On the outside Severus knew he should be, well not happy, as he never was, but more amenable when the summer rolled round. He detested September through July due to having the small vampires he called students surrounding him, so in theory the summer time should be his preferred time of year. If was, after all, the only school holiday he was guaranteed to have not have a student stay back who needed to be watched. But Serverus, as was his wont, did not prefer it.
He in fact preferred the autumn; when the light was not so harsh as to blind him like the summer sun, from being in the darkness of the dungeons for the majority of his life. It was warmer than the dead of winter when the chill seeped into the castle's stone walls, and crept into his long abused joints. It didn't help that everyone was so...cheerful, in the winter, what with all the festivities. The spring just stank of melting snow, and flowers. The autumn at least was not so sunny, not so cold and not so linked to frivolity. Shame it was also the time of year that a new school year began interminably.
For the other holidays Serverus remained at the school, not even on Yule did he leave the grounds to visit non existent friends or family, though he longed for the silence. He stayed, so those who should could leave.
As such, the summer was the only time when he should have called his. Time to collect periodicals he had missed on his interests - as much as people may attribute to him, Potions wasn't the only thing he liked. He should have been able to sit in his poncy run down house in Manchester, beside a groaning electric fire as he sipped from some form of spirit. (Dumbledore always enjoyed his joke that it was the only spirit inside him; then immediately recanted due to feeling guilty). But no, even then his time was called on by others: sometimes Dumbledore for a 'catch-up', Slughorn for his numerous attempts at a response to his letters so that he can introduce him to others (who else in the Potion industry did he think he could throw at him?), and, of course, the Malfoys.
As a young boy he had idolised the younger Lucius, relishing in every moment of his pedantic tutelage, treasuring every spare scrap of unwanted silk. As a young man he was grateful and indebted to him for welcoming him into the Circle, and being his sponsor for his introduction to Him. Now, he had a muted fondness for what had been, with the added taste of regret and malice for getting him stuck in this neverending fucking nightmare.
With Narcissa it was different however. She hadn't been a key person in his schoolhood days; a periphery girl hanging on the name of her Family, royalty in all but name. As he became more entrenched with her betrothed, and then husband, she stepped more into his awareness (or, more correctly, he came to hers). At first, she was politely amused at the scrawny Half Blood playing at Pureblood, which developed in cordial acquaintances as the realisation of him being a permanent fixture showed, and finally, close friend, and somewhat confidant (nobody should have a full confidant; it left a trail).
Although he had started off shadowing Lucius' orbit, he could easily say that his friendship with Narcissa was more worthwhile in its first year, compared to the two decades of hanging on to her husband's coattails. Narcissa took him under wing, showing him how to do the most basic thing, like knowing how to use clothes as an image. How to utilise his voice to its best, even how to fucking walk to his benefit. (No, not like that Severus. What are you, a duckling?) He rather felt like one of those rags to riches princess stories that his students blathered on about.
In time, he became a source of comfort for her, being a silent companion as she raged at Lucius' eye for wandering (along with other parts of his body). She was a Black; no matter the name on the contract, her Family held the power. This then developed to him being the first person she told when she fell pregnant after six years of marriage, terrified that this one would also end prematurely, or worse, die in infancy like Pollux (when would they tell Draco?). The next person had been her sister Bella, who had told her to tell the Dark Lord at once; meaning that Lucius wasn't even the third person aware, more the fourth or fifth.
Narcissa had been his rock for more than a decade, letting him silently and secretly weep when news of Lily's death overwhelmed him, humming lullabies under her breath as she rocked him like a child. Even when she would spout Pureblood rhetoric and fanaticism, he listened. He stayed, so she would never leave.
There had been times over the years when Albus had enquired whether he was in love with her. A question that, for him, made him laugh. He may be a shrivel of a man, but not so bad that he falls for anyone who shows him a scrap of affection. No, his relationship with Narcissa was perhaps more encompassing than romantic love. Familial didn't cover it, and friendship seemed to render it childish. Although, looking at them now, he couldn't help but think as she walked on his arm but appearing as if ignoring him completely, you'd think we'd be mere acquaintances, rendered to being her chaperone for the evening.
They had finally completed a half circuit, after nearly two hours of being at the insipid and smoke laden parlour full of twittering imbeciles throwing their money to the wind. Sometimes literally: there was a two-Sickle act going on in the corner, casting draughts of wind and rain into mini hurricanes.
"You look positively morose, darling." Narcissa murmured as she plucked a crystal flute of champagne off a floating tray.
"I usually do. It's when I'm not when you should be worried." He replied as he cast his eyes about surreptitiously amongst the fatwits surrounding him.
"Hmm. True, but you have the added look of acceptance. Whatever for?"
"What do you think?" He dryly responded, arching an eyebrow at her.
"Oh, a great many things, I imagine. Though tonight could range from accepting that the champagne is dreadful," she sneered at the glass, and tapped a long manicured nail against the crystal as she thought. "Perhaps resigning yourself to seeing old schoolmates. Or worse - students you've once taught."
"Aimed to teach may be a better suggestion."
"Don't interrupt, darling. It's uncouth. Where was I? Ah! Oh, yes, is it the idea that you must remain by my side for the entirety of the evening?" She fluttered her eyelashes at him, while sliding a look at him.
"Don't pout. You look ridiculous." He snipped, making her raise her glass in a salute and hide her smirk. "Besides, it's not you I have an issue with. It's everyone else."
"Flattery gets you everywhere, Severus."
"Not with you it doesn't. Otherwise you wouldn't be so worthwhile to try to get to."
"Oh, darling, you're such a tease." Severus scowled, narrowing his eyes at the young ponce who was quite literally puffing himself up to come over here. He looked like a total dandy - and oh Merlin it's him.
Golden curled locks, strong jaw and glaringly expensive clothes. Severus shuddered minutely, though enough for his companion to notice.
"Who did you see?"
"Lockhart. Over there. Please, for the love of all Magic, not let him come over here." Narcissa's eyes expertly skittered over the man in question, before blithely turning her back on him.
"I'd normally go talk to him to annoy you, but I cannot stand the man. Come, my sweet, let's move on."
She let him steer her away, not quite noticing the flummoxed look on the ignored party's face, although a small upturn on Severus' lips could quite possibly be seen. Through a looking glass. They continued their turn about for a few minutes longer, Narcissa relishing in the moment she dragged out conversation with parlour-only acquaintances, to torture Severus for longer.
"You never told me what was a matter." She said as he helped to put on her cloak as they made their way out into the nighttime city air.
"Hmm?"
"Don't play coy. There was something wrong tonight."
"I don't particularly enjoy the card tables and inane chitchat of the echelons of our society, is all."
"Do you take me for Lucius? I know more than that was on your mind."
Severus sighed inaudibly, running a thousand different responses through his mind at a million miles an hour. All held an element of truth, though none had the choice of the full. Instead he went for simplicity.
"I am...uneasy. After what happened."
"With the Half Blood girl?" At his terse jerk of the head, Narcissa almost frowned. For Severus to be concerned to a degree that it was noticeable - even if to a select few - was, in itself, a worry. "I thought that was all resolved."
"So Dumbledore would have me believe. Have all of us believe."
"But you're not sure?"
He pulled themselves to walk slower, "No. If the Dark Lord had been involved and to the extent you and I have been told, then why would it be over? You and I both know how...tenacious...the Dark Lord can be."
"Have you felt anything?" She may as well have been asking about the weather she sounded so bored. Another thing he admired about her; she could be as good a spy as he. Shame that she's a bigoted snob, he thought fondly.
"No. Though you'd know that as well, I imagine. It would make the rounds."
"Hmm. But those who are in close quarters always feel it at around the same time." She countered smoothly, inclining her head to a couple walking passed them. They continued on in silence, not even Narcissa's heels clicking on the cobblestones, merely a soft swish of fabric as their cloaks and her gown brushed the ground.
"Draco has been telling me of Miss Potter." She said as they made the turn to the street of the hotel, nearly making Severus stumble.
"Riveting."
Narcissa pinched his arm. "Oh, hush. I want to know about her, is all."
"If Draco has been telling you, then listening may be a good start then."
"Don't be glib. You know what I'm asking." She snipped, narrowing her eyes at him as they stepped into the overly bright marble and gold foyer.
"I really don't think I do." He sighed, cracking his neck (much to the disgust of the old couple waiting for the lift).
"Oh I can't find my key! Hold this will you, dove?" She passed him her gloves while she made a show of going through her clutch, waving off the couple when they offered to hold it.
"I'm surprised you let them go first."
"They'd have just got on regardless if I went." She sniffed.
"Don't they know who you are?" He asked deadpan.
"Likely not. They are starting to welcome all sorts here now. I really must find a new hotel, but..."
"Memories."
Narcissa looked up at him and smiled sadly. "Memories." Clearing her throat she smiled slyly, "but come now, we were discussing Miss Potter."
"Draco was. And you weren't listening." They stepped into the lift, not having to even tell the boy what floor before they shot off smoothly, recognising Lady Black-Malfoy on sight. As he turned to look at her he rolled his eyes at the faux innocent expression. And then glared at the slack jawed moron who gormlessly stared at her too.
"Narcissa, you're breaking the staff again." Severus drawled, making her chuckle lowly and the man shake himself back, and turn the lift on.
"And what are you going to do the rest of this evening? Plot the mass misery of the students in the coming year?"
Severus rolled his eyes. "Hardly. You know I try to forget my sentence as much as possible. No. Tonight I have...plans."
"Anything exciting?" Narcissa asked as they stepped out and on to her floor, curious that her lonesome friend was turning in later than she for a change.
"My presence has been requested." He said simply, though it was enough for her eyes to sharpen on him, and see what he wasn't saying.
"Just you?" She asked quietly, running a hand over the door of her room. At his nod, she sighed. "Be careful, Severus."
"I always am." He bowed, staying long enough for her to shut the door before he spun and walked to the staircase; he always avoided lifts as much as possible, he felt like he could barely breathe.
Once he was back out on to the street, he spun on his heel to Apparate to the designated venue for tonight. Once at the door, and a sharp knock along with the cliche phrase of "Esse purum est esse digum", he was granted entrance to the Sanctum.
The venues changed every night, as is the usual for dramatic and clandestine groups, and yet the decor was always the same. Reams of silk and velvet studded with pearls and diamonds adorned the walls, the chandeliers holding the most expensive candles on the market; Mooncalf tallow.
Tonight the furniture was less reminiscent of a bistro, but one of a Victorian gentleman's club. Puffed up leather armchairs were arranged in semi-circles, dainty wooden tables strategically placed. A fire blazed in the grate - though Charmed to be heatless. And, of course, only the most important were permitted to sit on the chesterfield suite. And as usual, that was where he was headed.
Eyes followed him as he stalked towards the silhouette of the man stretched out on the sofa, a cloud of smoke languidly twirling in the air. The light of the fire and glow of the cigar lighting up his features as if it was one of those old films that used to run on the telly, ones where Humphrey Bogart or someone would stake out the gangster.
Severus was aware of his appearance; he wasn't attractive by conventional means, however the baritone of his voice, his self awareness (thank you Narcissa) and his intellect did draw in people. There had been more than a few times when he had found himself a partner for a night at one of the soirees he had just attended with Narcissa. Though, in his youth, it may have been more the allure of him being forbidden by their parents, which had him so lucky. Now, people knew his name, his standing in the wider community and his reputation in the Circle. Ironically, his less than stellar Blood Purity was almost a nonexistent issue; he had surpassed it. Which just showed how moronic the whole idea was; show them enough power and prestige and they'd begrudgingly respect a downtrodden and dirty Half Blood.
Well, Severus thought to himself as he reached the reclining man, it had already been done, and this is the result.
As he moved to the eyeline of the smoking man, he took in his features. Wavy chestnut hair parted to the side framed his elegant face, his cold blue eyes framed by long lashes, and his face free of blemish and facial hair. He could have been fifteen or fifty. The suit fit him perfectly, enough room that he could lounge, his outer robes carelessly worn, yet fussily used to show who he was. After all, only a select few could afford fairy silk, woven by Creatures at the behest of a Wizard.
"You're late." He said, looking at him as he tilted his head to take another drag. Severus knew he wasn't, the man was just a fucking pedantic ponce.
He of course didn't say this, no matter how much he wanted; and he ensured his face didn't either. There was a reason why he scowled so much in general, his thoughts were so often derogatory to others, that a constant scowl was more achievable than a constant straight face.
"My apologies. I was with Narcissa."
Although the other didn't roll his eyes (too plebeian), he gave the feeling all the same as he waved him into one of the other chairs. He must have been feeling magnanimous for a change, which Severus was glad for. He had been awake for nearly twenty four hours due to Narcissa's own insomnia, especial when parted with Draco, and she could while away the day and night without complaint. He still didn't know how after all these years. After an hour he was done with anything, everyone was just so fucking idiotic.
They lapsed into silence, Severus covertly watching the other patrons, seeing their jealous looks shot at him, while the other gazed on at the fire, absently twirling the smoke with his hand. When he first met him, Severus thought it was an act, showing his skill and power with wandless and silent magic. Turned out, he just had a mindless tick for when he was thinking. Which was even more bloody astounding, that he could do so without a strain.
"How were the tables?" He finally broke the silence, slanting his eyes to look at the Potions Master.
"Mind numbingly dull." He honestly replied, making his companion chuckle lowly. "Not overly useful or informative; everyone was completely bladdered in one form or another. But there were a few things gained."
"I suppose that will have to be good enough. It'd be disappointing if you had neglected in being somewhat useful." He taunted around a mouthful of smoke. "And you'd hate to disappoint me, wouldn't you Severus?"
Not particularly, you fatuous prick, he thought acidly in reply. "As you say." At the twitch of a raised eyebrow he unwillingly added, "my lord."
"Hmm. Better. Now, tell me what you found out."
"Amongst the inane chatter of imbeciles, there were hushed conversations on whether He was returning. The events at Hogwarts seems to have...spooked them, for lack of a better word."
The man huffed a laugh through his nose. "Of course it has. They may spout the rhetoric and praise Him, but in the end they were quick to turn their backs at the turn of the tide." He slanted his eyes at Severus, taking in his stiff posture and bowed head. "But not you, Severus. The ever dutiful spy."
"I live to serve, my lord."
He smiled, baring his teeth. "Yes but to whom? Us, or Dumbledore?"
Severus barely blinked before smoothly replying in his usual monotone drawl. "Both, as a successful spy must."
He laughed loudly, drawing eyes to their coveted spot. "A diplomatic reply if I ever heard one." He flicked the remains of his cigar into the fire, watching it crumble. "What do they say?" He asked after a few minutes of drawn out silence.
"Mainly whispers of His return. Disbelief that a mere child circumvented the goal." He said blandly, with a well established sneer on his face. "They seem to be of the opinion that it wasn't actually true."
"Good. The actions of Quirrell needs to be contained. Ridiculous notion of what he made Him succumb to." He spat, his handsome face twisted into disgust, as his eyes flashed red. "I'll have the usual crowd crush the rumours."
Severus bowed his head, rising to his feet at the wave of dismissal, prepared for an attack all the way out the door and to his hotel room. It wouldn't have been the first time; too many occasions had happened where Severus had been ambushed by his so called compatriots, those jealous and jockeying for power that they saw he held within the Inner Circle.
If it was up to Severus, they could all have it. If it weren't for the fact that his being there managed to only save one person, namely Aster Potter.
Once ensconced within his hotel room, spells flew out to ensure no tampering had been done to spy on him, along with adding layers and Runes to sound proof the room. Once he was satisfied - after about an hour - he summoned his doe.
"Dumbledore. We have a problem."