Hidden Deeds

"The sins of some are obvious, reaching the place of judgment ahead of them; the sins of others trail behind them.
In the same way, good deeds are obvious, and even those that are not obvious cannot remain hidden forever."
- 1 Timothy 5:24

"Sit," he said, dropping the unresisting Draco on the sofa. "They are looking for us now. You will stay here at the moment." He spoke rapidly. "When the coast is clear, I will bring you to your mother. News would have reached her by then." He looked down at the white-faced, trembling Draco, and added, "The Dark Lord will be told of your success and your commendable service in gaining us entry into Hogwarts."

The boy's shoulders slumped in relief. "Thank you, Professor. I - I ..."

He understood. He did not want to make it harder for the boy, when such harsh words had been spoken, and by such a proud child of a proud family. He understood more. He was after all their teacher, head of their House, and himself one of them.

"Don't thank me, thank your father," he said coolly, gazing at Draco with a detached expression on his face. "Yes, though he is in Azkaban, he still has influence over many. I owed him and your mother called in the favor. Thus, I repay my debt to him."

He watched the boy's back straighten and eyes brighten. Of course, then the questions would come. Many questions. He turned, robes swirling about him, and regarded the cramped living room with his hands folded behind his back.

"We are in my house," he continued in the same detached tone, "The house of my Muggle father, now my house. Yes, Draco, I am half-blood. It is no secret." He glanced back with significance then returned to his contemplation of the room. "You can see his published works on Muggle mathematics filling that entire shelf there. But he could barely make enough to keep his family afloat. So here we are, a horrible Muggle slum that no respectable wizard would come within a mile of. In other words, a good place to lie low in."

"I was your age. I returned home for the summer to find my mother gone. My father told me she had fallen down the stairs, taken with fever, and was gone. The Muggle hospital was more specific. The fall had torn up her insides, and so she bled to death from within. It was a terrible fall, they said. She was covered with bruises. A terrible, painful death. Why hadn't she gone to the hospital immediately?

"My mother was a powerful wizardess. She could have made a healing potion to cure ten falls. She could have transfigured herself into living stone that no physical ailment could assault. Or make herself as light as a feather even as she lost her footing on the stairs. Why did she not lift a finger to save herself?

"She had abandoned magic when she married. My father had beaten it out of her, literally. You see, Draco, my mother was such a woman that once she had decided to give her love to someone, she would never take it back, no matter how unworthy he was of it, even if it cost her everything. She would give her life to the man she loved if he demanded it of her. Or if she saw it that way."

He turned back to Draco. The boy's mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

"Yes." He replied to the unspoken question.

"I left the house," he continued quietly, "but I was under-aged even in the Wizarding World. Lucius - your father let me stayed in his mansion. We put it as an extended sleepover with a schoolmate. He was kind to me, your father. He didn't have to be, for I had nothing to offer him, but he was. Today, I return that favor.

"But I see you want to know the ending to the story. Very well. After a year, I passed all my NEWTs with flying colors and took a job in the Ministry, doing research on controlled substances. Finally, I could support myself. At that time, the Muggle healers diagnosed my father with cancer. They blamed his excessive drinking. They were quite hapless as he died from the inside out, but not before my coming of age in the Muggle world. So I inherited the house."

There was a long silence. Finally, Draco asked hesitantly, "Was it hard, sir? The first time you used the Killing Curse?"

Yes. Even after all that, it had been hard to look someone in the eyes and cast the curse. But after a while it had become natural, then pleasurable. It had been a high and a craving.

"Not at all," he lied. "I found it quite a refreshing change of pace from the usual hexing. So much more efficient." He smiled sarcastically at Draco. "If you find it so difficult, perhaps you should reconsider your choice of an occupation."

"I - no!" Draco was horrified, "I am loyal to the Dark Lord."

You are a liar and a bad liar. You would not last three seconds against Him. He did not need to force his way into the boy's mind. The bubbling emotion beneath the blank veneer of Draco's Occlumency revealed his true feelings. These clumsy and incompetent children frustrated him to no end! Was he to save another boy now, only to serve him up to Him later on a platter? No, he would not force his way into the boy's mind to demonstrate it. (That particular teaching method had proven to be a spectacular failure.) He considered for a moment.

"I am the Dark Lord's servant," he said coldly, filling his voice with contempt, "but also your parents' friend. If you ever fail the Dark Lord, your parents' already shaky position in our Lord's eyes would not survive. The punishment is death. Or worse." He added, "Your aunt would tell you the same."

He sneered at Draco's terrified look. "If you are such a weakling, run away now and don't burden us with your incompetence."

"I can't run away!" Draco gasped, "he will kill them for that too!"

"Then gird up your loins, Draco. Whenever you falter - nay, at all times, think of the love you bear for your parents and let that strengthen your purpose. Only then can you serve the Dark Lord well, and in doing so protect your parents from harm." He walked to the couch and glared harshly at the boy. "This is your duty to your family. Can you do it?"

"Yes, I can. I must," Draco said, "I must." He clenched his fists. His voice still trembled, his eyes were still terrified, but the boy would survive His gaze - if He did not look too deeply. The Master had never been able to understand this type of motivation.

Next, he thought cynically, you praise the student for their small accomplishment, as clumsy and incompetent though they remain.

"Good. You have already done well. The Dark Lord will be pleased."

"But I couldn't -"

"No. No, you are better than me when I was your age. Now rest. Time is short and I must set my affairs in order. I will return, I promise, and take you to your mother."