Chapter Eight: Family Reunion
June, 1991
There are a few sickening moments in life when the mind, grasping for fear or composure, simply pauses, blank, drawing a single moment into an eternity. The participant must merely watch the tableau before him, trapped behind petrified muscles and eyes that, released from the firm hold of the brain, dart and bounce of their own volition.
This was such a moment for Severus Snape. A rare second trapped in total mental lurch.
He watched as the agonizing moment meandered by, hands frozen on a quill, ink dribbling into an indifferent pool of green. He watched as Lucius' glance trailed over him then swayed, cool, in the direction of Lina Branch. He lingered over her, still as a glacier, for one blink—two—three—before an acutely amused smirk insinuated itself into Snape's blood like adrenaline.
His mind awoke, his body freed from its catch. Quill dropped, and the situation whirred back into motion. A straight line from his hand to his wand traced itself through his thoughts, but he tarried a moment, patience once more taking the helm. "Lucius." The voice had been perfectly tabulated: one-quarter surprise, one-quarter vexation, and a decent half of absolute flatness.
"Severus." Lucius' voice was in no way careful, falling naturally amused from his curled lips. "I was just dropping by for my yearly dose—my gift for Narcissa. Forgive me; I had no idea you would be…entertaining."
Damn and hell. He hadn't even thought—but he should have known. Lucius always came the second week of June, like damnable clockwork. For Narcissa's birthday. And, of course, life has its lovely sense of humor…
"I'll just—come back later then, shall I?" Not even an attempt to stifle the chuckle that threatened to tip into a full-out laugh.
"No, no, please. Don't leave on my account."
His head spun towards her voice. It seemed to scream through his skull, though judging from Lucius' suave reaction, it was a mere trick of the mind. Why on earth would she speak? Why on earth would she encourage him to stay?
"We were just preparing to say our goodbyes." She'd stood, smoothing her clothes in a way so nonchalant it might have impressed him had his thoughts not been otherwise engaged. She looked quite thin and frail, silhouetted against the vastness of the thick-curtained window, hand trailing through her hair. He noticed her carefully tug down the sleeve of her shirt.
Muggle clothes. Would Lucius think anything of it? It was becoming more and more common for the younger generation to don Muggle clothes occasionally, especially when moving outside wizarding towns. Though it was a practice Lucius, he felt sure, found abhorrent.
"Well, I don't wish to intrude…"
"Not at all." Lucius had adopted his usual attitude around witches below the age of thirty: half courteous suitor, half lord of the manor. "It was my entrance that was, ah, problematic. I am not accustomed to Severus entertaining guests here, I'm sorry. We've not been introduced." He flashed Snape a winning smile.
"Oh, yes. This is Lucius Malfoy. Lucius, this is—"
"Elizabeth. Elizabeth Bennett." She extended a hand. Her right hand, he noted. Thank Merlin she was paying some attention, even if her choice of alias was patently ridiculous. She was lucky, he supposed, that the wizard before them would never have sullied his Pureblood eyes with the words of Muggle literature.
Malfoy, predictably, did not settle for an amiable handshake, instead cradling her hand in his and raising it to his lips with studied warmth. Quite studied, in fact. Snape had seen him practice the same ludicrous play of gallantry innumerable times.
And now the girl's composure truly did impress him. Her smile was demure, her eyes making a perfect track from his to the floor and back, all affability and feigned embarrassment. Precisely the genuine reaction he'd observed from every other witch who interacted with Lucius' chivalry.
"My pleasure, Miss Bennett, truly."
Seeing the girl's completely seamless demeanor shocked him back into himself, and he began to gauge the situation. The familiar calculations clicked into place. So Lucius did not immediately recognize her; that was in their favor. No doubt he assumed, from all the smug smiling and suave formality, that this was some form of courtship, or, at the very least, some attempt at bedding the girl. And the girl was handling herself remarkably well, perhaps due to the fact that she'd had some notion of what was coming. How, then, to proceed? He had the requested potion, but it was buried in his storeroom, and he was not anxious to leave his two guests alone even for a moment.
"My dear Miss Bennett, you look very familiar. Have we perhaps met? Did you—"
"Lucius, would you like a drink?" It was the best could do, stalling to give the girl some time to think of a response. "We've opened some Banshee's."
This seemed to please him as well as earn Snape another lascivious grin. "That sounds lovely, actually. Thank you, Severus." He'd known Lucius long enough to hear the mockery beneath the civility. Plying her with liquor, then? He scowled at Malfoy as he proffered the glass. Only, of course, encouraging further knowing smirks.
"Please, let's not stand about in this stupid manner," Lina interjected quietly. "Have a seat Mister Malfoy. I'm sure Severus won't object…?"
Lucius' pleasure seemed to know no bounds, and the flash in his eyes belied a man enjoying a very good joke at his friend's expense. What was she playing at? He'd fully expected her to beat a hasty retreat before any more unfortunate questions had the opportunity to surface. He'd given her a reprieve, intending for her to excuse herself. But she was having none of it. She clearly wanted him to stay—and wanted to stay herself. "Of course not," he said, meeting her gaze quickly. He saw nothing but the genial mask.
They had not been seated even long enough for Snape to raise his drink to his lips before—
"Did you attend Hogwarts, Miss Bennett? We must have met before…"
"Elizabeth, if you please, Mister Malfoy."
"If you'll call me Lucius." His smile dripped sweetness over his brandy.
"Of course, Lucius. No, I did not attend Hogwarts. But even if I had, I would have been young enough to experience the doubtless expert tutelage of Severus here." A hearty chuckle was her reply. "We would not have met there, I'm sure."
"I see, yes. You are rather young for that." A sidelong glance at Snape. He heard the Slytherin subtitle once more. At least ten years your junior, my friend. "Perhaps your parents, then?"
Her smile was a masterpiece, and he found himself less and less apprehensive about this line of questioning. She had lies prepared—like a model Slytherin—and, thus far, was managing to deliver them with an aplomb he couldn't have expected from the same girl who'd doused his feet in apple juice just a month before.
"Perhaps my grandfather, but you are too young for that, I'd expect." Another demure eye flutter. Damn, she could be quite good. "Actually, I attended Beauxbatons, as did my parents. My grandfather moved my family to France shortly before he passed on."
"Ah. And what brings you back to the Isles then? Severus' good company?"
She chuckled in a way he feared far too Malfoy not to be instantly recognized. But the namesake appeared oblivious. "No, though it has been a pleasant bonus." She shot the eye flutter in his direction, in a way that made him, inwardly, quite uncomfortable, and made Lucius raise an eyebrow. Perhaps she was too good, at times. "Actually, I came in hopes of opening a shop in Diagon Alley, to ply my trade, as you see." She swept her hands at the cards still lying, inert and naked, on the table before her.
"Oh, you're in the tarot trade then?"
"Well, divination supplies in general," she said, taking an impressive draw of liquor. Maybe she wasn't as composed as she appeared. "Madame Fortuna has a specialized tarot shop in the area already. I'm hoping to offer a wider array of products and services."
Where are you going with this, he asked her with a carefully-placed glance. He had to be certain she knew what she was doing, bringing up divination with him.
She caught the silent words in steely, veiled eyes. And smiled, damn her. I know what I'm doing. He could sense the slow rebuff in the soundless air.
"Ah, I see you've done your research then." Lucius' compliments always had the feel of silk-draped razor blades—politeness prettily covering a sharp intent. "And have you had any success in securing a locale?"
"No—not yet. I have a few places in my sights, but there are always bureaucratic obstacles, especially with the selling of divination artifacts. I believe the Department of Mysteries is likely to put me under before I even open shop."
Lucius nodded solemnly, face turned the hard white of business. "Yes, the Ministry can be difficult to navigate, especially for an independent businesswoman. If you like, I have a few connections there. With a few more details I'm sure we could persuade—"
Snape stood, setting his drink aside. This was going in a direction that could be in no conceivable way beneficial. And it was time to let the girl know. Cosmic knowledge of not, this was his arena, the spinning of lies into truth. He had years of experience with Lucius Malfoy, and something at the back of his brain told him that to continue this already ludicrous farce was to invite disaster. He could quite easily convince either Lucius or the girl to leave, but it had to begin now.
"Excuse me. I'm just going to retrieve Lucius' requisition. I'll be just a moment."
Lina looked up at him, utterly unreadable behind her arranged face. He should have known she was capable of such chameleon-like behavior; he had seen so many demeanors from her, he could hardly be surprised that a Malfoy could concoct a persona so complementary to a Malfoy.
"Yes, yes, let him go, my dear," Lucius sighed, crossing his legs and raising his glass mockingly. "Severus has no stomach for business. We lost him to the Academy long ago."
He did not bother to linger for the girl's rejoinder. He longed greatly for a deep breath and a moment's clear thought in the cold, dark of the storeroom, firmly away from the awkward little family reunion shaping up in his drawing room.
What could she be doing, chatting away with the one man most dangerous to her safety? Surely she realized—she must realize—what he would do if he discovered her true identity, the Squib history beneath that ridiculous Muggle pseudonym. At best, he would have her killed. At worst…well, if the Dark Lord was truly returning, he could imagine only one free wizard who would rejoin their former Master with not a moment's thought. And if that man knew what this defenseless girl was capable of…
No, it had to be stopped. She must realize that. Was she indulging some bizarre nostalgia for her youth? Or some twisted notion of revenge? As pathetic as he sometimes found her, he couldn't believe that. He had to believe there was enough Slytherin in her not to be so foolish.
Well, perhaps there be method in her madness. He thought he knew enough of her to judge the girl no fool. Regardless, she clearly did not know the game she was playing, clutching the consummate Slytherin asp to her breast…
He would pull Lucius aside. Ask him to leave. Insinuate what Malfoy had apparently already assumed—that he was romancing the girl and was, besides, tantalizingly close to deflowering her. This, though it would earn him a surfeit of smirks, Lucius would doubtlessly respect.
He would hear about it later; everyone would. Snape the yellow-toothed monk of the dungeons seducing a girl most definitely his junior by a decade…
He'd endured worse rumors, he thought ruefully. It might be a lie somewhat entertaining to embellish upon, actually.
By the time he returned, Lucius was leaned over the table, whispering with the girl conspiratorially. Lina held her half-drunk glass in both hands between them, her neck stretched forward to catch her confidant's quiet words.
"Severus," Lucius called, breaking from his position at the girl's ear with a wide smile. "I have just had a fantastic notion."
He raised an eyebrow, glad he'd taken the brief moment to re-center himself. "Have you?" He held the crystal phial before his guest's gray eyes, making no attempt to hide the violent red of its contents.
"Indeed," Malfoy continued, taking the offering as if it were a refill of liquor, without the slightest trace of embarrassment. Snape wondered if the girl had recognized the contents at all. "Elizabeth was telling me she has some small skill as a Reader."
"Hardly anything to speak of, isn't that what you said, Severus?"
He did not need the fluttering lick of eyes to indicate his cue. "Mmm," was all he could think to say in reply, beginning to feel a wild sort of anger at the girl's rashness.
"Severus is a relentless critic, my dear. I doubt he'd have given Cassandra herself more of a compliment." He turned back to Snape, and his look spelled nothing but trouble. He had some sort of plan. Snape recognized the slight dilation of the icy stare, the elongation of smooth syllables. "And I was informing her of my annual invitation to you on the occasion of Narcissa's birthday. I was thinking perhaps Miss Bennett here would be so good as to help me provide my wife with a reading for the occasion. I was just telling her that I have a very lovely deck I could make available to her for the performance."
The click in his thoughts seemed to echo through the room. That must be it…
"There will be several Ministry officials in attendance, including the Minister himself. It might be a good networking opportunity for her. And, of course, I would pay richly for the service of so enterprising a young woman."
"There is no question on that count," she replied with feigned umbrage.
No. No. He could see, at once, the road the girl had been trying to drag him down. He turned to her, somber, as if to deny her the option.
"She could come as your guest, Severus. I trust you cannot object to that? I daresay you will be able to enjoy the envious stares of many friends."
Lucius was watching him. She was too. Four cold Malfoy eyes boring straight into his brain.
With practiced ease, the possibilities lined themselves up neatly. If he said no, that would not be the end. He doubted Lucius could be swayed, especially if he was planning something. And, if he pressed the refusal, he had no doubt Lucius would ask the girl as his own guest, just to spite him. He could not be certain what the girl had said in his absence, but it had been enough to win Lucius into thinking her quite eager to pursue relations with either himself or Snape. Lucius was not one to deal out invitations to Malfoy Manor idly or without some selfish profit. The easiest answer would be 'yes.' He could always construct some lie to excuse her when the day came.
"I can hardly deny Elizabeth a lucrative business opportunity," he said flatly, and shot one of her own calculated looks back at her. She couldn't have known, but it was his own subdued, thoroughly Slytherin impression of an endearing gaze.
Lucius, however, recognized it, and appeared ten times more pleased than the oft-referenced cat with the canary. "Wonderful. It will be an even more impressive affair if Severus Snape brings a date." He stood and tucked the glaring red phial into his robes, turning with a slight bow to Lina. "Thank you, Elizabeth. I appreciate the service. The affair will be Sunday next and—" His eyes slid down her jeans. "It will be a formal occasion."
"I shall endeavor to be worthy of my company."
It was obscene, he thought, how readily Lucius bent to her sweet, humble voice. The only thing more obscene was the voice itself.
"No doubt you will, my dear. Make Severus here spend half his stipend on some dress robes from Lady of the Lake. A lady who is lovely and can put up with him besides is most certainly worth it."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"And thank you, Severus, for your usual contribution. I'll take my leave. I feel you've long desired my absence." He gave Lina another slight bow and Snape another lascivious smirk.
"A pleasure to meet you, Mister Malfoy."
The insinuating simper he left her seemed to linger even after its owner had popped from existence, leaving the room filled to capacity with a split-second of nauseating calm.
"Fucking, buggering pleasure," she growled, collapsing back onto the sofa like a puppet, strings cut.
He, however, did not collapse. His muscles snapped to pacing, anger pent up in his bones now bursting free, propelling him across the floor with white-hot footfalls. "What in the name of Merlin's pink arse were you thinking, you imbecilic girl!" Apparently it was letting itself out of his mouth as well. "Staying here, talking to him, giving him that idiotic name! He's not some doddering, Flobberworm-brained aristocrat. He's the last—"
"I know what he is, Professor." She was not raging as he was, but he felt the slam of her tone, familiar. Hints of the hard hate he'd seen in her before. "Don't talk to me as if I don't know what that snake is capable of. I know—first-hand. Besides I'm not the imbecile who doesn't put damned Apparition wards on his house."
"I've never had to worry on that count, Miss Branch. I am not in the habit of having problematic and patently foolhardy guests to hide." His rage rolled off into a snarl.
"He has the Velius. I saw it, just before he appeared. I hadn't made the connection before." The sharpness was gone. "He must have taken it—from my mum—when he…"
The thin, shuddering quality of this assertion almost quelled the remarkable momentum of fury. Almost.
"Be that as it may, I see no way in which you sauntering into Malfoy Manor to read the deck before a roomful of onlookers—and, of course, simultaneously revealing your gift to at least a dozen ex-Death Eaters—can be in any way well-advised?" He ripped the liquor from beside Lucius' abandoned seat and threw it down his throat. "Do you even begin to realize the position you've put me in?"
He'd taken a breath, preparing to continue the diatribe, but the look in her eyes, the certain line of her pale lips, stoppered his throat.
It wasn't the obvious beginnings of tears that rimmed her gaze. It wasn't the trembling hand that worked its usual desperate line through hair.
It was the way she stood, slow and heavy, as if her bones only stacked with determined effort and control. It was the monitored version of that apoplectic girl he'd seen before. The one he recognized. The one he understood.
"I understand all of that, Professor. I hope you likewise understand that it is I who find myself in the most dangerous position. If it goes awry, I give you full permission to disavow me totally. Lucius would believe that I was lying to you, using you, readily enough. But let's get this straight: I'm the one in danger. I'm the one who just had to smile and laugh in the face of the man who abandoned me and murdered my mother. I'm the one who's risking my skin—for no personal gain—by walking into that snake pit and reading the cards for the whore my worthless father chose. I'm the one taking the risk and the goddamned agony just to fulfill a fucking promise to Dumbledore. Sound familiar, Snape?"
His body lurched, anger suddenly backed in on itself. He was glad of the chair as his knees folded, his thoughts momentarily pausing.
"You questioned my determination to make this reading earlier," she continued, shivering glance drilling down her Malfoy nose straight into his eyes. "I think, at the moment, only one of us here can claim the credentials of an imbecile."
And she sat too, legs wrapped beneath herself, face turned away. The aborted tears had dried, reabsorbed, refrozen into the ice of her eyes.
He swallowed, tasting liquor and bile. The anger was as absent as her tears, and he felt, for the first time in a very long while, the sting of guilt. It was the unfamiliar sensation of being absolutely in the wrong.
He kept his voice unfeeling and flat, but he found it difficult to meet her eyes with equanimity. "You intend to go through with it, then?"
"Yes. It's my only chance to get close to the Velius. I doubt I could steal it back, but I will find some way of getting it, if only for a few minutes, to make a reading."
In some effort to ignore the lingering ache of guilt, he allowed his mind to consider this—to draw it to a conclusion. "You could—do the reading for the Dark Lord while he thinks you're reading for his wife."
"No. I'd thought of that. First of all, reading for the Dark Lord will be very draining for me. I doubt I could manage it under the eyes of Lucius, let alone a roomful of—his friends."
She pre-amended again, sparing him out of some obviously misplaced sense of decorum. Ex-Death Eaters, just say it you blasted girl…
"Second, the spread would be different, and I don't want to take the risk that anyone could be familiar enough with the art to notice. Anyone with any modicum of tarot knowledge would question me."
"I doubt anyone present would know the difference."
"I won't risk it." Her voice was crisp and final, and he recognized it instantly. He used it often with Albus. It said, It's my hide we're risking, so listen. "I'm sure not everyone shares your willing ignorance of the subject."
Divination, true, was something that interested a fair number of witches and wizards, what with its undeniable benefits. He'd always considered those who put stock in such things to be those most impressionable, most afraid, and most pathetic—a view probably influenced by his too-long association of the art with Sibyll Trelawney's doomsday drivel. But the art also interested those most ambitious and most eager to find some short-cut or in-road to power. And that sort would be in high attendance at any Malfoy function. Come to think of it, the majority of the guest list at Narcissa's birthdays was comprised of just such people: impressionable, pathetic, ambitious.
Perhaps the girl had a point there.
"Well, then, how do you propose to get an unguarded moment with the cards? I doubt Lucius will be eager to let them out of his sight."
She was staring at her empty glass as if wiling it to be full once more. "I will think of something. I'd considered asking him for a private moment to use the cards to read for the success of my business venture. Or to read your cards to determine your suitability as a potential partner. It would be quite easy. I would tell him how impressed I was with the deck—rich men love to hear about the singular splendor of their possessions—and then make the request with a careful mixture of deference, coyness, and flirtation. The man's already all but wrapped around my finger."
He leaned back, once more rather impressed with the girl's cool calculation. Unsurprising, he supposed, in any of the Malfoy line. But the girl was turning that to their—to Dumbledore's—advantage. She was beginning to seem quite familiar.
"I noticed that," he grumbled, willing the remnants of tense anger to loosen themselves from his muscles. "What in Circe's name did you say to him to get him to invite you along so adamantly?"
She smirked, a lovely imitation of her recently Disapparated progenitor. "The usual for his sort. He asked me what I was doing with you. He appeared to think me quite mad. I told him I'd met you two weeks ago, in Knockturn Alley, and that you'd clearly been interested in me. I told him this was only our second time to see one another since and that I found you a most—interesting man. That I was chiefly interested in considering independent men, willing to give me my own space and provide a steady income, which your position at Hogwarts does. He seemed quite amused by that and complimented my disinterested pragmatism in matters of romance."
"I'll bet," he mumbled, shifting a little as he imagined the thoughts that must be running through Lucius' slimy brain.
She seemed to note his discomfort but continued nonetheless. "I then told him that matters of romance are quite distinct from matters of marriage, and that you were the sort of man I looked at as I do my business. This pleased him even more as I was careful to insinuate that he was the sort who would not fall into such a 'business' context. I then thanked him for his offers of assistance with the Ministry, flattered him for having such connections, and said that I hoped our acquaintance would continue regardless of my courtship with you. I was sure to tinge the word 'acquaintance' very subtly. He was just beginning to tell me that he approved of my intentions with you and that he would put a word in for me with both you and the Ministry—that's when you came back."
"So, you basically told him you were looking at involvement with me as a business venture, but that you would not be opposed to an awestruck roll in the hay, so to speak, with him?"
"Pretty much."
"And…that worked?" It wasn't that he couldn't believe Lucius could be so easily swayed by the flirtation of a lovely young witch, but Lina Branch was not singularly attractive. And, more than that, he'd have imagined her appeal tainted by her stated interest in the likes of him.
"Of course it worked. While I'm not likely to be a cover girl for Playwizard, I am at least somewhat visually appealing, and, moreover, I'm many years younger than he. There is not a rich older man who is not at least interestedin the idea of a younger woman, even those of us who are not great genetic beauties. What one lacks in beauty one can easily make up for in youth and a sickening amount of flattery. The fact that he thinks himself receiving the amorous attention of a friend's romantic interest only adds to the appeal. Men like that are pitifully easy to manipulate. I hardly even doubt that my passing physical similarity to him sweetened the deal. Such gentlemen are also great narcissists."
So she did notice her Malfoyesque features in her father's face. It was interesting to see them, so similar, almost the same painting—just with different lighting. "And you puzzled all that out this very moment? The similarities might be more than passing with that sort of calculation."
From the fall of her face, he could tell she hadn't taken that as a compliment in any respect. "Perhaps. But, despite what Salazaar Slytherin might have preached, some things are very much the same between the Muggle and the wizarding worlds. Rich, unscrupulous men exist in both and along much the same lines."
She leaned forward, settling her empty glass, upturned, on the table. A tiny amber droplet, undrunk, wended its way down, like a tear on the dull wood. "My question is: if Malfoy comes by every year at this time, why didn't you ever happen to mention the danger? I probably could have called a more abrupt end to this if…" But she let the huff of the effe hang, dripping through the air, winding slowly through the silence like that drop of brandy. It snaked into the shape of a question mark.
It did not take long to realize what she was asking. Intellectually, he could understand the anxiety. Somehow, however, the thought stung. It had been one of the few enjoyable features of the girl's company, at least since they had declared a truce on reliving his past. Since the afternoon they'd shared the bloodwine, she had displayed an almost implicit trust of his motives, never appearing to dither or to question his allegiance as so many did. He'd thought her gift had led her to this certainty, and he was, admittedly, grateful for it.
But now her voice betrayed it, that all too familiar whisper of question—of doubt.
"Yes, it's true, Lucius pops in every year at this time to invite me to Narcissa's birthday soiree and, more importantly, to pick up his own little gift," he said flatly, refusing to begin with any attempt to justify himself to the woman who had just turned the stakes up tenfold without so much as a whaddyathink.
"Lasciviolixir? That's his gift to her?"
She had recognized it. "No, no. His official gift is always something grand and gold that involved the extensive hemorrhaging of Galleons. The Lasciviolixir is his own little gift to himself. His marital bed is usually quite cold, I gather, but on her birthday, he traditionally acquiesces to his husbandly duties. He's never told me the specifics, of course, but I gather he doses himself with it to make the encounter more endurable. That, however, is merely an assumption. I never activate the brew for him; he insists he can get a house-elf to collect the necessary hair. So he could just as easily use it on recalcitrant mistresses for all I know." He shrugged, more than aware of the angry snap in her eyes. She was, no doubt, wondering if her own mother had ever been so dosed. That he could not—and would not—answer. "I assure you that his arrival was genuinely unexpected. I am accustomed to measuring the upcoming event by the impending end of term. I have been a bit distracted from that of recent and I--lost track of time. It flies when one is having fun, haven't you heard?" He gave into himself and refilled his own glass halfway. "Besides, if I'd have planned such an event, I see no reason that you would still be sitting there, smirking in that insufferable way. I imagine you'd have received a far more immediate invitation to Malfoy Manor. Or some other haunt Lucius keeps for business. I'd have thought a Seer would know the truth of such things somewhat beforehand."
"Mmm." She'd sat back, gray eyes trained on his, as if measuring every turn of his countenance against what he said. "The future is not a book to be read. What is to come—many aspects of it—can change. Just as people can change but tend not to. As someone who has changed, your cards are—not entirely clear." She smiled. "But that does not keep me from checking. Often. For good measure."
In other words, he heard her say, I'm watching.
"I see," he answered, glad of the brandy once more. It helped him ignore the insistent irritation of the girl peeking into the most intimate spaces of his life. "Well, if you are convinced of my character—" Her smile stretched, brightening even the ice of her eyes. "And you're intent on going through with this, the event will be at Malfoy Manor next Sunday. I will Side-Apparate you from here. Eight o'clock sharp."
He made sure his tone indicated not only his disapproval but also an insistence on punctuality. There was no point in arguing the case further. They would stay long enough to gauge any chances at success, and he could easily make some excuse for an early departure. At the very least, Lucius would believe him eager to be alone with the supposed object of his attentions. Having witnessed some level of control from the girl, he had some confidence in her ability to not make an absolute idiot of herself. And, if it worked…well, so much the better. It would save him devising some other means of getting her to the deck. She was right; it was clearly her neck she was risking.
So why the hell did he still feel so uncomfortable with the whole thing?
Because, Severus, you're not used to risking anyone's neck but yours…
"I'll look at the cards, if it will put your mind at ease," she sighed. "But I'll tell you this right now. I do not read my father's cards. I never have and never will. –Don't look so shocked."
He had raised both eyebrows almost without thinking. "I merely thought you would be most curious on that count. And since you delved into my past, present, and future with such attention—"
"You are not my father." Somehow, the way she said this made it sound like more than a statement of the obvious. He could almost understand her sentiments without further explanation.
"Let me put it this way," she continued, voice suddenly collapsed into a softer and more serious hum. "You had such a father. Would you want to see the details of his past, of his time with your mother, even the things you never knew? Would you have risked seeing that he will live to be a joyous two-hundred year old, basking in fortune and prosperity all his years? Or would you prefer to think of him as you do: as a monster who will hopefully, one day, meet a very terrible and just fate?"
He did not respond—did not need to. He merely sat, silent, trying very hard not to allow any vision of his father through the walls of his mind.
"Yes, you see, I do not want to risk seeing that Malfoy will never pay for what he did to my mother. I do not want to see what he put her through, the details I was too young to remember. So I will never read his cards. I will try and divine the situation's possible outcomes by reading my own cards—but that is all I can promise."
He breathed deep. There was a quality to her voice that rang. There was something about her at that moment—as she sat, deconstructed into heavy limbs across his sofa, hair half-masking the white expanse of emotionless face—that exhumed a feeling he had long buried. It was respect, but not the usual sort he admitted when she surprised him with some Slytherin maneuver. This was sincere, as if she had expressed something he could absolutely feel, absolutely understand in a way entirely not intellectual.
Sometimes, hope is better than knowledge. Especially when it comes to matters of justice…
His tone gave no hint of this sudden, unseemly quirk of feeling. "Well, then, we shall have to proceed as mere mortals, with caution and precaution. I will consider options for hasty retreat should they prove absolutely necessary."
Somehow, as she looked back at him, however, he knew she'd seen it. Something had flashed across her vision, brief but visible, a reflection of his sincerity staring back. It had passed between them, the ghost of a second's unguarded esteem. A tiny smile danced on her lips.
"As will I," she said, regaining her limbs and standing over him. "By the way, I'm a size twelve, and I look particularly smashing in blues and grays."
He had been prepared to stand and see her out, but this pronouncement threw him. "Pardon?"
"My dress size. I wouldn't want you to have to guess on that sort of thing."
His face must have betrayed his utter confusion because her smile grew so wide her cheeks appeared capable of overtaking her eyes. "For my dress robes. As Malfoy suggested. You needn't go as far as Lady of the Lake. I can't imagine your salary would allow for that. But I'm sure Madam Malkin's carries something fitting enough for the occasion."
He would certainly have interrupted with a barb much earlier had his mind not been overwhelmed with trying to decide what on earth she could have meant by such a statement. By the time he'd realized, she was already making for the door.
"You—can't be serious?" He'd searched for something more cutting, but the quick switch of conversation had thrown him. Weaving like a Slytherin snake…
"I am perfectly serious." She forced her smile down a few inches as if to prove this. "I don't exactly have a reason to own dress robes, and my dear father made it perfectly clear that I am to show up in nothing but. And, since I am hardly in any hurry to put myself out in the wizarding public's eye—"
"Except for waltzing into a den full of ex-Death Eaters?" He had regained his own height over her, muscles snapping tight once more. He could sense another stone dangerously close to piling itself atop his back, and traveling into Diagon Alley to shop for ladies' dress robes was not a task that fell under any agreements he had made with the Headmaster.
"I'm not particularly excited about that dancing with Death Eaters bit either. But I'm doing it because I must. If, however, more and more people see me out on the town, it will prove more and more difficult not to confront awkward questions about my identity. On top of that, I'd rather not run into anyone who, unlike my father, might actually recognize me from my youth." She paused a moment, as if considering something. The smile returned. "And, on top of that—and listen, because this is the part that concerns you—if I have to go myself, I will be forced to tell people what the robes are for. And I might mention who I'm going with and what a snuggly little bear he really is once you get to know him. You might have noticed, I'm rather adept at spinning stories on the spot. But believe me, I'll think up some lovely tidbits to feed the rumor mill. Incidentally, would you prefer to have been wearing black boxers with pink hearts or green boxers with silver snakes when you first regaled me with love sonnets?"
He blinked again—once, twice, three times. She was…taking the piss. Exploiting the moment of solidarity between them, she was trying to push straight through to camaraderie. It was so foreign an occurrence, that it took him several moments not only to recognize it but to summon the requisite venom in his voice as well. "Miss Branch, I suggest—"
"Yes, yes. I'm leaving. Just remember, size twelve, blues and grays. Something low-cut but tasteful."
No, that was definitely not respect he'd felt. He'd deny it all the way to the grave. "Good day, Miss Branch."
But, after he'd slammed the door with all the force he could muster, he couldn't deny the small smile that disrupted the habitually stern arrangement of his face.
A/N: Wow:::rubs her eyes::: Did some actual plot sneak in there? How did that happen?
Thank you to my reviewers. It is fabulous to know that someone (outside of myself, and the woefully-underpraised beta, Whitehound) is actually reading this.
I am sorry to burst your bubble, wynnleaf, but there is no true plot-twisty significance in Snape noting that Lina is a lot like Dumbledore. If anything, I think, it's just something that helps Snape understand Lina and even (but don't tell him I told you this) enjoy her company at times. The same significance, in a way, of his repeatedly noting that she reminds him of himself…
Although I'll admit, when you said that, I thought, Ooo, that would be a lovely twist. I spent about fifteen minutes trying to see if I could work that angle... but gave up. Oh, to have the imagination of my readers!
I hope this chapter makes up for that "cliffie" I inflicted upon you. Next chapter, a very brief moment back in the "present…"