Family Rules (2/5)
Warning: This story contains graphic descriptions of physical, mental and sexual child abuse. There is nothing pretty about it; and if you have the slightest doubts whether you want to read it or not, please stay away! There are also graphic descriptions of dying and wanking.
2. How to Form a Friendship
Severus Snape arrived around teatime, swift and unruffled, like a raven travelling on the wings of a storm.
“Hello, Uncle Severus. How was your journey?”
Hearing the eagerness in Draco’s voice, Lucius did his best to hide a smile. It was reassuring to see that his son had a mentor at Hogwarts whom he liked and trusted.
After a quick exchange of social niceties, they walked over to the dining room, where Narcissa greeted them. An exquisite arrangement of porcelain and cutlery had been laid out on a silver tablecloth.
After tea, Narcissa retreated to her own chambers, leaving Draco and the two men to their own devices. Draco followed them to the smoking room, obviously eager to lick up some adult talk.
“I’m sure you have some homework to do, Draco.” Lucius felt no regret at destroying his hopes. He had to talk to Severus without Draco being present. “Your last essay on Arithmancy was substandard. You can go work on that subject now.”
“Yes, Father.” Draco nodded and then bowed slightly to his godfather. “I’ll see you at dinner.” He turned and walked away, his neck and shoulders pulled together in a sullen hunch.
Lucius poured two glasses of bourbon and the men settled in the armchairs in front of the fireplace.
“You caned him again.” Severus remark was more an observation than an accusation.
Lucius frowned. Had Severus used Legilimency on Draco? He’d never probed Lucius’ mind without permission. So far, Lucius had no reason to believe that Severus didn’t respect Draco’s privacy as well.
“I would never invade his mind,” Severus said. “Still, I’ve known Draco from the day he was born. And believe me, some things are easier to see when you don’t stand so close. Besides, Draco’s discomfort is clearly visible.” Severus took a sip from his drink and swallowed slowly. “Of course, I’d expected you wouldn’t be too happy about the incident with Potter and the Weasley twins.”
“I cannot tolerate such a childish prank from my son.”
“They’re boys,” said Severus. “They are prone to act childish, even at the age of fifteen. Do not ask me if I like it, especially as it happens every day.”
“Then he still fails to hide his emotions well enough. He needs to learn.” Lucius forced himself to keep any note of urgent need from his voice. “Particularly in times like these. I have to watch my back every time I leave the house. Draco has to know his responsibilities.”
“But do you really think that you--?” Severus broke off.
“I teach him, I talk to him, I try to mould him for his own good, and I discipline him if necessary.” Lucius felt his upper lip curl into a snarl. “This is not a question of what I like. I know my son’s flaws, Severus. And I always wonder: will the Dark Lord see them, too?”
“He will not look at Draco’s face. He will look into his mind. And for that, well, you know about our private lessons.”
Lucius loosened his grip on the armrest of his chair. “Draco is doing well, then?”
“He is.” Severus leaned forward in his seat. “He is safe, Lucius. As safe as he can be.”
While they comfortably nursed their drinks and watched the fire, Lucius’ thoughts travelled back to another evening at the manor, fifteen years earlier.
***
They had buried Abraxas Malfoy in the afternoon; and the last guest from the funeral feast had finally been bidden goodbye. Narcissa was back in the safety of her personal rooms, the baby slept undisturbed in his cradle.
“At last, it’s over.”
“It has been a trying week for you, Lucius.”
Lucius only nodded. He felt tired, even drained. His stomach was clenched into tight, twisted knots. It had been a rough week indeed. He rummaged through his robe pockets.
“You don’t want more of those liquorice-fire drops. They’ll only make it worse.” Severus held a small vial out towards him. “Try that. It’ll help to ease things.”
Lucius eyed his friend warily.
“It’s a calming draught.”
“I am calm.”
Severus’ black eyes found his. Lucius felt him touching his mind, searching gently for a general confirmation of Lucius’ words. When Severus spoke at last, his voice was soft. “Still, I think you could use it tonight.”
Lucius took the vial and downed its contents in one swift movement. After handing it back, he rested his head against the back of the armchair and closed his eyes. “Thank you, Severus.” The potion’s glow warmed his insides and the tightness in his stomach loosened a little.
For a long time, they sat in silence. Lucius felt as if the night would never end. He dreaded the images that awaited him in his sleep. Severus stayed without questioning him. If he had suspicions of his own, he would neither voice them nor use Legilimency to confirm them.
Severus Snape was one of the Dark Lord’s most accomplished Legilimenses, his ability ranked second only to the Dark Lord himself. No wizard Lucius knew of possessed the power to throw off Severus completely. Not even the old chatterer, Dumbledore. Lucius would not have stood a chance, had Severus decided to roam his mind. But Severus never did. He was trustworthy and loyal indeed.
***
Back in 1971, Lucius’ final year at Hogwarts, Severus had been nothing more than a scrawny little boy, with hair that needed a wash as well as a cut: it was too long, even for a wizard. He had quickly become the punching bag of the Gryffindor gang that formed around Sirius Black and James Potter, an easy victim of their endless and childish pranks.
One day, Lucius found the eleven-year-old huddled in a corner, where he tried to cover the rips in his robes. Lucius first attempted to mend them with Reparo, but the fabric was so threadbare that he soon gave up. The amount of unchecked anger that radiated from the child caught his attention. This one was marked for trouble.
“You’ll need a new set, chap,” he said to the younger boy.
The boy nodded. “I have a second one in my dormitory,” he whispered.
“Then go and put them on. And discard those, they can only serve as rags. Not very befitting for a Slytherin.”
This could have been it, a small encounter in the dungeons, quickly forgotten, had Lucius not come across the same first-year only a few days later, in one of the bathrooms, shortly before curfew. The boy wore a pair of thin cotton trousers and an equally thin shirt and held a cloak knotted in his hands.
“What are you doing here?” demanded Lucius.
“Me? I’m just having a wash.”
“Are you indeed? Then where are your soap and your towel? I rather think you’re trying to hide something from me,” threatened Lucius. “Show me your cloak!”
The boy’s face was tense and he reluctantly unfolded the cloak on his lap. The black fabric had been torn again, and had sprouted some green woolly strands. Then, almost inaudible, a soft ping broke the silence. Lucius would have never guessed that a needle falling to the ground could cause enough noise to be heard. The sneer on his face was quicker than his thoughts. Reparing a cloak the Muggle way. In Slytherin. That was rich.
The boy lifted his head and met his gaze. “I didn’t … I first tried Reparo, but it didn’t work.” His fingers plucked at the green threads.
“You little fool.” Lucius’ voice was airborne venom. “Of course it didn’t work. It’s part of the curriculum for first-year students, but Flitwick only reaches it around Christmas. No need to hurry with that one. Most students are already familiar with it … from home.” He threw the boy an inquiring look.
“I’m not.”
Nothing followed that simple statement. The boy had his eyes fixed on Lucius, as if he wanted to keep track of his every movement. Lucius saw the gooseflesh on the boy’s arms, his lips which were tinged with a touch of blue. Mudblood or half-blood - did it really matter how much pollution was running through his veins?
“I wonder why that would be,” Lucius said, relishing the chance to twist the knife once more in the wound.
Something that could have been hope shattered inside the boy’s black eyes. It was a fleeting moment, before they turned iron-cold. “My f-, my friends … they wouldn’t … understand it.”
The boy’s words cut through Lucius like an ice pick, hinting at the pain that lay hidden inside. Lucius’ resentment cracked a little, but he didn’t show it. “Some friends you have … Go on with your work, but I expect you to be in the common room after curfew.” He set to leave the room, then stopped and faced the boy once more. “A last piece of advice: do it the proper way.”
The next morning Lucius saw the boy again in the common room. He sat all alone by the dying fire. There were dark shadows under his eyes and the skin on his lips was torn to the point of bleeding, but he had a satisfied look on his face, which made him appear older than his age. He stared into the still gleaming embers, while his fingers stroked the wand that lay in his lap like a lazy cat. Lucius noticed that the cloak had been repared. He approached the boy.
“So?”
“I took care of my cloak.”
“I can see that.” Lucius glanced over the cloak and into the piles of grey dust in the fireplace. A small box was slowly smouldering away with some metal drops lingering on the edges.
“I also took care of …”
“Shhh - not here. I can see that as well.”
Lucius wasn’t fond of lying bastards, whatever blood was in their veins. But something about the way this scrawny first-year had tried to solve his problems without asking anybody for help stirred his respect. Following a sudden impulse, he ruffled the boy’s black wisps of hair.
“Next time you’re having a wash, also take care to wash your hair.”
The boy lifted his chin defiantly.
“Come with me,” Lucius said. “I have something you could use.”
In his dormitory, he shoved a small package into the boy’s arms. “Here, this is my old cloak. It’s a bit out of fashion and far too small for me, so you just take it.”
The boy shook his head.
“Now, why not? There’s nothing wrong with it, see for yourself.” Lucius ripped open the paper wrapping to reveal the soft material of the cloak. “It’s warm and snug. And it’s mine to decide what to do with it, so take it.”
“I can’t,” came the soft-spoken reply. “I can’t pay for it.”
“Of course you can’t pay for it. It’s a present. Presents aren’t paid for, they’re gifts. You know what a gift is, don’t you?”
“Yes.” The boy cast down his eyes. “But I can’t take it.” He paused, then continued with an explanation so blunt that it had to be the truth. “My … my father … he would … he wouldn’t … like it.”
Now it was Lucius’ turn to freeze, at least inwardly. His decision was made in an instant. “He doesn’t need to know, chap.”
The boy jerked up his head.
“Don’t think you’ll manage to hide every night in the bathroom for hours to repair your cloak. Your workload will increase, and you won’t be able to keep up with it. Then just imagine: flying lessons with a cloak that tears the minute you fly near a tree. Professor Hooch will chastise you for improper behaviour, and you’ll be thankful that Dumbledore recently banned corporal punishment from this school. But they’d be sure to owl your parents.”
The small jaw was still set, but he had the boy’s full attention.
“You take the cloak and when you go home, you use your old one and I’ll keep this one here for you. Deal?”
A tiny smile lit the earnest face and made Lucius feel good. Then, a shadow crept over the boy’s features. “What do you want from me in return?” he asked.
“Nothing, chap. It’s a gift, remember?” After a short pause, Lucius spoke up again. “On second thought, there is indeed something you can give me.” Before the boy had time to panic, he went on. “Your name, chap, what’s your name? It wouldn’t be fitting for me to call you ‘chap’ all the time.”
Another careful smile touched the boy’s lips and he held out his hand. “Snape. My name is Severus Snape.”
Lucius took the cold little paw and shook it warmly. “I’m happy to meet you, Severus Snape. My name is Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy.”
***
From that day on, they had formed an alliance. His year mates made some fun of Lucius about the pet puppy he burdened himself with, but he silenced them quickly. True, the boy was a half-blood, prone to feed his crush on that Mudblood Gryffindor girl whenever no one was looking. Then again, he was a loner, clever as could be. The lonely always made the most loyal followers. And last but not least, Severus had something about him which caught Lucius’ interest. Sometimes, he would just know things, things that he couldn’t know. So Lucius took care of the neglected boy and taught him how to protect himself against the gang of Gryffindors.
And Severus? Severus … was there. Proud, never a beggar, despite his dubious background and his lack of money. Grateful for Lucius’ friendship and - like anyone sorted into Slytherin would - certainly conscious of the fact that rejection could turn benevolence into hostility. Watching. Listening. Never asking questions when Lucius returned from one of his weekend trips to the manor.
Abraxas insisted on introducing Lucius to the Malfoy business and on testing his knowledge on a regular basis. He would send his son back to Hogwarts with tasks for the upcoming weeks and would check his performance later. Lucius tried hard not to give him a reason for displeasure, but for all that, he learned to appreciate the strong taste of liquorice-fire drops to cover the traces of acid on his breath.
In the early spring of 1972, Abraxas Malfoy often called upon Lucius. With the Dark Lord’s bid to gain power, several of the wealthiest branches of the family spurted to even greater success. Money and politics - it had been their natural domain for centuries. Lucius was eager to learn everything he could from his father, to gain the trust and support of the old families for another generation of Malfoys. The meetings with his father challenged him in ways that sitting his exams or dealing with business contacts couldn’t compete with.
During one of those, Lucius argued for an open support of the Dark Lord, but the elder Malfoy only snorted. “That half-blood impostor!” It was a contemptuous remark, almost spoken aside, but the message was clear to Lucius. Even though his pure-blood father was on the side of segregation, he would not support the rise of the Dark Lord. Abraxas was an advocator of the Old Money, that network of Wizarding families who lived off the land, of the people working on it and in their factories and mills. Supporting the Dark Lord would bring power and money through other channels - taking care of much needed supplies, providing weapons and setting up a network of shelters. To win that game, one needed connections to the darker forces of the Wizarding world, connections not only to the wizards of old, but to those who were reckless and cunning as well, to use them regardless of their bloodline.
Unfortunately, Abraxas could not see that both methods for the accumulation of wealth could be combined. With every step the Dark Lord came closer to power, he would need a constant flow of resources - taken from the land of his faithful followers as well as of those who had to be bribed or threatened to make their contribution. Lucius realised that he would have to invest his own money in the Dark Lord’s campaign - the family’s wealth was barred from him. Later, Abraxas took the opportunity to emphasise his point of view to his son.
Lucius felt worn as he finally Apparated back to the gates of Hogwarts. Severus sat waiting for him on the stairs to the entrance. Lucius thought of dinner in the Great Hall and suddenly longed for silent company. “Would you care for dinner?”
Severus shook his head. “I had three helpings for lunch. I’m still full.”
They headed to the inner gardens and wandered around aimlessly, enjoying the mild air.
It was nothing but a stupid mishap that Lucius’ foot got stuck in the grass. Suddenly his legs gave way. He stumbled and fell hard on the ground. Severus was far too polite to laugh. Being used to gracefulness, Lucius still felt abashed. He tried to overlook the hand held out to him when he scrambled to his feet, but Severus didn’t move away. Finally, Lucius took his small hand and allowed himself to be led to the nearest bench.
Severus softened the seat with his cloak before he urged his friend to sit down. “Are you all right?”
He waited, but Lucius didn’t answer. How much did the boy know?
“Does it hurt? I hope it doesn’t hurt too much.”
The boy’s dark eyes met his, and suddenly, he felt a touching sensation on his mind. Nothing violent, a bit like a tickle, but strong nevertheless. Lucius gasped. “What are you doing?”
Severus shrank away from his tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I was just worried.”
He realised with a shock that he was holding the boy’s front collar and shaking him violently. Lucius loosened his grip and released Severus’ shirt. “Do you know what you just did, Severus?” he asked again, forcing himself to sound calm and to regain his composure.
“I guess I … I don’t know … like … reading your mind?”
Lucius laughed. “Reading your mind” - only a half-blood or worse would call it that. “No, Severus, you didn’t read my mind.” He paused to emphasise his next words. “You used Legilimency on me.”
The boy’s voice dropped down to a whisper. “It’s a curse. I can’t control it.”
“Don’t say that. Ever.” Lucius found that he, too, was whispering. “It’s a talent, Severus, a gift.” His voice got even lower, if possible. “I know someone who can teach you, who can help you to control it. Trust me, chap.”
***
A few months later Lucius passed his N.E.W.T.s, left school and began working full-time for the Malfoy business. Lucius introduced Severus to the Dark Lord during a private meeting and the Dark Lord, impressed with Severus’ talents, ordered Lucius to teach the young wizard, until he would be able to finish his studies under the Dark Lord himself. So their meetings continued over the next few years, and Severus honed his darker abilities while outwardly he wandered Hogwarts’ grounds as a taunted loner.
Lucius knew that his friend kept inventing new spells and curses in his free time, but he never believed them to be so amazingly effective until the day Severus sliced a rabbit in front of him with a quick wave of his wand and a whispered spell.
“How did you do that? Please show me again! First the wandwork, Severus.”
So Severus tried to teach him the movements for Sectumsempra, the curse to cut open one’s enemies. But no matter how hard Lucius tried, he didn’t master the combination of words and motions completely.
“This is masterful. Inventing a spell like that as a fifth-year student - I wonder what you will come up with after you’ve passed your N.E.W.T.s.” Lucius felt excited, alive. Their future was full of promises. “The Dark Lord will be so pleased. I’m just glad the Malfoys will be safe from that spell, because nobody besides him will ever be able to learn it. It’s just too complicated.”
Severus sneered. “I bet someone will at least try. It wouldn’t be the first time.” Harsh lines marred his young face.
“Potter again?”
Severus shrugged. “I’d better hide the book more carefully from now on.”
“You keep them in a book?”
“It’s an old Potions book of my mother’s, Advanced Potion Making. Nothing important. I was just playing around.”
***
A soft cough startled Lucius and he quickly shook away his reverie. The ice in his drink had melted away and had left a watery taste in his glass. Frowning, he set it aside.
Severus looked at him. “You forgot your drink.”
“I’ve been lost in thoughts of the past,” confirmed Lucius. “Do you remember that spell you used to slice the rabbit, Sectumsempra?”
“Of course I do.” Severus grinned. “How could I ever forget how excited you were?”
Lucius grinned back, a canine-toothed smile that did nothing to hide his intentions. “What do you think about teaching Draco some of your old spells? It could help his reputation, once he’s fully in the Dark Lord’s service.”
Severus shook his head. “I’m sorry to refuse you so bluntly, dear friend, but I don’t think that would be the best move right now.” Before Lucius could protest, he went on. “We both agreed that it is in Draco’s best interest if he becomes proficient at Occlumency before everything else. Once he has mastered that task, I will be more than happy to teach him everything about the Dark Arts and the spells I’ve created. But, for now, he has to learn how to close his mind. You will remember that this slows down learning other things, as the mind is closed to all kinds of intrusions. Draco’s marks have already dropped in some subjects, take his Arithmancy essay, for example. We wouldn’t want to draw more attention to his performance than absolutely necessary.”
Lucius nodded. “I understand, old chap. I appreciate your honest advice.”
Severus’ black gaze held a seldom warmth. “Nothing more than what friendship dictates.”
The clock chimed five. “We have another hour to ourselves before supper,” said Lucius.
Both men leaned back again and relaxed into their mutual silence. Lucius’ mind quickly flew back to the past he had left behind.
Chapter 3 - How to Nurse Your Nightmares
2. How to Form a Friendship
Severus Snape arrived around teatime, swift and unruffled, like a raven travelling on the wings of a storm.
“Hello, Uncle Severus. How was your journey?”
Hearing the eagerness in Draco’s voice, Lucius did his best to hide a smile. It was reassuring to see that his son had a mentor at Hogwarts whom he liked and trusted.
After a quick exchange of social niceties, they walked over to the dining room, where Narcissa greeted them. An exquisite arrangement of porcelain and cutlery had been laid out on a silver tablecloth.
After tea, Narcissa retreated to her own chambers, leaving Draco and the two men to their own devices. Draco followed them to the smoking room, obviously eager to lick up some adult talk.
“I’m sure you have some homework to do, Draco.” Lucius felt no regret at destroying his hopes. He had to talk to Severus without Draco being present. “Your last essay on Arithmancy was substandard. You can go work on that subject now.”
“Yes, Father.” Draco nodded and then bowed slightly to his godfather. “I’ll see you at dinner.” He turned and walked away, his neck and shoulders pulled together in a sullen hunch.
Lucius poured two glasses of bourbon and the men settled in the armchairs in front of the fireplace.
“You caned him again.” Severus remark was more an observation than an accusation.
Lucius frowned. Had Severus used Legilimency on Draco? He’d never probed Lucius’ mind without permission. So far, Lucius had no reason to believe that Severus didn’t respect Draco’s privacy as well.
“I would never invade his mind,” Severus said. “Still, I’ve known Draco from the day he was born. And believe me, some things are easier to see when you don’t stand so close. Besides, Draco’s discomfort is clearly visible.” Severus took a sip from his drink and swallowed slowly. “Of course, I’d expected you wouldn’t be too happy about the incident with Potter and the Weasley twins.”
“I cannot tolerate such a childish prank from my son.”
“They’re boys,” said Severus. “They are prone to act childish, even at the age of fifteen. Do not ask me if I like it, especially as it happens every day.”
“Then he still fails to hide his emotions well enough. He needs to learn.” Lucius forced himself to keep any note of urgent need from his voice. “Particularly in times like these. I have to watch my back every time I leave the house. Draco has to know his responsibilities.”
“But do you really think that you--?” Severus broke off.
“I teach him, I talk to him, I try to mould him for his own good, and I discipline him if necessary.” Lucius felt his upper lip curl into a snarl. “This is not a question of what I like. I know my son’s flaws, Severus. And I always wonder: will the Dark Lord see them, too?”
“He will not look at Draco’s face. He will look into his mind. And for that, well, you know about our private lessons.”
Lucius loosened his grip on the armrest of his chair. “Draco is doing well, then?”
“He is.” Severus leaned forward in his seat. “He is safe, Lucius. As safe as he can be.”
While they comfortably nursed their drinks and watched the fire, Lucius’ thoughts travelled back to another evening at the manor, fifteen years earlier.
***
They had buried Abraxas Malfoy in the afternoon; and the last guest from the funeral feast had finally been bidden goodbye. Narcissa was back in the safety of her personal rooms, the baby slept undisturbed in his cradle.
“At last, it’s over.”
“It has been a trying week for you, Lucius.”
Lucius only nodded. He felt tired, even drained. His stomach was clenched into tight, twisted knots. It had been a rough week indeed. He rummaged through his robe pockets.
“You don’t want more of those liquorice-fire drops. They’ll only make it worse.” Severus held a small vial out towards him. “Try that. It’ll help to ease things.”
Lucius eyed his friend warily.
“It’s a calming draught.”
“I am calm.”
Severus’ black eyes found his. Lucius felt him touching his mind, searching gently for a general confirmation of Lucius’ words. When Severus spoke at last, his voice was soft. “Still, I think you could use it tonight.”
Lucius took the vial and downed its contents in one swift movement. After handing it back, he rested his head against the back of the armchair and closed his eyes. “Thank you, Severus.” The potion’s glow warmed his insides and the tightness in his stomach loosened a little.
For a long time, they sat in silence. Lucius felt as if the night would never end. He dreaded the images that awaited him in his sleep. Severus stayed without questioning him. If he had suspicions of his own, he would neither voice them nor use Legilimency to confirm them.
Severus Snape was one of the Dark Lord’s most accomplished Legilimenses, his ability ranked second only to the Dark Lord himself. No wizard Lucius knew of possessed the power to throw off Severus completely. Not even the old chatterer, Dumbledore. Lucius would not have stood a chance, had Severus decided to roam his mind. But Severus never did. He was trustworthy and loyal indeed.
***
Back in 1971, Lucius’ final year at Hogwarts, Severus had been nothing more than a scrawny little boy, with hair that needed a wash as well as a cut: it was too long, even for a wizard. He had quickly become the punching bag of the Gryffindor gang that formed around Sirius Black and James Potter, an easy victim of their endless and childish pranks.
One day, Lucius found the eleven-year-old huddled in a corner, where he tried to cover the rips in his robes. Lucius first attempted to mend them with Reparo, but the fabric was so threadbare that he soon gave up. The amount of unchecked anger that radiated from the child caught his attention. This one was marked for trouble.
“You’ll need a new set, chap,” he said to the younger boy.
The boy nodded. “I have a second one in my dormitory,” he whispered.
“Then go and put them on. And discard those, they can only serve as rags. Not very befitting for a Slytherin.”
This could have been it, a small encounter in the dungeons, quickly forgotten, had Lucius not come across the same first-year only a few days later, in one of the bathrooms, shortly before curfew. The boy wore a pair of thin cotton trousers and an equally thin shirt and held a cloak knotted in his hands.
“What are you doing here?” demanded Lucius.
“Me? I’m just having a wash.”
“Are you indeed? Then where are your soap and your towel? I rather think you’re trying to hide something from me,” threatened Lucius. “Show me your cloak!”
The boy’s face was tense and he reluctantly unfolded the cloak on his lap. The black fabric had been torn again, and had sprouted some green woolly strands. Then, almost inaudible, a soft ping broke the silence. Lucius would have never guessed that a needle falling to the ground could cause enough noise to be heard. The sneer on his face was quicker than his thoughts. Reparing a cloak the Muggle way. In Slytherin. That was rich.
The boy lifted his head and met his gaze. “I didn’t … I first tried Reparo, but it didn’t work.” His fingers plucked at the green threads.
“You little fool.” Lucius’ voice was airborne venom. “Of course it didn’t work. It’s part of the curriculum for first-year students, but Flitwick only reaches it around Christmas. No need to hurry with that one. Most students are already familiar with it … from home.” He threw the boy an inquiring look.
“I’m not.”
Nothing followed that simple statement. The boy had his eyes fixed on Lucius, as if he wanted to keep track of his every movement. Lucius saw the gooseflesh on the boy’s arms, his lips which were tinged with a touch of blue. Mudblood or half-blood - did it really matter how much pollution was running through his veins?
“I wonder why that would be,” Lucius said, relishing the chance to twist the knife once more in the wound.
Something that could have been hope shattered inside the boy’s black eyes. It was a fleeting moment, before they turned iron-cold. “My f-, my friends … they wouldn’t … understand it.”
The boy’s words cut through Lucius like an ice pick, hinting at the pain that lay hidden inside. Lucius’ resentment cracked a little, but he didn’t show it. “Some friends you have … Go on with your work, but I expect you to be in the common room after curfew.” He set to leave the room, then stopped and faced the boy once more. “A last piece of advice: do it the proper way.”
The next morning Lucius saw the boy again in the common room. He sat all alone by the dying fire. There were dark shadows under his eyes and the skin on his lips was torn to the point of bleeding, but he had a satisfied look on his face, which made him appear older than his age. He stared into the still gleaming embers, while his fingers stroked the wand that lay in his lap like a lazy cat. Lucius noticed that the cloak had been repared. He approached the boy.
“So?”
“I took care of my cloak.”
“I can see that.” Lucius glanced over the cloak and into the piles of grey dust in the fireplace. A small box was slowly smouldering away with some metal drops lingering on the edges.
“I also took care of …”
“Shhh - not here. I can see that as well.”
Lucius wasn’t fond of lying bastards, whatever blood was in their veins. But something about the way this scrawny first-year had tried to solve his problems without asking anybody for help stirred his respect. Following a sudden impulse, he ruffled the boy’s black wisps of hair.
“Next time you’re having a wash, also take care to wash your hair.”
The boy lifted his chin defiantly.
“Come with me,” Lucius said. “I have something you could use.”
In his dormitory, he shoved a small package into the boy’s arms. “Here, this is my old cloak. It’s a bit out of fashion and far too small for me, so you just take it.”
The boy shook his head.
“Now, why not? There’s nothing wrong with it, see for yourself.” Lucius ripped open the paper wrapping to reveal the soft material of the cloak. “It’s warm and snug. And it’s mine to decide what to do with it, so take it.”
“I can’t,” came the soft-spoken reply. “I can’t pay for it.”
“Of course you can’t pay for it. It’s a present. Presents aren’t paid for, they’re gifts. You know what a gift is, don’t you?”
“Yes.” The boy cast down his eyes. “But I can’t take it.” He paused, then continued with an explanation so blunt that it had to be the truth. “My … my father … he would … he wouldn’t … like it.”
Now it was Lucius’ turn to freeze, at least inwardly. His decision was made in an instant. “He doesn’t need to know, chap.”
The boy jerked up his head.
“Don’t think you’ll manage to hide every night in the bathroom for hours to repair your cloak. Your workload will increase, and you won’t be able to keep up with it. Then just imagine: flying lessons with a cloak that tears the minute you fly near a tree. Professor Hooch will chastise you for improper behaviour, and you’ll be thankful that Dumbledore recently banned corporal punishment from this school. But they’d be sure to owl your parents.”
The small jaw was still set, but he had the boy’s full attention.
“You take the cloak and when you go home, you use your old one and I’ll keep this one here for you. Deal?”
A tiny smile lit the earnest face and made Lucius feel good. Then, a shadow crept over the boy’s features. “What do you want from me in return?” he asked.
“Nothing, chap. It’s a gift, remember?” After a short pause, Lucius spoke up again. “On second thought, there is indeed something you can give me.” Before the boy had time to panic, he went on. “Your name, chap, what’s your name? It wouldn’t be fitting for me to call you ‘chap’ all the time.”
Another careful smile touched the boy’s lips and he held out his hand. “Snape. My name is Severus Snape.”
Lucius took the cold little paw and shook it warmly. “I’m happy to meet you, Severus Snape. My name is Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy.”
***
From that day on, they had formed an alliance. His year mates made some fun of Lucius about the pet puppy he burdened himself with, but he silenced them quickly. True, the boy was a half-blood, prone to feed his crush on that Mudblood Gryffindor girl whenever no one was looking. Then again, he was a loner, clever as could be. The lonely always made the most loyal followers. And last but not least, Severus had something about him which caught Lucius’ interest. Sometimes, he would just know things, things that he couldn’t know. So Lucius took care of the neglected boy and taught him how to protect himself against the gang of Gryffindors.
And Severus? Severus … was there. Proud, never a beggar, despite his dubious background and his lack of money. Grateful for Lucius’ friendship and - like anyone sorted into Slytherin would - certainly conscious of the fact that rejection could turn benevolence into hostility. Watching. Listening. Never asking questions when Lucius returned from one of his weekend trips to the manor.
Abraxas insisted on introducing Lucius to the Malfoy business and on testing his knowledge on a regular basis. He would send his son back to Hogwarts with tasks for the upcoming weeks and would check his performance later. Lucius tried hard not to give him a reason for displeasure, but for all that, he learned to appreciate the strong taste of liquorice-fire drops to cover the traces of acid on his breath.
In the early spring of 1972, Abraxas Malfoy often called upon Lucius. With the Dark Lord’s bid to gain power, several of the wealthiest branches of the family spurted to even greater success. Money and politics - it had been their natural domain for centuries. Lucius was eager to learn everything he could from his father, to gain the trust and support of the old families for another generation of Malfoys. The meetings with his father challenged him in ways that sitting his exams or dealing with business contacts couldn’t compete with.
During one of those, Lucius argued for an open support of the Dark Lord, but the elder Malfoy only snorted. “That half-blood impostor!” It was a contemptuous remark, almost spoken aside, but the message was clear to Lucius. Even though his pure-blood father was on the side of segregation, he would not support the rise of the Dark Lord. Abraxas was an advocator of the Old Money, that network of Wizarding families who lived off the land, of the people working on it and in their factories and mills. Supporting the Dark Lord would bring power and money through other channels - taking care of much needed supplies, providing weapons and setting up a network of shelters. To win that game, one needed connections to the darker forces of the Wizarding world, connections not only to the wizards of old, but to those who were reckless and cunning as well, to use them regardless of their bloodline.
Unfortunately, Abraxas could not see that both methods for the accumulation of wealth could be combined. With every step the Dark Lord came closer to power, he would need a constant flow of resources - taken from the land of his faithful followers as well as of those who had to be bribed or threatened to make their contribution. Lucius realised that he would have to invest his own money in the Dark Lord’s campaign - the family’s wealth was barred from him. Later, Abraxas took the opportunity to emphasise his point of view to his son.
Lucius felt worn as he finally Apparated back to the gates of Hogwarts. Severus sat waiting for him on the stairs to the entrance. Lucius thought of dinner in the Great Hall and suddenly longed for silent company. “Would you care for dinner?”
Severus shook his head. “I had three helpings for lunch. I’m still full.”
They headed to the inner gardens and wandered around aimlessly, enjoying the mild air.
It was nothing but a stupid mishap that Lucius’ foot got stuck in the grass. Suddenly his legs gave way. He stumbled and fell hard on the ground. Severus was far too polite to laugh. Being used to gracefulness, Lucius still felt abashed. He tried to overlook the hand held out to him when he scrambled to his feet, but Severus didn’t move away. Finally, Lucius took his small hand and allowed himself to be led to the nearest bench.
Severus softened the seat with his cloak before he urged his friend to sit down. “Are you all right?”
He waited, but Lucius didn’t answer. How much did the boy know?
“Does it hurt? I hope it doesn’t hurt too much.”
The boy’s dark eyes met his, and suddenly, he felt a touching sensation on his mind. Nothing violent, a bit like a tickle, but strong nevertheless. Lucius gasped. “What are you doing?”
Severus shrank away from his tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I was just worried.”
He realised with a shock that he was holding the boy’s front collar and shaking him violently. Lucius loosened his grip and released Severus’ shirt. “Do you know what you just did, Severus?” he asked again, forcing himself to sound calm and to regain his composure.
“I guess I … I don’t know … like … reading your mind?”
Lucius laughed. “Reading your mind” - only a half-blood or worse would call it that. “No, Severus, you didn’t read my mind.” He paused to emphasise his next words. “You used Legilimency on me.”
The boy’s voice dropped down to a whisper. “It’s a curse. I can’t control it.”
“Don’t say that. Ever.” Lucius found that he, too, was whispering. “It’s a talent, Severus, a gift.” His voice got even lower, if possible. “I know someone who can teach you, who can help you to control it. Trust me, chap.”
***
A few months later Lucius passed his N.E.W.T.s, left school and began working full-time for the Malfoy business. Lucius introduced Severus to the Dark Lord during a private meeting and the Dark Lord, impressed with Severus’ talents, ordered Lucius to teach the young wizard, until he would be able to finish his studies under the Dark Lord himself. So their meetings continued over the next few years, and Severus honed his darker abilities while outwardly he wandered Hogwarts’ grounds as a taunted loner.
Lucius knew that his friend kept inventing new spells and curses in his free time, but he never believed them to be so amazingly effective until the day Severus sliced a rabbit in front of him with a quick wave of his wand and a whispered spell.
“How did you do that? Please show me again! First the wandwork, Severus.”
So Severus tried to teach him the movements for Sectumsempra, the curse to cut open one’s enemies. But no matter how hard Lucius tried, he didn’t master the combination of words and motions completely.
“This is masterful. Inventing a spell like that as a fifth-year student - I wonder what you will come up with after you’ve passed your N.E.W.T.s.” Lucius felt excited, alive. Their future was full of promises. “The Dark Lord will be so pleased. I’m just glad the Malfoys will be safe from that spell, because nobody besides him will ever be able to learn it. It’s just too complicated.”
Severus sneered. “I bet someone will at least try. It wouldn’t be the first time.” Harsh lines marred his young face.
“Potter again?”
Severus shrugged. “I’d better hide the book more carefully from now on.”
“You keep them in a book?”
“It’s an old Potions book of my mother’s, Advanced Potion Making. Nothing important. I was just playing around.”
***
A soft cough startled Lucius and he quickly shook away his reverie. The ice in his drink had melted away and had left a watery taste in his glass. Frowning, he set it aside.
Severus looked at him. “You forgot your drink.”
“I’ve been lost in thoughts of the past,” confirmed Lucius. “Do you remember that spell you used to slice the rabbit, Sectumsempra?”
“Of course I do.” Severus grinned. “How could I ever forget how excited you were?”
Lucius grinned back, a canine-toothed smile that did nothing to hide his intentions. “What do you think about teaching Draco some of your old spells? It could help his reputation, once he’s fully in the Dark Lord’s service.”
Severus shook his head. “I’m sorry to refuse you so bluntly, dear friend, but I don’t think that would be the best move right now.” Before Lucius could protest, he went on. “We both agreed that it is in Draco’s best interest if he becomes proficient at Occlumency before everything else. Once he has mastered that task, I will be more than happy to teach him everything about the Dark Arts and the spells I’ve created. But, for now, he has to learn how to close his mind. You will remember that this slows down learning other things, as the mind is closed to all kinds of intrusions. Draco’s marks have already dropped in some subjects, take his Arithmancy essay, for example. We wouldn’t want to draw more attention to his performance than absolutely necessary.”
Lucius nodded. “I understand, old chap. I appreciate your honest advice.”
Severus’ black gaze held a seldom warmth. “Nothing more than what friendship dictates.”
The clock chimed five. “We have another hour to ourselves before supper,” said Lucius.
Both men leaned back again and relaxed into their mutual silence. Lucius’ mind quickly flew back to the past he had left behind.
Chapter 3 - How to Nurse Your Nightmares