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The Dream	By : FemmeBono Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Het - Male/Female Views: 2489 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Harry Potter, and I do not make any money from these writings... sadly enough.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
And here, my friends, is where we take an abrupt departure from Deathly Hallows. No offense to anyone who loved that book, but it sucked. Snape dying, Malfoy essentially being emasculated and straddling the fence, all a little too unbelievable to me. Hence my foray into fan fics in the first place. Here goes�

　

Cht. 4, The Tide Turns

Months later, Lucius stood gazing out at the pitch dark expanse of the Hogwarts grounds, a snifter of brandy in his hand.

�What arrogance, Severus. What arrogance we had in thinking that we could make such drastic changes to the world with that maniac at the helm.�

Snape said nothing, merely tipped the brooding man a glance over his own snifter as he swirled the amber brew.

�You know, the longer he stays in my home-
the longer he eats my food, swills my liquor, forces me to give houseroom to all and sundry, and laughs at my expense-
the more I want to do something� drastic. I want to see him impaled upon his own sword for merely thinking that he could lower the Malfoy family in anyone�s eyes. My old and distinguished line is a sodding joke to that lot now.�

��and Cissy has left,� he said, lowering his glass to the window ledge and finally turning to face his old school mate. �We had a big row last night, said the most unforgivable things to each other. She had lost faith in me, in my being leader of the family, in being able to save our dying culture, in being a man at all, it seems. At any rate, she has an old school friend in Loire. I believe she may be there.�

�Do you know,� he mused, as he crossed back to the chair he had vacated earlier, leaving the glass forgotten on the sill. �I have no desire to find her. I find it amazing to believe, still, that this woman who has shared every aspect of my life all these years, who pledged for better or worse, will turn tail and run at this juncture. When I am at my lowest, she should be there, should she not?�

Snape merely raised a brow at this obviously rhetorical quandary, but ached to turn and see what Dumbledore�s portrait was doing at the moment. Surely despite his feigned sleep, he had heard these revelations. Severus, instead, merely took another sip of brandy and let his friend vent his anger.

�With all the trials we have faced before,� he continued unabated, �not merely ourselves, but in the long line of my family, one thing remains. Malfoys. Always. Remain. On. Top,� he ground out, each of his words punctuated by a frustrated thunk of his cane on the stone floor.

�Yet what I find even more amazing, is that this paragon of pureblood sanctity, this champion of our cause, had the audacity to put my only son-
my progeny and only living heir-
on a suicide mission. Where was his concern for the preservation of our culture then? I�d like to stretch my hands round his scaly neck and throttle him. For that, and for leaving me in that stinking pit of a prison for so long.�

Snape watched Lucius unclench the fists he had balled up after choking an imaginary Dark Lord, and he spoke for the first time since offering a glass to his clearly agitated friend.

�So why don�t you do something about him?� he said, sitting up and placing his arms on the desk.

�Such as?�
****
The next day found Lucius Malfoy striding down Diagon Alley on the pretense of visiting his solicitor to start the process for a divorce decree. His first stop, however, was Gringott�s, ostensibly to set up a separate vault for maintenance of one ex-wife. Once done, however, he made one more request.

�I should like to visit my sister-in-law�s vault as well. As I understand, I am still the authorized signer for her account at present.�

Several moments and one wild ride later, a very windblown Lucius held up his prize in one gloved hand. A small, two-handled cup engraved with the emblem of Hufflepuff, and on the bottom, a tiny eagle. He quickly pocketed the cup and left the vault, casting only the smallest glance at the goblin who deferentially kept his eyes averted.

�Take us back up,� he commanded.
****
Meanwhile, several kilometers away, Leda drug an ancient carpet steamer back and forth over even older mustard yellow shag carpeting. Why the man had never updated this place was beyond her. She had lasted nearly a week before her skin was fairly crawling in the musty old house. It was all too clear that he left it shut up for most of the year and barely bothered to do any real cleaning in the place otherwise.

So, with a determined resolve to at least remove a decade�s worth of grime from the house, Leda began with the idea of tackling a room a day. She quickly revised that timetable to a room every two days, and spent nearly two weeks on the task.

Finally, Leda was satisfied that she had removed every layer of filth that had settled since the days of Snape�s childhood. In fact, she thought as she caught a glimpse of her grimy disheveled self in the bathroom, it may not have been cleaned thoroughly even then. Surely he had to learn his cleanliness habits somewhere. In her experience, such things were almost always environmental rather than natural.

Not that she had much experience with child therapy, she mused, but adults, once you got into their minds, had issues very much like that of children. And almost everything went back to childhood. She had delved into enough adult minds to know this. Shaking her head disgustedly at the image before her, she turned the now gleaming taps in the shower onto full blast and sighed as the last remaining traces of dirt ran down the drain. If she was lucky, he might not take her scouring his home from top to bottom as a personal slight. On second thought, when he saw his wardrobe, he may very well be at least a little insulted. She smiled a little smugly at the fact that all his whites had been bleached so again, as opposed to the dingy gray they were when she unearthed them.

Chuckling now as she tried to picture his face upon his return, Leda finished toweling off and walked nude through the house to the room she had taken as hers. She had no problem being naked in Snape�s house; he never visited, and the only company she had, other than the telly, was a house elf who came once a week to take down a list of what she needed and return to her with the supplies. Her life had certainly taken a strange turn since that dreaded night, and she had learned loads about this magical world since her other hobby now was perusing Snape�s expansive book collection.

In fact, she now considered herself knowledgeable about the inner world of dark wizards and, most especially Death Eaters. After reading any number of texts about the dark arts, dark wizards in history, including the infamous Gellert Grindelwald, and-
she could at least admit this to herself-
a detailed account in a diary from his teenage years of Severus Snape�s life leading up to joining the Death Eaters. Though he had never admitted such, she knew he must have joined, by the way he discussed their power and a sort of prestigious aura they had.

It read like any number of case studies from gang members, from the type of lives they had before they joined to the seductive pull of that type of group. The sense of belonging that it gave, coupled with power that most of them had never enjoyed before. Plenty of the passage reeked of the heady draw of their faction and all it promised to its members. It was clear that the Death Eaters believed themselves the elite of the wizarding world; this idea was marked by Severus relating in detail some of the conversations he had had with his own prefect, a lad who Severus very obviously admired. His stories of his friend�s prowess on the �Quidditch� field and in the classroom, his exploits with girls, and his unspoken of, but often hinted at membership in this secretive group all belied a serious case of hero worship on Severus� part.

And the subject of this was one Lucius Malfoy. The very name that she remembered from her meeting with Severus, which she could never forget. The man she had yet to thank for saving her life had years ago been a vehement supporter of the mass genocide of her own race. Why then, she wondered, did he bother to save her? What had changed in him? Did he still espouse the eradication of her kind? As she woke almost nightly from the same dreams tormenting her mind, that same thought wracked her brain. Why her?

Time and again she curled around her pillow, scrunching her face up to try to rid herself of the image of that masked face and steel colored eyes and fell asleep still not knowing the answer.
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The Dream