Rowling's world. I don't own anything you may recognize, and I make no money of this, only having fun.
Reminder: rated M for a reason!
TRIGGER WARNING!
It applies to most of the chapter, but I will mark the text with *** for possibly triggering content, drug use, and descriptive blabbering on possible effects. All who might find such content offensive or disturbing are advised to skip the paragraphs between the marks. *** Also, if you are bothered by reading about cold-turkey-ing, just skip to the end… and sorry.
(The reason I wrote such part for the story is to balance out the chapters describing Héloïse's gardens. There he saw what might seem for him as heaven on earth, now I would show the hell on earth he struggles in this story to avoid, so the poor character may go on, hopefully finding the road in the middle.)
Thank you for your discretion!
Oh, and I could use some feedback, it would be really, really welcome!
Chapter 29. Abyss
It did occur to Severus that he might exaggerate his issues – just a little. He also had a hunch that this time he was choosing wrong. Fact was, he didn't care.
Saying farewell to Lily was probably the hardest thing he had done in his entire life, and he couldn't regret for a second that he finally did that. He regretted very much, though, that instead of receiving a well-deserved prize for his finally moving on, the witch he reluctantly admitted to loving pushed him blindly back to a life he was tired of living. He was tired of the constant pain, the self-denial, and couldn't swallow one more spoonful of the bunk the Headmaster saw fit for him to feed on, thus keeping him "on track." That closed-door seemed deeply symbolic. A chance denied, a road closed, and at the moment, he was tired of searching for another one.
Yes, he blew things up and refused to look for solutions.
Wandering through Knockturn at the dead of night with only his wand for company, shaking with the cold biting through his cloak, and losing himself in self-pity felt much better, not even to mention easier, at the moment, and he gave up fighting for a next moment to come.
The first pub he saw served him by numbing his body against the cold. However, he couldn't sit on his arse and enjoy the small comfort; he had to wander. Grabbing the bottle from the bartender's hand, glaring him down and throwing some sickles on the counter gave a deceiving sense of power. Here he could take whatever he wanted without a qualm. And he wanted to lose all his disturbing emotions, every bothersome memory of the words he recently heard. He wanted to empty all incoherent thoughts and the utter lack of satisfaction from his mind. Severus Snape wanted to even forget who he was, and the 'Shop for Liquors and Magical Solutions' was ready to assist him with all the means to do so.
He knew way too much to get cheated with his potions. No humbug, no psychedelics, no boosters. Just good old retardants and some general calming draughts. After mixing them all into his already half-emptied bottle, when he staggered, he was pleased.
Snape maneuvered down the dark streets of Knockturn with uncertain feet slipping on the cobblestones towards – whatever was ahead of him. Actually, it happened to be Tearsvale, the slum of wizarding Britain – rarely even visited by owls since the thirteenth century – hidden behind the questionable moral and dark practices of Knockturn. Not that he noticed.
At least not before he found himself pushed onto a moulding wall with a toothless, stinking entity rummaging through his robes. Disgust gave back some of his presence of mind, and Snape's wand collided with the rummaging entity's chest bone.
"You have three seconds to decide if you'd rather lose your life or your wrists."
Whatever happened to appear in his eyes, he didn't bother to infer it from the horror in the other's. The being screamed at the top of his lungs before he Apparated – leaving half an ear behind – but not before he pissed on the pavement. Severus decided not to dignify his dirt by throwing up on it, even if the temptation was real.
Silhouettes of different creatures blossomed out of the night in the wake of that infernal scream, and he wisely opted to stagger back on the slippery cobblestones aiming for the other direction.
It was clear that his sense of danger was less keen than it otherwise might have been. However, his in-burnt instinct for self-preservation was yet to switch completely off. He grabbed onto the post of a gas lamp and spun himself back at that strange crowd's approximate direction to shoot a powerful Impedimenta from his wand. Unfortunately, the sight of all those various individuals thrown onto their backs, waving arms and legs in slow motion to struggle back upright reminded him of beetles, and at the moment seemed way too funny not to hug his lamp post, breaking down into a snickering mess like the fool he was.
Some chap came running from Knockturn and demanded that the beetles crawl back to their holes, ending the fun in a voice of authority. Severus was hurt in his feelings. His playthings were packed away just when he finally had nothing else on his mind! His legs gave out in his disappointment, and he resolved to cheer himself with another unhealthy gulp. The bottle was almost empty at that point, which he not only found offensive, but for the life of him, he couldn't fathom where the rest of his hard-earned potions could have disappeared to.
Betrayal!
Severus flung the bottle on the cobblestones, and whatever the chap asked him, he answered what was foremost on his mind:
"That bastard just betrayed me like my own fucking bed the other night!"
He couldn't discern the chap's reply; this one obviously talked too quickly for his own good and way too fast to even attempt to follow. Still, he looked benevolent enough. He even bothered to repeat himself. Actually, multiple times.
"Professor Snape… Professor, you shouldn't go there. These vermin are out to steal wands."
He wondered long and hard why this chap would insist on addressing him as if they stood on some corridors of blasted Hogwarts. Finally, the conscientious contemplation brought up a hazy memory.
"Bloody Hufflepuff!"
"Actually a Ravenclaw, Sir, my brother used to be in Hufflepuff. Your NEWT in '87. Can you stand, sir?"
What a stupid question, of course, he could! Since he'd lost his diapers! He told this to the Hufflepuff, too, albeit still sitting spread-legged on the cobblestones. Curiously, the Huff stuck to his story about him being a Ravenclaw. It came off as if he wanted a quarrel. Severus wanted no quarrel. He wanted his bottle full again and to wander off on his way.
Then the chap made a serious mistake. As serious as a sobering potion.
"Here," – he said slowly – "take my arm, sir, I will Apparate you back to Hogwarts."
Self-preservation kicked in again, shooing aside the drunkenness and the retardants. No calming draught he mixed up in this patched-up brew was strong enough to blindfold him into going back! Snape used Legilimency to find himself within the chap's memories with a sudden flash of clarity and focus. He seemed strangely helpless and pitiful there. He hated it.
"Obliviate!"
The man stared at him with a blank face for some moments before he strolled away, mumbling to himself in great confusion. The beetles were funnier; it was really such a pity.
Severus lifted his bottle for another hearty gulp and found it broken at the bottom. That miscreant must have stolen the lower half! He yelled after the bastard some of his father's worse phrases, not really bothering to separate the words, then tried to stand up. Despite his earlier swearing, it proved challenging enough. The bloody street seemed short of whatever was needed for a straight decision whether to steep to the left or to the right. He crawled to the nearest wall and climbed his way upward, enjoying his newfound skill to feel the Earth's rotation. It was unexpectedly entertaining for a while!
He lifted his broken bottle again, and came to the decision to find a more wholesome one. So he threw the offending bottleneck away, and began his quest for a drink.
That crazy chap reminded him of Hogwarts. Which reminded him that he'd promised himself a drink or two.
Promises.
Bloody, fucking, good-for-nothing promises. He'd already made too much of those! Let's face it, he promised too much. He repeated this fact in variations to everything on his way that remotely carried the shape of something human for a while.
He should never have promised to take care of that brat. But, when it all came to that, he had already promised anything – and to what end? Dumbledore hadn't kept up his side of the bargain, Lily was cold and dead, yet he could not make himself rid of his guilt then, and not even later in good time. Not until it was too late and the bloody door closed on his face.
Gods blast that bloody chap to pieces; he did his best not to think, now what the hell did he just make him do?!
All the thoughts and emotions he so carefully avoided came back with a vengeance for the delay. Everything he attempted to bury under potions and alcohol now flooded his mind with nauseating speed.
He wasn't supposed to get born. He wasn't supposed to have friends. He was never supposed to be happy in this life, but he still tried his utter best, however bad that was, not to screw things up even more! If he wasn't such a cretin, Lily would be alive. She would love another. She wouldn't mind him more than the dirt under her feet, but he wouldn't have had been forced into these circles of guilt, and so when that strange offer came from that otherworldly Being, he could have fallen in love with open eyes. He could have recognized what he was doing. He could have had a sense of what was happening and perhaps… perhaps.
Who did he want to kid here? Sage never mentioned anything but friendship. She was babbling something in front of the oak door, and he had a feeling–
Truthfully, he was way too shocked to catch her meaning then, and way too sloshed now to recall her words. Anyway, what did it matter? That door closing was the only logical thing to come. She was a pureblood witch with wealth even the Roux and the Malfoys saw enough to steal. Four bloody house-elves!
Who the fuck has four house elves?! The owl perch failed to reply.
She was so much out of his league, he could have fallen for a star, galaxies away! Still, what could have she tried to tell him?
He tried to remember and only gave himself a headache. Or was it from the stone he hit his head on when he overbalanced some steps before? Surely, he wasn't in any state for soul-searching or contemplations. The world oddly and irreversibly tumbled on its axis, and now it just spun and twirled without any aim anymore. Not dissimilar to his thoughts.
* M * A * R * K * H * E * R * E*
All they could achieve was widening that familiar hole in his chest.
He knew this hole intimately. In their youth Avery once jokingly said it was the place where his soul should have been. He disagreed. But later, someone told him it was the mouth of hell, and that seemed closer to the feeling. An insatiable mouth, always craving its due, always hungry, thirsty, always open…and bottomless. He hated it, and embraced it, and lately, tried to feed it with respectable things. Such as duty and routine. With discipline, most of the time. Those times it didn't work at all, he resolved to some potions, minor ones, harmless ones. But it was insatiable.
He craved the peace of the hole shutting its mouth! He craved the peace of an empty mind and the end of the pain, the uncertainty, and feeling inadequate whatever he tried to do!
Taking deep breaths against surging nausea, Severus leaned onto a wall and tried to determine his whereabouts.
There was actually one thing that always helped. Strictly forbidden, by all means illegal, and with his knowledge of potions, admittedly demented. A bad decision. If he still could feel his lips he might have smiled.
Attempting to Occlude out the effects of what he already consumed, Severus straightened, and ordered his steps toward an alley he hadn't seen for exactly thirteen years and eleven months. The sign above the bar showed a red snake eating a silvery one with more detail than most would have found necessary. The door was nondescript but opened without a sound.
There were not many inside. Most of them were alone, scattered around sofas and worn armchairs. Some of them smoked old-fashioned pipes with faces already ashen; others leaned back on the headrests concealed in their own worlds with various liquids still sloshing in their glasses, forgotten. Severus strolled to the counter with considerable flexibility in his moves and spoke only one word:
"Abyss."
The kid who looked back at him blanched for a second before he got to his wand and tapped it on a device curiously similar to a humming-top. Severus was too slow to stop him before the device shone up red and began to twirl; however, he was still within his abilities for a wordless Expelliarmus before the wand could turn against him.
When he saw the device stop twirling, he had the presence of mind to turn towards the back door, but truthfully, his Impedimenta stopping the troll-guard had more to do with some rare luck and routine than any measure of control. The guard already collapsed in the doorway when he noticed he used both wands on him. Never mind, he told himself, when the kid cried out in fear anyway.
"I have no idea what you're talkin' about!" – the boy gabbled.
Severus gave him a fright when he lifted the wand again, but the non-verbal Diffindo only sliced his own cloak and robe sleeve on his left arm. The Dark Mark squirmed black against his pale skin, making the kid whimper.
"You. don't. lie. to me." Severus slowly uttered the words. "Is the one called Dragdan still around?"
The kid readily nodded. "Yes, sir. That way,"- his arm showed towards a door hidden in the wooded wall.
"You go first," – Severus commanded, being around too long to trust him.
The boy scurried out from behind the counter and led the way. "Boss, I apologize, I didn't mean to dis–"
"Prince!" – the older, bolding wizard stood up behind a desk. He was sweating despite the chilly night and breathed heavily, carrying his weight. "Long time no see! What can I serve you?"
Severus peeked at the boy.
"Off with you, Chad, nothing happened, you hear me?"
"Aye, boss" – the kid shot a longing look towards his wand but disappeared.
"So?" – the older man returned to the question with all the politeness their circumstances could offer.
Severus swallowed and tried to show as little eagerness as he possibly could.
"You know me."
It was enough for the bolding wizard to look disturbed.
"That's true," – he bit his mouth - "the only fellow who's ever come back for it, however–" Severus fixed both wands at him to emphasize his glare. "I don't trade corps any more; you cannot have it here" – the older wizard finally spat out.
To his visible surprise, Severus only nodded and leaned closer to the desk to grab a quill.
"The usual price," – he said with some hardship.
"Ay, Prince, you don't mean it… That was some ten years ago, and also… see, now I have no use for your body if something was to happen, so–"
"The fact you've left the business is none of my concern. I give as much as you used to ask, but I won't negotiate any further."
He was so close, the hole seemed to roar inside his chest. He was almost glad when the other's gaze slid onto his still cut robes and the displayed Mark. At this point, seeing the man nervously swallow felt almost satisfying.
"An old customer like you… sure, sir, as you see fit."
If he wasn't this close to his gain, Severus might have allowed himself a smug smirk. But, as it was, he quickly filled and signed the stiff note and handed it over for a long phial, filled to the half with velvety black liquid.
He walked away as swiftly as he could, never letting the phial slipping from between his fingers even in the pocket of his robe. He threw the kid's wand back to the "bar" only when the door was closing behind him.
He blindly hurried down the alleyway. Knowing what he possessed already gave some sense of pleasure, and began to sate the hunger, but he knew it won't be enough for long. He couldn't wait for long. He wished for more. He needed more. It was inevitable; everything came down to this point; he even doubted if he made the decisions. He needed to get rid of all his disturbing thoughts, self-reproach and pain. And he needed it now. He'd suffered enough.
Severus made a small cut on his left wrist and let three drops of his blood fall into the phial as soon as he thought he'd gotten far enough in the alley. There was a corner under some steps carved into the wall, it looked good, but truthfully, he couldn't care less where he was. Soon it wouldn't matter anyway.
He lifted the phial with a heaving chest, and a thought entered his mind about Héloïse. She wouldn't judge him. She would wait him out or offer a better choice but wouldn't judge. But she wasn't here to do any of those! In this time and reality, she was as dead as one could be, and Sage, bless her beautiful, scented mind, she'd closed the door.
He gave himself a second before he downed the content of the phial.
"It's not her fault,"- with this strange toast, he gulped it all up with one swift motion, his eyes closed against the sensation of the feeling leaving his fingers. His longings and troubles washed and melted away even as the liquid slid down his throat.
His head felt familiarly hollow, his face colder than usual… then the hole began to fill out with what seemed to be warm black velvet. It came in deepening waves like the ocean… it was endless, and silent, and calm…
This black ocean of Nothing was so warm and welcoming! Like it missed him too… He leaned back on the waves and let them rock him away. The feeling of his fingers holding the phial already retreated to his core. He never had legs; he didn't need them. He had no face.
The warm, calm waves of Nothing washed him away from his body… they embraced him, lifted him and took him far from anything at all…
out of his mind, out of the present…
he left everything behind because he needed nothing.
He had never been.
* M * A * R * K * H * E * R * E*
When Severus woke up, he felt still blissfully sedated. His breathing was so slow and shallow, he wondered if it may cease. The thought was reassuring. But slowly, some reflections came back about what he tried to run from, and he silently moaned, trying to turn to his side. At least he inclined his head, that was easier, and maybe it would get that disgustingly heavy rock off his chest.
Something seemed odd. The smells around him. They weren't bad. And the cold. He remembered he was glad he got rid of that too… through his still closed eyes, he could perceive some light in his proximity, and on his skin, he felt the touch of silk. What the fuck?
He opened his eyes narrowly to see it. A pristine white pillow, glittering gold needlework on the edges. He growled again.
"Sod off, Malfoy; what the hell did you do?"
A familiar but long time unheard nasal snickering replied to his staggering words from somewhere close, maybe the corner of the room. Severus knew without a shadow of a doubt that Malfoy was not sober even before he braved the disturbing light of the candle, and tried to look at him through that strange pulsating aura that by some unknown reason seemed to circle the goon.
Lucius sat a few steps away in a comfy-looking old armchair, with a goblet in his hand, and a tubby bottle, on the floor at his feet, he was halfway through. Severus hazily realized he must have skipped his retardants for no way in hell he could ever drink this much of those and still sit upright. With that complex thought, he more-or-less depleted his faculties and sank back into the bliss of an empty mind.
The first tremor came upon him so gently he gave it no thought before his teeth clutched together. His face felt cold and hollow. He still felt his chest so empty, like there was a hole opened to the abyss. He didn't really mind those, but the tremors shook him with force now, and it was hard to breathe through that hole. The trembling shook up his stomach and made him feel queasy, it was hard to control the most basic muscles, and he found himself focusing just not to leave filth on the sheets.
With what seemed superhuman effort, he unclenched his teeth and opened his mouth to ask Lucius what the fuck he had done. Still, the shiny-haired idiot in his pristine armchair only lazily flicked his wand, most likely driven by the routine of years. Instead of words, Severus only retched and threw up leaning off the bed, a wide bowl appeared and caught all the spew.
Minutes passed counted only by Severus's efforts to attack that bastard, work himself up, vomit, and Lucius' wand emptying the bowl. By the time his body would let him talk, and the tremors piped down, Severus was so exhausted he stayed hunched lying at the edge of the bed, hanging his head without any idea where could be his left or right. His whole body was swimming in sweat. It was nasty, sticky and cold.
"Are you done?" Lucius called him. It was far too hard to even attempt an answer. "I didn't think you were also drunk…" – he heard him muse. "I had to give you the antidote." – Lucius added later.
"Why the fuck would you do that?"
Severus knew his poison well enough. It had no antidote, strictly speaking, one thing he liked about it. It could be blocked, though, but that screwed up the whole system. His kidneys, his liver, his nervous system would hang on a thread for days. So that was where the tremors came from: sudden and complete withdrawal of what he went so far to earn. And judging by his vehement retching, Malfoy had added something to make him get rid of the poisons after he blocked them… It must have been a bezoar, powdered, and some emetics. Stupid idiot. He could only growl.
"I could count over seven between your heartbeats, and they were slowing." – Lucius informed him.
"You counted too quickly," – Severus grumbled, his voice slithering and muffled with his robe sleeves hanging both sides of his mouth. He squirmed into the pillow, trying to deny the returning tremors.
"Sure. If I'd counted slower, I wouldn't need to deal with you now."
There were no answers, only the tremors. Shaking his body without mercy or a break. He retched, spat bile, but there was nothing more to vomit. His body got rid of all he coerced it to lodge, following the urge the antidotes and the bezoar necessitated. The stupid body wanted to clean up. Severus wasn't sure if he agreed, but his opinion got lost between the trembles, grunts, and utter weariness. The only escape was to faint from fatigue, and he didn't hesitate long to do so.
When he woke next, Lucius was nearer. He had to believe the dumb arse was worried about his life. His face felt so cold, even colder than the sweat that dried on his skin. He felt sticky with the dirt, and smelled. His mouth tasted as if something had died and rotted within his lips, and the light hurt. He wanted the bedsheets to swallow him and never burp him up again. He wanted the waves of the nothingness to rock him away from this disgusting world. The hole yawned in his chest and demanded to get fed. It was so forceful he somehow sat and turned.
Whatever Lucius saw on his face, he only grimaced. Then, as Snape opened his mouth to demand his due, he flicked a wand, and sent him a stunner. They repeated this short exchange twice more. For the second time, Severus could begin a sentence. For the third, he hurled himself at the bastard without a word.
Slowly gathering himself after the third stunner felt different. He could feel the bones in his body because all of them hurt, but the craving subsided. He didn't feel the compulsion. He also had a clear sense of his whereabouts within the small room and could even look around and spot a goblet of – possibly – water, even if he didn't feel the strength to lift it. One more thing he could sense was the fact that he was, again, not alone.
"I hate you," – he told Malfoy in a surprisingly consistent voice.
"So you keep saying whenever I scoop you up back together."
It was such a typical, lofty and unjust Malfoy- reply Severus rolled his eyes despite the headache.
"You have no use of it, so why the hell would you bother?'"
It took some moments before he recognized that half-ironic, half-challenging smile on Lucius's face from their youth.
"Obviously, I must like you," – the old friend replied. "I even liked you when you were no more than a tiny, scrawny pain in the arse, and it seems I cannot keep off that disturbing feeling since you grew into a major pain in the arse," – he sighed. "These last ten years must have been a rare break in the endless row of–"
"You haven't seen me in this state since '79," – Severus couldn't listen to his conceited rubbish any longer – "and even then, you were almost as out of your skull as I was!"
He only turned his head slightly towards the candle when he heard that horrible nasal snickering again. At least that disturbing shine disappeared from around the blighter.
"It was in '81, in the summer, actually, and–"
"Being pissed doesn't count" – he protested.
"Well, I wasn't in a state to judge that" – Malfoy drawled – "yet I still remember you repeatedly telling how much you screwed up your life and every chance and how much you wished to die. Then sobering up, you assured me of your hatred after I stunned you for your own good."
Severus felt too worn out to argue, so he almost managed to leave it at that. Almost.
"Codswallop. You stunned me for your own comfort."
"That too," – Lucius agreed. "So what ails you this time? I have to admit I had my suspicions a month ago. Something happened."
It was not an option to play father confessor and obedient ministrant. Lucius already knew he'd never liked that game.
"I'm fine."
This time Malfoy didn't laugh. "As is plain to see."
For a long time, no more questions came, and Severus curled up around himself for some meagre comfort. He couldn't muster enough strength to sit up just yet, and eyed that goblet with some increasing longing, measuring the distance and the possible weight.
Lucius's hand swam into view, and to Severus' surprise, he held the water to his mouth.
"I ordered the elf away from this room," – he explained while Severus drank.
Whatever was the reason, he couldn't rid himself of that helping hand's sight. He knew everything about Lucius Malfoy, much more than what was worth knowing. A hundredth of that knowledge would have landed the bastard in Azkaban, and rightfully so. Of course, with the same breath, he would have probably bought himself a cell next to him – still.
It was not about what he knew about his sins. It was the rest. Lucius Malfoy was the boy who stood up for him when he was eleven. He was there in the summer after his heart first broke beyond repair. He might have used the opportunity to further his own ends, introducing him to people whom Severus would have been better not to know, but he did it all intending to care about him… by and large.
Just like Mulciber was a prick, but he was the first-ever who thought he was funny. And he didn't say it to mock him. Mulciber genuinely thought he was funny and did actually like his jokes. Contrary to what Lily had always believed, those were not practical jokes but snide remarks on their teachers, fellows and their general incompetence. He could go on, but the crux of it was betraying these people to help–
Severus stuck on the word. Who did he help? Their whole lot wasn't worth a percentage of Lily's life, and he hadn't hesitated, but now? Their company didn't seem more or less repulsive than Hogwarts. He thought about his promises again, and it still caused a headache. The abomination that was the Dark Lord should not weigh on the Earth, but who was he to deal with the problem?
The feeling that he had already screwed up his life beyond any attempt to turn it around came back with the headache. Still, even if only led by mild curiosity, he wished to understand this twisted world he created for himself to live. Curiosity was good. He hadn't felt such thing to swing him forward while wandering in Knockturn.
"So, who is it?" – Lucius suddenly asked.
"Why would it be about a "who"?"
"The picture told me that I found in your pocket." Lucius deadpanned. "I thought that was your mudblood. I hope you don't–"
"You know I hate that word!" – Severus protested. "And no. It's not her."
"Who then?"
Suddenly even the pillow under his head seemed uncomfortable, and Severus shifted and struggled until he finally sat up.
"Why should I tell you?
"Because you like me too, you moron. And because I always could help."
As much as it was true, Lucius tried every time, Severus had his reasons to doubt his efficiency. He was sure he had… it would only need too much focus to think through the haze to find out what those reasons were.
"Don't make me laugh," – he grumbled noncommittally instead, hoping for a miracle, obviously.
"That either wouldn't go amiss, I gather…"- Lucius answered pensively. "But keep your secret! I only hope you won't head back straight to the dirt once I leave you alone."
That hit a raw spot, and Severus turned his head away. Because nothing had changed, he had only failed again. He couldn't even count in how many aspects. And he didn't solve a thing. Actually, solving anything was beyond the point. To take courage and faith, and go work out his issues, to make one more leap, to find some more hope, and another aim again…
Ridiculous.
It all seemed ridiculously hard and complicated. He still had nothing in him to possibly rally up for a fight.
He thought of her and the next time to see her (because the last day was beyond too much to even once think it through), and all he was sure of was he would lose the rest of his better mind. And she would be at Hogwarts. The exact place within reach of the Order, under the Headmaster, in whom his trust wavered, with a staff that saw him the way they had in his undeserving youth.
The other possibility would be to see her at a revel, or right under the Dark Lord's missing nose. The short route to death if he ever sought one. Unfortunately, for them both.
So what else remained? Short of running to the hills together, there was nothing else but what he had already done and would have carried on had she not been so utterly and devastatingly magnetic! There was nothing else he truly wanted at this point but to have her and forget all the rest, but he never really had a chance for that either, now had he? She huffed off all the hopes like a flicker of spark even before it would have lighted a candle. And the darkness grew on him more than before that spark.
Lucius must have felt his mood because he pulled closer and sat in a way to try to search his eyes.
"Sev, what happened?"
This tone was familiar and had nothing to do with politics. This tone came from a very distant youth when some cared and the world would not. Still, he had no answer. There was too much to hide. After some failed attempts, drawing in a breath and finding no words to form, he eventually dumbed it all down to what disturbed him the most.
"She– She had closed the door…."
Lucius stared at him with rarely seen wide eyes. He didn't seem to care if his tone was embarrassed or if he pulled a shoulder. He only stared into his eyes.
"What?"
Embarrassment or not, Severus took the only route ahead, the route to escape into battle. "She closed the door. On me," – he said again, now with more conviction. "Literally. And also metaphorically."
It would have been entertaining to see Malfoy's formidable brain cells so deep at work his facial muscles couldn't conceal the struggle had he not laid his heart down for inspection even if done in a most subdued way.
Lucius scratched his chin, trying to make something of the information, this time in vain for his visible annoyance. "Does she have another?"
"No. Whoever tried, she'd sent them away."
Lucius nodded, then his confusion returned.
"Do you have another?"
Despite his misgivings, Severus nearly laughed. "Merlin, no!" Then he remembered. "Although she might think I have."
"Did she shut the door on you for that?"
After considering some hazy memories, Severus had to confirm this possibility with a nod.
Lucius hid his face behind both his palms for some seconds before he tentatively asked: "Sev, have you– Have you at least tried to convince her that she was wrong?"
Feeling they finally arrived at the crux of the problem, Severus turned to face him and readily replied: "That's it that I cannot!"
"And for all that is magical and gods of nonsense, why the hell could you not?"
"Because she closed the door."
Despite his rare and total honesty, Severus watched, somewhat surprised, as Lucius' well-trained faculties came to a sudden halt.
"Sev, you're a fucking wizard for Merlin's crooked staff! Blast that bloody door!"
It was Severus's moment to feel lost; he certainly couldn't follow him. "I can't. That's not the way to do it."
"Oh, isn't it?"
"No! Think about respect and all. It's just not the way to do it! She's got the right to close it, and I cannot, I must not…."
"Respect you say?" – Lucius seemed contemplative, and it gave a measure of hope. "I cannot see the respect in leaving one in doubts or lie by letting them have their falsehoods, but you must know better. I find I'd rather use this approach on those for whom I don't care."
"You rarely show respect to those you care about either," – Severus let it slip before he thought.
"D'you believe so?" – Lucius leaned back against his chair. "I still say its hogwash. You're a mature wizard, Sev, at the bloom of your power. If you really wanted, you would blast that door, be it metaphorical or not. Most of us have the words to apologize after; you're no exception. The question is, why wouldn't you do so?"
The wound in which Lucius just hurled his dagger was so raw and so deep, Severus struggled to regain some self-control.
"Because she's way too good for me, that's why! She's way too good for me to convince or to lure –" – if he had words for it, he would have maybe gone on and on, his heart obviously did, but his tongue got paralyzed in mid-sentence. Oddly it made Lucius smile as if he was truly happy about something, but the reason Severus couldn't fathom.
"That's the only sort that worth it, wouldn't you say?"
There was nothing to reply. Lucius suddenly got up, pulled his wand and tidied his side of the room, vanishing the booze too, with considerable foresight.
"Not even the house elf was permitted to enter because he reports to the lady of the house. I would appreciate your cooperation in keeping her oblivious to your short stay for the day and night," – he drawled now on his usual tone. "As for it is Christmas Day, and evening, I imagine I'd better join her. I might even try your approach. About respect, not the other one," – he explained. "Stay as long as you see fit," – he added with palm on the doorknob, just as if by chance the words escaped from his mouth – "then blast her door when you've sobered up."
Before Severus could even think of a reply, Lucius was gone. All for the better, he didn't really have anything intelligent to say. The question hung in the air, where to go from here? With some clarity, he realized it wasn't metaphorical. One thing for sure, he wouldn't stay for Malfoy to play on him, and equally sure he wasn't ready for Hogwarts. Far from it.
Would that elf appear for him again if he called? The hell with it all; he'd also betrayed that little fellow's confidence. Had he disappeared within the depths of Knockturn, Chubby would have no choice but to stay and serve at the school, which didn't seem a bad choice for the first, but Severus felt now a keen sense of companionship when he remembered the house elf's desperate attempts to find a way of his own.
"Chubby!"
The elf popped to his service in mere seconds, and after a short hesitation, they both ended up at Spinner's End.