Snape sighed slightly and didn’t bother to look up from his plate. “Lucius.”

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Severus,” Malfoy stated in his starched, upper-class voice.

“I’m sure there are many people you don’t expect to see here, Lucius. However, food is served here, I was hungry, hence my presence.” Snape stuck his fork into a slice of carrot as Malfoy slid into the chair opposite him. “Oh, do sit down,” he offered sarcastically.

“Thank you,” the blond man replied with an arched eyebrow. “You shouldn’t eat alone. It’s not good for your digestion.”

Snape glanced at him briefly, chewing on his carrots.

“I haven’t seen you around much,” Malfoy noted, resting his cane across his knees and proceeding to remove his grey lambskin gloves finger by finger.

“Busy,” said Snape around a mouthful of rare lamb.

“Yes, how is everything at the school?” his unwelcome dinner partner inquired, laying his gloves on the table and shifting in his seat.

Snape shrugged slightly, eyes fixed on his plate.

“I would’ve thought you’d be in a better mood with all those young girls around you every day,” came the sly statement.

Snape paused mid-chew and tightened his grip on his fork. He really wasn’t in the mood for this right now. Or ever, to be honest.

“Unlike some, Lucius, I don’t harbour paedophiliac tendencies,” the dark-haired man pointed out, swivelling his eyes up to meet Malfoy’s icy grey ones. “I do recall mentioning this before. Several times.”

“Of course,” said Malfoy with an indulgent smile and a lazy blink. He studied Snape’s face silently, his eyes sliding over the man’s large nose, across the wide philtrum, and down along the slippery length of his raven black hair.

Snape didn’t even have to be looking at Malfoy to know it was coming.

“You seem uptight, Severus. Drought going on a bit too long, is it?”

Here we go.

“Not everyone needs to flood their garden on a daily basis, Lucius,” Snape slurred out around his potatoes.

“Mmm,” hummed Malfoy, toying with his cane lightly, eyes glittering as he watched Snape eat. “You don’t normally have this much of an appetite. Been engaged in some strenuous activity?”

“No,” was the laconic reply.

“I’m sure you remember the topic of our last conversation, but just in case—”

“Yes, I do recall it, Lucius, and the answer is still no,” said Snape firmly, flicking a glance up at the man and tucking his feet under his chair to avoid contact with Malfoy’s boot.

Malfoy rested his elbow on the table and propped his chin on his hand. “You know, you’re an enigma, Severus. I still can’t work out whether age has made you prudish, or that perhaps what I saw all those years ago was an act.”

Snape didn’t dignify him with a response and went back to his carrots.

“It’s become quite a legendary story, one that I would have cause to disbelieve had I not been there myself,” continued Malfoy doggedly. “I think you even turned Rosier’s head.”

“A goat would have turned Rosier’s head,” Snape stated mordantly.

“I know Bellatrix couldn’t uncross her legs for a week, and for her that’s a certified miracle.”

Snape started to jiggle his leg in irritation.

“Narcissa remembers,” said Malfoy softly with a streak of cold steel buried in the words.

“I was required to perform a task and I did,” growled Snape, spearing another cut of lamb. “Nothing more.”

Malfoy’s huffed laughter floated over the table, and he tilted his head to one side in his hand, his pale blond hair swaying across his chest with the movement.

“And do you perform all tasks in such glorious manner, Severus?” Malfoy took his chin off his hand and reached for a runner-bean on Snape’s plate. He was lucky not to lose a finger as Snape’s fork slammed into the surface of the table, tines down, millimetres away from the digit.

“Let’s just say I’m a very good actor and leave it at that, shall we?” the Potions master hissed, his large nostrils flared and an uncharacteristic flush of colour sitting on his cheekbones. “Is there something else that you wanted, Lucius?”

Malfoy stared at him mildly and drew his hand back into the safety of his side of the table. He settled back into his chair with the air of someone who had no intention of leaving any time soon. Snape wrenched the fork out of the table, wiped it on his sleeve and went back to his dinner again. Malfoy looked around the room calmly, as if bored, but his eyes ensured that there was no-one close enough to hear his next question, which he spent some time phrasing in his head.

The hour was not especially late, so there were still a number of patrons in the bar, some enjoying a repast, others a drink. Some were enjoying more than a few drinks, but they were keeping relatively to themselves. The barkeeper, Bruar, brooked no nonsense from his patrons, so the pub was well-known for a more civilised crowd than some of the dingier establishments in the surrounding suburbs. It also had the reputation of being frequented by the older wizarding families; some, it had to be said, with a light dusting of suspicion on their allegiances. Bruar would never allow anyone with obvious criminal tendencies into his pub, but that didn’t mean that everyone in here was a saint, present company a supreme example.

Malfoy returned to staring at Snape and shook his head slightly. The man had never been one to eat much, unless he’d been hiding some kind of binge eating disorder all this time. It struck Malfoy as unusual that Snape would suddenly start manifesting an increased appetite. Obviously something unusual was occurring here.

“Have you been doing much travelling lately, Severus?”

Snape’s fork stopped midway to his mouth, and he squinted at Malfoy. He seemed to consider the question carefully.

“No more than to be expected, Lucius,” he eventually replied in an even voice, giving no indication as to his reaction to the question.

“Well, sometimes people submit to wanderlust when the circumstances dictate it,” Malfoy stated softly with a half-smile.

Snape just stared at him.

“I know you know what I’m talking about,” said the blond man, checking the fingernails on one hand nonchalantly.

Snape put his fork down and sat back in his chair with a slight hitch to his shoulders.

“Are you having trouble getting somewhere, Lucius?” he inquired gently, running one middle finger along the edge of the table absently. “Are you here to ask me for directions?”

Malfoy’s face turned stonily sour at the question. He set his jaw and looked down his nose at Snape, which wasn’t easy to do considering the man sat higher than he, in more ways than one.

“What leads you to believe I haven’t already been where I needed to go, Severus?” Malfoy asked with a sliver of irritation in his voice.

Snape just smiled slightly at him, still running his finger slowly back and forth along the edge of the table.

“It must be trying to have your attention pulled in different directions,” Malfoy continued smoothly. “I wonder if it leaves you a little unfocussed on current events.”

That just made the corners of Snape’s mouth turn up even more.

Malfoy tapped his fingers lightly on the table and looked up at the oak-beamed ceiling shrouded in shadows.

“One of the most perilous places to be is a foot away from the top of the mountain.” He looked back at Snape to find the man’s expression still unchanged except for one raised eyebrow. “It’s so easy to miss the danger from below when you’re only looking up, and perhaps even the pitfalls that could be right under your feet: ice, loose rocks, scorpions—”

“Back stabbing, hamstring-tearing treacherous animals…?” Snape interrupted, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head slightly. “I’ve heard there are a lot of those up mountains.” He picked up his fork again. “Precarious footing doesn’t bother the experienced climber, and should their foot slip…” He opened his eyes very wide to fix Malfoy with a pointed, midnight stare. “…well, their arm has sufficient strength in it to prevent the kind of mishap that might befall someone of lesser aptitude.”

Malfoy’s pale eyebrows drew down until a heavy line appeared between them, and his fist clenched until the knuckles went white. Snape smirked at him briefly and went back to the remainder of his meal, to all appearances unaffected by the air of spiky irritation wafting from the man opposite him.

“I confess to no small amount of curiosity regarding one of the new students at the school,” Malfoy segued abruptly, no doubt in an effort to hide his little snit at Snape’s last comment.

Snape failed to respond, teeth grinding away at his food relentlessly.

“It’s been some years since Hogwarts has accepted a mature age student, especially one with such glowing recommendations from prominent members of wizarding society,” Malfoy continued, watching Snape closely.

“Older students do tend to display greater intelligence than their younger counterparts, Lucius. That shouldn’t surprise you.”

Malfoy pursed his lips briefly. “Smart, is she?” He thought he saw Snape pause mid-chew, but he wasn’t entirely sure.

“Most would seem smart in comparison to teenagers,” came the dry response. Snape jammed the last bite of food into his mouth and set the fork across his empty plate. He drew the side of his long thumb across his mouth and then ran his tongue leisurely up it. He had to suppress a laugh at the way Malfoy’s pupils dilated at the action. The man was so easy to provoke that there was hardly any challenge in it any more. Sliding sinuously out from behind the table, Snape loomed up over Malfoy, making him look up awkwardly. “Forgive me, Lucius, but as stimulating as this conversation has been, I’m afraid I have a rather pressing need to attend to,” he said silkily, making Malfoy blink. “I will, of course, convey your regards to Draco.” With that, he glided off, with Malfoy’s grey eyes following him all the way to the bathroom.

---

Pressing need, my arse, thought Malfoy, scowling as Snape disappeared through the doorway that led to the pub’s bathrooms. The man always knew how to end a conversation by making the other person feel inconsequential. He’d moulded and honed the ability into a weapon, and his favourite target was Lucius.

Malfoy huffed. He wasn’t about to admit that the reason that was the case was because he kept standing right in the blast zone, like an idiotic duck that careened into the air at the bark of a hunting dog. Before any conversation with Severus, Malfoy always determined that he wouldn’t let himself get drawn into range, and afterwards he would curse himself for dancing straight into it. It was a compulsion that he had no control over, no matter how hard he tried. He drummed his fingers on the table, irritated. Severus was able to slip right past any resolve and jab straight at him in such a way that Lucius retorted before he could stop himself, and he always came off second best. It must be some perversity in his nature that made him keep trying to best the man verbally.

Watching the doorway to the bathroom like a snake waiting for a rabbit to emerge from its burrow, Malfoy saw a tubby, florid-faced man wheeze his way back into the pub’s main room. Rostoff, Malfoy recognised distantly. No doubt trying to down another sizeable drink before he had to waddle home to his utter shrew of a wife.

It was no small aggravation that despite Lucius’ pure-blood status, his not inconsequential wealth, his connections to important and powerful members of wizarding society, and his standing amongst the Dark Lord’s followers, that Severus had been favoured equally if not more than he, by the Dark Lord. It rankled that an impoverished half-blood should be such strong competition. Even the other Death Eaters seemed to have trouble distinguishing which of the two of them stood higher. Lucius tried to ignore it when the deference paid to Severus was greater than that paid to him… at least until a carefully chosen time later when Lucius could show the offender the error of his or her ways. If there was one thing that Lucius could do superlatively, it was intimidate. After all, it had been his abilities in that area that had allowed him to manipulate the Hogwarts board of governors into removing Dumbledore from the school two years ago. Regrettably, it hadn’t been long lasting, and to his disgrace it had gotten him removed from the board himself. He fidgeted angrily in his chair at the memory, noting a tired-looking, sandy haired man coming out through the bathroom doorway. He shook his head slightly, not recognising the man, his eyes automatically scanning him from head to foot as the stranger stood at the bar, waiting for Bruar to serve him. Another movement pulled Lucius’ eyes back in the direction of the bathroom. Just Tesla: one of the idiots from the MLE.

Lucius had managed to regain some influence with the board, albeit much reduced. He had been intrigued by the acceptance of a mature age student to the school. Levitin had slipped him a copy of the woman’s application, the contents of which Lucius found more than a little intriguing. He’d never heard of the woman, or anyone of the same surname. He’d been interested enough to prod his son into giving him titbits of information about the woman, but Draco had been rather lacklustre in his efforts, if truth be told. He reported that Parr had been placed in Ravenclaw, that she studied across several year levels (most curious!), that she told lewd jokes, seemed to be on a more friendly basis with some of the teachers than students normally were, and, oddly, that she was incredibly strong. That last description had raised Lucius’ eyebrows. He wasn’t really sure what to make of it. Had she been lifting the dinner tables up with one hand? He’d replied to Draco’s letter with more questions buried amongst the usual father-son correspondence, but had yet to receive a response. Severus had been typically vague when Lucius had questioned him about Parr. True, the query had been just as vague, but it wasn’t necessary to be blatant when asking Severus about anything; the man was well versed in innuendo and intimations.

The door swung out to allow another patron back into the main room. Lucius recognised the face, but couldn’t attach a name to it. He’d seen the man a few times, usually in the company of some of the lower-ranking ministers, and therefore not important enough to know. Damn it, what was Severus doing? Had he fallen in and drowned? Lucius snorted. Chance would be a fine thing. He tapped his foot impatiently. Surely Severus wasn’t hiding from him? In the toilet, of all places. He snorted again. No, it was much more likely that the man had Apparated out of the pub in an effort to prevent any further contact with Lucius. Very frustrating. Lucius had only been able to get a hint of what he wanted to know out of Severus, which, although better than he had expected, was still too little. He resisted a sudden urge to fuss at his forearm.

That the Dark Mark had begun to burn had thrown Lucius into a spin. After a number of years of being nothing more than a pretty pattern in his skin, it had reinstated itself on his awareness a few months ago by stinging like a thousand mosquito bites. At first, Lucius had thought that it wasn’t the Dark Mark at all that was the cause of the pain, and he’d scrutinised his arm closely, looking for symptoms of a rash or an infection, both equally unlikely considering how fastidious he was about his physical health. Had he knocked his arm without realising it? Possible, if unlikely. When no bruise appeared after a couple of days, the creeping realisation that the pain was coming from the Dark Mark itself caused the bottom of his stomach to drop to some unknown depths below ground level. Narcissa had been perceptive enough to notice her husband’s unusually anxious mood. To her credit, she had waited until he was ready to discuss the matter with her rather than steamroller on in with badgering questions.

“What will you do?” she had asked inevitably. Lucius didn’t know and said as much. His wife seemed to consider his response carefully, her blue eyes regarding him steadily.

“Is it a summons?” she finally asked evenly. The question dropped the floor of his stomach beyond the level of hell. She saw the change in his expression and knelt before him as he sat on the edge of their bed. “Do you have a reason to fear it?” she queried.

Lucius had returned his gaze with a slightly panicked one of his own. “Do I have reason to fear it?” he repeated quietly. “After fourteen years? How else am I to react to it?” He’d scrubbed his hands over his face.

“Then you must go to him,” Narcissa had replied firmly. “You cannot risk hesitating. You must go.” Her hand wrapped around his.

“It isn’t a summons,” he had denied. “It feels... different.” He shrugged. “It feels…” He wrinkled his forehead in his efforts to find the appropriate description. “…ominous, unfocussed.” He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know what it means.” He stood up abruptly and stepped around Narcissa, his hand slipping away from hers. “What am I to do? Go to a man I’d thought dead? I can only imagine what he’d have in store for me. The Dark Lord is singularly unforgiving.” He looked out of the bedroom window, out on to the grounds of the manor that were shrouded in the dark of a moonless night. “Attendance could spell as great a punishment as absence, and I’ve learned never to misinterpret his wishes.” Silence fell between them. Narcissa waited, watching her husband patiently, allowing him time to think. “It is a test,” he said finally. He turned to face her, his unbound hair swaying. “I do not know how to pass it.”

He still didn’t know, and Severus wasn’t about to let him look at his answers.

Stebbins went into the bathroom, Hawkins came out. A stranger went in, a different stranger came out.

Lucius tutted and pulled on his gloves. Very well. The asp had escaped him once again, it seemed, so there was no point hanging around.

---

The sandy-haired man watched the blond wizard leave the pub with his nose stuck in the air with the hauteur of an aristocratic snob. He drained the glass before him with a grimace, left the required coin on the countertop, and walked purposefully over to a table around the other side of the bar.

“You’re late,” said the man seated at the table without bothering to look up from the book he was reading.

“Not by much,” was the response.

The seated man closed his book with a sigh and looked up. “But late nonetheless,” he said in his gravely voice, heavy brows drawn low over muddy brown eyes. “My time is no less precious than yours. You can patronise the bar after our appointment, not during it.”

That sparked a flash of irritation in the hazel eyes of the other man.

“After all, you were the one who pressed for haste, not I.”

He seemed to like that comment even less, but sat down opposite, lips thinned in annoyance. “Then I shall dispense with the pleasantries,” he announced tersely. “What have you found?”

The heavier-set man sat back in his chair casually and rubbed his chin with his fingers, the stubble making a slight rasping noise.

“The incident at the hospital…” he began, casting his eyes about the pub cautiously.

“Yes?” prompted his tired listener.

“It seems that it has been… incorrectly reported,” said the informer with a thoughtful expression on his olive-skinned face.

The other man stared fixedly at him. “How so?”

“From what I have been able to uncover, there was a murder at the hospital, but the victim was male, not female.”

The hazel eyes blinked. “Quite an erratum, even for the Daily Prophet,” was the dry response.

“What’s even more intriguing is that the victim was the intruder, not the patient.”

That scored a point of interest, if the slight raising of the man’s eyebrows was anything to go by. Over the years of their association, if one could call it that, Trint had learned that the man opposite was not given to overt facial expressions. Once that had been established, he’d trained himself to catch even the slightest movement of brow, mouth or lid. It was often quite a challenge to translate such minute movements, but one that Trint felt more than capable of handling.

“What of the intended victim?”

Trint removed his hand from his chin, and squinted at the man, noting the slightly flared nostrils. Yes, this seemed to be of particular interest.

“No longer at the hospital.” He saw the man’s eyes dart briefly to the left: an indication of thought. Trint waited.

“What was the reason for the patient’s admittance?” was the next question, shrewd eyes fixed on his once again.

Trint mulled this over, distilling the snippets of information in his mind. “Uncertain. All I could discover was that the patient was suffering from a number of physical injuries that resisted usual treatment.”

The eyes flicked to the left again, accompanied by a faint tightening of the jaw. Interesting.

“The identity of the intruder?”

Trint noted that his companion’s eyes hadn’t returned to his own. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. It was either disinterest, or he didn’t expect Trint to know the answer. The man always stared him straight in the eye when asking questions.

“There weren’t enough pieces large enough to make a positive identification,” said Trint. That brought the man’s gaze back, quick smart.

“And?”

Trint sighed. “That’s about the extent of it. My sources of information appeared to be… out of the loop, so to speak. Aurors appeared on the scene very quickly. Suspiciously so, in my opinion. It could also suggest that some of the hospital staff have been Obliviated. It would explain the paucity of information.”

The man’s mouth tightened slightly at that. “What of the other matter?”

This wouldn’t be well-received. “Nothing.”

The sandy-haired man’s nostrils flared. That, coupled with the crease between his brows indicated extreme displeasure. “Unprecedented,” was the verbal response. His eyes bored into Trint’s as if looking for some evidence of dishonesty. Trint just returned the gaze impassively. Much as it pained him to admit, he had indeed found nothing, which caused him some degree of consternation. He didn’t often fail to obtain information required of him.

The man’s eyes flicked to the left again. He spent some time considering something. Trint waited, accustomed to this behaviour.

“I have additional information that may assist you,” the man revealed, squinting slightly at him.

Trint raised his eyebrows in a subtle question.

“The hair may be copper-coloured, eyes green.” He paused. “The height may also be different.”

Trint’s eyebrows edged up higher.

“Anywhere up to six and a half feet.”

The informer didn’t bother to suppress the exhalation of exasperation. “Is this a different person you’re asking me to source information on?”

The man blinked. “No.”

Trint snorted lightly. “It certainly sounds like it. Hair and eye colour I can accept; they’re easily changed. But height?” He shook his head, ruefully. “I can’t work with sliding scales or fluid definitions. You know that.”

“Nevertheless, that is the information I have.”

Trint exhaled heavily. “Is there any other parameter you want to change?” he asked a little curtly.

The man returned his look with a frosty one of his own. “No.”

“You’ll be double charged, then,” Trint pointed out bluntly.

The other man’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t protest. So, important enough to warrant the extra expenditure, eh? Very interesting.

“I have another job for you,” said the man smoothly, his voice belying his apparent annoyance at the increase in fee.

“Oh?”

“Someone in the Department of Magical Games and Sports has gone missing.”

“Name?”

“Bertha Jorkins.”

“Missing for how long?”

“At least two months.”

“Last known location?”

“Albania.”

Trint’s heavy eyebrows twitched up. “A bit far afield from London.”

“Indeed. A holiday, I believe.”

“In Albania?” Trint shifted in his seat with an expression of distaste. “I can think of more pleasant places to holiday,” he muttered. “Salient features I may not be able to find in a photograph?”

“A predilection for gaudy footwear,” said the man. “Smells like dust and cheap musk. Small mouth, slightly crooked teeth, and larger than average ears that she hides behind her hair. Notoriously nosey.”

Trint pursed his mouth. “Potential dangers?”

The man huffed in a parody of amusement. “Not from her. However, the circumstances of her disappearance suggest she may have stumbled into something dangerous.”

Trint sighed. “Risk goes up, price goes up,” he stated, eliciting a scowl from the man. “That, in addition to the remote location sets the fee at triple the standard.” Trint could almost hear the wall behind him erupt in flames at the man’s stare. “How soon?”

The man continued to glare at him for a few moments before responding. “As soon as possible.”

“Quadruple the standard fee, then,” Trint amended, with a half-smile.

The man actually bared his teeth slightly at that. Wow, that had really pissed him off, thought Trint.

“Very well,” came the reluctant reply through gritted teeth, pinpoints of anger speckled through the deep voice.

Trint smiled more broadly. “I’ll let you know,” he stated unnecessarily.