gaze falls to his unusually loosened boot, the lace untied, the tongue flapping. "Sev, you're hurt." She instantly moves to help him, cradling River against her with one arm, and leaning down with her free hand to pick up the shopping - but Severus puts his body between her and the bags.
"Didn't you hear me, love? Stay inside."
Her blood runs cold, immediately fearing the worst. "...you saw him?"
At this, his head jerks upwards and he looks directly at her, his expression softening. "No. No, love, I haven't seen him. But you're not meant to be lifting things, remember?"
She releases a breath she hadn't realised she was holding.
"I'm sorry," he says, quickly. "I didn't mean to scare you. Go back inside with Riv - I can handle this."
An hour later, Severus sits on their bed, his sprained ankle propped up on two cushions, and he cuddles River in his arms. He nestles his nose against River's neck, breathing in the scent of his baby son - and then both of them are suddenly startled by a crash from the kitchen.
"...love? You ok?" he calls, stroking his finger across River's cheek soothingly. "It's ok, Riv, it's ok."
"I'm fine," Lily shouts back.
"What are you doing?"
"Making your tea."
At her statement, he sits up straighter. "Lil, you didn't have to, I said I'd do that, I told you I was going to cook-"
"-on that ankle?" she says, looking at his propped up foot as she sweeps into the room, holding a plate out towards him. "You've done enough today. Do you want me to take Riv so you can eat in peace?"
"I can handle a plate," he says, adjusting his position and settling River's head against his thigh, bracing him between his leg and the bed before running his finger against River's cheek again and grinning at him. "How's that, kid? Comfy against your old dad, hey?" He looks up triumphantly, the grin still on his face - but his expression quickly falters when he sees that Lily's only carrying one plate. "Where's yours? That wasn't the crash, was it?"
"No, I put the frying pan on the draining board and it slipped into the sink, that's all," she explains.
"So why haven't you got anything to eat?"
"I'm not hungry," she says, ignoring his frown. "Here, take it whilst it's still hot."
"Thanks, love," he says, holding his hands out and taking the plate and cutlery from her. "Look at this, Riv! Merlin, I have been a good boy to deserve this."
"I'd say so, and I happen to know how fond you are of midnight fry ups," she says, settling next to him on the bed, her head resting against his shoulder.
"Hardly midnight."
"Hardly time for tea either," she points out. "You were ages."
"I know. I'm sorry."
Lily shakes her head. "I'm not annoyed. Just, you must be starving."
"But you're not," he says, with a knowing smile. "Apparently."
"I'm not."
He cuts into the yolk of the fried egg, causing a stream of yellow to cascade over the white, and then he cuts up a piece of black pudding and drags it through the spilled yolk - and then he holds the fork aloft. "Here, go halves with me. There's enough for the both of us."
Lily hesitates.
"Come on, eat," he barters, waving the fork before her, and giving her a wide smile. "I'm not having any until you do, and you don't want it to go to waste, do you?"
To his relief, she eats the morsel from the fork - and he spends the next twenty minutes painstakingly doling the plate of food out between them; a bite to her, a bite to him.
"I'm not saying it," she laughs as she passes him his cup of tea.
"Four little words, that's all."
"No. Not a chance."
"You were right, Severus," he teases, with a wicked smile. "Easy. Say it."
"You are-"
"-were," he corrects.
"-an arse, Severus," she continues, with a smile.
"No, that's five words," he laughs. "And wrong. Admit it."
"Fine. I was hungrier than I thought," she admits, settling back against him. "How's your ankle?"
He shrugs.
"Hmm," she says, handing her tea to him. "Hold still."
He wordlessly levitates her mug in the air and watches her as she moves down the bed, her fingers tentatively brushing against his shin, and then he hisses in pain as she grazes over his ankle. "Fuck, gerroff, Lil!"
"What spell did you use on it?"
"Frigidus Aeris."
She eyes his ankle critically. "Frigidus Aeris Flatus," she says, decisively. "That's what you need. Aeris on its own is good for keeping a constant temperature," she admits, giving him a knowing look, "like keeping the shopping cool, but Flatus adds an intensity to the spell."
He raises an eyebrow. "Does it really? And when did you become an expert in healing charms?"
"It's what they used to use in the common room. After Quidditch."
"They being James Potter and Sirius Black, I take it?" Severus asks, his tone mild, but she can see the irritation in his eyes.
"And then you should use Ferula," she says, ignoring his jibe.
He scoffs. "It's not broken. It doesn't need bandaging."
"It needs compression," she counters. "It'll heal faster." She settles back up next to him, plucking her mug from the air. "Besides, if you can't stand, I'll be the one cooking-"
"-no, I said I was cooking, you're meant to be resting-"
"-exactly!" She takes a sip of her tea, watching him from over the brim of the mug. "Use those spells, and then you can get back to being in charge in the kitchen."
When she returns from washing up, he's lying on his stomach, both feet aloft - one bandaged, and he's reading aloud to River.
"I thought I heard your voice," she says, lying down next to him, running her fingers across River's stomach and making him squirm. "Is Daddy reading to you, Riv?"
"Four words."
She looks at Severus, a frown on her face. "Four words?"
"You were right, Lily," Severus murmurs, his voice low, and a slow smile spreading across his face. "I did what you said. It feels better."
"Good," she says, pressing a kiss to his lips and then she pulls back slightly, trailing her hand down his cheek. "I was so worried-"
"-it's nothing, it's just a sprain-"
"-you were gone hours. I thought something awful had happened. I thought he'd found you."
"Oh. No. No, he didn't find me." He glances down. "I went with them."
"With Mummy and Daddy? All the way to Tuney's?"
He gives a half nod. "Cooling charm on the shopping in the boot, and a long drive down the motorway," he says, by way of explanation. "They needed the car, else I'd have Apparated them."
"So how did you hurt your ankle if it wasn't running from Avery?"
He gives a small laugh. "Running from Avery? Think I'm a coward, do you?"
"No, I didn't mean-"
"-I landed roughly when I Disapparated from Tuney's, that's all."
She looks surprised. "You landed roughly outside? But Sev, you've done it a million times and-"
"-not here," he admits, before swerving into a half truth. "I jumped around a bit. Like we've been doing. In case anyone was following me."
"You think someone was-"
"-no," he says, quickly. "I don't think that. I was just being cautious. Better safe than sorry and all that. I must've lost concentration, that's all. You know what it's like with unfamiliar places." He gives her a tight smile. "Could've been worse, could've splinched myself."
"Don't," she says, "it doesn't bear thinking about - you, on your own, bleeding out."
"Shhhh, it's ok. I'm fine. No blood."
She nods, the silence loud between them. "So," she says, eventually, "what did Tuney have to say for herself? Bet she was surprised to see you."
You can say that again.
"Not much," he says, stiffly. "She was happy to see your parents at least. Her and Vernon both."
"I know it's for the best," Lily says, quietly, her hand ghosting over River's stomach again, "but I hate to think of them missing out on even a week of seeing this little one growing up."
"It wasn't safe for them here."
She nods. "I know. It'll save them a fortune," she says, quietly. "I always thought that hotel wasn't worth the money-"
"-I don't think your dad chose it because of the number of stars it had-"
"-it's not about stars, it's about it being noisy with the trains coming and going at all hours," she says. "I'm sure he was being taken advantage of. They'll be happier at Tuney's," she concedes.
"I don't know, her decor is just as horrid," Severus says, with a laugh. "She's got lace doilies on the three piece suite now."
"Ugh," Lily laughs, "I should've known."
There's a pause.
"...it takes the pressure off us, as well," Lily says, quietly. "Off you." When he still doesn't say anything, she elaborates. "With working out the Fidelius for the house."
"...yeah, I knew what you meant."
Lily slides her hand into his. "No-one's blaming you for this, Sev."
He swallows hard.
"It's just one of those things," she says, trying to keep her tone light, "and look, you managed it for your parents."
"We managed it."
"I hardly contributed," she says, and at his look of dissent, she gives him a fierce look. "Don't pretend otherwise, I could feel your magic, Sev, I know how powerful you are. I know you can do it, even without me to help."
There's a long silence, her fingers twisting against his.
"And just think, when you've got it right, they can come back," she says, softly, a hopeful smile spread across her face.
Lily turns the light off, and Severus holds the duvet up for her to climb under, and then he coils himself around her - not quite as effectively as usual, as his damaged ankle stops him from getting as close as he would like.
"Thank you," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. "For looking after me tonight. Your healing charms are exemplary and you cook a mean fry up."
"I've learnt from the best," she laughs, leaning into his touch. "I should be thanking you."
"For showing you the secrets of the frying pan?"
"Idiot. For keeping my parents safe."
There's a silence.
"...it was the least I could do," he says, finally. "Come on, let's get some sleep. We've had a long day."
He can't sleep.
He lies, staring at the ceiling, trying desperately not to move - trying desperately not to disturb Lily, knowing all too well that within an hour or two, River will be waking her for his next feed.
He looks at her from the corner of his eye, watching as she sleeps, her chest slowly rising and falling, one hand pushed under her pillow, her other hand by her cheek.
Peaceful. Serene.
His ankle aches and his head is throbbing and he can feel his meal sitting unsteadily in his stomach, as if he's on the verge of throwing up.
Stop winding yourself up like this. Just go to fucking sleep.
He stretches his neck, twisting it left and then right, and then he gently rolls onto his side, his eyes firmly closed. It takes longer than he would like, but he refuses to open his eyes again, refuses to count sheep, refuses to indulge his insomnia - and eventually, he falls fast asleep.
It hits him like a lightning bolt through the chest, and he flings his arms out wildly. He can hear his name being called, but he can't answer - pain is radiating through him, as if electricity is surging through his nerves, fanning out from the burning sting sharply piercing his heart, seemingly stealing the air from his lungs and the sounds from his larynx.
He jerks his arms and his legs, and the violent movement jars his injured ankle, and the pain from it is screaming in his brain, as if it's the background singer at a concert desperate to be heard over the main event.
There's sweat liberally pouring off him, down his face and his body, and his skin clammy as he claws at his chest. His body feels as if it's burning up whilst his fingers and nose and toes feel as if they've been plunged into ice, and these simultaneous feelings of hot and cold are almost enough to make him throw up.
Almost.
"Fucking hell, fuck!"
And then, as quickly as it started, the pain recedes and he's left lying on the bed, the covers thrown from him, his face and body sticky and slick with sweat and he's panting, trying to catch his breath - and then he can hear his son's cries of distress and he sees Lily's horrified expression, tears openly falling down her face.
"Don't you dare say you're fine, Sev," she says, gripping his hands tightly. "Don't you dare."
Notes:
Well, what can I say? If you're still reading, I'm very grateful that you're still interested.
This is the longest break I've ever had from writing this fic. Frustratingly, it was all going well - from December onwards, I'd hit 13 chapters in 13 weeks, and I was genuinely excited to write at every opportunity.
...and then the Covid-19 situation became serious in the UK, and I guess this whole lockdown and isolating business affected me more than I would like to think it did.
It's intensely frustrating because the plot was really thundering along a few weeks ago, and I feel as if I've squandered that momentum - AND I left it on the world's most awful cliffhanger, which is terrible form.
I can only apologise.
Thank you to the people who've been reading during lockdown - your comments definitely cheered me through this difficult period.
I hope you're all keeping safe.
Chapter 135: Worst memory
Chapter Text
Lily descends the stairs quickly, her breath catching in her throat as she spies Severus sitting miserably on the edge of their bed, elbows on knees, hands gripping hair, back uncomfortably rounded.
"Here," she says, moving swiftly to stand before him, and holding a potion out, "take this."
Severus looks up, his eyes dark and his expression sullen. "I'll be fine now."
"For how long, Severus?" she asks, coolly. "Take it."
He glances at it. "A Draught of Peace?"
"Stress. That's what you said this was. This'll help."
He pauses for a long moment, but eventually he accepts the potion from her, uncaps it and drinks it down. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Thanks."
She sits next to him, looping her arm around him. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," he says, dismissively.
"Sev!"
"I am." The jut of his jaw reminds her of when they were small; when he would defiantly stare down the world, no matter his discomfort, challenging everyone in it to take him on.
"You can't be," she reasons, sliding her arm around his waist and squeezing him tightly. "I'm certainly not fine, and it wasn't even happening to me."
He looks at her, his eyes raking over her face, as if he's trying to search for the meaning of life within her expression. "...it's getting worse," he finally concedes.
"I know. I want you to go to the doctors."
Immediately, he shakes his head. "No."
"I know it's not the same as seeing a Healer-"
"-it's not that-"
"-but it doesn't matter that they're not magically trained, Sev!" she continues loudly, ignoring his argument. "Even Muggles suffer from stress. They might be able to give you something to help."
"I don't need their poxy tablets. Besides, I'm not registered-"
"-then sign up," she argues. "Don't pretend that they can't help you - you saw how they looked after me when Riv was born."
"Our situation is not the same."
She bristles at the implication, and he catches her eye.
"I didn't mean that," he says, looking pained. "I meant, you were in hospital for a reason. This… This is just an inconvenience."
"An inconvenience?" She looks at him incredulously. "Sev, you just woke me and our son-"
"-I didn't mean to-"
"-you can't go on like this."
"I can handle it."
"You can't," she implores. "Please. See a doctor."
He sits, pulling at the skin on the tip of his thumb. "...I feel better now," he says, sulkily.
"For how long though, Sev?"
"I think you had the answer," he adds, a little more brightly, turning to look at her. "The Draught of Peace. I think it's helped."
"Until it wears off, and then what?"
"I can take more-"
"-you know it's not designed to be taken every few hours!"
"Not a full vial, no, but I probably don't need a full vial." At her dubious look, he continues. "I just need to work out how much to take, that's all. There's others too - potions for anxiety, for nervousness, sleeplessness even!" He flashes her a quick smile and pushes himself up off the bed, retreating into the hallway, and when he returns, he's holding Hipworth's Remedies aloft. "We can brew."
"You can brew," she corrects him, and she regrets it almost immediately, as his shoulders sink and the sullen expression returns to his face.
"Yeah," he says, quietly, sitting down next to her once more. "Sorry."
"...I don't like the idea of you dosing yourself. You've got to be careful when you're taking combinations-"
"-I'm not going to do anything stupid. I know which potions don't mix, Lil."
"And what if you've got the diagnosis wrong?" she counters. "What if you make yourself worse?"
"I won't."
"You can't know that, Sev, because you don't actually know what this is! What if this isn't stress after all?"
He looks away. "Of course it is. What else could it be?" He stands, Hipworth's Remedies still gripped in his hand. "Speaking of potions, I'm going to get a Sleeping Draught," he says, not quite looking Lily in the eye, "to see if I can salvage any rest from tonight. Do you want one, love?"
She glances at River, who is peacefully sleeping behind them, and shakes her head. "No," she says, "I don't want to give it to River through his milk."
When he returns, she puts her hand on his to stop him from drinking it, and he looks at her warily, as if he's expecting a fight - but then she gives him a watery smile. "Take the charms off the back door before you knock yourself out," she says, "I need the loo."
Severus sleeps. Lily doesn't.
When River wakes again, just before five, demanding to be fed, she gives up any pretence of trying to sleep. She feeds him and winds him and changes him, and then when light starts to spill through the curtains, he suddenly falls back asleep.
Typical.
She puts the kettle on, and even though she doesn't manage to dampen the whistle before it disturbs River, Severus doesn't stir. She drinks her tea, staring down at her husband's prostrate form, his cheek pressed against the mattress, his long hair hanging off the bed, the duvet screwed around him.
Lily gently tugs the duvet, and when his fingers loosen their grip on it, she pulls it free from his grasp. She shakes it out and covers him neatly with it, smoothing the creases from the cover with the palm of her hand as she straightens it.
She pulls the bottom corner, covering his feet - and then she spies the loosened bandages around his ankle. Her reactions are instinctive, reaching into her sleeve to withdraw her wand, the spell on her lips to reapply the bandages, to provide comfort to her husband - and then she realises her hand is empty.
You can't help him.
"Come on, little man," she says, scooping River up in her arms. "Let's leave Daddy to sleep."
She climbs the stairs, and stands with River in his bedroom, staring through the window and looking out over the yards and down the long straight alley, still spotted with shallow puddles despite it not having rained in days.
"You'll be getting muddy feet and mucky knees running up and down there in a few years, Riv," she says, holding him up to show him, although she knows fully well that he hasn't got the depth of vision, and she's suddenly struck with a memory of how Narcissa used brightly coloured charms to entrance her son in his first few weeks.
She swallows hard. "I'll have to teach Daddy how to do that for you, Riv," she says, reaching up with her hand to tap the mobile hanging down from the ceiling, "but this'll have to do in the meantime. What's this, Riv?" she says, holding him beneath it and letting the parrot nod back and forth. "It's a parrot. Look at his feathers, look at the colours - they're green and blue and red, and look, here's his beak." She reaches up and stills the parrot, moving on to the monkey. "And this is the monkey, look at his long arms, Riv, and look, he's got a long tail! Have you got a tail, Riv?"
By eleven, River is sleeping soundly once more, whilst Severus still hasn't stirred.
Lily brandishes a cloth and attacks the kitchen worktops and the sink and the draining board, and then makes quick work of cleaning the floor, letting her frustration spill into her cleaning.
When she hears a noise, she rinses the cloth, trying desperately to ignore the sound of the water cascading into the sink, and heads back into the living room, expecting to see Severus sitting up - but he's still fast asleep, and there's two tiny arms flailing.
River.
"Come on," she says, picking him up and cuddling him close, "are you wide awake again now?" She gently wipes her finger just under his eye, wiping sleep from it. "Shall we look at those books we got from the library for you, hey, Riv? Read something a bit more age appropriate?"
It's how she spends the best part of half an hour, saying the same sentences over and over, pointing to the pages and the pictures, trailing her finger across the words as she sounds them out, discussing what she can see in the illustrations.
"I know," she murmurs to her son, kissing him on the cheek, "I know I sound so crazy talking like this, but Granny said that it's not too soon to start." She smiles widely. "And none of Daddy's books have any pictures in, do they, Riv? No, they don't - they're all full of long names and silly words that nobody would understand if you said them outside of the house…"
She trails off then, the thought weighing heavily. What will we do if River goes to nursery and starts talking about Polyjuice this, and flobberworm that? She shoots another glance at her unmoving husband. He's unhappy enough that we're not magical - if I ban him from even mentioning spells or wizards or potions, he'll be miserable, and if I suggest he shouldn't be reading magical books to River, he'll be absolutely gutted.
Lily sighs heavily, cuddling River closer to her. "It's your daddy's favourite thing to do with you, isn't it, Riv?" She closes the picture book and picks another one up. "I wonder if we can get him into reading these to you instead?"
She reads through the book twice, but she keeps looking towards the hallway where the magical books are kept, and after shooting a third glance at Severus, who is still sleeping soundly, she lifts River up against her shoulder.
"Let's just have a quick look and help Daddy, hey, Riv?"
She's relieved when he finally stirs.
"Mornin'," he mutters, rubbing his eyes.
"It's half past two, Sev," she says, her voice light.
"Shit, sorry."
"It's fine," she says, dropping a kiss on his forehead. "You obviously needed the rest."
"Did you sleep ok?"
She gives him a knowing shake of the head. "Let's just say it's my turn tonight."
He looks troubled. "Sorry, love," he says, stretching and pushing the duvet off him. "I'll take Riv for a bit."
"You can have him for five minutes," she says, "after you've opened up so I can go to the loo."
"Oh fuck, love," he says, scrambling out of bed, "you should've woken me!" He quickly unthreads the charms on the back door, and she passes River to him before making a quick exit.
When she returns, he still looks guilty. "It's fine," she says, with a smile, "I just didn't have many cups of tea this morning."
"I'll get you one," he says, ushering her back into the living room. "Least I can do."
"Thanks, Sev," she says, pressing a short kiss to his lips and then taking River back off him.
"What've you been doing all morning?" he asks, following her back into the living room, and raising an eyebrow at the magical textbooks and parchment and the discarded quill on her side of the bed. "Reading him something age appropriate?" he teases. "I thought that's why we went to the library?"
"We've read through those ones already," she says, dismissively.
"Ahhh, they're not as good as these magic ones, are they, River?" He grins broadly. "What can I say, the boy's got good taste." When Lily doesn't look up from the notes she's making, he leans over. "Seriously, love, what are you doing? I haven't seen you write on parchment for months."
"Have a wash and make me a cup of tea, and I'll think about telling you."
"Your mother drives a hard bargain, Riv," he says, reaching over to kiss Lily on the cheek and River on the forehead. "Want anything to eat?"
"No," she says, her eyes focused on the page - and then, when he stands awkwardly, she looks at his foot and points at it with her quill. "Ferula, Sev."
"What?" He stops and looks back at her, and then he realises, looking down at his foot. "Shit, yeah, that's come loose."
"It came loose hours ago," she says, "but…" She shrugs. "I couldn't do anything about it."
He gives her a tight smile. "Don't worry. I'll sort it."
Lily watches him as he pores over the first sheet of notes, his face entirely unreadable. He flicks over to the second page, his frown growing deeper and then he sniffs and sits back, but his eyes are still focused on the page.
"You don't think it's any use?"
"I didn't say that," he mutters, not stopping reading. "It's… Thorough."
She adjusts her position so she's next to him, and runs her finger down the adjustments on the left. "You'll know more about these than I do, but I remembered that we were taught that these," she says, tapping the page, "were interchangeable with their more common magical counterparts. The more exotic ingredients will be impossible to find, but the ones with an asterisk are just ordinary herbs and spices."
"I don't know more about it than you do," he says, still frowning. "In fact, I don't know anything about it at all."
She gives him a strange look. "You must - I remember us learning it."
"Not from Sluggy." He absently scratches his chin. "And I'm hardly a Cordon Bleu chef, but some of these do seem to make sense. They might work."
"They will work," she insists. "We were taught it. Where else would I know this from?"
He gives her a long stare. "I don't know, but it wasn't Sluggy. I know for certain it wasn't."
"I remember it, Sev."
"I'm not disputing that, love," he says, his frown growing deeper, "but this is the first I've heard of such substitutes. I've never been taught this in any Potions class before or after Hogwarts - not from Sluggy, not from Borage, not from Jigger." He pauses, and then his eyes widen. "Wait, I bet you learnt this from Professor Thompson," he says, looking triumphant, "didn't you?"
"Muggle Studies," she exclaims, "of course it was! Muggle ingredients for magical potions when magical shops were out of reach."
"And there's no such class as far as Slytherin is concerned," he says, smiling at her weakly. "Explains a lot about Mam's brewing, or rather, lack of it."
"Yeah, there definitely wasn't anyone from Slytherin in with us. It was mostly Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, if I remember rightly. Remind me, what did you take instead?"
"Care of Magical Creatures."
"Oh yeah, of course you did - with Six Fingers Kettleburn."
Severus laughs. "I heard from Sluggy that he's down to four now." He lifts his left hand and waves it. "Lost a whole hand, apparently."
"He hasn't! Blimey, he was already missing a leg below the knee, wasn't he?" She bites her lip, trying not to laugh. "I bet his lessons were eventful."
"Yeah, I bet they would've been as well," Severus says, dismissively, turning to the next page, "but I barely had any. He was always on academic probation for one thing or another."
"You're right," she says, with a smile. "I can't imagine why Dumbledore hasn't sacked him."
"Part of the furniture, I think," Severus says, "like Binns - been there since before Dippet."
"Probably something in their contracts."
"Yeah, probably."
She gives him a strange look. "So whilst I was learning useful information in Muggle Studies and your professor was on probation, what exactly were you up to, Severus Snape?"
"I hung out in the library a lot," he says. "Used to go around the edge of the Forbidden Forest hunting for potions ingredients if it wasn't raining." He shrugs. "It wasn't for long though - only during third year."
"You didn't take the class again?"
"Couldn't," he says, with a grin. "Don't you remember when he got suspended for the entirety of our fourth year for smuggling that flock of cockatrice into Britain over the holidays?"
She laughs. "I had forgotten all about that!"
"Yeah, well, that was me done for Care of Magical Creatures," he grins. "Dumbledore struck a line through it on the timetable, so it was Ancient Runes, Arithmancy," and he pauses to grimace, "or Divination."
"You did Ancient Runes, didn't you?" she says, and suddenly, she remembers the book with the sigils in and his scrawled notes over the top.
"I did, love. Right pain it was too," he says, not noticing how quiet she's fallen. "Professor Harold Haynes," he grumbles, "made us do double lessons that year. He reckoned he was getting us up to speed, but I reckon he was bitter that we all chose old Kettleburn over him the year before."
"Did you cover sigils in Ancient Runes?"
He looks surprised. "Sigils? No," he says, shaking his head emphatically. "Definitely not. Funny, I remember Ave asking Haynes about them once, and he nearly tore his head off." He gives a shrug. "Don't know why - Malf told us that he'd taught him about them when he was in his fourth year."
"I guess that was when Dippet was Headmaster though."
"Yeah," Severus nods, "yeah, that's true. Wouldn't surprise me if Dumbledore banned them - you know he's funny about anything he perceives as being dark magic."
She swallows hard. "So that's what you'd say they are?" she presses. "Sigils, I mean. Dark magic?"
He gives her another strange look. "We're not back on this tired topic again, are we, love?"
She falls silent and he flips over the parchment, continuing to read.
"...what's this? Citing Viridian?" Severus gives her a knowing stare. "Is this why you're asking me about dark magic? Has Viridian been making your fingers itch?"
Lily scoffs. "Doesn't matter if he has," she says, pointedly, flexing her fingers, "seeing as it's all trapped inside here."
There's a silence.
"...Lil, I'm sorry. I shouldn't… I shouldn't blurt things out like that," he says, looking pained.
She places her hand on his shoulder. "I know. It's ok."
"It's not," he says, with feeling. "But still, this stuff… Viridian, I mean…" He trails off with a shrug. "I thought you didn't like his work."
"He's the master of the Fidelius Charm," she reasons, "and you said that the chapter you read wasn't helping you, so I took another look." She leans over and picks the original book up, flicking through the pages until she reaches what she's looking for. "Here, look at this," she says, passing him the open book. "He wrote one chapter on the Fidelius-"
"-I know-"
"-but," she says, triumphantly, "he touches on it in this one too."
He gives her a knowing look. "Yeah, and I read that one as well."
She gives a small laugh. "I thought you might've - but it was worth pointing out, just in case." She takes the book back and flicks through it again. "But did you see this? He also wrote separately about soul magic."
He doesn't answer.
"So did you read this chapter?" she presses. "Because I checked his claims against Herpo the Foul-"
"-I cannot believe you picked that up," he says, looking astonished.
"And I can't believe you have that book in our house," she says, hotly, "but you're full of surprises these days, Sev. Anyway, Herpo - according to this biographer at least - drew similar conclusions to Viridian." She passes him the biography. "So if you haven't read it already, compare this chapter with," and then she leans over and taps Viridian's book, "this one."
He's silent for a moment, and then he lets out a deep sigh. "I understand what you're trying to do, but it's no use, Lil. I've already read them both back to front, and it's me that's at fault - I'm just not powerful enough to perform the magic required."
"Well," she says, clearly not easily deterred from the topic, "you keep going on about how you're not strong enough and not powerful enough," and then she pauses, looking at him sternly as she passes him another book, "so I did some more digging and I found one other thing that might just help…"
Severus looks at the book in astonishment. "Cadmus Smith?" He gives her an amused smile. "Did you read what he had to say, love?"
"I read enough," she says, bristling. "You keep going on about power, and this is how you harness-"
"-blood magic is for the benefit of the witch," he interrupts, gently. "The Pureblood wizard gifts his wife the treasures of the family name, to protect her-"
"-it isn't just the wife who can benefit," Lily says, hastily grabbing the book back and flicking through it, "it speaks of heirs-"
"-to protect her," Severus repeats, "and his children. Those who join the family, who did not originally bear its name."
She moves furiously through the book, the pages becoming a blur. "It doesn't say that, it doesn't say wife," she insists. "Look!"
He takes it from her, reading the paragraph. "It says partners," he admits, begrudgingly, and then he sighs, "but we both know it means wife. These Purebloods are all the same."
She looks at him critically. "If it meant wife, they'd have written wife," she says, exasperation filling her tone. "Honestly, since when have you ever ignored semantics, Sev? You're usually the first to point out these inconsistencies. Besides, not every Pureblood wizard takes a wife."
"The wizard," he says, forcefully, "carries the family name and if there's children involved, heirs, then it follows that this must mean the witch - the wife."
"But you don't bear the family name either, Sev, and you wear the jewellery too! What if you could channel something through this heirloom," she says, eagerly, tapping his wedding ring, "even if it's something slight, wouldn't that be enough?"
Severus leans against the brick wall, his injured foot slightly raised so as not to put any weight on it, and takes a long, slow drag of his cigarette.
Tell her.
He scratches his eyebrow with the edge of his thumb before bringing the cigarette to his lips again.
Lily watches him through the kitchen window, struggling to read his body language - not least because he's staring at the gate, his back to the house.
I thought he'd be excited, she muses, washing their cups in the sink. I thought he'd leap at the chance to try. She pulls the plug and rinses the suds from the sink before filling the kettle and putting it on the stove.
Lily opens the cupboard and takes two teabags out of the box. He usually loves loopholes and solutions that nobody else has seen - loves to be a pioneer. She puts a teabag in each cup, and then reaches for the sugar and opens the cutlery drawer, searching for a spoon.
She sees him move then - just slightly. His back straightens, as if he's inhaled deeply, but instead of a thick chain of smoke emitting from him, as if he were a Hebridean Black, he flicks his cigarette end onto the ground and his shoulders sag, and he runs his hands over his face.
He stands like this for a long moment, as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders, and she freezes, terrified that he's going to grip his chest and sink to his knees in pain - but he doesn't. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair, over and over, before heading to the toilet.
He's scared, she thinks, reaching into the fridge for the milk. He's scared that he won't be able to do it - that he'll fail me.
Severus cooks, and they eat, the radio on low - just enough to be background noise, yet high enough so there's no need for conversation. He washes up whilst Lily tidies the front room, putting the books in a neat pile and resting the parchment on top, and then she sets out a clean towel and clean clothes for River.
"Bath night?" Severus says, with a lopsided smile, and he quickly alters the shower until it's suitable for River. He settles down next to her, and the two of them work together to bathe their son.
"You or me?" he asks as he reconstructs the shower.
"You first," she says, "I'll feed Riv and see if he'll settle."
Severus stretches out on the bed, casting at his ankle again before settling back. To his surprise, Lily catches his eye as the water flows over her, and she pauses washing to blow him a kiss, causing soap bubbles to fly from her outstretched hand, and he feels a warm thrill shooting through him at her actions.
She loves you, he thinks, remembering how she'd hidden from him previously, and he grins broadly at her actions, keen to encourage her - and then the warm thrill is replaced by something cooler. She's behaving like this because you talked it out. Because you told her what was upsetting you, and she changed her behaviour. You need to do the same. Talk to her. Tell her.
He glances at the tall pile of books, the parchment balanced precariously on top, and then reaches for it. He doesn't dare look up, doesn't dare look back at her, but he's certain that she's smiling as she watches his movements.
"Well," she asks, wrapping her towel around her and then sitting on the bed next to him, "what do you think?"
"I think I thoroughly enjoyed the show," he says, kissing her.
"Sev!"
"Don't blush," he laughs, kissing her again, "I meant it."
"You're an idiot."
"Your idiot."
She laughs. "Apparently." She glances over at River, content that he's sleeping, and then she presses herself closer to Severus. "He's fast asleep. What do you want to do this evening?"
"This is good enough for me," he smiles, unable to resist kissing her again.
"Sev…" She laughs again, her cheeks slightly pink. "I mean, do you want the radio on?"
He shakes his head. "Not particularly."
"We could talk," she ventures, reaching over and picking one of the books up, "about this, perhaps? Did you read my notes?"
Tell her.
"You saw me. And yes, love, your theory makes sense."
Even from just the corner of his eye, he can see a broad smile of elation on her face.
"So you'll try?"
Tell her.
"And what?" he asks, trying to keep his voice steady. "I try to make myself more powerful using this...blood magic," he says, "and then I try the Fidelius on our house?"
"Yes," she says, keenly, "and if it works, then you can put it on at Mummy and Daddy's."
Tell her.
"And if it doesn't?"
She slides her hand into his. "Then we try something else."
Tell her.
"Lil… What if there isn't anything else?"
"There will be, Sev," she says, confidently. "There's always something we can do - something we can try. There's a whole world of magic that we've barely explored, that we've-"
Tell her.
"-it won't work."
It takes a moment until she registers his words - really registers his words, and then she leans back from him, confusion etched across her face. "...what do you mean? Sev, you haven't even tried, you haven't-"
"-no, I mean, the Fidelius is the wrong spell. It won't work - it won't keep them safe."
"It's what we used at your parents'."
"My mam's a witch," he says, quietly. "It's different."
"But you changed it," Lily says, reaching for his chin, turning his face so he looks at her. "You changed it, for your dad, so he could get in and out."
He looks down, not meeting her gaze. "I can't even perform the original spell at the moment, Lil, let alone any modifications. Even if this blood magic means that I managed to do the original, there's no saying I could make the modification, and your parents are both Muggles - it's useless to them without it."
"But-"
"-and how long were we at Mam and Da's, hey?" he says, looking up, his voice a little louder. "Hours! Until we got it right, in and out, over and over." His gaze is earnest. "And have we got that time to spare, Lil? What happens if Avery or Mulciber or someone else pops by for a quick look whilst we're in the middle of setting it all up?"
She looks away. "I shouldn't have bothered. You're not even willing to try."
"It's not about not being willing," he argues, "it's about it not making sense. It's not the right thing to do."
"Oh, so it was all right whilst it was your parents, but you don't care about-"
"-don't be ridiculous," he snaps, shooting a quick look towards River, checking his voice hasn't woken their son before continuing more quietly. "Lil, it's got nothing to do with that. This is because I do care about your parents!"
Lily stays silent.
"Lil, listen - they don't know where my parents are-"
"-Lucius does-"
"-Malf is different!" He grabs her hands, holding them painfully tightly. "These wizards - Avery, Mulciber… They're not going to stop. You've seen that. They've tracked me to one location, and with the badge gone, they're not going to give up on their sole lead."
"You don't know-"
"-I do know," he interrupts, angrily, "and I am telling you - your parents' house will never be safe! I'm not prepared to seal two Muggles inside, entirely defenceless against anyone who attempts to breach it."
They sit in stark silence, just the sounds of River breathing in and out punctuating the quiet - and then Lily stands, towelling herself down before changing into her nightie.
It's back, he thinks, glaring as she does so. "I thought we'd discussed wearing-"
"-and I thought we'd discussed what you were going to do to help my parents," she snaps, irritably, yanking the duvet back and getting into their bed. "What did you even say to them? Do they know?" Her bright green eyes are fierce. "Or are they down in Surrey waiting, thinking you're working on bringing them home?"
His voice is almost a whisper. "...no."
"No? No what? No, they don't know-"
"-no, they don't think I'm working on bringing them home."
"You told them?" Lily's voice gets louder. "You told them, but you didn't think to tell your wife, you didn't think to-"
"-no, I didn't tell them. I Obliviated them," he says, the words spilling from his mouth.
She stares at him in horror. "You did what?"
"I Oblivated them," he says, and this time, his tone is belligerent. "As far as they're concerned, they don't live in Cokeworth - they've never even heard of Cokeworth."
It's like she's in a trance. She remembers standing and shouting, and River waking. She remembers pushing Severus off her, his hands reaching for her shoulders. She remembers scooping River into her arms, holding him protectively, his blanket hanging loose and Severus moving forward, as if to tuck it back in, but she'd pulled away, spun away, hating the thought of him touching her, touching her son.
"Please," Severus begs, and he's on his knees, and his eyes are bloodshot, "please, I'm begging you, Lil, hear me out."
"I don't want to hear your excuses." She holds River closer.
"They're not excuses, Lil, I-"
"-do you remember," she cuts in, her voice clipped, "what you did when we broke up?"
He looks terrified - haunted. "Lil, please, no."
"Do you remember, Severus? When you assumed - wrongly - that I was shagging James Potter?"
"I don't know, I don't know what you mean, I can't-"
"-you left me and you went to your parents'."
Silence.
"And what was the last thing you said to me?"
"Lil…"
"Don't Lil me," she says, icily. "What did you say to me? What were your parting words, before you slammed the door to our flat and ran away?"
He shakes his head, his hands gripping in his hair. "I don't, I can't-"
"-remember?" She lets out a strangled sob, holding River even more tightly. "You can't remember? It's my worst memory, and you can't even remember."
"I love you," he whispers, screwing his eyes up, as if saying the words are painful, "but I can't even look at you."
"Close. It was: I might love you," she corrects, tears now falling, "but right now, I can't even fucking look at you."
"Lily, please, I'm begging you, I'm sorry."
She puts her hand up, as if to create a barrier between them. "You hurt me, Severus - so badly. Sometimes, after, I'd stand in our bedroom in the flat, and I'd look at you and I used to try and imagine saying those words, shouting those words at you and meaning them. And I couldn't! I couldn't do it. I could never ever put myself in that position, could never speak to you the way you spoke to me."
"Lil…"
Lily swipes at one eye and then the other, trying futilely to stem the flow of tears. "I used to think about how much you hated me in that moment, to have said such a thing-"
"-Lily, I was stupid and jealous and scared and I thought-"
"-and now, I get it."
He recoils as if she's slapped him.
"I get it, Severus, because I am looking at you right now - my husband, the man I have pledged to love forever and ever, and I get it. Knowing what you've done-"
"-what I've done is for the best! I did it for us, for you, for them!"
"For them? For me?" She scoffs. "Severus, you have as good as murdered them-"
"-no, I've saved them! They would've been murdered, and I've saved them!"
Lily gives a strangled laugh. "I can't listen to this. You're pathetic."
"Lily, please-"
"-this is what you've always wanted, isn't it? I was so stupid, all those times you said you wanted to lock me away, to keep me safe-"
"-I just want to look after you-"
"-you want to control me! And now you do! You've done to me exactly what you said you wouldn't do to my parents."
He listens in disbelief, his mouth gaping. "Lil, no, don't twist this, I was keeping you safe, I am keeping you safe!"
"You've locked me in here without any magic. You've got rid of my family, and I've got nowhere else to go. No friends. You ran away to your parents, and you've made sure they're protected, but where can I go? Who can I turn to?"
"Lil, come on, this isn't fair-"
"-you think I'm not being fair?" She gives another strangled sob, her hand coming up to her mouth.
"That's not what happened! We were happy! We are happy - just us, together, that's all we said we needed!"
"I didn't know how determined you were to make that reality," she says, coldly, her eyes still filled with tears. "I don't know who you are anymore. You're not the man I fell in love with and…" She trails off, crying harder.
"Lily, please, I'm begging you, just listen-"
"-I get it now, Severus. What you said to me. Because I can't look at you. I can't look at you and see my husband's face, the face of the man I love and see instead the man who has done this to me, to us!"
"Lil, I'm sorry-"
"-don't!" She's true to her word, refusing to look at him, but instead, she looks over him, her tear streaked face filled with disgust. "I'll be sleeping upstairs with River. Don't even think about following us up."
Chapter 136: Co-existing
Chapter Text
It's uncomfortable, like two distant flatmates co-existing after a disagreement; Lily confined to the rooms upstairs, whilst Severus remains downstairs.
He takes her words to heart, and doesn't step foot on the stairs - although when he wakes at River's cries in the night, he can feel that horribly familiar pain building in his chest.
You should be helping her, not hiding down here like a coward.
He's smoking more, and he knows she can tell. He knows she can smell it when she ventures downstairs, lingering on his unchanged clothes and in his unwashed hair.
When he hears the stairs creaking - her footsteps slow and deliberate - he rises and removes the charms on the back door, and then he stands, his back straight and his eyes fixed on a point in the distance, his wand clenched in his fist.
Not a word passes between them - she doesn't ask, and he doesn't offer - but she raises her arms slightly, and he slides his wand up his sleeve and welcomes their son into his arms.
It goes too quickly for his liking - a minute, maybe two - and then she's back, and the dense warm weight of their son is lifted from him, and before he can finish reapplying the charms on the door, his wife and son have both retreated upstairs.
The first day, he hadn't bothered cooking, and she hadn't asked - hadn't felt like eating. By the second evening she was working up the courage to speak to him - ruminating as to whether she should pass River to him and ask him to watch their son whilst she cooked, or ask him to honour his earlier promise of cooking for the two of them - when she heard him working away in the kitchen.
She could hear the banging from upstairs - the clatter of the pan, the thump of the fridge door - but forty minutes later, the creak of the back door as it swings open surprises her.
He's probably going to the loo before eating.
When she doesn't hear the door slamming shut, she gathers River in her arms and moves into River's room, keeping the light off so she's not silhouetted, and she peers through the single pane of glass.
Not the toilet.
His arms are braced against the top of the wall, and he's gazing down at the paving slabs, his long hair surrounding his face, and his injured ankle still raised an inch or two from the ground.
What's he doing?
It hurts, watching him, misery emanating from him. She pulls River closer to her, trying to keep the sob from escaping her body, but she can't stop watching him, trying to reconcile the image she can see before her, and the image she has in her head of her loving husband, and his callous actions towards her family.
As she tries to work out what he's doing, she suddenly spies that familiar tiny red light between his fingers.
Smoking. Of course.
He dawdles, letting the cigarette spend longer burning down between his fingers than actively pulling on it - and then as it's almost at its filter, he suddenly knocks the ash onto the ground and sucks the cigarette furiously, letting out a long stream of smoke. He tries again, but there's nothing left, and he extinguishes the butt with the sole of his boot, kicking the stub towards the grid.
She expects him to straighten - to compose himself and return indoors - but he doesn't. Instead, he leans forward, resting his forehead on his forearms, still braced firmly against the wall.
He remains like that, as if the wall is the only thing holding him up, for ten minutes or more - and then, just when she thinks he's going to retreat indoors, he fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a cigarette packet. His wand follows shortly after, and then he straightens.
She stands back, watching him out of the corner of her eye, as he turns and leans heavily against the wall, his foot still raised. His posture is slumped, and after he lights his cigarette he lets himself slide down the brickwork, his t-shirt sticking against the rough surface, pulling the material up to reveal his stomach.
He'll have scratched his back against the bricks.
She watches as he slumps heavily - uncaring - onto the slabs, and then he pulls on the cigarette over and over, letting it hang loosely from the fingers of his right hand, whilst the fingers of his left hand tangle in his hair - and then, as he works his way down his cigarette, she can see that he's gripping his hair tighter and tighter, until eventually, he's hitting the side of his head with his balled up fist.
She steps back. She can't watch this.
Black yanks hard on his bootlace before looking up, his handsome face filled with disgust. "Are you out of your tiny mi-"
"-it was only a suggestion!" Pettigrew says, quickly, throwing his hands up. He watches Black warily, taking a step backwards.
"Yeah? Well, it's the sort of suggestion best kept to yourself," Black hisses, tying one boot and then the other, before standing, staring down at Pettigrew. "Registering!"
"No, that isn't what I said - it's not registering, it's just getting access."
"To get access to Belby's trial," Black enunciates slowly and loudly, as if Pettigrew is hard of hearing - or, rather, hard of thinking, "Remus has to sign a paper which declares his illness-"
"-not just Remus, everyone has to, it's not registering, it's just a condition-"
"-and what do the Ministry do with that paper, Pete?"
Pettigrew looks uncomfortable. "I don't know. They file it?"
"They file it," Black repeats, "and then one day, the department overseeing the trial gets a knock from another department - the aurors, or the legislators, and what happens then?" He takes a step forward. "I'll tell you what happens then - then they don't need werewolves to register because they've already got the confession they need, signed and sealed!"
"I'm just trying to help! Remus keeps saying how the potion has changed his life," Pettigrew says, taking another step backwards, "I'm just trying to get it to him - and," he adds, hastily, "it might be even better if it's from Belby!"
Black scoffs. "What are you dribbling about? A potion is a potion."
"Slughorn never said that about my efforts in class, not compared to yours or Evans' or even Snape's. A potion wasn't a potion back then," Pettigrew argues hotly, "and Belby is a Master. He created it! Evans is our age and she only has a NEWT."
"So? It works, doesn't it?"
"So Remus says." Pettigrew stuffs his hands in his pocket. "What would you and James say if someone swapped your expensive Quidditch World Cup tickets for a match between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw? Quidditch is Quidditch." He shrugs. "And a potion is a potion." Pettigrew catches Black's eye. "I'm just saying. It's an option."
"Put your shoes on. We're late."
Lily slowly ventures downstairs, and to her surprise, there's two plates of food on the worktop. She runs her finger around the edge of one, noting that it's hot.
A warming charm.
He spots her, and he gets up from his position on the floor. It takes him longer than usual, his ankle stopping him from bouncing up like a cat - but he's at the door before she's had chance to think what she's going to say.
"Take it," he says, noting her hand touching it.
"I wasn't-"
"-it's for you. You must be hungry."
"...I'm not."
A flash of pain covers his face. "I get it," he says, his voice low, "I'm not either…"
"But you cooked."
"...don't punish our son for what I've done," Severus says, not looking at her.
She looks aghast. "I wouldn't! I'm not-"
"-not intentionally, but you need to keep your strength up," he interrupts, "and that means eating. Whether you feel like it or not."
Potter bangs on the bathroom door. "Remus? Remus!"
"I'm in the shower!"
Potter sighs. "Are you serious?" He bangs on the door again. "You can shower after this is all over." There's a pause, and then he knocks again. "Come on, Moons, they'll be waiting for us!"
"Then they're too early."
"We said quarter past."
"You said quarter past. I said that was too early."
"We need a bit of time to check the place out," Potter argues.
"We've got a bit of time. Moon won't rise until eight."
"A bit?" Potter sounds incredulous. "Have you lost your mind - it's gone half seven now!"
"Not yet," Lupin grumbles, his voice barely audible above the sound of the shower, but he snaps it off a moment later. "I don't even know why you're doing this," he calls, "I don't need a babysitter."
Potter leans heavily against the door. "I know, Remus," he says, gently, "but you can't go running around forests and hoping that you don't run into anyone. It's not safe."
"I don't remember you having any such concerns a year or so ago-"
"I didn't know that's what you were doing!"
"-or when we were at Hogwarts."
"The Forbidden Forest is different!"
"How?" There's a pause. "Don't be shy, Prongs - how is it different?"
"It's...forbidden," Potter says, weakly. "Come on, Remus, be reasonable - we knew that nobody would be there."
"Did we?" Lupin's voice is cool.
"It was night! It was out of bounds!"
"Not for Hagrid."
Potter runs his hand through his hair. "Yeah, ok, we had a close call with Hagrid - but that just proves what I'm saying! You can't risk a close call, not with Muggles, and definitely not with a witch or a wizard! If they call the Ministry and you're transformed, it's curtains-"
"-thank you, James."
"Finally!" Black says, stalking over to the pair as they land, "I was beginning to think we'd got the wrong place."
"No, you didn't think we had the wrong place," Pettigrew says, petulantly, standing a little away from Black, "you thought I did."
"You got the right place, Pete," Lupin says, shooting a small smile towards Pettigrew. "Here I am."
"So how are we doing this?" Black looks at Potter, entirely ignoring Pettigrew. "There's an old oak back that way that should hold him."
"Does that work for you, Moons?"
Lupin nods. "Fine. Whatever."
"It's five past," Pettigrew squeaks, moving from one foot to the other, and glancing up at the sky through the thickness of the branches. "Moon's almost up."
"In more ways than one," Potter says, with a grin, not noticing Lupin's grimace. He loops the last chain around a tree and connects it to the iron cuff around Lupin's wrist.
Black silently moves next to him, and points his wand at the cuff, securing it to the chain with a spell. "That's the last one." He stares at Lupin. "Feel ok?"
Lupin scoffs. "Wonderful."
"Moons," Potter says, soothingly, "you know what he means." He glances over at the ever-anxious Pettigrew.
"One minute and counting," Pettigrew says, holding one finger up.
Potter turns back to Lupin. "Before we stand back, do you need anything? A drink?"
"I'm fine."
"Something to eat? I've got a chocolate bar somewhere," Potter says, searching in his robes pocket."
"I'm fine."
"And the chains aren't too tight?" Black says, interjecting.
"I'm. Fine."
"I know you're not happy about this, Moons-"
"-who said I wasn't happy? I'm positively ecstatic."
Black sighs, and looks helplessly at Potter, and then at Pettigrew.
"We're just trying to find a way to help you," Pettigrew says, softly.
"Yes, yes," Potter says, a bit more enthusiastically, "and if there was a different way, if we could've found another way…" He trails off. "You said it yourself, Moons - we're no match for your strength when you're transformed. Not these days."
"If we're unlucky, those chains might not even be a match," Black says, dusting his hands off and standing back, "but not to worry, we'll be here, Moons. Watching. Ready. Poised."
Lupin looks away. "Poised against an adult werewolf?" He gives a bitter laugh. "I'll tell you one thing - if I get free, you should keep away." He glances back. "Promise me, all three of you - no being a hero."
"Fuuuck."
"He's…"
"Terrifying."
"...I was thinking huge, but terrifying… Yeah, terrifying works."
"Like a monster," Pettigrew breathes. "He's almost as big as Hagrid."
Potter shakes his head. "No. He's bigger."
"Way bigger," Black agrees.
"Easily."
"He was never that tall back at school, was he?" Black gives a low whistle.
"Nah, he was about five foot," Potter agrees. "You could grapple with him in your canine form, remember?"
Pettigrew watches in fascination as the werewolf howls, fighting futilely against the chains holding him to the old oak. "I think we can see why he kept breaking free."
"...you were sleeping next to that," Black laughs, prodding Potter in the ribs, "curled up in the room next to you."
"All right, shut up."
"Good job Evans knew what she was doing."
"I never had any doubt."
"Good. Because if she'd got it slightly wrong, then that creature over there," Black says, gesticulating towards the werewolf, "could've torn your throat out."
Pettigrew glances uneasily between them. "Don't."
Black laughs. "What's up, scared of the big bad wolf, Petey?"
"...no." He shifts from foot to foot. "What if he can hear us?"
Potter and Black exchange a guilty look.
"He can't," Potter reasons, after a moment. "Not from all the way over there."
"We can hear him-"
"-he's yowling the fucking forest down!" Black exclaims, shaking his head. "Of course we can fucking hear him! We're just having a normal conversation-"
"-expert on the hearing of werewolves, are you?" Pettigrew hisses, his eyes piercing. "What if he's got some super hearing to go along with-"
"-all right, lay off, Pete," Potter says, a little more loudly, slinging an arm around each of them, "we didn't mean anything by it. It's just...a surprise to see him like this. That's all. Right?" He squeezes both of his friends on their upper arms as the three of them watch the werewolf howling in anguish and dismay at being chained up. "Right?"
"I s'pose."
"Guess so."
"Good," Potter says, decisively, "because we're in this together, and we've got a long night ahead." He shoots an uneasy glance towards the distressed werewolf. "All four of us."
It carries on - a day, two days, three days - with barely a word passed between them. Lily only goes downstairs to use the toilet, or to collect her plate, or to pick things up that River needs.
Severus watches her from their bed as she puts together River's belongings, his dark eyes not leaving her. "I can carry his bed up."
Lily can't help but turn to look at him. "I'm sorry?"
"His bed," he repeats, pointing at it. "I can bring it up. If he needs it."
"He's fine sleeping next to me."
There's a silence.
"...but thank you," she says, finally. "For offering."
He gives a stiff nod and then he turns over on the bed, no longer watching her movements. When she moves out of the living room and into the hallway, she glances back at him, but he immediately turns over on the bed so his back is to her.
Lily creeps down the stairs, her eyes fixed only on the bookcase. She kneels before it, pulling each of the books off and opening the fronts, staring at the titles and then piling them next to her, or replacing them back onto the bookcase.
After a few minutes, the living room door is yanked open and he stands there, looming over her, his face drawn and unshaven, and his eyes dark.
"I thought you were coming down to go to the loo."
"No."
He gives a small huff, looking discomfited - and then he pushes the door wide open. "Right. I'll go and lock up."
She doesn't answer - and after a moment, he retreats. She doesn't allow herself to become distracted from her task, and she's lifting the pile from the floor to take back upstairs when he returns.
"What are you doing?"
"Are you forbidding me from touching these?"
"What? No!" He looks perplexed. "No, of course not."
"Then is it any of your business?"
He stands completely still, his eyes raking over her, and she can see him swallowing. "No," he says, eventually, as if the words have been wrenched from the depths of his soul, "no, I suppose it isn't."
The whole house feels oppressive, the home that she had once craved feels as if it's had its soul pulled out of it. When she ventures downstairs, the air smells stale - an assault of lingering aromas from cooking, his cigarette addiction, and that unmistakable odour that comes from failing to wash.
You need to ask him.
When she returns from the toilet, she wordlessly takes River from him - but she doesn't retreat. She watches silently as he reapplies the charms on the back door, and although she knows by the way his back has stiffened he's aware of her presence, he doesn't speak.
Eventually, he straightens and the two of them look at each other, black eyes meeting green - and then she takes a step closer, as if preparing to pass River to him again.
"...do you want to spend some time with him?"
His shoulders sag in relief, and he nods earnestly, staring at their son in wonder as she passes River to him.
"Hey Riv," he murmurs, stroking his curled finger across their son's cheek. "How are you, little man?"
"Put the shower on for me."
Severus looks up from his son, surprise etched on his face. "Yeah," he says, holding River in one arm as he slides his wand back into his hand, "yeah, I can do that."
They move into the living room, and he casts, the water pounding against the invisible surrounds. They stand there for a moment, awkwardly, neither of them moving - and then she raises an eyebrow.
"What?"
"A bit of privacy, thank you," she says, her voice clipped.
"...right. Right. Yeah."
"You can go upstairs with him if you want. Or into the kitchen."
Lily closes her eyes and lets the hot water wash over her, enjoying the sensation of the shower pounding against her back. Reluctantly, after a minute or two, she reaches down for the shampoo and lathers it into her hair, massaging her scalp as she does so.
Four days. It's the longest she's ever gone without showering, even when he'd instructed her not to wash when they were apart - and although it pained her to ask him, to make the admission that she needed his assistance, she's relieved she did.
River next, she thinks.
He hovers awkwardly in the doorway as she undresses their son. "Do you need…" He trails off almost immediately, and their eyes meet - and then he looks away. "Can I help?"
"Yes."
He visibly jerks, and his surprise at her answer takes her aback. She moves over, letting him sit next to her, and the two of them take it in turns to wash their son and splash water over him, letting their boy enjoy the sensation of being bathed.
Five days. Six. Seven. It's a routine now. She'd say she was used to it, although she misses the warmth of Severus wrapping his arms around her as he sleepily watches her feeding River in the middle of the night - but after River's early morning feed, she knows that if she opens the door, there's a plate of toast and a cup of tea waiting for her, both held under warming charms.
Lily heads downstairs afterwards, leaving her plate and cup on the worktop in the kitchen with a bang, and although Severus still seemed to be sleeping when she first entered the living room again, now he stirs and stands. He's groggy, but his ankle seems to be bothering him less, and he obediently opens the door, cuddling his son close as she goes outside to use the toilet.
When she heads back upstairs, she stands in the window in River's room, opening the window to let the fresh air in, and then she holds him up to his jungle mobile, letting him see the dangling figurines - and she even takes Terence off his shelf and carries him through to her and Severus' bedroom, nestling Terence next to River as he sleeps.
She lets the morning escape her, filled with staring out of the window, playing with River, and reading him stories from his library books - and when he falls asleep, she turns her attention back to the books she'd smuggled upstairs.
It's the same, over and over and over - feed, food, toilet, play, read, research, toilet, feed, play, toilet, food, read, research, play, toilet. She hands River to Severus in the early evening, and nods towards the shower, and he silently sets it running before retreating into the kitchen with River.
She can hear him, despite the water pounding around her - she can hear him talking to their son, hear him telling him how much he loves him, and how much he misses him.
He doesn't think I can hear him.
Lily shakes the thought away, scrubbing her arms furiously.
Eight days.
She leans back in the shower, letting the water fall over her.
"I don't understand what takes you so long," she complains, throwing the last of his socks into the washer before slamming the door shut, "if you're not even using conditioner on your hair." She pauses, appraising him critically. "Merlin, some days, Sev, I think you don't even use shampoo."
"I don't."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I don't use shampoo." He shrugs. "I use soap."
Her voice fills with incredulity. "You use what?"
"Soap. You heard me."
"You use soap on your hair? From the bar? Sev! What in Merlin's name is wrong with you?"
"What? I've always done it," he says, scraping his plate clean and then placing it into the sink.
"Every day I learn more about you, and some days, yesterday seems like bliss. This is one of those days, Sev," she says, tutting loudly. "I really wish I'd stayed ignorant. Soap!"
He laughs. "Hey, I don't see how you're escaping criticism here - you must have at least nine different bottles on the side of the bath."
"Don't exaggerate."
"Seven then."
"I have three."
"Three's still three too many," he says, with a grin. "I can hardly get in and out without knocking them over."
"You want to try picking them up and using them occasionally."
"I can't. I'll smell like you."
She raises an eyebrow. "And that's so bad, is it?"
"No," he says, a smile spread across his face as he gathers her in his arms, "but it'd be awfully distracting when I'm trying to brew, love." He brushes his lips against hers, and then rests the tip of his nose against her own. "My mind wanders when I smell you."
"Does it really?" she murmurs, moving her mouth over his, and pressing the tip of her tongue against his lips.
"Yes," he hisses, tangling his hands in the back of her hair and pressing her up against the fridge, "you drive me wild, witch."
"We can't, Sev, you're going to be late."
"And whose fault is that?"
She laughs between kisses as he tugs at her clothing. "Borage has already warned you twice. He'll kill you if you're late again."
"Then I'll die a happy man, love," he says, pressing open-mouthed kisses down her neck, pulling her dressing gown open.
Lily reaches for him, bringing his lips back to meet hers and kissing him passionately - and then she reaches for the cord of her gown, shrugging the sheer material back over her shoulders.
He lets out a low whine, pressing himself against her. "Feel that? I want you."
"Tonight."
"Now. I'll be quick."
"That's not the offer you think it is," she laughs. "Go."
"Lil, come on. You want this as much as I do."
"Tonight. I'll be waiting for you tonight," she breathes down his ear, "and I'll be all yours. No work. No distractions. No Borage. No quickie. We can take our time. How's that sound?"
"Mmm," he murmurs, moving his hips against her.
"Sounds good?" she presses.
"Yeah."
"I'll be all yours, for hours and hours and hours."
"Fucking hell, love."
"But you've got to go to work now. Is that a deal?"
"It's a deal," he murmurs.
"Go on, go."
He reluctantly releases her, and she smiles, pecking his lips as he moves away. He reaches for her hand and brushes it against the front of his robes. "Feel what you've done to me," he grumbles, "I'm hard as fuck."
"Walk it off."
"Walk it off," he echoes, laughing. "You'll pay for that. Tonight." He gives her a lascivious grin. "For hours and hours and hours."
She shoots him a mischievous smile. "I can't wait."
His eyes flash. "We could do it now. Go back to bed for the day. I could Floo in sick."
"Go. To. Work."
"I'm serious."
"So am I. Go now, or you really will be late."
He crosses the kitchen floor and wraps his arms around her, kissing her passionately. "I love you."
"I love you too."
"I can't wait to see you tonight."
"It's a date," she says, with a grin. She watches as he laces up his boots and opens the door. "Sev?"
His eyes are bright - expectant - as if he wants her to summon him back to her side, to tell him to Floo Borage. "Yeah?"
"What do you spend all of your time doing in the shower? If you're just washing with bar soap?"
He guffaws, and then places his index finger to his temple. "Thinking, love. Thinking."
These minutes in the shower have rapidly become the moment she most looks forward to - a brief respite from being Mum, respite from Severus' hangdog look as she passes him, a few stolen minutes where she's just Lily once more. She closes her eyes as she stands under the spray, taking her time as she lathers the soap between her hands.
He wasn't right about using bar soap on his hair, she thinks, but he was right about the shower being the perfect place to think.
Nine days.
She leans forward, washing the soap from her face before reaching down for the bottle of shampoo. It's peaceful beneath the spray - a world which isn't punctuated by her baby's cries and demands; space just to think, to mull, to remember - to try and work out what to do next.
"It's me that's at fault - I'm just not powerful enough to perform the magic required."
Ten.
She spreads conditioner evenly between her palms and then runs her fingers through her hair, her movements slow whilst her mind is racing.
"Maybe it was just that I couldn't sense it."
The sudden memory of her discussion with Eileen causes her to straighten with a jolt, her hands still threaded in her hair.
"It doesn't work like that."
She doesn't dawdle. She dries off, collects River, and disappears upstairs, returning to poring over the books that she's been reading. He ventures up the stairs - just halfway - his deep voice calling to her, asking her if she needs anything, but she bats him away.
Eleven days.
He no longer gets out of bed just because he hears her on the stairs, which leads to her standing over him, her hands on her hips, demanding to be let out to use the toilet.
She has to ask him to vacate the room when she wants to shower, although his actions don't appear to be due to belligerence.
It's as if he's given up.
He silently complies, although it seems to take a Herculean effort for him to drag himself out of bed and take River from her.
To her relief, when she's in the shower, she can still hear him talking to River in the kitchen - still connecting enthusiastically with their son, and she loses herself under the spray once more, soaping herself, and then her thoughts start to spiral, turning their problems over in her mind.
"I miss it. Your magic. Me not being able to feel your magic."
Twelve days.
She dresses quickly and calls him back in, and her heart clenches as she takes in the sight of him, looking like a shadow of his former self - a shell of the man she married.
Lily watches silently as he throws himself back onto the bed, pulling the covers tightly around him.
"You need fresh bedding."
He doesn't answer.
"It's been on for almost three weeks."
He doesn't answer.
"It smells almost as bad as you do."
He moves at the slight - a twitch of his shoulder, and a pull on the covers - but he doesn't argue.
She takes a step closer, standing over him. "Is that how long it's been since you showered?"
He doesn't answer.
Lily gives a loud sigh. "You might want to think about it."
Silence.
"...well, that's if you ever want me to suck your dick again."
He throws the duvet back, frowning at her through his unwashed hair and at his immediate reaction, she has to stifle the smile that threatens to break out across her face.
"What…" He peers at her. "What did you say?"
"You heard me. Shower, Severus. And change our bedding whilst you're at it."
Thirteen.
She steps out of the shower and dries herself off. It's cooler now, heading into autumn, and she wishes that he was in the room with her - wishes that his clever spell was working its magic across her towel, but she shakes the thought away as she roughly towel dries her hair.
"Finished," she calls, as she pulls her jumper over her head, and he comes through a moment later, carrying a flailing River. "Hey there," she says, holding her hands out to take him, "what's with you?"
"He morphed into an octopus whilst we weren't watching," Severus says, drolly, as he passes him over, his arms and legs kicking out. "Are you staying downstairs for lunch or-"
"-you look better, Sev."
He nods, absently running his hand across his freshly shaved cheek.
"Feel better?"
He nods again. "I guess."
"Thank you."
"I need to go out," he says, abruptly changing the subject, "for food."
For cigarettes, she thinks.
He gives her a thin smile, as if he knows what she's thinking. "And I'm out of cigarettes," he admits. "I'll go after lunch, if that's all right with you? I won't be long."
After a fortnight, they've fallen into a new rhythm - albeit an uneasy one - but it doesn't stop her from tossing and turning. At midnight, she gets up, and she gently lifts River off the bed and carries him downstairs.
It's dark in the living room, and she can't tell if he's awake - the thin curtains let in the light from the streetlamps, but he's facing away from her.
She creeps around the bed and carefully lays River on his own bed, tucking his blanket around him, and placing Terence at the head of his bed. She straightens, smiling fondly down at their son - and then she glances at the unmoving form of her husband.
His face is in shade, and she still can't see if he's awake, and she stares at him for several minutes, trying to work out from his breathing if he might be sleeping.
She hesitates, and then she takes a step back and quietly treads back around the bed - and then, without saying a word, she lifts the duvet and slides into the bed behind him.
She wraps her left arm around his torso, expecting to feel the familiar up-and-down of his chest as he sleeps, but instead, he immediately grips her hand with his own, his fingers threading through hers and holding her so tightly that she gasps.
"I didn't think you were awake."
"...you know I can't sleep without you next to me."
She feels his fingers clenching hers even tighter.
"Sev."
They lie in the darkness, the tension between them palpable, and his grip on her fingers unrelenting.
"Well…"
"Well what?" she whispers back.
"...that's what I was going to ask you." He pauses. "I'm guessing you haven't come down here to suck my dick."
She can't help but smile. "No. I wasn't planning on it."
He laughs - although it's barely a laugh, more an exhalation, but she's relieved to hear it all the same, and she presses herself closer to him.
"Didn't think so."
"Convinced you to have a shower though." There's a pause. "I wouldn't be here now if you hadn't. That's something, right?"
He squeezes her fingers, and she holds him against her, the position unusual - ordinarily, she lies in his arms, with his body curled around her - but he doesn't protest.
"I can't feel your magic."
"I know. You said."
"I thought it was me." She pauses. "But it isn't me, is it, Sev? It's you."
He stiffens, but she keeps her arms wrapped around him.
There’s a long silence, and then he speaks, his voice barely more than a whisper. "...yes."
"We need to talk," she ventures, after another long silence. "I think you know that much."
They lie together, her arms wrapped around him, his hand gripping hers - and then, just as she's trying to work out what to say next, she hears his low whisper over River's loud breathing:
"...just don't leave me, love. Please don't leave me."
Chapter 137: Equals
Chapter Text
"I don't think you're being very fair."
"I'm not being fair?" he repeats, incredulously. "How am I not being fair?"
"This is emotional blackmail."
He scoffs. "Asking my wife to stay with me is emotional blackmail now. Great."
"Expecting me to reassure you when I haven't got a clue what's going on, what's been going through your mind! You blow hot and cold, and I can't work out…" She pauses and takes a deep breath. "Sev, we need to talk. Properly."
"Yeah? Well, I tried that! You're the one who went sulking off upstairs for a fortnight."
"And you're the one who murdered my parents."
His grip on her hand tightens. "I already told you, I didn't murder your parents," he snarls, "I saved them."
"From what? Some stupid boys who want a few vials of Wolfsbane?" She tugs on his bare shoulder. "You think we couldn't have handled that between the two of us?"
Severus releases her hand and allows her to turn him over so he's facing her, his dark eyes darting over hers in the dim light. He watches her warily, his expression unwavering, and then he inches his hand towards her, eventually resting it tentatively on her hip.
A moment later, she rests her hand on top of his, their fingers entwined once more - and his reaction is instantaneous; it's as if he's shrugged the weight of the world from his shoulders - his eyes briefly close, and his lips give the briefest quirk upwards - and then he composes himself.
"I had no idea you were so interested in brewing for the Dark Lord."
"Of course I'm not," she replies, hotly.
"Well then."
"But if that's what it took to keep Mummy and Daddy here, I'd have brewed him anything he wanted."
Severus suppresses a smile. "I was unaware that your morals were so flexible."
"You know exactly how flexible my morals are," she says, not breaking eye contact with him.
His nostrils flare involuntarily - the slightest movement.
"And you know how important my family is to me," she continues, "you know how much I relied on Mummy and Daddy for advice, and how-"
"Yes," he interjects.
"-they welcomed me back when I couldn't stay at Hogwarts, how they helped to get things ready for River, how much I loved spending time with them, how-"
"Yeah, all right, Lil - I said yes!"
Silence.
"I didn't mean… I'm… I shouldn't have… Sorry," he finally settles on, his voice soft again. "I know what they mean - what they meant…" He trails off with a grimace. "Look, I get it. I sat through Songs of Praise with your dad enough times, didn't I?"
"I know." She pauses. "I believe you."
A flash of relief crosses his face. "Good."
"So help me out here, Sev," she says, "because this doesn't add up."
Almost immediately, his shoulders tense and his eyes darken.
Silence.
"Sev?"
"I don't know what you want from me."
"The truth. That's all I've ever asked for."
"I told you what I did."
Lily gives him an exasperated look. "You've told me what, but you haven't exactly explained why!"
"I tried, and you slammed the door in my face!"
Lily lifts their hands up, fingers still entwined. She ignores his look of puzzlement as she raises their hands until they're between their faces and then she gently moves their hands through the air.
"...what are you doing?"
"Checking for something." Lily gives him a thin smile. "No door."
"Lil…"
"Sev…" she echoes.
"Lil, come on-"
"-I'll listen," she insists, "but you've got to talk, Sev."
He exhales loudly and gives the smallest shake of his head.
"No?" Her voice is tighter. "You're not willing to explain yourself? I'm just supposed to-"
"-it's not that…" he interrupts, looking pained, as if he doesn't want to give her another reason to be angry at him. "I don't… I don't know how to put it into words."
There's a long silence.
"...that's why you were reading about pensieves."
"What?"
"To River, a couple of weeks ago," Lily elaborates. "I asked you why you were reading about those in particular and you said there was no reason - it was just the next chapter in the book."
"...yeah."
"So that was a lie as well, wasn't it, Sev?"
"...yeah."
She sighs loudly - and to her surprise, he laughs. It's a quick, sharp, dark laugh - over almost before she registers it, but she stares at him coldly, her jaw clenched. "Funny, is it?"
"No," he says, simply. "No, it's not."
"Then why are you laughing?"
"Because love, if you're going to get upset about me… I was trying to work out a way to show you what's been going on, and it was…" He trails off, shaking his head.
"What?"
"I'm just trying to say that not explaining about my pensieve research is nothing."
"Nothing?"
"In the scheme of things," he adds.
"Tip of the iceberg?"
He huffs. "Not even that, love."
She grips his hand more tightly. "This marriage is only going to work if we're honest with each other - if we trust each other. I can't help you if you won't confide in me."
"Catch-22."
"It's not-"
"-if I confide in you, you won't want to help me," he says, darkly.
"Why don't you trust me?"
"I do."
"You don't." Her response is instantaneous. "When have I ever suggested that I would leave you? When you were the talk of the school after you slashed up Sirius Black? When you were up in court after stabbing that Muggle, or when I found out you murdered a dog-"
"Lil-"
"-or when you were threatened with, what was it? Oh yes, thirteen counts of manslaughter for inadequacies in your brewing under Borage?"
He remains silent.
"When have I ever given you reason to believe that I wouldn't stand by you?"
Nothing.
"But it's the same refrain over and over with you, Severus - as if you can't wait to get rid of me-"
"-don't be ridiculous!"
"You asked me why I kept pushing you away, but you can't see that you do the same to me."
"I don't mean… I don't want to push you away."
"You promised you'd talk to me."
"I promised I'd show you," he says, firmly.
"But now you can't."
"No."
"And your research came to nothing, so now you have to talk."
Another pause.
"I can't, you'll-"
"-don't say that I'll leave you," she interrupts, "don't put this on me. We've been through this - I have supported you with every decision you've ever made, with every action you've ever taken. Tell me."
"I tried," he says, his voice wavering, as if he's trying not to succumb to tears, "I tried! I did! I told you."
"Sev-"
"-you were asleep, I didn't know you were asleep!" He lifts his free hand to cover his eyes. "And then I thought… I thought it meant something. You not hearing me. I thought it was fate. For the best, you know?"
"Severus," she says, stroking her thumb against his finger, "just tell me."
The ticking of the clock is loud in the silence.
"...I can't keep your parents safe because my magic isn't working properly," he says, eventually.
"I know you said that you didn't feel as strong." She chooses her words carefully, watching his pained expression closely. "But you can Apparate-"
"-I'm not as smooth as I was. You know that, you felt it." He sighs. "River felt it too."
"That doesn't mean anything, most people can't handle Apparition, Sev, and River was only a few days old."
"Even so, I should be able to handle my own," he retorts, "but you saw my ankle."
"You said it yourself, you slipped on uneven ground, that's all. You've been under a lot of stress. Mistakes happen. You know how common splinching is."
"It's not just Apparition though. It's everything."
"You've been managing fine with the shower, and that spell of Narcissa's for expressing my milk, and-"
"-but they're not difficult spells, love," he argues, "and even they take more concentration than usual."
"You said the charms on the doors were solid."
"They are, but they're tiring for me to cast."
"You didn't say any-"
"-I didn't want you to worry, you've got enough on looking after Riv and recovering from…" He swallows tightly. "From being in hospital."
Lily pauses. "What sort of tired?"
"As if I've run laps around the Great Lake." At her uncertain look, he shrugs. "I don't know what to say to you. I obviously can't explain it properly."
"It just doesn't make any sense."
"What, do you think I'm lying or something? You think I deliberately went out and smashed up my ankle so I could pull the wool over your eyes two weeks later? Can you even hear yourself?"
Lily gives him a stern look. "You can't blame me for being sceptical. You've not exactly been truthful lately."
"And what does that mean? You think I'd just make up a bunch of lies about my magic not working because, what? I don't want your parents around for some reason?"
"...you tell me."
"I've already told you, and them! It's not safe for them here."
"Because of the Wolfsbane?"
"Your parents would always be looking over their shoulders."
"I don't understand, Sev… You're saying this is all because we saw Mulciber in their garden?"
"Mulciber, yes, and because Avery came after us."
"But that was because of that…thing you had, that badge. He can't track us now."
"Which puts your parents in all the more danger, Lil! You're not listening to me-"
"-I am!"
"-Avery tracking us to Railview was the worst thing that could've happened! Now he knows that I'm still somewhere around here, somewhere near Cokeworth - that I've got something keeping me here! So if he's got no new leads, he'll double his efforts on my last known address! Your parents can't stay there, it's not safe!" He looks anguished. "I had to hide them."
"Hiding them was a good idea," she agrees, "we said that - me and you!"
"Yeah."
"So why didn't you? Why didn't you just pack them off to Tuney's for a holiday?"
There's a long silence.
"The truth?" he asks, eventually.
"The truth."
"I didn't trust them." At her look of horror, he shrugs. "You asked, Lil. I'm telling you the truth."
"You wiped their memories because you assumed-"
"-I knew!"
"You knew nothing!"
"Shhhhhhh!"
"Don't shhh me!"
"Lil," he whispers, sternly, gripping her hand tightly, "not for my sake, but if you want us to continue this discussion, you'll lower your voice-"
"-don't you dare tell me-"
"-unless you want River to join in and scream his way through it?"
She exhales loudly, her sudden anger dissipating. "You're still a selfish arsehole," she hisses.
"They asked us that fucking day. That fucking day! You might've forgotten-"
"-it was hardly unreasonable! They were just asking if they could get some clothes."
"And I told them no," he says, belligerently. "I told them no and packed them off to Petunia's."
"And what? You want me to believe they argued with you, do you? That they drove you to the house and forced you-"
"-no, don't be ridiculous."
"Then what? What did they do to make you wipe their memories?"
"Let's say they're due back next week."
"It wouldn't be next week! Not if you'd talked to them," Lily says, pointedly, "explained the situation to them. They'd have been patient, I know they would."
"Fine, next month."
"Three months time."
He rolls his eyes. "Three months time, but let's say that my magic is still fucked and I haven't protected their house."
"Right."
"If you were your parents, what would you do?" At her blank look, he gives her a triumphant smile. "After living without a care in the world down at Petunia's - where everything feels normal again, what would you do? Write us a letter to tell us that they're coming back? Drive back up and call around here immediately? Or," and then he grips her hand so tightly it hurts, "would you nip back to your house on the way over to us?"
"No."
"Just to see. For a quick look."
"They wouldn't."
"To collect some bits and pieces."
"Sev, you don't know they w-"
"-I do know," he says, darkly, "because that house is their whole life, Lil. You said it yourself - their clothes, their photographs, their belongings. Even the bricks," he continues, indicating to the wall behind them, "are their own investment. Not like my parents', not like our place."
Lily doesn't look convinced. "I don't think they'd risk it."
"After three months?" Severus shrugs. "Yeah, I reckon they would. They'd think it was safe."
"No, not after what my mum went through with me during the break-in-"
"-and that made such a lasting fucking impression, she was the one asking me about going back! Lil, listen to me, your parents are brilliant people - but they don't understand magic, and they don't understand what I'm messed up in-"
"-well it must be an Evans trait, because I don't understand what you're messed up in either."
He recoils slightly, as if physically injured by her reference to her maiden name. "What's that? A hint?"
"Don't be an idiot. You keep all these things from me-"
"I'm trying to tell you what's happening!"
"-and then you act annoyed when I don't understand, as if it's my fault!"
"I'm trying now! I'm trying my best!"
"No, you're still talking in riddles," she says, hotly. "So far, all I've heard is you making excuses for why you can't keep my parents safe, and now you're blaming them for your behaviour."
"I'm not blaming them, but I'm right."
"You're not. You're projecting. You're seeing what you want to see!"
"So you're telling me that there's no chance - not even the slightest chance - that they'd head back to Cokeworth before heading over here?"
"...I didn't say no chance, but I keep telling you, if you'd explained it to them-"
"-then that's all that matters. Any chance! 20%, 10%, 2% - it doesn't matter what the amount is if there's a risk that they'll end up dead at the end of it!"
There's a long pause.
"You're not right, let's make that clear," she says, firmly, ignoring his look of exasperation, "but let's say, for argument's sake, that you are."
"I am."
She ignores his comment. "How is this situation any better?"
He looks incredulous. "I have to explain to you how your parents not being dead is a better outcome-"
"-they might as well be! I'll never see them again! And what for? In three months, Avery and Mulciber and Rosier and the rest will have had to move on - Wolfsbane is a monthly deal, remember?"
He tries not to flinch at her mention of Rosier. "And?"
"So they'll get bored looking for it, looking for you! And then all of this was for nothing!"
There's another long silence.
"Honestly, Sev, I don't understand-"
"-they're not looking for me so I can brew Wolfsbane for them."
His monotone words cause a crawling sensation to race over her skin.
"Sev?"
He doesn't look at her. "My magic, and this, this pain in my chest," he says, the words escaping him in a rush, "I think it's my… I think it's my soul. I've torn my soul."
"Lucius?"
It's his turn to look stunned. "Malf?"
"You did it for him? You murdered Abraxas?"
"No, love," he says, "Abraxas is still alive."
"Oh, thank Merlin for that, Sev," she says, squeezing his hand, "with you talking about your magic and your soul, I thought you were going to say-"
"-I slit Evan Rosier's throat." He gives her a sad smile. "I hunted him down and I murdered him, and in doing so I broke my soul and I ruined my magic, and now Ave and Mulc won't rest until they've settled the score."
She stares at him in horror.
"I had to get your parents out of harm's way. If Ave and Mulc find them-"
"-Sev-"
"-it's a death sentence, and all it takes is another little fact finding exercise where they-"
"-don't-"
"-torture your parents, doing their utmost to get something - anything! - out of them, and they will succeed, Lily, because you know full well that they're wizards with a love of dark spells and a nasty streak of sadism to boot-"
"-stop it-"
"-there is no stopping this, Lil! If they get hold of your parents, they'll find out about this place, and I'll be murdered, and you'll be murdered, and-"
"-don't, Sev, don't say it-"
"-in the best case scenario, maybe our little boy will grow up as an orphan," he says, anguish leaking into his voice, "or maybe-"
"-no, no-"
"-he'll be murdered too."
She's sobbing, tears streaming down her face.
"I reckon they'd do him first," he says, through tears of his own, "so that I'd know."
"Sev, that's enough! Just stop!"
"I'm not trying to hurt you! I'm just trying to make you see why this is so important-"
"-and maybe you should see that this is why you can't keep secrets!"
Lily takes the cup of tea from him, and sips from it. She looks tired - exhausted, her cheeks blotchy and her eyes swollen.
Severus sits next to her on the bed, his leg pressed against hers, thigh against thigh, and sips from his own cup. There's no mirror for him to check in, but he's certain he doesn't look much better.
"Was it worth it?"
His head snaps up. "I… What?"
"Murdering him. Evan. Was it worth it?"
He shrugs, his mouth set in a strange grimace. "I don't… I don't know. I don't think about it."
"You don't think about it?"
"No."
She shakes her head. "I can't think about anything else." She glances at River, sleeping soundly behind them. "He was someone's baby boy once."
"I'm not apologising. He deserved it."
"You don't regret it?"
"I regret trusting Malf, that's what I regret."
"Lucius knows?"
"And Cissy."
"Cissy knows!" Lily looks at him aghast. "Anyone else? Did you take out a full page advert in the Prophet?"
"Lil-"
"-but you just conveniently forgot to mention it to your wife!"
"I don't care about them! Who cares what they think?" He pinches the bridge of his nose, looking away from her. "But you, Lil? What you think matters."
She doesn't answer.
"Malf was there, he saw it happen. Cissy, I… I thought she deserved to know the truth-"
"-and I don't deserve-"
"-about why we weren't ever going back," he continues loudly, ignoring the interruption, "but that isn't what you needed!"
"I can decide what I need, thank you-"
"-when you thought I wasn't coming back? When you thought I'd left you and Riv? Is that you wanted me to do that night - to walk in and say, "Sorry I'm late, love, I was a bit busy covering up a murder!" - is that what you wanted?"
"...is that when it was? The night you missed visiting hours? When you got undressed and got into bed with me and Riv?"
He nods.
She chokes back another sob. "…I think I knew."
"Lil-"
"-no," she says, batting his hand away. She puts the cup down on the floor, and buries her face in her hands. "I knew, I knew. I asked you-"
"-and I said it was nothing to worry about-"
"-you lied, again!"
"Lil, listen to me, it was nothing to worry about!"
"If it's nothing to worry about then why are we being hunted? Why are my parents at risk, why is River…" She trails off, sobbing harder.
He wraps his arms around her. "Lil, stop this. They don't… I don't… They might not even know about Riv."
She peels her hands away, looking up at him. "Might not? Nobody knew!"
"Malf and Cissy knew," he says, inhaling sharply.
"...you said Lucius was there."
Severus nods. "He helped me to cover it up."
"But not well enough - not if Avery and Mulciber are looking for you?"
"No."
"So you think he told them?" Her eyes track against his, and then her breath catches. "You think they tortured it out of him?"
"I shouldn't have trusted him," Severus says, bitterly. "He's not like me."
She doesn't say anything.
"He whipped me," Severus says, quietly, "you know I've still got the scars."
"Lucius?"
"The Dark Lord!" Severus lets out a pained gasp. "That punishment, he offered… It was a choice! Malf or me!"
Her mouth has fallen open, her fingers of her right hand tracing across his back, feeling the damaged skin. "Lucius sacrificed you to save himself?"
"I sacrificed myself," he whispers, "to spare him. I thought… I thought he'd at least do this much for me."
There's a long drawn out silence.
"I suppose," Lily says, quietly, "that we don't know for certain… They might not know about River."
"No."
"...is there any chance that they don't know about…" She can't bring herself to say the words - to say out loud that her husband is a murderer. "Would Avery and Mulciber try to trace you for some other reason?"
"I can't think of one."
"Not even Wolfsbane?"
He shrugs tightly. "It's a lot of effort for one measly potion."
"You said he was your friend. Avery, I mean."
"I was his friend, he's not mine."
"Enough to come looking for you?" She pauses, looking at him hopefully. "It must've been published in the Prophet, your sentence. Maybe he thinks you need help?"
"Twice," he says, his voice clipped, "twice he's left me to face the music. He wouldn't dare come crawling back again, not after he left me - left you - in Knockturn."
"But now he thinks you're not magical, and maybe he's got a guilty conscience?"
Severus scoffs. "He wouldn't know what one was if it hit him in the face."
"You're certain that Lucius has betrayed you?"
"We had an agreement. My potions for his money." Severus shrugs. "You've seen your statement. No money."
"The woman at the building society said payments take days to clear, it doesn't necessarily-"
"-it does, I know it! I know he didn't honour his word." Severus shakes his head. "And if he didn't honour his word about the money, then when the heat came down - from the aurors, from the Ministry, from the Dark Lord himself! - then there's only one conclusion: he squealed." He gives a soft laugh. "And what did it matter to him if he did, Lil? Because he knew that I would be hunted down and murdered, and I would die without ever knowing that he was the bastard responsible."
Lily falls completely silent - for two minutes, three minutes, five minutes - and he keeps wondering if he should say something, but as his eyes connect with hers, he realises that he doesn't know what to say.
"...does she know?" Lily asks, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Cissy. Would he have told her?"
Severus gives a slight shrug. "I don't know."
"You know Lucius better than I do," she continues, "and maybe this is his style-"
"-there's no maybe-"
"-but Cissy?" She raises her eyebrow, and Severus falls silent. "I'm sorry, Sev, but I can't see her going along with something like this. It's not like her at all."
"No, you're right, love."
"She's always been so supportive of us," Lily says, looking relieved, "and I just can't believe she'd ever put us or our baby in harm's way - or that she'd let Lucius do such a thing either."
"Unless someone threatened Draco," Severus says, quietly. He gives her a watery smile. "If it was Draco and Malf and Cissy or Riv, then I know which I'd choose."
They fall back into an uncomfortable silence.
"What are you going to do about your parents?"
"What about them?"
"If you think Lucius has betrayed you," she reasons, "then he might've given their address."
"The Fidelius is enough to protect them."
"I see."
"Lil…" He sighs heavily. "Look, it's going to be ok," he says, reaching for her hand.
"Is it, Severus?" She pulls her hand away from him and shakes her head, disbelief on her face. "You think this is all ok, do you?"
"It's-"
"-because I'm not sure I'll ever be ok again."
"You will," he says, earnestly. "We all will, all three of us. Our family."
She can't help the tear that escapes from her right eye, and just as she moves to wipe it, he reaches up and smoothes it away with his thumb.
"Don't cry, love."
"…I'm so scared."
"Hey," he says, moving closer, and wrapping his arms around her, her face pressed against his bare chest, "don't be scared."
She cries harder, and he holds her more tightly. Hearing her cry makes him feel sick, as if he's been punched in the stomach, and he rubs his hand across her back in small circles.
"There's nothing to be scared of, love. I'm here."
She twists out of his embrace, wiping her face with both of her hands. "You don't get it at all, do you?"
"I do, I do, Lil. I know it's worrying, but Ave and Mulc? They're idiots! They don't know we're here, and that's something yeah? I promise you, Lil, I promise that I'll look after you."
"It's not that." She swallows hard. "It's not them. Least, it's not all them."
He tilts his head, a confused look on his face. "I don't understand, if you're not scared of Avery and-"
"You! You, Sev!"
He stares at her in horror. "Me?"
"Yes, you! I'm scared of you!"
She stands in the doorway, her hand covering her mouth, and he sits on the edge of the bed, rocking backwards and forwards in a slow motion, his hair gripped painfully between his fists.
"I thought you understood," he says, through gritted teeth, "I thought you knew I had this in me."
"...I thought that you could," she says, slowly, "but I never truly believed you would."
"I'm not sorry. He deserved it."
"This isn't about him, this is about you! About us!"
"But that's why I did it! Your magic. River's magic!"
"The Ministry took our magic, not Evan Rosier."
"And why were you at the mercy of the Ministry, hey, Lil? Because Rosier forced you down Knockturn with that bloody potion!"
"...no, not just him, Sev. There were lots of factors, lots of decisions - decisions I made-"
"-what, the Polyjuice? That was a good decision, you were trying to keep our baby safe!"
"-and decisions you made and decisions you're still making!"
"I'm not…" He trails off in disbelief. "Lil, this isn't some conspiracy, I'm not making decisions!"
"No? You took the decision to erase the memories of my parents-"
"-to keep you safe! To keep us safe! You and Riv and me!"
"You don't get it, do you?" She runs her hands over her face. "It doesn't matter if it's the right decision, Severus, what matters is that you didn't bother talking it through with me - you didn't even tell me-"
"-I didn't think-"
"-didn't give me chance to say goodbye!"
He lets out a shuddering breath. "…I've explained this."
"Yes," she says, sarcastically, "how lucky I am. You've explained."
"Lil-"
"-what's next, Severus?" She throws her hands in the air. "You get sick of this argument, and you decide that there's only way out-"
"-no, Lil-"
"-decide to wipe my memory of them-"
"-I wouldn't do that!"
"-just like you wiped me from theirs!" She lets out a gasp. "And I can't stop you. I can't stop you."
He starts to stand, his hands held up in surrender. "Lil, I wouldn't, I wouldn't-"
"-I've never been scared of you, Sev, never!" She stretches her arms out in front of her, creating a barrier between them, silently warning him not to step closer. "I was you, remember?" she says, tears falling down her face, "I know what your body feels like - I know how much taller than me you are, how much stronger you are, how easy it was to lift a cauldron-"
"-I'd never hurt you-"
"-but it never bothered me, and do you know why it didn't bother me?" She cries harder. "Because I had my magic! And I was a match for you, Sev."
"I know."
"It didn't matter, none of it mattered! Because we were equals! And now… Now I've got nothing. You're taller and bigger and stronger, and now you're magical and I'm not. You can do whatever you want to me-"
"-I wouldn't, I would never hurt you-"
"-and I wouldn't be able to stop you."
He reaches across the bed and retrieves his wand, holding it between his hands. "I'll break it." He looks at her intently, his dark eyes unfathomable. "Say the word and I'll snap it."
She looks between him and his wand, and then she shakes her head. "You can't, Sev."
"I will."
"You can't," she insists, "because then we'd have no way of protecting River." She looks away. "I can't stop you from doing whatever you want to me, but you can at least keep our boy safe."
"I'm not going to hurt you!"
"You already have!"
He tosses his wand behind him in frustration. "I didn't do it to…" He takes a step towards her, his hands still spread. "Please, Lil, tell me what to say to put this right, because I can't take this - I can't take us not speaking to each other, barely even looking at each other."
She cries even harder. "I can't either."
"And I promised to love you and protect you," he says, not caring how emotional he sounds, "and now you're staring at me as if I'm some stranger, as if I'm going to hurt you. I'd never hurt you. Never."
He tentatively reaches for her hands, and to his surprise, she takes them.
"You've been lying to me for so long, Sev."
"I didn't mean… It was just small things, and they just grew bigger-"
"-they grow bigger because you're hiding things." She cradles his cheek in her hand. "'We're meant to be a partnership - you mustn't hide anything. Don't lie to me anymore."
"I won't."
She sobs again.
"Lil, I won't, I promise I won't."
"You've promised before," she says, wiping her eyes with her hand.
"I don't know what I can do to prove to you that I mean it."
She stares at him for a long moment, her hand stroking his cheek. "You want to know what to do?"
"Yes."
"And you'll do it?"
"Yes. Anything."
"Anything?"
"Anything," he reiterates.
"Then I want you to undo the charm and bring my parents back home."
Chapter 138: Right
Chapter Text
Immediately, Severus' face becomes a mask - entirely expressionless, his dark eyes unreadable.
Lily holds his gaze, her jaw tilting upwards, refusing to retract her ultimatum.
"Right," he says, releasing her hands, and turning away from her.
"Right?"
He bends down and picks his jeans up off the floor, stepping into them before reaching back to grab his discarded wand from the bed. "Right," he repeats, pulling his battered cigarette packet from his pocket and heading into the kitchen.
Lily doesn't follow him. She hears the back door opening and closing, and she knows without looking that he's standing barefoot and bare-chested in their yard, a cigarette fixed to his lips.
She straightens the duvet, and then she settles on top of it, on her side of the bed, curling up next to River. She watches their son intently as he sleeps, Terence lying askew next to him.
Lily doesn't remember falling asleep, but when she jolts awake, the kitchen door is wide open and Severus is standing in the doorway: a dark figure illuminated by the stark artificial light behind him, a half-filled glass of water clutched in his hand.
"How long have you been standing there?" she asks, fighting to sit upright. "Sorry, I'll go-"
"-our boy asleep?"
She rubs her eyes and glances towards River. "Yes."
"Then stay," Severus says, "I'll sleep upstairs." He snaps the kitchen light off and pulls the door to.
"Sev?"
He stills, halfway across the room. "What?"
"...right," she says, tentatively. "Does that mean… Was that a yes?"
There's a brief pause. "Yeah." He starts to move across the room again.
"Sev?"
He stops. "What?"
"You don't sleep well without me," she says, repeating his lament from earlier in the night.
"I'll be fine," he says, dismissively, pulling the hall door open, causing moonlight to spill across the room. It's not as harsh as the kitchen light, but it's enough for her to be able to make out his miserable expression, his frown deep and his mouth turned downwards.
"Sev?"
"Night, love," he says, firmly, and he shuts the door behind him.
The stairs creak loudly as he makes his way upstairs, and her eyes trace his footsteps across the ceiling until she hears their bedroom door shut.
Regulus lightly jogs up the slippery path and ducks beneath the stone porch, glad to evade the rain. He pulls the rope beneath the bell sideways - one way and then the other - causing the clapper to strike the cast iron repeatedly, the chime ringing loudly.
Ostentatious.
He waits for half a minute, and then repeats the action, yanking on the rope impatiently.
Nothing.
Regulus peers out from under the brick canopy and then darts towards the front window, pressing his hand against the glass as he tries to peer inside.
Darkness.
"Hello?"
He looks up in surprise at the female voice and strolls back towards the grand oak door. "Helen!"
"Reggie!"
"I didn't expect you-"
"-I was just heading off," she says, indicating to her travelling robe, "but come in, come in out of the rain." She brushes at his robe as he steps into the hallway. "Gosh, Reggie, you're soaked through."
"Yeah," he says, shrugging out of his wet robe, "it was sunny when I set off, but it's nothing a charm or two won't fix." He pulls his wand from his pocket and casts silently, and as he moves to hang his robe from the coat stand, he pauses.
"Go ahead," Helen says, with a smile. "Rupert'll be glad to see you."
"Yeah?"
"Yes," she says, but Regulus notices that she doesn't meet his eyes, focusing instead on rifling through her handbag.
"He's doing ok then?"
At this, she looks up, snapping the bag shut and placing it over her shoulder. "He's been better. It's hit him hard."
"Hit us all hard."
"Yes." Helen gives a deep sigh. "I remember you boys being here the summer that Dad died-"
"-he needed us. That's what friends do."
"It's why you're here now."
"Yeah."
Helen gives Regulus a small smile. "He missed you. We missed you all. The year after. The summer," she clarifies. "It was so quiet here."
Regulus looks awkward. "It wasn't anything to do with you, Helen."
"Just Rupert?"
"No." Regulus exhales loudly. "We had a bit of a falling out."
"He didn't say-"
"-not me, not Mulc," he says, quickly, "but our group. Someone got a girlfriend. The rest of us didn't really approve. You know how it is."
At this, she smiles. "I see."
You don't, thinks Regulus, but he smiles anyway.
"Evan still visited," she says.
"That summer was difficult for me." He knows his tone is defensive, and he tries to force levity into his voice. "Sirius had left us. Father was…" He gives Helen a pinched smile. "Mother wanted me close."
"I understand," she says, reaching out to touch his forearm. "It happens to most families."
"Really?"
She gently pulls him towards the doorway, propelling him before their family tree. "I take it you haven't looked too closely at these when you go visiting?"
He turns and smirks at her. "What are you suggesting, Helen? I don't visit those who are not Pure."
"Of course not," she laughs, looping her arm around his, and then pointing at a series of faint 'x' marks on the parchment. "Blood traitors, one and all." She looks up at him. "I dare say yours is the same?"
"A little more dramatically erased," he muses, peering at the faint crosses.
"As is the Black way."
"As is the Black way," Regulus laughs.
"We see you for who you are, Reggie," Helen says, untangling her arm from his, "don't you worry about that brother of yours."
I wasn't.
"Thanks."
"Go on," she says, waving him down the hall, "go and see Rupert. I'm sure you'll be more successful at cheering him than I was."
"Thanks, Helen," Regulus says, taking half a step away before turning back. "Helen?"
She pauses, her hand on the door, looking over her shoulder at him. "Yes?"
"Will you be in attendance at the funeral?"
"I've been invited, but then I believe all of magical Britain has."
"So I have heard."
Helen gives a small smile. "I'm not sure if I should, I didn't really know his family-"
"-Mulc, I mean, Rupert… I think he'd like you to be there," Regulus says.
"He hasn't said-"
"-he doesn't though, does he, Helen?"
At this, she nods sharply. "Then I shall see you tomorrow, Reggie."
"Tomorrow it is."
Lily can't hold on any longer, and she climbs the stairs, River held tightly in her arms, heading for their bedroom. She pushes the door open, and her breath catches in her throat when she sees her husband lying sprawled on the bed, sheets tangled around his legs and wrapped around his right fist - almost as if he's been fighting with the Giant Squid in his dreams - and telltale pink scratches adorning his chest.
It's still happening.
Despite the disarray of the bedcovers and his scratched chest, Severus looks peaceful, his left hand by his head, palm upwards, his fingers spread wide and his wedding ring glinting in the light creeping beneath the scrappily drawn curtains.
She places River next to Severus on the bed, and then she crouches low, her fingertips stroking across his cheek. "Sev?" she murmurs. "Sev, wake up."
"Mmmm." His lips quirk upwards into a soft smile, and he leans into her touch, his voice a rumble in his throat.
"Sev?"
"Yeah," he breathes, not opening his eyes, that smile still playing on his lips.
"Wake up."
"Yeah." He shifts in his sleep, pulling his left arm towards him, and then he rolls closer to her, almost falling off the edge of the bed. "Yeah."
"Sev," she whispers again, stroking the back of her fingers against his cheek, "I need you to wake up."
"Mmmm," he murmurs again, and then as she smoothes her fingers down his face, he turns his cheek and presses a gentle kiss to her fingertips. "Love you."
His sleepy declaration causes her to falter in her movements, and she pulls her hand back. "Sev," she says, a little louder, clapping her hands together, "I need the loo, you need to open the door for me. Now."
At her sudden clapping, he jolts awake. He props himself up on his elbow, blinks rapidly and looks around blearily. "Fuck…" He runs his free hand through his tangled hair, stares at River in confusion, and then turns to look at Lily. "How long's he been here? How long have-"
"-I'll give you five minutes to come around," she says, lifting River up. "No longer. I'm not kidding, I really need the loo."
Narcissa moves quickly down the long corridor, shifting Draco from one shoulder to the other, trying to thwart his dramatic squirming and his uncanny ability to grab flowers with his tiny fists, dragging them from the many vases on the many tables which now line the corridor.
She pointedly ignores the hushed gossip of the portraits, even if she silently agrees that the new dark decor is unsettling, despite the abundance of fresh blooms, as she carries Draco towards Lucius' study.
Appearance, Cissy, this is all about appearance - that's all her husband had said when she'd challenged him on the dark tones that now filled the Manor, and less than an hour later, the elves had transformed yet another room into a clone of a funeral parlour.
She pauses at his study door, listening for a moment, but when she doesn't hear his voice she slowly twists the doorknob and gently pushes it open.
Lucius doesn't look up - doesn't even seem to notice the intrusion. His desk is covered with an array of envelopes and parchment - invoices pending payment, she guesses - and he is holding one loosely in his left hand, his face twisted away from her and towards the wall, the fingers of his right hand covering his mouth.
She waits and waits, but he doesn't move, entirely lost in thought - and then she gives the slightest cough.
"Cissy," he says, turning to look at her with a wide, insincere smile. He immediately folds the parchment he's holding and stuffs it into an envelope, and then he pulls open his desk drawer and casts with his hand, sending all of the letters into the drawer with one smooth movement, before slamming it shut. He stands. "Lunch?"
"In a few minutes, yes."
"I lost track of time," he says, striding towards her.
"Everything ready for tomorrow?"
He smiles again, but it still doesn't reach his eyes. "Of course."
"You have numbers?"
"Not everyone has responded," Lucius says, dismissively, "but we have long known that the manners of some are, shall we say, lacking."
"And the Minister?"
Lucius gives a slight shrug.
"You mean to tell me that Cornelius Fudge is incapable of putting ink to parchment?"
"The Minister does not have time-"
"-it is why he employs secretaries, is it not?"
"Cissy, don't. The Minister is a busy man."
"If his diary is already full, then that is all the more reason why he should've responded - should've declined!"
Lucius sighs. "If the Minister chooses not to attend, I am sure the Rosiers will understand, and if the Minister does graciously find the time in his busy schedule to attend, then he is most welcome."
She shakes her head impatiently. "You do realise that if the Minister attends, he will bring his entourage?"
"If he does, then we shall accommodate his needs." He gives her a thin smile. "Come now, Cissy, are you concerned we won't have enough chairs to seat the entire Auror department?"
"The Minister, Lucius!" Narcissa gives him a stern look. "You lent on him-"
"-Yaxley lent on him-"
"-to absolve Avery of the charge they held him on, and now you invite him here-"
"-I had my instructions," he says, loudly. "This is to be a celebration of Rosier's life."
"A celebration? Must I remind you, Evan Rosier died here," she hisses.
"Yes, thank you, Cissy, I did rather notice!"
Draco immediately wails at his father's shout, and Narcissa runs a soothing hand over the back of his head. "Shhhhhh, it's ok, it's ok." She looks at Lucius, her gaze icy. "The aurors. They will be on the clock."
"I know."
"Crawling over our Manor," she continues, "poking into our lives, into our rooms!"
"Dobby has sealed the parlour-"
"-the murder room."
"For Merlin's sake, don't call it that, Cissy!" Lucius pinches the bridge of his nose. "Dobby is sealing the basement, the library, the east and west wings, and after we have eaten tonight, he shall seal off the dining room."
"And you think that will be enough to stop them?"
"They are invited guests and they may be curious as to how we live," Lucius says, evenly, "but they will be aware that they do not have a warrant."
"And Bella won't be able to help herself. Not here, not with an audience."
"Don't engage her."
"Don't engage her?" Narcissa gives him a horrified look. "That's your grand plan for surviving this? Have you met my sister? Whilst Bella is busy regaling Fudge-"
"-she won't-"
"-I'm just supposed to stand there silently, and not counter her claims, not-"
"-what do you expect me to say that I haven't said already, Cissy?" Lucius adjusts the collar of his robe and then meets her fierce gaze. "We have been through this, I do not - we do not - have a choice. I must adhere to the Dark Lord's wishes."
She considers her husband as she shifts Draco in her arms. "The Dark Lord intends to ruin you-"
"-nonsense-"
"-besmirch your reputation-"
"-Fudge won't pay attention to the drunken ramblings of Bellatrix Lestrange-"
"-expose you-"
"-the Dark Lord doesn't know my involvement-"
"-bankrupt you."
At this final accusation, Lucius falls silent. After a long moment, he reaches out and gently tucks her long hair behind her ear. "I must have faith in my lord."
"Oh, Lucius."
"We both must."
Severus does as Lily asks, but he doesn't return River to her, even when she returns from the toilet, her arms outstretched.
"A few minutes more?"
She nods, and then she offers to tidy the kitchen, which soon evolves into washing last night's pots and pans, and putting on the kettle, and cooking lunch.
He offers to help - his voice a low shout through from the living room - but she moves to stand in the doorway, looking at him sitting on their bed, happily cuddling their son, and she shakes her head. "No, you're fine. I'll do it."
It takes all of her effort to bite her tongue when Severus chooses to eat his lunch - scrambled egg on toast - with the fingers of his left hand, his right hand holding River against his chest, still refusing to relinquish his hold.
Regulus picks up the almost empty whisky bottle from the coffee table and inspects the label. "Blimey, I didn't realise this went off."
Mulciber squints at him, struggling to focus. "It's Ogdens, Reggie," he says, settling back on the sofa, "it doesn't go off."
"If it's not about to go out of date, it's a bit early for it, isn't it?" Regulus says, raising an eyebrow, and then settling the bottle back on its coaster. "Do you remember, Sluggy always said it was a bad look if the bottle made its way onto the table?" He pauses. "I reckon that goes for double if you don't have company. Triple if it's morning."
Mulciber waves one hand towards Regulus. "What are you?"
"I'm sorry?"
"What are you if you're not company?" Mulciber sighs, rubbing his hand over his unshaven face. "And last I looked, it was past noon."
Regulus doesn't miss a beat, and summons a glass from the drinks cabinet with his wand. He opens the bottle and shares the last pour between his fresh glass and Mulciber's used one. "Well," Regulus says, capping the now-empty bottle and crossing the room to place it into the bin, "when you put it like that, how can I not share a dram with you?" He picks up his glass and tips it towards Mulciber. "Cheers."
Mulciber leans forward and takes his glass, tipping it towards Regulus. "Yeah."
"I saw Helen just now."
"You will do. She lives here."
"Yeah," Regulus says, awkwardly, "I mean… She's going. Tomorrow."
"Good for her."
"And I am."
Mulciber inhales deeply and then looks over at Regulus. "Good for you too, then."
"He'd want you there."
"Ros is dead, Reggie, he doesn't care one way or another."
"His parents do."
"His parents have got bigger problems. Like their beloved son being dead." He gives a wry smile. "That's the family name down the drain."
"Don't."
"Same for you, isn't it, Reg?" Mulciber gives a harsh laugh. "Your cousins are married off into other families, and your brother's a blood traitor. Just little Reggie to carry on the Black family name."
"And?" Regulus says, a little defensively. "Makes me the same as you, seeing as you don't have any brothers either."
"Makes you the same as me," Mulciber says, raising his glass and taking a sip. "It'll be a Sacred 6 if we don't get a move on."
Regulus fiddles with the glass in his hand. "It's only normal that you'd feel like this," he ventures. "Thinking about your own mortality."
Mulciber scoffs. "I'm not bothered about my mortality. I'm bothered about Ros'." He takes another sip. "Reckon I'm a bit late for that, mind."
"You can't undo what's done. None of us can."
"I know."
"But we owe it to him to give him a good send off."
Mulciber shakes his head. "No. I'm not going."
"Think about how you'll feel in a few months," Regulus urges, moving to sit next to Mulciber on the sofa. "You'll regret it if you don't."
"That's what you said to your traitorous brother when your father passed, is it?" Mulciber gives a nasty laugh and takes another swig of his drink. "It didn't work on him, and I certainly don't appreciate the guilt trip, Reggie."
Regulus bristles, sitting a little straighter. "I think our lord would wish for you to keep up appearances."
Mulciber scoffs. "He's told you this, has he?"
Regulus gives a slight shake of his head. "No, but-"
"-then I'm not going."
"And if he asks-"
"-if he asks, I'll answer him," Mulciber says, slamming his empty glass down on the table. "I answer to him, and to him alone. Not you." He twists his neck, his eyes narrowed, and he stares harshly at Regulus. "If you desperately want to know why, and I imagine that's why you've shown your face-"
"-I was just concerned-"
"-I am not willing to accept Lucius Malfoy's hospitality," he says, shaking his head and pointing his index finger towards Regulus, "and if you were truly Ros' friend, neither should you."
Regulus frowns. "What? You wanted to host?"
"You think I…" Mulciber looks astonished. "Merlin's sake, Reggie, will you listen to yourself? I am not going to a funeral at Malfoy's because our friend Rosier died at Malfoy's hand-"
"-Mulc, come on, he didn't-"
"-or at the very least," Mulciber continues, his eyes boring into Regulus', "Malfoy is harbouring the criminal. He knows something, I know he does."
There's a silence, and then Regulus swallows hard. "Have you… Have you told the Dark Lord of your concerns?"
"The Dark Lord is not interested."
"But if-"
"-I have spoken with the Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord has punished Malfoy." Mulciber gives a wry smile. "You might recall it, Reggie?"
Regulus looks down, the imagery of Lucius lying prostrate on the floor - bodily fluids seeping from his clothing - all too vivid in his mind. "Yes."
"As far as the Dark Lord is concerned, the matter has been dealt with." Mulciber gives a disgruntled laugh. "And now our dear friend Malfoy is in the process of being reformed." He raises his eyebrows. "By instruction from the Dark Lord himself."
"It's not that. He's just hosting."
"There's no such thing as 'just hosting'."
"Course there is," Regulus argues, "Malf always throws a good party, he's renowned for it. Who else would the Dark Lord ask?"
"And Malfoy will stand there in his finest black robes and shake everyone's hand, and in six months, in a year, in three years, all anyone will remember is that Malfoy did right by Ros," Mulciber spits, "and I am telling you, Reggie, he's the reason Ros isn't with us today." He shakes his head. "Go, if you must. Take Helen if you think Ros' parents would appreciate a presence from the Mulciber household, but don't expect to see me there."
Lily only takes River from Severus when he wriggles uncontrollably, searching for food, his faint whimper on the cusp of evolving into a loud shriek.
She sits on the end of the bed, rocking River gently as he feeds, and when she looks over at Severus, she's surprised to see a distressed look on his face. "Sev, are you all right?"
"I'll wash up," he says, abruptly.
"I've done it."
"From lunch."
"I've done it," she says, looking at him, "last night's, breakfast, and lunch - and I've emptied the bin, and cleaned the worktops, and hung the washing out so," and she gives him a knowing look, "don't you dare go and smoke outside. It clings to the towels."
"Right."
She bristles, the word reminding her of their discussion in the middle of the night - of his cold acceptance of her terms, of him climbing the stairs and leaving her alone in their bed. "Listen, Sev-"
"There's another-" He pauses, looking stricken. "Sorry. You first."
"No, go on."
He sits sullenly, picking at the thumbnail of his right hand.
"Sev?"
"There's another way," he says, suddenly. "A safer way."
She lifts River from her breast, and fastens her top before grabbing a cloth and placing it over her shoulder as she winds him. "For what?"
"I'm not angry." He picks more furiously at his thumb. "I mean, I'm not happy, I could never be happy, but… I get it. I don't blame you."
Lily looks at him in astonishment. "Sev, I haven't got a clue what you're talking about."
"I know I said anything, I know I did, but you have to listen to me, if you're looking for an exit, we don't have to bring them back. It's not safe here." He looks up at her through his long hair, his face filled with misery. "I can… You can go with them. You and Riv," he says, his voice catching, "if that's what you want, but please, Lil - please don't make me bring them back here."
Chapter 139: Just you
Chapter Text
The silence stretches between them. In reality, it's barely more than a few seconds, but it feels unending, worsened by the thumping of blood resounding in his ears - the beat of an uneven drum that causes his breath to catch in his chest.
It somehow seems longer than any other wait he's experienced in his life; longer than the pause in the courtroom before he was sentenced, longer than the walk through the Ministry corridors at his hearing, longer than his audience with the Dark Lord - longer, even, than the wait for his Hogwarts letter.
Lily looks at him despairingly. "What did I say to you about blowing hot and cold? Honestly, Sev, I can't keep up with your moods - a few hours ago, you were begging me not to leave you!" Lily smoothes her hand up and down River's back, comforting him, watching her husband's face intently. "And now this! This is what you want, is it? For me to take River, pack our bags, and go and live with Mummy and Daddy and Tuney and Vernon for the rest of our lives?"
Severus drops his head, picking furiously at the skin on his thumb. "It's not about what I want."
She stares at him, her gaze unyielding.
"...Lil, you don't have to pretend anymore. I know what you're going to do," he adds, miserably. "I'm trying to make it easier for you."
"Make what easier?"
"You want me to bring them back so you can… You said it yourself, said I'd taken away your family, said you had nowhere else to go!"
"You think I want my parents back because I want to leave you?" Lily reaches across the bed and clamps one of her hands over his, stopping him from tearing at his skin. "For someone who can read minds-"
"-I haven't invaded your mind!"
"I know you haven't, because if you had, you'd realise how ridiculous you sound!" She gives an exasperated sigh. "I begged you to stop pushing me away, Sev, and now you're doing it again."
"I'm not trying to push you away." Severus stares at his lap, the anguish evident in his voice. "It's… I get it, Lil. I've screwed everything up, and if I make you unhappy, then I'm not…" He trails off. "You don't deserve that."
"You don't make me unhappy."
He looks up at her, his lips slightly parted in surprise. "But I thought-"
"-not normally," she says, gripping his hands tightly, "although you've been doing your best these last few weeks to really piss me off. I need your love and support right now, Sev, and you've been a real arse - you're being one now!"
"I don't mean to be, I'm trying to help, I'm trying to…" He covers his eyes with his free hand. "She's scared of him."
"Who?"
"Mam. Of him. She'd never say it, says she loves him, says he's the only one for her," he says, the words spilling from his lips, "but she's always been scared, and I was…" His leg bounces, jostling the mattress. "I never, I never said it, never told you… Didn't want you thinking I was a wimp or some sort of…"
"Sev, I don't think you're a-"
"-you will." He pulls his hand away from his eyes, his gaze fixed on River before he eventually looks over at Lily. "I was terrified of him, Lil. Absolutely fucking terrified."
She doesn't know what to say, but squeezes his hand tightly.
"Not just when he was carrying on, but terrified at all sorts of stupid things he did - terrified when he'd throw the newspaper down on the floor, terrified of the way he'd scrape his cutlery across his plate, terrified of his boots." He looks at her despairingly. "Terrified of his fucking boots!"
Lily reaches up and smoothes a piece of hair behind his ear, her fingers lingering on his cheek. "Because those things meant that worse was coming - after he'd thrown the newspaper on the floor, after he'd finished his meal?"
He doesn't answer.
She tries again. "Because his boots being on the mat meant he was home?"
Severus' head moves slightly; almost a nod. "I didn't know…" he starts, and then he takes a deep breath. "I didn't know why she didn't use magic, and I thought…" He looks at her, anguish covering his face. "I thought he had some powers, something I didn't know about, something she hadn't told me…"
"Else why didn't she overpower him with her magic?" she guesses.
"It didn't make sense, her - a witch! - taking such shit from a Muggle." He twists his hands together. "But after a while, it was obvious that he wasn't different, wasn't special," he spits, bitterly, "he was just a bully and a loudmouth, quick with his fists and quicker with his belt, picking on his smaller wife…"
"And picking on you," Lily finishes, softly, "and you were even smaller." There's a brief pause, and Lily tilts her head, looking at him inquisitively. "Is that why you were always stamping around the flat in your boots? Some sort of aversion to leaving them on the mat?"
"...I didn't want to become him," he says, and it isn't clear if he's answering the question or not - but just as she opens her mouth to press him on it, he flexes his fingers before him. "And look. Look!" He turns his hands over, scrutinising them. "I am."
"You're not, Sev."
"I am. I am," he says, sounding sickened. He grips his chin. "I get up in the morning, and I see this looking back at me in the mirror, and every day, Lil, I get closer and closer to looking like-"
"-you don't-"
"-him!" He takes a sharp, unsteady breath. "And now… Now… I am him."
"You're not!"
"My mam… The way she lives, that's no life," he says, his dark eyes boring into hers, "and look! It's fucked me up good and proper. I can't have that for you, and I can't have that for our boy."
Lily shakes her head furiously. "No, Sev, you are not your father."
"No?" He grips his head between his hands. "You said it, Lil - you said it! You're scared of me." He looks over at her, staring at her earnestly. "How many times do you think my mam said that to herself, but she didn't follow through? She went to bed and slept on it, and everything looked better the next morning, so she put it off for another day. There's always tomorrow, but there's always some reason to stay! How different might her life have been if she'd packed her stuff and run at the first sign of there being something wrong?" His voice is barely more than a whisper. "How different mine might've been."
"You might not even be here."
He shakes his head. "No, she's always said that he didn't start kicking off until I was around. I reckon she was passing as a Muggle and I came along and…" He trails off. "I ruined them, and now I'm ruining us too."
Lily gently places River between them on the bed, and then she stretches her arms out in front of her. She gently pushes her jumper up, exposing her wrists, and then she presses the first three fingers of her right hand to her left wrist, and then the first three fingers of her left hand to her right wrist.
"What are you doing?"
"Here," Lily says, touching each wrist again, "it burns." She reaches up and touches her neck, sliding the fingers of her right hand across the skin. "And here, it's like ice." She moves her hand to the centre of her chest, where she lies her palm flat. "And here, it beats and it screams and it howls."
He flares his nostrils, a dark look covering his face. "Your magic?"
Lily rests her hand on River's stomach, letting him grip her thumb in his fist. "I don't think she really blames you for your father's behaviour."
"She does."
"I think she was lashing out."
"She's said it more than once."
"She needed someone to talk to," Lily reasons, staring right at him, "needed to confide in someone who understood what it felt like for your magic to run through your veins, to thrum under your skin, and how it felt - how it feels - for it to be locked up, bound in tight ropes beneath the surface, the Ministry's evil hex fighting against your own nature."
He takes a ragged breath. "Da didn't even know she was a witch."
"But you know I am," Lily says softly, and then she gently pulls away from River's grip and takes Severus' hand. "She needed someone back then, and right now I need someone. I need you, Sev."
He sits quietly for a moment, and then he slowly pulls his hand away.
"You promised me." Lily quickly presses her index finger to her eyes - one, then the other - swiping away the tears threatening to pool. "Forever, that's what you said - you said you'd stand by me and River forever."
"I meant it."
"Well it doesn't feel like it!"
"I don't want to lose you," he says, his own voice catching, "either of you! This isn't about what I want!"
"No, you expect me to do your dirty work for you, don't you? How on earth do you think I feel, being told that I have to choose between losing my parents or depriving our son of his father?"
"...I wanted to be someone he looked up to," Severus says, softly, "someone he admired. The best dad, you know."
"You don't need to be the best dad. You just need to be here for him, to be his dad."
There's a very long silence.
Lily scoops River up, resting him over her shoulder before shuffling closer to Severus on the bed. "Not so long ago, I knew someone who was so excited to be a dad, he hiked through the rain to ask his girlfriend to marry him."
He glances at her. "I heard she turned him down."
"She didn't need to marry him; he gave her his love and support, and the confidence to have their baby." She gives him a short smile. "And she did marry him."
"More fool her, hey?"
"You promised, Sev," she repeats, "you promised to stay."
He shakes his head. "I've ruined everything."
Lily sits back, running her hand up and down River's back. "Ok, let's say you're right and you've ruined being a dad," she says, her tone harder, as if she can't believe she's even saying the words, "if I choose my parents, then it isn't just River who loses his father, but I lose my husband - my very best friend."
Severus covers his face with his hands again, his breathing laboured.
"You know how I was treated by the staff at the hospital before we were married. What sort of a life would I have alone with River, with no husband in sight? Those whispers would persist, Sev! Me, the foolish young woman who was taken in by some sweet talking bounder and his charms-"
"-don't-"
"-left holding his unloved, unwanted, bastard child-"
"-don't, Lil! That's not us, that's nothing like us."
"I know that now, but will I know it when you wipe my memory? What do I tell Riv, when he's being teased in the playground about not having a dad, or when he becomes a teenager and makes the same assumptions about why he doesn't have a father?"
Severus stays silent.
"And what happens to you if I choose them?" she presses, pulling at his fingers, trying to peel them from his eyes. "No wife, no child, no friends, no job, a criminal record, no way back into the magical world because you're not meant to have any magic-"
"-I'll work it out-"
"-and now you've got Avery and Mulciber and Merlin knows who else hunting you down as well."
There's another long silence.
"I shouldn't have to choose between you and my parents, Sev," she explains. "There's lots of things we could've done - we could've told them that there was a serious problem in the magical world, and not just for their safety but for our safety, for River's safety, they must stay with Petunia and Vernon until we come to collect them. They saw Avery, and they saw how we reacted - I don't think they'd have argued, especially as we have this little one to think of."
He slowly lowers his hands.
"And if you were worried about them coming back because they missed us, we could've reassured them - could've said that we wanted to move down there with them," she continues, "that we were going to get jobs and save up, and all three of us could move down together to be with them." She holds her hand up preemptively to silence him. "Who knows - I know you'd hate it, but Tuney and Vernon might've even offered to help. He offered you a job once, and with Mummy and Daddy living with them, I bet he would again."
"...I didn't think of any of that," he admits, quietly.
"So I've realised." She reaches for his hand again. "But I did! I thought of those things, Sev. All you had to do was confide in me, trust me."
"It's not about trust. I do trust you."
"I've had a baby, our baby," she stresses, entangling her fingers with his, "and I know I've lost my magic-"
"-I keep telling you, I don't care, it doesn't change-"
"-but I'm still me, Sev, I'm still Lily-"
"-still my best friend, still my wife."
She gives him a small smile. "Still your best friend, still your wife," she affirms. "Having Riv doesn't make me helpless, Sev-"
"-I don't think you're helpless-"
"-so no matter how justified you think you were, excluding me from making decisions with you about our life together is not protecting me."
"I only wanted to keep you safe, to look after you," he says, despair clear in his voice, "and I can't even do that right. I'm trying to stop other people from hurting you and I fuck it up so badly, you end up scared of me." He gives a desperate laugh. "What a fucking mess."
"This all started when you found out about our magic," she says, watching him carefully. "What you did that day… You've never been the same since."
"I know how you feel about what I did," he says, bitterly, "and I know you can't forgive me."
"It isn't about forgiving you, it isn't even about what you did-"
"-no?" he challenges.
"No," she says, firmly, "you were right when you said that I'd always known you had that in you." She takes a deep breath, clearly discomfited. "I'm not exactly… I'm not about to applaud you for it, Sev, but I'm not…"
He leans towards her, his expression eager. "You're not what?"
"I'm not… I think you were…" She trails off before taking another deep breath. "...I think he got what was coming to him."
"Yeah?" There's a glimmer of excitement that flashes in his eyes, but he keeps his composure, straining to keep his voice even. "So if you don't despise me for that, what's the problem then?"
"Something's changed in you."
"Like what?"
"Well, this big macho act that you've been putting on for a start."
He recoils, surprise etched on his face. "I haven't-"
"-you have," she insists, her rebuttal swift. "You said before that you wanted to be the best dad and that's the problem-"
"-oh great, trying to be good dad is a problem now!" He shakes his head, his lips pressed in a thin line. "Anything else I'm doing wrong? Should I take notes?"
"You've got this idea in your head that you're trying to live up to, this ideal of what a family should be, of what a man should be. I don't need that."
He looks hurt. "I didn't actually think you had a list."
"It's hardly a list."
"It's not like this is easy, it's not like you get a baby and someone pulls you to one side and gives you a handbook-"
"-you're overthinking it! I told you before, Riv doesn't need you to be the perfect dad, and I don't need you to be the perfect husband-"
"-then what-"
"-I just need you to be you, Sev. You. Not some macho idea you've got in your head. Just you."
He gives a sceptical scoff.
"He's the boy I fell in love with. Not… Not whatever you've been doing these past few weeks. That's not him." She pauses. "You haven't been right since that night, the night you came back to the hospital." She looks at him helplessly. "You were belligerent even then."
He scoffs. "Come on, Lil, that was a great evening, just the three of us-"
"-it was, Sev! But you shouldn't have done any of it! You shouldn't have got into the bed with me, shouldn't have even been there, I don't know how you talked the nurse into…" She trails off, the truth suddenly dawning on her.
"Lil-"
"-what did you do to the nurse?"
There's a weak smirk playing on his lips, as if he wants to laugh out loud but he's simultaneously aware that she'll disown him for such a reckless act. "I can be very convincing."
"This is what I'm talking about!" she snaps. "You're not Lucius and I'm not Narcissa - this isn't cute, Severus."
He looks chastened. "Imperius. I used Imperius."
"There it is."
"What was I meant to do? She wouldn't let me in, and I wasn't going to let you spend the night thinking that I'd deserted you!"
"But your thinking is backwards, Sev - you shouldn't have left in the first place. If you'd stayed, if you'd talked to me first, you wouldn't have needed to break your way in after hours."
"Right," he says, putting his hands up, "guilty as charged. I did a few reckless things." He eyes her carefully, his hands still raised. "But what does that mean? You're scared of me for that?"
"It's not that."
"Then what is it?" he presses. "You didn't just say that for no reason, you meant it, you must-"
"-I'm scared because you're unpredictable."
"Because I Imperiused the nurse?"
"Because you Imperiused the nurse," she agrees. "Because you do things in the heat of the moment-"
"-you've always said I've been impulsive-"
"-there's impulsive and then there's stupid!" Her green eyes are fixed on him, scrutinising him. "You murdered someone, Sev, and you didn't plan that, did you? You were angry, and things got out of hand."
He doesn't answer.
"Avery scared you, didn't he?"
He still doesn't answer.
"So you charged ahead," she continues, "and you leapt to all sorts of conclusions."
"I made the wrong decision a few times," he mutters, his nostrils flaring.
"And then, worse still, you hid it from me. You hid what you did with the nurse, and you hid what happened at Lucius', and you hid what you did to my parents."
"I didn't know how to tell you, and they were all linked together, and things kept getting worse-"
"-and that's it! It's a million times worse when it comes spilling out, Sev," she berates him, "because you can't keep these things secret! The pain in your chest, Avery and Mulciber looking for us, Lucius betraying us-
"-I didn't do it to hurt you! I was trying to look after you. You have to believe me, Lil."
There's another pause.
"I know," she says, eventually, "but I need you to understand that hiding things from me is not looking after me. Making decisions about our life without talking to me is the exact opposite of looking after me."
There's another silence - and this time, when he looks up at her, he looks sickened; ashamed, as if her words have finally penetrated his brain and sunk in. "I get it."
"You're sure?" Lily gives him an appraising look. "Because I'm not explaining this to you again. The next time you do something like this, both me and Riv are out of that door."
"I'm sure." He squeezes her fingers, his expression still sorrowful, but tinged with hope. "You're not going to… We can… We can fix this, then?"
"You can fix it," she says. "I told you what I need."
"I know what you said, but Lil, listen to me, I wasn't being difficult - I really don't think it's safe to bring your parents back here." There's a pause, and he swallows tightly, a grimace on his lips. "Lil, come on, I don't want them to be at risk-"
"-you restore their memories, and we do as I suggested. We tell them why it's important they stay away, and they will," she says, firmly. "I know they will." She stares at him intently. "And if they don't, Sev, I'm not going to blame you."
He sits silently for a minute or more, and then he holds her hand more tightly. "You say that now, but if anything happened-"
"-if anything happens, then we'll deal with it. Together."
"I don't want to be responsible for your parents dying. They shouldn't be paying for my mistakes."
"You decided that the best way to keep your parents safe was to use the Fidelius," Lily reasons, "and as your wife, I agreed to help you. I think the best way to keep my parents safe is to keep them informed, keep them involved, and as my husband-"
"-I should agree to help you," he finishes.
"You said you'd do anything and I thought you meant it."
"I did. I do," he affirms, his tone earnest, "I do." He raises her hand to his face and presses a quick kiss to the back of her fingers, before standing and heading out into the hallway.
"Sev?"
"What?" he says, turning back to face her, his left boot held in his hand.
"You're going now?"
He freezes, his eyes darting around the room, as if he's waiting for someone to jump out at him, to shout that this has all been a trick. "...you don't want me to go?"
"Not yet. I think you need a plan first," she says.
"A plan."
"One that we've devised," Lily continues. "Both of us. Together."
He gives a low laugh, running his hand over his face. "Fucking hell, love, I am shit at this."
She knows that when she calls him back into the living room, he's expecting to sit with her, the two of them writing on parchment or sketching notes, mirroring their actions all those months ago when they worked through the positives and negatives of staying in the magical world - but if he's surprised when she passes River to him and asks him to put the shower on, he doesn't say anything, he simply follows her instructions and retreats into the kitchen with their son.
He seems rather more confused when she reappears, wearing clothes more suited to going out than lying across their bed with him, and although she's used the barest hint of make-up; a smidge of lip gloss, a quick brush of blusher, barely a stroke of mascara, he catches the difference instantly.
"Merlin," he breathes, his dark eyes raking over her in a way that sends a prickle of electricity down her spine.
"Your turn," she says, outwardly ignoring his reaction, and holding her hands out to take their son, "I'll settle Riv in his pram whilst you freshen up."
He passes River over, his gaze not leaving her. "What happened to us making a plan before going out?"
She hesitates, as if debating something in her mind, and then she gives him an insincere smile. "We need to go into town."
"Town?"
"Sev, we'll be together," she says, brushing away his immediate look of concern at her words. "It'll be fine - it's just a quick trip for some essentials."
"Essentials," he repeats, dully, as if he's entirely unconvinced, "like what? We've got food-"
"-but we're low on things for River: wipes, cream-"
"-and if Avery's lurking?"
"We're going into Rillwych, not Cokeworth. Besides, it's been weeks since he followed us."
"It means nothing. He's persistent. I know him!"
"Then if we see him, do what you did last time, Apparate us. Not straight here," she says, quickly, "but to a different location - just in case he grabs us and we don't realise." She shoots him a concerned glance. "Your magic can handle that, can't it?"
Severus lets out a shuddering breath. "It's too risky, if you just tell me what you want, I can go."
"No, we've been through this, Sev - I refuse to be locked in this house like a prisoner. You said you wanted to look after me, well, here's your chance."
Severus doesn't win the argument - although, after their discussions, he isn't really sure he'll ever win an argument ever again - and even though he's on high alert, his wand gripped firmly in his hand, and his eyes scouring the horizon as they walk into town, there's a not insignificant part of him that is glad to be out of the confines of the house.
It was oppressive, being trapped inside for so long, being at odds with each other - but he feels freer outside, as if the fresh air is a soothing balm, refreshing his thoughts. As they near the town centre, he relaxes slightly, and as they start to pass Muggles more frequently, he stows his wand.
"I can push for a bit, if you like, love?"
To his surprise, she doesn't relinquish her position behind the pram but she smiles at him and lifts her right hand off the bar, giving him space to place his left hand there instead.
"Together," he quips, mirroring her smile - and his grin gets wider as his attention is drawn to their matching wedding rings. Together, we'll get through this.
Despite being initially unhappy at the thought of venturing out, he doesn't gripe when she only selects a few things from the various shops they enter, although he can't shake the thought that it's been a ruse - that she has an underlying, unexplained reason for dragging the three of them out.
His suspicions are proven when she leads him towards the building society, and she moves her hand over his, skin against skin.
"Whatever happens in here, don't blow up, Sev."
"I already know he's screwed me over, Lil."
"Then wait here with Riv," she says, giving his hand a quick squeeze, and darting inside before he can protest.
When she returns and pulls the heavy door open, there's a broad smile on her face and she holds the building society book triumphantly in the air, the pages open on the most recent transaction.
"Inland Revenue," he reads, and then his jaw falls. "Fucking hell, Lil!"
"See! I told you!"
His fingers are shaking as he grips the book, staring at the figures.
"Three thousand pounds," she says, her voice filled with cheer. "That covers us for half a year, at least. More if we're careful. Here," she says, rooting in her purse and pulling a thin wad of notes out, splitting them in two and handing half to him, "I took some out."
He silently takes the notes from her and shoves them into his jeans pocket. "Thanks, love," he says, still staring at the page, as if he doesn't believe it's real, "but this isn't all of it - we shook on…" He pauses, tapping his right thumb against the fingers of his right hand as he silently counts. "I had just under 500 galleons, so he owes me another two grand."
"500 galleons is £2500. He's sent you more."
"No, double the contents - that was the deal. 1000 galleons is five grand."
"There's the exchange rate to factor in."
He gives a light scoff. "The exchange rate isn't worth 400 galleons, Lil."
"Maybe it'll come later," she says, reasonably. "Look at this, the Inland Revenue, Sev! He knows how to cover his tracks. No one can trace this between you."
He takes a deep gasp of air, as if there's long been an unseen weight pushing down on his shoulders that's suddenly lifted and released him from under it, and then he snaps the book closed and slides it into the pram by River's feet.
She watches him carefully. "You're happy, aren't you, Sev? If someone had said to you a fortnight ago that we'd have three grand, you'd be punching the air - not worrying about a couple of grand being missing."
"Like you said," he says, evenly, "it'll probably come later. I was never rich enough to hit a Gringotts limit - he's probably just making sure he doesn't set off an alarm somewhere."
"Exactly," she says, relaxing at his words and looping her arm through his, "and you know what this means, don't you? If Lucius sent you this money, he didn't sell you out."
"I know, and I've never been so pleased to be wrong, love." Severus looks at Lily, a broad grin plastered across his face. "I reckon that calls for a celebration."
Chapter 140: Fix me
Notes:
This is the second update in a row, so if you haven't read chapter 139, I recommend doing that first. :)
Just a heads up, this chapter briefly refers to Eileen's trauma with Travers.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It's the strangest evening - Lily's tired, and she can tell that Severus is too, but they're the happiest they've been in a long time, an emotion seemingly shared by River, who is wide awake, eyes bright and arms flailing.
Severus switches the radio on, and he and Lily laugh as River first seems startled at the sudden noise, and then emits a high pitched coo, his lips morphing into a half smile.
"Sev, I think he's smiling!"
"Yeah?" Severus says, leaning over to stare at their son and rewarding him with a beaming grin in return. "Are you smiling at your mummy, Riv?" He straightens and points at Lily. "He likes Peter Powell almost as much as you do, love."
"What can I say? Our son has impeccable taste."
Severus retreats into the kitchen, and she can hear him banging around with various pots and pans, only re-emerging several songs later when the opening riff to Start Me Up plays. He immediately throws the door open, flicking his wand to raise the volume, and then he dances in the doorway, causing Lily to laugh.
"I've never seen anyone play guitar on a spatula before."
"It's what Keith Richards learnt on," he says, drolly, carrying on his mimicry before throwing his head back and singing along to the chorus.
She holds River's arms loosely in her hands, moving them along to the music, and then she pulls their son into her arms, pointing at Severus. "Is that your daddy being silly, Riv? Is he dancing?" She laughs as Severus moves towards them, singing into the spatula. "Sev, that was a guitar a minute ago!"
He laughs loudly. "Everyone's a critic these days," he grins, and he bends and kisses River's forehead, before strutting back towards the kitchen in time with the music.
"It's nearly ready," he says, standing in the doorway once more, wiping his hands on the teatowel, a slight frown on his face as he realises that Lily is feeding River. "I'll hold it back."
"Fifteen minutes?"
"I'll make it twenty," he says, disappearing into the kitchen.
He's back faster than she expects, but he moves swiftly through the living room and up the stairs.
"Sev! Are those pans ok on the stove?"
"There's a charm on them!" he yells back, his voice muffled.
Lily finishes feeding River, and winds him, listening intently to the soft thuds coming from the upstairs. Just as she's rocking River from side to side, debating lying him down on his mattress, Severus bursts back in, a closed record player in his hands, and a clutch of records under his arm.
"Is that mine or yours?"
"Yours. I binned mine when we moved in together, remember? Yours was way better," Severus says with a grin. He plugs it in at the wall and places it carefully on the floor, pressing down on the lid to check that all four feet are balanced.
"I thought you'd want to keep the radio on and listen to Kid Jensen."
"Not really the mood I was after," he says, with a quick grin, and then he eases a record from its sleeve, lifts the lid and places it onto the player. He flicks his wand to silence the radio and the record starts to play almost seamlessly, as if he was a disc jockey fading from one song into another.
She laughs as soon as she recognises the tune. "I should've known. You played this album all through the summer before we left Hogwarts."
"And when else?"
Lily smiles. "And our first night in the flat together. I know it's your favourite."
"My favourite? I play this because I know you love them."
"This is your album, Sev! I was with you when you bought it!"
"It's too sappy for me," he grins, "I bought it for you." He points at River. "Has he finished?" he asks, changing the subject rather too obviously.
"Yeah, I think he'll be asleep in a minute," Lily says, nuzzling her face against the soft dark wisps of hair on River's head.
"It's not too loud for him?"
"I don't think so," she says.
"Ready for your tea then?"
"Dish it up slowly," she says, gazing at River fondly as he starts to fall asleep, "I don't want him waking up as we're two mouthfuls in."
River doesn't stir - not when Severus brings their food in, or when he takes their empty plates away and returns a few minutes later with two bowls floating before him, and carrying two bottles and two glasses in his hands.
"What's all this?"
"I told you we were going to have a celebration, love," he says, as he sits back down and uses his magic to prise the caps from the bottles, pouring the thick liquid into two glasses.
She looks at him in amazement, and then she laughs as the realisation dawns. "Did you get this when you nipped off to use the loo?"
"Yeah, I doubled back to the shop. Ran like hell."
"I thought it was weird that you wouldn't just hold on 'til we got home!" She shakes her head. "And that's why you insisted on pushing the pram on the way back, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, and River did me a favour," he laughs, "you were distracted by his crying when I walked up, so I just stashed all of this under your shopping." He passes a glass to her. "You can't say you weren't warned, love - I told you we were having a celebration."
She accepts the glass from him and inhales. "Mmm, it's strong. I didn't have you down as a stout man."
"Never had it," he confesses, with a grin.
"No, firewhisky's more your thing, isn't it?"
"Yeah. I stick with lager or mix if I'm on beer, but what sort of husband would I be if I didn't support you?"
"You're full of surprises," she laughs. "How on earth did you know that Mummy had Guinness when she had me and Tuney? Did Daddy tell you?"
"Did she?" He gives a soft laugh. "Nah, I had no idea. Da told me that it's the done thing when you have a newborn." He sniffs the contents of his own glass. "Smells all right, I guess. Pity it isn't firewhisky that's good for breastfeeding."
"You don't have to drink it. There's some firewhisky at the back of the cupboard if you'd rather have that?"
"And let you suffer alone?" he grins. "We're meant to be in this together, aren't we?"
"Then cheers," she smiles, tapping her glass against his. She takes a sip and then points up into the air. "And the bowls?"
"Oh!" He floats his glass before him, reaching up and grabbing the two bowls and handing her one, the spoon protruding at an awkward angle.
"Sev!" she laughs, looking at the neatly sliced dessert. "Arctic roll!" She puts her glass down on the floor and shoots him a stern look, pointing the spoon at him. "...we don't have a freezer."
"Cooling charm," he says, with a grin. "I've been renewing it, but I don't think it'll stay frozen overnight. We might be eating melted Arctic roll for breakfast."
"You'll hear no complaints from me," she laughs.
A few minutes later, Severus takes her bowl and clears it away, and when he returns, he's carrying another two bottles.
"No, Sev, not for me."
He raises his eyebrows. "You don't like it?"
"It's ok. I've got half a glass left," she says, lifting it to show him. "You forget, I haven't had a drink in a year - it's gone straight to my head. I can't handle more than one."
"More for me then," he grins, leaning back on the bed and refilling his glass.
They change the record for the second, third, and fourth time, slowly working their way through their collection of albums - and Severus steadily works his way through the bottles of stout. It doesn't take long for the alcohol to relax him, that familiar buzzing sensation creeping down his arms and legs, prickling at his skin, making him feel as if he's floating on air, and try as he might, he can't stop the daft smile that keeps filling his face.
"You're in a good mood," she says. "Fancy a dance?"
"To this? You always said you couldn't dance to Led Zeppelin."
"It's at the end, and one Led Zeppelin record is quite enough for one evening," she says, leaning over and taking his bottle from him and adding some more stout to her glass.
"What do you mean? We've not finished this one! It's a double album, there's still two sides to go and," he laughs, "I thought you were only having one drink!"
"So did I, but I've found a second wind," she says, putting the bottle down and passing her glass to him. "Here, hold this. I'll go and get my 45s."
He immediately grabs her arm, and presses her glass back into her hands. "I'll go, love."
"You don't know where they are."
"So tell me."
"In those boxes in our room. Near the bottom - I found them the other day."
Severus stands and drains his glass, before stretching and heading upstairs. He pulls the tower of boxes apart, carelessly tossing them onto the bed until he spots the box of records, and he places it by the door.
He turns his attention back to the disarray on the bed, and although he's tempted to leave the boxes there, keen to hurry back to his wife before the mood is broken, there's a nagging voice in the back of his mind.
She might want the bed. A few drinks and a dance or two doesn't mean that she's ready to sleep with you again.
He shakes the thought away and hastily heaves the boxes back, but when he grabs the penultimate box, the lid comes off, revealing an abundance of creams and wipes, causing him to frown.
These are the ones Cissy gave us.
He pauses for a long moment, his fingers trailing over the packaging before he restores order to the room, and then he snaps the light off and heaves the box downstairs.
"You found it!"
"Surprise me, DJ," he laughs, placing it next to the record player, and then moving back to pick up his empty glass. He shakes it. "I'm going for a refill seeing as you stole the last of my beer."
A moment later, he hears the familiar sound of Lily's favourite Northern soul record, and he knows that the alcohol has really started to affect him because as soon as he hears the tune, his hips start to sway - and before he can finish pouring his drink, Lily's arms snake around his waist, and he turns in her embrace, wrapping his arms around her in return, and moving her smoothly across the kitchen.
He lets out a small groan when the record ends and she disentangles herself from his hold, but within a minute, he hears the hiss of the beginning of the record and she's back in his arms before the music starts up again.
"That's the only problem with these singles," she says, holding his hands and swinging their arms in the air, "they're only a couple of minutes long."
It's the most fun he's had - they've had - in months, and he quickly loses count of how many times she darts out to change the record before returning and dragging him around the kitchen, his feet following hers almost as many times as her feet follow his.
When she disappears once more, he gulps down the last of his beer and then he follows her through to the living room, where she's kneeling next to the record player, positioning the arm over the next single.
When she stands and moves towards him, he doesn't take her hand and head back towards the kitchen to dance as she might've expected, but he stays still, his feet planted and when she moves towards him, he gently rests his hands on her hips and then he tentatively leans forward, his movement so slow, it gives her ample time to move away.
She doesn't.
Severus barely dares to breathe - his chest burning from holding his breath - and eventually, after half of the record has already played, the tip of his nose meets hers, and then he gently draws it up the bridge of her nose and across her cheek, skin ghosting across skin.
He turns his cheek, flesh pressed against flesh, his lips parting as he lowers his mouth towards hers - but before he can kiss her, she tilts her head and reaches up, capturing his lips.
This time, the groan he releases is heartfelt.
Their kiss is slow at first, both of them hesitant, each of them mirroring the other, their lips parted and mouths open, but neither pressing the other for more.
The record falls silent, and hits static, and they hear the gentle thump of the arm lifting and retracting. Severus slides his hands down and across, cupping her rump in his hands, and she moves her hands around his neck, threading her fingers through his long hair.
He kisses her faster, his lips brushing against hers - no longer lingering, but as if he's trying to taste as much of her as he can. For her part, she meets every kiss with one of equal fervour, her hands warm against his neck as she pulls him down towards her, smiling against his lips as he kisses harder and harder, and then her tongue slides into his mouth as she wrestles him for control, pushing him back against the doorframe.
He groans into her kiss, mirroring her passion with his fingers, kneading her flesh and pulling her body flush against his, hiking her upwards until she's on her tiptoes - and then, a moment later, he breaks away from kissing her, bending at his knees and lifting her up, pressing her against the opposite side of the doorframe.
She doesn't protest, but melts into his kiss, hooking her legs around his waist in acceptance of his movement. He positions his hands beneath her arms, bracing them both against the wood, and she runs her fingers back through his hair, and when she pulls him towards her, she elicits a low growl from the depths of his throat that she's certain she's never heard before. His breathless gasps are punctuated by her searing kisses, his body hot and taut against hers, and he presses up against her, harder and harder, as if he's trying to push his way through the wall.
She hears it first, twisting her face away from his kiss, and he pulls back, his frown deep and with confusion in his eyes, and then the sound comes again - unmistakeable this time - and they both turn to look at River. Severus relaxes his hold, gently easing Lily down, and she straightens her clothes and rushes over to their son.
Severus stands for a minute or more, watching as she fusses over River, Lily entirely engrossed in their son - and then he stands back, slowly moving into the kitchen.
He collects the dishes together and washes them, one ear listening intently to the sounds coming from the living room, and then he wipes down the worktops and the cooker. He quietly moves back to the doorway, the wood still warm to the touch from their actions, silently watching as Lily cradles River to her.
He makes quick work of drying the dishes and putting them away, and then grabs another stout and his cigarettes, sliding his wand into his hand and opening the back door.
It's long been dark, the nights falling earlier and earlier as the weeks creep towards the depths of autumn, and the air is cool and crisp. He lights his cigarette and alternates between pulling on his cigarette and sipping from his bottle of beer, pacing back and forth between the house and the toilet.
When Lily heads outside, she finds Severus crouched in the middle of a ring of stout bottles, each one containing a bluebell flame, and with a fresh cigarette dangling from his lips, he holds them up in turn, scoring lines in the glass with his wand, and then deftly transfiguring the bottle caps into screw caps. He twists them triumphantly onto the tops of each bottle, and then he stands, using a sticking charm to attach the bottles to the wall in a neat line, illuminating the way to the toilet.
"10 points to Slytherin," she calls.
He jolts in surprise, before breaking into a beaming smile, and rubbing his palms down his front. "I didn't hear you there."
"I said you were thoughtful. I'm always stumbling on the way to the loo now it's darker out here," she says, returning his broad smile. "Thank you."
He shrugs off the compliment, and draws on the filter of his cigarette before exhaling and then indicating towards the house with the tip. "How's our little screamer?"
"Not asleep yet," she says, "but I needed the loo."
"I'll come in," he says, bringing the cigarette up to his lips again, his intention to finish it clear, but she shakes her head.
"He's fine. Enjoy your cigarette," she says, "I won't be a minute."
He pulls on it once, twice, three times, all in quick succession, and then he stubs it out against the wall, flicking the butt towards the drain. He leans his head back and exhales in a long stream, and then inhales the fresh night air.
He steps back into the house, standing in the doorway between the living room and kitchen once more, bracing himself on the jambs as he leans forward, peering at their son who is lying peacefully on his bed.
When Lily shuts the toilet door, she looks up and she can see Severus in the kitchen window, shirtless, soaping himself in the sink. She crosses the path quickly, his clever new lamps lighting the way, and she sneaks in unsighted, the water torrenting through the tap disguising the tread of her steps.
She loops his hands around his waist, and at first, he jumps at her touch, before laughing in realisation, leaning back against her, enjoying the feel of her against him. She reaches up and gently bites his skin, where his shoulder meets his neck, and then sucks hard. He hisses in reaction, gripping the edge of the worktop.
"Too much?"
"Not enough," he says, turning and kissing her fiercely.
She moves back slightly. "Sev, the lights. Will they burn out?"
"I'll extinguish them," he says, reaching behind him to twist the tap off, and then he reaches for the hand towel, carelessly dragging it across his body, "I can light them back up when you need them-"
"-I don't expect-"
"-I have to lock and unlock the door anyway," he interrupts, picking his wand up from the worktop, "it's no hassle."
When he finishes applying the charms on the door, he turns, but she's disappeared, and he follows her through to the living room, where she's sitting back on their bed, watching River closely.
"You know you didn't have to wash-"
"-I don't want to smell of smoke," he says, immediately, "it's not good for him." And then he freezes, as if he's said the wrong thing - as if he's realised that he's given her the perfect excuse to sweep their son up and head back upstairs - but to his relief, she doesn't get up. "Is he asleep?"
"No," she says, watching River intently, "I was thinking about reading him a story." She pauses, and then looks up at Severus. "I've been doing it whilst…" She trails off. "I think it's a good routine for him, before he falls asleep."
"Sounds good, love."
"You could," she says, pointing towards a stack of books at the end of the bed, "if you wanted?"
He picks a library book off the top of the pile, and settles himself next to her. "What's this one you've chosen, Riv? Peace at Last," he reads, turning the front cover over. "Both sitting comfortably?"
"Not quite," Lily says, moving the pillow behind her. She huffs when it doesn't plump as she expects, allowing her to sink back too far - and then Severus' hand snakes out and grabs it. "Oh."
"Here," he says, leaning it against his side, and then patting it. "Lean on me."
She looks at him, and he looks at her, and then he smiles, and she smiles, and she slowly leans back until she's resting against him.
"Better?"
"Better."
His grin grows broader and he turns over the first page of the book. "Good, then I'll begin."
He can't stop looking over at River, and she knows without asking what's running through his mind - whether their son's presence in the corner of the room - fast asleep in his usual bed - is an indication that she's here to stay, willing to join him in bed once more, or whether she's regretting what they did earlier, and she's just timing her retreat with River, readying herself to return upstairs.
It's a surreal tension - not like the last few days, which were filled with a dark cloud and words left unsaid, but rather more like the first few months into their relationship, neither of them fully understanding the other, both of them terrified of scaring the other away.
He stands and pulls his jeans off and then slides under the covers, whilst Lily sits on the top of the duvet on her side of the bed.
"Are you tired?" she asks, and immediately, his body tenses; she can see the muscles in his neck flexing, his shoulders squared.
"A bit." He barely dares to breathe. "You?"
"Not really," she says, fiddling with the blanket at River's feet, "although I reckon this little one will make us pay for that later."
It's one word: us - but it has an immediate effect, causing him to relax, the tension rapidly and visibly leaving his body, and seeing his reaction causes a surge of affection to run through her.
He thought I was going to leave him and go upstairs.
"If you're going to sleep, I can put the light off," she offers.
"Are you reading?"
"No," she says, "here, I'll turn it off."
"Lil."
She stills, halfway to the light switch. "What?"
"Lie with me, love." There's a pause. "Please."
"Like last night?"
"Like last night, and a thousand nights or so before it."
Lily laughs. "Taken to poetry, have you?"
"Hardly. It didn't even rhyme."
There's another pause.
"I know you're not tired," he says, "but we don't have to sleep. We could… Talk."
"Your favourite thing to do."
He huffs a soft laugh. "Yeah."
"Give me five," she says, and she takes her toothbrush and nightie into the kitchen. She returns a few minutes later and slides under the covers next to him. "So…"
"So…"
"You wanted to talk."
"Not really," he admits.
"You were just saying it? Luring me-"
"-no," he says, quickly, "I don't want to talk, but I think we should."
"Right."
"Every night. Before bed."
She turns then, giving him a quizzical look. "Every night before bed?"
"A routine. Like you said." He reaches his hand out for hers, smiling when she takes it, her fingers warm between his own. "For us."
"I know what your talks before bed turn into, Mr Snape," she laughs.
"Win-win, Mrs Snape."
Despite his bold words, she takes him by surprise a moment later when she slides her arms around his waist and nestles her head against his chest, a low hum in her throat.
"What's that noise?"
"It's my murmur of disapproval."
"You sound like a well fed cat."
"You're freezing, Sev."
"Now we've got some cash, I'll sort some coal." He lifts his head, peering towards River. "Is he cold?"
"No, unlike his father, he's appropriately dressed and has two blankets," Lily quips, cuddling Severus closer to her. "You are so cold."
"I'll cope." He turns and grins at her. "I've got you to warm me up."
"I was right the first time - you have lured me into bed under false pretences. I was meant to be your confidant, not your personal heater."
He slides down the pillow until his face is level with hers, and then she hears a low murmur, his voice barely more than a rumble, and his fingers glide over her skin, reaching under her nightdress, leaving warm trails in his wake.
"Mmmm."
"Yeah?" he breathes, and then he kisses her - softly, tentatively - and when she kisses him back, she can feel his smile growing. "Better?"
"Better," she says, between gentle kisses. "Did you really mean it, Sev?"
"Mean what?"
"The talking, the routine?"
"I meant every word," he says, tipping them both slightly so she's beneath him, his arms braced by the side of her head, and then dipping to kiss her again and again, "but you know me, love, I'm easily distracted."
"Tell me something," she says, sliding her hands back around his neck, "talk to me."
He pauses, his dark eyes darting across her face. "I don't know where to start."
"Anything," she says, "tell me anything. Something from when you were small."
"Lil…" He gives a slight shake of his head. "I don't have any happy stories from when I was small."
"You must have some."
"You know them all already," he says, earnestly.
"Sev, you barely talk about when you were a kid, I hardly know-"
"-because you were there for all of my happy memories," he finishes.
"Oh, Sev," she says, reaching up and framing his face with her hands, before kissing him again. "There must've been something good."
He sinks lower and lower, his bodyweight resting on his forearms instead of his hands, and his nose brushing against her cheek as his lips move against hers, returning her kiss.
"What about Terence?" she says, kissing him again and again, before breaking their contact to turn and look at the teddy bear lying next to River, his stuffed arms and legs spread in awkward angles. "How did you get him?"
His breath is warm against her cheek, and she can feel the staggered breath he takes as he glances towards his old bear. "Christmas." He presses another kiss to her lips. "I was...four. Best present I ever had."
"Who was he from?"
"Mam and Da," he says, "but I found out later that Da won him. Woolworths had a competition - write the name of the bear on a slip of paper, and Da won."
"With Terence?"
"Severus," he says, with a laugh, "with fucking Severus."
"But you didn't want a bear with the same name as you?"
"I don't remember where Terence came from," he says, "but it stuck. I took him everywhere with me."
"But you didn't have him in your room when I knew you," Lily says, pressing another kiss to his lips. "I know we were older, but I still had all of my old toys - on shelves," she clarifies, quickly, "but I still had them." She gives a slight shake of her head. "I don't remember Terence from your room at all."
He falls silent, his gaze falling on the pillow to the side of her, and Lily quickly realises her error.
"Sev-"
"-it's ok," he says, swallowing hard, "that's why we're doing this, aren't we?"
She kisses him again. "I didn't mean-"
"-Mam took him from me," he says, blurting the words out, as if he's terrified she'll change the subject, and he'll lose his opportunity to prove himself to her. "I used to sleep with him, every night, and she…"
Lily frowns, running her hand down his face. "She thought you were too old for him?"
"I just wanted someone to play with," he breathes, and she can see the hurt on his face, all these years later. "I didn't know, I was just… I Imperiused him. Or so she said," he says, his voice a half laugh, half scoff. "I didn't even know what she meant. I just wanted him to do something, you know?"
"Early magic?"
"Early magic," he nods.
"It wouldn't have been Imperius," she says, swiftly, "it's not the same when you're a kid, you don't have that intent-"
"-I didn't understand what I'd done wrong," he says, quietly. "Not until she told me about the hex. I think that's why she gave him back that night. Because I finally understood."
"She didn't say… I don't know what she got it for, Sev. All she said was that she cost a baby their magic."
"She was Imperiused and raped and she aborted the baby," he says, bluntly.
"Oh my-"
"-it was a long time ago. Decades ago. Before me. She was at Hogwarts." He pauses. "Don't say anything to her, don't treat her any differently, don't even think about it - she'll know I've told you."
Lily falls silent for a minute or more. "The hex? So the baby would've been a Pureblood," she says, eventually, the pieces falling into place. "You said she was jumpy about the blood laws."
"Yeah. She took a potion, an old family one," he says, quickly, "passed through generations of Pureblood women. That's what did it."
Lily thinks for a moment, and then her eyes widen in alarm. "Not Hostis Hystericus?"
"Why do you think I was such a shock?" He gives a soft, bitter laugh. "And then I start Imperiusing a teddy bear." He exhales slowly. "I don't blame her for being scared."
Lily folds her arms around him, pulling him down against her body until he finally stops holding his weight up with his arms. He adjusts his position, sliding next to her, his left leg still wrapped around her hip, their arms tangled around each other, and she kisses him over and over.
"You were just a kid," she whispers. "You didn't know."
"I wish… I wish I'd known something." He gives her a strained look. "I was devastated when she took him from me, and Da went fucking nuts."
"Because you were upset?"
"Because she never told him she took him from me. He thought I lost him, thought I'd been careless…" He trails off, and shakes his head again. "I don't want to think about it. That's enough."
"Thank you," she says, simply, kissing him deeply.
"For what? The happy bedtime story? I reckon Riv got the better one."
"But you've just proven the point - if your mum had told you, if your mum had been honest with your dad, or with you, then none of that would've happened," she reasons.
He's silent for a long moment, his eyebrows furrowed together, and then he releases a soft huff. "Perfect story then, love."
"Seems like it," she says, kissing him again. "I'm sorry, Sev, I don't want you to relive your worst moments. I just want you to be honest with me."
"It'll get easier." There's a faraway look in his eyes, and then he smiles at her, as if he's been snapped back to reality. "It's got to."
"It'll become second nature," she agrees, placing her hand on his chest. "I don't want you carrying secrets. They're a burden we should share."
"Here's a question for you then, love," he says, propping himself up on his elbow. "If we're all about honesty now, why did you dress up to go into town earlier without talking to me first?"
Lily bites her lip, her green eyes sparkling. "I was pissed off with you."
"I had noticed."
"I wanted to show you what it was like for someone to make decisions without consulting you. Annoying, isn't it?"
He bristles. "Point taken." He pauses. "So it was a lie then? All that about wipes and creams-"
"-I just wanted to go to the building society," she agrees. "I thought you might not go, thought you'd start shouting about Lucius screwing you over again."
"But you were certain he hadn't."
"Not really," she says, leaning forward to kiss him again, "you know him better than me."
"Then what? Got lucky? Just hoping?"
"No. I was certain that Cissy wouldn't screw me and Riv." She gazes deep into his eyes. "Or you, for that matter."
"And if I was wrong about Malf-"
"-you might be wrong about Avery," she says.
"And if I'm wrong about Ave, then it's safe for your parents to come home."
"Something like that," she says, snuggling closer to him.
"You're a real detective, love," he says, wrapping his arms tighter around her.
"You are normally."
He twists his neck, peering down at her. "Normally? What does that mean?"
She hesitates, sliding her hand into his. "I don't think it's just your magic that you broke when you murdered Evan Rosier," she says, quietly, "or your soul."
"...go on."
"There's something wrong with your decision making," she says, quietly, "as if you've damaged your logic."
He lies his head back on the pillow, and under her hands, she can feel his chest rising and falling, the action of him trying to steady his breathing.
"Sev? Are you-"
"-yeah," he says, quietly, "I think you're right."
"You can sense it too?"
"It hadn't occurred to me, but…" He lifts his hand and runs it through his hair. "When you started talking about your parents earlier, it was like you were laying it all out before me in black and white."
"You're normally the one who notices these things, who thinks of the possibilities."
"Yeah."
They lie in silence, him seemingly unwilling to speak, and her uncertain of what to say.
"Lil?"
"Yeah?"
"What a pair we make," he says, pressing another kiss to her hairline. "You with no magic, and me with no self-control."
"Half a person each," she says, turning her head to meet his lips, "but if we work together-"
"-we can fix it."
She pulls back from him, a confused look on her face. "I was going to say we could complement each other."
"I'll do the magic, and you'll do the thinking?"
Her eyes bore into his, and it takes all of his effort not to glance away.
"What?" he says, shifting uncomfortably.
"You meant what you said, didn't you, Sev?" she breathes. "You think you can fix me, don't you?"
Notes:
I'm really sorry for the delay in updating. I have been a bit unwell (not Covid, don't worry).
It might take me a little longer to update whilst I get back on my feet, but hopefully you're still out there and interested. This was meant to have been one chapter but...well, what can I say, Lily and Severus had a lot to talk about.
Hopefully it makes up a bit for the wait, thanks for sticking with the story. :)
Chapter 141: Send him in
Chapter Text
The knock at the front door is loud and insistent, causing both Pettigrew and Black to jolt in their seats.
Immediately, Pettigrew shoots an alarmed look at Black. "Who's that at this time of night?"
"No idea. Immensely talented as I may be, even I can't see through walls."
"You might be immensely talented," Pettigrew mutters, "but you're not immensely funny."
"And you're not immensely bright, are you? If you want to know who is at the door, try answering it," Black says, tossing a cushion towards Pettigrew, who ducks out of the way of it.
"You answer it!"
Black smirks. "Too scared to open your own front door?"
As if to reiterate the point, the knock at the door comes again - even more loudly.
"Course not."
"Well then," Black says, leaning back in his chair and swigging from his bottle of Butterbeer, "it'd be rude if I answered it, seeing as it's your house." He holds his bottle aloft in a mock toast. "Hop to it - anyone would think you'd been dragged up in the gutter, not brought up by an upstanding Pureblood family."
The intensity of Severus' stare almost makes Lily want to pull away, but she holds firm, not breaking eye contact with him.
He's almost breathless when he speaks, his voice little more than an uncertain whisper - and she can barely hear him above the sound of River's uneven breathing.
"Do you want me to? Try to fix you?"
Her heart hammers in her chest at the mere suggestion. "Yes," she whispers back.
"Even," he says, swallowing hard, his prominent Adam's apple lurching in his throat, "even if…"
"If it doesn't work, it doesn't matter," she says, reassuringly. "At least we'll have tried and we'll-"
"-no, love," he interrupts, his dark eyes still not leaving hers, "I'll make it work."
"Then what?"
"What if the magic I need to use is dark?"
Pettigrew braces himself against the door and shakes his head. "No, he's not here. I haven't seen him in days."
"Fuck!" Potter exclaims, threading the fingers from both hands through his unruly hair. "Fuck!"
Pettigrew sighs heavily. "I knew something like this was going to happen."
"What? Moons said something to you?"
"We shouldn't discuss this here," Pettigrew says, pulling the front door fully open, and waving his hand in invitation. "You'd best come in."
Potter hesitates. "Thanks, but I thought you might come out."
Pettigrew appraises Potter, his eyes darting between his friend and the dimly lit street. "Out?"
"I know it's late," Potter says, "but if all three of us search, we'll cover more ground. I haven't got a hope of finding him on my own."
Pettigrew lowers his voice. "Two of us."
Potter instantly looks alert. "Why? Where's Pads? Do you think he's with Moons?"
"No, no," Pettigrew interrupts, and then leans forward conspiratorially. "I'm saying that in his current state, Sirius won't be much help."
"What's up with him?" Potter starts, and then he lets out a small groan as Pettigrew mimes imbibing alcohol. "Again? What's up with him?"
Pettigrew glances anxiously over his shoulder. "Keep your voice down. He'll be upset I've said anything."
"Sorry." Potter braces his hands on the back of his head, looking defeated. "What a mess."
"And you haven't got any idea where Remus might be?"
Potter shrugs tightly. "In all honesty, Pete, I was hoping he'd be here."
"Is that Prongs?" Black appears behind Pettigrew, an empty bottle in his hand. "What's with all the banging? Forgotten how to get our attention? You do realise that from the comfort of your own front room, you can cast a Patronus-"
"-shhh, don't talk about that in public," Pettigrew hisses, glaring at him.
"It's hardly public in your hallway, is it?"
"The door's open, it's not just the hall, it's the doorstep and that's public!"
Black ignores Pettigrew's complaint, his attention focused on Potter. "So what's ailing you, mate? Can't sleep? Don't tell me, don't tell me," he says, grinning, his voice growing ever louder, "you've finally moved on from Evans and another witch has caught your eye, but you can't bring-"
"-Remus has gone missing," Pettigrew interrupts.
Black throws a confused look in Potter's direction. "Missing? Missing how?"
"How many ways are there to be missing, Pads?"
Black looks thoughtful. "About four, I reckon. You could be made suddenly invisi-"
"-missing in the traditional sense of the word," Potter snaps, looking irritated. "Missing as in he stood up and said he was going to make a cup of tea and he didn't return-"
"-a cup of tea?" Black laughs loudly. "Come on, Prongs, you're probably out of milk-"
"-we're not-"
"-did you even check the fridge-"
"-you think I'm stupid-"
"-lads," Pettigrew says, weakly, "come on, don't argue."
Black shoots Pettigrew a dirty look. "We're not arguing, I'm just pointing out that Moons has probably nipped to the shop or something and whilst Prongs is here looking like he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders, Moons is likely sat at home with his feet up, or in bed reading a book, or - get this - wandering around the streets wondering where old Prongs has got to!"
Potter gives Black a dubious look. "And exactly which shops are open at this hour?"
"Half of Knockturn for a start."
"Don't be so ridiculous. Get milk down there, do you?" Potter argues, hotly.
"Well, not cow's milk," Black laughs, even more loudly, "no, Knockturn is more the place-"
"-not on the doorstep, Pads," Pettigrew urges again, looking wildly around them, and waving his hand urgently before his neck, indicating that Black should stop.
"Stop being so wet, I didn't say anything!" Black scoffs. "It's just the name of a street-"
"-but people will-"
"-which people?" Black scoffs, leaning around Pettigrew to shout into the night. "Every wizard in his right mind knows that KNOCKTURN ALLEY-"
"-Merlin's sake, Pads, give it a rest!" Potter shoots an apologetic look at Pettigrew as he forcibly pushes the now-giggling Black into the house. "Sorry, Pete, my fault - I should've come in when you first said."
"It's not your fault, James," Pettigrew says, weakly, watching as Potter manhandles Black back into the living room, and then he turns to close the front door firmly behind him, his eyes darting across the horizon as he does so.
There's a prolonged pause, Lily's expression not betraying her thoughts, and just as Severus is about to turn away in shame for even daring to suggest the use of dark magic, the left side of her mouth quirks upwards in a smile.
"Dark magic is a tool," she says, softly - and he can barely believe that he's hearing his own words from her lips, "a branch of magic to be understood, to be tamed-"
"-to be brought under control," he finishes, his eyes glinting with excitement.
"And you think you can control it."
It doesn't sound like a question, but he nods anyway. "Yes."
"Then I want you to fix me," she breathes, capturing his lips and pulling him into a deep kiss, "please, Sev, whatever it takes."
"Anything," he promises, rolling her over on the bed, and returning her kiss with equal passion, "I'll do anything."
Potter paces back and forth in the living room, swigging from his Butterbeer bottle. "I should've said something sooner."
"Don't beat yourself up," Pettigrew says. "We all noticed it."
Black frowns. "I didn't."
"Well, I did," Pettigrew affirms, steadfastly ignoring Black and looking towards Potter.
"We should've swapped living arrangements," Potter says, taking another swig from the bottle. "Moony has been distant from me for weeks."
"It's not just you. He's been distant from us all since…" Pettigrew trails off, and picks at the corner of the label on his bottle.
Black looks between Potter and Pettigrew, and then shakes his head. "If all this angst is about his transformation, it's nothing we hadn't seen before," Black says, dismissively. "He needs to grow up."
"That's the problem though," Pettigrew argues, "he has grown up!"
"Yeah, grown into a massive fucking werewolf," Potter agrees, his voice getting louder, "and I don't know about you two, but I sure as hell can't go through that every month-"
"-it's fine," Black interrupts.
Pettigrew looks astonished. "It wasn't fine!"
"We've got to adjust," Potter says, running his hand through his hair, "got to find a way to help-"
"-adjust how? We were all terrified," Pettigrew argues, and he glares at Black, "all of us-"
"-speak for yourself," Black says, banging his bottle down onto the floor, "I stood up to him-"
"-it didn't do any good, he just brushed you aside like you were nothing-"
"-he brushed us all aside," Potter adds. "There's no containing him."
"Which means we can't help him," Pettigrew says, glumly.
"Not that you even bothered to try, Pete," Black mutters, his lip curling into a sneer. "It didn't take you long to transform and scurry off-"
"-what's that mean? You were transformed-"
"-yeah, into something useful!" Black shouts. "So we could tame him! What use were you as a worthless rat?"
Potter looks between his two friends as Pettigrew falls silent. "This isn't helping."
"Isn't it?" Black shakes his head. "This stuff needs to be said, needs to be addressed before next month-"
"-I'm not going next month-"
"-we're his friends!" Black roars.
Potter steps between the two of them, ensuring that neither leaps out of their seat to confront the other. "What's done is done, we can't change what we did-"
"-so what was I supposed to do?"
At Pettigrew's challenge, Potter stares blankly at him - Potter's mouth opening slightly and then closing again, seemingly thrown by the question. "...I don't know, Pete."
"Because Pads is angry at me for transforming, but Moony's always said that it's the human form he's drawn to. What was I meant to do whilst you two changed into your animal forms? Stand there like bait? Let him savage me? Lose a limb or two, and spend the rest of my days hopping around like old Kettleburn?"
Potter turns helplessly to Black, who shrugs.
"It's not my fault that my animagus form is smaller than yours," Pettigrew continues, standing. "I did exactly the same as you both did, so if you're looking to blame someone, you should take a hard look at yourselves first. You were both overconfident, and you didn't stop to listen to what Moony was telling us. He said he was uncontrollable, and you two wouldn't have any of it!"
"Pete-"
"You said it would be like when we were at school, and you were wrong!"
"Look, Pete, we-"
"-you know what? I don't care, I'm going to bed."
"And what about Moons?" Potter asks. "I thought we were coming up with a plan to track him down?"
Pettigrew turns to look at them both, his eyes watery but his expression distant. "And what help would I be to you two geniuses? I'm just a worthless rat, remember?"
The darkened bedroom is abruptly illuminated by a brilliant surge of white light, and an agitated Patronus circles the large four poster bed, anxiously waiting until one of the hefty curtains is eventually pulled back, revealing the aged and exhausted face of Albus Dumbledore.
Dumbledore runs his fingers through his hair, brushing the strands out of his eyes with one hand, and reaching for his glasses with the other. As he perches his spectacles on his nose, the Patronus opens its mouth wide, and the deep voice of Alastor Moody echoes around the tidy bedroom: "Meet me behind Hagrid's hut in half an hour."
"Give Riv to me now," Severus murmurs, propping himself up on his arm and pressing a kiss to Lily's bare shoulder.
"It's just hiccups." She gives him a wry smile. "He's just like his father."
"Greedy?" He peers at River, gently stroking his cheek with his forefinger. "Been eating too fast again, Riv?"
"He'll settle once he's been winded."
"Yeah, and you've done your bit," he says, firmly, sliding his hands around River's waist and lifting him from Lily's hold, "go back to sleep, I can do this."
She doesn't - she leans back on her pillow and watches tiredly but contentedly as Severus dotes on River, his much larger hand making long, smoothing strokes down River's back. After ten or so minutes, Severus discards the cloth from over his shoulder, banishing it with an easy flick of his fingers, and holds their son warmly, his large nose nestled in the crook of River's neck.
"Is he asleep already?"
Severus turns to look at her, a small smile on his lips. "I thought you were."
"I liked watching you."
This time, he chuckles. "I think that's my line, love."
Potter leans his head back in the chair, removes his glasses, and runs his wrist over his eyes.
"Another?"
"It's late."
"It was late when you turned up here," Black laughs, "and now it's so late, it's practically early, so what difference does one more make?"
Without waiting for an answer, Black stands and heads for the kitchen, and manages to return before Potter has moved - although he has managed to replace his glasses - and Black presses a cold Butterbeer into Potter's hand.
"Thanks," Potter says, sitting straighter in the chair. "Listen, I'm sorry about Wormy."
Black settles on the sofa and shrugs. "You didn't do anything." He takes a swig from his bottle and stares at his friend. "Wormy's been touchy ever since the transformation."
"Seeing Moons like that…" Potter sighs. "Terrifying."
"Yeah, and Wormy was shitting himself."
"We all were, Pads."
"Yeah," Black admits, taking another mouthful of Butterbeer, "and I don't think any of us hid it well enough. Hence the disappearing act tonight." There's a brief pause. "Moons," he clarifies, "not Wormy."
"Yeah."
"Where do you reckon he's gone?"
"No idea," Potter says, miserably. "When he wasn't here, I didn't really know where to start looking."
"Maybe it's something innocent," Black muses, and then he grins. "Or not so innocent - you reckon he might've got a girlfriend?"
"If he has, he's not said anything to me."
"Gone to see some other friends?"
Potter shrugs. "Same - if he's got other friends, he's never mentioned them. Ever."
"His parents?"
This time, Potter shakes his head. "Definitely not. He keeps swearing that he won't land his problems on their doorstep." His eyes meet Black's. "His mother's sick. Nerves, he said. He blames himself."
"That's ridiculous."
"Reckons he set it off. Reckons he was a burden to them both," Potter says, quietly.
"I know that feeling."
"It's not the same."
"No?" Black gives him a supercilious look.
"No. Your parents were shitty, but you could've turned back to them, fallen in line," Potter explains. "You could've rejected us, accepted your parents' beliefs, reunited with Reggie-"
"-I'd never-"
"-I know you wouldn't, but you could've if you wanted," Potter stresses, "whereas Moons can't stop being a werewolf. It doesn't matter what he does, he's cornered by his affliction."
There's a contemplative silence.
"Perhaps not then," Black concedes, sitting upright, "but whatever's going on with him, it's not your weight to carry, Prongs."
"It should be," Potter says, his voice rising in temper, "and look at me! Some friend I am, I just gave up at the first hurdle."
"And what if he doesn't want you running after him? He's an adult-"
"-he's at risk if-"
"-he's not at risk," Black reasons, "the moon is still new, so he's just a normal wizard. Nobody's going to look twice at him going for a stroll of an evening, and he'll turn up in the morning like nothing has even happened."
Potter's mouth is set in a grim line. "I feel like I've failed him."
"If he wanted to you to run after him, he'd have said something to you, would've argued with you or-"
"-but Wormy's right - I should've listened more, should've asked him to talk about it."
"Talking about it won't solve anything. You said it yourself, he's different, Prongs, and there's nothing any of us can do to make it any better."
"Apart from the potion. That made it better."
Black shakes his head. "You think? I reckon it made it worse."
Potter stares at Black, his expression incredulous. "Worse? What do you mean, worse? He could just lie down in his room and go to sleep, none of this chaining himself up, no running rampant, no-"
"-oh, you were right," Black interrupts, "you weren't listening to him at all."
Potter falls silent.
"Moons told us all about it, don't you remember? He said that when he transforms and he's used the potion, he keeps his mind."
"That's the whole point. Keeping his mind keeps him safe - it stops him from lashing out, stops the animal inside from taking over."
"It does, but it also turns him into the monster," Black says, impatiently, tapping his forefinger against his temple. "Moons up here," he says, before holding his hands out before him, "but wolf down here, furry paws and all." He shakes his head. "How do you even begin to reconcile that?"
Potter sits forward, his elbows on his knees. "And now that he's back to being the fully formed monster, when he hears of his destructive and dangerous behaviour, he internalises it?"
"He can't separate them. In his mind, it's no longer just a distant creature who takes over for a brief joyride of his body on the full moon - now it's Remus himself." Black takes another hefty drink from his bottle, and then points it towards Potter. "He saw how we reacted. To the wolf."
"To him."
"To him," Black echoes.
"So what do we do?"
"That's the question," Black says, glancing at the door, "Wormy and I keep arguing about it." He leans forward, lowering his voice further. "Wormy reckons he should register."
"For Belby's trial?"
Black nods.
"Fuck. Why?" Potter stares at Black in disbelief. "Wormy was that scared by what happened?"
"No, believe it or not, he said it before we turned up that night," Black says, sitting back. "The transformation just solidified it in his mind."
"Merlin," Potter breathes. "Tell me he didn't say as much to Moons."
Black shakes his head. "No, I don't think he did."
"Because if that's where Moony's gone-"
"-get a grip, Prongs, Moons hasn't gone to register at this time of night."
Potter runs his hand through his hair, gripping at the thick strands, and then he looks back over at Black. "But imagine if he's said that to him - that'd be enough to tip Moons over the edge-"
"-Wormy hasn't had an opportunity to say anything," Black says, leaning forward and placing his empty bottle on the floor, "I've been stuck with him here, remember?" He sits back, his eyes moving over Potter. "Has he spoken to you?"
"Who? Wormy?"
"Yeah."
"Like you said, I've been with Moons. I've barely seen Wormy."
Black raises an eyebrow. "That wasn't my question."
Potter frowns. "No, he's not spoken to me. I can't remember the last time I spoke one-on-one with him - tonight's brief chat on the doorstep aside." He scratches his forehead with his finger. "I remember Moons saying he'd talked about us swapping houses - me sharing with you, and him sharing with Moons, but he said that to Moons, not to me."
"Did Moons tell you why Wormy wanted to swap?"
Potter's frown grows deeper, although his lips twist into a smirk. "Come on, Pads, is this some weird domestic you're both having about using too much hot water? Don't let him damage your ego - I mean, sure, it's hell of a criticism to hear that someone would rather live with a werewolf that they're terrified of than put up with-"
"-we heard a prophecy."
Potter stares at Black in horror. "...a what?"
"You heard."
"I know what I think I heard."
"You heard," Black reiterates, "and I'm talking the real deal - not a rigged three card spread, not a etched teacup so the leaves will fall in the shape of a grim, not-"
"-I get it. A real prophecy," Potter says, quietly. "Where?"
"Down Knockturn, where else?"
"What in Merlin's name were you both doing down-"
"-nothing salacious," Black smirks, "it was when we went to get that powdered silver."
Potter appraises his friend, biting his bottom lip between his front teeth. "Those street merchants can be convincing-"
"-it wasn't an act, it was a disembodied voice," Black interjects. "We'd been talking to the two witches just before, I know what they sounded like - and it wasn't one of them projecting. It was different."
"A trance."
"Yeah."
"Who else knows about it?"
Black shakes his head.
"Just you and Wormy?"
"I made him promise that he wouldn't tell anyone."
Potter's eyes narrow further. "Why? Who was the prophecy about, Pads?"
There's a brief silence, and Black's chest rises and falls as he composes himself. "The Dark Lord," he says, eventually.
"Why would you keep that to yourselves?" Potter wonders, and then his eyes widen. "He wins? He's destined to succeed?"
Black shakes his head. "No. He has a nemesis. Someone who can challenge him."
Instantly, Potter looks alert. "But that's fantastic, Pads! That's exactly the sort of news we've been waiting for! We need to tell Dumbledore-"
"-it's me," Black interrupts.
"…I don't understand."
"It's me," Black repeats. "I'm the Dark Lord's nemesis."
As Dumbledore sweeps out of the castle, the bells in the clock tower peel out, but Dumbledore doesn't falter in his step. The grass is dewy, and the air is cold, and thick clouds obscure the stars in the sky, so Dumbledore holds his wand before him, scrutinising the sweep of the grounds with every step.
There's nobody around.
Dumbledore doesn't make a habit of strolling around at this hour, but he's stumbled across others before during a late night - or early morning - excursion. Minerva McGonagall was renowned for prowling around in the depths of the night during the height of examination season, invariably transformed into her animagus form.
When Dumbledore first stumbled across this habit and nonchalantly raised the subject at the breakfast table, she claimed that she was merely suffering from insomnia, but he's never quite been convinced by her story, and has often wondered whether she was letting off some steam by indulging in the thrill of the hunt in her feline form.
There's no sign of her tonight, but he keeps a watchful eye, aware that she isn't the only member of staff with a predilection for midnight wandering. Whilst McGonagall might hunt, Hagrid was much more likely to be found hand rearing rare - and sometimes illegal - creatures, doting upon them throughout the night, as if he were the proud parent himself.
Sprout is another who is occasionally found roaming the grounds, harvesting herbs and plants by the light of the moon for use in potions for the hospital wing. It's a task, strictly speaking, which should fall to the Potions Master at the school, but Dumbledore knew better than most that Horace Slughorn was unlikely to risk either his beauty sleep or his expensive silk pyjamas on such an excursion.
Still, with the moon still new, Dumbledore knows that he's unlikely to stumble across Sprout and as he meets the edge of the Forbidden Forest entirely unsighted, some of the tension eases from his shoulders. Meeting Moody is no cause for apprehension, despite the late hour, for he knows that such contact is not necessarily a sign of distress, but merely well-placed caution by his circumspect ally.
Moody and Dumbledore are well aware that it would be unwise to send a Patronus to Hogwarts during the day, both of them far too cautious for such behaviour, both understanding that there are students from families who would take an interest in such a visage appearing from the ether, particularly one which spoke aloud - which, to Dumbledore's knowledge, is an attribute the Death Eaters remain unaware of.
Dumbledore looks back up towards the castle, his gaze casting over the various entrances and exits, trusting that Mr Filch has done his duty and locked the students inside - although Dumbledore has been Headmaster for too long to think that this will keep all of the teenagers indoors; there's always a few miscreants who will attempt to evade any effort to keep them locked inside, and it's these students that he's keeping a keen watch for.
Dumbledore is so engrossed in his task, he flinches when Alastor lands and marches towards him.
"Surprised? Expecting someone else?"
Dumbledore offers him a smile. "It would be a tremendous coincidence."
"I tempered the landing so as not to disturb Hagrid," Moody says, gruffly, "but I didn't intend to spook you."
"Your caution is appreciated. I must admit to being distracted."
"Trouble?" At Dumbledore's blank look, Moody points his wand towards the castle. "Indoors?"
"None at all. Simply keeping a watchful eye."
"Constant vigilance."
"Indeed," Dumbledore turns his full attention to his old friend, "and I trust you would not have travelled so far out of your way-"
"-Evan Rosier's funeral," Moody interrupts, his tone impatient. "We need a presence."
"I was under the impression that Emmeline was-"
"-we," Moody says, emphatically, "need a presence."
Dumbledore's lips twist into a thin smile. "I am to understand that Emmeline has refused your request for compassionate leave to attend?"
"I have been allocated a double shift," Moody says, staring at the castle in the distance.
"Now that does surprise me - I'd heard that the Ministry had introduced a freeze on overtime pay."
"Your hearing is as good as it ever was," Moody says, gruffly, "it is a transparent action."
"The Minister's money saving efforts, or Emmeline Vance thwarting you once more?"
"Both."
"Alastor-"
"-I know her," Moody says, with a shake of his head, his wand pointing at Dumbledore, "and we've been through this. Don't tell me that I see what I want to see." There's a pause. "The funeral. It's an open invitation."
Dumbledore raises his hands. "I understand your concerns, Alastor, but what do you suggest? That I attend?"
"The Minister will be in attendance."
Dumbledore gives a light laugh. "And I am hardly Cornelius. I doubt that Lucius Malfoy would welcome-"
"-my point is that the guest list is open to those not so aligned with Malfoy and his ilk." Moody stands a little straighter. "Still, obviously you are the incorrect choice."
"I am gratified that you think so." There's a pause, and when Dumbledore speaks again, his tone has a levity to it, almost mocking. "One of the Prewett brothers, perhaps? I'm sure dear Abraxas would-"
"-don't be obtuse, Albus," Moody interrupts again, his voice clipped.
"Then forgive me, but you must already have someone in mind for this task," Dumbledore presses.
Moody nods. "I do. I want you to arrange for young Sirius Black to be amongst his brethren once more."
Dumbledore straightens. "Sirius Black?"
"The boy is perfect."
"He's our success story."
Moody gives him a scathing look. "Black?"
"How would it seem to the rest of the wizarding world if their golden boy was welcomed back into the fold?"
"Realistic."
"Alastor."
"I'm tired of these games," Moody warns. "How many wannabe Death Eaters has Black recruited into our cause by being openly committed to our beliefs?"
There's a silence.
"Exactly," Moody continues, "his defection may have been good for optics, but optics do not win a war. You can have the applause of the Potters and the Weasleys and the Prewetts and the Longbottoms but it's nothing but self-congratulatory cheering."
Dumbledore ignores the slight. "It's not just about what it looks like to the wider community. Sirius Black wears his heart on his sleeve. He won't survive, he'll be under intense scrutiny - from his brother and his cousins-"
"-they'll welcome him back, they're family, blood is thicker-"
"-and from rivals jostling for position in the regime." Dumbledore takes a long draw of air. "The Death Eaters must be reeling from Evan Rosier's untimely demise, and it will be pulling unresolved tensions to the surface."
Moody gives Dumbledore a thin smile. "Incredibly astute as ever. I understand that the finger is being pointed between them and trust is thin."
"So the auror department has not yet discovered the culprit?"
"Don't tell me that news of the Minister's involvement has not made its way to your table."
"That wasn't my question."
Moody hesitates. "The evidence against the prime suspect was rejected on a technicality."
"And the evidence was compelling? You truly believe that Avery murdered Rosier?"
There's a prolonged pause.
"I suspect Malfoy had a hand in it," Moody admits, eventually, "but he was clean. We had nothing to link him to the murder, apart from it taking place on his property - we couldn't prove it."
Dumbledore smiles. "How fortunate for Lucius."
"He's slippery."
"Lucius had an incredible aptitude for evading consequences even whilst he was a student," Dumbledore says. "I came to despise hearing the phrase, 'You cannot prove it', as those words were uttered far too many times in my presence, whether from him or his proxy in Horace." He shakes his head. "A family motto, perhaps. Or words that could be etched on his gravestone."
"Now you're talking," Moody says with a smirk, "and I intend to be there for that happy day." He straightens his cloak. "Send Black, Albus. Our mistake has always been in choosing those not invested in the cause-"
"-I assure you that everyone within our group is invested-"
"-they're not!" Moody snaps. "That is what went wrong with your horrible plan to recruit Evans-"
"-might I remind you that you suggested Lily Evans," Dumbledore says, softly rebuking his agitated friend. "What did you say to me? A keen mind? A strong moral sense of righteous-"
"-I wasn't wrong-"
"-and what else did you say, Alastor? That a Muggleborn would not desert the cause like a Pureblood might - that the life or death stakes are higher?" Dumbledore shakes his head. "And where is she now?"
"Seeing as she was living in your castle, I think you should look rather closer to home for your answers."
"Or is this why you are so interested in visiting the Manor? Are you expecting to find his concubine below stairs-"
"-you don't believe that story anymore than I ever did," Moody snaps, "and don't shift the blame to me with this. You wanted Evans because you knew she would get you to Snape - and you had him! You had him in the palm of your hand-"
"-we had him, and we failed him. We, Alastor!"
Moody appraises Dumbledore critically. "What's done is done. The war doesn't stop, Albus. We need someone on the inside."
"Severus wasn't willing," Dumbledore says, quietly, "I pressured him. I am not prepared to do the same with Sirius Black. The price is too high."
"Snape wasn't committed to the cause."
"I truly believe that Severus-"
"-he was committed to Evans," Moody continues loudly, his eyes meeting Dumbledore's in a fierce challenge, "nothing else. If she is opposed to the cause, so is he. If she stops, so does he."
There's a silence.
"You think she stopped?" Dumbledore scrutinises Alastor. "That she was turned by her involvement with the Death Eaters?"
He shrugs. "Not the Death Eaters. You invested too much into thinking that Snape would stand with her, but you didn't stop to consider that alternative." There's a momentary pause. "That Evans might be standing with him."
Dumbledore winces. "Severus is a lot of things, but I don't believe he's a Purist, and," he says, evenly, holding a long finger out towards Moody, "if he was, they wouldn't accept a Muggleborn amongst them. Can you truly imagine Lucius Malfoy welcoming a Muggleborn into his home?"
Moody lets out a long sigh. "Not that it matters. The moment they locked Snape's magic into his body, it was over - for her as well as him."
"For him, perhaps. You don't consider that his punishment would be motivation for her - for revenge?"
Moody sneers. "That anger might burn brightly, but what are they now? A witch with the wrong blood, and a wizard with no magic."
Another silence.
Moody looks triumphantly towards Dumbledore. "Black. It's about time he did something other than bray in our meetings. I'm not asking you, Albus, I'm telling you - we desperately need ears and eyes on the ground. Send him in."
Chapter 142: You can owe me
Notes:
Many apologies for the unexpected absence; I was a bit unwell again.
Hopefully this extra long chapter makes up for the extra long break.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Despite the early hour, the Great Hall is filled with noise; plates and cutlery clattering, parcels being dropped by swooping post owls and then being torn open to loud exclamations of glee, and - most unusually - students not only bickering amongst their housemates, but hollering from one house table to another.
McGonagall glances at the vacant seats beside her at the staff table as she stands. "Children," she starts, her tone firm - but the noise continues, her voice barely audible against the cacophony in the room.
"Children!" McGonagall tries again, this time picking up her empty water glass and tapping it repeatedly with her wand, the shrill sound piercing the commotion, and then she tilts her wand to her neck and casts Sonorous to amplify her voice. "Enough! The sun has barely risen and you are all making more noise than a collection of drunken revellers during throwing out time down at The Hog's Head."
Abruptly, the Great Hall falls quiet, and she can feel the gaze of the entire school upon her. There's a moment of pure silence, with the students breathlessly waiting to hear whether further rebuke is forthcoming, but when McGonagall gives a stiff nod and returns to her seat without issuing another reprimand, there's a collective sigh of relief across the tables.
McGonagall glances down the length of the staff table. The only two other staff members present are seated at the far end, Kettleburn and Haynes, neither of whom look in her direction.
She spoons porridge into her bowl and pours tea into her cup, a frown on her face as she silently counts the vacant chairs between her and the other two professors.
It's not just the subject professors who are absent, she realises. There's no Heads of Houses here either. No Flitwick, no Sprout, no Slughorn. No Dumbledore.
She steadily adds sugar and salt to her breakfast as the noise levels slowly bubble up again from the students, and she briefly closes her eyes, trying to block them out - not wanting to stand up again and lose her temper, not wanting to show anyone how unnerved she is by the absence of the Headmaster and her fellow Heads of House.
It's a coincidence, she thinks, stirring her porridge. If there had been a crisis and the Heads of Houses were required, Dumbledore would've called for you - he trusts you. She rests her spoon in the bowl and reaches for her mug. Albus, Horace, and then me - that's the chain of seniority in the school, not Filius or Pomona, the voice in her mind insists as she lifts the mug to her mouth.
"Oh," she grimaces as the salty tea touches her tongue.
There's a small peal of laughter to her right hand side as Flitwick pulls out a chair and settles beside her. "Salt instead of sugar?" he guesses, with a kind smile and a warm hand on her shoulder. "We've all done that when we're distracted, and with the dreadful noise in here this morning, I'm not surprised you lost concentration." He banishes her meal with a quick flick of his wand, and then twists his wrist again, an empty bowl and clean spoon appearing before her. "Coffee, was it?"
"Tea," she says, watching gratefully as he levitates the teapot and pours the steaming liquid into a fresh mug. This time, her focus is on her breakfast as she carefully places sugar into her tea, and salt onto her porridge, and she is barely listening as she hears Flitwick berating the students, causing their yells and screams to quieten once more.
She takes a tentative sip of her fresh drink, and then looks towards Flitwick who is busying himself with spreading various flavours of jam across several slices of toast. "Did I miss a meeting?" she asks, forcing nonchalance into her tone.
Flitwick arches an eyebrow. "I wasn't in a meeting, I just overslept," he says dismissively, and then he glances beyond her, taking in the sight of the empty chairs along the staff table. "Oh."
She gives a tight nod. "Oh indeed."
"No Horace. Well, that explains the noise - you know what a stickler he is for a peaceful breakfast." Flitwick peers at the tables. "Although his lot are behaving," he muses, his gaze settling on the students from Slytherin, before falling on his own table. "Mine on the other hand… Westenberg!" He raps his knife sharply against the staff table. "Enough. If I have to speak with you again-"
"-sorry, sir!"
Flitwick sniffs and then leans in conspiratorially to McGonagall. "Now, I can't vouch for the others, but Pomona's absence might be my fault," he whispers, "we were playing Gobstones until the early hours."
"I didn't have you down as an aficionado of-"
"-Drinking Gobstones," Flitwick quickly clarifies with a smile.
"I see."
"It would shame my mother, if she were not long dead, to know that I can be convinced to partake in almost any game where a spot of gambling or," and he gives a wide grin, "a spot of inebriation is on the cards."
"Especially if it involves Pomona's famous elderflower wine," McGonagall says, knowingly.
"It does hit the spot," he agrees, rubbing at his forehead, as if willing a dull headache to subside. "In fact, rather too well for a Thursday evening. I don't know what I was thinking, I've a full day of teaching today," he laments, before taking a bite of his toast.
"But you haven't seen Albus or Horace?"
Flitwick shakes his head. He chews and swallows, and dabs at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "Why would I have seen them? I told you, I overslept." He offers her a wide smile. "Unless you're suggesting that I've left them both in my bed," he laughs, "but I can assure you that I wasn't that drunk."
"I didn't mean-"
"-I doubt they're together, if that's what you're fearing."
"It's such an uncertain time and he is Albus' second-"
"-no, no, you are Albus' second in command," Flitwick interrupts, airily - and then he offers her a wide smile. "Don't look so surprised, Minerva. Albus has always had a soft spot for those he mentors in his Transfiguration Department. His Gryffindor Transfiguration Department. He relies upon you."
"But Horace has been at Hogwarts for far longer than I-"
"-and all that time together is not necessarily a good thing." Flitwick takes another bite of his toast. "More importantly, Horace is Albus' peer," Flitwick adds, "whereas you are his protégé." He wipes his fingers on his napkin and scrunches it up, discarding it by his plate. "Ah, Pomona! How's the head?"
"Much the same as yours, I imagine, Filius," Sprout says, taking the seat on the other side of McGonagall, "Minerva." She reaches for a cup of coffee. "Did your elves wake you this morning? Spiffy didn't call for me-"
"-I was already awake," Minerva says. "From before dawn."
"No, Tatty didn't," Flitwick says, as if a realisation has just hit him. "Well, I think we have solved the mystery of where both Albus and Horace are, Minerva - and the rest of the staff for that matter."
"The elves didn't wake them."
"Exactly - just the three of you here. You woke early, whilst Kettleburn is always up before six. As for Haynes," Flitwick says, with a smile, "I am convinced he doesn't sleep."
"That's a good point," Sprout says, looking at Haynes thoughtfully, "he's always patrolling the corridors and returning miscreants to my house in the dead of night."
McGonagall frowns. "What do you think happened? Do you think the elves are on strike?"
"It's possible. At least those working in the kitchens haven't joined the mutiny." Sprout reaches forward to take toast from a serving plate piled high. "I wonder what's upset them."
"More likely who," McGonagall says, sipping from her tea.
"Five galleons says that buffoon Lockhart is behind it," Sprout grins. "Are you in for a small wager, Filius?"
Flitwick gives a small shake of his head. "The boy is a menace, but he's not malicious." He frowns, tapping the Prophet. "It's the funeral today, isn't it?"
McGonagall's eyes cast over towards the Slytherin table. "You said they were being quiet, Filius. You don't think the Slytherins have engineered-"
Sprout huffs loudly. "Absolute nonsense! What is there to be gained by having the staff sleep in by twenty minutes?"
Filius nods. "I agree. If it was their ruse, they've hardly taken advantage of the situation."
"I suppose," Minerva says, uncertainly. "As far as we know, that is."
"It's more likely that they're quiet because they're mourning," Sprout adds, "rather than plotting some grand display. After all, another of theirs has fallen - he was well known, Evan Rosier."
"Well known and well liked," Flitwick adds. "He was a charming, brilliant boy. I'll never forget his display during his NEWT examination. He didn't drop a single mark. I don't think I've seen anything quite like it before."
"And a beast on the Quidditch pitch, as you might well remember, Minerva," Sprout says. "Horace took home the chocolates on more than one occasion when Evan was captain."
"It wasn't just the way he played," Flitwick says, "but he had a way of motivating the rest of the team. I dare say Slytherin has never quite recovered from his graduation - nobody can stand in his shoes."
"I thought Regulus Black might've been the one. Now, he was something special with broom in hand-"
"-your bets said as much," Flitwick laughs, "and my pocket certainly thanks you."
McGonagall takes a sharp intake of breath. "Be that as it may, Evan Rosier was likely one of his."
"No."
"Not Evan."
"He held archaic views on blood purity!"
Sprout gives a soft laugh. "And that's your evidence? Minerva, we all know such views are a byproduct of wearing green and silver."
"We shouldn't accept it," McGonagall snaps. "A quarter of all of our students are shepherded into that house at eleven, and then we give up on them!"
Flitwick quietly spreads jam across another piece of toast, and then gently places the knife onto the table. "It has long been my understanding that those views are something the vast majority grow out of."
McGonagall scoffs. "Bellatrix Black grew out of her blood supremacy, did she?"
"There's more to Slytherin than those in the Sacred families," Flitwick counters, "you can't write off a whole house because of the likes of the Blacks and the Lestranges and the Malfoys."
"Filius is right," Sprout agrees, "those children will always spread such beliefs because they benefit from the status quo. It is not in their interest to be dethroned."
"Then Horace should do something about it," McGonagall argues, "if he put his foot down and stopped those families from lording it over the others, prevented them from being idolised by those who know no better, then-"
"-of course, that's the real reason for Horace's Slug Club," Sprout says, gently, "to offer guidance to the students during their final years, to steer them from darker paths and into more useful careers."
"Not all students. He's only interested in steering the most promising," McGonagall sniffs.
"Not so," Flitwick says, taking a quick swig from his mug, "he had that foolish boy as a member, didn't he? Complete ignoramus, couldn't tell one end of his wand from the other."
"That description hardly narrows it down, Filius. There's at least thirty of those children eating breakfast in front of us at the moment."
"Not with us now, he was in the same year as Sirius Black and James Potter," Flitwick says, frowning as he tries to recall the name. "Blunt faced, stupid boy, always sniggering at the back with Rupert Mulciber. Oh, you do know him - had a terribly ironic name-"
"-Cato Avery."
"That's it! Cato! Cato." Flitwick suppresses a smile. "I ask you, what were his parents thinking?"
"I suppose they were not aware of his limited intellect when they named him," McGonagall says, reasonably.
"I always wondered if they'd dropped him on his head-"
"-I fear we're getting off the point," Sprout interrupts, "which is that some of the Ministry's most celebrated, most decorated, have passed through Horace's network. Even a dullard like Cato Avery has forged a successful career in the Ministry, by all accounts. That's thanks to Horace."
Flitwick nods. "Each and everyone of us was an idiot at fifteen, Minerva. A few years out of Hogwarts, a dose of the real world, and most of those views have disappeared."
McGonagall flinches. "Horace has hardly been successful of late, has he? Rosier murdered amongst his supposed friends, Crouch sentenced by his own father to be Kissed, Snape condemned with the hex without mention of his transgression-"
"-Snape, now there's a boy who went backwards," Sprout says, shaking her head.
"Terrible," Flitwick says, quietly.
"Such a waste of talent."
"And to think that he was sitting here with us last term."
McGonagall draws a pained breath. "You don't need to remind me. The whole debacle keeps me up at night."
"You and Horace both," Flitwick says, grimly. "Would talking about it help?"
She looks up, surprised. "Has Horace confided in you?"
"He's barely uttered a sentence, but those dark circles under his eyes are there for everyone to see."
Sprout nods. "The guilt must weigh heavily on his shoulders. If Horace hadn't sent Severus away…"
"Did he tell either of you why he dismissed him?" McGonagall asks, keenly.
"Not me."
Flitwick nods. "I was led to believe that he was an alcoholic."
"Severus? Severus?" Her tone rises two octaves, such is her disbelief.
"According to Horace," Flitwick says, his own bemusement clear in his voice. "I never sensed a trace of it upon him-"
"-nor me-"
"-that makes three of us-"
"-but apparently Severus' previous master corroborated Horace's story," Flitwick finishes. "It seems it had been an ongoing problem."
"And does Horace know why he was arrested?" McGonagall presses. "What he was charged with?"
"If he does, he hasn't said anything to me."
"But addicts will do anything for their next fix," Sprout adds. "Once Severus was thrown out of here, he was homeless, jobless, and if he didn't have any savings-"
"-that's a big if-"
"-on an apprentice's wage, it's not an if, it's a certainty-"
"-he could've agreed to do anything."
"Still, no matter what he did, there's no crime worthy of the hex," McGonagall says, quietly. "It's inhumane."
"It's disgraceful that the Ministry has it on its books."
"It was outlawed for good reason," Flitwick agrees, "but it's not the only outrageous punishment that has been ratified this year."
"It's not just punishments," Sprout says, "it's everything! The rules - the foundations - of our society. I simply don't know how Albus can bear to preside over the Wizengamot whilst such horrific laws are being passed."
McGonagall harrumphs. "He presides over little. The Ministry has neutered the Wizengamot."
"It was a voluntary submission, according to the Prophet," Sprout says, tapping the closed paper on the table. "They all voted for this."
"Not all, not unanimously."
"Enough of them."
"Enough for a majority, but no more," Flitwick says, looking scornful. "Pomona, you and I both know that Fudge has always resented the Wizengamot, the power that Albus wields-"
"-not just Fudge-"
"-so after that nasty outbreak of Dragon Pox, Fudge filled the Wizengamot with Ministry stooges-"
"-Filius, I thought better of you-"
"-who voted against the Wizengamot's own interests, passing the bulk of their power back to the Ministry-"
"-than to repeat such conspiracy theories-"
"-it's not a theory," he says, his temper causing his voice to rise a little, "we all know it's the truth."
McGonagall looks pained. "Albus said this would happen - that attitudes would change, and there would be a time when we could no longer fight the war in a righteous manner."
Flitwick nods. "You cannot fight in accordance with the laws if your enemies are changing them at will."
"These laws have their root in blood supremacy," McGonagall says, her gaze not leaving Flitwick, "the same attitudes that you felt our students would grow out of, given time."
"And given time-"
"-what if they're not given time? What if they're courted and groomed and instead of growing away from such beliefs, they openly spout them in the streets?"
"Severus again?" Flitwick says, quietly.
"I was surprised that Dumbledore welcomed him with open arms after that outburst," Sprout interjected.
"There's more to it with him," McGonagall says, with certainty. "There must be. He didn't seem that way inclined during his schooldays."
"No, and she was a wonderful girl, Lily." Flitwick toys with the rim of his cup. "Forthright. A go-getter! Knew her own mind. I didn't know him particularly well, but they'd always seemed so devoted to each other." He pushes his cup away from him. "I suppose she left him with little choice after that lurid display in here all those years ago."
"I don't think poor James Potter's ego ever recovered," McGonagall says, her lips quirking into a half smile. "From my perspective, Severus was as committed to Lily as she was to him. You rarely saw one without the other."
"So much so, I started to suspect that they were victims of a misfired sticking charm," Flitwick smiles.
Sprout sits back in her chair. "He wasn't in Horace's club though, was he?"
McGonagall shakes her head. "No. She was."
"Horace probably assumed he didn't need steering away from the dark, not if he was in a relationship with a Muggleborn."
"Whilst Lily was in danger of succumbing to darkness?" McGonagall says, lightly, her tone teasing.
Flitwick laughs. "Not the dark, but as a Muggleborn, she was in dire need of assistance from Horace's connections."
"And so it played out," Sprout says, "went into the Ministry, didn't she?"
"For all the good it did," Flitwick sighs. "The likes of Lily Evans stand no chance with our world the way it is."
McGonagall looks out towards the Gryffindor table and adjusts her glasses. "I fear I have a class full heading in that same direction."
"You and me both," Sprout agrees.
Flitwick sighs. "And from what I've heard of Severus' activities after his schooldays, Horace would've been better served taking him under his wing, rather than leaving him to the likes of Lucius Malfoy." He sips his coffee. "Once you grasp that association, Severus' dramatic betrayal of her makes rather more sense."
"Such a nasty public break up though," Sprout says, "entirely uncalled for - and not entirely in keeping with the way the Malfoys operate."
"What are you suggesting, Filius?" McGonagall asks, staring intently at the smaller wizard. "That Lucius Malfoy put him up to it?"
"Not exactly. They were children - their relationship had probably run its course," Flitwick says, dismissively, "Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen - how often do we see it?"
"I didn't have you pegged for a cynic, Filius."
He snorts. "They all think they're soulmates, but when they're out of the intensity of the classroom, when they no longer share friends and subjects and professors, suddenly they realise they have nothing in common and the relationship folds."
"Merlin, Filius," Sprout laughs, "who hurt you?"
Flitwick ignores the comment and refills his mug, carefully stirring sugar into the dark, bitter brew. "I don't think Lucius put him up to it, but if Severus confided in him that the relationship was over, it wouldn't surprise me if Lucius used that knowledge to further his own objective."
Minerva looks sickened. "To get Severus into You-Know-Who's fold?"
"Severus is not a puppet on Lucius Malfoy's string," Sprout huffs. "It's just as possible that this was his own doing - that he coveted a place by You-Know-Who's side."
"But in Diagon Alley," McGonagall protests, "who goes to a bookshop to break up? If this had been eating at him for a while, why would he wait until then? Why not in the bedroom when they woke that morning, or the kitchen as they prepared breakfast, or-"
"-it's a good point," Flitwick says, looking thoughtful. "A very public break up to neutralise the effects of their very public relationship?"
"Well, she did rather throw herself at him. It must've put him in a difficult position."
McGonagall gives a sigh of disbelief at the comment. "A difficult position? It was hardly a proposition - he'd been perfectly happy to carry on with her behind closed doors, it's understandable that she felt that they had the basis of a proper relationship."
"He was a hormone fuelled teenager, of course he was perfectly happy to carry on with her behind closed doors!"
"Filius!"
"And maybe that's the way he wanted it to stay," he continues.
"So he could play both sides," Sprout nods. "Have his friends, and have her as well."
"Perhaps," McGonagall says, "although I think part of him liked other people knowing that she'd chosen him."
"Her seal of approval."
"Merlin knows, few others paid him attention."
"Lucius Malfoy did."
"And the less said about him the better."
McGonagall flashes Flitwick a knowing smile. "Truth be told, I think he enjoyed holding it over James Potter. She chose him."
"Then it's true what Filius says," Sprout muses, "those tussles and tangles seem important at the time, but out of the school environment…" She trails off. "Without an audience, the relationship lost its allure. Severus was no longer enjoying himself and wanted to be back amongst his old friends." She shrugs. "Rejecting Lily and spouting blood supremacy was the quickest way to declare he was truly one of them."
McGonagall shakes her head. "Albus was convinced that wasn't the case - that he wasn't a lost cause, that he could be turned away from You-Know-Who."
"Is that why he was placed here?" Sprout says, her mouth gaping slightly. "An intervention by Albus?"
"If it was, no wonder it didn't work out between Severus and Horace," Flitwick says, sounding astonished. "Horace is a lot of things, but he genuinely detests Purism-"
"-you'd think he'd have more control of it within his own house then-"
"-and he had an even softer spot for Lily Evans than I did," Flitwick continues, ignoring McGonagall's complaint. "Horace would take such a betrayal personally."
"He must've agreed to take him."
"And who knows what tale of woe Albus spun him? Horace probably thought that Severus would be penitent."
"And when he wasn't, he ousted him?"
Flitwick glances over towards the Slytherin table once more. "We all know that Horace has been losing control of Slytherin for a while."
"His heart isn't in it these days," Sprout says, quietly. "It's become increasingly noticeable."
"Maybe Severus brought that home to him," McGonagall muses, "if he was in You-Know-Who's thrall, it would serve to show Horace that he'd failed him."
"That he needed to be in the Slug Club after all."
"And choosing Lily for the Slug Club over him was a mistake, because the Ministry is now corrupt."
"Meaning that his Slug Club is worthless - that he can't do anything for the Muggleborns who he wants to help."
"Much like the rest of us," McGonagall says, despondently.
"This is far too serious a topic for the breakfast table," Sprout says, feigning levity. "And all because of a jape with some elves. By Lockhart, none-the-less."
McGonagall looks unconvinced. "I'm not-"
"-and you know how fond Horace is of his impromptu tests," Sprout carries on, loudly, crunching her toast between her teeth, not letting McGonagall change the subject.
Flitwick nods eagerly. "Yes, and doesn't he have a double NEWT class this morning?"
"That's right," Sprout agrees, "it was Friday afternoons but he made such a terrible fuss about the students having lost concentration by then, Kettleburn swapped the slot with him." She reaches for another piece of toast. "By that logic, we should stop teaching at lunchtime on a Friday."
"Or a Thursday evening," Flitwick chips in.
"If you ask me, we should call it a day on Wednesday," Sprout says, lifting her mug triumphantly. "We've all had enough by then."
McGonagall lets out a light laugh. "I hadn't realised that Lockhart had taken Potions."
"Not that I should talk ill of one of my own, but you should be thankful he didn't choose Transfiguration," Flitwick says. "He's incredibly disruptive during Charms, and I can't imagine he's any better in Horace's class."
"Case closed, I think we've found our culprit," Sprout says, standing and pushing her chair under the table. "You both owe me five galleons."
"If it is Lockhart, I'll have him in detention until Christmas," Flitwick mutters, as he pushes his plate away. He pats McGonagall's hand kindly. "Don't fret, Minerva, we can speak with Albus at lunch. He'll put things right."
Dumbledore threads his fingers through his beard, lost in thought, waiting for a sign, an answer, anything - but the room remains still.
Severus groans as Lily walks towards him, her hands on her hips, and he screws his eyes firmly shut and pulls the duvet more tightly around him, causing her to laugh.
"You said you were getting up."
"I've had a better idea."
"Sev, come on."
"What? Instead of me getting out of bed, you should get back into it," he mutters, flinging the duvet back in an open invitation. "Come on, love, get in with me."
"But it's half past eight! We can't lounge around in bed all day."
He forces his eyes back open, staring at her blearily. "River has been screaming on and off since four this morning."
"I know he has, that's why I'm wide awake! I can't believe you're not-"
"-but he's dropped off now-"
"-because I've changed him and fed him and spent the past hour and a half walking him around in circles and cuddling him-"
"-so you've earned a rest, love. That midwife told you to sleep when he sleeps." He gives her a triumphant smile. "Come and sleep with me." He waves his hand towards River, who is fast asleep in his own bed. "With us."
She hesitates, looking guiltily around the room, quietly taking in the things that need to be cleaned and tidied, and as if he's read her mind, Severus snakes his hand out from under the warmth of the duvet and threads his fingers between hers.
"The house doesn't need cleaning, Lil."
"It does."
"Then we," he emphasises, "can clean it at half past eleven, or half past two, or half past four, and not at half past eight when you've had less than three hours sleep." He gently pulls her towards him. "Besides, if he's asleep, you can't put the hoover on. Come on, love, let's have an hour." He flashes her a disarming smile. "You've indulged River's whims all morning, now indulge mine."
She stands for a moment, his fingers stroking hers, coaxing her to join him, and then she relents with a smile. "One hour," she concedes, unbuttoning her blouse, and slipping out of her clothes before getting underneath the covers with her husband.
"Yes," he murmurs, happily enveloping her in the duvet with him, wrapping his leg around her torso, and pressing himself up against her back.
Slughorn tightens his dressing gown, pulling hard on the cord, standing awkwardly in the doorway to his rooms. "I apologise, Headmaster, I shall have words with Bossy-"
"-the elves are not to be punished for their apparent oversight."
"It's half past eight already," Slughorn exclaims, "I've normally set up the classroom before heading up to breakfast, and look at me! I've not showered or shaved or dressed…" He trails off, the truth slowly dawning upon him. "Apparent oversight?"
Dumbledore doesn't answer, but merely inclines his head.
"Then if you ordered the elves not to wake the staff, you knew this would be how you'd find me, didn't you?"
Dumbledore offers him a faint smile - one which barely causes his lips to move and certainly doesn't reach the corners of his eyes. "I came to reassure you that in the circumstances, it would be understandable if you chose not to teach today-"
"-what nonsense, I must teach, I have a double NEWT class this morning, and an OWL class this afternoon, and-"
"-and we've barely started the school term," Dumbledore interrupts, smoothly. "If this was April and examinations were looming, then yes, I might be more concerned at you requiring compassionate leave-"
"-I don't require compassionate leave-"
"-he was one of your students, Horace."
"Another who lost his way," Slughorn replies, evenly, his eyes meeting Dumbledore's in a challenge, "and the list is growing longer. If the war is to continue-"
"-the war has barely started-"
"-then make no mistake, I shall never be in the classroom, for I will be forever in attendance of all of the formal invitations which will make their way to me. You, better than anyone, should understand the politics within Slytherin house." He pauses. "Despite my best efforts," he adds, hastily.
Dumbledore appraises his old friend. "And his family?"
"You are asking me if the Rosiers are so aligned?" Slughorn shakes his head, his jowls wobbling. "I have no such information."
"I was not asking whether his parents were Death Eaters," Dumbledore says, calmly, ignoring Slughorn's stricken look at hearing the name spoken aloud. "It would not do to disrespect his family."
"Then why not you? If this is about respect, Headmaster is a loftier title than a simple Head of House."
"Not a Head of House. His Head of House. Evan Rosier admired you. Respected you."
Slughorn shakes his head again, tightening his dressing gown further, the cord gripped painfully around his thick hands. "I am his old teacher," Slughorn tries again, his voice placating, "and he had long moved on from his days as a student. It would be strange if I were to attend. A mere ghost from his past."
"Half of the wizarding world has been invited."
"And half hasn't," Slughorn counters.
Dumbledore glances away, his voice soft. "And how do you think the rest of your old students will feel about your failure to attend? Those who looked to you for guidance?"
"You said it yourself, half of the wizarding world has been invited. They won't even notice that I'm not there."
"Fudge will notice if there is no representative from the school." There's a pause. "This isn't a trap, Horace. A great many honourable witches and wizards will be amongst those paying their respects, and as a leading influence upon Evan during his formative years, it is expected that you should be amongst them." Dumbledore looks back at him. "You know that You-Know-Who will be watching with sincere interest."
Slughorn grips the door, his legs weakening. "It's not about… It's not about him," he fumbles, his eyes darting around the corridor, as if fearing the Dark Lord might creep from the shadows.
"No? Then who?"
Slughorn glances away, a short flush seemingly growing from beneath his moustache and rushing up his cheeks. "I have no desire to be Lucius Malfoy's guest," he admits, quietly.
Dumbledore stifles a huff of exasperation. "It is precisely because Lucius Malfoy is hosting that you should be in attendance," he says, firmly.
"No, I-"
"-you openly favoured him within these walls, and he is used to having your ear - even all of these years later."
Slughorn looks flustered. "That's not, that's not… That's not true."
"Oh," Dumbledore says, with a dark smile, "I was under the impression that it was, in part, Lucius' influence which caused Severus Snape to apprentice under you, was it not?"
Slughorn flinches.
"Is that why?" Dumbledore presses, a glimmer of triumph flickering in his eyes. "You fear retribution for Severus' rather dramatic fall from grace? You had publicly disowned the boy, after all."
Slughorn closes his eyes. "None of us are innocent." He twists his gown cord in his hands again, plucking at the over tightened knot, and then he stares at Dumbledore once more. "I do not wish for another placement. Another apprentice brewer," he quickly clarifies.
"And you believe Lucius will demand that service from you?"
Slughorn nods.
Dumbledore reaches out, settling his palm over Slughorn's twitching fingers. "I will be only too happy to inform our friend Mr Malfoy that there is no such vacancy at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He smiles. "I shall happily take the blame for you being unable to comply with young Lucius' wishes."
There's a long pause.
Eventually, Dumbledore tilts his head. "Anything else?"
"You've heard the rumours."
Dumbledore gives a tight smile. "We all hear rumours, Horace. Which rumour is bothering you?"
"You think he's capable of murder. Lucius."
"It is not my assessment."
"But you agree with it," Slughorn pushes, a flush creeping up his cheeks once more.
"I do not have enough knowledge of the inner workings of Evan Rosier's friendships to say for certain," Dumbledore says, carefully, "but no, I would not be shocked if it were the truth."
"He's been funding the… You-Know-Who."
"Lucius? Almost certainly." At this statement, Dumbledore frowns, confusion covering his face. "I did not think such a discovery would be a shock to you." He keeps his eyes trained on Slughorn. "I think it would be easier to identify your ex-students who were not funding him, or were otherwise assisting him," he says, gently.
Slughorn doesn't react.
Dumbledore takes half a step forward. "Horace, what are you trying to tell me?"
The silence is such that Dumbledore can hear his own heart beating in his chest, and he lowers his voice further. "The Malfoys were long lost to the cause," Dumbledore murmurs. "Lucius may have been a child under your tutelage, but it is not your failing to bear, Horace."
Slughorn looks down at his slippered feet. "Oh, but it is," he whispers.
Dumbledore's voice is softer still, his hand gripping Slughorn's upper arm. "Horace?"
"I thought I could convince him of a different path," Slughorn says, quietly. "He came to me. Lucius." Slughorn looks up, his mouth set in a grim line. "It pains me to speak ill of Abraxas but certain things have come to light in recent months…"
"Forgive me," Dumbledore interrupts, bracing his hand against the wall, "but I thought we were all long aware of Abraxas' allegiances?"
There's a silence.
"Something else?"
"Something else," Slughorn says, softly. "I had no idea… And then, when Abraxas was overseas, Lucius came to me."
"He confided in you?"
"I wish he had. Instead, he was… Frightened."
"Of his father?"
"Of the pathway he'd been forced to take," Slughorn says, swallowing hard and ignoring the sceptical look on Dumbledore's face. "He was expected to follow in his father's footsteps, for the family money to be funnelled in one direction."
"Into," Dumbledore waves his hand, "You-Know-Who's pockets."
Slughorn nods. "His pockets."
"But Lucius did not wish for the Malfoy fortune to be spent in such a manner?" He pauses. "He wanted it to remain closer to home?"
"It's more than that," Slughorn argues, his tone a little cooler at the slight smile on Dumbledore's face. "It wasn't selfishness. He'd grown, he was genuine in his concern. It took great courage for him to come to me."
"And great courage for you to advise him if word got out." Dumbledore muses, peering at Slughorn over his spectacles. "Tell me, what did you suggest?"
"I recommended that he had his own income, separate to the family fortune. Solvency in his own right."
Dumbledore raises an eyebrow. "You mean to tell me that you alone are responsible for Lucius Malfoy controlling half of the nation's illegal potion supply-"
"-he had already dabbled, he was already involved," Slughorn protests, "I did not advise him to invest in potions or to involve himself in the wizarding underworld." He swallows tightly. "But you know Lucius. He's clever, a shrewd operator - so when he saw an opportunity, he capitalised."
"And capitalise he did," Dumbledore says, mulling Slughorn's words over. He gives a gentle shake of his head, his beard moving from side to side. "I do not see the relevance of this information to today's event."
"Despite Lucius' brilliance, Lucius' stranglehold on the market was in great part due to Severus' effectiveness as a brewer."
"I have already agreed that Lucius is not to send an apprentice to study under-"
"-Lucius may not be seeking an apprentice." Slughorn looks sickened. "Have you seen the numbers for my NEWT subject?"
"We've discussed your concerns, but we both know that all subjects go in cycles. It's true that Potions has waned in popularity of-"
"-it hasn't waned," Slughorn snaps, "the students are terrified, and so they should be - someone is murdering us. The qualified brewers." His fingers tighten around the dressing gown cord once more. "Severus Snape losing his magic was as clear cut a message as dear Arisean Nott losing her hands." At Dumbledore's blank look, he leans forward. "It is a message. A warning. To those who brew."
"From Lucius?"
Slughorn takes a shuddering breath. "Not from Lucius. From his enemies."
"I don't-"
"-I don't want to be manipulated into being Lucius' brewer," Slughorn says, the cord twisting in his hands, "nor do I want him to pressure me to see if I can convince Libatius or Arsenius to take up such a role."
"I see."
"And if you're correct, and it's not just money from the Malfoy estate going to You-Know-Who but Lucius Malfoy's money going to You-Know-Who, then I don't want anyone finding out that I gave Lucius advice on how to evade You-Know-Who's influence."
"Of course not," Dumbledore says, consolingly.
"So either Lucius is dangerous because he needs me so he can keep himself from You-Know-Who's clutches, or Lucius is dangerous because he is committed to You-Know-Who and he can threaten me with retribution for perceived disloyalty."
"Loyalty you have not pledged."
"You know I have not," Slughorn says, immediately, "but we both know that if You-Know-Who sets me in his sights, that minor detail would be insufficient-"
"-you have nothing to fear, whatever Lucius' machinations are, You-Know-Who is unlikely to be interested. The power in that relationship only flows one way."
Slughorn looks away. "There is a time when I would've agreed with you."
There's a momentary pause, and then Dumbledore looks startled as he pieces the tale together. "But it isn't just Lucius who needs a brewer," he realises, his voice soft.
"No," Slughorn agrees. "If Lucius is affiliated with You-Know-Who, then Lucius' brewer will become You-Know-Who's brewer."
"And if Lucius is not," Dumbledore reasons, "then there are two positions vacant; two brewers required."
"And few with the credentials to fill either role." Slughorn raises his hand aloft, striking his fingers as he cites each brewer. "Arsenius Jigger, Damocles Belby, Libatius Borage, and myself."
"No other?"
"For Lucius' purposes, perhaps, but not for You-Know-Who. Not if the rumours are right, not if he wants Wolfsbane," Slughorn says, quietly.
Dumbledore appraises him critically. "Before his run in with the Ministry, would you have said that Severus had the capability to fill that position?"
There's another pause, and then Slughorn nods. "He had the talent, certainly. His temperament, according to Arsenius, was another thing entirely - but I dare say that if Lucius was breathing down his neck, he could've performed at the required level."
"But no other?"
"Severus was special. A once in a decade talent. Vicennial, even."
"Remarkable that he would pass through your classroom."
Slughorn laughs softly. "No, what was truly remarkable was that I undoubtedly had two equals in the very same class."
"Lily Evans."
"Lily Evans," Slughorn repeats. "Not his preferred blood type, though."
"Nor Lucius', and yet…" Dumbledore holds his hands out in a shrug.
Slughorn shakes his head. "I heard that rumour. Almost as laughable as the idea of her warming his bed."
"You heard both?"
"And disregarded both," Slughorn says, decisively. "Not that it matters - Severus has lost his magic, and she's…"
Dumbledore looks intrigued. "She's what?"
Slughorn looks away. "Disappeared, she's disappeared. So that leaves four prospective candidates."
Dumbledore watches him carefully, evenly, before letting the topic slide. "If we're right in our assumptions and it is Wolfsbane that You-Know-Who is after, then Damocles would be the perfect choice."
"The obvious choice." Slughorn gazes at Dumbledore. "Did you know that Arsenius brewed for decades for Abraxas?"
Dumbledore's composure slips, his eyebrows raising.
"No. Nor me. An agreement kept entirely in the shadows." Slughorn takes a deep breath. "Damocles is the obvious choice, so Damocles would be the obvious target - in more ways than one." He picks at his gown cord again.
"You think that You-Know-Who would prefer to keep any association low key?"
"Well, answer me this - if you were part of Emmeline Vance's hot shot auror department, which brewer's door would you knock upon first?"
Dumbledore smiles. "Perhaps I should ask Alastor."
"Alastor is a renegade. If you want to know where the department would knock, you should ask Bones."
"But if I wanted the real culprit, I should ask Alastor?"
"So the saying in the Ministry goes." Slughorn stands taller. "Albus, as pleasant as this has been, I am late for class."
"Your class is covered," Dumbledore says, firmly, "as are all of your classes today. You must attend the funeral, Horace. It is expected of you."
"But I-"
"-I shall send you with an Order member," Dumbledore continues.
"I'm not so affil-"
"-for your protection."
Slughorn shakes his head. "And you think the…" He falters, the words unspoken on his tongue.
"Death Eaters," Dumbledore supplies.
"Yes. You think they would welcome an Order member into the fold, do you?"
"You are well aware that half of the wizarding world has been invited. Cornelius Fudge is in attendance. This is not about Order against Death Eater, nor myself against You-Know-Who. This is a neutral gathering-"
"-it is hardly neutral - it is the funeral of a supposed Death Eater, at a Death Eater aligned property, attended by Death Eaters, with the victim likely having been murdered within that same property by a Death Eater."
"Indeed, and with all that in mind," Dumbledore says, with a smile, "now that we have agreed that you will be in attendance, I see no reason why you wouldn't want an Order member by your side."
When Severus first convinces her to return to their bed and wraps her tightly in his warm embrace, Lily doesn't think she'll fall asleep - and the insistent way he presses himself against her, skin meeting skin, she can't help but suspect that he has an entirely different motive - but if sex has crossed his mind as a possibility, he doesn't pursue it.
Within minutes, his breathing is steady and even - and as she listens intently to the sounds around her, she finds herself mesmerised by River's short staccato breaths, punctuated by Severus' more forceful and far longer inhalations and exhalations.
"Sev," she whispers softly, but he doesn't react.
Asleep already.
She's been awake for too long already for sleep to come as easily, but she tries to relax in his hold, savouring the silence, finding the peace to be in such stark contrast to the disturbance she'd endured with River in the early hours of the morning.
I don't know how Sev slept through it.
It isn't just River - she knows it's unlikely that she'd have succumbed to sleep anyway, not with their breathless conversation from the middle of the night rattling away in her mind, her brain filled with Severus' earnest promise to fix her, and her reassurances that him using dark magic was an acceptable price to pay.
Was it the beer talking? she wonders, although she's not sure whether she's looking to absolve his words or hers as drunken folly - and as the thought crosses her mind, her wrists burn and her neck aches, and her heart beats a little faster, as if the magic within her is protesting the notion that in the cold light of day, she might renege on their shared vow.
He didn't even say anything when he woke, she thinks. He might have thought better of it. Or he was drunk and he can't remember what he promised. Maybe it's not possible, maybe it was just a wish - a silly hopeless dream that won't, that can't, come true.
She doesn't know what to make of it all. When she'd cradled River to her as dawn had broken, she'd watched over her husband as he slept, drinking in his lean figure, his long dark hair splayed across the pillow in stark contrast to his pale skin, the duvet pulled towards him and pushed away from him as he moved gracelessly in his sleep, his long limbs routinely grappling against imaginary bonds.
Growing up with him, seeing him every day, she'd barely noticed his transformation from child to teenager, or teenager to adult. It had only ever been the commentary from an outsider - her parents, his parents, a neighbour or a family friend - that would alert her to his ever-changing state, but to Lily, he was always the same, always just Severus.
It's only now, now that she stops and stares at him, stops and really sees the grown man that lies in her bed, his pale skin liberally sprinkled with dark hair - on his thighs and stomach and chest, and his jaw darkening throughout the night - that she realises that he couldn't look more different to the tiny boy who'd leapt out of the bushes all of those years ago.
It's a relatively recent change. In her eyes, he was still just Severus when she'd propositioned him on their first night together, the images of his parents' coupling flashing through her brain, and alcohol coursing through her veins and loosening her tongue.
The memory is engraved into her mind, as permanent as a wood carving or the intricate grooves on a stone sculpture, and she can hear him saying the words:
"I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, but I definitely want to do it. With you, I mean."
It's been the perfect mantra to their relationship; two inexperienced friends navigating the reality of a long term relationship, battling prejudice and hardship together, with neither of them knowing what they're doing, but both willing to keep going - as long as they're together.
It's not just his words that she remembers. If she closes her eyes, she can almost see his expression - almost see the conflicting emotions of astonishment and glee and fear and excitement battling for supremacy on his face as he realised that she desired him.
As the years have gone by, the sallow, scrawny teenage boy in her memory has slowly blurred into Severus' current visage, his jaw more chiseled, his voice smoother, his self-assured smirk overriding the uncertainty he'd once dared to express.
She knows that if the scene were to play out now, he wouldn't be making such innocent admissions to her - wouldn't be keen to show any sign of weakness. Instead, he'd take the lead, kissing her slowly and deliberately, his lips tracing the shell of her ear, murmuring deliciously sinful words which would send tremors through her, causing her body to prickle with desire.
He's grown into this man because of you, because of that night.
She nestles further into his hold, enjoying the feel of his arms around her, knowing that the man who lies with her was partly forged by her, by her actions. Her influence upon him was clear, her love and affection making him walk a little taller, permitting him to grow into his potential, safe and secure in the knowledge that she was by his side, loving him unconditionally.
It makes her heart catch in her chest when she thinks about the complex swirl of unlikely circumstances which led to the night which brought them together, and how close they came to passing like ships in the night.
It was the right choice, she thinks, reflecting on how fortunate they both were that they understood each other, trusting one another to handle them gently, reverently - and as her mind wanders, thinking about how they'd taken that first step, one thought echoes in her mind: He was the right choice.
It's the second time that Albus Dumbledore's Patronus has circled the room - but unlike an hour or so earlier, Peter Pettigrew is now standing in the doorway to the living room, upright and awake. This time, with someone willing to receive the message, the Patronus finally speaks:
"I urgently need to speak with you. Come to Hogwarts at noon. Argus Filch will be at the gates to escort you to my study. Bring your finest dress robes."
At the sound of Dumbledore's voice, James Potter opens his eyes, straightening his askew glasses and staring at the departing Patronus. "What the fuck? Did I just hear-"
"-Dumbledore's Patronus," Pettigrew says, frozen in the doorway. "I only came to see if you two wanted some breakfast."
"Yeah," Potter says, standing and stretching. "Thanks." He moves towards Black and gently nudges his foot. "Pads is out cold." He stoops and picks up his empty glass, recoiling at the strong smell of alcohol. "Not surprised, given how much he drank last night."
"But that message," Pettigrew says, earnestly, "from Dumbledore - it was meant for him, right?"
"He's not heading up to Hogwarts in the next three hours," Potter says, decisively, "best dress robes or otherwise."
Pettigrew looks troubled. "But it's Dumbledore. He'll know that the message was delivered-"
"-we'll tell him Pads fell back asleep and we didn't know-"
"-he'll know!"
"He won't," Potter grins, "that mind-reading thing is just a ruse to scare the first years."
Pettigrew looks unconvinced. "One of us should go. See what he wants." He looks imploringly at Potter. "Or both of us. What if it's about Moons?"
"It won't be about Moons - he wouldn't have gone to Hogwarts." Potter pauses. "Would he?"
Pettigrew shrugs. "Seems like a coincidence if it isn't him."
"...what day is it?" Potter suddenly asks, pushing past Pettigrew and entering the kitchen, peering at the calendar. "Oh."
"Oh?"
"Best dress robes? It's Evan Rosier's funeral today."
Pettigrew pales. "He can't expect us to attend."
"Not us," Potter says, quietly, thoughtfully. "Pads. He wants Pads to attend."
"Again."
It's his voice she can hear in her mind, but he's fast asleep. She's vaguely aware that she's falling now, sliding into that intangible state between sleep and consciousness, memories washing over her as she lies limp and relaxed in her husband's arms, inhaling his familiar scent.
"Again."
Severus had said that word over and over on that first night together, his refractory period being the most impressive part of his inexperienced love-making. Their first coupling was quick - too quick. Their hands tugged and pulled at clothing, tearing it away, scarcely pausing to marvel at their bared skin - entirely unlike the leisurely seduction Lily's since learnt to expect from him.
Severus had quickly braced himself above her, as if terrified that Lily would change her mind. She'd barely reflected on what might change between them if they forged ahead when he suddenly pressed into her, drawing a sharp gasp from between her lips.
He'd paused momentarily, just for a second or three or five, although it felt like an eternity to her before he flexed his hips and moved experimentally inside her.
He'd groaned then, and she'd reached her hand up to hook his long hair behind his ear, and his expression was unlike anything she'd ever seen before - almost pained, his brow furrowed as if in deep concentration, but his mouth falling open, his jaw slack at the feel of her around him.
She'd moved her hands up his arms and just as she was trying to commit the moment to memory, he gasped and groaned again - louder this time - relief momentarily washing over his expression, followed by a short, sharp laugh, but his joy immediately disappeared, replaced by a stricken look as he realised that their first coupling hadn't been such a resounding success for her.
"Again."
He'd lasted longer on the second attempt, although she still hadn't climbed the heights promised by the magazines and the whispers in the school yard. That same look of pure satisfaction and relief appeared on his face in his orgasmic haze, and then it was lost, his expression quickly dissolving into disappointment.
She'd tried her best to smile through his release, but at her ambivalent response, he'd tentatively brushed her lips with his own, his nose touching hers.
"It's ok."
"It's not. Let me try something else."
He'd barely whispered the words in her ear before he embarked on an exploration of her, his long fingers deftly tracing their way across the contours of her body. His touch was light, the pads of his fingertips barely ghosting across her skin, and when the hairs on her arm stood in his wake, he'd given her a wicked grin before pressing his lips to the same patch of stimulated skin.
His movements were slow, tantalising at first and frustrating by the end, but she'd been gratified that he hadn't leapt straight for her breasts or her sex, but instead had entertained himself by stroking her neck and her thighs, her stomach and her wrists, all whilst grinning inanely at her, seemingly priding himself on ignoring her major erogenous zones whilst stimulating less obvious regions.
It was a slow, spiralling build - like forgoing the steps and clambering up the slide of a slippery helter-skelter, and as they inched their way up, she half expected to lose her footing and descend instead of managing to triumphantly reach the summit - but for his part, he was unrelenting in his efforts to coax her into a frenzy, drawing dizzying patterns with his fingertips and his nose and his tongue across her skin.
Each time he placed his lips against her, she arched up to meet him. There was seemingly no rhyme or reason to his actions, no order that he was following. Sometimes he'd provide chaste kisses, or he'd suck her pale skin into his mouth, his gentle nips and nibbles gradually transforming into lingering open-mouthed bites, with him seemingly delighting in eliciting a gasp or a sigh of pleasure from the witch beneath him.
He was playing her like an over-tuned stringed instrument, tightly wound and utterly overwrought, and he propelled her towards a crescendo of bliss, watching eagerly as she writhed on the bed beneath him, begging him to continue in his ministrations - to give her more, to take her higher, to reward her with the pleasure he was promising.
And then he'd loomed over her and kissed her forcefully, his tongue pressed against her own, and as he pulled back, his breath warm on her cheek, dark eyes met green and he gave her a lascivious grin.
"Where do you touch yourself when you think of me?"
It was breathtakingly presumptuous - arrogant, even, for him to assume that she'd lain in her own bed and fantasised about this very event. Not just imagined it, but craved it - used his image to satisfy herself, picturing him braced above her, naked and desperate, his hard cock brushing against her as he sought to pleasure her - but instead of rebuking him, she'd smiled knowingly at him, realising that if he believed she'd had fantasies about him, he'd almost certainly had them about her - and the thought of him taking himself in hand in the depths of the night as he imagined her atop him caused her stomach to flip.
He'd watched, enraptured, breathless, as she'd wordlessly moved her hand to her right breast, cupping it and kneading the flesh before eventually running her fingers across the top, circling and rolling and dragging her fingertips repeatedly across the areola before finally twisting the nipple to a stiff peak.
She'd moved to repeat the action on her left breast, but as she did so, he gripped her wrist with his hand and held her back, and then he replicated her actions himself, eliciting yet another sigh of pleasure from her. With his eyes not leaving hers, instead of twisting her nipple with his fingers, he'd dipped his head and drawn the areola fully into his mouth before licking and sucking the nipple into a taut peak.
He'd sat back on his heels then, a confident smirk adorning his face, and he'd quirked an eyebrow at her - but before he could reach up to whisper in her ear, before he could ask the question that she could almost see forming on his lips - where else? - she'd raised her hand to her mouth and wetted her fingers before reaching down between them.
His intake of breath was sharp, and his expression was gleeful and he'd swiftly moved backwards so he could follow her movement, his dark eyes tracing the pattern she made with her fingers. He'd been surprisingly assertive, his hands on her thighs, pushing her legs wider, forcing her to expose herself fully to him - and then watching avidly as she traced her fingers across her vulva, spreading herself for him, silently taking him on an enthusiastic tour of her body.
He'd watched intently, giving her a slow, possessive leer, his eyes raking over her, and then he was back at her ear, a heady mixture of encouragement and dirty questions falling from his lips, his cock pressing hard against her thigh as he ground against her.
Before she could catch her breath, he kissed his way down her naked body, tracing the line of her jaw and the expanse of her neck, traversing the valley between her breasts, pausing to bestow attention upon both, and then kissing his way across her stomach and her hips, and just as she bucked up towards him, he lifted his lips and moved her legs, pushing them up towards her chest and darting kisses up the backs of her thighs, causing her to squeal and squirm, and eventually, when she'd almost given up hope that he'd do so, he pulled them back apart and languidly licked her, tracing his way from the base of her sex to her clitoris, over and over and over, until she threaded her fingers through his hair and held him in position, not relinquishing her hold until she'd thrown her head back and seen stars.
"Again."
It was like playing Chicken in the middle of the road. Severus was never content with a good win, he always wanted to push harder and harder, bettering his previous efforts, skirting closer to danger with barely a care in the world whilst the promise of glory was within reach.
She'd almost balked, her hand reaching up to grab his wrist, but as if identifying that her heart wasn't in her protest, he'd intercepted her movement, loosely gripping her hand in his.
"Fair's fair - two each."
He'd stared deeply into her eyes again, as if inviting the challenge, daring her to dissent. When she didn't react, he'd slowly lowered his head, ensuring that he gave her ample opportunity to protest.
She didn't.
He'd released her wrist and stroked his fingers up and down her inner thighs as he buried his face between her legs, desperately trying to coax that same reaction from her once more - and when she'd finally cried out, her fingernails digging into his shoulder blades, his smile was almost as broad as hers.
She'd pulled him up the bed, kissing him over and over, causing his eyes to gleam as she tasted the two of them on his tongue, but before he could comment on her actions, she turned them both, pressing him to the bed, hooking her leg over him and straddling him.
She reached between them, guiding his cock into her and then she reached for his hands, briefly tangling her fingers against his before firmly placing one of his hands on her hip, and the other on a breast, and then started to ride him with intent.
"Lil, I thought… We were even…"
"I've decided you can owe me one."
And then she'd laughed, and he'd laughed, and he'd thrown his head back against his pillow. She'd watched him intently as his face was screwed up in sincere concentration, the muscles in his neck straining as he fought to keep the sensation going for both of them for as long as possible.
Lily gyrates against Severus over and over and over, eventually dragging him out of his slumber. He sleepily wraps his arms more tightly around her as she moves against him, his hard cock straining for release against his underwear.
"Fuck," he breathes, nestling his nose in her hair and inhaling deeply as she writhes against him. "What in Merlin's name are you dreaming about, love?"
She doesn't answer, but moves herself against him harder and harder, and he thrusts against her, pressing kisses to her neck.
"Wake up, love," he murmurs, "and I'll give you the good fucking you sorely need."
To his disappointment, she doesn't rouse, but he doesn't jolt her out of her sleep. Instead, he lies with her in his arms, her body moving salaciously against his, and just as he's deciding that he should get up because he can't take the teasing any longer, River emits a sudden gurgle.
It's enough to make Severus extricate himself from Lily's hold, and he picks their son up, lifting him high into the air.
"Hello, little man," Severus says, with a broad grin. He pulls River towards him, kissing his forehead and then holding him up in the air again. "Have you been sleeping? Are you wide awake now?"
Severus glances down at Lily, who has spread across the bed in his absence, still writhing in her sleep and he kisses River again. "Let's leave Mummy to it," he whispers, "and we'll get a nice cup of tea." As he settles River against his shoulder, he glances back at Lily, his eyes gleaming at her dishevelled state. "Who knows, with any luck, I might find some bromide in the cupboard…"
Pettigrew's breath catches in his chest. "He's a spy? Pads is a spy?"
"No," Potter says, quickly, "he can't be - he'd have said."
"It's exactly the sort of thing he wouldn't have said!"
"Dumbledore wouldn't have sent a message like that," Potter reasons, running his hands through his hair. "Not if it was a secret." His eyes narrow slightly. "Although he wouldn't have expected me to be here."
"I knew nothing," Pettigrew says, his voice sounding shrill. "I don't know anything about this - about Sirius, about Dumbledore-"
"-but you knew about the Prophecy, didn't you, Pete?"
"I…"
"When were you going to tell me about that?"
"I didn't… We didn't… "
"You both didn't want me to know." Potter stares at him intently, his gaze like fire, almost burning in its intensity. "Why didn't you want me to know?"
"It's not you," Pettigrew fumbles, "it was…" He glances awkwardly from side to side.
"Moons?" Potter's jaw falls slack. "You don't trust Moons?"
"It's not about trust," Pettigrew hisses. "It's about where he might end up."
Potter gives him a sceptical look. "On Belby's trial? Pads told me-"
"-or worse," Pettigrew says, evenly. "That prophecy… It's about the Dark Lord."
"I know."
"Well then."
"Moons wouldn't join the Dark Lord-"
"-and twelve months ago, I'd have agreed, but twelve months ago, I'd have said that he wouldn't have tried to rip our faces off when we were helping him," Pettigrew shouts.
"It wasn't that bad!"
"I'm not doing it again." Pettigrew draws himself up to his full height, taking a shuddering breath. "It's not safe."
There's a moment as Potter takes in his old friend - and then he nods, taking a step forward, clapping Pettigrew on the shoulder. "We'll work something out."
"And what do we do about Dumbledore and his message?"
"He can't go," Potter says, immediately.
"He'd make a crap spy," Pettigrew agrees, quietly. "He hasn't got the composure at the best of times." He scratches his ear. "But Dumbledore's Patronus delivered the message - he knows that one of us was here to receive it."
"Then one of us has to go in his stead," Potter says, calmly, "and listen, Pete, I don't live here."
"James-"
"-and even if I did, I can't turn up at Evan Rosier's funeral," he implores, "I paid for Crouch's defence, remember?"
"Then they might think-"
"-in the spirit of the righteous," Potter continues, "they know it wasn't because I harboured secret Death Eater tendencies."
"And I do?"
Potter gives a soft laugh, and then pulls Pettigrew closer. "You're not like Pads," he says, warmly, "you weren't like us at school, always starting fights, causing trouble-"
"-I was with you-"
"-you were behind us," Potter corrects, "you weren't the instigator. You can turn that to your advantage - that you went along with us because it was easier than not."
"They won't believe it."
"They might."
Pettigrew shakes his head. "I was one of you. For seven years, Prongs!"
"And what if you weren't?" Potter muses, his voice low. "Your mother married a Wilkes, didn't she?"
Pettigrew stiffens. "I left for Hogwarts shortly after."
"Exactly," Potter says, triumphantly, "and you said you were a hatstall-"
"-I don't want other people knowing that-"
"-but having been thrown in Gryffindor, you trailed around Sirius Black because you assumed he'd have second thoughts, assumed he'd become one of them in the end. It's perfect!"
"James-"
"We can't send Sirius," Potter implores, grabbing Pettigrew's hands, "he's as bolshy as they come, but they'd smell a rat in the first five minutes." He pauses. "No offence."
"But you can send me?"
"You're just who we need. Clever, cunning, sharp, unassuming - and your animagus form is perfect," Potter enthuses, "think of the places you could go, the things you could hear! All you need to do is convince Dumbledore that you're the right man for the job!" He flashes him a broad grin. "You've got my vote."
Notes:
I really am very grateful if you've read this far and you're still here and interested in the story.
I'd love to hear from you if you're still reading - my self-doubt is shouting a little louder than usual, which is partly why it's taken me so long to update (I can't tell you how many thousands of words I have scrapped week after week).
I am aiming to get back to a more regular posting schedule - I really miss sharing this tale with you all. Thanks for sticking with me. :)
Chapter 143: Intent
Notes:
I've updated the tags for the story. Please note the new warning for self-harm.
Chapter Text
Lily drifts from dream to dream, each failing to make sense - one minute there's the roar of an aeroplane as it swoops majestically through the sky, the crowd below cheering and laughing, and then there's a shocked gasp.
She looks up, expecting to see carnage - but the grass beneath her feet has disappeared, and the sky has faded to white, and as she looks around, trying to make sense of her changed surroundings, she suddenly registers metal and plastic, and she trails her fingertips along the wall as she moves towards a metal door with lights dancing enchantingly around the edge.
Lily finds herself pulling the door open, surprised at how lightweight it is, and then she's briskly walking, and then jogging, and running, and then she's charging down futuristic corridor after futuristic corridor, as if she's trapped in one of those science-fiction shows Tuney used to watch, and then she emerges breathlessly through a pair of double doors.
In the large hangar, there's a slim, pointed rocket ship, and she's propelled by hands and voices until she settles herself in a padded seat, a dashboard of controls flashing before her. As she turns to the person next to her to ask them what her role is, what she should do, there's a sudden disjointed countdown, spoken in familiar tones, which booms around the room:
Five, four, three, two and a half, one and three quarters, seven tenths, two thirds, three eighths…
And then, as suddenly as it started, it stops. But nothing happens. The bizarre countdown doesn't reach zero and there's certainly no blast off, but there's no smell of rocket fuel or a visible fire or any other sign of misfortune - but before Lily can get her bearings, before she can turn to those around her and ask for help, she's spiralling through the air and then she's back in Hogsmeade, and she's shorter, as if she's seven or eight or nine, and there's snow falling through the air and landing on her face, touching the tip of her nose and her cheeks, and she's eating a lolly, her coat pockets filled with sweets, and she's running and being chased, but it's not frightening, it's exhilarating, and she twirls with glee, and as she reaches out-
"Love?"
She's in such a deep sleep, it takes Lily more than a moment to register the gentle shake of her arm and the soft, warm voice of her husband in her ear.
"Love, wake up."
"Mmm?"
"I'm sorry," he says, as she rolls over, and he cuddles River tightly against his chest, cocooning their wailing son in his arms, trying to soothe his increasingly insistent cries, "but he must be hungry. I can't settle him - I've tried everything."
"Oh Riv," she says, looking stricken, and taking their son from her husband, immediately settling their little boy against her breast. "What time is it? Nine? Ten?"
Severus settles on the bed behind her, encouraging her to lean back and rest against him. "Just before noon."
"Noon? Midday? Sev, we've missed the whole morning!"
He gives a low chuckle. "You have. Riv and I have been busy."
"Doing what?" she asks - and it's then that she notices the stuffed bear sitting at the foot of their bed. "Playing with Terence?"
He nods. "Amongst other things."
"You should've woken me."
"Why? We don't have anywhere else to be."
"I've been asleep for hours!"
"Good!" he says. "You were exhausted, you needed it."
"No wonder Riv was crying his eyes out, he must've been starving, he normally eats every three hours-"
"-he wasn't crying his eyes out," Severus murmurs, soothingly, pressing his lips to the back of her neck, "he's been fine. He only started whimpering a few minutes ago-"
"-and I didn't even hear him-"
"-stop beating yourself up," Severus says, firmly, "he was safe with me, and you were asleep about twelve inches away from him. It's not like you'd left him in charge of the house whilst you went hiking up Winter Hill, is it?"
Lily doesn't answer, but she holds River more firmly to her, as if quietly apologising to their son.
Severus watches silently as River eats greedily, tears soon forgotten, and then Severus presses another kiss to the back of her neck. "If he's this hungry, I bet you are too. Lunch?"
She shakes her head as he bounds up, straightening his shirt. "Just a cup of tea."
He pauses. "You're not hungry?"
"No, not really. I've only just woken up."
He eyes her critically, glancing between her and the clock on the fireplace. "A cuppa," he compromises, "and I'll start lunch so it's ready for half one, how's that sound?"
With Potter's words ringing in his ears and his finest dress robes clutched in a bag by his side, Pettigrew trudges up towards the wrought iron gates. Behind the gates, he can see Filch pacing back and forth, a sour expression on his face - and as Pettigrew steps ever closer, Filch makes a show of looking at his pocket watch and sighing.
Bastard.
Pettigrew slows his pace even further, lingering as he takes each step, his eyes meeting Filch's gaze, who looks disgusted at his action.
Ha.
He'd no time for Filch. As far as Pettigrew was concerned, Filch was scum - a no-name squib who spent his days relishing the idea of punishing those with magic. He'd spent countless hours under Filch's supervision, as had his three fine friends - not just from professors passing their detentions to the lowly caretaker, but from Filch actively seeking them out, chasing them down corridors in the depths of the night - even, to Pettigrew's great displeasure, managing to confiscate their beloved map.
No, he'd no time for Filch.
"The Headmaster said midday."
Pettigrew rolled his eyes, and made a great show of checking his watch. "It's barely two minutes past."
"Not midday."
Pettigrew pauses, his mind racing.
What would the others do? Moons would apologise for making him wait - he wouldn't have even made him wait in the first place! Prongs, he'd smile, win him over somehow - whilst Pads would laugh heartily and tell him to get fucked.
"No problem," Pettigrew says, his heart beating a little faster, "I'll return home and contact the Headmaster to explain why I missed our meeting. I'm sure he'll understand why you couldn't let me in."
Before he can turn, one of the large gates swings open.
Got you.
"In," Filch barks, waving his hand to beckon him in, "before I change my mind."
Severus levitates her cup of tea before her and then moves back to stand in the kitchen doorway, leaning his shoulder against the jamb.
"Thanks, Sev," Lily says, as she finishes the last button on her blouse and scoops River up from her lap. "Can you throw me one of those cloths?"
"Sure," he says, and without moving he twists his free hand in a complicated movement, and a cloth moves through the air towards her. "Is he drooling again?"
"It's all over his t-shirt," she laughs, "and me!" She looks at their son, his eyes impossibly wide, and grins at him as she wipes his face. "I don't know how you're making such a mess, Riv." Then she pauses, the cloth mid-wipe, and she glances back at Severus. "He was wearing a babygrow. Earlier."
"Well, this isn't the first attack of drool we've had today, is it, Riv?" Severus laughs, taking a sip from his tea. "It won't surprise you to learn that the washer's already on, love," he says, tugging at his shirt, "as this isn't the first shirt I've had on either."
"He drooled that much over you?"
"No, he was sick." Severus gives another grin. "In fairness, that's probably because I kept tossing him up in the air to play aeroplane."
"Sev!"
"He enjoyed it! Well, he did until he threw up," he concedes, "but he's fine now." At Lily's dubious look, he points at their son. "Look, he's happy. Nice and calm."
"You do seem very content, don't you, Riv?" she says, lifting him up and kissing across his face. "You're a much happier little boy than you were this morning. Why's that then?"
"Oh, I forgot," Severus says, ducking back into the kitchen. He returns a moment later, and points to the crease of his trousers, where thigh meets buttock. "He's got a rash. About here."
Lily nods. "I meant to say - I noticed it this morning, I think that's what all the crying was about. I've been using some of that cream Cissy gave us-"
"-use this instead," Severus says, and he tosses a small pot onto the bed. "He's been happier since I put it on."
Lily leans forward and picks up the small glass pot. She unscrews the top, and frowns as she peers at the lurid orange cream. "What is it?"
"Have a guess."
She waves it under her nose, a smile spreading across her face as she inhales the soothing scent. "It smells divine, Sev. If it wasn't orange, I'd have said it was Solamentum Unguentum, but that's what I used earlier on-"
"-it is."
She holds it out before her, staring at it critically. "I've never seen orange Solamentum Unguentum before. Where did you get this?"
"I made it."
"When?"
"This morning." He shrugs nonchalantly and takes another sip of his tea. "Only took about forty minutes."
Lily turns the pot over and over in her hand, her mouth open. "You made this in forty minutes?" She stares at him, her mouth still open wide. "It's meant to take seven hours-"
"-it is not!" He grins. "Who told you that, some shopkeeper trying to bump up the price? At worst, it takes three and a half-"
"-I know that's rubbish because it's meant to sit and rest for at least that long-"
"-I didn't have time for it to sit-"
"-so that's why it's orange, is it?"
"Yeah," he says.
"Even so! Forty minutes." She sniffs the pot again. "It smells incredible." She sits back on her heels. "You know, when you do things like this, I'm amazed that Jigger let you go to Slughorn and didn't manacle you to the bench in his workshop instead."
"Can't say I much fancy that idea," Severus says, with a short laugh, "and as you know, love, there's always a few shortcuts if you know your way around a cauldron. Brewers aren't going to tell the punters that they can brew it quickly if they're charging for potions by the hour."
"This isn't just a few shortcuts, Sev. You made it in a fraction of the time."
Severus scratches the back of his head, looking awkward. "Yeah, well, I was pushing it. Even I wouldn't have cut that many corners, but he was so fussy, Lil. I'll brew him another batch - a proper batch-"
"-Sev, don't put yourself down, this is proper-"
"-now we're not pressed for time, but," and he turns his attention to their son, "you soon cheered up, didn't you, Bean, when I put some of that on you?"
"Bean," she smiles, holding River tightly, "our Bean. I haven't heard you call him that in ages."
"I've been trying not to," he admits, "want him to get used to his real name, but…"
"He'll always be our little Bean."
"Yeah." Severus gives another laugh. "He's going to love that when he's fourteen."
Lily moves off the bed and pulls the changing mat towards her, gently removing River's clothing.
"I just changed him-"
"-I want to see," she says, carefully peeling River's nappy away and twisting his squidgy leg so she can peer at the afflicted section of skin. "Bloody hell, Sev, the rash has almost disappeared."
"Not bad, hey?" Severus grins, proudly.
"Isn't your Daddy clever?" Lily says, planting a quick kiss on River's forehead. "No wonder you're a happy little boy now."
"Might as well put a bit more on now you've got him there."
She moves quickly, dipping her fingers into the pot and then rubbing the cream against River's skin, causing his eyes to grow wider, his expression startled - and she has to stifle a laugh at his horrified look. "I think it was a bit cold."
"Rub it between your fingers to warm it up first," Severus laughs. "Sorry, I should've said."
Lily kisses River's forehead again, and after she fastens his nappy, she lifts his t-shirt and blows a raspberry against his stomach, causing him to squeal with glee. "I think he's forgiven me," she says, as he squirms happily.
"Definitely forgiven, I'd say."
Lily reaches into the bag by the side of the changing mat and pulls out a small jar, holding it up for Severus to take.
"What's this?"
"What I was using," she says, as he peers at it. "So, what's the difference between this and yours?"
He squints as he reads the label, and as she sits back on the bed with River, Severus cracks open the top and sniffs at the cream within. "It's Solamentum Unguentum."
"I didn't ask you that."
Severus bites back a grin. "You sound more and more like Sluggy every day, love."
"Well?"
"Am I getting marked for this?" he grins, his eyes gleaming. "Are you going to put me in detention if I get it wrong?"
"Idiot," she laughs. "Answer the question."
"I didn't let it rest," he says. "It changes from orange to lavender if you keep it on a low heat, stirring it every twelve minutes."
"And the scent of yours is stronger," she adds.
"We haven't got any honey, so I used a sugar solution-"
"-we'll put it on the shopping list," she says. "Anything else?"
He gives a tight shake of his head. "The rest of the ingredients were the same, but I changed some of the stirring patterns in the initial stages."
"And what would that do?"
"Nothing, apart from reducing the brewing time."
"How did you know that would work?"
"Borage did a lot of work on pattern matching - Jigger was a stickler for going by the book, but Borage had a theory that any stirring pattern could be reduced mathematically." Severus levitates his cup as he becomes more expressive with his hands, clearly enjoying the discussion. "So if you had twenty stirs clockwise and ten stirs anti-clockwise, you could reduce that to two and one, as long as the ratio remained the same."
She gives him an incredulous look. "And that doesn't affect the potion?"
He shakes his head. "But you have to be careful and check the entire method," he warns, "because it affects the brew from start to finish - so if you reduce a pattern down to its lowest form-"
"-like two stirs and one stir-"
"-yeah," he says, "and then you find you've got five stirs at the end, that's not divisible by ten-"
"-and then the potion's a bust?"
"Exactly," he nods. "Not what you want to find out after a day's hard brewing." He picks his mug back out of the air. "It doesn't help with some potions," he admits, "but this one has a lot of stirring, and most of it was divisible by two or four, I forget which. Anway, it was pretty easy to shave some time off it with some simple maths."
"And in the cream itself - what's the difference?" she asks again, pointing between the two creams. "Apart from the colour."
"Mine won't keep," Severus says, looking a little abashed, "the colour isn't simply cosmetic - it's a sign of stability. The oils will part - but I didn't think longevity mattered; he needed it now."
Lily frowns. "You keep talking as if your product is inferior, Sev, and that's not what I mean." She holds his cream up in the air. "This fixed River's leg, whilst the one Cissy got from the apothecary didn't. What's the difference?"
At this, Severus gives her a broad, knowing smile. "Whilst I'm sure Cissy bought the best cream that the Malfoy money could buy," he says, "who was it brewed by?"
"The shopkeeper's probably a brewer?"
"Mmm, I'd say so," Severus agrees, "but if you owned your own business, if I owned my own business, would we be the ones brewing the basic creams and ointments? Especially the ones that take a working day?"
"I guess not. An assistant then."
"An assistant." He pauses. "Or they might second it out, to another brewer. To a master brewer."
"If the shopkeeper isn't willing to brew, then surely someone like Jigger or Sluggy or Borage isn't going to-"
"-no," Severus says, "but their poor fucking apprentice might get the job."
She looks at the pot, her brow furrowed even more deeply. "You."
"I don't think this is my work," he says, reasonably, twisting the pot in his hand, "although I can't quite say for certain. It was probably brewed months ago. Might've been me. Might've been Goldstein. Might've been-"
"-but if it was you," she says, "then why does your orange cream work, but this one, the - and I'm using your words here, Sev - proper one not? It's what? Too old?"
"Age doesn't matter. If it's shelf stable, it's stable," Severus says, dismissively, moving to sit next to her on the bed. "Let's say it was me, love. How would that day have looked?"
"I don't know," she shoots back, "I barely got a chance to play at being an apprentice, remember?"
"No," he concedes. "Not that Sluggy would've been as beastly to you as Borage and Jigger were to me," he says, "I bet he wouldn't have made you brew this sort of shit."
"He didn't favour me over-"
"-it's not about favouring," Severus says, quickly. "Sluggy brews for the hospital wing, and that's it, whereas Borage and Jigger were always looking for a way to bring in galleons - always taking on little side-brews and commissions. Borage would've had me brewing through the night if he could've got away with it."
"You never used to say much-"
"-I didn't want to rub it in," he interrupts, "especially when I was working and you couldn't."
"No," she says, "but you can tell me now."
Severus sits forward, smoothly taking Lily's hand in his as he talks, entwining his fingers with hers. "You'd get in, first thing, do the prep work. Buckets of it, usually."
"For the day's potions?"
"On rotation," he explains. "You over-prepare one ingredient, and store the bulk in jars, so each potion has one fresh ingredient and the rest is fetched from the storeroom. It's pretty boring - I'd have preferred to have prepared everything fresh, because there's some variety to what you're doing, but Borage and Jigger were both insistent that the practice was valuable."
"It'd help your technique," Lily guesses, "doing it over and over. If you make a mess of a few ounces of one ingredient but you don't need to prepare it again, you'll never master the skill - but if you have to spend an hour or more doing the same action, no matter how rare the ingredient, then you're bound to improve."
"First you sound like Sluggy, now you sound like Borage," Severus laughs, squeezing her hand. "I'm getting worried."
She laughs. "Then what?"
"When I finished, they'd inspect my work whilst I made coffee for us both. If they approved-"
"-of the coffee?" she quips.
"Of my prep," he says, with a small chuckle, "we'd talk about the upcoming day's brewing. It's not like you're thinking," he warns, "this wasn't a friendly chat over a cup of tea. It was a test."
"To see if you understood the potion?"
"Yeah. That was the potion you needed to master to pass your apprenticeship - course potions, they called them. You'd know what you were due to brew the night before, so you had a chance to look up the methodology - and they wanted to know what you'd gleaned - where you felt the pitfalls were and how you'd avoid them, as well as any thoughts you might have to improve the process."
"And if they didn't approve?"
"Of my coffee, or of my prep work?"
"I've tasted your coffee, so both," she says, with a cheeky grin.
"Then you wouldn't be brewing that day's course potion."
"They'd make you do more prep?"
"Yeah."
"They didn't let you brew at all?"
"Borage didn't, he was forever making me scrub the lab in penance, but Jigger always let me brew," Severus says, with a wry smile. At Lily's confused look, he elaborates. "On a good day, there'd be several cauldrons on the go - the course potion would demand my attention, but there'd be a few basic potions bubbling away throughout the day - the ones that he had contracts for, the ones he could sell."
"He was making money off you."
"Of course he was," Severus laughs, "which is why I was brewing Malf's potions alongside his. What's good for the goose and all that."
"I'm amazed Jigger didn't catch you."
"He didn't need to catch me, he already knew," Severus says, evenly, "I'm sure of it." He shrugs. "But as long as I gave him what he needed, why would he care?" He doesn't wait for her to answer. "So on bad days, when I was banned from brewing the course potion, my day was filled with ingredient prep and brewing a few basic potions." He squeezes her hand again. "Bad days weren't bad days because I had to brew some boil creams or a few batches of Pepperup - I had to do those anyway."
"Bad days were bad days because he wouldn't let you brew the course potion."
"Yeah, and you can't get too far behind."
"Else you lose your apprenticeship."
"Exactly."
"Even though he's making money off you brewing the supplementary potions in the meantime - ones he shouldn't have had you brewing! He should've let you concentrate!"
"Multitasking is the mark of an accomplished brewer," Severus intones, clearly repeating words he's heard before. "Besides, he owned me. He could do whatever he wanted with me. If he wanted me to clean the floor with a toothbrush, he could order me to do so. There wasn't much I could refuse."
Lily sounds aghast. "He was supposed to be teaching you."
"He did. He taught me not to fuck up my prep work," Severus laughs.
"Sev!"
"So now you know," he says, "an apprentice has little cauldrons of these inconsequential brews bubbling away throughout the day. On a good day, the apprentice is in a good mood, but distracted - focused on the course potion, because success with the course potion is what counts. Nobody cares about the quality of the side brews."
"So you neglect the basic potions?"
Severus purses his lips, as if deep in thought. "Not neglect, just… They're an afterthought."
"And if it was a bad day?"
"If it was a bad day, then I was in a bad mood." He shrugs. "I'd take my temper out on the ingredients first and foremost, or the equipment, but I'd be resentful of the other brews - like you said, Jigger was making money off me, but if I made a stupid mistake during a conversation, I wasn't allowed to demonstrate that it was a slip of the tongue, that I understood. When you…"
She grips his hand. "When I what?"
"When you couldn't work, I used to get so wound up," he says, quietly. "Every time I made a mistake, I'd worry that I'd lose the apprenticeship, worry that we'd lose the flat-"
"-oh, Sev-"
"-it used to make me so angry," he admits, "and I know that came out when I was brewing." He runs the fingers of his free hand across his brow. "Sometimes I used to drink. At night, to help me to sleep when I thought I was going to fail," he says, "and sometimes at lunch, if I did fail. Not much, just a bit. To take the edge off." He pauses. "Sometimes… Sometimes just before the test, when I was brewing the coffee," he says, hesitantly, "to calm my nerves - else I'd be so anxious, he'd trip me up, and another day would be wasted."
"You drank in the morning?" Lily looks aghast. "That's why Jigger thought you were a drunk."
"I didn't think he'd noticed."
"Bloody hell, Sev. You should've told me."
"And risk upsetting you? Losing you would've been worse than losing the apprenticeship."
They sit for a moment, hand in hand, quietly reflecting on the magical world that they've left behind, and then Lily reaches up and smoothes his hair behind his ear so she can see his face.
"What?"
"You've still not really answered my question," she says, darting a kiss onto his lips, "why's your cream so different?"
"The cream Cissy bought," Severus says, "is technically perfect. Brewed by someone skilled, with the finest of ingredients, all expertly prepared."
"But?"
"But it's brewed, at best, by someone who doesn't care - by someone who is focused on their real work and this is just something pushed into the corner, forgotten. At worst," he says, "it's brewed by someone angry - someone who feels maligned and let down, someone who feels punished by the system, someone who feels used."
"Intent," she realises.
"Intent," he repeats, with a nod. He picks up his own cream and smiles. "Whereas this was brewed by a father who wanted to comfort his son. By a man who couldn't take watching his boy's bottom lip wobbling, or seeing more tears forming in the corner of his eyes. This," he says, with feeling, "was brewed with love."
And then, as if this admission was too much for him, he glances away - it's barely for a second, but she catches the movement, and she immediately drops his hand that she's holding and throws her arms around his neck, crushing his lips with hers, pinning him in a ferocious kiss.
He kisses her back, over and over, and then he presses his forehead to hers. "I'd best start lunch," he whispers, clear reluctance in his tone as he kisses her again. "Don't forget to drink your tea, it'll get cold."
She watches as he leaves the room, and then her attention turns fully to River, who is watching her with wide, bright eyes. "Isn't your daddy a special talent?" she murmurs, peppering River with kisses and then tickling his sides, causing him to emit an array of coos and squeals.
Ten minutes later, Lily's so engrossed in playing with their son, she doesn't spot Severus returning to the doorway to smile at them both indulgently, his hand slipping between the buttons of his shirt to rub at his chest.
Pettigrew feels too big for Hogwarts - like a teenager going back to infant school, or an adult trying to fit into shoes which are several sizes too small. As he follows Filch down corridors, passing curious students, he's struck by how small they are - how thin, how wiry, how fresh-faced.
I'm not that old.
He follows in Filch's wake, and as the caretaker presents him to the Headmaster, he's so engrossed in watching Filch's odd combination of pride and deference, he almost misses the look of surprise on Dumbledore's face.
"Mr Pettigrew."
"Headmaster Dumbledore."
"Please," Dumbledore says, waving Filch away and indicating to an empty seat before his desk, "let us not stand on parade. Albus."
Pettigrew nods. "Peter."
Dumbledore settles himself in his seat, voluminous robes gathered to him, and then he fiddles with his spectacles before pulling out a fresh page of parchment and picking up his quill. "How can I be of assistance, Peter?"
"You sent for me."
Dumbledore's eyebrow quirks. "I did?"
Pettigrew swallows uncomfortably. "I brought my best robes," he deflects, lifting his bag into Dumbledore's eyeline. "As requested."
Dumbledore gives an apologetic smile. "Peter, I must… My message was intended-"
"-for Sirius," Pettigrew interjects, boldly. "I know."
"You know?"
"He's not well, Headmaster." Drunk as a lord. "He was in no fit state to receive your message," Pettigrew pauses as this sinks in, as Dumbledore realises why his first message went unacknowledged, "nor could he have responded."
"He doesn't know you're here?"
"No."
"Does anyone know you're here?" This time, the blue eyes are fixed on his, almost pinning him to his seat.
Pettigrew glances up, and then away, before flashing a meek smile towards Dumbledore. "No, sir." There's another pause, and then Pettigrew leans forward. "I live with him, that's why-"
"-I am aware," Dumbledore says, fiddling absently with the cuff of his robe. "Do you have any idea of what this meeting was to entail?"
"Best dress robes means an occasion," Pettigrew reasons, quietly, "and the only occasion I'm aware of is Evan Rosier's funeral."
Dumbledore nods.
"But I don't understand why Sirius would be attending Evan Rosier's funeral, sir."
Dumbledore stares at him again, his eyes barely making contact with Pettigrew's before the nervous, jumpy boy looks away.
"Sirius has family."
"We all have family."
At this, Dumbledore smiles. "Indeed. But Sirius has family within the Dark Lord's ranks."
Clever. Cunning. Sharp. Unassuming. Perfect. Convince Dumbledore you're the right man for the job.
"As do I."
There's an elongated pause, Dumbldore's eyes raking over him, and it takes all of Pettigrew's nerve not to quail.
"I didn't realise."
"My mother," Pettigrew elaborates, "she married Caleb Wilkes."
At this, Dumbledore leans forward. "I really had no idea."
"I think I could do it," Pettigrew says. "Whatever you need done."
It doesn't surprise Lily when Severus finishes eating first - she's certain that his forkfuls of food have barely touched his tongue, such is his eating speed - but it does surprise her when he doesn't move, when he doesn't excuse himself and take his plate through to the kitchen, or talk about making them both a cup of tea.
He sits, quietly - too quietly - as she finishes the rest of her meal, although her attention is evenly split between River, her food, and her husband.
When she finally scrapes her plate clean, Severus puts his hand out.
"Finished?"
"Thank you," she says, passing her empty plate to him.
He tidies it on his lap, stacking the two plates together, and neatening the cutlery in a line, but he doesn't stand and take them out. Instead, he leans down and places them on the floor.
"Got a minute?"
She looks at him, trying to keep her expression neutral and not startled. What's wrong? "Of course."
"I was going to wait until tonight-"
"-Sev, you don't have to wait until bedtime to speak to me-"
"-but I thought…" He trails off, and then he reaches behind him, dragging his shirt up and over his head. He gives a sharp hiss as he does so, but before she can ask him what's wrong, he lowers his arms, the fabric of his shirt still shielding his forearms, leaving just his torso exposed, and her mouth falls open at the sight of the deep raw lines trailing across his chest.
"Oh, Sev."
"I think," he says, hesitantly, "I think it's getting worse."
Pettigrew's heart is almost banging out of his chest as he walks through the grounds of Malfoy Manor, Professor Horace Slughorn by his side.
They've barely exchanged a word - when Dumbledore took him to Sluggy's rooms, Slughorn had given a desultory sigh, before capitulating to Dumbledore's request.
He doesn't want to be here either.
The pair walk together and Pettigrew can't help but admire the grand grounds - the perfectly cultivated trees, the manicured lawn, the ornate statues.
Before them, a white peacock pecks at the gravel path leading up to the Manor.
"Does he hunt them?"
Slughorn turns to look at his escort, his eyebrows raised. "Have you ever seen a white peacock before?"
"No."
"Then I imagine they cost more money than you earn in a year, dear boy," Slughorn says, dismissively. Then he gives a quick smile. "Of course, that means nothing to Lucius…" He claps Pettigrew on the shoulder and steers his attention further up the grounds. "Pheasants. He hunts pheasants."
Stupid white birds, they all look the same to me.
"Got it."
"If you're not sure on these topics, keep quiet. Whatever you do, don't slip up inside," Slughorn implores, "these people…"
Pettigrew bristles. "I won't."
They wash up together whilst River sleeps, and she wonders how best to help her husband. He doesn't say that he needs her help, that he wants it, even - but she knows that by him confiding in her, he must be increasingly concerned that the pain in his chest isn't going away.
After lunch, she'd asked him - asked him outright what he'd already tried, what his theories were on stopping it, and instead of sharing his thoughts, he'd clammed up, his shoulders so tense, they were almost perpendicular to the floor.
The silence had been uncomfortable, and he'd finally broken it by moving into the hallway and returning with a couple of books that he'd dropped unceremoniously on the bed - but when he'd finally spoken, he'd looked into the distance through the window instead of into her eyes.
"I need to do some more reading."
It bothers him, his broken soul - that much is obvious. It's difficult to talk to him about, he's cold and prickly, and overly insistent that he can't find a pattern, that there's no rhyme or reason to the bouts of pain he experiences - that he's as likely to be struck down whilst he's washing their socks as he is whilst lying on the bed.
She suggests, gently, that he might want to try writing his symptoms down - a track of his movements, of his activities, of his thoughts and feelings - but he scoffs at the suggestion.
"It's got nowt to do with thoughts and feelin's," - and it doesn't escape Lily's attention that he suddenly sounds more like his father than ever - "it's all physical, magic. Like you keep sayin', when you talk about it being cut off inside of you."
She gives him a quelling look. "And what was all that with the cream?" she says, her own tone clipped. "As far as I can see, you fixed our boy with intent," she counters, "which is mental and spiritual, and Merlin knows what else."
He doesn't answer, but his washing up becomes more ferocious, and she's certain that if the pan beneath his fingertips was sentient, it'd have screamed at his rough treatment, as he takes his frustration out on the inanimate objects in the sink.
"Don't be angry with me, Sev."
"I'm not."
"I'm trying to help."
"I know," he says, through gritted teeth, "but you don't need to help. I've got a plan."
She pauses, the increasingly damp teatowel wrapped around her hands. "Then why tell me?"
He doesn't look at her, just stares through the kitchen window as if there's a smudge on the outhouse wall that he finds compelling. "Because we're being honest with each other, and talking to each other, and you said you wanted to know this stuff," he says, all of a sudden, "and I'll do whatever you want me to because I love you."
It wrongfoots her, this sudden admission. "...are you going to share your plan?" she asks, eventually.
He pauses, mid-scrub. "Yeah," he says, after a moment of deliberation, "if it works, I will."
She opens her mouth to protest, but he leans over, his forearms still plunged deep beneath the water, and puckers his lips, inviting her to kiss him, and she laughs before pecking him on the lips.
"I'm not sure that's an answer," she says, kissing him again and then swatting him with the teatowel.
"If I'm already testing a theory," he reasons, "then there's no point in discussing it. If I'm right, job done and you don't need to worry."
"And if you're wrong?"
"If I'm wrong, I'll let you choose the next theory," he barters.
"Deal," she says, and as she watches him lift the largest saucepan they have out of the water, she suddenly notices that he hasn't bothered to roll up his sleeves up to his elbows, despite his arms being deep in the washing up water.
It doesn't matter that Dumbledore assured him that this was a neutral meeting with prominent figures from both sides of the wizarding world, Pettigrew can't help but feel an outsider - can't help but feel the gaze of the various attendees like a prickle on his robes, like a spider or a beetle crawling across him, skittering over his skin.
"Horace!"
The meet and greet continues like this for a long while. Slughorn isn't rude, but perfunctory when he introduces Pettigrew, with neither man having a believable story as to why they should be standing together.
"I asked him for some career advice," Pettigrew says, eventually.
"And you decided to give it to him at a funeral?" the older man laughs, gripping Slughorn's arm in merriment. He leans in closer to Pettigrew, his breath warm and stale, "Take a hint, boy."
Pettigrew's eyes track between the two men. "Sir. Yes, sir."
The older man laughs again. "I think a drink, Horace? Can you spare the time?"
"The service is at half past," Slughorn says, fumbling with his pocket watch.
"Ah, what's five minutes between friends," the other man says, steering him away. "Your boy can save you a seat at the ceremony."
Pettigrew pauses, finding himself rooted to the spot, his legs locked in fear - and just as he's working up the courage to trail after the two men, the older man glances over Slughorn's shoulder, his gaze locking onto Pettigrew, and he gives the slightest shake of his head, his meaning clear: do not follow.
Shit.
He looks furtively around him, and then retreats to a corner, his back against the wall as he surveys those stood around. He can feel his heart banging in his chest - it's worse than he'd ever thought possible, being surrounded by Death Eaters and their relatives.
They're not all Death Eaters. Remember what Dumbledore said - Fudge is coming. The aurors are coming.
Pettigrew tries to put names to faces as he scours each group of mourners. Some are easy, famous - the Lestrange brothers and Bellatrix - whilst others are trickier. There's lots of people far older than he is, people who his parents or grandparents might know, but some are faces he recalls from Hogwarts, although not their names - boys from Hufflepuff and girls from Slytherin, and not for the first time, Pettigrew wished he'd paid more attention at school.
"East, darling," Narcissa mutters under her breath, deliberately looking in the other direction.
"I don't see-"
"East," she reiterates, "that's North." A half second later, she rolls her eyes. "And that's South. East. To your right."
"Then why didn't you just bloody well say so," Lucius snaps, taking a glass from a passing silver tray and suavely rotating on his heel. "No," he says, after a long moment, "I don't recognise him."
"You must."
"I don't."
Narcissa adjusts her hold on Draco, shifting his weight on her hip. "He's one of them."
"The memorial is open to all-"
"-one of Sirius' cronies," she whispers.
Lucius stalls. "Potter's gang? That group who pestered Severus?"
"Yes. Horrible little rat-faced boy."
Lucius quaffs the contents of his glass and then snaps his fingers towards Avery. "Here," he mouths, indicating towards his shiny patent shoes.
"Malf, good do!" Avery says, jovially, looking pleased to have been invited over to stand with the host, a thin stemmed glass clenched in each of his fists. "This is remarkable champers." At Lucius' irritated look, he stands a little straighter. "Sorry. Malfoy."
Lucius gives him a quelling look. "It's a funeral, Avery, it's hardly the time to be commenting on the quality of the fripperies." He raises his empty glass. "Only the best for our fallen friend, Evan, of course."
Avery colours slightly. "Yeah. Well. Yeah." He raises both glasses. "To Evan."
Lucius watches Avery carefully as he swigs heartily from one of the glasses and then the other. "I'm glad you're here."
"He was a good friend, old friend-"
"-I thought we could continue our new understanding."
Avery looks at him warily before glancing uneasily towards Narcissa. "Yeah."
"You are in my debt, are you not, Avery?"
"...yes."
"And you recall our productive discussion of a role within my business interests?"
Before I tried to pin a murder on you, before you tried to pin a murder on me. There's another nagging voice in his ear. Before he destroyed Robards' career to save you from a certain term in Azkaban. Remember what Yaxley said - friends in high places.
"Yes," Avery says, firmly. "Of course."
"Then you'll be pleased to know I have a job for you," Lucius drawls, surreptitiously pointing towards Pettigrew, his finger sliding along the length of the stem of his glass. "Remember him from school?"
Avery stares openly at Pettigrew and then shakes his head. "No."
"Cissy assures me he was in your year."
"Him?" Avery scoffs. "No, don't think so."
Lucius draws a slow breath, and then flicks his hair over the back of his shoulders, as if shaking off an irritating bug - and then he leans in, his tone menacing. "Find out who he is. Who he came here with. Who his friends are. What he wants."
"Yes, Malfoy."
"And keep him away from the immediate family."
"The family?"
Lucius waves his hand to indicate those stood near to him. "Malfoys. Lestranges. Blacks. Anyone," he says, with a slight sneer on his face, "with a name."
"Got it."
Lucius gives him a disdainful smile, and claps him on the shoulder. "Oh, and Avery?"
"Yes, Malfoy?"
"Do be subtle, won't you? It really wouldn't do to cause a scene."
Chapter 144: Extend the hand of friendship
Chapter Text
"I'll just have a smoke, love," Severus says, reaching for his packet of cigarettes, as she dries the last of the dishes, "and then we'll get down to work."
Avery finishes both glasses of champagne, and then strolls across the large room. As he passes a floating silver tray, he smoothly swaps his two empty flutes for two freshly filled ones.
"I need your help."
Avery pauses, and turns toward the voice, holding both glasses aloft in greeting. "Afternoon, Reggie."
Regulus looks from the empty glasses on the tray to the fresh ones in Avery's hands. "If you keep this pace up, you won't be able to stand straight in the service - or is that the idea?"
"I can handle it."
"Still, you're drinking those like they're going out of fashion," Regulus says, with an uncertain smile. "Is everything okay or do you-"
"I'm fine," Avery interrupts, taking a hearty swig from one of the glasses, "and take it from me, you should be having your fill as well." He leans a little closer. "Malf says this is the 1959 vintage - you'd be a fool not to neck the lot."
Regulus reaches for a glass of his own, takes a small sip, and then raises his eyebrows. "Merlin, I think you're right."
"Of course I'm right. Do you think I can't tell one year of champagne from another? Do you think I just parrot whatever Malf tells me?" Avery asks, clearly affronted. "I'm not an imbecile."
"I know that," Regulus says, staring across the room towards Lucius, who is gripping the elbow of Cornelius Fudge and talking animatedly in his ear.
"Yeah? You're sure?" Avery challenges, his jaw set. "I'm getting a bit sick of-"
"-I don't think you're an imbecile, Ave," Regulus says, soothingly, quickly turning his attention back to Avery. "I really don't." He takes another sip from the glass. "It's just… 1959 is a special year."
"I know it is," Avery says, rolling his eyes. "I'd hardly be necking a 68 or a 72, would I?"
"It doesn't make any sense," Regulus says, staring at Lucius again. "It's a funeral, and Malf's dishing up a celebrated twenty year old vintage to all and sundry?"
"Twenty two. It's twenty two years old."
"Twenty two," Regulus echoes. "Older than me." He tips his glass. "Older than you."
Avery shrugs. "So, Malf throws his money around, what's new? He's always been a flash bastard."
"Not always."
"Yeah, right," Avery chuckles. "You didn't see him at school-"
"-I was there-"
"-one year doesn't count. Anyway, look around you!" Avery indicates towards the ornate polished floor and then to the grand furnishings which surround them. "Ornate statues, gold ornaments, paintings from the third century-"
"-it's inherited, all the families-"
"-and Reggie, we're talking about the bloke who has deliberately bought and bred white pheasants and white peacocks, have you any idea how much that costs, how much-"
"-family money is not an endless supply," Regulus says, in a low voice, "take it from me."
Avery scoffs. "They've always said it's a curse, the one child affliction-"
"-it is!"
"It's kept them at the top of society, if you ask me," Avery says. "Look at your lot."
Regulus bristles. "My lot?"
"Your cousins. The esteemed Mrs Malfoy and her lovely sisters." Avery gives Regulus a twisted smile. "Three daughters, no heir, three weddings to fork out for. That's got to be expensive."
"Two weddings."
"Well," Avery laughs, "that's one way of handling it, I suppose. Burning them off the tree, but then, isn't that the Black way?" He takes another sip of his drink. "I'm just saying, families cost. Malf doesn't have that concern, nor did his father before him, or his father, or his-"
"-I get it."
"So what else would he spend his galleons on, Reggie? It's all about the big show for Malf - lording it over us all. He's got more money than sense - so take advantage of his supposed generosity and drink up." He quickly drains one of his glasses and swaps it for a fresh one. "Look, I'll catch up with you later."
"Oh?" For the first time, Regulus seems to recognise that one of the glasses in Avery's hand has remained untouched. "Who are you with?"
Avery shrugs awkwardly. "No-one. I'm just circling the room. Being friendly. You know." He pauses. "Have you seen Mulc?"
"No," Regulus says, glancing towards the double doors at the far side of the room, "that's what I wanted to talk to you about."
"Yeah?"
"I don't think he's coming."
Avery looks astonished. "He didn't want to see Ros off?"
"He's got some issues with Malf."
"Who hasn't?" Avery exclaims. "Bloody hell, I know he doesn't get on with Malf but-"
"-it's not just about not getting on-"
"-this is ridiculous, it's Ros' funeral!"
"I agree," Regulus says, gripping Avery's arm and lowering his voice pointedly, "but you know what Mulc is like."
Avery shakes his hand away. "He can't not attend," he repeats. "Ros was his best mate."
"It's not just Mulc, is it? You were as well. It's been a terrible shock for you all."
"And you," Avery says, charitably. "You were one of us."
Regulus gives a slight shake of his head. "Not really."
"You were, all of us were-"
"-not recently. School was a long time ago. Still," Regulus says, awkwardly raising his glass, "to the band of brothers."
"Brothers," Avery repeats, mirroring the action.
"Who'd have thought we'd have lost two already?"
"One," Avery snaps, "we've lost one. Ros is dead, but Sev isn't."
"As good as." Regulus reaches over and squeezes Avery's shoulder. "I know you were especially close to Snape. I'm sorry."
"You shouldn't feel sorry for me," Avery says, quietly. "What happened… What happened to him… I…"
They fall into an awkward silence as Avery fails to voice his guilt, and then Regulus stands a little straighter. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. We should go and get him."
Avery gives him a blank look. "Sev?"
"No, Mulc." Regulus frowns. "You know where Snape is, do you? Blimey, I thought he'd be keen to keep his head down." He gives a shudder. "Imagine being without magic - anyone could creep up on you and-"
"-no, I don't know where Snape is," Avery interrupts, another rush of guilt thundering through him. "I did, but I lost track of him. Could be anywhere now."
"Probably for the best," Regulus says, "both for him and for you." He leans in, his voice lower. "I hear that his particular skills are in demand, magic or not - and between us, Trixie's formidable enough when you've got your wand in hand, but without?" He exhales loudly. "At the slightest excuse, she'd slaughter him."
Avery looks sickened. "Yeah."
"And take it from me, you don't want her banging on your door if she thinks you know where he is. Ignorance is bliss." Regulus takes another long swig of his drink, finishing it, and then places the empty flute onto the silver tray. "Come on," he says, glancing at his pocket watch, "if we get a move on, we can grab Mulc before the service starts. Drink up," he orders, "and I'll ask Malf for use of one of his fireplaces."
"No, don't disturb him, he's talking to Fudge!"
Without any indication that he's heard Avery's protest, Regulus marches across the room and smoothly interrupts the conversation between Lucius, Fudge, Narcissa and Emmeline Vance. He's quickly welcomed between them, with handshakes all around - but when Regulus gesticulates first towards a fireplace and then towards Avery, Lucius looks over his head, his pale grey eyes meeting Avery's - and although Lucius is accommodating, with Regulus' requests met with a loud, jovial remark and a wide smile, Avery doesn't miss that Lucius' eyes are filled with barely restrained fury.
Lily looks up from her notepad and frowns when she sees the time on the clock. She places the quill down, and with a quick check that River is fast asleep, she moves to the back door.
"Sev?"
"Watch out lad, here's the old ball and chain," an unfamiliar voice calls, and she sees Severus immediately bristling at the comment.
"Hey love," he says, warmly, holding his hand out. "I've just been talking to Brendan."
She slides her shoes on and steps out into the yard, nestling her hand into Severus' palm.
"Ah," says the voice, and when she looks up, she sees the older man leaning over the wall, a thin cigarette protruding from his lips, "ain't she a sight for sore eyes."
Severus squeezes Lily's hand tightly. "That's one of the many reasons why I married her."
"And what's 'er excuse for marrying you?" He gives Lily a wide grin. "Need glasses, doll?"
She rolls her eyes, giving Severus' hand a reassuring squeeze. "Hello, Brendan," she says, greeting their neighbour evenly. "Riv's asleep," she says, turning to Severus.
"Riv?"
"River," Severus explains. "Our son."
"Aye, well, I knew yer had a little 'un, our Mary's been bangin' on about it the past few weeks-"
"-we didn't mean to disturb you-"
"-aint' no disturbin', doll," Brendan says, with a broad smile, "although I reckon our boy might have a bone ter pick wi' yer when he next visits, our Mary's been bangin' on at 'im, she's desperate for some grandkiddies an' hearin' yer bairn has made her all the more broody." He pauses, pulling on his cigarette.
Severus points towards the coal bunker. "Brendan says the coal man will be around on Thursday, but he's subbed us a bit to tide us over." He propels her towards the coal bunker, with a light tap on her behind. "Have a look."
Lily peers into it, her eyebrows rising slightly. "You gave us all this, Brendan?"
Brendan beams broadly, almost preening in her praise.
"Sold it to us," Severus interjects, tapping the front pocket of his trousers, "but fair's fair. I'll get one started tonight, before Riv has his bath. Do us good to warm the walls through."
"Aye," says Brendan, "gets damp summat shockin' around 'ere." He shoots Lily a broad grin. "An' we can't have the little 'un bein' cold, can we? That will 'ave 'im wailin' all through t'night again."
Severus immediately catches Lily's horrified look, and pulls her into his arms, his voice a low rumble in her ear. "I'll put some charms up to block the noise."
"I told yer, doll, ain't no complaint," Brendan says, reassuringly. "We all know that walls are like paper round this way." He gives her a broad wink. "Soon knew when you and yer young fella 'ere moved in."
This time, Severus has to grip Lily's hand tightly to stop her from speaking, his lips still nestled near her ear. "Don't rise to him. We haven't done anything, remember?" Then Severus lifts his head and grins. "Sorry, mate, we'll turn the record player down."
"Not on my account, lad," Brendan says, airily, pulling on his cigarette again, "nice to 'ear two youngsters enjoying themselves."
"I bet," Lily murmurs to Severus, and then moves away from him. "I'll be indoors, Sev."
"'Ere y'are, doll," Brendan says, suddenly, beckoning her back. He turns to Severus. "What's 'er name?"
At Lily's furious look at Brendan asking Severus the question instead of her, Severus suppresses a smile. "Lily," Severus says. "I'm Sev, and she's Lily."
"Right, Seth," Brendan says, with a broad grin. "Mary said, doll, if I saw yer, there's an invite fer yer wi' them at the church."
Severus gives him a sceptical look. "At the church?"
"Aye, well, dunner worry about that, lad, if yer ain't that way inclined. Yer can go ter the service, doll, if yer into it, but ain't no-one gonna judge. After the morning prayers, one 'til two, that's when the kiddies and mams meet. Well, more like three by the time the women stop gassin'."
Lily looks at Severus. "What do you think?"
"It's up to you, love," Severus says, with a slight shrug. "Be good for the lad, mind, see some kids his own age."
Be good for you, she can almost hear him saying, his dark eyes boring into hers, to have friends - to have confidants.
"Good for you an' all, love," he adds, and Lily smiles, the unspoken statement clear between them.
"Thanks, Brendan," she says.
"Aye, well, thank our Mary," he says, with a grin. "An' what about you, lad?"
Severus gives a loud laugh. "I ain't goin' no mams an' toddlers group."
"Course not, but the lads meet up down t'pub at the same time." Brendan flashes a reassuring smile towards Lily. "Ain't nowt to worry about, doll. All fellas, no birds."
"Sev?"
Severus gives another tight shrug.
"Just a beer or two, and a game o' arrows, or cards," Brendan hastily adds. "Unless yer can play pool? We're always on the lookout for a new hotshot."
"I can pot a streak easy," Severus says, quickly. He looks towards Lily. "What d'yer reckon, love?"
At this, Brendan gives a low chortle.
Immediately, Severus' back tightens. "What?"
"Askin' 'er fer permission," Brendan laughs. "Got yer bollocks in a jar on the mantelpiece 'as she?"
Lily watches her husband, her breath catching in her chest as she spies the telltale vein bulging in his neck.
"Yer fuckin' what, mate?" Severus takes a step closer to the wall. "It ain't permission, she fuckin' asked me about the church group-"
"-an' she's yer woman, lad," Brendan warns, stubbing out his cigarette, "there's a difference. I dunner know where yer from, Seth, but that sort of shit don't fly around 'ere."
"Sev?" Lily calls, from the doorway.
Brendan smirks. "Whipped, lad. Fuckin' whipped."
"You'll be late for your appointment."
Severus slowly turns from Brendan to look at Lily. "What?"
"With the probation officer," she says, lightly, sending a saccharine smile towards Brendan, who has suddenly paled. "You haven't forgotten, have you? You promised me you wouldn't be late this time, you don't want them to give you any reason to send you inside."
Severus glances between Brendan and Lily, seeming completely frozen. "I thought this was meant to be a fresh start, love," he says, earnestly.
"And it is, it will be," Lily says, with a reassuring smile. She heads back over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and pressing a kiss against his lips.
"What d'yer do, lad?" Brendan watches the two of them warily. "Ter get yersel' probation?"
"He's got a horrible temper, that's all," she says, with a broad grin at Brendan. "Wouldn't pick it to look at him, would you?"
"...no," Brendan says, eyeing them both carefully.
"Thanks ever so much for the coal," Lily calls after him, as he steps away from the wall, "and the invitations! We'll be there on Sunday!"
"I'll tell our Mary to expect yer then, doll."
They stand in silence until they hear the door slam, and Severus lets out a long breath.
"What the fuck was that, love?"
"What? I'm not having him speak to you like that."
"That's a very dangerous game you just played."
"It's this sort of shit that messes with your mind," Lily says, pressing her index finger against Severus' temple, "you did the right thing."
"What?"
"Asking me. I asked you, you asked me. That's how a partnership works. I've told you before, I don't want any of this macho stuff."
"No macho stuff," Severus repeats, with a laugh, "but it's all right for you to tell him that I'm some dangerous criminal?"
"And you'd have been happy being the laughing stock of the pub on Sunday, would you? Did you hear him? Whipped? Bollocks in a jar, Sev! Honestly! And when he was suggesting that he could hear us…" She looks sickened as she flicks her hair over her shoulder. "If we didn't know that we hadn't slept together here, I'd be mortified!"
"I know, love, I know."
"And," she says, threateningly, "I swear, if he calls me 'doll' just one more time…"
Severus walks her towards the wall, gently pushing her against it, and then runs his hands through her hair. He presses his lips to hers in a firm kiss, quickly parting his lips and urging her for more. "I fuckin' love yer, Lil," he breathes.
"I love you too, Sev."
"An' I love it even more when yer angry on my behalf," he murmurs, kissing her passionately.
"I love it when you are as well."
"In 'is fuckin' dreams, love," he murmurs, kissing her deeply, "as if I'd ever let the likes of 'im near yer." He presses her harder against the brick wall, his body flush against hers. "I don't share."
She laughs, kissing him fiercely. "Neither do I."
"Good," he murmurs, pressing kisses down her neck, "I dunno how Malf does it. I'd hex any bloke who dared to put his hands on yer."
"Or how Cissy does it. I couldn't."
He lifts his head, pressing his forehead against hers, his dark eyes boring into hers. "Fer as long as yer want me, love, I swear, I'll never let another bloke anywhere near yer."
"And for as long as you want me," she says, with equal fervour, "I swear, I'll never let another woman within six inches of you."
At this, he laughs, and captures her in a passionate kiss, his hands on her cheeks and framing her face.
"Mine," they breathe, almost simultaneously.
It's Narcissa who leads them both into a darkened room, with not a window in sight. She casts at the wall lanterns as she ushers them towards the fireplace.
Regulus takes in the sparse room, his surprise clearly etched on his face. "Servants quarters, Cissy?"
"A fireplace is a fireplace," she says, quietly.
"But surely one of the other-"
"-thank you," Avery interrupts, seeing the dark look crossing Narcissa's face. "It's kind of you."
She stands for a long moment, between them and the fireplace, appraising the two younger men before reaching behind her for the pot of Floo powder. "Sometimes it is best not to interfere."
"Mulc is - was - Evan's best mate," Regulus says. "He should be here."
Narcissa looks from one wizard to the other. "I imagine he understands his duty. He has made his choice."
"It's not right. He'll regret it for the rest of his life if he's not here to see him off."
She looks directly at Avery. "And you? Do you think the same?"
Avery shrugs. "You said it, Reggie, he has his reasons for not wanting to be here and-"
"-Ave-"
"-perhaps you should pay attention to your friend, Reggie," Narcissa says, offering the pot of powder to him. "I shall leave you to it. The Minister and his entourage will be expecting my hospitality," she says, pointedly, before sweeping out and leaving the two of them in the room.
Severus cuddles River against his chest, and peers at the notepad, reading through Lily's notes. "Yeah," he calls, through to the hallway, "this makes sense to me, love. Vernon's the obvious choice."
Lily pokes her head back through the door. "The obvious choice?"
"Least lost if anything goes wrong," Severus says, with a smirk.
"Sev!"
"Don't 'Sev' me," he laughs, "you were thinking it too!"
She stands, brushing at her knees, and moves to sit onto the bed, two more books in her hands. "You don't really think anything will go wrong, do you?"
"No," he says, firmly. "You remember what it felt like when you did it to me, right?"
"Yeah."
"Wasn't hard, was it?"
"The spell wasn't," she says, quietly, "but Sev, I was so scared, scared that I was going to screw it up-"
"-you didn't," Severus says, breezily, "and I lived to see another day."
"And your magic?"
"I can control it, Lil," he says, firmly. "I just need to focus, that's all." He gives her a broad grin and taps the page. "This is a great idea."
"So, when shall we do it? This week? Next week?"
"No time like the present," Severus says, pressing a kiss to River's forehead and passing him to her. "I'll get changed and we'll go."
"Sev, are you serious, we can't-"
"-the longer they're creating new memories," Severus says, standing in the hallway, "the harder it's going to be to push it all back into some cohesive narrative. We should get on with it." He smirks. "Unless you had something more pressing that we should do this afternoon?"
"...no."
"Well then," he says, with a confident grin, "let's do it. Let's bring them back, love."
Avery stands back, letting Regulus do the talking - a Floo call to Helen is quickly followed by a visit, and although she embraces the both of them, it's clearly Regulus who is the favoured friend.
She leads them up the familiar spiral staircase to Mulciber's bedroom, and when she raps sharply on the door, his muffled shout is filled with a litany of expletives.
Helen turns apologetically towards Regulus and Avery. "He hasn't changed his mind since he saw you yesterday, Reggie."
"Why would I change my mind?" comes a shout.
"Reggie's here-"
"-you can go! Go with him, Helen! Leave me out of it!"
"And Cato," she calls, "he's come too, Rupert."
There's a momentary silence, and the three exchange a glance as they wait in breathless anticipation for an answer - and then there's a shuffling and a thump, and then the bedroom door swings open. Mulciber stands before them, his hair unruly and his face unshaven, his eyes bloodshot.
"Fuck me, Ave."
"We haven't got time for that," Regulus quips, "the service starts at-"
"-you're a little fucking prick, Reggie," Mulciber sneers, pushing past him and grabbing Avery roughly by the shoulder and pulling him into the room. "Go on," he snaps, "haven't you two got a service to attend?"
Regulus exchanges an unsure look with Helen. "You coming with us, Ave?"
"He's staying here," Mulciber says. "We've got things to talk about, haven't we, Ave?"
"Ave?"
From behind Mulciber, Avery shrugs. "You don't want to miss the service," he says, quietly. "I'll catch you up."
"You heard him. Fuck off," Mulciber enunciates, slamming the door loudly.
Lily hates the suit he's wearing, although she can't help but smile when they all step out of the door and Severus waves enthusiastically towards Brendan through his front window.
"You really do look like you're going to visit your probation officer," she says, with a smile.
"Only the best for Grunnings Limited," he laughs, straightening his lapels.
Despite Mulciber looking as if he's been sleeping in a ditch for the past week, his bedroom is pristine. Mulciber indicates towards the bed, silently suggesting that Avery should sit down - and Avery's surprised at the floral scent that emanates from the sheets; entirely unlike the strange odour that envelops his own.
Mulciber stalks towards the window, and reaches into the bottom drawer of the bureau, pulling out a half empty bottle of firewhisky. "Drink?"
"I've had a few already."
"Yeah? Enjoying yourself at Malf's, were you? Grand old party, is it? Good old Malf-"
"-I was seeing our friend off," Avery counters, and at the spite in Mulciber's tone, he suddenly wishes he'd had fewer flutes of champagne, "that's all."
"How the fuck did you even get out?"
"Clearly no fucking thanks to you," Avery snaps, his temper getting the better of him. "You did fuck all!"
"I begged the Dark Lord!" Mulciber shouts. "I went to him on hands and knees, my face pressed into the dirt, and I begged him to help you!"
"Yeah, well, fat lot of fucking good that was, Mulc, because he didn't - and you fucking know he didn't! And what did you do then? You just gave up, left me to rot! Happy for me to spend the rest of my life in Azkaban-"
"-you haven't answered my question."
"What does it matter?"
"It matters because Barty got Kissed for less-"
"-and what, you're disappointed that I wasn't?" Avery stares at him, anger coursing through his veins. "This isn't about Malf, is it?" Avery says, standing up from the bed. "You being angry at Malf is the cock and bull story you've fed to Reggie, and no wonder you sent him off-"
"-you wanted him to hear this, did you-"
"-you didn't!" Avery stuffs his hands into the pockets of his robes, willing them to stop trembling in anger. "I can't believe I trusted you."
"I did everything you asked of me-"
"-everything except get me out!" Avery throws his hands in the air. "I told you where Snape was, and you couldn't find him-"
"-he wasn't there!"
"He fucking was!"
"...you've seen him?"
Avery opens his mouth, confirmation on the tip of his tongue, and then he suddenly recalls Regulus' words: probably for the best, both for him and for you. You don't want her banging on your door if she thinks you know where he is.
"Exactly," Mulciber sneers, taking Avery's silence as an admission. "I looked and he wasn't there! I did everything I could to help you. Ungrateful fucking dickhead, you are."
"Yeah, well, it's lucky for me I've got other friends, isn't it? Better friends."
"The Minister, was it him?" Mulciber takes a swig from the bottle of firewhisky, and then brandishes it before him. "You were making a big song and dance about how he gifted you one of these-"
"-that's why you're not seeing Ros off! You daren't stand in the same room as the aurors because you're scared that they'll find out the truth-"
"-what truth? I didn't kill Ros!"
"Nor did I," screams Avery, "but you'd have let me go down for it! You didn't try to exonerate me because if I got off, then the finger would be pointed at you instead!"
"That's not true."
"I've been blind all these years, but I've got your fucking measure now, Mulc."
"You're wrong."
"I'm not."
"Ave-"
"No, fuck you, Mulc. I was a joke to you at school, and you never had time for me since-"
"-we're busy men-"
"-weren't too busy for Ros though, were you?" Avery shakes his head. "Even Sev fucked a Mudblood for years, and you were more accepting of him than me when he finally saw sense."
"It's different, Snape had talent-"
"-I've got talent!" Avery roars, spittle flying from his mouth. "I've got talent, you fucking arsehole. You can't see it, but others can, and you'll fucking see!"
Mulciber turns the firewhisky bottle in his hands, twisting it over and over and over. "It's Malfoy, isn't it? He got you out. He can see your talent," he sneers. "Tell me I'm wrong."
Avery doesn't answer, his jaw set. "I don't need to tell you anything."
Mulciber slams the bottle of firewhisky onto the top of the bureau. "Piss off then," he snaps, "enjoy yourself, stepping into Snape's shoes-"
"-it's got nothing to do with Sev-"
"-with him gone, there's a vacancy at Malfoy's side, isn't there? No wonder you were having fun this afternoon, dancing on Evan's grave-"
"-I wasn't having fun, I was paying my respects, honouring the dead instead of lying around in bed like you were!"
Mulciber gives a soft laugh. "Who knows, maybe Malfoy will help you to find a Mudblood of your own to fuck, save you spending all your inheritance down Knockturn-"
"-you're bang out of order-"
"-course, Malfoy won't let scum like you touch Cissy, not like I have, but maybe he'll let you get on your knees and suck his dick-"
"-fuck you, Mulc-"
"-because when you're trapped in his web, that's what you'll end up doing," Mulciber hisses. "He'll use you. He's not your friend."
Avery shakes his head disdainfully. "And you'd know all about friendship."
"Yeah! Yeah, I do! Ros was my friend-"
"-and you can't be arsed to show your face at his funeral-"
"-Reggie's my friend-"
"-some friend! Ten minutes ago you called him a fucking prick and chucked him out on his ear!"
"Snape-"
"-was my friend! Was Malf's friend! He wasn't your friend! You're the reason he lost his magic, you set him up-"
Mulciber continues loudly, undeterred. "And you! You're my friend."
"-and you set me up as well! Twice!" Avery shakes his head and stalks to the door. "So, no, I'm not your friend, Mulc. I'm really, really not."
Like you belong, Severus thinks, as he pushes the glass door open. He strides to the reception desk, a broad smile on his face.
"I have an appointment with Vernon Dursley," he says, smoothly. "Two o'clock."
The receptionist looks down at her pad, and frowns, her finger trailing through the list of names and times. "I'm sorry, Mr..?"
"Mr Malfoy," Severus says, a smile on his face.
"I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy," she says, "but there must be some mistake. A mix up. You're not on the list."
"Really?" he says, leaning over the desk. "Vernon and I go back a long way, he assured me that he would be free." He stares into her eyes and then looks over at the far wall, and he suppresses a smile as he watches her instinctively follow his gaze, missing the movement of his wand protruding from his sleeve. "Could you double check for me? I'd hate to miss him due to a clerical error."
At this, the receptionist returns her gaze to the pad - and this time, her mouth opens in surprise. "Mr Malfoy, I am so sorry," she says, earnestly, turning the pad so he can see it, "it's written right here in front of me, I can't understand how I missed it."
"I'll keep it between us," Severus says, with a smirk. "Vernon doesn't need to know. I'll see myself up, if that suits you? After all, he'll be expecting me."
Avery's shaking with rage as he lands back in the fireplace in the Manor. He dusts his robes off, extinguishes the wall lanterns, and just as he's about to yank the door open, he hears familiar voices from the corridor, so he presses himself against the solid stone wall, listening keenly.
"We don't have time for this!"
"We do! They won't dare to start without me," Lucius hisses, his voice dark. "I want you to explain-"
"-I don't know what you're talking about!"
"You do! Returned to me! Returned!"
"I really don't, I haven't spoken with…" Slughorn falters and trails off. "No, no, there must be a simple explanation. I'll get hold of him, it'll be a mistake, that's all."
"A mistake?"
"With the owls."
Lucius scoffs loudly. "And to think that I was trying to help you!"
"But Lucius, if Arsensius didn't receive your letters then I cannot-"
"-but you did! He may not have, but you did!"
"I cannot help, Lucius, there are no suitable candidates in my NEWT classroom, and Dumbledore won't allow, won't permit me, not after Severus-"
"-and whose fault is that? What on earth possessed you to dismiss him? You and Jigger both!" Lucius hisses. "What was the problem, Horace? Did I not line your pockets sufficiently? Are the Malfoy galleons no longer accepted-"
"-what happened between Severus and his masters is confidential-"
"-don't," Lucius warns, his voice dropping even lower, "don't bullshit me, Horace. The entire wizarding world knows that you declared him a drunkard."
Avery presses his ear harder against the wooden door, straining to hear Lucius' barely audible threats.
"-as if that wasn't enough, you got to Jigger before I did," Lucius murmurs, "which was incredibly stupid."
"I haven't uttered a word to Arsenius-"
"-frankly, I am amazed at you! You knew when you dismissed Severus that I would be in need of a replacement brewer, and I thought you'd be grateful that I'd chosen Jigger rather than you, but here you are - meddling!"
"I didn't meddle! Your letter to me, it suggested-"
"-it suggested nothing! If you had read it carefully, I merely asked for an invite to the castle, not for your services!"
"An invite to do what? To sit with Dumbledore at the staff table? To teach a class or two?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Or to threaten me face-to-face? To request my services as a brewer?" Slughorn counters, angrily.
There's a silence, and Avery tries to moderate his breathing, fearful that his heart is banging so loudly that he's missing part of the conversation.
"You have absolutely no idea how wrong you are," Lucius says, finally. "Your reckless behaviour has put me in a very difficult position."
"Lucius, I haven't… I've done nothing that… Come now, we can-"
"-there is no we, Horace." There's a long, horrible pause, and then Lucius speaks again. "You know as well as I do that Jigger has disappeared."
"I don't know, I haven't spoken with-"
"-you know he's disappeared," Lucius reiterates.
"So I have been told," Slughorn continues, his voice trembling, "and I may have feared as much but I did not know."
Lucius harrumphs scornfully. "Whether you knew or not, Horace, it doesn't change the facts - he has gone, so now there are only three suitable candidates, of which you are one!"
"And is there one vacancy, Lucius, or two?"
There's another extended pause.
"Two," Lucius says, eventually, "as you should well know."
"I can't do it. I can't brew for him."
"You shouldn't have to," Lucius reasons. "Belby created Wolfsbane, Borage has an agreement with Belby-"
"-and I've never brewed it, never even seen the method-"
"-then you have nothing to fear," Lucius says, mildly. "Out of the three candidates, you are clearly the least qualified."
"But I can't help you either, Lucius. I can't brew street potions, not at Hogwarts. There's my teaching, Dumbledore-"
"-I'm not asking for anything complex, or a worrying quantity. I merely require a handful of potions that you can brew with your eyes closed." Lucius' voice is smooth. "After all, Severus managed. I'm sure you shall also find a way."
"And if I can't?"
"Then I will require the services of either Borage or Belby instead, which means that they would be unable to help our mutual friend-"
"-he's not my friend-"
"-so your name would be put forward instead-"
"-no. Absolutely not."
"It doesn't matter that you haven't brewed that particular potion before, I am sure you're a quick study," Lucius drawls, a hint of dark amusement clear in his tone. "Come now, Horace, a man of your talents would certainly be suitable for the Dark Lord's requirements. I would ensure that you were highly recommended."
"Lucius, there's really no need, I can…"
Avery presses himself against the door, striving to hear the remainder of the conversation, but the voices trail off, becoming more and more distant as the two wizards walk away from the room.
Avery takes a deep breath and counts to ten, and then he pulls the door open loudly - just as he would've had he not heard the two men in the corridor. He sets off at a decent pace, his boots clattering loudly - simultaneously hoping to catch the men up, whilst also hoping that it appears to be coincidence.
Before him, he can see the corridor door being held slightly ajar, and as he reaches it, Lucius' long arm snakes out and grips the neck of his robes, pushing him forcefully back into the corridor.
"Where the bloody fucking hell have you been?"
"I went with Reggie," Avery gasps, "to see Mulc."
"I asked you to trail-"
"-and Reggie asked me to see Mulc!"
Lucius tightens his grip. "And now I see where your loyalties lie."
"You don't," Avery mutters, wrenching himself free of Lucius' grip.
"Reggie came back ages ago," Lucius says, his pale eyes raking over Avery, "with Helen in tow."
"Because Mulc wanted to speak to me. Alone." Avery pauses. "About you."
Lucius falls silent, his eyes not leaving Avery's. "...and?"
"I put him right."
"What's he saying?"
"It doesn't matter. He's dead to me." Avery meets Lucius' gaze, his chin tilted upwards. "You got me out."
"I did."
"And Sev trusted you. He pretended… At times, he pretended that he didn't, but that was a charade, wasn't it?"
There's a momentary pause.
Avery leans in closer, his breath hot on Lucius' cheek. "He trusted you, didn't he?"
"...yes."
"That settles it then." Avery gives a sharp nod and moves slightly backwards, out of Lucius' personal space. "I always trusted Sev's judgement, so I trust you too." He extends his hand, waiting for Lucius to take it - and when he does, and shakes it firmly, Avery stands a little taller. "I'll get the information you need-"
"-you should sit with him at the service," Lucius nods, "he doesn't seem to know anyone else amongst us. Extend the hand of friendship."
"You."
Severus sits back in his chair, sweat running down his face. "Yeah, Vernon. Me."
Vernon looks bewildered, as if he's trying to make sense of the sudden flurry of memories that have hit him. "You utter bastard."
Severus leans forward and taps the phone on Vernon's desk. "Glad you're back with us," he smirks. "Now it's your wife's turn. Give her a call."
"You can't do this, you can't just mess with our minds, this is sick. I feel sick."
"It'll wear off," Severus says, his wand clenched in his hand, "you're a big boy, you'll cope. Deep breaths," he advises, leering over him. "Ring her. Tuney. Do it now."
"No, I'm not putting her through this! It's better she doesn't know of your type-"
"-better that you and her live two different lives?" Severus counters, a wide smirk spreading across his face. "Secrets that only you know? Talking past each other instead of to each other? You don't want that for the rest of your lives," he hisses, tapping the phone again. "Ring her."
"No."
"Ring. Her."
"I won't let you lay a finger on her!"
Severus gives a sudden laugh. "This is touching, Dursley, but it isn't about what you want."
"You won't, you can't-"
"-Imperio!"
Pettigrew glances at his watch as they file into the grand hall, and he purposely lingers, hoping to secure a seat on a pew at the back.
He watches intently as an array of witches and wizards embrace and shake hands, sharing stories and kisses and terms of affection, and he tries to memorise as much as possible - trying to remember who stood with who, and who seemed sincere.
He shudders when there's a draught of cool air behind him, and when he falters in his walk, he feels Lucius pushing past him, as if he was nothing more than an afterthought. He quickly ducks through the doors and into the rear most pew - and a moment later, he's surprised to hear a low voice.
"Is this taken?"
"Feel free to join me," Pettigrew whispers, trying to place the man's face.
"Should be up the front, really," Avery says. "We were mates. Me and Ros."
"I suppose we all were," Pettigrew says, immediately cringing at how high his voice sounds. "In a way."
Avery gives a huff of laughter. "Yeah. In a way. That's right."
Sweat is pouring down Severus' face as he finishes up with Petunia, and he kneels over her prone body, gripping her face in his hand, his wand tracking between her eyes.
"I feel sick."
"Good," he says, unsympathetically, "it means it's worked."
"Like I've drunk a bottle of wine and slept on the floor."
He laughs. "Do that often, d'yer?"
"Lily," she spits, trying to look around, but her face is being held firmly in place by his grip. "Where is she?"
"If I know your parents," he says, with a smile, "she'll be having a nice cup of tea with them at your house."
"They don't know about her, about you, about any of this, how can she-"
"-she was waiting for you to leave," he hisses, "we planned this. The two of us. Together."
"So what now?" Petunia asks, her eyes cold. "We all go back home and play at being happy families?"
"No," Severus says, with a quick smile, "least, not yet. We've got things to sort with her parents-"
"-my parents-"
"-so you and Vernon are going to stay in a hotel for a day or two."
"We are not."
Severus rolls his eyes. "You are," he says, sliding his wand into his hand again, and this time, he barely pauses before pointing it at his sister-in-law. "Imperio."
Avery's decent, Pettigrew thinks, as Avery presses a tumbler filled with amber liquid into his hand. "I probably shouldn't drink anymore," he protests.
"Come on," Avery urges, "Ros would want you to let your hair down." He takes a swig from the glass. "Y'know, you talk about Ros and it's obvious you knew him, but I don't know you at all."
"Nor me you," Pettigrew says, his breath catching in his chest.
"What house did you say you were in?"
"I didn't."
"Not Slytherin," Avery says, his eyes raking over him, "I know that much. Hufflepuff?"
Pettigrew shakes his head.
"Claw?"
"No."
"Fuck me," Avery says, starting at him in disbelief, "a lion?" He looks around. "My year?"
"Yeah."
"You knew the black sheep then?"
"...who?"
"The Black," Avery enunciates, "sheep. Should've been one of us but he was a traitor and joined your lot," he says, and puts his hand up, "no offence." At Pettigrew's blank look, he smiles. "Sirius."
"Oh." Pettigrew nods. "Yeah."
"Must've been in your year."
"Yeah."
"In your dorm."
"Yeah," Pettigrew says, awkwardly. "Yeah."
"That's all you've got to say about him? 'Yeah'?"
"I don't, I haven't, he was-"
"Petey!"
Both men look up at the sudden shriek, and before Pettigrew can react, Helen has thrown her arms around his neck and has pressed a kiss to his cheek.
"Fancy you being here!"
"Well, Helen," he says, with a smile, "I couldn't let Evan go without seeing him off."
"Oh, well you're better mannered than Rupert," she gripes, threading her hand into Pettigrew's, "but he'd be glad to know you were here, I know he would."
"Wait, you know Mulc?"
"Know us?" Helen gives a happy laugh, squeezing Avery's cheek between finger and thumb. "The Pettigrews - well, the Wilkes, as you became - were permanent fixtures at our home when I was at Hogwarts."
"I'm not a Wilkes. I'm still a Pettigrew."
"Yeah, I heard about you and your stepdad not quite seeing eye-to-eye."
Avery glances between the two of them, his expression wary. "You didn't like the Wilkes'?"
"It's not blood, it's not houses," Pettigrew says, quickly, "it's just personality." He shrugs. "I was eleven and some guy shacked up with my mother. I wasn't… I wasn't kind."
"Who is at eleven?" Helen says, generously.
"Wilkes is a better name than Pettigrew," Avery says.
"Oh, don't start with your family tree stuff again, Cato," Helen warns, "he's awful for it, Petey."
"I'm just saying! You'd have had an easier time looking for a job-"
"-you're not working?"
"Not at the moment," Pettigrew says, evasively. "Tough market. I didn't do so well at Hogwarts."
Helen looks towards Avery. "You can help him, surely?"
"Yeah," Avery says, knocking back his drink, "course I can."
"There you go," she says, kissing him on the cheek. "Cato'll look after you."
"Ave," Avery corrects, as Helen spies someone else and runs across the room to speak to them. "It's Ave. Don't ever call me Cato."
"Got it, Ave."
"Good." Avery taps his glass. "Drink up, and we'll have another. It's not often Malf's best firewhisky gets put out for the masses."
Severus straightens his suit jacket, and pushes his hair behind his ears before he raps sharply on the door.
"Hello?"
"Hi," Severus says, extending his hand, "I believe you have my wife here?"
David eyes him critically. "It's Steven, isn't it?"
Severus nods, remembering his discussion with Vernon on the driveway. "Yeah."
"You're married to Lily?" David appraises the man standing before him, and then opens the door more widely, ushering him in.
"Yeah," Severus says, with a broad smile, wiping his smart shoes on the mat, "and that look says it all."
"I didn't say-"
"She's well out of my league," he grins, putting his hands up. "I'm really not offended, believe me. I've heard it for years."
"Lily," David calls, as he locks the door, "I've your husband here."
"Oh," she says, with a beaming smile, as he walks in. "You found us."
"You didn't make it easy, love," he laughs, sitting next to her, "I knocked on half of the doors in the street."
"Can I get you both a cup of tea?" Rose offers, standing.
"No," Severus says, with a smile, "sit down. Both of you."
Her parents exchange a look, clearly discomfited at the idea of this strange boy ordering them around in their daughter's house - and it's awkward, the four of them sitting stiffly, four strangers who barely know one another.
"So, Steven-" David starts.
"-so Lil, what are you doing here, bothering this lovely couple?" Severus interrupts, staring at his wife. "I've been searching around the neighbourhood for a good half an hour and-"
"-she was asking about the nursery groups," Rose interjects. "She saw Vernon and Petunia's names in the-"
"-parish magazine," Severus finishes, with a smile. "Very enterprising of you, love," he says, looking at Lily fondly. "She's been desperate to find a baby group."
"I'm so bored at home," she says, with a small laugh, "it's difficult with a newborn."
"We've heard all about it," David smiles from his seat on the sofa. "She was fretting that he didn't look anything like her but Rosie soon put her right."
"He's got her chin," Rose insists, "although now that I've seen you up close, Steven-"
"-he's all me, isn't he? Chip off the old block, aren't you, boy," Severus says, with a grin, leaning over his son. "Poor kid."
"I am terribly sorry about all of this," Lily says, looking fondly towards her parents, "we really shouldn't have intruded."
"Nonsense," Rose says, firmly, "that's what neighbours are for. What is it we always say? Neighbours are just friends you haven't yet met?"
David gives a weary nod. "That's what you always say, Rosie."
"Yeah, and you should listen to Rose, love. You shouldn't worry so much," Severus says, with a smile. He loosens his tie and shrugs out of his jacket, folding it and putting it next to him on the sofa. "Perhaps we should stay for that cuppa? Make that transition from strangers to friends?"
"Of course, I'll-"
"No, Rosie," David interjects, "Steven and I will do it, won't we, Steve?"
"Yeah," Severus says, standing and joining David, "sounds good to me, David."
There's something in David's expression which makes Lily watch him keenly as he stares at Severus and then stands, keeping his distance as he follows the younger man into the kitchen.
David stands at the doorway as Severus walks into the kitchen, taking mugs from the stand and filling the kettle from the tap at the sink. He opens the top drawer by the cooker, taking out a teaspoon, and then he reaches into the left hand bottom cupboard to take out the sugar.
"Teabags are in the top cupboard on your right," David says, quietly. "Second shelf."
Severus obediently tugs open the cupboard door and reaches up, his shirt hiking up as his long arm feels inside the cupboard for the box, and he's so intent on the task in hand, he doesn't register the slide of metal against wood as a large knife is withdrawn from the block on the counter. A moment later, Severus freezes as he feels cool metal pressed against the small of his back, blade meeting skin where his shirt has moved upwards.
"But then you already knew that, didn't you?"
"David?" Severus says, his voice slightly higher than usual. "Is that… Is that a knife?"
"Just like you already knew where the cutlery drawer was, and where the sugar was, and my name."
"David-"
"-how," David hisses, twisting the cold blade of the knife against Severus' back, and wrapping his other arm around Severus' neck, "the fuck do you know my name, you little punk?"
Chapter 145: A wizard
Chapter Text
"I'm not complaining," Pettigrew says as Avery pours another healthy measure of firewhisky into his glass, "I'm just… Don't worry about what Helen thinks - you shouldn't drop your mates to stand with me."
"I don't worry about what Helen thinks," Avery answers, pouring whisky into his own glass and then placing the bottle back onto the floating tray, "I do whatever I want." He sniffs the contents of his glass, sharing a beaming smile with Pettigrew as the aroma of the whisky meets his nose. "Besides, it's not just me dropping my mates, is it? What about you? Who did you come with?"
Pettigrew glances around the large room, failing to spot Slughorn amongst the masses. "No one," he lies.
"You came here on your own? Even though everyone knew you as a Gryffindor?" Avery sips at his firewhisky. "That takes guts. No wonder you got stuck in with the lions."
"You didn't remember me as being a Gryffindor," Pettigrew quietly points out, "and I knew people of old."
"Like Helen."
"Not just Helen," Pettigrew says, quietly. "It's not as simple as house lines."
"No? Always seemed to be at school. Took enough grief from your lot."
"Imagine what it was like for me."
"You won't get me feeling sorry for a Gryffindor," Avery scoffs. "What's wrong, Dumbledore's favouritism wasn't enough for you?"
"I didn't mean… Wait, you think he favoured us?" Pettigrew shakes his head. "I meant, my mother expected me to be in Slytherin. She wasn't happy when I wasn't." He grimaces. "To add insult to injury, I was so close."
"A hatstall?"
Pettigrew nods, taking a swig from his own glass. "More's the pity - I'd have enjoyed it on your side more, I think."
"What swung it?"
Pettigrew shrugs. "The hat told me I wasn't cunning enough to be a snake. Too foolhardy," he says, with a smile. "Heart on my sleeve and all that."
"It was right," Avery says, "look at you coming here - alone! None of your mates fancied coming along then, for a bit of moral support?"
"They wouldn't be welcome here," Pettigrew says, "and it's not about me being comfortable, is it? It's about paying respects to Evan."
Avery raises his glass. "To Evan."
Pettigrew copies his action.
"Stupid, really," Avery says, and at Pettigrew's look of outrage, he laughs. "You not changing your name, I mean."
"I like Pettigrew," Pettigrew says, defensively, "I'd been one for years. Feels weird just changing your whole identity like that."
"Witches do when they get married."
"Yeah, well, I'm not a witch, am I?"
Avery smirks. "No, but a Hallowed Fourteen is better than a Sacred Seventy-Six."
"I've never been into those trees."
"No wonder you didn't get into Slytherin," Avery says, knocking back his firewhisky. "Take it from me, the Wilkes' lasted longer than the Pettigrews - and the better the name, the easier it is to get you in at the Ministry, especially at the moment."
Pettigrew gives him a sad smile. "You were just posturing to Helen then?"
Avery gives him a dark look. "I didn't say that."
"So you reckon you can help me? Even with a lousy name like Pettigrew?"
"I can do all kinds of things." Avery eyes his empty glass. "Here, fancy something a bit stronger?"
"Like what?"
Avery glances around him and then jerks his head. "Nott's here. His sister brews. I reckon he can sort us out."
"I thought she'd lost her hands?"
Avery shrugs as he heads for the door and moves through it. "Still got the mind for it though, hasn't she? Half a brewer's better than none - all she needs is for someone to do as she says."
"If it was that simple, Sluggy wouldn't have had to fail half the class in our OWL year," Pettigrew mumbles as he quickens his step to catch up with Avery. "Is she back brewing for Malfoy then?"
"No." Avery pauses. "Least, I don't think so."
"There's not many left for him to choose from," Pettigrew says, walking faster to catch up with Avery. "Brewers, I mean."
"No."
"Goldstein was murdered the other month."
"I know."
"And after Snape-"
"-what do you know about Snape?" Avery says, suddenly turning, his robes swinging behind him.
Pettigrew holds his hands up. "Nothing. Nothing, just what everyone's saying."
"And what's everyone saying?" Avery asks, his eyebrows knitting together.
"Nothing. Not really. Just…"
"Just what?"
"Icarus."
Avery scowls. "Icarus?"
"Flew too close to the sun. Into danger." Pettigrew shrugs. "There's nothing else to say, is there? It's all just speculation seeing as the Prophet didn't list his misdemeanour."
"Yeah."
"Weird, wasn't it? I mean, they usually do." He pauses. "Malfoy not know? I thought they were big mates?"
"Snape had more mates than just Malf," Avery says, bristling.
"I didn't mean, I just meant-"
"-it was an inside job. Someone shafted him," Avery says, bitterly.
"Surely Snape wasn't important enough for someone to do that?"
Avery scoffs. "Moody had a hand in it, I reckon. Vindictive fuck, he is."
"Moody? What, the auror?"
"Yeah, the auror." Avery stares evenly at Pettigrew. "You really don't know their history?"
Pettigrew shakes his head. "I don't know anything about Moody, reputation aside. Why would I? I don't know much about Snape for that matter."
"Moody was one of the aurors in the Borage case, and we all know how the Ministry didn't get the verdict it was after."
"They got him kicked out of his apprenticeship."
"That was a given as soon as he signed those papers admitting his complicity," Avery shrugs, "but they were after sending him to Azkaban."
"So why didn't they get it?"
Avery shrugs. "Dunno, didn't have much to do with him back then."
"And you didn't ask?"
"What would be the point in that?" Avery gives him a bemused look.
Pettigrew takes a breath, watching Avery's expression carefully as the pair walk down the corridor. "Can't believe that he got another apprenticeship. Not with that on his record. Incompetency, wasn't it?"
"He had a few months off, used to work at the Broomsticks, do you remember? I think he laid low for a bit - I heard he was thinking of going overseas, studying on the continent - and then Jigger suddenly took him under his wing."
"Oh yeah? Malfoy have a hand in that?"
Avery stops and frowns. "Why would he?"
"Just…" Pettigrew swallows awkwardly. "Snape's been Malfoy's brewer for a long time, hasn't he? He wouldn't want him running off to the continent, would he?" There's a silence, and then Pettigrew smiles. "I'm probably wrong, forget it. What were you saying about Moody?"
Avery slowly starts to walk forwards again, a look of concentration on his face. "This thing with the vampires."
"Moody's got a thing with some vampires?"
"No, Sev was brewing some experimental potion, some vampire thing," Avery confides, running his fingers through his hair, "Fletcher commissioned him, least, that's the word on the street."
Pettigrew looks uneasy. "I didn't know there were vampires near here. Dun...Fletcher," he quickly catches himself, "deals with vampires?"
"Deals with someone who doesn't want to know vampires," Avery corrects. "It was a repellent. I think, anyway. Sev was never one for speaking much about his work."
"And Moody… What? He doesn't want such a potion on the streets? He wants vampires to roam freely?"
"Who knows what Moody wants?" Avery shrugs. "All I know is that he pulled Sev in for carrying snallygaster parts. I've never heard anything more ridiculous in my life."
Pettigrew schools his expression, pretending that it's the first time he's heard such information. "Well, they're not native, are they?"
"They're prohibited, sure," Avery agrees, "but are they worth two and a half weeks in solitary confinement?"
"...I guess not."
"Exactly. It was a vendetta."
"Against who? Us? Or Snape specifically?"
Avery gives another shrug. "Snape, yeah. Maybe Malf as well."
"I thought Malfoy was the Ministry's darling? Fudge is close enough to him-"
"-he finances enough in the Ministry for Fudge to keep him close," Avery says, quietly. "Fudge himself, if rumours are to be believed."
"Just rumours, or do you know it for certain?"
Avery quirks a smile. "What does anyone know when it comes to Malf?"
Pettigrew nods his head, deliberately moving the topic back to safer ground. "So, you think Moody targeted Snape because he was brewing for Malfoy?"
"It's one way to rattle his enterprise," Avery agrees.
"But wouldn't Fudge-"
"-Fudge might not want Malfoy disrupted, but does Moody want Fudge as Minister?" Avery leans in closer. "Or does Moody want Dumbledore?" He draws his wand across his throat. "Stop Malfoy's money and you hamper Fudge's election chances, and then Dumbledore can step in. He's always the populist candidate."
"He's never a candidate. Dumbledore doesn't want the position."
Avery shrugs. "So he says, but whoever is behind what's going on, they're getting results. Did you notice the rest of the established brewers didn't turn up today?"
Pettigrew swallows hard. "Like who?"
"Jigger. Borage. Belby." Avery shakes his head. "They all know that Malf's in the market for a new brewer, so they daren't risk it."
"Sluggy showed."
"He had other reasons."
"Being Evan's housemaster," Pettigrew muses, "and yours. And, well," he smiles, "half of the people here."
"I think that's the only reason he showed his face," Avery says, thinking back to the conversation he'd overheard between Lucius and Slughorn. "Here," he says, pushing the door open to the billiard room, "Nott can be a bit awkward - let me do the talking."
"Keep your hands where I can see them," David instructs, his voice low. "On the cupboard doors. Above your head."
The blade of the kitchen knife is still pressed into the small of Severus' back, and Severus slowly inches his hands upwards, not wanting to give David any reason to react violently.
Severus eventually places his hands against the cupboard doors, and when the soft skin of his palms meets the fashionable textured surface, the door grazing his skin, his heart beats so fast, it feels as if his ribcage is collapsing and compressing his chest.
Severus screws his eyes shut, concentrating on not making a sound, although he can feel his legs trembling in his trousers and he's certain the lightweight fabric will give away his distress if David looks down.
He won't look down. He's watching your hands. Making sure you don't make a move.
He prays that David keeps his eyes upwards and trained on his hands, prays that David can't sense his unease, prays that his discomfort isn't being broadcast across the room.
Moody knew, the traitorous voice screams in his head, Moody could tell. He shakes the thought away, his breath catching in the back of his throat. This isn't like Moody. It's not even like Da.
Severus bites his bottom lip between his teeth, snagging the delicate skin against the jagged edges of his incisors.
Weak as fuckin' piss, he can almost hear the taunt in his brain in his da's voice, can dish it out but canner fuckin' take it. Not a fuckin' tough man now the boot's on the other foot, are yer, soft lad?
He purses his lips and lets out a low exhale, fighting the surge of adrenaline that's coursing around him, silently urging his legs to stop trembling - and then he hears the twist of the gas on the hob, the kettle no longer rumbling its way to a boiling, piercing whistle.
He doesn't want Lil or Rose seeing this, Severus thinks, and no wonder - doesn't want Lily leaping to my defence, doesn't want Rose seeing this side of him; this side of him that she might never have seen before.
It's then that Severus realises that David hasn't moved in the last few minutes - hasn't dug the knife in deeper, hasn't issued a threat, hasn't moved closer, hasn't touched him, or taunted him, or thrown him out.
Severus' eyes narrow. If it was the other way around, he thinks, if I thought someone had broken into River's house and threatened me and Lily, I wouldn't be standing still. I'd have twisted the knife and drawn a trail of blood. I'd have moved it to his throat, scoring a thin line around his neck. I'd have cut into the fabric of his shirt, dragging the knife down to his heart. I'd have shoved him against the worktop, dangled the knife above him, made him watch, made him witness every slash and slice, and I'd have enjoyed the sensation of power thundering through my veins whilst the terror grew inside him.
"We both know you're not going to use that," Severus says, his voice equally low.
"You don't know anything."
"I do," Severus says, his voice steady, "I do know, because I know you."
"You don't know-"
"-I do," Severus insists, "and I know that you're not going to kill me."
There's a momentary standoff, the tip of the knife twisting, digging into the pale skin under Severus' shirt, but not breaking the skin.
"Do it then," Severus goads, his confidence growing at David's continued inaction. "Do it."
"Sure of yourself, aren't you?"
"Hardly."
"If you're so certain I'm not going to hurt you, then why don't you fight back?"
"You don't want to hurt me," Severus reasons. "I don't want to hurt you." He risks a glance over his shoulder, his eyes connecting with David's. "If I move and we wrestle, then that knife could go anywhere. It's as safe in your hands as anywhere else."
David scoffs.
"You're a good man, David Philip Evans," Severus says, his eyes almost flashing with triumph when he registers David's shock at hearing his middle name. "You're not going to kill me."
The wind is fresh on his face, and it takes all of Pettigrew's effort to raise his hand to his eyeline, moving the vial backwards and forwards to bring it into focus, and then peering at the label.
"It definitely says Rain Away," he slurs, letting his arm flop to his side, and letting go of the vial.
The glass vial smashes into pieces, but it sounds distant - as if he's heard a car crash several roads away.
"Did you just drop that?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah," Avery repeats, laughing. It's a small laugh at first - barely a chuckle, and then it repeats and repeats, growing stronger and stronger, until he's laughing loudly, tears filling his eyes.
Avery stretches his legs out before him, his hands loosely hitting the bench as he guffaws in glee - and try as he might, Pettigrew can't fight it; the laughter is infectious, and he soon joins in.
"Shhh, shhhh," Avery howls, laughing louder and louder as he tries to put a finger to his lips, but misses his face by several inches, "shhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
"I've never… I've never taken this before," Pettigrew says, between fits of laughter.
"It's not like this normally," Avery says, pitching forward at an alarming speed - but managing to brace his hands against his knees at the last minute. He slides unceremoniously from the bench, his foot caught at a strange angle beneath his weight.
"What's it do?" Pettigrew asks, leaning back against the bench, as if struggling to hold his head upright. "Normally?"
"Makes you feel good."
Pettigrew laughs loudly. "And you don't feel good?"
"Not really," Avery admits, and then he stumbles forward and turns his head and throws up into a flower bed.
"Shitttttt," Pettigrew says, and he moves his arms through the air, like a swimmer performing breaststroke, trying unsuccessfully to stand and make his way over to his new friend. "Ave? Ave, you ok?"
"He bloody well won't be in a minute," Lucius snaps, storming through a door, his darkest dress robes flowing behind him. He moves over Avery, his hand ready to grip his arm - and then seeing the pool of vomit on the floor, he winces and steps back, clearly having thought better of the movement. "What are you playing at? This is a funeral."
"Sorry, Malf," Avery murmurs, resting his cheek against the paved path, and making no attempt to stand.
"What's he taken?" Lucius' eyes narrow. "You," he barks at Pettigrew, "what've you given him?"
"Nott."
"Not what? You've not given him anything?"
"Potions," Avery mumbles, and then he suddenly raises himself on his hands and knees and throws up again, causing Lucius to step back, a pained look on his face.
"Nott's potions," Pettigrew manages to slur, and Lucius' eyes close in despair.
After a moment, Lucius opens his eyes and watches as both men slump on the floor. He angrily snaps his fingers, calling an elf to his side. "Take these two fools upstairs to the guest suites to sleep this idiocy off," he snaps, "and Dobby?"
Dobby pauses, bending his head in deference.
"Put the oldest sheets on the beds. And the strongest repelling charm you can think of on the carpet."
"Do whatever you need to put yourself at ease," Severus agrees, but although his words are reassuring and calm, he screws his eyes tightly shut.
Severus' nostrils flare as David roughly shoves him harder against the kitchen cabinets, Severus' bony hips pressing against the protruding lip of the worktop - but he doesn't have time to vocalise a protest as David's left hand reaches up and fiddles with Severus' left cuff, twisting the fabric around the button until it falls open.
He can feel David swapping the knife from one hand to the other, the blade scoring carelessly against his skin, and then the tip of the knife pricking more firmly against him as David grips it in his non-dominant hand.
David's right hand reaches up and repeats the action against Severus' right cuff - and then the swap of hands happens again, the knife moving from left to right, and then David's left hand reaches up to grip Severus' tie.
He fiddles with the material, and Severus is relieved that he'd already loosened it, but as David presses his fingers into the knot to untie it, Severus can feel the tie pulling around his neck, and he can't help but gasp.
"I'll do it."
"Keep your hands against the cupboards," David hisses, the balance of power having shifted between them once more, and he pushes harder against Severus, trapping him against the worktop.
Fuck.
It's almost unbearable, feeling a hand on him, feeling his clothing being ripped from his body - first the tie is discarded, falling loose at his feet, and then the buttons of his shirt are yanked open - and he can hear that his own breathing is laboured, and at first, he can't help but wonder why David hasn't noticed his distress, and then he realises that it likely isn't that he hasn't noticed, but that he has no particular reason to care.
"Take it off. One arm at a time," David instructs, the knife still pressing against his back.
It's a slow movement, one arm and then the other, the shirt finally falling free from his body, making a small thud as his wand hits the tile - but he doesn't miss the hitched gasp from behind him as David spies his scarred back.
Severus' shoulders stiffen, hating the way he knows David is perusing his damaged skin. "What? Thought you'd be the first? Didn't realise you'd have competition?"
David doesn't answer, but this time it's Severus who gasps as David reaches around and fumbles with Severus' belt buckle.
"No, get off! What the fuck?" Severus snaps, his hips twisting as he stands in place, his feet and hands locked in position. He doesn't seem to care that his movements cause the blade in David's hand to push uncomfortably into his skin. "I said you could check under my shirt for weapons, not strip me naked! Get off!"
David doesn't answer him, but forcibly rips the belt from him and then pushes two fingers into Severus' waistband, feeling right around his midsection for any type of weapon, ignoring Severus' obvious discomfort.
When he finishes, Severus turns back and eyes him angrily. "Satisfied now?"
"Stay there," David says, the knife still pressed into Severus' back as he bends down and starts to pat at Severus' ankles and then works his way up and down his legs, feeling for a weapon tucked into his sock or strapped against his thighs.
Severus grits his teeth, hissing as he feels David making his way up and down his legs - a surreal mixture of anger and shame and embarrassment flooding his mind, adrenaline coursing through him, begging him to flee or to fight, but instead, the surge just causes his legs to tremble more violently - and he silently wills David not to notice, or, at the very least, not to comment.
He doesn't.
He's a better man than Moody, Severus thinks, remembering how the auror had pressed him against the wall and taunted him, mistaking his fear for twisted anticipation.
David removes his hands, satisfied that Severus isn't carrying an offensive weapon. He slowly lifts Severus' shirt from the kitchen tiles, revealing the wand on the floor. He scoops it up and holds it aloft. "What's this?"
"...you wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me."
Severus stays silent, his mind racing - there's no decent answer; staying silent will cause David to distrust him, but blurting out the truth would negate the hated exercise he's endured, all in the name of building trust.
"No?" David asks, a slight frown on his face. He steps back, finally pulling the knife away from Severus' skin. "Stay there," he instructs, as he turns the wand over and over in his hands, inspecting the ornate carving on the stem.
Severus keeps looking behind him, and can't help but wonder if David can feel anything despite being a Muggle - whether he can feel the potential emanating from it; not quite magic, but almost a vestige, a promise of the possibilities.
When Severus picks up his wand, he feels it - has always felt it, ever since that first moment in Ollivander's Wand Shop. All of the others had felt cool and distant, like a stranger passing by in the street and looking the other way, but the wand which had become his had practically jumped into his palm, quivering with excitement in his tight hold.
David's expression remains blank - puzzled, even - as he rotates the wand over and over in his hands, before finally sliding the wand into his trouser pocket, threading the tip through a belt loop to keep it secure.
"If it's not that important to you," David says, levelly, "I'll keep hold of it."
Severus doesn't speak, but his chest tightens at the sight of his wand under another's ownership, his fingers itching to cast an Accio and return it to his hands - but he keeps them pressed against the kitchen cupboards in a show of faith.
David quietly pulls one of the kitchen chairs out from under the table and sits on it, twisting his leg awkwardly so as not to be prodded by the wand, and places the knife on the table behind him - but still within arm's reach.
"Tell me, Steven," David says, quietly, "if you only met Vernon the other night, the night we first arrived in Surrey, how are you so intimately acquainted with his kitchen cupboards?"
Severus suppresses a short laugh as he realises how David caught him out, and shakes his head.
"Funny, is it?" David leans forward in the chair, his hands pressed together and his index fingers touching his lips, as if deep in thought. "What is this you're up to? Blackmail?"
"Blackmail?" Severus gives him an astonished look from over his shoulder. "What has Dursley got that you think I need?"
David sits back, a smug look on his face. "A good career with excellent pay? A nice house? A top of the range car? Overseas holidays four or five times a year?" He gives Severus a broad smile. "A collection of properly fitted suits?"
Severus shakes his head. "I don't want anything Dursley has got, and I'm certainly not blackmailing him."
"But you're not his neighbour, are you, Steven?"
"Not in a suit like this?"
It's David's turn to suppress a smile. "Not in a suit like that."
"My name's not Steven," Severus says, suddenly. "It's Severus."
At this, David's eyebrows rise. "Severus? Like the emperor?"
"Like the emperor. Once heard, never forgotten," Severus mutters.
At this, David gives him a strange look. "Severus," he says, quietly, as if testing the name out on his tongue. "Severus."
"You can blame my da, I do." Severus turns his head back to face the cupboards. "Can I drop my hands now? It's making my neck ache having to keep turning and peering at you."
David stares at him for a long moment, before nodding his agreement. "Yes, but stay exactly where you are, and keep your hands where I can see them."
Severus slowly turns around on the spot, and then he folds his arms across his chest.
"How did you get those scars?"
"You can blame my da again."
David looks sickened. "He beat you?"
Severus looks away, a slight sneer on his lips. "I didn't come here to talk about me."
David appraises him, taking in his tall, lean figure, his bony arms crossed defensively across his chest, and the hawkish look on the younger man's face.
"So what did you come here for?"
"To put things right."
"What things? Who are you?"
At this, Severus falls silent, not knowing how to explain such a convoluted situation to a man who now has no knowledge of the magical world.
You weren't supposed to explain yourself, he thinks, this wasn't the plan. You were just meant to act - act like you did with Dursley and Petunia.
He stares evenly at David, forcing himself to look at his face and not glance at his wand.
You can't just act now. Not with Lil here.
David eyes him critically. "And you still haven't answered my question."
"What question?"
"How do you know my name?"
"It's not just yours. I know hers as well," Severus says, a hint of defiance in his posture. "Rose Mary. Two separate names, not one. Her middle name was her auntie's, but Rose doesn't remember her so well now because she died in the war, along with Great Uncle Joseph and cousin Billy. If you'd have had a son, you'd have called him Billy Evans."
David looks astonished. "How on earth-"
"And you weren't her first choice in the dating pool," he says, his dark eyes boring into David's, "she was being wooed by Alan for a couple of years, but Alan cheated on her with Pamela, and you - his supposed best friend - swooped in."
At this, David stands. "Severus-"
"-but you're all still friends, aren't you? Little Petunia, or Tuney as you call her, she grew up thinking that they were part of the family. Uncle Alan and Auntie Pamela and the wardrobe full of skeletons."
"How the hell do you know all of this?"
"I know you, David. I know you."
"You can't know me, I've never seen you before!" David exclaims, throwing his arms out wide. "I saw you for the first time that night - that night! Vernon had never seen you before, and yet you know these things-"
"-you do know me," Severus says, quietly, "you just don't remember it."
"Just you?" David glances back at the door behind them. "Or do I know your wife and baby as well?" He shakes his head. "If she even is your wife, or is that a ruse as-"
"-she's my wife," Severus interrupts, fiercely. "She's my wife and she's the best thing that's ever happened to me." He straightens. "Besides, you saw Bean, he's my son - he looks just like me."
"Bean…" David says, slowly, a frown spreading across his face. "Bean. Why does that sound familiar?"
"Because I'm fucking shoddy," Severus mutters under his breath.
"What did you say?"
"David, I… I lo…" He falters. "Look, she loves you, and I've told you, I need to put things right. For her. For you, for you both, you and Rose."
David opens his mouth to respond to Severus' sudden outburst, but a shout from the living room interrupts them.
"David? Is there a problem? With the tea?"
Both men freeze at Rose's call.
"Do you need a hand?"
"You need to keep her in there with Lil," Severus murmurs, "unless you want to explain this," he says, indicating towards his state of undress.
David opens the door a fraction, poking his head through and shooting both women a disarming smile. "It's all under control, there wasn't enough water in the kettle the first time around," he says, the lies tripping off his tongue, "and now Severus is just letting it brew-"
Lily immediately stands, River clutched in her arms. "Severus?"
"Severus?" repeats Rose, seeming baffled. "I thought his name was Steven?"
Lily pushes past her mother, and then past her father and through into the kitchen, her mouth opening wide as she takes in the sight of her half naked husband standing uncomfortably on a fixed spot.
"Like father like daughter," Severus smirks at the three of them. "You're all so fucking smart."
Rose stares at Severus in horror, and then turns first to Lily and then to David. "You mean… She's…. You're saying… A daughter?"
"Don't look so shocked, Rose," Severus says, casually, "if you think Riv's got Lily's chin, then surely you've both noticed that Lily's got yours?" He glances over at David. "And you must've noticed her eyes."
Both David and Rose turn to look at Lily, who looks uncomfortable under their astonished gaze.
"You can see it now, can't you?" Severus says, triumphantly. "You've always marvelled about how Tuney has your eyes, Rose - that marvellous sharp blue which are remarkable in their own right-"
"-they are," David interjects.
"-but when people see us together, when they see David's, they pale in comparison," Rose finishes.
Severus grins. "Yeah, David's eyes are something else, aren't they? Not just green, but a dazzling green, the sort of green you find in the most expensive jewellery, the sort of green where you could lie together on the grass or the sofa or a bed and stare into them all day long." He pauses, and then smiles knowingly. "I bet you've done that with David, haven't you, Rose? I certainly have with Lily."
"Look," David says, taking a step closer towards Severus, "I've put up with enough nonsense tonight, I really don't know what you're-"
"-David," Rose says, quietly, gripping his sleeve.
"You know, don't you, Rose?" Severus says, quietly, his eyes boring into hers. "David knows," he says, refusing to look in David's direction, "but he's pretending that he doesn't - pretending that it's fine that he can't remember the name of the town he lived in for forty years, the town where he brought his kids up, where-"
"-I don't have kids, I have one daughter!"
"-you have two daughters!"
"David," Rose says, again, twisting the material of his jumper in her fingers, "we always said… We always said that if we had another girl…"
"I'd be called Lily," Lily finishes.
"And so she was." Severus keeps staring at Rose. "Billy. Lily. Billy. Lily. You know, don't you, Rose?"
Rose looks from David to Lily and back to David again. "I've never seen eyes like yours on anyone else," she says, her voice a mere whisper.
"It's not just that, is it?" Severus pushes. "There's more, isn't there? What did I miss?"
"What do you mean?"
"You can't remember the town where you lived, but neither does David. He knew the name Bean," and as he says it, Rose jolts, and Severus gives another triumphant grin, "and so do you. But there's something else, isn't there? What is it that haunts you, Rose? What is it that feels strange?" He lowers his voice slightly. "How did I fuck up?"
There's a long lingering silence, and then David reaches down and takes Rose's hand. Severus watches them, as if he's fascinated in how the pair comfort each other, so reminiscent of how he and Lily act in times of distress.
"I was pregnant," Rose says, eventually. "After Tuney."
"But it's as if we'd dreamt it," David says, his voice quiet. "As if everything went smoothly, went perfectly, but then…"
"Nothing," Rose finishes. "No baby, and neither of us can remember why."
"You erased from when they first met me," Lily realises in horror, "which is what you'd do for most people, but not their baby."
Severus leans his head back, biting his lip hard. "Fuck. I didn't even think about the pregnancy."
"What do you mean by that?" David asks, his brow furrowed and his lips set in a thin line. "What do you mean he erased?"
"He wiped your memories of me," Lily says, holding River tightly against her, "and of him. And, it seems," she says, shooting Severus a fierce look, "all memory of River, but he left the name Bean behind-"
"-who's Bean?"
"Our son," Severus explains, "River. Before he was born, we needed a name."
"Something better than 'it' or 'thing'," Lily adds. "We chose Bean. All through my pregnancy, he was Bean."
"Bean's your grandson. Your first grandchild," Severus emphasises, running his hands through his hair. "Merlin, that nearly killed me, hearing you say that Tuney was going to have your first grandchild."
Rose looks at David, surprise etched on her face, and she silently mouths the name Merlin at him.
David frowns. "You were eavesdropping on us?"
"It's hardly the worst thing I did that night. I was making sure you arrived here safely, making sure you sounded normal," Severus retorts. "That sort of magic, it's dangerous, it can-"
"Magic?" Rose looks as if she's about to faint. "Magic?"
David's hand instinctively moves to the wand secured through the belt loop of his trousers.
"Yeah, David, that's right, it's a wand," Severus says, holding his arm outstretched, "my wand, and as I'm very attached to it, I'd like it back now."
David looks dubious, his fingers curling around it.
"Daddy, don't," Lily says, and she tries not to wince as David seems stunned at her use of the name, "he'll just take it from you if you don't hand it back to him."
"He can't take it. We had an agreement that he'd stay right where he is."
"I wondered why you were fixed to the spot," she murmurs, "honourable at least."
"You know I am."
"And why are you half dressed, Sev-"
"Accio," Severus murmurs, clearly not wanting to dwell on the earlier events in the kitchen with David, and his wand spirals through the air and back into his hand.
David stares down at his now empty pocket in horror. "What the bloody-"
"-I told you, Daddy!"
Rose stares between David and Severus and back to David again. "Did he just-"
"-yes," Severus interrupts, "and I can do magic in all manner of ways," he adds, with a smile. "Watch." He casts in a quick flurry, causing the taps in the sink to run, the back door to swing open, the kitchen chairs to draw themselves back under the table, the radio to switch on, and the gas on all four rings of the hob to catch alight. "How's that?" he asks, his eyes flashing. "Or do you want to see more?"
"That's enough, Sev," Lily warns. "Stop it."
He stoops and picks his shirt up, shrugging it on. "Finite Incantatem," he murmurs over and over, before sliding his wand up his sleeve.
"Magic," Rose says, softly.
"You're a…"
"-I'm a wizard," he says, a beatific smile spreading across his face, and Lily is almost instantly transported back to when they were first friends, when she dragged him home to meet her parents, when he told them enthusiastically about his abilities and they were astonished.
Looking at the disbelieving expressions on their faces, she feels as if they're both suddenly children again, and about to be told off for telling impossibly tall tales - just like when he'd stood defiantly in their living room for the first time all those years ago, his temper flaring at being accused of telling lies, magic erupting from his fingertips and wreaking devastation in their front room.
Severus catches her eye, a small smirk on his face. I was more controlled this time, love, he thinks, reasonably certain from her expression which memories are running through her mind.
"It's not just me," Severus adds, turning his attention back to Rose and David. "Your daughter's a witch. One of the most talented witches I've ever met in my life."
"And…" Rose looks between Lily and Severus and then at River. "And your son, is he… Is he also a wizard?"
"Oh yes," Severus says, emphatically.
"Well," Lily interrupts, "it's complicated."
"He's a wizard, Lil."
"Sev," she says, her tone filled with warning.
Severus shrugs, and he casts again to restore order to the kitchen before he starts to button up his shirt. "Whatever. We both know the truth, love." He looks at David. "Can I move from here yet or should I cast a sticking charm at my feet to help me through the next hour or six?"
David stares at him evenly. "It seems to me, Severus, that you'll do whatever the hell you want."
Chapter 146: The perfect dad
Chapter Text
"Don't, Sev," Lily warns, suddenly fearful of what ill-advised retort her husband might offer to her father, "you'll just make it worse."
David scoffs loudly, as if he can't conceive of the possibility of the situation becoming any worse - and almost immediately, Severus' mouth starts to open.
"Don't," she hisses again, moving a step closer to him, her mouth set in a grim line.
"I just wanted to know if I could move yet," he mutters, although she can tell from the expression on his face that he's lying, "that's all."
David ignores the question and looks directly at Lily. "And you, he said you're a witch-"
"-she is-"
"-I was talking to Lily-"
"-Sev, stop it." Lily gives her father an apologetic smile. "Yes."
"So you can do this as well? The thing with the door and the chairs and the taps?" He points towards the wand they all know is concealed in Severus' shirt sleeve. "You've got one of those?"
Lily swallows tightly. "Not at the moment."
"He said you were a brilliant witch."
"She is."
"Sev!"
"It's true-"
"-it's not quite true right now," Lily argues. She turns to her parents. "I can't use magic at the moment."
"Because of your baby?" Rose guesses.
"Not…no, it's…" Lily falters, and glances towards Severus. "It's a bit of a long story really."
"The Ministry, which is the magical government in our world," Severus explains, "forcibly took her magic from her."
Rose and David look horrified.
Lily sighs. "Sev, I don't think this is the right time to discuss-"
"-what did you do for them to punish you like that?"
"I didn't, it wasn't-"
"-it was me, they were after me," Severus interrupts, "not her. She didn't do anything." He pauses. "She's a law-abiding citizen."
"But you're not?"
Before Severus can answer, Rose interjects. "I think," she says, firmly, "that we should sit down and talk about this properly." She flaps her hands, shooing them away. "You can all get out from under my feet whilst I make us a nice pot of tea-"
"-Rosie."
Rose shakes her head. "That includes you, David."
"I'll stay and help," Lily offers, but her mother shakes her head again.
"No, thank you," she says, not unkindly. "I can handle a kettle and a teapot." She nods at River. "Besides, you've got a little one to take care of."
Lily smiles gratefully at Rose whilst David and Severus have a momentary standoff, each watching the other warily as they decide who should lead the way through to the living room, and Lily's immediately struck by the normality of the moment - struck by the idea that in another universe, this would be the perfect moment: her and her parents and her husband visiting her in-laws, bringing their son to meet the extended family, her mother bustling around and looking after them all.
Although Daddy and Severus would be laughing and joking with each other as they pass through the doorway, she thinks, and not looking at each other as if they're mortal enemies.
Eventually Severus walks out first, with David close behind him, and as Lily shifts River's weight in her arms and prepares to follow them, she feels a warm hand on her shoulder.
Lily turns, half expecting her mother to say that she's changed her mind - that she wants her to prepare a tray with cups and saucers, or to choose some biscuits from the tin to arrange carefully on a plate.
Or to pull me into her arms and to tell me that she always knew that I was her daughter - that she missed me, that she's happy that I'm back, that she loves me.
Instead, Rose simply gives her a tight smile. "Do you have milk? Sugar?" She gives Lily an apologetic look. "I have no idea how you both take your tea."
The atmosphere is no better when the four adults settle in the living room. The silence is awkward and lingering, and as Lily surreptitiously peers at her parents as she sips from her teacup, she doesn't miss the horrified glances that her parents share.
They wince whenever she slips and calls them Mummy and Daddy out of force of habit, and they look uneasy whenever Severus shifts in his seat, as if fearing that he's seconds away from unleashing another flurry of spells.
They give her that look too - it's not quite the same, not quite as filled with fear, but she can sense their unease. Severus has already shown his hand, displayed his power, proven his lack of control. She's reasonably certain that their own interactions haven't gone unnoticed, with her repeatedly pulling him back into line, telling him to calm down, warning him to go no further.
Her mother keeps picking up a teaspoon and stirring her tea, watching the contents of the cup intently, whilst her father's eyes are trained on Severus, almost steadfastly refusing to look at his newly discovered daughter and grandson.
Lily follows her father's gaze, turning her head slightly. Severus is half slumped on the sofa, a dark scowl etched on his face, his lip curled in a fixed sneer. He doesn't flinch under David's scrutiny, nor does he react if he registers her eyes upon him. Instead, he seems determined not to meet anyone's gaze, his eyes tracking the coving where the wall meets ceiling.
He's angry, she can tell that much - and from Severus' belligerent posture, she's certain David can sense it too. Severus' resentment seems to spiral from him, and when she thinks of all of the times that he's held himself stiffly, his face blank, utilising Occlumency to prevent anyone from reading his emotions, she's astonished that he's being so open - so raw.
He thought this would be easy, she realises, and for the first time, she finds herself wondering how things went with Vernon and Petunia. She looks over at the clock on the mantelpiece and she gives a wry smile. It went smoothly with them, she thinks, counting back the time from when they left Cokeworth, else he wouldn't have arrived here so soon.
"This is ridiculous," Severus says, breaking the silence. He sits upright and puts his cup and saucer down onto the coffee table with a loud clatter.
"Sev-"
"-we came here for a reason, and it wasn't to sit around awkwardly drinking Tuney's tea from her best china." Severus looks at David, staring him straight in his eyes. "What's the plan, David? Waiting for Vernon to get home and save the day, are we? Going to overpower me together, is that it?"
"Sev-"
"-because you'll have a long wait. He's not coming home, and neither is Tuney."
"Sev!" Lily turns to her parents. "I am so sorry, I don't know what's wrong with him at the moment," she says, pointedly, throwing Severus a furious glare.
"What? I'm telling the truth, love."
"They've gone to a hotel," she says, "that's all."
"I didn't suggest anything else!" Severus looks exasperated, looking between David and Rose and then Lily. "What?" he says, throwing his hands up in the air. "Why does everyone automatically think the worst? What do you think I've done to them?"
"I have no idea," David says, quietly, "that's the problem."
"I gave them their memories back," Severus says, looking annoyed, "and I told them that we were going to do yours next, so we needed some space. That's it, that's all I did!"
"We thought it'd be overwhelming if you were all here at once, all with your memories at different stages," Lily adds, "it takes a while for them to knit back together."
"Exactly, so I booked them a couple of nights in a hotel-"
"-paid for it, did you?" David asks.
"After a fashion-"
"Sev!"
"What?" He turns to his wife and throws his hands up again. "What did you want me to do? Drop a bunch of cash on a hotel for old Moneybags Dursley? Should I just drain our bank account, love? Doesn't matter about rent and coal and food, we can just live on the streets and starve, we can-"
"-Sev, stop this," Lily hisses. "You're making a scene."
Severus sits back in his seat, his sulky expression back on his face. "I'm just saying. We haven't got a wage coming in, love, you know that." He looks back at David. "To answer your question, David, no. No, I did not pay - but neither did Dursley."
"So, what did you do?" Rose asks, tentatively, "if you both didn't pay?"
Severus shrugs. "What do you think?"
Lily glares at Severus, and then turns to her mother. "He'll have modified the check-in book, that's all - added their names to an empty room."
"With magic?"
Lily nods.
"And that's legal, is it?" her father asks.
"No," she says, firmly, fixing Severus with a dark stare, "and believe me, he knows fully well that he's not supposed to use magic around here."
"That's going well then," David drawls, putting his teacup and saucer down on the coffee table.
"And you'd have believed I was a wizard if I hadn't shown you some spells?" Severus counters. He smirks triumphantly at the look on David's face. "No, of course you wouldn't."
"Sev." Lily shoots yet another apologetic look at her parents. "I am sorry, I don't know what's got into him."
"Stop apologising for me."
"Yes," David interrupts, looking directly at Lily and ignoring Severus, "stop apologising for him - it's clear that he's not sorry at all."
Severus gives a scoff.
"In fact, Severus," David says, coldly, "I don't think it's productive you being here at all. I think it's time you gave us some space."
"No way." Severus looks between Lily and David, disbelief on his face. "No way. No fucking way."
"Sev-"
"-no, Lil. I'm not leaving you."
"I want to talk to my daughter," David says, his voice steady. "Rosie and I both want to talk to our daughter."
"You can talk to her with me here," Severus argues. "I'm her husband and there's nothing you need to say to her that you can't say in front of me."
"Would you mind holding River for a few minutes?" Lily asks her mother, and when Rose nods, Lily stands and passes their son over to his grandmother. "You," she says, turning to Severus and beckoning him towards her, "a word, please."
Severus reluctantly stands and when he moves towards the doorway where she's standing, she reaches out and grabs his sleeve, pulling him into the hallway and firmly shutting the door behind them.
"Well?" he says, crossing his arms. "What do you want?"
She looks at him sadly, the anger emanating from him almost palpable. "Sev, don't do this."
"Don't do what? I'm not doing anything!"
"You are," she insists, "you're prickly and angry and defensive-"
"-I'm not!"
Lily stares at him in disbelief. "Can you hear yourself?"
"...it's not me that's the problem, is it?" he snaps. "I just want to put things right, and they want to sit around and drink tea!"
"You're not going to get chance to put things right until they trust you," Lily warns, "and you losing your temper every five seconds really isn't helping."
"So you want me to fuck off as well, do you?"
"Nobody wants you to fuck off-"
"-David does!" Severus argues, his voice getting louder. "He just told me to sling my hook!"
"He didn't tell you to fuck off," Lily hisses, trying to shush him, "and if you keep shouting you'll wake Riv."
"...I'm not shouting," he mutters, looking ashamed, "but he did, Lil, he told me to get lost."
"Only so he could speak to me for a bit."
"They don't need me gone so they can speak to you."
Lily bites her lip. "It's a lot for them to take in, Sev."
"It's not just that, is it? He keeps looking at me like I'm scum."
"Sev," she says, soothingly, reaching for his hands and stroking her fingers over his, "he's scared of you."
Severus scoffs.
"He is, Sev, and no wonder!" Lily lifts her left hand up and cradles his face, smoothing her fingers across his cheek. "We've just burst in here, told them that they've got a family they never knew about, and then you started exploding taps and-"
"-no, I turned the taps on, I didn't explode anything-"
"-messing with Tuney and Vernon's minds-"
"-I wasn't messing, I mended them!"
Lily sighs loudly. "Sev, I know that and you know that, but look at this from their point of view."
He sniffs.
"They're not scared of me," she continues, "and why would they be? I can't do magic. They're not scared of Riv, because he's a few weeks old." She strokes her hand across his face again. "But you're terrifying, Sev."
"Thanks, love."
"And you're angry," she points out, "and you're constantly interrupti-"
"-I'm not-"
"-you've just proven my point, Sev," she says, pointedly.
"Yeah, and what about you? You keep saying that!"
"Saying what?"
"Sev, Sev, Sev, that's all you've said! Every time I open my mouth, you say, Sev, like you're trying to shut me up!"
"I am trying to shut you up!"
"Great, thanks."
"Because you keep adding fuel to the fire! I don't know what's going on in here tonight," she sighs, reaching up and tapping his forehead, "but you are not firing on all cylinders."
"I'm fine."
"You're really not," she says, reaching up and pressing a kiss to his lips. "Please go out for a bit whilst I talk to them. I promise I can smooth things over."
"When I'm not around to make waves."
She smiles. "Something like that, yeah."
"And what am I supposed to do around here? It's not like I know anyone."
"You could go for a run? That usually helps you to clear your head."
He arches his eyebrow. "In patent leather dress shoes and a two piece suit?"
"I guess not," she smiles. "You could walk into town, take a look around the shops."
"For what?"
"You don't need to buy anything - you can just browse, Sev," she says, with a loud sigh. "Find the library or something, or a bookshop, you can easily waste a couple of hours there."
"...you want rid of me for a couple of hours?"
"Yes."
"Fuck's sake."
"Look, I'm good, Sev," she laughs, "but even I'm not going to talk them around in ten minutes."
He moves his hands to her waist, and stares intently into her eyes - and it's then that she really registers the misery in his face.
"That's what we want, isn't it? For me to talk them around?"
"Yeah."
"So what's wrong?"
"Nothing," he says, his voice cool and clipped, "it's nothing."
"Sev?"
"Come here," he murmurs, and he presses his mouth to hers. When Lily softly returns his kiss, he becomes more insistent, and the movement of his lips becomes increasingly forceful. He draws his hands slowly up her body, eventually threading his fingers into her hair, and then he holds her firmly as he deepens the kiss further.
"No," she whispers, pulling back from him.
He presses his forehead to hers, his hands still tangled in her hair, and he's so close to her, she can feel his chest moving in and out as he breathes heavily. "No?"
"You don't need to prove our love to me," she says, darting a quick kiss onto his lips, "I'm not sending you away because I'm going to do a flit with them and leave you. I wouldn't do that to you - or to River. I wouldn't do it to us, Sev!"
His entire body seems to relax as her words sink in, and then he flicks his hair nonchalantly, as if the idea hadn't occurred to him in the first place. "Course not," he says, dismissively, "I was just kissing you goodbye, that's all."
"One more for the road then," she grins, pulling him close. This time when she kisses him, she can feel his broad smile beneath her lips.
Severus' departure makes the atmosphere lighter and conversation easier, although there's still an indisputable tension in the air.
Still, without Severus to lock horns with, her father is far calmer, and much more like the man she remembers. He's serious, his green eyes boring intently into hers as they talk, but his questions are reasoned and logical, and it's clear that he's concentrating on her every word.
In contrast, her mother is quieter, and Lily finds it impossible to know what she might be thinking. Rose keeps gazing at River, which Lily hopes is a good sign - an indication that she accepts that he's truly her grandson, hoping that her parents will be reluctant to walk away from the newfound family they've discovered.
As she regales them with her life story - starting with a potted history of magic - she finds herself glancing at the clock more than once, and when she's deep into the detail of her time at Hogwarts, she can't help but wonder if two hours will be long enough, and she finds herself fervently hoping that Severus has managed to find something to occupy himself with in the town centre, quietly praying that he doesn't return to them too soon.
The easiest tales to tell are those of her earliest days - the memories of their house and her infant school, and she can tell by the expressions on their faces that they sincerely believe her - especially when she describes the playground that she and Tuney so loved, explaining how they'd leap from the swings and bounce each other in the air on the see-saw.
I'm the child they wanted - the friend they wanted for Tuney.
She knows she's got a fond smile on her face when she talks about how Severus leapt from the bushes, and how he convinced her that she was a witch - and she regales her parents with the first display of magic that he conjured in their front room.
"Not changed much, has he?"
Lily skips over the fact that her friendship with Severus marked the end of her friendship with Petunia, certain that such information would not be taken well by either of her parents, and instead, she focuses on the initial excitement of attending Hogwarts.
She can tell that they're enthralled when she describes the corridors and the classrooms and the grounds and the general ambience, and she tries her best to evoke the incomparable feeling of sitting at a feast and a ghost passing through the table, or how it feels to easily glide through the air on a broomstick in a flying lesson, or the excitement of casting a successful charm under the keen eye of Professor Flitwick.
It's increasingly difficult as she draws them through her time at Hogwarts, and in the end, she has to paint a vivid picture of the bullying that Severus endured - although she skirts over some of the more horrific details; the werewolf, the sexual humiliation, and his twisted effort at revenge.
She's pretty certain that her father can sense that she's being selective with the truth, but she presses forward, starting to explain about the difficulties they'd faced being in a relationship together - and she can tell that they're both horrified to discover that Severus' status was higher than their daughter's; that he was the one to lose standing by dating her.
Lily talks faster and faster as she starts on their post-Hogwarts years, and she can't look at her father as she describes her initial elation at winning a placement at the Ministry - can't bear to see the pride on his face being wiped away a moment later when she has to explain that she was unceremoniously thrown out due to her family background.
David's face hardens as she talks about the difficulties they'd endured in the flat, losing their incomes entirely when Severus was expelled from his apprenticeship under Borage and she'd been removed from the Ministry.
Her voice falters as she tries to explain that she couldn't work - couldn't gain any sort of employment - whilst Severus worked for a meagre wage behind a bar. She draws in a tight breath as she finally confesses that Severus was pulled under Lucius' wing, brewing illegal potions as a means of keeping them solvent.
It's not quite the truth - the order of events isn't quite coherent - but she knows that her parents will never have reason to discover that the timeline is slightly different, and after Severus had made such a terrible impression earlier, she's disinclined to give them more ammunition to refuse his offer of restoring their memories.
"And we couldn't have helped you?"
"You did," she admits, "you gave me money, paid my half of the rent. Sev was always furious when you did, he reckoned that it was his job to look after me, not yours." She gives her father a tight smile. "He got another apprenticeship, but he didn't give up the other jobs. I barely saw him in those days - he was out of the house for fifteen hours at a time, all whilst the laws were getting worse and I was locked indoors."
"You could've come back to us."
"We didn't want to," she says. "We're magical, Daddy."
"But they were stopping you from using your magic."
"It wasn't… It didn't seem that bad at first," she confesses, "and we didn't think it would be forever. It was a little law here, a little law there-"
"-Lily, they stopped you from working!"
"Not at first. That came later," she says, "so we thought we could stick it out - that the laws would change and popular opinion would shift."
"And they didn't."
"They did, but in the wrong direction."
"But you still didn't come home?"
"I was home," she says, plaintively. "We both were. I've told you - we're magical, it's different for us. It's sick, really - the laws get worse and worse, and it's so gradual, it's almost as if you don't even notice, not until things are dreadful - and then you're left looking at each other and wondering how it got into that state in the first place."
"So how does this little boy fit into this story?" Rose interrupts, as if sensing that the topic is becoming too distressing for Lily.
"River?" Lily sends a beaming smile in her mother's direction. "He was a very happy accident."
Her father looks disapproving. "Not planned?"
"No," Lily admits, "but very much wanted by the both of us."
Explaining the last few months is harder still, especially when her parents realise that she's been living with them, whilst Severus remained in the magical world - and she stumbles over and over as she tries to describe what he was doing without trying to present him as a terrible wizard.
The stories spill out in the wrong order, and when her father's expression becomes stonier and stonier, she eventually tells them about the offer they'd accepted at Hogwarts and the price Severus had to pay to Dumbledore for Lily to get an opportunity of an apprenticeship with Slughorn, with neither of them aware of the cost at the time of moving in.
She explains about him being stained with the Dark Mark and his solitary confinement in the cells - how it was orchestrated to keep him from breaking his cover, and how that tarnished record led him to being sentenced to lose his magic, although she glosses over some of the details, merging the timeline together, keen for her parents to understand the broad strokes of their story.
Her mother looks increasingly horrified as she regales them both, but her father's expression doesn't change - although when he hears that she'd once cut Severus' memories from his mind, he asks her to repeat the events of that night in more detail, and Lily happily obliges, explaining how they'd both felt - the fear and anxiety she'd had whilst casting, and Severus' vivid descriptions of feeling drunk and feeling as if his memories were a smashed up jigsaw.
She doesn't go into detail about the events of the last few weeks - merely explains that there are people after Severus, that she was protecting her family and was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and she lost her magic because of it.
"You already know all of this," she says, quietly, "and if you accept Severus' offer to restore your memories, you'll see."
"And if we don't accept his offer?"
"Then it's best you know as little as possible," she says, simply.
"I think I'd prefer it if you could've reversed it," Rose says.
"He hasn't shown you his best side tonight, but he's truly a brilliant wizard. I wouldn't let him do it otherwise, Mummy."
"I still can't get used to hearing you say that name."
"Nor me," David says, swallowing hard.
"I'm sorry, I'll try not to."
"No, lovey, it's ok," Rose says, quickly.
The fact that David doesn't comment doesn't go unnoticed by Lily, and she glances uneasily at her parents. "Look, Sev's talented, I swear it. He'll perform the spell correctly, I know he will."
David gives a slight shake of his head. "He could barely control himself earlier."
"It's… That's not how he is normally. He knows how much this means to me, that's all," Lily says, "he was overeager."
"He said that we were the last ones - that Tuney and Vernon had already agreed to have him restore their memories," Rose interjects.
"Did they?" David stares at Lily, and then he gives her a thin smile, his left eyebrow rising.
Lily shoots him a confused look. "Yes, Sev said he'd done it and he wouldn't lie about something as serious as that."
"She's prickly, your sister, don't you think?"
Lily laughs. "Yeah. Yeah, she is."
"And Vernon. He's… Traditional."
"Yeah," Lily nods.
"So when did you and Severus leave home and start on this quest?" David asks, nonchalantly, as if he was enquiring about something as trivial or as mundane as the weather - and at Lily's stricken look, he knows that he's touched a nerve.
"...you're saying… You think they didn't agree?"
David holds his hands out before him. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to, David," Rose rebukes.
"She's your sister, not his."
Lily's voice is barely more than a whisper when she answers. "Yes."
"Does she like him?" David presses. "Severus? Are they fond of each other?"
Lily glances down. "Not really."
"Not really," David repeats, "but he was quick to finish up with them, wasn't he? No long heartfelt discussions like we're having?"
"I can't believe… I didn't think, I didn't ask him, I certainly didn't tell him…" She trails off. "...I really hadn't thought about it, I was just so relieved to see him."
"Until now?"
"Until now," Lily whispers.
David smiles more broadly. "And what's your verdict now, Lily?"
"I don't know. He knows… He knows how desperate I am to have you back." She looks sickened. "He'd do anything for me."
"Then I think we have our answer," David says, settling back in the armchair.
"Does she really not like him?" Rose asks. "Petunia?"
David shoots his wife an astonished look. "Is that really the pertinent question here, Rosie?"
"I always dreamt of Tuney having a little brother or sister," Rose says, quietly, "and I don't really like the idea of you all being at odds."
"She doesn't like magic," Lily says, very quietly. "She wants to live a normal life."
"And Vernon was the most normal man she could find?" David gives another wide smile. "Well, that explains a lot."
"David, really!"
"What?"
Rose shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Lily, he's never really liked Ver-"
"-I know," Lily interrupts. "I remember."
It's awkward, the pause that follows, but then Rose looks over at David, and then back to Lily. "What does he think of Severus?" Rose asks.
"Vernon?"
"David."
Lily bites her lip at the shocked look on her father's face, and then gives a small laugh. "You like him, Daddy. You really like him."
Rose laughs heartily at David's astonished expression. "I had the feeling he did."
David gives a deep scornful sigh. "Oh yes, what gave it away? The way we enthusiastically threw our arms around each other? The way I was delighted to see him?"
"The way he looked devastated when you said you didn't want him here," Rose says. "He told you he was Lily's husband and that was his justification for staying - but I don't think that's what he was telling you; he was really saying that he was your son-in-law - that he should be included because he's part of this family."
David gives another slight shake of his head.
"It's true, Daddy, you really do like him."
"And what about you, Lily," David says, "do you like him?"
"I love him."
"That's not what I asked you."
Lily offers her father a tight smile. "Just recently he's been hard to like." She twists the material of her cuff between her fingers. "He's… He's not been well, that's all."
"It sounds like some kind of stress," Rose adds, "and I'm not surprised listening to everything you've both been through."
"Something like that," Lily nods. "He's just a bit unpredictable at the moment."
David's look darkens. "Unpredictable how? He's not hurt you, has he?"
"No," Lily immediately answers, "he wouldn't hit me. He's not that type of man."
"Not like his father?"
Rose looks astonished. "What are you talking about, David?"
"Severus is scarred," Lily explains, "up his back and around his hip and…" She looks away. "Daddy must've seen earlier, when Sev had his shirt off."
"Yes, why did he have his shirt off?"
"I was checking to see if he was carrying any weapons," David admits, looking a little ashamed.
"David!"
"He knew my name, Rosie, and he knew his way around this house, I thought he was here to cause trouble, to cause harm to-"
"-I told you, he's just not thinking straight at the moment," Lily says, now realising just how Severus had slipped up and aroused her father's suspicion.
"And how does not thinking straight manifest?"
"He'd never hit me," Lily repeats, "or River. We've… We've had arguments recently, but he's never been anything but the perfect dad to River." She gives her father a wider smile. "That's when you really warmed to him, I think."
"When he became a father?" David looks over at the tiny baby being held in his wife's arms. "So this is a very recent development?"
"When I first found out I was pregnant, I left him - I was so scared, and he didn't seem to take a moment to think about whether it was a good idea or not." She gives a wry smile. "He was practically painting a nursery within an hour of finding out, so whilst he was at work, I came back to you both, and I didn't tell him where I'd gone."
"Oh, Lily."
"And he worked it out that night and he came after me. It was a horrible evening," she explains, "the rain was hammering down and he was soaked to the skin, and he's told me… He told me that he thought you were going to beat him up for what he'd done to me."
Rose gives her a sceptical look. "He thought that of David? Are you sure they like each other?"
"I think he was projecting thoughts of what his own father's reaction would be rather than Daddy's," Lily says, quietly, "but he still knocked at the door even though he was terrified." She runs her hand over her face. "And you didn't - you welcomed him in, Daddy. You brought him in and helped him tidy himself up, and… He came upstairs and he proposed," she admits, "and you knew, Daddy, you knew what he was going to do."
"She's saying that you approved of the relationship, David."
David releases another deep sigh.
"It's not just that," Lily says, "there's so much more. You've known him since we were 9, but you've really bonded with him over the last year or so. I think you were impressed when you realised how hard he was working to keep our flat - to keep me safe. We broke up for a few weeks at one point and you saw that I was so unhappy without him…"
"So we warmed to him?" Rose guesses.
"You'd always had a soft spot for him," Lily says, smiling at her mother. "Daddy's a bit harder to convince."
David frowns. "I've known him since you were 9? How old are you now?"
"21."
"Both of you?"
"Yes," she nods. "22 in January."
"They're just kids, David," Rose says, quietly. "He's just a kid."
David briefly puts his head into his hands. "I know."
"You're not going to let him do the spell, are you?" Lily says, quietly, watching her father intently.
"...it's incredibly ironic that he would say he was terrified of me," David muses, lifting his head from his hands and looking at his wife and then his daughter, "because he is terrifying."
"He's not, he's a good man, he's-"
"-he ripped our memories of you from our heads without our permission and he didn't even tell you."
She can't answer - there isn't an answer.
"And what's to stop him from doing it again?" David continues.
"He wouldn't."
"He might."
Lily shakes her head, almost violently. "No, he won't. He won't, this… This pushed us to the edge - it was almost over between us."
Rose's eyes narrow. "You forced his hand, didn't you?" She shifts River in her arms, and then looks back at her daughter. "He wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for you."
"He did it to protect us. All of us."
"From who?" Rose asks, and she peers even more closely at Lily. "These people who took your magic?"
"Sort of."
"So they're dangerous people?"
"Yes."
"The sort of people who'd harm your family?"
"...yes."
"And if you're both here and offering to reverse this spell, are we to assume that the threat has gone away?" David asks, mildly.
Lily swallows. "...no."
David gives another loud exhale.
For the first time that afternoon, Rose appears to be more composed than David, although she keeps tucking River's blanket around his neck and then taking it back out, and then repeating the whole action over again.
"Severus doesn't think it's safe, so he took our memories," Rose says, "but you were unhappy with him, so he's agreed to put them back."
"Which means that you disagree about the threat," David adds, a frown on his face as he thinks it through. "He thinks these...people are dangerous, but you don't?"
"No, I know they're dangerous."
"Then what, Lily?" David presses. "You're not seriously telling me that he cares more about our lives than you do."
"No."
"Then what?"
"I trust you," she says, tears now falling down her face, "I love you and I trust you, and I need you in our lives."
"He's known us since you were 9, but he doesn't trust us?" Rose looks astonished.
"He wanted you to keep away from the house because they know where it is and they keep turning up there, but you said," and now the tears are pouring down Lily's face as she sobs, causing her to gulp in air as she speaks, "you said that you needed to go back, and he got scared because he can't keep you safe if you go there, and he just… He didn't trust you not to go. He thought you wouldn't tell us, that'd you'd just do it behind our backs." She sobs more loudly. "I didn't know he'd done it. I thought you'd come here for a holiday, for a few days, for a few weeks maybe. I thought… I thought we were going to have a discussion and if I told you to stay away because it wasn't safe, you would."
"But he didn't think we would?"
"He said he couldn't take the risk - that even if it was only a small chance that you'd do it, he couldn't risk it. He couldn't risk you ending up dead because of him, because of what he did."
"David, take River," Rose says, suddenly standing and handing the baby over to him, before sitting next to Lily on the sofa and pulling her into her arms. "Come here, lovey," she says, soothingly, wrapping her in a tight hug, "it's ok. It's ok."
David stares down into his grandson's sleeping face as his wife consoles their long lost daughter, and he can feel his headache growing ever stronger.
David pulls the back door open and stands at the step, breathing in the crisp autumn air - and when Rose walks over to him and threads her arms around his waist, he pulls her close and kisses the top of her head. "How long have we got?"
"He's not very old," Rose says, "so he'll be feeding for a while yet. Twenty minutes, maybe thirty."
"A grandson, hey?"
"Yeah." Rose looks up at David. "And another daughter."
"You believe them?"
"Yes. Don't you?"
David nods. "Oh yes, I believe them." Then he laughs. "Well, maybe not the idea of me liking that cocky little shit."
"David."
"What?" David shakes his head. "Forgive me, but he's not exactly the sort of man I would've hoped for my daughter to set her sights on."
"Perhaps he'll grow on you."
"Mmm, perhaps," David says, "a bit like mould."
"David!"
At this, David laughs. "I think I can see where Lily gets her, "Sev!" from." He tightens his hold around Rose. "She's her mother's daughter."
"She's got your eyes."
"I know."
Rose extricates herself from his embrace, and looks up at her husband. "Are you going to let him perform the spell on you?"
David's jaw clenches, and he keeps looking at the hedge by the far fence. "No, I don't think so." There's a long silence, and then he turns to look down at his wife. "...you're going to, aren't you?"
Rose nods.
"I don't… I don't trust him." David sucks air in between his teeth. "If it was her, then maybe - but not him. He's reckless."
"I can't live like this, David," Rose says, quietly, "and now I know…"
"You can't go back?"
"We thought this was our whole lives," she says, "we thought that we'd always lived like this, but it's only been a matter of weeks." She grips his hand tightly. "I have nightmares about what happened - about the pregnancy, about-"
"-shhhh," David says, wrapping his arms back around his wife, "it's not real. It's not real, none of it's real."
"But my mind thinks it is," Rose protests, "and that feeling isn't going to go away, it isn't going to disappear unless we let him do this."
"We know that she's our daughter, isn't that enough?"
Rose gives a disbelieving laugh. "How can that be enough? Don't you want to remember, David? What it was like to hold her, just like we were holding River earlier? What our family meals were like, our family holidays? How she was with Petunia? What it must've been like to meet Severus for the first time, to find out about magic, to wave her off to be a student at a magical school?"
"She's already told us about all of those things."
"It's not the same, David, and you know it."
David looks away again.
"We always wanted a second child."
"I can't trust him," he says, quietly, "and I thought she'd have more sense. If he's done it once, there's nothing to stop him from pulling this sort of stunt again."
"He's clearly sorry."
David turns to look at her. "Is he? Or is he upset because she's angry with him? The two things are not the same, Rosie."
"I think you'd have done the same thing."
At this, David looks appalled. "I would not."
"No? If Petunia was going to walk into danger, would you have let her, or would you have done everything possible to save her life?"
"It's not the same," David argues. "It's not what he did, it's how he did it. Not including her in the decision. That's not the sort of man I want her to be married to."
"She doesn't need you to tell him that. She's done that herself - else they wouldn't be here in the first place." Rose slides her hand back into David's. "I think we've raised a strong woman, and I think they've been through hell, and I intend to be there for her now."
"It's not going to stop me from being there for her."
"But you won't know her."
David takes another shuddering breath. "And if he does this and messes it up?"
"She trusts him to do it correctly."
"So you trust him?"
Rose nods. "He already said he restored Petunia and Vernon's memories."
"Yeah," David exclaims, "and that's the other problem! He must've forced them into it, and that's what bothers me, Rosie. He just walks around doing whatever he likes, taking memories from me, taking memories from you, forcing memories onto Tuney and Vernon, stealing hotel rooms-"
"-I don't think he means-"
"-no, you don't think he means it, and she doesn't think he means it," David says, "but my father always told me that you judge a man by his actions, not by what he says he's thinking."
"And my mother always told me that you should give people the chance to redeem themselves," Rose says, quietly. "People make mistakes, David. He's made a mistake."
"Some mistake."
"If we don't let him fix it, we could lose her - her and him, and our grandson."
"There's nothing stopping them from knowing us, memories or not."
"She won't be able to live with the guilt," Rose warns, "and he certainly won't. She'll resent him, and he'll… Who knows what he'll do, and I don't want my grandson growing up without a father."
"I'm not sure I want my grandson growing up with that father."
Rose considers her husband. "You were annoyed when she told us that you liked him."
"It's only her word."
"But you believed her about everything else, didn't you?"
David sighs again. "I don't like being played for a fool."
"Do you really think that was the key thought in his mind when he did all of this? That he was getting one over on you?"
There's a brief silence, and then David turns to her. "I don't like to admit this, Rosie, but… I'm scared."
"Of him?"
"Yeah, of him," David says, quietly, "but also of me."
"I don't understand."
"He told me… He nearly told me that he loved me. He was going on about putting things right and he said that Lily loves me - but for a moment, just for a moment, he almost said that he loved me."
"And that upsets you?"
"I don't see how I could even like him," David says, his voice still low, "let alone love him - but he clearly feels an affection towards me, and she agrees with that! You agreed with it!"
Rose squeezes his hand. "David, this is silly - you've barely spent ten minutes with him today and it's all been very stressful, you can't judge him on-"
"-he stole my memories, and now I'm wondering what else he took at the same time." He turns to look Rose in the eyes. "I'm scared of me because I don't recognise the man I must be if I've happily accepted the likes of him into my family."
Rose looks horrified. "You don't want your memories back because you don't want to be the man you used to be?"
"I'm not going to stop you, Rosie, if it's what you want to do," he says, squeezing her hand in response, "but I'm not going through with it."
Chapter 147: Family or not
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Rosie-"
"-it's fine, David," Rose says, pulling her hand away from her husband's grasp, as if she's been stung by a venomous creature, or burnt by the searing touch of white-hot metal, "I'm fine." She pinches the bridge of her nose between two fingers, her eyebrows furrowed in anguish, and tears building in her eyes.
"Rosie," David repeats, softly, reaching for her hands, "please don't cry." When she permits him to take them, he pulls her towards him, enveloping her in a tight embrace. "We can get through this."
"We'll lose her," she sniffs, her voice muffled as she speaks into his chest, "we've already lost her once, and now we'll lose her all over again."
"We won't," David says, quietly, "we'll be here for her."
"That's not how she'll see it. How would you feel, David, if Lily's memories had been wiped and she agreed to have her memories of me restored, but not the ones of you?"
David holds Rose even more tightly, and the fabric of his expensive shirt grows increasingly damp with his wife's incessant tears, but he can't bring himself to answer - choosing instead to whisper soft murmurings of non-committal reassurance into her ear. "We've been through tough times before," he says, eventually, "we can work through this like we've always done - together, as a family."
Rose moves in his tight hold, causing him to slacken his grip, and she stares up at him. "Do you mean that?"
"Of course I do, you know I don't say things unless I mean them."
"Then," she ventures, "let them all stay. Here. With us."
It startles him, her request, and it's her turn to hold him tightly - to stop him from recoiling. It takes him a moment to compose himself, drawing in a deep breath, and standing a little taller.
"...to what end?" he asks.
"If you're not going to accept your memories back," Rose reasons, "then you need to make new ones, and I know - I know you don't want to hear what he has to say-"
"-you've got that right-"
"-but the two of them clearly come as a package, so if we want Lily in our lives, then we need to accept that he'll be with her."
David looks away, his expression displaying the conflicting emotions waging within him.
"It's not about him, and it's not even about you, David," Rose says, softly.
"It's a lot to take in," he sighs. "I woke up this morning believing I had one daughter and now…"
Rose gives the slightest shake of her head. "No, I knew-"
"-you didn't know."
"I did," she protests.
"We didn't, Rosie - that's rather the whole point of this sorry affair."
"I knew something wasn't right, and so did you, I know you did!"
David looks exasperated, and he takes a step backwards, his arms rising. "And whose fault is that? Not yours, Rose, and certainly not mine either!"
"You're not the only person who has been wronged here."
He exhales loudly. "...I realise that."
"So you're not the only person who feels angry."
"It's starting to feel like it," he mutters.
"All of this 'I don't know who I am' nonsense," she continues, "isn't you, David. I know you-"
"-how can either of us truly know each other if half of our minds are missing?"
Rose reaches up, running her hand down her husband's face, her fingers trailing from his temple, grazing the edge of his eyebrow, and down the side of his cheek - as if she's trying to soothe his pain away.
"You're the man I love, David," she says, cradling his face in the palm of her hand as if she's holding the most precious gems in the universe, "the man I have always loved, the man you've always been."
"Rosie…"
"Don't tell me you feel differently about me now that half of your mind is missing," she laughs through her own tears, "because I won't believe you."
"I don't, of course I don't."
"So why is he any different?"
"Rosie."
"If you accepted him when you knew him, I think it's because it was the right thing to do. I trust you, David," she says, firmly, "and I trust my own judgement too."
"And if we were wrong?"
"And what if we were right?"
"Besides, it's not necessarily up to us," David says, bristling. "He's already demonstrated that."
"And she came back." Rose's voice is earnest. "She came back to us, David."
"I don't know-"
"-and now you're letting him take her away again-"
"-I'm not doing any such thing!"
It's Rose's turn to bite her lip, her eyes still reddened, tears threatening to fall. "She'll follow him anywhere. She loves him."
"And what would they know about that?" David scoffs. "They're kids, you said as much yourself."
"I loved you when I was their age."
"That's not the same."
Rose smiles. "We all do stupid things when we're in love. I did. You did."
David gives her an appraising look. "So you do think this is stupid."
"I didn't say that."
There's an elongated pause, husband and wife staring at each other intently, and then David presses a kiss to Rose's forehead, and then gently pulls back. "...so what are you saying?"
"I think he's… There's two possibilities." She looks up at him, her blue eyes fixed on his. "I think either he's exactly what she says he is - that he's unwell and this is unusual for him, that he needs help, or…"
"Go on," David encourages, his voice soft. "Or?"
"Or he's what you think he is."
"And if I'm right?"
"Then she's going to need us, David," Rose says, tears threatening to spill again, "when all of this falls apart. And not just her, but her son too! Our grandson!"
He swallows, looking uncomfortable. "I have every intention of being here for the both of them-"
"-and what use are intentions? You said that much yourself!" Rose rubs at her eyes with her left hand - her left eye first, her right eye next - wiping the unshed tears away before they can tumble. "David, if you keep this stern front up, you won't be given the opportunity to be there for her."
"Nonsense, she clearly wants us in her life-"
"-but not at the expense of him," Rose warns.
David sighs heavily again. "I don't see why my acceptance of her hinges on him."
"...if you disapprove, you're taking away her safety net. Who is she meant to run to-"
"-I'll be here!"
"She has to trust you, has to love you."
"I'm the same man she's always known."
"But that's just it," Rose shakes her head, "you not having your memories isn't the problem - you making this choice is the problem! You're telling her that you can't risk yourself liking him all over again, and in doing so, you're proving that you're different to who you were, proving that you want to be different to the father that she loved." She takes a sharp inhale of breath. "I'm warning you, David, she'll walk out of the door, and we'll never see her again."
He falls silent.
"You're angry with him for removing her from our lives, but you can't see that you're going to end up doing the same thing."
David moves his head with a slight jerk of his neck, as if trying to flick an irritating midge away from his hair. "I'm not the same as him, and I find it… I can't believe you'd even compare the two scenarios - they're just not the same."
"I need you to understand."
"You've always… You've always been by my side," he says, his own voice breaking with emotion, "and… I'm not like him, I would've thought that much would be obvious to you."
"But if it ends with the same result-"
"-you know me, Rosie," David says, echoing her earlier statement.
"I know you," she acknowledges, her voice soft once more, "but I don't know him-"
"-and whose fault is that?" David demands.
"All I'm saying is that I don't think we should condemn him based on one stressful afternoon." Rose pulls him back into a close embrace, aware of the impact her words are having upon her husband. "If you're pushing her away now-"
"-I'm not pushing-"
"-and you're doing it for the right reasons, then isn't there a chance that he was the same? That he pushed us away for the right reasons as well?"
There's another long silence, and then David sighs. "I just can't process it, Rosie."
"Having the child we dreamt of?"
He gives her a thin smile. "She's certainly that, isn't she?"
"Yes. I can't help it - I want to know everything about her."
"I can't fathom how they're so different," he says. "Tuney's blonde, and she's auburn-"
"-Tuney's got blue eyes, and Lily's got green-"
"-and Lily's temper is far more restrained than Tuney's. I don't think we'd have had as many Vernons as we had Sevs," he says, with a more sincere smile.
"No," Rose concurs, "and Petunia wouldn't have taken Vernon into the hall for a discussion away from us - she'd have dressed him down no matter the company."
"It's not just that," David continues, "but I can't see how we have one daughter who is married to the dullest, boring, most self-involved man I've ever met-"
"-David-"
"-don't you start," he grins, holding her tightly, "next you'll be dressing me down whilst the neighbours listen in."
"You silly sod," she says, affectionately.
"Whereas Severus is anything but dull," he continues. "He's powerful, that much is obvious, but just look at him - he said it himself, they haven't got jobs, they're irresponsible enough to have landed themselves with an unexpected baby, they're obviously wrapped up in something horrific, they're-
"-in love," Rose finishes, "and at that age, you think you can take on the world."
"I bet he thinks he can," David mutters, "waving that dratted stick around. I don't like it at all - he's powerful and unpredictable. That's not a combination I like."
"Oh, but Lily does."
David stares at her, his eyes widening.
"That's the very reason why she's with him," Rose elaborates. "Petunia is drawn to the status, the bank account, the job, the home, the car, the holidays, the trinkets. Vernon can offer her a lifestyle."
"You don't need to tell me that; I've suffered through enough of Vernon's boasting-"
"-whereas Lily is attracted to Severus'..." Rose trails off, clearly searching for the most appropriate word, "...danger."
"Danger?" David scoffs. "I doubt it. She was hardly best pleased with him."
"No, she wasn't pleased with the consequences. That isn't the same."
"Rosie, I don't think-"
"-well, I do. You don't want to hear this, but I think she likes that side of him."
"No," he says, shaking his head. "She seems very sensible and level-headed to me."
"Did you notice how he listened to her? You told him to leave, and he was petulant and resistant - yet she soon managed to convince him."
"I don't think that means anything."
"No? She brought him here to undo what he'd done, and you heard what she said, David - he's certain that he made the right decision, but she still managed to convince him to change it."
"He's not exactly been happy about it."
"Happy or not, he's here. She talked him around."
David stands a little straighter. "What are you trying to say to me?"
"I think she encourages him," Rose says, quietly. "Perhaps not intentionally, but deep down, I think she likes the fact that he lives on the edge - that he has that frisson of danger about him. I think she likes the idea that he'd step on everyone else all whilst placing her on a pedestal." She looks up at her husband. "It makes her different. Special."
"Rosie, that's a big leap."
"She might pretend that she doesn't like it - that she isn't attracted to him because of it - but I think she's lying to herself."
David shakes his head, a disbelieving look crossing his face. "And you've determined this how? You've known her for all of five minutes."
"I've known women like her for far longer - Lavender, for one."
This time, David quirks a smile. "Your sister was nothing like that."
Rose gives him a scathing look. "You don't think so? She was married and settled down when you met her, but when she was Lily's age… I can't tell you how many times the police brought her home-"
"-the police?" David's eyebrows rise. "To your father the barrister?"
"Why do you think they brought her home instead of locking her up?" Rose gives a small laugh. "Really, David, did you think Daddy worshipped the ground you walked on because you were the perfect fit for me?"
"You're damaging my ego, Rose," he groans, with a smile, "I'll warn you, some things can't be unsaid."
Rose leans in conspiratorially. "No, it was because my sister kept dating delinquents, and he was relieved that his youngest daughter had finally chosen someone quiet and calm and sensible."
"I thought he just preferred me to Alan."
"That too," Rose smiles, and she squeezes his hand again. "I know how much Daddy's acceptance meant to you-"
"-Rosie-"
"-so this is no different, is it? Please try, David, that's all I'm asking. For Lily's sake. For my sake."
He looks torn. "This is what you really want, is it?"
Rose gives him a hopeful look. "Yes," she says, pulling him into another embrace, "and I think, deep down, it's what you want too."
Lily doesn't notice her parents standing in the doorway, and it takes a gentle cough from her mother for Lily to be alerted to their presence, and she can't help but freeze as she sees them standing hand-in-hand, their expressions solemn.
No. Please, no.
Lily has seen similar stern looks from them before. Not once or twice, but more times than she can easily recall, as her parents always presented a united front that both she and Petunia had quickly learnt to dread.
They'd both discovered at a very early age that there was simply no fortune to be found in playing one parent off the other within the Evans family; certainly no point in asking Mummy for permission and when it was refused, asking Daddy instead.
Lily had tried it, of course - and she can remember all too well the disapproving look on her father's face as he'd lower the newspaper, peering at her intently, his eyebrows furrowed in a deep frown. "And what did your mother say when you asked her three minutes ago, Lily?"
He'd always had an uncanny knack for catching her out - catching Petunia out too - and it had been frustrating to them both. Lily found it particularly annoying that she couldn't convince her parents to bend to her will and grant her permission to do whatever she pleased - and it was always especially galling on the days when Severus would be swinging backwards and forwards on the garden gate, waiting for her to emerge so they could go wandering, his face expectant and full of hope, and then falling in dismay as she'd shake her head.
"Are yer kiddin'? What's the matter wi' 'em? My mam said I could!" he'd said, jumping off the gate and crossing his arms, a scowl spreading across his thin space. "D'yer want me to talk to 'em? Convince 'em like I did wi' mine?"
She'd always shaken her head and convinced him they should do something else instead. There was never any point in arguing with her parents - if she couldn't talk her parents into letting her roam free with her best friend then Severus certainly couldn't, even if he'd had success in the same argument with his own mother.
Severus would've got away with playing one parent off the other, she'd always thought.
It had been years and years before she'd come to the realisation that his parents probably hadn't granted him permission to come and go as he pleased - that the fabled conversation hadn't taken place; instead, there was likely nobody watching the clock and fretting that their son wouldn't return home safely.
There's no need for permission if there's no boundaries to begin with.
Lily had never lingered on the thought for too long, as it made her heart twist to contemplate how neither Eileen nor Tobias likely cared what Severus did with his day, or where he ended up - all as long as he didn't bring trouble back home with him when he finally returned.
She knew that she didn't want that for River. She'd be the first to suggest that her parents' careful, watchful eye whilst she'd been growing up had been nothing short of annoying - especially as Severus had been permitted a latitude that she could only dream of - but once she was older, she soon recognised that her parents were the ideal that she'd hoped that she and Severus would achieve themselves.
There was something reassuring, calming even, about both parents maturely discussing their opinions in the background - arguing even - but succeeding in presenting a unified front to their child.
United we stand, divided we fall.
The thought doesn't bring any consolation as her parents approach her - she doesn't feel any pride in their joint approach. Instead, her stomach flips with anxiety, and a dull ache settles in her chest when her eyes meet her father's cold stare. She immediately looks away, looks down, her gaze fixed onto River's content face as he feeds.
This is it. It's over. They've gone. They're not going to do it. Daddy's convinced her, told her-
"Lily, lovey, can we talk?" her mother says, her voice soft - and despite her mother's calm approach, it takes all of Lily's effort to lift her head, to look in their direction.
I don't want to hear this.
She forces a smile onto her face. "Yes," she says, trying not to wince as the word sticks in her throat.
Don't say it, don't do this, don't leave-
"David and I would like you both - well," Rose amends, indicating towards River, "all three of you, to stay with us. Here. For a few days."
In her surprise, Lily grips River more firmly, causing him to wrestle in her grasp, and then immediately loosens her hold, shooting an apologetic glance towards him before answering her mother. "Are you… All three of us? Not just me and Riv, but Sev as well?"
"Severus too," her mother confirms.
"We wouldn't want to impose, wouldn't-"
"-nonsense-"
"-but Riv! He'll cry in the night, he'll-"
"-which is why Rosie thinks that you both need a rest," David interrupts, gruffly.
"You said that Severus hasn't been so well," Rose adds, "so we thought that we could help to take the strain off you."
What did they talk about? What did they decide?
"It hasn't stopped him from being a good dad to River," Lily says, defensively, "and he cooks and cleans, and he washes up, and with his magic he-"
"-then I'm definitely right, and you both need a rest," Rose says, firmly. "And as for me and David, we'd love to get to know the latest addition to our family."
There's something in her mother's voice which makes Lily want to sob, knowing all too well that she isn't talking about River.
It's not a no, it's not a no! a gleeful mantra echoes in her ears. It's not a yes either, she thinks, and then she tries to push the intrusive thought to the back of her mind. It's almost a yes - they want to get to know you again.
"And Severus - do you think he'll agree? Can he make it happen?" Rose asks, looking concerned.
"Well, he'll need to go home and get us a few things," Lily says, quickly, "we brought the pram and River's changing bag because we didn't know how long we'd be, but if we're staying for a few days then River will need clothes and nappies and wipes-"
"-Lily-"
"-and more cloths and I think I brought that cream Sev made with us, but I'll need to check! And we'll need things for us as well," she says rapidly, almost stumbling over her words in her excitement, "Sev can't sit around in that horrible suit, so some clothes - lots of clothes for all of us! Riv's going through this stage where he keeps drooling-"
"-no, Lily," David interrupts, much more firmly. "Rosie doesn't mean that." He takes a breath, looking extremely uncomfortable. "Can he change the hotel booking he set up for Petunia and Vernon?"
"Not that they're not welcome to be part of our gathering," Rose says, quickly, "but it'd be a bit of a houseful with us two, you three, and Petunia and Vernon."
Rose's words are sensible, logical - but Lily knows it's more than that. Rose might not know Lily, but Rose knows Petunia - and Lily knows her mother as well as ever; Lily can tell that Rose has already concluded that Petunia and Vernon's presence would not be a calming, helpful tonic.
And now you're kicking your sister and brother-in-law out of their own home, she thinks, guiltily. As if forcing Mummy and Daddy out of Cokeworth wasn't enough, now you're wreaking havoc for Petunia and Vernon as well.
She's pulled out of her thoughts by her father's voice.
"Does it work like that then? Do you think he can do it?"
"Oh yes," Lily says, emphatically, a broad smile spreading across her face, "Sev can do anything I need."
Severus is quiet when he returns - so quiet, she can't hear the brief conversation which passes between him and her mother when she answers the door to him, and when Rose ushers him into the living room, Lily doesn't miss how his eyes dart warily between her parents.
"Do you want to take River, Sev?"
At her offer, he grins, and she notes how tired and pained he seems as he cuddles their son against his chest, smoothing his hand over River's back as he murmurs intelligibly into River's ear.
Maybe Mummy's right, maybe a rest is what we need.
"Did you find something nice to do?"
"Just walked around in circles."
"For nearly three hours?"
He shrugs, his posture defensive once more. "You told me to stay away."
Lily places her hand on his thigh. "You were so long, I was worried that you weren't coming back."
Severus lifts his head, his eyes darting between Rose and David again. "...I wasn't sure anyone wanted me back."
"Nonsense, Severus," Rose says, quickly - and neither Lily or Severus miss the look she shoots towards David, clearly urging him to hold his tongue.
"Mummy and Daddy have invited us to stay with them," Lily says, before he can mull on this dark thought any longer, "but you'll need to change the hotel booking so Petunia and Vernon stay away for longer. You can do that can't you?"
He looks surprised, but he nods. "Yes."
"And if we're staying here for a few days, you'll need to get us some things from home," she says, passing him a scrap of paper, "I made a list."
He quirks a smile as he takes in the length of the list. "You want me to bring all of this? Staying for a month, are we, love?"
"A few days, we thought," Rose interjects, casting another anxious look towards David.
"He's joking, Mummy." Lily looks back at Severus. "That's ok with you, isn't it?"
"We can do whatever you want, love," he says, turning his attention back to River, deliberately not looking Lily in the eye. "I don't have to… If it's easier," he says, stumbling over his words, his voice muffled as he talks into River's t-shirt, "if you need some space to-"
"-no, the invitation was for all of us, and I'm not staying without you, Sev," Lily says, firmly, squeezing his leg.
Severus looks up and over at her, a genuine smile on his face. "Back to Mummy, little Bean," he says, kissing River and passing him back to Lily - both of them missing the concerned look David and Rose exchange.
"You're going straight back out?"
"You want me to get all of this and sort the hotel," he says, pushing himself up off the sofa and holding her list aloft, grinning cheerfully, "I'd best get started."
"You've been out all afternoon. You can stay for a cup of tea at least," Rose offers.
Severus shakes his head. "No, I'm fine - no time like the present," he says, and he flashes a quick grin at Lily, "and who knows, if I get started with this now, I might even be back before midnight."
"I'll see you off," Lily says, shifting River in her arms as she stands and Severus holds the living room door open for her, giving a half wave of acknowledgement towards David and Rose as he closes it behind them.
"Is that ok?" Lily asks. "Us staying?"
Yeah," Severus nods. "I take it they're arguing about what they should do? Memorywise, I mean?"
Lily moves River again, trying to hold his weight in a comfortable position against her. "That's my reading of it, yes."
Severus winces as he pulls his shoes back on, and bends to lace them, leaving the list on the floor as he does so.
"Are those hurting you?"
"A bit," he mutters, "it turns out that dress shoes weren't made for walking around the town for hours."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to push you-"
"-it's fine," he says, quickly. He picks the list back up and flashes her a reassuring smile. "Are you sure we need all of this?"
"Fairly sure, but feel free to bring whatever you want," she says, with a cheeky grin, "because you'll be the one walking into town to buy a replacement for whatever you choose not to bring."
"I was only asking!"
"I'm not coping without my hairbrush, or toothpaste, or-"
"-my cologne, apparently?" Severus reads aloud, a note of confusion entering his tone. "Cologne? Why do I need that?"
"You wear it when you go to Lucius'."
"Yeah, I do," he agrees, "but we're not going out anywhere, are we?"
"No, but it's important to make a good impression," Lily says, lightly.
Severus scoffs. "I think I've failed on that front already, love."
"Think of this as a second chance," she laughs, kissing him on his cheek. "You made them both fall for you once. You can do this."
"Yeah," he says, shrugging into his suit jacket and brushing at a newly developed crease, "and to think, it only took a decade or so the first time." He shoots her a wicked grin, and indicates to their surroundings. "Hope you like your new home, Lil, we might be here a while."
"Idiot," she laughs, propelling him towards the front door. "Besides, I didn't say anything about making a good impression on Mummy and Daddy."
He arches his eyebrow as she uses her free hand to grip one of his lapels.
"I meant it makes a good impression on me," she continues, "I love that scent on you."
His nostrils flare, and a smirk grows on his face. "Come here," he murmurs, leaning forward and kissing her gently. "You've convinced me, love. Cologne it is. And the other two hundred and eight items on this list." He kisses her again and again, and then reluctantly breaks away, pressing another kiss to the top of River's head. "I won't be long. Don't let them lock me out."
"Never," she breathes, as she kisses him once more.
Lily lifts the net curtain and murmurs in River's ear as she points towards her father as he reverses the car out of the drive. "Where's Grandad going, Riv? Is he going shopping? Did Granny say he needed to get us something nice to eat for the rest of the week? Shall we wave goodbye to Grandad, River? Bye bye, Grandad, see you soon," she says, waving at her father through the window.
"Lily, lovey?"
"Coming," she calls, dropping the net curtain back down and straightening it before heading into the kitchen. "Oh," she says, as she spies the washing up bowl full of suds, and then looking guiltily towards River. "I'd put him down, but he'll just cry-"
"-I don't expect you to help," Rose says, with a smile. "I thought we could have a talk whilst it's just the two of us." Then she laughs. "Well, and River, but I don't suppose he has much to say."
"Not just yet," Lily smiles, jiggling him up and down in her arms, "although we'll soon hear about it if he gets bored, won't we, Riv? Shall we watch Granny wash up?" She pauses. "What are you doing washing up, Mummy? I thought Tuney had a dishwasher?"
"She does," Rose says, scrubbing a plate and then setting it in the rack, "but I can't find the instruction manual and I've never used one of those new fangled things, and if I put the salt where the detergent is meant to go-"
"-you'll never hear the end of it," Lily finishes with a smile, thinking of how ferocious Petunia's wrath can be, family or not. "Fairy Liquid it is."
"It hasn't failed me yet," Rose laughs. "So…"
"So…" Lily echoes.
There's a long pause, and then Lily's eyes narrow and she sidles towards the fridge. She opens the heavy door and then shakes her head, a knowing smile on her face. "He'll go mad if he sees this."
"Then you and I will unpack the shopping," Rose says, "and your father need be none-the-wiser."
Severus rolls his eyes as he strolls away from the reception desk and towards the lift, a new set of room keys jangling in his hand.
He's relieved that it was so simple, but there's part of him which can't help but feel that it was pathetically easy to walk in and modify the occupancy list - right under the receptionist's nose, even despite him hesitating as he debated upgrading the Dursleys into a classier suite.
Severus strides down the corridor and raps sharply on their hotel room door. Vernon answers, already clad in a dressing gown despite the relatively early hour, and he immediately barks an order in Severus' direction, errantly assuming that he's knocking in order to deliver room service.
Within half a second, Vernon recognises who is standing on the other side of the door, but the realisation doesn't come quickly enough - as soon as he opens his mouth to exclaim, Severus slices his wand through the air.
"No," Severus mutters, "I don't think I need to hear from you. Confundo. Imperio."
He settles their limp bodies back onto the bed, and makes quick work of packing their belongings and transporting them up to the new room - a much grander room - and then he races back down, standing over their slumbering figures.
A note to explain, he thinks, and he grabs the complimentary notepad and pen from the side table and scribbles hastily:
Please accept our apologies for the disruption to your stay. We hope you enjoy the rest of the week with us in your upgraded suite - located on the seventh floor in Room 104 - provided to you with compliments of the management team.
He takes another look at Petunia and Vernon's slumbering forms, and then he adds another paragraph.
With such distinguished guests as yourselves, we understand that there is no need to request your discretion when you are in front of the other guests, as we are aware that you will appreciate that not all guests would be suitable candidates for our executive experience.
Thank you for your cooperation.
Severus stands back and smirks, folding the paper over and then pressing it into Vernon's hand.
Distinguished guests? Executive experience? Upgraded suite? Too much? Severus passes his wand between his hands. No, he thinks, they'll love it - they'll eat it up.
He moves backwards until he's in the doorway, and then he raises his arm, and casts carefully. He rouses Vernon first, and then, a split second later, he aims his wand at Petunia - and before either of them can process what's happened, he slips away, leaving the door wide open in his wake.
"Has he seen anyone about his illness? A doctor? A nurse, even?"
Lily shakes her head. "It's not like that. It's a… It's a magical thing."
"So it needs magic to fix it?"
"I've never seen it before," Lily says, quietly, "so I don't know for certain, but he's trying."
Rose washes a cup, letting the water tip out of it and back into the bowl before turning it upside down to drain. "I suppose it would be different if you still had your magic," she says, but at Lily's blank look, she elaborates, "a bit like rubbing a pulled muscle. It's never that effective if you do it to yourself, but someone else rubbing it for you can work wonders."
Lily gives a half nod. "I'd not really thought about it like that before."
"This Ministry, when they took your magic-"
"-Mummy, what's done is done. I've made peace with what's happened," she says, looking away.
"There's no chance of it being reversed? If it was a case of mistaken identity?"
"I won't turn him in," Lily says, "he didn't do anything, and he certainly doesn't deserve this."
"Well, nor did you by the sounds of it."
"And it doesn't matter anyway. They wouldn't reverse it," she explains, calmly. "They'd just take his magic as well, so then we'd be even worse off."
"But how could they? You're innocent-"
"-we were stupid. Stupid to think that people would stand up for us." Lily takes a deep breath. "...we didn't stand up for us." She bites her lip. "Just kept our heads down, kept trying to carry on, hoping it'd get better and that the laws would miraculously change."
"I'm sure you did what you could."
"If we did, it wasn't enough," Lily says, quietly. "I joined a group - I thought they'd advocate for our rights or something, but it wasn't like that. It's as if they were so busy fighting amongst themselves for what they should be doing, they missed that the government was ripping up our rights. They were too hesitant, too slow - and there was no point speaking out as an individual, they'd just…"
"Do what they did to you?"
"Yeah."
"So," Rose says, briskly, sensing Lily becoming morose, "if what's done is done, what's the plan now? For you and Severus and your little one?"
"We're going to live here." Lily pauses and then gives a small laugh. "Not here," she clarifies. "We've a house. Rented, but it's home."
"And for money? Severus was-"
"-being dramatic," Lily says, quickly, already regretting his outburst. "He had a business - a magical business - and he sold it before we left. We've got enough to last us a few months - longer if we're careful."
"And a job? You said he had a magical business, but is he qualified for anything here?"
Immediately, Lily thinks about Severus' criminal record, and looks away. "Not really. Daddy was setting me up with a job with Brian."
"Brian?" Rose smiles. "Now, that would be a good choice." She looks at Lily critically. "And what would you do with River?"
"I guess he would stay with Severus."
"And you've discussed this, have you?"
"A little. Not in so many words," she admits, watching as her mother carefully dries several plates and then stacks them in the cupboard. "We'll talk it through nearer to the time. We talk everything through now."
"Since this?"
"Since this."
Rose nods, closing the cupboard door. "Are you going to talk to him about Vernon and Petunia?"
Lily bristles. "Yes."
"I think your father would be interested to know what he did."
"I think I know what he did," Lily says, watching her mother carefully.
"I think your father can make a fairly good guess too."
"He's not a bad man, Mummy."
"I didn't say he was."
Lily frowns. "You want to know that he's going to tell me the truth, don't you?"
"Mmm," her mother says, leaning down to put a roasting tin in the bottom cupboard. "I think it would go a long way to building some bridges with your father, let's put it that way."
"Fine," Lily says, bristling. "I'll ask him. At dinner, in front of you both." Then you'll see, she thinks.
"Thank you," Rose says, and then she pauses. "Will he have done the same thing again to them tonight?"
"...probably," Lily admits, with a wince.
"And would he have done the same if you'd had this talk first?"
Lily swallows tightly. "You think I should've stopped him."
"Whatever he's doing is clearly something you disapprove of." Rose pauses, staring at her daughter intently. "Something you should disapprove of."
"I don't know," Lily says, quietly.
"You wouldn't let him to do that to us."
"No."
"But Petunia and Vernon are different?"
Lily sighs. "Petunia hates magic, Mummy. I thought… I thought we could talk to you and Daddy - you've always understood."
"But Petunia wouldn't have wanted the knowledge of her magical sister back?"
"No."
Rose's gaze is still intense, so much so, Lily moves River from arm to arm, trying to hide her discomfort.
"Would Severus have treated us like Petunia and Vernon if you hadn't been here?"
"...I don't know. Maybe. For efficiency," she admits. "He could… I probably shouldn't tell you this," she says, with a weak smile, "but he could do it now - take all of this away, and it'd all go back to normal. None of this arguing-"
"-we're not arguing-"
"-with Daddy, I was going to say," Lily adds. "Not you. I know it's Daddy who… I know he's reluctant to have me back."
The two women pause, watching each other carefully.
"Well," Rose says, suddenly changing the subject with a broad smile, "that's why we're spending a little bit of time together, isn't it? Now, we'd best start cooking so there's something ready for the boys to eat when they get back."
Severus lands in an alley three streets away from their house, fearing that if he lands in the alley behind their house, Brendan will be in the backyard and spot him appearing from thin air.
He's the last thing I need right now.
He traverses the streets quickly, trying desperately to ignore the increasing discomfort in his dress shoes, the material pinching his toes and causing a burning sensation on the back of his heel.
Severus is relieved when he finally reaches their house and as soon as locks the door behind him, he unlaces his shoes, screwing his nose up at the new but unmistakable patches of red seeping through his socks.
He moves into the living room, sinking heavily onto the bed, and peels the bloodied socks away. He casts carefully at all the places his shoes have rubbed raw - the tip of his smallest toe, the back of his heel, and even a nasty trail of pale pink across the bridge of his foot.
Immediately he feels better, and he stands, pulling Lily's list out of his pocket. He makes quick work of moving from room to room, piling a selection of Lily's clean clothes into a bag, followed by his own, and stacking up a pile of necessities onto the makeshift bed, comprising of a laundry list of items for River - don't forget Terence - and almost as many again for Lily.
He pauses and frowns as he reaches into the makeshift shower, lifting the requested bottle aloft. Does she really need that whole bottle of conditioner? Doesn't Tuney also use conditioner? Probably even gets it from Harrods or something - and then he smiles when he sees a fairly detailed list under his own name for good measure. Not just the cologne then.
Despite the instantaneous tease that springs into his mind, seeing how considerately she thought about him - how she included him - makes him feel a little warm inside, and as he reads the next item on the list, his smile grows ever wider.
Books: one for you to read to River every night, and one for you to read to me.
Severus dutifully reaches down and grabs a picture book from the pile - one with a cartoon crocodile wearing sunglasses on the cover - and then, on second thought, he grabs another two, tossing them all onto the bed next to the rest of the belongings.
He steps into the hallway, bending at the waist to peer at the lower shelves. His long fingers reach out, his fingertips grazing the spines of the texts, skirting back and forth as he muses over the fake titles, trying earnestly to remember the real contents within.
Severus lingers on two titles, torn between the writings of Penworthy and Smith, before finally settling on Smith's work. He slides it from the shelf, and almost as an afterthought, he grabs a second slim volume - and just as he straightens, his task complete, a sudden sharp pain strikes him squarely in the chest, causing him to fall heavily to his knees.
Notes:
Sorry this took longer than expected - this chapter was a bit troublesome, and it blew out to quite a high word count.
So that's pushed some of the more 'fun' stuff into the next chapter (else this update would've been about 12k in length) - but hey, at least there's something to look forward to, right? 😊
On that note, for those of you who may have missed it, I also wrote a short fic in the Dealer universe the other week, where Lily and Severus reminisce about their memorable sexual encounters to date.
If you're interested, you can find it on AO3 here: Make some memories
As always, thanks for reading. :)
Chapter 148: Inadequate
Notes:
There's self-harm in this chapter.
Chapter Text
Severus' fingers tremble as the brief flash of pain skitters across his skin - the sensation glancing, barely present.
Inadequate, he sneers, gritting his teeth and taking a deep breath. Focus. Mind over matter.
He straightens, composing himself - and it takes a moment before his brain registers the screaming pain, erupting and radiating through him. It's no longer a fleeting sting which dances across the tender surface of his skin, but a searing burn which buries into him, scorching and pulsing and throbbing, the heat furiously building in its intensity.
A scream is trapped in his throat, begging for release, but he steels himself, his bottom lip trapped tightly between his clenched teeth, and he can feel the thin tell-tale trickle of blood oozing from the paper-thin skin.
It takes all of his effort to hold still, his long hair thrashing wildly as he forces himself to endure the sensations in near silence, an unsteady count echoing in his mind as the pain causes his head to spin, his brain feeling as if he's falling through the air, plummeting down to the ground below from the peak of the highest rollercoaster.
As his stomach tightens and his resolve crumbles, his next movements occur in an uncoordinated flurry - the clatter of metal, the twist of a knob, the saltwater that builds in the corner of his eye - and he takes an unsteady step backwards, gasping, staring down at his newly blemished skin.
They outflank David, cajoling him into the living room, his grandson placed in his arms.
"But I was going to empty the car," he says, his car keys dangling limply from his fingers, "there's things for the freezer-"
"-I can do that," Rose says.
"You're cooking-"
"-it's stew," Lily chips in, "hands free. Besides, if you're watching River, I can watch the stove."
Rose smiles brightly at David as she removes the car keys from his grip. "And don't just stand there with him," she says, indicating to River as she kisses his cheek.
"Don't just…" David trails off, looking baffled. "What do you want me to do with him? Go for a jog?" When he gains no response from his departing wife, David looks helplessly towards Lily.
"Just hold him," Lily says, lightly, "it's good for River to get used to being held by different people instead of just me and Sev." She drops a kiss onto River's forehead. "Be good for Grandad, Riv," she says, before retreating into the kitchen.
David frowns, settling himself onto the sofa, cradling his grandson close to his chest - and as Lily peers at him from the kitchen door, she smiles to herself; if her father had suspected anything untoward, he not only hadn't voiced his concerns but being distracted by River meant that he remained entirely ignorant of his wife and daughter stashing his shopping into cupboards and onto shelves, carefully disguising the fact that none of it was required.
Rose locks up - the car, then the house - and then she washes her hands before turning to Lily. Her eyes glance up at the clock as she gently moves Lily to one side of the cooker, giving the stew another stir. "It's late. I would've thought he'd have been back by now. I could do with putting the potatoes on."
Lily follows her mother's gaze, registering the time, and then she silently counts under her breath, thinking back to when Severus departed. "He won't be long," she says, firmly, "it's probably just taking him a bit of time to gather everything of ours together."
"Then set the table, lovey," Rose says, pulling a cupboard door open and reaching into the potato bag, "and I'll get started with these."
David leans back in his chair, his right hand reaching out to pull the net curtain back half an inch, his eyes focused on the driveway.
Lily keeps her attention trained on River, his tiny hands scrabbling as she guides him to her nipple - and when he finally latches on properly, she can feel the tension escaping both her and her son at the same time.
Relief.
"Thought you were going to pitch a fit then, Riv," she coos, soothingly, her hand stroking through his fine hair as he feeds. "Hungry boy, aren't you?"
"Mmm," David murmurs, his gaze still focused on the window.
Lily guiltily looks towards the clock on the mantelpiece, surrounded by photographs of Vernon and Petunia. "Sev won't be… Can't be…" She trails off. "Anyway, it's probably better that I've fed Riv before we eat," she says, a little louder, changing tack, "else he'll only become whingey, and then my food gets cold whilst I feed him."
Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, weak, weak, weak, coward, coward, wet, wet, weak, wet, weak, pathetic, useless, pathetic, idiot, useless, idiot, pathetic idiot, useless idiot, idiot, idiot, weak, weak, weak, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, coward, coward, coward.
It's a taunting mantra that burns through his brain, his forehead now braced against the floor, his hand gripping his damaged skin, almost as if he believes that he can tear the searing, gut-wrenching pain away.
But you don't want it to stop. You deserve this. Take it, take it, take it.
Rose quietly watches as Lily picks at the rapidly congealing boiled potato on her plate, her face filled with concern.
"Enough," David says, firmly, "eat up."
Lily looks up. "I'm not very hungry."
"You must be." Rose shoots her another anxious glance. "Lily, it doesn't just stop when you've given birth. With you feeding River, you're still eating for two."
"...it's not that. I just think we should've waited, that's all," she says, quietly.
"Waited? And just what do you think we've been doing?" David snaps. "It's already gone eight o'clock."
Lily falls silent again, her eyes trained on her stew, stirring the meat and vegetables together on her plate - and Rose shoots David a stern look over the top of Lily's head.
"I've left a portion in the oven, on a low heat," Rose says, reassuringly, "it'll keep for him, for when he gets back."
David cuts through his potato. "If he gets back."
"David, really!"
At this, Lily looks at her father. "You're thinking it too. Something's happened to him."
David grimaces. "Or he's happening to someone else."
Lily shakes her head firmly. "No."
"No?" David presses. "Maybe whatever he did to Tuney and Vernon didn't go down so well this time."
"They're no match for him," Lily says, quietly, "they wouldn't have held him up. The people who are after us-"
"-David," Rose interrupts, sharply, "this isn't helpful." She reaches out, her palm warm as her hand covers Lily's. "He'll be fine. He said himself that it might take him a while - it was quite a long list that you gave him."
"He was joking." Lily places her fork down, half hanging off her plate. "Something's gone terribly wrong, I know it. What if he's hurt, or trapped? I can't get back to him!"
At this, David abruptly pushes his chair back, wiping his mouth with a napkin before carefully placing it to the side of his plate, and then he strides towards the hall door, yanking it violently open.
"David, what-"
"-this hotel," he barks, "where are they? Tuney and Vernon?"
Lily blinks, stunned by the turn in conversation. "The Cedars, definitely the Cedars."
David raises an eyebrow. "Well, at least our Petunia won't have cause to complain about the hospitality," he says, picking up the phone receiver with one hand, and grabbing the phonebook in the other hand.
"Daddy, don't-"
"-it's the only way we'll find out what's happened to Severus," David says, firmly. "If he's still there, then we have our answer, don't we?"
Severus gingerly slides his arms into his shirt, grimacing as the material grazes against the newly formed red lines crossing his pale skin.
She'll be wondering where you are.
It's enough to cause him to focus on the task at hand, and he quickly dresses, unfastening his trousers so he can tuck the tails of his shirt in. He makes quick work of buttoning his shirt, his hands moving deftly down his torso, inhaling sharply as the act of fastening his shirt pulls the cloth more tightly over his damaged skin.
He unlocks the back door and moves quickly through the house, hefting their belongings outside and dumping them unceremoniously in the yard, the slabs so cold underfoot in the autumn air, they almost feel wet against his socked feet.
He ventures into the house for a final time, securing the front door, casting spell after spell at the lock, and then reluctantly looking down at his dress shoes.
Different pain might take your mind off it.
The thought feels like a betrayal, and he drags his boots on instead.
Not really the right look for the suit, he thinks, but then, none of it impressed them anyway.
He strides through the house, double checking that everything is switched off in the kitchen, and triple checking the back door. With a final cautious look over the wall into Brendan's yard, he scoops up a handful of items; a holdall containing their clothes, a bag of their sanitary items, and then he grabs a packet of nappies and holds it against his chest - and then he screws his eyes tightly shut, focusing on the feel of his magic under his skin.
Remember what they taught you. Feel it. Focus on it. The three Ds. He takes another sharp breath, the air fresh and cold in his lungs. Take me back to Lily and Riv.
The waiter approaches their table, and at Petunia's furious glare, he hesitates, and Vernon doesn't miss the slight shake of the man's hand, or the movement of his larynx in his throat.
"I er, beg your pardon for intruding, Mr Dursley," the waiter starts, his eyes focused on Vernon, refusing to acknowledge the darkening look on Petunia's face.
For his part, Vernon makes eye contact with his wife, appraising the situation. "Yes, yes," he snaps, "what is it?" He rests his knife and fork against his plate. "I must warn you, laddo, the owners and I go back a long way-"
"-I sincerely apologise, sir, but it's the telephone," the waiter says, bending slightly at the waist, accentuating his subservience - as if desperately praying that Vernon doesn't deign to create an intolerable scene in front of the other guests. "At the front desk."
"Oh," Petunia says, sitting straighter, a prim smile spreading across her face, "well, it's frankly no surprise, we're simply interrupted everywhere we go." She daintily places her hand into Vernon's hammier fist. "My husband is an incredibly important businessman."
"I understand," the waiter says, with a slight nod. "If you would follow me, Mr Dursley?"
"Excuse me, dear," Vernon says to Petunia, as he stands, uncaringly dropping his napkin down onto the table from a great height. "I shan't be long," he calls, as he starts to follow the waiter through the maze of tables.
As he disappears, Petunia snaps her fingers, beckoning another waiter towards her. "And you," she barks, her tone harsh once more, "don't you dare let my husband's meal go cold."
The waiter hesitates, his eyes darting between Petunia and the scant food remaining on the plate - barely a slice of carrot, and half a roast potato, and a smear of red wine jus - and he looks astonished.
"Well? Don't just gawp at it! Do something!"
It's awkward - painful, almost - listening to her father's side of the conversation, although with Vernon's voice booming through the receiver, it's not too difficult to fill in the blanks.
Lily refuses to move, her fork still swirling patterns in her stew, but Rose stands and joins David, the pair of them listening intently to the outstretched receiver.
"No, no," David says, hastily, "there's nothing wrong… No… No, the gas is fine… The electric… No, the water… No, everything's under control," he finally manages to say, his voice increasingly strained.
"What the blazes are you calling for then?"
The outburst is enough to make Lily grimace, fairly certain that this is the way that Vernon speaks to those beneath him at Grunnings.
No wonder Sev didn't want his job.
She slides off her seat and steps cautiously through into the hall, standing in the door, and she makes eye contact with her mother, who looks equally irritated.
"Rosie and I were just checking in with you both, checking that your little break was still going well," David says, calmly - and Lily recognises the coolness in his voice, a tone that he keeps for insurance salesmen and cold-callers who interrupt their mealtimes.
"Vernon, remind me," David continues, "Rosie keeps telling me but I'm afraid these days, it all rather goes in one ear and out the other. When are you both coming back?"
This time, she can't hear the response, Vernon clearly having calmed but her father's broad smile causes her to sag against the doorframe.
"Oh? Gosh, that is a stroke of luck. Yes, yes, I quite understand. Well, an executive suite is a… Well, no, of course I didn't mean… Yes, well deserved. Vernon… Vernon, I couldn't trouble you for a word with Tuney, could I?"
David places his hand over the receiver. "He's putting Tuney on. They were just eating in the restaurant." His green eyes meet Lily's. "He says they're staying for a few more days, ever since they ran into the owner who upgraded them into the executive suite."
Rose moves up the hallway, closer to her daughter, and she squeezes her arm. "He was there."
"Yes," Lily nods.
"That's good," her mother urges.
"But he's not there now." Lily looks away. "I think I'd rather that he was arguing with Vernon - Vernon can't do anything, Vernon's just-"
"-Petunia!" David suddenly booms, breaking the moment. "Now, darling, tell me all about this wonderful executive suite…"
Lily stares at her father, watching as he moves animatedly, his face breaking into a wide grin whilst he listens to Petunia's commentary. Her voice is quieter than Vernon's - sharper - but Lily can just about make out her tones echoing down the phone.
Not that she's really listening - she already felt heavy at the idea that Severus might be trapped at Rillwych, perhaps with Avery or Mulciber or worse holding him prisoner - and although she hadn't said as much to her parents, there was a small part of her holding out hope that he had been waylaid with Vernon and Petunia.
Anything could've happened to him.
"Well, Daddy, it wasn't really a shock, not with Vernon's connections." Petunia's smug exclamation seems to penetrate Lily's brain. "Now, of course, we don't take it for granted, but it is to be expected when-"
Lily doesn't trust herself to meet her mother's gaze, but when she looks up, her father is staring intently at her.
"-Tuney, darling," David says, warmly, tilting the receiver towards Rose and Lily, "I was just speaking with Lily."
The name hangs in the air momentarily, and Lily suddenly becomes conscious of her parents holding their breath - that whilst she's quietly praying that Severus might not have completed his task, might still be stalking around a hotel, her parents aren't hoping for that answer at all.
"Oh."
It's damning. Lily swallows uncomfortably, not daring to look at either her mother or father.
"What does she want?"
The collective breath is released, and Rose rushes towards the receiver, whilst Lily grips the doorframe, trying not to let tears spring into her eyes.
"Your sister was just catching up," Rose says, lightly, calling down the phone and exchanging a look with David.
"Yes, well," Petunia sniffs, "perhaps the less said about that dreadful arm of the family-"
"-Petunia!"
"No, Daddy, it was disgraceful," Petunia carries on, loudly, "a shotgun wedding, none of us invited!"
"It wasn't a shotgun wedding," Lily snaps, the words out before she can think better of them.
"Tuney," David warns, his cool tone resurfacing.
"No, Daddy, I don't want to hear you say that we've talked about this! I've had quite enough of talking about the whole sorry situation," Petunia shrills, "when frankly, Daddy, a lot of this is entirely your fault!"
"Petunia," Rose says, standing closer to David, "I don't think this is the time-"
"-my fault?"
"It was that dreadful boy's fault," Petunia continues, her tone venomous, "but Daddy, you encouraged him! Lily was being her usual difficult self, as well you know, making awfully inappropriate comments, and he was smirking over his glass - of course - but it was you, Daddy! I expect no better from the likes of him, but you were laughing at his behaviour as well. Vernon was so offended."
Rose and David exchange a look, and then Rose steps closer. "I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it, Petunia, lovey."
"He meant every comment!" Petunia sounds apoplectic, her piercing voice becoming ever louder. "And what about my feelings? I was only trying to help!"
David pauses, his eyes suddenly wary. "And remind me, how were you trying to help, Tuney?"
Petunia scoffs. "Like you don't know." There's a sigh. "I merely suggested that Lily might like to meet with one of Vernon's business associates-"
"-for business?" David enquires, his tone mild, but his jaw fixed. "Or as a date?"
There's a brief silence, and Lily can't decide which is worse: the diatribe from Petunia, or the pitying looks from her mother - your mother who doesn't know Severus at all.
"Well," Petunia scoffs, "what do you think, Daddy? Lily's hardly the next Alan Sugar, is she? They're hardly likely to be interested in her brains, but luckily-"
"-and you suggested this whilst Severus was sitting next to Lily?" David's face flushes. "When he was an invited guest in your house? Whilst he was sat with his family?"
"Not his family," Petunia corrects, "not really."
"I thought I knew you better than to behave like this, Tuney."
There's a loud sigh. "We don't have to go over this again. I know you didn't approve, Daddy," Petunia says, stiffly, "you made that perfectly clear when you refused to visit. Siding with him."
"She disinvited Severus from our family gatherings," Lily hisses, her voice low - but David immediately clamps the phone receiver against his ear, as if trying to ensure that Petunia won't hear Lily speaking. "He took it in his stride, and she was the one who blanked him! It was only because Daddy stopped going that she relented!"
David holds his hand up, a clear signal for Lily to quieten, his mouth pinched as he listens to his other daughter. "...well, that may be, Petunia, but I don't believe I have anything to apologise for," he says, evenly. "Quite the contrary, in fact."
Despite the phone being against his ear, the next words are unmistakable; loud and hate-filled, spiteful and mean, echoing out into their silent hall.
"That boy, he's like a stray dog that won't go away - she made the mistake of feeding him once, and that's it, he won't ever leave her alone. And now look! Now he's in the family, and she has his name, and there's a… Spawn."
At this sudden spiteful outburst towards her family, Lily's whole body tightens, but before she can react - before she can wrench the phone receiver from her father's grasp and give her sister a piece of her mind - Rose shepherds her away, and David slams the hall door firmly shut.
It's almost painful, standing in front of her mother, Rose's face is etched with pity and concern, her hands wringing together. "I really don't know what's got into her."
There's part of Lily that wants to scream - that wants her parents to see that she's always endured this sort of behaviour from her sister; that they saw another side to Petunia whilst she was away at Hogwarts, but all Lily was met with was jealousy and spite - but she says nothing. Instead, she offers her mother a pinched smile.
"...it seems safe to say that Petunia certainly knows who you both are." Rose turns, glancing back at River, who is slumbering in the top portion from his pram. "Even about River."
"Even River."
"It sounds as if Severus upgraded them. Petunia and Vernon. That room they're in."
Lily nods.
"That's good of him."
"I guess."
"Clever, this magic," Rose says, her hands moving more slowly, more deliberately, "to make Vernon think that it was his association with the owner which led to an upgrade."
"Yes."
"You didn't invite her to your wedding."
Lily arches an eyebrow. "That's your takeaway from that outburst?"
Rose gives an awkward laugh. "She doesn't like him much, does she?"
"It's not his fault. He's tried," Lily says, quietly. "Things were…awkward when we were teenagers, but he's done everything he can to smooth things over."
Her mother appraises her. "Everything?" she asks, the enquiry mild but the implication clear: Even magic?
"Everything he could do if he was just a Muggle. Although, I'm sure you're right," Lily adds, testily, "if he really didn't care about her independence, I'm sure he could change it with magic - modify her, control her, make her think that she liked him." She toys with her sleeve. "But he doesn't. He just takes it - whatever she dishes out at him, he just absorbs it. For my sake. For your sake."
Rose looks troubled. "And what she was saying was true? She really tried to set you up with a new partner in front of him?"
"In front of all of us. You and Daddy. Vernon. Severus."
"And what did he say about that?"
"He didn't say anything."
Rose gives a slight shake of her head. "I can't believe that. He was barely holding onto his temper here this afternoon."
"He's not himself at the moment."
"He really didn't say anything?"
Lily shakes her head.
"Not at the meal, then. What about after? When you both got home?"
Lily looks away, a flush rising in her cheeks. "He still didn't say anything."
It isn't a lie. He hadn't said a word - hadn't mentioned Petunia's behaviour or grumbled about her actions, hadn't raised the uncomfortable topic of Lily being better suited to one of Vernon's peers instead of being stuck as Severus Snape's girlfriend.
Instead, he'd gone straight into their bedroom and stripped the bedding, efficiently swapping the week old linens for clean sheets - and then he'd disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower pounding echoing around the silent living room.
When he'd emerged a half hour later, his wet towel wrapped loosely around his hips, his long hair dripping onto the carpet, he'd silently held his hand out to her. She'd taken it, permitting him to lead her through into the bedroom, and he'd pulled her onto the bed, his towel making the duvet damp beneath them, kissing her passionately, performing through action what he found impossible to say.
Mine.
Severus exhales loudly as he lands on the damp grass, and then he heaves their bags of belongings to join the untidy pile by the wall.
One more trip. If you're quick, you can get there and back before Brendan notices you mysteriously disappearing in the yard.
"So he's not with Petunia and Vernon," Rose muses, "and if he's already altered their memories-"
"-then he's at home," Lily finishes, biting her lip. "Something's happened, and I can't get to him."
David leans against the hall door, his hands jammed tightly into his trouser pockets, watching with increasing discomfort as Lily tries to console a distressed River.
"David could drive you-"
"-it's hours away," Lily says, jiggling River in her arms. "Shhhh, shhhhh, Riv, it's ok."
"And he might turn up," David says, bending his neck to look at the clock. "It's been three hours."
"It shouldn't have taken three hours."
"Maybe he just got talking to someone," Rose says, soothingly, "someone he knows? He might be due at any moment, might just come walking in that door-"
"-and he might not!"
"Oh, Lily," Rose says, as her daughter bursts into tears. "Lily, lovey, come here."
"No." Lily sniffs loudly, holding River closer to her. "It's fine. I'm fine."
"Tell me what we can do," David interrupts, his voice back to being calm and comforting. "I think you're right, driving up there is a wild goose chase - as soon as we get onto the M40, no doubt he'll turn up here - but we could call someone? His parents?"
"They don't have a phone."
"Someone must, Lily," Rose urges. "Someone who can send a message…" She trails off as there's a sudden noise from the kitchen, but before she can react, Lily darts towards the door.
"Sev? Sev!"
Severus looks up in amazement as the kitchen light springs to life, illuminating him as he drags the heavy holdall into the kitchen, his face breaking into a sincere smile as sees Lily rushing towards him - and then his expression falls as he spies Lily's tears and registers River's wails.
"Hey, hey, hey," he says, dropping the holdall and wrapping them both in his embrace. He kisses the top of Lily's head, nestling his nose in her hair. "What's wrong, love, hey?"
"What's wrong? What's wrong? Where the hell have you been!" she exclaims, burying her face into his chest. "I thought… I thought-"
"-shhhhh," he interrupts, soothingly, running his hands across her back. "I'm fine."
"Nothing happened?"
He leans back, moving his hand to her cheek, and holding her away from him, his dark eyes searching over her blotchy tear-stained face. "I went to the hotel," he says, calmly, "and then I went to Rillwych and got all of our stuff, like I said I would."
"You were ages."
"I had to take a few trips, and I was trying not to splinch myself." He quirks a smile. "Somehow, I didn't think that missing half of my leg would make a great impression."
Lily settles into his familiar embrace, her hands holding River tightly - his tiny face reddened - whilst Severus holds her.
"Are you going to tell me why our little boy's so upset?" he asks, gently.
"He won't settle. He just started having a fit."
"...when you were crying?"
She looks guilt ridden at his astute observation, and he smooths his hand across her cheek, his touch gentle.
"It wasn't a criticism, love."
Lily swallows. "It's not just that. It's a strange place for him. It's late - past his bedtime, and you weren't here, and I was upset, and he wasn't latching on properly earlier, and-"
"-and it sounds to me as if you've all had enough for one day," Rose interjects, and he suddenly spies them standing in the doorway, David's hands on her shoulders.
"I'll give you a hand with these bags, Severus," he offers.
"And I'll help you to get River settled down to sleep," Rose smiles.
"Go on," David encourages, opening the door to the master bedroom, "they won't mind."
Severus hesitates, his eyebrow arched. "I wiped their memories," he murmurs, "I didn't give them a personality transplant." He lets the holdall drop to the floor by his feet. "I'm not sure they'd forgive me if I dared sleep in that dusty, spider-filled cupboard under the stairs, let alone in their bed."
"I'd say something flippant about what they don't know not hurting them," David starts, trailing off as he enters the room.
"But that doesn't seem appropriate?"
"No. Not really." David turns back to look at Severus, who is still standing on the landing. "Severus, look, there's three of you. You can't cram into the smallest bedroom, and I'm not having you sleeping on the sofa. Rosie invited you here to rest."
"She'll never forgive me."
David starts stripping the bedding from the bed, still glancing behind him towards Severus. "Who are we talking about now? Rosie? Petunia?" He roughly pulls a laced-trimmed pillowcase from a pillow and tosses it on the floor. "Or Lily?"
"Petunia." He pauses. "Lily says it doesn't bother her, the animosity between them, but it does. It always has."
"They've been at each other's throats for a while then?"
Severus shrugs. "It's one way traffic, if you ask me." He gives a soft laugh. "Not that Lil is a pushover, you understand." His nostrils flare. "She wants it too much. Petunia senses it, and that's the only power she's got left over Lily. It upsets Rose."
"I can imagine. Here," David says, throwing a clean set of pillowcases at him. "Don't just stand there."
Severus steps into Petunia and Vernon's bedroom and pulls the fresh pillowcases onto the pillows, and after David tugs the old bottom sheet off, he replaces it with a fresh one.
"She thought something had happened to you. Lily."
Severus focuses on tucking the sheet in at the corners. "She already told you - I've not been well. I used to be… I used to be… Well, it wouldn't have taken me so long. Before. But I had to concentrate, make sure I didn't splinch myself."
"You said that earlier." David shoots him a quizzical look. "What's it mean?"
"When you Apparate…" Severus trails off, and gives a slight laugh, realising that he can't explain one wizarding term with another. "Apparating is going from one place to another. Think of it as being like arriving, whereas if you disappear from here, then that's Disapparating."
"I'm following."
"It's like a snap - like a burst of magic."
David raises an eyebrow. "Disappearing in a puff of smoke?"
Severus laughs. "Yeah, the Ministry's not too happy about your magic shows having that. Statute of Secrecy, and all that. Anyway, splinching is when you mess it up." He tilts his head back, his eyes closed, as if recalling his school days - and when he speaks, it sounds as if he's reciting from a book. "Splinching is the unnatural separation of parts of the body, and this occurs when the wizard or witch's mind is insufficiently focused. You must concentrate continually upon your destination with a determination to enter that space, and then - and only then! - you must move with deliberation."
"Sounds complicated."
Severus looks back at David. "Every witch and wizard can do it. It's not hard, but it's not easy, either." He grimaces. "I mean, the consequences of a lapse in concentration are dire, let's put it that way. If you mess it up, you can lose a finger, or an arm or leg, or worse - and I was carrying so much with me, I didn't want to be the wizard who left his head behind." He laughs. "Didn't think Lil'd appreciate it if I turned up decapitated in the back garden. Least, not unless I'd finished that long list she gave me."
"And the Statute of Secrecy?" David asks, ignoring his joke. "What's that?"
"We're not meant to talk about magic to Muggles - to non-magical people."
David frowns. "Then how did we know? Before…" He waves his hand. "Before what happened."
"You've got a magical child, so you're told - the Ministry of Magic approves it. You need to be, else she couldn't have come to school. I mean, you wouldn't have believed it, would you? I got a letter, that's all, but I already knew - I knew all about it! My mam's a witch, so I was expecting… I couldn't wait for that letter. Whereas Lily… Well, I'd told her, but…" He shrugs. "I guess it's not really true until you see it for yourself. So Hogwarts sends a teacher, and they tell you all about it - show you some, even. A demonstration can't be denied."
"But you'd already done that for us, hadn't you? That's what was said earlier."
Severus looks ashamed. "I was just a stupid kid. You didn't really… You thought… Tuney told you all about me. About my family. Where I lived, and… You thought I was lying, that I was filling Lily's head with nonsense and… I don't know. I guess I was angry." He shakes his head. "I just… I wasn't doing any harm, I just wanted a friend, that's all, and I thought you were going to take her away from me. For telling lies."
"And it didn't get you into trouble? With this Statute?"
"They go easy on you when you're a kid. You can't really control it, so they let you off. Accidents happen." He gives David a pinched smile. "David, look, it wasn't like that display tonight. It was… Haphazard." He winces. "Probably a bit terrifying in hindsight. I was, I don't know, barely four foot tall and waving my arms around…" He exhales. "Not my finest moment, I admit that much, but she was important to me. I couldn't lose her."
David doesn't say anything, but turns his attention to the holdall. He quietly empties the contents onto the dresser, bundles of clothes packed into neat piles - one each for Severus and Lily - whilst Severus takes his silence as being pointed, and busies himself setting River's items into sections - babygrows, baby clothes, bibs and blankets.
"It was magic then?"
Severus turns around, twisting his neck. "What was?"
David points at his back. "Those scars. Some sort of magical whip, or wand, or..?"
Severus turns back to the clothes, his head bowed, and he's so quiet, David stills, his heart beating in his chest as adrenaline surges through him, half waiting for Severus to react violently.
"Belt. It was a belt. He's not a wizard. My da. He's like you."
"But if you're magical, couldn't you have used magic to stop him? You seem powerful enough to me."
"I was a teenager," Severus says, hotly. "They kick you out. Expel you. Magic against Muggles, it's… It's unheard of."
"You said your mother was a witch, couldn't she-"
"My mam? She never loved me enough to intervene," Severus says, standing, brushing imaginary dust from the thighs of his trousers. "I was just a little magical freak who needed to be put in his place, taught right from wrong, that's all."
There's a long silence, David's green eyes boring into Severus' black ones.
"And that worked, did it?"
There's an even longer silence, and then Severus gives a soft laugh.
"Yeah. Yeah, for a bit, I reckon it did." He claps David on the shoulder. "Thanks. For this. Helping."
This time, it's David who grabs Severus, pulling him back as he heads towards the landing. "Severus? Take a shower."
"But Lil, she said - she wanted me to eat, said there was-"
"-it'll keep. Change into something more comfortable. You'll feel better for it."
He strips naked, and stands for several minutes in their bathroom, staring down at his newly formed wounds. He finally stoops and picks up his wand, casting a soft incantation at his arm, his voice barely more than a tender whisper.
"Ferula."
Instantly, bandages cover the damaged skin and he steps into the shower, letting the hot water beat against him, throwing his head back and losing himself to the sensation of cleansing himself, and washing away the sins of the day.
Her knock is soft, but it sends him into a spiral, grabbing his wand and casting quickly at the bandages, removing them and replacing them with a hasty glamour, and then he grabs his towel, wrapping it around his waist just as she enters, a slow smile spreading across her face at his relative state of undress.
"I won't be long. Your dad, he said-"
"-I know what he said," she smiles, entering, and leaning back against the door as she closes it softly. "You've been a while, that's all."
"Old slow coach, that's me these days," he says, offering her an uncertain laugh.
Lily steps closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and then letting one hand trail across his shoulders and down his chest, tracing the pale marks on his skin with her forefinger. "This is still happening, then?"
"It was nothing."
"I thought you'd been held up with Avery. Or Mulciber."
He offers her a pinched smile. "No. Just… Same old, same old."
"Whatever you're doing, whatever your theory is-"
"-I said I'm testing-"
"-it's not working, Sev," she says, her fingers dancing lightly over his skin. "Is it?"
He bites his lip. "You've got to give these things time."
Lily looks at him, and he almost feels unnerved - just as David challenged him in the bedroom, he feels the same vibe from his wife, those same green eyes staring up at him, her head tilted in apparent confusion.
"Really," he insists. "I've got it under control."
"Mummy said something interesting earlier," she says, snaking her arm back around his neck and clasping her hands together.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She darts a kiss against his lips. "When you pull a muscle."
He kisses her back, over and over, before finally smirking at her. "I haven't pulled a muscle, love."
"That isn't…" Lily shakes her head. "No, listen Sev, if you'd pulled a muscle and you rubbed it, it doesn't do much, but if someone else rubbed it-"
"-here," he laughs, grabbing her around the waist, "if we're talking about rubbing, I've got something you can rub."
"Sev!"
He laughs - a hearty, thrilled laugh, a laugh that erupts from the bottom of his chest, a gleam of real amusement in his eyes.
"Merlin, you're a menace, Severus," she says, kissing him more insistently.
"Mmm, I like that, do that again."
She repeats the action - kissing him once, twice, three times - and just as she moves to pull away, he moves forward, holding her more tightly, and this time, his lips part in the kiss.
"More," he murmurs.
"More?"
"Kiss me again," he begs, his dark eyes meeting hers. "Kiss me like you want me."
"I do want you."
He gently manoeuvres her towards the wall, and as he presses her against it, his body flush against hers, she's surrounded by heat - emanating both from his body, and from the warm radiator her leg is resting against.
"This," he says, punctuating his words with kisses, "is my favourite thing to do."
"What is?"
"Making out," he confesses. "I could do this for hours."
She kisses him softly, her hands gliding through his damp hair. "Your favourite?"
"Mmm."
"I thought this was your favourite," she murmurs, untying his towel and moving her hand steadily down until she's holding his length, her hand gently sliding backwards and forwards.
"Fuck." He leans his head back, his eyes shuttering closed. "Fuck. Stop." He reaches for her hand, stilling her. "Stop."
"I thought you wanted me?"
"I do," he breathes, "but your parents…" He presses another kiss against her lips. "And me… It's been ages, love. Keep that up and…" He trails off and laughs, embarrassment tinging his cheeks pink.
She reaches for his hand, her fingers entwining with his. "It'll be our wedding night, you know? The first time."
With his free hand, he smoothes a piece of her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear, a soft smile on his face. "That's an awful lot of pressure to put on yourself," he murmurs. "On me. On Little Sev."
Lily gives a wicked chuckle, wrapping her hand around him once more. "Little Sev?"
"Yeah, on second thoughts, maybe don't call it that," he grins.
"Well, by the way Little Sev-"
"-Lil-"
"-keeps responding, I don't think he's going to have any problems."
"Maybe not, but if you keep that up," he groans, "then our wedding night is going to be you bent over your sister's bath whilst your parents listen from below."
Lily wraps her arms around him and pulls him in for another passionate kiss, and although she feels him relaxing in her arms, she reluctantly pulls away. "Speaking of my parents, I think they're expecting us downstairs."
He nods. "I'm just going to shave. I feel grungy."
"Don't brush your teeth," she warns, her hand on the door. "Mummy's made you stew, remember?"
"Remember? I'm half starved," he grins, lathering his cheeks. "I'll be down in five."
"Sev?"
"Mmm?" he says, gently stroking his razor down his cheek, his other hand pulling the skin taut.
"What Mummy was saying… Whatever it is you're doing, it might be more effective if I help - if I did it? Like she said, it might be like-"
"-rubbing a pulled muscle," he finishes. "I heard you the first time." He looks at her, his eyes guarded, but his expression unfathomable, as if entirely disguised by the thick shaving foam. "I'll bear it in mind," he says, running his razor under the hot tap, before continuing his downward stroke.
"Unless," Lily starts, her fingers twined together, "unless I need my magic to help?"
He stops, the metal of the razor catching the edge of the sink as he clasps the basin. "I promise I haven't forgotten about you," he says, turning so he can stare straight at her, so she can see the intensity in his eyes. "I'll solve whatever's wrong with me, get my magic stable, and then I'm all yours, and I swear to you, Lily, I'll do whatever it takes - I'll go to the ends of the earth to fix you."
Chapter 149: A foundation of secrets
Chapter Text
When Severus finally pokes his head around the door, Lily feels her heart skip in her chest at his appearance. Gone is the surly youth in an ill-fitting suit with a sharp temper and an even sharper tongue, replaced by the loving and dependable man that she knows her parents would've wanted her to marry.
His dark eyes are warm when he catches her gaze, and dressed in his casual clothes, fresh from the shower, he seems relaxed - almost boneless in the effortless way he carries himself.
Comfortable in his own skin, she thinks, as if he's washed away whatever was bothering him.
The difference seems to radiate from him, and she casts a surreptitious look towards her father, trying to gauge if he can also sense the change - but David doesn't react. Instead, he merely turns the page of the newspaper, the rustle of the paper loud in the near silent room.
Lily glances back towards Severus, who seems calm, his chin tilted upwards in a mark of confidence - although her eyes narrow as she takes in his worn and tatty woollen jumper.
From one extreme to another, she thinks. One minute he looks as if he's due in court, the next he looks as if he's about to moonlight for the rag and bone man. I thought I'd thrown that out?
She bites her lip, not wanting to rebuke him in front of her parents, yet fearing what other hideous combinations of clothes he'll have haphazardly stuffed into their holdall in his haste.
I should've made the list clearer. I didn't think I needed to specify 'no clothes more than five years old'. If he's picked up that blue blouse that's coming apart at the underarm, Mummy won't trust we can look after ourselves.
She realises that her fear must have shown on her face, because he tilts his head, his own eyes narrowing with concern - and then he offers her his funny half crooked smile, the one which has always made her stomach flip.
"Hey," he says, leaning over the sofa to meet her with a kiss, the woody scent of his cologne flooding her nostrils as he bends further, dropping a quick kiss on River's forehead. "Still not asleep then, Bean?"
"Almost. He's fighting it."
He glances towards David, the newspaper still held high, and then he darts another kiss to her lips. "We can wait until he's settled."
"For?"
He looks surprised. "I thought you said we were eating?"
"Just you, Sev," Lily explains. "We sat down together earlier, but Mummy's saved you some."
There's a loud rustle of the newspaper as David makes a show of turning the pages. "Sat would be the operative word," he says, tonelessly.
Severus shoots David a curious look, but the newspaper is already raised, deliberately blocking his view, so he peers back at Lily. "You've already-"
"-yeah."
"Severus? Come and sit at the table, please," Rose calls - and barely a moment later, she bustles into the room, clutching a steaming hot plate with a tea towel to protect her hands.
He pulls out one of the chairs as Rose places the plate before him. "Thanks, Rose."
"Be careful, it's hot."
Severus experimentally grazes his fingertips against the edge of the ceramic plate and then as the heat burns his skin, he immediately yanks them away, blowing on them. "You weren't kidding," he grins, "thanks for the warning. Could've done myself a mischief there."
"Don't let it get cold," Rose warns, as she turns off the kitchen light and moves to sit next to David. "You don't mind if I put the volume on low, do you?"
There's no dissent to her request. The room is so silent, with just David's newspaper occasionally rustling and Severus' fork scraping across the plate, although Rose keeps the volume at a relatively low level, the newsreader's clipped, precise tones fill the room.
Severus' dark eyes cast around the room taking in the scene before him - David focused on his newspaper, Rose entranced by the television, and Lily's eyes not leaving River.
"Riv's been fussy all the time I've been gone?"
"Yeah." Lily shoots an apologetic smile towards her parents. "He's not like this normally. I don't know what's got into him."
"It's a strange place, lovey, that's all it is," her mother says, reassuringly.
"Mind if I get some bread, Rose?"
Rose's head jerks upwards, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "Oh. I'll er," she says, starting to stand, "I'll get some for-"
"-no, I can get it. I was just checking I wasn't about to eat tomorrow's breakfast."
"No, no, that's fine," Rose says, seeming momentarily stunned. "Help yourself, Severus. There's a loaf open on the worktop, boards are in the-"
"-bottom left cupboard, and the knife's in the cutlery drawer," Severus finishes, with a grin. "I've got it."
Lily shares an uncomfortable look with her mother as he disappears into the kitchen, his plate of food seemingly forgotten on the table.
"I thought I'd kept back enough for him," Rose says, looking worried.
Lily offers her a tight smile. "It's not you, Mummy. He's like a bottomless pit."
A bottomless pit who could've shown more manners.
Rose leans towards her daughter, her voice low. "It's not the stew, is it? Doesn't he like it?"
"He does normally," Lily whispers back, feeling the flush of embarrassment growing on her cheeks.
"Maybe there's too much pepper," Rose muses quietly.
There's a sudden snap of the newspaper as David flicks through several pages at once, and then straightens it once more, his displeasure clear.
Don't do this, don't make a scene, Sev. Just eat the bloody meal.
There's a series of clatters from the kitchen - the fridge door opening and shutting, knife striking board, board dropping into the sink - and then the kitchen light snaps off, the artificial glow no longer streaming through the doorway, and Severus reappears, two plates in his hand - one empty, one piled high with bread.
"Sev, what are-"
"-give Riv to Rose," he commands, ignoring Lily's comment entirely as he dumps the plate piled high with bread onto the table, and then turns to Rose. "You don't mind taking him for half an hour, do you, Rose? I'd say put him in the carrier, but if he starts up again-"
"-no, not at all," Rose says, taking her grandson, her frown mirroring her daughter's.
"Now take this," he instructs, no longer looking at Rose, his attention entirely on Lily as he passes the empty plate to her, "and hold still." He turns back to the table, grabbing his own hot plate, wincing as the heat stings his fingers, and then he carefully scrapes half of the stew onto the plate Lily's holding.
"Sev, this is silly, I've already eaten-"
"-not enough, I'll bet."
"It'll pay out," David suddenly says, lowering the newspaper infinitesimally.
A broad grin spreads across Severus' face, and he waves the fork at Lily. "Validation," he laughs, "and you know me, Lil, I'm always happy to have a win, but I get the feeling that was odds on." He passes a fork to Lily. "You heard your dad. Eat, love. If you're still hungry, there's bread and butter on the table, I've done enough for the both of us but," and he offers her a wicked grin, "you might have to fight me for it - I'm half starved."
He settles back down into his chair, and starts to eat with gusto. Lily adds a small amount of stew onto her fork and takes a bite, and it's as if she's tasting it for the first time - as if her senses earlier had been dulled, and before she realises, she's scraping the plate clean.
It's as if a spell has been cast over the five of them, swapping the intense atmosphere of the afternoon for calm and serenity. As if sensing the shift in mood, River falls into a deep slumber, his eyes firmly closed and his fists curled either side of his head.
When David finally folds his newspaper over and slides it into the magazine rack, she feels herself tensing, as if sensing that the moment is about to be broken.
"Tea?" He bends and picks up Lily's empty plate from the floor. "Or something stronger?"
"I'm feeding," Lily says, "tea's fine. Dash of milk, half a teaspoon of sugar," she adds, suddenly remembering her mother's complaint of not knowing how she takes her tea.
"I think I'll have a glass of wine," Rose says, "there's enough for a couple from the bottle I used for the meal."
David reaches for the empty plates on the dining room table. "Severus? You'll join us?"
Severus shakes his head, and shoots a look towards Rose. "Not if I'm doing magic later."
"You're not," David says, his tone suddenly clipped, "so have a drink with us. Wine?"
"I guess."
It's suddenly awkward again, and by the time David returns, Severus has busied himself by tidying the table, steadfastly refusing to look in either Lily or Rose's direction.
"Here you go, Rosie," David says, placing a glass of red wine before her, "and for you, Lily," he says, passing her a cup of tea. He turns and pauses at the glass dresser, gently pulling the door open and withdrawing the crystal decanter, and then holding it to show Severus. "Not keen on wine?"
"Not really."
"Glass of Vernon's finest single malt more your style?"
Severus gives a small smile. "I could be convinced, yes."
"Good man," David says, placing the decanter on the dining room table and then turning back to the cabinet to withdraw two matching crystal glasses. "I'll just give these a rinse."
"No need," Severus says, moving to stand next to him, and holding his hand out to take one of the glasses. "Scourgify," he murmurs, and the glass immediately shines brightly in the light. "That should do it," he says, passing it back.
David holds a glass in each hand, staring at the two in wonderment, and then holds the unclean glass out to Severus. "Do it again."
This time, with a small smile, Severus simply waves his hand over the glass, repeating the magical action.
"Sev, not so loud," Lily says, urgently, glancing towards River. "You'll wake Riv."
"Sorry, sorry," he says, lowering his voice to a stage whisper. "You're on the right track, David," he enthuses, "but it's not just about knowing the words."
"Yes, you did it without the words."
"Never mind the words, he did it without his wand," Rose adds.
"He was just showing off when he didn't use his wand," Lily says, with a smile, "but non-verbal spells are reasonably common. Amongst competent witches and wizards, anyway."
David stares keenly at Severus, and then he holds his hand out. "May I?"
Lily shoots Severus a quick glance, unsure of how her husband will react - but to her relief, he smiles, and slides his wand from his sleeve and places it into David's palm.
"Take it. Try it out."
David takes the wand, holding it tentatively in his hands, as if he's cradling a bomb which might explode.
"Feel anything?"
David shakes his head and passes the wand to Rose.
"Rose?"
"A tremor," she says, her eyes wide. "As if I've captured a butterfly in my hands, and its wings are fluttering against my palms."
Severus catches Lily's eye, his expression lighting up. "Really?" He kneels before Rose, and presses his clenched fist to his chest, hand over heart. "Anything here?"
There's a moment, and it's as if they're all holding their breath - Lily, Severus, David - and then Rose shakes her head. "No. Nothing. Just the tiniest vibration in my hands."
Severus plucks his wand from her hands and passes it back to David. "David?"
"Not even that."
"Try to cast," Severus says. "Watch me." He raises his hand, his long fingers spread wide as he moves through the air, pointing loosely towards the standard lamp. "Nox. Lumos. Nox. Lumos." He tilts his head, this time casting silently, the lamp turning off and on and off and on. "Your turn. Point the wand at the lampshade, and enunciate the spell."
"Nox."
Nothing.
"Again."
David takes a deep breath, and points the wand out, his hand steady. "NOX."
Nothing.
David shrugs, turning the wand experimentally in his hands. "So what exactly is this meant to do?"
"It channels your magic," Lily explains. "When you first learn to cast, or when you're casting a particularly complex or difficult spell, it acts as a focus."
"A conduit?" David stares at the wand. "But as I don't have any magic, there's nothing for it to channel?"
"Something like that, Daddy," Lily nods, "although there's something special about your own wand."
"You can't just use any wand?"
Severus sucks in air through his teeth. "Well," he says, with a wince, "you can. In a pinch. But it's not the same."
"Your wand chooses you. It's as if it's at one with your magic."
Rose takes another sip of her wine. "Sounds to me like a musician having a custom built instrument."
"Something like that, Mummy," Lily nods.
"Go on, David, give it to Rose, let her try," Severus instructs, a flicker of a frown on his face. "Remember what I said, Rose? Nox. Lumos. Nox. Lumos."
Rose nods, and holds the wand outright - her hand not as steady as David's, a slight tremor visible in her hand. "Nox."
"Louder. Like you mean it."
"Nox!"
"Better," Severus says, moving to stand near to her, and shifting her wand arm, gripping her wrist and directing it to the light, "but this time, I want you to say it as if the lamp was one of your children, as if they're playing with crayons on the floor and they're meant to be in bed, and you need them to obey you, and-"
"-NOX."
The lamp remains lit, but Rose turns to Severus, her eyes wide. "I felt it. That time, I felt it."
"Where?"
"Here," she says, lifting her hand towards the centre of her chest. "Like a tingle."
"Probably a bloody heart attack with everything we've been through the last few days," David mutters, pouring himself another glass of whisky.
"Don't be so grumpy," Rose laughs, handing Severus his wand and picking up her wine, "just because I can feel it and you can't." She turns back to Severus and Lily. "That's what it feels like? A tingle?"
Lily shakes her head. "No."
"A tingle for Rosie, but like grabbing an electric fence for you?" David guesses.
"No, not even close. More like an eruption within you," Severus says, "like an explosion that spills from the very centre of your being, as if you're the power plant generating the electricity and the energy is churning within you."
Rose gives a light laugh. "Noted. A tingle doesn't feel quite so impressive now." She turns to look at her daughter. "It's the same for you?"
"It used to be," she says, quietly. "Now it's as if that power is trapped, as if it swirls inside and then it reaches here and," and she indicates to her wrists and her neck, "here and here, and it gets stuck, like it can't escape, and it hurts."
"You can't cast at all?"
Lily looks away. "I haven't dared try."
"My mam can cast," Severus interjects, taking his wife's hand and rubbing his thumb in her palm, making a small, circular, smoothing action. "Just. The same thing happened to her, but she doesn't, not often. Tiny, inconsequential spells - though I don't think they're inconsequential for her. She told me, she…
Severus clears his throat, trying not to stumble over his words, the time she brandished her wand towards him replaying in his mind. "...she told me that she can focus her magic through her wand, but it's weak," he continues, "far weaker than it should've been - and it hurts her soul, as if she's battling against it rather than working with it."
"That's what I'm scared of," Lily says, quietly. "It already hurts."
"But it's worse if she actually casts?" Rose asks.
He pauses, running his hand through his hair, a strained look on his face. "Once. I lived in that house for 18 and a half years, and I only saw her cast a significant spell once." He gives a half laugh. "I think that answers that question."
"And that's where your magic comes from?" David clenches his fist and places it in front of his chest, replicating Severus' earlier movement. "Your heart? Your," and he pauses, a sceptical look on his face, "soul?"
Severus offers David a thin smile. "Sounds ridiculous, doesn't it?" He holds his hand out to Rose, and takes back his wand, returning it up his sleeve. "Just like magic sounded ridiculous just this morning?"
"Touché," David says, pouring another measure into Severus' glass and passing it to him.
"It's not just an abstract thing, your soul. Your magical potential is stored in your soul," Lily says, leaning back on the sofa.
Rose frowns. "Your ability is predetermined?"
"Isn't everything?" Severus observes, laconically settling himself down next to Lily, looping his arm over her shoulder. "Everyone has talent." He gives a loose shrug. "There's got to be more to it than just perseverance and practice, else David here could've given Kenny Dalglish a run for his money down at Anfield, couldn't he?"
David gives a good natured snort. "I've got a fair few years on young Dalglish."
"But even if you were the same age, you couldn't have done it, could you? Even if you'd got up every morning and ran laps of the park before the milkman had finished delivering his round?"
"He might've been a bit trimmer," Rose says, smiling into her glass of wine as she pats her husband's stomach.
"Hey!"
Severus leans forward keenly, the conversation clearly enticing him. "That's a good point."
"Don't you start," David laughs, "first I'm no wizard, then I'm no athlete, and now I need to go on a diet. You'll give me a complex."
"No, no," Severus interrupts with a grin, "what I mean is that you could've trained the house down and what? You might've shaved a few seconds off your personal best - minutes, even, depending on how slow you were to start with."
"Sev," Lily warns, putting a warm hand on his arm.
Severus turns and gives her another grin. "But I'm right, aren't I, David? You'd never have become a professional footballer - it just wasn't possible, was it?"
David shakes his head. "No. I don't have a decent left foot." He takes a sip of his whisky, and then raises his glass. "To talent."
Severus nods triumphantly, and raises his. "To innate, natural talent."
Rose looks from one to the other. "Then, I suppose the opposite is true - that talent can be squandered? For every David who was never going to make it-"
"-can we use another example, please?"
"-there's always a dustbin man who can sing more sweetly than whatever racket is currently number one," Rose continues, "or-"
"-yes, potential is just potential. It's not a given," Lily interrupts, nodding. "You still have to work at it, else there'd have been no point in us going to Hogwarts."
"It's not just that," Severus says, earnestly, "you have to do something with it, satisfy it - go to Hogwarts, go to one of the schools on the continent…"
"Satisfy it? What do you mean by that?"
Lily takes a deep breath. "The magic used to spiral from us. Uncontrolled." She puts her hand in front of Severus' stomach. "I could put my hand here, and I could feel it from Severus, rippling out from him, like a wave."
"And Lil the same," Severus says, mirroring her action with his hand.
"But not now?"
Severus' shoulders stiffen, and he drains his glass of whisky. "No. Not now." He holds his hand out for Rose and David's glasses. "I'll fill these back up." He bends down and picks up Lily's cold mug. "Another cuppa, love?"
Rose watches anxiously as Severus pours another measure into his glass and into David's, and then disappears into the kitchen. She reaches for Lily's hand. "I didn't mean to offend him."
"It's fine."
"A sore point?" David asks.
"The pulse of magic disappears when you've reached your potential - when it stabilises." Lily takes a deep breath. "Or if something happens."
"Like this hex?"
Lily nods. "Yes, like the hex."
"And Severus?"
Lily bites her lip. "We told you. Severus got sick."
"And hurt his soul?"
David frowns. "If the soul's so important to you and your magic, then how come he can still perform spells?"
"I think it's just more tiring," Lily says, shooting an anxious look towards the kitchen, not keen to be talking about her prickly husband behind his back.
"So he has damaged his soul?" David presses.
"Here y'are, Lil," Severus says, suddenly bursting back into the room, a mug of tea in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, "and here's yours, Rose." At the strange silence, he looks at each of them in turn, a frown growing on his face. "...what did I just miss?"
Rose squeezes her daughter's hand, causing her to make eye contact - and it's enough for Lily to give a slight gasp of realisation, as she recalls their earlier conversation.
"You all right, Lil?" he asks, just as she takes a sip of her tea.
"Perfect temperature, as always," she smiles, taking another sip before placing it down on the side table. "Earlier…"
"Yeah?"
"What happened with Petunia and Vernon?"
He looks surprised, but he nods and settles down next to her again on the sofa. "You're worried I didn't leave them in luxury?"
"We know you did," David interjects.
"You know I did?"
Rose shoots a dark look towards David, and Lily takes Severus' hand. "I was worried about you," she explains, "so Daddy rang the hotel, just to see if you'd already left. Vernon and Petunia were raving about their upgraded room…"
"I see."
"She was worried about you," Rose says, quietly. "We almost sent David up the motorway after you."
Severus turns and threads his hand into Lily's. "I'm fine, love. Just a bit slower than usual, that's all."
"I know that now, don't I?" she laughs, lightly, twisting her fingers in his hand. "But Sev, I wanted to know… Earlier, you were quick." She swallows hard, and then meets his eyes. "I felt like a failure, here with Mummy and Daddy, not able to convince them…"
"But Petunia and Vernon were a walkover," David interjects. "Apparently."
"David."
"No, it's fine," Severus says, taking a deep breath. He swigs from his glass and then puts it on the carpet before him, rubbing his hands over his eyes. "I didn't ask them. I Stu… I… I froze Vernon," he explains, "for want of a better term. Took him by surprise, froze him, gave him his memories back."
"And Tuney?"
He gives a light laugh. "What does Lucius say, love? I can be very persuasive."
"Imperio?"
"Mmm," he says, nodding. "Imperio."
"And what's that? For those of us not versed in magic."
"That, David," Severus says, scratching the bridge of his nose, "is where you magically suggest to someone that they do as you say."
Rose gives a slight gasp, and David shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
"Strictly speaking," Severus continues, "I used it on Vernon first. I asked him to ring here, to get Petunia to come over to his office."
"And he did," Rose says, "not too long before Lily turned up."
"Right, he did. After I persuaded him to do it." Severus grits his teeth. "It wasn't my first choice, love," he says, looking back at Lily, "I asked him over and over to do it, but it was no use - you know what he thinks of magic, what he thinks of us! He thought it was better that Petunia remained unaware of magic, unaware that you or I even existed."
"I can understand why," David says, quietly.
Severus immediately straightens, his nostrils flaring. "I thought-"
"-not us, Sev," Lily quickly interjects, "Daddy's talking about Petunia. She was...difficult, on the phone."
Rose nods. "I imagine Vernon decided he didn't want the earache."
"Then Vernon didn't want his relationship," Severus says, his tone slightly argumentative.
Rose shoots him a quizzical look. "Because he didn't want to listen to Petunia's griping about magic?"
Severus looks at Rose, and then at David, and then back at Rose. "Imagine what it's like if only one of you knows something - something as fundamental as how many people are in your family?
He picks at the skin around his thumb. "If you had your memories back, and he had his memories back, what was he going to do next? Refuse to let you see Petunia, lest you mention Lily? Not ever take you up on an invitation for Christmas, just in case we happen to drop in?"
"He probably hadn't thought that far ahead, Sev," Lily says, calmly.
"Right," Severus nods, "which is why I was trying to talk him around. I kept explaining that a secret like this would build a division between them, him knowing something that Petunia didn't, the two of them talking in riddles to each other for the rest of their lives." He gives a light scoff. "I might not be Dursley's biggest fan, or Petunia's for that matter, but I wouldn't break them up." He shrugs, and gives Lily's hand another squeeze. "You can't build a relationship on a foundation of secrets."
"No," David says, taking another swig of his whisky, "you certainly can't."
"And Petunia?" Rose asks. "I understand what went on with Vernon, but why would you need to use that spell against her?"
"After I restored her memories, she wouldn't go to the hotel."
"She wanted to come back with you?"
Severus exhales loudly, looking pained. "I don't know. I said that we had stuff to sort with you, that we needed a day or two, and she refused and…" He trails off and sighs. "Look, I didn't want to stand around having an argument with someone who hates my guts. I wanted to get back to Lily."
"This...persuasion," David starts, a deep frown engraved on his forehead, "could you… Could you do it now? To us?"
Severus nods. "Yeah."
David takes another swig of his whisky. "Then why haven't you?"
"Daddy-"
"-no, Lil, it's ok," Severus says, squeezing her hand again. "He's right. I could've done that - could've walked in here and just put everything back." He bites his lip. "It's not just about your memories though, is it? It's about what I did. And sometimes… Sometimes you fuck up, yeah? And to learn from your mistakes, you need to put things right. Properly. Even if it's difficult."
David listens intently, his eyes not leaving Severus. "Even if things don't work out the way you expect?"
This time, it's Lily who gasps - and Severus immediately squeezes her hand again.
"Yeah," Severus nods, "even then. It's the right thing to do." He takes another deep breath, his eyes moving between Rose and David. "For what it's worth, I am truly sorry."
Lily doesn't know who to look at - her ever so earnest husband, her increasingly detached father, or her concerned mother. In the end, it's her son who breaks the tension, his sudden wails disturbing the sombre mood.
"Why don't you take him upstairs to feed?" Rose suggests. "Then you can settle him back to sleep without needing to disturb him again. You too, Severus, you could take all of his bits and pieces up, the carrier and the changing bag-"
"-got it," Severus says, hoisting the changing bag over his shoulder and grabbing the handles of the carrier. "Listen, Rose, he's noisy, I can put a charm on the wall and the door. It should stop you hearing him through the night."
"We don't mind-"
"-we do," David says, with a smirk. "Thank you, Severus. It's decent of you to think of it."
Severus swallows awkwardly. "No problem."
"I'd best get him upstairs if that's where we're going," Lily says, jostling an unhappy River in her arms, "he's going to pitch a fit in a minute."
"Night then, lovey," Rose says, kissing her on the cheek.
"Night, Lily."
"Lils, Daddy," Lily says, suddenly. She turns to look directly at him. "You call me Lils."
David nods, stiffly, pushing his hands into his pockets. "Lils it is. Night, Lils."
"Yeah, and you call me Severus," Severus says, with a cheeky grin. "Night Rose. David."
"Goodnight, Severus," David says, with a shake of his head. "Don't forget that spell."
"Don't you go worrying about it," Rose hisses, grabbing his arm as he passes and leaning up to kiss his cheek, "just do your best."
"Thanks Rose," he smiles, "but I can take care of it, you'll see."
Severus stands on the landing, carefully casting at the wall and the door. He gently tugs open the bedroom door - trying not to distract River whilst he's feeding, lest Lily struggle to get him to latch on again - and then he closes the door and repeats his actions, carefully casting across the door and wall from the bedroom.
"What's the spell?" she whispers.
"What do you reckon?"
Lily sighs. "It's too late for games, Sev. I don't know, Muffliato?"
"Ding ding ding, Lily takes home the top prize!"
"Shhhhh," she says, with a laugh, "keep it down."
"Sorry," he whispers, biting his lip, "but you did get it in one."
She shakes her head. "Muffliato on walls? That works, does it?"
"I think so. I designed it to make a brief white noise, like a faint buzz in an ear, so I always thought you had to direct it at a person."
"That's how you showed it to me."
"Right, yeah. But then one day, I was working with Borage and he was grumbling about me having the wizarding wireless on."
"About having it on, or having it at a deafening volume?"
He laughs, holding his hands up. "Guilty as charged, love. I was pretty angry, so I chucked a few of these at the wall between the lab and his office - in hope more than anything else."
"And it worked, did it?"
"I didn't touch the radio," he shrugs, "and he didn't complain again."
"Maybe he just decided to work through the noise?"
"Have you ever met Borage?" Severus smiles. "So, I got thinking about it, and really, we were always aiming it at someone, but what if it wasn't them that mattered, but the air around them?"
"So you're casting it at the air around the wall."
"Like a barrier," he nods.
"How long did it last for? At Borage's lab?"
"It was about an hour before I went for lunch. I doubt it'll last longer, but I was thinking if I layered them-"
"Perpetuum," she says, immediately. "Try Muffliato Perpetuum."
He looks impressed. "Like the sticking charm? I should've thought of that!"
"I can't promise it'll work, but it's worth a try."
"If it does, Flitwick would send you to the top of the class."
"Assuming that the amendment doesn't affect the original spell," Lily warns. "It could backfire horribly."
Severus frowns. "Yeah, that's a point." He sighs. "Maybe we shouldn't mess with it. I don't mind redoing the spells each time Riv wakes up - hopefully I can be quick enough before he wakes David and Rose."
Lily shoots him a wide grin. "Well, instead of wondering if it works, we could always put the spell to the test."
At this, he quirks his eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"
"Get your mind out of the gutter," she laughs, "I meant you could go back out onto the landing and I'll talk to you, and you can see if you can hear what I'm saying."
He gives a low chuckle. "Pity. I had something far more fun in mind, love."
It's a team effort - Rose sets about tidying the cushions and straightening the lace doilies on the back of the sofa and the armchairs, and then she collects the various mugs and glasses and coasters, and carries them into the kitchen, where David is busy wiping down the worktops, the sink already filled with hot soapy water.
"Wash or dry?"
Rose takes the tea towel from the radiator, and David smiles.
"I don't know why I even bother to ask," he laughs, rolling his sleeves up and starting to wash their glasses.
"So," Rose says, as she dries one of the crystal tumblers, holding it up to the light to check the crevices, "what did you think?"
"I think he's a very clever young man."
"Because of his magic?"
David places another glass onto the draining board. "His magic remains impressive."
"Not because of his magic?"
David laughs, his eyes glinting as he looks at his wife. "I have to hand it to him - he confessed to something that sounds far worse than I was imagining."
"I don't know what I was expecting," Rose says, quietly, "but when I spoke to Lily, she was certain that if she asked him, he'd tell her the truth."
"It certainly sounded like the truth to me."
"And that's good, isn't it?" Rose asks, wiping another glass and setting it on the worktop.
"Yes. Terrifying, when you really think about what he's capable of," David adds, "but it's good that he's not keeping her in the dark."
"And good that he didn't persuade," and Rose wedges the tea towel under her arm, curling her fingers into inverted commas as she says the word, "us. I think it says something that he's trying. He was a completely different person this evening." She picks up a mug. "I was...concerned. Earlier."
David nods.
"But I could see it, tonight," Rose continues. "The way they were with each other."
"Mmm," David agrees, "they seem to read each other well."
Rose smiles. "He impressed you, didn't he? With the meal."
He pauses, his hands submerged in the sink. "What gave me away?"
"You lowered your newspaper."
"I need to practice my poker tells," David smiles, and gives a slight shake of his head. "He succeeded where we failed."
"We only failed because of him."
"He saw it because he knows her, whilst we're, what?" He swallows awkwardly. "Strangers? Strangers who can't even tell when someone in their house is hungry?"
"No, because she was worried about him," Rose corrects. "It's little wonder her appetite came roaring back once he was safely home."
David exhales loudly. "Still. Neither of us noticed."
At this, Rose rubs the already dry mug over and over. "No," she says, quietly. "It bothers me that she didn't feel comfortable enough to ask."
David doesn't answer - just picks up another plate from the worktop and submerges it in the bubbles.
"Anyway, it's not just Severus," Rose continues, her tone a little brighter, "I thought you were clever as well."
"Me? What did I do?"
"You helped him to relax. Got him talking about something he was interested in."
David laughs. "I didn't want him awkwardly sulking on the sofa for an hour or two."
"It was interesting."
"It was."
"And," Rose says, pointing at the clean crystal glass on the draining board, "you lowered his inhibitions. Deliberately."
"I was merely being sociable. Polite."
Rose gives her husband a stern look.
He flashes her a smile. "Worked, didn't it?"
"I'm still amazed he willingly handed over his wand."
"Did you really feel a tingle?"
Rose nods. "It was so slight," she explains. "A tremble at best. Nothing like what they were talking about with pulses and surges."
"He knows his stuff," David says. "Lily too, for that matter." There's a pause. "And you."
"I barely felt a tremor-"
"-you touched a nerve."
Rose looks at him quizzically.
"They're rattling on about how important souls are, and how their magical potential is stored inside it, talking about his mother and how her soul is at war-"
"-and I asked if he was unwell because he'd hurt his soul," Rose realises.
David nods. "And she didn't answer."
When Lily returns from the bathroom, Severus is sat upright in the bed, the duvet cover tucked around his waist, River held firmly against his bare chest and a book levitating in the air before him.
"Multitasking?"
His lopsided, crooked grin is back, and she doesn't miss how his eyes rake appreciatively down her body as she closes the door behind her.
"Teeth clean?"
Lily leans over him and presses her lips to his.
He laughs as she pulls away. "Mmm, minty."
"Has Riv been asleep long?"
"He drifted off as soon as you went to the bathroom," Severus says, casting with his hand to close his book, "and seeing as you've been half an hour-"
"-less than ten minutes, thank you-"
"-I reckon it's safe to settle him down."
"I'll do it," she says, taking their son from Severus, and fondly stroking his tufts of hair as she carefully transfers him to the small mattress in the carrier, ghosting a kiss to the top of his head. "Sweet dreams, River."
David gives a small laugh. "Not only did she not answer, but you gave her an out."
"And Severus burst in, remember?"
"So he did. But instead of asking him, you got her to change the subject," David says, his eyes appearing to gleam under the stark kitchen light. "Discussing the hex might be one thing, but you didn't think that young Severus would take too well to explaining why his soul was broken, did you?"
Rose gives him a small smile. "I thought we'd decided that it was important that they were honest with each other."
"So that's what you were testing?"
"And he was." Rose prods him in his waist. "Least, so you thought, not ten minutes ago!"
David laughs. "And there it is, using my own words against me."
"I didn't think it was worth pushing if she didn't want to talk about it. Not as I thought we were making progress with them." Rose pauses, and then takes a shuddering breath. "Whatever it is he's done, I'm certain she knows about it. Isn't that enough?"
"I don't know, Rosie," David says, seriously, his eyes boring into hers. "Is it?" He looks away, and dunks the chopping board into the water. "After all, you heard him: you can't build a relationship on a foundation of secrets."
"You looked astonished when he said that."
David gives a light laugh. "Is it any wonder? He sounded as if he'd swallowed one of those self-help books you find in the library."
Rose hangs the dry mug on the mug tree, and reaches behind her for a plate, a wry smile on her face. "It makes sense though. What he said. It sounds to me as if he's learnt a difficult lesson."
"So, you think he was talking about himself and Lily, and not Vernon and Petunia then?"
There's a long moment whilst Rose considers it, and then she looks directly at her husband. "I think it applies to both."
"To everyone?"
"Well," smiles Rose, "Vernon may have thought he was being noble, but how would've that worked? Realistically? How could Vernon know that Lily and Severus existed, but Tuney not?"
David stills, holding a plate half out of the water. "Mmm, and how could Rosie know that Lily and Severus existed, but David not?"
Rose swallows, her eyes meeting David's. She puts the tea towel down and wraps her arms around her husband's waist. "Oh, David, I don't think… That wasn't what he was saying."
David quirks a smile at her. "Wasn't he?"
"Put the book down," Lily murmurs in his ear.
He's so engrossed in the passage, it takes him a moment to register the tone of her sentence - but when it sinks in, his eyebrow arches. He checks the page number, and then he closes the book, carefully placing it on the bedside table.
"Thank you."
He looks confused. "I was only reading, I'd have stopped sooner if-"
She places her forefinger on his lips, stopping him from speaking - and he looks surprised, this time, both of his eyebrows arching upwards. "Thank you for this," she says, pulling her finger away and indicating to her nightdress.
He smiles. "Oh. I chose your favourite one."
"After seeing you in that tatty jumper, I was terrified what you might have packed."
"I like that jumper."
"It's not saying much, Sev, you like those-"
"-awful shorts," he finishes, with a grin. "Besides, I haven't got many jumpers. It was that one or the grey one-"
"-I hate the grey one-"
"-exactly," he laughs.
"It's not like you," she says, moving his hair behind his ear so she can see his face more clearly - and then she places her hand on his bare chest, her meaning plain. "Feeling the cold."
He places his hand over hers on his chest, twining his fingers between hers. "Are we… Should we… Do you want to talk about what happened downstairs?"
She kisses him, her lips brushing his. "I thought you were perfect."
He opens his mouth to answer, but she doesn't let him - instead, she kisses him again, harder, more insistently. She doesn't relent, tangling her tongue against his own as she raises herself up, reaching behind her to toss the duvet to one side, and then she straddles his lap, a hand either side of his head, both clenching the headboard.
"Merlin," he breathes, his hands skirting down her sides, letting them rest on her hips. "What was that in aid of, love?"
She leans forward, resting her forehead against his. "I thought we could play a game."
"I thought you said it was too late to play games?" That familiar smirk is back on his face. "What were you thinking, love? Monopoly? Scrabble?" He grips her hips, and twists his body beneath her, flexing his pelvis upwards. "Buckaroo?"
"Sev!" She clamps one of her hands over her mouth as a loud laugh escapes from beneath her fingers, and she looks guiltily towards River.
"He's fine," Severus says, quickly, leaning up and kissing her. "Don't fret." He gives her that lopsided smile. "Tell me about this game."
"I think you'll like it. It's your favourite thing," she breathes, leaning in for another kiss, brushing her lips against his.
He looks at her for a moment, unblinking. "Go on," he says, warily.
"It's called the Kissing Game."
He huffs a dark laugh. "Oh yes? And just where did you learn how to play?"
"I only made the rules up tonight."
"I see," he chuckles. "So I'm the guinea pig."
"I prefer to think of you as being the lucky recipient," she teases, kissing him again. "It's ever so easy to play."
"Oh, that's good, I'm all ears."
"I tell you how I want you to kiss me."
Severus smirks. "And then I kiss you?"
"See," she says, kissing him once more, "I told you it was easy."
He responds to her kiss, sliding one of his hands around the back of her neck as he deepens it, and then she suddenly pulls away from him, shaking his hand away from behind her head.
He sits back slightly, looking slightly affronted - and she can tell he's fighting the urge to fold his arms. "But not like that?"
"According to what I said," she says, seriously, wagging a finger at him. "That's the important part."
"Right," he says, a small crease appearing between his eyes. "Got you."
"Let's have a warm up," she says, and she leans over him, her breath hot in his ear. "I want you to kiss me like you're leaving for work."
The crease doesn't disappear from his forehead - if anything, he looks more confused - but then he leans forward, and he presses a chaste, lingering kiss to her lips.
"Good," she says, "ten points to Severus."
This time, the crease disappears. "I thought that was a warm up?"
"So it was," Lily laughs. "I'd best reset your score, can't have you cheating." She wriggles on his lap, enjoying the glint that appears in his eyes, and then she leans forward to whisper in his ear once more. "Kiss me as if we're sitting on the wall at the back of your parents' house."
He loops one arm loosely around her shoulders - and she giggles at both the memory, and his recollection of it - and then he places his other hand under her chin, tilting her face upwards. When his lips meet hers, they're parted, and he kisses her over and over, his tongue darting out to touch her lips every other kiss, but not daring to go further.
"Kiss me as if it's our first night together," she breathes, and then she laughs as he forcefully kisses her, burying his nose into the side of her cheek.
"What, you don't think this is sexy?" he laughs, good-naturedly.
"Kiss me as if you'd just proposed to me."
His eyes trace her expression, an amused smirk on his face. "Is this a proposal that you rejected, or the one you finally accepted?"
"Not giving up control?" she whispers, answering his question, immediately whisking his memory back to the night in the Ritz, moments after they'd listened to Boccherini.
"Fuck, love," he breathes, and he moves his mouth over hers, kissing her in a slow and steady manner - and true to that night, she attempts to slide her tongue against his, and it's his turn to pull away, refusing to cede control, thoroughly enjoying the game she's created.
The instructions come thick and fast after that: Kiss me like you did after Hufflepuff won the House Cup in seventh year. Kiss me like it's the day you got your apprenticeship. Kiss me the way you did when we went to London to drop off the Wolfsbane. Kiss me the way you did when you came back to me from the cells. Kiss me like it's our wedding day. Kiss me like it's our first official date. Kiss me like we're lying by the river, the sun beating down on us. Kiss me like you did when we signed the lease on the flat. Kiss me like you're worshipping me in the rooms Slughorn gave us at Hogwarts.
And then, finally, she says the words he didn't know he was waiting for. "Kiss me like you've been the biggest idiot on earth, and your wife has finally forgiven you."
He hesitates - for half a second - and she freezes, wondering if he's not understood her meaning, but then he pounces with glee, toppling her from her position atop him and pushing her back onto the soft mattress.
This time, his kiss isn't chaste or restrained, nor is it the fumbling of an uncertain sixteen year old boy, or the kiss of a returning lover, or newlyweds sitting amongst company - it's a kiss imbued with apology, with desire, with sheer relief.
He presses her to the bed, tangling them both in the duvet as he rolls them over and over, his exuberance making her giggle and him chuckle. His mouth is hot and his kiss hotter, moving effortlessly between lips which barely ghost across her own, to a tongue that delves deep into her mouth.
He nips and he bites and he tugs her lip between his teeth. He licks and he sucks, and his hands are somehow everywhere - framing her face one moment, beneath her nightie the next, and as he moves his body over hers, his knee pressing between her legs, she's almost breathless - with passion, with want, with need.
"We can't," she gasps, her heart pounding as she rocks against him.
"We can," he urges. "Your parents won't know. The charm'll hold."
She kisses him again, her fingernails scoring across his scalp as she drags her fingers through his hair. "I want to."
"I want to as well, love," he says, kissing her over and over.
"But not in my sister's bed."
He pushes himself up on his arms, bracing himself above her, and she gazes up at him, and she feels as if his dark eyes could burn holes through her nightdress, such is the intensity within them.
"I want you," he reiterates.
She reaches up, her kiss open-mouthed, their tongues moving together, and then she stills, her arms looped around his neck, her forehead pressed against his. "It's not about want, Sev," she murmurs, "I want you. But look at us. Tonight."
He looks at her, a strained look on his face, clearly not understanding her comment. "What about tonight? It's been a good night."
"The game we just played," she breathes, trailing kisses up his cheek, "those moments are with us forever."
"Merlin, Lil," he says - and at first, her heart stills, thinking that he's serious, and then she sees the glint in his eye. "First you don't want me to fuck you over the bath, and now you don't fancy a shag in your sister's bed." He gives a low chuckle. "Anyone would think you'd want our wedding night to be memorable."
She laughs, and he laughs, and then he kisses her one final time before reaching to pull the duvet back up the bed, straightening it over the pair of them.
He leans back against his pillow, and holds his arm out, and Lily happily curls up next to him, her body warm against his, and her fingers stroking through his chest hair.
"I love you, Sev."
He looks over at her, a fond smile on his face. "I love you too, Lil."
"She holds enough over me as it is," Lily says, her fingers still tracing a pattern across his chest. "I want this to be ours. Just ours."
He reaches down, picking her hand up from his chest, and he kisses her fingertips. "Then it will be. Ours. Forever."
"Sev?"
"Yes, love?"
"Earlier, when you said about talking…"
"Mmm?"
"Was there something you wanted to tell me?"
He looks at her curiously, his eyes darker than ever.
"We said we'd talk, every night, before bed - and then you said we should talk," she says, her words coming out in a flurry, "but I distracted you." She presses a kiss to his pectoral muscle. "I didn't mean to distract you."
"I was happy to be distracted," he grins. "What a distraction."
"You said it after we were discussing your jumper. You never wear jumpers."
"And you're not about to be distracted, are you?" he teases.
"Not since I've seen the shimmer of a glamour on your arm."
He lets out a small laugh, his eyes briefly closing, and when he looks at her again, she's surprised to see how unguarded he looks. "Yeah," he says, eventually. "Yeah, there is something I need to talk to you about."
There's something uncertain in his expression, as if there's a tinge of fear in his frown, and she reaches up, as if to smooth it away, but he simply gives her a crooked smile, and kisses her fingertips again.
"But don't you worry, love," he says. "We'll deal with it together when we're back home, and it's just us."
"I like the sound of that."
"Which bit?"
"All of it. Together. Back home. Just us."
At this, he pulls her into a tight embrace. "Me too, love. Me too." And then he flicks his fingers in the air, extinguishing the bedroom light and plunging them into darkness.
Chapter 150: Focus on the future
Notes:
This chapter refers back to the events at the Evans house - so a brief mention of threatened rape and arson.
Chapter Text
Narcissa moves gracefully through the house, her face a stoic mask as she surveys the disarray which surrounds her; smudged used glasses perched on every flat surface, plates piled with half-eaten food balanced precariously next to them or, worse, strewn on the previously gleaming floor.
She takes a deep breath and runs her index finger beneath her eyes, from caruncula to corner, attempting to wipe her weariness away without affecting her make-up. Despite her gentle touch, she's certain that such an effort is a folly without a mirror, so she settles for casting at the chandeliers, extinguishing the majority of the candles and dimming the light to a low level.
As she walks towards Lucius, she yawns, placing her hand daintily over her mouth.
"Go to bed."
She ignores his instruction, and stands next to him, shoulder to shoulder. "Are there more, or was Macnair the last?"
"Two stragglers," Lucius says, his face seeming as grey as his irises in the pale light. "Dolohov and Wilkes. I can see them out."
Before she can argue, Dolohov appears at the top of the staircase, swaying slightly as he clenches the rail. "Speak of the devil and so he shall appear," Dolohov quips loudly as he descends the staircase. "Bloody good bash, Malf, although we've come to expect nothing less from you."
Lucius gives a slight nod of his head. "Thank you."
"Don't go leaving it so damned long between drinks," Dolohov continues, grasping Lucius in an awkward hold at the foot of the staircase, the fingers of his left hand digging into Lucius' bicep whilst proffering his right hand for Lucius to shake. "Better circumstances next time, we hope."
Lucius grips Dolohov's hand firmly. "We hope," he echoes.
Dolohov pulls his hand free, and kisses Narcissa roughly, sloppily, on both cheeks. "And you, Cissy! It must've been a terrible shock."
She hesitates, her tone measured when she speaks. "Losing a friend is never easy."
Dolohov's look is searching. "But Rosier specifically," he presses, "not just a friend."
"I'm afraid I didn't know him well-"
"-where it happened," Dolohov clarifies, his voice getting louder. "Here. Losing him here, it must weigh heavily-"
"-is anyone else upstairs, Antonin?"
The unfamiliar use of his first name causes Dolohov to pause, and he breaks his eye contact with Narcissa, looking back towards Lucius. "Wilkes," he says, evenly, "as you well know, Lucius." His eyes narrow. "Or perhaps I should say Galen?"
There's an uncomfortable tension, and Narcissa sighs with relief when there's the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs, and she smiles good-naturedly at Wilkes as he moves into view.
"Thank you, Antonin, for attending and being so gracious with your time," Lucius says, taking the opportunity to usher Dolohov towards the front doors, "I know Evan's family appreciated it." Before Dolohov can respond, Lucius turns, and the front doors close loudly behind him.
"Am I the last?" booms Wilkes, with a wide smile. "Apologies Malf, Cissy."
"No apology necessary."
"Time ran away with us," Wilkes adds.
"The measure of a good party," Narcissa says, her smile pinched.
"You can blame old Sluggy," Wilkes continues, "he was holding court until about an hour ago. Haven't seen the old fool for years, but it was just like old times." He inclines his head towards Lucius. "Your absence was noted, friend."
"I had no idea he was regaling you all," Lucius says, an insincere smile crossing his face, "I was rather tied up with the Ministry's finest."
"So Bast said," Wilkes says, clapping him on the shoulder, "rotten luck that, Malf. Can't think of many things more boring than having my ear bent by Fudge and his favourite auror."
"Indeed."
Wilkes takes a step closer to Narcissa, reaching out and clutching her hands between his. "And as for you, Cissy, you're as pretty as ever so please forgive me, but even to my untrained eye, I can see that you're exhausted. Apology reiterated."
"She's not tired because of our gathering," Lucius says, dismissively.
"No?" Wilkes inclines his head. "What then? Something troubling you, Cissy? Keeping you from your sleep?" He lifts one of his hands and traces an unsteady line across his cheeks, just below his own eyes. "Here. I see darkness."
Lucius scoffs. "The only thing keeping us both from our beauty sleep is a baby boy who refuses to stay asleep for more than two hours at a time." He gives a thin smile. "And, I suppose, now that you mention it, guests who refuse to leave a party before three in the morning."
Wilkes holds his hands in the air. "Point taken."
"Speaking of guests," Narcissa says, gently, "would you still be willing to escort-"
"-absolutely," he says, quickly. "I said I would. In the excitement of catching up, I'd completely forgotten that little Petey was here." He looks back towards Lucius, his expression apologetic. "He's an utter embarrassment. Uncle Caleb will be furious."
"I'd expect no less."
"Bloody Nott," Wilkes sighs. "Bloke's a menace, peddling that shit. Someone needs to tell his sister to give it up."
"Tell me about it," Lucius drawls.
"Speaking of which," Wilkes says, thoughtfully, "what's your plan now, Malf? With what happened to Snape, I mean? Not many brewers left now, are there, what with mad old Trixie determined to knock them off their perches."
Narcissa gives a small cough. "Must I remind you that 'mad old Trixie' is my-"
"-shit," Wilkes says, emphatically. "Sorry, Cissy," he adds, flashing her a smile, "I forgot myself." He straightens. "Still, she's certainly something, isn't she?"
"Mmm," agrees Lucius.
"I mean, look at her! She's single-handedly transformed a lucrative career into-"
"-a role where fatality has been added to the list of occupational hazards," Lucius drawls. "An achievement indeed."
"Lucius, don't."
Lucius turns to his wife, a half smile on his face, his grey eyes full of challenge. "Perhaps if Dolph had the bollocks to say similar to your sister, none of us would be in this mess to begin with."
Wilkes glances awkwardly between the irritated couple, and claps his hands together. "Right! Enough of all that," he grins, "show me to where Petey's sleeping the damage off, and I'll return him safely to my aunt and uncle." He gives a small laugh as he checks his watch. "I'm sure they'll be thrilled to see him at this time in the morning."
When River's persistent wail starts up for the fourth time, Lily places her hands firmly over her face, and her groan is loud as she digs her elbow into Severus' chest.
"Fucking hell, Lil," he gasps, sitting upright and leaning over her to scoop River up into his arms, "I bloody well heard him, you didn't need to break my ribs." He lets out a long sigh as he cradles River to his bare chest, rocking him back and forth. "What's up, Riv, hey? What's all this noise about?"
"Same as last time," Lily mutters, "he's not hungry, he doesn't need changing, he's just overtired."
"Yeah?" Severus leans down, and kisses their son's cheek. "I've got the perfect solution for that, Riv," he whispers, his voice soft and soothing, "it's called going to sleep and staying asleep. Just like we did last time."
"Last time worked for a whole thirty two minutes."
Severus gives a small laugh. "I didn't realise being a dad would mean getting my sleep in blocks of twenty minutes. I'm knackered."
"Makes two of us."
"Wish it made three of us," Severus murmurs, rocking River gently, and then peering at their son with a frown. "Are you kidding me? He's…"
"Let me guess, gone back to sleep?"
"I think so."
"There you go. Absolutely nothing wrong. He just wants to be held."
Severus stares at him in confusion. "Just wants to be held," he repeats softly. "Hell of a way to go about it, kid, screaming as if someone's broken into the bedroom and set fire to your feet."
"Sev," Lily rebukes, but it's clear that her heart isn't in it.
He gives a soft laugh. "You know I'm right, love. It's weird he's just started doing this now. He was a little champ last week - straight to sleep after feeding, and now all this."
"Mummy was right, it's a strange place. He's unsettled, that's all." There's a pause. "Do you want me to take him?"
Severus looks towards his wife, and in the dim light, he can just about see that her hands are still firmly clamped over her eyes.
"No," he says, decisively, settling back against the headboard, "if he wants to be held, I'll sit up with him for a bit whilst you get some sleep. He'll soon have you awake when he gets hungry."
Slughorn's hands are shaking as he hastily pulls one drawer open, followed by another, and another. He digs through them, quickly gathering various items together and dropping them in his open suitcase.
He repeats the process over and over - cupboards, dressers, desks - and then he casts with his wand, causing his wardrobe doors to fly violently open. With another twist of his wand, his expensive robes slide off their hangers, folding themselves neatly in mid-air and depositing themselves in his seemingly bottomless suitcase.
He turns his attention to his shelves, and more and more of his possessions are levitated towards the suitcase - books, photographs, trinkets. As he progresses, the room he's resided in for decades becomes increasingly sparse and empty - as if he's never lived here at all.
It takes him hours - one, two, three - but his final task sees him sitting at his desk, a roll of parchment before him, and a wax seal in his hand, and it only takes him a matter of mere minutes to scribe his thoughts, and then ten or so more to make his way in the darkness up to the Owlery and back again.
Upon his return to his rooms, he hears footsteps in the corridor and he makes haste. He quickly closes and locks his bulging suitcase, casting at it once more to make it levitate before him.
He peers out into the corridor, checking for early rising students, and then he scurries away unseen - along the corridor, down the stone steps, and out onto the grounds - for he knows that the thousand-strong occupants of the castle will soon be gathering in the Great Hall where his absence will be noted.
He's sinking in mud, and his limbs feel heavy - arms and legs - and even keeping his head upright on his neck is a struggle. He battles his way through, struggling forward with every step, but his efforts are for naught as he sinks deeper and deeper into the quagmire.
There's a sudden gleam of light, and as he raises his hands to block it from his eyes, the moment is broken. Avery awakens, panting, his body pressed into the soft mattress, and that's when he realises that the duvet atop him is weightier than normal.
Down.
With great effort, Avery hefts the cover off the bed and onto the floor, and then he turns over so his face is buried in the pillow, desperate to block the harsh sunlight from his eyes.
It's then, just as he's slipping between consciousness and slumber, on the fringe of succumbing to another round of sleep, that he suddenly registers the unfamiliar bedding - the unfamiliar softness of the material, the unfamiliar floral scent, and as he slowly opens his eyes, he stares in horror at the unfamiliar pattern.
Where the fuck am I?
Narcissa yawns as she settles Draco in his high chair. Barely a moment later, Dobby appears with two bowls of porridge clutched in his small hands - one in a tiny bowl, another in a standard breakfast bowl.
She dismisses the elf with a curt nod, and then she tries vainly to draw Draco's attention to the brightly coloured plastic spoon in her hand.
Breakfast is more successful than it had been the day before, but less successful than last week. Draco ends the meal with at least two thirds of his porridge smushed in his hair, smeared across his cheeks, and running down his pyjamas - and by the time Narcissa has the time to concentrate on her own bowl, the contents are stone cold.
"Thank Merlin for magic," she mutters, casting a heating charm towards her breakfast.
She cleans Draco with her wand, keeping one eye firmly on the clock, and as the hour hand ticks around, she settles her son on the floor with a handful of wooden blocks.
She balances one block on top of another, and he watches keenly, entranced by her actions - but Narcissa's gaze keeps leaving her son and drifts towards the window instead.
Rose's eyes are bleary as she pushes open the kitchen door, but they soon widen as she surveys the mess strewn across the worktops and the dishes piled high in the sink.
At her small gasp, David takes a step forward, his eyebrows furrowing at the sight of two plates filled with food sitting on the side. "Do you think those are meant to be ours?"
"How long do you think they've been sitting there?"
David peers at the congealing tomato sauce in a small pan in the sink, and the solidified lard in the frying pan. "Going by this, an hour at least."
Rose gives a small sigh, and shakes her head. "Points for trying, I suppose. Terrible waste though," she says, pulling the fridge door open to take out some milk.
"Mornin'," Severus greets them loudly, coming up behind the pair. "Excellent, thanks," he says, taking the glass bottle from Rose's hand, "just what I need." He raises his other hand, his fingers looped between the handles of two empty mugs. "Just going to make some fresh coffee," he explains.
He busies himself with the coffee machine, and when he turns back to Rose and David, both standing in stunned silence, he gives them a strange look. "Go on, then," he says, indicating towards their plates, "don't stand on parade." He gives a short laugh. "Hey, David? That's what you always used to say to me when…" He trails off awkwardly, turning back to the machine. "Yeah, well. Dig in."
"And where's yours?"
"Polished them off a couple of hours ago," he says, intently watching as the coffee slowly drips into the glass pot, as if willing it to descend faster.
"Are they not cold? If you ate a couple of hours ago?"
At this, Severus turns, and he looks at Rose as if she's grown another head. "I'm not completely thick," he says, with a smirk. He strides towards her and takes her hand, then holds it over the plates in turn.
"They're warm," she says, astonished.
"It's a charm," he explains, "they'll stay hot until you're ready for them." He pauses, and then indicates to himself. "Wizard, remember?"
"You were up early," David interrupts, opening the cutlery drawer.
"Not by choice. Both of us are held together by coffee these days."
"River kept you awake?"
Severus nods, pouring coffee into the mugs. "Yeah. Did he disturb you?"
Rose shakes her head. "Slept right through, didn't we, David?"
"Not a sound."
Severus grins, sipping from his mug. "You were spared. Hellish, he was. By far the worst night we've ever had with him."
"It's a strange-"
"-place," choruses David, finishing his wife's sentence with a grin. "You may have mentioned it once or twice, Rosie." He takes the two plates and walks through to the dining room, looking over at Lily who is busy entertaining River with Terence. "Thanks for this, Lils."
"Not me, Daddy," she calls back, "it was all Sev. He's in charge of the kitchen."
"Here y'are, love," Severus says, entering the room with the mugs of coffee, passing one to her. "That might get you through to tonight at least." He levitates his own mug in the air, causing Rose's eyes to widen.
Lily bites her lip to keep the smile from erupting on her face, watching her parents' astonishment, but Severus is oblivious as he approaches the table. "All ok?"
"Lovely, thank you, Severus," her mother says, quietly.
"I did your eggs as you like them," he points out. "David's like me, likes them runny, but-"
"-I have them solid," Rose says, prodding one with her fork, a slight frown appearing on her face. "I can't get used to you knowing so much when-"
"-we can fix that-"
"Sev," Lily says, her tone full of warning and concern - and this time, it's David's turn to look briefly away.
After composing himself, he turns back. "Thank you, Severus," he says, firmly. "For breakfast."
There's a pause, and then Severus nods sharply. "Sure. No problem."
"Severus?"
He looks back. "Yeah?"
"Take a seat," David says, and at Severus' hesitation, he raises an eyebrow. "You had other plans?"
"I was going to wash up."
"You cooked," Rose says, immediately, "we'll wash."
"It's no trouble."
"Sit down," David instructs, pointing his fork at him. "I want to talk with you a little more."
"Sure," he says, again, this time a little more stiffly, as he grips the back of the dining room chair. "What about?"
David offers him a thin smile. "About this danger we're all in."
As Dumbledore becomes less engaged in the conversation, McGonagall notices that his gaze is continually moving between the doors and the two empty seats at the staff table.
"House elves up to their mischief again?" she ventures.
"Hmm?" Dumbledore turns to look at her, but he's in such deep thought, it gives the impression that he's looking past her. After half a moment, he collects himself. "The elves woke me," he says, a frown appearing on his face. "They didn't wake you?"
"I haven't relied upon an elf since term started," she admits. "I keep waking before five."
"Something on your mind?"
"No more than usual," she says, sipping her tea.
"If it continues, you should see Poppy."
"Speaking of whom," McGonagall says, indicating to the two empty seats, "perhaps Horace is unwell?"
Dumbledore offers her a tight smile. "Perhaps he is."
"Although Horace always strikes me as the type to cut out the middle-man," McGonagall muses, taking a piece of cold toast from the rack and buttering it. At Dumbledore's blank look she elaborates. "If all Poppy can offer are his own potions back to him-"
"-I'm sure she'll be delighted to hear her medical expertise distilled in such a manner-"
"-then why would Horace drag himself up to the hospital wing? Surely he can self-medicate?"
"Why indeed," Dumbledore agrees, and he snaps his long fingers, calling an elf to his side. "Two plates for the hospital wing," he instructs, picking up two clean plates and summoning food onto both, "I don't want-"
"-Albus," McGonagall interrupts, gently touching his sleeve.
Dumbledore stills as Pomfrey enters, a sharp sour look upon her face.
Haynes follows Pomfrey's movements as she sits down, watching her curiously. "Where've you been, Poppy?"
"Breakfast's nearly over," Kettleburn chuckles, "and by the look of Albus stocking up over there, you'll be lucky if-"
"-it's for you," Dumbledore says smoothly, dismissing the elf and levitating the plate towards Pomfrey.
"Thank you," she says, crisply.
"Not like you to be late," Haynes continues. "A crisis upstairs?"
"Arthur Mitchell has a…" She pauses, taking in the setting. "...unsteady stomach," she finishes. "I shall spare you the details, given the-"
"-yes, thank you," Haynes mutters, standing. "I don't think it's a breakfast table discussion."
"Hardly Poppy's fault. You did ask," Kettleburn observes, stirring his coffee and then violently ducking as a post owl swoops towards him.
"Dumbledore," Haynes says, striding towards him, "may I have a word before class commences?"
"Of course, Harold."
"In private."
"My office," Dumbledore agees, but before he can stand, McGonagall touches his sleeve once more.
"I think," she says, pointing at the large owl pacing backwards and forwards on the table, a letter in her beak, "she's waiting for you."
Dobby snaps his fingers to clean and fold the high chair, and then flicks his hand to send it skittering towards a cupboard, locking itself inside. He waves his hand once more, this time cleaning smears of porridge from the tiled floor, and just as he reaches for the bowls, Narcissa rises.
Immediately, he flinches, the whole of his body freezing, his feet pinned to the spot - but Narcissa ignores him entirely. Instead, she lifts Draco from the floor, who immediately whimpers and struggles against her, distressed to leave their half-formed tower behind.
Despite his earnest protests, Narcissa doesn't relent, and with Draco held firmly in one arm, and a bundle of letters clutched in the opposite hand, she marches through the Manor, down several long corridors until she reaches Lucius' study, where she throws the door open.
Her husband is seated behind his desk, and he stares at her in surprise, his eyes sunken and his face unshaven. "Darling," he says, sardonically, "do come in."
"These," she says, dropping the letters unceremoniously on his desk, "are for you."
"Ah yes, your feathers always were your most attractive feature."
She doesn't smile. "Open them."
"Cissy."
"Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb," she says, shifting Draco from one arm to the other. "If you consider me a post owl-"
"-it was merely a joke-"
"-then I shall wait until you've opened them."
He arches an eyebrow. "After a Knut or two, are you? Or a morsel, perhaps, from my breakfast?"
"Open. Them."
There's a tense moment, and then Lucius sweeps the envelopes up, glances at the handwriting and the postmarks, and then he stashes them in his desk drawer.
"And that's how we deal with our problems these days, is it, Lucius? Filed without reading?"
Lucius pinches the bridge of his nose. "Did you want something?"
"They're bills, aren't they?"
He pauses, his mouth closed in a thin line, his jaw set, and his pale grey eyes are evasive - more than usual.
"Why did you intercept the post?" When he finally speaks, he looks directly towards her, his eyes boring into hers. "Expecting something, were you? Yet another purchase?" His eyes narrow. "A paramour?"
She meets his gaze, staring him down, and then she straightens her back. "It seems that you have your secrets, Lucius. Allow me to have mine."
Lily would never admit as much to Petunia, but there's something incredibly relaxing about being in her sister's home, peacefully sharing the space with her family.
The comfortable surroundings are in stark contrast to the harsh reality of their rented property in Rillwych; the plush carpets, the warmth from the central heating, even the view of evergreen hedges through the window.
It's not just the setting, but the atmosphere too. When she closes her eyes and thinks back, she can barely remember feeling this relaxed.
Before Severus ran into trouble with Borage, she thinks, before I was purged. Before I joined the Order, before he faced the Dark Lord, before Slughorn and Dumbledore and Moody and Avery and Mulciber and Rosier, before I lost my magic, before Severus damaged his soul.
Throughout her pregnancy, although she'd tried hard to remain calm, she'd spent most of the time being worried sick about Severus. Her own life had been fairly peaceful, safe in her parents' house with the pair of them doting upon her - but her racing mind was another matter entirely.
Lily oscillated between desperately craving Severus' presence and mourning his appearance whenever he finally appeared. He always looked sickly and seemed stressed, and without intending to, he often made her feel worse when he left than she'd felt before he'd turned up.
She can't bear to mull on the span of days where she lost her magic and her mother was attacked, and both she and Severus feared that they'd lost River - nor can she bring herself to think about Severus wreaking revenge on Rosier and damaging himself in the process, nor the terror on her husband's face when they realised Avery had traced them to the Railview Hotel.
Thinking about the weeks after are somehow worse still. Severus' revelations cut her to the core, causing her to question everything about her husband and their relationship, and combined with the constraint of her magic, the pain and helplessness she felt were almost too much to bear.
It was as if her world had collapsed - as if by toppling one domino, the rest were falling; losing her magic, losing her parents, losing Severus.
But I haven't lost any of them, she thinks, not really. Sev's working on a way to restore my magic, my parents are with us now, and the history books must be littered with witches and wizards who've made terrible mistakes; Sev's soul must be repairable.
Her heart had been in her mouth last night, especially when she was waiting for Severus to return with their belongings - terrified of what he might say, what he might do - but once he'd composed himself, he'd been perfect, and exactly the man she'd fallen so in love with.
When her father stopped him this morning, and drew him into another long conversation about the dangers they'd faced, she could feel that same unpleasant beat in her chest - faster, harder - but to his credit, Severus had taken the empty chair and had listened intently, and answered carefully.
It was almost painful listening to him retell the events running up to the night when Avery and Mulciber and Rosier descended on their house. She'd skirted over the details during her own retelling, not wanting to reveal too much - but when David starts to quiz Severus, pressing him for more, Severus turns around in the chair, his eyes boring into hers.
"What d'yer think, love?"
"Tell them."
"You're sure?"
"Everything, Sev. Tell them everything."
She nods, and he nods - and then he turns his back to her, his voice even as he starts to lead them through the events. He starts by talking about his parents and their house and the Fidelius, and the wolf and the Wolfsbane and the Marauders. His tone changes when he discusses decorating their house in Rillwych and she can see his chest puffing out as he remarks on Lily's ingenuity for creating their magical shower.
When he describes them keeping apart for safety, she can hear the yearning in his voice, explaining how difficult it had been for him to sleep in Rillwych whilst his wife was a few short miles away, and how every time David knocked at the door, he was certain that she'd gone into labour.
She can hear the regret in his voice as he explains how much time he'd wasted at the station that night with Potter and the wolf, and how David had been dragged into it, leaving Lily and Rose entirely alone and vulnerable.
It's his retelling of that moment which makes her feel sick. Some of it she hadn't realised that he'd known - not in the depth that he's discussing it; the way he talks about Avery and Mulciber and Rosier, it's as if he was in the room with them at the time, and not at the train station holding a peevish slanging match with James Potter.
As he speaks, there's an odd serenity to his voice, as if he's disassociating from the moment - as if it was something that had happened to other people and not them, as if it was a story he'd overheard in the pub, or read in the newspaper, or watched on television.
He did watch it, she realises, in horror, when he viewed Mummy's memory.
There's parts she's heard before - the threat of rape, the threat of fire - but parts she hasn't. Hearing his cool voice describing how he and David returned home to find Lily missing and discovered Rose pinned to a chair with a charm is almost too much to bear, and when Severus reveals that Lily had transformed into his body despite being pregnant, she can't help but cuddle their son more tightly to her chest.
Thank Merlin you were strong, Riv.
As Severus goes on, detailing how he found her wedding ring discarded in the dresser drawer and how he worked out that they probably both removed them at the same time, and how he feared it was an omen, she sees his shoulders slump and she can tell that he's fiddling with his wedding ring.
"Never again," she interrupts, holding her left hand aloft, her wedding ring in its rightful place. "No matter what happens, I'm never taking it off again."
"Me neither, love," he says, shooting her a grateful smile, and raising his left hand so she can see his wedding band in its rightful place. "Never."
It's a miserable discussion from start to finish, reliving the very worst hours of their lives, but she's impressed with her husband's composure, especially in the face of her parents becoming increasingly horrified as the tale unwinds - and she's relieved when her father claps him on the shoulder and thanks him for his candour.
The truth casts an uncomfortable shadow over them, with her parents sharing meaningful glances that neither she nor Severus miss - but she forces herself to relax, calling Severus over to her side to sit with her and River.
You told him to be honest, and he was - and you know how Daddy appreciates honesty.
As the morning rolls on, the mood softens and the tension evaporates - and right now, sitting with her family in the comfort of Petunia's cosy living room, her parents sharing a joke over a pot of tea, and the sound of her husband's low voice reverberating in her ears as he reads aloud to their gorgeous, perfect son, Lily suddenly feels content - as if everything might finally be right with the world once more.
Avery's head is pounding and his stomach hurts. It's a low dull ache which sits uncomfortably at the base of his ribs, a dull resonating pain resulting from throwing up repeatedly.
As he pulls on the previous night's dress robes and drags his stubby fingers through his short hair, he knows without looking in the mirror that he must look dreadful.
He hesitates, his hands stuffed in his pockets, rocking backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet - and then he steels himself, throwing his head back and venturing out into the corridor.
Before he's taken more than five steps, there's a house elf at his elbow - and as he opens his mouth to speak, the elf grips his robes and snaps his fingers, and as Avery's pulled into a magical spiral, he feels his stomach lurching once more.
Within a split second, he's slumped over in a chair opposite Lucius' ornate desk in his study, and he's retching into the bin which has somehow found its way into his hands.
"Lovely."
Avery can't bring himself to look up, and he lets the bin drop to the floor, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"What the fuck were you playing at?"
His head throbs and pounds, and he covers his eyes with his hand.
"A funeral!"
"You've said all of this already," Avery protests, weakly.
"I think it bears repeating!" Lucius slams his hand against the desk, looking maliciously pleased when Avery winces. "Trail Peter Pettigrew, I say. Keep an eye on him. Keep him close-"
"-I kept him close!" Avery looks up, his eyes burning with fury. "And you did not say that I should keep an eye on him."
Lucius inclines his head. "No?"
"Find out who he is, that's what you said. Who he came with, who his friends are, what he wants."
"So," Lucius drawls, slowly, "tell me: who did he come with?"
"He was alone."
"And what was the next question? His friends?"
"I've already told you," Avery argues, "he was alone."
Lucius gives an impatient scoff. "Nobody is alone all of the time."
"His mother married a Wilkes," he offers, quickly.
"Caleb Wilkes," Lucius confirms. "My father attended the ceremony. Not that it's relevant."
"And Helen! Helen knew him." Avery shrugs. "I guess Mulc did too. Must've."
"This would be the very same Mulciber who is, as you claimed yesterday," and Lucius raises his hands, curling his fingers into inverted commas, "dead to you." He pauses, a twisted smile on his face. "That's what you told me."
"I meant it."
"What a marvellous array of people he knows. Galen Wilkes is a step-cousin, he knows Helen, and we think he knows Mulc, who couldn't even be bothered to show his face," Lucius sneers, leaning forward, his elbows pressing heavily against his desk. "Why was he here? Do you think Mulciber sent him?"
"I don't think so."
"So you don't know why? You didn't bother to find that out?"
Avery groans, rubbing his hands over his eyes. "I think you're being paranoid. He seemed all right, Malf."
"Malfoy," Lucius corrects, sharply. "My name is Malfoy." He sniffs. "Cissy tells me that he's friends with her traitorous cousin."
"Nah, I don't think so. Just said he was in his house. Gryffindor."
Lucius' eyes narrow. "So you don't remember him being friends with Black?"
"I didn't have anything to do with the traitor. You know me, Malf...oy," he corrects himself, quickly, "I hung out with the Slytherins."
"What about," and Lucius pauses, leaning back in his chair, "James Potter? Do you remember him?"
"Potter?" Avery looks stunned. "What about Potter? He wasn't at the funer-"
"-I didn't say he was." Lucius's pale eyes scrutinise Avery. "Do you remember him?"
"Yeah, I guess. Sort of. He was a bit of a dick." He shrugs uncomfortably. "I knew of him, but I wouldn't say I knew him. He was just another Gryffindor."
"So, this Pettigrew. He was here to pay his respects?"
"So he said."
"Knew Ros well, did he?"
"Reckoned he did."
"But you don't remember him," Lucius' gaze is intense, "not at school, not from hanging around with Ros?"
"I can't… I can't really say if he knew him outside of school." Avery shrugs uncomfortably. "I wasn't really in Ros' good books. Not since school."
Lucius hesitates, as if he's considering saying something, and then he shakes his head, thinking better of it.
"What is it?"
"I'm disappointed in your efforts," Lucius says, slowly.
"I stuck with Pettigrew all through the service, and after! I did as you said. All that with the potion, I didn't know that was going to happen! How was I meant to know that the potion was poorly brewed?"
"It didn't occur to you that a brewer without their hands might create a compromised product?" Lucius shakes his head. "And to think, Severus always spoke highly of you."
A quick flash of triumph at the secondhand praise crosses Avery's face, but it immediately evaporates as Lucius continues his diatribe.
"Your behaviour was utterly embarrassing - to me, to the Rosiers, to your friends, to those attending from the Ministry." Lucius leans further forward, his voice lowered to a whisper. "The Minister."
"I'm sorry."
"I pulled strings for you," Lucius continues, "cashed in favours, kept you from Azkaban."
"I know, I'm very grateful."
"And then, as a guest in my home, in front of the Minister and his aurors, you make an utter buffoon of yourself. How do you think that reflects upon me?"
"I'm sorry."
"If weak apologies are all you can offer me, you can get out of my sight," Lucius snaps, and he pulls a diary out of his desk drawer and starts studying it intently, making occasional marks with a quill as he turns the pages.
Avery stands, but he dithers, as if warring in his mind whether to speak, and then he sighs and walks towards the door, but as he touches the handle, he looks behind him.
Lucius doesn't react, his focus entirely upon his diary.
"I neutralised him."
It takes a moment - a long, drawn out moment, where Lucius' quill scratches and scratches against the page, and then finally, Lucius lets it rest on the desk. He sits back, his arms folded. "I beg your pardon?"
"You told me to keep him away from the immediate family - from anyone important. You. Cissy. Draco. Bellatrix. Bast and-"
"-I know my family members, thank you, Avery, you don't need to list them. There's a family tree at the front door if I ever become senile and forget who is who."
"Well," Avery says, defiantly, "you told me to keep Pettigrew away from them. And I did."
"Is that all?" Lucius asks, his voice filled with boredom as he reaches across his desk for his letter opener.
"No," Avery says, suddenly, "no, it's not. Helen - she's asked me to help him get a job. In the Ministry."
"I didn't realise you were taking instructions from Helen," he mocks, opening his drawer and withdrawing the previously hidden post.
Avery bristles. "I'm not," he scowls, "but these questions you're asking me, these things you want to know - I can find out! I can befriend him."
There's another pause, and then, to Avery's surprise, Lucius gives a sharp nod. "Very well."
Avery breathes a sigh of relief as he hears the letter opener ripping through paper, and he twists the door handle - but then his heart sinks as he hears Lucius calling him back.
Avery turns, and this time Lucius' demeanour seems to have changed - his eyes rapidly reading an opened letter, and a deep frown across his face.
"Yes, Malfoy?"
Lucius raises his right hand in the air, his index finger twirling in a circle and pointing at the recently vacated chair. "Be seated, Avery," comes the stern command. "It seems that I might be inclined to give you the opportunity to redeem yourself after all."
Rose leans up to place the freshly washed and dried plate in the cupboard, and then points her finger in the air. "Cups."
David looks up from the pan he's attacking. "Cups?"
"The kids," Rose says, folding the tea towel over and placing it on the worktop, "they had coffee cups. I'll get them."
She's barely been gone ten seconds when David hears his wife softly calling his name. He lifts his hands from the washing up bowl, shaking the excess suds away, and then wipes his hands on the kitchen towel, making his way through to the living room.
"Look at them."
He gives an amused chuckle at the sight on the sofa; River slumbering against Lily, Lily dozing against Severus, and Severus - also asleep - sprawled across the sofa. "Coffee not so effective after all, I see."
"He said they'd had a bad night." Rose looks at David. "Remember all those sleepless nights with Tuney?"
"I don't think I've recovered," he says, with a grin. "Come on. Let's leave them to it."
As he turns to head back into the kitchen, Rose reaches for him and pulls him into a loose embrace.
"The dishes won't do themselves," he murmurs, kissing the tip of her nose.
"They're good kids, David," she says, earnestly.
David nods. "But tangled up in something terrible, I fear. You heard him - those men, those wizards - talking about arson and rape-"
"-it's inconceivable-"
"-and impersonation and imprisonment and the list goes on." He looks sickened.
"You're scared?"
David gives a soft disbelieving laugh. "And what? You're not?"
Rose swallows hard. "It seems so fantastical. You never hear of such things."
"It's real," he warns. "Nobody would come here and make such lies up - there's nothing to be gained. That story he told this morning-"
"-I believed every word he said," she says, hotly. "You don't need to tell me, David." She touches her temple. "I've got those memories still - of the pregnancy. How can that be unless they're telling the truth?"
David briefly looks chastened.
"But that doesn't matter to you, does it? You're still sticking by this stupid stubborn-"
"-you were right."
Rose halts, her mouth open, and it takes her a moment to compose herself. "About?"
"About Severus," David says, his tone a little stiff. "He's… How he was last night, how he was this morning… I can see why I liked him. No personality transplant necessary."
She gives him a relieved smile. "So if it's not him you have a problem with-"
"-listen, Rosie, Lils admitted it herself - her and Severus being here doesn't mean that this threat has gone away."
"That's why you were quizzing him-"
"-I think we need to know what we're walking into!"
Rose takes a deep breath. "We'll lose them."
"We won't. Think about it, Rosie - this isn't what he planned - he was thinking of retrieving us when he could do that spell thing, like he did for his parents."
"But you heard them! He's not well enough, he can't do that spell - that's what they've been arguing about. What we were pressuring them about." She looks annoyed, as if she can't believe her own words. "Or, rather, I was. Apparently."
"And we knew all of this," David says, softly.
"Do you really think we knew all of it?"
David hesitates, his mind racing. "Most of it, I think. You were with Lily. I was with Severus." He shrugs. "That stuff about the wedding rings - I think that's probably new. That sounded to me like the sort of thing he'd have kept close to his chest."
"But we knew what those wizards were capable of."
"And we were still pushing," David says, quietly. "It must've seemed important for us to have the house back."
"A life," Rose says, softly. "Our life. Furniture and clothes and photographs."
"And memories."
"And memories," Rose agrees. "Trinkets, all of it - and now we've lost something much more valuable, all because we were blind to the danger."
"I don't think it was just us," David says, tightening his arms around his wife, as he looks at Lily and Severus on the sofa, "I think she was putting pressure on him, and he was putting it on himself." He shrugs. "What else could we have done, apart from come here? We couldn't live in a hotel forever - couldn't afford to."
Rose looks towards Severus, his eyes firmly closed as he sleeps. "He'd have felt that financial strain, if what he says about his parents is true."
"It has to be true. I can't see him telling us a pack of lies in front of Lily - what would be the point? They were already fretting over money the other day."
"I remember."
"What I'm saying to you, Rosie, is that them appearing here now doesn't mean that we're safe. It just means that Lily put her foot down and won the argument."
Rose bristles. "And I suppose that's a bad thing, is it?"
"On the contrary, I admire her greatly," he says, with a genuine smile. "I can see that she's our daughter, can't you?"
"Yes."
"And I find it reassuring, that she can stand up to him and he'll listen, despite that damned wand."
"I just don't want to lose her, David. Whatever you're thinking of saying, or doing, or… I can't lose her."
"We won't, Rosie," he says, wrapping his arms more tightly around her, "I promise you that we won't."
Flitwick frowns deeply as he leans over the bench, staring at the battered textbook.
"See, sir," Bennett says, tracing his finger across the method, "it says it right here - five Doxy wings."
"And that's what you say Mattias added?"
"I saw him, sir."
Flitwick peers more intently at the pages, flicking them back and forth, as if expecting that a new instruction will appear due to his actions. "What has Hora- What has Professor Slughorn instructed you to do with Doxy wings in the past?" Flitwick looks expectantly at the boy before him. "When adding them to a cauldron," he elaborates.
Bennett shrugs.
"Do they always blow up a cauldron in such a manner?" Flitwick gazes around the room, trying to catch the eye of another willing student. "Is there a step we're missing, Bennett?"
"There's not one in the book, sir. You can see that for yourself."
"It's ridiculous," a girl in the back row mutters, "having a clueless Charms teacher in a NEWT Potions class. We'll be sitting our exams soon."
"Not soon, months yet."
"Yeah, and if Sluggy's sick, he's sick."
"Is he sick?"
"Did you hear he was sick?"
"He wasn't at breakfast."
"He wasn't yesterday either."
"Maybe he's on a diet?"
"Not just breakfast. Perry Davies said he wasn't in yesterday either."
"Davies, is he one of the fifth years?"
"Yeah, he's the one who got caught in Hogsmeade with-"
"-enough! Flitwick barks, slamming his hand on the desk. "Professor Slughorn is currently indisposed, so I am afraid Miss Marshall, you will have to make do with a clueless Charms teacher."
There's a ripple of amusement from the students.
"I suggest you check through the textbook," he continues, "to see if an appropriate method for adding Doxy wings to a precarious mix has been covered previously." He strides back and forth across the front of the classroom, his hands tucked into his pockets. "Failing that, I suggest you experiment - carefully, and being mindful of the proximity of your neighbours," he says, "with different approaches."
"But like what, sir?"
"You're the NEWT student, Jones," Flitwick counters, "impress me. How do you add ingredients normally? No idea? Anyone?"
"Chopped, sir."
"Chopped," Flitwick nods, taking his wand out and flicking it, causing the word to appear on the blackboard at the front of the classroom. "Others?"
"Diced, sir."
"Ground into a paste, sir."
The suggestions come thick and fast, until there's nineteen suggestions written on the board in Flitwick's neat script.
"Two, four, seven, nine, twelve, fourteen," Flitwick counts under his breath, "twenty students," he says, with a beaming smile. "One each, and whoever goes last can benefit from everyone else's experience."
All of the students watch each other hesitantly, not keen on blowing up their potions at this stage of the brew.
"No?" Flitwick picks his wand up again. "Shall I offer a little incentive? Fifty house points for the first person to come up here, claim one of these methods and test it, and," he pauses, writing on the board once more, "let's see, one hundred points to the potioneer who finds the correct method."
There's a scramble between the two Hufflepuffs and one of the Gryffindors sitting in the front row, each of them darting forward to claim a method, keen for the fifty points - whilst, Flitwick observes with a smile, the Slytherins and Ravenclaws immediately reach for their textbooks, hoping that the pages will yield a clue.
Severus looks awkward and unsure of himself when he broaches the subject, his eyes darting between his wife and her parents. "Petunia," he starts, "and Vernon. They'll be back soon. Tomorrow."
"Back to reality from their life of luxury," David smiles, folding over the newspaper and putting it down next to him. "What a climb down this will be, slumming it with the parents."
"Speaking of back to reality, Daddy-"
"-your memories," finishes Severus. "If we're going to do it, we probably need to get on with it. Give them chance to knit together before Tuney and Dursley turn up."
"About that," David starts, and immediately, both Severus and Lily look as if they're going to be sick.
"Please," Lily says, looking between her parents, "don't do this, please."
"I thought we'd explained everything," Severus adds, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I thought you understood."
"We do," Rose says, tearfully, "we do, kids."
Lily places her hand over her mouth, tears welling in her eyes, and when she speaks, her voice is muffled. "But you don't want me?"
"It's not you," David says, firmly, "this is about us."
Rose shoots a furious look towards David as she gets up and pulls Lily into her arms. "No, lovey, no, it's not about not wanting you."
"Fucking hell," Severus gasps. He stands, as if the stress of the conversation is too much for him, and he paces away, his hands wrapped around the back of his head. "Fuck me." He turns back, to look at David, his face filled with astonishment. "Is this a joke? It sounds like a Dear John letter. A bad Dear John letter!"
"Severus," Rose says, her arms still wrapped around Lily, who is sobbing into her neck, "it's not what you're thinking."
"It's not a no," David says, firmly, getting up to approach Severus.
"Well excuse me for getting the wrong end of the stick, but it hardly sounds like a fucking yes!"
"Sev," Lily rebukes, wiping tears from her cheeks, "stop swearing in front of River."
He glances guiltily towards their son, and straightens his back. "Sorry."
"What do you mean, Daddy?" Lily asks, her voice wobbling. "It's not us, it's you?"
"You don't need to be worrying about us," Rose says, gently, still hugging her daughter close.
"But the memories, they're not anything to worry about, they're-"
"-you've got no magic," David says, firmly. "Severus is looking after you both, and he's not well-"
"-I'm fine."
"You're not, Sev."
Severus bites his lip at his wife's immediate disagreement. "It's irrelevant to this. I can sort it."
"Good, I'm glad to hear it," David says, sincerely, "and whilst you're sorting it, and looking after Lily and River, and presumably you're going to go out to work-"
"-of course I am-"
"-then how much time have you got to devote to a spell which needed the both of you to cast it together when you first performed it?"
The room falls silent.
Severus paces again, running his hands through his hair. "I can't believe this."
"Is that what you need, Severus? Me breathing down your neck? Contacting you every other day and pressuring you, asking how it's going, dropping hints that we can't stand a minute more here with Tuney in Surrey?"
"But you wouldn't do that-"
"-but we did," Rose says, quietly, "that's what your father's saying. That's what you both told us - that we were impatient."
"And for what? It's just a house," David elaborates, looking towards his daughter. "A house and some inanimate objects."
"It's more than that," Lily sobs, "it's me. It's Severus and River! We're not inanimate objects, we're your family!"
Rose shakes her head. "That's not what your father means. We were pressuring you about the house. This isn't about us not wanting you back."
Severus stands behind one of the armchairs, gripping the back of it. "So go on then, David - 'it's not a no'. What does that even mean?"
"We're not saying 'no'," David elaborates, "we're saying 'not yet'."
"We want you to get settled," Rose explains, running her fingers through Lily's hair, "and when it's safe for us to come home, however you manage to do it, whether that's with Severus' magic or a different way-"
"-then we'll both have our memories restored," David nods. "Right now, we don't miss the house." He shrugs. "Can't miss something you can't remember."
"And if we gave you the memories back," Lily says, suddenly following her father's thought process, "you might miss it."
"Might want to come home." David nods again. "We pushed you." He points towards Severus. "Enough that your husband thought it was a risk that we'd go to the house without telling you."
"But if you swore that you wouldn't," Severus says, "like Lily kept saying, she thought if you understood, if you agreed-"
"-I'd agree to that," David says, with a sad smile, "but the point is, you give me those memories back, and I'm back to being the chap who you thought might take the risk."
"You were going to do it, Mummy," Lily says, her voice small, as if she can't believe the way the conversation has gone.
"I am still going to do it," Rose says, emphatically, pulling her daughter into another tight embrace, "and your father is as well, but we're going to wait a little while until you and Severus have come up with one of your clever solutions to keep us safe."
Severus rams his hands in his pockets. "And if… And if I can't?"
Rose looks at David and then back towards Severus. "No, Severus, this is exactly what we didn't want you doing - worrying and stressing yourself out."
"We didn't want to set a deadline," David explains, "didn't want to put any pressure on you."
Lily shakes her head. "But I don't want River growing up without his grandparents."
"That won't happen, Lils," David says, firmly. "What do you reckon, Severus? We'll talk about it again, in what? Three months? Six months?"
He looks over at Lily who looks devastated at the time frame, and he shrugs. "Honestly? I don't know."
"Every week," Lily interrupts, "every week. I'm going to go to the phonebox and call you every week."
"Every week it is then, Lils."
"And one way or another, we'll work it out," Rose says, holding her daughter close. "We're here for you, and we want to be here for you for a long time to come. We don't want to take any silly risks and end up…"
"Dead," David finishes. "Listen, kids, from our objective perspective - from two people who didn't know anything about magic until yesterday, these wizards… They're frightening."
"Terrifying," Rose agrees.
"Neither of us can believe how much you've both endured - how much you've been through, and I want you to know, we want you to know that we're so proud of the both of you."
Lily sobs harder, tears falling openly down her face, and Severus turns away from his wife, his hands gripping the back of his head again.
"Fuck."
"We're both proud of you, Lily," Rose says, hugging Lily tightly, "so proud of you. We're not walking away - we love you, and we're going to be with you with every step you take."
"And you," David says, walking up to stand next to Severus, "I want a word."
Severus turns and glances towards Lily, looking stricken, and then he follows David into the hallway, his face gaunt.
"Was that right, what you said the other night?"
Severus looks at him, his eyes red-rimmed. "I don't know what you mean?"
"When we were talking about names. I call her Lils, and I call you Severus?"
There's a long silence and then Severus shakes his head.
"What do I call you?"
Severus looks at his feet, and then looks at the ceiling, and when he finally looks David in the eye, his chest shudders, and his voice is barely audible when he whispers the name.
David pulls him into a warm embrace. "I'm not going to berate you for the way you've handled all of this up to now. I've heard from a very reliable source that Lils has already done that for me."
"Yeah."
"Put it behind you and focus on the future. I want you to stop panicking," David continues, holding the younger man close, "and I want you to use that brain of yours, and that brain of hers, and I know that when you're given time to think things through, you'll come up with something sensible, and then, when it's safe, Rosie and I can come home to you both."
Severus keeps his face buried against David's shoulder, not daring to lift it, half not wanting the hug to end, and half not wanting to awkwardly acknowledge the wet patch his tears have left on David's shirt.
"Most of all, I appreciate you not wanting me dead. I might not agree with your methods, but it's hard to fight with someone when they're genuinely looking out for you."
Severus cries harder.
"And Severus?"
It takes him a moment to compose himself, but eventually Severus gasps through his tears. "Yeah?"
"I want you to know that I have every faith in you, son."
Chapter 151: Overheard
Chapter Text
Lupin looks around the newly tidied kitchen with a triumphant smile, and stirs his tea rapidly, the teaspoon rattling as it meets the sides of the mug. He drops the spoon into the clean sink, and as he takes a sip from his mug, he hears the front door slamming shut.
He freezes, listening intently, and he slides his wand into his free hand. He gently places his mug on the side, keen to be as silent as possible, and he grips the edge of the worktop tightly, steeling himself.
One voice follows another, and the tension drains from his posture as he recognises James' voice and Sirius', and he stows his wand back into his sleeve.
Lupin picks up his mug of tea, and reaches for the door handle, intending to join his friends, and then he hears his name being mentioned. He hesitates, and he eases the kitchen door open a fraction, trying to ensure that it doesn't creak and reveal his presence - and he takes a step closer to the doorway, listening to the conversation.
"We'll get something to eat," he hears Potter saying, "and then we'll head out again."
"You can head out again," Black says - and there's a muffled sound, as if he's just flopped onto the sofa, "but I am knackered, and I am categorically not moving from here."
"Siri."
"Don't guilt trip me, Prongs," Black says, "we've spent a day trawling through magical hotspots, and a morning trekking through all of the places we know in the Muggle world. I'm done. Out. Finito. I swear I've got a hole in the sole of my boots."
"You're exaggerating."
"I'm not, look!"
"Get your foot out of my face," Potter complains - and there's a noise, as if he's batting a boot away from him. "You know fully well that we only spent half a day trawling the magical hotspots."
"Yeah, well, half a day trawling the magical hotspots when you've got a hangover feels like a whole lot longer, I can tell you."
"And whose fault was that?"
Black gives a small chuckle. "Besides, I've told you already-"
"-you're wrong-"
"-we should've stayed in one spot, let him come to us-"
"-we tried that!"
"But he's more likely to turn up here than at mine, isn't he?"
Potter scoffs. "You didn't say as much last night when we were deciding where to go."
Black laughs. "Maybe I just wanted to sleep in my own bed."
"You're an idiot, Pads."
"Says you."
Their voices fall silent, and Lupin takes a step closer to the door, frowning as he listens intently, trying to work out what might be happening without revealing his presence. There's a soft whump, followed by another, and another, and he shakes his head, figuring that the two men are wrestling - or, at the very least, throwing cushions towards each other.
"Besides, I know why you suggested your place last night," Potter says, his voice suddenly breaking the silence."
"Me and you both," Black counters, "don't deny it."
"And he didn't come back either. I'm worried about him."
"I'm not."
"Pads, don't be like that."
"He's getting on my fucking nerves," Black says, his voice harsher than usual.
"That's just living together. Everyone has their ups and downs. You just need to work at it."
"Says you," Black huffs. "Tell me, James, what's it called when your housemate runs off in the middle of the night when he said he was just going into the kitchen to make a pot of tea?"
"All right, fuck off."
Black snorts. "Just saying that you're not so perfect yourself, Prongs."
There's a moment's pause.
"Wish we'd moved in together," Black continues.
"Aren't you worried about him? At all?"
"What do you call this? I've lugged myself around after you, after him, for the past couple of days, and-"
"-not Moons. Pete, I mean."
Black exhales loudly. "I'm not worried. Those bashes go on for hours, you know that."
"Even so," Potter counters, "he should've been back by the morning."
"We left early."
"Not that early."
"You said it yourself," Black says, dismissively, "he's probably with Dumbledore."
"You think?"
"Yeah, Prongs. I think."
Potter sounds thoughtful. "Quizzing him about what went on?"
"Probably," Black says, sounding bored, "although I can guess at what went on - he's either been eaten alive by my cousins-"
"-do you really think-"
"-or he shit himself the first time someone spoke to him, and he's taken the coward's way out - just like he did around Moons-"
"-we've been through this, he wasn't wrong to transform," Potter argues. "Moons… That transformation… Even we were scared…"
Lupin leans closer to the door.
"...and you can't blame Pete for reacting in the same way."
"All I'm saying is that our little ratty friend has probably got himself trapped and he's stuck scuttling around the skirting boards in Lucius Malfoy's Manor." Black gives a low chuckle. "He'd best hope that darling Narcissa the socialite can handle the sight of a rat, else it'll be curtains the first time she spots him. She's a brutal shot with that wand."
"I never thought of her like that."
"Mmm, she's one of us after all," Black says, and then he gives a hearty laugh. "A Black, I mean. Stop fretting, Prongs, Pete'll be fine - he's not who I'm worried about."
"Remus?"
There's a pause.
"Dumbledore."
"Dumbledore?" Potter sounds astonished. "What are you talking about? Dumbledore's a great wizard - one of the greatest-"
"-for what, exactly? Being headmaster?"
"Defeating Grindelwald."
"Yeah, a billion years ago."
"Thirty or something."
"Might as well be a billion years," Black argues, "you know what they say about the Dark Arts - ever mutating, ever developing."
"You sound just like those creepy Slytherins-"
"-if the hat fits," Black laughs, and Lupin can almost picture the look on his face. "I'm serious, Prongs, I'm losing faith. I reckon he's past it - he's flailing. All this sitting around, holding meetings, courting a bunch of aurors-"
"-I thought you liked Moody-"
"-it's not about Moody, it's about associating with the establishment," Black argues, his voice getting louder. "He's complicit in all of this shit-"
"-they're working from the inside-"
"-and how's that going for us? Open your fucking eyes, James, it's not working!"
"Tell them then," Potter says, his voice hard, "next meeting. Tell them."
"Maybe I will."
"Tell Moody to his face that he's not doing enough."
Black sniffs. "Moody's the only one with any bollocks, if you ask me. He should be the one in charge. He wouldn't have agreed to send Wormy into-"
"-Merlin, Pads, there's no pleasing you!" Potter argues, his voice growing louder. "One minute you're slagging off Dumbledore for not doing anything, and the next minute when they send-"
"-they sent Wormtail," Black mocks, "a weak, scaredy rat-"
"-and that's not good enough for you either! Seems to me they can't do right for doing wrong!"
"Right, just so we're clear, that's who you'd choose to send into Death Eater territory-"
"-not Death Eater territory, it was an open funeral, the Minister was there-"
"-Peter Pettigrew, the boy so wet he used to cry if he got a harsh mark on his-"
"-you're being a dick, Pads. Once, he cried once-"
"-on his homework-
"-and," Potter argues, his voice getting louder still, "he didn't cry because Haynes was shitty with him - he cried because his dad had died!"
"You want to start opening your eyes and ears, Prongs," Black continues, his words coming thick and fast, "the way he behaves, sitting around like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, simpering away at Moons, making out like he's his friend-"
"-he is his friend! We're all meant to be friends!"
"Yeah? That's why he wants him to register, is it?"
Lupin's blood runs cold and he reaches back, gripping the worktop once more.
"Why he doesn't want him to know about this prophecy?" Black continues.
Prophecy?
"Why he didn't bother looking for-"
"-he couldn't look for Moons," Potter argues, loudly, "because he was stepping in for you with Dumbledore! You know, Pads, for someone who had his skin saved-"
"-he didn't save my skin," Black argues, his teeth gritted.
"No? Well, he saved mine! Because with you out cold and in no fit state to go to Evan Rosier's funeral, it would've been me! I would've had to have gone!"
"With all due respect, James," Black says, "you're talking rubbish. If it had come down to you, they just wouldn't have sent anyone."
"You can't have it all ways," Potter argues, loudly, "you keep saying they're not doing anything, and then because it's not convenient for us, what, they're meant to give up on their plans, are they?"
"Plans," Black scoffs.
"Yeah, well, we'll see. You'll eat your words if Pete comes back with something important."
"I'll get a plate ready," Black says, scornfully. "He's hardly back here regaling us with information, is he? I bet he didn't even fucking go."
There's an elongated pause, and when Potter speaks again, his voice is low, and Lupin has to strain to hear.
"You're jealous, aren't you?"
"Not likely."
"Jealous that he went, and not you."
Black scoffs. "You know better than anyone that I have no desire to see my family again, let alone pretend that I've changed my mind, let alone tell them that they were right all along!"
"Jealous that he's the important one, the special one!"
"And if he slips up, he'll be the dead one, and you know what? That's just fine by me!"
Pettigrew perches awkwardly on the hard, uncomfortable sofa. He shuffles slightly, trying to find a position which doesn't cause his back to ache, but the sofa is unyielding.
Purchased for its appearance, he thinks, rather than its function.
He glances around the room, his beady eyes taking in the stiff surroundings. His mother's home is smaller than Malfoy Manor, by many magnitudes, but the walls are draped with finery - artwork and rugs, all flanked by furniture filled with expensive ornaments.
Testament to their travels. No wonder the furniture's horrible - if you never stay here for more than five minutes at a time, who cares how it feels?
"We need to talk, Peter," Caleb says, as he enters the room, followed by his wife, Anna, Pettigrew's mother.
Peter watches them both carefully as the much older man stalks across to a desk in the corner of the room and withdraws the chair from behind it, guiding his wife into it, and then bracing his arms on the back.
"Mother," Pettigrew says, his voice a little hoarse, "Caleb."
Husband and wife exchange a look, and as Caleb starts to speak, Anna looks away from her son.
"I trust you have a good explanation for what happened last night, Peter?"
"This morning," Anna quietly corrects.
"It's just a bit of a mix up, that's all. I didn't mean to wake you," Pettigrew says, immediately, his hands twisting, "I didn't, I wouldn't have come, I would've-"
"-Galen did the right thing. He was worried about you," Caleb says, firmly. "He didn't want you sleeping alone."
"I'd have been ok-"
"-that's why we sent Ditty to your room last night, to watch over you."
"He said you'd been awfully ill, Petey," Anna says.
"No, no, not really, it was something and nothing." He gives them a wide smile. "Look! Totally fine!"
Caleb stares at him. "So, what was the cause? Something you drank? Something you ate?"
Pettigrew shrugs awkwardly, puffing air into his cheeks and exhaling. "Good question. Yeah, I guess it must've been." He gives a small laugh. "Who'd have thought the grand Lucius Malfoy would serve bad canapés to his guests?"
"Who indeed," Caleb echoes - and then Anna sighs loudly, and Caleb immediately moves his hands from the back of the chair to her shoulders, gently squeezing them. At the action, Pettigrew winces and looks away.
This sort of display is why I kept well away from here in the first place.
"I've told you before about lying to us, Peter," Anna warns, quietly. "We know you've been taking illegal potions. How long has this habit been going on for?"
"I don't have a habit," Peter scoffs, "nothing's been going on."
"This is how you waste your allowance, is it? Why you've not managed to find a job after all of these months?"
"We've been paying your rent to help you to get a foothold in the world, so you didn't have to take a job that was beneath you-"
"-and this is how you repay us! Harbouring a dirty habit-"
"-I haven't… It wasn't even mine! I've never done, that was the first time, I wasn't-"
"-peer pressure, was it?"
Pettigrew gives another shrug. "I guess."
"I thought we brought you up better than that."
You didn't bring me up, Pettigrew thinks, resisting the urge to stare down his stepfather.
"It was a mistake," he says, instead. "I'm sorry."
"And that boy's responsible, is he? Encouraging you?"
How do they know about Avery?
"Who?" Pettigrew says, deliberately stalling.
"Black! Thrown out by his parents, and you took pity on him, and this is how he repays you? I've heard his mother talking-"
"-Sirius?" Pettigrew looks astonished. "No, he wasn't even there."
Anna and Caleb exchange another look.
"So what exactly were you even doing at Lucius Malfoy's, if you were not accompanying Black?"
Pettigrew gives another loud sigh. "It's not a crime to pay your respects to the dead, is it? Evan Rosier was at school when I-"
"-and we've never heard you mention him before-"
"-besides, he was one of Mulciber's friends! You remember Mulciber, right?" Pettigrew shrugs again. "That's all it was. An opportunity to catch up with a few people."
"You haven't seen the Mulcibers-"
"-exactly! For years! Helen was there, and we had a great chat. Lovely, she is."
"And just how impressed do you think Helen would be with this disgusting addiction you've developed?"
"Galen says that Lucius Malfoy was furious with your behaviour," Caleb adds.
Bloody Galen.
"Well, you know what Lucius is like," Pettigrew says, lightly.
"No," Caleb says, firmly, "we don't. That's rather the point."
"He'll understand. I'll apologise. Write him a letter."
"Then you had best visit Scribbulus on your way home, because you will be writing more than one," Anna says. "Galen tells us that the place was full of aurors."
"Not just aurors! Cornelius Fudge, Peter! The Minister!" Caleb shakes his head. "How can you expect to get ahead in the world if you-"
"-fine, I'll write to him as well, then," Pettigrew says, shifting in his seat. "Anything else?"
"Is that not enough, Peter?" his mother asks, sadly.
"I'm sorry," he says, standing, "truly. I'll apologise to everyone, and it won't happen again."
Caleb sniffs, his hand squeezing Anna's shoulder once more. "Last chance, Peter. We're not putting up with this sort of behaviour anymore."
"It might've been funny when you were at school," Anna says, coldly, "detention after detention-"
"-your reports were disgraceful-"
"-your exam results even worse-"
"-and now look at you. A jobless, filthy addict."
Pettigrew sighs. "I'm not, I swear it. I've even been working on getting a job."
Caleb makes a disgusted noise. "An actual career, with a good salary and a decent pension, or are you lowering yourself to some sort of street merchant, peddling these potions down dark alleys? Is that how you know Lucius Malfoy?"
"Brave enough to say that to Lucius' face, are you?" Pettigrew stands, looking offended. "I'm no pusher," he hisses, "and I'm not a dealer, I'm not an addict, and frankly, I'm getting pretty sick of your attitudes."
"And we're getting pretty sick of yours!"
"Caleb," Anna says, calmly, putting her hand over his. "This is your last chance, Peter," she says, echoing her husband's earlier statement. "We're not putting up with this sort of behaviour anymore, with you dragging this family through the mud."
"This family?" Pettigrew scoffs. "Well, Mrs Wilkes, I don't think you need to worry about what happens to me - it's only the Pettigrew name that I'll drag through the dirt."
Lupin yanks the kitchen door open and deliberately slams it shut, announcing his presence. His action causes both Potter and Black to jolt in surprise, both of them turning simultaneously and staring, their wands clenched in their hands.
"You can put those away," he says, coolly. "Friend, not foe."
"Moons!" Potter recovers first and darts over to him, throwing his arm around his shoulder. "Where the hell have you been?"
"I could ask the same of you."
"Got your tea then," Black observes, noting the mug in Lupin's hand as Black sits down.
"What happened?"
"Nothing," Lupin says, settling down in an armchair, and sipping at his lukewarm tea before placing the mug on the coffee table. "I just needed some air."
Potter puts his hands on his hips. "And you couldn't have said that instead of just upping and leaving without a word? I've been all over chasing after you." He points at Black. "We've been all over."
"And now you've found me," Lupin says, mildly. He looks over at his two enraged friends and then he smiles. "I'm sorry for wasting your time."
"Worrying us."
"Wasting our time was right," Black says, crossing his legs at his ankles.
Lupin picks up his mug again. "And Peter?" he asks, innocently, hiding his face behind his mug. "Is he not with you?"
Black and Potter exchange a look.
"He's…"
"Back at mine," Black interrupts sharply, and then he stands. "Thanks for the offer of food, Prongs, but I should get back. Knowing Pete, he'll have something cooking and then I'll only get it in the neck for eating here and wasting it." He points at Lupin. "Glad you're safe, mate."
"Yeah," Lupin nods. "Thanks, mate."
"I have reliable information that he is here," Moody says, standing tall and not being in the least bit discreet in his attempts to peer around Caleb Wilkes.
"Outdated information I am afraid," Caleb says, levelly. "He was here, overnight."
"And now?"
"What exactly is this about, Mr Moody?"
"A few routine enquiries." Moody reaches into his pocket and retrieves a card. "If he returns-"
"-he won't."
Moody holds the card out. "Get him to call me."
"Is he in trouble?"
Moody inclines his head. "Nothing that he and I can't sort out, I'm sure." He deposits the card in Caleb's pocket, and turns to leave.
"You should be doing something about it," Caleb says, suddenly.
"I'm sorry?"
"These potions that the kids are passing around. They're a scourge."
Moody turns back to look at Caleb, his expression giving nothing away. "As I said, I think your son can help with my enquiries. It would be a great help if I could speak with him."
"Here," Caleb says, and as Moody turns back, Caleb reaches back into the hallway, using a quill and ink to pen something on the reverse of Moody's card, "you should find him here."
Moody raises his eyebrows. "Mr Wilkes. My thanks, indeed."
"Soooo," Potter says, leaning back on the sofa.
"Where was… Oh," Lupin says, as he speaks at the same time. "Go on," he says, waving his hand, "you first."
"What's all this about getting some air?" Potter shrugs. "What's that mean?"
"There's no hidden meaning - I just wanted some space to think, that's all."
"To think?"
"Yeah?"
Potter turns his head, looking intently at his friend. "About what?"
Lupin meets his gaze. "It's private."
"Mmm," Potter murmurs, "must be, to walk off in the middle of the evening, not saying a word."
Lupin gives a short laugh. "I'm very fond of you, James, but we're housemates, not husbands," he says, as he stands, "I'm not required to check in with you-"
"-it's polite, that's all."
Lupin slaps the back of his left wrist with his right hand. "Consider me chastised."
"Moons."
"Prongs."
Potter sighs. "I don't get what this cloak and dagger act is about. You could've just said you were going out. I wasn't to know whether you were going to nip to the shop, or go out clubbing, or going mountain climbing to collect your thoughts, was I?"
"What are you going to the shop for?" Lupin immediately retorts, mimicking Potter. "Can I come clubbing? We'll get Sirius and Peter to come! Mountain climbing-"
"-all right, you've made your point." Potter gives another loud sigh. "You know, it's not a crime to be friends, is it? You're our friend and I was worried, and I don't think there's anything wrong with that."
"I didn't say there was."
"And Pads! He was worried too - we went all over hunting for you."
"Point taken."
"Is that it? Missing for days, and all you've got to say is 'point taken'?"
"I wasn't missing for days," Lupin says, lazily, "I was here last night. You were the one missing."
"Went looking for me, did you?"
Lupin gives him a lopsided smile. "What about Pete?"
"What about him?"
"You and Pads," Lupin says, not dropping his gaze, "went all over. Why not Pete?"
Potter gives a small shake of his head. "It's nothing."
"Is it? Pads ran off because Pete was at home, cooking a meal," Lupin muses, "and if you went hunting for me because you're my friends, am I to surmise that he's not?"
Potter opens his mouth, and then shuts it, looking away. "It's not that."
"No? What is it then?" Lupin gives a small laugh. "We're not husbands, but Pads and Pete are? Having a little play with gender roles."
Despite himself, Potter laughs. "Don't say that in earshot of Pads."
"So what is it then?"
There's a long pause, and then Lupin leans back, raising his hands as if Potter's pulled a wand on him. "All right, I get it. You don't trust the likes of me."
"No, Moons-"
"-it's fine, really-"
"-it's not!" Potter exclaims. "It's not… I trust you, Moons. I trust you with my life."
Lupin waits, expectantly - and then Potter rubs his hands over his eyes.
"It's a long story, Moons."
"Believe me, Prongs, I'm all ears."
Potter hesitates, and then he tilts his head, appraising Lupin. "No, you first. What were you doing?"
"That's the price, is it? Shared secrets come at a cost?"
Potter smiles.
"I was scouting for a new location to transform," Lupin explains, and as Potter opens his mouth, Lupin gives a small laugh, shaking his head. "No, Prongs, I didn't need your help. You're not coming with me on the next transformation."
"But you're-"
"-I'll work it out alone," he says, clapping Potter on the shoulder. "You're my friends, and you don't need to be put through that shit. It's not like when we were at school." He sits back, and crosses his arms. "Go on then. Your turn. Amaze me."
Black pushes open the door, and stares at Pettigrew, who has his head in his hands. "How'd it go then? That bad?"
Pettigrew glances up. "It was all right."
"Find out anything useful?"
"Not really."
"What do you mean by that? No one spoke to you? Did you even get through the door?"
"Of course I did!" Pettigrew says, defensively. "I spoke to quite a few people."
"But you haven't got any information?" Black frowns. "What on earth did you talk about?"
"This and that. Hogwarts. Work. Normal stuff."
Black sighs. "Tell me you did something useful, Pete. Listened at doors? Eavesdropped on the stairs? Overheard some interesting conversations whilst you were queuing for the loos? Bribed a house-elf?"
"I didn't do any of that," Pettigrew mutters. "When did you get back?"
Black points at his cloak and boots. "Since when do I wear my outdoor clothes to move between bedroom and living room?"
"Oh yeah," Pettigrew says, returning to his former stance, his fingers gripping his forehead.
"Oh yeah," Black repeats, peering at Pettigrew as he drops heavily onto the sofa and tugs at one of his boots. "What about you?"
"Me?"
Black rolls his eyes. "When did you get here? From Malfoy's?"
"Oh. Just now."
"Just now?" Black peers at the clock on the wall. "I knew the Malfoy bashes were renowned, but-"
"-I wasn't at the Manor," Pettigrew says, quickly, "not the whole time. I stayed over somewhere."
"Somewhere?"
Pettigrew looks up, his eyes flashing with irritation. "Do you have to repeat everything I say?"
"All right, keep your hair on. I was just impressed that you'd pulled," Black drawls, unlacing his second boot. "No wonder you didn't have time to listen in to other people's conversations," he laughs. "What's she like then? Fit? Tall? Brunette? And what's the Death Eater giveaway? Is she one of those with three extra fingers, or one who's got a forked tongue?"
"I…" Pettigrew starts to say, and then trails off when he processes Black's additional slight. "You know what, it's none of your business, actually, Pads."
"Is it actually not, Wormy?" Black looks amused. "Can't wait to hear what Dumbledore thinks of your efforts - found out fuck all, but shagged a Death Eater."
"...it's between me and Dumbledore, thanks. I'm sure he'll update you when the time's right for the rest of you to know."
Black gives a hearty laugh. "Listen to yourself! The rest of us!" He leans in, his voice loud. "I can tell you one thing for free - when he finds out what you've been up to, he'll tell you to shag on your own time, not his."
"Don't get shitty with me," Pettigrew snaps, wheeling around, "you were the one who should've gone-"
"-I'd have made a better job of it!"
"You were in no fit state to go! I stood in for you!"
"I didn't ask you to."
"Yeah, well, that's what friends do," Pettigrew says, standing. "I'm going to bed - I've got a banging headache." He moves towards the living room door, and then he pauses. "Don't go sticking loud music on."
Black looks at him, the picture of innocence. "Would I?"
Pettigrew doesn't answer, but retreats upstairs. Black sits for a moment, idly flicking through the previous day's Daily Prophet, and then - with a longing look at the radio - he gets up and heads to the kitchen.
It's as he's in the middle of making cheese on toast that he hears a thunderous knock at the door - loud and insistent.
"All right, all right, fuck," he shrieks, as he accidentally brushes the hot grill pan with the tender flesh of his inner wrist. "Fuck fuck fuck," he mutters, as the booming knock comes again - louder this time - and he looks helplessly around the kitchen. "Why haven't we got any bloody Dittany around here?"
Black makes it into the hallway just as Pettigrew descends the stairs, and Pettigrew looks at him with barely concealed contempt.
"Why didn't you answer the door?"
"Burnt myself," Black snarls, thrusting his blemished hand towards Pettigrew, just as the loud knock comes again, "all RIGHT!" he yells. "Who the fuck is this? The consequences of your conquest come to haunt you already? Was she married, this bird of yours?"
Pettigrew ignores the taunt and yanks the door open, and stares in surprise when he's faced with the bulk of Alastor Moody.
"Ah, Mr Pettigrew," Moody smiles, nastily, "just the chap I was hoping to see."
Lupin looks horrified as Potter reveals the truth - the prophecy, the Patronus, and the part Peter played in the funeral.
"And Dumbledore agreed to that?" he asks, his voice sticking in his throat.
Potter nods.
Lupin looks shaken. "Merlin, Prongs, you shouldn't have been wasting your time looking for me - you should've been out there supporting Pete! What if they've found him out? Done something to him?"
"He'll be fine," Potter says, his voice even, "he's got his animagus form, hasn't he? First sign of trouble and woosh! A rat!"
Lupin shakes his head. "Yeah, but the first sign of trouble would be Bellatrix Lestrange shooting green light from her wand."
"Even the Death Eaters don't jump to Avada on the first meeting," Potter chuckles, although his mirth doesn't meet his eyes. "Pads is right, Pete'll be back at his place and they'll probably be bickering about who ate the last of the bread."
"We should go to them. Check that he's all right."
"No," Potter says, holding his hand out to stop Lupin from getting up.
"No?" There's a moment, and then Lupin huffs in disbelief. "Oh. I see. You don't mind me knowing, but you don't want them to know that I know?"
Potter looks away. "It's not you, Moons."
"No, doesn't feel like it."
"There's a lot of paranoia around, that's all." Potter looks up again, his expression clouded. "This prophecy… Pads thinks that he's in it. That he's You-Know-Who's nemesis."
Lupin scoffs. "What makes him think that?"
"Reckons the pieces fit," Potter breathes.
"And do they?"
"It seems it."
Lupin shakes his head. "It's not a given, Prongs. Sometimes these prophecies can have lots of potential-"
"-not always," Potter interrupts. "That one about the woman in the-"
"-windmill, yeah," Lupin finishes. "I think there's a reason that's the famous one - it's deliberate. Makes you think that there's something pointed in them. Makes you paranoid."
"So you think he's paranoid? Pads?"
"I'm just saying, people hear prophecies and think only one person is destined to fill it. A calling," Lupin warns, "but it's rarely just one person - it's five, or fifty, or everyone."
"He thinks this is a one person prophecy."
"Of course he does," Lupin says, trying not to seem amused. "Still, it's irrelevant what he thinks-"
"-not if he's-"
"-surely the only thing that matters is You-Know-Who himself - whether he believes it."
"He doesn't know of it."
"Do we know that?"
"Only us four know that there was a prophecy."
"And the Ministry."
Potter gives him a sceptical look. "Don't tell me you believe in that Hall of Prophecy crap?"
"I'm just saying, it's possible that more people know," Lupin says, quietly.
"So you think You-Know-Who knows?"
"No, but I hope he does," Lupin says, suddenly, "because it's the only thing that's going to stop him. The Ministry isn't, we know that much, and Dumbledore-"
"-not you about bloody Dumbledore as well," Potter groans, "I had to listen to Pads moaning about him earlier."
"I'm not saying there's anything wrong with Dumbledore as a leader," Lupin says, hastily, "I'm saying that he hasn't got an in. That's what we've been floundering with for years - just look at the Order!"
"What about it?"
"Who's in it from our year? Us four, and briefly Evans, before they ran her into the ground." Lupin shakes his head. "She shows what happens when you mess around with Malfoy, and I wouldn't be surprised if what happened to Snape wasn't some sort of weird retribution - some rivalry or fight over potions territory that we had no idea was going on."
Potter looks conflicted.
"Nobody new this year. Or last. We don't have the numbers, Prongs," Lupin says, sadly. "Everyone's either a Death Eater, or a collaborator-"
"-or maybe they're just scared out of their fucking minds," Potter argues, slamming his hand on the arm of the sofa. "I'm not willing to give up on everyone, to write everyone off as being a Death Eater."
"I wasn't."
"It sounded like you were," Potter argues, "as if there's being in the Order or there's being complicit."
Lupin shrugs. "Seems that way to me."
"There's Muggleborns-"
"-they're leaving," Lupin says, "in droves. Going back to the Muggle world and hiding, pretending they're not magical - doing it before anyone notices them, before anyone can strip them of their magic. And who can blame them - if the Ministry gets hold of them first-"
"-I know."
"And it's not just Muggleborns, look at what happened to Snape, he was a Half! Listen to me, James, it's anyone who upsets them!"
"I know," Potter mutters.
"And I have more reason than most to fear what comes next."
"I didn't mean-"
"-I know." Lupin straightens the cuffs of his shirt as he speaks. "We can't defeat them with raw numbers. It's impossible."
"So what are you saying?"
"The only way to win this war is to shoot an arrow," Lupin says. "Expose a weakness."
"You-Know-Who knows there's only a few of us. He can crush us, but if he thinks that one is truly his nemesis…"
Lupin splays his hands. "He can be defeated," he finishes. "You took Divination, didn't you?"
"No," Potter says, "Ancient Runes. You had it with the Ravenclaws, didn't you?"
"Oh, yeah, it was Evans who took Divination," Lupin laughs, "and you were pissed when you found out I was sitting next to her."
"Moving swiftly on, Moons."
"Yeah, right," Lupin laughs, "my point is, half of these prophecies don't come true. Nobody talks about the ones that don't eventuate, but everyone talks about the ones which do."
"So we have to hope that we've got lucky? That we've caught a live one?"
"It's not about getting lucky, it's about planting a seed." He leans in closer to Potter. "Let's say that I tell you that you're going to walk under a ladder tomorrow and it'll collapse on top of you and kill you."
"Great."
"You're walking through Hogsmeade, everything's normal - and then you get outside Rosmerta's, and she's got a ladder outside the front door."
"Right."
"Do you go in and have a drink, ducking under the ladder to do so? Or, with this prophecy rattling around in your mind, do you give the drink a miss?"
Potter gives a slight shrug.
"Truthfully, James," Lupin says, "not some bravado answer." He smiles broadly. "I know you want to say that it wouldn't bother you, that it's nonsense, that you'd go in anyway - but would you? Would you really? For the sake of one drink versus the rest of your life? You could always come back another time - the day after, next week, next month."
"Yeah, all right," Potter admits, nodding. "I'd give it a miss."
"So you changed what you were going to do," Lupin says, "and that's the true power of a prophecy."
"If you know about it, you act on it."
"And when you're dealing with bigger prophecies," Lupin explains, gathering speed as he gets more and more into his theory, "it's more convoluted than deciding whether to go into a bar for a drink."
"Like what?"
"What do you do, Prongs? If you're You-Know-Who, and someone tells you that there's someone out there who can defeat you?"
Potter shrugs. "I don't think like a Death Eater."
"Try."
Potter chews on his lip. "I guess… I'd think it was one of us."
"And what would you do?"
"I don't know," he shrugs, uncomfortably, "narrow it down."
"Shrink the field," Lupin nods. "So he kills us off, one by one-"
"-you're not convincing me to go public with this prophecy, Moons-"
"-but the threat's still out there. Even if he kills us all." Lupin sits back. "I bet the prophecy is loose enough, woolly enough, that it could be any of us. Could be me, could be you, could even be Pads. And when You-Know-Who's finished us all off, and," he continues loudly, before Potter can interrupt, "he's going to do that anyway, with or without a prophecy. If he hasn't got a prophecy to worry about, he's not looking over his shoulder."
"But if he has, he starts looking at his Death Eaters."
"Exactly," Lupin says, triumphantly, "and if we're really lucky, that paranoia eats away at him before he's finished all of us off. And maybe, just maybe, instead of us trying to infiltrate his group, maybe one of those so-called loyal Death Eaters-"
"-they wouldn't betray him, he murders traitors-"
"-or collaborators, or Ministry stooges, or whoever else you might think of," Lupin continues, "it doesn't matter who - we just need an in. Peter Pettigrew is not going to give us an in, Prongs, he's just going to get himself killed - you know it, I know it, and I think old Dumbledore knows it too."
"But without a prophecy, Dumbledore's got no hope of succeeding in any other way."
"No."
Potter runs his hands over his face. "Pads'll kill me."
"What's the prophecy, James?" Lupin presses. "He told you, didn't he? If you tell me, we might be able to work it out - see if it really is him."
Potter leans back, exhaling loudly. "I can only just remember," he says, "give me a minute." He composes himself, muttering words under his breath, and then he speaks clearly: "The nemesis rises from darkness, the challenger is born. A baby once so wanted, scorned and ignored. Marked by another, loyalties torn, nemesis of the Dark Lord."
Lupin sits, thoughtfully, the words seeming to hang in the air between them. "You're sure?"
Potter nods. "That's what he told me." He ticks off his points against his fingers. "Darkness, he thinks that's his family name - Black, and how he left them. He was their first child, first son even, and you saw how they treated him by the end - burnt off the family tree."
"Scorned and ignored."
"Marked by another," Potter says, touching his upper arms, "where Snape slashed him to ribbons."
"Loyalties torn?"
"Reggie. He's shit scared of meeting Reggie in some sort of fight."
Lupin exhales loudly.
"Doesn't seem so crazy now, does it?"
"It fits," Lupin says, carefully, "but others will fit too."
"You don't," Potter observes, lazily, "I don't. Pete doesn't." He shrugs. "I've been going through everyone I can think of."
"You don't know enough about random people," and before Potter can open his mouth to argue, Lupin adds, "not me, not us! I mean, whoever you're thinking about that you remember from school, or I don't know, Moody or Bones or Dumbledore or something."
"Dumbledore is not risen from darkness."
"As far as we know," Lupin warns, "that's all I'm saying, Prongs. Don't go running away with the wrong idea."
"You think this is our best chance of success," Potter says, picking at the fabric on the sleeve of the sofa, "but I think it's obviously Pads. I can't… I can't live without him, Moons. Whether he's the nemesis, or not."
"It's a fair point," Lupin says, quietly, leaning back against the sofa and steadfastly looking away from Potter when he continues, "but how long do you think we've all got left to live if the war carries on like this?"
Chapter 152: Fear of parasitism
Chapter Text
Lily settles back on the sofa, resting her head against Severus' shoulder, and entwining her fingers with his as she listens to him enthusiastically regaling her parents with various magical theories.
She looks between her parents; her mother entirely absorbed with the novelty of holding her first grandchild, and her father entirely absorbed with the novelty of magic - and she feels a surge of affection for them both.
There's something about the warm way in which her mother interacts with River which reassures Lily, noting that her mother's behaviour is exactly as she remembers from the too-short visits they had in the Railview Hotel, when River was little more than a few days old.
Her mother's doting actions and River's relaxed and happy acceptance of such affection helps to alleviate the whisper of fear that Lily has in the back of her mind; that her parents might be lying, might be pretending, might shut the door on them as soon as they leave and all three of them are out of sight.
More than that, she's buoyed by the way her father smiles at Severus, encouraging him to lead him through the magical world with his detailed descriptions and explanations - her relief in stark contrast to the distress she'd felt an hour or so earlier, when her father had pulled Severus into the hallway, and her husband's fearful expression had perfectly mirrored her own apprehension.
When David had returned alone, without Severus in tow, she felt her blood pressure climbing higher - worsening still when the front door slammed loudly. Lily was distraught to think what heated words had likely passed between the two men without their wives present, and her anxiety had spiralled as she silently waited for her husband to return, not daring to ask her father about their private conversation.
Daddy dragged Severus out there for a reason; he isn't going to want to share it with you.
The wait had been anxiety inducing, her eyes fixed on the clock on the mantelpiece, the second hand leisurely making its revolution - and then, precisely 13 and a half minutes later, the front door banged again, and Severus finally poked his head around the living room door.
He'd barely moved into the room before she noted the tell-tale red staining around his eyes, and as he stepped forward, she could smell burnt tobacco clinging to his shirt.
Her heart was in her mouth as the two men made eye-contact, neither of them speaking - and when her father stood, Lily felt sick and faint, as if all of the blood in her body had plummeted to her feet, fretting that Severus' appearance was enough to cause her father to leave the room, the atmosphere between them so poisonous.
To her surprise, her father had approached Severus, squeezing his bicep warmly as he headed towards the kitchen - and Lily let out a loud exhale when she spotted the tight but sincere smiles which passed between the pair.
Now, an hour later, she's certain that her father's newfound curiosity in magic is an extension of the peace between them - that her father is deliberately demonstrating his interest in a subject that Severus clearly finds fascinating.
It's not exactly newfound, she thinks, guiltily - although after her first year of schooling, she knows that she hadn't engaged with either of her parents on the topic. Daddy was always far too busy with work, and Mummy was far too busy trying to keep the peace with Petunia.
It had been like walking on eggshells at times, being mindful of Petunia's furious temper - and although Lily wasn't adverse to provoking her sister when her patience wore thin and her frustrations spilled over, for the most part, she kept quiet, realising that it was often safer to keep magical discussion to a minimum when her ever-jealous sister was in earshot, lest she cause yet another spiteful argument.
It was like they so often said at school - some Muggles are better off simply not knowing anything about us.
Occasionally, she would feel downcast at not being able to fully share her excitement and knowledge with her family, but it had never truly mattered, for Lily had always had Severus for those sorts of discussions, and if she was truly honest with herself, she preferred talking about the magical world with Severus because they were able to leap to discussing the minutiae and intricacies of magical theory, rather than having to explain every element of magic in layman's terms for Muggles.
Besides, she spent nine months of the year immersed in the magical world, and the time she had with her parents was painfully short. Despite the excitement and wonderment she experienced as being part of the magical world, there was still a piece of Lily which missed various elements of her Muggle upbringing, and she viewed being back in Cokeworth for the holidays as a way of indulging that suppressed and dormant side of herself. As she always said to Severus, there was plenty of time to think about magic whilst she was in the corridors at Hogwarts.
Consequently, as the years went by, it became increasingly difficult to engage with her parents on the topic of magic. They simply didn't have the foundations of magical theory to follow her thought processes, and she didn't have the patience to walk them through; it was easier to change the subject to more common topics, such as whatever was on the television or in the newspaper, rather than elaborating on what she'd been learning about at school or talking about her homework.
It's only now, as she watches her father hanging off her husband's every word, that Lily realises she hadn't really tried very hard to include them.
You just waited until Severus knocked on the door, and talked to him instead, both relishing your own shared, incomprehensible language.
It's this incomprehensible language that Severus is sharing more widely now; difficult concepts and strange terms followed by patient, detailed explanations. If she closes her eyes, it's as if he's lecturing an excited first year student on the train to Hogwarts, instead of revealing the secrets of their world to two retired Muggles.
In his eagerness, Severus pulls his hand out of Lily's grasp, his arms moving rapidly through the air as he launches from one explanation to another, gesturing wildly, and his sincere excitement at discussing the magical world - to which he was so attached and so invested in - is abundantly clear to all.
To Lily's relief, despite their torrid night, River is as patient as ever as he's passed from one adult to the next, almost seeming to relish their different ways of interacting with him, each adult a novelty - whether it's Lily's familiar gentle hold and comforting scent, or Rose's soothing hands running across his back, or the vibrations of David's rumbling chest running through his tiny body as his grandfather talks, or Severus' exuberance as he gleefully swings their son high up into the air over and over and over.
The mood in the room is easy and relaxed, almost playful - and to Lily's surprise, when David finally steers the topic away from more benign topics and onto the thorny subject of Lily's trapped magic and Severus' broken soul, her husband doesn't freeze or descend into a sulk.
Instead, he answers David's questions calmly and precisely, and his firm, composed statements are reassuring; it's clear to her - and to her parents, she's certain - that he sees their magical maladies as temporary, and that he'll be nothing short of tenacious in his efforts to mend the two of them.
"Remind me, Severus," David says, "what do your parents think about all of this?"
"They don't know," Lily answers.
Rose shoots them a horrified look. "Don't know? How can they not know? Lily, lovey, with your magic and River, and-"
"-they know what happened to me," Lily interrupts, "and they know about River's magic, but they don't know about Sev-"
"-she does. My mam does."
Lily looks at Severus, her mouth open. "You told her?"
"No. She guessed," he says, his dark eyes darting from side to side.
"You didn't say anyth-"
"-I've only just realised," he says, solemnly.
"When?"
"When we took River to see them, when I was arguing with Da about his name."
"I meant when did you realise?"
Severus doesn't have opportunity to answer, because Rose looks scandalised, turning first to David and then back to Severus and Lily.
"And what, exactly, is wrong with River?"
"No, Mummy, it's nothing to do with River," Lily says, trying not to smile at her mother's immediate defensive behaviour towards her grandson. "We hadn't settled on River-"
"-hadn't even thought of River-"
"-we were thinking about other names."
"Irish names," Severus explains. "My da's family's Irish."
"And Severus' dad thought it was a silly idea-"
"-I think he put it in stronger terms than that, love-"
"-because he was worried that Riv would end up being discriminated against," Lily explains, closing her fingers warmly around Severus' hand.
"Which was a bit of a touchy subject with us," Severus says, not meeting David or Rose's eyes, "given what Lil's been through-"
"-what we've both been through," Lily interrupts, emphatically.
"Anyway, I'm glad he was such a tosser about it," he says, turning to look at Lily, and missing David's raised eyebrow. "River's a much better name."
"It all worked out for the best," she agrees, smiling at her husband.
"Your mother, Severus," David says, interrupting the moment. "You said she guessed?"
"Well. Sort of. Lily told her."
It's Lily's turn to look astonished, almost mirroring her mother's outraged reaction perfectly. "I told her? How could I have told her? I had no idea back then what had happened to you!"
"All right, all right, told's the wrong word."
"It's absolutely the wrong word," Lily says, immediately, her tone heated, "and it's not like you were even the topic of conversation, so I don't appreciate you suggesting that I was talking about you behind your back. Your mother was talking to me about me and my magic, not you and yours!"
"Yeah, well, you must've said something," he retorts, and on seeing Lily's furious expression, he raises his free hand. "I'm not saying you did it on purpose, love. Just, unintentionally, you must've given her some clue, and then she worked it out."
Lily's voice is cold when she speaks. "And what makes you so sure?"
"She hugged me."
Lily pauses, remembering their departure so well - the contrast between Tobias completely blanking Severus, and his mother beckoning him closer before wrapping her arms around him, much to Severus' confusion.
"I can count on one hand how many times Mam's hugged me in the past ten years," Severus says. His focus remains fixed on Lily, so he misses David's wince and the distraught look that crosses Rose's face at his admission. "I thought it was just an emotional reaction to seeing Bean," he continues, "like, he's our little boy, and I was once her little…" He trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished, his jaw tight.
"Sev, you don't know for certain," Lily says, gently, "it might've been-"
"-that night," he interrupts, "when you came downstairs with Riv, when we finally talked, it was the very first thing you said."
"I can't feel your magic."
"Yeah."
"But I didn't know it was you before you told me," she insists, "I couldn't have said-"
"-no, you thought it was you. You thought it was the hex."
There's a moment and then Lily grips his hand more tightly, clearly having followed his thoughts. "I'm sorry, Sev," she says, quietly, "I did tell her about that, but not because I thought it was you! I thought it was me, I thought it-"
"-and she knew it wasn't you," Severus reasons. "She knew it wasn't the hex, because she's long felt my magic spiralling from me. She wasn't hugging me because…" He trails off again, swallowing hard. "She wasn't hugging me," he says, simply, his voice thick, "she was just checking for my magic."
Lily's terrified that the realisation about his mother's affection, or lack thereof, is going to cause Severus to spiral, but to his credit, he remains composed - although the look in his eyes is oddly contemplative, as if he's mulling over the secrets of the universe.
His revelation causes an awkward tension to settle over the group, and Rose tries vainly to steer the subject onto River - a less stressful topic - but she's entirely unsuccessful as Severus, to Lily's surprise, turns the discussion right back to magic again.
"So, listen, Severus," David says, settling back in his armchair and crossing his legs at his ankles - as if the movement of making himself more comfortable and relaxed will cause the same reaction in his son-in-law, "I don't want you to think of this as pressure…"
Severus' dark eyes dart between Lily and David. "Go on," he says, his tone wary.
"I'd like to hear you explain about that charm again," David says, "the one Lily wants you to cast for us."
"Fidelius, Daddy."
Severus shakes his head emphatically. "What's the point? I can't do it, David."
"But you did before," David presses, "for your parents."
"No, I didn't," Severus says, his tone emphatic, "we did." He squeezes Lily's hand tightly. "Believe me, your daughter is a formidable witch."
"Sev," Lily says, her cheeks colouring. "He's just being kind-"
"-I'm bloody not," he argues. "You are, Lil. One of the most talented witches I've ever seen."
"And you've seen a lot have you, Severus?" David asks, mild amusement playing on his lips.
"I spent seven years locked in a castle with a few hundred of them," he immediately retorts, "I've seen enough to know that Lily is an exception."
"Stop it now," Lily says, biting her lip, "it's not as if you're not something special yourself, Sev."
"Yeah," he says, sitting back, looking proud, "but I'm not claiming otherwise, am I?"
"I wasn't doing myself down," she says, "it's just, that night, that spell…" She looks over at him. "It was mostly you, Sev. You were bearing the weight of it all."
David shoots his daughter a sceptical look. "You must've been doing something, Lils, else Severus wouldn't be sitting here singing your praises."
"He always sings my praises," she says, with a small laugh. "I think he's biased."
"Yeah, well, biased or not, I couldn't have done it without you," Severus reiterates. "Not a chance."
"And therein lies the problem," David muses.
"No Lily, no spell," Rose says, "and that was before you got sick, wasn't it, Severus?"
"Yeah."
"No wonder you couldn't do it alone," David says. "It must've been like fighting the incoming tide."
Rose looks intently at Lily. "Why did you think he could do it, if the odds were so stacked against him?"
Lily looks slightly stunned at her mother's words. "I'm sorry?"
"There must be a reason why you thought he could do it," Rose presses. "You were talking about Severus bearing the weight of the spell, so could it be that you were helping him, rather than the magic?"
"I don't understand," Lily says, looking between her parents.
David nods, mulling over the point. "No, I see what you mean, Rosie. Rather than adding your magic to the spell, Lils, what if you were a stabilising force? Is that possible? That she helped to ground your magic somehow, Severus?"
Severus shrugs. "I haven't a clue. Simultaneous casting isn't well documented."
"Or studied, even."
David looks at them both curiously. "But you decided to do it anyway?"
"Well, it's not completely unheard of," Lily adds, quickly, sensing her father's disapproval, "it's just… Magical people can be very territorial over their powers."
"Fear of parasitism," Severus explains.
"Can that really happen?" Rose looks shocked. "One of you could steal the magic from the other?"
"Steal, absorb, consume," Severus says, nonchalantly, giving another slight shrug. "Apparently. According to the stories."
"They're just fables," Lily adds, hastily, "fairy tales, that's all. Nonsense, really."
"Some fairy tale," David says, looking between them. "It doesn't scare you then?" He pauses, glancing awkwardly at Lily. "I mean, before what happened to you, Lils."
"No, Daddy," Lily laughs, lightly. "It's not like I was just casting with the first wizard I saw in the street; I trust Sev with my life."
"And me her," Severus agrees, "with my life, with my magic, with my everything."
On hearing Severus' earnest words, Lily twists to kiss him - their lips meeting chastely, both aware of their audience.
When Severus pulls away, a loving smile spread contentedly across his face, he leans back on the sofa. "Besides," he says, "it's not like we do it all of the time - this spell was an exception."
"You're telling me that you'd not cast this way before?"
Lily shakes her head. "Not really. Well. A little. Not often. Occasionally."
Severus smirks at his wife's fumbling. "We like to experiment."
Rose frowns. "Despite the risks. Despite this, this-"
"-parasitism," David finishes.
"Lil already told you," Severus says, "it's nonsense. A myth. Just like the Resurrection Stone and the Elder Wand and all that stuff." At their blank looks, he frowns. "It's like you Muggles believing in black cats crossing your path, and Friday the thirteenth, and knocking on wood."
"Superstitions."
"Exactly, David. Nonsense."
"Some of that had some basis though," Rose says. "I'm not saying it holds water now, but that there was a reason why people were careful around those things."
"Good reason?" Severus says, arching an eyebrow, a rather arrogant look on his face. "Or just myths and legends, passed down uncaringly from one generation to the next?"
"I wouldn't say uncaringly," Lily says, quickly, taking in her mother's hurt expression. "Sometimes old wives' tales have a grain of truth in them. It's only logical that you'd warn the people you care about-"
"-seems to me that if you care about them, you should do a bit more research before passing on falsehoods which worry them needlessly," Severus says, giving her an amused look, "but I shouldn't expect any better from you seeing as you took Divination-"
"-there's nothing wrong with Divination-"
"-you'd best not fill our boy's head with that rot-"
"-I learnt a lot in that class!"
"Yeah, a lot of rot," Severus sneers, "you and the big bad wolf."
"We were ordered by house and by surname," she argues, "as you well know. Besides, Remus was nice enough."
Severus gives a derisive snort.
"Aren't wolves straight out of a fairy tale?" David asks, quietly.
"For you, maybe," Severus says, waspishly, "but not for us."
"Sev."
He pauses at Lily's rebuke and he composes himself. "Sorry," he says, not looking at David, "but there's a difference."
"Which you've not yet managed to explain."
"The difference is whether Severus thinks it's possible or not," Lily says, elbowing him. "I'll let you know when a fable meets our lordship's lofty criteria."
"Get stuffed, Lil," he laughs, grabbing her around the waist and then kissing her cheek. "I don't know why you're being so difficult about this," he says, after a moment, his arm looped over her shoulder, "it's not as if you believe any of this stuff either."
"I'm just saying," Lily says, gently, looking at her mother, "that there's ways of putting it."
"She's telling you not to be so rude in polite company," David says, and almost immediately, Severus flushes.
"I didn't mean… Sorry, Rose."
"It's fine, Severus."
He sits back, chastened, and Lily looks around the room.
"So," she says, "that's the thing with simultaneous casting. It's one of those things that's kept pretty quiet - it's not taught at school, and it's only mentioned in books here and there."
"And in these myths and fables which tell you not to do it."
"Yeah."
"They couldn't teach it at Hogwarts," Severus says, suddenly, "because half of them aren't talented enough to cast alone, let alone with another person."
"And the risk is greater," Lily nods, "if one person is more magically developed than the other."
"Those are the circumstances where I reckon you could absorb the other person's magic," Severus agrees, "if you were truly overpowered, unable to defend yourself against their strength."
"And you two didn't ever worry about any of this?"
"We were a match for each other," Lily says, lightly. "Besides, it was never anything serious. Just us testing the water, really."
"Seems awfully risky to me," Rose says.
"Nah," Severus smiles. "It was just stupid stuff - like, how fast can an Accio be? Can I summon something quicker than Lily? Can she summon something quicker than me? Can two of us summon something quicker together?" He gives a wide grin. "Lily even asked for a stopwatch from you for Christmas one year."
"Very scientific," David says. "And the results?"
"No faster with two it turns out," Lily laughs.
"And that's the real problem-"
"-we never really found a use for it - not with spells that we could easily perform ourselves."
"I reckon that's the real reason why nobody explores it," Severus finishes.
"Yet you did it with this spell," Rose muses, "this Fidelius."
"But the Fidelius is not trivial magic, Mummy."
"It's old, complex magic," Severus nods. "Probably the hardest spell I've ever read, let alone tried to cast."
"And you were pissed."
"I was not-"
"-you were!"
Severus bites his lip, looking amused as he shakes his head. "I was a tad merry, that's all-"
"-completely pissed-"
"-Lily!" Rose shoots her a quelling look.
"All right, I was pissed," Severus agrees.
"Severus!"
"But I soon sobered up," he continues, ignoring Rose's interjection, "and even if I'd never had a sip of alcohol in my life, I couldn't have done it alone."
"So you risked doing this, this… What did you call it? Simultaneous casting?"
"We were desperate, Daddy," Lily adds. "Needs must."
"And it worked," Severus says, looking briefly triumphant. "I didn't lose my magic, and she didn't lose hers, and the spell worked." He gives them a half smile. "Sounds to me like the mythology books were written by the victors."
David frowns. "I don't follow you."
"If you were a great wizard," Severus says, the same smirk still on his face, "and you knew you didn't have an equal, wouldn't it make sense for you to spread a rumour that simultaneous casting was dangerous?"
"To stop anyone from being able to group together to challenge you."
Severus nods. "And then we get a hundred years on, three hundred years on, a thousand years on, and nobody remembers the context, nobody stops and thinks why the rumour started, or how it started."
"And everyone blindly accepts it."
"And a branch of magic is lost."
"Unless you're wrong and there is good reason for the stories," Rose says, meeting Severus' gaze. "Unless you just got lucky."
Severus shrugs. "Who knows, Rose? Maybe we did."
"None of which helps us right now," Lily says. "You can't do the spell alone, and I can't help you without my magic." She looks at Severus hopefully. "Maybe we should work on my magic first?"
"But it's not as simple as that, love," Severus says, his voice soft. "Like your dad said, I'm not the same wizard as I was a couple of months ago. You know better than anyone that I don't have full control over my magic." He waves his hands awkwardly. "Sometimes it's fine, and sometimes it's…"
"Unpredictable?" David guesses.
"Yeah."
"If your magic is unpredictable, Severus," Rose says, "then how does that affect you trying to help Lily? If your magic isn't stable, then are you putting her into danger when you're trying to reverse the hex?"
Lily can feel her breath catching in her chest. "Mummy…"
"It's a fair question, love," Severus says, his thumb stroking across the back of Lily's hand. "I don't know."
"Then it sounds to me as if you should be prioritising your own magic first," David says, "and then Lils' magic, and then protecting us when you're both back to full strength."
"Seems sensible," Rose agrees.
"It does, doesn't it?" Severus gives a small laugh, his tongue buried in the side of his cheek. "The only problem is, protecting you is theoretically easy - I know what I have to do, I just can't do it. The other two…" He shakes his head. "I've got ideas of what I can start looking at, but that's it - they're just ideas! It might take me months to research it all. Years, even."
"You're not on your own with this, Sev," Lily says, firmly, "it's the two of us together, remember? I might not be able to cast, but I'm as capable as I ever was."
"I know, love."
"I understand magical theory, and we can-"
"-I know," he says.
"Seeing as Lily can't cast, could you get someone else to help you with the spell part, Severus?"
David's eyebrows rise at his wife's suggestion. "Instead of Lily?" He leans forward. "Could that work?"
"You must have friends-"
"-I don't trust anyone," Severus says, immediately.
David shoots him a sceptical look. "I thought you didn't believe in this parasitism?"
"It's not that," he says. "I don't trust anyone with such an important secret."
Lily frowns in concentration. "That's a point, Sev."
"What?"
"Would this theoretical third person have to know the secret? Could we get someone to help you to cast, but then not tell them the secret?" Lily shrugs. "If it's up to the Secret-Keeper to divulge, then…"
His eyes widen. "Bloody hell. That's brilliant."
"If it works, it is," Lily says, a broad smile filling her face.
"Can you remember what happened at Mam's? Was it just me who had the secret, or was it you as well?" He looks panicked, his free hand pressing against his temple, as if he's trying to physically withdraw the memory from his brain.
Lily shakes her head. "I can't remember, it's all a blur."
"So much happened around then," he mutters, looking pensive. "There's our number one question - was it me, or was it you, or was it the both of us?"
"What does it matter?" Rose asks.
"It's the difference between being the Secret-Keeper," Lily explains, "or a Secondary-Keeper."
"Great," David says, looking vaguely amused, "I'm glad you cleared that up for us, Lils."
Lily laughs at her father, looking at him fondly. "The Secret-Keeper alone knows the location of the property that's hidden using the Fidelius charm."
"If you need more people to know the location, then the Secret-Keeper can tell others," Severus adds.
"The person who is told the secret becomes a Secondary-Keeper."
David nods. "So the first person to know the location is a Secret-Keeper," he repeats back to them, checking his understanding, "and anyone who is told afterwards-"
"-is a Secondary-Keeper," Lily says, finishing her father's sentence.
"What if a Secondary-Keeper tells someone else? Are they a Tertiary-Keeper?" Rose asks.
"I like the way your mind works," Severus grins, "but a Secondary can't tell anyone else. The power of the charm lies with the Secret-Keeper alone."
"So if I can tell someone about the location of Severus' parents' house," Lily says, "then we'll know that I'm a Secret-Keeper and not a Secondary."
"And if Lily turns out to be a Secondary, then you can recruit someone to help you to cast the spell, Severus," Rose says, looking excitedly at David.
Lily grins broadly. "Exactly! They might be involved in the casting, but they don't have to know the secret."
"You could try to tell us, Lils," David suggests.
"No, you already know," Severus says, dismissively. "I know you can't remember, but it's not a foolproof test."
"Someone outside? A neighbour, perhaps?" Lily suggests.
"I don't want to go spilling the secret to just anyone," he says, looking cautious. "You know what happens if a Secret-Keeper dies."
"Not planning on dying, are you?"
He chuckles, and then he looks over at Rose and David, who look perturbed at the sudden change in tone. "If the Secret-Keeper dies, everyone else who knows the secret-"
"-the Secondary-Keepers," Rose says.
He nods. "The Secondary-Keepers become Secret-Keepers, and they can share it. So if I," and he draws his finger silently across his neck, "then Tuney and Vernon's neighbours would be able to tell anyone and everyone where my parents live."
"You could Obliviate them after the test," Lily suggests.
Severus gives Lily a quelling look. "I thought I was the impulsive one. Considering that I'm not meant to be using magic amongst Muggles, I'm not sure how Obliviating a Muggle would go down with the Ministry-"
"-you didn't show this much concern when you wiped Mummy and Daddy and-"
"-all right-"
"-Petunia and Vernon! You've been shooting spells around here, left, right and centre-"
"-all right!" Severus says again, recoiling from his wife's hot temper, "I was just saying."
"-so don't give me 'I can't use magic amongst Muggles', Severus!"
"I think Severus is trying to learn from his mistakes, Lils," David interjects, gently.
"It's just a neighbour," Lily says, trying again, deliberately not looking towards her mother and father.
Severus shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
"A neighbour," Lily tries again, still steadfastly refusing to look towards her mother and father. "We don't have to give them any context." She taps her fingers against Severus' own as she counts off her points. "Firstly, they won't know what it means - it's just a random address. Secondly, nobody is going to track a random neighbour of my sister's down, find them, and ask them for your parents' address. Thirdly, they probably won't even remember whatever it is we tell them, because it's meaningless. Fourthly-"
"-you want me to Obliviate them anyway," he says, tonelessly.
"I'm just saying it's an option, if you're worried."
"If I'm worried," he echoes. He scratches the back of his head. "I don't know, Lil."
"Then what else are we going to do? Wait until tomorrow when Tuney and Vernon turn up?"
"I'm not telling Tuney or Vernon," he snaps. "If someone did track down your relatives," and then he looks apologetically towards Rose and David, "don't worry, they won't, but if they did-"
"-if you think that's a possibility then it has to be an Obliviate."
"And I've Obliviated them once already," he hisses, "and restored their memories, and planted a false memory. I can't keep meddling with their minds, Lil, it's not-"
"-well maybe you should've thought of that before you started all this in the first place!"
He sits back, his jaw clenched. "I've apologised already."
"Apologies don't sort out the mess you leave behind," she retorts, her green eyes seeming to gleam in her temper. "A neighbour."
"Fine," he snaps. "A neighbour."
It's not the first time that Lily has felt that she and Severus were in a world of their own, cocooned away from everyone else, both of them understanding each other in a way that others simply couldn't fathom.
She feels it now, with her parents watching disapprovingly as the pair of them sit at the dining table. In contrast, Severus looks away as she carefully scribes his parents' address onto a piece of paper and then folds it in half.
"Now?"
"No point in waiting," he says, shoving his chair roughly back - and then he seems to clock her parents, as if he'd forgotten they were sitting with them. "I can take him?" he offers, pointing at River.
Rose exchanges a look with David. "It doesn't make sense to get him cold."
"We'll only be a minute or two," Lily says, lightly. "Sev?"
"Yeah," he says, kissing the fingertips of his index and middle finger, and then pressing his fingers to River's forehead, "coming, love. Back in five, Riv."
"Just drop it as we go past them, but it's got to be behind us, and in front of them," he says, holding his hand out. "Give it here, and I'll show you."
"You can't touch it," she says, holding it out of his reach, "else the test won't work."
"Shit, yeah," he says.
"Let me do it," she says, elbowing him as a middle-aged couple head towards them. "Act naturally."
"What's natural look like?" he laughs, and then he darts ahead on the pavement, as if encouraging her to give chase.
She follows his lead, and as the couple almost run into them, he calls a breathless apology, whilst Lily fumbles with the folded paper, and then races to catch him up, sliding her hand into his.
"Excuse me? Excuse me? Is this yours?"
Lily and Severus share a happy grin before composing themselves and turning back to the couple - and then they both stare at each other as they spy the folded paper being passed back to them, unread.
"Oh," says Lily, suddenly, retracting her hand. "I don't know."
The man looks at her, surprise etched on his face. "I think you dropped it."
"What's it say?" Severus interjects, looping his arm protectively around his wife's shoulders, and then he makes a show of patting his pockets with his other hand. "It might be our shopping list, love."
The woman gives them a strange look, as if she can't work out why they're so adverse to taking it and reading it themselves, but she dutifully unfolds the paper. Her frown deepens, and then she turns the paper over in her hand, flipping it back and forth, left to right.
"It's blank," she says, after a moment.
"Oh, it is ours," Severus says, quickly.
"Oh! That's right! I was going to put the shopping list on it," Lily says, reaching out and practically snatching it from the woman. "Thank you!"
"...you're welcome," the woman says, seeming puzzled, and the man takes her by the elbow and steers her away - and although nothing disparaging is said, their voices are loud enough for Severus and Lily to hear them muttering about what a strange encounter it was.
Lily passes the paper back to Severus, and he unfolds it, a broad smile spreading across his face as he sees the address he knows so well appearing in his wife's handwriting.
He glances around and then pulls his wand out of his sleeve, quickly casting a spark towards the paper, causing it to catch fire and disappear into flame.
Severus stows his wand in his sleeve, and then pulls his wife into a warm embrace. "So, it's confirmed - you're a Secondary-Keeper, love."
"No Obliviate necessary."
"No," he grins, leaning down to kiss her. "Clever, clever witch."
Chapter 153: Terrible influence
Chapter Text
You're imagining things. They're not looking at you. It's all in your mind.
Avery grits his teeth as he makes his way through the Ministry atrium, and as he passes witches and wizards he knows, he puts his head down, his gaze fixed firmly on the ostentatious flooring.
They're just talking - probably about work. Meeting in a corridor instead of sending notes from office to office. Putting faces to names. Networking. Gossiping.
Despite his best efforts, he knows that his paranoia is showing on his face - a deep flush of colour which creeps up his broad cheeks and into his ears, burning them a furious red, as he pushes past a clump of people.
Even if it is gossip, it could be about anything - anyone! It's not about you, it's not about you, it's not about you.
As he marches down the level three corridor the knuckles on his right hand are practically white from gripping his wand so tightly, and when he reaches his office, he flings the door violently open, letting it crash satisfyingly into the wall.
He steps inside, and then - for good measure - he grabs the door handle and shoves the door roughly in the opposite direction, letting it smash loudly back into its frame, before he drops heavily into his plush seat.
It takes Severus by surprise when Lily stops him from walking back up the drive to the house, and he frowns, a protest forming on his lips - but when she throws her arms around his neck, he laughs, pulling her up so her legs are around his waist, and he swings them both around.
"Five minutes," she says, kissing him hard as they spin on the spot.
"Until what?"
"Not until anything," she says, breathlessly, pressing another kiss to his lips. "I just want five minutes alone with you."
"That," he says, carrying her up the drive and then pressing her against the front wall of the house, so her back meets the brickwork, "I can do."
He tilts his head, his lips meeting hers in a tender kiss - and then she moves her right hand to the back of his head, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.
"My feisty, gorgeous witch," he groans as she draws her nails across his scalp.
"And don't you forget it," she breathes, capturing his bottom lip gently between her teeth and toying with it, before releasing it and pressing her mouth fully against his.
Avery's door swings open and another interdepartmental memo - the seventeenth one within an hour - whizzes through, landing gracefully on his desk.
Avery's eyes narrow, and he picks the memo up cautiously - between thumb and forefinger, as if he feared it was going to spontaneously combust.
He unfolds the violet paper and his scowl deepens as he reads the neatly printed text:
Heard you enjoyed yourself so much at Lucius Malfoy's that he had to put you to bed.
Avery crumples the memo in his fist, and tosses it towards the bin - but his fury compromises his accuracy, and he misses. The memo falls to the ground, joining a number of others, all scattered haphazardly over the floor.
He sits back in his seat and sighs, kicking the floor to make his chair swivel from left to right, as if he finds the rocking motion somehow soothing. After a moment or two, his attention is drawn back to the memos strewn across the floor, and his eyes narrow. He grabs his wand and begins to slowly levitate each crumpled ball - one by one - into the bin.
After successfully moving three or four, he huffs, and shoots out a blasting spell, his temper clearly frayed. The memos rise high into the air before disintegrating into shreds. The pieces fall around him, like confetti thrown at a wedding, and it's just at this moment that Penrose knocks and puts his head around the door.
"Oh!" Penrose gives a beaming smile. "Is it good news, sir? A celebration? I saw all of the memos coming in, and I couldn't help but wonder-"
"-no," Avery snaps.
"Oh." Penrose shifts uncomfortably. "I thought-"
"-then you thought wrong. What do you want, Penrose?"
"Nothing, really," Penrose says, lightly, his eyes fixed on Avery's expression. He takes a cautious step forward, as if he were approaching a coiled snake, and he balances a set of papers on the edge of Avery's desk - clearly fearful of getting too close. "The top four are finished," he says, "so they just need your signature, but the bottom three require-"
"-take them back. I don't want them."
Penrose freezes, and his face makes an odd movement - as if he can't believe his ears and he wants to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but he daren't.
"I'm not joking. Get rid of them."
"They need to be done today," Penrose says, "and it has to be you. I can't sign them off."
"Why not?"
"I don't have the authority."
"Says who?"
Penrose glances around the room, as if checking that this isn't an elaborate practical joke and fifteen braying colleagues are going to appear, guffawing with laughter. "The, er…" Penrose swallows, "the Ministry."
Avery stares at him, and then - without breaking eye contact - he reaches into his top desk drawer and pulls out a scroll of parchment. He makes great ceremony of unwinding it and laying it on his desk, holding it down with a paperweight, and running his hands over it to smooth it out - his eyes never leaving Penrose.
Eventually, he looks down as he uncaps his full ink bottle, and picks up his virtually pristine quill.
"I," Avery dictates, as he scribbles across the page, "Cato Avery, Acting Head of the Magical Accidents and Catastrophes department, hereby invest…" He trails off and looks up at Penrose. "What's your name, Penrose?"
Penrose looks even more alarmed. "Yes," he says, as if he's answering a trick question.
"Yes? Yes Penrose? What sort of ridiculous name is that?"
"Oh," Penrose says, realising, "it's Derek."
"It's Derek Penrose?"
"Yes, Derek Penrose."
"'Yes Derek Penrose'?" Avery shoots him an irritated look. "Your name's 'Yes Derek Penrose'? Is there something wrong with your parents?"
Penrose looks terrified. "It's not 'Yes Derek Penrose', it's just 'Derek Penrose'."
There's a prolonged pause, and Avery eyes Penrose sceptically.
"Derek Penrose," Penrose repeats, so there can be no more confusion, "that's my name."
Avery sighs. "Why didn't you say that in the first place?" He turns his attention back to the parchment. "Derek Penrose," Avery continues, his quill scratching loudly against the parchment, "with all of the necessary powers and authority required to sign off any and all," he says, underlining the word repeatedly, "documentation for the Ministry Department-"
"-I don't think it works like this, sir-"
"-of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes," Avery intones, as if he hasn't heard Penrose's protest, "from this day forward-"
"-seriously, sir, I really don't think-"
"-signed, Cato Avery," Avery finishes, signing his name with a flourish. "Here," he says, throwing down the quill and slapping the parchment onto the top of the stack of papers, "now you can have these back."
Penrose stalls, looking unsure. "I don't, I really don't think-"
"-so you've said, Penrose. Three times, in fact," says Avery, drolly, putting his feet on his desk. "Fortunately, the Ministry doesn't pay you to think," he says, leaning back in his chair, planting his hands behind his head. "The Ministry pays you to do whatever I say," he adds, with a nasty smile.
"But I-"
"-oh, and Penrose? Once you've sent those off, I could do with seeing a list of vacancies."
"Vacancies? Here? At the Ministry?"
"Not too difficult a task for you, is it?"
"No, sir," Penrose says, looking hopeful. "You're thinking of moving departments, then?"
Avery frowns. "Absolutely not," he says, with a wide smile, and then he closes his eyes firmly. "Dismissed, Penrose."
Rose laughs as she tickles River, watching in delight as he screws his eyes up and then opens them wide, his mouth breaking into a gummy smile. Out of the corner of her eye, she spies David moving into the bay window and lifting the net curtain.
"Well?" she asks. "How are they doing?
David lets the net fall from his fingers. "Going by how they've got their tongues stuck down each other's throats, I'd say that whatever they've done has been a success."
"David, really."
David steps back from the window, straightening the net curtain. "Don't shoot the messenger," he mutters, "I'm just telling you what I can see."
Rose tickles River again, and then darts a kiss against his forehead, before looking back at her husband. "Do you really think they've used magic against Tuney's neighbours?"
David shrugs. "I have no idea. I imagine we'll find out in a minute or two." He sinks back into his armchair. "I was surprised at her."
"I wasn't."
At his wife's comment, David smiles. "No," he says, looking admiringly at her, "I thought you were being unfair, but I've got to hand it to you - you were exactly right." He runs his hand over his eyes. "Wiping memories. Again."
"He didn't want to do it, there's that at least."
"And I should bloody well think so too, after all the heartache we've had here over the past few days."
"But what Lily says goes, so he fell in line," Rose says. "Just like our Petunia with Vernon."
David exhales loudly. "I thought he had a bit more about him than Vernon."
"I think he does," Rose says, fairly, "but I think he doesn't want to rock the boat. She told me that they've been at each other's throats for weeks over what he did to us."
"And with good reason," David says, "it was bloody reckless! He's bloody reckless! You heard him - one minute he's talking about the precarious and fragile nature of magic, and how careful and responsible you have to be whilst casting-"
"-and the next, he's boasting about the two of them privately experimenting, ignoring all of the warnings because they know better," Rose finishes.
"Exactly. He's...arrogant."
"Not arrogant," Rose says, quickly, "he's not sauntering around here like he owns the place."
"What would you say then?"
"I think he's insecure," she says, and as David scoffs, she reaches over and swats his arm, "but," she says, loudly, "when it comes to magic, he's the opposite - he's overconfident."
"He knows his own abilities and he trusts in them."
"And I don't doubt him - from the way he talks, he clearly understands it," Rose says.
David nods. "He seems to consider her as being his equal. All that about casting together, and not fearing losing their magic to the other." He shakes his head. "It must be hell for her to have lost hers."
"And for him," Rose says, "it must've changed the dynamic in their relationship, whether they realise it or not."
"She feels helpless?" David guesses. "And he feels… I don't know, responsible?"
"Wouldn't you?"
"It should've been him," David says. "And with a brand new baby to look after? Absolutely. It must be taking its toll."
Rose nods. "So he's out there trying to prove himself, trying to solve all of their problems, taking the decisions."
"He's trouble because he thinks he knows better than everyone else."
"Up until now," Rose agrees, "whilst Lily's trouble for the very same reason."
David looks surprised. "She thinks she knows better?"
Rose shakes her head. "No. But now Severus thinks Lily knows better. He messed up this time, so he knows he's fallible."
"And she put him straight," David says, nodding keenly, "so now he thinks that she's always right."
"Self doubt is nasty - makes you second guess yourself, and they both keep saying that he's sick."
"So now he doesn't trust himself, but when it comes to Lily, he accepts whatever she says," David breathes, "not stopping to think about whether it's wrong."
"Or assuming she isn't wrong. Can't be wrong. Disregarding his own conscience or his own concerns because he presumes she's already thought it through for them - that she knows better."
David lets out a deep exhale. "So she needs to be asking herself what she's playing at. He's trying to sit on his hands, trying to demonstrate that he's changed - and she's coercing him into doing whatever she wants because this time, she's decided it's ok."
"And he barely questioned her. He just got up and went along with whatever she wanted."
"Which is exactly what you said he'd do, and I think-"
"-shhh," Rose says, gesticulating towards David for him to quieten as she hears the front door opening and closing. "So," she says, in a stage whisper, "what about putting the kettle on, David?"
Severus and Lily appear together, walking through the living room door, Severus' arms wrapped around Lily, and his face buried in her hair.
"Tea sounds good, Daddy, if you're offering?"
"Don't celebrations call for something stronger?" Severus asks, lifting his face from Lily's hair.
"Successful, were we?" David asks, mildly.
"It was perfect," Lily beams. "I couldn't pass the location on."
"Which means she's the Secondary."
"So if we can get someone to help Sev, they don't need to know the secret at all."
"And we didn't even have to Obliviate anyone," Severus adds, shooting David and Rose a relieved smile, "so the Ministry won't be coming to lock me up anytime soon - and I think that calls for a dram of Vernon's whisky rather than a cup of tea."
Yaxley peers curiously at the interdepartmental memos bouncing forlornly against Avery's locked office door, and then raps sharply on the wood.
"I don't want to see you, Penrose," Avery shouts.
"It's Yaxley, Avery," Yaxley calls back. "I've brought you the vacancies list you requested."
There's a series of clicks as the door unlocks, and then Avery calls for him to enter - and as Yaxley pushes the door open, the memos all dart inside, all neatly stacking themselves on Avery's desk.
Avery looks at them in disgust, and without reading any of them, he extinguishes them with a sudden burst of flame from his wand. Yaxley takes a step back, his eyebrows raised.
Avery laughs at the older man's movement. "It's nothing," he says, dismissively, "just the spell they use in the Disposal of Information. Doesn't touch anything other than paper," he explains. He holds his hand outright and purposely casts in a long, slow stream down his arm - and he's proven correct, as the spell doesn't so much as singe his robes. "See?"
"Interesting," Yaxley says, holding out the vacancies list. "Who do you know in the DI?"
"Copeland," Avery answers, taking the list and peering at it.
Yaxley looks interested, and settles himself in a seat. Avery frowns at the movement, but doesn't take his gaze off the vacancy list.
"It's all I needed, thanks."
"Thinking of moving departments?"
"No."
"No?" Yaxley stares at him. "Didn't seem too interested in reading your memos just then. Bored of MAC, are you?"
"They're not work."
"I don't think Fudge would agree with you. He thinks they're vital to the smooth running of the Ministry. Stops people congregating and gossiping in corridors."
Avery lowers the vacancy list and meets Yaxley's gaze. "Is there something I can help you with?"
Yaxley inclines his head. "You tell me."
He waits, momentarily, but Avery doesn't speak.
"Or we could wait for another memo to arrive, and I could intercept it."
At this, Avery places the vacancies list on the table.
"Are you sure this isn't what this is about?" Yaxley says, tapping the parchment.
"I'm not looking for a new job. It's for a friend."
Yaxley gives a slow nod. "Talented?"
"Capable," Avery says, "but down on his luck."
"What qualifications does he have?"
"I'll find out and get them to you."
Yaxley scoffs. "Not one for me then," he says, holding out his hand, and indicating that Avery should pass him the paper. "Pity, I could do with a few more like-minded fellows on the ground."
"Qualifications aren't everything. I'm sure he-"
"-come on, Avery, how long have you been here? We both know that nepotism alone isn't enough for the Auror Office." Yaxley pauses, flipping through the list. "Pureblood, I take it?"
"Naturally."
"Then I'm sure we can find him a place elsewhere."
Just as Avery starts to smile, the door flies open and another interdepartmental memo darts through, heading for Avery's desk. Instantly, Yaxley throws his free hand into the air, intercepting the memo as it's in flight.
"Yaxley… Don't."
Yaxley gives him a curious look, refusing to relinquish his hold on the memo.
"It's for me," Avery protests.
Yaxley gives him a thin smile. "Where's the harm? You showed no interest in reading them earlier." He straightens the memo, and his smile grows into a smirk as he reads the contents. "I see."
"You really don't."
"Oh, I think I do," Yaxley says, holding the memo out. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"You'll need to use Copeland's spell to file this."
Avery pulls out his wand and takes aim, and Yaxley watches with interest as the spiral of fire touches his fingers yet he feels no heat from the flame.
"I might get Copeland to teach that to me," Yaxley muses, and then he slaps his thighs and stands. "Leave the door open. It's not a good look for it to be locked."
"But the memos-"
"-file them using the Copeland method," Yaxley says, with a smile. "Whoever's doing it will get bored."
Avery gives a low, scornful laugh. "Yeah, and I'll be Minister next month."
"Give it a week. If it's still continuing, let me know, and we'll get to the bottom of it."
At this, Avery looks up, surprised.
"Someone's jealous, Avery. Lucius Malfoy is a very powerful man." Yaxley pulls the door open. "Call me when you've decided on a suitable position for your friend, and we'll make it happen."
Before Avery can reply, the door has slammed shut - and with a fresh burst of enthusiasm, Avery reaches into his desk and pulls out another fresh piece of parchment, opens his ink, and dabs his quill into it.
Black leans against the hallway wall, feigning nonchalance, but watching keenly as Pettigrew drags his boots on. "So, Moody, what did you say you wanted Pete for?"
"I didn't."
Black flashes him a smile. "Floor's yours."
Moody ignores him, his attention focused on Pettigrew. "Faster than that, Mr Pettigrew," Moody says, clapping his hands loudly together, "not too difficult, is it? Left foot goes in the left boot-"
"-funny," Pettigrew mutters.
"Right foot in the-"
"-seriously though, Moody," Black interjects, "what's going on?"
"Nothing that concerns you, Mr Black."
"Yeah? You're sure about that?"
Moody ignores him.
"Is it a meeting?" Black presses, pushing himself off the wall. "I can get my cloak."
"Let us say that if it is, it's one where your attendance is not required."
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"You're a clever boy, Mr Black, I'm sure you can work it out. Today, Mr Pettigrew," Moody snaps, pulling his wand out and pointing it at Pettigrew's boots, causing the laces to tie with a long, looping bow at the top of each boot, "I don't have hours to spare. I've known toddlers who can dress themselves faster."
Pettigrew looks at Moody from the corner of his eye, his lips moving in the shape of an obscenity, but not vocalising his irritation.
"I'm serious," Black argues, drawing Moody's attention by dropping his wand into his hand. "What do you want with him, Moody?"
Moody appraises the wand in Black's hand. "Put. It. Away."
"Just leave it, Sirius," Pettigrew says, his watery eyes darting between the two men. "It's all right."
"No, it's not all right," Black snaps, his wand still clenched in his fist, "you can't just walk into people's homes and kidnap them." He stands up straight, pulling himself up to his full height. "I want to know what you want with him."
Moody gives a derisory laugh.
"I'm not joking, Moody. What do you want with him?"
"I've told you several times already - it's nothing that concerns you, Mr Black."
"You can't do this."
"Oh, I can," Moody says, reaching out and grasping Pettigrew's outer cloak by the material at the shoulder, and twisting it in his fist. With his other hand, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his official auror papers, showing them clearly to both men, "and I will. Until now, I had no intention of arresting Mr Pettigrew-"
Pettigrew lets out a defeated sound - a cross between a whine and a groan. "Sirius!"
"All right," Black says, quickly, his hands in the air. "You don't have to do that."
"Then I'm free to kidnap your friend, am I?" Moody taunts, his smile broad.
"Apparently. According to the Ministry," Black says, levelly. "I can speak with James, Pete - we'll get you some representation."
"Now now, Mr Black," Moody says, that smile still on his face, "no need for that. This is just a friendly chat. I was under the impression that Mr Pettigrew here was willing to assist me with some enquiries-"
"-yes, Moody, yes," Pettigrew bleats, looking panicked, "happy to help."
"See," Moody says, gleefully. "From the young man's lips himself. Any argument, Mr Black?"
Black shakes his head, his lips pressed tightly together.
"Wonderful," Moody says, flashing Black a wide grin as he stows his papers back into his robes, "I'm glad we could come to an understanding."
With that, Moody pulls the door open and just as he's about to propel Pettigrew out of the property, an owl swoops low and circles Pettigrew, a Ministry emblazoned envelope clutched in its claws.
"Is that from the Ministry?"
Pettigrew quickly takes the letter and secretes it in his robes before either Moody or Black can demand to see the contents - and straightens. "It's fine," he says, "nothing."
"Who on earth do you know at the Ministry?" Black demands. "Why is anyone writing to you?"
Moody gives a harsh laugh. "Five minutes ago you were protesting that your friend needed his privacy."
"Pete?"
"It's fine, Sirius," Pettigrew repeats. "Go back inside."
With that, Moody practically hauls Pettigrew down the path before he can change his mind, and Black stands helplessly at the door in his socked feet, watching the pair of them depart.
"What's this? Can't keep away from me?" Severus teases as he steps out of the bathroom and onto the landing, immediately wrapping his arms around his wife. "Am I that irresistible?"
"So the rumours go," Lily laughs, resting her head against his chest. "Mummy's playing with River, and Daddy's on the phone to Tuney-"
"-no wonder you've come up here out of the way," he says, holding her tightly.
"Daddy'll only be a few minutes with her," Lily says, lightly. "He's just checking what time they're coming back tomorrow."
Severus runs his finger down her cheek. "Are you ok?"
"Yeah. Just… It makes it real. The thought of saying goodbye again."
"Yeah," he says, kissing the top of her head. "I know."
They stand in silence, and he fumbles for her hand, sliding his fingers between hers, interlocking them.
"It's not all bad," he says, eventually. "In some ways, this was like a holiday. A chance to get a few things sorted out. A chance to recharge." He smoothes her hair behind her ear, looking into her eyes. "And now we know they're safe here, we can get to work."
"I just don't know how I'm going to wave them goodbye," she says, her voice small.
"Hey, hey, hey," he says, and then he pulls her flush against him, his embrace warm, and he presses chaste kisses to the side of her head. They stand like that for what feels like minutes, until he feels her relax in his hold, the tension draining from her shoulders.
"Sorry."
"Don't be sorry," he says, quickly - and then he moves his mouth near to her ear, his voice barely more than a whisper. "If you've…" He pauses, letting out a low exhale. "If you've changed your mind, love - if you want to stay-"
"-no, Sev! No!"
"No?"
"No," she says, emphatically. "I want to be with you. You need help with the spell to-"
"-I could find a way and come back-"
"-and help with your magic-"
"-I could work it out-"
"-and what about River? What about me?"
He falls silent.
"And what about you? You don't want me to stay here," she presses, and she cradles his thin face in her hand, her fingers warm against his cheek. "Do you?"
"...no."
"And I don't want to stay here without you," she says, reaching up to kiss him. "River needs his daddy, and I need… I need my husband."
"You've got me," he murmurs, his voice soft.
"I don't want to leave them," Lily continues, "but it doesn't mean that I'm upset about being with you. I know it's not been easy between us, but I thought we were past that?"
"Yeah."
"We've been doing so well, don't you think?"
"Yeah," he says.
"And I love how open you've been with me, Sev. It's so important."
"I'm really trying."
"I know," she says. "I am too."
"You don't need to try. You're not the fuck up, love."
"Don't put me on a pedestal," she warns, pressing a kiss to his lips. "We're in this together. Equals."
"Equals," he repeats, with a nod.
"And when we go back, it's not going to be like before," she promises, looking at him lovingly. "No more being apart."
"No sleeping in separate beds?"
"Most definitely not," she says, smiling broadly, "and if you get that coal fire started that you keep promising-"
"-I can do that-"
"-then maybe I'll lose the nightie you keep complaining about."
He flashes her his lopsided smile. "I'm going to buy so much coal, you just wait."
She laughs. "There's lots of things we've been missing out on lately."
"I told you," he murmurs, kissing her gently, "I'm not in any rush. I'll wait forever for you, Lil."
"We've been missing out on," she emphasises, as she responds to his kiss. "It's not just you missing me, Sev," she says, drawing him even closer, "but I've missed you. So much."
"In that case," he grins, "I can't wait to get you home, love."
Pettigrew's eyes widen as he and Moody land smoothly on a grassy slope, flanked by a mass of trees. "Where on earth-"
"-don't recognise it?" Moody says, stowing his wand. He grips Pettigrew's robes again and pushes him forward.
"All right," Pettigrew says, stumbling, "can you please stop doing that? You don't have to keep shoving me around."
The two start a measured climb up the bank, but the grass is slippery underfoot, and Pettigrew is repeatedly grateful for Moody's steadying hand.
"Oh," Pettigrew says, as they round a clump of trees and the familiar sight of Hogwarts looms over them.
"Oh," Moody repeats, with a knowing smile. "Dumbledore wants to speak with you, as I'm sure you've worked out."
Pettigrew nods, his feet feeling leaden. "I see."
"I see?" Moody appraises him. "Not keen? Is that why you were hiding at your mother's?"
Pettigrew looks as if he's going to be sick. "I…" He peers at Moody. "How, I mean-"
"-I'd have expected you to come straight out of Malfoy's and straight back to Hogwarts. Dumbledore expected you to come straight out of Malfoy's and back to Hogwarts."
"How? How was I meant to do that?" Pettigrew splutters. "It's all right for you, with whatever you did to get past the Apparition blocks, but some of us have to get past Filch!"
"Escorted Horace Slughorn to the funeral, didn't you?" Moody gives him a nasty smile. "I'd have thought a professor would've been able to get you back through the gates, odious caretaker be damned."
Slughorn.
The colour drains from Pettigrew's chubby face.
If he's already spoken to Dumbledore…
"I didn't think it was necessary," Pettigrew says, thinking quickly. "I thought that Dumbledore would just speak with Slughorn, with him living here and all. I didn't want to intrude, didn't want to… I mean, I thought he'd send for me if he wanted me, if he needed me, and I didn't see…"
At Moody's stern look, Pettigrew trails off, and as they pass Hagrid's hut, Moody grabs at Pettigrew's robes again and roughly drags him off the grass and onto the well worn path.
"I don't normally drink during the week," David says, as he refills their glasses. "I'm starting to think you're a terrible influence, Severus."
"You've been saying that for years," Lily laughs, as David passes Severus his glass.
"Gee, thanks, Lil."
"Not too much before we eat, David," Rose calls from the kitchen, and then she appears in the doorway. "Lily, lovey, would you mind helping me?"
"Sure," Lily says, passing River to Severus. "He'll sleep if you lie him on the sofa."
"I don't mind him sleeping on me," Severus says, with a proud smile, as he adjusts his hold to let River slumber against his chest. "Slept all right like this last night, didn't you, Riv?"
"I'm impressed. Tuney would never let me hold her," David says. "It was Rosie or nothing."
At this, Severus looks panicked. "He's been pretty good with me so far," he says, running his fingers down River's back. "I don't think I could handle it if he rejected me completely."
"I imagine he's got used to you being around," David says. "I was out of the house at work whilst Rosie was around morning, noon, and night."
Severus shifts awkwardly in his seat, not wanting to talk about the weeks that he and Lily spent separated within their own house. "Yeah."
"And he's so quiet," David marvels, just as Lily opens the kitchen door.
"Daddy, don't jinx us," she says, as she quickly starts to set the table. "If he starts screaming the house down, I know who to blame."
David chuckles, and he and Severus sit in companionable silence as Lily sets down the place mats and the cutlery.
"You don't have to stop talking on my account," she says - and when both David and Severus shrug at her, she shakes her head in impatience. "Fine," she says, "I'm going!"
When the kitchen door shuts, David picks his glass up and takes a sip, and then appraises Severus. "I've been meaning to ask - have you got someone in mind?"
"For what?"
"This spell you want to attempt. This Fidelius."
Severus shakes his head. "No. Well…"
"Well?"
"It's complicated."
David stares at him. "Complicated how? You don't think they'll agree to do it? Or you don't think Lily'll agree with who you've chosen?"
"I've not chosen anyone," he says, quickly, "not without Lily. We need to discuss it."
"But you have someone in mind?"
"This isn't trivial," he says, "and we can't make a snap decision."
"I wasn't pushing you."
"We turned our backs on the magical world for good reason. Revealing ourselves - it's risky."
"Because they could take your magic?"
"If the Ministry finds out about me, yes," Severus says, and he reaches for his glass and takes a sip. "It's not that I'm a coward."
"I didn't suggest you were."
"But if they take my magic, then we're vulnerable," he warns. "At the moment, I can look after Lil, and I can look after Riv," he says, pointing at their baby son, "but if they take my magic, then we're all…"
"Ordinary," David finishes.
"Worse than ordinary," Severus says, "because what sane wizard goes after ordinary people? After Muggles?"
"But you were magical - are magical," David catches himself, "so you had a life there."
"Exactly, and my profession is rare, so my skills are in demand - so for every person who thinks they can find me and recruit me, there'll be someone else who'll be best served by making sure I can't work."
David exhales loudly. "And what better way to do that-"
"-than to rid me of my magic," Severus nods. "It's not something we can go into lightly, else we'll be worse off than when we started."
It's not the first time that Peter Pettigrew has been made to stand in this corridor, although it's the first time that he's been flanked by one of the Ministry's aurors instead of his fellow miscreants.
Despite his misdemeanours at school, he was rarely sent up to the Headmaster's office - instead, Professor McGonagall would often force them to line up in silence, noses against the wall, threatening to send them up to Albus Dumbledore if she detected any further disobedience.
The fear of being sent to the Headmaster always loomed large over Pettigrew, and he'd stand as still as possible, his heart hammering each time that Potter or Black stepped out of line. At least when the other professors would send them straight to Filch, he'd just be forced to perform some tedious cleaning task, but when the Headmaster was involved, there was always the threat of a Floo call to his mother.
Not that it ever came to that, and now, as Pettigrew stands waiting, he wonders if Dumbledore even knew that they were lined up outside and waiting for his verdict on their behaviour, or whether McGonagall was simply relying on the mere threat being enough to pull them back into line.
It's different, being stood here with Moody - there's no whispers or hushed laughter, or squarely aimed punches hitting him in the stomach - but despite the guardians of the school no longer having any hold over him, as Pettigrew waits for Dumbledore to call them up, he can't help the growing sense of unease spreading through his core.
Chapter 154: Desire that control
Chapter Text
Pettigrew's so used to standing and waiting patiently, it takes him a moment to realise that Moody is growing increasingly agitated, pacing up and down the corridor, and approaching the gargoyle repeatedly, pausing in front of it.
Pettigrew narrows his eyes, watching the older man keenly, and as Moody approaches the gargoyle for the fifth time, he realises that Moody is muttering something under his breath, his voice barely audible, and Pettigrew strains hard to try to hear.
Barely sugar?
The gargoyle does not move; doesn't even register that it's been spoken to - and this time, instead of heading back up the corridor, Moody turns sharply and stalks back over towards Pettigrew.
"Wait here," Moody snaps, "I'm going to find someone."
Pettigrew shrinks back and nods. "Yes," he says, his eyes wide. "I won't go anywhere."
Moody marches away, and Pettigrew counts to ten, and then transforms into his animagus form. It takes him a moment to orientate himself, adjusting to his new size, and then he hurries down the corridor in Moody's wake.
Each time he reaches the end of a corridor, he almost despairs as Moody is inevitably rounding another one - and by the time they've climbed a third staircase, Pettigrew's chest burns from exertion. In his rat form, he's nippy - far faster than he is as a human - but his legs are far shorter, and repeatedly leaping up so many stone steps in succession takes his breath away.
As he runs down another corridor, he's relieved to see Professor McGonagall sweeping towards them both, and Pettigrew presses himself into the wall, moving much more cautiously towards Moody and McGonagall, in case either of them spot him.
"Moody," she greets, her tone clipped. "What can I do for you?"
"Albus isn't answering his door."
"That would be because Albus isn't in the castle," she says. "As Deputy Headmistress, can I help?"
"It's Albus I need to see."
"Am I to understand that this is not Hogwarts business?"
Moody shakes his head.
"Then, by rights, I should ask you to leave. This is a school, not-"
"-Minerva," Moody says, "there's nobody here, there's no need for a show. I'll leave." He glances behind him, checking that there are no students in earshot. "Tell me where he is."
There's a moment, and her eyes meet his.
"Minerva?"
"...the Ministry."
"Fudge called for him? Needs Albus' help again, does he?"
There's another moment, and this time, it's McGonagall who looks behind her, checking that nobody's walking up the corridor - and then she tugs his sleeve. "The bell will ring shortly," she explains, and she pulls him in the opposite direction, retracing Moody's earlier footsteps.
They descend back into the lower floors of the castle, and Pettigrew has to scamper behind them, desperate to keep them in earshot.
Pettigrew recognises the corridor when they finally stop - two away from the corridor up to Dumbledore's office, and one without any classrooms leading off it. Finally, McGonagall stops walking and when she turns to speak to Moody, her voice is hushed.
"This is for your ears only, Moody."
"Naturally."
"Horace Slughorn resigned this morning."
"Well, he is getting on," Moody says, dismissively, "been thinking of it for a while, hasn't he? I thought that was why Albus permitted him to take on an apprentice last year. A succession plan, of sorts."
McGonagall leans in closer. "But that's just it, Moody. There is no succession plan. Horace has resigned, effective immediately, a mere few weeks into term! He left the castle this morning, before dawn, with not a word to anyone."
Moody gives a long, low exhale, and runs his fingers slowly through his thick hair. "No forwarding address, I assume?"
McGonagall shakes her head sharply.
"Do you think that You-Know-"
"Shhh!" McGonagall looks around them again, this time gripping Moody's shoulder tightly. "Not here."
Moody nods, contritely. "I dare say that his departure puts Albus in a difficult position."
"The Ministry has already made repeated exemptions for the teaching of Defence Against the Dark Arts," McGonagall says, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"And you don't think the same exemptions would be made for the teaching Potions?"
McGonagall gives him a pinched smile. "Do you? The post has always been held by a witch or wizard with a mastery in-"
"-and I've heard witches and wizards with that qualification are in short supply," Moody scoffs.
"So Albus' argument will go."
"And if Fudge doesn't agree?"
McGonagall gives a tight shrug. "Albus' jurisdiction only goes so far."
"A Ministry appointment," Moody says, filling in the blanks, "and with the Ministry in the state that its in-"
"-you think it's that bad?"
He gives a curt nod. "It's almost unbearable. The place is crawling with Death Eaters."
"But surely Fudge-"
Moody interrupts with a loud sniff. "If I can borrow a quill and some parchment, I'll leave a message for Albus."
"Of course," McGonagall says, leading him down the corridor.
Pettigrew stalls, torn between following them or heading back to the corridor outside Dumbledore's office.
What else could they possibly have to say to each other?
With one last longing look at their departing figures, he skitters off in the opposite direction, charging into the corridor housing the gargoyle, where he transforms back into his usual form.
Pettigrew stands, straightens his robes, and the forgotten envelope in his inner pocket crinkles. He glances over his shoulder, checking that Moody isn't about to reappear, and rips the envelope open.
The Ministry's bold header takes up a good quarter of the parchment inside, with the Department for Magical Accidents and Catastrophes' logo stamped beneath it on the left.
Pettigrew scans the page quickly. Excellent to meet… Many things to discuss… Would like to invite… His heart skips. At the address above… Cato Avery, Acting Head.
He stares at the letter in disbelief, re-reading it again, as if making sure he hasn't dreamt it, and then he slides his robes up his sleeve and checks his watch.
Just as he's about to read the letter for the third time, he hears Moody's heavy tread, and he scrambles to shove it back into his robes. He straightens his back and stares ahead, as if he hasn't even thought about moving in the past ten minutes.
"Peter Pettigrew," McGonagall says, her voice raising in surprise, "what are you doing here?"
"He's with me," Moody says, "and what's more, he's coming with me."
"About that," Pettigrew says, wincing as his voice cracks, "if we're not having a meeting with-"
"-if we're not having a meeting with Albus, I want to talk to you-"
"-but I've already spent most of the afternoon with you, I can't stand around all night, I've got things to do," Pettigrew protests, his eyes darting around, but repeatedly looking in McGonagall's direction, willing her to intervene before Moody can even think of spiriting him off to a holding cell. "I'm happy to speak with Albus - keen to speak to him-"
"-I've said that I'll ask Albus to rearrange your meeting," McGonagall interrupts, smoothly, raising her hand to show a piece of folded parchment.
That must be Moody's letter to Dumbledore, Pettigrew thinks, eyeing it hungrily.
"I can't wait around Hogwarts all night-"
"-nobody's asking you to, Moody-"
"-and neither can I!" Pettigrew squeaks, and then he meets Moody's eyes and visibly quails.
"I want to know-"
"-and I trust that if you had a meeting arranged, whatever you want to know, Albus also wishes to know," McGonagall says, her eyes not leaving Pettigrew's, "so I suggest you wait for him, Moody." She gives a tight, thin smile. "Besides, I haven't seen Peter for a long while. I realise you're a busy man, Moody, so I'm sure you must be ready to head off, but you can spare the time for a cup of tea with me before I need to be in the Great Hall, can't you, Peter?"
Black yanks the front door open. "About bloody time, where the- Oh."
"It seems that you were expecting me," Dumbledore says, mildly, checking his watch, "although I don't recall thinking that I was late for an appointment."
Black stands in the hallway, staring at the older wizard, unmoving.
"Do you think I could perhaps come in, Sirius, rather than conducting our business out here on the doorstep?"
Black runs his hand across his unshaven face, and then pushes the door open wider. He retreats inside, dropping heavily onto the sofa and letting Dumbledore make his own way in.
When Dumbledore steps into the living room, a moment or two later, he seems surprised to find Black alone.
Black smirks. "He's not here. I thought you knew that already, seeing as your attack dog came for him."
"I'm sorry?"
"Moody. The attack dog. Came in here, shouted the odds about arrest, and dragged him out of the door."
There's a very long pause, and then Black sighs.
"You do know who I'm talking about? Peter Pettigrew, short, chubby, sort of annoying, whimpers a lot, snores loudly," Black adds, "completely and totally wet, and he's usually found hanging around here." His eyes narrow. "That is why you've dropped in, isn't it?"
Dumbledore smiles kindly at Black. "Sirius," he says, "am I to understand that you're feeling a little put out?"
Pettigrew stands awkwardly in McGonagall's office - yet another place he's used to being, again, usually flanked by his three friends.
"Sit down, Peter," she says, looking mildly surprised as she sweeps through the door, "you're not in detention now."
"Yes," he says, quickly, sitting in the nearest chair. "Sorry."
She sits opposite him, behind her desk, and she places Moody's letter into her desk drawer before pouring out a cup of tea for them both. "Sugar? Milk?"
He nods, and she pushes the tea tray towards him so he can serve himself, and he spoons sugar and pours milk into his teacup. "Thank you."
"Alastor Moody," she says, thoughtfully, stirring her own tea. "How did you come to be in his company?"
Pettigrew's eyes dart around the room, and then he fixes his gaze on his own teacup. "I think I missed a message from the Headmaster," he says, thinking fast, "and he sent Moody to track me down."
"Track you down?" She peers at him over her glasses. "That's a strange choice of words."
"I mean, I wasn't at home," he quickly clarifies, "and I suppose the Headmaster must've called."
"It's not like Albus to be impatient," she muses, almost to herself. "You were away?"
"I went to see my parents," he adds, his voice a little strained.
"Oh?" McGonagall sips from her cup. "Your mother and stepfather? I take it that things are now calmer between you all?"
Pettigrew gives her a stiff smile. "Calmer now that I'm sitting here rather than in their living room," he says, bitterly. "She always takes his side."
"Oh dear, Peter," McGonagall says, kindly. "I always hoped that as you grew older, you'd find some common ground with your stepfather."
He scoffs. "With a Wilkes?"
She gives him a stern look. "The world isn't split into Slytherins and Gryffindors."
"Sirius would say differently."
"Ah yes, the wizarding world according to Sirius Black." She gives an amused smile. "How is he? Do you still see much of him?"
"We live together," he says, and then he pauses, eyeing her curiously. "He has to live with me, because his Slytherin family didn't take too kindly to him being a Gryffindor," he adds.
McGonagall picks up her spoon again and - needlessly - stirs her tea briskly before rapping the spoon on the rim of the cup. "Yes, well, the Blacks…" She takes another sip. "And is it just Sirius?"
"Living with me?"
"Yes. Or that you see. Friends from school."
"Oh," he says. "James and Remus too. They don't live with us, but we see them."
She beams. "Wonderful. And how are they both? Working, I assume?"
He bites his lip. "Not really. Remus drifts from job to job," and he doesn't miss the look of distress that flits across her face, "doesn't seem to stay more than a few months, but it doesn't matter too much - the Potters have deep pockets. They live together, him and James, I mean."
"Deep pockets? Do you mean the family estate?" Her frown grows deeper. "Surely James is working?"
He shakes his head. "No."
"Sirius?"
"No. He got money from his uncle Alphard."
"Such bright, talented boys," McGonagall says, shaking her head, her disapproval clear, "what a waste." She pauses, and then she looks him in the eye. "And you, Peter? I take it that your stepfather is paying your way?"
"Him? As if he would." He thinks for a moment, taking in her disappointed expression at the thought of all of her favourite students having failed in the outside world, and then he withdraws the envelope from his pocket, showing her the Ministry markings and seal. "Not that it matters - I'm going into the Ministry."
McGonagall claps her hands together, and smiles broadly at him. "Peter, that is wonderful! Well done you!"
Just as he's about to bask in her praise, there's a sharp rap at the door - a crying third year being escorted by a prefect - and McGonagall stands, making her apologies. She disappears through the door, and Pettigrew stands, taking a few steps closer to the door.
"We shall go to Madam Pomfrey," McGonagall says, her voice ringing clear.
Pettigrew hesitates, waiting to hear their footsteps - teacher and students - retreating down the corridor. Once he's content that he's not going to be interrupted, he darts over to her desk, pulling out Moody's letter to Albus. He grins broadly, his heart beating wildly, as he clutches it in both of his hands, reading it greedily.
"We're not doing anything," Black grinds out, sitting forwards, his elbows planted on his knees and his back rounded. "You've seen it, seen the Prophet!"
"I have."
"It's getting worse, and we're doing nothing!"
Dumbledore contemplates Black, his fingers stroking through his long beard. "What would you like us to do?"
"Something! Anything!"
Dumbledore smiles, his blue eyes twinkling. "Anything?"
Black exhales loudly, as Dumbledore's easy temperament seems to cause his own anger to dissipate. "Fine, fine, not anything," he concedes, "but something."
"This afternoon alone, I have met with the Minister-"
"-us, Dumbledore-"
"-Albus, Sirius, please-"
"-Albus," Black says, accepting the correction, "I'm not talking about you doing things alone! I'm talking about us! Together! The Order!"
"You said yourself that Alastor visited you earlier-"
"-not to see me! To kidnap Pete!" Black exclaims. "Last time I checked, arresting one of our own is not helping the cause!"
Dumbledore looks faintly amused. "Did Alastor really arrest him?"
Black shifts. "No. But it was as good as - he dragged him out of here, and it wasn't under his own volition!"
Pettigrew lands outside the visitor's entrance to the Ministry, and he checks the reverse of Avery's letter once more for the instructions.
He clutches the receiver in his hand, and dials carefully - 62442.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," a cool voice intones. "Please state your name and business."
"Peter," he says, his voice catching with nerves, "Peter Pettigrew. I'm here to meet Cato Avery, Acting Head of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."
There's a long moment, and Pettigrew can feel sweat beading on his forehead - and there's a distinct temptation to slam the receiver down and run.
"Very well," the voice says, "Mr Cato Avery is expecting you. Please take the following badge," - and there's a clatter as a square, pewter badge slides out of the coin dispenser - "and attach it to the front of your robes."
Dumbledore eyes Black carefully. "Did Alastor tell you why he came to collect Peter?"
"Moody said they had a meeting to attend. One where my presence was not required," Black spits.
"Nothing more?"
"That isn't enough?" Black gives a hoarse laugh. "Half the time we're not doing anything, and now that you are doing something, who've you got doing it? Peter Pettigrew. Peter!"
Dumbledore watches him curiously. "I think Peter could be very useful to us," he says, calmly.
"You do, do you?" Black says, standing, and pacing. "You think he's going to be useful? That's why Moody had to drag him out of here, his fingernails practically clawing the walls as he hung on? There's scratches all down in the hallway!"
"Sirius, this isn't helpful."
"I'll tell you what isn't helpful - having an undercover agent who is terrified! Terrified of Alastor Moody!"
"Sirius-"
"-and Moody's on our side! If he's terrified of Moody, how's he going to fare when he comes face to face with a real threat?" Black scuffs his boot against the floor, and he shakes his head. "No, he's no use."
"Peter has a role-"
"-yeah? Does he really? What about me, Albus? Where's my role? Where's James' role? Remus'? We're just sitting around and waiting, and I'm getting sick of it!"
"What would you like to do?" Dumbledore enquires mildly.
"It should've been me. Not him."
"You did not answer my Patronus."
Black shrugs tightly. "Yeah? Well, I'm answering now."
Dumbledore gives a slight shake of his head. "Peter has done what has been asked of him. I am sure you can see that it is not sensible for all of you to be tasked with the same-"
"-they're my family members! I can get us in there!"
"-and how do you think your family members would react to seeing Peter Pettigrew one week and Sirius Black the next?" Dumbledore pauses. "Perhaps I should turn up the week after? I'm sure your family would not notice anything amiss if the entirety of the Order of the Phoenix decided to sign up as Death Eaters. A particularly successful recruitment drive."
Black folds his arms. "Yeah, well, you'd best hope you've not asked him to do that - to sign up as a Death Eater. He's useless. He won't get us anywhere."
"Time will tell."
"Yeah?" Black shakes his head. "That's why he met up with you to debrief you afterwards, is it? That's why Moody came looking for him? Why you're here now?"
"I think you should have a little more faith in your friends, Sirius."
"And I think you should listen a little more to the people who know him better than you do. I'm telling you, he's useless."
"Enter," Avery calls, not removing his feet from his desk.
"Ave," Pettigrew says, as he enters, closing the door behind him, "you wrote to me."
"Peter," Avery beams, throwing his arms open wide, "you came! I was starting to think you couldn't make it."
"No," Pettigrew says, nervously, adjusting the neck of his robes, "got caught up, that's all."
"Anything interesting?"
"The exact opposite."
"Oh," Avery says, leaning back in his chair, his interest lost. "I was hoping for a good story to entertain me."
"Thanks for inviting me," Pettigrew says, eager to recapture his new friend's attention, "and this," he fawns, "this is something else! I knew you said you worked in the Ministry, but," and he lets his mouth fall open as he turns, as if he's drinking in the room appreciatively, "this is incredible."
"Yeah?"
"Incredible," Pettigrew repeats, seeming awestruck. "You have your own Floo!"
"Out and in," Avery says, watching Pettigrew carefully. "Only authorised personnel in-"
"-but, don't tell me, don't tell me - out with no restrictions?" Pettigrew guesses, looking at him admiringly.
"Yeah."
"Wow, that's the big time!"
Avery grins broadly at Pettigrew's enthusiasm. "Yeah," he says, "yeah, it is." He points to the chair opposite his desk. "Sit down."
Pettigrew seats himself, noting the difference between Avery's desk and McGonagall's - hers was busy, overflowing with paperwork, but Avery's contains the bare minimum; one quill, one capped - and almost full - bottle of ink, and no more.
"Drink?"
"Here?" Pettigrew glances around. "I mean, here? In the Ministry? Is that allowed?"
Avery gives him a withering stare. "I can do whatever I want. Are you in?"
Pettigrew nods, and watches as Avery levitates a bottle of firewhisky and two tumblers towards his desk.
"Good," Avery says, "I was worried you were going to be one of those stick-in-the-muds then." He pours a measure into each glass, and pushes one towards Pettigrew.
Pettigrew grabs the glass and tastes the whisky, not pausing to smell it - and Avery flickers a frown in his direction.
"It's good stuff, this," Avery says, deliberately picking up his own glass and inhaling the scent, "overtones of marmalade," he declares, "and grass, and a hint of citrus and stewed apple." He takes a sip. "All wrapped up in a sherry finish."
Pettigrew's eyes widen and he looks back at his glass, seeming dumbfounded. "You… You got all that from one sniff?" He buries his nose in the glass, trying to emulate his friend.
"You might not. It's a skill," Avery says, loftily. "Stick with me, and I'll teach you to appreciate the finer things in life." He raises his glass in the air. "To new friends."
"To new friends," Pettigrew echoes, keenly.
A strange air of tension falls over their meal - at first, Severus doesn't notice, as he's so busy shovelling his potatoes into his mouth as quickly as possible, but as he scrapes his cutlery loudly over his plate, he suddenly registers how unusually quiet the table is.
He sits back, watching the others - all with a good third of their meals left, or more - and then his eyes meet Lily's, and it dawns on him.
The last meal.
"So," he says, "this phone call."
Lily looks over at him. "What about it?"
"Just thinking we should organise it," Severus says, "book it in."
"I don't know that it has to be that strict," Rose says.
"It doesn't have to be fixed," Lily agrees. "Once a week would be nice, but-"
"-choose a day," Severus says, firmly. "Saturday evening, maybe?"
David raises his eyebrows as he spears a carrot.
"Sev," Lily says, "it's fine. Leave it."
"I'm not going to leave it," he says, firmly. "The phonebox at ours is a few streets away," he explains, looking between Rose and David, "and as much as I'd like to say we'd get a phone installed-"
"-we can't afford it-"
"-not just yet," Severus finishes. "So that means you're going to have to get ready to go out-"
"-hardly out-"
"-make sure our little boy isn't hungry-"
"-I'll feed him before I leave-"
"-check the phonebox isn't in use, and then spend an hour or so talking."
Lily frowns at him. "And is that such a problem?"
"No," Severus says, "but how annoyed are you going to be if you do all of that, and you get to the phonebox and find out that Rose and David have nipped out to the shops? Or to water the garden? Or to speak with the neighbours? How many times do you go back and try again?"
"It's a good point, Lils."
"Your parents have lives too," Severus adds. "It's not just us."
"A Saturday evening would work for us," Rose says. "Or a Sunday."
Severus shakes his head.
"Not a Sunday?" David asks.
"Reckon we'll be peopled-out by then," Severus laughs.
"We've been invited out by the neighbours," Lily says.
Rose looks pleased. "Out? Is this a regular thing, then?"
"Seems to be," Severus says. "It's a mums and toddlers group for Lil."
"And for you, Severus?" David asks. "I'm assuming you're not intending to attend the mums and toddlers group?"
"Not likely," he says. "I'm going to play pool with the dads. Maybe have a pint or two."
"You play?"
"Used to. A bit."
"Don't get gambling," David warns, "it's the road to ruin."
"And don't stay in the pub all day either," Rose adds, "that's just as bad, drinking away-"
"-he won't," Lily interrupts, hastily, "but Sev's right - if we've been out all day, we'll just want some time to ourselves."
"And if I end up working," Severus says, "then who knows what a weekday will look like." He nods firmly. "Saturday evening seems best to me. I can look after Riv whilst you three catch up."
"I'm glad you've found a way of getting out of the house," Rose says, smiling.
David nods. "Yes, it'll be good for you to see other people - to make some new friends."
As they're having their third glass of firewhisky, the lights on the wall suddenly extinguish, and Avery hisses, sliding his wand into his hand and casting at them.
"Lumos!"
Immediately, they light back up - but Pettigrew looks at him uncomfortably.
"It's nothing," Avery says, dismissively, "they're on a timer, that's all."
"A timer? Does that mean we should be going?" He looks over his shoulder towards the door. "If it's all shutting down? If people are locking up?" His voice seems to rise in his panic. "We don't want to get locked in."
"Got a wand, haven't you?"
Pettigrew instantly pales. "It'll be no good against the Ministry's locks," he says, nervously. "They're not going to just use Alohomora, are they?"
Avery laughs, and then reaches into his robes pocket, withdrawing a set of magical keys. "Certainly not - but you're looking at a trusted keyholder." He puts the magical keys back and pushes the rapidly emptying bottle of firewhisky across the desk towards Pettigrew. "Have another, Peter."
Pettigrew takes the bottle and pours out another measure, and then he leans over, adding a measure to Avery's glass too.
"Is it Peter?"
"Is it what?"
Avery frowns. "Your name? Is it Peter?"
Pettigrew gives him a strange look, his eyes darting from left to right. "Err, yeah," he says, glancing nervously over his shoulder, "you were expecting me? You wrote to me?"
There's a pause, and then Avery gives a hearty laugh, pointing at him with his index finger from the hand that's wrapped around his whisky glass, and then he drains the contents of the glass and bangs it on the table. "That's funny," he says, "I like you."
Peter watches as yet another measure is poured, not daring to say anything.
"Ave," Avery says, pointing at himself and then capping the firewhisky bottle. "Can't stand bloody Cato." He picks his glass up and sips from it, and then his index finger is pointing at Pettigrew again. "Peter? Pete? What did Helen call you? Petey?"
Oh.
"Not Petey," Pettigrew says, immediately.
"Mine's a bit bollocks," Avery says, leaning back in his chair, looking thoughtful, "as far as nicknames go. Ave."
Pettigrew looks at him keenly. "What would you have liked?"
"I dunno." Avery toys with his glass. "Something cool. Something that tells people what I'm like. Savage or Trouble or Danger or something like that."
Pettigrew looks impressed again. "Do all the guys you know have nicknames like that?"
Avery looks surprised at the question. "No," he says, eventually, "not really." He mutters under his breath, listing the students he once shared a common room with. "All shortened surnames. Well. Apart from Reggie. Regulus Black."
"He's the younger brother, though," Pettigrew points out, "I guess maybe people knew Sirius as Black before him?"
"True."
They fall silent, each wizard slowly drinking from their glass.
"If they've all got shortened names," Pettigrew says, eventually, "the wizards you hang out with, it'd stand out a bit if you had a cool nickname."
"Yeah."
"Show them up a bit. They wouldn't like that."
"No."
"At least your name shortens well. Ave's pretty cool."
Avery sits a little straighter. "Yeah? You think?"
"Definitely. It even sounds good - sounds a bit like Ace."
Avery grins. "Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it does. Ace Ave."
"Better than mine shortened. Pet." Pettigrew takes another slug of his drink. "Petty."
"I already told you that Wilkes was a better name."
Pettigrew tries not to react. "I guess."
"So you're not Pet, then?" Avery looks at Pettigrew, as he shakes his head hard. "What did everyone call you at school? Your mates, I mean."
Wormtail. Wormy. Useless. Thick. Idiot.
"Nothing, really," he says, eventually. "Just Pete."
Avery scrutinises him. "Will," he says, after a long moment.
"Will?"
"If you'd changed your name," and Avery holds his hand up in the air to silence the inevitable protest, "that's what you'd be. Wilkes. Will."
"But I'm not a Wilk-"
"-tide's going that way, Will," Avery says, dismissively. "You can't sniff at the chance to be a Hallowed Fourteen. Not with a name like Pettigrew." He leans forward. "Why wouldn't you want a better family tree in your hallway when you can rightfully claim it?" He lowers his voice. "Between you and me, Will, that's what most of wizarding society is up to. Searching through their family histories, trying to find some long lost cousin with a better name, trying to leverage the laws in their favour."
"I suppose they might be."
"There's no suppose about it. I know they are."
Pettigrew sits quietly, turning his glass around in his hands. "People won't understand."
"Won't understand what?"
I live with Sirius Black. He might just notice if I change my family tree.
"I mean, if you call me Will, if people call me Will," Pettigrew says, stumbling over his words as he thinks quickly. "I mean, if my name's still Pettigrew." Pettigrew shrugs. "It's weird."
"People have all sorts of nicknames. Could be your middle name."
Pettigrew screws his face up. "Peter Wilkes Pettigrew? Besides, you said that everyone's nickname is from their surname."
"I meant William," Avery says, "but you're right."
Pettigrew looks relieved.
"Drink up," Avery instructs, draining his own glass, thumping it on the desk, and standing. "We'll see if old Jugson is in Registration, and he can get you some papers drawn up."
"Papers?" Pettigrew's voice is a squeak.
"It'll be trivial with your mother having married Caleb - they'll already have all of the necessary documents in the Ministry Registry - marriage certificate, birth certificates, and I know you must be carrying your current papers," he laughs, and wags his finger towards Pettigrew, "it is the law after all - and I bet you're a good boy!"
"Ave-"
"-it's all right, no need to thank me," Avery says, picking up his travelling cloak, and then ushering Pettigrew out into the corridor. He locks the office door behind him, flashing Pettigrew a triumphant grin and then clapping him on the shoulder. "Peter Wilkes it is."
As they stand outside Avery's flat whilst Avery fumbles with the lock, Pettigrew feels as if he's suffering from whiplash. It's not that he hasn't been here before - not literally, of course, he's never been to Avery's flat, but metaphorically.
He's always been a cheerleader, a follower, the boy who laughs along rather than instigating. He's long followed the more popular, more talented, more exuberant boys - the successful ones, the powerful ones, the leaders - but there's something especially alarming when watching Avery at work.
It was beyond startling to have been dragged into the depths of the Ministry, to be pushed in front of an exhausted employee - one who complained from start to finish about certain witches and wizards taking liberties and ordinary operating hours and unrealistic expectations - and for Avery to have prospered.
Pettigrew had the distinct impression that any other wizard would've been turned away, but there was something compelling about Avery - it was almost intoxicating to watch how efficient he was.
He isn't a charmer, Avery - he doesn't share the oily seduction of a Lucius Malfoy - but he's forceful, his request immediately followed up with a loaded threat.
"But look at it this way," Avery had argued in the face of dissent, "I'm not going to take no for an answer, so that means that you're going to have pull out all of the regulations for the department to prove your point, and as an Acting Head of Department, I'm going to stand here and make you go through them with me, line by line.
"I realise it might take us an hour or two or four or seven, but it's very important that I understand. Either you'll be mistaken, and you'll have to do the work anyway, or I'll be mistaken, and we'll need to stand here together until I'm satisfied that I know how this department operates," and he'd grinned broadly, "after all, I wouldn't want to make the same silly mistake in the future."
And then Avery had paused, letting his words sink in.
"Or you can process these papers for me, and we'll be out of your hair in minutes. As a favour. To me. I won't forget it."
Not that it was a real threat. Not like Pads and Prongs with their schoolyard victims. There was no suggestion of jinxing or hexing; just a simple presentation of the options - biased presentation of the options, steering the outcome in a favourable direction for both parties.
Is this what it means to be a Slytherin?
He's never seen this sort of efficiency before - never witnessed anyone snapping their fingers and immediately getting their own way.
Dumbledore, I suppose, Pettigrew thinks, but not someone my age. Not someone like me.
Granted, it would've been all the more appealing had the recipient of Avery's attention been someone other than himself, and Pettigrew runs his fingers over the fresh papers in his pocket - the new papers, the revised papers, the papers which claim his long-rejected Wilkes heritage.
I first met Ave a handful of hours ago - 36, 48, 60, Pettigrew thinks. My mother spent more than a decade trying to convince me to become part of the Wilkes clan, and this blunt faced man has succeeded where she's always failed.
"Here we go," Avery says, flinging the door open, "in you come, Will. Make yourself at home."
Pettigrew steps inside, clocking Avery's ornate family tree mounted on the wall in the hallway.
Another problem, he thinks, his fingers still running across the parchment in his pocket, flout the law, or face Sirius' fury.
Pettigrew doesn't have chance to mull on his quandary further, as Avery pushes him along the corridor, laughing about how Pettigrew doesn't need to stand on parade, doesn't need to take his boots off.
"Go straight in," Avery says, "I'll get us a drink."
Pettigrew obeys the instruction, and he's surprised at the size of the living room - wide and long, with high ceilings, and ornate fixtures and fittings, all of which would be spectacular if they weren't coated with a thick layer of dust.
It's dirty - there's no other descriptor for it; messy and unclean in equal measure, and Pettigrew looks around uncertainly, trying to determine where he should sit.
"The sofa," he calls, cautiously, "should I-"
"-oh, just move all that stuff," Avery yells from the kitchen, "chuck it on the floor, none of it matters!"
Pettigrew does as his host requests, looking baffled at the wide array of items on the sofa: multiple crumpled copies of the Daily Prophet, half eaten sweet packets emblazoned with the Honeydukes logo, empty bottles, and a seemingly unending amount of dirty clothes.
"Err, got a wash basket, Ave?"
Avery laughs, swigging from a bottle as he enters the room. He holds out another for Pettigrew and takes the unwashed clothes from him and launches them across the room. "Wash baskets are for wimps. Sit down!"
Pettigrew isn't the tidiest out of his three friends - that trophy would go to Lupin, who was forever picking up after them all in their dormitory - but even Pettigrew can't help but stare at the mess which surrounds them as they sit and drink.
It's like he doesn't even see it.
Despite the amount of firewhisky coursing around his system, it takes several bottles of Butterbeer Extra before he feels brave enough to raise it.
"Doesn't it bother you?"
"What?"
Pettigrew waves his hand at the general detritus strewn across every surface in the living room. "Your office is so tidy."
"Boot and Penrose look after the office." Avery swigs from his bottle, and looks around the room. "Is it that bad?"
Pettigrew hesitates, and then he nods - and immediately his heart sinks when he sees a scowl growing on Avery's face. "Someone as powerful as you," he fawns, "should have someone to pick up after them, that's all I mean. It's not that you're doing anything wrong."
Avery relaxes. "Yeah. Yeah!"
"A wizard like you with your responsibilities," Pettigrew continues, "you can't be expected to be a house elf as well."
Avery sniggers. "Yeah, you're right. You're so right." He takes another swig. "Got one coming to me in the inheritance, but until then…" He looks at Pettigrew. "What do you do, then? If you don't have a house elf?"
Pettigrew glances at him as if it's a trick question. "I… Tidy up."
"Huh. And that works, does it?"
"Well, yeah."
"Interesting," Avery says, taking another swig of his drink.
"I could… Give you a hand."
"Like an elf?"
Pettigrew scratches the back of his head. "More like a friend."
Nobody shows an interest in washing up, with Rose and Lily too busy playing with River, whilst Severus and David enthusiastically discuss logistics - how they should pack, when they should leave so they don't run into Petunia and Vernon, which bags should be transported first, and in which order.
Lily doesn't even want to contemplate the idea of leaving, and when she says as much for the third time, Severus finally takes the hint and loops his arm around her shoulders, and David claps his hands together, suggesting that they should put some music on and have a drink as a last night's celebration.
David starts to flip through the records in the cabinet, and then sighs and hands a pile to Severus and Lily on the sofa, telling them to choose instead, because he's never heard of half of the artists - and Severus laughs, soon enjoying himself at mocking both Petunia and Vernon's taste.
Despite Severus' scathing comments, they find an Abba record, and although Lily protests as Severus pulls her to her feet - not least because she was certain that she'd bought that Abba record, and no wonder she hadn't seen it for years if it was sitting in Petunia's record cabinet - she can't help but smile as Severus wraps his arms around her and holds her close, forehead against forehead, the two of them swaying along to the music and entirely lost in each other.
"So what else can you do," Avery asks, as he throws rubbish into a bag, "apart from cleaning?"
"I don't want a job as a house elf," Pettigrew laughs.
"Yeah, exactly," Avery says, "so that's what I'm talking about - I need to know your strengths and weaknesses, get you put into the right spot. Any good at duelling?"
Only four-on-one, with two or three others leading the way.
"I'm all right."
"It's not the time for being modest," Avery says, knotting the bin bag, tossing it aside, and pulling another off the roll, "or, for that matter, bravado."
Pettigrew opens his mouth and shuts it again.
"I know you said your exam results were shit," Avery presses, as he stoops to pick up more empty packets from the floor, "but so were mine. Doesn't mean anything - not out in the real world." He straightens up, and looks at Pettigrew. "Can you hold your own?"
"In what way?"
"Take me," Avery says, "I'm pretty good at the physical stuff. Standover work. Fights. Protection. That sort of thing."
Pettigrew shrugs.
"No? More the thinking type, are you?" Avery frowns, pausing. "Wait, can you brew?"
"Not really. A bit. I got a NEWT," he says. "Scraped it, really. I'm not one of those inventive types."
"Oh, that's a pity. Got an opening for a brewer." Avery stills, as if checking to see if Pettigrew will change his mind, and when Pettigrew shakes his head, Avery sighs. "Don't worry, I can get you in the Ministry," he says, "but it might be something a bit boring."
"Boring's fine," Pettigrew says, hastily, thinking of Avery's comfortable office. "Filing. Signing things. Fetching and carrying. I can do all that."
"There was a job in Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," Avery muses, "but they go out in the field too, it's not just office based."
"What sort of creatures?"
"Can't remember. It wasn't Spirits or Beings. Might've been Beast Division, actually. Dragons and trolls and werewolves - things like that."
Werewolves.
There's a pause, and then Avery looks thoughtful. "Speaking of beasts," he says, "how do you feel about Muggles?"
This time, Pettigrew freezes.
"Yeah, yeah," Avery laughs, his head bowed as he picks up more rubbish, "I know - how does anyone feel about Muggles?" He laughs again. "But if I was to put you in the Muggle Liaison office, would you cope? Could you keep those feelings we've all got locked up tight?"
"...I guess."
"It's a great role," Avery says, standing up straight. He taps the side of his head. "You can have those thoughts, and you can act on them - you just have to pretend that you don't. You can do that, can't you? Pretend?"
"...yeah," says Pettigrew, with a smile. "Yeah, I can."
Lily leans back on the sofa and watches as Severus checks River's leg. "Is he still ok?"
"What's been wrong with him?"
"He just had a rash, Daddy," Lily says, "but Sev's cream has done the trick."
David looks surprised. "Severus' cream?"
"Is it the nappy rubbing River's leg?" Rose asks.
"We think so," Lily says.
"It was called Sudocrem in our day," Rose adds, as Severus wriggles River's legs back into his babygrow and snaps it together.
"No, no, it's not a joke - it's really Severus' cream," Lily says, happily.
At her praise, Severus smiles broadly, and moves to sit next to her, River snuggled happily against his chest - and Severus holds his hand out, smiling even more when Lily takes it.
"Taking on the pharmaceutical companies, are you, Severus?" David asks, looking faintly amused. "What's the next trick up your sleeve?"
"I'm sure a traditional cream would've worked," Rose adds, looking a little concerned, "there's no need to experiment."
Severus shoots an injured look towards Lily, who squeezes his hand.
"It is a traditional cream," Lily explains, "traditional for our world-"
"-the magical world," Severus adds.
"-but Sev made it specially for River." Lily squeezes his hand. "It works really well."
"Because it's designed for him? Bespoke?"
"Not really. It's a standard cream, but it's more about intent," Severus explains, taking in David and Rose's blank looks. "Not just anyone could do it," he hastens to add, "not everyone can make creams, but I am a brewer - that's my profession."
"He is skilled, Mummy," Lily insists.
"But you're saying it's more than just, what? Brewing? Following a recipe?"
"It's about caring," Lily says, leaning her head against Severus' shoulder, "the sentiment he was feeling at the time - his thoughts, his desire. He wanted River to be soothed, and that matters."
"Made with love," Rose muses.
"Exactly, Mummy!"
David looks surprised. "And that makes a difference, does it? Intent?"
"You'd be surprised how much," Severus says, with a smile, and then he darts a kiss to Lily's temple.
"This bodyguard stuff," Pettigrew ventures, as he piles up dirty clothes in one corner, and dirty dishes in another. "What do you do?"
"Keen, are you?"
"I'm not saying I could do it." Pettigrew shrugs. "I'm just interested. In it. In you," he stresses, "you're really impressive."
"You think?"
"Yeah," Pettigrew grins, "your magic, your control, your everything! The way you got those papers for me-"
"-anything for my mates-"
"-but even so! You had that Ministry wizard wrapped around your little finger. You were so good, I'd have said it was Imperio."
Avery shakes his head. "Not in my skill set, that." He shrugs. "Should practice a bit more, really."
"What is in your skill set? Can you do any of them?" Pettigrew asks, his voice low. "The Unforgivables, I mean."
Avery laughs. "Course I can. You?"
"Never tried."
"Avada," Avery brags, "that's easy. Easiest of the lot. Done the odd Crucio but it's tricky."
Pettigrew unwittingly clenches the sock he's holding. "Avada's easy? They always said at school that it was the most evil, the most-"
"-Will," Avery interrupts, "I'm no teacher. I'm not that sort of a guy, yeah? You'd get them at the front of the class, do you remember? Hands in the air for half of the lesson, always shouting out answers, handing in eighteen foot of parchment when we were asked for two."
"Yeah," Pettigrew laughs, "I know the type. Like Snape!"
Avery stiffens. "No. Not like Snape. Snape was all right."
"Yeah," Pettigrew backtracks immediately. "Yeah, he was."
"Taught me a lot did Snape," Avery says. "He's got that sort of head, you know? Thinks it all through, understands it. He's who you'd need right now, not me."
"Snape can Avada?"
"Nah," Avery says, dismissively, "he's not a murderer. Overthinks things too much to be a murderer. He'd be standing there, holding his wand out, and thinking about how they'd got a family or something." Avery levitates his Butterbeer towards him and takes a swig, and then settles it on the now empty mantelpiece. "But he could explain it better than this. Teach you."
"I don't need a guy like Snape. I can learn from you," Pettigrew says, keenly. "You're dead smart, Ave."
Avery preens in Pettigrew's praise. "So," he says, "the Unforgivables, they're about control, right?"
"Imperio is."
"No, they all are," Avery argues, tapping his chest with his hand, "the magic. Control of the magic. Avada is BANG," and he thumps his fist into his hand, causing Pettigrew to jolt. "Done! Over! One angry push and gone!"
Pettigrew nods.
"Crucio, it's a longer spell. You've got to get all that hatred you feel," Avery says, bending down to touch his ankles and then drawing his hands slowly up his sides, "and bring it right up to the surface. It's not one hit and you're done, you've got to keep it going."
"Right."
"Imperio is a different beast altogether." Avery shakes his head. "It's not about hate. Avada's about hate. Crucio's about hate."
"What's Imperio about, then?"
"Power."
Pettigrew looks at him hungrily. "And you can't do that? You seem powerful to me."
"Consistency," Avery says, "that's what it's about. Avada is a surge of anger. Crucio can be a surge of anger - one hit - but it could also be a long, drawn out, controlled event, over and over."
Pettigrew gives an involuntary shiver at the implication.
"Imperio's the other side of that. It can't be a surge of anger," Avery explains, "but a long, drawn out, controlled event." He shrugs. "What use is a ten second burst? Ten seconds with Avada and you're dead within the first three. Ten seconds with Crucio, and you've seriously hurt someone. Ten seconds with Imperio? Less than useless. It's not about hate."
"No, it's about desire," Pettigrew says. "The desire to control someone."
Avery stares at him in admiration. "Fucking hell, that's it. Desire for power. You need to desire that control." He shakes his head. "That's good, that is. Nice one, Will. I knew you were a smart guy."
"There's a spell," Lily explains to her mother, moving Terence above River's head, and trying to encourage him to reach for it, "but we haven't tried it yet - we've had him sleeping next to us, but he does have his own room."
"We could buy you a baby monitor."
"Honestly, it's fine, Mummy," Lily insists, "a friend of ours taught it to me, and I can teach it to Sev."
"And what will you do when Severus isn't at home? If he's at work, or out playing pool-"
"-he's only going to play pool on a Sunday afternoon!"
"Until he makes friends and then he'll be out all hours-"
"-he isn't like that."
"I'm just saying, Lily."
Lily shakes her head. "We can sort it out between us." She smiles at her mother. "But thank you."
Rose nods, but when Lily looks up from River, she catches how stiffly her mother is sitting.
"Mummy, is everything ok?"
Rose looks at her for a moment, and then at the closed kitchen door, and then back to Lily.
"This is why you've asked Daddy and Severus to wash up, isn't it?"
"There's nothing wrong in asking them to help out. We cooked, Lily."
"You cooked," Lily corrects, "I set the table and chatted with you." She pauses. "Mummy, what's wrong?"
Rose folds her hands over and over in her lap. "It's a difficult topic to broach," she says, looking just over Lily's head at the wall, "when we don't really know each other."
"I know you, Mummy," Lily says, gently, "so it's not awkward for me."
Rose looks hesitant. "I'd not forgive myself if I didn't talk to you about it."
"Really, Mummy," Lily presses, "it's fine. We can talk about anything."
Rose nods, and she pauses, and then she asks, "How open were we when it came to talking about sex, Lily?"
Pettigrew watches as Avery holds a dirty glass in one hand and a stained mug in another.
"Got it?"
"Show me again," Pettigrew says, a frown on his face.
"This wizard," Avery says, holding the mug aloft, "he was in tight with this wizard," and he holds up the glass, "but this wizard," and he drops the glass, "he isn't around any more."
Pettigrew watches as the glass bounces on the carpet. "Not around?"
"Not around," Avery repeats. "So this wizard needs help."
"Which wizard? The teacup wizard?"
Avery frowns, and then looks down at the mug. "Oh. Yeah. Yeah! The teacup wizard."
"And what's in it for you?"
Avery gives a slow, sprawling grin. "Power, Will. Influence. Fame. Fortune."
"He's that important, is he? This teacup wizard?"
"Oh yeah," Avery nods. "If you think I'm good, wait until you see him - he can really open doors for us."
Severus' eyes follow Lily as she enters the bedroom, closing the door behind her with a soft click, and then she stands there, her back pressed against it.
"Did I wake him?" she whispers.
Severus shakes his head. "He's not moved." He slowly raises his hands, as if he was surrendering. "He still looks like this."
Lily gives a small laugh, and Severus lowers his hands, giving her a beaming grin.
"It's good to hear you laughing," he says, "I was getting worried."
When she doesn't move, he tilts his head.
"Staying there all night, are you, love?"
She hesitates, her lips pressed in a thin line - and then her mouth wobbles, and Severus immediately tosses the duvet back, and jumps out of bed, wrapping his arms around her.
He pulls her against his chest, his hand warm against the back of her head, and he can feel her body heaving as she tries not to cry.
"Come on, love," he murmurs, holding her tightly, "don't cry. I'll miss them too, but we've got something now, haven't we? Hope. We've got hope."
"It's not that," she says, gripping his waist.
"No?" He pauses, waiting for her to answer, and when she doesn't, he slowly extricates himself from her embrace. He gently tilts her head up with his hand, green eyes meeting black. "What is it?"
"Just… Just something Mummy said."
"Right," he says, decisively, leading her to the bed. "Get in, and we'll talk. That's what we do now, right?"
She settles in, and he slides in next to her, pulling the duvet over them both, and then he holds his arm out, indicating that she should cuddle up to him.
"How's that?" he asks, as she nestles into his chest.
"Better."
"Good," he murmurs, kissing the top of her head. "What did Rose say to you?"
"She heard us."
"Heard us? Heard us when?" His eyes widen. "Last night, when we were messing around? I thought the charm stopped-"
"-this afternoon," Lily says, "she overheard you."
"Me? What did I do?"
"When you said… When you said that you couldn't wait to get me home."
Severus huffs. "So now she thinks I'm… What?" He gives a tight shrug. "That I can't control myself? Is that what she thinks?" He glances down. "Is that what you think?"
"No."
"Then what's upset you?"
"We were talking about Riv. About him being an accident."
"Right."
"And she was asking me about contraception."
"You used to take the potion and the pill," Severus huffs, "it's not like we weren't taking it seriously."
"We weren't at first."
He quirks a smile. "Yeah, well, at first we were just horny and irresponsible. Now we're just horny."
Lily bites her lip, trying not to laugh. "She was saying that we need to be careful not to do that again."
"I didn't know your mother had a one child policy," Severus murmurs, "I wonder if Tuney knows."
"Sev, be serious."
"I am!"
"She doesn't mean that we can't have a bigger family. She means that it should be planned, and not a mistake."
"River's not a mistake."
"I didn't mean that," she says, quickly.
"Let me get this right," he says, "your mother pulled you to one side to warn you that I was going to throw you over my shoulder, carry you back home, toss you on our bed, have my wicked way with you, and force you to have another child?"
"Not exactly."
"Which is a yes."
"She was pointing out that we need to be using contraception," Lily says, "and I haven't got any. When we get home, we can't just pick up where we left off."
Severus leans his head back against his pillow. "I didn't think."
"Nor me. That's what she was saying."
"I'll brew you someth-"
"-you can't," she says, "we don't know if it'll work."
"Of course it works! River was because you didn't take it, not because it didn't work-"
"-because I'm not magical-"
"-you are magical-"
"-it's trapped, Sev!"
"You're still a witch!"
"...I knew that talking about this would upset you," she says, quietly.
"I'm not upset," he snaps.
"Doesn't sound it."
He huffs, and pulls her closer. "I'm not upset about using contraception," he mutters, "I'm upset about your magic."
"I know."
"Are you going to use those pills from the doctors again?"
Lily pulls her head away and looks up at him. "I was wondering… My hormones are all over the place."
He gives a low chuckle. "Is this like when my dad left those condoms in my wallet about a year after you started taking the potion?" He laughs again. "Always was right on the ball, old Toby."
"You don't mind using them?"
"Course I don't," he murmurs, kissing her gently.
They lie together, arm in arm, their breathing soft.
"Sev?"
"What, love?"
"It's not just that."
He twists his neck so he can peer at her. "Go on."
"I don't know," she says, "I know I thought I was, but I don't know, I don't know that I'm ready."
"Is this you speaking, or is this your mother speaking?"
"Me."
"You seemed keen last night. You said you wanted me, and now you've spoken to your mother, and what?"
"I do want you! My brain's keen, Sev," she says, running her fingers through his chest hair, "but my body's not. Last night, it was like everything was on fire up here," she says, lifting her hand to tap her forehead, "but nothing was happening down there."
He doesn't answer.
"I don't want to push you away, Sev," she continues. "Mummy said…"
He arches an eyebrow, as if he can't believe that Rose had more wisdom to impart about their sex lives. "What did Rose say?"
"She said that you might see love and sex as the same thing."
He takes a breath, not moving.
"Which you kind of do-"
"-I didn't realise it was a problem-"
"-I just meant-"
"-I thought you wanted me," he says, and she can hear the confusion in his voice. "I thought that when we-"
"-have sex-"
"-make love," he says, sounding bitter, "I thought that was us showing that we loved each other."
"It is."
"Well then!"
"But, Sev," she tries again, "if having sex is us loving each other, me loving you, and you loving me-"
"-it is-"
"-then what is it when I push you away? When I say that we can't? That my brain is saying yes to you, but my body's saying no? What then?"
Avery leans back on the sofa, running the back of his hand across his forehead. "Fuck me, it does look pretty good in here."
"You did most of it."
"Don't be stupid," Avery says, leaning over and punching Pettigrew's arm, "it was those cleaning spells you used." He reaches down and opens another bottle of Butterbeer Extra. "I didn't know the carpet was this colour."
"It looks great. A great home for a powerful wizard."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Avery looks pleased at the praise. "I reckon I could even have Tracey back here now."
"She your girl?"
Avery grins. "Yeah. Sort of. She's well into me." He glances over. "You got a girl?"
"No," Pettigrew says, shaking his head.
Avery gives him the once over. "A guy?"
Pettigrew splutters on his drink. "No. No!"
"Just checking," Avery says, settling back in his seat. "There's a few wizards around who are like that."
"I'm not. I'm just not the sort that the girls fall for. What's that saying? Always the bridesmaid," he laughs, "never the bride. Only with men. Groomsmen. Groom."
Avery doesn't react to Pettigrew's flailing. "Why's that, then?" he asks.
Pettigrew moves his hand in front of his face. "Face like mine."
"Means nothing, believe me," Avery scoffs. "Confidence. Power. That's what witches want."
It's Pettigrew's turn to scoff. "Yeah? You reckon that, do you?"
"With a face like mine?" Avery asks, grinning. "Trust me, Will, I don't just reckon it - I know."
Pettigrew looks at him, a greedy look in his eyes. "This Tracey. She got any friends?"
Avery hesitates, as if he's thinking. "Yeah."
"Think they'd go for me?" he asks. "If I was powerful. Like you, I mean."
Avery stands, and picks up his wand. "Come on," he says, "we're going down Knockturn."
Severus lies so still, Lily daren't move. She counts to twenty, and then to fifty, and just as she's about to speak - anything to break the silence - he twists them over, so she's lying flat against the bed, and he's braced above her.
His dark eyes rake over her face, as if he's trying to make sense of a foreign language, and when she parts her lips to speak, he gives the smallest shake of his head.
"I love you," he says, his voice filled with passion, "I love you, Lily."
"And I love you, Sev. This has got nothing to do with love."
"It's got everything to do with love," he says. "You know that I loved you long before we had sex."
"I know."
"And I told you," he says, urgently, "the other night, what my favourite thing is."
She nods.
"You remember?"
"Making out," she whispers.
"Making out," he repeats. "Do you know why?"
"No."
"Because as much as your mother thinks she's right, she's not. Sex wasn't about love, not for us, not at first. Sex was just sex. It was about," and he swallows awkwardly, "being turned on." He stares deep into her eyes. "That's what happened that night - you were turned on, and I was turned on, and love, it scares the fuck out of me."
She runs her hands up and down his arms. "There's nothing to be scared of."
"No?" He gives a small laugh. "How the fuck did it even happen?" He shakes his head. "How many times did I lie around in your bedroom? How many times did you study at mine? How many near misses did we have?"
"Hundreds," she breathes.
"And what if it had been just one more?" He touches his forehead to hers. "What if it hadn't happened?"
"It did."
"But it might not have."
"If it didn't happen then, it might've happened another time - the next time, or the time after."
"Or not at all," he warns, "and for a long time, I thought it was going to stop. I've already told you, I never thought you'd consider being my girlfriend, not until you shouted it across the Great Hall."
She can't help but laugh. "I'll work on my subtlety, shall I?"
"Fucking hell, love, no," he says, earnestly, "else we'd still be dancing around each other now."
"Sev…"
"What, love?"
"I don't understand the story. I don't understand what this has to do with making out."
He smiles broadly, and then kisses her, bringing his hand underneath her hair, pulling her into the kiss, their mouths melding together.
"You made out with me the day after," he says, "and that's when I first thought that it might not be a one time thing." He kisses her again. "And then we'd make out all of the time, and sometimes it'd go nowhere, and other times-"
"-we'd find somewhere private to go."
"Exactly," he murmurs, "and I never knew which way it was going to go."
"It wasn't that I didn't want you - it was tricky, with your parents, and mine-"
"-it was exciting. The anticipation. Not knowing what might happen next, but," and he grins broadly, "making out meant there was always a chance that it might happen."
Lily can't help but laugh. "So that's your answer, is it? You're telling me that you don't see love and sex as the same thing, because you like kissing, because-"
"-you always twist what I say," he laughs.
"No no, shh, you've had your say," she giggles, holding him tightly against her, "you like kissing because it might end in sex. I don't think that's the watertight argument you think it is."
He lets her hold him for a long moment, and then he pushes himself back up again, supporting his weight on his palms, his eyes searching her face again. "Now that you've finished taking the piss out of me," he says, his lips twisting into a smile, "I'll tell you a secret: I like making out because that's what we were doing the first time you told me that you were in love with me."
"Bloody hell, Sev."
"So your mother's wrong. I don't think that love and sex are the same thing," he reiterates, kissing her deeply, "and I might be shit when it comes to talking about my feelings-"
"-you're not shit-"
"-but I promised to try-"
"-you're doing so well. I feel as if I've learnt more about you this last month than-"
"-and I love making out with you," he interrupts, "because I love you. I love you, Lily. I'm in love with you."
Somehow, it's happened again.
"This Tracey, your girlfriend, she's a pro?"
"Yeah, a pro at sucking my dick."
Pettigrew stands, watching as Avery happily places his wand into a magical box - and although every fibre inside of him is screaming that he should keep hold of his own wand, it feels awkward to protest, so he acquiesces, following Avery's lead.
Avery grins and claps him on the shoulder - and the more he goes along with it, the more Pettigrew realises that there's no going back; he should've run when they walked down Knockturn Alley, when Avery first pushed on the door of Discreet Knights, when Avery handed over a fist full of money to Madam Mary, when their wands were taken from them.
But he didn't.
He doesn't.
Instead, Pettigrew watches as Avery departs through one door, practically rubbing his hands together, and then he finds himself being ushered through another.
"Tell me what's bothering you," Severus says, ghosting his lips across her skin, pressing kisses up and down her neck.
She can feel the blush on her cheeks, and she knows that Severus has seen it too, from the way he stills in his movements.
"Tell me, love," he urges her.
"I'm not getting wet," she whispers, finally. "It's not you, it's not you, it's-"
"-hormones," he says, "you already said."
"Because I'm feeding River."
"Probably because your body doesn't want us to try for another baby just yet," Severus says, with a smile.
"No."
He lowers his head, his long hair falling over her, his body hot and hard as he presses himself against her, his lips finding her ear, and he slowly whispers, "Evidently, I'm not as good at this as I think I am."
"It's not you, Sev."
"I know that, love."
She doesn't understand what he means, and she grips his biceps, not wanting him to speak cryptically and then turn away from her - and then she feels him chuckle against her ear.
"Sex isn't just about penetration, love, I thought I'd shown you that," he murmurs, and then he lowers his voice further, barely more than a whisper, "and if your brain's already on fire, then I can make you feel so good."
Her breath catches in her chest. "Not here," she whispers back.
"No," he murmurs, his mouth hot against her ear, "I know how you feel. Not in your sister's bed, not with your parents across the landing."
She relaxes, letting out a steady exhale.
"But when we're home," he presses, "I think we need to pick up where we left off all those months ago."
Her breath catches again - and he chuckles.
"You're so anxious," he whispers, "don't you trust me?" He presses a series of kisses just below her ear. "Remember when we played in our rooms at Hogwarts?"
"Yes."
"Remember how hot it was?"
"Yes," she breathes.
"I worshipped you that night," he whispers, gently nipping her neck with his teeth, and then kissing the marks. "Would you like me to do that again?"
"Yes," she says, twisting her neck so her lips meet his, and they kiss slowly, seductively.
"You're safe with me," he murmurs, between kisses, "anything you want to do," and he kisses her again, "anything you don't want to do."
"A veto?"
"A veto," he smiles, tangling his hand in her hair and reaching down for another kiss, "we always have a veto."
"Even if it's something you really want?" She looks up into his dark eyes, trying to read him.
"Especially if it's something I really want," he murmurs, "you always have a veto, and I'll always stop."
"Always?"
"Always," he promises. "I want you to trust me."
"I do."
"Good," he says, and he dips his head, meeting her in a passionate kiss, lips touching lips, tongue touching tongue, and he groans into her mouth as she wraps her leg around his hip.
He grinds against her as they kiss, his eyes closing - and then he catches himself, slowing his movements, and opening his eyes again.
"You don't have to stop," she whispers, "it feels good."
"Feels too good for your sister's bed," he laughs, and he reluctantly rolls over, pulling her towards him, and he resumes kissing her, his fingers tangling in her hair. "I stand by what I said," he murmurs, "I can't wait to get you home."
Her breath hitches - but her face is difficult to read, and he frowns, clearly not understanding whether it's a gasp of anticipation, or a gasp of fear.
He cups her face in his hand, and presses another kiss to her lips. "I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to. And when you're ready, whenever that is, I want you to beg me for it - so I know, so I'm sure." He kisses her again. "I'll buy those condoms," he promises, "and you can hold onto them until you're ready for us to use them."
She nods, slowly.
"You'll be in control, Lil."
"When you said about playing, I thought you meant-"
"-I did-"
"-but if you're in control-"
"-if you can say no at any point," he says, his eyes fixed on hers, "then who's really in control?"
"...I am."
"Exactly." He gently presses his lips to hers. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do - I'm going to use that coal and set up a blazing fire in our front room," he says, a lazy smile slowly spreading across his face, "and then I'm going to lie you down on our bed, and I'm going to spend all night making love to you."
And this time, it's Lily who grabs Severus, pushing him back against the mattress and crushing her lips against his in a searing, burning, heart-warming kiss.
Chapter 155: Safe for everyone
Chapter Text
The cramped nightclub is dark and hot and smoky, and Pettigrew laughs as Leanne grips his hand, pulling him from the plush booth. His protests about staying seated and saving the booth for the four of them go unheard - and when he points at his glass on the table with his drink in it, Leanne smirks, reaches over, and downs it.
"Now you've no excuse not to dance," she laughs, pulling him up and towards the dance floor.
Avery immediately claps his hand on his shoulder, and then pulls him for a brotherly hug. "Good night?" he yells, shouting into his ear, only just audible over the incredibly loud music.
"Great night," Pettigrew says - and at Avery's blank look, he nods enthusiastically instead, and then puts his thumb up.
Avery claps him on his shoulder again, a broad grin on his face.
Pettigrew watches keenly as Avery moves smoothly - not just his feet, but his whole body moving in synchronisation with the beat of the music, his shoulders rolling and his hips twisting. Pettigrew shoots a quick look at Tracey and Leanne, who are much more conservative in their dancing - left foot meeting the right and then back again, right foot meeting the left and then back again, their hands barely moving - and Pettigrew decides that he can do that much at least.
The music is loud - so loud, he can feel it vibrating through his chest - and the spotlights are swinging around, flashing through all of the colours of the spectrum, and before long, Avery's grabbed him again, this time showing him how to move in rhythm with the music, and Pettigrew watches him keenly, mirroring his every movement.
Severus levitates two cups up the stairs and across the landing, and he tries to follow them as silently as possible, his bare feet barely making a sound - and he's grateful that the Dursleys have invested in such high quality carpet, the cushioning from it ensuring that he doesn't wake Rose and David with his movements.
With one hand behind his back, he presses on the door handle as slowly and lightly as possible, and then pushes the door open with his foot, beaming as he sees Lily feeding River.
"You still hungry?"
Lily looks sleepily at her husband. "I'm tired."
Severus gives a small laugh. "Yeah, I know that feeling," he says, levitating her cup towards her. "Here, I put more milk in it than usual. To help you get back to sleep."
She smiles. "Thank you."
"And," he says, "there's not much bread left to make toast with, so I raided the sweet tin instead." He moves his hand from behind his back, revealing a handful of chocolate bars, and then dropping them on the bed from a great height.
She laughs. "Sev!"
Severus gets back under the duvet, rubbing his feet against the mattress to warm them back up - not missing her glare, warning him not to put his cold feet on her legs - and he tears into a Twix, offering her one of the chocolate sticks.
She takes one, and before she's taken the first bite, he's crammed his into his mouth and he turns, intending to move his pillow so he can sit up against the headboard.
"Don't get chocolate on Tuney's sheets," Lily warns.
He chuckles, and licks his fingers, and then shows her his fingertips. "Look, all clean." He moves his pillow and sits back, eyeing the pile of chocolate hungrily as he takes a sip from his tea. "Penguin?"
"I've not finished my Twix," she says, shaking her head. "You'll make yourself sick, eating like this in bed."
"I won't."
"You won't want breakfast."
"I always want breakfast," he grins, practically swallowing the Penguin whole, and then screwing up the wrapper and throwing it into the bin across the room. "Speaking of breakfast…"
Lily looks up at him as she starts to wind River. "What?"
"I was thinking I could go back home once I've cooked for you."
"So early? I'm sure Riv will have us up before six again, and Tuney and Vernon aren't coming back until late, you heard what Daddy said-"
"-yeah, yeah," he says, a little dismissively, "they're going to play golf-"
"-Vernon's going to play golf-"
"-and Tuney's going to be a lady of leisure," Severus smirks, "sitting around in a swanky clubhouse, drinking gin and tonic, no doubt."
"She's pregnant."
"Drinking orange juice then," he laughs. "Or pineapple juice or cranberry juice or something."
"Right, so you don't need to go rushing off after breakfast - we've got all day to spend with Mummy and Daddy."
"Yeah, and we've got a mountain of stuff I need to shift," he says, his eyes darting towards the pile of chocolate. He snakes his hand out and grabs a Kit Kat. "It'll be about five or six trips at least-"
"-you could enlarge the bags. Take fewer trips-"
"-but my magic, I don't want to risk anything-"
"-I suppose-"
"-not to mention Apparating you and Riv."
"But even so, that won't take all day. You could do it late afternoon - or after lunch, if you're worried about them coming home."
"Mmm, but I figured I should rest between trips."
"You really are worried about your magic."
"And it means you can stay and spend time with your parents, whilst I get the house set back up for us," he says, ignoring her statement. He slides his thumb down the foil and breaks the Kit Kat in half. "Anything in the fridge has probably gone off by now, and the bread on the worktop will be stale, so I'll get some shopping in. Tidy up a bit. I went through the house like a whirlwind bringing all of our stuff here," he says, passing her half of the Kit Kat.
"Oh, Sev. Thank you."
"It's just a Kit Kat."
"For thinking about the house," Lily says, flashing him a fond smile. "Well, and the Kit Kat, I suppose. …I feel a bit useless."
"You say whilst feeding our son in the middle of the night," Severus says, stretching his arms out and yawning. "You done with these?"
"Yeah, I don't want anymore, thank you."
He scoops up the remaining chocolate bars and deposits them on Vernon's bedside table. "Besides, you can do me a favour tomorrow."
"Yeah?"
"I want to do some brewing. I enjoyed making that cream."
"I should've known your fingers would itch," she laughs. "I've never known you not to brew. If that's why you want to go back early-"
"-no," he says, looking briefly unsure of himself, "it's not that - it's the ingredients."
She gives him a stern look. "You can't, you can't go back into the magical world, Sev, it's too much of a risk. If someone sees you-"
"-no," he interrupts, quickly. "No. I was thinking about those substitutes Professor Thompson taught you in Muggle Studies. I was thinking that I could grab a few from the shop if you made a list for me."
"I'll do my best - I'm not sure I can remember them all," she says, a small frown appearing on her forehead, "and I don't think they're in any of the books I've got."
"Definitely in none of mine - it's not the sort of book that would be hanging around the Black or Malfoy library, unfortunately." He looks thoughtful. "I wonder where they would be documented if they're not passed down through the Purebloods."
"Probably in one of those dreadful Muggle studies textbooks. You know, the ones that explained that we skinned zebras-"
"-to make zebra crossings," Severus laughs, "yeah, I remember your outrage at the time."
"It's not funny, Sev - that was on the curriculum! We're not savages! No wonder witches and wizards think…" She trails off, adjusting River in her arms. "Anyway, don't forget that we've got some bits and pieces still - from when I was brewing at Mummy and Daddy's."
"Oh, in our bedroom?"
"Yes - along with the equipment you brought for me."
He nods, as if recalling the memory of that night. "I'll do a quick stocktake when I drop the first load of our stuff off, and if you can write a list, I'll work out what we need and pick some bits up when I shop."
"I know what your shopping is like when you get hungry," she says, rocking River in her arms, "I'll write you a list for that too, else we'll be eating Penguins for tea for the next week, won't we, Riv?"
Severus laughs, and slides his arms around her. "Sounds like a plan."
She leans her head back against his shoulder. "It's not just food. I could do with a few things as well. From the shops."
"Like what?"
"Toiletries mostly."
"Bloody hell," he says, "write down exactly which ones you want, preferably with a description of the packaging. I can't take your bad mood for three weeks when I pick up the wrong deodorant."
"Yes, well, I was the one who had to walk around smelling like an explosion in a talcum powder factory."
He laughs. "Like I said, write it down."
"And…" she says, her voice lower, "a razor."
"A razor?" He lifts his hand from under the duvet, rubbing his chin. "My razor's fine."
"For me, not you."
"For you? Since when? You've always used the shaving spell."
"Exactly."
It takes him a minute, the lack of sleep making his brain slower to react.
"Oh fuck, sorry, love."
"It's fine," she says, squeezing his hand, "but you keep going on about wanting me naked in bed and…"
"I don't care," he says, quickly.
"But I do."
"I could do it," he offers. "The spell."
She laughs. "Absolutely not. You wet shave!"
"And?"
"You wet shave because you kept making a hash of the shaving spell," she continues, "so if you think I'm going to let you hack my legs up with your wand-"
"-I might be better on someone else-"
"-no way, you're a menace, it'll be a bloodbath-"
"-plenty of surface area to practice on," he teases, nuzzling her neck, "I might master it after a few goes. Save us both on razor blades."
"You can buy me a razor," she says, firmly, "or your life won't be worth living."
"Message received," he laughs, and then he peers at River. "Is he asleep yet?"
"Almost."
"Nox," he murmurs, gesturing towards the light. "How's that, Bean? Better? Not much sleep to be had when your room's like a lighthouse, hey?"
"Or when his parents are chattering away," Lily says, snuggling closer to Severus.
"How irresponsible they both are," he grins, holding her tightly.
It's dark and it's cold and his feet ache, and Moody's certain that he's getting too old for this sort of nonsense.
It's why you send the new recruits on stakeouts, he thinks, leaning heavily against the lamppost, his eyes trained on the house.
He waits for another ten minutes, his eyes fixed on the front door, and then he heaves himself upright, and takes a stroll around the perimeter of the property.
Pettigrew takes a bite and groans in delight, as it's the greatest tasting burger he's ever had in his life. The meat is cooked to perfection, the sauces mingle together to offer a delightful combination of heat followed by sweet, and the gherkins inside provide an interesting contrast with their sour crunch. Grease drips down his hands and onto his sleeves as he wrestles it with both hands, greedily wolfing it down.
"It's just a burger," Avery laughs, when Pettigrew voices how satisfied he is, and he slings his arm heavily over Pettigrew's shoulder. "You're pissed. I can tell."
"Am not."
Avery laughs, and takes another bite out of his. "It's the universal scale. If a burger from a grotty shop tastes out of this world, it's not the burger, it's you." Avery finishes his last bite of his own burger, and then tosses his wrapper into the bin. "You're coming back to mine. You're in no fit state to Apparate."
"I'll be fine."
"I'm not letting you go off alone," Avery says, disapprovingly, "not in this state."
"I'm not in a state."
"Burger scale, remember?" Avery ruffles Pettigrew's hair. "I'm not taking no for an answer. I don't want to find my new mate has lost a finger in an Apparition accident."
Pettigrew pauses, chewing the last of his burger. "I don't want to put you to any trouble."
"It's not trouble. I tell you what's trouble - you getting into an Apparition accident. The paperwork in MAC is a pain in the arse - splinching accidents, they're at least half an hour out of my day."
This time, Pettigrew laughs. "When you put it like that, I'd best come with you. Can't be giving you more work, can I?"
Avery grins broadly. "I knew you'd see it my way, Will."
As dawn starts to break, Black yanks the front door violently open, his eyes fixed on Moody.
"Got a reason for standing out here all night?" Black yells across the street. "Or is that classified information as well?"
"He's not home?"
Black gives a derisory laugh. "I haven't seen him since you hauled him off the premises yesterday. Gave you the slip, did he? Is it that easy to evade the Ministry's finest? Explains a lot."
"You've no idea where he might be?" Moody says, heading towards him, and pushing his way past Black.
"Yeah, why don't you come in, make yourself comfortable," Black mutters, slamming the front door loudly. "He isn't here, Moody. Search the place if you want."
"Dumbledore sent me to collect him."
"So I recall."
Moody bites his lip. "Dumbledore wasn't available, so we left-"
"-and now you're here to collect him again, now that Dumbledore's ready," Black reasons, "only now Pete's absconded." Black appraises Moody. "You've obviously scared the shit out of him. What were you getting him to do?"
"It was an information gathering exercise."
"The one that should've been mine?"
Moody gives him a long, hard look. "Your opportunity has gone-"
"-you know I'm your best shot, I'm a Black! He's a… A Pettigrew, for Merlin's sake! Surely you realise that family were struck off the Sacreds in the hundreds. No-one's going to take him seriously-"
"-just like you don't take him seriously-"
"-exactly! I don't! So it would help if you didn't take him seriously either!"
"I don't understand your obsession with wanting to do what Peter's tasked with," Moody says. "Your NEWTs were good enough. I've told you before, we could do with your sort."
"Join the Aurors?" Black shakes his head. "No, thanks. They're as corrupt as they come. ...no offence."
"Not all of us."
"You've seen who your boss is, right?"
Moody gives him a strange look. "Vance?"
"Vance?" Black mirrors Moody's strange look. "Vance is one of us. I'm talking about Yaxley."
"Yaxley's not my boss."
"Not what I've heard." Black unfolds his arms. "I've heard he's a new broom." He moves his right hand from left to right. "Sweep sweep sweep. He's not going to take on someone like me."
There's a silence.
"In fact, Moody," Black continues, "I don't think he's going to keep someone like you, either." He moves his hand again. "Sweep sweep sweep."
Moody fixes him with a hard stare. "You keep bragging about how you could've gone back to your family-"
"-I'm not-"
"-infiltrated them," Moody stresses, "made them think you were one of them." He lets the thought linger. "Why don't you do the same with the Ministry?"
"Yaxley knows I'm not a Death Eater. Vance knows it. You know it!"
"You could pretend. Like you would with your family. Appear to be a sympathiser," Moody continues. "Get your foot in the door."
"A double agent."
"Something like that."
"Three years," Black says, "that's how long it takes to become an auror, right?"
Moody nods.
"In three years, we'll either have wiped that scum out of our society," Black says, "or we'll have died trying."
"You'd have said as much three years ago."
Black bristles.
"I'd have said as much three years ago," Moody adds, taking in Black's body language, "but they're growing in number."
"Then whatever you're doing isn't working," Black snaps, "and no wonder if this is your answer! 'Join the system,' you say - the same system that they've already infiltrated and taken over!"
"And what's the alternative? Sitting around and aimlessly blowing your inheritance? If you're afraid-"
"-I'm not afraid!"
"-to make a stand," Moody loudly continues, "then you might as well have stayed with your family in the first place. Kept the claim to the Black fortune, rather than gifting it to your little brother-"
"-leave Reggie out of-"
"-Reggie the Death Eater," Moody snaps. "The sole beneficiary of your father's estate, and I'm sure he's going to plough the Black finances into You-Know-Who's cause."
"So what was I meant to do? I was just meant to shut up and go along with their shit, was I?"
"Maybe if you had, we'd have had a way in already."
Black laughs loudly. "Yeah, if I'd have gone along with it all, been a good little Slytherin, joined my family at every occasion, you'd have believed it when I came knocking on the door of the Order of the Phoenix and told you that I hated Purism, would you?"
There's a silence.
"Or would you have written me off as one of You-Know-Who's loyal Death Eaters?" Black takes a step closer. "A spy from him sent to infiltrate your precious Order?"
There's another silence.
"Because if you ask me," Black says, his voice filled with venom, "that's where we've been going wrong. There's nobody loyal to the Order who is believable enough to infiltrate the Dark Lord's inner sanctum. Not you or Vance or Bones. Not Dumbledore or the Prewett boys or Frankie Longbottom. Not me. Not James. Not Remus, despite his wolfish tendencies. And certainly not Peter."
"And where is Peter?" Moody presses, settling himself into a seat. "If you know, I think it's time you told me."
"I don't-"
"-because if you don't start talking, I'm staying here until he comes back."
When Pettigrew wakes, he feels rotten - his head is pounding and his tongue feels furry - but he can't help but feel a satisfaction at the night he's experienced.
Somehow, despite having spent years in Sirius' and James' and Remus' company, they'd never had a night like that - never had a night where he, Peter, wasn't just the support act whilst the others tried to attract girls, never had a night where someone paid him attention.
He knows if he tells Sirius when he gets home that Sirius won't believe it either - or he'd make some sick joke about Leanne having three eyes or cloven hooves or a tail.
Pettigrew sits on the edge of the sofa, relieved that they'd tidied the front room before leaving for their evening out - as sleeping on the sofa amongst Avery's mess of packets and dirty washing would've been less than appealing, but he also wouldn't have wanted to spurn his new friend.
Not a new friend who can find him a girl like Leanne to spend half of the night with.
As he sits with his head in his hands, Avery suddenly barges in, clearly dressed for a day at work at the Ministry. He's loud - too loud - and seems entirely unaware of Pettigrew's delicate state.
"Are you heading home, Will?"
The mere question makes his heart sink and his stomach roll - the thought of facing Sirius, the thought of being questioned, the thought of having to change the family tree in the hall, and handling Sirius' reaction to it; it's all overwhelming.
"You don't have to, you know."
Pettigrew looks up, his eyes bleary.
"I mean, we can't stay here," Avery says, opening the curtains, "I've got to go into the office, else questions will be asked. Got to keep up appearances."
"I'm sorry, I'll head off, get out of your hair-"
"-come with me."
Pettigrew looks torn. "But, the Ministry… I don't work there."
"Yet."
"People won't want me hanging around."
"Oh yeah? Who's going to know?" Avery says, with a self-satisfied smirk. "Or rather, who's going to care? We won't be disturbed in my office. Come on."
Bloody Rillwych.
Severus hates himself for thinking it, but as he hauls the first lot of their belongings into the house - including River's pram - he feels a deep sense of unease.
He's never been one for jealousy, Severus - content to sit in Lucius' company and enjoy the trappings of his wealth, never begrudging the Malfoy family for living in such a luxurious environment whilst he languished in utmost poverty with his parents in Spinner's End.
It didn't matter, because I knew I'd get there someday, he thinks, and then he goes back outside to use the loo, and as he stands in the rain soaked back yard, it's as if he's seeing it for the first time, and he can't help but feel horrified.
You haven't gone up in the world. You've started from the bottom, and somehow, you've managed to go down. And you've dragged Lily down with you. And your son. He deserves better than this. She deserves better than this.
He shakes his head as he strides towards the outhouse, as if he's trying to dislodge the annoying internal monologue in his brain.
It's awkward, the four of them standing and looking at each other, and Moody's eyes boring into Black's.
"Leave off him," Potter says, taking a step forward, "it's not Sirius' fault that Pete isn't here."
Moody appraises Potter. "It feels like a wild goose chase. A game. A wheeze." His eyes narrow. "One that all four of you are in on."
"I'm not in on anything," Lupin says, his tone pointed.
"Nor me, nor him," Potter says, quickly, lest Moody pick up on Lupin's disgruntlement. "We don't know anything - we're as worried as you are. It's not like Pete to disappear."
"Moody's not worried," Black says. "Not about Pete's good health."
"And you are?" Moody says, turning the tables immediately. "You think that Albus didn't tell me about your little conversation?"
Lupin leans forward. "What conversation?"
Potter looks between Black and Lupin, and then towards Moody. "Whatever's gone on between Sirius and Dumbledore, I don't think this is the right time or place-"
"-what conversation?" Lupin repeats, a little more forcefully, his eyes not leaving Potter. "Moody knows and Sirius knows, and you know-"
"-I don't know-"
"-but not me-"
"-just leave it, Remus," Potter hisses. "We can discuss this after."
"No, no, we can discuss it now," Moody says, looking amused. "Your little friend Sirius Black spent a good half an hour telling Albus-"
"-get fucked, Moody-"
"-how pathetic your other little friend-"
"-he's twisting it-"
"-Peter Pettigrew is-"
"-you're taking it out of context-"
"-how useless, how worthless, how pitiful-"
"-sounds about right," Lupin interjects, his eyes now boring into Black's.
"What does? Pettigrew being useless, worthless and pitiful?" Moody enquires, his tone mild. "Or are we talking about young Sirius' nasty, spiteful, childish behaviour being of no surprise to you?"
Lily hates waving him off, and she stands at the back door, with River held up against her shoulder, pointing out Severus to their son as he Disapparates with the next pile of their belongings.
She doesn't say anything to her parents, but she can feel the tension rising within her - worrying about his unstable magic, worrying that he'll splinch himself mid-trip, worrying about the mysterious pain in his chest which comes and goes, worrying that it might manifest at the worst possible moment and cause a terrible accident - but when Severus returns a short while later, he's his usual self, looking nonchalant and relaxed and entirely unruffled.
Lily doesn't explain why, but she presses him to take a break instead of heading straight off - so he doesn't wear himself out - and he happily does so, sitting with her parents with a coffee and a biscuit whilst she finishes the list of substitute ingredients for their potions. As she completes her notes, placing it with the shopping list, she looks over at the three of them - the mood easy, all of them seeming to find humour over something and nothing.
Her mood is not easy. Her mood is anything but - far darker, malevolent, almost, and she knows that River is picking up on it, his tiny face screwed up tighter and tighter as the morning progresses. It's as if there's a cloud looming over them, and it only worsens when she presses the lists into Severus' hands and he kisses her chastely on the lips before Disapparating once more.
Soon he'll be back. And then he'll take more stuff. And more stuff. And then it'll be our turn to leave, never to return. To leave Mummy and Daddy behind.
Whilst she's changing River's nappy, she overhears her father commenting that the atmosphere in the house will be very different when Severus and Lily and River have departed, and Petunia and Vernon have returned.
She rubs Severus' cream into River's leg with a ferocity she didn't know she had, pulling the tabs on his nappy tightly into place, and then she lets out a long sigh. Daddy didn't say better, she thinks, lifting River's tiny t-shirt and blowing a raspberry against his stomach, causing him to wriggle in delight, Daddy said different, that's all - and he's right; Sev and Vernon couldn't be more opposite if they tried, and as for me and Petunia…
Her mother comes in, breaking her chain of thought - and when she sits cross-legged next to Lily, Lily realises that Rose is just as desperate to spend a few last precious hours with her only grandson, just as Lily wants to spend time with her own parents.
Don't ruin it by being in a rotten mood, she thinks, and she lets her mother pull her into a tight embrace, trying to let her bad mood melt away, trying to enjoy having her mother close to her, despite the end of the visit drawing near.
Lupin knows that he's got a look of disgust on his face, but he can't bring himself to school his expression in front of his friends, part of him wanting them to know how appalled he is at their behaviour.
"We haven't done anything, Remus."
It's always Potter who protests, always Potter who plays peacemaker. Potter, the eternal voice of reason - always the one to throw his arms around his friends, reassuring them all of their place in the group, keen to remind them that they're a gang together, that they've got each other's backs.
Except when they haven't, Lupin thinks, glaring at Black. Except when they decide to spill your deepest, darkest, most dangerous secret to the weirdest kid in the year; the kid you mocked, the kid you bullied, the kid you intimidated. Except when it would be a laugh if you savagely ripped that same boy limb from limb, or turned him into a dark creature, all whilst you had no concept of the consequences.
"You need to let go of whatever this anger is you've got, Moons," Potter continues.
It's Sirius all over, he muses, no concept of the consequences. But James should know better. James understands consequences. James steps in, and James saves the day. James champions the cause of his friends, reminding them that they'll always be best friends - no matter what happens, no exceptions.
Except some things can never be the same.
"And I have no idea what Moody was talking about," Potter says. "You need to be cooler than this, Moons. Just hold your tongue and wait until we can talk in private - without witnesses hanging on our every word. You know what Moody's like."
"So, now we're alone, what did he say to you?" Lupin addresses Black, ignoring Potter entirely.
Black shrugs. "Dumbledore came to see Pete. Pete wasn't in. Me and him talked about how it should've been me who went to the funeral."
"You mean that you talked about how it should've been you."
Black sucks in his cheeks, as if he's tasted a particularly tart lemon. "You forget that we tried to get Pete to do this before."
"I don't forget how you manipulated him."
"We all talked him into it," Potter corrects, immediately.
"You both talked him into it."
"I didn't hear you arguing at the time!" Black erupts.
"And what did you get him to do? You got him to follow Vance, got him to follow Bones, got him to follow Moody," Lupin says, checking the aurors off on his fingers, "but now he's not good enough to do whatever this is."
"And what use was he? He'd follow them for a day or two - if he was even following them at all-"
"-of course he was following them!"
"We don't know that," Black snaps, "because what did he ever find out that was of worth? That Vance and Bones are friends, and Moody's paranoid? I could've worked that out from twenty minutes in an Order meeting!"
"Maybe he stopped trailing people because you were so shitty about his information."
"Maybe he stopped trailing people," Black sneers, "because he realised what we were up to."
"Pads-"
"-no, what?" Lupin steps forward, waving his hand at Potter to stop him from interrupting. "What were we up to?"
There's a long silence, and then Black looks at Potter, and then back to Lupin.
"Pads," Potter starts, "this isn't-"
"-we can't hide in our forms," Black says, loudly, ignoring Potter's protests, "I'm a massive dog, and Prongs here-"
"-I know what you both are-"
"-right, but he can," Black says, "and I wanted to know if he was going to get himself found out, before we risked him trying to follow someone interesting."
"Did you tell him this?"
Black ignores the question. "So we got him to try with someone safe. Vance. Bones. Moody. They're all safe."
"They're aurors."
"We were thinking of him," Potter interjects, "when you think about it."
"Aurors who are on our side," Black counters. "Sure, they'd be pissed, but what's the worst that could happen?"
"Imprisonment in Azkaban for being an unregistered animagus?"
"As if! They're on our side!" Black reiterates. "It was all about finding out if he could do it."
"To keep him safe if he did spy on the Death Eaters," Potter adds.
"And Pete knew this, did he? Because I definitely didn't!"
"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Moons. Pete never showed any interest in it. Pete would do it for a day or two, and then he'd say that he'd forgot, or he had things to do, or he lost the trail." Black shakes his head. "Excuses because he was scared."
"I don't think he was scared," Potter says, loyally. "I think he just couldn't see the point - and who could blame him? I mean, following Vance, following Bones - like you said, they're on our side! It was a risk for no reward. This is different. I think he can do it."
"Do you really?" Black gives Potter an amused look. "The only difference is the danger, and if he was scared of a stint in Azkaban for being discovered by Bones, then he's going to be scared shitless amongst the Death Eaters." When he registers Lupin's appalled expression, Black looks defiant. "Honestly, Moons, you seem to be taking all this as a great personal insult-"
"-I don't see you saying any of this to his face," Lupin shoots back. "You say it to James and you say it to Dumbledore and you say it to Moody-"
"-and now I've said it to you!"
"Yeah, and there's a first time for everything, isn't there, Pads?" Lupin stalks into the hallway.
"Moons, Moons," Potter says, following him through, "don't do this, don't leave in a temper, don't-"
But his words fall on deaf ears, as Lupin steps into his boots and storms out, not stopping to lace them on the way.
The walls feel cold and the air feels damp, and the contrast between their house and Tuney's couldn't be more stark. Severus steels himself, and starts working through his tasks methodically, stripping the bed and putting the sheets in the washer, and then he empties the contents of the fridge into the outside bin, before cleaning it with magic.
He heads out to the coal bunker in the yard, and shovels some of the coal that he bought from Brendan into a bucket, and then he takes it inside, kneeling before the hearth and crumpling up balls of newspaper, placing the coal strategically around them, before casting at it with his wand and watching as the red and yellow flames lick upwards.
Severus casts a magical fire guard around the fireplace, and heads back into the kitchen, washes his hands, and then gives the worktops a once over. He moves back through the house, picking up all of the mess he created when he was looking for clothes - shutting drawers, and tidying their bookcases - and then he runs the hoover around.
It takes him longer than he thought it would when he first started, but when he finally looks around the front room, the bed finally freshly made and the shower cleaned and reconstructed, he smiles broadly.
Not too bad for a dump, Sev. Not too bad at all.
He heads back outside, trying to look at the property with fresh eyes as he walks across the yard and back into the house, trying to imagine what Lily might make of it - what Lily might make of it now that she's been living in relative luxury at Petunia's, with the inside bathroom, and plush carpets, and beautiful gardens.
It's all tidy, but it's not special, he thinks, his frown deepening.
And then he picks up the two lists that Lily made, shoves them into his pocket, and grabs his jacket.
Moody's never thought of himself as a stupid wizard, but he lets out a deep sigh as he combs through the Ministry's Visitor Registrations guestbook.
This is because you're tired.
It's not just because you're tired. It's because you stood outside Pettigrew's house last night after you spoke to Albus, he thinks. Because you let yourself be led on a stupid goose chase by his friends.
He leans over the counter, peering at the magical quill's impossibly ornate writing, his finger running up the page, working backwards through the entries - the most recent of which was thirty seconds ago.
Who'd have thought so many people visited this bloody place?
It takes him seven and a half minutes to get through the day's entries - and he stands and straightens, letting out a long exhale as he pushes his hand into the small of his back.
Too old to be staying up all night. Too old to be bending over a desk and peering a guestbook. Too old to be chasing after some stupid kid.
A stupid kid Albus has thrown into the deep end.
He shakes the thought away.
Three Peters in today. Peter Hardwick, Peter Jones, Peter Wilkes.
Moody clucks his tongue against his teeth, and then he resignedly turns back a page to the previous day, working his way up again from the bottom.
It's a much tougher task if he's not here now, he muses. If he was here yesterday, then I can work out who likely contacted him with that letter, and that gives me a good place to start shaking some trees.
Moody's briefly buoyed at the idea of having been gifted a golden opportunity to cause some disgruntlement in the Ministry - to be gifted an opportunity to strong arm a Death Eater aligned employee.
Yesterday's list of visitors is far longer than the current day, but as he nears the top of the first page, he belatedly realises that the copy is ordered - and he flips to the 'P' entry.
There's no Pettigrew - and his heart briefly clenches, and then he realises: it's ordered by employee.
Moody's heart sinks again, and he flips back to his original place. It takes him a good twenty minutes to comb through the list, but just as he's preparing to shut the book, resigned to having been defeated, he sees the very first entry for the previous day:
Avery, Cato
Acting Head of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes
Visited by Pettigrew, Peter
"Excellent," Moody smiles, snapping the book shut.
It's late afternoon and the sun has set when Severus appears in the back garden for the last time, and although she knew this moment was coming, she isn't truly prepared to say goodbye to her parents. It feels almost impossible, and she knows they feel the same way when they cling to her almost as much as she clings to them.
Severus stands with River in his arms, looking both awkward and bewildered, as if he doesn't understand how to react. When David extricates himself from Rose and Lily's hug to embrace Severus, she can't help but smile at the way - despite everything - her husband and father manage to find common ground once more.
There's a muffled conversation that she can't make out - but knowing her father so well, she can guess that he's combining reassurance with a gentle warning that Severus must keep both Lily and River safe.
As if Severus needs Daddy to tell him that.
Whatever's said, Severus doesn't look unhappy, and he claps David on the back with his free hand, cuddling River close with the other, and then he steps away and holds his hand out towards her.
"Are you ready, love?"
Pettigrew can't remember a time when he's had this much fun, despite his rotten hangover. Weeks, he thinks. Months. Years.
He watches as Avery downs a Pepperup potion, despite Pettigrew's protests - and as he suspected, it has no effect on Avery's hangover, but the steam continually billowing out of his ears gives both wizards a good laugh.
Pettigrew declines the other suggestions Avery has for recuperation and rejuvenation - apart from the offer to get a greasy meal from the Ministry canteen brought to the study, the memories of last night's delightful burger fresh in his mind.
They eat with gusto, and Pettigrew leans back in his chair, his eyes closing whilst Avery regales him with tales of other nights out he's taken part in - other places he wants Pettigrew to see, friends he wants him to meet.
"If it's as good as last night was, I'm definitely in."
"Better, Will," Avery says, grinning broadly, "it'll be even better."
They're left undisturbed for several hours, the two of them dozing on and off, and Avery batting away the odd enquiry from Boot - and it hasn't escaped his attention that since bestowing Penrose with new powers, Penrose seems to be doing his utmost to evade him.
Just as Avery's musing on the idea of forcibly dragging Penrose into the office for a bit of sport, there's a loud, sustained knock on the other side of the door.
"Shit," Pettigrew gasps, gripping the arms of the chair. "I'd best go, best leave, can't be found here."
"Calm down," Avery says, quickly casting at the door to lock it, "you've done nothing wrong. You're my invited guest."
Avery's caution was proven right as the knocking ceases and the handle is tried, but the door refuses to open.
"Who is it?" Avery yells. "Is that you, Penrose? Boot?"
"It's Alastor Moody," Moody calls, "auror. These doors are meant to be open, Mr Avery."
Pettigrew's eyes widen, and Avery immediately bolts up from his chair.
"One minute," Avery calls, "the lock's stiff, it keeps catching! Let me look at it!"
Pettigrew panics, his hands trembling, and Avery yanks him up by his cloak and pushes him towards the fireplace, shoving the bowl of Floo powder into his hands.
Avery pulls his wand out and casts loosely towards the door. "Muffliato," he calls, and then he hisses in Pettigrew's ear. "What's wrong? You think he wants you?"
"He's been on my case for a while," Pettigrew bleats, "got on the wrong side of him one day, and…"
"Leave it with me," Avery says, solemnly. He gestures towards the fireplace. "No restrictions, remember? Go wherever you like."
"The Hog's Head," Pettigrew calls, launching himself into the fireplace - and Avery coughs loudly, stamping his feet across the floor as he goes to pull the door open, trying desperately to cover the noise, just in case his random casting of Severus' Muffliato towards the door didn't work.
He yanks the door open, offering the auror an insincere smile. "Alastor Moody."
"Cato Avery," Moody says, a thin smile on his lips. "I wonder if you could help me with a few enquiries."
"Are you asking me if I have time for one of the Ministry's most decorated aurors?" Avery asks, graciously waving Moody in. "Because I can't think of anything I would enjoy more."
Thankfully, their landing in the backyard at Rillwych is smooth - so smooth, that even River doesn't cry out - but Lily lets out a loud gasp, and Severus immediately tightens his hold on her.
"Yer all right, love?"
"I'm fine, but look at the lights!"
He gives her a beaming grin, turning her in his arms so her back is against his front, his arms looped around her waist, and he rests his chin on her shoulder as they gaze at the magical lights he'd set up with their empty beer bottles.
"I'd forgotten how beautiful they were, Sev." She turns in his arms, and presses a kiss to his lips. "Fancy you lighting them for when we got home."
"Yeah," he says, with a grin, "fancy that."
Pettigrew downs his pumpkin juice - ignoring the low jeer coming from the opposite end of the bar for having bought such an innocent drink - and marches out of the Hog's Head, and starts the slow climb towards Hogwarts.
There's only one way out of this mess, he thinks, and that's to front up to Dumbledore whilst Moody's out of the picture.
There's a rolling heat coming from the house - when they open the back door, it seems to hit them in the face, a warmth that she's never felt within these walls before, and given the season and the cold weather outside, she almost can't believe it.
She turns and looks at him expectantly, and he just grins - that lopsided grin that she adores - and she holds his hand more tightly. She pauses to look at the small cauldron suspended over the gas hob, and she knows without peering closely that there's a litany of charms on it to stop it from boiling over or erupting whilst he was away.
"The ingredients have worked then?"
"Oh yes. Smell," he instructs, casting silently with his hand, lifting at least one of the charms - although she's not sure which - and the mingling scents of lavender and vanilla fill the room, and she leans back against him, enjoying the aroma.
"That's gorgeous, Sev, what is it?"
"You'll see," he says, cryptically, propelling her away from the immaculate kitchen and towards the front room.
When she stands in the doorway, she stills, her hand over her mouth as she takes in the room - the fire blazing in the fireplace behind its magical confines, filling the room with a deep heat and a beautiful glow. She looks slowly around the room, seeing how he's tidied everything away and hoovered the carpet. There's more bluebell charms in transparent glass jars - his brewing jars, she'd bet - suspended in the air, and it's then that she notices their bedding.
Both River's mattress and their own bed have fresh sheets - she can smell the familiar fabric conditioner from her place at the door - but more than that, their duvet has red rose petals scattered across it in the shape of a heart, and when she looks up at the windowsill, she can see the remaining flowers - three of them - in a vase.
"Sev," she says, her voice thick and sticking in her throat, "what's all this?"
"Nothing, really," he says, "I just wanted you to be happy to come home."
"Oh my… I can't believe…" She carries River to his bed, and gently lies him on the mattress, pulling a blanket over him.
Severus jams his hands in his pockets. "...you like it?"
"Like it?" She tucks River in tightly, and then she turns back to her husband, throwing her arms around his neck. "I love it. Thank you," she says, pulling him down and into a deep kiss.
If Dumbledore's surprised when Filch announces Lupin's arrival, he doesn't show it - he's as composed as ever when Lupin makes his way into his office.
"Remus," he says, warmly. "Take a seat. Sherbet lemon?"
"No, thank you."
"Tea? Coffee? Juice?"
"No, thank you."
"Anything at all from the kitchens?"
"I'm fine, thank you, sir."
"Albus is fine, Remus," Dumbledore says, gesturing that Lupin should sit.
Lupin quietly takes the seat, and sits, his thighs pressed together, his hands clasped.
"Am I to understand that you are in some kind of trouble, Remus?"
Lupin looks startled, glancing around him.
"I can assure you that we are quite alone," Dumbledore says, shooting him that same warm smile. "Aside from the portraits, but they won't interrupt." His blue eyes are piercing, and Lupin feels transfixed.
"I came… I came to ask a favour of you. Albus."
Dumbledore hesitates, waiting to see if Lupin is going to elaborate, and then he gives a gentle sigh, his own hands placed on his desk. "What is it that you seek from me, Remus?"
"Do you know… Do you know about the potion?" he asks, his voice faltering. "Belby's potion. Wolfsbane."
"I am aware of its existence."
"And are you aware that-"
"-yes," Dumbledore says, swiftly, his eyes roaming over the portraits, "and am I to understand that it was Severus who was brewing it for you?"
"Either him or Lily Evans," Lupin says, "or both of them. Evans, I think, but he was involved in getting it to me."
"And with Severus being punished by the Ministry-"
"-no potion," Lupin finishes. "I didn't have it last month, and I tried, Albus, I really tried! I'm bigger now, stronger. It's not like before. I can't… I can't trust the wolf. I can't trust myself."
"I'm sorry, Remus," Dumbledore says, his regret clear on his face, "but not only would the Ministry would take a dim view of my Potions Master illegally brewing a-"
"-I didn't ask-"
"-potion that's heavily restricted-"
"-I know that-"
"-but I'm afraid that Hogwarts is currently without a resident Potions Master."
Lupin looks at Dumbledore in horror. "What's happened to Slughorn?"
"I'm afraid that Professor Slughorn has decided to retire."
"At the end of the year?"
"Effective immediately," Dumbledore says, that same thin smile on his lips. "So I'm afraid-"
"-I didn't expect that he could brew the potion," Lupin interrupts, quickly. "I didn't come here to ask that."
This time, Dumbledore does seem surprised. "No? My apologies," he says, "it did rather seem like the obvious request."
"I came here to ask if we could go back to our previous agreement," Lupin says, swallowing tightly. "If I could use the Shack for my transformations. If Pomfrey could seal me in."
At Dumbledore's silence, Lupin leans forward.
"I realise it's a big ask, Albus, I don't underestimate the danger it puts you in-"
"-the Ministry takes a particularly dim view of-"
"-werewolves, I know," Lupin finishes, "and that's why if I'm caught roaming around Britain, I'm destined for Azkaban. Or worse. I'm safe in the Shack. I can't get out. I can't hurt anyone. Everyone's long used to the wailing and the shrieking - they won't think anything of it. Please, Albus, I'm begging you."
Dumbledore looks at him for a long moment, as if he's wrangling with something, and then he shakes his head. "Remus, I'm sorry. With Professor Slughorn's unexpected departure, there's heightened scrutiny at Hogwarts. I fully anticipate that there will be a Ministry placement here within the next few days-"
"-nobody would even know that I'm here-"
"-and it wouldn't do for you to be seen-"
"-I'd be careful, I'd keep quiet-"
"-it couldn't be explained-"
"-I could work here," Lupin says, grasping desperately at straws, "anything, anything," he begs. "I'll do anything - no matter how tedious, how odious. Filch's assistant!"
"Mr Filch does not have an assistant."
"Mr Filch did not have an assistant," Lupin says, earnestly, flashing Dumbledore a smile, "but he does now." He throws his hands open. "Please."
"I can't, Remus. It was one thing for your education-"
"-what if I have something that's useful to you? To the war?"
Dumbledore pauses - and as Lupin watches him, he's rather taken by how much he looks like a wise owl, his head tilting in one direction, and his eyebrows knitting together in a frown. "Useful in what way, Remus?"
"There's been a prophecy," Lupin says. "About the Dark Lord and his downfall."
Dumbledore doesn't move, but Lupin doesn't miss the sudden gleam in his eyes.
"The only way for a prophecy to be useful is for the person involved to hear it so they can act on it, isn't that right, Albus?"
Dumbledore gives a slow nod.
"I know the prophecy," he says, "and I'm willing to share it with you, so you can find a way to share it with You-Know-Who, and then we can work towards his downfall."
"An admirable stance," Dumbledore says, smiling, "yet this information apparently comes at a price? I would've thought that you could see the benefit of this information being-"
"-I'm sorry, but I also need somewhere safe to transform. Safe for me, and safe for everyone else."
"Safe for everyone except for the Headmaster if you were discovered on the grounds without reason."
"There's no other way into the Shack. That's the whole reason why it's safe!"
"You are correct," Dumbledore says, "but if you were found-"
"-me being an unregistered werewolf," Lupin spits, bitterly.
"You being an adult wizard," Dumbledore corrects, "to be on the grounds without-"
"-then give me a job," Lupin begs, "give me a reason to be here!"
"Which would be particularly difficult to justify with an increased Ministry presence." The same mild smile is on Dumbledore's face, and then he extends his hand. "Not to worry. I think, Remus, we can come to an agreement. Now, do tell me more about this prophecy."
Chapter 156: Useless
Notes:
Hi all - many apologies for the unexpected hiatus. Some of you may be aware that I have been rather unwell of late.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was a strange feeling. Remus Lupin had always held Albus Dumbledore in the highest of esteem - from the moment that his parents had been informed that he was welcome at Hogwarts, right through to the nod of encouragement that Dumbledore had offered him when he took a seat at his first Order of the Phoenix meeting.
Lupin's admiration of Dumbledore had not been sufficient to ensure that he'd been impeccably behaved within his school - frankly, an impossible task when in the vicinity of such livewires as Sirius Black and James Potter - but Lupin had done his utmost to ensure that news of his misbehaviour didn't meet the Headmaster's ears.
He'd never really relished being reprimanded; he didn't wilt under pressure like Pettigrew, but he wasn't like Black and Potter either - criticism stung, rather than being something to smirk at.
"Lighten up, Moons. It's the price we pay for a bit of fun."
Black might've been right in his assessment, but Lupin had always particularly hated the days when he'd been ordered to line up outside the Headmaster's office, Minerva McGonagall's patience having worn thin - and her threat to the four miscreants was made clear.
Pettigrew always looked terrified - as if he was about to jump out of his skin or soil his pants, whilst Potter and Black seemed immune to the events unfolding around them.
"What's the worst that can happen?" Potter had asked, pointedly. "A letter home to your parents, and a subsequent Howler at the breakfast table?" He'd flashed Lupin a grin. "Not scared of your mummy and daddy, are you?"
He'd laughed it off - but Potter's guess was inaccurate. Lupin didn't care about what his parents thought, but was dreading Dumbledore's reaction - the inevitable shake of his head, accompanied by a disappointed sigh.
To Lupin's relief, the imagined scene never eventuated. Before Dumbledore ever had the opportunity to descend the stone steps and discover the troublemakers, McGonagall had always relented and sent them back to Gryffindor Tower with a flea in their ears.
In hindsight, he realised that this was by design rather than luck - with McGonagall unlikely to want Dumbledore interfering in her discipline of her students; he was meant to be nothing more than a spectre - a threat to be wheeled out when she sensed she was losing control.
McGonagall understood that they weren't impeccably behaved, of that he was certain. As their Head of House, she would've received reports from the other teachers, and she spent enough time in close proximity with her students to gain a realistic impression of their behaviour - but she seemed fond of them.
Looking back, Lupin can recognise that she was always reluctant to punish them too harshly - Potter's earnest explanations and Black's effortless charm seemed to entertain her. Nor was she prepared to let them run riot. She wasn't averse to sending them to spend an evening or ten with Filch - who would spend most of it grumbling about how he was no longer allowed to manacle or beat the students - or even removing copious rubies from the Gryffindor hourglass under their name, enticing disdain from their fellow students. Still, she had her own agenda - and neither Potter nor Black were ever prevented from playing Quidditch, no matter their misdemeanour.
Minerva McGonagall may have been the law, but she understood them, had an affinity with them, shared a rapport with them. In contrast, Albus Dumbledore was the opposite - the unknown. He was different - distant, untouchable, the sort of wizard you admired from afar. He didn't befriend the students - although he had an uncanny knack of knowing everyone's name, and an even more uncanny knack of seeming to know what they were thinking.
Lupin's encounters with Dumbledore were few and far between, but each one added weight to Lupin's opinion: Albus Dumbledore was everything that Lupin aspired to become - wise but kind, powerful but gracious, and with a tremendous determination to do the right thing.
From the moment that Albus Dumbledore had invited him to Hogwarts, he became - by Remus Lupin's reckoning - the greatest wizard in the country.
Then, in Lupin's OWL year, when he'd been awoken in the hospital wing, dazed and groggy, sunlight streaming in through the windows, and the Headmaster sat at the foot of his bed, Albus Dumbledore had become - in Remus Lupin's eyes - the greatest wizard in the universe.
A lesser wizard would've blamed him. A lesser wizard would've thrown him out for his deep-seated betrayal - for sharing his secret with his friends. A lesser wizard would've sided with the victim.
But Albus Dumbledore was no such wizard. Albus Dumbledore could see that Remus Lupin was as much a victim as his intended quarry - if not more; merely an unwitting pawn taken advantage of and betrayed by Sirius Black.
For Lupin's part, he'd had nightmares for months - the sort of nightmares where you snap yourself awake by sitting bolt upright in bed, your nightclothes soaked through with sweat, perspiration trickling through your hair, a silent - and sometimes, not so silent - scream on your lips.
He can remember roughly shoving his fingers into his mouth in the dark, fearing that innocent nighttime drool might be blood, desperately checking that his canine teeth were the usual human size and had not become the wolfish fangs that take their place during a transformation.
The dreams always felt so real, so vivid - the smell of fear, the smell of flesh, the ripping and tearing of skin, the sound of desperate screams, the sweet tang of blood, the satisfying taste of delicious meat on his tongue.
It's just your brain playing tricks on you. It didn't get that far.
In the end, when Potter had dragged him up to the hospital wing in the early hours after one such wakeup, Pomfrey had prescribed him a powerful sleeping draught, and he'd silently abused it until his final days at Hogwarts.
Not that she hadn't tried to wean him off it. She'd taken him to one side, months later - her tone gentle - and she'd quietly explained that he mustn't become reliant on such potions to solve his problems.
He'd nodded, numbly accepting her offer of a gradual reduction - a month of slowly weaning off the mixture - and then he'd rushed up to Gryffindor Tower and blurted the problem out to James, who had immediately pulled out parchment and quill and scribbled a note to his father; a request for galleons to be added to an account at the apothecary - enough for them to procure the ingredients to brew their own potions until the end of the term.
Their next Hogsmeade visit was a long three weeks later, and with Pomfrey's nightly offering down to a measly quarter of a vial, Lupin hadn't been sleeping well for days - his face gaunt and pale, his eyes haunted - and when they finally stood in the street in Hogsmeade, he'd watched the apothecary in anticipation, eagerly waiting for the queue to go down so he and James could collect the necessary ingredients without being spied upon by students from other houses.
Students from Slytherin. Greasy students from Slytherin who were always poking their large noses where they weren't wanted.
Pettigrew and Black had been none-the-wiser, with Potter keen not to raise the topic with the others lest it set Black off into another righteous tirade about how Snape had got what was coming to him.
At my expense.
So, Black had been his usual exuberant self, laughing loudly and pushing and shoving with Lupin outside of Honeydukes, teasing him over who was footing the bill.
One minute he was there, and the next he was gone; Black first, Potter next - following Black, no doubt - and Lupin was left standing at the empty apothecary wondering if he could convince the unhelpful owner to give him access to the Potter account.
He didn't dare try. Pettigrew watched him, wide-eyed and confused, slurping loudly on a Honeydukes lollipop. Lupin waited - five minutes, ten, twenty, forty - and then there was a sudden flurry of activity and Flitwick was steering them all up towards the castle. Whilst Pettigrew had bounced happily along, digging into his bag of sugary treats, Lupin had dragged his feet, arms hanging loosely by his sides: empty handed.
And then it occurred to him: Flitwick hadn't been chaperoning.
Neither Black nor Potter came back to the common room, and it was with a sense of unease that Lupin went to the hospital wing to collect his meagre allocation of sleeping draught. He'd pushed open the door - and then he saw Black, lying down, hair splayed across his pillow, blankets pulled up to his waist, torso exposed and terrible, livid knife wounds marring his shoulders and the tops of his arms.
Lupin had stared at his old friend in horror - and his limbs grew numb, his fingers and toes cold, and Lupin was, in an admittedly cowardly way, relieved that Black was asleep.
Not asleep. Unconscious, more likely, through pain relieving potions.
He wouldn't have known what to say if Black had been awake, if he could've spoken, if he could've explained. Lupin stared and stared, and although he didn't know what had unfolded, somehow he knew.
Snape.
Deep down, right in his gut, Lupin knew. And although Lupin knew that he wasn't strictly the cause, he couldn't help but feel horribly guilty.
Pomfrey had found him then, and had gently steered him away, a calming hand on his shoulder. She'd unlocked the medicine cabinet, and filled out a slip - and then she'd handed him a full vial of the sleeping draught that he'd so feared losing.
"Same time tomorrow, Mr Lupin," she'd said - and their routine continued, without further comment, until he was no longer a student.
Lupin had started Hogwarts with one affliction, and graduated with three: lycanthropy, persistent night terrors, and an addiction to sleeping draughts.
Still, he would never be anything but grateful to Albus Dumbledore for the opportunity - even if things hadn't quite worked out the way any of them had expected.
Which is why he felt strange in this scenario, in the Headmaster's office, unable to fully trust the man sitting opposite him.
Filch stares at him for a long moment, his face filled with disdain. "It's a school, not a public house."
Pettigrew grips his wand inside his pocket, trying not to let his temper flare and show on his face. "I wasn't looking for a beer."
"Coming and going without invitation at all hours-"
"-I have an invitation," Pettigrew shoots back, immediately.
"Not that I've heard."
"The Headmaster said I was to return."
Filch smiles nastily. "Did he now? Did he specify a day? A time?"
"It's of utmost importance."
"I'm sure it is," Filch says, unmoving. "Just like it was for your friend. Couldn't keep you in the grounds when you were here, can't keep you out now you've left."
My friend?
"Oh?"
"Oh," repeats Filch, "don't play silly beggars! I know you're trying to make a fool of me!"
"Who's here?"
"Like you don't know."
There's a standoff, with Pettigrew none-the-wiser and Filch's lips tightly sealed.
"Fine," Pettigrew says, gripping his wand even more tightly, straining to hold his nerve, "I'll find out sooner or later."
The nasty smile is back on Filch's face. "Looks like it's later, doesn't it?"
What would Ave do?
Pettigrew thinks for a moment and then he gives a casual shrug. "Well," he says, "I suppose it's not up to me whether you let me in."
"No," smiles Filch, looking gleeful, "it isn't."
"Keyholding is such a big responsibility," Pettigrew continues, "deciding who is allowed on the grounds and who isn't."
"It is," Filch agrees.
"Even deciding who the Headmaster can see and who he can't." Pettigrew stares Filch straight in the eye. "I would hate to be the man who got it wrong."
There's a pause.
"This visit," Filch sniffs, "you say it's of utmost importance?"
Pettigrew nods. "Yes."
The gates start to swing open, and Filch stands before him, scowling. "Well?" he snaps. "Are you coming up to the castle or not?"
Lily watches River as he drifts to sleep, and when she's content that he's settled into a deep slumber - his limbs still and his breathing slow and even - she lifts her gaze and appraises the living room.
It's warm and cosy, romantically bathed in soft light - but it's more than that: it's immaculate. The room's clean and tidy, and as Lily looks around, she can't shake the impression she gained on their return - that she's never seen their home looking quite like this.
When she and Severus first laid eyes on the house, with the lettings agent enthusiastically extolling its virtues - none of which were immediately apparent to the naked eye - the house had felt like an unloved shell rather than a home; empty and chilled, with damp walls and bare rooms and ancient floorboards which creaked loudly underfoot.
Her father had offered sage advice - not to her and Severus directly, but doled out to Petunia and Vernon during a family lunch when they were first thinking of purchasing: buy the worst house on the best street; you can always improve your own property, but not those around you.
By David's measure, their house in Rillwych would've been perfect - but they hadn't been buying, and his wisdom didn't apply to rentals. The only redeeming features they could find were the price tag, and the fact that it would mean having their own privacy.
Now, as she drinks in the relaxing atmosphere, she knows it would be rewriting history to claim otherwise - to claim that she and Severus had seen the potential in the property. They hadn't. Their decision to rent in Rillwych had not been through a desire to live in the town - least of all this particular house - but a decision entirely driven by financial constraint.
A shared truth for all who reside here, I reckon, she thinks. I bet few stay in Rillwych through choice. What was it that Sev's dad called the locals? 'Cokeworth Castoffs?' She smiles to herself. Not that it means much; they'll have a derogatory name for us too.
It was smaller than Cokeworth, Rillwych, and the population - the born-and-bred locals aside - was transient. Like Spinner's End, Rillwych was filled with endless rows of terraced houses, with relatively few shops or amenities outside of the main high street - a corner shop here and a pub or a church there, and little else.
In fact, Lily thinks, if you squint, this could be Spinner's End.
The worker's terraces in both towns are almost the same in size and shape - the staircase in a different location, perhaps, set to the side instead of bisecting the two rooms downstairs. The houses would've been built within a few years of each other, following a similar blueprint, using the same local bricks - even the same local builders - all with the aim of housing the new workforce needed to support the fast-emerging local industries; the industries that had been drawn to the same winding river running through both towns, capable of bringing power to the machinery in the buildings which had once stood on the banks.
Unlike Cokeworth, which was still scarred and marred by its industrial past, with the mill chimney looming large and casting a dark shadow across swathes of the town, Rillwych's roots were entirely absent. There were no derelict buildings bearing faded signs from days of yore, no rusted and seized machinery left in ruins for children to explore during the overheated summer evenings - as she and Severus had done in Cokeworth, no hard-done-by-workers milling around resentfully and griping to anyone who would listen - like Tobias. In truth, no indication at all of what had been here before.
I wonder if Sev knows what used to be here? His dad might.
Whatever industry had been in Rillwych, it had long been abandoned - evidently not successful - likely whilst Cokeworth was still in its heyday all those decades ago. It didn't take much imagination for Lily to see how that might've angered the locals - to see a town a few short miles away prospering, whilst their own fell by the wayside.
They'd have been resentful, and those living in Cokeworth would've been angered by the envy of the Rillwych residents, both sides fuelling the animosity between the two towns.
I wonder what came first, she thinks, did Cokeworth survive because it was bigger, or did Cokeworth become bigger because it survived? And for all of the disdain, how many of Cokeworth's residents moved over from Rillwych when the industry there collapsed?
She finds herself lost in thought, musing over what might've happened. The river divides the town in Cokeworth, but runs along the edge of Rillwych, with buildings on just one side of its banks - its path meandering and twisting, slower in its flow.
Maybe that's why industries chose Cokeworth first, she thinks, if the river was faster upstream, it might've been easier to harness its power - leaving Rillwych as the consolation prize; the less desirable location for any budding entrepreneurs.
Or maybe it was the railway that was to blame. It would be easier to ship goods in and out using fixed tracks rather than waterways, so whichever town had the fortune to receive the railway - Cokeworth, evidently - was destined to succeed.
She mulls it over in her mind, stuck in the chicken-and-egg scenario: Did Cokeworth prosper because it had the railway, or did Cokeworth have the railway because it had prospered?
Lily has no idea, and she isn't sure Severus knows either. In primary school, her class had barely touched on the Industrial Revolution and it wasn't a topic deemed worthy of study at Hogwarts, but she knows enough to be aware that the railway would've been invaluable for trade - a means of quickly, reliably, and cheaply shipping manufactured goods out of Cokeworth, swapping merchandise from the mill for money, and keeping the industry in the heart of the town booming.
In later years, least for the residents on her side of the river - the owners of the newly built, roomy, semi-detached houses, complete with garages, and rectangular front and back gardens neatly framed by hedges, and the borders filled with plants - the railway would provide a reliable means of commuting to and from work: the best of the bustling city during the day, with the wage packet to match, and a relaxing home life in a quiet cul-de-sac, perfect to raise a family in of an evening and at weekends.
Not that Daddy had ever taken the train.
She swallows uncomfortably, her eyes tracing the ceiling, mapping the size of the room, thinking of how it was significantly smaller than the living room at her parents' house.
It was that sort of thing which made Tobias grind his teeth, she thinks. The true Cokeworth locals left to ruin whilst the newcomers took the spoils. Better jobs. Better houses. Better lives. Cokeworth split into two, divided by that rushing river - into the haves, and the have-nots. I wonder if that's what people in Rillwych thought about those in Spinner's End all those decades ago, when their industry declined, and the mill prospered?
Nowadays, it's apparent that whilst Cokeworth may have won the battle, neither town has won the war. Rillwych has long been dead, but Cokeworth has been in a prolonged death rattle - rapidly transforming into little more than a commuter town, and one which was terribly ashamed of its dirty industrial past.
Spinner's End and the surrounding streets were no longer the beating heart of necessary industry, filled with honest workers who knew the value of a day's graft, but a blight on Cokeworth - shameful in its relative squalor, its residents apparently workshy and feckless, yet with little to no reflection by anyone as to why the estate would go through such a transformation.
Those who had the means to move away did, and those who didn't were trapped, forever labelled. It was a cruelty, she muses, the giant mill chimney standing over them - a constant reminder of what life had once been, what could've been, what should've been.
It wasn't just that the chimney was an ever-present taunt, but that it literally overshadowed the terraced houses in Spinner's End, making them dingy and prone to damp, and blocking the sunlight from warming the houses through.
The single glazed windows let in both noise and cold in equal measure, and the constant shade made the houses seem entirely grey - from the pavements running directly to the front door, and the small paved yards out the back, flanked by squat outhouses and coal bunkers, with not an inch of green to be seen - and although most tenants had made valiant efforts at whitewashing the bricks, in an attempt to reflect what bit of light managed to seep through, it achieved little.
You just wouldn't choose to live in Spinner's End, Lily thinks, or here in Rillwych. They're the same, just stepping stones - a place to briefly reside in before moving onto bigger and brighter things. Bigger and brighter things like her parents' side of Cokeworth, or the suburbia of Surrey, as discovered by her sister. Hogsmeade, where we had our flat. She gives a wry smile. The excesses of the grounds at Malfoy Manor. She almost laughs. Maybe not. Anywhere would do, really - anywhere with an indoor toilet and a small patch of green lawn outside.
The Rillwych locals wouldn't see it that way, of course. The born-and-bred. The dyed-in-the-wool. The ones who would claim that if you cut them through, they'd have the town name engraved in their bones, just like a stick of rock from Blackpool beach.
They were the loudest, the ones who were trapped, determined to revel in their status - their birthright - arguing that it was by choice rather than necessity, unwilling to acknowledge the lack of opportunity afforded to them. They were the ones who fuelled the animosity between the two locations - a petty disdain between the neighbouring towns, perpetuated by residents filled with misplaced pride.
The ones like Tobias.
Lily looks over at River again, watching him fondly. Misplaced pride, indeed, she thinks, not least now, seeing as most people from Rillwych give birth in the hospital in Cokeworth. There's no such thing as Rillwych born-and-bred. Not really. Not these days.
She pulls her arms around herself. It's everywhere, she thinks. Small minded, insular, petty disagreements about who was here first, and who is therefore worthier. Argument for argument's sake. Feeling superior for no reason other than a postcode - a postcode determined by dumb luck.
It all felt horribly familiar - in fact, it all felt exactly like the life they had left behind; the magical life they were running from. Minus a powerful, genocidal maniac, Lily thinks. Least, if they do have one around here, we've not run into them yet.
She bats the depressing thought away, trying to bring her focus back to their home and their future together, rather than dwelling on what they've lost. What's done is done. This is where we belong now.
Despite any misgivings they may have had about moving to Rillwych, there really had been potential in their property - and Severus had worked tirelessly to ensure that the house met it. He'd painted and decorated - and if she knew him as well as she thought she did, she'd bet that he'd used a mix of magical and Muggle techniques, effortlessly merging their two worlds - as if he had been trying to stamp their personalities onto the walls of the property and into the very fibre of the house.
And what did you do, Lily?
Her internal voice nags at her, digs at her, claws at her, and she catches her lip between her teeth as she muses on the thought, worrying her lip until it bleeds.
Nothing. You did nothing. You let him do it all, whilst you sat at Mummy and Daddy's, waiting for River to put in an appearance. Useless.
She stands, shaking her head, as if trying to dislodge the thought from her mind - and her focus returns to the room again, taking in its pristine appearance once more. She can't help but feel that staying in Tuney's perfect palace has somehow rubbed off on her husband. He wasn't this house proud in the flat. Or at Hogwarts.
You're being unfair, her inner voice chides again, this is hardly unexpected; he's changed a lot since we first moved in together - and despite herself, she gives another small smile, suddenly remembering the countless arguments they'd had about him stamping around in his boots and how he's since changed his behaviour, opting to leave them on the mat as she requested - and then, almost immediately, her face falls, recalling his recent confession: the same boots on the mat that reminded him of his father's violent abuse.
She swallows hard, suddenly feeling queasy, and she casts another glance at River - his small face peaceful, his dainty features almost angelic, his tiny fingers curled, and his lips parted as his chest moves up and down, his breathing steady.
Lily can't help but stare at him, all too aware of how strongly their son resembles her husband. It's hard to imagine Severus being so small, so vulnerable, and it causes a lump to grow in her throat - she can't imagine how his parents could've left such scars on the boy that they were supposed to nurture and cherish and love and protect.
It had been difficult enough for her to comprehend when she was younger, but there had always been a determined resilience to Severus - the sort that didn't ask for pity, nor would he accept it if it was offered. Instead, he simply gave her that lopsided smile, and shrugged his shoulders, and acted as if none of it had affected him in the slightest.
She'd gone along with it - gone along with him - allowing herself to be led by his reaction, but now that she's older, it's somehow worse - worse still when she sees River, and she can't help but let her imagination cast him in Severus' role, and her horror grows larger.
How could you?
Again, she shakes her head, not wanting to dwell on Severus' past. He wouldn't appreciate it, she thinks, especially as he's worked so hard on our house to make me happy. He'd be furious to think I was making myself miserable by dwelling on the misery he endured all those years ago.
If he doesn't let it define him, you shouldn't either. And, she thinks, firmly - sharply, his actions here - cleaning and tidying and making this house a home - have nothing to do with Petunia. She sniffs loudly, as if punctuating the thought, unwilling to gift her sister the praise so well earned by her husband. And it was fine before too, even if a few things were out of place - it's not as if we were living in a sty. We've just been busy adjusting to life with Riv.
Lily wraps her arms loosely around herself again, her body language mirroring her defensive thoughts, and she takes a step forward, scrutinising the furniture. Sev's worked quickly, she thinks. …too quickly.
She frowns and she tentatively opens a cupboard door, and then a drawer, and then another - opening them slowly and with caution, as if she's expecting to find that Severus had decanted their luggage haphazardly, upending their bags and tossing the contents inside, before slamming the doors shut and hiding it all away, piles of junk destined to fall on the next person who dared to open the cupboard. Out of sight, out of mind.
But she's being unfair - again. He hasn't done any such thing; he's unpacked properly, clearly tidying their belongings as he went, everything in its rightful place - so much so, the room gives no indication of their recent hasty departure or subsequent return, with not so much as an empty holdall on the floor, or a pile of unwashed clothes in a heap next to the bed.
And he was brewing at the same time, she thinks, remembering the cauldron bubbling away in the kitchen, and shopping as well as unpacking and cleaning and tidying, and she gives a rueful smile when she recalls him telling her about his long work days under both Borage and Jigger, being forced to multitask in order to bolster their profits instead of being allowed to concentrate on the brews required for his apprenticeship. He's used to it.
It gives her an uneasy feeling. He's used to a lot of things. She turns in a full circle, taking in the room again. It's restful under the dimmed lights - both the warm glow from the fire, and the calming bluebell charms suspended in the air - and whilst it's bright enough for her to see that every surface is free from clutter, she can't help but wonder if there's a hidden reason for the low lighting.
Soft light is romantic, Sev, she thinks, but it's also dim enough to hide a host of cleaning sins.
She feels impish as she reaches out and runs the pad of her fingertip across the edge of the mantelpiece, unable to resist her grandmother's favourite test - but when she pulls her finger back towards her face, raising it level with her nose so she can inspect it, she gives a soft chuckle when she realises it's free from dust.
Full marks, Mr Snape. Absolutely flawless.
She casts another look towards River, who hasn't stirred, and then she darts through to the kitchen, pausing as she reaches the stove. It's not that I'm trying to catch Sev out, she thinks, trying to internally justify her actions, but surely he can't be perfect at everything?
Lily stands and watches as the potion simmers, gentle bubbles rising from the cast iron cauldron bottom and rippling across the lilac mixture's surface. She leans in more closely, peering at the thin liquid, wondering what it could be - Severus' earlier cryptic answer having given her no clue - and then, in the corner of her eye, she spies a piece of neatly folded paper on the worktop, trapped between two books.
His notes.
Her curiosity quickly gets the better of her, and she eases the paper out from between the two books, unfolds it, and she smoothes it against the worktop with the heel of her palm, expecting to see Severus' untidy scrawl littered across the page, revealing one of his new and innovative methodologies, his words drifting downwards at the end of each line in his haste to put his reasoning to paper, his hand struggling to keep up with his rapid thoughts.
It isn't what she sees.
Instead, her face immediately falls as she takes in the contents of the page: a long list of Muggle ingredients in one column, suitable for use in brews when proper magical supplies are unavailable, and then the original magical ingredient in another column.
There's no untidy scrawl, no letters half-formed or drifting downwards untidily - instead, the column lines are precise and perpendicular to the paper's edges, and the words are neatly and carefully scribed; not in Severus' hand, but in her own.
Lupin hesitates, his wand fixed at his temple, his mind playing the moment over and over and over.
"I can only just remember," Potter says, "give me a minute."
Lupin exhales, his gaze meeting Dumbledore's, and then immediately glancing away.
No use, Lupin thinks. Dumbledore's reluctant as it is; any hint of uncertainty, and the deal might be off.
"From the start of the memory, Remus," Dumbledore says, kindly, a smile on his face. "There's no need to editorialise."
Lupin closes his eyes, and then he pulls his wand away, a silver thread of memory stuck to the tip, like its been caught in a spider's web, the gossamer clinging - and then it breaks away from his head, and he hangs his wand over the pensieve, letting the memory fall.
He nods once at Dumbledore - and when Dumbledore beckons him to drop into the pensieve with him, he nods again, and the two bow over the stone basin, tumbling head first into the memory.
Potter composes himself, muttering words under his breath, and then he speaks clearly: "The nemesis rises from darkness, the challenger is born. A baby once so wanted, scorned and ignored. Marked by another, loyalties torn, nemesis of the Dark Lord."
Lupin sits, thoughtfully, the words seeming to hang in the air between them. "You're sure?"
Potter nods. "That's what he told me." He ticks off his points against his fingers. "Darkness, he thinks that's his family name - Black, and how he left them. He was their first child, first son even, and you saw how they treated him by the end - burnt off the family tree."
"Scorned and ignored."
"Marked by another," Potter says, touching his upper arms, "where Snape slashed him to ribbons."
"Loyalties torn?"
"Reggie. He's shit scared of meeting Reggie in some sort of fight."
Lupin exhales loudly.
"Doesn't seem so crazy now, does it?"
"It fits," Lupin says, carefully, "but others will fit too."
"You don't," Potter observes, lazily, "I don't. Pete doesn't." He shrugs. "I've been going through everyone I can think of."
"You don't know enough about random people," and before Potter can open his mouth to argue, Lupin adds, "not me, not us! I mean, whoever you're thinking about that you remember from school, or I don't know, Moody or Bones or Dumbledore or something."
"Dumbledore is not risen from darkness."
"As far as we know," Lupin warns.
Dumbledore meets Lupin's gaze, and gives him an amused smile.
"That's all I'm saying, Prongs. Don't go running away with the wrong idea."
"You think this is our best chance of success," Potter says, picking at the fabric on the sleeve of the sofa, "but I think it's obviously Pads. I can't… I can't live without him, Moons. Whether he's the nemesis, or not."
"It's a fair point," Lupin says, quietly, leaning back against the sofa and steadfastly looking away from Potter when he continues, "but how long do you think we've all got left to live if the war carries on like this?"
And then Dumbledore holds out his arm for Lupin to take, and the memory disappears, both wizards returning to the present.
"I'm sorry," Lupin says.
"No apology needed." Dumbledore gives him another short smile. "Now I understand your hesitation."
You don't, thinks Lupin, but he doesn't correct him. Instead, he asks, "Do you think James is right?"
"That Sirius Black fits the prophecy?"
Lupin nods.
"I think their logic is sound." Dumbledore hesitates, his eyes meeting Lupin's. "As is your own."
"Professor?"
Dumbledore smiles again. "You also fit the prophecy, do you not, Remus?"
Lupin inhales sharply.
"Forgive me for speaking out of turn," Dumbledore says, with no real hint of apology in his tone, "but many would describe your affliction, your father included, as being a darkness."
Lupin's rebuttal is quick. "I'm not dark."
"You're not," Dumbledore agrees, "and nor does the prophecy say so. Risen from darkness. The power of a man to overcome that which he cannot control."
"My parents loved me."
"The prophecy does not mention parents." He pauses, watching Lupin's expression. "It is possible to be scorned and ignored by others, rather than your closest relatives. The magical world as a whole, perhaps? After all, you were marked by another."
"But my loyalties aren't torn!"
"No? Does James Potter know that you're here? Sirius Black?" Dumbledore quirks a smile. "Does Peter Pettigrew even know about this prophecy?"
"And what about you, Albus?" Lupin says, his words wrapped in quiet fury. "If the prophecy applies to me in such woolly terms, then presumably it applies to you as well!"
"Yes, as you stated to James," Dumbledore says, that same smile across his face. "You are, of course, quite right, Remus."
"That you're risen from darkness?"
There's a pause - a long draw of breath. "Rather that we all, James Potter included, could fit the prophecy - in one way or another. It is, after all, a quirk of semantics."
"Not James. James despises the dark."
Dumbledore nods. "Dark magic, perhaps." There's another pause. "Was James born in the early hours, before dawn? Risen from darkness?"
"I don't know."
"Or maybe the darkness refers to the situation we find ourselves in at the moment."
"A metaphorical darkness."
There's a nod, and another silence, and then Dumbledore runs his fingers through his long beard. "You were right to bring this to me, Remus, and I thank you for doing so."
"And my reward?"
"I understand that you have been having difficulty finding employment?"
Lupin gives a stiff nod. Filch needs an assistant after all?
"Then I shall arrange for Mr Filch to meet you at the gates once a month to facilitate a visit with Professor McGonagall for further career advice."
Lupin's heart sinks. "It isn't advice-"
"-and I dare say," Dumbledore continues loudly, registering the dismay in Lupin's expression, "that if you drop into the hospital wing to speak with Madam Pomfrey once your meeting with Professor McGonagall has concluded, your appearance will not be unwelcome." He pauses, peering at Lupin over the top of his glasses. "And I am sure Madam Pomfrey would be most willing to escort you from the grounds."
Lily's still standing before the stove when Severus clatters down the stairs and passes behind her, his arms bundled full of soiled baby clothes and bibs and muslin cloths from their time in Surrey, all of which he unceremoniously dumps into the washing machine.
"Don't worry," he says pre-emptively, scooping powder into the drawer, "I won't put it on now seeing as he's sleeping, but remind me in the morning, yeah?"
She doesn't answer.
He glances towards her as he reaches over the sink for the soap, lathering his hands with a thick layer, and then rinsing them under the tap. He flashes a grin in her direction, but it goes unseen, her back firmly towards him - and he mistakes her silence and reluctance to move for intellectual curiosity about his newly devised potion.
"Not a chance," he teases, his voice light, "stand there all you like, love - stand there for a week, and you won't work it out!" He takes the hand towel from the rack. "Least, not by sight alone."
Severus pauses, waiting for her to take the bait - waiting for her to realise that it must be safe for her to utilise her other senses, waiting for her to remember that he'd already invited her to smell, which would narrow her options further.
Touch it, love, he thinks - and then a wicked grin spreads across his face, or if you're as brave as I think you are, give it a little taste.
But Lily doesn't do either.
His eyebrows meet in the middle and knit into a frown as he finishes drying his hands and hangs the towel up. He takes a cautious step forwards, positioning himself to the side of her, enabling him to see her face - and he finally registers her dismayed expression.
Shit.
"Lil, I was only teasing," he ventures, gently. "It isn't… It doesn't… This isn't about you…" He stumbles and fumbles over his words, as if they're sticking on his tongue, and his expression is pained. "It's not about your abilities, not about your magic…"
No reaction.
"Lil," he tries, again, his voice soft, "you're still a witch, you realise I know that, right?" He trails off when she doesn't interrupt or correct him. "Love?" He tries again, and this time, he nestles himself behind her, loops his arms around her waist and rests his chin against her shoulder. "Please don't let something like this bother you. It's just a potion."
"It's not just a potion," she says, quietly - and his heart sinks, and he closes his eyes.
Her words were everything he'd feared when he was rushing around the house, doing his utmost to get everything ready for her return with River - that life with her parents at Petunia's had reminded her that there was another way to live.
You can't blame her for not wanting to be here. Who'd want to be here, with you, in this dump? She's had her eyes opened, reminded of what life could've been, what should've been, what River deserves-
"Look at this," she says, and her tone is fierce enough to interrupt his racing thoughts. He reluctantly opens his eyes, half-anticipating that she'll be pointing towards something he missed cleaning earlier; his desperate efforts at tidying inadequate.
But she isn't. Instead, to his surprise, she's tapping a piece of paper on the worktop. "I swear, Severus, I'm getting more and more useless by the day! By the hour!"
He stares at the paper, and then up at her, and then he gives a half laugh - surprise and relief both evident in his expression.
"It's not funny, Sev," she says, tapping the page again in frustration.
"It's just a list-"
"-it's not just a list. It's the list you asked me to write earlier," she says.
He doesn't respond.
"See," Lily says, pointedly, "you know it too - and you already know what I'm going to say."
Severus hesitates, as if fearing that her words are a trap. "I don't." He swallows uncomfortably when she doesn't speak. "What were you going to say?"
"We can both see it's not the same list - it's not the one I wrote this afternoon." She taps it again. "I wrote this ages ago!"
He turns her in his arms, and tucks her hair behind her left ear so he can see her face more clearly. "And I found it this afternoon whilst I was tidying up. But what's the issue here, love? It doesn't matter when you wrote it, does it?"
She shakes her head, clearly annoyed with herself. "Of course it matters! I wasted my time when I should've been making the most of those last precious minutes with Mummy and Daddy-"
"-I'm sorry-"
"-you shouldn't be sorry, it was a waste of your time too! You were sitting around and waiting whilst I-"
"-but it was my fault, Lil," he says, quietly. "Not yours. It was me. I asked you to write the list. I was the one who'd forgotten you'd already done it. Not you."
Lily bristles, her nostrils flaring, as if she's determined to ignore his logic now that he'd suggested that she was not responsible. "It doesn't matter," she says, batting his comment away, "I should've remembered what I'd already done."
"And so should I," Severus argues. "If you're saying this makes you useless, then what does that make me?"
She hesitates, unwilling to be as harsh on her husband as she is on herself.
"It's just a list, Lil. It's no big deal."
"What happened to us?" she asks, her gaze not leaving the page, as if her own work has personally betrayed her. "We used to be so smart, so intelligent, so quick, so-"
"-we still are."
She looks at him, her eyebrows raised, scepticism clear on her face. "So clever that we can't even keep track of easy stuff like this?"
He's silent, unmoving - and then he adjusts his hold around her waist, pulling her more tightly against him. "I don't think intelligence has anything to do with it," he says, his voice soothing, "I think it's lack of sleep. We're both tired. Stressed."
"River's hardly an excuse," she says, "we're not the first couple to have a baby. The world doesn't stop just because-"
"-and now you sound just like my mam," he scoffs, and his blunt comparison causes her to stop in her tracks. He looks away, the expression on his face pained. "Lil, this list…" He looks back at her. "You wrote this out the night you found out about your parents having been Obliv… The night I told you what I'd done to them," he admits, his body tightening, "and with everything that's happened to us since, it's no wonder you wouldn't remember."
She can feel the tension within him, the tightness of his muscles, and she runs her hands up and down his back, moving her palms in a soothing pattern - not wanting to dwell on that night and the subsequent weeks of misery they'd endured.
"They call it baby brain," she says, after a long moment, deliberately deflecting, "when you're forgetful after giving birth."
"There you go," he says, quickly agreeing. "A known phenomenon for new mothers." He presses a light kiss against her cheek. "Not sure what excuse I've got."
At this, she looks directly into his eyes. "Riv keeps us both up," she says, generously - and then she gently adds, "and I think we both understand that you're not yourself at the moment."
He gives her an awkward smile and releases her from his hold. "Yeah, that's true," he says, clapping his hands together and stepping back, "and whose fault's that, hey?"
Before she can answer him, he gives her an ironic salute, two fingers touching the edge of his eyebrow. Her mouth opens, about to mollify him, but he quickly snatches his cigarette packet from the worktop, signalling his intent to go into the yard and smoke - a clear indication that their conversation is over.
The seat's still warm when Pettigrew sits down, and he glances around the room, as if he might find the previous occupant hiding under the desk or behind the curtains.
"Good evening, Peter," Dumbledore says, with a smile, "thank you for waiting."
"Were you with someone important?"
"A Floo call," Dumbledore says, not missing Pettigrew's frown and the slight movement he makes in the chair, "with Alastor Moody."
Pettigrew swallows awkwardly.
"He was in an irritable mood."
Pettigrew nods. "He was with me as well."
Dumbledore gives a small smile.
"Oh," Pettigrew says, "because of me?"
"Alastor has a rather particular idea of how things should be done," Dumbledore says, graciously, pacing behind his desk.
"Filch doesn't make it easy for me to come and see you."
Dumbledore stops, and turns, his eyebrows raised. "You have arrived here safely tonight?"
"Well, yes," Pettigrew says, blushing, "but only after an argument - and this isn't the first time! When you invited me…" He trails off awkwardly. "I'm not like the others," he says, looking up at Dumbledore, "like James or Sirius." His eyes rake over Dumbledore, checking for a reaction. "I haven't got the charm to talk my way in."
"I can certainly speak with Mr Filch," Dumbledore says, toying with a ring on one of his fingers, "but forgive me for asking, Peter, but how are you finding the task we set for you if charm is not one of your strongest attributes?"
"You don't need charm if you have the right name," he says, boldly.
"And Pettigrew is the right name, is it?"
"Not my name. I met a wizard at the funeral. Spent quite a bit of time with him since. He's offered me a job."
"A job?" Dumbledore looks interested. "Tell me, what's this wizard's name?"
"Avery."
"Cato Avery."
"Only he hates Cato. He's good, Albus," Pettigrew says, and then he gives a nervous laugh. "Well, he's not - he's very, very bad, but that's the point, isn't it?"
"Bad in what way, Peter? What has he told you?"
"He's a Death Eater. And a Striker. He was talking about how to cast the Unforgivables-"
"-and has he?"
"The Killing Curse."
Dumbledore inhales sharply.
"Said he'd done a spot of Cruciatus as well," Pettigrew says, quietly. "He's powerful. In the Ministry too - he has influence." He gives a short smile. "He's got...a way."
"Imperius?"
Pettigrew shakes his head, trying to keep the admiring look off his face. "No - just… A way of getting what he wants. And there's another wizard - Ave's keen for us to work with him."
Dumbledore looks faintly surprised. "Keen for you to be involved as well?"
Pettigrew nods.
"You have been busy." Dumbledore straightens his robes and then sits. "Tell me about this other wizard."
"I don't know his name," Pettigrew says, "Ave called him the teacup wizard."
Dumbledore frowns, his mouth open as if he's about to say something, and then he closes it again.
"Stupid, right? But Ave reckons that this…"
"Teacup wizard," Dumbledore adds, helpfully.
"Yeah, look, Ave was holding a teacup, to demonstrate who was who. "So," Pettigrew holds his hands out, "that's why."
Dumbledore nods. "Were there names for any other wizards? Pseudonyms might even be helpful."
"A glass, but he dropped it - said that wizard wasn't around anymore. Anyway, the teacup wizard - Ave says he'll bring us power, fame, and fortune."
"The glass wizard was working for the teacup wizard, and now the glass wizard has disappeared, and there's a vacancy which Ave wants you both to fill?"
Pettigrew nods. "That was my understanding." He leans forward. "Do I carry on? With Ave?"
"You said he had offered you a job?"
"In the Ministry."
"In which department?"
"Muggle Liaison, or Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."
Dumbledore smiles. "Two jobs. My word, you must've impressed him."
"Choice of either," Pettigrew says, looking a little nervous.
"And do you have a preference?"
Pettigrew sits for a moment. "I thought you could tell me that, sir."
He's forever in the shower. He's not his usual playful self, showing off, or trying to convince her to join him under the spray. Instead, his back is turned, facing away, his head bowed.
Thinking.
He's been quiet ever since he went outside for a smoke, and Lily doesn't know how to shift the conversation back.
We'd fixed this, she thinks, feeling annoyed with herself for inadvertently sparking the change in him, and now he's spiralling with guilt again.
She doesn't want to interrupt him and risk disrupting his penance. She hopes that he's gathering his thoughts and will emerge from the shower having washed away his perceived sins, so she carefully and methodically collects together the rose petals he'd so thoughtfully left on the duvet - clearing a space for her to sit without crushing them into their bedding - and places them in a neat row on the windowsill.
The water snaps off and he emerges, roughly towelling himself down - as if he hates himself - before wrapping the now damp towel around his waist.
Lily stands and moves towards the shower - my turn - but he stills, blocking her way, his long hair slowly dripping water in thin lines down his bare chest.
She eyes him curiously. "Sorry," she says. "Not finished?"
"I'm finished," he says, not moving, "but I've got something for you. Before you shower." He pauses - and then, when he seems certain that she's not going to jump into the shower without waiting for him to return, he heads into the hallway. When he comes back, he's carrying a paper bag, and he instructs her to close her eyes.
"Sev…"
"Go on," he says, a wicked grin adorning his face. "It's just a bit of fun."
It's the first time he's smiled in an hour or more, so she does as he requests, keen not to send him into another mood. When she feels him resting the light bag on her upturned hands, she screws her eyes up more tightly, as if resisting the urge to immediately open them.
"Take a look."
At his invitation, Lily opens her eyes. She shoots him a puzzled glance as she gently moves her hand up and down, as if trying to determine the weight of the bag, and as she peers inside, she lets out a sharp - almost incredulous - laugh. "Sev!"
He just smiles - that lopsided smile she adores so much, a glint in his eye, and a hint of smugness on his lips. "It's what we agreed on, wasn't it?"
She briefly closes her eyes and bites her lip. "But so many packs, Sev! What must the pharmacist have thought?"
"That I was a very lucky young man," he laughs.
She stares inside the bag again, as if she can't believe her eyes. "They must've cost you a fortune."
"I used Malf's money. Our money," he quickly corrects. He puts his hand under her chin, tilting her gaze upwards. "Cheaper than another Bean," he reasons.
"When you put it like that," she says, "yeah."
"Yeah," he repeats, with a smile. "They're yours, remember?"
She nods, and folds the bag up carefully, before placing it on the floor at the foot of the bed. When she straightens, Severus is standing before the shower again, still blocking her way, but this time his arms are behind his back, and she gives him a confused look.
"Is there something else?" she asks.
He gives her an amused look. "You could say so." He pauses, his eyes almost sparkling in the dim light. "I got me something too. Whilst I was out."
She doesn't know what to say. From his expression, it's as if he's waiting for something, hoping for some sort of reaction, but she can't fathom what he could've bought for himself - and then he slowly moves his hand from behind his back, revealing a brand new razor.
Lily frowns. "For you? But I thought… I asked you… You said you didn't need…"
He takes her hand and draws her towards him, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Not for me. For you. But I want to do it," he murmurs.
"Sev!" A bright flush runs across her cheeks as she comprehends his meaning. "Don't be silly," she laughs, a little self-consciously, and reaches for the razor, "I can do it myself."
He holds his hand in the air, holding the razor out of reach. "I know you can do it," he says, silkily, "but I want to do it."
Lily looks at him, her lips parted and a glimmer of a frown on her face, as if she can't work out how to react. "...why?"
"I want to look after you," he says, simply. "I want to worship you."
His phrasing triggers a memory, and she glances at the fire in the hearth and the petals on the windowsill and up at the suspended lights, and she suddenly remembers his breathy promise about setting up a blazing fire once they were back home together, and then lying her down on their bed and making love to her all night - and she can't help it when her eyes dart towards the bag on the floor, and then she looks up, taking in the razor in his hand and the wicked smile on his face.
"Stop overthinking," he murmurs, and he gently nudges the bag with his foot, pushing it under the bed until it's completely out of sight. "I told you, we don't need those just yet - not until you're ready." He gives her another smug look, his voice low. "Not until you beg me."
"Then why?"
His eyes meet hers. "Because it's sexy."
"It's not-"
"-it is to me," he interrupts, firmly.
"I don't get it, Sev."
"Think about what you said the other night - I said it didn't matter if you shaved, but you still wanted to do it."
She gives a hesitant nod.
"That's sexy," he says - and at her still puzzled look, he smiles. "You were doing it solely for my benefit," he explains. "You didn't say it was because you wanted to wear a summer dress-"
"-hardly, it's freezing outside, Sev," she deflects, a hot blush creeping back onto her cheeks again.
He doesn't relent. "No, you wanted to do it because you were thinking about being in bed with me. Being naked with me. Making yourself attractive for me. For my eyes only." His voice is lower, gravelly. "Do you know what that does to me?"
She twists her sleeve between her fingers. "I thought you were offering to do the spell because of my magic, not because you wanted to…" She trails off, colour still filling her cheeks.
Severus tilts his head, appraising her. "You can say no," he says, holding his hand out, the razor balanced between his slender fingers, the handle pointing towards her. "Veto?"
She swallows, her gaze moving between the handle and the blade, his fingertips and his dark eyes, but she doesn't move.
He quirks his eyebrow, a playful smirk spreading across his face. "No veto?"
"Why is it sexy?" She twists her sleeve again, the fabric stretching. "And don't say what you said before," she adds, her words coming out in a rush, "because if it was just about the end result, then it wouldn't matter who does it, wouldn't matter if I did it." There's a pause. "But you want to do it," she says, again.
Severus inclines his head in concession.
"So tell me," she presses. "Why's it sexy?"
He looks amused. "I think you know," he drawls. He fiddles with the razor, sliding the handle between his hip and the towel, the blade protruding dangerously at his side - and then he takes a step closer to her, taking her hands in his and gently untangling her stretched sleeve from between her fingers.
She swallows again, her eyes watching him warily, uncertain of what he'll do next - but then he pulls her flush against him, his face no longer visible, his mouth pressed against her ear, his breath hot against her skin.
"I know you know," he continues, his voice low.
"I don't."
"It makes you feel funny, doesn't it?" He slides his hand between them, resting his palm at the base of her stomach. "I bet there's a flutter in here just thinking about it."
She doesn't answer.
"Tell me I'm wrong," he says, his voice filled with confidence.
Still, she doesn't answer.
He suppresses a laugh and switches tack. "You let me brush your hair," he murmurs, "so how's this any different?" He barely pauses, his question evidently rhetorical this time. "I'm just helping you to get ready." There's a brief pause. "It's not surprising to you that I'd like that, is it? I've always enjoyed watching you getting ready."
She knows he's telling the truth. She can see him now, in her mind's eye, lying on her bed in Cokeworth when they were teenagers, watching her in the mirror - and then again, as an adult, lying on their bed at Hogwarts, his gaze fixed on her as she applied her makeup. She could almost hear his declaration when she challenged him over it:
"Haven't you got better things to do other than watch me dress?"
"Most definitely not. This is in my top three favourite things to do."
"Voyeur," she says.
"Maybe I am," he admits, "but only when it's you. I like looking at you and touching you and looking after you. I like it when you dress up for me," and he tilts her head so he can see her, and he gives her a sinful grin, "and I like it even more when you undress for me, and I don't see a reason to apologise for any of it, wife."
She bites her lip, her cheeks burning again.
"And I like it when you're embarrassed," he hisses, cupping her face with his palm and stroking her left cheek with his thumb, "and we've had this conversation before: I like it when you do things that unnerve you because you know it'll bring me pleasure."
She looks at him, uncertainty clear in her features - as if he's half answered the question, and she's left unconvinced. "And this'll bring you pleasure?"
"Oh yes," he says, emphatically, "and what's more, it'll bring you pleasure too."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. Trust me."
His voice cracks on the final syllable, the vowel lifting in a tremor, as if he's just struck a xylophone squarely and the last beat is ringing out instead of being smothered with the flesh of his palm.
It's the first time that he's sounded uncertain - as if he regretted the phrase - trust me - as soon as he uttered it, as if his confidence is shaken, as if he's fearful of what her response might be.
"I do," she says, her voice even and calm, her fingers entwined with his.
There's a long pause, as if he doesn't dare believe he's hearing her say it. "Despite everything?"
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't," she says, simply.
It's as if he's jolted back to earth by her affirmation. "It'll bring us both pleasure, I know it will," he says, firmly, his voice as steady as hers. He squeezes her hand. "And if it doesn't - for any reason - you can always veto, remember?"
"Even half way through?" She gives him a nervous smile. "One leg shaved, the other not?"
"I'll still love you with one leg shaved and the other not," he nods, and then he leans forward to kiss her. "You can veto at any moment." With that, he kisses her again and then turns, casting at the tin bath.
Pettigrew stands in the street, going over what he's planning to say.
Focus on what Dumbledore said - it's a coherent story, it makes sense. I just need to sell it to him - make him believe it. Be convincing.
He won't hesitate to believe me. He must've said that stuff. Moody's abrasive, but he's got no reason to lie - why would he say that Black was slagging me off unless he was?
Life or death, he thinks, that's what Dumbledore said this was. Imperative that I get this right - imperative that he believes me. Imperative that I can walk into the Death Eaters alone without running the risk of Black blowing my cover through his jealousy.
Do I shout? Scream? Punch something? Do I cry? I could cry.
He bites his lip, walking backwards and forwards, and then he turns and paces towards the house, flinging the door loudly open.
"Pete! There you are! Where've you been?"
"Don't Pete me," Pettigrew shouts, letting the rage build up inside him, "where is he?"
Potter grabs him roughly by the shoulder, his fingers digging into him. "Pete? Pete, talk to me, what's wrong?"
"It's not me there's something wrong with! It's him! I'll kill him! This was my job!"
Black saunters into view, the neck of a bottle of Butterbeer clamped between his fingers. "Oh, here he is. Where've you been then?"
Pettigrew launches for Black, grabbing his shirt and twisting it around the neck, slamming him into the wall.
"Bloody hell, gerroff!" Black shouts, slinging the Butterbeer bottle down the hall, foamy liquid spilling into the carpet. "What in Merlin's-"
"-you did this!" Pettigrew squeals. "You did this!"
With Potter pulling at Pettigrew, Black manages to shake himself free and he looks at Pettigrew with barely concealed disgust.
"What are you bleating about?"
"Pete?" Potter says, his arms still looped around him, keeping him away from Black. "What's happened? Are you ok?"
"No! No, I'm not ok! They've dropped me! Dumbledore and Moody, they've dropped me! Because of him!"
Black gives a smug laugh. "Because of me?" He gives another laugh. "How about because of you, Wormy, did you think of that?"
"Don't call me that!"
"I said you'd be useless-"
"-and they listened to you!"
Potter gives an awkward laugh, pulling Pettigrew down the hallway and away from Black. "Come on, Pete," he says, "it can't all have been Pads."
"Yeah," Black calls, stooping to pick his Butterbeer up and then licking the sticky liquid from his fingers, "all you had to do to prove me wrong-"
"-I shouldn't have had to prove you wrong! You're supposed to be on my side-"
"-was impress them with the information you got from Rosier's funeral…" Then he gives a hearty laugh. "Or didn't you have anything?"
"I wouldn't tell you if I had."
"That's a no then. Useless, you are!"
"Sirius," Potter interjects, "knock it off, yeah?"
"Moody thinks you'd be better at this than me."
"I would."
"Well, here's your chance to prove yourself," Pettigrew says, shaking free of Potter's hold, "because they don't want me anymore."
Black holds his bottle aloft. "Cheers," he grins, "finally some good news around here - I'll drink to that!"
Notes:
Still interested? Ready for more?
Chapter 157: Veto
Notes:
What can I say? You wait three months for a chapter, and then two come at once.
Chapter Text
Severus works steadily and methodically, his clever and careful wandwork expanding the footprint of the shower - but just as he's drawing his spells to an end, they're interrupted by River waking.
Lily feeds River and rocks him and soothes him back to sleep, whilst Severus retreats to the kitchen - tending to his potion. She spies him occasionally through the open door; his long dark hair contrasting with the brilliant white of his towel as he flashes in and out of view when he treads to and from the stove.
Fortunately, River settles quickly and when Severus stands in the doorway, his arm stretched above his head, leaning his weight against the architrave, she places a finger against her lips.
Severus nods, understanding her silent request - realising that if they let River drift into a deeper sleep, he's unlikely to wake at a deeply inconvenient moment. Then, as Severus turns to head back into the kitchen, he changes his mind, and slowly turns back to face her. He points - first at Lily, and then at the shower, and then he grips his towel at his waist, as if moving to unwrap it, and then his eyebrow arches and his meaning is clear: get undressed.
She nods, and holds her right hand up, her fingers and thumb splayed wide: give me five minutes.
With that, he casts with his wand towards the shower, letting the water flow.
When Lily's certain that River is fast asleep, she undresses slowly - nervously. She can't remember ever being this unsure around Severus - not like this. They hadn't experienced the first night nerves that their peers might've shared; the sort of nerves that stem from long anticipation, the culmination of a slow build during a first serious relationship - the sort of nerves that you bypass entirely when you drag your best friend into bed with you, with complete disregard for the consequences.
She was relieved that they hadn't gone through that. She couldn't imagine how either of them would've coped; the pressure too great, the fear of the ultimate expression of love between them being an anti-climax, unable to live up to the fairytale in their minds. She pauses, folding her clothes and placing them neatly on the bed.
Isn't that what this feeling is? Too much pressure? The long anticipation of an exploration placed on pause? Stopped before we'd really got started - and she can't help but cast a guilty look towards River - before we'd even really talked about what we wanted, what we expected, and all because our little boy made an appearance.
Lily fiddles needlessly with her folded clothes, fussing with them, straightening them over and over, waiting anxiously for her husband's return from the kitchen - but when he doesn't put in an appearance after a few moments, she can't handle the ball of anxiety growing in the pit of her stomach and she calls out to him, her voice low. "Sev? I'm ready."
"Then don't wait for me, love," he replies, after a moment, "get started."
His casual comment does nothing to relieve her nerves, but she steps into the shower and under the spray. She closes her eyes, trying to relax, letting the water bounce off her skin, and she waits for a long moment, listening keenly - but she can barely hear a thing over the rhythmic pounding of the water.
It's just a shower.
The sensible thought calms her, and she opens her eyes and reaches for her toiletries - shampoo, then soap, then conditioner - finding comfort in her long perfected routine.
He appears when she's washing the last of the conditioner from her hair, making his presence known by adjusting the water pressure, the beat of the shower suddenly gentle against her back, and she looks over to see him untying his towel and discarding it onto the bed.
When he gets into the shower, he crouches awkwardly - razor in one hand, his can of shaving foam in the other - and she immediately understands why he'd enlarged the tub; the shower might be big enough for two whilst standing, but it's a squeeze for one of them to crouch on the floor.
She looks down at him as he grazes her ankle with his fingertips, his touch gentle, almost reverent.
"Ok?" he asks.
"Ok," she whispers, swallowing nervously.
"Veto?"
She hesitates and then she shakes her head.
He smiles at her, a beaming grin, as if he can read her thoughts - he doesn't have to, I must be screaming them at him - and then he taps the back of her left shin with his fingers.
"Up on my shoulder," he instructs, and she raises her left leg obediently, resting her foot against him. "Good girl," he says, his eyes not leaving hers, and then he reaches for the can of foam.
His hands are slow and methodical as he caresses her lower leg, slathering the foam up and down - and eventually, unable to watch further, her stomach twisting in anticipation, she leans her head back, her eyes closed as the water cascades over her face.
Calm down and enjoy it, she thinks, like when Mummy used to take us to the hairdressers, and they'd wash our hair. She forces herself to relax under the warm spray of the water, enjoying the feeling of her husband's hands gently massaging her leg.
When he slides the razor against her skin, his touch is so light, she barely feels the blade pressed against her leg. Instead, it's the associated sounds which give the movement away - not the slow drag of the razorblade through lather, but the flick of the razor through the air as he pulls it away, and the splash it makes as he rinses the blade in hot water.
He repeats the action over and over, and she feels him working his way around her lower leg - ankle, shin, calf, knee - and then he rinses the remainder of the foam away, his fingers stroking her leg, carefully feeling for any patches he might've missed.
When she finally opens her eyes, his fingers are still trailing over her skin - her now smooth skin - and he's staring intently up at her.
Was he watching my expression the whole time?
She instinctively reaches for him, her hand tangling in his hair, using her grip to both steady herself and hold him in place - and his grin grows wider still.
"All right, love?" he murmurs.
"Yes."
His gaze is warm and inviting, and then he tilts his head. "You've still got that veto, remember?"
"I remember." There's a pause. "It feels…" She trails off into another pause, but he doesn't interrupt - he just sits at her feet, waiting patiently for her to find her words. "It feels good," she says, eventually. "Relaxing."
He smirks, and presses a kiss to her smooth shin and then taps her calf with his fingertips - this time, not in invitation for it to be raised, but an instruction to lower it; to swap legs.
She doesn't close her eyes the second time, too curious as to whether he keeps his eyes trained on her face throughout - which, for the most part, he does.
It's not about the action, she thinks, it's about my reaction. Not about how it makes me look, but how it makes me feel.
"Stop thinking," he murmurs as he strokes the blade against her in a smooth, controlled movement.
She hesitates. "Is that an instruction?"
He doesn't miss a beat. "Do you want it to be?"
Her hand tightens in his hair, but she doesn't answer - and his eyes seem to flash, and he grins. He doesn't say anything, but she's certain he's filing the interaction away for future use.
His actions are steady, although it feels as if he's faster - maybe it feels quicker now my initial embarrassment has died down - and she's back on two feet before she can think on it further.
She untangles her hand from his hair, readying to extricate herself, but he places a quelling hand on the outside of her thigh. She stills, watching him, feeling her breath catching in her chest - and then he slides his hand between her legs, gently parting them. His fingers climb steadily upwards, caressing her inner left thigh, before repeating the action on her right thigh.
"Sev…"
"A little higher, I think," he muses - and that flutter in her stomach is back again. It's as if he senses it, as he stills - his hand warm against her leg but unmoving, the razor loosely clasped between the fingers of his other hand. "Veto?"
There's a long uncertain silence - and then he gently runs his hand up her inner thigh once more, and his gaze meets hers again. "You would, wouldn't you? If you were doing this yourself? Or if I got out now, and passed you this," he says, lifting the razor up, as if presenting it to her.
"...yes."
He tilts his head, and it's a question this time. "A little higher?"
She nods.
"Say it."
Lily's eyes dart around the shower, and she doesn't really understand how this is causing her stomach to flutter, or her voice to crack. She can't put her finger on what it is that she finds so embarrassing, so unnerving - but her cheeks flush and her voice is soft. "A little higher."
Severus stares at her, unmoving, and when he eventually speaks, his tone is thoughtful - as if he's completely confused - but she can read him so well, and she knows that he's toying with her. "I could barely hear you over the water, witch," he murmurs. "What did you mean to ask me for?"
Her cheeks flush more deeply, realising his game - the same game that they'd played at Hogwarts, when he'd forced her to vocalise her desires - and then she thinks about his solemn promise about not having penetrative sex until she begs him, and she understands exactly what he wants to hear.
"Please shave me higher, Sev," she says, her voice a little higher than usual.
His eyes are fixed on hers, and she doesn't miss the twitch of his eye when she says his name - his face erupting in a wide smile, and then he bows his head. "As you wish, witch."
His touch on her lower legs was relaxing, soothing - but it's far more intimate when he's working up her inner thigh, sensual rather than innocent, not least because his fingers drift upwards on more than one occasion - too often to not be deliberate - although his touch is fleeting.
It's not that he's nervous, she thinks, as she lets her eyes drift closed once more, her head tilted backwards, her hand tangled in his hair again. He's hesitant, she thinks, rather than anxious - as if he's testing the water, checking my reaction.
Eventually, he finishes - she can tell from the way he feels around her thigh, checking again for missed patches. Once he's satisfied, he splashes warm water across her, rinsing the foam from her carefully - and then there's a brief pause and he doesn't move.
What now?
She keeps her eyes firmly closed, but she can tell that he's changed position - that he's kneeling up, his head level with her navel.
The pause seems unending and the atmosphere is so charged, it's almost electric. Then, the movement she's expecting - anticipating, desiring - finally comes; his hand gently grazes her sex, and then stops, lingering, unmoving - and she answers by gripping his hair between her fingers.
"More?"
His voice is level, controlled - but she knows him, knows him so well, knows he's excited, knows that if she opens her eyes, he'll be half mast or more - and she tightens her grip in answer.
"Use your words."
"More, Sev," she breathes.
"Open your eyes." His instruction is firm, clear - and when she does, she looks down at him, and he arches his back, his knees splayed.
She looks at him in surprise, and he grins broadly.
"That's what you were doing in the shower?"
"What did you think I was doing in the shower?"
"Thinking," she says.
"Maybe a bit of that too," he concedes, "it took me a while." He looks down at the newly trimmed hair at the base of his cock. "Trimming instead of shaving takes a bit of skill with a razorblade."
"Well," she says, "you haven't nicked me once."
He smiles again, his eyes locked onto hers. "Then how about a little higher?"
Rodolphus descends the grand staircase with flair - as if he had an audience larger than one - and draws himself to a halt inches from Regulus' face, meeting the younger man eye-to-eye.
"It's late."
"Hardly." Regulus gives a soft laugh. "Don't tell me that Trixie is all tucked up in bed and I've disturbed you both?"
Rodolphus offers him a lazy smirk. "Too much time in solitude has skewed your understanding of social niceties, Reggie," he says, beckoning him through to the drawing room. "Drink?"
"To prove that you're still in touch with yours?"
Rodolphus laughs and claps his hands together, calling for an elf to pour two glasses of wine.
"No, thank you," Regulus says, ignoring the proffered glass.
"Oh, I see," Rodolphus drawls, "not impressive enough for your sophisticated palate? Drank enough of Malfoy's finest-"
"-so did we all," Regulus interjects. "I thought it was understood that it was important to see Ros off in style."
Rodolphus raises his glass. "Indeed." Then he offers another lazy smirk. "And it's always fun to put a little dent in the Malfoy coffers."
Regulus briefly looks away.
"Come, Reggie," Rodolphus laughs, "just a little joke between friends, that's all."
Regulus strokes his hand lightly down his left forearm. "We are as one in the eyes of our Lord."
Rodolphus smirks again, sipping from his wine. "Supposedly. Some a little more one than others, I would say." He pauses. "Choose your friends wisely, Regulus, that's all I shall say on the matter."
"Friends? More, surely, Dolph? We are family, are we not?"
"As is Malf," Rodolphus says, his eyes suddenly piercing.
"Supposedly."
At this, Rodolphus laughs, breaking eye contact. "So, what can I do for you, brother?"
"I am finding the Black library a little lacking," he says, "and I wondered if I could access yours?"
Rodolphus nods. "With me," he instructs, striding out of the drawing room and down a corridor. "Anything in particular?"
"Cadmus Smith."
Rodolphus draws to a halt, his shoes squeaking against the polished floor. "Cadmus Smith?" He gives Regulus a curious look, amusement playing on his lips. "The Cadmus Smith?"
"I know."
"I didn't even know you were dating-"
"-I'm not." Regulus gives a shrug. "Well, you know what I mean. I'm not intending to marry, put it that way."
"So why the interest in Smith?"
"I have reason to believe that Sirius is interested that way."
"Now that is fascinating," Rodolphus says, "especially as Trixie's great-great-grandfather was the one to discredit him."
"I know."
"That's why you'll find nothing in your own library."
"I know."
"Or anything in Trixie's."
"I thought, perhaps, yours?" Regulus ventures.
Rodolphus shakes his head.
"Bast's?"
Another shake of the head. "Smith was discredited, Reggie. You don't hang on to outdated notions, do you?"
"Surely the knowledge isn't lost?"
"I imagine so," Rodolphus laughs. "Burnt, I would've thought."
"It must exist," Regulus insists, "for Sirius to have started to take it seriously."
"Or perhaps he simply recalls the rumours," Rodolphus says. "Your brother never struck me as the type to sit around and research," he adds, pointedly.
"Nor am I! I have been asked! I was not-"
"-but here you are, attempting to research Cadmus Smith." Rodolphus skewers him with a hard look. "I am assuming that this is not our Lord's instruction?"
Regulus gives a sharp shake of his head.
"It seems to me that you are so enamoured with your new career-"
"-it's not a career-"
"-that now you're doing it for fun?"
"...you could've just said no, Dolph."
Rodolphus smiles. "Then no, Reggie. I don't have anything on Cadmus Smith, Trixie doesn't have anything on Cadmus Smith, and Bast doesn't have anything on Cadmus Smith." He pauses. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"
Regulus stands for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek, and then he shakes his head. "No. No, thank you, Dolph. I apologise for the disruption so late in the evening. I'll see myself out." He turns and strides away, and then a call echoes out.
"Reggie?"
Regulus stops and turns sharply. "Yes?"
"Don't chase ghosts. Sirius is dead to your family."
"Yeah. He is," Regulus nods, "and I want to make sure it stays that way."
Lily feels cold when Severus shuts off the shower, a violent shiver rippling down her spine. Severus immediately grabs her towel, his hand moving across it and when he wraps her in it, she realises that he's used Calidus to warm it first.
He makes the same movements with his fingers across the bedclothes, warming them through, and then he reaches for his wand. He flicks it twice to remove the magical fireguard, giving him access to stoke the fire.
When the flames are roaring to his satisfaction, he pulls her into his arms and settles them both on the bed, Lily nestled between his legs, his limbs wrapped around her, cocooning her - and he presses his cheek against hers, holding her in a long, warm embrace.
It seems like an age before her heart stops racing and she finally relaxes into his comforting hold, suddenly feeling boneless. In response, he holds her more tightly, his grip reassuring, and then his lips brush her ear.
"You have no idea just how much you please me," he murmurs, "my wonderful, gorgeous, brave witch."
Lucius looks up from his desk as the door opens and both Narcissa and Regulus enter.
"Visitors, Cissy?"
"Evidently, Lucius," she snaps. "Take a seat, Regulus."
"I must insist that you call me Reg, Cissy," he says, pulling out one of the chairs near to Lucius' desk.
"And if she doesn't?" Lucius drawls, sitting back in his chair.
"Ignore him, Reg."
Lucius scoffs, his tongue pressed into his cheek, and then he kisses his teeth in frustration. "Drink, Reg?"
"As you are indulging, Lucius-"
"-Malf is fine-"
"-Malf," Regulus corrects, "then I shall as well."
"Indulging," Narcissa sniffs, "that's one word for it."
Lucius and Narcissa exchange a look that Regulus can't quite read, but it's frosty and cold, and he shuffles in his seat.
"I didn't meant to put you to any trouble, it's late-"
"-hardly late," Lucius says, pouring out a measure of firewhisky into a fresh glass before topping his own tumbler up.
"Enough, Lucius," Narcissa says, his voice filled with warning.
He glances up, meeting her eye, still letting the liquid trickle from the bottle - and again, Regulus shifts uncomfortably, as Lucius slowly, deliberately pours yet another measure.
Triple, at least. On top of what he's already had.
"To family, Reg," Lucius says, holding his glass aloft, spilling a small amount on his cuff.
"Family, Malf," Regulus echoes, raising his own glass, and then turning to look at Narcissa. "Cissy."
"Now," Lucius says, his pale eyes cool, "what precisely can I help you with, Reg?"
Regulus takes a sip of the firewhisky, and then places the glass on the desk. Within a split second, an elf appears and whips the glass upwards, placing a coaster on the desk and then returning the glass - and then the elf disappears. Regulus raises his eyebrows. "Efficient."
"Cissy has them well drilled," Lucius says, staring at his wife, "she can't stand slovenly behaviour." He looks over at Regulus. "I'm sure she could give you some tips if you were struggling with-"
"-our elves are fine," Regulus says, defensively, "wonderful, in fact."
At this, Lucius smirks. "I don't think I've ever heard anyone describe an elf as wonderful. Has your enforced solitude driven you slightly barmy, Reg? The Dark Lord knows not what he asks of you."
"My faculties are intact, thank you for enquiring."
Narcissa gives a short laugh. "Well, that makes one of you."
Lucius glares at her - and there's a momentary standoff; a silence. He sits for a long moment, and then he reaches for his glass, eyeing Regulus carefully as he takes another sip. "I apologise for my wife's conduct-"
"-he apologises for nothing-"
"-worse behaved than the elves-"
"-don't you-"
"-Malf, Cissy," Regulus says, sitting straighter and giving an awkward cough, "I didn't intend to intrude." He picks his glass up and drains it, smarting as the strong alcohol hits the back of his throat, and then he stands. "I'll take my leave and return at a more convenient-"
"-just ask," Lucius says, sounding bored.
Regulus hesitates, his hand still on the arm of the chair. "I'm sorry?"
"You want something from me," Lucius says, peering at him, "that's the only reason you're here."
There's an awkward pause.
"Or something from Cissy," Lucius continues, sipping again from his glass, and pointing at his wife, "but then, why would she have brought you through to see me?"
Regulus looks between the two of them helplessly. "I- I- I mean, I could've… We shouldn't have disturbed you, you're a busy man-"
"-busy getting blind drunk on his own," Narcissa spits - and then Regulus looks between the two of them, and he suddenly sees Lucius through Narcissa's eyes; sees why she ushered him through in the first place.
Now that he's looking more closely, he can see that Lucius is fraying at the edges - his hair a little lank, his stubble a little long, his eyes a little red. It's not much - subtle, easy to miss at first glance - but he can see why Narcissa is antagonised.
This was all about shaming Lucius into changing his behaviour.
"Nobody comes to see me these days," Lucius muses, still sipping from his glass, "not unless it's to-"
"-Lucius." Narcissa's voice is firm, stern, and he gives another short laugh.
"Reg," he says, after a moment, "sit back down. Tell Lucius what you need." Then there's another pause, and Lucius gives a resigned smile. "Don't tell me. Galleons?"
Regulus shakes his head. "The Black coffers are fine, but I thank you for your kind offer," he says. "I was looking for a book."
Lucius sits back and waves his hand. "Ah, well then you will need to talk to Cissy-"
"-don't start this again-"
"-for she thoroughly enjoys handing our precious tomes-"
"-ignore him, Reg - it's nonsense."
Regulus makes to stand again. "Honestly, I am terribly sorry to have disturbed you both. I can see that this is deeply inconvenient-"
"-what's the book?" Lucius asks.
Regulus looks between husband and wife, both still glaring at one another, and then he swallows awkwardly. "It's er… Well, it's going to sound ridiculous and I appreciate that it's a long shot, what with mine and Cissy's background, but I thought that you, Malf, you might have-"
"-spit it out, Reg," Lucius says, closing his eyes, as if bored of the conversation.
"Cadmus Smith. I wondered if you had anything on Cadmus Smith."
Lucius' eyes snap back open, and then he gazes at Narcissa, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I believe we do," he says, ignoring her desperate shake of her head.
"You do?" Regulus says, earnestly, a wide smile breaking out over his face. "Oh, thank Merlin! May I borrow it?"
"I'm afraid it's not currently in our possession," Narcissa says, swiftly, her look towards Lucius still cold.
"Cissy likes to loan our books, you understand."
Regulus looks between them, seeming floored. "To Sirius?"
For the first time, the look between Lucius and Narcissa softens - both amused at the thought that they'd consider entertaining Sirius at their house.
"Not Sirius?"
"I haven't seen Sirius since our time at Hogwarts," Narcissa says.
Lucius nods. "And the same for myself. Earlier, probably," he says, his brow furrowed, as if trying to recall the last instance their paths may have crossed. "Oh," he says, "maybe a family gathering at your parents' house before Sirius became a Potter?"
"He didn't become a Potter."
"As good as," Lucius says, lifting his glass to his lips once more.
"If not Sirius, then who?" Regulus asks.
"Sev-"
"-so very many," Narcissa loudly interrupts, her glare towards Lucius hot, "borrow from our library, it's impossible to keep track of who has what."
Regulus sighs loudly, looking defeated. "Any chance of calling some of those loans back?" He casts another look between the pair, their expressions cold once more. "I wouldn't ask, but Cadmus Smith, his writing-"
"-is rare," Lucius drawls, "because Cissy's family destroyed his name and livelihood, yes." He laughs. "Sorry. Your family." He raises his glass again. "Well, what can one say, Reg? Karma is a hell of a thing."
"I thank you for your time," Regulus says, stepping towards the door. "If the book is ever returned to you, I would be grateful-"
"-you would be in my debt?"
Regulus hesitates, and then smiles. "Yes, Malf. I would be in your debt."
"Why do you want it?"
Regulus looks at Lucius and then back at Narcissa and then over at Lucius. "I believe Sirius has taken to following his teachings. He has been," and he looks directly at Narcissa, "attempting to procure jewellery from the House of Black."
Lucius gives a light scoff. "I wouldn't concern yourself, Reg," he says, lightly. "Cissy's jewels are locked up tightly, and Bella's more so. Droma was cut out of the will entirely, just as Sirius was cut from yours. The other branches…" He shrugs.
"The other branches might sell to him."
"They might, but I doubt they will."
"Or he might steal."
"From here?" Lucius laughs. "From under my nose? From under mad old Bella's nose?"
"Lucius, don't."
Lucius simply raises his glass towards Narcissa. "I apologise, Cissy. Bellatrix is hardly old."
Regulus looks over at Narcissa, whose lips are pale and thin, her face filled with barely constrained fury.
"I apologise for my husband," she says, coldly, "of late, he has forgotten how one behaves."
"If you remember who has the book, I'd appreciate a loan of it," Regulus says, moving towards the door once more, "and I thank you both for listening to my request." He gives Lucius a sharp nod. "Your reminder about the other branches of the family was timely, Malf, thank you. I shall arrange to speak-"
"-don't bother," Lucius says. "Smith's theories were discredited for a reason, Reg. It doesn't matter if Sirius is adhering to them - the magic behind them has to be sound, and it isn't. It's the stuff of fairytales - complete and utter nonsense."
Severus and Lily lie together on the bed, naked, towels forgotten in the heat of their kiss.
"Another?"
Lily glances at the Fry's Five Centres wrapper resting on Severus' pillow, three distinct segments of the chocolate bar left.
"Yes, please."
"Close your eyes."
She laughs. "If I close my eyes, you're going to give me the pineapple one."
"It's a risk you'll have to take," he grins, and then he looks at her fondly. "Close your eyes," he repeats, his tone reassuring - and when she acquiesces, his smile grows wider, and his hand snakes out, picking up a third piece of chocolate.
At the rustle the wrapper makes as he lifts the chocolate up, she gives the smallest shake of her head. "Seriously, Sev, this had better not be pineapple-"
"-shhh," he laughs - and he darts a quick kiss to her lips, before pulling away and placing the chocolate on her tongue. He holds still, watching her intently as she bites into the chocolate.
"Mmm," she murmurs, savouring the flavour.
"Not pineapple," he says, pulling his hand away. He picks a second piece of chocolate up from the wrapper and tosses it into the air before catching it in his mouth.
She swallows the last of her chocolate. "Lime."
"Mmhmm."
She opens her eyes at his muffled agreement. "What about you, what've you just had?"
He chews and swallows, his eyes bright as he points to the chocolate bar wrapper, deliberately not answering. "One left."
"I had raspberry and lime," she says, eyeing it, "and you had orange and…?"
He doesn't answer.
"What did you just have? Is that the pineapple one?" she asks, pointing at the sole chocolate left on the wrapper.
"Only one way to find out. How brave are you, love? Are you going to run the risk of having it, knowing it's a fifty-fifty chance of being pineapple? Or are you leaving it for me?"
She looks at him, looks at how pleased and amused he seems, and then she reaches for the chocolate. Her eyes don't leave his as she places the chocolate in her mouth, biting into it tentatively - and he laughs when she moans in satisfaction as the strawberry flavour meets her tongue.
"Not pineapple," she says, licking her lips.
"Your bravery was rewarded," he acknowledges, reaching for the wrapper and screwing it up, before throwing it towards the bin. "You've been excelling yourself tonight."
"It wasn't bravery."
"No?"
"Strawberry is my favourite."
He nods.
"And whenever you've had one of these bars, you've always saved the strawberry segment for me. If it had been a toss up between lime and pineapple, you might've caught me out, but I know you, Severus Snape - I know you would never eat my favourite flavour."
This time, he quirks a smile. "You got me."
And then she grabs him, pulling him in for a long kiss. "I'm so glad."
Narcissa sits at her dressing table, brushing her hair furiously.
"Ah, I see I am sleeping in the guest suite tonight," Lucius says, leaning against the hallway wall, peering into their bedroom, and catching her eye in the reflection. "Again."
"And tomorrow, and next week, and the week after that."
"Next month?" Lucius enquires, that same smirk back on his face.
"You'll be lucky if I let you back in here before the end of the year," Narcissa snaps.
Lucius takes an unsteady step forward. "And if I refuse to leave?"
Narcissa slams the hairbrush down on the dressing table glass. "Then I shall sleep in the guest suite, Lucius," she says, standing. "It matters not."
He takes another step forward, his hand holding the door handle, clearly using it to hold his weight up. "I don't want you to sleep elsewhere. You're my wife. I want you to sleep with me."
"And I don't want you to spend all day every day drinking, but we don't always get what we want, do we?"
He scoffs. "I've had one drink."
"One? I was there when you poured at least a third of that bottle into your glass-"
"-fine, one large drink-"
"-and you'd already been drinking when I brought Regulus in."
Lucius huffs. "A man can't have a little drink now and again?"
"It's not now and again, Lucius - it's every single day!" She rubs her eyes. "Drinking yourself into destitution doesn't solve your problems."
"...perhaps not, but it makes me forget them for a while."
"It's not good enough, Lucius," she says, coldly. "I need my husband and Draco needs his father."
"Cissy," he says, reaching out for her, "it's been… This stuff with Rosier, and my father and Bast and Dolph, with the Dark Lord, with Severus!"
"Oh yes, with Severus," she says, angrily, "that would be the same Severus you nearly sold out to Regulus, would it?"
"I didn't mean to! It just slipped out."
"Oh yes, I'm sure if you explain that it just slipped out, Severus won't mind at all."
"Cissy, don't be ridiculous."
"You and I both know that the last thing Severus needs is Regulus Black hunting him down!"
"Regulus won't find him. Severus is too smart for that. Even I don't know where he is."
"Yes, well now you've set Regulus on his tail-"
"-I haven't set him on his tail," Lucius snaps. "You interrupted me, I didn't say anything further, Regulus won't think twice about it."
"You'd better hope he doesn't."
"Or what?" Lucius says, straightening, drawing himself to his full height - and Narcissa falters, causing Lucius to give a nasty smile. "No, I thought not. I, Cissy, am in a mess entirely of Severus' making - he should think himself bloody lucky that I haven't blasted his name across the Ministry, across the auror department, to the Dark Lord, to-"
"-then do it."
Lucius stills. "What?"
"Do it, Lucius," she says, "if that's the last little bit of power you've got to your name, and you want to use it to destroy the only true friends we have, then you go ahead! But don't expect to find me waiting for you when the deed is done."
Lily leans up on her elbow as Severus snaps the kitchen light off, watching him as he levitates their mugs over to the bed.
"Not more food?" she laughs, clocking that his hand is behind his back. "The chocolate didn't satisfy you? Glutton."
"Says the witch who ate 50% more than me."
"50%? I had one more piece!"
"The danger of statistics," he chuckles, and settles on the bed, grabbing her cup out of the air with his free hand and passing it to her, before taking his own.
"Thank you," she says, "for doing all of this." She waves her hand. "The cleaning and tidying, the shopping-"
"-it's nothing, love. You were looking after Riv, that makes us even."
"But the petals and the lights," she continues, "you didn't have to do that. And the way you pampered me in the shower, and shared your chocolate after."
He breaks into a smile. "You really enjoyed it?"
She returns his smile with one imbued with mischief. "I always enjoy eating your favourite chocolate bar."
"Merlin forbid I ever get to eat a whole one," he laughs, and then he levitates his mug back into the air. He reaches over, and strokes his fingers under her chin, raising her gaze. "And the shower?" he asks, staring at her intently. "You enjoyed that too?"
She nods.
He holds her gaze for a long moment, and then he pulls his other hand from behind his back, revealing a glass vial containing a colourless liquid.
She reaches for it. "You finished your potion?"
Severus nods, allowing her to take it from his hand, and then watching her keenly as she uncaps it.
Lily pauses, holding it away. "It's safe?"
He nods again. "Stable and safe," he says, "you can look, smell, touch, and taste." He shrugs, a laconic smile on his face. "You can even listen to it if you want, but I doubt you'd learn much."
"You still think I won't be able to work out what it is?"
He gives another slight nod.
She slowly rotates the vial in her hands, marking her acceptance of her husband's silent challenge, and then she takes a tentative sniff - still lavender and vanilla - before tipping it over, her palm covering the mouth of the vial.
The liquid touches her left palm, and she rights the vial, handing it back to Severus, who levitates it into the air. She peers at the viscous liquid - almost gelatinous - and experimentally smears it across her palm with her right forefinger, watching as it breaks down into a thinner consistency, like an oil.
She brings her palm up to her mouth, the aroma wafting over her once more, and then she hesitates, her eyes connecting again with her husband's.
"Taste it," he urges.
Her tongue is pointed as she tentatively touches her palm, and her eyes widen at the taste - and then her movement is more bold, as she licks her palm, as if not daring to believe the flavour. "It's like ice-cream. Like Neapolitan ice-cream." She sits back on her heels, staring at her husband in puzzlement.
"Got it yet?" he asks, looking faintly amused.
"It's impossible," she laughs, despite her frown, "an enigma. It's contradictory."
"In what way?"
"It's clear, so it gives nothing away as to what it might be," she says, "and then it's thick, but you touch it and it becomes runny. You smell it and it's lavender and vanilla, but you taste it and it's different again."
"Neapolitan."
"Neapolitan," she agrees.
"Which has vanilla flavouring in it," he points out.
"But not lavender! Vanilla and chocolate and strawberry." She pauses, and then looks at him again, her eyes narrowing. "That's your favourite, isn't it?"
He looks at her, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?"
"Take the Fry's bar," she says, slowly, "strawberry's my favourite, but you're happy to eat all of them." She gives him a hard look. "Even the awful pineapple one."
He gives a slight shrug, neither confirming nor denying her statement.
"Strawberry's my favourite flavour, but you don't have a preference. It's not the fondant inside that you like, but the chocolate." She stares at the vial. "And how strange and unusual would that be, that this potion that you're brewing just happens to combine our favourite flavours?"
He gives another shrug.
"No, Mr Snape, I don't think it tasted like that originally," she says, her eyes fixed on it, "it's colourless, after all. I think it's neutral, and you can imbue it with whatever you desire. It's meant to be vanilla in its usual form, isn't it? Clear to look at and plain to taste."
His lips betray him. "Clever witch."
"And if it was truly neutral, then it also means that you added the lavender aroma to it as well," she reasons. "Why?"
He hesitates, and then he scrambles off the bed and moves into the kitchen. When he returns, he's holding the bottle of fabric conditioner aloft. "I associate it with us. As a couple, I mean. The scent of our clothes and our towels and our bedding. Mam never used this."
"It reminds me of us too," she agrees. "It wasn't Mummy and Daddy's brand. I don't even remember why I picked it."
"It was probably on offer," he calls, returning the bottle to the kitchen before sitting back down next to her.
"Probably," she agrees - and then she gives a loud groan. "As much as this annoys me, I'm going to have to admit defeat. You're right - I have no idea what this potion is meant to be."
"No idea at all?"
"Well," she says, "I know it must be something for us as a couple - you wouldn't have made it so meaningful otherwise - but I can't work out what."
He places his hand on her cheek and draws her in for a kiss. "Tired?"
"Me? No," she says, confused at the sudden change of subject, "not really." She frowns. "Are you?"
"Not at all." He drains his mug of tea, and then places it on the floor, and plucks the vial out of the air and holds it aloft. "Want me to show you what it's for?"
"It's something good?"
He gives a playful laugh. "Are you going to be my brave witch for a third time tonight?"
"Omne trium perfectum," she says, her eyes sparkling.
"I've never been more glad that we both studied Latin, love," he grins, and then he lays their towels across the top of the duvet, piles their pillows up and pats the bed. "Now lie down for me and make yourself comfortable."
He's massaged her before, his strong, slender fingers kneading the muscles in her back, but it's different this time - different because they're both naked, different because it's a full body massage rather than just her shoulders, different because of his technique; he isn't pressing as hard as when he's trying to work out a knot of tension, instead, his hands seem to glide across the entirety of her body.
At first, his touch is almost as light as it was with the razor, his fingers leaving almost ghostly trails as he works his way up and down her limbs, skirting down to the small of her back, and then gliding back towards her neck.
He scoops her hair in his hand, and twists it, and moves it to the side of her head, giving him clearer access to the top of her back. The aroma of the potion is intoxicating as he massages it into her skin, his movements becoming firmer as he manipulates her muscles, seducing her into a state of pure relaxation.
She feels as if she's floating when he starts to press kisses down her spine, and then it feels to her as if he's disappeared. Her body feels so light, it's as if she's levitating - and then she feels his soft touch again, this time at her ankles.
This time, he's slower - his fingertips trailing up her smooth legs an inch at a time, before heading back down again: up an inch, down an inch, up two inches, down two inches, up two inches, down an inch, up two inches, down three inches.
She tries to keep count of his movements, but she's so relaxed, her mind drifts away, her eyes closed, the tension releasing from her body. His hands move higher and higher, and just as she starts to move her legs apart in reaction to his movements, he's leaning over her, his mouth at her ear.
"Turn over, love."
Lily does as he requests, her eyes still closed - not deliberately, but as if she's being drawn into a serene slumber, as if she can't muster up the fight to keep them open.
Severus repeats his actions, recommencing his slow leisurely exploration of her. The potion glides over her body, his fingers massaging it into her, and then his lips meet her skin, darting kisses up and down.
He moves onto her legs, slowly working his way up, and this time when he reaches her inner thighs, he doesn't retreat when she opens her legs more widely. He takes the hint but he doesn't hasten - his fingers still massaging her leisurely, as if they have all of the time in the world, and then he slowly kisses his way up her thighs.
It's only when he reaches the top of her legs that he hesitates. She waits - a moment, then two - and then her arm moves, her hand tangling in his hair, in a repeat of her actions in the shower, holding him firmly.
"Veto?"
"Not a chance," she replies, and she can feel him smiling against her skin and she opens her eyes to look at him.
He brings his finger up to his temple and touches it. "Still turned on up here?"
"Yes," she breathes.
Then he moves his finger down from his face to her, stroking gently across her folds. "And my potion will help you here?"
Her breath hitches and her fingers clench in his hair, and he breaks eye contact with her.
"I told you I could make you feel good without penetration," he continues, his voice barely a murmur.
"Yes," she says, breathlessly, "you did."
He gives a soft laugh. "I did what? Tell you," he asks, "or succeeded?"
"Both."
"I meant it. I still mean it." He holds still for a moment, and then his voice is a little firmer. "Veto?"
She tugs more firmly on his hair, lifting his gaze so he's staring at her, and shakes her head.
"Are you sure? We don't have to carry on," he says, his lips millimetres from her, his breath warm against her.
"Don't you dare stop," she says, her hand gripping his hair so tightly he grimaces - and she gives an embarrassed laugh when she catches his pained expression, causing her to bite her lip and loosen her hold.
To her relief, he laughs, and he's even more generous with his application of the potion, spreading it liberally over her - and although she keeps her hand tangled in his hair, he needs no encouragement to lower his head, gleefully tasting both his potion and his wife in equal measure.
It's a long, slow, drawn out climb but he's patient and steady, careful not to deviate in his movements - even when she opens her eyes and looks directly at him, his mouth clamped against her but his right hand busy sliding up and down his cock.
The visual seems to trigger something deep inside her, seeing her husband so aroused through pleasuring her, and although the angle is uncomfortable, she cranes her neck to watch him touching himself.
A voyeur, she thinks, her own accusation towards him rattling through her mind, but only when it's you.
Eventually, they're both rewarded with her breathless moans and arched back, and she sinks into their pillows, sated and exhausted - and he seems to recognise her state, as he clambers up the bed beside her, rather than indulging in his usual competitive efforts of attempting to coax another orgasm from her.
He hasn't come; he's still hard, his cock pressing against her thigh, but he ignores it in favour of kissing her passionately, and the sweet flavours from his tongue mingle in her mouth.
She reaches down between them, her hand wrapping around his length, and her eyebrow arches in surprise when she realises he's used the potion on himself as well.
Hardly a shock, she thinks, it was all over his hands - but her train of thought is broken as he groans in satisfaction at her touch, and he rolls over, his back pressed flat against the mattress, his hips thrusting up in the air in silent encouragement of her movements.
Lily pumps and swirls her hand, knowing exactly how he likes to be touched, the remnants of the potion making her hand glide with ease - and then she spies the potion vial on the bed, and a wicked smile forms on her lips. She flicks the cap off, and then she releases him - causing him to gasp in protest, but when he looks up and over at her and sees her rubbing the potion liberally into her chest, he stares at her in amazement.
"Come on then," she grins, amused at his wide-eyed expression.
It takes him a moment to react, like he's been stunned, and then he moves quickly - as if trying to make up for his initial slow reaction. He kneels over her, straddling her - taking care not to rest his weight on her ribcage - and he slides his cock between her breasts, and throws his head back when she holds him in place.
"Fuck fuck fuck," he groans as he thrusts. He reaches forward, but there's no headboard for him to grab hold of, and it's briefly as if he's lost control of his arms, indecisive as to where he should place his hands, and then he holds them at the back of his head, his fingers sliding into his hair and gripping tightly, exactly as Lily had held him just minutes ago as she chased her own release.
It's over quickly - far more quickly than his brain wants it to be, but his long neglected cock has other ideas. He looks down, his mouth still slack, an apology already forming on his lips, but Lily's delighted expression causes him to pause. His eyes widen further when she runs her finger across her chest and brings it to her lips, her eyes not leaving his as she sucks her finger into her mouth.
"Fucking hell, love," he gasps.
She does it again and again, and then she reaches up and grabs him, pulling him down into a soulful kiss - and this time, their roles are reversed, and he can taste the potion and himself on her tongue.
So very many. Narcissa's words seem to rattle around Regulus' brain. So very many. Odd phrasing. Odd that Lucius would choose to say it, odd that Narcissa would choose to interrupt him, odd that she would say the same thing.
So very many.
Regulus fiddles with the quill before him. Narcissa interrupted Lucius, and did so loudly - not just interrupted, but actively spoke over him.
Lucius wasn't going to say, 'So very many', he thinks, and he tips the quill in his hand, dabbing the nib into ink.
So very many, he writes. So very many. So very many. So very many. So very many.
He practices the letters with care at first, fully formed, perfectly written - and then he stands to close the gaps, starts to scribble the letters, half joining the tops, wildly swinging his quill on the descenders.
Sovery many. Sovery many. So verymany. Soverymany. Soverymany. Soverymuny. Sovermuny.
He pauses, staring at the letters. Lucius didn't get as far as saying 'many', he thinks, drawing a bold line through the letters before writing the phrase again and again.
Sover. Sover. Sover. Sover. Sever. Sever. Sever. Sever. Sever. Severus.
Regulus sits back, staring at the name on the page, and then he gives a short laugh of delight. Who else would Lucius lend his precious books to?
"Thank you, Malf," he whispers.
Chapter 158: Vulnerable
Chapter Text
Moody leans back in the chair opposite Dumbledore's desk, his eyes fixed on the measure of firewhisky in his glass. He gently swirls the golden liquid, listening intently as Dumbledore speaks.
"The execution is in Peter's hands, but I think he is capable of the task. I think it will be enough to distract Sirius."
Moody huffs. "That boy's a dog with a bone."
"I know that Sirius has impressed you-"
"-not recently-"
"-in the past," Dumbledore says, raising his voice slightly, "but despite being friends, he seems to have little regard for Peter." He shrugs. "I would agree with you if this was James Potter - Sirius would smell a rat a mile away, but Peter being relieved of his duties due to his incompetency is the news that Sirius has been waiting to hear."
"He said as much to me."
"Exactly. His bias will prevent him from seeing the truth."
Moody nods, still swirling the liquid in his glass. "And you think this subterfuge to keep him in place is worth the effort? There was a reason we wanted Sirius in the first place."
"And when he failed to show, that door was closed to us," Dumbledore says, seriously. "We can't use him now."
Moody sits quietly - thoughtfully. "But Peter," he says, "is he truly of use to us? It concerns me that he's held in such low regard by those closest to him." Moody rotates his glass in his hand, over and over, almost hypnotic in his movements. "What was he like when he was a student?"
"Quiet. Average." There's a pause. "Anonymous."
"Now that could be a worthwhile attribute."
Dumbledore nods. "He's developed contacts already."
"Oh?"
"He appears to have befriended the same wizard Severus Snape did."
"Cato Avery." Moody shakes his head. "Well, he's hardly You-Know-Who's right hand."
"You'd prefer it if I asked Peter to approach Bellatrix Lestrange?"
Moody gives a short laugh, then sips from his glass. "I saw Peter's name in the visitor's book. Avery denied it when I questioned him."
"Did he really?" Dumbledore leans forward, his elbows resting on his desk, his hands together, fingers touching. "Why would he lie?"
"I assumed it was political." Moody gives a twisted smile. "Habitual. His sort don't assist my sort."
Dumbledore doesn't answer, but busies himself moving some papers on his desk. Moody watches him carefully, taking slow sips of his firewhisky, and then he places the glass heavily on the desk.
"Forgive me, Albus," he says, bluntly, "but you didn't drag me up here in the dead of night to give me an update on Sirius Black's social standing."
"No," Dumbledore says, with a short smile, "I did not."
"Then what?"
"I dragged you up here to share a prophecy," Dumbledore says, his smile growing wider. "One that foretells the downfall of our enemy."
Moody leans forward, keenly. "A prophecy?"
Dumbledore picks up a sheet of parchment and reads from it. "The nemesis rises from darkness, the challenger is born. A baby once so wanted, scorned and ignored. Marked by another, loyalties torn, nemesis of the Dark Lord."
Moody sits, frowning, going over the words. "Not strictly a downfall," he remarks. "It's woolly enough."
"Aren't all prophecies?" Dumbledore says, lightly. "But nemesis is a powerful term."
"As is challenger." Moody exhales. "And it's legitimate?"
"I believe so. I wouldn't be bothering you if it wasn't."
"And can we prove it's legitimate to him?"
Dumbledore fingers his beard. "Do you think we need to?"
"If it was a prophecy about yourself, what would you do?"
"I'm not a paranoid megalomaniac."
Moody smiles. "He might try to verify it. He has enough witches and wizards on the inside to know that the Hall exists."
"Then perhaps you should tighten security in the Department of Mysteries," Dumbledore says, mirroring Moody's smile, "or maybe you shouldn't."
"Is this the task you're giving to Peter? Getting him to whisper it to Avery as a means of bolstering his usefulness?"
Dumbledore shakes his head. "It's too soon. It would draw too much attention to him."
"Anonymous," Moody says, recalling Dumbledore's earlier assessment of Pettigrew's character - and then he takes in Dumbledore's pleased expression. "What is it, Albus?"
"That was the method I was thinking of. An anonymous letter."
"And you'd take that seriously, would you, if you were one of his loyal Death Eaters?"
Dumbledore smiles. "If you were one of his loyal Death Eaters, would you dare not?"
Severus and Lily lie together, his arms wrapped loosely around her, his nose nestled in her hair. The orange glow from the fire bathes the room in a soft, warm, peaceful light, and her eyelids feel heavy.
She slips into a light slumber, stirring when he gets out of bed - but it takes her a few moments to truly register his disappearance, gazing blearily towards the open kitchen door.
"Sev?" she calls, her voice thick with sleep.
No answer comes, and although she fights to stay awake, she drifts back to sleep again before he returns - but she awakens when he returns, the latch clicking softly as he closes the door.
She stares up at him as he stands over her, smelling faintly of cigarette smoke and strongly of soap. As he kneels before her, she spies a tell-tale line of bubbles snaking between his chest and arm, and then he holds out a green flannel.
Lily nods, and he uses the soft flannel to gently clean her - touching her almost reverently - wiping away all traces of their lovemaking and removing any excess potion from her skin.
"Taking care of me again?" she asks, as he folds the flannel over and runs it down each of her legs.
"You say it like it's a bad thing," he murmurs, folding the flannel into quarters and placing it on the floor by his feet.
She hesitates, her eyes darting around the room - looking at everything but her husband - and then it's as if he senses her anxiety, and he reaches up, smoothing her hair behind her ear and cradling her face in his hand so he can see her expression.
Severus frowns, looking concerned. "Is it a bad thing?"
She falls silent, her eyes casting downwards, fixed on his thighs.
"Lil? What have I done?" He strokes his thumb across her cheek, searching for eye contact - and when she looks at him, she can see his confusion.
"Nothing, Sev," she says, twisting against his hand and pressing her lips to his palm, "it's not you."
He bites his lip. "I thought… I thought you were… I thought we were enjoying ourselves," he says, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"I was. We were."
"Then what's this all about, love?"
Lily's eyes dart around the room again, and then she leans into his touch, as if seeking comfort from his hand. "I don't understand."
"Don't understand what?"
"How do you know what to do?" she asks.
Severus looks bewildered, and then he spies the rising colour in her cheeks. "Is this about sex? About what we just did together?" He gives her a sly smile. "You seemed to know exactly what you were doing."
"It seems wrong."
His reaction is instantaneous; he withdraws his hand so quickly, it's as if her face is on fire and touching her has burnt his skin. He sits back on his heels, looking as if he's been slapped, and his expression is haunted - as if he's on the cusp of being sick.
You always knew this was a risk, he thinks, showing her this side of you. She's not like you. She's a good girl.
His nostrils flare slightly. "I thought… You had a veto, Lil," he says, dully. "You could've stopped me at any time. I asked you," he says, and she isn't sure if he's emphasising the word for her sake or his, "I asked, more than once-"
"-you didn't push me into anything I didn't want to do," she says, reaching for him. "It was wonderful, Sev."
He visibly relaxes at her last statement, and he permits her to take his hand - although he watches her warily. "So what wasn't? The shower? The massage? The potion? You said-"
"-no, all of that was good," she says, earnestly, giving him a wide smile. "So good, Sev."
He looks even more perplexed. "Then what?" He gives a slight shake of his head. "You've lost me, love."
Lily's free hand reaches up to toy with her lip, and she worries it back and forth until he leans forward and gently clamps his hand over hers, preventing her fingers from pulling at the delicate skin.
"You'll do yourself a mischief," he murmurs.
"You brushed my hair," she says, eventually, "but you didn't want me to brush yours."
Severus frowns. "It wasn't that I…" He hesitates, his frown deepening. "That wasn't tonight, that was months ago." He swallows uncomfortably. "Lil, has that been bothering you all these weeks?"
"No," she says, in the tone of voice which suggests the opposite, "not really."
"But," he prompts, sensing there's more to come.
"But you worshipped me tonight," she says, "and you keep saying it, keep talking about worshipping me, but I thought… I thought…"
He waits, and when she doesn't speak, he leans forward. "You thought what?"
"I thought that's what I was supposed to do to you," she admits, her voice low.
He looks delighted, and a wide smirk spreads across his lips. "You want to worship me?"
Lily blushes harder, and when she moves to hide her face from him in her embarrassment, he gleefully cradles her face once more, turning her to look at him.
"You want to worship me," he repeats - and this time it isn't a question, and his lips quirk again at the idea of her desiring the task. "Well," he says, sleekly, "I think I would enjoy that very much."
She gives him an uncertain smile.
He pauses, and he peers at her more intently, as if something has occurred to him. "You said it was wrong," he says. "Didn't you enjoy it when I did it to you?"
"Yes."
He arches his eyebrow. "Yes, but what?"
Lily's quiet for a moment, and then her words fall from her lips in a rush. "I don't know much about this stuff, Sev! I thought I was meant to be the one who…" She trails off. "I don't know how you know what to do - I don't know what I'm meant to be doing."
"I see," he says, sitting back on his heels again.
"I need a book or something."
He smiles again, his eyes sparkling. "Yeah? Reckon Cokeworth Library's got one in? Shall we go down and ask Edie Grant for her recommendation?"
"Sev!" She covers her face with her hands. "Honestly, you're mortifying."
He chuckles, reaching up to peel her hands slowly away. "You're right, as always, love," he says, gently, "I read a book or two when I was younger."
Her heart hammers a little faster. "Have you still got them?"
He shakes his head. "They weren't mine. I borrowed them."
"Let me guess - from Lucius?"
Severus gives her a slow smile. "Naturally."
She hesitates. "Is he into this too then? Do you think he and Cissy do this sort of stuff?"
He scoffs. "I doubt he's ever bothered to read anything on the topic. Malf does whatever he wants, with little to no regard for the consequences. I thought you'd noticed that."
"So he didn't purposefully give you the books?" Lily asks, thinking about the pornographic material Lucius gave to Severus on his sixteenth birthday.
"I don't think he even knows he has them," Severus says, airily. "He was happy for me to run riot in his library, and he rarely showed any interest in what I was borrowing." He shrugs, a smile on his face at the memory. "Unless he was in a shitty mood, and then he could be difficult."
"In what way? He wouldn't let you borrow things?"
"Yeah," Severus says, "or there'd be a price attached. You know what he's like." His wry smile doesn't leave his face. "I soon learnt to ask Cissy instead; you know Cissy - ever the obliging host. She let me borrow whatever I wanted without question." His lips twist in amusement. "And what's more, I didn't give some of those books back for months and months and months, and she didn't complain - and she didn't fine me either, which is more than what I can say for Edie bloody Grant!"
In spite of herself, Lily laughs.
Severus grins at her, and then he eyes her curiously. "So," he says, "that's my story. Your turn."
"What do you mean?"
"What did you read?"
Lily hesitates.
"You read something, Lil," he murmurs, "for you to think that we were doing it wrong."
"Nothing," she says, "not really."
He tilts his head, watching her intently. "There's no rules to this, love," he says. "There's not a method in a book that we need to follow. If anything, I took a metaphorical leaf from Malf's book."
She raises her eyebrows.
"I do whatever feels good to me," he elaborates, sitting forward and pressing his forehead against hers. "Whatever excites me. Whatever I think will excite you, whatever I think will make you feel good." He darts a quick kiss to her lips. "I don't want to screw this up between us - what we do needs to make you feel good too; there's no point otherwise." His voice is suddenly lower. "I thought that's what we were doing. I thought I made you feel good, Lil."
"You do."
He pauses, then draws back. "But something wasn't right?"
No answer.
"Because of something you read?" he presses.
"It wasn't anything, really," she says, flushing, "just some romance novel."
"Like the ones your grandmother used to read?" He laughs. "You hypocrite-"
"-I'm not a hypocrite-"
"-you were always so disparaging of her reading habits, and now it's coming out! There you were, pretending to be innocent, when you were really stealing them from under her nose-"
"-it wasn't one of hers! It wasn't even deliberate - I borrowed it from the library by accident."
"Course you did," he laughs.
"I did," she insists, "it was filed in the wrong section."
"A likely story."
"It's the truth - it had the wrong shelf sticker on." She bites her lip. "...I found that out when I tried to find it again. I even asked at the desk about it."
He gives another chuckle. "Even better," he grins, triumphantly, "so Edie Grant really does know your shameful secret. We can go down tomorrow and you can ask her for the dirtiest, filthiest, most sordid-"
"-Merlin, Sev, stop it!" Colour rushes into her cheeks again. "It was awful when she finally found it. I couldn't bring myself to take it from her - I just said that I must've got the titles mixed up and the one she found wasn't the right book after all."
"Must've been good," he muses, "for you to still remember it." He stares intently into her eyes. "What was in this steamy romance novel? What got you so hot under the collar that you went back to the library to try to find it again?" He pauses, mulling over her previous statements. "A woman worshipping a man?"
She nods, still blushing furiously. "I think so. Maybe. Look, Sev, it was a long time ago - I can't remember that much about it."
"No?" He curls his forefinger and runs it down her cheek, giving her an amused look. "I think you remember more than you're letting on, and there's part of me that wants to keep asking you about this book," he murmurs, "because the colour on your cheeks is something to behold. In fact, I reckon if I open our door, there'll be planes crash landing, missing Manchester Airport by miles-"
"-Sev-"
"-mistaking your face for a runway light-"
"-you're awful-"
"-and you love it," he teases, pressing his lips to hers, and then he pulls her into his arms, holding her close. "We can do whatever turns you on, Lil," he whispers into her ear. "We can get that book and act out every single page if that's what you're into. There are no rules."
"But you said," she starts, taking a breath, "when we were at Hogwarts, you said…"
He releases her and leans back, arching his eyebrow. "I said what?"
"You said, 'I have no wish to submit to another'," she says, "but you did! You worshipped me. Like the woman did in the book."
He frowns. "Me worshipping you isn't submission," he explains, gently. "You're mine, Lily," he says, a sudden firmness entering his tone, "and if I want to brush your hair, I will. If I want to help you to get ready, I will. If I want to massage you, and tease you, and pleasure you, I will."
"Because I'm yours."
"Yes. Mine."
She swallows, watching him carefully. "But you're mine too, Sev, and I want to do those things to you," she explains. "I want you to know how it feels to have your hair brushed, to be looked after," she says, quickly, before he can interrupt, "and I want to worship your body like you worshipped mine tonight, I want…" She bites her lip.
"You want what?"
"I watched you tonight," she admits.
"Watched me?"
"Touching yourself," she says, "and it was so hot, Sev, seeing you worked up like that." She swallows awkwardly, as if it's an admission she knows she shouldn't be voicing. "Like you said when you were watching me getting ready - it was like being a voyeur. And it's not just that - you said you like it when I get dressed up for you and undressed for you, but Sev, I like it when you do those things too! I like it when you put on your smartest clothes and wear your nice cologne and use my conditioner on your hair and make yourself attractive for me." She gives him a tight smile. "I remember when you turned up at Mummy's and Daddy's one night in a state, one of those times-"
"-when I was living at Hogwarts-"
"-and I was furious-"
"-angry," he agrees, looking ashamed, "I'm sorry-"
"-but only half furious," she corrects. "It was annoying that you turned up looking like that, but…" She runs her hand through his hair. "I don't know. Part of me liked seeing that you only did it for me - that you couldn't be bothered when I wasn't around."
He gives a stiff nod.
"And that's what you said to me - that it turns you on that I make myself attractive for you, for your eyes only - but Sev, I feel like that about you too!"
Severus gives a slight shrug. "I'm happy to do those things for you."
"But we can't be the same," she says, plaintively, trying to make him understand.
"It's not necessarily the same," he says, following her train of thought. "The acts might be the same, but there's other elements involved - different parts of the dynamic."
"That's what I don't understand."
"Right," he says, taking her hands, "if I worship you, I'm worshipping what's mine. If you worship me, that's service."
"I still don't understand the difference."
He frowns as he concentrates, clearly thinking how best to answer her. "Choice," he says, eventually, "I think it's choice. I choose to reward you. I choose to play with what belongs to me."
"But I don't get to do the same? I don't get to play with you?"
He shrugs, and then a smile plays on his lips. "Well, if you want to be submissive to me, then it's still my choice. You can't just do whatever you want," he explains, "you have to ask if I permit it."
"And if you don't permit it?"
"Then that's a little frustrating for you, isn't it?" he says, with a smile. "And maybe you'll relish the opportunity all the more when I say yes in the future." He pauses, taking in her uncertain expression. "I might not say no. Maybe I'll just tell you which parts of me you're allowed to worship."
He lets his hand drift down to cup his cock and she blushes at the insinuation.
"See how it's the same action, but the dynamic is different?"
Lily nods. "But the other stuff-"
"-it's just stuff, Lil," he says. "We can work it out between us as we go along." He looks at her thoughtfully. "Besides, you might not be submissive."
"I don't want to tell you which part of me you're allowed to worship," she says, quickly.
He laughs. "Or maybe you are," he says, kissing her. "I'm just saying, you don't have to like everything. You can say no, you can veto, we can try other things." He shifts uncomfortably. "There might even be things you want to do that are more traditionally dominant…"
"That's what I mean," she says, earnestly, "what if it's something I want and you don't want to do it? You said it, Sev, you said you didn't want to submit, so how can I explore-"
"-maybe I would try it," he says, softly, looking away. "For you."
His admission stuns her, and her mouth falls open.
"I'm not saying I can handle it," he adds, quickly, "but if there's something you really want…" He looks at her. "And maybe some of it is something we can twist into that dynamic we talked about," he says, thoughtfully.
"Like how worship is different between us?"
"Yeah," he says, and that lazy smile creeps over his face again. "It sounds like we both get a kick out of watching each other-"
"-it was so hot seeing you do that, Sev-"
"-my thoughts exactly," he says, "so I might instruct you to do it for me - for you to obey my instruction. We've done stuff like that before."
Lily gives him an uncertain smile, her stomach twisting deliciously at his words - and his smile widens, as if registering her nervous anticipation.
"Whereas if you want to watch me touching myself," he continues, "that might be something I choose to reward you with."
"A reward for what?"
He leans up and kisses her, his hands tangling in her hair, and his mouth grazing across her cheek and up to her ear. "I could give you a reward if you've been a very, very, good girl," he murmurs, and then he kisses his way down her neck and then back up again, his hold tightening on her hair, "or maybe I'd prefer it if you've been a very, very, bad one."
Her stomach twists again and she breathes a little harder, and then she draws him into a long kiss, not letting him up until he's as breathless as she is.
"And you'll let me do some of those things to you?" she asks as he pulls back.
This time, it's his chest that tightens, and the apprehension is clear on his face. "I'll try."
"I would never humiliate you," she says, remembering his words back at Hogwarts.
He gives a tight nod. "I trust you."
"And being vulnerable isn't necessarily humiliating."
His eyes darken.
"I know what you're thinking," she says, "but I'm not talking about the things you want to do to me."
Severus' face is almost perfectly stoic, but his eyebrow betrays him, the edge of it quirking upwards. "And tell me, Lily," he murmurs, his voice silky once more, "what exactly do I want to do to you that you'd find humiliating?"
She presses a kiss to his lips, deliberately ignoring his question, knowing that he'll use it to steer them offtopic. "Being vulnerable is part of being in a relationship," she says, "and I don't want you taking on some role, some dynamic in our sex life that bleeds over into you feeling unable to talk to me about any problems you're trying to deal with. I don't want you using this as an excuse for shutting me out."
He gives a stiff nod. "I won't."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
"Good," she says, kissing him again, and then she swings her legs out of the bed. "Can you open the back door for me? I need the loo."
Lupin stands and yawns, stretching his arms out wide, and then scratching his upper back before dragging on his dressing gown. He walks across the landing, and when he notices Potter's bedroom door is ajar, he can't help but glance inside.
He stops dead, holding the two ends of his dressing gown cord in his hands, distracted from the task of tying them together around his waist at the sight of Potter and Black coiled together in Potter's single bed.
"Well," he mutters, "I can't truly say I'm surprised."
Narcissa stands in the doorway to Lucius' study, a disdainful look on her face as she takes in her husband's dishevelled appearance.
He's asleep - fully clothed, slumped forward on his desk, bent awkwardly at the waist so his upper back is uncomfortably rounded. His arms are folded and resting on the desk, and although it seems his forehead was originally resting on his arms, he's clearly shifted in his sleep, and his neck is twisted in a strange position, his head partly settled against his wrist and partly pressed against the hard wooden desk.
Narcissa huffs and then paces forward, slapping three envelopes onto his desk from a height.
Lucius doesn't stir.
She waits a moment, and then she reaches for his empty firewhisky glass - wrinkling her nose as the aroma of last night's alcohol hits her - and then she thumps it on top of the letters.
The reverberation through the desk makes Lucius jolt upwards, as if he's had electrodes placed at the base of his spine and a sudden sharp current has flooded through his nervous system.
"This is not a good look, darling," she hisses.
Lucius groans, his pale eyes water-filled and reddened, and reaches behind him. His left hand massages the small of his back whilst he fixes his right elbow on the desk and braces himself, resting his forehead against his right hand, his fingers rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"And this is ridiculous," she continues, "sleeping down here, at your desk, fully clothed."
"You threw me out of our bedroom."
"It's not the only bedroom we have, Lucius. There are a number of other beds you could've slept in."
"Mmm," he grunts, "in the basement of the kitchen with the elves, perhaps?"
She shoots him a hostile look. "Self pity doesn't suit you."
"Forgive me, Cissy," Lucius says, wearily, "but it was your decision that I should not sleep beside you, was it not? So tell me, what business is it of yours where else I choose to sleep in my own home?"
She opens her mouth, ready to protest, and then closes it again.
He glances at the new envelopes on his desk. "And you're still playing post owl, I see. How very interesting."
"Did you choose to sleep here," Narcissa asks, icily, "or did you drink at your desk until you fell unconscious?"
"Your white knight hasn't swept in to save you, then," he mutters, barely looking at the envelopes as he collects them together and puts them into his desk drawer.
"And your problems don't go away just by locking them in a drawer-"
"-not that it matters if he does. You're stuck with me, Cissy, I won't let you leave me for another-"
"-or by getting so drunk you can't remember what they are!"
"Oh, but for a fleeting moment," he shouts, "what a blessing that would be!"
"We all have our problems, Lucius."
He scoffs and stands, his legs unsteady - although she isn't certain if it's the effects of the alcohol in his system, or cramp from being crunched behind his desk all night.
"Maybe I can help."
He gives a soft laugh. "No," he says, twirling his finger, "this is a death spiral. There's no escaping this. You were right - I am destined to be ruined."
"If it's money-"
"-it's not money," he says, gripping the edge of the desk.
"No? Then why are you hiding these bills? Why aren't you paying them?"
Lucius looks at her, his expression pained. "It doesn't matter if I pay them or not. I pay one, another comes in. I pay that, two more appear. Paying them is merely prolonging the inevitable."
"I thought you had faith in the Dark Lord," she says, "when I suggested he was trying to bankrupt you, you said-"
"-you were right. He believes me to be disloyal. A liar," Lucius says, simply. "And why wouldn't he, Cissy?" He gives her a thin smile. "I lied about my father being in Europe. I lied about not being able to fund the cause. I lied about Rosier's murder, and Mulciber's involvement, and hid Severus from justice. I lied about my family's allegiance, and I have repeatedly welcomed and entertained a Mudblood-"
"-don't speak about Lily in such terms-"
"-in these very walls." He glances behind him, as if expecting to find Voldemort standing behind him. "I am not loyal to him or to his cause, Cissy. I am all that he might accuse me of."
"Merlin's sake, Lucius," she says, taking a step forward, "don't say such things out loud."
"No," he says, with a smile, "you never are quite sure who's listening, are you?" He looks around. "Thankfully, your family's portraits are in the hall, else I am sure bankruptcy would be the least of my worries."
"You might be wrong about the Dark Lord's intentions," Cissy says, her voice clipped. "You've said before that there's no way out - that your father signed you into his service-"
"-we've been through this. I had to accept-"
"-service or death."
He gives a slight nod.
"And would your death have been a punishment for you, or punishment for your father?"
Lucius stands still, unmoving. "Both," he says, after a moment.
"A soldier would say that death was more honourable than serving a cause that he did not truly believe-"
"-I believed in the cause, Cissy!" he interrupts. "You believed in the cause." He runs his hands through his hair. "And I'm no soldier."
"The Dark Lord's clipping your wings, that's all," Narcissa says, taking a step closer to him. "If he wanted to make an example of you, he could've done so."
"Oh, he did make an example of me." Lucius looks away. "His use of the Cruciatus…" He shakes his head. "I lost standing."
"Did you?"
He looks back towards her.
"Or did your comrades see you take a vicious punishment and live to tell the tale?" She tilts her head. "If he felt you could no longer serve him, he would've murdered you as a lesson to the rest. Service or death."
"It's a reassuring thought, thank you, Cissy," he says, drolly.
"This is punishment for your transgressions. A warning that you cannot strike out alone - that you need him."
"And if it's not? If you're wrong?"
"The man I married, Lucius, would not roll over without a fight."
There's a long pause. "He spoke with me. Afterwards. He told me to keep the potions supply up." Another pause. "I can't work out why."
"Because if you're delivering potions, you have a brewer? And if you have a brewer, he wants access?"
"Possibly," Lucius says, "although he deliberately checked to see if I could keep up appearances - if I had back stock. No brewer required."
"Then there must be another reason."
"Mass compliance, I think."
"Imperatum? I thought Severus didn't brew it?"
Lucius shakes his head. "He didn't." Then he gives a wry smile, pointing at the dregs of firewhisky in the bottle on his desk. "You can gain power through oppression," he says, "or you can distract the populace instead. Vigilantes fight against oppression."
"But few turn down a party."
Lucius nods. "Distraction."
"Then I'm right. He needs you."
"And these blasted bills?"
"Pay what you can," she says. "Work out if we have a shortfall." She swallows tightly. "There might be artefacts or heirlooms that we can move on to an interested party."
"Like Regulus," Lucius says, "or Sirius."
"Lucius, be reasonable, they're family."
"They're also gullible. If they're both convinced that Cadmus Smith's theories are legitimate, I'm sure we could start a bidding war between them for anything you have with the Black crest on it."
"First things first," she says, taking a step towards his desk, indicating towards the drawer. "We need to know how bad it is. I could help," she offers.
He places his hand on the drawer. "I can take care of it, Cissy."
"And Severus' potions? You can start supplying the streets again?"
"It's already in hand."
"Is it?"
"There are wheels in motion. The potions, they're… They're not immediately accessible."
She looks at him thoughtfully. "Maybe that's why these bills are coming in," she says. "The Dark Lord thinks you're holding out on him - on a clear instruction that he's given."
He seems surprised, but he straightens, giving a tight nod. "Then I shall move things along."
"I can help," she offers again, but he shakes his head - so she turns and makes her way to the door.
"You should at least do me the courtesy of telling me to my face," he calls over. "From your own lips."
She turns back, frowning.
He shakes his head. "What was it? Did I…" He falters, and composes himself. "Did I not permit you enough freedom?"
She brings her hand to her face, rubbing at the ever-deepening crease between her eyebrows. "Lucius, for the last time, I am not having an affair."
His nostrils flare and his back straightens. His voice is cold when he speaks - disbelieving. "No?"
"No."
He scoffs. "You'd hardly tell me if you were."
"All this paranoia over a letter."
"You wait for his word more keenly than you've ever awaited me."
This time, it's Narcissa's turn to scoff. "You have no idea which letter I am waiting for."
"I have an idea."
"The wrong idea," she insists. "You don't know if it's from a witch or a wizard-"
"-a wizard-"
"-you don't know that!" Narcissa draws herself up to her full height. "If you must know, it's about Draco's schooling," she says, looking away as she lies, and then turns back to her husband. "I am astonished that after all I have done for you - after indulging your whims all these years-"
"-my whims? You wanted-"
"-no!" she shrieks. "I didn't want! You wanted me to, and I will not have you rewriting history, Lucius!" She stalks over to his desk, slamming her palms on the table top in righteous fury, her hands stinging with the violent impact. "I do whatever you want me to do because I have only ever wanted you, Lucius, so spare me your hard-done-by performance, when you - and you alone - have been the architect of our relationship."
He shakes his head, pacing away from her. "You've said that before," he says, with a sneer, "as if I would believe it. We both know that I wasn't your great hope at romance! You can pretend to yourself all you like that this is what you wanted, but we both know the truth. You," he says, turning and pointing his finger towards her, "meddled in the plan. It was all arranged - a powerful marriage between two families, and I found myself caught in the middle of a silly sibling spat! You ruined everything that my father had planned for me, took Bella from me-"
"-Bella was never yours! She was going to cuckoo you," Narcissa yells, and despite her fury, she feels a surge of triumph as she sees the colour drain from Lucius' face. "If you think the Dark Lord trying to bankrupt you is him destroying you, then you wouldn't have made it a day married to Bella."
"Cuckoo me?"
"She told Droma all about it - she was sleeping around behind your back, sleeping with the Dark Lord! She was marrying you for your fortune, Lucius! Once she had your name and a claim to your inheritance, she intended to bear his children and to raise them here - with your name, heirs to your estate."
"Heir." His voice is quiet. "It's not plural. There is only ever one Malfoy child."
"Heirs," Narcissa repeats, "she would've had heirs. The whole magical world knows about the Malfoy curse, so imagine the shame you would've felt - the shame she would've brought upon you and your father, upon your family name. You're worried about your social standing now, Lucius, but it would've been in tatters had you married Bellatrix - standing here with a line of dark haired, dark eyed children trailing behind you."
He sinks back into his chair, gripping his desk. "I thought you ruined her because you hated her."
"I suppose I must've," Narcissa says, "but I never thought of it like that. My only thought was for you."
He visibly tenses.
"At the very least," Narcissa continues, "I must've loved you more than my own flesh and blood."
"You weren't lying," he whispers. "You truly wanted me."
"And you never realised," she says, "through all these years we've been together. Even when I tried to tell you, what did you say to me? That this marriage was a punishment - your idea of a twisted revenge." She touches her finger to her eye, as if trying to force a tear back, preventing it from falling.
"Cissy," he says, standing again, and stalking around the desk, "I didn't mean… Of course I want you."
"Do you, Lucius?" she asks, stepping back from him. "Or now that I carry your name, could you just not bear it if someone else wanted me instead?" She touches her hands to her face again. "And you - with what I did, you thought I was dark! Dark like Bella is herself! Oh, how I must've been a terrible disappointment to you."
"Cissy," he says, closing the gap between them. "You're a devoted mother, a wife…" He trails off. "I'd hardly be upset at the idea of you carrying on with someone else behind my back unless I cared, would I?"
"Do you care about me, or do you care about Mrs Malfoy not shaming you?"
"A letter about Draco's schooling," he says, taking another step forward, and pulling her into his arms. "If that's all you say it is, then that's all it is."
She lets him hold her - and after a long moment, she threads her arms around his waist, reciprocating his embrace.
"Believe me, if you think the Dark Lord is testing you now, Lucius," she says, her voice muffled against his chest, "it's nothing to what he would've done had you married my sister. How many wizards would dare to throw the Dark Lord's children out on the street?"
When Potter laughs - that familiar easy, comfortable laugh that Lupin's heard so many times before - Lupin finally admits defeat and puts down the Daily Prophet that he's reading.
Potter ruffles his hair and wipes his glasses with the hem of his t-shirt, and then he laughs again.
"It's not funny, James."
"It's not like I made him share with you," Potter says, flashing him a grin as he picks up two bowls of cereal.
"But now he's eating my food."
"Our food," Potter corrects. "And I bought the last lot of shopping. And the lot before," he adds, "if you want to be pedantic about it."
Lupin breathes in deeply. "It's the principle."
"It's just one night."
"Until it's not," Lupin argues. "He isn't going to apologise to Pete."
"Pete'll be fine."
"And if he's not? Then Sirius is staying here two nights. Then three nights. A week. A month."
"And so what if that happens, Moons? He's our friend."
"Pete's our friend too."
"Pete's not homeless."
"He might be if he doesn't make his rent because Sirius is staying here."
Potter puts the bowls back down on the table, scowling at them. "The cereal's going to get soggy," he says, "and I'm blaming you."
"Sirius has gone too far this time," Lupin says, "that's all I'm saying."
"I'll talk Pete round."
"He might not want to listen to you."
Potter gives a disbelieving laugh. "We're mates! Of course he'll listen to me."
"Some mate," Lupin warns. "He had something important taken from him, and Sirius rubbed his face in the dirt-"
"-that was Sirius, I'm different-"
"-and what did you do? Did you empathise with him? Sit and have a beer with him?"
"I couldn't, could I? The pair of them were at each other's throats - I needed to separate them."
"Yeah, so you slung your arm around Sirius and brought him back here, and left Pete by himself," Lupin says, with a shrug. "Looks like you're taking sides. And by bringing him here, it looks like I'm taking sides as well."
"No-one's taking sides."
"Sirius has taken a side. Pete's taken a side."
Potter looks disheartened. "I know it's shit," he says, "Dumbledore dropping him like that, but it's probably for the best. Pete'll see that when he's had chance to think about it - it was a dangerous thing to even attempt."
"Would you be pleased?" Lupin asks. "If you'd put yourself into the firing line - if you'd been sent to Evan Rosier's funeral, forced to socialise with the Death Eaters, and then unceremoniously dropped?"
"Better he's dropped now than in six months time."
"You know what they say about Death Eaters," Lupin warns.
"It's not as if he signed up."
"Service or death."
Potter shakes his head. "Moons, you have got to lighten up. He didn't sign up to be a Death Eater! He went to some rotten old funeral as Sluggy's chaperone, chatted to a few kids who went to school with us, and came home again afterwards. I don't know what you're imagining, but it's not as if he got down on his knees and pledged allegiance to the Dark Lord!"
"I'm just saying," Lupin says, "I wouldn't want to be in his shoes. I wouldn't want people recognising me when I'm walking down the street."
"And what would they do?" Potter laughs again. "They're going to recruit him, are they? When he's out doing his shopping? Because he was at one lousy funeral?"
"I'm glad you're able to see it from his perspective," Lupin says, sarcastically, "that's going to go really well when you pop around to see him!"
"Yeah?" Potter picks up both bowls of cereal again. "Well, tell you what, Moons, if I'm such a crap friend, why don't you go instead, hey?"
Avery moves smoothly from the kitchen, his plate of toast hovering before him, an envelope clutched in his hands. He flips it over and notes the seal on the back before tearing into it, and tugging the parchment out. He reads the short letter carefully, sucking air in between his teeth.
There's a loud knock at the door, and it causes him to jump. He stuffs the letter back into the envelope and stashes it under the cushion of his sofa, and then he heads into the hallway, yanking open the door.
"Will!"
"Ave!" Pettigrew beams. "I'm sorry to call so early-"
"-no trouble, come in, come in-"
"-it's about the job."
"Yeah?" Avery shuts the door and beckons him through to the living room. "Made your mind up?"
Pettigrew hesitates, his mind flitting back to his meeting with Dumbledore.
"I think," Dumbledore said, "Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures would be the best choice."
"But it's not just trolls and dragons. They mean werewolves," Pettigrew said, earnestly. "Remus would never forgive me."
"On the contrary, if you're our wizard on the inside, then you're perfectly placed to ensure that such hunts never find Remus," Dumbledore said. "Or, if they do, you're perfectly placed to find a loophole to acquit him."
"Won't they ask difficult questions?"
Dumbledore peered at him over his glasses. "Is a difficult question more troublesome to you than aiding your friend?"
"Will he see it as me aiding him, or will he see it as me betraying him?"
"Muggle Liaison," Pettigrew says, firmly. "I don't think Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is really my bag."
"Same job, really," Avery says, settling back onto the sofa and grabbing his plate of toast as he does so. "Want a piece?"
"I've eaten, thanks," Pettigrew says - and when Avery pats the sofa next to him, Pettigrew takes a seat.
"Didn't fancy dragon taming and werewolf hunting?"
"Preferred the idea of doing it to Muggles," Pettigrew lies, remembering Avery's commentary when the jobs first came up.
"Too right," Avery grins. "I knew I liked you, Will." He quickly chews through another round of toast, and then he wipes his hands on his robes. "I'll make some calls tomorrow and get the papers drawn up. We'll have you in by Wednesday."
"There's something else I wanted to ask you," Pettigrew says, twisting his fingers together.
"Something else?"
"It's not a problem if it's too much hassle," Pettigrew says, shrinking slightly in his seat, "but I was wondering…"
"Spit it out, Will."
"Do you fancy having a flatmate? Share the rent and the shopping and that?"
Avery frowns. "I'm all right that way, really-"
"-and the cleaning," Pettigrew says, quickly. "I'm good at that sort of thing. Cooking, even." The tips of his ears pinken. "If you like your own space, that's fine too, I just thought… Thought it'd be a laugh. Hanging out together."
Avery's eyes dart around the newly tidied room, remembering how Pettigrew had helped him. "You don't mind that sort of stuff, then? Cleaning and cooking and," he wrinkles his nose, "putting the bins out?"
"Doesn't bother me."
"Thought you had a place already?"
"I do, but it's not great, not like this," Pettigrew gushes. "And my flatmate's just left, and my stepdad…"
"-what about your stepdad?"
Pettigrew hesitates. "He pays my half of the rent. Or he has been." He bites his lip. "But he heard what happened at Malfoy's," he says, his voice low, "with the potions. He played hell - shouted, ranted, raved, hit me-"
"-he hit you?"
"Yeah, he's going to disown me over it. Says that he's not supporting one of Lucius Malfoy's dirty potions addicts." Pettigrew shrugs awkwardly. "I mean, the job's great! I can cover half of the rent now, but now my flatmate's gone, I'll need double…"
Avery suddenly looks mutinous. "Is he always this much of a prick, this stepdad of yours?"
"This is nothing, really."
"He hit you, and that's nothing?" Avery shakes his head. "Sounds like a right wanker."
"Yeah, he is a bit."
"And your mother? She still around?"
"Yeah, but she's… She left my dad and he died a few years later. He never got over her leaving him," Pettigrew says. "I didn't think it bothered her, but… When she looks at me, it's like seeing a ghost from her past. She'd prefer to forget he'd ever existed."
"Right," Avery says, looking uncomfortable. "She agrees with what your stepdad's doing to you, does she?"
Pettigrew nods. "Says that I'm a disgrace to the family."
"Come on," Avery says, standing and then pulling him up. "You'd best take a look at the spare bedroom and see what you think. It's just full of junk at the moment."
They head into the room, and despite the boxes strewn across it, it's bigger and brighter than the room he's currently renting, and Pettigrew looks thrilled. "This is amazing, Ave."
"Yeah?" He kicks one of the boxes. "Need to get rid of some of this stuff for you before you can move in."
"It's fine as it is," Pettigrew says, giving him a beaming smile. "I mean, we can move it if you want, but I don't mind. It's not like I've got tons of stuff. It'll just be cool to hang out here with you."
Avery mirrors his smile. "Yeah," he says, "yeah, I guess it would be good to have someone around the place."
"Thanks, Ave," Pettigrew says, "you're the best mate anyone could wish for."
Avery grins at the praise. "And don't you forget it."
"You can't sing that at him!" Lily laughs as she drags the brush through her hair.
"I can and I will, because it's true, isn't it, Riv?" Severus laughs, lifting their son high up into the air and then pulling him down again. He paces around the room with him, jostling him in his arms as he sings. "Oh, our boy's a whingebag, he's such a little whinger, he cries all day and scrikes all night, gives his parents such a fright-"
"Sev! Stop it!"
"What?" Severus grins, holding River over the bed so she can see his expression. "Look, he thinks it's funny!"
"One, that's because he can't understand you, and two, he's now drooling on our mattress."
"Oh, bloody hell, Riv," Severus says, grabbing his wand and vanishing his dribble, "can't take you anywhere, can we? You're not going to do this at playgroup, are you?"
"If they're all babies, I don't think it'll matter."
He gives her a scrutinising look. "Are you ok? You still want to go?"
"Yeah," she says, "I just wish we'd slept better this morning. I'm a bit tired."
"Yeah, do you hear that, Riv?" Severus says, turning their son around to look at him. "Waking us up every twenty minutes has to be some sort of record, but I'm afraid that I'm not going to give you a prize. No stickers, no toys, no rewards at all. No. Not even a smile." He holds River's gaze, a stern look on his face, and then at River's sudden serious expression, Severus bursts out laughing.
"Stop being mean to him. I think staying at Tuney's unsettled him."
"It's enough to unsettle anyone."
"Sev."
He laughs. "I don't blame you for being apprehensive, love. I can't say I'm really looking forward to entertaining the locals at the pub either."
"Two hours sleep does not make a sociable Severus?"
"Ten hours sleep doesn't make a sociable Severus," Severus says, sitting on the edge of the bed, "not with Muggles."
She gives him a dark look.
"I didn't mean… I meant," he says, awkwardly, "Muggles like Brendan. If he starts making cracks about how gorgeous you are, I might be tempted to knock his teeth out."
Lily suddenly colours, and looks at the shared wall. "I forgot, last night-"
"-I used Muffliato Perpetuum on the walls before you came home," he says.
"Oh, thank Merlin for that."
"Course, if he had heard us shagging, I suppose it would've given us something to talk about in the pub."
"Don't even joke about it."
He laughs and kisses River on the forehead. "Here, take our boy," he says, passing him over to Lily. "I'm going to have a cig and clean my boots before we go."
"Oh yeah? Cleaning your boots? Looking to make a good impression, are you?"
He gives her a grin. "Yeah, maybe I am. I heard some girl around this way likes stuff like that."
With his clothes packed, Pettigrew takes a slow stroll through the house, looking for items to take with him.
The books aren't mine. Ornaments aren't mine. Clock isn't mine.
It's depressing when he looks around, realising that so much of the house is filled with Sirius' belongings, or furnishings that came with the property.
So much for being my own place, he thinks. That prick is everywhere.
He's in the middle of inspecting a chair that belongs to the landlord but is particularly comfortable and wondering if he can remember the spell to shrink it down when there's a sharp rap at the door.
He jolts upright, guiltily, and he pushes the chair away - as if disowning it. He moves quickly through the property, and when he pulls the door open, he looks surprised to see Lupin.
"Remus."
"Pete," Lupin says. "Can I come in?"
Pettigrew holds the door open, and Lupin heads to the front room. Pettigrew follows, and the two stand awkwardly, their arms folded across their chests.
"I heard about what happened last night," Lupin says, "and I'm sorry."
Pettigrew nods.
"And I'm sorry about Sirius."
"Is he at yours?"
"...yeah."
Pettigrew nods again. "Thought he would be."
"Yeah, well, you know what they're both like. Thick as thieves."
"Yeah."
Lupin looks around awkwardly. "It's not really big enough at mine for the three of us."
"If he wants to come back, he can apologise himself."
"He hasn't sent me to apologise."
"Good," Pettigrew says, "because if he had, you weren't making a great job of it." Pettigrew stands a little taller. "Besides, I'm making some changes around here."
"Like what?"
"Getting a job."
"Seriously?" Lupin looks thrilled, and bounds towards him, holding his hand out. When Pettigrew takes it, Lupin pumps his arm enthusiastically. "That's brilliant! What is it?"
"It's in the Ministry."
Lupin's face pales. "You're not going for that Control of Magical Creatures job, are you?"
Pettigrew looks alarmed. "How do you know about that?"
"There's an advert in the Prophet. I saw it this morning. There's a couple up - the usual auror posts, a couple of technician posts - you know, the ones on the lifts-"
"-I'm not doing something as lame as working on the lifts-"
"-I didn't say-"
"-Muggle Liaison. It's Muggle Liaison."
Lupin looks surprised, but nods. "Wow. Thought you had to do Muggle Studies for that sort of job?"
"Think they've changed the rules."
"What goes on there, then?"
"Liaising with Muggles," Pettigrew says, simply. "Our world. Their world. Joining the dots between the two."
"You're into that sort of stuff, are you? I didn't think you knew much about Muggle culture?"
Pettigrew frowns. "What's this, the third degree? I thought you'd be happy for-"
"-I am happy for you!"
"Yeah, sounds it."
"Seriously," Lupin says, clapping Pettigrew on the arm, "I am happy for you. It sounds like a great role. How'd you get your foot in the door?"
"Friend of a friend," he says, looking away - and then he turns back. "I could've had Department of Magical Creatures," he says. "I was offered it."
Lupin freezes. "...yeah? What did you say?"
"Said it wasn't my sort of thing," Pettigrew says. "Couldn't have done that to you, could I, Moons?"
Lupin lets out a breath that he wasn't aware he was holding. "Thanks, Pete. You're a real mate."
"Yeah," Pettigrew grins. "Got to look out for each other, haven't we?" He pauses. "Look, do me a favour, yeah? Keep Sirius away from here for a couple of weeks."
"You're that pissed at him?"
Pettigrew nods.
"You know James'll want to-"
"-and James as well," Pettigrew says, "I don't want to see either of them."
"I don't think James was taking sides," Lupin says, loyally, "he was just trying to get Sirius out, trying to calm him down."
"Yeah," Pettigrew says, "but it's still a bit shit when you're the one who needs support, and your mates ditch you, isn't it?"
Lupin looks down. "Yeah," he says, "it is."
"I knew you'd get it," Pettigrew says, squeezing Lupin's shoulder. "Me and you, we're not like those two."
"The hangers on."
"Mmm," Pettigrew says. "It gets a bit tiring, coming second or third best all the time, doesn't it?" He gives a tight smile. "Knowing that no matter what you do, those two will always side with each other."
"I don't think they mean-"
"-it's all right," Pettigrew interrupts, "I'm used to it." That tight smile is still fixed on his face. "I'm sure you are too." He walks towards the living room door. "You can stop them from coming over for a couple of weeks, yeah? Let me lick my wounds in peace."
"If that's what you want?"
Pettigrew nods. "Yeah. It's what I want."
With one eye on River and one eye on the mirror, Lily carefully traces liner around the edge of her lips, and then fills in with lipstick.
I'm surprised he's not stayed here for this, she thinks, remembering his confession from the night before - and then she smiles to herself. Best he hasn't, else we wouldn't get out of the door.
She double checks her mascara, and then she focuses on River, putting him in a clean babygrow - although she has to resist the temptation to kiss him all over, fearing that she'll smear lipstick all over his sensitive skin.
Lily picks River up, resting him against her hip as she adds his things to a bag - nappies and wipes and cloths and creams and spare clothes - and then she heads into the kitchen, seeking Severus.
The back door is wide open, and his shiny boots are on the mat, the brush and tin of polish discarded on a sheet of newspaper - and it looks as if he's just disappeared.
Maybe he's nipped to the loo?
She frowns, and then she looks at the worktop, looking for his cigarettes and she laughs, realising that he'll be out in the yard smoking - and then she takes another step towards the open door, and she finally spies him.
He isn't smoking.
Least, he isn't smoking anymore. The half smoked cigarette is on the floor, forgotten, a swirl of grey spiralling upwards - and Lily can't help but let out a horrified scream as she sees Severus doubled over on the ground next to it, his face twisted in agony, his hands tearing his shirt open, and his fingers clawing desperately at his chest.
Chapter 159: Belts out
Notes:
There's trigger warnings on this story for both self-harm and corporal punishment. Please heed both of them.
There have been some tough chapters in this story. I think it comes to something when I say, "This was tough to write."
And if I thought it was tough to write, then it stands to reason that you might find it tough to read.
Chapter Text
She'd always been a good student, Lily - bright, keen, attentive. At Hogwarts, her eyes had been fixed on the board at the front or the book on her desk, and she had ignored the tomfoolery going on around her, with her quill often scratching along in rhythm with the teacher's speech.
Her school reports reflected as much. "Involved," one professor had written. "Engaged," said another. "Interested. Committed." Her parents had always smiled and nodded, pleased that she was making the most of her talents.
Lily's intense concentration had not only enamoured her to her teachers, but had also entranced Severus, who was a boy with equal focus - always paying attention to his surroundings, keen to learn, keen to succeed.
Lily's success at school had also been bolstered by a trait that Severus didn't share; effortless charm. Others were naturally drawn towards her, enjoying her company and friendly nature - and the breakdown of her friendships at Hogwarts hadn't been due to a personal flaw, but entirely due to her alignment with Severus.
It had been one of those horribly dark truths that both she and Severus had understood - if she'd taken her housemates' advice and dropped her boyfriend, she would've been welcomed back into the fold, with her dalliance regarded as a moment of madness - or, more likely, given Severus' reputation - the result of him administering a potion or casting a dark spell in her direction.
Today, she couldn't be further from her behaviour at Hogwarts - she's anything but engaged; remote, distant, disinterested. She sits in the large church hall, River perched on her knee, sitting in silence. The women around her chatter, their conversations full of light laughter, and some of the toddlers run around, occasionally tumbling on the shiny woodblock floor, scuffing their shoes and banging their knees, making their distress clear with loud shrieks.
A woman with a loud voice and a radiant smile seems to be the leader of the group - whether she's self-appointed or elected, Lily has no idea, but the others seem to accept her authority. She's easy to spot, with her bright yellow blouse and her voluminous brown hair, both making her look like a model straight out of a magazine - and despite Lily's earlier efforts at smartening up, she can't help but feel somewhat worn down and shabby by comparison.
I bet she didn't have less than three hours sleep last night, Lily thinks, jostling River gently on her lap.
At the leader's command, the plastic chairs are moved into a circle as the minute hand touches the hour. River twists his face in dismay as a flurry of discordant scrapes echo around the room, caused by the rubber stoppers on the feet of the chairs having long disappeared, leaving the metal chair legs to score across the wood, leaving scratches and gouges in their wake - but thankfully, he doesn't cry out, although two of the babies on the far side of the room do.
The room descends into hushed chatter as the children are settled in the circle - the older ones eagerly anticipating what comes next. Lily sits in silence, staring straight ahead; seeing, but unseeing - her eyes focused on the far wall, looking at nothing at all.
One of the women to the left of Lily elbows her friend. There's a nod in Lily's direction, and a pointed glance shared - but nothing is said aloud.
The woman in yellow leads the session, and a chorus of voices - some flat, some in perfect pitch, some loud, some barely more than murmurs - belts out an array of nursery rhymes, accompanied by claps of hands and stamps of feet.
The reaction from the children is mixed - some of the older ones ignore the singing altogether, choosing to stay racing around in circles, chasing each other between the chairs, whilst some of the younger ones seem to be so keen on the songs, they stand right next to the leader as she launches from one song to the next. The babies generally sit in their mother's laps, with a few crawling around the floor - but their expressions seem to rotate through the same reactions: frowns, entrancement, confusion.
It's over before she knows it - all of the songs and actions blurring into one, and the chairs moving once more. Refreshments are carried through on trays - weak orange squash and cheap biscuits - and chatter, but Lily doesn't move; she just sits, impassively, as if the session hasn't taken place at all.
"Don't worry, you'll get to know the songs," says the leader, holding the back of the empty chair next to Lily, and then pointing at the seat. "I'm Susie. Do you mind if I sit with you?"
Lily looks up, as if surprised to be pulled out of her own thoughts, and then she shakes her head. "No, not at all." And then, a moment later, an afterthought, she says, "Lily. I'm Lily. And this is River."
It's horribly awkward - just like those moments when she'd meet her old housemates in the corridors, and they'd make small talk. For a brief moment, it would seem as if the awkwardness was about to melt away - as if they were about to resume where they'd left off, joking and laughing and sharing observations about the teachers and the students, their arms slung over her shoulder, invites made to join them and then - invariably - there'd be a poisonous comment made about Severus, and she'd retreat from them, fury in her stomach and a nasty taste in her mouth.
Susie's questions come thick and fast, and deep down, Lily knows she's doing herself no favours by being so standoffish and perfunctory with her answers - yes, no, no, yes, no, Cokeworth - and in the end, Susie seems to admit defeat. She gives Lily a strained smile, and a pat on the shoulder, and there's a parting remark about the difficulties of having a first baby and moving to a new area.
Lily remains seated, alone - and the other women stand or sit together in small clusters around the room, whispering and murmuring between themselves, none of them choosing to approach her.
On the one hand, she feels as if it's like being back at Hogwarts - when she was shunned as she'd eat her meals at the Gryffindor table, being pointedly ignored by those she shared a tower with, but on the other, she's silently relieved at being left alone with just River and her worries for company.
Severus stands at the bar, downing one pint and then a second in quick succession, and when he orders a third, the barman raises an eyebrow.
"Yer wanna slow yersel' down, lad."
Severus shrugs noncommittally, but he sips from the pint glass instead of gulping - all too aware that the barman could cut him off if he disapproves of the speed of his drinking.
"Aye," a thin man with a moustache says, looking up from his drink, "liquid courage dunner do much good if yer end up 'orizontal." There's a beat as the man pulls on the end of his cigarette. "New round 'ere, in'tcha?"
"Yeah. Moved 'ere a couple o' months back."
"Sound local enough. Where yer from?"
Severus appraises the man. "Cokeworth."
There's a rustle of a newspaper at the other end of the bar, and some awkward coughing.
"Yer have my condolences then," the first man laughs, "but we all 'ave our crosses to bear."
"Gotta give the lad some credit fer comin' over from the dark side," one of the men quips.
Severus says nothing, watching the amused reaction of those at the bar.
"What're yer doin' 'ere, then?"
"Does it matter? Let the man 'ave a drink in peace, Bert," the barman says.
"Aye, this is Eddie, our friendly barman," Bert says, "he dunner care where yer from, as long as yer can pay yer way."
"Yer got a little 'un then, lad?" Eddie asks. "Missus at the group?"
"Yeah."
"All right, smart arse," Bert grins, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray and pushing it away.
Eddie shakes his head. "Why else would 'e be 'ere?" And then he taps his ring finger. "An' lad's married."
"Someone must've told yer," Bert says. "One of the girls, was it?"
"Brendan. He lives next door."
"Fuck me, bein' next door to Brendan," Bert laughs, "that's worse than livin' in Cokeworth."
There's another ripple of laughter. Severus watches them carefully, unsure how to react.
"Robert," the man says, holding his hand out. "Most call me Bert."
"Severus. Sev."
Bert frowns. "Seth?"
There's a shared look between Bert and Eddie that Severus can't read, and he shakes his head quickly. "Not Seth. Sev," he repeats, "with a V. Like Kev or Trev or summat."
"Well, Sev-with-a-V," Robert says, "yer play pool, d'yer?"
"A bit. Haven't fer a while. I'm rusty."
"Aye, well, ale ain't gonna get rid of the rust," Robert warns. "Come on, I'll introduce yer ter the lads before yer end up flat on yer face."
I should've been firmer, she thinks, should've put my foot down.
He'd been furious at her finding him, his hands clawing at his chest, his breathing laboured - forlornly attempting to order her back into the house, whilst also trying to keep his voice down so as not to cause the neighbours to peer over the walls at the scene.
She'd refused to bend to his will, insistent that she was going to help - and it had turned into one of those ridiculous arguments; one where neither party gave any ground. He'd said little, his jaw set, his eyes filled with fury - as if angry that she'd witnessed him in a moment of weakness.
His sole concession to her fussing had been to knock back a vial of Draught of Peace - but all of her other suggestions had been ignored, or worse, scoffed at. His mood was foul - although she couldn't tell if it was caused by pain or frustration - and he'd been as furious as she'd ever seen him when she suggested that they skip the meetings.
"An' what are yer gonna say to 'im next door when he asks why we didn't go, eh? He already thinks I'm a fuckin' hardened criminal, an' now yer gonna offend him an' his missus by ignorin' his invitation. Fuck me, Lil, get on the wrong side of a twat like that, an' he'll 'ave the coppers 'ere at the first sign of anythin' fuckin' weird."
She'd looked at him in confusion. "What sort of thing would we be doing that he could call the police over?"
"Nosy neighbours are a blight," he'd said, "could be anythin'." Then he'd cast a look towards River. "Or 'im."
"What about River?"
"If he starts up."
"We've got your spell," she'd laughed, incredulously, "Brendan isn't going to ring the police over River crying, and even if he does, they won't be interested in something like that."
"Not crying. Magic," he'd said, sitting upright, "if he starts up-"
"-no, Sev, he isn't going to-"
"-we don't know he-"
"-we do know!" she'd yelled, her temper getting the better of her. "He isn't going to spontaneously get better, and neither am-"
"-yeah, y'are," Severus had said, firmly, "an' I din't say anythin' about it bein' spontaneous, did I? I said I would fix-"
"-and just look at yourself, Sev! You can't do anything in this state - you can't fix me or River, you can't even stand outside and have a cigarette without this-"
"-well then," he'd said, standing, straightening his clothes, "if I'm so fuckin' useless an' we're all gonna be fuckin' Muggles fer the rest of our lives, we'd best fit in with the fuckin' neighbours, hadn't we? We're goin', love, an' that's that."
It had been an effort to hold her tongue - to not spitefully point out that he'd already deliberately slipped into his old accent - and then she'd taken in the look on his face, and she'd frozen.
She'd only ever seen that expression on his face once before - the afternoon by the lake when Potter and Black had set on him, flipping him upside down. He'd been incandescent with rage, his spellcasting ineffective due to his anger - and when he'd permitted her to see the memory from his perspective, she'd felt the uneasy combination of his anger adjacent with his feeling of hopelessness. The mix of powerlessness and shame had left him feeling entirely disgusted with himself, and she can sense it from him once more.
He's embarrassed.
The realisation shook her, and she'd fallen into silence - and he'd taken her lack of argument as acceptance, so they'd quietly tidied themselves up, settled River in his pram, and secured the house before striding down the street.
"You said we'd talk about this sort of stuff."
"We will."
"Now?"
She counted their steps - seventeen - before he answered.
"After," he'd said.
It's been reasonably boring, with the men standing in twos and threes, talking amongst themselves. Bert had introduced him to the younger men - the lads his age, the men he would've been at school with if he'd grown up as a Muggle in Rillwych.
Their names were so Muggle, he could barely recall them afterwards - Mark and Paul, Lee, Chris and Tim, Nick, Colin, Dean and Andy. Almost unanimously, they misheard his name as Seth - and after Bert repeated the, "Sev-with-a-V," quip for the ninth time, Severus had started to lose patience.
He excuses himself to buy another pint, and then settles on a low stool at an unoccupied corner table. He intends to nurse his drink, but the glass is empty before the second game has finished, so he slinks off for another, ignoring the looks being shared around the room at his fast drinking pace.
After his third, he pushes his stool back, signalling his intent to visit the bar again.
"Yer can put it away, can't yer?" comments one of the men playing pool as he waits for his next shot. "Nowhere to be tomorrow?"
Severus pauses, taking in the man's meaning. "I'm not workin'."
"Fuckin' good job yer not, lad," says Bert, "yer head'd be right rotten in the mornin' the rate yer goin'."
Severus sits back down, chastened, and pulls out his cigarette packet instead. He steadily chain smokes his way through them, his deep scowl enough to keep anyone from approaching him.
It's more fun at the Vic, he thinks, remembering the odd night he'd shared with his da, shooting pool with his mates. The camaraderie is different here - although he isn't sure if it's because he's an interloper, an outsider, whereas with his father's friends, he was already accepted. Toby's boy.
There isn't a Tobias here. The pub had been the one place where Severus had been oddly proud of his father, his popularity shining amongst the regulars - drinks and jokes flowing in equal measure, his skill at most pub games making him a formidable opponent.
Severus pulls on his cigarette and watches the games of pool keenly, listening out for any arguments over rules, knowing that there's often local variations: free ball, two shots versus two turns, shooting backwards - but there's no variation here to the Cokeworth rules his da and his mates play by.
Not that different after all.
The method of play is the same as well - money lined up on the table by the challengers whilst the winner stays on - but unlike the regulars in the Victoria, the youngsters here offer little competition. One man stays on the table for the duration of the session, and the others seem a little cowed by him, unable to knock him off.
They probably don't get any time to practice if that fuck is on the table all day every day, he thinks. Fuck 'im.
"Yer up, Sev-with-a-V."
The joke had worn thin an hour earlier, but Severus doesn't say anything, knowing all too well that the more you protest against a nickname, the more it sticks.
Snivellus.
He grips the proffered cue, and stands - unsteadily - watching as his opponent breaks, the balls splitting across the table, one entering a pocket, followed by another shot and another drop.
"Reds," the man says, stepping away from the table after a missed pot. "Yer yeller."
Severus nods, and lowers himself over the table, cue rubbing against his chin - and then he makes a clean run, sinking all of the yellow balls in succession.
"Fuck me," came a whisper.
"He's only gone and knocked George off the table."
"Five pints down an' he can play like Steve fuckin' Davis."
The atmosphere feels awkward - filled simultaneously with both tension and admiration - and George frowns before offering his hand, which Severus shakes.
"Yer've done that before."
"I used ter play. A long time ago."
"If that's a long time ago," Bert whispers, "can't wait to see 'ow 'e plays wi' some practice behind 'im."
"An' sober," another voice chips in.
"Get the lad a pint," George says, turning back to the table, "an' we'll 'ave ourselves a little rematch."
"It's winner stays on," comes a protest from the far side of the room, "an' I'm next."
George ignores the grumble. "We're 'avin' a rematch," he insists, and points his cue at Severus. "Yer break."
The room is packed up efficiently under Susie's instruction - the plates and cups are the first to disappear, loaded onto trays, and taken out to be washed with two volunteers at the helm, and then ten minutes later, the chairs are moved to the sides, stacked neatly, and a couple of the chatting mothers take large brushes from a cupboard and sweep the floor.
Shoes and socks are found and put back on, and children are strapped into pushchairs and prams, their mucky faces wiped with tissues, and they exit together - in small clumps, the conversation still flowing between them.
Lily hangs back, fiddling with the straps on River's pram - and it's then that she hears the caustic remark, low and biting.
"Stuck up bitch."
Lily doesn't look up; she's been here before, with jibes sent her and Severus' way across classrooms and corridors. She takes a deep breath, counts to five, and then pushes River from the room.
The outside air feels fresh, and the women congregate in the empty car park. There's another rumble of chatter, and a woman suggesting that they should all go down to the Crown and pull the men out of the bar, with various names being passed around as being the culprits - and then there's a noise further down the street, and a few moments later, a group of men turn a corner.
She picks out Brendan who raises his hand to her, and then sees him stand next to an older woman who is busy talking to Susie - some sort of owner? Manager? She can't work out why they'd be there with no grandchildren in tow, and she turns back to the throng, watching the men pairing off with the women and children - and then, eventually, Severus comes into view.
He's unsteady on his feet, and her lips thin, thinking back to her reassurances to her parents that he wouldn't waste his money in the pub on a Sunday afternoon.
"Hey, love," he says, bending to kiss her, and she wrinkles her nose when she tastes ale and cigarettes on his tongue. "Good time?"
"I don't think I need to ask you that, do I," she says, pointedly, deliberately dodging his question.
"I told you she was a right miserable bitch," comes the voice again - and it takes every bit of Lily's strength to hold onto her temper and to not look around.
Severus looks confused, as if he can't believe what he's heard, but his reactions are dulled by the alcohol, and before he can turn and confront the woman, Lily senses what's coming next and intervenes, grabbing his hand and placing it on the handle of River's pram.
"Push him," she says, firmly, "and who knows, the pram might even hold you up enough to get you home."
Severus tries to talk with her on the walk home, but Lily's lips stay firmly pressed together, looking unimpressed at his descriptions of the men in the pub and his winning streak at the pool table.
He asks her about her afternoon, and is met with silence - and then he asks her about the comment they'd both overheard, but she bats it away - making out that she didn't hear it; as if he's imagined it in his inebriated state.
By the time they get inside, his temper has worn as thin as hers, and he slams the front door harder than necessary, causing River to erupt into a fit of wails.
"Oh, well done."
"It slipped out of my hand!"
"Just like all those pints slipped down your neck this afternoon."
"I was bein' sociable."
"We were going to talk," she says, her voice heated, as she lifts River out of the pram and starts to soothe him, "and you go and get blind drunk!" She holds up her hand. "And don't patronise me by saying you got carried away, and you didn't mean to do it - we both know you've done this on purpose."
"Yeah," he says, belligerently, sagging against the wall as he tries to pull his boots off, "an' maybe there's good reason for it!"
"Because you don't want to talk-"
"-'coz it's the only way I can talk about this stuff!" he yells, and then he leans back against the wall, sliding down it - looking as if the fight has been knocked out of him. "Bit of Dutch courage, that's all."
She softens at his admission and takes a step towards him. "More than a bit, I'd say."
River suddenly whimpers, and Severus glances up towards her. "Has he been fed?"
She shakes her head. "I'll do it now."
He pushes against the wall, as he stands, using it to steady himself. "I'll get us summat."
"Bloody hell, Sev, don't, you'll set the kitchen on fire-"
"-we both know I've cooked us a fry up many a time, pissed or not," he laughs, and he moves clumsily towards the kitchen. "Feed our boy. Leave this ter me."
Lily watches Severus through the open door as he cooks, and when he sways unsteadily before the stove and the smell of bacon and fried eggs wafts through the house, she's transported back to their days in the flat, remembering all of the times she'd found him in a similar position - often similarly inebriated, nearly always in the dark - cooking a hefty meal after midnight.
He holds their plates under a charm whilst she finishes feeding River, and they eat together - although she frowns in his direction when she spots him toying with his food rather than eating it.
Too pissed, she thinks - and then when he stands and offers to take her empty plate, she spies his drawn expression. No, she corrects herself, too stressed.
"I'll have the rest of mine tomorrow," he calls, and she hears the fridge door opening and closing.
"It'll be congealed."
"It'll be fine on a butty. I won't even notice." Then he stands in the kitchen doorway, staring out at her. "Right," he says - and she thinks he's finally going to open up to her, but he whips out his wand instead, "that spell Cissy taught you for the baby monitor-"
"-Sev, not now-"
"-yeah," he says, firmly, "now."
There's a moment, and then she looks at him, her lips parting. "...you don't want Riv in here whilst we talk?"
He gives a stiff nod. "Summat like that, yeah."
"Bloody hell," she says, wrapping her arm around his, her fingers holding his wand hand, "your wand work is crap when you're pissed."
"It's not my wand work," he moans, "it's the way you're describing it!"
"What's wrong with the way I'm describing it?" She grips his wand hand and moves with him. "Listen to me and watch what I'm doing - flick across and flick back, and across, and down, and swish, and swish, and flick!"
"See!" he says, as they move together as one, repeating the movement over and over.
"See what? I told you it was easy, you just had to listen!"
"It's not me," he grumbles, "you just said flick at the end, but when you did the movement, you flicked left."
She pauses, thinking back, and he gives her a knowing look.
"Fine," she concedes, releasing his arm and pecking a kiss to his lips, "but now you've got it, try it with the incantation."
It takes several attempts for him to master all of the spells, but eventually they move River's bed to the hallway, settling him next to the bookcase, and Severus applies the charms - one to monitor his temperature, one to monitor the movement of his limbs, one to amplify his cries - and then, after a quick glance at his temperature, he casts a warming charm.
Lily isn't sure what's sobered Severus up the most - the walk home in the fresh air, the meal they've eaten, or the time since his last drink - but he seems more in control of himself, his movements steadier, and she half worries when he retreats into the kitchen that he's going to pour another drink - but she hears the back door opening and closing, and guesses that he's gone to smoke, so she follows him out to nip to the loo.
I don't want to stop his revelation half way through, she thinks, because nature calls.
When she steps back out of the outhouse, he's leaning against the wall, his boots unlaced and loose on his feet, his cigarette dangling from his long fingers - looking unruffled and relaxed, and she almost can't reconcile the vision of the man before her with image burned on her brain from earlier, of him sprawled across the concrete slabs, looking as if he'd been shot at point-blank range.
He raises his cigarette. "Five minutes," he says, pulling hard on it and letting out a long stream of smoke.
She can feel her heart beating in her chest as she hears the back door slam shut, and the methodical chant of her own spells being applied to the lock. It's as if she can't breathe - and when she hears the tap being turned on in the sink, she closes her eyes, and it's as if she's being held underwater, her chest heaving.
Whatever he's going to confess, she thinks, must be something horrific, else he wouldn't have put River in the hallway.
She pulls at the duvet, straightening it and then pulling it back, and then straightening it again - as if she can't decide if they should sit on it, or wrap themselves in it. Her movement causes the warm air from the fire to waft towards her, and she feels a horrible prickle of heat racing up and down her skin.
She looks over at the bright flames and she can't quite believe how, a day earlier, they'd helped to set the atmosphere for his adoration of her - and now, they felt like the flames of hell licking up the chimney, spilling unbearable heat into the room.
It's not unbearable, she thinks. It's just stress. You'll be cold in a minute if you get him to dampen it down.
Thankfully, he joins her, stopping her racing brain. He snaps off the kitchen light, and gently closes the door. To her surprise, he reaches for the overhead light, also snapping it off and plunging them into relative darkness, with only the light from the fireplace casting across the room - and then he moves towards the bed, choosing to sit on it cross legged before her.
He sits, unmoving - and she patiently waits, although it feels as if her ears are ringing in the silence. After a few minutes, having spotted his Adam's apple moving, she reaches for his hands, tangling their fingers together in an effort to soothe him.
"It's ok," she murmurs, softly. "It's ok, Sev."
"It's not, Lil. It's really not."
"Remember what we said last night. It's ok to be vulnerable, Sev," she whispers, her fingertips grazing his wrists. "Let me help you."
"You want to help me?"
She nods.
He looks away, and exhales, and then turns back to face her. "You said, in Surrey," he starts, hesitantly, "that maybe I needed you to help me. That it'd be more effective if you helped."
She nods again, recalling the conversation. "Like rubbing a pulled muscle."
"Right," he says.
"And I don't need my magic to help?"
He gives a soft laugh. "No, love, you don't need your magic."
She leans forward, more eagerly. "I'll do anything. Tell me what to do."
At her request, he nods, and he reaches down to his left sleeve, unbuttoning the cuff - and then he carefully folds it over and over, until it meets his elbow.
"The glamour on your arm," she says, suddenly remembering.
There's a long pause, and he takes a long inhale of breath, and then he says, "I hurt myself."
"Oh, Sev," she says, reaching for him, and looping her arms around his neck, tugging him into an embrace. "That's what wearing the ratty jumper was about?"
"I didn't want to cause another scene with your parents. I figured it'd be an unnecessary distraction. You'd be upset. They'd be…" He trails off. "I didn't know what they'd be, but I didn't think it would be helpful."
"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have asked you to come back and get all of our things, it was too much-"
"-that didn't hurt me," he says, impassively, patting her hips and indicating that she should sit back.
"Show me."
He reaches behind him for his wand, and he twists his left arm towards him, shielding it from her view. He runs the wand up and down his left forearm, murmuring a brief incantation, and then he winces.
Her heart sinks - at how bad the damage must've been for him to have hidden it, and how bad it must still be for him to be perturbed by it.
Lily moves on the bed so she's sitting next to him, and she reaches out, hand meeting hand, palm meeting palm, fingers threading together - and then she carefully rotates his hand, as if they were engaging in the world's most gentle arm wrestle, exposing his inner arm to her.
It's a mess.
The dim light from the fire isn't enough for her to see clearly, but she can see enough - the lines and the marks - and her breath audibly catches in her throat.
"Lumos, Sev."
It's a firm instruction - as firm as the ones he'd issued to her the night before - and without hesitation, he complies, and the end of his wand lights up.
This time, her gasp is louder still, and she grips his arm with both hands - one at his wrist and one at his elbow, keeping his forearm twisted towards her.
She glances at him, and his face is contorted - and she looks back at her grip, worrying that she's hurting his damaged skin, but then she realises that her hold is fine and he's not in pain.
It's disgust.
"This wasn't an accident," she says.
"I didn't say it was."
She glances at him again, his expression difficult to read - disgust and fear and something else that she can't quite put her finger on. Strained, she thinks. Uncomfortable? No. Exposed.
"When I saw the glamour," she ventures, quietly, "I wondered…"
"Wondered what?"
"If it was… Him."
He looks surprised, and jerks slightly, the motion tugging his arm towards him, but Lily holds him tightly in place. "No," he says, firmly, "this isn't You-Know-Who's doing."
"But it's the same location on your arm."
There's a long pause.
"Coincidence?" she asks - but he doesn't answer. "Not a coincidence?" she presses.
His nostrils flare and he looks away for a moment, his jaw tight - and then he turns back to look at her, that same strained expression on his face.
Not a coincidence, she thinks.
"It looks worse under Lumos," he says, dismissively. "The wand light's so stark."
"I doubt it looks any better in daylight," she argues, "and you know it, else you wouldn't have used a glamour."
Silence.
"Can I..?"
He looks at her raised hand and nods - and then she runs the pad of her fingertip up and down his arm, tracing the pale marks, but avoiding the painful looking blisters. The marks seem to be healing - she can see that much - a pale flush of dark pink, as opposed to the furious red she can imagine they were when he first used the glamour. The skin over the marks is slightly shrivelled - although she isn't certain if it's new skin repairing the wound, or old damaged skin that's going to peel away; she's been fortunate enough to never do this to herself.
"You didn't do this with your wand."
"No."
"But it wasn't an accident."
"No."
She grips his arm more tightly again, twisting it into the light, inspecting the marks.
He flinches. "That's enough, Lil."
She holds his arm in place. "Why?"
He pulls his arm away, and this time she releases her hold - and he immediately points his wand at it, muttering the incantation and his wounds disappear.
She shakes her head. "Pretending it didn't happen isn't an answer, Sev."
"...I was trying something."
"You hurt yourself deliberately."
"I've got a theory, that's all. I've just not got it quite right yet."
He looks uncomfortable, sitting upright, his knees drawn up to his chest, and his arms looped around them - as if protecting himself.
She sits next to him, wrapping her arm around him, pulling him to her - causing him to lean his head against her shoulder.
"I thought you'd had an accident," she says, quietly, "and then I thought maybe it was You-Know-Who - that the horrible mark was back, and you were trying to… I don't know, get rid of it, or cut it out, or something!"
He doesn't speak.
"But to do that to yourself for a theory, Sev? What sort of theory?" She pauses, waiting to see if he'll say anything, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes a shaky breath and then he reaches out with his hand, taking hers and holding it.
"Not all of those marks were fresh," she adds, "some of them were older - they weren't as angry-looking."
He closes his eyes.
"So, tell me about this theory."
Silence.
"Is it sigils?"
His head snaps up and his eyes open, and he looks surprised. "Did those marks look like sigils to you?"
"That's not an answer, Sev."
He gives a soft laugh. "No, love," he says, "there's no pattern to them."
She sits with the new knowledge for a long moment, thinking, considering - and then she sits a little straighter, as if a thought has just occurred to her. "You already told me you had a theory," she says, "about fixing the pain in your chest."
He stills.
"And you were odd that day," she says, recalling their conversation, "you didn't roll your shirt sleeves up when we washed up. I remember it, because I remember thinking how weird it was."
She pauses, giving him opportunity to speak - to disagree - but he doesn't say a word.
"You had these marks then, didn't you?" She trails her hand up his damaged skin. "These ones, these faded ones. Only they weren't faded that day - they were fresh."
He says nothing.
"And you were ages when you came to pick our stuff up, and that's when you made these new marks." Another pause. "Come on, Sev, talk to me," she pleads, "it doesn't take an alchemist to work out what's going on."
"It happened again," he confesses, "the pain. I was nearly done, nearly finished packing and…" He shakes his head, exhaling loudly, and then he lowers his knees and balls up his free hand, pressing his fist to his chest. "Here," he says, "right here."
"Like this afternoon?"
He nods, miserably. "Like this afternoon."
"And you concluded that those initial injuries weren't enough to stop it," Lily guesses, "so you did more." She grabs his glamoured arm, brandishing it accusingly. "You did this."
"It stopped it from happening again," he says, a note of belligerence in his tone. "I was fine down at Petunia's."
"Merlin, Severus!"
"What was I supposed to do? What's the point in having a theory if you don't test it out?"
"This," she says, shaking his arm, her tone furious, "is not a theory. This is dangerous, Sev. You can't cancel out one type of pain with another."
He doesn't speak. Instead, his thumb moves in slow circles against the back of her hand - a soothing, gentle action - but she doesn't know if he's trying to calm her, or himself.
She isn't calm. The notion of using self-harm to control pain has grown louder in her mind, and now it seems laughable that she thought he was so resilient, he'd simply shake away the abuse inflicted upon him by his father.
If this is his go-to solution, he was probably doing this back then.
She racks her brains, trying to think back to their youth - at school, he was a stickler for following school rules, and always wore long sleeves - but she'd spent so many hours with him in the summer, with the sun beaming down on them, reddening their skin.
She tries to think about how many times she saw him wearing a t-shirt, or had his sleeves rolled up, or even the times she saw him jumping into the river shirtless when the temperature climbed - trying to remember if she's ever seen anything of this sort on him before.
Would I have even spotted it, amongst the usual bruises and marks? Her heart skips. Were they the usual bruises and marks, or his own handiwork?
She swallows uncomfortably, thinking about the myriad of scars on his back, and the painful recreation of the punishment he'd endured at the wand of You-Know-Who.
He broke up with me on purpose, she thinks. Was it to get rid of me, so he was free to do this without my scrutiny? Is that how he got over that pain?
She can't stop the question falling from her lips. "Have you done this before? Before the pains in your chest started," she clarifies.
He shakes his head, and there's a knot of tension which seems to unwind in her chest at his affirmation. "No," he says, "never."
"I need you to stop."
"But it's working-"
"-it can't be working, it happened again-"
"-I've got a theory, another theory-"
"-Sev, can you hear yourself? If you keep this up, you won't have any skin left on your arm! How long are you going to keep doing it? Days? Weeks? Months?" Her eyes narrow. "Years? How are you going to explain your constantly injured arm to our son when he's old enough to ask questions?"
He falls silent at the mention of River, and after a moment, she manoeuvers on the bed so she's sitting in Severus' lap, her arms looped around his neck.
"I know you don't like it - I don't really like it," he says, quietly, "but I've got a new plan. I just need your help."
"Help you how?"
They sit for a long moment, and then he speaks. "You were right," he says, turning his arm over and inspecting the wounds, "I didn't do these with my wand." He pauses, swallowing, and then he looks away from her. "I burnt myself. On the stove."
"Merlin, Severus. Why would-"
"-because my mam did it to me." He bites his lip. "When I'd been bad."
She lifts her hand to her mouth, not trusting herself to speak.
"Mam had this special way of… Da would…" He trails off, releasing another loud exhale. "He'd tell yer, six o' this, ten o' that." He winces. "Apart from…"
"Apart from that night with the dog," she says, aware of his numerous scars.
"Yeah." He bites his lip. "He'd count."
"And she didn't?"
He sits for a moment, an odd look in his eyes, and then he laughs - but it's a dark laugh, a laugh that she's never heard before - and he has a strained smirk on his face. "Oh, she'd count."
"But you said it was a special-"
"-Da would count it out. Tell yer beforehand. Reckon 'e did it ter stop 'imself losin' control when he was proper mad." He pauses. "He'd count up. Mam'd count down."
"Is there any difference?"
"She'd hold my arm against the stove," he says, as if the memory belonged to someone else and he was just passing it on, "an' she'd count down, but she'd deliberately fuck it up, so yer wouldn't know how long there was left."
"Fuck it up how?"
"Five, four, three, two and half, one and three quarters," he says - and she stares at him in abject horror.
"Seven tenths, two thirds," she finishes, and he gives her a surprised look.
"Yeah, you've got the idea, love. Just ter fuck wi' me - yer'd think yer were nearly done, an' then yer've got another few seconds ter endure whilst she works her way down the fractions."
"I heard you doing it," she breathes. "I was sleeping and in my dream, that weird countdown, it was a rocket - but it wasn't a rocket, it was you."
He shrugs. "I had ter get it right."
She covers her face with her hands again. "Oh hell, Sev."
"An' I think it works-"
"-it doesn't work!"
"Listen, listen," he says, standing up, "it's just not quite right, that's all. It's close."
"Close how? Sev, you're not making any sense with this-"
"-this," he shouts, gripping his chest, "this hurts so much, Lil, an' it only started after…"
"After you killed someone," she finishes.
"Yeah."
"And you think you've broken your soul," she says, "we've been through this. Your soul and your magic and your logic and-"
"-yer gotta knit it back together," he says, "that's what the books say, that's my only hope."
"Which is done through remorse."
He looks at her earnestly, and she can see tears forming in the edge of his eyes. "I dunner feel it, Lil." He grips his chest again. "I keep tryin' ter feel it, I keep thinkin' about 'im an' what I did, an' what I took from his family, an'…"
"You don't feel it."
He shakes his head. "I just think of what he did to yer, an' what happened ter Riv, an' what he threatened Rose with, an' what he'd have done ter David if he'd been there, an' the way he tried ter fuck over Malf, an' the things he did ter me when I was at school, when he spread those rumours an'… An' I just don't care about him, Lil. I don't care. I'd do it again." He gives a strained laugh. "Sayin' yer'd do it again is not fucking remorse, Lil. I 'aven't got it in me to care about 'im."
"But hurting yourself, Sev," she says, "that's not remorse either."
"It's justice. What my da did, that was justice. Crime and punishment." He swallows. "He'd lay the charge and come up with the sentence, and he'd tell me - all upfront, like, not like what Mam did." He shakes his head. "He'd say the same stuff, telling me I was a little magical freak who needed to be taught right from wrong, put back in his place - and then he'd do it, six strokes of the belt, twelve strokes of the belt, whatever he thought was just."
"I don't know where you're going with this, Sev."
"This," he says, branding his arm, "is not workin' because I'm judge, jury and executioner - and maybe I'm doin' it wrong, not holdin' my arm there long enough, or not gettin' the oven hot enough-"
"-Sev, your arm is horrific, you shouldn't be thinking of making it worse-"
"-but that's just it - I dunner feel sorry, an' I used ter. I used ter feel sorry after I got caught! If I'm properly punished for what I did, Lil, I might feel remorse, an' then I can fix myself." He unfastens his belt buckle and pulls his belt from his waist, and then he hands it to her. "Yer said yer'd help me. Yer said yer'd do anything."
She stares at the belt in her hands in horror, and then up at her husband, tears rolling down her cheeks.
"Please, Lil. I'm beggin' yer. Belt me."
Chapter 160: Not in control
Notes:
Same warning as the last chapter:
There's trigger warnings on this story for both self-harm and corporal punishment. Please heed both of them.
There have been some tough chapters in this story. I think it comes to something when I say, "This was tough to write."
And if I thought it was tough to write, then it stands to reason that you might find it tough to read.
Chapter Text
Lily pressed her face against the train window, peering through the glass at the outside world rushing by as the Hogwarts Express streamed towards London.
"Hadley Wood," she said, pulling her face away and turning to her boyfriend. "We're not far from Kings Cross. We really need to-"
"-I know," Severus interrupted, grimacing as he glanced in the opposite direction - through the window in the compartment door, "but he's still out there, waiting for-"
"-well, we're going to have to do something," she said, "we can't walk around Kings Cross in our robes-"
"-I know, Lil."
"It's in the school rules," she said, more insistently, "we're not allowed to get on any of the Muggle trains in our uniforms."
"I know, Lil."
"So we've got to get changed into our ordinary clothes."
"I know, Lil."
"And we've got to do it soon - before we get to-"
"-Kings Cross, yes, Lil," he snapped, "I heard you the first time." He paused. "Look," he said, after a moment, his voice softer. "You go - there's no point in both of us sitting here. Go and get changed."
"Sev, we've been through this: if I leave, he'll come in here."
"So what if he does?" Severus shrugged - but Lily noted that his nonchalance was an affect, and one which was undermined by his fingers entwining in anxiety. "I can handle Black."
"Black, sure," she said, "but if he brings the other three with him?"
He sat a little straighter. "They don't scare me. I'm used to it."
"I wish you weren't," she said, her gaze returning to the window, watching as the train raced through yet another station. She frowned, her forefinger and thumb reaching up to toy with her lip as she thought.
"Seriously, Lil. Enough's enough - he isn't going to let me get off the train without a fight. I might as well get it over with. You go and get changed."
"And what are you going to do about your robes? You can't get off the train whilst you're wearing them."
"I'll just have to hang back when everyone's getting their trunks. Some kids are dead slow, it's no big deal." He grinned. "Don't look at me like that - I'm quick! I'll be changed and off before half of Hufflepuff has managed to get their stuff together."
"And if you don't? You'll get into trouble."
He laughed. "So what? Who cares? A couple of stuffy old prefects doing a sweep of the train? What are they going to do - report me to Dumbledore? Deduct points from Slytherin? The year's over, Lil. We've already won the house cup, fair and-"
"-hardly fair, Carter broke his leg in that last Quidditch match!"
"And Pomfrey mended it," he said, dismissively. "Like I said, fair and square."
"You're only saying that because you won." She fixed him with a glare. "By three lousy points. If your lot hadn't cheated-"
"-we didn't cheat-"
"-didn't cheat?" She looked astonished. "Mulciber broke Carter's leg!"
He scoffed. "That was nothing - just an accident. Everyone said so."
"No, the Slytherins said so - we didn't agree!"
"Yeah, your lot didn't agree because you lost!" He grinned. "Don't start this up again, Lil - you know what they say about sore losers."
"If you think I'm grumpy about what happened-"
"-which you are-"
"-then just think how Potter and Black feel about it. They'd love to make you do something stupid now so Slytherin starts next year with negative points-"
"-then maybe you shouldn't be preventing them from getting their hands on me," he teased, "from what I've seen, Gryffindor needs all the help it can get."
"It's not us that needs help! It's your horrible housemates - they need professional help! Always lying and sneaking and-"
"-you're sounding like a sore loser, Lil," he reminded her, with a smirk creeping across his face. "Remember what Dumbledore said - don't go beating yourself up all summer. It's just a silly little competition."
"And you think it's a silly little competition, do you, Sev?" She fixed him with a ferocious glare. "You're not even on speaking terms with half of Slytherin-"
"-strictly speaking, they're not on speaking terms with me-"
"-but you still took it seriously enough!" She taps his cheek with her forefinger. "Don't pretend you didn't! I saw the way you started answering questions in class the last few weeks-"
"-it's no big deal, I just knew the answers-"
"-you knew the answers all year, but you didn't put your hand up before you thought Slytherin could beat Gryffindor!" She shook her head. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were trying to ingratiate yourself back in with Avery and Mulciber," she said, with a shudder.
"Yeah, and what about you? You were hardly sitting on your hands! Merlin, Lil, your quill was in the air so often, I thought it was still attached to a bird-"
"-you're an utter snake, Severus Snape," she laughed.
"Yeah, well, that's no bad thing," he grinned, "at least I'm not a lowly lion-"
"-get stuffed-"
"-I know it's rotten," he teased, "but you can't keep beating yourself up about having the misfortune to be trapped in that ridiculous house."
She opened her mouth in mock outrage, pretending to be horrified at his words, and then leapt towards him, pinning him back against the seat. "Right, Severus Snape, I'll give you-"
"-no, no, Lil, gerroff, gerroff me," he laughed, as the two playfully wrestled with each other - but despite his protest, his tone of voice betrayed him, with him clearly sounding as if the last thing he wanted her to do was to let go of him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
She relented and loosened her grip, and then she settled herself in his lap, threading her arms around his neck and kissing him.
He responded eagerly, his arms wrapping around her and holding her close - and when she pulled back, he smiled at her.
"I've changed my mind," he said.
"Yeah?"
"I don't want you to go anywhere," he said, "because you're right - you'll leave and Black'll come in here. And doing this," he said, emphatically, between kisses, "is way better than scrapping with Black."
"I'm glad to hear it," she said, leaning in for another kiss. "And it's a good idea."
He frowned. "Kissing?"
"Staying here," she said, and then she jumped from him - laughing as Severus let out a small groan of dismay - and reached for her wand. She pointed it squarely at the window in the door.
"Lil, what are you-"
"-Obscuritas," she said, casting before he could intervene - and the glass windows in and around the door suddenly became translucent. It was as if the window pane had been replaced with frosted glass, dull and foggy - impossible for either of them to see out, and equally impossible for anyone to see in. Then she turned and repeated the charm on the outside window.
"There," she said, triumphantly, "now they can't see in, so we don't have to go to the toilets - we can get changed in here."
"Brilliant," he said, admiringly - and then he sat back in his seat, a wide grin on his face. "You first."
She gave a shocked laugh. "Sev, don't be daft! There doesn't need to be a first - we can both get changed at the same-"
"-maybe I want to watch you," he said, unmoving, his eyes fixed on hers.
Lily blushed.
He flashed her a grin. "And just think, if I get to watch you, it means you get to watch me. Deal?"
"Fuck," he said, looking down at his baggy stonewash jeans in dismay.
She winced as she watched him bunch the waistband in his fist. "I knew you weren't eating properly."
"Yeah, well, the Great Hall's a nightmare," he said, "you know that."
"Even so, you must've lost a ton-"
"-I know-"
"-because those fit you perfectly at the start of the year-"
"-I know-"
"-I told you-"
"-I know, Lil-"
"-that you were losing loads of weight-"
"-Lil, I know-"
"-you'll make yourself sick if you carry on-"
"-I'm hardly sick! I'm fine!"
"Yeah," she said, pointing at his loose waistband, "you look it. Bloody hell, Sev. You'll have to eat double helpings over the holidays."
He scoffed. "Yeah, right. Not much chance of that at Mam's."
"Then eat with your parents and come to mine after. We don't eat until late and Mummy won't mind - she always makes too much."
"Tuney'll mind."
"And since when have you been bothered about what Tuney thinks?"
"Your dad then," Severus said. "What about him? I'm sure he doesn't want me hanging around all the time."
"He's used to it." She shot him a cheeky smile, grabbing his hand. "And if he's not, he's going to have to start because I don't want to spend a single second apart from you this summer."
It was his turn to blush. "You mean… You want to tell them? About us?"
"Of course," she said, lightly - and then noting his apprehensive look, she turned her attention back to his jeans. "What are we going to do with these? Do you want me to try to Transfigure them?"
"No, leave it, they're fine."
"They're not fine." She stared at them critically. "I can do it, Sev - I already extended the legs for you at Christmas, remember?"
"Yeah, so they're stretched thin as it is - and there's a hole here," he said, turning and sticking his finger through the denim, "and a hole here, and another one here." He shook his head. "They're more hole than denim - they won't hold up to any sort of spell."
"Well, speaking of holding things up, you can't spend all summer walking around with one hand attached to your waistband." She paused. "If you showed your mum, would she get you some new ones?"
He looked at her like she'd grown another head.
"C'mon," Severus said, pulling her by the hand down the platform, "let's do it."
"But I promised Mummy and Daddy we'd be on the first train-"
"-and so what? We can't help it if the Hogwarts Express has been delayed by a couple of hours-"
"-it's magical, Sev, it can't be late-"
"-they don't know that-"
"-your mum does-"
"-my mam dun't give a shit, Lil," he said, pulling her hand more insistently. "Come on, you'll regret it if we don't. Cokeworth can wait."
She hesitated, indecision on her face.
"Cokeworth's boring, Lil. London ain't." He gave her a beaming smile. "Three hours to have a mooch around, that's all."
"But Sev, it's not three hours for them," she warned, "it's the time the train takes too - they'll be worried sick by the time we turn up."
He jangled some loose change in his pocket. "Three hours," he repeated, "and then we'll get back here, ring 'em, and make out like the Express just got in. Three hours for us, three hours for them."
She thought for a long moment, but eventually she acquiesced, dumping her trunk with his in the station's left luggage - both of them smiling as the attendant seemed baffled at the relatively light weight of their bulky cases.
Severus took her by the hand and pulled her through the thick mob of commuters, the two of them descending together into the busy underground station.
She didn't let go of his hand - not until they reached Camden Town, and he released her fingers as they stepped from the train, ostensibly so he could hold the waist of his jeans more firmly - but then he laughed and burst into a run, racing her up the steps to the ticket hall with a gleeful, exuberant, playful yell.
Lily looked around her in astonishment. "How did you even know this was here?"
"Wilkes has got a family home down in Chalk Farm," Severus said, "reckons there's a right fight with the Muggles wanting to build a ring road. He's been moaning about it to anyone who'll listen all year - says the Muggle government is going to make a compulsory purchase and what they're offering isn't anywhere near market value."
"So what's going to happen?"
He shrugged. "Who knows. His mother's a fair witch though - used to be Head Girl at Hogwarts, he says."
She raised her eyebrow. "You think she'll use magic against the Muggles?"
Severus gave her a knowing look. "If someone offered you half rate for your parents' house because they wanted to build a road, wouldn't you be tempted to whip your wand out and send a little charm or two in their direction?"
She didn't answer. "Would you?"
"I don't think the problem will ever arise. Half rate for our place would be about thirty new pence," he laughed. "Anyway, Wilkes said the Muggles were divided over it themselves, and a bunch of them had set up some sort of craft market whilst they were fighting it out."
"And he was right," she said, taking in the stalls. "It's funny, you don't think of your lot being up on Muggle stuff."
"No," Severus said, quickly. "Anyway, this is way better than Cokeworth's market - that's all fish and eggs and haircuts."
"You don't fancy one of those, then?" she teased, flicking his long hair.
"Absolutely not," he grinned, looping his arm over her shoulders. "I don't want to look like I'm joining the army."
"They wouldn't give you short back and sides unless you asked for it."
"Have you seen half the blokes around here?" he said, looking around pointedly. "I don't want it all shaved off-"
"-there's plenty of blokes with long hair-"
"-yeah, but I don't want a bloody perm either."
She laughed at his disgusted look.
"Besides, you don't want me looking like some dull Muggle, d'yer?" he continued, with a grin.
"No," she agreed, cuddling into him, "not one with a perm, anyway."
They wound their way through the stalls until they reached a leather craft stall, offering a range of bags, purses, wallets, and belts for sale.
"What d'yer reckon, Lil?" he asked, grabbing some belts and holding them up. "Black? Brown? Snakeskin?"
"Absolutely not," she said, taking the snakeskin belt from him and putting it back on the trestle table. She frowned. "These are too thin for jeans," she said, looking at the black and brown belts he was holding up, "they're dress belts."
"This is why I needed you to come with me," he grinned, "I haven't got a clue."
"I can tell." She laughed. "A snakeskin belt, honestly, Sev."
"It's an homage!"
"It's an outrage, that's what it is-"
"-such a lion-"
"-don't start that again-"
"-I'm just saying, Lil, what would you know-"
"-I know your dad will have a field day if he sees you with a snakeskin belt," she countered, "he'll go on about school sending you funny again-"
"-then that's why it's your choice, Lil," he interrupted, with a beaming grin. "You choose for me."
Severus has had the same belt ever since - full-grain leather, tan, an inch and three quarters in width, with a silver plate buckle and matching end tip. The tail end of it had been too long for a good year or two and often used to fall out of the belt loops of his jeans, until he'd left Hogwarts and regained his appetite whilst working under Borage.
There wasn't much call for him to wear his belt when they became mired in the wizarding world - as although fashions seemed to be more lenient amongst the wizarding population than Hogwarts had led them to believe, Severus and Lily exclusively wore robes at their jobs during the week.
At weekends, if they ventured into the Muggle world - to visit her parents, or his parents, or even to attend one of Petunia's increasingly formal parties - then he'd dig the belt out, even when it became an accessory instead of a necessity to keep his - long since replaced - jeans up.
Those were the evenings that Lily loved the most - her and Severus out together, hand-in-hand, as a couple. Most of all, she loved having the opportunity to see her parents, keen to regale them about the happiness she felt in her new life with Severus in the wizarding world.
Petunia always looked sour whenever there was mention of magic, and she would never manage more than twenty minutes without shooting an acerbic comment in their direction - but her poison would never ruin the evening, because their new life together had caused there to be a newfound confidence in both Lily and Severus.
Instead of being concerned or affronted, they both felt reassured that Petunia was simply jealous that their lives were far more fascinating than anything she could ever hope to achieve amongst the Muggles, no matter how many promotions were apparently coming Vernon's way.
Invariably, they'd end up heading back to the flat together, lightly inebriated and full of good cheer. In the heat of their passion - whether it was unfastened by his hands or hers - the clunk of his belt buckle had always been a sound that brought a smile to her face.
Until now.
Now his belt lies limply, coiled loosely on her palms, the metal buckle and matching end tip both dangling freely from her hands, and now that she truly understands what belts represent to Severus - punishment, injury, remorse - she can barely stand to look at it.
"Yer promised," he says, fiercely, his harsh tone pulling her from her thoughts. "Yer promised me yer would help."
Lily waits for a long moment, considering him - his jaw set in grim determination and his arms folded across his chest. Angry. Defensive. There's no talking to him when he gets like this, she thinks.
She holds the belt in one hand, and wipes the tears from her cheeks with the other - and then she looks at the belt, and at Severus, and back at the belt again.
"Yer promised me," he repeats.
She doesn't speak.
"Yer said all I 'ad to do was confide in yer," he says, his voice strained, as if recognising that he's been betrayed, "an' I said that if I confided in yer," and his voice rises a little higher still, "yer wun't want ter help me." He stares at her. "An' look! I was right! I knew yer-"
"-that's not fair, Severus," she says, quickly. "This isn't the sort of thing you can ask of me."
"No?" He looks mutinous. "Then what am I s'posed ter do? Yer parents were right - my magic is unpredictable an' we can't risk trying ter fix yours until mine's stable."
"Being beaten with a belt isn't going to fix your magic."
He looks astonished. "It's like yer've not heard a single fuckin' word I've said."
"I heard every word you said! Merlin, Severus, you're asking me to hurt you-"
"-to punish me," he corrects, "it's different."
She brandishes the belt, showing him the metal tip. "There's no difference. This will hurt you, Sev," and this time it's her voice that breaks. "I hate your scars-"
"-well, don't hold back, love!" he snaps. "Seein' as I'm so fuckin' hideous-"
"-I didn't say that!"
"I won't get undressed in front of yer no more so yer dunner 'ave ter be sickened by me-"
"-I'm not sickened by you, Sev. I hate seeing your scars because they mean that you were so badly injured!"
He hesitates. "I deserved them."
"You didn't!" Lily tosses the belt onto the bed and holds her face in her hands, tears falling once more. "Merlin, Severus."
He bites his lip, looking at the ceiling instead of at his wife. "I knew I shouldn't 'ave said anythin'. I knew I should've just handled it myself."
It takes her a minute to compose herself, and then she looks at the belt, and then back at Severus, and then back at the belt.
"It doesn't matter," he says, reaching across the bed for it, "just forget I said anythin'."
She reaches out, her hand covering the belt. "Did you mean that?"
"Mean what?"
"You really wish you hadn't told me?"
He hesitates, his hand hovering above hers - and then he gives a stiff nod. "I din't mean to upset yer," he intones, dully, "I can solve this myself."
"I don't want you to solve it yourself. We said we'd solve whatever was troubling you together."
He gives another stiff nod, his dark eyes watching her warily.
Her voice is quiet. "And I told you that all you had to do was confide in me - to trust me."
Another nod.
"And you've done what I asked," she says, swallowing hard. "Trusted me. Confided in me."
"Yes."
Her hand closes around the belt.
Her heart feels as if it's descended into her stomach, but Severus seems oddly enthused since her agreement. He talks animatedly, quickly - although she's certain that some of his eagerness is borne of nervousness.
"I'll transfigure the bed back into the sofa," he says, taking out his wand, "it'll take up less space so yer've got room to work in, and the back's about the right height for me ter lean over."
Lily watches in silence as he strips the bedding away, flinging the duvet and the sheets into the kitchen, and then casts repeatedly at their comfortable bed until it transforms back into the sofa she recognises from when they first moved in.
Severus straightens, looking pleased with his work, and turns to her for her verdict - and seems surprised to see the frown on her face. "Yeah, weird, in't it? Makes the room look bigger," he says. "Yer forget what it was like before we were sleepin' down here."
She doesn't answer.
He looks away, and she spots him clenching his hands together, his fingers wringing anxiously. "Yer haven't… Yer haven't changed yer mind, have yer, love?"
"Seeing you do that with our bed," she says, her voice barely more than a whisper, "it's just made me think, that's all."
His mouth is a grimace. "I know yer not havin' yer magic is tough-"
"-it's not that-"
"-but that's what this is about, in't it? We do this an' we get me sorted, an' then we can get you fixed."
"I didn't mean that. I meant that you might lash out." She hesitates. "With your magic. A reaction."
"I won't."
"You might, Sev," she says, looking at his sleeve where she knows his wand is stowed. "If I hurt you-"
"-there's no if," he corrects, "it's got ter hurt ter work-"
"-so when I hurt you," she says, "you might-"
"-I won't-"
"-I used to," she argues, "whenever Tuney hurt me, my magic would react in retaliation."
"You might've but I won't."
"You used to."
"That was a long time ago," he says, dismissively. "An' I never did with Da."
She looks at him, scrutinising him. "It's not as simple as saying you won't, Sev," she says. "With Tuney, I didn't ever mean to do it, but it still happened."
"That was because you were a kid," he says, "yer din't have the same control as we do now."
"But that's the problem with your magic! You haven't got full control over it - that's what we keep saying." It's her turn to anxiously entwine her fingers. "And we've talked about this already," she says, her voice falling to barely more than a whisper, "about you being bigger and taller and stronger than me." She swallows. "And now that you have your magic and I don't have mine-"
"-Lily, love, I swear - I swear - that I am not goin' to hurt yer."
"Not on purpose, but-"
"-but nothing! I won't hurt yer, love," he says, looking aghast. "I won't ever hurt yer. I swear it." When she continues looking at him, clearly unconvinced, he slips his wand out of his sleeve. "Right," he says, "I'll get rid of this."
He heads into the kitchen, and she hears him placing his wand on the windowsill, and then he returns, his palms upward, his hands empty - but when she still looks unconvinced, his shoulders slump.
"Sorry, Sev," she says, "but it's not enough. You don't need your wand to use magic."
"A tongue tying curse, then?" he suggests, and then he immediately grimaces. "I'm not sure I can cast it on myself. Or if I did, if I could end it after."
"It still wouldn't be enough. You can cast non-verbally."
"Fuckin' hell, love," he says, with a deep sigh, "what then?"
"I don't know. Whatever we do, it's just for show, isn't it?" She swallows hard. "Whatever we do, you can get out of it."
He bites his lip. "I'm honourable, love, yer know that much. Yer dad pulled a knife on me, took my shirt from me, an' I didn't move a muscle until he said so."
She nods. "But you knew that Daddy wasn't going to use that knife. You're asking me to hurt you, Sev - it's different."
Severus stands for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he looks around the room. "Well, we can't do anythin' to solve it," he reasons. "Like yer said, I'm bigger, taller, stronger, magical," he reels off, as he steps across the room. He reaches for her dressing gown, and unthreads the belt.
Not another belt.
He holds it aloft.
"What?"
"You don't trust me to be honourable," he says, "so tie my wrists together." He swallows. "I'm not saying I couldn't slip free if I desperately tried, but I'm not going ter desperately try," he adds, earnestly, "because I'm askin' yer ter do this."
Because he thinks he deserves it, the nagging voice in the back of her mind interjects.
"But if anythin' happens - which it won't - then my hands bein' restrained…" He shrugs. "It'll be enough ter bring me ter my senses, ter remind me why I'm there. A cue."
She looks at the cord as it swings freely from his hand. "And you swear that you won't try to slip free, no matter what happens?"
"I swear."
"And you swear that you won't use magic?"
"I won't use magic."
She meets his gaze. "And you'll stay in that position until I say it's over?"
He gives an emphatic nod. "Yes, love. I'll do anythin'."
The charm in the corner of the room tells them both that River's still sleeping contentedly in the hallway, even when Severus manhandles the sofa across the room and away from the fireplace.
Lily stands with his belt folded over between her hands, and he tuts and shakes his head and takes it from her, straightening it and informing her that it shouldn't be doubled over - explaining that the resulting action is more like a whip if the buckle is held and the tail end is loose.
The thought of whipping him makes her feel sick.
If he notices her reaction, he doesn't seem deterred. Instead, he launches into a demonstration of how she should hold the belt, and what her arm movement should be - and then he spends a while frowning at the room, talking animatedly about where the sofa should be to provide the best position for both of them.
She hates watching him - hates hearing him explaining his reasoning for transfiguring the sofa, hearing him explaining the difference between bracing against solid furniture versus something softer, hates that he seems not just accepting of the idea of being beaten, but that in some twisted way, it's as if he's relishing it.
He is relishing it, she thinks, because he thinks this is the only way for him to find redemption. If my magic wasn't locked away but was in tatters like his is, then surely I'd do anything to get it back - just as he's doing?
"Did he lecture you?" she interrupts. "Your father? Or did he just belt you?"
The question surprises him and he turns to look at her. "Most of the time he had summat ter say about what I'd done," he says, "but if he was really angry, then yeah, sometimes he just got stuck in…"
"But most of the time he'd talk?"
"Yeah. Yeah, he'd lecture me. Before. During. After."
"And did you get to choose your punishment?"
He frowns, as if baffled by her sudden line of questioning. "No. That's what I was saying ter yer - I don't think this has been working because it's all me. I need someone else ter decide the punishment an' inflict it."
"Then I think it's about time you stopped trying to control the situation," she says, firmly.
He looks astonished, his lips parting. "I was jus'-"
"-talking about how I should hold the belt, and telling me where I should stand, and where-"
"-it's not like yer've done this before, I was tryin' ter help-"
"-and I've heard enough from you, Severus," she continues, firmly. "I want you to turn around and face the wall."
He hesitates, a sudden wariness on his face.
"Now, Severus," she says, her tone brooking no argument.
He swallows uncomfortably and moves a step or two towards the wall, and then he looks over his shoulder at her. "I thought we said over the sofa? If I lean against the wall-"
"-I want you to stand facing the wall," she repeats, "and I don't want you to turn around."
He does as she requests, but she can feel the anxiety coming from him - almost peeling off him in waves, and she can sense the questions forming on his lips.
"Put the tip of your nose against the wall," she instructs, "close your eyes, and put your hands on the back of your head."
"But-"
"-Severus," she says, cutting him off immediately, "I've already told you once - you are not in control here."
He falls silent.
"Do you want me to do this or not?" she asks.
"...yes."
"Then do as I say - face the wall, close your eyes, and put your hands on the back of your head."
This time, he swiftly complies, and she watches him as he stands stock-still, facing the wall. The only movement he makes is the rise and fall of his chest, which is more pronounced than usual.
For all his bravado, he's as nervous as I am.
She waits, watching the second hand on the clock moving around and after four and a half minutes pass, his breathing has steadied.
"Did your dad ever make you stand against the wall?"
"No."
"Did Sluggy?"
Even though she can only see half of his face, she can see his confused expression.
"No," he says, slowly. "Are yer tryin' ter tell me that McGonagall made yer do this?"
"Not me," she says, lightly, "but some of my housemates. Do you know why I've asked you to do it?"
"No."
"It's so you can think about what you've done," she explains.
His breath catches.
"I want you to think about the choices you've made that have led you here and how you feel about what you've done."
He looks discomfited when she tells him that he can open his eyes, and he blinks repeatedly, getting used to the light after so long with them closed.
"You ok?"
"Yes." There's a pause, and his breath hitches. "D'yer… D'yer want me ter tell yer what I was-"
"-no," she says, quickly, sensing his discomfort, "I want you to come over here."
He walks over, his hands still fixed on the back of his head - until she directs him to lie over the back of the sofa. He reaches down and tugs off his t-shirt, tossing it carelessly on the floor, and then he moves his hands to his waistband, intending to unfasten his jeans.
"No," she says, putting her hand out to stop him.
Severus looks alarmed. "It won't, it won't be enough," he argues, "not if yer belt me through my jeans, yer not that strong-"
"-am I in control of this situation, or are you, Severus?"
He drops his hands to his sides.
"Good," she says, "now bend over the sofa."
He moves forward, pressing his front against the back of the sofa - and then he widens his stance and bends his knees until his hips are aligned with the top, and then he hinges himself forward.
"Good," she says, again. "Fold your arms behind your back."
"Behind my back?" He twists so he can look at her, and she can see the confusion and despair in his face, and he uses his hand to point from the bottom of his rib cage to the waist of his jeans. "It's too narrow a gap if yer gonna beat my back, love," he says, "either my arms need ter be in front so yer've got all of it, or yer need me ter drop my jeans because-"
"-I won't ask you again, Severus."
He stares at her, his mouth open, his dark eyes darting - and then he wordlessly complies, wrapping his arms behind his back. She carefully loops the soft dressing gown belt around his forearms and wrists, tying them together.
"Does that hurt?"
"No."
She frowns at his tone. "You're sure? It's not pulling your shoulders?"
"They're fine," he says. "Are my arms high enough-"
"-I won't hit your arms."
He exhales impatiently, in a way that establishes his disapproval of the way she's setting up - but she ignores it.
"Close your eyes."
She circles him, checking that he's followed her instruction. "This time," she says, when she's satisfied, "I want you to think about what you'd do differently if you had your time over again.
I reckon this is worse than Da, he thinks, his eyes screwed up and his arms tied behind his back. At least he just grabbed me, yelled fer a bit, an' did whatever he was plannin'. This is sadistic - all this fuckin' waitin' and thinkin'.
Bloody McGonagall, he thinks, I should've known it'd be one of her tricks. He screws his eyes up more tightly. Although it seems a weird thing fer Lil ter remember if she wasn't punished by 'er in this way.
I wonder if it wasn't McGonagall she got it off, he thinks. Feels more like a David punishment, all this thinkin'. He must've had summat else up 'is sleeve, an' he wun't ever have beat Lil, not like my da beat me - but thinkin', now that's a right David punishment.
And then the guilt hits him. Not that I am thinkin' - well, I'm not thinkin' about what she's told me to think about. He grimaces. What's the point in askin' her to do all of this if yer don't even bother ter do what she's asked of yer?
He takes a shuddering breath. Think, Sev. If yer were given the chance ter go back an' change things, what would yer do differently?
"That's enough," she says, finally - and he lets out a breath. "You ok?"
"Yes."
"Arms still feel ok?"
"Yes."
"Do you want a drink?"
"No."
"I've got this for you," she says. "Open your eyes."
When he opens them, he can see a potion vial in front of his face. "What is it?"
She turns it so he can read his own writing.
"I don't need that. I've sobered up already."
"I'd rather you take it so we can be sure," she says - and she waits until he nods in agreement, and then she uncorks it, and he lets her pour the mixture into his mouth.
"Now do you want some water to wash it down with?"
"No," he says, smacking his lips.
"Then close your eyes," she says, "and keep them closed."
It's as if the noises in the room are heightened without his vision, and he listens intently to Lily's movements - the click of the door, the uneven steps she takes as she dances around the bedding he's left strewn across the kitchen floor, the sound of the cupboard door opening and a mug being taken from a shelf and the splash of water from the tap.
Then she's back again, but the noises are out of order - the mug is placed on the mantelpiece before the door makes a noise. She brought her drink in first, he thinks, that's all.
And then there's a rustling - a soft noise that he can't quite discern, a gentle noise that sounds like skin softly meeting skin, or a kiss - but although he braces, he eventually realises that it's not him who's being touched.
"Lil?"
"Shhhhh."
Severus falls silent, still listening intently, his head bowed - and then he feels movement under him, as if she's sat on the sofa or put something on the seat.
"Lil?"
"Nearly ready," she says, her voice soothing, as if she's sensed the anxiety in his tone - and then his whole body relaxes as he finally hears her pick up his belt, the metal buckle clanking as she holds it in her hands whilst she moves behind him.
"Now open your eyes."
Severus' reaction is immediate. He takes a sharp, sudden intake of breath, and his whole upper body jerks violently - but he admirably manages to stay in one place, keeping to their verbal agreement.
"No, please, no," he protests - and she can see the tension in his upper body as he stares down at the sofa cushion below. "No, Lil, this isn't what we agreed. I don't want him ter see this."
"I think he needs to see it."
Severus jerks his head back, his neck twisted painfully so he can stare up towards the ceiling and avoid seeing River lying peacefully below him on the seat of the sofa.
"He dun't. He dun't need ter see this."
"But surely it's his turn next?"
Severus' back tightens and he takes another sharp breath, and Lily steps around the sofa so she's facing him.
"Look at me, Severus."
When he looks at her, she can see the anguish in his face, and it causes her heart to clench to see him so distressed - but she composes herself, her nails digging into her palm, striving to keep her expression neutral.
"How old is he going to be when it's his turn?" she asks.
Severus moves slightly, as if he's fighting the urge to struggle out of position, but doesn't answer.
"I'm asking you a question, Severus. I want an answer," she presses.
"This has got nothin' ter do with Riv."
"Of course it has," she says, evenly. "He's not going to be a perfect child. Eventually, he's going to do something wrong - break a window, push another kid over in the playground, talk back to the teacher. What I want to know, Severus, is what does he have to do to deserve this? When are you going to tell him to bend over the sofa so you can-"
"-I'd never do that! Bloody hell, Lil, we're not going ter beat him."
"No?" she enquires, her tone light. "Whyever not?"
"Whyever not? Whyever not?" He looks aghast. "Fuck me, Lil, are yer kiddin'?" Severus looks down at River who is still sleeping peacefully on the sofa, and Severus' face crumples. "He's our baby boy, we can't-"
"-so we're not going to beat River then," she interrupts. "How about me? When is it my turn?"
When he looks up from their son, he looks at her as if she's just turned into a purple Hippogriff. "You?"
"If I do this to you," she explains, "then it stands to reason that at some point, it'll be my turn - that I'll be in your position, and you'll be standing here with," and she holds the belt up, "this in your hand."
"I wun't," he protests. "I would never hurt yer, Lil."
She shrugs. "Fair's fair, Severus. I'm not perfect either."
"I wun't." He shakes his head emphatically. "I wun't ever, I wun't even think of it."
"No? Never?"
He bites his lip so hard, she thinks he's going to draw blood - and just as she's about to soften and take a step forward, he looks down.
"I can prove it," he says.
"Prove it how?"
"I thought it was your fault," he says, "when Avery and Rosier and Mulciber found yer parents' house. I thought it was you." He swallows tightly. "I never brought it up, I never said anythin', let alone hurt yer." He looks down again. "I would never ever hurt yer, Lil."
She looks astonished. "You thought they found us because of me?"
He nods. "I thought it was because of yer being in touch wi' Potter - that they'd followed him or summat." He gives a strained laugh. "But it was me, Lil. It was the fuckin' Striker badge. I'd just tossed it ter one side-"
"-you weren't to know."
"I should've realised."
"And having that badge wasn't all you, Sev. Slughorn chucked us out, and your dad had a fit about the stuff being down Spinner's End - that's how it ended up at Mummy and Daddy's. You couldn't have seen that happening."
"No, but yer dad told me ter sort the boxes out, an' I didn't."
"And I brought some of the boxes here - it was just dumb luck it was still at Mummy and Daddy's."
"It wun't have been dumb luck if I'd 'ave sorted through them. I should've found it then."
"There was so much going on. You can't blame yourself for that."
"I do! I do blame myself, an' you should blame me too! It was my badge, my responsibility - an' what's worse, after they'd used it ter track down yer parents' house, I moved it-"
"-you didn't move it, you moved the rest of the boxes-"
"-and brought it into our house where you an' Riv was-"
"-you didn't know-"
"-I should've fuckin' known! I picked it up an' looked at it, an' instead of throwin' it away or breakin' it or destroyin' it, I put it in my jeans pocket!"
"It wasn't in your jeans pocket-"
"-you washed my jeans and put the stuff in my jacket-"
"-so it was my fault-"
"-it was my fault," he protests, "because I told yer ter do it! That's how it ended up in my jacket, an' that's how he ended up at the Railview, an' that's why I panicked an' wiped yer parents' memories." He gasps for breath, as if he's just been running. "That's why I need yer ter do this, Lil. It's like yer said to me - that I should think about it, an' I have thought about it, I've thought about nowt else for weeks! I can't stop thinking about it! One stupid decision after another an'-"
"-this is another one," she says, calmly.
"No," he protests, "I need you to do this, love. You promised."
"I promised I'd help."
"Please," he begs, and she can see the pain in his face. "I feel so guilty, Lil, an' I need it to stop."
"But you said you didn't feel remorse - I thought that's what this was all about?"
"Not remorse. Guilt. I feel guilty about what happened to you, Lil - about yer losing yer magic." He looks away from her. "It's bad enough knowin' that yer can't do the stuff I take for granted, but when yer talk about being in pain…" His breathing is heavier. "I did that, Lil. I caused that pain. I did that to yer."
"You didn't do it to me - the Ministry did it to me."
"But you were in the Ministry because of-"
"-because of a lot of things," she says. "Because of things you did, yes - but because of things I did, because of things Dumbledore and Slughorn and Fudge and Avery and Rosier and Mulciber and Vance and Moody and the Dark Lord and-"
"-I don't care about what they did, I care about what I did-"
"-but it's not your burden to carry, Severus," she says. "I can tell you that the rest of those responsible for my predicament sleep soundly at night."
"Yeah, well, those people aren't married to you. I'm meant to look after-"
"-you did your best. You couldn't have known what was coming next. I didn't know what was coming next."
He looks away. "It was my punishment to take."
"It wasn't a just punishment even if you'd taken it instead," she says. "I don't blame you, Severus."
There's a long silence.
Severus doesn't look up, his eyes fixed on River. "Do you think he hurts too?"
"Because of his magic?"
"It must be trapped," Severus says, "because he isn't a Squib. We know he had magic - we could feel it."
"I know."
"And now it's not there."
"No."
"So it must be trapped," he reasons, "and if you hurt, he must hurt too."
It takes her a long time to reply, but when she does, her voice is even. "He doesn't know any different."
Severus looks up, confused.
"I know what it felt like to have my magic," Lily says, "and I know what it feels like to have it constrained. It might hurt him, but he doesn't know what it feels like to be unburdened. For him, hurting is normal."
"Fuck."
"Don't think of it like that - imagine you were given a bag full of rocks to carry. You'd grumble about it being heavy, making your legs feel leaden, wanting to put it down all of the time - but if you'd always had the bag of rocks, you wouldn't know what it was like to be without them." Lily gives him a sad smile. "That's what it's going to be like for River - he's always going to have that bag of rocks-"
"-fuck me," Severus exclaims, "I don't want him-"
"-but he doesn't know any different, Severus," she says, firmly. "He doesn't know what life feels like without the bag of rocks. He can't miss what he didn't experience."
Severus exhales loudly. "I did that to him."
"You didn't do it to him," Lily says, sounding exasperated. "He's a healthy, happy, little boy who is very loved by the both of us."
Severus makes a pained sound. "Please, Lil," he begs, "I need you to do this. I need to make amends."
She reaches forward and runs her free hand across his face, scooping his hair up and brushing it back. "I'll do it," she promises, "on one condition."
"Anythin'," he says. "What's yer condition?"
"You've known Lucius a long time," she says, still holding his hair back, "what's the worst thing he's ever done?"
"I don't know."
"Think. He knew about you and what you did to Evan Rosier."
"It's not like we sat an' compared notes about dark deeds," he says. "He only knows about me killin' Ros because he was stood right there."
"And was he horrified at what you did?" She gives him a tight smile. "Or was that when he kissed you?"
He tries to look away, but she holds him fast.
"Yeah."
"Yeah, that'd be right," she repeats. "He's got about as much depth as a particularly shallow puddle."
In spite of himself, Severus gives a soft laugh.
"What about Cissy?" Lily asks. "You two were close - did she ever tell you anything about the things he did?"
"Occasionally. Now and again." He shakes his head. "Look, I know what he's capable of, Lil - I've seen him do enough dark stuff myself."
"What sort of dark stuff?"
"I've seen him Imperio people, I've seen him drugging his father, an' I've watched him sexually assault Cissy," Severus says, his dark eyes, "how dark d'yer want?"
"Has he ever killed someone?"
Severus pauses. "I don't know."
"That's not a no."
"It's not a yes either," Severus says, quickly. "I can believe it of him, but I've never heard that he has - from him or Cissy."
"I think he has," Lily says, "because getting off with the perpetrator is not a normal reaction to witnessing a murder."
"No-one ever claimed Malf was normal."
"What about people they know? Has anyone in their family killed someone?"
He gives her an incredulous look. "Yer do remember who Cissy's sister is, right? There's 'ardly a brewer left in the wizarding world thanks ter Bellatrix."
"And what do you think of Bellatrix?"
"I try ter keep my distance," he says, "for obvious fuckin' reasons."
"But you've met her."
"Fearsome," he says, "that's what I think she is. Terrible."
"Not weak?"
He gives her another incredulous look. "That'd be the last thing I'd say she was."
"And the Death Eaters," she presses, "when Dumbledore had you-"
"-yer don't have ter remind me about that."
"Any murderers amongst them?"
"They ain't sittin' around makin' daisy chains, Lil," he scoffs. "Course there are, but I didn't think ter ask fer details an' I certainly wasn't told. It was a bit fuckin' stressful - it wasn't exactly the time fer a chit chat with my old housemates."
"So you don't know anyone personally who has murdered someone?"
He falls silent for a moment, and then he gives a small nod. "Yeah, actually," he says, "I do."
"Who?"
"Ave."
"Avery?" Lily's heart sinks as she brings to mind the dull-faced wizard who was amongst those in her parents' house, holding her mother hostage.
He'd seemed to be the least threatening of the three - the one the others didn't respect - but he'd been the one to track them down, and now that she hears from Severus' own mouth that Avery is a murderer, she can't help but give an involuntary shiver at thinking how close she and River and her mother came to death.
"Did he tell you who he killed?" she asks.
"No."
"When was it?"
"Don't know."
"Did he tell you anything about it?"
"Not really," he says. "He was pretty nonchalant." He gives a soft laugh. "Avada'd someone, that's what he said. He was showing off."
"It didn't bother him then?"
Severus gives a soft laugh. "No, it didn't bother him at all."
"And when you were hanging out with him, how was his magic?"
"Fine."
Lily gives him a triumphant look. "So it didn't give him crippling chest pains that caused him to sink to his knees every few days?"
Severus stills, and she tilts his head up so she can stare straight into his eyes.
"Just like how Lucius' magic doesn't give him crippling chest pains, and Bellatrix's magic doesn't give her crippling chest pains?"
Silence.
"And did Avery beg you," she asks, "to beat him raw so he could feel some remorse?"
Silence.
"That's my condition. Tell me he begged you to beat him, Severus," she presses, "and I'll do it."
There's an odd atmosphere in the house, and she can tell that he feels ashamed and embarrassed.
You told him it was ok to be vulnerable, and then you made him feel like an idiot.
When she heads back from the toilet, he passes her silently in the yard, his cigarette packet raised in the air by way of explanation.
She moves into the front room to give him some space, and finds that he's already transfigured the sofa back into a bed and put the bedding back on. She immediately strips it - it's been all over the kitchen floor - and puts fresh sheets on.
She nips back into the kitchen, glancing at her husband through the kitchen window. His cigarette is freshly lit - still his first or onto a second? - and she heads back into the living room. Enough time to change River's bed too. She carefully lifts River up and rests him on their mattress whilst she changes his bedding as well.
She manages to transfer River back to his own bed without waking him up, but it's at least another ten minutes before she hears the back door closing and Severus' soft chant as he applies her charms to the lock.
When she hears him washing in the sink, she puts their favourite album on the turntable, with the volume suitably low so it doesn't disturb River, and then she snaps the light off so the room is bathed in just the warm glow from the fire.
Severus gives her a thin smile when he pushes the door open. "What's all this?"
"Come to bed, Sev," she says, taking his hand and leading him towards their bed.
"You've put on new sheets," he says, "but I'd already made the bed."
"They'd been on the floor."
"Right," he says, that thin smile even more strained. "Stupid."
"Not stupid," she says, holding his hand more tightly, "stressed."
"Stupid," he repeats, as he shrugs his jeans off and gets under the covers. "Stupid all the fuckin' time these days."
He's quiet - as quiet as she's ever known him, and then he mumbles something about being tired and wanting to sleep, but instead of pulling her into his arms, he rolls over, his back towards her, his shoulders tense.
She lies still, watching him, listening - but he doesn't fall asleep; his posture doesn't change, his breathing doesn't alter. She hears the clunk of the player as the record finishes, dropping the room into relative silence.
"Sev?" she whispers.
"What?"
She moves closer to him, wrapping her arm around him, and she presses a kiss to his back - and then another, and then another, trailing her lips across his scars.
"What are yer doin'?"
"Kissing them better."
"Bit late for that, love."
She isn't deterred by his grumpy response, and she kisses her way across his back, following the white scars up and down and left and right - and as she does so, he eventually entwines his fingers with hers, his thumb stroking across the back of her hand.
When she reaches his lower back, she presses a kiss just above his underwear and hooks her fingers into the waistband, readying to tug the material down, and he gives a soft laugh.
"Yer don't have to carry on," he murmurs, "but I appreciate the sentiment."
"I don't find your scars hideous."
"...ok."
"I don't find any part of you hideous."
He squeezes her hand.
She presses another kiss between his shoulder blades. "And I think there's more lion in you than you'd like to admit."
"We're back on how stupid I am, are we?"
It's her turn to squeeze his hand. "Not stupid. Brave," she corrects.
He makes a disparaging noise.
She trails the fingers of her free hand across his scars. "You don't have to look at them," she says, quietly, "you don't see what they look like. Yet you asked me to inflict this on you because you thought-"
"-because I'm stupid."
"Brave." She pulls back. "Look at me, Sev."
Lily hears him sigh, but he rolls over. Her heart clenches at his despairing expression, although she's briefly gratified when he reaches out for her hand again, and she darts a quick kiss to his lips, but he doesn't respond.
"Not just brave because it would've hurt," she explains, "but brave because you opened up and trusted me."
"It didn't do any good."
"It did."
"Yeah? It's still goin' ter happen again," he warns, and he brings her hand to his chest, "an' again an' again an' again." Then he reaches over, her hand still clenched in his, and he touches her neck and her wrists. "An' you still hurt 'ere, an' 'ere, an' 'ere, an' I can't fix you 'til I fix me, an' I can't fix me-"
"-but now we know what doesn't work," she says. She reaches for his arm, the damage hidden under a glamour. "So now you can stop doing this to yourself."
He grunts noncommittally.
"Promise me, Sev." She squeezes his hand when he doesn't speak. "Promise me."
"...promise," he says, after a long pause. "But it dun't change anythin' - we're right back where we started."
"Let's talk it through again," she says, holding his hand tightly. "You've broken your soul."
"Yes."
"And damaged your magic."
"Yer know I 'ave - yer said it yersel', that yer can't feel my magic anymore."
"And this has all somehow affected your thinking."
"Clearly."
"So you think you need to mend your soul, and that'll mend everything else."
"And the books say yer need ter feel remorse ter mend yer soul," he says, "but I don't feel-"
"-you do, Sev," Lily interrupts, "it might not be remorse, but you feel something. Avery doesn't feel anything. Bellatrix doesn't feel anything. Lucius doesn't-"
"-we don't know if Malf has-"
"-well, the Dark Lord then!" she says, sounding a little exasperated for the first time. "He's killed people, hasn't he?"
Severus gives a sharp nod. "Must've."
"And was he routinely falling to the ground and clasping his chest when you saw him?"
"No, but it's not like I spent every second around him."
"But Sev, listen to yourself - you don't know when it's going to happen do you?"
"...no."
"So if it was happening to the Dark Lord, he also wouldn't know when it would happen next, so he wouldn't be able to hide it." She gives him another triumphant look. "And if the Dark Lord was randomly falling to the ground and clasping his chest, do you think he'd have so many witches and wizards following him? Do you think they'd all fear him?"
"...no."
"So if murdering someone breaks your soul, then we've got to assume that you've all got broken souls - but only you've got the pain…" She gives him a firm look. "Whatever this pain is, it's not your soul, Sev. It can't be."
He lies quietly, mulling over her thoughts, and then he lets out a breath. "It might be."
"It isn't."
"D'yer remember that lesson we had on Unforgivables-"
"-you mean the one where Mulciber tried to cast-"
"-no, no, the one the year before, the one with old Thornsbirch," Severus says, quickly.
"Oh!" She frowns, trying to remember. "Was that about the ethics of using an Unforgivable? With the discussion about the soldier?"
"Yeah," Severus says. "What if the Dark Lord sees himself as a soldier fightin' against the Ministry? What if the act should've broken his soul, but it dun't even tarnish it because he dun't feel any guilt about it? He sees it as a just an' right thing ter do, an' his soul is still intact."
"Whereas you do. You care."
He pulls his face. "Not really. I thought it was a just an' right thing ter do."
"Sev."
"What?" he says, defensively. "I've already told yer that I don't give a fuckin' shit about Ros being dead."
"No, I don't think you care about Evan Rosier," she agrees. "I don't think you'll ever care about Evan Rosier, and waiting for it to happen is a waste of time. But you said it yourself - you care about me losing my magic and River losing his, and I think it's more than that. I think you care that your actions have cut us off from the magical world. I think you care that what you did broke your soul and your magic and your logic, and you care that you couldn't keep my mum and dad safe, and you care that you've caused tension between us and them, and you care that you upset me."
He swallows awkwardly.
"You care, Severus. No matter what you think, you're not a monster. You care."
"Right, so if I care and they don't, then it dun't fuckin' matter about Ave or Bellatrix or the Dark Lord," he says, pressing a finger firmly into his temple, "because like Thornsbirch said, it ain't about who's killed who - it's my fuckin' conscience that's done this."
She shakes her head. "Thornsbirch didn't teach us that."
"He did!"
"He didn't," she argues, glancing over her shoulder to check that River has stayed asleep at their sudden raised voices, and when she looks back, Severus looks a little abashed.
"Sorry," he whispers, "but he did. That two people can do the same thing, but walk away with a different outcome."
"No, you might've drawn that conclusion," she says, "but he didn't teach it to us. You're adding two and two-"
"-and making four, because I'm right-"
"-honestly, Sev, can you hear yourself? You've already admitted that your decision making is flawed at the moment," she counters, and he falls silent. "I'm sorry," she says, squeezing his arm, "but it's true."
"Go on then, let's hear your amazing theory," he says, with more than a note of truculence in his voice.
"I don't have one-"
"-great, glad we had this conversation-"
"-but Sev, I think focusing on your broken soul is a red herring. We don't know that the two are linked - it might just be a coincidence."
He gives her a sceptical look. "Bit weird that it started at the same time."
"Well yes, but that's the definition of a coincidence," she argues. "We need to try again - to hit the books like we used to at school."
He gives another scoff and shakes his head. "What books? I've been through everything we've got already, love. We need more books - different books, an' we ain't gonna get those in Rillwych." He sighs. "I wish we still had access ter the school library."
"I thought you said Dumbledore had taken away the most interesting ones. I thought you'd prefer access to Lucius' books?"
"Yeah," he says. "I really bloody miss askin' Cissy for summat an' it being lent, no questions asked."
Lily gives him a sad smile. "Whereas I just miss Cissy."
There's a moment of silence, and then he pulls her a little closer.
"Those women at the meetin' were talkin' shit about yer, weren't they?" His mouth sets into a thin line. "I fuckin' knew they were."
"And I didn't want you causing a scene whilst you were drunk," she says, squeezing his arm. "It's ok."
"It's not."
"It's not their fault - I wasn't very friendly, Sev. My mind was on other things."
"On me, yer mean."
"Yeah."
He exhales loudly. "Summat else I've ruined fer yer, then, love."
She leans over and presses a kiss to his lips. "It's really not your fault, Sev," she murmurs, "it's not that easy to replace a good friend overnight. It takes time to get to know people, to warm to them." She kisses him again. "It'll work out."
He props himself up on his elbow. "Well, what if it dun't have ter?"
Lily frowns. "I don't understand."
"What if we dunner replace a good friend," he says, "but we bring one back?"
Chapter 161: Someone we can trust
Notes:
There's a very brief mention of the incident at the Evans house - so arson / potential rape reference.
Chapter Text
Pettigrew pauses outside the living room and instead of pushing open the door, he peers through the slither of the gap in the doorway, watching intently as Avery takes an envelope from his inside pocket, withdraws a very short piece of parchment from within it, and then stares at the scrap of paper for a long time.
It's not that long, Pettigrew thinks, he must be reading it over and over. Maybe the writing is tiny and cramped, he thinks, generously, or scribbled in such poor penmanship that it's difficult to read - but even so, he thinks, even the slowest of readers would've taken it in at least three times by now.
Pettigrew waits and waits, but Avery doesn't move. He keeps staring at the parchment, a slow growing frown developing on his brow - and then Pettigrew decides that he's going to gain little from observation and roughly shoves open the door.
"Will!" Avery says, greeting him with a wide smile, whilst smoothly sliding the parchment and the envelope back into his pocket. "How's the unpacking going? Is there enough space?"
"Plenty," Pettigrew says, "thanks. I thought I'd take a break, see what you were up to."
"Nothing," Avery says, that same smile on his face.
"You don't need a hand with anything, then?"
"You don't need to earn your keep," Avery laughs, "I'm not going to chuck you out if I don't see you with a duster in your hand." He shrugs. "I could eat though?"
"Yeah, I can make something-"
"-I thought we could go out," Avery says, quickly.
"I don't mind, I can cook-"
"-the fridge is bare," Avery concedes. "I don't really eat at home."
"We can shop," Pettigrew says, but he falters, unable to read Avery's closed expression. "Or we can go out. Going out sounds good. It's a great idea."
Avery grins again. "That's settled. I'll get my wallet…" Avery trails off at the sound of a loud knock at the door, and he steps over to the window and peers through - and then he turns back to Pettigrew with a pleasantly surprised expression. "It's Reggie," he says, by way of explanation.
"Oh," Pettigrew says, freezing in place.
"Have you met Reggie yet?"
There's a loaded question, Pettigrew thinks, remembering all of the times he and James and Remus and Sirius passed Sirius' younger brother in the hallways, with muttered jeers passing between the two young Blacks. Would Reggie recognise me? Would he remember Sirius' friends? James Potter, yes, but Remus? Me?
"I think so," Pettigrew says, weakly, as Avery brushes past him.
Pettigrew hears the front door creaking open, and then he makes his move, darting down the hallway with a quick shout behind him. "I'll finish unpacking and leave you two to talk, Ave!" he calls - and he disappears from view before Avery can respond, and long before Regulus has crossed the threshold.
Lupin rattles his spoon in his mug and drops it into the sink before heading towards the living room. He pauses in the doorway when he registers Potter and Black sitting next to one another, their heads together, whispering in hushed tones.
"Oh," Lupin says. "Cosy."
"It's not our fault that you've only got a two-seater sofa," Black says, leaning back and sprawling his arms across the entire length of the back of the sofa, shooting Lupin a smirk. "If you want to join us, I can perch on the arm-"
"-no-"
"-no, you told me off for that, didn't you?" Black says, with that same amused grin on his face.
"I think it was less you being perched on the arm, and more your feet being on the coffee table," Potter says, elbowing him.
"It was both," Lupin says, sipping his tea. "This place isn't built for a group."
Black laughs. "And there we have it. Point made, Moons," he says. "I'll head off tonight."
Lupin stills. "You can't."
"What?"
"I said, it's fine, you can stay."
Potter eyes him curiously. "That is not what you just said."
"It's what I meant."
Black gives him a thoughtful look. "What do you know, Moons? Why can't I go home?"
"It's not really your home, is it?" Lupin raises his mug, as if trying to hide his face behind it. "I mean, it's Pete's. Strictly speaking."
"Like this is your place," Black shoots back, "strictly speaking?" He pushes himself up so he's standing. "Even though it's James' money paying the rent?"
"It's different here. You don't pay all of the rent at Pete's place," Lupin argues. "He pays half-"
"-so it's half his, half mine-"
"-but it's his name on the lease."
Black appraises Lupin. "Just like your name's on the lease here," he says, with a shake of his head. "Smart, Moons." He turns back to look at Potter. "Did you hear that, James? If Pete's place is Pete's place because his name's on the lease, then this place is-"
"-it doesn't matter," Potter interrupts, looking earnestly between his two friends. "We're all friends. It doesn't matter whose name it is, whose money it is-"
"-yeah? You hear that, Moons? It's good news that, isn't it? Really good news that old Prongsy here isn't going to stop paying your way-"
"-I'm very grateful to James-"
"-so if it doesn't matter between you two," Black says, looking between them, "then it doesn't matter between me and Wormy either, does it?"
Lupin shoots a resigned look towards Potter before meeting Black's gaze. "Pads, he's not in a good way."
At this, Potter immediately looks concerned. "We'll go to see him," he says, making to stand, "all of us, sort it out-"
"-he doesn't want to sort it out," Lupin warns, putting his cup down on the side and then holding his arms out, as if warning the two men not to try to pass him. "I tried that. He wants some space."
Black scoffs. "Ridiculous."
"I don't think it's ridiculous. I tried to talk him around, but he's hurt," Lupin says, watching Black warily. "He feels like we've abandoned him."
"I'm not having that," Potter says. "I'll go around, I'll speak with-"
"-no, James," Lupin says, "he doesn't want to see you either."
Potter looks injured. "He doesn't want to see me? What've I done?"
Lupin gives him a weary look. "I know you don't think you were taking sides, but you did leave with-"
"-we're best mates!" Black exclaims. "Honestly, he's such a little-"
"-Pads, don't," Potter says, grabbing his arm, causing Black to fall silent.
"It'll work out. He's not angry," Lupin says, placatingly, "he just wants a bit of time to himself."
"Is that what he said?" Potter pushes. "That he was pissed at me for leaving?"
Lupin gives a half shrug. "He just said it's a bit shit when you need support and your mates ditch you."
Potter shoots Black an accusatory look.
"What? Don't look at me like that, Prongs, you're not going to change my mind. I'm not sorry," Black says, with a disdainful laugh, "and neither should you two be. He should be thanking me!"
"Pads-"
"-no, no, no, let's not rewrite history," Black says, his tone belligerent, "he was going to get himself killed. So," and he holds his hands up, "yes, I did slag him off to Moody and to Dumbledore - but have either of you actually thought that by doing so, I might've just saved his stupid bloody life?"
"He's not as incapable as you make out."
"It's got nothing to do with capability-"
"-you're always talking about how inept he is-"
"-it's not all to do with capability," Black stresses, shooting an accusatory gaze at both Potter and Lupin. "We've talked over and over about how useful his animagus form is, but what's the point if the wizard behind it is weak-willed and wet-eyed?"
"Pads," Potter says, sinking back into the sofa, "this is exactly the problem I was telling you about."
"What problem? I'm looking out for him!"
"No," Lupin says, evenly, "you're slagging him off and you can't even hear yourself doing it."
"I'm telling the truth."
"Bloody hell, if that's your idea of the truth," Lupin says, "I dread to think what you say about me when the door shuts behind me."
Black smirks. "I don't call you a weak-willed wet-eyed wizard, if that's what you're worried about."
"A weak-willed wet-eyed werewolf?"
"Got it in one," Black laughs, sitting back down on the sofa, and then he offers Lupin a cheeky grin. "So," he says, "Wormy's told you that he's chucked me out?"
"He hasn't chucked you out. It's not forever. He just wants some space."
"And what about you? Are you weak-willed enough to let me stay here, or are you evicting me as well?"
"I'm positively wet-eyed at the thought of it." Lupin picks up his mug of tea and takes a sip. "Are you sleeping down here, then?" he asks, innocently. "Do I need to knock on the living room door before noon?"
Black thumps the back of the sofa. "You think I'd get any sleep on this old thing?" He lies down, his head in Potter's lap, his feet dangling over the arm of the sofa. "Come off it, look at me! I'm at least a foot too tall for sleeping here. You're not talking to three and a half feet of Wormy now, you know?"
"He's not three and a half-"
"-Moons, don't worry, we won't bother you. You won't even know he's here - he's in my room with me," Potter answers, before Lupin can protest at Black's needless insult. "I don't mind sharing."
Lupin raises an eyebrow and takes another sip from his tea. "So," he says, after a moment, "what were you plotting when I walked in?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing."
"Convincing," Lupin says.
Potter and Black exchange a look, and when Potter opens his mouth, Black grabs his arm and Potter shrugs him away.
"It's fine," Lupin says, watching the tussle with an amused look on his face. "I wouldn't want you to feel that you have to share your most intimate secrets with me."
"It's not a secret. We were talking about Dumbledore," Potter says. "We were discussing what you were saying, about not having an in."
Black looks stunned. "Moons said that?"
"I'm not just a pretty face, Pads," Lupin laughs.
"And it's more true than ever now," Potter says, "with Pete's failed experiment." He indicates to the three of them. "No Death Eater in his right mind-"
"-that's rather the point," Black laughs, "I've never met one yet who is."
Potter ignores the interruption. "We can't infiltrate them. None of them are going to believe that any of us are loyal to You-Know-Who's cause. The only way to get information from within the Death Eaters is to have someone coming the other way."
"A defector?"
"Sounds easy when you put it like that, Prongs," Black says, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs at his ankles, putting his boots on the rim of the coffee table - missing Lupin's wince as he does so, "but like I said, there won't ever be one. Service or death, that's the mantra." He pauses. "I've heard he does the deed personally. Hell of a way to go, if you ask me."
"It's impossible, then," Potter says.
Black nods and turns to look at Lupin. "What about you, Moons? Have you heard anymore about what You-Know-Who is offering to the wolf packs?"
"No," Lupin says, shifting uncomfortably, moving from one foot to the other, "how would I have done?"
Potter looks over at him. "I thought you had a new idea for your transformations." He shrugs. "I thought… We thought…"
"We thought you'd found a pack," Black finishes. "If we can't keep you in check, then-"
"-no," Lupin says, draining his tea. "I don't know anything new - although I saw in the Prophet that the Ministry is recruiting to keep my sort off the streets again."
"There's a job in Regulation and Control?" Potter looks interested. "Was it a vacancy or are they expanding the department?"
"I don't know, James," Lupin says, wearily, "I didn't put in an application."
Black barks a laugh. "Should've done. You'd know better than anyone how to spot a werewolf."
"Mmm."
"Just a joke, Moons. Lighten up."
Potter elbows Black again, and then smiles at Lupin. "Are you in, then?"
"You really think I would apply for-"
"-not the Ministry - in with us, with whatever we come up with," Black interjects. "We're just tossing around ideas."
"Ideas to share with the Order?"
Black shoots Lupin a dark look. "Moons, I don't know how to tell you this, but you need to stop looking to them for support. They're useless."
"Worse than useless," Potter adds.
"It's been one bad decision after another," Black says.
"Or no decision after another," Potter agrees.
"Dumbledore's too cautious. It's weird, I don't like it."
Lupin looks stunned. "You don't trust Dumbledore? He's the greatest wizard-"
"-he's hardly the greatest," Black scoffs, "and by my reckoning, he's totally past it."
"He isn't past it," Lupin grinds out. "You're being utterly disrespectful and-"
"-you're being wet," Black argues. "The time for sitting around has gone! We need to do something! We're smart, talented, fearless! We can't keep looking for other people to lead the way - we're the next generation, Moons."
"It's been months," Potter says, "and life keeps getting worse. We can't keep waiting for Dumbledore to make a decision because-"
"-he isn't going to make one. He's got no bollocks," Black finishes.
"That's one way of putting it," Potter laughs. "I was going to say because there'll be no wizarding world left. You said it yourself, Moons, the Muggleborns are leaving in droves. Soon there won't be any of them to defend - and then it'll be your lot against the wall."
Lupin bites his lip and then gives a slight shake of his head. "And what about Pete in all of this?"
Black barks another laugh. "Come on, Moons, I know he's shit at magic, but you don't have to call him a Mug-"
"-that's not funny, Pads," Potter says, with a firm jab of his elbow to Black's ribs, causing him to double over.
"All right," Black wheezes. "What's bothering you about Pete?"
"He's one of us! Don't you think he should be involved in whatever we're planning?"
Silence.
Lupin gives a small laugh. "Right," he says, clapping his hands together. "I'm going to leave you two to it."
"It's nothing against him," Potter says, quickly, "we like Pete."
Black gives Potter a withering look. "You like Pete," he mutters.
"I like Pete," Lupin says. "You know he's got a new job, right?"
Another silence.
"Since when?"
"He starts in a few days," Lupin says.
"Doing what?" Black asks.
"The Ministry."
"He's got a job in the Ministry? You mean he went for that Regulation-"
"-no, James," Lupin interrupts, "he didn't. But he was offered it," Lupin straightens, "and he turned it down and took a post in Muggle Liaison instead. Because of his loyalty to me." He gives them a sharp nod. "So I really will leave you to it."
"You're leaving us to it out of loyalty to him?" Black scoffs, as Lupin's hand grabs the door handle. "Because if he's not here, you don't want to be either?"
Lupin turns back and nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd say that's about the long and short of it."
"Right," Black says. "And what he did with that job, that's what you'd call loyalty, is it?"
"Leave it alone, Pads."
"It's not loyalty."
Lupin freezes, his hand on the handle. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said, it's not loyalty. Your best mate was offered a job in the department that's dedicated to hunting your kind down, and he refused the post out of loyalty to you?"
"Yes. That's what friends do for each other." Lupin looks bemused. "You think he'd sleep well at night knowing that he was spending his days tracking and tracing witches and wizards who are just like me?"
Black gives a sharp nod, an amused look on his face. "Right," he says, "I see what you're saying."
Lupin looks relieved.
"But it's weird to me," Black continues. "I mean, he didn't think to take it, and then if your papers ever got pushed over his desk, he could've made them disappear? That didn't occur to him, I guess?"
"Pads-"
Black's eyes seem to bore into Lupin's. "Or you, it seems?" He gives another laugh and settles back onto the sofa. "Fuck off then, Moons," he says, dismissively, "we don't need your impeccable critical thinking skills, but thanks very much for the offer."
He's fallen quiet again.
Lily half wonders, as she feeds River, if Severus even knows that he's doing it - if he's aware that he retreats in on himself when he's bothered or upset, or whether he thinks that his behaviour is completely normal and not out of the ordinary, and nobody else can spot that anything is wrong.
His dismay is so clear, Lily almost hates herself for her reaction to his suggestion; for having elicited this response from him - but given his recent rash decisions, fears of his recklessness loom large in her mind.
When he walks back through the room, the faint aroma of cigarette smoke clings to him, and he sniffs as he bends down and picks up their plates and mugs. He balances them all in one hand and as he walks to the kitchen, he hikes his awful shorts up with his free hand.
He treats those bloody shorts like some sort of protective charm, some kind of comfort blanket, she thinks - and then she suddenly remembers that they were a gift from Tobias. She trails her fingers gently across River's scalp as she feeds him, unwilling to dwell too deeply on her husband's subconscious actions.
As time passes, Severus seems increasingly uncomfortable - quieter and quieter, but not in an oppressive way; not the sulk of an ongoing argument, but the quiet contemplation of a troubled soul.
She tries to engage him in conversation, and when that fails, she persuades him to build a fire and adapt the shower so the pair can bath River together. He willingly, but silently, gets to work - and once the room is warm, the pair of them kneel next to each other, and wash their son.
For his part, River is more wide-eyed and excited than ever, cooing loudly and smiling as the water splashes over him - and despite his sullen mood, Severus can't help but share the most beatific grin with Lily at seeing River's obvious glee.
Lily dries River off and puts him in a clean nappy whilst Severus reconstructs the shower and takes his turn to wash. When he finishes, she pulls him into a long embrace, and then convinces him to lie back on the bed, cuddling River against his bare chest, father and son together, skin against skin.
Lily pecks a kiss to Severus' lips, and breathes into his ear that he should sit back and enjoy the show. As she approaches the shower, she knows that she sounded confident when she whispered it to him - far more confident than she now feels - but with his dark eyes watching her every movement, she bats away her insecurities and focuses on trying to shift her husband's unhappy mood.
When Lily steps out of the shower, Severus cradles River to him with one hand, and claps his free hand against his shoulder in a show of appreciation.
"Encore," he calls, an amused smile on his face - and then he picks up the towel next to him on the bed and levitates it towards her.
She wraps it around her, grateful for his thoughtfulness when she's embraced in its warmth from his spell. She steps into her pants, and picks up a blouse - and then she looks at Severus, lying half naked on the bed with River.
He quirks a smile. "Leave it," he says, "join us." And then he holds his hand out, and he grins broadly when she drops the blouse and joins them on the bed.
Severus lifts his arm, manoeuvring River's position and allowing Lily into his embrace, and she shuffles until her legs are entwined with Severus' and her head is pressed against his chest, both of them looking at their son.
"Thank you, love," he murmurs, kissing the top of her head, "I enjoyed that very much."
They sit together for several minutes, enjoying the peace and quiet - and then Severus makes a small movement with his arm, causing Lily to pull away and look up at him.
"You ok? Have you got pins and needles?"
"No," he says, and his eyes soften at her immediate concerned reaction, "but I know what you're trying to do, love."
"I'm not trying to do anything. I thought we were just having a peaceful few-"
"-giving me River, the performance in the shower, the way you held me last night…" He draws in a breath. "You're trying to make me feel loved."
"You are loved, Sev."
"Yeah? Loved even though I'm a reckless idiot?" He gives her a sad smile. "I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you."
"This sort of destructive thinking was what I was trying to stop," she warns, cuddling him more closely. "Whatever's rattling around in here," she says, tapping his forehead, "needs to shush. It's all nonsense, Sev. I love you. River loves you. That isn't going to change."
He looks at her for a long moment, and then his breath catches in his chest.
"What?" she asks, looking panicked, as if fearing he's going to keel over at any moment. "Is it the pain, is it-"
"-there's something else," he says, his words coming out in a rush.
She holds him more tightly, her blood running cold at the thought of him having more revelations, or him using this moment to try to convince her to punish him after his first attempt failed. "So tell me," she says, calmly, "and we'll talk it through, just like we said we would."
"When I was facing the wall and thinking," he says, "like you told me to do, it just kept going around my mind, around and around and around."
"Tell me, Sev."
"You're going to hate me. You won't love me, you'll hate me."
I hate myself for making you stand there and working yourself up into this frenzy, she thinks.
"I won't hate you." She reaches up and brushes his hair from his face. "Tell me and we'll handle it together."
"It wasn't just the badge."
It takes her a moment to follow his thought process. "You mean when Avery tracked us down?"
"The first time," he says, looking distressed, "at the house." He swallows tightly. "Rose let me see," he says. "I saw that memory of hers twice, and I didn't even notice the first time!"
"The second time was when we were in the Railview," Lily says, remembering the scene, remembering her husband's offer to remove her mother's memory, remembering his own lament about not having accepted Dumbledore's offer over Remus Lupin's wolfish secret.
He gives a sharp nod.
"And the first?"
"When we found her, when we were looking for clues as to where you were," he says, his voice quiet. "I was distraught, Lil, that's why I didn't see it. I was just thinking about you and where you'd gone and who'd taken you and how I was going to get you and Riv back."
She reaches for his hand and squeezes it. "Didn't see what?"
"The key," he says. "They had a key to the door. My key. The key your dad gave to me. That's how they got in."
Lily gives him a curious look, her thumb moving in a soothing pattern across his hand. "I know, Sev."
"You know?"
"I've known for months," she says. "I was there, remember? I saw it happen." She holds him more tightly. "Sev, you need to stop beating yourself up about something you can't change."
"David trusted me and I screwed up. If I hadn't lost the key-"
"-Sev, they were three adult wizards who threatened to burn down the house and rape my mother," Lily says, her voice firm. "If they hadn't got the key, what do you think would've happened? They'd have rung the doorbell? Knocked three times?" Her voice rises slightly in her incredulity. "Shrugged their shoulders and turned away when no-one answered? Or do you think they might've been inclined to break a window and force their way in?"
"But if they didn't have the key, they wouldn't have known," Severus insists, "they wouldn't have known it was the right house."
"They already knew, Sev. The badge led them to the house."
"But the key confirmed it," he says, his voice increasingly distressed, "and that's why they walked in."
"They'd have walked in anyway."
"They might not have done."
"Ok," Lily says, her arms firmly wrapped around Severus' bare waist, her skin pressed against his, "let's say they didn't. What happens next?"
"I don't know, do I?"
"You do," she says, a note of belligerence creeping into her tone, "you hung around with Avery for long enough. What would he have done in other circumstances?"
Severus thinks for a long moment. "He'd have sat it out until he had confirmation it was the right house."
"He'd have sat it out," Lily repeats. "What, from across the street?"
Severus nods. "He'd have found somewhere to watch the house - from a distance. Not too far away, so he could descend on it quickly if anyone tried to leave, but far away enough so nobody would find his presence suspicious."
"Right," Lily says, "so now we have Avery, Mulciber, and Rosier, all surrounding the house, all watching it. What happens next?"
"I don't know," he says, "but if they hadn't come in, it would've bought you some time - maybe you would've managed to get away."
"Maybe," she says, "but I didn't Disapparate because I wasn't sure I could take Mummy with me."
"But if they hadn't walked in, you would've had time to try."
"I could've," she says, "but if I was right and I couldn't take Mummy with me, what then? Do you think I would have left her behind?"
He falls silent. "...no."
"No," she says, firmly. "And what about you? I wouldn't have wanted to leave knowing that you were going to walk into a trap!"
"You didn't know I was-"
"-I did, Sev! I knew you were going to arrive at any minute!"
"Yeah and I screwed that up as well, wasting time with-"
"-because you were trying to keep us safe," she argues. "You said it yourself, up until you saw Mummy's memories, you thought they were the weak link that would expose us. You weren't wasting time," she says, emphatically, "you were trying to stop anyone from finding us!"
"But it didn't matter - I'd already led the danger to us."
"You couldn't have known that. So eventually, you'd have come home," she reasons, "and as soon as you got out of the car, they'd have swooped."
"Good," he says, "then they'd have got me, and not you."
"Daddy wouldn't have let them grab you without a fight, so they'd have harmed him," she says, plainly.
"No, I'd have-"
"-you'd have what? There were three of them, Sev! You were outnumbered."
"Yeah, so? I'm used to fighting four-on-"
"-those were stupid schoolyard skirmishes with James Potter and his friends," she snaps, "not a real battle with three Death Eaters. If you'd have fought, Daddy would've taken his cue from you and stood his ground, and they would've killed him. Muggle or not, three-on-one is much better odds than three-on-two."
Severus falls silent.
"And if I was still in the house, there's no way I'd have stood by whilst they threatened him and hauled you off - and then what? They could've done worse."
"You lost your magic. River lost his magic. There is nothing worse."
"I agree that it's not great-"
"-not great," he scoffs, "that's the fucking understatement of the year-"
"-but we've got a gorgeous, perfect, adorable baby boy, who is lying in your arms as we speak," she says.
He falls silent.
"River's absolutely gorgeous, Sev."
"...I know."
"And he's healthy and he's happy-"
"-I know."
"And we're both here to raise him," she says, firmly. "We're both alive, Sev, and it could've been so much worse. I thought I was sending you to Azkaban," she says, her voice catching, "and I'd have been stuck here trying to manage with River alone, and you'd have been… The Dementors would've messed you up, Sev."
He scoffs. "I'm fucked up anyway."
She kisses him on the cheek. "You've always been fucked up and I've loved you for years and years."
Severus swallows uncomfortably at her affection. "It's not just that. I've tried, but I can't get over it, Lil. I can't forgive myself for you losing your magic."
"What's done is done," she says, philosophically, "what matters is what we do next - and we've already said that we're going to work together to try to fix my magic." She cuddles him closer. "And who knows, maybe we'll even manage to unfuck you a little bit along the way."
He grimaces. "You're too casual about it all, Lil. I told you last night - I can't fix you alone. We need help." He shrugs. "And now you've said asking for help is reckless, but we're out of options! We've got no books, got barely an ounce of magic between us-"
"-you've got more than an ounce of magic-"
"-an ounce of fucked up magic-"
"-and we've got a bookcase full of books-"
"-but we've read them all and they're no use-"
"-and I didn't say that asking for help was reckless," Lily argues, "I said it might be another rushed idea, that's all."
"How can it be rushed when we've been thinking about it since we were in Surrey? Remember when we went into the street with the bit of paper? To find out who the Secret Keeper was? That was the whole point of doing that, to see if we could find someone to help us!"
"I know."
"Exactly," he says, sounding pained, "so you can't put this on me - you can't say this is one of my reckless ideas when it was your mother who came up with it!"
"All right," she says, running her hand soothingly across his waist, "I heard you."
"I'm sick of doing everything wrong."
"You're not, Sev," she says, placatingly.
"I'm not stupid, I'm not thick, I'm not-"
"-I know-"
"-reckless! I just made some mistakes."
"I know. I'm just trying to stop us from making another one, that's all."
He lets out a rumbling sigh - one that seems to be drawn from deeply within him - and then he pulls her closer to him. "You really think it's a mistake? Trusting her?"
"I think trusting anyone is a risk," she says, carefully, "but it's more than that. I think you're choosing the wrong person for the wrong reasons." She squeezes him. "I get it, if I thought the blokes you'd been in the pub with were muttering behind your back-"
"-they were-"
"-oh, Sev-"
"-well, 'til I cleared a table in a clean run and shut the ringleader up," he grins, "but they weren't exactly friendly before that. Not half as much fun as being down the Vic with Da." He reaches for her hand. "I was so angry hearing those women talking about you like that."
"It's fine."
"It's not," he says, and he holds her hand more tightly. "I keep fucking up, Lil - I fucked up your parents-"
"-and we're sorting that-"
"-I fucked up that group-"
"-you didn't fuck up the group-"
"-you said you were distracted," he argues, "because you were thinking about me."
"And you've just said the blokes were not much better with you. There's no saying they'd have welcomed me with open arms even if I'd been friendlier."
"You told me that I'd isolated you," he says, his voice firm, "and you're right. It happened at school too, when all of your housemates ditched you-"
"-they weren't the only ones - your Slytherin friends weren't exactly happy about us dating either, Sev. For Merlin's sake, you were thrown out of your bedroom-"
"-and you said I'd protected my parents," he continues, as if he hasn't heard her, "kept them safe, and you were right."
"But that's why we went to Surrey. You did that for me. I've got my parents back."
"Not properly," he says. "Not until we get all this mess untangled, and we need help to untangle it."
"And you honestly think Cissy is the right choice to help us to do that?" She stares into his eyes. "Or are you doing this because you want me to have a friend?"
"Why can't she be both?"
"I'm just saying," Lily protests, "that we need to think about it properly - we need to find the right person."
He gives her an incredulous look. "Who did you think we were going to ask? It might've escaped your attention, love, but we're pretty short on friends these days." He holds his hand out, counting off his points on his fingers. "Firstly, we need someone we can trust. Secondly, we need someone who has access to the knowledge we need. Thirdly, we need someone who can perform decent magic."
"And you think Cissy is that person?"
"More to the point," he says, "you don't?"
"I just think there might be other people we should consider before we make a choice."
"Like who?"
"I don't know, Dumbledore."
Severus scoffs. "The same Dumbledore who wants me to spy on the Dark Lord? I don't think so."
"Sluggy?"
"He was the whole fuckin' reason my mam got the hex in the first place! He's the fuckin' reason that bloody badge-"
"-all right, Sev-"
"-it's not all right, Lil!" He looks indignant. "Fuck me, if that's the best you can come up with, Horace fuckin' Slughorn-"
"-right, fine, not Sluggy." She shrugs. "Lucius?"
"You'd rather Lucius than Cissy?"
"No," she says, honestly, "but I'm just saying we need to consider everyone properly, and if Cissy fits the bill, then so does Lucius."
"Right," Severus says, sharply, "the reason we can't have Malf is because he's committed to the Dark Lord, so if push comes to shove, he'd give us up. Cissy's perfect because she's a nobody, love. People don't look twice at her - all they see is Malf's trophy wife, and half of them are hoping they'll be next for a ride."
"Sev," Lily says, looking awkward. "Don't talk about her like that."
"I don't think that," he says, "I'm just saying that other people do." He shakes his head. "Next? Come on, who else have you got?"
"You don't have to be so snippy about it, Sev."
"I'm not being snippy! I'm just saying, I've thought this through - yes," he says, before she can interrupt, "using my shitty logic-"
"-I didn't say your logic was shitty-"
"-and I'm certain that Cissy is the answer."
Lily gives him a firm look. "What about someone our age? Someone we were at school with?"
"Ave? Mulc? Yeah, fuckin' brilliant, I'll get on-"
"-Remus Lupin."
He looks at her as if she's grown another head. "The wolf? You want me to let a wolf in here? A wolf around my fuckin' kid."
"Our child," she corrects, sternly. "And he's not a wolf."
"He fuckin' is and I have the nightmares to prove it! Fuck me, Lil!"
"Shhh," she says, running her hand across the back of River's head, "stop making a scene, you'll startle him."
"Startle him? What about me? You've fuckin' startled me! A fuckin' wolf in my house, I've heard it all now."
"All right," she says, "not him." She pauses. "But there is someone else - someone talented and powerful, and I think could be trusted."
"...go on."
"James Potter."
Severus' mouth drops open and it takes him a moment to compose himself, and then he bundles River into her arms and stands. "No way, Lil. No fuckin' way. Over my dead fuckin' body."
"I don't know what you're getting so bent out of shape about," Black says, lazily, watching as Potter paces backwards and forwards in the confined space.
"He's right," Potter says, "we're a group. All four of us."
"Don't start that all-for-one, one-for-all bollocks."
"It's not bollocks. We're meant to have each other's backs, and just look at what's happening!"
"Moons doesn't want you to have his back," Black says, "that's why he's off making his own arrangements for his transformation."
"And Pete?"
"Wormy's sulking." Black shrugs. "He'll be around here eating our pizza, drinking our Butterbeer, and choosing shit songs for the record player before you know it."
Potter shakes his head. "He's never been like this with us before."
"Wormy's always been a-"
"-I'm not talking about Pete, I'm talking about Moony."
Black sits back. "He's just stressed over this transformation shit, that's all. And I don't blame him - I would be too, if I thought the Ministry was recruiting hunters to track me down."
"The problem is, that's what's going to happen now he doesn't have the potion," Potter warns. "He can't stay here and curl up and go to sleep, so he's going to transform in some random forest, and he's going to run free, and they're going to pick him up." He takes his glasses off and runs his hand over his face. "We need to get him some Wolfsbane."
"Yeah?" Black gives a sudden laugh. "How are you doing that then, Prongs? Going to recall it from memory and give your old school cauldron a whirl?"
Potter bites his lip. "We shouldn't have given Evans the original methodology."
"You're right," Black says, "but if we had it, we still couldn't brew it. She was something else, Evans."
"Special."
"Yeah," Black agrees. "I can follow instructions - you can follow instructions, but that pair…" He trails off, clearly unwilling to give Severus the credit he deserves.
"We need to get it back," Potter says, decisively, "and then we need to find someone who can brew it."
"You won't find someone skilled enough to brew it," Black argues, "beloved Bellatrix keeps killing them."
"We need to do something. We need to try. For Moony's sake."
Black huffs a derisory laugh. "For Moony's sake? Yeah, right. You just want an excuse to track down Evans."
Severus stands in the doorway and shoots an amused glance at Lily when River emits another coo after she tickles him. "He's getting louder by the day," he says, "I'm sure he's going to take after you."
She laughs, putting her hands on her hips as she turns to look at her husband. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"
"He's going to be a right chatterbox," he grins, moving over to the bed and looping his arms around her waist, kissing her neck.
"Have you finished outside?" she asks, as if he'd just strolled outside to use the loo or to have a smoke, and hadn't stormed out in a temper.
"Yeah."
"Then come and play with us," she says, passing him Terence - and they fall into a relaxed rhythm, taking it in turns to interact with River, who seems delighted at holding their undivided attention.
"I'll make us a drink," Severus says, a while later, bounding off the bed.
"And I'll put some clothes on Riv and settle him down. He looks worn out, and I don't want him to get cold when he's sleeping."
Severus turns back and reaches for her, threading his fingers through her hair and cradling the back of her head as he kisses her. "As long as you keep yours off," he murmurs in her ear. "If you're cold, I can put more coal on the fire."
"I'm not cold."
"Good," he murmurs, and then he kisses her again. "I like looking at you."
Lily can feel a hint of colour rising in her cheeks, but she shakes her head, trying to shake it away - and after Severus heads into the kitchen she makes quick work of dressing River and settling him down to rest.
She sits awkwardly on the bed, waiting for her husband to return - and when he finally appears, he stands in the doorway, two mugs levitating in the air, his eyes fixed on her and a slow steady smile growing on his face.
"Exquisite," he says, his deep silken voice filled with warmth - and immediately, self-consciously, she moves to cover herself with her arm, and his eyebrows shoot up. "I thought you were mine?"
"I am. And you're mine," she adds, a note of defiance in her tone.
He casts with his hand, causing one of the mugs to float towards her, and he smiles when she takes it, revealing herself fully to him once more.
"Ravishing."
"Sev, honestly," she says, hot colour rising determinedly in her cheeks, "you're being ridiculous."
"Captivating," he says, plucking his own mug out of the air and moving to sit next to her on the bed, "bewitching."
"Sev, stop it!"
He laughs, taking a sip from his tea and then he levitates it in the air. He holds his hand out, waiting for Lily to pass him her mug, and he repeats the action.
"Sev," she starts, "about before, when I-"
"-I wasn't joking," he says, settling back and pulling her into his arms, "everyone thinks it." He scoops her hair into his hands and gently places it over her right shoulder, exposing her neck, and then he kisses his way across her smooth skin. "Beautiful. Stunning-"
"-Sev," she says, patting his arm, desperately trying to laugh it off, "don't be silly, everyone doesn't think it."
"They do, love," he says, earnestly, "and what's more, I'm used to it." He presses another kiss to her neck. "You don't see it. I see it. I see the way other people look at you - the way other people look at us."
"Sev-"
"-it doesn't bother me," he says - and she can feel him smiling against her skin. "Makes me quite proud, really. Everyone's looking at you, wanting you to be theirs. You could've taken your pick - chosen anyone at all." He presses another line of kisses across her shoulder. "But you chose me."
She twists to look at him, reaching for him. "I love you, Sev."
Severus grabs her hand and kisses her fingertips, and then he turns her hand over, palm down, and he places a kiss over the top of her wedding ring. "You chose me."
"I chose you," she repeats.
He looks up, that familiar lop-sided smile on his face, and he releases her hand. He turns on the bed so he can see her expression, and then he cradles her face in his palm, his own wedding band cool against her warm cheek - and then he leans forward, his lips parted, and meets her in a slow, seductive kiss.
She wraps her arms around him and pulls him closer, kissing him tenderly, trying to demonstrate her love for him, but as she deepens the kiss into something more passionate, he stills and slowly draws away, his kisses becoming softer and more gentle as he retreats.
"Sev," she says, again, "if this is about James-"
"-Potter doesn't respect us," Severus says, immediately, and he reaches down to hold her hands. "He's the only one who doesn't."
"You just said that everyone thinks-"
"-they might think it, but they don't act on it," he says.
"Not every bloke's a saint."
"No," Severus agrees. "There's always a guy who doesn't realise that you've got a partner, there's always a guy who pushes his luck, there's always a guy who thinks he's a player-"
"-and which one of those is James Potter?"
"He isn't any of them. He isn't like most blokes."
Lily gives him a confused look. "I don't understand."
Severus squeezes her hands. "With any other bloke, Lil, it would be all about you." He pulls her towards him and releases her right hand, running his fingers up her side, and then - as gently as he'd cradled her face - he cups her breast, his thumb moving in slow circles, tracing a pattern. "And why wouldn't it be? You're everything any bloke would want. Beautiful. Intelligent. Funny. Kind."
She flushes again. "I don't think-"
"-I know I'm right, love," he says, insistently, "and if you threw me over for some other bloke-"
"-I wouldn't," she gasps, as he touches her a little more roughly, his grip firmer.
"I know they'd see you like I do. Any other bloke worth his salt would worship you like I do."
"I don't think anyone could worship me like you do," she says, kissing him open mouthed, "the way you worship me is-"
"-Potter wouldn't worship you," he breathes, kissing her fiercely, and then gently pushing her down against the mattress, his body hard and hot over hers, "because Potter doesn't want you for the same reasons all those other blokes want you." He darts kisses across her collarbone and down her sternum and across her stomach. "Other blokes want you because you're beautiful," he murmurs, "and intelligent and funny-"
"-and kind," she says, threading her fingers through his hair and then gently tugging, urging him to look up at her. "You said." She frowns. "But Potter doesn't think those things?"
"Oh, he fancies you," Severus says, a sneer on his face, "he thinks you're beautiful and intelligent and-"
"-then I don't understand."
"It's not the only reason why he wants you." He trails a circle of kisses around her stomach. "Tell me why else he'd want you."
She thinks for a moment, watching through half-lidded eyes as her husband moves his mouth seductively over her skin. "Because I said no to him?"
Severus looks up again. "A challenge," he agrees, "but then, if Slytherin house was anything to go by, a whole lot of blokes asked out a whole lot of girls, and they got a lot more noes than yesses, I can tell you."
"And they weren't hung up on a girl who said no to them?"
"Exactly," he says, and he starts kissing his way back up.
"So what is it then?"
He pauses when he reaches her neck, and he shifts his weight, resting above her on his forearms - and this time, it's Severus who instigates a passionate kiss, his tongue moving against her own, his mouth hot and urgent and demanding.
When he finally breaks away, she stares up at him, his black eyes fathomless. "If it's not because he fancies me, and not because I'm a challenge, then why?"
"Because you're mine," Severus says, breathing hard. "He wants you because he knows it would destroy me." He stares at her, as if he's willing her to understand. "I don't care if he's got the lost Library of Alexandria at his disposal, there is no way on earth that I'll agree to giving him access to our lives - to each other, to our baby boy. You saw what he did last time, worming his way in," he says, and his voice becomes a little higher, "and I heard him that night!" He looks anguished. "He talked about you as if you were a battered wife, Lil. I'm not my father."
"I know that, Sev."
"Yeah? So what made him say it?"
Lily looks stunned, and she reaches up, running her hand down his cheek, as if she can smooth away the pain in his face. "I swear to you, Sev, I didn't say anything to make him think-"
"-ex-fuckin-xactly," he spits. "He might be a decent bloke to everyone else, Lil, and I accept that. As far as I'm concerned, him and his band of merry men, they're all fuckin' dickheads, but I…" He draws a loud breath. "That fuckin' wolf, right? He's not working. Living with him, living with Potter."
"You think he's looking after him?"
"Yeah," Severus says, nodding, "and that's what everyone sees, isn't it? Sirius Black gets himself kicked out of home by his big bad family, and where does he find solace?"
"James Potter's."
"Because he's a good bloke, Lil," he says, as if the words are being forced out of him, "that's what people say about him. It's what you see in him."
"I don't see anything in him."
He gives a scornful laugh. "You just fuckin' well wanted him to be our Secret Keeper."
"Not our Secret Keeper. To help you to be the Secret Keeper."
"He's never fuckin' helped me in my whole sorry life," Severus says, his jaw jutting out, "he's helped everyone else, he's Mr Benevolent to everyone else, friends with everyone, Mr Wonderful-"
"-I get the picture, Sev-"
"-but that's not all he is," Severus warns, "because there's a dirty malicious streak in him, and I'm telling you, Lil, there's no low he wouldn't stoop to when it comes to me." He breathes unsteadily, as if he's on the verge of tears, but then he speaks again. "He saw. That day. I showed you in the memory. When Black stripped me.
He reaches behind him and tugs down his shorts, and then he kneels up above her, twisting to show her his scars. "He's seen these."
"Oh, Sev," she says, reaching for him.
"I don't want sympathy," he says, quickly. "He saw these," and he indicates to his scars again, "and it wouldn't have been hard to work out - so he put two and two together, realised my father…"
"It's all right, Sev," she says, "you don't have to-"
"-and he knew it would sting, he knew it was a punch that would land! To plant the seed for you that I might be a chip off the old block, that I wouldn't be able to help myself, that I'd get aggressive or angry - as if I had no right to be angry at finding him in my fuckin' flat with my fuckin' girlfriend, as if me being upset was unfair and you needed protecting from it, as if I couldn't be trusted to control myself and I'd hurt you."
"I'm sorry-"
"-you have nothing to be sorry for," he says, and he reaches back down, kissing her again. "I'm not angry with you. I'd never ever hurt you, Lil," he says, firmly, "I swear it."
"I know."
"There's a lot that I'll never forgive Potter for, but I'm telling you, Lil - that little comment hurt more than all the hexes and all the jinxes and all the lies I had to tell Pomfrey." He exhales loudly. "I felt it, you know? Just even the idea that you might've said that I'd hit you-"
"-I didn't, I wouldn't, you've never laid a finger on me-"
"-he was trying to make it happen - to plant the idea, to make you think it might happen, to goad me into being angry enough that it would happen." He gives a strained laugh. "And then you'd be his."
"I'm not his," she says, pulling him down and kissing across his brow. "I'm yours. I've always been yours, Mr Snape."
He lifts his head and kisses her on the mouth, his lips tender and his movements soft. "And I'm yours," he murmurs, "forever, Mrs Snape."
They lie together, forehead touching forehead, their eyes closed - and then he pulls away, rolls over and lies next to her. She reaches for him and takes his hand, interlocking his fingers with hers.
"I don't have any feelings for him," she says, eventually. "It's just that he's powerful."
"I know he's powerful."
"Remus Lupin's powerful too."
Severus gives a light scoff. "Yeah, and that's the fuckin' problem - powerful jaws, no fuckin' thank you. River's only a few weeks old and he's heard me reading Little Red Riding Hood enough times to understand, but if you want a refresher-"
"-Sev, don't be mean, he can't help it."
"Exactly, he can't help it, which means that he's unpredictable and dangerous and he is not being told where we fuckin' live."
"But isn't that the whole point," she says, earnestly, "that you'll be the Secret Keeper, so the caster doesn't have to know. We could bring him here in darkness - blindfolded!"
"A blindfolded wolf is still a wolf."
"He'd do it," she says, "for the Wolfsbane."
He gives a sniff of derision. "It doesn't help us with the research though, does it? What books does he have at his disposal?"
"We can think of something else for the research."
He gives her a look. "You really think he's as powerful as me?"
She mirrors his look. "Are you actually concerned about parasitism? You've always said that was nonsense."
"I've always had stable magic before," he argues. "Besides, I didn't say that I was worried about mine - what if I accidentally take his? Then he'll be a wolf with a grudge. A bigger grudge than the one he's got already."
Lily lies for a moment, toying with his fingers. "You don't think he's as powerful as you, but you think Cissy is?"
"Don't be fooled, love," he says, in a low voice, "she's a Black. It's in their blood."
Lily gives him a thin smile. "Blood. I see. Slytherin values die hard, don't they? It's amazing I managed to hold my own against your Pure heri-"
"-I didn't mean that," he says, quickly. "I'm just saying, it would be a mistake to write Cissy off." He gives her a strained look. "Sirius Black is powerful, isn't he?" he says, as if the words are sticking in his throat. "And you've heard how fearsome Bellatrix is. Cissy's nothing like either of them, but believe me, when it comes to magical aptitude, she is cut from the same cloth."
"I've only ever seen her do trivial magic," Lily muses, "but she has a style about her casting - I can believe that she's talented."
"If we choose Cissy, you'd have a friend, love," he says, urgently, moving back over her so he can look into her eyes, "and she'll want to visit, want to see River. She might even bring Draco for him to play with, and we can put a Secret on this house, and we can start to research-"
"-so we can work out what's wrong with you-"
"-and then we can fix your magic-"
"-and we can bring Mummy and Daddy back home for good."
"Say yes, love," he begs, dipping his head to kiss her. "Please say yes."
"It's too good to be true," Lily whispers.
"We're due some luck," he murmurs, "and sometimes good things happen."
"What if she doesn't want to risk it? It's a big ask, dragging her here."
He gives her a wide smile. "She begged me, when I left… Lil, she thinks so much of us, she wanted us to live with them."
"I remember you saying."
"And when I said no, she wanted me to keep in touch. Wanted you to keep in touch. I said I'd think about it. Said I'd talk to you." He shrugs. "With everything that happened, it didn't feel like the right time to bring it up."
"You mean she's been waiting weeks to hear from us? Sev, that's awful-"
"-I know, but I think it means she'll jump at the invitation," he says. "Please say yes, Lil. Please say yes."
She hesitates, staring deep into his dark eyes, and then she pulls him in for a soulful kiss - and as she pulls away, she gives him a soft smile. "Yes, Sev," she says. "Yes."
Chapter 162: Never be blood
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Bloody hell," Regulus says, looking around Avery's clean and tidy living room, "did I miss a funeral?"
Avery frowns as he passes him a drink. "Sorry?"
"I thought you weren't getting a house elf until your parents…" Regulus runs his forefinger across his throat.
"Oh," Avery says, gesturing towards the sofa, indicating that Regulus should sit down. "They're both fine."
"You bought an elf?" Regulus asks, his tone full of disapproval as he struggles with opening the bottle of Butterbeer - and then he flicks his fingers, casting at it and causing the lid to prise away. "I know those adoption markets are Ministry sanctioned-"
"-that's what you think of me, is it, Reggie?" Avery says, loftily, leaning back and taking a swig from his own bottle. "I'm not an Exalted, thank you very much. I'm just as much a Sacred as you are."
"All right, all right," Regulus says, holding his hands up. "No offence intended."
"You want to watch what you're saying. Not everyone's as forgiving as I am, Reggie." Avery sniffs. "Coming into my house, insulting-"
"-I didn't mean to insult you."
"An adopted elf? It's crass."
"I didn't mean… I'm just saying that it's tidy in here, that's all," Regulus says. "You've got to admit, Ave, it's never looked like this before." He pauses and then gives a wide smile. "Is it what I think it is?"
Avery shrugs. "How would I know what you're thinking? I can't read minds, Reggie."
Regulus gives a soft laugh, and wags his finger towards Avery. "You've only gone and got yourself a girlfriend, haven't you?"
Avery hesitates and then he nods. "I've been seeing someone, yeah."
"Good for you, Ave," Regulus says, grinning widely. "I was worried when Mulc told me you were banging some whore, but I knew you'd get that out of your system." He takes another swig of his drink and then holds it aloft. "Here's to a proper Pureblood witch - you can always tell when they're from a decent background; she's got the place looking well."
Avery bites his lip. "And you? Are you seeing anyone?"
"You know me, Ave," Regulus smiles, "had a date here and there, but what's the point in tying yourself down straight out of Hogwarts?" He leans in conspiratorally. "My great-great-great-great-great-grandfather lived until he was 174. He got married at 21. Do you know what that means, Ave?"
Avery shakes his head.
"It means he spent 150 years looking at the same person over the breakfast table," Regulus says. "If I'm signing up for that sort of commitment, I want to make sure I've had a good look at what's on offer, you know what I mean?"
"Right, yeah."
"Take Malf," Regulus says, "how old's he? 25? 26? 27?"
"I don't know," Avery says, "I don't send him a birthday card."
Regulus laughs. "Good one, Ave." He takes another sip from his bottle. "He's got a kid. Malf."
"I know."
"And what is he? 25? 27? 29?"
"I don't know, Reggie."
Regulus shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. I'm just saying, 150 years. It's a hell of a long time to look at someone."
"Is this what you came to see me about? Malfoy's decision to marry Narcissa and stare at her for the next 150 years? I hate to be the one to tell you, Reggie, but I think we're a bit late to change his mind."
Regulus laughs. "No," he says. "No, of course not." He stands and places his half drunk bottle on the mantelpiece. "I've not come here to talk about Malf. I've come here to talk about you."
"Me? I'm not getting married."
"No, but you're getting a reputation, Ave."
Avery splutters. "Says the wizard who's just confessed to testing the water to see-"
"-no, not sexually," Regulus laughs, his eyes filled with mirth. "Merlin, Ave, I'm not your mother clutching at her pearls. It wouldn't bother me if you were still shagging Madam Mary's finest."
"That's not what it sounded like earlier." Avery fixes him with a stare. "What then?"
"You're getting a reputation for being a useful wizard to know. A Fix-It wizard."
"A Fix-It wizard," Avery slowly repeats, his eyes fixed on Regulus. "So if you've come to see me, I'm guessing you need something fixed."
"Sort of."
"Sort of?"
Regulus picks his bottle back up and takes another sip from it. "You said something at Ros' funeral which makes me think you can help me."
"Yeah?"
"I need to find Severus Snape," Regulus says, pointing his bottle towards Avery, "and I know you know where he is."
Black laughs, looking incredulous. "Who says I've taken anything to heart?"
"You've been quiet for the past forty minutes," Potter says, "which is a pretty good sign that you're not too happy."
"I didn't realise I was being timed. I'll make sure I get up and dance every ten minutes from now on."
Potter laughs, and swats him affectionately with the rolled up newspaper. "Listen," he says, "I'll speak with Moons. It'll be fine. You know how he gets whenever anyone criticises Dumbledore."
"Yeah, it's the same way you get whenever anyone criticises me," Black says, airily, his eyes locking onto Potter's.
"Yeah," Potter laughs again, "exactly the same."
"...I wasn't trying to be a prick, you know? I really do think Wormy's fucked him over."
"I don't think it's intentional," Potter says, loyally. "Pete isn't like you or me - he just doesn't think that fast."
"So you agree?"
Potter gives a half nod. "I just wish he'd spoken with us before he made his decision. It would've been great for Moons to have someone in that position."
"Good," Black says, "I'd appreciate it if you'd mention that in your little talk with Moons, before he runs away with the idea that I'm vindictive or disloyal or whatever he's going to accuse me of."
"I will."
"Because I know Wormy's a pain in the arse but-"
"-don't say that to Moons, that won't help at all-"
"-point taken," Black says, shooting Potter a smile - and then he reaches out, hesitating before awkwardly placing his hand over Potter's. "I…" He trails off, and then pulls his hand away. "I'm going for a shower."
Black strips quickly in the small bathroom, pausing in front of the mirror, his fingers tracing the healed wounds across his chest.
Marked by another.
"Like it was yesterday," he breathes.
Another wave of intense pain washes over him and Black groans loudly. His breath catches in his chest as he exhales and a new, sudden, sharp pain runs through his ribcage causing him to jolt upwards into a sitting position.
Hardly a surprise, he thinks, Pomfrey warned that they were broken. He instinctively slings his right forearm across his bare chest, as if by doing so, he can cradle his freshly broken ribs - but as soon as the skin of his forearm meets the savage wounds littering his chest, he grimaces.
Black sucks air in through his gritted teeth, counting his way through the pain, and then the whole sorry cycle starts again: breathe in, feel pain, breathe out, feel pain, move half an inch, feel pain, exist, feel pain.
Snivellus fucking Snape.
He'll pay for this, Black thinks, bitterly. He slowly reclines into the plump pile of pillows on the hospital bed, wincing as his broken ribs protest at his movements, causing another ripple of excruciating pain to cascade through his chest.
Snivellus. The strange, greasy, awkward Slytherin boy had been their quarry for years - but despite being enemies for six years, Snivellus had rarely inflicted any real damage on them. He could duel, that much was certain - but four-on-one was tough for any wizard, even one up to his eyeballs in the Dark Arts.
Ironically, breaking Sniv's ribs was one of the few detentions Black had ever served for terrorising him. They'd been young - second years at most - and not cautious enough back then. It had been a foolish error, cornering Sniv too closely to the hospital wing, and although they'd soon scarpered when Pomfrey stepped into the corridor to investigate the noise, Snivellus had not moved quickly enough, and she'd caught him with ease.
Fair, I suppose, Black thinks, seeing as we'd just given him a kicking.
A fortnight cleaning with Filch, followed by giving Sniv a second kicking for grassing us up a month later - unpunished this time, as we were canny enough to do it by the Quidditch Pitch, well away from the prying eyes of Pomfrey.
So I know he'll pay for doing this. If a fortnight's detention, Black thinks, grimacing as another pulse of pain shoots through his chest, is the going rate for broken ribs - then he shoots a glance down at his marred chest - this shit's got to be an expulsion.
In spite of the pain, he can't help but smile at the idea. If the Ministry snaps the nasty little fucker's wand, he thinks, all this agony will have been worth it.
Regulus smiles. "I realise this is an imposition, Ave, but we are old friends," he says, genially, "so I knew you wouldn't mind me asking."
"I've already told you," Avery says, firmly, "I don't know where Sev is."
Regulus gives a slight laugh. "Come on, Ave, we both know that isn't true. You told me as much yourself."
"I didn't."
"You did," Regulus says, patting Avery on his upper arm, "remember? At the funeral."
"I remember the conversation," Avery says, slowly, "but I don't know where he is, so I know that I told you the same."
"Well," Regulus says, an easy smile on his lips, "that's not quite true, is it? You told me you lost track of him," he counters, "so let's just start wherever you last saw him. I can do the rest."
"Why?"
"I just have a favour to ask of him."
"A favour."
Regulus gives another awkward laugh, this time thrusting his hands into his pockets. "What's the big deal, Ave? We're all friends. Sometimes I want to ask a favour of Mulc, sometimes I want-"
"-yeah and the last time you saw Mulc, he told you to fuck off, didn't he?" Avery pauses. "Do you think he'd do you a favour?"
Regulus gives a casual shrug. "Luckily for me, I don't need a favour from Mulc right at this moment."
"You think I'm particularly stupid, don't you, Reg?"
It takes him half a second, but Regulus smiles again - that same, easy smile. "I think no such thing, Ave, but I apologise. I can see that I've come at an inconvenient-"
"-it's not inconvenient," Avery says, taking a step towards the door, blocking Regulus from leaving. "I'm more than happy to talk. Happy to listen, in fact. So why don't you start with telling me exactly what favour you want from our old friend Sev?"
"Please," he begs, "I need to see him. He's my brother."
"Ten minutes and no more, Mr Black."
The curtain swings back, and the two figures stand over Black - Pomfrey and his younger brother Regulus, whose legs appear to wobble at the sight of his older brother.
Black sneers at Regulus' reaction. "I need another potion," he says, locking his gaze on Pomfrey, as if Regulus wasn't in the room.
"Not for another," and she checks the clock behind her, "ninety minutes."
"Come off it! I can't wait an hour and a half - I'm in excruciating pain here!"
"Ninety minutes," Pomfrey repeats, and then she looks down at Regulus. "And ten minutes for you. If you're not headed back down to the dungeons by half past, I'll take you straight to Professor Slughorn myself."
"Yes, Madam Pomfrey."
As soon as she departs, the curtain pulled behind her, Black sneers at his young brother again. "Yes, Madam Pomfrey," he repeats, mockingly.
"I'm sorry you're hurt."
Black scoffs. "Sure you are."
"I am!" Regulus looks aghast. "Siri, we might be in different houses-"
"-different houses! Come on, Reggie, open your eyes - this is about more than just the colour of our ties-"
"-we still share the same blood."
Black gives another impatient exhale. "Yeah? Well, your little mate nearly saw to it that I didn't," he says, indicating to his chest. "Nearly didn't have any left in my veins by the time he'd finished."
"He's not my mate."
"Yeah, right. You've spent five years kissing his arse! I've seen all you Slytherins in the corridors-"
"-I did no such thing," Regulus argues, drawing himself up to his full height. "I was polite to him, that's all. It's politics, Siri. I could hardly ignore him - he had powerful friends in Slytherin."
"He has a powerful boyfriend," Black says, with a laugh - and then he groans again as his ribs protest. "Come on, Reggie, don't look like that - we all know he's spreading his legs for Lucius Malfoy."
Regulus looks away. "That's neither here nor there."
Black splutters. "Neither here nor there? Oh, I see - that's what you all do in that house, is it, when the sun goes down, you-"
"-he's not Malfoy's boyfriend. He's openly fucking a Mudblood, in case you hadn't noticed," Regulus snaps, "and if you think Malfoy would put up with-"
"-Muggleborn! Evans is a Muggleborn," Black argues, his voice filled with equal furore, "and she's a first class witch who could wipe the floor with half of the sorry wizards you hang around with."
Regulus says nothing, his eyes blazing.
Black gives a disdainful laugh at his brother's reaction. "Now, granted, she needs her head examining for letting that greasy weirdo anywhere near her, but that's got nothing to do with her blood, and if you want to keep your teeth, you won't repeat that sort of shit in front of me. I'm telling you, Reggie, I'm not so injured that I won't get out of this bed to give you-"
"-all right, calm down," Regulus says, looking over his shoulder, seeming more fearful of Pomfrey bursting in on them than his older brother getting out of bed to start a fight, "if you say so."
"Yeah. Yeah, I do fucking say so."
It's awkward, both boys refusing to look at each other - but when Black glances back towards Regulus, out of the corner of his eye, he can see that Regulus' gaze is drawn to the array of wounds across Black's upper body.
"Stop gawking at me. I'm not an exhibit in a museum."
"You look terrible."
"Thanks," Black says, sarcastically, "that helps."
Regulus pauses. "Does it hurt?"
"Does it look like it hurts?"
"Yeah."
"Then what do you think?" Black sneers.
"I've heard your mates are gunning for him."
Black gives a satisfied nod. "Good. I'd expect no less. I hope he's shitting himself."
"Half of Slytherin are too. Gunning for him, I mean."
At this, Black's eyebrows raise.
"Pure blood is pure blood," Regulus continues. "Spilling it is an abomination."
"Oh, fuck off with your Purist shit, Reggie. I don't want your help. Or the help of your Purist mates."
"What about Mother and Father? Or are they too Purist for you as well?"
"I gave you the answer to that last summer."
Regulus' lip curls. "They're blood traitors, the Potters."
"Yes, I'm glad you've noticed! That's why I'm staying with them. They're good people. Unlike present company."
Regulus makes a disparaging noise. "We can help you. Your real family."
"They're your family," Black retorts, "not mine. I don't want your help, and I certainly don't want their help."
"But Father has contacts in the Ministry, if you just apologise to him he can-
"-I'm not apologising to him! I'm not apologising to any of you! I'm not a Purist, Reggie," Black spits, "and if you had any fucking sense, you wouldn't be one either."
Regulus shakes his head in frustration, and moves from one foot to another. "It's ok," he says, after a moment. "You're in shock. You're just not thinking straight."
"My mind's as clear as ever."
"No, it's the attack, it's affected you, it's-"
"-I packed my bags and I left Grimmauld Place last summer, Reggie, in case you hadn't noticed," Black says, sounding astonished. "My hatred for your pathetic movement is not a recent development, and it certainly hasn't been caused by concussion. I haven't even got a concussion! I've got a couple of broken ribs and a chest that looks like I've been attacked by a cheese grater! At best, I can't go swimming for a few months in case I sink from the water pouring in, but I assure you that my brain is perfectly fine!"
Regulus takes an unsteady breath, ignoring his older brother's joke entirely. "Is it a girl?"
"What are you blathering on about now?"
"A girl. Is it a girl that's made you think like this?" Regulus leans over Black and taps the side of his own head, the two brothers barely a breath away from each other. "That's what happened to him. She's addled his brain."
Black gives another pained exhale. "Who?"
"Snape!" Regulus presses his finger into his temple. "That Mudblood grabbed him in the Great Hall and he's never been the same since. This is all her fault, it's her dirty blood he's been mixing-"
"-that's enough, Reggie, get out! Get the fuck out!"
At Black's raised voice, Regulus straightens, the two of them hearing footsteps across the ward, Pomfrey quickening her pace towards them - and then Regulus leans back over the bed, his hand gripping the metal headboard, his voice low.
"I will avenge this, Sirius."
"I don't want you avenging anything! I don't want you going anywhere near Snivellus. This," he says, indicating to his chest with his left hand, "should be enough to show you he's a complete fucking nutcase and I don't want you-"
"-it doesn't have to be me, I can speak with Trixie-"
"-no! Merlin's beard, Reggie, she's as much of a lunatic as Sniv is!" Black breathes heavily, shaking his head. "Dumbledore will make this right," he says, clutching at his ribs. "Leave it to the adults to sort out, Reggie. You're well out of your depth here."
"I'm out of my depth? You're a fine one to talk! I'll tell you something, I wouldn't let a sullied wizard like Snape get close enough to slash-"
"-a sullied wizard?" Black makes a disgusted noise. "You know what, Reggie? I'll tell you something," he sneers, gripping his chest, "I'd rather sit down for an evening soiree with Sniv every night for a month than lay eyes on your sorry face ever again."
Regulus scoffs. "You don't mean that."
"Yeah, Reggie," Black says, "I do. Because at least Sniv grew some bollocks and told the Purists to fuck off, which is more than you'll ever manage."
When he hears the shower starting, Lupin steps out of his bedroom and makes his way swiftly downstairs, peering into the living room.
James.
Lupin stops, holding the door frame as if it's a security blanket, and pokes his head in. "All right?"
"All right," Potter says, not looking up from the Prophet.
"He's having a shower, is he? Pads?"
"Well, he can't stay here for a week and not have a wash."
"I didn't say it was a problem," Lupin says, sounding exasperated, "I was just…"
"Just what?"
"James, we need to talk," Lupin says, quickly, glancing up at the ceiling, as if expecting the shower to stop at any moment. "I think he's wrong about Dumbledore, and I don't think either of you should be rushing in and doing something reckless."
Potter sighs in exasperation, folding the paper over and dropping it on the sofa. He looks straight at Lupin. "Let me get this straight, it's all right for you to say that Dumbledore's going about defeating You-Know-Who all wrong, but as soon as Pads says it-"
"-he's a good man, Dumbledore."
"We didn't say he wasn't," Potter argues, "but he's a politician, not a fighter."
Lupin scoffs. "He's hardly a politician! How many times have you heard him say he doesn't want Fudge's position-"
"-and how many times have you seen him play both sides? He does the bare minimum to keep your loyalty-"
"-maybe for you, but he did more than the bare minimum for me," Lupin argues, hotly, "he put his neck on the line!"
Potter picks the paper back up. "It's easy to impress an eleven year old," he says, "but would he still, Moons, that's the question you have to ask yourself."
Potter shrugs helplessly as Black makes his way from the Headmaster's Office. Black claps Potter on the shoulder as he passes him, a brief mutter of thanks under his breath - and as the door slams shut, and they hear Black's feet on the staircase, Dumbledore smiles once more.
"James, you have given an impassioned defence of your friend here today, as both I and Professor McGonagall expected," Dumbledore says.
"For all the good it did," Potter mutters.
"You have demonstrated friendship and warmth to those outcast by their families-"
"-we're talking about Sirius still?"
"-and to those outcast by society."
"Remus?"
"And twice now," Dumbledore continues, as if he hasn't heard him speak, "you have shown exemplary bravery in the face of terrible danger. James, you embody the true traits of your house, and I know your parents are extremely proud of you."
"I…" Potter shrugs again, unsure of how to respond. "Thank you?"
"Professor McGonagall and I, and the other Heads of Houses have been in discussion for many weeks, and we have unanimously decided that - starting in September - we would like to offer you the role of Head Boy. Congratulations, James," he says, holding his hand out, "you are a credit to this school."
Black wraps a towel around his waist and pulls open the bathroom door, steam billowing out from behind him, just as Lupin reaches the top of the stairs, a scowl on his face.
"What?" Black says, holding his hands out. "Or is the shower off limits unless my name's on the rent book? What is it, Moons, pay-per-use? Do you want me to get my bank card?"
"It's not the… You're worse than James," Lupin sighs, "and he spits toothpaste in my towels. You need to open the window and let the steam out when you're done, else it makes the whole place damp."
Black holds his hand out, silently summoning his wand from Potter's bedroom, and then he casts behind him, causing the steam to dissipate. "Open the window," he laughs, twirling his wand in one hand and raking the fingers of his other hand through his long, wet hair. "Are you a wizard or not, Moons?"
"Well, in the eyes of the law, I'm a creature rather than a-"
"-hey," Black says, reaching out and grabbing Lupin's forearm, his fingers wet against Lupin's bare skin, "don't talk like that."
Lupin holds still for a moment, and then shrugs Black's hand away. "Why not? It's the truth. It's how the Ministry sees me, so before long, it's how everyone will see me."
"They won't. Nobody knows."
Lupin scoffs. "Too many people know - and you're right, those bounties are getting bigger." He grimaces. "I really should've asked Pete to take that job."
"It's not just up to you, Moons. He should've offered to take it."
Lupin gives Black an earnest look. "He just didn't think, that's all." He sighs, running his hands over his face. "And the bigger the reward, the more hunted I become. It only takes one person to whisper my name."
"It won't happen, Moons. The only people who know about your illness are a bunch of aurors and Dumbledore's most trusted staff."
"And Snape," Lupin says, pointedly.
"Yeah, well, Sniv's the last person you should be worried about," Black says, clapping a damp hand on Lupin's shoulder. "He's dead to the wizarding world."
"And Evans."
"She's also as good as dead-"
"-she's disappeared, she's not dead."
"It's practically the same thing! Besides, she's decent," Black says, after a moment. "Sure, she's tapped for bending over for Sniv all these years, but she's decent."
"Decent enough to go back on our deal for Wolfsbane."
Black glances over his shoulder anxiously, as if fearing that Potter will hear him. "Listen, Moons," he says, "I don't think that's got anything to do with how she feels about you." He lowers his voice. "You never bought all that nonsense about her sleeping with Lucius Malfoy, did you?"
"...no."
"No, me neither," Black says, "so if you ask me, I reckon she's still with Sniv, and if he's a Muggle-"
"-he's not really a-"
"-or a Squib or whatever you want to call him now that the Ministry have," Black says, quickly, running his finger across his neck, "it makes sense that she'd be lying low. It's not personal, Moons. Wherever she is, she's hounded too, remember? She's a Muggleborn. She wouldn't rat you out for a bag of galleons."
"I suppose not."
Black gives a short laugh at Lupin's dubious expression. "And if you don't trust her honour, then think about the logistics. She's a Muggleborn, so she's not allowed a Gringotts account," he says, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. "They wouldn't be able to pay her the reward."
Lupin doesn't laugh. "And what about the other people Snape's told?"
"Moons, believe me, he hasn't told anyone," Black says, reaching out and gripping Lupin's forearm again.
Lupin scoffs. "Sure. And you'd know, wouldn't you, being best mates with him? What did he do, write you a letter-"
"-you can see this shit, can't you?" Black says, running his hand across the multitude of scars on his torso. "He should've been expelled for this. Wand snapped. Azkaban. The whole lot."
"No," Potter says, immediately, standing.
"Sit down, Potter," McGonagall says.
"No, this is… You can't," he says, breaking into an incredulous laugh, looking between Dumbledore and McGonagall - both of whom are sitting looking stoic - and Black, who looks devastated. "Look at him! Look!"
"James, just leave it."
"No, Sirius, I'm not leaving it," Potter says, pacing, "we'll go to the Ministry, to the Prophet, I'm going to speak with Mum and Dad-"
"-I've already spoken extensively with your parents," Dumbledore interrupts, his voice soft, "and they've both agreed with this decision to-"
"-no way, they wouldn't," Potter shakes his head at the look of betrayal on Black's face. "They wouldn't do that to you, Sirius. I know they wouldn't." He turns back to Dumbledore. "You're lying."
"Potter," McGonagall warns again, "you will treat the Headmaster with respect."
"Like he's treating Sirius with respect!" Potter gives another harsh laugh. "And me! Where's my respect? You seriously want me to believe that my parents agreed to this?"
"Tell me, James, how do you think Severus should be punished?" Dumbledore asks, his voice mild.
"Expelled," Potter says, immediately. "Wand snapped. Lucky not to go to Azkaban - and that's only because I'm being bloody decent about it all!"
"Potter, please. Language!"
"I'm just speaking the truth! If I hadn't followed him that afternoon, Sirius would be dead!"
"Just like if you hadn't followed Severus into the Shack all those months ago, he would also be dead," McGonagall says.
Potter opens his mouth and then closes it again.
"We asked you to join us this afternoon, James," Dumbledore says, "to provide Sirius with support."
"He wouldn't need support if you made the right decision." Potter stares at them both accusingly. "I know that this decision is wrong, and what's more, I know that you both know this decision is wrong."
Dumbledore and McGonagall exchange an uncomfortable look.
"It's the right decision," Black says, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"Sirius-"
"-he knows about Remus. Snivellus." Black grimaces at the disapproving look McGonagall shoots towards him. "Severus."
Potter stands, fiddling with the signet ring on his finger, his eyes fixed on Dumbledore. "And what should that matter? You said he swore not to tell a soul."
"I made an agreement with Severus eighteen months ago, and I understand that he's kept to his word," Dumbledore agrees.
"You understand, do you? What does that even mean? He's told you he's being a good boy, has he? He must have told Evans," Potter says, "they're permanently attached to one another these days."
"Remus came to me with the same concerns," McGonagall says, "and I brought them to the Headmaster, and we looked into it. Thoroughly."
"I can assure you both, just as we assured Remus, that Lily Evans remains unaware of Remus' condition," Dumbledore says. "However, I must make you aware that my agreement with Severus only covers the years that you are in attendance at Hogwarts."
"So he'll tell her as soon as we leave," Black says, a guilty look on his face, "and she could tell anyone!"
"She wouldn't tell anyone," Potter says, immediately. "She likes Remus."
"She likes Sniv...erus a whole lot more."
Dumbledore gives them a firm look. "I think it would be wise to assume that Severus will choose to tell Lily if they remain close once their NEWTs have been completed."
"Ok, good, there's no guarantee of that happening," Potter says, folding his arms over his chest. "Maybe we'd just better help her come to her senses over the next twelve months."
"Boys," McGonagall says, gently, "I think you have not quite heard what the Headmaster is telling you."
There's a silence, and then Potter shrugs. "Evans doesn't know but will probably know in a year's time unless we do something."
McGonagall gives him a pained look.
"What? Why are you looking at me like that? I didn't hear anything else, did you, Sirius?"
"I would say that Lily Evans - who is a kind, sensible girl from an ordinary family - should be the last person you should care about discovering the truth," McGonagall says, quietly. "However, if we follow your wishes and expel Severus, he will no longer be a student at this school, so he will be free to talk about Remus' illness with whomever he chooses."
Potter looks horrified. "And will he?"
Dumbledore inclines his head.
"What does that mean?" Potter asks. "Is that a yes?"
"Severus has made it clear to us that he feels a precedent was set eighteen months ago when Sirius Black was not expelled for luring him to what would've been his certain death had you, Mr Potter, not bravely intervened. He feels," McGonagall continues, "that if he were to be unfairly treated, that he would have no option but to seek support from his friends outside of Hogwarts - and to ensure that they understand his needs, he would be required to share the full story with them."
"Seek support. Seek support! There was barely a scratch on him! Sirius has been permanently disfigured!"
"I understand from Madam Pomfrey that Sleeping Draughts have been doled out each and every evening following the incident in the Shack."
"Yeah! They have! To Remus!"
"And I have also heard from Professor Slughorn that the ingredients for particularly potent Sleeping Draughts have been stolen from his stores for an equal period of time."
"So, what are you saying? He's a little sneak thief on top of being unhinged?"
"That's not helpful, Potter," McGonagall says.
Dumbledore peers over his glasses. "I have corresponded briefly with Severus' mother, who has expressed some grave concerns about changes she's observed in her son following the unfortunate incident in the Shack."
"So she knows about Remus as well?"
"She knows there was an incident, but not - I believe - the full circumstances."
"The full circumstances being that Remus is a werewolf?"
Dumbledore nods.
"So now you're saying that you knew he was unstable, that his mother told you he was…" Potter uses his hands to make quotation marks as he speaks, "...changed, that he was capable of doing something-"
"-leave it, James," Black says.
"I'm not going to leave it - what if it hadn't been someone as tough as you? What if it had been someone weaker, like Evans, and he decides to slash her up because he's had a bad day? Or some kid in the first year, what then?"
"On the contrary," Dumbledore says, firmly, "it seems to us as if Severus' target was carefully and deliberately chosen, and not the result of," and he speaks a little more slowly, "a bad day. Severus has given us some information about other incidents involving him and Sirius-"
"-what incidents-"
"-many of which have been corroborated by Madam Pomfrey and Mr Filch," McGonagall interrupts.
"So then it's premeditated," Potter exclaims, "this wasn't a spur of the moment thing - he's planned it, and that's even worse!"
McGonagall purses her lips. "And tell me, Potter, what did you all think was going to happen in the Shack when-"
"-it's not the same!"
"James, stop," Black says, pulling on Potter's sleeve. "They've explained this to me already - if they've got grounds to expel him, they've also got grounds to expel me, and I don't fancy life in the wizarding world without my wand." He turns to look at Dumbledore. "What did you say before James got here, Headmaster? Oh yes - Severus says that this is just tit-for-tat."
"Tit-for-tat?" Potter gives him an incredulous look, and then turns back to Dumbledore. "Tit-for-tat? Severus was as culpable as Sirius for what happened to him - he was the one who got out of bed in the middle of the night, he was the one who walked himself across the grounds and down to the Whomping Willow, he was the one got inside the tunnel, and he was the one who made his way to the Shack! Nobody was standing behind him, forcing him to do it at wand point!
Potter turns, looking at McGonagall. "Then he follows Sirius up a deserted path, jumps on top of him, breaks his ribs with his knees, slashes his arms and chest to ribbons with a spell he's specially designed until Sirius nearly bleeds to death, and the only reason he doesn't decapitate him is because I confronted him! And you're telling me that it's tit-for-tat?"
"Had it not been for your intervention last month, Sirius may well have died," McGonagall agrees, "but we are all aware that had it not been for your intervention eighteen months ago, then Severus may well have died."
"Tit-for-tat," Dumbledore repeats. "As has been said, if one boy is to be expelled, then so shall the other - and neither Sirius nor Severus have shown any desire for that outcome."
"Ridiculous."
Dumbledore looks directly at Black. "I have advised Severus - and now I am advising you, Sirius, that you are to keep away from one another. Your professors have been warned to keep you separated in the classes that you share. You are not to speak to each other, you are not to make sarcastic remarks when the other speaks in class, and you are not permitted to raise your wands to each other in any circumstance. Do I make myself clear?"
"And he's agreed to this, has he?" Potter interjects.
"Yes, Potter," McGonagall says, briskly, "Snape has agreed to this."
Potter looks at Black. "You don't have to go along with it," he says, "we can get Dad in first, talk it-"
"-it's fine, James."
"It's not fine," Potter hisses, "this is neutering you." He looks back over at Dumbledore and McGonagall. "What happens if Snape breaks his promise and takes him on? Is Sirius not allowed to fight back, or will he be expelled for defending himself?"
"Severus is aware of the consequences of breaking our agreement," Dumbledore says, evenly, "as I hope you are too, Sirius."
"So you're, what? Suspending the expulsion?" Potter frowns. "It's going to hang over him and at the slightest thing-"
"-Potter," McGonagall interrupts, sounding exasperated, "neither Snape nor Black will be expelled for being late to class, running down corridors, or forgetting to hand in their homework."
"This is a truce," Dumbledore says. "An end to this fighting before it escalates further and one of you is pushed into doing something you'll later regret."
Black nods. "Then I agree."
"Sirius, please-"
"-he's unhinged, James, you said it yourself," Black whispers, "if he thinks that he's going to get his wand snapped, it might just be enough for him to keep his nasty little spells to himself."
"Now," Dumbledore says, loudly, "as far as we are concerned, that is the matter closed." He looks up and then he indicates towards the door. "Sirius, if you wouldn't mind?"
"You're throwing him out? I thought you brought me up here to support him?"
"We would like a word with you in private, James, before you return to your common room."
"And I think Mr Black can manage to wait five minutes in the corridor before you walk back to Gryffindor Tower," McGonagall says.
"Unless Snape's out there waiting for him," Potter mutters.
"And if Mr Snape is outside," McGonagall says, looking Potter squarely in the eye, "then we are all to understand that neither boy shall speak with the other. Isn't that right, Mr Black?"
"Professor."
Lupin hesitates, his eyes taking in Black's scars.
"I fucked up back then, Moons," Black says, "and I don't think I ever fucking apologised."
There's another pause, and then Lupin gives the slightest of nods. "Snape wasn't expelled," he says, after a moment.
"Dumbledore had an agreement with him. For his silence."
"I know."
"Did Dumbledore tell you the condition?"
Lupin shakes his head.
"For as long as Sniv was at Hogwarts."
Lupin stands for a moment, Black's words sinking in.
"He should've gone for this," Black continues, indicating to his chest again. "Attempted murder - but if he'd been expelled, he was free to tell whoever he liked about why he targeted me in the first place."
"And I'm guessing it's not because you were stalking him around the school calling him Malfoy's little cocksucker at every opportunity?"
Black gives a small laugh. "It might have been a small part of it." His face softens. "I let him go for you, Moons. It was the least I could do." He tosses his head. "Like James said, one-for-all, and all that, yeah? That's loyalty."
Black groans and leans back against the trunk of the tree, rubbing his eyes with his hand. "When I open my eyes, you'd best have fucked off."
"This is what you call letting the adults handle it, is it?"
"Reggie, just fuck off."
"Have you seen him recently? Snape? Him and that Mudblood walking around like they own the place, holding hands in the corridors-"
"-I try not to look in his direction-"
"-he's even got his own personal bedroom in the castle," Regulus says, sounding incredulous, "and that Mudblood-"
"-Muggleborn-"
"-she's in there morning, noon, and night! It's a joke, I can't even get into the girls' dormitory-"
"-you're telling on yourself here, Reg," Black says, lazily. "You can't walk into the girls' dormitory, but you can invite them into yours - the only problem is, they have to actually want to-"
"-and what does it take to get my own personal bedroom, huh? I have to fuck a Mudblood, do I?"
"You sound obsessed," Black hisses. "Why do you even care? He can do whatever the fuck he likes, Reggie-"
"-so we can all see!" Regulus gives an exasperated sigh, throwing his arms out. "You've brought shame on-"
"-I have not!" Black hisses, uncovering his eyes and standing, holding his wand out before him. "I have not embarrassed anyone."
"You've embarrassed yourself. And me. And our family. And that takes some doing after what Andromeda-"
"-Andromeda," Black scoffs. "Don't make me laugh, you barely knew Droma-"
"-and I thought the Black name could sink no lower after her," Regulus snaps, "but here we are! Mother and Father are beside themselves."
"Your mother and father-"
"-our mother and father-"
"-they burnt me off the family tree!" Black spits. "So don't come around here pretending that they care about what I have or haven't done. As far as they're concerned, I no longer exist, and that's fine with me!"
"You might not sleep in our house, but you still carry our name."
Black reaches out and grabs Regulus by his collar, pinning him against the tree, his wand buried in his neck. "Tell me, Reggie, how besides themselves will they be when I give you what-"
"-do it then," Regulus goads, "go on, do it. Why ask me when you can just find out?"
Black scowls and digs his wand deeper into Regulus' neck, causing the younger boy to wince.
"I know you won't," Regulus sneers, "I know you haven't got the bottle. You daren't, because you know that the Headmaster doesn't care about you. If he sided with Severus Snape over you, he won't defend you over me."
"Shut up."
"And he definitely won't stand by you when I get Mother and Father in to fight my corner." He laughs. "And to think, we all thought the whole point of being in Gryffindor was that the Headmaster would give you the benefit of the doubt over our-"
"-he didn't side with Sniv," Black snaps.
"No? Looks to me like he did. Looks to the rest of the school like he did." Regulus tilts his head. "And do you know what else it looks like?"
"I don't care what you think."
"It looks like the blood traitor Potters don't care about you at all, brother," Regulus continues. "Yeah, you can eat at their table and sleep under their roof all you like, but you'll never be a Potter." He gives a harsh laugh. "Think about it - do you really think they'd have let this go unpunished if it had been James in your shoes? If it had been Potter blood spilled in Hogsmeade?"
"Leave the Potters out of this."
"No, I don't think I will. You must've heard the rumours about him?"
"I don't listen to rumours."
Regulus smirks. "It's a good one. He's going to be Head Boy."
"...I know. He told me."
"Head Boy. He's not even a prefect."
Black bites his lip.
"What's that a reward for, do you think?" Regulus asks, triumphantly.
"Yeah, well, better James Potter than Rupert Mulciber."
"Even if it's at your expense?" Regulus gives another smirk. "Come on, Siri, open your eyes! That's how Dumbledore paid the Potters off, isn't it? Their silence in return for their real son being Head Boy-"
"-I'm happy for James, and it's got nothing to do with-"
"-no, of course it hasn't. You just remember this," Regulus warns, his voice low, "they don't care about you, Sirius. You can call them family all you want, but they're not blood. They'll never be blood."
At Avery's abrasive question, Regulus gives him a wide, disarming smile. "Well, it's something and nothing, really, Ave. Malf suggested I speak with him, that's all."
"Malfoy."
"So you keep saying." Regulus gives Avery a pinched smile. "His friends call him Malf," he says, pointedly. "What can I say? I suppose I'm a little more familiar with him than you are. Cissy is part of my family after all."
Avery scoffs. "Family or not, I can tell you one thing - Malfoy didn't suggest you speak with Sev, because Malfoy doesn't know where Sev is."
"No, you're right," Regulus agrees, evenly, "which is why he sent me to you."
Avery pauses and gives Regulus a strange look. "Which is it? Are you here for you, or here for Malfoy?"
"For me."
"For you, but Malfoy sent you to me."
Regulus sighs. "Come on, Ave, it's hardly a difficult concept."
"You know, Mulc was right about you being a little prick," Avery snaps. "I understand what you're saying."
"Good, then all I-"
"-but it's fucking weird. That's what I'm saying."
Regulus straightens. "Ave, listen, it's perfectly-"
"-no, you listen to me - you want something and you've asked Malfoy for help, only he can't help you, but Sev can - only Malfoy doesn't know where Sev is, but he's told you to ask me? Doesn't that sound like bollocks to you, Reg?"
"When you put it like that," Regulus says, loftily, "it's barely comprehensible."
"Fuck you, Reg. Do you want my help or not?"
Regulus bites back a laugh. "Don't be like that, Ave. Don't shoot the messenger - you know what Malf's like."
"Do I? I'm not as close to him as you evidently are," Avery says, coolly, "which means that I can remember almost every conversation I've ever had with him." Avery balls his fist in his robes. "And I know that I've never spoken to Malfoy about where Sev might be."
"What can I say, word must've got round-"
"-only you, Reg," Avery says. "I only told you, and do you know why? I only told you because you were the only person who expressed condolences to me over what happened with Sev."
Regulus bursts into a bright smile. "Exactly! Mates - you can't break the sort of bond we've all got."
"Or it's the mark of an impeccable upbringing."
"I'm sorry?"
"Like your letter of congratulations."
Regulus gives him a blank look. "I'm sorry, Ave, you've lost me."
He doesn't even remember sending it to me.
Avery's eyes narrow. "Remind me, when did you last hang out with Sev?"
"Oh," Regulus says, breezily, "you know, a few weeks ago."
"When exactly?"
"Or maybe it was a couple of months back," Regulus says, shrugging, "you know how it is - you get busy and time gets away from you."
"It's been years, hasn't it, Reg?"
"No," Regulus laughs, "no, it's not."
"When we were at Hogwarts," Avery says, firmly. "You got me thinking, and at first I thought it was when we were at Mulc's, the summer that his dad died-"
"-that was a good summer," Regulus says, quickly, "Mulc's dad aside. The whole gang together."
"But it wasn't then. It was later than that. It was at Malfoy's party - that one he has at the start of every year. That's when I last remember us all being together. In 1977. 1977, Reg! That's almost five years ago."
"Yeah, all of us together, maybe," Regulus says, that same fixed laugh punctuating his sentences, "but I've had a drink with him since. Just me and him."
"Just you and him."
Regulus laughs again. "Ave, what is this? You've had a drink with him without inviting the rest of us, right? So what's so weird about me and him having a catch up?"
"You've never asked me for a drink."
"I mean… Yeah," Regulus says, giving a shrug, "we can go for a drink, Ave, course we can. It was nothing personal - just, he was free, I was free, you know how it is."
"Me, you, Mulc, Ros, Snape," Avery says, ignoring him and counting the names off against his fingers and thumb of his right hand.
"That's us," Regulus says, his smile wider. "The band of brothers."
"Yeah, you said that as well," Avery says, "at the funeral."
"Well, it's true."
"And that got me thinking too."
"Did it really?" Regulus gives another laugh. "Merlin, Ave, I don't know what they've got you doing at the Ministry, but it's really not keeping your mind occupied if you've got time to overthink-"
"-and you said it then yourself. Said you hadn't been part of us for a long time. Said that Mulc was Ros' best friend, which is true, and that I was close to Sev, which is-"
"-true, yeah, just facts-"
"-exactly, so where were you, Reg?" Avery leans a little closer to him. "These past few years. Where exactly have you been?"
Regulus stands in the impressive entrance hall, his eyes fixed on the landscape paintings which adorn the walls. He's the perfect guest - quietly considering each and every one for several minutes, seemingly lost in his own thoughtful contemplation, before gracefully moving over the ornate tiled floor to the next painting.
Rodolphus stalks across the landing, his footsteps cushioned by the plush carpet, and grips the railing, looking down at the small figure below.
"Trixie," Rodolphus chides, his voice low, "he's so young."
At Rodolphus' criticism, Regulus immediately stands a little straighter, a little taller - and then he realises that his actions might give away that he's unintentionally eavesdropping, and he tries to disguise the action by moving onto the next painting. He doesn't dare look up to check if Rodolphus has been convinced, and instead, he simply stares at the painting before him.
"He can't even be shaving," Rodolphus continues.
Regulus remains still this time - staring at the painting before him, his eyes fixed on it intently, trying his utmost to pretend that he can't hear a word that's passing between his cousin and her husband.
"What does age matter? He has the right beliefs," Bellatrix replies, her voice higher in pitch than Rodolphus', but as low in volume. "The right attitude, the right name, the right blood. Why should he wait?"
"Let him grow into being a man first."
"And what does being a man have to do with his dedication to the Dark Lord?"
"There's no rush, is there, Trixie?" Rodolphus says, his tone light. "Surely we are in agreement that the Dark Lord's intent is to rule for decades - for centuries-"
"-and he can only do so with loyal followers to elevate him-"
"-he has loyal followers-"
"-he needs more-"
"-and so he shall have them," Rodolphus says, "when they are of age."
"He's sixteen."
"Exactly. Less than a year to wait." Rodolphus reaches out to his wife, and places his fingers under her chin, tilting her gaze upwards. "I think we should be cautious given what happened with Malf."
Bellatrix makes a disparaging noise. "What happened with Lucius has no bearing on Regulus. Lucius doesn't have the same eye for talent-"
"-I must confess, I see no difference between them."
This time, the disparaging noise is louder. "And you met Lucius' boy when, precisely?"
"He's been a regular fixture at Malf's bashes the past few years," Rodolphus says, holding his wife's gaze, "and believe me, Trixie, he said all of the right things. He was quiet, clever - and, no," he says, speaking a little louder when Bellatrix opens her mouth to argue, "let me finish! He had a certain intensity to him which was rather compelling."
She scoffs. "An intensity?"
"Don't be scornful," Rodolphus snaps. "If you'd spent any time with him yourself, you'd know what I was talking about - and you know as well as I do that Malf was practically salivating at the idea of being able to take the credit for that young boy kneeling before our lord, and now look what's happened!" He shakes his head. "Teenagers are flakey."
"Snape might've been, but Regulus isn't," Bellatrix hisses. "I've known Regulus since he was in nappies. His parents are loyal, and he's never wavered from our cause!"
"His parents may be loyal, but what of his brother?"
Regulus' back tightens.
"They're opposites," Bellatrix insists.
"For now," Rodolphus warns, "but they're teenagers. Believe me - brothers fight. It's what we do. Bast and I could hardly bear to look at each other when we were at Hogwarts but-"
"-it's not the same-"
"-no matter what he did, he was still my little brother. I would've done anything to look after him." There's a pause and Rodolphus sniffs. "And he looked up to me. Admired me. I know he did."
Bellatrix's voice is higher still. "You don't know my family at all," she shrieks, "Sirius is dead to all of us Blacks-"
"-you're not a Black anymore, darling-"
"-and Sirius does not hold influence over Regulus," Bellatrix continues, ignoring her husband's comment.
"Sirius is the very reason Regulus wrote to you for your advice-"
"-so you've been reading my post-"
"-and now you're trying to claim that there's no bond between them!"
"Regulus is one of us!"
"If you insist on going through with this insanity," Rodolphus hisses, "then you'd best hope he doesn't have second thoughts - else we'll be joining Malf on the chopping block."
"Nonsense," Bellatrix says, soothingly, "Lucius does not share favour with the Dark Lord-"
"-he did!"
"He may have once upon a time, but it's history. We're the future - we are at one with him," she continues, without missing a beat. "The Dark Lord respects us, values-"
"-only because we've never put a step out of place," Rodolphus argues, his voice getting louder still, "and this sort of sudden, reckless decision making puts that at risk."
"Or Regulus could become the Dark Lord's new protégé," Bellatrix snaps, "have you thought of that, Rodolphus? Then we'll be rewarded beyond our wildest dreams!"
"Does he have any talents?"
"He's a Black!"
It's Rodolphus' turn to make a disparaging noise. "Then it's an even bigger risk than I first thought."
"It's one we're taking."
"Hot on the heels of another stupid, reckless act."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Rodolphus tuts loudly. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You got that letter and off you went-"
"-that was deserved."
"Was it really? By whom? The poor blasted brewer who now has no hands, or - and I suppose this was your real target - Malf?"
She doesn't answer.
Rodolphus looks exasperated at her silence. "I barely understand your actions. I can hardly see how this is is any of Malf's-"
"-his boy attacked a Black-"
"-so you destroy Malf's brewer as retribution? Why wouldn't you go after the boy instead?" Rodolphus throws his hands up in the air. "No, that would make too much sense, wouldn't it, Trixie?"
"The boy is at Hogwarts under Dumbledore's protection."
"You're transparent, Trixie - tell me, am I supposed to be jealous of your obsession with Malf? First you destroy his business and now you're trying to usurp his standing with the Dark Lord."
Bellatrix gives him a coquettish smile. "I've told you a million times before - Lucius means nothing to me," she says, "and the status of his sponsorship has no bearing on this situation. It's not my fault that his boy has lost his mind whilst mine is ready."
She gracefully descends the grand staircase and moves smoothly towards Regulus, looping her arm through his, and kissing him on the cheek. "Thank you for being such a darling and waiting so patiently," she simpers. "Are you ready, Reggie?"
"Ready? I've been waiting all my life," he says, with a beaming smile.
"I told you," Regulus says, evenly, "the Dark Lord has requested-"
"-I don't believe you," Avery interrupts. "I don't believe that our Dark Lord cares who you choose to socialise with."
Regulus hesitates and then he sighs. "I can't tell you anymore, you know that."
"I know you've said that before," Avery says, "but I could say that to you! I could say that the Dark Lord's chosen me for a special quest and-"
"-has he?" Regulus asks, mildly.
"No, of course he hasn't-"
"-and that's exactly why," Regulus finishes. "You can't expect to be selected and still go running your mouth-"
"-I wasn't running my mouth! I was trying to make you see how this looks from my side!"
"And I'm telling you, Ave, defying the Dark Lord is suicide. I am not stupid enough to betray him just because you're feeling sorry for yourself."
"No, but you're stupid enough to come crawling to me when you need a hand," Avery says, his tone cold. "Maybe the Dark Lord needs to choose who he confides in more carefully. Maybe the Dark Lord needs to think about who he assigns tasks to."
"What does that mean?"
"What did it sound like?"
"It sounded to me," Regulus says, his voice low and dangerous, "as if you were questioning our Lord's judgement. I will, of course, raise this with him when I next share his company."
Avery pales. "You know that's not what I was saying."
"You were insulting me," Regulus says, "and in the process you insulted the Dark Lord."
Bellatrix's Apparition is smooth, and to Regulus's relief he lands on the tiled floor without distress - and he notes her pleased expression at how well he manages the landing. He bounds up immediately, taking in the splendour of the room around him, and that's when he notices both Bellatrix and Rodolphus falling to their knees.
"My Lord," Bellatrix says, "I am at your service."
"My Lord," Rodolphus says, a split-second later. "I am at your service."
It's then that Regulus notices the masked figure before them, and he spins around wildly, as if trying to work out where the figure had emerged from.
"Is this a challenge?"
Regulus doesn't understand the masked figure's question, and he looks away - looks down, silently urging Bellatrix or Rodolphus to intervene, to answer the question and remove the figure's scrutiny from him - but no respite comes.
The figure's eyes continue to bore into him, and eventually, Regulus realises that neither Bellatrix nor Rodolphus will speak for him.
"No," Regulus says, but his voice catches in his throat, and his denial comes out higher and wispier than he'd intended.
The figure holds his arms out before him, hands splayed, and Regulus can see a long wand held against a wide palm, his thumb anchoring it in place.
"Then what are you waiting for?"
Regulus hesitates, unsure as to whether it's a real question or a rhetorical question, or whether there's another instruction forthcoming - but when nothing further is said, he looks down at Bellatrix and Rodolphus, and he suddenly realises what is required and he falls to his knees.
He does so without finesse, landing heavily against the tile, and he grimaces at the dull thud that resonates around the room. It occurs to him too late that Bellatrix and Rodolphus must've used a cushioning charm, and he feels a wave of embarrassment rising through his body. He swallows awkwardly, his gaze fixed on the floor, mirroring Bellatrix and Rodolphus' actions.
Regulus kneels on the uncomfortable floor, waiting patiently, not wanting to speak out of turn, but it's a long wait - a long, agonising wait. The silence seems to somehow get louder, until his ears ache, and his knees throb and his chest hurts, and all he can hear in his mind is the chant of Rodolphus' fears: too young, no difference, flakey, reckless, risky, too young, no difference, flakey, reckless…
It's almost embarrassing how long it takes him to realise that the three adults are waiting for him; not, as he'd supposed, him waiting for them.
"Bellatrix's Lord," he says, his voice wavering, "Rodolphus' Lord. I respectfully offer my services, if they are so wanted."
"Good," the Dark Lord says, and he moves his hand to touch Bellatrix's head and then Rodolphus'. "Rise, my loyal followers," he says - and as Regulus begins to move, he feels a large hand on his head, and the Dark Lord's wand presses painfully against his skull, caught between the Dark Lord's palm and Regulus' scalp. "Unless I am mistaken," the Dark Lord hisses slowly, "you are not one of my loyal followers."
Regulus immediately falls back to his initial position, kneecaps aching as they make contact with the hard floor once more.
"I like a boy who learns quickly," the Dark Lord says, taking a step back. He looks towards Bellatrix and Rodolphus. "His name?"
"My Lord," Bellatrix ventures, "it is my great honour to introduce Regulus Black to you. It is my intention, if you so agree, to sponsor him into your service."
"Before I can consider this, we have things to discuss. News has reached me that you have been…shall we say, taking matters into your own hands again, Bella."
Bellatrix lets out a sharp laugh, and Rodolphus immediately shoots a dark look in Bellatrix's direction.
"Really, Rodolphus," the Dark Lord says, his tone mocking, "can't you control your wife?"
Regulus watches, breathless, as the Dark Lord meets Rodolphus' gaze - and after a split second, Rodolphus looks away, and the Dark Lord gives a satisfied smile.
"Bella, Rodolphus, with me," the Dark Lord says, and then he turns back to look at Regulus. "You," he says, his eyes fixed on the teenager, "do not move. I will know."
"Yes, Bellatrix's Lord," Regulus says, quickly. "Yes, Rodolphus' Lord."
The Dark Lord gives a dark laugh. "You really can tell the ones who come from a proper home, can't you?"
There's a long pause, and then Avery stands. "Well, seeing as I'm living on the edge," he says, venom filling his voice, "maybe it's about time someone asked why you're so special-"
"-I knew you were jealous-"
"-because you've not thought to ask it yourself, have you?" Avery scoffs. "That's the problem with you Blacks, you've got your thick heads full of self-importance-"
"-the Dark Lord requires me-"
"-the Dark Lord has isolated you from your friends and family," Avery immediately counters, "and you're too full of yourself to see it."
Regulus gives a shake of his head. "And if the Dark Lord had requested a service from you, am I to understand that you would've refused his request? In fear of being isolated?"
Avery hesitates.
"Of course not," Regulus says. "We both understand that it does not do to upset the Dark Lord. My role for him-"
"-takes up all of your time-"
"-yes, it takes up all of my time," Regulus concedes, his tone turning bitter, "but seeing as I wasn't planning on a 9-5 job at the Ministry, I didn't think it mattered."
"Well, there's a pity," Avery says, "because there's a vacancy with your name all over it."
"Is there really?"
"Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."
"Very funny, Ave."
Avery laughs. "Right up your street, I'd have thought."
Regulus kneels, his head bowed, his thoughts racing. He's been desperate for this moment - to be in the Dark Lord's presence, to be able to offer his abilities to him to exploit, to become one of his loyal followers.
He swallows hard when he hears Bellatrix screaming, and he closes his eyes, concentrating on not moving a muscle - just as the Dark Lord had instructed.
Regulus doesn't open his eyes until he hears footsteps on the ground - and as the Dark Lord instructs him to stand, he looks up, and he sees Rodolphus walking towards him, Bellatrix cradled in his arms - and across Bellatrix's face, there's a strange, curious sick leer, and a disturbed look in her eyes.
Regulus quickly looks away from his cousin.
"You may leave the boy," the Dark Lord instructs, and Regulus feels cool air rushing down his spine; an audience with the Dark Lord is all he's ever wanted, but the sight of Bellatrix has unnerved him - what has gone on behind closed doors?
But before he can dwell on it, before he can protest and bolt and follow his family, the Dark Lord beckons him towards him - and the two march through the grandiose building until they reach a large room with a throne.
The Dark Lord settles himself in the throne, and moves his hand in a smooth motion, causing Regulus to bend at the knee before him.
"Good," he says, removing his mask. "Your cousin tells me incredible tales about you, Regulus."
"Bellatrix's Lord," Regulus says, remembering his earlier indiscretion.
The Dark Lord smiles. "She tells me that you've long hoped to join my movement."
"I have, Bellatrix's Lord. I've followed everything that's been printed in the paper, and I listen to every tale she-"
"-I can see I need to speak further with Bellatrix," the Dark Lord says, with a smile - and Regulus can feel that prickle of cold running down his spine again, terrified that he might've in some way endangered his cousin.
"I'm sorry, Bellatrix's Lord, I'm-"
"-enough," the Dark Lord says, holding his hand up, looking bored. "I don't want to talk about Bellatrix. I want to talk about you, Regulus. I want to know all about you." He twirls his wand loosely in his hand. "Will you permit me that knowledge, Regulus?"
"Yes, Bellatrix's Lord."
"Excellent," the Dark Lord says, and he stands, towering above the kneeling form of Regulus and he holds his wand outstretched.
"It doesn't work like this, Reggie," Avery says, his voice cold. "You can't waltz into my flat, give me nothing, use the Dark Lord as a threat, and then expect me to share what I know."
"So you do know where Snape is."
"I don't," Avery says, leaning forward, "and if I did, you'd be the last person I'd tell."
Regulus gives a short, shocked laugh. "The last person? Come on, Ave, that's a bit hyperbolic, isn't it? Me and Snape, we're mates-"
"-yeah, such good mates, I know you went to the Headmaster to get him expelled," Avery says, cutting him short. "And to Slughorn. For all the use it was."
Regulus stands for a moment, his eyes darting, unable to fathom how Avery knows this information - and then he shrugs. "Teenagers fall out from time to time. It was a long time ago."
"What's the price for spilling Black blood? Is there a discount if the political views are-"
"-don't be stupid, Ave, I'm not looking for him so I can hurt him."
"Yeah, right," Avery scoffs. "You think I was born yesterday. Snape hasn't got his magic and you want me to hand you him on a plate." He shakes his head. "It's sick, Reggie. If you wanted to finish him off, you had your chance when he was working for Borage or Jigger - you could've faced him wizard to wizard, offered him a fair duel."
"Yeah, and then I could listen to the rest of you complaining about me defending a blood traitor's honour!"
"Blood traitor on one side, a bloke fucking a Mudblood on the other," Avery says, shrugging again. "It's not like Snape would've been defended by the rest of us back then."
"But you're defending him now."
"He ditched her. Came back to the fold." Avery shrugs again. "Only you wouldn't know that, because you weren't around to welcome him back." He gives a disdainful laugh. "As if you want me to believe you went for a drink with him."
"I did," Regulus argues, unwilling to concede the point.
"You didn't, Reggie, because you're the last one of us who would've welcomed him back," Avery says, his voice getting louder, "and you know, I've been a pretty shit friend to him at times-"
"-exactly," Regulus interrupts, "none of us are perfect, Snape included!"
"And I carry a lot of guilt for my part in what happened to him."
"Because you were with him when he got arrested?"
Avery gives a stiff nod. "More than once."
"Don't tell me," Regulus says, "you can run faster?"
"It's not funny, Reggie."
"I don't see how both of you getting arrested would've solved anything," Regulus says, fairly. "Maybe you'd be in the same position he's in."
Avery stands, unmoving, his expression impossible to read - as if he's internally warring with himself and neither side is the victor, and then he shakes his head. "Yeah, you're right. Maybe I would - and if I didn't have any magic and you asked Snape for my location, I trust that he wouldn't give me up."
"What you're really saying is that you don't trust my word," Regulus says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I swear that I won't hurt him. I'll do a wand oath, if that's what it takes to convince you that I won't hurt him."
Avery shakes his head again. "No. I've spoken out of turn before and…" He trails off. "Sorry, Reggie, it's too much of a risk. After all that's happened, I can't have his death on my conscience. I'm sorry - I can't help you."
Regulus tenses, bracing himself, waiting for the Dark Lord to cast - but nothing happens. There's no incantation, no shout, nothing - and then suddenly, Regulus recognises that his thoughts aren't his own. It's as if his mind is spinning - as if he's on a broomstick, and he's falling through the air, body in one direction, broomstick in another. It's as if he's holding onto one set of thoughts and feelings - thinking about the Dark Lord's presence and the room and Bellatrix - and then there's an opposite set fighting for supremacy.
It doesn't make any sense - they're random memories without coherency, as if someone's picked up a photo album and is flicking haphazardly through the pages - or, more truthfully, as if someone's torn out all of the photographs and has tossed them in the air.
Is the Dark Lord in my mind?
Yes, comes the reply.
A bolt of fear shoots across his chest, causing him to exhale loudly - and the Dark Lord grips his shoulder, steadying him, but he doesn't relent in his actions and he keeps ripping through Regulus' memories - and his movements become more and more violent as time progresses.
Eventually, the Dark Lord withdraws and lets go, and Regulus falls to the floor, face down, panting with exertion.
"Interesting," the Dark Lord says, sounding anything but interested. "So much anger in one so young. And to think, all this anguish over a disgraceful blood traitor."
"He's just confused at the moment, that's all. He's a Black! He'll always be a Black! And he nearly died!" Regulus protests, scrabbling to his knees, not caring for how desperate he must seem. "My brother nearly died and Dumbledore did nothing! The boy who did it - he's a half! A half! A half who's dating a Mudblood! How can the Headmaster do nothing and the wizarding world not care?"
"How indeed," the Dark Lord agrees. "How indeed."
Pettigrew knocks lightly on the living room door, and pokes his head around, offering Avery a toothy grin. "Oh," he says, feigning surprise, "Regulus has gone?"
Avery nods.
"I'm sorry I missed meeting him," Pettigrew lies, taking a seat on the sofa. "I thought he'd be here all afternoon - I thought I was giving you time to catch up and then I could-"
"-maybe another time."
Pettigrew's head snaps up. "He's coming back then?"
"Probably. No reason he wouldn't," Avery says, sounding bored.
"...I thought you'd had an argument. I heard some raised voices."
At this, Avery looks up sharply - so sharply, Pettigrew visibly recoils.
"Must've been the neighbours," Pettigrew says, quickly.
Avery grimaces and then runs his hands over his face. "No," he says, "you're right, Will. For the first time in a long time, Reggie forgot his manners."
"I'd say. It sounded like he threatened you."
Avery fixes him with a keen stare. "Just how long were you listening?"
"I wasn't listening," Pettigrew says, fiddling with his fingers anxiously, "hardly listening, not really listening, just a few words here and there, but…"
"But?"
"I admire you," Pettigrew says, "not giving Snape up."
"I can't give Snape up. I don't know where he is."
"Yeah, but you could've told him something. Anything." Pettigrew smiles. "You're a good friend."
Avery scoffs. "I don't think Reggie would agree with you." He pats his robes, feeling for his wallet and then makes his way to the door. "Are we going out for lunch, or what?"
"Ave…?"
"What?" he asks, turning back.
"...why does Regulus want to find Snape so badly?"
Avery grips the door. "I don't know," he answers, honestly, "but there's… There's a situation between those two."
"Does everyone know about it? The situation?"
"A few of us do."
"Surely Regulus would know you wouldn't give Snape up then? If everyone knows he'd try and hurt him?"
"Or maybe Reggie was telling me the truth," Avery says, "but if that's the case, then he's trying to leapfrog the rest of us in the Dark Lord's favour."
"What do you mean?"
"The Dark Lord needs a brewer and Regulus suddenly wants to find Snape." Avery shrugs, pulling his cloak from the peg in the hallway. "I'm not a complete idiot. Come on, let's go."
Pettigrew falls into step with Avery as they exit the flat and walk down the road. "Ave…"
"This had better not be about Regulus again, Will."
"No, no, it's not," Pettigrew says, hurriedly, and then he gives a high laugh. "I mean, it's not much about him, it's a little about him, it's a-"
"-Merlin's sake, just spit it out."
"I'm just thinking that if Regulus wants to find Snape for the Dark Lord, he's not going to accept you saying no," Pettigrew reasons. "He'll make you talk."
"Regulus Black is a little dickhead," Avery says, walking faster, "not a criminal mastermind. He is not going to make me talk."
"He might get some mates-"
"-he's got no mates," Avery snaps. "I thought you'd have heard that much, Will, seeing as you apparently heard the rest!"
Pettigrew shrinks back. "Sorry, sorry."
"Ros is dead. Snape's got no magic. Mulc told him to get fucked. I've told him to get fucked. That's it. Those are his mates. Got it?"
"Got it."
The two walk in silence for three streets, and then Pettigrew looks over at Avery again.
"He might have other mates," Pettigrew ventures. "New mates. Like we've become mates."
"He hasn't."
"He might."
Avery exhales loudly. "Right, so what if he has?"
"Then I think you need someone to protect you," Pettigrew says.
"I can look after myself, thank you very much."
"Not just you. Me, really, if I'm in the flat with you."
Avery yanks on the cafe door, pulling it open, the bell ringing loudly.
"I think we should ask that teacup wizard," Pettigrew continues. "You said he was important. Powerful."
"I owe the teacup wizard a favour," Avery says, roughly pulling out a chair and settling into it, "so he's not likely to help until I've solved that."
"A favour?" Pettigrew sits opposite him and leans keenly across the table. "Anything I can help with?"
"I doubt it," Avery says, looking at the plastic covered menu, "not unless you've discovered a foolproof way to get into Hogwarts under Albus Dumbledore's nose."
Notes:
Hello again, friends - I thought I'd update this little message as we draw to the end of 2023.
I still promise that this isn't the end. Blimey, I'd have got it to 777,777 words if I was going to do something like that - I swear my eye twitches everytime I see the word count!
Firstly, I can't tell you how much I appreciate everyone who has read this far. I spent 3.5 years mired in this story, investing virtually every weekend and holiday to put words on the page. I had such joy plotting and writing - and most of all, sharing the journey with you all. I really hope that you had just as much fun reading it.
I took a pause in autumn 21; I'd found writing during the lockdowns etc very tough (I wrote around 250k in both 18 and 19 but "only" half of that in both 20 and 21), so I thought I needed time to refresh mentally.
Unfortunately, I caught Covid about 18 months ago and became terribly sick. I can't even put into words how unwell I've been - it's only just starting to sink in what a desperate state I was in, and I think I'm a bit traumatised realising it. Boooo etc.
I am gradually improving, but I am probably about 35% of the person I was pre-Covid. But for a while there, I was about 3%, so I am going in the right direction! It's just very gradual and very slow, and I am doing everything I can to reach my goal of getting back to 100%.
So to you, the people who have read this story, to the people who've cheered me along - I just wanted to say thank you. I always avidly read the comments/feedback to the story, even before becoming ill - but when I was really suffering, the ping of a notification in my emails often put a much-needed smile on my face.
Anyway, this is all very similar to my message of 6 months ago, so as a new update:
- I have started to reply to the comments on Dealer; talking with you all about the fic as you read it has always been one of my favourite parts of sharing this story. Please don't worry if I haven't replied to you yet - your comment will have been awesome; I just have a very small reserve of energy, so it'll take me a while to work through.
- On a happier note, I have started to write a little. It's been the weirdest experience, as my brain really isn't functioning like it did, so if you're subscribed to me as an author (and not just this work), you might see some short stories starting to appear as I practice those writing muscles.
But I was a bit worried, because I know it might seem odd if you're waiting for an update here and suddenly you start seeing other stories appearing - and you might assume I've abandoned Dealer.
I just wanted to reiterate that this is NOT the case. I am so rusty and my brain is so tired, it'll take a lot of practice to get back to where I was. I really don't want to jump into Dealer too soon and then in the future regretting it; I don't want to cause a situation where I look back forlornly going, "Oh, this is where you ruined it, Jaxon."
So, when I am better, I will return. I'd love it if you do too. 💚
Much love to you all. Stay safe, my friends.