A/N: I'm slow, but I'll get it done! Hope you guys enjoy. No alpha or beta, so all mistakes are mine. Alas.

I own nothing. JKR is just letting us play in her sandbox.

Chapter Eight

"I don't mind if you stay, Draco."

Malfoy observed Severus with his one blue eye and said, "I'll stay, but the minute she commands you to strip, I'm leaving."

"Seeing as I'm here checking on my magic and not my prostate, I'm going to assume that won't be a problem," he said, smoothing the lapels of his waistcoat. "Glenburn, can you confirm?"

"Mr. Snape," the older woman said, pushing her half glasses up on top of her gleaming gray- and white-streaked bob. "Mr. Snape, I'm going to remind you once more that I bill per the quarter hour, and it's really of no concern to me how long this takes. Tell your funny jokes all day. It's fine. I'll make the same amount anyway."

Draco's mouth twitched madly. "Uncle, you heard the woman. Tell your funny jokes."

Merlin, he'd missed his godnephew. "Healer Glenburn, you've read my medical records. I had Lofgren send them over. What do you think?"

"I think that you are very lucky to be alive considering everything your body went through, first with a viper bite—"

"And what a viper," Draco interjected. "Nagini's no normal snake."

"Draco, please. I've told you that nickname for your manhood is not going to catch on, no matter how many times you refer to it that way." Severus murmured, gesturing to Glenburn to continue. Draco laughed.

Pursing her lips, she continued. "And then ingesting a double strength coagulant. Frankly, it's nothing short of a miracle."

"Yes, I'm clearly destined for sainthood. What's my prognosis? Will I ever get my magic back?" He held up one of his hands and showed her the faint tremors that never went away.

"Frankly, Mr. Snape, I'm surprised you haven't already. When you were dying, your body capped off your magical reserves from your will so all of your energy could be focused on stabilizing your physical condition." She stared at him sourly. "Well, you're stable now and you have been for years, but you're not casting. You're practically living like a muggle. I have to wonder why that is."

"Lofgren told me that attempting to use my magic was like picking at a wound."

"Lofgren is an idiot. While not a terribly well-documented phenomenon, scarring of the magical reserves is not unheard of. In every case, without an act of focused will, the patient is incapable of breaking the seal on their magic. Normally this is a pretty straightforward and instinctive process. In fact, most wizarding folk rely on their magics to such an extent that their subconscious is constantly attempting to cast and influence their surroundings. You've waited so long, the seal has thickened and scarred. It's the magical equivalent of trying to punch a hole in rubber."

"Sounds like you're constipated, Uncle. Magically-speaking, that is. You just need to strain harder. Fun fact: a surprising number of strokes happen while straining."

"Mr. Malfoy," Healer Glenburn snapped. "Focus." She took a deep breath, continuing. "Every time you try and cast a spell, you keep glancing off your magical reserve. Just keep trying. Every day. Put every bit of emotion behind it that you can, and have at it, Mr. Snape. It might take a few successful spells before your magic is freely accessible again, but once it is, you'll notice that this goddamn myriad of potions your former healer prescribed to you will suddenly start working." Her mouth pursed, and she pointed one wrinkled finger at his chart. "Idiot Lofgren. You've been on this one for four years. You're probably teetering on the edge of Graffen's Syndrome."

"If you are going to Apparate me to my job, you'll have to transfigure your clothes to something less… flamboyant." Snape's lip curled.

Draco looked down at his green watered silk robes with the golden serpent epaulets that had been charmed to flick their tongues out at regular intervals, as if they were tasting the air. His silk eyepatch with its myriad of tiny diamond chips caught the light when he glanced back up. "I'd quite forgotten."

"You are nearly outshining your father in his heyday in that garb."

Draco's face was austere as he murmured, "We've all got our parts to play, even now." He set about transfiguring his clothes into grey muggle trousers, a cotton v-neck t-shirt, and a rolled neck, buttoned cardigan.

"Is the part you are playing in a melodrama?" He gestured to his godson's face. "You forgot your sparkly eyepatch."

"A man needs a little flair, Uncle." Draco took his arm. "Ready? 1… 2… And…" The world folded around them and in a heartbeat, they stood in the relative safety of Hermione's hedges in the bubble of the Notice-Me-Not. "After you. I don't know where your bloody Muggle library is."

As they walked down the sidewalk together, Severus marveled at the strangeness of walking down a Muggle road with Draco. He watched him out of the corner of his eye. His godson had a quiet, introspective look as he nodded at Muggle passerby and carefully avoided stepping on cracks in the walkway. The air was brisk, and he shivered, wrapping his coat tighter about his slim frame.

"I have an idea," Severus offered.

"Oh?"

"Yes, I have an idea. Let's blackmail Fudge."

"Interesting, interesting. The last two remaining Death Eaters blackmailing the Minister of Magic. This is a foolproof plan." Draco tapped his bottom lip for a moment. "Then, when we're done, let's throw the Morsmordre up above his house. Just for giggles."

"You can giggle if you like. I've never done it myself, but I won't hold it against you." Severus stopped and turned to face Draco. They stood in front of the stone steps leading up to the town library. He cleared his throat. "I can tell you have some reservations, but I have a plan, and I think you are going to like it."

Draco started to smile, turned and walked up the steps. "I can't wait to hear."

They entered the library, and Snape moved to the coat rack, hanging up his jacket and scarf. The study tables that filled the front half of the room were nearly empty except for an older woman flipping through the day's paper, and a man in his early forties, dark-haired and sour-looking. He held a copy of the library's schedule and was marking it with a biro.

"Come in the back, and I'll introduce you to Ms. Barde."

Draco looked uncomfortable for a moment before he straightened his spine and donned the Malfoy arrogance like a mask. "She's… Muggle?"

Snape nodded. "Is that a problem for you?"

"No, god no. It's just I've never met one before. Not to speak to."

"You'll like her. Just relax and be yourself." Severus cocked his head. "No, don't be yourself. Be nice instead. And for god's sake, don't forget she's a Muggle."

Draco made a derisive noise in the back of his throat, and wagged his hand in the air, a royal indication to continue.

He led his godson to the back where Lara sat behind the circulation desk. She was seemingly absorbed in a mystery novel, her turquoise cats-eye glasses perched on her nose, but Severus could feel her attention straining toward the tables where the patrons sat. She smiled and stood when they approached, placing her book on the desk next to a steaming cup of tea. Severus thought she looked particularly well, her blonde hair forming wavy curls down her back, and her raspberry sweater setting off her complexion.

"She's much prettier than either of your last two bosses," Draco murmured sotto voce to his godfather. "She's even got a nose!" Snape pinched the back of his arm.

"Ms. Barde, I'd love to introduce you to my godson. He's in town visiting me. He's an idiot, but he tries his best." He gave Draco a small push forward. "This is Draco Malfoy. Draco, this is Lara Barde."

She reached out to shake his hand, pushing her glasses up with fingertips sticking out of her cast. They were painted a turquoise that matched her frames.

"Ms. Barde, it's a pleasure to meet you. Uncle has spoken well of you." He leaned over her hand, kissing the air above it.

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy, that's really not necessary," she gasped, pulling her fingers from his grasp and taking a quick glance over his shoulder. "Any friend of Severus's is welcome." She paused a moment and laughed. "Actually, I guess everyone is welcome, since this is a public library." Severus watched her look Draco over, lingering over the eye patch and the angry red edges of the scar peeking out either side. Her gaze was curious. "How long are you in town for?"

"Not long, I'm afraid. I'll be leaving soon."

The male patron stood from his table and walked up behind them, hands tucked in his pockets. Lara's smile grew strained. Severus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as the energy in the air changed and thickened.

Lara took a breath, clasping her hands in front of her. "Mr. Malfoy. It was a pleasure. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay. I'm afraid I have to get back to work." Her shoulders stiff, she turned to the Muggle male. "Jonathan, I'll be with you in a minute."

She walked over to a cart full of returned books and rolled it forward for Severus to take. "These need to be shelved, Mr. Snape."

"Of course, Ms. Barde."

"Something's going on there," Draco said, flipping a hand toward the librarian and the patron. "It's like a thundercloud just rolled in."

"Mmm, yes." Snape shelved a political science book, watching the scene from the corner of his eye. Lara's body radiated tension, and the man stood too close to her. He used his superior height to force her to crane her neck to look up at him.

"She's allowing him into her personal space. She knows him as something more than a patron," Draco murmured, laser focused. His posture changed as he shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet. Snape had grown used to the mask his godson wore. It was a good reminder that beneath it still lurked a veteran and spy of the Second War. "She can't take her eyes off him. She's like a deer in the headlights. She's afraid."

The man—Jonathan she'd called him—hissed something at her and wrapped his hand around her good wrist. She had her broken arm, encased in its protective cast, up between them, as if she could fend him off. It was instinctive and fearful. Jonathan's knuckles whitened as he squeezed, and Lara whimpered. The two men could hear it from where they stood tucked in amongst the shelves.

"May I, Uncle?"

"Go."