Chapter 21 - Drinking!
Severus Snape demonstrated the proper technique required for side-along Apparition. Contrary to any Ministry-approved lesson, there was no requirement for jumping into hoops, fumbling about with a damnable list of D's or twirling wildly about with a hip-snap. His preferred procedure for Apparition was to encircle Hermione's waist with his arms, wait until she looked up at him expectantly, with her lips curved upwards in a kissable smile, and move. Surely there were some magical mechanics to it, astrophysics, mathematics, quantum something-or-other, but for him it was as easy as taking a step from one place into another. With Hermione in his arms, it was ever more pleasant.
Standing on her living room rug, her arms tightened about his neck as she leaned closer.
"I can't believe you got me to agree to registering," she sighed against him.
"Me neither," he mumbled, just before tasting her lips.
"What?" Hermione exclaimed, reeling back. She held him at arm's length, but didn't step away from his embrace. "You're playing at something, Snape."
"Of course I am." His fingers were light and soft as they manipulated the muscles of her back, and as Hermione relaxed she rather thought that was how he operated: a gentle master manipulator.
"With my address exposed, I feel like bait," she muttered.
"We're both bait," he tenderly promised, slipping a hand down her shoulder. "Finding out who set us up could take ages, or…" He smoothly placed a nuzzling kiss on the skin beneath her ear. "We can lure them out."
"I'm adding extra warding," Hermione warned, feeling uncomfortable in the way her home had been laid bare to the Ministry's probing eyes. They knew her location, which meant everyone knew her location. It made her feel unsafe.
"Please do. I'll help."
"No," Hermione said quickly. "Your style of wards will get you thrown back in prison. I saw what bit of nastiness you put on the tent."
"That would require enforcement and Harry won't touch me." Severus was putting a lot of faith on just a shrug, but he knew deep in his bones Harry wouldn't arrest him. Not over a bit of protective warding meant to keep Hermione safe. He didn't trust Aurors. They made him feel itchy all over, which was probably just a lingering twitch of being deloused too many times, and for no damned good reason. Aurors peered at him hungrily, as if they knew he was a rotten sort - which he was - and they could bang him up for whatever unsolved crime they had on the books. And though Harry was a mid-level Chief Inspector Auror, he had very high connections and was poised to go places. This meant he should have been the biggest bastard of all, but Harry didn't make him feel itchy.
He was his father's son. It didn't place him high in Severus' esteem. And Lily's boy. The less said on that account, the better. Two thoroughly Gryffindor parents had given birth to the most thick-skulled Gryffindor since Godric himself. But Severus, for some unearthly reason, had learned to trust Harry.
And Ronald Bilius Weasley.
Which meant hell was currently experiencing a nice wintery frost probably not unlike the Ministry Decoding Room.
Hermione searched his eyes for affirmation. "Okay, so if Harry's willing to ensure the Aurory turns a blind eye to any of your creative misdeeds, that should give us plenty of flexibility, but I wouldn't count on Harry for everything. He will have to enforce the law if you do something huge." Her voice was a plea for restraint.
Severus arched a challenging eyebrow that seemed to push the very limit of its boundaries. How? Abduction and Morsmordre casting were permissible. When would he begin enforcing the law? Severus remained silent because Hermione only had a vague idea of such things. He'd told her he'd arranged for Romilda to take a well deserved vacation, and though Hermione hadn't been completely fooled, she thought it was a lovely idea.
"Let me get my things from the tent and satisfy my requirement for a permanent address," Severus muttered, not catching her eye-contact. "I want this curse dormant and you feeling better as soon as possible."
He could tell she didn't approve of his methods or intent to skirt the law as much as permissible, or as much as he was able to get away with it. And really, if nobody knew of your misdeeds or could trace them back to you, there wasn't a problem. People only apologized when they got caught. In the canvas tent in the back garden, Severus collected his things as he needed them, shrinking and packing until everything he owned was properly crated the way they had been the day he'd arrived. Severus held the tiny crates, which looked like little dice in his palm and sighed heavily. He reflected on how everything in his life seemed to upend.
He didn't mind moving again, no not nearly. He didn't mind finding a proper space in Hermione's flat. Though he hoped his welcome was because his presence was wanted there and not forced to a nasty oath-bound curse. He sighed because, though he wasn't a very materialistic man, there was something sad about the sum total of all he owned fitting in his hand. Even when opened up and spread out, it wasn't much to look on. He couldn't offer his wife material goods. He'd brought a curse upon her head. He was neither handsome nor desirable. And he was not a particularly nice person. Wishing he had more to offer his bride, he resolved to try to at least make her happy in their marriage.
He finished cleaning the tent, leaving it in the condition in which Hermione had given it to him and freshened the linens on Ronald's bed, which still had the light lingering pong of flobberworm entrails. Once satisfied with his job, Severus stood outside and shrunk it back down into what looked like a child's toy. He pocketed the tent because Hermione was right; such an object was handy to have around. Working to dismantle the tent's wards, Severus returned the back garden to its rightful state and ensured the grass was properly restored. Once finished, he yawned. The sun had disappeared, slipping beneath the horizon and taking with it the light. Walking to the farthest darkened corner of the lot, Severus tried to Apparate into Hermione's flat and failed, proving to him that she'd reset her wards. He trudged to the lift and waved hello to Mister McCorkle along the way.
He knocked politely on her door and waited as the sound of wards clicked on the other side.
"Hi," she said, leaning on the door frame, her wand at her thigh, just in case.
"Melodramatic witch," Severus said gesturing to her readied wand, as he entered her flat. "Just because we visited the Decoding Room today and outed our location to the Ministry this afternoon, does not mean we should expect a sinister visit from some dark and evil madman this evening. Nothing within the Ministry happens that quickly."
Hermione airily gestured. "My obsessive planning has worked well for me so far."
Several strong locking charms clicked into place the moment the door closed. With one swish he levitated his boxes into the center of her living room, and with the next swish they resized themselves. Severus pulled the tiny tent from a pocket and handed it back to her.
Hermione smiled wistfully as she took it and placed it prominently on the mantle.
"We have such different memories of this tent," she said.
"I'm not particularly fond of it," Severus admitted.
"Me neither." She reached out and grabbed his hand, clasping it in his own. "But it's something we both share. I'd like to have more shared memories with you, Severus."
"A leaky tent and a horrific curse? I think given time, I can improve upon the situation." He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.
"Good." She looked at him in a very steadfast manner which brooked no argument, in Hermione's fussy way. "You're mine now, Severus Snape, and no court will overturn that, so you'd better get used to me. I manage my affairs in a very orderly fashion. I like my cat, my books and my bubble baths. On Fridays, I have date night and I expect you to show up to every single date." The corners of her lips tipped up in that inexplicably kissable way that Severus' eyes tracked.
"Now that you're moving in, we may need to readjust boundaries. I'm not certain what all of that will entail, but we'll manage." She nervously moved her hands as if presenting a speech to a crowd, not standing on the carpet in her socks with Crooksy licking himself nearby.
"What else, Hermione?" Severus gently prodded.
Closing her eyes briefly, Hermione swayed from foot to foot, looking open and vulnerable. Her hair had unfolded with her, cascading down into a mess of tangly curls about her shoulders. They looked limp from illness, and she wore her gaunt pallor stretched across her skin, but there was still a spring left. Reaching out, Severus twisted his finger around a coil of hair that could not, nor would not, be denied. A rule breaking, misbehaving, untamed thread of wild hair that spun into a pretty curl. He smiled at her reckless hair.
"I'm not always easy to get along with," she admitted. "I have my eccentricities, and there are far too many of them to list." Her brow furrowed. "As much as I make them, I don't fit nicely into lists either. But…"
"But?" Severus asked.
"If you continue to make breakfast, I think we should get along well."
Severus leaned in and kissed her pouting lips, which were ever so much sweeter. Teasing her lips until she opened them with a sigh, he deepened the kiss, pouring himself and the depth of his feelings for her into the action until she trilled in response. Hermione broke the kiss looking flushed and unfocused.
"Well, that was unexpected," she said, her breath warm and moist as it hovered just an inch above his. "I should order you to cook for me more often."
Severus smiled, earnest and genuine in his affection for her.
"Now, what shall we do with your boxes?" Hermione asked, worrying her lower lip.
The question held suspended between them, hovering in the air in the already cramped and tiny two bedroom flat. Severus swallowed the enormous stone that seemed lodged in the back of his throat. To admit he was ready to move into her bed was a step he wasn't certain he was able to take. It seemed too fast, too rushed. Perhaps he was out of step or too old fashioned. Though they'd traveled far and overcome so much together, it hadn't been long since he'd left Azkaban. They'd only spent a few short weeks testing their new relationship. He'd made demands on Hermione when he'd entered her life before, he wasn't about to make those same demands again.
"Wherever you would prefer would be fine," Severus answered, patiently awaiting her decision.
She held her breath and Severus could nearly see the formulation of her answer as readily as he could when she worked on a difficult potions equation. Testing and discarding ideas, weighing and measuring thoughts until coming up with an answer that harmoniously balanced all factors, coalescing and steaming together into a perfect, bubbling solution.
"Then I think it's high time Ron came and picked up his stuff," Hermione said with a determined nod.
"Ronald Weasley," Severus said with a growl.
Hermione rolled her eyes and headed for the second bedroom. They stood in the doorway and surveyed the modest accommodations. The ordinary bedroom would have sufficed except it held an extraordinary amount of Muggle gadgetry. A large couch dominated the room to take advantage of the obscenely oversized television. A bookcase of discs and films would ensure they had a century's worth of entertainment. And there were two computer desks.
"Oh honestly," Hermione said gesturing towards the room. "Do you really think all of this belongs to me? I told you, I prefer books."
The films were Ron's. The thought hit him like a Bludger upside his head. It went far to explain all the bloody shoot-em-ups and ninja flicks. He didn't know what was worse – that he hadn't figured it out before, or that he shared similar movie tastes with Ronald Weasley.
She pointed to the sleek white desktop, perched neatly in the corner. "That one is mine," she claimed.
Severus' eyes narrowed on the other desktop and immediately noticed what he hadn't seen before: filth, crumbs, a smear of what he hoped was mustard, and clutter. Lots of clutter. How had he missed the mark of Weasley?
"The gaming console belongs to him, too." Hermione made a disgusted face.
"There was a game?" Severus asked, feeling somehow as if he'd been immeasurably cheated.
"I didn't give you this room before because you didn't ask nicely," Hermione stated, whipping her wand out. "You were rude and unkind and overbearing. I understand now you were in a desperate situation and I'm sorry. I'm sorry you were dealt such a dirty hand; you didn't deserve to be in Azkaban." She flicked her wand at Ron's computer and it shrunk down to a miniature. "I'm also sorry I treated you shabbily. I should have done more for you than just offer a toilet."
"No," Severus quietly interjected. "I had no right to make demands upon your life. A vile contract should not give me claim to what's yours."
"You're right, our contracts are galling, both the ones that married us without our knowledge or consent and the one that released you from prison and bound me to a life-threatening curse." She reached out for his hand and grasped it. "But we can behave better towards each other."
They packed and boxed Ron's film collection and his games. Severus winced as Hermione shrank the beautiful television and hoped that nothing got damaged inside. Ron lived in a wizarding house and couldn't have Muggle technology inside. Crossing magic and electricity had a way of ruining semiconductors or something like that. Severus wasn't entirely certain what the problem was, only that after awhile there was an unhealthy burning smell and everything went skew whiff before it died. The room was packed up until all that remained was Hermione's large couch and computer desk. It looked positively barren.
"Will this be enough?" Hermione asked apprehensively. "I'm happy to move the computer into my room."
"That's not necessary," he assured her. "This will do quite nicely. Thank you."
"Right, well if you're going to unpack then I'll head in for bed. It has been a terribly long day and I feel exhausted." She smiled tiredly.
The cats came in and settled upon his newly made bed just as soon as Severus had transfigured the couch. He glared at them with his best patented stare, the one that made children quake and sniffle. The icy scowl that let rule breakers know an unholy amount of detention was upon their heads and no amount of Head of House intervention would save their precious hides. The mismatched orange and grey beasts did not give his stiff glower much consideration and continued to shed an obscene amount of fur on freshly laundered sheets. As Severus contemplated charming his new bed, Ushanka stretched her large huntress body, yawning wide and flashing vaguely threatening teeth before scratching at his bedding with her claws as if to lay claim to everything.
Severus stowed his wand and gave up on charming the bed as a bad job. "What's mine is yours," he muttered. "What's yours is mine, eh?" Crookshanks' golden eyes settled on him for a fractional moment before he returned to his job of pretending to sleep.
Hermione was still in the shower and Severus was settling his belongings into some semblance of order when there was a fissure in the wards. The cats sensed it first, their heads lifting in time together, as if scenting something in the air. Whiskers twitched as claws came out. Severus quietly set down the jar he was handling and picked up his wand. The fine hairs on the back of his neck prickled and stood up like the cats' fur.
"Severus?" Hermione called distantly from within the shower. "Do you feel that? Something's…" Their wards split with a deafening crack. She shut the shower off.
He ran into the living room and assumed a readied pose. Shirtsleeves rolled up, knees and arms bent, eyes trained on the door, but skimming, tracking, prepared for an alternate attack.
"Wand!" Hermione cried behind him, distracting him for an instant as she ran around in a bath towel. "Where's my wand?"
"It's in your hand," he hissed.
"My other one!" Hermione shouted. She rummaged through the discarded clothing from the day looking for her second wand just as another layer was torn out of their wards.
Hermione joined him at his side, a double-fisted fighter in a fluffy peach towel with a grim set expression. Then came the sound of clattering nails as two cats shot past their legs and placed themselves at the door. Hermione glance briefly at Severus as the last hardened layer of wards fell into tatters with an ear-splitting snap.
"Whatever happens here tonight," Hermione said, her heart pounding within her chest. "I just wanted to say I love you, Severus."
"I love you, too," he answered, wanting to gather her up in his arms. Not knowing how many seconds they still had, Severus issued orders. "Don't be brave, Hermione. Apparate as soon as you can and get to Poppy."
There was a great rapping sound upon the door.
The knob turned as the latch gave. Severus had a spell readied on his tongue. The door opened…
The wizard who stood in their doorway, surveyed Hermione's flat with a sweeping dispassionate eye. He barely glanced at their readied wand stance, his lips only curdling in slight displeasure, but that might just as well have been a perfunctory gaze.
His loafers were Italian. Hand-lasted and pegged, with a quality built heel, made in the old style, because modern manufacturing didn't know how to produce true heels and after all, the phrase is well-heeled. Severus knew this random bit of trivia about the wizard standing in Hermione's doorway, not because he bragged. Malfoys never bragged; it was beneath their contempt to brag in front of the hoi polloi. They just enjoyed speaking about their pursuits.
The robes were bespoke, double pleats, loomed by some kind of double ring twill. As Severus begrudgingly lowered his wand, he recalled a lengthy and mind-numbing explanation of the miracles of the industry, which was completely lost on Severus, the son of a mill worker. Lucius leaned on the doorframe, wearing tailored charcoal pinstripe robes and a haughty smirk. He hadn't put a little toe of his fine Italian handmade loafers past Hermione's doorstep.
"Aren't you going to ask me in?" He drawled, in a way that suggested they lacked all manners. "I did knock."
"Hermione," Severus said. "I take back my 'melodramatic witch' comment. The dark and evil madman has just arrived."
Lucius wolfishly grinned and stepped inside, kicking their door closed with his well-turned heel. The cats were ready for their charge and Lucius' ankles faced gory doom until Hermione called them off the hunt. The pansy-faced monster yowled in protest, hissing and spitting at the intruder for good measure before seating himself on the hearth rug, ready to strike again, if necessary. Ushanka darted beneath the coffee table and glowered at the intruder. Severus knew Lucius wouldn't hesitate to hex a cat, but not before one did irreparable damage to finely knit silk trouser socks, which to a Malfoy was cutting enough.
"What a cozy little home you have here," Lucius said, sailing past Hermione, who still had not put down her wands. "My, my, it is perfectly domestic. This must be the dinner table…"
Wet-haired and fuming, Hermione glared at Severus as if Lucius' intrusion were entirely his fault. "What is with you people," she hissed. "Do you always invite yourself over and start going through other people's houses?"
"Me?" Severus blinked. "I have nothing to do with him."
"Ah!" Lucius exclaimed from within the kitchen. "This must be the pantry. How adorable. I've always wondered what tinned soup looked like."
Hermione shook her head. "Just get rid of him as soon as you can." She stalked off towards her bedroom and locked it with several tight wards.
Lucius reemerged from the kitchen, with a particularly smooth vintage of Ogden's 73 dangling from his fingertips. "I thought she'd never leave."
Severus eyed the bottle.
"Well?" Lucius asked, sliding it across their table. "Shall I get glasses? I think I spied some juice glasses in there. Mind you, they're not the correctly sized tumblers, and they have orange slices painted on them, but you were never one to stand on formalities, if I recall. So…" He left the word dangling between them.
Severus kept his eye on the bottle.
There were two ways of settling a dispute within Slytherin House. The most obvious and well-known way was to determine the ultimate victor during a long, bloody, and protracted blood-feud. These occasionally leaked over the generations and did a great deal to cull the cousins, which was helpful when waiting for a rich uncle to expire. The less dramatic way of settling things was to talk a problem out over a bottle of booze. If that failed, there was always the blood-feud to fall back upon. So… Did Severus want to bury the hatchet with Lucius? He thought of this as he considered the bottle on the table.
Not particularly. He was rather fond of the status quo of disliking Lucius and had done so rather successfully for a number of years. He saw no reason to stop now, particularly given Lucius' notorious propensity to bury the hatchet in people's backs, which reminded Severus to ask how the Parkinson blood-feud was turning out, in case he ought to put in a small wager. However… He was no longer a free man in all regards, there being the tiny matter of his dear wife in the next room, and her health and wellbeing possibly at stake. And Lucius, being Lucius, of course knew this, which meant he was already well and truly buggered.
At least there was always a blood-feud to fall back upon.
"Grab the goddamned glasses," Severus snarled, pulling out his seat at the table viciously.
Lucius smiled obligingly, happy to fulfill the role of host within Severus' house. He returned from the kitchen with two juice glasses and produced a copy of the Daily Prophet from within his robes. The table stretched between them just for a moment before Lucius grabbed the bottle to open it, a silent acknowledgment that he had done the first wrong. Lucius filled Severus' glass and handed it to him.
Severus eyed the liquor carefully. Not because he doubted the drink, he was past believing Lucius would poison him. And if Lucius did poison him – he was certain Hermione would be creative and matchless in her revenge. Nevertheless, he needed to understand exactly which grievance they were drinking to, because if they were starting at the beginning… well. Severus wasn't fully certain where the beginning was, but he knew there wasn't enough Firewhiskey contained within the bottle to cover it, nor was he confident of his ability to survive the night.
He held the glass up. "What's this for?" Severus asked bluntly.
"For the crude words I uttered upon your mother's death. She was a fine witch and not a filthy Muggle-lover," Lucius said stoically. Though to Severus' memory, the language Lucius had used had been much more coarse. "And I apologize; my comments were out of line."
Severus nodded and they drank. "What's next?" he asked.
"You owe me an apology for spilling some foul potions substance on my cream robes."
Severus choked. "What? When?"
"In April of 1980." Lucius looked quite affronted by the matter. "On the left sleeve. The stain never came out. I loved those robes."
"And I loved my mother." Severus stared hard at Lucius, waiting for him to yield, but he did not even blink. "Fine," Severus growled, pouring their cups. "I'll apologize for ruining your precious cream robes, which you loved as much as I loved my mother. But I'm drawing the line here. No more ridiculous apologies. Let's skip the trivialities. We have enough serious business to cover than the issue of laundry."
His lips pursed fractionally, as if he were weighing the merits of leaving the table. "They were Vitore robes from Bolzano. Don't call them trivial again."
Severus raised his glass. For the life of him he did not remember the occasion, nor did he remember the terrible fate of the beloved cream robes. In the life of a Potions master there was no use crying over split potions; wear black and get over it. "So they were. Very noble looking robes, if I recall," Severus lied. "And for ruining them, I am sorry. Drink." With the clink of empty glasses, the subject was put to rest.
Though Severus had insisted they keep to the important matters, Lucius' definition of what constituted important matters varied considerably from his own. A healthy quarter into the bottle, a curious Hermione emerged from her room in her dressing gown. She stayed up and watched the proceedings until she was too tired to watch, and left, muttering the faintest reprimand beneath her breath.
"No," Lucius said blurrily. "That was all Cissy. You can't blame any of Draco's nonsense on me." Swaying, he held his juice cup as if it kept him tethered to the earth. "If I had anything to do with it – no wait. That's the bloody point. I had nothing to do with it."
"You'd have kept him safe," Severus finished.
"Exactly so." Lucius nodded with a smile. He ruminated on memories of what might have been, with the ability to repaint history from within the imagination.
Severus had plenty of opportunity to extol every good deed he'd done on behalf of the family, but that just wasn't done. One didn't drink to bury good deeds. They were putting the blemishes of the past behind them. And to be fair, Lucius had done him plenty of good turns as well.
"So where does that leave us?" Severus asked, his words slurring with a thick tongue. The bottle sat before them looking anything but innocent.
Lucius rubbed his hand across his face, feeling his lips, which had by then gone quite numb. His nose too, if he were to be completely honest.
"Perhaps we should skip to the issue of your betrayal." His eyelids shuttered in the same way Crookshanks' did just before he pounced, though it was also just as likely he was getting ready to pass out.
Severus leaned forward, which was a generous description of collapsing against the elbows that kept him upright. "You're angry with me because I helped bring down the Dark Lord?"
Severus peered at the blond nutter. He knew of six times when Lucius had been Crucio'd so badly that he'd nearly gone full-Longbottom. Severus knew of this, of course, because he'd been the one to patch up the poor sod afterwards. Lucius had split a tongue, re-grown a shinbone, lost his hair, flayed his back, put his son in mortal danger, and spent time in Azkaban prison. All for the Dark Lord. And Severus was fully aware that the Malfoy family regretted every damn minute of joining the Death Eaters.
"You betrayed me," Lucius snapped. "You think I don't know Occlumency? We could have been working together for years. Instead you worked against me within our ranks and scored the greatest coup at the end."
His head sank into his hands as Severus tried to bundle his thoughts and memories together. "Would it help if I told you I'd talked to Dumbledore about approaching you because I thought you could be trusted. As expected, the suggestion went over like a lead balloon."
"I wouldn't have wanted him or his bumbling Order of Pricks either," Lucius sniffed, not bothering to hide his hurt pride.
"No, of course not," Severus muttered, filling Lucius glass. "Bloody-minded do-gooders, Gryffindors mostly. Opinionated, naturally. They tried to organize an entire war by committee meetings." The men shuddered around their glasses. "It's a wonder the final battle came at all." They drank deeply and with the finality of glasses banging on the tabletop, they put the issue to bed.
"Is there anything left?" Lucius asked blearily. There was still a quarter of petrol left in the tank, but neither of them was feeling particularly interested in chasing it. But Severus did have one pressing ill other than his bladder. He nodded gravely. It was a slumping nod, but he'd been waiting all evening for the opportunity.
"We sat in a holding cell together, awaiting our trials. Remember?"
"Oh, did we?" Lucius mumbled, trying vainly to create an affectation of ignorance as he reached for the bottle. "I don't recall such a thing." He poured their glasses.
"Stop being such a shit, Lucius," Severus growled, clasping his drink. "You were in for one day, just long enough to buy your way out and remind me that I couldn't."
"Oh?" His cheeks flushed a rosy pink as merriment danced in his eyes. "I still don't remember that happening. Those days were such a blur, but it does sound like me. And if so, brilliant."
"I spent years working for the Light, taking hits on both sides," Severus said bitterly. "And you waltz in at the last possible second with a mea culpa and get just as much credit. Then when we're banged up together by the Aurors, you leave me stranded to fend for myself."
Lucius looked over the rim of his whiskey very seriously, nearly to the point where Severus questioned whether Lucius had taken a potion before he started drinking, but then started listing slightly to the right. "I never left you stranded. I paid that squirrely little bastard you hired to represent you in court extra because you obviously didn't have enough. Then, because I think of myself as a rather damned decent chap who pays my debts, I bribed the Wizengamot for you."
Startled wasn't the proper word for Severus' reaction. Shocked, mystified and bewildered nearly came close. He peered intently at the haughty lip-curling wizard, trying to fathom a whit of deceit from him, but found none.
"Really?" Severus asked feeling overcome with emotion. His voice cracked with honesty, which meant he'd consumed far too much alcohol than was good for any one Slytherin. "You bribed the Wizengamot for me?"
Lucius suffered from a bout of self-consciousness. "Well, not the whole Wizengamot," he conceded, bashfully. "I couldn't get that damned flying charge to drop." Lucius held his glass up high and cracked on. "I apologize for not buying off enough of those greedy sodding bastards in the Wizengamot. Never leave a man behind."
Severus drank to that.
With the last of their drinking business put behind them, the bottle went up and Lucius pushed the Daily Prophet in front of Severus.
"Is this where you tell me you want me to work for you?" Severus asked, happy for the warmth of whiskey that took the growl out of his voice.
Lucius smiled thinly. "We could flip to the classified section and look at all the wonderful job opportunities where you could put in your application. I could even help you polish your resume." Lucius shrugged. "But you're only putting off the inevitable. You will come to work for me."
"Because of Hermione," Severus sighed. He knew as much and accepted it. His life was tied to hers and as long as the Dark Lord's clutches of eggs were scattered throughout Britain, he would see her project through to the end.
"Not necessarily. Actually, there's a dandy little rumor sweeping around the business community that you've been blacklisted from working and anyone who hires you will be audited for compliance." Lucius set his hands down on the table and sat back. It also appeared as if he was clutching the table to help him sit up straight.
"Blacklisted," Severus repeated. His heart stated pumping, speeding up as he fought a wave of nausea. He was going to get sick in a moment. Blacklisted, like a common werewolf. Reduced to picking up odd jobs, when he could find them. Working in back alleys and dark shops. No wonder the only person to offer him work was Borgin. "Does Minerva know?"
"Hogwarts is so isolated, and education is different than industry. It always has been," Lucius remarked. "So, it appears you have a problem, my friend."
"Yes," Severus hoarsely whispered.
"Contrary to my best efforts, you've been banged up. That dodgy place of yours wasn't much, but it was something. And the Ministry let it get demolished. Seems fishy. And you cannot find work. Those are the two basic requirements of Hermione's curse, are they not?" Lucius asked, blinking slowly. "It makes me question what might have happened to her if you had not come to her flat after leaving Azkaban. Ponder what her fate would have been if you'd taken up a temporary residence in a hotel room. It is a reasoned choice."
It had been his preference at the time. He didn't want to come knocking at Hermione's door with his hat in his hand. If there had been enough of Potter's Galleons in his pocket or anything left in his vault, he'd have gone to a hotel.
"She'd have died," Severus answered, unquestioningly. "Quickly too, given the way the curse advances."
And nobody would have known why.
Lucius pouted in the way he tended to muse over his thoughts while drunk. If Severus had any reason to suspect Lucius had taken a sobriety potion beforehand, they were dashed by the reality of his fish-lipped expression. Lucius never willingly made the face. "Then your relationship was not anticipated by your plotter." His head tilted back. "Regardless, Granger is a tolerable witch with a good head under all that hair. Good tits, too. I'm happy for you, Sev. And I'm happy to learn she's now on the mend. Give her my best when she awakens."
"I will." Severus nodded, in a way he ought not to do.
Lucius continued. "Someone has been very busy plotting against you in a rather elaborate way. I haven't had the entire day to think about the turn of events as they've been reported to me, but at first blush it looks like someone is trying to get you back in prison."
"That was what we concluded as well," Severus said.
"And barring that, Hermione dead," Lucius offered with working himself up. He drummed his fingers across the tabletop. "I dread this sort of thing, you know. With such ridiculously complex plans and machinations, you can feel that there's something more involved within this plot that we haven't figured out, but it certainly doesn't bode well."
Severus hummed thoughtfully but had no reply. What could he say? He was unable to anticipate the unknown.
"And it's just not done," Lucius concluded with finality. "Plotting and cursing brethren without involving the Slytherin network is bad form. I mean, how are we supposed to find out who's behind this?"
"None of them?" Severus' head snapped back. That felt like a punch to the stomach, which was also a reminder for a hangover potion and bed soon. It was impossible for Slytherins to keep a secret of this size, someone had to know. "Well," Severus consoled himself. "If it's not one of us behind it, then they can't expect any mercy."
"Thank god for that," Lucius agreed.
Our foe crossed our heroes without blinking.
Ravenclaws plot their vengeance by thinking.
Gryffindors bluster.
Hufflepuffs muster.
But beware of two Slytherins drinking!
Limerick by Morethansirius