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Chapter Text

It was the first day of September 1965, and I was eleven years old and finally allowed to use a wand, already imagining all the ways I could face the whole world and win, for once. It didn’t take long to realize the silliness of that thought, seeing how easily two wanna-be Gryffindorks on the train managed to spoil what should have been the best day of my life.

It was also the day the kind, sweet Lily Evans was sorted into Gryffindor; the taste of disappointment blossomed suddenly, painful and familiar on my tongue. My stomach contracted, fallen prey to the muscle memory of betrayal. I should have been used to that by then, but clearly I wasn’t. Not with her.

Most especially, though, that was the day we met.

Your icy gaze managed to hit me completely by accident, just as I climbed on the boat that would take all new students to the castle. I remember feeling a strange fight-or-flight response, not entirely unpleasant but impossible for me to understand back then.

I buried it deep down, then childishly vowed to myself to avoid your gaze forever – which, at the time, seemed the only logical thing to do. In the following months, I tried to keep my distance from you. From that mysterious thing I called, in the most innocent sense of the word, our connection.

Like we were meant to be.

You must have felt it too, because your cursed gaze and your gracious attempts at small talk followed me for months, patiently eroding my resistance.

See, you were a child, just like the rest of us, but seemingly unafraid. Confident, even, as if this new world and the strangers in it didn’t scare you at all. We became friends in March. We did everything together, as I gradually realized all the reasons why I tried to avoid you in the first place: soon, I started picturing us as two black holes put too close together. I still do, sometimes.

By the end of that first year, you told me that, in the most innocent, unconditional sense of the words, you loved me. You never cared for me to say it back, so I never did.

Just before we parted for the summer and the ghost of an abusive home, whose existence you had only guessed at, approached, you told me I had nothing to be afraid of. One of your many lies, but the white, kind ones you seemed to always keep in store just for me.

Nevertheless, I haven’t really been afraid of anything since then.

Except you. Because I have you.

September was approaching, and with it the beginning of a new year at Hogwarts. Time seemed to fly by in the last few days, but in Knockturn Alley, in a small, seedy shop called ‘The Ouroboros’, it managed to slow down to an ominous slither.

Usually, Snape didn’t mind breaking the occasional rule, as long as it was useful or convenient, but that was not the case. He was, in fact, sure that The Weasel dragged him there just to get back at his father, who recently dared to get married without his son’s blessing.

Oh, yes – ‘The Weasel’ is the nickname Severus invented for Lucius just the year before, during a sunny April afternoon: they had decided to study outside, in order to enjoy one rare day of good weather, but soon ended up bickering with the boys who liked to call themselves The Marauders.

Peter Pettigrew was laughing at them from behind James Potter’s back, while Remus Lupin crushed himself between Potter and Snape in a desperate attempt to stop them from grabbing each other. Needless to say, everyone was caught by surprise when Lucius attacked his cousin, Sirius Black, with an exceptionally cruel hex for a thirteen-year-old. Just in front of everyone, including Hagrid the gamekeeper, who was approaching to scold them.

"A move so cunning, you could put a tail on it and call it a Weasel," , as Snape didn’t hesitate to point out, dripping with sarcasm but secretly proud of his best friend.

The truth is, if properly provoked, the Volcanic God of Dissatisfaction had never been particularly good with anger management, often resulting in violent, sudden bursts of blind rage. Black readily caught on with this fact, so it wasn’t uncommon for him to taunt his cousin just enough so that Lucius would lose his temper, all the while making sure everyone else was too distracted to be able to save him from his own overreactions.

Black was getting so good at it that he was almost surgical, so it was becoming a real problem. Not that Sirius Black was a masochist, by any means, he just tended to underestimate the reactions he could trigger in his cousin.

Most of the time, he was right: in the heat of the moment, Lucius would throw together the funniest and most creative insults Hogwarts had ever heard, stuff even Black would like to bottle up and preserve on a shelf with a label that said "For a Rainy Day". As they grew up, though, Malfoy’s rage got much less funny and much more cruel. More and more often, words were replaced by actions or hexes.

Has any of this ever stopped Black from persevering? Absolutely not. So, long story short: Black’s mindless loquacity and Lucius’s touchy disposition were a really terrible combination.

To think that, for much of their first year, Black seemed almost afraid of his cousin, to the point that he could only freeze and stammer, eager to get away as quickly as possible every time his cousin made a sudden appearance.

That day, Lucius lost 50 points from Slytherin and earned two weeks of detention, the scorn of their Housemates, the mockery of half the Gryffindor tower and, naturally, the nickname ‘The Weasel’.

That’s not really his fault, though, is it? – Snape thought.

According to young Snape, The Weasel had yet to develop a reliable sense of reality and that’s completely his father’s fault: Abraxas Malfoy always justified, belittled or outright condoned any faults, shortcomings or mistakes on Lucius’s part, convincing him that he could get away with anything as long as he looked good enough, or smiled innocently enough, or offered sweet enough deals.

This, among many other things, drove Lucius’s stepmother, Zivelda Crow, literally crazy: the poor woman thought she was marrying the most eligible bachelor in the wizarding world, only to find him subservient to a narcissistic, temperamental preadolescent boy who mistrusted her from the very first moment.

Mindful of his son’s domineering attitude, Abraxas Malfoy almost broke off his engagement (or at least he pretended to), then decided to get married on a whim in February, while Lucius was still at Hogwarts. This, according to Severus, was the only reason why The Weasel left the safety of Diagon Alley in favor of a place so blatantly seedy that it was almost ridiculous.

At the moment, Lucius was crouched in front of a low shelf, fiddling with some tiny, ugly stuffed heads on display in a small basket. Severus grabbed lightly at his shoulder and waited for their eyes to meet, then shook his head silently.

At the age of fourteen, Lucius Malfoy had a way of looking at people, as if he was always somewhat surprised to see them. He managed to look meek, deceiving everyone but his best friend. Lucius shrugged his shoulders: "It reminded me of Zivelda. Kind of suits that small, probably dead brain of hers, don’t you think?" Then he puts the tiny head back in its basket.

Severus wrinkles his nose in disgust, stealing one last glance at the eyes sewn shut of said keychain. "Gross," he comments.

"Look who’s talking!" promptly interjected the tiny head in question, startling them both. On instinct, Severus took a step back and managed to drag Lucius to the ground through the hold he still had on his shoulder. Clumsy as he was, it still looked as if he was trying to get his friend, too, away from those things, from any possible danger. Whatever Lucius was going to say came out as a short, kind of high-pitched sound the moment his behind hit the pavement.

Every head in the basket started laughing in unison, coarsely and disrespectfully, making the whole shelf vibrate. There was a moment of stillness, then Lucius looked up, slightly amused despite his ass still on the ground, and offered Severus a smile and a wink.

When he raised a hand in a silent request, Snape grabbed it and pulled him up. "Why are you only amused by the weirdest things?" He let go of Lucius’s hand and rolled his eyes: "Not to mention the way you wink… You should really stop doing that."

Lucius’s smile crooked a bit, unsure: "The way I wink?" he repeated, slowly – slower than usual, that is – then chuckled briefly and softly, his voice still lowered to a whisper despite the awful noises still coming from the basket. "Why? What do you mean?" he asked, batting away the dust from his pants with his left hand.

Young Snape hid a moment of hesitation behind a snort. The thing is, they’re not children anymore, so all the natural charm Lucius had as a little boy suddenly matured into the wonderful promise of something that’s yet to become appropriate for his age. Sooner or later, someone was going to mistake Lucius’s candid amusement for a whole different kind of interest, and the mere thought bothered Severus to no end.

He knows it shouldn’t have, but it did.

He also knew he couldn’t tell these things to Lucius, not like that. "Ever since we were kids, you’ve had this habit of winking at people whenever you’re having fun. Almost as if you’re taking a picture of them, or something… I know it’s just your way of involving other people in your own amusement, but it’s starting to get" he hesitated, searching for the right word under the confused, but attentive scrutiny of his best friend: "misunderstandable."

Lucius started laughing, and it was totally uncalled for, a hit below the belt; as he shook his head, his hair seemed to catch every shade of silver in the world, which might have made him the only thing of value inside the half-lit shop. "Is that so?" he asked, amused and somewhat mischievous, at least to Severus’s ears. "Well, in that case, you leave me no choice but to use words that are impossible to misunderstand." Then winked again, this time with a conscious effort to look older and seductive, as if to prove that he knew exactly what Severus was talking about.

And it was the most attractive and yet annoying thing Severus had ever seen in his entire life.

And yes, sure, maybe Lucius did know, by now, about the birds and the bees, the dicks and the boobs, and all that kind of stuff. He just didn’t really get it. He had no idea how certain things could also turn ugly, painful, humiliating, or even violent. Not yet. Not ever, if Severus had any say in the matter.

It was moments such as this that made it really difficult to stay close to The Weasel. All those times he smelled like the 800 galleons worth of his perfume, or when his perfect form stretched to reach some high shelf, or even when he hit Severus with the sudden blow of a perfect smile.

Just like the one he was showing right now.

Unfair as it may sound, Severus often found himself wishing to hurt his friend, even though he knew Lucius didn’t really do anything to elicit his envy. Nor his jealousy. Not intentionally, anyway.

So, usually, Severus suffered, then he got angry, then he lashed out, but in the end, he was always left with guilt.

It wasn’t even like Lucius didn’t care – to be completely honest, Severus always thought that Lucius would care, if he knew, but then again, that’s just it: he doesn’t notice. He doesn’t really get it. For Merlin’s sake, it’s the kind of invisibility that made him feel both sick and safe.

Torn between embarrassment and irritation, Snape crossed his arms over his chest and hissed: "Now, whatever that was... you’re just being ridiculous".

Lucius’s expression turned sour, his narrow lips curled, and his eyebrows furrowed in a discontented frown. He lifted a long finger and traced an invisible line between his own chest and a point somewhere on his right. With a surprisingly calm voice, he said, "I’m going to take a look around. Maybe you’ll let me know when your mood improves?" and with that, the Exalted Guru of Perfect Poise disappeared behind another row of shelves, taking his precious smile with him.

Not for the first time, Severus actually wondered how they managed to put up with each other for three years, now. Then, a stranger’s voice startled him, forcing him to turn abruptly: "Two friends arguing with each other over nothing, what a pity. It’s a burden, the price we pay for a bunch of rushed words".

Isn't that just the story of my life? - Severus deadpanned in his mind.

It was a bizarre figure, a man, supposedly the owner of the Ouroboros himself. He had clear eyes, even lighter than Lucius’s but in a much less flattering way: they had this snowy, unnatural glow to them, even in the scarce light of the shop. Severus realized he must have stared at the wizard for a moment too long, so he quickly shook his head and replied, without really thinking: "Oh well, what can you do? Everyone is responsible for their own actions, sir."

Severus saw the man’s hand move in a condescending gesture: "What a delightfully obvious statement." Except the man looked anything but delighted. "I was merely trying to introduce you to the possible benefits of being able to forecast the results of one’s actions." After a moment, he explained that: "It means 'predict', or 'estimate'." Then, as if this whole conversation didn’t have the rarefied consistency of a dream, he added: "My name is Chester the Magnificent," with a little bow of his head.

Despite himself, Severus’ first thought was that – It kind of suits him.

Then he found himself disliking the stiff, vaguely bored demeanor of this man. He studied Chester’s gaudy, purple cloak and the blue suit underneath, both appropriate and in perfect contrast with the annoyed expression of the wizard who was wearing them.

"I know what 'forecast' means," Severus assured, with his lips pressed in suspicion, then took a step back. "Are you going somewhere with your speech, sir?"

Chester didn't comment, nor did he seem to acknowledge his retreat; he nodded towards the goods on display, clearly alluding to a sphere, smaller than a fist and seemingly made of halite. Despite the detached appearance he managed to keep up until now, Severus felt the childish desire to touch that object, to feel its consistency under his fingers.

"I’ve had it in my store for a few months now. If asked the right questions, the sphere could show you the future. It is said that it never lies, but I couldn’t verify it beyond a reasonable doubt."

"Oh?" There was more than a touch of derision in Snape’s eyes when he raised them to meet the man’s gaze. Then he took the sphere from his hand. It was kind of cold and a bit sandy to the touch. "Mirror, Mirror of my desires," he mocked, "what will happen if I buy you, this fine morning?" lacking the patience to invent a rhyme.

The small sphere started changing color in his hand: for a moment, it filled with a gray, thick smoke that seemed to desperately try to break the surface and emerge from it. Then the strange cloud cleared and gave way to a transparency similar to that of a soap bubble. Inside appeared the slightly distorted image of himself, simply leaving the shop with a bored Weasel at his side. Then, the image disappeared, sucked back into the center of the sphere, which, in turn, gained back its natural appearance.

Suddenly, the quiet gloom in the Ouroboros became unbearable.

Snape had expected visions of the most common and mendacious dreams of glory: wealth, Quidditch cups, or even heterosexual sex with dozens of girls. In short, anything that would convince a gullible wizard to spend his money on this sort of stuff. Instead, he got… that. A scene so accurate and trivial it left him uncertain. As Chester the Magnificent approached again, with his usual condescending superiority, Severus carefully put the sphere back in its place.

The man raised two fingers, then said, "It can be yours. For two golden galleons."

Snape rapidly considered the suspicious offer, the seedy context in which it was made, and the general dislike he felt for this Chester. Last but not least, he reasoned, even if he wanted to buy the damned thing, he wouldn’t have enough money to do so. Not without giving up other essential purchases, as he barely had enough money to buy what he needed for Hogwarts, if he skipped lunch. Which reminded him of the sheer toughness of his life and, yet again, elicited in his mind an unfair comparison between himself and his best friend.

"Give it to someone else!" he barked with very little manners left to spare, then quickly glanced around in search of Lucius, but couldn’t find him. "I'll wait outside, Weasel," he called out loud, moving backwards toward the exit.

The fresh air outside seemed to benefit him, despite the ugly faces he sometimes got to look at, even as he tried his best not to make eye contact with anyone. A few deep breaths later, Snape started to regret leaving Lucius inside the Ouroboros, alone with Chester the Magnificent. Just as he was about to go back inside and forcefully retrieve his friend, he saw Lucius coming out of the shop with a disappointed look. The moment their eyes met, Lucius smiled with that usual kind of surprised expression on his face.

That's just it, right? – worried Severus – That's just his usual look. Lucius couldn't really think I was going to leave him here, did he?

He didn't give voice to these doubts. He watched as Lucius settled the bag on his shoulder, admitting that "It looked better from the outside."

"What did you expect?" Severus replied, calmer, already making his way towards Diagon Alley again, just once looking over his shoulder to make sure Lucius was following. "Everyone knows who you are. Even those sneaky Borgin and Burke told you to come back once you’ve turned seventeen… or with your father. Even if there was something dark and dangerous in there, no one would have let the sole heir of the Malfoy name near it. Not without trying to kidnap you, or something."

The Unreasonably Amazed Deity of All Whims Unfulfilled walked alongside him, listening, looking around them with interest, not at all worried. For a moment, it looked like he was about to say something, but shut his lips at the last moment. Suddenly, then, Lucius turned to meet his friend’s eyes, a sly smirk on his face. "You would save me, though. I bet, if some devious person tried to abduct me, you’d be ready to take them on all by yourself."

This. As if he could read Severus's mind and knew all about his previous worries. As if he wanted to tease him about it, or worse, make sure he wasn't really in danger of being abandoned.

"Of course," smirked back Snape, an ironic vein through his tone. "I would personally break down the slimy door of those slimy kidnappers to beat them all with the sheer force of my stern looks."

Lucius laughed, but it was more as if he was letting his best friend's amusement infect him, rather than having fun himself. "Why should the door be slimy, too?" he asked. Then, in a more serious tone, he added, "What I was really trying to say is that I know you care about me."

Despite his drastic judgment, the envy and the jealousy, Severus knew Lucius Malfoy better than anyone else in the world and actually liked him, flaws and all: the bond between them had always been inexplicably intense, and he was aware of being the only person allowed to see what lies under Lucius’s tireless mask of perfection.

In the most innocent, licentious, and unconditional sense of the words, he loved Lucius. He even managed to feel reciprocated, sometimes.

"You’re my best friend. Of course I care," he replied, as if it was nothing. Only, it really, really wasn’t.

Only a few times during their mostly silent walk, the boys started to fear they had gotten lost. Those fears turned out unfounded as they reemerged, safe and sound, in Diagon Alley. Lucius sighed, then turned suddenly towards his friend. "Oh, by the way," he started to rummage through the stuff in his bag, then took out that same damned sphere.

"You were looking at it, right? That weird man said it has the ability to forecast the weather, or something. Even though it looked like a ball of salt," he concluded, knitting his eyebrows in confusion. "Anyway, twenty galleons seemed reasonable enough," he shrugged, handing the sphere towards Snape.

"Twenty?" repeated the Half Blood Prince, so stunned when he realized his friend had paid ten times the price Chester asked him, he couldn't even get angry at Lucius for buying him stuff without his consent, or without there being any special occasion to justify the purchase. "Merlin Almighty. You really are a Weasel, aren’t you?"

The sole heir of the Malfoy name didn’t seem to understand, but he let Severus touch his hand and push the orb back towards him. "Don’t worry. You keep it."

Chapter Text

October arrived with an almost exhausting frenzy for Hogwarts’ young minds, still lingering on the sweet memory of the past summer holidays. Everyone tried to entertain themselves in various ways, with a special emphasis on Quidditch.

The Quidditch teams were auditioning, and the crisp autumn air added an extra layer of excitement to the already intense atmosphere surrounding the beloved sport, making things even more exhilarating for players and spectators alike. The Quidditch pitch was usually crowded with students practising their moves, showing off, and strategising.

Both Lucius and Severus shared an unusual lack of passion for the most popular game in the Wizarding World, which was mostly due to Severus' negative experiences on the pitch during their first year. Lucius couldn't remember when, exactly, but he made a conscious decision to become infected with his sourness and make it one of the few things they had in common that was valuable.

Shreds of intimacy.

Sure, they never missed a school match and were always ready to cheer on their housemates on the pitch, but it was more out of camaraderie than passion. Just to be able to say, 'Oh, no, we don’t really like Quidditch, thank you very much.'

Their shared indifference to the sport strengthened their bond. It was a subtle way for Lucius to carve out their own unique connection. It was them against the world, as it should be.

During their third year, to secretly cultivate this closeness, Lucius decided to start a reading club. He called it The Serpent's Archive. Professor Dumbledore himself had commended him on the idea and the symbol he chose: a snake wearing spectacles, comfortably coiled behind an open book.

During that time, for his extracurricular involvement, academic achievement, polite demeanor, and, yes, blond hair, Lucius earned the flattering nickname 'Slytherin Golden Boy'.

He was well-liked by both teachers and schoolmates, and his reputation as a model student only continued to grow. His charm and charisma made him an obvious leader among his peers, so everyone expected him to become a Prefect the next year.

Lucius would never admit it, but there was nothing ‘obvious’ about it. Sure, he made it appear as if everything was effortless on his part, but that was a lie. No one imagined all the effort he put into everything he did, except perhaps his best friend, Severus Snape. Nonetheless, he got what he wanted: Slytherin Golden Boy far outperformed the derogatory nickname he'd been given behind his back at the beginning of his first year. A label he didn't particularly care to recall. Ever. 

It was as if he'd been trying to chase away an invasive ghost and had finally succeeded, which was a relief. It gave him the determination he needed to maintain his status as a respected member of the Slytherin House.

Of course, there was also The Weasel. Even though the nickname had initially annoyed him, he eventually came to like it for the same reason he stopped caring about Quidditch: shreds of intimacy. Severus invented the nickname but forbade others from using it, so, despite the occasional teasing, Lucius saw it as a win-win situation. He enjoyed it, though he wasn't sure he fully understood the sense of belonging it gave him.

So, as intelligent as he was, Lucius was well aware that the majority of The Serpent's Archive's members, who called themselves The Archivists, were uninterested in literature, more drawn to their leader's rising popularity than to the prospect of intellectual growth. They even came up with their own unique greeting without Lucius' encouragement.

Despite its name, The Serpent’s Archive welcomed students from every House, but the majority were Slytherins. The few Ravenclaws in the club found it amusing how the snakes would try to outdo each other with witty banter and clever remarks, only to be outwitted by them. Despite their differences, though, they all bonded over their love for scandalous gossip and delicious tea, which, in a way, was kind of scandalous in itself.

The club met once a week to gossip about the other students as they sipped whatever pricey tea blend the Golden Boy supplied, sharing sarcastic remarks and naughty rumors. Their books, of course, served more as tea saucers than anything else.

'The Old Biddy's Archive' would be a much more fitting name for my club, Lucius thought, smiling at his classmates as they alternately spoke.

He didn’t really mind. They were becoming a tight-knit group, united by their cunning nature and shared secrets. Lucius himself couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with his fellow club members, knowing they were all in on the same scandalous fun. But he'd never admit this, either.

It had long been clear to Severus Snape that, as much as he would have liked to, this club was not the place to discuss the uses of asphodel or the beauty of stories like 'The Lady of the Fang'. The only reason he continued to attend their pointless meetings was to stay behind with Lucius after everyone else had left and talk behind their backs, all the while calling them Archividiots.

It was them versus the rest of the world. As it should be.

Especially if they belonged to the Gryffindors. If they were Remus Lupin, that is.

Interestingly, despite his heinous associations, Remus Lupin was one of the first to apply for membership. He remains one of their most consistent members to this day. The boy appeared to know an absurd amount about the other students at Hogwarts. Furthermore, he was polite to Lucius and Severus during their meetings, which annoyed the latter to no end.

Malfoy grew to value Lupin's amiable but mischievous demeanour, even though he dared not say it out loud. They’ll never be friends, but, when separated from his Gryffindork buddies, the half-blood could be brilliant: in fact, it was Lupin who told Lucius about a specific corridor on the top floor where couples frequently 'congregated'. Furthermore, he informed him that the odd, red spots that occasionally appeared on the necks of older students were known as 'hickeys' and that they were not a rash acquired in Herbology class. Not to mention the time he gently educated Lucius on autoeroticism; it really was enlightening for him, but it still enraged Severus whenever they talked about it.

As the meeting came to a close, they bid goodnight to each Archivist and sent them back to their dormitories. Snape, still in his school uniform, stayed with Lucius as usual. They drew their wands and began cleaning the room that Professor Dumbledore had permitted them to use for the club: cups, saucers, books, and tea stains were all restored to their original state, as if no one had ever been there.

In Severus' dark eyes, the lamplights barely reflected, fluttering with each movement, as stragglers lost in the night. Lucius had always admired Snape's eyes. He must have been staring at them for too long, because Severus turned his head and met his gaze without intending to. Lucius smiled instinctively, causing Severus to snort and turn away, hiding his amusement – perhaps even delight – at Lucius' unspoken admiration.

When Lucius broke the silence, it was barely more than a whisper, but it still felt too loud in the quiet, empty room: “At one point, Evan Rosier set his cup down on 'The Geranium Manor', which, as a great classic, I believe costs a golden Galleon. A cup of Yellow Gold Tea should cost ten, yet one of them will last forever, while the other, well, should be drunk while it's still hot. Isn't that bordering on morbid?”

Severus stood motionless and gazed at him with unwavering interest, his brows furrowed. The club clock in the back of the room, which had the numerals replaced by images of the stages of human evolution, counted four seconds of silence. Severus shook his head and replied, “It’s spending hundreds of galleons on a beverage while your guests appear to be anteaters drinking down their noses that borders on morbidity.” That brisk, austere tone seemed to suit Snape perfectly, as the hour hand ticked eight times, nearly reaching Homosapiens.

The Golden Boy couldn’t decide whether to take offence or not, and for a moment, he felt bad. Demeaned.

“No, Severus,” he answered with a soft laugh. “Most likely, it's my enjoyment of it that verges on morbidity.” Since his friend looked perplexed, he asked, “Have you ever spat in someone's tea before offering it to them? That's how it is; I watch anteaters unknowingly snort hundreds of galleons up their noses, and, I don't know… my universe tilts back on its axis.”

The expression on Snape's face was priceless; maybe it was the shock of hearing his best friend explain ideas like universal axis, or maybe it was the mental image he was presenting. Whatever the case, he inhaled deeply, curled his lips into a smirk, and said, “Merlin, Lucius... just spit in their cups next time. Anyway…” He worriedly lifted a hand to scratch his head. Young Malfoy, who was undoubtedly sensitive to the male form, had always considered Severus' pale, slender hands to be both attractive and masculine.

He was fascinated by the graceful and precise movements of Severus' fingers, whether he was making potions, eating, following the lines on a page, or gesturing to make a point in conversation. He also liked the feeling of them, their warmth and strength when they closed around his forearms, shoulder, and once even his waist. He didn't care that he was staring again. Severus continued chatting as if he didn't mind either.

“We’ve been having fun these last two months with the Daily Horoscope,” which was the endearing moniker Lucius gave to the halite orb he bought last August in Knockturn Alley. The Golden Boy let out a smug grin as he flopped his exhausted limbs on the same armchair he had occupied all evening. “It proved to be a wise purchase, after all.” Then he cast a satisfied glance at Severus before teasing him with an insolent tone: “Who's the weasel now, huh?”

Snape, Lucius' dearest friend in the world, the one constant in his life since they first met, and someone Lucius would sacrifice anything for, didn’t hesitate a moment before pointing out that “It’s still you, Weasel. Believe me.”

Lucius scoffed. “We were able to accomplish things we had only dreamed about for years. We were spared poor grades and dull lectures, and it even allowed us to trash Master Filch’s office to pin the blame on my cousin and his buddies.”

“Supposedly.” Severus corrected, but only when Lucius was done talking. Despite Lucius' distinctive drawl, which sometimes made other people impatient, Severus never interrupted him, not even when they disagreed. “When you really think about it, none of the Horoscope’s predictions were particularly hard to guess. As of now, there is no solid proof that it is actually forecasting the future.” After concluding his remarks, Severus took a seat in the armchair across from Lucius. “I don't trust that thing,” he admitted in a calm, thoughtful manner. “I can't get it out of my head that Chester looked far too eager to get rid of it. I worry that, sooner or later, there will be consequences.”

The Golden Boy rolled his eyes. He felt tired. He had always been an early riser, so it was difficult for him to keep up with heavy conversations or even just be out of bed after eight o’clock. “What do you expect me to do? Throw it away because there's a chance it might do something weird someday?” He asked, more and more tempted to just close his eyes and doze off on that suddenly enticing armchair.

Severus stood up and moved to sit on the arm of Lucius' armchair, almost slipping past Lucius' notice. Malfoy's head instinctively shifted to rest against Severus' arm, as if he felt it was entirely appropriate to use his closest friend as a makeshift pillow. Once again, Snape didn’t seem to mind and just resumed his speech in a softer tone:

“I'm expecting you to act wisely and stop asking pointless questions, at least. Like whether Professor Slughorn will keep his promise to involve you in the preparations for his next 'unpretentious little soiree'.” Imitating their teacher so well, Lucius found himself chuckling wearily against Snape’s shirt sleeve. Severus stifled a snort of his own, infected by the brief moment of amusement, but continued, undeterred: “They could bottle you up and put you on display in the window of a luxury shop, and Slughorn would buy you for all his savings. You don’t need the Horoscope to tell you that. That's just how much he likes to have your picture on display on his little shelf, and you should know it. Besides, you don't actually need him to be successful in life, even though he can be helpful.”

Had Lucius not been so damned exhausted, all of that would have been so incredibly hilarious, touching, and precious coming from his friend, even if it appeared to be a full-fledged intervention at this point. Severus’ warm voice and the reassuring scent of herbs that still lingered on him from their afternoon lesson on spasmodic potions weren’t making it any easier, either. “I've always loved your thoughtfulness,” Lucius said, or at least he thought he did, but maybe he just imagined it in his hypnagogic state.

At some point, Severus wrapped an arm across Lucius' shoulder, letting him sleep – possibly dozing off himself – while Lucius’ head slid from Severus’ arm to his chest. The clock at the end of the room was only a few seconds away from striking nine when Lucius was startled awake by the clear sensation that something had just been whispered right into his ear.

Ohw~ look… Water Brain is falling asleep.

Severus’ hand automatically tightened around his arm in response to Lucius’ abrupt movement, as though to keep him from falling into an abyss.

“Are you all right?”

“Did you… Did you say something? When I was drifting off earlier.”

They both enquired at once, but Snape was the first to answer. “No. I think I fell asleep for a bit,” and turned around to briefly glance at the clock. It was barely past nine. “Were you having a bad dream?”

“No. Not really, no. At least, I don’t think so,” Lucius replied.

Severus then lowered his gaze to Lucius' clenched fists, his slightly trembling wrists, and his left leg, which was bouncing up and down uneasily. The Golden Boy tried to force himself to relax, but even regular breathing proved more difficult than he remembered. He felt anxious, but he had no idea why.

There, there. Your friend will worry that you may drown in your own Water Brain if you keep breathing like that.

Lucius struggled to maintain his composure as a wave of panic swept over him. His mind was racing, trying to figure out how to get control of the situation again, but it only seemed to make things worse: his heart was thumping wildly in his chest, and a drop of sweat trickled down his temple as the pressure in the room seemed to increase at each passing moment.

Why? What was happening to him? Was he going to die, right then and there?

Is all this really necessary? How will you be able to become a Prefect if you can’t even control your own breathing? Come on, it’s easy; everyone else does it.

Lucius tried to push the intrusive thoughts away, reminding himself that he was capable and deserving of success, but his own mind was working against him, providing him with vivid images of all the ways he would screw up each and every one of his goals. He tried to take deep breaths, but his chest felt tight and constricted. The fear was paralyzing, threatening to consume him whole.

How melodramatic of you. Perhaps you will throw a fit in front of everyone the next time you receive a poor grade, and someone will write to your father about it. Now, wouldn’t that be priceless?

Lucius’ mind conjured up an image of his father with a stern and worried look on his face as he assured him that everything was fine. That he knew something like this would happen and that Lucius should have stayed at the Manor to be homeschooled, just like they decided when he was a child, long before Lucius got his letter of admission to Hogwarts. Then he would take him away, wouldn’t he?

Then Severus Snape, the stern, sour boy he had known since they were eleven, and for whom Lucius would wring the necks of all the peacocks in his yard, slid off the armchair and into Lucius’ rapidly narrowing field of vision. He crouched in front of him, silent and cautious as a spider, concealing his worry beneath a calm exterior. The warmth of Severus' voice and the gentle pressure of his fingers as they carefully worked Lucius' hands to relax his fists slowly brought him back to the present. Distracting and anchoring him while the endless darkness of Severus' eyes watched him with patience and concern.

Once he was able to comprehend the meaning of Snape’s words, he realized they were merely reassurances that didn’t aim to make sense.

“It’s all right, Lucius.” “I get it.” “I’m here.” “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

After the worst had passed, Severus asked if Lucius wanted to return to their dorm, to which he nodded slowly. “All right,” he said as he helped Lucius stand up. “That looked like a panic attack. Is it the first time this has ever happened to you?”

The Golden Boy responded with another nod, not yet confident in his voice. Severus gave him a small smile, unlike his usual smirks. “Don’t worry too much about it; my mother has them too, from time to time. A lot of people experience them.”

It was supposed to be comforting. Lucius was aware that his friend was merely attempting to reassure him that nothing had changed, that he didn't think he was weird, weak, or melodramatic, and that he didn't judge him. Even so, Lucius felt deeply sad.

He needed to explain himself: he wanted to tell his friend about the intrusive thoughts, the pressure he had been under lately, and all of his insecurities and the reasons behind them. To just open his mind and let everything out until only blessed emptiness remained. Lucius knew that Severus was the only person he could ever feel comfortable talking about such things.

“I…” He recognized the depth of the concern hidden behind his friend’s determined gaze and immediately associated it with the mention of his mother. Even though Lucius knew very little about Severus' parents, he had a feeling there was something terrible and dark going on, so he never dared to ask, and he certainly did not want to be compared to any of them.

Lucius convinced himself that he could not burden Severus with his problems. To some extent, this was true, but he also knew deep down that he was simply incapable of purposefully exposing himself to the eyes of another, even if that someone was Snape. His closest companion, the other half of his soul.

After a moment of hesitation, Lucius squeezed his friend's hand tighter for a brief moment, trying to reassure him while also enjoying its comforting warmth one last time, before releasing it. “You’re right. I’m sure it’s nothing and it’s unlikely to happen again.” Finally, he smiled back at Snape, trying to appear genuine and giving him one of those winks he had been asked to give up not so long ago. “I guess I must have had one heck of a bad dream, huh? Let's go back, or we won't make it before curfew.”

Severus studied him for a long moment, then he nodded, deciding not to pry just yet despite his obvious skepticism.

Lucius faked a smile all the way back, bidding goodnight to their housemates in the Slytherin common room before heading straight to bed. Although it was still early by Severus’ standards, he resolved to follow Lucius and finish his homework in their room, no matter how impractical it was. Even in the quiet of his canopy, Lucius could feel his friend’s concerned and suspicious gaze drifting towards him from time to time.

Now, that’s what I call an ‘undignified escape’. At least you didn’t walk too fast, or all the water in your brain would have made some pretty unappealing splashing noises.

He wanted it to stop. Surely, if he followed Severus’ advice and didn’t worry too much about it, sooner or later it would pass on its own.

Yes, of course it will. Good night, Water-Brain.

Chapter Text

The large stained-glass window at the far end of the cathedral nave depicts Saint George standing between Silena's daughter and the Dragon, piercing the beast with his lance. The representation writhes, moves, and explodes with blood and life. The colors are so vivid and the details so intricate that it feels more real than reality itself. A dim, silvery light filters through a line of small windows on the lateral walls, covering everything else with a thin, cold glow.

Snape immediately realizes he is dreaming.

In that sacred desolation, the Half-Blood Prince can feel the violent pulse of his own heart, its mad rush to break free from his chest and pour itself over Lucius, who sits motionless at the center of an altar set like a banquet. His graceful legs, barely covered by a plain white tunic, slide over the edge of the altar like pure water flowing from its source before hitting the floor with the light touch of his feet. His eyes are cold and unflinching, trapping Snape like a sheet of ice, compelling him to approach.

As he begins to walk down the aisle, the church fills with the whisper of a light breeze, in and out, as if it were breathing. As if they were inside the lungs of a cold, dark world, caged by ribs and bones, crushed by contracting muscles, and drowned in blood.

He wraps his arms around Lucius' waist and buries his face in the hollow of his neck, kissing away the statue-like chill of his skin, dissolving it with the slide of his tongue and the gentle brush of his teeth, eliciting a moan that is full of passion and life. He feels Lucius' body getting warm, coming to life in his arms, and granting every wish that ever went unfulfilled in this world with the mere force of his eyelids closing in pleasure. He feels Lucius's hands framing his face, his touch vibrating with a vast and unconditional love that Severus had never experienced before and had always resisted wanting.

Lucius's eyes trap him once more, not with ice now, but with the invisible threads that melted from it, binding their souls together.

Engulfed by desire and despair, Severus falls to his knees and clenches his fists in the folds of Lucius's robe, as if he wants to tear it off. Long white fingers map Severus's face with caresses along his forehead, eyes, and cheekbones, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Lucius kisses the top of his head, holding him tightly in his arms, between his legs.

With a whisper as strong as thunder, then, he answers the one question Severus had never asked:

«Much more than you love me.»

January appeared to have collapsed on them.

Lucius had not fared well in his first few months of school, and by mid-December, he resembled a sloth battle survivor rather than the model student everyone expected to see. Severus tried many times, with many different tactics, to ask him if he was okay, if anything was bothering him, or how he was feeling, but Lucius's façade never faltered: he just smiled and denied the obvious, over and over.

Only once did he seem to relent: the day before Christmas break, he asked Severus to spend the holidays together at his family's manor. It made no sense, he said, for Severus to spend the festivities alone with the poor and the orphans of the castle if he had other choices – not his exact words, but the implication was clear.

Something was clearly weighing down on him, making him reluctant to spend time alone with his recently expanded family, but Lucius' tendency to scheme and persuade rather than exposing himself and asking directly for what he wanted was firmly rooted in his very bones. Severus knew that, so he didn't get angry at the offensive implications of his words.

Nonetheless, for reasons Severus himself found insufficient and ridiculous, he declined.

To be honest with himself, he only did it because as soon as he met Lucius' father and stepmother, he would cease to be the benevolent, abstract entity who was their son's best friend and inevitably become that poor fellow with the big nose. Foolish as it may sound, Severus would rather douse himself in gasoline, hand a match to Sirius Black, and leave it to faith.

He knew what it was like to be judged for his lack of money and rude demeanor, to be reduced to mere physical characteristics, and to be despised and called names. He usually didn't care what other people thought of him, but the idea of Lucius's parents encouraging their precious son to find new, more suitable friends was… painful.

So, during their time apart, the harsh bites of worry and regret cut deeper than he cared to admit, gripping his stomach and clamping down hard, ruining both his appetite and the concentration he needed to get ahead with his studies, as he had planned.

Was it really worth it? – he kept asking himself, because with all his envy, jealousy, and sharp retorts, Severus didn't feel like a good friend at all.

It got even worse on Christmas morning when Lucius's owl, Doodle, delivered a brand new copy of Midnight's Children to him at the breakfast table. It reached its peak when he discovered the note tucked away between the pages. It was written in Lucius's full, elegant handwriting and had a subtle marzipan scent.

My two-year-old cousin mistook the bow on his package for his actual gift. It was wonderful.

As for me, I remembered that story you mentioned during our first year, about the old man who used his house-elves to make gifts for the muggles. I wrote him a letter using newspaper clippings and requested a reindeer cloak. In the name of anonymity, I sent Dad's owl to deliver it. You claimed he doesn't really exist, but I'll let you know if he writes me back. Or, well… if he writes back to my dad, I suppose.

I hope you're enjoying your holiday break.

P.S. If I don't come back, it was the house-elf, in the dining room, with the fourteenth appetizer.

- The Weasel

It had his voice. Lucius never began his letters with a greeting, as though he had never left. Between the lines, there were memories, inside jokes, and reminders. The book itself was the same one they borrowed from the Hogwarts library during their first year and took turns reading to each other between classes or just before bedtime. For a moment, Severus thought he could hear his friend's voice as if he were sitting next to him, just resuming a conversation.

It felt both thoughtful and cruel.

The worse, however, was yet to come.

On a Sunday around mid-January, Walden Macnair, a seventh-year Archividiot who vented his sadism by playing the beater on the Slytherin Quidditch team, sat next to them at breakfast and invited them to "have a laugh" at the Gryffindor Quidditch practice that afternoon.

Surprisingly, Lucius accepted the repulsive offer and, still unsatisfied, invited Remus Lupin to join them. By that point, it became clear to Severus that Our Dark Lord of Even Darker Humor was out for vengeance after his invitation to spend the Christmas holidays at the manor was declined.

Of course, Severus could have refused to accompany them, but Lucius, who was already quite paranoid for his age, would have misinterpreted it, eventually coming up with new and increasingly heinous ways to retaliate against him. Furthermore, even though he would never admit it aloud, Severus felt genuinely guilty about the whole holiday thing. So, to alleviate the guilt he had felt throughout the Christmas break, he decided to simply accept this turn of events and get it over with.

Once they reached the stands, the Weasel sat down casually, sandwiching himself between Snape and Lupin like a platinum wall. Shortly after, Remus leaned forward a bit in order to look at Severus and politely ask him how he was and if he had had a good holiday. Having already decided to avoid all eye contact and speak only when absolutely necessary in order to survive the afternoon, the Half-Blood Prince responded to the involuntarily provocative questions with silent indifference.

As expected, the Gryffindor soon became the target of Walden 'Mountain Gorilla' Macnair's crude jokes. Careful not to interfere, Lucius nudged Severus, secretly alerting him whenever he was having fun at the expense of their classmates. Potter's sycophant took longer than expected to respond in kind. «The only balls your team can brag about are the Bludgers on their faces.»

Lucius burst out laughing, as if he just couldn't help himself. For Severus, it was like going from ice cold to burning flames and back.

As he looked up at the Quidditch players, Severus believed that Potter and Black must have been experiencing similar feelings. They appeared unable to focus on their training because of their little friend on the stands, despite the fact that Lupin had voluntarily chosen to surround himself with Slytherins. No one kidnapped him; they wouldn't have any use for him. No one even really wanted him there.

«Where is your other friend, by the way? The one who usually follows you guys around all day... Peter Pettyscrew?» focusing those perpetually surprised eyes on Remus Lupin. It was hard to say whether he mispronounced the name on purpose or not, because either way, it wouldn't be surprising.

Macnair openly laughed.

«It's Peter Pettigrew,» Remus patiently clarified. «He's falling behind in Transfiguration and preferred to stay inside and study.»

Liar – Severus thought – He just preferred to stay as far away from… whatever this is, as possible. Smart move, Pettyscrew.

As the training session came to an end, the stands began to empty out. The torture was finally over. As they stood up, Snape noticed a brusque movement in the corner of his eyes, followed by the sound of flesh and bone hitting metal, which made his blood run cold. He abruptly turned around to see Lucius on the ground, one hand still gripping the railing with which he attempted to stop his own fall. His face reminded Severus of a pool of blood spilling onto a snowy plain. It reminded him of his mother too, but he quickly dismissed that thought before it could take root.

No one moved. Nobody did anything.

They just stood there, as if under a strange spell, watching Lucius shut his eyes and cover his nose and mouth with his right hand. Had they looked up, they would have seen Potter and Black make a half-circle on their brooms to get closer, as if to ensure that the distance wasn't playing tricks on their sight.

They weren't trying to be mean (not all of them, at least). They were just in shock.

It would be exceptionally difficult to explain the impact of that moment. To convey just how Lucius Malfoy had always appeared somewhat foreign to their eyes; he had been the child with the poised demeanor and graceful movements that made his age unintelligible. He had grown into the incredibly charming boy who occasionally still looked confused by the world outside of his manor. He was the sardonic solution to every question humanity never felt the need to ask, but some pagan god delighted in providing anyway, in the form of a self-centered teenager.

Then the Weasel stifled a soft, humiliated sound against his palm, causing everyone to snap out of their trance. Severus rushed to help his best friend get back up. Remus Lupin attempted the same thing but was promptly intercepted by Macnair, who grabbed his shoulder and shoved him aside with excessive force, preventing him from getting any closer, which to Snape was very satisfying to see. Obviously, archividiocies aside, Lupin wasn't, and never would be, one of them.

James Potter was the first to join the scene, floating mid-air on his broom. «Hey, Macnair, why don't we keep our hands in our pockets for a change?» he said, drawing his wand from his team uniform. Sirius Black soon appeared by his side, ready with one of his surgical interventions:

«Everything alright, cousin? I mean, we assumed you liked dirty stuff, but isn't that a bit too hard, even for you?»

And the world exploded.

«It was you, wasn't it, filthy muggle-lover?» Macnair shouted.

«What the hell are you talking about? I was up there, you talking ape!» Black shouted back.

«Your mother should have swallowed you!» Potter barked in support.

«That's your mom's specialty!» Severus finally snapped too.

Everyone who was on their way back to the castle decided to stay a little longer to watch the show. As was often the case when his friends were involved, Remus Lupin seemed to have lost his ability to speak.

«Really, Snivellus? Because, by the look of it, you must be a rare breed of ugly…which makes your mum an really ugly bitch.» Sirius Black retorted.

A strong wind swept across the stands, causing everyone to squint and momentarily destabilizing the two Gryffindors on their brooms. It was no surprise, that none of them noticed Lucius Malfoy's attempts to intervene until he shook off his best friend and stubbornly shouted, «I. Just. Fell!» punctuating every word, his eyes watering from the impact on his nose and dark shadows already beginning to form underneath them.

«But you,» Lucius raised his bloody index finger and pointed it directly at Sirius Black: «you can go fuck yourself on your broomstick anyway, you disgusting waterlogged nutsack,» then quickly turning to Potter, anticipating any response he might have wanted to add with an angry «You are such a swine people should call you "James Pork Chop Potter" from the House of Griffinhog!»

Which is when Lupin meekly tried to placate everyone, but Lucius seemed to have some in store for him as well: «Take one step closer and I swear I'll hex you to dreamland and back, you spineless Bowtruckle!»

The wind was getting stronger and the clouds were getting heavier and darker, but Lucius didn't seem deterred; in fact, he looked just about to remember that he had a wand and absolutely no qualms about using it to cause pain. The Weasel's outbursts of rage were as infrequent as they were notorious, but this felt different. Even Black, who usually enjoyed seeing his cousin lose his temper, seemed surprised by all the anger and hatred in his eyes and, for the first time ever, forgot to laugh at it.

Everyone was throwing insults back and forth, and the situation was escalating, so Severus grabbed his friend's arm and tried to pull him away, but it wasn't that easy. At fourteen, Lucius Malfoy was a stick, certainly thin but also tall and monstrously rebellious: wonderful, flexible, and tough as a mangrove snake.

Even Macnair realized the seriousness of the situation when Lucius freed himself and actually reached for his wand; the first syllable of a spell that sounded dangerously close to the Cruciatus curse already forming on his lips as he aimed at Sirius Black. Walden's sneer vanished in an instant as he literally tackled the Sacred Deity of Disproportionate Rage at the waist and carried him away from the stands like a sack of potatoes, saving him from losing his wand forever and making a premature trip to Azkaban.

Knowing that he might have to cover their retreat at this point, Severus pulled out his wand while attempting to ignore the jeers, shouts, whistles, laughter, and provocations from the bystanders all around them.

«No, Macnair, wait, bring him back! Things were just getting interesting!» Black's voice chased them down the stairs.

«Don't be a hero Macnair, use a stunning spell on that lunatic!» Potter chimed in. «On Snivellus too, while you're at it, thank you!»

Once they were away from the source of his burning rage, Lucius said «Get. Your hands. Off me.» visibly calmer but no less deadly. «Put me down now, Macnair, or I swear I'll become your living nightmare.»

Walden had acted fast, on instinct. He probably never had time to consider Lucius's feelings before grabbing him caveman style or the fact that His Bloodied Majesty would never forgive him for such an affront. Did he care about it? Maybe, but he didn't look like he did, and looks mattered a lot to Lucius. On the bright side, that was likely the last time he ever invited them anywhere near a Quidditch pitch.

Macnair put Lucius down and took a few steps back, nonchalantly. Lucius started to silently bat away the dust from his clothes. Snape was the first to break the now tense silence. «You...» He paused, then tried again with a serious tone: «You chipped a tooth.»
The Weasel waved his hand dismissively. «They'll make it right in no time in the infirmary.» His tone was curt, not at all inclined to converse.

«I'll come with you.» Snape replied, as it should have been obvious after three years of nearly compulsive friendship on both sides. Which is why Lucius's «No.» came as a complete surprise, compelling him to explain himself further, somehow. «It's late, and we still have homework to do. I'll see you in the common room.» already turning away from them.

«That's smart.» Macnair said, in the most conversational tone he could muster, casting awkward glances at both his younger housemates. «So Snape can pass his homework on to you if it gets late at the infirmary.»

Lucius paused, then turned to face them again, with a smirk that seemed to challenge Walden to repeat his words, if he dared. «Are you implying that I can't do my homework on my own, Macnair?» he asked, even though it was the most idiotic thing Severus had ever heard him say in the past three years.

Severus spent the rest of the day in a daze, staring wide-eyed at Lucius' canopy in the middle of the night, unable to stop fidgeting or prevent his thoughts from obsessing over the barely visible silhouette of his sleeping best friend. Snape's universe was, as Lucius would put it, tilted off its axis at the moment.

He could feel it in every fiber of his being: he needed to find a way to mend the rift between them soon. Now. Before it was too late. So, he leapt from his bed and closed the distance, bending over Lucius and shaking him until he saw the dull gleam of two eyes opening in the dark.

He heard Lucius's sleep-muddled voice whisper something indecipherable, likely recognizing Severus and accusing him of being evil and unmerciful for waking him so suddenly. Then a pale hand reached out from under the covers and grabbed the sleeve of Severus's pajamas. Lucius dragged himself to the opposite edge of the mattress and started pulling Severus in.

«It's too cold… Come under the blankets.»

The first and only time they slept together was the previous year, when Lucius, distraught over his father's unexpected marriage, sought refuge under his best friend's covers. Severus didn't think it was normal at the time (he still doesn't), but he went along with it, fueling feelings and dreams he'd rather not have.

Back then, he used to fantasize about holding Lucius's hand, about hugging and kissing him, and sliding his fingers through his hair. Lately, however, he thought of touching, exploring, and uncovering Lucius's body and mapping it with his fingers and his tongue.

Despite his better judgment, Snape climbed into bed with his friend, laying on his back in the space that was just made available to him. A rustle of sheets later, he felt the weight of an arm on his chest and two legs intertwining with his. As Lucius pressed against him with extraordinary familiarity and utmost innocence, Severus became aware of how real, solid, and almost scorchingly warm his presence was. The smell of Lucius's hair, of alma fruit sweetened with coumarin, hit him so deeply he felt briefly disoriented. Severus had to strain his neck muscles to a tension that would soon turn into a cramp in order to look at his friend, but he didn't care. Now their faces were so close that every whisper blew warm against the other's lips.

«Are you very sleepy?» Severus asked.

«So very much...» replied The Monument to the Fallen in Temptation, his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted, his limbs heavy where they rested against Severus.

«Let's play a game anyway, shall we?» Snape whispered, his eyes widening in the darkness, trying to adapt to it, his tone demanding rather than asking. Lucius forced his eyes to open and met his gaze, staring at him as if trying to read his thoughts. To find the hidden trap set for him.

«What game?»

«I'll tell you a secret of mine, then you reveal one of yours to me.»

«Oh,» Lucius whispered anxiously and moved his fingers slowly and gently against Severus's pajamas, like some sort of massage. «What do we call this game?» he asked, unintentionally brushing the tip of his nose against Snape’s.

Impatient, the half-blood tried to think of something. «Front Page? Because they have to be important secrets; reading the occasional muggle magazine in secret wouldn’t be enough. Are you in?»

The Weasel looked anxious as he stared at him in silence; even in the shadows, Severus could see the slow reveal of a sweet, yet very sad smile. A pure white crescent moon that could break his world in two if he so chose. «All right.» he sighed in surrender.

Evan Rosier snored so loudly across the room that it felt like a violin bow sliding directly onto Severus's tense nerves. Anticipating his next move, Lucius chuckled softly against his cheek and said «Use mine; it's next to you on the nightstand.»

The young half-blood fumbled in the dark for his friend’s wand. After locating it, he used it to draw the canopy curtains and muffle all sounds, both from the inside and the outside. He took a deep breath, then said, «I'll start,» and threw himself into the trap of Lucius's gray eyes.

«My father is a short-tempered and violent man, so when I was very young, my mother taught me to hide every time he had one of his outbursts.» He started telling the story, his chest tight in a terrible grip despite the quick and detached tone he managed to maintain. «Once, when I was about five or six years old, I heard them argue and ran to hide in a wardrobe in the room closest to me. Their room. Soon after, my father dragged my mother into the bedroom, and I covered my mouth with my hands, terrified that he would hear me breathe.»

They never talked about Snape's parents, but somehow Lucius seemed to anticipate the horror he would have to listen to and rebelled against it. He looked shocked that his friend would talk about them, of all things. «Severus…» he warned, or pleaded just with the mention of his name, but to no avail.

Severus' voice was steady, but with each word he said, that memory wrapped around him in hideous coils, ready to drag him to the bottom of his own personal abyss. He tried to distance himself from all of this by imagining Lucius' ice-blue eyes as an expanse of snow, silent and deserted but safe. The past cannot hurt him at that moment, not in the living, breathing presence of his best friend.

«Through the mirror on the wall, I saw my father throw my mother onto the bed and rape her. She noticed me as well, as our eyes met through the reflection. I believe I saw her soul shatter right then and there.»

Lucius looked actually sick, so Severus wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him close, possibly to prevent an escape, and continued talking. «I closed my eyes as tightly as I could, but no matter how hard I covered my ears, I could still hear everything. For months, whenever there was silence, it felt like I couldn't hear anything else.»

Snape felt as though a bandage had just been ripped off a purulent wound. Lucius's expression resembled the one of his mother's reflection so much that all Severus wanted to do was kiss it away and reclaim his friend, but he couldn't. So, he kept on his impassive mask and murmured in a dry tone, «It's your turn.»

Lucius flinched. No longer drowsy, he silently moved his lips a few times, then pressed them together as his gaze melted like snow. He seemed to finally get it now, all the pain, the ugliness and the humiliation that this world could inflict on people. How even the most beautiful things in life can be turned into a weapon and used to destroy both your body and your soul. It doesn't matter how hard you try not to see it, or how strong you believe you are, it is always closer than you think.

It pained Severus to force such a realization on his friend. Had he found any other way to reach Lucius behind his mask of detached perfection, he would have spared him all this ugliness, because now he felt as though he just tainted his best friend beyond repair.

Lucius tried to use a sterile tone, just like Severus, but his voice cracked here and there and sounded weak.

«I grew up believing my father's stories about all the dangers lurking outside the manor walls. Like “the werewolf”, for example, who was always looking for children’s flesh; or “the muggle”, who burned young witches and wizards alive on high pyres; or “the Veelas”, who would bewitch you until you were insane. And, well, many other things.»

Lucius frowned as he took a break to gather his thoughts before continuing:

«After I learned how to read, my father carefully chose every book before handing it to me, but I was still curious and flooded him with questions about the world. I still wanted to get out there and see it. So, one day, he told me that I had a brother who left the manor when I was too young to remember and that he was now trapped outside, unable to return due to all the dangerous creatures lurking around. I know, now, there was never any brother, but at the time I firmly believed he was there, hiding just beyond the tall bushes around the garden.»

It was Severus's turn to look bewildered. For a moment he thought Lucius was lying, but it was impossible to ignore his friend's confused and betrayed expression. The Weasel sighed against Severus's lips, then resumed his story: «My father never spoke about him again and forbade me from ever mentioning him too, but I wanted to meet him. So I thought that, maybe, if I helped him, my brother would return home. I tried to speak to him through the bushes every day for years, even though no one ever responded. I threw toys, food, and bars of soap over the fence, believing he might need them. Then, I guess my father got wind of my behavior and wanted to stop it, because when I was seven, he came to me with a bloodied shirt and said, Your brother is dead; he was torn apart by the terrible werewolf.»

Lucius hesitated, but Severus sensed he was not done yet and remained silent. As expected, his friend resumed talking a short while later, sounding more exhausted and hopeless than ever.

«That morning, we held a vigil, if you could call it that, in front of the manor's gate, speaking in his memory and all. I said that I would have loved to meet him and that I would miss him forever. My dad… He apologized for not having enough love in himself for both of his children and promised that he would always protect me in all the ways he couldn't protect him. I was afraid and in pain, and I lost my appetite for a long time. I would often burst into tears without warning. Dad was very worried; he hugged me a lot, constantly urged me to eat more, and never objected when I climbed into bed with him every night for months. But he never came clean about his lies. Even now, I am not sure I understand. I do not understand why.»

Severus did not dare to express any of the thoughts that were running through his mind. Lucius had always loved his father; there couldn't be any doubts about it. He never called him "father", like many other purebloods did with theirs, always referring to Abraxas as "Dad". He always spoke highly of him and genuinely missed his home while at Hogwarts – or at least he did before Abraxas Malfoy's engagement and subsequent marriage to Zivelda Crow.

It became clear why Lucius was so unhappy with their marriage: the man had literally made himself the centre of his son's world. The thought of losing him to a stranger, or even the possibility of having a real brother someday, must have been terrifying.

Severus felt awful. He always assumed that Lucius, with his premature charm, undeniable good looks, and all the money in the world, couldn't have a single serious problem in his life. He considered him spoiled and never would have imagined something like this.

Drained in spirit, Severus rolled onto his side, relieving the muscles in his neck. Lucius tucked his blond head under his friend's cheek and chin, flooding his worn pajamas with a cascade of gold and platinum. «I'm sorry I lost my temper today. I didn't know…» There was anxiety and regret in The Weasel's voice. «I didn't mean to remind you of your father, and I promise I'll keep control next time. Please, don't be too mad at me.»

This caught Severus by surprise and made him realize, for the first time, that not once during Lucius's outbursts did Severus ever compare him to his muggle father. On the contrary, despite the violence his friend was clearly capable of when enraged, the half-blood occasionally found similarities between Lucius and his mother rather than his father. So, he told him exactly that, or at least part of it: «I never once compared you to my father,» he assured. That was not the point of this whole intervention. «Lucius, what's going on with you? You always look tired and distant lately.» He asked and then waited for an answer after months of trying.

The space enclosed by the soundproofed curtains of the canopy fell completely silent. Surely, Lucius wouldn't lie or withdraw from him again, not after he just poured his heart out and told a story as disturbing as the one of his brother, who died but was never born. Nonetheless, Severus felt relieved when The Weasel began whispering what appeared to be an honest answer.

«I'm not sure. I just... I've been having strange dreams lately, and I frequently wake up feeling exhausted. They're not bad dreams, just… weird ones.» He admitted weakly. «And I have these awful thoughts.» He added, in an exasperated tone. «I even thought it was a side effect of the Daily Horoscope, as you feared it would harm us in some way, so I stopped using it entirely. That didn't work, so it must be me, right?» he concluded bitterly.

«What do you mean by weird dreams and awful thoughts?» Severus asked, calmly, although a bit confused.

Lucius exhaled warmly against Severus' neck, causing him to twitch and blush lightly, which was thankfully concealed by the darkness. As unintentional as it was, the sensation and the sense of intimacy it evoked caught him off guard, but he quickly regained his composure.

«Heh. Sorry.» Lucius said, amused but likely unaware. «Anyway… To give you an example, I once had a dream that we were in a forest at night with other people who I can't remember. A werewolf was chasing us, so we – me and you, I mean – threw Sirius Black at it, and he got eaten.»

Well, Snape thought, not a bad dream, as Lucius said, since it has a happy ending.

«Merlin, I truly hope it's a prophetic dream.» Snape replied with dispassionate honesty, which made Lucius laugh softly.

«As for the negative thoughts, I usually have them when I'm around people. I'm afraid they'll think I'm weird or that I sound ridiculous when I speak. Or maybe I am ugly and don't deserve all the things I have.» he explained in an embarrassed tone.

Snape couldn't help but find all of this absurd. Between the two of them, Snape was regarded as the strange, ugly and unpleasant one, simply ungrateful to everyone and everything. Anyway, he nodded thoughtfully a few times, smoothing Lucius's hair with his cheek. Then, a doubt crossed his mind: «These thoughts… do you have them about me too?»

«Expecially about you.»

It took Severus a few moments to process the complex emotions he was experiencing: eventually, he realized he was angry but also unable to determine whether his anger was directed at Lucius or himself. He was correct: he and the Weasel were growing apart, and this – whatever it was – needed to be fixed. As soon as possible. Possibly now.

He let go of Lucius' side and reached for his hand, gripping it tightly but not painfully. «Look at me.» He muttered, and their eyes met, and they were breathing against each other's lips once more. «Do I think you're weird?»

He just wanted Lucius to see. To read all the answers he needed into his eyes and be reassured by the grip of his fingers, but something else began to happen. Their wounds, still exposed and bleeding all over each other, collided painfully before blending together, and Snape's soul reached out. It cut through the darkness and the shallowness of their flesh to pour itself into Lucius's mind. He could feel his friend's bewilderment, as well as the flash of fear that ran through him.

Lucius quickly averted his gaze, feeling vulnerable and completely exposed. He asked, «What are you doing?»

«Nothing!» Snape assured. He was too old for accidental magic, so maybe it was just autosuggestion, or wishful thinking, or whatever else modern psychology could come up with, but Snape could have sworn he was actually able to offer his own emotions to Lucius's scrutiny. Felt him examine each of them until he calmed down and stopped resisting this sudden connection that transcended words and spells.

«Do I think you're weird?» Severus repeated his initial question.

«Yes,» Lucius replied in a low but confident tone. «But you always loved me for it.»

«Do I think that you sound ridiculous when you speak?»

Lucius blinked, hesitating for a moment before stating, «You've never met anyone else with a drawl as… charming as mine.»

Severus knew that wasn't always the first adjective that came to his mind when he thought about Lucius's drawl. Lucius knew as well, aware now of the emotions and thoughts he could sometimes elicit in him. Snape forced himself not to care, tightening his grip and bringing both their hands between them, like a bridge connecting them at chest level.

«Do I think you're ugly?»

«No.» Lucius answered with a lightly trembling voice, feeling embarrassed, and flattered, and happy, and sad all at the same time.

As if sensing that whatever was going on was about to snap, like an overstretched rubber band, the Half-Blood Prince pressed for one last question: «Do I think you don't deserve what you have?»

Lucius shook his head as the rubber band snapped, leaving them both stunned and confused, aware that what just happened wasn't normal. They shouldn't be able to read one another like that, not without the help of wands and spells. Nothing like this had ever happened before, and now they seemed to be too afraid to speak. To talk about it and the things they uncovered in the process.

Lucius was the first to break the silence with a soft and hesitant whisper: «Severus…?» He called, getting his friend's attention and squirming a bit under it: «You've never looked ugly, to me.» he said, before tucking himself against him to go back to sleep.

Indeed. Tomorrow. Of course, they could talk tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Down in the forest, it seemed like a good idea to distract the werewolf by throwing his cousin at it. They hadn't planned it, and it wasn't premeditated, but Lucius cast a Confundus charm on Sirius just as Severus hexed his legs. Now, his cousin was dead.

The others, their former schoolmates, were furious. They argued with them and among themselves, with some believing that extreme measures were necessary in extreme situations: without their instinctive response, they may have all been eaten, maimed, or bitten. The majority of them, however, found what they did simply unforgivable, making them fearful for their own lives – how could they be sure that they wouldn't end up as the next sacrificial victim whenever another threat came up?

As trust eroded and suspicions grew, the tension among the group was palpable.

Lucius had wanted to leave. Severus took him aside at some point and suggested the same thing: gather their few belongings and leave during the night, while everyone was asleep. Regardless of what the others wanted to believe, the old villa was not a safe place, anyway, or at least it wouldn't be for long.

Perhaps they should have acted faster. Lucius was stripped of his wand and thrown into a trapdoor leading to a claustrophobic basement, scarcely lit by the light filtering through the floor above, and the ceiling was so low that he was barely able to crawl under it. Lucius yelled and pushed against the hatch for a long time, begging and threatening in vain to be let out. He calmed down soon enough. The air was thin and dusty down there, and the smell almost unbearable, weakening him quickly.

Lucius worried that they would attempt to harm or trap Severus as well, since either of their spells could have killed Sirius on its own, but he was powerless to stop it. He curled up on the floor, his dusty face marked by the trails of dried tears, and his hands scratched from hitting the ground when he tried to stop his own fall.

After a while, his eyes got used to the unsettling gloom of the cellar, and he could see the outline of a dead body, decomposed and unrecognisable. Judging by the nearly disintegrated robes it was wearing, it must have been a woman from a decade past. Lucius tried not to look at it, even as the stench of decay filled the air, making him gag for a while before he grew accustomed to it.

They were going to just leave him there, weren't they? Alone with a dead stranger as his only company, eternally asleep a few feet away.

To relieve yet another cramp, he turned on his side on his bed of dirt and dust. He noticed an old sketchbook abandoned on the ground, hidden by time and silence, much like the dead woman wearing clothes that used to be beautiful but are now out of fashion and ruined.

Much like what was going to happen to him too.

With nothing else to do but worry for his best friend and wait for whatever fate his former schoolmates decided for them, he gently picked up the sketchbook and removed the dust from the cover with one hand. He started to look through the yellowed pages, which were filled with childish writings and drawings that seemed to tell a story.

It began with two young boys living with their mother in a large house by the sea. A lighthouse was visible in the background, as were numerous birds and sheep eating seaweed on the beach. In the drawings, the boys spent their days exploring rocky cliffs and caves, fishing and collecting seashells. For a moment, it made him smile, then it made him very sad. Nostalgia was a difficult emotion for him to understand at his age, but he had a brother too, once, didn't he? One that was just enough real for him to love and miss, even now.

As he turned the pages, the story became darker and scarier, with a sinister figure haunting the mother. The final page was almost entirely taken up by a monstrous shadow, with a woman sprawled awkwardly at its feet in a pool of her own blood. In the background, the two brothers hugged each other in fear.

Lucius furrowed his brows: the sky blue dress the woman wore in the picture looked a lot like the rags of his cadaverous roommate. He turned to look at it, as if to confirm his suspicions, and his blood ran cold: the emaciated corpse was no longer lying in eternal rest but sitting up, perfectly still, with its back unnaturally hunched forward and its face hidden by a curtain of nearly white hair.

From the outside, Lucius would have appeared completely calm, but in reality, he just froze. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry and flee and kick at the floor above until he broke free but stayed motionless, terrified of being noticed. He knew what that dead thing was because his father had explained it to him years ago: every scary thing his dad had ever told him about the world was coming true, making this kind of knowledge one of the things that mattered most. His father’s most valuable gift.

Lucius carefully lowered the sketchbook on the ground and began to crawl towards the opposite end of the cellar, never taking his eyes off the Inferius. He didn't want to die. More importantly, he didn't want to be ripped apart with bare hands and teeth. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, as his breathing became laboured, most likely consuming more oxygen than he could afford down there.

Slowly, the Inferius folded its limbs like a spider's legs, bones snapping and flesh crumbling to fit beneath the low ceiling. Then it turned, its head bending unnaturally to look at Lucius through empty sockets. The slowness of its crawl and the awful sounds it made only heightened his fear, as he had nowhere to run or hide.

Just as he thought he was doomed, a bright light shone through the trapdoor above his head, and a pair of hands grabbed him and pulled him up. Lucius kicked the damn thing shut with a loud thud, followed by an anguished banging from within. Then he wrapped his arms around his saviour's neck, pressing his dirty face against his shoulder.

Severus hugged him back tightly, pulling his trembling body against himself. They never talked about their feelings, but he could feel his best friend's relief that he arrived in time to save him. They were safe and together once more.

Snape, the formidable, reliable boy that Lucius loved most in the world, grabbed his hand, put his wand into it and made him hold it tightly. Lucius looked at it, amazed. He wanted to know how he had retrieved it and how he got there but saved all questions for later. Severus looked injured; one of his legs was bleeding, as were his right ear and his cheek, even though he refused to show any sign of weakness. Nothing a few simple spells couldn't fix, but there was no time for any of it.

"We have to leave. Now." Severus said impatiently as he helped him up.

January has come and gone, taking the last winter snow away with it. Even though it was still very cold, many Hogwarts students took advantage of every clear day they got to walk or talk outside.

Lucius Malfoy had always been an energetic admirer of summer warmth as well as a tender lover of winter cold, so he was comfortable in any temperature range, really. Regardless of the temperature, he always wielded considerable social power over his peers, an intriguing phenomenon that Severus dubbed 'The Social Climbing Olympics'. All he had to do was leave the castle, find himself a place to sit and wait for people to come to him. Which is exactly what he did today after lunch; Severus was busy with something, so he went out into the courtyard and sat down on a stone bench.

Soon, he was flanked on both sides by the Black sisters, which was something they did frequently. It used to creep him out at first, making him feel surrounded and trapped, but he eventually got used to it. They didn’t have much in common; the girls weren’t even members of the Serpent’s Archive, which still irritated Lucius from time to time, but they got along well. Their shared status as wealthy purebloods made them more comfortable interacting with one another.

Bellatrix was in her sixth year and appeared mature for her age, even if she occasionally tormented him like an older sister would (or so Lucius imagined, given that he didn’t have any siblings). At sixteen, she had the rare ability to make Severus nervous, most likely due to her arrogant demeanour (which was typical of most Blacks), considerable height, and the captivating fullness around her chest and backside. It never failed to make Lucius chuckle whenever those two crossed paths. Over the years, Lucius felt compelled to emulate her, even though it occasionally caused him to doubt his own position in the Slytherin hierarchy.

Without looking at anyone in particular, Bellatrix shook her head and said, “I really don't know how you can stand it," in a discouraged whisper that bloomed like a poisonous flower on her lips. Lucius assumed she was speaking to Narcissa, the quiet thirteen-year-old who was always envious of her older sister's figure and charm, but she remained silent. The Golden Boy cast a fruitless glance around: there were only them, so unless she was talking to herself, Bellatrix had to be referring to him, but he had no idea what she was talking about, which made him uneasy. Lucius turned to look at her, and she did the same, raising her eyebrows as if she was waiting for him to answer.

“Who, me?” He asked and saw her nod, somewhat annoyed. “Why, what do you mean?”

Bellatrix, whose face resembled a blooming magnolia framed by a curtain of raven hair, wrinkled her nose in disdain: “I'm talking about your half-breed dog. We saw him on our way out, talking very intently with that Muggle-born who looks like a wall mite. I bet he was inviting her to Hogsmeade next weekend.”

Still, Lucius didn't seem to understand where this was going, so Bellatrix rolled her eyes and explained, “It will be Valentine's Day. I mean, I barely speak to the guy, and I'm mad. How come this doesn't drive you crazy? Don’t take it the wrong way, but I've seen you lose your temper for much less!” looking genuinely irritated and surprised.

Lucius raised his left hand to lightly scratch his head without messing up his hair, which today was falling in a loose tail on his right shoulder. A wall mite? Wasn’t it some kind of spider that came out during half seasons, all red in colour? Oh.

“You must be talking about Lily Evans.” He realized, but the more he thought about the strange question, the more he felt sick somewhere in his stomach. This was one of those situations Lucius didn’t seem able to grasp on his own, so he smiled, as his father suggested he do whenever he was in a situation he didn’t understand or if he realised he just said something weird. People usually thought he was joking or saw whatever they wanted to see in it.

He didn't believe her about this rumor, of course, but nonetheless he had to come up with some kind of adequate response: “I never liked her, but I know she's very good friends with Severus. I’m sure I’ll be able to find someone else to spend the day w-”

"Exactly," she interrupted him with a deadly tone. “You had all the options in the world, but you chose to be friends with Snape. So, every time he goes to talk to that little bloodsucker, it makes him an ungrateful bastard.”

They kept staring into each other's eyes, which was just a habit for Lucius; he did it with everyone, often without realising how invasive or uncomfortable it could be for them. Bellatrix, however, always made it a challenge. “Snape should understand that there are things one does and things one doesn't do.” She insisted. “Especially when you're welcomed with open arms by those superior to you.”

Lucius felt a sudden surge of anger, just like last month at the Quidditch pitch when Sirius basically called Severus a son of a bitch. Once reported to the teachers, his outburst had cost both Slytherin and Gryffindor a significant loss of points, and Lucius cared a lot about these kinds of things. More importantly, now he cared about being as different from Severus’s muggle father as possible, so he breathed deeply. “You Blacks can be so melodramatic sometimes.” He told her, which sounded like a warning.

Young Narcissa sounded irritated too, as she joined the conversation. “Lucius is right… And besides, it would make him look even more possess-.” Her eyes widened like two boundless skies when Bellatrix hissed fiercely, silencing her as if she had just uttered something forbidden.

“Wait, what?” Lucius asked, turning his head left and right to glare at both sisters in confusion. "What do you mean, ‘even more’ possessive? Who's saying that?"

Narcissa blushed, and Bellatrix placed a hand on her hip and shook her head, annoyed. The silence fuelled Lucius' outrage; he hated it when his questions went unanswered. “I'm not possessive!” he exclaimed so forcefully that the younger Black quickly apologised and excused herself, claiming she needed to leave for class. She was gone in an instant, making it difficult for the Golden Boy to tell whether she was intimidated or just mortified.

Lucius stood up too, compelled to get as far away from those insolent girls as possible, but Bellatrix grabbed his elbow and followed him on his feet. They were almost the same height.

“You shouldn't listen to my sister. She has a crush on you; did you know that?” She smirked, with a more conciliatory voice, letting go of him now that she had his attention. “What drives me crazy could be the fact that you slept with Snape. Boys tend to talk a lot, but I know you, and one could hardly say that you… blossomed quickly. Which is more than fine, since you’re only fourteen and perfectly respectable. While you keep on sleeping, however, the Wall Mite might rob you of a nice weekend with your boyfriend. You're a Malfoy. A pureblood. You can't allow them to disrespect you like this; I won't let you."
Lucius's perpetually surprised stare got wider for a moment: the last few minutes have been full of surprises for him. "I don't know what the boys" Whoever they were "are saying behind our backs, but Severus is my friend."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "Of course he is." She sighed with a sarcastic undertone.

"The Wall Mite is just a friend as well."

"For now. Unless you decide to wake up." She warned. "You'll see."

Soon after, they parted ways. Even though he dismissed Bellatrix's gossip, Lucius couldn't help but ponder her words. He kept replaying them over and over in his mind, trying to make sense of it all.

He liked Severus. He actually liked him a lot. He was trustworthy and smart; he made him feel safe, and he was attractive in an unusual sort of way (not that he was an expert on the subject, since he rarely felt attracted to anyone). He just never thought of him as a boyfriend before. Should he have? And what would Severus think about it? Would it be weird if he asked him? Was there more to their relationship than he realised? And if so, would Severus really be disrespecting him if he asked the Wall Mite to Hogsmeade on Valentine's Day, or was Bellatrix exaggerating matters?

Are you really that stupid? The only reason your 'friend' puts up with you is your supposedly good looks. You felt his longing that night. The Wall Mite, on the other hand, is something else entirely. You'll lose him, just like you lost your crazy daddy.

The thought was frightening and made him feel sick, but he dared not show it. He got to the History of Magic classroom a little early and took a seat in the front row. Severus joined him just a few minutes later, making a beeline to sit beside him, as was natural. They were still best friends; nothing had to change.

Lucius felt relieved. He smiled at Severus, catching him off guard and causing him to smile back, even though he only smiled about twice a year.

"What have you done now?" The half-blood asked in a low voice, trying to keep his good mood from breaking through his usual stern self. "I mean… what happened to you this time?" He ironically corrected himself, raising both eyebrows in mock surprise, hiding his amusement behind a serious expression.

For Lucius, it was like being wrapped in a blanket while the storm rages outside. He shook his head. "Nothing. So, what did you do after lunch?" He asked, crossing his arms on the open pages of his book, in a relaxed and casual tone, but Severus didn’t answer right away. Lucius saw him rubbing a spot between his ear and his jaw while a Hufflepuff ran past their desk to take his seat in one of the back rows. Lucius counted five steps. Even if he wanted to dismiss Bella's gossip, five steps was a generous amount of time to answer a question that should have required no thought at all. The Golden Boy's smile lost some of its vitality even before he heard Severus's reply.

"I wrote home." He lied.

Lucius stared at him as his mind filled with unpleasant thoughts. He didn't believe he had the strength for this right now. So he smiled, as he usually did in these situations, and said, "Ok," pretending to return to his book, a simple action that would have made his act more convincing if said book wasn't the most boring thing in the world. Snape was too clever to fall for that, especially since they knew each other so well.

"I didn't want to lie to you," he said curtly, making Lucius want to cover his ears and yell incomprehensible sounds, which would have been weird and embarrassing, so he decided against it. All he could do was listen. "I stopped to chat with Lily. I just didn't want to upset you, since you can't seem to stand her."

So, he only did it for your own benefit. Didn't Crazy Daddy use to tell you things like that too? The kinds of excuses you make up for the lies you tell kids. Does your water-brain even realize how humiliating this is?

Lucius felt a million things at once – anger above all else.

Professor Binns kept droning on about uninteresting facts from a distant past, about uninteresting creatures at war with their uninteresting neighbours. Even if he hadn't been on the verge of an outburst, Lucius wouldn't have paid him any mind. Despite his best efforts to keep his anger in check, he couldn't help but let his mean streak show. "It's not that I don't like her… I just find her shallow and boring, honestly."

"Oh, come on, she's not." Severus retorted, annoyed.

Lucius shrugged. "If you say so. I've always thought gingers were creepy and muggleborns were trash, so maybe it’s me. I just can't bring myself to be interested in your red-haired mudblood friend."

He said, pleased with Severus' flinch as he was caught completely off guard. Lucius did use racist language on occasion (and without any guilt or remorse); however, he never used it against Evans out of respect for Severus' feelings for her. He knew Severus loved her, but it hadn't bothered him much before for a variety of reasons. Being lied to by his best friend – that's what bothered him.

"I'm warning you, Malfoy. You'd better keep your mouth shut if all you have to say is rubbish." The use of his last name was a low blow on Severus's part. Then he stopped looking at Lucius as if he couldn't stand the sight of him anymore. "Sometimes I forget how much of an ice-cold bastard you can be."

The Golden Boy didn't reply; he 'kept his mouth shut', as his friend had just invited him to do. Perhaps it was one of those moments when he should smile and apologize, except he didn't feel he was in the wrong at all, so he'd rather have all his facial nerves severed than smile and give in. Lucius thought back of all the time they spent trying to recreate the same phenomenon from the night they slept together. Almost all of their free time over the last month has been spent sitting, facing each other, staring into each other's eyes, holding hands, and asking intimate questions. They even read about some kind of magic called Legilimancy, because it reminded them a lot of what happened.

Severus was the most persistent of the two, as if the need to prove that a bond really existed between them burned him from the inside. According to him, there had to be something more, connecting them on a deeper level. They just had to keep trying and researching. Today, that same Severus lied to him and said it was so Lucius wouldn't be upset, as if he were a baby or a lunatic he needed to keep relaxed.

You really are a lunatic if you keep believing all that nonsense about special connections. I bet your friend doesn't believe it either; he merely pities you because you let him know how damaged you are. In that regard, he wasn't entirely wrong: you should learn to keep your mouth shut.

Minutes went by in dozens, and Lucius barely noticed because all kinds of negative thoughts were draining him of all his energy, leaving him exhausted, both physically and mentally. In a tired, gentler tone, without even turning to look at Severus, he whispered, "Are you two going to Hogsmeade together next weekend?"

Resting his forehead against one hand, Severus too spoke without looking at him, in a low voice so as to keep their conversation as private as it could possibly be in a classroom: "Yes, we are." His tone was somewhat harsh, as if he had grown tired of having to temper his words around Lucius and was finally spilling an uncomfortable truth. "I know I should have told you sooner, but sometimes it feels like I still have to prove our friendship to you: for over three years, we have attended classes together, and then we studied, ate and slept no more than a few feet apart from each other. And somehow it seems like you still feel hurt or upset every time I spend time with someone else. Is it ever going to be enough?"

Is this what little Narcissa Black was hinting at down in the courtyard, Lucius wondered?

And yes, he could have listed every time Severus acted the same with him: how he got cranky before every Archivists' meeting, or how he got mad every time Lucius seemed to be having fun talking to Lupin, or how he didn't like it when their housemates suggested doing something as a group, as if they were trying to wrench them apart. Then, he could have told Severus about all the things he did or sacrificed for him. He founded the Serpent's Archive to share it with him, stopped liking Quidditch so they could have something in common, and kept everyone else at a distance to… to avoid upsetting him.

"Oh," he realized. Is it ever going to be enough, indeed?

Lucius's anger didn't subside, but at least it coiled patiently somewhere in the back of his mind. He knew he had never been good at expressing his own feelings, so he planned to show them in his own way. He had to make Severus understand that the things he blamed him for were also his fault.

It's so refreshing to see that some of your ideas manage to survive drowning in your water-brain. Yes. Make him see. Make him pay.

"You're right." Lucius conceded, surprisingly collected: "I'm sorry I made you feel smothered, but please, don't lie to me again. I promise there's no need." If Severus wanted space, he was going to get it and see how he liked it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Snape finally turn to face him, probably in distrust, unsuccessfully trying to meet his gaze. He gave up quickly, with a sigh. "It would be extremely difficult to continue discussing this now. We will talk again tonight." Which sounded more like an imposition than a request. Then, they got quiet.

Halfway through the second hour, Lucius felt he was about to fall asleep. Casually flipping through the pages of the History of Magic book, he noticed a small, dark spot sprouting and blooming before his eyes, staining the paper. Then another, and another, and yet another. With a mix of irritation and confusion, the Golden Boy glanced up at the ceiling, but no liquid was dripping from it, and his vision began to blur into a dark shade of red, and he felt something sticky and wet trying to glue his eyelashes together every time he blinked. Was he crying?

Someone at his right stood up and shouted, "Professor!" as if he, or she, had just witnessed something terrible.

Their teacher, a ghost with low communication skills and a rather forgetful nature, glanced up and, for a moment, appeared surprised to find a whole class gathered before him. His eyes wandered around the completely silent classroom, then landed on Lucius's face: "Oh, goodness," he commented, unfazed, before turning to Severus a moment later: "Mr Grape, perhaps you should take your classmate to the infirmary."

Disoriented by all this unexpected attention, Lucius turned to look at his best friend through the crimson filter that had just fallen over his eyes. Severus looked stunned. Frozen, like he forgot how to breathe. It was like that day on the Quidditch pitch all over again, when he unexpectedly lost all strength in his legs and fell, and everyone just stared, making him feel utterly humiliated. The Golden Boy raised a hand to his cheek, felt his fingers get wet, and saw the blood on them. He didn't feel scared; it was more like a dream. He felt the slimy liquid begin to roll down his throat, staining his hair and clothes with that obscene crimson hue. He felt the blood oozing from his eyes and nose and ears, and his first thought was that he didn't want to look like a wall mite.

Beside him, Severus jumped up so quickly that he knocked over his chair. "Let's go," he said, trying to help him up, finding unexpected resistance on Lucius's part. "Don't be an idiot; your whole face is bleeding!" He hissed worriedly.

"I…" Shaking his head in denial, Lucius whispered back, "I can't move my legs."

Chapter Text

The city was dark, and dark red banners drooped from every window, dripping against the obsidian walls like blood from an open wound. The air was cold and heavy, smelling of ice and mist. The streets were silent, as if the entire city were in mourning, consumed by loss and despair, swept by a restless, hissing wind as huge dark clouds covered the sky, foreshadowing all kinds of bad omens.

People who lived there were dark too: bruised, indifferent, and faded souls wandering the damp streets without speaking to one another, leading meaningless lives. They had no names, and their eyes were empty, barely reflecting the bleakness around them.
All of this was the Dark King's will, so that life could flow into an ever-deepening loneliness.

Suddenly, a Nameless Boy heard a child's voice singing a song as lovely, light, and bold as the fluttering of butterfly wings. He followed it, leaving the Black City, surprised to learn that no one had ever prevented the oppressed souls from leaving their prison: there had been no wardens or jailers, and the walls were nothing but smoke and shadows. For the first time, the young man realized there was a whole world outside that bleak nightmare. The new places that appeared before his eyes could be blue, green, purple, or even yellow!

He had to squint against a new, blinding sun, so warm that it could only belong to the summer season. His arms, bare except for the short sleeves of his shirt, smelled like warmed skin, and he thought he recognized this place: he had met Lily Evans in those very gardens, and they quickly became friends.

Looking at himself, the shadow noticed that he was still a child and needed to run. His heart was racing, finally happy; the beautiful, kind, fierce creature that was Lily Evans was running just a few feet ahead of him. She, too, was a child, and she wore a blue and white dress, and the boy thought her face looked like a pale cloud against the red sunset sky.

He saw her turn around and shout, "Run!"

She put her hands on either side of her mouth and yelled, "You can't just stand there!" Then she threw her arms forward and pointed her index fingers at him—no, not at him, but at something behind him—and warned, “Watch out!”, but it was too late.

A hand fell softly between the boy's shoulder blades, and a cheerful voice told him, "Tag, you're it now, Severus!" That had to be his name, and he'd only just heard it. Finally, the nameless shadow turned into someone. A person. And that person was Severus Snape.

He turned around just in time to catch a glimpse of Lucius's smile and the way the august sun made his eyes shine like snow on the mountaintops. In this dream, Lucius was older than them and taller: a boy with unfairly long legs compared to theirs, and his every move seemed to possess the cruel grace of a white tiger. When Lucius began running away, Severus thought he'd never catch up, and the whole world tilted off its axis.

Lily Evans chased away the shadows of that injustice with the sheer liveliness of her laughter, grabbed his hand, said, "Let's go!" and began dragging him in pursuit. They bravely left their childhood gardens, only to find themselves navigating an increasingly dense and inhospitable landscape; in that place that reminded Severus of Hogwarts' Forbidden Forest, the sun only occasionally peeked through the trees, casting a perverse kaleidoscope of light onto the ground.
Joy turned to frustration and then terror: with a broken heart and the kind of absolute despair only children can feel, Severus came to a halt. By his side, Lily's big green eyes welled up with tears as they began to cry, embracing and sobbing together. Lost. Alone.

Every second felt like years, but finally Lucius wrapped his arms around both of them and let them bury their heads in his shoulders as he whispered comforting words to them.

Severus threw his arms around his neck, saying, "I don't want you to leave me again."

Sweet Lily Evans, curled up as if trying to make herself smaller, said, "We'll die if you leave us alone in this awful place." She sniffed, clutching fistfuls of Lucius' shirt, "Our hearts will break into pieces so small, the wind will surely blow them away, and we'll be scattered forever, and it will be your fault!"

"It was just a game," Lucius replied, quietly. “I promise I’ll never leave.” Redeeming all the disharmonies in the world with those few simple words. However, after the calm sea of relief, there came a tsunami of realizations, as Snape remembered who he was and who was in front of him. He knew then that he must have been dreaming because he had stopped being a child a long time ago, if he ever had the chance to be one in the first place.

Severus found himself once again as a grown boy, and Lily wasn’t there anymore, and the Forbidden Forest was just a forest; however, his childish feelings of loneliness, fear, and relief were still alive and vivid in his soul. He took Lucius’s face in his hands and kissed him, exploring his mouth in ways he had never done before, in any of the dreams he had about him, allowing himself to forget about the complexities of their reality.

He just needed him there. He needed him to keep his promise and never leave.

Soon he had his best friend on his back, his precious platinum hair strewn across the grass and the dirt. Lucius’s thighs engulfed him in a lustful embrace, encouraging him with his hands on Severus's neck, on his back, and on his sides, urging him to get deeper and to hold him tighter. To make this real and make him stay.

A grown-up kiss for a grown-up dream.

As one might expect, there were no windows in the dungeon that housed the Slytherin dormitories. However, the moment Snape opened his eyes, he knew it had to be very early. As his first chain of thought began to unravel in his agitated mind, his stomach tightened more and more: it was Friday. Professor Slughorn had planned an 'informal party' for tonight to celebrate Valentine's Day, which will be tomorrow and coincide with their weekend at Hogsmeade. Severus decided to ask Lily out, and after some serious considerations, she agreed. It was going to be a real date, and it made the Weasel so angry that Snape hasn't been able to talk to him. Despite his weakening state, and although they attended the same classes and slept a few feet from each other, Lucius managed to avoid him for almost two weeks. Severus had to admit that it was a remarkable task, even though being unable to speak with his best friend hurt like hell.

Feeling miserable, Severus groaned and turned on his back. He looked at Lucius's bed, which was already empty. Not surprising given that he had always been an early riser, but Severus felt unusually bothered by the sight. Perhaps it was because the Weasel's health had deteriorated over the past two weeks, a slow but steady decline for which no one had yet provided an explanation. Or perhaps it was because of the sweet and yet sour dream that still lingered in his mind.

Sirius Black, whose occasional bright ideas tended to die of loneliness in that cracked head of his, was spreading all kinds of rumours about his cousin's condition, but what really infuriated Snape were some strange references to Lucius' birth, which he wasn't sure he fully understood.

Severus shouldn't have been surprised by any of this, but his rage was so intense that he was unable to articulate it.

'Merlin, give me patience,' he thought to himself, 'because if you give me strength, I'll be charged with murder.'

Before even realizing it, Severus got up and put on his school uniform.

When he reached the common room, it was completely empty, allowing him to spot the Weasel, asleep on one of the most out-of-the-way couches, as if he was trying to hide as much as possible in a very public place. Carefully dressed, his hair neatly brushed, smelling nice as always, but he looked too pale and had dark rings under his eyes despite sleeping all the time lately. For a brief moment, he reminded Snape of a beautiful doll that had been treated too badly.

Since he was a child, Lucius has been a unique, self-centered boy who demanded an excessive amount of attention. Severus frequently envied his attractiveness, his family’s enormous wealth, and his charisma, which was so unusual for someone their age. He never imagined that beneath his glossy cover, Lucius would have one real, tangible problem.

Your brother is dead; he was torn apart by the terrible werewolf.

Snape felt a strong sense of contrition as the words rushed back to him: he was no stranger to guilt, but this was a different kind, one he had never experienced. Just looking at The Weasel, asleep in the quiet of that vast empty room, the thought that he was his best friend and, if there ever was one, his soulmate, seemed too unrealistic.

Lucius opened his eyes, as if awakened by his persistent gaze, and their eyes met. He slowly sat up and said, "Severus..." but seemed unsure how to continue: they hadn't spoken much since their argument in History of Magic class, and the awkwardness was palpable. Lucius even dared to look insecure as he asked, "Severus, do you still like me?" as if it had been his fault. As if Snape had been the one avoiding him for two weeks in favour of the Archividiots.

Snape's first reaction was a resentful scowl. Even if the idea of saying it out loud scared and embarrassed Severus to death, the Weasel had to know, by now, the kind of feelings he had for him, right?

“You’re my best friend, Weasel. There may be things I don’t like about you, and I certainly do not enjoy it when you decide to be a lunatic and punish me rather than talk to me, but I like you.” He said in a condescending tone, mostly angry at himself, well aware of his inability to express the truth of his feelings.

If I weren’t who I am, and you weren’t you either, I might have the courage to tell you. Perhaps I could have found the courage to fill the meagre void between our lips that night a month ago, he thought, but these were things you shouldn’t say to someone who, with a few well-chosen words, could squeeze your heart between their long, elegant fingers.

Because Severus’ heart remained divided, and Lucius Malfoy, who hangs the moon in the sky with the mere wonder of his smile, never liked to share.

Severus felt the need to leave, to go anywhere else as long as it was far away from the Weasel. He also wanted to stay, to hold Lucius tight, to make it real and to make him stay like he did in his dream.

The Weasel seemed satisfied with the answer. "You're right. I fucked up this time." Then he lifted the tip of his fingers to his mouth, surprised at himself for the use of such foul language. "Sorry," he mumbled, then carefully agreed, "I think we should talk," and clasped his hands together on his lap. "I'm just not sure where to begin. I've done some pretty awful things lately."

Snape wasn't surprised by the news, because after two weeks of the silence treatment, it was clear that the Wrathful Deity of Petty Vengeance was enraged. Convinced that none of these 'revelations' could upset him, Severus sat beside him and said, "Try starting from the beginning."

Lucius took three deep breaths, nothing more than three futile attempts to begin his speech. Moistening and parting his lips, he tried one more time. "My dad got really angry at Professor Dumbledore because I got sick here at Hogwarts and no one knows what's wrong. All I know is that they exchanged letters, and the headmaster told Dad that he had contacted some kind of animal expert who, according to him, could help me. Dad was outraged by the idea, which he considered both ridiculous and offensive." He said, more worn out than ever.

"He's already asked me several times to return home, and I've resisted for as long as I could, but in his most recent letter, he said they're doing nothing to help me here and that he's no longer asking. He's already gotten in touch with several reputable medi-wizards from all over to come and see me at the manor... in the meantime, I can keep studying in the comfort of my home, at my own pace. Professor Dumbledore advised us against it but has agreed to give me some small tests at the start of next year so that I can enter fifth year without issues."

After a few moments of silence, trying with little success to speak faster, Lucius added, "I believe he's right. Going to class has become increasingly embarrassing and difficult for me. I haven't told anyone. I didn't even want to tell you, but Dad is coming to get me on Monday."

And the world turned inside out, spewing bright hot lava into the universe.

Even though he knew Abraxas Malfoy was right, Snape felt robbed, overcome with anxiety, guilt and selfish thoughts. The man had every means necessary to provide his son with the best care the Wizarding World had to offer, and, in his own twisted way, he loved Lucius.

Severus loved Lucius too, but it had never been enough. Not when it came down to expressing it clearly, not when he would rather not face his parents than be there for him in his hour of need, not when he couldn't reach out to him as he should have, and definitely not when he had absolutely no way of helping him. It was a harsh truth: he probably didn't deserve Lucius's friendship, let alone anything more.

However, The Merciless God of All That Is Lost was not finished yet. "The truth is, I wanted to keep it a secret and simply disappear because it would have hurt you. Even though I know it makes no sense at all… or, as you so eloquently put it, that I'm a lunatic, I was very cross with you." He clenched his fingers even tighter with a defiant expression. "More than crossed, I was furious. I don't believe you're aware that your ginger friend approached me about ten days ago. I'm not sure why she thought it would be a good idea, but I said some really awful things to her, and I don't regret any of them. I swear I never truly hated her until then, but now I wish she would just disappear."

On impulse, Severus asked, "What exactly did you say to each other?" But Lucius shot him a look that made it clear he shouldn't have said that. The Weasel ignored the question and resumed what was probably the longest speech of his life.

"I used the Serpent's Archive as an excuse to invite Remus Lupin out to Hogsmeade tomorrow, just to get back at you. I knew it would be weird, being Valentine's Day and all, so I had many good excuses ready to persuade him, but strangely enough, he said yes right away, and I sincerely hope this scares you a little bit," he admitted, probably too tired and angry to keep up with his own vengeful tricks. “I was also going to put little curses on your things while you were still asleep tomorrow. I wanted to make your Valentine's Day so bad that you'd wish you hadn't gone with her.”

Severus really wished he could get angry, but all he felt was deep empathy. He remembered all the times he intentionally said or did things to hurt Lucius, which was most likely the issue when two people knew each other so deeply: their ability to use each other's weaknesses as weapons. Snape understood the matter all too well, so he kept silent, especially since Lucius's illness made it hard for him to keep talking so much, and he would rather not exhaust him before he was finished.
"I wanted you to admit that you need me more than you need her, and just as much as I need you. I know you're just as selfish as I am when it comes to us, but you keep denying it, and I'm sick of you acting like I'm the needy one." Lucius continued, nearing the end of his speech.

"By the time I was done getting dressed this morning, I was drained, as if it was the end of the day. I knew I wouldn't be able to do anything to ruin your Valentine's Day. This made me angry at first, but then I thought that maybe I had been wrong all along. Well, I…" He hesitated, fidgeting, lips parted, eyes bravely darting up to meet Snape's. "I'm sorry. For everything. Even the things I didn't do on purpose."

Severus stared at Lucius, trying to understand. The Weasel never admits his mistakes, choosing to hide behind his pride instead, using it as a shield. Since they met, he had only allowed himself to be vulnerable twice, and in both instances, the cover of night and the intimacy of their beds made those moments feel somehow more acceptable.

This was different, completely unexpected and out of character, and Severus didn't like it at all. It sounded like a goodbye letter. The final note from someone who feared they wouldn't come back, despite having made plans for the following year.

The thought of losing his friend was unbearable. Snape felt the familiar urge to hurt him, because it was the only way he knew to get him back. Deep down, he knew that this toxic pattern needed to change if he wanted to salvage their friendship. He didn’t want the Weasel to wake up one day and realize he could have had a better friend. He didn't want to be left behind.

With nothing else to lose, Snape tried his best. He calmly reached for Lucius's hand and held it between his own, staring at them so he wouldn't have to look into his best friend's eyes. "You know," he said, struggling against his own instincts, seeking a way to share his true feelings that wouldn't leave him completely exposed and helpless. "When we first met, I didn't want anything to do with you. You seemed too... perfect. You still have that effect on me, sometimes."

He used to imagine Lucius as a caiman, stationed on the shore, waiting for unsuspecting prey to drag underwater. A monster, as glorious as nature can make them, who broke down his resistance one powerful bite at a time and then pulled him into the depths of their friendship. Lucius ate him alive, swallowing him whole. That same Lucius was staring at him now, his head tilted in confusion, because clearly, Severus wasn't doing a great job of explaining himself. The Weasel opened his mouth as if to speak but thought better of it. He squeezed Severus's hand, silently demanding to hear more.

"What I meant to say is," Snape sighed. "I don't know if I'll be able to stand eight months without you, worrying that you may never come back, knowing that I should be there with you, but I'm not. So yes. You were right. You mean so much to me, and I hoped that you knew and that it would be enough, but clearly it isn't. At least not anymore, and I'm sorry too; I never meant to hurt you."

Severus knew that his words and his voice couldn't convey the depths of his feelings at all. All he could do was meet Lucius's still confused gaze and hope that he would understand anyway. After what felt like hours of silence, Lucius finally came up with an answer.

"But you could be there, you know? You could come visit and stay all summer, if you wanted. I was actually going to make you promise on my deathbed that you would." He smiled softly, attempting a joke that Severus didn't find funny at all.

He knew he would never have the courage to visit his friend in the golden manor, with its gigantic gardens, aristocratic parents, and house-elves, no matter how much he missed him. He knew that death in the form of an unknown illness can occur to anyone, even the son of one of the wealthiest men in the Wizarding World.

The Weasel cleared his throat as he closed his eyes, making the world disappear behind his closed eyelids for a moment. "I'd also like a picture of us. We never took one, which is awful given how long we've been friends. We should be ashamed of ourselves, really."

As Severus nodded in agreement, unable to speak due to the searing pain in his very soul, Lucius smiled again, sweet and relieved. "Anyway. I was perfectly aware that you were avoiding me during our first year; I just pretended not to," he admitted a bit mischievously. "I didn't understand what made you so uneasy about me, and I know I must have looked silly, trying so hard to get you to talk to me. I couldn't give up, though, because…" He lowered his voice as if sharing a secret. "I had the strangest feeling when I first met you. I thought I could feel you."

The Weasel bit his lower lip for a moment. "I… hope you'll have fun with Evans tomorrow, I really do, but I'd like to be alone now, if you don't mind."

The very first day of their first year at Hogwarts, Lucius Malfoy stole his desk: front row, the seat farthest from the door and closest to the window. He didn't do it on purpose, considering he had no way of knowing Severus wanted to sit there, but he sat in that exact same spot in every class after that, except when there were no windows or they were out in the open.

So, Severus resigned himself to the second row, and every day, he had a perfect view of Lucius's platinum hair swishing left and right as he turned his head, of his hands as he took notes or waved his wand as he practiced his spells, and of his back as he bent down to retrieve books from his bag. In a completely innocent way, Severus liked what he saw, so he stayed right there, despite his intention to keep his distance. He just kept looking, and he started learning.

They barely exchanged any words, but he knew that Lucius was right-handed. He knew that Lucius's handwriting was sure, rounded and clear, not at all afraid to consume parchment after parchment as long as the words could dance freely on his spacious lines. Severus was also aware that Lucius's practical and accurate wand movements betrayed a lack of creativity that affected his schoolwork in different ways. He learned all of this and more because he always observed him carefully, sometimes in wonder, sometimes with envy. From time to time, their eyes would meet, and Lucius would smile and wink at him without any reason at all, as if he were just happy to see him—which was a rare occurrence, except with Lily.

When Lily smiled at him, Snape's heart raced with affection, and his stomach fluttered in warm anticipation. Lucius's smile, however, was like an oxygen bubble swallowing him while he struggled underwater.

It was still February 13th, the evening before Valentine's Day. Professor Slughorn was throwing one of his famous themed parties, and the theme was, of course, love. Needless to say, Snape did not dress up for the occasion, and as a result, he was given a heart-shaped pin, which he threw away immediately.

To escape the clutches of his mentor, who seemed to want nothing more than to lift his pupils one by one like trophies and show them to his older trophies, creating a net of precious ornaments, Severus jumped from one hiding place to another. This was how he found himself behind the tallest layered cake he had ever seen. He snorted when he saw Lily enter the room with Remus Lupin. Severus was aware of their friendship, but the Gryffindor boy remained a repulsive arsehole to him, so he decided to avoid them for now. 

The Weasel arrived a few moments later. His ice-blue eyes spotted Snape immediately, as if he could always sense him somehow. Lucius saw him behind his frosted hideaway and smiled, amused, not realizing that he had just given Severus the ability to breathe underwater.

Lucius’s wardrobe had always been something, but tonight he outdid himself, with a dark red robe and a slightly darker cloak fastened at the right shoulder with a snake-shaped brooch.

"It's not nice that you're avoiding me, you know." Lily's voice reached Severus from behind; when he turned around and saw her in front of him, it felt like a punch in the gut. She was beautiful in her muggle-cut evening gown, a flared red and gold two-tone.

"I'm not avoiding you; I was just waiting for you to dump the trash." He spoke slowly, then he looked her up and down. "Besides… I see there's no such thing as enough red and gold for you Gryffindors." The exchange earned him a half-hearted elbow to the abdomen and a mildly annoyed frown.

"Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, and you just can't be a little less bitter." She complained.

Severus twisted his smile into a grimace, then he looked back at the door, but the Weasel wasn't there anymore. As if reading his mind, Lily spoke again: "Your life-sucking vampire friend will be fine on his own for a few hours. Remus wanted to say hi to him. Do you think he'll be able to get past the groupies Malfoy surrounds himself with?"

Severus frowned, confused but also impressed by how Lily's voice never sounded mean, even when she said mean things. "Did you ask Lupin to tackle Lucius so you could talk to me, or was it the other way around?" He asked bluntly.

Lily rolled her eyes and smiled. "Malfoy is a deer on a highway; he doesn't scare me. It's you who usually has to sneak past him to talk to me."

Severus opened his mouth to speak, but all he could manage was a resigned sigh. Lily raised her eyebrows as if he just proved her point, then they both glanced toward Lucius, who was in fact speaking with Lupin. "I mean, seriously? Why is Lupin always buzzing around Lucius lately? What is he doing?"

"Heh. Why? Are you jealous?" She teased.

"No, I'm just disgusted. Anyway, I know you two talked. Whatever you said to each other, Lucius hates you now."

Lily’s lips, red and shiny like cherries, curled into a thoughtful grimace. “Hm,” she muttered, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear, as if uncomfortable. Seeing you two drift apart made me feel sorry, so when I ran into him by chance one day, I told him that even if we never got along, I had nothing against him. I even asked him to join us for Valentine's Day, but he looked at me like I had just insulted the memory of his ancestors or something. He came up to my face and said that from that moment on, he would do everything he could to ruin my life. Not just school, he clearly meant my whole life," she said, in a bizarre jolt of pride, as if trying to convince him, herself, or maybe both of them, that the possibility of a Malfoy trying to ruin her life didn't scare her at all.

"Was he yelling?" was Severus's first question.

"Why, what difference does it make?"

"It would be wise not to take his threats too seriously when he has his bursts of anger. Otherwise, his cousin would have suffered a million bee stings and other funny stuff a long time ago."

"Well, he wasn't bursting that day."

Severus took a deep, quiet breath, and he sighed. "I'd stay clear of him for a while," he suggested, even though it wouldn't be a problem starting Monday. He didn't want to think about that; he couldn't. Not yet. "Why did you ask him to join us, anyway? I thought we agreed to go on a real date. See how things went between us," which was still painful, but not as much.

He loved Lily with the strength of a thousand suns, but he was used to her thinking of him as a friend. The thought of Lucius leaving, of the sickness that brought his Godly Perfection Sculpted in Platinum to his knees, on the other hand, was on a whole new level of pain. Additionally, it is quite plausible that Malfoy Senior may never allow his son to return. Lucius's stories about him stressed that the man just wanted to keep his only child safe in their manor, and now 'he's no longer asking'.

Lily instinctively looked at Lucius, who was still conversing with Lupin. Severus followed her gaze just in time to see them leave with a mischievous expression on their faces, as if they were planning to steal the liquor under the adults' noses or something.

"Wait." Severus looked at her again, stunned as he realized what had happened. "Were you planning a double date?"

Lily flattened her lips, guilty as charged. "You have to understand, Severus. Remus doesn't stand a chance without a little help. He claims he doesn't like Malfoy that way, but I believe he's lying for the sake of his friends. Plus, for many people here at Hogwarts, asking Malfoy out would be like inviting Elvis to a school dance."

Tell me about it, Snape thought, feeling a thousand different emotions, none of which were positive. Lily, on the other hand, was completely focused on her speech, as if getting Severus's best friend and that lousy slug together had become her personal crusade for a while.

"But, I mean, how out-of-reach could he be, really? He drinks butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks like the rest of us, doesn't he? And, I mean, look at them—" She looked around, but they had disappeared from the room, so she went back to Severus, more convinced than ever. "Well, I don't have to see them to know they would be perfect for each other!"

She appeared to be expecting an answer, but Snape was completely speechless (and slightly disgusted, to be honest), which was probably for the best. Lily fidgeted a little and reached for Severus' hand, lowering her voice almost to a whisper. "You assured me that you would never date Malfoy," she said, her voice soft and worried. "That you could never picture the two of you together, and I firmly believe you were being honest. Is it still true?"