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sua_layAuthor: Rimau Sua Lay
Rating: overall NC-17, Angst, Drama, Action/Adventure, First Time
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: Harry/Snape, Ron/Draco, (Sirius/Remus)
Date: December 2002 - ?
Disclaimers: Not mine, borrowed without permission, am not making any money. Please don't sue. Sherbet Lemon?
Summary for Book Two: -Voldemort has a plan. To make it work, he needs his most loyal Death Eaters and their progeny. After a vicious attack, two Slytherins must decide if blood is thicker than potions.
Snape was feeling cranky that morning.
Had to be because of the annoying scene at breakfast. There had been an incredible number of owls flying over the tables, bringing letters to the brats with the Gryffindor ghost looping around them, making joyous sounds.
That nearly headless nuisance had always seemed too cheery for a ghost. Still, Snape could understand the reason for such behavior. After all, all the living Gryffindors looked like they might want to join him in his unearthly dance over the tables.
All because of the slim form appearing from the side door and walking slowly to her place next to the Headmaster at the Head Table.
Minerva had looked her usual cool self again. It was a relief. Maybe Snape could now push the images of the ravaged woman away from his mind and try to forget the desperate flight through the corridors of the Malfoy Mansion.
It was apparent his colleague hadn't forgotten any of it. The annoying woman had stopped by his side and smiled at him, briefly touching his arm before gathering her robes tighter around her and moving on, careful not to touch anyone else.
At least she had the sense not to try to hug him. Shuddering at the thought, Snape walked to the corridor leading to his private rooms.
He was relieved he had the morning off. There were no classes scheduled before lunch, and even after the midday meal it would be double Potions for third year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Nothing he couldn't handle in his sleep.
Hurried footsteps from behind him brought Snape out of his thoughts. A shiver going down his spine, he spun around with his wand in hand, coming face to face with a heavily breathing Harry Potter. The boy had the gall to smile at him. "Potter. I see you still haven't grown a survival instinct." Shoving his wand back under his robes, he turned around and continued towards his rooms.
"Sorry." Harry's voice indicated he wasn't really. "Just didn't think I should stand here in the dungeons and yell your name."
Snape didn't say anything, but agreed with the boy. The last thing he needed right now was to have his Slytherins to know he was having Harry Potter in his rooms.
Not that it could really make things any worse. His children were already angry and confused. He understood them perfectly. After all, he had turned their world upside down.
Stepping through the familiar doorway, Harry said, "Hagrid gave us the morning off. The Jarveys are sick, and he didn't think we should be crowding them." He walked towards his chair, deciding against it at the last moment and went to sit on the couch instead. "So we have an assignment to write an essay about the attempt the American wizards made to transport Jarveys across the Atlantic in 1950's."
"One of the most idiotic attempts they ever made." Snape couldn't help commenting on that. Only the Americans would first exterminate a whole race of magical beings and then decide to transport a new breed from across the sea.
Harry nodded, pulling his quill from his bag. "Yes." He sat back with his left ankle raised to rest on his right thigh to give his parchment some support. "It is." With that, he started scribbling.
The look Snape threw at him was a curious one. Instead of asking anything, Snape walked to his desk, looking grimly at the stack of essays lying there.
With luck, he'd manage to grade them during the morning. He wasn't counting on luck, though. After years of teaching, he'd come to the conclusion that either most people were idiots, or Potions was the most difficult subject in the whole world. Since there were as many great Potions masters as there were excellent Charms masters, he had to go with the former. Not that it surprised him, really.
Grabbing his quill, he started reading the essays.
The small room was filled with the sound of two quills scratching on parchment. After his initial comments on the matter, Harry browsed through his Care of Magical Creatures book, looking for references. Hagrid never gave impossible assignments -- unlike someone he could mention -- and it was relatively easy to find information on the Jarvey Transport mess.
Snape couldn't help muttering darkly as he wrote comments on the parchments. He could understand how the long spring term could make first and second years a bit restless, thusly impairing their learning. But the older children really should know better than to write pointless drivel on their essays.
It was disappointing to see that some of the seventh years hadn't obviously started studying for the N.E.W.T.s yet. How on earth were they going to pass the final exams if they couldn't even tell the difference of Manticore juice and Polyjuice?
At least he was certain some of the students were doing what they were supposed to. His Slytherins were too scared to come to his class unprepared. Some of the Ravenclaws were actually up to their House motto. There were even a few Gryffindors who seemed to be preparing themselves for the exams.
Hermione Granger was always reading, sometimes sounding like a walking textbook. Even though she didn't seem to be as totally -- annoyingly -- bookish as she used to, she was still by far the most intelligent student Snape had had in years. Harry was also studying. He knew that for a fact. The boy had spent many hours in the dungeons doing homework and reading.
It seemed that he was not as agitated as he used to be. Snape was glad about it, because it meant there wasn't anything wrong with the boy. He wasn't a real mediwizard. All the things he'd done or said were due to his own experiences with fear and pain.
That was the whole point. The reason why Harry had come to him in the first place.
He wasn't ranting anymore. Actually the rants hadn't lasted for long. After a couple of weeks, he'd stopped pouring out his gloomy thoughts and had talked about things rationally.
Not hiding the pain, but processing it. Discussing things that didn't always deal with Voldemort and the upcoming war.
Snape looked up at the boy, laying the quill down next to the bottle of red ink. Harry had been quieter lately. He wasn't babbling anymore. Last time he'd been in the dungeons, he hadn't really talked about anything special, simply spent time there.
It had to mean something.
"Potter." When the boy looked up from his parchment, Snape asked, "How are you doing?" The familiar line that had started most of their discussions.
Harry smiled. "Fine. This isn't all that difficult." He'd managed to cover most of the events in less than an hour.
The words made Snape roll his eyes. "How nice. I'm always pleased to hear about your academic aspirations." Amazing how the acrebic tones didn't even make Harry flinch. "Is there a reason you don't want to answer my question?"
"No." There was no way Harry would admit he enjoyed the verbal sparring with his professor. "And I'm doing just fine. I really am." He smiled at that. He wasn't lying, even though he could have said that he was a bit worried about Sirius. There was nothing new in that; he was always worried about him when he went on a mission. It was a wonder no one had caught Sirius yet, considering how Pettigrew must have told Voldemort about his Animagus form.
It was probably because of the man holding the leash. Or the fact that instead of being a ragged and starved -looking cur, Snuffles was actually well groomed these days.
Grunting, Snape turned his attention back to the parchment in front of him. He knew he could read Harry's words by now, separating lies from the truth. This sounded real.
No need for him to push. If Harry didn't have anything to say, they didn't need to talk.
Snape blinked at the thought.
The parchment forgotten, he looked up again, eyes squinting. Why was Harry still here if he didn't have anything to talk about? This whole deal had been based on the boy's need to talk, his need to be with someone who wouldn't judge him because of desperate thoughts. If he was indeed feeling better, why was he still coming here?
One way to find out. Snape never shied from asking blunt questions, especially with someone like Potter.
"Why are you here?" Seeing the way Harry blinked at that, he sighed. "I mean today. Why are you here? Surely you could do that homework somewhere else."
It was a bit annoying how his voice didn't hold any of his usual sneer. He didn't sound like he actually minded the boy's presence, but was simply asking.
Harry had hoped Snape wouldn't notice his behavior, or at least mention it. He put the parchment aside, folding his arms over his chest. He really didn't want to be thrown out. "I like it here. It's peaceful." Compared to the common room at least.
"Yes. I know that." After all, peace and quiet were very important to Snape. He reveled in his solitude, choosing a simple, quiet life.
"I... Do you want me to leave? I mean if you do, I will." Feeling his heartbeat elevate, Harry hoped his voice didn't sound as desperate as he felt. He didn't want to leave.
Snape was quiet for a moment, giving the question the thought it deserved. The waves of relief he'd expected were not flooding over him. He wondered what had happened to the resentment he'd always felt towards the boy. The arrogant twerp who had come to Hogwarts to be praised and coddled.
"As long as you don't disturb me, you can stay. For now." Sounding like he didn't really care, Snape shrugged. He didn't mind Harry's presence here.
Harry bit the inside of his lip to prevent himself from smiling brightly. It would be the worst reaction to the sullen words, he was certain of that. "Thank you." Squirming a little, he tried to find a better position on the couch. The essay was finished. Maybe he should read something, like the Arithmancy text. He didn't think Snape would let him stay if he just sat there, not even pretending to be studying.
Concentrating on the grading, Snape went back to muttering dark things about the students. It was actually a good thing for Harry to see how the teachers worked; how much time and effort they wasted on trying to educate brainless children. By the time he was finished with the fourth year Hufflepuffs, his wrist was starting to ache. For once he would like to read an essay that was actually about the potion he'd taught, and not idiotic ramblings.
It made him glance at the clock hanging on the wall. He still had time to do some reading for the afternoon classes before it was lunch time.
Snape stacked the parchments again. Then he grabbed one of his text books and walked to the couch. He'd be spending the whole afternoon sitting on his hard chair behind the desk, or walking around the classroom. Glaring at Harry, he went to sit on the other end of the couch, enjoying the very comfortable seat.
He should probably have the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws work on the Shrinking Solution. Those third years were a bit slow on assuming knowledge, but maybe something that would be useful would motivate them. He knew well that most people used that particular potion instead of shrinking charms to make large things portable.
A hint or two about the possible Hogsmeade weekend in the far future would probably be enough motivation.
Browsing through the book, Snape started reading about the potion, the familiar words making him relax. He could probably brew the potion in his sleep, but since he had nothing better to do right now, he thought he might as well read.
Harry kept his head bowed down, trying very hard to look like he was reading the Arithmancy book. Instead of reading, he kept his gaze on Snape.
The unstable vectors weren't all that interesting, and his mind had started to wander after the first few paragraphs. He thought about last evening and Sirius' words. He wished the man would stay for a while, but knew he and Remus would probably be leaving in a day or two. The Death Eaters were still busy with smuggling dark creatures here, so they would continue the spying operation.
He would miss those two, especially Sirius. His godfather wasn't always the best with words, but he could do wonders with just one hug. It was a warm welcome, something akin to the feeling of home.
No one else could make him feel quite like that. Sirius didn't try to be a parent to him, but he somehow managed to convey protectiveness and care with his touch. Sometimes Harry wondered where he'd learned that. With Molly Weasley it was clearly because of spending over thirty years being a mother. Maybe with Sirius it was an instinct.
Stretching his left leg, Harry suddenly froze and looked up. He'd completely forgotten that Snape had come to sit next to him. Fortunately there was still space between his outstretched leg and Snape.
Harry couldn't really imagine resting his foot on Snape's lap. The man was definitely not a parenting figure who would take that in stride. It was quite probable such a gesture would get him a one way ticket out of the dungeons.
That was the last thing he wanted right now.
He couldn't help staring at Snape. It was strange how often his thoughts had turned to this man lately. He had no idea why. Was it because he'd spent so much time with him, depending on him? He doubted it. After all, he'd stopped doing the psycho routine a long time ago. Now he was staying with the man because he liked him.
Sirius would probably have a fit if he said something like that out loud in his presence. He'd seen him have trouble with the fact that he trusted Snape. Telling him that he didn't simply come to the dungeons to work with someone he trusted, but to spend time with someone he liked would really make Sirius' day.
Upsetting his godfather wasn't exactly something Harry wanted to do.
"What's so funny?"
Harry realized he'd been staring at Snape, lost in thought with a silly smile on his face. He shook his head slightly. "Nothing special." Snape had listened to him talk about Sirius earlier, but it was clear he didn't really enjoy the subject.
Seeing that Harry wasn't about to start talking about whatever he found amusing, Snape grunted and returned his attention to the book.
This easy way of accepting things was one of the reasons Harry liked it in here. Unlike in class, Snape never pushed him. Didn't ask questions he wasn't ready to answer.
It was a bit confusing, but Harry reasoned it was because Snape thought he would talk about things he needed to. Deciphering the sarcastic words had become quite easy. He was quite sure he got most of the things the man said right.
All his yearmates had been befuddled about their Potions master these past few days. None of them could see how someone taking such pleasure in terrorizing them in class could actually do anything good. Harry hadn't even tried to explain it to them. He was certain no one would ever understand Snape's motivations. He wasn't even certain he understood them himself, and he didn't exactly hate the man like most others did.
Here he was again. He realized this was actually bothering him; not hating Snape, seeing him as a person. Harry wondered why he was thinking this. Was this some kind of a reaction to his strange relationship with the man? Was this what he was supposed to feel?
Did this happen to everyone who depended on another person with dark thoughts? He didn't know.
But he knew someone who did.
Looking at the clock, and seeing there was time before they had to leave to lunch, Harry cleared his throat. "I've been meaning to ask you something."
Snape's dark gaze was turned to him immediately. "Yes?" He wasn't certain what the soft timbre in the boy's voice meant. It could be tiredness. At least the way he slumped on the couch, his feet dangerously close to Snape's clean robes, suggested he hadn't been sleeping well last night.
"You said you went through all of this... confusion. You know. Thinking all the bleak thoughts. And that Dumbledore helped you." Not a question. Groundwork for one.
"Yes." If Potter thought this would be a chance to share, he was dead wrong. Snape had no intention on dwelling in things past.
"Did you..." No. Not a good way to ask it. Harry thought for a moment and said instead, "How did you feel about him when you talked to him? When you'd told him all the things you had done or thought or whatever?"
The question made Snape wish he'd never encouraged Harry to talk. He was quiet for a long moment, wondering if he should lie or
not. A lie would be so much easier to tell and for the boy to hear, but he deserved the truth. Probably because he had a feeling Potter might want justification for an emotion. "I was grateful." He paused for a moment. "And I hated him. Hated him more than anyone right then."
The lie slipped out instinctively. There had been someone he'd hated even more than Albus back then; himself. That was none of Potter's business.
"I rather thought you might have." Soft words that were almost inaudible.
Harry could well understand that. He doubted it would have been like that if he'd had to go to Dumbledore. More likely, he'd ended up feeling miserable about his own weakness. Snape was a proud man. Of course he would hate that situation, and anyone helping him.
It was probably more complicated than that, though. He'd seen how Snape did things for the Headmaster, how he seemed to hold the man in a high esteem no matter what he said of his way of treating the students. Called him manipulative, but still obeyed the hints the man dropped every now and then. For Albus Dumbledore rarely commanded. He didn't have to.
Snape was still looking at Harry, not trying to dodge his questioning gaze. "It is perfectly normal to hate someone. Even someone you respect." He hoped the boy would never repeat his words to Albus, cursing himself for even saying them out loud.
But he'd realized quite early that sometimes Harry needed to relate to something. Needed him to say a few curt words about how he had shared some of the negative thoughts, as if the fact that he wasn't alone with the emotions gave him the permission to feel them.
Foolish and naive, really, but then again most teenagers were.
"I know." Did he respect Snape? Harry knew that in some things he did, but it didn't come even close to the way the man obviously felt about Dumbledore. It wasn't like that; he didn't revere Snape. "But you know what? I don't hate you."
"Dear Merlin! That really does make me feel so much better. I am touched, Potter." Hiding any hint of genuine pleasure behind dripping sarcasm, Snape rolled his eyes. He never really knew what to expect from this exasperating young man. Honest declaration of not hating him was about the last thing.
Harry grinned. "I knew you would be." He knew it sounded a bit patronizing, but didn't really care.
A glare was all the answer he got.
Not that he'd really expected for anything more. He knew Snape, knew that sometimes you just had to look beyond the glares and sarcasm. To see even more sarcasm, and even darker glares. Snape was definitely not a nice man.
But Harry liked him anyway.
They spent the rest of the morning reading in silence. Harry had things to think about, and he was sure Snape didn't need to hear what he was contemplating. He did smile at him again when leaving for lunch; simply because he knew it would bring out another exasperated sigh.
Snape stayed in his rooms for a few minutes after Harry had left. He needed to compose himself before going to the Great Hall again. Not for the first time, he wished he could simply stay here. The whole world was turning upside down already, and he dreaded what could happen next.
Gryffindors were trying to be nice to him. His own Slytherins were either afraid of him -- well, nothing new there -- or hated him. Unlike Harry Potter, who didn't hate him. Omens of the approaching apocalypse, he was certain.
Gathering his books and the parchment rolls from the table, Snape walked to the Potions classroom to make sure everything was prepared for the classes before heading to lunch.
All his Slytherins were already eating. He felt people stare and met the stares with a cold gaze. It didn't matter what people thought of him. As long as they behaved in class, they could wish him dead for all he cared.
He was concerned about a couple of his students. Gregory Goyle wasn't talking. He just sat there, nibbling his food. His constant shadow seemed worried about him, trying to urge him to drink more of the juice. At least Crabbe could do something right. Instincts probably. He wasn't smart enough to actually think about the situation.
Unlike young Malfoy. Ignoring the hateful glares Parkinson was throwing at him, Snape glanced at the boy. He seemed to be preoccupied by a piece of parchment in front of him, not bothering to even pretend he was eating. It was more worrying than open displays of hatred.
The boy was so much like his father. Cunning and clever. He would not let things rest.
Snape hid his sigh, turning his attention to his food instead. Seeing young people make absolutely wrong choices was always painful. He would never get used to seeing his Slytherins follow the path that led to Voldemort.
Down at the Slytherin table, people were eating in silence. There was no sound of laughter, or even whispered plans.
Some of them simply wanted to eat and then get away from their housemates. The few Muggle-born students would go to the library to study. Even some purebloods would steer away from those who now held murder in their eyes.
None of the House of Salazar were ignorant. Even the stupidest children knew the reality behind the snake -emblems. They knew about You-Know-Who and his cohorts. Could guess where those with powerful parentage went on their holidays. Knew who was the unspoken leader of them all.
The leader, who wasn't talking right now. Wasn't paying any attention to the ones around him.
Draco was staring at the letter in front of him. It had arrived early that day, right when he'd been finishing his breakfast. He'd recognized the eagle owl as soon as it had swept in from the window. It wasn't as if he hadn't been anticipating a letter from his father. Actually, he was surprised it had taken him this long to send him instructions.
Instructions. The word almost brought a smile on his face. Commands was a better word to describe them. Insanity another.
His gaze focused on one phrase. Our lord demands this from us.... Our lord.
It reminded him of the screams he'd heard not long ago. He'd spent the Yuletide at home, back at Malfoy Mansion. It had been an eye opener, his future unfolding slowly in front of his eyes with his housemates there, all his friends and family gathered under the roof to celebrate... Not Muggle Christmas. Not even the older pagan Solstice. But one man.
One horribly disfigured snake of a man. The man all the masked Death Eaters worshipped. The one his father called Master. Whom he himself would one day call that as well, if things went as planned.
Since he and other Slytherins were still under age of consent, they'd been excluded from the main ceremonies. His birthday had still been almost a Solstice away and it was the only thing that had kept him from receiving the Dark Mark right there and then. He'd stayed awake that night, though. The night his father and some of the other Death Eaters had brought the Muggles to the courtyard.
Draco had watched from his window, as the masked figures had toyed with the hapless Muggles. They had been too far for him to really see anything, but he'd heard the screams.
A female voice repeating words over and over, starting with that phrase. Our lord. It was clearly aimed at someone more benign than the Dark Lord. For this one seemed to be up high, forgiving people and giving them things. The Dark Lord never forgot, never forgave. And all his favors came with an awful price to pay.
The words had still echoed inside his head even after her voice had been silenced. It had bothered Draco, and he'd tried to find the whole chant somewhere, looking into Muggle literature when he was certain no one could see him doing that. He'd figured out it was a prayer of some sort.
He'd never found the thing. One had come close, but instead of calling for 'our lord', that one was aimed at 'our father'. It had frozen Draco.
It had filled him with terrible fear.
Because it had made him wonder about his own father. About his real motives, his life. All his life, Draco had seen a proud man with a lot of power. Ever since the return of the Dark Lord, there had been almost nothing of that man left. The glory and the power had simply been a veneer. Inside, Lucius Malfoy was scared.
Now here was this letter. His father writing to him about what their lord -- his lord -- wanted of him. He didn't know about
anything anymore, didn't even know if what his father said was true. His father. So wrong like his lord. So wrong in everything.
Draco closed his eyes, unable to look at the letter anymore. What his father wanted him to do was a suicide. To punish professor Snape, and when he was dead, to kill Dumbledore as well. As a grande finale, he was to kidnap Potter after that, as if he'd ever get that far. One try at Dumbledore's life, and he'd be hexed by hundreds of students. His father had to know that, yet he insisted he killed the Headmaster. Right after he dealt with Snape.
It made Draco ill.
His father loved his Master more than he loved his own son. Or feared him. He didn't know. All he did know was he never wanted to become a man like that. He wanted power, wanted to use his pureblood talents to gain a high position in the society. But he wanted to do it with his own name and his own face, not hiding behind a mask like a coward.
Opening his eyes again, he stared at the envelope. A coiled snake was pictured there, the symbol of Slytherin. It made Draco want to cry out in rage. It wasn't supposed to be the sign of all evil. It was supposed to be the sign of loyalty and cunning. Of ties that couldn't be severed.
He stared at the snake, his thoughts repeating inside his head.
There was a way. He had a way to save his hide. Probably even his soul, if he had one. He knew he had no other way out of the dismal mess his life had turned to be. His father had a hold on his life, as pureblood tradition stated. He would be helpless until his 18th birthday, and by then, he would either be dead, or standing by his father, wearing a similar mask and a tattoo on his arm.
Draco stared at the snake. The snake seemed to be staring back.
He was moving before he made the conscious decision to get up. Climbing from his seat, he stood there for a moment. The command in the letter had been clear. His father expected him to kill professor Snape and Albus Dumbledore this very day. His father was using him as a tool. His father knew he was sending his only son to his death.
For the glory and gratification of his lord, his Master; whatever the hell Lucius Malfoy wanted to call that sorry excuse of a wizard he groveled in front of. His. Not theirs.
Never Draco's.
Determination filling him, he slipped his hand inside his robes and grabbed his wand. With a fluid motion, he pulled it out. Then he started walking.
The Head Table was so close, he could well see the expressions on the teachers' faces. None of them were paying him attention. He looked from one familiar face to another, staring at professor Sinistra for a moment. He couldn't trust her, didn't know enough of her. So he turned his attention back to where it belonged.
Black hair, pale face. Professor Snape was talking to professor McGonagall, who looked like she really should still be in the hospital wing.
Draco kept his gaze on Snape. He didn't know what to make of the man. He'd known him to be the friend of his father for as long as he'd lived. Snape was a pureblood like him, from one of the old wizarding families, still honoring the traditions unlike the Weasleys who dallied with mudbloods. He was his teacher and the Head of his House. Always there for the Slytherins. Never treating them like filth simply because they'd been sorted to the House of Salazar.
He had also been a Death Eater. Even now, after his betrayal, the Dark Mark had to still be there on his arm. He had followed Draco's father on that path, but unlike Lucius, he'd not stayed on it.
Did that make him disloyal? It depended on the point of view. But to whom was Draco supposed to be loyal? To the Dark Lord? To Lucius Malfoy, the loving father who was sentencing his only son to death? To his own House? Draco didn't know.
He did, however, know that he and Severus Snape were more alike than neither could ever have imagined.
Some of the teachers saw the approaching Slytherin and silenced, staring at the boy. Draco ignored them, continuing on his way. He could hear students mutter his name, "Malfoy" uttered as if it was a curse. Maybe it was.
He didn't know anymore.
Snape seemed to sense that something was going on. He turned his attention from McGonagall, his gaze instinctively going to where the seventh year Gryffindors sat. Then it focused on Draco.
An eerie silence filled the Great Hall. There were those sitting at the Slytherin table who knew what was to come next. They'd received owls from their parents as well, informing them of the revenge the Malfoy family was bestowing on the traitor. Some of the teachers looked worried; Albus Dumbledore's face an unreadable mask.
Looking from the wand Draco was holding to the clear grey gaze, Snape asked, "What is it, Mr. Malfoy?" It was clear he sensed something wasn't right, but apparently he didn't do anything to protect himself.
Draco could hear clatter from behind him as he raised his wand. Footsteps approaching. He ignored that. "Professor Snape. You are the Head of the Slytherin House of which I am a member." Old words, a tradition not evoked for years.
He didn't know why, but it seemed appropriate.
"I am. What do you need of me?" Snape's words were spoken softly, but loud enough for most people to hear them.
He still had a choice. A way to balance the scale in favor of his father and his quest. He could get his name in history as the one making the greatest sacrifice for lord Voldemort. That would make witches and wizards around the world either praise or curse his name. Or he could leave everything he knew behind.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion. His eyes blinked. Twice. His hand lowered his wand on the table in front of Snape slowly, as if air had suddenly become heavy. It made a surprisingly loud sound as it hit the white table cloth.
Behind him, the sound of footsteps stopped.
"The House of Malfoy is no longer able to take care of me. Will you grant me the shelter of the Slytherin House and take responsibility over me until I am of age and need a guardian no longer?" How amazing that Draco managed to get it out without choking.
Snape stared into his eyes, the dark depths almost burning. He could see fear and pain and realization of a betrayal far worse than his in the boy's eyes. It amazed him. Draco's eyes had always reminded him of Lucius, but there had never been such emotions in that cold gaze.
No one in the whole hall said a word. Everyone was too shocked to even move. Harry had got up as soon as he'd realized Malfoy was heading towards Snape, but even he just stood there, in the middle of the aisle, his wand in hand.
Waiting.
Strange, how one could look two different boys in the eyes and see his own past. Snape had to swallow as he contemplated Malfoy's words. This was even more painful than looking at Potter, for this could have been him. Should have been him. There was no way to undo the things he'd done, but he could do this, could make sure at least one of his Slytherins had a future.
If the boy was sincere. If he wasn't working under imperius. He wasn't an idiot. Not even the symbolic gesture of laying down his wand in front of him made Snape trust a Malfoy. He'd never make that mistake again. Keeping his gaze on the boy's, he put his hand on top of the wand.
"I will grant you shelter in the Slytherin House," Snape said quietly. "And offer you the protection of the Snape House as well, if you would have me as your legal guardian."
Relief flooded over Draco. His knees almost buckled as he nodded. Snape did understand, knew what he meant and had responded in the ages old words as only a pureblood could. "Yes. Please. Thank you, sir." It was over.
All the doubts and the self loathing was finally over. Of course his life could well be over soon as well, for he no longer had the protection of his father.
The next owls coming to his housemates would probably carry his death sentence, but he couldn't find the strength to care. For this glorious moment everything was all right. He was going to relish the feeling as long as he could.
Not knowing where to go, Draco stood there, staring at his professor. Even with the protection that had been offered, he couldn't simply walk back to the table and sit there with his housemates. It was ironic. He was more Slytherin than ever, but couldn't stay with the other Slytherins. He knew too much. As soon as his father heard of what he'd done, he'd see to it that he would not reveal anything to anyone who might use the information against the Dark Lord.
"Mr. Malfoy." Placing his utensils on the plate, Snape sighed. He was finished with his meal anyway. The peace he'd felt the whole morning was now gone. He suspected it would not return for some time. "You'd better come with me."
With that, he got up and headed towards the side door. Draco followed him meekly, refusing to pay any attention to the murmurs that had already begun.
Albus Dumbledore watched the two Slytherins walk out of the Great Hall, smiling mysteriously.
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no subject
Date: 2006-05-21 01:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-21 02:54 pm (UTC)And yeah, this changes things for good. Not only the plot, but also the Snape and Harry relationship. ;) Harry will have his haven, but not the way it's right now...
no subject
Date: 2006-05-21 02:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-21 03:05 pm (UTC)Draco's kinda like Snape; he may be a good guy, but he's definitely not good. Not in the way people use the word. And yeah, it'll be Ron/Draco too, but it'll be different from the snarry. Sometimes relationships are romantic, sometimes... based more on some other emotions. :D
no subject
Date: 2006-05-21 04:44 pm (UTC)I normally don't particularly like Draco, but as long as he's not going to be romantically involved with either Harry of Snape I can tolerate him. Maybe I'll even find him interesting when he and Ron get together.
In any case I'll be glad to see the next chapter... ;)
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Date: 2006-05-21 04:53 pm (UTC)Gah! It's far more difficult not to spoil the damn fic than I thought... :D
And I too have problems with Draco, both in fic and canon. He's usually one dimensional or then somwhow... out of character. Not that I'm saying my Draco is IC. But he's always been an opinionated, egoistical bastard who has lived in a very sheltered world, and am trying to keep him that way.
Like Snape, he may be one of the good guys (or on his way there), but he certainly isn't a good or nice guy.
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Date: 2006-05-21 06:13 pm (UTC)Keeping Draco IC would be keeping him boring and one dimensional and nothing more than a nuisance. I think you managed a nice middle way of keeping him recognizable as Draco, yet making him more interesting. Nice job. ;)
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Date: 2006-05-21 06:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-21 09:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-23 06:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-24 10:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-25 07:18 pm (UTC)*is an idiot*
Poor Draco. He really is in for a rollercoaster ride.