Severus Snape could not have been in a fouler mood, but that, as most of his students would have confirmed, was nothing different from usual.

The potion master was a man in his fourties, not badly built, although no quidditch player, who knew how to take care of yourself about as well as a troll, which his subsequent best friend Lucius Malfoy would have told him if he'd been anyone else but Severus Snape.

However he was not, and to every enquiry that came his way Lucius responded that Severus was indeed his very best friend, and a terrifying person, as ill-humoured as his nose was crooked, and that Lucius had a wife and a son to take care of, and therefore was not willing to die just yet.

As of now, Severus being even more ill-humored than usual, and sadly on school duty, which didn't allow Lucius to pour him a drink that would have soothed his unyielding character, both Malfoys, father and son, stood very proudly, very neatly, very per fectly…very silently! In front of a lovely victorian house, that was really just small enough not to be a manor, but still had to have at least twenty rooms. They exchanged uniformingly mercury look as Severus stiffly rang the doorbell. A young man of about twenty, with blond hair that almost managed to unsettle them as they had at once a very strange feeling to be in front of another Malfoy opened the door, and eyes them with a blink. He was a very handsome bloke, and, soon as the shock of their clothes had passed smiled becomingly:

"Why 'Ello!"

"Good morning," said Snape stiffly.

"And a fine one it is indeed," said the man, looking like he was about to laugh at him.

"I am professor Snape," said Severus with obvious bad grace, "I teach potions at Hogwarts."

The young man nodded:

"Come in then."

None one them noticed that the name spelled out on the bell wasn't Dursley.

The house was spacious and comfortable enough that Lucius didn't have to force himself to compliment on it, and the boy smiled.

"Gwen inherited it from quite a few generation, noblety of arms she is, a century ago, people would have been piling up in a parlour trying to get an audience with her and called her her ladyship."

Severus rolled his eyes at his friend's nod of self-importance –nobles and their ancient blood and generations, wasn't it the stupidest thing that Petunia Evans of all people had married a noble, he wouldn't have thought even a pit bull to have wanted her. He looked around, all types of magazines were scattered across the table. And a row of shoes were settled against the kitchen wall under the radiator, they were all of extremely good quality, and…there were ten pairs of them.

"Oh, god, it's like a wealthier version of the Weasleys."

Lucius, who had followed his look just grinned:

"I like their hair much better."

"Yeah, you would."

"Would you like some tea? Frances?"

"Yes, sir?"

A young girl of sixteen with dark olive skin and a round becoming face showed at the door in a neat grey skirt, perfect, almost luminescent white, loosely buttoned shirt, and gorgeous although terrifying looking high heel shoes.

"May we have some tea?" he turned back to them: "What would please you? Fauchon? Earl grey?"

Lucius, , who had never tasted muggle tea in his life, assured courteously that anything would do. And Severus nodded briskly in acquiescence. The young man shrugged:

"Very well, then. Fauchon, if you will Fran."

"Yes, sir."

"And can you call upstairs and mention that the Hogwart's…" He eyes them a second, trying to figure out what they were, then shrugged again "…committee has arrived."

She smiled brightly as she went out:

"They will be thrilled, sir!"

Severus had almost expected her to curtsy.

"Well, then," said the young man,"isn't this going to be thrilling!"