CHAPTER 17
News From Home
Two months of school remained. The weather was warming up pleasantly. Quidditch practice was once again enjoyable now that the season of frostbite and streaming eyes from the cold wind was over. The affair at Malfoy Manor was not long past; repercussions were just beginning to be felt in certain quarters.
Harry sat in Potions class one Tuesday afternoon, listening to Neville drone on with his recitation of ingredients for that week's potion. The only person in the room whose eyes weren't glazing over was Snape.
He was staring at Draco Malfoy. Harry followed the direction of his gaze and did some staring of his own. Malfoy had been looking more than a little peaked for some time now--in fact, ever since Snape had rescued Professor Lovejoy and brought her back to Number Twelve to recuperate from Voldemort's attentions. Harry wondered what was going on with Draco. His mind went back to the previous week and Draco's unprecedented breach of discipline at breakfast one morning. That's when it had all started.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The morning after the rescue, an owl had arrived for Draco at breakfast. In the midst of a jovial conversation with his friends, he reached absently for the parchment tied to the owl's leg, then flapped his hand at the bird dismissively. Affronted, the owl pecked him sharply on the back of his hand, which finally got Draco's attention.
"Ow! Look, the ruddy bird broke the skin," he exclaimed angrily. He showed the wound to Pansy, who swatted at the owl and then made crooning noises to Draco as she attempted to examine his hand. He yanked it away and glared at the owl.
"Get out of it, if you know what's good for you!" he snarled. The owl, having had quite enough of rude manners, hooted indignantly, returned Draco's dirty look with one of its own, and slowly and deliberately turned its back on him before flying off and disappearing on powerful wings into the distance.
Draco snapped the parchment open and scanned the contents quickly. His face paled even more than his usual shade, and the parchment dropped from his suddenly nerveless fingers. The blood on his hand stood out starkly against his white skin.
"Draco? What is it?" Pansy inquired concernedly. He didn't reply. His mouth had dropped open in shock and he stared sightlessly ahead, ignoring Pansy's efforts to get him to talk. Exasperated, she reached for the letter to see for herself what had caused his extraordinary reaction. He snatched it back hastily.
"No!" he said, his voice hoarse. Clutching the letter, he got up from the bench and walked rapidly toward the door. "Have to go," he threw over his shoulder. "Must see to something." Pansy started after him, calling his name querulously, but he threw out a hand and shook his head, almost running now, and left the Great Hall.
Snape watched the little drama with tightened lips and an annoyed frown. What on earth was Malfoy about, leaving the Great Hall before Dumbledore had made his after-breakfast announcements? There had better be a very good reason, he thought grimly. He wasn't about to see Slytherin lose house points because of rudeness to the Headmaster.
Snape excused himself to Madam Pomfrey and Professor Lovejoy, who sat on either side of him, and exited the Great Hall quickly through a side door. He hurried to the main staircase, wondering which way Draco had gone.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard a gasping sound from the small alcove under the staircase. He peered around the corner and found Draco leaning back against the wall with his head bowed, sobbing quietly.
Snape was at a loss for words. This was certainly not what he had expected. What on earth could provoke such a reaction from the hardened Draco Malfoy? He debated uncomfortably with himself as to whether he should return the way he had come and leave Draco in peace, but his conscience won. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat.
Draco's eyes flew open. The rims were so red from crying as to look almost bloody against his abnormally white skin. He made an effort to speak with his usual cutting sarcasm.
"What do you want"? he sneered--then spoiled the effect by wiping his nose on the sleeve of his robe, which Snape viewed with a shudder. Rolling his eyes, he reached into his pocket and drew out a handkerchief.
"Here," he said gruffly. "Kindly use this. You're a bit old to be using your sleeve." He surveyed Draco briefly. "Would you care to tell me just what all this high drama is in aid of?"
Draco folded his arms and hunched his shoulders, obviously not wanting to talk. Snape regarded him. On the one hand, he had no wish to mollycoddle his students; too, Malfoy ought be reprimanded for his abrupt and rude exit from the Great Hall before Dumbledore had dismissed them, a violation of manners and tradition. But clearly something was very wrong. Snape knew very well that Draco was frequently the cause of trouble--but he was usually much more subtle about it.
Sighing inwardly, Snape made his decision. "Come along," he said brusquely. When Draco didn't move, he said sharply, "Now." He turned and headed toward the dungeons, not waiting to see if Draco followed.
Draco lingered a moment longer, but ultimately he knew there would be consequences if he were to disobey a direct order. He might consider it with a teacher who was less harsh, but this was Snape, after all. He shoved off from the wall and followed with dragging footsteps, surreptitiously wiping his eyes and nose on Snape's handkerchief as he went.
When they reached the Potions classroom, Draco was surprised to see Snape continue on into his office. No one Draco knew had ever been inside the inner sanctum. Trying not to look interested, he hovered just outside the door.
"Well? Don't just stand there," Snape barked. "I haven't got all day." Malfoy entered and blinked in the dim light. The room was rather spartan in its accommodations. A large workbench dominated the space; mysterious beakers and cauldrons arranged over the surface gave off colored steam and various odors. The stone walls and floor were bare; there were few of the creature comforts here that were found in most of the other teachers' offices Draco had seen.
"Don't touch anything," Snape warned sternly. "Sit here." He pointed to a rickety-looking wooden chair in front of his desk, and seated himself behind the desk in a chair every bit as dilapidated. Draco sat gingerly where he had been bidden, hoping the chair wouldn't collapse.
"Now. I'll ask you again: Why did you run off in that insufferably rude manner before the Headmaster had dismissed the school?" Draco glanced at him sullenly, then slid his eyes away, saying nothing.
Snape shot to his feet and slapped his hand down on the desk, making Draco jump. "Answer me!" he thundered.
Suddenly he noticed the parchment in Draco's hand. Without warning he swooped down and plucked it out of Draco's grasp, brandishing it angrily.
"What is this? Has this got something to do with it?" Draco grabbed for the parchment, but Snape held it out of reach. "Let's take a look, shall we?" he purred, unfolding the letter. "What is so all-fired important that--"
He broke off in mid-tirade as he read the letter. His fingers tightened on the page. He peered over the top of it at Draco who, having resigned himself to Snape's perusal of the letter, was slouched down with his head buried in his hands.
Snape folded the letter back up and stood for a moment, tapping it against the edge of the desk. Finally he moved off to one end of the workbench and busied himself with the kettle that hung there. In a few minutes the reassuringly normal sounds of tea being prepared reached Draco.
When Snape nudged his arm, he looked up. Snape was holding a small tray with two teacups on it. Gratefully Draco took one, and Snape put the other on his desk. He rummaged in a drawer and came up with a battered tin which he set on the edge of the desk closest to Draco.
"Shortbread," he muttered. "Probably stale, but help yourself." He picked up his own cup and warmed his hands for a moment, watching Draco out of the corner of his eye. Draco sneaked a glance at the tin and then at Snape.
"Go ahead," Snape said. He waved his wand over the tin and in a solemn voice intoned, "Open sesame." The lid lifted off and clattered to the desktop, eliciting the barest of smiles from Draco, who leaned forward to look inside. He selected a piece of shortbread and bit into it. Buttery sweetness crumbled into his mouth. He relaxed just the tiniest bit.
"So," Snape said quietly. Draco's eyes flew to his. Snape indicated the letter. "News from home, I see. Rather a nasty shock, I imagine."
Draco stared at him miserably. "You--could say that," he said at last. "My mother being dead is bad enough, but--" His voice broke and he swiped angrily at his eyes as they began to fill again.
"But the fact that it was by your father's hand is the worst part," Snape replied. Draco nodded mutely. "Good of him to tell you himself," Snape continued. At Draco's confused look, he added, "Well--it could have been the Minister of Magic, you know, informing you that your father has been sent to Azkaban for murder."
"But--but he's not in Azkaban," Draco said. They he realized how odd that was in itself. He looked at Snape, a glimmer of understanding shining through the confusion.
"That's right," said Snape, "he's not. He is at Malfoy Manor with the Dark Lord." He wondered how much he should tell Draco of the events of that night and his own part in them. Would Draco follow his father blindly into the service of Voldemort, or could his mother's death by his father's hand become the advantage that was needed to sway him to the other side? Snape felt it was worth the chance.
"I know, because I was there when it happened," he said bluntly.
"What?" Draco gasped. He jumped up and leaned over the desk toward Snape. "Why didn't you say anything? You knew all this time, and you--you've just gone on like nothing happened?" In his pale face, fury burned two fiery patches on his cheeks. His hands curled into fists, and a dangerous light glittered in his eyes.
Snape stood also, his eyes as cold as ice. At that moment Draco was not his student but the son of an enemy. Any sympathy he might have been tempted to feel for Draco at the tragic loss of his mother was rapidly being overcome by Snape's own sense of injury and betrayal by his former friend, Lucius Malfoy.
"Your parents," he bit out," were partially responsible for the kidnapping and torture of Professor Lovejoy last night. Did you know that, Draco? Did you know they aided the Dark Lord in injuring Professor McGonagall, snatching Professor Lovejoy off the road almost within sight of Hogwarts, and carrying her away to your home where the Dark Lord was waiting for her?" His own fury built in the retelling, his anger turning from ice to fire.
"Did you know that they stood by and watched--and laughed, Draco--as the Dark Lord subjected her to the Cruciatus curse?"
Draco's eyes widened, his grief momentarily put aside in his astonishment at Snape's revelations. His emotions churned confusedly. It wasn't as if he was unaware of his parents' allegiance to Voldemort--of course he knew. But he had nothing against Professor Lovejoy, and to know his parents had not only stood by while she was tortured but had even...enjoyed it? It was too much.
"No!" he burst out. "You're wrong. My mother would never--"
"Your mother, boy, was a Death Eater," Snape said relentlessly. "Of course she would. She's done far worse than just stand by and watch while someone was tortured, Draco, or didn't you realize?" Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Snape bowled ruthlessly over him.
"A loyal Death Eater does anything--anything--the Dark Lord bids them. Even to family members. Oh yes, Draco--even that. Sometimes the Dark Lord pits loved ones against each other just to see them prove their loyalty to him."
Draco's expression of horror made it obvious that he thought Snape meant Lucius had killed Narcissa deliberately, on Voldemort's orders. Snape drew back, almost sorry for Draco. It was best that he know now what he himself was headed for if he intended to follow in Lucius' footsteps, but Snape truly had not intended to imply that Lucius had knowingly murdered his wife.
"Draco, I think you misunderstood me," he said in a calmer voice. "What happened to your mother last night was an accident." Draco, sunk in misery, looked at him with eyes in which the spark of hope was all but extinguished.
"Listen to me," Snape repeated. "It was an accident. Lucius didn't realize your mother was there. He was aiming at a member of the Order--" He broke off, suddenly aware of what he had been about to divulge. As yet, Draco was probably unaware of the existence of--
"The Order of the Phoenix, is what you were going to say, isn't it?" Draco said flatly. Snape started. "Yes, my father's told me all about them. But why were you--are you--one of them?" Draco's eyes went to Snape's wrist, where he knew the Dark Mark was burned. Snape waited.
Draco shook his head. "I don't understand any of this. You're a Death Eater. What were you doing with that lot?" He spoke with contempt. "My father was right--you are a traitor, aren't you?" He turned to leave. Snape's voice flicked out like a whip, catching the raw edge of his emotions.
"Yes, Draco. I suppose I am. But what would you do if it came down to a choice between love and obedience?"
Draco halted, one hand on the doorknob. Snape pressed his advantage while he had the chance.
"I--love--Professor Lovejoy," he said in a low voice. "So, yes, I'm a traitor to Voldemort. I went there with members of the Order and half the Auror division from the Ministry--" Draco turned and his eyes widened-- "to rescue the woman I love. It so happens that several Death Eaters were captured last night, and unfortunately your mother got in the way of a curse that your father was aiming at one of the Aurors. So you see, Draco, he didn't intend to kill her. It was an unfortunate accident, that's all."
Draco stumbled back to his chair and sat heavily. "You--you're sure?" he whispered.
"I am. I know your parents, Draco. While I would never accuse your father of feeling a tender emotion such as love, I think what he felt for your mother was as close as he could come to it."
"But I still don't understand. You went to rescue Professor Lovejoy from the Dark Lord? Why? Why not just let him have her? It would have been safer, surely. Why betray him for something like love?" He spat the word as if it tasted particularly foul.
Snape rolled his eyes. He had never in his worst dreams imagined having to justify himself to a student--nor, he thought with some asperity, deliver a homily on the value of love, of all things! Finally he spoke.
"I shall only say this once, so listen well," he said. "You must know by now, Draco, that I've been considered a traitor by the Dark Lord ever since I came here to teach. Oh, for his own reasons he's allowed me to 'report' to him over the years on what the opposition is doing--and I'm certain he's always been well aware of the lies I mixed in with the truth to mislead him." He began to pace in the small space behind his desk.
"You know, Draco, Dumbledore isn't the fool your father thinks he is." Snape gave a wry smile at Draco's doubtful look. "Ah, I know...for a long time I, too, thought he was a doddering old idiot without a serious thought in his head. But just recently, Draco, I've come to have some idea of what Dumbledore means when he natters on about love being so important. Only a very faint idea as yet, mind you--" he laughed ruefully-- "too many years of prejudice to quite understand it all yet."
He came around the desk and dropped one hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco cringed, not sure just what to expect. This was a side of Snape he had never imagined existed.
"But I believe he may be right, Draco--love is the greatest power in the world. How else do you think Professor Lovejoy could have escaped right under the Dark Lord's nose? How else could I have escaped?" He shook his head, still amazed at what had happened. "It's the Dark Lord who has it all wrong, Draco. Your father will never see that--but there's still a chance for you."
Draco said nothing but looked at Snape thoughtfully.
"I know it's not easy to change your entire way of thinking from what you've been taught all your life," Snape said. "But I think you'd find it was worth it, Draco."
Draco stirred. "You said yourself you're in love with Professor Lovejoy. How do I know you're even capable of thinking straight?" He snorted. "Weasley's in love with Granger and it's obvious he can't think straight when she's around."
Snape shrugged. "When have you ever known Weasley to show signs of intelligence, in or out of love?" Draco laughed unkindly. But Snape wasn't through with him.
"You, on the other hand, are an intelligent person, Draco. I pay you the compliment--not in vain, I hope--of thinking that you will take the time to think about what I've said and consider it seriously before dismissing it out of hand. Draco--I'm asking you to not follow your father's path. The choice must be your own; but we do need you badly."
"We?" Draco raised one pale eyebrow sardonically.
"Yes. I no longer regard myself as a Death Eater. Too much has happened. The Dark Lord would never accept me as a loyal servant now--and I don't think I could be on any longer. Don't mistake me, Draco--I'm still not a nice person. But all of the trust and friendship and loyalty shown to me not only by Professor Lovejoy but by the Order as well--I find it's not something i can turn my back on.
Snape grimaced. "I'm afraid we've strayed rather far off the path I intended when I brought you here. I merely meant to reassure you about your father's part in your mother's death." He sobered again. "But Draco, think about what I've said. I suppose you could run to your father and tell him everything I've just told you. Maybe you will. But I'm putting my trust in you to not do it. Now it's for you to decide where your own loyalty lies."
Snape walked to the door and indicated that Draco could leave. He did so, his face a study in confusion. Snape understood. After all, he himself had once had to make the same decision Draco now faced. He knew of the self-doubt the boy would experience. But he would have had to go through it sooner or later, Snape thought.
Merlin's sake, he had indeed gotten sidetracked from the little speech of sympathy he had intended to give about Narcissa's death!
But he wasn't sorry for the digression. Recent events seemed to indicate that the sooner Draco knew where he stood on the Voldemort issue, the better.