Then Harry realized something. This really wasn't Draco. it was a
trap! It had to be a trap. Harry had to go to Voldemort, had to get
the real Draco back. That's all it was. Voldemort's sick sense of
humour. Harry nodded to himself, his hands still around Snape's
throat. The boy began muttering to himself as he got up. "have to go
to Hogwarts, have to get Draco...gotta get him back..." And as he
continued to mumble to himself, Harry went to open the door.
--
Pansy fumbled with her suitcase down the hall. Last door on the left, alright. She numbly wondered why there weren't any House Elves to help her with her case. But that didn't matter much. Her heart was pounding faster as she approached Draco's door. She'd see her Draco...
Since first meeting him in their first year of Hogwarts, Pansy had held strong feelings for the boy. She liked to call them 'love', but in fact it was a mixture of admiration, adoration and something that she didn't know what to call but that drawn her to him irresistably. He was everything she wasn't - independent, inteligent. He had a way to stand up to the Gryffindors, and they actually feared him. Or maybe they feared his father..
For that, Pansy envied him. Draco's father actually happened to care. Unlike her own father, Lucius would turn the world upside down if anything happened to his dearest son. Draco more or less projected that protection to some other Slytherins, considering himself to be in charge of them. Pansy was more than happy to let him guide her, let him have her. She didn't like having to decide the course of her actions, and even less answering for them. It involved far too much thinking, far too much of the real world. If she had someone to guide her, it was easy to shut herself in her small world where everything was nice and Draco loved her.
In a vague way Pansy was aware of her good looks, her slim body and thick black hair, and her big purple-bluish eyes. She was aware that that was what had first gained her Draco's attention. She also knew that he considered her totally expendable, but that wasn't really a problem. One day he'd see how much he needed her, one day he'd need her as much as she needed him. It was only a matter of time...
Harry
Harry's crazed green eyes landed on Pansy. Recognition however, was not found. She was simply another hurdle to get over, something else keeping him from getting the real Draco back. His wand came out, the words 'Petrificus Totalus' were muttered, and Harry pushed by her and ran down the hall before he could see if the spell worked or not. "Have to get to Draco..have to save him...have to kill Voldemort...."
Lucius
Lucius had started going down the hallway towards his room. There was *so* much to do, and so little time to do it. And now he needed to prepare another guest bedroom for the girl, Pansy. His work was never done. And now here comes Harry Potter down the hallway. Hullo, Harry. How are you doing? You don't look too happy. And then Lucius realized that he wasn't talking out loud. The boy was running to him, muttering something that Lucius had to strain to catch.
"Have to get to Draco..have to save him...have to kill Voldemort...."
Well, that was quite impossible considering. "You can't get to Voldemort," Lucius reasoned logically. "There are wards up. You have to get through the wards." He pronounced the word 'wards' as though it had five syllables. "And the wards have the Malfoy brand seal. You can't take them off. A Malfoy has to." He blinked at Harry, wondering why he was in such a hurry to kill Voldemort. It wasn't as though anything had happened and shouldn't the boy be here to be trained properly before he could take him on? All the same, he kept out of the boy's way.
Harry
A low growl escaped Harry's throat, and with no other warning, the
boy pinned Lucius to the wall.
"Seems you have some work to do then..." He hissed, eyes
narrowing. "Take them off so I can leave. Now! Have to get Draco,
don't you want me to get him back? Take them off!"
Harry had his forearm across the man's neck, though he had to go on
his tiptoes to do so somewhat comfortably. He pushed harder and kept
the steady gaze. No more interruptions. No more distractions. Have to
get to Draco....
Lucius
It seemed like hugging was all the rage here. Though what Harry was
doing could hardly be considered as a hug. More of a half strangle.
Lucius had to admire the boy's..pluck? Courage? Stupidity? But he'd
much rather have Severus' long fingered hands around his throat,
choking the life out of him instead of Harry's arm.
"Why should you have to go to Voldemort to get Draco? He's here in
the Manor." He started walking towards his room. No reason why this
had to b a hinderance to his plans. "He's just resting. Leave him
alone for a few hours and let him sleep. He'll be fine soon enough."
Honestly, was he the only one who could see this? Draco was fine. The
world was fine. Everything was fine.
Except for a few things. Like the looks on people's faces now. Sirius
had seemed distraught. Severus had seemed too blank and now Harry
was..looking un-Harry like.
"You really should calm down. It does not do anyone any good for you
to go about the Manor in such a state."
Harry
This angered Harry beyond reason, and the boy tackled Lucius to the ground. It seemed to be a repeat of what happened with Macnair earlier. His fists flew, his teeth caught on flesh over and over. Words tumbled, mumbled from his lips as he attacked. "You BASTARD!!! Don't you CARE? That is NOT your son in there! Draco has NOT been kissed! That's NOT him! I have to go find him...the real Draco. That's not my love, that's not my love...Insensitive bastard!"
Pansy
Harry's crazed green eyes landed on Pansy. Recognition however, was
not found. She was simply another hurdle to get over, something else
keeping him from getting the real Draco back. His wand came out, the
words 'Petrificus Totalus' were muttered, and Harry pushed by her and
ran down the hall before he could see if the spell worked or
not. "Have to get to Draco..have to save him...have to kill
Voldemort...."
--
The petrifying spell missed Pansy by less than an inch. She turned her head in disbelief and stared as Harry ran down the hall. She then shook her head in and tried to lift her suitcase, which Potter had somehow miraculously avoided tripping over.
She gave up on it and would have kicked it out of rage if she hadn't felt eyes watching over her. She turned her gaze to the room and saw Draco lying on the bed and, strangely enough, Severus Snape standing next to him.
Apparently everybody had been invited to spend their vacations in the Manor, she wondered.
Nodding curtly by means of greeting, she strode past Severus with a mumured "Hello Professor Snape" and stopped near the bed, eyes taking in the figure of her Darling Draco sleeping.
He wasn't really sleeping, she thought as she saw that his grey eyes were open. She smiled warmly.
"Hi Draco."
No response. Well, sometimes he did it, sometimes he did ignore her when he was not in the mood. It wasn't all that strange, except for... his gaze.
"Hey handsome."
She took her hand to his cheek. It was warm. But other than that he didn't give any indication of being alive; he hadn't even blinked yet. The chest moved up and down in rythmic movements, but his eyes stared past her onto nothing.
"Draco?"
She held his shoulders and shook him lightly. Still no response. The same emotionless expression on the face, the limp body.
Pansy didn't know what to do. She kept starring back at Draco, until small breathing sounds reminded her that there was someone else on the room as well. Someone that might know what had happened, why there were wards on the fireplace, what was Harry Potter doing there, why was her Draco that way?
She turned around to meet Severus Snape cool figure.
"Professor... what's going on?"FONT
The hits kept coming, did not stop in their velocity or strength.
Lucius doubted that Harry even realized he was now missing his wand.
His teeth sunk further into the skin, both of them feeding off the
other in what should have been a comical sight.
As it was, it made for a very strange and sad spectacle. Insanity
flew between them as it flowed through their own blood.
It was almost binding in a metaphorical sense. A coming together of
tragedy interspersed with realizations, hatred, anger, and raginging
grief that would not be given a name, could not be tied down.
There was a sense of nothingness.
And another sense of everything inbetween.
The pain in his arm was not as intense as it should have been. He
didn't even mind it that much and took in as much blood as he was
losing.
The boy, he was sure, was unaccustomed to this type of
foreplay/battle but that thought did not plague him at the time.
The only thoughts that swam through his head, quickly ran out.
Madness and grief. Denial and revenge. The knife or the wand. The
hatred or the love. To go on or not to go on.
To be...
No.
Not like this.
Lucius regained the use of his limbs, knowing that he should stop the
boy from reigning blows onto him. He shoved Harry down, his own body
on top of his, his hands pinning down Harry's arms, his legs on
Harry's own.
Still, his teeth never left the boy's shoulder. He felt the skin on
his arm rip a bit with Harry's movements and disregarded the pain,
getting aroused instinctually by it.
Lucius accepted the hits, not doing much of anything to defend
himself. The boy was strong but he had taken much worse. And in such
a short time frame.
Honestly, this was a mosquito bite in a world full of daggers. The
boy was angry, that much was obvious. Really furious, it seemed.
Worse, he was saying some very strange things.
Such as "Care" and "Not your son" and "kissed."
Very strange. Lucius thought it over as he got punched in the jaw.
"That's not my love, that's not my love...Insensitive bastard!"
And suddenly he felt sick. And cold. As though something was very
much...not right. As though he should be feeling something different.
Draco was...
-A shell
fine. Draco was...
-Not living
his son. Draco was...
-Gone
Draco...was..
-No more
Draco...
-Kissed
-Soulless
-Empty
"Empty." Draco was empty. Not there. Nothing anymore. In Harry's
constnat punches and bites, he slowly came to the stunning revelation
that all was not right with the world. All was anything but right.
And now he had a house filled with the weirdest creature imagineable.
A regular party hour at the Manor.
A Death Eater.
A Potions Master.
Harry Potter.
A Mudblood.
Two Weasleys.
A dead Weasley.
A crazed wife.
And now a vacationing girl.
Add to this himself and his son.
His little boy. And what did it equal? A very unorthodox household. A
dysfuntional family.
He screamed into poor Harry's face and caught the boy's hand just as
it was heading for his face. His eyes lost their sileverish tint and,
in the lighting, seemed to redden. His scream was choked off by
himself as he dove forwards and wuickly caught Harry's shoulder in
his mouth, his three canines sinking into the soft skin, biting down
and drawing blood.
Draco. His Draco. His son. His reason for being.
His other hand grabbed hold of Harry's wand and yanked the piece of
wood away from him, throwing it away from the boy. His other hand,
holding the young man in place.
Harry and Lucius
A growl of anger rumbled through Harry's body as he struggled to get
out from under the taller man. His mouth opened before closing again,
as the boy actually began to chew viciously on the already broken
skin.
Lucius took his teeth out of Harry's skin and stared down at the boy.
His eyes bore into Harry's. So much like...no, it was best not to
think about that bastard right now.
"If you do not stop moving," he spoke in a slightly calm voice that
had deep undercurrents of hysteria running through it, "then I shall
be forced to stupify you. And we shall see how far you get then."
"Then let me go!" Harry hissed, seemingly in English and parseltongue
at the same time. He arched again, fists still clenched, palms
reddened with streaks of blood from cresent cuts made by his nails.
"And you will go where? To Voldemort?" Lucius kept his voice level
despite his rising anger at that name. "He'll be expecting you. What
good will you do anyone when you're dead? What good are you then?
You're selfish, brat. You are useless to us dead. You are useless to
Draco when you're killed. And you'll leave us behind to pick up your
bloody pieces."
"I'm useless anyway!" Harry yelled, strugging still. "I didnt save
him...I didnt save him! It's my damn fault, you bastard!!"
"Your fault? How is it your fault? Did you or did you not go to
Hogwarts to try and save him? Did you or did you not do everything in
your power to help him? Uselessness begins when you stop fighting."
He kept his grip on the other boy tight and unbreakable.
"Then let me go so I CAN fight! Hypocritical bastard! I hate you, let
me go!" Harry's energy seemed to be dwindling, but he didnt stop
struggling. "I failed, dont you see that?? I failed! I didnt save him
in time. Now LET ME GO!"
"If you failed, why are you calling me a bastard? Shouldn't you make
up for your failure? And you can't do that by acting like an immature
brat. Quit squirming, little boy, and start acting serious." His
voice was suddenly sharp, as though he had just slapped Harry across
the face.
"GO TO HELL!" Was the responded scream, as Harry threw his head
foreward, headbutting the man in his forehead.
Hell. He was not getting off to this...yes, he was. And that was not
his desired reaction. His anger now breaking through slightly, Lucius
did the only thing he could think of. He put his mouth to Harry's
forehead and bit down on the lightning shaped scar, again drawing
blood. "Snap the fuck out of it," he growled through clenched teeth.
That caused a bright flash of pleasure tinged pain to shoot through
his head, and Harry gasped as his back arched involuntarily. It
seemed to do the job though, at least somewhat and his struggles were
reduced to slight squirming.
He slowly unclenched his teeth from the skin and looked back at
Harry, his eyes still shining red in the light. "Listen to me, Harry.
You did all you could. There is nothing to make the pain go away.
Absolutely nothing except time. The only thing you can do is take
your revenge on the one who did this. But you must do so in such a
way that it will not drag you under. You cannot help anyone in this
current condition. You won't be able to think clearly when you fight.
If I can hold you down this easily...Then what will Voldemort do to
you later on?"
"I don't care...I don't care if I die, I just want to avenge him..."
Harry's back arched again as he looked away. His mind was bordering
on insane-reasonability.
"So you believe you will avenge him by dying? Is that what you're
saying, Harry? I do wish you'd be a bit more clear with me. I will
remove those wards once you talk reasonably, once you are ready to go
against Voldemort without drooling all over yourself. Without acting
like a loon."
"I'm NOT drooling." Harry headbutted Lucius again, angered by the
man's words.
His forehead, like Harry's, was bleeding. That and he was getting
another damn headache. He moved forward again and bit the scar. "Keep
going that, boy, and I will treat you like this." His teeth clamped
down harder than before.
A cry of pain, but Harry didnt dare move. "Stop...stop stop stop!" He
growled, blacking out partially before his vision came back.
Lucius slowly moved his head away again. "The stop forcing me to take
such measures. You're hardly the one to give me any pain, boy. You
think you're the only one pained by this? You think you're the only
one who cares? Dammit, brat, act your age. Grieve if you must, take
your revenge, but do not let yourself be consumed by it. Like it or
not, you still have a role to play. Either continue with the game or
die in it."
"Let me go. Now." Harry demanded softly, teeth clenched. "It
certainly seems like you don't care. So let me go, so I can do what
you're to fucking scared to. Now!"
He slapped him. Hard. Right across the cheek. "You stupid, insipid
child," his voice had lost its cold drawl and was now clipped,
precise, and heavily accented. "You have no idea how I feel." His
eyes were a definite red and his nails were starting to dig into
Harry's arms. "Unlike you, I will not allow myself to go insane or to
give way to the demons within me. Look at you now, the great Harry
Potter. Reduced to the idiocy and babblings of the insane at St.
Mungo's. You don't know what grief is, brat."
Harry licked away the crack of blood brought to his lip, and scowled
up at the man. "You say I have no idea how you feel, nor do you have
any idea of me. I know plenty of grief. So don't you dare even start.
And shut up about all the Great Harry Potter bull shit. I never
wanted that title, I never wanted anything that came with it! So
leave me alone, what does it matter to you?"
He glared at him for awhile. Then sighed. "You're right. It doesn't."
He slowly got off the boy but did not stand up. He slumped against
the wall, eyes regarding Harry coolly. "I won't remove the wards. And
there is no way you can make me do so. Looks like you're shit out of
luck."
Harry pulled himself to his feet and brushed off his clothes, glaring
right back. "Guess I'll have to use the Ring to help me out." He
pulled out the dragon ring across his neck. "Draco told me it made me
like an honorary member of the Malfoy family. Its wearer is regarded
as Malfoy. I think it'll do the trick." He glared again and stalked
off down the hall.
No words could describe how Lucius felt about seeing that dragon,
that dragon he had given Draco so long ago, hanging around Harry's
neck. He brushed it aside now, not able to dwell on it at the
moment. "That will not work. It is only a ring."
Only a ring.
"I think not. It protects its wearer with the magic of the Malfoy
name. I'm going to avenge my love." And with that Harry disappeared
around the corner.
"Idiot." Slowly Lucius hauled himself up and apparated in front of
the boy. He picked him up easily by his collar. "And with what will
you use to defend yourself? You left your wand back there. At least
remembering about the dragon shows you to be thinking a bit clearer."
Harry's hand grabbed Lucius' own wand. "I'll use yours then, thanks.
Let me go, you're starting to annoy me."
Lucius frowned. The boy was impossible to reason with. He needed time
to work out his own grief. Time better spent alone or with someone
who could help him. His thoughts strayed to the diary. Surely his own
mother could talk to the boy. The problem was how he was going to
bring him there.
First problem. The wand. Harry would be able to sense his movements
quickly. A knife then would be useful. One of his Harpies, as though
knowing its owner fell into his hand.
Gripping it tightly, he hastily brought it up to his own wand. The
blade cut through the wood easily enough.
"If you want to go suicidal on me, neither I, nor anything I own,
will be accessory to it."
Harry looked down at the cut wand and scowled. "You're a crazy
bastard, you know that?" He hit Lucius over the head with the broken
wood and brought his knee to the man's stomach, growling.
"Violence doesn't work with me, Harry." He suffered the blows,
steeling himself to take a few more before this was through. "But
I'll let you have your fun if it makes you feel better."
"Good. I'm rather enjoying this." A clenched fist smashed into
Lucius' jaw, just as Harry's foot caught the man's shin.
Lucius caught the blows, not caring about where they felt. In a way,
it was slightly helpful. He would soon have to face up to his own
blame for Draco and Potter, while not realizing it, was helping with
his penance quite nicely. It was reminiscent of the attack on his
person that Voldemort had done.
Lucius maintained his silence throughout, letting the boy beat out
his rage and grief. So long as he wasn't being killed, this was fine.
And Lucius had taken worse.
Harry continued his barrage of blows, not actually trying to injure,
just trying to get away from Lucius' still ironclad grip. His throat
was beginning to ache and his vision was blotching.
Lucius sighed inwardly and shifted his position a bit. He held Harry
underneath his arms, somewhat preventing any major punches, but still
leaving himself wide open. He didn't want Harry to pass out on him,
he simply wanted the kid to tire himself out.
Keeping Harry safe. That was the important thing right now. Even if
he had to bleed in the process. He had kept him safe before. He would
continue to do so now.
Harry grunted and opted to stop his struggles, at least until he was
freed again. He did his best to look tired and worn out, making his
body limp in Lucius' arms.
Lucius frowned. That was quick. Too quick really. Harry Potter was a
fighter. He knew that much. Leaning forward, he moved Harry closer to
him and licked the blood at the boy's scar that had started to trail
down near his eyes. "Are you done?"
A nonchalant grunt and Harry looked away, letting his head lull
forward.
"Good." Lucius repositioned the boy again, gently cradling him into
his arms. "Then you won't mind if I do this." He shifted Harry to one
arm, the other going forward quickly and breaking the necklace that
hung around the boy's neck. Not only would that ensure Harry's
safety, but if Harry still wanted to continue to fight, then that
little move would show his hand.
Harry forced himself to not react violently, and just whimpered
softly. "Draco gave me that...it's mine..."
"I know, Harry. And I will give it back to you. You have my word. But
for right now, I need to keep it with me." He shifted Harry again and
started off down the hall. Though he held the boy gently, almost
tenderly, he made sure to keep a good grip on the boy in case he
tried anything.
Harry huffed in silent indignance and let himself be carried. "Where
are you taking me...?" He wondered out loud, squirming slightly.
"To my room. You can rest there. You need it. And that's where your
mother is. If there's anyone who can help understand you, it's her.
But she'll only come out if you call her. I've no desire to force
anything on you, Harry, save for your safety." His voice was bland,
emotionless. The wretched facade of his was starting to slip and
Draco's loss was weighing heavily upon him. His own hand would soon
be drawn and it would be best to take care of Harry before he
descended into his own hell.
The boy came first.
"I don't want to talk to her. I don't want to talk to anyone." it was
becoming hard for Harry to pretend to be calm any longer. "Let me go.
I wanna take a walk or something..."
"And where will you go?" Lucius continued walking, not breaking
stride. "And you don't have to talk to her. You can stay alone, if
you like. Like I said, I'm not forcing you to do anything. Hell, you
can even break things, if you want. Though most of it is already
broken."
"Lemme go. I'm not a doll." Harry wiggled, getting more annoyed by
the second. "I feel trapped, I need to go somewhere..."
Lucius frowned and mentally checked the wards around the Manor. All
of them seemed secure enough, all of them now carrying the Malfoy
seal. Without the ring, Harry wouldn't be able to slip out. "Give me
your word that you will not curse, hex, or cast a spell on anyone
within the Manor first."
"Fine. I'll just use my fists. I dont have my wand anyway." Harry
retorted, finally squirming out of the man's grasp.
A heavy hand was placed on the back of Harry's robes, keeping the boy
close by. "You will not pick a fight with anyone here. No one is
responsible for your loss. No one deserves to be hurt by you. At
least, not anyone here. Either you give me your word that you will
not harm anyone here in any way, or I will be forced to keep you
restrained."
"Go to hell." Harry's foot lashed out and cracked against Lucius'
shin was the boy twisted away.
Lucius rolled his eyes, quickly reaching out and grabbing the boy
underneath the arms, allowing Harry to face away from him this
time. "Honestly, child. Don't you ever give it a rest? And I've been
to hell, thank you very much. I spared you a trip there and I intend
to do so again." With that, he continued walking to his own room, the
squirming boy still held out in front of him. "If you get out of my
grip, I will stupify you. I don't need a wand to do that."
Harry sighed in annoyance and threw his head back, letting it crack
against Lucius' nose. "Don't you see? I don't CARE what you do! As
long as you leave me the fuck alone!"
Fucking..hell... A variety of explicit curses came running through
Lucius' head. He pushed past them and concentrated on the burning,
throbbing, *irritating* pain. Pain was good. Pain kept him focused.
"Shut up, Potter. I personally don't care what you think. You're
useless to me, to Draco, and to yourself while you're like this. And
until you stop acting impulsively, this is the way you'll have to be
treated. Fucking deal with it."
He reached his own room and shoved open the door.
It was quite a mess.
He didn't remember it looking so broken when he left.
"Nice house cleaning tactics." Harry remarked snidely, crossing his
arms over his chest.
"Anger needs to be worked out somehow. Best to take it out on the
furniture than anyone who doesn't deserve it." He shut the door
behind him and, while keeping a firm grip on Harry's arm, reaching
out with his left hand and opened up one of the drawers. He dug
around in there for a bit before coming out with his spare wand.
Always have a back-up. Words to live by.
He shut the door and placed up curtains on the balcony doors and then
warded the open area.
He would really have to get that fixed.
Harry jerked away his arm and looked away. He sat on the edge of the
bed and glared daggers at Lucius. "I hate you."
"I can live with that." He picked up the diary from the floor and
quickly jotted down the note 'Harry has some grief issues. I think he
needs you. He's rather violent right now and just lost Draco to a
Dementor's Kiss. Please try to console him. I think you're the only
one who can reach him.'
He made sure to keep his writing as legible and clear as usual,
keeping all emotions tightly locked away inside. He would snap in
private. He placed the diary on the dresser.
Harry grabbed the diary, glaring before writing, "Don't bother. I
don't want to talk to anyone. Leave me alone."
"I'll be back later with some food for you," Lucius promised. He
opened up the door and paused. "If you need anything, just ask me
when I come back. I know it sounds cold, Harry, but this will pass."
With that, he slipped out the door, making sure to ward it up
completely and checking to see that he still had the ring on his
person. He did. He looked at the door for a few minutes before
walking away, hoping that Lily would be able to do him some good.
Harry growled and immediately began searching through the room. For
what, he knew not. He found it though, in a small dagger hidden in a
pair of boxers that had been strewn onto the floor. He grabbed the
small knife and looked it over as he sat on the bed. He drew it over
his arms, just hard enough to bring slim lines of red to the skin.
Seeing the bright lines, he became hypnotized by it. He pushed the
sharp edge against his upturned wrist, slicing across as hard as he
could bear with the first stroke. A tiny smile of satisfaction came
to his lips as droplets of scarlet spilled out.
Severus
Severus stood passively as he was screamed at and then subsequently strangled, recognising the need of a good bout of unreasonable rage when he saw it.
And then Potter ran off...
Damn. That wasn't supposed to happen...
Severus sighed and looked back at Draco's resting figure.
"I think you and I are the only sane ones left in this damned place," he informed the immobile form and turned to stare out of the window.
Lucius was in denial, and so was Potter, apparently. Severus cursed silently to himself. He realised now that he had been unknowingly relaying on Potter's support in the matter. He had thought the Gryffindor would have had the common sense and detatchment... no, the *bravery*, Severus sneered at the thought, to accept Draco's fate.
But no.
Now what was he supposed to do? Now how was he supposed to deal with Lucius? Severus looked back at the small body on the bed that lay, staring up into eternity. He would starve to death, Severus knew. Technically, the body was still alive, still needed food to sustain it, but had no soul to realise this.
The body.
Not Draco.
It was just a body now, just a biological form with no identity. Little more than a fleshy skeleton.
Not Draco. Not the boy who he had taught Potions to for the past four years. Not the boy who looked so much like his father, resembled the senior Malfoy so much as to make the same mistakes in Potions. Not Lucius's pride and joy.
Not anything but a body.
Perhaps if had been another day, Snape might have looked the other way. But then he wouldn't have been aware of all this. If it had been another day, maybe he wouldn't have been here at all. Maybe he would still be in his desolate dungeons, waiting for Lucius,or perhaps death. Maybe both.
But as it was, he was aware. He felt unexplainably guilty for not feeling particularly upset about Draco's state. A little surprised, yes, but not what one could call upset. A little reproachful, perhaps, but then only because of the effect this would have on Lucius.
Not for the first time, Severus wondered if it was just his reputation that was a heartless bastard, or whether he actually was what he was said to be...
The door opened.
A familiar figure entered the room. Severus took a moment to place her face with her name and how he knew her.
Pansy Parkinson.
"Hi, Draco."
She obviously hadn't noticed him.
"Hey, handsome."
At all. Why in hell's name was she here? Now of all the times she could have chosen to turn up...
She took her hand to his cheek.
"Draco?"
She held his shoulders and shook him lightly.
There was a long pause and then finally, Pansy turned round to face him. He watched her emotionlessly.
"Professor... what's going on?"
She sounded uncertain, a little worried, Severus thought.
"That, Miss Parkinson, could take a while to explain. First, what, may I ask, are you doing here?"
Severus fell back into his usual stance and tone of voice that he reserved for teaching. His arms crossed over his chest as he looked inquiringly at the young girl in front of him.
He noted again that he was barefoot. This was getting a little stupid, he thought blandly. He should borrow some of Lucius's, but he did so prefer his own...
Ah well. He was not about to go to Hogwarts to retrieve a pair.
Lucius
Lucius walked back down the hall, happily oblivious to the goings-on
in his own room. He wasn't sure what he'd have to do if Lily couldn't
talk sense into Potter. His possibilities were not endless. He would
not allow the boy to be a hinderance to his plan. If Potter could not
snap out of it, then he was useless to them and could only be a part
of the problem.
Death would be the easiest solution but far from the best way of
handling it.
He could always wait for time and Lily to calm the boy down. But time
was ticking away gradually. Once the Death Eaters arrived, plans
would have to be set into motion.
Time was something they could not afford right now. Harry had lost
much before. Had seen death before. He was not expecting the boy to
bounce back.
He paused in the hallway and leaned against the wall. The Death
Eaters. They would be arriving soon. He would have to greet them,
deal with them as best he could.
Harry Potter did not have to bounce back quickly.
He did.
It was expected of him. And he had no choice in the matter.
Either continue the game or die within it.
Draco...
He continued walking down the hall and soon stood before Harry's
wand. The same as Voldemort's wand.
Voldemort.
Tom Riddle.
The man he had once looked at as he would a father.
A mentor.
A lover.
He had resigned himself to kill Voldemort, if only to release him
from his pain. From himself.
He knelt down and picked up the wand.
Why then, should he be so hesitant about doing the same for others?
Why should he pause in his actions?
Draco was now nothing more than an empty shell. It would be a mercy
to kill him.
A mercy.
To grant him peace from his vile existence.
And he was the father. Narcissa was incapable and he could ask this
of no other. He who had seen Draco throughout his life, he who had
reared the boy, he who had betrayed the Dark Lord and caused this to
happen.
It fell onto him now.
He would not sleep for quite awhile.
With Harry's wand now pocketed, his own held and drawn, he entered
into his son's bedroom. His eyes took notice of Severus and Pansy,
and then focused on the still figure in the bed.
The girl would cause trouble, his mind told him. Like his voice had
been before, his mind was empty and blank. No emotions, no feelings
ran through him.
Another movement of the mask and it had settled nicely into place,
allowing him to do the most despicable acts possible.
'I do what needs to be done.'
And he could not back down from this. He could only go forward.
The girl would be trouble. He aimed his wand at her. "Back away." A
soft, commanding tone. One that held a warning note.
When the girl had moved, he held Draco within full view. A moment of
nothingness occured. When time seemed to stand still and there was no
possible way for him to move, blink, breathe, or think.
Draco's stillness. So much like his own at times. Except this was far
different.
Avada Kedavra.
Two simple words.
He could not use them on Voldemort before. Now he knew, he could.
He could because if he could say them to his own son, he could say
them to anyone.
Wordlessly, the only sound the swishing of his robe as his hand was
raised, he aimed his wand at the figure on the bed.
It wasn't Draco.
Not his son.
It was a nonentity.
A nothing.
Not there.
The spell cam eot mind over and over. He fastened on the words,
trying to transfer them to his voice and out his mouth. Softly, as
though speaking a prayer, he began. "Avada..."
Severus
Before Pansy had had a chance to answer, Lucius entered the room. He looked distinctly.. ruffled. And he had blood round his mouth, which was never a good sign.
Severus didn't say anything, as nothing had been said to him. He took a moment to note that Lucius still wore his ring, before paying more attention to the immediated situation.
Apparently, Lucius had come out of denial. Either that, or he had suddenly decided to murder his son for no apparent reason. Severus favoured the former suggestion.
"Avada.."
"Lucius," Severus said impulsively. This wasn't right. Lucius shouldn't have to do this. What?
Draco was his son.
His responsiblilty, he reasoned with himself. Of course Lucius had to do this.
But think about what he must be going through, he countered himself.
So *what*? Since when have you cared?
. . .
"You don't have to do that, Lucius," he said, quietly. The blond looked far from his best, his hair still short and roughly cut, his mouth still missing a canine, blood on his face.. He looked less like the dignified Lucius Malfoy than Severus could ever have visulased him to be.
He was aware that he was walking on eggshells again with Lucius, knowing that he was pushing him perhaps a little too far. And in view of the fact that he had only just come back from crossing lines, he considered himself to be in a rather.. dangerous situation. His hand was in his pocket, resting on his wand but not drawing it. Just in case.
This was indeed the cruelty of time passing. Lucius had realised. Potter had not. Mis Parkinson was in the room and Lucius was about to kill his son. She had no idea what was going on. Potter was probably hysterical at this point too. Granger and the Weasleys numberous, were all off else where. The thought stuck Severus that Miss Weasley was still lying dead in the corridor she was murdered in. A pleasent surprise for anyone who crossed that way. Narcissa was still in that room. Black was wandering around as well, now.
And here was Severus stuck in the middle playing the unfamilier part of what was rapidly becoming "pacifier".
It was not something that sat well with Snape.
Lucius
Avada Kedavra. Two simple words that were always somehow incorrectly
spelled. Or incorrectly used.
They came to him so easily before all this happened. Before
everything with Voldemort returning and him turning away.
He had faced down worse opponents than this...
-His son
This nonentity lying so still on the bed. There was no threat at all.
There was nothing.
He suddenly realized that he hadn't moved or spoken the second word
yet. He was still standing there, wand out, ready to kill the boy.
He summoned the final word and with it, came the knowledge that this
truly would be his last victim.
No.
There's no reason why that should be. He was a nonentity! A thing!
-Draco
His son.
His only son. He wouldn't be able to kill him and go on living. Not
after this. It would be impossible and yet, it had to be done.
He heard his name being called by an all too familiar voice.
Severus.
"You don't have to do that, Lucius."
He barely heard what the man had said, it came in such a quiet voice.
And yet, it was loud enough to deafen. Within that room, there should
have been silence. All that was heard was Draco's soft breathing and
that would stop soon enough.
Slowly, Lucius turned his gray eyes to Severus' form.
Don't have to do that? Bollocks.
No.
Bullshit.
Utter bullshit. He had to do this, because Draco was his own. His
responsibility and he couldn't let the boy writhe in...
Stop.
He is not Draco. Just another victim. Just another..
"K-Kedav.."
Kedavra. Just say it. Spit it out. Don't look. He could feel his wand
tip glow green already with the force of the spell.
And then it stopped glowing green but Lucius couldn't see the light
go out. He had his eyes tightly shut.
'Damn you, Snape! He isn't my son. He's a thing! He's just a...'
Liar.
Vile, wretched liar.
Anger coursed through him, mingled with fury.
Anger at Voldemort. "That fucking bastard! How the hell could he have
let this happen? No one touches what's mine. No one takes what I do
not give to them willingly! I'll see him suffer. I'll see him wirthe
in agony. I will drink his blood and eat the brains from his head! I
will..."
Anger at Draco. "And just why in hell did that idiot go to Hogwarts
in the first place? Didn't he know Voldemort was there? Didn't he
know it was unsafe? I thought I raised him better than that! Vain,
impulsive fool!"
Anger at himself. "I should have seen this. I should have known this
would happen. I should have been there for him. I should have stopped
this. I shouldn't have gotten away. I should have taken the Kiss
myself when I was with the Dementor."
Anger at Severus. "What right have you to tell me what I don't have
to do? He's my son, you bastard! You want to see him free, don't you?
You never cared what I did before or who I killed before! What gives
you the right to start now?"
His wand was aimed at Severus now. It was easier than pointing it at
his son. His own self would be next. "You've no idea how I feel! You
don't fucking care!"
He glared at Pansy. "Nor do you. Have you ever played a game, Miss
Parkinson? What the hell happens when your opponent changes all the
rules in the middle of it? What the hell do you do when there's
nothing left to do?! You can't do anything! You're just trapped in..."
He wasn't making much sense and he knew it.
The anger dropped, as did the wand he was holding and his emotions
raged within him. He didn't care that he wasn't alone in the room. He
didn't care about appearances, facades, anything else. What did it
matter now? What did anything matter?
"My son...my son.."
Is dead. Is soulless. Is empty. A fate unbefitting of anyone.
At that moment, Draco chose to sit up in bed, looking about him with
empty eyes, not taking in his surroundings, not recognizing anything.
It was when those eyes looked right through Lucius, that the older
Malfoy lost it.
His wand was picked up from the floor and he fled the room.
He couldn't tolerate it anymore. He couldn't handle anything,
couldn't find any words to say, anything he could do.
He couldn't calm Potter down.
He couldn't do his parental responsibility.
He was losing control quickly.
No, he had lost it some time ago.
He had lost it when Draco was taken from him.
'Useless things must be discarded.' He couldn't even scream. Silence
surrounded him like a shroud once again.
He had told Potter that if he could not get it together, he was
useless. The same went for him.
And after seeing those eyes, the eyes that once looked upon him with
utter trust, love, and devotion now look so empty...
He couldn't play the game any longer, couldn't hold up a damn mask
anymore, couldn't feel.
He made his way quickly down to the potion labs, putting a silencing
spell on the room.
What right had he to live when his own son did not? Knives would not
be used. He wanted this to be long and painful.
He dug around the potions cabinet for a few minutes before his eyes
settled on one particular bottle.
Pansy
"Nor do you. Have you ever played a game, Miss
Parkinson? What the hell happens when your opponent changes all the
rules in the middle of it? What the hell do you do when there's
nothing left to do?! You can't do anything! You're just trapped in..."
--
Pansy had been about to answer Snape - why did he have the irritating habit of responding a question with another? - when Lucius Malfoy had walked in, aimed his wand at his son, and started saying the Killing Curse.
Pansy's hand had gone for her wand. She didn't give a damn if Draco's father had gone insane and was the one trying to kill him, she would't allow that to happen. Thankfully, Severus Snape had stopped him. Pansy let out her breath, but was still scarred, and still holding her wand. Mr. Malfoy seemed to have lost it for good. He was mumbling stuff... stuff about Voldemort.. stuff about herself, Snape and Harry Potter and Draco... and.. about a Dementor.
In spite of the Kiss being mentioned somewhere in the middle of Lucius' babbling, it was the last thing Pansy took in. It happened directed her gaze to Draco, who was now sitting on the bed, his eyes strange as before. Only now she classified them as empty. She didn't pay any further attention to Lucius Malfoy or her Potions Teacher; all she could do was stare at Draco. At Draco's empty eyes. At Draco's empty eyes...
Her mouth hung open, the lower lip trembling. She swallowed down, hard, and then realised that she wasn't going to cry. She was known for her temper and frenzis of rage and tears, but right now it wouldn't happen. Because she wasn't in pain. She was somehow dopped, stunned, overwhelmed by the sensation of... emptiness. Yes. Emptiness.
During the last years, she had practically lived for Draco. She had been happy when he chose to be with her, and cryied on her pillow when he preferred someone else's company; found joy when he smiled and pain when he scowled or shut himself away. Now that he had been taken away from her, there wasn't much left inside. There wasn't nothing left, once he wasn't there. Because before there had been only her love for him.
"Draco...." she let out a throaty whisper.
Kissed. What a cruel name, the thought invaded her mind as she pulled back and used the back of her hand to wipe away the tears, what a cruel joke to call it a kiss when it happened to put one into such a state of stillness, such lifelessness, such... nothingness. But Dementor's weren't known for being exactly the most kind of creatures... those blasted soul eaters.
She recalled everything she knew about them. They fed on good emotions. They stealed souls, leaving people like... Draco. Empty. Irreversible.
"What the hell do you do when there's nothing left to do?! You can't do anything! You're just trapped in..."
Lucius' words echoed in her mind. Nothing that could be done... How could the love she felt not be of any help?
Pansy's eyes shone icy blue with rage. Irreversible... that would not do. She'd go to the ends of the world and beyond but she'd have her Draco back. There had to be something that could be done! There had to be, there had to be, her love couldn't be at all useless... her self-sacrifying tendencies could't be in vain. She'd give away her soul willingly if it would bring Draco back, she'd offer it to the Devil on a silver plate, she'd have herself kissed by a Dementor if needed be. But she would bring her Draco back.
She pulled at Severus Snape's sleeve. The Potions Master was sure to go after Lucius and stop him from doing anything stupid once again, and she wanted to tag along. If someone were to know of something that could be done, it was Lucius Malfoy. She'd snap him out of his madness and have him see that. He loved Draco so much, and he was so brilliant. He'd find a way.
"There must be a way..."
She mumbled to herself and Snape, and narrowed her eyes. She firmly refused to believe otherwise. There HAD to be a way.
Severus snarled at Pansy as he felt her hand tug at his sleeve.
"Don't be foolish, Miss Parkinson. There is no way," he snapped and pulled himself free, hurrying after Lucius.
Damn, damn, damn.
He did not need this. Lucius did not need this. Nobody, but nobody needed this! Damned fucking Voldemort!
Scowling, Severus swept down the corridors, wondering where Lucius would have gone.
Not the library. Somehow Severus couldn't see Lucius going there when angry. His room? Maybe.
Severus went quickly up to the bedroom, and flung the door open, only to see Potter inhabiting the room. Where else? He went down the row of never ending doors opening and slamming them, looking in as he went. Maybe the dungeons? He went down there and glanced into each of the cells, proclaiming each of them as empty. The kitchen? . . .Nothing in the kitchen. He slammed the door and went down to the library. Maybe Lucius would be in there, despite Severus's misgivings about the place. He flung open the nearest door and glared inside, to be greeted with the sight of Weasley senior and Granger. Again, he slammed the door.
In angry despair, he did an about turn and stormed down to the labs, his black garb flying out behind him like the sails on a ship.
He flung the door open and paused.
"Lucius, don't," he strode down the steps, "be," stalked over to Lucius "so bloody stupid," plucked the bottle from Lucius's hands.
"You think this solves anything? You think this would help? Make it better?"
Angry. Lucius's reaction was making Severus so damned angry.
Furious in fact.
There was no time for this. It was futile. He knew this was cold hearted of him to think, but he didn't care, for a moment.
"Death solves nothing. Helps nothing. There has been enough death now, too much, even. Your's would be an unacceptable addition."
Severus had drawn himself up to his full height and was towering over Lucius, his rage seemingly making him taller, making him seem to fill the room more, despite the fact that his voice was barely a whisper.
A very angry, vehement whisper, spoken through gritted teeth.
Lucius
The..bastard! The self-righteous bastard! What right did he have to
stand in his way again? Lucius nearly snarled at him, "Get out of my
way! You have no idea about anything! I will not live without him! I
will not live while he can't!"
In his mind, Severus Snape no longer was there. There was only a
tall, angry man looking down upon him, glowering in impressive anger.
Strangely enough, he was almost turned on by it.
But this man was an obstacle. Something that prevented him from
attaining his goal.
And Lucius always got what he wanted. Angrily, he drew his wand
while, at the same moment, lashed out with his hand, hitting Severus
right in the face.
"Crucio!"
A spell he hadn't bothered with in awhile. One that he never really
liked using.
But words and psychology weren't cutting it for him right now.
They, like the man, were mere obstacles. In his grief and angry
despair, Lucius found himself giving way to the madness within and
wanting nothing but to destroy all in his path, including himself.
He pushed himself forward, grappling with the other man for the
bottle of poison.
"Death solves everything. It's the final end! It's the equalizer! If
I cannot have him, I'm nothing." His voice rose with each word until
he was screaming. "I will not live in this hell! I will not be made
useless! I will not suffer this!" He emphasized each sentence with
desperate grabs for the poison.
"It will make it better!"
With that, Lucius grabbed Severus' wrist in his mouth, drawing blood,
and biting against the tendons that moved his fingers. He had no
choice but to let go.
When he let go, there were four marks in Severus' wrist instead of
the three and Lucius hastily grabbed for the bottle.
His wand was still aimed at Severus. "This will make it better!" He
repeated, his eyes glaring and wild as he watched the other man
carefully. His other hand uncorked the bottle.
"Move and I swear I will kill you."
Severus
Madness.
Mad painful insanity.
Lucius attacked him and again, for the second time that day within half an hour, Severus did nothing.
And now this.
Move and I swear, I will kill you. Death is the equalizer. The final. The ultimate.
"Death is the end, Lucius. The end of the whole game. The whole affair," he said, speaking softly, staring directly into Lucius's eyes, not letting himself be distracted by anything else. Like Lucius's hand uncorking the bottle...
"But that is all it is. It holds no answer. It is not the key. Someone has just destroyed your son, Lucius. Your hier. Your silver dragon. And you? You are giving up. So easily..." Silken words, spoken softly, softly, almost painfully softly. "There is no guarantee of anything, Lucius. There is nothing, with death. And you are not nothing. You. Are. Not. Nothing. You are everything. To me." Sentences fractured in the emphasis he laid into the words, as though trying to pound them into Lucius's mind using only constant, ever increasing pressure, instead of fiery brands.
"I will not let you die. I refuse to see you fail yourself like this. Because you would be failing me too." He took a step foward. "This is unacceptable. This is not. Good. Enough. The wrong answer. Try again."
Anger seeped from him in the face of Lucius's wild eyes and rumpled clothing. The diamond on the ring, that ring, refracted a ray of light, casting pretty patterns on the bench, the smell of chemicals filled the air, the sound of breathing, the feeling of being suspended in time.
Suspended until Lucius spoke again. He had moved.
"I moved, Lucius. Kill me." His eyes glittered momentarily and then stopped, returning to their usual dead, unfeeling black. "Take my life. Make all this end."
There. He had asked for his own dimise, not for the first time. This was different though. This was mind games. A territory that Severus was none too familiar with. He wasn't so much as walking on eggshells as bone china. Not only would it break and cut his feet, but it would cost, too...
Lucius
The words did not penetrate him until later on. When Lucius became
aware that he was being spoken to. He had seen Snape's mouth open and
close, but had heard nothing.
For a second, he thought he might be going deaf. And then he heard
the rushing noise. The same noise he heard when Draco had been
brought in. The one that signified that something was on its way and
this something was not good.
Worse than a headache. Worse than the nausea that gripped him
whenever Voldemort was near.
Worse than his own demise.
Draco was existing. Even if he killed himself, he wouldn't see the
boy on the other side.
And even if he was dead, he doubted the kid would be in hell at any
rate, which was where he knew he would be going.
"Someone has just destroyed your son, Lucius."
Shut up.
"Your heir."
Shut UP!
"Your silver dragon."
I hate you!
And just who was that directed to? That aggravating soft voice?
Himself? Voldemort?
"And you? You are giving up. So easily..."
He wanted to scream that he wasn't giving up. That he was moving on.
That he was withdrawing from the game. That he was ending it.
He listened now to the voice. His own mind telling him it was lies.
Nothing but lies.
And to point the wand at his head and bloody shoot!
"I will not let you die. I refuse to see you fail yourself like this.
Because you would be failing me too. This is unacceptable. This is
not. Good. Enough. The wrong answer. Try again."
No. This was the right answer. This would end it all.
He moved again. He was moving! Why wasn't he killing him? The hand
holding the wand was starting to shake and, angrily, Lucius steadied
it. He was not weak!
"I moved, Lucius. Kill me. Take my life. Make all this end."
He glared at Snape, tried to see past the blurs, the redness
surrounding his vision. His teeth were clenched and bared, his
posture that of a cornered beast.
He felt a cold sweeping numbness come over him.
He should kill the blur, kill the nonentity that stood there. "I am
right," he grated out. "I am always right. This will solve
everything. This is acceptable. As soon as I am out of the way, then
they can get back on with their lives. What the hell good am I if I
can't even keep my own son safe? I messed up. I failed. I let him be
taken. I. Did. Not. See. And now here you are, telling me what I must
or must not do? Ridiculous. Shouldn't you be glad that I'm not losing
myself to vengeance? So much like you would? Aren't you delighted it
hasn't overtaken me? Isn't this way so much better?" He had screamed
that last question.
"You know nothing of me, of my decisions. Stay the hell back!" He
moved back a few feet, away from Severus. "I screwed up. I lost
my...I lost my son because of it. I cannot live without him. I cannot
live! I will not allow it!"
His vision was getting blurry. Lucius put it down to the pain in his
head that was massacring his senses. He had to do this now or not at
all. He wouldn't get another chance.
Draco.
Visions of the boy swam through his head, of him growing up, of him
calling his name.
He would not let him down. Sooner or later, Draco would die. Someone
else would put him out of his misery. And Lucius would make sure he
was there when it happened.
His wand still aimed at Severus, he tipped the potion to the side so
its contents flowed quickly and smoothly into his throat.
Severus
There was no time for thoughts or even emotion as Severus watched Lucius begin to pour to liquid down his throat. It was black, like treacle. Deadly, like an angered snake.
Severus stopped being Snape, stopped being human almost, snapping automatically back into his role of Potions Master. The role of Potions Boy. He snatched the now empty bottle and read the label. He identified the poison, located the name of the antidote in his mind. Drawing his wand he snapped "Accio Mortelius Antidote," and hoped that Lucius stocked the antidote.
A bottle suddenly became airborne and flew to Severus's hand, knocking over a few other potions in the process. Severus caught it unthinkingly and took off the cap. He covered the hole with his thumb and forcefully pushed Lucius to the ground, and sat on him. The amount of Mortelius Lucius had taken would render him almost instantly dizzy, almost drunk.
Severus forced two fingers into Lucius's mouth, not particularly valuing their safety at this point and started trying to prise Lucius's mouth open.
There was no time for thoughts. No time for feelings.
Lucius
The poison worked quickly and Lucius was reminded of the previous
potion he had taken. The same spinning effects but none of the
accursed delusions.
He felt himself shaking, the world moving too quickly for him to
catch up.
He was going to die.
Oddly enough, the thought didn't sit well with him. His natural
instinct to survive made him rebel against the potion.
No use. He felt as though he had been drugged and if he looked to his
left, he would see Narcissa laying there next to him, smiling that
smug smile of hers.
He felt himself being pushed down, a weight atop him. Annoying but he
didn't much care at that point. There was very little to care about.
He was dying.
He would die.
The ceiling looked quite nice, he thought. Very nice architecture.
The first Malfoy to die in the Manor.
He suddenly felt blissful, away from everything else. His hand still
clung to his wand so tightly, he knew it would leave a mark.
He wondered what would happen next. Some sort of light, some sort of
fire?
He would end up killing the Devil, taking over.
He had a slight suspicion that the Devil looked like Voldemort. Ah
well. Voldemort was a Dark Lord. The Devil was only another demon.
Only another demon to conquer.
And now some jerk was trying to shove his fingers into his mouth. No
respect for the dying.
He bit down on them and tasted blood filling his mouth. Asshole. That
would show them.
The room was still spinning crazily. He shut his eyes, still feeling
the effects of the potion even with them shut.
He wanted to relax then, just relax and go to sleep. No cares or
concerns about the world at that point.
Nothing but sweet oblivion.
He felt his muscles lose their tension. There was still that abysmal
weight on him but he didn't want to move it. He tried raising a hand
to push it off, but couldn't manage to summon that strength. His hand
rose slightly and fell on Sev's leg.
Severus...
Slowly he opened his eyes and was able to see the figure of his
lover. No in full view, no longer a blur.
He blinked, trying to keep his vision clear even as the walls spun
around crazily. Those fingers were still in his mouth, not allowing
him to speak any.
"Sev," he tried speaking, wanting to, at least, say a last good bye.
The word was slurred and not just due to the fingers in his mouth.
Voldemort
Voldemort had entered the potions lab and was now in the process of,
well, preparing the potion. This was not only a meticulous task, it
was also a dangerous one. To use too much would mean going too far
back. Too little and he wouldn't achieve his desired result. It would
be several years until he would be able to try again if he did not
get this completely perfect.
He shut the door to the lab to block out all intrusions and
annoyances. He needed silence now and that meant away from the Death
Eaters, Lucilla, and the Dementor.
He did not have the fluidity of movements that Snape had when making
a potion and found himself in the demeaning position of almost
missing the other man, if only for his talents at the cauldron.
Wishful thinking. There was nothing to be gained in it, besides, he
was equally capable in creating this potion. He simply did not like
busy work when there were many other things to be done.
The potion held the most basic of ingredients, the main problem lay
in measuring the amounts. But Voldemort was a patient man. He knew
the necessity of taking his time. This would turn out correctly or it
would not turn out at all. Failure was never an option.
The past events had been unexpected. A strange twist in many of his
plans, but it hadn't hurt his position at all. He wondered if Draco
had been found yet by Potter. Possibly. He wondered if Malfoy had
seen his precious son. Also possibly. Time had passed since then. Not
much time, but enough. Time enough to establish both of side's
positions and to puzzle where to go from there.
This was what he wanted. A moment of indecision. Of tension cascading
through each of his enemy's bodies. Both Potter and Malfoy may have
been taken out by the one tactic of using Draco. While the Kiss
shouldn't have been on the cards, there was no harm within it
anymore. In fact, it had helped matters greatly.
Potter. Harry Potter. Voldemort allowed himself a quick contemplation
on the boy. He was strong. Had a good heart. All that noble crap. He
was a fighter and too obsessed with thinking there was right and
there was wrong. Good and evil. A load of garbage. He would not make
a good ally or an enemy. His weakness lay in his need of allies.
Friends even. Voldemort had no doubt that Potter had found in Draco
something of a mate. Not just a mate but a friend, a lover, and a
potential ally. Potter needed people like that in his life. That was
why he always hung about his other two friends.
Hurt the friends, hurt Potter. A go-between of sorts. And so, Draco's
death may have scarred Potter deeply. More deeply than if Voldemort
had taken a dagger and rammed it into Potter's heart. He had little
doubt that the boy would come to him for revenge. But he would come
lost in his grief, most likely. Easily disposable. Voldemort hoped he
would make it. There was nothing so grand as seeing an enemy lying
broken after he had crushed his spirit.
Potter would fall and die soon enough. If not by Voldemort's hand,
then by his own. The boy was weak when it came to matters of the
heart.
Malfoy was another thorn in his side he was dying to remove. The
Malfoy had influence. He had ambition. He had friends in high places.
Voldemort did not like the combination of these things. They put a
threat into his plans. Malfoy had power over some Death Eaters, of
that Voldemort was certain. He had seriously thought about killing
off all the Death Eaters within his Circle, if only to use them as
examples and to prevent Lucius from using them against him. He had
decided against it for two reasons. He needed the manpower and if
Lucius attained one or two, he would need spies set up near Lucius.
They would provide him with the information he needed to stay one
step ahead of Malfoy.
Hopefully the death of his son not only rattled Malfoy, but also
drove him over the edge. Voldemort knew it was wishful thinking,
again, to hope for his two worst enemy's downfalls. But it may not
have been wishful thinking at all. Draco was as important to Potter
as he was to Malfoy. Killing two birds with one stone, as the saying
went.
But he couldn't take that chance. Malfoy might still come back up.
Potter might still come back up. Shaken but not broken. But with this
new potion, he knew he had the chance of taking at least one of them
out.
Immortality had been the bane of his existence. He seemed to lack it
when he needed it and seemed full of it when he didn't. He had not
been killed that night at the Potter household. He would not die now
under the thumb of Potter's forces. He was better than that.
It wasn't just due to immortality and Malfoy and Potter's presence
that he was doing this. There were many other reasons that figured in
to his planning. The Death Eaters, for one, would need proof that he
really was all that he said he was. He would show them just how
immortal he could be by an almost illusory potion.
One could also say that he was growing a bit tired of his snake-like
appearance and needed a change. A quick change that would return his
beauty to what it was before. Beauty was something most valued with
Voldemort. Both as a prize to be sought and something to have.
He set the cauldron on the fire and waited for it to boil, all
previous formulas having gone inside. All he had to do now was wait.
He was positive he had measured everything out perfectly, but he
wouldn't know for absolute sure until he drank it. He had waited for
quite awhile to do this. A few more minutes didn't make much of a
difference.
He did this for himself. To restore what had been taken away so long
ago.
A few more minutes.
...
The cauldron bubbled. It was time. Voldemort slunk out of the sitting
position he had been in and conjured up a goblet. A ladle lay upon
the table, just waiting for his hand. Placing a bit of the potion
into the goblet, he made his way to the sink and diluted the new
potion a bit with some water. He swirled it about the goblet,
combining the two liquids. It would have to be diluted else the
effects would be too strong for his system to handle.
The substance within the goblet hissed as the water cooled it down.
He tilted his head back and tipped the cup into his mouth, letting
the fluid go down his throat quickly enough so he wouldn't have to
taste it. It was hot, burning his throat and then his insides as he
drank.
The pain was what hit him first. Like the polyjuice, this potion
would distort his features admirably and there was always a healthy
amount of pain involved with that. This, however, was much different.
This was permanent. Lasting. His entire body had to change and shift
and stay that way for as long as it was possible.
He wanted to stay conscious for the time He wanted to feel each new
change in him. He forced the almost overwhelming sensation to black
out downwards as he concentrated on what was happening.
Pain in his scalp as black hair shot out, pain in his skin as it lost
its scales, became smooth, pain in his body as it shifted, all of his
features changing. Pain within his insides as his voice changed, his
hands changed, and his structure changed.
No. Not changed. Regressed. Yes, that was what he was doing. Liquid
fire sprung up within him, covering him in its warmth as he became
what he had always been. When he opened his eyes, they were still a
fiery red. He stood up once the pain had ceased, ran a hand through
his hair. His long black hair.
Mirror. He needed a mirror.
He found one soon enough and a slow, languid smile appeared on his
face.
He had his features back once again.
Tom Riddle. Now Lord Voldemort. But both of them looked the exact
same. His eyes flashed green in the mirror before he let them fall
back to their red coloring.
He had not conquered immortality. He had done something much better.
He had conquered age.
Severus
Severus found his fingers bleeding and didn't really care. Didn't even care that he found the whole situation diabolically erotic.
Lucius's hand fell on his leg, both arousing him more and dragging back off planet Potions.
"Sev," the mumbled voice came.
Sev. Lucius was the only person alive who Severus did not begrudge the privilege of calling him 'Sev'. True, other people did call him 'Sev', only to be scowled at. It was not an abbreviation he liked. Still. It was better than 'Sevvie', for which he had committed murder... All in the past now. This was the present. And infinitely more important.
To his partial relief and partial worry, Lucius started to relax. Severus seized the opportunity and poured a measure into Lucius's mouth, and then forced it close. Keeping the blond's mouth tightly closed, he massaged his throat, in an attempt to make him swallow the sugary liquid. It was a skill he had rather reluctantly learnt from Travers, surprisingly enough.
Severus was a master of poisoning, but had never been requested to feed a victim antidote before that one time. He had learnt and was now in the process of recalling knowledge.
It came easily enough out of Severus perfect memory for all things potion-related. He just hoped that it would work.
If it didn't. . .
Bye bye, Lucius, if it didn't.
Lucius
He felt the liquid go down his throat and nearly choked on it had it
not been for the fingers at his neck, massaging, moving slowly while
the room moved quickly. It was a nice contradiction. Very calming.
Lucius swallowed, his eyes closing.
The touch was warm at his neck, soothing in a sense. Something he
hoped to take with him once he was dead.
He felt tired then. Drained of everything. Instead of forgetting
things, everything started coming back to him. Draco, his eyes, his
empty features.
The dizzying sensation was slowly fading away. He felt too tired to
try and clutch at it, bring it back.
He could hear the blood flowing through his veins, his heart start to
slow down back to normalcy.
He couldn't tell if there was still a weight on him or not, couldn't
feel the fingers on his neck anymore. And, for some reason, this
caused him the most distress.
He felt hot and cold at the same time. A type of knowledge swarmed
over him. Knowledge that he wasn't going to die, that he was going to
have to live until he could succeed again some other time.
He would have to live with the failure of letting his own son die and
now of ridiculously failing suicide.
He should have been more saddended about it than he actually was.
"Sev..."
His eyes still closed, his head lolled from side to side, trying to
stop the hot and cold flashes, not sure how to. "Sev."
Lucilla
The outside air was chilly for this time of year. It was nice to get some fresh air. Deeply she breathed in one last time before going back inside. Inside it was musty compared to out. Atleast it was warmer. But for all the warmth that the walls provided her with, it would seemingly be taken away by returning to Voldemort. Being by his side, seeing what he does, and how he does it sent chills up and down her spine. But it was just something that she had to get use to. A taste for blood was something to be aquired over time.
Down a few corridors and through a secret passage lead her to Snape's office. Inside it was empty. No Voldemort. This was odd, she hadn't been gone that long. And he did seem to be very involved with what he was doing in here. She wandered around the room. Scattered books, piles of paper thrown about on the floor........next to a closed door......with a light shining through the bottom slit........how interesting. She wrapped her delicate hand around the knob and turned the door open. Blankly she stared up at the strage man looking at him self in the mirror. Lucilla blinked twice before closing the door with a slam.
WHO THE HELL WAS THAT?! And what was he doing here? She tried to think and remember if she had seen him before. He looked like no one she knew. And Voldemort didn't mention anymore visitors. Oh Goody........a tresspasser to play with! She took out her wand, rolled up her sleeves, and kicked open the door. A bit suprised at taking it on the lam, she decided to go with her insincts. And her instincts told her.....they told her........ummmmm.........her brain went numb. She just stared at the stranger with wand pointed. He was attractive to her. This startled her a bit. The first time she had seen him didn't allow her to get a good look. Her expression was void, but her voice was suprisingly assertive, "Who are you and what makes you think you can be here?"
Voldemort
The mirror had entranced him. His features were no longer greenish or
tinged with scales. His skin was clear, his features youthful, and
his body no longer appeared to be so monstrous. In an odd way, the
transformation was a step down. His impressive countenance before had
brought about fear within his subjects. Now it was no longer fear he
wished to inspire, but pure intimidation and the knowledge that he
was beyond mortal men and their age.
He stared at himself for quite awhile. Touching his own skin as
though making sure it was real. The potion had no side effects, at
least none that he had heard about. Nor would he have to constantly
take it several times. Once it was done, it was over. No hassles. No
worries. Nothing. Just the result.
He was handsome, he decided immodestly. It was as though time had
passed him by. He felt strong, ageless, virile. Everything was a
bonus. Everything was divine.
He almost laughed at his success. He hadn't heard the door slam shut
before, hadn't heard or seen Lucilla when she had opened the door and
caught her first glimpse of him.
Her voice caught his attention and he turned to face her. She had her
wand drawn and his eyes narrowed at that before he realized just what
was going through her mind.
She did not recognize him! No surprise there. Few people would save
for those who had lived back then. And there were precious few who
did and still maintained their sanity. All the same, he was rarely
seen by anyone outside his precious Death Eaters. "You don't
recognize me?" He asked. A needless question but he wished to hear
his voice. It had changed as well, was smoother, more elegant than
his sharp hiss.
He turned away from the mirror and gave her a pointed look, his hair
sweeping along behind him. The potion had some elements of a hair
growth formula within it. He had thought he would need it. Apparently
that had been a miscalculation on his part. Easily fixed with a pair
of scissors. "Odd that you should not. We met when you were a mere
baby. I gave you your Mark." While he talked, he conjured up a pair
of scissors and cut away at his hair until it was a reasonable
length. A black band kept it back and out of his way.
"I am more than a man," he spoke, scissors disappearing. "And I have
a right to be here seeing as how I've taken over Hogwarts." A small
amount of concentration and his eyes flashed from red to green. This
was becoming easier.
Lucilla
"You don't recognize me?" He asked. "Odd that you should not. We met when you were a mere baby. I gave you your Mark." While he talked, he conjured up a pair of scissors and cut away at his hair until it was a reasonable length. A black band kept it back and out of his way."I am more than a man," he spoke, scissors disappearing. "And I have a right to be here seeing as how I've taken over Hogwarts."
She hadn't recognized him. Lucilla kept her wand pointed at him strong. They had met when she was a baby? HE gave her the mark? Her arm unconsciously lowered slightly. What did he mean about being more than man? He couldn't be, she wouldn't believe it. Slowly but surely her arm lowered to her side. Taken over Hogwarts............. The expression on her face went from stern to a deer in headlights and finally to a look of an innocently curious child.
"It's you......isn't it......" she asked almost hushed. She walked up to him and placed her soft finger tips on his cheek. Over the contours of his face she traced lightly. It was a complete transformation. Everything was perfect. No remains of scales or harshness could be seen. The monster was gone. But would it last? What difference should it make to her? Lucilla drew her hand away. It was a bit forward of her to do what she did. But it was almost like she was a moth being drawn in by the light.
Voldemort
He had watched her step closer to himself. His eyes still green, staring into her own. There was no danger to be found there. Not against him at any rate.
"It's you......isn't it......"
He did not speak or nod. She could come to her own conclusions. When her hand came out, he nearly flinched away. Forcing himself to remain still, he allowed her to touch his skin, knowing what she felt there since he had just been feeling it before.
The caterpillar had changed into a butterfly, it would seem. The surprise and shock in her face filled him with a perverse glee. She hadn't seen him before he had become Voldemort. Only as a young child and what could she remember from those times? Besides, most of his business had been with her father and so, he hadn't been able to spend as much time as he would have liked with young Lucilla. The other Death Eaters out there would recognize him, of course, save for the youngest of them.
Her hand was soft against his skin. "Do you approve?" He did not need her approval, but he was anxious to hear what she thought. The first person to see him come out of his own cocoon. She should be honoured beyond belief.
Lucilla
"Do you approve?"
"Approve? You don't need anyone's approval," she said with a sigh. Her own miniscual opinion would not matter to him. She scanned over his face and body one more time. "But if it did matter, I would have to say that........" she tried to think of a certain way to say what she thought,"........you look stunning." She gave a quick, light smile before letting it dissappear completely.
Voldemort
"You look stunning."
Stunning. The word he had been looking for. Yes, he looked stunning. He was hoping that the main reaction would be stunning, not just in looks but in paralyzing fear. Particularly in one person.
He would not tell Lucilla that her opinion mant something. She was a woman with cultured tastes. By seeing what she liked and what she did not, he could get a better range of understanding in what people wanted to see. She reflected the views of the ones who lived outside his normal pathways.
And he was stunning. Naturally.
He would need new robes. Perhaps he would venture to Diagon Ally this afternoon. "Care to take a trip with me today? I want to walk about without having to look over my shoulder. I am almost unrecognizable like this. It will be a nice change of pace other than this castle."
Lucilla
"I'd be delighted. Plus, I need some fresh air." She gave a sweet smile up to Tom. Unfortunatly, she didn't watch where she was going. And, oops! Lucilla began to fall down to the ground due to Tom's hair. She tried to grab at the cornor of a potion's table. But the cornor only caught the material of her right wrist cover. She grimaced as the cool rock floor met her bottom. A rush of redness swept over her china doll skin. That was embarressing to say the least!
Voldemort
He watched her fall to the ground in something resembling astonished amusement. "You really should watch where you're walking," he gently chided her. He was in a good mood and with a quick sweep of his wand, easily cleaned up the room, burning the strands of hair quickly. He had many enemies and his hair could be used for some rather unsavoury methods of torture.
This was part of the reason why he left behind no clippings of his nails, his hair, or blood. 'Keep yourself together in every way,' he had once been told. A prevention against voodoo and other asorted Dark Arts.
Once the hair had been burned away, he reached a hand to her. "Care for a hand up?"
Lucilla
Without much thought, she reached up with her right hand. It was only natural for her to do so because it was her prodominant side. But she quickly withdrew her hand from Tom's when she noticed her wrist cover was gone. It was no secret of what she had done to herself. Still, she wanted them covered up away from view. Not too far from where she sat was her wrist cover. It was black and very soft. The mere touch of it back on her skin brought some comfort.
After getting back to her feet she asked, "So, where are we off to then?" A good amount of the redness could be still seen on her face.
Voldemort
Voldemort had spotted the long slash upon her wrist. A loving reminder of her suicidal tendencies. They had bled for too long, had been left unattended and now carried with them a residual scar that could not be healed away by any conventional methods. They would serve as a constant reason as to why she distrusted people now.
Men in particular. It was not his business to discuss. "We'll go to Diagon Ally. I need some new robes. No reason why I should deny myself anything. Perhaps we can pick you up a few things as well. Is there anything in particular you would favor?"
Pansy
Pansy could have gone after crazy Lucius Malfoy and Snape. She could have turned around and gone back home, but she didn't feel like leaving Draco. She never had... and never would. She'd blatantly refuse to let go without gaining him back, or at least trying. Trying hard to death. Wasn't that how she had got Draco to pay attention to her in the first place?
Snape had said that there was no way out of that, as had Lucius. They were both so intelligent and cultured, she'd normally have believed them. She usually felt inclined to accept someone else's opinion, always considering the other person to know more or to be more capable than herself. And she would have accepted their statement, if it didn't shock directly with her resolution to bring Draco back.
No way, irreversible they had said. But they didn't know. They were cultured, civilised, and above all they were men. Pansy's mind wandered to her mother.
Fiona had been Norwegian. She was from the land that had witnessed the first signs of magic - not advanced and civilised witchcraft like the one born at the Roman Empire that had survived to this century. No. She was talking about old, ancestor, more primitive forms of magic. From the time when it was not a birthright that run into one's veins, but granted by greater powers. The magic that came from power borrowed from the gods and nature forces, and that invaded one's body and were used only once. However, gods were greedy when it came to their power. They did not distribute it freely...
For performing simple tricks mere words or seeds and leaves were enough. As the power involved increased, one would have to sacrifice small animals, burn aromatic plants and dance naked in the moonlight. The more complex ways of magic required a strand of one's hair, a few drops of wrist blood. Extremely difficult doings would mean giving away one's life force, one's son or even one's soul. The last type was the one Pansy was aiming.
She did not know much about how that ancient kind of magic worked, after all her mother had died few months after giving birth to her. Those things she knew had been learnt from long summer vacations at her grandmother's house, when her father didn't really feel like having his daughter over for such a long period as two months.
She wondered if anyone would believe or help her carry out her suicidal plan.
Looking to the side, she saw Draco. Draco's... shell. It filled her with determination. She would not rest until she had tired herself out; only then she'd allow herself to grieve.
Shooting Draco one last apologetic glance, she exited the room. She needed to get started. But how?
Slowly she made her way inside the Manor. She had never visited it before, so it was no wonder that she spent several minutes opening doors to find empty rooms.
Pansy sighed, looking at a pair of heavy doors. She pushed them open, and was taken back. Standing among the bookshelves were... Weasley and Granger?!
Great. First Potter, then Snape, then crazed Mr. Malfoy and Kissed Draco and now that!
She could do little but stare at them. Hope started to warm inside. Mudblood Granger knew everything about magic, and was way more than sympathetic. Maybe she'd help?
Lucilla
Something for her? She never really expected that to come from him. Lucilla didn't quite know what she wanted. Everything she needed she had. "There's nothing really that comes to mind. I basically have everything I need." She smiled sweetly. It was nice of him to consider her. He was treating her very nicely. This made her feel special in a way. But she couldn't keep on expecting this behavior to last long. In the whole scheme of things, she was just another pawn for him to move around at his will. "How shall we go? By floo or apperating?"
Voldemort
Voldemort took in her words even as he pulled out his gloves from the
pocket of his robe. He had worn them while traveling, not wanting any
outsiders to see his clawed hands. He had normally taken to wearing
high-collared robes, his clothes tight around his body and normally a
hat to cover anything that needed covering. Everything he wore was
made to make sure no one would recognize him and a man in a lot of
bundled up cothing did less to attract suspicion than a snake-like
figure.
"There's nothing really that comes to mind. I basically have
everything I need."
"No one ever has everything they need. It is human nature to always
want more." He had put on the gloves out of habit, but now that he
thought about it, he had decided that this new body was worth
protecting and keeping in good shape. Which included not allowing
anyone to touch it nor him to touch anything contaminating. He wanted
to test his own muscles, speed, and stamina. He wanted to feel the
wind against him. Wanted to speak without that hiss in his voice.
Snakes were his companions but he had no more desire to become like
them any longer.
The transformation into his past self had been useful for a time.
That body had been better than no body at all. But this was so much
lovelier than anything else. The affect had been remarkable and he
made a mental note to thank Snape before impaling him for the
potions. Most potent they had been.
"How shall we go? By floo or apperating?"
"We will apparate." He conjured up a cane, which completed the image.
He looked neither young nor old but timeless. There was little he
needed to do to improve what he was looking at in the mirror. "We'll
go outside of Hogwarts and apparate to Diagon Ally." He gave her a
peircing look. "You will stay by my side throughout. There are people
out there who might sense what you are now. Ex-Aurors and the like.
Also, I may require your company, just in case."
He wasn't planning on anything going wrong with his new body. He
doubted that anything would happen that would be detrimental. He felt
strong and able enough, but time still had a way of slowing up people
and he had to gradually break back in to his original body. It was
like riding a bike again for the first time in twenty years. A bit
unsteady at first, but afterwards, you're willing to mow down a
neighbor's dog while hurling rocks in the windows with one hand.
Lucilla
Lucilla nodded. She didn't like the idea of Aurors chashing after her. But, oh well....it came with the territory now. "Shall we?" she said as she walked out of the door. Up the winding stairs she walked and out the main door of Hogwarts. Just how far did they have to go before being able to apperate? At the very least, the edge of the forrest would be as good a place as any.
"Where would you like to apperate to in Diagon Alley? And what shall I call you by when we get there. Master and Tom I don't think are very good to use right now."
Severus
Lucius closed his eyes and Severus began to relax as the blond swallowed the mixture.
He had taken it. Relief washed through him and he realised with a start exactly how worried he had actually been. He marveled at himself inwardly, a strange feeling, mixed with the relief of Lucius's drinking the antidote. He had nearly died, dammit...
"Sev.."
Severus snapped from his inner daze to look at Lucius again, properly. He seemed out of it, which was understandable. He must be feeling horrible. He strained his mind to try and remember the after-effects of the antidote.
Something about changing body tempatures... and the nervous system goes dead, for a while. How long?... his brow furrowed and eventually he came up with 30 minutes. What else? There was something else that happened... ah. He knew. Flash backs, memory flash backs.
. . .he-ey... Severus's dark eyes sparkled suddenly. Maybe this was a chance. Maybe Lucius would see what happened that night, with Voldemort.
Maybe he would recover his memory totally..
Maybe he would remember. . .
Maybe. . .
Severus gathered Lucius up in his arms, as though Lucius was a little child and held him close. And then, he was at a loss as what to do. He had had literally no experience in being nice, let alone reassuring and ... motherly.
His eyes still closed, Lucius's head lolled from side to side.
"Sev."
"Hush, Luc..." The words were quite, instinctive, impulsive. He rocked Lucius gently, not knowing what else to do but watch his lover now as he recovered.
Lucius
He felt his body being shifted and suddenly felt warm. No, now it was
cold. He knew he was breaking out into a sweat. His mind rebelled at
him about that. 'Malfoys do not sweat. Muggles sweat. Slytherins
perspire. And Malfoys glow.'
This wasn't the time for semantics.
If his eyes were still closed, and he was sure they were, why was he
seeing so many pictures? Random pictures at that. It was beginning to
look like some sort of film show. Something to watch with the
relatives and their vacations snapshots in a darkened room.
He could barely make sense of anyone or anything since the portraits
were fuzzy and blurred at the edges. If he concentrated enough, he
could make out the edge of an image.
An inner voice told him to pay attention, but it was hard to do so
when his insides were all mutinous.
He took, instead, to muttering out words instead of trying to form
out pictures. Words had always been his friend and he honestly
believed that his subconscious lay within his desire to speak.
"Itriedtokillhimnotwithpoisonbutwithadagger.
Theonehehadgiventomeasafamilyheirloom.
IkeptthisdaggerwithmeevenwhenIwasthrownintothedungeon
andusedittomakemarksonthewall."
He doubted he was making any sense. He tried to calm down, speak
something he would understand. "The dagger...the dagger was with me.
He reached, grabbed, touched, the dagger."
He was being rocked. It helped still the world for a bit.
And then it stopped. The world stopped in time and the hot and cold
flashes ceased, leaving with him just an icy chill running through
his body that he couldn't help shivering at.
The images ground to a halt and his eyes finally opened. "It's
over...over."
Severus
Severus watched Lucius anxiously, holding him close all the while.
He had no idea.. well. He only had a vague idea as to what Lucius was going through. He didn't know what he would see. Or sense. Or feel. He sighed softly, the movement making a strand of Lucius's fine, roughly cut hair flutter for a moment.
Poor Luc.
But then, it was entirely his own damned fault, Severus reminded himself, a little heartlessly. A little coldly, even.
He wondered what Lucius would do when he recovered. Would he be angry at him for not letting him die? Perhaps.
Severus absent-midedly stroked Luc's hair, as if he was merely a domestic cat.
He was insanely beautiful, Snape reflected. Even in this state, he had never seen anything quite so.. alluring. Tantalising. He was a mystery, a strange, unfathomable mystery. Severus wasn't sure if this was good or bad, but knew that it made Lucius all the more enticing.
He was too good to be wasted like this.
A small flicker of a horribly familiar feeling appeared inside Severus. Something he knew well, too well. Something he had once considered his only true friend. Something that had always been there for him to fall back on. A parasite that had burnt him out until he was the poorest excuse for a human being.
This was Voldemort's fault. Fucking Voldemort's damned fault. Severus had no reserved feelings over Draco, other than the fact that the resemblance the boy bore to his father. Had it been another day, he might have looked the other way. Quietly but firmly pushed it out of his mind, as he did with so many other things.
Normally, he wouldn't have given a rat's arse about Draco.
But this was different. This was *Lucius* who had been left hurting.
And that made Snape *angry*....
"Itriedtokillhimnotwithpoisonbutwithadagger.
Theonehehadgiventomeasafamilyheirloom.
IkeptthisdaggerwithmeevenwhenIwasthrownintothedungeonandusedittomakemarksonthewall."
.. and now Lucius was babbling. Severus tried to make sense of the words, but failed miserably in the attempt. He made out 'kill', 'poison', 'dungeon,' 'wall' and 'dagger'... Dagger several times over, but the rest just merged into one long meaningless noise.
"The dagger...the dagger was with me.
He reached, grabbed, touched, the dagger."
What? When? When was this? Severus's thoughts went immediately back to the night Lucius thought the power source had been created.
Surely not....?
Severus felt Lucius shiver and then watched as he opened his eyes.
"It's over...over."
"Yes," Severus said quietly, his hold on Luc not lessening any despite this. "It's over. . . how are you feeling?" And what did you see?
Lucius
It was over. His son was still dead. Potter was still in his bedroom,
his insides felt cold, while he was burning on the outside. A false
warmth, as false as the coldness within.
Or perhaps, the coldness was not so false. More or less, painful and
jarring. His eyes opened and looked finally at Severus. No longer a
blur, but a man.
A very concerned, if not angry, looking man. Severus. He looked like
some sort of deity, leaning over him, gracing him with his touch.
But Severus was no God. There was no God. There was vast nothingness,
no hope, no salvation, no anything.
He felt half-dead then. Still as empty as before. There wasn't any
peace to be given in death. There was only a cold darkness. Not even
hellfire to keep him warm.
Nothing but a series of images and the the feeling of waste and
decomposition. A rancid smell and sight.
And what he saw made him want to vomit. A lovely, brutal series of
images that murdered him, took away his soul and repaced it with
something else. Something dead.
What was the point in having a soul if there was no heaven or hell to
test it? What was the point of having it sucked out of you? What was
the damned point in anything?
How was he feeling? He didn't know.
"Lost. I feel lost." He wanted to cry and it struck him as odd that
he hadn't cried as of yet over Draco. He wondered if he ever would.
Maybe later. Maybe when the war had ended.
Maybe when he was finally ready to die.
Maybe when he was convinced, once again, that death could bring about
peace. Then he could finally break down and weep and then take that
damned dagger.
The dagger was at Hogwarts.
The dagger had been in his possession while he had been at Hogwarts.
The dagger had been thrown down a hallway.
The dagger.
The damned dagger was a family heirloom.
Passed down from generation to generation.
The dagger was magic and would not rust. Would not break.
The dagger was protected by the Malfoys.
He had it with him the entire time.
He had kept it safe for reasons unknown.
For his subconscious whims.
Dear god...
Fool.
He was a complete fool not to have seen this before!
How could he have not figured this out? This ingratiating, maddening
puzzle that had always been at the back of his mind since taking that
potion. Since realizing that there was a power source. Since...
He needed to get that dagger and then..
And then what? His son was still lifeless. Still...still.
What good did it do to kill Voldemort now? What the hell good would
revenge do? What difference did it make? None.
It did nothing.
"I'm lost." A full crushing statement. Had Severus been anyone else,
he would have felt hands against his throat, a quick strangulation.
Death.
He would have been killed for that.
But this was Severus. This was...
And suddenly, he was crying. Silent tears, but still being shed.
Severus
"Lost. I feel lost."
A bland statement empty of feeling and yet full of meaning. Lost. Empty. Alone? Maybe. Afraid? Possibly.
What would it be like to loose a child? Severus had no idea. Weasley would, he pondered quietly to himself. Maybe the two should talk together? Maybe that would help Lucius....
But no. Severus won't let anyone near Lucius right now. He found himself being protective of Lucius. Death would be the result for any praying, unwanted eyes and ears. Lost. Severus had felt lost, once. Not so long ago. Drifting and meaningless, explanations of why and how impossible to explain, even to the most sympathetic and understanding ears. Words had been too difficult for him to form in his mind and it had been beyond him to actually be able to formulate words through sound or quill.
But that was wrong. Wrong for Lucius. Maybe this would just subdue the flow of words, rather than stopping it completely? Severus never had been much of a conversationalist, unlike Lucius who was notorious for his language skills.
He seemed dead, dead to the world and to Severus, despite the fact that the Potions Master had gone to lengths to keep him alive.
Dead to emotion, too. Again Severus tried to imagine himself in Lucius's situation, and again, failed. The failure of understanding only ignited more wrath against Voldemort inside him.
No sooner than he had secured Lucius to him, Voldemort had ripped him away again, throwing Lucius to the mercy of grief and anguish.
And there was nothing Severus could think of to help him. Nothing upon nothing.
Which again, stiffened his resolve to seek vengeance, to wreak havoc upon his newly acclaimed nemises.
The darkness of his rage shone down on him in his mind, blinding him with its furocity. Someone had once told him that only Light shone, where as Darkness was merely there, lurking, waiting for a chance to mug a helpless victim. They had told him that to be free of the Darkness, he would have to fight himself free of it. At the time he had merely shrugged a languid agreement, not feeling up to having to endure an argument he knew he would lose.
But now.. Now he knew with a swirling anger that Darkness shone too. It shone too brightly to see, too brightly for any other person to see it at all.
Severus could see it though, and would never be free of it. It shone it's blinding, scorching Darkness, filling and emptying the mind, destroying and creating. It was so much more than Light could ever be.
More powerful.
More potent.
"I'm lost."
More cruel.
Someone else had told him he wasn't ambitious enough to be a true Slytherin. They were wrong too.
He had ambition. An ambition to have this Darkness in his control, in his power. He had worked towards it almost feverishly in his youth - another reason why he had welcomed the Lord into his life.
He was the Dark Lord, after all, so surely....
But no. He had been nothing. He aimed for total and utter nothing-ness, destroying all and everything that Severus desired to have a modicum of control over.
True enough, at the time, he had also wanted to destroy the world as much as he wanted to live in it, but...
But the revenge in him had finally been sated. And then? And then he had been left with nothing.
But now, the revenge had been unstoppable rekindled as silent tears fell down Lucius's face.
Severus kissed the tears away, and said nothing. He had nothing to say. Instead, he rocked him gently, wrapping him in a safe, black cocoon with his robes.
And then the dark mixed with the light, bathing Severus in a horrible grey solution that threw him off balance.
Grey. The colour of the dead.
And he was being sacrificed by it..
Lucius
The game had been more than disbanded. It had been rocked off course,
spoiled by a move that should not have been taken, that was never
seen until the effect sank in.
There was no accounting for anything anymore.
He had made a false move. Of that, he was certain. What did anything
mean anymore?
Draco.
His Draco was gone. And all he had left were, what? Memories? Hopeful
wishes of days long past.
Everything to Lucius had always been structured.
Before the war, he lived his life in careful balance, rarely giving
in to the impulsive side of him, rarely taking chances or risks that
could hurt him in the long-run. Taught by Voldemort, he had learned
to accept that there were some things he could not change and some
things he should not change. Everything else was negotiable.
His major task had been getting from Point A to Point B with as
little alterations as possible.
During the war, his mind set had changed a bit. He found himself
needing to take risks in order to secure a lock hold within
Voldemort's ranks and to ensure the success of the Death Eaters. He
always chose to stay behind that little curtain and control things
that way. Not only did it cut down on any interruptions form the
Death Eaters and made him seem like some sort of spectral figure, it
also allowed him the freedom to take risks without putting himself in
jeopardy.
But there had been times when he had taken those chances, when he had
placed himself on the open road and waited for any cars to come by
and crush him. After testing the waters, he grew cocky, arrogant, had
nearly danced on the thin yellow line as the cars zoomed by him,
always cutting close but never hitting.
Gradually, he began to enjoy himself and, consequently, life a lot
more than he had before. Taking chances proved stimulating. But the
sensation wasn't as fun as when he had others to toy with. When he
placed other people on the line, he felt the effect that much more so
because the people were not him. They were unpredictable, had their
own flair.
To each their own. And he loved seeing their reaction. He even liked
seeing a few of the useless ones get hit by a car or a truck,
whatever happened to cross that line.
Sometimes, he envisioned himself as a victim, getting cut in half by
some run-away log truck. Sometimes, he saw himself as the one behind
the wheel. The radio would be blaring, the car lights would be on. He
would see a Death Eater standing on the road, his lights would
illuminate the mask, and the Death Eater would wave his arms
frantically, trying to get his attention.
He would still be waving even as the car sank into the bone and skin
of the wizard. The car would keep on moving despite the newly created
speed bump and the radio would continue to blast out the sounds of
Muddy Waters.
That should have been where it ended.
But it continued down from there. After the war, he had grown into
seclusion, now with a child, now with a wife.
Now without his mentor and Death Eaters. Yes, he considered the
bastards to be his.
All of them. Mulciber, Macnair, Notts, Karkaroff, Avery, Crabbe,
Goyle, Rookwood, even young Travers. The Inner Circle. They were all
his. Not Voldemort's. His.
Why? He didn't know. Maybe it was because something kept them all
binded together. Something intangible. A wretched past? A hatred for
the lower Death Eaters? The fact that they had been the intelligence
behind the Dark Side of the war?
Or did it run deeper?
Lucius was fairly certain it stemmed from the same reason why he had
kept Lily's diary with him for so long. She did not just provide a
good conversational partner.
And the same could be said with Harry Potter. Harry had been chosen
by Draco. With Draco gone, what was there to prevent him from kicking
out Harry? Nothing.
Except some unexplainable reason that he was trying desperately to
explain. The thought did not even occur to him to get rid of Harry
until now. And he knew he wouldn't be able to do it.
Why not? The boy was not his responsibility. No one in this Manor was
his responsibility. Draco had been his. As had Narcissa.
He had lost one while the other had always been lost.
In the span of one night, his life had ended and he was being forced
to re-evaluate his entire situation.
He hated evaluations. They never held anything good. They never told
him anything he didn't already know. It was simply a matter of
putting things in their proper perspective. And what was the proper
perspective?
Why did he keep Weasleys in his Manor? Why was the Mudblood still in
the house, probably going through his things, doing whatever she
wished. Why was he catering to them?
Because he didn't have a choice?
Because he feared Voldemort?
No. He always had a choice and, sadly enough, he no longer feared
Voldemort. No longer cared all that much about him.
Voldemort was nothing anymore. No longer Tom, no longer anything.
Just a thing that killed his son.
There was very little left of the Dark Lord that he truly cared about.
Emptiness filled him and he wondered how that was possible. To be so
filled up with nothing.
It didn't matter.
He dug a bit deeper, searching for something. An explanation of why
he should do anything anymore.
Lily. What was she to him?
A friend? A confidante? Someone who said she'd be there for him as
long as need be? Yes, something along those lines. Throughout the
years, he had grown a fond attachment to her. He didn't know exactly
what to call it, more of a "I would marry you if I weren't tied down
and aching for Severus" kind of thing. Or was it more of a "You're
the closest thing I've ever had for a friend. At least one who didn't
try to stab me in the back as soon as I turned around."
Lily was Lily. She lived in a diary, was the closest he had come to a
female intellectual equal, and one of the only three people he loved
to see smile instead of profane at him.
They had an odd relationship.
What was it she had said to him?
'He and Harry seem pretty devoted.'
Yes, they did.
'Maigre sur moi.'
Lean on me. And he had. He had for a very long time.
And then softly...'Lucius?'
Everything was always soft with her. Even the compassion she hid
between sarcasm and a slight motherly tone.
There were so many other words she had spoken to him throughout time.
So much more to still be said.
She was more than a friend. And he didn't know what to do about that.
And then there was Harry Potter. The kid who should have been his
enemy, but one that had been growing on him. Sort of like a fungus.
But Harry had, as he knew, been chosen by Draco, which kept up above
the others.
It also posted up a neon, flashing sign at him that clearly
said "Hands Off" when he was in a killing mood.
Potter.
Why in hell did he bother with him now that Draco was gone?
'You know, for a family that hates all things Muggle, you have a very
nice automobile...'
It had been a snide comment. Lucius had not taken it as such. And
then the kid had fixed the Rolls when it had stalled.
It would have been put down as nothing by anyone else but that
car..that car meant more to Lucius than anything else save for Draco
and Severus.
Harry's actions had excused him from later altercations that should
have made Lucius blind with fury. From finding out his son had fallen
in love with him, from Harry bleeding in his car, from trying to
convince Harry to come to the Manor. He had used simple, calm words
and actions to keep things going, not the usual harsh tactics he had
employed before.
And because of this, he should feel different?
No, he should feel the same. The world, however, should feel
different. And it did. It seemed almost calmer.
Hermione.
The little Mudblood. What was she? Why was she still here? Why was he
letting a Mudblood roam about his Manor?
Why should he care?
Because of simple formalities. Because of the give and take aspect.
If he was treated with kindness, he returned it to the person.
It was procedure. It kept Lucius' world spinning.
Hermione Granger. Harry's bushy-haired friend.
Who was displaying a brilliance beyond her years. Who could be useful
in the upcoming battle, but so what? Who cared for the battle or the
war anymore? If the Ministry could ignore it, no reason why he
couldn't.
But there was that fine line, drawn tightly against him. The line
that separated him from the Ministry.
He had inside information, so did they. But he had the intelligence
to realize what it for what it was worth.
And he had the cunning to make it work for him.
Hermione Granger.
What was she to him? What the hell did she mean?
She reminded him of Lily. Young, eager, incredibly bright. But
whereas Lily had her friends to turn to and her beloved James,
Hermione had her books.
Which could prove to be dangerous to her health.
He saw potential in her but there was something else. Something
hidden that he wouldn't allow himself to see. Not just yet.
And then there were the Weasleys. First there were two. Then there
was one. Now there is two again. Ginny Weasley's body had to be taken
care of, he reminded himself.
Ron Weasley was mourning the loss of his sister, murdered in front of
him.
Arthur.
Arthur had lost a daughter.
And Lucius found himself clinging onto Severus' robes, burying his
face into the deep, rich velvet, still crying but refusing to utter a
sound, and so he allowed his body to shake with the repressed sobs.
Arthur. He hadn't been able to sympathize completely with him because
he didn't know what it felt like to lose someone. No, not someone. A
child.
Was that what Severus was feeling now? Sympathy but incapable of
truly realizing how he felt? No doubt he was and because of that
Lucius tried to force himself to calm down.
He knew he was making the other man feel a bit helpless. Maybe even
angry. The aura drifted off him in waves, but, strangely enough, it
felt almost comforting. Anger, Lucius felt, was needed coming from
someone other than himself. He found himself unable to feel much of
anything besides deep-rooted sadness, guilt, and despair.
He did not want the other man to ache for him, to sympathize, to
pity. And he knew that Severus knew that as well. Perhaps that was
why he found such comfort in his arms. There was no sadness there,
only bitter anger. Severus was flowing with life at that point and
Lucius craved it, drank it in, hoping it would be enough to restore
himself as well.
Draco.
His beloved Draco was gone. And he wanted him back more than
anything. No, he wanted to be able to accept the fact that Draco was
gone and there was no going back and reclaiming him or restoring life.
Draco was a lifeless shell now. And death would be the best thing for
him.
'Father, I'm sorry...'
Draco had been crying when he said that. When it had all come down to
his choice between his father or Harry.
Lucius did not want to dwell on that. Did not want to thin about his
son in tears. Did not want to think about Draco being anything but
his usual self.
'I'm sorry! I'm sorry I was disloyal to you! I love you, Father! I'm
nothing without you! You're my mirror...my soul...'
Scum. He had been scum. Forcing his child to choose. A ridiculous
gesture. As though there should have been a debate.
Damnation. He should have left it alone, should have let Draco have
Harry, if only because it made him happy. Instead he had made the boy
even more miserable by allowing himself to get involved with dueling
the child and then to be seen by him with Severus.
Severus was no substitution. Severus was his, dammit!
And he had hated the boy then, for insinuating that Severus had been
second choice.
There was no second choice. Not then. Not now. Not when Draco had
been so happy with Harry and he had been fine with Severus.
'Please, Daddy...let me stay with you...forever....Just please...let
me be your little boy forever...'
He was crying harder now, gripping onto Severus even more tightly
than before. Still he would not allow the sobs to come about. He
could remember the panicked, frantic tones of the boy's voice, could
see the sadness and desperation in his eyes.
But, god help him, the voice was starting to fade even as it screamed
at him. He wanted to scream out his apologies, his words, his heart
felt messages to the boy. Go upstairs and shake him while telling him
he was proud of him.
But he didn't. He couldn't. It would do nothing and Draco would only
look at him with his empty eyes and slack expression. There was
nothing to be gained there. Not anymore.
Now, there was only Severus Snape. Alone in the room with Severus.
Not able to die because Severus was too fast, knew more than he did
about death even though he had witnessed it and initiated it so many
times earlier.
Severus.
'After all the time and effort it took me to get colonies breeding
down here? Not likely, Lucius, if the result is pretty little squeals
like that one. . .come in, by the way.'
You bastard, Severus. It never killed to be nice, did it? Ah, but
what did he expect from the Master of Sarcasm and Cynicism?
'I dread to think what you have in mind. . .'
He had had plenty in mind. But none of it consisted of what had
happened next.
Severus had stuck by him through the best and the worst and,
apparently, had no intention of backing out now.
In fact, he seemed determined to force Lucius into sharing the whole
miserable existence they called Life with him. Lucius should have
known that Severus would not grant him that courtesy. Temperamental
bastard that he was.
He was struck by the odd sensation that he wouldn't want to have it
any other way.
And then there was himself.
What in hell had he done so far? Where could he go now?
What was done for his son?
Draco.
He had betrayed the Dark Lord for him. He did not want to see the boy
grow up and become another, well, him. He did not want Draco to be
used, to be toyed with, to be made to dance like a puppet on strings.
The boy had been too innocent for such things, too naive in some
ways. He did not comprehend his father's way, could not do what
Lucius had done to ensure his own survival, which meant Draco would
be laid to waste soon enough.
Lucius would not have that.
So he turned traitor, keeping Draco blissfully ignorant of everything
in case Voldemort should finally catch up with them. Draco would be
spared while he would be executed.
It should have been perfect. They were to go to Dumbledore and that
would be it. Hidden away by Aurors and maybe even the Order.
It hadn't worked out like that.
Instead, they had taken in Weasleys, and Mudbloods, and Severus, and
now the Death Eaters. And the Manor had more stay-over visitors than
it had in a long time. And was certain to house more before the day
was through.
So, where had he gone wrong?
He wasn't exactly sure. From running over the Dark Lord, to vomiting
on him. From fucking Severus to having the man shove his car out of
Hogwarts. From gas stations to dinner parties. From Death Eaters to
Sirius Black. From torture to bliss. From agonizing loss to...what?
What came next?
He wasn't sure. He would never be able to find out unless he chose to
keep going.
The unknown called to him while the senseless emptiness beckoned him.
Where was he going?
Quo vadis, Lucius.
He was going to hell.
He was going to heaven.
And he knew he would be taking Severus along. No, Severus would
willingly accompany him, brooding all the while at either the harp
melodies or the endless bagpipe solos of their respective worlds.
Severus, the ever sulking but glorious lover.
Lily, the ever-resent confidante and friend.
Harry, the boy who might have been his son-in-law.
Hermione, the Mudblood who had changed into something else, or was
gradually changing.
Ron and Arthur, the ever constant Weasleys who made his life hell and
were always there for his amusement.
The Death Eaters, his brothers in arms and brothers even outside the
bloodshed.
Draco, the son he had lost but would find a way of gaining back,
either in spirit or in the flesh.
Even Narcissa with her vile ways and cold murdering proclivities.
And now, there was Sirius Black and Pansy Parkinson.
They were one hell of a dysfunctional family.
And Lucius did not bother to wonder just when he had started to think
about them in those terms. Instead, he simply felt a sort of
protective nature over them that he had over Draco.
That he still had over Draco.
All was not lost yet. As soon as he came out of this mood he was in,
he would reclaim his boy.
All was never lost.
And knowing that, made him feel better, if only slightly.
He would not bounce back. That he knew. Voldemort had scored a point,
had shot him down. But it was up to him whether or not he would stay
down. Everything was up to him as to his actions.
He could continue to go on or just die off. And, he knew, in death,
there was no respite. There was only more nothingness.
Severus was still holding onto him. He had felt the man kiss away his
tears before.
He still felt the anger rise off him.
"Severus." His voice sounded a bit choked. He trusted himself to
speak now, trusted himself not to let out a sob or harsh cry of
pain. "Are you okay?"
He wanted to make sure the other man wasn't feeling lost himself. Or
helpless or anything. He didn't want to effect him, didn't want to
cause him pain. There had been enough pain already.
Lily and Harry
OOC: Echo & I rp'd this out... and due to computers being as they are, both copies of the log were lost. This is my attempt, with Echo's permission, to put the essense of what occured back together.
Severus
Lucuis. Lucius, Lucius, Lucius... what was he to Severus? What do he mean to him? Why was he so anxious for Lucius to live whilst countless others - others who should have meant more to Severus than Lucius ever should have - have died by Severus's own hand? While Severus had watched emotionless, feeling nothing but a slight ebbing of his revenge as it was fed.
Why, you, Lucius? Why?
He couldn't see the ring he had given to Lucius before (before when? It felt like years ago..), but was sure that it was still in place. That was what Lucius meant to him. He was a blue diamond, rare, expensive, exquisite and flawless. Beside him was always himself, jet black, reflecting and letting through no light, but always next to Lucius, something to show the diamond off to its best advantage, if he could. And together they lay in platinum, the hardest of metals. It would not tarnish nor age, it would not become malformed or flawed. It was take more than the threat of light scratches, or the chance of slight heat to separate the stones set in their perfection. It held them set together fast, not being able to leave, even if they wanted to. They could not part, they could not drift.
He was Lucius's lover. He would give up being anything else, everything else to remain that way.
Lucius was his lover. That meant that whatever happened, that Severus would support Lucius. Support Lucius in his own twisted, cynical, bitter, biting way. It was times like these Severus disliked his personality immensely.
But Lucius... Lucius was more or less the opposite to himself, like the diamond, bright and sparkling was the opposite to the jet stone, dark and dull.
He could laugh when it was not funny, he could talk when it was impossible to make a sound, he would rule the world in a way that was a tyranny, but no-one would complain. He was an aristocrat, an actor, a mimic and a tactitain. A tactician of the highest kind. He lived his games, took calculated gambles and more often than not, won. He was not infallible, he was not entirely sane.
But he was Severus's, so it didn't matter. There were never any words, with Severus, whilst there were thousands waiting to be spoken with Lucius. Severus let him speak, listening, sometimes with amusement, sometimes with anger, sometimes with disagreement, sometimes with cynicism, sometimes with fear and sometimes with hate - and always with... love.
Love. That word. That word Severus hated above all others. It was a lie, he had screamed in silent fury, once. There was no love, there was no life, only death and those too weak to seek it. And then he had sneered into nothing, the dark unyielding emptiness of his dungeons.
His dungeons... how he longed to take Lucius away from all this. He wished - yes, wished, yes, dreamed, yes, longed. Lucius was worth taking chances for. He wished that he could make this stop for him, but knew that it would be impossible.
'I always ask for the impossible'. But never expect to get it. So why ask? Because. Because if he didn't, then he would have nothing to dream of, however much he crushed the dreams underfoot, like an unwanted daisy.
Maybe he could take Lucius away from this, for a short time. Take him back to his house in the Forbidden Forest, where it was quiet, where the silence was soothing and repairing. Where there was a relatively small, yet well selected library and three labs to play with.
But no.
Now he was thinking and catering for his own needs, not Lucius's. Besides, to leave now would mean they would have to return. And returning to a place where nothing but darkness shone relentlessly was never pleasent.
One of the torches that lined the walls of the labs flickered and went out.
The labs had only two windows, as it was underground, as far as Severus could work out. The torches were the main source of light.
The darkness cast by the absence of light calmed his anger a little. Blindness was more reassuring sometimes, more so than seeing shadows.
Shadows. Darkness cast by light. Light was a two edged sword, a back-stabbing, lying hypocrite. Darkness was darkness alone, did not cast areas of light that hid behind objects. Darkness was complete and ultimate. It was all and everything. It would never leave.
It would never leave.
It was a swirling entity, a single black fury, a single violin solo of despair. A single lament for what was destined not to be. It was the singular quiet apathy of depression, whilst it was the screaming, howling, raging winds of grief. It came, cloaked in fiery reds and oranges, the Gentlemen Anger, and ruled its tyranny before being overthrown by the creeping, ache that was left inside. Sometimes the ache was of regret, sometimes it was the ache of being burnt out by anger.
It was a twisted game Lucuis had been playing - but then, his games were always to twisty to follow. A quote came to mind, out of the depths of Severus's well read mind.
'They would hang him, but they couldn't find a rope twisty enough.'
How true. How sickeningly true. The world was in fear, awe and lust of Lucius. It wanted to kill him, see him burn as much as they needed him to live. He was a sustenance, and the world leeched off him visibly. And Lucius equally leeched the life out of the world, though subtly, in the ways of a true Slytherin, taking it where it would only be missed later. Later when he was far away.
Everything Lucius did was important. It had an effect. Everything had cause and everything had meaning.
Severus was not afraid to see the man he loved cry. Was not scared to see someone who maintained so much control cling to him like a child. He was not disgusted nor was he sneering. He was not honoured nor flattered by the attention.
This was what Lucius meant to him. Someone he had let in, and was now savouring the result. There was power in every thought and in every mind. There was no good and evil, but there was definitely shades of black, white and grey.
And what was grey, but white that had got dirty?
Severus had become the grey parts many years before, feeling the pulls of both black and white trying to rip him in half. Trying to destroy him. Grey was death, while white was life.
Black was power.
Power had never been evil, nor had lust for power been evil. It was the wielders who made it, twisted it and corrupted it to be so.
Perhaps this was why so many sought power. It was a useful commodity, bought and sold, all the while it was twisted easily into the shape it's owner wanted it to be.
But it was addictive, like smoking, like drugs. It was a drug. The more you had, the higher you went, and the harder you fell.
Severus had fallen, painfully so.
And now.. was Lucius falling? He hoped not. He had once longed to see the eldest Malfoy fall. Had plotted, had planned, intent on making him pay for the sins and crimes he had not known he had commited. Severus had been Lucius's unseen enemy.
But times change.
What will be, will be.
Whatever happens, happens.
Sooner done, sooner forgotten.
All phrases so typical of the fatalistic Severus who cared little or nothing for himself and the world. He doubted that Lucius agreed with any one of them. He controlled his own fate, he savoured what was done, he refused to lay down and take it without a fight.
And maybe Severus was like that too.
He was certainly not going to stand for this... Another torch flickered out. Severus wondered why they were extinguishing. Maybe they felt Lucius's despair? It sounded stupid to anyone who was unacquainted with the rather singular relationship Lucius held with the Manor. The walls here truly did have ears, like windows had eyes and everything had a voice with which it informed it's master of the goings on around the Manor.
Were the torches the same? Severus shrugged the idea off. They had been burning for quite a long time now, anyway. More than likely they were just coming to the end of their lives.
Severus looked up at the shelves and cupboard of bottles that filled the labarotry. The remaining light reflected off them, making them shine with pinpricks. Like tiny stars.
Stars.
Stars that he could reach up and touch if he so wished. Stars that he could make and destroy as he wished. Was it any wonder he loved Potions? To make, to utilise, to destroy, to temper them with antidote, to increase strength with blood, to catalyze with quicksilver, to dilute with water, to disguise in a thousand ways. Severus was in control here. There was nothing that he couldn't do with these bottled liquids. Not all of them were liquids either.. it was possible and sometimes necessary to make a potion into a pill formation. Something that Severus was less fond of, though he relished the challenge. There was less skill required, however, once one knew the basics.
Another torch flickered out, leaving one end of the room in darkness, darkness that Severus wore like a shroud. It was in the dark that he became untouchable. No one could see, no one would now. Secret crimes could be commited. In darkness lust was justified, thoughts were paid attention to and the senses became heightened.
Maybe this was the end. Maybe this was death. Perhaps after this Voldemort would recognise that his final defier had fallen. Perhaps that unspeakable wretch was already invading Severus's safe space, in his labs at the castle, contaminating and destroying... however many wards Severus could have put up, Voldemort would take them down. He could only hope to delay the fiend.
Thoughts came to him that he had declined himself for many years. He wondered which potions would have been used for the transformations Voldemort had gone under. Which curses, which hexes...
He had a faint idea of which potions, but so disfigured from one shape was Voldemort, that it was impossible to know. So many spells and potions had resulted in this monster. So many nightmares rolled into one.
So much....
So much pain.
"Severus."
A voice. That voice. Shaking him out of his dementia. Severus looked at the man he held so close to him, the man who could sell the world.
"Are you okay?"
Was he ok? Severus smiled faintly, a smile cloaked by the descending darkness.
"That is more of a question for you, Lucius," he commented softly. He didn't know how to answer it. He didn't know if he was ok or not. He was falling back into the old trend of revenge and looking for someone to place the blame on. That was not ok. He was angry, more angry that usual, and that was not ok either. He was concerned about Lucius. Concern was something, while growing more accustomed to, he was still not entirely used to. He was not ok, because Lucius was not ok. But take him away from Lucius and he was alright. Brooding once again, but alright.
"But since you ask," he added, knowing that Lucius had asked for an answer, not a rebuke of an answer, "I am relatively alright, if concerned about you."
You, you, my love, my life. My soul, my lover, my desire, my hatred. You, my master, my slave. My life, and my death. My all and everything. I am concerned. Do not begrudge me that in your wishes for my wellfare.
"When shall we three meet again? In thunder lightening or in rain? When the battle's lost and won, when the hurly-burly's done. That will ere the set of sun. Where the place? Upon the heath. There to meet with Macbeth," he quoted quietly.
Who was the three to whom he referred? Himself, Lucius and... Draco. Or Voldemort. Or Tom.
Only Severus knew that they would never meet Draco or Tom again. Neither of them were truly dead, which left....
Which left only Voldemort.
"Fair is foul and foul is fair, hover through the fog and filthy air."
Maybe Lucius would understand what he meant. What he was trying to say with those words. The words of the three weird sisters so typical of Shakespeare's age's belief.
The maiden, the mother and the crone.
The weird sisters, the puppeteers of the Scottish Play, playing on Macbeth's ambitions for their own ends. Dangerous, powerful and utterly evil. Dark and black, the midnight hags.
They had played dangerous games of power and fate, just as Lucius played. They had succeeded in their plots.
And Severus refused to let Lucius fail in his. There was no pride in this, no foolish bravery, no stunning intellect, no unending loyalty, not even sneaking ambition. All that was left now was the fiery determination of the damned.
Lucius would not fall. He would not fail.
Arthur
The silence that had fallen in the library while Arthur waited for Hermione to reply was suddenly broken by the opening of a door.
Arthur Weasley turned to see who the intruder was, and failed to recognise the young lady that stood before them totally.
She said nothing, so he took it upon himself to greet her.
"Hello.. I'm afraid I don't know who you are? I'm Arthur Weasley... Do you know Hermione, here?"
He should have felt surprised at the sudden appearance of a young lady who was obviously not of Malfoy blood.
But right then, he didn't feel up to being surprised by anything.
Lucius
He had caught that smile. The darkness could not hide everything from
him. Only then did he realize that the torches had started going out.
And that shouldn't be. Darkness was on thing but Lucius craved the
light.
No, he craved temporary, nondamaging light. Nothing that would burn
or destroy him. The light that he could control.
He placed a hand, palm down flat, upon the floor of the lab. Faster
than any lumos spell, for the Manor knew its Master, the torches lit
themselves up, casting the glowing orange fire out of their mouths,
illuminating the potions lab and making it warmer.
The light. When had he learned to fear the light?
When did he learn to fear anything?
It occured to Lucius than that he lived a life of lies. The light
being just one of them.
Voldemort.
He feared Voldemort.
A lie.
He was a Pureblooded wizard.
A half truth. He held a smidgen of veela blood within him as well
as...the disease.
And that was another lie in it of itself. His mother acquired the
disease, had a difficult pregnancy because of it, had infected him
with it.
And that set off a whole new slew of lies.
His mother was dead.
A lie.
And how long had he been lying to himself, to others? Long enough to
start believing everything. Long enough to disregard the truth as
nothing. Long enough to continue to play this sick game with himself.
Not with others, with himself.
How far will he go? What means would he use?
His only motto now hung by a thread. 'The Ends Always Justify the
Means.'
Little it meant when it was his son that had to be sacrificed.
His tongue darted out and tasted a tear.
Salty. Sticky. Thick.
Thick? He tasted another and decided that it would be a definite good
thing to keep his face buried in Sev's robes.
Blood. He was crying blood.
Made illogical sense, really. He had never cried in front of anyone.
Had never thought he had any tears to shed. And now, with the true
descendance of utter misery coming down upon him, now that he knew
that he could cry, now that he cried with grief not for himself but
for another, now the blood came.
And it would continue to flow soon enough.
"That is more of a question for you, Lucius."
He would be fine so long as life would stay like this. Lost in a
potions lab, the only light coming from torches, the darkness
covering everything else. Lost somewhere between oblivion and
reality. Lost in Severus' dark folds of cloth, knowing that he would
have to move at some point, hoping that he never would.
"But since you ask, I am relatively alright, if concerned about you."
His breathing hitched and his nails dug into the dark robe before
him. Concerned. So much better than pity. So much better than
sympathy. Concern was not harmful, not detrimental. Safe even.
"When shall we three meet again? In thunder lightening or in rain?
When the battle's lost and won, when the hurly-burly's done. That
will ere the set of sun. Where the place? Upon the heath. There to
meet with Macbeth."
And now his Dark God was spouting Shakespeare. Lucius allowed him to
speak while he listened.
Severus, no doubt, figured he would understand the meanings of what
he was saying, how it applied to this situation. He wasn't sure if it
was for the purpose of making him feel slightly better or for testing
the waters of his own. Wanting to see if Lucius could still figure
things out through his grief and despair.
Lucius felt a slight tinge of anger course through him. Of course he
couldn't get the meaning. Who could in this position? In this
situation? And how should it make him feel better?
The anger then left as he felt his mind suddenly attack the puzzle
that had been placed before him. Instinctual drive. Nothing more,
nothing less.
He lived for the game, it was his most basic instinct, a primal urge.
We three?
Yes, himself, Severus, and another. Who was the other?
He would say Voldemort but it couldn't be him. No, the three were
meaning three allies of such.
And there would have to be three. A triangle, a trinity. Father, son,
and holy ghost. Three was the blessed number.
There was still another to come, then.
And while Severus didn't know it, Lucius did. There was either one
more who would come into the game, one that might even be there that
he didn't know about or one that still had to arrive.
Three united by goals and the internal love of power, corruption, and
control. Either over themself or others. A unity of some form. A
binding of another.
"Fair is foul and foul is fair, hover through the fog and filthy air."
Do we keep playing, Severus, or do we end this here? Do we wait for
Voldemort to come or do we meet him head on? Do we continue or do we
die?
He loosened his grip upon the man. It would be easier to stop. It
would cost less in the long run.
Fair is foul...
The lovely contradiction.
The ever-so charming game.
He had once loved it so. Had once danced in it, reveled in either the
spoils or the consequences. In truth, he would have to say that he
loved the consequences more. They would bring about pain or death for
another and the game would continue on until he won. If he won the
first time, it would end too quickly.
Endings.
Draco was not an ending.
A beginning to a new era, perhaps?
Anything but an ending.
This was a dangerous mentality to have. He knew that. He knew what
could happen to his own mind if he finally realized that there was
nothing to be done about Draco's condition. He would probably snap
faster than a stretched rubber band.
But this was the mentality he always carried with him before. The one
that hung on the edge of suspicions, doubt, and uncertainty. It was
the mentality that had earned him the looks and the names of "crazy"
and the like. If only because this mentality called for the near
impossible, for the taking on of a task that only he could truly see
the end in, that he could see the light within.
It was futile to try and explain it. Futile to tell any other. Even
if he wanted to, the right words would be impossible. How does one
describe an insane hope? A crazed dream? An idea that should never
take merit?
Like Severus, he too wanted the impossible.
And he knew that the impossible would never truly be his.
But he would be damned if he couldn't create his own world, filled
with the impossible that would become very possible under his touch,
his guidance.
Voldemort had always looked to him to achieve what he wanted. He and
the Dark Lord had built up a world before.
There was no reason why he could not do so again. And this time,
there were others with him. Others who may not have set their ideals
so high, but others who wanted this to succeed.
Severus would be there.
Severus would always be there.
As night was to day.
He hoped he wasn't still crying. Hoped even more that the blood had
been rubbed off on Severus' robe. He would pay for the cleaning if
need be. He wondered if it had stained him.
Severus.
"It doesn't matter how dirty we get. We can always wash our hands off
with blood." His voice was muffled but rose clearer than his previous
words had done. "Will you be there for me, Severus? Will you stand
with me throughout anything? Will you follow me through hell and back
if I swear to you that I'll keep you alive and out of harm's way?
Will you believe me when I say that the fire cannot touch you, cannot
harm you? Will you allow the fire to melt the ice?"
He risked raising his hand to his own face, touched the wetness,
pulled it back and tasted it.
Like honey. He was stained with its sweetness.
"Or am I asking too much?"
Pansy
Pansy starred blankly at them. Oh, he was a Weasley all right. That red hair... And Hermione Granger. Pansy knew her well enough. She had slapped her Draco once! Pansy didn't allow her eyes to narrow in anger and confusion. She could not allow any feelings to come to surface right now. She could not think of Draco...
She cleaned her mind. The man was waiting for an answer!
"Hermione and I are in the same year, yes. My name is Pansy Parkinson, Mr. Weasley."
What the hell where they doing there? It didn't matter much... she didn't really care. All she needed was help, no matter from who.
"I, uh, wanted to do some research in ancient forms of magic..." she paused. "Am I interrupting something?"
Hermione