Severus Snape was wakeful, staring up at the ceiling of his chambers. Deep in a corner of his mind that he hadn't want to look at, an idea was emerging. A pesky, irritating idea. Oh, Severus Snape was not a self-righteous man, not one of those Men of Conscience. As far as he was concerned, he had no conscience, no angel on his shoulder whispering him of the good path. He hadn't suffered much from the lack, either. As a child, he hadn't even had an imaginary friend. No, he didn't even have McGonagall's strict Sense of Fairness chiding him on his way. What Severus Snape had instead, was a Sense of Mischief, and it was prickling. There was something he hadn't done, that he ought to do, and that would provide endless amusement. And that thought skittered around his brain, bothering him. They were in the middle of a war, if one that had gone frigid. This was particularly not the time for his sense of humor, which tended toward the dark and twisted. The Dark, ah, now there was a thought! Peruvian Darkness Powder! Endless uses, though he'd hardly be Slytherin if anyone suspected him. Or even realized he had ever visited that infernal store!
No, his mind told him, you're getting distracted, again. Ah, well, he reassured his phlegmatic self (what little of it remained, he seemed prone to choleric fits of temper around Potter, and most of the brats), you're safe enough here.
Slowly, he relaxed, each muscle in turn, leaving himself floating on a cushion of darkness (or so his imagination conjured). Where was that thought? It was going to bedevil him thoroughly unless he brought it out into the light and dealt with it once and for all! So thinking, he began to stalk through his days, the picture of a predator on the hunt.
Suddenly, he froze, looking at Granger, she of the endless curiosity, her eyes burning with a thousand questions he would squelch with a mere sentence. It starts here. And, sitting like the Thinker, he began to cogitate on the possibilities. Ah, Draco, is it? Maybe, possibly, I ought to tell him something! "Just a dollop of poison helps the medicine go down!" Snape chuckled wryly at the apt, fresh-forged rhyme.
Inside his mind, skeins of threads unfolded, laying down a crazy quilt of ideas. For when imparting knowledge to Slytherins, it was important to think through all the ramifications and echoes. Slowly he began to lay down the warp, pulling a mischevious bit from here, sowing a bit of doubt from there. And then there was the weft, Snathe smooth and easy, if patrician, kindness. Not that Draco Malfoy would be fooled... but he'd lend more weight to Snape's words if they weren't shouted at him. But this could surely wait until tommorrow, couldn't it?
With a steady voice, Severus Snape said, "Malfoy Manor" reflecting in his head exactly how gauche the place often seemed, a ramshackle piece of work strung together out of a thousand whims and fancies. Rather like Versailles, now that he thought about it, actually.
When he arrived in the Malfoy's Welcoming Parlor, a house elf popped her head out from a corner, and said, "Master Snape! You weren't expected. Who shall I tender your regards to?" Snape reflected wryly that it had probably taken Narcissa simply ages to convince the elf to talk like that. Oh, it wasn't that they didn't understand, merely that they liked to behave like children. Severus had little patience for brats, and less for three hundred year old children. "Draco Malfoy, if he's in. Lucius if he's not." Rather than sitting in any of the artfully arranged furniture, Snape stood and looked out the window, the sun seeming almost intangible on the immaculate green.
"Godfather, what an unusual pleasure!" Draco Malfoy appeared, his still young face aiming to ape his father's graceful elegance.
"Indeed. I have a passing fancy to see what Narcissa's done with the gardens this year; will you accompany me?" Severus Snape asked. It was a transparent ruse, and deservedly so. While a Potion Master had a considerable interest in magical plants, Narcissa's gardens were simply roses, and those had specific, limited uses. Also, if he really wanted to see the gardens, why not ask Narcissa along? No, it was as plain as the rather prominent nose on his face, Snape wanted young Draco to speak with him, and in a place they'd be unlikely to be interrupted... or eavesdropped upon.
"Of course." Draco Malfoy inserted smoothly, his body turning towards the way to the gardens. "I hope you are recovering from Hogwarts?"
"The students, in particular, as always. I'm certain you've noticed my patience grows longer the farther we get from classes."
"Of course. With Longbottom in your class, it's a wonder there's a classroom left!"
"Not for lack of trying." Severus replied. With his long strides, Snape's walk took them to the garden with nary an interruption, which was a happy coincidence. Severus Snape had not wanted to run into Lucius, or god forbid, Narcissa. Bad enough to have to socialize, to pretend a tolerant demeanor that all knew was a simple, easily shreaded veneer.
As they walked through the gardens, Snape allowed them to get a decent ways out, before he said a word of consequence, and even then, it was a gossamer strand, easily mistaken for idle chit-chat. His godson knew better, of course, but it was always safest to keep in practice. One never knew when one would be compelled to interact with Gryffindors...
"Have your parents told you anything about your intended?" Snape smoothly asked, his inquisitive voice a rumble just verging on a purr.
"No, nothing. Why do you ask?"
"You're old enough now, surely, to know something, don't you think?"
"What I think doesn't matter, now, does it? Of course every child thinks they're an adult before their time. It's the nature of things." Draco's words felt like an echo of his father's, though his father had never had such a thought in his life.
"Perhaps, perhaps not, I might could be persuaded to bring forth a few pearls of wisdom."
"Oh, is that so?" Draco Malfoy visibly considered what his godfather was saying. "For favors future or present, I would like to hear what you say."
Typical uncautious adolescent, promising without looking first. Oh, not at my words, but at the favor I might ask. Perhaps I should make it a worthwhile favor, or even a costly one, simply to teach him to be less trusting. "I remember when you were first bethrothed, your parents were quite upset."
"Upset? How...! What...?!" Malfoy sputtered, as Snape leaned discretely away from the spittle. It's never the obvious, little one.
"Think about it..." Snape purred.
"But... but! Was it some sort of old promise? Something they had to do? I'm... I'm not betrothed to a Weasley, am I?"
"No, not a Weasely" Had Draco been paying more attention, he would have caught the amusement dwelling in the depths of Snape's baritone rumble. The confusion on Draco Malfoy's face was simply priceless. Still, he's not going to figure out a thing unless I give him at least one more hint. "Who's to say that they really had anything to do with it at all?"
Draco Malfoy looked like he had swallowed an eel, and that it was still sickeningly wriggling around in his stomach. Weakly, he said, "But... but that's practically unheard of..."
Deciding to leave Draco Malfoy to his contemplation, Snape smoothly shifted the conversation onto Quiddich - it gave him an excuse to watch over the young lad, and neither of them cared enough to give the conversation their full attention.
Safely home, Snape smiled, as he tumbled into his quarters at Hogwarts. I even managed to miss Narcissa. Wonders shall never cease.
[a/n: I simply adore Snape. He's given Draco a bunch to think about... Write me a review, and I'll write more on this story.
Author: Severus, you are such a fickle friend.
Severus: It's more amusing this way.
Author: Oh, I know, believe me, I know.]