“Lucius, you’re home early,” observed Narcissa as her husband grumped his way across their bedroom, kicking off his boots and flinging his dress robes on the floor as he went.

“Dumbledore made me leave,” he seethed, throwing himself on the bed like a petulant child. “He said the Halloween Ball isn’t the time to be reviewing the school, and I should notify him in advance before I come!”

“Well, I suppose he wanted to have a good time, not spend his evening poring over books—”

“I only asked to interview students and maybe that Hagrid,” Lucius interrupted, pouting. “I need information to give the Dark Lord.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I’m sure you’ll find another opportunity. You are Lucius Malfoy,” his wife soothed. She sat next to him and cupped his cheek in her hand.

“I told the Dark Lord I was going, he’ll...well, he may not expect anything, but if I give him something it might brighten his foul mood,” Lucius said, feeling the tension releasing at her touch. She was right, he could simply schedule an appointment in the coming weeks, or he could always hope the Master forgot all about it; he hadn’t seemed to be really listening. Fat chance. True, he had no news, but maybe there was no news to have.

He reached up to pull her down so she was pressed against him, then he nudged at her rear, trying to raise her up so she’d be sitting on top of him. “Why is it you always make me feel better? You’re like—magic!”

They both laughed. Narcissa lay down beside him, one arm draped over his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. “You do the same for me,” she admitted. “Being in your arms makes me feel safe. When I’m sick, you’re my medicine. I love you so much.”

“Not as much as I love you,” he replied, tightening his hold.

It was in this position they cuddled until they both drifted off into a blissful sleep.

Lucius awoke in the morning to the sound of his wife retching in the bathroom. Not knowing whether he should join her, he tentatively poked his head in, then came over to her, gently supporting her as he held her hair back from her face. When she’d spewed what little contents remained in her stomach overnight, followed by gut-wrenching spasms to vomit out what didn’t exist, she finally stood up. Tears ran from her eyes, her pale jaw trembled. Lucius guided her to the sink to wash out her mouth and rinse herself off, all the while fighting the gag reflex himself.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Narcissa nodded. “It’s better now.”

“I’m glad I’m your medicine,” he cooed, clasping her to his bare chest. Until this minute he hadn’t realized how chilly he was in only his green silk boxers. He snuggled in closer, feeding off her warmth.

“Get off!” she protested, pushing him away. At his hurt expression, she explained, “I’m too hot a lot now, Lucius. It’s not you.”

“I understand. Is there anything I can do, anything you need?”

At first it seemed she intended to shake her head, then she tilted it slightly to the side. “Well, the past few days I can’t get this thought out of my mind. I have this craving…”

“Yes?” he prompted, plucking his bathrobe from a hook and shimmying into it. “Whatever it is, I’ll see that you get it.”

“Do you remember those chocolate wafer things with the sweet cream in the middle that you told me about, the ones Lord Voldemort made you eat? I think you called them ‘Oreos’.”

“Yes,” he repeated slowly, not at all liking the direction this conversation appeared to be headed in.

“I want them.”

Lucius gave a sick grin. “They honestly weren’t that good, honey.”

“You said you liked it!”

“It was a test, the Dark Lord made me—”

“I want them!” She burst into tears and ran from the room.

He followed her out to where she lay on the bed, sobbing. He’d suffered his father’s wrath untold times over the years; he’d endured torture at the hands of Lord Voldemort. This was much worse: she was crying. It tore his heart out.

“Narcissa, there are plenty of respectable foods I could buy for you—”

“You said you’d give me whatever I want!” she shrieked accusingly. “You’re a liar!”

“Sweetheart, you’re being unreasonable,” he responded, starting to rub her back and getting swatted for his trouble. He hadn’t realized how strong she was. He cradled his throbbing hand against his chest. “I’ll go see if breakfast is ready.” In a flash he’d dressed. A flick of his wand combed and tied back his hair, another flick cleaned his teeth.

“I don’t want breakfast! I—want—OREOS!”

Not daring to approach her for an actual kiss, he made kissy noises in the air, flung open the door, and dashed out down the hall right into Abraxas, who was coming from the other direction, sending them both reeling. The men righted themselves and Lucius looked at his father, who seemed none too pleased.

“Sorry, Father,” he mumbled.

“Why is your wife shouting and crying while you’re sneaking out?” demanded the older man. “I can hear her all the way down the hall.”

“She wants me to get her something, and I don’t think it’s appropriate,” Lucius explained calmly. “She’ll get over it.”

Abraxas gazed at him as if he were a complete moron, then placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Let me enlighten you, son. Malfoy wives are not ordinary in the worst of times. When you get to choose the woman you love as I did and as you did, she is not just a wife, she’s a princess. When your princess is carrying your child in her womb, you do anything and everything to please her, including buying her whatever she asks for.”

“But it’s—”

“Can you afford it?” asked Abraxas with a cocked eyebrow denoting he knew damn well Lucius could afford whatever it might be.

“Yes, sir, but—”

“Do you know how to acquire it?”

Reluctantly Lucius murmured, “Yes, Father, but—”

“Then you get it for her,” said Abraxas in a no-nonsense tone that sounded suspiciously like an order.

“But it’s Muggle!” Lucius wailed, looking distraught.

Abraxas drew back a bit, startled but curious. What on Earth could Narcissa possibly want that would be of Muggle origin? “What is it?”

Lucius lowered his face and mumbled, “Oreos.”

“Which is?”

“Cookies.”

Strained, thunderstruck silence. A split second later, Abraxas’ hand shot out, grabbed his son by the ear, and twisted—hard. Lucius howled. “Cookies? You’re being an obstinate pain in the ass over cookies? Your wife suffers vomiting, backaches, and any number of other complaints because of your child, and you dare deny her a miniscule pleasure!”

Struggling to free himself with ear intact, Lucius answered, “I can’t send a house-elf, I’d have to go to a Muggle store myself!”

Apparently his logical, formidable argument proved ineffective. His father muttered all forms of invectives as he dragged him down the corridor, hauled him down the stairs, yelping every time his ear was jerked painfully, and lugged him right up to the front door. Another shake on the ear to get his attention—as if it were truly necessary at this stage of the game—made the blood run from his face.

“You’d better stow your self-righteous attitude, young man! Marriage requires sacrifice. Now get out there and don’t come back without those cookies!” A simple wave of Abraxas’ hand swung open the door; he tossed Lucius onto the porch, and the door slammed behind him.

Rubbing his burning, stinging ear, and checking to see that it wasn’t bleeding, Lucius glowered at the door. “Sure, all my life Muggle things were off limits. Now they’re fine, are they?” he griped sarcastically. “What if I decide I want some Muggle toy while I’m out and about, playing non-pureblood?” If he didn’t find the idea so nauseating, he might actually do it for spite. Then again, if he did, he’d have to pay the piper, and the piper’s cane hurt like hell. And his death grip on the ear was nothing to laugh at, either.

At any rate, he thought it a perfect waste of time and energy to quarrel with a door, albeit as productive as arguing with his father. Determining that it was best to do as he was told, for the sake of his sanity if not for the continued good health of his body, he turned up his nose at the mansion, brushed off his spotless robes, and Disapparated.

Rather than try to find another Muggle store, one where—God forbid—someone might see him, he opted to go back to the place where he’d originally found those blasted, delicious chocolate biscuits with their smooth, yummy—stop it, Malfoy!

Like a fugitive, he glanced furtively around the car park he’d appeared in, then purposefully strode at the glass doors; sure enough, they opened for him. He smirked. At least these doors knew their place! He sauntered along, ignoring the rude stares of the grotesquely clothed apes parading about as if they believed themselves to be human. It might do them some good to see what they could aspire to.

He’d forgotten precisely which aisle housed the coveted Oreos, so he wandered up and down three aisles before coming to stand before them. You have to do this, you have no choice, and you’re already here. Just get it over with. He took a deep breath, picked up one of the crinkly packages, headed for the checkout line, and plunked it down.

“Oooh, I remember you!” squealed the cashier, winking in what Muggles obviously found a seductive manner. “You do love junk food, don’tcha?”

“It’s for my pregnant wife,” Lucius retorted haughtily, right before he reached into his pocket to pay the nasty harlot and make his escape. Oh, God, no! He’d been so rattled by Narcissa’s distress and his father’s dictatorial demands that he’d forgotten: Muggles didn’t use proper money! Slowly, eyes going from widened shock to dismal despair, he drew a Galleon from his pocket, holding it up with a look of utter dejection.

“Hey, nice coin,” remarked the young woman. “What’s that, like a pirate gold or somethin’?”

“It’s real money,” replied Lucius. This couldn’t be happening! “I forgot your kind.”

“Huh,” said the girl, snapping her gum. “We got people waitin’ in line. You gonna pay or what?”

“Did I not just say I possess none of your wretched currency?”

She leaned in, crooking her finger at him. He leaned in somewhat, warily. “Gimme that coin and I’ll pay for your biscuits.”

“I’m not paying a Galleon for this swill!”

She sighed loudly, rolling her eyes. “Not even for your wife? Fine! Make it two bags.”

Well, this was a conundrum. Fork over a Galleon for two bags of the pig slop, or leave to get Muggle money and make another trip here. In lieu of debasing himself by becoming a frequent shopper at Muggle Mart, he looked askance at her. “Three bags.”

“Done!” She snatched the coin from his fingers, picked up the microphone and announced, “Dewey, I need two bags of Oreos on register one.” She made a little motion at Lucius, indicating he should come around the counter. “You can wait here next to me till Dewey brings the goods.”

Oh, joy, Lucius moaned inwardly, moving to stand beside her. Wasn’t this cozy? If anyone were to see him standing here while the girl rang up the next customer, they might get the idea he…worked here. A shudder ran down his spine. The moment the stock boy brought around his merchandise, he grabbed it up and made a mad sprint for the door.

He didn’t even hear the cashier call out, “Don’tcha want your receipt?”

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

It hadn’t been easy to persuade Glenna to permit Jacinta to go to the carnival with Severus. She thought it pointless, as the child was a mere six months old and couldn’t actively participate or even remember she’d ever gone. Severus countered by saying Jacinta wouldn’t remember anything of her early years, but did it mean they should lock her in a closet and forget about her? At last Glenna relented, cautioning him to take good care of her, then laughing as she admitted she knew he would.

And so, Severus (a.k.a. Zeb) strolled along with his daughter in his arm, amusedly watching the delight on her face at the bright colored lights, spinning rides, screaming crowds, stands packed with all manner of stuffed animals and other toys to be won by anyone good enough to outwit the hucksters who’d rigged the games. When a man dressed as a clown passed by, she scrunched up her face as if intending to cry and clung to her father. He patted her back reassuringly.

“Severus, can we—”

“Julius, I’m in disguise!” huffed his brother. “What’s my name?”

“Zeb, can we go on the rides?” asked the boy.

“Only if you stay together,” answered Severus. He handed them each a string of tickets to be used in place of cash.

“He likes violent, crappy rides,” Justina protested.

“And she likes baby puke rides,” Julius retorted, shoving her.

Severus glared his most lethal glare which, while holding the capability of terrorizing most of the civilized world, only mildly affected his brother. “You stay together or you stay with me. That’s your choice.”

The twins looked at each other, decided their own company was preferable to his, and shrugged resignedly, then took off at a run toward the tallest ride, a rollercoaster. Jacinta waved after them, her tiny fist opening and closing.

“Alright, little one, how about Papa wins you a prize?” Severus smiled at his girl. It made him sad to think that soon he’d have to stop calling himself Papa when they were alone, lest she begin to parrot him. At least she could see him as he was, that was a small comfort. He’d included a special provision in the spell he cast upon himself to change his appearance: Jacinta—and only Jacinta—would always see the true him, not some silly disguise.

“Da, da,” she answered, which he’d take as a great compliment if she didn’t call all men ‘da’.

He ambled past a row of games with carnival workers shouting to gain his attention. He paused, then went over to the baseball toss, where a sign read ‘Three Balls, One Ticket’. Handing over a ticket, he sat his daughter on the counter beside him, where she picked up a ball in both hands and proceeded to slobber on it.

“Yuck, germy,” he admonished, though he made no move to take it from her. He could do without the tantrum meltdown. She grinned through her drool.

“Knock over three milk bottles, win a big prize,” the carny chanted, pointing at the large animals hanging on a string above.

Severus drew back his arm and let the first ball fly. It nicked one of the bottles, which wobbled and settled back into place. The second ball he could swear hit squarely on a bottle, yet it remained upright. Jacinta, imitating Severus, lobbed her ball all of two feet, giggling and squealing at the fun, clapping her hands awkwardly.

“Oh, sorry,” the carny said in an obviously fake tone.

“That doesn’t count,” Severus argued. “She’s a baby!”

“Three balls,” said the other, turning his attention to a new mark who was holding out a ticket.

Severus felt his hand reaching for his wand. No, mustn’t draw notice, especially not now. His lip curled into a sneer as he drawled, “I’ll be back.” Picking up Jacinta, he swung around and there, face to face with him, was Regulus. Before he thought, the words were coming out.

“Hey, Reg, I didn’t expect to see you here at a Muggle carnival.”

Regulus eyed him curiously, backing up a bit. “Have we met?”

Damn the luck, he’d forgotten he was in disguise! How f-king careless could he be! “I’m Glenna’s cousin…Zeb.” Snape struggled not to roll his eyes at the name. “This is her daughter, Jacinta.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of you,” Regulus murmured, peering at the child, who gawked right back at him, then she made a sudden lunge for his beautiful, long hair. His Quidditch reflexes served him well in evading the attack. “You’re a feisty one, like your mum. Cute kid.”

“Thank you—I mean, I’m sure Glenna would thank you,” Severus stammered. What was wrong with him? Not only was he making a fool of himself and forgetting simple things like don’t talk to Severus’ friends as Zeb, he was all but screaming, ‘I’m undercover, look at me!’

“I really should stop over and see her, but Jack isn’t as much fun as he used to be. He’s working at some shop, and when he’s home he’s super jealous of Glenna. You probably noticed,” Regulus commented, motioning for him to walk.

They meandered along, almost shouting over the loud music and jostling crowds. “No, I can’t say I noticed,” Severus responded. “Why would he be jealous of you?”

“Not me!” Regulus laughed, his eyes twinkling. “Don’t say anything to Glenna, but her old boyfriend still has it bad for her, and Jack can tell.”

Severus raised his blond eyebrows. “And you’d know this how?”

“He’s a good friend of mine. He doesn’t say it, of course, he’s quite a private bloke.” He made a face behind Snape’s shoulder and the baby erupted in rolling laughter. “You know what’s weird? You kind of remind me of him. I’m not sure why.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Snape, his heart beginning to race.

“What? He’s a decent guy.”

“Perhaps for a half-blood,” drawled Severus.

Regulus turned on him, his eyes now flashing, his tone cross. “Don’t get me wrong, Zeb. I believe in pureblood supremacy, but Severus is probably the best friend I ever had. It’d be just like Jack to announce he was a half-blood.”

Severus was saved from answering by the twins running back up to him. Julius thrust out a hand. “Zeb, can we have more tickets?” Justina waved and smiled at Regulus.

Severus handed him all the tickets he had in his pocket, and then they were gone as quickly as they’d come. He looked back at Regulus, who was smiling conspiratorially.

“Severus Snape, you sneaky bastard!”

“What are you talk—”

“Oh, get off it! You sound like Snape, Snape’s brother and sister come to the fair with you. Give me some credit.”

“You’re mistaken,” clipped the other.

“Really? Roll up your left sleeve; prove you’re not a Death Eater,” suggested Regulus, smirking.

His friend grabbed him by the collar and dragged him off between a tent and a stair rail, away from the crowd and noise. “Alright, it’s me. So what?”

Regulus nodded, smiling all the brighter, then as if an idea had exploded in his brain he burst out, “Oh, my God! Jacinta is your kid, that’s why you’re here with her! That’s why Jack is so jealous!”

“Shut up!” Snape hissed in his shall-I-kill-you-now-or-later voice.

“This is the coolest thing ever! You have a daughter!”

“Coolest?” repeated Severus, taken aback. “Since when do purebloods talk like that?”

“I heard it on the telly.”

Balancing Jacinta in one arm, Severus pushed him back against the railing, his face bearing the mark of desperation. “Regulus, you have a big mouth, you know you do. If Jack’s father knew about Jacinta, he’d—”

“Kill her,” Black finished for him, becoming very solemn. “I won’t say a word, I swear.”

“I’d like to trust you, Reg, but your Occlumency skills—for lack of a more refined yet accurate term—suck,” Severus observed dryly, still evidently worried. He pulled out his wand. “I can’t take the risk of anybody finding out. I’m sorry to do this.”

Looking crestfallen after learning such good news that now must be snatched from him, Regulus nodded glumly. “You’re right, we can’t take the chance. Just don’t talk to me the next time you’re Zeb.” Bracing himself, he gazed straight ahead at his friend as the latter aimed his wand in his face to Obliviate his recent memory.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Regulus became aware of his surroundings in a type of haze. He was standing alone, leaning on a railing at a carnival. He vaguely recalled coming to the carnival, but not how he got here off the beaten path. In his present condition, he thought maybe he should just go home; he really didn’t feel in the mood for this anymore.

He Apparated onto his doorstep, not bothering to care if Muggles saw him. Likely they’d think they were hallucinating if they did. Once inside he went directly to his room, where he got a terrible shock. Sprawled on the floor of his room lay Kreacher, moaning and whimpering.

Regulus hurried over to kneel beside him. “Kreacher, what’s wrong? I thought you were with the Dark Lord.”

“Master Regulus,” Kreacher croaked back, his voice a very strange rasp, and he began to cry. His eyes, already red-rimmed, showed he’d been weeping before his master arrived. “The Dark Lord hurts Kreacher.”

Bit by bit over the course of the next hour, Regulus pulled the story from the elf: the boat trip to the cavern island, being made to drink the blistering potion, the locket dropped into the basin and covered with more of the hideous liquid, Lord Voldemort laughing at the piteous elf, abandoning him to the Inferi as Kreacher gulped at the water to soothe his burning insides. Brinnan durstig the Dark Lord had called it…

“Kreacher, I’m so sorry,” murmured Regulus, stroking the elf’s bald head. “I didn’t know he’d hurt you.”

“Kreacher comes home like Master Regulus says,” whispered the elf.

“You did well, Kreacher. I’m proud of you.” His own insides twisting with guilt, Regulus helped Kreacher up. His mind whirled at what he’d learned. If Lord Voldemort went to so much trouble for a silly locket, it could only mean one thing: he’d made it into a Horcrux! This was the way he intended to live forever!

“Kreacher, are you alright?” The elf sniffed and nodded. “Lord Voldemort thinks you’re dead now. You can’t show yourself to anyone but me and my family, or he might find out and try to kill you. Do you understand?”

The house-elf nodded vehemently again, his bat-like ears flapping loudly in the quiet room. “Yes, Master Regulus.”

“Go on to bed,” said the young man gently. When the elf had toddled out, Regulus sat back on his heels, biting his lip. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.