Thank you for the response to the last chapter! I'm so glad that so many people liked it. Review responses will be up in my LJ later.

Now, this chapter, I enjoyed writing.

Chapter Thirteen: A Grim Hope

Later, Snape reflected that it would have all gone far differently if Draco hadn't caught him before he could bundle Harry into his office.

"Professor Snape."

He turned, because the tone was not one he had been expecting. He could have ignored the hysterical crying of a child, or a mere innocent question about Potions homework. Those were less important than finding some way to heal Harry and help him control Tom Riddle.

But Draco spoke in the coldly courteous tone of a pureblooded wizard, a tone that Snape had learned very early in life not to ignore. When he turned around, he blinked. For the first time, he could see Lucius Malfoy in Draco—Lucius as he had been the night he helped initiate Snape into the Death Eaters, Lucius the night he explained the power and glory of the cause.

Snape found himself with the urge to bow his head. That, of course, only irritated him further. He wasn't young anymore, and he certainly was no longer an idiot.

"Draco." He made his own tone scathingly cold. He might never be able to imitate Lucius Malfoy himself, but he had developed his own brand of ice to hurt people who made inane requests of him. "As you can see, I am quite busy—"

Draco caught sight of Harry then. His mask only grew firmer, which Snape did not understand. He had thought Harry and Draco were close, at least after the screaming tempter tantrums Draco had indulged in earlier that term because the boy had ignored him.

"He's had another attack, hasn't he?" he asked. "The Dark Lord's in his head."

Snape narrowed his eyes. Has the idiot boy been telling the truth to everyone who crosses his path? "That is not your concern, Draco," he said. "Return to the Slytherin common room at once. You may tell anyone who asks that I will be unavailable for the rest of the day." He attempted to brush past Draco. Harry was growing heavy in his arms, and the Locusta had not stopped hissing once. Snape did not want to have her wrapped around his neck again, as he suspected she would be if she thought for one moment that he was not doing everything possible to help Harry.

"It is my concern," said Draco. "And take him to your private rooms, not your offices. I'll come with you."

"You dare to order me?" Snape swung around. Harry was in danger, but he could not allow such disrespect to go unpunished. "I will not hesitate to give you a detention."

"I have to firecall my father," said Draco, his face perfectly calm. "He was the one who gave the book that held the Dark Lord to Harry. And Harry didn't tell anyone. He protected him." There was some intense emotion behind his voice, but Snape could not tell what it was yet. "My father owes Harry a debt of honor. He is going to pay it, right now."

Snape narrowed his eyes further, ignoring the shock that the news had given him. He would deal with it later. "Do you really think that your father will be of any help in prying the Dark Lord out of the boy's head?"

"Not with that," said Draco. "With the far-reaching consequences." He only stood mutely when Snape stared at him, before adding, with a viciousness that made him sound more like a Death Eater than ever, "That, and I want him to see what he did."

Snape decided that he could not waste time arguing. Harry was moving, about to wake up. His shields of guilt and self-loathing would rise then. Snape wanted to peer into the boy's mind while he still slept and see if Tom Riddle was lurking about. "Very well," he said, and swept down the corridor to his offices, whispering the password to the wall. It slid open.

Draco followed him into the room and went immediately to the hearth. Snape decided he was not going to watch. Draco would oppose Lucius and lose. But his concern still had to be Harry.

He laid the boy out on a low divan and paused to watch his breathing. Harry's scar stood out on his forehead, more than the general shape of it lost under a thin film of blood. Snape hissed between his teeth. A curse scar. Of course. That must be what gives the connection between Harry and the Dark Lord. I do not think I can remove it, but I might at least ease the pain.

He reached out and laid one hand on Harry's temple. When necessary, he could use his Legilimency without eye contact. It would leave him with a pounding headache a day or so afterwards, but that was the price he paid. And there was no price he would not pay at the moment to be free of Tom Riddle. Snape suspected that, if he had shared the boy's memories, he knew about Snape's betrayal. He himself was in danger.

"Legilimens," he whispered.

He sank into a mind gone far too still. Snape glanced about, and recoiled. The reaction was one of instinctive shock, fear, and disgust. A moment later, he thought about what pain Harry must be feeling. He knew he was clenching his teeth, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

He forced the physical sensations away. He had to be utterly concentrated to accomplish this.

He moved slowly forward. Around him, the edges of webs flapped and unraveled in a foul-smelling wind. The Locusta was woven all through the boy's mind, a recklessly bright thread that had only sunk in further since Snape had last looked. The plunging center of Harry's thoughts remained the solid block of protecting his brother, but more webs than ever were woven about it now. Snape thought it looked as though some thoughts had struggled to escape, and Harry's training had tied them down.

And the box was there.

Snape shivered at the sight of it. The padlocks on it had grown more extensive, and he could feel the touch of Dark magic on the locks that was not Harry's. Tom Riddle had been here. He was indeed hiding in the box. Snape steeled himself. He would have to force it open.

"Do not."

The voice was cold, and everywhere, and beat on his skin like sunshine. Snape turned. The golden thread had moved towards him. For the first time, he heard the Locusta's voice wash over him.

"If you open the box now, you destroy him. Tom Riddle is waiting. He would prefer not to fight you now, but open the box and he will, desperately. At the very best, that would tear Harry's mind apart at the seams. At the worst, Riddle would gain command of Harry's magic and possess him completely."

Snape considered that, or tried to consider it; the thought sent up one long scream in his mind. He shook his head. "But if we leave the box intact, then Riddle can hide and grow stronger."

"I know." The Locusta arranged herself in front of said box, her head half-lowered. "But there is no choice. At least Harry is alive now, and while he lives, he can fight." The voice acquired a tone of flat amusement. "While he has me, he will fight." Her head swung towards him again. "But if you crack the box, you break his safeguards. You bring Tom Riddle. You bring the emotions that Harry has been hiding. You bring out darkness."

Snape did not like the way she said that last word. "You do not speak of Dark magic."

"I speak of Harry's unattractive emotions blended with his magic, and released all at once, and under Riddle's control." The Locusta sounded impatient. "Think of that, Snape, if you will."

Snape let out a slow, shaky breath. "But then what do you suggest we do?"

"Ask Harry. It's his mind. And he's waking up now, so he will want to talk to you anyway." The Locusta lowered her head and twined herself about the box like a second lock. "I will prevent Harry from putting any more emotions into this thing."

The webs around Snape abruptly contracted, flinging him outward and to his knees. He opened his eyes. Harry was gazing back at him, wild-eyed and panting. He turned his head away, his face a mask of concentration, and then let out a soft cry.

Snape didn't understand what he said next, since it was in Parseltongue, but apparently his Locusta did not yield and let him store his emotions away. Harry's next tactic was to hide. He hunched into the divan, his shoulders rising up around his ears, his hands clasped in front of him. Snape could hear his breath rushing fast, mingled with small moans of desperation and pain.

"What is wrong with the boy?"

Snape turned abruptly. Lucius Malfoy was just stepping from his hearth, dusting soot off his cloak and glancing about with a slightly curled lip, as though he had to disdain Snape's rooms on principle. His gaze came back to Harry, and he smiled slightly.

"What's wrong is with him is that he has the Dark Lord in his head."

Draco stepped forward to confront his father, face still a mask of perfect ice. Lucius glanced at his son, then looked at him again for one long moment. Snape saw no yielding or curiosity in his expression, but he did frown, looking like a man who had laid his wand down somewhere and did not want to use a Summoning Charm to find it.

"What are you speaking of, Draco?" Lucius asked. "You coaxed me with talk of a debt of honor, but I cannot see that I owe a debt to a child who cannot even control himself." Harry uttered another moan, more urgent, as though in answer. Snape turned back to him and saw tears leaking down his face, mingled with a thin stream of blood that had probably come from the scar.

Snape hesitated for a long moment, then blew out his own breath in irritation—with himself, with Harry, with the situation—and moved forward to arrange his arms carefully around the boy. The Locusta, lying motionless on Harry's left shoulder, brushed against him but did not bite him. Snape, more grateful for that than he should be, sat back carefully and balanced Harry against his chest.

"Hush, Harry," he said softly. "It is all right. We will fight him." Harry stiffened and tried to pull away. Snape held him closer. So long as the Locusta didn't react, he thought Harry wasn't in danger of injuring himself or anyone else with his actions. "Hold still," he whispered, forcing affection, or a parody of it, into his voice. "You need to be held."

Harry went still, though Snape had no idea if it was his voice or what his Locusta might have said in his mind or something else. He was still breathing hard, and his heart thrummed against Snape's chest, fast as a small bird's. Snape gently stroked the boy's hair back from his face, relieved to see that the scar had stopped bleeding. Harry had his eyes clenched tightly shut. From the look of it, he never wanted to open them again.

"The debt of honor, Father, is one that you incurred when you gave the book to Harry, and then he told no one of it."

Snape looked up. Draco had moved between Snape and his father, or more precisely, between Harry and his father.

He was holding his wand.

Snape narrowed his eyes. He understood only a very little of what was happening here, but if it was what he thought it was...

"I see no reason to hold myself responsible for a child's foolish pride," said Lucius. His gray eyes contained no emotion except boredom, now. Even the slight frown Snape had seen was gone. "He could have told his guardians that I gave him the book, or, more precisely, that I dropped the book into the youngest Weasley brat's cauldron and he chose to pick it up. I would have weathered the storm. I fear no wrath of Potters."

"He chose not to," said Draco. "Dumbledore knows about this possession by the Dark Lord, and Harry still concealed you from him. Do you really think that you could have stood up to Dumbledore, Father?"

Lucius hissed softly. "Draco," he said, shifting so that his gaze rested on his son alone, "I will tolerate no disrespect."

Draco glared right back. Snape had never seen his student so still, his eyes so wide, or his stance so poised. His voice did not falter for a moment. "This is not disrespect, Father. This is honest truth. Harry Potter has gone out of his way to grant the Malfoy family his protection and patronage—"

"Patronage?" Lucius repeated the word in his shock, and then clamped his mouth shut. A faint blush touched his cheeks. Snape dimly remembered that such a flinch would lose him a step in the pureblood dance. As if to confirm that, Draco gave a smile as faint as the blush, as cold and distant as the moon.

"Yes, patronage," he said, as if savoring the word. "He has protected you from Dumbledore, Father. He has protected me, first from the wand of Ron Weasley and then from his own brother. The Boy-Who-Lived ordered him to stand aside, Father, and he would not. He tried as hard as he could to prevent me from finding out that you were the one who had given him the book in the first place. And do you know why?" Draco's head rose enough that Snape could see his pulse. It beat slow and serene, a definite contrast to the pulse he could feel racing against his chest.

Lucius shook his head, as if hypnotized.

"Because he did not want to force me to choose between my friend and my family," said Draco, every word sharp. "He wanted me to believe that you were still honorable, that you had not given such a Dark artifact into the hand of one who had never done you harm—and who was my friend besides. He cared for my well-being, for my safety, for my lineage." He paused. "He has been a better protector of our honor than you have been, Father."

There was a long silence after that. Snape found that he could not quite watch the two Malfoys. He gave his attention to Harry instead, stroking the boy's hair and murmuring reassurances. He didn't let himself hear the reassurances. He could not live with himself if he did.

Harry quieted at last. Then he spoke, in a voice scraped so raw with tears and rage that Snape was surprised he could speak at all.

"Mr. Malfoy." That made Lucius stare at him. "I never meant for you to find out about this. I am sorry. I don't want the Malfoys in my debt, and you need not fulfill any claim that Draco has made on you." Harry leaned around Snape's neck to glare at Draco. "Leave it, please, Draco. I would rather you choose your family."

Draco shook his head. "I already made my choice, Harry. You had your say. You undertook your actions to spare me and keep the Malfoy honor safe. Now I'm doing what I want to do." He turned, degree by degree, until he was facing his father. "And I want the Malfoy honor back."

Snape saw the shot go home. Lucius turned white about the lips. Then each cheek flushed with a spot of red, and he inclined his head to Harry.

"Mr. Potter, I am sorry for whatever inconvenience you may have suffered from that book," he said. "I will swear on the Malfoy name that I did not know what it was. I was instructed to fetch the book from a secret hiding place and insure that it reached Hogwarts. Allowing you to take it reveals a level of carelessness unbecoming a Malfoy, the more so when the one who came into possession of it was a friend of my son's who has always treated us with grace. I beg your forgiveness."

Harry nodded. "I don't need anything from you, Mr. Malfoy—"

"But you do," Draco interrupted. "Harry, when they find someone else Petrified, which I assume must have happened from the state you're in, they'll try to expel you. My father is among the governors of the school. He can keep them from doing it." Draco looked up at his father. "He can persuade them otherwise."

Snape held his breath. He feared Draco had gone too far. But, after a long moment, Lucius smiled, and actually knelt down and embraced his son.

"If I must be out-danced by someone," he murmured, "I would rather it were my son. Well done, Draco."

"Thank you, Father," said Draco, and embraced him back. Snape shook his head. Despite devoting himself to their ideals for a time when he had joined the Death Eaters, he still found pureblood families hard to understand.

"I go now to repay my debt of honor," said Lucius, and inclined his head to Harry. "Mr. Potter. I look forward to our meeting again, under…less extreme circumstances."

Snape glanced sidelong at Harry, certain his face would wear a look of horror. But Harry actually had a faint smile of his own. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy," he said. "I don't blame you for the diary, you know. I knew your loyalties when I became friends with your son."

And he probably really didn't blame Lucius, Snape thought. He shook his head again. There were times Harry acted more like a pureblood than Draco did. Although today, he thought, his gaze drifting back and forth between the two boys, I believe they are evenly matched.

Lucius nodded slowly, his eyes narrowed and distant. "Draco has told me that you are a Parselmouth," he said abruptly. "Is that true?"

Harry closed his eyes, as if concentration, and began to hiss. A moment later, his jumper wriggled, and his Locusta pushed her head around the edge of it, hissing back at him.

Lucius's eyes narrowed further. Snape watched him appreciate the snake, and knew that he understood his old friend and old enemy this time. Lucius had been a Slytherin long before he had been a Death Eater. He would respect the gift of Parseltongue, find it fascinating…

Be drawn to it? Snape thought as he watched Lucius's eyes follow the dart of the Locusta's tongue. Perhaps.

Lucius nodded once. "I shall look forward to watching your exploits in the future, Mr. Potter," he said, and then swept back to the fireplace. He Flooed out as Snape watched, and the flames snapped green briefly around him. Draco watched him go, his head high and his neck unbending.

Then he turned around, came over, and tried to pry Harry out of Snape's arms. Snape gladly let the boy go. He would help Harry, for their sakes and the sake of the school and the sake of the war, but he was not meant to hold little boys who had Tom Riddle in their heads. Draco, cradling Harry against him and not moving until the other boy gave in and held him back, was a much better choice.

Draco met Snape's eyes over Harry's head. "What are we going to do?" he asked. One of his hands rested on the back of Harry's neck, fingers tangling in his hair. Snape wondered idly if Draco realized how possessive the gesture was.

"We must find some way of fighting Tom Riddle," said Snape, when he had cleared his throat. "He is hiding in a box in Harry's head, one that Harry has used to contain strong emotions." He wondered for a moment about the wisdom of speaking of this in front of Draco, but the boys had shared enough in the last few minutes that he would have felt odd hinting about. And Draco could not help at all if he did not have specific information. "We cannot open the box without releasing Riddle, who will fight us, and we would also, his snake assures me, destroy Harry's sanity."

"That choice is gone, then," said Draco, in a voice that showed, so far as he was concerned, it had never been an option. "So what else can we do?"

Snape leaned back and touched his fingers together. "I have been teaching Harry Occlumency," he said. "We could try to construct shields within his mind, to hold Riddle. But I fear they would not endure forever. And we cannot destroy the box for fear of what would happen, and we cannot drain the box a memory at a time, which would be my preferred course. I fear Riddle would try to prevent that." He remembered what the snake had said, and shuddered. I cannot fight the Dark Lord, young or not, in Harry's head, with him having access to all or even part of Harry's power.

"Those are out, too, then," said Draco, sounding undaunted. "What else is left?"

"To grow strong enough to fight him."

Harry had lifted his head and finally started to strain backwards against Draco's embrace. Draco hesitated, then let his arms fall. Harry turned around, his hands clenched in front of him, his face half-streaked with blood from his scar.

His eyes were furious, with the kind of deep and focused rage that Snape knew Harry would ordinarily have put in his box. He breathed deeply. Harry was frightening, but not as frightening as Riddle, and if he contemplated one without fainting, then he could face the other.

"I know what has to be done," Harry told Snape. "I don't know how to do it. But you'll teach me, won't you?"

Snape lifted his head. "I will. I will not see Voldemort returned." He heard Draco gasp softly, and wondered if it was at this final declaration of his loyalty or because he had spoken the Dark Lord's name. He did not care. He could see nothing at the moment but Harry's eyes, the fury in them, and the need to answer that fury.

He found himself remembering Harry's talents in Potions, on his broomstick, at defensive spells. Harry had used them all well, but without delving as far into them as he could have, because his attention was always elsewhere, on his twin. The same thing had happened with Occlumency; for all that he knew it was important, he had passively resisted the lessons, Snape thought, because he could not immediately apply them to saving his brother.

Now that Harry knew he must defeat Tom Riddle or die or become his brother's enemy…

Snape felt a hard, grim hope catch him about the heart and begin to squeeze.

"Then I know how I'll do it, too," said Harry. "First of all, Professor, can you surround the box with a shield so that Riddle doesn't know what we're doing?" His eyes had frozen hard. "I don't want him to know what we're doing."

"I can try," said Snape carefully. "I was a better Occlumens than he was a Legilimens, or I would not have survived. But you realize that he may be listening to us now, and so know the plan?"

"Do it," said Harry.

"You trust me this much?" Snape had to ask, because he could not help himself.

"I don't trust you at all," said Harry frankly. "But I know it has to be done. It's for Connor. He's the only reason I would ever agree to do something like this, the only reason that I wouldn't go and give myself up to Dumbledore. Dumbledore would want to put me in St. Mungo's or something for my own safety." Harry shook his head. "My safety is less important than Connor's."

Snape noticed Draco about to say something before he caught himself. He arched a brow. The boy has already shown loyalty to a fellow Slytherin, to at least one person besides his brother. I wonder if he noticed that?

But the important thing at the moment was doing what Harry asked of him, so Snape met his eyes and intoned, "Legilimens."

In moments, he was back among the foul, fluttering webs, but this time Harry was with him, urging him forward, parting the barriers that would have naturally stood in Snape's way. Snape watched him at it even as he swam towards the box and prepared to weave the shields. Harry seemed to have accepted, finally, that the art of Occlumency was about motion and not stillness. The webs almost danced in the wind of his power, and that same wind rose behind Snape and urged him forward the last few lengths to the box.

The boy will be a natural Occlumens, if he puts this much effort into it, Snape thought as he laid his hands around the box. And he will, if he thinks it will save his brother.

He had made many mistakes, Snape had to admit, but none as profound as trying to use Harry against his loyalty to Connor. That would not break. Snape would remember it in the future.

He began the shield.

He had been a Death Eater, and then a spy, and as a result he could safely say that he knew Voldemort better than anyone alive. Dumbledore might come close, but he was too much a part of the Light. He could have matched Voldemort at Dark magic; he had chosen not to exercise his power in that direction.

Snape, meanwhile, had once reveled in casting whatever strength of Dark spells his Lord would let him get away with, and had invented several potions that Voldemort had delighted in, all for the purpose of causing pain.

He knew what to make the shields out of.

He wove memories of Harry weeping on the divan, his face covered with blood. He inscribed the agony he had seen on Harry's face in the moments before Riddle knocked him unconscious, as he whispered that Riddle was in the box. He recalled, deliberately, the helplessness that had assaulted Harry when his own Locusta prevented him from dealing with his emotions as he was used to doing.

The snake, wrapped around the box still, hissed then. Snape nearly faltered. But she went silent again, and watched as the memories rotated around each other and assembled.

Now came the difficult part. Snape worked fast but delicately, not allowing himself to falter, his magic answering his mind the moment a thought came into being. He trailed threads from the edges of the memories, linking them together, using the webs of Harry's mind for inspiration. So that Riddle would not grow suspicious after he saw the same memories over and over, Snape spun slight variations of them, similar images of Harry in pain and agony that would content and fascinate Voldemort's sadism. He arranged the threads behind each other. They would spring into view slowly, and make Riddle have a sense that time was passing and still Harry was writhing in anguish and terror of the possession.

Snape wove a final cloud of fog as a shield around it all, and as a last-minute precaution. Should Riddle burst free of both Harry's and the snake's restraints, the fog would baffle him and give them at least a few moments' warning.

Snape tugged the threads into place, used one moment more to admire his fine work, and then launched the shield.

Images of Harry in pain began to play around the box. Snape closed his eyes, exhausted, and let himself fall out from the boy's mind.

He must have been more exhausted than he thought, as he went unconscious for a few moments. When he came to, the boys were arguing quietly.

"…cannot possibly be as fine as you look." That was Draco.

"Fine?" Harry's voice was edged with something Snape had never heard from him before, something that might almost have been humor. "Of course I'm not fine. But I can put it aside, Draco. I have to. I have to focus on Connor, on helping him and protecting him and saving him. When—when I can collapse, I promise you, I will. When I've driven Riddle out of my head." He gave a sound half-snort, half-sob. "I don't have the box to put my emotions in any more."

"That's not good enough," Draco demanded, and Snape opened his eyes to see the boy move over in front of him. "Professor Snape," Draco said, "is there a way that you can connect me to Harry's mind? Can you let me watch over the box? Can't I help somehow?" That last was the closest to a child Snape had heard him sound in an hour.

"Since you are not an Occlumens, it would take deep trust—" Snape began.

"I trust Draco," Harry cut in.

Snape did not understand himself at all, because that statement gave him hope. He sat up and squinted at Harry. Harry gazed back. His emotions were clear across his eyes, fear and resignation with that adamant fury and resolve cutting it all, and Snape caught a glimpse of the possible future in that moment.

It was only a glimpse, and he told himself to distrust it. Harry would probably still try to go back to the box, from sheer force of habit. Riddle was powerful, and they might not win. Should they win this battle, there would be hundreds of others to fight.

But Snape saw, in that glimpse, something grander and more glorious than a world without Voldemort, or even a brighter reputation for Slytherin House. He saw the whole wizarding world changed, transformed into something better. He saw, for once, a powerful wizard who could bend his strength to improving matters with all his will, and not crack and change his ideals into a reign of terror, or cloak it in riddles and talk of sacrifice.

It gave him hope. It broke parts of his heart that he had not thought were still there.

It is making you sound like a babbling idiot, Snape told himself, and nodded shortly. "Then there is a way that I can link Mr. Malfoy to your mind, and myself as well," he said. "There will be three guardians on the box, then, with your snake and ourselves—"

"Four," said Harry quietly. "It will be hard, I know, but I will do this."

Snape had to turn his head away. He was liable to show an entirely embarrassing reaction if he continued to look at Harry.

"Four," he agreed, voice rough, and they would only think it was with sarcasm, wouldn't they? He got to his feet. "There is a potion to be prepared as well as the mental link. I suggest that both of you rest for right now. Stay here. We are not telling the Headmaster about this, I presume?"

"We aren't," Harry agreed. "He'd never let us do it. And, Professor Snape?"

Snape turned and looked at him. Those green eyes cut through him again.

"Thank you," Harry said.

Yes, Snape thought, matters would have resolved rather differently if he had taken Harry to his office and Draco had not stopped him.

But, he was inclined to think as he tried not to feel hope, the way they had fallen out was better.