The Last Goodbye

Lucius had been in Azkaban for a little over two years. It was his second sentence to the prison – the first time he had been released after a successful appeal to the Ministry after serving close to a year. However, the War came and he fought for the side of Dark Lord. Lucius was seized after suspicions of him being involved in the torture and murder of Muggles and Halfbloods just after the fall of Voldemort. He’d been found guilty as charged and sent back to Azkaban to be held on death row for him to receive the Dementor’s Kiss. He spent those two years completely isolated, without a visit from anyone, not even from his wife, Narcissa, or his son, Draco. The time had finally come, however, and he found himself mere days away from receiving his fate of the Kiss.

Draco was now a grown man, a couple of years out of Hogwarts and working for the Ministry. Despite the fact that Lucius had served Voldemort and was an impressionable influence on Draco during his childhood and teen years, Draco had not followed his father’s footsteps into the dark side of the Wizarding world. He had witnessed too much tragedy, loss and grief that resulted from the War, and in his father’s absence he had sought counsel in the man that was close enough to him to be considered a father figure – Severus Snape.

At first, Snape was just a confidante. However, confidante turned to close friend, and over time a relationship was established between the two. During Lucius’ incarceration, Snape had asked Draco many times if he wished to visit his father before his fate befell him. Even though Draco had never visited, he kept close watch on the calendar as the date slowly approached. In the last couple of months before Lucius was due to die Draco decided that he wanted his father to know about him and his lover. Draco had always sought his father’s approval for everything that he did in his life. Acceptance was extremely important to Draco, especially acceptance from his father, who was a very difficult man to please. In spite of the fact that he knew deep down that his father would not accept, much less approve, of Draco being in a relationship with another man, he held a sliver of hope that his father, in his last days, would bestow his blessings upon Draco and the happiness he had found in his life with Severus.

Many times, he had almost set out to Azkaban to visit him, but changed his mind at the last minute. The fear of rejection was too big for Draco to deal with. He knew what his father thought of men that involved themselves in the sort of relationship that Draco had with Severus, and the fear that he held for the man was enough to quell his courage every time. Snape, after many long discussions with Draco that often went late into the night, could see how important this was to him. So, in a bid to calm Draco’s apprehension at seeing his father for the last time with such news to break, Snape offered his voice to speak in place of Draco’s.

So, precisely twenty-one days prior to the planned visit, he and Draco set about making all the necessary arrangements.

Four days before the Kiss was to be administered, Snape arrived at Azkaban on a cold Saturday afternoon. He stepped through the gates shrouded in a long black cloak with a hood that covered his head and face. As he was guided in silence to Lucius’ cell, he nervously twisted and coiled his hands together. His stomach was churning ominously and his heart was pounding frantically. He was very nervous about seeing Lucius – he had not seen the man for two years and, the basis upon which he was meeting him for the last time was not exactly an easy subject to broach to someone like Lucius Malfoy.

Snape took in deep, slow breaths and ran his tongue over his dry lips as he stood before the cell door while it was being opened. He muttered to the guard to fetch him should any violence or verbal assault arise, to which he was given a silent nod of acknowledgement. A sharp, loud creak came from the hinges as the heavy door was pushed open for him, and Snape stepped over the threshold into the dim, drab and cold cell. The door closed with a dull resonating thud and Snape stood still and stared across the room at the faintly illuminated figure of an emaciated Lucius Malfoy.

The sight of how thin Lucius was caused the breath in Snape’s throat to hitch sharply. Lucius, who was once a regal man, was now a mere shadow of his former self. His long hair, once a brilliant platinum blonde, was a tangle of knots and a dark grey colour from having not been washed for many months. Through his tattered, grimy clothes, Snape could see the skeletal outline of the man’ body: his ribs jutted from his chest, his collar bones were deep canyons and the bones of his spine protruded like large pebbles from underneath his filthy shirt. Lucius was stood by the opposing wall, gazing up at the tiny barred window as if he were a bird in a cage that yearned to fly free.

“I was told you were coming.” Lucius’ voice was croaky and weak – it was nothing like the rich timbre that he once had.

“How are you, Lucius?” Snape replied in a strained tone as he reached for his hood and drew it back from his face.

A dry, bitter chuckle escaped Lucius’ cracked, ashen lips. “As well as any man who has not seen freedom in two years.” He turned from the window and looked at Snape. His face was very gaunt: his eye sockets were sunken in and his cheekbones jutted out harshly. He couldn’t look at Lucius. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly. He could feel Lucius’ cold gaze on him. He opened his eyes again and looked at the mouldy stone wall.

“How is my son?” Lucius took a step from where he was stood towards Snape. “I have not seen him for two years.”

Snape furrowed his brows and focused as hard as he could on not looking at Lucius. “He’s fine,” he replied in a choked voice.

Lucius took another step towards him. “Is he? What is he doing? What is my son up to? I have missed him greatly.”

Snape took another deep breath and let it out slowly and shakily. “He is working for the Ministry.”

“Oh?” He took another step towards Snape. “How does my son look? Is he a handsome man, like I once was?” He grinned maniacally. Snape could see the man had teeth missing, and the ones that remained were stained, some rotted. The smile was not a warm one; it was bitter and caustic, which sent a ripple of chills down his spine.

Snape took a step back, his eyes wide. “Yes,” he whispered.

“That’s good,” Lucius hoarsely spoke. “What about love? Has my son found himself a good woman?”

Snape took another step back and his heel scuffed against the wall. He swallowed loudly again and stared at Lucius in apprehension. “He-he has found love,” he managed.

“Oh, that’s good.” Lucius took another step in towards Snape and outstretched his bony arm towards him. His thin fingers looked like claws, the way they were posed. He closed in on Snape and rested his hand on his shoulder, to which Snape let out a soft whimper and cowered against the wall. This was something Lucius always did – he cornered those lower than him, intimidated them, leered in at them all for the purpose of making those around him uncomfortable. It was in his nature to act like a wolf stalking prey. “Who is she?” Lucius murmured.

The way that Lucius’ face loomed in towards him was terrifying. Those fingers clamped against his shoulder like a vice. Snape’s breathing was short and fast, his face was white with fear and his pulse was raging in his body. “It-it’s not a woman,” he whispered. He saw a flash of confusion in Lucius’ eyes, followed by dark, deep anger. He pressed himself against the wall as Lucius leaned in towards him.

The aristocrat’s cold eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Not a woman?” he asked. Snape turned his face away from Lucius’ and closed his eyes. The stench of his breath was overwhelming; it was the smell of hunger that one’s stomach produced when there was no food to absorb the acidic juices, accompanied by the telltale smell of rotten teeth and gums. “Not a woman?” Lucius repeated in a louder, though weak and cracked voice. Snape merely nodded quickly and bit his lip. The fingers on his shoulder lessened in their grip. “I see,” he finally added in a scathing tone.

Snape turned his head back to Lucius and stole a glance at the man. The look on his face was chilling; it was dark, ominous and dangerous. “Please step away from me, Lucius,” Snape whispered. He was trembling and a small sheen of sweat had erupted on his pasty forehead.

Lucius arched his brows and very slowly lowered his hand from Snape and took a step back. “So,” he continued softly. “Who is this…man?”

Snape dashed a hand to his collar and fiddled with it nervously. He remained pressed against the wall and peered at Lucius as though the man were a cobra that was reared up and ready to strike. His lips moved to form a response, but no sound came from his throat.

“I beg your pardon?” Lucius asked threateningly.

“Me,” Snape whispered. The look in Lucius’ eyes turned Snape’s blood cold. He held his breath and waited for the rail thin man to lunge at him and begin ripping him apart with his bare hands.

Instead, Lucius stood steadfast and merely glared at the man. “This is what you came to tell me, is it?” he hissed. “To tell me that not only is my son a…filthy faggot, but you—\" He turned his head away and made a noise of disgust. “I die in four days, Severus. In four days time, I will meet my fate.” He faced back to Snape and took a sharp step in towards the man, gripped his shoulder again and leaned in close. “I had hoped that I would die knowing that my son was as successful and as interested in furthering our family name as me. I had hoped that I would hear that my son was someone I could be proud of.” Snape turned away from him and let out a weak sob. “My son has ruined the prestigious name of Malfoy,” Lucius spat. “And you are the reason for the demise of my lineage!”

Snape slumped against the wall and uttered in a weak voice, “He wanted you to know. He wanted to tell you so long ago. He wanted to tell you how happy he is. He wanted—\"

“I don’t care what he wanted!” Lucius spat.

“But your son—\"

“I have no son,” Lucius cut in venomously.

Snape felt a ripple through his body. It was time to leave. He had to leave now. Just as that happened, he heard footsteps outside the door and a key turning the lock. He wrestled himself from Lucius’ grip and hastily dashed his hand to his hood and tugged it over his head. As the door swung open, he stalked to it and brushed past the guard.

“I have no son!” he heard Lucius call out in his croaky voice, his tone triumphant.

Snape walked faster. He felt tears welling in his eyes. He tried to hold them back, but he couldn’t – they fell and rolled down his cheeks. His body felt jittery, his muscles rippled and his skin felt stretched out. He felt his long unctuous hair shift and shorten around his face and the garbs felt bigger and bigger on him with each step as his body shrank from that of a middle aged man to a youthful frame. He kept up his rigorous pace, silently weeping, until he stepped outside into the cold, bleak air and stalked out of the gates of Azkaban.

He walked on for a little while until his sobs overtook him and he stopped in his tracks, lifted a hand to his hood and pulled it from his face to reveal white-blonde hair and the slender, handsome and angular face of Draco Malfoy. The Polyjuice potion had fully worn off.

Draco wiped the tears from his cheeks with his fingers and glanced back at the wizard prison. Those last cutting words his father spoke rang in his ears. They would ring in his ears for years to come. He should have never come. He should have left his father to rot. He should have known that his father would never accept such a thing as his relationship with Severus, no matter how much happiness it brought him. He should have known that his father did not care for his happiness. Draco had hoped that hiding behind a façade would make it easier to tell his father, but his hopes had been only wishful thinking. After a moment of watching the dark building, he turned away as reached up for his hood and pulled it back over his head.