III.2. – Slytherin, Thank Salazar!

In the little world in which children have their existence whosoever brings them up, there is nothing so finely perceived and so finely felt, as injustice. It may be only small injustice that the child can be exposed to; but the child is small, and its world is small, and its rocking-horse stands as many hands high, according to scale, as a big-boned Irish hunter.

CHARLES DICKENS - Great Expectations

The bottom line of it all was that Lucius had to spend half a million galleons on some Muggle painting, and Draco was in for the first really bitter disappointment of his whole life, fortunately unwitting how many more would follow in the next years, always from the same source.

Harry Potter was made a Gryffindor, but at that point, Draco already didn’t care anymore. How high his hopes had been! Harry Potter! The Boy Who Lived! Pah! It turned out that this boy he had met in Diagon Alley in summer was indeed The famous Harry Potter, but that was as far as Draco’s satisfaction would go. Together with Greg and Vince, he went looking for the celebrity in the Hogwarts Express, finding him in an almost empty compartment together with another First Year. Draco needn’t guess for long who that other boy was; he was lanky and red-haired, with loads of freckles and sleazy, hand-me-down robes, a mangy rat (how pathetic could a pet be, honestly!) and black soot on his podgy nose. A Weasley, if there ever was one – and there were scores of that lot, mind you!

And Weasley had wreaked the havoc with Potter already as well, he realised soon enough. Draco introduced his friends and himself, making Weasley giggle. That git! Draco retaliated with the same coin by making fun of Weasley, too, before turning back to Potter, his intentions sanguine and his hand outstretched, offering him help and support to meet the right people.

“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself. Thanks.”

Draco had never been slapped in all his life – although his grandfather occasionally threatened to do so – but he was sure that a slap must feel exactly like that. Potter ignored the outstretched hand, and Draco bore in mind what his mother always said – ‘Magni animi est iniurias despicere’* – and replied as coolly as he could, “I’d be careful if I were you, Potter. Unless you’re a bit politer, you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid and it’ll rub off on you.”

They had a bit of a brawl next, ending with Greg being bitten by Redhead’s pet rat, who was surely rabid as well. Well, what would you expect of a Weasley, right?! They escaped before the beast could bite Draco or Vince too, and bumped into some girl with buckteeth in the corridor, who shot them all a fierce scowl that was worthy of Mrs Crabbe.

Hogwarts, too, turned out a little less fantastic than he had imagined. The castle was vast and old, but that was almost the best one could say about it because it was also cold and damp and forbidding. He was made a Slytherin – thank Merlin, he was glad that he needn’t put his reserve plan in action – and moved into his dorm. The accounts his parents had given of these dorms had been contradictory. His dad had sworn that he’d have the time of his life, surrounded by his mates. His mum had groaned that she’d rather not think of ‘the worst years of my entire life, incarcerated underneath the surface of the earth without as much as a window to look out, but with a whole bunch of highly insipid strangers instead.’

Draco realised that the truth was somewhere in the middle. Yes, he’d have liked to have a window all right. This room was indeed rather depressing. On the bright side – he shared the place with Greg and Vince, which was like the prospect of a constant sleep-over at one of his buddy’s houses and promised to be lots of fun. There was yet another boy that Draco already knew by sight; his name was Blaise Zabini and his father was dead, but that was as much sympathy as Draco could muster. Zabini, whose dead dad seemed to have been a famous musician sometime before Draco had even been born, was conceited and not very nice, but Draco thought it didn’t matter, as long as he had Crabbe and Goyle there as well.

Right after unpacking his trunk, Draco sat down to write home and report with unveiled pride that he had honoured the family tradition and been made a Slytherin. He also mentioned that he had met famous Harry Potter, what an idiot this one was and that he had been sorted accordingly to Gryffindor. He even acknowledged that his attempt to befriend the useless git (for his mum’s sake, he had chosen his words more articulate) had failed before it had properly begun, and professed that he couldn’t care less.

He had meant to take their family cat Emma to school, but his parents hadn’t let him, and he had got an owl instead – Muninn, he had named him – so he could send the letter home immediately. His mum’s answer arrived directly in the next morning at breakfast, dear Mum!

‘My precious,’ she wrote, ‘let me begin with congratulating you to have gone to Slytherin. Your father and I are excessively proud of you, and also relieved to know you in such good hands as Professor Snape’s. Be a good boy and listen to him by all means – your father just asked me to add that, IF you’re disobedient, you want to make sure that you’re not found out at least. Oh well, I trust you to know how you must behave, my love.

I’m pleased to hear that you’re together with Gregory and Vincent, and if they’re snoring too badly, I hope you remember the spell I have shown to you – easy on the wrist, dear – to fade out their noises.

As for Harry Potter – don’t aggravate yourself, my love. It’s not worth it. You will find better friends. If he is as unbearable as you say, you should consider yourself glad that he has been made a Gryffindor so you see less of him. Your dad wants me to mention how very glad I am because Harry Potter has just got me the wonderful painting we’ve seen in Amsterdam last June and that the boy owes him already. Be that as it may, I’m very proud that you have given your best to be nice to the boy, even if your efforts were futile in the end. The same is true for your schoolwork. Don’t be disappointed if something doesn’t work out the way you want straightaway, trust me, it will be fine eventually if you always give your best. I know that for a fact, my precious darling, because I know how clever my son is, and that you can achieve anything you set your heart on. Study diligently for my sake, do not neglect your piano practise and your language exercises – ingenii dotes corporis adde bonis, litteratura omnium virtutum maxima est!*

I love you, mon trésor, your father sends his love, too, and so does your grandfather. We think of you a lot, and cross fingers for your first day, may all your wishes come true. – All my love, your mum always –

PS: I miss you very much already, my little prince! ’

He bothered for some morsels of her good advise more than for others, and ignored some bits altogether. His piano exercises, for example, were out of question, of course. Theodore Nott had brought his violin case and Blaise Zabini had brought a guitar, and Draco had heard how some older Slytherins had made fun of them for this, so he had well hidden his own violin, alongside all the music. He had also tried to put Theo on his guard, but this one had merely shrugged and claimed that he didn’t mind what some other students might think of him or not. What a weirdo!

Neither did he put only half as much effort into his studies as his mother appeared to expect. In his first week, he had realised how simple this stuff was – he already knew all these spells and things – only to notice with slight uneasiness that he hardly knew what his teachers were talking about four weeks later, but since he was beating Vince and Greg in style still, he wasn’t too worried.

As for Potter… Everybody was oh-so-delighted with Potter. The Boy Who Lived. Golden Boy. Holy Potter. He was a modern saint, even though Draco couldn’t see what was supposed to be so special about him, honestly! His achievements were far from excellent, too, he wasn’t exceptionally bright, he wasn’t exceptionally talented, the only thing singling him out was that stupid scar on his forehead! But the true affront was to come still.

Because this little fool Potter had been caught in the act – flying on his broomstick though Madam Hooch, their flight instructor, had strictly forbidden them – and Draco had chuckled with heartfelt glee, thinking that Potter would be expelled right in their first week, or severely punished, at least. And what had happened? The usual! Regardless what Potter would do, he always, always got away with it! In this particular case, McGonagall hadn’t dressed him down like she ought to, but assigned him to the House Team even and seen to it that he’d get a fabulous new broom! Draco turned green with indignation, envy and anger whenever he thought of it!

First Years weren’t allowed to possess a broom and play Quidditch! They were not allowed – this was the only reason why Draco had given in to his mother after all and not taken his own broom to school! His dad was a school governor, and not even he had managed to make an exception of that adamant rule for his son, who was, incidentally, a brilliant flyer and Quidditch player! No, Draco wasn’t permitted to do as much as try out for a place on the team – even though he would have deserved it! And Potter, who had never mounted a broomstick in his entire life until coming to Hogwarts – who hadn’t known what Quidditch was eight weeks ago, for goodness’ sake! – Potter was made a Seeker at once, because he was Harry Potter, and because everybody was just too happy to comply and make everything possible what The Boy Who Lived wanted!

And all the teachers favoured him blatantly, too! Well, not all of them, because Professor Snape was everything that Draco had anticipated. He knew that his Head of House had been a close friend of his parents in school, and they had remained loosely acquainted after that time still. Professor Snape was a fantastic teacher, and he was the only one treating the Slytherins fairly. The other teachers could never really dispel that look of – well, reserve, perhaps – when dealing with Slytherin students, while warmly embracing complete dunderheads like Neville Longbottom, or Potter, or such terrible swots like that Hermione Granger, who tried to make up for her Muggle parents by memorising every single school book they had!

Or the incident with the dragon! Right! A dragon! A whelp, admittedly, but a real dragon nonetheless, and dragons weren’t permitted anywhere in the school either, they weren’t permitted anywhere. Draco’s dad was a Law School graduate, no one could fool him about laws! But that big oaf Hagrid had probably never heard of this law, or couldn’t read it, or for some other reason, fact was that he had hatched a dragon egg, and Holy Potter was in league with him, as Draco had found out. He had even caught Potter, Longbottom and that Granger girl in the act, and provided the Deputy Headmistress with all necessary information, and what had happened?! Had Potter been sent to Azkaban for dealing with a dragon? Course not! Had he been expelled? No way! He had got detentions – laughable! And guess who else had got detentions, apart from Granger and Longbottom? Draco had! Ph!

This injustice was so scandalous, he didn’t find the proper words to express his justified outrage. In the end, he had to do detentions with this idiot Hagrid, but what weighed much worse – in the Forbidden Forest! Were these people mad?! These woods weren’t called ‘Forbidden Forest’ for no reason! Werewolves were supposed to live there… Draco shuddered. He had a faint memory… But maybe it was only a bad dream, like his parents said. In this memory, he was still very small, and a bunch of huge, howling dogs closed in on him. He could see the drool dripping from their flews – he could see their gleaming yellow eyes – he could still hear the ghastly sounds they had made – and also his dad’s voice, loud, imperious, seething with hatred and rage, and the dogs had dropped dead, or vanished in panic.

This unsettling nightmare came back to him when stepping into the Forbidden Forest, but he drew comfort from the fact that he wasn’t the only one scared. Next to him, Longbottom was badly quivering, and even Hagrid’s large Great Dane was giving little whimpers, which reassured Draco that he was the only of the three of them who still had his wits together. It turned out, not quite unexpectedly, that Longbottom couldn’t take a bit of fun, neither did Hagrid, and Draco ended up with Potter instead of Longbottom. This was getting better by the minute, wasn’t it.

They were supposed to find some dead unicorn, but Draco didn’t quite buy it. This was bound to be some made-up story to scare them and keep them busy all night, because they had broken the school rules. It was a widely known fact that unicorns were such powerful beasts that it was nigh impossible to harm them. In all probability, Hagrid himself had painted the shimmering traces of ‘blood’ here and there, but Potter in his incomparable naïveté believed every word, of course.

“Look,” Potter whispered and held Draco back from going on.

He followed Potter’s pointed finger – yuck. This was disgusting! The sticky, silvery substance was dripping down on the ground, forming a crusty, glowing puddle; and then he saw where all the blood was coming from. Because it was blood indeed, running out of the gaping wound of a dead unicorn lying there sprawled… Draco tried to suspend the sickness mounting to his throat, and then – his sanity abandoned him completely. Some creature, he couldn’t say what it was, even in retrospection, and neither did he care the slightest bit, some creature closed in on the dead unicorn, bowed over the carrion and – his last scrap of common sense kicked in and made him run away, screaming.

Perhaps it should be mentioned that – once again – Potter got out of this tight spot without a bruise. They all did. After a couple of days, Draco began to think that he had only imagined things, that there hadn’t been anyone, that the hooded thing he had seen had been nothing but a shadow, that he hadn’t heard a slurping sound, but merely the wind rattling the trees… Still, he thought that this fidget of his imagination had got what it’d take to replace that other nightmare of his, or run for a very tight second place at least!

The school year ended like it had begun – in gross injustice. Even though Slytherin would have won the House Cup, fair and square, Dumbledore manipulated the score until his own old house Gryffindor got it. Draco didn’t care for the bloody Cup in itself too much, but this was a matter of principle! His dad had been right with everything he had ever said about ‘the old crackpot’! He had always said that Dumbledore was an idiot, that he lacked the proper wizard pride, that he had lost it the older he got (and he was very old already, even for magic standards!), that he was incredibly naïve and silly, and that he was a coward shrinking away from true greatness and favoured mediocrity and commonness instead. Draco had reserved his judgement on his Headmaster, because his mum claimed that Dumbledore was a magnificent wizard, and because Draco had found him rather funny, but now the matter was settled. His father was right – and Dumbledore was a wanker!

His mother blanched when hearing him profess this newly-gained assurance. In fact, she blanched with a whole lot of things she heard him say after going home for the holidays, because Draco had picked up a huge set of new words in school, and she didn’t approve of the majority of them. ‘Wanker’, ‘jerk’, ‘prick’, ‘ass hole’, ‘Mudblood’, ‘bitch’, ‘shithead’, ‘fuck’ or ‘motherfucker’ – all were strictly banned from Malfoy Manor, as far as she was concerned. His dad took things a whole lot easier, but urged his son nevertheless to respect his mum’s wishes.

There was a brief disruption of homely felicity when Draco’s first record arrived by owl – he had never seen his father throw a similar tantrum before, but even though his mother was usually the one demanding scholarly brilliance, she intervened for his sake and spared him to be grounded for two weeks, like his father had threatened. He calmed down soon enough, disregarding occasional gibes, and even came round to grant Draco’s greatest wish. Draco wanted to play for the House Team, like his father and both grandfathers before him, and had bugged Lucius to no end, until this one finally gave in.

“I’ve had lunch with Luther Flint today, son,” he began with a grave expression, and Draco’s heart would sink. Luther Flint was the father of Marcus Flint, who was in turn Captain of the Slytherin House Team, and judging his dad’s face, prospects must be very bleak. “His son was there, too. You know him?”

Draco nodded weakly, bracing himself for the worst. “Yeah…”

“I volunteered to treat the team to a set of new Nimbus 2000s – needless to say that young Marcus was delighted. Still, we all agreed that it’d be a gross breach of customs to have anyone buy a place on the House Team. It’d be indecent, and also very much imprudent. Can you imagine how the other players would look at you, knowing you were only on the pitch because your father purchased you a place on the team? How they’d tear you to pieces after a lost match?”

“Yeah,” Draco moaned, unable to look his dad in the face.

“Second Years hardly ever play anyway, because they’re too small still. Usually, they’re not even allowed to the try-outs, because it’s no use. However – I did praise your talent very warmly, Second Year or not, you are a very good flyer, and in certain positions, your height wouldn’t mater much either.” Draco’s heart made a leap; he plucked up courage and raised his eyes from the floor, seeing his dad grin slyly. “Young Marcus, his father and I also agreed that there’s no harm to have you meet up with Marcus and the others next week to see what you can do, and if you’re any good, he’ll be happy to welcome you for the official try-outs as well.”

Draco stormily hugged him, repeating over and over, “Thanks, Dad! You’re the best! Thank you! Thank you! You’re great! Thanks! Oh, I’ll prove them! I’ll show them how bloody good I am! You’ll be proud of me, Dad! Thank you, thank you so much!”

Lucius chuckled, pushing him away at last. “Yes, yes, now hop along. Thelonius Nott will come for tea, we’ve got more important matters to discuss than your Quidditch career and I need to get some things sorted still…”

“Can we practise together after that?”

“Sure… Oh, and Draco? Don’t tell your mum that I – hm – put in one or two good words for you… She won’t be too happy with you flying about and risking your neck.”

---

* It shows greatness to disregard offences.

* Add cerebral to the physical gifts of nature, erudition is the highest virtue.

*****

Useful Links: previous chapter, next chapter, Dramatis Personae

III.1. – Time To Let Go

If You Love Someone, Set Them Free.

STING

Narcissa felt restless and uneasy, and the closer the date came, the worse her mood got. He wasn’t ready. No, he wasn’t. Eleven years, what did that say, eh? He was so small still – Graham’s son, or Marlon’s, were much taller! And he was shy – in her opinion, anyway. And most of all – she hadn’t taught him everything yet that he ought to know, that a mother ought to teach her son before allowing him out in the big, bad world. One more year, or two, and he could be an awesome pianist – his talent would be wasted in that wretched school, it’d melt away… His Latin and French were okay, but his German and Italian were only rudiments, and his –

“Stop worrying, mon ange,” Lucius would say and kiss her, each and every time again. “He’s going to be fine.”

They had had a brief discussion which school Draco was supposed to attend. A very brief one. After all, what were the options? Beauxbatons? Narcissa knew and detested her cousins who had gone there. And the hot climate wouldn’t do her petal any good. He had such sensitive skin. Durmstrang? She had seen the glint of enthusiasm in Lucius’ eyes when he had suggested it, but she wouldn’t have it, and it didn’t take much to convince her husband likewise – their beloved, only child – in that awful place? With this complete bastard Karkaroff in charge of his education? Even Dumbledore was better than that. All right, so they did teach the Dark Arts, but –

“You didn’t learn them in school either, mon amour, and look how far you’ve come still. You can teach Draco much better than these cretins when the time is right. He’s too young for that anyway.”

“But you always said how much you’ve hated Hogwarts, blossom –”

“Indeed, and I would have loathed any other school just as much. Besides, Hogwarts isn’t so far away – I don’t want to be sending my baby a cake and have it delivered as a rock. And also, Savvy is there – he’s still there, isn’t he? I mean – he’ll stay, yes?”

“Yep. He’ll look after your baby all right, Cissa,” Lucius snarled with an arch grin. “And I’ll have you all to myself… Thinking about it, I cannot wait until the little brat has left for school!”

“Lucius!”

He seized her close and brushed a big, wet kiss on her cheek. “Just kidding, angel, just kidding. Come, you mustn’t trouble yourself so much!”

Draco himself was nothing but excited with the prospect of going to Hogwarts soon. He hardly talked of anything else; ignorant of his mother’s pains, he made plans, wondered how it would be, and had already decided that his favourite subjects were going to be Potions (like his mum’s), and Defence Against the Dark Arts (like his dad’s). He had no doubt that he would be a Slytherin, or that was what he professed anyway, because deep down, he felt the nagging fear that by some crazy accident, he could be ending up in Hufflepuff. Would his father disown him if that happened…? He didn’t want to go to Ravenclaw, or beware, Gryffindor either, but Hufflepuff was decidedly the worst option. Speaking of making plans – he was also contemplating what he could do in the worst case. He would run away then. Run away and hide, and his mum would be so anxious for his sake that she’d make his dad forgive him for his failure, and then his dad would use his many connections to get his son into Slytherin after all… Yes, he had worked it all out. It was bound to be great.

“You know who’s going to be in his year?” Lucius asked, after returning from a board meeting of the school governors. He was grinning mischievously.

“Vincent and Gregory.”

“Of course. But I’m talking about someone way more interesting.”

“I doubt that there are many students less interesting than these two. You know I like Graham a lot, but his son is a dimwit.”

“So is the kid’s old man, but never mind now. Come on, make a guess, chérie! There’s one student this year that everyone is going to take the greatest interest in!”

“You know I don’t read those celebrity magazines, honey. Give me a tip!”

He grinned even more. “A tip… That’d be a total give-away… Oh, hang on. I’ve got a tip for you – the kid I’m talking about is the child of someone that you would have considered a friend during school time!”

In her mind, she went through the short list of ‘friends’ she had had in Hogwarts. They had rather been Lucius’ friends anyhow. Bertie had a daughter, but she was only four or five… Damocles had no children at all. Evan was dead, but had he fathered a child before dying? He hadn’t been married though – and what about Gibbon? “Horatio has a child then?”

“None that I know of, and certainly none that’s going to Hogwarts this year. You’re slightly on the wrong track, sweeting.”

“Those were the only people that come remotely close to the term friend, darling.”

“Serious tip there – I’m talking about a girlfriend.”

She made big eyes. “Sure! Of course! Lily’s boy! Good heavens! Sure, he was born in the same summer like Draco… Famous Harry Potter is coming to Hogwarts then? Oh my!”

Lily Evans Potter… She hadn’t thought of her, or her son, for quite some time. Claiming that they had been friends in school might be exaggerated, on the other hand, Narcissa had been so reluctant to become acquainted with anyone that someone like Lily could be counted still. Back then, when Lily had died, Narcissa had often thought of her, naturally. Everyone had been wildly interested in the baby’s fate then, and in the boy himself. It had remained a mystery how on earth he had survived the attack of Voldemort, but in time, Narcissa had forgotten about it. Voldemort was dead. The war was over. Lucius was in danger no more. And the boy had been taken to some Muggle relatives, far away from the magic world.

“Draco will be thrilled to hear who’s going to be his classmate!”

“Even I am thrilled, petal. Just imagine, we’re finally going to learn what it is about him!”

“There’s no way that he’s going to be the next Dark Lord, Lucius. What do you bet?”

“He might be. He thought he was going to be a serious threat for him!”

“But not because he’s going to grow up to become a Dark wizard, dear. Just think who his parents were. I wager that he’s not even going to Slytherin. He’s got a hundred percent Gryffindor genes.”

“We’ll see! But I’m holding your bet. If you’ll win, I’ll get you that Vermeer painting that pleased you so much in Amsterdam. If I win, you’ll go out with me, full blast. Diagon Alley, Avalon Alley, a dinner, a night at the opera and dancing then.”

“Sure, no problem. I’ll win anyway.”

Draco was as delighted as his parents had imagined. “Harry Potter! Wow! I got to tell Vince and Greg! Blimey!” And he insisted on hearing the tale about The Boy Who Lived again. There was no child in the magic world that didn’t know the story by heart, but Draco, like every other child, couldn’t get enough of it. Both Lucius and Narcissa suppressed a smirk with the inconsistency in their son’s fancy. On the one hand, he did have a notion that his father had somehow been involved with You Know Who. They hadn’t actually told him, but the boy wasn’t stupid, and he had read between the lines that at least his father held that wizard in some esteem. On the other hand, he just loved the idea that a kid like himself could have the power to defeat the most powerful wizard of all times, and he was dying to meet this hero at last.

“You think he’s going to be a Slytherin, Dad?”

Narcissa sniggered. “Oh yes, your father would wager a million galleons on that.”

“The poor boy… Growing up with Muggles! You think he’s ever been doing magic before?”

“Probably, dear.”

“I can help him though! I can show him stuff! And I can introduce him to the right folks, like Greg and Vince!”

Narcissa did not voice her opinion on that head and merely smiled. “Certainly, mon trésor. You can be of great help for the boy.”

“Must be very bad for him… Having no mum or dad…”

“Yes, darling, but he’s got his aunt and uncle. I’m positive that they’ve taken just as good care of him.”

Draco put on a wise face. “But they are Muggles, Mum!”

“You think the Muggles don’t care for their children?”

He tilted his head and contemplated that question very earnestly. “But the Muggles hate us. They want to kill us if they can… And it’s not as if Harry Potter was their own child, right?”

Lucius arched a brow and shot his wife a humouring look. “He does have a point there, chérie. I think I remember Lily saying that her sister wasn’t very fond of her.”

“But then they were children, honey. You think Bella liked me when we were children?”

“And I wouldn’t want our son to be raised by her as a grownup either!”

Draco’s curiosity was kindled by that mention. He technically knew that his mother had an older sister named Bellatrix, because her name was on the family tree, but that was as far as his knowledge would go. “Why wouldn’t you want that, Dad?” he asked hopefully.

“Because I believe that your mother and I are doing a fabulous job with you, junior!”

Draco supposed that his aunt Bellatrix’ crime was marrying either a Squib, or a Muggle. His other aunt had got married to a Muggle-born, a fact that his father thoroughly disapproved of, still he had got to know that aunt and her family. Consequently, Aunt Bella’s mistake must be worse, because his parents refused talking about her, or telling Draco just anything. Not even his dad, who was quite easy-going and frequently intimated little secrets to the boy, would say anything about her. His mum did keep a photograph of her sister though; but they didn’t look much alike.

School would start in September, but Draco started packing by the end of July. He made the servants bring him the biggest trunk they could find and hurled in everything that was dear to him. His children’s broom – the potions kit he had got for his birthday – his collection of trading cards – his marble chess board – four card decks, to make sure – a framed photo of his mum – a painting of both of his parents – one of his father’s Quidditch Cups – a gigantic box of his favourite chocolate biscuits – all of his favourite books – Emma the cat (that put up vicious resistance against this sign of affection) – his best pyjamas (a stroke of reason hitting him there) – his violin – a French dictionary – his favourite pillow – the Hengist of Woodcroft costume – two jars of quince jelly – he was stopped by his mother when he tried to take down a huge painting that depicted Malfoy Manor.

She inspected the contents of his trunk, chuckling and unpacking at least half of it. “Your dad would dearly miss his Quidditch Cup, darling – and I would dearly miss Emma.” She undid the Petrification spell that he had cast on the cat, and this one bristled her fur and hissed at him before she sprinted away.

“But we’re allowed to bring a cat, Mum!”

“I know. But don’t you think that an owl would be more useful? Besides – Emma’s home is here. She wouldn’t be well elsewhere.”

“But you can’t play with an owl! Or cuddle!”

“Trust me, darling, you wouldn’t want to cuddle with your pet in front of your dorm-mates anyway.”

Two days later, Lucius took a day off, Narcissa overcame her dislike, and they went to London together, to get the things that Draco would really need. She rejected the Floo Network, so Lucius took Draco while Narcissa would Apparate. She felt highly uncomfortable in London; it was crowded, hot, and so many people on so little room didn’t smell good either. To shorten their stay, they had agreed to split up. Draco was supposed to go to Madam Malkin’s robes shop, Lucius took the book list and Narcissa used the pleasant coolness of Ollivanders to wait for her husband and son. Merlin, she hated the city!

Out of boredom, she tried out different new wands. There was nothing wrong with her old one, but she felt obliged to pretend interest, since the kind gentleman offered her shelter. She found a very beautiful one, rosewood and unicorn hair, with roses carved into the wood, that worked just as perfectly as her old one. Mr Ollivander was delighted. “A good choice, Madam Malfoy! I still remember your first one!”

In this moment, Draco entered the store, looking pensive, and asked how Harry Potter might look like. It turned out that he had met a strange boy in Madam Malkin’s, who was an orphan and knew absolutely nothing about the magic world. “He didn’t know what Quidditch is, Mum!”

She could see that he took that ignorance personal, but she couldn’t help him either. “I don’t know what he looks like, darling. You’ll meet him soon enough.”

Draco was eager to leave again straightaway and see if they’d come across that strange, dark-haired boy again. From his description, she’d say that he had indeed met the Potter boy – unruly, black hair, glasses, notably green eyes, yes, that sounded as if he could be Lily Evans and James Potter’s little boy. Narcissa insisted nonetheless that they’d stay. Lucius wouldn’t know where else to find them, and Draco needed a proper wand. He was keen to get one, too; his old children’s wand was worn-out and half-broken.

“Unicorn hair, like your good mother,” Mr Ollivander remarked with some satisfaction after finding the right wand. Lucius had joined them by now together with their youngest servant balancing a huge pile of books, and by no means inclined to allow his son chasing after the boy that might or might not have been the famous Harry Potter.

“Pleeeeease, Dad,” Draco begged for the twentieth time, if that was enough, and fidgeted around so much that he bumped into the elf carrying the books, who in turn dropped all of them.

Lucius rolled his eyes. “Merlin, give me patience,” he groaned, glaring at the elf scrambling the books together again.

“Please, Dad, please, please, please, please –”

“Do you want a broom or not,” he snarled, unnerved. “You should show a bit consideration for your mum, Draco!”

“We can get a broom and look for Harry Potter afterwards,” Draco suggested with an imploring gaze at his mother.

She mischievously smiled at Lucius. “Far be it from be to withhold you, my dears. Please, go ahead if you like, I can go home already!”

“But aren’t you curious, Mum?”

“Raring, precious. Not as much as your father, perhaps, but that doesn’t say much.”

“Dad?” Draco made big eyes.

“We will not go on a wild-goose-chase after that kid! Merlin knows if that truly was Harry Potter to begin with!” Lucius shook his head and gave his son one look of the ‘One-more-word-and-I’ll-be-angry’ sort. “I’m beginning to have second thoughts about your broom, son. You’re not allowed one in the first year –”

That remark returned Draco’s common sense at once.

*****

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Phineas' Narration – The Inbetween Years

Truditur dies die novaeque pergunt interire lunae.

HORAZ – Carmina*

So this is how young Severus here came to be a permanent staff member. Two years later, Horace Slughorn retired, and he became both the new Potions Master, and Head of Slytherin House – a noble position – I’ve had it for more than thirty years myself –

– Yes, Phineas, we know. Could you please continue now with the aftermath of Lord Voldemort’s disappearance? –

Indeed. My great-grandson Sirius Black, generally believed to have been the Potter’s Secret Keeper, was suspected to have betrayed them, persecuted, captured, charged and sentenced to life-long imprisonment in Azkaban. He was the first – and most publicised – convict after Lord Voldemort’s downfall; Bartemius Crouch didn’t even bother for something like a real trial, and at the time, nobody found that any odd at all. In fact, there were only four people who had slight doubts in the case, though none of them voiced them either, for various reasons.

Andromeda Tonks was very shocked – and incredulous – that her favourite cousin should have betrayed his best friends, leading to James and Lily Potter’s death and personally killing Peter Pettigrew even. But like every other witch and wizard in England, she had no whatsoever doubt in Albus Dumbledore’s testimony –

– Oh, now it’s all my fault again, is it? –

~ You didn’t hear me complaining, do you! ~

Oh, be quiet! Albus Dumbledore’s testimony, according to which Sirius Black had been the Potters’ Secret Keeper. Andromeda hadn’t seen much of her cousin in the previous years anyway, so she simply assumed that he must have changed very much for the worse, and left it at that.

My dear child Narcissa was likewise surprised. Unlike Andromeda, she had the most unfavourable opinion of her cousin, still – if there was one thing she had not thought him capable of, it was betrayal of his closest friends. Indeed, she had believed that loyalty was her cousin’s only virtue, and the fact that The Idiot and her impossible sister Bellatrix were perfectly ignorant of Sirius’ unexpected allegiances only heightened her doubtfulness. In the end though, she, too, saw no reason to mistrust Dumbledore, and thought that once in her life, her aunt Walburga might have been right after all. The wretched boy had had no qualms to leave his family behind – why should he be more fussy about people he wasn’t even related to? The good girl was a family person herself – so Sirius’ running away at the age of sixteen was absolutely unacceptable from her point of view, no matter how insufferable her aunt and uncle might ever be. After this, she thought him capable of betraying anything.

This went along with her wretched husband’s, and that disastrous girl Bellatrix’ perception of the case. Both had never heard of Sirius Black being a Death Eater – and both of them ought to have known, technically. But Lucius did not really care; like everybody else, he was satisfied with Dumbledore’s explanation; from Severus Snape and my sweet great-granddaughter, he had heard enough of Sirius Black to deem him capable of every crime under the sun, and what was most – he had indeed known that the Dark Lord had a spy close to the Potters, but had never disclosed this one’s identity. So Lucius simply assumed that Sirius Black was the man.

And Bellatrix? Oh well. She had other things on her mind afflicting her; she truly couldn’t bother for her unloved cousin Sirius, even though she knew that Peter Pettigrew, Sirius’ supposed victim, had served her master. The only reason why she hadn’t gone to prison directly after Lord Voldemort’s downfall was that she hadn’t been herself; her younger sister had controlled her with an Imperius Curse. Bellatrix herself was out of herself with grief and despondency. She truly worshipped her master, she would have gone to the end of the world for him, and that he should be no more was just too gruesome – unthinkable – for her to deal with. When Narcissa undid the Imperius Curse that got her through the Ministry’s interrogations, Bellatrix found herself free, but inconsolable – she didn’t need close relatives like Sirius to ponder on.

For my little girl, everything turned out well. The investigations against The Idiot were called off before they had truly begun, and the same was true for most of his closer friends. Graham Goyle, Marlon Crabbe, her sister and this one’s husband and brother-in-law – they all went free. Most former Death Eaters did, only twenty-one were captured and sentenced to life-long imprisonment, alongside some minor members of the Dark Order. Both Narcissa and The Idiot carefully observed the proceedings, still anxious that one of the felons would try to make a deal with the Ministry, bargaining their own freedom by snitching.

Nothing of the kind happened. Instead, disaster struck in a very different quarter. Yes, they had been aware that Bellatrix appeared to be the only one still genuinely dismayed when the last investigations were ceased. She refused to believe that the Dark Lord was truly dead, and had actually tried to talk The Idiot – for once not acting like an idiot – into a quest to find the master again – utterly unsuccessfully, of course, and to her youngest sister’s incredulous outrage. In the end though, not even Narcissa had believed her sister to be that mad. Fact was that Bellatrix, together with her husband, her brother-in-law Rabastan and some boy fairly fresh to the Dark Order, had assaulted the family of the Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom, Cruciating both of them into insanity. Neither my little girl nor her useless husband could believe it. That she could be so imprudent – foolish – suicidal really – no, they hadn’t reckoned with that.

My good great-granddaughter couldn’t forgive her sister. Not a week after the trial, resulting in four life-long sentences – Barty Crouch had not even spared his own son, the forth culprit – my grandson Cygnus succumbed to a stroke and died. His wife was inconsolable and so was her good daughter, but at least they found some solace in the idea that he had led a very happy life for eighty long years.

Life went back to perfect normality rather soon. My dear girl was happy, happier than ever before. She no longer had to fear for her husband, that he might be injured, captured or – she still hardly dared to think of it – killed. Her little family was safe, and she could concentrate on life’s pleasantries, only shortly interrupted by her mother’s unexpected death some years later.

She saw her little son grow up; she was devotedly solicitous to his education, teaching him basic spells, reading, writing, playing the piano, of course. She taught him French and German, Latin and Gaelic, Arithmancy and Arithmetic, Herbology and Zoology. She introduced him to art and literature, everything in life that was beautiful and elegant. The only matter swiftly unsettling her was when little Draco got his first broom for Christmas. Otherwise, she enjoyed the comfortable homeliness that Malfoy Manor offered to her and never left it if she could help it. She only ever went out to do her silly husband a favour, either to impress some business partners of his, or to get him some amusement. She was aware that the idiotic fool –

~ I think it might be better if I continue, hm? ~

It’s my family after all, Snape!

~ And my friends, and I’m not going to replace Lucius’ name with constant cusses. ~

– He’s got a point there, Phineas! –

~ Yes, I have. Lucius was slightly bored with the routine of his daytime work; for his thirtieth birthday in 1984, Abraxas had fully committed the family fortunes and enterprises to his son’s hands. This one wasn’t half as grateful as his father thought he ought to be, but alas! It was too late for him to become a Quidditch pro, and that was the only profession that he had ever seriously contemplated. The times in the Dark Order put on the patina of nostalgia in the course of time. Now that it was over, he forgot the risks and fears by and by, only remembering the thrills and kicks. Narcissa let him, she could see no harm in it.

Draco grew up to be his parents’ sheer delight. Unsurprisingly, being his parents’ son, he was very clever and resourceful. His wit sometimes bordered on cheek, but neither of his parents had it in them to find any fault with that, and in any case, Draco knew when and how he had to behave after all. He was capable of great enthusiasm and persistence, he knew how to get what he wanted, and above all, he was an easy-going, cheerful, charming child. Lucius was the sort of father that he had always wanted to be, and if possible, Narcissa loved him even more for it. Yes, they were spoiling their baby, but so what? Whenever Narcissa would raise that question – not meaning it quite earnest – Lucius would answer with a fond smile that she had been spoilt by her own parents, too, ‘and just look what a marvellous person you’ve become!’ ~

That’s true! My dear great-granddaughter was a marvellous girl!

~ Indeed. In hindsight, I would venture to say that the greatest blunder in little Draco’s upbringing was his parents’ self-declared aim to be the world’s best parents. They meant nothing but well, but Lucius in particular had only a very diffuse idea what constituted the perfect father. Taking his own as a daunting example, he chose to do everything oppositely of what Abraxas would have done, and as a result, treated the boy less like a son and rather like a friend. It’s an admirable concept in theory, but it doesn’t work. However, these shortcomings didn’t show in these early years yet, and if anyone had wanted to write a book about thorough felicity, or the happiest family that could possibly exist – he should have written that book about the Malfoys then. Lucius’ worship for his wife couldn’t have been greater; Narcissa loved him just as much. And Draco? Draco grew up believing that his parents were The Best, The Coolest, The Most Powerful, Elegant, Intelligent and Overall-Flawless people in the whole wide world. This is a direct quote, you know! He always professed that he’d be like his dad once, oh yes, and he’d marry a witch exactly like his mum, and he’d be a fabulous Quidditch player like his dad, a proficient pianist like his mum, an irresistibly mighty wizard like his dad, fluent in twenty-two languages like his mum, a business-genius like his dad, an universal genius like his mum – and so on, and so on. His parents encouraged him in whatever ambition he boasted that day with a benign smile, patting his shoulders and telling him that he was perfect just the way he was. ~

– I believe this was one of Narcissa Malfoy’s most prominent flaws. She indulged her son far too much. She taught him everything but compassion, and Lucius gave him everything but good principles. –

~ That’s not true, Dumbledore. Yes, she did spoil the boy to the bone, but otherwise she raised him with all the love she grew up with herself. ~

– But that love never included anyone outside of their family, that is the crux! –

~ Oh, could you stop pretending, at least in death?! Show me how many people truly love all mankind. You didn’t, either! ~

Could you two stop quibbling?! Anyway – this is how young Snape here became a permanent member of the Hogwarts staff. Disgruntled, reluctant, decidedly unsympathetic to his students – who can blame him, kids are a meddlesome business. So noisy. And untidy. And disobedient. Downright filthy, some of them. And so wilful and self-important –

– Yes, thank you, Phineas. I believe we all know that you’re not very fond of children, either. Let us get back to the narration now, please! –

---

* Truditur... One day supersedes the other and incessantly new moons sink.

*****

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II.14. - Spinner's End

In darkness let me dwell,

The ground shall Sorrow be;

The roof Despair to bar

All cheerful light from me,

The walls of marble black

That moisten’d still shall weep;

My music hellish jarring sounds

To banish friendly sleep.

Thus wedded to my woes

And bedded to my tomb,

O let me living die,

Till death do come.

STING

As soon as he had left the Apparition-proof boundaries of Malfoy Manor, he stopped and Disapparated to his parents’ house. If his father was going to be at home, Severus would simply stun him, he thought – but luckily, Tobias was out – in the pub, probably. To prevent him from returning home prematurely, his son blocked both doors, and sat down in the narrow living room next. He glanced at a half-empty bottle of gin on the sideboard, but for some reason, he didn’t feel like taking a drink. He hadn’t felt the urge to stay sober in – well, years, really.

He got up again and looked for paper and a pen, settled down again, but couldn’t endure to stay seated for more than half a minute. He went to the kitchen and fetched a glass of water, putting it on the living room table next to the paper, fumbled with his robes and produced a little flask. He shot the flask a long, longing glance, but put it down, too, and finally sat down. The first letter he wanted to write was easy. Just a short note really, in which he confessed to have joined the Dark Lord straight after leaving Hogwarts, how he had put Lucius Malfoy under the Imperius Curse, and controlled him ever since, until lately the Dark Lord had taken over. He claimed to have been the Dark Lord’s most devoted follower, and that his life wasn’t going to make any sense with this one gone. Blah blah.

He re-read he letter and smirked. ‘This is going to cover your arse, Lucius,’ he thought with grim satisfaction. His own life was worthless anyway, but Lucius had everything before him still, a great wife and an enchanting child. And even if he had been an idiot – Cissa and their boy mustn’t be the ones to pay for Lucius’ idiocy.

The second letter was much more difficult. He wanted to write to Dumbledore what had happened this night – he ought to know – the whole world ought to know how admirably Lily had died, how she had sacrificed herself to save her child, and how this had killed the Dark Lord himself. Statues of her ought to be chiselled and songs written bearing her name and her story, and he, Severus, was the only one who could tell it.

He shot the gin a greedy glance. As soon as setting the pen on the paper and allowing himself to remember what had happened, his insides were churning up, his skull felt like bursting, his stomach revolted, and he could impossibly hold the pen still. Just one sip of gin might calm him – might give him the strength to remember and write it down – just a little one…

He shook himself and hit his head against the tabletop with all his might. No. He wouldn’t drink this – he wouldn’t allow himself to alleviate this pain just the tiniest bit – he deserved this pain – every last ounce of it. And he wasn’t going to suffer much more of it anyway, so he really, really ought to feel every bit of misery and despair now, when he still could. He wrote down the first two sentences – how he had seen two figures, the Dark Lord and Black, approach the house in Godric’s Hollow… This was as far as he would get. He heard Lily’s voice in his head, screaming, begging, her despair and fear were booming in his skull, echoing, ‘not Harry’…

He scarcely managed to get to the kitchen before he started to vomit. She was dead. The Dark Lord had murdered her – just like that. Like an irksome fly… He had killed her, he, Severus! He was to blame! He was the one that had reduced her to be that fly in the Dark Lord’s way, not mattering herself, just an obstacle between the man and his prey… She could have lived. She could have. But she had refused to let her baby son be killed. Of course she had. Every mother would have done the same. She needn’t have died, still! If only – if only –

‘Not Harry – have mercy!’

He vomited again, and with the nausea and the gagging reflex, another dam inside him broke, too. Spitting and gasping for breath, a deep, hollow sob battled its way up – tears streamed down his face – he could hardly breathe – he could just stop fighting and suffocate right here and now – but this was wrong, he must tell what had happened first – must report how great, how brave, how selfless she had been – he mustn’t die before paying her this one last service.

He must rally himself and do this for her, she must not have died unnoticed, just another collateral victim, she had vanquished the Dark Lord, Lily Evans was a heroine and the world must know and he was the only one who could tell and he must see that the rotten traitor who had lead the Dark Lord to her hiding place that this rotten traitor was hunted down only Severus could still do this for her everyone else was dead and soon so would he must not break down before accomplishing this Dumbledore must know and catch Black and make him pay his death must be as slow and painful as Lily’s had been quick and unnecessary he must die like she had how could Potter have trusted this bastard this wasn’t the first time he had betrayed one of his best friends she could be alive still if only Black and Potter and Severus weren’t such incredible bastards Potter was dead soon Severus would follow and Dumbledore must track down Black and kill him too he must he must do this for Lily

Everything in his head started spinning – his own thoughts mingled with Lily’s voice, her dead body on the floor, her pleas, the impassive curse murdering her, the screaming baby, Lily, Lily – LILY!

He didn’t know where he was – what – how – why – but what he knew was that Lily was dead – he reared up – but he couldn’t – and slowly, he heard a voice, very distant, hardly permeating Lily’s screams – he opened his eyes but he was blinded – light – the fire – was this the fire – and faintly he noticed some force working on his jaw – a sharp taste, stronger than the bitter one before – a voice – whiteness – was he already dead – oh God, he had failed her again – he had died before fulfilling his last task –

“Severus? Can you hear me?”

The whiteness dissolved into clearer pictures – a white beard – white hair – silvery robes – Dumbledore…

“Severus!” Dumbledore waved the flask with the poison before Severus’ eyes. “Did you take this! Answer to me!”

“Must – Lily – dead – tell you how –”

“Did you drink this?”

“No – mustn’t die before –”

“Oh, thank goodness…” Dumbledore stooped and propped Severus up against the kitchen sink. “The boy is well, by the way. Hagrid looks after him.”

Severus could only goggle at him; his mind was blank. “The boy…?”

“The boy, Severus! Lily’s son!”

“Lily!” The name hurt him as if Dumbledore had just pushed a dagger into his side. “She – she’s dead! I couldn’t – I tried – too late – murdered her – just like that – he just killed her!”

“I know… But what happened? How –”

Severus would have told him, but he could merely stammer, and the more he tried, the worse his state became. Dumbledore gave up for the time being and took him back to Hogwarts for a start. In the Headmaster’s Office, he used his wand to extract that most painful memory from Severus, saving him from having to re-tell it all. He poured the memory into a stone basin on his desk. In another life, Severus would have been curious about this basin, how Dumbledore bent down and pushed his face into the swirling substance, half liquid, half gasen. As it was though, he couldn’t think of anything else but Lily – her death – and not only the fact that she had been killed, but why made him nauseous – more than nauseous – it tore him asunder.

After Dumbledore had forced three more potions down his throat and performed a good deal of soothing charms on him, Severus had recovered far enough to be capable of speech, but the old Headmaster had to give in; he saw that no magic could help the man, almost a boy still, before him.

“Black!” Severus growled and clenched his fists. “He must be there still – must get him – kill him –”

“Justice will be done, Severus, but not by you.”

“Justice,” he spat, livid. “Justice! There cannot be justice for this! Neither of us has the right to live!”

“Severus… Calm yourself…”

“You don’t know nothing about justice,” Severus croaked accusingly, his eyes brimming over with anger and despair. “Not you! How will you cover it up this time?! That Black has practically murdered her himself? This needn’t have happened! If he had been brought to justice when he tried to commit his first murder! She need not have died! She must not have died! She –”

“Let’s not forget that it wasn’t Sirius Black’s machinations alone that led Lord Voldemort to Godric’s Hollow tonight, Severus,” Dumbledore said calmly. He could just as well have screamed the words, for that’s how they were ringing in Severus’ ears. He nodded, beaten.

“Yes… Let me die, Dumbledore. You know everything now. Let me go. Let me –”

“I will not let you hide away and lay yourself down to die like a wounded animal, Severus,” Dumbledore said sternly. “I will not, so stop asking me!”

“You – you promised – you said…” He tried to pull himself together, but hardly succeeded. “I thought – you were going – to keep her – safe –”

“She and James put their faith in the wrong person… Rather like you, Severus. Weren’t you hoping that Lord Voldemort would spare her?”

Severus could impossibly answer this, not now. Yes, he had hoped against hope, but he had so desperately tried to make sure – that’s why he had come to Dumbledore – that’s why he had turned against the mightiest wizard of all times – had given Dumbledore every bit of information he could gather – had spent his nights guarding her house – had lingered around praying to find out who the traitor was among Dumbledore’s men… Not for a second though had he suspected Black – he ought to have known it – he had known what Black was capable of – but he had let himself be deceived – had believed in Black’s so often declared friendship with Potter… Lily could be alive still if it wasn’t for Severus and his stupidity…

“Her boy survives…” Severus felt Dumbledore’s look, but still, there was nothing more to say. Of course the boy had survived! After all, Lily had sacrificed herself for him! How could Dumbledore not grasp this?! “Her son lives. He has her eyes – precisely her eyes…” Severus closed his eyes, trying to dispel the tormenting memory – Lily’s beautiful green eyes, sparkling – vivid – the images blended in with the kid’s eyes – the memory took his breath. “You remember the shape and colour of Lily Evans’s eyes, I am sure?”

“Don’t! Gone! Dead!”

But Dumbledore didn’t stop torturing him. “Is this remorse, Severus?”

Was it? Certainly, remorse was not nearly strong enough a word! If only he could trade places – if only it was his body lying on that floor – he was to blame – he was responsible that it had come to this! “I wish – I wish I were dead,” he whispered, incapable to voice that speechless horror more eloquently.

“And what use would that be to anyone?”

Severus stared at him. Use? What was the old man babbling there! This wasn’t about use! It was about justice! – But then – Dumbledore had never grasped that concept, had he! Dumbledore was far too practical to bother for such trifles!

Just as casually, the old man continued, “If you loved Lily Evans…” Severus squirmed, but Dumbledore didn’t have mercy with his pains. “If you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear.”

What…? Way…? There was only one way, and it included a nice glass of arsenic! He didn’t have the right to live – no more – not after this night! Oh, if only he had already died back then – if only Lupin had torn him to shreds in that night! Then it wouldn’t be his hands stained by Lily’s blood tonight! Then Lily’s life wouldn’t have been wasted tonight in the first place!

Dumbledore didn’t draw his eyes away; his gaze was penetrating him, his face expectant, challenging almost. Severus goggled back, perfectly incapable to comprehend. “What – what do you mean?”

“You know how and why she died.” Severus trembled, and if he hadn’t been sick all over his father’s kitchen sink already, he would have vomited now. Dumbledore continued insistently, “Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily’s son.”

If this was the old man’s idea of an anti-suicide-programme, he was on the completely wrong track! Only because the kid’s own godfather was a rotten traitor of everything good and sacred, Severus wouldn’t embrace life and take Black’s place! “He does not need protection! The Dark Lord has gone!”

“The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does.”

It took a while for Severus to process that message. On the one hand – he had seen the Dark Lord’s demise. There could be no doubt – he was dead! He had seen it with his own two eyes! But on the other hand – he had believed in the Dark Lord’s immortality for too long – he had never fully discarded his doubts about Narcissa’s fiery proclamations of the factual impossibility of such a thing. The Dark Lord was – had been – was? Whatever – his powers had been greater than anything Severus had ever heard of. That he had seen with his own eyes, too. Narcissa had not. If anyone was capable of overcoming death – it must certainly be the Dark Lord then!

“Very well,” he muttered helplessly. “Very well…” Another thought occurred to him, and he added hastily, “But – never – never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between us! Swear it! I cannot bear… Especially – Potter’s son – I want your word!”

He looked at him imploringly, willing him to remember the time when he, Severus, had given him his word. He had always stuck to it – had never given anything away – Dumbledore must pay back in coin, right? He couldn’t deny him this one wish!

“My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you…? If you insist…”

“I do,” Severus cried with emphasis. “I do! Never – I never – she never knew – and if she didn’t – no one must – I couldn’t endure the… I…”

“Of course, there is a certain merit in keeping the secret…”

Severus wasn’t surprised to see Dumbledore return to his pragmatic ways so quickly, but for once he wasn’t scandalised, but relieved, and sighed, “Good.”

“Heads will be rolling for a while… I’ll vouchsafe for you – and excuse me for reading it, but I did find your – note – incurring all of Mr Malfoy’s guilt…”

Good Lord – Lucius! He had forgotten all about him! “Sir – I beg you – let me go to Azkaban instead – I have nothing left to lose!”

“I don’t need you in prison, but here, Severus.”

“But – if the Dark Lord returns, he’ll surely –”

“Why do you want to spare him, Severus? I know what he is – why do you want to spare the right hand of the man who killed Lily Evans?”

“Lucius has nothing to do with that!”

“But enough with everything else.”

“He’s got a wife and a child, too, Dumbledore. Don’t – don’t make me… I betrayed one friend and destroyed her life – her family… Don’t force me to destroy another friend’s family, too!”

“Very well, Severus, very well. I don’t mean to force you to anything. I rely on your free will – that’s enough for me.”

*****

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