"Kisses"
Author: Dancing Moon [email protected]
Pairing: SS/LM
Rating: PG-13
Warnings. Slash, death, melodrama
Beta: Julie Wood
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR
Feedback: Yes, please! I adore any kind of feedback, constructive criticism as well as praise. Just no flames, or I answer in kind D
Musical inspiration: Gackt, Moi Dix Moi
Notes: Written in the middle of the night. I had this scenario in mind for quite some time, but a discussion on the snapeslash ML finally got me into actually writing this little piece!
Tiny changes have been made and this fic is now OoP-approved. No spoilers though ^_^
Summary: Kisses in Azkaban
- - - - - - - - - -
The convict slumped in the chair, his usually impeccable hair matted and dirty. It was a crime, in Severus Snape's opinion, to allow such beauty to decline.
Though dirty, smelly and obviously worn by weeks in captivity, the prisoner still shone with the particular inner light that had always made it so easy to adore him, at least in to Snape's eyes.
Inside the barren cell, with its glaring, magical light that cast no shadow and revealed every fault, he seemed a fairy without wings, an angel fallen into the dust.
Lucius was bound to the chair by unbreakable chains, ugly black things that had scraped his wrists and ankles raw. Snape hated them immediately.
"Hello," the once smooth voice rasped, as the blond man opened his bloodshot eyes and smiled at his visitor. "I wished you would show up. But I dared not to hope."
The door closed behind the dark wizard, leaving the pair alone. For a short moment, fear gripped Snape's heart. He was, once again, behind lock and bolt in Azkaban and he wondered cynically if they would actually let him go again. A moment later, he berated himself, because he knew he would depart from the gloomy prison before sunrise, and to allow old fears to control him like that was too weak for a man of his standards.
"Hello, Lucius. How are you doing?" he asked, taking in the torn and soiled clothing, the many bruises and the air of defeat around his old friend.
"Considering the circumstances, well enough, well enough I suppose."
"You will be sentenced tomorrow, as soon as the sun rises," he informed the other.
Lucius Malfoy shook his head as much as the collar around his neck would allow. "You mean I will be executed at dawn... No one wants me alive." His tone changed slightly, bearing a likeness to the old Lucius of sneers and haughty disdain once again. "Not even you."
"No," Snape breathed, setting down the heavy basket he was carrying, "that is not true. I wish you could break free and soar again, like the phoenix. But, I can not allow it. Lucius."
Slowly, almost reverently, he touched the sallow face, remembering a time when it had been aristocratically pale instead of this sickly colour. He knew then, that it was a crime against everything beautiful to allow Lucius Malfoy to become this gaunt shadow of his true self, a weary and tired man who flinched even from his gentle touch.
Severus had always known that beauty like that of Lucius should be admired, worshiped even. Never pushed down in the dirt until it lost its sheen and became only so much stinking human flesh.
"Where is Draco?" Lucius asked, doing his best to ignore the long, graceful fingers touching him, cataloguing every unhealed wound and bruise. Through those nimble fingers, Severus' could read every beating he had taken, knew of all the curses and hexes he had been subjected to, and the wizard felt his skin crawl with shame. To be so weak and helpless...
"Gone," was the answer, "safe and gone from these isles. If he has any sense, he will stay away forever."
Grey eyes closed and the hands so cruelly chained to the rough wooden chair clenched fitfully.
"Gone... But -alive-. And healthy?"
"As far as I know, yes."
Lucius slowly exhaled and some of the weariness seemed to lift. He looked into Severus' eyes again, tilted his head and asked simply, "Why are you not gone?"
A crooked grin twisted the thin lips. "Haven't you heard? I'm a hero, a self-sacrificing symbol for the 'cause'. They adore me," he said, and it was impossible to know whether the mocking tone in his voice was directed at the general public, or himself. "Order of Merlin first class," he added as an afterthought.
A choked laugh escaped Lucius, and the black-clad man fell to his knees, resting his cheek against one bound hand.
"Thank you," the blond finally managed, and his voice shook. "For coming, despite everything."
"I -never- betrayed you," Snape whispered fiercely, "not once."
Then, he rose and pulled the basket closer, meticulously beginning to unpack the contents within.
"What are you doing?" Lucius asked, bleak amusement playing on his features.
"We have until tomorrow," said Snape, "and I intend to use that time well."
He began with two vials - one containing a creamy, white substance and the other sparkling red - and a brush, showing the objects to the bound man.
Surprised, Lucius asked, "You were allowed to bring potions in here?"
"They searched me very thoroughly," Snape laughed, though it was a laugh tinged with resentment, "absolutely nothing that could be used to harm anyone in any way was allowed through. I have brought healing and cleaning potions, mostly, but I have a few others too..."
"Live short and leave a beautiful corpse; a Muggle saying, is it not?" The blond Lord shuddered theatrically.
With a shrug indicating his ignorance in all things Muggle, Snape began spreading the fragrant cream through Lucius' long, dirty hair. The potion separated each individual strand, easily undoing week-old knots. With a simple wandless command, Snape gathered the moisture in the room and used it to remove the lingering traces of Detangling Cream. Soon enough, it fell like spun moonlight again from the proud face, though grime and filth still lingered.
"This is right," Snape breathed, pressing dry lips to Lucius' forehead. The man was too cold, he felt, shivering slightly as the Potions Master's warm breath caressed his abused skin. "Come back to me, my darling... You are an angel of sin."
"Waxing poetry now?"
Snape chuckled and continued his ministrations, brushing and massaging his ruby-coloured solution into Lucius' hair. "Only for you, and perhaps the occasional potion."
Not until Snape was finished cleaning his hair and began working on his face, did Lucius speak again. "Why are you here?"
"Because they allowed me to come."
"That is no answer!" he snapped, silver eyes fleetingly taking on a mercurial sheen.
Snape's hand stilled in their motions, and he carefully replaced the stopper in the bottle of healing potion he was currently working with.
"I came," he began in a low, intimate tone, "because I remember the past. What you were to me, and I to you. As soon as I close my eyes, I can see it... Do you remember, Lucius, when we danced?"
Of course he did. It had been at the wedding reception after his Joining with Narcissa, and as was expected, the Malfoys threw a huge ball.
Countless House Elves worked frenetically to make sure everything was perfectly clean and sparkling, from the dark dungeons to the half-abandoned attic.
The ballroom was decorated with myriads of roses, especially bred for this occasion. Silver in colour and smelling of sweet temptation and graceful sin, the large flowers had been so wonderful to gaze upon, that no one realized what wicked thorns they possessed, or how intoxicated, almost addicted one could become on their delightful smell.
The rose had been named "Madame de Malfoi" and, as Severus found out a few years later, the honey could be used to produce a deadly poison.
Above the roses had shimmered crystals, glowing with soft magic and continuously chiming a tantalizing melody that sung of beauty and magic and raw, mindless need. But no one could clearly hear the soft melody of the floating shards in the general mill of guest and entertainers. No one asked therefore, how or why, when good judgment admitted defeat to sensuality, and desire began to rule among the gathered wizards and witches.
Everyone who was something had been there, dressed up in the most expensive festive robes they could afford. Cornelius Fudge and his chubby wife, both dressed in gaudy purple with heavy gold jewellery, the venerable Sir Isaac Greengrass and the entire Chang clan, all wearing their traditional sky coloured silk.
Severus Snape had stood out like a raven among the peacocks in his billowing robes of black velvet.
And Lucius, though he had of course been aware of the effects his carefully prepared wedding reception had on everyone present, could not withstand the temptation to ask that forbidding, austere man to join him for a dance. It had been pure madness! To ask another man, and not just any man, to share a dance with him at his own -wedding- was bad enough, but when that one short whirl became two, and three and...
They had danced for the rest of the evening, forgetting everyone else. Severus never cared what others thought of him anyway and Lucius, caught in his own trap, was unable to refuse his soaring heart.
After stressful audiences with the Dark Lord, during Dark revels when one's blood boiled with lust and fury, yes, many times had they had sex together. In the kind of magic practiced by the Death Eaters, only blood was more potent than sex, and casual fucking to relieve the tension was in no way unusual.
In the night after his wedding to the beautiful and gifted Narcissa Black, Lucius Malfoy had for the first time made love to Severus Snape. He did not even remember that he had a wife until noon the following day.
"How could I forget?" the blond asked softly. "What we did... impossible! Truly, it was an enchanted night."
"Yes," Snape agreed just as gently, "and for that night, and the nights afterwards, I am here."
"When I'm about to die, you can put away your old grudges, eh?" he said, then bit his lip immediately, wishing he had not let the words escape. "Ah, my Severus. That was uncalled for."
Snape did not answer, only continued spreading the healing balms. He was long finished with Lucius' face - how wonderful not to feel the throbbing pain any longer! - and was now working beneath the soiled shirt, carefully massaging away soreness and aches.
Once, this touch would have enflamed Lucius, made him insane with lust, but after Azkaban... After cold Dementors and cruel Aurors, thousands of curses and endless darkness, there was nothing left that could take fire. His flame was dead, the Malfoy Lord realized, but it pained him no more. Severus had come and -his- dark fire would have to suffice for them both.
"How... How will I die?" he said. For a short moment, Lucius entertained the flighty thought that they would allow him to take his life in accordance with the old ways, but surely that was a far too morbid approach to death for the oh-so-modern and liberal Ministry of Magic.
Snape stilled, hands ending their languid journey over the pale body and breath escaping him in a short, pained gasp. He had wished for just a little more time, before that question came...
"Severus?"
Hiding behind a curtain of greasy hair, Snape fumbled for words, wishing neither undue pain nor false comfort. For once, he found himself at loss for words, and so decided to show instead. Settling in the bony lap of the now very confused prisoner, he leant forward. Gently, he pressed his thin lips to Lucius' bloodless ones, coaxing and teasing them to open. When the kiss ended, the dark man rested limply against his lover, suddenly too cold and weary to move or speak.
Confusion warred in Lucius as he tried to reconcile his question with Severus' haunted kiss. It made no sense, and so he asked again, "What do you mean? Severus, please, tell me how I will die in the morning."
"You know," Snape sighed, nuzzling his cheek lightly. "I think you, we both, have always known."
No...
It was forbidden! Potter and Dumbledore had ordered... No.
"Not the... They are not to be used that way any longer!" he said, voice unnaturally shrill in the tense silence. "No!"
"Both of our 'great heroes' tried, but they can do nothing. For you, for Voldemort's right-hand man, the people will accept no lesser punishment."
And how bitter was not that pill to swallow! It churned in Severus, the injustice that a snivelling traitor like Pettigrew was allowed to escape into sweet death, while his blazing Lucius was to end his days empty in mind and soul, holed up in St Mungo's until his body had rotted away.
Potter, to his credit, had tried everything, because he wanted no one to suffer the Dementors again. Not after having witnessed his werewolf friend fall victim to one of them during the war. It had been a bitter, joyless victory to Snape, watching the last of his schoolday tormentors end his life as en empty puppet in St Mungos. Even Albus, who certainly held no warm feelings for Lord Malfoy, had protested the verdict loudly, but the Ministry and public opinion stood their ground.
Lucius Malfoy of the Death Eaters would be the last wizard in Britain to be given the Dementor's Kiss.
The blond was trembling, Snape realised, shaking and sweating helplessly. He had already been tormented by those grey wraiths for weeks, while all the lesser Death Eaters had been put on trial, most condemned to a lifetime in prison, and a few simply executed.
They wanted to save the best for the end, the bastards, wanted to ensure that everyone saw the proud Lucius Malfoy brought low. He hated them somewhat fiercely in that moment.
"Hush, my angel," Severus murmured, showering the ashen face with tiny kisses, "hush and listen."
Desperate grey eyes met his, but Lucius managed to pull himself together enough to pay attention.
"You will die... You must," Snape said desolately, "as Tom Riddle had to die. Too dangerous and cunning, too filled with darkness to live in this world."
"That is different!" the blond screamed, pulling futilely at his bonds, "I fear death no longer! But this, to lose my soul... No!" He cried and wrenched his head so violently that the collar bit into the newly healed skin, fresh blood staining both men.
He was stopped from harming himself further by hands, marked from years of working with potions. Not cruelly, they held his face still as eyes blacker than the darkest night bore into his. "I know," Snape said, "and I will -not- allow this to happen!
Lucius wondered if his laugh sounded as broken as he felt he was inside. "How? We are in Azkaban. None of us has a wand. The wards will hinder all poisons and portkeys."
He wished he could be strong, as he had once been. Wondered if Severus would turn away in disgust now that he realized that the proud and powerful Lord Malfoy could, indeed, be crushed and trampled. Then, he felt a searing shame at those thoughts, knowing that whatever Severus had done in the past and would do in the future, the mere strength he had shown by appearing this night was commendable.
"A kiss," Snape said with a mysterious smile playing on his lips, "Trust me one last time, and I shall make sure that you escape the Dementor's Kiss through a kiss."
He was bone-tired already, though he knew that, logically, the night must still be young. Maybe that was why Lucius nodded and asked no further questions. Maybe, this tiredness was his only reason not to protest as Severus healed his injuries and gave him bitter potions to drink, though they both knew he would die, if not worse, at dawn.
And Severus healed him, and kissed him, and together they made a strange sort of love. It was love without fire, because there were no flames left in Malfoy, and it was love without hope, because both knew what would come in the future.
Nevertheless, it was love and it was sweet as nothing in Azkaban is ever sweet.
They slept, afterwards, exhausted though from different reasons. Snape's dark shape curled in Lucius' lap, silvery head fallen against inky black, and the two wizards were at peace.
Dawn neared. In Azkaban, there are no windows, but both men awoke, knowing that their time was coming to a close.
"Are you afraid of death?" Snape asked as he rose and pulled two bottles out of his now almost empty basket.
"No," Lucius said, secure in the knowledge that this, at least, was the truth, "only of emptiness and madness. What if I can never escape them? What if..."
"What if I told you," the dark-haired man interrupted, "that I hold here two marvellous potions? This, Extract of Unicorn's Blood," and he held up a potion the colour of mercury, "and this, Vampire's Breath."
"What if?" Lucius said. "The one is a forbidden healing potion, the other some obscure thing used to chill the blood." He was no master alchemist, but he had a fair knowledge of many dark potions, and because that knowledge had been beaten into him, it was nothing the Dementor's wished to steal.
Nodding, the Potions Master said, "One is purity, the other corruption... When they meet, they neutralize each other. But, when mixed with blood, they react together. Destroy each other."
He met Lucius' gaze steadily. "The moment these potions are mixed, the alarm for poison will sound. However, the resulting poison kills instantly and you will be safe. I, on the other hand..."
It was no question, no demand, only a simple statement of the unavoidable.
"Join me."
Almost imperceptibly, Severus nodded. He had no knife, not even a sharpened stick, and the bottles were completely unbreakable, so that left them with only a few choices.
While Severus bit his lip bloody and smeared the murky liquid over his lips, Lucius viciously tore at his newly-healed lips with sharp teeth, and soon the Potions Master could paint the bleeding mouth in liquid silver.
They watched each other then, both knowing and preparing for what would come.
"No regrets?" asked Lucius, "because I will -not- hold you here against your will. Not even for my sanity."
"No regrets," Severus answered, and leaned in close, his arms working behind the blond's neck. "With you.... never any regrets, except that we could not have more time."
As Severus' lips, smelling of blood and cold and ancient graves, descended upon his, Lucius realised that he had been wrong on one point. He could still feel the fire inside, the stirring of desire and need, its kindling immortal hope and old, half-forgotten dreams. His fire had not died, far from it! No, it had merely changed shape. In losing every pretence, because what need for masks are there in Azkaban? the burning inside of him had revealed its true light.
It was beautiful, green... Like fresh leaves and poisoned rose thorns, the colour of vital spring and killing curses.
"I love you."
The piercing wail of the magical alarm was still sounding when the Aurors stormed into the small cell holding the infamous Lucius Malfoy, wands drawn and hexes ready to fire. They stopped short at the sight that met them. Of all scenarios imagined, from daring escapes to vicious, bloody suicides, this had never been anticipated.
The darkest of the Death Eaters, a man who had murdered countless and destroyed so many lives, sat limply in the chair to which he had been bound for several days. A trickle of silver and what looked like old blood ran down his chin, and the grey eyes were open, gazing into eternity.
Resting against him, yes, actually sitting in his lap, was the celebrated spy who had gained Voldemort's deepest confidence and betrayed him to the light. His robe, too, was stained with silver, though most of the face was hidden behind a curtain of pitch-black hair.
No one said anything. The vengeful were fighting down their anger, the superstitious fearing to rouse the spirits, the politically inclined already worrying about the public backlash and the single one who had known these dead men, was remembering the past.
Finally, that brave, or possibly foolish, young Auror dared to touch the couple; his sweaty fingers searched for a pulse but encountered only cooling flesh. As he moved away Snape's hair to better reach his throat, he gasped, eyes widening, at the sight that met him.
"What is it, boy?" one of the old, gnarled men asked, he too coming forward to inspect the dead.
"Professor Snape... I have never seen him smile," Ron Weasley whispered, not understanding where his sudden tears came from.
~End~
/Dancing Moon
Author: Dancing Moon [email protected]
Pairing: SS/LM
Rating: PG-13
Warnings. Slash, death, melodrama
Beta: Julie Wood
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR
Feedback: Yes, please! I adore any kind of feedback, constructive criticism as well as praise. Just no flames, or I answer in kind D
Musical inspiration: Gackt, Moi Dix Moi
Notes: Written in the middle of the night. I had this scenario in mind for quite some time, but a discussion on the snapeslash ML finally got me into actually writing this little piece!
Tiny changes have been made and this fic is now OoP-approved. No spoilers though ^_^
Summary: Kisses in Azkaban
- - - - - - - - - -
The convict slumped in the chair, his usually impeccable hair matted and dirty. It was a crime, in Severus Snape's opinion, to allow such beauty to decline.
Though dirty, smelly and obviously worn by weeks in captivity, the prisoner still shone with the particular inner light that had always made it so easy to adore him, at least in to Snape's eyes.
Inside the barren cell, with its glaring, magical light that cast no shadow and revealed every fault, he seemed a fairy without wings, an angel fallen into the dust.
Lucius was bound to the chair by unbreakable chains, ugly black things that had scraped his wrists and ankles raw. Snape hated them immediately.
"Hello," the once smooth voice rasped, as the blond man opened his bloodshot eyes and smiled at his visitor. "I wished you would show up. But I dared not to hope."
The door closed behind the dark wizard, leaving the pair alone. For a short moment, fear gripped Snape's heart. He was, once again, behind lock and bolt in Azkaban and he wondered cynically if they would actually let him go again. A moment later, he berated himself, because he knew he would depart from the gloomy prison before sunrise, and to allow old fears to control him like that was too weak for a man of his standards.
"Hello, Lucius. How are you doing?" he asked, taking in the torn and soiled clothing, the many bruises and the air of defeat around his old friend.
"Considering the circumstances, well enough, well enough I suppose."
"You will be sentenced tomorrow, as soon as the sun rises," he informed the other.
Lucius Malfoy shook his head as much as the collar around his neck would allow. "You mean I will be executed at dawn... No one wants me alive." His tone changed slightly, bearing a likeness to the old Lucius of sneers and haughty disdain once again. "Not even you."
"No," Snape breathed, setting down the heavy basket he was carrying, "that is not true. I wish you could break free and soar again, like the phoenix. But, I can not allow it. Lucius."
Slowly, almost reverently, he touched the sallow face, remembering a time when it had been aristocratically pale instead of this sickly colour. He knew then, that it was a crime against everything beautiful to allow Lucius Malfoy to become this gaunt shadow of his true self, a weary and tired man who flinched even from his gentle touch.
Severus had always known that beauty like that of Lucius should be admired, worshiped even. Never pushed down in the dirt until it lost its sheen and became only so much stinking human flesh.
"Where is Draco?" Lucius asked, doing his best to ignore the long, graceful fingers touching him, cataloguing every unhealed wound and bruise. Through those nimble fingers, Severus' could read every beating he had taken, knew of all the curses and hexes he had been subjected to, and the wizard felt his skin crawl with shame. To be so weak and helpless...
"Gone," was the answer, "safe and gone from these isles. If he has any sense, he will stay away forever."
Grey eyes closed and the hands so cruelly chained to the rough wooden chair clenched fitfully.
"Gone... But -alive-. And healthy?"
"As far as I know, yes."
Lucius slowly exhaled and some of the weariness seemed to lift. He looked into Severus' eyes again, tilted his head and asked simply, "Why are you not gone?"
A crooked grin twisted the thin lips. "Haven't you heard? I'm a hero, a self-sacrificing symbol for the 'cause'. They adore me," he said, and it was impossible to know whether the mocking tone in his voice was directed at the general public, or himself. "Order of Merlin first class," he added as an afterthought.
A choked laugh escaped Lucius, and the black-clad man fell to his knees, resting his cheek against one bound hand.
"Thank you," the blond finally managed, and his voice shook. "For coming, despite everything."
"I -never- betrayed you," Snape whispered fiercely, "not once."
Then, he rose and pulled the basket closer, meticulously beginning to unpack the contents within.
"What are you doing?" Lucius asked, bleak amusement playing on his features.
"We have until tomorrow," said Snape, "and I intend to use that time well."
He began with two vials - one containing a creamy, white substance and the other sparkling red - and a brush, showing the objects to the bound man.
Surprised, Lucius asked, "You were allowed to bring potions in here?"
"They searched me very thoroughly," Snape laughed, though it was a laugh tinged with resentment, "absolutely nothing that could be used to harm anyone in any way was allowed through. I have brought healing and cleaning potions, mostly, but I have a few others too..."
"Live short and leave a beautiful corpse; a Muggle saying, is it not?" The blond Lord shuddered theatrically.
With a shrug indicating his ignorance in all things Muggle, Snape began spreading the fragrant cream through Lucius' long, dirty hair. The potion separated each individual strand, easily undoing week-old knots. With a simple wandless command, Snape gathered the moisture in the room and used it to remove the lingering traces of Detangling Cream. Soon enough, it fell like spun moonlight again from the proud face, though grime and filth still lingered.
"This is right," Snape breathed, pressing dry lips to Lucius' forehead. The man was too cold, he felt, shivering slightly as the Potions Master's warm breath caressed his abused skin. "Come back to me, my darling... You are an angel of sin."
"Waxing poetry now?"
Snape chuckled and continued his ministrations, brushing and massaging his ruby-coloured solution into Lucius' hair. "Only for you, and perhaps the occasional potion."
Not until Snape was finished cleaning his hair and began working on his face, did Lucius speak again. "Why are you here?"
"Because they allowed me to come."
"That is no answer!" he snapped, silver eyes fleetingly taking on a mercurial sheen.
Snape's hand stilled in their motions, and he carefully replaced the stopper in the bottle of healing potion he was currently working with.
"I came," he began in a low, intimate tone, "because I remember the past. What you were to me, and I to you. As soon as I close my eyes, I can see it... Do you remember, Lucius, when we danced?"
Of course he did. It had been at the wedding reception after his Joining with Narcissa, and as was expected, the Malfoys threw a huge ball.
Countless House Elves worked frenetically to make sure everything was perfectly clean and sparkling, from the dark dungeons to the half-abandoned attic.
The ballroom was decorated with myriads of roses, especially bred for this occasion. Silver in colour and smelling of sweet temptation and graceful sin, the large flowers had been so wonderful to gaze upon, that no one realized what wicked thorns they possessed, or how intoxicated, almost addicted one could become on their delightful smell.
The rose had been named "Madame de Malfoi" and, as Severus found out a few years later, the honey could be used to produce a deadly poison.
Above the roses had shimmered crystals, glowing with soft magic and continuously chiming a tantalizing melody that sung of beauty and magic and raw, mindless need. But no one could clearly hear the soft melody of the floating shards in the general mill of guest and entertainers. No one asked therefore, how or why, when good judgment admitted defeat to sensuality, and desire began to rule among the gathered wizards and witches.
Everyone who was something had been there, dressed up in the most expensive festive robes they could afford. Cornelius Fudge and his chubby wife, both dressed in gaudy purple with heavy gold jewellery, the venerable Sir Isaac Greengrass and the entire Chang clan, all wearing their traditional sky coloured silk.
Severus Snape had stood out like a raven among the peacocks in his billowing robes of black velvet.
And Lucius, though he had of course been aware of the effects his carefully prepared wedding reception had on everyone present, could not withstand the temptation to ask that forbidding, austere man to join him for a dance. It had been pure madness! To ask another man, and not just any man, to share a dance with him at his own -wedding- was bad enough, but when that one short whirl became two, and three and...
They had danced for the rest of the evening, forgetting everyone else. Severus never cared what others thought of him anyway and Lucius, caught in his own trap, was unable to refuse his soaring heart.
After stressful audiences with the Dark Lord, during Dark revels when one's blood boiled with lust and fury, yes, many times had they had sex together. In the kind of magic practiced by the Death Eaters, only blood was more potent than sex, and casual fucking to relieve the tension was in no way unusual.
In the night after his wedding to the beautiful and gifted Narcissa Black, Lucius Malfoy had for the first time made love to Severus Snape. He did not even remember that he had a wife until noon the following day.
"How could I forget?" the blond asked softly. "What we did... impossible! Truly, it was an enchanted night."
"Yes," Snape agreed just as gently, "and for that night, and the nights afterwards, I am here."
"When I'm about to die, you can put away your old grudges, eh?" he said, then bit his lip immediately, wishing he had not let the words escape. "Ah, my Severus. That was uncalled for."
Snape did not answer, only continued spreading the healing balms. He was long finished with Lucius' face - how wonderful not to feel the throbbing pain any longer! - and was now working beneath the soiled shirt, carefully massaging away soreness and aches.
Once, this touch would have enflamed Lucius, made him insane with lust, but after Azkaban... After cold Dementors and cruel Aurors, thousands of curses and endless darkness, there was nothing left that could take fire. His flame was dead, the Malfoy Lord realized, but it pained him no more. Severus had come and -his- dark fire would have to suffice for them both.
"How... How will I die?" he said. For a short moment, Lucius entertained the flighty thought that they would allow him to take his life in accordance with the old ways, but surely that was a far too morbid approach to death for the oh-so-modern and liberal Ministry of Magic.
Snape stilled, hands ending their languid journey over the pale body and breath escaping him in a short, pained gasp. He had wished for just a little more time, before that question came...
"Severus?"
Hiding behind a curtain of greasy hair, Snape fumbled for words, wishing neither undue pain nor false comfort. For once, he found himself at loss for words, and so decided to show instead. Settling in the bony lap of the now very confused prisoner, he leant forward. Gently, he pressed his thin lips to Lucius' bloodless ones, coaxing and teasing them to open. When the kiss ended, the dark man rested limply against his lover, suddenly too cold and weary to move or speak.
Confusion warred in Lucius as he tried to reconcile his question with Severus' haunted kiss. It made no sense, and so he asked again, "What do you mean? Severus, please, tell me how I will die in the morning."
"You know," Snape sighed, nuzzling his cheek lightly. "I think you, we both, have always known."
No...
It was forbidden! Potter and Dumbledore had ordered... No.
"Not the... They are not to be used that way any longer!" he said, voice unnaturally shrill in the tense silence. "No!"
"Both of our 'great heroes' tried, but they can do nothing. For you, for Voldemort's right-hand man, the people will accept no lesser punishment."
And how bitter was not that pill to swallow! It churned in Severus, the injustice that a snivelling traitor like Pettigrew was allowed to escape into sweet death, while his blazing Lucius was to end his days empty in mind and soul, holed up in St Mungo's until his body had rotted away.
Potter, to his credit, had tried everything, because he wanted no one to suffer the Dementors again. Not after having witnessed his werewolf friend fall victim to one of them during the war. It had been a bitter, joyless victory to Snape, watching the last of his schoolday tormentors end his life as en empty puppet in St Mungos. Even Albus, who certainly held no warm feelings for Lord Malfoy, had protested the verdict loudly, but the Ministry and public opinion stood their ground.
Lucius Malfoy of the Death Eaters would be the last wizard in Britain to be given the Dementor's Kiss.
The blond was trembling, Snape realised, shaking and sweating helplessly. He had already been tormented by those grey wraiths for weeks, while all the lesser Death Eaters had been put on trial, most condemned to a lifetime in prison, and a few simply executed.
They wanted to save the best for the end, the bastards, wanted to ensure that everyone saw the proud Lucius Malfoy brought low. He hated them somewhat fiercely in that moment.
"Hush, my angel," Severus murmured, showering the ashen face with tiny kisses, "hush and listen."
Desperate grey eyes met his, but Lucius managed to pull himself together enough to pay attention.
"You will die... You must," Snape said desolately, "as Tom Riddle had to die. Too dangerous and cunning, too filled with darkness to live in this world."
"That is different!" the blond screamed, pulling futilely at his bonds, "I fear death no longer! But this, to lose my soul... No!" He cried and wrenched his head so violently that the collar bit into the newly healed skin, fresh blood staining both men.
He was stopped from harming himself further by hands, marked from years of working with potions. Not cruelly, they held his face still as eyes blacker than the darkest night bore into his. "I know," Snape said, "and I will -not- allow this to happen!
Lucius wondered if his laugh sounded as broken as he felt he was inside. "How? We are in Azkaban. None of us has a wand. The wards will hinder all poisons and portkeys."
He wished he could be strong, as he had once been. Wondered if Severus would turn away in disgust now that he realized that the proud and powerful Lord Malfoy could, indeed, be crushed and trampled. Then, he felt a searing shame at those thoughts, knowing that whatever Severus had done in the past and would do in the future, the mere strength he had shown by appearing this night was commendable.
"A kiss," Snape said with a mysterious smile playing on his lips, "Trust me one last time, and I shall make sure that you escape the Dementor's Kiss through a kiss."
He was bone-tired already, though he knew that, logically, the night must still be young. Maybe that was why Lucius nodded and asked no further questions. Maybe, this tiredness was his only reason not to protest as Severus healed his injuries and gave him bitter potions to drink, though they both knew he would die, if not worse, at dawn.
And Severus healed him, and kissed him, and together they made a strange sort of love. It was love without fire, because there were no flames left in Malfoy, and it was love without hope, because both knew what would come in the future.
Nevertheless, it was love and it was sweet as nothing in Azkaban is ever sweet.
They slept, afterwards, exhausted though from different reasons. Snape's dark shape curled in Lucius' lap, silvery head fallen against inky black, and the two wizards were at peace.
Dawn neared. In Azkaban, there are no windows, but both men awoke, knowing that their time was coming to a close.
"Are you afraid of death?" Snape asked as he rose and pulled two bottles out of his now almost empty basket.
"No," Lucius said, secure in the knowledge that this, at least, was the truth, "only of emptiness and madness. What if I can never escape them? What if..."
"What if I told you," the dark-haired man interrupted, "that I hold here two marvellous potions? This, Extract of Unicorn's Blood," and he held up a potion the colour of mercury, "and this, Vampire's Breath."
"What if?" Lucius said. "The one is a forbidden healing potion, the other some obscure thing used to chill the blood." He was no master alchemist, but he had a fair knowledge of many dark potions, and because that knowledge had been beaten into him, it was nothing the Dementor's wished to steal.
Nodding, the Potions Master said, "One is purity, the other corruption... When they meet, they neutralize each other. But, when mixed with blood, they react together. Destroy each other."
He met Lucius' gaze steadily. "The moment these potions are mixed, the alarm for poison will sound. However, the resulting poison kills instantly and you will be safe. I, on the other hand..."
It was no question, no demand, only a simple statement of the unavoidable.
"Join me."
Almost imperceptibly, Severus nodded. He had no knife, not even a sharpened stick, and the bottles were completely unbreakable, so that left them with only a few choices.
While Severus bit his lip bloody and smeared the murky liquid over his lips, Lucius viciously tore at his newly-healed lips with sharp teeth, and soon the Potions Master could paint the bleeding mouth in liquid silver.
They watched each other then, both knowing and preparing for what would come.
"No regrets?" asked Lucius, "because I will -not- hold you here against your will. Not even for my sanity."
"No regrets," Severus answered, and leaned in close, his arms working behind the blond's neck. "With you.... never any regrets, except that we could not have more time."
As Severus' lips, smelling of blood and cold and ancient graves, descended upon his, Lucius realised that he had been wrong on one point. He could still feel the fire inside, the stirring of desire and need, its kindling immortal hope and old, half-forgotten dreams. His fire had not died, far from it! No, it had merely changed shape. In losing every pretence, because what need for masks are there in Azkaban? the burning inside of him had revealed its true light.
It was beautiful, green... Like fresh leaves and poisoned rose thorns, the colour of vital spring and killing curses.
"I love you."
The piercing wail of the magical alarm was still sounding when the Aurors stormed into the small cell holding the infamous Lucius Malfoy, wands drawn and hexes ready to fire. They stopped short at the sight that met them. Of all scenarios imagined, from daring escapes to vicious, bloody suicides, this had never been anticipated.
The darkest of the Death Eaters, a man who had murdered countless and destroyed so many lives, sat limply in the chair to which he had been bound for several days. A trickle of silver and what looked like old blood ran down his chin, and the grey eyes were open, gazing into eternity.
Resting against him, yes, actually sitting in his lap, was the celebrated spy who had gained Voldemort's deepest confidence and betrayed him to the light. His robe, too, was stained with silver, though most of the face was hidden behind a curtain of pitch-black hair.
No one said anything. The vengeful were fighting down their anger, the superstitious fearing to rouse the spirits, the politically inclined already worrying about the public backlash and the single one who had known these dead men, was remembering the past.
Finally, that brave, or possibly foolish, young Auror dared to touch the couple; his sweaty fingers searched for a pulse but encountered only cooling flesh. As he moved away Snape's hair to better reach his throat, he gasped, eyes widening, at the sight that met him.
"What is it, boy?" one of the old, gnarled men asked, he too coming forward to inspect the dead.
"Professor Snape... I have never seen him smile," Ron Weasley whispered, not understanding where his sudden tears came from.
~End~
/Dancing Moon