Chapter 1

With the issuance of Book 7, this story is officially and irredeemably non-canon past Book 6 of Ms. Rowlings' wonderful world.  This author respectfully begs the indulgence of imagining a different future  than the one presented in Book 7, and does so purely for enjoyment.

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The tall, darkly garbed man peered around the immaculately maintained apartment, looking for the sole inhabitant. It wasn't as though he ever went anywhere, more the pity. Pity was an alien emotion to the visitor, and certainly not an emotion he would ever reveal to the man he was visiting, even if he were given to revealing his emotions on his austere visage, but in this instance, he had to force his features to remain calm as he cautiously proceeded into the residence, wand drawn.

"Draco, are you here?"

A quick search, as well as a check for any concealment charms revealed no sign of the young man in any of the few rooms that comprised the spacious loft style apartment with its practical, open floor plan. There was no sign of forcible entry, and the wards had been undisturbed when he arrived. Of course, he hadn't been expecting any trouble, so Snape hadn't thought to check them for tampering before entering, a lack of precaution he cursed himself for now. The war was two years in the past, time enough in which to grow sloppy, he realized with increasing concern.

"Damn the blasted boy, where could...."

A light laugh sounded. Snape looked around the room.

"Really, Severus, one would almost think you were addressing the Boy Who Lived to Irk You, as opposed to your dearly beloved godson. You disappoint me." The familiar well-bred drawl must have had a dispersal spell cast upon it, as it was not coming from any discernable location.

"Finite Incantatum." Nothing...and more importantly, no one... came into view, although the muffled chuckle now seemed to be coming from his left, a location away from any of the specially adapted furniture. Snape folded his arms and glared in that direction. In actuality, he was pleased by this indication that Draco was feeling up to playing pranks, but he knew Malfoy would expect a visible sign of his discomfiture at being tricked.

"Would you care to reveal yourself to me, Mr. Malfoy? Indeed, this foolish prank is much more worthy of Mr. Potter, a role model who does you no credit to emulate, if such is an ambition of yours.

"Ah, but perhaps that is my secret desire, to be mistaken for the Savior of the Wizarding World, handsome, carefree Harry, the object of desire for witches and wizards of all ages, if one is to believe the Daily Prophet. And we must believe the Daily Prophet, mustn't we? Perhaps I should become involved in the field of journalism, you're always telling me I need a hobby. That would be an amusing one, I think, newspaper publisher. What do you think, Severus? Publisher or Savior? Perhaps it should be the fourth estate. Giving the matter more thought, as much as I enjoy adoration, I really don't think I could bear to live life with that unsightly scar on my forehead. I've grown so accustomed to my perfect...appearance. ."

"And yet you deprive me of the opportunity to gaze upon such perfection, the cruelty of a Malfoy," Snape noted dryly, unpacking his bag onto the low kitchen counter that doubled as a table for preparing potions.

"Slytherin's sac, I do believe I had not considered the situation from that aspect. How thoughtless of me, when feasting upon my flawless features is undoubtedly the highlight of your otherwise drab week. Forgive me, dear Severus."

A shimmer of light was the only indication that magic was being done-or undone-as Draco, sitting in what was essentially a magically enhanced Muggle wheelchair, came into view. A lifetime of hiding his emotions enabled Snape to mask the sorrow and anger he felt every time he saw Draco, the boy he viewed as the son he never had, reduced to this limited life by a curse leveled by his own Death Eater father at the final battle. That the curse was intended for Potter didn't help. Draco, using his seeker reflexes, had leapt forward in time to tackle Potter. He removed the other young man from the hex's path, but the consequence was that he was struck in the lower half of his body by what proved to be a particularly complex paralysis spell, which rendered his legs useless. The limbs could be bent into different positions and he retained a limited ability to move them, but putting any weight on them at all caused him terrible pain. Thus, Draco was incapable of walking and even a levitation spell could be tolerated by his legs only briefly before the incapacitating pain was triggered.

Snape had been the one to take Lucius out with the Killing Curse as the blond Death Eater stood on the battlefield, stunned by what he had done to his own son. Voldemort, distracted by the sight of his main henchman dead at his feet by the wand of his own potions master, not to mention the revelation that the supposed murderer of Dumbledore was actually a loyal member of the Order of the Phoenix, was not at his best as he stared blankly at said henchman's son being cradled by his main enemy, one Harry Potter. By contrast, Potter's fury and concentration was impressive, even Snape could concede. Still holding Draco, he marshaled the power from his myriad emotions at that crucial moment to cast the complex spell needed to break the final Horcrux and kill the Dark Lord. Snape and Remus Lupin argued over many a glass of fire whiskey since that fateful day over what exactly it was that enabled Harry to cast the killing spell at that exact point and in what way it fulfilled Trelawney's stupid prophecy. Snape felt that seeing a father strike down his son in such a way pushed all the anger and hatred the boy felt for Voldemort to a knife's cutting edge, making him a killing machine, while Lupin, Dumbledore's heir in spirit, was just as sure that it was Draco's selfless act of love, his sacrifice, duplicating that of Harry's mother's, that gave Harry the advantage he needed, and that love, magnified and reflected as Harry cradled his former foe in his arms, defeated death once and for all. Harry personally thought that it was both, along with the fierce joy he felt upon seeing Lucius cut down by Snape and Voldemort's own look of shock and betrayal, but he kept his opinion to himself. The two older men had such a good time debating it over and over, he didn't want to be the one to cast the deciding vote and take away their fun.

Whatever it was that led to Voldemort's demise at Harry's spell, it left the Wizarding World with a mess to clean up. In the two years since, while Snape worked on a cure and Draco lived in seclusion, their world, as the Malfoy heir correctly noted, was busy worshiping Potter. For his part, Potter was equally busy doing suitably heroic things, such as rounding up Death Eaters with other Order members, visiting orphanages and helping to establish Wizard adoption agencies. He also persisted in annoying Snape with his irritating inquiries after Draco's health. Hermione Granger, on the other hand, did not annoy Snape. Her calm intelligence and willingness to do endless hours of tedious research was of much practical assistance as he searched for a cure for Draco and other victims of Death Eater curses.

Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson also provided valuable assistance. Both Slytherins had joined Draco in his well-publicized defection to the light after the Death Eater attack on Hogwarts. Together with Granger, they formed the core of his and Madam Pomfrey's team of Dark Curse lifters and brewers of antidotes for the many afflictions left by the final long battle. Many had been healed, or their sufferings lessened, but Draco's affliction, whether because of the blood bond between the caster and victim had strengthened the hex, or some other yet undiscovered cause, remained immutable. The young man couldn't walk. He couldn't stand. He couldn't even cross his legs without picking one up and placing it over the other. While he remained in this condition, he refused almost all visitors, and was coolly distant to those he wasn't able to avoid. Only with Severus did he let down his guard and show both his sense of humor and his growing frustration over his limitations.

Today, Snape watched as, with a flick of his wand, Draco sent his wheelchair moving over to the counter. A second graceful arm movement caused a tea tray to appear, accompanied by a plate of the older man's favorite chocolate cakes.

"So, how did you do it? I didn't hear you end a spell, and a potion would not end at a specific moment like that without an antidote being taken," Snape mused out loud. Unspoken was the obvious fact that most magical means would not affect both Draco and his wheelchair. A mere concealment charm would not have hidden him from Snape's detection spell, nor, for that matter, from his highly developed senses of smell and hearing.

Draco smiled, the slow charming smile that was so like his mother's, and far different from the sneering smirk that had more often graced his features when he'd been around his peers.

"Ahh, but if I tell you, that would spoil the fun. I will say that it utilizes a combination of disciplines, transfiguration, charms, and, in fact, a potion. It was bloody difficult to get right, but I do believe I have it perfected now. It struck me that with the news I've been reading of certain family members' activities of late, it would be...prudent...for me to have a way of avoiding unwanted visitors who might be able to get past the wards. You would not want me to be a mere sitting duck, would you?"

"More like a sitting drake." Snape couldn't help indulging in a small smile at the pained expression that passed over the blond's face.

"Not worthy of you, Severus. Is this what comes from spending too much time around Granger? No, even she doesn't stoop to puns, it must be the Weasel influence."

"Please." It was Snape's turn to look pained. "It is a wonder to me how an intelligent young woman such as Miss Granger can stand to spend more than an hour in the company of a ginger haired fool whose mind is suited for nothing better than formulating Quidditch plays."

"Well, he is a pure blood, so it would be marrying up for her." Draco raised the teacup to his lips. One finely arched eyebrow could be seen above the cup, as he murmured, "Hmm, Mudblood versus Weasley, now there is a choice. Devil or dark blue sea, who to choose, how to choose. Just imagining that hair in bright red, the mind boggles."

Snape snorted into his teacup, amused despite himself. "Going into matchmaking, are you? You can't do any worse than the dreadful woman who gives advice to the lovelorn in the esteemed newspaper you were speaking of buying. A more inane witch never breathed, although what can one expect, getting advice from a Hufflepuff. If you do buy the Daily Prophet, please do the Wizarding World a favor, and immediately after you eliminate Rita Skeeter's position, fire that damn Addy. Replace her with a Slytherin, or at the very least a Ravenclaw."

Draco's face lit with delight.

"Why Severus, you old snake you! You read 'Asking Addy?' Do you 'wake up and smell the pumpkin juice'? Have you asked yourself 'are you better off with the bondmate or without'? Or have you worried whether you have to wear robes in the color of a rival house when your best mate asks you to stand up with him for his bonding ceremony and he's marrying a bloody Gryffindor?"

Draco's pale face was flushed with his laughter as he leaned closer to peer into Snape's dark eyes. Suddenly, leaning too far, Draco lost his balance and his useless legs gave him no support as he toppled forward from his chair. The older man dropped his teacup and grabbed for the younger man, catching him awkwardly by the waist before the blond struck the ground. He stood up and, uncharacteristically, pulled him close for a hug before setting him back down in the chair. As a consequence, of both the topple and the hug, each was embarrassed and Draco was also in a measure of pain from the unwonted pressure on his legs.

"Are you alright?" Snape asked quietly.

"Yes," was the terse reply. Closing his eyes for a moment, Draco then said, "no, I'm not. Would you, could you please help me onto the couch? I need to stretch out for a bit."

Without another word, Snape picked the other man back up out of the chair and carried him over to the couch to lie down, the long slim, useless legs stretched out in front of him.

Draco was mortified. He hated showing any sign of weakness. He'd been proud of his success with his invisibility spell, which managed to conceal both his fully clothed body and his chair, masking his presence completely. It had put him in a great mood, so good that he had been enjoying the teasing of his dour godfather. He knew Severus felt terrible that he was unable to heal him, which made Draco feel all the worse. It was nobody's fault that he was like this, nobody's but his father's. And his own, he supposed. Had he not been Lucius Malfoy's son, this never would have happened. Had he not jumped in front of the curse as it went sailing toward Potter, he wouldn't be in this condition either, but then, Potter would likely be dead and so would Snape and Draco, as his supporters. The fact that the politics of the matter didn't even enter into his actions that day weren't something Draco ever cared to think about too much. In many ways, he saw his present condition as fitting punishment for the many mistakes he'd made leading up to that day. And yes, that included betraying the father he had loved despite everything. His "heroics" saved his family fortune and his family name. He used his money after the war in furtherance of various "good works" to ensure that the Malfoy name was restored. He hadn't been able to save his mother, however; her sister killed her. He was the last Malfoy and almost the last of the Black line. Only his cousin Tonks and his insane Aunt Bella remained on his mother's side.

At some point, Draco knew he would have to do something about producing an heir. How he was to achieve that with his useless legs, he wasn't sure. Granger would no doubt figure it out, he thought with a inward smirk. Smartest witch of her generation, after all. What she would do to overcome his "other" handicap in the fatherhood sweepstakes he would worry about once the first hurdle was overcome.

"Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"I need to conduct the examination still. Do you feel ready for it or would you prefer I come back tomorrow?" Draco opened his eyes to see Snape's concerned expression.

"Don't you have plans for tomorrow?"

"Just dinner with Lupin, nothing that can't be cancelled. I can listen to more idealistic pap anytime. Or," Snape paused. "He could come here with me, wait while I conduct the tests and then we could go to dinner in the city afterward. It would be good for him to get out. He is almost as reclusive as you are."

Draco looked closely at his former professor. Draco had never gotten along with Lupin, the werewolf was just too damn nice. Which must say something about his personality, he thought ruefully, that he was too unpleasant to get along with a dark creature. Especially one that even Snape had learned to like. Suddenly sick of his own company, Draco made up his mind.

"Actually, I do feel too tired for the tests today. But in exchange for your coming all the way out here two days in a row, let me make dinner tomorrow, for you and Professor Lupin."

"Are you sure you want to go to that much trouble?" Snape raised his eyebrows skeptically.

What he really was asking, Draco knew, was whether he would behave civilly to the shabby werewolf. What he wasn't saying, but Draco's discerning ear picked up, was that not hurting the mangy wolf's feelings mattered to the normally antisocial potions master. This was intriguing, and Draco was determined to judge for himself just how friendly the two former foes had become. He gave his godfather a charming smile.

"I'm quite sure. I will be sure to prepare something appropriate. Non-vegetarian, I assume?"

Snape rolled his eyes.

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"Draco invited me to join the two of you for dinner? At his apartment in London?" Remus looked at Severus in mild surprise.

The Head of Slytherin House wondered sometimes what it would take to shake his friend's calm demeanor. Perhaps Minerva McGonegal dancing topless on the staff table in the Great Hall? Even that would probably only elicit a slight smile from the tolerant man, while the mental image evoked was enough to cause Severus to choke on his tea.

"Severus?" Remus pounded on his colleague's back. "Are you alright? Can I get you anything?"

"I'm fine, stop mauling me! I simply drank my tea too quickly. There's no need to fuss, man."

With a flick of his wrist, Snape made the cup and saucer disappear, and leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, his customary cranky expression on his face.

"Well?"

Lupin raised an eyebrow as he sipped his own tea slowly.

"Well what?" He asked the question cautiously, afraid to set off the other wizard's notoriously fragile temper again, yet truly at a loss as to what inquiry was being posed.

Snape sighed heavily and the obsidian eyes gazed upward, as though to ask why he, of all Wizardkind, had so often been afflicted with the presence of dull witted Gryffindors. The Slytherin then explained, in words of as few syllables as possible, that indeed, they both had been invited to dine with Mr. Malfoy in his London residence after Severus conducted his weekly examination and tested yet another variation of a potion designed to strengthen the young man's legs. Snape's efforts proved unnecessary as no sooner had he finished than an ebony hued owl tapped lightly on the window of Lupin's quarters in the Gryffindor tower.

Remus stood to let in the beautiful bird, which regally declined a proffered treat for its services in delivering an embossed scroll. Bemused, the werewolf read it, then raised his amber eyes to Severus.

"I am cordially invited to dine with you and Draco this evening, to, as he phrases it, in quite lovely script, I must say, 'celebrate my presumed survival of yet another one of Severus' forays into medicinal potion making, and the acquisition of a controlling interest in a fine Wizard daily periodical.' Whatever is he talking about? He couldn't have purchased the Daily Prophet, could he? Isn't that held by charter by the Ministry or something?" Lupin looked at Snape, and there was something bordering on surprise in his expression, Severus noted with some measure of satisfaction.

"Well, if there was a way to do it, I'm sure Draco managed it," Snape replied dryly. "The real question is, what type of mischief does he intend to get into with whatever periodical he purchased?"

Lupin smiled as he stroked the glossy feathers of the Malfoy owl after attaching his acceptance to its leg.

"Well, I suppose that is what he will tell us tonight...assuming, as he says, he survives your experimentation."

Snape glared.

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