SEVEN. Limitations
Harry and Hermione and Ron wanted to chat alone, and Draco could hardly blame them for wanting to.
Except that he really, really wanted to be able to. It felt miserable, being pushed to the side so often, especially since they could all save so much time and energy if they just came to the realization that he was right. Not always, he allowed as he moved to seat himself on the stairwell that led to the top floor of twelve, Grimmauld Place. Just most of the time.
From this position, Draco could tell that the Trio was talking. He could hear Harry's measured tones, Ron's indignant squawks, Hermione's higher-pitched reasonableness threaded through. He could not, however, hear what they were saying. Creeping closer held the possibility of being caught. Draco was a Slytherin, but he was also pragmatic enough to know that the easiest way to seem trustworthy was to be trustworthy, so he stayed put.
At first. It was their own fault for leaving him to his own devices for so long, he was bored.
Draco moved up the stairs until he'd climbed as high as it was possible to climb within the old manse. At the top of the stairs were two bedrooms. One said Sirius in plain lettering; the second held a plaque that read:
Do Not Enter
Without the Express Permission of
Regulus Arcturus Black
Draco snickered; the painstaking handwriting, with its curlicues and exaggerated elegance looked like the work of a pureblooded child, proud enough of his name to list first, middle and family. The only thing missing was glitter and a sticking charm, he thought with a smile, and pushed the door open.
Draco's brows climbed at the sight of the bedroom before him. Even Draco hadn't hand-painted his family crest above his headboard with painstaking detail. Draco pressed his fingers to the emblematic Toujours Pur with a frown. And the articles pasted below… Merlin, some historian would have a field day. All of Voldemort's first attacks had been documented, laminated, and lovingly Spellotaped beneath the Black family motto.
The rest of the room was draped in silver and green: the rug, the dust-covered coverlet, the heavy curtains…
Draco squinted at a photograph pinned far more haphazardly to the wall in comparison with the neatly laminated news articles. Leaning forward to examine the picture, he realized it was of the Slytherin Quidditch team, circa nineteen seventy… something. He recognized more faces than he'd expected, but the small boy front-and-center was certainly related to Sirius Black. The grey eyes that were Draco's own legacy from the Blacks spoke for him.
"You were the Slytherin seeker," Draco told the boy with his own eyes. "Toujours pur indeed."
The figures in the portrait, who had seemed listless a moment ago, perked up. Draco felt a bit sorry for them: it had to've been rather boring, hanging out in this empty shrine to the Black family for so many years. Draco unstuck the photograph and slipped it into the pocket of his robes; Potter certainly didn't care for anything in this room, if the state of it was anything to go by, and Regulus A. Black was his cousin: if he wanted a picture of him, he could bloody well have it.
Draco turned, and saw Ron standing in the doorway, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Are they ready to go?" Draco asked, heart thumping.
When Ron shook his head, Draco felt a combination of relief and surprise, followed quickly by irritation.
"What's keeping them? If we wait much longer, we may very well miss our opportunity."
"Dunno," Ron said, but he wouldn't meet Draco's eyes, and he seemed to be turning rather pink about the ears.
"Ron," Draco warned.
"If you could call me Weasley, maybe…"
Draco blinked. "What on earth has that got to do with anything?"
"They're wondering how we got so chummy so fast!" Ron exclaimed suddenly. "And what with all Hermione said, I'm starting to wonder, too!"
Draco blanched, then turned on one heel so that he could pretend to examine the Black family crest in more minute detail. He was surprised, but he knew he shouldn't be. He'd known from the start that this Ron's loyalty was with Harry and Hermione, and frankly he would have been worried, suspicious, or both if it was not. But the words still cut him, and that made him feel a fool.
It was one of Draco Malfoy's least favorite things to be thought a fool, and so his eyes began to follow one of the articles in front of him – Death Eaters' Death Toll on the Rise – without absorbing a word.
His silence seemed to unnerve Ron, who rushed to fill the empty room with justifications. "Just… look at it from their point of view, all right? Someone shows up the night Dumbledore is killed looking just like me, and tells Harry to look out for you, right? Only that person disappears before Harry can learn more about him, if it was Polyjuice, a glamourie, or another Ron, like you say... And then you show up with just the right formula to cure Bill – and Bill says you stepped right over him during the Battle, and so of course you'd know what to tell Snape to make that would obligate me to you. And then you come back from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hurt, all right, but in much better shape than most people, and you make a Binding with me right away. And you convince me to go along with it, to go along with everything, the Trace, all of it… And when you go to Harry and Hermione you tell them that there's a time limit, they don't have more than an hour to consider everything…"
Draco didn't dare turn. He was afraid of what he would see on Ron's face. "You think I'm him," he said, and the calm sound of his own voice steadied him enough that he felt he could turn to face the other boy. "You think I'm the one who let the Death Eaters in the Castle…"
If Draco had been hoping that Ron would quickly disavow this statement, he was doomed to disappointment.
"It's all just awfully convenient. From – from a certain point of view," Ron stammered.
"I'm nothing like him," Draco hissed. "I would never – I couldn't."
"That's the thing, though," Ron went on, half-apologetic. "Sometimes – sometimes your way of speaking slips when you get angry, and sometimes your expression… but you are him, I mean, you move like him, you talk like him. You curl your lip just like he does when you're angry."
The expression fell off of Draco's features.
"And you go just as stony. I mean, the only real difference is that you're not calling the three of us 'Weasel', 'Scar-face' and 'Mudblood' anymore."
Draco nodded, slowly. "I see. I shouldn't have left you alone with them, but I suppose I must become used to thinking of both of them as my opponents again, little I may like it." He nodded once again, sharply. "Thank you, Weasley. You've reminded me of a few things."
Ron's lip twisted down, and for a moment Draco felt a stab of pity, though he ruthlessly quashed it.
"Relax," Draco added. "We're not enemies. I just need to remember that we're also not – friends." He clapped Ron on the shoulder and descended the stairs, feeling sick to his stomach with gathering dread. "Well!" he exclaimed as he lit on the landing, Ron hurrying after him. "Done discussing my loyalties? Are we ready to go?"
Harry and Hermione looked up from intense discussion.
"This goes against my better judgment," Hermione said, "but Harry is insistent."
"If the Locket is there, we have to go," Harry said with a nod. "We can't be sure it's at the Manor, but if there's a chance, we have no choice."
Draco's gaze flickered back and forth between Harry and Hermione. To his consternation, they didn't even have the same aura of shame that Ron seemed to be carrying around in his flushed features and the hands he wouldn't remove from his pockets. They looked as though they'd been discussing the weather, not Draco's integrity or lack thereof.
"Are you willing to take a potion I've prepared?" Draco pressed, wanting to provoke a response – anything more than the blank, expectant faces Potter and Granger currently wore. "If we don't remove the Trace, the Ministry will have you faster than you can say Horcrux."
"We'll have to do the standard hex markers," Hermione replied in lieu of Harry, sticking her hand out in front of her and gesturing.
Draco snorted and dug around in his robes until he found and proffered the tiny phial.
Hermione cast a few spells to detect attempts to do harm. Although Draco knew several tricky potions that could worm around her checks, he didn't mention them.
Harry took the phial from Hermione's hand and uncorked it. After giving it a hesitant sniff, he downed the entire phial at one go. Then he coughed, leaning over with his hands pressed to his thighs. "Eurgh!" he exclaimed, sticking out his tongue. "Like… gym socks!"
"How'll we know if it's worked?" Hermione wondered, lips pressed together.
Draco slid a step back as the trio argued, then cast Tempus. "Look, if we don't move soon, we're going to miss our window. In the end, you trust me enough to go or you don't. There is no middle-ground." He forced his voice to sound even and reasonable. "We're going to Malfoy Manor. I'll know my way around; you're going to have to let me lead you or this can't work."
Harry frowned, and Hermione looked openly skeptical.
Ron shuffled his feet.
"For Merlin's sake," Draco swore. "Make up your bloody collective minds."
Harry scanned Draco's features for a long moment, then finally nodded.
The four moved to the porch of Twelve, Grimmauld Place, about to leave the confines of its anti-Apparition wards. Ron yanked Harry's Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket and handed it to Draco with an apologetic nod in Harry's direction.
Harry was staring at the Cloak fixedly, as though he was worried about it being in a Malfoy's hands, and Draco recalled vividly telling the other boy he'd burned it. Back then, everything he thought about Potter had been so jumbled, as much wanting to make Harry react, hurt him until he bled, as it was following the Dark Lord's orders.
But of course, he hadn't really torched the thing, so maybe even then…
He shook his head and threw the cloak across one shoulder. "I'll have to take you one at a time. Weasley?"
Ron nodded and approached Draco.
The youngest Weasley boy had chosen to wear dark grey, tight-fitting clothes and a dark woven cap had been pressed down to cover most of his unruly, bright hair. His eyes were sharp and dark as he gripped Draco by the shoulders.
"Is this a trap?"
"No," Draco replied, gripping Weasley by the elbows.
The redhead shuddered as the answer resounded through the spell, and nodded. "Sorry, Malfoy, but here we are about to Apparate to –"
"I know." Draco closed his eyes and concentrated, hard, on the Apparition Point at Malfoy Manor. He'd Apparated plenty of times, but usually on his own.
He didn't let Weasley in on this fact.
After a moment of feeling like he'd been squeezed through a tube, he felt his feet hit ground just outside the Manor, in the same, evergreen-studded clearing where he'd arrived with Snape what seemed like a lifetime ago.
Weasley immediately shooed him away, and Draco stepped back as Ron threw the Invisibility Cloak over himself.
Then he Apparated back to Granger, who was pacing the small confines of the porch.
"Here," he said, reaching out for her.
To his surprise, she went quickly, gripping his forearms in hers. He'd thought it would've taken her longer to reconcile her aversion to the Mark, but she pressed it beneath her hand without so much as a shudder, and tightly closed her eyes.
After Granger, it was Potter – Harry – who quirked a strange smile at him before gripping his forearms tightly with both hands, and laughed.
"What's funny?"
He tilted his head to one side and gave Draco a disconcerting once-over. "You didn't hesitate."
Draco frowned. "Potter, as entertaining as your friends may find it to pick apart your sibylline methods of communication –"
"You let me take your hands, Malfoy."
"Without even flinching or losing my lunch," Draco dryly replied.
"You aren't worried I'd sully you with my mother's blood?"
Now Draco did blanch, and he threw Harry's hands down. "Are you trying to start a fight, Potter? Insulting your own mother is an interesting opening salvo. Unconventional, but daring."
Harry flushed, looking a bit guilty for the first time since Draco had met him. "I'm trying to understand," he replied. "I can't – decipher you. I spent all this year following you –"
Draco's brows climbed. "You what?"
"Because it was clear that you were up to something," Harry pressed on. "I know you. This… isn't you," he finished, scanning Draco's form as though he had changed on the spot; as though Harry anticipated he might change back, at any moment.
Draco sighed. "Believe what you'd like to believe, Potter. I've no energy to convince you anymore. You have got two options: you ask me to return to Malfoy Manor and fetch your friends, and I will. We can go back to Grimmauld and you can suss out another plan to get the Horcrux, one that has a smaller chance of success with every passing moment.
"Or," he went on, "you can let Weasley and I follow through with our plan. The plan we spent the better part of a week formulating, discussing, working out each and every kink." He folded his arms and raised his eyebrows leadingly.
"Sorry, Malfoy," Harry said, shaking his head, "but it's hard to trust you." He eyed Draco warily, then wrapped his hands securely around Draco's forearms.
Draco widened his eyes with false solicitude. "You aren't worried that I'll sully you with all my pure blood?"
Harry snorted, but he also squeezed Draco's arms until the skin around his fingertips bled white, in what felt like a warning.
Draco closed his eyes and Apparated.
In moments, they were all together in the clearing, Weasley holding up an edge of the cloak for them to skitter under. Draco took the lead, with the trio holding on to each other to stay close behind him. Draco held his hand up so that the gates could register the Mark, and the twisted iron swung wide.
For the first time, true panic gripped him. What would he do if they didn't all return? How would he explain it to anyone in the Order if Granger returned but not Weasley, or Weasley but not Granger – or worse, if their boy hero disappeared within the confines of Malfor Manor? The Order would accuse him of delivering his credulous classmates to the Death Eaters, and the Order wouldn't be wrong.
He couldn't help but imagine if his Harry and Ron and Hermione had been in their place. Hermione would have wrapped him in her arms and squeezed, if a little carefully, the way she was always more careful around him than Harry or Ron. Ron might've told him to run, if the worst happened.
Harry would have gripped him by the shoulders and stared into his face, but he wouldn't have known what to say; finally he would've spouted some nonsense about staying safe and seeing one another again. Maybe with a brave, we-can't-help-these-things smile tacked on at the end.
It was the first time since the severing that Draco had been able to picture Harry's face with any clarity, but he saw it now: that searching, searing gaze, like Harry was able to see right through Draco and to everything he could be. He closed his eyes around the image, trying to hold on to it; but it slipped, there and then gone like a flash of lightning in the dark.
"Malfoy!" Ron hissed.
Draco tumbled free of his thoughts with a start. Jerking a nod to the three crouched behind him, he began to move forward, towards the Manor. When they reached the doors, he turned to face the trio, who jumbled around him with all of the claustrophobic closeness of four teenagers under one Invisibility Cloak.
"Follow my lead," he said, emphasis on each word, making eye contact with each of the trio in turn. Even Harry, the most reckless of the three, looked honest and forthright, so Draco nodded. "Greyback is in my rooms, we'll want to avoid him at all costs; and Mother put me in the Blue room, so I'm willing to bet that Bellatrix is as far from both as can be managed. That'll be the Silver, Gold, or Azure, on the north end of the Manor."
"Your house has a north and south end," Harry deadpanned. "I knew there was a reason I didn't like you."
"We can't all grow up in cupboards, Potter," Draco joked, then swallowed at the gutted look Harry shot him. "Right, then. Straightforward Stun-and-grab: which of you is best with a Stunner?"
Hermione nodded when the boys turned to her. "That'd be me."
"Good; you can Stun Lestrange. Who's best with Incarcerus?"
Hermione flushed as Ron elbowed her. "Er… that'd be me as well."
"Well, it's better if we've two working together," Draco said. "I'll do the Incarcerus. Then Potter will approach and snap her wand, if it's visible. And Weasley will take the Horcrux. If we're separated, we'll use Patroni. I assume you can all cast under pressure…"
The three nodded again. "But we won't be separated," Hermione chimed in again.
"Assuming the best, no we won't be. And assuming the worst, the person who is not caught is to send his Patronus straight to the Order, not attempt a rescue single-handed. I'm looking at you, Potter."
Harry raised his hands in the air in the universal sign of acquiescence.
"If we run into anyone else, we are to Stun them and use Polyjuice." Draco dug into his cloak pockets and passed out phials of the disgusting liquid; he'd nicked the unfinished Potion from Snape's stores. "Clear?"
All three nodded, and Draco pressed his front door open less than an inch to peer through. Hermione tugged at his sleeve and he turned; she withdrew her wand and cast a careful Muffliato on the edges of the Cloak so that it would not scrape across the floor; then she did the same to she and Harry's robes. Ron and Draco had known what they would be doing that night and dressed accordingly.
Draco nodded in approval. Even if they were not friends or even friendly, it was good to have a quick thinker like Hermione Granger on his side.
The Manor entryway was pitch-black, every one of its lamps doused for the night, save a tiny, helpful waylight here and there. Draco cautiously joined the door to the jamb and waited for any signs of approach. After two minutes, when no one withdrew to see why the door had opened of its own accord, he moved forward to the main stairwell.
Here, there was no keeping the four together in a small enough knot; whomever rested on the bottom stair showed, knee to foot. After a moment, Draco ducked out from under the cloak and tossed it over the Trio to cover them more thoroughly. His presence in his own home was at least explicable; Harry Potter's presence, however, was not.
Draco continued to climb the stairs carefully, avoiding spots that squeaked and moaned through long experience, and smiling to himself at the silence behind him. The three must have been watching his steps with great attention.
At the head of the staircase, a hallway ran north-south. The Blue Room was to Draco's immediate left. He shuddered and slipped past, the trio hopefully in his wake; he could neither hear nor see them.
Together, they made their way down the hallway studded with portraits of snoozing Malfoys and not a few Blacks – and one Weasley, though Draco would never admit that on pain of death. The old sconces held one, flickering magical candle by every bedroom, presumably if the occupant wished to make use of the facilities in the night. This left pools of light, islands in the darkness. Draco breathed a sigh of relief once his feet were on the thick Persian runner that ran down the passage. He moved to the Azure Room at the end of the hallway and performed several silent unlocking charms on its elaborate brass knob.
Draco had a feeling he would find his aunt in this room: it was so far from his own rooms as to be in another manor altogether, and also quite far from the main household. He thought it would suit her madness well.
Draco turned the knob and peeked within. A figure lay in the darkness, breathing evenly, dark hair spilled across the pillow.
Hermione whispered her Stupefy, and Draco cast Incarcerus on its heels. Harry slipped free of the Cloak and ran into the room, only to come to a skidding halt.
Draco entered the bedroom and shut, locked, and warded the door behind them. He threw the Cloak across a chair – which immediately disappeared – and gulped a breath of fresh air. "Well? What is it?"
Harry leaned over and snatched a wand free of the bedclothes – perhaps Bellatrix had been clutching it – and held it aloft.
Draco stumbled back. That was Snape's wand. He ran to Potter's side to find Severus Snape, immobilized and unconscious, and felt the conflicting urges to shout and to laugh.
Ron cursed creatively under his breath, which Draco thought summed up the situation nicely.
"Hurry," Hermione hissed. "He was asleep. Maybe we can slip out before he realizes..."
But Harry was staring fixedly at the man in front of him, his expression blank. Draco could see, as though through a Pensieve, Harry running at Snape, yelling at Snape… casting Crucio.
Draco wrapped his hand around Harry's, the one holding Snape's ebony wand, and shook his head.
Harry didn't seem to see or feel him. His gaze was still fixed on Severus, and his breathing had gone tight and rapid.
Draco felt himself begin to panic. The number of ways this could fall to pieces seemed to grow exponentially in his mind: Death Eaters rushing in at the noise a Crucio'd Snape would make. Hermione and Ron falling in the ensuing scuffle.
Draco: never able to return home. Stuck here, in all probability as Voldemort's lackey, until the day he died…
Harry was lifting his wand, raising it slowly until it pointed at Snape's chest. His eyes looked faraway and half-mad, but it still seemed as though he were looking through Snape rather than at him, as though he were seeing some distant scene rather than the man who lay before him.
Granger jerked her arm up and cast Stupefy.
Harry slumped to the floor.
Draco breathed a half-sob of relief. He looked behind his shoulder at Hermione, who offered up a grim nod.
But now what? With Potter passed out, they were significantly hampered in their movements. Even a Mobilicorpus couldn't hide Harry, or it couldn't hide Harry at the same time it concealed Weasley and Granger. Rousing Harry would, no doubt, have him at Snape's throat again: they couldn't risk it.
Granger gestured over to the closet and, well, why not? Leaving Harry concealed someplace was the only option left, and while Draco didn't relish the idea of leaving Harry with Snape, he relished the idea of floating an unconscious Harry behind him down the hallways of Malfoy Manor like an overgrown balloon even less.
Together, the three manhandled Harry into the large closet; Draco moved to the dresser and withdrew a key, locking him inside, then pocketed the key and reclaimed the Cloak.
Silently, the three exited the room. Hermione cast Finite Incantatem at the closed door.
Draco and Ron turned to stare.
"Well?" she whispered. "We can't leave him like that; what if he wakes up and wants a drink of water, he'll know something's amiss and his shouts'll raise the alarm."
Draco had to reluctantly agree, but didn't have to like it. He certainly hadn't planned on mistaking Severus Snape for Bellatrix Lestrange when he set up his labyrinth of plans and contingency plans. In the spirit of verisimilitude, he re-cast the wards and locking spells on the door before withdrawing.
Together, the trio moved forward along the hallways. The Gold Room was empty.
That left Silver, and Draco felt torn between the fear of encountering his murderous aunt again, and the desperate desire to gain the first Horcrux and return home. His heart raced so rapidly he felt its beats must be audible, and each breath shuddered through him. He felt as though he'd been drenched in a bucket of ice.
With consternation, he realized he was fending off an incipient panic attack.
It made sense, he told himself, careful to be rational. He'd been tortured to the point of insanity; of course he didn't want to face the woman who'd done him so much harm.
Ron cupped his elbow and Draco turned to face him. The other boy didn't say anything, but his determined expression spoke for him. Hermione's eyes darted from Ron to Draco and back again.
Draco gulped and nodded. Hermione slid to the front to stand beside him, and together, they pushed open the door.
In a bed surrounded by white and grey and silver lay Bellatrix Lestrange. This side of the Manor faced the nearly-full moon, and the witch lay, face up, chin tilted so that the entirety of her face was lit with a pearly effulgence: there was no mistaking her.
Hermione cast Stupefy, and Draco cast Incarcerus, hand shaking but somehow managing to get the job done. Ron dashed in ahead of them, but Bellatrix did not sleep with her wand as Snape did. Some quick searching yielded the prize, though; the wand was in the top drawer of the pale Hepplewhite nightstand.
Hermione reached forward to unclasp the locket from Bellatrix's neck. As Draco had feared and suspected, a present from the Dark Lord was something the woman would wear even as it choked her in her sleep.
Hermione eased the chain away from the pillow cautiously. Though Bellatrix was theoretically Stunned and wandless, no one said a word or moved with anything less than the utmost care. And Draco understood. He more than anyone wanted his aunt to remain asleep.
Hermione turned the locket over in her hand several times. Weasley gestured frantically, but Granger shook her head. After a moment's consideration, she waved her wand over the locket and a duplicate appeared in her wand hand. Hermione handed the locket off to Ron and fastened the duplicate around Bellatrix's neck.
Draco blinked. He hadn't thought of that, and it made perfect sense. In the ideal outcome, no one would even know they'd been there.
Draco lifted the corner of the Invisibility Cloak and Hermione and Ron scurried back underneath its folds. Ron held the locket up for all to see, then tucked it in a secure pouch procured for just this purpose.
They turned to go when Draco had an idea. He wasn't inclined to follow ideas he had on the spur of the moment, but even now he could sense the locket throbbing with Dark power. Wouldn't Lestrange, familiar with the locket's magical signature, be suspicious of a locket that felt like any other hunk of metal?
Draco returned to his aunt's bedside and cast the worst curse he could think of on the false locket – a curse that could only be cast by one blood relative on another who had betrayed him. The energy that caused the locket to generate was surprisingly close to Voldemort's malevolent presence.
The trio backed out of the room. Hermione cast Finite on the door, Draco re-set the locking charms, and they moved away from the Silver Room.
Draco was scarcely able to believe his good fortune. He hadn't thought the locket would be so easily obtained. He'd have thought Bellatrix would have had some sort of wards around the thing, but if there had been the entire household would've been roused by now.
As the three moved back to Snape's rooms, Draco felt weightless, as though he were floating through his actions rather than making conscious decisions; as though someone else's hand tumbled the series of wards to unlock, as though someone else's hand reached out for the knob.
But when the door swung open, immediacy returned in a painful rush. Draco felt as though he were standing before a roaring fire, frostbitten limbs coming painfully alive.
Snape stood in the middle of the room, wand in hand. He held it under Harry's throat – Harry, who eyed them all equally murderously, as though he weren't certain with whom he were the most irate.
Snape jerked his head forward. "Inside, and close the door," he ordered.
Draco obeyed, and jerked the Invisibility Cloak free for good measure.
Snape cursed every bit as creatively as Ron. "The gang's all here," he sneered.
"Relax," Draco said, tilting his chin towards Weasley and Granger, but keeping his gaze fixed on the man before him. "He's not going to hurt Potter."
"'Potter' again, is it?" Snape inquired. "I told you that severing your connections to the Potter brat was all for the best. I see it gave you the distance you require. I see it allowed you to bring me Potter after all – trussed up like a turkey, bundled up in my closet of all places. And now the youngest Weasley brat and Granger, too… and it isn't even my birthday."
Draco shook his head, firmly. "They're not for you. We're here fetching the Horcrux, the locket. Potter got a little… distracted, that's all."
Hermione gasped and Potter's gaze turned so lethal that Draco was pretty certain that if he'd been free he would have cursed Draco, if not ripped him apart with tooth and nail.
"Er, mate, he doesn't know about the Horcruxes…" Weasley whispered.
"He does." Draco lowered his wand and pocketed it. "He likely knows where several of them are. He might be able to tell us more."
Granger and Weasley might not fully understand what he was aiming for, but Granger, at least, remembered her promise to follow his lead. When Weasley opened his mouth, he saw her foot lift and land on his.
Draco didn't say another word; instead, he waited, staring at Snape. It was perhaps the bravest, stupidest, and therefore most Gryffindor thing he had ever done, including sweeping down from his broom and casting the Killing Curse on Voldemort.
"He won't have died in vain," Snape growled. He swung his wand to point at the trio, eyes wild. "I – I'll Obliviate you all…"
"You won't do that, either," Draco replied, firmly.
Snape's eyelid twitched. "What in Merlin's name makes you think so?" he demanded, advancing, fairly dragging Potter behind him. "I tore Potter out of your mind, I – I – I killed Albus, an Obliviate is hardly beyond me!"
"You won't because everyone has a limit," Draco said quietly, "and you've reached yours. You reached it at Spinner's End. You've had enough of no one trusting you, enough of always doing the right thing and only being punished for it."
Snape issued a ragged gasp, but his wand hand didn't waver.
"But maybe you don't have to play that part anymore," Draco went on, with all the persuasiveness he could muster: eyes wide and intent, palms face-up, open, as welcoming as he could manage.
"No," Snape said, eyes wide. "I understand my role, I know what I must do –"
"Why?" Draco interrupted. "You can do more good out there than stuck here, it's plain as the nose on your face. It's as though you're following some prescripted plan, and refusing to alter it no matter the circumstances. It's illogical, it's not like you, it's…" Draco's features cleared. "It was the Headmaster's plan, wasn't it?"
The look on Snape's face said it all. Draco wished, for a wild and hopeless moment, for Lupin, who would know just what to say to make Snape see just how foolish he was being.
"We need a spy now more than ever, I can continue to pass information along without letting on who I am, the war will fail without me."
"We need you more," Hermione blurted.
Draco and Snape turned as one to face her, and the intimidation of their combined glares must've been monumental, because she turned bright pink almost immediately.
"We… need you more," she repeated, voice clearer, more certain. "You have invaluable knowledge and skills… and there are others who could help give us information about where Voldemort is and what he's planning. Aren't there?" She turned to Draco.
"My mother, for one," Draco agreed.
Snape blanched. "You would send your mother into that pit of vipers?"
"My mother is standing waist-deep in that pit of vipers, like it or not," Draco dryly replied. "I daresay she will be relieved if she's told she can be of help in some way. And Granger's right. We could use your expertise in locating and destroying these Horcrux things."
"These Horcrux things," Snape repeated in an incredulous, horror-struck voice.
"We're doomed, I know," Draco cheerfully replied.
"Things'd move faster if you'd help us," Hermione tacked on. "We'd be – less doomed. Marginally."
"I'm still leaning towards Obliviation," Snape informed her, still sounding rather gobsmacked.
"Why'd you kill Dumbledore?" Ron butted in, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Oh, it's obvious, Ronald," Hermione said with a self-important roll of her eyes. "If he's staying on as a spy as part of Dumbledore's plan, it must be to keep his cover. Killing the Headmaster would cement Snape's place at Voldemort's right side."
"Dumbledore isn't alive somewhere, pulling the strings?" Ron hopefully inquired.
Draco sighed when Snape's features blanched and he swayed on his feet.
Harry took the opportunity to wriggle free; apparently, the Stunner had worn off.
Snape slumped to seat himself on the edge of his bed and nearly missed.
"He told you to," Hermione realized. "He ordered you. I – I could box his ears!" she passionately exclaimed.
Snape's head jerked up and the edge of his lips twitched and for one, brief moment, Draco could see a glimmer of the man he knew attempting to press out from the shell of the creature before him.
"He – he was weak when he came back to the Astronomy Tower, he – he couldn't defend himself," Harry blurted, trembling as the words left him, as though he were releasing an Obscura. "You killed him when he –"
Snape's hunched shoulders began to shake as he perched on the edge of the bed. Draco thought with horror that the man looked on the verge of tears.
Harry stumbled to a verbal halt as though he'd been Stunned all over again. The dark-haired boy blinked rapidly and looked away with a politeness Draco didn't know he possessed.
"You rescued me," Draco said, pressing a hand to Snape's shoulder. "You've rescued me a number of times, and I've only saved your life once, you know. It's my turn."
Snape looked up at him, solemn-eyed. "Faulty logic, Mister Malfoy."
"It's nothing to do with logic," Draco said. "It's foolish Gryffindor sentimentality. Just like your own." He licked his lips, gaze darting back at the closed door. "I know he told you to be a spy, professor. It might've even been the last thing he asked you to do. But your goal oughtn't to be to indulge a dying man's last wish. It should be to end this war the fastest way you know how. And that's to help us collect these stupid things and destroy them."
"Please, Professor," Hermione said, and was silent.
Draco didn't dare turn to face Ron, but he could practically feel the other boy's horror at the very thought of Horcrux-hunting with Snape.
"I would be a hindrance," Snape finally said, darting a glance at Potter.
"Oh, don't stop on my account," Potter said, rolling his eyes. "Malfoy's decided you're innocent, and his opinion is character reference enough for me. Or at least, it is for Hermione."
Draco noticed he wasn't attempting to hex Snape anymore, however, and he looked dubious rather than murderous.
"I tried to tell you this back at Spinner's End," Snape croaked, voice intense, staring at Draco with an unfamiliar helplessness in his eyes. "I killed him, I cannot be forgiven, I – I don't wish it –"
Harry stepped forward suddenly, posture tense, and Snape's speech cut off. Draco could not see Harry's face, but he could see Snape's. The older wizard's features were a strange combination of hardness and despair, but the hardness kept falling away, he could not maintain it.
"You killed him to maintain your cover. If you're forgiven, he died in vain," Harry said, evenly.
Snape said nothing, but the hardness had drained away entirely, now. He looked up at Harry, features empty.
"But he didn't," Harry went on. "Die in vain, I mean. He wanted to make sure Malfoy didn't become a killer, too, and you managed that well enough, between you. That's – he would have thought that was just as important." He took a shaky breath. "More important."
Snape blinked, expression returning to his features. He sketched a jerky sort of nod.
"I hate to interrupt," Ron interrupted anxiously, "but we're running out of time. We've got to leave before the household starts to wake up. With or without your help. Sir," he tacked on belatedly.
Snape stood, and the mantle of authority seemed to settle over his shoulders again: his spine straightened, and he shifted his hair out of his eyes. "Well, then," he said.
Draco held his breath.
"I suppose someone will have to keep an eye on you."
Hermione gasped, and Ron paled, and Draco tried to tamp down his smug joy, but was relatively certain he was fooling no one.
Potter was looking up at Snape as though he'd never seen him before.
"Well, Potter?" Snape snapped. "Stop catching flies, if you can help it. The household will be awake in a matter of moments. I have three foolish Gryffindor children – four," he ammended, with a glare at Draco, "to smuggle out of Malfoy Manor, and precious little time in which to do it."
A/N: Isn't it funny when you have no idea what's going to happen, what someone will say or do in one of your own stories? But it happens - at least, to me - all the time.
For instance, in this chapter I was initially certain that it was the other *Ron* who was going to join the party, and instead... it's Snape. Canon!Snape.
This sprung from a discussion between myself and my mother - who has always been my first beta - discussing how the snatching of the locket would go wrong. I said it shouldn't be the fetching of the locket itself that would be so disastrous. Rather, they should run into Snape, and Harry would go all rogue and angsty teenaged, and run at him, despite Draco trying to warn him off. This would be a good demonstration of how Harry still doesn't trust Draco, and doesn't really listen to him. We got started talking about it, and somehow our discussion ended with Harry stuffed into Snape's closet, Stunned and Incarcerus'd, and Snape asking pointed but hilarious questions as to how he ended up there. We could barely breathe for laughing as we imitated Snape by turns: I see you have left me a present, though Merlin knows it's not the sort I'd wish for, Malfoy; it is possible to RETURN this gift? Picturing Snape's incredulity at stumbling across a Potter in his bedroom closet of all places was enough to set us off again.
Even during that conversation, I was pretty sure that Draco would be begging for Harry's life. Snape would be saying that he'd have to at least injure Harry in order to maintain his cover, all while talking around the Trio so that they didn't really KNOW that's what he was implying.
Somehow, that conversation never happened, and this one happened instead.
I find this turnaround happens in almost every scene where I write Snape. I think I know just what he's going to do, and I'm always wrong. He goes and taunts Lupin into decking him, he tells Harry he was only as in love with Lily as he was with James (re-read that scene if you didn't catch that, the first time around), he talks his way around Umbridge with aplomb, he reconstitutes Harry's burned papers and lets him into Advanced Potions.
I really need a review on this one, folks. I worry it doesn't work, because like Draco, This Wasn't How I Planned It. Let me know. :)
-K