A/N: Readers have requested more Snape in this fanfic and Snape, in this second version, apparently responded. There's more Bellatrix as well. Thank you, Jo, for this stirring cast.
Yours forever, Tsona
So Draco was to be left on his own tonight? The door unlocked? The Dark Lord indeed had to be having a good night....
Bellatrix came striding up to him, her wild eyes staring. Her grin was quite frightening, all rotting teeth and chapped lips. She panted somewhat, as though the night's events were more exertion than she was used to.
"So, Draco, you've taken your place at last! And now, I've returned to mine, too." Her long fingers reached forward and grabbed at his cheeks. Draco stumbled back, pulling away from her pinch, his mouth and eyes opening with disgust and horror. "Oh, it is good to know the Death Eaters will be in such good hands if, Merlin forbid, something should ever happen to--"
"We're not in good hands, Bella."
Alecto Carrow came scuttling up beside the woman, tugging free of her mask.
"Not?" Bellatrix's voice was the rasp of nails on a chalkboard. Draco noticed hers were quite long, like talons on the ends of her fingers, and dark with dirt that had fused with the nail. "But the Dark Lord said--"
"The boy can't even perform the Cruciatus Curse!"
Bella spun round on him with her cobweb eyes, if possible, even wider. "You can't?"
A firm hand fell on Draco's shoulder. Draco glanced up into the face of Severus Snape, now unmasked to reveal the hooked nose, sallow skin, and curtains of black, greasy hair. "Alecto, do you dare speak this way about your master? Are you suggesting the Dark Lord's lying?"
Alecto scuttled backward, her muddy eyes flying open. "No! Snape, how dare you accuse--"
"How dare you, Alecto."
"But it is true!" the hunchbacked woman whined. "I'm trying to teach him myself! He's hopeless!"
Draco felt the sharp stab of his professor's dark eyes and looked up to meet his boring gaze. It was easier to look at than his crazy aunt or the savage, lumpy face of Carrow. "It's true, sir," Draco said.
Snape's eyebrows rose in his high forehead.
"I-- I can't make myself mean it. I mean, the spiders we're working with have never done anything to me." Draco didn't dare mention that he knew exactly how the curse felt and how could he possibly want to put anything in that much pain? Why even Potter-- But Snape's eyebrows rose even higher and Draco wondered, not for the first time, if Snape was a Legilimens. The thought made Draco drop his gaze from his face, worried he had revealed too much, not wanting to endanger his father. Draco hoped Snape had only been able to read the most recent time he had been put beneath the spell, by the Dark Lord.
To his great surprise, he heard the wild, whooping, tittering laugh of his aunt rise up in front of him. "Oh, is that all! Cissy had the exact same problem, but it's easily fixed. I taught her and I can teach you too."
"Can you?" Snape said as though he very much doubted it.
"I can, Snape. It's Occlumency that does it. Being able to compartmentalize your feelings, calling on the most vicious ones when you need--"
"You know Occlumency?" said Snape, his eyebrows rising again.
"I do, Snape!"
"I was under the impression Occlumency was used to hide away secrets when the mind is being perused by a Legilimens. What have you been hiding from your master, Bella?"
"Nothing!" she spat.
"You, Snape?" Carrow sneered.
"Oh, nothing," Snape told her, casually waving aside the comment. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like a word with Draco."
"He's my nephew!"
"And I was not aware that the title gave you exclusive privileges. He's my student."
"Was!" Carrow snarled.
Snape merely looked down at Draco, who met his stoic, beetle-black eyes again. "Draco?"
Draco nodded. "Yes, all right." He was rather curious what the Hogwarts Potions master might have to say to him, and whether he could glean any news of the school and England from him.
Snape strode from the Great Hall and Draco hurried to keep up with his long, quick strides, the billowing hem of his cloak, feeling the scathing glares of his aunt and Carrow all the time.
"Is there somewhere we can go where we won't be overheard?" Snape asked him quietly when they had passed through the great doors. His eyes roved upward, darting to the pointed archways that looked down upon the entrance hall.
Each of them seemed dark and silent to Draco. "Can we go outside?" he asked the Potions master timidly, pointing back toward the pine front doors.
The professor ceased his search to fix Draco with another of his piercing stares. Draco was certain for a moment that Snape would forbid it, but he merely said, "It's quite cold outside."
Draco shrugged. "I don't mind. It's quite cold inside, too."
Snape nodded.
Draco was at the doors first, his breath coming quicker, sharper, and lingering in mists that shimmered, golden, in the orange light of a few lit torches. He hesitated when it came to actually touching the door, though. Would the Dark Lord have set alarms around it as well as the door to Draco's bedroom?
The pine wood swung out at the pressure of Snape's long-fingered, gloved hand, however, and the rush of air that swept into Draco's face whipped away any of Draco's doubts. It was cold enough that it stung not only his face, his bare hands, but burned in his lungs, might have left a layer of frost inside them. The mists of his breath became great silver clouds as he strode out onto the stoop.
The moon was nearly full, high enough that it cast few shadows. It made the snow glitter. Diamonds, cut aquamarines, or fallen stars might have been hidden in the powdery white that lay several feet thick on the ground, burying several of the lowest steps; the benign twinkle was very like the blazing points in the pitch-dark sky and not unlike the look he had seen sometimes in Albus Dumbledore's blue eyes. Far beyond, the pines looked like they had been plastered with vanilla cake frosting. Draco felt his eyes grow wide to take it all in.
There was a faint chuckle from behind him. Snape had followed, having the sense to shut the door silently behind him. "I didn't know you enjoyed the winter so."
Draco couldn't quash the smile the was spreading across his numbing cheeks, though his response didn't merit it. "I haven't been outside since September. I hadn't realized how stale the air is inside the castle." He wanted to add too that he'd forgotten how beautiful nature could be, but thought it would sound weak.
"It keeps the cold out well enough." Snape stood beside him, joined him in staring out at the grounds. "And that's not weakness, appreciating your surroundings."
Draco looked up to find Snape suppressing a smile. "Didn't you have something to say to me, sir?"
"No. I think you have things to tell me."
Draco blinked. "Sir, I don't think--"
"We're alone, Draco. He won't hear you here."
Draco didn't need to ask who Snape meant. His eyes dropped to the step. A thin layer of snow was even here, though it seemed as though someone-- probably the elves-- had been trying to keep it clear. There was only enough to cling to his boots as he shifted his feet.
"I don't want to speak against him."
"You mean you've been taught not to."
Draco didn't want to agree. "You'll get in trouble, too," he mumbled.
Snape turned to face him. Draco felt his boring stare, but dared not look up to meet the gaze. "He won't find out." When Draco still kept silent, he added, "Your aunt might not know Occlumency's true purpose, but I do."
Draco sighed and through the frozen mist his eyes darted sideways to stare out beyond the frosted pine branches, toward England. "I just don't like it here. He tries, sir, he really does. He wants me to like it, to like him...." He turned his eyes up, met the black ones with his grey. "Why?"
"Ah, Draco. I said I'd let you talk, I didn't say I'd give you answers." Unless Draco was much mistaken, he thought by the blue moonlight he saw the corners of Snape's thin mouth turn upward. When Draco's fell, the professor added gently, letting himself recline against the cold stone of the high banister, "You're Lucius Malfoy's son, Bellatrix Lestrange's nephew. Being a Death Eater is in your blood. What would he do if you turned from him with Merlin only knows what secrets you've gleaned over the years?"
"What would he do? If I decided I didn't want to do it anymore?" Draco kept his eyes down, not wanting Snape to read him, to reach into his mind.
"It's not really something I'd like to think about, Draco. I don't think you'd like it. But, then again, there are things far worse than death, though the Dark Lord doesn't believe it."
"I've heard some of the other Death Eaters talking. They wonder if you've turned. Wormtail in particular. He says you seem quite content at Hogwarts. Dumbledore likes you, trusts you." Draco chanced looking up to see if he could read any answers from the Potions master's sallow face, slightly green in this light.
But Snape chuckled again. "There's what I mean about you're being a liability. What else have you heard, Draco?"
Draco dropped his eyes back to the blanketed step. He kicked his toe into the snow; it was hard as ice, hurt to dent. When he had hit the stone beneath and could dig no further he asked, staring at the wet stone, "Take me with you?"
"Where?"
"Back."
"To Hogwarts?"
Draco nodded. "I'm a prisoner here, sir. He keeps me locked in a dungeon cell most of the time. He comes in at night to lock the door himself and I'm there till he comes for me in the morning. Only he can open it. I'm usually up to see him; I was always an early riser. We've had tea once or twice. But, sir, it doesn't help. I can't like him. I can't like this." He waved a hand back up at the castle. "I don't think I was meant to be a Death Eater. I can't even perform the Cruciatus."
"You've qualms against that one. There are other things you can do. Oh yes, Draco," he added for Draco's head, drooped in dejection, shot upward with a sudden flash of horror, "I know about that. Or some of it, I think."
"You won't tell--" Draco felt the color fading quickly from his cheeks, the fear flooding cold toward his stomach.
"Who would I tell? The Dark Lord? He agrees with your father, I believe may even be following his suggestion."
"If the Ministry ever--"
"If I haven't told them he's a Death Eater, do you really think I'd turn him in for using the Cruciatus once or twice on his son?"
"It's just... he'd blame me if if they ever heard about it, and then when he got out of Az--"
"I'm sworn to secrecy, if you want me to be," Snape said with a sharp sigh.
"Thank you." Draco's eyes slid again toward the western horizon. "So, will you take me?"
"You know I'd like to, Draco. Slytherin's new seeker--"
"Please, sir. This is serious."
Snape sighed. "Then, seriously, Draco, you know I can't."
"I can't get out on my own."
"You're going to have to, if you want to get out at all. This isn't something I can help you with."
"Then tell me how. You're my Head of House. If you've gotten out--"
"Draco."
His suddenly sharp bark made Draco fall silent, drop his eyes to the snowcapped step once more.
Snape seemed to hesitate a moment, then his firm hand clasped Draco's shoulder again. His voice became softer, apologetic. "Draco."
Draco threw his hand off. "With all respect, sir, if you're not going to help me--"
"You know I would. You know I can't."
"I know nothing of the sort. I think you could. I think you know how and I think you're being purposefully disobliging."
Snape's dark eyes narrowed. "You sound like your father," he said coldly.
Draco took a couple quick steps back, the snow beneath his boots crunching like glass shards. His eyes flew open. Color swept back into his face. His ears pounded with a tide of blood that rushed, suddenly hot, through him. His fists clenched. "Don't--"
Snape merely blinked, watching him. "I didn't realize you had grown so fearful of him."
"I'm-- I'm not afraid." But Draco knew Snape had read the emotion in his mind, that he couldn't contradict it. He feared that he was his father in miniature, as he had always trained himself to be. He feared he could not escape having the same fate. He feared he knew no other way to act. His gaze fell to the stoop again, his breathing slowed, deepened.
"I'm going inside now to await my turn with the Dark Lord. Are you remaining out here?"
Draco didn't respond.
"Have your aunt teach you Occlumency, Draco," Snape advised. "Make her feel useful."
"Yeah, okay," Draco mumbled. He didn't know why he was agreeing, feared his convict aunt, but also feared how easily Snape had been able to tear all his deepest secrets from him.
Golden light from the entrance hall spilled out onto the snow of the stoop, along with the sputter of guttering torches, the low murmurs of people in the great hall. Then it and Snape were gone behind the shut door.
Draco let himself sink to the snow, drew his legs tight to his chest, and draped the folds of his cloak over them and pulled his hood above his blonde head. His gaze trailed out across the long lawn, the gentle slope of the hill, the dip where the frozen lake lay, the great galleon of Durmstrang moored by the rocky shore. Its portholes were so frosted that each looked like a blind, cataracts-ridden eye. Draco remembered standing on the front steps of Hogwarts, framed by Crabbe and Goyle, surrounded by the other students, squealing, shrieking, craning their necks, or leaping backward as the black mast had broken the whitecapped surface of the lake. Who would have guessed the Triwizard Tournament would land him here, as the Dark Lord's favored pet?
Not long afterward, the screams began, echoing from inside the castle, long and unbroken. Draco pulled tighter into himself. His bones remembered that agonizing fire, stabbed in response to the nearby curse. His every muscle was tense. He guessed it was Avery.
---
"Draco?"
Draco did not respond, merely wrapped his arms tighter about himself. The dim golden light vanished from around him, his shadow died as the door was eased shut. Draco exhaled to have his breath cover his vision, the view of the silvery grounds obscured for a moment in a cloud as he heard the faint whisper of a light robe along the packed snow.
"Why are you not in bed?"
"You expect me to sleep?" Draco scoffed. "After what I've just heard? My nerves are still jangling."
"What did you hear?" The voice was a quiet hiss, steam from a fissure.
"You were torturing Avery. Like you tortured me."
"He disappointed me, failed me."
"He was trying to help you, from the sound of things."
The Dark Lord laughed. Where Snape's chuckle had been deep, low in the throat but alive like a stream over rocks, the Dark Lord's was a soft, broken hiss that caused Draco to shudder once violently. He hugged himself tighter as the Dark Lord said, "You will be a kind lord someday, Draco. Too easily pushed around, too forgiving of mistakes. Your servants will like you, but I doubt they'll obey you strictly."
"House-elves will have to. That's the bondage of their kind. I've nothing to worry about."
"Yes," the Dark Lord said slowly, softly. "House-elves will have to." There was a pause before the Dark Lord said, "Stand up, Draco. I don't feel like stooping tonight."
Draco sighed, but felt his legs, his bare hand push off from the snow-covered stone almost without his command. He was on his feet and facing the Dark Lord before he truly felt he had control of himself again.
He could see himself reflected in the silted pupils of the Dark Lord's blood-red eyes. The Dark Lord gave another sputtering hiss of a laugh and raised a long, white finger. It ran the length of Draco's cold chin, seemed to melt the skin around it but left a trail of frost where it touched. Draco's shivered, closed his eyes against the pale face, blue in this light.
"You have been doing it again, my Draco."
"What?"
"You are dreaming again of a way out."
Draco hesitated a moment. He opened his eyes, but kept them down. The Dark Lord was above him, Draco's back to the moon now sinking toward the pine trees that marked the world's edge for him. Draco's shadow faded into the black of the Dark Lord's airy robes so that it became hard to tell where the shadow ended and the Dark Lord's substance began. "Do you expect me to deny it, my lord?"
"You'd do well to."
"You'd know I was lying. And apparently you punish those who lie to you, even accidentally."
The Dark Lord drew in a long hiss. "Impertinent child!" His long fingers fastened on Draco's upper arm like a vise.
Draco drew in a quick hiss too, knew the fingers would leave purple shadows of themselves if they were not soon prised off. Draco raised his eyes to the Dark Lord's, still flashing with his furor. Draco knew he had gone too far. "I'm sorry, my lord."
The Dark Lord hesitated. Draco felt the fingers loosen marginally. Then the invasion began, the black, grasping tendrils reaching out, passing effortlessly through his skull to wrap themselves around the ribbon-thoughts of Draco's own mind. His teeth on edge, fighting off the wave of dizziness that accompanied the spell, Draco continued, "My lord, I wish I could like it here. I do. What would you have me do? What more would you have me try?"
"Your will is weak if you cannot make yourself like it here, Draco."
"I think, my lord, that's actually a sign of its strength."
The fingers twitched tighter. The pressure of Draco's constricted blood battered against the icy clasp, leapt in his arm. Draco winced, tried once futilely to throw his grip from him.
The Dark Lord's eyes were alight with a bright fire as he stared down upon Draco. Draco saw himself in the pupils, saw his own fear reflected back, his dropped jaw and wide eyes.
"You know," his voice was taut with suppressed anger, Draco sensed its thrum just below the silky purr of the words, "there was a culture I read about once, Draco, where a rebellious boy such as yourself could be brought to the town gates and to the elders by his parents-- or by me, in this case," he added as an afterthought, the corners of his thin mouth twitching upward in a way Draco did not very much like. "All we would have to say is, 'Our son is rebellious and stubborn. He does not listen listen to us when we discipline him.' It was something very like that. And the town would turn on the boy and stone him for his impertinence, his parents casting the first stone. What do you say to that, Draco?"
"I say that I'm glad I'm not part of that culture." He tried to to tug away again, but the Dark Lord's fingers held him fast.
"Perhaps not, but I do respect tradition and it is an ancient practice. And here I stand with you at the gate, Draco, and I am the elder and parent both. I have said the words."
"You wouldn't kill me," Draco said, not as confident as he endeavored to sound. "You've said yourself you need me."
"I need you only so long as you remain useful to me, Draco. I have no use for a boy without any loyalty. Yes, I'd like to keep you, but you make it difficult."
"You make it difficult. Is it so wrong to want to be somewhere where I'm not property? Somewhere where I'm treated as something more than a bichon frisé?"
"You're my son. Did I not trust you tonight? Do you think that is a chance I would give my bichon frisé, as you call it, to attend one of my meetings without having been fully inducted?"
"That great snake of yours goes sometimes. I've heard them talk about her. You're not going to tell me she's like a daughter to you, are you?"
The corners of the Dark Lord's mouth twitched again. "Not quite. But even if Nagini were to turn against me, if she were sentient enough to do so-- and I sometimes believe she is intelligent enough to choose her own side-- I know few people to whom she could go to inform against me. Parseltongue is such a rare gift. You, on the other hand...."
Draco let his eyes trail west again, beyond the pines, now traced with silver where the moonlight touched them. Just beyond those trees....
The Dark Lord's long fingers reached out, his hand cupped on his chin and the icy fingertips pushed at his cheek, icicle points. Draco obeyed with a shiver and was looking into the Dark Lord's ember eyes, his palm pressuring his head back, craning his neck. If the Dark Lord had a knife, he could draw it across Draco's throat before Draco was any the wiser. "You give me far more to worry about," the Dark Lord finished. "You are rebellious," he said quietly, "and stubborn. You will not obey me. Yes," he breathed, "that was the phrasing of it."
The hand slid out from beneath his chin and Draco's gaze fell to the snow, dark with his own shadow. Still the Dark Lord kept a firm grip on his arm.
"Come inside now, Draco."
Draco nodded dully and was dragged up the steps. The Dark Lord tugged open the door and pulled Draco through it. It closed behind Draco with a crash that echoed in the lofty entrance hall, through the many arched openings into the corridors beyond. It echoed in Draco's ears too and reverberated against his heart, which matched its fading clangor. Draco kept his eyes on the door, dark and heavy and solid and opaque against the shining world beyond as he was trawled across the flagged stone and through the door at the end of the hall down the steep steps to his bedroom to be shut away for the night and to awake to the Dark Lord's pale face and long fingers.
A/N: All right, so I've messed with JKR's timeline a little, I suppose. I think there's about a week between the Death Eaters' escape and Rookwood's meeting with Voldemort. But for compactness' sake, let's let that slide, shall we? Now, isn't Legilimency fun? And I'll give a great big gold star to anyone who can identify the culture Voldemort was refering to. In fact, I think you'd make my day! :) Now, here's one even the most amateur Legilimens could pull from my head: Please review!
Yours forever, Tsona
