Muchas gracias and merci beaucoup for the reviews - maybe it'll inspire others to do likewise? Anyway, here's chapter fifteen!


Fickle Loyalties"Whose side is Jack on?" "At the moment?" – Elizabeth and Will, Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl

There was a short burial for Hestia in her family cemetery, just outside Carlisle.

Kingsley had volunteered to break the news of Hestia's death to her grandfather, whom she had gone to live with after her parents died. Kingsley reported back that Mr. Jones had taken the news fairly well, and that Hestia's extended family would be honored to have the Order attend the funeral.

Minerva had received a message from Sturgis the day after the battle, just before Remus had considered sending someone out to look for him. It said that he was fine and that he had resumed work on Hufflepuff's Cup, but it contained no mention of where he was. Minerva sent a message back listing the date, time, and location of Hestia's funeral.

Remus had doubted Sturgis would show up, and he didn't. The attraction between Sturgis and Hestia had not been openly proclaimed, but they had both been quiet people. Most of the Order had known anyway, and no one asked questions about Sturgis' absence.

Remus shook his head sadly. Hestia had been one of the younger, more promising members, and he hated battles all the more when it took young lives. He cringed to think of how Harry would take it; no doubt he would see Hestia's death as his fault.

Beside him, Tonks sighed heavily as she watched Minerva bid a final farewell to the grieving Mr. Jones and his family. She leaned on him for support and he silently slipped his arm around her waist. Tonks had also been gravely injured by the attack that had killed Hestia; although her broken arm and leg had been healed quickly at St. Mungo's, her chest had been wrapped in bandages for nearly a week now.

Minerva turned away from the Jones family with her head bowed. She motioned to the rest of the Order that it was time to leave. They formed a rough circle around Hestia's grave, with Minerva standing before the grave marker. They raised their wands and, at Minerva's signal, cast the well-rehearsed spell as one.

A fiery, golden phoenix rose gracefully into the air, the Order's final salute to the fallen.

––––––

"Molly?"

Molly looked up quickly from the stove as Remus entered the kitchen. She hurriedly wiped her eyes with her sleeve, but it was clear that she had been crying. "Oh, Remus, dear – how's Tonks doing?"

"I sent her to bed," Remus said, smiling slightly. "She's sleeping sound as a rock."

"Poor thing," Molly said, shaking her head as she turned back to one of her big, steaming pots. "She must be exhausted."

Remus nodded in silent agreement. "I came to ask you – do you mind if I use your fire?"

"No, no, go right ahead," Molly answered. "The Floo powder's right on the mantle."

"Thank you," Remus said as he turned his footsteps toward the living room. He located the jar of Floo powder and withdrew a pinch onto his hand. Then, he pulled out a small drawstring pouch from his pocket and shook some of its contents out onto the Floo powder. Replacing the pouch, Remus mixed the two powders together with his finger. When he was satisfied with the mixture, he threw it into the fire and said, "Hogwarts."

––––––

Madam Pomfrey looked up from her desk as Remus gave a polite cough. "Oh, you're here."

Remus nodded as best as he could; he had always disliked fire-talking because of the restricted movement and the pain of kneeling for too long. "How's Harry?"

"Nothing yet," Madam Pomfrey said resignedly as she set her quill down. "It's the same as before; it just seems as though he's in a deep sleep, but nothing can wake him."

Remus sighed. "It's already been five days."

"Only one more than the last time," Madam Pomfrey said dryly. "I expect it's just magical exhaustion he's recovering from."

Remus nodded again. "Is Hermione or Ron here? Then again, it is time for dinner…"

"No, they left a couple minutes ago, but I believe Miss Weasley is still here," Madam Pomfrey said in a voice that clearly indicated her disapproval.

"That's even better," Remus said with a smile. "Can I see her?"

"I suppose, but mind you don't keep her too long, Remus Lupin," Madam Pomfrey said sternly. "I've already told her she's late for dinner."

She stood up and walked out of her office, shutting the door behind her. Remus vaguely heard her saying something to Ginny; the door opened again a moment later and the youngest Weasley entered the room. She hurried over and dropped to her knees in front of the fire.

"Is it safe to do that?" she demanded.

Remus chuckled. "Harry asked the same thing. Fred and George invented a new powder you can mix with the Floo powder; it makes this part of the Floo Network essentially undetectable for a period of time."

"How long?" Ginny asked curiously.

"About twenty minutes," Remus replied. "They say they're still working on it."

Nodding, Ginny sat cross-legged on the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees. "Harry still hasn't woken up," she said quietly.

"He'll be fine," Remus said reassuringly. "Magical exhaustion takes considerable time to recover from."

And it'll take longer and longer each time to fight off the influences of the Horcrux, because the continuous exposure to the Dark elements will trigger the piece of soul within his own body…

Remus irritably chased the thought away.

"Oh, and how's Mr. Ollivander?" Ginny asked.

"No word yet," Remus answered gravely. "St. Mungo's has him in the Critical Condition wing, but that's all we know."

"What happened to him?" Ginny said bemusedly. "I mean, he looked half-starved and all, but that's not enough to put someone in Critical Condition."

"He was weak, yes," Remus said grimly. "The Death Eaters had been keeping him in that shack since August, which is over half a year. I'm guessing they didn't treat him like a prince."

"But why?" Ginny asked. "If the Dark Dork knew Mr. Ollivander had Ravenclaw's wand, why didn't he just take the wand and kill Mr. Ollivander?"

Remus was looking at her strangely. "What did you call him?"

"What? Who?"

"Voldemort," Remus said curiously. "What did you call him?"

"Oh," Ginny said, suddenly realizing that although 'Dark Dork' and 'Death Gobblers' were in wide use inside the school, nobody had ever mentioned the terms to people outside. "The Dark Dork. It was Harry's idea."

Remus stared at her for another moment before laughing. "Dark Dork, hmm? James and Sirius would have loved that."

"We call Death Eaters the Death Gobblers, too," Ginny said with a grin.

"We?"

"The entire school," Ginny elaborated. "Harry made them up because people were afraid to say the real names."

Remus nodded in approval. "Excellent," he murmured. He liked the sound of it – Dark Dork. "And about your question, Volde- the Dark Dork had ample reason to bring Ollivander along. He used him as bait."

"Bait?" Ginny repeated. "So it was a trap? Did he call the Death Gobblers?"

"So far as we know, no. We're assuming that they were alerted some other way – it could have been the removal of the Horcrux from the shack, its destruction, or something else. But we know that there was a powerful spell placed on him that obliged him to protect the wand."

"Was it an Unbreakable Vow?" Ginny asked quickly.

Remus shook his head. "Probably not. He would've died as soon he let the wand fall into someone else's hands, and you three said that he didn't collapse until after the Horcrux was destroyed."

Ginny nodded affirmatively and waited for him to go on.

"We'll have to wait for the Healers' opinions, but we think that the condition of the spell was that if the Horcrux was destroyed, Ollivander would die," Remus said heavily. "Apparently the Dark Dork was counting on Ollivander valuing his life over another's. Of course, he was wrong."

"He didn't tell us," Ginny said softly. "He knew Harry would never destroy it if he knew it would cost a life."

"Exactly," Remus said darkly. "The Dark Dork should have known that Ollivander would never put the fate of the world second to his own life."

Ginny rested her chin on her knees and frowned. "How is he still alive then?"

"I wish I knew," Remus sighed. "He must have believed his death was near, too, because in his pocket we found hand-written instructions that were apparently intended for his successor in his wand-making business."

"Who is it?" Ginny asked. "I didn't know he had family."

"We didn't either," Remus said with a snort. "And we don't know who it was for – it just disappeared about five minutes after we took it from his pocket."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Figures. You know, sometimes I wish we'd just all been born as Muggles. Then we wouldn't have to deal with this."

Madam Pomfrey called out before Remus could answer. "Remus Lupin! What did I tell you about keeping that girl too long?"

"Damn," Ginny muttered, leaping to her feet. "Sorry, I've gotta go."

"No, it's my fault," Remus said. "Go eat, and we'll talk later. Send us word if Harry wakes up."

"Yup," Ginny said, waving over her shoulder as she sped out of the room.

Remus coughed as he pulled his head out of the fire. He sat back on his heels and absently dusted soot out of his hair.

Sometimes I wish we'd just all been born as Muggles. Then we wouldn't have to deal with this.

So do I, Ginny. So do I.


Draco cautiously craned his neck around the corner. He sighed in relief – the corridor was empty.

He quickly darted into the next shadow, grimacing as his robes rustled around his ankles. He'd put a Disillusionment Charm and a Muffling Charm on himself, but didn't feel completely confident in the spells' ability to let him slip away undetected. If only I had an Invisibility Cloak.

He continued to dash from shadow to shadow down the length of the corridor, constantly looking back. He had no idea where he was going – all he knew was that he needed to get out. With his wand in hand, he snuck out of the corridor and down the stairs. He warily approached the enormous front doors. What if there's an alarm? Wards? Guards?

He wiped his sweaty palms on his shirt and reached out to touch the door. He thought of Snape, still asleep upstairs. That had been the hardest part – getting out of the room without Snape knowing. Bastard. He let my father and mother die. He let them die.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed the door open.

A cool breeze swept in through the opening, making him shiver. He quickly looked around for guards and, finding none, slipped outside and shut the door behind him. He wasted no time in immersing himself in the long grass.

The moon overhead was sickly and dim, casting minimal light around him. All the better for running away.

He made a beeline toward the trees on his right – once he reached the cover of the forest he would be practically home free. His footsteps quickened as he neared the edge; he looked back once more but there was no one behind him.

He hastily hid behind the trunk of the first tree he saw. A sigh of relief escaped him.

I'm free.

He looked down at his shaking hands and willed himself to calm down. I'm free. The only problem now was where to go from here.

Home. I can go home.

The Malfoy mansion was now his property, as well as all of his parents' possessions and fortune. Snape had explained it to him the night after his parents died. Everything is yours. You would do well to utilize it in the Dark Lord's favor.

How unperturbed he had seemed, how untroubled – Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy's deaths meant nothing to him. They were just nuisances that had deserved to be killed. He probably wanted Draco dead, too.

Well, good riddance, you bastard. You traitor. I've had enough of you, of this place. I'm done. I want out.

He would be back to avenge his parents. He would make them all pay for standing there and watching.

Taking a deep breath, he turned his back on the run-down edifice. I'm done. I'm leaving.

He closed his eyes. Apparition. Malfoy mansion. Three D's.

"Lovely night for a stroll, isn't it?" someone whispered.

Draco froze. Shit.

"Too bad you're not supposed to be out of bed, little Malfoy," the voice sneered. "Where do you think you're going?"

Draco opened his eyes to find a hooded Death Eater standing before him. The face was masked, but from the person's build and voice, he knew it could only be one person – Macnair.

The ex-executioner had always disliked the Malfoys. Draco's father had always complained about him and how he wasn't trustworthy.

Draco tensed and brought his wand up. He wondered briefly how Macnair had been able to see through his Disillusionment Charm, but quickly cast the thought away. He would kill Macnair if he had to; he wasn't going to let some sleazy Death Eater stop him. Not here.

Macnair eyed the wand, then threw his head back and laughed.

"What, are you going to attack me?" he cackled. "Kill me, maybe? Well then, little Malfoy, give it a try, hmm?"

Draco immediately launched into an attack. "Expelliarmus!"

"That won't work," Macnair said, shaking his head as he spun out of the way. "You can't kill me with that sort of spell!"

"Impedimenta! Petrificus totalus!"

Macnair created a shield and Draco's spells bounced off of it, careening into the forest.

"My turn," he grinned. "Crucio!"

Draco had been expecting it, but there was nothing he could do. The curse hit him and he dropped to the ground, writhing in pain.

"Muffling Charm, eh?" Draco heard Macnair say vaguely. "Good idea, little Malfoy."

Macnair flicked his wand and the pain receded, leaving Draco gasping into the dirt.

"Stand up," Macnair ordered. "I didn't come out here to fight a lousy duel."

Draco gritted his teeth. He picked up his wand again and launched himself to his feet. "Sectumsempra!"

A momentary look of fear flitted across Macnair's face and he barely recreated his shield in time to deflect the spell. Still, the force of it made him stagger backwards; Draco shot off two more spells before diving away to avoid Macnair's counterjinx.

"Oh-ho!" Macnair guffawed, wiping his bloody lip with his sleeve. "Finally living up to your family name, are you? Well, let's see how you take another round! Crucio!"

Malfoy tried to roll out of the way but it was in vain; a second later he was on the ground again, thrashing and flailing his arms. Stop. Stop, make it stop, make it stop!

Macnair's cackle echoed above him. "Didn't you know, little Malfoy? No one ever leaves the Dark Lord's service, and no one ever tries without getting punished." He flicked his wand again.

Draco collapsed, his breath coming in wheezing gasps. He stretched a trembling hand out toward his wand.

"Vim and vigor, I like that!" Macnair cried. "Willing to fight until the end?"

"Cru- "

Macnair clucked his tongue as he waved his wand, cutting off Draco's spell. "I don't think so! Those are big boy spells, little Malfoy. You might get hurt if you tried to use them."

"Expelliarmus! Incarcerous!"

Macnair dodged the first spell but had to conjure a blast of fire to stop the ropes from binding him.

"Stupefy! Immobulus!"

Macnair stumbled under the force of Draco's spells. Draco leapt to his feet again and sprinted deeper into the forest. Now. I have to Apparate now! I can't beat Macnair!

Three D's. Malfoy mansion. One…two…

"Stupefy!"

Draco felt the Stunner hit him in the small of his back – he was lifted off his feet, slammed into a nearby tree, and knew no more.

––––––

"Rennervate."

Snape watched impassively as Draco's eyes flickered open. Foolish boy. No one ever stops being a Death Eater. No one.

Draco blearily looked around the room. Panic suddenly flashed across his face as he registered where he was; he tried to sit up but collapsed immediately, clutching his side.

Snape resisted the urge to help him; Macnair had told him of their duel in the forest. "So. Tried to run away?" Draco said nothing.

"You should thank Macnair. You would be in a much worse state if the Dark Lord had been informed of this."

Draco just glared.

Snape snorted. "Take off your cloak," he said.

Draco opened his mouth. "No."

"You need help," Snape said firmly, stepping forward.

"Get away from me," Draco hissed, batting away Snape's outstretched hand.

"You need help," Snape repeated flatly.

"Not from you," Draco snarled. "Not from a traitor."

Snape took a step backward, his eyes narrowing into slits.

"Whose side are you on, anyway?" Draco barreled on. "I saw your Patronus two days ago. Death Eaters don't cast Patronuses. The dementors are on our side. But you killed Dumbledore. You let my parents die. So whose side are you on?"

"And whose side are you on, Draco?" Snape whispered malevolently, hiding his clenched fists inside his robes. "Would you follow in your parents' footsteps? Do you want the glory your father never attained? Or are you afraid? Are you afraid of blood and killing? Do you want everything Dumbledore offered you – protection and safety, well-being…and love?"

Without waiting for an answer, Snape turned on his heel and swept out of the room.


His father was a Muggle alcoholic - an abusive, good-for-nothing bastard who would have cut off his own leg before coming home sober.

His mother had been a gentle, soft-spoken witch who would no more shoot the Queen of England than reprimand her husband.

His earliest memories of them were of him shouting and her crying. It was a wonder they stayed together as long as they did.

She took her life soon after the start of his third year at Hogwarts. It wasn't even his father who told him the news – by then, the man was relation only by name. Dumbledore found him in the library one winter evening, poring as he usually was over texts on the Dark Arts. Quietly Dumbledore had taken a seat, unperturbed in the least by the scrawny boy glaring at him across the table.

"Severus, your mother has passed away," he'd said in his calm voice, laced with sorrow. Severus hadn't quite believed it at first, but the sadness in the old man's eyes had been sincere – as was everything about Dumbledore. "If there is any way I can be of assistance, I think you know where my office is."

And with that, he left.

Severus had always admired the headmaster. Aside from being a renowned wizard, Albus Dumbledore gave him everything he had always yearned for – a home, a place to learn, and encouragement. He never went home for the holidays after third year, preferring to stay in the confines of the castle with books and magic.

But Dumbledore wasn't the only figure he'd held in high regard. There was Lucius Malfoy, with his smooth, ice-like demeanor, haughty handsomeness, and surety of who he was and where he was supposed to be. There was Bellatrix Black, with her cold beauty and insidiously keen mind.

There was even James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin – not because of who they were, but what they had. Potter – Quidditch captain, girl magnet, notorious prankster, and the only child of wealthy, doting parents. Black – popular with all but the most ascetic teachers, with his roguish charm and affability, despite sharing a name with one of the most distinguished families that supported the Dark Lord. Lupin – the good, little student all the teachers doted on because he was so smart, the solemn-eyed boy adults shook their heads after because he was never far from Potter and Black.

He could never be like them, and it was his parents he blamed for it.

It was Muggles he blamed for it.

If he had been born a pureblood, if his father hadn't been a bastard, he could have been like them. He wouldn't have been shunned and made fun of. He would have shoved Potter's oversized head up his arse.

He gave himself a new name, much like Voldemort had done in his years at Hogwarts: The Half-Blood Prince. Spurned by society and solitary by nature, he stuck to his studies and the Dark Arts. They fascinated him – that, and Potions. He plotted myriad ways to get his revenge on the so-called Marauders, to show everybody that he was better and more powerful than them. He detested every single one of them, all those people with a place and a sense of purpose, people with love and friendship and laughter.

And then there was Lily Evans, the Gryffindor half-blood. He hated her more than all the others put together. He hated her bright smile, her green eyes, her optimism. He hated how she was always looking out for others – even him. He hated how she and Potter were always around each other, and he hated how he thought about her.

But she was smart, and Severus couldn't help but respect her for that. She was the only one who could match him potion for potion in Slughorn's class. When Slughorn paired the two of them together to brew the complex Draught of Living Death, she pointed out shortcuts she had found after experimenting and revealed her own methods that produced far better results than his.

They shared more of their thoughts on potions and charms while Potter ground his teeth behind them. They wrote changes to the directions in each other's textbooks and passed Slughorn's classes with the highest grades.

And one day, as the class was preparing to brew Strengthening Potions, he found that he was waiting for Evans to come over and work with him. He wanted her to sit beside him, wanted to watch her deft hands prepare the ingredients, wanted to see that bright spark in her eyes as she worked.

But she sat down next to Potter, and he never spoke to her again. The betrayal he felt in his last years at Hogwarts was unbearable as he watched her join the Marauders, as she laughed when Potter put her arm around her shoulders, as she let him kiss her.

And everything he felt disappeared. He immersed himself in the Dark Arts once more, ignoring his classmates and working by himself. He nurtured the hate that had always lain within him until it was all that he could think of.

But as always, Dumbledore was there.

You are never alone, Severus. You know where my office is. By the way, I recently acquired a vial of dragon's blood. I understand it is a powerful potions ingredient? I confess I'm not much of a potions man myself; perhaps you would like to help me find some use for it?

Yet it was inevitable that the Dark Lord found him.

Lord Voldemort had been in his prime then. His name was feared through every country, county, town, and village. Death Eaters could be anywhere at any time. Opponents of his cause were quickly identified and disposed of. All that really stood between He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his ultimate goal was Dumbledore and his school.

That ultimate goal was a pureblood world. The fact that Voldemort himself was not a pureblood did not faze him. He had already split his soul five times – he was no longer human – and the one bit that still resided within his half-snake, half-monster body would be more or less pureblood. He despised Muggles, half-bloods and anyone associated with the like, because he loathed his Muggle father, Riddle Sr.

It was what the greatest Dark wizard in history held in common with a teenager ready to face the world, armed with nothing but knowledge, hate, and potential. Working together, master and servant, they rallied more followers to the Dark cause and quietly removed antagonists. Severus became an assassin of sorts, working magic in some places and applying his potions in others.

Many deaths were attributed to his name. More often than not, the people Lord Voldemort targeted were people he had known, people he had worked with.

Gideon and Fabian Prewett. Alice and Frank Longbottom. Edgar Bones. Marlene McKinnon. Benjy Fenwick.

It did not disconcert him as much as it should have. All he could think of was the glory, the feeling of superiority. Even Lucius Malfoy, Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Black – soon to be Bellatrix Lestrange – were subject to his influence. He wasn't at the top ranks, but he was close enough. He had climbed the ladder the traditional way – indeed, that was the only route up to the Dark Lord's favor – and he would never back down.

And then came the prophecy. Little Peter Pettigrew joined the plot, along with the rest of the so-called Marauders. Everything was perfectly planned. James and Lily Potter – cursed Lily Evans Potter – were obliterated in one night – along with Lord Voldemort.

To this day, Severus doesn't know how it happened. Why should the love of one dying mother – an unremarkable person, by all means – for her son be sufficient to decimate the most powerful wizard in the world?

Sirius Black was sent to Azkaban, accused of a crime that everyone but the right people knew he was not guilty of.

Harry Potter lived on.

In truth, Severus had believed that his master was dead. He had not even dreamed the Dark Lord could have survived whatever he had suffered. But he was a sworn Death Eater, bound by oath to finish what his master had begun. Lord Voldemort had wanted Harry Potter dead, and Harry Potter dead is what the world would have.

He switched sides – or so it seemed. For years he stayed on his guard, incredulous that Dumbledore would be fooled so easily. The old man took Severus at his word, that he had been wrong to join the Death Eaters, that he had been consumed by hatred, that he grieved for all the innocent people he had killed. He applied for a job at Hogwarts and got it – the perfect place to eradicate the Boy Who Lived.

Or so he thought. Right before the start of term in 1991, he got wind of startling news – Lord Voldemort lived. He immediately confirmed this with others he was sure were still devoted to the Dark Lord. And there was a message from his master – he wanted the boy for himself.

He still doesn't understand how Dumbledore couldn't see through him after all those years, how such an old man could be so trusting. Over and over, Dumbledore told Severus that he believed in him no matter what the others said. The headmaster confided in him about matters he would speak with no one else, about Harry. He would laugh, with that twinkle in his eye, and make him feel like he really belonged there. Like he had been loved. It was the most faith anyone had ever put in him, and it took him aback.

Four times, the Dark Lord failed. Four times, a hard-headed, arrogant teenage boy thwarted You-Know-Who.

Under specific directions, Severus was told not to interfere. Just to wait, to hide – to be a gatherer of information. He was back in the Order; he was in Dumbledore's confidence. You-Know-Who's return was made public, and still no one but the Potter boy was convinced he had not changed his old ways.

Dumbledore became more worried. Severus was shocked to see that one day, the old wizard he had known for the better part of his childhood was really old. The twinkle in his eyes dimmed, his hands shook. His power was diminishing; Dumbledore even said this to him.

It was the one thing Severus never relayed to the Dark Lord: that Dumbledore was getting weaker. He couldn't bring himself to do it. Dumbledore was the enemy – one of the greatest – but Severus didn't think he could bear it if Dumbledore fell. He even had doubts, sometimes, about whether what he was doing was really right. He wondered what it would be like to truly be free, to put his conscience to rest and not feel like he was strangling himself every time he spoke to Dumbledore.

But by Potter's fifth year, Dumbledore had become more and more concerned about Harry. The boy was all Dumbledore thought and spoke about. Everything Dumbledore asked of Severus had to do with Potter. Help Harry. Protect Harry. He stopped asking how Severus was doing, stopped telling him to be careful, stopped asking his opinion. It was only Harry this, Harry that.

It infuriated him, because Dumbledore was doing just what Evans had done – betrayed him. They had both sucked him in, made him feel wanted, made him doubt his ways and his thoughts, only to throw him away in favor of a Potter.

So when Narcissa Malfoy begged him to "carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco perform," he agreed without a second thought.

And he did it.

Dumbledore was dead, and Severus Snape was now the most infamous murderer and traitor in history.

The old man haunted his dreams. He told no one – it was nothing anyone needed to know. By day, he spread the Dark Lord's influence, and by night, he visited the Astronomy Tower. He burst into the room the headmaster had lain weakened and pleading in, and by the words of the Vow, he killed Albus Dumbledore.

Dumbledore's last words to him had been a plea. A plea to protect Harry. Again, it was all about Harry.

For his loyalties, Severus had been awarded the highest of honors – the position of Lord Voldemort's right hand man. He returned to work; returned to carrying out the Dark Lord's orders and returned to killing.

It didn't feel the same.

There was no pleasure, no joy in murder. The faces of his victims plagued his sleep. Actions he had never questioned before were now riddled with doubt. He constantly asked himself, What would Dumbledore tell me to do?

But he couldn't turn back. Where would he go? He had no place in the world except as a Death Eater, where he was accepted for who he was. But if he stayed here, he would end up revealing himself. There would be an order he couldn't follow, a death he couldn't accept. He would drown.

He would drown in his own guilt. He had promised – promised Dumbledore – that he would watch over Harry. I trust you, Severus. I have faith in you.

Draco had been right.

Death Eaters didn't cast Patronuses.


Up Next: There is more driving Harry than mere revenge, and the Hogwarts staff loses a member and gets some shocking information.

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