As any of us, I have not constructed any of J.K. Rowling's characters, only interpreted them.
Chapter Three
"And here I was thinking my godson cunning enough to ask a House Elf to procure the venom of a Sancopatien viper. I would also hope he'd have the intellect to wear a dragon-hide mask," Snape whispered, illusioning himself and warding the sleeping serpents.
"Shove off," Draco sneered, eying the glass cages.
"Oh, I do desire. However, your parents forbid that long ago," Severus sighed, looking at his petulant godson, just as ambitious as a Slytherin and reckless as a Gryffindor.
"Then disown me. Not like you haven't done that before," Draco retorted. Ridiculing smirk disappearing and eyes widening as his godfather quickly grabbed the crisp velveteen collar of his robe.
"Don't' you dare speak to me of parenting! You want your father's approval so badly? Try to take your own life! Should I show you how to or can you do it yourself?" Severus shouted, the boy's fear permeating as he saw the wanting in the child's mind so close to the surface. Shoving Draco with his hands and Elemental magick towards the supposedly warded doors.
"This isn't over, I'm going to get into the tournament," Draco tried to jeer, voicing beginning to falter.
September went with little fanfare for the Potion master, switching his natural lessons to those of healing and aid; students O.W.L-level and lesser seemingly invincible: "this will never happen to me" mindsets wandering as anti-poisons brewed haphazardly, stirred boredly. If the Headmaster above allow actual poisons to be brewed perchance students would take antivenoms seriously.
At least he had reprieve by way of sixth and seventh years projecting themselves the Hogwarts champion, silently observing burn salves turning from murky brown to a luminescent whitish green. Advanced antivenoms of blue, white, and reds steaming, bubbling, and cooling to near perfection. Begrudging and amused by the Weasley twins (troublemakers), their innovations to dragonbreath liniment nearly surpassing his own. An airborne Severus holding in chuckles as the two experimented with anti-aging potions past midnight.
Night prior to the 30th October Severus was unsurprised to find Lucius Malfoy reclining similarly before the World Cup—galleons tossed in the air with a bit more flair, turning into the Hogwarts, Durmstrang, Beaxbatons crests. "You must be consuming a bezoar night and day, brother," he chimed, not even turning his head. The galleons charmed into a cackling, golden, broken and disjointed, smile.
"Good evening, though the corruption and caper unnecessary," Severus greeted, lighting the sconces and candles, pouring a finger of elven red wine for himself, a glassful of white for the louse lounging on his couch.
"Going to legilimize my thoughts?" Lucius pouted, pitying eyes befalling his friend.
"No need: you will outwardly support Hogwarts, even if you want a Durmstrang triumph. Let's see…you'll bet on Krum becoming Karakoff's show pony; not much caring for Beauxbatons due to Edgar's inability to enter, or Seraphine in attendance. And we both know that cup will never spit out a Slytherin champion," Severus surmised. "You don't close your mind…no wonder what the Dark Lord will do once he finds out you've become…a civilized being," he contemplatively frowned.
"Oh, if I were you, I'd worry moreso of our Northern brethren," Lucius threw out.
"Murdered, most likely," Severus quipped, rising. "Now, if you excuse me, I'll be heading to bed. I do have work tomorrow…"
"Ah, as do I, Severus. Nox," Lucius whispered, finishing the glass, summoning the bottle of blanc for the night.
Few hours after the smallest a luminescent pied raven came upon contrasting French rooms. One high up in a Gothic turret, barely distinguishable half-moon windows further darkened with royal blue shutters. Flung about royal blue bed curtains and dyed yeti covets obscuring the contorted occupant with limbs askew. Opened bottles of potions, a half-completed crushed set of tsete flies in mortal and pestle, crumpled papers and calculations littering what was left of the crescent shaped desk and hardwood floor. Camus setting a pristine envelope upon a far-flung pillow by the door.
On the other side of the castle, in a low-tower with balcony overlooking a gillyweed lake and stage, the raven visited. Opposing the first residency, the boudoir was alit with moonflowers entwined with the lavender-wood furniture and copper bed; the bright-white cacti attracting fireflies, flitterbies, and firefay. The girl sleeping soundly under a cooling covet of unicorn hair depicting flying horses. Happily placing the parcel alongside charms work and a knotted hazel wand. Nothing out of place, the slightest aroma of charred parchment in the rubbish bin.
Severus awoke, the beating of his concealed drawer rattling him awake. Papers flying out, moreso from abundance than magic, with his name more and more illegible.
"Ah, the mystique of aviators…the accuracy, the expediency, the…frenzy of it all," sniggered Lucius, picking up one of the scrawled addresses. Using his wand to open it, snorting at the contents. "If he lasts the tournament I'll give you 10,000 galleons," tossing the undecipherable letter at his friend's feet.
"Perhaps good morning is insufficient?"
"In this…I'm sorry, is this a bedroom or a room at Ward 49?" Lucius smiled, saintly eyes turned towards the ceiling.
"Hmmm, and here I was thinking rudeness was only for the uncouth mudbloods and muggles," Severus retorted, sporting a black silk cravaet, an onyx fob strung alongside his shirt tucked into his potioneer frock and black Hogwarts robes.
"Still sporting your rings," Lucius chimed, a slight downturn of his lips as he stopped organizing the floor's contents of letters.
" 'A heaven on Earth I have won'", the professor recited, unconsciously touching the pocket his and his wife's engagement and wedding rings lied.
" 'Revenge should have no bounds' in the eyes of the Dark Lord," Lucius sighed, the letters now torn.