Chapter 19 - Part 4

The door to Severus' chambers were open when Hermione arrived and she stopped dead in the hall, clutching her bag with the journal and the phials of oil to her chest. Who was in there? Was she about to catch a couple of mischief making students who had decided to take leave of their senses and tempt fate? Minerva obviously thought so because she charged through the door to confront whoever was inside.

Instead of students they found grim faced Arthur Weasley and Dumbledore camped by the fireplace sobering themselves up with many cups of tea.

"What are you both doing in here?" Minerva demanded, "you scared me half to death!" She turned back and ushered Hermione into the room.

Hermione hesitated. She hadn't spoken to Dumbledore for a long time and she knew he was unhappy about her current situation. She wondered if he would feel better if she told him they were getting married. As for Arthur Weasley, she wasn't sure what he'd think. She doubted that he'd look on the match with a friendly eye. He would no doubt react the same way that Remus Lupin had. She felt her hand flutter uncertainly to her belly in a way that was fast becoming habit. Inside, almost unnoticed she felt a flutter, like the tiny wings of a butterfly.

"Professor Dumbledore, Mr Weasley…" she cringed at the sound her voice made, startled like a sixteen year old caught shagging in the rose bushes and not like the mature woman she was hoping to sound like. She clutched the little bag tighter and flattened her hand against her stomach.

"I take it they've gone," Minerva said, forcing Hermione further into the room. She was hoping to be able to force Hermione to go to bed, but now it looked as though she would be trying to force Albus and Arthur to leave. "Did Severus cause much of a fuss about taking Harry?"

"No Minerva," Dumbledore smiled gently at her, "I think he was fairly impatient to get moving and he was in no mood to argue. I have no doubt that he will lose Harry somewhere along the way. Harry refused help with his knee and Severus won't wait for him."

Minerva smiled ruefully. She could imagine Severus not only losing Harry in London but ensuring he stayed lost. The museum was in such an unsavory part of London. If Severus had his way he'd no doubt have Harry sold off as some kind of rent boy and would be pocketing the cash as they spoke.

No, Minvera smiled to herself. That was taking the fantasy too far. She giggled inwardly and stopped herself, she could hardly start laughing now at some absurd thought, not when the situation was so very serious.

Albus caught the edges of the thought however and chuckled.

"Hermione, come and have some tea," Minerva ordered and summoned a chair from across the room.

Hermione shuffled to the fireplace and smiled as cheerfully as possible. Arthur didn't look at her and she felt her stomach sink. He knew about Severus, she was sure of that, although whether or not he knew about the baby she did not know. Once again her protective hand found its way to her belly and she silently spoke to the child inside. Would people always be doing that? Avoiding her eye or giving her disapproving or disbelieving looks?

She hardened her determined chin and accepted the hot tea from Minerva.

"Was St Mungo's successful?" Dumbledore asked, "all is well?"

"Yes…yes Professor," she looked at Arthur Weasley who still wasn't looking at her but had pricked up his ears, "the baby is fine."

"And how far along are you?"

"A little over three months, Sir."

"I see," Dumbledore sipped his tea and watched her over the rim. She shuffled self consciously but Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he spotted the ring on her finger. "And congratulations appear to be in order."

Hermione twisted the ring and flushed, but she couldn't help but smile.

"It's lovely isn't it?" Minerva said, seeming to forget that she disliked diamonds.

"It is indeed, diamonds are such pretty things. But I'm surprised he didn't give you a Dragon Stone, he seems to like those."

"I chose the ring, Sir."

"Ah, well that makes more sense. Severus could never see the beauty in something so simple as a diamond, and I'm glad he has found himself a woman who can. What say you Arthur?"

Arthur couldn't speak, just as he couldn't look Hermione in the face. He could only consider that the girl had taken total leave of her senses. And what about Snape? He was a teacher! He had obviously taken advantage of his position in the worst possible way. It was disgusting, unethical and any number of things in between.

But then again he could not imagine anyone ever taking advantage of Hermione Granger. He had learned during the war, this was one girl who was more than capable of looking after herself.

Everyone seemed to swelter in the awkward silence and Hermione finally broke it. "Will they bring Mr. Malfoy back with them?"

"Lucius?" Dumbledore asked surprised, "I don't know, I think it will depend on the circumstances. I don't think they would go and remove him from the exhibition."

"Harry wouldn't do that," Hermione said quickly, "and he wouldn't let Severus do it either."

"But, if he is in any danger I believe they will bring him here." Dumbledore looked into her brown eyes, "why do you ask?"

He already knew, Hermione felt as though he had already plucked it out of her brain. "Mr. Malfoy did something before he was Kissed. He discovered that his line went back to our celestial beginnings and he summoned an Angel to protect his soul, but it didn't quite work out the way he thought it would, and he's stuck. His mind is active I think, but his body is like any one else who has ever been Kissed."

"He's conscious?" Arthur spluttered before Dumbledore could respond, "he's aware of what's happening?"

"Yes, apparently. Severus and Draco believe so anyway. They found it all in his journal and they sent a spy to the museum. Mr Malfoy sent word back to Severus for him to keep Draco away because the Curator wanted Draco. But Severus kept working alone. He's almost worked out the ritual and the potion…"

"What?" Arthur looked confused, "what do you mean he has worked out a ritual and potion? What is he planning to do?"

"They were trying to work out how to release him from his bind…"

Release him? What do you mean release him?" Arthur asked in disbelief.

"Severus was going to talk to you about…"

"I told Draco Malfoy that I would return his father to his care if he testified for me!" Arthur sat back in shock. "He made out that it was such a decision. He said all he wanted was his father back and I agreed to it!"

Minerva was giving him her 'I told you so' look.

"He played me!" Arthur cried.

"Well, what did you expect?" Hermione all but snapped. "He is Draco Malfoy after all. What did you think he was going to do? Draco wouldn't just give you what you want. He'd always have to get something of equal value in return."

"And he would have released him! He would have released that animal into our world!"

Dumbledore held up a calming hand. "Arthur, stop. Severus would never allow him to do that."

"But he lied to me. I thought he had changed, I thought Harry had changed him!"

Hermione shook her head. "Mr Weasley, Harry would never change him, Harry wouldn't want to change him. But Professor Dumbledore is right, Severus wouldn't let him do that. He has an idea, he was going to speak with you about it. There is an ancient potion, Severus says it has no name, but that it can remove a Wizard's magical powers."

All three of her companions fell into a deathly silence, their faces shocked. After a time Arthur suddenly began to laugh, almost hysterical at the very idea.

"Lucius would rather die than be subjected to that," Dumbledore said, his voice sounded a little strained. "I can't believe that Severus would think this a solution."

"He said it was the only way that anyone could be sure that Mr. Malfoy couldn't escape from prison and that he wouldn't be a danger any more." She looked anxiously to Minerva who had gone chalky. "Severus thinks that Mr. Malfoy would consider it, for Draco's sake."

"I can assure you," Arthur said, finally coming out of his hysteria, "it would take more than loss of his powers to convince me to release Lucius Malfoy."

*******

Harry couldn't quite believe just how fast Professor Severus Snape could run. Ahead of him the Professor seemed nothing more than a black speck in the wet London street and although Harry could hear every pounding foot-fall he could not keep pace, not with his knee as bad as it was. He wished he had allowed Madam Pomfrey to come and look at it before they had left, but it would have taken too much time, and he hadn't wanted to be left behind. Now however he began to wonder if he was just going to be holding Snape back.

Snape rounded a corner and Harry lost sight of him. If Snape got into the Museum first Harry decided he would not beg to catch up. It would be better for someone to get to Draco fast.

Unbeknown to Harry, he and Snape had something in common. They both hated London. Harry had plans to live in the city, but it was more through lack of any other option. Unlike Ron, who found the city exciting after years of living in the relative seclusion of the country, Harry thought the city dirty and noisy. It was an impression that was only heightened tonight. The rain had only served to make the black grit that got up your nose and into your skin on most days wet and the resulting smell was foul. They were running through a popular part of Kings Cross, dodging Muggle club goers who turned to give an obligatory "Oi!" if they were accidentally knocked or brushed as the two Wizards passed them.

Harry rounded the corner that Snape had passed moments earlier. He'd never been to the Museum, he did not know what to expect, but there it was, looming up ahead, seemingly unnoticed by the Muggles heading to the various clubs and brothels that populated the area.

And Snape had stopped at the door. Stopped because two Aurors were stationed at the door and would not let him pass.

"Look, I don't have time for this. The Curator has taken a boy. I am a Professor at Hogwarts and I have been sent here by Dumbledore to get him…"

"I know who you are Professor Snape, but don't you think we would have noticed if the Curator had kidnapped someone?"

"Clearly you haven't noticed much at all," Snape replied irritably.

Harry ran up to the door, panting from the effort and clutching his knee. He didn't pause, he simply drew his wand, yelled "Stupefy" twice and the Aurors slumped to the ground. He then crashed his way through the door without a backward glance.

Snape couldn't help but look impressed, he also felt a small thrill of pleasure at the fact that Potter would no doubt have to answer for it the next day. The he followed the limping hero into the Museum.

"Where is the Sais room?" Harry asked desperately as he looked around the darkened entrance hall.

Snape looked in all directions, then saw the sign that indicated where the Death Eater Exhibition was being housed out of the corner of his eye, and jogged off towards it. Harry followed painfully in his wake.

"If you can't walk you should have stayed behind," Snape panted.

"Oh right, if I hadn't come you'd still be at the door arguing with those Aurors."

"I would have stupefied them eventually…" Snape burst through the entrance to the Sais room and found his feet grind to a halt. Behind him Harry did the same thing.

The room had been utterly destroyed. Cabinets of Dark Arts Artifacts seemed to have exploded of their own volition, showering the room with glass and dispensing objects all over the floor. Snape made his way through the room to the antechamber that held the Death Eaters and drew a harsh breath.

Each of the glass cases had ruptured, slicing into the occupants and inflicting wounds which had no doubt been fatal to each. Lucius was missing.

"What happened?" Harry breathed, "The Curator…did he kill them?"

Snape doubted it. From all that Non had told him of Curator Semeuse there was no way he would destroy something in his museum so viciously. He thought back to Christmas and the way the case had exploded in time to save Draco once before. "Lucius did it," he said with certainty.

"But why?" Harry asked, "Why would he kill his friends like this?"

Snape looked at the bodies of the Death Eaters on the floor. People he knew, but he would never have called them friends. He doubted Lucius would have either but like many in the Wizarding world, Lucius would have thought they deserved better than those cases. "He put them out of their misery."

Harry swallowed and opened the map that Non had drawn.

"Show me," Snape ordered.

Harry could have argued, but standing in this room he decided it just wasn't worth it. He wanted out of there as soon as was possible. He handed Snape the map.

The stairs were through a door at the back of the dark room but Snape didn't bother telling Harry. He assumed Harry would just follow him and Severus was correct. They began their ascent up the stairs, Snape holding the map, confident that they would soon find the three doors together. Non had marked several landings that contained the doorway portals, but they soon found that the museum was not what it seemed. They reached landing after landing and at no point did they find three doors side by side. On the occasions that they bothered to stop and try a door, they would often find it opened to one room and once closed and opened again it would open on another. There was a method to it. Snape explained in an effort to understand it himself. Certain combinations of doors and certain combinations of opening and closing would take you wherever you wanted to go. Which was fine, if they could just find three doors in a row.

After seven flights of stairs Snape finally stopped on a landing and leaned against the wall to catch his breath. His excuse should Potter ask, was that he was being nice enough to wait for him. The truth was he was exhausted and beginning to wonder if he was getting too old for this. He pulled out the map and stared at it, hoping that the House Elves scrawl would suddenly reveal some kind of answer to him. It did not. And then Harry arrived, panting with exhaustion.

"How much further?" Harry asked, rubbing his knee and wishing he could just collapse somewhere.

Snape turned the map upside down to see if it made any more sense and silently cursed the illogical creature who had drawn it. He looked at the short landing and the next set of stairs. They seemed never ending and Snape himself felt like a tiny insignificant creature set adrift on a never ending path upward. Forced to climb stairs until he died – some kind of punishment for his sins perhaps.

But Potter was with him and while Snape had no doubt that Potter had sins to confess he could scarce believe they were so bad as to send him to this particular hell.

"Why is that no matter how far we go we never seem to get anywhere?" Harry asked, not entirely confident with Snape's silence in the face of his last question.

"The museum is built so that the exterior is small but its interior is infinite."

"Like the Tardis?"

"The what?"

"The Tardis…Dr Who? Don't tell me you don't know who Dr. Who is, he was your time after all!"

Snape stared blankly at Harry.

"It's a television show…Professor Dumbledore loves it. He got all the video's over the summer and forced us to sit through them."

Snape, who had never watched television in his life, just stared in disgust.

Harry fell silent for a moment, and then; "Alright, so the interior is infinite, but that doesn't explain why we can't find these doors. There has to be a shortcut, you can't tell me that the old man I saw climbs these stairs every day."

"No doubt he has his ways. Unfortunately we do not know them, now if you could shut the fuck up for five minutes I might well be able to work out where we are."

"Work out where we are?" Harry cried, "you have the map! You mean to tell me you have no idea where we are?"

Snape didn't answer, he was puzzling over the map and then suddenly he was looking at a part of the wall very close to the ground.

"I spent a lot of time deciphering the Marauders Map," Harry said as tactfully as he could, "so, maybe I should look at it."

Snape was looking at the map again and then at that same spot on the wall.

"Oi, Snape, I'm talking to you."

"Shut up Potter."

"Do you want me to look at the map?"

"Not particularly. I know where we are."

Harry's eyebrows rose skeptically. "Ok, so where are we?"

"In the Museum of Magical Arts and Antiquities," Snape replied silkily, "and we have to go down four flights."

"But there were no doors down there," Harry argued.

"Yes there were."

"No, we both saw – there was two doors, never three."

Snape walked away from him, jogging quickly back down the staircase they had just come up, and after a moment Harry sighed and followed him.

When they reached the correct landing Harry couldn't help but look smug. There were no doors here at all. "I don't see any doors," he said in his best 'I told you so' voice.

"I do," Snape replied, but he did not sound particularly happy about it.

"Where?"

Snape pointed wordlessly and Harry followed the line of his finger to a point near the floor.

Harry's eyes widened. "Those?" he asked, thoroughly befuddled, "they can't be doors. I thought they were vents!"

Again Snape gave him a withering glare, successfully masking the fact that he too had thought the doors to be vents. It made perfect sense now. This was how the House Elves got from place to place when they weren't Apparating. He pointed his wand at the middle door and instructed it to enlarge.

Nothing happened.

Harry stared openly at him, blinked several times, but wisely decided not to comment.

Snape crouched in front of the door and opened it. Getting down onto his hands and knees he could see a long corridor on the other side and at the end two regular sized doors that must be the "big doors" that led to the Curator's chambers.

"Well?" Harry asked impatiently.

"I think this is it," Snape replied. He sat back a bit and sized the door up visually. Then he peeled his thick woolen jumper up over his head.

"Wait…" Harry looked panicked, "how…how are we going to get through there?"

"Crawl," Snape replied as though the answer was obvious. He discarded his jumper beside the tiny doorway.

Harry gaped at the Potions Master. Knowing full well that he could hardly comment on the faded black T-shirt, he was taken aback by just how thin the man was. But of course, at that moment, being thing was going to work in Snape's favor when it came to getting through that door. He watched as Snape lay on his side and began to wriggle through, arms first. Harry absently scratched his belly as he watched the skinny torso, waist, hips and legs disappear through the small opening. Snape was incredibly thin, but Harry, though slim, was a healthy eighteen year old who had left his undernourished days at Privet Drive far behind him. He may be short but he came complete with broad shoulders, muscle and a slightly soft little belly that Draco liked to tickle when they were intimate, but was not going to do him any favors in this instance.

He seriously doubted his ability to get through that door.

On the other side of the door he could hear Snape shuffling as he got back on his feet.

"If you're coming Potter I suggest you do it now, otherwise I am leaving you behind."

Harry swallowed. He had no jumper to remove and doubted that taking his t-shirt off was going to make one bit of difference. He struggled painfully to the floor and tried to mimic, as best he could, Snape's action of sliding through the doorway.

It was a tight squeeze.

"Oh fuck, how did you get through here?"

"Shh!" Snape looked around, like the rest of the museum the corridor was eerily quiet. No sound came from the distant doorway and Snape could see that something was horribly wrong here. Like the Sais room, this corridor was in not so much disarray as it was a disaster zone. Paintings had been knocked from the walls, the ones that remained were drenched, as though rain had showered down upon them. The carpet was wet beneath his boots and the corridor was cold.

He turned back to Harry who was struggling through the doorway and appeared to be stuck around his middle. For a moment Snape was absurdly reminded of the door plaque on Hermione's bed room, Pooh Bear stuck coming out of his hole after eating too much honey. He wished that he had brought a shrinking potion with him, not that he would ever take it himself, they had a dreadful habit of leaving ones genitals at the shrunken size – but he'd have no problems giving one to Potter.

"Would you help me…please," Harry asked looking frustrated with his lack of progress.

Snape considered leaving him there for the Aurors to locate once they woke up, but he did not know what was going to happen in that room…and Hermione would kill him if he left her best friend stuck half way through a wall. He reached down and grabbed Harry's wrists and pulled hard.

And Harry yelled in pain as he came through, tearing out the doorway and taking part of the wall with him.

"Would you be quiet!"

Harry glared at him, hating him and wondering just why Hermione was so infatuated with the skinny old bastard.

Snape looked down at Harry and smirked. His pants were riding low on his hips and there was a nasty gash over his hip bone – no doubt the cause of the yell.

"That old man does not use those doors," Harry panted as he struggled to stand up.

"Well obviously Potter, but we don't know how he gets around, and we only have a map drawn by a House Elf."

Harry dabbed his fingers at his throbbing hip and they came away bloody. He looked down to inspect the damage and felt a little sick. He wondered if Wizards could get Tetanus.

"Are you ready?" Snape asked.

Harry looked at the doors at the end of the corridor, they were open, though one seemed to be hanging off its hinges. He drew his wand and they both started off towards them.

********
Hermione chewed her lip and poked the fire with a viciousness akin to Minerva's earlier efforts at Grimmauld Place. She almost dislodged a log and held her breath as it slipped a little. Severus would not thank her for burning all of his possessions to ash. Severus was not going to thank her anyway, not after her choice words to Arthur Weasley.

Why couldn't she keep her mouth shut? Why could she not have simply come back and focused her attention on Draco like everyone else and kept her mouth firmly shut? Especially in front of Arthur Weasley. Why did she have to start on about Lucius Malfoy?

In front of Arthur Weasley; the soon to be new Minister of Magic, for goodness sakes! It was about as sane as suggesting they call their child Sirius James if it was a boy! She should have left it to Severus to negotiate. He was right, she was so eager to prove her own intelligence that she didn't think before she spoke. She was so busy learning the content of every book that she neglected to learn the basic necessary life skill of shutting up at the right moment?

Dumbledore had taken Arthur back to his office to continue the argument and, as Minerva hissed to Hermione, try and talk some sense into Arthur. Minerva had noticed Hermione getting over excited and had hurried to get the men out of there and had instructed Hermione to rest. Hermione was not going to rest though. She couldn't, not when she was this angry at herself. The argument had stretched from Lucius Malfoy to Hermione's life choices and so she did not want to go anywhere near the Headmaster's office. Severus would come and tell her when they returned, and she could confront the horror then.

She had locked the door once they left her in peace and gone to the wardrobe where she found that Severus had left all of the things he had brought for her in the same place she had hung them. She found the soft silk pajamas he had given her when she had stayed at The Fenn and wrapped herself in a long green dressing-gown. Then she had settled in front of the fire and had begun the process of berating herself over and over again.

At least she hadn't been fool enough to mention that she had the journal with her – and Minerva had mercifully said nothing about it.

Because Minerva knew how to keep her mouth shut!

She opened the journal yet again and studied the ritual. It was written over a number of pages, in no particular order. She went so far as to tear the pages out of the journal and place them on the side table so that she could create an order without losing them inside the book. She had placed the phials of oil on the table in their ancient stand. She had no idea where she would find feathers and blood.

There had to be a trick to it. She stared at the journal. "What is the trick to the ritual? What is the key?"

The pages of the book began to turn, filing wildly through the book until they reached their mark. She poured over the page and found a photograph of Draco there. She lifted it out, it was not one that had been spat at Harry and it was a page that had remained hidden from her until now. There were probably thousands more hidden pages, the journal was probably dripping with evil.

She cringed a little and picked out the photograph. She turned it over and found writing on the back.

"I am the seeker. I am the bringer of light. Lady of wisdom, hidden behind the veil, sees my struggle and knows my travail. I call upon the great lady, known as Sophia, Minerva, Artemis, Isis, Hecate, Bendidia. Guide me now as I search out the roots of my beginnings through histories remains.

With my lady as my lantern, I am the hermit seeker. Join the Angels hand in mine. Blood of the Angel. Blood of my kind. Blood of the lord. Serapis, Draconis, Osiris, Sirius, Apis. Bringer of blood. Bringer of life. Bringer of release."

She frowned. This was the key? He had to have been desperate to do this. The ritual to create the bind was far easier than the ritual to release. How could he have risked it?

Because he was desperate. He had been terrified and anything that could offer hope was worth it.

They could not bring another Angel down. He had called down the Metatron who had given him the name of the first of his line. Azazel the Fallen One had then been summoned and imprisoned inside of him. He already had the Angel, and there was no other Angel that they could call to hold his hand for release – was there?

"Join the Angels hand in mine."

But what Angel?

She closed her eyes. What if the Curator hurt Draco? What if he raped him? What if he killed him? What would it do to Harry for that to happen? He already blamed himself for so many deaths, how would he be able to stand this one?

She opened her eyes. It was not good to start thinking about other things. She focused her eyes on the photograph.

"Blood of the Angel…blood of my kind. Serapis, Draconis, Osiris, Sirius, Apis. Bringer of blood, bringer of life, bringer of release."

Ok. So Lucius Malfoy calls down Azazel and imprisoned the first of his line inside him. But there was supposed to be another Angel, also of his line, whose blood would release him.

"Blood of my kind. Serapis, Draconis, Osiris, Sirius, Apis."

"Blood of my kind…Draconis…"

"Draco is the Angel," Hermione said to the fireplace. "That's the key. We've been running around looking for bloody Angels, and he's been here all along."

********

Harry found that he instinctively slowed as he drew nearer the ruined doors of the Curator's chambers. He knew that he shouldn't. He knew that he should just be charging ahead, just as the Harry of old would have done, but as he stared at those doors he found he could not. Draco was in there. He knew it. He could feel Draco's presence, like an extra sense. Draco was in there and it could be bad.

It was just so quiet.

Had there been yelling or screaming or crying or something – but there was nothing at all.

Ahead of him Snape had also slowed down. He hesitated at the doors, but did not go through them. Harry drew to a stop beside him and they both stared at the entrance way.

"They're dead," Snape said and Harry wondered if he knew that he'd said it aloud.

Harry shook his head. They couldn't afford to think that way and the expression on Snape's face told Harry well enough that though he was voicing his fears, it was not a certainty.

It was cold. From inside the room icy air seemed to emanate out to them, as though all of the windows had been left open and the night had crept inside. They could both remember a quiet cold like this and although Harry could not think where or how he remembered it, Snape knew full well. It had been cold like this all those years ago when he'd entered the ruin of a child's room in Godrics Hollow. But that room had not been quiet like this, in that room there had been the sound of a baby crying – a portent of the horror within.

Snape looked at Harry Potter and felt his stomach roll. Something was dead in that room.

Keeping their wands raised they both entered the room.

A storm had swept through it. Aside from the bed there was nothing in that room that had been left intact. Furniture had overturned, mirrors shattered, boxes, crates and traveling trunks we scattered and upended, their contents strewn carelessly over the wreckage of the room itself. And everywhere was littered with long black feathers, as though a murder of crows had come here and shed. As with the hallway, the room was wet. Water had soaked into everything, their feet made a strange squelching noise as they walked and each foot fall seemed to end in a strange suction into the carpet.

But the bed was dry. The bed was untouched and there was someone in that bed, huddled under blankets.

A body lay twisted on the floor. He was instantly recognizable to Snape who had seen him well enough before, but Archibald Semeuse looked nothing like the well groomed man who had greeted him so many months before. He was naked, his silver hair was soaked and yet it seemed to stand on end. He stared sightlessly at the ceiling, his mouth opened in what could have been a scream of terror or a maniacal laugh. Either way, he was most certainly dead and judging from the way he faced them with his body twisted a hundred and eighty degrees, his passing had not been a peaceful one.

Harry made a strange retching noise in his throat.

Oh great! The fucking boy who lived is going to throw up.

But Harry didn't. He knew he'd seen worse, but his eyes kept focusing on the man's neck and how the skin looked so much like a wringing towel. He looked away and finally forced his focus to the bed.

Oh Gods, please don't let him be dead.

Snape did not hesitate. He walked past Harry and leaned over the side of the bed, reaching forward to grasp the covers and pull them back.

And was suddenly thrown back himself as the blankets were hurled away and something came at him with a banshee like yell.

It took him less than a second to know who it was, but he also knew that Potter was there, wand drawn. He grappled desperately behind him, trying to save himself from the fall while fending off the attack coming at him from the front. A steadying hand found the centre of his back and he realized that Harry Potter had just saved him from falling on his arse and almost too late he saw Potter's wand fly past his face in the direction of the attacker.

"DON'T!" Snape roared, not knowing if Potter had seen who it was or if he was reacting solely on instinct and would seek to fend off the attacker with some kind of hex. Snape knew it was Lucius. Lucius following the most primal and basic of his instincts – protecting his young. Everything seemed to freeze. From the corner of his eye he could see Potter's wand pointing past his face, and in front of him, emaciated and frail, Lucius shivered, snarled and pointed a wand of his own, only an inch from Snape's eye.

"Lucius…" Snape forced his voice to steady, "Lucius, it's me…you're alright…"

Lucius was shaking, holding himself up somehow with a body that seemed insubstantial beneath the shapeless white shift he was wearing. He looked through haunted grey eyes at his old friend and his eyes widened and now seemed too large for his face.

"You're alright Lucius…we're here to help you."

Lucius didn't stop shaking, but slowly the wand lowered and he coughed out a laugh and then coughed again, this time a sob. And then he fell forward and his arms found their way around Snape's neck as he collapsed into the first comforting embrace in what seemed like a lifetime.

The back of the shift was a bloody mess and yet he did not seem to care, he just wanted arms around him, if only for a moment. Snape stiffened a little as he realized that Lucius' back had been torn to ribbons and he wondered how it had happened. Lucius was giving no answers to that question however, his only concern was for his son.

"Draco…" Lucius whispered. Now that he was saved his strength waned and he seemed to be on the verge of falling into a stupor.

"I have serum here," Snape said quickly, "he's going to be fine." But even as he said it he found himself hoping against hope that he was right. Draco could well be dead under there. And if he wasn't, Snape had no idea if he could do this. He certainly hadn't moved and Lucius' screech would have been enough to wake him had he been asleep.

"Quickly," Lucius murmured, "please…"

Snape craned his neck around to Harry behind him. "Take Lucius would you?"

Harry looked from the covered figure in the bed to Lucius in Snape's arms and decided he would much rather get to Draco. But he had some common sense. Snape was far better qualified to look after Draco than he was at that moment, and so he should just take Lucius was Snape had asked. But he hesitated, it was one thing to have gained some kind of begrudging respect for the man, it was another to actually touch him. He gathered his nerve and reached out to take the frail body from Snape.

It felt strange to be holding Lucius Malfoy. It was better to think of him as Draco's father somehow. The body did not tense at all with the changing of arms and Harry realized that Lucius had shifted consciousness somehow and now he was not quite awake. He was so still that for a moment Harry feared he had died when suddenly he blinked.

This is the Kiss, this is what it does to a body.

Harry felt his skin crawl, but he held the bloody body a little tighter.

Snape tugged at the blanket which had been wrapped tightly around Draco. Lucius had taken great care to secure him, to keep him warm and safe. Unwrapping him seemed wrong somehow, but it had to be done.

"Draco," Snape said quietly, hoping for some kind of response from his godson. Then the blankets finally gave way and the damage was there for all to see.

Harry made a noise like a wounded animal. For a moment Snape thought the boy would drop Lucius and then go and macerate the Curator's body to a bloody pulp. Draco was almost unrecognizable such was the swelling on his face. His pale body seemed nothing more than stark white flesh and large black bruises. And there was blood. Blood on his back, blood running down his legs.

Blood because he had been torn open. It was Snape's turn to wretch. He felt for a pulse.

"Is he alive?" Harry asked, but his voice was so quiet that Snape almost missed it.

"I don't know," Snape replied. He felt for the pulse again, searching for the right point, his shaking hands making the task all the more difficult. "Come on Draco," he murmured almost to himself, "you're not the type to just up and die."

And he was right. There was a pulse, erratic but stubborn and desperately trying to keep it's owner alive. Snape pulled the silver box from his pocket and tapped the top. It expanded until it was full size again and Snape swallowed as he opened it. Inside the syringe full of Navitas seemed to glow.

"What Professor Dumbledore was saying," Harry said, "what did he mean? Where do you have to put that?"

Snape hissed for him to be quiet. He knew well enough Dumbledore's warning, it was currently ringing in his head. The application of Navitas in such emergencies was a lost art. After the fall of Grindelwald, Madragora had fallen into obscurity and its cures were all but forgotten. The Healer who had taken care of Draco when he had first been taken into St Mungo's had been an old man, someone who remembered Grindelwald's terror – and who had died not long ago. Snape had not lied when he said that he knew the basic principles of the application, but he had never trained as a healer. Part and parcel of becoming a Potions Master was to learn basic medical knowledge in relation to the potions you created, but he was certainly not qualified for this. He quickly speculated on whether or not Poppy Pomfrey could do a better job and whether or not Draco would survive the necessary journey by Portkey.

But judging from the blood that suddenly streaked out from between Draco's lips and down the side of cheek, Snape figured not. Draco's lungs were becoming too strained. The Madragora was eating away at them. He was not going to withstand being whisked through the atmosphere and bumped across the country.

And so it had to be done now. Snape almost chewed his lip in the same way Hermione would if she was confronted with such a prospect.

The needle had to enter the heart, but at an exact point so that it cured him, not killed him. There were ways to find that spot and he knew it, but he studied the pale flesh first, hoping for a mark, a scar, anything that would give him a tell tale clue of where that Healer had put a needle almost a year before. But there were no scars on Draco's chest, nothing but bruises marred that skin.

"Hurry Severus, he's dying."

Snape jumped as the voice spoke straight into his brain. He looked at Lucius in amazement, although he knew he shouldn't be. Non had told him that Lucius could communicate that way – however he did it, it was still unnerving.

He placed his open hand on Draco's chest and felt for the beat of his heart. It came to him, spasmodic at best. He closed his eyes and tried to center himself. The heart would tell him where to go, he just had to listen and feel. He held his breath, waiting and hoping and suddenly there it was, a feeling of warmth near the bottom of his palm. He didn't bother to open his eyes, he simply grabbed the needle and plunged it in, straight through his own hand, that tiny pinpoint of warmth and into the beating muscle.

Please let it be the right place.

Draco coughed, splattering blood across Snape's face.

Harry started, swaying a little at the sight of the needle passing through Snape's hand and into Draco's chest, but wanting to reach for Draco.

"Don't," Snape cried, "don't touch him…he's fine, just don't touch him."

Harry tried to sit back and remained in horrified silence. He gripped Lucius tighter, digging his fingers into the skinny arms and yet Lucius offered no protest. He too seemed to be holding his breath and waiting.

Draco coughed again, bringing up more blood, and then he took a long merciful breath. His eyes snapped open and he looked Snape full in the face, and then he fell back in the bed unconscious. Unconscious but breathing.

Snape withdrew the needle and flexed his injured hand. Navitas was a marvelous creation, the trail of it wormed its way through the wound and he could feel the flesh already knitting itself together. With sudden briskness he began wrapping Draco again.

"Make sure you have Lucius secure."

Harry was startled. Snape was already pulling Draco off the bed. "Is…is he alright? Shouldn't we make sure he's alright?"

"He'll be fine. He'll be better off if we aren't here. Now get Lucius ready, we're going."

Harry fastened his grip on Lucius with one arm. From somewhere he could hear the sound of footsteps. The Aurors had woken at last and he knew that if they got there they wouldn't let them leave – not with the body on the floor like that and certainly not with Lucius. They needed to get Draco out of there. He held the chain of the Portkey out and Snape ducked his head under it so it was around both their necks. He had Draco securely in his arms and he gave one final look to the door as Harry activated the Portkey and they were away.

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Notes:

Thanks Ozratbag2 again for betaing for me – it's almost over!

There is only one more chapter to go and an epilogue which will be posted at the same time. So only one more, it's almost done. YAY!

Thanks for all the wonderful reviews. I got so many e-mails with suggestions about what I could do to save Draco and I hope this didn't upset too many people – but his fate was sealed a while back.