Root and Branch

The meeting place was the catacomb of the cathedral at Durham.

There was scarcely any need for concealing charms: the wind had blown savagely since midday, and this combined with the rain was enough to keep the students and citizens indoors. So the only Muggles remotely likely to notice them were the dean and chapter, and at this hour of the night they would surely be asleep.

Nevertheless, some earlier arrival had cast wards. Lucius could feel them as he strode across the green. He turned up his collar and did not look around to see who else might be arriving.

Inside, he and the others stood in a loose circle and did not speak. It was a smaller group than usual, and unmasked – just the trusted core, then, and not the whole company. Someone cleared his throat, and the sound echoed off the stone walls.

The clock in the tower struck one; a shadow moved in the corridor; and Lucius dropped to one knee and bowed his head as swiftly as if it had been magic that compelled him. He heard the ring of his lordship's boot-heels and felt the breeze from the swish of his cloak, but maintained his attitude of submission until he heard the voice: "My friends."

"My lord," they all murmured as they rose.

"I am frustrated by our lack of progress," his lordship said. "The strength of the adversary grows. No one has yet managed to rid us of young Potter, and I now learn that his Mudblood wife is carrying his child. These Potters are obstacles to my success. Who will protect me if they have the chance to become dangers?"

A chorus of "I will, my lord" rippled through the catacomb.

His lordship waved down the protestations of fealty. "I must protect myself immediately, so no Potter can compass my defeat. We must brew the Aionios as quickly as possible."

At least two wizards were unable to prevent visible displays of the surprise Lucius felt at this announcement. His lordship had made use of many spells in his quest for immortality, and a handful of specified potions with purposes like strengthening the immune system, or preventing bruises; but this was the first attempt at an umbrella potion intended to make the subject live forever. It was bold, risky, and uncertain of success.

His lordship looked slowly around at the assembly. "Perhaps someone wishes to comment?" Nobody moved or spoke. His lordship sneered. "Or perhaps not. You will aid me by gathering the ingredients. Mulciber!"

"Here, my lord." Mulciber genuflected.

"Fetch me fourteen scruples of solid magnesium. Bring it to Hangleton Heath by St. Martin's Day."

"As my lord wishes." Mulciber bowed again and backed away from his lordship for three paces before turning and walking from the catacomb.

"Braithwaite!"

Braithwaite was dispatched to bring back the tail-fin of a coelacanth. Tozhenin was to find the purest, clearest amber. Young Snape hurried away to collect the seeds and bark of a thousand-year-old bristlecone pine. One by one, his lordship sent the assembly off in search of particular ingredients for his Aionios potion. Quicksilver, living coral, the egg of an emperor penguin – many others were rare items, expensive or dangerous or at least difficult to obtain. Finally, only Lucius remained; he knelt again before his lordship and bowed his head, awaiting his order.

"Malfoy."

"Yes, my lord."

"It is to you that I entrust the retrieval of the final, most important ingredient in the Aionios. You know what is required. I hope I shall not be disappointed."

"I would sooner die than fail you, my lord."

"Excellent. Bring me a pureblood witch. You may take Travers with you to do the heavy lifting."

"Yes, my lord."

"Leave me. I shall expect you at dawn on St. Martin's Day."

"Thank you, my lord." Lucius backed away from his lordship, turned and ducked through the door into the corridor, and climbed the stairs to the transept. Before he was outdoors again, his plan was in place. He knew precisely the witch to bring. He glanced quickly about to ensure that he was alone, and Disapparated.

Lucius Apparated onto the first-floor landing of the main staircase at the Manor. The house was silent; the house-elves were too far away to disturb the night with their scurrying, and the children would have been sent to bed hours ago. He moved as quietly as possible as he let himself into his bedroom and closed the door.

Narcissa was asleep. Lucius could see the curve of her hip outlined in the coverlet and limned by the light of the moon. For a long moment he simply stood, listening to her soft, regular breathing, feeling his blood thrum in his veins. Then he undressed, draped his cloak and robes over a chair, and slid into bed behind her.

She did not wake, but she shifted slightly, settling on her back and turning her head to face him. Lucius propped his head on his hand and looked at her; he ran his palm up the curve of her arm to her shoulder, and she turned toward him onto her side; he drew his hand over and between her breasts, down her body, and between her legs, and shoved two fingers into the center of her.

Ah – she was awake now.

Her eyes flew open, and she cried out, but only once. On the second thrust, he crooked his thumb, and it was all gasps after that. He moved to hover over her when she closed her eyes, rolling her onto her arched back; her hands fluttered about him and finally settled on his shoulders, her fingernails scoring parallel lines in his skin. When she tipped her head back, Lucius pulled his fingers from her, lifted her hips in both hands, knocked her legs further apart with his knee, and drove his cock into her.

There was voice in Narcissa's breaths, now, not-quite whimpers. She opened her eyes and reached up to hook her hands behind his neck. Lucius let go her hip long enough to slide one arm behind her and scoop her up as he sat back on his heels. She wound her legs around his waist and got her hands into his hair and held on, and he lifted her and pulled her down into his lap, again and again, until he came, with his cock deep inside her and his nose pressed to the fine, fragrant skin of her throat.

He turned to the side and lay down on his back, absently wrapping an arm around Narcissa's shoulders when she curled into his side and laid her hand on his belly. He looked at the ceiling for a few minutes and then closed his eyes, listening to her breathe. She was still awake when he drifted to sleep.

2 November

The bed was empty when Lucius woke. He lay for a moment with his hand in the spot where Narcissa had been; then he rose, dressed, and went down to breakfast.

Lacerta was sitting at the table, swinging her feet under her chair and summoning an egg from the sideboard to the egg cup in front of her. Rastaban was, as usual, scowling at her over his bacon. Lucius raised an eyebrow at him. That was all it took to change the scowl into a pout, and the boy hunched over, sulking. Lucius' upper lip twitched as he turned away and sat down.

Narcissa stood at the sideboard. She had looked up when he came in, but now seemed about to turn and pour her tea. Lucius gestured impatiently. "Well?"

Narcissa looked over her shoulder at him, shook her head, and did turn around and pour her tea. Lucius seethed until she sat down opposite him. He opened his mouth to snarl, but she spoke first.

"It's no use your bellowing about it, Lucius. Clenching your fists and gnashing your teeth won't get you an heir." Rastaban snorted. Lacerta kicked him under the table. Narcissa sipped her tea.

Lucius narrowed his eyes at her. "I," he said evenly, "have been doing what needs to be done to get me an heir."

"As have I," Narcissa said, with an infuriating little half-smile. "It doesn't seem to have been working, does it."

"My family," he went on, "have been wizards through and through since the beginning of recorded history. This –" he glared at Rastaban – "this issue has never come up before."

"You don't suppose it's possible that some earlier generation of Malfoys also had a Squib child, and simply wrote him off the family tree?" Narcissa said dryly. "Though I can't imagine why such an idea would occur to me."

"Papa," Lacerta said suddenly, examining her spoon, "why can't Alcyone be the heir?"

"You and Alcyone will both inherit from your mother's side," Lucius told her. "Now if you've finished your breakfast, run along to your lessons." Lacerta hopped down from her seat, dashed to his side and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, ran to give a kiss to Narcissa, stuck her tongue out at Rastaban, and skipped out of the room. Rastaban glowered. "You clear off as well," Lucius said, jerking his head at the dining-room door. Rastaban slid out of his chair and slouched away.

"I suppose you have some idea how the situation may be remedied?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Narcissa said, propping her elbow on her chin and drumming her fingers on her cheek. "Do you see much of Arthur Weasley at work?"

"As little as I can manage. Why?"

"There's a potion, Paterfiliorum," she began.

"I've heard of it," Lucius said. "It's a myth."

"Have it your way, then." Narcissa summoned the teapot and poured another cup. "It's nothing to me. I've got heiresses coming out of my –"

"Fine," Lucius interrupted. "Tell me about this potion, and what the devil it has to do with Arthur Weasley."

"A lot of potions have human-derived ingredients, don't they," Narcissa said. "Polyjuice needs a bit of the person you're transforming into. Enamorata needs a bit of the person you're hoping to seduce. Sempredoro needs a bit of skin from the palm of a rich man's hand. –"

"Yes, yes," Lucius said impatiently. "Get on with it."

"Paterfiliorum," Narcissa went on with a gleam in her eye, "is supposed to ensure the conception of a wizard son. I don't know all the ingredients, or the order of combining them, but doesn't it seem that such a potion would be more effective if it contained the essence of a man who – how many sons does he have now?"

"Six. Are you suggesting that I –"

"I'm suggesting that Arthur Weasley's hair, or blood, or fingernails, may make a Paterfiliorum potion more effective than it could ever be without them."

"Assuming such a potion exists."

"Is it important enough to you to do a little research?" She leaned back in her chair and looked levelly at him.

He looked back at her for a moment before giving in and blinking first. "Very well," he said. "I'll make some discreet inquiries. If the thing can be done, I'm sure I know the man who can tell us how."

Lucius had intended to Apparate to Stoke-on-Trent to fetch Travers and do his lordship's errand; instead, he flooed to Knockturn Alley, where he knew young Snape had taken a flat above the apothecary. He rapped on the door with the head of his cane.

It was only a moment before he heard "Visio" muttered on the other side, and then the door opened to reveal Snape, collar unbuttoned, eyes narrowed. "Mr. Malfoy."

"Snape." When the idiot didn't invite him in, Lucius continued. "I've come with a question of some importance. Perhaps we could discuss it where others will at least have to make some effort if they wish to overhear?"

Snape stepped aside and pulled the door open wider to admit Lucius to his flat. "If you've come to make sure I've got the right ingredient for his lordship's Aionios, you needn't have –"

Lucius waved a hand to get Snape to be quiet. "Your service to his lordship is little of my affair, Snape. My question concerns something I want you to do for me." Snape folded his hands and tilted his head and listened politely. "I want you to tell me what you know about the Paterfiliorum potion."

Snape's face betrayed just the tiniest hint of surprise. No doubt he thought he'd hidden it. "I – of course," he said. "Please sit down." He showed Lucius to a chair and sat on the edge of a settee facing him. "There is very little documentation of the use of Paterfiliorum," Snape began. He sounded as if he were giving recitation in school. He pursed his lips briefly, apparently picking his words with some care. "And access to what there is has been strictly regulated by the Ministry, as part of an effort to preserve a distinction between what may and what may not be magically influenced. Paterfiliorum assists in the conception of a wizard son, which the government have determined ought to be left to chance."

"Fascinating," Lucius said through clenched teeth. "What. Is. In it?"

"Ah." Snape blanched just a trifle, and tugged twice at the cuff of his sleeve. "The potion contains hawthorn bark, pine nuts, and oak and ivy leaves, in wheat paste with mustard seed. And to this preparation is added something belonging to a man who has already conceived a son."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "'Something'?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, no document exists to tell us what." Lucius stood; Snape was on his feet and had taken a step backward in the time it took him to begin the next sentence. That wary of him, was he? Lucius smiled just slightly and stepped to the desk, idly flipping through Snape's letter-rack. "But it's, ah, generally agreed that the contributor must himself be a wizard, as the potion is supposed to yield a son with magical ability. Apart from that, some have suggested that any of such a man's possessions will do. Others maintain that to be merely owned by the man is insufficient, and the thing must be inalienably his."

"But you don't know."

Snape had regained what composure he had lost, and answered smoothly. "Not with any certainty. This is considered dark magic, so most who practice it do so underground. Additionally, few wizards wish it known that they need such a potion, so they tend not to keep careful records. Not to mention the fact that in many cases, a successful potion need only work once, so there's been no investigation that I know of into whether the results can be duplicated."

Lucius paced around the room. It was sparsely decorated, but Snape did have a few knickknacks on his bookshelves. "I've heard it said that a donor with more sons will yield a more effective potion."

"It's a possibility. The idea with any potion is to infuse it with some element of what one hopes it will accomplish. His lordship's potion, for instance, contains bark, the protective outer layer, from a tree that has stood for a thousand years. It also contains the one bone in the skeleton that does not articulate with any other bone. Pure magnesium is both durable and rare –"

"Quite." Lucius picked up an ivory tool whose purpose he couldn't guess, and put it down again. "You seem confident that, given the right ingredient, introduction of this potion will succeed where other measures have failed."

"Well. Ah. The potion does not, er, do the work of a man, of course." Snape, behind Lucius' left shoulder, cleared his throat. "Nor does it – nor is it any use to a man who lacks the strength, as they say, to do the work himself." Lucius turned and glared at him, and Snape seemed to flinch only slightly as he met his gaze. "There are other potions that can –"

"I don't believe I asked about other potions," Lucius hissed.

Snape's lip twitched into a smirk. His eyes flickered downward for an instant, then back up, smugly. "No, you didn't. But who's to say that Paterfiliorum alone will solve your problem?" He raised an eyebrow.

Idiot. Lucius took a step toward him. "You will brew Paterfiliorum until my wife has borne me a wizard son," he said. Snape was about to speak again, but Lucius took another step and rested the head of his cane against Snape's upper lip. "And," he went on. Snape had not closed his mouth; his breath was audible but controlled. "Since you seem to need proof that Paterfiliorum is all I require," Lucius said, "you will kneel on the floor and give me that mouth until I've had enough."

For a long moment, Snape simply looked at him, eyebrow still raised, lips still parted and pressed to Lucius' cane, breath still even. Then he took a half-step back and dropped quite gracefully to his knees. He looked up at Lucius as he undid the buttons on Lucius' robes. He looked at his own hands as he undid the buttons on Lucius' trousers. Lucius watched young Snape draw his cock out with his hand; he closed his eyes when he felt the first touch of his tongue.

Warm, and smooth, and damp – Snape licked down and around Lucius' cock, leaving cool spots where his tongue had been, and then wrapped his lips around the shaft and sucked gently, tugging the head further into his mouth with each pull. He was still moving his tongue; Lucius could feel the rippling against the underside of his cock, and he sighed and brought one hand down to lodge his fingers in Snape's hair.

Snape froze, held his tongue still on Lucius' cock and his hands flat on Lucius' thighs, where he had them braced for balance. He kept still for several breaths, no doubt waiting for Lucius to take hold of his head and fuck his mouth as though it were a woman's cunt. But Lucius merely growled and flexed his fingers around Snape's skull, and Snape fell to again with his eyes shut. Lucius concentrated on breathing steadily, and looked at the opposite wall.

Snape licked, and then sucked, and then drew back and leaned forward again with Lucius' cock snug in the circle of his lips. He repeated this pattern over and over, until he must have heard Lucius' breath grow ragged, must have felt the slight involuntary tremble in his legs; then he did all three at once.

Clenching his teeth around his grunt, Lucius came into Snape's mouth. He twisted his fingers in Snape's hair and curled his toes into the floor to keep his balance, and Snape's fingers tightened just slightly on his thighs as he gentled his tongue. When he pulled off, Snape tucked Lucius' cock back into his trousers and did up the buttons, looking up at Lucius the while; raised that eyebrow again; spat a mouthful of semen onto Lucius' left shoe; and rolled easily back up to his feet, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

Lucius smiled the smile he favored when he was not remotely amused, and calmly struck Snape across the cheekbone with the back of his hand. Snape's head turned under the blow; he placidly turned it back and raised the other eyebrow.

Lucius cleaned his shoe with a wave of his wand, drew his cloak around his shoulders, and looked once more around Snape's flat. "How long will it take to brew the base of the potion?" he asked as he strode to the door.

"A week and a day, if I have everything I need."

"Have it ready by the tenth. I'll collect it before we convene to present his lordship with the ingredients for the Aionios."

"It won't –"

"I shall find the final ingredient myself, and finish at home," Lucius said. He cocked his head, an implicit challenge; young Snape did not interrupt him again. "I'll see myself out."

Lucius Apparated directly into Travers' sitting room, and surprised the man dragging a young woman through his front door. "Mr. Malfoy!" he said, with none of young Snape's cool impassivity.

"Travers." Lucius directed a nod at Travers, and another one, slightly deeper, at the girl. "I'm afraid I must pull you away from your guest. I've business that requires your particular skills."

"Is it –"

"Quickly, Travers."

Lucius hated working with Travers. The oaf had a knack for spectacularly bungling the simplest of assignments. He'd come along to stand guard when Lucius had gone to kill Iain McKinnon, and had called Lucius by name – with the result that what had begun as a simple precision strike had ended in the slaughter of the whole family, except the one girl who'd managed to disappear.

Still, his lordship spared Travers because he was the biggest and the strongest, and there were times, as now, when raw strength would be necessary to guarantee dominance over a magically-trained adult. Lucius gathered his patience and silently hoped that, this time, they could accomplish his lordship's task quickly.

Travers took three times as long as he should have done collecting his cloak and his mask, and once he'd found them he didn't bother arranging them inconspicuously; Lucius had to Obliviate the young woman, still slumped against the wall, before they could actually set off. Travers laid a hand on Lucius' forearm. He could have Apparated on his own – but rather than tell him where they were going, Lucius suffered him as a passenger.

They arrived in a garden, just within sight of the Burrow.

Lucius felt his lip draw into a sneer at the sight of the place. Nothing would give him more satisfaction than to hit it with a well-aimed Proscindo and watch it fall to pieces. Weasley was ill-situated, however, for such a conspicuous attack. The utter ruin of his home or the wholesale targeting of his large family would draw unwelcome attention toward his lordship – not just the attention of the Ministry, furthermore, but of the Muggle world as well. Better the action taken against Weasley be confined to something more subtle. The disappearance of his wife would engender sympathy, but not undue scrutiny. And she was a powerful witch, of pure blood for untold generations. His lordship would be well pleased.

"Let's go." Lucius drew his mask over his face, hoisted himself over the garden wall, and advanced toward the house. As he approached the kitchen door, however, he realized that it was too quiet. He'd expected Weasley himself to be at the Ministry, as he always was, and he knew the eldest boy was at Hogwarts; but he'd counted on the woman to be home, with at least the two youngest of the other five children.

Alohomora failed, but the door opened immediately to his Eilikrinis, and Lucius strode furiously through the ground floor of the house, hearing no noise from above to signal the presence of anyone at all. A clock with eight hands stood in the passage between the kitchen and the sitting-room. The longest hand, marked "Arthur", held steady at "work"; the hand marked "William" pointed to "school"; both "Frederic" and "George" pointed to "Gran's"; and the rest swung back and forth between "traveling" and "shops". Lucius fumed.

"What was it you needed me to –"

"Shut up." Lucius looked around the sitting-room. Besides the eight-handed clock, there was a one-handed clock with the hand pointing to about eleven, where instead of a number were the words "Time for a lie down"; and what seemed at first glance to be an ordinary two-handed clock, but on which the sun hand pointed to Scorpio and the moon hand to Aries. Lucius rolled his eyes and drew his own watch from his pocket: twenty past eleven. He wandered through the sitting-room, looking in a cursory fashion for something belonging to Weasley for his Paterfiliorum potion, but not really expecting to find anything unmistakably – not to say inalienably – his.

They couldn't wait here for the family to return. In the first place, if he and Travers simply lurked at the Burrow all afternoon, Weasley might very well arrive home first, which would be no good at all. Masks notwithstanding, if Weasley saw them, they'd have to kill him or at least Obliviate him soundly – or else allow him to warn his wife and sons to be more than usually cautious. In any of these events, Lucius would be unable to bring his chosen pureblood witch to his lordship. Apart from all that, he had to at least appear at the office; by now, his staff would have concluded he wasn't coming in, and relaxed into complacency. Ideal time to turn up and remind them he was always watching.

That was it for today, then. They'd have to return again after the weekend. "Better get you home, Travers," Lucius said, without a glance at the man, as he swept back out into the garden.

"Did you just need me for the lookout?" Travers asked.

Thick as mince though Travers was, he was just perceptive enough to realize that he was out of the loop. Lucius knew Travers didn't think there was any real chance of his being let in on the actual purpose of the visit – but he supposed he had to give him credit for asking. His lordship would reward a foot soldier who showed an interest in planning and strategy. Assuming he didn't Cruciate him to within an inch of his life. Lucius decided to be lenient. "For today, as it happened, yes," he replied.

"Will we be back another –"

"I will call when I need you, as I did this morning," Lucius snapped. "Now let's be off, if you don't mind. I haven't got all day."

3 November

The third time Lacerta flew a circle around the breakfast table, Lucius stopped her broom with an Immobilus just before she could fly out the dining-room door.

"Aspeximihi." The broom swung around to face him, nearly slamming Lacerta into the doorframe, and then angled downward so the handle became a direct extension of Lucius� line of vision. The tail of the broom was still ten feet in the air; Lacerta, still perched on it – clinging to it, now, in fact – was tipped forward at a steepish angle. Narcissa glanced up, raised one eyebrow, and went back to marmalading her toast. Lucius narrowed his eyes at his daughter. "Lacerta."

"Yes, Papa?"

"Do you or do you not wish to come to Hogwarts today?"

She nodded meekly.

"And how," Lucius asked, keeping his voice even, "do you plan to get there?"

Lacerta tried to lift her chin, though her neck was already craned to look at Lucius; the effort made her wobble precariously, but she regained her balance before she tumbled to the floor. "I'll hold Mamma's hand while she Apparates, and we'll all get the coach up from Hogsmeade?" she answered, a hopeful note creeping into the end of the sentence.

"You'll hold my hand while I Apparate, and if I let go, do you know what will happen?" Her eyes widened in alarm, and she shook her head. "Then I suggest you not behave in such a way that I will be tempted to do so. Is that clear?" Lacerta nodded quickly. "When your mother and I are ready to leave, we'll leave, and not a moment sooner."

"Yes, Papa."

"Finite aspicere." The broom handle rose again so it was more or less parallel to the floor. Lucius turned back to his coffee. Lacerta gave an annoyed "hrmph" after a few moments, but Lucius turned and looked up at her with both eyebrows raised, and that was the last sound heard from her until he and Narcissa had finished their breakfast, dressed for the journey, made sure Rastaban was securely locked in his Squib-proof suite for the weekend, and given specific instructions to the house-elves with regard to their expectations upon their return. Lucius remobilized Lacerta's broomstick, allowed her to land, and sent her scurrying for her outdoor cloak.

They Apparated to the front of a long queue at the carriage stand. A stupid-looking wizard in dark red livery robes bowed and scraped at the sight of them, and whistled for the best carriage to take them around the lake to Hogwarts: when the Malfoys showed up, they did so in style.

The stands around the Quidditch pitch were nearly full when they arrived, so Lucius was able to scan the crowd as he led his family to their seats. He came to these blasted matches mainly to be seen, of course, and secondarily to watch his elder daughter play, but an important additional benefit was the observation that was possible before and during the event. François Kettleburn looked tired. Minerva McGonagall had an air of concern about her. Anceps Alembia seemed to be drunk, again. Idiotically as Albus Dumbledore ran the place, he might at least consider replacing Alembia before the man burned the castle to the ground. Perhaps the hope was that one evening he would reach for his wine bottle and mistakenly drink one of his lethal potions instead. Couldn't happen too soon.

Severus Snape was in a facing section of the Slytherin stands. Interesting. No doubt he had a cauldron on the boil back at his flat in Knockturn Alley, or wherever he did his potion-brewing. Lucius knew Snape was far too ambitious to neglect his work and risk actually angering someone as near his lordship as himself. Snape was looking daggers at the Gryffindor stands; following his gaze, Lucius saw a knot of activity among the older students, and after a moment, several figures detached themselves from the group and moved up to the higher alumni and visitors' seats.

In the lead was young Potter, with his wife – she'd been a Gryffindor as well, Lucius recalled. That no-account cousin of Narcissa's, his dark hair shaggier than Potter's, hurried to catch up with them; he leaned in between them, grinned and said something that made them laugh, and continued past them to sit on Potter's other side. A smallish, roundish, mousy-looking fellow ushered a fair-haired young woman into the row next to the Potters, taking his seat with his arm around her shoulders. All five clapped and cheered as they were joined by a smiling young man with brown hair, hand in hand with what appeared to be a seventh-year student. They sat in the row behind the rest. Lucius glanced back at Snape, but couldn't tell which of this happy band he was looking at so murderously.

He felt Narcissa nudge his elbow and turned to her, annoyed. "Near-side Gryffindor stands," she said, before he could speak, with a nod in that direction. "Weasleys on their way up – not that there's a chance you could miss them."

Lucius looked where she'd indicated. Weasley and his wife were in fact climbing the steps to an empty row of seats, matching ginger-haired babies in their arms and a ginger-haired boy of about ten behind them. "What of it?" he asked. "I won't be able to get within fifteen feet of him, not in a crowd like –"

"Forget him," Narcissa interrupted. "Look at her."

Lucius looked at Molly Weasley. She looked like Molly Weasley. "Must I?"

"She's pregnant."

"Is she." Lucius looked again. "How does he do it," he murmured to himself.

"Differently than you do it, I've no doubt," Narcissa muttered.

Lucius' lip curled. "She looks the same as she's always looked. How can you tell?"

Narcissa gave him a withering look. "She doesn't look a bit the same as she's always looked – unless you've only seen her when she's pregnant, which I suppose is a possibility. She's softer in the face and rounder in the body and that cloak isn't hanging straight in the front, and if she's not five or six months gone I'm the White Witch of Salisbury."

Lucius watched the Weasleys shuffle into their row and settle into place. He wondered if this would affect his lordship's plans for the Aionios potion; it might be that Lucius should find another witch altogether before St. Martin's Day. He'd still take the Weasley woman, though. Even if he couldn't use her for the Aionios, very likely his lordship would have some use for her, at least once the child was born –

The child was –

Lucius looked for a long moment at Molly Weasley and her belly. He still didn't see it, but if Narcissa could tell from here that the woman was pregnant, he was prepared to believe her. He looked for a long moment at Arthur Weasley. He looked for a long moment at the boy between them, and then turned to Narcissa again, who was looking at him with that tiny smile of hers and one eyebrow raised. He knew in an instant that she was thinking what he was thinking.

"Exactly," she said.

"I can't take that child," he murmured. "There are other purposes for which his lordship needs her, and I'm sure she has to be unharmed."

"But there are six others," Narcissa replied. "Any of them would do just as well. Maybe better. It could be that the eldest –" she nodded toward the pitch, on which the match was in full swing – "is the best choice."

Lucius looked at the match. Gryffindor were ahead by sixty points to forty. Alcyone hovered above the action, but occasionally darted about on her broomstick – evidently in part to mislead the Gryffindor Seeker, at which she was entirely successful, and in part to obstruct the flight paths of the Gryffindor Chasers and make them try to dodge around her. The Weasley boy did dodge around her, and scored another goal. Lucius could see Alcyone narrow her eyes from where he was sitting.

"Possible," he said. "But you know as well as I do, we'll never get our hands on him."

"Not inconspicuously, that's for certain."

"But there's no reason I shouldn't take the next one." Lucius nodded back to where the Weasleys sat. "Particularly if I take him at the same time I take her." He smiled. Narcissa smiled back. All around them, excitement was building; they turned back to the pitch just in time to see Alcyone catch the Snitch and win the game for Slytherin.

Lacerta was jumping up and down and nearly levitating herself with her wild cheering for her sister. Lucius and Narcissa rose and applauded respectably, accepting congratulations on Alcyone's performance from other witches and wizards seated nearby. Lucius looked back to the Gryffindor stands where Potter and his friends were sitting. They all looked disappointed but not angry – taking it on the chin, Lucius supposed. He glanced back at the facing Slytherin stands, expecting to find young Snape still glaring at the little group, or gloating in their direction. He did a double-take when he saw that Snape, his expression entirely unreadable, was looking straight at him.

8 November

Lucius was not a man who was accustomed to being uninformed. He was an important member of his lordship's inner circle; what there was to be known, he knew.

It was consequently very difficult for him to be kept waiting, day after day, for a report from young Snape on his Paterfiliorum potion. The hope now was that Narcissa wouldn't conceive before it was ready; and every day, there was silence from Knockturn Alley. Lucius paced his office and seethed. That he would even consider going to Snape's flat like an errand-boy, never mind the fury he'd unleash when he got there – a Malfoy didn't scurry, not at the whim of an upstart like Snape.

By Thursday afternoon, however, Lucius had waited long enough. He, not Snape, would decide when Snape informed him of the progress of the potion. He Apparated to the landing outside the flat above the apothecary and beat the door hard enough to scar the wood before it was opened.

Snape was in his shirtsleeves, hair tied back, using a wooden spoon to stir something in a cauldron he held by a protruding handle. His eyes widened for the briefest of instants, but he recovered quickly and nodded politely as he wished Lucius a good afternoon.

"Hang your good afternoon, you infernal Snape, if you'll persist in making me ring the bell like a bloody brush salesman! Am I never to be invited through the blasted door?"

Snape blinked. "I do apologize," he said, and stood aside, allowing Lucius in and closing the door behind him before turning back toward the kitchen.

Lucius seethed and followed him. Snape set the cauldron down, added something from a glass jar, stirred to a count of twenty-eight, placed the spoon on a ceramic rest, covered the cauldron, and topped the jar with a cork stopper before turning to face Lucius. "Mr. Malfoy," he said, hands folded in front of him, the very picture of insouciance. "To what do I owe the –"

"Shut up," Lucius snarled. "You've not been working on my potion, Snape."

"On the contrary –"

Lucius raised his wand and summoned the glass jar. "Poppies and buttercup blossoms. Correct me if I'm mistaken –" it would be interesting to see how Snape would correct him, if he dared – "but these are no ingredients in the Paterfiliorum. In these quantities, they would yield a sedative strong enough to bring down a wild animal." Snape nodded. Lucius raised an eyebrow.

"Your potion is on the other burner. It needs to reduce for another forty-eight hours."

"When I collect it from you," Lucius said, setting the jar back on the counter and peering into both cauldrons, "it will still be liquid enough that the final ingredient may be added?"

"It will be like dark treacle. You can add whiskey to thin it if necessary, but not more than a pint or two."

Lucius looked up at him, surprised. "Whiskey?"

Snape shrugged. "Water of life."

Lucius gave a thin smile. "Ah. Of course." He put the lid back on the second cauldron. "Forty-eight hours."

"Yes."

"I shall expect your owl when it's ready." Lucius moved toward Snape and began to pull off his gloves. "Is that understood?"

"Owl. Yes, sir."

"I haven't been at all satisfied with your attitude this week, Snape." Snape stepped backward away from Lucius, along the counter. Lucius followed him. "I shouldn't have to come up here and ask you for a progress report."

Snape raised one eyebrow. If Lucius hadn't been so desperate for the potion, he'd have drawn his wand and stabbed him through the heart. "You must realize," he continued, tucking his gloves into a pocket on his robe, "that if I'm to have my afternoon disturbed, I shall require more from you than a few words on the subject of distilled spirits." Snape made a move as if to duck out of the corner where Lucius had steered him, but Lucius lifted his cane and blocked the way. Snape looked back at him, his face carefully blank.

"Turn around," Lucius said.

Snape looked at him for a long moment before slowly turning and bracing his hands on the counter-top. He hung his head, but after a moment Lucius realized he was merely stretching his neck, tilting his head to the left and then to the right before fixing his gaze on some spot on the wall between the counter and the cupboard.

"Trousers," Lucius said, beginning on his own robes. Snape didn't look back at him and didn't speak; he straightened up, undid his trouser buttons, and placed his hands on the counter again. Lucius yanked the trousers down himself and kicked at the inside of Snape's ankle.

Snape was thin, and his hips were bony. His arse was likely not as tight as it had once been, but if he was determined – as Lucius expected he was – to be entirely passive, Lucius would still have some difficulty. There was a flask of pumpkin seed oil among the various bottles on the counter; Lucius summoned this and slicked his cock, worked two coated fingers into Snape – purely for his own benefit – then dried his hand on Snape's shirt-tails and began. (Of course it still wasn't easy. Lucius gritted his teeth and felt his nostrils flare. Snape hadn't even locked his arms, but seemed willing to be pressed right up against the counter.)

It was tight and hot and didn't take long. Snape looked at whatever he was looking at on the wall, and Lucius dug his fingers into his hips and pulled him back into each thrust. Lucius found himself looking at Snape's hair, untidily gathered at the base of his skull; it smelled like burnt herbs. One lock was coming loose from the tie. Lucius thrust harder and shut his eyes when he came.

Lucius pulled out and stepped back after a few moments when he felt his pulse returning to normal. He righted his clothing and watched Snape pull his trousers up and begin fastening the buttons; he didn't do them up all the way to the top, but he didn't tuck in his ruined shirt, so the undone buttons were hidden. He faced Lucius with his hands folded, looking almost exactly as he had looked when Lucius arrived.

"I'll hear from you again before Saturday afternoon," Lucius said, "will I not?"

Snape inclined his head slightly.

Lucius put his gloves back on. "See that I do," he said, and Apparated back to his office.

That night he lay on his back and pulled Narcissa up to sit astride him. He couldn't be expected to do all the work all the time. Perhaps, he thought idly as she rode him, this would be what worked and the Paterfiliorum would be unnecessary. No way to tell, of course. Narcissa would know by morning whether or not she was pregnant, and be able to discern the baby's sex; but no one could know whether an unborn child possessed magical ability or not. Without the potion, they might very well conceive another girl, or wait nine months for nothing but another Squib.

There was no question as to the potion's importance. It was as crucial to him as the Aionios was to his lordship. And tomorrow he would have the means to complete them both. Saturday he and Narcissa would take the first of the Paterfiliorum – it was possible that by Sunday, when he and the others brought the Aionios ingredients to his lordship, Lucius could already have succeeded. He grinned as Narcissa tightened her inner muscles around his cock and her knees around his hips, and he came. He heard her say something, but he didn't know what; he felt her lie down beside him, but it was only a moment later that he was fast asleep.

9 November

Lucius awoke to a shriek and a clatter in the corridor. He opened his eyes and glared at the bedroom door. Narcissa was still sleeping peacefully with her head on his shoulder. He glared at her as well, then relaxed and closed his eyes.

There was another clatter – more of a crash, this time – and Lucius sat up and spat an Accio at his dressing-gown. Narcissa, instantly wide awake, pulled on her own dressing-gown and was pulling back her hair by the time Lucius flung open the door.

Five steps down the hall stood Lacerta. Behind her was a heap of what had until recently been decor – a pedestal; the wreck of a vase, in which smoked the remains of a wall sconce; and a crumble of stone that Lucius had last seen attached to the wall over his daughter's head. At her feet was a house-elf, prostrate.

"What in all the cold hells is going on out here?" Lucius bellowed.

Neither elf nor girl said a word. Lacerta's face was ablaze with fury; the elf peered up through its fingers, then whimpered and covered its head again.

"One of you –" Lucius began, quietly but not at all gently.

Lacerta turned to him. "I hung my broomstick on the back of my door last night," she began.

Lucius raised one eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest.

"I hung it on the back of my door last night," Lacerta said, "and this morning it was gone. And it isn't anywhere. I can't find it. And –"

"Why are you tearing down the house at this hour," Narcissa asked, her voice as smooth and deadly as a garrotte made of silk.

"The elf says it didn't take it," Lacerta said. "And that's all it keeps saying."

"Is that true, elf?" Lucius asked.

"Maxine doesn't know where to find him, sir! Maxine has searched everywhere!"

"It's lying!" Lacerta shrieked.

"No, no, no!" the elf begged. "Maxine is a bad elf and must be punished, but Maxine is never, never, ever telling lies to Miss Lacerta, miss, or to anyone in the family, master – master and mistress are good to Maxine, and Maxine fails them, but always tells the truth." The elf scratched at its skin and beat its head against the floor as it spoke.

"What have you done," Lucius demanded.

"It stole my broomstick!"

"Lacerta, be quiet. Maxine, I require that you say in what way you have failed us."

"Master Rastaban is gone, sir," the elf wailed.

"Enough of that nonsense," Narcissa said. "Look under the bed. Look in the wardrobe. Where is Lacerta's broomstick?"

"Maxine does not know where is Miss Lacerta's broomstick, nor where is Master Rastaban." The elf wept and tore its hair. "Maxine must be punished!"

"Oh, you'll be punished," Lucius assured it. "But in the meantime, find. My. Son."

This was just what the day needed. The last thing Lucius had time for was scouring the house and finding the wretched boy. Had Rastaban simply been hiding, they'd have let him hide until they had a specific need of him – or, more likely, until he got bored or hungry and came out himself, slinking in to the dinner table with a look on his face that might one day grow up to be a sneer.

If he had Lacerta's broomstick, though ...

They might have seen this coming. Rastaban had shown no magical ability since the day he was born, but they – mainly Narcissa – had never stopped expecting that one day he would. Until his eleventh September had come and gone, they'd not only allowed him to see magic and how it was done; they'd encouraged him to try to work it himself. The fact that they'd stopped this encouragement when it became perfectly clear he would never succeed (when he failed to receive a letter from the magical quill and the Hogwarts term began without him) did nothing to make him un-learn what he had seen his whole life. The result was that Lucius had a son who couldn't make a broomstick fly – but if one was already flying, he could certainly ride on it.

Ride where? It hardly mattered. Rastaban had no invisibility cloak (Lucius hurried to confirm that his own wasn't missing) and couldn't cast a charm to hide himself from Muggles. He'd be seen; he'd be caught; he'd be asked questions; and probably, wretch that he was, he'd answer them.

There was nothing for it but to scry him out, and quickly. Narcissa had sent Lacerta back to bed and gone into her library with her wand, a candle, and her mother's mirror. If she couldn't find Rastaban within a few hours, he wouldn't be found – which would mean he had been killed, which of course (now that Lucius thought about it) would solve the problem of what would happen if he were caught.

If she did find him, on the other hand –

Luckily for the boy, the job of locating and punishing him would have to be left to his mother. Lucius had still more important work to do.

Again, the Burrow was quiet as Lucius and Travers approached. Lucius resisted the urge to fling the kitchen door open once his spell had unlocked it, but he fumed with rage. Was Molly Weasley never in the house? Lucius was about to look and see where the clock said she was – if she was on her way home, he'd wait and catch her before she even came in – when he heard a child's voice and a woman's laughter.

He smiled.

A glance confirmed that Travers had heard as well. Lucius raised a hand and pressed a finger to his lips, and silently they crept up the stairs.

Only two of the younger Weasley boys were present; these two appeared to be about three and five, but without seeing them all together – and considering he didn't give a damn – Lucius couldn't remember which two they were. They were absorbed in a game of some kind involving wooden animals.

The woman with them, sitting on the floor with her back turned, was not whom he'd expected to find. She was much younger, and a great deal slimmer, and Lucius was confident he'd seen her before –

He heard Travers' stifled gasp and remembered where. Well. If, as it appeared, he was going to be unable to get Molly Weasley, this young woman would do very, very nicely in her place. There was a sort of elegance to choosing her, a tying-up of loose ends. Lucius took a step into the room.

"My, my, my, Miranda McKinnon."

She froze. The younger Weasley child put a lion on his head. His brother looked at the girl and then at Lucius. Lucius felt the corner of his eye twitch, but he suppressed the smile even behind his mask.

"We do seem to run into each other, don't we?"

She still didn't look up, but Lucius could hear her breath catch, see her throat work as she swallowed.

"Well. It seems we haven't wasted our journey after all." He gestured to Travers. "If you don't mind?"

Travers stepped toward the girl, who was already weeping almost, but not quite, silently. He raised his arm to strike her across the temples. She ducked the fist and stood up, the two children shouted, and Travers staggered and swore and caught her by the neck with one great hand.

"Stop it, you fool," Lucius snapped. "Laevem percutia!"

Travers hissed and let go, glaring at Lucius and rubbing the spot where the spell had stung his hand. Miranda McKinnon turned her frightened eyes to Lucius; she almost looked grateful, but he suspected she knew better. He traced the curve of her throat with his thumb, dragging his index finger along her collarbone. "Bracchia praeligam," he murmured. New tears filled the girl's eyes as conjured cuffs locked her arms together at the wrists. Lucius could feel her pulse quicken in the soft hollow under his fingertips. "Astragalos constringui."

Additional cuffs bound her legs at the ankles. Lucius took a moment to rake his gaze down her body and back up again, and then turned to Travers. "Carry on." The girl did not struggle as Travers slung her over his shoulder.

The Weasleys were assertive little brats. The elder one caught the McKinnon girl by the trouser leg and tried to pull her away from Travers. "Oi, sir, she's meant to stay with us."

In another moment he'd be boasting that his father worked at the Ministry. Lucius stabbed his walking stick into the floor directly in the boy's path. The snake's head, conveniently enough, was almost exactly at his eye level. Lucius crouched down to speak to him. "Tell me, boy," he said. "What's your brother's name?"

"Percy," the boy said. Travers was down the stairs with the McKinnon girl.

"Percy," Lucius repeated. "Then your name would be Robert." The boy nodded. "Tell me, Robert – does Percy know his numbers up to twenty?"

"I can count to a hundred," Percy said – could it be with a trace of Weasley indignation already? Lucius smiled.

"Can you," he said. "Well, then, Percy, I want you to close your eyes and count to one hundred." Percy nodded solemnly, put his hands over his eyes, and began counting out loud.

Lucius rose. Sometimes – sometimes, it was so easy it was barely satisfying. He put a hand over Robert Weasley's mouth and picked him up under the other arm, and could still hear Percy's voice ("nineteen, twenty, twenty-one ...") when he reached the garden. Travers still had Miranda McKinnon over his shoulder; when Lucius gave a nod, both Apparated – with their passengers – to the first-floor landing of the Manor.

Narcissa was on the stairs when they arrived. She looked at them for a long moment before speaking, then arched one eyebrow and said only, "You idiot."

There was more than one benefit, Lucius supposed, to the fact that Rastaban was still missing. In the first place, of course, he wasn't there. Lucius would never have thought this would make much of a difference, since he saw so little of the boy on a daily basis under ordinary circumstances; but the knowledge of his absence, along with the quiet – Lacerta having nobody to terrorize – brought a kind of peace to the place. There was no question that Rastaban had to be found, but even while looking for him Lucius intended to enjoy the time without him.

In the second place, with Rastaban out of the house, Lucius and Narcissa could shut the McKinnon girl and the Weasley into the room where they kept Rastaban when the family was gone for less than a day. Rastaban had never managed to break out of that room, though there was little doubt that he'd tried – so they knew it could hold in a Squib who knew what magic could do. The room's current occupants had magical ability, but the girl had no wand and the boy had no training; it would scarcely seem worthwhile, assuming it even occurred to them, to try to escape.

Lucius and Narcissa sealed the door, setting extra wards to permit only themselves to open it again. Lucius threw a muffling charm on it as well – not that any noise was coming from the room at the moment, but he knew he'd be in no mood to hear it when it did. Narcissa gave him a look of scorn and disgust as, to his surprise, she summoned her candle and mirror from her library. "Have you not found him yet?"

"Rastaban is the least of your worries. Don't go anywhere," Narcissa said when Lucius turned away. She lit the candle and murmured a spell Lucius couldn't hear, then brought the flame near the glass and pronounced the next spell clearly: "Exhibeus Robert Weasley."

The mirror's glow shone on Narcissa's face for a moment before she beckoned Lucius to come look at it over her shoulder. He could clearly see the Weasley boy, small and frightened (though not half as frightened as he'd have been if he'd had any idea what was in store for him), huddled in the crook of an arm Lucius knew to be Miranda McKinnon's. Lucius looked at his wife. "So?"

"So that took me ten seconds," Narcissa said, extinguishing the candle. The mirror faded to ordinary silver. "How long do you suppose it will take his mother?"

Very little magic could prevent a mother from discovering the whereabouts of her child. Still less could do so permanently. There were only two methods of keeping such information from a mother forever: one was to kill her, the first step toward which Lucius had (as Narcissa pointed out again before he left) failed to take. Which was why he was on his way to Hogwarts to fetch Alcyone home and begin the second.

They had argued long enough that by the time Lucius got to the castle, lunch was finishing and the students were on their way to their afternoon lessons. One of Alcyone's friends noticed him as the group emerged from the Great Hall, and Lucius watched his daughter look where the other girl had pointed, see him waiting for her, and shriek with delight as she ran to him. "Papa," she cried, flinging her arms around him. She laughed when he lifted her up and whirled her around. "What are you doing here?"

Lucius smiled and smoothed her hair when he'd set her down. "I've come to take you home, poppet," he said. Alcyone's eyes widened. "No, no, everything's fine. But your mother and I have a very important job we need you to do for us, and I know you won't let us down."

Now Alcyone's face was twisted almost into a pout. "I thought you'd come for my birthday."

"Your birthday isn't until tomorrow," Lucius reminded her. Alcyone raised one eyebrow at him; he couldn't tell if she'd learned that expression from him or from her mother. "But if you like, we can stop in Hogsmeade before we go home, so you can choose a present."

"Does it have to have wings?"

They started toward the carved oak door. "Wings are customary for the –"

"I know, but I always get things with wings on because I'm the bloody Seeker," Alcyone said. "It gets old."

The carriage that had brought Lucius up from the village was still waiting outside. "Very well," Lucius conceded. "The wings are not required." He looked at Alcyone. "Have you got something else picked out already?"

What she had picked out already was a sort of bracelet with a ring attached. He let her put it on instead of having the jeweler wrap it up, and then she took his hand and beamed up at him just before he Apparated back to the Manor.

They arrived on the landing, as usual – just in time to be nearly run down by Lacerta, who, still lacking a broomstick, was tearing down the stairs as fast as she could in an attempt to pick up enough speed to fly unaided. She skidded to a halt and ran back to the landing when she saw her sister. "Alcyone, Alcyone! Why's she come home, Papa? Is Rastaban dead? Ooh, Alcyone, let's have a go with your wand, can I?"

"No wand until you've got your letter," Lucius said, catching Lacerta by the wrist as she reached for Alcyone's wand. "Why aren't you at your lessons, and where is your mother?"

"I've finished my lessons, and Mamma is saying all sorts of spells outside Rastaban's door. Is he dead? Can I see?"

"Go and do another chapter of cryptomancy," Lucius said.

"But –"

"Lacerta." She pouted and stomped down the stairs.

Alcyone followed him up to the corridor where Narcissa was pouring salt across the doorframe of the sealed room. "What's happened to Rastaban, Papa?" she asked.

"He ran off, but he's with your aunt Bellatrix," Narcissa answered. "Never mind him. Come – we can do the charm in the library."

It took three tries to get the first Fidelius cast. The first time, Alcyone used the wrong form of the verb; if they'd finished the spell, instead of being concealed the secret would have become common knowledge. Hardly the solution Lucius and Narcissa had in mind.

The second time, Bellatrix Black's head appeared in the fireplace and interrupted them.

"When are you going to take this brat of yours back?" she asked. "I'm not exactly eager to keep him, you know."

"We'd have taken him back hours ago if we'd been able to find where he was," Narcissa said. "Or if you'd bothered to let us know you had him."

"You know now."

"This isn't a convenient time."

"Come on, Cissie, I have very important engagements of my own to be keeping. I can't go waltzing through Brut Alley with my sister's Squib."

"No one has to know, if you don't let him talk to anyone," Lucius said.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "Even if he could pass for a wizard, he'd pass for an eleven-year-old wizard. I'd be a laughing-stock."

"Look, Trixie, if you're going to keep that Antispectris on your flat," Narcissa began –

"Don't call me Trixie. And I didn't even know he was here!"

"– so that anyone who comes through your door disappears –"

"And didn't I tell you as soon as I found him?"

"– then it won't kill you to keep him a few hours longer."

In the fireplace, Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "If it does kill me, I'm coming to haunt your house," she said, and disappeared.

The third time, they said the charm properly.

Everything seemed a little less urgent, now, with the knowledge that – unless Alcyone went and told her personally – Molly Weasley would never know what had become of her boy. Narcissa took Lacerta to Diagon Alley before dinner to buy a new broomstick; Lucius even Apparated to Bellatrix's flat to retrieve Rastaban.

He arrived in her bedroom, where she was seated at the vanity table doing something with her hair. She glanced in the mirror when she heard him. "Lucius." She smiled at him and looked back at herself. "What a charming surprise."

"Spare me," he muttered, shaking a wrinkle out of his cloak. "I've come for the boy."

"He doesn't say much, does he."

"He knows better," Lucius said. "Where is he?"

"Why, Lucius." Jewelry. Scent. Infuriating woman. "I almost think you're in a hurry to be out of here." She stood and came toward him, her dressing gown open over a lacy, silken thing attached by straps and buttons to her stockings. He assumed she would put a robe of some kind over this before going out into Brut Alley, but with Bellatrix one never knew. "Aren't you even a little bit pleased to see your favorite sister-in-law?"

"I'm delighted, as always," he sneered, "but I've no wish to keep you from your other –" he deliberately let his gaze roam down her body and back up again – "engagements. Just tell me where bloody Rastaban is, girl, and you can be rid of him."

The face she made, a sort of cross between a glare and a pout, was one he'd seen her making since she was twelve years old. He saw it on his own children daily. He was impervious to it. "The boy, Bella," he said, and gently patted her cheek.

The pout disappeared; she looked daggers at him. "Find him yourself," she hissed.

"I'll tear this flat apart to do it."

They stared each other down for long moments. Finally, she conceded. "I put him in the cupboard behind the clock in the lounge. It hasn't got a handle on the inside of the door; I knew he'd be safe there."

He took her hand and kissed it. "Have a lovely evening."

Rastaban blinked in the bright light when Lucius opened the cupboard door. "No son of mine," Lucius began – but Rastaban gave him the same sullen look Bellatrix had given in the other room, and there would be no point in finishing the sentence. "Get out here," he said through clenched teeth, hauling the boy out of the cupboard by the scruff of the neck. "It may be," he promised, "that by tonight you will be as sorry as I am that you were ever born." He took a firm grip on the base of his son's skull, bringing him along as he Disapparated.

11 November

Lucius arrived just a few minutes before dawn at Hangleton Heath with Miranda McKinnon in tow. She was bound far more securely now than she had been to leave the Burrow: elbows chained behind her, wrists in front, knees cuffed, ankles linked. She couldn't walk, really, but she could toddle. Her eyes were blindfolded and her mouth was gagged – as much for the ritual as for anything else, since she hadn't spoken since they'd come for the Weasley boy the previous evening.

(Then, she'd screamed and sobbed and begged Lucius to take her instead. "Oh, I'll take you as well," he'd promised; and he'd closed the door on her where she wept, and sealed the boy's mouth, and that was the last sound they'd heard from either of them.)

The rest of the assembly were already present. Lucius saw young Snape notice his arrival and look away. In the greyness of dawn, at the moment the sky was more light than dark, his lordship Apparated into the center of their circle. "My friends."

"My lord," everyone murmured.

"Today we take an important step toward victory. My enemy is strong of arm and of heart, but after today he will not defeat me – for today, I defy death!

"The objects you have brought me are exemplars of resilience, of fortitude, and also of singularity. Together, they embody that which I have always believed and the goal toward which I have always striven: to remain apart, and to stand fast, as the only way to survive forever.

"Is my cauldron prepared?"

"It is here, my lord." Snape made a brief obeisance and a sweep with his arm. The circle broke apart slightly to reveal a cauldron, nearly the size of a bathtub, suspended from a tripod. Its sides were so high that a platform, reached by three wrought-iron steps, had been erected next to it. A foul-smelling base was already bubbling inside it. The flames under the cauldron were a poisonous green.

(Lucius' cauldron had sat last night over a flame that was bright blue-white. He hadn't had to add even half a pint of whiskey; after only a small amount, the slightly sticky lump the potion had been when it arrived had thinned to a consistency Narcissa could stir with a paddle – liquid, but still quite viscous. His lordship's potion seemed decidedly runny.)

"Ah." His lordship's eyes gleamed when he stepped toward the cauldron. He walked a complete circle around it before stepping onto the bottom stair and turning to beckon young Snape to his side. "You have done well, Snape." He laid a hand on the side of Snape's upturned face, the utter expressionlessness of which rather detracted from the image of rapturous disciple. "I am pleased."

"Your lordship honors me," Snape murmured, bowing as he retreated back into line with the others.

"Begin."

One by one, the others stepped to the cauldron and added their ingredients. Lucius could only hear snatches of what they said while they did so: "... its rare strength ..." "... preserved for ..." "... endure despite ... lesser breeds ..." "... a thousand thousand years unknown to ..." These were invocations, of course, calling out the particular properties of each object and instilling them into the brew. Lucius stood a pace or two from the stair, one hand between Miranda McKinnon's shoulderblades. He would be the last to step forward.

When Snape had dropped his pine bark into the cauldron and given his incantation, he and Rosier nodded to each other and came toward Lucius. The girl, apparently sensing their approach, tensed but did not attempt to flee. His lordship tied back his hair and removed his shoes.

(The Weasley child had been barefoot when Lucius grabbed him at the Burrow, which made things a little easier. Slicking down his hair to prevent flyaways was the work of a moment. Narcissa poured some whiskey into her hand and did it herself. His clothes did no harm, but shoes would have been out of the question; it was just as well there was no need to dispose of them.)

Lucius removed Miranda McKinnon's blindfold. She blinked twice in the rising daylight; looked around her, and trembled; looked up at Lucius, her eyes full of terror and uncertainty. The company fell silent. Lucius raised both eyebrows and touched a finger to his lips. She nodded, and he removed the gag as well. The other men drew closer as he freed her arms and legs; she drew a breath when she saw the knife in Rosier's hand, but he had cut her throat before she could scream.

Snape and Lucius caught her under her outflung arms and held her mostly upright while Rosier slid his fingers into the gash and tugged downward, opening the slit enough to work his hand in. Only a few seconds later, he nodded, and Lucius and Snape allowed Miranda McKinnon's weight to lean against them as they took a firm hold of her – Snape braced one hand on her forehead – and Rosier tore the curved bone from its moorings just above her larynx.

Lucius let Snape lower the dead girl to the ground and deal with her body. Even as he dusted off his robe and accepted the bone from Rosier, Lucius could see peripherally that Snape was collecting her blood, gathering her hair neatly and tying it off before cutting it away in one rope, gently scraping the inside of her arm with some curved tool. Lucius lifted his chin and strode to the cauldron.

"Make him, as this was, the only one of his kind."

Lucius did not see the bone fall into the potion, but the cauldron began to hiss and send up wild clouds of steam. He stepped back, and the others re-formed the circle around the cauldron. His lordship dropped his cloak off his shoulders and looked to the east, tense with anticipation.

Just as the sun broke the horizon, he stepped in and ducked past the rim, immersing himself. The steam rose higher. The flame under the cauldron went out, though no one had doused it. Gradually, the cauldron steamed less; when the breeze blew the last of it away, Lucius knew, the transfer of the potions' properties to his lordship would be complete.

(When the potion was ready, they'd paused to swear Alcyone to a second Fidelius charm before anything else. This done, though, they'd drunk the stuff still hot from pewter goblets they'd used at their wedding. Lucius' blood was racing by the time he set his goblet down, and there was a flush in Narcissa's cheeks when she looked at him. He'd had her up against the wall within minutes, and again against the railing at the top of the stairs after sending the children to bed, and again against their bedroom door an hour and a half later before they collapsed together, limbs tangling in the sheets. Before breakfast, she'd told him the potion had worked, and he'd pulled her back into bed and had her again to celebrate.)

Lucius watched his lordship rise from the cauldron – oil-black potion running in rivulets down his face, his eyes blazing with confidence in his victory – and tried not to let his face show his opinion of the fact that his lordship had yet to actually fight anything. Complex spells and intricate potions were all very well, but his lordship would never know if they had worked until he was in a position to test their effects. It was just possible that young Potter would still be able to defeat him, for all his devotion to the mechanics of immortality, and then who would lead them in the continued struggle to accomplish their purpose?

Lucius would never say so out loud, even if his lordship happened to ask, but he knew his lordship could never really succeed. There was no spell or potion that would make him immortal. A man could only really live forever if he had a son.

Comments always welcome!