InsaneJournal

The Stories That Never Happened, Untitled Snucius

Untitled
I was experimenting with this one, but I realized about halfway through that I picked up the theme of Severus seducing someone with the color red from another story. I tried to keep writing it, even after that, but once you've realized you're not being original anymore, it makes it a bit difficult.

Severus is absolutely determined to drive me mad.

I watch him from across the ballroom at Malfoy Manor, his robes whispering across the floor behind him and leaving envy in their wake where once was fear and scorn. It is a deceptively familiar scene that makes something very unfamiliar run hot in my veins, because the fabric that hugs his slight form is not his customary black, but crimson.

This is not the first instance in which he has attempted to sabotage my sanity with red.

~*~*~

It began on a relatively uneventful afternoon in late May.

Narcissa's Midsummer celebrations had always been well attended, even during the war. Now that the Dark Lord had fallen and I was a free man, the marble entryway of our home was regularly buried beneath a deluge of owls, all bearing R.S.V.P.s for the annual event. Everyone, it seemed, was eager to catch a glimpse of the Kingdom's most notorious Death Eater in his natural habitat.

Well, far be it for me to disappoint them.

Having been confined to the Manor since my release from Azkaban, I was more than willing to assist Narcissa with preparations for the ball. Despite what the media may say about me, I've always been fond of my wife, and she of me. However, our opposing preferences, along with our mutual lack of regard for the sanctity of marriage, was why she and I had taken to sleeping in separate wings of the Manor soon after Draco was born. Nevertheless we were, if nothing else, friends; and either way, the very least I could do to repay almost twenty years of my wife's kindness was to assist her however I could.

I had taken it upon myself to sort through the hundreds of responses to Narcissa's invitations. The majority included short missives welcoming me home and inquiring after my health, all of them dripping with sincerity so thick one could almost miss the message between the lines; messages that had nothing to do with concern, and everything to do with the various rumors surrounding my release. Banishing a considerable stack of these thinly veiled pleas for gossip fodder, I spied a conspicuously red envelope lying amidst the beige scrolls.

Thinking it to be yet another howler, I sneered with irritation and made a mental note to reinforce the wards. However, just as I was raising my wand to reduce the envelope to ash, I noticed my name scrawled across its face in a familiar, distinctive hand.

Curious now, I tentatively reached out and lifted the envelope between my thumb and forefinger. Twenty years of experience had taught me to be extraordinarily careful with anything that seemed out of place, and a proper letter from Severus was certainly on the list of things I was not expecting. The thick crimson paper showed no signs of dark magic, however, so I flipped it over and broke the red wax seal.

To my eternal surprise, not only did it include an R.S.V.P. stating that Severus would be attending the Midsummer ball, it was free of any disparaging remarks regarding the nature of the celebration, or even caveats to ensure me that he was attending solely out of obligation. Frowning, I turned the card over in my hands for a number of minutes, pondering just what would make Severus Snape, notoriously anti-social man that he was, acquiesce to attending such a frivolous celebration.

Unable to draw any satisfactory conclusions from the contents of the envelope, I pushed away from the table with a huff and strode to the floo in my office.

~*~*~

Things are never
what they appear to be.
in love,
in hatred,
in war,
in peace;
and we have known them all, we orphans of faith.

~*~*~

"Really, Lucius," Severus admonished me, "Is it so difficult to believe that I might actually want to attend this celebration?"

"Yes," I replied with a glare, crossing my arms over my chest as he sank down into one of the chairs in my office and steepled his forefingers in front of his lips.

The ruby in his heavy silver ring shone in the firelight.

Severus had never worn jewelry of any sort before.

"Would you prefer I not attend?" he asked me in a carefully measured tone.

"You know that isn't what I meant," I replied with a tired sigh. I'd been caught off my guard, taken by surprise, and somehow I knew that it would not be the last time my carefully constructed paradigm of Severus Snape would be challenged.

Though, it was certainly the first.

"Then I will see you in one week's time," Severus replied smoothly, and stood just as gracefully, with a careless drape of black robes over satin upholstery.

I shivered, and didn't understand why.

~*~*~

Azkaban does things
to the men it keeps. It drives the darkness
into us,
shatters us
like porcelain dolls
dashed against the windowpanes, until the blood seeps out and
shadows take its place.

~*~*~

When I next saw Severus, it was in the Great Hall at Hogwarts.

I’d gone to visit Draco, who had returned to complete the last of his classes that the war had interrupted. After careful consideration, and a great deal of pouting on his part, I had acquiesced to joining him for dinner. After all, most of the students had gone for the summer holiday, and Draco reasoned that it would do nicely for Lucius Malfoy to be seen in public with his son, the War Hero.

Severus was sitting in his usual place at the high table, as if the war had never happened, as if it had always been Minerva and not Albus by whose right hand he was seated. We glanced at one another as I entered through the massive doorway, and he raised his glass to me with a nod.

The red wine sparkled in the yellow light of the candles floating overhead.

I scarcely noticed the stares and hushed whispers of the others as I passed them, fixated as I was on this, yet another deviation from my old friend’s normal behavior. For his part, Severus seemed wholly unaware of my attention, having turned back to his conversation with Minerva. As a result, I found myself almost unbearably preoccupied with the task of attempting to catch his eye, and as a result, nearly tripped over the hem of my own robes as I took a seat next to Draco at the head of the Slytherin table.

“Alright, Father?” Draco asked me, his pale eyebrows drawn together with concern.

“Fine,” I assured him in a hushed whisper. Really, it was still an absolutely foreign idea that my son, whom I had protected with breath and blood for so many years, would suddenly have taken on the role of the protector. It would have been offensive, had it not been so unbearably endearing.

From the corner of his eye, Draco shot me a look that he must have learned from his mother; it was the same look Narcissa always gave me when she clearly didn’t believe a single word I was saying, but was far too polite to argue about the matter in public.

Minerva gave a short discourse about unlikely heroes, the malleability of human conscience, and other Gryffindor nonsense that I’ve learned to tolerate for the sake of freedom. Meanwhile, I surreptitiously attempted to catch Severus’ eye, but to no avail. Rather than looking at me, he occupied himself with stroking the ruby in his ring, twisting his hand this way and that to watch the reflection of the candlelight on the stone.

“Draco,” I began quietly, once Minerva had finished and the food appeared before us, “Have you noticed anything strange about Professor Snape recently?”

“Severus has always been strange, Father,” the insolent boy replied, tipping a pitcher of pumpkin juice to fill my cup.

“You will address him as Professor Snape while at Hogwarts,” I corrected him. “And I will remind you that Azkaban has done very little in the way of providing me with patience for your cheek.”

“Yes Sir,” Draco said, and I could almost hear the temptation to roll his eyes. “No, I’ve not noticed anything stranger than usual; why do you ask?”

“Curiosity,” I replied absently, watching Severus lift his wineglass to his lips.

His eyes finally met mine over the rim of the glass, and I swore I could see the corners of his lips twitch upward just before he took a sip. When he lowered it again, however, the smirk was gone, and that familiar expression of neutrality had taken its place. Unfortunately, the effect was slightly ruined by the droplet of wine that clung to his lower lip, and had we not been in public, I might have teased him a bit for his lack of manners.

That is, of course, until he lifted his eyes to mine again, and held my gaze while his tongue slipped out from between his lips. I watched with a sort of mortified fascination as he cleaned the red from his mouth, slightly horrified at the sudden warmth that raced through me.

“Father?”

Swallowing and tearing my gaze away from the infuriating creature posed as a potions professor, I turned my attention to Draco, who was staring at me with concern.

“I’m fine,” I assured him.

“No, you aren’t,” he replied, looking unconvinced. “Perhaps you should lie down for a bit. You look flushed, and I’ve been given use of my old prefect’s bedroom, so you’d not have to worry about being awakened by a bunch of giggling children.”

Glancing once more at Severus from the corner of my eye, I gave a short nod and pushed away from the table. I wasn’t ill, but the sudden and very unexpected temptation I felt from something so simple as watching an old friend lick his lips was a bit unsettling, and I wasn’t certain how much longer I could endure Severus’ newfound appreciation for the color red without going mad.

I should have known that my escape would be temporary, at best.

~*~*~

I should have known

my escape
would be

temporary,
at best.

~*~*~

“Do you remember-“

I opened my eyes and stared at the shadows hovering over the curtained bed with a vague sense of déjà vu that lifted partially destroyed memories into the dim candlelight, just beyond the heavy green drapes. It had been my bed once, a very long time ago.

Yes, I remembered.

“Do you remember,” the black satin voice repeated, drawing nearer, “Those nights in the common room, playing childish drinking games with Bella and Avery?”

“Yes,” I said with a fractured smile. “We were immortal then, weren’t we.”

“Foolish,” Severus replied with a soft laugh that was really nothing more than a quiet rush of breath. “Drinking half a bottle of firewhiskey and living to tell the tale certainly ensured your place in the universal hierarchy.”

“Bella always won,” I recalled, and wished it could have been fondly. “Avery was hopeless.”

The curtains around the bed parted, and he was silhouetted against the soft yellow glow. There was a rustle of fabric, and the mattress dipped beneath his weight as he perched on the edge of the bed, pale hands clasped in his lap. Black hair concealed his features, but I could tell by the set of his shoulders that his next words would hold some profound meaning.

“I took her to bed,” he confessed quietly, and tilted his head back to gaze at the ceiling.

“We all did,” I told him, and then, “Why?”

I had never felt so jealous in all my life, and I rolled over with my back to him.

Severus laughed again, a hum in the back of his throat that filled the space between us, connecting us with breath.

“She kissed you,” he replied simply, though I knew that it wasn’t simple at all.

Nothing had ever been simple for either of us.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, ignoring the almost recognizable ache that tightened my chest and made my pulse thunder in my ears.

“Some things change,” Severus reasoned. The bed shifted as he stood, the weight of him gone and replaced with nothingness. “And some things do not.”

It was a very long time before I could sleep again.

~*~*~

A man can only dream

what

he knows to be
impossible.

And when a man is imprisoned
he dreams

not of freedom,
but of

death.

~*~*~

When I awoke, it was dawn, and I was alone in the large bed that had once been my own.

For a moment, I was tempted to excuse the previous night’s visit and subsequent nonsensical conversation as the byproduct of an overstressed imagination. It had never been Severus’ way to intrude upon others without invitation, and never did he lay his soul so bare, even in such a vague manner that perhaps only he and I could understand.

If I were being honest with myself, I might have admitted that I was still not certain just what his confession was meant to be.

Unfortunately, I had never learned to be completely honest with myself.

Therefore, it was somewhat of a shock that my mouth would suddenly go so dry when I spied the bundle lying on the nightstand.

It was wrapped in a red silk handkerchief, and my fingers shook as I reached out for it, knowing before I touched it that I would find his initials monogrammed on the corner. I’d given him one just like it, white silk and green embroidery, on the afternoon we met for the first time.

We’d been barely more than children then- he eleven and I seventeen- and I’d found him crying in the streets of Diagon Alley after his first unfortunate meeting with James Potter and Sirius Black. I’d offered him my handkerchief to dry his tears, and my hand to help him up from the dirty cobblestone. Impolite as he is, he’d never returned the handkerchief; though I’d seen it once, just the corner, sticking out of the sleeve of his robes.

I’d never mentioned it.

Closing my fingers around the bundle, I brought it to my chest and cradled it next to my heart- I, Lucius Malfoy, holding this small gift like a schoolgirl might hold her first love letter.

I suppose, for us, it might have been the closest we would ever come to such a thing.

Just as I had expected, ‘S.S.’ was there at the corner in black thread, and I smiled a halfhearted sort of smile as I tugged it open to reveal the contents. Nestled in the crimson satin was a neatly tied bunch of damiana.

Damiana has only one use in brewing potions. It is an aphrodisiac.

~*~*~

In the end

we
offer breath
and prayers


to



silence.

~*~*~

Three hours before the first of Narcissa’s guests were due to arrive, I began pacing the length of my bedroom. I vowed to myself that I would not allow Severus to leave my sight until he had given me a proper explanation for his recent behavior.

Two hours before we opened the front door of Malfoy Manor to our former allies and friends, I threw myself across my bed like an errant adolescent and glared at the ceiling. Of course Severus would take this opportunity, while I was still dazed from my extended holiday in Azkaban, to exact a bit of revenge for some of the taunting I’d subjected him to over the years. In the hour that I lay there brooding, I almost convinced myself that this business with the color red was his idea of humor.

One hour before the first carriage appeared on the narrow lane, I hurriedly dressed and scowled at my reflection. It seemed absolutely ridiculous that I should be so concerned with my appearance for the sake of a man that I had known for most of my adult life, so I quickly convinced myself that it was not for Severus, but for the journalists that would inevitably be amongst our guests.

I was tugging at the collar of my silver robes when I was interrupted by a soft pop outside my bedroom door.

Immediately on my guard, I withdrew my wand and pointed it at the solid oak, heart beating against my ribs like a caged thing demanding freedom. When the quiet apparition was followed only by silence, I took a step toward the door, the killing curse too readily rising to my lips.

“Master Malfoy?” a high-pitched voice squeaked from the corridor.

Sighing irritably, I slid my wand back into my sleeve, blessing Draco for having had it modified into a less cumbersome design.

“What is it?” I asked the house elf tiredly.

“Mistress Malfoy is asking Plinky to tell Master Malfoy that he is to be coming downstairs ten minutes ago,” the thing replied hesitantly.

“Well, Plinky is to be telling Mistress Malfoy that Master Malfoy is to be coming downstairs whenever he damn well pleases,” I snapped, brushing a lock of hair out of my eyes.

There was a helpless sort of whine from the other side of the door, but it obviously knew better than to argue with me, because a moment later there was another soft pop as it disapparated.

Meanwhile, I turned to stare at my reflection in the mirror next to my wardrobe.

The silver robes shone in the bright light of the orbs I had conjured, and my hair looked almost white against them. I’d added a touch of kohl to my eyes to offset the silver edges of the mask I’d chosen, and the dark color reminded me so much of bruises that I looked away with a snarl.

I could still feel the marks on my arms from the guard’s fingertips, long since vanished but never healed.

The mask itself was truly a work of art, worthy of being displayed in the gallery of the manor. Venetian plaster and sterling silver, twining together at the edges, separate but inarguably dependent upon one another. It was smooth and cool against my cheeks as I slid it into place, which was why I had chosen it.

I hoped with all my soul that I would never need it again, once the midnight bells had tolled and the doors of the manor had closed behind the last of the audience to my shame.

~*~*~

We’ve all our masks to wear,

some tragedy,
some comedy,



some nothing more than

a fragile defense
against life’s monstrosity.

~*~*~

“I recognized you immediately.”

I think I may have given a visible start, absorbed as I was with waiting for him to make his entrance. Narcissa had given up on forcing me to greet our guests as they arrived, and ushered me into the ballroom to have a drink that she promised would calm a nervousness we had both misunderstood entirely. Gratefully, I had accepted, and was halfway through my second glass of wine before he appeared behind me, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Don’t,” he said, and grabbed my shoulders to hold me in place as I attempted to turn and face him.

“What are you playing at?” I murmured, all too aware of the heat of his fingertips through the thin fabric of my robes.

“You already know,” he promised me quietly, warm breath against the back of my neck, so unbearably close.

I did know.

“Why now?” I prompted, and didn’t ask why it had taken so long for him to come to this.

I didn’t dare to wonder why it had taken both of us so long.

“Is there a better time?” he replied with another quiet laugh that brushed the hair away from the side of my neck.

“Severus,” I said softly, but he was already gone.

~*~*~

Freedom

is very much like
hatred

or
love:

vast,
unexplainable,
and

utterly terrifying.

~*~*~

I know it is Severus.

It is not the red silk that clings to his body as he moves across the room, nor the curtain of black hair draped over his shoulders and down his back. It is not in the dark gaze that surveys the crowd with disdain, nor the subtle flick of robes as he turns to acknowledge a greeting from passerby.

These are but ornaments.

I know it is he from the defiant lift of his chin beneath the elaborate mask that covers half his face. The essence of him is there, in the sinuous twist of muscle beneath silk as he lifts a glass to his lips. I see him in the unconcerned yet alert tilt of his head as he listens to the conversations taking place around him.

I feel Severus Snape in every beat of my traitorous heart.

As the bells chime the eleventh hour, I gather my robes and courage around me, and mimic the brazen confidence of him as I stride across the ballroom. He watches my approach, and I cannot see his expression beneath his red porcelain mask. Twenty years of friendship and hatred, and only now do I realize how many memories can be found lurking just below the surface of a neutral façade.

“Severus,” I greet him.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” he admonishes me with a smirk, and I am surprised at how relieved I feel with this barely noticeable display of amusement. “I was under the impression that it is a terrible faux pas to address someone by name at this sort of event.”

“Who will you be tonight, then?” I ask quietly, edging closer until there are scant inches between us. Oh, but how can such a thing seem so reckless a decision?

“I thought, at first, a villain,” he replies softly. “A fallen god of retribution.”

“This color makes me think of flames,” I tell him, running suddenly shy fingertips across the sleeve of his robes.

“Prometheus, then,” he says, reaching out to close slender fingers around my wrist. “

There was shagging after that, and I'm not sure how it ends.