The Scientific Exchange of Ignorance (2 of 2)
*
From the screams still coming from the cell, Snape presumes the Boggart is having a good meal. Draco doesn’t have a bad heart, or any way of injuring himself running from it, so he’ll be physically fine. Mentally, on the other hand…however tough he’s become, he should be a lot less cocky now -
Snape takes in the scene in the cell. So, Inferi are Draco’s greatest fear now? He’s surprised - and a little disappointed - he expected the boy to have more of an imagination - then he looks harder at the rotting corpses pinning Draco to the wall. Narcissa, Lucius, Parkinson, Goyle Junior, Snape himself…he’s almost amused to see Potter leading the mob, his fingers leaving a trail of slime on Draco’s cheek as he touches his face.
There really isn’t much point in trying to make this vision humorous, so Snape steps forward into the cell. The Boggart won’t be able to resist fresh food -
The Inferi spin around, bodies merging together. He’s ready for it, has faced this vision so many times, but his heart still clenches as he looks at the person in front of him, hears the accusations -
“You couldn’t save me. You can’t even avenge me. You’re pathetic -”
No way to make this one funny, either - but some juvenile part of his brain comes to his rescue as he says “Riddikulus.” The accusations become bright pink bubblegum, ballooning larger and larger until it…pops - all over the face of Snape’s greatest failure and worst crime. Frankly, he’s appalled rather than amused, and he banishes the Boggart back into its chest with more violence than necessary.
The strength of Draco’s Occlumency doesn’t waver, but he slides down the wall, wraps his working arm around his bare knees and keeps shaking. So, his greatest fear is similar to Snape’s - failure, even if he still has so many people left to lose. Interesting.
“You weren’t the only person to be captured, Draco.” The boy flinches slightly at that. “The Dark Lord was very happy with the outcome of the battle.” Snape lets Draco think about that - there is really only one outcome that could make Voldemort happy. “It’s over. All I need from you is a little information to tie up some loose ends.” He walks over to Draco, and looks down at his bowed head. Long locks of matted hair slide over his bony, no longer symmetrical shoulders as he continues to shake. “You claim to have no ideological stake in the war, Draco. So why are you still fighting? The Order is decimated. The rebellion is over. Potter is dead.”
“I don’t believe you.” The words are almost a whisper.
“Why would I lie? And more importantly, why - when I have tools such as Cruciatus, Imperius and Legilimency at my disposal - would I be so gentle with you? If I’m lying, and the Order are still out there, preparing for another strike, shouldn’t I be in a hurry to break you?”
“Both Cruciatus and Imperius interfere with the effectiveness of Veritaserum, and produce unreliable answers.” Draco’s voice trembles, but he sounds like he’s quoting from a textbook - or from Snape’s lessons. “And I’m good at Occlumency. You’ll have to get inventive.”
He seems to find that amusing, and it is all true. Plus, if Snape does push too hard and too fast, he risks breaking Draco’s mind as well as his spirit. On a practical level, that will mean never getting the information. On a personal level… Snape looks at the huddled figure.
A few days ago, he engineered an unfortunate encounter between Nagini and a hungry Dementor. Snape has now seen first hand how to ‘kill’ a Dementor - and a rather discomforting display of the Dark Lord’s power - but, more importantly, it means there’s only one Horcrux left. He’s so close - now is not the time to be weakened by personal feelings that can only be insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
And Lucius is wrong - Snape is not responsible for this. Draco made his own choices.
****
Snape chose not to listen to the screams. They served no purpose - for all the fear and revulsion they spread through the crowd, they were just the expiratory wailings of people who would have been dead already, under a more practical ruler.
The day the Dark Lord had decided that the Killing Curse was too quick and painless had been a bad one for many people. At the same time, he had come to the conclusion that anything less than a public execution was a dignity his opponents didn’t deserve, and failed to offer a sufficient deterrent to the populace at large. Hence, this…
Snape also chose not to look at the executioner or the recipients of his craft. Fabian Harold Mercy was a sadist of the highest order, to the point where his name became a sick joke. He looked at the broken spire of the church behind Mercy, then cast his practiced gaze over the crowd forcibly gathered in the little square.
Even from such a mass of frightened people, Snape could pick them out - the ones who had already turned traitor, the ones who were traitors in their thoughts but not yet in their deeds, and the ones who were looking at death and carnage and just now starting to wake up. Muggles and Witches and Wizards alike - all they really wanted was for the world to continue as it was, for each new day to bring happy surprises, not bad ones. The last year had been full of ’bad’ surprises - and it was reaping its effects. There was an altogether satisfactory number of newly-birthed traitors in the crowd; Snape refused to wonder how many of them would end up as playthings for Mercy or his ilk.
When he looked at Draco, he saw that his pupil was not watching the show either, but to Snape’s mild displeasure, his eyes were not scanning the crowd, as he’d been taught. He stared at a cleaning party of Muggles, scrubbing graffiti off a wall under the watchful eye of a couple of low-level Enforcers.
The paint they were trying to remove without the benefit of cleansing charms was bright red and gold. Snape narrowed his eyes as he realised what it was - a bird, its wings outstretched and made of flames.
A small smile crept across Draco’s mouth, before being quickly suppressed.
“So theatrical,” Snape murmured. But he was sure Dumbledore would have approved.
“I’ve seen a lot of them around lately,” Draco said. The words were flat, his face calm, his body language unreadable. “The art-work on this one is better than most.”
“You may get to congratulate Mr Thomas on his skill one day.” It was almost a question. Could Draco interrogate one of his former classmates?
Draco looked away, back to the crowd. “I’d rather not.” And was that actually a straight answer? “He’s one of the better ones - I’d rather not be responsible for inflating his head to Potter-esque size.”
“That of course would be a tragedy of the highest order.”
Snape doubted he’d even heard him. Draco’s eyes fixed on a point in the crowd - and his entire demeanour altered. His eyes welled up with misery and desperation, which spread to his facial expression, then to his body language. Every indicator was there - every box ticked. It had to be pretence, because it was too perfect, and too unguarded, to be true. Only someone with a heart of stone could have resisted that look - it was a sob story in body language, begging to be taken in, protected…
Snape’s heart was suitably stony. He tore his eyes from Draco and searched the crowd for the recipient of that oh-so-pathetic look. For a moment he caught sight of a hooded figure - a glint of sunlight reflecting off something on its shadowed face - then it snapped out of existence with a sharp crack of noise that startled the crowd.
The Enforcers stepped forward to deal with the panicking people. Snape looked back at Draco and was unsurprised to see the misery gone, to be replaced by an expression he hadn’t seen him wear in a long time.
Draco was smirking.
****
“Why don’t you give me back to Bellatrix?” Draco’s giving a good impression of recovering from his fear; the expression on his face is almost a smirk. “You’re not getting anywhere.”
That isn’t entirely true. Snape’s been listening to his evasions very carefully. He seems to be doing it as a matter of principle, even to questions that he must know Snape already knows the answers to - but there are moments…questions that have him digging his fingers into one of the wounds on his leg as he answers. Sudden pain is a fairly effective way of loosening the hold of Veritaserum; apparently there are answers he really doesn’t want to give.
Snape crouches down in front of him. “Tell me how you were planning to regroup,” he asks calmly - and yes, there it is again - a stomach-turning squelch followed by Draco’s body stiffening in pain - followed by a blatant evasion.
“We had…no plans -”
“Here, let me help you with that.” Snape puts his hand over Draco’s and squeezes. Stupid boy - why is he making this so hard?
Pain is just as bad for Occlumency as it is for Veritaserum - Draco’s scream becomes a muffled sound in the distance as his barriers give and -
- a bare bulb swings wildly in front of Snape’s eyes, making shadows leap and dance across the peeling plasterwork of the walls, over the ceiling and the dusty floorboards and over the bodies on the mattress at his feet.
He’s listening to Draco laugh now, rather than scream, and watching the light from the swinging bulb flash off bare skin and tangled limbs.
“Cheating fucker!” But Draco doesn’t sound unhappy about it - the insult sounds almost affectionate. It hurts to look at him, mouth stretched into a grin, eyes sparkling, hair looking like shredded silk against the gaudy woollen blanket he’s lying on, everything about him so ridiculously out of place in that scruffy room. And it’s Potter he’s laughing up at, who’s got him pinned down, who looks downright besotted as he kisses that laughing mouth, bites at that arched neck and has long white fingers messing up his hair even further as the light bulb swings and he lifts up long slender legs -
Snape can get out any time he likes, but he finds himself staring - not at the ‘mechanics’ and certainly not at Potter (Harry Potter sans clothing is not an image he wants to be carrying around in his head), but at Draco’s face. He’s not seen this expression before - and it’s painfully honest, so awkward on that face that it has to be truly unguarded…
He’s back in the cell, looking into the same face, but into a very different expression - and he can feel something snap inside him.
His body moves by itself. Snape feels the sudden flare of pain in his knuckles, hears the crunch of bone that isn’t his, but everything seems to be happening at a distance. When the world snaps back into focus, his hand is around Draco’s throat, the boy’s choking and spitting blood - and he’s so, so fragile, so easy to break…
Only his body isn’t what Snape’s supposed to be breaking - and he doesn’t really want to hurt him…does he? He slowly relaxes his fingers; Draco desperately sucks in air, and he’s scared now, finally - truly scared of Snape.
It’s time to end it.
****
Snape Vanished the blackened and twisted cup. He scrawled a terse two to go on a scrap of paper and placed it in a little silver box. He then sat back and allowed himself to imagine the expression on Potter’s face when he got the note. The anger and confusion and sheer frustration must have built up to epic levels by this point.
It was a small amusement, but he had to take what he could.
He took the sleeping spell off Draco. In all the months they’d been ‘together’, the boy had never questioned why he could sleep so easily in the study while Snape worked. It was somewhat disappointing.
“I never asked you what you were playing at this afternoon, did I?”
“‘Playing’ is the right word.” Draco stretched like a cat amongst the cushions, and smiled up at his teacher. It was a smile so sweet it took Snape’s breath away, and so casually deceitful he needed that breath back so that he could laugh. “I got bored of just looking at everyone. Potter still hasn’t got the hang of Occlumency, you know.”
“I’m not surprised,” Snape said. “But that doesn’t explain your actions.”
“What actions? All I did was look at him.”
“Exactly. Which part of Most-Wanted-Fugitive did you forget while you were looking at him?”
“The fugitive bit?” Draco offered. Snape stared at him, rather wishing he hadn’t started the conversation. Draco burst out laughing. “If only you could see your face! Seriously, he was ready to Disapparate at a moment’s notice - what could I have done?”
“That was a very impressive piece of acting.”
That wiped the smile from Draco’s face. “Wasn’t it?” he said softly. “Sometimes I amaze even myself.”
****
The anger is inexplicable, inexcusable. Using an emotionally-potent memory to temporarily block a Legilimens was a smart move - and as for the contents…well, Snape already knows that Draco will use any and every advantage he has to survive. So why is he so angry?
He blindly reaches out, and feels the boy’s hair under his fingertips. Draco doesn’t stand a chance this time - Snape forces his way past his feeble resistance, until he’s looking into another memory, not so happy this time, a training duel with Bellatrix. As if from a great distance, he hears his own voice, grating and hard and almost unrecognisable. “How did you plan to regroup?”
The room is different to the other - an attic space this time, and daylight. Snow flakes drift in through the broken window and disintegrate into steam as they hit the room’s warming charm. Potter’s sitting on a rug in the corner, munching on an apple, staring at a scrap of paper in his hands as if it holds the secrets of the universe. Even the fact that Draco’s on his feet practicing his moves, his knife held in a rather expert-looking reverse grip, doesn’t stop the scene from being unbearably cosy and domestic.
“I can’t believe you are going to lead a diversion. Whatever happened to the arrogance, the noble self-sacrifice, the blind lust for glory and fame?”
“They’ve gone the same way as your selfishness and cowardice.” Snape is almost startled out of his anger as he recognises the handwriting on the paper. It’s the last of his notes.
“So still all present and correct, then?” Draco slashes at the air in front of him as if it’s a fearsome enemy. “And I prefer the nice catch-all term ‘enlightened self-interest’.”
“If the counter-attack is too strong, we retreat and join up with the main team at the Ministry.”
“Oh, I see. So you think we’re going to get two battles for the price of one. Wonderful. You know, anyone would think you actually enjoy fighting -”
Potter lobs the apple core at him and Disapparates. Draco spins around, lashing out; the apple drops to the floor in two pieces - and both the edge of his blade and the tip of his wand come to rest against Potter’s throat as he Apparates in behind him. “Only with you,” Potter laughs. “You’re getting good at that,” he adds more quietly.
“Anything for an advantage,” Draco mutters as he lets himself be pulled into an embrace - and Snape has seen enough of that to last him a lifetime. He lets go - daylight is replaced by flickering torchlight, and Draco’s smiling, undamaged face is replaced by bruises, broken bones and fear. The enormity of what Snape’s just learnt - a diversion, the Ministry - is enough to justify that - it has to be, because there can be nothing as important as his mission. His mission is vengeance, atonement…but there’s blood on the floor beneath his fingers, and tears in Draco’s eyes - and while vengeance might be close, Snape suspects atonement might be beyond his reach.
****
Snape listened to Draco’s soft breathing. He suspected the boy was as awake as he was.
Appearances had to maintained, and allowing Draco to go back to spending his nights in the study would be an admission that the little ‘incident’ the other week had disturbed Snape more than he let on. So he lay there next to him, night after night, like some bizarre penance. The width of mattress between them was no barrier. He tormented himself with images of that moonlight and bones body until he felt like he was going to explode and he still didn’t touch himself. Because it was penance, in a way.
Dreams of Draco were better than dreams of Mercy’s handiwork, the bodies left strung up to rot in St. Helen’s Square. Snape confronted the harsh realities of the Dark Lord’s rule every day - down in the cells, where the foul stench of sweat and blood and excrement and sheer terror was a constant companion - but he knew the isolation of the Manor kept him from the worst of it. In its elegant rooms and quiet grounds, it was possible to ignore the world beyond the gates - the world he’d helped to create. And that - beyond anything else - was something to do penance for.
The mattress moved beneath him as Draco sat up. Snape watched the boy slip through the curtains, suddenly illuminated in the moonlight. After a moment, he heard a click that could be the window being opened, and slid to the edge of the bed, careful not to make any sound.
The windows were open. The boy was silhouetted against them, long arms reaching out into the cold autumn night as he…let something go? Something that fluttered like a bird before it disappeared into the night. Interesting.
Snape pushed back the curtains, no longer interested in discretion. Draco’s shoulders stiffened for a moment at the small noise, but he didn’t start or spin around. Instead, he relaxed his body and leant out of the window, moonlight catching in his hair and slipping over his back. But, for all his composure, he still couldn’t help himself - the first words out of his mouth were an excuse.
“It’s so stuffy in here.”
Snape didn’t say anything. Let the boy wonder if his lie had worked, let him sweat…give him an opening to lie more. Even lies held information, if you knew how to listen for it.
Draco didn’t add to his lies. He turned around, propped his bottom on the windowsill, and looked at Snape. Even in the darkness, it felt as if he was being examined.
“Why haven’t you fucked me?”
The question came as a complete shock. Even with the cool tone, it sounded like an accusation.
“Don’t tell me you did it that time Gammage had to heal me, because I won’t believe you. I thought you had for a long time,” Draco continued coolly. “I was terrified of you. But it was all a cheat, wasn’t it? You lied to the Dark Lord. And all the rumours about us - they’re all lies, and you keep them going. Why?”
“Are you really objecting to being kept safe?” Snape replied, with the same level of coldness. Even as he spoke, he knew he’d made a mistake.
“Answering a question with a question?” The boy actually had the nerve to sound smug. “That’s a certain sign of evasion - you taught me that. You want me - body language doesn’t lie as easily as the spoken word -”
“I taught you that too.”
“And Death Eaters take what they want,” Draco snapped, “you taught me that too.” There was silence for a moment. Snape stood - and was absurdly aware of the cool polished floorboards beneath his bare feet. “You lie to the Dark Lord over such trivial things. You put me to sleep when you’re working in the study…” He faltered as Snape got to him, moving him around to properly see his face in the moonlight. “I always admired the fact that you weren’t a dutiful servant. I want to be like you,” he added more quietly. “But what are you - ambitious or a traitor?”
And that could be turned back on him so easily. “Which would you prefer?” Snape said. He intended to sound carelessly sardonic - instead the words came out soft and seductive. “Which are you, Draco?”
“You mean you haven’t figured that out yet? After all these months?” The boy flashed white teeth in a wolfish grin. “How…flattering.”
He should be flattered. Most people were so easy to read. Draco’s body might be naked but his thoughts and feelings - his essential self - were veiled. And he damn well knew how completely irresistible that would be to Snape.
His fingers tightened around Draco’s arms, felt the firm muscles beneath the fine skin. More deception - he looked so frail… “Playing with Potter. Playing with me. You have become confident.”
“Do you approve?” The words were mocking, but Draco trembled as Snape moved his hands. Could he fake that?
“I haven’t decided yet.” His fingers dug into muscle, then ghosted over taut skin stretched over pointed bone. He felt sinews tense up beneath his hands as he closed them around Draco’s neck. “Is it real? Is this really what you’ve become -” Draco met his gaze, eyes hard and contemptuous. “- or is this a shell? What you feel you need to be to survive?”
“You really can’t tell?” Snape felt vibrations run up through his fingers as the boy’s voice lashed out. “I am good.”
Good - but extremely irritating. Snape found himself in the rather disorientating position of needing to retake control. That Draco had managed to push him off-balance in the first place was…annoying, to say the least. And arousing? He didn’t even need to glance down to know just how much his body was liking the whole situation.
“Very well.”
Draco didn’t resist as he was pushed back against the wall, but Snape thought he caught the flicker of some new emotion in his eyes. Fear? Stupid boy - if he was frightened, why had he started this? He ran the tip of his wand down across Draco’s stomach chest and stomach, following the raised line of his scar, and let it dip into pale curls. The boy was hard already - which was irritating in its own right. Just what did he expect to gain from this?
Snape moved. Draco put his hands up to protect himself as he was spun around and pushed down onto the window ledge, but he didn’t make a single sound of protest. He shivered as Snape’s wand slid over the small of his back, but still didn’t say anything. And that was all he needed to do for it to stop - say no, back down…
The only use Snape had ever had for the spell he used next had been for psychological torture - and he felt the irony of that even as Draco whimpered, his entire body convulsing. Cleanse, stretch, lubricate - so easy to think of it in clinical terms, but he had once heard the effects described as feeling like an invisible hand was invading your body…
He caught the back of Draco’s neck, and held him as he writhed, tears forming in his eyes. “Back down,” Snape said quietly. “You are allowed not to want this.”
And Snape was allowed to want it. Death Eaters take what they want. He was not that type of Death Eater - he didn’t have the hubris to claim he wasn’t one at all - but he looked at that long elegant body as it arched up against his grip and felt his blood pound in a way it didn’t even do in battle. The boy’s buttocks clenched, the first sign that Draco was resisting what was being done to him.
“You can make it stop.”
Draco’s response to that was a muffled sob, and Snape was suddenly irritated beyond belief. So this was also going to be his choice, something else to rot on his conscience. The air was icy on his legs - and not just on his legs - as he hitched up his robe. Draco went limp as Snape put an end to the spell - then tensed up again as Snape put aside his wand and finally let himself touch.
His fingers slid over the soft skin of Draco’s back. He pinched him and watched the blood rush up to colour the white skin. “This is not currency,” he said. “Your body cannot be bartered away and forgotten about.” He positioned himself. “Everything that is done to it -” Even after the preparation, there was still some resistance. Snape pushed through it, into Draco’s vulnerable insides, into heat and slickness and surprising tightness…took the pain in his chest and stomach and passed it on. “- you will remember for the rest of your life.”
So he fucked him, over the windowsill, staring at the white disc of the moon, the odd whimper and grunt disappearing out into the still night. The pain didn’t go away, however violent his thrusts or intense his flesh’s pleasure or how completely perfect Draco felt under him…around him. It grew - until it was the only thing he could feel inside, even as his climax shook his body. And what he’d wanted…wasn’t this…
Snape pulled himself free, reached for his wand with a shaking hand and quickly cleaned himself. Even a glimpse of his swollen, still leaking prick made him feel sick to his stomach as he dragged down his robe to cover himself.
Draco moaned as he tried to lever himself to his feet. Snape watched as his still spread legs wobbled and dishevelled blond hair fell across his face, curling against his collarbone and chest like clutching fingers. The results of Snape’s loss of control dribbled over his balls. “You think you’re so clever,” he whispered. “This isn’t a ‘barter’ - I’ve already had from you everything you could possibly give.”
“Then what is it?” He wanted to reach out and touch that hair, smooth it back off Draco’s face and - what he really wanted could never happen.
Draco turned to look at him. His eyes were shadowed beneath his hair, but his smile was…unexpected, to say the least…just a smile, without a single layer of malice or satisfaction. “You work it out,” he said quietly, “sir.”
****
The Drawing Room is silent and empty, and Snape knows that emptiness stretches through the entire house. Somewhere in the upper rooms is the Dark Lord’s poisonous presence, but the Manor has been almost stripped of its forces in a bid to quickly reinforce the Ministry.
He sits down on a chair that, for all its exquisite detailing, is as hard and uncomfortable as a stone bench. The pattern of the parquet floor is like a maze - he lets his eyes follow the lines of it as he thinks. It’s hard to believe that it’s almost all over - the culmination of years of plotting and deceit is at hand - and yet he doesn’t feel triumphant. He feels…as empty as the house.
Has he ever seen Draco as happy as he was in just those two memories? Yes, after tonight it will be over - Potter will be captured, the Dark Lord himself will destroy the last Horcrux and be finally vulnerable to death, and the world will start afresh. Draco has saved his own life, even if he hasn’t realised it yet…but Snape suspects Draco will focus on the cost rather than the results. Draco doesn’t understand sacrifice.
He sighs and rubs his forehead. He’s come closer to losing himself this night than in almost half a lifetime of struggle and repentance, and the knowledge of that is painful, but it will soon be over. Gammage has been sent to fix Draco up; if Snape is lucky, the boy might just forgive him, when he learns the truth.
Or perhaps not.
The last message he sent to Potter said simply, One to go. You. The quill splintered against the parchment as he wrote it, and he cursed Voldemort and Dumbledore and the whole world - but wishing something isn’t true doesn’t miraculously make it false…and just exactly how do you go about telling an eighteen-year-old boy that he has to die for sake of the world?
How do you explain the necessity of it to the boy who loves him? No, there will be no forgiveness from that quarter. Especially if Lucius is another of the night’s casualties -
His eyes pause at the scratches left by Draco in the soft wood.
Lucius wasn’t among the Death Eaters sent to Ministry - in fact, Snape hasn’t seen him since his visit to the cells…
****
The last leaves from the old oak tree drifted down around Lucius and Draco as they stood in the courtyard, the cold morning light turning them both into compositions of ivory and black. For the moment, they were oblivious to Snape’s presence; he took advantage of that fact to watch them.
There was no hugging in the Malfoy family, even after months of separation - father and son stood a respectable distance apart. Draco was the more open in his body language - he gestured as he spoke. Lucius merely nodded occasionally - his version of a pat on the head to his son. But it was Lucius who stepped forward, partially closing the gap, and reached out to touch Draco’s shoulder, so briefly that one blink would have meant Snape missed it.
Snape cleared his throat. Two pairs of cool grey eyes were turned in his direction.
“I hear congratulations is in order, Lucius.”
“Apparently so,” the elder Malfoy said calmly. “I am finally allowed to return to the fold. I can hardly contain my excitement.”
Lucius had been an excellent ‘ambassador’ to the many magical communities of Europe, leaving every one with a Non-Aggression Treaty in his hand and either Pure-blood coups or outright Muggle/Wizard war in his wake. Oh yes, in the light of that, it was no wonder that his fall from grace had been replaced by a distinct rise in the Dark Lord’s estimation. Snape had always considered Lucius, if not a friend, then at the very least an ally - one of the few Death Eaters who could match his intellect and showed some modicum of flexibility in his views - but right at that moment, he could have happily murdered the man.
The poison was spreading - and the irony was that with his impeccable ‘pedigree’ and influence, Lucius was one of the few men who could halt it. Other Pure-bloods would listen to him - he could make them listen to him. Instead, he had chosen to use his considerable skills to please the Dark Lord. Snape wasn’t impressed.
Lucius didn’t look too pleased with him, either. “So, Draco says you looked after him.” He gave Snape the glare of a father who’d just discovered his closest ‘friend’ had been ‘looking after’ his son and had a pretty shrewd idea of what that entailed. The events of the night before meant that Snape couldn’t meet that glare with a clear conscience, but he looked back calmly.
“Not just me. Bellatrix gave him some necessary combat training.”
Lucius’ eyes narrowed, but he chose not to pursue it - for the time being. “Yes, Draco told me about that too.”
“You’re finally being allowed back at the same time I’m finally being allowed out,” Draco said with a twisted smile. He looked over at the Death Eaters gathering by the main doors. “I should go.”
“Draco -” The boy turned to his father. Snape noted the tension in his shoulders and the perfectly-controlled expression on his face and was surprised. Up until seeing Lucius, Draco had seemed rather excited by the mission - and the chance to get out of the Manor without Snape at his side, Snape thought wryly. “Prove yourself…but don’t take any unnecessary risks.” That almost had the edge of a goodbye.
“I know what I’m doing, Father.” He looked at Snape. “Thank you, sir.”
And that had been goodbye.
****
Snape goes back to the cells. Perhaps his suspicions are premature - Lucius might be with his son.
He isn’t. Gammage is on his knees by Draco, his bag open and potion bottles strewn across the floor. His medical skills are distinctly unimpressive - Draco doesn’t look any better than he did when Snape left. In fact, he looks worse…
“What the hell did you do to him this time?” the mediwizard snaps. The movement of his wand over Draco’s body is becoming increasingly frantic, and there’s more blood on the floor beneath him than Snape remembers.
Snape’s about to protest, then he remembers the ‘Softening-Up process’. Would Bellatrix and Rowle really take it that far - really take the risk of killing a prisoner before interrogation was complete? Draco’s eyes flicker open. Perhaps they wouldn’t risk it with a normal prisoner - but this is the turncoat, the disgrace to his bloodline - it’s not hard to imagine Bellatrix seeing it as a personal betrayal.
For all his political views, Gammage is an extremely capable mediwizard - Snape’s seen him haul prisoners back from the brink of death. This will be no different. He finds himself on his knees beside him.
This is will be no different.
A faint smile curls across Draco’s face as the first explosion sounds above their heads. “Got you,” he whispers.
“What do you mean?” Why is he talking? He needs to save his strength. Whatever’s happening in the Manor, it’s not as important as -
“The plans…changed. Two diversions… It’s over…”
Of course it is. No warning means the wards have been taken down - and only one person can do that. The stone beneath him shakes; choking dust fills the air. Words whisper in his head, half-remembered sentences jostling for attention.
The war isn’t won. Will it ever be?
One traitor leads to another.
A chance to be different.
Even you can’t play off both sides forever.
Prove yourself.
Lucius…
*
“Are you sure he’s defected?” Lucius sounded much too calm.
“If it was an attack, then why didn’t we find his body?” Yaxley was anything but calm. Snape didn’t blame him - who would want to have to explain to Lucius Malfoy how they had let his son get killed? “No - Pope found himself scouting up front, alone except for your son, and took the chance to run. Draco must have…got in his way.”
“A hero’s death, then.” Snape’s own voice was thick with cynicism, but he didn’t care. He looked down at the table in front of him, and the body laid out so neatly and respectfully on it. They’d neatly arranged Draco’s robes, brushed his hair, and his face was unmarked and peaceful - but then, the Killing Curse didn’t leave any wounds, did it? Snape had lost the ability to grieve a long time before, but he felt a tightness in his chest, along with a vague sense of unease.
Most people died pointless deaths, snuffed out without reference to destiny or glory. But this was so easy, so sudden…so convenient…
“I will arrange a suitable interment. Leave us.”
Yaxley was quick to escape. Snape remained by the table.
“Severus -”
“How long do you think it will take?” He didn’t mean the funeral.
A purely natural potion, acting purely on the physical level, would have become dormant by that point, its effects frozen by blood ceasing to flow and organs no longer functioning. Polyjuice acted on a - at least partially - magical level. Its effects followed very different rules.
Snape might have dismissed his suspicion as wishful thinking - but he wasn’t particularly prone to such self-delusion. Something was not quite right. He didn’t believe in hunches either - but this one was based on his assessment of Pope and Draco’s various levels of brainpower and competence as fighting wizards.
Draco would not have been killed so easily.
Pope was also a new recruit, bright-eyed and fanatical - Snape couldn't see any reason for him to defect. Draco, on the other hand -
Lucius looked at him. “I’m not sure I understand,” he said calmly.
“Do you really underestimate your son so much?”
Long locks shortened like tentacles retreating, pale blond darkening to a mousy brown. ‘Draco’s’ narrow, sharp-boned face became a square-jawed, blunt-featured one. Snape watched - and didn’t know whether to feel relief or betrayal - or a mixture of the two. Lucius’ expression didn’t change. Snape looked at him - and wondered…
“Bury him, Lucius. If Draco has changed sides, then the Dark Lord will find out soon enough.”
*
It’s symbolic. We were going to make a point.
But that point wasn’t to be made to the Dark Lord - but to Lucius Malfoy. Snape doesn’t know what deal he’s offered Potter - but ‘prove yourself’ must have been part of it.
A fresh rumble and more dust raining down makes Gammage swear and look up at the ceiling. “The Manor’s under attack - we have to -” He looks at Snape’s wand, now pointing at his throat.
“Keep working. If he dies, I’ll kill you.”
Not that it will be necessary; Gammage is very competent.
Draco’s eyes fall shut, but he’s still smiling, which is a good sign, surely? Stupid boy - he and Snape have wanted the same things all along. Why didn’t Draco just trust him?
Snape almost laughs at that thought. Or he could have trusted Draco…except, how the hell would either of them learn to do that?
It seems Draco understands sacrifice better than he thought. Foolish boy.
“Get away from him!”
As always, Potter’s timing is atrocious. His Disarming Spell, on the other hand, is either awe-inspiring or over-powered, depending on your point of view. Snape feels the muscles of his back protest as he’s flung against the wall, wand spinning from his hand. But he’s not concerned about his own pain; Gammage’s wand bounces across the stone floor - and his head cracks against it.
“Oh, fuck -” Potter throws himself to his knees beside Draco - and what the hell is he going to do? He’s just knocked out the mediwizard… A trickle of blood runs from beneath Gammage’s head. Snape slides down the wall, trying to recover his breath.
“Draco!” Potter clutches his lover’s broken body close to him, and gets a tiny moan in return. “Don’t die on me. Don’t you fucking dare die on me!”
Snape feels like he’s caught in some strange hallucination. Potter can’t be here - it’s impossible. He’s supposed to be dead… Or did he defeat the Dark Lord so easily? If he had - if he’d ignored the note, or simply not believed it - then…
It’s not over. It may never be over.
“He believed in you! He was convinced that you were on our side. And you…you did this to him?”
Snape looks at the point of Potter’s wand, then into his eyes; the grief, hatred and killing rage in them seem strangely familiar. The spell Potter casts is also a familiar one - it sounds like vengeful furies rushing through the air to claim their prey.
But it’s over for him.
And perhaps, as green light sears away his sight, it’s almost a relief.
*