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I, Too, Shall Follow by notwolf [Reviews - 3]
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When Lucius Apparated to the meadow outside the dilapidated farmhouse, he fully expected a repeat of the last time he’d been called here. He waited for others to start appearing, and when they didn’t, he began to worry. Had he come to the wrong place? No, that wasn’t possible. So where was everyone? For lack of an answer, he made his way toward the falling-apart structure. He didn’t hear anything, no one talking, no screaming; that may or may not be a good sign.
The mask over his face felt hot, and his robes seemed heavy, almost wet from the humidity in the air. Only now, in the broad daylight, he saw a multitude of greenery—bushes, trees, even the grass beneath his feet. Very odd. Reluctantly he pushed open the door, which gave way with a loud creaking groan, and stepped inside. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw a figure in front of him.
Bellatrix, hands on hips, wearing her typical short skirt and tight top, sneered at him as he entered. “Took you long enough, blondie. Were you hoping we’d go play in the field with you?”
“Don’t you ever go home?” he responded blandly, knowing it would suck the wind from her sails. At her sulky pout, he smiled beneath his mask.
“Don’t you ever mind your own business?” she retorted.
Lucius waved his wand over his face, removing the mask. Blessed relief! Another wave removed his Death Eater robes. “Where is this place anyway? It’s so warm for mid-April, and there’s no snow or slush, so it can’t be England.”
“I believe it’s called Florida,” she said, enunciating the word precisely.
“We’re in the States?” asked Lucius, taken by surprise. “How can that be? It didn’t take all that long to get here.”
Bella sneered again. “Do I look like a map?”
“No, you look like a two-bit hooker,” he drawled, smirking. With her wand suddenly thrust in his face, he had a change of opinion. “I’m kidding, Bella!”
She leaned in very close to his face. “I don’t think you’re very funny.” Her wand traced a path from his temple to his jaw, never leaving his skin. “So pretty. Wouldn’t Cissy be heartbroken if you came home with that pretty face all messed up?”
Lucius rolled his eyes and pushed her away. “Get off me. The Master called for me. Where is he?”
Twisting her mouth into another pout at her spoiled amusement, she remarked, “You’re no fun at all. Ever since I taught you to duel, you think you’re a big wizard. I never should’ve taught you.”
“You’re about four years too late to cry over it now,” he replied, flashing her one of his own sneers.
“You’re still not nearly as skillful as I am. I could wipe the floor with you, you know!”
Not caring to bicker, Lucius nodded and said in all sincerity, “Honestly, Bella, I believe you could, but the Master is going to be angry if I keep him waiting. Would you please take me to him?”
She sighed loudly and flounced out of the room with Lucius right behind her. She led him into what he imagined might have been a parlor or sitting room at one time. At the crumbling fireplace she stopped to push one of the bricks. “Get in,” she ordered. Without waiting for him to comply, she shoved him onto the hearth.
The whole structure seemed to fall at an incredible rate that made his stomach soar and his head dizzy. It landed with nothing more than a gentle bump, and he was in a huge cavern lit by numerous torches lining the walls, casting eerie shadows off the rock formations.
“My Lord!” he called out as he stepped tentatively away from the fireplace. The ground beneath his feet felt soft, moist. A chill in the air made him wish he hadn’t left his Death Eater robes up above in the farmhouse.
“Lucius,” came Voldemort’s soft voice, drawing out the ‘s’. “Where have you been?”
“Arguing with Bellatrix,” Lucius answered. It wouldn’t do to lie over something so trivial. He glanced around again, unable to see the Dark Lord.
“She’s easily bored,” the voice returned. “She longs for excitement, which perhaps I ought to grant her. There have been Muggles prowling about.”
Using Occlumency, Lucius carefully closed off the part of his mind that hoped this wasn’t the reason for his summons. “Master, where are you?”
Voldemort materialized only inches from his face, prompting him to lurch backward in shock. He felt his face go red as the Dark Lord laughed at his surprise. His wildly beating heart began to calm as he knelt to kiss Voldemort’s robe, then stood up.
“How did you do that? Were you invisible, my Lord?”
“No, Malfoy. Even I cannot make myself invisible. I produced a small mirage to make you think all you saw was a cave. I was standing behind the image the whole time.” His high cackle split the air again.
You and Bella need to get out more often, Lucius thought subversively. Apparently the seclusion wasn’t doing either of them any favors. “You called for me, Master.”
“I have a task for you.”
Lucius’ heart sank. Oh, God, how he hated those words! Up to now these ‘tasks’ had primarily consisted of torturing people or being tortured himself—or both. “Yes, my Lord?”
Voldemort was turning away. Please don’t reveal Muggles you’ve hidden here for me to torment, Lucius begged silently. He would do it, of course, if ordered to; he’d learned from enduring repeated applications of the Cruciatus Curse and other hideously painful spells that obedience was the best policy.
The Dark Lord stretched out his hand and a book flew to him from the inner recesses of the cave, then he swung back around to Lucius. “I wish for you to keep this article of mine safe until I’m in need of it.”
Lucius’ whole body relaxed so suddenly he almost stumbled. All he had to do was hold on to a book? “Anything, my Lord. I’m truly honored you’ve chosen me.” Strangely enough, he really did feel honored to be singled out in a good way.
Voldemort handed him the object. “This was a journal of mine from when I was at Hogwarts. As you can see, the pages have been wiped clean.”
Lucius leafed through the diary, nodding. “Yes, I see.”
“I would advise against trying to bring the words back.” It was uttered almost as a threat.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Master.” Especially now that he’d been warned. The thing probably had a multitude of spells and charms on it, none of which he cared to have attached to himself.
“You have an enchanted safe at Malfoy Manor, haven’t you?”
“Several, my Lord.”
“Stash this in one of them where no one will see it or have access to it. Is that clear?” His red eyes pierced the other man.
“Completely, sir. But, Master, if I may ask—what is so important about an old diary that no longer contains any words?” Immediately he regretted asking.
Voldemort took a step forward, wand raised. “Are you questioning me, Lucius?”
“No, Master, not at all.” He ducked his head and braced for the Crucio. “Purely curiosity.”
“We all know what curiosity killed, don’t we?” Voldemort purred, sounding very nearly like the cat to which he alluded.
Lucius nodded. He wasn’t sure it required an answer, and his mouth had already come dangerously close to landing him in trouble yet again. The Dark Lord motioned for him to move back, which he did until his feet were firmly on the hearth. Instantly he was rushing upward at a tremendous speed, then the fireplace stopped. A flick of his wand replaced his mask and robes.
“Leaving already?” Bellatrix whined. “We could ask the Master if we can go Muggle hunting.”
“As enticing as that sounds, I need to leave,” Lucius drawled snidely, his sarcasm lost on her. “If you’re bored, why don’t you spend some time with Rodolphus? Better yet, invite him here. He could keep you company.”
“Good idea,” she said, brightening. “He likes Muggle hunts!”
“I meant—oh, never mind. I’ll see you, Bella.” He walked outside into the blinding sunshine, diary in hand, and Disapparated.
XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO
“Professor?” Severus edged into Slughorn’s office. Not seeing the man, he headed for the fireplace.
“Yes, Severus,” said the armchair as it unfolded into a man, startling the boy, who halted guiltily in the middle of the room. “What can I do for you?”
“May I use your fireplace? The one in the common room isn’t hooked up to the Floo network.”
“Naturally it isn’t. We can’t have students coming and going whenever they please, or bringing in shady visitors,” said the man, toddling over to peer at him. “Is something wrong?”
“No, sir, I don’t think so. I got an owl from a friend; he asked me to come over. I think it’s concerning a fertility potion I’m trying to make for his wife.” Severus carefully avoided mentioning Lucius’ name. After all, he doubted his friend wished everyone to know his business.
“Fertility potion, eh? That explains why certain of my rare herbs and supplies are missing.”
“I intend to replace them,” Severus answered hurriedly. “He’s promised to pay for the supplies I use. Please, may I go?” An answer of ‘no’ would serve as no deterrent, merely a hindrance inasmuch as he’d have to hike to the edge of Hogwarts grounds and Apparate to the mansion from there.
“Alright, but don’t come back too late. And don’t worry about paying for the supplies. It sounds like it’s for a good cause.” The teacher seemed as if he intended to settle down in place again, then looked over at his clock. Half past eight. “I guess I’d better make the rounds, check on my Slytherins.” The affection with which he said it gave Severus a warm feeling.
“Thank you, Professor. I’m certain I’ll be back soon.” Snape waited for the man to leave, stepped into the fireplace, and tossed his Floo powder as he announced, “Malfoy Manor.”
Although he’d not owled a reply, he had no doubt he’d get through the intense security enchantments at the manor, for Lucius had years ago added him to the short list of people able to come and go at will, while keeping out intruders. In fact, apart from direct family members, Severus wasn’t entirely sure if anyone else besides himself had that honor.
He arrived in a deserted room; no, not deserted. A house-elf scurried up to him, then ran from the room. Lucius was nowhere in sight, which he found unusual, considering he’d asked Severus to come. In the distance he heard the sound of music. While he waited he gazed around the room at the excessive finery, the expensive and ancient furniture, the portraits of generations gone, the vast majority of whom shared Lucius’ pale blondness. Most glared back at him, while a few recognized him as Lucius’ friend and smiled cordially.
Momentarily a voice behind him jolted him out of his dream world. “I take it you’re here to see my son.”
Severus spun around to face Abraxas Malfoy. He’d never formally met Lucius’ father, though on occasion he’d seen him about the mansion. He found the man’s stern presence intimidating. “Mr. Malfoy. Yes, sir, I am. Lucius owled me, asking me to come.” He had a desire to keep on explaining to the emotionless form.
The man’s eyes ranged up and down the skinny boy before him. From the worn condition of the clothing, he could be none other than the Snape boy. Lips pursed slightly, Abraxas searched for any resemblance to Eileen, and came up blank. True, the lad had black hair, but so did his father, if Lucius had told him correctly.
“You’re in school robes; evidently Lucius neglected to mention we’re holding his birthday party.”
Abashed, Severus dropped his head. “I—I don’t mean to intrude. If I could only speak to your son for a minute—”
“Nonsense.” Abraxas casually waved his wand at the boy, transfiguring his clothing into expensive-looking dress robes. “The spell will only hold for a few hours, then you’ll need to do it again. Come along.”
Stealing awed glances down at his impeccable clothing, Severus trailed behind the man as the music got louder and was joined by voices talking and laughing. They ended up in the ballroom, a room large enough to hold two of Severus’ entire house—and then some. Everywhere people were milling about. He caught sight of a platinum blond head far across the room, then it was gone.
“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. I’ll find him.”
The man lifted a hand and snapped his fingers, as if it could be heard above the din; amazingly, an elf popped beside him. “Dobby, take this boy to my son.”
Instantly Severus and the elf were standing in front of Lucius, who gave a smile—not the muted ‘I’ll pretend I’m interested’ smile, or the world-weary lip-only smile, but a genuine grin splitting his handsome face.
“You came! Welcome, Severus!” He extended a hand.
Severus shook it. “You could’ve told me you were having a party.”
“If I had, you wouldn’t have come,” Lucius said simply with a little half-shrug. “You’re dressed appropriately. Very nice robes, by the way.”
“Your father transfigured my school robes. I feel like bloody Cinderella.” He was met with a blank stare. “It’s a fairy tale—a Muggle fairy tale.”
“Ah. I wouldn’t know it.”
“Happy birthday. I’m sorry I didn’t bring a gift,” said Severus.
Lucius made a little face and gestured around the room. “I have everything, Severus. I don’t need a gift.”
He made a cocking motion with his head toward the back of the room and began to lead the way, acknowledging people and making idle chatter to them as he went, never breaking stride. They continued down a luxurious hallway and ducked into a massive library, which was dark and quiet. Lucius strode to the French doors and threw them open as he waved Severus over to join him on the balcony, lit only by the soft light of the moon.
“It’s good to get away from this ‘small gathering’, as my father puts it. I only know half the people here.” He leaned on the railing, staring into the darkness of the back lawn where the glaring party lights didn’t reach. “I hate parties. I spend all my time sucking up to people and trying to make more contacts. They’re hardly fun, as a party should be.”
Severus came up beside him and leaned over, putting his elbows on the railing. The air felt so crisp and fresh compared to the heat of the packed ballroom. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to a party before, unless you count the family getting together at my grandparents’ house.” He smiled ruefully to think Lucius must consider him such a bumpkin.
“I’d prefer that,” Lucius responded softly. “I’m being a terrible host. Would you like something to drink—wine, whiskey, rum?”
“No, thanks, I don’t drink.” He hesitated, remembering the glass he’d seen in Mr. Malfoy’s hand earlier. “Does your father become…unruly when he has alcohol?”
“You mean abusive?” said Lucius, only realizing the implication when he saw scarlet flaming in Severus’ cheeks. “No. I’ve never seen him drunk. He’s very careful about his public face, and he only drinks socially.”
“That’s good,” replied Snape quietly. He seemed captivated by the utter black of the yard, for he refused to turn from it.
Lucius studied his friend’s mournful expression, lamenting his mention of abuse. Severus had told him of Mr. Snape’s predilection for getting drunk, and subsequent bouts of brutality. It angered and worried him. “Severus, did something happen?”
At first there was no answer, which he took as a definitive answer of ‘yes’. Then Severus turned his head to look at him with pain in his black eyes.
“I hit my brother,” he burst out, as if the words need to escape. “I’ve never done that before.”
“So?” Lucius shrugged, feeling relieved. “My brother used to hit me all the time when my father wasn’t around. It’s normal, don’t fret about it.”
“It’s not normal for me. I lost control against people I love, Lucius, and I can’t even blame it on drinking. What’s to stop it from happening again?”
The utter desolation and fear shining in his eyes gave Lucius a sad twinge. Knowing what he did of what went on in the Snape household, he fully understood his friend’s despair at becoming like the man he feared. “You’re better than that, Severus. For one thing—the most important thing—you don’t want to do it again. You probably have the strongest will of anybody I know, and if you decide to control yourself, no one will be able to move you.”
“I think you give me too much credit,” Severus murmured.
“I don’t. I have the utmost faith in you. If I were you, I’d have killed those blasted Marauders years ago, yet you manage to coexist with them. You study and practice spells most people find hideously difficult, but you do it because you want the skill, because you have the self-control to do it. And you have the patience of a saint in making potions.”
This drew a small smile from the younger of the two.
“Which brings me to the reason I dragged you into this hellfest tonight. I said I don’t need a gift, but what I do need is a baby to make my wife happy…and myself, I admit. Any luck on that potion?” Lucius eyebrows raised hopefully.
Severus shook his head. “No, sorry. My last potion killed my lab rat.”
“That’s probably not a good sign,” observed Lucius.
“I think that’s safe to assume,” Severus answered dryly.
“So, how long do you anticipate? Another few months?”
Severus looked over at him, lip automatically curling. “Inventing potions isn’t as easy as making a known one, as my dead rat can attest. I could get lucky and find one in a month, or spend fruitless years trying. I just don’t know.”
Rolling his eyes in mock impatience, Lucius remarked, “How hard can it be?”
“Aside from drawing up a new formula each time, collecting the ingredients, preparing them, and spending a month or more brewing it, I have to then test it for a few months on an animal I’ve made sterile to see if it’s viable. It’s complicated and time-consuming, as I recall telling you once before.” Severus stopped to catch his breath.
Lucius glanced from the yard over to his friend. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening. What was that?”
Grinding his teeth and glowering ferociously, Severus began, “I said—”
Lucius broke into a chuckle and slapped him on the back. “I heard you! You have no sense of humor.”
If you’d been teased all your life, I doubt you would, either, seethed Snape.
“Here, before I forget.” Lucius drew a bag the size of his fist from an inner pocket of his robes and handed it to Severus. “I must apologize for not paying you in a timely manner. This is to cover the last three months. I’ve opened a tab at all the Potions Supply shops, so you can get whatever you need. This should pay for anything you already spent, as well as for your time and effort.”
Severus shoved the bag back at him, but Lucius refused to accept it. “You’re my friend, I can’t take your money.”
“I’d pay a stranger, why shouldn’t I pay you when you’re ten times better?” demanded Lucius.
“I don’t know about ten times,” Severus replied, trying not to smile at the compliment.
“Severus, I insist. You’re performing a service; I owe you for it. Malfoys do not evade their debts.” He glanced back dolefully at the library door. “I have to get back to the party. You’re welcome to join us.”
“I really ought to go back to school.”
Lucius nodded. “I do appreciate what you’re doing for us. I’m honestly not trying to pressure you, I simply…well, you know.”
“It’s alright. I’m sure it’s very frustrating to wait.” Holding up the bag of coins, he nodded back. “Thank you.”
“It’s not a gift, you earned it. Every month from here on out I’ll be paying, and I don’t want to argue with you every time, so just take it and shut up.” Lucius smirked, his eyes twinkling. “Hmm, threatening my guests. I really have become a terrible host, haven’t I? Goodnight, Severus. And good luck.”
XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO
For weeks since returning from Easter holiday, Regulus had been avoiding his brother, a filthy Mudblood-loving blood traitor with the gall to run away from home because he didn’t like their parents’ ideas. The shame on the family would have been overwhelming to him, had his friends not been supportive. They didn’t blame him for what the Gryffindork Muggle-lover did; in fact, the sixth and seventh year Death Eater crowd welcomed him with open arms. He didn’t need Sirius.
So why should it bother him to see the creep sauntering his way into the Great Hall? All he had to do was move over to the Slytherin table and he’d be free of the contaminating influence. Instead, he scowled and stood his ground.
“You’re hard to get alone, Regulus,” said Sirius in a deep, menacing tone. “Not too surprising, I guess, seeing as you’re a backstabbing little ponce.”
“Tough words from a blood traitor bastard,” retorted Regulus.
Sirius grabbed his brother’s face in one hand and shoved him hard backward. The boy tripped and fell, cracking the back of his head on a Ravenclaw bench on his way down. He lay motionless. Aghast, Sirius leaped forward to kneel beside him in an attempt to rouse him; the next thing he felt was a very painful spell hitting the side of his skull. He crumbled beside his brother.
The Slytherin responsible for the hex made haste to notify Professor Slughorn, who brought along Madam Pomfrey to examine the boys. She summarily had them whisked to the infirmary, where they awoke some time later in adjoining beds, both with tremendous headaches.
Sirius groaned and glanced over at Regulus. “What the hell did you do to me?”
“Nothing, moron! You’re the one who pushed me down and probably gave me a concussion.”
Oh, yes, Sirius did remember doing that. Then who hexed him? “I didn’t mean to knock you out,” he conceded gruffly.
“Yeah, I know,” said Regulus.
All at once Sirius blurted, “Why did you tell Mum what I did to Snivellus? I told you that in confidence!”
Crinkling his brow in slight confusion, Regulus replied, “I didn’t tell her, Kreacher did. He was obviously skulking outside the door when we were talking.”
“But I thought…” Well, that changed things. Regulus wasn’t the untrustworthy tattle-taling shit he’d believed him to be after all.
“Is that why you ran away from home to live with wizard scum—because you were mad at me?” Regulus exclaimed.
Sirius sat up, his aching head feeling woozy. “I ran away because Dad beat the living hell out of me! He half killed me. I’m not putting up with that crap!”
His brother’s face lost its hard edge and he struggled into a seated position as well. “Nobody told me that.”
“Of course they didn’t. I’m the evil seed in their minds. They were glad to be rid of me.”
Regulus didn’t think it prudent to address that issue. For all he could tell of his parents’ reaction, they were glad. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Sirius nodded. “The Potters brought in a mediwitch. Look, Reg, we’re probably not gonna have much chance to talk later, so I have to say this now. I wish you wouldn’t hang with those Death Eaters. Voldemort isn’t somebody to play around with, he’s very dangerous.”
For a moment, silence was his answer. Then, guardedly, the younger boy responded, “I’m not gonna get hurt or anything.”
“I know I can’t stop you from doing whatever you want to do, but…I worry about you. You’re my little brother.” It was so unlike Sirius to be—well, serious, that Reg was at a loss for words.
Madam Pomfrey, hearing their voices, hurried over. “Boys, you should rest, not talk. You both took pretty good knocks to the head. Here, drink this.” She handed them each a small glass of purple liquid.
The brothers exchanged silent, understanding glances as they raised the tiny cups in a kind of salute and swallowed the medicine.
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I, Too, Shall Follow by notwolf [Reviews - 3]
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