STAGES OF GRIEF

CHAPTER FOUR:

BARGAINING

Severus Snape spent most of his time post-war holed up in his home on Spinner's End, drinking alcohol, reading Muggle garbage, eating like a University student, and wishing he'd just fucking died from that stupid snake bite. If Lucius was here...

If Lucius was still here...

He would have no qualms about giving the man the cold shoulder, about making him work to fix their friendship, about telling him exactly how furious he was that the elder man, who'd once been a sort of mentor to him, had slipped into the Shrieking Shack after the Dark Lord left it to staunch his wound and save his life.

But Lucius wasn't here.

And when Severus had last seen him, when he'd been permitted to say goodbye before the execution, he hadn't been able to express his resentment, not to a man who would do anything to go on living, so Severus said thank you and they shook hands and he promised he would look in on Draco and Narcissa periodically, a promise he'd not kept but told himself he would, eventually.

It was in early December, or perhaps mid, he couldn't be sure (the days all ran together) that he was sitting on this threadbare couch, sipping cheap wine, and reading a new book he'd picked up from the library (A Game of Thrones, by some mildly talented American Muggle who clearly knew nothing of real magic) that a sharp knock on his door nearly caused him to upend his drink. He hadn't felt a flickering of the wards to indicate a wizard or witch was about to intrude, which he found unsettling, but he went to the door all the same. Wand out, he called, "Who's there?"

"It's me," said a familiar voice, though the speaker sounded more timid that Severus had ever heard him.

"It is I," corrected Severus upon answering the door. "Who the fuck taught you how to speak?"

"Good to see you, too." Draco entered without invitation. Straight in front of him were the stairs and to his right, the wall he knew was really a door that led to a sitting room lined with bookshelves, so he began pressing his hand against the paneling, seeking the secret switch.

"It's here," said Severus, growing quickly impatient. He put his thumb to a slight indentation in the wood, one that might look like it had been caused by a slight collision with a piece of furniture, and the wall swung open. It closed on its own once they were in the room. Severus poured Draco a glass of wine and they settled on opposite ends of the old couch.

"How are you?" asked Severus, his tone less gruff now, as he looked over his former student with concern.

"I don't have the luxury of falling apart," answered Draco. He sipped the wine and fought himself not to pull a face. He'd forgotten how much he hated red wine. Any liquor, really. He had not inherited his father's taste for the very best the wizarding world's wineries and distilleries had to offer. "That's why I've come."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

Draco told Severus Snape all about Narcissa since his father's arrest, and how much worse it had gotten since the execution, and how afraid he was that he'd end up an orphan before his nineteenth birthday. Severus felt sick listening to this, sick with guilt, as he inwardly berated himself for having neglected to check in on them.

"So can you?" Draco finished. Severus stared at him for a long moment. He had mentally drifted away during the young man's speech.

"Can I...?" Severus prompted.

"Help? My mother? Please?"

"Certainly," said Severus, wondering what this help would entail and silently cursing himself for not paying attention.

"Excellent!" Draco brightened. Severus didn't know it, but this was the first smile he'd made since his father's arrest with the exceptions of those during Hermione's Mentorship visits. "Could you start tomorrow? I'll have her awake and fed and showered... all you need to do is, you know, whatever it is you need to do."

"Excuse me?" Now Severus really wished he'd been listening better.

"Tomorrow, perhaps... two? In the afternoon? I think if you start by talking to her, maybe see if she'll talk to you, and then, if she'll let you, she needs treatment for the burns on her arm and perhaps something to help wean her from the alcohol, if such a thing exists, though I am reluctant to rely too heavily on potions as she's been abusing Dreamless Sleep and a number of others as well; I've had to cut off her supply by caging her owl and micro-managing her personal house-elf. Thank you sir. I owe you... I already owed you, but I owe you more now."

"You owe me nothing," said Severus. He Accioed over the wine bottle to top off his glass. He held it out to Draco but the young man shook his head, having plenty left. "Your parents were good friends to me for a long time. I met them when I was still in school, you know. Your father was Head Boy when I was in my First Year and you mother was a Sixth Year prefect." Severus refrained from mentioning that it was Narcissa who had first introduced Severus and Lucius to the Death Eaters, when one was still a student and the other a newlywed. Her older sister had called upon her to help recruit new followers – this was before Narcissa knew that genocide and world domination were among the Dark Lord's plans – and she'd been happy to oblige.

"I must return home." Draco placed his half-full wine goblet on the small end table and stood, holding out a hand to the former Headmaster, who shook it. "I'm no longer under house arrest but I don't like to leave Mother alone too long... just in case."

"Tomorrow at two," said Severus with a nod. "I'll do as I can."

Draco walked back to the spot in the woods by the river where he'd initially arrived to apparate back to Malfoy Manor. He wished he hadn't put off asking Snape for help for a week after Hermione suggested it, but he'd first tried (in vain) to help his mother himself, using "If you won't do it for me, I'll have to call in reinforcements" as a threat.

"Call in one of your father's ex-mistresses," she'd said miserably. "Maybe they'll do what I can't."

(If Draco ever came across that reporter in a dark alley, he'd hex the bloke's bollocks off.)

The following day, Draco was determined to get Narcissa out of bed, fed, showered, and dressed as promised.

"Mother, get up." He stood, arms folded, at the foot of her bed, staring at her in what he hoped was a no-nonsense way. She glanced at him briefly before averting her gaze back to the ceiling.

"I don't want to."

He knelt beside her on the bed, forcing her into a seated position, then tried to turn her body so her legs were over the side of the mattress without letting her flop back.

"Your muscles are going to atrophy from lack of use."

"Let them."

He gritted his teeth. He wanted to shout at her, to swear at her, to remind her that she hadn't only been Lucius' wife, she had been his fucking mother, and ask whether she remembered that she still had a child she once claimed she'd do anything for. Instead, all he said was, "Please, Mother. We have to get you cleaned and dressed and fed."

"Draco, you're getting on my last bloody nerve," she snapped, and though he didn't say so, he was glad to hear a bit of fire back in her voice.

"You've been on mine for months, Mother." Deciding he was through trying to get her to do what he wanted he decided to do to her as she'd done to him countless times as a small child, when she wanted him to take a bath but he refused. He gathered her in his arms (it was easy; she weighed next to nothing), carried her into the bathroom off the bedroom, and deposited her gently into the porcelain clawfoot tub, as that was easier than stuffing her upright into the shower. Before she could protest or escape, he tapped the faucet with his wand. Freezing cold water came out, making her yelp.

"Are you trying to turn me into an ice sculpture?"

"Make it hotter then, if you want."

"I want to get out."

"I'll be sitting outside this door. Take a shower. Take a bath. Take something. Wash your hair. You look dreadful."

"I'm still dressed!" She struggled with the knob, making the water warmer, as the material of her nightgown became heavy from the water pooled at the bottom of the tub.

"Get undressed, then. I'll be right outside." He stood, stalked to the door, and was about to slam it shut when she called out to him.

"Wait! What's the day, Draco?"

"Monday."

"The date?"

"Twenty-first."

"Of...?"

He sighed. "December."

"Almost Christmas, then."

"Yes." He closed his eyes and silently counted down from five. "Almost."

He Accioed over the little puffy-topped stool from in front of her vanity and sat himself outside the closed door, as he'd said he would. She remained in the tub for so long he started to worry she drowned in there, but he was determined not to check – seeing his father lowered into a murderous pit of memories was bad enough, he had no desire to find his mother naked floating face-down in her own tub. Finally, though, she emerged, donning the overlarge white dressing gown with the initials LAM embroidered across the pocket in gold, with her hair wrapped in a towel.

"Get dressed and then we'll eat."

"No thank you." She crawled back under the covers of her bed, rested her head on the pillow, and closed her eyes.

"Please, Mother! Hermione said you..."

"Hermione?" she interrupted. Her eyes snapped open. "Hermione who?"

"Hermione Granger."

"The Mudblood? Since when do you speak with Hermione Granger?"

"Since... since... since the bloody war ended! Mother!" He threw up his hands, took two steps forward, and nearly fell ass-over-teakettle thanks to a wine bottle discarded on the floor. "I'm in that Ministry Mentorship program, remember? She's my Mentor. She comes here once or twice per week to..."

"She comes here once or twice a week? The Mudblood? And the two of you have discussed me?"

"She... yes, once or twice per week. And yes, we've discussed you."

"Sharing our personal family business with the Gryffindor princess?!" There was a bit of that fire Draco thought he'd missed. He missed it less now that she was exhibiting it. "What's wrong with you, Draco? Have you no dignity left? Have I? What did you tell her?"

"Mother, I merely told her... she knows you're... sad."

"Sad?" Narcissa laughed bitterly. "That's the understatement of the century, isn't it?"

"I only want to help you, Mother. That's why Prof..."

"You can help me by leaving me be, Draco. Everyone grieves at their own pace. I lost your father less than two weeks ago and you act as though I should be up shopping and throwing parties, going about my daily business!"

"I don't need you shopping and throwing parties, Mother, but eating real food and showering regularly would be a fucking treat!"

"Don't speak to me that way. You're not too old to have your mouth slapped."

"I'm trying to help you!"

"I don't need any help!"

"You do! You've been this way for months. I know you need to grieve, I understand that it takes time, but Mother, you're... you're... If you die... you're all... I'm worried about you!" He crawled onto the bed from the bottom and up until he was beside her, to the left, on his father's side of the bed. He reached under the blanket and grabbed her wrist, forcing her arm up, and drew back her sleeve, where the blisters and burns marred her pale skin. "This! This is why you need help! This is not grieving! I am grieving. I know what it is to grieve! But this–"

She wrenched her arm away and to his horror, began to cry. "I am broken and empty without him, Draco," she whimpered miserably. "I do this so I can remember what it is to feel."

Draco bowed his head, turned his body, and leaned back against the ornately carved headboard that had been in his family for generations. When he was little he loved coming in here, climbing into bed between his parents, and tracing the massive indented M with his fingertip. He'd led a privileged life. It was gone now.

"Tell me," she whispered. "Tell me what Potter's Mudblood girlfriend said to you about me during one of your Mentorship sessions."

"I wish you'd stop calling her a Mudblood. She has a name. And she's not Potter's girlfriend. I wasn't happy about having her here at first either but she's a good Mentor. She's... she's sort of even my friend."

"You like this girl?" She forced herself into a seated position and turned to him, wiping tears from her cheeks. She was still half-covered by blankets; he remained on top of them rather than under. "This Hermione Granger? You're smitten with her?"

"What makes you think that?" He felt his face going hot and hoped she couldn't see the pink in his cheeks in the dim, flickering candlelight. To his great surprise, she smiled. It was the first time he'd seen her smile in... he couldn't remember how long.

"My Draco has a crush on a little Mud... Muggle-born girl. Fancy that!" She chuckled. "Your father would be appalled."

"Are you appalled, Mother?" Quickly, he added, "To know she's my friend, I mean. Because that's all she is. Barely a friend and nothing more."

"Does it make you happy when she visits?"

"Happier than I am when she's not here, yes."

"Then tell me what advice she has for me. I'm interested in the insights of a little girl who's never lost anyone she loves."

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"She said she thinks you could benefit from a mentor of sorts, same as I have. An unrelated person to talk to, to confide in, someone who knows what you're going through – or, at the very least, is willing to try to understand – and that's why I wanted you up and dressed and clean today. I have someone coming..."

"A Ministry Mentor for me? I don't think so, love."

"Not Ministry-appointed, no. Just... an old friend. I thought it might benefit you to talk with an old friend."

"I have old friends?" Her old friends weren't speaking to her. Those that had survived the war and avoided prison were not happy to learn she'd lied to the Dark Lord, sparing Harry Potter, because her only goal during the battle had been to find and save her son.

"Professor Snape. That's who's coming here today. It's nearly one now and he'll be here at two. I was afraid if I told you ahead of time, you'd refuse to see him."

"I'll still refuse to see him."

"Please, Mother. It's all I ask of you!"

"You ask a lot of me."

"Fine. Then it's the last thing I'll ask of you. See Snape. Speak to him. Let him try to help you. And... and if you do so... I won't... I won't have you committed."

"You won't have me committed no matter what I do, Draco." She patted his knee. "You love me too much and I know you too well. Don't forget, I've known you longer than you've known yourself. You lived inside me for thirty-nine weeks and three days, remember? If you want to bargain, you'll have to offer something else."

"Fine." He glowered, annoyed she'd so casually called his bluff. "I know that's your last wine bottle." He gestured toward the one he'd tripped on. "And I know you're down to your last two vials of Dreamless Sleep. If you won't see Snape, I won't ask him for more potions and I'll keep you cut off from the liquor – all of it. With Father gone, I am the Master of Malfoy Manor, which means I outrank you, thus if I tell the house-elves you're to have no more, they'll listen. Even if I ordered them to bring me your wand so I could snap it in two, they would have to obey."

She gasped and glanced toward her bedside table, inside which her black and silver wand was stored.

"But if you agree to see Snape this afternoon, I won't make you give up your vices and medications, nor will I touch your wand. I'll even supply you with more potions, in reasonable doses, and purchase a few cases of that expensive Italian elf-made red wine you love, the one we couldn't get during the war. How's that for a bargain?"

"You want me to quit alcohol and potions so you're forcing me to see Severus as a 'sort of mentor,' and if I agree to this you'll supply me with alcohol and potions?"

"Basically, yes."

"This was Hermione Granger's idea?"

"To a lesser extent, yes."

"I thought she was smarter than that." She removed the towel from her head, dried her hair, and thought this over. Finally she tossed it to the ground, turned to Draco, and nodded. "If you'd like me to be dressed before Severus arrives, get out of my room. You have yourself a bargain."

He held out his hand and she shook it, even though that felt a bit silly. He then kissed her temple, the way she used to do to him.

"I love you, Mother."

"I love you too, you manipulative little bastard."