Vaguely, with the tinge of light playing slowly against his skin, with the dust-filled air seeming to light up in front of his eyes, a clarity, solemn and cold wordlessly taking hold of the entire room, Lucius Malfoy brushed his fingers trough his hair, realizing that, against all his better intention, he had missed the dawn. He had been completely confident, without even the slightest possibility of reproach, that it was but an hour away from when Severus had exited the room, and that, just as surely, he would wait it out there, reading perhaps, anything but sleeping. They had both known Lucius would not leave home that night. They had both known neither would sleep. They had both known there was an agreement passed between them the moment he arrived that all would be left in silence, whatever be the occurrence, and all would be done as proper. Gracefuly, or perhaps a bit less than he usually did, Lucius stretched himself in the armchair, silently cursing the fact that of all the people whose existence he had become acquainted off, it was a tie between Severus and that damned Headmaster of who could make him feel more agitated, or more exhausted. He shuddered even to think of how he looked now, cringed at the thought that he didn't even really know whether Snape had house elves or enough of them, and, most of all, he dreaded the fact that the proper thing to do now would be to go and wake his own son, perhaps the only person he now wanted to see less that Snape himself.
Lucius Malfoy stood up, conjuring himself instantly both water and some coffe, marveling at how numb and incoherent his own mind now appeared to him, and stepped right up to the window, wishing that the cool air that met his skin would be enough to calm him, or at least soothe him for the time being, enough to carry this out, wordlessly, and without the appearance of effort. When his glance was met with nothing but the sight of muggles and trash that occupied the dirtied street, Lucius could feel himself sigh against his own wishes, and he considered, for a moment, not considering anything at all…This could be ridden out, he thought when he closed his eyes, letting himself drift into an incoherency that strangely resembled peace, perhaps simply for his desperate need for the same. Such details being unimportant, at least for the time being, Lucius tried to concentrate simply on the air, his own skin, simply on the silence that apparently reigned trough the house, making his cheeks flush unwontedly at the remembrance that, truly, this wasn't always what it looked like. He felt his own body stiffen unwontedly at the mere recollection that, indeed, Snape was present somewhere in this house and he, he could not let himself even consider the idea of sleep, at least not willingly, for as long as he was. Lucius knew it was much earlier than he had wanted it to be. He was also aware of the fact that those ten to fifteen minutes he had dozed of in the chair were the total of rest he was going to get tonight. Neither of them would sleep, neither of them even dreamed of it. Such was their agreement. Lucius could feel him, all trough the night, rummaging trough the house, moving about it, always, every second, perfectly aware of the other presence. He thought of whether his mind was playing tricks on him, and whether he could still find it in himself to care. Whether Severus had moved at all, or had sat, just as he did, an all enduring, impenetrable statue of stealth, thinking of him, damning him, hating him as he hadn't in years. Merlin… This was a frail friendship indeed. And drudging up old wounds was…unneeded. To say the least.
A deep breath, as ever, a deep breath and he could feel his fists clench. A deep breath, darkness, to enjoy a little longer, a deep breath, and he would feel nothing. He exhaled, a long whisper of air, and looked sternly at the streets that stared back at him. He was not a part of this. No, Lucius thought, the pale gray of determined eyes meeting these same streets with more than a little glimmer of hatred and pride, he had never been part of this. His hands glided his hair back, wrapping velvet around it and, without a second glance; he walked up the stairs to where he knew his son was staying. This could be easy. It had to be. A few moments more, and he wouldn't have to see him. Them. Neither of them. For some reason, one seemed to mirror the other, inexplicably, twisting him into what he didn't need to resemble. Whatever on Earth that had been.
He opened the door, swiftly, without making a sound, and his eyes stopped, stopped unwantedly at the sight of his son, sleeping, exquisitely laid out on black sheet, streched, his ivory hair falling on the silken pillows, and Lucius felt his breath catch in his throat, painfully, for he didn't remember when he had been afforded such a startling sight of beauty, and such tangible perversity in it. He could not, for all the objections he could feel his mind making, stop himself from admiring the boy, with such pale skin, much like his own, probably still as tender as that of a woman, still as smooth, his reddened lips, his high, piercing cheekbones, the dark eyelashes now closed, and…The dark purple bruise, slightly red still, that so visibly engraved itself atop such skin, marking it with a desine of pure wrath that had put it there, decorating the boy with a sign…A sign that so closely resembled ownership. A sign his own Father had put there.
And what of it? Lucius thought to himself. He had been beaten worse, a lot worse than Draco ever was. He himself had probably hit him worse than this on many an occasion. Why then…Did he feel a very distinct surge of guilt rising within him? Was it for…noticing the bruise had tainted such beauty? Was it for, years having passed, seeing his boy was not yet a man but a work of art? Or was it…That the bruise hadn't hurt him. That he didn't regret the mark, thinking it becoming, thinking it an exaggeration of the perfection it was placed upon. He loved his son. Always, always he had loved his son. It wasn't even conscious decision that brought his hand to the boys head, gliding stray strands of hair away from his face, gently, ever so tenderly, caressing the boys head, sitting down next to him.
His forefinger brushed with Draco's bruise, slowly feeling the swollen skin beneath it and, Lucius moved, cautious, ever so cautious as to not wake him, and pressed his lips onto it, lingering there, perhaps a bit to long, his tongue touching it in a kiss, a kiss that was meant to bless it. He felt Draco shift beneath him and, against his better instincts, against what he had planned to do, the stern father he had planned to play, he brought his lips against the boy's forehead, a hard and desperate kiss placed there, and a whisper, and a whisper, almost inaudible, mumbled against his skin.
„Wake up, son."
Feeling such a hasty intake of warm breath against his face, the hard touch against his forehead having lost the meaning of the words that were just as precisely pressed into his skin, Draco whimpered against the touch, a sharp intake of breath replacing the hazy one of sleep and, with a dazed slowness, he murmured a confused „what?", not yet having opened his eyes.
Lucius hadn't heard him. He hadn't been able to make himself open his eyes again, his own forehead not presed fiercly against his son's, a large hand covering his face, wrapping up the bruise, shielding it from anyone's glance but his own. He had given everything, everything for the boy underneath him, everything he had. And he could forgive him. Merlin, he didn't want to, but he could. When he saw this, when he saw…
„Wake up, Draco."
He breathed the words, harsher now, into his son's mouth, not even touching his lips, and finally, finally consented once again to move away, look at the boy, stop…Whatever sort of unneeded coddling this was and proceed…He sighed. Proceed to what was necessary. The irony was not lost to him. His son now sleeping in his former lovers bed. The white hair of his offspring spreading itself as his own once did against black pillows. As Draco's did against another's bed, somewhere, someone at Hogwarts for Merlin's sake, waking up at dawn to watch his son sleep, as he just did, kissing the very same face he did in order to bring him from the clutches of dreams and back into the world, someone else would make him aware of their presence.
No, they weren't allowed that yet. Not trough all the seven years of Hogwarts had he ever even thought of sleeping in a lovers bed. Not that he used beds, not that that location was safe enough. Not that he could…Not that his lover had been of the same year. Not that, he imagined, it would have held half it's thrill then if it wasn't for the hidding. Wasn't for muffled moans behind locked doors in a lavatory, wasn't for being pressed against the ground in the Dark Forest, wasn't for…
„The feeling of rape is how I'd describe it.", a silken voice brought both him and Draco into awareness, Draco unaware of anything but the sight of his father rising instantly off the bed and turning to the other end of the room where, Lucius guessed, it was apparent Draco's godfather had been sitting the entire time.
The look on Snape's eyes tired but vicious, Lucius' own face going black in a matter of seconds, he looked at him, the silent rage coursing trough his veins. Had he been that open? Or could Severus simply not stop himself?
„Severus", he said, his voice both deliberately relaxed and stretched as it customarily was, as coy as none of his words truly were, „I'd like a few words with my son, if you please."
Draco was literally petrified as he watched the scene that unfolded, his father and lover both there, his body so stiff from the most horrendous fear he had ever felt himself experience that he didn't even believe he could move at all. He tried, desperately, mind racing, heart pounding, he tried desperately to convince himself he had misunderstood, that they weren't, were not and could not be, talking about him. That it was impossible, that it could not and would not be an option that his father knew. And yet, the cool look of hate he could see in Snape's eyes, and the rigid, unmoving appearance his father led on even with his back turned to him made him suspect otherwise.
Severus got up, slowly walking towards Lucius, his glare menacingly passing over him in a slowness that nearly made the older Malfoy feel ill.
„Occupational hazard, you'll have to forgive me."
Lucius inclined his head, forcing Snape to look at his eyes and nothing but, to remember, just how cold they could be.
„Haven't you pried enough", he whispered so Draco would be unable to discern, their faces so close Severus could feel this whisper on himself, the barely controlled rage Lucius felt making it shake „To know where I stand on the matter of giving it to half bloods who never learn their place?"
He thought, for certain, Severus would have hit him. Or cursed him. It didn't matter. Lucius wanted to kill him, he was sure, each word was just pleading an excuse to do it. This could not have been true. He could not have possibly possessed the audacity to try and invade his mind. And still, he could put nothing past Severus, nothing, he knew that, he had always, always known. He could not find a single thing that damn boy was not capable of, and nothing he would shudder from doing.. He was sure this was going to be the last time they would ever speak. Lucius would have relished in it, and he was certain the slightly younger professor staring back at him, black eyes again unreadable, would do so as well.
Instead, Snape's lips twisted into a smile and with a voice that was sickeningly pleased with itself, he turned first to Draco and then again to Lucius.
„Forgive me. Of course I'll give you a few minutes. If there's anything I'm aware of, it's my place."
With that and not a syllable more, he closed the door behind himself and was off.
Lucius turned, his face a mask of threatening composed, and glared at his son.
„Well?", he asked.
Draco could not even bring himself to speak.
„Have you forgotten the date as well as your name?", Lucius said, without even a hint of raising his voice at all. „I suggest you remember such things Draco."
„Ummm, yes, Father.", was all Draco could bring himself to mumble now.
„I will expect you down stairs in no less than a quarter of an hour."
With that, he too was gone. Draco stared, befuddled around himself at the unfamiliar surroundings, remembering that today was the morning he was meant to return to school and that his father had found him in Snape's house.
His fear not having subsided but simply having been presented just cause, he rushed as if his life hung in the balance.
And it does, Draco. His father told him as they exited the house, if one could, in both their opinions, have afforded it that name. Disobey me, ever again, and I promise, I will not find you again. I will not return for my son. I will not have one.
