The Sybil's Oracle Book Two

Chapter 39

By Pigwidgeon37

“Oh, Merlin’s thrice-damned bleeding haemorrhoids,” Lucius moaned, when Severus hoisted him up and led him to a chair. “This was worse than even Cruciatus. How’s Narcissa?”

“Well enough, considering the circumstances. They’re fetching the baby by Caesarean, so you couldn’t be with her anyway. How are you feeling?”

“As if I had been poisoned,” Lucius said weakly, shooting him a lopsided grin. “But the antidote worked, at least well enough to keep me from dying.”

“You were close enough. Now, we have to take a sample of the food and drinks, and give it to the medics at St. Mungo's. I suggest you stay there as well, until they find out which poison has been used, and mix the proper antidote.”

“Shit,” Lucius said with feeling. “To think that you could… well, no use dwelling on what can’t be changed. Are you going to inform Voldemort?”

Severus nodded. “Yes, but first I’ll try to reach Owen and Lestrange, and then we’ll decide what to do. However, we have to prepare the samples first, and then I’m taking you to the hospital. Oh, and you should tell the House Elves to leave everything as it is. The mediwizards will probably have to alert the Ministry, and they don’t like the evidence being touched.”

Lucius rolled his eyes. “For once, the Law Enforcement come to my house because I’m the victim instead of the suspect, and I’m not here to witness it. More’s the pity.”

“Indeed. Now stay here, I have to go and fetch some vials for the samples.”

“As if I could do anything else,” Lucius snapped and sank against the back of his chair.

Twenty minutes later, the two wizards left the dining room, Lucius closed and sealed the door, and Severus Apparated them both to St. Mungo's. Floo travel was quite out of the question, given Lucius’s condition which was worse than he cared to let Severus see.

None of them had been prepared for the sight awaiting them upon their arrival. The hospital's lobby was fairly crowded, and they were greeted by a chaos of voices, punctuated by the loud popping noises and clouds of purple smoke emitted by various cameras. “What the hell…” Lucius muttered between gritted teeth and shaded his eyes against the blinding flashes.

“Somebody must have alerted the press,” Severus whispered, feeling his comment was pretty redundant. “Oh, and the Ministry, too,” he added, as he saw a mixed group of figures clad in white and dark blue proceed towards them.

“Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy!” a young man, parchment in hand and dictoquill poised to write, called over the photographers’ heads. “Do you think you were victim of a Death Eater attack?”

“I—” Lucius pulled himself up to his full height and, with a single imperious gesture of his hand, caused the noise level to drop considerably. “I have come here to see my wife, who is in grave danger, as she is in an advanced state of pregnancy and would have given birth to our child in about two weeks. Not to mention that I myself was close to dying half an hour ago. So please, ladies and gentlemen, respect my wish to be with my wife as soon as possible. My friend here—” and he shoved Severus forward “—will tell you everything he knows. He saved my life.”

Severus opened his mouth to object, but Lucius merely winked at him and strode forward through the masses that parted for him, towards a group of mediwizards waiting in the background. Unsurprisingly, the press vultures immediately swooped down upon The Man Who Had Saved Lucius Malfoy’s Life. Completely bedazzled by the noise, heat and by the relief flooding him, Severus tried to make sense of the questions hurled at him from every direction, when the crowds parted again. Less willingly than for Lucius, he thought. More than one person was scowling at the group of Aurors and Law Enforcers fighting their way towards him. They had a few yards’ distance to cover, and thus Severus could prepare himself for the sight and voice of Alastor Moody.

“Silence!” the Auror roared, evidently not too preoccupied whether the Ministry was looking good or bad to the press people. He did not chase them away, though—much as he loathed the fuss they made, Severus was pretty relieved that there were witnesses while he was having to confront the one-eyed Auror. “What happened?” Moody barked, and the reporters pricked their ears.

“Mr. Lucius Malfoy, a former schoolmate and close friend of mine—”

“And who exactly are you?” a young witch with very obviously dyed blonde hair crowed from somewhere behind her colleagues. She vehemently waved her hand, and Severus noticed that her nails were long and claw-like, and painted a violent shade of fuchsia.

Moody whirled round, his artificial eye playing haywire. “And who are you, Miss?” he bellowed, “Kindly come forward and identify yourself!”

There was a slight commotion among the reporters, and the woman weaved her way through the masses until both Severus and Moody could see her. As far as Severus could judge, she had to be well into her thirties, and apparently her taste for eye-insulting colours extended to more than just her nail varnish. She was wearing robes of a red so impertinent that he almost had to close his eyes. This garish outfit was completed by a pair of spectacles that could best be described as ‘outlandish’.

“Oh, it's you, Skeeter,” Moody said gruffly.

Severus merely raised an eyebrow at her and informed her and the others in his most haughty manner that he was Severus Snape, Potions Master and Potions teacher at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. “As I was saying,” he continued, “Mr Malfoy called me—” he checked his watch “—little less than an hour ago. The only words he was able to utter were ‘poison’ and ‘antidote’. Due to my profession, which is rather accident-prone, I always keep a copious stock of a basic antidote at home, and thus was able to succour him and his wife just in time.”

There was a brief pause, filled only with the frantic scratching of quills on parchment. Then, Moody asked, “Any idea who the culprit might be?”

For a moment, Severus pondered whether he should feed them the story about Skimpy the House Elf already now, but decided against it. “No,” he replied, “I have no idea. There was no Dark Mark, however, if that is any indication.”

“How did they administer the poison?” another reporter asked. Moody seemed to know him, for he merely growled.

“That has yet to be found out, but I suppose it was mixed into their food or drinks. I have brought samples,” he said, now addressing Moody, “for the mediwizards to examine. But the dining room is closed and warded, so there's plenty left for you.”

Moody merely nodded and growled again. If possible, the man had grown even more unpleasant since last summer, when he had come to Hogwarts in order to search Severus's quarters. “All right,” he said finally, “That's all for now. We’ll need you for further interrogation, though, so you’d better be at our disposal.” Severus gave him a brief nod. “And you,” he bellowed—the reporters were not overly impressed, apparently they had become used to this kind of treatment, “better get lost now. The show's over!”

Most of them looked slightly vexed, but did not demur and Disapparated, one by one, followed by the Forces of Order, who left the premises corporately after the last reporter was gone. Severus strolled over to the reception desk and asked where he could find Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. The young witch sitting behind the counter, who had witnessed the whole scene, bestowed a radiant smile upon him and waved to a House Elf lingering in the corner next to her. “She will show you to Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy,” she trilled, and the elf scuttled off.

Severus could not hide a smirk when he entered the rooms the elf had indicated. St. Mungo's certainly catered to the special requests of its more illustrious patients, he thought, eyeing the… well, suite Lucius and Narcissa were occupying. The salon he had just stepped into bore no resemblance at all to a hospital room, with its apricot and beige curtains, tapestries and upholstery. He had knocked at the door, but received no answer; as he had no wish to disturb the couple’s privacy by barging into their rooms unannounced, he called, “Lucius?”

A blonde head emerged from one of the half-open doors on the far side of the salon. “Ah, Sev! Finally! Come, come, I have to show you…”

He was already looking a lot better, and grinning in excitement. “Are you sure?” Severus said, a little uncertain. “Maybe you should ask Narcissa first.”

“She already asked for you. Come on in!”

The bedrooms had a more hospital-like appearance. The walls and floor were white, and only the yellow curtains, floating in the light summer breeze, added a hint of colour. Narcissa, still very pale and worn, was sitting in her bed, propped up against a heap of white cushions, and holding a tiny white bundle that emitted soft suckling noises. The dose of poison she had gotten had been largely neutralized by Severus's antidote, and due to the Caesarean section the mediwizards had performed she was not exhausted from hours of labour, but radiant and visibly happy. “Hello Severus! Come and meet our son.”

Not quite sure what to do, Severus approached the bed and peered into the white bundle. Albeit not fond of children in general and newborn babies in particular, he had to admit that this one was quite nice. “What’s his name?” he asked, gingerly taking the child Narcissa handed him.

“Draco Julius,” the proud parents replied in unison.

“Draco…” He examined the tiny features. Like all newborns, Draco Julius Malfoy had blue eyes. Not his mother’s, though, which were a clear blue, like a summer sky after heavy rain. No, this was somewhat darker, cloudy and uncertain, a harbinger of the change to come, which would probably turn his irises to grey or light blue. The child's face was only slightly rosy—hardly a surprise, as he, too, had been spared the troubles of labour. Funny enough—because it reminded Severus of Black's unfortunate Valentine—little Draco’s head sported a tuft of white-blonde hair. Well, he thought, stroking it gently with the tip of his forefinger, fuzz was more like it. “My compliments,” he said, handing the tiny creature back to his father, “He looks really nice.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “And you, Narcissa, how are you feeling?”

“Apart from the nausea your vaccination caused me, still a bit dazed,” she replied with a smile and took his hand. “Understandable, isn't it? Two hours ago, I was still pregnant, and now I have him…”

“I can imagine. What did the doctors say concerning him?”

“They said he was in perfect health,” Lucius said. Severus shook his head in disbelief, as he watched him tickle the baby’s nose and smile down at his son. “The poison didn’t act quickly enough to harm him. But they took a blood sample and will run a test, just to be on the safe side.”

“Speaking of tests,” Severus said, rising from the bed and releasing Narcissa's hand. “I think we should go and see the mediwizards for a moment, don't you think so, Lucius?”

“Yes, of course.” He put Draco into his mother's outstretched arms. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, my dear.”

They took their leave from Narcissa and strode out and through the salon, to search for someone of the staff. Outside in the corridor, Lucius stopped for a moment and grabbed Severus's elbow. “This…” he began and cleared his throat.

“Oh, shut up, Malfoy,” Severus snapped, feeling extremely embarrassed.

Lucius gave him a half-vicious, half-amused glance. “Thank you for making that so easy for me, Snape,” he snarled, and Severus snorted. “All right. I’m saying this now, and I’ll never say it again. Thank you. I owe you a life debt.”

~~~~*~~~~

“Poisoned?” Voldemort hissed, his eyes darting back and forth between Lucius and Severus.

“Yes, My Lord. Yesterday at lunchtime—the papers were quite accurate about that.” The words had barely left his mouth, when Lucius already groaned  with pain—the Master’s dragonhide boot had hit his left thigh.

“I will not be spoken to like this, Lucius. I want a detailed report from you, not the codswallop the papers feed their readers.”

“O-of course, My Lord. I… apologize. My wife and I had begun eating our lunch and arrived at the main course—”

Another kick, this time the boot made contact with Malfoy’s right ankle. “Not the menu, Lucius, I want an account of what happened.”

“Yes…” Lucius drew a ragged breath. “Yes, My Lord. My wife suddenly turned deadly pale, and I thought that maybe she was going into labour. So I got up to succour her—”

Severus could distinctly hear the tendons in Lucius’s right wrist snap, when he received the next blow. He fought the bile rising in his throat and forced himself not to look left, where he saw the prone figure sag slightly. This was not the right moment for a display of loyalty, and soon, it was going to be his turn anyway. They could both thank the Gods if they left this house alive and breathing.

“Lucius, if it is your intention to test the limits of my patience, you might want to consider that you have already arrived beyond them. What happened?”

“I am trying to explain, My Lord. Please forgive me if I am failing. The moment I got up I noticed that I was feeling sick as well. The only reason I could think of was that we had both ingested poison. The symptoms certainly were there. So I went to call Severus…”

“Ah,” Voldemort said, his voice full of exaggerated surprise, “You called Severus… Why him? Why not the mediwizards?”

“Because they usually arrive very late, My Lord. I was worried because of my wife and didn't want her to lose the child.”

“Interesting. And then?”

“While I was waiting for him, the House Elves dragged in another elf, to whom I had given clothes at the beginning of this year. It… she was still holding a vial and—”

“And you saw fit to kill the creature. How very convenient. Why did you not simply stun her?”

“My Lord, I… I really… I was on the verge of dying, and…”

Severus, prostrated to Lucius’s right, felt his hands go slick with sweat… no, he thought, swallowing convulsively, this was not sweat. Too warm and sticky. This had to come from Lucius's wrist. Tabitha must be having a field day.

“Enough,” Voldemort interrupted him brusquely. “Now to you, Severus, the valiant saviour of the Malfoy family. You happened to have the antidote in your house?”

“It was the only one I had, My Lord, just a basic antidote. I hoped it would work.”

“And it did, didn’t it? What a fortunate coincidence. Just the right poison, just the right antidote. And the poor little elf waited almost six months to have its vengeance.” He clucked his tongue and stopped his pacing. Severus felt his heart begin to race. “Why is it,” Voldemort continued, his voice now almost inaudible but all the more threatening, “that whenever I desire something that Lucius Malfoy wants to negate me, he succeeds? And why does Severus Snape always play a part in the game? I need Narcissa Lestrange’s blood, the blood of a pureblood virgin, but she is not a virgin anymore. I need the blood of a child born at the end of July, and the child is born three weeks early. And both times—” he crouched down near Severus's head and softly stroked his hair “—both times Severus Snape just happens to be vital to the thwarting of my plans.”

Words were probably as incriminating as silence, but Severus decided to speak. “My Lord, it might certainly appear in this light—”

“Child…” He could feel the Master’s breath caress his ear. “Are you implying that I am wrong?”

Oh, Gods. He should have foreseen the question. The one question he could not answer with yes or no. Whichever of the two he chose, it meant certain doom. “I am not implying anything, my Lord, but the truth—”

“The truth…” The hand continued stroking his hair, slowly and gently, calling tears to his eyes and making his breath hitch in his chest. To each their own… for Lucius the painful humiliation, for him a mere hint of what had once been. “Why don't you tell me the truth then, child? It is so simple… I might even forgive you…”

The urge to rise and spit into Voldemort's face for that blatant lie was strong and hot, but he fought it. “I have told you the truth, My Lord. I swear.”

And after the caresses, the pain. No boots for him. Just Cruciatus, plain, ordinary and clean. No red puddles on the floor, no broken tendons or bones. Just that beautifully pure pain. For a time that seemed so long and endless, and with an intensity that made him play hide-and-seek with madness—there she was, just out of his reach, but he could feel how gentle and soft and warm she was… she will enter the scene before the end of this year… was this his soul mate, his beloved, whom he would recognize once their eyes met? Maybe her embraces were brutal and her kisses tore shreds from his lips, but, oh, to rest in her arms… he lunged for her and she was gone. Forever gone, she had left him resting on shards of screaming ice. He felt himself being pulled up and hauled into a chair. A hand—he could tell it was not Voldemort's—took hold of his jaw and forced his mouth open. The liquid that was being poured on his tongue was probably lukewarm, but he felt as if first a red-hot iron and then a piece of ice had been pressed against his teeth. His taste buds, on high alert like the rest of his body, registered nothing. Veritaserum. And not a few drops—this was a heavy overdose. Severus was not quite sure whether the vaccination would withstand it, but found, to his surprise, that he did not really care.

A low moan coming from his right told him that Lucius was receiving the same treatment. Voldemort's footsteps, resounding on the wooden floor, came nearer. “Well, children, it is time to tell the truth. Lucius, who gave you the poison and what did they put it into?”

“A former House Elf of mine, My Lord, and the mediwizards told me it was in the water. The whole water supply was poisoned.”

Severus opened his eyes a little and saw Voldemort, a mere dark outline against the whitewashed wall and the window. The Dark Lord was standing immobile. Whether he was really trembling, Severus could not make out. Maybe it was just a trick his nerves were playing on him. Then a white blur appeared in the dark silhouette—Voldemort had turned his face towards him.

“What do you know about this scheme, Severus?”

“There was no scheme, My Lord. I just…” He felt he was sliding off the chair and tried to straighten up a little, muscles howling in protest. “I just received Lucius’s call,” he continued, “and went there as quickly as I could.”

The white blur vanished abruptly, and the black form grew a little smaller. Voldemort had turned his back to them. Although the vaccination obviously worked, Severus was far from being triumphant. Too sharp was the edge they were walking on, and the abyss on both sides was bottomless. The Master had expected this to be his occasion to get rid at least of Lucius, and now it seemed as if he had no reason to do so. This was, of course, a source of relief, but Severus was well aware that, for Voldemort, it was mostly a source of anger. Had their Master been less vain, he would simply have banished them from his ranks, with or without reason, and certainly without further ado. But he wanted to be admired not only for his power, but also for a lot of other qualities, among them justice. Only there was no way of punishing or killing two loyal followers, who had just denied the accusations raised against them under the influence of Veritaserum, without cutting a rather poor figure. Voldemort had wanted a public, he had needed Owen and the Lestranges as witnesses while setting another example of just punishment, and now this beautiful scheme was backfiring. Severus could only try to imagine the turmoil of emotions the Dark Lord must be going through at this moment, the rage, the frustration… And he would find a means of taking it out on them, without doubt.

“Severus…” The voice seemed a little distant now, and Severus tried to focus his eyes on the black figure. Voldemort was standing at the window, leaning on the sill with his back still turned towards them.

“Yes, My Lord?”

“Whom did you tell about the potion?”

“Nobody, My Lord, except for Tabitha, the time she was present when I came to you for advice. And then, when Mansfield—”

“Lucius?” The name sounded like the crack of a whip.

“Yes… My Lord?”

Severus turned his head to look at the other wizard. He was quite pale, probably from loss of blood, and visibly in pain.

“What does the date of 31 July mean to you?”

“Nothing, My Lord. Nothing I’m aware of.”

“Do you know whether an antidote to Veritaserum exists?”

“Certainly not, My Lord. I wish there were one, it would make our life much easier.”

Voldemort seemed to have run out of questions to ask, and Severus steeled himself for the inevitable. Another bout of Cruciatus, and you never knew whether this was going to be the one that took away your sanity once and for all. But the Master’s unpredictability also had its advantages. The word they heard after a prolonged, unbearable silence was not “Crucio!” but “Leave! Leave this instant, all of you!”

~~~~*~~~~

To Severus's dismay, his progress with the immunity potion was slow. Together with Owen, who was a more enthusiastic partner for this kind of endeavour than Lucius, he had started a series of experiments, which largely consisted in killing two specimens of the same kind of animal, one with a fast-acting poison and the other with the killing curse. Then Severus, who had been forced to enlarge his already impressive repertoire of non-potions-related knowledge and delve deeply into diagnosis spells, tried to establish the exact cause of their death. With the potions, it was always relatively easy. But the Killing Curse remained a mystery. The spells yielded no result, the victims were as unblemished inside as they looked outwardly. They had simply ceased to be, without any apparent or recognizable reason.

“This is leading absolutely nowhere!” Severus said, throwing Owen a frustrated look. They were standing on a secluded spot on the grounds surrounding the McNairs’ manor, dead animals littering the grass.

“Well, no,” Owen admitted. “But there must be something that causes their death. And if the reason isn’t physiological, then…” He sat down in the grass, hugging his knees and apparently in deep thought.

Severus sneered down at him. “Exactly. Then what?”

“I don't know…” Owen replied slowly. “But… maybe that’s to do with why the curse is unblockable. I mean…”

Sitting down beside Owen, Severus scrutinized him intently. The other wizard certainly had a more sound experience with the Killing Curse than he. So maybe he was able to find a clue. “Are you saying it's unblockable because there's nothing to block?”

“Hmm… not exactly. But have you never wondered about the sound?”

“Which sound?” Severus asked, nonplussed.

“There's a sound, like… well, I suppose you could compare it to the rumour of wings… like a really big bird whooshing down…”

“The flight of death…” Severus murmured.

“Huh?”

“Nothing… I—I was just thinking about Voldemort's name, which can be translated as ‘flight of death’. Interesting, isn’t it?”

“Sounds a bit poetic,” Owen observed. “But however, I have always felt as if there were… well, something… something that comes because you’re calling it.”

“Now who’s being poetic? You mean you’re calling Death? Death isn't anything, it's merely the absence of life.”

Owen slowly shook his head. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. If Death were nothing, why would people have pictured him? As a person, to boot?”

“Owen, this is insane!” But somehow, his heart was not in it. What if Owen was right? He was an unfeeling brute, granted, but he had a certain… well, soft spot for killing and death, if you could call it that. He tilted his head, to look into the other's orange-brown eyes. They held no hint of irony. “All right,” he said, “so let's try this line of thought. If Death is a… an entity, there must be something… hold on!”

“What?” Owen said, raising his eyebrows. “Big brainwave?”

“I suppose you could say so. It’s pathetic, but… You know, back in our fourth year, while I was staying at Hogwarts during the Christmas break, I had this strange conversation with the Bloody Baron…”

The words were resurfacing in his mind.

“Miracle? What kind of miracle?”

“Love. Oh, you should not smile, lad. What can you possibly know about love?”

“Love?” Owen said, “Well, that… I mean, it's a possibility. And it sounds like very ancient magic.”

“I suppose so. And I’m not sure how to get that into a potion.”

“I can imagine. That’s your field, after all. How’s Lucius?”

“Fine. He has recovered, although I had to feed him an inordinate amount of Sanguiplenus potion. It was his thigh—Voldemort hit an artery.”

Owen nodded grimly. “Those boots. I’d love to incinerate them.”

“Yes,” Severus agreed, chuckling, “that would be a good deed. But he’s mended well, and completely over the edge because he's got an heir. Have you seen the child yet?”

“Nope. Then again, who would let me near their children? But I’ll see him anyway at the namesgiving. Any idea who’s going to be godfather?”

“He asked me, but I refused, simply because I don't think we should act too chummy in the near future. Voldemort already has his suspicions, there’s no need to nourish them any more. Of course, St. John would be the logical choice, being Narcissa's uncle and all, but I think Lucius would rather ask Black.”

Owen snorted. “Can’t blame him. Well, Sev, I got some work to do, so I’ll leave you to Love and Death.”

“Very funny!” Severus muttered after his retreating form.

~~~~*~~~~

On 28 July, Severus was awakened by a very disturbed Peggy. “Master Severus, I sees a cat in the garden, and I wants to feed it, but it tells me—”

“What?” Severus sat bolt upright. “You can talk to animals? And you never told me?”

“No, Master Severus, that’s why I is so upset. I hears this one in my mind, and it never happens before, so I is afraid…”

McGonagall. Of course. He had completely forgotten about her imminent arrival, as they had not agreed on a particular date. “That’s all right, Peggy. She isn't a cat, she's an Animagus. What exactly were her complaints about the food?”

Peggy’s eyes went wide. “An Animagus? Oh, now I recognizes her voice, she is Professor McGonagall, isn’t she?” He nodded and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “She doesn’t complain, she just tells me to inform you she is here.”

“How very considerate of her. Tell her that I’ll be downstairs in half an hour. She can have breakfast with me, if she wants—in her animal form, of course.”

He was definitely not pleased with having to allow McGonagall’s presence in his house. He could not always monitor her movements, and so she might take advantage of her stay here to snoop after him. Not that he was doing anything illicit at the moment—the next batch of Falsitaserum for the Death Eaters was not due before the middle of August, and he had destroyed the written recipe long ago—but he still felt uneasy. He entered the bathroom and, with a frown at his mirrored image, applied the shaving charm. Probably, he thought, tapping the enchanted spoon with his wand before opening the taps and stepping into the shower, he would never get rid of the reluctance to touch his own body. First, it had been the traumatizing experience with his uncle that had prevented him from doing so, and, after a short reprieve, he had resumed the habit because his body was nothing but a means of being tortured. While the hot water was streaming down his pale skin, he thought back to his brief carnal encounter with Amanda Hooch last Halloween. No pleasure there. In a way, it had rather been similar to his loss of control with Barty Crouch—just a fashion of letting off steam physically, to somehow ease the pressure weighing down his mind and soul. Due to the memory spell, Amanda had not remembered anything of it; nonetheless there had been frequent attempts on her part to lure him to her quarters. He had never showed any interest, though, mostly because he was sure that things were not likely to take a different turn than the first time, and he had no intention to obliviate her more than once. Apart from the fact that he did not desire a relationship—at least not with Amanda Hooch, and the only other option was much too vague to give it more than the occasional fleeting thought—he did not quite see the sense of it: he derived no pleasure from mindlessly humping her, and in order to alleviate the tension he could just as well think of something else.

When he felt he had spent enough time under the shower, he stepped out, performed a drying spell on his hair and body, and, clad in a bathrobe, proceeded to his bedroom to get dressed.

At Hogwarts, his body was shielded from contact with his surroundings by the double layer of his clothes and the teaching robes. He had become used to that protection and felt rather naked now, in only his shirt and trousers. But the idea of wearing robes at home did not really appeal to him, and he still felt too young for the attire some of the middle-aged wizards used to wear under their robes. It was a sort of frock coat, vaguely reminding of the late nineteenth century; as black was his only choice of colour, it would give him an even more austere appearance. Maybe later, he thought. For now, he would have to try and get used to moving around without his outer shell. Better that than to look twice his age.

McGonagall’s relatives had done a fairly decent job disguising her colouring, he noticed upon entering the kitchen. Usually a green-eyed tabby, the Animagus now sported bluish-grey fur and orange eyes. “Good morning, Professor,” he greeted her and sat down, inviting her to jump on the table with a wave of his hand.

The cat tilted its head and hesitated, then seemed to have made its decision, crouched and leapt upwards. Deliberately ignoring the bowl of food Peggy had prepared for her, she strutted across the table and sniffed Severus's plate. “No,” he said sternly, “You must not steal from my plate. It’s very ill-mannered, even for a cat. You have your own food, and if it disagrees with you, just tell Peggy. It seems that you are able to communicate.”

The cat gave a short hiss, then turned and majestically returned to her bowl, where she started moving the pieces around with her paw in a manner that clearly expressed scorn and dislike.

“The professor says she wants the same you has, Master Severus,” Peggy informed him.

Severus rolled his eyes. “Then give her what she wants.” He shot the cat a disapproving look. “I wasn't aware you are such a hedonist, Professor. Be that as it may, there are more important matters for us to think about at the moment. I take it that the Potter baby has not yet arrived, has it?”

“The professor says no,” Peggy said, apparently enjoying her new position as translator.

“Just as I thought. They’d have bragged about their successful attempt at procreating all over the papers, the consequences be damned,” Severus observed grimly.

“The professor says—no, Peggy is not repeating this!” the elf squeaked furiously. “I respects my master and wills not say such things.”

Severus snorted. “Leave it, Peggy, I can imagine what she was saying. What I would like to know, though, is whether the Headmaster already talked to the Potters, and if he did, what exactly the outcome of the discussion was.”

Despite all the fur covering her face, the cat looked definitely embarrassed.

“The professor says that Headmaster Dumbledore goes to see the Potters. But they doesn’t take his advice, especially Mr. James Potter.”

“Just as I thought. So they won't go into hiding. Did Dumbledore give them any information as to what might happen if the child is born on 31 July?”

“The professor says—please wait, Professor McGonagall, you is talking a bit too fast.” The cat's tail twitched slightly. “The professor says that Headmaster Dumbledore tells them a bit, but not too much. But Mr. Potter just decides to ignore it, because it's merely a superstition.”

“As if Dumbledore would do anything because of a mere superstition,” Severus muttered, shaking his head. “Well, Professor, this is really bad. However, we have been expecting it. And maybe I have some clue about the Killing Curse.” The cat looked up from her bowl and started purring.

“The professor says—”

“Yes, Peggy,” he interrupted her, “I can see for myself that she's pleased. However,” he continued, again addressing the cat, “I said I had some clue. And it’s only a very vague one. I think it will be inevitable for you to change back into your human form for some time, maybe late this night, because discussing more complex matters with Peggy as a translator would be rather tiresome. We’ll risk it, just this once, and I’ll cast Invisibility Spells, so we can move around the house, if necessary, without being seen from outside.”

“The professor asks whether you uses this spell when still at school,” Peggy said and giggled.

“This,” he said pointedly, “is really none of your business, esteemed colleague.”

~~~~*~~~~

A namesgiving was always a very festive occasion in the wizarding world, considering the importance of a wizard’s name. Draco Julius Malfoy was to officially receive his name in the evening of 28 July, in a ceremony worthy of the family’s standing and tradition.

Severus, who hated this kind of festivities, could not very well avoid this one, and thus arrived at Malfoy Manor at the appointed time. The ceremony itself would start at eight p.m., but Lucius had asked him to be there already at seven. A reasonably warm, bright summer day was turning into a pleasantly tepid early evening, when Severus crossed the threshold of the building—he still found it highly impressive, no matter how many times he had been here. While following a House Elf towards the salon, he briefly pondered what effect it might have on a child to grow up in this fortress of basalt. He and Lucius had never been into sharing childhood stories, but somehow Severus would have liked to know what an impression the entrance door had made on a four-year-old Lucius. Had it given him nightmares? Or had he merely found it interesting?

When he had arrived at this point of his ponderings, he had also reached the salon. As usual, when he was lost in one of his reveries, his look had been fixated on the floor, and so he lifted his head and eyes to greet his hosts. And encountered a pair of mismatched irises, one blue and one green. His first impulse was to embrace the still-exquisite creature smiling at him, but he pulled himself together and merely extended his hand. “Mrs. Malfoy,” he said, with more warmth in his voice than he had used in a very long time. “I am delighted to see you—it’s been so long…”

“Not that long, Severus.” Her voice was still as enchanting as he had remembered it. “Two and a half years hardly qualifies as a long time. But it is good to be back. And I think you might call me Yelena. It makes me feel less grandmotherly.”

Her hand was still resting in his, and Severus gave it a light squeeze. “That should be the least of your worries,” he said, smiling at her.

“Well, Sev,” Lucius said, stepping up behind his mother, “that was quite a surprise, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Severus agreed, “and a good one, just for a change. How is the Venerable Heir?”

“The Venerable Heir is being fed, so as not to disturb the ceremony by inappropriate howling. Come on,” Lucius said, putting one arm around his mother's and the other around Severus's shoulders in a rare show of affection, “let us sit down for a moment of privacy before the guests arrive. And drink to Draco's health.”

Even Severus, who usually disliked champagne, had to admit that this was very good.

“Of course,” Lucius said, smirking, “this bottle is as old as my mother—no, I won’t tell!” he added, patting Yelena's hand. “The guests will have to be satisfied with the fifty-eight vintage. Still too good for them, considering how many morons I’ve had to invite, but I won't give anybody reason to gossip about having been treated poorly at Malfoy Manor.”

Yelena gave an appreciative nod, and Severus asked her, “How have you been all that time, Yelena? Did you… did you recover?”

Now that she smiled that sad half-smile he had seen for the first time on the night of her departure, he noticed that she had aged a little. Not much, and certainly not in a bad way. But there were slight wrinkles at the corner of her eyes, and a deep line of grief had engraved itself between her brows. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on, though. “Yes and no,” she replied. “Let us say I have come to accept the fact that one never truly recovers from such a loss. It certainly hurts less now, although sometimes, I still cry for Julius. But then,” she continued after a pause, taking Lucius’s hand, “I have also recognized that I have a responsibility towards my son. It was difficult to enter this house, but the joy about Draco’s arrival outweighs those emotions.”

Severus nodded. “I am glad you feel that way. Does that mean you are intending to stay?”

“I am not sure,” she said. “But I will certainly stay in England, not too far from here. After all, my grandson will also be my godson—”

“Excellent idea!” Severus said. “Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you, but… I’m glad you found a solution,” he added, addressing Lucius, who was looking quite smug.

“Indeed,” he agreed. “And, even though some people might not be glad about it, it’s a family tradition and thus unobjectionable. Now, if you’d excuse me for a moment, I’ll go and fetch Narcissa.”

He left the salon, and after a short silence Yelena said, “From what Lucius told me, I take it that you took my request for you to look after him very seriously.” Unsure what to say, for he could hardly believe Lucius might have disclosed his allegiance to Voldemort to her, he merely nodded. With a glint of humour in her eyes, she continued, “There is no need to worry, Severus. I know. Just as I knew about Julius. He never told me, though, but Lucius… Well,” she said, pensively taking a sip of champagne, “I suppose he didn't tell me the whole truth, but a large part of it. I really have to thank you and—”

“Please, Yelena,” he interrupted her, for this kind of conversation embarrassed him to no end, “you don’t have to thank me. Let us simply say that we pretty much took care of each other. The scores are even, I daresay.”

Smiling, she shook her head. “Between you and him, maybe. But Draco…”

“That was merely a prophylactic measure, so to speak. Maybe he would have been born another day anyway, and all the fuss was for nothing. Don’t mention it, really.”

He was feeling very awkward now, and truly grateful for Narcissa and Lucius’s appearance. The latter was carrying his son—or rather, one could only conclude that little Draco had to be somewhere inside the elaborate creation that reminded Severus of a sunflower.

“Yellow?” he said, raising his eyebrows, “Why on earth did you choose yellow? Do you want him to become a Hufflepuff?”

Lucius sighed. “Stupid, isn’t it? But his birthstone is jasper, so what choice did we have?”

“Oh dear,” Severus said, peeping into the mass of ruffles and lace, “It's not really his colour, is it? It makes his skin look slightly violet…” Little Draco responded to this deprecatory remark with a delicate burp. “Now really, Mr. Malfoy. Fifty points from Slytherin.”

Narcissa smiled at him. “I hope, for both your sakes, that you won't be teaching at that school anymore once he starts.”

Yes, Severus thought, that was his own wish, too. Maybe it would all be over soon. Maybe… One hundred and fifty-six days to go…