Disclaimer: Not mine, all the characters and the world belong to our dear Ms. Rowling.
A/N: For those who have been encouraging me, reading and reviewing for the past eighteen months while this story has been on hiatus...thank you! I am still working on it and I promise that one day it will, indeed, get finished!
Backlash
June, 1998
'Solstice.' The one word was stated so grimly that Minerva did not have to ask the man seated across from her what it meant.
'Where?' she bit out tersely.
'Hogwarts.'
She flinched visibly, but Snape leaned towards his old colleague, a cold smile curving the corners of his mouth. 'You know that I encouraged him to choose the school as the site of our last confrontation. Most of our colleagues are now in the Order. You hold the keys to the wards and all the special privileges by virtue of your title as Headmistress – named in Dumbledore's will. The Dark Lord has selected it because he believes himself the possessor of all of its secrets, and because capturing Hogwarts will be the jewel in his symbolic crown. But he does not know all of the things we know about its defences, traps and corridors, and we can ensure that his arrogance costs him his life.' He hesitated. He had not revealed to her the last of the reasons that the former school was the prime choice of battlefield, indeed, the only one he where he was certain that their victory was assured.
'Still, Severus…a school…'
'Closed and emptied,' he countered without pity. 'There are no innocents to fear for. How many other places can claim the same?' He reached out his long fingers to close over her sleeve as he played his trump card. 'Minerva, Hogwarts was built over Britain's only Nexus – a site of Elemental Magic inhabited by the Order of the Ang'guin Weyr.'
This jerked her upright, sorrow for the institution they had both lost vanishing as she stared, breathless, into the plan he had so carefully woven and completed his thought. 'The magic that Hermione's been researching...the magic of your bond...
'The power that will allow us to undo the last four Horcruxes, according to the journals that the late headmaster left in her possession. And as the current Head of Hogwarts, you are the only other person besides myself and Hermione who can re-adjust the wards that keep out the world. You can allow Potter and his companions entry.'
'You want to dispose of the Horcruxes and fight a battle at the same time?' she asked incredulously.
'Yes,' he replied simply. 'The last Horcruxes are bound together so thoroughly that when they are destroyed, the Dark Lord will probably know at once. We cannot take that chance. Only if he is already completely engaged in a battle will he stand and fight. If we simply act now, he will withdraw – weakened, but very much alive, and re-build himself.' He shot her a glance as he rose to his feet, hands clasped behind his back, unable to keep still, the swift motion of events falling one after another into a line he had created translated into the movement of his body.
'This is the difference between ending the war by July and prolonging it for at least another decade.'
Her dark blue eyes caught his gaze and held, searching the harsh features of her friend, and nodded once, briskly, the decision made. 'I will convene a meeting tomorrow. Potter must be informed and we can start tailoring our plans immediately. Griphook is here. The Goblins have added their numbers to ours.'
'They will be fighting their own. Graploin is leading a brigade in the Dark Lord's army.' She made a noise of disgruntled displeasure and he shrugged. Most species in the wizarding world had proven divided, members arranging battalions on all sides of the line. 'Have the centaurs responded?'
'Firenze returned to us without the marks of physical bruises on his body, which is a positive, but they refuse to commit themselves.'
'Unsurprising.' Snape took a deep breath, forced himself to look Minerva in the eye. She knew instantly that she wasn't going to like his next words.
'Say it, Severus,' she ordered dryly as he delayed. 'I have survived the engineered death of my husband and the deliberate destruction of my life's work. I'm sure I can handle whatever it is you're going to tell me.'
'The spy in the upper echelons of the Order…other than me…' He swallowed convulsively and Minerva felt a moment of sheer panic and impatience. Had he discovered who it was? Had Voldemort told him?
'It's one of the children.'
'No!' The cry was reflexive.
'Lucius Malfoy practically announced it,' he countered quietly.
Minerva sank against her chair, bone-weariness sweeping over her. One of the children. One of her children. There were none from other Houses that were highly enough ranked within the Order to be selling the secrets that were being sold.
'Lavender Brown, Ronald Weasley, Ginevra Weasley, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter, Fred and George Weasley,' he ticked them off mercilessly. 'Charlie Weasley hasn't been here long enough, Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin's whereabouts have been accounted for by her husband and her boss, and everyone else is older than that. I can testify to the fact that it is not Hermione, and I think we all know that it couldn't possibly be Potter.'
Another pause, and Minerva lifted her head, hearing the unsaid in the heaviness of a silence that only exists when one knows something – and is afraid to say it.
'Ginevra Weasley,' he responded to her prompting look. 'She was possessed by the Dark Lord her first year at Hogwarts. Of all the students I just listed, she and Potter are the only ones that share a direct link with him.'
'St. Mungos wrote a full report certifying that there were no after-effects,' Minerva said with a frown. 'There should be no remaining connection. Certainly not with an adult Riddle returned to his fifty-plus-year-old body.'
'There doesn't have to be a magical tie to bind her to him, or to bring her before him. No one knows what she experienced at his hands via the diary as an eleven-year-old. The subject was closed and tossed aside, much like the report you just mentioned. But there was more to that than meets the eye – much more, as I did not know until I heard Lucius tell a most displeased Dark Lord why he had behaved so casually with a piece of our master's soul. A Horcrux requires a certain level of power in a host witch or wizard, or else it remains dormant. Lucius Malfoy did not give her that book as part of his private spat with her father – as much as it was intended to look that way. His goal was the opening of the Chamber, hopefully to cause the death of his son's Muggle-born rival and Harry Potter's best friend.'
'Sweet Merlin…Hermione…?'
'That was the intention. Like Potter, she has been marked from a very young age. Her intelligence was clear even as a first year, and those who still held to the Dark Lord's line knew that it would cause problems as she matured. Lucius was not the only one who thought that she should be "neutralized" before she could come into her own.'
'But…then, why Ginny, why an eleven-year-old, if a Horcrux needs power? Surely an older student would have been a safer bet?'
'Indeed. I do not know how Lucius knew that Miss Weasley possessed the innate amount of magic necessary to trigger the Horcrux when she wrote in the diary, but it was an investment that at least half paid-off. Ginevra supposedly occupies a unique position – a member dedicated to the Light who has, nevertheless, shared part of her soul with the Dark Lord.'
'"Supposedly"?'
'We do not know her loyalties,' he finished simply. 'This is not an accusation, as I do not know if it is she. But I do know that she is our most rational possibility, and that if we do not stop the leak immediately, the Order will be utterly destroyed before we reach the battlefield. This spy is also reporting on me – verifying my information, as I am certain that my master is using me to determine the truth of theirs.'
'Dear Merlin…reporting on you…?' His humourless smile reminded Minerva that Voldemort truly trusted no one – the rapid rise and fall of his favourites stood eloquent testament to his changing temper. His treatment of Bellatrix Lestrange had shaken every Death Eater to their foundations. If she, the sycophantic, savage, brilliant-in-spite-of-her-insanity general had been thrown from the top of their craggy hierarchy, anyone could plummet at any time. The would-be headmistress heard her own heart-stopping dread in her words and swallowed. The loss of their best spy, so close to Voldemort, would leave them blind and deaf.
'Ginny Weasley…if your suspicions are correct…it would kill Harry.' The affection Minerva still harboured for her husband's favoured student was clear in the toneless suffering imbuing her voice, the pain flickering in her stalwart eyes.
'She will kill him – if it is her and she is not stopped.'
~888~
One of the people they were discussing in McGonagall's private study on the third floor of Grimmauld Place was pacing underneath those very floorboards in the room Remus Lupin shared with his currently-absent wife, the greying hair of the werewolf and the glinting copper of Ron Weasley shining in the candlelight.
'We know that we were mistaken in assuming she was the spy,' Ron said, leaning forward in his chair.
'I was mistaken,' Harry corrected him, green eyes as unforgiving of himself as he had proved to be of others in the past year. 'You told me at the time that I was being a right arse about it.'
'Yes,' his best friend replied simply. 'But there is no denying that, given the limited information we had, it was a rational conclusion. We could not have known then what Professor Snape was doing. All the evidence pointed to the contrary.' Harry's jaw worked furiously as Ron casually dropped the name that had caused a rift between the hero and Hermione. The image of his hated professor's face, twisted with loathing when the raven-haired wizard had killed Albus Dumbledore a year ago stood starkly in his mind's eye, one of the memories that time does not wear smooth, the picture that confronted him every time he was forced to endure Severus Snape.
'You have to mean them.' Bellatrix Lestrange's taunt from the Department of Mysteries had remained ingrained in his psyche – and there had been no doubt, in the moment between the headmaster's frail 'Severus, please…' and the blaze of neon-green light that had ended his life, that Severus Snape despised the venerable wizard that had always defended him so firmly to Harry and numerous others.
It was a betrayal that Harry had no room to forgive. He had lost his parents to Voldemort, and Sirius to Bellatrix. No one had asked him to excuse their murderers. The entrenched, stubborn part of his mind had insisted for a year that to grant pardon to Severus Snape was blatant hypocrisy.
'Much of what we know about him has not changed,' the young leader replied harshly, looking to the silent older man for agreement.
'Harry…' Lupin sighed, running a gaunt hand over his worn features. 'I would agree that many of the facts haven't changed – as they cannot. Severus was a Death Eater, he did kill Professor Dumbledore, he is bonded to Hermione, and he did sire the twins. He is not a particularly nice man, and he has spent considerable time honing his skills of cruelty on you personally. But none of these things categorically mean that he is fighting for the wrong side, and at least two of them provide strong incentives to believe otherwise. What you have to judge now – justly, Harry, logically, not using the gut instinct with which you have mutually hated each other for years – is his motivation. We have had at least two possible motives open to us for months – the straightforward view that he is selling us out to Voldemort or, the rather more complicated one presented by Hermione and Minerva. Their evidence tells us that his actions are all that have stood between us and disaster, that he has been the key to our success and that without him, we would likely be struggling to find the second Horcrux instead of having all four locked up in the cellar.'
'Those who fulfil the most crucial functions in an impossible situation are often crucified for their efforts.' Griphook's gruff voice seemed to have ground a permanent groove in Harry's brain.
'You really think he's working for us?' Harry asked quietly, and Ron looked up sharply at the tone. A month ago, it would have been accusing, the kind of voice that defied a reasonable answer, a postscript writing the speaker off as a traitor. Now there was something almost pleading about the question, marked with a confusion and uncertainty that Harry had not displayed in months.
'I do,' Lupin admitted firmly. 'I know what I said at Hermione's trial – I meant it then and I still stand by it, Harry. I will follow your lead because I know that you're trying to make the best decisions for the Order and I know that your honesty won't allow you to do otherwise. But consider the interaction between Hermione and Severus. Look at it with eyes unclouded by pain and untouched by perceived betrayal. Examine it and tell me what you see – and I think you'll continue making the choices best for the Order, best for our survival – and best for you.'
The steady hazel eyes handed him no direct answers, but Harry felt himself filling again with the confidence that had kept him putting one foot in front of the other for the past year. Remus Lupin would not remove the saviour's responsibility – as no one could – but he would help him bear it. Forest-green met sparkling sea-blue as he turned to Ron. His remaining best friend smiled.
'You know I've been convinced about Professor Snape's loyalties since we found Hufflepuff's cup. Hermione's found a way to destroy the Horcruxes – I think it's time we asked her about it.'
Harry nodded, not trusting his voice. He had been delaying discovering the results of her research for the past two weeks since bringing the final piece of Voldemort's soul to the ancient house of Black. It had been easy to do, with the constant gathering of allies, the piecing together of the army-
-that Hermione has fashioned for you.
Lupin was right. It was time to exercise the objectivity that Shacklebolt had praised him for when planning their assaults on Longbottom Hall and the ancestral retreat of the Dumbledores in the Orkney Isles. They could not lose the war because of his damaged feelings.
'Tomorrow,' he said firmly, and the look he traded with both of his late-night advisors made it clear that he would not evade the issue again. 'Ten o'clock?'
'We have a strategy lunch at noon,' Lupin reminded him. 'The emissary from the werewolves will arrive at eleven-thirty.' A flicker of a frown darkened Harry's eyes.
'We still don't-?'
'Greyback is persuasive, but I think we'll have a few joining us,' the older wizard cut him off. 'No, we don't know numbers.'
'We'll be able to add Hermione to that session,' Ron jumped in, deliberately holding Harry to his decision with his assumption. 'Ten o'clock.'
~888~
May, 1997
The knock at his door came timidly, and Snape could practically feel the fear oozing from the boy standing behind it. The professor removed his spectacles from his crooked nose and pinched the bridge, taking a deep breath. No matter what Lucius' son said to him, he could not lose his temper.
'Come,' he grated, glasses folded into his desk drawer as he stood, his robes swirling to encase him like a suit of black armour.
A blonde head poked in, followed by a boot-clad foot, and then the colourless robes of his uniform. Draco Malfoy's face was hidden, his platinum hair swung to obscure it. Snape felt a sudden, unwelcome sympathy welling in him at the awkward gesture, so new to a boy used to showing his face off to the world. It reminded him too sharply of another young man learning to perfect the same art of hiding himself.
'Sit,' Snape snapped, dismissing the rare sensation of empathy. This was the child for whom he was ending his life. The child who had nearly taken his own, unborn children. The door fell closed heavily as Draco sagged into the chair in front of his Head of House.
His voice was deadly as he hissed, 'Explain.'
Malfoy shook his head slightly, a faint movement of hair his weak refusal.
'You must be aware that only the old man's incurable optimism allowed me to convince him you should stay,' Snape said harshly. A lie. Both Snape and McGonagall had argued with the headmaster into the early hours of the morning, both teachers insisting that he must be expelled, whatever the price to the Malfoy family and the war effort.
'An attack like that, when the poison you planted ended up in Weasley's mouth only a few months ago...and you used an Unforgivable. The after-effects on Miss Clearwater were plain. Professor McGonagall is pushing to see you in Azkaban.'
A shudder, the head lifted, and Snape saw a genuine shaft of fear pierce the grey – married to an afterthought of undefined relief. The spy's concern sharpened. If the pressure on the younger Death Eater was so violent that prison was beginning to seem a welcome respite, they were failing.
'I also know your father must have told you that Granger is off-limits. No matter how jumped-up she is, our lord has a use for her.'
'I know.' Draco's voice almost choked on the confession. 'But she could do it.'
'Do what?' Snape seated himself slowly, indicating that despite an unforgiving opening, he was not there to lecture, but to encourage.
'Fix it.'
'What is it you are seeking to fix?' The grey eyes remained on his lap, steadfastly refusing to meet his. "Draco, you have sought the worst possible solution. I have offered you help so many times-'
'So that you can take the credit!' the young man blazed abruptly, stormy eyes meeting the black for the first time. 'You've already taken my father's place – you'd love nothing better than to cement it, wouldn't you?'
'We are all called to serve, Draco, not to advance our petty claims of power,' the professor returned brusquely, coldness returning to his voice in full force. 'And you are not doing our master's bidding when you attack someone he has specifically declared off-limits.'
'What does he want her for, anyway?' he asked sullenly, fire banked as quickly as it had flared, gaze dropping once more.
'Considering your inability to complete even the simplest of tasks without causing mayhem, I cannot be too surprised if he elected not to inform you.' Disdain dripped from Snape's voice. 'It should be sufficient that he has forbidden it.'
Silence reigned for a moment. Snape ground his teeth. 'Fix it.' Draco was repairing something...but the number of possibilities Hogwarts offered – even excluding what could be smuggled in past an unsuspecting Filch – made estimates and guesswork impossible. Even Arithmancy would find too many variables to create a viable equation to discover what it was. His best opening was the boy himself...but Malfoy had dug in his heels in September, and family pride might push him to jail before he told Snape what he was doing.
'Blaise offered to tutor her in Potions,' Malfoy said suddenly. It was a deliberate diversion, but the professor allowed himself to be pulled along, wondering what the young man was making of his classmate's wholly out-of-character decisions.
'Oh?'
'Yeah.'
'Why?'
'Dunno, really. He's never been into...you know. And it's not like they're friends.'
'Has Blaise ever indicated to you that he's changing his mind? That his family's neutrality is not for him?'
Malfoy considered, shook his head. 'No...it's weird. The worse things get, the more neutral he seems.' The grey eyes met Snape's, canniness at work in them. 'But it's not neutral, is it? Offering to help Granger?'
'No,' Snape conceded, mentally moving Blaise Zabini up on his list of mental priorities. If the news was circulating through Slytherin, he needed to know the other wizard's motive, and soon-
-burning. His left arm ached with a sudden, immediate Summons. Clenching his teeth, he flexed his fingers and rose, cursing their master's wretched timing. Draco was delicate...Snape might not get another chance to persuade him, and a terse dismissal attached to automatic punishment would ruin the moment...but the searing would only increase until it ended in seizures and unconsciousness.
No choice. 'You have two weeks of detention, to be served with me. Remember what I have told you – we are here to serve.'
He saw the wide eyes fasten on his covered arm, and as he nodded curtly, the older wizard watched the younger close himself off once more, disappearing into the haughty, half-terrified, half-defiant exterior. 'I have to depart. See yourself out.'
He heard, rather than saw, the door close as he opened the side door to his quarters to retrieve his mask.
~888~
'Get up.'
Limbs shaking with the effort of self-control, Snape slowly complied with his master's order. It was small comfort that he could hear Lucius' raspy breathing on his right, silky hair now clumped in strings and running with sweat.
'And why is it that you cannot control this child? That neither his father nor his Head of House can impress upon him his necessary duty as a loyal servant of mine?' Both men kept their eyes trained on the floor, not wishing to risk drawing the irate lord's attention.
'Bear in mind that if the girl has any further problems with Draco, you will both be...corrected...in your management. Severus!' The spy winced at the tone, wondering what else fate had favoured to tell the Dark Lord of today. There had been no hope that news of Draco's attack could be silenced – the Obliviation of Miss Clearwater and Miss Edgecomb kept first-hand witness accounts from flourishing, but Malfoy's private inner circle in Slytherin knew the score. At a bare minimum, Donald Parkinson would have received an owl from his daughter, and doubtless hurried to lay the lion's share of the blame at Snape's feet.
'My lord?' he replied mildly.
'What is this nonsense I've been hearing about Blaise Zabini and an offer to tutor the girl?'
Of course. Another baffling secret that could not be kept forever. But in this case, his genuine ignorance would be his saving grace.
'Draco reported this to me only moments before I was summoned, my lord. But steps will be taken to ascertain the boy's loyalties. His family is one all-too-keenly aware of political advantage, and this could be exactly the opening needed. She has been removed from some of her more volatile classes, as you suggested, and Zabini has seen his chance to ingratiate himself. The boy has potential.'
'It is up to you to ensure that his potential is turned to our ends and not those of the old man,' Voldemort answered brusquely. 'Encourage him to befriend her. I expect weekly updates.' An impatient flicker in his eyes dismissed the subject. Spidery fingers drumming the mantle, his slit-like nostrils flared as the fresh smells of growth and loam floated through the cracked window. The red eyes seemed to return to black as he studied the magnificent oak waving just outside the lattice, and his hand lifted, carelessly shooing them out.
Both Death Eaters bowed and backed out of the room, their faces expressionless to keep their relief at bay.
~888~
'Harry – message coming for you,' Ron nudged his best friend at breakfast as the morning mail arrived in its usual cluster of feathers and soft hoots. Once, both Harry and Hermione had been nothing short of delighted by this simple daily miracle – one of many in their shiny new world.
But anxiety now marred even the delivery of the post, and the hall collectively held its breath in case one of their classmates or friends received the Ministry's black envelope. Or worse, if they lived the nightmare themselves.
He corrupts everything he touches, Hermione thought. But instead of the drowning weight of sorrow such thoughts usually carried, this morning she felt the stirrings of a deep, primal anger.
It was when fire went snapping up her spine and rustled her hair that she recognized it as elemental power, and took a deep breath, willing it under her control. Flamma acquiesced, but not quietly, and when she lifted her eyes from her plate again, it was to find a scroll thrust under her nose.
'Not mine after all,' Harry said with a smile. 'Yours.'
'What? Oh...from Professor McGonagall. Thanks, Harry.'
'About your independent study?' Green eyes met hers with concern, and Hermione made herself produce a confident smile.
'I'm sure it is. She probably wants me to get some extra reading material.'
'You know, I think these independent studies are their way of giving you more work than any sane person would dream of doing,' Ron suggested with a smile.
Hermione merely raised her eyebrows at him and chose not to deign to reply. She slit the seal and unrolled the top portion.
The missive in their Transfiguration teacher's fluent hand was surprisingly short.
My office. Immediately after breakfast.
Hermione stuffed the last piece of toast in her mouth, prayed that her recent remission of morning sickness held, and lifted her bag, charmed to weigh practically nothing while still carrying just about anything.
'See you guys at lunch,' she said quietly. 'I've got to get to McGonagall's office.'
Instantly, they rose with her. 'You're not going anywhere on your own,' Harry said firmly, casting a cold glance at Slytherin's table, where Draco Malfoy sat alone and hunched miserably over a cup of tea he was absently stirring.
A younger Hermione would have objected, and brought all of her overbearing bossiness to the fore to convince them. But her last encounter with the Malfoy heir had landed her in the hospital and should have cost her the twins. That it had not was a peculiar side blessing of her bond with her professor. She couldn't trust their lives to chance again.
So she smiled instead at these two boys who had filled her heart for so many years and nodded.
The three of them trailed out the door, the signal for all of the sixth and many fifth years of their House to rise and follow them.
At the Head Table, three pairs of eyes watched their departure with grim satisfaction. Gryffindor House was repairing itself from within.
~888~
'Take a seat, Hermione,' her Head of House waved her into a chair, complete with a steaming cup of tea on the lacquered tray next to it. Hermione sat, curious. When dealing with academic subjects, Professor McGonagall deliberately stressed her last name, keeping to the formalities.
Whatever her professor wanted this morning, it had nothing to do with her independent study.
Hermione took the tea and sipped it, wrinkling her nose as she recognized the infusion as one of Madam Pomfrey's many medicinal blends. A shame it couldn't just be strong, sweet black tea like she was used to. She tilted her head at Professor McGonagall as the straight-backed Transfiguration teacher reached into a desk drawer and withdrew a sheaf of parchment.
'There's a great deal for you to do, my dear, so I shan't beat about the bush,' the older witch said, passing the parchment across the desk. Her light-blue eyes fastened on the pages in Hermione's hand. 'I believe I have found a family for you.'
The Gryffindor forced herself to sit very still. You wanted it, she reminded herself ruthlessly as she felt her heart plummeting, her throat and mouth suddenly dry. You asked for her help. You know you can't keep them...
The papers her teacher had handed her nearly six weeks ago were tucked into Hermione's trunk, most of them unread. With Malfoy's Unbreakable Vow and unpredictable attacks, with Harry's obsession that occasionally and eerily mirrored the tendencies of the Dark Lord, with Ginny's nightmares, Zabini's questions, and especially with learning about Elemental Magic, her pregnancy had taken on a quality of the unreal. It just...it wasn't pressingenough to demand her attention.
Hermione felt a faint whisper of gratitude, tainted by shame. She wasn't willing to think about it. But her professor, completely occupied with preparing for the demise of her husband and the closing of Hogwarts, had taken the time. 'Thank you,' she pushed herself to say.
Her eyes fell on the first, crisp lines of writing. The family's location. What their qualifications were, their names-
She couldn't suppress a gasp of shock. The names set out neatly at the top of the page read, Jonah and Nisa Zabini-Ollivander.
~888~
He was right there on the map. All on his own in the boys' bathroom. Well...with Moaning Myrtle. But she couldn't do anything to stop him. There would never be a better time.
Harry knew that Malfoy was serving detentions for his fight with Hermione. In a blatant concession to the facts, only the blond had been assigned to two weeks worth of after-hours with a variety of professors, but the Boy-Who-Lived burned with the need to mete out a more personal punishment. How could Dumbledore just let this go? Like Malfoy cared about detentions. He had a Dark Mark on his left forearm. His reward for killing Hermione would be worth his expulsion.
With the silent training he'd cultivated in the DA, Harry slipped the door open, wand at the ready-
-and froze, his feet rooted by the unexpected. Malfoy was bent over the porcelain sink, his knuckles white and his arms shaking with the force of his grip, head bowed to hide his features. His breathing was broken, streaming out in quiet sobs.
'Don't. Don't...tell me what's wrong...I can help you,' Myrtle cooed softly. Harry couldn't see the ghost, but she could be anywhere.
'No one can help me.' Malfoy's voice trembled, a leaf struggling to anchor on a tree in a gale. 'I can't do it...I can't...It won't work...and the Mudblood...unless I do it soon...he says he'll kill me.'
The tear-stained face lifted, red carving tracks in a pearl complexion, and Harry was swamped by a pity so vast it seemed to rupture the foundation of his fury at his nemesis, giving birth to a reluctant understanding-
-and then Malfoy's grey eyes fastened on his rival's reflection in the spider-cracked glass. The terrified, bewildered boy disappeared, engulfed by an enraged man. Spinning, the Slytherin's wand extended, curses already spewing from the tip.
Harry hastily threw up a shield, thinking Levicorpus! with all his might. Malfoy blocked it easily, returning fire with a Slicing Hex that missed the Gryffindor and exploded the bin just behind him. Harry winced as a bit of metal penetrated his shield and sliced his leg. A Leg-Locker Curse missed his opponent, shattering a cistern and spraying water all over the slick marble floor.
'No! No! Stop it!' Myrtle was screaming, and the boys ignored her out of habit, six years of frustration released on an unlikely battleground. Harry felt his sneakers slipping, his feet sliding out from under him, and the marble met his elbow at an agonizing juncture as he heard Malfoy begin:
'Cruci-' Just like the duel with Hermione. If the Slytherin finished the curse, Harry knew he wouldn't be getting up. Desperation fuelled him, and his wand slashed wildly.
'SECTUMSEMPRA!'
Blood spurted everywhere.
~888~
Snape's heart wrenched painfully, squeezing too tightly, and then hardly at all, bringing black to the edges of his vision. He knew his head had hit the desk when he heard the clunk it made, sounding distant as he strained to listen inward, to the heartbeat coming erratically and too softly – a hummingbird's wings beating against glass. And with the surety granted to him by a mother's desperate demands, he knew:
Something had gone terribly wrong with Draco.
Planting both palms flat on his desk, he forced himself up on shaking arms. The twisting had not ceased. Nor would it, until he could get to the boy.
Through months of secretive work that had worn the young wizard ragged, through minor Quidditch accidents and the semi-deadly duel with his bondmate, the side effects of the dark wizard's Unbreakable Vow had never activated.
Somewhere in the castle, Draco Malfoy was dying.
His hands were still pushing against the wood as though it were all that anchored him to life. Gritting his teeth, he continued upward until he was standing. He sent a wry thank you to the Dark Lord. A lifetime of torture had given him the strength to save Draco's life – and his own.
With steps that grew less halting as he strode from the dungeons, he ran a mental list. The boy had carefully covered his tracks, to be sure, but there had to be a way to find out exactly where he was...
Potter's map. If he could find Potter...
But the next thing he heard erased his need to search.
'MURDER!'
It was Draco. Boots eating the ground beneath him, the professor blazed around the corner, continuous sobs leading him-
-to the floor outside the boy's bathroom, which was soaked with water. Something silvery flashed above the growing pool, a wispy shape taking form.
Moaning Myrtle. Of all the ghosts to have sounded the alarm...this would be all over Hogwarts within minutes.
'Get out of the way!' he snarled at the spirit and threw open the door, barely hearing it slam against the wall.
His nose registered the blood first, before his eyes found the sprawled figure of Draco Malfoy, hair soaked with slimy water and streaks of scarlet. Snape's first emotion – relief that he could still see the rise and fall of his student's chest, faded as he took in the amount of blood spread across the marble.
The second figure, frozen in a stunned crouch next to the Slytherin, was Harry Potter, staring at the damage he'd done and whispering, 'No...'
Snape cursed all three of them as fools. Potter's significant power was rapidly progressing, and Malfoy had clearly made the Gryffindor boy desperate for Sectumsempra to be so successful.
Of all the spells in the book, I never expected him to use this one, he admitted to himself. He had underestimated the boy – and Potter's deep-seated hatred of Malfoy. But the would-be saviour had to learn that descending to the Dark Lord's level was only going to ensure defeat. The use of Dark Magic, however alluring, was not the way to victory.
But this was not the day. There would have to be time for that lesson later. Potter's recklessly unleashed power had opened over a half-dozen wounds, and his student was bleeding to death before his very eyes. Falling to his knees in the water, Snape began to trace a healing spell over the marks, a low song issuing from his mouth. He had little doubt that his elements would be more effective, but the Gryffindor staring on in absolute terror must not draw the connection between his best friend and most hated teacher.
A second repetition, his voice soothing the gashes as they began to stitch themselves back together. Malfoy stirred, opened his pale grey eyes, and his skin moved from pasty to ashen as he saw his professor bent over him.
'You need the hospital wing,' he ordered gruffly, lifting his student upright, allowing the boy to lean on him. 'There may be a certain amount of scarring, but with dittany we may be able to avoid even that. Come.' He started for the door, turned back to where Potter still sat hunched over a pool of swirling water and blood.
'And you, Potter. You wait here for me,' he ordered coldly, the fury in his voice genuine. Darkness could not fight darkness. The Gryffindor had to be cured of his desire to match hate with hate.
The boy's stricken face told the teacher that this was one order he had no fear of being disobeyed, and then Snape was staggering once more for the hospital wing, Draco Malfoy's hands clasped about his neck like the five-year-old child he once had been.
~888~
'Harry! What happened?' Ginny and Hermione were both standing at the portrait hole when Harry flew back in the second time. He had raced in before, soaked with water and covered in blood, demanded Ron's Advanced Potions text, and torn out, leaving their questions to sputter on their lips.
Now, he was minus a textbook, but the blood and water remained.
'Upstairs,' he said brusquely, not wanting to remain in the common room and endure the stares of their peers. Neville, Dean and Seamus quickly joined them on the staircase.
'I heard something about Malfoy-' Ginny started as soon as the door closed on their heels.
'Myrtle said murder-' Dean quickly added.
'Michael Corner said the girl's bathroom on the second corridor is completely flooded-' Seamus pitched in.
'What happened, Harry?' Hermione cut them all off sharply, taking in her best friend's drawn features and tight swallows.
'Malfoy,' he muttered, staring at the crimson rivers running in the creases of his hands.
'He attacked you?'
Harry winced. 'Kind of—'
'You attacked him,' Ginny frowned, wrapping an arm around her boyfriend's shoulders and urging him to sit. Harry collapsed on the edge of Ron's bed without protest.
'Kind of.'
'Duel?' Hermione guessed, pressing when it was clear that Harry wasn't going to spill the details willingly.
'Yes...it was. I wanted...' Harry's green eyes lifted, locked on Hermione's, and his voice strengthened. 'Malfoy could have killed you. It certainly looked like he tried. And what? He's still here? Wandering around like nothing really happened?'
Neville, Dean and Seamus swapped confused looks, glancing between the pair. Hermione had begged Harry, Ron and Ginny not to spread the news of her fight with Malfoy. The rumour mill had no idea how serious it had been – and she preferred to keep it that way.
'So you decided to take revenge?' Ron asked hesitantly, blue eyes worried.
'A little? I don't know, really...I just...I don't want him trying that again. Not on either of you.' Now his gaze flickered between Hermione and Ginny. 'But he started to use the Cruciatus-' everyone drew a sharp breath at that, '-and I didn't even think. There was a curse in the Half-Blood Prince's book. It said 'for enemies'. I just reacted. And Malfoy...'
The jade eyes dropped back to the blood on his hands, and Harry began to shiver violently. He had endured danger, death and torture, had felt his own blood slicking his skin a number of times. He had fought with wizards of every age and ability.
And for the first time, as he had watched Malfoy collapse like a broken puppet onto the cracked tile of Myrtle's bathroom, Harry knew he had killed someone. He had set out to teach the snobby blond a lesson – and taken his life. Snape's arrival, their incredible luck that he knew the counter-curse, was all that had saved the Slytherin. Left to Harry alone, Malfoy would have bled out on the cold marble. And he wouldn't have been able to do anything about it.
He didn't care about Hermione, a voice offered, but the raven-haired wizard could not make himself accept the excuse. Because that was all it was. When he had waved his wand to deliver the curse, he had been ready to do whatever it took to stop the other boy. And the spell had answered his command with frightening finality.
Vomit rose in his throat, and he bolted upright, sprinting for the bathroom. He heaved the contents of his stomach into the bowl, sweat beading on his forehead. He continued to retch long after there was nothing left, as if his self-loathing could be spewed out with the bile.
He was aware, dimly, of hands on his back and forehead, of the gentle touch of Ginny's broom-callused fingers on his cheek and Hermione's ink-stained digits as they thrust a glass of water at him. He swallowed gratefully, closing his eyes against the burning in his throat and the turmoil in his heart.
When he opened them again, he could see Ron standing against the door frame, blocking the rest of the room from view. Hermione rose from where she squatted in front of him. She stood slowly, and for a moment it looked a lot more laborious than it should have, but her words, and the quiet venom of her tone, chased the impression away.
'Where is your potions book?'
~888~
'How could you?'
The book had had asked Potter for a scarce half-hour prior hit his desk with a thud. Snape brought his head up slowly, black eyes taking in the young woman vibrating with anger before him.
'How could you?' she repeated coldly. 'How could you leave that in his hands, knowing what was there? Having written what was there?'
He met her gaze placidly, a deliberate contrast to the amber in her expressive eyes darkened with emotion. Her mind was shielded, earth and flame hissing at the borders of their merged mental space, but he didn't need the bond to feel her rage.
He could feel his temper stir, but it fizzled. Between the shock of adrenaline and fear at the thought of losing his student, and the extremity of his displeasure and anger at Potter, the professor's emotional reserves were exhausted. He didn't have the energy to respond to Hermione's ferocity.
'So Potter bears no responsibility for his own actions?' Snape asked quietly, holding her frozen with his glance. 'He has no part to play in this? In trusting a book when he doesn't even know the author? In using spells and curses carelessly and experimentally? In being foolish enough to practice for the first time on a human being instead of on inanimate objects, as he has been taught from the instant he set foot in this school?'
'Don't you dare turn this around on him,' she snapped. 'I'm not saying that he doesn't deserve punishment—'
'Deserve? He deserves expulsion – as did Draco Malfoy for what he did to you.'
'But you wrote it!' she interrupted angrily. 'You have a responsibility for the information you give to others!'
At this, Snape rose abruptly, sending his chair backwards, and Hermione knew she had broken the restraint he had been struggling to exercise in the face of her rampant explosion.
'Yes. I wrote it. And my alterations on potions and analysis of poisons has taught your friend more in eight months than five years of my teaching. It kept Ronald Weasley on this side of the veil. And next year, when the school is no longer open and you are standing not in a classroom with a teacher to make you behave, but on a battlefield in a war, where there is no such thing as good behaviour, the knowledge gleaned from this book can save your life. And the lives of those you love. You think me careless, Hermione? That I would casually place that book in any hands? That it was randomly left in that cupboard? That Potter just happened to end up with it in his possession?'
'There are things in there that are dangerous!' his bondmate protested.
'Yes. There are. And I will confess...' He watched Potter's shoulders rise and fall in his mind's eye, shuddering in guilt and horror, unable to believe the damage he'd done, unknowing, even to his most hated enemy. Even to the boy he'd sought out, intent upon revenge. Anger drained as swiftly as it had arrived, and Snape felt old. He had seen self-hatred and disgust in those green eyes. Potter shouldn't have used the curse. Shouldn't have been able, shouldn't have wanted to. But in spite of that, the younger wizard had needed the lesson he learned today. Needed the understanding that had arrived too late.
'I never thought he would use that curse. It's marked, in the book. There's a note of warning.'
'Why is it there at all?' Hermione asked. He was grateful to see that her fury seemed to have blown itself out slightly, and her voice was quieter, though no more understanding.
'My sixth year marked the escalation of the Dark Lord's first rise,' Snape told her tiredly, righting his chair and waving her into the armchair by the fire. A flick of his wand warded the door. 'My years at Hogwarts were surprisingly similar to yours – a threat looming over us, slowly gaining ascendency, something we could safely ignore as younger children. But during my fifth year, rumours became solidified facts, and during my sixth, the Dark Lord declared open war on the Ministry. Hogwarts was deeply divided, much as it is now, and students fought viciously. I was good at hexes and curses – I had perfected all the minor ones at home for reasons of my own before coming here – and my abilities kept me safe. Both from other Slytherins and those outside my house.'
'But Harry told us he thought...he was afraid he'd killed Malfoy.'
'Good. He has to learn that this is not a game. Had they been anywhere else, he might have. As it was, medical attention was essentially immediate, and Draco will be fine in a few days.'
'It's a Dark spell. Why not erase it if you wanted Harry to learn from the book?'
'A knife is not evil, Hermione. It is merely a tool. Sectumsempra is meant to be used with finesse. It's like a long, thin blade, intended to make precise, shallow cuts. It is intended as a duelling curse, not a killing one. Potter was desperate, and in his desperation, the curse swelled in scope and power.' He held up a hand, allowing his mind to open enough to send her a muted warning. 'It was unintended. And I will grant that it is my fault as well as his. Thank you for returning this to me,' he swept his old book off his desk and tucked it out of sight behind other books on his shelf. 'It is yours, as of the end of this year. It will help you.'
Hermione nodded and sat back in her chair, one hand idly running over her slowly expanding belly as she let the wrath that had driven her here dissipate. Games within games within games. Everyone was playing them. She and Blaise, Snape and Dumbledore, Harry and Malfoy. It was the story of the war unfolding around them.
A war you will never see, she promised the children under her fingers. At halfway through her pregnancy, her belly was beginning to round more than a little – becoming something that loose school robes alone wouldn't hide for long.
The thought triggered her memory of her meeting with McGonagall a handful of days ago. Struggling to exercise caution, the bondmates met at unpredictable times, and never as often as they wished. She had yet to speak to him regarding her Head of House's surprising proposal.
'What is it?' he asked, attuned as ever to the faint vibrations of apprehension running through their bond.
'I talked to Professor McGonagall,' Hermione began hesitantly. 'She found a family. In Argentina.'
The young witch was looking into the fire, but she could feel her bond mate freeze for an instant, regret tingeing his emotions before he forced it away and asked evenly:
'Indeed. And?'
'Did you know that Blaise's second cousin is married to Mr. Ollivander's grandson?'
~888~
'You wanted to see me, sir?' Blaise Zabini slipped through the door to his professor's office, the 'neutral face' his mother had trained into him firmly in place.
His student's voice was moulded into a tone of perfect respect, though his slightly widened black eyes betrayed anxiety. Impressed against his will, Snape nevertheless thought that his Slytherin had every right to be concerned. In six years, the dark boy had never been invited to his Head of House's office for any reason.
The Defence professor pushed his remaining papers aside and re-seated himself as the dark boy stood formally before his desk. The professor purposefully pulled off his spectacles and tucked out of sight under a potential avalanche of parchment. It was time to engage the heir to a fortune almost as large as the Malfoy's without warning his student about what he was doing.
'Seat yourself, Mr. Zabini,' Snape offered, waving to an armchair. 'This may take a little time.'
He let the boy stew as he purposefully stacked the rest of his papers, setting them aside and then steepling his fingers as he watched his student. Zabini sat straight-backed in his chair, but other than rigid posture, nothing indicated unease.
'I have heard it said that you offered to tutor Hermione Granger in the Potions class that she has dropped.'
Surprise flashed, furrowing the high, smooth forehead briefly before it unwrinkled itself and Zabini entered the dance as his professor expected.
'I did.' Two beats and a hesitant, 'Is there anything wrong with that, Professor?'
Snape tilted an eyebrow. 'You have lived in a dormitory with Draco Malfoy for six years. You tell me whether there's "anything wrong" with volunteering to teach the best friend of Harry Potter in a one-on-one situation.'
The whole body tensed now, expectations of the blows to come manifesting in the suddenly-stiff forearms and locked spine.
Zabini made sure his eyes were carefully averted from his teacher's – there were rumours of Snape's powers of Legilimency floated about, and he was in a position where he adamantly desired not to test them. He knew from Draco's mild slips that his classmate perceived Snape to be on "their side", and the blond's sudden over-protectiveness of his left arm made Zabini quite sure about which side that was. Everything he hoped to accomplish, as well as his family, and himself, could turn to ash in the next twenty-four hours if his Defence professor read his mind.
'I don't see what Draco has to do with it,' he said, pulling out his best "confused child" voice.
Snape was shaking his head. 'Do not pretend ignorance. Your family is neutral in our current conflict, Mr. Zabini,' and the half-Egyptian's gaze sharpened at the genuine bleakness tainting the clipped words. 'This leaves them, while powerful, utterly devoid of protection. Should either faction choose to go after you, the other will not interfere. Choose carefully who you are seen with and what you are seen to be doing. We live in a time where your actions, though you are barely of age, can have a rippling effect on all those you care about. You are living on a battlefield and no longer have the luxury of a child's spontaneity. Your defence of Ginevra Weasley has already birthed a host of potential problems – her position and yours make it impossible to interpret your actions neutrally.'
Zabini's eyes involuntarily reached for his teacher's, seeking the truth behind a man he'd never met. This was not the Head of House that Pansy had been terrified by earlier this term, nor the biased professor Draco had strutted to impress. The advice was…sound. Trustworthy. And completely shocking, considering its source.
'Encourage him to befriend her,' his master had ordered. And he would. But not for the Dark Lord's gain. Puzzles within puzzles.
'However, all that being said, I...applaud...your efforts at inter-House unity. It indicates a maturity beyond your peers and, indeed, the trends of our time. Exercise caution, Mr. Zabini, as you continue.'
He watched his student's face carefully as Zabini absorbed his professor's advice. Without needing Legilimency, Snape could see the wheels turning, the confusion at hearing something so different than what he had expected slowly turning into respect and a multitude of questions.
As the last appeared, Snape rose, indicating the interview over. This job was done, for now.
'Sir-?' Zabini began to ask, mirroring his teacher's movement unconsciously.
'I have grading to finish. And I am sure you have other things to do with your day,' Snape told him, calmly and firmly. Large almond eyes regarded him seriously, and the younger wizard bent his head in respectful obedience.
'Thank you, sir, for your time.'
The door closed on the heels of another child he was encouraging to join a war that belonged to his parents' generation, and Snape pulled his spectacles out to continue grading.
It was a long time before he reached for the next essay.
~888~888~888~888~
A/N: Thank you all for reading! Of course, the bathroom scene between Harry and Draco belongs to canon and appears in Half-Blood Prince.