When you have decided where your loyalties lie

He gulped in the cool night air. It didn't help. He'd been fighting the urge to vomit for several hours. It felt strangely comforting to give in at last. Panting and sweating he knelt on the soil. Even after his stomach was as empty as it could possibly be, he kept retching for a while.

Severus, please...

He'd pleaded with the old man. Had told him more than once that he was asking too much of him. But to no avail. This is the logical thing to do. Logic, yes. You couldn't shun logic. Especially not Dumbledore's logic. Yet, he had hoped right till the last moment that another solution would present itself...

Eventually, he dragged himself away from the sour-smelling remnants of his last Hogwarts dinner. He sat down leaning against the Menhir from which he had emerged.

A Menhir. Only Dumbledore could have come up with such an idea – to use Rowena Ravenclaw's summer lodge as a hideout. The eccentric witch had created herself a holiday home in a style that was already ancient in her days. Nobody, apparently not even the Dark Lord, knew it still existed. And worked. In fact, the last cavity that still worked. I found a fully functioning Menhir. It will make the perfect hiding place. True. The once flourishing Menhir culture was almost completely forgotten. Only muggles regarded the abandoned standing stones with some interest. Narcissa's spoilt brat could stay here for months if necessary.

The poor wretch had narrowly escaped doom tonight. Had been faced with the typical dilemma: to kill or to be killed. This was how the Dark Lord recruited followers – by forcing them to violate their own troubled souls. He chose youths who were still too young to fully comprehend the consequences of their doing, sixteen-year olds with their heads full of juvenile, romantic nonsense, he selected people who were in enough trouble to clutch at straws, or such ones whose abilities were too limited for their own ambition. All of it fitted more or less for Draco. With nobody but his weak mother and a vicious aunt to guide him, he was easy prey: Kill, and your father will be pardoned. Or you will die along with him. Your choice.

He sighed.

Draco wasn't the only one presented with a choice that was none. You have given your word; you cannot back off now. No, he couldn't. He'd made his decision years and years ago. Had bided his time pretending to be a person he wasn't. You have waited too long for your chance. I know you are not going to waste it. Dumbledore had been an accomplished Legilimens. Knowledgeable, insightful, strong. Even the people who had called him the greatest wizard of all times had never realised to what lengths this man was prepared to go to reach his goals.

Severus, please... it is now or never. Yes, it had been the reasonable thing to do. The only thing that wouldn't make matters worse. Considering the circumstances, you could even say it was an act of mercy. Even so, he had hated himself for doing it.

Being given choice between ultimate evil and ultimate betrayal he had proven himself worthy of the trust that had been bestowed on him.

He sighed again.

He'd done well doing evil. From this time forward, young Potter's righteous wrath would follow him wherever he went. Like a shadow. Like a cloaking device. He allowed himself to envision the boy's face. The tantalising green eyes. Harry, the boy-who-lived. The Chosen One. It was kill or be killed for him, too. There was no such thing as fairness. No one had bothered to ask Babypotter's opinion about becoming a hero.

Both boys could have been his sons – Lily's if she had wanted him, and Narcissa's if he had wanted her. Needless to say, that Dumbledore had been aware of this irony. The man had known more about unrequited love, jealousy, craving and hatred, or hurt feelings than anyone might guess.

He rose to his feet. He could not afford to waste more time than he already had. Claiming to have followed the pathetic would-be murderer made merely a half-convincing excuse, especially because he didn't bring him back. The Order helping and hiding Draco Malfoy – was anyone going to believe this? Probably only someone who was extremely stupid – or extremely shrewd.

He examined his clothes. His boots were dirty, his robes bloodstained and sufficiently torn. The gash in his face rounded off his appearance as a man returning from a fierce fight. He could benefit from the fact that the others had been too far away to notice the blasted Hippogriff. He shuddered at the recollection of the last few minutes at Hogwarts. For a fleeting moment, when Potter in his pain and fury had had the cheek to call him a coward the temptation to throw all caution to the winds had been almost unbearable.

He mustn't tolerate such weakness. It might be fatal since he was likely to spend the rest of his life amidst thugs, connivers and, alas, lunatics.

He set off towards the forest to bring some distance between himself and the Menhir before Disapparating. He had to be careful because he had inherited an awesome responsibility.

I trust you to succeed, Severus.

Well, the time for arguing that point was past.

It remained to be seen whether, in the end, Dumbledore could be proven wrong.

end of part two