Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer: My thanks to JK Rowling for having such a splendid imagination and for allowing us to play around with her characters in the fanfiction universe. She gets all the credit for anything you recognize; the plot for this story is entirely mine (though I don't get paid).

Chapter Thirteen

That should do it, Draco thought as he tossed in the last shreds of finely minced belladonna and stood back. Just in time, too, for the potion exploded in a shower of sickeningly green sparks, as it had every other time he had brewed it. He regretted the lack of windows in his subterranean laboratory because throwing the entire conglomeration, cauldron and all, out a window was very appealing right about now. Peering into the cauldron revealed that the explosion had once again wiped away all evidence of any potion having been brewed, right down to giving the pewter a just-scrubbed shine.

"Great. Just bloody great!" he shouted at the stark, stone walls and sent the wooden spoon flying. His eyes flared in the anger of the moment, and not having been satisfied by the flying utensil clattering against the far wall, he picked up the cutting board, threw it after the spoon, and proceeded to sweep the various ingredient jars off the table. Glass jars bounced and bumped against each other, but none of them broke, which only served to increase his anger even more. It was evidence his mother had been casting spells in his laboratory, and he just barely tolerated her using his laboratory for mixing potions much less messing around with the way he liked things kept...such as glass jars that would shatter gratifyingly upon impact.

Narcissa had nearly reached the door to the laboratory when the explosion rattled the door on its hinges. She awaited the inevitable outburst, first vocal, then physical, her mouth a tight, thin line of disapproval. Much like his father, Draco had a tendency to let his frustrations run away with his temper. The tell-tale sound of spell-imperviated glass hitting the floor and Draco's irritated growl signaled that his temper tantrum was nearly at an end. She opened the door a crack but didn't dare to peek any further around the edge than she could easily see. Draco had been known in the past to hurl objects at her when in this state. She knew better than to put herself in harm's way.

"Is it safe to come in?" she inquired, trying to keep the patronizing tone she'd rather have used out of her voice.

"Apparently it is since the potion is a bloody failure once again," Draco growled at his mother as the door opened with more than its customary creak. He stood glaring daggers at his mother as she entered the room. "And don't say a word," he added peremptorily.

She stopped, carefully schooling her features into an expression of one who's just been insulted. "I was just going to say that perhaps a little help from an old friend wouldn't be remiss. I know you were always good with potions, but a potion of this magnitude requires a master."

"We don't need to involve Snape. I can do this myself," he stated with finality.

"I'm sure you can," she replied condescendingly...oh, how he hated when she spoke to him like that, "but Severus knows about Lucius and our situation. He might even be familiar with the potion you are trying to brew. And in any case, he was always loyal to Lucius. I doubt anyone else would do what it takes to bring Lucius back."

He was still angry, but he knew his mother was right. If he wanted help with the potion, if he wanted to do all he could to bring his father back, Severus was the best person to ask. He was the only person to ask.

"Fine, have your way. I'll contact him." She was right, but that didn't mean he had to like it. "Now, what are you doing in my laboratory?"

"No need to get tetchy with me, young man. I was just coming down to let you know that Crispy has made lunch." Her faux-friendly tone of voice was reminiscent of times before the war, before Lucius' affliction, yet Draco could not say he missed it very much.

He eyed her suspiciously. "He's still not living up to his name, is he? Because if he is, I swear, Mother, I am returning him to the elf barracks as soon as I get this mess cleaned up."

"Now, don't be so hard on the poor elf." He knew her display of concern was equal to the absolute lack of concern she actually felt. "Lunch looks much better today than it did yesterday. You can't fault him much; when you purchase an elf from the barracks, you know they aren't going to be trained properly. This way, we'll be able to train him the way Malfoys expect their elves to be trained."

When Draco had brought Crispy home, Narcissa had looked down her nose at the creature. He had worn a sack marked with the signature of the barracks, and the first thing she had done was to command that he burn the hideous piece of cloth. She would have no one suspect that a Malofy had obtained an inferior elf, and she had vowed to teach the creature to live up to her standards if she had to beat him into doing it.

Narcissa's hands busied themselves, righting ingredient jars with her wand and lifting a lid here, a lid there to peer curiously inside, all the while looking almost-convincingly like she had meant the words that had just fallen from her lips.

"Since when are you so understanding, Mother?" Draco asked, slapping her hand lightly before she could open a jar full of wasp wings. He was not about to go chasing the bloody blighters all over the laboratory again.

"Who, me? Aren't I always understanding?" she answered innocently.

His mother never said anything innocently. Draco's eyes narrowed to slits as he stared at her, and his mouth readied itself for the apology he knew must follow if he wanted his mother to stop putting so much effort into feigning happiness.

"All right," he said through clenched teeth. "I apologize for going to the barracks to purchase an elf, but the society sells them for four times as much, and I figured having an elf around...regardless of its training...was better than no elf." Draco sneered at his mother's ingratitude. She was damn lucky to even have an elf.

"You think?" was her acidic reply. "What about going to the Flints and offering to purchase back Fritz ... Or I seem to remember that the Parkinsons have a house-elf for sale. I seem to remember they did a couple months back anyway. But no, my son has to stoop to purchasing an elf from the filthy barracks where the elves aren't even fit to serve Mudbloods."

Before she could start listing all the places he should have gone to obtain a house-elf, Draco cut her off. "You know very well that we cannot go around advertising the fact that we've come across a few extra Galleons," he said. "You know how fast gossip travels amongst your friends. The last thing we need is for the Ministry to come poking their noses into our business, what with half the manor smelling like burnt belladonna and father lying upstairs and..."

"Oh, fine. You've made your point," Narcissa spat. "Now come upstairs and eat your burnt muffins and scalded tea. Don't ask me how one scalds tea, but Crispy has managed to figure it out."

Her haughty brow bespoke disdain, and gathering her robe around her body, she tromped up the steps as loudly as she could, considering her feet were rather small and the steps were made of stone.

~ o ~

Severus had dismissed the owl an hour ago with a response to the hastily scrawled letter, which he still held in his hands. Draco wanted a meeting, and it had to be today. Most annoyingly, the letter didn't request his presence...it demanded it. Severus scowled heavily into his slowly cooling morning cup of tea. He detested being ordered around; he hated last-minute meetings; and while he felt sorry for Narcissa and Draco's circumstances...not to mention Lucius'...he rather preferred not to go to Malfoy Manor.

He let the letter fall onto the table and rubbed his forehead, trying to erase the tension headache that had made an early appearance this morning. He was pretty sure why Draco wanted to see him. In fact, Severus had been expecting Draco to contact him for a while, ever since he found out what books Draco had gotten hold of. Counter measures to Dark spells were complicated, and it was entirely possible that a counter-spell to what plagued Lucius existed somewhere, perhaps even in one of those books. He wondered if Draco had found something. Since Draco had virtually no experience with the application of Dark magic, aside from an Imperio and an occasional Crucio, application of any counter measures would require someone with more experience. That's where he came into the picture.

Severus scoffed. Lucius was practically dead. For all he knew, Lucius' body was merely a shell; whether or not it still housed his soul was another question. Severus had heard of only one other time that the Killing Curse had failed, so he had nothing to base any opinions on. Anything was possible.

With his tea finally finished, Severus set about clearing his schedule for the day.

~ o ~

The candlelight danced oppressively on the walls of Lucius Malfoy's sick room. Severus hadn't seen Lucius since the day he had brought the unconscious man home to Narcissa. By design, his visits never brought him this far into the manor. Truth be told, he had always avoided sick rooms, hospitals or otherwise, regardless of who was in them. When his own mother had lain dying upon her bed so many years ago, he had refused to go see her, to the great chagrin of his father. Even the minister who had come to pay his respects and administer last rites had looked upon young Severus with a reproving eye. She had died without laying her eyes upon her son one final time.

Every muscle was straining to remain at Lucius's bedside while simultaneously wanting to flee. Draco stood on the opposite side of his father's bed, the corpse-like figure of father and friend lying in stasis between them, expecting his father's friend to have answers, to impart some shred of hope. A very strategic positioning it was. Critical, in Draco's mind, to help his father's friend make up his mind.

Severus knew Draco was waiting for an answer. He had shown Severus the books, the marked pages where mention had been made about Killing Curses that had gone awry, some with consequences much worse than what had happened to Lucius. Though what was worse than a persistent vegetable state, he did not know. In some cases, the victims of the failed curse had been healed, though the process was grueling and never certain.

In particular, there was a series of potions that needed to be administered, and they had to be brewed in a precise manner, for they were quite potent and lethal if not brewed correctly. Severus wanted to help...he truly did; he missed his old friend and hated knowing he lay half-dead, half-alive in some sort of purgatory...but something in him wanted to leave all this behind and tell Draco that he possessed the skill to brew the potions on his own. Even though Severus knew he did not. But how would he feel if Draco inadvertently killed his father through an inadequately brewed potion? Could he ever forgive himself?

Lucius slumbered on, unaware of his friend's inner turmoil, of his weakness. He would rather leave a Potions master's brewing up to a boy...capable of an Outstanding N.E.W.T. in Potions, true, but a boy nonetheless...in order to avoid having anything to do with a situation that made him feel profoundly uncomfortable.

Severus wondered if he could have helped prevent this situation in the first place. Would his friend have listened to him all those years ago if he had tried to dissuade him from his suicide mission? Lucius had never listened to anyone. When he had made up his mind about something, it was going to happen his way or no way at all. Severus hadn't even tried to convince Lucius to do anything differently. Perhaps this was as much his fault as it was Lucius'. He supposed he owed it to his friend to try to rectify the situation.

"So, you will help us then?" Draco spoke, tiring of this infernal waiting game.

The boy's eyes pierced the lowly lit room...Lucius' eyes, haunting eyes...the candlelight oddly reflected in his dilated pupils. It was a disconcerting effect and served to remind Severus of the dark lengths they would need to traverse to reverse the effects of the spell.

For as much as he didn't want to look at Lucius, much less be at his bedside, Severus had difficulty not staring at his friend. He was amazed that he looked to be merely asleep, when for all these years he had thought his friend as good as dead. In the end, there was no real decision to be made.

"I will help you, yes," Severus said, his warring conscience forcing the words from his lips, knowing that his agreement would mean he would no longer be forced to hold vigil over his friend's body. "The potions should be ready by the end of the week. If I can get a hold of all the ingredients, that is."

"I'm glad. I'll have Mother start making the preparations then."

Draco shifted as though ready to leave but, to Severus' dismay, held back a little longer to stare at his father's prone form on the bed. "I, for one, look forward to seeing my father able to oversee his house again."

"Draco, you are aware that this may not..."

"Don't you dare say it," Draco spat, his blazing eyes helped by the flicker of candlelight. "How dare you even think it! As far as I'm concerned, you are as responsible for this situation as he is. You could have stopped him. You knew what he was planning."

The words hit home, stinging, for they mirrored his thoughts with stunning accuracy. Still, a reply was ready in his defense, supplied conveniently by his conflicting inner dialogue.

"And since when has my opinion ever mattered to your father? I was his sounding board, nothing more. If it had worked, you and Narcissa would have been no better off than you are now. You could have moved on with your lives, if nothing else."

"You owe him. You owe Mother. You owe me."

"Maybe that's true. I said I would help you, didn't I?"

Draco grunted noncommittally as though he expected nothing less than Severus' help but didn't trust that he would follow through at the same time. Severus stared at the boy hard, but Draco's eyes were glacially riveted upon the form of his father lying on the bed. It was obvious that Draco was angry at his father for putting the family in this situation. He made a mental note not to be present for the reunion if they were indeed successful. Tempers may need to be mollified.

Severus buttoned up his cloak and patted his pocket to make sure he had put the lists of ingredients and the copies of the potions to be made inside. Satisfied that he had, he turned to go, relieved not to have to stare at Lucius any longer. He did, however, have a few words of "fatherly" advice for the young boy, whom he hadn't had to tutor in so long.

"If this does work...and I hope it does...don't let anger mar the occasion."

"Anger?" Draco's bitter voice spoke behind his back. "I only have anger for one person: the Mudblood who did this to him ... and I've taken care of her."

"Have you," Severus stated calmly. "And how did you do that, pray tell?"

"The Mudblood was pregnant. I caused her to lose the child," Draco said triumphantly, proud of himself for having exuded so much power over someone so inferior.

Severus hesitated for a moment near the door. If he didn't care for Hermione, he might let it slip that Draco had failed, that Hermione was still in fact pregnant. He didn't want Hermione to come to further harm, but the desire to knock Draco's smugness down a few notches was equally as great.

"Don't allow your anger to be misplaced, Draco. She was merely your father's tool," was all he allowed himself to say.

Intake of breath indicated he wanted to say more, and he hesitated for a brief moment, but he knew common sense was unavailable to the boy as long as his father suffered the effects of this curse gone wrong. There would be no convincing Draco otherwise. As far as Draco was concerned, all the players shared an equal amount of blame.

Severus never had a choice but to help Lucius. This was the price he had to pay for the part he played.