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( 1981 )
“Prove it.”
Lucius Malfoy, JKR.
I – Performance Art.
So this is how demons sleep, thought Severus Snape, disenchanted. Like babes.
Earlier that morning he had visited Lucius` cell, only to discover the accused remained a-bed, the tall man`s angular frame creating hollows of shadow within the thin sheets. Curled and foetal on the tiny bunk, Lucius` face was for the most part concealed, and only the prominent point of his nose jutted beyond the fraying hem of the blanket. Strands of the Death Eater`s blonde hair cascaded over the edge of his pillow and across the floor, the fartherest tresses overlapping the bars of his prison.
He was snoring, too – a soft wuffling noise, like a sick child`s laboured breathing.
( Air.. air.. )
The stony-faced prison warden was under strict instructions to permit Lucius rest, pending the man`s scheduled interview with Grogan Stump. Even the most eloquent of Severus` pleas failed in convincing him to rouse the sleeper. Forced to wait in the lobby of the Ministry`s court until Lucius woke of his own accord, Severus kicked gloomily at the floor, his rising impatience vented on the thinning carpet.
Two hours later he heard his name called from the reception desk.
“Severus Snape?”
“Yes?”
“Mr. Malfoy will see you now.”
The Ministry prison had more in common with a hospital than a true, Azkaban-style dungeon. Chemical odours burdened the air of its corridors, a too-sweet stench which caused Severus to feel vaguely nauseous. A dull light illuminated bare walls and vinyl tiles; the latter echoed eerily beneath Severus` even tread. It`s sparseness was somehow forboding; it spoke of an asylum, a far more sinister proposition in many ways than the traditional chains and whips could ever be.
Lucius` cell was at the very end of the hall, where the Ministry locked away potentially violent prisoners. At the door the warden placed his hand on Severus` shoulder; and Severus, faintly repulsed by this physical familiarity, turned.
“You have half an hour.”
“I see.”
“If I hear anything..”
“I`m sure I`ll be quite fine. I don`t think he`s in any position to hurt me.”
The warden shook his head. “I`m going to have to take your wand, Mr. Snape. You can have it back when you get out.”
Affronted by the implication, Severus bared his teeth. Since his arrival in London four days previously, he`d become bitterly conscious of the resentful glances cast his way, and the murmurs of rumour and hearsay which rose to a cresendo every time he departed a room. The warden`s transparent skepticism was nothing new to him, but familiarity with such blatant distrust did nothing to soften the sting of its bite.
If the situation were different, Severus would have launched immediately into a vehement spiel regarding his loyalty to the Ministry and its designs. But time – time was of the essence, now. With an angry glare he removed his wand from the pocket of his coat and tossed it into the warden`s hefty palms.
“Are we satisfied?” he hissed.
“We`ve had a lot of prisoners attempt escape,” the warden cautioned. “I wouldn`t try anything, mate, if I were you.”
“I had no intention of it. I`m afraid you`re not my type.”
He found some fleeting satisfaction in the sudden contortion of the warden`s features. Unable to formulate a dignified reply, the man dodged aside, and hauled open the heavy cell door – deliberately putting as much distance between himself and Severus as possible.
“You needn`t be so jumpy. I`m sure it`s not catching,” said Severus, his lips tapering to a smirk. “Unless there`s something about you I should know about..”
Awarding himself a moment`s mental congratulation, he brushed past the horrified warden and entered Lucius` prison.
Like all of the cells reserved for Death Eaters, this one contained a dual enclosure – the stone walls, as impervious to magic as the iron-welded door, and then, at the precise center of the room, a smaller, barred cubicle bolted to the ground and ceiling. Vertical rods of metal were hemmed by a solid, concrete runner, which elevated the floor of the inner cell some four inches above the outer one.
It was furnished only with the bare essentials: a bunk, a wash basin and a solitary chair – and it was on this chair that the Death Eater currently perched, his slim fingers trailing lithely through the weft of his long hair. Following his arrest, the guards had evidently seen fit to strip his clothes from him along with his wand. Lucius wore a plain grey prisoner`s robe, the dull hue of the fabric serving to hieghten the unhealthy pallor of his skin. The purpling of a bruise stained his left cheek, and another coloured the flesh of his upper arm: wounds he`d no doubt sustained in the tummult of his capture.
Yet he remained straight backed and regal, even in this pauper`s costume. Severus recalled the behavior of those Death Eaters he`d seen paraded through the Azkaban courts in the past few weeks: some weeping, some cursing.. but all of them seeming so very small, so incredibly crushed after the downfall of their Dark Lord.
But there was nothing defeated about Lucius Malfoy. He remained elegant and aloof, apparently completely indifferent to the nature of his plight. Upon noticing Severus` entrance, his hands fled his hair and reclasped themselves on his lap.
A school boy`s composure, this: grey-eyed, attentive. For all the world Lucius might have been a student awaiting, breath-baited, the acknowledgement of his teacher.
But he always did enjoy reversing roles, replaying history in rewind..
“Lucius,” said Severus.
“Good morning, Mr. Snape.”
A prolonged silence ensued.
“My sleep was remarkably sound, with very few dreams,” said Lucius. “Thank you for asking.”
He yawned, delicately, but didn`t cover his mouth. He turned his head slightly to one side, and his hair unravelled in the motion, a tendril coiling sinuously toward Severus` feet.
“I would absolutely murder a cigarette,” said Lucius.
It was a request Severus had anticipated. He`d never been a smoker himself, but today he`d swallowed his pure-blood misgivings and ventured into a dismal Muggle cornerstore, en route to the Ministry. There he had purchased a tiny plastic bic and a black and silver wrapped container of cigarettes with a handful of tiny, tarnished Muggle-coins. Unsure of Lucius` brand, he`d made his choice based on the artistic aesthetic of the packet.
Without a word he withdrew them both from his pocket; he extended these gifts towards the bars.
“You`ll have to light it for me,” said Lucius. “I`m not allowed to play with fire.”
Severus opened the packet, and noticed, to his annoyance, that his fingers were shaking.
“You have to inhale whilst you li–”
“I know how to fuc– I know how to light a cigarette, Malfoy.”
“If you say so.”
As Severus passed the lit cigarette through the bars, Lucius half-rose to take it. Their fingers touched; their eyes met. Lucius drew his thumb slowly along the underside of Severus` index, pausing at the tip: a delicate intimacy. A promising intimacy. In the silver-mirrors of Lucius` eyes Severus saw his face breifly replicated, furrows of worry knotting his brow.
And then, without taking the cigarette from Severus` grasp, Lucius lowered his head, and touched his lips to the filter.
He inhaled in a silence punctuated only by Severus` ragged breathing.
“You are so very kind,” said Lucius.
He was holding the bars, now, supporting himself on an angle so that his head remained level with the cigarette. His glasses were slipping down his nose, their balance skewed to the left. Severus fought the urge to reach out and adjust the rectangular rims.
“You`re – older, aren`t you,” the Death Eater murmured. “Hardly jail-bait any more..”
There was a madness to his allure, Severus knew. His was the attraction of a cripple: people were drawn to him by their desire to heal, to restore. Lucius had never been a handsome man, Severus reflected. His face was the blueprint of a charicature – close-set grey eyes, a tapering, sharp nose, a broad mouth with lips so thin as to be invisible, and ears whose upper cusps narrowed to a definate point. The whole these anomalous features combined to create was altogether too angular, too elfin to be conventionally beautiful.
He was a flawed creature, languid, unassuming, and purposefully vapid. Severus had known him to go to great lengths to prove himself fallible in the past – the Death Eater`s ability to manipulate relied entirely on the fact that others believed he posed no threat. Each mistake the man made was vindicated by its secondary purpose. A quick mind resided behind those vacant silver eyes: a cunning, Slytherin brain. His blatant errors and irreverant faux pas were a facade, part of a long-running performance of duplicity which starred a thousand differing personalities, all with little in common saving that they shared the same body.
Lucius, the actor. Wasn`t it Marcel himself who`d tagged his brother a ‘wolf in sheep`s clothing’?
Today, it appeared that Lucius was playing an aristocratic simpleton – innocuous, polite, and wholly unassuming of anything beyond his immediate attention. For a mind like Severus`, a mind that could not abide disorder of any kind (whether it was the misaligned slope of a painting, or the see-saw slant of a pair of spectacles..) this lazy attitude proved a temptation impossible to withstand.
“Hardly jail-bait at all..” Lucius continued, quietly, strumming his fingers along the bridge of his thigh.
“I`m twenty one.”
“And yet you come here, ah – to my jail, and bait me..”
Severus scoffed. “Who`s baiting who, exactly?”
Lucius drew on the cigarette a second time and exhaled a fog of smoke toward the ceiling, gazing upward through the hap-hazard lenses.
“You tell me,” he said.
Severus reached through the bars and repositioned Lucius` glasses on the bridge of his nose.
“Thank you,” said Lucius.
And then another silence, as uncomfortable as the one which had preceeded it. A palpable tension ebbed between them; a deliberate tension – this was a quietude imbued with the undertones of sex and violence. At a pinch, Lucius was capable of either. Apprehensively, Severus watched the Death Eater`s lips press against his own fingers to intake another lungful of nicotein.
Lucius` breath was chilly against his palm, like a winter`s night-breeze.
(A horse drawn carriage. December in London. An Auror, a Death Eater, and a proud, damaged youth just out of school..
1979.)
“They all despise me,” said Severus, presently. “I risked my life for them. If Voldemort – even if Marcel had ever found out – I would have been killed; without trial, without question. You`d think a little gratitude wouldn`t be out of order.”
“I am so terribly sympathetic,” drawled Lucius. “My poor, misjudged defector..”
“At least you get a trial,” said Severus.
The blonde brows twitched: a nerve struck, perhaps? “Don`t you dare presume to trade miseries with me, Severus,” the Death Eater reprimanded him. “Ah – at least, not until you stand on the same side of the bars.”
Severus smirked at the sheer audacity of the man`s order, and rapped at the cage with his free hand. “Can you stop me?” he asked.
“Maybe..”
The Death Eater shot forwards – oh, but he could move quickly, this demon.. The suceeding moments passed in a blur of pain, and the next thing Severus knew was the harsh chill of the man`s cold breath directly against his face, the weight of Lucius` hands entangled in his hair, and the sore places on his temples where he`d bumped against the bars. It had all happened too fast to resist; he hadn`t the time to so much as think of dodging away. Off-balanced, his feet slipping on the concrete floor, Severus struggled vainly to stay upright, his hair tearing at the roots..
Shouldn`t have gotten so close.. Should have stayed back, where it was safe.. Shouldn`t have risked..
He was caught; he`d fallen for Lucius` ruse, and now the only thing he could do was fight back. Severus let go of the cigarette, thrust both his arms through the cage and grappled doggedly for Lucius` neck. He knew he should be afraid at this point, held as he was in the grip of a murderer, but instead he felt only an intensity of rage – it clouded his sense of reason. He cursed his reflexes, and Lucius, too, for so effectively lowering his guard in a matter of minutes..
Then, by chance, his flailing hands managed to seize upon the Death Eater`s pale throat, and with a panted yelp of victory he clung on. Lucius froze as he felt the collar of Severus` fingers fit about his neck, and gave Severus` hair a malicious jerk in response. Ignoring the rending agony of his scalp, Severus grimly tightened his grasp, degree by patient degree. The silver eyes widened marginally – in fear? shock? (or, horror of horrors, arousal?). Lucius` tongue gasped out between the slight partition of his lips – he released a soft, strangled note, but no plea.
I could throttle him, right here. It would be that easy.
The Death Eater`s face was already tinged with blue. Beneath his thumb, Severus could discern the rapid change of pulse in the man`s jugular. Small beads of dampness prickled visibly from the clear skin.
“Now here`s the million galleon question, Luc,” Severus whispered hoarsely. “Do you scream first, or do I?”
Lucius didn`t make a sound. A vein had begun to protrude from his forehead, blue and oxygenless; his nostrils flared like those of an indignant horse. The man`s whippet-thin body was beset by tremors, spasmic twitching beyond his conscious control. Ever so slowly, his fingers loosed themselves from Severus` hair.
“Scream. Go on. Scream. Let them come in and find us like this.”
The silver eyes dilated, and rolled backwards. Lucius` arms fell lifelessly from Severus` shoulders to droop by his sides.
“Scream. I said, scream, you shit.”
There was no reply.
Severus released him. The Death Eater`s body hit the ground with a sickly thud and remained there, prone.
For a second which lasted an aeon, a true understanding of what he`d done rushed through Severus` brain.
I`ve killed him. This time I`ve really done it. I`ve..
Then:
“Haaaaaah.. haaaaah..”
Lucius trembled, folding himself into that same foetal position he assumed in slumber. Beneath the curtain of his hair he choked against the ground, spitting phlegm and saliva, his sharp nails tearing against the stone floor. Prostrate and near-death he was graceless; all semblance of his earlier serenity had vanished.
“Serves you right,” said Severus, but the words sounded hollow, even to him, the echo of some childish schoolyard taunt rather than an adult rejoiner.
“Haaaaaah..” came the only response.
Defeated, in body if not in mind, the Death Eater pressed his forehead to the cold floor and shivered.
Severus watched him convulse in silence until the warder came.
*
“I do not recall what happened. I – there is a lot of time I do not remember. There are the edges of it. But not the whole.”
“And you say you were under the Imperius curse, until You-Know-Who `s defeat?”
“Je ne sais pas. I do not know. I only know that when they siphoned my memories into the pensieve, there was only blackness within. And to my knowledge there is no way to tamper with the magic of a pensieve.”
“We have many witnesses who state that you not only followed You-Know-Who, but you were also considered by most to be his right hand man.”
“No. Ha ha. Surely you jest. Not me. Mon pere – oui. My brother. M-m.. Mar–”
“Mr. Malfoy?”
“..no. Yes. I.. what was the question?”
“How could you be seen to be You-Know-Who`s right hand man if you were under the Imperius curse? You would have been no more than a zombie, if that were the case.”
“Zombie? Ha ha. Maybe. No.”
“You are admitting to your crimes, then?”
“I do not know. You are talking to a man who has recently woken up to discover that he has a son. I did not know this. I saw him the other day; my wife brought him to me. I saw this little creature who looked just like me. I did not remember. It was – a shock. I was allowed to hold him. So very – petit! C`est incredible – it was incredible. He cried a little, and I rocked him, and he fell asleep. He was holding my finger. Like this – regarde.”
“Sir..”
“I wanted to hold him forever. But they had to take him away. I think I – I –”
“Do you want some time, Mr. Malfoy?”
“No. No. I am quite fine. I am just – how would you say it? I am emotional. It was a very wonderful thing.”
“Severus – get the man a hankerchief.”
“Merci beac– Thank you. You are so very kind. Where were we? I am so sorry. My mind – keeps wandering.”
“According to our sources you spent many years in France. There, apparently, you led the revolution – working without supervision from other Death Eaters. How can you say you did so while under the curse?”
“I do not know. Je ne – I do not remember France. No. I do. I was there on holiday. With my mother. Non. No. My mother is dead. I was hiding. My father said he would kill me. I had no where else to go..”
“What is the last thing you remember, Mr. Malfoy? Before You-Know-Who`s defeat.”
“Some little things. A snake. Fire. A lot of fire. People running – I was running, too. I – there was.. no. I do not want to talk about this. I do not remember anything.”
“You spent a lot of time in the company of the Auror, Frank Longbottom. He`s told us he is convinced you were in full possession of your faculties at all times.”
“Ha.”
“Well, Mr. Malfoy..?”
“Ha. F-Frank. Tu rigole. Ha ha. He is a liar and a pervert. You should not listen to him.”
“Frank Longbottom is one of the most reliable Aurors working for the Ministry. What motivation would he have to lie?”
“He – no. I will not talk about that, either. You will have to ask him. Ask him what he did to me. Ask him that. I do not remember many things, but I remember what he did. That is clear. They saw that in the pensieve. It was the only thing that remained. After they saw it, they treated me a little better. Ha ha. First they beat me, then they apologised. It was amusing. But I did not laugh much at the time.”
“I see.”
“I remember one thing, though. I remember waking up, afterwards. And my wife told me that it was over. She said everyone was talking about it. Voldemort was dead. I did not know who – she explained it to me. I thought I was going mad. Am I mad? I do not know. She said we were in danger. I went for help..”
“You were in danger? Why?”
“My wife told me – she is very beautiful, you know – she said to me that we had been dreaming. It was all over now, but we had done bad things. In the dream. We were sleepwalking. She started to cry. I – this is painful –”
“Please try to go on, Mr. Malfoy.”
“I am hurting –”
“Mr. Malfoy?”
“I walked here. I live – many miles away. I think it is my mai– my house. No one else seems to want to claim it. It is mine; I have a bed and a room there. My son is there. I have – a son. It scares me. He – scares me. I think. I want –”
“You came here, and..?”
“I said I had been dreaming, but it was over. I thought I might have been a Death Eater. They – they took me and – brought me into a cell. I did not understand why. Then I found out I had done – very terrible things. I was – horrible. I – I do not know what to say. Je suis deso– I am sorry. I did not know. I – I –”
“A glass of water? Severus..”
“Non. No. Thank you. I am fine. You are so very kind. I – I am not that person. Sir. I – I want..”
“What do you want?”
“I want to go home, now. I want to see my son. My head hurts.”
“We`ll see what we can do for you, Mr. Malfoy.”
“Thank you. You are so very kind.”
*
In the hallway outside the make-shift inquisition room, the Minister of Magic compared notes with his aides. Severus stood behind them, keening to their conversation.
It had been a travesty, this trial – a gross example of the way in which the Ministry of Magic pandered to the upper classes of the wizard community. If anyone else had arrived on the doorstep, blatantly admitting to their criminal transgressions, they would have been sent immediately to the Council in Azkaban. There, a far harsher jury awaited to pass sentence, presided over by the redoubtable Barty Crouch. But Lucius – deranged as he appeared – remained a Malfoy, and a Malfoy`s purse had funded many of the Ministry`s past activities.
Severus` disgust at Grogan Stump`s clear discrimination was tempered with a sensation of relief. As a man functioning solely at the polar ends of madness and sanity, Severus doubted Lucius would have survived any lengthy encounter with the Dementor guards.
Nearly killed the man an hour ago; now I`m worried about his well being..
Massaging his bar-bruised forehead with his fingertips, Severus returned his attention to the three wizards discussing the precise nature of Lucius` psychosis. Sian Finnegan, a sandy-haired Irish witch, was in the midst of relating to the others exactly how Lucius had come into their (less than capable) hands.
“Walked right into the Ministry and told the clerk he thought he might have lost his mind,” the woman explained, consulting an overflowing clipboard of reference notes. “Said he was probably a Death Eater, but he wasn`t sure.”
“Wasn`t sure,” echoed Raj Patil, the other aide, his expression incredulous.
“They tried to bring him into custody, and he resisted,” Sian continued, ignoring the wizard`s interuption. “We had an all out fist fight in the lobby. Of course, Malfoy was outnumbered and dragged off to a cell with a bloody nose. They found his wife outside, wandering about holding a child. She was so obviously under a spell of some description that they let her go without bothering to ask questions. Since then she`s recovered enough to visit Lucius in his cell.” Sian sniffed. “The wardens were falling over themselves to be the one to open the door for her.”
“Pretty, is she?” Grogan asked, a white eyebrow raised in curiousity.
“Looks like a Veela – if you`re into that sort of thing.” Sian ruffled the pages of her clipboard, appearing slightly indignant at having to answer such an irreverent question. “So what do you think about the husband?”
“He`s either a complete nutter or extraordinarily intelligent. Which ever he is, he belongs in St. Mungo`s for sure.” Grogan shook his head, in vague disbelief. “Raj?”
The aide shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Sad thing is, I recognise him from school – we were at Hogwarts together. He was a few years above me. Very smart kid, got top marks in everything. Don`t reckon he had a friend in the place, though. He used to spend all his time in the library studying, or training for Quidditch. Brilliant seeker. Pity he was a Slytherin – we could have used someone of his skill in Gryffindor.”
“I don`t think he`s completely crazy,” Sian offered. “Sometimes people react to the Imperius curse differently, depending on the strength of the caster. Once the spell is taken off them they end up gabbling like idiots; the side effects usually last around a month. If he was as smart as you say he was, I`ll bet that it took a very strong wizard to break him like that.”
“So what`s your verdict, ma`am?” Grogan inquired.
“Look – the man has a classic case of Imperius-related amnesia. He was even struggling to speak English, did you notice? According to what we know about him, his first language was French. If he`s regressed that far, I`m certain he`s telling the truth. I just hope he`ll be able to fend for himself until he`s back to normal.”
The Minister stroked his beard with knotted fingers, seemingly lost in thought. Incompetent old fool, Severus thought, uncharitably. In fact, they were all fools. He`d imagined Sian, at the very least, would have offered a less indulgent attitude towards the Death Eater and his halting confession – if you could call such a performance a true confession.
He contradicted himself again and again.. on purpose, too, I`d bet. Just to see how much he could get away with.
“What was his problem with Longbottom, anyway?” Grogan was saying. “I`ve never seen anyone go that white before. You saw the pensieve, didn`t you, Sian?”
The woman blanched, her gaze veering from the others to some distant, obscure point. Cheeks flushing with embarrassment, she admitted: “I saw the pensieve.”
“Well?” the Minister prompted.
She could not look him in the eye. “I`d rather not go into it. Let`s put it this way – I`m not going to invite Frank around for dinner again. And I don`t think the other two wizards who saw it will consider doing so either. I know Crouch pretty much lost control of the Aurors during the war, and I know that desperate times call for desperate measures, but – well, it makes me feel almost sorry for the Death Eaters.”
“Hah,” said Severus, rather louder than he`d intended to.
The Minister and his aides swivelled as one to regard him, and Severus regretted calling attention to himself immediately.
“Well, Mr. Snape. You clearly have an opinion on the matter. Let`s hear it,” Grogan said.
“Opinion? Me? Surely not.”
“You must have some thoughts on the case,” Raj said, helpfully, apparently oblivious to the note of sarcasm in Severus` voice. “Don`t be shy; we want to know what you think. You were with him for a while, after all.”
The aide`s exact phrasing – ‘with him’ – caused Severus to halt momentarily in his tracks. Mercifully, it appeared Raj and the others were unmindful of the innuendo. Relaxing, Severus attempted to pull off a deceptively nonchalant shrug. If Lucius could feign innocence in the face of such overwhelming evidence and get away with it, then so too could he. They were both of Slytherin stock; guile came as naturally to them as breathing.
( Air.. air.. )
“I`d be gracious in saying the man is about four nuts short of a healing potion,” said Severus. “You may as well release him.”
“Are you sure?” Sian asked. “With all the trouble going on at the moment, I don`t want to let the man loose on the streets on his own. He could get into all sorts of difficulties.”
“He knows me. I can take care of him,” Severus said – almost too quickly.
The others exchanged looks: even they could see it would be a risky errand to release a deranged Death Eater into the custody of an ex-Death Eater. But what other choice did they have? The Ministry prison was overcrowded enough as it was. They simply didn`t have the resources to ferry the massive influx of prisoners immediately to Azkaban for Council trials.
A three-way debate began; the aides couching terms such as ‘spy’ and ‘traitor’ in more politically correct phraseology: ‘probable liability’ and ‘possible inconvenience’. Severus ignored their bickering, well aware that they must eventually concede him this wish, apropos of having any other viable option. Tuning out, he returned mentally to the memory of Lucius` interrogation.
Of course it had been a lie. Lucius was a talented actor, though – his rambling monologues had been uncannily convincing, even to someone who knew the truth belied his fiction.
Even to someone astute enough to spot the glaring inconsistencies in the tale..
There`d been another thing, too. Lucius had never been able to act without having at least one member of his audience conscious of his mendacity. And when Severus passed the hankerchief to Lucius during the course of the interrogation, the Death Eater had held his hand for a moment longer than necessary and stroked his finger ever so gently along the centre of Severus` palm – in such a manner that invoked not only the memories of the past, but instilled in Severus a frantic, imprudent hope for their impossible future.
The pale grey eyes were upturned then, coquettish behind the rectangular rims of his spectacles, the lips a-quiver and saliva-slick.. and Severus` stomach had lurched, sickened and aroused and above all horrified that Lucius could still conjure such a reaction from him..
Then the Death-Eater`s face reassumed its amnesia-struck blank and the interview had resumed, and Severus was left damp-browed and figeting in the wake of Lucius` unspoken promise.
Promises..
What did he remember? What did he want to remember? What else had Lucius repressed, hidden somehow from the hazy contents of the pensieve?
Severus closed his eyes.
(“..Tell me how you feel. I`m owed that, at the very least.”
“I owe you nothing, potions-boy. Nor am I in the business of granting favours.”
“Luc..”
“I don`t want you, Severus.”
And then an icy silence which stings like a blade, like a serpent`s bite, until the Death Eater speaks again.
“I do not want you. But I will have you, if only because it pleases me to own things I do not need..”)
*
The Dark Mark on the inner flesh of Severus` arm had once been haloed by a scar. Now, following Voldemort`s defeat, the Mark had vanished, and only the scar remained. When observed closely, it was possible to determine exactly what had caused the red-rimmed impression in the sallow skin. It was a bite-mark, the indent of the upper and lower teeth clearly visible.
Rubbing the spot as he retraced his steps up the prison corridor, Severus thought, absently –
Stupid bastard.
He waved the Minister`s cell keys in the face of the stunned warden, and unlocked the door himself. Quavering within the inner cell, Lucius Malfoy was a piteous sight indeed. He had bundled himself up against the bars, his sharp features set in a fearful contortion. His eyes mimicked the side-to-side twitch of a scared rabbit, and with slim and trembling fingers he knotted the ends of his too-long sleeves about his knuckles. He was mumbling something under his breath, too, apprehensively – a protective mantra, no doubt. Severus caught the words ‘please’ and ‘no’ amidst the inarticulate babble.
Then the door fell closed, and no sooner had the latch descended into place than Lucius` shoulders straightened, his chin jutted forward, and his silver eyes ceased to rove the room for the possibility of escape and fixed instead upon Severus. A self-congratulatory smirk stole across his countenance: a cheshire-cat smile, raw and white and filled with a bully`s cruel mirth.
“I trust you found my spectacle amusing,” he cooed, in that languid drawl of his. “Oh, no – don`t flare your nostrils like that, Severus. It is altogether uncomely..”
“I lied to them,” said Severus shortly, adding, in a morose undertone audible only to himself, “as if you ever doubted I wouldn`t.”
Lucius laughed – and it was a sinister sound, white-edged and vicious as a snake bite. “So you do have a heart after all, Master Snape,” he said. “But you didn`t have to do that, sir.” He lingered on this last word mockingly, curling the pink wafer of his tongue across his lips. “I wouldn`t want you to get into any – ah, trouble on my account. And I am sure I would have been treated just as leniently on the merit of my performance..” He paused, as Severus made no move to advance. “Won`t you let me out, now?” he asked. “Or does it bring you pleasure to see me so – ah, confined..”
“Just a few questions, before I open the door,” said Severus, brusquely.
“As you wish.”
“You seemed in such a state, in there. Old Stump was quite amazed by the effect that powerful curse had upon you. Of course, I think he was even more surprised by the highly selective nature of your memory. If you remember nothing since the beginning of the war, how exactly did you know the woman in your bed was your wife?”
Lucius froze.
“You and Narcissa were married eighteen months ago, Malfoy. I know that because I was there. Did Voldemort make you do that, too, hm?”
The reply, when it finally came, was brisk. “Perhaps. Yes.”
“How terrifically nice of him,” Severus sneered. “It`s not every day the Dark Lord decides to order a wedding ceremony for his mind-slaves, now is it? You and the little lady must both be very proud.”
“You are taunting me,” said Lucius, sadly. Gathering his robe from the floor he recoiled to the fartherest corner of the cage, turning his back on his antagonist. With the material of his clothing grasped by his hips, his lower legs were exposed – he was barefoot, his toes pointing slightly inward. His soles and ankles were grimey from the inlaid dirt of the prison floor, but the slender arch of his calves as they disappeared beneath the fabric remained an unblemished white. “Am I to be sent to Azkaban?”
There was something girlish about the way he held himself, something feminine and unsure. Hadn`t Narcissa once stood like that, flitty and preoccupied by the windows of her closed apartment, watching the streets for signs of Marcel..?
Severus gritted his teeth. Of course she had. Lucius was a born mimick. Here in the Ministry`s prison he`d managed to perfectly replicate the hopeless, desolate air which had surrounded his brother`s wife, all those years ago. His apparent dejection was just part of another lie, another bloody performance courtesy of the greatest character actor who`d ever lived.
“You bast–”
“Ah. No Azkaban, then, I see,” said Lucius, pivoting smoothly on his heel. The chesire-cat smirk was once again in full effect; Lucius was only too canny to the manner in which Severus` mind worked. “In that case, Mr. Snape, I would like to go. Now.”
“Not so fast, Malfoy!” Severus shouted, stepping forwards and clenching his fists about the bars, until the knuckles were stripped of colour. “I`ve some questions of my own, first. If he asked you to marry Narcissa, then what exactly did Voldemort ask you to do with me?”
Lucius used the tip of his middle finger to scratch his forehead. “It was such a terribly long time ago,” he demured, sardonically, after what appeared to be a few minutes of intense concentration. “And my memory is so very –”
“Why, you twisted little wre –”
“He told me to kill you,” Lucius interupted with a sigh, evidently tiring of this tease almost as soon as it had begun. “But you already know that, Severus.”
Severus released the bars. Involuntarily his hand moved to circle his upper arm, to guise the halo-scar which broke the even plane of his skin. His mind, so filled with fury but a second before, was suddenly empty of all emotion.
( Air.. air.. )
“Surely you remember, Severus. Don`t tell me that you, too, are an Imperius amnesiac,” Lucius chided. “That would be altogether too much co-incidence for even the Ministry to overlook.”
Severus closed his eyes.
(..And now he`s held fast, his arms and legs shackled to a chair in a dimly lit room, and it shocks him to realise that he`s not afraid – he`s been waiting for this, he`s expected it of the Death Eaters, he`s known that all this time in the Ministry, selling his secrets as if they were candy, he`s been a dead wizard walking. He`s resigned to his fate, and god knows that this is what he deserves, even if loyalty is not a currency common to the Slytherin ilk. So it`s without a tremor that he addresses the darkness within the darkness, the silhouette of black upon grey, his cat-footed assassin with the greenly luminous wand.
“How like a Death Eater,” sneers Severus, “to murder an unarmed man.” At least, he thinks, my last words will be brave. “How incredibly valiant of you.. I bet your mother would be awfully proud of..”
“Crucio.”
Then a lightning bolt splits his brain, and his body spasms out of his control – there are needles prying open his eyelids and driving into the wet pit of each socket, there are daggers wrenching his nails from his fingers, there is a fire at his feet and his lungs are slowly but surely being squashed in the centre of some etheral fist. His blood rises high in his temples; his heart is up there, in the centre of his brain, beating an irregular, desperate rhumba against the walls of his skull; there are demons in him, in his veins, his arteries are filled with congealed acid and he is screaming and screaming and screaming..
And then nothing. The pain passes. There`s only the memory of it left, smarting like a razor burn. Tears prick slowly from his eyes and spool down his cheeks. His lips tremble, but no words come.
The assassin speaks again.
“Crucio.”
He has been prepared for death, certainly, but not for this overwhelming agony which precedes it. His gut is molten; he imagines he feels his belly split wide from the pressure of some internal gastric implosion, and the whipcord of his intestines splatters against his face, and he screams again, but soundlessly, this time, because he fears if he makes a sound his entire body will fracture at the seams –
It stops a second time.
Severus pants.
“You know,” the assassin says, in the calmest of voices, “I could go on doing this all night..”)
“First you tried to kill me,” said Severus, weakly, at the recollection. “Then.. then I tried to kiss you.”
“Very little has changed, hasn`t it?” Lucius raised his chin meaningfully to indicate his still-tender throat. “Last time I tried to kiss you, you tried to kill me. I harbour grave doubts that we will ever manage to get it right. It seems that every time one of us is in the mood, the other is feeling homocidal. Ah – I`ll probably have bruises, you know..”
“You don`t deserve any better,” Severus hissed.
“Neither, my friend, do you.”
Perhaps it was the coupling of the word ‘friend’ with an insult which finally pushed Severus over the edge. Perhaps it was just the infuriatingly calm manner in which Lucius held himself, serene and dignified within the cage, with his hands clasped ever so reverently above his sternum like a Muggle preist in prayer. Perhaps it was the built up stress, courtesy of two years spent suffering the dual tribulations of fear and antipathy at the hands of dull-witted wizards and witches who`d never understand the price he`d paid for his treason – on both sides of the political fence.
Whatever the reason, the dam had broken; and Severus lurched forwards as if flung by some greater hand. He jabbed the cage-key furiously into the lock.
“Such a temper,” Lucius remarked, with placid indifference.
The key jittered in the hole and then spun free; the lock sprung open.
“Marvellous to see you`ve seen sense after all,” said the Death Eater. “It`s a nice change from.. oof.”
He was cut from his contemptuous lecture as Severus lunged; they collided on the floor, grappling and shoving like two school boys within the ring of iron bars. Thrust painfully into the corner of the cage, Severus felt Lucius` fragile body buckle beneath his weight. The Death Eater wasn`t built for brawling; Lucius` feet had slid from under him as soon as they tumbled together into the bars, and he was supported now only by the vice of Severus` arms. Weakly, Lucius released a small whimper of defeat, his breathing heavy and irregular against Severus` neck. The Death Eater`s bare heels ran frantic back-pedals on the grimey concrete, kicking up a slew of dust.
“Feeling lucky, Luc?” Severus whispered. Their heartbeats raced together, an equal percussion.
“So – so much pent up – anger –” the other gasped.
It was so.. exhilerating, feeling that sharp little body writhe desperately beneath him like a worm on a hook. Another temptation, another promise which would never be consumated – unless Severus took matters into his own hands. Holding Lucius fast by the back of his collar, Severus` free hand latched onto one bony, upward-thrusting hip, barely considering the grave implications of what he intended. It took him a moment to straddle Lucius` thigh, clamping his own legs down tightly; and in the same motion he pushed forwards again.
The pressure of his chest quelled Lucius` frantic bucking; the silver eyes narrowed to slits, then sprung wide once more. Comprehending in an instant the impossible situation he was in, all the fight left the Death Eater. Surrendering graciously to this greater prowess, he slumped into the bars, pliable in his exhaustion. Inspired by Lucius` previous violence, Severus used a hank of the man`s blonde hair to rein him in, reeling the thick tendrils about his wrist as a fisherman might lure his catch.
He registered, in a peripheral, out-of-body way, that his chest ached: one of Lucius` boney elbows had struck him there – a rib broken? He ignored it.
“Well..?” he said, expectantly.
“..shouldn`t..” the Death Eater panted.
“If only you`d said that three years ago,” Severus replied, sounding almost regretful.
Lucius grinned up at him, lopsidedly. “But.. gosh..” he whispered.
We shouldn`t, we mustn`t, but.. gosh.. it was the prelude to an inevitable descent. Severus knew without looking that Lucius` grey robes were tented at the crotch: he could feel the man`s arousal lodged against his leg, an uncomfortable yet not altogether unpleasant heat. Masochist, sadist.. with the faintest of murmurs, Lucius arced his hips once again, though this time the movement was less anxious; it was a calculated gyration, intended to produce a far more attractive response from his ex-compatriot.
Not that Severus needed the motivation. With a grunt of encouragement he slid himself closer to Lucius` pelvis, grappling now with the seemingly inordinate amount of fabrics which separated him from the sudden focal point of his need. Shreds of grey cotton were torn askew as his nails dug through the thread-bare prison garb; the portion of smooth thigh which gleamed pale and dampened in the rift caused him to catch his breath. A dizzy spell ensued; a dreamy-spell.. he clutched Lucius closer as the Death Eater began an eager seduction of small bunts and pushes, riding the arch of Severus` thigh as well as he could within the containment of Severus` arms.
He`d missed this, Severus had; he`d missed the purrs and the half-moans and the wanton flutter of those pale lashes, which drew closed now over the silver iris. There was as much pleasure to be gained by watching the ecstatic Lucius as there was from actually fucking him; there was something stifled and nearly apologetic about the man in this state. Lucius` hands were now entangled in the bars; he hung spread eagled upon them like a martyr, one leg attempting to wrap itself acrobatically around Severus` waist.. and all the while he was snivelling, soft, nasal wheezes interspersed by the occasional, discernable word, an ‘oh’ or an ‘ah’ or a ‘my.. gosh’. Severus might have been a post or a tree trunk for all Lucius cared. It was scandalous, really, how the man would revert back to a selfish child when presented with even the breifest possibility of passion...
Severus watched him. His own erection was waning along with the heat of the fight; it had been a flitting arousal, borne on the same tide of activity as his rage, and extinguished with the last flame of resentment. He realised, with a strangeness, that he did not want sex – not here, in this dank Ministry cellar: it wasn`t a matter of self control but rather one of aesthetics. But he remained still and entranced by the proximity of Lucius` plight. Spell-bound, he observed the rise of colour suffuse the Death Eater`s hollow cheeks, the quickening enervation of the frail chest beneath the coverlet of stained cotton.
Moved by curiousity rather than sexual need, Severus slid his hands again to Lucius` struggling hips, and then on through the hole in the robe. Lucius` skin was cool to the touch, filmed with a membrane of sweat, and Severus` fingers stole across the moist plateau of the pelvis, then the abdomen, and then..
A louder whimper spun from the Death Eater`s lips and hurled itself into the steamy air. Severus drew his palm along the man`s erection, (Now who`s baiting who? he thought smugly) teasing the underside with his thumb before discovering the relief of a vein embossed prominently against the engorged flesh. He followed this to it`s source, and then slid further through the wispy hairs of the pubis to tame the contraction of Lucius` testicles. He stroked one, gently, with a forefinger, the soft skin seeming to tauten further like the skein of a drum – and then a quiver overtook Lucius` body, another ebullient ‘gosh!’ was offered to the ceiling, and Severus removed his sticky hand from the voliminous depths of the Death Eater`s robe.
“Ah.. ee. Oh.” Lucius sounded vowels; his fingers peeled from their hold on the bars to settle, if a little ashamedly, on Severus` shoulders. Nudging himself into the hollow of the man`s chest, Lucius raised his serpent`s tongue against the flesh of Severus` neck. Nips and licks, like a hungry animal – but tender, too; the tasting of a familiar fruit, savouring the sweat and smell of the memories as much as the act itself.
“Hah,” said Severus.
“That was – ah, interesting,” said Lucius, after a protracted pause during which they inhaled in unison the salty, post-coital uguents.
“Hah,” said Severus, again.
“I think –”
“Mm?”
The blonde withdrew a little way, though seemed reluctant to disengage himself completely He sucked his lower lip between his teeth and gnawed thoughtfully upon it. “I would hope,” he said, slowly, “that you still – ah, have those cigarettes..”
“Yes.”
“I would like one, please.”
“Sure.”
“Thank you. You are too kind.”
*
The Death Eater smoked another cigarette as they awaited a taxi on the busy London street. With the brilliant shimmer of his hair twisting in the wind and the sharpness of his clear profile set against the grainy backdrop of shopfronts and traffic, Lucius cut an outlandish figure amidst the Muggle crowds. While Severus, gloomy and comparitively normal looking, was buffeted back and forth by passing elbows and knees, the Muggles gave Lucius a wide berth.
It had begun to rain, a light drizzle that caused the clouds to appear as no more than a haze of grey. In contrast to the obscurity of the horizon, the city itself was well lit, flourescent and reflective – the scattered puddles turned the pavement asphalt into a refractor of light. Lucius raised his fingers to his spectacles, drawing them lightly across the surface of the glass. When he released them they had become sun-shades. Severus chose not to question this magic.
“Where are you heading?” Lucius asked him.
“I think I should take you back to the manor,” Severus replied.
Lucius shook his head. “I`m afraid business – ah, calls. Rather loudly, as it happens.” He flicked a precipitate of ash onto the hood of a passing car. “Unfinished business. Not that you, sir, would know anything about that.”
“With whom?”
“Oh, people.” His manner was disarming and consequently intriguing.
“Elucidate me,” Severus growled.
“I really do think my neck will bruise very horribly,” said Lucius. “To say nothing of my chest and wrists..” He`d slipped again into the simpleton`s persona, the most well equiped for side-stepping direct questions with the use of uncondusive non sequiturs. Refusing to meet Severus` indignant black-eyed stare, he scanned the heaving pulse of the traffic, wrinkling his nose slightly in disgust at having to share a motorway – or indeed a city – with anything less than pure-blood.
“Malfoy?” said Severus, exerting an extreme amount of willpower to maintain the level of his voice at an appropriate decibel.
“Yes, sir?”
“You aren`t going anywhere, for business, or for whatever it is you`re hiding. You`re coming with me.”
“My lord. How unpleasantly dominant of you.” Lucius fanned himself with a hand.
“Luc..”
“A man lets you hump his leg in prison, and afterwards he thinks you owe him the world,” Lucius mused, dully. “Quelle surprise.”
“For godsake..”
“Could you hold this for a moment?” said Lucius, appearing to brighten suddenly as a thought occured to him. He pressed his cigarette into Severus` palm, folding the man`s fingers neatly about the paper cyllinder as if he were tucking in a child for the night. “I will not be more than a moment, mon ami.”
Severus gave up. “Right. Fine,” he said.
“Thank you,” Lucius drawled. “You are so very kind..”
And with that he was off, a glimmer of pale yellow amidst the bobbing heads of the crowd, before vanishing completely amidst the converging Muggle hordes. Annoyed, but somewhat glad he`d been spared, at least momentarily, from Lucius` dry rebukes, Severus occupied himself by wiping the prison-grit from his boots against a nearby parking metre. He was unsure whether to feel jubilant or simply drained; he`d forgotten, perhaps on purpose, how exhausting Lucius` company could be.
What had that little prison encounter proved? Was it possible they had a future together, and could begin again the jilted and destructive relationship which had fueled them three years before? Probably not, Severus admitted to himself; and certainly not if Narcissa continued on her depressive downward spiral into the oblivion of self destruction. Certainly not if Lucius had a child to look after – what had they called the boy again? Draco, or something equally bizarre.
A minature, living, breathing Lucius.. Severus found the idea inherently comical, and grinned foolishly for what was the first time, he suspected, in months. Perhaps Lucius might call on him at some point to babysit the youngster; now there would be a trial, and no mistake. He pictured Lucius` wearing an indulgent, parental smile, and the speech he`d make, upon returning to pick up the child. What words would he use..
Thank you.
Severus swallowed, suddenly, feeling a chill crawl the length of his spine.
Thank you, Severus.
Severus stared at the cigarette butt in his hand, and the unfolding wisp of smoke that spooled from the tip.
You are so very kind..
“Lucius!” he roared, spinning in the street, trying to recall the exact position where he`d lost sight of the man. Muggles scuttled out of his way as he lunged forwards, no longer paying mind to the piqued shrieks which marked his every collision. “Have you seen a blonde man,” he yelled into their fearful faces, “a blonde man, tall, long hair..” They shook their heads, wordless and shocked by the immediacy of his fury. Incensed by their ignorance, Severus pushed on, calling Lucius` name all the while – down abandoned alleys, into open-fronted cafes, and even into the street itself, and the lines of congested highway traffic..
But it was all to no avail.
Lucius Malfoy was very definately gone.
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