Notes played in the back of his mind. The faint vibration of chords - piano chords, and vocal ones, recorded and buzzed through the speaker of an old, dusty radio, years ago...
It worked. Yes, of course. Scientifically, there was no reason it wouldn't. He hadn't fallen asleep this time, though. Was his body developing some sort of resistance? That couldn't be good, but possible, as with any substance. He had been staring at the ceiling for half of the night. There was a conjunction of three cracks right above him. Whenever it rained, he wondered if the ceiling would hold one more time, or if he would be woken up by cold water dripping. At times, he thought it moved. That's when he'd frown, close his eyes tightly for a few moments, and ground himself into reality again. Staring at something for too long could have that effect, nothing to worry about, he wasn't losing his mind just yet. Not yet.
A distant tapping drew his attention for a moment. It repeated itself again a few seconds later, and then again, and again - this time louder.
The man had decided that he should move the first time, but his body didn't even tense up until the fourth series of knocks. Slowly, he dragged his feet out of the room and down the stairs. The house was cold, the stairs moaned under his weight, and the railway moved. It won't help him the slightest should he need it - it was only there for the sake of existing.
The guest looked right and left, and back over his shoulder. Water was pouring over his umbrella, and from there, helped by a second of not paying attention, straight over his pant leg and through the sock into his shoe. The man immediately straightened his posture and clicked his tongue at the umbrella he was holding. He knocked again.
At last, the door opened. He nearly pushed his way inside, rushing to close the umbrella on the threshold.
"What took so long?" he sighed as he hung his coat, hat, and umbrella. He quickly pulled his gloves off.
The host sighed as well, moving into the narrow hallway to make space. "What is the occasion?"
"I sent you an owl two hours ago." Lucius ran his hand through his hair. He wasn't the fondest of hats, but he decided to wear one in order to conceal his identity.
Severus checked the pendulum clock. "You sent me an owl at four in the morning?"
Taken aback, Lucius studied him for a moment. "...Were you sleeping?"
His friend looked away. "That's... not important. I didn't hear it."
"That's the problem," Lucius walked into the living room and moved a book from an armchair so he could sit. He shifted, trying to find comfort. "The owl returned without it. Severus, I can't risk somebody else reading those, do you understand? For little under two hours, this has been standing on your doorstep, out for the taking."
The wizard looked at the soaked envelope with ink seeping through. Who would come down to his house to read a letter that's been standing in the rain, at four in the morning? Biting his tongue, he looked around the room, thinking of what he could do to break the tension.
"It won't happen again. I suppose you want tea?"
"I haven't got the chance to drink any today, so yes."
As Severus moved into the kitchen, Lucius stood to follow.
"Have you made any progress? The last time we spoke, you said you were close. Did you find anything?"
As he filled the pot with water, Severus gestured towards the kitchen table. He didn't like to be in a small space with someone, especially not in that house.
"We were able to narrow it down to one place. Unfortunately, we ran out of time."
Lucius dragged out a chair over the tiles and sat down. "You ran out of time...? How? Why?!"
"Do I need to remind you that Siberius was freed from Azkaban? We couldn't search his office."
"You told me you would!"
"Annelyse couldn't break through the protective spells on her own. A visit was scheduled, but Siberius returned two days prior. After that, we had to attend the meetings... and I couldn't write to her anymore because that swine won't allow her to receive correspondence."
A brief moment of silence fell over the two. "...I can't throw him in Azkaban again!"
"I know." Severus made the tea and set it aside to infuse. "The evidence must be in his home office. You said you searched his office at the Ministry?"
"Thoroughly. There is nothing there related to Evan. It's almost like he wanted to erase his son from existence... I also went over the files personally - the one on Yvette's disappearance, and the one on Evan Rosier's death."
"Both should have been murder investigations," Severus said.
"I can't have them reopened without definitive proof. Alastor Moody can't be questioned again, either. I've gone over his reports a few times. It is written in his handwriting, but the style is rather different. I'd say somebody dictated the reports to him. I- we need something like a confession, or a document, a letter, something authentic and written that can be used as evidence in a trial."
"Maybe if he got drunk enough...?" Severus suggested, only for his friend to shake his head.
"I already tried that. He... vomited on the portrait of my grandfather, and he knocked over a vase gifted to my father by the Chinese Ministry of Magic... Narcissa and I agreed he is never going to drink alcohol inside our Mannor again."
A small smile tugged at his lips. "Narcissa suggested the interdiction...?" the professor asked, already knowing the answer.
"Naturally," the blond sighed. "We need access to his office. I think I am going to provoke him again. He will admit it out of arrogance and spite, like last time."
Severus took a moment to imagine the interaction. "You will need an audience for this, and there are several... less than predictable individuals."
"Of course, but once I throw in the misogynistic comments, it becomes rather predictable."
"If she believes it. He is generally a good actor when it is in his interest," Severus sighed. He had seen Siberius acting like a gentleman to so many women - none of his age.
Lucius turned his head towards the window, staring blankly at the rain for a few moments. "You may be right..."
Severus stood to bring and pour the tea. It was much too early for such topics, but rest hasn't been an option before, either. Surely he could push through one last time; sleep early tonight. Voldemort had to fall for good. He was more dangerous than before and the stakes were higher, too.
A few rose-scented candles flickered, casting trembling shadows over the ornate wallpaper, the heavy curtains, and the bookshelf that was filled to the brim with books about easy women following a man into marriage, leaving their identity behind to birth children, handwash underwear, make food they sometimes didn't get to eat...
Sat on the bench by the window, Anna tried to write a letter to Theodore, the only kind of correspondence she might be allowed. She had crumpled up several sheets with "Dear Theodore", "To Theodore", "My dear", and other similar phrases she couldn't use without feeling sick. She stuffed the crumpled paper in a small space between her seat and the wall, then leaned with her temple against the glass. It has been pouring down for hours.
The door slammed open and the room was flooded with light. Gasping, Annelyse covered her face. Her quill fell, staining her dress, and the ink bottle spilled on the ground.
"Who gave you the right to make arrangements behind my back?!" the little man stomped into the room. "You made me look like a fool! In front of everyone! In front of the Dark Lord!"
A second figure rushed in to take the wand from Siberius. "Nobody thought that."
"Sure they did!" the wizard protected his wand, "Did you see the way Malfoy stared me down? Bloody Malfoy! That insolent brat! Is he the one who put you up to this? That arrogant prick is good friends with Nott Junior, isn't he? Did you all conspire against me?!"
Quiet and still tense, Anna peeked between her fingers. Balthazar Blackwood, a man she considered to be the same as her father, was now standing in his way. Affection was not part of his vocabulary, so there had to be another reason. Money? A good impression? Was he trying to impress her? The Nott family had power and money... Maybe he thought he could get to that through her, or through Theodore.
"That's all in your mind."
"Are you calling me mental now?!"
"No, not at all. It's just... been too sudden. Come on, we'll drink some whiskey, think it through. It's not a bad choice, essentially."
Siberius slapped his friend's arm off his shoulder. "Don't tell me what to do! This is the Black scandal all over again!"
Balthazar threw Anna a small smile over his shoulder. "Except I am not a LeStrange. It doesn't compare."
"People will say I'm weak!"
"People will say that you have educated your family to follow the traditional values. I am not part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, after all. We can still manage together. I haven't got the time to tell you, I ordered a new wand for you when I heard you had been let out."
Still angry, Siberius let himself be led into the corridor, past the portraits of his ancestors. "More powerful than this, I hope," he showed the wand that Anna had been using during the school year.
"Much more powerful, imported from the States. I have a friend, who knows someone, who works with another..."
Anna sighed. She went to close the door, her only barrier between two worlds, one she couldn't lock, one that brought pain every time it opened. It wasn't like she had anything better to do, so she began cleaning the spilled ink from the floor with napkins. Once the excess was absorbed and flushed down the toilet, she returned with a wet towel. The unmistakable smell of ink... She looked at her hands, stained a dark blue, fighting the tears threatening to surface.
She was on her knees, on the wooden floor, cleaning ink stains with a rag, like a muggle, like a servant... She wasn't any better, not without a wand. She was capable of wandless magic, but she didn't want her father to know. She could tell an elf to do it, but it made her sick. The room was so alike to the one she had at Hogwarts, but it was all superficial. She hated the books on the shelves. She hated the tacky black velvet curtains. She hated the wooden floors, now stained blue. She hated the splinter in her knuckle. She hated the ink on her hands that reminded her of his office. She hated being there, with her father, with Balthazar, always half a breath from Crucio, always acting properly.
The girl went to the bathroom to take out the splinter with a pair of tweezers and run her hands under cold water until the pain went away. There was a shrunk bottle of Sleeping Draught behind the fake back of her nightstand... And another one next to it, and another one next to that...
Theodore,
I can't live here.
Could I live-
No. She couldn't send him that. No, not after the kind of discussion they've had. Theodore felt nothing for her, and it was all for the best in this kind of arrangement. That also meant she couldn't complain to him. No... Her father won't have time to torment Severus with letters full of insults and threats. At least, she had achieved that. For everything else...
As soon as she downed the potion, she shrunk the bottle and hid it back. She had exactly forty-one seconds before her eyes would begin to close, her mind would slow down, and her arms would fall numb, clumsy, and unable to put back everything as it was.
A pungent scent woke her up. Ammonia? Was that it?
As Anna shifted away from its source and struggled to open her eyes, she could see a shadow over her.
"Perfectly fine, see?" a young man corked the bottle and put it back into his suitcase, which was resting on the bedside table. "Write that down, Brennon."
Confusion took over her as she noticed a few other people in her room. Beside her was the old doctor her family called in every time, only he had brought along a boy this time who was struggling to write on a floating notebook. Anna found herself contemplating his image before she could fight it. Tall, pale, slender, with dark eyes and hair falling just over his shoulders.
"Yes, sir, noted," he declared as he was still writing.
Osborne and Theodore Nott were at the foot of her bed. Her father was in the doorway. Balthazar Blackwood was behind him, looking inside thanks to their difference in height. Her mother was nowhere in sight. The thought that she might have cried or expressed her worry in any form crossed her mind. Siberius didn't like that.
"Well, gentlemen, our work here is done," the doctor sighed as he straightened his posture and picked up his suitcase. "Good day," he nodded towards the blondes. He was going to negotiate the payment with Siberius in a different room.
As soon as they were left alone, Theodore huffed. "What were you trying to do?"
Anna looked from one to the other. "Nothing..."
"What did you take?!" Theodore insisted. "Do you have any idea how long it's been? You've been out for a week!"
The head of the family placed a hand on his son's arm. "Enough, Theodore." He could see that his words were sinking in faster than she could react. "Miss Rosier, I think it'd be better if you took things a bit slower today. I had spoken to your father-"
"As if that's gonna do anything!" Theodore crossed his arms over his chest before going to spread himself on an armchair that Anna barely ever used.
"It will do this time. I intended for us to have this talk in a different setting, but given the circumstances... Miss Rosier, did you agree to what my son asked of you?"
"To... marry him, correct?" She saw the man nodding. "If you would take me, sir."
The man and his son communicated through glances and raised eyebrows in complete silence. "You have my blessing, on one condition."
The word was enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck tremble.
"Yes, sir?"
"Once you can stand, you will be moving into a suite in the Nott Manor. This change will be permanent."
Anna looked at Theodore. He had picked up a half-burned candle in an ornate glass and was looking at it without much interest. "If you don't, I may not have anyone to marry. I don't even think this is a condition - it's an opportunity, really. What do you have to lose?"
My mother, she wanted to say but refrained. "I have no wand..."
"Yes, you do," the boy took out her wand from his sleeve. "Your father got a new one, some exotic wand from... where was it?" he looked at his father.
The man sighed in annoyance. "The Arkansas State. Supposedly, he bought one with the core made out of a White River Monster's spike."
Author's note:
I've changed the rating to T for now. There will be a few more chapters before anything really M.
Anyway, let me know what you think!