Omni (omni_sama) wrote in lupin_snape, @ 2010-09-28 03:19:00 |
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Entry tags: | art: pg, fic: pg |
Fic: As a Raven's Wing (2/?; PG)
Title:As a Raven's Wing
Chapter: 2: "Family and Foes"
Author: Omni (rip_von_christ on lj)
Rating: PG (for this chapter...later chapters will vary)
Warnings: Can be considered crack (though not the whacky sort), blatant and not-so-blatant comic book knock-offs, unbetaed
Prompts: Batman, costumes (by zhyn and azurerosa in chat, respectively)
Summary: Munin is a mysterious figure. A brilliant mind, he assists the Aurors on occasion, especially when dealing with the odder cases. No one knows who he really is, though. They only know him as the man in black flowing robes and a raven mask.
Word Count: 2,500+
Note: Magical AU. Pretty much take the HP world, but remove the actual HP stories and replace them with tales like you'd see in the pages of a comic book.
BONUS! COMIC BOOK COVER ART BENEATH THE CUT. ...Or at least my failed attempt at such. =/
Chapter 1
________________________________________
The day was far too bright, clashing with Severus Snape’s somber mood. It should have been overcast, at the very least. Though the perfect weather would be tornado-black clouds and ominous thunder.
He squinted against the cloudless glare as he stood before the majestic gates of Malfoy Manor. After a moment, the wards recognized him, and the gates slowly opened. He felt the powerful protection magic wash over him as he stepped through, tasting Lucius’ magical signature as distinctly as the floral spring air.
So, obviously the wards hadn’t been removed by the culprit, since they were the same ones set by Lucius and showed no signs of weakness. Only family members and the closest of friends were pre-keyed to the wards. Snape knew that it couldn’t be any of the other Malfoys. He knew this not because Shacklebolt had claimed no one else had been home, but because he knew the Malfoys. To them, family was everything. Not because of some pureblood sentiment about heirs or bloodlines, but because they were a rarity in that they genuinely loved each other.
Narcissa Malfoy greeted him as soon as he entered the Manor, tossing her thin arms around him and clinging to him as if he were a godsend there to deliver them. A black-robed savior with greasy hair. He allowed her to have her little moment, and then gently removed her arms from about his person.
“I came as soon as I could,” he explained, staring down into her watery grey eyes.
She was a beautiful witch, that was for certain. Flawless as a diamond and twice as radiant. Though she was born a part of the noble and most unhinged house of Black, and was sister to Death Mask’s psychotic side-kick Bellatrix “Banshee” Lestrange, Narcissa was nothing like her kin. Just as her blonde locks stood out amongst an entire family of brunettes, so too did her gentle heart and rational mind. At first glance, most people dismissed her as nothing more than a trophy wife. Only those who actually took the time to talk with her learned of her quick wit and clever charm. Severus adored her like a sister.
The Malfoys were his family, even if not by blood, and someone had made the very stupid mistake of bringing one of them harm.
“It’s awful! He still hasn’t woken, and the amount of healing they had to perform on his arms and face…” Here she had to look away, hiding her quivering mouth behind her shaking hand. “My poor Lucius.”
“He will be fine, Mother.” Draco Malfoy stepped into the foyer and placed a comforting hand upon his mother’s shoulder. He was only twenty, and looked the spitting image of his father at that age. Except for his eyes, and the gentle curve of his mouth. Those traits were inherited entirely from his mother. “The healers said there should be no scarring, and they are quite optimistic that his mind will mend.”
Despite the assuring words, Narcissa still looked dangerously close to tears. Draco made brief eye contact with Severus over his mother’s head, and then slowly started to lead the woman away. “Mother, perhaps you should go get tea ready for us all in the garden. Severus and I will be along in a moment.” Even the boy’s voice was developing into a replica of Lucius’ own. There was a subtle warmth to his tone, however, which worked well in keeping it uniquely his.
Once Narcissa had gone, the men adjourned to the nearest sitting room. There Severus stood beside a wingback chair as he watched the Malfoy heir pace slowly in front of the fireplace. No one said a word until Draco seemed to mentally compose himself and cease his legs’ restless motions. He turned away from Severus and fiddled with the twirling pendulums of an antique clock which sat upon the mantelpiece.
“There’s something you wish to tell me, Draco?” Severus prompted, studying the boy’s tense posture.
“I do not know what happened to Father, or if it is indeed any way related, but I highly suspect it may be my fault that Parkinson is dead.”
Only a quirking of his right brow betrayed any of Severus’ surprise. He did not prompt again, but merely waited for Draco to explain at his own pace.
“I terminated the betrothal contract,” he eventually said, barely above a whisper, as he turned to finally face Severus. “Parkinson was…displeased, to say the least.”
Severus’ thin lips pulled into a tight line as he processed the news. “Why did you do such a thing? I thought you liked Pansy. Certainly you two seemed to be a good match.”
Draco shrugged and glanced away, sadness shadowing his pale eyes. “I like her, yes, but as a friend. Nothing more. Nor could there be anything more. Not with her or any other witch. If you catch my meaning.”
“Ah.”
“Exactly.”
“That hasn’t stopped wizards and witches in the past,” Severus felt compelled to point out, for some reason. He ignored the little voice inside his head that implied he might be something of a hypocrite.
“I’m traditional in many ways, but I suppose I’m a bit more progressive when it comes to something like this. Besides, I didn’t simply cancel for my own benefit. Pansy deserves better. She deserves a man who can love her fully.”
“I see. And why, pray tell, do you think this brought about Mr. Parkinson’s demise? From what I understand, he died of a heart attack. Are you to tell me that the news of your cancellation was enough to send him into cardiac arrest?” He snorted at the very idea.
When he saw that Draco’s face seemed to only grow more grave, he fell silent once more. The clock on the mantle ticked steadily, and Draco watched its hands for a long moment.
“While it’s true that the Parkinsons are rich in name, they are no longer so rich in coin. Mr. Parkinson had been banking on this marriage, quite literally. While Pansy was in agreement with the cancellation, and quite content to seek out a more suitable companion, Mr. Parkinson was livid. He threatened Father. He threatened to present evidence to the Aurors that Father was still a Death Eater, and still very much loyal to Death Mask.”
Ah.
“Knowing Father, it would not be beyond the realm of possibility that he may have tried to frighten Parkinson into silence.”
This was true. Lucius was many things—loving father, doting husband, loyal friend—but beneath everything he was a cunning, manipulative bastard.
“That doesn’t explain what happened to Lucius, however.”
“Doesn’t it?” Draco once again faced him fully, his grey eyes sharp as steel. “If Parkinson had dirt on Father, it could only mean that he ran in the same circles. What if this was a punishment, what happened to Father? What if it was Death Mask’s way of punishing him for killing a fellow Death Eater?”
That certainly sounded plausible enough. Still, Shacklebolt was fairly certain this had nothing to do with Death Mask, and Severus suspected he was right.
“May I see where he was found?”
Draco eyed him for a moment, his face a perfectly unreadable mask of aristocratic detachment. He only hid behind such a mask when he was upset. It was his strength, his security blanket. If he showed no emotion, then no one would know he was scared. “Yes. Yes, of course. This way.” It was something else he had inherited from his father.
---
Severus had been in the master suite before. Smirking as he sat on a settee and listened to Lucius rant about bloated politicians. Watching the blonde move about—collecting priceless cufflinks from a drawer over here, withdrawing robes of the finest brocade from a wardrobe there. Sitting up with Lucius as a fevered Narcissa sweated out her illness, praying the potions he brewed would be enough.
That Lucius may or may not work for the villainous Death Mask was not something on which Severus ever wished to dwell. It brought up far too many moral dilemmas. All he could do was hope to never encounter Lucius while working as Munin.
Draco did not cross the threshold of the room. He merely motioned for Severus to enter, then lingered in the hall.
The room smelled of Narcissa’s perfumes and of the polish used on Lucius’ boots. Severus was cautious of where he stepped, and he carefully examined every spotless surface. A wardrobe near the far wall had its door ajar, and Severus suspected—hoped—that it was indicative of no one having disturbed the room since the incident.
He cautiously approached the wardrobe, drawing his wand to magic the door open the rest of the way. Nothing was inside except a pile of robes, which was telling enough. Though nothing was in there now, something had been in there, its presence knocking down garments and leaving them a wrinkled heap.
As he drew nearer to the wardrobe, he noticed a very faint scent. Running his fingers along the wood within, he felt a fine film, barely detectable. With a surreptitious glance at the suite’s door, he withdrew a small glass vial from within his robes. A flick of his wand, and the film was carefully removing itself from the wood and slithering into the vial like a tiny snake. It was barely three drops, all together, but he was reasonably confident it was enough for testing.
Satisfied for the time being in his investigation of the room, he went to rejoin his hosts.
---
“Damn,” Severus murmured as he watched a solution turn blue. He was hoping it would be red.
“Severus, you really should take a break from that,” a gentle voice admonished from behind him. It was a testament to his self-control that the delicate glass equipment was not startled from his hands at the sudden and unexpected intrusion.
“Albus, please; it is imperative that I get to the bottom of this case. Others’ lives could very well be at stake.”
“Yes, I’m sure it’s quite serious.”
Exasperated, Severus set his vials down and turned to face the older wizard. “Someone died, Albus. So, forgive me if I do find it to be rather serious, yes.”
Albus shook his head slowly, long white beard and hair languidly following the motion. “I’m merely concerned that you work yourself to death. Most people find it difficult enough to be an instructor. To add all these extra duties on top of it…”
“Headmaster, am I to take this as a formal complaint about my performance as Potions Professor? Do you feel that my extracurricular work, as it may, is hampering my abilities as an instructor?”
Looking pained, Albus sighed. “Of course not, Severus. But, at the very least, you should take a break on occasion. For sleep or food. You are only human, after all.”
Fatigue was starting to stab annoyingly sharp needles into the backs of his eyes, and Severus rubbed tiredly at his face. It irked him to no end how Albus was always right, no exceptions. Some day, the old man would be wrong. Severus decided that he’d have the calendar page with that day framed and displayed upon his wall.
“Fine. I’ll go grab some tea and a bite to eat. Will that appease you?”
The pained expression fled Albus’ face, and his blue eyes twinkled behind half-moon glasses. “That’s very magnanimous of you, Severus, thank you. On your way up for tea, however, I suggest you swing by your office. You have a visitor.”
The infuriating old man was gone before Severus could even question him about the guest.
Moving away from his work table, Severus rolled his shoulders to relieve some tension and cursed Albus again for always being so bloody right. Even the brief walk down the hall to his office was tiring, which had Severus promising to himself that he’d take a bit of a nap after he fed his growling stomach.
When he saw his visitor, he suddenly didn’t feel very hungry.
“Lupin,” he sneered.
“Severus.” The other man quickly rose from one of the guest chairs and turned big hazel eyes on him. Remus Lupin hadn’t changed much since the last time Severus had seen him. He was still underfed and a touch too pale. There were, however, perhaps a couple more scars across an otherwise handsome face. Not that Severus thought Lupin was handsome. Certainly not. The very notion was absurd.
“To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your company?” Severus stepped fully inside and quietly shut his door. He really wanted to slam it, but he knew that would be a touch too juvenile.
Lupin dared a step closer. “I came to ask if I could hire you to brew the Wolfsbane for me again. I can pay you.” He worked his bottom lip with his teeth for a moment, and Severus most certainly did not watch the motion avidly. That way lie madness. “I have a job, now.”
Scoffing in derision, Severus upped the potency of his sneer. “Until they find out what you are and sack you like the rest.”
His words had the desired effect, and Lupin looked away as if physically stung. “It’s going to be different, this time.”
“Is that what you tell yourself every time? That maybe these employers won’t care. Maybe they’ll see beyond your condition, and accept you for the gentle, kind-hearted man that you are. Is that it?” When those warm eyes dared to turn his way again, Severus grit his teeth in an effort not to spit. “You’re pathetic.”
For a handful of heartbeats, Lupin said nothing. He merely stared stubbornly into Severus’ eyes, his jaw tight and his shoulders squared. “Maybe so,” he said eventually, moving steadily across the room to stand a breath away from Severus. “Maybe I’m nothing but a fool. That doesn’t change the fact that I need the potion, and you’re unfortunately the best damn brewer this side of the Atlantic. So, Severus, I’ll ask again: will you sell me the potion?”
Lupin smelled like soap and sugar and earth. Severus’ fingers twitched at his sides before curling into fists. “Very well. So long as you’re paying.”
The smile that split Lupin’s face made the scars seem to almost fade to nothing. “Thank you, Severus. I’ll be back in a couple days to get the first dose.” Before he moved away, he rummaged in his pockets and produced a small coin purse. “Here. This month’s payment, in advance, just so you know I’m not trying to swindle you.”
Severus accepted the purse mechanically, and did not feel himself breathe until Lupin had made his leave. The coin purse rattled a bit as he hastily stuffed it into his robes. That encounter left him feeling entirely drained. Perhaps he’d just skip the food and head straight for that nap. In a couple hours, he’d have to be back up in order to investigate Parkinson’s home.
The night was not a time for Severus Snape to sleep; it was the time for Munin to awake.
------
To be continued...
Chapter 3