Warning: There is rampant swearing in this chapter. And mentions of violence.

Chapter 7: The Worst Old Families

Malfoy's door was decorated with a Yule wreath. One of the old-fashioned ones, holly, with a dead crowned wren hanging upside down by one leg in the center. Most people now only celebrated Christmas, rather than Yule, but if they did, they usually just put up a brass ornament instead. Gran said it was only the 'worst old families' that would still send their owl out to kill a real one. Neville supposed that the Malfoys definitely qualified.

Of course Gran loved singing the Wren Song and burning a wren candle on Yule Eve herself. Neville remembered that when he was a kid the crown was always made of gilded pine needles that crackled and hissed and sparked when the flame reached them. Nowadays the crowns were only foil that would break up and float down the melted wax in bits. To make up for it, Gran insisted on a flaming pudding. And spells on the hearth so the fire changed colors. And Yule oranges so they could squeeze the peels in the flames. And a flaming brandy drink. Come to think of it, Gran might be a bit of a firebug.

Neville knocked. The dead wren bobbed on its string. It was all probably a mistake. Still, Snape was absolutely right to say he needed to either help or piss off. He didn't want to piss off, but at the moment, the eyes were not letting him back in. Bulstrode certainly wasn't going to give him any direction. Then again, both Malfoy and Bulstrode had mentioned a tracker, that was something. Not that he knew how to make a tracker, but if he had the materials, he was sure Hermione could give him a hand.

No answer.

After the brandy, he and Gran had their tradition of Yule Eve ghost stories. Followed by the tradition of the ghost of Great-grand-aunt Edna Sitwell-Longbottom shouting at Gran that the stories weren't hers to tell. And Gran shouting back that she ought to go haunt a Tesco's for all the good she was at it. Then after another brandy, Gran would get a bit maudlin and promise Neville that she would haunt him properly when she was gone, not like some, and Neville would pat her back and say he was utterly knackered and perhaps it was time to turn in. Yule wasn't very far off, now.

He knocked again, trying for the official rap Harry had used. He could hear steps somewhere inside. The view hole clicked open and closed. There was a distinct pause. The door opened.

"Longbottom," said Malfoy. He peered around him. "Where's Potter?"

"He's not with me. I'm here on my own." Harry had sent him an owl the day before, 'Any reply?' Neville still hadn't answered. He had no idea how to answer without lying, but he knew he could not tell Harry that he had seen Snape in person. No, for the moment at least, he had to proceed alone.

Malfoy looked at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"It's my, uh, thing."

"You don't have a thing, Longbottom."

"I do."

"Fine, you have a thing. For Merlin's sake don't bring it out on the stoop." He stepped back to let Neville enter.

In the sitting room the Malfoy owl swayed on its perch. One talon was tucked under its feathers and a bit of down clinging to its beak. Perhaps another Yule wren.

"Right, Longbottom, what's your thing?" Malfoy took what was clearly the best armchair. Neville perched on the settee.

"It's still the Goyle thing."

Malfoy sighed. "We've been over that."

"Yes, I know. But Harry was here, and I thought, well, you might not have been able to speak freely."

"And I would to you?"

"Well…"

"Why, Longbottom?"

"You did let us in, before."

"When an Auror comes knocking on your door at night -"

"No, I mean before that. A couple of years ago at your dad's hearing. When you let us in to talk to Snape."

Malfoy huffed with something approaching a genuine smile. "That wasn't about you, Longbottom. Either of you."

"Don't try to tell me you would have let anyone in that room."

"All right," Malfoy waved his hand in agreement. "It was about Snape. He had been acting like a right cunt to me for days. And then you two turned up at the perfect moment." He smirked in satisfaction at the memory. "I was getting my own back."

"You let us in to talk to Snape… in revenge?"

"Yes, and it worked too. He as good as apologized. Oh, you missed it, did you?" He looked even more pleased, if that were possible.

"Well, yes, he admitted some things, but then he just swore at us and said he wasn't our professor anymore."

Malfoy sighed. "I thought it was common knowledge, but maybe it's just in the House. The swearing? When he first started teaching at Hogwarts he used to curse everyone out. Make little firsties cry calling them lazy bastards or bleeding morons -"

Neville coughed. "Really?"

"Oh, yes. My father confirms it. He's always been vile. In any case they would whinge to mummy and daddy and then mummy and daddy would send howlers to the Headmaster demanding something be done. And the Headmaster would talk to Snape, but of course he wouldn't stop and they couldn't sack him. We always thought he had some sort of dirt on the Headmaster, that he never got sacked. I suppose now we know the old sod had plans for him. In any case, they finally put a binding clause in his contract that would automatically dock his pay any time he swore at a student, parent, or staff member."

Neville must have looked incredulous. Malfoy went on, "You didn't really think 'dunderhead' was the word he was looking for, did you?"

"Ah, no, I suppose not." Neville wasn't sure he could believe this story any more than Snape being interrogated by his father.

"Right. So in the House, it's sort of a rite of passage. The first time he calls you a little shit, or a conniving bint, it's a compliment. He would take a pay cut for you. The mark of an equal."

Dead wrens and mind games and insults. Luna probably would have said they all needed that muggle brain therapy she'd told him about.

"So, when he said he could 'fucking swear at us now, he wasn't our bloody professor any more -'"

Malfoy laughed. "Exactly. In any case, he wasn't as much of a cunt to me after that."

"You're in contact with him?"

"You heard the conditions of the Reform and Release Program. No contact between marked individuals. Did you forget he qualifies?"

Maybe he had.

"Well, it goes for Goyle too. I haven't had any contact with him, whether you bring Potter along as your enforcer or not."

"He's not my enforcer."

"No? Your protector then?"

"I don't need a protector from you. Not back when you had to try to kill us, and not now."

Malfoy looked away. "Thanks for the 'had too,' I suppose," he said reluctantly.

"Look, I'm not trying to catch you out in some lie. I wanted to see if there was any chance that you've something else of Goyle's for a tracker."

"No, there really isn't. If you're working with Theo, you need to get on the same page."

"He's - they're still looking?"

Malfoy looked at him curiously. "They said they're not?"

"Well, after the Polyjuice thing, they told me to piss off."

"I have nothing to do with this," said Malfoy, "you need to keep me out of this." It was more desperation than threat in his voice.

"No worries," said Neville. But that wasn't how either of them felt when Malfoy shut the door behind him.

The knock came at three in the afternoon. Theo looked up sharply. There was no mistaking the official note - Aurors. He closed his eyes. At least it was afternoon, business hours. That meant a 'routine inquiry.' When the knock came at two in the morning, that's when you wouldn't be seeing home for the foreseeable future.

The knock came again. Theo stood. The flat was clean, there was nothing he needed to hide. Dodger had been very clear on that point when they first went into business together. Goyle would be 'at work, as far as I know,' if they asked him. There was no use delaying and having his wards destroyed and his door spelled open.

He checked the viewhole. Two DMLE robes. One was a familiar face: one of the Aurors who had been taking statements from the eyes at the end of the war. Not that a familiar face was unwelcome, but Theo didn't exactly fancy being someone's speciality. He opened the door.

"Mr. Nott. Aurors Proudfoot and Savage. I'm hoping you can assist us by answering a few questions. Just a routine inquiry."

Still hoping for the best, Theo stepped back and opened the door wider.

"Ah, actually," said the one who indicated himself as Proudfoot, "you'll be accompanying us to the DMLE."

He did. They took him in the back way, at tried to play scenarios in his head. What was serious enough to be brought in the back way, but not serious enough for an arrest? He desperately hoped he would not be pulled into a questioning room with Dodger. Or, dear lord, be asked to identify Goyle's body. It couldn't be that, could it? But it was a single empty questioning room that he was led to, and a rather long wait with Auror Proudfoot sitting silently by the door.

The wait didn't exactly help his nerves. Nor did the entrance of Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, holding a sheaf of papers in one hand.

"Mr. Nott," he said, taking the seat across from him.

Theo wiped his palms on his trousers under the table. "Sir."

Shacklebolt didn't bother with any preliminaries. "So, you're putting up Mr. Goyle. An interesting decision."

"Bulstrode arranged it." It shouldn't be a surprise to Shacklebolt, he was well-aware she was the one in charge of the eyes.

"And how is it, living with Mr. Goyle?"

Shacklebolt hadn't touched the sheaf of papers, which made Theo apprehensive. What exactly was he fishing for?

"Well, it's not brilliant." Theo had tried to lie to Snape once, back when he was a first-year. "If you want to try to lie, Mr. Nott," he'd said with deep contempt, "you will have to learn how to tell the truth."

"It's… well, I know where he came from, and how he got where he is now, but neither of us is about to forget we weren't on the same side."

"Any incidents?"

"Nothing much."

Shacklebolt raised his eyebrows at him.

"Uh, well, he got mad at me and broke a couple of my things. Just - just stupid kids stuff."

"Should the Ministry be concerned about the placement?"

"No! I mean, it really isn't anything. We're just better off not getting in each other's way. And that's what we're doing. I don't see much of him; he usually works double-shifts to save up money."

"What's he saving for?"

"To get a place of his own if he can get Ministry clearance for it. It'll probably be a while though. I don't think he really understands London rents and utilities."

"And what about you, Mr. Nott?"

Theo had the uncomfortable impression of a cat about to pounce. "Sir?"

"London rents and utilities. I don't have any current employment listed in your file."

"I've had a few odd -"

Shacklebolt was raising his eyebrows at him again.

"I think it will be easier to get something regular in a year or two. Let the, uh, family name fade a bit first."

"Certainly. But my question is about your current situation. How are you supporting yourself?"

So that was it? Did he have something on Dodger? "My grandad left me a trust fund. I've been living on that, mostly."

Shacklebolt frowned. "Come now, Mr. Nott. We do have access to your Gringotts' holdings."

"Oh, not in Gringotts, sir. My grandad only used muggle banks and money. He didn't want my dad getting his hands on it."

Shacklebolt gave a slow nod. "You're living off this fund."

"Yeah. I mean, that's not my plan forever, but it pays the rent. I can get job training and get something regular in a few years."

"You are in a stable situation? Not desperate for funds?" Shacklebolt was looking at him closely. What was he getting at?

"Uh, no, sir."

Shacklebolt was looking at him closely. "Mr. Nott. Mr Goyle moved in with you a bit over a month and a half ago. A little over a fortnight ago, you wrote a letter to your father. The only contact you've had in five years. Did Mr. Goyle put you up to that?"

"No! I mean…"

"Mr. Nott, considering how insidiously Voledmort's influence spread through our society, we have to vigilant about Death Eaters spreading their influence."

"He didn't put me up to it like that; it's not like that."

"What, exactly, it is like?"

Learn how to tell the truth. "It's… Goyle. He was just - he was talking about his dad, and Vince. He's still pretty messed up about that. He really doesn't have anyone, any close family. Right. He made me feel… guilty. I mean, Goyle found out about his dad from the paper, he never got to say anything. It doesn't make any sense. I don't even like my dad, can't stand him. I guess I felt like I'd regret it if I didn't say something."

"The impulse is understandable, Mr. Nott." Shacklebolt was opening the sheaf of papers now, and pulling out three pages. He set them one-by-one on the table in front of Theo. "But when we look at the letters themselves - "

Theo looked at the letters. Three of them. Three. It didn't make sense.

"- It doesn't make sense," Shacklebolt continued.

"No," said Theo abstractedly. He tried not to stare at the middle letter. It was longer than the others.

"Mr. Nott."

"Ah."

"They were flagged for me as suspicious."

Theo leaned forward slightly. He needed to get a better look.

"The first one, not in and of itself. But your next two, coming in on each other's heels and with their completely different content and tone." Shacklebolt pushed those two letters to Theo.

The third was the one he'd just written to ask his dad about Goyle. The second was on a slightly nicer sort of parchment than he usually used, cream-colored and smooth. He'd splurged on something like it back in his fourth year when he tried writing some ill-advised love letters to Mandy Brocklehurst. The letters had come back with scathing corrections on his prose. That's what he got for having crushes on Ravenclaws.

Aside from the parchment, it was definitely his own handwriting. It began:

Dear Dad,

I want to clear the air going forth.

So, it had the code. How was that possible? Any of it?

"Mr. Nott."

"I… I know. You're right, sir."

"Right?"

"It doesn't make any sense." He had to read it. What did the code say? He tried to glance down the paragraphs, skimming. Something friendly, too friendly, about family, about amends. "I can't explain it."

"Try, Mr. Nott."

Learn how to tell the truth. "Right," he said. "I never really got on with him. Not even before the war, before I knew what he was part of. But I have a couple of good memories from when I was really little. I guess it's hard to let go of it. The idea of, of the father I might have had. The one I wanted to have. And even after all these years of evidence that he's not, he's never going to be like that, part of me… it's stupid. Maybe this time. Maybe if I write like I'm writing to that idea of, of the father he could have been, maybe he'll answer that way, for once. It's bloody idiotic. I know he won't. Or can't. It doesn't really matter which. I ought to give up, I know I'd be happier if I did, but…" he trailed off.

"You wrote the third letter very quickly after the second."

"I knew it was idiotic. I was already having second thoughts."

Shacklebolt looked at him impassively, then slid the letters into a stack and back into the folder.

"I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Nott. You may wish to remind Mr. Goyle that he will need to get Ministry approval before any change in employment or residence." Shacklebolt was rising.

"Sir, uh, did he get the letters? I mean before they were brought to you."

"The first and second yes. The third was when they were flagged for me. Why do you ask?" He was watching Theo keenly.

"I'm just not really sure I wanted him to see that second letter. Sir, if uh, you could not say anything about this to my family? My mum already worries about me being a bad influence on my stepbrother. If she knew I wrote to dad..."

"At this time, I see no need to mention it."

Shacklebolt was showing him the door. Theo could hear Auror Proudfoot faintly behind it as it closed. "Do you think we qualify as family counselors yet?"

Fine, that would be fine, just a matter of sordid family drama, nothing suspicious in that.

Auror Savage escorted him out of the department.

Theo had to decipher that second letter.

One of the Protean notes moved. Snape pressed his hand against his pocket. The note inside was still twitching, a long message. Dick, the lab director, was supposed to be updating him on the progress of their pending testing applications. He fumbled for something to keep his voluminous potion diagram from sliding off the desktop, shoving a teacup and a jar of pens to opposite corners, then fished a small packet of notes out of his pocket.

It wasn't Dick's note, or Bulstrode's or Emmeline's. No, it was the one he never wanted to see. Shacklebolt's.

Wanted to let you know before it turns up in the papers. Benedict Crabbe committed suicide in his cell last night. Hanging with a sheet. Not exactly a huge shock, though I thought he was a bit less isolated recently. He'd been off active suicide watch for over a year. We will be releasing the story in a few days after the usual investigation and reports are complete.

Snape put the note on the desk and pushed his chair back. Dear lord, well, that was the Crabbe family, snuffed out. No doubt Vince's death played a role. He had been under Snape's care at the time, such as it was. Burned himself to death. Nothing but a little idiot, with a pointless death, nothing left of him. Snape had been there years later when they finally went to scrape up the remains. So little left that it had to be scraped… Now his dad decided to follow him, after lingering on pointlessly for a few years. How many survivors were there from the graduation class of 1978 now? No point to any of it, all that misery…

No, that wouldn't do. Not at all. Snape shoved his chair back and stuffed the note back in his pocket. There was tea in the break room, and biscuits, and he would go and have some and remember that he was still in the survivor column.

A/N: Sure, Yule is a real holiday, but I decided to have a little fun and elaborate a few traditions for Wizard Yule.

Thank you for reading! And thank you, anonymous reviewers, since I can't thank you directly.