It was another freezing day in Diagon Alley, but the weather had not deterred hundreds of wizards and witches from trying to pick up a bargain or two on the first day of the January sales. Every building heaved with determined shoppers – Lucius suspected that many of them were not actually interested in purchasing anything, but after more than a week at home with their loved ones, they were seizing any excuse to get out of the house.
People greeted each other jovially in the street through layers of woolly scarves and ear-muffs.
"So nice to see you! How was your Christmas?" seemed to be the stock question. So far, Lucius had heard some interesting responses.
"It was OK, I'm glad it's over for another year!"
"Oh, I was this close to poisoning my Mother-in-law's eggnog!"
"Got some good presents, but my little brother drove me up the wall!"
"Socks. Again. Do you know how many pairs of socks I have now?"
"Tradition be damned. I'm off to Barbados next year. Alone!"
"This is the first time I've been sober since 23rd December. I had forgotten how dull it feels."
Of course, all heads turned when he entered a building. Some spoke directly to him, others whispered in his wake. He had always been recognised and acknowledged by a few people everywhere he went, but today he was the centre of attention - he supposed that his father's death had been the only major news story over the holiday. The flattering picture of him standing pensively at the tomb-side which had appeared in yesterday's paper must have helped too. A tragic, rich, young wizard, cutting something of a dash in black; he sensed that some of the female eyes on him were not merely sympathetic, either.
Madam Malkin spotted him enter her shop, even through the throngs of clients feuding over the last pair of gloves and whatnot. She left the till and picked her way through to reach him, judiciously employing a stout hatpin where the crowd was too dense.
"Mr. Lucius…oh, I suppose you're Mr. Malfoy now," she gave him a small smile. "Those silk robes suited you a treat, if you don't mind me saying so."
"Thank you," he nodded sharply, enjoying his new role of 'troubled young man'. All heads in the boutique were now looking at him. He cultivated a brave smile to conceal his supposed inner pain. Ludicrous really, he thought, as I wouldn't have the Old Man back now, even if I were given the chance. This is my year. This is where it all begins.
A broad wizard with a pot belly had shouldered his way forward and held out his arms to envelope Lucius in a bone-crushing embrace.
"Malfoy, Malfoy, I was so sorry to hear about your father. I was away in the Maldives, otherwise I would have certainly been there at the funeral to support one of my own dear ex-students!" Lucius struggled free before his hair got too dishevelled.
"Thank you, Professor Slughorn. Kind of you to say so."
"The new term starts tomorrow," continued Slughorn in his booming voice. "Will you come back to school and take tea with me one afternoon? I'm sure you must miss the old place!" He accompanied the invitation with a breathtaking nudge to the ribs.
"Of course I miss Hogwarts!" he wheezed politely. Adding privately, 'Like a hole in the head'. He failed to understand why everyone became so misty-eyed over their regimented schooldays, when there was a whole, magnificent world for the adult wizard to explore beyond those dull castle walls.
Realising that he would get no serious shopping done in these conditions, he escaped from Madam Malkin's, hearing the whispers in his wake.
"So brave! Not a single tear!"
"That's a lot of responsibility for one so young! Poor lad!"
"Nice bum. Do you think he's a natural blond?"
The latter almost made him turn around and say something uncouth, but reminding himself that such tattling was beneath him, he continued on his way.
Flourish and Blott's was just as manic on the ground floor, where there was a special offer on the whole range of health books – from diet advice to hangover potions – the perfect solution to festive overindulgence. Remembering some of the comments he had overheard earlier, he smiled to see that 'Family Friction: How a Magical Mum can Keep her Cool' was being advertised at half-price.
He pushed his way past the staring faces to head up to the attic floor, where the less-popular, more specialist publications were kept on tightly-packed oak shelves. Some of them were straining fiercely at their chains. Occasionally, a scroll which was too broad for even the largest of the shelves, would start wailing tunelessly to itself from its box on the floor.
The place was cold, and the air smelt musty and ancient. The perfect habitat then, for Lucius' quarry. He had to be in here somewhere.
"Snape?" he called, not sure whether this qualified as a library and therefore necessitated whispering.
A juicy, snot-laden sniff answered from the farthest corner of the room. Lucius walked over cautiously, careful not to let his pristine fur cloak brush against any of the book-grime.
Snape was sitting cross legged on the floor, resting his elbows on a pile of enormous, silver-bound tomes as he flipped the page of one of the smaller books, thoroughly absorbed in what he was reading. Clearly in bookworm-heaven, he didn't spare Malfoy the merest glance.
"What are you reading, brat?" he asked, mildly piqued at the reminder that not every single wizard in the country was prepared to hang on his every word. Snape did not respond. Considering that he had now had just cause, Lucius leaned over and clipped him soundly alongside the ear.
"Ow!" Snape scowled at him in outrage over the top of the book.
"Don't ignore your elders when they speak to you," chastised Lucius, though he supposed that his smile somewhat negated the attempt at discipline in loco parentis, as it were. The boy muttered something scathing under his breath. "What did you say?" queried Lucius imperiously.
Snape stopped glaring and smirked.
"I said, 'wanker'," he clarified. A fast learner, he was across the room before Lucius could smack his other ear.
One short but intense scuffle later, actually a rather close tie, despite the age difference, the two young men were headed out of the bookshop in the direction of The Wildgoose Club. This Gentlewizard's club (No Familiars, No Muggle-borns, Absolutely No Witches,) was reached through an unremarkable black door in Seek Writ Passage, the narrow ginnal leading off Diagon Alley where the law firms practised. Established during the worst years of witch-hunting in the seventeenth century as the headquarters of resistance and revenge, its members tended to be a certain type of pure-blood from one of the Old Families; probably corpulent, possibly in-bred and definitely in possession of some vehement Traditional Opinions. One did not apply for membership of the Wildgoose Club – one would be nominated by three sponsors of long-established WG pedigree, interviewed by the Executive Recruitment Committee over a long lunch in a top restaurant of their choice (naturally, the tab would be picked up by the hopeful applicant. By some strange coincidence, the more expensive the meal, the greater one's chances of success), then subjected to an all-members secret ferret-ballot (white for 'accepted', black for 'denied').
To the casual observer, it appeared to be a ridiculously secretive organisation. But then, WG members would point out that most casual observers were unworthy of entry into the hallowed rooms, therefore only jealous. And anyway, they were unlikely to casually observe very much before having their eyelids hexed shut by the porters. Permanently.
Lucius delivered the scripted password exchange faultlessly, earning him an approving nod from Hubert, the Duty Porter. The door opened fully, allowing him into the immaculate lobby, their footsteps echoing off tiled floor, gilded mirrors, crystal chandeliers, exquisite china vases and portraits of deceased members. Hubert's approval ended abruptly on catching sight of Snape, slouching like an unwashed shadow behind Malfoy's billowing cloak.
"He can't come in here," Hubert glared down his fleshy nose at the teenager. His respect for the Wildgoose members bordered on mania for the most part, but infarctions of the Club rules were, to Hubert, more unforgivable than the actual Unforgivables. His family had been porters here since the club's inception. He would not become the first Hubert to let standards slip.
"I know he can't enter the club," Lucius tried his most endearing smile, yanking the boy's shoulders back to try and make him stand up straight. "But I thought he could stay in the lobby while I have my meeting. Or perhaps in the porters' office?"
Improbably, Snape was trying to look innocent. Hubert's glare swept up and down, his sharp gaze taking in the unruly hair, too-clever-by-half black eyes, snotty hooked nose, uneven grin, hand-me-down school cloak and scuffed brown boots with their threadbare laces trailing down onto the sumptuous hall rug. This creature treading the hallowed corridors of the Wildgoose Club? Let loose in one of the most respectable places in the Magical World? He wasn't buying it. Not for a minute.
"Out," said Hubert coldly.
"Look here, my good man," Lucius huffed.
"Out," the porter interrupted him.
"He's my…my ward!" he tried. "He is under the protection of the Malfoy family and as such…"
Hubert did not grin. Grinning showed disrespect, and all porters had been trained – or, bred, in his own personal case – to respect their members at all times. Instead, he took a deep breath, puffing out his uniformed chest and raised an eyebrow in no uncertain terms.
"The young gentleman is a member?" he asked, with shimmering politeness.
"No, but…"
"Out!" He seized Snape by one of the cleaner parts of his cloak and frog-marched him to the door. Admitting defeat, Lucius reached in his pocket for a galleon and thrust it at Severus, who was muttering mutinously at the porter.
"Here, go to Fortesque's and wait for me," he instructed. Snape frowned at the galleon. Lucius rolled his eyes and brought out another. "There, brat. That's all the change I have. Not even you could demolish that much ice-cream. And stay out of trouble!"
"S'Okay," murmured the boy, dextrously pocketing the coins with one hand and deliberately wiping his nose noisily on the sleeve nearest to the porter. Hubert's upper lip gave a small twitch of distaste. "I can sit there and read my book." He waved the little volume he had been reading in Flourish and Blott's. Worryingly, it had a skull and crossbones stamped on the leather cover.
"Good," said Lucius, letting Hubert close the door on him with a barely-perceptible sigh of relief.
It was only as he was led down the swirling staircase a few minutes later that Malfoy realised he could not recall seeing Severus pay for the book.
…….
Snape emerged from Seek Writ Passage with a spring in his awkward step. The air seemed heavy with cold and the sky grey with low clouds – it would probably start snowing soon. They boy yanked his hood up over his head, enjoying the moment despite the biting cold. He was alone and unsupervised in Magical London, with an absolute fortune (two whole galleons!) in his pocket to spend on anything at all. The thought made him slightly dizzy as he trudged up the street, though he reined in his elation. An opportunity like this did not present itself every day, so he had better act carefully.
Reaching Fortesque's, he paused briefly to stare through a misty window at the idiotic nuclear families, plying their fat kids with sugary treats as though they hadn't already spent the last week and a half overindulging in the spirit of pointless festive gaiety. Even from outside, he could hear the dull chatter of the parents, the loud demands and crying of the spoiled children. There was clearly no point trying to get any reading done amidst such cacophony. He sneered at the whole pathetic place. Who needed ice-cream anyway? Or families, for that matter.
Pulling his cloak tighter around his skinny body, Snape slithered his way effortlessly through the crowds. He used his great talent for slipping unnoticed into small spaces, slowing for a moment to allow some bulging shopping bags to pass before ducking into the gap made in their wake, briefly slipstreaming a formidable witch in a vulture-topped hat who was barging her way up the street in such a titanic manner that people sprang out of her way.
"Frank!" she suddenly bellowed, stopping so abruptly in front of the pet shop that Snape almost ran into the back of her. Peering around, he spotted a Griffindor sixth-year, frozen sheepishly in the act of trying to swap a fat toad for some more interesting sort of pet. "You ungrateful child! Mother's present not good enough for you!" she began berating her son, who, despite being sixteen, a beater, at least six foot three inches tall and built like a walking advertisement for Myhunk's Meaty Musclebuilding Serum, was squirming like a scolded puppy.
Snape enjoyed the public humiliation with the rest of the gawping public for a little while, before the cold forced him to move on. Outside Quality Quidditch Supplies, the queue stretched right around the building, overseen menacingly by a security troll - apparently the management were taking no chances after the riot which had broken out during the previous year's January Sale on broomsticks. Knowing that even his new-found riches would not get him very far towards owning his own broom, that even the second hand cheaper models cost more than he could wheedle from his mother or Lucius during the course of a whole year, he hurried past the place of torture, flinching when he heard a familiar voice behind him.
"Dad, I told you to get me one for Christmas," the tone was petulant, and mildly worried. "We'll be in this queue for ages and there might not be any left. And they've only knocked forty galleons off the price! It's hardly worth standing in the cold for, is it, Dad? What'll we do if there are none left? My old broom is so out of date I'm a laughing stock! Sirius says no one else on the house teams has a two-year old broom! Dad?"
A jovial middle-aged man, unruffled by his son's whining, answered merrily,
"The best things come to those who wait, James! You'll enjoy it all the more for having earned it!"
"No I won't! And I hate these new dragonhide boots. They're a stupid colour. I wanted red ones!"
Severus sneered under his hood, cursing James Potter for being about to get a brand-new Comet, for hating an expensive pair of boots in a rare and high-quality material, for having a jolly father, for being rich, for being a pure-blood, for being a clueless idiot, for…for…well, for just existing, damn it.
He checked himself. He would not let a chance encounter with the blasted Potters spoil his excursion. Glancing around, he noticed that his furious stalk had carried him into unfamiliar territory. The shops were crammed closer together, their upper storeys overhanging in a way that blocked out most of the sky, and the few people here were not bustling noisily with their children and dogs, but hurrying from doorway to doorway in ones and twos, keeping their faces hidden and their bundles clutched against their chests.
With a thrill of delight and trepidation, Severus realised that he was in Knockturn Alley.
Alone.
Underneath his dark cloak, no one could see the enormous grin which split his face from ear to ear.
…….
Back at the Wildgoose Club, Rastaban Lestrange was introducing Lucius to a number of solemn-faced men. The younger man found that trying to appear mature and serious-minded required a substantial amount of effort when one was clad in nothing but a small, white, fluffy towel.
The commercial and political big business of wizarding Britain had been conducted in the steam-rooms of the WG for centuries, odd as it may seem. Meetings were frequently held on the marble benches, where the heat and near-nudity brought every man to the same level. It was impossible to sneer at the inferior cut of your rivals' robes, interfering women could not get in the way, wands had to be left outside lest the humidity warp the wood and no one could hide anything up their sleeves.
Sweating profusely and somewhat miffed that his face would undoubtedly now be a most unbecoming shade of pink, Lucius forced himself to concentrate, drawing a little comfort from the observation that his was by far the best body on display.
The proceedings were being chaired by Marcus Avery, a brown-haired, unremarkable-looking lawyer of about thirty, with a fine, clear voice. Lucius listened closely to what he said, desperately trying not to stare at his fascinating third nipple.
Many magical folk had them, Lucius knew, it was one of those odd quirks which the muggles had picked up on in the past as a supposed 'sign', but he had never actually seen one before. At school, Lucius had known that he was the object of many admiring and envious stares in the communal showers, so he had concentrated on posing as elegantly as he could, rather than checking out the paltry competition. Even during the summer, most of his associates would wear flowing robes rather than flaunting their bare flesh like the common people. He wondered whether Avery's extra teat was as sensitive as the others, or if it just felt like a normal piece of skin…
Silence had fallen. Lucius snapped himself out of his unwholesome ponderings to find everyone staring at him. Rastaban rescued the situation.
"Perhaps you should start at the beginning, Avery," he suggested, frowning slightly at Lucius.
"Please do so," said Lucius with dignity. A Malfoy never explained, nor did he apologise. Nodding earnestly, Avery began, a trail of sweat trickling down from second nipple to third. Malfoy stared determinedly at the ceiling and listened carefully this time.
"We believe the Magical Community to be in very real danger of extinction. Centuries of neglect have led us to deliberately render ourselves impotent, despite our status as the most powerful creatures on the planet. This is an unnatural state of affairs. In every ecosystem, the strongest species dominates the weaker, yet wizards are forced to conceal themselves and their superiority, living like vermin cowering in a hole." He paused, the handful of listeners made small sounds or gestures of agreement.
As Lucius contemplated his own riches, his standing and the lifestyle he led, two points occurred to him. Firstly, he strongly resented the comparison with vermin, yet Avery was correct. Wizards who were fifty times greater than the most skilled muggle should not make each other hide away, like mice avoiding a large but rather stupid clawless cat. Secondly, in a few years, he would be one of society's leading wizards – over the next few months he would lay plans to keep the name of Malfoy at the forefront of importance. Therefore, if Magical people reverted to their natural niche as top of the evolutionary ladder, Lucius would become one of the leading figures the entire country.
He turned the idea over in his head for a moment. Whichever way you looked at it, this was a sound theory. Putting it into practice, however, could prove a little tricky. He lounged back comfortably on the marble bench of the Hammam, hoping to project confidence and capability as he plastered his long hair back with perspiration and gave his companions a ghost of a smile.
"And how, exactly, do you propose that we rectify the situation?"
"His Lordship is a prudent man," said Avery smoothly. "He will not reveal details to anyone lacking the proper commitment to our cause."
"Naturally," acquiesced Lucius, reflecting that the authorities would probably be less than impressed by such radical ideas. But these particular authorities could not remain in a position of power for much longer, once every witch or wizard had realised the need for change. And who better to replace them than Lucius Malfoy – born to lead, bred to succeed. "When will I meet him? I shall be most interested in what he has to say."
Rastaban smiled knowingly. Avery peered through the steam to the clock on the wall.
"Perhaps you would care to join us for lunch upstairs in half an hour?" he suggested.
"I'd be delighted," replied Lucius.
…….
Never had Severus imagined the existence of such a place. Here, inside these shabby little buildings, resided the most wondrous objects he had ever seen – items which the books he read proclaimed to be destroyed, mythical, illegal or simply impossible sat calmly on shelves or in humdrum glass cases like diabolical treats in an infernal Honeyduke's.
A different sort of giddiness assailed the black-haired boy as he crossed the threshold of Borgin and Burke's, bringing forth a sensation similar to the warm wooziness engendered by the hot mulled wine at the Malfoy Manor Christmas party, yet at the same time utterly different. He knew immediately what it was. Books referred to it as the 'Pull of the Dark' or the 'Sinister Call'.
Smugness washed over Severus, knowing that only very powerful wizards could feel the darkness actively calling to them, though anyone with a spark of magic inside them could manipulate black magic to their own ends. In the same way a wand chose a wizard, not the other way round, the dark called gently to those who could best serve its ancient purposes, but leaving the final decision to them. Its recruitment was never brash or obvious, preferring a smouldering, unobtrusive reminder of the tremendous opportunities which could be obtained by acknowledgement.
Clearly, something very wicked was lurking in Borgin and Burke's just then, and Severus longed to find out exactly what was tickling at the magic inside his veins. However, Mr Burke was also being tickled by the extra sense possessed by shopkeepers everywhere and chose that moment to come charging out of the back room, puffy eyes scouring the shop for someone up-to-no-good. He caught sight of Snape hovering at the entrance.
"Out!" he said, in exactly the same tone the Wildgoose porter had used earlier, but with pure malice etched in every crag of his countenance. "No unaccompanied kids!"
"I was only…" began Severus in his most endearing tone.
"This ain't a toyshop! Now scoot before I set the vermicious knid on yer!"
Snape's black eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
"You are joking! A real one? How interesting. May I see it?"
Burke glared suspiciously, flipping up a hinged piece of the counter and advancing on Severus with his wand out, showing hints of his family's infamous tendency to curse first and ask questions later.
"What do you know about vermicious knids? And who are you, anyway?"
Neither of them had noticed the other browser in the shop until a pale hand descended on Snape's shoulder, making him emit a sharp yelp.
"Thank you, Burke. The child is with me."
Burke hesitated at the sound of the smooth voice, glaring at Snape, who quickly nodded in confirmation.
"With you?" he wavered, still snarling slightly, squinting up at the taller adult. Snape did not dare to turn around to see who was holding him, but he had the impression of a tall figure standing very close behind him, heavily cloaked, judging by the way Burke was trying and failing to discern a face.
"With me," came the confirmation. The shopkeeper gave a grudging nod and returned to the counter, pausing as he closed the hatch to warn;
"Just make sure he stays out of trouble."
Severus bit back his snort. He hadn't managed thus far in his life. The hand lifted.
Turning slowly, he saw that his protector was bending over a low cabinet observing a miscellaneous collection of unusual implements, paying no further attention to him. Curious, but aware that he might still be ejected from the premises at any moment, he closed his eyes to try and sense if one particular object was giving him the Dark Call, or if it was merely a residual malevolence haunting a place were so much dark power had been stored through the centuries.
Getting no clear leads by remaining still, he began resting his hand limply in the air, moving it carefully above each object for a moment, expecting some kind of sensation – tingling, burning, anything. Finishing one side of the shop without success, he swung around without opening his eyes and was almost knocked over by the force of it. Snapping back to full alertness he realised where the darkness was coming from. Or rather, whom.
It was instinct – the same pure feeling of self-preservation which makes the nape of a human's neck prickle at the sound of a wolves howling – before Severus' brain had even had time to engage, his body had flung itself through the door and down the dingy street. Hearing a sound behind him, he pounded even faster down Knockturn Alley, dashing into a side street and crouching in a shadowy alcove behind somebody's dustbin hoping he wouldn't be seen.
"Oh dear," sighed a bored voice, right behind him. Snape whirled round which a squeak. It was impossible! How could that creature have already been there, lying in wait, when he had only just sprinted away from it? He hadn't heard it apparate. To terrified to move, Severus froze to the spot as the voice continued; "I had hoped that you would not be as stupid as most people. Obviously, I was mistaken."
Barely able to understand the words because of the pounding in his head and the intoxicating mix of adrenaline and Dark Call gushing around his uncooperative body, he glanced desperately around the passage for some means of escape. The other laughed like ice cracking on a frozen pond and closed the small gap between their bodies.
"I helped you, back there in the shop, and you ran away without thanking me. Didn't your mother ever tell you that one good turn deserves another?"
The snow began to fall in thick, heavy flakes, swirling lazily on its descent from the heavens down to the darker depths of the earth.
…….
AN: Thank you for sticking with me! I know this story is updated very infrequently, but I'm very glad you took the time to read this chapter. I'd love to know what you have to say!
I hope Mr Dahl (wherever his shadowy soul currently resides) will excuse me for borrowing his vermicious knids. I wish I were clever enough to invent words like that!
Severus loose in Knockturn Alley? That was never going to turn out well, was it? My little Severus is intended to be an unpleasant kid, but supremely intelligent and (I hope you'll agree) rather endearing in and odd sort of way. Lucius has some ambiguous paternal feelings towards him – I'll be developing this next time around.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapters 1 and 2! Love, SN x
PS Jame remind you of anyone?
