FIC: There Is No Resurrection of the Dead (2/7)
Title: There Is No Resurrection of the Dead
Author: Xandra ( gypsyflame)
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Snape/Draco, Snape/Harry/Draco, slight Draco/OMCs
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: About 35,400
Warnings: EWE, drug abuse, self-harm, non-explicit masochism, voyeurism
Summary: Auror Harry Potter is hopelessly in love with his partner, Draco Malfoy. But just when it seems like they might take their relationship to the next level, Draco’s old lover reappears. Apparently, rumours of his death have been greatly exaggerated…
A/N 1: Betaed by fbowden. Flic, I cannot express how much I appreciate all the time and effort you put into this fic with me. Your sharp eye, your keen insights, your emotional support…I’m not exaggerating when I say this would never have been finished without you. Thank you.
A/N 2: Story title comes from 1 Corinthians 15:12- “Now if Christ be preached that he rose from the dead, how say some among you that there is no resurrection of the dead?” Quote at the end of the fic comes from the same passage. Also, despite the opening scene, this is not a self-cutting, emo!Draco story, so please don’t let that deter you.
This fic is completed, but in the interest of not spamming people’s f-lists, I’ll be posting the chapters two a day, until the final chapter is posted on Thursday.
For a long moment, Harry just gaped at the man sitting at the table, a million thoughts running through his head at warp speed. Who the hell would have the bollocks to impersonate Snape? More importantly, who would want to? There was no point; the entire wizarding world knew that he was dead-
Dead. Snape was dead. But…
Kingsley came in behind Harry, shutting the door. Harry gripped his wand tightly and spoke without taking his eyes off of the Snape impersonator. “I thought it was impossible to Polyjuice into a dead person.”
“It is,” said Snape. “I would not have expected you to remember that, Potter. I’m almost impressed.”
Harry glared at him. Whoever this was, they were certainly as annoying as Snape. They even had the smirk down. “A glamour, then,” he said, turning to Kingsley.
Kingsley shook his head. “With all the anti-glamour wards the Ministry put up after the war?” He leaned against the wall; Harry noticed that he had put his wand away. “We’ve checked and double-checked, run tests for everything that can be tested. There’s no doubt. It’s him, Harry.”
Harry sat down at the table, hard. He looked back at Snape- who was still smirking, damn him. “I saw you die,” he said.
“You saw what you wanted to see.”
“I wanted to see a giant poisonous snake rip your throat out?” Harry paused and considered. “That was before I knew you were on our side.”
Snape rolled his eyes. “I meant that you expected to see me die after the injuries I had sustained. It was not difficult to convince you that I had.”
“How’d you do it?” Harry asked, expecting a long, convoluted explanation involving arcane spells and long-forgotten potions.
“I held my breath and stopped moving.” Harry stared at him. Snape sighed. “Honestly, Potter, did you even check for a pulse?”
“Of course I…oh.” God, nobody could make Harry feel more stupid than Snape.
“Understandable. You had far more important things on your mind, after all, and it seemed that I had played my part.” Harry opened his mouth, but Snape shook his head. “It all worked out for the best.”
“I still don’t see how you could have survived. Even if you’d had a bezoar or something, there was so much blood…” Harry shuddered, remembering the blood gushing from Snape’s neck, the absolute whiteness of the man’s face- as if there had been no blood left in him.
Snape’s expression indicated that the memory was no more pleasant for him. “From the moment the Dark Lord returned, I took steps to ensure my longevity. By the Battle of Hogwarts, very little could have felled me, short of a Killing Curse. Or decapitation.”
Harry grimaced at the thought. “If it’s so easy to prevent your own death, why doesn’t everyone do it?”
“Easy?” Snape’s laugh was bitter and devoid of any humor. “Nothing about it was easy, Potter. The sacrifices such a process requires are…enormous. Under ordinary circumstances, I would never have even considered it; it is too similar to what the Dark Lord put himself through in his quest for immortality.”
“Did Dumbledore know?”
“It was his idea.”
Harry wished that the thought surprised him, but it didn’t. He sat in silence for a moment, staring at the table, and then lifted his eyes to Snape’s. “What about Draco?”
Snape tensed. “He did not know.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Kingsley cleared his throat and pushed away from the wall. “Well, if we’re to have your existence re-established in a timely fashion, Severus, there’s some paperwork I need to do. I’ll be in my office when you’re done here, Harry.”
Snape nodded. Harry waited until Kingsley had left the room before speaking again. “I know he didn’t know. What I’m asking is how you could have done this to him.”
“He told you about…us.” Snape sounded like he didn’t quite believe it, and Harry shook his head quickly.
“No.” Harry hesitated, then decided it would be best just to tell the truth. “When we were cleaning out the Headmaster’s office after- after you died- I found the letter you left for him.” Seeing that Snape was about to explode, Harry hurried to continue. “I didn’t read it! Well, I only read it until I realized what it was, and then I stopped. I swear.”
“As I am quite familiar with the respect- or rather, lack thereof- that you have for other people’s privacy, I am sure you will forgive me if I do not quite believe you,” Snape said. He looked incredibly angry. Harry couldn’t really blame him.
“I know. I’m sorry. But I really didn’t read it. And I made sure nobody else did, either. I thought that I could keep your relationship a secret, but it ended up coming out during Draco’s trial, anyway. I gave the letter to him after he was acquitted.” Harry looked away. “Draco doesn’t talk about you. Ever. Sometimes when he’s drunk, he’ll let something slip, but it’s never anything much.” He looked back at Snape. “How could you not tell him you were alive?”
“How were you so sure I had not?” Snape shot back.
“Because he wouldn’t do the things he does if he knew!” Harry shook his head. “Do you even know what Draco does with his free time these days?”
“I assume you are referring to his…non-conventional sexual activities,” Snape said, looking truly uncomfortable for the first time.
“It’s not just that. It’s the drugs, and the alcohol, and the cutting-” Harry stopped short as the realization dawned. “That’s why you’re back.”
“What are you talking about, Potter?”
“At first I thought that maybe you just got sick of living in hiding and pretending to be dead,” Harry said. “But that’s not it, is it? You came back because of Draco’s accident. And if you know about that, and about the…other things…that means you must have been keeping tabs on him.” He stood up as the implications became clear. “You’ve been watching Draco destroy himself for seven years, and all along you had the power to stop it. But you didn’t.”
Snape wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I thought it would be best for him if he believed me to be dead.”
“Best for him, or best for you?”
Now Snape met his eyes, and there was that familiar fury burning in them. But Harry refused to be cowed. “You know, I came to terms with everything you’d done a long time ago. I made sure people knew about the sacrifices you’d made- that you were a hero, and that you deserved to be recognized for that. I convinced the bloody Wizengamot to award you the Order of Merlin, for God’s sake!” Harry took a deep breath. “Maybe I was wrong.”
He was gratified by the look of shock on Snape’s face- although whether it was shock that Harry had the nerve to say all that to him, or that he had done those things for Snape in the first place, he couldn’t tell. And it didn’t matter, anyway. He headed for the door, then stopped and turned around.
“Draco’s never going to forgive you for this,” he said. “And you should know that he’s the one who has your Order of Merlin.”
He didn’t actually slam the door behind him, but he felt like it.
***
“When are you going to let him go?”
Kingsley put down his quill and gestured for Harry to take a seat across from his desk. Harry did so, trying not to fidget.
“Tomorrow afternoon, at the latest,” Kingsley said. “Technically, it is illegal to intentionally fake your own death, but with Snape’s status as a war hero, there’s no way the Ministry is going to press charges for something that minor.”
Harry nodded, still feeling a little dazed. Everything was happening so fast…
Kingsley cleared his throat gently, and when Harry looked at him, he said, “It would probably be best if Mr. Malfoy didn’t find out about this from the newspapers.”
“Great. Any suggestions on how to tell one of your closest friends that the lover he’s grieved for years isn’t actually dead?”
“I’m afraid you’re on your own with that one.”
Harry tried to picture Draco’s face as he told him that Snape was alive, and found that he couldn’t. “He’s never going to believe me. You were right. This is something you have to see to believe.”
“Then bring him by tomorrow morning.” Kingsley frowned. “But make sure that you take his wand away before you let him in the room.”
***
By the time Harry got back to Draco’s flat, Draco was fast asleep. Harry poked his head into the master bedroom to check on him, and found him sleeping peacefully, his bare back neatly bandaged.
Harry went back to his own room- he was, indeed, staying in the guest room across the hall- and got ready for bed mechanically. There was no possibility of a nighttime wank; he had never felt less aroused in his entire life. The only thing he could think of was how much it would hurt Draco when he found out about Snape’s betrayal.
And there was another, less selfless fear there. He had told Snape that Draco would never forgive him, but in all honesty, he couldn’t be sure of that. Harry knew exactly how fierce Draco’s love for Snape was, and there was a good chance that it was strong enough to survive even this. He thought back to earlier that evening- Draco’s hand on his cock, Draco’s lips inches from his own. Harry had dreamed about that for years, and they had seemed so close…
But if it came down to himself against Snape, he had no illusions about who would win. Harry was sure that Draco cared for him, as a friend and partner, and that he probably trusted Harry more than anyone else on earth. But Draco’s interest in him wouldn’t hold a candle to his love for Snape. There was no contest.
Harry slept badly that night.
***
“This is ridiculous. I don’t see why you can’t just tell me whatever it is that Shacklebolt told you,” Draco grumbled as he and Harry stepped off of the Ministry lift onto the ninth floor. They headed for the stairs.
Harry sighed. It had been like this all morning. He could freely admit that in this situation, he wasn’t being much of a Gryffindor, but he just couldn’t bring himself to admit what was going on. So he had just told Draco, rather cryptically, that there was something he needed to see at the Ministry. Harry couldn’t blame him for being annoyed; he would have been just as pissed off if the situation had been reversed.
“I told you, it’s something you need to see.”
“That’s absurd. I’m starting to think this is all one big prank.”
They stopped outside Snape’s holding cell, where a young Auror trainee had been stationed. Harry handed the woman his wand and gestured for Draco to do the same.
“You had better be joking.”
“Draco, please. I don’t feel like arguing with you about this anymore.”
“Fine.” Draco handed the Auror his wand with very poor grace. She removed the warding on the door and stepped aside, gesturing for them to proceed.
Harry thought it would probably be best if he went first. He knocked on the door briefly to warn Snape that they were coming in, then opened it. He stepped aside to let Draco in at the same time that Snape looked up from where he was sitting on the cell’s cot. Both men froze. Harry shut the door softly.
He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been for Draco to whirl around and glare at him with an unmistakably upset expression.
“Why would you do this to me?” Draco said, sounding bewildered and more than a little hurt. Harry stared at him in confusion. “I thought we were past all this. I don’t understand why you would-”
Suddenly understanding how Draco had misinterpreted the situation, Harry shook his head and reached out to him. “Oh, Merlin, Draco, no. It’s not…” He remembered Draco’s suspicion that Harry was pranking him and wanted to kick himself. “I didn’t think about how it would seem…I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I just didn’t know how to explain.”
Draco seemed to believe that Harry hadn’t set this up intentionally, but he didn’t look any less upset. “Explain what?”
Harry gestured helplessly at Snape, who still seemed frozen. Draco redirected his glare.
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
Snape blinked. “I…pardon?”
Harry, abruptly certain that he knew where this was going, cursed inwardly. He should have manned up and told Draco the truth instead of just springing this on him. “Draco,” he tried.
Draco wasn’t listening. “How dare you impersonate Severus Snape,” he snapped. “What are you, some kind of sick fetishist groupie?”
“Draco-”
“And what kind of idiot pretends to be a dead person, anyway? How could you possibly think you would get away with-”
“Draco!”
“What?” Draco said, rounding on Harry.
“It’s him.”
“Him, who?”
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, feeling suddenly exhausted. Snape took over.
“Draco,” he said softly. Draco turned back and opened his mouth- to deliver another scathing diatribe, no doubt- but Snape’s next words stopped him cold. “Et benedetto il primo dolce affanno ch'i' ebbi ad esser con Amor congiunto, et l'arco, et le saette ond'i' fui punto, et le piaghe che 'nfin al cor mi vanno.”
While Harry didn’t understand a word, Draco obviously did. His face drained of color and his body sagged, as if he were about to faint. Harry stepped forward quickly and helped him into a chair. Draco didn’t even seem to notice; he just kept staring at Snape.
“You’re dead,” he said. Snape didn’t say anything. “I went to your funeral,” Draco continued. “I saw your body.”
“A doppelganger spell, created from bits of spare wood.”
Draco nodded. He looked dazed. “Tell me you just escaped.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Tell me that someone’s been holding you captive for the past seven years, and that you only just escaped.” When Snape remained silent, Draco’s expression became less dazed and more angry. “You bastard. I go to your grave every week.”
“I know.”
“You know? What do you do, watch?”
Snape’s expression was answer enough. Draco jumped up from his chair and stumbled backwards. Harry caught him before he fell over. “Oh, my God. I’m going to throw up.”
“Potter, give us a moment,” Snape said, not taking his eyes off of Draco.
“I think that would be a really bad idea,” Harry said firmly. He did, however, let go of Draco, who swayed a bit but remained on his feet. Harry took a step back, ready to grab him again if necessary.
“You’ve been alive all along,” Draco said.
Snape stood up and approached him slowly. “I thought it would be best for you.”
Draco gave a sort of gasping laugh that was painful to hear. “Best for me? To believe that the man I loved was dead? To think that he had died horribly, and that I had never got a chance to say goodbye? To go over every moment of the years before that, thinking of every time I could have made a different choice- and that maybe if I had, he would still be alive? You thought that was best for me?”
“I-” Seemingly at a loss for words, Snape reached out a hand.
“If you touch me, I will kill you myself,” Draco said. Snape let his arm drop. Draco took a deep breath. “Why now? Why come back now?”
“I feared for your life.”
“And you thought that finding out you’d been secretly alive all these years would make me less suicidal?” Draco looked like he was seriously considering hitting Snape. Harry understood where he was coming from.
Snape waved his hand dismissively. “I know you did not try to kill yourself. But you do seem to have a death wish. Injuring yourself while intoxicated-”
“Don’t,” said Draco.
“-letting yourself be beaten and whipped and fucked like a common whore-”
“Stop.”
“I do not recall you being so fond of pain,” Snape said. “Although I do remember that you always liked it rough-”
This time, Draco did hit him. The sound of his open palm striking Snape’s cheek was so loud that it actually echoed off the walls. For a long moment, Draco and Snape just stared at each other, both looking equally shocked. Harry looked back and forth between them, not sure if he should intercede. In the end, the decision was made for him when Draco backed away, shaking his head.
“I can’t…I can’t do this,” he said. He walked out of the room, leaving Harry and Snape alone.
Harry looked at Snape, who was lightly touching the bright red handprint on his sallow skin. Snape glared at him. “Get out, Potter.”
Torn between his desire to go after Draco and an odd need to comfort Snape, Harry hesitated.
“GET OUT!” Snape shouted. Harry fled, feeling fifteen again.
***
By taking the stairs instead of waiting for the lift, Harry was able to catch up with Draco in the Atrium. He grabbed Draco’s arm just as he was joining the line for the Floo, only to be shaken off impatiently.
“What?” Draco snapped.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I should have warned you, but I just didn’t know how. And I didn’t think you would believe me.” Draco just shook his head and looked away. Harry hesitantly put his hand back on Draco’s arm. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he muttered. Harry sighed, and Draco patted his hand, forcing a smile. “I’ll see you back at my place when you’re done with work.”
“I thought I would just take my work home with me today. It’s only paperwork, and I’d have to return at lunchtime to do your back, anyway.” Draco visibly stiffened, and Harry frowned. “I thought you’d be okay with that. I mean, it’s not like you have big plans that I’d be interrupting; you’re just going to be laying about all day-”
Draco wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Harry had a sudden horrible suspicion.
“What were you going to do?” he asked, and when Draco just looked at him helplessly, he knew that his suspicion had been right. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he said, too loudly. The other wizards in the line turned to glare at him, and he lowered his voice. “You’re not going there. You’re still injured.”
“I have to. It’s the only thing that will help.”
“Do you have any idea how mad you sound right now? How could that possibly help?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Damn right, I don’t! Draco-”
As they got to the front of the line, Draco reached for the Floo powder, but Harry grabbed his wrist. “No. No way. Over my dead body.”
“I can’t go home,” Draco said. “He probably has eavesdropping charms all over it.”
Harry privately thought that was rather likely, so he said, “Then come with me to Grimmauld Place.”
Draco hesitated, but when an impatient witch in the line behind them cleared her throat pointedly, he rolled his eyes and nodded. Harry let go of his wrist, and Draco threw the Floo powder into the fireplace and stepped into it. “Number 12, Grimmauld Place,” he said, and vanished. Harry followed.
***
They spent the rest of the morning in tense silence, doing paperwork in the library. Harry had been surprised when Draco had offered to help; Draco usually did anything he could to avoid paperwork, and since he was officially on leave until Monday, he technically didn’t have to help. Harry wasn’t about to turn him down- paperwork was dead boring- but he suspected Draco had offered less out of a desire to be helpful than a desire to take his mind off of Snape. That was okay. It was better than his usual method of taking his mind off of Snape.
And there was a lot of work to do. Harry and Draco’s latest case, like the majority of the cases they’d taken on in the five years they’d been partners, had involved a group known simply as the Renegades. Although they had now amassed enough wealth and power to be accurately termed an international crime syndicate, the Renegades had started out as a simple terrorist fringe group, one of many that had sprung up in the confusion of the war’s aftermath. But while most of the other groups had been effectively quelled within a couple of years, the Renegades had continued to expand, despite the Ministry’s countless attempts at subduing them.
What made the Renegades so dangerous- and so seemingly unstoppable- was that they had no real unifying ideology. They didn’t care about blood purity or magical ability; their organization encompassed purebloods, halfbloods, Muggle-borns, even Squibs and Muggles. They didn’t even seem to care about money and power, except inasmuch as those things helped them achieve their singular goal: wreaking havoc. For reasons unknown, the Renegades sought destruction only for destruction’s sake. If they had a higher purpose, nobody outside the organization knew what it was. Their leader herself was similarly mysterious, a shadowy figure known only as Camorra.
Earlier that week, Harry and Draco had been the lead Aurors in a major bust of a Renegade operation. The Renegades, operating out of a club that served both wizards and Muggles, had been selling a poison disguised as the Muggle drug Ecstasy. The poison looked and acted exactly like Ecstasy- the major difference being that twelve hours after consumption, it caused a major coronary embolism. It had taken the Aurors forever to realize that the deaths weren’t natural, and even longer to make the connection between the victims that led back to the club. The bust on Monday had been the culmination of nearly nine months’ hard work, and was a major success for the Auror department.
Because of the Ministry’s policy against Aurors going out in the field without their partners, Harry and Draco wouldn’t receive a new case until Monday, at the earliest. That was probably a good thing; the previous case had generated a mountain of paperwork that probably would never have gotten done if Draco’s injury hadn’t benched them both. It was still a pain in the arse, though.
When Draco, who had never exactly been the stoic type, complained of a hand cramp for the fifth time in half an hour, Harry decided it was probably time for a break. Kreacher served them their lunch in the library, and fussed over Draco in a disgustingly obsequious manner until Harry finally had to threaten him with clothes to make him leave. And although Draco was still on edge and the conversation slightly strained, the atmosphere in the room seemed much less tense. Harry relaxed a little, and when it came time to apply Draco’s salve, he wasn’t even particularly nervous.
That morning’s application had gone off without any kind of fooling around; Harry had been too preoccupied with his worries about Draco and Snape to get excited, and Draco seemed to have taken his cues from Harry. And now, with Draco so upset over the morning’s revelations, there was even less of a chance that anything untoward would happen. So Harry assumed he had no reason to be anxious.
Wrong.
The second Harry touched Draco’s back, Draco let out a long, shuddering sigh that was blatantly sexual in nature. Harry jerked his hands back as if burned.
Draco turned his head to look at him. “Something wrong?”
“I- I thought I might have hurt you.”
Draco made an impatient noise. “I told you, it doesn’t hurt. Not really.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
Harry returned his hands to Draco’s back. As he applied the salve, Draco continued to let out low, breathy moans; his hips moved in a slow, even rhythm against the couch. Harry became increasingly uncomfortable. It wasn’t that Draco’s actions weren’t arousing- they definitely were. But there was something…off, something that didn’t feel right. Harry thought back to the night before, to the way Draco had acted, and wondered why that had seemed so much hotter. And then he realized.
Draco was doing this on purpose. The moaning, the sinuous movements of his hips- it was all an act. Well, maybe not all an act. But his reactions just weren’t as authentic as they had been last night. Then, he had done his best to restrain himself, to hide his body’s response from Harry. It had been that very restraint that Harry had found so exciting. This just felt awkward.
So he finished Draco’s back as quickly as he could, doing his best to ignore his erection. But the second he was done with the bandages, Draco rolled over, letting his legs fall open to better display his own hard cock. Harry remembered Draco’s embarrassed blush from last night and contrasted it with his current predatory expression. He looked away.
“Kiss me.”
His eyes flew back to Draco’s in shock. “Wh-what?”
Instead of repeating himself, Draco lunged forward. Harry’s brain stopped working for a second. Draco’s lips were as soft as he’d imagined, and God, he’d wanted this for so long. Without pausing to think, he kissed Draco back, sliding his hands through that silky hair. Draco was almost sitting in his lap now, and his arms were wrapped around Harry’s neck, his kisses so intense they felt desperate.
Draco broke the kiss, panting. Harry moved his lips to his neck, and Draco arched against him. “Fuck me.”
Harry stopped, then slowly lifted his head to look Draco in the eye. “What?”
“I want you to fuck me.”
His eyes. Last night they had been warm, like banked coals that were ready to burst into flame, given the right inspiration. Now, although heavily lidded in supposed desire, they were cold. Empty.
“Why?” Harry asked.
Draco was so surprised by the question that he temporarily let his mask of arousal drop, and Harry knew he was right. “Does it matter?” Draco said.
“Apparently not to you.” Harry pushed Draco off of him- gently, not in anger. He knew what this was about. “I could be anyone right now, couldn’t I?”
Draco just stared at him, wide-eyed.
“You’re not doing this because you want me, or even because you want sex. You’re doing this because this is what you do when you want to forget something.” Harry stood up.
“I know you want me.” The pure arrogance in Draco’s voice made Harry flinch.
“Not like this. I won’t let you use me, Draco. I won’t be your…anesthesia.”
Harry caught the brief flicker of confusion and hurt that crossed Draco’s face before his standard expression of cool indifference reasserted itself, and felt like a first-class arsehole. He wondered if Draco had ever been turned down before. It seemed highly unlikely.
Draco shrugged and stood up. “Your loss,” he said coolly, and left the room. Harry sat back down and put his head in his hands.
You’re doing the right thing, he told himself.
***
Draco didn’t return for the rest of the afternoon, which Harry thought was probably for the best. He didn’t need pain or sex; what he needed was time. Time was the only thing that could really help him come to terms with everything that had happened. And if he wanted to be alone while he worked through it, then Harry would respect that. No matter how desperately he wanted to check on him.
Without Draco to distract him, Harry was actually able to finish up all of the remaining paperwork by the time dinner rolled around. He packed all of the papers up in their file, sealed it, and tapped it with his wand to send the entire thing back to the Ministry. The legal department would probably faint at getting Potter and Malfoy’s paperwork in on time.
Feeling like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders, Harry leaned back in his chair and stretched, cracking his spine. Then he summoned Kreacher.
The house elf appeared instantly, bowing low. “Master is wanting his supper now?”
“Yes, please. I’ll have it in the kitchen, though. And can you ask Draco if he’s ready to come down and eat yet?”
Kreacher blinked in confusion. “Master Draco told Kreacher he would not be eating at Grimmauld Place tonight.”
Harry sat upright. “What?”
“Master Draco said he was going to visit with friends-” Kreacher shuffled backwards in alarm as Harry shot to his feet.
“Draco left?”
“Kreacher is sorry, Master! Kreacher is not knowing that he is supposed to be stopping Master Draco!”
The house elf threw himself to the ground and began beating his head against the floor. Harry cursed and grabbed him, shaking him a little to snap him out of it. When Kreacher appeared slightly less hysterical, Harry set him back down.
“It’s not your fault, Kreacher. I didn’t think…I should have known he would do this.” Harry grabbed his wand off the desk and Summoned a coat. “I know where he went. I’ll be back as soon as possible.” Right before he Apparated, he remembered to add: “And I forbid you to punish yourself.”
Kreacher looked a little disappointed.
A/N: The poem Snape quotes to Draco is from Francesco Petrarch’s The Canzoniere. The translation is as follows: “And blessed be the first sweet suffering that I felt in being conjoined with Love, and the bow, and the shafts with which I was pierced, and the wounds that run to the depths of my heart.”
Chapter Three
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