AN: Thanks to my awesome betas for this chapter, astopperindeath and luvsev. Apologies to J.K. Rowling and John Milton.
But I shall rise victorious and subdue
My vanquisher.
Paradise Lost, Book III
Every breath was a fight and every long stride a war. As he ran, Severus reflected that walking around the corridors of Hogwarts was not adequate physical preparation for fleeing for one's life.
He was almost at the boundaries of the Hogwarts grounds. Maybe a hundred feet further and he and Draco would be able to Apparate to safety.
Relative safety, at least. Any place containing the Dark Lord was not "safe," not even for his followers. At the moment it would be safer, since there would be nobody actively trying to kill him.
"Se—Sever—us, I think we're al—almost there!"
Draco's voice, its usual aristocratic drawl roughened by terror and exhaustion, came from Severus's right. Draco was holding up very well, in Severus's mind; the expected whining had not yet raised its sleek, coiffed head. Thank Merlin enough morals resided somewhere in the boy that he had not killed Albus himself. Draco was young, innocent; with luck, he could be kept so during the war, and thus kept out of Azkaban. Not killing national icons was an important part of this.
Severus spotted the slight indentation in the grass indicating the edge of Hogwarts' protective spells. Stumbling over it, he seized Draco's arm and focused on the three D's. Infantile, he knew, but he was so drained that it was the only way both of them would end up where they wanted to be in one piece.
Destination… Spinner's End. Determination… I don't want to fucking die. Deliberation…
The world lurched, then vanished.
"Harry! Harry, come back, he's gone, there's nothing you can do!" Hermione pulled with all her might, trying to prevent Harry from breaking free and running after Snape. Ron was doing the same on Harry's other arm, big hands enveloping the smaller boy's thinner limb.
It was a scene transplanted from the year before, only at the Ministry it had been Remus holding Harry back as he fought to go after Sirius. What little rationality Harry had in the face of death was completely lost in his consuming need to catch Snape. To take his revenge for Dumbledore's death.
Hermione still couldn't believe it. When Harry had sprinted past them screaming about Snape killing Dumbledore, she, Ron, Ginny, and Luna had stood dumbfounded. It seemed ludicrous, impossible. Snape was a teacher, a spy for the Order. Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard in the world. None of it made any sense, and Hermione's logic fought it still.
But seeing Harry like this, and watching Snape and Draco fleeing across the grounds, Hermione started to doubt her logic. Dumbledore had trusted Snape and had always told them as much. But he had also admitted to being misguided about people in the past. If Snape was a good enough Occlumens to fool Voldemort, why couldn't he fool Dumbledore as well?
But what if Dumbledore's death was a small part of a bigger plan, one that the venerable Headmaster had designed to hide Snape's true allegiance from everyone?
But what if it was exactly what it looked like?
Hermione's mind railed against itself. Reading between the lines was a good skill to have, but sometimes all that was there was blank space.
"Let go of me! He killed him, don't you fucking understand that, Snape killed Dumbledore!" But Harry's screams grew hoarse and his struggles weakened. Exhaustion, frustration, and sorrow were sapping his energy. When a last pull failed to free him from the grasp of his friends, all spirit went out of him. His arm went limp under her hand, and she and Ron went from holding him back to holding him up.
"I'll find you, Severus Snape," he whispered, staring out across the lawns, where two distant figures stopped running and then vanished.
"Harry, mate, come on." Ron tugged at his arm, glancing over at Hermione. She saw exhaustion and terror in his brown eyes. Hermione knew he was worried about his family. Maybe they were all fine, but there were a lot of them to worry about.
"Come on," he repeated, moving in front of Harry to look at him. "We need to go find D-Dumbledore." He choked on the name. According to Harry, Snape had blasted Dumbledore off the tower; find him they would, but in what state, Hermione didn't want to think about. Ron did not seem to be any more optimistic than she.
Each leaning on and supporting the others, the trio trudged over the lawns, heading back to the castle. Hermione tried hard not to look at the sky over Hogwarts; the Dark Mark still hung there, an aberrant constellation amongst the stars.
"Where was it, Harry?" she asked as they approached the castle. Smoke drifted from a few broken windows, and vague shapes were rushing in and out of the main entrance.
He pointed to the Astronomy Tower.
He wasn't wrong. Stunned at the cold, hard evidence of Dumbledore's death, the trio huddled next to the body. Hermione took Harry's hand, feeling it tremble. All of them had loved Dumbledore, in the way one loved a wise uncle, but Harry had seen the Headmaster as a surrogate father.
Heavy footsteps behind them made her turn. Hagrid was there, sooty, with a few inches of his beard singed off.
"Hagrid!" She lifted her hand in a not-quite-wave. "Are you all right? Is Fang all right? What's happened?"
"I'm fine, Fang's fine, no one's dead that we know of," he said. His pink umbrella looked the worse for wear.
She tried not to flinch at that last bit. "Hagrid… " But the words would not come. Beside her, Harry sobbed.
"Been lookin' all over fer you three. What's got ye over here…?"
His voice faded away as he came abreast of them and saw what they were looking at.
"No… no, it can't be…" The ground shook as the great man collapsed to his knees, uttering a wail of grief. "Not Dumbledore…"
Ron put a hand on Hagrid's shoulder. The four of them stood for a time, Hagrid's sobs echoing in the air.
It was the gamekeeper who tenderly scooped up Dumbledore's body to bear it to the castle, with Harry, Ron, and Hermione walking alongside. There was no need to trot to keep up with him; sorrow kept his steps slow.
They met McGonagall on the steps to the main entrance. Seeing Hagrid's burden, she clutched a hand to her chest and swayed on her feet, recovering enough after a moment to accompany them to the Hospital Wing. But tears glimmered in McGonagall's eyes, and more than once the emerald-cloaked shoulders jerked and shuddered.
Hermione couldn't help but notice that Harry had yet to reveal who had killed Dumbledore. But, she reasoned, it might be better to give everyone a few minutes to get over one shock before handing them another. Her logic was supported when Ron fled into the grasp of his family, all of whom were grouped around Bill's bed. She stood alone for a time as Harry embraced Ginny and everyone else hurried around the room, with Madam Pomfrey snapping out rapid orders. Harry would wait, she knew, until he was asked.
Severus stared at the grimy kitchen window of Spinner's End, wondering if a hot bath was worth the trouble of Transfiguring himself a tub. It had, after all, been a long, hard night. Steeping in hot water might help with the migraine that was prodding at the backs of his eyes. Sighing, he went to find some piece of furniture that would benefit from claw feet.
He had deposited Draco into the clasping arms of Narcissa at Malfoy Manor. After giving a report to the Dark Lord confirming Dumbledore's death at his own hands, Severus had pleaded exhaustion and asked to be excused. The Dark Lord, being pleased with him at the time, had acquiesced. Severus only hoped that Draco would not suffer unduly for failing to complete the task set for him. With luck, his Lord would be pleased enough with the death of his nemesis that he would not care overmuch who had killed him.
Luck, of course, was not a phenomenon upon which any of Voldemort's associates depended. Not if they wanted to become senior associates, anyway.
There. That chair was more hideous than the rest of his furniture. It would look nice in porcelain. Raising his wand and summoning some reserves of strength, Severus created a large, deep, clawfoot tub. Another spell filled it with water, which a third charm heated to the perfect temperature. After a moment of consideration, Severus went back into the kitchen and retrieved a large bottle of elf-made wine and two wineglasses.
He had just sunk in up to his neck, glass in hand, when he became aware of another person in his living room. As expected, though he had hoped for a bit more time to sort himself out. Sitting up, he poured a small amount of the red wine into the other glass and proffered it to the apparently empty room.
"Good evening, Headmaster. Finishing off a long night with a peep show?"
Albus Dumbledore was suddenly reclined on the moldering sofa, looking wrung-out while still reaching for the wine. A resigned look was all Severus received for his jibe. Dumbledore's sexuality was not generally a target for Severus's snide remarks, but he felt he'd earned it that night. Frankly, Severus didn't care if Dumbledore was into men, women, or the Giant Squid, and he cared even less about the old coot getting an eyeful. Remind him of what he probably hadn't got in decades.
Severus ignored the mental reminder that the last he'd got had cost ten Galleons an hour. He polished off his wine in one draught and reached for more.
"I am surprisingly well for being dead," Dumbledore said. "One would almost think I hadn't been killed at all, just Levitated off a tower in a flash of green light."
Severus nodded, and contemplated how close Dumbledore had come to being actually dead. All it would have taken was a real Avada Kedavra; Merlin knew Severus held enough anger towards him for it to work.
"I saw the golem of me you made, Severus. The resemblance was remarkable."
"Thank you." You will never know how enjoyable it was to fling it from the top of the tower. He had inspected it after, and had been forced to break its neck for added verisimilitude.
"Is Draco safe?" Dumbledore looked intently at Severus. "Twinkling blue diamonds", people said of his eyes.
Diamond, Severus always thought when he heard this, was the hardest substance known to mankind.
"He is sharing a house with the Dark Lord," Severus snapped.
Dumbledore sighed, and Severus thought he heard him mutter, "Like asking questions of a sphinx…" into his wine glass as he sipped. Aloud, he said, "Was he alive when you last saw him and do you think he will continue to be so for the foreseeable future?" There was an edge to his voice, and Severus decided that provoking the most powerful wizard in the world after a long, hard night was perhaps not very wise.
"Yes, Albus. He was alive, although possibly in danger of being suffocated by Narcissa."
Albus smiled slightly. "Her devotion to her son is rather admirable. She has gone to great lengths to protect him."
And once again, I find myself between the son of a friend and the Dark Lord, Severus thought, scowling. He had no doubt that Dumbledore had mentioned her parental strengths to remind him of Lily. Another little test of loyalty; a quiet aide memoire to why Severus was here.
Damn the old man for knowing his weak spot! This was why Severus wanted him dead so badly. The power that Dumbledore held over him rankled him. He wanted the controlling forces in his life—good or evil—to be gone, dead, vanished. But to do that he had to work with the (former) Headmaster to first defeat the Dark Lord. After that, however, Dumbledore's life was expendable. The world would be a better place, and not only for himself, without the meddling old man who played games with other people's lives.
Speaking of meddling and protecting brats from the Dark Lord…
"So, Albus, when should I send Granger and Weasley away for safekeeping?"
Dumbledore pursed his lips slightly at the question, looking thoughtful. Severus got through half his glass of wine before he answered.
"Next Friday. Three o'clock in the afternoon should be a good time." He frowned. "I shall have to amend my will to include the taking of the Portkeys at that time, along with a note to Minerva explaining what's happened to them. The poor woman will panic if her students vanish right in front of her."
"Don't you think they could possibly find it a bit odd that your will dictates that Granger and Weasley are handed a book and a Deluminator, respectively, at one minute to three on the tenth of May, this year?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "No doubt they will attribute it to either my infinite wisdom or infinite eccentricity." With a quiet groan, he stood and stretched, cracking his long, bony fingers. "Thank you for the wine, Severus. It was quite palatable."
"It should be. Lucius gave it to me."
Severus had to applaud Dumbledore's poker face. There was a slight bit of paranoia in the suddenly tight smile, alongside the revulsion at having enjoyed something Lucius had selected. He did set the glass down and stand up with a good inch of wine remaining.
"Well, do not give him my thanks. It might seem suspicious to enjoy his cellar posthumously." He stepped over to the fireplace and reached into the small jar in which Severus kept Floo powder.
"I shall be in touch, Severus. Good night. And get out of the bath before you grow wrinkly like me." With that and a parting twinkle, he flung the powder into the fireplace, stepped into the green flames, and shouted something in Italian. He had a secret vacation cottage in Italy, near a beach in Napoli, and had decided to remain there for however long he was supposed to be dead. It was a good hiding place. There were few wizards there. Hopefully Potter would be distracted enough by the sunny weather and Italian girls (or the Weasley girl, if she was thrown in as a consolation present) that he wouldn't ask inconvenient questions, such as "What the fuck is going on?"
Hmph. Wrinkly, indeed. Severus heated the water a bit more and sank in up to his chin. A flick of his wand turned on the ancient radio in the corner, which emitted dust from the speakers with every blaring brass interlude Chopin had to offer.
Wine, women and song. Two out of three wasn't too bad.
And if he played his cards right, the third could be right around the corner. He smiled and reached for the wine bottle for a large swig. Seducing her was not strictly necessary for his plan to work, but it might make the process easier and certainly a good deal more pleasant. She could be something of a perk, bushy hair aside.
