Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Night Flight	By : Massanie Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 77567 -:- Recommendations : 6 -:- Currently Reading : 30
Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me and I'm not making any money with this story

Chapter List
- 29
- 30
- 31
CHAPTER 30: Reality Check
CHAPTER NOTES:
So... I've been MIA for literally years
I was arrogant enough to think I was safe watching movies and reading stories about something that apparently traumatized me when I was a child/teenager. I thought I would be self aware enough to recognize that something might trigger me and be able to stop. That proved to be not only arrogant but plain wrong. I triggered myself, watched a series I shouldn't have, and fell into a moderately severe depression within two to three days.
At the same time a friendship I held very dear fell apart, mostly because I didn't have the strength to be diplomatic.
It took me two years of hiding my state behind facades to be exhausted and desperate enough to finally seek help in a friend that I had lost contact with after school almost a decade before. It didn't take her more than 30 minutes after I sent that mail to call back and in the following two years she build me up again and probably saved my life the way I was going. She's never going to read this, she's too straight and too much no-nonsense to like this kind of fiction, but she's one of the most important people in my life. All the best to her!
So anyway: Have fun reading and god dammit, heed the trigger warnings whatever you watch or read! Take care!
Down in the heart of Damask Tower the white-golden light of an early morning filtered through the magical high ceiling windows, throwing long shadows into the room and overpowering the flickering flames of the blazing fireplace and the couple of candelabras that were still burning. The unnatural cold of the cooling charms was still lingering crisp and fresh in the air, making it feel as if it was a winter morning dawning upon an abandoned summer castle where the rooms were too high for even the attempt at keeping them heated throughout the year.
But little by little the fire and now the sun did their part in thawing the large room: Severus' breath was no longer freezing into little white puffs of air and even his finger joints didn't ache quite as badly as they had only minutes ago.
The return of warmth did not come a minute too soon. For now Potter's condition had fortunately stabilized - or at least his heartbeat had, pulsing in a steady if sluggish rhythm - but his skin was still worryingly pale and clammy and his reflexes remained considerably weakened and slow.
Overall, Severus had to admit that his efforts to help had been rash, abysmally planned out and carelessly enacted; and that Potter's survival could be credited more to sheer dumb luck than to any special skills of his, or even quick thinking.
He had been far too arrogant, so sure of his capabilities as a renowned potions master that he had ignored his suspicions that something had been wrong with the young Vykélari's magic. Instead Severus had blithely fed him those potions like a reckless Gryffindor. The very potions that had pushed the boy into a magical shock and subsequent cardiac arrest. Any ailment that he suffered from now beyond the initial stab wound was a direct result of that particular foolishness.
Lowering Potter's body temperature so drastically and quickly had been necessary to protect his brain and give Severus the time he had needed to come up with a solution, but it had ultimately given the boy hypothermia – how bad of a case Severus didn't know yet, and neither if it had been successful at all in preventing brain damage. Only time would tell.
He was equally unable to rule out the possibility of infections or pneumonia after he had poured all that sticky nectar into Potter's wounds and possibly his lungs as well.
Though in all honesty Severus suspected that particular threat to be rather unlikely.
The Vykélari's magic, whether sentient or ruled by the subconscious, had prioritized remarkably well and used what little strength it had pulled from the Hesperide's nectar to heal the boy from the inside out. Little remained of the original injury but two surprisingly shallow cuts. Flesh wounds, really, that didn't even pierce the muscle layers entirely, and had been easy to clean, stitch and dress.
Still, without the use of his usual diagnostic and healing charms and his trusted potions, Severus simply had no way of assessing the boy's condition, let alone heal him further. It left him feeling uncomfortably helpless, an emotion he was not particularly accustomed to. What was more, without those tools it was absolutely impossible to find out exactly why the Vykélari's magic was so defensive and aggressive and kept him from using them in the first place.
How Severus utterly hated cycles like these.
Annoyed and frustrated all that remained for the potions master to do was to wait for either Amalyne or Narcissa to arrive, and in the meantime keep his charge under careful observation and wash him to the best of his abilities.
Without magic.
Like any pathetic muggle.
Severus had faced the awkward and somewhat degrading duty with his usual methodical efficiency, transforming the bathtub he had used to drench the boy with Hesperide's nectar into a perfect mortuary washing table, complete with a slightly tilted surface and a hole at the foot end to allow the dirty water to drain away.
Perhaps, if Severus were a man who cared more for the easily offended sensibilities and often rashly formed opinions of his fellow wizards, he might have chosen a less morbid, and equally less practical method, especially with the boy's persistent deadly paleness and shallow breathing. But as it was, the potions master cared more for comfort and practicality than irrational feelings, and he didn't see why he should make this duty any more difficult for himself when he was already unable to use magic to clean the boy or even shift him around.
Besides, it might even unsettle Narcissa and Amalyne once they arrived, and any advantage in the upcoming confrontation was a welcome one.
Thus, after carefully storing his potions away from the side table and replacing them with a single stone bowl with steaming water and a soft sponge, Severus finally went to work with the best intentions a man like him could muster.
Of course, that was when the trial truly began.
Usually Severus was rather proficient in compartmentalising his emotions whenever they didn't mix well. Instead of enforcing an emulsion through sheer patience and effort like many less efficient and practical minds were often wont to do, the potions master tended to simply pick the one most useful to him and ignore the others, incarcerating them in the far recesses of his mind until such a time as they could be picked apart or sometimes be forgotten until they shrivelled, died and rotted away into dust and dirt.
Unfortunately, that strategy had never worked well when dealing with the Potters.
With his eyes closed like this, Harry looked so much like his thrice be damned father that Severus could almost imagine it being him. Try as he might, he could not entirely suppress the sparkle of cruel anticipation, the fleeting wistful thoughts and germinating seeds of dark fantasies filled with humiliation and sometimes pain. 0
Oh, what wouldn't he have given for James Potter to lie still and helpless before him like this only once. The things he could, would have done to him given that one golden chance...
Even years after his nemesis' death the resentment still remained a loyal, always present friend; a well cared for tool, a highly valued companion. Whatever he had promised others and himself to do, it readily rose in his chest like burning fire, strangely invigorating, just as motivating and inspiring as fear, as love.
James and Sirius and every one of those dim-witted morons that had favoured their little ragtag group of bullies and braggarts over those that were genuinely talented and eager to learn and evolve; All of them had conditioned Severus to feel this way, to hate them and desire nothing more than to retaliate and to prove how much inferior they truly were.
All those years Potter had simply been too similar to his father to feel any different about him. Even now after all the times he had protected him, after all the times he had seen the boy suffer, separating the one Potter from the other didn't come easily.
And yet, the reflexive urge to retaliate, to inflict pain and humiliation, to press and push and crush... all those grand fantasies that Severus had carefully cultivated and revelled in so often before had lost their lustre, their brilliance, now that they were confronted with reality.
Because for once the boy was silent and still before him; for once Severus had to face him without the rebellious, defiant eyes challenging him, mocking him, distracting him and giving him all the excuses he needed to bask in his hate and disgust. Perhaps for the first time ever in their entire thorny history, Severus was incapable of ignoring all the glaring counterevidence of everything that he had wanted to believe in for years.
How often had he – internally and in front of Dumbledore and others – raged about how spoiled James Potter's son was, how the brat's sense of entitlement was only surpassed by his stupidity and desire for attention and glory. And yet, as his sponge cleaned away sweat, dirt, soot and blood and sticky nectar Severus could not refute that the body revealed belonged to someone who had experienced more than just their fair share of hardship for most of their life; someone who had learned that nothing ever came without a price, that everything you had could be taken away at a moment's notice.
Attention, fame… even love, even something as mundane as food.
There were several scars from the boy's childhood, mostly ones that could be expected to be found on a boy playing outside, climbing trees, falling from a bike… the scars of a lively, clumsy boy getting into smaller accidents throughout the years. But Severus unfortunately knew very well that many of them were not so innocent, had seen the memories attached to them.
Of course, there were a lot more sinister scars from his time in the magical world, mementos of his glorious adventures, souvenirs from his time in the limelight as a famous hero.
Like the pale lettering on his hand, reading 'I must not tell lies'. Or the ugly oval of darker, rougher skin over his heart where he had been burned by a Horcrux.
The two small dots on his forearm where snake fangs had pierced him…
And so many other invisible but not forgotten marks, obtained under agonizing pain but healed by magic; like the bite of a basilisk, and that of an Acromantula, or the sting of a knife used to steal his blood for a resurrection ritual.
With each stroke of his sponge, each scar revealed, Severus felt his resentment shifting against his will, losing its focus, a corrosive cloud of acid so very unsure of what to devour. The boy himself for bearing his fate without truly striking back or at least having the decency of letting it destroy or even change him; or perhaps for not being like his father and deserving it?
Dumbledore for allowing all the abuse to happen, for the crime of creating a child soldier?
Or should Severus blame himself and everyone who had added to Potter's torment because they had felt entitled and justified and simply because they could?
It might be easier to just blame the world at large for being the way it was, and dismiss it as thoroughly corrupted and beyond redemption. A pessimist's way of escapism when the own guilt became too heavy to bear alone.
Perhaps, Severus thought darkly as he reflected on how blissful his ignorance had truly been, Dumbledore had had a point preaching about the use of scars. Sometimes they were important mementos, and not always for the ones bearing them. Perhaps…
Severus froze as he felt the wooden splinter in his pocket vibrate softly and he gripped the sponge more tightly so that several yellowish drops splashed onto Potter's side.
The splinter was a small chunk of the top step of the stairs leading down to the Tower's innermost sanctum where he and Potter still remained. Spelled to echo and amplify even the most miniscule tremors going through the original steps, it was a simple yet effective alarm system. And almost undetectable before it was triggered, since the charm itself was placed on the splinter and only a thin string of magic connected it to the original step it came from.
This intruder obviously hadn't noticed the silent alarm. Or, Severus corrected himself drily as he looked up to the stairs above him, they simply hadn't cared.
From behind he watched a pair of sleek dragon leather boots stalk down the spiral staircase, followed by slender legs, stiff with anger. Then a small basket, dangling at the woman's side, fingers clenched tightly around the handle; and in the other hand, brandished in front of her threateningly, almost twelve inches of golden yew wood with a core made from the heart muscle fibres of a lindworm.
Severus had seen that very wand before, though never in action because it's current owner had obtained it barely more than a month ago. From it he recognised the woman that came rushing down the stairs like a Hungarian Horntail, angry and deadly, breathing fire and poisonous smoke and entirely uncaring of the ruckus she was making: Narcissa Malfoy in a rare moment of unbridled rage.
Frowning, Severus straightened, unfurling from his position hunched over Potter's still body. In no way was the Malfoy matriarch an opponent to be trifled with, not when she was clear-headed and certainly not when she was this upset. Narcissa might not be powerful enough to go up against him and win, but one well placed curse was enough to cause tremendous damage to him or his charge.
Severus did not even dare to imagine how the Vykélari's magic might react to offensive spells being thrown around in his vicinity.
With a swift movement he exchanged the sponge in his hand for the familiar length of his ebony wand and slipped around the medical table. Almost as an afterthought, Severus directed a towel to cover his young charge from the hip down to preserve what little dignity he had left just as Narcissa reached the bottom of the stairs. Her head swivelled back and forth, searching, until finally she whirled around and her blazing gaze settled on Severus.
For a few tense seconds a poisonous silence stretched between them. Severus felt his breathing slow, his body, his every thought stilling, anticipating that first sign of aggression, that one impulse that would hurl him into action. His wand hand tilted just so into the perfect starting position for a quick spell or hex, slowly, so the movement would not catch her attention.
Not that Narcissa seemed to register anything beyond Severus' face through the red haze filling her vision. He could see her lips trembling with each hissing breath she drew, the fingers of both hands clenching around the handles of her basket and wand. Accusations twisted like ball lightning behind the pale blue of her eyes, all those sharp curses that she wished to hit him with. But for some reason she held the words back, merely sharpening them uselessly against her grinding teeth.
Perhaps, through all her impotent rage she still remembered that he was the more experienced and skilled duellist, perhaps she thought he possessed more information on her son and his fate and wanted it desperately enough to still her hand.
More than likely however she was just waiting for him to lower his own wand and give her the opening she needed to sink her deadly fangs into him.
Severus smiled mirthlessly to himself. He could at the very least appreciate her ruthlessness.
"Hello Narcissa." He said quietly and had the dubious pleasure of watching the witch's usually so impassive face draw into a truly impressive sneer.
"Hello Severus!" Narcissa spat the mockery of a greeting, her voice trembling with something more than anger. "What a pleasure and surprise to meet you here, Severus! And thank you for all those thoughtful welcoming gifts. I hope you don't mind," she snarled, her voice growing like storm clouds piling up, filled with thunder and lightning, "if I didn't take the time to appreciate. Every. Single. One of them!"
Unperturbed, Severus encountered her heated glare. He had known the consequences of installing all those traps to slow down whichever of the two women would come. Truthfully, he considered himself lucky that it had been Narcissa and not Amalyne he had angered thusly. At least the Malfoy matriarch was not known for killing in cold blood or just for the pleasure of it.
Even though, observing her now, Severus wouldn't put it beyond her.
Doubtlessly, this last night had taxed her beyond what Severus would ever be able to truly comprehend, every minute that she feared for her child chafing at her sanity, cutting away pieces of her already short fuse. But how deep the damage went, how corroded her rationality, her scruples and sense of strategy were, Severus couldn't say.
It was disconcerting, not being able to predict her at all, knowing that any spell making it past him might hit his vulnerable charge. It was a good thing that the table stood straight behind him, the still form on it almost entirely hidden from the witch's view.
"I was busy, Narcissa." He said carefully, warily watching her wand release a spray of angrily green sparks. "I told you I would be."
"Stop!" The witch hissed. "Stop mocking me, stop thinking you can play me for a fool! Just. Stop."
And Severus gave her that tiny, insignificant courtesy and remained silent. He was still contemplating what words might calm her in any case.
Narcissa looked at him full of mistrust and betrayal, as if she had never seen him before, as if his image had just gained a new and darker dimension, a hidden abyss that she had never even believed possible to exist.
It was the expression of a warrior who found that the comrade they had trusted to have their back, had turned around to stab them instead.
"Did you enjoy it?" She asked with a trembling voice, her thumb rubbing over the smooth surface of her wand. "Playing our fears off against us?"
Severus shook his head ever so slightly, aware of how quickly the situation was unravelling, but not quite sure how to stop it.
"That was not my intention." He said calmly but the blonde ignored him.
"Was it even true?" she spat, her anger gaining more momentum, and she let the basket fall to the ground with the loud clinking and rattling of glass bottles, only to reach into her pocket and pull out the crumbled remains of a piece of paper that she flung at him.
"Are they even safely in Italy or was that just a lie to get us to stay away?" She chuckled darkly, a harsh and cynical sound in the crisp silence. "You certainly made sure to let us know we weren't welcome."
Severus did not bother to try and catch the paper, knowing it was the letter he had written the two women earlier that morning. Didn't even allow his gaze to flicker towards it in case the move was meant as a distraction for an attack.
For barely a second he considered apologising for the traps he had set the other witch, but in any case he didn't feel very apologetic and both of them already knew it.
Severus had needed the time, Potter had needed the time and sadly enough he couldn't trust the mother of a dominant Vykélari where a submissive was concerned; not until she had been convinced of how utterly foolish, not to mention dangerous, their plan of exploiting an everywhere popular war hero truly was.
That didn't mean that Severus wasn't somewhat sympathetic towards the witch and her desperate plight, not to mention wary of her temper. So he curbed the sharp-edged, sarcastic reply that wanted nothing more than to slither over his tongue and carve itself into the other's being and instead even took the trouble to soften the tone of his voice.
"I was not lying, Narcissa. I am fairly certain..."
"Fairly Certain?!" The witch cried out incredulously.
"...that both of them are safe and sound," Severus continued unperturbed, "even though I expect the Italian Aurors to have apprehended them by now."
"How?" Narcissa snarled demandingly, taking a step towards him.
With one glance at the yew wand still clasped tightly in her hand, Severus raised his own in warning, immediately stopping her approach and making Narcissa whip up her own weapon and jump into a defensive stance.
Grim and wary, they stood at wandpoint in a tense standoff, looks of carefully cultivated calm and fiery anger clashing between them, neither entirely willing to be the first to give in, neither trusting the other not to attack if they were to lower their weapon.
"I have no wish to fight you." Severus finally admitted quietly.
Narcissa's jaw twitched as she clenched her teeth. She kept her wand pointed at him.
"How?" she ground out, "How do you know they are fine? How is it that you had all this information, conveniently before us?"
Silently, Severus cursed Blaise and Draco for their absolutely untimely stubbornness and pride. He had never wanted to get right into the middle of a family dispute. How did you tell a mother that she had lost her son's trust? How did you lessen a blow so devastatingly hard? Or should he be cruel in his honesty, because it might be the one thing to sway Narcissa to his side?
For now, Severus thought, it might be better to just focus on the first question.
"I was asked to come here in order to tend to Potter once they sent him through." He said. "They suspected he'd be injured."
Observing the other woman for a moment longer, assessing her, Severus decided it was time for a calculated risk, a show of trust that he didn't necessarily feel. Animals were dangerous when backed into a corner, especially wolfs like Narcissa, and sometimes you needed to show them an out to get them to calm down. Or throw them a curve ball.
Slowly, carefully, he lowered his wand and turned to step around the table to Potter's side, thereby revealing the boy's pitiful state.
Behind him, Narcissa gasped as she saw the pale, half-naked body spread out on a table meant for washing corpses. Severus turned to her again, intently watching her shell-shocked appearance as she doubtlessly imagined the horrendous trouble they would be in, should Britain's beloved Boy-Who-Lived have ceased to do so while in her family's care.
They'd be crucified.
If the wizengamot did not sentence them to a life of imprisonment, they'd be murdered in their beds by his vengeful followers. Narcissa and Draco might be able to flee to a safe house to live out the rest of their days in seclusion, or escape into exile in another country; but Lucius, who was oath-bound not to leave the manor wouldn't have that option. He at least would be at the non-existent mercy of any light wizard in Britain.
"They were right." Severus continued with a certain satisfaction, letting her figure out by herself that the boy still lived. It was essential for her to understand what a dangerous game she was playing. Their lives would be forfeited, whether Potter died under their watch or was forced into what amounted to servitude to their family.
It took another couple of panicked, tense seconds before Narcissa finally noticed the slight rise and fall of the boy's chest. She breathed out a sigh of relief, her eyes fluttering close. Her free hand rose automatically to press down on her chest, as if it could contain the furious beating of her heart.
"Damn you, Severus!" She cursed, her eyes flying open. Angrily she stepped up to the other side of the washing table and curtly gestured towards the entire setting.
"That is tasteless! And macabre!"
"And practical." Severus encountered unapologetically.
"He almost died, Narcissa." He continued with a softer, more serious voice, their gazes meeting for a few moments over the still body between them. "He must have been unconscious for a while before the portkey was put on him. Just in time, I'd say."
Anyone else would have taken it as an attempt to drive home the seriousness of the situation, an attempt to unsettle an already upset woman, a mother desperate with the fear for her child.
Contrarily, it was the greatest reassurance that Severus was able to give her under the circumstances and Narcissa was smart enough to recognize it, to look at the few puzzle pieces she had been given and see the rough outlay of the entire picture.
Potter had been unconscious, and that meant that at least one of their boys had been alive and well enough to fasten the portkey around his wrist and send him to safety.
Now Blaise and Draco might have come to care for the younger submissive in some capacity during the last few days, and one should never underestimate the force of hormonal stupidity and instincts; but there was simply no way that the two lovers would put those immature feelings over the profound love they held for each other. No, if one of them had needed the portkey, they would be here instead of Potter. Or rather, they would be here alongside him using the second portkey.
Which would also be the case, if one of them had died. The only possible explanation as to why only the one portkey had been activated for Potter's escape, was because both Blaise and Draco had been well enough to not have needed them in the first place. With only one remaining portkey, both had opted to stay behind and face whatever obstacles fate still wanted to throw their way together.
They might still have been in danger at that point, but if Blaise and Draco had managed to help the submissive escape, then it was safe to assume that the Lanais were either incapable or not decisive enough to kill them. Otherwise they would have done so before the submissive had been torn out of their greedy fingers. With the guardia close on Draco and Blaise's heels they wouldn't have had enough time to do significant damage should they have tried to torture Potter's current location out of the two boys.
Of course, that theory was based on the reasonable but very wrong assumption that both portkeys had still been in Blaise and Draco's possession when the Lanais had first taken Potter. But neither Narcissa nor Severus knew that one of them had been lost to the Lanais during the abduction.
Slowly, the potions master noticed the witch calming, her breathing growing deeper and more measured, her expression cooler as she reigned in her emotions.
Finally, with a decisive nod and the air of a war general surrounding her, she leaned forward with both hands on the table, intently gazing at him.
"When did you last speak to them?"
"They contacted the eldest Greengrass daughter after Potter was taken. She sent one of her house elves to me to make sure I'd immediately leave for Damask Tower." Severus thought for a moment before adding "I don't think anyone spoke to them afterwards."
"And no one," Narcissa said, her words sounding off somehow, bitter and forced, but also resigned, "no one thought to inform us? Their parents?"
Severus sighed and looked to the side. "Why do you ask questions you already know the answers to?"
The silence that spread between them now was more sour than tense, but not less oppressive than before.
"If it is any consolation," Severus finally said, "I don't think they meant to hurt you."
He looked down at Potter's face thoughtfully. An adult now by law, but oh so immature still.
"They are 18, Narcissa. And they were confronted with a difficult situation, for the first time entirely on their own with no hope for reinforcements. They did the best they could and didn't think about how it would affect you."
Narcissa's fingers rubbed over the edge of the table, contemplative, grounding.
"And what is your excuse?" She asked him with a chilling voice, bearing accusations like ice crystals in a blizzard.
Pursing his lips, Severus leaned back and crossed his arms. "I am tiring of this, Narcissa. You know my motivations. Why question them?"
"Because I want you to admit it to my face!" She said heatedly, her eyes sparkling aggressively, her nails clawing into the metallic surface of the table.
"After all those years, after everything Lucius did for you, you throw our friendship away as if it meant nothing and betray us!"
Severus narrowed his eyes, returning her glare.
"I did no such thing! I am your friend, Narcissa," He ground out harshly, ignoring her disbelieving huff, "not your servant. The difference being that if you ask me to stand aside and let you do something that will destroy your family, I don't actually have to do it."
"By the darkness!" The blonde laughed derisively. "You truly do believe that, don't you?"
"Fine then!" Severus snarled. "Enlighten me! How, pray tell, do you expect the public to react when you tell them that their darling Harry Potter has fallen in love with his childhood rival and bully of seven years, a former Death Eater, and another boy he didn't even really know beforehand? All within less than a week?"
Narcissa rolled her eyes and flicked back her hair, betraying her annoyance. "Propaganda, Severus, is not necessarily about being logical. How many people do you think truly believed in even half the rubbish the Dark Lord was spouting?"
Straightening up, tall and proud and beautiful, with enough confidence to make her seem like a solid rock in the turbulent surf, Severus could truly believe that in another time she might have commanded the masses with ease and grace.
That is, if she could ever have brought herself to speak to and not sneer at those she considered lower life forms.
Grimly, Severus shook his head. "Were it any other submissive, any other point in time even, I might agree. But you are dealing with a war hero, Narcissa, only two months after he won a civil war! Whether it is justified or not, the boy has become more than a mere human being."
"What are they supposed to do?" Narcissa asked scornfully, cocking her head. "With a submissive," she nodded towards the boy, one palm hovering over his chest as if to claim him for her family already, "we will be too powerful to attack. And they know it. They will not even dare to try."
Severus narrowed his eyes. For some reason the gesture irked him, more than it should and it took an uncomfortable amount of effort to take his eyes away from it and fix them on Narcissa's glowing face.
"Let me make a few things clear, Narcissa." He said, serious enough to make her expression darken. She drew her hand back and stubbornly crossed her arms in front of her chest.
"If you try to force Potter to bow to you, it is much more likely that he will sacrifice his own life. Dumbledore raised him to be a sacrifice, Narcissa, he will readily play the role of one if he thinks it is the right path."
He leaned down on the table with both hands, looming over the smaller woman, watching her glare at him defiantly, biting her lips to keep silent.
"Even in the case that, after getting to know Draco and Blaise a bit during these last few days, he would prefer a life with them to a death by his own magic from an unfulfilled life debt, your son and his fiancé would hate you for it and they would refuse to use him for your or Lucius' sake."
At that, Narcissa finally looked away, breathing deeply through her mouth as if feeling nauseous.
"Did you know," Severus asked coolly, "that Draco idolises Adler?"
It was a rhetorical question, all of them knew that Draco admired this particular ancestor, even though on the surface they couldn't be more different. Narcissa's son had always been so loyal and obedient, so eager to please his parents; haughty, spoiled and oh so proud of his legacy as a Malfoy.
At least until the war. Now he was dying to create his own legacy out of the ashes of his family's prestige. Just like Adler.
"Of all the Vykélari ancestors you have, you had to send Ives and Adler with them to Italy. The one and only successful Malfoy rebel who would doubtlessly impress his ideals on him." Severus smiled, mildly amused despite the situation.
"But never mind. Even if Blaise should somehow have lost his backbone and Draco continue to follow in his father's footsteps, obedient and loyal, the only way to save Lucius from prison now, is to break him out of it and hide him for the rest of his life, and become a fugitive yourself."
"That is not true!" Narcissa cried out, enraged, but Severus noticed that she couldn't quite bring herself to meet his eyes.
"It is, Narcissa! Because of all the attention your stupid stunt with Potter drew, the whole world will be focusing on Lucius' trial. Top politicians like the incorruptible Shacklebolt will sit in on it. Friends and admirers of Potter's. People that are not afraid of you, submissive or not!"
Truly, Severus thought bitterly, his friend had dug his own grave with his idiotic behaviour.
"He was only a marginal figure in the war and would have been ignored by the public in favour of bigger fish. But now? Considering that Lucius has already been convicted once and then escaped prison, and with the entire wizarding community watching, not even the most generously bribed judges will be able to acquit him of the charges, especially when everyone is suspecting him and his son of having abused their boy-hero! And after that article and your lack of adequate response to it, that is exactly what everyone will think!"
Sparing the lady an incensed glance, Severus noted how pale she had gotten, how silent and tense. She frowned down fiercely, her gaze caught by an invisible abyss gaping somewhere between where her fists were clenched around the edge of the table, the knuckles white. Merlin knew what demons she encountered there.
"Lucius will go to prison," Severus continued more gently, pity rising in his chest, "whether Potter will mate with your boy or not. I could have spared him that. If only after finding out what Potter was you would have made it public, left him at the hospital with Blaise and Draco to care for him under the supervision of the healers… everyone would have believed you to be the epitome of reformed Death Eaters, grateful for Potter's support during the trials and for his killing of the Dark Lord who, may I remind you, supposedly blackmailed you into following him."
Severus shook his head, cursing himself and his friend for not seeing that golden opportunity and ceasing it when they had had the chance. "They'd have loved it, sucked it right up, but no…"
He sighed and reached over to clasp one of Narcissa's narrow shoulders. There were bitter tears in her eyes, turning them into glistening sapphires, cold and beautiful.
"Now he'll go to prison. Get used to the idea, Narcissa, you won't be able to change that. And it is Lucius' fault for having been too greedy once again."
Suppressing a dry sob, Narcissa turned out of his grasp, stepping back from the table. "If instead in recompense for the life debt I demanded of Potter to witness for him?" She asked even though she must have known better.
"And what should he say? That Lucius didn't hunt him and other children through the Department of Mysteries, trying to kill them? That he didn't keep him and other light wizards and muggleborns captive at Malfoy Manor and tortured them or tried to get Draco to identify him so that Lucius could hand Potter over to the Dark Lord? That he didn't actively and financially support the Dark Lord? Narcissa! Even if you managed to get that boy to lie for you, which I seriously doubt, there are enough people who witnessed Lucius do all of that and more and who would know Potter was lying."
She wrung her hands and threw her head back, staring at the ceiling and blinking her tears away.
"He is my husband, Severus. You can't expect me to just give up on him!"
"You tried, Narcissa." He reminded her. "We all did."
Severus most of all. Part of that was because of his duplicity during the war. The entire time he had seen his friends become more entangled with the Dark side, so deeply that the victory Severus was working for, might become their ruin. He had foreseen it, watched the entire debacle taking place like a train wreck in slow motion. But to protect his cover he hadn't done anything about it.
Guilt was a harsh motivator, one Severus unfortunately was becoming more and more familiar with.
At times he wondered how Dumbledore had dealt with the emotional backslashes of his machinations and intrigues, necessary as they had been. Somehow he doubted the old man had experienced many carefree or genuinely happy moments in his life.
With another deep sigh, Severus turned his attention back to the lady Malfoy. She stood with her profile to him. Illuminated by a halo of white golden sunlight she looked like a cemetery angel, strong and beautiful even in her pain.
"We can still try a little more, if you are interested." He said quietly.
Her blue eyes met his, a spark of hope rekindling at his words, fuelling that wilful determination and unsurmountable fighting spirit that the Blacks possessed as long as they saw even the slightest chance of succeeding.
"We will bring Potter back to the hospital once he is more stable," he said, slowly and firmly, "we will tell everyone that Blaise, Draco and Lucius only followed the standard procedure where the unexpected coming-of-age of a submissive is concerned. After all, we just saw what can happen when they are left susceptible for blackmail. They never meant to mate him, they only intended to keep him save and teach him during the holidays until Hogwarts would be reopened. Out of gratitude for ridding the world of the Dark Lord and for helping during the trials. You only hushed it up to keep Potter save."
Narcissa released a shivering breath and brought a pale hand up to stroke over her lips and cheek. She knew that Amalyne would be enraged, knew that it meant betraying her husband, bereaving him of the one (perceived) chance at freedom.
Severus sensed that the witch was teetering on the edge, not yet fully convinced. And really, he couldn't fault her. His last imprisonment had changed Lucius and Narcissa was understandably terrified of losing the man she had fallen in love with and married to the cruel reality of a wizarding prison, however short his stay might be. And in that fear she had clung to the one neat and simple but wrong solution that Lucius and Amalyne had provided her with, unwilling to realise that her husband's fate had already been decided.
"I will continue right where I left off, and assist Lucius during the trials." He tried to reassure her. "Even if he must go to prison, it won't be for long and it won't be like the last time. Narcissa, there are no more dementors to guard the prisoners. He will not suffer like that again. His mind, his sanity won't suffer. Besides," he added after a short pause, "that is something you can ask of Potter as recompense for the life debt: making sure that Lucius isn't subjected to unnecessary cruelty."
Narcissa averted her eyes, drawing one trembling breath after the other, gazing at anything that wasn't Severus and wasn't Potter. Minutes passed by in silence and then finally, finally the lady turned her head towards him, just marginally until she had him in the periphery of her field of vision.
"I'll do it." She said, her voice harder than Severus would have expected under the circumstances. "I don't want to, but I will do it."
She looked at him with a warning in her eyes, a warning not to disappoint, not to mislead her.
Severus nodded once; he didn't intend to.
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Night Flight