CHAPTER 23
"Harry, who were you carrying earlier?"
"Lavender, I told you – it was that little girl. The one who's mum works in the hospital wing."
"Well, how am I supposed to know that?"
"She looked dead."
"I didn't see it, but Jacob in Hufflepuff said it was awful!"
"What happened, Harry?"
"Yeah, tell us everything, Harry! Is she…?"
Why did I come back here? Harry thought, gazing resentfully at the many eyes currently staring at him. They all wanted a full account of the day's events, and Harry felt his anger rising. The invasion of his private life felt just like it had back in fourth year, when he was being harassed by Rita Skeeter and her ghastly articles during the TriWizard Tournament. He considered turning around and going back to Lupin's quarters. But the thought of talking over the events of the day with anyone – even his closest friends – made him realize just how much he yearned to be alone.
Attempting to get his anger in check, he looked at the expectant faces surrounding him and sighed, "Her name is Jillian. And yeah, they told me she'll be ok. Before anyone asks, I don't know what happened. I was just in the right place at the right time." Because it was Saturday, Harry realized he'd have the dormitories to himself for a long while yet. "It's been a long day," he said, shouldering his way through the crowd towards the stairs. "I'm heading up." He hadn't even made it out of the room before he heard them all trading whispered theories about Jillian's 'accident'. He hurried up the staircase to the dorms, only barely preventing himself from slamming the door closed behind him.
Closing his eyes with a deep sigh, he leaned against the cool wood and softly banged the back of his head against the heavy door panels. Suddenly feeling very drained, he stumbled to his four poster and collapsed heavily onto the mattress.
He must have been through every emotion humanly possible today. It was exhausting. From anticipation, to excitement, to contentment, then to suspicion, horror, and some of the worst terror he'd ever experienced… Harry felt like one of Mrs. Weasley's wrung out dish rags after a week-long cleaning binge. He stared unseeingly at the pattern on the bed curtains above him as he contemplated all the unanswerable questions. But the more he thought about them, the more the words chased themselves around his depleted, tired brain.
Jilly and Celine had been enjoying themselves, so what happened? Why had Malfoy been acting so odd – so… lifeless? And why was he by himself? Where were Crabbe and Goyle? Malfoy's thugs usually followed him everywhere… Why hadn't the little ferret picked a fight with me like he normally would have? Was it because he was alone, or something else? And why am I so convinced that he is the reason that something bad happened to Jilly?
Blinking in surprise, Harry realized the light had changed considerably in the time he'd been lying there, absorbed in thought. The room was beginning to darken around him, and Harry knew that students and staff alike would soon be heading down to dinner in the Great Hall.
He wasn't interested.
More than just wanting to skip dinner, it hit Harry just how tired he was – of everything. He felt… well, he simply didn't want to feel anymore. Sensing the echoes of the dried, hollow husk he'd become at the Burrow over the summer, it shocked Harry how much he yearned to cocoon himself back into that numbing void. The realization scared him, and he wished for nothing more in that moment than to talk to his father.
His heart gave a mighty pang at the thought of how much he'd obviously disappointed Snape. True, the man had said some ugly things to him earlier. But a small voice in the back of his head reminded him of the painful fact that they'd been well-deserved.
Harry accepted the guilt that tore through him – as it always did – when he thought of his godfather. He was painfully aware that his mistake over Sirius' death would haunt him until the day he died. Whatever words his father may sneer at him in moments of anger, they were nothing compared to the hate that Harry felt for himself over what he'd done to one of his truest friends.
But as much as he missed Sirius, in this moment Harry longed for the advice only a father could give. And as much as he loved his godfather, it wasn't Sirius' face that drifted through his mind as he thought of a father figure. It was Snape's.
He knew that Malfoy was a touchy subject when it came to the Slytherin Head of House. But Harry could never seem to stop himself. There was just something about the arrogant little ferret that set him off, and this year had been the worst yet. Cringing, he wondered if it had something to do with what had happened over the summer. Or more precisely, with what had almost happened…
He forced himself to turn the thought over in his mind, even though his first instinct was to recoil in horror. Is that it? He wondered. Does Malfoy simply remind me too much of Dudley? Making himself digest the emotions that came to the surface, he was surprised when they didn't cause the immediate terror they once had. Lily's therapy is working better than I realized, he thought with a smile. But the smile evaporated as he finally understood it wasn't the animosity for his cousin that made Harry dislike Malfoy so intensely.
What is it, then?
Could it be because the Slytherin was acting even more suspicious than usual? Maybe, Harry allowed. After all, the prat was suddenly spending a lot of time alone when he'd always been surrounded by his brain-dead goons. But the more he thought about it, the more Harry dismissed Malfoy's aloofness as the reason for his…
And suddenly it hit him like a troll club to the gut: jealousy! He was jealousof Malfoy.
He was jealous. Of Malfoy.
What in Merlin's balls…?
The thought was so ridiculous, his immediate reaction was to laugh. What is there to be jealous of? Harry scoffed at himself, attempting to dismiss the idea as he had so easily with the others. But as the laughter slowly died, he forced himself once more to examine his emotions. Harry was appalled to realize that of everything he'd considered, this was the only option that rang true.
Harry really was envious. Jealous of an evil, arrogant prat like Malfoy? Why in Merlin's name would I be?!
Horrified and confused, he slipped off the edge of his mattress and went immediately to the trunk at the foot of his bed. Yanking the Marauders' Map from beneath a pile of clothes, he hurriedly yanked the curtains closed around him before murmuring a hasty, "Lumos," and a shaky, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."
As expected, most of the tiny dots representing students and staff were grouped within the Great Hall for dinner. But Harry knew his father wouldn't be there – not on a night like this when he was so desperately needed elsewhere. His gaze searched the hospital wing, thinking that Snape would be found by Jilly's bedside. There was Lily, sitting dutifully next to Jillian. And there was Madam Pomfrey, bustling around the back of the giant room where all the medicines were kept. Perhaps I should just go down there, he thought, still searching for Snape. I want to check on Jilly, anyway. Should I bring some of her things down to make her more comfortable? Has Lily eaten? And… His eyes continued to roam the old bit of parchment. I really want to talk to Dad.
Surprisingly however, he realized that Snape was not in the hospital wing. Harry checked again, sure that he'd somehow overlooked his father's dot somewhere in the cavernous drawing. After all, where else would his father be? But after another examination of the hospital wing, Snape was still nowhere to be found.
Voldemort suddenly popped into his mind, and Harry wondered if his father had been called upon. Feeling a bit more frantic than he wished to admit, Harry's eyes jumped from one area to the next upon the tattered old parchment. Dad's Occlumency shields may not be as strong after a day like this! What if he was summoned and something happened? But no, he wouldn't have simply left like that… Would he? No, I'm sure of it! Dad would have told me so I could watch over the girls while he—
And suddenly, Harry found him. Down in the dungeons, in his personal quarters.
With Malfoy.
Harry's muscles tensed. Why was his father alone with Malfoy? Perhaps he had second thoughts about what I said. Maybe he thinks the prat really did do something to Jilly! Maybe he believes me! He thought hopefully.
But if his father truly believed him, Harry knew Snape would currently be interrogating the Slytherin in Dumbledore's office. Where he wouldn't be was huddled with a suspected traitor in his private quarters – the place where only family had ever been allowed…
He doesn't believe me then, Harry thought bitterly. I guess I'm not as trustworthy as his bloody little Slytherin pet. He didn't realize that he'd gripped the map within an angry fist until the old parchment crinkled in his fingers. But as he was smoothing the wrinkles, something else occurred to him. Something that made his hand freeze in midair above the map and sent cold terror rushing through his veins.
What if the cursed necklace was meant for a specific target?
Harry was up and moving before the thought had finished forming in his mind. Tossing the map back into his trunk, he snatched his invisibility cloak and tossed it over himself. Then he ran, rushing down the stairs and weaving through the common room, now crowded with students who had finished eating. He didn't care if his legs were visible to the other students. Luckily, the sounds and commotion caused by the dozens of rambunctious Gryffindors cooped in their common room on a snowy Saturday evening masked his mad dash, and he threw open the portrait without anyone noticing.
Malfoy may have the rest of them fooled, he thought as he made a mad dash through the castle for the second time that day. But I know he's taken the Dark Mark! And the only reason that Dad wouldn't be aware of that fact is if Voldemort discovered that he was a double agent! Dad was the target of the necklace – and now he's alone with the person who was sent to kill him!
. : HP : : SS : HP : : SS : .
Removing Malfoy's arm from around his own neck, Snape gently lowered the boy onto the sofa set before his overlarge fireplace, then muttered a spell to bolster the flames. Although he hadn't admitted as much to the dazed Slytherin, he was rather concerned after rewatching the memory of the hard fall the boy had taken in the snow earlier. Even more concerning than a possible nasty concussion was the fact that the teenager had, more than likely, also been Imperioused.
Noticing the boy's continued trembling, Snape immediately summoned the same thick, chunky blanket he'd wrapped around Harry after his nightmare at the start of term. As he cast a warming spell upon the pale Slytherin, he couldn't help noticing a strong similarity between Malfoy and his son. The thought caused him to go easier on the silver-haired boy than he originally intended.
Perching himself on the edge of the low table before the sofa, Snape lit the tip of his wand and gently grasped Malfoy's chin between his thumb and forefinger. Even more troubling than the faraway look in the Slytherin's eyes was the fact that he hadn't reacted at all to Snape's touch. Normally the boy would toss his head away and say something along the lines of, 'I'm not a child!' Yet another thing he has in common with Harry, Snape thought.
"Malfoy," he murmured, knowing that loud noises would only cause the boy more pain. Thankfully, the teen's bewildered gaze settled on Snape's face. "I'm going to run a few tests. You need to answer my questions, do you understand?" At the boy's lethargic nod, he brought his wand tip slowly to Malfoy's eye level before waving it quickly in front of his vision. Sluggish pupil reaction, he noted before asking, "Can you tell me the date?"
Malfoy's gaze was blank for a long moment. "It's… close to Christmas break. December… tenth, I think" he finally answered.
"Good. Follow my finger now. Do you remember what day of the week it is?" He drew a large X in front of the boy's eyes, grateful when he seemed able to follow their motion.
"I was headed to… the village? Hogsmeade… Is… is it Saturday?"
"Indeed. Now, I'm going to give you a list of words, and I want you to repeat them back to me." He repeated the complicated wand movement he'd made in the hospital wing at Jillian's bedside, ignoring the sharp pain in his knuckles that the movement caused. A glowing silhouette appeared in the air beside Malfoy, the head area gleaming brightly. Deciding to go easy on the boy's battered brain, he slowly listed words the teen should easily be able to remember: "Green. Snitch. Snake. Broom. Dungeon."
Malfoy's eyes didn't seem to register. But after another long moment, he attempted to repeat the list. "Broom," he winced, "S..snitch. Du… Dun– Ow, my head," he whimpered, cupping his skull within both palms. "I don't know. Dumbledore?"
"Easy, Malfoy. That's enough for the moment," Snape murmured, taking note of the boy's slightly slurred speech on top of everything else. He placed a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, transforming a cushion into something more comfortable to lay his injured head upon before easing Malfoy down onto it. "Rest now. I'll be back."
Normally, Snape would take an injured student directly to the hospital wing. However, with everything that had happened with Jillian, he decided against it. Pomfrey should focus on Jillian, and Lily doesn't need anything else added to her already full plate. Besides, Snape had every potion he'd need to treat the boy already at hand in his personal quarters, thanks once again to the Dark Lord and his brutal treatment.
He poured a dose of Skele-Grow into a small vial, knowing it would cure Malfoy's cracked skull within the night. He then pocketed a strong pain potion and an anti-inflammatory, as well as a nerve regenerator. Opening another small cabinet which held his own personal blends, he plucked a hangover cure from its depths. Not only did this potion contain all the nutrition a healing body would require, but it was also rich in melatonin and vitamin B2, both of which were powerful migraine cures.
What Malfoy needed most was rest. However, Snape's hand hesitated over a bottle of Dreamless Sleep, knowing that too much rest could lengthen the teenager's recovery. Deciding against it and knowing the boy wouldn't be going anywhere that night in his current condition, Snape returned to the sitting room. Malfoy's eyes were closed, but his grimace told Snape everything he needed to know about his current pain levels.
"Malfoy," he murmured softly, not wanting to add to his misery any more than necessary. "Take these, son."
Malfoy's eyes slitted open against the bright light of the room, and Snape immediately used his wand to dim them. The teen dutifully drank each potion without complaint before easing himself back onto the pillow. Snape used his wand to remove the boy's boots and place his legs upon the sofa, then draped the chunky blanket over him.
"Sleep. I shall return shortly," he murmured. He suspected Malfoy was already dozing as he tossed a handful of green powder into the fireplace and sped immediately to Dumbledore's office. "Albus! Are you here?"
"I am, Severus." Thankfully, the old wizard seemed to be deep in contemplation at his desk. He set aside the official-looking missive he'd been examining and asked, "Did you find Draco?"
No secrets in his little kingdom, are there? Snape thought bitterly. But there was no time for that. "Yes." Sweeping towards the headmaster's large mahogany desk, he continued, "And we may have a problem."
"Oh?" The headmaster murmured. But his blue eyes glinted darkly, belying his gentle tone. "What would that be?"
"I believe Slughorn may be compromised."
Whatever the old wizard had expected him to say, Snape could tell it hadn't been that. "Horace, compromised?" He asked with genuine surprise. "In what way?"
"Judging by Malfoy's very fractured memories, I believe he may have Imperioused the boy." Dumbledore stood from his thronelike chair, obviously troubled by the accusation. He began to pace, and Snape took advantage of the old man's rare silence. "Perhaps he is working for the Dark Lord. Or he could be Imperioused himself. Maybe he has second-guessed our ability to protect him and is simply attempting to earn the Dark Lord's good graces – I honestly don't know. But one thing is certain: Harry cannot be allowed anywhere near him."
The headmaster halted his frantic strides, but kept his back turned as he said, "You know better than anyone how much we need that information. And Harry is the only one who can get it for us."
Snape wondered if the headmaster heard himself in that moment. He sounded just like the Dark Lord, willing to sacrifice any innocent to reach his goals. Even my son. The realization angered but did not surprise him. Amazingly, he was able to keep his temper in check. "We do not know who Slughorn is working for – if he is even working for anyone. The man may be blameless in the whole affair. But until I verify the information obtained from Draco this evening, Slughorn cannot be trusted."
"There must be some misunderstanding, Severus," the headmaster declared, sounding more convinced with every syllable. "There is no fathomable way that Horace would betray The Order. He fears my wrath were I to use the full strength of my power against him in retaliation – which I would. His self-preservation would not allow that."
Snape couldn't help an astounded snort. Dumbledore narrowed his gaze, but Snape didn't care. "As always, your arrogance abounds, Headmaster," he spat sarcastically, "and for you that's saying something." When the old man attempted a blustery retort, Snape was quick to cut him off. "Save me the theatrics, Albus. You are not infallible, and we both know it. Or have you forgotten about the imposter Moody who taught right under your crooked nose for an entire school year? Or the fact that your hasty departure last year left us all in chaos as Dolores Umbridge took over Hogwarts? Or how about the fact that you not only found one of the Dark Lord's horcruxes, but you put it on your blasted finger?!"
The headmaster seemed to deflate at Snape's accusations, and his gaze slid to the floor. "As ever, you are correct Severus," he murmured. "I am just a man, and I have made many mistakes. But my aim has always been to keep our world – and the people in it – safe." He raised his solemn eyes once more, his voice stronger as he said, "I believe I am doing that now by keeping Horace close. Whatever happened today, he is the key to unlocking Tom Riddle's deepest secrets. Regardless, it is a moot point. As far as Tom is concerned, Draco has finally begun his attempts to destroy me. And even he will admit that schemes do not always go according to plan. But for the moment, I am sure that young Draco and his family are safe from his wrath."
The headmaster made his way back to his desk, and Snape didn't miss the slight twinkle in his eye as he lowered himself into the thronelike chair and picked up the missive once again. The look immediately put Snape on edge.
"Speaking of family," the old coot intoned conversationally, "there is something I'd like to discuss with you about your own."
"What about them?" Snape asked slowly, before something awful occurred to him and he began to panic. "Is it Jillian? Did she have a bad reaction to the-?"
"It's nothing like that," the headmaster gently interrupted. "Jillian is fine and is resting comfortably in the hospital wing. Lily is with her, and Harry has gone up to bed in the Gryffindor common room. Your family is safe." He leaned back in his chair, threading his fingers beneath his chin as the twinkle in his eyes increased. "No, my boy. This is more a matter of… family history." When Snape just stared at him in confusion, the old wizard motioned to the chair on the other side of the massive desk. "Please take a seat, and I shall happily clarify."
As Snape lowered himself warily into the opposite chair, Dumbledore began to explain. "In my search for Horace, I met a man in his hometown of Budleigh Babberton with whom he frequently conducts business. In his travels, this man collects many rare and exotic items from all over the world. This includes ingredients for potion masters, which is how he knows Horace. The man's name is Fabian Pallando… and he claims that a spinster by the name of Prince has been one of his most prolific customers."
Snape simply stared.
"What do you know about your mother's family?" The headmaster asked, leaning forward in his chair with a suspiciously twinkly smile.
"I know that she was cut off as a teenager when she fell in love and married a… muggle," he sneered, unable to label the man his 'father'. "That is the extent of my knowledge."
"I would be happy to educate you, if you would allow?" At Snape's jerky nod, the headmaster explained, "Fabian tells me that Madame Prince has summoned Fabian out to Prince Manor once a month for the past quarter of a century, demanding a personal exhibition of anything new and interesting he'd come across on his journeys. She insisted that she have first pick before he offered his goods to anyone else. Because of her tendency to spend thousands of galleons on these items, Fabian acquiesced to her demands."
"Sounds like a charming woman," Snape grumbled. "No wonder she never married."
"Indeed," the headmaster agreed with another twinkle. "Interestingly enough, the woman was your mother's second cousin – and she recently passed without heirs."
"Is there a point to this story?" Snape growled.
"Patience, my boy. I'm getting there. The Prince manor house is located off the coast of Budleigh Babberton, on a small island owned by the family. Because it was assumed that the Prince line had ended, the estate was due to be handed over to the Ministry and actioned off. I'm told that Dolores Umbridge had her eye on the property. Seemed to think it would make a marvelous vacation home when not attending to her duties as second-in-command to the Minister. Something tells me she will be severely disappointed when she hears the news."
"What do you mean, 'assumed that the Prince line had ended'?" Snape asked sharply, leaning forward and ignoring all mention of that detestable pink toad.
"That's exactly my point, Severus. The Prince line has not ended. There is still someone alive with legal claim to the estate."
"Meaning what, exactly?"
Dumbledore's eyes flicked down to the parchment in his hand, and his smile transformed into a full-fledged grin. "Meaning the last of the Prince line and heir to their family estate is…" He held up the official missive, "you."