Chapter Text
“TONIIGHTT … I’M GON..NA HAVE MYSEEEELF A REAL GOOD TIME! I FEEL ALIIIIIIIVE, Mhh — AND THE WOOOORLD —“
“Severus—“
“I’LL TURN IT INSIDE OOOOOUT, YEEAAhh.. Ugh, I feel — ”
“Severus!”
“What?” The question is snapped, something of a whine present in clearly drunken tones. Entire body draped over the shoulders of his older friend, (for the inebriated refusal to leave The Three Broomsticks had left Lucius no choice but to carry him out,) Severus slumps, his song having been ruined, though likely for the better. He was beginning to feel nauseous. Too much alcohol in his blood, not enough fresh oxygen in his lungs.
“Severus, you’re going to rouse the entirety of the neighbourhood,” Lucius doesn’t sound annoyed , per se ... Matter of fact, though, yes — With the dull twinge of exasperation lacing the low voice that Severus finds also sounds somewhat amused by his antics. “Not to mention the fact that you’ll likely soon blow my eardrums out.”
Severus rolls his eyes. “Oh, please ,” The slur of a reply comes waspish, punctuated by an irritated huff, the furrowing of his brows. “You are telling me that you don’t hear enough screeching on a daily basis to endure it? You — You and your peafowl ,” The last word is spit out as if bitter in his mouth. Severus detests those birds, and to make matters worse than they already currently are, he knows he’ll have to see them again, soon enough.
He supposes he is thankful he’s got some time bought before the inevitable fight for dominance with the frilly animals ; Lucius hadn’t decided to Apparate the both of them back to the Manor, though he could have done so if he were unburdened by Severus’ presence … For with the young potion prodigy’s drunken refusal to walk also came the drunken refusal to go home.
… Well, not quite a refusal . It isn’t as though he was asked to make himself scarce. Severus supposes Lucius had simply waved off the idea of sending him on his way with the young man’s gin-clad ramblings of how he detests the place he’s meant to call home, and it’s haunted walls. Truly, though, who could blame him for it? The place was filled with the undesirable memories of an unfortunate life ; Yelling, abuse, murder . Even if the house was now empty, left to Severus, and Severus alone … He resents the shabby place in Spinner’s End. Resents the bones the house are made from, and the rotting innards of its contents.
“Come now, you’re just being rude,” Lucius tuts, a scold-like air to the way he delivers the statement. Severus huffs again, nearly scoffing — He wasn’t being rude! He was simply being honest. “What is your issue with the peafowl?”
“They … Dislike me.” This admission of sorts earns Severus a chuckle from the older, the shaking of his shoulders making him feel a bit queasy. Severus snaps at the chortle, voice suddenly hard. “It isn’t funny. Do not laugh.”
“You’re drunk.”
“You’re drunk!” If there was ever a time for Severus’ proclivity to be argumentative to shine clear as day, it was when he’d been drinking. It was as though everything suddenly became much more personal ; The simplest (and truest) of statements causing a scowl to appear on his already typically unsmiling features. The angry crease between his brows was perpetual, as was the grimace fixed to his lips. “You are the one currently manhandling me. This is undignified, and frankly, I don’t think you’d be so disrespectful sober.”
“Oh, hush.” Though somewhat stern in his order, an amused smirk tugs at the leftmost corner of Lucius’ lips. This isn’t seen by Severus, who takes the statement at face value, clenches his jaw & grits his teeth, for the time being ceasing to mouth off.
– – –
In his position –held like someone being punished for throwing a tantrum– Severus cannot see the Manor as they approach it, though he’d like to.
Of course, he’d seen it before, many times, and yet it never ceased to be impressive ; It was grandiose in every sense of the word, immaculately pristine, both inside and out. At times, the place didn’t feel real, as though it were made of plastic, filled with perfect plastic people – Akin to the 200£ dollhouses in the windows of the Muggle shops he’d seen in central London as a boy. Though the exterior is lost to him, he does catch sight of the gate as they pass through it, and muses for a moment as to why it is necessary to have a gate so large and fancifully decorated. Severus isn’t sure he’s ever even seen it open. Was it decoration? Or did it simply remain from the time (though any Malfoy would deny it, if confronted with the knowledge) that the pure Malfoy blood mingled with that of Muggles, for wealth, status, and land?
Seveurs is quickly distracted from his burning questions, however, by the familiar sound of scampering as a singular albino peafowl runs to greet the pair. Severus, later, would swear the male of the group had made eye-contact with him and reared it’s head, thrashing it’s long, disturbing neck in an aggressive manner ; This being the catalyst for the young man’s scowling at the bird, and the choice to select a few (highly offensive) obscenities to throw its way. For now, though, he will listen to Lucius scold him for his rudeness in a voice eerily similar to the hissing of an angry snake, and keep his eyes on the bird as it follows, soon backing off.
The heir to the Malfoy throne doesn’t release his friend once they’ve enter the Manor. Lucius doesn’t trust Severus enough not to land on his feet and promptly break into a sprint in an attempt to exude his energy. The blonde would have thought that by now the younger man would be spent. Though clearly an evening full of the newest addition to the Death Eater ranks singing quite loudly in pubs, standing on tables, running down several side streets, and recounting wild (and frankly disturbing to Lucius, seeing as Severus is but 19, and has already seen far too much,) tales from his ventures in espionage was not enough to wear him out.
Perhaps it was because Severus was full of the elation of being a part of something. Recently graduated, a prodigy in his potions mastery, a new and revered part of a high-class secret society winning a war fast incoming … Lucius can sympathise with the excitement of being on the winning side, being in their prime — The ‘glory days’, he’d call it, later in life — But for Lucius, the fast-paced excitement of the novelty of such things had long worn off.
Halfway through his age of 24, and married to a woman more-or-less of his choosing (though, there is never much choice in Pureblood society,), his youth is spent, and has been since the age of 14.
Of course, there is still room to have some fun amongst the stresses of what is expected of him. Lucius supposes he and his wife’s scenario is the best case possible ; There is reverence between the two, and something of a mutual attraction in the physical sense, despite the fact that the both of them currently have the agreed upon freedom to see other people. Love has not yet flowered where seeds have attempted to be sown, but that’s alright. For the time being, they are doing what is expected of them in the limelight : The perfect Pureblood family to anyone who looks upon that plastic ‘paradise’ ... And to both of their likings, what occurs outside of the public’s view is their business, and entirely theirs to be free with.
Carrying Severus to what is now the guest bedroom, the second master of four (a room that had once belonged to Lucius, prior to he and Narcissa colonising the grandmaster,) Lucius ascends the stairs faster than Severus feels is necessary. He is being utterly jostled, and it makes him feel ill. So, he airs his complaints: “I demand to be put down.”
“Have patience.”
Severus sounds off with an agitated groan.
Finally, they reach the bedroom, and making their way to the bed, Lucius does his best to release Severus from his grasp in a way that wouldn’t be too awkward, nor hurt the other. This is not a successful venture, and instead of having the rational, sober thought to sit on the edge of the four-poster before relenting his grip, Lucius releases his friend without any hint of grace.
Severus tumbles out of Lucius’ grasp and hits the mattress with a stifled grunt ; If it weren’t quite so plush, the younger may have been winded, which would have sent him much sooner into the ire-filled snarling soon to come. Instead, though, he lays there a moment catching his bearings, and just as Lucius had predicted, does not remain still.
“I see how it is, then, throwing me around like a .. Like…” A frustrated sound ensues. “The disrespect! The .. The nerve –” Severus scowls, wiping his hair from his face, and straightening his clothing. “You are an inept tosser,”
Lucius merely laughs, a haughty sound coming from the throat. “Oh, I can assure you, I am quite competent in tossing off,”
“You –” Severus begins scrambling to get up, and onto his knees so that he may lunge to the edge of the mattress and leave the comfort of the bed.
It doesn’t suit him just yet, he isn’t tired, (not that he would admit it, if he was,) nor does he want to be confined to one room like a disobedient animal. But it isn’t just his pride hurting that makes him unwilling to be bed-bound … Truthfully, Severus’ desire to remain in one place for as little time as possible comes from the deep need for something to distract him.
There is no room for bad thoughts to creep into his over-analyzing mind when his body is so occupied with covering as much space in as little time as possible, there is no time to mull over the things he’s seen – the events of the past year – when he is filling his senses with anything, and everything at once. If he stops, he feels he may never start back up again, and the foreboding knowledge of this makes him sick before he can even begin to contemplate the horrors of his recent ventures and actions.
Severus doesn’t get very far in his break for it before he is met with a strong hand to his chest, however, Lucius pushing him from his crawling position of all-fours to make him sit back onto his haunches. Severus picks up on a glint in steel eyes, Lucius more-or-less telling him to stay without saying it aloud, and he halts for a moment before spitting (though under his breath) : “Bastard.”
“There is no need to be waspish , Severus.” Lucius warns, though his voice isn’t sharp as it would typically be when such a sentence is thrown his way. He sounds somewhat un-bothered by Severus’ current argumentativeness, not quite amused, but not offended, not annoyed.
“Sorry,” The younger man moves to get up again, and is once again pushed (more gently, this time) to a seated position. Annoyance is fast building in his wiry frame, and he clenches his jaw to suffocate the urge to argue.
He knows that Lucius sees this, as well as the deepening of the crease between his brows, and he averts his eyes. “I just … I do not want to be still right now. I’ve too much energy, I need to get it out before I can rest.”
“Apology accepted. Do you not feel well?” The inquiry comes with the quizzical tilt of the head, Lucius’ own pale brow furrowing, though just barely, before it is wiped from his features. “You’ve had more than enough for your body weight in alcohol this evening.” That smile Severus is so accustomed to seeing tugs again at the corners of the blonde’s mouth, the half-blood tries not to flush from what he will later blame on the embarrassment of his lack of control.
“I feel fine.” The statement is out faster than he’d have liked it to be, defensive in the way it slips from his lips. Lucius’ eyebrows pull together for a moment, contemplating this. He’d like to ask him again, for he suspects the younger’s answer may be different the second time around … But he is also keenly aware of Severus’ stubbornness, and the knowledge that the other is far more likely to not relent in his position than to break. “I just …” Severus shrugs. Lucius observes this, and whether the dark-haired man’s action was meant to be a nod to the fact that he clearly isn’t as ‘fine’ as he’d like to be is irrelevant. It tells Lucius what he needs to know.
“Do you?”
“Yes.” Dark eyes still haven’t returned to that of his companion, and forced agitation has been pushed into Severus’ voice. The blonde softens his expression, lowers the brows previously raised in inquiry, and steps closer to where the other sits on the bed, on the backs of his calves.
“Why don’t you lie down?”
The softness of Lucius’ voice is jarring to him, and the younger raises his gaze, and his head to look at his friend. The way the other is looking at him looks an awful lot like pity to the potions prodigy, which only furthers the ire he feels at the beginnings of interrogation from the other. A huff of a sigh pushes itself through his nose. “But–”
“Go on.” The older man gestures with his head to the pillows, instructing the other to do what he’s asked. The shake of the head ‘No,’ beckons tutting from the blonde. “You’ll feel better if you lie down.”
Severus doesn’t move, at first, takes a moment to let his disapproving stare bear down into Lucius’ being – Or at least, he hopes it does.
But with Lucius’ somewhat cold and unrelenting stare of his own, and each move of Severus’ emotional pawns, bishop, knight and queen all having been taken by Lucius’ hand, Severus backs down on the mental game of chess they’ve engaged in, and realises he’s in check. He shifts his position to be sitting cross-legged now, hopes this will somewhat suffice as he is no longer in such a position where making a break for the door is easy, but their stare-down continues. There isn’t a way out, his king is to be taken.
Checkmate.