Draco brushed his fingers against the glass in his pocket, considering.
The little bottle felt tepid against his digits, the last memories of his former Headmaster pulsing with the remnants of great power. Careful to keep it out of reach, he lifted the vial in front of his face, holding it precariously between two fingers. The glass swayed, unsettling the silvery substance into chaotic swirls.
He kept his eyes trained on the mesmerising pattern and asked "Why?".
"Those are memor-" Lupin started explaining with an edge of condescending in his Professor voice.
"I know what these are!", Draco snapped, irritated "I mean why should I give it to you? If I recall correctly, and pardon me but the events were so delightful that my brain might still be muddled, this little thing was given to me. Therefore, and again do say if I am mistaken, it is mine." The last word was gritted out in challenge.
"Draco, please, it was clear the message in that bottle was meant-"
"Mine". He interrupted again, sweet rage making the words roll off his tongue like ice. "So, explain again why I should give it to you? Why shouldn't I instead, let's say. . . drop it?"
He watched impassively as the fragile glass started its descent towards the laminated floor, to then snatch it at the last second with his left hand, just barely gripping it between his fingertips and his wand. His father might have bought his team a better chance at winning, but he did not buy his spot as Slytherin's rightful seeker, Draco thought viciously.
Lupin released a breath, eyes still bulging in horror. "Be reasonable," he pleaded, "I was there on the tower. Dumbledore must have known you were coming, he put me under a spell. I was. . . I couldn't move. He was talking to ME. We were taking care of- we had a task. This is important, Draco".
Draco chewed on the inside of his cheek and pondered on what to do, not willing to comply without a fight. He itched for a fight, his magic coiling his muscles with nervous energy.
"If you really wanted it so badly you could have taken it while i was fucking unconscious on your sofa for the last two days. Or is it touching me while I sleep too far even for a creature like you?".
To his surprise, Lupin tilted his head, assessing him curiously "You are quite mouthy for being Lucius Malfoy's son".
Draco scoffed "It's not like he'd approved." In fact, his father downright detested when he talked like a garden gnome. After starting Hogwarts he had taken moderate pleasure at cursing under his breath whenever Lucius had chastised him about his grades, feeling a rush of euphoria at the small act of rebellion.
"Of-fucking-course I am aware mudblood Granger is above me in all but one subject, father, fuck you very much". His father was always too far gone in his rants to notice the mumbled words, and Draco would just wait until the lecture was over to plaster a complacent expression over his features and nod meekly, ever the perfect son.
There was something powerful about the word "fuck" that couldn't really be expressed in any other way. Gryffindors could only be described as fucking lame, as much as Greg's eating habits were definitely fucking gross. And then there was Potter. Potter always deserved a good fuck.
Draco was so lost in thoughts that he barely noticed his former Professor's lips twitching into a small smile, but had to look up at the humor in his voice, almost fond "Sirius was the same".
Black, his mother's cousin.
"He was beautiful, you know." His mother had once told him in a detached voice, none of the affection that he could hear in Lupin's present in her words. "Aunt Walbuga had always been severe looking, harsh jaw and small eyes, but her eldest was all pure blood symmetry and charm. You have his eyes, Draco." She had said, as if talking about the weather. "He could have gone far."
And that had been it, the only words his mother could spare for a cousin she no longer considered as such. "If he hadn't been a blood traitor. If he hadn't made the wrong choices." She didn't say, but Draco heard it anyway.
Thinking about his mother made him flinch. "I have nothing in common with that man!".
"Perhaps not." Lupin conceded, the irritation Draco was pushing for finally bleeding into his tone.
"I'm hungry" he declared, just to see that precariously constructed balance collapse.
But the other man didn't take the bait, just spared him a look one would give to a tantruming child before opening a few doors and dropping a block of cheese, crackers and a spotted banana on the small breakfast table in the kitchen's corner.
"We are out of caviar, I am afraid." He sneered mockingly.
For a moment they stared at each other like two cats, teeth bared, but Draco's traitor stomach growled and he had to concede defeat.
The crackers were slightly stale and Draco had to bite into the cheese like a savage when it became clear that the other wizard wasn't going to provide a knife without prodding. All Draco had left was his pride, so he swallowed around sticky fingers and kept an obstinate silence. Truth was, he hadn't eaten in days and, once his body caught up with the program, he couldn't help polishing the food.
"Where in Merlin's name did you even get a pensieve?" He asked, taking a big gulp of the water put in front of him and looking at the vial that now stood beside his empty plate. Apparently he couldn't help his own damned curiosity either.
Lupin sighed "I guess thief has made my resume, among all the other things. . . Well, not exactly but Albus was the only one I knew who had one, and it was clearly what he wanted. . ."
He trailed off, slightly apologetic.
"You broke into the Headmaster office?!? Wow!" Draco whistled, twirling the little bottle in between his fingers. "Just- wow! I've always thought you a lower class bore that had to scumble his way up Dumbledore's skirt to secure even the minimal required desk job to match the personality, but the list of felonies just keeps on giving!"
"I am aware". The other man's voice snapped frigidly and Draco was delighted at the reaction.
"Oh my, what would Saint Potter think? Mind you, he gets off breaking the rules so this could make his wank library. I dare say, though, I'm impressed".
He shifted his gaze back towards his former Professor, smirking at the annoyance he could see painted across Lupin's features.
"Can't relate. Listen, Draco, I think we could help each other here. That vial for whatever I can offer, name your price. Besides, I don't see you wanting to get involved more than you already are, I'm trying to get this responsibility off your shoulders!"
Unsure if it was his now full stomach or the truth behind his Professor's last words that made him complacent, but Draco found himself agreeing. "Fair enough. I want money and. . . And, I want protection, a new identity, maybe. For a while. Should be easy with your expertise and all, could even rob a bank to tick off your Azkaban bucket list. . . " He tensed, voice wavering" And I want to know if my mother is okay".
Lupin winced at the last request, but Draco knew he couldn't relent. He just had to make sure she was safe.
"I don't care how you do it, but these are my terms. Take or leave it". He said, bolder than he was feeling.
It was a reckless move, after all he was the one stuck in between two fires, neither of which he belonged to.
On one side, provided he could find their location in the first place, he was doubtful his little stunt with their Ring Leader had brought him the favour of any of the members of the Order. On the other, he wasn't that deep in denial to keep pretending he still wanted the dream-life of a Death Eater. He was stuck and his only hope was the man in front of him, who was eyeing him with a mix of impatience and weariness. It was probably time to tune down on the insults.
He swallowed, but kept his chin raised and his cards exposed. He was aware of being on the wrong side of the blade, but Lupin seemed too Gryffindor to notice or to abuse his own power.
"I can get you the newspaper, clippings, whatever I can find. I am sure if anything happened to your mother it would make the news. I can keep an eye on Azkaban. . . Again, if she was harmed your father would certainly be informed."
Draco shuddered.
"But, as much of an arse as you can be, you are not stupid. You know I cannot go around blatantly asking about Narcissa Malfoy's wellbeing."
"No. Yeah. . . Okay - that's fine". Draco thought about all the nameless faces he had seen vanishing at the Dark Lord's hand throughout the previous summer, in that same house his mother called her own. But Narcissa wasn't a nobody. She just. . . Wasn't. She mattered. She had to be alive.
So he nodded and handed the vial over.
Lupin looked relieved, some of the weariness slipping off his tired face. "Thank you".
Draco nodded again in acknowledgment and watched quietly as the other wizard fumbled around the pockets of his worn cardigan for his wand. He had seen his father organising his own thoughts in the Manor's pensieve enough times for the process not to be entirely foreign, but it was still fascinating to witness.
Lupin sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor, his wand pointed right above the bowl, and started chanting something in a hushed, lulling voice. Cloudy liquid slowly filled the basin, setting the precious stones encrusted in its rim alight. Their reflections danced around the room, accentuating the white scar tissue that marred most of the werewolf's skin. Draco felt an odd pang of regret for calling the man a creature when the pain of a lifetime was so clearly etched all over his human flesh.
When the basin was full Lupin uncorked the vial and poured its silvery content into the liquid below. Twirls of smoke erupted at the contact between the two, before settling into a watery mist lingering just above the surface.
"Do you. . .?" Lupin asked, gesturing awkwardly towards the pensieve.
Draco startled at being addressed, the option of joining the other man never having crossed his mind. Did he want to look into the memories of Dumbledore, the man he basically all but killed just two days prior? Was he prepared to face that particular ghost, blue eyes still sharp with life at the back of his own memories? The vial was probably meant for Lupin, after all.
"Fuck no. As you helpfully reminded me, I am just the messenger. My job here is done." He snorted.
Lupin didn't reply, just turned and began lowering himself towards the shimmering mist.
Draco was about to point out that he could have used one of his hands instead, when a bubble appeared from the liquid, inflating like a balloon and propelling the other wizard across the kitchen with a loud pop. It was over so quickly that Draco had to wonder if it actually happened, but Lupin's slumped body against the cabinets was proof that something, at least, had happened.
His Professor had knocked his head against one of the lacquered doors hard enough to leave a small indent, and was now massaging his neck with a confused frown. "Ouch. . . I don't- I don't understand" he winced, looking up at Draco with glossy eyes.
For a moment, they stared at each, puzzled, but before the other man could open his mouth to say something else, Draco knew.
"I do." he murmured, pushing himself off the chair and approaching the pensieve in marvel.
"Mine." And he dipped his finger into the bowl.
No resistance. "How? With so little time and strength, why put all this effort in keeping the others out?" Draco found himself wondering while he felt his body slipping from reality, a cold shiver travelling from his hand right through his core.
"That was an amazing piece of magic" was his last thought before he was standing in what had once been Dumbledore's office.
It was his first time inside someone else's mind and he found that the journey was quite different from apparition or even using a portkey. No unpleasant tug in the middle, none of the dizziness he had come to associate with teleporting to another material place. Simply a shift in and out of his body, almost nice, like a cool wave rippling through his inner essence. He was in the Headmaster's office and at the same time he wasn't.
Everything was so clear and sharp that he had to ponder if he had actually ever looked at a place so well to impress all of its tiny details in his mind, like Dumbledore seemed to have done with the office. Maybe it was something the human brain always did, take photographs and then store them so deep into its recesses that it was impossible to remember them without the aid of magic. It was a weird concept, of remembering without noticing, but one that Draco had considered before during his idealistic dreams of becoming a mind healer. Dreams that had been trampled down a long time before.
Draco shook the feelings away and looked around. The slight desaturation of the colours was the only sign that something was amiss, the washed out tones serving as reminder that this was not reality.
For some reasons he had expected to be looking at the scene from Dumbledore's eyes, although part of him already knew pensieves worked in a three dimensional plane. The older wizard was, in fact, sitting at his desk, and from his sunken cheeks, pale skin hanging off bones like ill fitting clothes, Draco realised the memory was quite recent. Probably a couple of months at most.
Dumbledore was frantically flipping through an old tome, fragile paper wrinkling carelessly at the corners in the haste. He appeared so absorbed in his task that Draco jumped when the Headmaster suddenly spoke. He stumbled backwards and into a chair, going straight through it and falling on his arse.
"I don't understand." Dumbledore was saying, "He hasn't used his magic at all. The trace hasn't picked up any activity, not even accidental. It has been almost a year Severus, and I am dying."
Sprawled on the floor, Draco noticed a black shape shifting into view until he was unexpectedly staring at the upside down face of Severus Snape. From that angle, his Professor's nose appeared grotesquely enlarged, nostrils flaring with tension.
If it was a surprise for Draco, who hadn't even realised someone had entered the room, Snape's presence was clearly expected. Dumbledore barely glanced at him before giving his full attention back to the book, as if the other man had always been there.
"Direct, as always" Snape drawled in his disinterested cadence.
"No point in hiding the truth, Severus. After all you were the one that gave me a year at best. And I am a fool in many ways, but not when it comes to my own mortality".
Dying. Draco's eyes fled to the blackened hand resting lifelessly on the desk. The loose sleeve of Dumbledore's robe had slipped down his arm, revealing a bird boned wrist and angry bruises, where the skin had turned purple and yellow with gangrene. The marks travelled up the forearm to disappear under the fabric, indicating that the infection, or whatever that was, was spreading.
Draco remembered thinking, that night on the tower, that the man in front of him was already dead. He remembered vaguely registering the signs of a dying body, his conscience gripping onto each and every one as an excuse to ease his guilt. The slight but incessant tremor in the limbs, the sickly gray tinge of the skin. And that hand, withered fingers just hanging loosely against Dumbledore's thigh. But only now, up close, he could really see the damage and what he saw made his stomach churn. Dying, and it looked like there wasn't much of that year left.
His body tensed painfully, each muscle screaming for him to turn away, but he couldn't advert his eyes.
Dying.
There was resignation and acceptance in Dumbledore's words, and for a short moment Draco let himself believe that that was it. The Headmaster's last gift, for him only.
Absolution.
Dying, already. Not your fault.
But there was also fear in the older man's voice. There was more.
"Any news from your front?"
"I can assure you that the Wizarding World would know if the Dark Lord had found Potter. As you surely know, Albus, he is not one to keep his accomplishments quiet. You don't need me for that."
Snape's tone held such contempt that Draco had no doubts where his loyalties really laid. The realisation that one of the Dark Lord's most trusted servants was a two-faced snake didn't surprise Draco as he thought it should, but he couldn't really put his finger on why. After all, Snape despised Potter almost as much as Draco did.
"I always need you Severus." It was spoken with pure faith and Draco's eyes widened when it hit him that it was that same trust what made Snape's defection seem so natural to him. Part of him, involuntarily, must have believed in Dumbledore's judgement, must have recognised and respected his authority.
Despite his upbringing, despite the tangled mess of opinions and facts that had been drilled into his brain from the moment he could articulate, part of Draco had admired his former Headmaster. After years of parroting Lucius's words without questioning them, this new awareness came both as a shock and a relief.
"You're just a bad copy of your father". Theo's accusations echoed in his mind and, for the first time in his life, Draco felt he could reply "Not anymore."
A little smile tugged at his lips and he wanted to bask in this newfound lightness. He had barely gotten a taste, though, when Dumbledore's voice pleaded softly, almost as if directed at him "And I need you one more time. When I'll be gone, you need to find what happened to Harry. You need to find him. . ."
A pause. When he continued the older wizard sounded incredibly sad "You need to bring him back."
"And if he doesn't want to?" Snape sounded like he had been having this conversation a hundred times.
"It's not in his nature." Dumbledore affirmed with certainty.
"I don't see why you won't consider that the boy simply fled. It became too much and he couldn't cope. After all, he had just lost his rabid godfather and their perfect little family dream".
"Your dislike for James and his friends is clouding your judgment." Draco shifted in discomfort at the reproach but Snape seemed unfazed.
"You still haven't explained to me the obsession with the brat. With more capable wizards, myself included, you are putting an awful amount of faith in a below-average sixteen years old".
Dumbledore ignored the jab but his next words held so much pain that Draco froze "You have heard the prophecy, Severus. You must know, Harry is our only hope to end this war."
Snape averted his eyes, a flash of a long stewed guilt fleeting across his impassive scowl.
"Neither can live if the other survives." Dumbledore recited, mouth twisted in a grimace.
So that was the prophecy over which his father was now rotting in Azkaban. It didn't make sense, Draco thought wildly. Neither can survive. It was worded in such a strange way, it almost sounded as. . .
Neither.
No.
Draco would later affirm he could pinpoint with precise finality the moment understanding started creeping onto Snape's features, the same horror reflected into his own eyes.
'The night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort's soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself on to the only living soul left in that collapsing building. Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes, and a connection with Lord Voldemort's mind that he has never understood. And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to, and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die. He is the only one that can do it, Severus".
"You cannot mean. . ." Snape stammered at the same time as Draco voiced his denial.
Dumbledore closed his eyes, the world fading around him until Draco could only see his lips moving "You need to find him, and when you do you- you need to tell him. Harry Potter is the only one that can defeat Voldemort. Moreover, I came to the conclusion that to do so, and t-this is quite important Severus. . . " his voice shook, silver lashes glistening with tears "He must be willing to die at his hand".
