multiversallogs | questions are never indiscreet; answers sometimes are

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questions are never indiscreet; answers sometimes are

Who: Lucius Malfoy (Sr) and Severus Snape β
What: The older generation have some catching up to do.
Where: Aspic.
When: Misdi late afternoon.

He hadn't been kidding about the mulled wine, because to joke about alcohol is a sorry state of affairs. The scent of it, rich and spiced, permeates the air and almost lends it warmth in contrast to the chill of the outdoors. Presumably, the comfortable tavern offers other things, but everyone has a niche.

Already there before Severus can arrive, Lucius does not put on the appearance of a man preparing to spring a trap. He would probably not be visible if this were the case. He sits in one of the low wooden chairs not far from the hearth, a leg folded over the other and observing the flames and cracking splinter of firewood within them rather than the clientele. He is, perhaps, not as Severus last left him, while also being exactly that; aged a little beyond his years, wearing the resulting weariness and injury of the final wizarding war as something visible if difficult to name. Despite his recline, he is not comfortable.

He is also dressed in Muggle sensibilities, with only the compromise of being a little dark in his colours and overly formal for his surroundings. The tavern boasts a somewhat low ceiling and a bare trickling of clientele; Lucius' occupation of the hearth-side is remarkably quiet, and no one has approached him save to make sure he didn't want anything more to drink.

Cane rests, black and silver, against his leg, with his hand on the hilt as his only but very significant sign of vigilance.

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Severus wastes no time in Apparating directly outside the tavern; he is in something of a hurry, not because he has anywhere in particular to be, but because there is one intervening hour before Martha sends in the cavalry. No - fifty-eight minutes.

That isn't to say he doesn't trust Lucius; however, Severus has been snatched from his home, placed in a world he doesn't recognize, exposed to the 'old crowd', and his Mark has been burning. Things are not what they appear, and while Lucius was once his friend, time and tide may have changed him.

He comes dressed in Muggle attire of his own, and by the time he ascertains it's safe to enter the tavern, his wand is out of sight. Sight only - it's well within reach, and if Lucius still has that ridiculous cane, Severus will have no trouble drawing on the drawer, so to speak. So, too, is his wedding band hidden; it has been removed and placed on a chain around his neck. On the Barge, there would have been no sense hiding his marriage, but Baedal is far more dangerous.

Seeing the other man gives him pause; it has been two years, after all, and if circumstances were not nearly so dire, he would feel almost nostalgic. However, Severus isn't the nostalgic sort, this is not a social visit, and he's not entirely certain of Lucius' age. Then, too, there is the question of Lucius' rather odd response to his communication. Mistaken identity - what rubbish. Something is going on here, and he doesn't have a good feeling about it at all.

This is an enormous risk, but one which has become eminently necessary.

"Lucius," he offers by way of a greeting.

Almost lazily, Lucius looks away from hearth to observe the other man once his name is spoken, although his ears had pricked at the sound of footsteps creaking his way. This is where he would rise and offer a platitude of greeting; instead, he simply stays seated in unchanging posture and sweeps a chilly assessment up and down of Snape. He has learned, these days, not to assume anyone is from the world he knows.

Even if they might look it. Still, age is noted, just not trusted. The corner of his mouth twitches into bot the warmest of half-smiles, but it is, perhaps, better than nothing. Ridiculous cane is used, then, to gesture Snape to sit, levered against thigh and pointed metal reinforced end towards the empty chair across from him.

"Hello, Severus. Good of you to make it out this way."

There is no smile offered in return for the lukewarm greeting. This isn't a social call, much as he would like it to be. (It has been a very long time since he has been among friends, even if his friends happen to be vipers.) He studies Lucius, noting appearance, manner - all the things which might hint at a time. Unfortunately, if Lucius has seen the end of the war, Severus has no basis of reference to compare. Perhaps the Malfoys descended into ignominy and debauchery. Perhaps Lucius went mad. Perhaps he joined a naturalist commune. Perhaps Baedal has given him this air of distrust, and not knowledge of Snape's efforts to protect Harry Potter.

Severus doesn't miss a beat in spite of his observations; he takes the seat with grace, black eyes trained on the other man with the well-practiced art of appearing not to be staring. He is simply being attentive.

"I had very little choice in the matter," he replies, referring not to the tavern, but Baedal as a whole. This isn't what he wants to discuss, but allowing Lucius to direct the conversation will make the process as a whole go much more smoothly.

"Oh, on that," because Lucius can read between lines when it suits him to, "I would not compliment anyone."

Perhaps if they were in their own world, inexplicable fluctuations in time and space would enable them to make accurate deductions about the state of one another and their contemporary moments in time. The introduction of other worlds makes it impossible to gauge; Lucius does not need to be told about the Barge, either, when his younger analogue and his lovely wife have already told him stories of their inter-dimensional travels, and the thirty-something Harry Potter's more distorted history of war.

If Baedal and all it implies does give Lucius an air of distrust, it is at least one thing he can't be blamed for. There are other things for that. To the point, he asks, "How did you know to contact me?"

At least they're getting down to it, he thinks. Severus is quite tempted to cast a glance around for a clock, but if they're already moving along to the meat of the discussion, he has little need to worry.

"I happened upon a communique of Narcissa's while searching for an explanation for what occurred two weeks past," he responds. It's true, he saw the communique in question, but 'happened upon' is just vague enough that Xenophilius need not come up in the conversation. "You were mentioned, as were the Lestranges. Admittedly, I am rather relieved to know I need not contact your wife and cause her undue concern if she is as yet unaware of the matter."

Or something to that effect.

Mention of Narcissa has Lucius flitting his attention away to veil reaction to the rest, cane drawn across his lap and hands balanced upon it thoughtfully as he regards fire and soot over recently arrived companion, but he is listening. "It is fair bit more complicated than all that. She is not my wife, as she has a husband who is not me."

These words are said neutrally: fact stating, syllables carefully placed. He might not be lying, if Narcissa's the type of wife to make her husband shave with better regularity. "Baedal pays very little attention to matters of time and space, you understand, or even if you were already here to begin with before it takes you.

"So I would like to know where you come from, before we go any further. I know you are Severus, but I do not know exactly who I am talking to."

The response unsettles Severus enough that it registers in his expression - not that Baedal pays no attention to time and space, but that Narcissa is not married to Lucius. It's then that he begins to work things out. Narcissa mentioned a Lucius, but has a husband who is not the man before him. Claire Bennet knew him in another place. On the Barge, people came and went and returned again with no memory of the place - younger and older and the same age. Timelines could be altered. And, more disturbingly, Lucius seemed to greet him as a familiar face.

Oh. Oh no.

He suspects. Severus suspects something very terrible, indeed - and doesn't even care to begin contemplating all the ways this can possibly go wrong. He quite emphatically hopes he's wrong, but...mistaken identity. His stomach turns.

Keeping calm, his reply is perfunctory and clipped because it is all the information Lucius needs at this moment. "Hogwarts, 1998. Perhaps you would be willing to extend me the same courtesy - a year, at the least?"

"1998. After the war's conclusion."

He reaches to pick up the drink he'd ordered, a rather tame serving of warm wine, microherbs drifting on rich red surface. "A veritable blur of trials and bone-picking journalism, Potter singing his praises of all those he deemed deserving of acclaim, dead and alive," eyebrow raise, goes there, as if to underscore the relevance of that in regards to Snape himself, but glacial grey eyes are almost entirely unreadable, "and a rather irritating time to be wizard and English all around. I had been hoping to migrate by the time I appeared here.

"The story varies, of course, depending on whom you talk to. Who have you talked to?"

1998. That is problematic. How Lucius would respond to him prior to the war's conclusion is set in stone, but how he will react now is an unknown variable. There is, of course, some silver lining: Severus knows Lucius' loyalties, and they aren't to the Dark Lord. Then again, his wife isn't here to divert said loyalties.

Severus isn't going to consider that there might be another like him, much less one who has already borne the brunt of Lucius Malfoy's wrath. He dislikes existential crises.

All that in mind, decides to let it lie for now; Lucius can broach the subject if he so wishes, but Severus won't address it otherwise. As to who he has contacted...he can't very well tell Lucius about Xenophilius or Granger, but he suspects the question refers only to their old crowd, and thus he answers honestly, "Only you. I cast about for information and thus discovered the presence of the Lestranges, your wife, and yourself. I'm certain you can understand my reluctance to contact the others at this juncture. You seemed..."

Flatly: "Safest."

Edited 2011-12-07 11:21 (UTC)

"She isn't."

This reminder is sharp, reflexive, and not the most important part of all that Severus just said. But as the man who has to exist with the concept that there is a Narcissa walking around to whom he is not married, Lucius feels somewhat unforgiving in a little sharpness, for all that it certainly isn't calculated.

His chin lifts a little, a gesture of steeling oneself some. "The other two Malfoys are amiable enough, although Narcissa may attempt to keep you if only out of a sense of organisation. If you have associations with Hellsing, you'll find out soon enough."

That reminder that there is another Lucius causes him to pale slightly. It's confirmation enough, and suddenly he understands exactly how Lucius - this Lucius - feels. He knows how he would feel, were Martha married to his doppelganger. Severus doesn't apologize, however. It wouldn't be taken well, he knows. Instead, he inclines his head slightly, acknowledging his slip, and notes to himself not to make it again. Better to learn from a mistake than to beg forgiveness for it.

"I would prefer the others not to know of my presence." A beat. "You do not have associations with Hellsing, then, I take it."

And that is where the confusion lay. It was the other Lucius. He and Narcissa worked together for the organization, as Snape and Martha did.

There is a faint grimace at the request to keep things a secret. Because that always goes so well. Scowl is hidden in a deep pull of the spiced wine, shaking his head when he's done. "Not I, no. I think it best for everyone that I don't. But as for you, you cannot hope to exist within it and evade them for as long as you're here. Never mind Hellsing, at that, the city and the cohort in it is altogether too small, no matter what you prefer.

"Your identity is hardly a precious thing, here. Best to meet on your own terms than by accident."

There's no change in his expression; he might as well be wearing a porcelain mask for all the emotion he shows at that assessment. It isn't his identity he's worried about.

"These are my terms, Lucius." It isn't an aggressive statement; it is what it is. Hellsing will protect his other identity. "Until I am comfortable with the status quo, I want nothing to do with the others."

Severus sits back in his chair, his eyes moving from the other man's face to the hearth. He stares at it for a long moment, pensive, then adds, "I do not take actions such as this without good reason. I would hope I can trust you, if not to keep it secret, then to dismiss the topic of my identity and whereabouts as beneath your interest."

Secrets are and were a currency, back in the day, and Lucius saw more worth in them then than he does now. He can't think of a single demand he might make in return to make concealment worth it, nor does he feel vindictive enough to use such a thing against the man in front of him. It's an irritating sort of grey apathy to find oneself in, and he tips his head in some concession at Severus' final point.

Besides. The younger of the two already knows. Oh well.

"You will find the status quo suited to transparency in the things that don't matter, and the acquiring of allies that may," he states, coolly. "You need not reveal all things, but your presence is negotiable. Something to consider, if you were seeking advisement."

And then, a small, dismissive gesture. It is not Lucius' concern, ultimately.

If only it didn't matter, he thinks bleakly. With a curt nod - the closest he will come to thanks at the moment - he accepts the dismissive gesture as the end of that particular topic. He has no intentions of putting that aspect of his life at risk.

"Forgive me if I don't continue to slowly circle round the subject which interests me most at the moment, but the incident two weeks ago?" His tone is rather grim. Knowing Lucius' loyalties makes this somewhat easier; Severus feels no need to pretend to be eager regarding the whereabouts of the Dark Lord. He decides he doesn't want to know what caused it to burn as it did - or why it burned at all. All he wishes to know is whether Voldemort is in Baedal. "I need nothing more than a simple yes or no."

There is a subtle lowering of his chin; he fixes the other man with a searching look. "Is there cause for concern?"

That gets a blank look at first, before dim recognition settles in his expression; reluctantly, without relish. He's long since left behind raw nerves and frazzled animal-fear, but the memory of ever knowing such is enough to know some disgust for himself. Left hand stretches fingers almost unconsciously. "No," Lucius states, simply. "Simply a rather careless, quite stupid display of experimentation."

And he expands on that no further; if Severus regards the incident anything like he did, then all that matters if Lord Voldemort's presence, or rather, the lack thereof.

"It did give most of us a startle."

If he feels relieved, he doesn't show it. Perhaps because whatever relief might accompany these assurances is hidden beneath a morass of other frustrations. But he does relax, if only slightly. Severus can't say he trusts Lucius at the moment - unknown quantities and the like - but knowing he was not alone in his reaction is comforting. In a way.

"Very well." And with that, the topic is finished, leaving him to sort through a thousand other questions he doesn't want to ask. Finally, he settles on determining who he is dealing with at the moment. "How long have you been in Baedal?"

"Three months, or thereabouts."

Short of asking anyone at the Inn if they remember what particular day a rather moodily frightened middle-aged wizard stormed through the building from green-tiled room to the early morning outdoors, Lucius has no clear idea what exact day he arrived. It wasn't the day he left, after all, and it's all a bit of a blur.

He sets emptier earthenware down, and folds his hands together once more. "And it certainly feels like it."

"I imagine it would," he replies rather cryptically; after all, he's been in this position aboard the Barge and is no stranger to feeling displaced. He wouldn't go so far as to say he sympathizes with Lucius, but there is some empathy, at least. Even discounting his experiences aboard the Barge, he was here for a week without Martha. Lucius has been here three months without Narcissa - and worse, watching another man act the part of her husband.

Very well. Pity, too.

"You have a complaint with Hellsing." It's. Sort of a question. More of a prompt.

There's a twitch of an eyebrow raise at this assertion, but Lucius doesn't deny it. Flat refusal to meet somewhere as opposed to having preference is a telling thing, for all that should Severus had been intentionally trapping him, it would have been a clumsy attempt indeed for someone like him.

He lifts a shoulder in shrug. "My alternate works there. Wizardry for hire. I'd rather remain without involvement, truly. What business have you found there for yourself?"

"The sort of business which pays the bills," he replies dismissively. In other words, professional courtesy prevents him from discussing it - and money is the sole reason he works there. "Unfortunately, my situation does not allow for me to be selective in my choice of work. Hellsing was an immediate opportunity."

And he saw that Lucius and Narcissa worked there and thus assumed it would be an acceptable measure, but that goes unsaid. This Lucius can figure it out for himself - and, too, that the invitation to meet at Hellsing was down to the assumption mutual employment rather than a cackhanded trap.

Pride hasn't gotten Lucius terribly far. He is disguising injuries beneath his clothes and certainly isn't regaling Snape with where he was two weeks after his induction into Baedal, or that he probably would have been grateful for the opportunity to work, at least at first. No, none of that, just a slightly condescending lift to the corner of his mouth (brief though it is) and a blink in place of a nod.

"Baedal demands compromises," he does concede. "Wizarding Britain is so very far away."

"So it is." What Severus doesn't say is how long Wizarding Britain has been far away for him. His adjustment period was far shorter; he had something of a head start.

For a moment, he fights the temptation to check the time. It likely hasn't been as long as he thinks it has, but an hour is not so long, either way. "Is there anything else of which I should be aware?"

An offer for Lucius to tell him about the existence of a doppelganger, sure, but also casting his net again. Perhaps there are others besides the Lestranges and the Malfoys. Perhaps Lupin is here, somewhere in the midst of Baedal, or Grindelwald, or Dumbledore.

There's no Lupin, or Grindelwald, or Dumbledore, but there is a Lovegood, a Potter, a Rosier. But none of these names really flash by Lucius - even Harry's existence as Sebastian LeMat doesn't register too highly, and he's never considered that to be his secret to speak about. Having as little to do with the Boy Who Lived is an appealing retirement plan.

No, just the silent thing left between them, and he wonders how much Severus already expects. Lucius knows he was fairly conspicuous already.

Fingers splay, curl in against his palm. "Yes," he says, after a moment, the tiniest crack in the otherwise iced over welcome that Severus has so far gotten. Fair is fair; he told one of them already. Not that he will express this, at all. "You have yourself a younger analogue as well. Quite different to you, although similarly covert in approach. It took him longer to come to me, and I think he only did so because I found evidence of him first."

He had hoped, actually, that it was his contemporary sitting in front of him now. But things change.

And that, he decides, is confirmation he didn't particularly want. But he did need it. Forewarned is fore-armed, and he would like to avoid his analogue at all costs. In spite of this mental assessment, however, he shows no outward reaction to the news. Whereas Lucius twitches his hands - something he has come to think of as a release of tension - or tilts his chin or the thousand other tics he has come to associate with the other man, Severus is almost preternaturally still.

Save for a breath drawn in, slowly released, and a slight lift of an eyebrow - all as if to say Oh, well. He is taking this news far better than expected, or appears to be. Later, he'll find a nice brown paper back into which he can hyperventilate.

"And others?"

"You've only the one."

Kidding, identified as such if only because that dryly impatient tone of voice can only be facetious. Lucius finishes off his wine, and doesn't beckon for a second helping. "Evan Rosier, if you can cast your mind back far enough. Antonin Dolohov is present and harmless, except to himself and anyone in his more immediate vicinity. Lovegood, the Quibbler editor.

"But I do not pay much attention to the network, I will admit. You'd do better to ask the others." Oddly enough, with exception to the younger Severus, his business finds him casting his net wider than those of their community, even one so tailored to his comfort and principles.

Severus takes the suggestion to ask the others as another hint that he should give up his charade and promptly goes quite deaf to it. Instead, he mulls over this roster he currently has: two Malfoys, Narcissa, Rosier, Dolohov, the Lestanges. And on his side of things, Granger and Xenophilius. Likely straddling the fence is his doppelganger.

Even if the Lucius before him is reformed, Severus is outnumbered. Vastly so. After a long moment, he gives a thoughtful nod. This is enough to be getting on with for him.

"If you'll excuse me, I have other matters which require my attention." Such as ensuring the cavalry isn't sent to rescue him. He has the information he needed, and has never been much of one for socialisation, anyway. Later, once he's had time to consider his next course of action, he'll invite Lucius out for dinner. Or something. Drinks. Bemoaning their lot in life. The usual. "I am most obliged for your time and candor."

There is little left to study. There wasn't much before. Lucius could fancy he can make deductions about Severus' careful stillness, but little more than guesswork based off his own response to a doppelganger, and knowing what he knows of Snape. More detail is not offered when it is not asked for; Lucius remains sitting where he is in comfortable lean, with no reason to leave the warm space by the hearth or make gestures of seeing the other man to the door of a public building.

"It was nothing," he dismisses, politely. "Go see to your matters." And with that, he freely leaves Snape to go and endlessly think on all he is shared, feeling rather relieved that he has less of that to do, himself.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

questions are never indiscreet; answers sometimes are

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