The Dark Lord returns.
Let the Games Begin
"Lucius, please tell me you were not involved in that- debacle…" Severus sounded peevish even over the Floo. Lucius tried to stifle a dry laugh. Indeed, what had he been thinking? He had gone to the Quidditch Cup finals with his family and somehow ended up sharing bottles of whiskey in Yaxley's tent with other associates from the First War who had escaped imprisonment. They had bemoaned how filthy Muggles and mudbloods were ruining their society and need to be put in their place. Was it his idea to remind the attendees of their late Master's power?
House elves were dispatched to retrieve the masks and robes long shut away in attics and closets. Then they had gone on their little rampage through the campsite. Someone had summoned the Muggle family who owned the land for some old-fashioned Muggle torture, just like old times.
No one knew who cast the Dark Mark into the sky. That was when everything went to pieces. Lucius supposed he owed Cissy for his narrow escape. He was no longer a young wizard and likely more than a little drunk. She had Side-along Apparated him back to their tent, transfigured their robes into nightclothes and climbed atop of him in bed – minutes before some Aurors burst into the tent to evacuate them. Cissy was able to convince them that they had been in their bedroom all this while unaware half the campsite was burning.
It had been a scare when they realized Draco was missing from their tent. The foolish boy had ventured outside to watch the riot when he saw his mother was gone as well. They sent Lido out to fetch him. He could have been hurt or worse in the chaos. Cissy had clung to both husband and son in the aftermath, fearful Lucius' part in the riot would be found out.
By some colossal stroke of luck and Ministerial incompetence, there were no arrests.
No fan of Quidditch, Snape had been away in Ireland collecting potion ingredients when the news of the riot reached him. He had called the Malfoys as soon as he got home to his Floo.
Who had cast the Dark Mark? Lucius rubbed his forearm. The Mark there was itching. He had discreetly asked about but none of the others admitted to it. Only a Death Eater would know the incantation… Had there been another Death Eater in attendance they were unaware of?
Igor Karkaroff was as insufferable as ever. How he ended up as Durmstrang's headmaster probably involved bags of gold changing hands and some high-level nepotism. The French headmistress… well, she was a large woman. He cringed at the incongruity of Flitwick standing beside her. Poor man did not even come up to her knee.
Draco was excited about the tournament and Snape wished his godson would just settle. He was too young to compete. The entire student body was hyped up by the stupid Triwizard Tournament. No one was concentrating in class. Snape thought grimly that he might as well call off all Potions for the year if this kept up. It was amusing to watch the students try bypassing the Age Line. Dunderheads – the lot of them. He forbade Draco from any attempt to try entering his name into the goblet.
Did not stop Draco from getting into trouble. The crazy ex-Auror Moody Dumbledore had hired for the DADA post transfigured his godson into a ferret and bounced him about the Great Hall. A dishevelled and pink-faced Draco limped into his classroom after his third year Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw class complaining his butt hurt. A cracked tailbone. Poppy had Draco spend the night on his front so the potion for fixing his tailbone could settle in.
It figured that it would be James' son who would bypass the safeguards on Halloween. There was nothing Dumbledore could do – magically binding contract and such. Harry Potter must compete against his more experienced fellows. Snape decided he really hated Halloween.
With two Hogwarts Champions courtesy of a clearly Confounded Goblet, the students were split into two camps – Team Cedric and Team Harry. Figured that Draco would be passing out Potter Sucks badges in class. Dragons. Potter managed to survive the first task by the skin of his teeth.
The very idea of the Yule Ball made Snape feel like ripping out his hair in a mix of frustration and boredom. Watching both Potter and Draco's clumsy antics about their dates went only so far while he waited to speak with Headmaster Dumbledore. Potter's date looked as if she regretted her decision after his disastrous attempts to waltz and Draco was trying to shake off Parkinson by the second dance. The girl had the tenacity of a bulldog. At the earliest chance, Snape hastened back to his quarters for a shot of Ogden's Finest.
Lucius floo-called his old friend when Snape was fetching his bottle of whiskey to toast the coming new year.
"Severus, your Mark… is it any darker?" Lucius asked.
"It does appear so…" Severus replied stoically. Igor had asked the same earlier. Karkaroff was a marked man in more ways than one. He had good reason to be fearful.
"If he should return…" There was the slightest waver to Lucius' voice.
"When he returns, we will deal with it then," the potions master waved him off non-committedly. If you are wise, Lucius, answer when he Calls. Grovel, beg if you must. Survive. Snape did not know if he would be able to escape Dumbledore's eagle-eyed notice to respond to any Call. He would need to talk to the headmaster in private… He had no idea how Voldemort would view their failure to seek him out after his alleged death more than a decade back.
The shot of whiskey failed to calm him. Snape walked over to the potions supplies cupboard and started his monthly stocktaking early. What happened to the gillyweed? Snape frowned. The wards were intact. No student had broken into his inner sanctum. Could he had been mistaken? He searched the other shelves. No gillyweed. He would need to get some from the dinky apothecary in Hogsmeade for Monday's seventh year Advanced potions class. Veritaserum. Snape's eyes fell on the vials sandwiched between the Dreamless Sleep and bezoars.
Snape had an inkling what became of his missing gillyweed when the venue of the Second Task was announced as the Black Lake. Once more, Show-off Potter had to go saving the day when there was no need to. Oh, he loathed that brat.
The third task was idiotically dangerous – who put Hagrid in charge of providing the beasts for the maze? It would be dumb luck if no one got injured by those fire-crab manticore crossbreeds. No one expected the Ministry to actually approve that breeding program. At least it gave the half-giant something to do for his lessons instead leaving his students to get mauled by threstals or whatever horror-beasts he had in the Forest.
No one was expecting anything to go that wrong – well, except Severus Snape.
His Mark had been burning shortly after the task started. Karkaroff had bolted. The Potions Master saw the headmaster flee for the Lake and the Durmstrang Ship after his Champion entered the maze. Snape did not stop him. Igor was a dead man walking. The Dark Lord and the Death Eaters he sent to Azkaban would never forgive his betrayal.
What was taking them so long? Viktor Krum has been removed from the Maze shortly after Fleur Delacour. Both had been Stunned. Poppy was waving her wand over Krum dispelling some lingering Dark influences. Someone had Imperio-ed the young wizard. There was no sign of both Hogwarts Champions. There was an uneasy murmuring in the crowd. His Mark was burning. He could not deny it. Their Master was Calling. Should he go or stay on as his spy in Dumbledore's circle?
The choice was taken from him when the pop of a Portkey sounded. The two missing champions appeared on the ground before the Maze. Potter was in hysterics and Diggory was dead. Snape's heart sank. Someone had brought their Master back.
Minister Fudge was a dunderhead. Snape allowed himself the slightest frown as that pompous windbag waffled and denied the proof before his eyes of the Dark Lord's return. Then there was that sorry business with the Crouch father and son. Snape had thought the Durmstrang boy and Potter were smoking some contraband behind their teachers' backs to come up with that wild tale about Barty Crouch Senior. Of course, the fool minister had no control over his Dementor guard and the last of the Crouch line got Kissed.
Turning up to the Call had not saved him from a Crucio after all. Lucius Malfoy shuddered at the memory. At least he did not disgrace himself before that Potter brat. Only his wife was there to witness him writhing in a puddle of his own filth on the drawing room floor, and that rat-faced swine. His Master was furious over the loss of the diary. Cissy was terrified when he returned with their guests, but she hid it well. She was to play hostess to their master – an honour, and she must show it so. Draco, what of him? Should they send him to France? Or have him throw himself on Dumbledore's dubious mercies as Snape had done back after the First Wizarding War? Seek shelter with a neutral wizarding household? It was too late. The boy would return home on the Hogwarts Express soon.
Snape had turned up at the Manor much later that night, full of apologies. His friend slipped Cissy some nerve tonic at the door for Lucius before he stepped in to pay obeisance to their master. He been Crucio-ed as well for his tardiness. Severus still had his uses, enough for their Lord to not reduce him into a whimpering puddle or feed him to his snake.
Lucius had seen him afterwards when Cissy brought him into their bedroom to tend to her husband. Pale and shaking so badly that Cissy had to pour the dose of nerve tonic down his throat for him lest Severus dropped the vial. Cissy was not pleased in the least about having to host the wizard who had just tortured her husband and her son's godfather. Yet Narcissa Malfoy would hold her peace as any pureblood wife should. Lucius' gut twisted. It was his fault they were in this mess. Draco and Narcissa were hostages to guard against any rebellion on his part and his continued cooperation. The Malfoy coffers would bribe the lackeys of the Ministry, just as they had in the First Wizarding War.
Lucius knew the Malfoys were in disgrace with their master thanks to his action. Snape could not protect Draco without risking his standing with the Dark Lord. It would be a miracle if Severus continued his alliance with them, even for Draco's sake, no matter how fond he was of the boy.
"L-Lucius, m-move your fingers…"
He could barely feel his hands. He whimpered as Severus rubbed his hands and fingers. The aftershocks of the Crucio were still running through his muscles and bones. Cissy had the house elves Apparate him into his bedroom and change him out of his soiled robes into his pyjamas. The nerve tonic worked best if administered within an hour of the Crucio. It had been two hours since his ordeal. Snape's punishment had been lighter compared to his. Or perhaps Voldemort had grown bored or was still unused to his new body.
"The r-red phial, please," Snape instructed. His wife fished out the phial from Snape's potions bag. This was a stronger tonic with a pain reliever. Snape dropped two drops on Lucius' tongue. His hands were steady enough now even though his voice was not. All that remained was rest and time for the shakes to leave him. He had faith in Severus' potions.
A stronger wizard might have risked his own life to protect his family by snapping the formidable Manor wards shut against the monster. Lucius Malfoy was not that wizard. He had literally invited that creature into his ancestral seat. Lucius stared at his still-twitching hands. Severus but collapsed next to him on the four-poster bed after administering that dose of Nerve Regenerator. His breath tickled Lucius' left ear. Narcissa hesitated a moment before discarding all decorum to crawl up against her husband's other side, still wearing her day-robes. She placed a hand on his forearm, the one without the Mark.
We're doomed. Lucius met Snape's eyes. His friend's flinty black eyes narrowed. Legilimency, or perhaps his thoughts were plain on his face for all to see in his vulnerable state. Snape waved his wand wordlessly, casting a Muffling charm enclosing them against any eavesdroppers. Wordless magic was a skill his friend had honed over the years.
"Pull yourself together, man…" Severus hissed. "We will get through this…" A work-roughened hand gripped his firmly.
"We must. Draco must…" Narcissa interjected. A sliver of steel belaying her words. Her son was her life, their life. The hapless child was likely partaking of the final days of the school year before hopping on the train like a clueless lamb to slaughter. There was nowhere he could seek refuge.
Right, his wife and child needed him. Severus could sink or swim on his own, Lucius thought unkindly. It would be too easy for him to cast his lot with the Order given how he had cultivated his place by Dumbledore's side all these years.
"Do you think me a turncoat, Luc? That I would turn my back on you and yours? Just as Pettigrew did to the Potters? After all the times I have supped at your table and slept under your roof?" There was a slightest bite of sorrow in Snape's voice.
Lucius shook his head. His voice had deserted him. He had to believe that they still had a friend in Severus. The trio hovered between wakefulness and restless slumber. Sleep did not come to Lucius. At some point, Cissy's exhaustion won out and she slumbered with her head pillowed on his shoulder. Sometimes she would murmur unintelligibly as if in the throes of a nightmare. Severus might not have slept a wink despite having his eyes closed. There was something too controlled about his stillness and measured breathing, as if he had gone deep into meditation to better cope with the aftermath of the Crucios. Lucius envied his friend's impeccable ability to maintain his composure under the most trying of circumstances.
It would take almost until dawn before Snape trusted his body enough to Floo back to Hogwarts. Lord Voldemort was back, and everything had changed. The War had started with the death of a young Hufflepuff as a shot across the Order's bow.