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The Wizard's Guide to Muggle Travel: The Tower
Title: The Wizard's Guide to Muggle Travel: The Tower
Author: nishizono
Pairing: Severus/Lucius
Rating: Eventually NC-17
Disclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine

Summary:
“If I want to spend time amongst lazy drunkards with a penchant for sex and tiny cigarettes, I need only visit you, Lucius.”

“Then you should enjoy Paris, given how often you appear at my door,” Lucius shot back without malice.

Author's Notes: The 'travel tips' at the begining of each part come from a flier I picked up at a travel agency years ago. They struck me as amusing because, really, if you can't figure these things out on your own, you really shouldn't be traveling in the first place.

Chapter Notes: Wrought with symbolism, with some purple language scattered here and there. There are two more parts left in this series, so don't worry if you come away from this chapter wondering what the hell Narcissa is talking about.


~*~*~

5) Don’t be afraid to talk to people! You might meet some of your best friends while traveling. And who knows? You might even come home with a new beau!

~*~*~

“Oui, merci beaucoup.”

“Precisely how many languages do you speak?” Severus inquired of his companion as they made their way out of the small floo station and into the crowded streets of Paris.

“Five,” Lucius replied with a smirk. “English, of course; the hounds have all been trained in German, as you know; any proper Malfoy has learned French by his tenth birthday; I was forced to learn Russian while I was still working for the Ministry; and as you’ve seen, I also speak Japanese.”

“I see,” Severus said slowly as the other man linked an arm through his. The fact that Lucius had not offered any explanation for having learned Japanese was not lost on him, but he was quite sure that meant he didn’t want to hear said explanation. Knowing Lucius as he did, he had no doubt the other man’s motives for learning it had been nefarious, at best.

The French sun was high overhead, and the afternoon heat was almost stifling in comparison to the rainy Japanese evening they had just left behind. It seemed almost fitting a change, however, since the energy between the two companions had shifted yet again. Severus had awakened to soft lips brushing the hair away from his forehead, and murmured promises of a traditional English breakfast at an all night restaurant down the block. Not only had they showered together in the tiny Japanese bathroom, with gentle kisses and quiet conversation, Lucius had made good on his vows of proper tea, eggs, tomatoes, and pudding. By the time they had made their way to the floo station in the south of Kyoto, Severus had been content to allow Lucius to choose their next destination.

And in true, trite patrician style, he had chosen Paris.

“I cannot believe you have never been to France before,” Lucius was saying, as if the very idea of it personally offended him.

Severus ignored his first instinct, which was to remind the haughty aristocrat that his own family hadn’t the means to send him on a world tour when he came of age, and instead said, “If I want to spend time amongst lazy drunkards with a penchant for sex and tiny cigarettes, I need only visit you, Lucius.”

“Then you should enjoy Paris, given how often you appear at my door,” Lucius shot back without malice.

For his part, Severus was far too concerned with controlling the blush that threatened to betray his guilty adoration to offer any response.

At length, they rounded a corner and came to a halt in front of what Severus was certain had to be a museum. The arched entryway loomed high overhead, and the length of the building seemed to stretch on and on, through lush groves of trees ringed by ornate wrought iron fences. It was only when he caught sight of the porters rushing to attend to a limousine that had just pulled into the circular drive that Severus realized they were standing in front of a hotel.

“You absolutely cannot be serious, Lucius,” Severus commented rather curtly.

“Of course I am,” the other man replied, slipping an arm around his companion’s waist with a smirk. “Le Meurice is one of the most beautiful hotels in all of Paris, and I assure you, their rooms are decidedly lacking in anything resembling polyester.”

“I am not questioning the quality of the establishment,” Severus shot back. What he didn’t dare to say was that he felt horribly out of place there, with his inexpensive muggle suit and potions stained fingertips. It was his first appearance at Malfoy Manor all over again.

“Then I fail to see what the problem is,” Lucius told him as he steered them both toward the lavishly decorated lobby. “Frankly, I for one am quite tired of sleeping in substandard accommodations.”

Once again, Severus said nothing, distracted as he was by the sunlight glinting off the gilded frames of mirrors larger than his quarters at Hogwarts. Feeling uncharacteristically awkward, he cleared his throat and bowed his head while Lucius spoke with the woman behind the counter in smooth, melodic French.

They were shown to their suite by a startlingly attractive young man who, Severus noted with no small amount of irritation, seemed to be quite fond of the equally attractive Malfoy patriarch. The hotel had spared no expense in furnishing the rooms, and Severus resisted the childish urge to run his fingertips along the satin armchairs and slide his bare feet across the smooth marble floor.

“What would you like to do first?” Lucius asked once the lecherous porter had gone. “I was thinking of having a bath and then going to see a film, but if you’ve something else in mind?”

“No,” Severus said, a bit too quickly. “No, that’s fine.”

Lucius tilted his head to the side, white blond hair cascading over his shoulder, and narrowed his eyes. “You seem uncomfortable,” he observed quietly. “If you’d like to request a different room-“

“I am fine, Lucius,” Severus snapped impatiently, absolutely refusing to cross his arms over his chest.

“Fine,” Lucius said with a tired sigh, and turned on his heel to make his way toward what Severus could only assume was the bath. A flare of jealousy burned low in his stomach as he watched the pretentious pureblood cross the room, irritation sparked by the suspicion that Lucius had been here before, with someone else, familiar as he seemed to be with the layout of the suite.

That suspicion was quickly put to rest as the other man flung open the door to reveal a large, but very unbathroom-like, closet.

“It’s a bit too late for that,” Severus quipped, his relief giving rise to quiet laughter.

Lucius stared into the closet for a moment before shooting a halfhearted glare over his shoulder and slamming the door. “Prat,” he stated flatly.

Tension suddenly broken between them, they spent the next few minutes opening doors at random until they at last located the bath. It was every bit as absurd as the rest of the suite, with gilded fixtures and white marble tiles. Lucius looked completely at home, standing in the middle of a luxurious white rug with his hands on his hips and a smirk on his lips.

“Care to join me?” the irritating blond asked with a lascivious wink.

“I think not,” Severus replied disdainfully, lifting a small bottle of some unidentifiable liquid between his thumb and forefinger, and wrinkling his nose at the rose etched into the glass.

Lucius murmured something under his breath that may or may not have included the words “boring” or “bastard” as Severus exited the room and closed the door behind him. The sound of running water began only a moment later, and Severus leaned against the door with a heavy sigh.

It was becoming more and more difficult with every passing day for him to remember how fleeting this companionship between them would be. Eventually, Lucius would tire of their ridiculously haphazard travels and go home to Narcissa, leaving Severus with nothing more than memories more painful than fond. But once, every few minutes or hours, Lucius would look at him with those dazzling grey eyes and that private smile, and Severus could almost pretend that this was his life.

Almost.

The phone on a nearby sidetable rang, breaking through the cacophony of running water and a furious pulse. Pushing away from the door, Severus jerked the receiver from its cradle with a little more force than was absolutely necessary, and greeted the unwelcome caller with a curt, “Yes?”

“Ah, Severus,” Narcissa’s voice, high and clear, greeted him through the quiet static of the international call. “I was wondering how long it would be before you arrived there.”

“Narcissa,” Severus acknowledged, his throat suddenly dry. “We’ve only just arrived; how did you know-“

The question was interrupted by girlish laughter, and Severus thought she sounded a bit too jovial for a woman whose husband was traveling the globe with another lover. Of course, Narcissa no doubt thought of Severus as the least likely candidate for Lucius Malfoy’s rather dubious affections.

“Oh, you can be so dense at times,” Narcissa chided him once her laughter had subsided. “You should be ashamed; Lucius always did tell me that you knew him better than I, but it would seem that my dear old husband is fallible after all.”

“I see,” Severus replied in a tone that said, very clearly, that he didn’t.

“You really do have no idea, do you?” Narcissa’s tone was incredulous.

“Clearly not,” he shot back, beginning to grow more than slightly irritated.

“Severus, do you know why Lucius and I are quarrelling?” Narcissa asked him, seriously now.

“Draco mentioned something about a rent boy,” he replied, absolutely refusing to blush, even if there was no one there to see it. “I’m sure you’ll not blame me for failing to inquire further, as Lucius’ liaisons are of very little concern to me.”

“Somehow, I doubt that very much,” Narcissa told him, and Severus silently cursed her surprisingly accurate skills of observation. “Since you persist in being one of the most stubborn human beings I have ever known, aside from Lucius, it seems that more drastic measures need be taken.”

Severus only sighed and closed his eyes, running a hand over his face in a tired gesture that he would never allow anyone else to see. The Malfoy and Black lines were clearly comprised of the most frustratingly vague creatures known to man- aside from Sirius Black, of course, who had been the most irritatingly brash human being to have ever lived.

“Lucius and I are quarrelling over you,” Narcissa stated, snapping his attention back to the present.

“Me?” Severus repeated, not caring that his confusion was evident in his tone.

“Take him to the tower tonight,” the static-filled voice told him, and the line went dead before Severus could reply.

When Lucius emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of jasmine-scented steam, Severus was still staring at the receiver as if it could provide an explanation for the utterly absurd conversation he had just participated in.

“Severus?” Lucius prompted, coming to a halt beside him.

Severus shook his head.

“It’s a telephone,” Lucius explained patiently, as if speaking to a child. “Muggles use it to communicate with one another when it isn’t possible to speak in person.”

“I know what a telephone is, you insufferable prat,” Severus snapped with a roll of his eyes as he slammed the receiver down in its cradle. “Honestly, Lucius.”

“Well, you were staring at it as if you’d never seen one before,” the other man replied, pushing his lower lip out into a faux pout. “You are getting on in years, and I thought you might have misplaced that particular bit of information in a bout of temporary dementia.”

They stared at one another for a moment, expressions blank, until Severus lunged forward and caught his companion about the waist. Lucius gave a halfhearted huff of protest that trailed off into laughter as he was hoisted into the air and thrown down across a nearby settee.

“You are,” Severus began as he fell atop the other man and caught his lips in a kiss, “The single most irritating man I have ever had the misfortune of meeting.”

“And you,” Lucius replied, wrapping both arms around his assailant’s neck, “Are the most bitter, dreadful old bat I have ever known.”

Any other insults they might have offered one another were quickly forgotten in favor of enjoying the brush of lips and the slide of tongues. Severus slid one arm beneath his lover’s waist to press their bodies together, and Lucius responded by hooking one leg over the back of his knee. There was nothing awkward in their embrace, nothing hesitant about their kiss, and Severus pulled away abruptly.

It would not do to allow himself to become too comfortable.

“What is it?” Lucius asked, grey eyes dark beneath lowered lashes and voice rough with interrupted lust.

“Nothing,” Severus lied, pushing away from the settee and standing to smooth his rumbled trousers. “You were the one who was so eager to be in Paris, so I would imagine that you’d not want to waste what little is left of the day by spending it here in the hotel.”

“You could just tell me that you aren’t in the mood,” Lucius replied huffily, sitting up and raking his fingers through his hair. It fell in damp tendrils around his face, and Severus resisted the urge to brush them away.

“Right then,” Lucius said rather moodily after a moment, and Severus heard the quiet shuffle of bare feet against the marble floor as the other man made his way into the bedroom.

Having no response, Severus sighed and turned to stare out at the streets of Paris below. It was still early afternoon, and the flow of traffic and tourists was a comforting hum of white noise to muffle the furious pounding of his heart.

~*~*~

The lights of Paris seemed nothing more than a million tiny fireflies from the top of the tower, points of light scattered like shards of glass across black velvet.

Severus leaned against the rail, as conscious of the man next to him as he was of the light breeze that lifted their hair and twisted it together, black and white in a world of muted grey. They had said very little to one another over the course of the afternoon, and he knew without asking that this would be their last night together. It was there in Lucius’ eyes, every time they caught one another’s gaze for a fraction of a heartbeat and looked away.

“I’ve been to Paris more times than I can count,” Lucius murmured quietly, breaking the silence between them for the first time since their apparation to the pinnacle of the tower. “But I’ve never seen this view of the city at night.”

Swallowing heavily, Severus nodded, and watched from the corner of his eye as the other man leaned over the railing. White blond hair spilled across wrought iron, and Severus was reminded suddenly of a child tempted by danger, refusing to retreat until his curiosity was thoroughly satisfied.

“Cissy was always frightened of heights, and Draco is afraid of the dark,” Lucius confided, and Severus knew that this confession was much more than idle conversation. “I know that it’s a terrible faux pas to think the tower is beautiful, but it is, and I always thought that seeing Paris from this height would be too profound an experience to not share with someone else.”

Lucius lifted his head and stared out across the glittering expanse of Paris. With a quiet exhalation, he hoisted himself onto the railing and slid down until the heels of his boots touched the ledge on the other side. Pale hands gripping the wrought iron behind his back, he extended his arms until he was hanging from the edge.

Severus resisted the urge to reach out for him, though every muscle in his body was taut, ready for the other man to lose his precarious balance at any moment.

“When I was a child, I wondered what this would be like,” Lucius continued softly. “Levitation charms will only allow you to rise to a certain height, and riding a broom or a thestral isn’t the same.”

“Well, now you know what it feels like,” Severus replied quietly. “That’s quite enough, I think; I’m in no mood to piece your broken body back together.”

“That’s what you do, though,” Lucius murmured, making no move to retreat to safety. “All our lives, you’ve always been the one to fix what I’ve broken, haven’t you?”

“Lucius,” Severus began with a tired sigh.

“I never turned any of our housemates into a toad,” Lucius broke in suddenly.

It took a moment for Severus to understand this bizarre statement, but when he did, his grip on the railing tightened. Lucius turned his head to the side, and their eyes met.

“I can’t,” Severus said quietly, even as he lifted one foot and hooked it through the scrolls on the railing.

Lucius said nothing, only watched as Severus pushed himself onto the edge of the railing and sat, one foot anchored by iron and the other dangling, weightless, over the side of the tower. It was ridiculous, this flirtation with danger; if they both fell, there would be only seconds for them to cast any sort of charm, and the risk of failure was too great.

After a few moments had passed in silence, Severus hesitantly lifted his other leg over the railing and slid down until his heels caught the ledge. Beside him, Lucius took a deep breath and let it out in a quiet sigh that might have been thanks or relief. A gust of wind shook the top of the tower, threatening to dislodge them, and without thinking, Severus released his grip on the iron behind his back to grasp the other man’s shoulder.

“Careful,” Lucius admonished, looking suddenly uneasy as the younger man’s balance wavered.

“I wasn’t aware that word was part of your standard vocabulary,” Severus replied, refusing to look away from the fearful grey eyes that stared up at him. “Your descent into self-destructive behavior certainly lends credence to the theory that caution is not one of your more redeeming qualities.”

Exhaling shakily, Lucius shook his head and pulled himself back over the railing, landing on the other side with a quiet, unintelligible murmur. Turning on the ledge, Severus gripped the wrought iron with one hand and reached out for his companion with the other. Biting his lip and looking uncharacteristically uncertain, Lucius took a step closer.

“What are we doing, Lucius?” Severus breathed to the other man’s lips.

Lucius blinked up at him, gaze darting from one eye to the other as if searching for something. It was there, written in the fine lines around his eyes and in the sharp edges of his cheekbones: a lifetime of suffering and veneration, doubt and certainty, love and hatred as strong as the crumbling cement beneath their feet.

“Severus,” Lucius whispered, covering his lover’s hand with his own. His voice shook, and he swallowed before continuing in a quiet tone. “I never set fire to my father’s library. I wanted to, but it wasn’t me. One of the house elves was-“

The rest of the confession was lost, abandoned to a desperate, feverish kiss that burned with memories and blazed to life in the warm rain that chose that moment to fall. Severus pressed his lips, his heart, his everything to Lucius’ as another gust of wind caught them both, threw them together as completely life and death, war and love, destruction and creation always had.

Somewhere high above, beyond the twinkling lights of Paris and the grey clouds, a boy was crying in the streets of Diagon Alley. Somewhere, in two heartbeats of time’s infinite course, tear-filled black eyes locked with grey and a hand was extended, forever linking two broken souls whose destinies would be forever intertwined.