Severus was utterly crestfallen. He never allowed anyone but Lucius to read his emotions, preferring to wear his usual blank mask, rightly believing that it was safer to keep one's private thoughts private. His face had gone from glee to disappointment in a matter of seconds, and despite his own frustration Lucius found himself feeling very sorry for him.
How could he have ever hesitated about sending the boy to college? Despite being only a few weeks into his first year, he had located a wonderful ancient fertility potion and brewed it successfully in secret. It was a brilliant idea, and a brilliant achievement. But he couldn't have known that Narcissa was allergic to snap-gryphon pollen. Just one sip of the amazing elixir would have her gasping for breath, throat swollen and skin disfigured, possibly even killing her.
On their honeymoon, Lucius' romantic gesture of filling their suite with the lovely crimson blooms had backfired spectacularly – their wedding night had been spent in a Venetian hospital, with a team of healers trying desperately to reduce his bloated wife to her normal petite size. He could hardly regret the action though. They had both laughed about the disaster, starting their married life with a shared joke which could still provoke a secret sense of complicity between husband and wife. The sniggered phrase 'we'll always have Venice' led others to believe the consummation of the nuptials had been the start of a true-love match. Which suited them both perfectly.
"I'm sorry, Severus," he sighed, bitterly disappointed himself. "It was a great idea. I don't suppose you could make a substitution of some kind?" Snape had lost about four inches in height, and was pouting miserably.
"No. Nothing comes close to matching the effects of antirrhinum gryfilis. It was perfect!"
Lucius could not bear to think about it. Any kind of divorce would be a scandal for the gossiping old hags to crow about at their charity coffee mornings, it would probably even make the 'Wizard Whispers' pages of the Prophet. It meant the four years he had spent on the courtship and marriage would have been completely wasted, at the same time engendering some kind of deadly honour-feud with the Black dynasty, which he could well do without. Some of his ancestors would have taken a swifter and more definite course of action, probably involving a flight of stone stairs or an untraceable poison, but Narcissa was worth more than that. Odd as it may seem, they had actually become friends. Perhaps he could find someone else to marry her. Postponing the inevitable, he decided to take his and Severus' minds off the turmoil which would soon be set in motion, for a few hours at least. He performed a quick cleansing charm on the ever-filthy Snape before kissing his frowning lips (bitter experience had necessitated this precaution), and pulling him towards the bedroom.
…….
He still had not made a decision. Almost two months had passed since the final verdict on his wife's infertility, and Lucius was still unsure how to proceed. Narcissa was looking paler than usual, and jumped every time he addressed her, as though dreading the announcement of her fate. His legendary self-confidence had failed him consistently for seven weeks now, and he even felt too guilty to spend much time with Severus, who was also looking haunted and drawn, his recent erratic behaviour and temper tantrums providing little comfort anyway. He tried once more. Adopting a kindly but serious expression, he took a deep breath and looked steadily at her across the breakfast table.
"Narcissa, my dear," he began. She jumped in the air and her knife clattered onto the floor. Beautiful, terrified blue eyes blinked at him through the table decoration. Lucius cursed the aristocratic breeding which meant he could not bear to see a woman he had publicly promised to care for in distress because of him. He looked away. "Ah, would you pass the marmalade, please?"
Leaving the table, he felt the corridors of the manor closing in on him, as the portraits whispered and sneered at his inability to ensure the continuation of the family line. One of the seventeenth century de Malfoys even tutted at his unmanliness. Needing a change of air, he flooed to Severus' flat, hoping to take advantage of the cosy atmosphere of the little love-nest while his lover was out studying. But there had been some mistake. Severus was not out.
"Lucius?" came a feeble groan from the bedroom. He strode over and opened the door.
"Why aren't you at the Institute?" asked Malfoy in concern. Tuesday morning was for student-mentor private seminars, and the geeky potions master-to-be would normally move heaven and earth to be there. Severus' black eyes were surrounded by matching black bags as he lay delicately wrapped in the blankets.
"Dying," he sniffed.
"What?" demanded Lucius, placing his palm on a too-warm forehead. "What are you talking about?"
"Taken every healing potion I can think of. Can't stop throwing up. Can't eat. Dizzy all the time. Really miserable for no reason. Even been crying. It's over. Body's shutting down. Dying."
"Don't be ridiculous!" snapped the older wizard, his worry transmuting into anger somewhere between his brain and his lips. This languid, sunken creature speaking in broken sentences could not possibly be his feisty concubine. "Let me call a healer!"
"No," wailed Severus.
"But…"
"No!" he wailed louder, before letting his eyes fall closed, the effort of speaking apparently too much to bear. "Only you are allowed to touch me, you know that. Not that you want to, anymore."
"You're not sulking because I haven't been able to visit you very often?"
Severus rolled away from him, giving an affronted sniff.
"Things have been busy!" he explained, in exasperation. "And when I do manage to come, you shout at me and throw things. It's not encouraging."
"You hate me," said Severus with another sniff, and Lucius realised with horror that the dark boy was crying. "You like your wife more than you like me."
"Oh, love," he murmured softly, stroking his shoulder. "That's not true."
Snape rolled over suddenly, teary eyes blazing as he slapped Lucius' hand away.
"Don't touch me! Go away!" he snarled. Reaching for his wand, he blasted a protesting Malfoy halfway across the room. "You'll be sorry when I die! Now, get out! Out!"
Lucius was so distracted, he did not realise he had wandered into the sunny parlour where Narcissa usually spent her mornings until he heard her astonished gasp.
"Oh. Excuse me," he said, then stopped, noticing the red rings around her eyes. She looked at him steadily for a few seconds before her face crumpled and she broke down into delicate little sobs. Stiffening his upper lip, Lucius moved forward and tentatively placed a hand on her wrist, unsure of how to comfort her. She snatched the arm away and leapt to her feet.
"Don't touch me! I know where you've been. And with whom! You always put your boyfriend before me!" She fled, leaving Malfoy standing alone and despairing in the sumptuous room. The Louis XV clock on the side-table read five minutes past eleven. There was only one course of action for a self-respecting Englishman.
Lucius went to the pub.
…….
A/N: Coffeedreams, Excessivelyperky, Silverthreads, Shakespeare's Sister, Mon, Sea Priestess, Cybersnake and Lucidity – you're saying some great things about my mini-fic! Thank you so much for taking the time, and brightening my day x
I'd love to hear from anyone who has an opinion on this!
You know what's going to happen, I know what's going to happen, let's have fun on the way there!