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Her face was stoic. Since Lucius’ incarceration, this is what her life had been like; a terrifying descent into madness with each day bringing a new horror. Why would today be any different?
Now he was gaining on her; his smile predatory and his eyes feral. She could sense it on him; smell it on him even. She’d sensed it upon Lucius enough times to be certain. That tinge of brutality - of murder - that doesn’t go away, no matter how hard you scrub.
Oh and she knew he had scrubbed. Not that the Dark Lord could tell, but she knew Severus. She remembered him as a scrawny, underfed slip of a thing, who had avoided the showers for his first few weeks at Hogwarts, until Lucius had dragged him under the spray, kicking and screaming whilst the prefect held him under the soapy water.
Over the years, he hadn’t changed.
But this time, he’d scrubbed. Dumbledore was dead, and Severus had scrubbed. His skin was pink, his pores devoid of sebum - and as he lent over her, the strong odour of carbolic soap masked his usual scent of potion concoctions.
Frankly, she preferred the potion concoctions.
Narcissa had no choice. And so, she nodded her assent.
He bundled her through the door to his small house, and propelled her roughly towards the seat in the corner of the living room. She glanced down, noting the myriad of papers and books strewn around it, realising that it was his chair she was sat in.
“Tea?”
Narcissa almost laughed; a slight tinkle in the back of her throat that was quickly stemmed by the fear she felt. It wasn’t that she hadn’t done this before - oh, she had: with Lucius and without. But that was Severus. Scrawny, serious, good-for-nothing Severus. She’d been throwing him a bone, at the encouragement of her debauched husband.
The murderer who stood before her was not Severus.
“-I think,” she swallowed hard, trying to rid her voice of the quaver she could hear. “I think,” she tried again, “that we should dispense with the niceties and get on with what you came for.”
He tilted his head, a slight smirk playing across his face. “Really, Cissy?”
She flinched at the use of her pet name. How dare he. How dare he now, how dare he do this - how dare he play the part of her husband’s best friend, of her…of her… She didn’t know how to think of him, standing there with his sleeves rolled up, and the smell of soap, and that grin widening across his thin face.
“Really, Cissy?” His grin faltered for a second, and he knelt before her, his arms splayed wide.
And then she knew.
She took a deep breath; her body almost sagging with relief. “Thank you,” she said, her voice a whisper. “Thank you.”
He settled on the floor by her feet. “You know how the Dark Lord likes to punish family members for failure.”
“It had come to my attention. …what of Draco?”
Severus took her hand and briefly squeezed. “He’ll be safe. Of course, he won’t sleep well tonight, thinking of his dear mother reduced to a prize, and being ruined at the hands of…”
“-don’t.”
“It’s rather the point. It’s what they all think. It’s what they have to think.”
She paused, reaching with her fingertips to graze his cheek. “We could, you know.”
He didn’t move.
“It’d be like before. Not a reward; a thank you.”
The shake of his head was so slight, she barely caught it.
“Because I want to, not because you expect it,” she pressed.
This time, he smiled. “I never expected it,” he said, his silky voice soft. He stood, and straightened his collar. “This was to stop Draco from being punished further. To prevent the Dark Lord from using you as a means to get to him.” He stared down at Narcissa, his eyes back to the fathomless depths she’d become accustomed to. “I feel you should be aware that the Dark Lord is arranging for Azkaban to be dealt with.”
She hardly dared contemplate it. “Lucius?”
Snape nodded.
“And what do I tell him of this?”
“Whatever won’t get us both killed.”