The Sins of the Mothers

Chapter two

Dare and Double Dare,

or, Call My Bluff

Diagon Alley was packed with people during the last days of the summer holidays. Hogwarts students, from the small and insignificant to the tall and posturing, jostled in and out of the most popular shops with fraught-looking parents in tow.

The stench of all the people was revolting.

Draco and his father left Narcissa at the junction of Knockturn Alley. She paused, only briefly, to watch them together. Draco was already walking with something akin to his father's confident gait. Their similarity chilled her. Soon he would be old enough to appreciate all her weaknesses: despising her, as his father did, for her greed and pride.

And the other five.

Draco turned his head to look at her over his shoulder, with a slightly intrigued expression on his fair face. Lucius did not look back. That did not matter, it was usual and, anyway, it wasn't as if he didn't have people all over the Wizard's Quarter watching her in his stead.

Narcissa walked on down Diagon Alley. It made her feel slightly ill, panicky even, to walk alone among so many people, so many with whom she had nothing in common and never would have. It was not often she walked here alone, if she was not with Lucius she was with one of her female friends.

A brief memory of a visit to Filigree Street, over there on the left, made her smile. Three sisters shopping on a day like this, forsaking herbs and books for lingerie and ready-made cosmetics. Three sisters, not knowing at all that their bright futures were to be maimed and twisted by the vision of a Muggle's talented bastard -

She stumbled and stopped, swaying as people brushed past her, suddenly fearful that even thinking about him for too long would render her intentions open to him. She knew it had not been beyond his powers, once, to know her thoughts.

She shook her head and turned to look into the window of the nearest shop, unseeing of its wares. Three sisters: Andromeda dead, Bellatrix possessed, and the last ... the last ... would not be swallowed whole by this - and there was a better future for her child than the one her husband had planned.

Narcissa focused on her reflection in the window glass, looked into her own eyes, preparing herself. Pride was her worst sin; but she was prepared to redeem herself today, if only today.

The crowds behind her snared her attention, and she saw him.

She did not turn immediately, but watched to see if he saw her. It did not appear so. He loped down the alley, forging an easy route through the masses. His lank, black hair fell across his face and he swept it back with the flick of a gloved hand. His gaze was directed ahead, somewhere below the eyeline and above the waists of whoever happened to look in his direction. He looked, as usual, perpetually irritated by a thousand problems.

Here was someone she had something in common with.

Snape looked, at first, to be heading towards Knockturn Alley. Narcissa followed him, her heels slipping over the worn cobbles. Then he halted, very suddenly, and pulled a length of folded parchment from his pocket, which he consulted at length. She slowed her pace, expecting him to continue, but he abruptly turned and just stopped short of walking right into her.

There was a long, awkward moment as his eyes met hers, and she watched the ponderings over his shopping list cleaved aside by the surprise and inconvenience of meeting her.

"Lady Malfoy," he said: and that was it, no further niceties.

"Severus. I was hoping to see you here."

He raised a brow, just a fraction.

She dropped her tone. "Try to look less shocked," she said, smiling. "And be wary, we're being watched."

He stiffened slightly, but to his credit did not move his eyes from hers. Accustomed to being watched.

"Are you here with -?"

"- and his men are everywhere."

"I'm a trifle busy," he said, gesturing with his list.

"It will be late closing today," she said. "We have time."

The beetle-black eyes glittered. He said, "I am not sure what it is you want time for, Narcissa. Surely what happened between us last week is settled."

"No," she said. "Not at all. You're in danger."

"Then we should not be seen together," he began, though he looked unconcerned.

"On the contrary," she said, conjuring a coquettish smile and smoothing an imaginary wisp of hair. "They must believe there is a tryst. Come with me."

He looked mildly astonished, and did not reply for a moment, toying with his shopping list. Then he said, to her delight, "You have somewhere in mind?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room at the Leaky Cauldron was one of many private rooms designed for many private purposes. This room was in the attic, away from prying eyes and ears, and contained a large, miraculously clean, double bed, a rather rickety love-seat, and its own, if miniscule, bathroom.

Severus had carried a tray up three flights of stairs for them, and was pouring the tea, his brows pulled down in concentration. He must be uncomfortable, she thought: unnerved, but as usual in fairly good control of himself. It seemed to be his permanent state - his permanent waking state.

She slid her cloak from her shoulders and laid it over the foot of the bed, revealing a yellow dress with a modest neckline. As a Metamorphmagus, she had several wardrobes filled with dresses in differing proportions: more hips and breast on this rack, less hips and breast on another.

He wouldn't be impressed by extrovert voluptuousness, so she had chosen the subtle middle-ground. The craft of the yellow dress was purely in the cut and the fit.

Would it matter what she wore? It might.

There were no chairs or stools in the room, she had arranged beforehand for them to be removed, but she didn't want to approach the bed just yet. There was still a chance it wouldn't have to go that far anyway. There was no guarantee how he would react.. So she stood by the window and glanced out through the grubby lace curtain, down onto the heads of the crowds in Diagon Alley.

"You can at least begin to explain," he said, finally, stirring the tea.

"You're under surveillance," she said, watching his expression. "The Dark Lord is suspicious of you."

"Of course he is, I renounced him and ran to the other side." He held out her drink.

Confident. Dear gods!

"Did you know he was having you watched?"

"I'm aware of the possibility."

She sipped her tea. The china of cup and saucer clinked. Her blood rang in her ears. "Lucius thought I had done something amazing, inspired, to get into your bed."

Snape gave a brief and unexpected smile. It made him look almost human.

And therefore vulnerable.

"I must admit," he said, "to having received an Owl from Avery congratulating me. He even took the time to offer me some tips."

Narcissa shivered as gooseflesh sprang up all over her body. "Lucius believes I'm in a position to encourage an affair."

A heavy silence closed around them. Distantly, maybe in a room below them, came a woman's throaty laugh. A sudden breeze drove a smattering of rain across the window panes. The Potion's Master's smile had gone.

"With you," she added.

"What Lucius thinks is of no consequence," he said, quiet and cool.

"I can't ...." She took a deep breath. Her teacup rattled in her hands and she put it on the table. "The Dark Lord wants someone in place to befriend you, if that's at all possible, and Lucius wants the - honour - of it being me."

Dark humour twisted his lips. "Only Lucius would consider it an honour to pimp his wife."

She didn't like his expression, and prattled breathlessly, "I thought perhaps ... there is a way, some solution, we can both get what we want -"

"Of course there is." His voice was silky and laced with anger. "You can say you tried, but I've categorically spurned your advances." He set his cup down and turned to the door.

She clutched his arm. "Severus -"

"You started all this, Narcissa, by persuading me into your bed in the first place!" His face had turned white and pinched. He tried to remove her from him, but she clung tighter. "I will not be drawn into this!"

"It doesn't have to be - like that!" You creepy, gutless bastard, don't you dare turn your back on me!

"Goodbye, Lady Malfoy!."

She struggled against his strength, sinking her fingers tightly into his clothing. "We can turn this situation to our advan - AH!" He gave her a hard shove and she stumbled, landing hard on her knees. It was painful and humiliating. Tears sprang to her eyes. Her neatly coiled hair began to unwind around her face. Control it, it's not as if this hasn't happened thousands of times before!

He had not noticed her state, or did not care. He was at the door, his hand reaching for the knob. Narcissa reached for her wand, stowed in her bodice. "Obfirmo!" she cried, and the lock faintly clicked.

He did not even look at he as he reached for his wand.

"Accio wand!" she commanded, and it was neatly plucked from his hand and swished past her to land on the bed.

This time he did look at her, and it frightened her. And, if she was going to be honest to herself, shot a thread of pure excitement up her spine. She picked herself up off the floor, as gracefully as she could, her wand held flush by her thigh.

"You will listen to me, Severus," she said, her voice low and shaky, closing the distance between them.

"Listen to what?" he seethed. "The ravings of a woman with no sense of her own complete stupidity? Pull yourself together, Narcissa, and stop being so ridiculous!"

Frustration got the better of her. She flew at him with her wand raised, and did not curse him but slashed at his face with it. Before he had a chance to defend himself, his cheek was opened, crimson spilling onto the pale of his skin.

His blow was not as hard as Lucius', and it was with a flat palm rather than a fist, but it briefly impeded her assault. In that instant, her wand wrist was held in a tight grip, her wand snatched and tossed into a corner of the room.

She twisted her body against him, elbowing him and trying unsuccessfully to knee his groin. He wrapped a strong arm, like a brace, around her and dragged her towards the bed and his wand, but she still struggled, and in the end he had to let go, almost flinging her away from him, and casting her a filthy look as he reached across the bed and retrieved his weapon.

She ran to the door and threw herself against it, covering the lock with her hand. He did not move from his place by the bed. He simply stared at her, holding his wand in both hands. He looked livid. His chest heaved. A rivulet of blood ducked under his jawline, and trickled down his throat.

"This," he hissed, "is a very distasteful scene."

"H-hear me out," she whispered.

"I don't believe anything you can say will alter the conclusion to this ....this," he faltered, at a loss for words. "Why would you think I might consider ... you ...as my ... lover? Could my position be made safer as a result of it? I very much doubt it, after this - display." He glowered at her, his lips thin and cruel. "As they say, out of the cauldron and into the fire."

The sob of frustration rose from her chest as her knees gave way, and she slid down the door onto the worn carpet. She let the tears flow, her hands slack on her lap, looking at him.

He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling and said, nastily, "This time, begging will not work."

"You are a Death Eater!" she cried, "You have lived a life dedicated to Voldemort's perversities! You have done some terrible things in your life, Severus, yet the thought of fucking me is just too much?"

He did not answer for a long moment, only her ragged breaths broke the silence. Then he tucked his wand inside his cloak, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Fucking isn't what you want," he said. "Fucking you wouldn't be a problem, Narcissa. Not even for me. If it came to it." He caught a deep breath of his own, absently wiped his hand across his jaw, then stared at the smear of blood. "But you want more than that."

She nodded, and wiped one cheek, then the other.

"I do not and will never love you. Love is what you want. Anything less would hurt and make idiots of us both."

"Love?" she whispered. "No. And I don't believe you know the meaning of the word."

"Precisely."

"It's not what you think," she said.

"I'm sure it's not."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"So, what is it you're suggesting we do, meet here for tea every week?" His lips twisted into a broad and unnatural smile as she nodded. "And Owl each other love letters too, I suppose. All for safety's sake? Don't waste my time. There would be nothing for me in this - arrangement. The Dark Lord may be suspicious, but I have nothing to hide."

"He's - unpredictable -"

"- needs my expertise and my position at the school. I will be safe for those reasons. And as for Lucius -""

"Not if I tell him."

"Tell him what?"

He simply did not see it coming. She wiped her cheeks again. "That you're working for Dumbledore."

"Of course I am!"

"That you're s-spying for Dumbledore."

For the first time, he looked as if he was taking her seriously, his eyes sharp in the mask of his expression. But he waited.

"You talked in your sleep," she said. "That night. About the Potter boy, about Dumbledore, secrets and promises and terror of discovery. About not wanting to come back to us - them."

"Of course I worried about returning," he snapped. "Loyalty is not something to be cast aside lightly! It could have been death for me!"

"You talked about having a built-up resistance to Veritaserum."

"Veritaserum!" he scoffed. "You know the Dark Lord has no need for that!"

"You're also clever," she said. "You have the reputation of a strong mind. You've studied Occlumency. He's concerned."

A crease of surprise, or worry, appeared on his brow, then vanished. "Are you attempting to blackmail me into having a relationship with you?" He had tried to inject incredulity into his tone, but hadn't quite pulled it off.

"If it were that simple," she said, "you would thank me." She got to her feet again and smoothed her dress, then went to sit beside him. Her breath was unsteady, and she found to her surprise that she felt acutely aroused - most likely by the sudden violence and emotion and the fact that she had the creepy bastard where she wanted him.

It felt good.

He looked at her warily, but he didn't look exactly anxious. Something was missing from the equation.

He was waiting. Too patiently.

He will keep denying this and force my hand.

He is no good to me dead.

The blood was congealing on his face and the cut was seeping. "Come with me." She took his arm and led him into the dingy bathroom, and ran the tap.

"I can clean myself up," he said, testily, but took in the flaking mildewed mirror above the sink that barely reflected light and shadow. He gave her his handkerchief and she wet it and began to wipe his cheek. He was taller than she. She stood close enough for him to have a view down the top of her dress if he glanced down, which he didn't. Close enough for him to smell her, and he had to breath, damn it.

She could smell him. Herbs. Mustiness.

She leaned in to rub gently at a troublesome spot, and trailed the wet cloth down his throat and just under the fold of his collar, even though it had not run that far.

His Adam's apple ducked in his throat. He thought she was trying to seduce him - amusing, because she really wasn't, this wasn't actually her intended goal.

But then - and she ran her tongue over the inside of her dry mouth - this was actually extremely erotic.

With him?

His faint scent was familiar from the other night, and the heat radiating from his body...

He's so unreachable...I may not get another chance...

She felt curiosity getting the better of her.

He as good as said he finds me attractive.

"Surely that's it," he said, his tone flat and barely louder than a whisper.

Her gaze rested on his lips as she squeezed the cloth out in the sink, then concentrated again on the cut high on his cheekbone. She let her breasts graze his chest, and took his chin in her hand to angle it towards the light. He swallowed again. He was tense. She cleaned the cut carefully, and fell back slightly, dropping the cloth in the sink, to examine the damage she'd inflicted.

His eyes were on her. He was waiting, for a move, a word, something to resist or reason or swallow whole. He was wondering what she wanted, how to get out of this, what he might have to do, what he would do.

She knew this because she was Lucius' wife, and this was how she felt when he had her trapped. He had taught her these lessons well, she just hadn't realised how potent a feeling it was to have the upper hand.

She felt powerful.

But Severus ... was still an unknown quantity?

And it was Severus!

But she felt so powerful. It was intoxicating.

Untouchable Snape ...

Slowly, she tilted her head and pressed her lips to his. She thought he shuddered. She leaned her body into his, resting her hands on his shoulders: his shudder wasn't revulsion, not entirely so, she felt a good measure of his arousal. She kissed him sensuously, gently, encouragingly. His hands trailed fire down her back, and she let the delightful waves of lust wash over her.

But he breathed, "Narcissa, leave well alone what you can never have."

Her lips fell to his throat, her tongue teasing the soft skin where it met his collar, and felt his response despite his words. But his hands pushed her gently away. His eyes were glittering and his cheeks were slightly pink.

"I'm not that easy to blackmail," he said, reaching into his robes for his wand.

"Obliviate would look highly suspicious," she said, quickly.

His arm fell, his hand empty.

"You can't risk his wrath," she said.

"There is no risk. I am not Dumbledore's spy." But his chest rose and fell heavily.

She shrugged, and smoothed a hand through her hair, which unravelled totally and fell about her shoulders. It gave her more time to think: the fog of her over-excitement was dulling her concentration.

"It doesn't matter what you said in your sleep, he knows we were together, and I am trusted. He'll torture you until you admit, then he'll kill you. You are not so indispensable."

"I can't believe all this is just to get me into your bed."

She forced a laugh, stroked the fingers of one hand on his cheek in a mockery of affection, and pressed the palm of the other in the place where it would have most impact. "It isn't, Severus. It wasn't." She released him and stepped back. "I got carried away."

He didn't move away from her touch, as it if was a challenge, a show of strength: I have faced fates worse than you. Yet he looked thoughtful, and worried, and ... understanding began to dawn across his face.

"If my body isn't the goal," he said slowly, "what is?"

"A potion," she said.

"A potion?" he repeated, as if amazed at the simplicity and apparent painlessness of her demand.

"A potion to emulate death," she said. "For Draco and myself. So we can escape."

He looked amazed. After a moment he said, "Have you any idea how dangerous Reproba Decessus is?"

"Probably not," she admitted. "But it's our only chance." She clenched her fists at her side. "You can't imagine - the fear - as his mother, the fear I have for his future. I won't lose Draco to him, I won't!"

He ran his fingers distractedly through his hair. "It's a huge risk to you and Draco," he said. "To all of us. And if you were discovered after your escape -"

"Then we'll poison the Dark Lord instead -?"

He cut her off with a harsh laugh, which opened the cut on his cheek again and made him wince. "Not a chance!" He carefully touched the wound she had made. "Does Draco know of your plan?"

"No. I'll explain when it's done and we're free, it's safer that way." She felt a sudden threat of tears, so quick to rise to the surface again. "He is terrified of the things he might be asked to do in time."

"Oh," Severus said, almost dismissively, "thinking about them is often worse than actually doing them." Their gazes locked again. He was silent for a long moment, then made a small noise of - what she thought might be - frustration and turned back into the main room. She found him pacing between the bed and the window.

"I assume you wouldn't just settle for a torrid affair," he mused, shooting her a trapped look.

"I want the potion. But I must admit, that was ... very -"

"Well, I'm not sacrificing my chastity and my professional morality all in the same day," he snapped, "so as long as that's perfectly clear."

Damn it, I've had quite an effect on him.

Or was it just that she had won?

She began to feel hopeful again. Unbearably so. "I want to do this soon," she said.

"The sooner the better if we have to keep up the pretense of an affair," he sniped, frowning thoughtfully. "The potion matures over three days and must be made under a full moon."

"There's a full moon in two weeks. And Lucius says that the Dark Lord will be performing another strengthening ceremony then. You'll need something, from Draco and I."

"Blood," he replied, still frowning. "Life force."

"I'll get it. I'll owl it to you."

He stopped pacing and looked into her face. "I can't see how you can hide yourselves from him. You're a Metamorphmagus, but Draco isn't."

"I will find a way, until Dumbledore gets rid of him forever," she said, firmly.

His eyes narrowed. "How do you know I won't just silence you forever?"

"You're working for the good side now," she smiled, "you don't do bad things any more. You're the Ministry's good boy. If you were prepared to prostrate yourself to the master you betrayed, just because Dumbledore asked you to, I think there is nothing you wouldn't do to keep on track."

He looked silently at her, then said, "I can protect Draco, you know."

For an instant, she considered his remark. But she knew she could not bear to stay any longer, and she did not want to go alone. And, of course, she would miss Draco too much.

"No," she said. She glanced at her watch. "I have to leave. I'm flattered, by the way," she added, slyly, "that you couldn't entirely resist me."

His expression cracked, he smirked a little. "But I did."

"I let you go."

He smirked a little more.

"Severus," she said, laying her hand firefly on his arm, "they say Death is the great leveller of men. But sex is too."

He stared back at her, the smirk still playing on his lips. "Narcissa, I would rather be judged by Death on the way I have conducted my disgraceful life, than by you on my sexual prowess. Fortunately, only one of you will be getting a full confession." He turned towards the door. "Don't forget your wand."

"I'm sorry," she said to his back. "I didn't mean it to come to this."

He took his wand out and touched it to the lock. "I erred. I felt pity for you, you took advantage of it." He glanced back over his shoulder. "I don't actually feel surprised. But if you're going to blackmail someone, Narcissa, don't then say sorry. It doesn't fit. Or have meaning."

He opened the door and left. She listened to his footfalls on the stairs till they vanished beneath the distant murmur of the pub.

Is that it? She felt a sense of anti-climax, and disquiet. Now it was over, it seemed to have been won too easily. What had he said about his own sins - thinking about them is often worse than actually doing them. And then afterwards, this empty feeling.

It wouldn't last for long. She took up her cloak, and her wand, and followed him down the stairs. Two weeks, in fact. Then there would be excitement enough.

That thought sparked a small but lively flame inside her. She smiled at herself.

Stepping into the bar area, she paused to put on her cloak, and a quick glance told her how many of Lucius' men had witnessed their arrival and departure.

She ignored them happily: at that moment, it would not have mattered if Avery himself was pulling up a chair and calling for her favourite drink, though she did regret she would not be around to see the twisted little shit get what was undoubtedly coming to him.

She was leaving, and nobody would even know to stop her!

Smiling at no-one, she smoothed her tousled hair, and went to meet up with her husband and son.

A/N: 'Obfirmo' is Latin for 'lock, and my death potion combines the Latin for 'false' and 'death'.