Note from the author: Don't like the Malfoys? I'm sorry then, the whole chapter is dedicated to them (tho Snape's a meanie, so maybe that will appease you).
TW: Child abuse is mentioned, violence is depicted.

Narcissa's cheeks were as red as her crimson lipstick when she yelled:
- Come down here, Lucius! COME DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!
She very rarely raised her voice, but when she did it was so powerful that the walls almost quivered, and doubtlessly was audible in his second floor study. Could she theoretically have used a spell to amplify it or simply send an elf upstairs to get her husband? Indubitably, but the sound of her shouts echoing in the hallways of the manor felt just too satisfying to her. The soreness that came over her throat shortly after, sort of calmed her down, just enough to let her remember about the silent witnesses of her ebullition.

- Excuse my outburst – she said apologetically smiling to the two, hopefully muggle, prisoners on the floor, as if it was a common occurrence to have people held hostage just below one's living-room.
"Well, I have every right to assume that it is one for Lucius. Hell. Hell is what this man insists on putting me through." she sighed, contemplating the situation.

The two people leaning against the stones, a man and a woman, were both tied up and possibly magically gagged, but conscious, and even if they hadn't been before, she was sure she had woken them up with her scream earlier, so truly, she had nothing to apologise about, but the force of habit prevailed even against this absurdity. The woman had short brown hair, very prominent cheekbones and a light complexion, the man was darker-skinned and had long, curly hair. At least that was all she managed to notice in the glow of her wand, stealing a short glance, figuring that her staring could only worsen their fear. Their eyes were already tracing every each of her movements with apprehension, which was perhaps the main thing making her uncomfortable in their presence, since she had seen things more horrible than those seemingly unscathed strangers during the war. Although what differentiated those events from this, was that none of them had happened in HER HOUSE, which for Narcissa was a rather fundamental disparity. For now, however tempted to immediately reverse-spell, then Obliviate them and simply get rid of the problem, she waited for her husband to come down and maybe weigh in on this, on top of explaining himself.

When Lucius finally descended the staircase, he was clearly stalling to let the first wave of anger completely wash over her before their confrontation, but she wasn't going to let THIS slide. With her hand on her hip and gesturing towards the hostages with the one holding the wand, she greeted him with raising her voice yet again and a cold note of irony:
- Why tell me, are there tied up human beings in my cellar?! And slower, could you? – she added, upon realising that he almost froze in place on that reveal - It's not like they're going anywhere either way of course, but you could hurry.

To her utmost surprise, judging by the frank expression of shock painting on his face in that moment, he had not been either involved with or aware of the outrageous contents of their basement. Unlike her, however, he must have been familiar with all the dots that were to be connected to find out who had been the culprit, since in a second, after he had collected himself, the yelling resumed. She, however, wasn't at the receiving end of it, obviously. He rarely dared to do that in any case.

- DOBBY! – he roared as his hand curled into a fist, the veins between the unbuttoned collar of his robe throbbing.
The elf, however, was nowhere to be seen. When he finally appeared before them, it was already cowering in fear, prepared to take a beating. Narcissa wasn't feeling at all sympathetic towards it, considering that from what she had gathered it was its doing that she had almost had a heart attack not two minutes ago, but nevertheless she decided to intervene, not too keen on witnessing her house elf being slaughtered before her, because that was exactly what it looked like was going to happen.

- Lucius! – she exclaimed, taking a step towards him and putting her hand on his forearm, raised for spell-casting.
His eyes shifted towards her and he fought to contain himself for a second before he took a deep, loud breath and his hand lowered, her fingers still above it.
- I take it that you are furious, since so am I. But I'd suggest not doing anything too hastily – she sounded a lot calmer than she felt, just another skill one could acquire after years of practice.
- If you wish to kill the elf, you have my permission, assuming that he's the one responsible for this ...situation. Although in all truth, I'd like you to tell me what exactly brought... – she gestured towards the people by the wall, now in the light from her wand crouching best as they could under the ropes, trying to make themselves disappear - ...this on first.
- Yes well... of course – Lucius seemed flustered almost – You have the right to know.

She noticed that his wand slid back into the cane he held in his left hand and relief swept over her. No bloodshed in her cellar for today, no need for Tergeos to be cast and possibly a little less trauma for the captives, thanks Merlin. Her husband took another deep, sigh-like breath, before he finally started his elucidation:
- See, dear, I might have ordered the elf to prepare the ingredients for, well, quite obviously for Polyjuice, I suppose there's no use hiding it from you now. And I take it was his brilliant idea to keep the people whose hairs he took here. I swear on my name it wasn't mine.

"As if that weren't clear enough from your consternation before. But so I hoped to hear." she thought, outwardly only nodding silently.
Neither of them would stoop to the level of asking the elf if it had anything to add, but that wasn't necessary, since Dobby decided to do so on his own, in a pleading, sob-like tone so typical to him when he was scared of another punishment:
- Dobby heard that the hairs have to be from an alive person. Dobby thought that this way they would be alive for sure. Dobby only wanted master to be safe. Dobby meant well.
- Don't. Interrupt. Us. – Lucius warned him, drawling through his teeth.
He then continued to her, his voice as soft as it could possibly be with the undertones of rage still burning underneath the calm exterior:
- Well, I am terribly sorry you had to discover this, Narcissa. As I said, I had absolutely no idea that something like this was taking place, it hadn't crossed my mind that it could have... – he paused and then, under her demanding gaze, with negligible reluctance added - On my part I can only apologise to you for, well, sort of having provoked this.

- It's all right – she said, as her hand squeezed his arm tightly, in a reassuring manner.
Then, figuring that he might consider the matter resolved and not bother to return to it later, she reminded him in advance:
- Although I will, of course, be hoping that you continue your explanation on the Polyjuice -part. However, we could perhaps discuss that under more pleasurable conditions upstairs, when you're done with getting things in order down here.
"Not that I require your help in realising that it is being stored and possibly brewed under my roof." she kept the remark to herself. It would be best revealed during their afternoon tea along with the rest of the deck of cards she could play against him.

- By all means, I will – he promised obediently – And don't worry, darling, I will take care of everything. Obliviations and all else...– the corners of his lips lifted slightly in a faint, not quite comforting smile to her and in a blink he was glaring at the house elf beside him menacingly.
- Well then, I'll leave you to it. Do not keep our... guests waiting for any longer. And I expect that there will be no sign of them in here when I am back in an hour for the Champaign I had initially come to take – she announced while leaving the cellar, directing the last part more at the still fearfully trembling elf on his right.
And rightfully afraid Dobby was, since not a minute passed after her exit and she was still in the corridor leading to the basement, when she heard him lament under the doubtlessly ruthless hits of Lucius' cane.

Narcissa wasn't precisely furious with him yet, although he wouldn't blame her if she were, himself so outraged at the situation and at the fact that he had let this happen in his carelessness about overseeing and controlling his elf's actions, that he had almost become empathetic. When he finally dealt with both the matter and Dobby, leaving the creature whimpering somewhere in the corner of the cellar, Lucius went upstairs, taking the bottle his wife had mentioned earlier, since from the fact that she did not carry out her promise to come back to the cellar yet, he guessed she had forgotten about it.

He entered the living room to see Narcissa sitting comfortably on the satin pillows of the sofa, reading a newspaper, with a teacup in her hand.
- Didn't take you as long as I had presumed, I see – her gaze lifted from the Prophet and went straight to him.
- Yes, thankfully so. I brought you the wine. I hope Feuillatte is acceptable? – he asked, despite being convinced that it very much was, and showed her the bottle.
- Yes, I think it is – she put the newspaper away on the table and beckoned for him to take the seat opposite her.
He left the Champaign on a cupboard on his way to there, figuring that so far any celebrations with its involvement would be a tad bit premature.

- So – Narcissa started with a sigh – Would be so kind as to explain what exactly do you need Polyjuice for? Is it like your French episode yet again?
He had dreaded that question, but sadly, he had been caught out by her in the past once too many times to avoid hearing the litany of his transgressions each time another came.

The truth was that sometimes, not too often, perhaps once every few months, he would indeed give in to the temptation. Safely hidden in a disguise, even though that part sometimes pained him, since he would rather be able to charm his conquests with his original looks rather than stolen ones, he found it far too hard to resist it. Of course, depending on the character he was, erroneously, playing, and he rarely could indulge in fully posing for a person as rich and as magnetic as he considered himself to be, the interest of people in him varied, but there rarely was none at all. Whenever he bet a lot, especially if he were disguised as a woman, it was impossible to keep the admirers at bay. However, more often than not, his trips to horse races happened as a break from a boring day at the manor, therefore he would be coming back to his wife shortly, so he usually would abstain from pushing his luck too much. From his French episode, as it clearly went down in his history as, he learned the hard way that some things were much harder to mask than others. That did not mean, however, that he was going to deny himself the pleasures of sometimes using his potions in business banquets, including numerous ones that ended up with him breaking the rules of their marriage contract, only that he was eminently careful not to make any of it lasting, thus disappearing from the hotel rooms never to be heard from, or seen, again.

- No, of course not – he lied smoothly – I am a man of my word, dear.
- I am not doubting that – a blatant falsity, contradicting her previous words.
Sometimes he wondered whether their conversations had a single honest sentence in them whatsoever. Deceit possibly wasn't the best fundament for a marriage, but it somehow worked for them, so he had never found a fault with that. Regardless, it was startling to him that this exact of his deeds sprung to her mind concerning the potion. Either it was the most aggravating of his sins against her, or she immediately suspected he could be using it for such a thing. "Am I really that much of an open book?" he thought to himself carefully putting his cane against the armrest of the sofa he was occupying.

- Are you planning to tell me or not, Lucius? – Narcissa urged him.

He knew there was no way of stalling, that one thing was written in her azure eyes clear as day. Since he had not come up with a believable excuse in the last hour, another five minutes would not be likely to save him either. Come to think of it, he should probably have dealt with that problem a long time ago, by figuring a way of justifying the brewing, or even the money-spending in a convincing manner, making up a cover-up of any sort. He could have envisaged that this would happen sooner or later, especially since he was so afraid of it, but he just never braced for dealing with the aftermath. Although, in all honesty, such a fable would be almost impossible to construct. However now, due to his lack of preparedness, he was left with nothing but the unvarnished truth.

- Well – he began, taking the cup of tea she had poured for him – I have been betting. On horse races, mainly. To avoid bringing attention to myself, or tarnishing my, or our, reputation, I had been using Polyjuice for disguise. I used to have other means of obtaining it, but lately I was forced to rely on the elves', well, elf's help. And you had seen what that resulted in.

- Oh yes, I have – she took a sip of tea, eyeing him from above the cup.
She didn't seem at all enraged, still. But he knew her too well to not expect a demand that he righted his wrongs and he weren't mistaken.
- Well, this is all I can tell you about this matter – he added under her gaze, to fill the silence.

- Of course – she said finally, putting the porcelain away with a clang – I believe you've told me enough. Well, first off, I had noticed the Polyjuice quite some time ago, only I didn't want to make a scene, hoping you would stop on your own accord, sooner or later. Gave you the benefit of the doubt, so to say.
"Salazar's mercy, I am in immense trouble." he judged from the restraint in her voice. And as much as such schoolboy-like thinking appalled him, there was no better way to phrase it.

- And you have, sadly, let me down. I am not opposed to that ...hobby of yours, per say. As long as you are responsible in handling the issues of finances connected to it, but in that one area, even if only in it, you have never given me a reason to doubt you – he felt simultaneously surprised and relived by her previous sentence, but the last one stung painfully nonetheless. – However – she continued, a barely noticeable change in her voice turning it more stern – you will neither brew, nor store Polyjuice in here, nor will you let there be literally any association between our house, name or yourself and such practices. Not unless there is a way that the secret could be revealed to the public. So if you had been buying at Borgin's before... – "Just how did she figure that one out?" he raised his brow, dumbfounded, but didn't dare to interrupt her – then you will need to find another way. I do not trust that man, and you should not either. Whatever you do, if you must, just promise me you will not dare to risk getting our name mixed up with it.

She sounded oddly like his father with that repeated emphasis on the pride of the name. As if he had not concerned himself with that before. "It is MY name, ultimately. Of course I had given that some thought already" he felt offended at her patronising advice. Luckily, not much of that emotion did make its way into his answer:
- I promise you I will do just that. And whatever solution I will come up with, I would be happy to consult it with you before applying it in practice. Provided that is fine by you, darling.
She nodded, a smile gracing her features. "Well, if there is anything sincere in this household, I am just witnessing it." he concluded, responding with a similar expression.

Two weeks had passed, during which Lord Malfoy kept monitoring his storages of Polyjuice with apprehension, wondering whether and when exactly, Narcissa would carry out the part of their reconciliation that pertained to throwing them away if he dared to break her trust again. He didn't risk defying her further and for that time refrained from cultivating his beloved avocation, which rendered him somewhat apathetic and concurrently rather frantic about finding a solution to his problems. Consequently, when his wife suggested their old friend, a potions-specialist, after all, he grabbed at that straw like a drowning man.

Severus was simultaneously the worst and the best choice in this situation. He had already been partly mindful of his secret, thus making him fully a confidant only necessitated only filling him in on a few details. And begging him for his help, that as well, but Lucius thought it best not to torture himself with that awareness until the time would come.

They had both agreed, with Narcissa, upon this; mainly because there were no other viable options. Even though she was the one who advised her husband to turn to Snape, him deeming it a great idea met with her absolute discontent, as he noticed. At this point he realised, that his wife's very intention with the whole "very restricted permission" was most likely to subtly nudge him towards ditching the whole thing altogether. As such, it might have been that the half-blood's name was thrown by her more as an insult towards Lucius than as a candid piece of advice. Reviving old friendships, even if close and one that had never fully died out, solely as a pretence to ask for favours was not perhaps the most gracious scheme possible. On the other hand, he had already laid the groundwork for that before he had an actual reason, hadn't he? That should not put him in the position of a beggar and rather of a considerate patron, who, of course, had to ask for something in return for his friendliness. Still, the man was so much lower than them, that especially in Narcissa's eyes, despite her actual kindness towards Severus, their affiliation had never been an equal one. Either way, the gambling and other clever usages Polyjuice could have, had become a far too big part of Lucius' life, during those few years slowly escalating from "a vial or two a year" to his current routine requiring at least a dozen for that time, for him to just discard it so lightly.

Therefore, he eventually brought himself to write the letter, one containing a friendly, yet assuming, invitation and a very brief mention of the matter at hand, that being him having "a minor favour to ask". When his owl took above the snow-covered flatlands surrounding the manor, he sighed with relief. A part of him kept hoping it would somehow fail to deliver it, that the dark green envelope would get lost in a drift. A childish wish, but it accompanied Lucius, at least until he got the answer the next day.

The letter "found him in good health", if a little startled by the frequency of the huge grey-mottled owl's visits to the Hogwarts castle lately. If anything, it was even more pretentious in its tone than the last one had been, as he noted sarcastically. In red ink, that brought to mind the shade of drying blood, it announced that he, a "dear old friend", was invited to the manor in Wiltshire the week before Christmas. Upon reading it, part of him wanted to laugh, bitterly, at the pointless use of etiquette and euphemisms of all sorts. He could have just as well been directly asked in writing for... Merlin knew what precisely, but it was not arduous to deduce that the favour Lucius needed was a significant one. It simultaneously undermined all his repressed hopes that the Malfoy's previous invite was a profound one and assuaged his contradictory apprehension that it might have been exactly that. Now, at least, that one thing was settled.

Severus had not actually considered following on his promise to visit the Malfoys before, since he regarded it as an act of politeness that had little to do with actual sentiments, and even if it did, he resented the very idea of reinstating that friendship as it used to be years ago. Of course, he were not oblivious to the fact that with Draco being taught by him, the family would use their connection as an influence on him, hence why he had treated the boy respectfully from the very start. And while he had already got his evidence last month that it would indeed be so, as well as he was perfectly aware that sooner or later such an occurrence would arise again, he had not anticipated it exceedingly. However, the letter in all its courteous drivel prefigured something vital for the author and thus – intriguing to the addressee. Therefore, despite his minor disinclination, he eventually agreed to pay them the, ostensibly, much awaited visit.

Having received the permission to leave the school for once from the very benevolent and Christmassy Dumbledore, he travelled to the residence on Saturday evening. The familiar silhouettes of the sculptured columns by the gate were covered with snow, as was the impeccably maintained garden, with the evergreen shrubs of the hedge shyly poking from underneath the white duvets.

The house elf who greeted him, and whose name he struggled to remember, looked particularly pitiable, freezing in the cold, as it must have been forced by his masters to wait for him for hell knew how long. "Salazar's mercy, their dogs have it better than those creatures." he noted, handing the elf his coat after they entered the building, not that there was anything to be done about that, which prompted him to ditch the observation as fast as it had appeared.

The time during the dinner passed expeditiously and in a rather pleasant atmosphere. Of course, never before had he given such a comprehensive account of his Potions classes and the performance of one student in particular in them. Neither had he ever been forced to analyze the wellbeing of that specific student to such an extent, but it seemed like he had managed to navigate through the meanders of that nonsensical prattle without offending the one asking or her son, about which he was glad. He also had to avoid or revealing too much, such as how Draco was, from his perspective, possibly "friends with a muggleborn", since that had little chance of sliding in this house. Narcissa was absolutely relentless in her wish hear about all of the most minuscule achievements of Draco's that even the boy himself had not deemed boast-worthy. How she was able to reconcile the wish for the boy not to have been introduced to him personally for the last 11 years and the one for Severus to only speak of him, and only in superlatives, shall they have the occasion to talk, he had no idea. Well, on second thought, maybe that was an exaggeration, considering that she even inquired about the wellbeing of his mother, which rarely anyone did. Regardless, their conversation felt quite monothematic to him, but it was tolerably so.

The master of the household, however, remained quiet for most part of their discourse, rarely adding a word or two and clearly more absorbed by the turkey on his plate than by his son's, admittedly underwhelming, adventures at Hogwarts as related by his very tepid professor, which created a stark contrast against his wife. He only sparked a little after Narcissa excused herself to go to sleep and thus left them alone to "discuss their affairs". Although, that alteration in his behaviour seemed to be mainly caused by the change of alcoholic beverages available, since the elves had swapped the bottles of white wine with Single Malt Whiskey immediately on their mistress' departure. Apparently the matter at hand called for heavier mental anaesthetics than the usual banquet variety of the Malfoys' table.

After pouring them a glass each and sliding Severus' towards him, Lucius took a fair sip from his before he began talking. His voice sounded even more aloof than it usually would, and, frankly, such a feat was nothing short of a miracle. Notwithstanding, the man set his own standards of pretentiousness.

- Well... as you already know – he spoke slowly, nonchalantly turning around the silver rings on his fingers, his steel eyes focused on Severus, the smoothly shaven chin up – Me and Narcissa are both delighted that you decided to keep us company on this evening...
"For heaven's sake, do cut to the chase will you?" he would doubtlessly never attempt to sneer out loud.

- However, the second reason for that invitation...- "Second one, oh come along."- Is that I would like you to, well, work for me on something.
That much could have been surmised from the letter alone, but the barely noticeable change of tone was what peaked his interest – very slightly, but hushed, as if there was something to conceal. Severus nodded silently to encourage him to continue.

- I want... I necessitate a potion, a steady supply of it, to be exact. And one that I need not to either produce or store at the manor. Given your skills, I suppose that you could be capable of fulfilling such a request, in the deference of an old friendship. – Lucius made a pause to lift his glass again and this time empty it before he carried on. – Especially considering that you have already, well, discovered a part of the whole proceeding. Back then in Borgin&Burkes'. – he reminded him answering the unasked question read from his raised brow.
The blonde man poured another round just for himself, since his guest had a more moderate pace of drinking, and with extreme carefulness. His glass was back at half-empty before he finally inquired:
- So, what do you say?

Snape's inquisitive, narrowed eyes met with the cold grey ones and stayed that way, unblinking, while he quickly was making his decision. "He is pleading. Beseeching even, if he had stooped low enough to ask me specifically. Not that a word even roughly resembling an imploration would join his vocabulary of course." he observed. "I have, evidently, been correct in assuming that the impromptu friendliness of his had some ulterior motives. And peculiar ones as it appears."
- You have not precisely given me much details to weigh up, Lucius – he replied with a short delay. – If you could perhaps, at the very least specify, the kind of the potion – he did suspect what it was already, but he wanted him to say, if only as a spiteful consolation for himself – And what quantities of it will be prerequisite.

- Of course, of course – the Malfoy undoubtedly took his query at face value, deriving from his eagerness to explain – Polyjuice it would be. The ingredients, preferably, I would dedicate to my elves to obtain and they could purvey it to you. As for quantities... I would estimate more or less two dozen vials a year, however, ones that last for 6-8 hours per bottle, so larger ones I would assume...
- Or merely more condensed – this time he couldn't help but interject.
It was awfully apparent to his, specialist's eye, that the man before him had not enough experience with the type of potion he was so keen on experimenting with. And most likely was completely convinced otherwise. "Maybe you should hew to anti-mudblood poisons" he did not add.
- Yes, possibly... Regardless, the main thing is that I require the potion either not to expire quickly or to be prepared every other week, since it is used rather regularly and therefore in such a schedule it would have to be delivered by means of an owl, presumably.

Lucius stopped talking for a while just as the house elves started milling around, bringing another platter, this time one containing a steak to pair with the alcohol. As the servants gave them a small platter each and he began wondering whether he would be able to finish one, considering the dinner had ended not an hour ago, the Malfoy snapped his fingers at the elf near him for another bottle to appear on the table, since the previous one had not been full to start with and now was definitely drained. Therefore it could not escape Severus' notice that his host had been emptying his third glass of whiskey, while he himself was unhurriedly finishing his first one.

When the elves retreated yet again, Lucius resumed, speaking with the silver dinner knife in the piece of meat before him:
- I will pay you, of course – he took a bite and Severus watched him pour another round, this time for the both of them, as he chewed.
He himself was less than hungry for now and thus ignored the steaming dish before them.
- And generously so, just dictate your price.

"Inebriation truly is a pitiful state." he remarked internally, noticing how uncharacteristic for the Malfoy such a sentence was. He did not, however, intend to leech off that carelessness, in view of Narcissa's presence before, knowing, that whatever he would arrange with her husband, would have to go through her before becoming binding.

- We can determine that at a later date, after I will have calculated the precise amount of time necessary as well as the cost of ingredients other than the ones your elves will be providing.
- Does this mean you agree, then?
"Like I said – utterly pitiful." His aristocratic "friend" truly had never let himself be caught in such a state by Severus, well, at least not in the last couple of years, and as it shaped up so far, was intent on worsening it further.

- Yes, this does, obviously, mean I will be undertaking the commission – he answered, for the first time during that evening letting his sarcasm into his words.
"After all, it could prove an engrossing interlude from my usual enterprises to work on improving another recipe." he concluded.

- I am immensely happy about that – Lucius informed him, lifting his glass – Shall we drink to that?
"You most definitely shall not, if you will be seeing your wife in the morning. But that is none worry of mine, I presume."
- First I wish to thank you for reposing your confidence in me in that matter, Lucius – he said, resenting each and every syllable of that phrase, before he joined the toast and the sparkling glasses clinked against each other.

He very much expected for that to bring an end to the evening, but, as it turned out, the Malfoy had consumed enough whiskey to become rather talkative. Therefore, Severus found out from him in detail about the earlier occurrences that brought his plea on. Amongst those, the fact that they had only happened a couple of days ago caught him by surprise, since it proved him wrong in his earlier conjectures. Around midnight, the blond man, having been steadily keeping the amount of alcohol coursing through his veins on a dangerously high level, finally crossed his threshold of tolerance, to Severus' no longer disguised epicaricacy. "He will remember none of this either way." as he could ascertain easily from the more and more absent gaze of the aristocrat's pewter-coloured eyes.

Apart from having become visibly half-cut and atypically forthcoming, Lucius also began asking questions that from his perspective bordered on intrusive, but were unlikely ill-intended, since if anything, he was a very cordial under the influence.

- Do you ever visit graves? – was one of them, a throwaway inquiry told in a tone that lacked any seriousness whatsoever.
- If you are interested in whether I routinely hang around on cemeteries, then no, I am not a ghoul. But if what you mean some graves in particular, then yes, that sometimes transpires.
- Well of course I mean in particular. Of people you held dear. Or people you killed. Or both. I only visit the graves of those from the last category, you see – he said taking yet another sip from his glass.
Part of Severus wanted to hold him back on that, but the one that found joy in watching him humiliate himself won this imbalanced bout.

"Oh, so that is what this was. A prelude to another round of drunk rambling. Splendid." Severus, still fairly alert and at least two glasses behind on his host, remarked. Yet he did not discourage him from talking, just another incongruity between his cynicism and actual behaviour, rather apparent on that evening, although thankfully with no one perceptive enough to notice nearby.

- Do you, now?
- Yes. As of lately I might be becoming sentimental and... – he suddenly cut off and closed his eyes.

In the face of that, left to the silence, Severus focused on his plate, meticulously sectioning the magically still warm meat into small cubes before he started stabbing them with his for and actually eating, one by one. He only stopped rarely to glance at Lucius, to check whether his head would be falling onto the table anytime soon.

But it didn't at all, because after a while, one so protracted that he had honestly started to suspect the Malfoy had somehow fallen asleep with his jaw resting on his hand, he finally opened his eyes. With an odd, languorous even, look in them he then started speaking. His voice increasingly sprawled, more so even than before that unexpected nap. The over-enunciation characteristic for his state, from "r"-s turning into whirs to "s"-es becoming hisses, interspersed his monologue, the haughty manner of speech thrown out of the metaphorical window a long time ago.

- And I visited the grrave of... of my firrrst kill, so to say – he continued as if the lengthy pause had never happened - Not too long ago. In passsing, as I was in the city wherre he had been burried, and I had never had the occasion to do so, beforre. And, wonder, the world works in mysteriouss wayss, I met his carbon copy. It's funny how people rresemble each other, even disstant cognates. He had no close family otherr than his fatherrr... who also layss in that grave, it turns out. Sooo that must have been a cousin of his, or maybe a child of one even, ssince he was rrather young. Just like he wass, back then – the corner of his mouth raised to a memory – Well, you knew him, if I rremember corrrectly.

- I did? – Severus asked with sincere interest.
It wasn't everyday when he could hear such a confession and despite the deed being decidedly rather horrific in itself, the story sounded quite promising.

- Yesss, it wass that blond boy, you know, the ssecret and all. The ssecret you kept, and he didn't – his jaws clenched momentarily and then swiftly relaxed again - I'm not possitive you would rremember his face well though, you sseemed prretty traumatissed back then – Lucius added with a smirk.

- Oh, you were not so sure of yourself either – he mirrored his expression, reminiscing the event in the Hogwarts' greenhouses. – Besides, you are underestimating my younger self exceedingly if you think I would not recall the face of someone you spent most of your time outside the Common with.

- Well, isn't that trrrue. But I had my rreasonss... – the blonde began explaining himself.
He truly did barely resemble his sober persona in terms of demeanour.

- Behind the fear, the infatuation or the manslaughter? – Snape inquired a tad mockingly.

- All of thoose, actually. But I meant the panic in parrticular. Yoou knew how my fatherr was... isss. Well, wass, conssiderring how he changed when he passed everrything onto me. Besidesss... he sstopped, well – Lucius didn't need to say that part, an exchange of knowing looks was enough – exactly afterr I got rrid of Neil. Quite too literrally – he let out an acerbic laugh. – He, and I doo mean my fatherr, beforre you assk, posssibly saved me from Azkaaban forr that one, blesss hiss damned ssoul. He hid my wand and got rrid of the murrder-weapon. Took me morre than a yearr to notice.

"Amongst your eminent virtues, exceptional sharpness has never been one, has it?" Severus smiled ironically, but he remained silent.

- Bought me anotherr, of course, a Frrench one, aspen - his host continued after another mouthful of whiskey, oblivious to the jeer. – Honestly, I was shoocked he werren't the leasst bit mad about me having losst the prrevious one, I recall. Which was surrrprising, you know, he'd usually get furriouss at the ssmallest thing, esspecially back afterr he'd found out, but then he didn't. That summerr it just ceased, sslowly though, not overrnight, but it did. And the wand, well, it found itss way back to me when I needed it mosst, itss ashess now lay somewherre along with mudbloodsss' ones. The Frrench one he doess use sstill, as farr as I know. Ssince I got thiss one, that iss – on his last words he stabbed the air viciously with the spike of his wand, causing Severus to slightly shift aside to avoid being hit with a random outburst of magic.

- If you would mind not pointing that thing at me in your state, I would be absolutely elated – he advised Lucius, simultaneously pushing the bottle, which once again caught the blond wizard's attention outside of his reach.
"He's had one too many, that much would be apparent to a marble dome." he stated the obvious in his mind.

June/July 1973

Lucius never heard from Neil again after what happened in April.
Despite his efforts to confront him, which bordered on desperation, he rarely even could see a glimpse of his dark blond locks in the hallways of Hogwarts, as the mudblood coward was doing his best to hide from him. The more the boy was showing signs of fear of him, the more the Malfoy's fury grew, finally reaching a threshold at which he truly was on the verge of doing something horrible and, more worryingly, stupid in its abruptness. The monthly prefects' meetings had become nightmare. At least he didn't have to be the one to devise methods of avoiding them – the Huffle was succeeding at doing that himself, attending only one of the three they had left. Frankly, even in his uncontrollable rage, Lucius took that with something akin to relief, just like he did the fact that their houses never had lessons together. He couldn't trust himself on this, not fully convinced that he would be actually able to face the boy calmly and haughtily, like he wished to; and if he lost his temper then it would doubtlessly result in another scandalous stunt, this time one involving a student dying in front of the whole class by his wand.

The betrayal left its markings on Lucius' character, scars even, and ones that were not about to disappear anytime soon; just like the bruises his father inflicted on him back when he found out, still there – a painful remainder of his mistakes.
He went through all of the stages of loss subsequently and at a rather rapid pace, from apathy and despondence to fiery anger. Then, finally, somewhere towards the end of the school year he reached acceptance, in his case presenting as the cool, indifferent almost, longing for vengeance. As he tamed his emotions and staggered into the abyss of contemplating the situation more coldly (although still quite obsessively), he was painfully reminded of the maxim his father liked to repeat – that in this world one could either be a victim or the oppressor. With it came, of course, the bitter realisation, that he turned out to be the first thing. And to somebody so pathetic, a mudblood, a weakling, a nobody. The insult that this bore could equal the heartbreak itself in its hurtfulness. He swore to himself that would never happen again.

It was more noticeable in September, after the happenings of the summer holidays, than it was back at the end of June, but he was the kinder version of his father no more, suddenly inclined to mock, push around or even duel other students for any little reason, even those in his own House, which could never had been said about him before. The hate towards muggle-borns he was always expected by his family to hold and which he perhaps sometimes struggled to truly represent before, suddenly ceased being a problem to him. "That treacherous, perfidious, inconstant fucking scum" as he had made a habit of calling the blond boy in his mind, was not even a mudblood himself, his deceased mother being the first witch in the family, but that didn't stop Lucius from associating his worst characteristics with simply being not of pure blood.

Because of all this, that year he, the beloved Slytherin prefect, the talented student with not a single grade below Exceeds Expectations, took the arrival of June with alleviation he had never felt before. Finally, he was free from the place that was partially responsible for bringing him such misery. Nobody at the school knew, thankfully; little Sev could keep a secret much better than the parties involved, as it turned out, but that didn't help much. Unable to talk about it to anyone, since Neil had been the person he would normally confide in, he had to bury his pain inside him, which resulted in spending the whole month of May fending off questions about the "unhealthy looking dark circles under his eyes", "sudden scholarly mishaps" and "atypically low mood". Then, either the symptoms of his distress retreated or the people have, since he established early on and in a rather firm way, that he was ready to curse anyone who'd dare to make any intrusive comments about him.

To add insult to injury, by the second week of June he found out, by chance obviously, because he would never explicitly show interest in what was going on in the Hufflepuff House and definitely not lately, that his freckled "friend" was in a relationship out of the sudden. With some brown-haired hussy from his own house, whoever she was. That was the nail in the coffin, for sure, the last straw breaking on the back of a proud, arrogant pureblood that his father so fiercely wanted him to be. But the coffin, as Lucius had decided, wasn't going to be his.

When the summer holidays came, locked in his dark chamber on the second floor of the Malfoy manor, alone and wrapped up in his thoughts for days, he had plenty of time to come to a conclusion that there was only one way this could end that didn't include him having to "just suffer through it". He wasn't some kind of a pathetic martyr to just patiently tremble in pain, to count the wounds on his thighs and ribs from his lately unusually tense father, while Neil came out of it unscathed. He was the one who should have paid the price. Not Lucius.

That conviction, deeply rooted in the pride he possessed, that he was born and brought up to have, was what led to the carefully devised plan on perfecting which he spent the greater part of July. Once the very idea of revenge formed in his mind, he got immediately consumed by it, possessed by it even, possibly because he longed to fill the hollow space in his mind left by the loss, and if so - then he definitely succeeded. He would spend hours in the library of the manor, searching for spells and substances that could prove useful and attracting the attention of his mother, whose questions about his a tad unusual behaviour he had to fob off on numerous occasions. But that didn't stop him. Little could, at that point. He even looked through his father's guarded collection of magical artefacts before he eventually chose the fashion in which he wanted to carry the deed out.

It really was a blessing that this had not happened earlier. That, apart from the obvious reasons, was because he now fell under the restrictions against underage wizardry no more and therefore didn't have to overcome that obstacle amongst others, such as the not quite allowed use of his father's dark magic books and the weapon he planned to borrow from him without his knowledge.

He knew very well where to find Neil during the vacations. Sooner or later he and his dad were guaranteed to visit the old hut by the river, where the two of them spent time last year. All he had to do was to wait. Every other day, in the evening, he would borrow one of his father's Thestrals, having been schooled how to act around them and even ride them despite not being able to actually see them, and fly to check on the small house, hidden in the depths of a forest. In the last week of July, he noticed the smoke coming out of the house's brick chimney against the navy and yet starless sky.
- Finally – he whispered, tightening his grip on the Thestrals' mane, over a hundred metres to the ground, with his silvery hair flowing in the wind and a shiver of excitement creeping through his skin.

The next morning after breakfast, for which, for the first time this summer, he managed to eat more than a single piece of bread, he immediately took to the stable, all the things he needed already in the pockets of his robe. If he remembered correctly and nothing had changed – the two men should be out by the stream fishing at least until 3 o'clock, so he had plenty of time to carry out his plan to finally confront his... "ex-lover". Lucius' jaw tensed at the term appearing in his head. But that was exactly what he was, after all, although the young Malfoy didn't consider it to be a mere personal squabble as much as he saw it as a matter of pride, tarnished reputation, even if in his father's eyes only, and to him subjectively - a treason even. Treason in the small war he was supposed to keep fighting all his life, less fiercely after Abraxas' moving out of the Manor, but nevertheless – forever, and in which he had hoped to be allied with the scarce number of people he trusted. Unfortunately, now he was forced to reconsider that naive belief of his, since as it turned out, the one he trusted most decided to stick a knife in his back. Now was his time to stick his.

The invisible horse swooped over the treetops, docking their branches with its wings while she landed in the clearing, with the rustle of leaves around them. Lucius jumped off the Thestral's back, patting her gently on the cold, hairless neck. He left the mare with her black harness, his only means of knowing where she was standing, tied to a birch tree and slinked towards the sound of water. He saw the two men on the other side of the river from behind the shrubs, and with a sting in his chest he realised that Neil did not look the least bit distressed. In fact, he seemed happy. The wrath in him exploded, but he was aware that for the sake of the plan he had to restrain himself. He couldn't even be sure that the other wizard wasn't armed with a wand, after all; although in this idyllic scenery and with his muggle father with him it was hardly possible, considering his gullible nature.

He waited for the right moment, and when the freckled boy was busy taking the fish-filled bucket inside the house to empty it, he emerged from beyond the trees, wand drawn at the older Mr. Darrow. He stunned, then paralysed the unsuspecting man with a curse he had been practising on poor manor's rats and mice, and threw him into the stream with another spell. When the worried son, upon hearing the ruckus the magic caused, came to his rescue, it was already too late, as the rapid stream had already taken his inert body away.

Lucius, now standing in the water, his dark green lightweight robe flowing in the waves, smiled when he saw the younger Darrow come out from behind the trees. He had waited for this moment, every now and then imagining it when he kept mulling over the betrayal in his mind over the last three months. The only thing that has changed was how his intentions crystallized, because now, face to face with the other boy, the slightly shorter than him, angel-faced terrified Hufflepuff, he finally felt sure what he wanted to do. And, surprisingly, that was not kissing him on the lips, opened to utter a scream for help that froze in his throat, although that idea also flashed in his brain. He made his way through to the other side of the river, stepping carefully on the slippery stones underneath him, his drenched robe trailing behind. He got even closer, just at the length of an outstretched arm to him, before Neil got out of his stupor.

- What have you done to my dad?! – his peachy cheeks turned strawberry-red, a lock of hair moving to his forehead as he yelled at him and backed away a step or two.
"Fear and anger really look good on him" Lucius observed coolly. The Hufflepuff's hand quickly dived into the pocket of his jeans, probably in search of a wand and he prepared to counter, but, unsurprisingly, the mudblood didn't find one. The pupils of his warm amber eyes dilated when he realised that he was defenceless, while Malfoy took another step towards him.
- What kind of a pathetic wizard forgets his wand? – the tone was perfectly level, his voice a bit raspy perhaps.
– Oh, it slipped my mind... – his lips twisted into a smirk - You're no wizard, Neil, you're a mediocre rat, that's what you are. Perhaps I should make you into one – he said, raising his wand to his head.
The shorter boy was still speechless, barely able to do anything, but he managed to dodge what must have been a transfiguration spell with accidental magic, in the only time he was able to summon it this afternoon, and roll over to the grass above the pebble-filled beach.
- What do you think you're doing? – this time Lucius didn't give him enough time to react, tying him down with Incancerous.
- You're not going anywhere ever again, may I have you know – he walked up to him, now standing over his head and leaning down to move the hairs out of his freckled face, causing him to flinch – Never again.

- You see, I didn't really want to transfigure you. I'd rather watch you in your last moments in the same body I grew to hate – he explained with a lie woven tightly into the truth, straightening back up and repeating his threat, which clearly had not yet been understood by the other boy – But first if you would be so kind as to tell me, why did you spill everything to my father? Had you been tortured?

The goldish-brown eyes met with his grey ones, trying to read from them what he wanted to hear, but it was futile. He was more in control over his own feelings than he usually were, firmly holding them on a mental leash, and he probably could even gain control over his victim's memories, if he wanted to invade them. But he didn't find it necessary to. Fear, genuine fear that he aspired to instil in Neil, if he hadn't already, was better than any truth serum or Legilimency spell.

He had to get the confession out of him, as he wasn't keen on solely relying on his father's account on this, perfectly able to imagine that Abraxas could engineer a scenario to turn him against the perceived threat, the half-muggle that was demoralising his son. And if that were so, Lucius would rather find out before punishing him that he was innocent. Not that he would be spared completely then, but the level of the vengeance's severity could be adjusted. Even if only slightly, since supposing that Abraxas truly got it out him with some inhumane method of his, he needn't have avoided Lucius for all this time. At least that was so in his understanding; though in all honesty the mind of a good-natured person such as Neil was always an enigma to the platinum blond boy, even more in the years to come.

- If you lie I will know – he added, just before Neil opened his mouth to answer.

- I... I wasn't t-t-tortured. He just ask-k-k...asked. But your dad is so... so... t-t-t-errifying. And what..t-t were I to t-t-tell him... – he sounded so desperate in his attempt to justify his error, so sincere in his stammering. – I didn't... want – he accentuated that word, and it almost turned into a sob – to do t-t-that. I... I didn't know what... to do. I was so afraid of him... He just-t-t asked... asked and... pierced me with t-t-those ruthless eyes. And... and I told... I told him. I was so afraid... – he repeated himself, incoherently.

"Pathetic. My father was right." his attacker concluded, upon mentally comparing the two accounts of the event. "Not only no curse, he didn't even have to threaten him with anything. Salazar's mercy, why did I have to fall in love with a wimp?". This was another of the unintentional insults towards him, only amplifying his anger.

- I was so... so.. scared-d-d – Neil said again, apparently terrified by his silence.
- More than you are now? – Lucius inquired in a whisper, his menacing smile now revealing pearl white teeth.

He didn't need to wait for him to respond to know the answer. The wheat-blond boy was cowering on the ground, under the ropes, tears of worry and fear gathering in his eyes, the full severity of his situation in, from his limited muggle perspective, its movie-like bizarreness, finally reaching through to him. Not knowing what to do and possibly not wanting to risk enraging Lucius further by either agreeing that he was horrifying or denying it and therefore possibly offending him, he stayed silent, trying to swallow his own snivelling. If he thought that second thing, then he would indeed not be mistaken; not that it could help him. Neither could the apologetic faint smile which painted on his face when he said:
- I'm sorry, Lucius, I'm so sorry. I didn't want nothing bad to happen to you because of it. I hoped nothing did – he kept apologising, somehow misinterpreting his sardonic expression as that of hurt – It... it's my fault if it did. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry... – finally his eyes started overflowing, tears rolling down his red cheeks.
"Poor, naive idiot. Don't you know that admitting you're guilty is the worst thing you can do?" Malfoy judged him, his fingers clasping around the handle of the dagger in his pocket, breath getting shallow, warm air coming through his flared nostrils.

Unluckily for Neil, he wasn't taught to forgive. And the whimpering boy, from his perspective, was relentless in digging his own grave. Now, still hoping to appease him instead of focusing on something reasonable, like trying to free himself, he decided to add:
- I loved you. Hell, I still love you. But I was just too afraid...
"Oh, loved me, you have? Loved me! You pitiful scum, you have not loved me, you've betrayed me. And then discarded me like I were nobody." rage exploded in his brain, engulfing it in fire, but his lips somehow remained sealed, twisted in a louring manner.

Lucius' father, an avid collector of enchanted artefacts of all sorts, had the useful habit of also keeping books describing their origins and the purposes they could serve in the huge library down in the manor, in the section dedicated to the Dark Arts, which he had visited numerous times during this year's vacations. Therefore, the job of finding something that would be ideal for his concept proved fairly easy. The silver blade that now got out of its black sheath and happily glistened in the sun, was particularly famous for leaving wounds that looked like they were the work of an animal, rather than a human. The kind of animal, as it was said in the purple-covered tome, depended on the character of the weapon's user.

When he stabbed the bonded boy for the first time, his head twitching, the rose-coloured lips wincing, the shriek that escaped from them filling Lucius' ears, he almost immediately saw the wound turn into clear, unscathed skin. Instead, a small dent formed in Neil's skull. He was still conscious, his amber eyes full of disbelief and pain, wordlessly pleading for the Malfoy to stop. But he wasn't planning to. The second hit was better measured, hitting the artery and causing the blood to spatter all over his face and clothes, then immediately changing into another dent. The freckled skin was momentarily speckled with red, just as his own, and as he dealt the last blow to his neck, he leaned down to kiss it of his lips, then stood back up to watch Neil's body tremble and squirm in the last spasm of agony. He then wiped the blade against his own robe, figuring it was already all bloodied up anyways, made the ropes disappear and walked away, wading swiftly through the stream, headed back to the clearing.

Upon his arrival the horse shook her dark grey, skeletal head, the attentive pupil-less eyes tracing the young Malfoy as he approached, immediately having realised that it could now be seen by him. She looked majestic in the early afternoon's gleam, the rays of sun slinging on the black slick scales mixed with short fur covering the corpse that was her body. She neighed to greet him, which she had rarely done before and he gave her a rather crooked smile. Then, he untied the harness and let the animal almost touch his face with her nostrils, enticed by the smell of blood, the one thing the enchantment didn't take away, to which he was sort of thankful.
- Come on, Laruam, our job here is done – he addressed the mare, as he mounted her and run his fingers through her black mane.

When they came back, after he had left the horse with the rest of the herd, who had already been let out for the day, in the forest on Malfoys' grounds, he went straight to his chamber to change into another robe and wash away the blood from his face, although he was, actually, rather disgruntled that he had to part with that new addition to his handsome features, adding a literal droplet of colour perhaps. While he was busy admiring himself in the silver-framed mirror in the 2nd floor's corridor, convinced nobody should be present in the house at that time, his father managed to creep behind him. Upon noticing him, at first he felt panic, well aware that he had a few incriminating things both on him and in his pockets, his throat clenched when he tried to greet him in a poised voice, but Abraxas acted as if he were completely oblivious of the specks of blood covering his son's pale face.
- Good morning, Lucius. As you can see, I have arrived a little earlier than I had expected.
- Good morning, father. What a pleasant surprise that is – he sounded normal, he hoped he did at least.
After that meaningless exchange, he evacuated quickly to his chamber and disposed of everything that should not have made its place inside it, starting with the books and the dagger, now a lot more careful not to be seen by anyone.

Whether it was the enchantments' work that his father did not observe anything suspicious about him, he never bothered to find out. Showing as little interest in the case of his former-friend's death as possible, he never heard that the muggle-carried investigation found out that he had been killed by a cassowary, a bird very much not native to United Kingdom or Europe even. Or that Mr. Darrow, who somehow avoided drowning and after leaving the muggle-hospital claimed to have recollected being attacked by a wizard, begged the Ministry through the hands of Headmaster Dumbledore - the only connection he had to the magical world, to conduct their own examination; and that the Ministry, despite Dumbledore's eagerness to help, never agreed to do it. Or that the man died shortly after, reportedly having hanged himself, although, as for a hangman, he had an awful lot of poison in his system, the same exact one that filled the vials in a black cabinet in Abraxas' study and was responsible for the violet spots on Lucius' body, in the past.

December 1991

As he predicted correctly just a moment before it happened, when the Malfoy was done with telling the riveting part of the tale regarding his wands, he shortly blacked out. Severus managed to take the platter away along with the snake-headed wand with a flick of his, just in time for Lucius' high forehead to land on the table.

"Splendid. Wonderful. If this is what a lord gets drunk like..." he sighed deeply, getting up from the table. He had no intention, however, of waking the man up, not sure that he would remain just as cordial if brutally blinded by a reviving spell.
"Dobby? Was it Dobby? That or something of the kind..." he wondered before he called out to the house elves for them to assistance in transporting their master to a bed. He figured it best to avoid letting them barge into the bedroom in which Narcissa was probably sound asleep and thus asked them to take the unconscious man to a guest one closest to his study. Lucius' elf, looking rather shocked that his master's friend would use his name instead of just shouting for "the creature" to come, as Snape had witnessed some of the birthday guests' do in the past, was helpful, although indeed not very clever, considering that he apparated all three of them to the chamber, which was not exactly the content of Snape's order.

Worst of all, it allowed him to be present when the blond lord regained his consciousness, possibly as the adverse effect of being side-alonged. When Snape tried to make a precipitous exit, caring little about whether his elf would leave his master to sleep on the floor, or the sofa, since that was where he initially landed, Lucius' fingers clasped on his arm. He winced in pain as the silver rings dug into his skin through the robe.

- You'rre leaving? – the Malfoy asked.
- Trying to, yes. You are, however, currently preventing me from doing so – he noted, hoping that would prompt him to lighten the grasp, which despite his state was evidently not weakened.
- What arre yoour meanss of transport, if I may assk?
- Apparition – he answered curtly, still trying to brush him off.
- Arren't yoou too intoxicated forr that?

"You should talk..." he thought with a bit of pity. Severus wasn't completely convinced that this was a good idea either, given his own alcohol intake. There was no outdrinking the host tonight, obviously, but he knew he would be risking splinching himself to bits on his way to Hogsmeade. Given that he had not any other means of coming back, however, he was quite willing to take that gamble. Therefore, he shook his head firmly, first ensuring that Lucius had not fallen back asleep and thus was able to see his answer.

- You arre awarre that you can sstay at the manorr, right? – the Malfoy offered with a smile and drunken kindness.
"And wake up tomorrow to be embarrassed for this unabashed inebriety both on your and my own behalf in front of your presumably vehement wife? A tremendous idea." For some reason he decided to spare the aristocrat that remark, which would doubtless wipe the naive grin of his face and replied instead, striving to sound polite:
- No, I shall be perfectly fine, thank you. I have had quite a lot of practice, to be frank.
That must have reassured the blond man, since his fingers slowly retreated from Severus' thin arm.
- Well then... I wish you ssafe trravelss, Sseveruss - he said, sounding very much snake-like, on shaking his hand - And do expect an owl frrom me laterr next week.

After saying his goodbyes and taking his winter coat from the, surprisingly, already prepared Dobby, he apparated to Hogsmeade as planned. When he arrived, fortunately having avoided the fate of bleeding to death with a splinched artery, Lucius Malfoy, as one could easily presume, was already snoring on the soft satin pillows on the queen size bed in the guest bedroom, fondly reminiscing his horrid doings.