Chapter 38

Severus sits next to Draco's hospital bed watching the boy sleep. Poppy wanted to keep him overnight, and Severus agreed, even though it wasn't strictly necessary. At this point, all Draco needs is rest while the blood replenishers do their work. But sending him back to his dormitory would have only bolstered Albus's and Minerva's case that this was just schoolboy misbehavior and not attempted murder.

Fucking Potter. He could have killed Draco with that spell. What's wrong with that boy, using a spell like Sectumsempra against another student? Draco would be dead if Severus hadn't arrived in time to cast the countercurse. Like his father and godfather, apparently Potter holds the lives of his fellow students cheaply if they've had the bad luck to be Sorted into a rival House.

Albus, too, continues to value the lives of his Slytherin students less than the well-being of his pet Gryffindors. Potter won't be expelled—never mind turned over to the Aurors—for attempted murder any more than Sirius Black was when he lured Severus into the presence of a transformed werewolf.

Poppy returns and casts another diagnostic spell, which shows Draco's readings close to normal. "You don't have to sit here all night, Severus," she says. Draco's eyes open, and Severus shoots her a reproving glance, which she ignores, turning to Draco. "How are you feeling, young man?"

Draco sits up. "Thirsty."

Poppy hands him the cup of water on his bedside table. After he drains it, she refills it with an Aguamenti, and he drinks more. "Try to sleep, Mr. Malfoy," she says, then returns to her office.

Draco remains sitting up but doesn't look at Severus. "She's right. You don't need to sit here all night with me," he says to the bed behind and to the left of his godfather.

"Don't be sullen with me, boy. I just saved your life."

"Who asked you to?"

"Draco, I know—"

"You know," the boy cuts in with a sneer, turning to face Severus. "You know fuck all about anything."

Severus looks at his godson, keeping his expression neutral. He glances at Poppy's office and casts Muffliato. "All right, then. Tell me. What, exactly, do I know fuck all about? If it's about what it's like to be Marked while still in your teens, I do know about that, unfortunately. Granted, I was eighteen and made the choice freely. You're only sixteen, and shouldn't have been forced into it the way you were."

Draco doesn't answer.

"If it's about having the girl you care about marry someone else, I know about that, too."

"I don't care about her. She's a filthy Mudblood." When Severus remains silent, he continues, "Aunt Bella says you're Dumbledore's spy, that you're working to defeat the Dark Lord. She says you're not trying to turn Granger against Potter, that you married her just because you wanted to fuck her, were probably already fucking her even before the marriage law. That's how she got top grades in Potions, by—"

"Draco!" he says sharply. "I had no personal relationship with her before we were married. And you know perfectly well that she had top marks in all of her classes, not just mine, so unless you believe she had an inappropriate relationship with every professor at this school, your accusation is absurd." He sits forward in his chair and leans closer to Draco. "I'm sorry I hurt you when I married her. I wouldn't have done it if I'd had any other choice."

"So, you wish you weren't married to her? You hate her?"

"How I feel about her is immaterial."

Draco studies him. "What happens after the war? With you and Granger?"

"I have no idea." And he doesn't. But the pensive—one could even say calculating—expression on his godson's face makes him want to tell the spoiled little brat that Hermione is his wife, and Draco had best not get any ideas about a postwar world in which she isn't. Instead, he says, "Draco, we're all pawns in this war. You, me, Hermione, your parents, that idiot Potter, all of us. It's as though the Dark Lord and the Headmaster are playing an elaborate game of wizard's chess with all of us as the animate pieces. Black or white, Death Eater or Order, we're all being moved about by other people for their purposes, with no thought to our own."

"What color chess piece are you, Uncle?"

"A spy avoids being thrown bleeding from the chessboard only by keeping his true colors obscured by at least a shadow of a doubt."

"Even to your godson?"

"To everyone."

"Including your wife?"

Severus doesn't answer. Apart from Albus, Hermione is the only person who knows his true loyalties beyond a shadow of a doubt. Actually, he isn't even sure that Albus is completely convinced. If he were, he'd have told Severus about the Horcruxes, enlisted his help in finding and destroying them. But he didn't. He chose to rely instead on a sixteen-year-old boy who can't keep the goddamn Dark Lord out of his head.

Draco drags a hand through his fair hair. "My father told me I could trust you."

"You can."

"He said you'd protect me if I told you everything, that you took an Unbreakable Vow to Mother that you would."

"I did, and I will, insofar as I am able to."

"But what if we're not on the same side? If you're Dumbledore's spy, and I'm loyal to the Dark Lord, you'll still protect me?"

"I will."

"And if the situation is reversed? If you're a loyal Death Eater, and I want out?"

"I will still protect you. I took a Vow."

"But why? How?"

"You can only see part of the chessboard from where you sit, Draco."

"And you can see the whole thing, I suppose?"

"No, but I can see more of it than you can. And different parts of it. There are things I know that you don't, and things you know of which I remain ignorant."

"And if we pooled our knowledge?"

Severus hesitates. "I can't tell you everything I know. It would be too dangerous for both of us."

"So, I'm supposed to tell you what I know, but you don't reciprocate?"

"I will reciprocate to the extent that I am able to. I know Bellatrix has been teaching you Occlumency, but you have not yet mastered it. There are some things you would be better off not knowing, for your own safety."

"How do you know I haven't mastered it?"

Severus doesn't tell him that if Hermione was able to perform Legilimency on Draco without his having the slightest clue, he's nowhere near mastering it. Instead, he asks, "Shall I test your shields to ascertain whether you have?"

"I don't want you in my head."

"The fact that you assume I can get in tells me you haven't mastered it."

Draco expels a frustrated breath. "I'm complete shite at it."

"If so, I'd say that's because you've had a complete shite teacher."

Draco huffs a half laugh. "Have you ever noticed that the Dark Lord doesn't look into Bella's mind the way he does with the rest of us?"

"I have."

"Do you know why?"

"I always assumed it was a mark of his absolute trust in her, and perhaps of his…affection."

"It's because he gets a headache whenever he looks into the crazy bitch's mind. So do I."

Severus recalls the headache he got when he performed Legilimency on Bellatrix. But the Dark Lord wouldn't tell Draco something like that, would he? "How do you know? About the Dark Lord?"

"He told Mother."

Severus thinks about this. The Dark Lord never looks into Bellatrix's mind. So, if Bella were dead, the Dark Lord wouldn't know as long as someone Polyjuiced as her appeared before him, and was able to act as mad as the late Madam Lestrange. The moment he knows Bella is dead, he could order Cissy and Lucius to bring him the Horcrux in Bellatrix's vault. He might not, might trust them to care for it as he trusted Bellatrix, but what if he didn't?

"Moving chess pieces in your head?" Draco asks.

"For all the good it may do, when I still can't see the rest of the board."

"Teach me what my crazy aunt can't, and I'll show you the parts of the board I can see."

Severus nods. "We'll start tomorrow."