each night as i go walking

[amourpropre]

Who: Lucius Malfoy (Sr) and Severus Snape α
What: Discussions on superstitions, perhaps!
Where: Severus' cottage, Flag Hill
When: Today.
Warnings: Descriptions of monstery gore.

It's a perfectly nice day until someone paints through it. Smoke as black and thick as ink trails along a clear sky, landing with more heavinesss than might have been suggested by its substance in front of the cottage, and trails of transformative magic collapses back in on itself, conforming to the more defined and solid lines of the man in the middle of it. Black smoke disappears into black fabrics, vanishes off pale skin and paler hair. Lucius Malfoy takes a glance around without truly suspecting to see anyone behind him, should he care if he did, and approaches the front door.

He hasn't been overly communicative, lately. A curt word with Lestrange before social retreat strikes. There are, altogether, too many people again. Never mind that he'd find something to bitch about if he were the only one, or one of two. There is a faint hope he doesn't have to talk to Antonin yet, but he wears 'resignation' like a coat.

Thud, thud. Metal against wood as the blunt silver nose of snake-head taps on the front door, although he suspects that his presence would possibly be detected before he gets that far, but it's habit. He steps back, thinking back to the reason that drove him here; the crow's feet lines at his eyes deepen in reflective and subtle wince, but no matter.

Comments

[inkdamage]

There aren't many people that the wards around Severus' house permit to pass through, but he still knows, so the younger man is up in the main house (.. out of the basement) before Lucius even knocks. He hears the tell-tale sound and shoos Cadie to go sit before answering.

Both of them in as many days. Curious.

"To what ominous reckoning do I owe the pleasure?" Hello, Lucius. Severus is wearing what can only be described as work clothes, and he's still carrying a hand-towel stained with Merlin-knows-what, trying to get something off the fingernails in one hand. He smells a bit like burnt ozone; fussing around with potions, then, it's safe to say he's alone besides the dog.