Talking to Potter was like talking to a brick wall.
Everything bounced off him. Of course this wasn't anything new, but Severus had hoped if he made more of an effort (and he was making hell of an effort) the brat would respond better. It wasn't the case.
He hadn't insulted the boy nor snapped at him once since he had locked the door. He was trying to be patient, reasonable, calm. Letting slide all the yelling, the disrespect, the insolence, the Dark Lord's name. Giving the nosy brat all the answers he wanted even though it wasn't any of his business what Draco or Severus or Dumbledore had been up to.
Brick wall.
Severus was certain that most of what he had said to Potter in the last fifteen minutes had gone in one ear and out the other without the brat even trying to process it. He only heard enough to get defensive and snatch at anything he could use to ward himself from having to change his black-and-white view of the world. As usual Potter was determined to find things to censure and hate anywhere but in him, thinking himself entitled to judge everyone else as if he were some sort of moral authority.
He couldn't wait to see the last of the brat, and it made him want to kill himself to know that this was just the beginning. Because sitting here, faced with his dead mentor and his new charge, Severus felt completely sure that he had made a horrible mistake.
Potter wasn't worth any sort of sacrifice. It was infuriating to think that Lily had given her life for this, and despairing to know that Severus had condemned the entire world and lost any chance at redemption for the same worthless cause.
He could perfectly see why Dumbledore had been so ready to sacrifice the boy: it was the perfect use for such an annoying, defective human specimen.
It isn't too late, he thought miserably. I can still fix this. I can kill the boy and take over the Horcrux hunt myself, I'm better positioned to do it than Dumbledore ever was.
The thought was comforting even though he knew he wasn't serious about it. Severus was stubbornly set in his reprehensible course, but it soothed his wrestling conscience in some degree to know that if at some point it became unbearable to him he could just abort his plan and go back to trust Dumbledore's selfless designs.
For now, however, he had to go through this dark night and make sure Potter didn't say anything inconvenient to Scrimgeour or anyone. Severus was confident that the boy was not going to accuse him (if Potter thought him a true Death Eater and a traitor to the Order he would have refused to be locked in a room with him or at least would have drawn his wand at some point), and he thought he might have planted reasonable doubt as to Draco's involvement in the Headmaster's death, but he suspected the brat still wanted to make Draco pay for the necklace and the poisoned mead. For all his alleged nobleness, Potter was nothing if not vindictive.
The boy was still staring at the dead Headmaster with a stubborn and angry expression on his face, plainly refusing to accept that there wasn't anyone to blame. Severus considered that Potter's severe anger issues were both a big problem and a promising sign, since angry people were the Dark Lord's best recruits but also the most likely to say something stupid that got them killed or tortured.
"I don't expect you to understand why Draco is worth protecting, Potter," he said after several silent minutes. "The Headmaster didn't expect you to understand either, being aware of your youthful rivalry. I am, however, willing to consider the possibility that you might be able to grow up and get over some of your misconceptions." Well, not really. Severus rather thought Potter a lost cause. "I also happen to know that Dumbledore thought highly of your capacity for compassion, and that it was his wish that Draco was forgiven for the accidental damage he caused to Miss Bell and Mr. Weasley. Considering that there was no permanent harm done and that from now on Draco will likely not be a threat since he no longer has a mission to fulfill, I expect you will respect the Headmaster's wishes and let the matter go."
His words had the desire effect, turning anger into guilt and perhaps even a hint of self-doubt. The boy was trapped, Severus thought with satisfaction, forced to quit on his obsession with Draco lest his maturity, compassion and loyalty to Dumbledore be called into question.
"And I repeat that you are to keep this information to yourself," he reminded him.
"I, hum..." said Potter looking at him with a mixture of nervousness and defiance. "Ron and Hermione already know about Malfoy, I told them everything I knew and suspected."
Of course you did.
Severus didn't really mind Weasley and Granger knowing about Draco —as long as they kept their mouths shut—, but those two were inconvenient influences and weaknesses that needed to be removed as soon as possible so he was interested in creating a breach between them and Potter. It was also important that the brat learned to keep secrets properly, and that Severus became the only person he could talk to about certain matters.
"It is one thing to have suspicions and quite another to know for sure," he said. "You are not to tell them that you received confirmation, and you are to dissuade them from pursuing their own suspicions if necessary." The boy looked rebellious, so he added, "Being capable of discretion and of following senior members' instructions to the letter is a basic requisite for belonging to the Order of the Phoenix, Potter. You will not yet be allowed to join, since you are underage and still at school, but you certainly will be groomed for it and it will be expected from you to take your training seriously."
Potter's eyes predictably widened at that. Severus knew that the brat had wanted to join the Order from the moment he had first heard of it, it was the perfect carrot to dangle in front of him.
"Consider these your first instructions, Potter," he said sternly as he stood up to loom over the boy. "Let me handle Draco, as it was Dumbledore's wish, and keep this entire conversation to yourself."
The boy plainly was not pleased with the instructions received, but after glancing a few times between Severus and Dumbledore he finally sighed and nodded.
"Yes, sir," he said in a surprizingly compliant —and bitter— tone.
Perhaps it wasn't such a lost cause, mused Severus. Potter was impossible to reason with and stubborn as a rock, but he was extremely easy to manipulate.
###
Harry didn't feel nearly as awful when he finally stood up to follow Snape out of the room as he had felt when he had first sat by Dumbledore's side. The sense of doom and terrible loneliness had been somewhat assuaged by the idea that he might receive help from the Order. That perhaps Moody or Kingsley would train him to have a chance against Voldemort. He knew that that would not be enough to defeat him, that he somehow would have to figure out what Dumbledore had been trying to tell him, what Slughorn's memory meant, but it was something.
He wasn't alone.
And Snape had said that if he proved himself capable of discretion he might be trusted with classified information. Being kept in the dark had always annoyed Harry to no end, and now that Dumbledore was gone he definitely needed to handle more information himself and to make sure he wasn't treated like a child anymore.
His anger had also abated, he realized as he looked one last time at the Headmaster's kind face and hoped the wise wizard was enjoying his next adventure. Harry was sad and felt it was unfair that Dumbledore's time had run out when he still needed him, but seeing him now, so old and frail in death, he also felt it would be unfair to ask more of him. Dumbledore had lived a very long time, and he had done more than enough to deserve his rest. He had defeated his own dark wizard, earned his Frog Chocolate Card, opposed Voldemort and protected as many people as possible from him, given opportunities to people like Remus and Hagrid. Harry might not agree with some of his decisions, like giving second chances to Snape and Malfoy, but he respected and even admired him for that too.
It must be difficult to reach such an old age still believing in people.
They didn't pass anyone on the way out. McGonagall must be keeping Scrimgeour busy elsewhere, as instructed. Harry felt embarrassed for having lost his temper like that and regretted having yelled at her, even though he had been right about Malfoy and he resented that McGonagall never believed him about anything.
He stood frozen again when they reached the office and his eyes immediately fell on Dumbledore's portrait. The former Headmaster was still awake, but he didn't look at Harry this time. His sad and worried eyes were on Snape now, regarding him with such intensity that Harry felt as if he were intruding in something very private.
"I'm fine, old man," grunted Snape, although he didn't seem fine at all. His eyes were turbulent again and his voice sounded as if he were being strangled. "The point of dying is to not have worries anymore, you know. You're doing it wrong."
Dumbledore chuckled, his painted eyes twinkling a little. It wasn't the same as seeing the real thing —not by a long shot—, but it was something and Harry felt somewhat comforted. He also felt hopeful.
"Can I speak to Dumbledore's portrait for a moment?" he asked Snape. "In private?"
"Not now, Potter," snapped the man irritably.
"Please, sir, it's impor-"
"The portrait won't go anywhere, Potter, and the Minister will be here soon. Move along!"
Harry had no choice but to move along. He didn't resist much, anyway, since he had no desire of crossing his path with Scrimgeour, not now that he had temporarily decided not to accuse anyone of murder. And it was true that Dumbledore's portrait was not going to go anywhere, he could come and talk to it another day. McGonagall must be the new Headmistress now, and she no doubt would give him permission once she stopped being annoyed at him.
The real Dumbledore might be gone, but there was still a chance Harry would get his answers.
/
Snape didn't escort him back to Gryffindor Tower, he just sent him on his way with instructions of giving a wide berth to Professor McGonagall's office. Harry figured the man didn't want to walk all the way across the castle in his slippers. Or perhaps he was just sick of him, which was just as well since Harry was looking forward to put some distance with this increasingly disturbing Snape.
Darkness had began to recede by the time he made it all the way up, but everyone was still asleep so Harry took advantage of the empty Common Room.
"Kreacher!" he called. "Dobby!"
Crack.
Crack.
The two house-elves materialized instantly in front of him, the contrast between their appearances more pronounced than ever since one of them was obviously grieving while the other was gleeful to say the least. Harry knew at once that the cause for Dobby's tears and Kreacher's creepy smile was Dumbledore's death, and felt a new wave of hatred towards the elf that had betrayed Sirius.
"I forbid you to say a single word about Dumbledore," he snapped at Kreacher before the elf could open his disgusting mouth. "And wipe that ugly smile off your face."
He could imagine Hermione giving him hell for repressing a living creature's emotions, but Harry just couldn't deal with a happy Kreacher right now.
While his elf changed his smile for a scowl and mumbled a few insults under his breath, Harry turned to Dobby, feeling quite relieved to see him alive instead of dead at his feet like in his nightmare. He didn't think he could handle any more death.
"I'm sorry for calling you now, Dobby," he say. "I guess you already know about Dumbledore?"
"Yes, Harry Potter sir, Dobby is knowing," said the elf sadly, wiping a few tears with an orange handkerchief. "We is all feeling it when the great wizard passed away."
Harry wondered if Hogwarts itself was grieving the Headmaster's demise, and whether it had been that what he had felt earlier while he walked across the castle with Professor McGonagall. He swallowed a lump in his throat.
"I'm sorry, Dobby," he said. "I just saw him, he looked peaceful if that's of any comfort."
"It is, Harry Potter, Dobby is glad, sir. Headmistress McGonagall was already in the kitchens, saying the old Headmaster went in peace. She is giving us leave to prepare a special dinner tonight, and she called Dobby aside and said Dobby will still get paid if he is wanting to keep working for her!"
Harry smiled, and absurdly had to wipe a few tears of his own. He had managed to keep himself together in the Headmaster's bedchamber, but being reminded that Dumbledore had also offered a paying job to a house-elf was the last straw.
"That's great, Dobby," he said sincerely and a little choked.
"She even offered Dobby a day off to grieve, Harry Potter sir, but Dobby refused," added the elf, clearly already on his way to worshipping McGonagall just as much as he had worshipped Dumbledore. Harry felt warm towards his Head of House for taking the time to talk to a house-elf and for honouring Dobby's work arrangement with Dumbledore.
Then his eyes fell on Kreacher, who was regarding him with utter disgust, and he instantly sobered up.
"All right," he said in a back-to-business tone, "I called you both to ask you if you have been able to follow Malfoy."
"Kreacher has fulfilled his task," said Kreacher resentfully, "following the Malfoy boy night and day even though Kreacher would prefer to follow Master Malfoy's orders."
"Dobby has not slept in nearly a week, Harry Potter," said Dobby proudly, swaying were he stood.
Harry hoped for dear life that Hermione would never know that he had made a house-elf stay awake for an entire week. He hadn't meant to, but he probably should have guessed that Dobby would take the task more seriously than it was healthy.
"All right, after this you can go get some sleep, Dobby," he said. "So... do you have anything to report?"
"Master Malfoy moves with the nobility that befits his pure blood," croaked Kreacher at once. "His features recall the fine bones of my mistress and his manners are those of-"
"Yeah, I don't need to hear about you being in love with Malfoy," interrupted Harry, "let's fast forward to where he's been going."
Kreacher bowed, looking furious, and then said, "Master Malfoy eats in the Great Hall, he sleeps in a dormitory in the dungeons, he attends classes in a variety of-"
"Dobby, you tell me," said Harry, cutting across Kreacher.
"Harry Potter, sir," squeaked Dobby, "the Malfoy boy is breaking no rules that Dobby can discover, and is not going anywhere he shouldn't. In the last week he has only been to class, to the library, to the Quidditch pitch, to the Great Hall and to his dormitory."
"What about last night?" asked Harry in frustration.
"Draco Malfoy spent two hours in the library after dinner, Harry Potter sir, then went straight to his Common Room and stayed there until almost eleven, when he went to his dormitory to sleep. Dobby kept an eye on the Malfoy boy until he was called back to the kitchens to be addressed by the new Headmistress. Dobby didn't want to leave his post, Harry Potter, but the Headmistress called and Dobby had to answer."
"That's all right, Dobby," Harry rushed to say before the elf could think of punishing himself. "You did a great job. I'm sorry for keeping you awake, I should have told you to take shifts so you could both get some sleep."
"Dobby doesn't mind, sir! Dobby is glad that he could help Harry Potter!"
Harry thanked Dobby and grudgingly gave Kreacher permission to smile creepily as much as he wanted before sending them both to sleep. Then he let himself fall back in an armchair and sighed.
He hadn't really expected the elves would tell him anything that could prove Draco's involvement in Dumbledore's death. Truth be told, on some level he had sort of accepted that no one had killed the old wizard, and it was comforting to think so. But he had hoped Kreacher or Dobby might have found out what else Malfoy had been plotting or at least where he had been disappearing to. Whenever he had had time to check the Marauder's map this last week Harry had always found Malfoy in normal places, but he had been convinced the prat was still vanishing on occasion.
Not that figuring out what Malfoy had been doing would make any difference now, of course. Dumbledore was dead. It seemed like he had died on his own even though Malfoy had been trying to kill him. Dumbledore had known about Malfoy's mission, and he had wanted to protect him anyway.
He sighed again and buried his hands in his messy hair.
Let the matter go, Potter, said Snape's hard voice inside his head.
Harry didn't want to let it go. It was unbearable to think that Malfoy would get away with what he had done. Ron and Katie had almost died! They hadn't, sure, and they had made a full recovery, but that didn't mean they hadn't experienced a lot of pain. And Malfoy might no longer have an alive victim to try to kill, but that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous anymore. Voldemort could give him another mission at any moment, someone else to kill. Not Harry, probably, since Voldemort wanted to kill him himself, but everyone else was a potential victim. What if McGonagall was next?
Let me handle Draco, Potter.
Yeah, right, because Snape had done such a great job handling Malfoy so far!
It was Dumbledore's wish, Potter.
In the end, it was a matter of whether he trusted Dumbledore's judgement or not. Until yesterday, Harry would have said "yes, except when it comes to Snape". Now he wondered. The man was a bastard, yes, but it seemed like he might be a bastard on the right side.
And perhaps, just perhaps, there was more to Snape than met the eye.
Two uncomfortable memories broke loose from the cupboard at the back of his mind where he stored all the things he wanted to forget. One was of a hook-nosed man shouting at a cowering woman while a small dark haired boy cried in a corner. Another, more painful, was of a fifteen-year-old Snape hanging upside down in the air, his skinny, pallid legs revealed, while people laughed around and Harry's own father asked the crowd who wanted to see him take off Snivellus' underpants.
And then there was the pain in the man's eyes tonight, when McGonagall had touched his arm, or when he had looked at the body or at the portrait.
Snape was human.
Dumbledore and all the other Heads of House seemed to trust him unconditionally, even though he had a Dark Mark in his arm and who knew how many stains in his past. They even seemed to like him.
And if Dumbledore had been right in trusting Snape, perhaps he had also been right in trying to protect Malfoy.
Harry didn't like to think of the prat as another victim, but perhaps he was, in a way. Snape had said that Voldemort was using Malfoy to torment his father. That he had been given an impossible task so he would fail and get arrested or killed. Basically, that Malfoy being a real Death Eater was a joke.
He wondered if Malfoy knew all that or if he had truly spent all year believing himself honoured and respected instead of just used and mocked. Part of him felt the urge to laugh and yell "serves you right!" at the prat, but another part didn't find it amusing nor satisfying at all.
Great, now he was feeling sorry for both Snape and Malfoy, Dumbledore would be so damned proud of him.
Harry felt like breaking something or punching a wall. It was all Voldemort. He was so evil that not even his own subjects were safe from him.
And Harry had no idea how to stop him.