Chapter Four His Enemies
Snape sat across the table from Draco Malfoy and stared at him. The boy's face was still wet with tears after finding out that his mother was dead. He was in shock as well and looking quite frightened. Lucius had been released from Azkaban and his whereabouts were unknown. He is most likely dead, Snape thought.
Draco had not killed Dumbledore as he was instructed to do and now the Dark Lord had several reasons for turning on the Malfoy family. Lucius Malfoy had failed him, and his son had failed him and Draco was worried that if his father wasn't dead and couldn't be found; did it mean that he had he been left high and dry to face the dark lord alone? He had taken the dark mark without carefully considering the consequences and Snape had no pity for him.
Snape glared at him. Draco had grown up with great wealth. Even though his father cared very little for the him, he had wanted for nothing; unlike Snape himself, who had grown up in poverty living with a brutal father.
Snape hated Draco .He despised the boy for his cowardice, weakness and pettiness and most of all because he had kept the true plan a secret. He could not intervene and had been forced to do the thing that he had dreaded doing.
Draco was nothing like his father. At least Lucius was as black-hearted and cruel as everyone knew him to be, so there was that and Snape could respect that, could even admire the man. There was a loyalty there for his master that few could understand. Lucius feared very little, was extremely intelligent and, above all; he was pureblood. He believed in the tripe that the Dark Lord fed them all; believed in ridding the world of half-bloods and muggle-born.
He had been a valuable tool to the Dark Lord, who was, like Snape himself, a half-blood. Riddle had taken many steps to hide that particular issue from his faithful servants. For all Lucius knew Voldemort had descended in a direct line from Salazar Slytherin; his blood remained untainted. Very few knew the truth, that his mother had seduced and used her magic to win the affections of Tom Riddle, Sr.
Snape hated most women. He found that they were often duplicitous and conniving. There was only one, and she was dead. He thought of her every day; talked to her every day. Held up against the common ordinary witch, she had achieved a position not unlike a saint in his mind.
His thoughts returned to the boy before him. He wondered what Draco would do if he told him that it had been he that had murdered his mother. Although, that wasn't quite true.
Snape ground his teeth in anger as he thought about Bella Lestrange. Narcissa Malfoy had made a mistake the evening that she and her sister had come to him. If Bella had not been present Snape would not have had to make the Unbreakable vow. Narcissa trusted her sister to much, trusted in blood ties.
Bella had foolishly gone immediately to Voldemort and told him of the vow unmindful of the danger she put her sister in. But then Snape knew that Bellatrix Lestrange was mentally unhinged and probably as cold-blooded as any of the Death Eaters. She probably knew that Voldemort would kill her sister, Snape mused, if only to make sure Narcissa could not divulge any plans.
Snape was again betrayed when news reached him that it was he that had killed Narcissa. He knew at once that he had been set-up by his own master. He regretted her death. Narcissa was arrogant and haughty but she did not deserve to die trying to protect her only son. Snape's thoughts flitted lightly on his own mother's many sacrifices and then he hastily pushed the memories away in anger. Women and their sons! They die needlessly, sacrificial lambs for their sons.
This brought to mind, Harry Potter. Since the night of Dumbledore's death he knew his feelings about the boy had evolved. It had always been a sure thing, his hatred of the Boy-Who-Lived. Now, he didn't know how he felt. And, it didn't matter. Not now.
Draco was hiccupping and staring at the table. He had finally stopping crying and was sitting quietly. Snape was happy about that. He'd grown tired of the moaning and groaning and weeping and whining. He had grown tired of pretending to care. Over the past three months they remained in hiding from everyone including the Dark Lord. Snape had made a contingency plan for the very moment when he would part from the wizard, suspecting that the Dark Lord might turn on him. What he didn't expect was to have a companion, Draco Malfoy, to baby-sit; or, to have the whole world believe he was a murderer. He didn't care if they thought he murdered others, only if they believed he murdered Dumbledore.
Knowing that Dumbledore was dead made Snape wish that he had killed Narcissa Malfoy, and her sister and any other Death eater that happened to get in his way. He was not innocent when it came to getting his hands dirty; he had learned from a master. But he had been very careful when it came to carrying out the Dark Lord's orders. He had always managed to avoid the most terrible parts of it. He had never murdered or tortured anyone, although he had seen it done and had done nothing to prevent it.
Snape grunted in anger as he thought about Tom Riddle and the creature he had become.
Draco- who was such a pathetic boy- had successfully carried out a plan that he, Severus Snape, had not been privileged to know about. That was Riddle for you, he thought. Always keeping secrets.
Severus believed he knew Voldemort very well. He'd met him when he was a boy and had been very careful to earn his favor. But he was also aware that the Dark Lord did not share his secrets with him or for that matter- anyone. Even Albus Dumbledore, who knew more then anyone about Tom Riddle would not reveal all he knew to Snape.
Snape studied the issues concerning his pseudo-master while he remained idle . What has changed the man and made him less human? Snape wondered. Why has he betrayed me and made me responsible, for not only one death, but two? Why did he make it look like I was the one who murdered Albus Dumbledore? Does Voldemort want to get rid of me? It is likely, he thought. He has decided that he must act alone in some endeavor.
What would Lucius do when he found out that he had (supposedly) murdered his wife? Would he come out of hiding to take revenge? Snape wished he would. He wanted a fight; yearned for it. What better way to die then to try his skills with Lucius, better then to face Voldemort.
Snape spent the days trying to answer these questions and more. Now, he was useless. He could no longer trust that Voldemort trusted him and he could not share information with Dumbledore. He could not go to the Ministry who would most assuredly throw him into Azkaban and give him to the Dementors and there was absolutely no one left alive who would believe his story of innocence.
Snape had learned a long time ago that he was headed for a fall. When it came, he knew it would be the end of him and probably a gruesome one at that. It was alright. He had wanted to end it for years. Now, he could understand why his own mother had taken her life. She had lost hope and she had grown tired.
He stared at Draco and wanted to scream at him and hurt him; although he did not lay a hand on him. The thoughts alone were condemnation in themselves. I have become my father, he said to himself in disgust, as I always knew I would be.
Snape stood and left the room. He couldn't tolerate Draco another minute. He walked through the rooms of the small bungalow. The windows let in very little light and the interior was as dark, musty and quiet as the grave.
Snape's memories of the house he hid in were bittersweet. He had not actually lived there with Lily since she had married Potter and bore his son, but at least she had been there. He could touch her things and if he tried very hard, he could smell the lingering perfume that she wore. He avoided the nursery where the 'event' had taken place and instead prowled the other rooms of the house and the overgrown garden. He allowed Draco time outdoors only at night.
Snape knew that very few people could find Godric's Hollow. Pettigrew, Lupin, Dumbledore, and a few others including Lord Voldemort knew where it was. No one had been there for years. He doubted Voldemort would even think about it and if he did, Snape didn't care. If he were going to die then he wanted it to be in the same place where she had died, where Lily Evans had died. Perhaps they will bury me beside her, he thought and the thought gave him comfort.
What to do? he asked himself for the hundredth time. They could not stay hidden forever.
Voldemort was busy. He could not depend on any of his Death eaters to accomplish the tasks because he could not tell any of them of the Horcruxes. He had always operated alone and this was no different. His rage knew no bounds when he made the trip to the cave, a place he had not visited for many years, and found the basin empty and the locket gone. And he knew who had done it. If Dumbledore had not been murdered, Voldemort would have murdered him again for the sheer pleasure of it.
He could only assume the locket had been destroyed. His diary was gone and his locket was gone. That left only four. He now set aside all other plans and focused on the hiding places of his precious objects.
His other plans would have to be delayed. He could not rule over the wizarding world just yet. Getting rid of his loyal servants, Snape and Lucius, was a necessary step. He could not share power and he didn't need them any longer.
His biggest task had been completed in killing Dumbledore; something he contrived to do which had taken great skill and magic. It delighted him that Dumbledore's last thoughts were that he had been betrayed. Lord Voldemort soothed himself with the memories.
He did not like being vulnerable. He had miscalculated once too often and would not make another mistake. He took his revenge out on Lucius, whose misfortune was to have lost his diary. It had cost him one Horcrux, one precious piece of his soul. And Lucius had gotten caught at the Department of Mysteries in his attempt to steal the prophecy and had been imprisoned.
What was worse was that he, Lord Voldemort, had gone to the Department of Mysteries, too. Lucius was to have cleared the way for him and he found that the wizard had failed! He had been left to confront Albus Dumbledore! It had surprised him when his ploy to possess the Potter boy had resulted in his own failure. He had felt such pain- it was beyond description- worse then the Cruciatus Curse and it enraged him even further.
As a result, he killed Narcissa Malfoy. He enjoyed playing with her first, like a cat with a mouse; and then he killed her. That was quite satisfactory, and even more so because he let Lucius watch. A just punishment, he decided. And what was hilarious was the fact that Lucius thought it was Snape! Lucius would go after the real Snape and they would more then likely kill one another.
He thought about his next step and decided that he would stop at Gringott's Wizarding bank and regain the cup first. It was on his way and it would take very little effort or time. Then he would go to Godric's Hollow. His last and final Horcrux had been made there using the murder of James Potter to perform the charm. It was very pleasing to him to use a Gryffindor object, as he planned to do all along, and not have to go to the trouble of stealing one from Hogwarts. His first attempt to do that had been thwarted by Dumbledore himself. The thought, once again, made him furious.
Unfortunately, he had also left the new Horcrux in the house that night just after he had killed the James Potter and had gone upstairs to kill the Potter child. He had intended on retrieving it on his way out. But he could not have foreseen the result of his second murder attempt and that particular memory sickened him. He had spent twelve long years in exile without a body because of that child's mudblood mother! What was worse was his last Horcrux had been left exposed in the house. It could be anywhere. He waved the thought away in his mind. No one would have found it. No one knew what it was.
After that he would retrieve the other things; the ring.... . He caressed the velvet chair in which he sat and studied Nagini. He refused to let the possibility that he had been careless with the Horcruxes enter his mind.
The Potter boy! Voldemort's face twisted into a grimace as he thought about Harry. He was an enigma. There was the blood charm that protected him, the connection that linked them together and his failure to kill the boy- not once- not twice- but three times. Again the memory of the attempted possession at the Ministry returned. He shot to his feet with the thoughts that invaded his mind. Voldemort hated failure and he hated Harry Potter. AND, he was not at peace.
Harry traveled now only by night, since the territory was completely unknown to him. It was a struggle to avoid contact with others and still find a place to eat and sleep. What he really needed was a guide but couldn't afford to hire one out of fear that he would be recognized. He had a clue as to where Slughorn might be found and he was hoping that he could take a small side trip, before he reached Godric's Hollow, to find the wizard.
Harry disliked Slughorn and had from the beginning. But he knew more then he would talk about and Harry figured the man owed him something. If he couldn't have Dumbledore then he would have Horace Slughorn and he would make him talk!
Harry was wise to Slughorn's smooth escapes. He had hidden himself from Voldemort for over a year by staying in a muggle house. Albus had used Harry as bait to persuade Slughorn to go to Hogwarts to teach. Harry knew why Dumbledore had done it and he wasn't angry with him for it. Dumbledore had used his celebrity to entice the man and then Harry had gotten the memory from him that concerned the Horcruxes.
Harry felt that Dumbledore had done the right thing. He wished only that he had told him what he was planning. It always seemed to Harry that no one trusted him enough to give him the details and he was tired of it. It was only fair now, he decided, that he not reveal his own plans. He thought of Remus and McGonagall and their conversation. So they had known about his mother and Snape! Once again a little bit of history kept from me, he thought.
To get his mind off of the thoughts and feelings he had about that, he focused on Slughorn. The man fled Hogwarts soon after Dumbledore' funeral.
Harry pinched his nose where there was a sore spot. He knew he couldn't wear his regular glasses and had, therefore, found a pair of pince-nez to wear when he was around anyone. He swapped these out for his glasses when he traveled alone.
Just as he was shackled to his glasses, he knew that Slughorn was also shackled to his life-style; his sweets, luxuries and conveniences. It had taken some time and he had kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner, but Harry had found a means to track him. Just as Hansel and Gretal had left a trail of crumbs in the forest, Horace Slughorn had left a trail of his own making.
Maybe that's how Dumbledore found him the first time, Harry thought. It was amazing how often he thought of his dead headmaster and friend. He was even feeling proud that he was beginning to think like him.
Evening bore down on him as he flew into the busy streets of the village. He wore his disguise as usual and tried to be inconspicuous as he merged into the crowds that were shopping in the open market place. It was the end of summer and many people were taking advantage of the fresh fruits and vegetables available on the open stands. Harry passed through them, this time with a cap on his head, pulled down low, and dressed in clothes that suited a younger wizard. He was thin and small for his age. Staying at the Dursleys for three months had increased the overall look of starvation. Harry thought that the disguise suited him. People would look at him as if he were a child.
He walked the narrow street bustling with activity and spied the local sweet shop. A bell tinkled as he entered and he made his way past young children eyeing the jars of candies and sweets that lined the shelves. A portly woman with an apron pinned to her waist was behind the counter. He approached and smiled, tilting his head so he could see through the small lenses. "I'm looking fer work," he said. His accent was definitely country.
She glanced up after wrapping a purchase for a boy and turned to him. She had a pleasant, warm smile and it stayed on her face as her eyes traveled over his worn-out clothing and his dirty face. Harry had worked on his disguise and knew that she was thinking that he was a poor homeless wretch.
"Hello," she said. "You look more like you need a bite to eat first before you fall down!"
He dropped his eyes in embarrassment, pretending to be shy and shuffled uneasily on his feet.
"Horatio, come out to the counter please," the woman shouted behind her at a curtain covering a doorway. "I need to take a break."
A very small, spindly-looking man stepped through the curtain and stared at Harry. He appeared to be the woman's husband, although the sight of them together was amusing. One lean, the other stout.
"Come on, boy," she said. "I have a pot on the stove in the kitchen. Won't take but a minute to stir something up." They pushed through to the kitchen with Harry coming from behind. She pulled a wand from her apron and began to flick it towards shelves that lined the small kitchen. It reminded Harry of Mrs. Weasley and he found himself feeling very grateful, although a little ashamed, at what he would have to do.
She talked non-stop as she worked and Harry dove into the bread and soup so that he wouldn't be forced to answer her questions with lies.
"...... an orphan," he mumbled an answer as he chewed. That was not a lie, although he had never really thought of himself as such.
"I thought so," she said and sat a jar of jam on the table. "You're awfully young to be in such a state. Was it an accident, you losing your parents?" She looked at him with very concerned eyes.
"No....murdered by You-Know-Who," he said. There, he hadn't lied about that either.
"Oh dear!" Mrs. Huxley exclaimed. "How horrible for you."
"'appened a long time ago." He waved nonchalantly and continued to eat and then stopped, "Mrs. 'uxley, do you 'ave work fer me, makin' deliveries or somethin'." Harry asked, switching subjects. "I only need a bit o' money, a couple hours a day- maybe fer just a few days."
She watched him and nodded. "Let me talk to Horatio. But don't you worry your head about a thing. You just eat."
"Aye, and mum....?" Harry stopped her cold by calling her mum. "I 'eard about 'ow you make this special sweet- sugared pineapple. Do you 'ave any? Just a bit. I tasted it once. It's me favorite!"
She winked and grinned and then waddled through the curtains and returned only moments later. "Not a problem! You can start today! But first you must bath and put on fresh clothing." She stuffed a small package into his fist and nodded towards a set of narrow stairs at the end of the kitchen. "We have a room just above the kitchen where you can sleep. It's not been used in years. It belonged to my boy, Harold, who's married with children of his own. There are probably even clothes that will fit you there. He's so like his dad you see, very small and delicate. Off you go then!" She swept his plate away and ushered him to the stairs. "Come down when you're ready."
Harry nodded and climbed the stairs. Perfect, he thought, that worked out perfectly. He felt lucky in having remembered the name on the wrapper that held Slughorn's sugared pineapple and now he was in that very store; Horatio and Helga Huxley's Confectioners. He washolding a parcel of it. With any luck he would wait long enough for Slughorn to run out and order more.