Worth It

Chapter Six

As Willow slowly made her way from Dumbledore's office that night her mind was working overtime. The headmaster had asked her if she would help them rescue Tonks. Although she desperately wanted to help, and to prove that she was still a good guy, she felt slightly daunted by the idea of helping in a rescue mission where curses and hexes would be flying, and she just might have to use her magick to kill someone.

Again.

Dumbledore had assured her that it would not come to that, the Order was intent on getting inside the Zabini estate, grabbing Tonks, and getting back out again, hopefully undetected.

Willow had smiled weakly at him, thinking to herself that that wasn't going to be the way things panned out. If Tonks was being held at the Zabini's place, then there would be guards around her, both human and magickal. The whole situation was proof enough that the Zabini's were both powerful and skilled, and if it came down to a confrontation between the two sides, then it would be Willow's unique style of magick that was relied upon to get the rescuers safely out of there.

The sound of rapid footsteps caught her attention, and Willow looked over her shoulder to see Professor Snape striding down the corridor towards her.

Great, I'm just –sure- he's here to offer advice and reassure me.

"What's the matter Miss Rosenburg?" he said derisively. "You seemed so keen to help us the last time we talked."

"I do want to help!"

"Which is why you're running and hiding at the first sign of trouble? You were more than willing to use your magicks to kill us all, perhaps Dumbledore is expecting too much to ask you to help us now."

"That's not fair…"

"Not fair?" He walked forwards and hissed at Willow, "You tried to end the world, you stupid little girl, do you really think you deserve –fair-?"

Willow felt tears beginning to well up in her eyes, and fought to keep her voice level. She would not give this bastard the satisfaction of seeing how his words were affecting her. "I've done other things…"

"Yes, so I've heard," he cut in, "you pulled the slayer out of heaven. Congratulations, what an achievement. Oh, and your latest trick was to activate all the potential slayers, I believe? Now every girl who can be targeted by the vampires and demons, -will- be targeted."

"That's not…"

"Fair? It's certainly not fair on them, no."

"That's not –the way it happened-." Willow emphasised, and a wave of relief went through her as she spotted her painting – the doorway to her rooms - at the end of the corridor. "I was helping. I was doing a good thing."

"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself, Miss Rosenburg?" Snape said smoothly. "No, don't bother answering that one. Just run along to your rooms like a good little girl, and leave the magic to the grown ups."

Willow felt a hot flush spread across her cheeks, and the tears she'd been holding back finally started to fall. She quickly covered the distance left to her door, and glanced over her shoulder as she whispered the password. Professor Snape was still stood in the corridor, and Willow hurried through the doorway, slamming the door closed behind her.

.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.

Professor Snape, left standing in the hallway outside Willow's rooms, was actually surprised. He'd been baiting her with the sole purpose of eliciting a response, although he had expected the girl to stand up for herself and tell him where to stick his opinions. The masochist in him thought she might even give him a personal demonstration of her power.

He hadn't bargained on tears.

Not that a crying female was a new thing to the potions master; more than once he had managed to reduce a female student to tears by criticising her work. He'd even had a few of the boys sniffling, especially the first years. He'd never actually felt bad for doing it though.

Not that he felt bad now, he told himself as he walked back to his rooms.

Her tears were merely surprising. I have no reason to feel… guilty. Even as his internal monolog spat the last word out with disgust, a seldom-experienced emotion was starting to gnaw away at him.

By the time Snape had reached his own rooms, hidden away in the dungeons, he was feeling decidedly disturbed. He was not supposed to care that he had made someone cry. It was one of the things he did best – after potion making and acting the loyal Death Eater. It was one of the reasons his act was so convincing. So why had Willow's sudden vulnerability made him feel like a complete heel?

I do not care about the stupid little chit.

Snape had once delighted in breaking through people's carefully structured defences and rendering them vulnerable. You couldn't just sneak into the Death Eaters, after all. You had to be serious about it. Dedicated.

He had once been the perfect Death Eater. Intelligent, loyal and talented. Looking back, Voldemort really should have known better than to kill Lily Potter. Years may have passed since they were in school together, but she was still his one weakness. When Voldemort had gone to the Potters' house that fateful night, he had assured Severus that Lily Potter would not be harmed. Snape had believed him, thinking that he had never once asked for a favour or reward; surely Voldemort would allow him this one indulgence as thanks for his loyal service.

When Lily Potter died, so had Severus' loyalty to Voldemort.

Now where was he? Stuck teaching a load of brats that didn't have a clue he regularly risked his neck for them, spying on the Dark Lord himself, and bringing information back to Dumbledore.

And what good has it done? he asked himself. He was able to prevent the Zabini's seizing Luna Lovegood, but that was small consolation compared to learning the previous year that all his spying might easily have been in vain as a young American witch nearly ended the world.

Snape had taken the whole thing rather personally, insulted that he could have died because the foolish Wiccan thought she knew what suffering was.

I think I should know what suffering feels like. Snape saw it every time he attended a revel, and more than once he had found himself on the receiving end of the crucio curse when Voldemort was displeased.

If anyone had a reason to dislike Willow Rosenburg it was he, and yet he now found himself feeling curious about her. She was a far cry from the arrogant witch he had been expecting, and he wondered what could have led her to dose up on dark magicks enough that ending the world seemed like the most sensible option.

.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.

Elsewhere in Hogwarts, someone else was still awake.

Draco Malfoy was laying in his bed, and staring at the dull white ceiling above him. He'd been distracted during the welcoming feast by the new teacher, Professor Rosenberg, and the Griffindor trio's reaction to her. He really did think he had picked up on something going on between them, but Blaise had well and truly doused that idea in cold water. Draco grunted in frustration. He should have known better than to expect Blaise to get excited about, well, anything short of the fiasco that had happened during the summer.

Blaise had certainly been agitated after his parents had decided to drop in on Luna Lovegood. Draco had talked to him a lot after that incident, and their friendship had been confirmed a couple of weeks later, when it had been he who had sought out Blaise's advice.

Predictable socialite, Narcissa Malfoy, had decided to defy her well-established reputation as a pretty trinket and arm decoration, and in one brief conversation had shaken the very foundations of Draco's meticulously planned life.

Since the mayhem in the Ministry of Magic, Lucius Malfoy had vanished, presumably gone into hiding with his beloved Lord Voldemort, and Narcissa had seen a clear field for her to voice her opinions for once. Draco had unexpectedly found out that his mother was damned glad that Lucius had vanished, and hoped he never returned.

"If he does come back, you will not be leaving with him, Draco," she had said, in between cursing the air blue.

As Draco shifted in his bed, to allow a little moonlight to fall on the picture he had pulled from beneath his pillow, he wished the summer had never happened. Everything had been so easy before; Lucius planned it all out for him. He would attend Hogwarts, become Head Boy, graduate top of his class and then join the Death Eaters and help Voldemort attain a glorious victory.

It had all seemed so simple. His entire life had soundly drummed the idea into his head that muggles were only barely above cattle, and no one objected to those animals being used for a purpose, and killed at the end of it.

What did mother mean, blood doesn't matter? Mudbloods are tainted. I know they're tainted, so that proves blood matters, doesn't it?

Draco frowned and rolled onto his side. The ceiling wasn't offering any answers, and neither could Blaise Zabini, who was fast asleep across the room. He had been supportive, but hadn't had any brilliant ideas for solving either of their problems.

Do I –know- that mudbloods are tainted? They're part muggle. Muggles can't do magic. That makes them… different? Better? Worse?

Narcissa had been so out of character in her announcement that Draco had almost wondered if someone was having him on, under the disguise of a polyjuice potion. One look in his mother's intense eyes had put that thought out of his mind, leaving him with a much more awkward concept to work through.

Mother said that blood doesn't make me better, that a name isn't everything. But that's who I am. A Malfoy. A pureblood. Without that I've got nothing. It is worth giving all that up because she's suddenly had a change of heart? Do I even want to?

.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.