Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6677770.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Severus_Snape, Draco_Malfoy/Lucius_Malfoy
  Character:
      Lucius_Malfoy
  Additional Tags:
      Implied_Incest, Incest, Angst, Written_Pre-Deathly_Hallows
  Collections:
      The_Quidditch_Pitch
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-04-27 Words: 6240
****** Faded Glamour ******
by charlotteschaos
Summary
     An ugly truth about Draco's past is revealed when Severus finds Draco
     strung out on potions in Diagon Alley.
Notes
     beta'ed by rosesanguina
     Written for trouser_snaco challenge prompt: 10. Two words: Daddy
     Issues..
Rays of light strengthened in stripes through the age-old blinds, revealing the
growth of ivy over the ceiling of his room. It cracked the crown moldings and
wrapped around the long chain to the chandelier of Draco's room. A chandelier
in his bedroom; Draco all but laughed at the ridiculous audacity of it, of his
life, of growing up here in what he would've once called splendor. How quickly
the beauty fades.

Faded glamour: green swirls of paint, fine lines; cracks in the ceiling that
once was buffed and perfect. All but that spot. That spot he watched, his eyes
heavy with wrong arousal-- the sick feeling of thrilled betrayal.

He loves me.

He needs me.

He needs this.

Somewhere it went from touching to teaching as rationalizations made his head
spin till it was pretty clear that it was Draco's fault: that notion, the
guilt, the betrayed look in his mum's bright blue eyes and the spark of magic
that ended it all.

Draco took another sip of the potion, cursing that it wasn't strong enough
anymore. He couldn't sleep and night was fading into day, when the cracks were
so much harder to ignore-- when the hardwood floor showed its dust and
scratches, when the mirror reflected red eyes and dark circles.

It was in the past, wasn't it? And maybe Draco was done with the past, but the
past wasn't done with him. It came back like a tidal wave on a calm sea-- out
of nowhere when a friend touched his shoulder, or a woman gave him one of those
looks.

And he couldn't see it now, wouldn't see it then. He refused to look at Lucius
when it happened. He wouldn't look at him after it ended. Draco could barely
remember what his father looked like in spite of his talking head being all
over London, all over this house. Portraits, reflections of him, his taste, the
life he led before they all turned that corner.

Dutiful son.

He needed me. He needs me.

Draco crumpled before the porcelain bowl, stomach churning its contents in a
long spew of potion-bile as he sobbed at his body's rejection. Nothing stayed
down anymore, and Draco started to have a hard time caring.

Without that beautiful, bountiful moment where everything was gone, when all of
the dread and memories had parted and he could be himself, but not himself, he
couldn't bear to face the day. With the potions, he was hyper-real, and
everything sped by too quickly to warrant much of a second thought. He could
write, he could sing, he could dance. The Manor would fill with the sound of
the Omniano. It would shake the old manor to its foundations and Draco could
loop the refrain, spinning, screaming, singing, and free from the burdens of
actual thought.

Thought always came down to this: paying this price.

Peeling himself from the toilet, he flushed, and rinsed his mouth out, cleaning
up with clumsy charms that left him feeling raw and over-scrubbed.

He could never get clean enough anyway.

Not even when his skin peeled back to reveal the complex workings of severed
capillaries.

Dragging himself through the well-worn path in the manor from his room to where
he'd set up his potions lab, Draco glared at the book, willing the ingredients
to change to something that would create a more powerful tonic. If his mind
were clearer, maybe he could figure out what needed to be added, what could be
changed or substituted. If his mind were clearer, he could trust himself to try
another book, to try a potion that might take longer to make. He didn't have
that kind of patience. He'd lost track of time, of temperature, his intense
concentration gone.

His finger traced over the onionskin page, long, jagged nail obscuring letters
and words till he fisted his hand in frustration. He bowed his head, and his
dull, white locks cascaded around his sunken cheeks.

"How weak you are. No son of mine would ever cry."

Muggle ghosts often reenacted old scenes, working out the moments of wrong that
had happened in their life. Lucius was all over the manor, hands grabbing,
words implying, fingers prying where they shouldn't be.

"No son of mine..."

More potion.

Draco glared down into the oxidizing potion pooled at the bottom of the
cauldron-- its shiny sinew skin glistening up at him like sick waste.

"Touch it, just like I tell you."

Flushing the remnants of the potion with a weak spell, Draco turned the rusted
spigot in the master bathroom-- his adopted other home. The marble lay in
disrupted, broken pieces that appeared to still smolder from their destruction,
sending a faint mist of crumbling dust into the mid-morning sun that shot
through the room unbidden by torched fragments of what were once luxuriant
velvet red curtains.

"So much temptation in the bathroom, Draco, I would not wish you to self-
abuse."

So much temptation of silky pale youthful skin and 109 tiles counted from
bottom to top. Not 110, but if you lost count or were tempted to round that
number off, there could be. But there wasn't. Draco had counted-- several
times.

And he wants me.

He needs me.

He loves me.

Amidst the wreckage of the counters stood store-bought shelving of some name
that sounded vaguely Swedish. Like a pet, like his only friend. A friend whose
name he constantly forgot, who took a good kick when he ran out of ingredients.

Sven.

Hans.

Whatever.

It wasn't going to matter if Lars had everything he needed this time. It wasn't
sticking. Draco was left twitching, wild-eyed with need, even after it was
fresh. Even after a long, strong drink of it.

"Your mum knew what a dirty boy you were. You just had to tell someone, didn't
you? Look at what you made her do to herself."

Blood in the snow, just a trace—so dignified, too dignified. Her death seemed
inexplicable. Not sad, dazed eyes, surprised, but not shocked. Death is sudden;
it grips you like an icy knife and lets go, and it all comes out in the wash.

Wash. Wash your hands. Wash your chest. Wash your hair. Wash your bum. Wash
inside, but you'll never be clean, will you, boy?

Catching his reflection in a shard of mirror, Draco threw the ladle across the
room in frustration. I hate you.

The only thing now was to go to the Apothecary, to hope that they didn't ask
too many questions. Failing that, it was to the Leaky. Someone there could make
it; someone there could make him forget. Sleazy dealings in the back alleys for
potions that came from god only knew where, and cocks that tasted like stale
piss and wife lipstick, but he had to get out, get away; escape this fucking
manor, escape himself.

--

Cold wind whipped through Snape's hair, throwing it in his face with the
severity of a scorned lover. Normally, he preferred to order his potions
ingredients ahead of time. Going out in public, even though he was absolved,
was always trying. Not everyone bought into Lucius Malfoy's grand conspiracy
scheme that the whole of the Death Eaters was controlled by Voldemort—that his
and Harry Potter's twin end had freed everyone from the mind control he'd had
over his so-called minions. Rightly so, it was a great steaming pile that was
as odious as Lucius Malfoy himself.

On Diagon Alley, his face was everywhere. Election year and it looked as if the
lackwit might actually be the next Minister for Magic. He wasn't getting
Snape's votes, but then, Snape knew where the bodies were buried. As far as
Ministers went, as slimy as he could be, Lucius was par for the course. Not
that the general populace would know things like that, but there was something
to be said for being the sort of man who, up until the second war started in
earnest, seemed to be invisible.

Now that war was no longer on, and his desire for attention and fear had been
more than sated, he was well-pleased to experiment on his own in relative
obscurity back at Spinner's End. His deadlines were of his own making, as he
had no one to answer to. Were he the sort of man who believed in fate or any of
that blather Trelawney was always on about, he might've said he felt called
into Diagon on this day, at this time. Though he knew he was there for skull of
exsanguinated raven powder, when he threw open the door the spiraling snow led
him to a dark, thin figure, bent forward at the counter muttering about change.

In spite of his deteriorated health, and slur of obvious inebriation, his drawl
was still as aristocratic as ever, his grey eyes just as filled with a blind,
venomous rage.

"Mr Malfoy," said Snape as he pulled his bag of coins to pay for the erumpent
skin and unicorn mucus. His brows furrowed in concern as he recognized the
point and purpose of such ingredients. It was a wonder the boy was still
standing.

"Professor." His voice was strangely soft and reverent, as if he'd been looking
for Snape for centuries and finally found him.

"I am no longer anyone's Professor, Mr Malfoy."

"I don't need your money," he said knocking Snape's hand away.

The clerk nodded that the ingredients had been paid for. "He was asking about
stronger..."

"Silencio!" As slow as Draco seemed he would have been, he was lightning-fast
with his wand out, and the Wizard behind the counter looked startled and was
blindly going for his own wand, his visage terror-ridden.

Evidently the Apothecary staff wasn't completely buying Lucius's cover story,
either. Snape narrowed his eyes at Draco. "Remove that."

Dropping his angry gaze in his petulant way, Draco did as Snape asked and put
his hands behind his back, a gesture of submission that Draco had learned
somewhere before Snape. One that Lucius had no doubt instilled into his son at
birth. Though it made him a little sad to see Draco reacting this way in his
presence now that he was a grown man, it did make him easier to control and to
remove from the Apothecary.

As he pushed Draco ahead of him, parting the snow in foot-shuffles into the
street, Snape got close enough to smell the distinctive mix of sweat, come and
illegal potions.

"You should not mess with Lysergiddie, Mr Malfoy," said Snape, but he could
tell Draco wasn't listening.

Draco was frozen to the spot, head tilted as he stared blankly at a poster of
Lucius Malfoy. The poster promised everything that a politician would: fewer
taxes, more prosperity, and a return to family values.

"A vote for Lucius Malfoy is a vote for family."

One moment Draco was staring at the poster, eyes glistening before a single
tear slid down his cheek. The next, he was bent over, staining the grey snow
with a distinctively bright orange-yellow of potion bile.

Grabbing Draco by the back of his black wool trench, Snape yanked him down the
street to the Leaky Cauldron after knocking out a quick spell to clear away the
mess. Draco didn't fight him; he didn't even seem to care where he was being
taken. His hands were clasped over his face, and he rubbed them in great
irritation, as if he could wipe away the vision of Lucius Malfoy by scratching
out his corneas.

"Absinthe," Draco said when they'd reached the bar.

Snape gave him a look over the order, but he supposed that if the boy was
abusing potions, he could handle a bit of wormwood. Snape ordered coffee and
sat down at the bar next to Draco. He watched the meticulous way that Draco
arranged the slotted spoon over the glass, loaching with the precision of a
Potions master. Were it not for Draco's shaking hands, Snape would've been
proud.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Snape waiting for Draco to react to his
scolding over the Lysergiddie, but Draco seemed more than content to sip his
absinthe, avoiding Snape's eyes. What he was doing, however, was peering around
the room quietly, like prey wanting to appear predator.

"The Lysergiddie, Mr Malf—"

"Don't say that name," Draco cut in, finally looking up into Snape's eyes
sharply before casting his gaze to the floor. His hands snapped behind his back
and he shook his head. "Just... Draco."

"What?"

"Just call me Draco, sir," he said quietly, bowing his head again for a moment.
Then he lifted it and finished his absinthe. He waved for another and the
absinthe refilled itself. Tom came by with the sugar and gave Draco a curious
glance, but otherwise said nothing.

"Right... Draco," said Snape. It was strange how he'd gone back to such formal
terms with Draco on reflex. This boy was not the same that he had known in
Hogwarts, nor was he hard-faced young man with purpose that he'd observed
during the war. "Draco, you were a brilliant student. You know what
prolonged—or any—abuse of Lysergiddie does to you."

Draco slid his index finger over the dark wood grain of the bar and then looked
up at Severus, giving him that look that both aroused Snape and twisted some
sick feeling in his stomach. Draco's eyes were far too calculating to reflect
innocent desire, and his plush lips were parted just so, in a way that would
evoke the image of them wrapped around Snape's cock. It was the sort of look
that Draco had shot at Snape plenty of times in his school career and that
usually meant he wanted something.

Though Snape had never taken him up on anything implied, Snape was certainly
not immune to having exactly the sorts of thoughts that the look was meant to
provoke. In the gaslight of the tiny bar, Draco's skin took on an ethereal
glow, dotted by a faded galaxy of freckles that made him still appear boyish in
spite of the years or knowledge that had passed.

"I know, but... it makes me feel good. It calms me. It's just... not enough
anymore." Draco blinked hypnotically as he leaned in closer and placed a glow-
pink hand on Snape's chest. "I can't make any better. I need something
stronger, though. You could... do it."

This was off the rails for Draco's coquettish flirting to get himself out of
trouble. Draco's breath was warm against the hard line of Snape's lips. He was
so close and the urge to just grab the frail man and defile him was much more
tempting than it should have been. Snape had to remind himself how sick or high
he must've been.

"Draco..."

"I'll do whatever you want," said Draco as he slid off of his stool. His hand
dragged from Snape's chest to the front of his trousers. Draco rubbed his palm
over Snape's hardening cock. "Want me to suck your dick? Sit on your cock? Eat
your arse? Whatever you want."

Snape grabbed Draco's hand by the wrist firmly enough to pull it away, but not
so hard as to hurt him. His breathing was accelerated and his body was
undeniably interested. Snape wasn't even sure how long it had been. He had his
own matters to tend to and unfortunately, sex fell low on the priority list.

"You are not a whore, Draco."

Undeterred, Draco tried again with his other hand. "I'm not asking for money. I
can tell you want me. You always did, didn't you?"

Removing Draco's hand, Snape said, "What gave you that impression?"

"I saw how you looked at me. You didn't look at anyone else that way."

That was true. Draco had always held a special place in Snape's mind and,
perhaps to an extent, his heart. But Draco misread his intent. "I was...
concerned."

Draco had been struggling against Snape's hands, but he stopped to stare at
Snape in icy disbelief. Whipping his wrists outward, Draco detangled from
Snape's grip, and then shoved him off of his stool for good measure.

"What good are you?" he shouted before finishing his second absinthe. He wiped
his mouth off with the back of his hand; eyes still filled with malice, and
fled the bar.

Snape followed Draco out and down Knockturn Alley. Here, he paced himself a bit
behind Draco, watching him scout between the buildings. It was almost
fascinating to watch Draco look-not-look at men who were doing the same to him.
Finally receiving a nod from a hooded figure, Draco followed him into the
alley. By now, Snape was a full half block from Draco.

Cursing himself for drifting so far back, Snape double-timed his steps, hoping
to close the distance before Draco did anything foolish.

Too late.

Draco Malfoy was on his knees in front of the hooded man. The man's head was
back, his hood half off of his pockmarked face. His lips formed an "o" as he
rolled his skull against the hard rock of the building behind him.

Draco sucked the head of the man's cock, his hand making up the distance his
mouth didn't cover in long, petting strokes that made the skin wrinkle and move
with him.

Those perfect, plush lips were around a stranger's cock-- a potion dealer's
cock. It took a moment of watching Draco's head bobbing, his mouth determinedly
staying just over the head and moving slightly, before Snape shouted Draco's
name.

It echoed in the empty space, but Draco didn't seem to notice at first. He just
continued on his routine of pulling and sucking, eyes lowered as he continued
to work it.

Snape was ready to run in and grab him when Draco's eyes slowly opened and
locked with Snape's. Slowly, Draco worked the whole cock into his mouth. The
dealer grabbed the back of Draco's neck, fisting hair in the process, and held
him there as he started to slam his hips against Draco's face. He moved hard
and fast, cock glistening on the up strokes. Groaning, the dealer ignored
Snape's presence and just continued to fuck Draco's face mercilessly until he
shuddered.

Pulling away before the man could come in his mouth; Draco held a hankie
against the spewing prick and stared at it with vague disinterest. When the man
was finished, Draco wadded up the hankie and tossed it into the running gutter
water and then stood and held out his hand.

The man handed Draco a few vials of a dubious-looking version of Lysergiddie
and glared at Snape.

Frozen to the spot, Snape glared back and waited for Draco to come his way.
"You're coming with me."

--

The realization of all of Snape's fears about Draco's home life sat huddled on
his worn settee, shivering under a mound of throw blankets and sipping tea with
shaking hands. Snape winced empathetically when Draco jolted back with burned
lips from the steaming liquid.

"I just need...." Draco's face was nothing but need.

Snape knew what he wanted, what he thought he needed. The spoiled vials of
Lysergiddie sat securely in Snape's pocket, ripped from Draco's hands before he
could stow them away. Draco had made no aggressive moves to retrieve them, much
to Snape's relief.

"No."

Draco's eyes watered, and then lowered as he took another sip of tea.

"Just drink your tea." Reaching into his pocket, Snape slid his fingers over
the greasy vials, counting them again as if Draco could have wandlessly
summoned one. He'd laced the tea with a heavy sedative and Draco would be out
soon enough.

"I'm cold." Obediently, Draco took another sip of tea and looked up again, eyes
meeting Snape's with intense longing. What he was longing for was suspect, but
Snape held his gaze.

"The tea will warm you." Pulling his hand from his pocket, Snape crossed his
arms over his chest.

Draco wrapped both hands around the mug and blew over the liquid. He stared
into it for some time, and then blew again. Finally, he took a sip, then,
deciding that it was cool enough, he took a longer drink. "You warm me."

It was a surprisingly demanding tone given Draco's prior demeanor. His liquid
grey eyes intensified over the rim of the mug, and suddenly he looked much more
like the determined Death Eater; the tricky, clever man that had used his wiles
to get through the war. It set Snape on edge, but, confident in his potion, he
stood, straightened his tunic and crossed to sit next to Draco.

"Finish your tea."

Draco tipped the mug up against his lips and swigged down the remainder of the
tea and then held it out for Snape's inspection. The blankets were gathered
around his head like a shroud, and he pulled them down and wriggled onto his
back, laying his head in Snape's lap.

Already Draco was getting drowsy. Snape could see Draco's expression turning
placid and groggy. His eyes rolled and blinked a few times as he fought it off.
Snape pretended not to notice Draco's hand groping clumsily for his tunic
pocket, obviously searching for the vials. Were Draco more awake, it probably
would have been more subtle.

"You watched me," said Draco dreamily.

"Pardon?"

"You watched me suck that guy off. You want... I could... you know..." Draco's
brows furrowed and he turned his head, nudging his nose against the front of
Snape's trousers.

Snape sucked in his breath and pulled his hips back as he reached for Draco's
hair, sliding his fingers through it a few times before tugging his hair back
to get Draco's face away from his crotch. "I know you could."

"I want..." Draco rolled his head back up at Snape's tugging and he sobbed in
frustration.

"I know what you want, but I can't let you have it." Gently, Snape combed his
fingers through Draco's hair again, halting to tenderly tug through the knots.
Any other student, any other person, and he would not have bothered. Somehow he
felt guiltily responsible for turning a blind eye to this. He knew. He knew
what was happening and he didn't try to stop it. He caressed Draco's sunken
cheek, watching his eyelids flutter with the determination to remain awake.

"No... I want... to love...something. I have..." Draco broke off, his lips
still parted in exhale.

Staring down at Draco's face, Snape stopped his hand, anticipating his next
words. Slowly, Draco's head turned away from Snape's body and his breathing
slowed to a dozing pace. Part of Snape wanted to shake him to find out what it
was Draco had, but he thought he knew. Instead, he removed Draco's hand from
his pocket and traced a worn finger along his hairline to pull his hair back
from his face.

"You have too much love, Draco. You always did. That's why you hurt."

--

Though the manor house in Wiltshire had been passed down for generations,
Lucius Malfoy was apparently trying to escape his past through symbolism,
leaving the old manor to rot while he lived in a decadent penthouse in London
amongst the Muggles he'd sought to exclude. In the front entryway was a
portrait: the Malfoy family as it once was, Narcissa radiant and Draco petulant
whilst Lucius stood ruling over all he surveyed. Symbols do not constitute a
family.

Snape was shown to his seat in Lucius's study. It wasn't unlike the study that
he'd had in Wiltshire. Lines of books that could not have been touched in
decades filled the impressive mahogany bookcases behind where he sat in his
leather chair. Setting out his pipe, Lucius leaned back to affect a casual air.

"Severus, I appreciate your discretion in coming to visit at this hour. Whilst
you and I realize that the power of the Dark Lord has been decimated, there are
some that might consider our meeting untoward." Lucius stood and took a seat in
a leather wing-back chair before the fire, gesturing to Snape to do the same. A
bottle of brandy appeared on the table before them, followed by two snifters.
Snape refused the offer by shaking his head and took his seat without reaching
for the glass.

"Of course, Lucius. The election is close; I understand your need for
everything to appear above board." He wondered now if Lucius had
deluded himself regarding his involvement in the Death Eaters. Perhaps he could
speak with such passion about being possessed because he truly believed he had
been. What lies people tell themselves to avoid their poor choices in the past.
Snape was all too clear about Lucius's role and was prepared to remind him
should he need it.

"Good, good." Lucius paused to reach for the brandy, picking it up when the
glass filled itself to his apparent satisfaction. Swirling the amber fluid, he
looked into it, and Snape was reminded of the way Draco peered into his tea
before sipping. Malfoys were so filled with secret ambitions, so unreadable.
Perhaps their secrets were written in the skin that stretched over liquid; as
inscrutable as they were fluid.

"I hate to rush this visit, as it has been so long and I'm certain we have much
to catch up on, old friend." A flash of insincere Cheshire cat smile and a
quick gesture of smoothing back his hair—politician Lucius was as unimpressive
in the flesh as he was on his posters. "But the hour is late."

Because he knew it would unsettle him, Severus sat still, keeping his eyes on
Lucius, remaining still until Lucius shifted in his chair.
"I'm here about your son."

"Ah." Lucius took a long sip of brandy and nodded. "So he is finished, is he?"

"Finished?" Snape tilted his head and searched out Lucius's body language. He
was tense, but he didn't seem particularly bothered by the idea of Draco's
death.

"He hadn't been well since dear Narcissa died. I'm afraid he took her suicide
to heart." He swirled his brandy and took another sip. His speech lacked regret
and sounded rehearsed. "This is why it is so important to keep families whole,
especially during a child's formative years. It is horrendous that I was
wrenched away to Azkaban by a panicking Ministry who didn't even bother to
investigate my condition." He held up his hand to stop imagined protests. "I
understand that I was under the control of a madman and I needed to be stopped
before I did further damage. I certainly wouldn't begrudge any constituents who
felt I was better off there. I was. But, I'm afraid it had an ill-effect on my
son."

Campaigning on his son's death already, as if he'd planned for Draco to die.
Snape crossed his arms tightly over his chest and perked a brow.
"Draco sacrificed everything while you were in Azkaban to preserve your life,
Lucius."

"He was a dear boy from a strong family. Unfortunately, he was quite misguided.
But his death will serve great purpose in enlightening others."

"I see." Snape watched Lucius take another slip of brandy, gritting his teeth
to keep from lashing out physically. "Then I regret to inform you that he has
yet to pass on. Draco is under my care and in recovery."

"Pardon?"

Snape took great pleasure in the way Lucius's fingers whitened against his
glass. He wished it would break and cut his fingers apart, but no such luck.
"Draco is recovering from his addiction under my care."

"I see. Well. That is... quite fortunate for him." Lucius was breathless and
stared hard into the fire, no doubt attempting to recover his wits. He chose to
try and find it in the bottom of his brandy glass and then set it down to
refill.

"And for you. I'm certain you wouldn't wish to have to bury the last of your
surviving family. It would be quite a distraction from your campaign."

"Don't be silly, Severus. I'm quite pleased that he's doing better. I can only
hope that his fragile mind hasn't been inventing odd tales and filling your
head with nasty speculation. As I said, he took his mother's death hard. I'm
afraid that he... well, it is difficult to say what he believes is fact or
fiction anymore. Lysergiddie does such terrible things to one's psyche." Again
that campaign smile and the superior brow perk.

"He's said nothing of you, Lucius."

Lucius's shoulders lost some of their anxious tension and he took another sip
of brandy and set the glass down. "Of course not. There is nothing to say."

"Of course there isn't. It's curious you asked, however." Severus leaned
forward in his chair. "Tell me, Lucius, why don't you talk to him?"

After a dismissive gesture, Lucius said, "His head is filled with nonsense. The
potions, Severus. There is little point in speaking with him."

"As an earnest father, and pillar of the community, I'm rather surprised that
you have not attempted to help him to recover."

Lucius's expression went distant to horrified then back to neutral. "I did not
know where he was."

"Interesting that you say that. He's been living in the Malfoy Manor in
Wiltshire. That's where he says he's been receiving money from you." Snape
continued to glare at Lucius. Not that he'd doubted anything he'd come to
believe about Draco's homelife, but every moment proved it. He slid his hand
into his pocket, fingers itching to grab his wand and send Lucius to that
beyond that he'd wished Draco to.

"Addled mind, I'm afraid. I have not sent him any money, nor would I. I know
where it goes." Lucius tapped his temple with his forefinger. "I have attempted
to bring him to St. Mungo's several times, but he screams at me when I try to
go near."

"Does he? Why is that, Lucius?"

"I suppose he doesn't want to go to rehab."

"He didn't scream at me, nor has he been belligerent. Why won't he speak to
you, Lucius?"

Lucius's eyes went wild for a moment and he grabbed his brandy again and sipped
it. "I do not know."

"I believe you do. I believe we both know." Snape narrowed his eyes at Lucius,
but he made no aggressive moves, though he longed to throttle the truth out of
him.

"What do you think you know?" Lucius attempted to seem casual, but his eyes
shifted nervously about the room.

"Did you touch him?"

"No, of course not."

Snape stared at him, remaining impassive. "He's a beautiful boy. Azkaban can do
things to a man's mind."

Lucius shrugged. "Perhaps it does. I wouldn't know because I never did such a
thing. You shouldn't believe what an addict tells you to garner sympathy. The
boy was overindulged and couldn't deal with real life."

Ignoring Lucius's new story, taking it for what it was, Snape continued, "But
of course, this all started long before Azkaban, didn't it?"

"Get out."

"Are these the family values you want to instill?" Snape stood with his hand
strong around his wand. He wasn't sure what he came here to do, what he thought
he was going to prove. Lucius Malfoy would no more admit a wrongdoing than he
would cut off his own arm.

"What do you want from me? Is it money?" Lucius likewise stood, his hand in his
own pocket, but he was bleary and drunk by now. His eyes were wet, though Snape
couldn't be sure whether it was from tears of regret or humiliation. Possibly
both.

"I want you to say what you did. I want you to admit it." Snape blocked out his
memories of his own father, late at night, the stomach rubs that turned into
more, how afraid he felt at the time and how it drove him to block everything
out—all feeling, even love. Only now he could feel every repressed emotion
flooding to the surface in a rage he could barely control. But he would. That
is what he did. Controlled. "Say it."

"I didn't do anything."

Snape's rage exploded. In a snap his wand was out and pointed at Lucius's
throat. His eyes narrowed with intent. All he wanted was for Lucius to admit
what he did, to say that he was sorry and to mean it. He wanted to know that
there was some sense to this. If Lucius didn't have the answers, then who
would? What did it all mean?

There are moments that you can't take back. Moments that define your life. In
those moments there is nothing but pure humanity and pure self. They are the
actions that define us; good or bad.

Lucius closed his eyes. "I didn't do anything."

--

Draco awoke to the sound of a canary and the loud crash of waves upon the
shore. He stood with limbs aching from too much bed rest and clambered from a
creaking iron bed to peer out of lace curtains onto the faded winter glamour of
the shore awakening to spring. He startled at the insistent tapping of owl beak
to the misted window pane that must have been the impetus to his awakening.

Unclasping the latch of the window, the brown owl wobbled in and shook its back
free of the ever-present drizzle. It presented a copy of the Daily Prophet with
little fanfare by dropping it onto the window ledge. Draco crossed to the
simple oak dresser to count up change and pulled a treat for the owl from a
drawer.

With the bird paid, Draco stared at the rolled up paper for a long time. He
wasn't sure whether he wanted to see the verdict or not. The weeks of sobering
made the news easy enough to avoid, but this morning, he knew that he needed to
see. He needed to know.

Closing his eyes, he pulled the seal and the paper practically unfolded itself
into his hands. Ads started to read themselves until Draco mouthed a silencing
spell. Draco pressed his lips together, willing himself to just open his eyes.
He'd have to see some time. No matter what happened, he would have to live with
it. This moment of anxiety would pale in comparison to future angst, but now
that he'd been to hell and back; since he'd been weaned from the potions, he
knew that he could deal with this. He had the strength to face anything.
Nothing in that paper would take away the pain he'd experienced, nor would it
sap his strength to push past whatever came his way.

As if the pitch changed in the room, Draco could feel, before he heard, Snape
awaken. He remained in place, his eyes closed, listening to the rustle of
sheets, the creak of springs and the radiating warmth of Snape behind him.
Draco turned his head, feeling the heat of breath on his cheek as Snape wrapped
his arms around his waist.

"You should read it. The news won't change just because you've avoided it,"
Snape whispered against the corner of Draco's lips.

"If you'd killed him, then there wouldn't be news to find out." It was
petulant, but something inside of Draco deeply resented that his father was
still alive. Maybe that would eventually be enough to tear them apart, but for
now, Draco relished having someone to lean against.

"If I'd killed him, I would have gone to Azkaban and you would have killed
yourself with potions. I would have liked nothing better than to end him." When
Snape said it, Draco believed it. He knew Snape was right, but that didn't make
it any easier to deal with when he was holding election results in his hands.

"Maybe that would have been better." Draco gasped at how hard Snape gripped him
and rested his temple against his long nose, going limp as a sign of
submission. "I'm sorry."

Snape kissed Draco's temple and whispered, "Just read."

Malfoy Suffers Defeat; Weasley Victorious

The picture of Lucius was difficult to look at, even if he was cowed by
disappointment. Draco had never been happier for that lack-wit Percy to have
ineptly managed to gain power at the Ministry. Of course, that also meant that
the Wizarding population didn't buy the Voldemort-as-puppet-master scenario
Lucius had used at trial. Good for them. It created other problems for past
Death Eaters, but Draco would deal with them later.

Turning around in Snape's arms, Draco dropped the paper and slipped his arms
around Snape's neck to kiss him deeply. Draco allowed himself to be backed to
the bed, to slide in with Snape, to allow himself to be held and gazed upon
with utter adoration. Sober, this was nearly all he could handle. Maybe it was
because Snape was older, or maybe because he'd fallen so easily into that role
of caretaker.

Sometimes Draco wished he could set it all aside, to give Snape everything he
wanted, and everything that Draco wanted him to have. Though Snape said it was
all right, though he claimed it didn't bother him, Draco could see the lust in
his eyes. The want in an older man's eyes was something that Draco was
painfully familiar with. Maybe that was why Snape refused to cross that line.
Maybe it was just another future failing point.

But for now, for once, he stopped his mind wandering and allowed himself to
feel loved.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!