Due to popular request I'm reposting the old version of this fic for your enjoyment. I'll start posting a new version/complete rewrite late 2022.
Chapter 7: Midsummer Chores and Mayhem
The summer was hot, the kind that made small children incredibly cranky and pushed people indoors rather than out. Armies of flies patrolled the dustbins lining Spinner's End. Their individual weedy front gardens had combined into an indistinguishable dessicated strip.
Severus cast area cooling charms on his living-room-turned-library, and silenced the screaming neighbours' spawn with a handy spell. To him alone the summer on Spinner's End was bliss.
His small greenhouse (bigger on the inside) was overflowing with herbs. His lawn was as dead as everybody else's, although the gnarled willow that had been the only boon in his childhood he kept watered out of pure sentimentality.
The fresh vervain proved key in his latest experiments concerning the brewing time of ginger-based salves. It felt like he'd barely blinked and already Lughnasadh had arrived.
To his shame, he realised this not because of his intense connection to Magic, in fact he'd been having a rotten day because his vervain was suddenly performing at double potency. Not did he consult a calendar, or notice Minerva's letter which had been tossed through the floo, informing him the last of the letters to students had gone out.
What did catch his attention was Potter's owl, who arrived with enough fanfare to interrupt his brewing and appearing very dignified indeed.
With which he meant, of course, there was a small fuzzy mottled brown thing at first glance not identifiable as a bird cuddling with Bathsheba. Promptly falling asleep in the rafters (which magical people had even in their kitchens), the avian was immediately identifiable as Potter's because like its owner it had a ruffled feather poking out near the approximate location of its ear.
Severus ignored her, choosing to cook a quick Lugh-honouring meal from nine types of herbs grown in his garden, followed by a ritual tossing of a woven wreath down the nearest hill. He hurried through his rites, knowing Lucius would summon him soon for all the latest gossip on the annual duelling competition.
Upon his return to his home, gods adequately appeased, he found Potter's owl now ready, holding out its foot proudly as if it hadn't taken four hours to rouse itself from its nap.
The attached orange dahlia made him smile, and promptly consult the book on floriography he had purchased for the sole purpose of interpreting Potter's insistent messages. Good fortune or riches. Very neutral, but perpetually thoughtful. He had given up on communicating the inappropriateness of sending a professor flowers to his soon-to-be apprentice. It was just a thing now that was, for the sake of not having been stopped early enough and it now being too late to take action against. Similar to drinks with Minerva having been something he fell into by the magnetic force of her rather obstinate personality.
Dear Professor Snape, he read.
This is Olly. He's still learning how to be a proper mail owl, I'm afraid he doesn't get much practice. Please praise him profusely and present him with food, because he is not capable of feeding himself.
What a stupid owl. Even muggle owls could feed themselves without aid. Severus presented a rasher of bacon and a head scratch nonetheless, promptly having two small animals butting into his hand for affection.
My summer is going well. A trip to Japan has been very successful, yielding new alliances and a few potions tomes I will show you in September. Have you much experience with coloured apricorns? They were cheap, so I bought a hundred pounds before realising their likely uselessness.
Please attach my school letter and list, as well as any correspondence you may wish upon me. I hope Olly found you well, and that he did not embarrass himself overtly.
Yours, H. Potter, Lord Potter, Lord regent Black
Severus groaned loudly. Lord Potter? Evidently the child had been emancipated and was now a legal adult. How had his guardian allowed this? But it hardly mattered, for what is done, is done. Hopefully Potter would at least have a proxy to vote his seats on the Wizengamot.
No matter how manipulative or clever Potter was, the politicians in the Wizengamot included a great number of at least equally manipulative and clever, assuaged by years of experience. Not without reason did the Slytherins practice playing the game amongst themselves before they ventured into the adult world. The Wizengamot, he knew, would eat Harry Potter alive.
Lord Potter
Enclosed is your Hogwarts letter.
Your NEWT grade will arrive later, as it has been marked low-urgency by the OWL and NEWT accreditation board. To my knowledge Japanese coloured apricorns can be ground to a nutritious flour. Enclosed also is a recipe for oak nut muffins.
I am certain your common sense will keep you far from the political arena until you have much more experience, for your safety's and my sanity's sake. Your owl is a disgrace upon messenger owls everywhere, of which I know you are perfectly aware.
Professor S. Snape, Hogwarts Potions Master, Accredited 1982
Let nobody ever accuse him of not having a sense of humour.
Severus did not write that he had been flattered. Sending Olly had been akin to telling Severus that Potter considered him family. He was certain there was a barnful of dignified owls for sending important missives to important people which Potter had easy access to. In this case the messenger had also been a message.
He sent Olly on his way at dusk. It was a month before school resumed and he'd spent too much time playing with potions. Now it was time to attend to his other duties as head of Slytherin house. Bellatrix Goyle had promised to write, and the lack of contact was a cause for concern.
The Goyle family received him (visiting unannounced) neither warmly nor coldly but in a strange combination of both. He was greeted with enthusiasm and aplomb, promptly left to sit alone in a small but squishy formal sitting room for several minutes where he could hear arguing behind closed doors and weak muffling spells. Then he was ushered through the motions of small talk and tea with Lucinda Goyle and heir Goyle while Gregory Goyle Senior and Bellatrix remained firmly absent.
It was clear they were making an effort in the superior quality of the tea, which the family was not wealthy enough to drink except on special occasions. Lucinda reminded young Gregory three times not to gorge himself on the jam scones, to no avail.
After they drifted into an uncomfortable silence broken only by Gregory's determined chewing, Bellatrix was finally presented by her father.
She was clearly freshly scrubbed, hair damp but artfully coiffed with a red ribbon. It made her look like a present more than anything, round cheeks showing her to not yet have outgrown her puppy fat.
Lucinda Goyle, nee Speers, looked like a groomed pony, while her husband resembled a carthorse. They were not a thin boned, high cheekboned pureblood family. Puppy fat was to be expected, and infinitely more endearing than the equine alternatives.
"Your OWL results, have they arrived?" Severus asked her directly, knowing full well they had.
"Se'en' OWLs, P'fessor," she said, rightfully proud. "An E in Charms 'nd Herbology, e'en. I failed Transfig'ration and Potions, but s'not bad 'tall."
"Well done." He effused warmth into his voice, shocking young Mister Goyle into arresting his reach for the last scone. "You will be returning, then, for your NEWTs next term?"
The pervading silence might as well have been a shouted 'No' as they all turned to face Goyle senior.
"Nobody else in this fam'ly has no fancy NEWTs. We're hard working pe'ple and the farm dun't run isself now, does it."
The Paterfamilias had spoken. This would be tricky ground to navigate. Severus allowed Lucinda to pour him another cup to give him time to collect his thoughts.
"There is a scholarship available that Bellatrix could take advantage of. She would have a few more years before marriage, and would be able to work in a higher paying position once her studies are complete. It would be good for the standing of your family. Others would respect that; one son to inherit, a daughter to marry well and be an asset to her new family. And you have another son and daughter besides, how long before they attend Hogwarts?"
"Titus is jus' eight. Patty is five since Febr'ary."
"And they will make you proud, I am certain. Think about that scholarship. More money later, a lesser dowry and one less mouth to feed for two years."
"We dun't take no charity."
"It is not charity. She would have to apply, and her good grades and hard work would be required throughout the year. One in eight Hogwarts students receives some kind of stipend. Money for books, and such; it is not at all unusual." He did not want to insult them by defining stipend. That had been a poor choice of words on his behalf but he couldn't take it back now.
"We'll c'nsider it. Thank you, Pr'fessor Snape," Goyle senior finally acquiesced. "Send us the papers we need and if she ge's that scholarship Bellatrix c'n go finish her NEWTs. Firs' in four generations of Goyles. Gods know what she needs 'em for."
Severus pried himself from the overstuffed armchair. "I will send the necessary parchments. Thank you for your time." They shook hands, then a quick sticky handshake with Goyle junior and Severus was free to face the next set of parents who were failing to do right by their daughter in a totally different way.
Severus, unfortunately, had a list of students in his house that he felt obliged to give special attention to. Those who flinched too easily. Those who did not write home or receive letters from home often enough, and those who dreaded going home at the end of the school year. He checked always for long sleeves in hot weather.
Slytherin was the house of the cunning and the ambitious. For some, their ambition was to get out of their situation, nowhere specific just away because their homes did not make them feel welcome. One such student had taken her NEWTs two years early and promptly petitioned her own emancipation.
For some, their cunning grew from learning the right way to avoid the wrong sort of attention. They could read moods better than anyone. They could smell danger and knew to run in the opposite direction.
Those who fought back did not end up in Slytherin. Severus could only hope Minerva found time to help those who really needed it.
He knew his hope was in vain. No steps had been taken against Algerius Longbottom. None ever would be.
Severus was a Slytherin, and the first rule of Slytherin was that Slytherins take care of their own. He consulted the next name on his list and disapparated.
The end of this rather exhausting week couldn't come soon enough. There had been threats, sweet talking, compromising, a few jinxes and an open duel.
Most situations he could better, if not resolve completely. As for the duel, he had naturally been the victor, granting him the questionable boon of custodianship of Ingold Rutherfort's wife and child. Thankfully they had extended family in France, so young Gunther would be transferring to Beauxbatons. Gunther had a knack for potions, but Severus would not miss him. The boy didn't know one end of his wand from the other and had proven himself exceptionally unteachable.
Severus met Mark again that Saturday night and was glad for the ear the young man leant him.
"Have you graduated yet?" He began.
"What, I don't even warrant a 'Hello' these days?" But the smile was soft and teasing.
Severus scowled back. "People are miserable. To their own children, to the children of others, to their spouses and grandparents. To their friends, teachers and to the stranger next door."
Mark smiled forlornly. "I grew up without a family, and always wanted one."
"Childish idealism," Severus scoffed, nonetheless carefully filing away this titbit about his ex-student. Or were they friends by now? They could very well be, judging on time spent together.
That was a poor scale to measure on, because it would put Albus far too close to his heart.
"Most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people."* Mark was saying sagely. He'd even stuck his nose up a little in an attempt to appear snotty.
It succeeded in drawing a small laugh from Severus. "Who said that?"
A shrug. "You wouldn't have heard of them."
Severus accepted this easily. This proved he was already past his third cognac. "If you're attempting to get me drunk," He paused for a minute to consider. His mind quickly wandered to the way Mark's eyelashes were unnaturally long, and the way his eyes sparkled with amusement in a non-Dumbledorian fashion.
"If I'm trying to get you drunk?" Mark prompted gently.
The dark lighting made everything more intimate and mysterious than was strictly necessary. "Then you're succeeding." This statement he flourished with a definitive clunk of his glass on the scoured oak between them.
Mark just continued his gentle smile, catching Severus' flailing arms and holding his hand. He had very soft skin, which Severus may have basked in a little. Not enough to lose his dignity, though.
Severus hailed the barkeep, but Mark waved him off. A few bills were exchanged fluidly. Mark was raised by someone from money, had to be. Tipping was an art form Severus had never learnt to accomplish quite so elegantly.
They were outside the din in the pleasantly cool summer drizzle a few moments later.
Mark pushed them aside, cursing colourfully. Cleaning magic washed over them, and Severus suddenly sobered with the realisation someone had urinated from a balcony above them. "That is revolting," he stated the obvious.
Mark ushered them onward. Thank the gods they weren't muggles. He wanted to go home and shower nonetheless.
"Can you apparate yourself?"
"Of course. Good night, Mark."
"Good night, Professor," came the soft spoken reply. Followed by a quick kiss, and then he was alone under a limestone awning.
He apparated home and showered with his clothes on. When he was finally clean and tucked into bed he could still feel the chaste kiss on his lips and the smell of urine in his nose.
So much for a relaxing Friday night. He could go annoy Lucius on Sunday, he decided. It might cheer him up to see the Malfoy family.
xoxox
He took the offered seat on the armchair near the fire. As was usual for Lucius' furniture it was just as uncomfortable as it looked elegant -until the cushioning charms set in after several seconds. As if every divan felt the need to announce, 'yes, I look incredible, but I am also magical.' It would not be Lucius Malfoy if even his furniture did not have the ability to announce itself.
The tea was excellent, and the finger sandwiches delicious but unfilling. 'You could be staying for tea. Instead, you came for afternoon tea. You should have stayed for tea. But you can't just invite yourself without at least two day's notice, so here, just to tempt you. This is the quality of food here. Regret your choices,' The sandwiches said. Severus ate the cucumber ones with relish and imagined them making high pitched screaming sounds.
They discussed the Lughnasadh duelling competition as expected. The fan favourite 'Leo the Flower' who had placed for the past five years, had surprisingly lost the last match to a tank of a young woman called Namirembe, an absolute credit to her Ougadou schooling.
And finally Lucius got to the point that had clearly been tap-dancing at the forefront of his mind, keeping him from properly enjoying neither the sandwiches nor Severus' company.
"Severus." Lucius began firmly and let out the rest of his breath in what in a less cultured man would have been a sigh. He had been living in this house too long, immune to how everything made some kind of statement. Lucius' hair reflected the diffuse light, giving it an ethereal gleam and the sound of a choir of angels.
"Yes, Lucius?" Severus did not lick his fingers clean in favour of using the provided cloth napkin.
"Draco..."
Severus looked around; the boy was not present. "What about him?"
"Draco has changed over the past year."
Severus hummed. It was true, if a bit of an understatement.
"Do you know what happened with him? Was he doing alright at Hogwarts? Did Slytherin welcome him? Did he make many alliances? Is he well behaved? Does he do his homework?"
Severus cleared his throat. "Lucius, he is your son. Perhaps you should ask him directly?"
Lucius gave a very un-Malfoy-like groan, sagging back artfully on his chaise. "He stopped writing anything of content to me in October. Over Yule I did not have sufficient time to spend with him, over Ostara Narcissa and I took him to France. Now we have spent a month of summer together and I can hardly recognise my own son!
"We should never have named him Draco. A Black constellation name, it is no wonder he takes after his mother's side of the family. I should have insisted on Marcus Vitruvius, Gaius Marius, or Marcus Cicero. Good strong names of leaders, not stars to put his head in the clouds. Marcus Lucius, even."
"Is he showing an aptitude for the Black family magicks?" They were hit-and-miss. Powerful, yes, but the likelihood of insanity was higher than with most other English pureblood lines. Mixing in foreign blood from the Malfoys should have tempered most of it, but Draco would likely always carry a strong affinity for the Dark Arts and an even stronger inclination to succumb to its madness.
"Since Yule he has ordered our house elf to wear a clean pressed pillowcase. This summer they have even become patterned! Yet he also insists the elf come to him and report mistakes so that Draco can decide on the punishment for him." Lucius sighed. "I do not know what would be worse: for him to take after Bellatrix in her sadism, or Narcissa in her gentleness. Neither will make him the ruthless politician and cunning businessman I need for an heir."
"Perhaps you should adjust to the heir you have rather than projecting onto him the heir you wish?" Severus had hated his upbringing, but at least there had never been unrealistic expectations for him to take up some important family mantle. The Prince line continued in two middle aged women and an elderly paterfamilias. Unless they died without a Prince heir, the 'family' business was entirely not Severus' problem.
Although this was amusing, Draco's new fascination with the elf. It made him wonder again what exactly it was that Potter had told Draco to bring about his complete change in attitude. Maybe this was his chance to find out. "Have you talked to him about it?"
Lucius blanched. "And what should I say? 'Son, what happened to you at Hogwarts that caused your personality transplant? Draco, tell me why you have stopped talking to me?' That would go over well."
Internally, Severus rolled his eyes. Lucius was queen of the melodramatic. "The elf, Lucius. Call him and ask what Draco has been doing."
Once again Lucius proved his stupidity with his inability to comprehend that house elves were living breathing thinking beings that could be consulted. This was even more ridiculous in a manor where everything talked. "Dobby," he announced into the room.
Crack. It was quiet, for an Elf. Severus was internally impressed by the creature's control. The dark paisley pillowcase screamed 'eccentric trying to be dignified.'
"I order you to answer Severus' questions truthfully to your best knowledge." Lucius handed over the responsibility and the humiliation of conversing with the elf.
"Dobby, why did you change to a new pillowcase around Yuletime?" He started small.
"Master Draco ordered Dobby to be wearing a clean laundered pillowcase, Master Severus." The elf announced to Severus' shoulder, head tilted ever-so-slightly up.
"Did Draco explain his reasoning to you?"
"Master Draco did, Sir. He did say that an elf represents his house, and a good elf must represent it well. Dobby is being a Malfoy elf, and so Dobby must be looking the part."
Good, sound reasoning. It was astonishing that Draco had thought it, although in all likelihood the idea had been planted by Potter. "Why did you start wearing patterned pillowcases?"
"Master Draco is ordering that too. It is a reward to Dobby, for being doing good work. Dobby is a good elf, and Master Draco is a great Master."
Interesting. "What punishments has Draco assigned you for which infractions on your part?"
"Dobby is sorry, but I is not understanding what the word 'infractions' is meaning," The elf said quietly to his own feet. Remarkably, he did not burst into tears. Draco had been doing good work with this elf.
"Wrongdoing, misdemeanor, mistake."
"Thank you Potion Master Snape Sir. Dobby was telling great Master Draco he was thinking bad thoughts about his family. That Dobby was wanting to be a free elf or a dead elf not a Malfoy elf. Master Draco did give me a book to read and did explain that a good elf can still have bad thoughts. It is being important to recognise bad thoughts and push them away. Cogito, ergo sum. Dobby be what Dobby think. So if Dobby is thinking good things Dobby is being a good elf. If Dobby is thinking happy things Dobby is being a happy elf."
What a magnificent butchery of Descartes. "Draco is not wrong in his conclusions, although his methodology could still be improved." Severus said to Lucius. The man nodded, though he seemed to not be quite present. Whether this was from the elf's poor grasp of philosophy or his son's self-assigned role as an elven motivational speaker was yet to be determined.
"When Dobby did not finish everything he was meant to do over the day great Master Draco was giving me more bookses. When Dobby overcooked the roast Dobby had to spend three days in the kitchen with Wasp." He switched to a whisper. "Dobby is not getting on very well with Wasp." Squeaky and whispered should not be a thing, and yet to their misfortune, Dobby made it work. "When Dobby did something he was not supposed to do great Master Draco made Dobby stand on only tippy-toeses for a day. When Dobby failed to keep a family secret Dobby had to be telling great Master Draco about Dobby's fears. When Dobby forgot an order, Dobby was ordered not to work for a day." A full shudder ran down his spine. "Great Master Draco was saying a Master is only as good as those under him, and if Dobby is not doing his best then Masters cannot be great. Dobby was given another book to read then."
"Bring me the books Draco has given you," Lucius announced after another minute's quiet thought. The elf popped out and in again quietly, books in tow.
Severus scanned the titles of what could have been a self help corner of a library. Mind calming and focus, you are what you think, positive thinking, English grammar, butler's guidelines, time management.
"These are muggle books, all of them." Lucius stated the obvious. The covers were glossy the way only muggle printing presses could make them. Not to mention colourful and not moving.
"They are also all relevant to helping Dobby do his job better. Draco chose these books for you well." Severus praised. The boy was learning to manoeuvre his pieces, even if it was only a lowly elf. And probably Crabbe and Goyle as well, come to think of it. Those two had been getting relatively good grades since Yule, especially considering Crabbe's difficulty with reading and writing, and Goyle's difficulty understanding the material.
"Where is Draco getting muggle books to give to our house elf?" Lucius was still incredulous.
Dobby took it as an order. "The great Harry Potter has been giving books to great Master Draco," he explained. "Dobby is being extra careful with these bookses. They is even having small traces of the great Harry Potter's magic on them!"
The elf was a fan of Harry Potter. Figures. Severus cast a revealer on the books and did indeed find ambient magic with Potter's magical signature alongside the elf's magic. It was brown and could only be described as 'fizzy.'
"Take the books. You may go," Severus said. Dobby waited a heartbeat for Lucius' approval of the command before popping back out again.
"The elf is remarkably clever for its kind, and Draco is making the most of it. I suspect he also changed Goyle's and Crabbe's study habits. They have been doing much better than expected. So far your son is having a positive influence on those he can directly command, perhaps what changed in him is that he is finally learning effective leadership."
A long silence sat between them. "I had no idea my elf could even read. But Draco has made an alliance with Potter, a close one if he is lending so many books. Draco is doing well. This is a fortunate turn indeed."
Draco had been manipulated into his new mindset, and Severus was unsure what Potter hoped to gain from it. He could only hope it was nothing malicious, because there was no way he was going to tell Lucius his son was another boy's puppet.
"Now that the matter of Draco is settled, I have something else I wanted to discuss with you."
Severus prompted the man to continue with a single raised brow. What would have Lucius asking for favours? Favours were expensive, and the best politicians were owed many while they themselves owed nigh none.
"An artefact I was holding for the Dark Lord has disappeared from my possessions," Lucius began anew after a long pause.
Severus looked up sharply. That was sufficient reason to worry and begin calling on favours. "The Dark Lord trusted you so much?"
Lucius shook his head wryly. "We were barely children out of Hogwart, Severus. But he trusted my father, and with his death the item passed on to my care."
"Flawed care," Severus sniped. "What was it that you lost? Is there a chance it gained autonomy somehow?" He could see it already, some eldritch abomination lurking in the corners of the mansion. Possessing the spiders to write creepy messages. Worse still, possessing the elves. Suddenly the shadows no longer offered welcome recluse from the ubiquitous heat. Now they appeared too dark, stretching long spindly fingers toward them with an 'I want to eat you alive' vibe.
"My drawing room safe should be impossible to penetrate and impossible to leave. Even for an item with such strong compulsions it could not have gone through the wards. Except it has left, and there is no shred of proof."
Severus rose wearily to his feet, nonchalantly stepping away from the shadow under the divan. "Let me look. A second pair of eyes, as you will." Lucius led the way, robes sweeping elegantly. He was quite effeminate in pale blue, and his arse looked amazing. Severus pictured him sprawled out on a bed before him; he flicked his tongue out to wet his lips. No, now was not the time to fantasise about Lucius Malfoy. Severus knew it was a bad idea to sleep with wizards, and especially Lucius. He should go get laid the muggle way, perhaps it would help him concentrate on Lucius before him, hair swinging with each step- for fuck's sake Severus, stop admiring his ethereal beauty. Focus on the shadows of doom instead. Besides, he had made his first mistakes in Lucius' dorm bed. He was not so stupid to think the man had changed.
Severus scowled and stepped in front of Lucius. Out of sight, out of mind. He cast as many detection spells as he could think on the drawing room floor, and once Lucius opened the door he repeated the same on the inside of the heavily warded space. There was nothing there. "Call an elf," Severus tried the obvious.
"Mittle!" Lucius called. The elf popped in.
Severus rose an incredulous brow. "Are you aware that your wards are useless if an elf can pop through as they please?"
Lucius was not aware. "Only the elves bound to the Malfoys," he protested weakly.
"You have extended family in France."
"Oh."
Yes. Oh. "The Dark Lord will be thrilled with you."
Lucius turned on a dime and stalked out of the warded room. Severus strolled after him and took a seat on an eighteenth century drawing room chaise. Might as well continue their conversation here. The diligent elf prepared to start the fire but was dismissed back to whatever it was doing, Severus did not care.
Lucius was scowling. "What do you suggest I do? My father served the Dark Lord and my son will serve the Dark Lord. You felt the Mark burn on Midsummer eve. He is returning, and we will suffer the consequences of our allegiance to the man."
Severus tutted. "That almost sounds like treason. The Dark Lord will cruciate you twice over now." It als sounded very rational. Lord Voldemort had been out of his mind and worsening even the first time he saw the Dark Lord at the Death Eater meeting he had been invited to as a guest. But oh, the charisma and magic rolled off the man in waves. He had been helpless to the might of the insane man, and would bear evidence thereof on his arm evermore.
"You denounced his name and crawled into Dumbledore's pocket. What will he do to you, I wonder?"
Touché. Severus mentally assigned a point, though he knew the suave witted Lucius would always be winning. Sarcasm didn't measure up. "Ah, but I only did so to better serve him. Those in Azkaban could do nothing to further his goals. You denounced him as well, and he will not hold the practicality of it against us." If Lord Voldemort could be so rational was another question entirely. Severus pretended nonchalance, but in truth he was more nervous even than Lucius. If the Dark Lord returned Severus would have no choice but to return to his service, and Albus would have him report diligently as a double agent. It would be complicated and stressful and awful. Just the thought had him aghast. It was why he had been repressing and ignoring the Midsummer darkening of his Dark Mark to the best of his abilities. He was perpetually oscillating between repentance and denial over his actions in service of the Dark Lord.
Lucius just frowned, thoughtful.
"Do you regret joining the Dark Lord's forces?" Severus hedged. This was treason.
They could both be executed for treason together.
"The Dark Lord was charismatic, he united us under a common banner, he wanted drastic reform in the Ministry and a return of old traditions rather than the Mudblood scum that Dumbledore is trying to push onto our culture. We purebloods were here first and now we pander to the will of the immigrants. It is blasphemy that my son come home for Christmas break. The Christians persecuted the magical people and now we celebrate their holidays? The true question is, who didn't join the Dark Lord? One must be mad not to want what he wants."
Lucius' grandparents had emigrated from France in the 1920s, Severus did not remind him. If anyone was to talk of immigrants then it should be someone who did not stand in a glass house. "But?" He prompted instead.
"I fear for my life. I fear for my son's life. I fear for Narcissa, I fear Bellatrix and I fear the Mark branded on my skin like chattel." He breathed deeply. "I am Lord Malfoy, and I despise fear. Moreover, I refuse it. These are not conditions I should be living in."
Only a Malfoy could simultaneously express vulnerability and his outrage thereover in such a snobbish manner.
"We are branded. There is to my knowledge no way to remove it. What choice do we have but to follow a charismatic sadist to our painful deaths?" It was their sad reality.
Lucius nodded. "But Draco is not branded. If I ever have the chance, if you ever see an opportunity for him, Narcissa, for every child and adult that the Dark Lord did not manage to sink his claws into you must tell me immediately. Sanguis." The macabre Malfoy motto. "I must put blood first. My son above everything. Perhaps Potter will be the one to save us all."
Perhaps he would. He was remarkable. Severus said so, and was relieved to find Lucius' desperation taken over by a little hope and some characteristic greed.
"You will not be able to exploit him. He is more Slytherin than even Dumbledore with the chessboard he makes of the world. Potter has a plan and we will discover it and our parts in it only in retrospect when the entire world has tilted and we realise that they indeed all walk on their heads in Australia."
Lucius scoffed. "He may be brilliant, but he is a child yet. Do not say you are so taken with your apprentice-to-be that you have lost all reason."
"I am perfectly serious. The boy has proven his skills of manipulation to me, not in the least because I am set to become his Master come September. That had not been my aim at the beginning of the conversation I had with him. I suspect him of slaying a troll and pushing the blame onto the Weasley twins." He ignored Lucius' automatic Weasley-triggered sneer. "I suspect he stole the Philosopher's stone, though his tracks are so well covered that it is nothing more than a guess. I know he has all three of the other houses liking him, Albus respects his choices if not his person, and his excellent grades speak for themselves. Also," He paused dramatically for his trump card, "Irma Pince likes him."
Lucius' eyes widened minutely. He leaned forward. "No. Impossible."
Severus smirked back. "She told me personally on the last day of term, I should treat Potter well when he is my apprentice, as she likes him."
Lucius chortled. "The boy is magical indeed. How much of the rest is true I am unsure, but if he can melt such an icy heart then he truly is great. We are fortunate indeed that the prophecy fell onto such capable young shoulders."
Severus swallowed the uncomfortable lump in his throat. If the prophecy had not been, Lily would not have died, and the fate of Wizarding Britain would not need to rest on such young albeit extraordinary shoulders.
He counted three deep breaths and pushed himself to his feet. "I have other plans still today, Lucius. Thank you for the tea."
Lucius stood and nodded back. "Dobby will see you out."
xoxox
Dear Severus
Enclosed is a copy of yesterday's Daily Prophet. Were you aware of these developments? I cannot find records of the name of the regent Lord Black, however there is only small list of possible candidates. Harry Potter is at its top.
Please reply at your earliest convenience. If Potter is regent for Black, then he is also an emancipated Lord. Advice on how to best approach the situation is appreciated.
Yours, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Lord Malfoy
The Daily Prophet article was full of speculation but contained little fact beyond its drawn-out title.
MARTIAL LAW GONE TOO FAR? SIRIUS BLACK TRIAL STILL PENDING
The hitherto unidentified Lord Regent Black is pushing for a trial for the apparently only alleged mass murderer and alleged Death Eater Sirius Black.
Severus groaned into his tea and pushed his breakfast aside. It was impossible to have any semblance of appetite knowing Potter was knee deep in politics concerning the release from prison of the man who had once very nearly caused Severus' death. The Black madness had had Sirius in its clutches even before nearly eleven years in Azkaban Prison.
This was folly. This was ridiculous.
This was proof once again that life was not fair. Also, that good things did not happen to Severus Snape without something at least twice as bad hanging in the wings to tip the scales firmly back to 'decidedly awful.'
With a world-weary sigh, he took it upon himself to pen two letters in response.
Mister Potter
Are you out of your mind? Working towards the release of Sirius Black is not going to endear yourself to anyone. There are many Death Eaters imprisoned under martial law, and nobody leaves eleven years of hell on earth as well-balanced, useful members of society. Perhaps some sentiment for your Godfather prompted this, but the repercussions will be more vast than you could possibly imagine.
If you can in any way stop this, do it in a way that endears you to Minister Fudge. He is not overly powerful, but wields what he does have with sufficient precision to be able to make things very difficult for you in the future.
Please contact Lucius Malfoy and Edward Tonks, whose wives come from the family you hold regency of. The Potter Lordship is a hollow title but the Black one comes with responsibilities you must not ignore.
Sincerely, S. Snape
xoxox
Dear Lucius
I can confirm Harry Potter has taken over regency of the Black house and is the only possible instigator of the mess you informed me of. I have advised him as best I could, and he should be contacting you and Narcissa soon as his duties require.
You may attempt to help and advise Lord Potter, but be aware he is far cleverer and more cunning than he at first appears. In regard to what we discussed at our latest meeting over tea, it may pay to cultivate good terms with Potter even if only for the power he holds still over Narcissa, and Draco who carries a Black name albeit followed by two Malfoy names. Magic can be fickle in such things.
Regards, Severus
He received two unspectacular replies.
From Lucius, the message read:
Lord Potter met with Narcissa and myself. We parted on good terms, though he is immune to good advice. He reassured me repeatedly that he has everything under control, though I remain sceptical.
And from Potter, there was nothing. Severus' rented owl came back after three days looking ruffled and highly annoyed.
Feeling rather ruffled and annoyed himself, Severus could commiserate with the bird. It was comforted by a hearty meal and an owl treat. He himself was nowhere near as easily assuaged. It led to sleepless nights, groggy mornings and an ever-growing stack of unwashed cups of tea growing in the sink.