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**

Narcissa Vontaine soon-to-be Malfoy was being strapped into a corset. She held onto a bedpost with one hand and chugged a bottle of water with the other. She was surrounded by at least twenty giggling, pecking bridesmaids, whose peachy youth and enthusiasm were a sharp contrast to Narcissa's still-sunken eyes and sickly complexion. Whichever bridesmaid was pulling at her corset strings yanked hard enough to make Narcissa spill the water over her face. A little went up her nose. She sputtered.

"As it's my wedding day, I don't think it'd be impolite to say I don't know who the hell half of you are," she spat. A few of the girls looked up in surprise. "Yes, you cows. What are you doing here? Are you Lucius's relations? Will I have to get to know all your names and pretend I care about your children?"

"Don't mind her, she's just a bundle of nerves this morning," said a silky voice from the door. There was a chorus of gasps. Voldemort had entered the bride's dressing room in full wedding regalia, which consisted of a white llama pelt fur so thick it nearly tripled his actual size. He slipped the coat off to reveal a form-fitting white unitard pantsuit, on which, in transclucent green sequins and feathers, writhed a Chinese dragon. He wore white silk gloves with (presumeably) blood-stained fingertips, equally blood-red lipstick, and huge black bug-eye sunglasses. His black hair was in sharp, slick braid down his back, and on his head was a red Chinese rice farmer's hat. The bridesmaids swooned and clapped as the dragon on his pantsuit swam across his chest and down his legs, where it hovered over the massive circumfrence of his bellbottoms. On his feet were fourteen-inch patent white platforms, which sparkled when little bits of matter and antimatter collided in the leather.

He shoved Narcissa's corset-stringer out the way and stood next to the bride, hands on her shoulders. "Congratulations my dear, you look fabulous this morning, like an absolute corpse. Whiter than the dress you're to wear. You've got some dark circles, my dear, have you tried a coconut compress?"

"You flatter me, my Lord." Narcissa replied.

"No, I don't." He clapped his hands and gestured at one of the bridesmaids. "You, get this woman a compress, stat, she looks overworked. But of course you would, I heard you were on a bender that'd put me to shame, you hedonistic, undignified little tramp. But you look fabulous, my dear, just fabulous, honestly. You look like a drab hotel maid next to me, but isn't that the point?"

"Certainly," Narcissa said through grit teeth.

Voldemort clapped his hands. "Oh, I just adore, weddings, adore them. I simply must be part of the pre-show." One of the bridesmaids handed Voldemort the coconut compress and he slammed it onto Narcissa's face, rubbing it around. "I. love. weddings! Barty!"

Barty appeared coyly around the corner, dressed in a black tuxedo. "Yes, my Lord?"

"Lover darling, make me a smoothie, will you? I'm parched from all this prep work, oh." Voldemort threw the compress to the floor and sighed, collapsing into an armchair. "Closest I'll get to being a bride myself one day." He gestured to Narcissa."Dress her, you ninnies, dress her!"

***

The wedding was to be held in the expansive backyard of the Malfoy Manor, if one could call it that; it was not so much a backyard as a perfectly groomed, sparkling green meadow only little smaller than Iowa. The trees were draped with laurels of roses and white banners of silk. A great mass of chairs had been set out in rows facing the huge altar, which was hand-twisted of gold and steel into a complicated terrace of vines and blooms, complete with thorns sharp enough to draw blood. The guests had arrived fearful and early, and they milled about as a quartet played nervous chamber music.

The front of the manor was rife with Aurors making careful notes of who attended the wedding. Guards had been put upon them, as most were animagi disguised as common outdoor animals. Orders had been put forth to fire stunning curses upon any stray bird or cat which wandered too close, so as the day progressed the front of the Manor started to look like a Pink Floyd show.

One of these gaurds, a certain nondescript Grindow Holland, was taking aim at a yellow-eyed, scruffy black owl perched on a branch over the roundabout. Just as he was about to fire, he felt a hand on his. He turned, surprised to find a tuxedoed Lucius Malfoy.

"Not that one," he whispered.

Grindow lowered his wand. The owl flew up and over the roof of the manor to the backyard.

***

Severus had had to dig his old dress robes out of where they'd long ago fallen off the hanger in the back of his wardrobe. He was surprised to see that he still had them. The last time he'd worn them was to some ridiculous fancy-dress party the Dark Lord decided would be instantly held one winter night. The entire manor was forced to eat petit-fours and sip tea out of thimbles while speaking Old English dialect, then sit perfectly upright and listen to the Dark Lord recite a forty-seven page epic quatrain on manners he had composed. No one ever spoke of the tea party again, but for weeks afterward the fear that it would become a regular event hung heavily on the Manor.

He slipped the robes on and dusted them off, bothering only a cursory glance in the mirror. It wasn't worth it. Down the hall he met Myra, who wore a maroon paisley fifties house dress complete with moth-eaten petticoats.

"Ugh. Do I look like June Cleaver meets The Telltale Heart?" She smoothed her skirt.

"You look fine. Can I have a moldy cookie, corpse mum?"

"Oh, god. It's all I had."

He put his hand on the small of her back as they walked down the hall. "Come on, no one's here to look at us. I'll be a fair bit shocked if the Dark Lord doesn't fire neon doves from his armpits."

"Think Narcissa is walking?"

"She's fine, I'm sure. Re-Animator. I wouldn't have thought of that. Nice work. Oh good Christ." He stopped for a moment, holding his fingers over his mouth.

"What?"

"I just remembered Lucius asked me to give a speech at the wedding. I have to think of something to say."

"Are you kidding? Why you?"

"You killed his first choice."

"Fuck."

"If it's any consolation you didn't hold a wand to their heads and make then take Stunner," Severus said quietly.

"Don't bother. I plan on spending the rest of my life drowning in endless guilt. The fact that I'm still in shock is the only thing keeping me together. I'd kill myself as soon as we got to Nebraska, but then you'd be bored."

"You're going to entertain me with your endless self-pity?"

"Oh sure, and you'll do likewise. We'll be great team. You, me, and remains of the town I murdered. But hey, we can always liven things up with board games. And I have a great collection of 45's. But I mean... I'm going to be pure slime. Probably for years."

"Sounds...great. Hey. Cheering charms."

"There's that."

Severus's mouth twitched. He glanced at an alcove behind them where there was a window overlooking the reception. He gently took Myra’s arm and guided her to it. They watched the crowd gather in silence for a few moments.

"I do have something," Severus said. "Something that could help you with that. A potion I formulated back at Hogwarts. Thoroughly illegal. It causes long-term memory loss, to be replaced with a history of the administer's choosing. I could...I mean you could, write down whatever history you want to remember, and I'll tell it back to you, and I'd never...."

Mya looked out the window. "You'd carry that burden for me?"

"Certainly. Myra, you've never been hesitant when I was in need of aid. Besides," he said clasping his hands greedily, "it gives me a chance to test it on a human subject."

Myra looked up at him, eyes wide.

"I'm kidding. Well I'm not, but I'm certain it'd work."

Myra was silent, looking out the window.

"It’s an option," Severus said. "How do you feel about it?"

"Oh Severus," Myra said. "I can't feel anything." She put her hands on either side of his neck and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. "Other than gratitude," she whispered, "that I ever knew you."

They kissed for a long time, longer now that there was no chime to interrupt them. Only the dark solid presence of the Manor and the everpresent shuffling footsteps, the light warm light through the window. They stood holding each other. Severus gently kissed her forehead.

A harried-looking Dobby watched silently from the hall, waiting for one of them to acknowledge him. When neither did he gave a polite, tiny cough. Severus gave the house elf a hawklike look over Myra's curly head.

"You must is coming going, Master Snape, Mistress Psue," he said. "Wedding is starting."

Severus's eyes met Myra's. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." She squeezed his hand. "Let's go."

***

"...and of course, I had killed six wizards before breakfast and hatched a plan to do away with most of Manchester when I heard Lady Malfoy was in labor. So I promptly designed some protective spells for the boy, spells of such genius and magnificence they've never been matched by any wizard, anywhere, ever, by anyone, and never will be. Oh, and I almost forgot, a week before that I had begun the outline on my soon-to-be-bestseller "How I Conquered The Wizarding World (And Now You Are My Slave)", which will be released as soon as I have usurped all power from the insignifigant witches and wizards that dare challenge me. Yes, that was quite a day. That was the day little Lucuis Malfoy was born."

Lord Voldemort, who stood in front of the bride and groom wearing a priest’s collar, smiled and nodded toward Lucius. "And now here we are, on this joyous day, as man and woman are to become Man and Wife."

Lucius squeezed Narcissa's hand, not so much out of tenderness as to keep her awake. She had almost nodded out twelve times during the Dark Lord's fifty minute speech. She startled, smiling numbly at Lucius and Voldemort. The groom glanced out to scan to crowd to see if anyone noticed, and for a millisecond met eyes with Severus, who sat near the back of the congregation next to Myra. Lucius's eyes rested longer on her than Severus, which registered as unusual somewhere in Severus's mind, but quickly filtered away again. He glanced at Myra. Her face was stolid and unreadable, somewhere else. He nudged her with his elbow. She looked up with a start.

"All right?"

"Nervous."

"Don't be," said the woman next to them, beaming. "They'll have beautiful children."

There was a long pause.

"Right," Severus said.

Voldemort boomed, "by the power vested in me by myself, I now pronounce you Man and Wife! You may kiss the bride."

There was thunderous applause as Lucius took his sleepy bride by the shoulders and kissed her roughly on the lips. White rose petals rained down from the trees as he mashed his mouth to hers and put her back solidly on her feet. Lucius made a sweeping getsure to Voldemort, who bowed with as much modesty as he could muster. The gathering leapt to thier feet.

"And now...." Voldemort began. He waved his hand and tables appeared, piled high with tiered silver platters of food. "We eat! Eat, you maggots! Eat your fill! EAT!"

Everyone stared at the Dark Lord, startled silent.

"Excuse me," he said. "I just love weddings so. I get all worked up. I SAID EAT !"

The guests charged to the tables assigned to them on the cards they had received before the ceremony, some knocking each other over in the process. "Christ," Severus muttered as he located their table and pulled out chairs for Myra and himself. They watched the Death Eaters running past in a flurry, collapsing into their seats as though the record kept skipping in their game of musical chairs. Myra and Severus glanced at each other, the only still people in the mass of confusion.

***

The bride and groom toasted the gathering, toasted each other, toasted Lord Voldemort, as the guests ate plate after plate of delicate pastries and endangered species. Severus chewed numbly on a sparkling onion tartlet as he tried to piece his speech together. Myra was very still, shoulders tense, pushing the yolk of a quail egg around an otherwise empty plate.

"Severus," she said quietly, "when do you speak?"

"After this guy, I think." Some portly, drunken uncle was guffawing about something or other as Lucius looked on, barely trying to hide his boredom. Narcissa looked hypnotized by the ropes of her sixth glass of champagne. They and the rest of the wedding party sat on a raised platform under a white linen sunshade. Voldemort sat in the center on a huge throne strung with perfect white roses, a house elf hovering over his glass with a bottle of champagne, pouring every time the Dark Lord took a sip.

Myra glanced up at the afternoon sky. "It's getting late."

Underneath the table Severus patted her knee. "Don't worry about it. Everything's going according to plan. After my speech we'll slip out of here and no one will be the wiser."

She bit her bottom lip, nodding stiffly. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "It’s a beautiful day, at least." She watched as a breeze rustled the garlands of roses that decorated the nearby copse of trees, sending a gust of warm, rose-scented air their way. Despite himself Severus inhaled deeply and was filled with a momentary sense of peace.

Myra's hand slipped into his. She squeezed.

"You'd best eat that," Severus said, nodding to her egg yolk. "Long day ahead."

She smiled. It didn't touch her eyes.

"Come on now," Severus said. "Just keep your mind on those pretty roses over there. All right?" There was a cheer and applause. The uncle had finished his speech. Glasses clinked. "I think this is me," Severus said.

Myra leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Good luck."

He squeezed her hand. "Thank you." He rose, straightened his dress robes, and made for the stage. Myra watched him go. She scooped the egg yolk into her fork and swallowed it, then took a deep breath and looked towards the roses as Severus has instructed her. She concentrated on the scent, on the different hues of pink, on the way they pushed against each other in the breeze, and in between them she saw two luminous yellow orbs shifting out of the darkness. Her breath stopped. It was a pair of eyes, a pair of shining, luminous, jewel-like owl eyes.

Myra held her hand over her heart, hypnotized.

***

Lucius had suggested something about love and chains for Severus's speech. Severus's mind remained a total blank, but he wasn't nervous. Public speaking was not one of his fears. He knew something would appear in his head once he was on stage. He stepped up onto the platform to shake Lucius's hand.

"Severus," Lucius said. "Thank you so much for all your help."

"Of course. Congratulations." He nodded towards Narcissa. "Congratulations to you too. You look stunning."

Narcissa smiled coyly at Severus. "Say that again?"

"No time for foreplay right now, Narcy, my dear, Severus has a toast to make. Here you are," Lucius said, pouring Severus a glass of champagne. Severus took a slug. He looked out towards the tables. Somewhere near the back he located Myra. She was looking towards the copse of trees with some interest.

Severus cleared his throat and tapped on his glass with his wand. The gathering grew quieter, glaring up at him. He was yet another in a long line of people who'd interrupted their conversations and meals.

Lucius leaned forward and said, "This is Severus J, Snape, our potionsmaster and my dearest, oldest friend." He lovingly clapped Severus on the shoulder, gave a big, broad smile, and settled back into his seat. Severus stared at him, momentarily thrown.

"Yes," Severus began. "My dearest and oldest friend, Lucius Malfoy."

Something in him began to turn nauseated and cold. He pushed the feeling down. "It is true," he began again. "I've known Lucius since we were first years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We were...practically inseperable in those days. Not so much any more, as the pressures of adult life have busied us, Lucius with things I'm sure I don't know about,” he paused for light laughter, “and myself with...well, with the requests of you fine people. The bombardment of requests, day and night, constantly, both nessacery and not, by you fine, fine people before me.

"Lucius, being my oldest friend, has always expressed his friendship in unique ways." He paused. "He has shown his friendship to me throughout the years by faithfulness when he was in adversity. He always encouraged my talents and thereby always benefitted from them. He never let anything get between us, especially not my wishes, and he's never failed to remind me just how much I have to gain by my years of association with him. And yes, I have gained a tremendous amount by having Lucius Malfoy stolidly at my side.

"I have gained mostly knowledge. Knowledge about trust, about failure, about respect of the self. I’ve learned from Lucius the capriciousness of human nature. But the most important thing I learned from Lucius Malfoy is the difference between a false friend," he glanced back Lucius, "and a true one."

He searched the crowd for Myra. Her seat was empty. His heart skipped a beat as he panned the crowd for her. There was a spot of movement by the copse of trees. Myra was there, neck craned, staring at something above her. She stepped into the forest and out of his view.

"I...I...." Severus said. He raised his glass hurriedly. "I wish the couple a lifetime of happiness. Congratulations, Mr. And Mrs. Malfoy. Here here."

"Here here," the crowd said. Severus made to rush off the stage. Lucius stopped him, grinning. "Thank you Severus, beautiful speech."

"You’re welcome," he said. "Congratulations to you both." Severus hurried down the steps trying not to look hurried, then slipped into the copse after Myra.

"Dammit," Lucius muttered, watching him go.

****

Severus stalked the relatively dark copse, shoulders hunched and head forward like a bull. "Myra," he hissed, "Myra!", but the trees yielded nothing. The air was deep, organic, and thick. The light through the canopy was dim, what little of it came through the leaves was a souless gray-green, illuminated by floating specks of golden dust.

His chest was tight and there was a chill on his skin. He pulled his cloak around him, noting that the shade alone couldn't account for a temperature differential quite this drastic. He ignored the discomfort and searched on.

What in the world could have dragged her in here at a time like this?

He stepped lightly over the gnarled roots of a billion-year-old tree. He put his hand on the rough bark, circled the trunk, and saw her. She stood with her back to him, arms limp at her sides, staring up at something in the trees above her.

"Myra!"

She tilted her head towards him almost imperceptibly.

"Have you gone mad? What are you doing in here?"

She pointed up. "Look," she said.

Severus walked to where she stood and looked up. In the branches above them was the sharp silhouette of an owl, black save two eerie golden eyes, which stared down at Myra as fervently as she stared up at them.

"That's...that's a very nice owl, Myra, but we have to go now.” He put a hand on her shoulder, trying to move her. She shook but didn't budge, slack-jawed, fixated on the bird.

"Come now, it's cold in here, Myra." He took her hand. "Let's go, now. Let’s go."

Severus looked up at the owl, which didn't acknowledge him. He was tempted to fire a curse at it but not before he knew what he was dealing with.

A twig snapped behind them.

Severus whirled.

Lucius Malfoy, dashing and contradictory in his white tuxedo. He held his hands clasped behind his back. He bore a closed-mouthed, expressionless smile and oddly glinting eyes. "Severus," he said.

"Ah, Lucius. You'll have to excuse my hasty exit, my assistant here-"

"Why don't you get back to the reception?" Lucius interrupted. "The band's playing waltzes and we'll be cutting the cake soon. The Dark Lord's so festive he’s started casting prospertiy charms. You wouldn't want to miss that."

"No no, not for the world," Severus replied, clapping both hands on Myra’s shoulders. " I think my assistant here has had a bit too much to drink, as you can see. Just let me get her sorted and we'll be right there. Myra? Myra!" Severus turned back to Lucius, feigning sheepishness. "Just like her, you know, one glass of champagne and she goes into a quite a state."

"She's not drunk. I'm afraid she's quite hypnotized by that animagus up there."

"Animagus?" Severus looked up at the owl. "But...who?"

Lucius sighed. "Please go back to the reception, Severus.

Severus paused, calculating, pushing down the fear brewing in his blood. "I'd really rather see to it that she's sorted if you don't mind."

"Severus, please. Go back to the reception."

"Lucius...what is going on here?"

The blonde man shook his head. "I was hoping you wouldn’t have to bear witness to this but you leave me no choice. Ah, well." Lucius jutted his chin up at the owl. "Moody!"

The owl vanished from the tree and reappeared on the ground. In that speck of time it had broken eye contact with Myra, who woozily fell back onto Severus's hands. She shook her head, dizzy, wincing. Severus watched the bird as it crumpled and grew and mutated into a hulking, scraggly-haired, rounded-chin man with pitted skin and a disheveled, singed wizard's cap.

"Malfoy," he grunted, voice saturated with disgust.

"So glad you could make it," Lucius said. "Please, please, let us make our proper introductions. Severus, this is Alastor Moody. You may have heard of him. He works for the Ministry as an Auror."

Severus's blood ran frigid. He'd certainly heard of him.

"And this, Moody," Lucius continued, "is Miss Myra Psue, with whom I know you are familiar. Miss Psue seems a bit out of sorts but I'm sure she'll be right as rain in a moment." He adjusted his jacket. "The other afternoon, as I was sorting through some old files, I saw something quite shocking, Severus. Something quite shocking about our friend Miss Psue."

"Can we bloody well get on with this?" Moody grunted.

"All in due time, Moody. Severus, you see, I discovered that Miss Psue, this quiet, nondescript little mouse," he lifted her chin with his index finger, "was responsible for the Tokyo Falls Massacre. Seven thousand innocent souls Can you imagine such a thing? And can you imagine I knew the proper authorities must be notified posthaste?"

"I can’t imagine that, no," Severus replied.

"It was rhetorical. I'm afraid," he gave a heavy sigh, "that the Manor can't rightfully keep such a murderous fugitive under its employ. We try to do our part for the Wizarding community, as you know, and Moody knows."

Moody snickered. Lucius artfully ignored it.

"Severus...Severus, what's going on?" Myra muttered to him, blinking awake.

"Shh," he said.

"So you see," Lucius continued, "I gathered the evidence of her crime - quite a bit available in those files, you know, more than enough to convict, and sent them off to Mr. Moody here, who presented those files to his superiors. He has returned to us, with, sad to say, a warrant for her arrest and sentence." Lucius made a grand gesture towards Moody, who stepped forward, unrolling a scroll he'd taken from his cloak.

Moody began, "Miss Myra Psue, you have been found guilty of seven thousand counts of murder in the first degree, an offense punishable by-"

Myra evaporated. Severus stumbled forward, sucked in by the vacuum of air she left. A small brown lizard skittered over the dead leaves.

"There she is," Lucius said calmly.

"I see her," Moody replied, training his wand on her. An instant passed. A explosion of light burst from Moody's wand and Myra burst forth into full human form, running like hell. Lucius fired something red and glowing at her feet, which tripped her. Myra flipped on her back, trained her wand on Moody, firing something slick, silver, and sharp from her wand. There was an arc of blood as Moody stumbled backward, holding his hand over his face, yelling - another burst of light not a millisecond after the first and Lucius hit the ground, face contorted in pain as he held his shin to his chest.

Myra got to her feet and charged away.

Severus ran after her.

"Get her!" Lucius shrieked after him.

Myra glanced back at him, eyes wide, as though for a second she expected Severus to actually be chasing her with the intent to "get" her, but it only took a moment of contact to know this wasn't the case.

"Don't follow me! Go away!" she cried, dodging behind a tree.

"Myra! Myra, stop!" He put forth his fleetest foot and caught up with her, taking her by the shoulder to force her to a stop. She wriggled away from his grasp and aimed her wand at him.

"Don't make me." Her lip quivered. "Please, Sev."

He put his hands up. "Myra, listen to me-" he replied before he knew he had nothing for her to listen to.

"He sold me," she whispered.

Severus was speechless. "Yes."

"You have to get out of here, Severus. You have to get away from me. Something awful’s going to happen. It's here. It's here in the forest, I know it." She held her wand steady on him. She shook her head, eyes welling. "I knew it would happen. One day...one day I knew this'd come around for me."

"Don’t talk nonsense!"

"Go," she pleaded. The cold turned smoky and demanding. Myra trembled. The frustrated voices of Moody and Malfoy echoed. She jumped. "They'll kill me, they'll find a way, it's only a matter of time."

"Apparate out of here," he commanded. "I'll meet you when I can."

"I can't," she said.

"Of course you can."

"No, I can't, and neither can you. The entire Manor is blocked for the wedding. Oh, it's coming, can't you feel it?" Her teeth began to chatter.

"What's coming?" Severus asked, though he felt a deathly chill and knew. He knew that sick cold that came over them like wet concrete. The air became too thick to breathe, and miasma of misery hit him like a hammer to the throat.

Myra rocked back and forth on her feet before falling to her knees, as a dark, floating, scabby-handed, hooded creature floated on a mist from the depths of the dark copse. Every bit of warmth left them.

"A dementor," Severus said. "Moody brought a demetor." Severus raised his wand, weakly, as a lifetime of hurt and destruction bubbled within him. "Expecto...expecto....," he fell to his knees. There wasn't enough to summon a Patronus.

The dementor hovered over Myra, savoring her. Her hair, her long black curls, blew away from it, as though that was the only part of her capable of resisting the creature's lure. Severus was so lost in his own world of pain he could barely see her.

"It's finally come for me," she said, dropping her wand, awestruck.

"No."

She closed her eyes and gave a deep sigh, looking almost beatific with the great deamon hovering over her. She studied the endless pit of it's face. "There I am," she whispered.

"No,." Severus reached for her, his arm like jelly. "No, Myra."

The dementor leaned in. She took his hand through the watery winds of a dementor preparing his kiss. "Promise me," she said, "promise me one thing."

"Anything."

Her eyes seared his. "Get out."

She squeezed his hand. A spark of warmth transferred from her to him, and she tilted, back arching toward the demon, eye beginning to shut, mouth beginning to open, her body going limp as the tiny sapphire sphere of humanity rose from her throat-

Not like this.

Severus reached for his wand, aimed it at Myra, and screamed "Aveda Kadrava!!"

She collapsed. The demetor gave a high-pitched, inhuman shriek, fleeing from the bright green flash. Severus's arm went limp at his side and he fell to the ground, watching the glowing marble of Myra's soul as it hovered for a moment over her body, then shot off into the sky.

***

He woke staring into the gaping maw of a vicious monster.

Gasping, he batted the offending thing with his hand and hit rubber. The impending maw jerked away and back again, and he held his hand to his chest; it was just Jackson staring down at him from the bedpost where he hung. Severus exhaled sharply, resting back down into his pillow, glad to be done with whatever nightmare he'd just finished.

"I can't believe you still have that thing," said a voice next to him. Lucius sat beside him in his wooden desk chair, one arm slung over the back, his strange white boot on Severus's mattress.

"What are you doing in here?" Severus asked.

"Waiting for you to wake, of course. You've been quite ill."

"I've...what?"

"The dementor came after you when it couldn't get to her. Had your soul halfway out your body before I stopped it. You're welcome, by the way, and yes my patronus is fabulous, I know."

Severus looked slack-jawed at him, momentarily baffled, before the previous day's events came rushing back to him. His breath stopped.

"Myra," he said, before he could stop himself.

"Yes Myra," he replied. "I've been ever so curious about that. I found her not so much a souless shell as completely dead. I was wondering if you could possibly illuminate me as to how that occurred?"

Severus felt a stabbing in his chest. "I've just woken up, Lucius, could we do this later?" He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying not to reveal any pain.

"I'm afraid not, it's of the utmost importance. Miss Psue was to suffer the loss of soul as per dementor's kiss, not death as per whatever killed her. Moody would have investigated but he had other things to worry about. So I'm to report back to him. For his files, you see."

"Since when are you conspiring with Aurors?"

Lucius snorted. "Since always, you fool. How do you think we keep this operation running? The Malfoys have a long history of lacing the pockets or reputations of certain members of the Ministry. It's tradition."

"Why her?" Severus asked, the knife in his chest twisting.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"She was a knowledegable assistant," stab, "and as you've taken her expertise from me, I think you owe me an explanation."

Lucius rolled his eyes. "Fine. But only because it's you." He sighed. "I owed Moody a favor from a while back, so I said I'd turn over this miss Tokyo Falls fugitive. Made him look good, great for the papers, we had a deal. She was a peon, after all. No one would miss her."

Stab. "That can't possibly be all," Severus said.

"It very well could possibly be all, but, my astute friend, you're right, it isn't. You're aware that Miss Psue was behind Stunner."

The stab turned into a pickaxe. "I told you I don't know anything about that."

"Oh, that's right, you don't know a thing, amazing how she slipped that under your sizeable nose." Lucius rolled his eyes, snorted. "You see, Severus...in the drug game, there's a thing called supply and demand. Your Myra invented this Stunner. Now, she could have come to me with it, and perhaps we could have gone into business together, the three of us. But she chose to go behind my back and pirate my customers. She couldn't have been very smart, else why would she do such a thing?"

I wanted to make another life possible for us, she says, pleading, in Severus's mind.

Lucius stretched, resting his hands behind his head like a cowboy. "I wasn't about to let that scheming rat shut me down. So I shut her down first. Good thing, too, she was a fierce little bitch." He glanced down at his leg, the white boot resting on Severus's bed. Severus realized it was not a boot at all, but a cast. "Cunt hit the femur with some degenerative spell. The healer said I'll have to walk with a cane now, do you fucking believe that?"

Severus was speechless.

Lucius shrugged. "The only reason I'm not more upset is that there's a wide array of very fashionable, distinguished canes and I'm betting I can start a fashion. Besides, it could have been worse - Moody lost an eye. A fucking eye. That woman was dangerous. Good riddance to her. That reminds me - how did her riddance occur?"

There was a moment of silence before Severus whispered, "It was me. I - I killed her."

"In self-defense, I'll be kind to presume?"

"Yes," Severus replied hoarsely. "May I rest now?"

Lucius did not hear the request. He was smirking down at Severus, quiet, smug. "I hope, my friend, that you learned a lesson from this."

Severus closed his eyes. "What lesson?"

Lucius looked hard at Severus, so hard Severus could feel it through the thin shelter of his eyelids. "About what happens to people who cross me. How fortunate it is," he said slowly, "that you aren't one of those people."

Silence. There was a fire in Severus's chest but his face didn't betray it. He imagined he was one of his own cauldrons, that he was set for a steady, low burn, and inside him was the potion that would eventually peel the flesh from Lucius Malfoy's wretched bones.

"I'd like a shipment of metapmorphine ready for sale day after tomorrow," Lucius stated softly. "You'll have it ready?"

Under the sheets Severus dug his fingernails into his palm. "Of course."

"Good then," Lucius said, clasping his hands. "I'll let you get your rest. A pleasure, as always." He rose from his seat, unsteadily, step clump step, step clump step, his new gait accompanied by his new cane. The door shut behind him and Severus rolled onto his side, elbows in his stomach.

"At least you got him in the leg," he whispered. "Good on you, Myra." He thought of her hair, her face, that little face rising to kiss him in the hall before the wedding, the feel of her cloak, Nerbraska, her different laughs, her glasses sliding down her nose, and he saw her, and she said-

Promise me one thing.

"Anything," he whispered.

Get out.

Get out of the Death Eaters.

Severus sat up, wiping his face. How the hell was he supposed to get out of the Death Eaters now, without her? And even if he did get out, where would he go if not Nebraska with Myra, to live thier quiet little hidden-away life? Get out, you tell me. Get out how.

He was hot.

He throw the covers off and was startled to see he was still in his dress robes from the wedding. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, then stood, slipping the robes off. He walked towards the closet to hang them. His foot caught on something. He looked down to see he was dragging by the handle, from underneath his bed, the bag of trinkets he'd bought that day with her, the rings and clothes and other useless things that now seemed nearly holy, and in the bag he saw a glint, a corner, of gold.

He picked it out. A gold envelope. Minerva McGonagall's gold envelope.

Open this when you're ready.

Severus turned the envelope in his hands. It gave no hint as to its contents. It didn't feel like a curse, or for that matter anything ill-intentioned. It felt strangely compassionate. The envelope knew his woes and inside was way to fix them. But what could the note inside possibly say to make things right?

Severus considered the envelope, and was compelled to put his dress robes back on. He sat on the edge of the bed, turning it over and over and over in his hands. He thought of smug, self-loving Lucius Malfoy, of being stuck under him, forever. He thought of the Dark Lord, who'd promised him so much and had made so much of his talents, who barely remembered his name. He thought of Myra.

He gently slipped his nail, then his finger under the seal of the envelope. There was a white card inside. He took the card and there was a great rush of air past his face and he was somewhere else, somewhere he'd been before, on the floor of a tall circular office covered in portraits of headmasters past.

He leapt to his feet. There were wands trained on him, a total of ten aurors surrounding him, five on each side of the desk where Albus Dumbedore sat. Severus panted, looking from Dumbedore to the aurors and back again. Seeing Severus was unarmed, Dumbledore motioned for the aurors to lower thier wands. They did, slowly.

"A pleasure to see you again, my boy," the old wizard said. A chair rolled out to meet him. "Please...have a seat."

***

Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup and slither while they pass they slip away across the universe....

He'd heard the song, for the first time in a long time, as he walked though Diagon Alley an afternoon a few weeks later. It was stuck in his head, but as it was a beautiful melody, it was welcome there.

Nothing's gonna change my world....

Potions for the lab. Supplies for Lucius's metamorphine. Right. It would be busy in the lab today, the Death Eaters were planning an attack and needed a specific subset of potions, the purpose of which Severus had divined as best he could earlier in the day for Dumbledore. He would have sent his new assistant Grindow Holland out for the supplies but he professed to need some fresh air.

Fresh air.

After thier first meeting the old wizard sent him careening back to the Manor, shell-shocked yet exhilarated. Right back onto his bed he landed, sitting up, holding the envelope, next to the wand he'd foolishly not thought to grab. There was a knock on the door. Severus was silent, terrified. Had someone heard him return?

"Is Master sleeping?" came a small voice. "Is Dobby, here with soup, sir."

Severus pushed the envelope under his pillow. "Yes, come in.

The house elf opened the door, carrying a tray with a covered bowl of soup, a mug of something warm, and fresh daisy in a tiny vase. "You meal, Master Snape. Where would Master like it?"

"Oh, just on the desk is fine."

The house elf put the tray on the desk. "Is there anything else you is needing, master?"

"No, no, I'm fine, thank you, Dobby."

"You is feeling better, sir?" the hosue elf asked entreatingly.

"Yes, I'm much better."

Dobby stepped towards the door and poked his head out the crack. When he was satisfied no one was coming, he said, "Dobby is sorry to hear about the Master's loss, sir. Dobby knows Mistress Psue did not like him, but Dobby is sorry besides." His voice lowered to a whisper. "Dobby is brought something for you."

The elf reached up onto the tray and handed Severus a fancily folded napkin. "I is thinking you would want to have them. Good afternoon, Master Snape." The house elf bowed and left the room.

Severus unfolded the napkin. Inside was a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. Myra's glasses.

After that day Severus had adopted his usual routine, adapting back to his work environment so fast even Lucius was surprised. He took to his duties with undue silence and diligence. He did whatever Lucius ordered, letting the newlywed prince think he'd broken him. He made the metamorphine on time, recited poetry to a bored Narcissa, did whatever was asked of him with the obedience of an old dog.

He never mentioned Myra. He did not so much as twitch when he started his early mornings in the lab and saw her supplies just as she had left them, tirelessly awaiting her return, just as he suspected a part of him always would be. When Grindow Holland began work in the lab and used her bottles, gauges, and beakers, Severus managed to restain from strangling him, instead commending him on a job well done when he produced unsubtle potions with souless, robotic effieciency. He allowed Myra's presence in the Manor to pass quietly away into history everywhere but in him. He slipped her glasses into the inside pocket of his cloak when he went to meet his contacts in the Order.

No one suspected a thing.

In fact, there was only one instance in which he had even been alarmed, and it had to do with Barty Crouch. Since the wedding the boy had been strutting around the Manor, newly calm and silent, his childish giddyness replaced but some newfound maturity and pride. The boy had begin to look oddly at Severus whenever they passed, and Severus, still paranoid, began to worry he knew something. One day Severus decided to enagage Barty in conversation, just to see

The boy was in one of several lounges. He held a martini and gazed out the window over the expanse of backyard, sitting back with authority. He looked not unsimiliar to a contemplative, stern Lucius Malfoy. He turned the stem of the martini glass between his thumb and index finger while Severus ordered himself a vodka neat.

"Barty," Severus said, "long time no see."

"Hm."

"How have you been?"

"Fine, thanks. Yourself?"

"Well. Mind if I have a seat?"

"I'd be delighted." Barty gestured to the chair opposite him. They sat in silence for a few long moments, listening to the birds chirping outside and the gentle piano in the next room. Severus drank his vodka.

"Barty," he began, "I can't help but notice there's something different about you."

Barty smirked. "Really. How so?"

"Oh, just...hard to pinpoint, really. Your carriage."

"My carriage?" he snickered. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you carry yourself with a new sort of...dignity, I suppose."

"Was I undignified before?"

"Oh no, not at all," Severus said quickly. "But you were, I might say, rather emotional about Lucius's marriage."

Barty laughed. "Lucius? Ha. I can't believe I was so wrecked over such a pansy fruitcake." He shook head head, taking a long drink of his martini.

Severus was wide-eyed with amusement. "You don't say?"

"I do say."

Severus paused, unsure whether to press on, but his curiosity got the better of him. "What happened, if you don't mind my asking, to cause such a change of heart?"

Barty looked reflective for a moment the lean forward, closer to Severus, his face unearthly smug, whsipering, "When you have a creature like the Dark Lord as a lover any mortal thing seems awfully boring. He's taught me power like I never knew. I never understood I was so much. I've been enlightened, Severus." He leaned back in his seat, rasing his glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers."

Their glasses met, and Severus realized not only that his double agent dealings couldn't be further from the boy's mind, but that Severus had no more feeling for him, sexual or otherwise. He sipped the bitter vodka. As he watched Barty's self-satisfaction the thought occurred to him that what he had been attracted to in Barty was not his body but his innate purity, a purity that now been quashed by the ministrations of a fiend. Whatever Severus had sought in him was gone.

Now that men were just men he found it easier to work, easier to keep up the charade he pulled every day, every moment. All he had to do was stay under the radar, where everyone expected him to be. He reported to Dumbledore, whose pride in him was an infection Severus didn't want. He resisted the old man's offers of candy and comfort, instead giving him flatly the information he requested in return for protection, for a new life, when the time came.

He'd kept his promise. He had gotten out.

Night after night he finished his work, closed down the lab, pocketing various thing he found that were Myra's, put them in a wooden box in his closet. A pen, a feather, a catalouge. He folded her tiger pelt corset, neatly, and closed the lid. He found Nebraska on a map, cut it out, and put it on the box. He imagined the house they would have lived in, nights of experimental potions and coffee. Sometimes, late at night in his bed, he thought he saw a blue light in the corner of his vision but it was never there. He woke in the morning. He went back to work.

As time went on Dumbledore became more and more demanding, in his softly manipulative way. Severus tried to crush the resentment when the old wizard asked for the impossible, seemingly unappreciative of the risks he was taking even though he made every effort to show how appreciative he was.

Death Eater plans started to be unraveled by the nigh supernatural knowledge of the aurors. They were getting smarter, everyone figured, thinking more like them. New tactics would have be to attempted. New strategies tested. Voldemort called meetings, often, to inform the Death Eaters of what they needed to know, and seemingly to boost morale.

They gathered before the Dark Lord, kneeling, their marks burning as a reminder of their service. Lucius and Narcissa bowed as well, but Barty Crouch stood near Voldemort, head held high. Everyone was beginning to have a healthy fear of Barty, of his growing fanatical devotion to the Dark Lord.

For this particular gathering Severus was in the front row. He knelt, his head bowed, as Voldemort spoke.

"My faithful Death Eaters, it is you, you who will usher in the coming of the new age. The new age of power. And you will be rewarded greatly in the end. Your work will be the joy of your descendants for generations to come. Rosier!"

Rosier looked up.

"You, Rosier, have shown fealty to me unceasingly though the years. I thank you. And you, Wilkes, have performed acts of savagery, so elegant in their execution - you have made yourself indespensible. And you, Snape."

Severus looked up, up into the face of Voldemort, and saw there, for a moment, the face of Dumbledore, then Voldemort again, and saw that they two were, for all intents and purposes, interchangeable.

The song came back to him. Nothing's gonna change my world....

The Dark Lord took Severus by the chin, his gentle fingers cold. He smiled down at him, his lipless, serpentine smile. Severus didn't breathe.

"Severus Snape. Of all my Death Eaters, I know you would never betray me."

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