To Have and To Hold
Chapter Four
Draco lay panting on the floor, blood trickling sluggishly from the corner of his mouth.
His wand lay upstairs at his bedside, neglected over the summer; pure forgetfulness.
He cursed silently as he lay there, trying to muster what little energy he had left. With his current lack of strength and the shape his body was in now, he was for the most part powerless. Even now he could feel his strength slowly ebbing away, and his mind was moving increasingly nearer to the soft darkness that lurked habitually, almost lovingly, at the edges of his benumbed brain.
He cursed again, desperately searching for that final reserve he knew he had – but too late. He had underestimated the hurts his body had sustained, and now his brain insisted on shutting down.
With a sigh of defeat, Draco submitted to the encroaching blackness, knowing resistance to be futile and annoying. Father won't be pleased. He thought, just managing to glimpse Armani clad feet before his eyes shut, the sound of their heels clicking against marble floor dimly ringing in his ears.
The Night Before
"I believe it's time my son were wed."
Severus Snape said nothing in response to this abrupt statement, choosing merely to sip at his chalice of mulled wine. He continued his silence patiently, waiting for the part of the scheme that would include him.
"You are to begin the search immediately."
Had Severus continued to drink after hearing the words "You are," he most likely would have choked on his drink.
Due to long experience, however, he had stopped before it reached his lips.
Severus took a moment, carefully placing the chalice down on the ornate ebony table sitting between himself and his old 'friend.'
Another moment passed before raising his dark eyes to meet the ones of his constant friend and adversary's.
"I, Lucius?" He asked mildly.
"Yes." Was the curt reply. "As godfather to my son, by tradition it is your duty. It was my own godfather who finally secured my own wife."
Yes, thought Severus, and just look at the results. Aloud he said nothing, merely watching the reclining form of Lucius Malfoy.
Lucius met his gaze, eyes hardening. "Damn all, Severus." He spoke softly, though his tone was anything but as he answered Severus' unspoken question. "Do you think I want one of my son's bastards to inherit the Malfoy name, estate, or anything other? As long as the only claim is to resemblance, I could care less where he messes around. But anything else – it would be unacceptable. He has three years before he inherits, and I'd rather have him secured before he can decide to pour all his money and time into brothels, and none into legitimate heirs."
He ran a hand through his pale hair in frustration, scattering it in every direction. "Security, Severus." His fist smashed into the arm of his chair. "It is not gained through money alone – and my son needs to learn that."
Anything for 'the name,' Severus thought wryly. Blast the body, it's 'the name' that needs looking after. But feeling the niggling sensation of his friend's prying, he kept that thought in the back of his mind, before gently closing it off.
"You don't need to sneak around there, Lucius." He reprimanded with a sigh. "As you said, he's my godson – though at the moment, I almost feel he's more trouble that that title's worth."
Lucius smirked. "Unfortunately for you, it's a bit too late to refuse." He replied lightly. "About eighteen years, to be exact. Now, no jokes. This is, after all, a serious matter. No lineages of less than twelve generations. None over one hundred twenty seven." His lip curled and Severus nodded knowingly.
To have a wife with a longer lineage than one's own would simply be demeaning.
"No girls from his school – the only ones worth consideration have been his playthings for too long."
"Virgin, then, Lucius?" Severus cut in.
He nodded shortly. "If possible. And Severus," He added, a dangerous glint in his hard grey eyes, "No mud in the mixture. Not a single drop." He stood and turned to face the fire. "I would appreciate it if you would bring your friends to me, a dozen at a time. Have the elf procure the girl in charge of appearance and what not. Oh, and Severus – oversee the whole debacle."
Severus knew a dismissal when he heard one.
Rising stiffly, he cursed silently as he moved toward the floo gate, always open in this particular room. It seemed he was truly going to be a part of this, whether he wanted to or not.
His lip curled.
Severus Snape, Professor, Practitioner of the Dark Arts, potions connoisseur – and now, apparently matchmaker for the Malfoy heir apparent. Just hand him a headscarf and a skirt. How much lower could one possibly get?
Thinking perhaps it would help, he let out a few quite colorful and many original silent curses, mostly against Lucius' pleasure seeking abilities.
Just before the wall of sickly green portals enveloped him, he heard a quiet, half-amused voice over his shoulder.
"I heard that."