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Fuge

Discovery

Snape and Malfoy appeared in the dark antechamber, small echoes of the sudden displacement of air resonating around them. Malfoy looked to Snape, who was intently studying the surrounds. Granite, smoothly worked, fitted into blocks. The floor was made of this, and the walls; the roof was natural stone. No exits, here: just four dark, cold walls. One passageway to the North, with light seeping from it. Snape inclined his head towards the passage, and the men cautiously crept along.

The passageway was perhaps five hundred feet, gently curving to the right. Sobbing brought them up short before the end of the passage. Snape held up a hand, signalling that Malfoy should wait. Creeping around the corner, Snape took in the beautifully worked pillars, the natural-looking hole in the roof allowing midday light to stream down onto the centre of the room.

The brightly-lit tableau in the centre of the room was impossible to ignore. The sobbing was coming from a red-haired witch, the youngest Weasley. She was huddled over a body – that of Potter, Snape realised with a lurch. And beside them both lay Lucius Malfoy in a pool of his own blood. A pile of ashes on scorched stone sat perhaps ten feet from the body of Potter. Steadying himself with the wall, he realised this was Voldemort. The battle was over already.

A noise behind him alerted Snape to the fact that Malfoy hadn't stayed behind as he had been instructed to. The corridor was not so wide as to allow Malfoy to rush past without passing through the reach of Snape, who grabbed the boy's arm, wresting him to a halt and wrapping his arms around his struggling form. Luckily, the scuffle was not heard by the red-haired Weasley in the centre of the room.

After a few moments of tussling – when Snape was not sure who would win out – Snape managed to point his wand at his charge and immobilise him. Malfoy stiffened, his eyes glaring at Snape accusingly. Snape pulled a small mirror out of an inner pocket and whispered into it for a few moments. He then turned back to Malfoy.

"Look at what has happened, Draco," he hissed to his charge. "Read the situation."

Snape turned to look at the scene, taking Malfoy's eyes with him. "Potter is here. This is what the Dark Lord told me of – Potter, in his pride, would come alone to seek to defeat him. And so he did. The Dark Lord, however, sought your father and I to ensure the outcome. Told us of the location, the time. It is fifteen minutes past the time which he told us he would confront the whelp. And it seems that our Dark Lord has perished – the scorched stone, the ash there… yes, all that is left. Obviously your father had as much intent of helping our Dark Lord succeed as I did.

"But, your father, it seems, was intent on taking some credit. He killed Potter – hit him in the back, probably with the killing curse. It seems he was looking to his reputation after this war; with Potter dead, he could safely say that the Dark Lord killed him and he, out of some good motive, chose that moment to turn on the Dark Lord; killing him whilst he gloried over his victory.

"However, it seems that the Weasley girl noticed the Potter boy's disappearance. She is covered with your father's blood." Snape turned to look at the Malfoy who stood immobile beside him. "Killing her will not be to our – or your – advantage. She will be seen as a hero, undoubtedly. If you kill her – however justified you are – you will be a criminal. Do you understand, Draco?"

He met Malfoy's eyes, and despite the anger and grief there, he could also see understanding. Snape released the body bind. "We will have to leave soon. Mourn your father."

Malfoy nodded to Snape, stepped into the room and went to his father's side. Blood was spilled all over the floor, congealing already. Malfoy knelt beside his father, pushed his hair out of his face. Closed his father's eyes, and closed his own to halt the tears that sought to spill out.

Snape could see the emotions warring in Malfoy's face. Could almost put commentary to them: he had never lived up to his father's expectations. Now, he would never be able to hear his father say that he was proud of him, that he loved him. His father had done many unforgivable things, and now Malfoy couldn't argue with him about them – he could only accept that his father had done those things. His tears were silent, and the Weasley girl didn't even notice the company she had.

Tears slid down Malfoy's face and soaked into his father's robes, pain in his chest like his heart had been ripped out.