Chapter Six
The obnoxious boy kept him waiting until 12:30. Snape entertained himself with a book he'd brought with him. He didn't read it, but he used it as a cover for watching the various patrons of the Laughing Griffin. It was a shifty establishment, located in a dark twist of Knockturn Alley, where few would take notice of a man doing his best not to be noticed, or if they did, they wouldn't object to his presence.
When Draco finally sidled up to the table, Snape didn't bother to look up. He licked his finger and turned the page of his novel.
"That's a good way to trick someone into ingesting poison. Cover the corners of the pages of their current book."
"Poison is an unreliable way to kill someone. Despite being a spy, I've always preferred a more straightforward approach to murder, personally." He sighed and looked up, quirking a half smile at his godson. "And I never, ever tried to do the deed soused. Sit down, won't you?"
While he removed his cloak and settled onto the rickety chair pulled up to the hightop table, Snape took inventory of the man. Draco looked old and tired. He had grey streaks in his platinum blond hair, and a patch covering his left eye. The edges of a livid red scar poked out of the top and bottom. His frame swam in his fine grey robes, and his fingers looked skeletal where they grasped his father's old wand cane.
"Why did you want to meet? Still trying to play mentor to this poor screw-up of a boy?" Draco used his voice like an instrument, like Lucius had. The mockery in his tone was pitch perfect, and Snape smiled, momentarily overset by nostalgia.
"Is it wrong for a man to want to see his godson?" He pulled his teacup toward him and poured in a teaspoon of sugar. "It's been ages, Draco. Maybe I missed you."
For a moment, Snape thought he saw the man's mouth soften, but it was gone before he was sure. "That doesn't seem likely, does it? Especially in light of the fact I shot off a hex at you just last week."
"It's true. Attempts to kill me do make it more difficult to renew our friendship. You should probably stop." He took a sip of his tea. It was terrible. Flipping open the lid of pot, he grimaced at the weak color.
"What if I don't want to?"
"Well then I daresay you won't. However, I'm really not convinced you wanted to hit me or Ms. Granger." He eyed up Draco's fragile-looking frame and said, "Are you planning on ordering something?"
Draco ate his bit of stodge with exquisite Pureblood table manners. Snape didn't feel the need to ape them. He'd been raised in a Muggle home—for all that his mum had been a witch—and now that he didn't have to wear the persona of a loyal Death Eater, he reverted to the manners his mum and dad had imparted to him. He could feel his godson watching him as he shuttled his mushy peas onto his fork and ate them with relish.
"So, why the patch?" he asked, uncaring if he sounded rude. They'd never worried about such petty things between them before.
"Well, as I'm sure you remember, you shot my eye out in the war." His tone was level.
"Don't exaggerate. I shouted your name to gather your attention, threw the most histrionic, brightly-colored, non-lethal hex I could think of, and you still dodged too late. Honestly, I thought all the years drilling with me and your father would have made it a piece of cake."
"The battlefield is very different than the dueling salon at Malfoy Manor, isn't it?"
"I suppose," Snape said doubtfully. "Besides, I was asking why you haven't had a magical eye replacement put in."
"What, and resemble Moody? Perish the thought." Draco took a sip of wine and grimaced. "I tried several models, but they all had a tendency to spin madly to catch the slightest movement. I looked like a lunatic."
"And with the eye patch, you just look like a pirate."
"Girls seem to like it well enough." He shrugged.
They ate in silence for a few moments before Draco finally threw down his fork. "This food is terrible. If I eat another bite, I think it will finish me off." He dabbed at his mouth with a paper napkin.
Snape sighed. "I'm sorry about your eye. It wasn't intentional. Believe it or not, I was trying to protect you. I knew that several of the higher ranking Death Eaters, including your dear Auntie, believed that you'd flipped sides. There were plans to pick you off during battle. I thought you'd be safer if they saw me, the ultimate traitor to the Dark Lord, hexing you."
Draco's gaze jerked to Snape's. "Merlin, Uncle. I know that."
"Then why the hex?"
"Do you actually expect me to have a rational explanation? Really?"
"Don't play the idiot boy with me. You had everyone else fooled, but I always saw through it, Draco."
"You're wrong. I was just as idiotic as everyone suspected. You just expected more from me. That's why I constantly disappointed you." He fingered the stem of his wine glass. "I appreciated that, though… that you thought so well of me." He took a drink and wrinkled his nose. "I was… so glad when I heard that you'd survived. Directly after the battle, I saw you, you know. You were laid out on the floor of the Shrieking Shack in a puddle of your own blood, and I just left you there. The thought of bringing my fingers near the gore of your throat to see if you were still breathing… horrified me. I thought to myself, 'It's all right, Draco. No one could have survived that, and even if he's alive now, there's no way he's long for this world.'" He laughed bitterly.
"Dozens of people walked by my body. Only one thought person thought to crouch down and see if I still lived."
"Granger," he sneered. "Perennial do-gooder."
"Yes, she is. I like that about her."
Draco made a gagging noise. "Really? You?"
"I'm not the same man I was. I never would have believed her sincere before, mired as I was in the weight of the war. I didn't think people like her actually existed outside of novels. She saved me."
"Merlin, I don't know why I didn't see it before. You're in love with that poodle-haired Gryffindor. That's perfect," he laughed bitterly. "No wonder I haven't seen you since The Battle of Hogwarts. I thought… when you got out of hospital... I had no one left with Dad in Azkaban and Mum dead. I thought to myself that surely you would come by. Or Floo. Or fucking write. But days went by. Then months. Years. Not a single word from you."
Snape did feel ashamed. He had forgotten Draco. Still, he wasn't willing to shoulder the entire blame for their estrangement. "Why did you never write me?"
"Malfoys don't beg."
"Only a Malfoy would consider that begging."
"Only you should know me well enough to understand that for a Malfoy, that is begging." He snorted. "But why would you write? You're tucked up playing house with the Know-It-All."
"I'll admit that I've just been… coasting from day to day. Worrying exclusively about myself." Snape reached out and tapped the back of Draco's hand. "But that bit about being a Malfoy and begging? That's a ripe load of shite. You are the only one of your family left. Whatever you decide to do is, by definition, what a Malfoy does."
Draco's perfect posture stiffened, and he fiddled with the clasp of his grey cloak. He cleared his throat before finally shrugging. "So, you and Granger, huh? Have you stuck it to her yet?"
"Wait, I'm new to this sort of social interaction. Is this where I flip you a rude gesture and make a lewd insinuation that I slept with your mother?" Snape asked with a tight smile.
"I'd prefer you didn't, actually."
"Well then." The older man took another sip of tea.
Draco flipped his hand over to look at his bare arm. "Ah, look at my wrist. As lovely as this has been, it's time I was going, I think." He stood and smoothed his robes, tucking his father's cane over his arm as he did so. He didn't look at his godfather as he said, "Would you… shall we meet again, then?"
"I'd like that. I don't have a Floo presently, so just send me an owl care of Hermione." Snape was sincere. His godson was obnoxious and dangerous and troubled, and Snape cared very much for him.
Draco's face softened, and he gave the older man a real smile… the first one Snape had seen since before the start of the second war. The blond put a vial on the table and pushed it over with two fingers. "You might want to take this palliative sooner rather than later." He hesitated. "It wouldn't have killed you, but it wouldn't have felt very nice."
"No need. I tasted the Laureate Differenis in my tea, and it won't affect me. I built up an immunity to it during my years at Hogwarts. It was the active ingredient in Weasley's Skiving Snack Boxes, you know."
The younger man smiled. "I never was able to get the jump on you, Uncle." As he turned to walk away, he hesitated and said, "I've missed you, you know."
"I've missed you, as well."
And then Draco was gone. Snape sighed and resigned himself to using the Griffin's Floo to get home.
He'd worked in the library for a week, and he had to admit that he loved it. It was quiet, and he liked the routine. There was absolutely zero stress. And, if he were honest, he quite liked the fluffy little librarian. She didn't seem to expect anything from him other than a quick hello, and then to shelve some books. Her impression of him wasn't colored by anything positive or negative that she might know of his past. He also liked that she didn't micro-manage him to death… something which both of his previous bosses literally tried to do.
He pushed the bookcart around the one-floor library, enjoying the oversized mullioned windows that showed the main street in Hermione's little town. He supposed it was his little town now, too. There was a dusting of frost on the grass outside, and the edges of the glass were fogged up. Snape parked the cart where he could feel the bright daylight as he organized the books into categories.
After a few minutes, he rolled on and began shelving. It took him a few hours before the cart was empty, and when he was done, he looked around and noticed that there were already more books scattered around the reading tables. He shelved those, too, before realizing he was starving and in need of a sit down.
Still, he was chuffed that he hadn't needed to rest. He couldn't help but notice that in the past week or two he'd been feeling a lot better. He prodded at his magic again, and was disappointed to see that it was still inaccessible to him. However, the texture of it was different. It felt more resilient, and when he pushed on it, he imagined that it sprang back, pressing against his mind.
Ms. Barde was sitting at the circulation desk eating a bag of crisps. A sandwich wrapped in waxed paper sat in front of her. "Mr. Snape! Would you like to share lunch with me?"
He hesitated, and he knew she saw it, but her smile didn't waver.
"Yes, of course," he said, unsure if it was a good idea. "Let me fetch my bag."
They sat in companionable silence that he did not hate. He slowly chewed his ham and cheese sandwich while she finished off her bag of crisps. Feeling mellow, he remarked, "The librarian at my old school would have had my head were I to eat in her library."
She shrugged. "Just be careful to wash your hands, and don't drink anything near the computers. Honestly, before you, I was the only person in here most of the time. It was either eat at the desk, or don't eat at all, and the latter was never an option. Trust me. You wouldn't like me if I were hungry."
He unwrapped the baggy he'd brought filled with the last of Hermione's butter biscuits and pushed it toward her. "Would you like one? They're homemade."
She nibbled happily, holding the biscuit with both hands, and Snape finally realized of whom she reminded him. With her cat's eye glasses and blonde hair and mellow chirpiness, Ms Barde resembled a Muggle Luna Lovegood.
She blinked up at him, her eyes appearing overlarge in her glasses. "Have I got something on my nose?"
"No, sorry. My mind was wandering."
The little librarian blushed fiercely. "I'm not much of a talker really. I prefer to read or sit quietly and watch the people on the street outside. I'm sure I'm a very dull lunch companion."
"On the contrary, Ms. Barde. I find it… restful. And truthfully, I'm not much of a talker either." He offered her another butter biscuit.
The blush receded, and she looked down at her hands. "Thank you. And you can call me Lara." She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and a bit of pink crept back up her neck.
Well. Snape ate a biscuit and tried to stop comparing her to other women.
