"Severus."
No answer.
"Severus, I know you can hear me, so stop pretending otherwise. This behavior is juvenile in the extreme." Lucius Malfoy looked down at the man in the bed, who still showed no sign of acknowledging his presence. He knew Snape wasn't truly asleep; the deep frown lines that etched his face softened somewhat when he slept, and they were as harsh as ever now.
"May I ask what you think you're doing here?" the dark-haired man inquired, finally deigning to open his eyes. Shadows lay heavily in the hollows of his eye sockets, Lucius thought, an impression that was only reinforced by the fact that the eyes themselves were an unrelieved black.
"You may ask," Lucius replied mildly, taking a single step back from the bed so that he could rest his clasped hands on the head of his cane.
Snape hissed in displeasure. He had never been one for patience, at least never in Lucius's memory. "I am asking, Malfoy," he snapped. "Answer me."
Lucius smiled beatifically down at the other man. "Surely we have progressed beyond the point of using surnames as our form of address, Severus," he said, placing a gentle emphasis on the last word. "To answer your question, I am here because I received word that you had been admitted to St. Mungo's as the result of a brewing accident."
"And you chose to rush to the hospital immediately so you could…what? Berate me for my ineptitude?" Snape sounded more annoyed than before, if anything.
"Your ability to leap to the wrong conclusion astounds me, as always," the other man replied. "I am here because, while your talents tend more toward dueling than brewing potions, you have never been so unskilled as to cause one of your concoctions to explode. This was an attempt on your life, Severus."
Lucius couldn't see any hint of Snape's emotions on his face, but the man hadn't survived for years as a double agent without learning to be unreadable. "What do you propose to do about it, Lucius?" Snape asked finally, sounding almost fatally weary. "The war won me few admirers. You, of all people, should understand that."
"That is why I have taken it upon myself to visit you," Lucius replied. "The Ministry will make no effort to investigate this attack, never mind that the Minister himself awarded you your Order of Merlin after the war. Your continued existence is politically inconvenient, or they would have you under guard now. The would-be killer may use your present incapacitation to his advantage."
"I have my wand," Snape said dryly, pushing the arm of his robe back to reveal the dark wooden tip. In spite of himself, Lucius felt a shiver travel down his spine as he looked at the Dark Mark, twin to his own, on the younger man's inner wrist. Snape made no comment, but he had noticed Lucius's unease. That was undoubtedly another product of his time as a spy.
"Your wand will do you very little good if your attacker happens upon this room while you are sleeping, Severus," Lucius chided, raising a single blond eyebrow in a gesture of cultured scorn. "Surely you have not overlooked that detail?"
Snape sighed. "These premises are heavily warded, as you well know," he replied.
"I managed to bypass the wards," Lucius replied swiftly, allowing his disdain for Snape's feeble argument to filter through to his words. "Anyone with sufficient skill in the Dark Arts could do the same with relatively little difficulty. Besides, Healers can pass through the wards. What if the person who attempted to kill you is in the hospital's employ?"
Surprisingly, one corner of Snape's mouth quirked upward for a brief moment. "You do yourself a disservice in thinking others possess your encyclopedic knowledge of Dark magic, Lucius," he said cuttingly. "Though I'm sure the Ministry would be very interested to learn you're still using that knowledge. Did you enjoy Azkaban so much that you seek to return after only a year's absence?"
Lucius drew himself up, all traces of humor smothered beneath a sheet of ice. "Consider yourself fortunate that the Ministry decided the ends justified the means in your case, Severus, or you would've been in the cell beside mine," he whispered, raising his wand so the tip rested against Snape's throat.
"Without a doubt," Snape agreed, regarding the blond calmly. "However, the Wizengamot deemed Albus Dumbledore's Pensieve memories to be adequate exoneration, so events fell out rather differently."
Lucius's eyes drifted downward. The tip of Snape's wand rested against the vulnerable flesh below his ribcage, though he would've sworn the other man hadn't moved a muscle.
"Lucius," Snape continued, lowering his own voice. "I am, as I have ever been, capable of fending for myself. Your concern is unwarranted. In fact, it is insulting." Snape withdrew his wand, and Lucius took his first deep breath since finding it there. After a moment, he lowered his own wand with a sibilant sigh.
"Very well," he replied, stepping back from the bed. "I will, however, leave you with the reminder that it was your insistence upon acting alone that nearly resulted in your death. You would do well to ally yourself with me, if nothing more."
When Snape gave him no reply beyond a curt nod, Lucius turned on the spot and Apparated. Doing so probably set off all sorts of alarms around Snape's room, since Lucius had torn the wards apart with his Disapparation, but he wasn't in a mood to care.
What is he thinking? Lucius wondered, striding rapidly up the stone path that led to the arched front doors of Malfoy Manor. Perhaps he wishes to die. That would be a pity, but he is no use to me if he has no interest in life. There's nothing I need less than a suicidal ally.
The Manor's wards parted before Lucius and closed behind him, whispering their delight at having the master of the house once again home and safe beneath their canopy. Inside, a house-elf appeared at once to take his cane and cloak, bowing so low its pointed nose nearly scraped the white marble floor of the entryway.
"I'll be taking dinner in my study tonight, Peeky," he announced, continuing toward the sweeping main staircase. Narcissa would never have approved – in civilized homes, food belonged in the dining room – but she was no longer here to object, and Lucius had no one to impress tonight. Besides, sitting alone at the head of the long table forced him to consider his losses far more narrowly than he liked.
The house-elf bowed, squeaked an acknowledgement, and vanished with a crack. Lucius rubbed a weary hand over his forehead, something else Narcissa would've scolded him for. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys did not show weakness.
His feet carried him automatically past Draco's empty rooms, past the bedroom he had shared with Narcissa, and into his study. The room was paneled in dark wood, with floor-to-ceiling shelves on every wall except the one with the door. Lucius sank into the chair behind his desk, blinking a few times to focus his eyes on the papers piled there. He selected one of the larger stacks of parchment and lifted the top sheet.
Mr. Lucius Malfoy, the letter began, I regret to inform you that my family and I will be departing England within the month. We intend to take up residence on the Continent, where we hope to find a more welcoming social environment. You and your son are, as always, welcome to visit us. I will owl you our Floo address once we've settled on a location.
Sincerely, Theodore Nott, Sr.
Lucius clenched his teeth, running a fingernail over the signature. If he hadn't tested the thing for every handwriting forgery charm he knew, he wouldn't have believed it actually came from the head of the Nott household. This made the third pure-blood family to flee the country in the wake of the war. Conditions weren't ideal, certainly, particularly for families with former Death Eaters in their ranks, but he'd been sure Theodore Nott, at least, would have more pride than to run like a kicked dog.
Then again, his own son had nearly done likewise. Lucius's brow creased in a frown at the memory, and further at the knowledge that Draco remained only at the coaxing of Harry Potter, of all people. He shook his head, forcing the thought from his mind. The fact that Draco had been accepted into the Auror training program two years ago meant his son was doing his part in restoring the Malfoy name to its former glory. The Aurors were no longer their enemies. The war was over.
Peeky appeared with a loud noise that caused Lucius's heartbeat to briefly accelerate, clutching a heavy silver tray burdened with food. "Peeky is bringing Master Lucius his dinner," the elf squeaked, placing the tray in a corner of the desk that wasn't buried beneath papers. "Are you requiring anything else, sir?"
"No, this will do," Lucius replied, removing a thick cream-colored napkin from the basket of fine-grained dinner rolls. Peeky disappeared without another word. Narcissa had insisted on the highest standards of behavior from her house-elves. She'd been an even stricter owner than Lucius's father, Abraxas Malfoy, though the Black family had long been known for its extraordinarily devoted house-elves, so that wasn't terribly surprising.
Shortly after Lucius had finished his dinner, Draco's face appeared in the fireplace. Lucius rose from his chair and moved to stand before the hearth, the better to address his son. It was unusual – that is to say, unprecedented – for Draco to make so much as a firecall to the Manor without prior notice, so something must've happened.
"Father, I apologize if I have interrupted your evening meal, but I received word from one of my contacts that Prof – er, Potions Master Snape was injured in an accident and had been taken to St. Mungo's for care," Draco said, stumbling only a little over Severus's new title.
"I am aware," Lucius replied. One day, his son would acknowledge that his father's connections within the Ministry were more extensive than his own, even in the aftermath of the war. "I paid Severus a visit a few hours ago. He is expected to make a full recovery." Assuming no one comes back to finish the job in the meantime.
As he'd expected, Draco's face bore an expression of ill-concealed surprise and disappointment. "Son, I thank you for coming to me with the information, but perhaps it would be in your best interest to focus on your training for the time being." Despite Lucius's attempt at a gentle tone, Draco's face contorted in anger for just an instant.
"I have less than a year of training left, Father," he responded. "I'll be a full Auror by January."
Lucius resisted the temptation to sigh. "Very well, Draco. I trust you will do what is best." It was difficult not to simply order the boy to do as he commanded, but he had to remember that Draco was twenty-one years old, no longer a child by any stretch of the imagination. He had to be prepared to assume leadership of the family in the future, and that would never happen if Lucius treated him like a puppet.
Draco gave a terse goodbye and disappeared, allowing the flames to resume their normal color and pattern. Lucius did sigh, this time. The loss of his mother had impacted the boy deeply, more deeply than Draco would ever admit.
Narcissa.
With no effort at all, Lucius wandlessly conjured an image of his late wife. The ghostlike figure was translucent, the colors less bright than they had been in reality, but seeing Narcissa's face allowed Lucius to draw a deep breath and calm himself. As Lucius concentrated, the image's face stopped flickering between Narcissa as she'd been when they were first married and Narcissa, careworn but still beautiful, at the time of her death. Now, the false Narcissa looked as she had the last time Lucius had seen her, elegant and coolly imperious.
Forgive me, Narcissa. I should never have allowed you to leave the Manor's wards without me by your side. I should have been there. This can never happen again. I won't let it.
I won't let it.
Lucius started for the front door, calling for a house-elf to bring his cloak and cane. When one appeared, he didn't look down for long enough to determine which it was, merely accepted his belongings and yanked the heavy door open before the house-elf could get there to do it for him.
When he Apparated to the street outside St. Mungo's, he saw immediately that the Healers – or, more likely, their security personnel – had discovered his earlier breach and reinforced the wards to double their original strength.
Lucius drew his wand and used a simple spell to open a slit in the skin of his inner arm. When he judged enough blood had welled forth, he muttered "Per passare attraverso." He took a careful step forward, and although he could feel the wards pressing and sparking against his skin in disapproval, they didn't repulse him as they would have a moment before. Satisfied, he murmured another charm to close the wound on his arm.
Fortunately, Snape was still in his bed. A sharp glance reassured Lucius that the younger man was also still breathing evenly and didn't appear to have sustained any life-threatening injuries during Lucius's absence.
"Back so soon, Lucius?" Snape asked drily. If he was at all disconcerted by the unexpected second visit, it didn't show on his face or in his tone. "Did you forget something?" Snape continued. "Your pride, perhaps?"
Barely, Lucius refrained from scowling, because that was something else Malfoys didn't do. "Severus," he returned, giving the dark-haired man a polite nod that was nearly the opposite of what he wanted to do. "After some consideration, I have come to the decision that I will not leave you unattended amidst enemies simply because you have lost all regard for your own life."
"That's debatable," Snape said, pushing himself up on his elbows in a way that made the coverlet slide to his waist, revealing thick white bandages encircling the entirety of his chest and abdomen.
"Which part?" Lucius asked, conjuring an armchair upholstered in mahogany leather, identical to the one behind his desk at home. He sat down, studying the angry red marks that marred Snape's bare neck and shoulders. They looked like burns, which would make sense if they resulted from an exploding potion.
"All of it. The fact that you view two hours as 'some consideration,' the assumption that I'm amidst enemies, and your insinuation that I wish to die, apparently," Snape replied, sneering. "This is most unlike you, Lucius. In my memory, you acted with more subtlety during the war."
"We are no longer at war, Severus," Lucius snapped. "Your inability to move forward is rivaled only by the Ministry's. The wizarding world would still be in the Middle Ages if our predecessors had shared your aversion to progress."
Snape lounged back on the bed with an insolence that tempted Lucius to hex him. "Why don't you stop dancing around the issue and tell me why you're really here."
Lucius found himself on his feet, pacing in semicircles around Snape's bed in a manner most unbefitting of a Malfoy. The man had always been able to get under his skin, no matter how cool and collected he remained in the company of others. He forced himself to stand still and face the man on the bed.
"I was thinking of Narcissa," he admitted quietly, meeting Snape's eyes with difficulty. "I was unable to prevent her murder because I was absent when she needed me most. I will not permit the same to happen to you."
The other man laughed harshly and fingered his wand contemplatively, as if debating which curse would cause Lucius the most pain. "Please tell me you are attempting to make a joke, Lucius," he said. "Narcissa was your wife. I am nothing more than an old acquaintance. Old enemy, even."
"Hardly," Lucius replied, resuming his seat. "We were friends in school."
"That was decades ago, and you were a prefect when I was a first year. We were hardly companions." Snape said, waving a hand in dismissal. He winced as the motion disturbed his bandages, making Lucius wonder exactly which potion had exploded, that the Healers were having such trouble repairing the damage to Snape's skin.
"We fought together in the first war," Lucius reminded Snape, realizing too late that Snape had always hated reminders of that phase of his life.
Sure enough, his expression became guarded. "I was a double agent in the war that mattered," he said sharply. "I am the reason your precious Dark Lord is dead, or have you conveniently forgotten that, Lucius?"
"Bloody hell, Severus, we all know the Dark Lord was mad," snapped Lucius, restraining his impatience with effort. "The only ones who were loyal to him at the end were Greyback and my idiot sister-in-law, and look where that got them."
"Ah, yes," said Snape. "Lucius Malfoy, ever the opportunist. Coward, most would say. You abandoned the Dark Lord the moment it became clear he would lose the war."
Lucius drew his wand, but managed to keep from pointing it at Snape's heart. This was supposed to be a civil conversation. "I defected to preserve my wife and child, Severus," he hissed. "And I paid dearly in the end, wouldn't you agree?"
For a fraction of a second, contrition showed on Snape's face. "Truly, I am sorry for your loss, Lucius," he said. "Narcissa was…a lovely woman." Lucius arched an eyebrow and Snape had the good grace to color slightly; the two had hated each other when Narcissa was alive. Narcissa had once gone so far as to have Snape escorted from the Manor by house-elves to ensure he didn't "foul my home with his dirty blood," as she'd phrased it.
"I accept your condolences," Lucius replied smoothly. "In any case, I have returned to request your presence at Malfoy Manor." He knew he'd have to choose his words carefully to prevent Snape from viewing his offer as charity, something he would never accept. "It has come to my attention that the person or persons who attacked you shared several similarities with those who killed my wife. I hope that by keeping you close, we can lure said parties into the open."
Whatever Snape had been expecting, that clearly wasn't it. Lucius avoided those black eyes assiduously, because Snape was a skilled Legilimens, possibly the best alive now that the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore were dead.
When he finally spoke, his words were slow and heavy. "I suppose that would be possible," he said eventually. "My shop has been destroyed, obviously. The Aurors took their time containing the flames. I know how highly you prize vengeance, Lucius, and I would never stand in the way of you finding the people who murdered Narcissa."
That was rich, coming from Severus Snape, Lucius thought. No one enjoyed revenge more than a Slytherin, but Snape had taken vengeance to artistic new heights when they were in school. Still, what he said was true. If there was one thing written in the Malfoy blood, it was that wrongs against their own must be punished at all costs. The fact that Narcissa had been born a Black made absolutely no difference. She was the mother of the Malfoy heir, and those who killed her would pay dearly.
"You are welcome to avail yourself of the Manor's resources while you are in residence, of course," Lucius said. "Once you have brewed enough potions, you will be able to replace your lost stock and set your business back to rights." He nearly sneered while saying the words, because no matter how much had changed since the war, Malfoys were still wizarding nobility, and didn't engage in menial labor for money. Still, it was something that would be important to Snape.
It was the right decision. "Very well," Snape said. "I accept your invitation with thanks, Lucius. I am required to remain in St. Mungo's for a minimum of two more days for observation, but I will join you at the time of my release."
Very good, Severus, Lucius thought. It seems you can remember how to behave civilly after all. "Excellent," he said aloud, rising from his chair and Vanishing it with a lazy wave of his wand. "If you need anything in the meantime, send me a message and I will have one of my house-elves deliver it." He Apparated without waiting for an answer.