A/N: Yes, here it is, dear readers, at long last! I'm sorry for the very long wait. This chapter gave me some trouble, and Real Life is getting pretty wild, thanks to law school exams getting started. Mum and I are continuing to work on Chapter 41, and hoping to have it posted for you within the next three weeks, as soon as exams are over and I'm moved into my lodgings for my summer job. In the mean time, enjoy!
Chapter Forty: Three Little Words
If there was one thing that Severus Snape would always remember about March 3rd, 1981, it was how brilliant and large the full moon had been that night. He had been certain that the entire population of Hogwarts could see him coming as he walked up the Hogsmeade road to the castle.
The moon was beautiful with the castle silhouetted in front of it. And even with all that light behind it, the castle windows still glowed like a beacon of hope.
He quashed that thought at once. He had no hope, nor was he looking for it. He had never dared to hope, and still managed to be disappointed by life. God knew how much disappointment there would be for him if he did hope.
But he kept on walking, and eventually found himself standing outside the doors of the castle, hiding in the shadows like some evil creature of the night. Which, he supposed, he was.
He was still seeking the strength to knock—for the doors had not opened for him—when one of the smaller doors opened, and standing there, the moonlight aglow on his light blue robes, stood Albus Dumbledore.
"Good evening, Severus," said the headmaster, as though he were receiving an unexpected visit for tea from an old friend, rather than a student who had left Hogwarts with expressions of contempt and not set foot in the place for three years. "What may I do for you this evening?"
Severus took a deep breath, and stepped off the precipice. "I want out."
Draco Malfoy, heir apparent to the most powerful pureblood family in wizarding Britain, had no sooner choked out his purpose for being there when he collapsed into Snape's arms, quivering like the most pitiful Muggle during a Death Eater raid. Severus held the boy upright with one arm and flung his office door open with the other, pulling the boy inside. He deposited Draco in the nearest chair, neatly removing the wand from his pocket in the same motion.
He might make a fool of himself at times, but he would never be taken for one.
Draco was silent as Severus brought lantern and incriminating mask into his office and closed and locked the door. Draco's wand went into a locked desk drawer as Severus sat down. "You were at the Fortress," he said. Severus hadn't seen him, but it was not a question.
The boy nodded. His face was colorless and dirty. His gray eyes were red-rimmed and brimming with frightened tears, but Severus kept his face carefully neutral. It was time to hear Draco Malfoy's tale. "It...wasn't like I thought it would be," he mumbled, his head hanging. "A battle, they said there'd be...but I...didn't know."
"Didn't know what?"
Draco raised his eyes to meet Snape's. "Blood," he choked out. "It's like the raids, only...worse."
Yes, it is.
"They said the raids are...are fun, but..." Draco stared at his white hands, and Severus knew what the boy was seeing on them. "The smell," he murmured. "I hate it. Blood, and...other things. The noise. They don't stop screaming and crying and gurgling until they're dead, and it takes them forever to die."
Yes, it does.
"It's so...by the time it's over, every time, no matter how little a fight they put up, I was always so...dirty. Blood and...dirt, and...sweat, it just...always get so dirty." Draco's mouth twisted in disgust. "I don't know enough Cleaning Charms, I guess."
That's because there are none to serve that purpose.
"It's just so...they said a battle would be different!" Draco went on plaintively. "They wanted us all to be part of it, they said! They said it would be glorious and," he looked sickened. "They said we'd win," he muttered. "God, there was so much blood, so much screaming, the smell...I couldn't, I just...it was them and us this time. I saw MacNair get hit with some kind of Burning Hex—it might've been Incendio—and he just..."
Severus saw the boy's face turn green, and he quickly conjured a bucket. Draco was sick for several minutes, and Severus brought him some water. All without saying a word.
"I saw him die, I saw...I couldn't—I didn't fight," Draco whispered. "I don't think I got off a Stunner, I just stood there, and then—then I ran, and I tried to hide, but he...I saw him...he saw me, and he...he just smiled! He just smiled at me and walked away! I had a mask, but he knew it was me!"
Dumbledore.
Draco looked at him in confusion. "Why would he let me go?"
Quietly, Severus told his charge, "Because he was a man of honor."
"Was?" Severus nodded. Draco stared at his desk. "The Dark Lord killed him." Severus nodded again. "How?"
"I don't know. I did not see it."
"Professor...am I a coward?"
Dumbledore actually turned his back on Severus as he led the way down the halls of Hogwarts to the Headmaster's Office. As if he didn't know Severus was a Death Eater. As if he didn't know the things Severus had done.
It was not until the office door had closed behind them both that Severus demanded, "Aren't you concerned I might be a Death Eater plant!"
Dumbledore looked at him and smiled, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "No. I trust you."
Severus simply stood there, his mouth hanging half-open like a complete idiot. Why in God's name would you trust ME, you old fool!
"Because you have always been, and remain, a man of honor," Dumbledore answered the words Snape hadn't spoken, and continued to answer questions Severus hadn't even managed to think up yet. "I know, my dear Severus, because I was your teacher for seven years, and because our lines of intelligence into your...circle are not completely without success." He smiled more gently, reaching out as if to shake Snape's hand. "I have been hoping for some time that we had not lost you."
"And you'd welcome me back?" Severus demanded. "After all the things I've done?" He was completely confused, and there were few things Severus Snape hated more than being confused. Confusion was frustration, and it was frustration that moved him to yank back the sleeve of his robe. "Do you not know what this means, you daft old madman?" he demanded, bearing the skull and snake on his arm to the light, and the old man's eyes.
Dumbledore didn't even look at it. "It means you have been lost for a very long time. But it does not mean you can never find your way again."
"Spare me the platitudes, damn it! What do you want from me?" Severus snapped.
"What do you want from me?"
"I told you: I want out."
The headmaster chuckled. "Yes, yes, that part I grasped. But you have already taken that for yourself. You have walked away." He met the younger man's eyes, and Severus found it very hard to breathe. He knew when he was being Legilimized—the Dark Lord did it all the time—but this wasn't it. Dumbledore was not attempting to search his thoughts for truth or lies or intelligence about Death Eater plans. But Severus felt that the headmaster was peering into his soul. "What is it you have come to ask of me?"
He had little breath for his voice, as though he had spent it all running a very long way.
"I want my freedom."
"Ah." With gentle hands, Dumbledore actually took Snape's arm and turned it, exposing the Dark Mark for the light again. "Have you ever learned any Muggle history, Severus?" He didn't wait for an answer—asking a Death Eater if they knew anything about Muggle culture was a patently stupid thing to do—but explained, "For generations, the darkest of human beings have placed their mark upon their prisoners. This is indeed the symbol of your captivity."
"I walked into it willingly enough," Severus replied, pulling his arm away.
"So many do. The best jailers are the ones whose victims never realize they are walking into a trap until it seems too late to escape. The mark is a symbol, a reminder to the prisoner of the captor's claim. It is a frightening thing, to deny what seems scored into your flesh," Dumbledore said to him. Severus was beginning to feel distinctly light-headed, and half-wondered if he himself had walked into a trap. "Won't you sit down?" Dumbledore indicated the chair facing his desk.
Severus sat. "I appreciate the sentiments, but there must be something you want from me. Something to prove myself," he muttered. Dumbledore's Phoenix was regarding him solemnly from its perch, but when Severus looked back, it flipped its wings and returned to preening, totally uninterested in him.
Story of my life.
"Why don't you begin by telling me, Severus?" Dumbledore said.
He blinked. "Telling you what?"
"The story, of course."
"Oh. All right." Severus took a deep breath. Fair enough, he supposed, that Dumbledore would want to know how he'd walked into the Dark Lord's "trap."
"I guess it...it was about Potter," Draco said. He shot a nervous glance at Severus, but the man did not react, and he went on. "At least that's the way I thought of it. And Dad—he said that was good. It'd give me a focus. So when I...when I...was working...on the raids, I imagined it was Potter. Madam Lestrange kept telling me it was only a matter of time—till I got to Potter, and I should just think of this as practice."
I remember.
"At first it was easy," Draco murmured, staring at nothing. "I could almost see him when I..." He shook his head. "I felt powerful. I felt stronger than him—for the first time. The Dark Lord, and Dad, and the others, they all said this would make me more powerful."
They said it would be my revenge.
"For being shown up..."
For all the humiliation...
"He was bloody making my life miserable!" the boy whined, and Severus managed to keep the scorn off his face.
Child, as irritating as Potter is, you cannot begin to comprehend how miserable he COULD have made you, had he been more like his father.
"Anyway...that's how it started. It was easy at first, just thinking of him, but then...it got different." Draco stared at the wall, his face troubled. "And it didn't...it didn't make sense anymore. Those people...I mean, yeah, they're only Muggles, but..."
But. I am relieved that there is a 'but' for you. Draco seemed to be waiting for him to respond, so he said merely, "But?"
"Well, I mean, they're just Muggles. I don't know why we had to...bother with them, I mean, why can't we just let them go and do their Muggle things? There's so many of them, it's not as if the raids do any real good for us," the boy muttered.
Not to mention that it isn't exactly beneficial to them either. But Severus wasn't expecting Draco to have comprehended that angle yet. He himself had not considered that a motive for returning to Dumbledore's side at the time he had made his own decision.
Draco's motives were much as his had been—for the most part. "It's just...I never thought I'd have to...do things like that! They said we'd have...power, and...and..."
"Dignity?" Severus offered delicately.
"Well, they didn't really say, but," Draco nodded. "That's what I thought. It's not dignified to always be covered in blood and dirt. I knew I'd have to bow to him, but not..crawl. We were always groveling in the mud like...rats."
You're more right than you know.
"I thought I'd become something...more than what I'd been, but I didn't even feel...like a wizard. More like a...like a..."
"A house elf?" Severus said quietly. Draco cringed, staring at him with wide eyes. Very like a house elf, in fact.
"That's what Henderson said," the boy muttered. Looking nervously at Severus, he said, "The first time I was in the Fortress during a...during a..."
"Murder?"
"He was a half-blood," Draco explained. "His father—an Auror, married a Muggle and arrested our people. So we—they—we were supposed to teach him a lesson, so...we made him watch while we...his son and his wife. Henderson—the Head Boy—he said I was their house elf. I..." he swallowed hard. "I thought I was more then, but as it went on, I...was always crawling. Following orders. Getting filthy." Draco shook his head in confusion. "I don't feel powerful anymore. Just like a...a slave. Or a house elf. Crawling at their feet, doing what they say, getting covered in blood and filth..." with a massive shudder, the boy whispered, "I can't do it." He looked desperately at Severus. "I don't want to do it."
Severus watched him for several moments. "And why have you come to me?"
"Because...you told me I had a choice. My father...he never told me that."
No one ever told me I had a choice either. Not even my Head of House.
"I imagine he asked you to do many things," said Dumbledore, putting a cup of tea on the desk in front of Severus.
"I expected that. I'm not afraid of getting my hands dirty. I've never been," Snape replied, not touching the cup.
Dumbledore smiled, with a look of what might have been affection. "Ah yes, of course. You are quite the Potions Master, after all. No person with skills such as yours would fear getting dirty."
Severus glared at him. "You know perfectly well I am not a Master in anything."
"Don't be silly, Severus, you had reached the level of Mastery by the time you left Hogwarts. I have no doubt your skills have anything but deteriorated in the past three years. You have a fine mind."
Severus sprang from his seat, pacing the room restlessly as Dumbledore's Phoenix watched. "A fine mind! If you knew the things I had used it for, the plans I have helped bring to fruition, the...the brews I have concocted..."
"You have a brilliant mind, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted him, in a voice of absolute conviction. Severus stared at him in disbelief at the compliment, as the headmaster went on, "You are a brilliant young man, just as you have always been."
"I have used these skills you praise to kill and maim, old man. I doubt if you have the stomach to hear of the things I've done."
"You would be surprised the things I have seen and heard in my years, Severus. Perhaps even you would be given pause by some of the things I have witnessed," said Dumbledore. "But if you wish to continue thinking of me as soft, then by all means do so. There have been more troubling misconceptions about me."
"And you're not concerned I might try to exploit it?" Severus asked, in a half-hearted attempt to bait him.
Dumbledore smiled and shook his head. "Perhaps I am soft in my old age, my boy, but I take care to surround myself with those who can make up for my defects."
At the look the old wizard gave him, Severus was astonished. "You imagine that you have some defect I can make up for!"
"Why, yes, indeed, Severus! You yourself have observed that I am a soft old man. Whereas you are brilliant and hard. Like a diamond. But your value is much greater."
"My value? What is there in me that you could possibly value?"
"I've told you. You are a strong and clever man. There will always be value to be found in men like you."
Severus narrowed his eyes. Dumbledore had a point to all this, he was certain. Why was he surprised? He couldn't expect to walk away from the Dark Lord's service and into sanctuary scot-free. There would be a price. Everyone always had a price. Protection came with the highest price of all.
And yet...was there any price at this point higher than the one remaining with the Dark Lord would exact from him?
He took a deep breath, and met the old man's eyes. "What do you want me to do?"
Dumbledore blinked innocently at him—too innocently. "I beg your pardon?"
Calm. He forced himself to breathe. He hated being toyed with. "I am prepared to do whatever you want in exchange for sanctuary," he said, slowly and carefully, glaring hotly at the top of the headmaster's desk. "Name your terms for a Death Eater's surrender."
Dumbledore laughed at him. Snape's head shot up involuntarily. "Severus, I wonder that you are so eager to depart Lord Voldemort's service if you are so certain I'm going to demand your life for your sins!"
"I never said I thought you'd kill me," he muttered petulantly, like a scolded student.
"No, you're expecting to give a full confession, followed by Azkaban. Perhaps, in your mind, that's worse than your life," Dumbledore said, more soberly. He regarded Severus and shook his head. "And yet you're prepared to do it, aren't you?"
"I said I was. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't." Severus tried to keep a scowl on his face to hide the anxiety twisting up his guts. It was coming; he could feel it. "Well? What do you want?"
"The same thing you do," Dumbledore replied.
Severus let out his breath in a rush of frustration. "What?"
"Your freedom."
"Am I going to go to Azkaban?" Draco asked timidly.
Severus looked him in the eyes and spoke with a confidence he did not entirely feel. "No. You haven't gained your freedom from the Dark Lord only to lose it to the Ministry."
That was what Dumbledore told me.
Except that there was no Dumbledore to protect Draco as he had protected Snape. There was no Dumbledore to quietly arrange for Draco's sanctuary. There was no Dumbledore to understand, no Dumbledore to listen to Draco's story. No Dumbledore to deal out second chances.
Not that Severus did not trust McGonagall. But she was not Dumbledore.
There could never be—enough. Keep your eye on your objective, man.
Forcing his attentions away from the distracting emotions twisting his insides, Severus told his charge, "We will arrange for your protection. You will not return to him."
"What about my father?"
This would be the hardest part to explain. "Just as you made your choice, your father made his, Draco. I cannot force him to see reason. Perhaps in time, it will be possible to bring him around, but now it is too dangerous for you." Severus leaned forward against his desk, piercing the boy's gray eyes. "I will not mince words in this. If you want to survive, you must do precisely as I instruct you."
He stared Draco down for several long moments, until the young Slytherin dropped his gaze and mumbled, "Okay."
Not good enough. "I am in earnest, Draco. After tonight, there is no turning back."
Something in the boy's eyes flashed, some echo of that old Malfoy pride. Severus was more relieved than he dared let on to see that it had not been completely crushed. It was too great an asset for Draco to lose, not to mention too important an aspect of the boy's personality. But he kept a straight face when Draco tightened his jaw and said coldly, "How do you know it isn't already too late for me to turn away from the Dark Lord?"
Let the ugly lessons begin...
Severus walked deliberately around his desk, noticing how Draco's breathing quickened, though the boy made a valient effort not to show his apprehension. With more slow deliberation, he extended his own arm, his hand balled into a fist, and roughly pulled up his sleeve.
The Dark Mark burned black and ugly in his flesh, the skin around it red and angry from the constant irritation. The Dark Lord had made his displeasure over Snape's treason known with persistent pain in that brand.
Draco's eyes were fixed on the Mark. Without lowering the branded arm, Severus held out his other hand and made Draco extend his arm. Pulling up the sleeve, he exposed Draco's own, unmarked flesh.
"It is never too late to walk away," he told the boy quietly. Draco swallowed convulsively. "His mark brands us all as his property, his servants, to the entire world. But I do not serve him." Covering the Mark, he tightened his grip on Draco's bared arm as the boy attempted to pull away. "You bear no brand of his yet, Draco. Your flesh remains your own."
Draco shuddered violently, and Severus released him. Without looking up, Draco mumbled, "I'll do whatever you—" he was cut off by a massive yawn, "—whatever you say, sir." Blinking wearily at Snape, he sighed, "I don't want to be his...his slave anymore."
"I'm glad," Severus told him quietly. "You deserve better than that. You are capable of more than that." The boy blinked, startled by the compliment, and Severus noted again his red-rimmed eyes. "When was the last time you slept?"
Shaking his head absently, Draco said, "I dunno, was my last night in Hogwarts..."
Almost forty-eight hours, then, Severus concluded. He motioned Draco to his feet and led him down the hall to his quarters. After summoning some house elves to prepare his rooms for a guest (and threatening them into silence), he examined Draco for any signs of injury from the battle. "I hid through most of it," Draco admitted, red-faced.
"Good. You had no business being a part of it," Severus said bluntly. The house elves had finished, and he sent Draco into the newly-prepared guest room. "Change and bring that robe and mask to me," he ordered. "Then go to bed. We will make the arrangements for your long-term protection when you've rested."
Draco obeyed without question, and when he came from the guest room in his dressing gown to deliver the robe and mask, Severus pressed a Dreamless Sleep Potion on him. The next few days would be difficult, and Draco would need a full night's sleep.
Once Draco had retired, Severus sat in his sitting room staring into the fire. He would have to bring this to McGonagall. There would be no hiding Draco at Hogwarts without her help. Nor was she likely to accede without a full explanation of the boy's involvement with the Dark Lord. How would she respond to Snape's request to give Draco sanctuary?
Of course, Severus had not known what to expect from Dumbledore fifteen years ago. All he had known when he had left the Dark Lord's circle was that Hogwarts was the safest place in the wizarding world to hide. And that no one hid there without the headmaster's blessing.
Damn you, Albus. Why did you have to go when I needed you most?
Most? Really, when it came to it, there hadn't been a time in the past fifteen years when Severus Snape had not needed Albus Dumbledore.
"I fear you've been taken advantage of for so long, you've forgotten what kindness is, Severus," Dumbledore said. "You should take me at my word; I will demand nothing from you in exchange for my protection."
Severus stared at his untouched teacup, now deeply troubled. Every instinct and experience in his life screamed against believing such a statement. "You said you will demand nothing. That implies that you would ask something."
Dumbledore regarded him thoughtfully over the rim of his own cup. "You have great abilities. I would ask—and recommend—that you attain your intellectual potential. Your Potions Mastery, for instance." At the dubious look Severus shot him, he chuckled. "Yes, that will be no great effort for you, will it? Well, then, perhaps when you've done it, you'd consider passing your knowledge along. I will have a position opening in just over a year for a Potions professor here at Hogwarts."
Snape's mouth fell open. "You think...me...teach?"
"It would be an efficient way to keep you safely at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore mildly, ignoring the younger man's shock. "But if you're disinclined—"
Severus interrupted with a shake of his head. "No. I will do it."
"Only if you are certain—"
"I said I'll do it," Severus repeated curtly. If teaching Potions to a horde of snot-nosed brats is the price of my freedom, I'll put up with it.
And yet...
It is not only my freedom that I must pay for.
That thought slipped out before Severus could stop it, from some unknown place in his mind that had never been very close to the surface, and that he'd had to push even further down to survive his existence in the Dark Lord's ranks. But now it whispered to him that merely buying his way out of the Dark Lord's circle was not enough. In order to be accepted back in to the ranks of decent men...more would be required.
It was only logical.
Silence echoed as he continued to gaze down at the desk. Dumbledore watched him patiently, his blue eyes revealing none of his thoughts, and at length Severus said, "You will need my help in your...efforts against him. I can provide information."
Opportunists say it is wise to straddle the fence in war. But in the end, it is merely foolish. Especially in this war.
Quietly, Dumbledore gave the answer Severus expected. "I'm sure you can."
He took a deep breath. "I will help you stop him."
That little whisper came from down deep again. It is the least I can do.
He forced himself to look up. Dumbledore was smiling. "Thank you, Severus."
For what?
"For trusting me with this," said Minerva evenly.
Severus had just called her to his rooms and related the facts of Draco Malfoy's arrival. The inscrutable woman set down her teacup and regarded him as he finished the tale.
"I could not very well protect Draco at Hogwarts without your approval," he pointed out.
She raised her eyebrows at him. "You know perfectly well that is not what I meant."
He sighed. "In any case, now you know the situation."
"Indeed."
Damn it, Dumbledore had been difficult to read in his own right to the point where Severus had wanted to strangle him, and Minerva had plenty of aggravating traits of her own. She would undoubtedly drive Snape mad within the first few weeks of her employment of him the same way her predecessor had.
How fitting for one of his protégés.
He struggled not to sound as if he were pleading. "Will you help him?"
"Of course," Minerva replied, in a tone that chastised him for doubting that. He looked sharply at her, and she said, "Whatever you have thought in the past, Professor Snape, I bear no malice for your House—or even Draco Malfoy. And I will never refuse sanctuary to a student in danger."
She fell silent then, but they both heard her unspoken words.
I will do as Albus would have done.
Severus breathed again. Draco would be safe here.
He and Minerva discussed the best course of action that would ensure Draco's safety, from both the Dark Lord's followers and his enemies. The Ministry would be as keen to get their hands on Draco as on Potter if word got out. Discretion would be necessary, and Draco would have to adjust to a very different way of life at Hogwarts.
Then Minerva departed so that Severus could explain the situation when Draco awoke. Severus knew he should take the next few hours to get some sleep of his own, but found himself far too awake to consider it. Instead, he paced his quarters, going over in his mind the next conversation he would be having with Draco.
It was not enough that Draco had come to him for protection; Severus knew the difference between the flight in terror that motivated Draco and a genuine change of heart. Weakness of heart is more like it, in all bluntness. Severus understood more or less what was driving Draco's decision, because it was not all that different from what had initially driven his own.
I might have been more accustomed at that age to getting my hands dirty, but Draco and I both found that we did not have the stomach for the Dark Lord's activities.
Down deep, Severus supposed that there had been some semblance of honor and decency inside himself, that had led him to the decisions he'd made to help Dumbledore. And now, if he was to remain honest to his own savior, it was his duty to make sure that Draco understood the REAL reasons why the Dark Lord's cause must be defeated.
And why Draco would not be permitted to stand in the way.
You are either with us or against us, Draco.
And so when Draco awoke and came into the sitting room some hours later, Severus was ready for him. "I have discussed the situation with Professor McGonagall."
Picking at the breakfast brought by the house elves, Draco froze. "What'd she say?"
"She trusts my judgment," Snape told him. "If I ask her to give you sanctuary here, she will do so."
He watched the boy's face as Draco processed the nuances of what he'd said. In a low, toneless voice, Draco repeated, "If?"
Severus nodded, staring hard at the young Slytherin. "If."
Draco swallowed hard, visibly rallying his wits. "What...what do I have to do?"
"You have to decide which side you are on."
The boy blinked. Severus watched calculations fly across his eyes. "I...but I'm..."
"You came to me seeking a way out, Draco, and I am prepared to offer it to you, but make no mistake—there is no half way out. If you want the protection of our side, you cannot remain loyal to his."
The color drained from Draco's face. "You want me to turn on my father?"
Damn. By "his," Severus had meant the Dark Lord. He should have realized Draco would take it a different way. Still... "Your father has chosen his path. Now it is time for you to choose yours. And whatever the Dark Lord has told you, those paths need not be the same." He narrowed his eyes. "And if you want the sanctuary of Hogwarts, they cannot be."
"He'd say I'm a coward for not seeing this through," Draco muttered.
"He would say anything to put you on the course he wants," Severus replied. "But the only true cowardice would be in refusing to make the choice on your own."
"I just don't want to be a slave!" the boy burst out. "I thought you said you'd help me!"
"I intend to help you," Severus said, feigning indifference to the boy's distress. "But I will not open the doors of my own cause to one who might endanger us."
The look on Draco's face was almost comical, an expression of mostly disbelief and a small measure of disgust. "Your...your...cause?"
Severus leaned back, well aware that he was striking that casual dignity pose that Lucius was so good at, but left it for the moment. Draco would recognize that attitude, if not that it was affected. "The preservation of who we are, our traditions, our names. The good of wizardkind."
He knew precisely what Draco was thinking: But that's what the Dark Lord says.
Time for Phase Two.
"I left the Dark Lord because his objective will ultimately destroy us, and everything that we are."
"What?" Draco exclaimed, astonished. "But he's trying to protect us from impurity—"
Severus cut him off with a derisive laugh. "Protect us, no, Draco. His interest is in one thing and one thing only: dominance. Dominance of everything. Of us. The Dark Lord is a half-blood, Draco, heir of Slytherin notwithstanding—oh, yes, that part is true; he is the heir of Salazar. But his mother, of the purest of all bloodlines, forgot everything she should have known when she married a Muggle, ignorant of wizardry. He abandoned her, and his son, Tom Riddle the half-blood, grew to be the Dark Lord."
Draco looked like a fish, his mouth hanging open, but Severus could not deride him for that. He too had gaped when Albus had told him the tale.
Lord Voldemort's motives are not for the benefit of anyone, Severus. His motives are nothing but revenge and malice.
"Why else would he make you, a Malfoy, serve as his slave?" he pressed on. "Your father, head of the most powerful and oldest pureblood family in wizarding Europe, kneels in the mud and filth and kisses the hem of his robes. You, his heir, being trained to serve rather than to lead, Draco. Does that seem right to you? Does that seem consistent with all the principles you have been raised with?"
Numbly, Draco shook his head. "I don't understand," he murmured.
"The Dark Lord has skewed his teachings to you, Draco, as well as to your parents before you. To gain control of us, he lies. He lies about the true nature of what is happening in the wizarding world," Severus said, taking a sip of tea liberally dosed with firewhiskey.
"You mean we're not really being overrun by Mudbloods?" Draco asked doubtfully.
"Watch your tongue; cheap epithets do not become you. No, we are not being overrun now any more than we ever were," Severus said sourly. "Not by their blood, at any rate." Seeing Draco's confusion, he said, "My objection is to the alteration of our culture. The flouting of our traditions and all that we value—THAT is what it means to be pureblood, Malfoy. Never forget it." He leaned forward and tapped the boy on the forehead. "You have been raised with more knowledge of who we are, our history, our culture, and our traditions than is ever taught at Hogwarts. For all the emphasis that the Ministry presses upon learning about Muggle culture and protecting the Muggleborns from anything unsavory, they offer us no such relief. THAT is the cause of our culture's dilution, not merely the presence of those newcomers. And we are just as much to blame as Dumbledore's type and the Muggleborns."
Draco no longer looked quite so shaken, but rather thoughtful, Severus was pleased to see. Draco Malfoy was, in spite of the protestations of Potter's lot, an intelligent young man, capable and often eager to apply his intellect to a problem. Now that Severus had lain this new set of ideas before him, he would at the very least give it consideration.
He waited, and at length, Draco frowned at him. "How are we to blame?"
"Our complacency, of course. And that so many of our finest families have cast their lot with the Dark Lord and all his talk of ultimate power and immortality, rather than concentrating on preserving our traditions against loss and disuse."
"A lot of them died at the Fortress," Draco mused.
It was all Severus could do not to bellow like a second year watching his team win at Quidditch. Yes! "That too," he said calmly. "The Dark Lord will not win this war, Draco." He dared not allow any whiff of the doubts smoldering in his soul to taint his voice. Draco could learn about the complications and the deeper philosophical details later. For now he simply had to be swayed enough to not pose a threat to the Order. "The Muggleborns and half-bloods are too numerous, to say nothing of the Muggles at large. Do not think it is merely the Aurors and resisting families who must be subdued—the Dark Lord will not be satisfied with that. He will then want to move on to the entire wizarding world, then the Muggle world. For all the powers at his disposal, he is outmanned, millions to one. And mark me: some Muggles are aware of the wizarding world and the stakes in the war. They will become involved if their own existence is endangered, and while they do not have magic, they have invented enough means of defending themselves."
"Like those new-cooler weapons that Zabini keeps talking about?" Draco asked.
Severus shrugged. "I don't know the details, and it does not especially matter. The Muggle world need never become our concern if we do not make it so."
His eyes downcast, Draco nodded. "I wondered why...why he bothered. It seemed like such a waste of time, those raids. There's always more Muggles. More Muggleborns and half-bloods."
Cautiously, Severus pushed further. "You are the heir to one of the oldest, most prominent families in our world, Draco. You have been raised to hold great pride, great principles. You have been raised to lead. Not to follow. And you have been raised to prize honor and dignity—that is where the power among the pureblood families derives. Not from brute force. We are wizards, not house elves."
Draco gave another, hesitant nod, then whispered again, "But my father..."
"Your father raised you to think for yourself. To be prepared to take the role of a leader among our people one day," Severus told him gently. "It is time you did."
"Don't think this is what he had in mind," Draco said, with a weak, mostly-humorless laugh.
Severus smiled. "When a son reaches his moment of true independence...it rarely is in the way his father had in mind. I would venture to say that it never is."
Draco took a shaky breath, his eyes focused on his hands beneath the tabletop. "I don't want to be his slave. I'll do what you want. I'll help...end the war. I mean," he glanced nervously at Snape. "If you, if they'll...let me."
"I will," said Severus, meeting the young man's eyes. "I trust you."
It was more difficult than Severus had expected to leave Draco alone with McGonagall that evening, so that she could "have a few words with Mr. Malfoy about his changed circumstances," as she put it. But he did trust her, and had told Draco as much, so he managed to depart the Headmistress's office with Draco still there without a backward glance.
Draco would be all right. Minerva would not bully him (not too much, anyway) and she would keep him safe and explain the new ropes to the boy. Severus needed to let Draco learn to trust and be trusted by others on their side.
Besides, it was time for Potter's Occlumency lesson.
The Gryffindor looked tired and distracted when he arrived in Snape's office, not surprisingly. And when Severus asked whether he had cleared his mind the previous night, the boy's sheepish expression said it all. "Potter, what have I told you—"
"I'm sorry, I forgot," Potter sighed, looking honestly contrite. "I was just...it wasn't really emotional, by nighttime anyway, I was just...thinking hard."
No need to ask what about, but Potter told him anyway. "Just thinking about what we need to do to make Sirius's case."
Severus fired a burst of Legilimency at him, but the boy managed after about thirty seconds to push him out. Lowering his wand, he said, "The Minister of Magic is facing serious political repercussions from the attempt to arrest you, as well as the trial. His administration cannot afford a finding of Black's innocence. He is driving forward with the claim that Black infiltrated our side and Confunded you to win your affections."
Potter growled, but saw Severus raise his wand, and quickly cleared his mind—so that it took a few seconds longer than usual to break in. But Potter managed after that to push him out again.
"Better. Concentrate. Be prepared for an attack at any time," he said, attacking the boy again.
This time, Potter reacted quicker, pushing him out, and recovered more quickly as well. "Will Fudge try to stop Professor McGonagall from being confirmed as Headmistress after what happened yesterday?"
"It does not appear so. He is too set on Black. As far as I know, he is not leaning on the Board of Governors," Severus replied, too conscious of his own relief on that score to tell Potter to mind his own business. If Minerva were not confirmed...Draco would be in serious danger. But it seemed there was no chance of that now. "To try to influence the choice of Headmaster of Hogwarts might be seen as trying to take advantage of Dumbledore's death."
To his surprise, Harry flinched. He did not attack then, too curious as to what ailed the boy, and Potter glanced at him and muttered, "I wonder if Dumbledore knew that."
Just like Dumbledore had known what Severus was able—and willing—to do to bring about the defeat of the Dark Lord's side. For all the Headmaster had beaten about the bush with talk of Potions Mastery and teaching, he had undoubtedly known from the very beginning that Severus would end up his spy.
Surprising himself this time, Severus gave a quiet snort that was almost a chuckle. "There is little doubt, in my experience."
Potter smiled, lowering his wand completely, and while Severus knew he should attack, he did not. "Mine too."
"I had vastly more experience with Albus Dumbledore than you, Potter," Snape pointed out, but he found there was little rancor behind his words.
Again, Potter smiled, that sad, almost wistful smile. And he met Snape's eyes. "Yeah, but I think I probably had enough to know too."
He meant to experience Dumbledore's...way of accomplishing things. Severus could not deny it. No, he and Harry Potter had both spent many years of their lives rolling along as tumbleweeds in the wind of Albus Dumbledore's influence.
Yet another of the strange parallels that always seemed to force him alongside the son of James Potter.
Parallels?
Severus forgot Potter was even there for a moment as he considered, then fought the urge to damn Albus yet again. Yes, there have been many parallels between my life and Harry Potter's, though perhaps they are not as strange and coincidental as I have always assumed.
When he looked back at the boy, Harry was staring at him with an expression of equal amazement. "Do you think he..." he broke off, frowning.
Severus shook his head, in that sense of half-amused, half-mortified resignation that always results from discovering how easily one has been manipulated. "There is very little that Albus Dumbledore did not...have a hand in," he said wearily.
The boy's expression suggested that he was feeling that same thing at the moment. "And he always gets his way...well, most of the time, anyway." There was too much truth in that statement for Snape to do anything but nod. "I'll miss him."
Harry was not really looking at Severus by then, too lost in his own memories and contemplations, but for a brief moment, Severus looked directly at him. There was artless honesty in the boy's green eyes, the sort of expression that James Potter had never (and in Severus's opinion, would never have) worn. It was not really the war, when it came to it; Severus could recall the first few times in the boy's first year that he had seen him, and Harry Potter, although he had James Potter's face, had never quite comported himself like his father. James Potter had never worn his emotions so openly. He would have been better at Occlumency.
Albus had said that. More than once, come to think of it. Albus never said anything unless he thought the listener might one day be persuaded of its truth.
"I'll miss him," Potter had said.
As will I.
To be continued...
Coming soon: Cornelius Fudge is increasingly desperate to hang on to power, even if that means destroying an innocent man, but Harry and his friends are ready to take Fudge on—with the power of the press! Who will the wizarding world and the Wizengamot believe, the Boy Who Lived or the Minister of Magic? As Harry grows increasingly desperate to save his godfather, he and the Order begin working on a risky plan that could prove Sirius innocent once and for all in Chapter 41: The Trial of Sirius Black!
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