Desdemona was in no capacity to speak. Wrapped in blankets and laid to rest on her grandfather's couch for the second time this school year, all traces of blood magically removed from clothing and skin, she drifted in and out of a restless sleep. A phoenix sat on the armrest near her head, guarding her from anyone who would disturb her. The four other figures spoke in near-whispers, seated across the room.
Dumbledore cast his gaze on the three men. "Would someone care to explain what exactly happened this evening?"
The three exchanged looks, green eyes meeting grey in a moment of truce. "Well, sir," Harry began. "I went to the Professor's office this evening to speak with her, and found her upset. She was throwing things and screaming, until she saw Malfoy and his father out the window. She went after them. I didn't know what else to do, so I went and found Professor Snape, who..." The wizard's voice trailed as he looked up at the dark-haired man who kept shifting his gaze from the group to the couch and back.
Dumbledore raised his hand to silence him. "You did the right thing, Harry. I doubt even I could have calmed her down. Once Desdemona loses her temper, it consumes her like poison. She's always had a problem with that. Now, what happened next?"
It was Draco's turn to speak. Uncharacteristically, he sounded contrite and humble. "Sir, it's my fault. I-I've been talking to her all year about my father and the Death Eaters and you-know-who's return. I-I didn't want to follow in his footsteps, sir. I don't want to end up in Azkaban like he did. It changed him. He's not the same. He's not the man I've known my whole life. I don't want to give up my life to serve another. I don't want to follow someone else. I've seen what you-know-who can do; I don't want to die like some of my father's friends. I don't want to crawl on my stomach and beg someone's forgiveness. I don't want to risk being tortured like Professor Snape was. After that day in Potions...well, she promised she'd do what she could to help me."
Dumbledore nodded. "That much I knew, Mr. Malfoy. She'd come to me several times, asking what we could do about it. Unfortunately, since he was your father, we could do little except give you wisdom and guidance. Desi didn't exactly like that answer. I'm afraid tonight wasn't her only, shall we say, impassioned response to the situation. Trust me, Mr. Malfoy, Professor Drecorum used every avenue at her disposal to prevent what happened tonight. Regrettably, laws being what they are, there was little she could do."
Snape glared at his student. "Why, Mr. Malfoy, did you not come to me?"
Draco swallowed hard. "Sir, I didn't know if I could trust you. My father's spent the last two years telling me how backstabbing and manipulative you are. No one is sure which side you're really on; what if you were in my father's pocket? Then he'd know I didn't want to be a...anyway, he would know. And, I wanted an unbiased viewpoint. I mean, well, you have a history with this. I didn't want that. I wanted to talk about this with someone who didn't know me, or my father, or any of that life. Professor Drecorum, she promised to not tell anyone, and she seemed to know what she was talking about. I just wanted someone who wasn't affected by that life."
Snape snorted. "You picked the wrong person, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco gave a weak smile that didn't come close to reaching his eyes. "I didn't know about her, or you, or the two of you, or...well, I didn't know any of it until tonight. She came after my father and they began arguing. She talked about having been in Slytherin, and then in Gryffindor, and being resorted, and it sounded like she knew him from school or something because it got personal, and then he pulled out his wand to attack her and she...well, she kicked him. And then she snapped or something, because she kept beating him over and over. And then you two arrived, and..."
Now it was Snape's turn to add to the tale. "She was ready to kill Malfoy, Headmaster. It took her a few moments to realize what was going on after I got her to stop. I don't think she even knew what she was doing. I told Potter to take young Malfoy back to the school and to fetch you. The rest, you know."
Dumbledore sighed deeply. Memories of his granddaughter's past resonated through his troubled mind. He'd hoped she would have learned to control her temper by now, but apparently, that wasn't the case. "The rest I know all too well. Madam Pomfrey was able to heal Lucius Malfoy's broken nose and ribs, and he is currently under the care and supervision of Alastor Moody. From what Moody just relayed to me a few moments ago in my fireplace, my granddaughter has managed to do what the Dementors of Azkaban could not. It seems that Lucius has been pouring out details of Lord Voldemort's plans to anyone who would listen. For that, we owe Desdemona's temper a debt of gratitude."
He rose cautiously, glancing at the trio in front of him. He never thought the day would pass when he'd see these three sitting anywhere without hostility filling the air. Once again, he chided himself on the use of the word never. "The three of you are hereby sworn to silence. What happened today can never be mentioned outside of this room. This is as much for your protection, Mr. Malfoy, as it is anything else. I assume you'd prefer it if other members of your house never found out that you'd chosen the path you have?" At a nod, he smiled wanly. "Then I must bid you goodnight. I have much to work on, so I will retire to my office. Please, stay and enjoy the fire as long as you'd like. Severus, if you could make sure Desdemona gets back to her rooms safely. Gentlemen, good night." With that, Dumbledore walked quietly from the room, Fawkes leaving the couch to follow him.
"Mr. Malfoy, I'm sure you've had a long and tiring night. Perhaps it's best if you return to your dormitory." Snape suggested, clearly a dismissal of the young man. Draco seemed to agree, and left the room. "As for you, Mr. Potter..."
Harry swallowed hard, completely unsure of what was about to happen next.
Snape's eyes tore away once more from the couch to stare at the wizard before him. "Mr. Potter, for six years you and I have never gotten along. From the moment you walked into this school, I have worked hard to punish you for something that you were never responsible for. In return, you reacted to my animosity and hatred in kind. Some of the loathing I have had for you all these years has been out of orders from Dumbledore; he seemed to think it best that you and I not have a close relationship, and I agreed. However, I have blamed you for your father's actions, and that has been unfair of me."
Snape spent a few precious seconds examining the curtains behind Potter. "I don't want to be your friend, your confidant, or your mentor. I still find you arrogant and disrespectful, as well as rebellious and foolish on occasion. The fact that you rarely can keep control of your temper or treat me with respect has caused animosity of its own doing. However, someone has spent long hours convincing me that I have both misjudged you and underestimated you, and after tonight, I am forced to finally agree." With humbleness Harry never expected, he saw Snape offer him his hand. "I was wrong, Mr. Potter. I hope you can accept that."
Silently, Harry shook the offered hand. "Sir, I owe you a similar apology. I misjudged you as well..."
Snape nodded, cutting off whatever else the student would have said. He didn't want to hear it; let it finally begin to end. "Apology accepted, Potter. Now, I'd suggest returning to your dormitory at once."
As Harry grabbed his wand from the table on his way out, he saw Severus Snape gather up the sleeping professor in his arms and carry her out the door, cradling her as if she were a precious treasure beyond anything that Gringotts had ever possessed in its vaults.
Yet another reminder that the professor was far more human than he'd ever wanted to admit to himself.
Harry hadn't made it further than a few feet before being stopped by Draco Malfoy, who had been hiding in a corner behind a statue. "Don't go acting like this will change anything between us, Potter."
"The thought never crossed my mind, Malfoy."
Draco looked taken aback, as if he'd assumed Potter would expect some sort of friendship or something after that hour in Dumbledore's tower. He didn't want the precious Potter's sympathy or understanding. The fact that his nemesis didn't expect anything to change was a minor shock. The thought was oddly comforting to him. At least something in his life wasn't going to change immediately. With one last glare, he brushed past Potter and stormed off to Slytherin House.
He felt as if he'd aged a decade in a night. Albus Dumbledore wearily sank into his cushioned office chair, having sent dozens of owls flying across the British countryside, supervised the transfer of Lucius Malfoy to the Order's headquarters for interrogation into Voldemort's plans, and sworn four people into silence and secrecy. Not to mention calming Desdemona out of her near-panicked hysteria and covering up for her. Again.
Busy nights were becoming more than he could handle.
"Something vexes the Headmaster of Hogwarts." A voice trailed from shelves on the wall. An old and familiar voice that Dumbledore had heard once as a young boy, and many times since becoming Headmaster.
"How well you perceive my emotions, old friend, given the fact that I've been frantically scribbling for the better part of an hour."
The Sorting Hat chucked dryly, its mouth appearing on a seam. "You aren't the first Headmaster I've seen in a state of troublement, Dumbledore. Something weighs heavily on your mind. What could it be? Ah, yes, a certain someone's insatiable temper took control of her again, didn't it?"
"Some days, I wonder how you know so much of the world outside these walls when only once a year, you leave your perch."
The Sorting Hat laughed aloud this time, frightening Fawkes. "That is a mystery that Headmasters have been pondering for centuries, Dumbledore. The students know only that I was created by the founders to assist in sorting. How little they know about my true purpose. Even men in power find themselves in need of sage advice now and then."
Dumbledore nodded. "And I, old friend, am in desperate need of your counsel."
The Sorting Hat sat silent for a moment, as if pondering something, then finally began to speak again. "I maintain what I said years ago: 'Between snake and lion the girl's heart rests. Perfectly balanced in deeds and interests'. She is balanced in a way few people ever are, Dumbledore. She is neither fully one nor fully the other. She is cunning and manipulative, but her heart is noble and pure. She will forever be unpredictable; despite her efforts, she will occasionally lose that self-control she clings to. However, she will be fighting for good and for right when she does. It's part and parcel of who she is, and who she will be. You can't change that. Neither can she."
Dumbledore let out a deep breath. "I was hoping you wouldn't say a thing like that."
The sorting hat chuckled once more. "I only see their hearts and their minds. It is you, Headmaster, who see their actions. She carries two strong spirits within her; occasionally they will battle for control, and only one can bear out at a time. It is out of her hands, and is merely something that must be accepted. It is neither good nor bad, right nor wrong. It merely is." The Sorting hat fell silent for a moment, allowing the thought to sink into Dumbledore's swimming subconscious. So many things could he tell the Headmaster, but couldn't. The founders had created him for a purpose greater than simply ensuring the students were sorted by their abilities and inner forces; he also stood by to ensure the smooth and purposeful administering of the school. In times of need, the Hat spoke its piece, but in times of quiet, he fell silent, allowing for the future of Hogwarts to follow its own destiny. That was his purpose in this world, and he fulfilled it all too well. "But more than the actions of your willful granddaughter rests on your mind this night. How may I counsel well the Headmaster of Hogwarts?"
Auburn hair cascaded down a shoulder and slid on black cloth as Severus carried Desi into her apartment. With a spoken whisper, the door had opened and closed itself again; another whisper brought the dying fire in her hearth back to life. He knew he should tuck her into bed and leave. She'd looked like hell tonight; she needed to sleep.
Instead, he lowered himself into her oversized stuffed chair, still cradling her against his chest. He couldn't bring himself to let her go. Not physically, not symbolically.
The scent of sandalwood hung in the air, wafting from candles everywhere in the room. Desi's favorite scent; she had told him how she'd become addicted to it while living in America because it reminded her of home.
Home. A concept he didn't think he'd ever understand. Until recently.
Desi's breathing was deep and even, finally; no worries or fears creased her face. He wished she could stay this peaceful forever.
He knew that was impossible.
Silently, he damned Voldemort for what he had done. He damned Lucius Malfoy for talking him into it. But most of all, he damned himself for making such an utterly stupid and costly mistake. He hated the Mark more than anything in the world. No matter how far he went to repent for what he'd done, to beg forgiveness from himself, or to escape the memories, the Mark always reminded him.
Fingertips slid down his arm, circling the mark that was permanently seared into the flesh.
"Does it hurt?"
A deep sigh. "Not on the surface."
A solitary tear fell on the mark, causing shivers to move down his spine. Lips touched the same spot, invoking tenderness and a bittersweet chill.
How had he lived before Desi returned? Before she forgave him?
Standing alone on a bridge, peering through cracks in the wood, watching an auburn-haired girl trudge through the grounds, clutching books to her chest, her eyes never leaving their gaze towards the dirt. An auburn-haired girl in scarlet and gold; colors she'd never worn before that day. Knowing he was now alone.
The pain in his arm reminding him he'd never be alone again.
He stroked her hair idly, fingers running through the strands that flickered in the firelight. As his hand brushed the nape of her neck, it met a thin chain. Curious, he pulled until a large pendant came free from her robes. Not a pendant. A slender bottle, small and thin, the stopper possessing a link to run the chain through. A bottle filled with silver-colored liquid.
A bottle filled with the Acupartio potion.
"I'm putting a stopper in death, Sev."
His arms instinctively pulled her in closer, clutching her to him.
What a fool he'd been.
Sleep finally overtook him, still in the chair, still holding Desi as if letting her go would stop the sun from ever rising again.
Desi woke to find arms around her, a heartbeat under her chin, and a chest rising and falling from peaceful sleep. The fire in the hearth was almost out, and there was a definite chill in the air. She wiggled her toes inside boots still laced firmly on her feet. The pale light coming from her east-facing window told her that dawn was breaking.
Slowly, so as not to wake the man who'd held her, she slipped from his hold. Walking from her sitting room, she crept into her bedroom to change clothes. Her hands crawled as she touched the clothing she'd worn last night; even though no bloodstains showed on the denim or wool, she knew they'd been there.
She remembered what she'd done. The memory made her cringe.
An owl tapped on the glass above her bed, waited until she charmed the latch to open, and then sailed in through the open window with a piece of sealed parchment. She petted the bird for a moment before opening the letter from her grandfather. It was uncharacteristically brief and direct. Malfoy was in the custody of the Order. He thanked her for that, chided her softly for her loss of temper, and reminded her he loved her all the same.
It helped ease her conscience. Somewhat.
Finally changed into clean clothing and robes, her auburn hair drawn up and out of her way, she tiptoed over to her chair, where Sev still sat, completely lost in the world of dreamless sleep. He'd saved her, last night. Not from Lucius, but from herself.
From her own temper.
Desi owed him a debt of gratitude. She well-remembered the last time she lost control of the demon that lived in her soul. It had been years since she'd been even remotely tempted to losing her grip on herself, but the memory was sharp in her own mind.
The thought that Lucius would do to his own son, his flesh and blood, that he had done to himself, to Severus, to countless others, had torn at her soul in a way she didn't think possible. The first night Draco came to her, telling her about his intentions and his father's expectations, all she could see in her mind was a tall boy with lanky black hair, standing in front of her, pleading with her for understanding.
She couldn't let history repeat itself. She refused to allow it.
There had to be a way...
Moments later, Desi stole from her apartments after first drawing her curtains and draping a blanket over the man asleep in her favorite chair. She knew she'd fallen asleep in her grandfather's study, and had no memory whatsoever of making her way back to her apartments; which would explain waking up in her chair, curled on Sev's lap. It had been late in the evening when she'd finally given in to Papa's request that she take a calming potion and drifted to sleep, Papa and Severus waiting anxiously to talk without her as a witness. Heaven only knew when Severus had finally fallen into a sleep of his own.
Let him sleep. Her mind, on the other hand, was now racing.
Dust hung thick in the air in this remote section of the library. Books piled high covered tables. Some of the shelves seemed barren. And still, Desi couldn't find what she sought. For hours now, she'd been in the library, until her hands turned grey and her hair felt thick and heavy.
Desi had a plan. Now all she needed was the means.
"Professor Drecorum?" A voice emanated from behind one of the teetering stacks of books. Desi jumped, and Hermione Granger popped her head into sight. "Is everything alright?"
Desi heaved a sigh in relief. Of all the students to come across..."No, it's not. Hermione, I think I need your help."