The house of Severus Snape is small, at least, from the outside. Situated on the outskirts of Muggle London, to anyone that passes, Muggle or not, the home is like all the others; not new but not old, somewhere in between. Comfortable.
When Draco carefully Apparates into the alley, the air is frigid and the moon is hidden by a thickening layer of clouds. It smells of ice and snow, the coldest winter in the last ten years.
He moves easily towards the back door and without a sound lets himself in. The kitchen is empty and he barely glances around, walking quietly towards the library at the front of the house.
His former professor is sitting at his desk, dark hair falling around his face, hiding it. The sound of quill on parchment combines and twists with the sound of flames in the fireplace.
Severus does not look up on the other man's entrance, though Draco knows his presence was detected as soon as he Apparated.
Once a paranoid always a paranoid.
Draco sits on the couch in front of the fireplace, waiting. He has learned patience but only through death, only through absolute necessity. It still does not come easily to him.
He uses the time to test himself.
After many long moments, Severus finally puts down his quill and turns in his chair to look at the younger man.
Draco feels the gaze but does not look over towards him, staring at the flames. Always staring at the flames.
"It was passed." A statement, not a question.
Draco looks over. He meets the dark eyes and notices, with surprise, that the older man is actually looking older. He wonders why he had not noticed before.
"It did."
"And Miss Granger?" The voice which asks is level, smooth, giving away nothing, but Draco knows and does not miss the slight twist, the ever so slight twist, to Severus' lip.
"Is Miss Granger," Draco replies.
The old professor and his one time student stay silent, weighing the air around them.
It is a game, a game which Draco loses.
He runs a hand through his hair, disrupting the smooth nature of it.
"She didn't know," he replies after a moment. "No one told her of my involvement."
"Your involvement was limited to a financial one but two days ago," Severus reminds him. Now that Severus has won the game his voice is warmer.
"Two days is long enough to inform her," Draco retorts and there is something of the old Draco in his words, in his tone.
After a night of keeping emotion out of his every gesture and movement it comes through with force now.
"You could retract your involvement, once more limiting it to the financial side."
Draco again pulls a hand through his hair, fist rubbing at the point on his chest before falling to his side. "I have given my word."
Severus snorts. Draco does not need to look over at the older man to know Severus is amused at his expense. But because he does not look over he does not see the older man's gaze narrow when Draco touches his chest with a fist.
It has been several years since Draco has forgotten himself enough to show signs of his compulsion in front of anyone, even in front of his old professor and the only man he truly trusts.
Severus changes the subject.
"How was our most illustrious Minister of Magic?"
Draco smirks, "Toting around a pregnant wife." He shakes his head, hair now loosened by his hand swirling into his face. "They are as bad as the Weasleys."
"Mmm," Severus responds in kind.
"But, family aside, he knows what he's doing, he's not a complete bloody fool. Almost acted like a Slytherin tonight." It was a compliment. Of sorts.
"Was there much opposition?"
Draco shrugs, leaning back into the couch, "The usual, an overly paranoid freak we know as Moody, a couple of lesser individuals, but it didn't even have to be put to a vote, not with Potter backing it."
"I suspect you are correct." Severus rises form his chair at the desk and flicks his hand, a tray of tea things appearing in front of Draco along with the table they settle on.
He sits himself in the chair across from the couch.
They are silent.
Draco watches the flames. Severus watches him.
It is a testament to the state of the younger man's mind that he doesn't notice the intense gaze of the other. But his mind moves away from the room, the library, the present.
It remembers moments. Stolen moments, liquid bathed in red, thoughts colored in shadow, in grays.
Brilliant white snow stark in contrast to the death of night.
Fingers curl into fists, the ring on his right hand winks and snaps in the light of the fire.
Blood against the white of his skin.
The feeling, the blood compulsion, it tears at him, worse than it has in years, like he never learned to block it, like he never learned to move it, not aggressively, but gently, cradling it, placing it down, oh so very gently, then slamming the door in its face.
The eyes that finally look up and meet Severus' are stark, silver warring with things he has forgotten, things which he still does not quite remember but which are coming.
Slowly.
Creeping.
He blinks and they are blank once more.
He reaches for his tea, holding it between his hands, warmth smooth along his palms.
"When will you begin?" The question breaks the silence.
Draco looks up, "After Christmas, after the break. She is teaching full time, and is House Head, so probably a limited amount of time at first. I prefer it actually. I still have the end results of those last two potions to write up and submit." He takes a sip of the dark liquid and then continues, "I have also been thinking about the implication of your Recratius."
Severus leans forward at this and soon they are immersed into a discussion of advanced potions, both men in their element.
It allows Draco to move away from the night's proceedings.
But not Severus, and though his mind easily moves with Draco's he watches his godson closely.
There is concern along the side of his eyes.
Draco chooses not to see it.
The first rays of morning lighten the sky by the time Severus excuses himself for bed, glancing down with a questioning eyebrow at Draco.
The younger man waves a hand at him, "I have a couple references I want to look up before turning in."
Draco patiently endures the slow scrutiny of his former professor and though Severus knows there is some under lining, something not seen, he cannot read Draco's perfectly blank expression.
Severus nods curtly and leaves the library for bed.
Draco does not move from his spot on the couch, listening to the silence, broken only by the slowly dying fire. A flick of his hand would build up the fire but the steady cooling of the room, cooling to an almost arctic nature, works well with Draco's thoughts.
In the cold, the brilliant flare of pain does not register quite as strongly.
A complete and bloody fool.
The words circle around and around in his head. It's on the tip of his mind, an itch in his fingers, to owl the Headmistress and tell her he has withdrawn his participation, that he will financially back the newest decision but that will be the limit of his involvement.
He comes so close to writing it that he has motioned for a quill and parchment before he realizes what he is doing.
The quill in one hand.
The parchment in the other.
He stares at them. Seconds, minutes, a dying fire, passing time.
He opens his hands.
They fall to the floor.
Some things change. Some things never do.
A smirk curls the right side of Draco's mouth, eyes staring, cold as the air around him, flashing silver and ice in the gathering morning light.
A hunter. The smell of prey heavy in his mind, in his nostrils.
Recalling the look of fear in those brown eyes, the panic barely contained as she realized what his presence there meant. His mind flashing, quickly, effortlessly, replaying the entire scene over and over and over.
Stop.
Replaying that part again, seeing her reaction to her dearly loved friend's words, the slight narrowing of her gaze, and then that. That right there.
Her delicate fingers curling into a fist.
The smirk turns into a smile and the smile is fierce.
A trick of the shadows. A trick of the light coming in through the darkening curtains of the library.
A flash of teeth.
Stained red with blood.