Death Eater No More—Chapter Nine (Reflections and Confessions)

One day passed much as every other for Rodolphus: he paced his cramped cell until exhaustion overwhelmed him, then he slid down onto his straw pallet to reflect on his life until he either fell into a depressed stupor or cried himself to sleep—quietly. Even now, with nothing but imprisonment in sight for the rest of his life, his pride forbid him to make himself a laughingstock among his fellow inmates. He'd broken down once at the news of Bella's death, which could be overlooked considering the circumstances…any more would earn him a boatload of misery.

The idea of Azkaban for life—that he could handle. He'd been here for fourteen years when dementors ruled the place; if he could survive that with his mind intact, he could survive anything. Truth be told, he rather preferred the dementors to aurors, they kept him from thinking too much. Now Bella, she'd suffered worse than he had, the dementors had exacerbated her tenuous grip on reality, breaking her fragile hold on sanity. They'd ruined her.

Bella. His eyes welled with tears to think of her, and for the life of him he didn't know why. Theirs had been an arranged marriage, an alliance between friendly families, and while he'd known Bella all his life, he could hardly say he loved her…not in the romantic way. She'd been seductive, sultry, and a good lay, to be crude, but he didn't love her. She'd spent most of their married life as the dark lord's whore, which hadn't bothered Rodolphus in the least except inasmuch as it took away his own opportunities for carnal pleasure.

Nonetheless, they'd shared a life, shared ideals and principles. When all was said and done, he missed that. To know he'd never again share himself with anyone as he had with her was the most devastating, depressing blow of all. And so he spent his hours cursing the dark lord for leading them to this point and abandoning them yet again—this time for good. He cursed the aurors who lorded their freedom over him, and the citizens who despised him, and the wretched accommodations…and he cursed himself for being weak and stupid enough to get caught and hauled back to this hellhole, where he'd not even been given a trial. No need, they said, since he'd been given a life sentence earlier on.

"I said get up and step away from your mat," ordered a guard from the barred doorway.

Rodolphus lazily looked over and sneered at Percy, his voice thick with contempt. "F-k off, rodent."

Percy's face flushed red to match his hair. It was nearly quitting time, and he already resented being obliged to clean the prisoners' cells before leaving. He definitely didn't want a confrontation with someone who had absolutely nothing to lose. Man to man, he didn't stand a chance against the prisoner, whose stature dwarfed his own small frame. Even though Percy had a wand, he didn't dare let the other wizard gain the upper hand. Lestrange was here for life, there was nothing the thug could do to increase his stay of confinement, no more severe penalties to impose except those imposed by rogue aurors themselves. Unlike some of his fellow guards, Percy considered himself above petty retaliations, he observed the rules to the letter.

"If I have to move you myself, I will," warned Percy, earning him a scornful laugh. Scowling, he aimed the wand between the bars of the cell and shot a spell that bound Rodolphus' hands and feet, then he levitated him across the tiny room and set him on the floor. Another wave of his wand incinerated the old mat, a practice they'd instituted recently to reduce outbreaks of disease.

"Well that's just peachy, you little prick," growled Rodolphus. Now he'd have to sleep on the cold stone floor!

"Shut up," answered Weasley. He muttered an incantation that caused another mat, a brand new one, to appear. One more flick of the wand scourgified the cell. "You're welcome," he said sarcastically.

"Whatta you want, a kiss? F-king pervert," snapped Rodolphus. "Let me go."

Percy relieved Rodolphus of his bindings. "From now on when I tell you to do something, do it."

"Or what? You'll crucio me like the other guards do?" taunted Rodolphus, though anger flared in his eyes. "Or maybe you'll try to have your way with me like they do with the younger ones." He laughed again, a harsh rasp that held no mirth, for he spoke the truth. Everyone had heard stories of guards in the night taking their pleasure at the expense of those at their mercy, stories passed quickly from cell to cell, corridor to corridor. "You look like a virgin, I doubt you'd know what to do!"

"You're despicable," Percy seethed, turning to go back up the hall. This had been the last cell, he could go home now.

"What about you, Weasley!" Rodolphus barked suddenly, springing to the bars. "What makes you so different from me? How many did you kill at Hogwarts? How many have you tortured here?"

"None!" shouted Percy, wheeling on the inmate, a fierce fury in his face. "I can fight without killing, and I wouldn't lower myself to your level to torture innocent people! I don't even torture filth like you, though God knows I'm tempted sometimes!"

"Your mother murdered my wife," Rodolphus persisted. "She's no better than me."

"It was a fair duel and she was protecting my sister!" bellowed Percy so loudly it echoed up and down the corridor. "Even you ought to be able to understand that." This time when he stalked off he ignored the jeers and calls of the other prisoners.

Rodolphus moved away from the bars and slumped down on the new mat. It smelled of fresh straw, the only fresh smell in the place, including himself. The narrow stone sink jutting from the wall was hardly conducive to bathing. Maybe tomorrow one of the aurors would come for the weekly scourgifying of the prisoners. Pitiful as it may be, it was a huge step up from imprisonment with the dementors, when cleanliness was an unknown commodity.

He slipped the chip of stone Lucius had given him out of his shoe and began to carve another line in the wall.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Severus and Lucius arrived at the backside of the Lestrange property within a second of each other, apparating mere meters apart. Lucius regarded the area, then jutted his chin in the direction of the side of the house. Severus nodded and silently made his way around in the lingering light of dusk.

Lucius waited until he was sure he'd given Severus enough time to enter through a window, then he ascended the stone steps up onto the wooden porch. It creaked under his weight, making him halt in place, wand at ready. Slowly he edged up to the door, performed an unlocking charm, and opened it warily.

From the darkness in this part of the house, he saw light spilling from a room up the hall straight ahead and he heard men's voices. Straining his ears, he caught a snippet of Draco's voice and let out an involuntary sigh of relief, which was quickly replaced by renewed anger at the audacity of the brat to run away—to here, of all places, where Death Eaters were plotting a prison break!

Cautiously he inched up to where an old stairway loomed, to catch a glimpse of something from the corner of his eye; Lucius scarcely contained the gasp denoting a near heart attack when a shape came floating down right at him like a vampire and settled lightly on the floor. He scowled at Snape, who smirked in return. How could he have forgotten the master taught Snape to fly? Together they converged on the lit room, the voices growing louder and clearer. Severus hung back hidden by the wall as Lucius stepped into the doorway. Every head jerked his way, their eyes growing to the size of lemons, most of all Draco—though Nott did give him a run for his money. Hadn't he warned Rabastan about Malfoy's revenge?

"Well, well, isn't this cozy?" Lucius drawled.

He hadn't time to say any more. Varden drew his wand from his robes and shot a yellow hex that Malfoy barely deflected before returning one of his own. Seeing curses fly, instantly Snape was in on the fray. He jumped up beside Lucius and threw a spell at Nott, who'd foolishly drawn his wand as well. It winged the man's shoulder and he howled with pain and wrath.

Chaos ensued. By now no one had the time to ask questions or demand answers, for their concentration was on being victorious rather than victim. Rabastan faced Lucius in a very even match, both men furiously throwing curses and hexes that were invariably blocked or dodged by the opponent—fortunately so, as most of them were dark spells whose damage potential far exceeded the ordinary. Severus held off both Nott and Varden with the skill he'd honed from his years of fighting four Marauders at once, his countenance set in stony silence, his arm casting spells twice as fast as any of the others. Ricocheting spells smashed into walls and furniture, gouging plaster and destroying in minutes what it had taken years to accumulate.

Only Draco watched in awe, not sure of what to do. He bit his lip, struggling within himself. He ought to help someone, but who? Before he'd decided, he lifted his wand; his gaze met his father's, he narrowed his eyes and took aim. A moment later his wand was sailing through the air, courtesy of a non-verbal expelliarmus, right into Lucius' hand. Regrettably for Lucius, Rabastan's hammer-like curse caught him at that moment and threw him across the room. He crumpled to the floor, barely able to stave off the whimpers of agony welling up in him.

In a seemingly effortless series of moves, Severus cast a stupefy that crashed into the unsuspecting Rabastan, and two more in quick succession to block Nott and Varden. Another lightning quick hex petrified Nott and he fell like a board to the floor. Varden's hex flew inches past his head.

From the floor where Lucius had struggled to his knees, he shot a dark spell at Varden, sending him careening and screaming, his nerves feeling on fire. With all three down, Severus rushed forward to magically bind them lest they decide to renew the battle, then accio'd their wands for good measure.

"Lucius, are you alright?" Snape hunched down beside Malfoy, who had yet to get up from his knees and looked paler than his typical hale and hearty shade of white.

Lucius shook his head 'no' while choking out, "Fine."

"Fine, my arse," Severus growled.

Holding Lucius still, he yanked back his robes, revealing a slash across the torso accompanied by a monstrous bruise. Recoiling just a bit at the amount of blood suddenly visible—an amount not in any way healthy—he traced his wand over the gash while reciting a sing-song incantation that sealed it perfectly. A potion and poultice would be best for the bruise, but he had neither, so he settled for a generic healing charm that helped to ease the pain. Later he'd finish the job. A quick wave of the wand cleaned up the blood from skin and robes. Why was Lucius still not moving?

Snape strode over to tower above Rabastan, bending down far enough to dig his wand painfully into Rabastan's neck. "I advise you to carefully consider your answer, Lestrange. What did you hit Malfoy with? Are there lingering effects?" he demanded, his lips pulling back in a snarl.

Still suffering the aftereffects of the stupefy, Rabastan shook his head as if to clear it and grunted, "Gercer. Mostly it just hurts a lot and bleeds, but it can do internal damage if you hit in the right spot."

Restraining the urge to kick the idiot in the head, Snape swept a hovering Draco out of his way and crouched down beside Lucius, who had collapsed onto the floor. Running his wand over the bruised area, he was able to detect liver and spleen damage, which he immediately set about treating with organ restoring charms. Damn it all to Hades, now he'd need medicine for this, too!

"Is he alright, Severus?" asked Draco agitatedly from the spot Snape had shoved him to.

"No, he's not. I need healing potions," snapped Severus. In the back of his mind he fleetingly wondered when Draco had begun calling him 'Severus' instead of 'Uncle Sev'. At least Varden's screaming in the corner had tapered off to mewls; it had been getting on his nerves. Severus recognized the curse, he'd seen Lucius use it before. It produced massive fire-like pain that diminished over time without lasting damage, so he would require no attention.

"Varden has some potions," piped up Rabastan, feeling uncharacteristically guilty. Generally in a fight he dueled people he didn't know or care about; he honestly hadn't meant to hurt Malfoy, the curse had escaped almost of its own accord from years of practice. "I think there's some healing ones in the kitchen."

Wary of leaving Draco to watch over the downed wizards, Snape snatched him by the collar and dragged him forcibly along behind as he stormed into the kitchen, calling out lumos. "Check the cabinets, find the potions," he ordered even as he began to do the same, opening and slamming cupboard doors in rapid succession.

"Right here!" exclaimed Draco after only two cupboards.

Severus made haste to examine the jars and vials. There weren't many, but at any rate they were clearly labeled. The closest one to what he needed was labeled simply Wounds. He held the vial up to the light, smelled it, then took a taste; it was a simple, multi-purpose healing potion. It wasn't perfect, but better than nothing. Carrying it in one fist, his wand gripped in the other, he hurried back to Lucius, knelt down, and propped the wizard's head up.

"Drink this."

Lucius did as ordered; force of habit of obeying his father, who'd tended him various times when he'd been injured, made certain of that. "Tastes awful," he complained, wrinkling his nose.

"If you'd stop getting yourself hurt, I wouldn't have to feed you this rubbish," Snape retorted. "Have you ever heard of reflexes? Perhaps you should develop yours."

Typical Snape, always reacts to grave situations with snide remarks, Lucius thought, to his odd amusement. Really, he needed to learn to loosen up. It wasn't as though this injury was life threatening, was it? "I love you, too, Snape," he chuckled, making his gut ache. Maybe it was a bad idea to joke so soon after all.

With tension running high in the room, no one spoke for several minutes. Severus ministered to Lucius like an old hen (in his opinion), watching to make sure he didn't go into shock, checking his pupils, glaring around the room with that deathly Snape glare that had mentally scarred scores of pupils at Hogwarts. When he'd ascertained Lucius would survive until he could get him home and use decent potions on him, he got up and levitated the three bound wizards into a row, sitting propped up against the sofa.

Astonishingly—more to Lucius than anyone—he'd already begun to feel a great deal better, to the point he was able to sit up without assistance, still clutching his wand in one hand, Draco's in the other. Utilizing his best glower, of strikingly similarity to Snape's, he sent a hard glare at Rabastan, causing the man to turn his head away. He reserved another glare for Draco, who'd seated himself on the arm of a wingchair, perched anxiously, not knowing what to expect. He did seem relieved to see his father sitting up, which softened Lucius' look ever so slightly.

"Draco, don't you ever raise your wand to me again," Lucius purred in the voice that made his son's knees go weak. "Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," mumbled Draco. "I'm sorry, I wasn't going to hurt you."

"What were you going to do?"

The boy paused, stymied. He honestly didn't know the answer to that question. He'd wanted to stop the fight, to make his father go home, but beyond that he hadn't a clue. He gulped before admitting, "I don't know, Father."

"I'll deal with you when we get home." Anticipating a squawking protest, Lucius was mildly surprised to encounter no resistance whatsoever. He recognized in his son's wide eyes the fear he'd habitually seen when Draco had been apprehended in a bold display of mischief. And he saw something else…regret?

"Whatever you say, Father," said Draco quietly, ducking his head. He deserved whatever he got, his running off had almost caused the elder Malfoy to be killed. He couldn't have lived with himself if that had happened.

Lucius forced himself unsteadily to his feet, traversed the short distance to face the boy, and to the shock of everyone present he threw an arm around Draco's neck and pulled him into an embrace. "I'm grateful we found you well," he murmured.

"I'm glad you are, too," Draco answered softly, holding on to Lucius as much to keep him from falling as to show his affection.

Lucius let go and turned to face the three on the floor, his features hardened once more. "What the hell is the matter with you? I came to get my son, not to fight you!"

"I didn't know who you were," Varden sniffed defiantly. "You broke into my house with your wand drawn."

"When Snape started firing, so did I," confessed Nott.

"By then I figured you were out for blood," interjected Rabastan. "I had to defend myself. And you're here with Snape," he added, as if the statement were self-explanatory.

Severus stalked up to tower over Rabastan again, a sour expression replacing his concerned one. "Meaning?"

"Meaning you're a traitor! Draco told us all about how you were working for Dumbledore and against us!"

Momentarily losing composure, Severus shot a glance at Draco, who stared back with unadulterated loathing. Just as quickly, his mask snapped back into place, fully restored. Choosing his words carefully he said, "I did what I believe was the right thing to hasten the end to the war. The dark lord was a crazed maniac who treated his followers no better than his enemies. I defy any of you to deny it."

Rabastan spat back, "So you didn't care what your spy information did to us, did you? We all—you too, Lucius—ended up in Azkaban because somebody notified the authorities we were in the Department of Mysteries and the Order of the Phoenix showed up. I wonder how they could have known. What else did you do against us?"

"It was my job to protect the Potter brat!" Severus shouted. "I gave Voldemort the prophecy that started the whole thing, I caused the Potters to die!" He heaved a few deep, heavy breaths, calming himself. "To atone for what I'd done, Dumbledore charged me with keeping the whelp alive; it was that or spend my life in Azkaban, and in my shoes I doubt you'd have made a different choice."

"I wouldn't have ratted out my friends!" Rabastan growled.

"Easy to say," sneered Severus. "You only served one megalomaniac, I had to dance on a tightrope between two of them. Are you sad to see Voldemort dead?" At their wincing yet again at the mention of his name, Severus pounded it home, "Yes, I said Voldemort. His name doesn't frighten me anymore because I'm free—you're free of him, thanks to the Potter puke I babysat for years!"

Here Lucius stepped up beside his friend. The ache in his gut had faded to a throbbing annoyance. "Severus could have given up a list of our names any time in the past sixteen years, but he didn't. Not one name. He never purposely hurt any of us, he only did what he had to do to protect Potter. If you want to feel betrayed, the dark lord betrayed us. He wasn't even pureblood, he didn't care anything for our superiority or our rule. All he wanted was to rule over everybody, wizards and Muggles alike, and he used us as pawns to do his dirty work. You saw how he treated me all year long—worse than a Muggle! After all I'd done in his service!"

"Yeah, he did," agreed Nott. His mind whirled at all the accusations flying around, not the least being Voldemort's lack of pureblood status. Potter had said so in the Department of Mysteries, but they'd all discounted it as ranting. Now Lucius was acknowledging it as truth. "So everything was a lie?"

"Far as I can tell," said Lucius, beginning to sway slightly. "We meant nothing to Voldemort, and there's no way I can see him sharing power with us. It was all a grand lie and we got sucked in."

Severus grabbed his arm. "Draco, come here. Hold your father's other arm, we need to take him home." He tossed the other men's wands on the far side of the room and released them from their bonds. "I have no quarrel with any of you, and I'd like to keep it that way."

Together he and Draco guided Lucius out to the front porch from which they disapparated. Upon reaching Malfoy Manor, they hauled him into the house and Snape apparated up to Abraxas' potion room—his wife's old study—to sort through and pick out those he'd need. Despite the fact that Abraxas had died a few years earlier, the room was still remarkably well stocked.

An hour later, with Lucius tucked safely in bed under the watchful, loving eye of Narcissa, Severus prepared to leave for Spinner's End. Lucius would be fine by morning; Draco was still sullen and uncommunicative…hopefully he'd ruminate on tonight's conversation and reevaluate his position.

It bothered Severus to know Draco harbored such virulence toward him, more so knowing there was not a bloody thing he could do to change it. He'd had no idea the depth of betrayal the boy felt, and could he blame him? He'd blithely gone about his spying duties while Draco's mistrust for him intensified, he'd—in Draco's mind—usurped Lucius' position with the master, and for Draco to learn his own godfather had been working against him must have dealt the most terrible blow. He was so young, he saw things in black and white, not the hideous shades of gray that Severus lived in.

He arrived home exhausted and in a bad mood—that is to say, a worse mood than usual. The insistent tapping of a decrepit old owl on his window sill was most unwelcome. He thrust open the window, snatched the parchment off its leg, and slammed the window shut again. The owl looked confused, tilted its head almost horizontal, then turned and flew off. Severus unrolled the letter.

Dear Severus,

Congratulations on your acquittal! The Weasley family invites you to join us for dinner the day after tomorrow, 6 o'clock sharp. Harry will be here; we hope you can come.

Molly Weasley

Severus stared curiously at the letter. Congratulations? He'd not received any word to the effect that he'd finally been cleared. As far as Potter's presence, Molly could scarcely have offered a stronger deterrent. When in all of Potter's life had Severus been eager to spend time with him? Not to mention the Weasley clan were a gaggle of barbarians who, now that he considered it, were likely playing a prank. The redheaded brats enjoyed the game of 'Taunt the Dungeon Bat'.

How he despised them all…well, not Molly, if he were completely truthful. She'd always been decent to him. Tomorrow he'd have to owl her to officially decline. If he wanted to challenge his sanity, surely there were less excruciating ways.