Abraxas arrived on his porch at the same time he did every other work day; his mood, however, left something to be desired. The door crashed open before him and he slammed it roughly after him. “Lucius!”

Sisidy popped in beside him with her typical adoring expression. “Master Lucius is in his study, Master Malfoy. Does Master wants Sisidy to fetch him?”

“No, I’ll go up.” He dropped his cloak on a hook and Disapparated.

Lucius half-sat, half-lounged on a leather sofa next to the large, open double windows, staring out into the gardens surrounding a marble fountain. He started when he noticed his father standing across the room, then swung his legs down to place his feet on the floor. The older man’s stance, more than anything else, alerted him to the rage carefully hidden on his placid visage.

“Father, is something wrong?”

“You could say that,” clipped the man, crossing the room to stand over him, an arm’s length away—too close for Lucius’ comfort. “I had an unusual visit from Cygnus Black today. You remember him, I’m sure—your wife’s father?”

“I’m not an idiot, of course I remember him.” Lucius edged away across the sofa before rising. “You’ve been friends for years. What’s so unusual about him visiting you?”

“What I found interesting was his snide query wondering when Malfoy men started beating their wives,” said Abraxas through clenched teeth.

At first Lucius looked curiously at him, then the implication struck and he gaped openly, horrified. “I never!”

“Would you care to explain the finger-like bruises Cygnus saw on Narcissa’s arm?”

Lucius geared up for a complete, outright denial before recalling his less-than-gentlemanly handling of Narcissa the previous afternoon. Shamefaced, he mumbled, “I only tried to detain her. I didn’t intend to hurt her.”

“Men are stronger than women to protect them, not to abuse them,” his father lectured.

“I didn’t abuse her!”

“I’d better never find out you did,” replied Abraxas evenly, his gray eyes piercing the identical ones in Lucius’ face. “Whatever this problem is between you, I suspect you’re not the innocent party.”

“What a shocker!” Lucius drawled sarcastically. “My father thinks I’m the one to blame. It would never occur to you that maybe Narcissa did something to provoke me, would it?”

“Don’t get smart with me, son. I have no qualms about putting you in your place.” He briefly considered smacking Lucius on general principles. Didn’t the kid ever get tired of making scenes that would be scrutinized and gossiped about by their peers? He’d secretly courted Narcissa while she was engaged to another man, he’d gotten himself suspended from Hogwarts for a month for severely mistreating other students, he’d nearly gotten expelled at one point…the list went on. Causing his wife to leave him—well, that took the cake! “I want you to make up with Narcissa and bring her home.”

“I don’t think she’s in the mood,” the young man responded glumly. He lifted a diminutive pouch off the sofa, opened it, and poured a stream of tiny confetti onto the floor. “This is the last note I owled her, asking her to speak to me.”

“What the hell did you do to her?” demanded Abraxas.

“Nothing! I yelled at her, scolded her like a child…like you do to me.” Until this very moment, he hadn’t understood why Narcissa was so upset, aside from not being allowed to bring her sister to Malfoy Manor, which she already knew was off limits. Now it hit him like a ton of bricks. He sucked in a breath and hung his head, feeling guilty. He hated being reprimanded like a little boy, yet he’d gone and done the exact same thing to his precious wife. Small wonder she was furious with him!

“Women don’t like that,” observed Abraxas sagely.

You think? Lucius was tempted to say, but thought better of it. “I’ll go see her tomorrow whether she wants me to or not. If I start off with an apology, maybe she’ll at least listen to me.”

“She’ll listen,” said Abraxas with a certainty born of years of marriage. “Despite everything, she loves you.”

“I said some pretty terrible things.”

Abraxas shrugged, unconcerned. He’d said awful things to his wife in the heat of the moment, and she’d always forgiven him because they loved one another deeply. He wasn’t blind, he saw the way those two gazed at each other like lovesick puppies. Narcissa would forgive him sooner or later, hopefully sooner. Gruffly he commented, “Son, if you can bow and scrape to that disgusting Dark Lord, you should have no trouble groveling at your beautiful wife’s feet.”

“Did you ever—you know, with Mother—did you have to beg?”

The older man’s lips curled upward, then he began to chuckle. “Many times, son. Many times. You’d better get used to it now.”

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Spinner’s End seemed eerily calm. Tobias and Eileen had retired to their room, though the evening was young. The children played quietly in their own room, subdued by the seriousness of the situation. While they’d had a month to process the horrible news and become accustomed to it, Severus still felt positively shell-shocked. Yesterday it had taken all his willpower not to break down at the sight of his mother looking so frail, the by-product of the radiation intended to extend her life. Today he’d gone through the motions of living, without the faintest clue what he was doing. Only home for one day, he already felt ten years older.

He’d never heard of any cures for cancer in the wizarding world, though he’d never researched it, either. He’d had no reason to. If Mum had gone to a mediwizard who could offer no hope, what hope could he himself offer her? Potions for pain or nausea? She could make those herself, and probably did, although he’d be sure to ask her in the morning. Anything he could do to help would alleviate a minute bit of this anxiety, this feeling of uselessness bouncing inside his head like a pinball on steroids.

Without a thorough understanding of the nature of her cancer, how it spread, even what caused the mutations to begin with, Severus couldn’t begin to establish a theory on how to halt it or reverse it. Hell, the scientists who did understand all those things had nothing to offer, and it would take him years of study to approach their level. When he’d agreed to develop a potion for Narcissa, he’d believed it futile, but at least he had a good grasp of the reproductive system. Entertaining the notion of stumbling upon a potion to cure his mother seemed as far remote from him as the east is from the west. Given unlimited time and luck, perhaps… Eileen didn’t have unlimited time.

A hesitant knock at the door interrupted his brooding. He hoisted himself off the sofa and stumbled over to peer out the slatted window, then threw open the door. “Glenna, what are you—”

The girl rushed forward to encase him protectively in her arms. “Severus, I’m so sorry about your mum.”

Severus’ arms automatically folded around her. “How did you hear?”

“Your sister sent me an owl; she said she knew you wouldn’t,” explained Glenna, leaning her cheek on his chest.

Severus couldn’t decide whether to be angry with Tina for interfering or grateful to have Glenna clasped to his breast. He chose grateful. Dragging her inside, he shut the door gently and led her over to sit with him on the sofa. “I’m glad you’re here.”

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

“Master Regulus.” Kreacher hopped up and down beside the boy’s bed, carefully watching for signs of stirring. Poor Master Regulus had been so sickly of late, sleeping most of the time when he was home, going off every night and not returning until early morning, always looking the worse for wear. Kreacher reached out a bony hand to shake the lad’s shoulder. “Master Regulus?”

Regulus groaned and rolled over. His body still ached from the previous night’s ‘discipline’ session. Try as he might, he could not master Occlumency well enough to thwart the effects of Veritaserum, and each night he was punished for his failing. The Dark Lord had become creative with the handful of losers still abiding in training, using not only the Cruciatus but a variety of other spells designed to hurt but not kill. Last night the Master decided to reward one Death Eater who finally passed the test: he allowed the man to vent his pain and frustration on the remaining inept group by kicking, punching, and jinxing them until he had no strength left to continue.

“What is it, Kreacher?” he moaned, struggling to a seated position.

“Mistress Black says Kreacher must bring good Master Regulus. There is company.”

Interested, if still sore, Regulus managed to extricate himself from the bed. “Tell my mother I’ll be there as soon as I get dressed. Who is it?”

Kreacher thought his statement odd, inasmuch as Master Regulus had gone to bed dressed as if collapsing there after his long night, as he often did now. “Your aunt, uncle, and cousin.”

Good. At least it wasn’t Death Eaters or a bunch of people he despised. He absently petted Kreacher’s head. “Thanks, Kreacher.”

The elf rubbed his face against Regulus’ pantleg. “Kreacher loves good Master Regulus.”

“I know,” he responded, smiling. He was quite fond of the elf himself, but growing up in this Black household, he’d learned early on not to make the mistake of showing too much affection to anyone, especially to a house-elf.

Kreacher popped out and Regulus wandered down the hall to the bathroom. A few minutes later he plodded down the stairs, put on a fake smile, and greeted his family. After the obligatory talk on pureblood supremacy and his devotion to the cause, he was permitted to amble off.

Narcissa followed after him, catching up to him in the parlor. “Reg, I know you say how great it is to be a Death Eater, but do you really mean it?”

The boy shrugged one shoulder and slumped down into a chair. “I don’t really know. The Master won’t assign me anything because I’m a pathetic slob. All I’ve done so far is get tortured on a daily basis.” He couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice.

“That’s horrible, Reg! Why?”

“I can’t tell you, only that there’s a test I can’t pass no matter how hard I try.”

Narcissa sat on the footstool beside him and leaned in to speak softly. The portraits of the manor were known to be quite nosy. “Does Lucius know about this test?”

Regulus nodded. “He passed it right away, he and Bella both. The ones who didn’t pass have to try over and over and over.” His downcast eyes glazed as he pondered enduring these punishments for the rest of his life, until the Dark Lord decided he was useless and did away with him permanently. Then a random thought struck him. “Where is Lucius? How come he didn’t come with you?”

“I left him,” she said simply, as if such an explanation should suffice.

“You left him?” he repeated, stunned. The golden couple, the epitome of high society pairings, had separated? It wasn’t done! “Why?”

“We had a dreadful fight over Andy, and he said vicious, hateful things.” Narcissa pursed her lips, remembering. Only with Regulus could she speak so openly about Andromeda, for only with her could Regulus speak candidly about Sirius. It bonded them in a web of deceit, laced with silly emotions. “I didn’t realize he could be so cruel.”

Regulus choked back a snicker. Everyone who knew Lucius knew he had a cruel streak; maybe Cissy had truly never seen it before. “Everybody says mean things when they’re mad, Cissy. You’re not planning a divorce or something, are you?”

Narcissa laughed out loud. A divorce? Even if she wanted one—and yesterday she certainly did—the Malfoys would never let it happen. Their influence in the governing body and their under-the-table bribes would make sure it didn’t go through, in order to save their impeccable reputation. And failing that, if she divorced Lucius, what could she do? Realistically, remarriage wasn’t an option for either of them, since their Unbreakable Vow of fidelity bound Lucius to her, and she to him. The best she could do right now was to try not to think of him and how heartless he was. No such luck.

“Having a little party and you forgot to invite me?” Lucius leaned in the doorway of the parlor, smirking. A-hah! I found you!

“I didn’t forget,” Narcissa snapped haughtily. “You’re not welcome at this party.”

“That’s not very sociable, Mrs. Malfoy,” he drawled.

She turned her back, though she did ask, “How did you know where I was?”

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “I went to Black Manor, where apparently your house-elves have been instructed not to speak to me. I checked out the places you like to shop, but no one’s seen you. Then I came here, where your parents and relatives seem bent on murdering me. What have you been telling them?”

“Should I leave?” asked Regulus uncomfortably, standing up.

Narcissa grabbed his shirt and jerked him back into the chair. Addressing her husband she said, “What do you want?”

“I want to apologize and to talk to you, Narcissa. Without Regulus hovering around.”

“I’m not hover—”

Narcissa pinched his leg right on top of a bruise and he yelped, though he did shut up. She thought for a moment, then said, “Regulus is in a predicament. If you help him pass this Death Eater test thing, I’ll talk to you.”

Death Eater test thing? Lucius’ head whipped over to Regulus, who was trying to slide down in the chair out of sight. Completely blanking out the expression on his face, Lucius said levelly, “Regulus, I think we need to talk.”

“About what?” chirped the boy, only the top of his head visible over the back of the chair.

A moment later Lucius’ hand clamped down on the lad’s skull, snatching a handful of hair and yanking him upright till their eyes met. “Discretion. Go upstairs to your room and wait for me,” he hissed, letting go of the hair.

Regulus scrambled past Narcissa, out the door, and the heavy stomping of his feet on the stairs was heard throughout the house. Indignant, Narcissa put her hands on her hips and glared at her husband.

“What was that about?” she demanded.

“You asked me to help him, did you not?” Lucius replied innocently.

“I didn’t ask you to pull the hair halfway out of his head! If you don’t want to help him, just say so!”

“I’ll do what I can to assist him, love, but he has a big mouth. He shouldn’t have told you anything,” said Lucius.

“He didn’t! All he said was he couldn’t pass some test, but you passed it.” Resentment of his treatment of her came rushing back twofold upon witnessing the uncalled-for roughness with her cousin. “What is wrong with you?”

“The Dark Lord doesn’t take kindly to broadcasting our business.” Lucius whirled on his heel and strode to the door. “When I finish, you agreed to speak to me. I’ll hold you to it.”

He Disapparated up to the boy’s room, where Regulus stood nervously by the window. Hearing the rustling of Lucius’ cloak, he turned around with a sheepish grin, unconsciously rubbing at his Dark Mark and looking as if he wished he could escape. “I’m sorry, Lucius. I didn’t mention the Veritaserum, I swear, I only—”

“Shut up and sit down.”

Surprised and glad that Lucius hadn’t actually knocked him down, Regulus dropped onto the bed. With a wave of his hand, he magically pushed a mound of clothing off his desk chair for Lucius. In spite of Lucius’ command to be quiet, he felt the need to explain. “Every day the Master gives us lessons in Occlumency. I think I’m doing okay, then he gives me the Veritaserum and I crack like a dry twig… I don’t know what to do. The punishments get worse each time.”

Lucius regarded him silently. He had no doubt the Dark Lord punished Regulus very harshly, but wasn’t it partly his own fault? All he had to do was learn what he was being taught; it wasn’t that hard to follow directions! “If you can’t learn Occlumency from the greatest wizard in the world, the Dark Lord himself, how am I supposed to teach you?” he queried in agitated consternation. Of course Narcissa would make this a requirement for meeting with him! “Why don’t you pay attention?”

“I do! I really try.” His face started to flush with embarrassment. Naturally Malfoy wouldn’t understand, he’d been able to learn! The heat of his shame and the stuffiness of the room were getting to him, making him sweat profusely. Another wave of his hand slid open the window. “Tell me how you do it, maybe that would help.”

Lucius wasn’t listening, he was watching the boy in wonder and remembering. There were three ways to outwit Veritaserum, with Occlumency being most common… but the Master had mentioned wandless magic—transformation. “Regulus, pass me that book.” He pointed at a thick volume laying beside the bed. When the boy bent down to retrieve it, he said, “No. Use magic.”

Regulus shrugged, took out his wand, and began to levitate the book until a sharp crack on his forearm knocked his wand from his fingers. He looked up, shocked and shaken. Lucius, aiming his own wand, indicated the book again. The boy stretched his hand out and lifted mentally; the volume twitched on the floor, thumping against the boards, then gradually lifted enough to skim over and fall at Lucius’ feet.

“Well, well, well, little Regulus is skilled at wandless magic,” he purred, quite pleased if also quite astounded. For any wizard it was most often limited; for one so young, it was highly irregular, and in this case extremely fortunate. “Bring me some Firewhisky, boy.”

While it seemed a strange request, Regulus trudged off to do as he was bidden. Maybe Lucius wanted a drink before training him. Or maybe he just wanted to get drunk and forget about teaching him. Or maybe—Reg, shut up! he scolded himself. He ended up back in the parlor where Narcissa lay alone on the couch, eyes closed. Ever so carefully he clicked open the liquor cabinet to remove a bottle of Firewhisky and a glass. What the heck, he took two glasses.

“Finished already?” she asked, peering over at his guilty posture.

“Um, no. Lucius said to bring this.” With a boyish grin he loped off up the stairs.

Narcissa clenched her teeth in irritation—nay, fury. Lucius wasn’t helping him at all, unless the test involved learning to get drunk! He was planning to spend time sucking down alcohol and corrupting her cousin, then come crawling to her as if he’d actually upheld his end of the bargain. Fine, let him try. She’d not fall for his charm or damnable handsome face, especially if it was contorted with Firewhisky!

Upstairs, Lucius dripped a few drops of alcohol into a glass, about the amount of Veritaserum typically used. He handed it to Regulus with the directive, “Concentrate. If you can transform this into water, you can transform Veritaserum. They’re both mind-altering substances, not really so different.” Except the obvious differences such as one makes you tell lies and the other the truth, but that was a minor point, and he didn’t feel like quibbling.

“I’ve never done this,” said Regulus. Not without a wand, anyway. Okay, not ever. He wasn’t even sure what spell he ought to use. Truth be told, he slept through most of his Transfigurations classes, something he didn’t think it wise to tell Lucius just now. Staring hard at the liquid in his hand, he ran through the spells he knew for transformations.

“Transformare.” The liquid bubbled a bit, then settled again. “Convers hydor.” No noticeable effect. “Mutatus hydor,” he muttered. The drops of Firewhisky leaped out of the glass, seemingly alive, to Regulus’ startled cry.

“Finite incantatem,” Lucius growled, his wand aimed at the errant Firewhisky drops. They splatted to the floor and soaked into the rug. So far the kid was doing a wretched job, unless one considered he’d managed to pull off the last trick without a wand!

“Sorry, Lucius.”

“It’s alright, you’re doing fine.” He poured a tiny bit more liquor into the glass. “Try this: Cambire theos en te vain. And do it silently. If the Aurors know you’re transforming it, it defeats the purpose.”

Regulus repeated the incantation several times, then stared at the glass as he willed the liquid to change. All at once it faded to clear; Regulus jerked his head up to see Lucius looking as thrilled as he felt. Lucius smelled the stuff, then cautiously dipped a finger in and tasted it. His broad smile and hearty clap on the boy’s back said the trial had been successful.

“How did you know the spell?” asked Regulus, beaming.

Still grinning himself, Lucius shrugged. “I didn’t, I made it up. I used to do that all the time in McGonagall’s classes, putting together phrases she’d taught us. Most of the time they worked.” With a smug smirk he added, “I guess I haven’t lost the touch.”

“Thanks, Lucius, I appreciate it.”

“You’re not done yet. You have to be able to change it as it’s being dumped into your mouth; it’s got to be instantaneous.”

Regulus nodded his understanding and opened his mouth. While Lucius poured, he concentrated on the spell, which worked at first, but Malfoy kept on pouring. Gagging and coughing, he pulled away, spitting a mouthful of watered down Firewhisky on the floor.

“Are you trying to drown me?” he bellowed.

“Sorry,” Lucius murmured, not looking sorry at all. “I wanted to see how much you could transform.”

“I guess you got your answer.”

“Yes, I did. Nearly a mouthful, which is purely astonishing considering you’re a kid and they’d never use that much. I think you’re ready for your test.” As an afterthought he added, “Don’t try that spell on just any drink. It could be cursed or charmed, in which case it wouldn’t work, and could make big problems, one spell colliding with the other.”

“I don’t go around drinking beverages I find in the street,” said Regulus dryly. “But thanks again.”

Lucius inclined his head in what might be interpreted as a mock bow, were Regulus not familiar with his style. “Let me know how you fare tonight. I need to go see my wife.” He Apparated downstairs to the parlor, where Narcissa glowered at him.

“All done drinking? Or did you come for another bottle?”

Lucius heaved a martyr-like sigh. “Do I smell like I’ve been drinking?”

Narcissa came just close enough to sniff him perfunctorily. “No.”

“I did my part, now you come with me.” He led her outside by the hand and Disapparated. They reappeared on the front porch of Narcissa’s parents’ house, where he made a beeline for the swing. He sat down, beckoning her to follow. He kicked back and forth, smiling to himself as he studied her. “We had our first kiss here on this swing.”

“I remember.” It tore at her heart. How could he do this, deliberately choosing this spot to evoke her wonderful memories, trying to weaken her resolve? She refused to sit.

“Honey, I’m sorry.”

In a cruel tone she answered, “For what? Expecting your wife to be a Malfoy? For hating Muggles? Those are perfectly normal and acceptable.”

“For hurting you.” Lucius leaned up, brushed back her sleeve, and tenderly kissed the bruised wrist over and over, then took out his wand and healed the purple marks. “This wasn’t intentional, sweetheart. I swear it won’t happen again.”

“I know you didn’t mean to do it,” she conceded, tears forming in her eyes. “But the wounds you gouged into my heart were deliberate, and they’re the ones that hurt.”

The man rose, unsure whether she’d let him embrace her, but desperately wanting to. “I overreacted. There’s no justification for some of the things I said, but please let me explain why I flew into a, uh, snit.”

“’Tantrum’ would be more appropriate.”

“Tantrum, then,” he agreed. “Narcissa, for days I was consumed with worry and jealousy…you were acting oddly and denying it. When I saw her—”

“She has a name.”

“When I saw Andromeda there, I was livid. You had no right to bring her to the manor.”

“Why? If someone found out, your precious name might be besmirched?” said Narcissa coldly.

“That’s a small part of it,” Lucius admitted, earning rolled eyes from his wife. “You’d be disowned, our families would be shamed. Mostly, though, I was afraid.” Narcissa’s countenance changed to surprise. “If Bella ever finds out, she’ll tell everyone, which would ruin our reputation, but that isn’t why I reacted so strongly. The one who absolutely cannot find out is the one she’d run to. The Dark Lord…well, he wouldn’t be pleased.”

A glimmer of understanding wormed its way into Narcissa’s brain. If the Dark Lord thought Lucius entertained Mudblood-lovers, he’d be furious, and no doubt he’d act on that fury. “He’d think you weren’t loyal enough to the pureblood cause. He’d torture you.” Her voice faltered over the words.

Lucius nodded. “Yes. More than that, he might target the family to teach me a lesson. He’s done it to others. I can’t lose you, Narcissa.” His hands clasped hers and she made no move to free them. “You’re the air I breathe, and if he hurt you or killed you, I’d as soon die myself. Life means nothing without you to share it with me. If that makes me an ogre, so be it.”

With one quick movement she pulled him close and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him fiercely. “If you’re an ogre, you’re my ogre, and I love you, Lucius Malfoy.”

Lucius held her close as he backed up to the swing and sat down, guiding her down beside him. Without a word, he crushed his lips hungrily to hers.