Chapter Two - Plot and counter-plot

The Conservatory at Malfoy Manor was as splendid and ornate as the rest of the house. Lucius' mother had loved orchids, and Lucius had loved his mother; her portrait hung on the far wall, with a good view of her planting regime, and in the best place to oversee any pruning, watering, or breathing on her beloved plants.

It was, Severus would admit, an unlikely place to find an ex-Potion's Master, ex-DADA professor, ex-Headmaster,ex-Death Eater and, judging by the visitors he hadn't received, ex-Order member. He thought that there were so many exes in his life, that there was nothing left for him to be, other than companion to a portrait and budding orchid specialist.

He'd nearly died and spent a year locked away in a ward coughing up blood and writhing in agony, and seeing daylight again had taken on a new importance. He had spent twenty years of his life in the dungeons at Hogwarts, andsunlight had never seemed that important - it was useful for illuminating things, but so was Lumos - not until it seemed unlikely that he would ever see any again. He had a vague memory of saying something about that to Lucius, though it could have been delirium. He hoped it was, as he'd been sobbing onto the man's shoulder at the time, and only a fever-dream would account for the gentle way Lucius had held him and stroked his hair while he wept. It was a syllogism, he thought - Lucius Malfoy did not console, therefore any recollection of consolation could not be real, therefore he had not been that pathetic.

He rather thought he had though.

He knew he ought to resent having been that exposed rather more, but almost-death had changed him, or, at least, weakened him, and he hadn't the energy to make a big deal out of it. He hadn't weakened enough to thank Lucius, mind you. He had some pride.

When St Mungo's had said he was free to go home, he'd stared at the grey wall of his room, unable to move, not sure where home was. Spinner's End didn't count. He hadn't agreed to stay with Lucius, but then Lucius hadn't asked. High-and-Mighty simply had an elf pack his meagre possessions, and arranged for the portkey to deliver him to the Manor.

It had been one of his calm days, and he'd allowed himself to be packed off to bed without a hadn't found the energy to leave yet, and had made the conservatory his room, sitting in the sun, and making the elves fetch and carry for him. If he were dramatic, like Lucius, he would say that he had lived a life of darkness, and was ready to emerge into the , he was just cold, a side-effect of the potions that he had been administered, and which had used up all his stores of body fat to fight off Nagini'svenom.

The silk dressing gown helped, warming charms woven into its fabric, lined with the finest eiderdown, and hedged round with dirt-repelling and anti-crease were days when he thought nothing would ever make him cross again, and would sit in the sun, clothed in glorious green silk, waiting for his flowers to show him their beauties. Those were the days when he would catch Lucius looking at him as if he were at death's door. And there were days when he wanted to decimate everything around him for having the audacity to exist, to be green and growing, to be alive, and would pick arguments with Lucius because he'd seen him at his weakest and because he was there.

Today was a good day. He'd been discussing brewing specialised orchid feeds with Mrs Malfoy - they still weren't on first name terms - and had even ventured a little light pruning under her vigilant gaze. The sun was warm, the tea was strong and hot, and the heady scent of the orchids flooded his senses. He was being decadent, he realised, which was thoroughly out of character for a working class boy from t'North.

It was good. He could get used to it. And the signs were that he would be allowed to get used to it. At some point, someone would present him with a bill for this luxury, there was always a price, but in the meantime he would enjoy it.

A house elf scurried into the room, bringing another cup and saucer, and a fresh pot of tea. Another elf brought a fresh plate of little cakes his mother would have appreciated in her constant battle against calories, and which his father would have called poncy. Severus liked poncy cakes: he could have four poncy cakes, rather than one proper slice of cake.

Lucius settled in the chair opposite him. An elf poured his tea for him, adding milk and sugar in the exact proportions required, and then winked out of existence.

"You look pleased with yourself," Severus observed. The last rays of the afternoon sun slanted in through the windows, giving Lucius' hair an almost ginger cast. Severus smirked, and made a note to mention that at some critical point when Lucius was rather too pleased with himself.

“I encountered an old acquaintance of yours this afternoon at the Fat Goose.”

Severus cocked an eyebrow in query.

“Miss Granger. She asked to be remembered to you.”

“I’m sure she did,” he replied, attempting the venom of his sneers of old, and managing merely to sound querulous. He didn't like Potter, and didn't want to see Potter ever again, but he still thought the boy owed him some thanks for all he'd done. It would have been pleasant to refuse them, but that hadn't been an option.

“You doubt me, Severus?” Lucius asked.

“As always.”

Lucius took a swallow of tea, and selected adiminutive chocolate eclair for his delectation. "We had lunch together."

"And why would you be lunching there, with her. I don't suppose she was aware that the place is the traditional venue for plotting, but you certainly do," Severus said coolly.

"She doesn't appear to be aware of its reputation, though there can be no other reason to go there; the food was dreadful as always."

"This is what happens when everything is hand made, rather than prepared by Elves. An expensive affectation, even if it is designed to prevent the use of poisons." Severus tipped his cup in a mocking salute, and swallowed his tea. "And it must cost a small fortune to keep renewing the wards that restrict the use of Unforgivables. We simply mustn't have Pureblood competitiveness get out of hand, can we? Such a breach of etiquette."

"They don't seem to prevent the establishment from committing murder of the palate and the digestive tract," Lucius said darkly. "If it wasn't for the necessity of advertising precisely who you are plotting with to the rest of the world, I'd never darken their door again."

"You could consider taking out an ad in the Daily Prophet," Severus replied. "Or you should do as I did, and meet in shady pubs, with even shadier characters. I never had the luxury of doing my plotting in such august surroundings. It was scampi in a basket and a pint of bitter if you were lucky."

"Sounds delightful. I hope you indented Dumbledore for the costs."

"I had two masters, and not one of the bastards paid expenses," Snape replied.

"I don't know why - His Lordship made free enough with my vaults over the years. He was almost as expensive as Narcissa, though not as well dressed." Lucius managed to keep his tone light, but the underlying tone of savagery had been picked up by Severus, who sat up straighter in his chair. He'd not asked about Narcissa; her absence was enough of an explanation. “You taught Miss Granger. What do you recall of her?” Lucius asked,stifling his bitterness in favour of seeking enlightenment.

“I’ve taught most of the wizarding population, certainly all of it below the age of 35. I try to forget them.”

“Don’t be obtuse, Severus.”

“I see, I am to pay my rent for your generous invitation to reside here.” Severus hadn't expected the bill to be delivered quite so soon.

“I find that mildly insulting, Severus. My invitation is as a result of your actions protecting my son. I do not quibble over the debt.”

Severus relaxed fractionally. “You have a serious interest in her? I don’t like the girl, but neither am I inclined to hand her over to your tender mercies.”

“I am a reformed man,” Lucius mocked. “I have paid my debt to society.”

Severus said nothing, forcing Lucius to elaborate.

“I have a mind to do business with the girl, if you could call that serious," Lucius said, conceding that he wasn't going to get more information until he gave his reasons for a sudden interest in one of the Golden Trio. "An exchange of favours - information in return for a little practical career advice. Miss Granger feels that her talents are being underappreciated.”

It was a reason that made sense to Severus, and one that held no immediate danger for the girl, could even do her some good, if Lucius played fair. Well, fairish. “She’s a bright girl, but she thinks that all the answers are to be found in a book, though whether that extends to areas other than the academic…. She seemed a reasonably shrewd judge of character.”

“The brains of the outfit, but perhaps not the strategist?”

“Not… quite. I wasn’t in a position to observe the inner workings of the trio, but, though Weasley was always held to be the planner, I think it was rather more the interaction between them. They sparked off each other.”

“Not a fool then.” Lucius' eyes half-closed, a trick of his when he was thinking.

“By no means.”

“Good. A fool would be no challenge.”

“She doesn’t know how to play the game, Lucius. If she loses too hard…" Severus had no reason to feel any warmth towards Granger, who had left him to die, and hadn't even had the decency to bring him a bunch of grapes in hospital whilst blubbering about how sorry she was, but Lucius' interest in the girl still made him uneasy.

"Nonsense. This is no high-stakes, do or die, arrangement. Those days are gone forever." Lucius frowned at an errant thread pulled loose on the cuff of his robes.

"If you say so," Severus agreed.

"We... I've lost, Severus. Our world will fade, swept aside by the new ideas of the Muggleborns. All I can do is salvage a little influence and power from the wreckage, and if that involves cosying up to the next generation of power brokers whilst they are young and naive enough to think that they are the ones getting the benefits of the relationship..."

Severus' eyes flicked up to the ceiling, as if imploring heaven to give him strength. "Oh, do stop this maudlin wallowing. You've your house, your bank accounts, your wife and child - even if they aren't talking to you at the moment - your freedom, and you're the twistiest individual I've ever known. You took on the Dark Lord, the Ministry and the Order and still came out - if not precisely on top - close enough."

Lucius shrugged, one shoulder lifted in a gesture of resignation; this was an old argument. "Perhaps. In any event, Miss Granger is coming to see us tomorrow at 3. We shall take tea together, as if we were old friends."

"Oh, you can count me out of that. I've no wish to see..."

"She says she came to see you in St Mungos, when you were first there," Lucius said, cutting across Severus' diatribe.

"She would," Severus replied, dismissively. "I don't remember her. I would remember her, wouldn't I?"

Lucius gave him the Look, the onehe hadn't seen for a while, the one that said he was an invalid that needed to be treated gently. "She was turned away. My orders, I'm afraid - no one but people approved by me were allowed to see you."

"Oh, thank you." He wouldn't have had the strength to deal with her, and wouldn't have liked to have been seen by her in that state, his fantasies about cutting her down to size aside. It was more likely that she would have reduced him to tears with her apologies.

"She's looking forward to seeing you again."

"Really?""Really." Lucius smiled. "That's what she told me, and you know how it is with these Gryffindors; absolutely no ability to lie."

The Elves performed the same ceremony preparing tea the following day: snowy tablecloth smoothed over the table, a cup and saucer at each place setting, a side plate, and a lazy susan in the centre. It would obscure their view of each other, but that could only be a good thing. Severus had a creeping sense of dread about the whole business; theirs was not a grouping that was destined for easy conversation. On the other hand, he hadn't had the pleasure of indulging in some petty backbiting and squabbling since the last staff meeting before Albus...left. If he wasn't careful, this was going to degenerate into the sort of staff meeting they had when he was Headmaster.

Lucius certainly considered it bad manners to greet a guest in a dressing gown. "Aren't you going to change?" he asked, looking disapproving.

"No," Severus replied, his fingers withdrawing into the depths of the cuffs.

"I suppose there is some advantage in playing the sympathy card." Lucius's tone made it clear that he had higher standards than that, as if he'd never been that hollow-eyed man trapped in the Manor with a madman. He fussed over the line of his robes, smoothing them into place like a nervous teenager on a first date. "Are you going to play the invalid to the hilt, or will you be coming down to the gates to meet her?"

"You invited her."

"For your benefit."

"I don't know what benefit you imagine I will get from seeing Miss Granger again..." though he could hazard a guess, and he had no intention of crawling back to the Order for their help, and he didn't trust Lucius not to say things behind his back and give certain impressions to a naive young girl of his eagerness to be admitted back into the fold. "Nevertheless, I shall accompany you."

Lucius smirked; the message that he was untrustworthy had been received, and treated as the compliment it was.

Their progress to the front gates was slow and stately, but they were there on the dot of three.

Granger was early. Granger would probably be early for her own execution, and nag her executioner about doing it properly. She was also quieter than he remembered, and thinner, altogether older and sharper looking.

"Miss Granger, how nice to see you again," Lucius said, offering his hand to her again. She blinked at it, sighed, and then proffered her own in return. Lucius patted it gently, then tucked over his arm.

"Granger," Severus said, and nodded.

"Sir," she replied neutrally. She'd probably agonised over what to call him for hours: Severus was too intimate, Snape too dismissive, and Professor or Headmaster was out of the question.

Lucius frowned at him over Granger's head, unimpressed with the warmth of his welcome.

"You'll have to forgive me, but we'll have to take the long way up to the house. The need for security is such, well, it would take me days to dismantle the Anti-Apparition wards, and the walk is pleasant enough to reward your inconvenience."

"I'm sure," was all she said in reply.

Granger had developed an obsessive interest in gardens, and asked question after question of Lucius. Questions that had to be answered in detail, stopping to point out a rose here, a shrub there, so that the journey back took half as long again. Severus was glad of it, as the Manor was uphill from the Apparition point, in keeping with all tactics that required you to force your enemy to attack up hill. He could see why, now, and was badly in need of a sit down.

He took a deep breath and listened to Lucius maundering on about mulches. "I don't recall you being interested in plants at school," Severus said, interrupting Lucius' animadversions on how long horse manure should be left to rot, as if he actually knew or cared, rather than leaving the horrifying details to his elves. "Sprout was one of the few teachers who didn't regularly sing your praises."

"I got an Outstanding in my NEWTS," she said, her lips tightening.

He filed away the knowledge that she was still determined to know everything, and sensitive over suggestions that there may be gaps in her understanding of anything. "You were no Longbottom, though, with your hands up to your elbows in muck."

"Gardening is different. It was one of the things I missed when I was at Hogwarts - sitting in my parents' garden and looking at the roses. You don't have to spend your time digging to appreciate a view."

He supposed it was possible, but he still had the feeling he was being humoured. "What's that, then?" He pointed at a pinkish looking shrub in front of them.

"The lavatera?" she asked.

Severus grunted.

"I did just tell her that," Lucius pointed out, and Hermione grinned at him. Severus could pinpoint the precise moment she remembered who Lucius was, and why she didn't like him by the way her smile faded from her eyes.

"I knew anyway. My parents have one in their back garden. They can be used in some love potions, can't they?" she said.

"And several Dark potions, designed to cause nothing but pain and suffering," Severus replied, quashing her frivolity.

"Sounds like Love potions to me," she said, narrowing her eyes and glaring at the inoffensive plant.

"Miss Granger is delightfully bitter, Severus. You and she have so much in common," Lucius said, and smiled at them both impartially. "Though she has a long way to go before she can reach the heights - or should that be plumb the depths, I'm never sure - of your rancour."

Severus and Hermione exchanged a long look.

"She's young, yet," Snape said. "She's got time to catch up."

"Oh, thank you. Thank you," she said, sounding nothing like the young, eager girl he remembered. He looked at her again, more closely, passing over the superficial changes that growing up had made, to the drawn face and dark shadows under her eyes. Lucius was right, she was bitter, and he felt a lurch of something that could be concern, though he wasn't sure. It had been so long since he'd felt anything other than tired, or angry, or tired of being angry. Lucius was good at sniffing out other's weaknesses. It was his talent, the one thing that had bolstered his power, much more than wealth or Dark Art's expertise. "As you're so interested in plants, perhaps you'd like to look at my orchids," he said gruffly.

"Of course," she said. "I've heard they're very difficult to grow."

The discussion of feeds, pruning, and cross-pollination lasted till they reached the conservatory, and then Hermione asked to be shown some of the blooms whilst Lucius arranged himself at the table and oversaw the preparation of tea, summoning elves to bring the teapot and comestibles. She seemed genuinely interested, and not just in the showy blooms that Lucius liked. She spotted the new, green orchid he was growing - shy, delicate, and subtly perfumed, and only for a connoisseur.

"It's very pretty." She put out a hand to touch it, and then drew back. "I'd better not. I don't want to ruin all your hard work with cross-contamination."

"Quite right," he said, and looked up to see Lucius watching them fondly. It made his blood run cold. Whatever Lucius wanted, he was getting, and he'd no more trust his pose of disinterested helpfulness than believe Riddle if he'd suddenly converted to muggle-loving. "What on earth are you doing here?" he asked suddenly, making Hermione look up at him. "You know what he's like, how dangerous he is, and you come tripping up here as if he's your newest best friend. Are you insane?"

"Ah," she said, and rose from her half-crouch, dusting her hands on her robes. "Uncle Lucius stepped in to pay the bill yesterday when Ron had to leave suddenly. The price of his help was agreeing to come to tea."

"Just that?"

"Just that. More or less. There was a certain amount of whining on my part about how horrid my job was, and a lot of wondering what on earth he was up to, but nothing that could amount to plotting to bring down the Wizarding world."

"He's probably saving that for after tea." She giggled, and he looked at her in irritation. He wasn't joking. And neither, he suspected, was Lucius. "He's a danger," he repeated.

"No, he was once, and he'd like you to think that he still is, but... no." She gave Lucius a hard, assessing gaze. "That year with Voldemort burned it out of him. I don't think he'll ever recover. I think this is a good thing for all concerned, mind you."

"You don't understand..."

"I do," she interrupted. "I saw him. I saw him when Bellatrix was ..." She swallowed hard. "I wasn't really concentrating on anyone but her, but even under those conditions things stay with you. Fenrir enjoyed it, but the Malfoys looked sick to their stomachs. Probably worried about the mess I was making on the carpet, but ...He had no mask to hide behind there; I could see."

He'd seen Fenrir's enthusiasm a time or two, and it still gave him nightmares. "Still, it's a fine distinction to make."

She shrugged. "I wanted to see you, see how you were." Usually he would dismiss that as empty assurances, but there was nothing anyone wanted from him now, and he had a poor opinion of Granger's ability to dissemble.

"Lucius said you'd come to St Mungo's."

"I did. I wanted to say sorry. And then I realised that saying sorry didn't really count for much."

"So you gave up."

"So I decided to wait until you were well enough to deal with visitors, and then say I was sorry, and make sure you know that if there's anything I can do for you, ever, you only have to ask. We - I - owe you more than I can say." She put her hand on his arm, looking earnest. He believed her, and he wanted to rage that it meant nothing, but he was obviously having one of his calm days because all that came out of his mouth was, "We all had our tasks to perform."

She let the matter drop, and he was grateful for it. He needed time to work out how he felt about anything more complicated than silk, soft, cake, good, tea, nice.

Lucius interrupted them. "Tea's ready, and eclairs; the elves have outdone themselves."

There was silence at first, once they had taken their seats at the table. Lucius played courteous host, pouring the tea and passing sandwiches to his guests, but even his ability to talk nonsense at length about anything was strained by their disparate personalities. They couldn't talk of mutual acquaintances, and tear their reputations to shreds, as they were either dead or in prison or positions of such power that neither Lucius nor Severus could afford to offer anything less than fulsome praise.

"Lucius said you had lunch at the Fat Goose; what did you think of it?" Severus said, fairly sure that the deficiencies of the kitchen would provide ten minutes conversation at least, and see them through to the scones if they were lucky.

"Dreadful," she replied, and put her sandwich down on her plate, preparatory to holding forth at length on the topic.

"You never did explain what you were doing there," Lucius put in, before she could develop her theme.

"I thought she was having lunch with you," Severus said, letting Lucius know he’d been caught out in his lack of frankness.

"Eventually. Once Mr Weasley was called away," Lucius replied. "And there are only two reasons to go to the Fat Goose: plotting and marriage proposals, and I'm sure no one would run away from a proposal in such a way."

There was the tell tale nibble on the lower lip, familiar to Snape from many an outrageous lie on behalf of the other members of the Trio. "Ron does it all the time. He asks to marry him, whenever he is in between girlfriends, but only because he's certain I won't agree. Keeps his Mum off his back for a bit."

"Now, why do I think you're being less than candid," Lucius said softly. Hermione stopped fidgeting, and looked directly at Lucius, the very epitome of Earnest Student recounting the Tale of the Lost Homework being Eaten by a Familiar. "Well, it's true it doesn't keep his Mum off his back that much, is that what you mean?"

Lucius chuckled, and let it pass. "That must be what I mean. More tea?"

"Formidable woman, Molly Weasley," Severus said, and thought of Bella.

"Do you think it's too late to send flowers for ridding us of an inconvenience?" Lucius asked, making Hermione choke on her tea.

Severus tipped his head to one side, considering the point, then shook his head. "I think so. These things are always best done immediately after the event, or people might suspect your motives."

"It's a suspicious world," Lucius said. "Which is mostly useful, and occasionally irritating, but when, once in a while, one wants to do something truly selfless and generous, it's a shame to have one's motives doubted."

"It's the rarity that confuses people." Severus selected a scone for himself, deftly split it in two, and reached for the jam pot. "You could try being nice to people in general, even to people you don't want something from and poor people; you might even find that they start to trust you after a while."

Lucius looked horrified and amused in equal measure. "I think it's a little too late in the day for such drastic action."

"Yes, yes it is," Severus replied. Something flashed in Lucius' eyes, something that would have been hurt in someone else and he realised that Granger was more right than she could have known. Wrapped up in his own ill health, and at a loss to do with himself, he'd failed to notice that Lucius was equally lost. He wasn't the man he'd known for twenty years. He'd been cracked open like a shell, and his soft inner parts were visible, where once there had been nothing but carapace. It was as visceral a shock as the one he'd received when Dumbledore's true colours had been revealed. Lucius was not weak, should not be weak.

And Granger was the one who found the words to carry them over the awkward moment. "Still, the Ministry is populated by idiots, so they'd believe anything."

The fine lines round Lucius' mouth eased, and he laughed, though his eyes were still shadowed. "Very true. Does that mean that your current supervisor continues to be irritating?"

"It does." Hermione nodded.

"I do hope she considers me to be a bad influence," Lucius said.

"She considers us to be conducting an illicit affair, but assures me you won't offer marriage. I'm not sure whether you're supposed to be taking advantage of me, or the other way round. I did deny three perfectly reasonable requests for information last week, on the grounds that the form hadn't been completed in triplicate during the New Moon, so I hope they're beginning to reconsider their opinion of me." Hermione looked down, carefully applying jam and cream to her scone, and so missed the look of shock and horror that crossed Lucius' face.

"You're half my age," he said.

"That's generally considered a matter for congratulation," Severus said airily, and smiled as Lucius' shock faded to be replaced by cold calculation.

"Oh, no one will believe it. Not once they've had a chance to think about it." Hermione waved her knife dismissively. "Surely. It's ridiculous; everyone knows you'd rather take up with a house elf."

Severus didn't like the way Lucius looked at her. He should make some polite demurral, or, if he couldn't bring himself to be that polite, some dismissive comment, not look at the girl as if he were thinking of bedding her.

"I think, on the whole, you are preferable to a house elf."

Hermione didn't look grateful for the compliment, which was a relief. He shuddered, and drank his cup of tea in one mouthful. This would bear careful watching. So far the signs were propitious, nothing would come of sulky petulance on her side, and visceral repulsion on his, though he would have to play chaperone just in case, and nip anything in the bud.

The conversation turned in less contentious directions. In the end, they did manage to find something in common, and, though they didn't necessarily know the same people to complain about, the Ministry was such that even if the names changed the personalities were the same. Outlining the Ministry's many failings carried them over the remaining scones, and through the eclairs, and even down the long path to the apparition point at the end of the afternoon.

"Thank you for tea," Hermione said politely.

"You're welcome," Lucius said, equally politely. "We hope to see you again, don't we, Severus?"

"What? Yes. I suppose." "I'd like that," she said, and Severus believed her, as unlikely as it sounded. Another cold finger of worry ran down his spine.

His sense of impending doom was only exacerbated when Lucius turned to him, once the echoes of Granger's apparation had faded, and asked, "You don't think I'm becoming obvious, do you? Losing my touch?"

"You've always been bloody obvious to me," Severus said repressively. And it was true, or had been.

Now he had only the vaguest idea of what was going on under those blond locks, but what he could gather worried him. Severus had determined to live a quiet life in future, and any sort of alliance between the fading hope of the Purebloods and the rising hope of the Muggleborns was going to cause trouble. Bedding, he thought, was likely to be the least risky sort of alliance, born of boredom and loneliness on both sides rather than real affection or commonality and would quickly fade. A political one would be disastrous. Granger might not be corruptible, but she could cause enough damage just by being fair and just. The Wizarding World wasn't built for those kinds of ideas.

He trailed after his friend as they returned to the house, and he wondered exactly what he had done to deserve this. He was about to get screwed over yet again.

Was it too much to hope that Sod's law could find some other poor bastard to toy with this time?