Death Eater No More—Chapter Forty-Seven (One Night in March)

It was almost time for Bayly to leave for his detention, the end of which seemed nowhere in sight. Professor Snape hadn't given the boys any indication of when their punishment was to finish, and the usually patient Bayly was becoming frayed a bit. It had been weeks, his grades were beginning to suffer because he didn't have time enough to properly execute his homework and essays in addition to assisting the Headmaster at his task, which often lasted well into the night. Since Professor McGonagall had trapped herself in the form of a cat, the Potions master's mood had taken a corresponding dive and the days had gotten longer and more full of aggravation.

He was busy re-folding his clothes sent up from the laundry by the house elves. Out of habit he needed them folded to Durmstrang specifications as he had grown accustomed to in his six years there. It seemed…wrong…to fold them otherwise, silly as it seemed.

"Hey, Bayly." Floyd came in, dropped his books on the desk, and hopped on his bed.

"Hey, Floyd."

"Can I ask you something?" He didn't wait for a response, he launched into his next sentence. "How long are you supposed to go with a girl before you, um, try something?"

Bayly looked askance at him. "Try something? You mean like try to get into her knickers?"

"Basically," admitted Floyd, reddening. He was glad his friend's back was turned so he didn't see it.

The other boy shrugged. "How would I know? Gloria made it clear up front that she doesn't put out. And Luna—I don't know about her, but I haven't heard any rumors. She's nice, don't go acting stupid with her."

"Are you a virgin?"

The question hung in the air for what seemed ages, like a black, noxious cloud. Bayly began to ram his clothes into the open drawer. "Not exactly."

"I knew it!" crowed Floyd. "Only if it's not Gloria, it must've been some girl at your old school."

Bayly shook his head. "Dormitories are charmed so the opposite sex can't get in, and teachers patrol the Quidditch pitch and everywhere else constantly. I never once heard of a girl getting pregnant while I was at Durmstrang." Now he was patting the stack of clothes down.

"Then who was it?" pressed Floyd, ignoring the forbidding body language.

"What does it matter?" exclaimed Bayly in irritation, slamming the drawer.

Still Floyd remained fixated on his question, heedless of his friend's reluctance to go on. "Just that it's purported to be one of the best days of a bloke's life!"

Bayly wheeled on him, hazel eyes blazing. "Yeah, it was real special. You wanna know what happened? Fine. When I was sixteen, over Christmas hols, my father decided to give me a present."

Floyd blanched and sat up rigidly on the bed. "Geez, Bayly, I'm sorry. I didn't—"

Suddenly understanding what Floyd was surmising, Bayly hurriedly asserted, "No! No, not that! He dragged me off to a brothel and made me watch him doing it with some whore old enough to be my mother. Then he ordered me to shag her."

The other boy's face twisted in disgust.

"I told him I'd rather not, but you know how Dolohov was," continued Bayly doggedly. His friend wanted to hear it, by heaven he was going to hear it—all of it. "He threw me against the wall and said he'd teach me obedience the hard way. Since I wasn't keen on finding out what that meant…I did it." A knot of bile rose in his throat at the memory. Blinking, he swallowed hard. "Then afterward he slapped me around and said if I breathed a word of it to mum, he'd kill me. Yep, best day ever."

Floyd sat stone still, mouth slightly agape, looking vaguely traumatized. At last he murmured, "Gross. Sorry for bringing it up."

What was there to say? Bayly shrugged again. "Now you know. I have to go, I can't be late." He waved as he headed out the door.

He trotted down the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower and through the castle, meeting few people along the way; he drew to an abrupt stop upon spying a prefect's badge, then broke into a grin. It was only Sammy coming from the other direction. They walked together the remainder of the way, only to discover a surprise awaiting them in the Potions lab.

"Hello, boys." From her desk Aline glanced up at the clock and smiled. "You're a few minutes past time. Good thing you showed up now, I'd hate to report you late." Not that she would, but it never hurt to send the fear of the Headmaster into a student, right?

The young men entered the lab cautiously, heads swiveling, expecting Snape to pounce on them from a corner or send a hex from afar, but nothing happened. Good thing indeed! If Snape had been the one here, who knows what tirade he'd go off on—or worse, the silent treatment wherein one anticipated being smacked any second, always wondering when it would come. Slowly they approached their customary table where as usual the ingredients were all laid out.

Before they had a chance to ask Aline volunteered, "Professor Snape had an urgent meeting to attend, so he asked me to fill in for him tonight."

Strictly speaking, that wasn't a completely accurate version of how it had gone down, but it was relatively close and sounded much less embarrassing and obnoxious than the truth. Snape had slinked into the lab during her morning class with first years—knowing full well she dared not divert her attention from the miscreants lest they somehow manage to poison the entire room or explode something. He'd announced that he'd be gone this evening, and that Aline was to take over for him. Nowhere had there actually been a question or request, then he'd given her that smug little smile that always gave her an irrational desire to slap him, and he'd flounced out.

The only reason Aline hadn't put up the slightest fuss at having Snape's detentions dumped off on her again was that she'd had the opportunity to study the formula they were to prepare. The Headmaster could pretend all he wanted that his bug formula had been an accident against Rita, but the paper clutched in her hand told another story.

"Sammy, chop this butcher's broom into a near-mince state—but not quite. Bayly, I'll need a decoction of the Siberian ginseng." There was no reason to watch the boys, she trusted them to do as they were asked. Aline collected the key for the supply cabinet down the hall where she'd find smooth Russian vodka to make a seven-minute tincture of boswellin.

She hummed a tune as she strolled along, feeling very pleased at this turn of events. Did Snape really believe she wouldn't recognize or understand something as basic as a quercetin potion? Any Potions master worth his salt could put two and two together! Given this combination of herbs, the anti-inflammatory properties of all these ingredients had to be key—and geared toward inhibiting lipoxygenase, an enzyme involved in the metabolism of arachidonic acid, which causes inflammation. Therefore, logic dictated that whatever he'd done to his bug repellent must have caused a constant supply of arachidonic acid to be created, which would maintain the inflammatory response in a self-sustaining loop that somehow fed on the host. Otherwise it would wear off eventually, surely long before now. She had to admit it was a brilliant plan to keep Skeeter as a beetle. Ruthless….but brilliant.

Bayly shook his head and sighed as he nudged Sammy in the ribs right after the teacher had left the room. Why did it fall on him to counsel all the sex-crazed boys at Hogwarts? When Sammy looked over at the unwelcome poke, he said, "I'm telling you this as a friend. You need to back off from Professor Conn."

"What?" mumbled Samson, flustered.

"I saw the way you looked at her just now. Professor Snape told you to cut it out."

Bristling, Sammy responded, "What's it to you? I'm not hurting anything, and he's not here." His boldness faltered a bit as he took a quick glimpse around to be sure Snape truly wasn't there.

Lowering his voice in case Conn returned, Bayly confided, "I think Professor Snape has his eye on her, and in your place I wouldn't want to tangle with him."

"No way!" replied Sammy, shock evident all over his face. Snape? With Aline? But that would mean they were rivals for her affection! Except that she'd already nicely brushed Sammy off—was it because of Snape? "Do you think Professor Conn knows?"

Bayly laid a solemn hand on his companion's shoulder. "I have no idea, but if you value your life and certain parts of your anatomy, you'll back off."

Sammy let out a tiny grunt and flopped onto a stool. It wasn't really that much of a dilemma, more of a disappointment. Aline—Professor Conn had turned him down…Snape was apparently interested in her…the choice was clear. Notwithstanding the fact that the man could wipe the floor with his pupil in a duel, Sammy respected him very much. He would gallantly step aside—and save his family jewels in the process.

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Severus used his fork to stab and push around the diced octopus tentacle on his plate. Unless he was mistaken, it wasn't even cooked! Honestly, what had he been thinking to let Lucius order for him? Maybe rich purebloods ate this swill, but people like Snape did not! A sour look over at Malfoy caught the blond wizard smirking shamelessly.

Lucius feigned (badly) a concerned attitude. "What's wrong, Severus? You said to order for you if you were late."

"I was four minutes late, Lucius," he snapped. "And I had assumed you'd have the decency to order food."

"That's what you get for assuming," chortled Lucius, drawing the attention of a couple seated across the room—no one was seated at a table adjacent to the Malfoys. Noting who it was, the couple quickly looked away and hid behind their menus.

In this exclusive, heinously pricey restaurant, the patrons had certain expectations of a quiet, genteel ambiance unbroken by plebeian acts such as laughter. When their snooty expectations were shattered by none other than the richest wizard in Britain—an ex-Death Eater to boot—no one was in a particular hurry to make waves.

"Sweetheart, stop teasing him," admonished Narcissa as she leaned over to hug Lucius' arm. As always she looked effortlessly stunning in a sleeveless chocolate brown silk gown, hair swept up in a loose ponytail that allowed her longer tendrils to brush her shoulders.

Her hand caressed Lucius' chest over his forest green dress robes that were so enticingly soft and luxurious, robes very similar to the black ones Severus wore—a gift from the Malfoys the previous Christmas. If Severus weren't here, she'd be tempted to invite her husband back to the manor for playtime in lieu of dinner.

Lucius raised his left hand and his pinky wedding ring sparkled against the light from the overhead chandelier. He made a simple come-hither motion with his fingers and immediately a waiter scurried out from some distance behind him carrying a steaming plate of lasagna, which he set in front of Snape and removed the objectionable dish. Another casual wave of the hand sent the man away.

"Is that more to your liking, Mr. Snape?" he drawled, eyes twinkling.

"Quite," said Severus, permitting a small smile. When was he going to learn that Malfoy loved to tease him and would go to great lengths to pull one over?

"If you men will excuse me," said Narcissa, rising from her chair. "I'll be right back." She didn't think it necessary to announce her need to tinkle, or that she had been holding it for fifteen minutes while Severus complained at length about Minerva McGonagall's stupidity and described how he'd wrangled the Potions mistress into taking his detentions so he could come here. She so hadn't wanted to miss the expression on his face when that plate had arrived!

Lucius stared at his friend for several seconds, ascertaining that he'd been right. The man's perennially greasy hair had…body…and bounce. Curious. In the typically blunt manner he'd always used with Severus on account of their near-brother relationship, he mused aloud, "What's with your hair? It looks different."

"I didn't realize I required your permission to effect a change," retorted Snape.

Malfoy ignored him and went on with his observation. "How do I put this delicately? It's not greasy."

"The epitome of tact," grumbled Snape sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Despite his surly demeanor, he was secretly pleased to have it noticed. "If you must know, Miss Conn invented a potion several months back and foisted it off on me—I told you about that, how pissed off I was. I decided to give it a go, so for the past couple weeks I have been ingesting it and putting it on my scalp."

"Do you have to do this forever to continue the effects?" asked Lucius, greatly interested.

"According to Miss Conn, it should be permanent."

Lucius nodded and took a bite of his food, chewing thoughtfully. This was an incredible boon for Severus. Oh sure, he'd grown accustomed to people making fun of his hair because of his blasted oily skin condition, but deep down it had to have bothered him. "For being such a bitch as you described her, Miss Conn is quite talented."

The corner of Snape's mouth quirked and he swallowed his food in a lump that refused to go down his suddenly dry throat, necessitating a huge gulp of red wine to ease its passage. "Yes, well…that's what I'd like to discuss. I may have been hasty in my assessment of her."

Grinning slyly, Lucius raised his own glass in a mock toast. From what he'd seen of the Potions mistress, she was attractive, single, intelligent, snide—the perfect wit to fend off Severus' ill temper. Not many women fit the bill, and Severus rarely changed his opinion of anyone. "You fancy her, don't you?" He took a sip and waited.

"She's highly skilled, conversant in the most difficult formulas, she adores the Dark Arts, she—"

"For heaven's sake, answer the question!"

"Yes." He began to poke around his lasagna as if it were the wretched octopus.

Lucius smiled and leaned forward, his excitement sparking in his eyes. How long had it been since Severus had desired a woman? "Does she reciprocate your feelings?"

Staring down into his plate, unseeing, Severus mumbled, "I don't know, I haven't approached her…which is where you come in." Moving only his eyes, he peeked up at Lucius.

Malfoy burst into laughter at the pathetic sight of his friend peering at him like a twelve-year-old boy with his first crush. "I'm not going to talk to your girlfriend for you!"

The other man's face hardened into a semblance of the Death Eater he'd once been; he was definitely not twelve. Coldly he remarked, "I'm glad you find this amusing. I meant I wanted to ask your advice."

"Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist. How can I be of service?" Lucius reclined back in his chair, goblet of wine in one hand, legs crossed; even now his striking presence made it evident why young women had fawned over him for years, although he'd paid none of them any mind except his beloved Narcissa.

"I've never been a teen idol or worshipped from afar like yourself. How do I get Miss Conn to notice me as a man and not just as the Headmaster?" Severus asked simply.

Lucius took another sip of wine as he pondered. He pursed his lips and studied Snape until the poor man felt like a zoo animal. At last he pronounced, "Well, you might stop calling her 'Miss Conn'. She has a name. Now that your hair has been degreased, you could get a trim, you're rather shaggy. Have your teeth whitened, I can give you the name of a good dentist—"

"What's all this about haircuts and teeth whitening?" inquired Narcissa, sliding into her chair. Lucius had risen to pull it out for her, then gently pushed it up to the table and took his own seat.

"Severus wants advice on how to snag Aline Conn," tattled Lucius before Severus could shush him or make death threat motions.

"Really? Severus, that's wonderful!" Narcissa reached over to the mortified wizard to take his hand between hers, and she tugged it up and down with as much excitement as Lucius had demonstrated earlier. "But Lucius, dear, there is more to winning a woman than physical appeal."

"You couldn't be more right, love," concurred Lucius. He stroked the back of his hand over her cheek. For all his good looks, he was fully aware that Narcissa saw more in him than anyone ever had…and expected more from him in the way of loyalty, honesty, affection, emotional support, understanding. Snape had his work cut out for him if Aline expected the same things from her man. "Sweetheart, why don't you field this one?"

Narcissa didn't need to be asked twice. How exhilarating to play a part in their good friend's love life! That is, assuming he actually had one, and in all frankness she wasn't convinced that he did. To her knowledge, Glenna was the last woman he'd been with. "Let's start with your conduct, shall we?"

Snape groaned and slid down in his seat, back hunched defensively. He had to tell Lucius, didn't he? That blond prat couldn't keep his mouth shut where Narcissa was concerned, and now she was about to ream him on all his shortcomings. If life had taught him anything, it was that he harbored an unusually high number of shortcomings. Way to go, Malfoy!

"Severus, you told us you'd 'informed Miss Conn' that she'd be taking your detention, right?" What was it with Malfoys asking questions they didn't want answered? She breezed on without hesitation to her point. "That's probably not something that will win favor with her. Women don't like to be ordered about."

Grimacing, Snape admitted to himself Narcissa was at least being nice about it, and if he were honest with himself he conceded he'd deliberately treated Conn worse than the other teachers—except for Potter, who would never in his mind be a real teacher.

Even so, it was his nature to fight for himself whether it be a physical or verbal assault. "She's one of my instructors, I treat her like the rest." It was such an obvious lie he was sure Narcissa would call him on it and prolong this scolding that was so mild he couldn't even resent her for it.

"If you want her to be more than that, you need to treat her differently from the rest," said Narcissa, smiling encouragingly, raising her fine blond brows.

Bullheadedly he repeated, "She's one of my instructors. How can I exhibit favoritism?"

Before anyone saw it coming, Lucius bent forward and flicked him on the side of the head with a 'pop'. "As if you didn't show favoritism in your classes for years? Pay attention and stop arguing with my wife. She's trying to help you!"

Snape's fists clenched and his teeth ground together in a fit of indignation. If he hadn't already been in a less-than-cheerful mood, his deepened scowl might have had more effect. "One more time, Malfoy, and I'll remove that hand from your wrist!"

"I'm trembling," drawled Lucius. He wore an almost bored expression, his eyelids hooded. Just for show he used the same hand to pick up his wine goblet and took a leisurely sip.

In exasperation Severus exclaimed, "Who else am I going to assign to brew a potion than the Potions mistress?"

Narcissa patted his hand comfortingly, lending her best empathetic mien. "Then you ask her to take over, you don't command it like a dictator. And don't take advantage of her good nature."

Lucius broke in with a warning accompanied by a placid smile. "If you say 'but she's one of my instructors' once more, I'll hex your lips off."

"I wasn't going to say that," Severus sneered, though it had been on the tip of his tongue.

Teeth gleaming, Narcissa smiled brightly but her blue eyes sent daggers from one man to the other. Merlin's beard, they acted more like bickering teenage brothers than friends! "That will be enough, gentlemen. We're trying to help, not brawl. Severus, you deserve happiness and if Aline can provide that you must pursue her. Make her feel special."

"Open doors for her, stop snarling when you speak with her," interjected Lucius helpfully. "Maybe tell her she's attractive or good at her job—I know you've never told her that!"

Sulking, arms crossed over his concave chest, Snape growled back, "She is perfectly capable of opening her own doors, and I do not snarl…most of the time. And she'd probably think I was up to something if I complimented her."

"You asked for advice, we're giving it. It's up to you to take it." Lucius finished off his glass of wine, then eyed the bottle warily. If Narcissa had the slightest inkling or notion that he was headed toward inebriation, she'd…he wasn't quite sure what she'd do, but it wouldn't be pleasant, that he could count on.

In a reluctant voice, eyes reflecting a haunting childlike fear, Severus asked, "What if she doesn't like—what if she rejects me?"

Narcissa, thankfully, beat her husband to the punch. Despite being intelligent, handsome, and good at business, he had a marked proclivity for being brutally honest with his best friend in ways that would crush many people's feelings. Severus was tougher than that, but at times he needed a gentle touch, too. "I don't see that happening if you treat her with respect and show her true affection."

Oh, here it came. Lucius could not resist stuffing a foot in his mouth, boot and all, and chewing on the sole for good measure. "What my wife is diplomatically trying to say is you have to totally not be yourself."

"Is that how you are with me, sweetheart?" asked Narcissa. Her tone had entered the danger zone that sent alarms firing off in the man's head.

Grasping at containment before it got out of hand, Lucius placed a stricken hand on his chest. "No! We're not talking about me—I revere you with the most genuine love and respect, Narcissa. I merely meant Severus must stop being a snarky git to Aline. No offense, Severus."

"Why would I take offense at being called names by a pompous twat?" replied Snape, amazingly managing to pull off a sneer and a smirk simultaneously. He'd been practicing it for an occasion just like this.

That did it. Weary of being nice in the face of these two incorrigible comrades, Narcissa made a split second decision she was sure Abraxas would wholeheartedly support (and Lucius would have a hard time arguing with, as she'd taken the page from his book): she reached over and flicked Severus in the forehead, startling him into a horrified silence. Lucius began to chuckle, until she turned and thumped him good in the same manner; he adopted a look of betrayed hurt. On their pale skin, the marks immediately turned a bright pink.

"One more mean remark or snide comment tonight and the wand comes out," she cautioned quietly. "The food is getting cold, I suggest we have ourselves an enjoyable meal. Don't you agree?"

The men exchanged dismayed, puzzled looks. What had gotten into the witch? They were behaving the same way they always did! Unwilling to risk her wrath, having gotten a small taste of it, they murmured agreement and dug into their food with occasional circumspect glances at Lucius' firebrand of a wife. Every so often she did manage to surprise them…

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Ladon awoke from his nap to find himself held prisoner in the barred cage once again. Face scrunched into a frown, he kicked his feet mightily, displacing his fuzzy blanket, then he lifted his legs within reach so he could finger his toes while examining his surroundings.

This was a different place, he didn't recognize it. The big one called Day-co was sitting not far away at a huge wooden block…maybe he was playing with it. He didn't look like he was having much fun. The main big ones who always made him feel happy and secure—Mudder and Fadder—were nowhere to be seen. Ladon slipped his foot up to his mouth to suck contentedly on his big toe while gazing up at row after row of multi-colored blocks lined up to the ceiling.

Without warning that icky wet feeling assailed him as the stuff poured from his body. He wished he could stop it from doing that, he hated it; it made him chilled and he wanted his blanket, but at two months of age he wasn't yet able to fetch it himself. He struggled mightily to flip over, to no avail.

He'd just geared himself up to start whining when a pretty, fluffy colored thing on Day-co's block caught his eye. A wafting of air through the room made it sway in the most enticing way. He wanted it, he wanted it very much and Day-co was ignoring him. Flailing his tiny arms and legs enthusiastically, he stretched out a hand to the toy, reaching as hard as he could. A quill with red and orange feathers zipped across the space and he snagged it in his grasp, grinning joyously. Like any good, normal baby he proceeded to ram the feathers into his mouth to chew and suck in infantile bliss.

"The baby wet himself." Mateo paused in the doorway to Lucius' library to address Draco, who appeared to be studying a book.

"How do you know?" asked Draco, looking up at him in a vaguely hostile manner.

"I can smell it. It's either Ladon or you." He walked in to stand over the crib, but he was still looking at Draco.

When Ladon saw him his limbs thrashed wildly and he cooed a greeting at Tay-o. The cold one had a soothing voice and sang him pretty songs he didn't understand. He liked Tay-o a lot.

"You know, I really don't need you to babysit me," Draco groused, pushing up from the desk.

Mateo shrugged. "Perhaps not, but your father asked me to check on you while he's out with your mother."

Ever since Draco's whipping a week ago, he'd been more sharp-tongued with everyone except Lucius, whom he avoided when possible, and was sweet as syrup to when not possible. Mateo truly couldn't say how much good the punishment had done, though he agreed it was well deserved. He looked forward to reading the essay the boy was supposed to write, yet found it hard to believe Draco seriously considered himself in the wrong. Time would tell.

"Draco, do you think it wise to give a baby a pointy object? He could have put his eye out!" Mateo reached into the crib and snatched the quill from Ladon, who promptly flew into a howling fit. The sangrista held up the object in obvious vexation.

Suddenly concerned, Draco hurried over, eyes wide. "I didn't give it to him." He scrutinized the area along with Mateo to deduce if somehow it could have fallen into the crib. It could not.

"Then where—" Mateo stopped abruptly, wearing the same incredulous expression as Draco. Accidental magic at Ladon's age? It was practically unheard of!

In high spirits for the first time in days, Draco leaned over to pick up the squalling boy, without regard to soiling his garments with the tyke's urine. Smiling proudly as if the child were his own son, he hugged Ladon to him and kissed his cheek. The cuddling soothed Ladon, who calmed to a mere whimper. "Well, Brax, looks like you're officially a wizard! Maybe you're not pure 'brat' after all."

"Your parents will be thrilled," said Mateo, stroking Ladon's hair fondly. "But before they get home, it looks like both you and the baby need a change of clothing. And a bath—you both reek!"