Chapter 10

Chapter 10: End Game Part 1

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If the journey to her seat had been strange, the final few steps, out into the bright sunlight of the June afternoon, were bordering on the surreal.

"Is this the Royal Box?" Hermione blurted, shocked.

She stared at the rows of green upholstered seats arranged in neat rows before her. The seats formed a block, distinct from the other seating arrangements, at one end of the tennis court.

Lucius' eyebrows lifted in some surprise. "These are the finest seats at the Championships, my dear. Only the best for my guests, after all."

He moved ahead of her, nodding his head in greeting to a particular gentleman with a balding pate and a neatly sculpted beard. The elderly man waved back.

"There's somebody here today who is much more important than that example of minor royalty," Lucius whispered to her and waggled his eyebrows.

"Cliff Richard?" she hazarded wildly. "Wait, wasn't he banned in 1996?"

"Look over there," he directed. "On the side to the right."

Hermione scanned the crowd, but could not see anyone she recognised... just row upon row of excitable fans.

To her surprise, other people in the box also greeted Lucius as they slowly manoeuvred their way to their seats. He appeared to be well known. Lucius revelled in the attention, a word here, a bow there, even a "... and how is your lovely daughter, Minister?" at one point. Each time he was acknowledged, he seemed to check that she had seen it, proud of the attention and keen that she should witness it.

It was the oddest thing. Malfoy... Malfoy who had dismissed all non-magical folk as beneath regard... who was part of Voldemort's inner circle, promulgating the spread of supremacist views, at the heart of anti-Muggle actions during the war, whose Gringotts account had, according to Ginny, been closed by the Ministry in partial recompense for his crimes.

She could feel Nott behind her as they shuffled along the row of seats behind Malfoy.

"What on earth is going on?" Hermione hissed at Nott as she excused herself past a disdainful-looking woman in dark glasses. "How does he know all of these people?"

She felt Nott's breath close to her ear. "Games," she heard him whisper sourly. "Money talks, Hermione. Can't you see what's happening?"

She swivelled around and glowered at him. "If I could see what was going on," she hissed through gritted teeth, "I wouldn't be asking you. I thought he didn't have any money – his assets were stripped at the end of the war."

"Sorry... sorry...," she added as she manoeuvred awkwardly past two more spectators in the row.

Nott snorted quietly, but did not offer any further comment.

Lucius stopped in front of her and turned to sit with a flourish. He looked about him, seemingly searching for someone in the crowd, and appeared to be rather disappointed. He twisted again in his seat as she reached him, but when she sat down beside him and Nott took his seat next to her, he turned his attention upon her again.

She shifted in her seat uncomfortably under his intense stare.

"Will Severus and Draco be joining us soon?" she asked and hoped that she was not sounding as desperate as she was beginning to feel. For all the wide open space of the tennis arena, she was feeling horribly claustrophobic. What on earth had she been thinking, accepting this invitation to see Malfoy again? For all her bravado around the kitchen table with Ginny, she knew that she was out of her depth.

Lucius smiled and laid a hand on her wrist. "I am sure that they will be along shortly, my dear," he replied smoothly. His fingers were cool, and she tried not to flinch at the contact.

"Draco had something he wished to discuss first with his old Head of House. He was very fond of Severus, you know," he added, and his eyes flicking briefly but pointedly towards Nott beside her. "Severus was quite the mentor to my boy while he was at school."

Hermione felt Nott's leg stiffen against hers for a moment, and then he deliberately moved away from her.

"I see," she said. Lucius had not moved his hand, and she fought the urge to jerk her hand free.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Unfortunately, we both lacked Severus' judgement on certain matters in the past... something for which we must both..." he sighed, and his fingers moved lightly on her skin, "atone... among other things."

She stared at him, and he met her gaze directly, his eyes heavy lidded against the sunshine. Is this remorse? she thought and shivered, dislodging his fingers from her arm with the slight movement. I hate this. Why the hell doesn't anyone have a normal conversation? She thought of Harry and Ron and their Auror training... and how she had decided to pursue her academic goals rather than follow them into the world of intrigue and law enforcement. The silly banter around Harry's breakfast table seemed a world away.

She tried to redirect the conversation to something safer. "What will Draco do for a living now?" she asked.

Lucius frowned, then shrugged. "Oh, he will find something to occupy himself, I am sure."

***

Drugged.

Severus could not move.

Fear rose within him, strangling his throat and making his heart beat uncertainly. But almost as soon as he recognised the emotion, he felt himself trying to tamp it down, suppressing it, using those war-hewn instincts that had saved him so many times before. He could breathe. He could control his breathing. Breathe, dammit! He concentrated purely on that for a while until his lightheadedness began to abate.

Once he had himself a little more under control, he tried to explore his senses, although his thoughts were disjointed and slow.

He was hot. It was a hot day. He was sitting down. Rough wood under his forearms. He could feel sweat pooling uncomfortable at the base of his spine, pricking his underarms... making his neck itch where the scars chafed on his shirt collar. There was a metallic tang in the back of his throat. His hearing was... off....

He found that he could blink, but he could not move his eyes in their sockets. He could swallow, but not move his tongue. That is interesting..., he thought, although he couldn't quite think why.

It was very bright. The sunlight was casting sharp shadows everywhere.

Bright lights danced at the periphery of his vision. He watched them for a while, delighting in their colours. The shimmering lights fought against the shadows, twirling and morphing into twisted shapes and darker visions.

Narcissa's voice... He could hear her... and Draco. Then a different male voice that he didn't recognise. He winced inwardly when he felt the snap of magic that silenced the man. The dancing colours in his vision receded, and he could tell he was sitting at a table, his hands cupped in front of him. There was a bowl of strawberries and three empty wine glasses. A fly crawled slowly across his knuckle. Instinctively, he made to flick it away... but his hand did not move, and he remembered that he had been....

Drugged.

He forced his mind to consider a series of potion ingredients that could produce psychotropic effects, but his thoughts refused to come into line – they were sluggish and intractable.

He shook himself mentally. Stupid, Severus old man. Stupid! Focus! He mentally reviewed the list, considering Acacia, Echinopsis, Lophophora, Mimosa, Atropa belladonna, Datura, Mandragora... even Fly agaric. He could name many of them easily, knew well their effects and their properties, but he dismissed each because of how it was administered... and the effects didn't equate to how he was feeling.

Draco was talking again, sharing something with his mother.... Severus could see him move from the corner of his eye, could hear his voice coming closer to him. The sound of the boy's voice slid smoothly over his senses.

What was he thinking of? Ah, yes.... Zembyeva wood? Bitter... but not if one sweetened it, of course. Not delicate enough for selective paralysis....

What about Psilocybe Semilanceata? That could induce selective paralysis... frankly could do a hell of a lot more than that – but could that explain that metallic taste on the tongue... it was almost... synthetic.

Draco moved to his side and ran featherlight fingers slowly along his upper arm and across his shoulder. Ahhhh. Severus could feel the blood coursing through his veins, the beat of his heart, the spasm of his lungs, breathing... He tensed to resist – he had resisted before, after all. No-one better. No-one brighter. Brightest wizard of his age – who had said that...?

But as he felt Draco's fingers brush the side of his neck, the metallic tang in his mouth grew sharper and more bitter, and an overwhelming rush of pleasant calm rushed through him, bathing him in certainty, caressing him in peace. He scrabbled for his thoughts, but felt them pouring away from him under the caress, the tendrils of his awareness slipping away as he lost himself to the pleasure of Draco's will.

Yes, he would stand.

He stood.

Yes, he will follow.

He followed.

***

Lucius leaned even closer to her. She felt his breath on her cheek, the pull of his fingers on her wrist.

"You seem a little uncomfortable, Hermione," he breathed. "I do not wish you to be uncomfortable. I want you to enjoy yourself today. It is a special occasion, after all." He gestured with his other hand, at the crowd sitting about them, rich with anticipation. His cane trapped strongly between his thighs rolled slightly, and the emerald eyes of the silver serpent that tipped it glinted in the bright sunlight.

"Do you see, Professor Granger?" he sighed. "I need you."

"What do you want of me?" Hermione's voice was a whisper.

His pale face was flushed with a sort of triumph, and his eyes danced. He darted a look about himself and opened his mouth to...

"Lucius, darling!"

Malfoy jerked backwards at the strident call, and Hermione jumped too, feeling a sickening swoop of adrenaline slice through her.

"Narcissa, my sweet. How strange to bump into you here!" he replied smoothly.

Hermione turned about to see Narcissa Malfoy's autocratic features change from a twisted sneer of recognition to a bright and false smile.

"Now, Lucius... you know my interest in tennis, darling," she trilled, making her way down the shallow steps beside their row of seating. The older witch was wearing a tasteful trouser suit in some sort of dark, sheer material. Jewels glimmered about her throat.

Lucius smirked. "Oh yes, indeed... your tennis interest. Is he here?"

"Somewhere." Narcissa flicked her long fingers dismissively. "I see you have... guests, darling."

"Yes indeed." Lucius looked at Hermione again, his gaze lingering on her before returning to his wife. "Professor Granger... my wife Narcissa Malfoy."

"Black Malfoy," corrected Mrs Malfoy. "I do wish you'd remember that."

"Narcissa, you do remember Miss Granger? Not only the brightest witch of her age, but of course the best friend of our esteemed Saviour himself?"

Harry, Hermione thought. Is all of this because of Harry?

"Charmed, my dear. That is such a pretty dress... and your hair – I do so love the natural look." Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly at the thinly disguised insult.

"I have just been speaking to my son in the Members' Enclosure. Draco mentioned that you were here today," Narcissa continued. "I am so surprised that Lucius has been able to draw you out from the security of your ivory tower...."

Draco. Severus. Hermione's breath caught. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Malfoy," Hermione said pointedly, her eyes narrowed. "Have you seen Severus?"

Narcissa stared at her for a second, an amused expression on her face. Two seconds passed. Then she deliberately allowed her eyes to slide to Hermione's left. "Oh!" she trilled. "Is that you, Theodore? So lovely to see you after all that unfortunate business..."

A sudden burst of tumultuous applause and shouting erupted about them. The other spectators surged to their feet, cheering and calling out as the officials and players walked out onto the green court below them. Lucius spun around and joined in the cheering and clapping for the two competitors beneath them.

Hermione took advantage, grabbing Narcissa's arm roughly and pulling her close. "Stop messing me around, and answer the bloody question, you supercilious cow!" she hissed in the woman's ear. "Where the hell is Severus? What have you done with my– him?"

The Muggle umpire was making an announcement, and the crowd quietened down quickly around them.

Narcissa's muscles tensed, and Hermione felt a sudden and sharp pain in her hand which caused her to let go of the other woman's arm, the unpleasant magical aftershock still skittering under her skin. "Manners, darling," the older witch drawled, straightening. "Your... well, it's hardly in order to call him your boyfriend, is it? Severus is just down there... with Draco. Look...."

The spectators chattered excitedly and shifted in their seats. The players were warming up, excited ooohs and ahhhhs accompanied each strike of the ball on the court. However, Hermione's attention was diverted as her gaze followed in the direction of Narcissa's sharp nail-point to seats about twenty feet away from them on the very edge of the box.

Severus was standing next to Draco, so close that his arm was brushing against the younger man. As she looked on, she saw Draco slowly reach up and offer Severus a strawberry. "But...," she said, feeling foolish and lost. "Severus hates strawberries."

She watched as Snape, his eyes fixed on Draco's, slowly opened his mouth and accepted the fruit.

"It seems that he has overcome his dislike of certain things," Theodore Nott's said, and his voice had lost its customary sardonic inflection. It sounded hollow, like her heart.

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A/N: Believe it or not, but Sir Cliff really was banned from Wimbledon in 1996, following a particularly dodgy rendition of "Singin' In The Rain" at the Championships, which allegedly left spectators traumatised and unable to enjoy the rest of the tennis. The ban was only lifted in 2013. This says a lot about the Lawn Tennis Association.

A/N2: This work of fiction was brought to you via the genius of beaweasley2 and Clairvoyant, and with the tacit indulgence of JK Rowling. I own nothing here....