Author's note: Just so everyone knows, I don't have a brain tumor. Low blood sugar or something. Mainly the problem is my body whinges on any possible occasion.

Okay, I'd say this is my weakest chapter so far. It's emotion/thought/dialogue-heavy and I don't perfectly like it, but I want to finish the story before I go back to studying. So I hope to high heaven you enjoy it. If not, tough luck.

Also, I short warning, there is a fair amount of expletives in this one. Only because I thought it was justified in the situations.

Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to they who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling and George Bernard Shaw. All thanks to them and my computer.

Chapter 14 – Prelude to a Kiss

NEWT's. They hit everyone like a tidal wave. Everyone except Hermione, of course. Immediately after Professor McGonagall put the schedule up on the Common room board, she sorted out a very complex study regime, complete with toilet breaks and stretching time. She was completely on top of things, including rehearsals, which had become…well, fun. Severus had loosened up not that they were used to each other and it was a break from the antics of her schoolmates. She might actually miss him when she was gone from Hogwarts. She refused point blank to help Ron at all, and only rarely could Neville convince her to help him with Potions. She had mentioned to Severus that he might consider being a little teency tiny bit nicer to Neville during the exam, considering this time he would be alone with him. She didn't really expect him to take her seriously, but it was worth a try.

Exams had been scheduled for the first week of March. Dean Thomas nearly fainted when he realized he'd have to put aside his work on the musical and start studying. Everyone, in fact, was in hysterics about balancing the two duties and were not at all impressed when Hermione said, "Well, you should have thought of that before, shouldn't you?" And she said that a lot.

Severus, however, was dreading the coming exam week. The younger years were so ignorant of what they were doing it was dangerous, and the older years were so nervous it was dangerous. That Longbottom boy was insufferably so. Severus knew very well it was only because he was so nasty to him, but the novelty of watching him squirm had worn off a little, and it was now just annoying. Hermione had asked him to be nice. Would he? Well, he certainly wasn't going to be a pussycat, but he might consider being…what was the word? Civil. He would deign himself to be civil.

And rehearsals with Hermione? They were alright. They weren't torture. Well, if he was forced to admit it, they were pleasant. It was a sick irony that their relationship mirrored that of Professor Higgins and Eliza. And he knew, beyond all doubt, that Deborah was behind it. She knew it would happen, and was getting a huge kick out of knowing that, a) Hermione would be getting a tattoo, and b)he would be forced to admit he enjoyed himself. He liked it…being in their company. He'd never really liked anything so much to tell the truth.

He hadn't liked much in his life, so it was no great shock that this came first, but he liked it because there was nothing to it. No work in maintaining the relationship. He and Deborah had traversed the most dangerous of emotional planes together and had come out scathed, but not irreparably. And just recently they had guided Hermione through it too. It made for one of the strongest of bonds, just behind the bond between parent and child. And in some ways it was the bond between parent and child, only formed a little later and more intensively. Parental bonds are formed over years and years of continuous contact, through thick and thin. This bond he had with these women was one formed in a short but extremely harsh period of continuous contact…through lots of thin.

The short and long of it was that he was happy when he was with them, and it became clear to him that he'd have to enjoy it while he could, because they'd soon be gone. Deborah would return to Oxford, Hermione would disappear from Hogwarts, and once again he'd be alone. A cruel reality.

Of course, all the exams came and went, and with them only half the anxiety. As soon as they were behind everyone, it was as if they'd never happened, and all attention was focused on the musical. The teachers had all but given up teaching by the end of March, preferring either to rehearse their own roles, or simply watch. Harry had begun disappearing more often, and Hermione was in no doubt as to why. Dumbledore had taken trainings up a notch, just as more and more owl traffic was building up around his office. They came at a rate of about one per half hour, all from wizards being recruited to eliminate Death Eaters after Voldemort's fall. No one was exactly sure of how this final battle would pan out, though Deborah continually assured people it would all work out for the best, because everything always does, in end.

"What makes you so sure, Deb?" Hermione asked, after one of their lessons, which they had agreed to continue.

"Look at me, Hermione. If anyone is an example of it, it's got to be me. My whole family is gone. And every single one of them was killed or suffered at the hands of a deluded despot. Going back to the First World War, my muggle ancestors were killed in Italy. In the Second World War my grandmother was in a concentration camp. My Grandfather fought against Hitler. Even though they weren't muggles, they fought and lived to tell the tale. And then My parents and brother were slain by Voldemort. But here I am, and I'm alright. Not perfect, but I'm alright. And I'm a success. I support myself, I'm renowned for my work and… I'm doing good. It all turned out alright for me, in the end, despite the magnitude of my hardship, why wouldn't it for the wizarding world?"

"Because Voldemort is…big and crazy."

"Stalin was big and crazy. Idi Amin was big and crazy. Grindewald was big and crazy."

"But Voldemort is now."

"Exactly. He is now….he is NOT the future."

"I don't know."

"That's okay, you know. You don't have to know. It's more fun if you don't, actually."

"But I want to."

"Everyone wants to know it will be fine. Or they think they do. But you actually don't. See, I know it will be alright because I let myself believe it. You refuse to believe it, because you're frightened. And rightfully so. You are a cadet. I am a war-wearied general who's seen horrors more often than you, despite my age. Just let go, try living it, instead of thinking about it."

And so the day approached, when the Diable brought to the Shrieking shack twelve frightened children of Death Eaters. All had been knocked out, gagged and roped down to chairs that had been nailed to the wall of the master bedroom. The Diable had brought them in the morning and flew the coop as soon as his chest appeared. But they woke some time around midday and were alone until about five o'clock, when Deborah decided to start work on them.  Severus, however, was not expecting to have to deal with it himself.

"Severus, I need you there. I can't do it on my own. I have to have someone help me coerce them. I have to have someone to play good cop to my bad cop."

"Shouldn't I be the bad cop, if I go with you?" he felt a little miffed. He was usually the bad cop.

"No, because you already know some of these kids. They might trust you more than me. They might talk to you more than me because I'm foreign to them. You have a dark mark."

"What if it doesn't work?" He suggested seriously, "Then we've got a dozen mini-death eaters who know I'm a spy."

"No, they won't get out in time to say."

"What if—"

"SEVERUS! JUST DO AS I FUCKING SAY!!!"

That ended the argument. Contrary to previous perception, Deborah was, in fact, feeling the pressure. He no longer argued with her. He did as she said, and kept quiet.

The shrieking shack was quiet…still, even. As was the scenery around it. The whole world seemed to be bracing itself for what was to come.

Severus opened the door for them, and Deborah lead the way up the stairs into the master bedroom. Every single victim suddenly sat up and bristled as they came in, only the Hogwarts aware of whom they saw before them.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, my name is Materna." She pointed to Severus, "This is Paterno. We will be your kidnappers for the fortnight."

There was a lot of struggling at that point. Lots of the kidnappees seemed not to like the idea of being roped to a chair for a fortnight. Severus noted that Draco did not struggle.

"Now don't worry," Deborah quelled them, "You're in safe hands. We're not going to harm you, so long as you do as we say. And I really recommend you do because, well, I'm under a lot of stress and I'm liable to get quite upset at whoever doesn't obey me. But we only want to teach you. Now, we're going to take off all your gags, but I want to tell you before we do, that screaming will do you no good, because we're far from anyone who can hear, and no one would care around here anyway."

They untied the gags and, to Severus' surprise, they didn't scream. He could say one thing for the children of Death Eaters. They were obedient, surprise, surprise.

"What do you want?" Draco asked calmly.

"I want you to open your eyes. I want you to see the world…not your world. I want to show you that you are all independent beings, and you do not need to depend on the thoughts of others to lead your lives. Your mind is yours to control…no one else's."

"We know all that already." Draco replied offhandedly.

"You know," Deborah replied, as she pulled up a chair and sat on it backwards, "I thought you were too. When I first saw you Draco, I thought 'shit, that boy knows where he is going. That kid, he is ready…he is fucking ready for what life is going to throw at him.' But I began to realize that I was wrong. I was way off. You're blind… you're very fucking blind. And why are you blind? Because someone's put one hell of a blindfold on you…all of you. You've all been blindfolded to the truth. And I thought, what a fucking waste. I mean, you're all essentially nice people, I mean, you'd help you're friends out if they were in trouble. Wouldn't you Draco?"

"I would, if they were my friends."

"Damn right you would. Because you're okay. You're not stupid and you are loyal. But you're making one big mistake, and it really gets to me every time. See, you think your friends are the people sitting around here. You think these are the only people who are your friends. But you're wrong. Because you've got other friends, but you refuse to think of them as such. I mean, how fucking crazy? I mean, Draco, you're a smart kid. Maybe not the brightest star in the galaxy, but you do pretty damn well. So what the fuck is wrong with you? Huh?" She hit him over the head, ruffling his perfectly licked back hair. "Why don't you think of me as your friend?"

"Because you're not my friend," He replied, grinding his teeth, "You're a meddling bitch."

"I don't think those are your words Draco. I don't think so at all. I think you heard them somewhere. Care to share?"

"I didn't hear them anywhere," Draco's eyes glinted angrily, "It's what I think of you."

"Do you think I don't know what I'm doing?"

"I think you don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"Well, Draco, I'm going to share a little secret with everyone here, because we're all friends, right? We're all mates. Your dad, he killed my whole family. My mother, my father and my little brother. And I think that I would be perfectly justified in killing you. I think if I killed you, your mother and your father, I'd be justified. I think that would make us about square. But I restrain myself, because I still think there's hope for you. I think if you saw the world through unclouded eyes you might understand my hope for you. Only problem is, there aren't any potions to clear away the intolerance and hatred. I could bash it out of you, but I'm above that. I want you to open your eyes on your own. Paterno and I are going to help you see the light in your darkness."

How she did it, he wasn't even sure. She may have fed them that crap about no potion for intolerance and opening eyes on their own, they were gently coercing these children in their minds. And who better to do so than himself and this sneaky crocodile of a woman, both highly skilled at such mindgames. Eight hours every day she spoke to them, discussed with them, argued with them, swore at them, spat at them, insulted them and their parents, complimented them, tricked them, deceived them, used their words against them and twisted their proverbial arms behind their backs, and somehow, it had worked. One week later these creatures…the spawn of hell, were now vomiting up stories of abuse and disturbed childhood. Family Secrets, family tragedies, evil entwined forever in their family trees. Draco himself had admitted his father beat him and was generally abusive. A Durmstrang girl positively keened like a banshee as she described being raped by her father and uncle. A Boy with a thick French accent stuttered through a confession of his own sins…setting a House elf on fire, tying his little brother to a broomstick and flying it with control of his wand. And eventually he admitted to being given alcohol in his food from the youngest of ages. Deborah was very comforting, hugging each child as they professed their horrors. He actually did very little talking, and was only there to take physical care of them, really. Escort them to the bathroom, feed them, etcetera. Ironic, after she'd named him Father and herself Mother in Latin.

Afterwards, Deborah stood up and faced the group of hurt children, now wiping away tears. "Well, you all shared, so I think I ought to." She removed the coat the hid her tattoos and showed them for all to see, even spinning to prove they went all round.

"I was seventeen when my family died. I didn't know what to do. Life seemed to hurt. Every day was a battle. I cried with the smallest provocation…sometimes even without. Soon I started giving myself something to cry about." She took a knife from her pocket and drew it across her bicep, spurting forth a stream of blood. "I cut myself, at least three times a day, slicing myself open to see my mortality in front of me, pouring out. It was all fucked up in my head. I didn't really know what was going on. Then I realized that if I got tattoos, I would get that hit of pain, and I would have something other than scars to show for it. And I didn't really think of anything else, because I had nothing to think of. There was nothing in my life. But Paterno here, he knew what had happened. He was the only thing in my life that was familiar. Nothing remained but this face, who had also seen my parent die. He had been one of the Death Eaters, but he had hidden me, when Lucius came searching for leftovers.  He helped me because he opened his eyes and saw truth. He saw that the only thing his actions were creating were victims, not a better world. And so here I am, alive, well, and here to help you open your eyes. Your parents are have made decisions in their lives, now you have to choose whether or not you will fall in behind them. Are you going to do to other people what they did to you, or are you going to put an end to this vicious circle of destruction?"

The keening girl from Durmstrang was first to denounce her family.
"I am going to put an end to it. No one should haff to feel zee sings I felt."

The French boy came next.

"I will also take arms against ma familie. We must end zees."

In turn they all turned, no doubt gently floated into it by the waves of coercion being radiates in their direction. True to form, Draco was last.

"I…I'm sorry for what my father did to you."

"That's exactly it, Draco. You don't have to be sorry, but the fact that you are shows that you're better than him. You're a better person. All of you are better people than your parents. Your parents have little regard for you, which is horrifying, because you are all wonderful people. And the final testament of that will come soon enough. Today is the 10th of April. On the 15th, Voldemort is planning an attack on Hogwarts, the last bastion he could never conquer. When you stand against him, you will see who your parents side with and they will show their true colours. I won't ask you to kill them, but I will ask you to face them, because it will be good for you to face this fear."

"What if they kill us?" an older girl asked.

Deborah shook her head sadly. "This is war, and I cannot guarantee they won't. What I can promise is that standing with us you will be supported. You won't be alone. Standing with Voldemort means standing in a team of people who are all for themselves. They barely know one another, so why would they help one another? But I know all of you, and I promise I will do what a mother should do in such a situation. I will strive to die before any and all of you. That will protect you, as it did Harry Potter."