Hello all!
Sorry for the late post- I forgot. And here's why:
I am officially a college student! Whoohoo! I had a week of volunteering with the school before actual classes started, which was great fun. Then a week of orientation, and now classes have officially started, as of yesterday. I have an hour break between by French 261 and my Poverty Studies 101 class, in which I am updating. More about college at the bottom!
As always, the books are JKR's and the fanfiction is mine.
Thanks to all the lovelies who reviewed, y'all are awesome.
Forgive any spelling mistakes in this chapter- I don't have time to go over it. I will in a while, and I might repost after I get a chance to go through it.
Chapter 37
Malfoy Manor was a haze of darkness as Severus Apparated to the front gate. There were dark smudges that in the light of day would have been majestic shrub spirals or hedge formations. The dark grounds were dotted with specks of white, Malfoy's famous albino peacocks.
Severus was one of the few who knew that at least two of them were charmed white, not born white. He wondered who was being paid to keep up the charms- Lucius certainly wouldn't do it himself, and he couldn't see Narcissa doing anything related to work. A house-elf, perhaps?
He shoved it from his mind. Severus was firmly in his Death Eater's mindset. Here, he had only two goals: to please his master and to play the political game of Death Eaters.
A low ranking Death Eater opened the door for Severus, bowing hurriedly when he recognized the Potions Master. Severus didn't even spare a cold glare, sweeping past the man and into the Manor.
His boots clicked on the spotless marble floors, stunningly veined with silver and black. It was beautiful, as was everything in the Malfoy residence. Narcissa had impeccable taste- perhaps not in men, but certainly in furnishings.
There were the light rumbling sounds of a gathering of people coming from the ball room. Severus made his way there unassisted, although there were people stationed at doorways to guide those unfamiliar with the Manor.
He entered the ballroom, surprised to see it lit and decorated. Narcissa swept toward him, resplendent in a silver gown. Her hair was up in an elaborate knot, and her jewelery had a subdued shine. When she smiled at him, he could read fear in the tightness of her mouth and the worry in her eyes. "Severus," she said, her voice warm in greeting. Severus barely heard the tremble of fear in her voice. "Thank you for coming."
"I wouldn't miss a gathering of yours for the world, Narcissa," he said smoothly, pressing a dry kiss to the back of her hand. "My formal sympathies for the death of your sister."
Narcissa's smile went brittle. "Thank you, Severus," she said. "Now. Tonight's a big night. The Dark Lord asked me to send you to him as soon as you arrived. You remember the way to Lucius' office?"
"Of course. I shan't keep you from your party any longer," Severus said, scanning the room. The pureblood elite who were sympathetic to the Dark Lord were there, dressed in their finery. Those who were less worthy but more devout were in attendance as well, in less fine clothing. The Inner Circle was present, save those recently murdered or in Azkaban.
He stalked through the crowd importantly, his scowl clearing him a path through the ballroom. He was taller than everyone there, more menacing. They might be purebloods, but they were the soft kind of rich that sunk like souffles at the slightest noise. He was in the between world, with a mother from one of the old families and father who was the worst kind of Muggle, a half-blood with fearsome skills and magic and the Dark Lord's ear.
The Dark Lord was waiting for Severus in Lucius' extravagance of an office. It was really just a meeting place for Lucius, a room with a desk he could use to intimidate or impress those he talked to. The furnishings were manly and elaborate, screaming expense. The braziers that heated the room smelled of sandalwood and myrrh, adding even the scent of wealth to the room.
"Severusss," the Dark Lord sighed, his mouth stretching in a slash of a smile. "Welcome."
He was garbed in flowing black robes that attempted to hide the unnatural gauntness of his body. The luxurious, thick brown hair had long fallen out, the healthy complexion faded to white. His eyes were narrow, red, with slit pupils. The Dark Lord was less than human- or in his opinion, more than human.
Severus went swiftly to the Dark Lord's chair, kneeling with his head bowed. "My lord."
"Sso... respectful, Severusss," he hissed. "Rise, my loyal servant. Sit. Young Draco and I have something to discuss with you."
Severus took a seat at the Dark Lord's right hand, studying the boy in front of the both of them carefully. His godson was elegant in a perfectly tailored black suit made to be worn under robes. Severus knew very well why the robes were nowhere in sight- the Dark Lord was making their positions very clear, him in Wizard's robes and Malfoy in a Muggle suit. Draco's pale hair was slicked back sharply from his forehead, revealing his widow's peak. He was drawn and pale, less capable of hiding his fear than his mother.
Severus gave him a short nod. "Draco."
"Uncle Severus," Draco responded stiffly, returning the nod.
Lord Voldemort smiled again, his mouth stretching unnaturally. "You will stand for Lucius in the ceremony tonight, Severus. You are the boy's godfather, and as his father was stupid enough to get caught... well."
Draco's mouth tightened at the mention of his father. Severus sighed. "If my lord commands," he drawled. "What ceremony are you performing that requires a father figure?"
"Young Draco will be taking his mark tonight," announced the Dark Lord. "I have generously decided that despite his father's incompetence, I will allow the son to attempt to redeem the family name. He will be the first of his generation to take the mark, and I want the new generation to be welcomed into the brotherhood by their fathers... or in Draco's case, his godfather."
It was news to Draco that he was taking the mark- the boy took a shaky breath, then slid out of his chair to kneel at the Dark Lord's feet. "Thank you, my lord," he said, his voice cracking. He coughed. "I will do your will."
A spidery hand came down to stroke the top of Draco's hair, as one might pet an affectionate lapdog. "Rise Draco. I will tell you your task when you return to me, as after you take the mark your brothers will take you away." The hand came down to grasp Draco's chin, wrenching his head up so that he was forced to make eye contact with the Dark Lord.
They were frozen in that position for a moment as the Dark Lord rifled through Draco's thoughts. After a moment, Voldemort closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. "Yesss," he hissed. "It will be perfect."
"What will his task be?" asked Severus, tilting his head in what seemed like dull curiosity. "Will he require assistance?"
The Dark Lord let out a cold laugh. "It will be simple enough," he said flippantly. "Draco, you will please me or meet my great displeasure."
Draco nodded, then rose. "When shall the ceremony start?" he asked. His voice was artificially calm, something both the Dark Lord and Severus noticed. It pleased the Dark Lord, whose smile spread wider.
"It's almost midnight," Voldemort said. "Severus, insure that you have everything you will need for after the ceremony."
Severus glanced at the clock- it read close to half past eleven. "Yes, my lord," he said, rising swiftly. "Draco, come with me." When the boy looked like he would protest, Severus glared.
"If you will excuse me, my lord?" asked Draco. When the Dark Lord nodded, he gave a quick bow and followed Severus out of the room.
Once the door had shut and they were well into the hallway, Draco rounded on Severus. "What the hell was that?"
"I need to prepare you," snapped Severus. "Unless you want to die embarrassingly of pain."
Draco looked at him wide-eyed. "What going on, Uncle Severus?" His hands were shaking, and the line of his hair was darkening with sweat. "I don't know what's going on!"
Severus stopped him, grabbing his shoulders harshly. The boy was thin- the bones in his shoulder were sharp against his hands, reminding him absurdly of Hermione behind his mental shields. "Shut up," he hissed at Draco. "Don't say another word until I tell you to." He waited for Draco to nod before letting him go.
He found a bedroom, one of the many rooms in the Malfoy Manor. "Do you know your family's Floo password?" he asked Draco tersely. With a swish of his wand, the fireplace burst into flame.
"Yeah, it's 'sanguinem'" Draco said hesitantly. "What-"
"Say your password, 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,' Prince," Severus snapped. "Go!" The Malfoy password would allow him through the family wards, into Hogwarts, and Prince would send him to Severus' rooms.
The Malfoy heir looked between Severus and the roaring fire, then grabbed a handful of Floo powder. The flames roared green as he threw the powder in, and stepped into the stone fireplace after it. "Sanguinem, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Prince!" he shouted. With a flash of magic, he disappeared. As soon as the flames burned normally, Severus followed.
Draco was looking around Severus' private rooms, a small frown on his face. "What is going on?" he demanded again. "Did you know that tonight I would be getting the Mark?"
"What do you think of getting the Dark Mark, Draco?" asked Severus, crossing his arms.
"It is the greatest honor," Draco snapped, crossing his own arms.
Severus waited, lifting an eyebrow. "You can lie to the only person who can help you, or you can tell the truth," he said calmly.
His godson flushed. "I'm not lying."
Methodically, Severus shrugged out of his robes and unbuttoned his left cuff, rolling up the sleeve until the writhing Dark Mark was visible. The skull and snake were stark black against his pale flesh, looking up at the boy malignantly. "Do you know what goes into getting this Mark, Draco?"
Draco's eyes were fixed on the Mark- at Severus' question he looked up at Severus, but his eyes were pulled back down. "Uh- no. My father's never said anything."
"That's because it is not something that we like to speak of," Severus said, rolling his sleeve back down. "There is a ritual that you will take part in, tonight. You will go to the Dark Lord and kneel at his feet. You will pledge your allegiance to him."
"Is it like an Unbreakable Vow?" asked Draco.
Severus shook his head. "No. You break it at your own risk. The next part of the ceremony, he will ask you to prove your loyalty. He likes to make a farce of choice. You will kill the tribute, then complete the ritual that will bond your soul to his, your power to his. Then he will press his mark into your skin. If you survive the pain, your 'brothers' will take you away and test your mettle. And when they are satisfied, I will take you away and heal you."
"If-if I survive?" Draco asked. "No- my father wouldn't allow this-"
"Your father barely survived it himself," Severus snapped. "And he can't allow anything. This is to punish him."
"No," Draco said again, shaking his head and stepping away from Severus. "No. He's the Dark Lord's favorite, he would never-"
"The Dark Lord's favorite was Bellatrix Lestrange, and your father got her killed," Severus said coldly. "If you die tonight, the Dark Lord takes your father's only heir away from him. If you survive, he gives you an impossible task that when you fail, it humiliates your family and if you succeed, gives him a good reason to welcome you back into the fold while completing one of his goals. It's all political, Draco. With your father disgraced, you have no protection. It's you, and your allies, against the world. Or it would be... if you had allies."
Draco blanched. "Help me," he said immediately. "Uncle Severus-"
"I offered help," said Severus, not letting a hint of emotion show on his face. "Now the only thing I am going to do for you is give you a potion that might take some of the pain away."
"Not all of it?" Draco was starting to breathe fast. "Why-"
"Because you need to be lucid enough to kill the tribute," called Severus over his shoulder, as he rummaged though his potions cabinet. "If you don't kill it, then you are killed and someone else takes the Mark in your place. I'm sure Mr. Zabini would like the honor. He could kill."
"I can kill!" Draco snapped. "What's the tribute?"
Severus turned, glaring at Draco. "You need to ask? It'll be a Muggle or a Muggleborn. Maybe even one of your classmates. If you're lucky, you won't know the person."
"Did you?" asked Draco. Severus could see the boy in the reflection of the glass- he looked worried, rightfully so.
"Yes," said Severus shortly. "She had been a year below me at Hogwarts."
Draco turned a way. One hand went to smooth his hair, a nervous reaction he had had since childhood. "Could you do it?"
"I am alive, am I not?" The reply was sarcastic. "I did the spell so fast I didn't realize I had known her until after she was dead." It was true. He had cast the spell, fear pulling his wand and the lure of the Dark Arts and of power angry in his heart.
He found the vial he was looking for- it hadn't been brewed for this purpose but he had discovered during the first war that it worked well for Dark Mark recipients. Many had tried to curry his favor and get this potion to use for their rites; Severus had found it a useful way to gather secrets and gain control over future Death Eaters.
For the use of his potion he had demanded their secrets. Severus found he couldn't do that to Draco. Not the first baby he had held against his chest, red and helpless and squalling. The baby he had seen grow to a demanding toddler and a precocious child and an impertinent young wizard. He was a brat, a spoiled little pureblood brat, but there was affection in his heart for Draco Malfoy nonetheless.
He turned back to Draco, handing him the vial. "Drink this," he said. "I'll give you one more chance. What do you think of taking the Mark?"
Draco hesitated, then bowed his head. "I'm scared," he said quietly. "Help me."
Severus carefully put a hand on Draco's shoulder. "I will do what I can," he said. "I will try."
Even as he said the words, they felt empty in his mouth.
The empty halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry echoed the tap of Hermione's boots as she made her way to the Headmaster's office. She had taken to wearing a style similar to Severus', low heeled black boots. She normally liked the way the made an ominous sound as she walked, but here, in this empty castle, it didn't feel right. With a thought and a wave of her hand, she silenced them.
The sunlight was shining in from the large arched windows, dappling the stone floor with liquid gold. It echoed a happiness Hermione couldn't feel.
Severus still hadn't returned.
She had received a message from him on their watches, Safe. Long meeting, will not return today. So there really was no reason to worry... unless he had been coerced into sending the message. Or if something happened between the time he sent the message and then.
The two gargoyles were guarding the tower, as they always did. As she walked up to them, she realized that Dumbledore hadn't told her the password.
Great. He's either getting too forgetful to run the Order or he's doing this to deliberately humiliate me, thought Hermione angrily. Do I just wait here?
She removed the charm on her boots and stalked up to the guards. "Open," she commanded.
One tilted its head with a grinding sound, staring at her with empty stone eyes. "You are not the Headmaster."
"The Headmaster wants to see me," she said. "I ask you again, open."
The other gargoyle did the same as the first, tilting its head first at her, then at the other guard. "She smells of the phoenix," it said in a raspy voice, like rocks crushed into gravel. "Enter."
They sprang apart, revealing the staircase. Hermione frowned at them, then entered as she was bid. "Thank you," she murmured as she passed. When they shut again, the staircase began to move.
Up and up she went, looking at the familiar paintings that surrounded the tower walls. She could have sworn that one jumped at her presence and raced off, up into different portraits on its quest to reach Dumbledore and alert him to her presence.
The sleepy looking portrait that hung by the door to the office looked up at her in surprise. "Oh. You're early."
Hermione gave it a cold smile. "I'm really not," she said. "It's half past noon, and I was supposed to arrive at half past noon."
It sniffed at her. "If you say so," it said.
"Enter," called Dumbledore's voice from inside the office.
The office was much like she had remembered it, except the number of instruments Harry had destroyed were up and functioning again, huffing and spinning prettily. On Dumbledore's desk was a large bowl, carved with strange runes and filled with a recognizable glowing liquid. Fawkes was perched on his stand, one wing over his head.
"He's sleeping, I'm afraid," Dumbledore began, but he fell silent when Fawkes lowered his wing. He cooed at Hermione, who drifted closer, turning her back to the Headmaster.
The bird was calling her, bringing her in the soft music coming from his beak. Tentatively, she reached out a hand, stroking the soft red-gold feathers from the top of his head to his glossy back. "Hullo," she whispered. "I think I have you to thank for saving my life."
Fawkes chirped at her, looking into her eyes with his gold ones. Hello, Hermione Granger.
Her eyes opened wide in surprise. I didn't know he could do that.
I can. I accept your thanks, and request that you keep safer in the future. There was a faintly reproving look in the bird's eye, one that left Hermione feeling slightly chastened.
I don't think Harry's ever mentioned talking to you before, she said wryly. I didn't know this was going to happen.
Fawkes let out a sound quite like a laugh. And not knowing something makes you distinctly uncomfortable. That's twice now I've helped save your life. And Potter's too. When I call on you, Hermione Granger, I will expect you to help me.
Of course, Hermione answered. I'm getting the feeling that you calling on me will not be the same as Dumbledore calling on me.
It will not, said Fawkes. I am my own creature. I stay with Albus because we've known each other a good while. His machinations amuse me, and I think it better to keep track of them from inside his office.
Wise. I thought phoenixes were supposed to be great beacons of goodness? Of purity?
Typical human exaggeration. Take care, Hermione Granger.
She had been stroking him the entire time, she realized. His body was abnormally hot, like it was burning with a kind of internal fire. He would be getting close to molting day, Hermione figured. Small sparks had leapt from his feathers, making small burn marks on her hand.
Fawkes blinked once at her, then returned his wing to its position over his head. She could almost feel his return to slumber. His presence in her mind had been a blaze of heat, strong and masculine. Hermione swallowed roughly, her throat uncomfortably dry. It was true- once the bird had carried her to safety and another time he had cried for her.
When she turned to face Dumbledore once more, his eyes were narrowed, but he had not yet lost his good cheer. "Fawkes doesn't speak to just anyone."
Hermione looked down, then back up to meet Dumbledore's eyes. "He just warned me to keep safe. I don't think he'll save me a third time." She tried to laugh, but it died in her throat. Hermione settled for a wane smile instead.
"Sit down, my dear girl," said Dumbledore, gesturing at the seat in front of him. "We have a lot to talk about." He steepled his hands, peering at her over the top of his half-moon glasses.
The chair was comfortable, a fluffy armchair that was far more welcoming than the chairs in Severus' office. Still, Hermione couldn't help but wish she was meeting with Severus in the small dungeon office rather than with Dumbledore in this spacious tower one. Hermione folded her legs nearly, perched on the edge of the chair. "I think we do have plenty to talk about," she agreed in a pleasant tone.
"The key to understanding Lord Voldemort is understanding where he came from," said Dumbledore, his voice's intonation lecture-like. "He didn't become a monster overnight. It was a long process, one the culminated with the creation of Horcruxes."
Slowly she nodded. "That makes sense," she said quietly. "The key to defeating him lies in understanding what makes him powerful. Know your enemy; to understand is to know and to know is to conquer."
Dumbledore frowned at her. "You think like a warrior."
"I was made into a warrior," Hermione replied evenly. She met his eyes when she said it. "Isn't this what you wanted?"
There was a silence that threatened to turn frosty. Dumbledore sighed, and his face seemed to sink into itself, becoming old rather than wise in the space of two heartbeats. "If I could apologize I would," he said finally. "But you've become more valuable than I could have ever imagined. If I had to do it again, I would have taken Severus' advice and started training you in your first year."
"You were watching us even then?" asked Hermione, leaning farther forward. This was a subject of endless curiosity to her, and something Severus had yet so far refused to talk much about. "How did you decide?"
"Curious as to your own origins, my dear?" Dumbledore inquired mildly. "Do you wish to know yourself?"
"Perhaps." Hermione tilted her head, looking at him. "Why me?"
The Pensieve cast a blue light on the old wizard's face, illuminating it from below. "Your performance in our test," he replied finally, after a long moment. "The quest for the Stone. Surely by now you must have realized that it was too... perfect? A challenge to suit each of your talents? A test of memory, of athleticism, of strategy, of bravery, and of wit? I had each teacher submit a design, a challenge, to form the perfect scenario..."
There was a sick dropping feeling in the pit of Hermione's stomach. "And you wanted to see... what?"
"The strengths and weaknesses of your team," said Dumbledore. There was a calculating manner in the way he was watching her carefully, assessing her response to that information. "I had planned for Mr. Weasley to be Harry's friend from the beginning, but I wasn't sure who the third piece would be. I tried for Neville Longbottom, but instead you came to the forefront. Luckily for us, since Mr. Longbottom has proven much less apt than his parents. You were the unknown quantity, Hermione. One hundred and twelve percent on a Charms test that no first year has ever scored higher than an eighty-four on... The audacity to hex a teacher and the loyalty to do it for a friend... We wanted to quantify you. The Stone was in our protection, and I wanted to test Harry and his friends with it because I knew it would be the only chance to test and observe in a controlled setting."
The bitter taste was rising in her throat, but Hermione kept it from her face. "All of this, just to test us?"
"I had been planning it for years," Dumbledore said, an almost fond touch to his voice. "I hadn't expected Quirrell but he was an added bonus- real danger, a real threat to the stone. I knew it would be Harry and Ronald, but who the third would be- or even if a third would be found, or a fourth- no, I had to test it."
Hermione took in a slow breath. "And that decided it?"
"More or less," said Dumbledore flippantly. "Does that satisfy your curiosity, my dear?"
Half her mouth curved up in a bitter half-smile. "I suppose it must for now," she said, letting regret linger in her voice.
Dumbledore let out a chuckle."You can always ask Severus, if he will answer your questions. And I have a feeling he answers very many of your questions."
He was waiting for an answer of some sort, Hermione knew. What would be suspicious? What wouldn't be? "He's a man who is closed off from everyone else," she said finally. "It would take a lot of questioning."
"That is true." There was a sadness to his face as he spoke the words. "Severus Snape has had a hard life and some of that fault lies with me. He has closed himself off to prevent pain, and no longer knows the good from the bad."
I doubt that, Hermione thought angrily. Not that you've caused him pain, but that he can no longer tell what to let in. He let me in. "He's brave," she said, holding back her anger. "He puts himself in such danger every day, just to give us information. I'd trust him with my life."
Dumbledore frowned at her. "You hold him in high regard, for a man who willingly joined the Death Eaters."
"It's is not the actions of a man half his life ago that define him in the present," Hermione said carefully. "Yes, he joined the Death Eaters as a young wizard. And now... now he works tirelessly for the Order, to defeat the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord. It is those actions, the ones he does now, that define him for me."
For a moment she was on the focused end of intense scrutiny from the headmaster. "You don't flinch when I say Lord Voldemort," he said after a moment. "And yet instead of calling Tom Riddle 'Lord Voldemort' you call him the Dark Lord. You have no fear of the first name, you do not react the way most do. And yet, you refuse to say it, and instead call him by a honorific, the name his own Death Eaters use... why is that, Miss Granger?"
Fear and doubt, cold and icy, wound around her heart, slinking around and settling in a death grip. "I've never thought about it," she said finally, cursing the small tremble in her voice. "I... I suppose it's because no one else says 'Lord Voldemort' and if you do say it people jump. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and You-Know-Who just sound ridiculous."
"It just occurred to me that Severus Snape only ever calls Lord Voldemort 'the Dark Lord' as well," said Dumbledore in a dangerously soft voice. On the outside it sounded calm, almost wondering, but there was a sinister thread that Hermione didn't fully know if it was fully present or just her imagination. Somehow, not being definitely sure made it worse.
"He is a Death Eater." Hermione responded quietly. "When they speak his name it hurts them. It makes sense for them not to say it."
"Of course," said the Headmaster. "Of course. But in truth Lord Voldemort's name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, and he was born to Merope Gaunt in an orphanage in London."
Briefly shaken by the sudden change in subject, Hermione wound her hair around her hand, a motion that helped her think. "Okay..."
"I am going to share all this information with Harry in time," said Dumbledore reassuringly. "But I want to share it with you first. We will go into my memories together, and then we can talk about them. Feel free to bring anything up here and now. But when we are with Harry, you will allow me to guide the discussion and there are certain things you will not mention."
Hermione bit her lip. "Why?" If you say 'because I say so' I will personally depose you.
"Because his understanding needs to be guided," said Dumbledore sternly. "I am doing you a great service, letting you sit in on these sessions. I had originally planned for them to be just between Harry and me."
"If I let you move at your own pace what should take a day at most would take a year," Hermione said shortly. "When were you going to tell Harry he was a Horcrux? Or were you planning to be dead and cold in the ground before that happened?"
Dumbledore bristled. "It is not your place to question-"
"Then whose place is it?" Hermione asked, raising and eyebrow in an imitation of Severus. "If I don't question you, who will? Tell me, so I can give them a few suggestions."
From here it could go either way; the headmaster could laugh and brush it off or he could turn on her in rage. To her relief she had calculated correctly, he sighed and gave a low chuckle. "What I sometimes read as the insolence of youth is occasionally clear sightedness," he said wearily. "Question away, Hermione. Then we will get to the memories I wish to show you."
"Really?" Hermione said, not believing her ears. "Can I question you about anything?"
Dumbledore gave her a small smile. "This should be amusing," he offered. "Anything your heart desires, my dear."
Thousands of questions raced through her brain all at once. She could almost forgive his earlier pigheadedness in return for this opportunity. "Why did you leave Harry with the Dursleys? Even when they beat him and put him in a closet? Why does the prophecy even matter? Why is Remus the only werewolf who attended Hogwarts and used the Shrieking Shack? How do you expect Harry to defeat the- to defeat Voldemort?"
Dumbledore held up his hands under the onslaught. "One at a time! The simple answer of why Harry must return to the unfortunate home of Petunia Dursley is because Petunia and her son are his blood relatives. There are wards I have placed around the house and between Harry and his relatives that must be charged. Those wards hold the strength of his mother's sacrifice, keeping it fresh. As you have seen, it pains the Dark Lord to touch him-"
"But no longer," Hermione interrupted. "After he took Harry's blood he could touch Harry with no problem. What else to the wards do?"
"They are highly complex," he started, but Hermione had already seen the weakness. She had seen this kinds of wards before, had read them in a book at Spinners End her first time in Severus' house...
Blood wards are linked as they are named: through living blood. They are strengthened with contact between blood relatives. When sacrificial wards are used, the living blood members must be directly related to the sacrifice. The sacrifice can be any member of the blood family, usually an elder close to death, although some Darker families use a babe born specifically for the purpose of being a blood sacrifice. This used to be the fate of Squibs who were not swapped as changlings, or the deformed who could not be fixed with magic. If the head of the house had an illegitimate child, that babe can also be used as the sacrifice on which the wards are based. Ancestral family homes are often protected with the blood of many such children. The problem therein lies in that the mother of the babe is also under the protection, and her blood can be used to pass the protection on to others, as was the case in the massacre of 134 when the Faminc's blood wards were broken when a whore's blood was used to create simulacrums who could breach the wards. Additionally, once the Wizarding bloodlines of a place grew too intertwined, the wards did no good for each Pureblood house had a dozen other houses that were intimate blood relations...
"No." Hermione said flatly. "They serve no purpose against Voldemort anymore, and the wards would only be loosely based around Harry anyway. It was his mother's sacrifice that kept the protection on his body strong. Him being at the Dursleys would only reinforce wards at the house."
"Nothing does get by you, my dear," the headmaster muttered. "Would you deny that the Dursleys need protection? Harry's presence keeps them safe, and gives him a safe place for the summer."
"We have Safe Houses for a reason," Hermione protested. "And they don't deserve the protection Harry gives them."
His eyes were ice cold. "The Dursley's took him in as an orphan and kept him alive until he could come to Hogwarts."
"Barely," Hermione countered. "Did you see where his first Hogwarts letter was addressed? 'The Cupboard Under the Stairs,' Albus. What did you think that was? His play place? It was his bedroom and where he was kept when he was being denied food for days at a time. Some of his first accidental magic was unlocking his cupboard door so he could sneak out and get food. Which he was beaten for when it was found missing. Nothing could justify continuing giving those awful people protection." She could feel the tears pressing at the back of her eyes, and cursed her own damn sentimentality for appearing at inopportune times.
It appeared that the headmaster had heard the crack in her voice. He bowed his own head as his own emotions came over him. "He needed to be safe," he said in a soft voice. "But it was also an environment that was better than what the Wizarding World had to offer. Would you have rather he had ended up spoiled, a brat? Or if Lucius Malfoy had manipulated the Ministry so that a Dark family who wanted revenge for their leader would have taken him in?"
"But do you know what an environment like that does to a child?" Hermione asked, leaning so far forward that she was nearly falling off the seat. "I don't know how Harry is so loving after being denied so much love! You can still see it on him though, that abuse- he has no concept of his self worth, he feels like he needs to take care of everybody while at the same time he doesn't trust authority. He-" Hermione's voice abruptly cut off. He is the perfect sacrificial lamb.
"The needs of the many over the needs of one," Dumbledore's voice said, chillingly soft. "He was never in any real harm. He was being watched all his life."
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, taking all the information in and processing it as quickly as she could. "Next one. The prophecy. Why does it matter?"
"Because Tom Riddle decided it mattered," Dumbledore replied evenly. "He decided it mattered when he went after Harry, and so it came into being."
Hermione was about to ask her question when her watch burned frighteningly hot on her wrist. She hissed in pain, checking it quickly to dissipate the heat. The spider's web that represented Spinner's End was bright and glowing hot.
Need help. Healing. Bring potions.
She stood, nearly knocking back the chair. "I need to go," she told Dumbledore. Her voice fluttered, and fear was rising in her stomach. "Sorry. I'll try to come back later but I need to go now."
The headmaster also stood, furrows of concern on his face. "What is the matter?"
"I don't know," Hermione said, only half-honest. "I'll send a report. I need to go!" She skirted the chair, going to the door, then turning and going to the Floo. "Can I use it?"
Perhaps he had seen the desperation in her eyes or perhaps he was concerned as well. He swept his hand at the Floo in a gesture that clearly told her to go ahead.
Hermione grabbed a small handful of green powder from the ceramic bowl over the fireplace, then threw it in the flames.
"Prince," she said in a low clear voice. As the flames roared emerald around her, the Headmaster's office disappeared and the taste of hot ash appeared in her mouth.
The blond aristocrat didn't belong in the simplicity of Spinner's End, even as broken and bloody as he was. The fancy party clothes were rent and stained, the fair hair messed and darkened with sweat and blood. It made an awkward contrast with the fabric of Severus' couch, which was and old and musty shade of green.
There was a sharp rapping at the door, coming from a height that told him it was Hermione. There was a frantic hurry to the sounds, her worry manifesting in her knocks. Severus was saved from having to drag his aching body to the door when she promptly unlocked it and entered the house unbidden.
Hermione's hair was flying everywhere and her eyes were wide with panic. They searched the room, looking for Severus, finding him with a gasp of horror.
It took only a moment for her to scan the scene, to see Severus slumped against the sofa with blood covering his white shirt, to see her classmate prone on that sofa slowly bleeding onto his godfather.
"What happened?" she whispered, approaching them. "What do you need to me do?"
"Heal him," croaked Severus. "I've exhausted myself, trying to do too much at once." Speaking made his stomach roll nauseously. He closed his eyes, letting his head rest on the old and faded cushions. He was content to rest there, but a pair of slight but strong arms heaved him into a nearby armchair.
"Didn't you hear me, girl?" he snapped. "I said help him-"
"And I can't help him with you in the way," Hermione said just as sharply. "Are you hurt?"
Severus glared up at her balefully. "Draco needs help now. I'm stable."
The look she gave him told Severus he would be paying for it all later- he knew that Hermione didn't like being spoken to like she was an idiot and she also didn't like leaving him in pain. But she needed to tend to Draco first. Draco was the one staining his couch red with his lifeblood to create a gory contrast of red and green, Christmas colors in the worst parody of joy Severus had ever seen. It was soon obscured from his sight by Hermione's form kneeling by Draco and blocking his view, and his own traitorous eyelids falling shut.
He could hear her quiet voice casting healing spells, Draco's breathing growing easier, and the harsh sounds of his own breathing, mixing in the room. He had no wounds of his own, just magical exhaustion. As soon as the other Death Eaters had finished with Draco, he had Apparated the boy to his own house and worked on him for hours, pushing as much magic as he could into the boy to keep him alive.
Severus supposed he couldn't call Draco a boy anymore.
Rest was easing his own weariness. He struggled to open his eyes once more, succeeding. The brief moment of triumph vanished when he futilely tried to stand and fell back into the chair. The sound of the chair legs scraping against the floor made Hermione whirl around.
"What happened to you?" she said, her voice low and concerned. "Sit down, Severus." She rushed over, her wand moving in complicated patterns as she checked him over. "Hush, Malfoy is doing fine. He's stable for now, I just need to manually clean some of his wounds. Severus, you are magically drained. Dangerously so, what if someone had come for you here?"
Her voice was tight with worry, with concern. It didn't stop his glare. "I'm fine."
"Sure you are," Hermione said. Severus was quite vividly reminded of Madam Pomfrey saying the same thing on more than one occasion. "Here."
She grabbed his hand, pulling it to the pearl that rested on her skin. As soon as his fingertips brushed it he could feel the reserve of magic in the tiny stone, the magic that had been slowly gathered from her body when she wasn't using it. He called it to him, feeling the brief resistance. It felt strange to have Hermione's magic mixing with his, but in a good way. It remembered him, remembered the way he had stood in her mind and held it gently with his hands. It was friendly in an odd way, telling him quite plainly it was Hermione's magic but Hermione liked him well enough and they were compatible so it would work with him until his was back.
Severus let his hand drop when he had taken enough, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. "Better," he acknowledged with a grunt. "Thanks."
There was the faint scent of perfume and blood as Hermione leaned over and placed a quick kiss on his forehead. "You're welcome." She moved away again, but not before the scent of rose hips and iron had fused in his mind.
Still he didn't have enough strength to move, only enough to lean forward and watch what she was doing. Hermione's swift fingers were unbuttoning the long row of buttons on Draco's mangled dress shirt, a sight that made him uncomfortable. What would he do when she was unbuttoning his own shirt, would she (or he) remember this night? As Draco's bruised chest came into sight, Severus pushed all thoughts of jealousy away.
When Hermione saw Draco's new, pulsing Dark Mark she rocked back on her heels, one hand stopping right over her mouth. He could see that she wanted to press it to her lips to stifle a gasp of some kind, but it was bloody and that would be unsanitary.
"The Dark Lord is punishing Lucius," Severus said quietly, and began to explain to her in a low voice. He ended with the news of a task the Dark Lord expected Draco to perform. "As soon as Draco is lucid we will return to his side," Severus said wearily. "Which is why I called you. I couldn't heal him fast enough by myself."
Hermione nodded, then set back to work, her mouth in a thin line. As she rubbed antiseptic into cuts, Draco would let out small moans and whimper, his unseeing eyes flying open.
"Hush, hush," Hermione murmured soothingly. "It's alright now. Don't worry." It was a quiet litany of comfort, one that Severus himself had heard more than once. Her endless caring was in the soft words, the hand that gently brushed hair from a high forehead, the warm brown eyes that were filled with compassion.
This boy had tormented her for years, Severus thought, in a curious state betwixt bemused and awed. Called her racial slurs, spread vicious rumors about her in school and in the papers. She punched him in the face. And yet, when he needs and I ask, she cleans his wounds and speaks to him as kindly as if she was his own mother. Kinder than Narcissa would, probably.
"What are we going to do if he remembers me being here?" Hermione asked quietly. "Will you Oblivate him?"
"I don't think Draco wants to be a Death Eater," Severus said after a moment. "I think that he might be willing to go to Dumbledore, to take our side in all of this."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Maybe, but I don't want him giving you up because he's scared."
"He won't remember any of this," Severus reassured her. "The pain is too great right now. If he does remember it, he'll think it's a dream. Why would you be here healing him?"
Hermione rose, going over to Severus. "Right. I've done everything I can for him. Do you want me to stay?"
As much as he wanted to say yes, Severus knew that 'no' was the right answer. "It would not be wise," he said regretfully. "Off with you."
The gentle caress of her fingertips stroking the top of his hand was as intimate as a kiss. "It might be best to come directly to Safe House Three," Hermione said quietly. "I'll pop into Dumbledore's office and let him know all is well, then go back to the Safe House."
"Don't tell him about Draco until I'm there," Severus ordered. "He will be given a task as soon as he awakens. There is no use in speculating until we have all the information. I'll also won't know how receptive Draco will be to possibly turning until I hear the task."
"Do you think he really would?" Hermione asked, her voiced hushed. "Severus, he's been brainwashed with this stuff from birth. Why would he want to bring down a regime that places him in a possession of power?"
Severus glared at her, some real heat behind his gaze. "Because he knows what we do is reprehensible," he spat. "The killing, the torture- Draco isn't one of the ones who enjoys it. He's been a spoiled and pampered brat his whole life, raised to expect the world at his feet. Now he knows that the world he's been told is waiting for him isn't there and he's expected to be a henchman to a megalomaniac. His world had been turned on his head."
There was moment when both were quiet. "Okay, then." The silence broken, Hermione nodded and used her wand to siphon blood off of her hands. "I'm off to shower then back to Hogwarts to make a quick report. Call me if you need me."
Draco wavered, Severus' iron grip on his upper arm the only thing keeping him upright. At least, until Severus released it, letting Draco crumple into a heap at the Dark Lord's feet in a semblance of a supplication.
"So you survived," hissed the Dark Lord. "Excellent. You really are perfectly placed to carry out what I expect of you."
The rattling sound of Draco's breath was loud in the office, empty but for the two Death Eaters and their Lord. "Anything, my lord," Draco wheezed.
"This task should please you, Draco Malfoy," said Lord Voldemort, his red and slitted eyes malevolent. "Avenge your aunt. Kill the Mudblood Hermione Granger, and redeem the name of Black and Malfoy. Kill her, and take your place at my side."
And so ends Chapter 37.
A bit of a twist, no? Things are going to get different.
About college: My school has given me a huge scholarship (as y'all know if you've been reading my ANs) and everyone else here is either a scholarship kid or filthy rich. Also, it's a majority white rich kid school and I'm both black and Korean- but my mother is French and white so I'm white passing and holy shit there are some racists here. It's kind of in the South and these kids have so much privilege that it reeks. But my roommate is in the same boat as me and she is into the whole social justice and rights for all and feminism type stuff that I am and she's pretty amazing. We've known each other for six days and are already best friends. I am over the moon.
The thing is, as big of a school as this is academically, it's also a huge party school. Which makes me uncomfortable. I've been to one party so far and I was probably the most awkward I've felt ever. And when I got back to the dorm one of the girls on my hall was super drunk and her friend just left her there so I ended up taking care of her (which involved helping her pee and being vomited on) and got her to the health center. Ugh.
Classes have started: Creative Writing (let's see how I do with this one...), French, Pov Studies, and Anthropology. So far, they've been great.
Next update... I'm not sure. I've had no time to write. So the next update will probably be the Friday after I finish the next chapter. IDK when that'll be. Sorry- school comes first.
Your excerpt:
A fluttering hand went to Molly's mouth. "Oh, Merlin," she breathed. "What? She killed Death Eaters?"
A bit of a teaser, I know. Mwahaha. As always, reviews would be nice.
ALSO: I've written another SSHG story, We Were Ghosts that I would love for you to check out. It is yet another B-day present for my cousin Gwen. Somehow writing for her always brings out the best in me, so please read it. And if you read in French, check out her stories! They are pretty much the only French ones in my favorites.