Hello! After six months, I've finally rediscovered my BYT muse! Remember this fic? No, I couldn't either, so I had to re-read it before I put finger to keyboard.

Warnings: Some rude words and some inappropriate attitudes towards mental illness, which, of course, I do not share. There's also a little – shock, horror – pre-Het in here, but nothing juicy. The Slash is coming soon, promise. Thanks for reading x.

…….

It was an unusual lunch.

The dark wood panelling and leather-upholstered furniture of the Wildgoose Club's small dining room created a formal, masculine atmosphere, where the odd selection of wizards fringing the table talked seriously about serious topics.

Silent in his presidential state at the head of the proceedings, the man called Lord Voldemort listened impassively to the discussion. Lucius tried to study him whenever the sharp eyes pierced the between-course pipe smoke to focus on a speaker seated on the opposite side to him, but His Lordship seemed eerily sensitive to scrutiny. Seconds after daring to observe, Lucius would find himself breathless under the older man's stare.

So this was true power. Lucius had grown up in the same circles as the greatest people in the land. Ministers, aristocrats, intellectuals, military leaders; yet none of his father's acquaintances had projected such an essence of might and control as this handsome creature. Malfoy knew he stood no chance of understanding how this could be while in Voldemort's presence, so postponed his analysis until later, instead concentrating on the arguments of the other normal human beings in the room.

Oddly, His Lordship smirked at him at the very instant he reached this conclusion. Tiny wings fluttered in the pit of Lucius' stomach as he remembered something he had read in the darker section of his father's library. Impossible. No one could ever truly read the mind of another. The practice of Legilimency was just an Antiquarian myth, Sir Icarus had told him.

Wasn't it?

…….

Rastaban had spent the entire meal squabbling with an ill-favoured young man named Mulciber about the nature of Revolution. As they left Seek Writ Passage, the debate continued, as loud and unyielding as before. Lucius tuned out both impassioned voices as he reflected on his intriguing morning.

Mulciber was a slightly nerdy academic whose father had paid for him to indulge his passion for political theory by spending years studying social upheavals around the magical and muggle worlds, in the hope that he would use his knowledge to become a formidable Minister of Magic. Not every parent's plans for their offspring come to fruition, however, and instead of joining the Minstry, Mulciber had waded deeper and deeper into the scholarly side of politics, where his total lack of charisma proved more of an asset than a flaw. His first book 'How Not to Rule the World' was a scathing attack on all past and present systems of government had become a cult classic in anti-establishment circles. It had also given his mother a nervous breakdown as her pure-blooded friends requested her resignation from the Witches Institute, appalled at the idea of associating with such a subversive family. An indignant Mulciber Senior had cut his son off without a knut.

Mulciber was now working on his second book, 'Government: How to Get It Right'. Lucius frowned as something occurred to him.

"Who's financing your studies now, Mulciber?" he wondered aloud. Mulciber and Lestrange stopped their yelling match about whether the rights of the Individual could ever be reconciled with the needs of the State and stared at him.

"His Lordship is, of course," he said testily, as though that should have been perfectly obvious. "He's a very forward-thinking man."

"Oh," replied Lucius, frowning again. Interesting, he thought to himself. Why would such a powerful wizard waste his time and energy on castle-in-the-air concepts dreamed up by an unremarkable troublemaker with no social skills?

He needed to discuss all of this with someone. Someone intelligent. Someone who understood him, as well as the wider picture. Narcissa, of course. A small flicker of unidentifiable origin sizzled in his brain at the thought of so much cleverness in such a sensible and attractive package. Lestrange was glaring at him. Mulciber cleared his throat with revolting thoroughness and spat into the snow, apparently irritated at the interruption.

"Well, Gentlemen," he smiled at them before they could re-start the debate. "I think I shall leave you here. Will I see you tomorrow, Rastaban?"

Lestrange looked slightly taken aback.

"I was rather counting on dinner at the Manor with you," he complained. "And Mulciber is gagging to see your father's library."

"My library," he correctly politely, but with an authoritative tilt of his head. "I am invited to the Blacks' this evening. I'm sure you can get supper at the Leaky Cauldron. Good afternoon."

It was not that he minded playing the role of benefactor, Lucius mused as he crunched his way through the impacted snow towards Fortescue's, but it was necessary to remind his associates that despite being their contemporary, he was still socially superior. It was a difficult boundary to set. The young people who had spent New Year at Malfoy Manor were his closest friends – his dorm-mates, his future in-laws, the co-stars in his childhood games of pretend; they would always be welcome at his home, but they must learn to ask permission first.

His father's death had happened so recently that he was still coming to terms with the changes it had set in motion. The house and the money belonged to Lucius now, and learning to manage those two blessed burdens would take time. He had no wish to upset his friends by laying down the law, but for goodness' sake, when had his library become a public resource? Mulciber had a significant amount of social climbing to do before he would set foot in that place. Lucius frowned. The charmless revolutionary probably ought to ask Severus' permission, too, as it was practically the younger boy's second home.

Malfoy arrived at the ice-cream parlour to find it heaving with exhausted parents trying to juggle armfuls of shopping bags and over-tired kids. The air was stuffy after a whole day of melted snow had evaporated in the considerable warmth of the shop, and Florean and his daughters were looking rather worn. Lucius picked his way through the tables without optimism. He could not imagine Severus wanting to spend any length of time in this kind of atmosphere, however absorbing his stolen book on poisons might be.

He nodded a greeting to Josiah Potter, who was heartily tucking into an enormous red and blue sundae with cocktail umbrellas and improbably-shaped wafers sticking out of the top. His messy-haired son bounced up and down in his seat with a small hot chocolate in one hand and a long, thin parcel wrapped in brown paper in the other.

"Lucius," smiled Josiah sadly, wiping a streak of fizzing blue sauce from his chin, "So sorry about old Icarus. I won't pretend we saw eye to eye, but he was a great man. His death leaves a hole in our world."

"Thank you, Mr Potter," he accepted the condolences, "I plan to fill that hole, Sir."

Potter smiled jovially and shook his hand.

"Good for you, my lad," he said.

"Daaaaad," interrupted his son, apparently about to explode with excitement. "Hurry up and eat that! I want to get home and try my new broom! Why did you have to get such a big ice-cream? I want to go now!"

Well, that settled the matter. There was no way Snape would voluntarily breathe the same air as that atrociously spoiled Gryffindor. Lucius would have to widen his search.

Half an hour later, he was growing more than a little irritated as shop after shop failed to yield the missing teenager. The snow was falling thickly now, blowing in his face and making visibility difficult, not to mention impacting under the pressure of bargain-hunters' feet until the ground became dangerously slippery. He was almost ready to give up and leave the wretched brat behind when he saw a slight figure sliding out of the entrance to Knockturn Alley. Lucius swore at his own stupidity for not looking there first of all. Of course Severus would be magnetically drawn to the darker and more interesting atmosphere of the forbidden street. Merlin only knew how he had spent his two galleons there.

He made his way carefully over and smacked Snape around the head in greeting.

"I thought I told you to stay in the ice-cream place?" His own voice sounded annoyed and Lucius realised that he had actually been rather worried. Snape said nothing, but his teeth were chattering of their own accord behind the greasy black strands of hair trailing like a grille over his face. "Oh, come on, Brat. Let's go home, it's bloody freezing."

Snape slithered up the stairs the minute they arrived back at the Manor, ignoring Lucius' offer of a warm brandy to take the edge off the chill. Kids today were odd, he reflected. At that age, Lucius and his contemporaries went to great lengths to procure any form of alcohol they could lay their desperate hands on, even going so far as to pinch the indescribably awful pink liqueur in a raspberry-shaped bottle which Flitwick kept stashed in the secret drawer of his desk. The indelible memory of fluorescent vomit spattering the green upholstery of the Slytherin common room could still turn Malfoy's stomach, five years later.

He summoned a crystal snifter and chose the least aged cognac from the cabinet – there was no need to waste the good stuff if warming charms were involved. He took a noseful, then a mouthful of the miraculous medicine and felt the heat spread outwards from his throat until all his extremities began to recover from the cold.

His head still buzzed overwhelmingly when he tried to organise his thoughts about his intriguing new acquaintance, Lord Voldemort. Narcissa had seemed very knowledgeable on the subject, the previous day. He was looking forward to talking things over with her – getting the opinion of another sensible, well-grounded human being, rather than relying on the hotheaded opinions of Lestrange or the odd lunch guests. Her family were expecting him for dinner, he remembered. What on earth ought he to wear? Being head of the family posed a whole new set of sartorial challenges. In addition to the usual need to appear simultaneously formal, wealthy, hip, powerful and devastatingly attractive, he now had to pull off stately venerability. And as he was still in official mourning, the whole lot would have to be executed in black, too. This look would take time to achieve.

Draining the dregs of his glass, he climbed the stairs, passing the place where his father had toppled over the banister without superstition and turning left towards his dressing room. He had not moved into the largest bedroom yet. Master of the house or not, he still expected to be roasted for intruding in his parents' private space as he had been as a small boy. Overcoming that obstacle would take a little more time.

The door to Snape's room was ajar when he reached the end of the corridor. Lucius' brow furrowed. This was not merely unusual, it was unheard of. Even when he was away at his mother's house or at school, the small area of Malfoy Manor designated as his own would be meticulously locked and warded, even against the elves. And not even Sir Icarus had dared try to disturb the brat when he was actually inside it. Not that he was afraid, exactly, more out of a well-founded suspicion that such a move would be somewhat ill-advised. Draco dormiens etc. Besides, the Malfoys had the run of every other room in the extensive property, why not let the kid have his own safe haven?

Peering through the doorway in the dim winter daylight, Lucius could make out the silhouette of Snape sitting on the edge of his bed. He was not sleeping, reading or visibly plotting, which was alarming enough, but as he got closer, Malfoy could see that he was shaking all over.

"Severus?" he ventured, stepping fully into the room. There was no answer. "Severus? What's the matter? Have you caught cold?"

The boy made no movement, except for the spasms of full-body shivering, and no sound at all. His eyes gazed sightlessly at a patch of floor on the other side of the room.

"Severus!" He strode over and seized Snape by the shoulder, rather alarmed to find there was still no reaction. The Lumos he cast in order to get a better look revealed his guest was soaked from head to toe, his face was white and icy to the touch and his thin, trembling lips were blue at the edges. Glazed black eyes remained as dead as glass, even when he clicked his fingers in front of them. Lucius swore and wondered what the hell was wrong. He had only left him alone for a few hours, what on earth could have happened during that time, in a packed shopping area in broad daylight? "Severus, can you hear me? I'm going to get these wet things off you now, then put you to bed and call a healer. Do you understand?"

He may as well have addressed the side-table for all the response he got.

Peeling away the sodden hand-me-down cloak was not pleasant. The thing was filthy and the lower edge was actually frozen stiff, sticking up at bizarre angles when he discarded it with disdain in a puddle on the floor. There was no sound but the staccato rhythm of Snape's teeth rattling as Lucius unwound the tattered scarf from around his neck and dropped it next to the cloak. His chilled fingers had undone the top two buttons of the jacket before he noticed it.

Eyes wide with terror, Lucius let his hands fall to his sides and backed away from the bed, his legs operating under some primeval preservation instinct rather than rational thought. He gave a little 'oof' of surprise when his bottom collided with the opposite wall, unable to reverse any further, unable to stop staring like a mesmerised creature facing the claws and teeth of its doom.

Even from this distance, it was still visible.

The unmistakable double red puncture mark over the jugular vein.

Lucius did not know how long he stood gaping helplessly, but rational thought only returned to his brain when the boy's eyelids slid closed and he collapsed forwards off the bed, landing in a heap as untidy as the ruined cloak next to him.

"Oh Merlin, oh Merlin, oh Merlin," he babbled, striding away from the wall and hovering over Severus, not knowing what to do. This was the problem with responsibility, his panicked mind decided. There was no higher authority to refer to in times of crisis. Two weeks ago he would have called his father in the certain knowledge that the older wizard would have expert ways of dealing with any given situation. Lucius suddenly felt very young and pathetic.

"Elf!" he hollered eventually, the distress call of the wealthy pureblood wizard.

"Master Malfoy, how can Dobby be helping?" Lucius felt his customary swell of irritation on seeing the youngest, most excitable member of the below-stairs household pop beaming into the room.

"Master Snape is unwell, put him to bed," he ordered. Dobby rushed to obey, getting as far as lying him down on top of the covers before he leaped back with an ear-splitting scream.

"Bloodsucker!"

"Of for the love of…" Lucius cursed the house-elf's natural flair for the hysteric. "Dobby, just…"

"Noooooo!" The elf screamed again and vanished.

All of Lucius' shock, fear and numbness evaporated in the wake of pure fury.

"You mutinous little fucker!" he yelled to the empty air, knowing that the heinous being would not fail to hear him. "You will go and break every bone in your repulsive little carcass for this! Then you can sleep outside in the snow until you catch hypothermia! Refuse your master's command once more and I will remove your every organ and feed them to the Wilkes' hell-hound!"

The anger made him feel much better, clearing his head and enabling him to focus once more. Severus had been bitten by a vampire, which meant that he was now either a vampire himself, a servant of the one who had fed from him, or…what was the other option? Lucius delved deep for his Defence Against the Dark Arts knowledge, buried beneath the more interesting facts he had learned since leaving school. Something about survival 'at a price'.

He knew that he was legally obliged to report the attack to the Ministry, as with any encroachment of a dark creature into normal magical society, but that would also mean trouble for Severus, most likely institutionalisation or, at best, permanent inclusion the Official Register for Victims of Dark Beings, which made a person practically unemployable.

Lucius wondered why he was even considering Snape's future civil liberties when at any moment, the brat could fly across the room and suck the life out of him, drop by crimson drop. Like most young people, he liked the idea of living forever, but eternity won by that particular route was oddly unappealing.

Yet again, his thought drifted to Narcissa Black. Intelligent, discreet and possessed of enough common sense to know that a hint of darkness could have its practical uses, she was the only one who could give him any sensible advice. Quashing his inner-childish concern that asking a girl for advice was rather a poofy course of action with the sensible argument that behind every great wizard was a razor sharp witch, usually clutching her wand and threatening all manner of terrors at the first hint of failure, he contacted his future wife for help.

"You realise that it can't have been a vampire," she stated calmly, ten minutes after being summoned from an afternoon of skating with her family. Lucius found it momentarily difficult to listen as she leaned her beautiful head over the unconscious Severus; blonde curls framing her perfect face like some kind of gold-leaf picture frame setting off a masterpiece.

"Mmph?" he managed, rather dimly, when she looked over at him for a response. She did not roll her eyes or mock his inattention, but spoke gently, reassuringly.

"This happened during the day, Lucius." A strand of hair had tumbled forwards and had adhered itself to the left-hand corner of her upper lip. It was absolutely fascinating, especially given the way her eyes were… "Lucius! Are you quite well?"

He jolted back to reality. Or rather, to the less captivating reality of being responsible for whatever unfortunate predicament Snape had propelled himself into this time.

"During the day, Narcissa?" he echoed, to prove he had heard some of her words. With endless patience she repeated herself, not losing one iota of her ethereal poise.

"Severus was attacked during the day. Vampires only walk abroad between sunset and sunrise - they are incapable of feeding until well after nightfall," she explained, and Lucius felt suddenly giddy with relief. He slid backwards into an armchair for fear his wobbling knee-joints should give out and dump him pathetically on the floor before this incredible girl.

"Of course. How sharp of you to notice," he chose to compliment her, rather than berate himself for failing to spot what even a muggle would have recognised as Undead Lore. There was no need to highlight his own stupidity. She smiled in acknowledgement and continued her inspection of the teenager.

"However, we do seem to have a problem here," Narcissa touched the bite wounds in Snape's neck gingerly. "Something sucked his blood and he's very weak because of it. We need to heal him, though I don't know how a healer can treat him if no one can tell what manner of creature was responsible. He might not be a vampire, but there could be serious side-effects from this."

"Perhaps he can tell us when he wakes up," Lucius leaned forward for a closer look, now his initial shock had worn off. Narcissa gave him a look which would have been reproachful, had it come from anyone else.

"Feel his pulse," she took his hand and guided the first two fingers to Severus' wrist, where something feeble throbbed at wide intervals within the cold flesh. Despite the unfortunate circumstances, Malfoy found it deliciously intimate, and oddly erotic to have Narcissa hold his hand while they both touched the senseless boy. He listened carefully "He's in a bad way, Lucius. He won't be able to tell anyone for a while, which leaves this up to you. You ought to take him to St Mungo's, let them run tests, inform the Ministry, take all the appropriate action for a dark creature attack."

"Which would condemn him to a life of paperwork, registers, suspicion; wouldn't he be legally obliged to declare himself a victim on every job application form?" Lucius remembered his godfather talking about a niece who had been scratched, but not bitten, by a werewolf. She had experienced no end of trouble in trying to open a bank account, despite not actually having been contaminated; it had also been taken into consideration every time one of her children had been taken to hospital as a result of a commonplace childhood accident, which they had all found utterly ridiculous.

"We could attempt to settle this privately, of course," she said quietly, releasing his hand and stepping away from the bed. "We could contact a private healer and no one would be any the wiser."

Lucius noticed that she had said 'we' when referring to the conspiracy. They were in this together. That felt…right.

"This is going to affect his entire future," the gravity of the decision settled somewhere in the pit of Lucius' stomach. "If we keep it secret and anything serious happens…"

"People could get hurt," she mused. "Or Severus could suffer through not getting the proper treatment." She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked right at him, a rueful smile tugging at that lovely mouth. "I feel like we're a couple of parents, trying to do what's best."

One day, he almost said aloud.

"Parents?" Something belatedly occurred to him. "I should speak to his mother!"

"Is that wise?" Narcissa glanced quickly at Severus and lowered her voice, even though there was little chance of him hearing. "I understood that she was…incapacitated."

"She's not an imbecile," he told her dryly, "I believe she merely has difficulty lying in the bed she made for herself. No, I should try and speak to her."

Narcissa nodded and looked at her watch.

"I need to be back to begin preparing for this evening's dinner in about half an hour. Mother always panics these days and rearranges the seating plan at least twice before we sit down, it takes a great deal of skill to make certain everyone is in the proper place. I can stay with Severus until you return, though," she smiled encouragingly and Lucius felt a wave of pleasure at her competence, her tact and the way her eyes shone in the half-light. He attempted to channel all of this admiration into his reply.

"Thank you," he said slowly.

She held his gaze all the way to the door.

…….

Lucius hated Otley Tower. Having grown up in the understated gorgeousness of Malfoy Manor, the sight of such a deliberately large and imposing house, devoid of anything pertaining to good taste never failed to set his teeth on edge. Arriving inside the stark Apparition Pavilion at the foot of the hill and being made to advance on foot, supposedly in awe of the monstrous structure, up the long driveway before reaching the forbidding spiked portcullis gave one time to reflect on how everything about the Prince residence was so utterly, irredeemably wrong.

In 1572, Hugo de Malfoi had culminated a feud of dynastic proportions with a certain Long-Bottom clan, by killing Ulrich, contemporary head of the family, in a spectacular three-day wizards' duel. Celebrating this most palatable of victories in grand style, the de Malfois had all headed to London to show off with their friends, consequently being absent when the Widow Long-Bottom and her five daughters took revenge for Ulrich's death by razing Chateau Malfoi to the ground.

Unfazed, Hugo and his wife, Matilda, decided that the draughty old Norman keep had been a good five hundred years behind the fashion anyhow, so work began on a new residence. It took two years to design the manor to Matilda's exacting specifications. The place, she decreed, must be perfect in every respect. The finest Flemish tapestries were commissioned to laud the recent victory and the superiority of the family in general. Stained glass and sculpture came from the leading French workshops, magical painters from every country in Europe and the East to immortalise the wealthy family and their new habitat.

Since the muggles - bless their bumbling little hearts - had invented the sainted printing-press, a book was no longer a work of art to be treasured but a tool which could be studied, pored over, annotated and even destroyed without fear of repercussions for posterity. Hugo liked the feeling of power which learning fostered in his breast. He seized the architect's plan from his wife's jewelled fingers and tripled the dimensions of the new library.

When the grandiose scheme was completed, Hugo and Matilda surveyed their creation and saw that it was good. So good, in fact, so modern in its timelessness, that they decided it was time to let go of the past and embrace the exciting new age properly. It had been half a millennium since Guillaume de Malfoi had arrived as the only wizard in the entourage of that other Guillaume - the legendary William the Conqueror - and helped him violently subjugate the English population in the wake of the Norman invasion and the slaughter of King Harold. Why not finally embrace their adopted nationality and anglicise the old name?

The palatial new home was christened Malfoy Manor on Halloween, 1578.

Otley Tower pre-dated Lucius' house by at least two centuries and he firmly believed, as his ancestors had, that the Prince family was deceived in its general assumption that being older somehow made it better. The austere grey castle reared up on its moated mount; an ugly, phallic assertion of dominance over the wild Yorkshire Moors. Inside, the walls were bare, the floors cold and echoing and the visitor had no need of instruction in Prince history to know that no female hand had been permitted the freedom to soften the almost military angles of this boastful stronghold of power.

How ironic then, to find on nearing the tower, that the moat, like the power it was supposed to encircle, had completely dried up. Inside, the last of the Princes languished - the father, sick and poisoned by his own vitriol, the surviving son, locked in his turret so the world could never witness his insanity, and the daughter, Eileen. Severus' mother.

He arrived in the menacing entrance hall of the Tower and was greeted by a house elf with bandaged fingers and an eyepatch.

"Master Visitor?" it whimpered.

"I am here to see Mrs…" Lucius stopped himself just in time. There was a whole lexicon of words which one was did not pronounce whilst on Prince property, on pain of unpleasantness. 'Snape' was one of them. "Mistress Eileen," he corrected.

"Mistress is being up with Master Idiot," it informed him, with no apparent realisation of there being anything wrong with this form of address. "Will good Sir please be waiting in the Waiting Room while Tinny is fetching her?"

Most other large houses had 'Blue drawing-rooms' or 'South parlours' with pleasant artwork and furniture for guests to await their host in. The Princes had a perfectly Spartan 'Waiting-room' and one could either wait in it, or go away.

Lucius was eyeing the chunky wooden bench with distaste, wondering whether he could entrust his bottom to its uncomfortable and possibly splintery care, when he sensed another presence in the draughty ante-room.

"Good afternoon, Mistress Prince," he bowed low, once again careful not to make the 'Snape' mistake. She spat a harsh, mirthless cackle.

"Just Eileen, Lucius," the voice was low-pitched and grim. "I have no status in your world. Nor any other, for that matter."

Lucius had been taught that the true measure of good breeding hinged on one's ability to handle any given social situation so as to minimise any potential embarrassment to those present. It was a simple matter for a boy as keenly schooled as he had been, to overcome the awkwardness which radiated from this broken woman by the sheer force of good manners.

"You look well, madam," he lied, not allowing his eyes to linger on the sallow complexion, hollow black eyes or prematurely lined face. Before she could interject any measure of her natural sullen misery, he cut her off. "I apologise for troubling you, but this matter is rather important. It concerns Severus."

A spark flashed somewhere behind the dead eyes at the mention of the brat. Lucius was unable to read it exactly, but it seemed to be a simultaneous display of love, despair, disdain and dread. She passed a large hand over her plain face and sighed.

"Can't you deal with him?" she asked, apparently trying to sound annoyed, but being too exhausted to pull it off, as though she had given up long ago. It made sense that the Snape kid had such an unusual attitude to life, if this was the only person he spent time with outside of school and his sojourns at Malfoy Manor. No wonder he relished every moment in the immaculate and cheerful building, if this same cloying presence was the only other being imprisoned with him in their tiny muggle house. But he found he could not blame Eileen for turning out the way she had. Lucius' mother had explained it all in the nicest possible terms, years ago.

Eileen Prince had committed unforgivable sins, in the eyes of her father. The first had been to be born a girl, when he specifically needed sons. Romulus had buried two baby boys already. After Eileen's unfortunate birth came That Idiot, whose real name not even the elves could remember, then another brother who died falling out of an apple tree at the age of six.

Her next sin had been to grow into an unattractive young woman. Romulus resigned himself to 'only' having a daughter, comforted by the fact that he could use her to form links by marriage to other great families. Sadly, few young pure-blooded men showed any interest in being married to a plain, scowling girl from a dying line and despite Romulus' best efforts, no offers were forthcoming for her (coarse and dirty-nailed) hand.

Accepting that Eileen was no beauty, his last hope was that she might be intelligent and glorify the Prince name through politics or study, but her grades tended to fall below average and she showed no particular affinity for books.

In despair, he wrote a stern letter to her at Hogwarts, instructing her to at least make use of herself by cultivating a hobby. Did she choose the chess club, to develop her powers of strategy and thus help turn around the family fortunes? Flower-arranging or music, to help with the getting of a husband? Dancing, to counteract her natural ungainly clumsiness? No. She chose the least promising pastime of all, in Romulus' eyes, at least. Gobstones. A letter home explained that she found it fun. FUN! Romulus, raging and screaming obscenities at Fate, washed his hands of her completely after that.

It was perhaps no surprise then, that the unfortunate Eileen began avoiding wizarding society and sneaking out into muggle Leeds, where none of the young people at the dance halls and pubs had any expectations of her. Flattered by the first positive male attention she had ever received, Eileen unwisely accepted a drunken offer of marriage from a hook-nosed rock 'n' roller by the name of Toby Snape, who was intrigued by her posh accent and the slight other-worldly air she assumed in conversation. Not understanding that cars required petrol in order to travel, for instance. He found it cute. For about a year.

All in all, it had been a disaster, just as her enraged father had predicted on discovering their elopement. Five years after the wedding, Eileen found herself raising an awkward little boy alone in a claustrophobic terraced house in a dirty factory town, with no income, no help and no hope.

Blackness would descend at frequent intervals and, unable to cope with life among these alien creatures, who had lost their exoticism upon closer inspection of their dank pubs and smoky betting-shops, she would limp back to the Prince residence. Ignored by her father, she would curl up in her mad-but-cheerful brother's rooms until the worst of the gloom lifted and she was able to return to her life of independent drudgery.

Little Severus hated his barmy uncle, hated Otley Tower and hated his grandfather (it was mutual, naturally) almost as much as he hated spending time at Spinner's End, where the muggles mocked him and his broken home. The one glimmer of contentment in his young life began when he somehow endeared himself to Lady Aphrodite Malfoy when one of her visits coincided with one of his, and at her insistence started staying at the Manor during Eileen's bad patches instead.

When Lucius' sister Julia died, followed quickly by their heartbroken mother, Lucius and Icarus saw no reason to end the arrangement, the house feeling too big for just the two of them anyway.

"Eileen," Lucius wanted to convey the importance of the situation without distressing her any further. Who knew what kind of reaction this news could provoke in an unstable person. "Something serious has happened and a decision must be made…"

"Let him make it himself," she sighed, still holding her face in her hands. "He's a damn sight cleverer than me."

"He can't. You must understand…" he insisted.

"I will never understand that boy," her lip curled slightly. "I was so intent on making him respect books and strive for knowledge, to stand a chance of a decent future as a wizard, that he's already a much better person than I. I've turned him into a stranger."

Lucius was not sure how to answer that, so he ignored it, continuing breezily.

"Madam, he might be in danger. Miss Black and I think…"

"Miss Black pulled it off, didn't she?" Eileen interrupted again, lowering her hand so she could stare into space.

"I beg your pardon?" Concerned about what Narcissa had to do with the Prince family, he paid attention again.

"Flouted parental authority successfully by marrying that man. But pretty girls always succeed, don't they? If you're good-looking, you can be forgiven anything," she ended with a snarl, just as Lucius realised she was talking about Andromeda. He doubted that she would ever be forgiven for the misdemeanour, actually, especially since her name had been strategically erased from all family records, and That Sorry Business was never mentioned in polite society. Not that she or her husband gave a stuff. He made a last attempt to return her attention to her only son.

"Severus has got into a bit of trouble with…" Once again, he failed.

"Lucius," she glared at him. "You are intelligent, capable and incredibly wealthy. I am certain you are better equipped for dealing with whatever trouble he's in than a hopeless old hag like me."

Wading through the self-depreciation once again, Lucius realised that he really rather disliked this woman.

"He's your child, he could be in serious danger. Don't you care?" he asked in disbelief, hoping his own mother, wherever she was, could not see such a display of wanton disrespect towards an elder.

Eileen laughed her unpleasant, aggressive laugh again. Strands of black hair hung in front of her face like the grim bars of a prison, trapping her inside herself.

"I care enough to know that however bad things are, they will only get worse if I become involved." She turned her back on him and walked away.

As a seething Lucius strode out of Otley Tower, his calm, measured stride belying the fury her flagrant irresponsibility had unleashed inside him, he felt eyes boring into the back of his head. He swung round, expecting an elf or a cat, but the entrance hall was empty. Turning back with a shrug, he heard a sound a little like a giggle and scanned the vestibule more thoroughly.

Two hands were reaching through the solid stone balustrade winding alongside the spiral staircase which thrust upwards to all floors of the tower, gripping the masonry with long, thin fingers. Black eyes glittered from their hiding place.

A jolt of fear ran through Lucius.

"S…Severus?" he whispered incredulously. The brat was always lurking around Malfoy Manor like this, skulking on staircases and in dark recesses where he could see without being seen. Narcissa wouldn't have let him leave the bedroom in his weakened state. Something must have happened if he had escaped and wound up here, in the ancestral home he hated. He must have been turned into a lethal dark creature after all. Lucius reached for his wand.

"Ssseverus?" echoed a voice, teasingly, breaking out into hoots of laughter.

Ah. He relaxed. It must be the mad uncle.

"Hello," he called in a pleasant voice, suddenly interested in this well-kept secret, which the house of Prince was so ashamed of.

"Hello," the voice repeated, chuckling to itself again.

"IDIOT!" The bellow made both of them jump. A harsh male voice began swearing in the upper levels of the house and a middle-aged Severus, with a smaller nose and longer hair but otherwise an exact copy, leaped to his feet, stared wildly around him with terrified eyes and disapparated with a sharp crack. His obviously untrained magic was not very accurate as he appeared to have taken a few steps with him, leaving a hazardous hole gaping in the staircase with splinters of stone crumbling down onto the floor.

The yelling continued and Lucius headed for the Apparition Pavilion at the end of the long path with a sour taste in his mouth. He began to curse the Prince family until he realised that there was really no need. They were already cursed. The sun had long ago set on their influence, now even their name was trickling away. Romulus, though obviously still in fine voice, was dying; his daughter and grandson bore a name which he refused to speak; and his poor son was unlikely to bring any glory upon the house which had held him prisoner all his troubled life.

Rather than giving him any satisfaction, the revelation only reminded him that he, too, was currently the last of his line. It was up to him to make up for the previous generations of Malfoys' low birth rates. He should marry soon and have lots of sons. Daughters too. He was sure Narcissa would love a tribe of pretty girls to spoil, while he instilled Malfoy values into their clever, handsome boys.

Not quite yet, however. His wife-to-be had NEWTs to sit in the summer, then at least a year in Swiss finishing school before she would be in a position to perform properly as a society hostess. Enough time for him to make a name for himself within the exciting new political order of Lord Voldemort's.

…….

"What did she say?" Narcissa asked as he returned to Severus' bedroom. Nothing had changed in his absence, except that the weak winter light had faded and a lamp had been lit on the bedside table. The boy lay as lifeless and white as a wax doll.

"Nothing of use," he had no wish to go into the distasteful scenes at Otley Tower. "It's up to us."

She nodded quickly, as though she had been expecting this development.

"I think you should contact your private healer for the moment. We are due back at Hogwarts tomorrow evening," she reminded him. "The decision is yours, naturally, but I would suggest that instead of wasting a whole day on the train, we take your enchanted carriage as late as possible and I have a quiet word with the Slug when we get there."

"Perfect," Lucius wondered if this girl could possibly be any more wonderful. "Slughorn knows how to be discreet. He can keep an eye on Severus without telling Dumbledore or any of the others. He'll probably look on it as a purely Slytherin matter which is none of their business."

"I shall watch out for him, too, of course," said Narcissa.

"Such a responsible Head Girl," he smouldered at her.

"Such a caring guardian," she shot back at him, fluttering her lashes in a way which made it hard for Lucius to think rationally. She looked at the clock regretfully. "I must go home now, otherwise Bella will start deliberately making things difficult. Do you remember all those dreadful arguments at the Halloween feast? I discovered later that she spiked the port with Squabbling Serum. I have no wish to witness another social disaster in my own home."

"I wish you luck," he took her hand and kissed it, then remembering his earlier confusion about the meeting with Lord Voldemort, added, "I was rather hoping to discuss a few important matters with you, before all this happened."

"After dinner," she promised him. "Now, call your healer, while I run off to be a dutiful daughter."

"Thank you, Narcissa," Lucius smiled with unguarded warmth. "You have been amazing this afternoon."

"You did pretty well yourself," she laughed back.

Perhaps it had been a throwaway comment, a returned compliment given out of politeness, but somehow, the pressures of the day lessened after she made it. This had been the first test of his responsibility since his father's death. Until that moment, he hadn't been certain he would pass.

…….

AN: So, I wonder what actually bit the brat? Next time: Black family dinner, Snape wakes up and more from Lucius' noisy friends.

Thanks for sticking with this complicated old thing. I've obviously bitten off more than I can chew here, but sheer determination and bloody-mindedness won't let me discontinue it!

I think there's probably too much backstory – unfortunately the Malfoy and Prince family histories were the most fun to write! I'm sure everyone skips the bits they find dull anyway, so I accept no responsibility if you fell asleep.

Historian's note: the Normans (geographically Northern France, but a separate state at the time) invaded England in 1066, defeating King Harold at the Battle of Hastings, where half of the English ruling class died on the battlefield. The newcomers subdued the population by the sword and took over, building castles all over the place and imposing their own culture on the Saxons. I like to think Guillaume de Malfoi would have been a perfect devil to the poor, helpless inhabitants of Wiltshire.

Romulus – nothing to do with a certain werewolf, more to do with the last Roman Emperor.

Thanks again x