**********
Chapter Seven
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Severus waited until his office door closed behind Potter before he bolted for his washroom. As he bent over the toilet relieving his body of every bit of food left in his stomach, he was forcibly grateful he hadn't managed to eat before assenting to Potter's request.
Not able to tell, himself, whether his dreams were the result of his own imagination and overdeveloped sense of guilt, or whether they were visions of some sort, the boy had wanted him to delve into them directly, via legilimency, to determine the reality of the situation. More than surprised at the boy's willingness to go through that--
Merlin! Am I getting sick of being surprised, he thought sourly, remembering a time, such a short while ago that he'd felt he was incapable of feeling that unpleasant emotion.
--he'd finally agreed. Of course, at the moment he'd made that agreement, he had firmly believed the dreams to be nothing more than wishful thinking combined with a vivid imagination that knew only too well what happened to muggleborns unlucky enough to be captured by Voldemort's death-eaters.
Severus could not remember a time when he'd been proven so utterly wrong so soundly before. Not even the truth about Sirius Black's innocence -- at least in regard to murder and the betrayal of James and Lily Potter -- had he been so wrong. In the case of Sirius Black all the evidence had pointed to his guilt, that combined with his own less than pleasant history with the man, had made the . . . mistake, understandable.
This time, however, he'd made an assumption, one that wasn't based on any hard evidence. On the contrary, it had been based on previous cases, coupled with a second assumption that there had been ample time before the Order's attack to 'finish off' with Miss Granger. Apparently, if the visions Potter was seeing were accurate, and he now had no reason to believe they weren't, Miss Hermione Granger was still alive -- or was alive at the time of their attack. She had, at minimum, lived long enough to crawl away from the scene of her own torture and rape.
His stomach twisted again, trying to expel what was no longer there. Severus had no clue why this affected him so profoundly. As a death-eater, both in reality and as a spy, he had seen much worse than what occurred to Miss Granger. Worse, more by numbers than because of actual damage to a single person, however. If there was any accuracy to what he'd seen in Potter's mind, it was more than evident that the elder Malfoy had been carrying out a rather personal vendetta against Miss Granger, one he cared about at least as much as the information he'd been trying to get from her.
Unfortunately, the dreams were not . . . extensive enough to let them know where she was now, just that she had managed to leave the area. Potter had come to him for reassurance, really, more than confirmation. He'd wanted to believe they were just dreams, almost as much as he wanted to believe Hermione was alive.
He'd had to deny the first and grant the second -- to a degree. The visions hadn't meant she was still alive now, merely that she'd survived her assault. Of course, Potter hadn't understood that. He'd wanted to know why he'd be having the bloody -- quite literally -- visions if she wasn't still alive.
He'd had to point out that he doubted Potter was a true seer. Trelawney, incompetent though she was in most things, could spot someone with the gift a mile off. His nightmares about Voldemort had been caused by the connection inadvertently created by dark wizard himself. Severus had reluctantly explained that his nightmares about Hermione, were likely caused by the close friendship they'd shared over the past nearly seven years, combined with the fact that he'd probably stood on the very spot where Malfoy had left the girl to die.
Potter hadn't liked that one bit. He'd ranted and raled at the unfairness of her having survived all that to die only because they -- himself and George Weasley included -- hadn't looked for her hard enough, hadn't searched far enough. They had all given up simply because none of them had thought she'd have been able to leave the area on her own.
In the end, Severus had ordered him to consume a calming potion, pointing out that getting hysterical was not going to help matters, regardless of whether Miss Granger was alive or not. He'd then promised the boy, a renewed search would be made and given him a dreamless sleep potion, making Potter swear he'd go straight to his room, drink it, and sleep. Severus had threatened, just before the boy passed out of the room and into the hall, he would send someone to check on him in precisely twenty minutes.
The calming potion, by then, had kicked in, and Potter had nodded calmly and left, dreamless sleep potion in hand.
Severus sighed, closing his eyes -- though that wasn't the brightest thing he'd done in a while -- as soon as he did so, the images he'd seen in young Potter's mind instantly began replaying on the backs of his eyelids like a muggle movie screen. He snapped his eyes open and lurched to his feet. He had to speak to the headmaster immediately. Beyond the search that had followed that 'day' to rescue survivors and to recover the bodies of the fallen, no extra effort had been put in to find Miss Granger. He hadn't been the only one to make assumptions about the chances for her survival. The lack of a body hadn't even seemed suspicious. After all, they captured her before the attack, more than 24 hours before, in fact. Which in his, and all the other experts' opinions, led directly to the seemingly incontrovertible conclusion that she was dead and her body had been disposed of.
No one had believed that a school girl, no matter how studious, no matter how stubborn, could hold out against torture. No student could possibly be prepared for the reality that was torture. No lecture, no pictures, no nightmares even, were close enough to the real thing to prepare anyone to withstand that kind of thing. At the time, they all assumed she would break quickly, and had taken steps to protect themselves in the wake of her knowledge.
Gods above, Snape thought with incredible guilt. He'd always hated assumptions. They were stupid, noninformative, and more than half time, entirely incorrect. Yet, now, he was being forced to face the fact that not only once, but twice he'd allowed mere assumptions to rule his decisions. The first one had created the disaster that could be labeled as his life. It had led indirectly to his joining Voldemort. While it certainly hadn't been his reason for doing so, his disdain for muggleborn had certainly played a part.
This time, while the effects of his assumption were far less wide spread, they were no less devastating. Had he not assumed--
There were others who did the same, he thought defensively. It wasn't my fault.
He shook himself. He'd never been one to lay blame elsewhere. It didn't matter that others had agreed; it only mattered what he did. Oh, he wasn't so self-centered as to believe that he was the cause of it all, and that he could have come riding to the rescue. No, that was much too Gryffindor an attitude to take. What he was upset about, was that by the very nature of his assumption he had allowed a student to suffer longer than she had to. He had allowed his personal beliefs about the student to color the conclusion he came to -- which he should not have done. He knew better than that.
Do you? Seems to me you do it all the time.
With a groan for the sudden arrival of his usually underactive conscience, Severus came to a halt outside the gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office. Quickly muttering the inane password, he bolted onto the moving stairs as soon as the entrance opened to him. He wasn't surprised to find the office empty. In all likelihood, Albus was sleeping. He moved swiftly across the cluttered office and stopped in front of the door that lead to the older man's private quarters. There, he knocked. Well, he raised his hand to knock. The door opened before he could, the headmaster standing right there in his nightclothes, blinking into the sudden light.
"What can I do for you, Severus?" he asked.
Severus hastily backed up, allowing the headmaster to emerge. As soon as they were ensconced in less personal space, he quickly told the headmaster about his meeting with Potter. The standard amusement that could almost always be seen in the headmaster's eyes, no matter the circumstances, disappeared early in Severus' explanation.
"Are you certain, Severus?"
Slumped back in his chair, Severus could only shake his head. "As certain as I can be, Albus. You know as well as I do that these things are never 100 percent. For all we know, she could have survived just long enough to crawl away. If what I saw from Potter's nightmares is in anyway an accurate portrayal of her condition when we attacked, she very well might have been fatally wounded. And before you ask, yes, what I saw was in line with previous victims I've seen."
"I'll contact the Order immediately, Severus. We have to make sure."
Severus nodded; those were his thoughts exactly. "There's one more thing, warn them to include a woman in each search party that goes out."
Albus frowned, but understanding dawned all too quickly, his rise from behind his desk aborted abruptly.
Severus didn't make him ask. "As far as Potter has 'seen', it appears that only Lucius took her, but it's entirely possible it wasn't just him."
"That poor child," Albus murmured as he rose. "I'll owl the Order now, hopefully we can have search parties out by next daybreak."
Nodding, Severus stood and swept out of the headmaster's office. He had absolutely no desire to stay and discuss the situation. He still had the disturbing images flashing through his mind any second he wasn't concentrated solely on something else.
When he had to attend a revel in the days before the Dark Lord's final defeat, he had always steeled himself beforehand, prepared himself for what he knew he would see, and sometimes be forced to participate in. There was a special place in his mind that he ritually placed what he saw in order to keep it out of his daily thoughts. Of course, because of that, they tended to come out far more forcefully in his own dreams, but that was better than seeing it all the time.
What he'd found in Potter's mind had been unexpected, despite the boy's explanations; though, he supposed it really shouldn't have been. Potter had spent most of his time at Hogwarts with an half-open pipeline directly to Voldemort. The boy had seen so much that it shouldn't have been surprising he'd seen as much of what had, in all probability, happened to Miss Granger. Despite should haves, Severus needed time to place each horrific picture into that place, that neat and tidy little box.
Unfortunately, he had a stop to make before he returned to his chambers. He had to make sure Potter really had taken the dreamless sleep potion and was, in fact, sound asleep in his bed. It would be just like the brat to run off on his own instead of leaving it to those far better equipped to handle the search.
**********
Chapter Eight
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Draco made his way pensively from the Great Hall toward the library. He didn't really want to do this project, wanted absolutely nothing to do with it in fact. Spending Saturday, even if it wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend, researching in the library wasn't exactly his idea of fun -- especially the last Saturday before winter break.
Unfortunately, he didn't have any choice in the matter. Professor Snape expected progress, and he and Ron had already successfully procrastinated three days of their allotted week away. Last night, they'd finally agreed they needed to buckle down, and that they'd spend this morning at least organizing their project and how, exactly, they were going to go about it. They needed, if nothing else, to at least figure out where they needed to look to find the bloody data.
He already knew where to find some of it, of course. The ministry of magic had a hall of births, where all births to magical parents were recorded the moment the child was born; it didn't even matter if the child was alive or not at the time of birth. He knew that from personal experience, his stillborn sister was registered there. They just had to have had at least one magical parent.
They could find the muggleborn students in the archives of the school registry lists. Those would also tell them which of the wizarding births had been born with power -- of course, also letting them know which ones were squibs simply by their name not being listed for any of the schools. Even if a child never attended school, if they were born a witch or wizard, they appeared. Such was the magical world they lived in.
He had less than no clue where they'd look to find out about muggle births, and finding the full names of the muggle-born students' parents to research their ancestry was just as much a puzzle to him. He could only hope that Ron, with his father's strange interest in all things muggle, might know more about that end of their project.
If all else failed, maybe they could appeal to the older Weasley as a 'source'. It was certainly better than nothing; though he never thought he'd see the day he'd be asking Arthur Weasley for anything. He'd certainly had to listen to enough of his father's rants about the man's ineptitude in general. Now, though, he wondered how much of it was accurate.
Sighing as he reached the library and noticed that Ron was nowhere to be seen, Draco set his supplies on a table and sat, quickly writing down the information he'd already thought of. By the time he'd finished, Ron stomped in and dropped gracelessly into the chair across from him.
"You're late," Draco said sharply.
"I know," Ron replied shortly. "What have you got so far?"
"Not much," he answered sourly, handing over the parchment he'd been writing on.
Ron nodded and handed it back. "There are several places to look for muggle births. One: a place called City Hall, apparently there's one for every town -- course it helps if you know what town they were born in. Two: a place called the Census Bureau. That's a group that keeps track of where all the muggles are living, how many kids they got living with them, who their family is, what kind of jobs they have, stuff like that. And then when we get to the point we need to track backward, there are all sorts of places that store historical documents like family histories and stuff. According to my father the most famous place is in America near some big lake -- a town called Spice River City, or some such. I'll ask him to be sure. He'll probably know where we can look for other countries too."
Draco nodded absently as he quickly copied down the places Ron mentioned. None of the names or places meant anything to him, but they would still be a reminder. When he was finished, he looked up. "With that census thing you mentioned, it should be a lot easier than I thought to get the muggle information."
"Only for the most recent part of our project, and only for those born in or now living in America. That Spice City place, that's for America too, though Dad says that some of the records go back to before they migrated there."
The two of them spent the next hour occupied by bouncing ideas off each other, and ended up with quite a bit of information compiled. Every once in a while, Ron would bounce up out of his seat and head into the stacks. He'd come back with a book, Draco hadn't even realized was in the library, and instruct him to add it to their list of source information. Finally, the eighth time Ron did it, Draco threw down the quill and stared at the redhead when he returned.
"What?"
"I just never really pictured you being much into research, but it looks to me like you really know this library," Draco said, absolutely mystified.
Ron shrugged, a crooked half-grin appearing -- though the expression didn't reach his eyes. "Hermione was the research queen, really," he said, his voice subdued. "It's just that Harry ended up in the hospital wing so much, I was usually the one stuck here helping. I got to be book gopher most of the time so I kinda learned my way around by the sheer repetition, looking for that book she absolutely had to have."
Draco nodded knowingly, smirking. "Now that makes sense," he replied evenly, then continued, not sure he should. "Didn't mean to bring up bad stuff."
Ron smiled at him, this time a touch of light reaching his eyes. "You didn't. Good memories really. She was fun to twit when she was in serious research or study mode. Didn't take much to set her off on one of her tangents, you know? It's just-- Merlin, Draco! It hurts that she's not here."
Draco wasn't sure what to do or say. He'd never liked Granger -- for obvious reasons and not so obvious reasons -- unfortunately Ron had. Draco frowned, searching. "You two seemed really close," he finally ventured.
Ron nodded, his eyes watering.
Oh, Merlin! Don't cry. We're in public for cryin out loud! Draco shifted uneasily. He didn't like it when girls cried, let alone blokes. To his everlasting gratitude, Ron didn't cry. Instead, he took a deep breath and wiped his eyes angrily.
"Sorry," he muttered. "Hey, look," he continued, jumping up suddenly. "I think we've done enough for today. We can come back tomorrow and do more. We'll be able to at least start in on the few books here that will help us."
Draco didn't really agree, but he understood the guy's need to leave. He'd almost cried. That had to be embarrassing. Sighing, he nodded. "Same time?" he asked, slowly gathering up their work.
Ron agreed hastily and beat a quick retreat. The redhead was out the door before Draco had finished putting everything in order. He hadn't even made it to the door when Ron came barreling back in.
"Sorry, but I totally forgot to tell you. I let my folks know I needed to stay over winter break. They okayed all but the last two weeks."
Draco frowned. "But we'll need that time to put the final touches on everything. That's the most important time of the whole project!"
"I know," Ron agreed. "But--"
"Couldn't you owl them and get them to change it to a different two weeks? I mean, what does it matter which two weeks, as long as you spend two weeks with them?"
"I tried that already, believe me. Apparently, that's the only time both Bill and Charlie could get time off, and Mum and Dad want everyone home at the same time."
"How the bloody hell are we supposed to finish our project if we're two separate places?" Draco demanded angrily, his mind furiously trying to come up with a way to do it. He really didn't see them getting it completely finished a whole two weeks ahead of schedule, it would take the whole time alotted and it would take both of them. Professor Snape had not been exaggerating when he'd said it was an 'ambitious' project, in fact he'd been underestimating it by quite a bit. Even if the git didn't consider it a master's thesis, it was close enough as to make no never mind.
"We-ll," Ron began, dragging the word out.
"What?"
"I thought of a way."
"And?"
"You're not going to like it," Ron hedged.
Draco narrowed his eyes. "What . Is . Your . Idea?"
"I asked, and," Ron said, finishing in a mumbled rush, squeezing his eyes shut, "bothMumandDadsaiditwasokayifyoucamewithme."
Draco blinked. Ron couldn't have suggested with he thought Ron just suggested. Surely, he'd mis-heard. "Say that again, and this time . . . speak English."
Ron slumped. "I asked, and both my Mum and my Dad said it was okay if you came with me. You know, when I explained about the huge project and all."
Shock waved through Draco. Him? At the Burrow? For part of winter break? That was something Harry Potter did, not Draco Malfoy.
"Say something, Draco," Ron pleaded. "Please."
Draco tried; he really did, but all that came out was a strange cracked squawk.
Ron wilted. "Oh, come on, Draco, I realize it isn't exactly the Malfoy Estate Manor, but it can't be that bad!" he snapped, spinning away.
Draco snapped out of his daze in time to grab Ron's sleeve as he began stomping off. "Ron, wait."
Sullen, eyes angry, Ron turned and faced him. "Why should I?" he asked.
Draco almost smirked. It was a reversal -- almost -- of the night that had gotten them the project in the first place.
"Because it isn't what you think. I was just shocked, that's all."
"Shocked?" Ron repeated, disbelieving.
"Yes," Draco confirmed, "shocked." He sighed. He really didn't know how to explain it. "Who always spends part of his breaks at your home?" he asked, willing Ron to understand so he didn't have to put it into words. He wasn't entirely certain he could, not and make Ron understand.
Ron frowned. "A lot of people do," he said. "I mean, we're a pretty big family."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, duh, that's like the biggest not secret in the wizarding world, Ron. The name Weasley is rather synonymous with 'big family'."
"Don't forget poor, Malfoy!"
Taking a deep breath, Draco ignored the taunt, outwardly anyway, part of him really wanted to lash back. Instead, he got back to his original question. "I meant who besides your family usually ends up spending part of his break with you at your home?"
Ron's eyes widened. "Oh! Well, yeah, he'll probably be there, too, but I thought you two were getting along pretty well now, and I didn't--"
"That's not why I brought it up!"
Rearing back, Ron frowned. "Well, why did you then?" He seemed honestly confused.
At this point, Draco wasn't even sure anymore. "Just forget it. It's not that big a deal. It's just for the last 7 bloody years, it's been a trademark of Harry Potter's life. It makes it feel . . . odd . . . you know?"
Ron grinned then; though his eyes seemed sad -- which Draco didn't understand until the red-headed prat opened his mouth. "Well, Hermione was a pretty regular guest too, you know . . . if that comparison makes you feel any better."
Draco's jawed dropped open. "You didn't just--" he started, but didn't finish.
"I did!" Ron squeaked, whirled and took off, hitting the library doors at a full tilt run.
Shock held him in place for a split-second then Draco pelted after the red-headed fiend, slipping through the doors just before they swung shut. Fully expecting to have a full-out, castle-over chase on his hands, Draco was startled to run literally into Ron's back almost the moment he passed into the hall.
"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed breathlessly, standing stock still
Stumbling backward, falling quite inelegantly onto his arse-end, Draco frowned up at Ronald Weasley's back. "You're not supposed to be easy to catch, Weasley. You're supposed to--"
"What are you talking about?" Draco asked scrambling to his feet as he realized the hall wasn't exactly empty. Several professors, as well as students, were milling near the front door. As he stepped to the side he caught sight of what, exactly, Ron had been referring to. He almost couldn't believe it. Wasn't she supposed to be dead? She'd turned toward them and was staring at Ron in confusion.
With a minute shift of posture, she was staring at him. He frowned as her eyes seemed to glaze over, her expression growing slack, but what really startled him was when she started screaming. Draco took a step forward, not understanding her rather extreme response. Sure, they'd never gotten along, hated each other, in fact, but wasn't screaming like a banshee at the sight of him a little ridiculous?
**********
Chapter Nine
**********
Severus strode toward the front hall, irritated by the interruption. Saturdays were supposed to be his, barring the occasional patrol, student scuffle, or preplanned detention. Albus, however, having to leave on urgent business -- Severus suspected his absence was connected to the continuing search for the Granger girl -- had divided the headmaster's official duties between Minerva and himself. He'd been the lucky one to get linked to the alarms placed on the school's entrances. At first, he'd liked the idea. It was the one duty he'd thought least likely to result in him running all over the castle. He'd been wrong.
Albus had not been out of the castle proper for more than thirty minutes when the alarms signalling the arrival of non-hostile guests had gone off. No one but him, and presumably Minerva heard them. They were set up that way purposely, so as not to interrupt the daily schedule of the professors and students. Usually, Severus appreciated that fact. Right now, however, he hated it. Traveling from the dungeons to greet unwanted guests at the front door wasn't his idea of a pleasant stroll -- the castle was bloody huge!
He swept into the main hall at precisely the same moment as Minerva, he noticed. With a near snort of amusement, he realized they couldn't possibly have timed it better had they prepared before hand. From opposite directions they closed in on the two guests who, deep in quiet conversation, saw neither of them approach. Minerva only a moment before he, recognized one and froze.
"Miss Granger?" she breathed incredulously, raising a trembling hand to her mouth. It was clear she was hoping she wasn't merely hallucinating.
Eyes narrowing, Severus felt differently. This student had put her friends and a good many of her professors through hell. He, for one, wanted to know where the hell she'd been.
"Miss Granger!" he snapped, striding toward her and the woman next to her. "Kindly explain your extended absence!"
Both women jumped, Granger, wide-eyed, ducked behind the older woman.
"You know her?" the stranger asked, her eyes flashing angrily, hands on hips, feet planted shoulder width apart.
"Of course, I do," he snapped. "Who are you?"
"Severus!" Minerva exclaimed. "Wait for an explanation before you go on a tear, please. There's quite likely an explana--"
"There always is," Severus retorted angrily. Everything for the precious Gryffindors, no sin too sinful to forgive, no crime too heinous to expiate.
"Please, don't fight," Miss Granger asked quietly, her subdued voice little more than a whisper. "Could you please answer a question?" she continued, directing the question toward Minerva; though, she darted a wary glance his way.
"Of course, but you are going to have to tell us what kept you away."
Miss Granger nodded. "What is my name? Did I attend school here, as Mrs. Annetti seems to think likely?"
What?!
Beside him, Minerva seemed to wilt, her throat moving convulsively in a horrified swallow. "You don't remember?"
Miss Granger shook her head. "No Ma'am. I woke up in this woman's home -- Mrs. Annetti -- she nursed me back to health. I was very wounded you see. But in all that time, I've never remembered one thing from before her home."
To say he was shocked would have been to state the bloody obvious. Of all the scenarios that had entered his mind, this had not even been close to one of them.
"Your name is Hermione Granger, and yes, you do attend school here," Minerva offered shakily.
"I'm still a student then?" Granger asked quietly, throwing a worried glance to her companion.
Severus frowned. Why would that concern her so much? What possible difference could it make? He remained silent, listening to the tale unfold.
Mrs. Annetti stepped closer to her patient, giving her a comforting smile before turning to face Minerva. She seemed to ignore him, which suited Severus just fine. "She's been recuperating quite well in my family's home after we found her near to dead. I cast a very low level protection from location charm, to hide her from casual searches. I'm all too aware of what kind of people would do such things to a young girl. It wasn't very strong, however, and easily broached if anyone was interested enough to do an intensive location spell.
"No one did, until last night. Someone is looking for her, someone that found her. It wasn't until then that I managed to convince her to come to Hogwarts to seek aid. Even if no one knew her, the headmaster is well known for helping protect those in need."
Severus frowned, wondering if the spell was Albus' doing, or whether someone else had cast it. "Your family, are they still in your home?" he asked. If it had been any of the remaining death-eaters -- though, he had no reason to believe it had been -- her family might be in danger.
"Of course not," Mrs. Annetti replied immediately, "they're visiting relatives until we can figure out whether friend or foe is on the hunt."
Severus nodded. "It's possible it was the headmaster or his associates who cast the spell. Until recently Miss Granger was assumed to be deceased. New . . . information led us to reopen the search."
"The headmaster is currently not in-residence, but he will be returning this evening," Minerva jumped in, stepping toward Miss Granger. "Mrs. Annetti, you and your family are in our debt for helping Miss Granger. Please, consider yourself our guest, and tonight, when the headmaster returns you can speak with him directly regarding your concerns for you and your family's safety."
"Hermione!"
Weasley!
Severus turned slowly, and almost laughed as Draco ran directly into the frozen Weasley's back.
"You're not supposed to be easy to catch, Weasley. You're supposed to--" Draco taunted, his words cutting off mid-sentence. "What are you talking about?" he demanded petulantly, scrambling quickly to his feet and immediately stepping around the still frozen in place red-head. It didn't take the boy long to figure out what had his companion so enthralled.
Severus smirked as the blond's jaw dropped. Red and white bookends, he thought with amusement. The abrupt shrill, ear-piercing scream that sounded behind him cut off all amusement. He spun around, instantly ready to face anything -- except what he faced. Miss Granger's startling scream cut off just as abruptly as it had began as she suddenly went limp and fell gracelessly.
He leapt forward, but Minerva and Mrs. Annetti, closer, reached her side before he did, both managing to catch her before she hit the stone floor.
With eyes spitting anger, Mrs. Annetti glared at him. "Is it possible that either one of those boys is responsible for what happened to her," she demanded loudly, the venom in her voice promising dire circumstances if the answer was yes.
"No," Severus hissed, quietly, reluctantly continuing when it appeared the dragon-like Mrs. Annetti just might question the boys to verify his answer. He reached out and grabbed her arm, forestalling her movement. Under his hand she stiffened, her glare deepening. "But it is possible that someone older, that happens to look a lot like one of them is."
It took only a second for the woman's eyes to widen in understanding, then relax under his grip. He tentatively released her, hoping she really did understand what he'd been hinting. He didn't want Draco Malfoy traumatised any more than he already was.
"We need to get Miss Granger to the hospital wing," Minerva said firmly. Rising to her feet, she drew her wand.
"No," Mrs. Annetti denied instantly, shielding Miss Granger. "No magic."
"Why on-- Oh!" Minerva exclaimed, blanching.
Severus frowned, irritated with the delay. Why wouldn't-- His own thought processes caught up with Minerva's. Bloody hell! "Why wasn't it aborted early on?" he hissed quietly, angrier than he'd ever expected to be on Miss Granger's behalf.
"I'm merely a hedge-witch. I do not have the ability to brew the potion required for that, and the only spells that might accomplish the same thing, wreck almost as much damage on the mother's body as it does to the embryo. What would have had me done, Sir, torture the girl?"
"Of course not!" he snapped. Stepping forward he swept the unconscious student up into his arms and strode toward Madam Pomfrey.
Mrs. Annetti stuck close to his side.
Joy, he thought sourly.
"You must also remember," the woman reminded him quietly, "she has no memory of what happened to her. Was I supposed to inform a critically wounded patient that not only was she was pregnant, but that a brutal rape was what made her that way?"
Put that way, he had to admit the woman, confound her, was right. Even he knew that amnesia victims were supposed to recover their memories in their own time and at their own pace. Forcing the return of the memories most often led to disaster.
As he lay Miss Granger on a hospital bed, he mentally tallied up the time that had passed. She was a touch over 3 1/2 months along. He shook his head. He didn't know if he believed it would be better if Miss Granger didn't recover her memories soon or not. Not, certainly meant having an easier time accepting the pregnancy. Recovering them meant either a very difficult abortion or a very traumatic pregnancy.
Neither were good choices, he thought as Madam Pomfrey hustled forward.
"Oh my!" the medi-witch exclaimed upon seeing her patient.
First, quickly outlining the problem to Poppy, Severus stepped aside to allow the medi-witch to tend Miss Granger.
"Mrs. Annetti, the woman who has been caring for Miss Granger will be better able to give you any information you need," Severus said with a brief nod, heading out of the hospital without further adeu. Nothing against Poppy, but he really didn't like being in the hospital wing. He had spent far too much time there over the years.
Minerva stopped him as soon as he stepped outside its confines.
"What, Minerva?" he asked tiredly. It had already been a long day, and the day itself was less than half over.
"Mr. Malfoy didn't take Miss Granger's reaction at all well. You may need to speak with him." Minerva paused, looking more hesitant than he'd ever seen her.
"Spit it out, Minerva," he said shortly. "Whatever it is, isn't going to go away if you delay long enough."
"Mr. Malfoy is a very intelligent young man. He's connected the clues and, I think, made certain . . . assumptions as to why she might have reacted that way to the sight of him."
"Merlin's ghost!" Severus exclaimed, then sighed in defeat. "Very well. Do you know where he is?"
**********
Chapter Ten
**********
Ron stared at the suddenly empty main hall, blinked. Hermione's alive! He grinned, frowning immediately after. What the hell was she screaming about? "Come on, Draco. I'm going to find out if she's going to be okay."
When he got no response, Ron turned and gasped. Draco was just standing there, way too pale, and shaking so hard Ron could see it. Now torn between checking on Hermione and the immediate problem in front of him -- neither of which he understood in the slightest -- he stepped closer to Draco, laying a hand on the blond's shoulder.
Draco jumped, then swallowed so hard Ron swore he looked like he was trying to swallow his adam's apple. "Why?"
Ron frowned. Why what? "I don't know why she screamed like that, mate," he replied, glancing the direction everyone had disappeared. "I guess--"
"No!" Draco shouted, jerking away. "Why does he ruin everything?"
Okay, he admitted it. He didn't know what on earth Draco was talking about. He really wished there was a professor around. "Who, Draco?"
"My father!" Draco spat.
Opening his mouth to reply, Ron shut it again without saying anything. Huh? "Draco, I hate to break it to you, but your father can't ruin anything," he said finally, really not sure what else to say.
Draco didn't respond, moving away so fast he was almost running.
"Draco! Where are you going?"
"Out!" Draco snapped without breaking stride. "I'm not discussing this where anyone can overhear."
Where are all the bloody professors? Ron wondered frantically. At this point, he'd even be thankful to see Professor Snape. "Wait up," he shouted, darting after Draco. Just as they reached the front door, Ron thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, but when he jerked his head around there was no one there.
Draco didn't wait for him, but didn't object to his presence when he caught up.
Ron didn't say anything, he just fell into step beside his confusing friend. They hadn't been friends long, and Ron didn't have any known words of comfort. He hoped his quiet presence would be enough to help. It had been for Hermione when she was upset, and despite his joke earlier, he'd discovered over the last few months that Draco had more in common with Hermione than he'd probably ever be willing to admit.
As soon as they were outside, Draco's urgent stride slowed to a normal walk, and Ron was grateful. He hadn't been looking forward to racing all over Hogwarts' grounds. They didn't talk, just walked, stopping every once in a while as Draco seemed to scan the horizon. Ron was pretty sure he was looking to make sure no one else was around; though, Ron wouldn't have wanted to swear to it.
Just when he was beginning to think he'd taken the wrong track with Draco, the blond spoke suddenly, the subject wasn't what he expected however. In fact he didn't see how it applied.
"Everything is so different now," Draco offered quietly, folding himself to sit on the ground facing the lake.
"Yeah, it is, Draco," Ron replied, not sure what else to say. He wasn't exactly a counselor. Quite the opposite, he was the one who always ended up with his foot in his mouth, invariably saying the one thing to make everything worse. He was scared he was going to do it now, too. He was so worried about Hermione, and on top of that worried about Harry, who'd been so withdrawn for the last two weeks, and now, Draco was acting strangely.
"After it first happened, everyone was so quiet, so careful. No one dared say the least thing wrong, and when anyone laughed, they felt bad about being able to."
Ron nodded in understanding. "Yeah. It's like there was this feeling of how can we laugh when things are so bad." What's that got to do with what's bothering you? he added silently, frustrated. He felt the incredible urge to just ask outright what the problem was, but didn't dare. Draco could still be so . . . prickly sometimes. If he asked, and it was the wrong thing to do, or if asked in the wrong way, Draco would never open up to him, he'd just bury it all inside.
"Now, things are finally starting to settle. Even the little kids are starting to act like kids again." Draco smiled a tiny rueful smile. "And no, I never thought I'd be worried about things like that."
Ron sighed. This was as bad as the day they'd talked about Crabbe and Goyle. He'd been just as lost then, just as unable to understand what was really wrong. He had the sneaking suspicion that he'd stay just as lost this time in finding out what the real problem was.
He tentatively reached out and grasped Draco shoulder, giving as much comfort as he thought the blond would allow.
Shuddering, Draco let out a sound of disgust. "I feel so bloody . . . guilty, and I don't like it!" he snapped. He jerked his head around to glare at Ron. "How do you make it stop?" he demanded.
Ron's eyes widened. "You've never felt guilty before?" he asked, not able to keep all the shock he felt out of his question.
Wincing, Draco shook his head. "Not until recently."
Ron hesitated, knowing that somehow, now, they were finally getting to the root of what was bothering Draco, and knew he was going to mess this up somehow. He shrugged helplessly. He'd felt guilty about so many different things and gotten over it, but he had no clue about how he had. He just had. "It might help," he suggested hesitantly, "if I knew what you're feeling guilty about. I mean, seems to me, you haven't done anything . . . recently . . . to feel that way."
"I'm worried."
Okay, that helped muddy the waters. Let's try for some clearing. "There's a lot to be worried about," he offered quietly. Could I get any more lame?
Draco shot to his feet, hissing in annoyance. "I'm worried about me!" he shouted, disgust clear in his voice. "People are dead. Others mutilated. Others gone completely round the bend. And . I'm . Worried . About . Me!" Draco dropped back to the ground, refusing to look at Ron. "I'm supposed to worry about me. It's what I was brought up to do. It's the smart thing to do. But right now, I hate it. Compared to a lot of people, I've got it great. Even if--"
Oh! "Even if?" Ron prodded, clenching his entire body tightly to prevent himself from pushing too hard.
Dropping his head onto his knees, Draco muttered beneath his breath. "Even if I do lose mmff."
"Lose what, Draco?" Ron asked scooting forward. "What are you afraid of losing?"
"You know, I've never really had a friend before," Draco said suddenly, sitting all the way back up. He still didn't look at Ron, though.
Oh. Ouch. OH! Wow. "Not to make all sorts of assumptions here, Draco, but, umm, just in case, I'm a pretty hard friend to shake."
"I think my father's the one who hurt Hermione," Draco said flatly, almost daring Ron to make something of it.
"What?!" Ron shouted angrily, jumping to his feet.
Draco flinched and closed his eyes.
I'm such a prat! Ron thought instantly. He wanted nothing more than to rant and scream and shout and just plain stomp his feet in rage. He slumped, and found himself on the ground without making a conscious decision to sit down. "Because of the way she screamed when she looked at you," he said flatly, his volume very carefully controlled. He knew his temper. He'd better; it had certainly gotten him into enough fixes. If he didn't work very hard at it, he went kinda berserk sometimes, acting without thinking at all.
Part of him wanted that right now. It wanted him to launch himself at Draco, the living representation of all that had hurt Hermione. Yes, he believed Draco was right. It made sense. He didn't know how he did it, but he managed not to lash out.
Draco nodded. "He was there that night, you know."
Ron stayed silent, clamping iron control on his anger.
"From what I could piece together, Professor Snape is the one who killed him."
Ron moaned, and was startled to find Draco suddenly looking his direction, slate grey eyes boring into his, a sad question lurking in their shadows.
"How can you stand being around him?" Ron asked in a hushed whisper.
"What do you care?" Draco demanded harshly. "You hated him."
"Yes, I did, Draco," Ron admitted, "but I care about you."
Draco's expression turned incredulous.
"Look, you're right," Ron retorted defensively, just as if Draco had called him a liar. "I didn't like him, enough said on that. For all I know he was the best dad imaginable."
Draco coughed, or maybe it was snorted, Ron didn't know for sure. All he did know, was that whatever it was, it sounded like a very clear 'not in this universe' to him.
"Or maybe the worst ever," Ron went on, hurriedly rushing to his next point before Draco could take exception, "Or maybe he was like most dads, good at some things, bad at some, and a complete embarrassment in other things."
Draco chuckled, and Ron wilted in relief. Finally, he'd said something right.
"What I do know, is that he was your father. He was family. And that's gotta hurt once everything's said and done. And that's why I care."
"Yes."
"Hurts?"
Draco nodded, eyes surprisingly filling with tears.
Oh Merlin! What do I do now?
The tears silently spilled down his cheeks and Draco angrily wiped them away.
Ron, terribly sure he was doing the wrong thing, reached out and roughly pulled Draco into a hug. It's what he would have wanted, and he dearly hoped Draco would too. Draco stiffened immediately, but Ron didn't release the blond. He would have protested at first too. It was a guy thing.
He was about to let go when Draco suddenly quit pushing against him, every muscle in his body seemingly relaxing at once. It was followed seconds later by shaking sobs, muffled as Draco buried his head in Ron's shoulder.
Before he realized what he was doing, Ron was rocking back and forth slowly, murmuring soft nonsense, and just letting Draco get it all out. By Merlin, though, he wanted to make Draco laugh instead of cry. He wasn't sure he could handle this. He wanted to make some stupid, inane quip and just make the pain go away.
"I hated him!" Draco said, not moving from his position.
"It's okay," Ron replied, hoping he was right. It was followed by a very long silence, broken only by the normal daytime sounds, and Draco's quiet weeping.
"I miss him."
Oh, Merlin! I'm so out of my depth here! He wanted to jerk away and ask Draco how he could possibly miss him. He didn't -- but he didn't know how he managed it.
"I know," he replied instead.
"He was a first-class bastard, and I miss him."
"Of course you do," was the only answer Ron could come up with. A bloke missing his father was as natural as breathing, or so it seemed to him. Ron couldn't even begin to imagine how torn up he'd be if it had been his dad that had died. It would seem like nothing would ever be right again. It was bad enough that-- He cut off that train of thought immediately. If he didn't, neither one of them would be coherent.
In time, Draco quieted, and their rocking slowed to a stop, the hand Ron had been absently rubbing soothingly across Draco's back stopped moving even as Ron realized he'd been doing it.
Draco shrugged out of his hold uncomfortably, his flushed cheeks tracked with tearstains. "Sorry 'bout that," he mumbled, looking away.
"S'okay," Ron replied dismissively, "what else are friends for?"
Draco looked back at him then, wearing an expression Ron couldn't decipher. After a long moment Ron's heart skipped a beat in his chest. There was something . . . compelling about the way Draco was sitting, looking at him. His mouth not completely closed, the way he tilted his head, it all seemed . . . familiar somehow. It almost looked like-- Before he realized he was doing it, Ron leaned forward.
Oh bloody hell, Ronald Weasley, what do you think you're doing?! He's going to kill you! He's going to chop you up into tiny little pieces and leave you in Snape's lab to be used in potions.
Staring at Draco's suddenly irresistible mouth, Ron didn't miss the pink tongue tip that darted out to moisten lips, and he desperately wanted to capture it with his own mouth. Then, his mouth brushed across Draco's, the blond's lips pliant and responsive beneath his. He moaned, low in his throat, Draco's active participation sending a jolt of arousal shooting through him. He'd expected death and was getting a piece of heaven instead.
Shaking, he pulled back, his eyes darting immediately up to Draco's. "Oh my!" he whispered even as Draco raised a trembling hand to his own mouth as if to make sure it had really happened.
The overly loud crack of a dried branch snapping, had both of them jerking their heads around at the sound. They scrambled hastily to their feet as they located the source.
Ron blushed fiercely. "Professor Snape!" he squeaked, thankful to hear Draco's surprised greeting hadn't sounded any less shaken than his. He and Draco were out in the open. The Professor had to have seen what just happened, and Ron was now absolutely positive it was possible to die of embarrassment. He didn't dare look over at Draco to see how he was reacting. Of all the people to be caught by!
"Mr. Weasley," Professor Snape replied drily, his mouth twisted into a knowing smirk that did nothing but heighten Ron's mortification at having been caught. "Mr. Malfoy."
Please ground, open and swallow me right now! Ron begged silently.
"Leave, Mr. Weasley," Professor Snape said sternly, not even looking in his direction.
Ron hesitated, casting a helpless, apologetic glance to Draco, and wilted in relief when he saw understanding in the pale face. "Later, Draco," he said quickly, darting out of the danger range as fast he could.
**********
Chapter Eleven
**********
Severus stared down at Draco Malfoy, almost wanting to cleanse his own eyes with muggle bleach. What he'd seen, he could have lived his entire life without seeing. He smirked, though, as a renewed blush stole across Malfoy's checks. It really did stand out against his nearly white hair and pale skin. The boy shifted uncomfortably, not meeting his gaze for one of the first times ever.
He sighed. "I understand you had some . . . concerns about Miss Granger's return," he began, after making sure that Weasley was far enough away he couldn't hear the exchange. This really wasn't his specialty; though it wasn't the first time he'd played the role of counselor for the Slytherins in his charge. It simply wasn't his favorite, nor his most comfortable role. Being 'polite' enough to be of any use was . . . difficult for him.
Draco's head snapped up, his eyes suddenly flaring with raw emotion.
Yes, boy, Severus thought, that's better than gazing at the ground like a shy 1st year.
"You could say that," Draco replied tightly, his voice denying the storm of emotion flickering through his eyes and across his face.
"Perhaps you would care to tell me why it concerns you so?" Severus pressed, wondering just what the key was to opening the floodgates in this instance.
Did he tell Weasley?
"Did you, perhaps, have a hand in what happened to her?" he asked with deceptive nonchalance.
"NO!" Malfoy shouted, then cleared his throat in embarrassment at his outburst. "No," he repeated more quietly. "I didn't."
"Someone inside Hogwarts had to have placed the port key that ensnared Miss Granger."
Malfoy ground his teeth.
"Did you have knowledge that it was going to happen?"
"No!"
"Well, then," Severus concluded, hoping to goad the young man, "it seems to me, her current condition should be nothing to you."
Prove me wrong, boy.
Malfoy gaped at him. "How can you say that?" he hissed.
"Quite easily, I assure you," Severus replied drily. Thank Merlin for the ability to lie through my teeth.
"It would be obvious to a blind 1st year!" Malfoy shouted.
"Indeed, if that's so, then explain it to me."
Malfoy looked away, not speaking.
"You do realize, your silence is circumstantially condemning?"
"Why would Granger scream the moment she saw me?" Malfoy spat at him angrily, attempting to turn the tables.
Severus hid his smirk. "I can think of several good reasons," he replied immediately, knowing his non-answer would infuriate the boy. "Why do you think she did," he continued, smoothly blocking Malfoy's attempt. Come on, boy; spit it out! Stop making me act like an Albus wanna-be.
"I think my father," he retorted, his teeth clenched tightly together, the word father spat out like the vilest of insults, "was the one to hurt her."
"Ah," Severus replied, mentally kicking himself when he came out sounding even more like Albus. "And you think this is what? Somehow your fault?"
"Of course not!"
This time Severus waited instead of pushing. He didn't have to wait long.
"When I first came to Hogwarts, I was so sure my father was a god. He knew absolutely everything. He couldn't possibly be wrong about anything. I took everything he taught me to heart. I believed it. Muggleborns were the downfall of the wizarding world. Purebloods had to fight back or end up destroyed. I lived that. Everything I did, everything I said, everything I wanted, revolved around that simple 'truth'. He was above all the bad things I'd heard whispered in the dark about death-eaters. He had a goal. He wasn't some low-life scum that would--"
Itching to comment, Severus forced himself to remain silent.
"You know don't you that for most of my life I fully intended to follow the Dark Lord? Be a true Malfoy; follow in my father's footsteps, the whole nine yards."
Severus nodded, remaining silent. Now that Malfoy's words were flowing, he didn't want to take any chance he'd stop them by saying the wrong thing, by being too condescending, sounding too judgemental.
"The worst part of all this," Malfoy continued, his voice dropping to a whisper so quiet, Severus had to strain to hear it. "The fact that he was there that day, it means he knew. He knew what was going to happen here at Hogwarts. He didn't tell me, warn me."
A shard of pain shot through Severus. This specific hurt was one he wished he could take away from this boy who'd already been through so much. To know a parent cared so little as to be able to 'throw you away', was a pain like no other. He knew that from personal experience.
"It is possible that Voldemort kept it from him," Severus began tentatively.
Draco, however, threw him a disbelieving look and he couldn't continue with the 'comforting lie'.
"Unfortunately, it's very doubtful. I'm . . . sorry."
Draco shook off his rather pathetic attempt at sympathy, gaze firmly locked back on the ground. "Do you really want to know what made me change my mind?" he asked suddenly, changing the subject abruptly. "About following the Dark Lord, I mean."
Severus hesitated. He wasn't sure he wanted to, but knew a negative answer just might close the boy off. He nodded. "If you wish to tell me."
"I found out he was a half-blood." Draco snorted, shaking his head. "Not a very profound reason, is it?"
"No, it isn't," Severus agreed. "Is that also why you defended the children, many of whom were muggleborn and mixed bloods?"
"No," came the quiet reply. "It was more by then."
"Mr. Malfoy . . . Draco, look at me." Using up most of his limited store of patience, Severus waited to continue until Draco's eyes met his, then chose his words carefully. "Whatever reason you chose that started you on this path is . . . irrelevant."
Draco started to protest, but Severus held up a cautioning hand.
"It is, Draco. The point is, you made a choice, and when push came to shove and you were boxed into a corner, you stuck with that decision, choosing to save lives rather than take them."
"Well, sure, but--"
"No buts, Draco," Severus said firmly allowing no room in his tone for dissention. "What you've chosen isn't the easy road. You can take my word for that. But," Severus paused. Never an optimist, a 'positive' person, he wrestled with himself to give such advice to one who would have a long hard time ahead of him. Most of the people he'd been raised to respect would now look down on him. "It definitely has its rewards."
Draco stared at him long and hard, and Severus fought to allow the blatantly assessing gaze. "So, you're telling me that it's worth it?"
He smirked, and couldn't stop the snort. "It will not be some sentimental bed of bloody roses, I assure you," he warned, "but if I'm completely honest, then yes, it's worth it." Schooling his features into his more accustomed sneer, he rose gracefully. "If you tell anyone I admitted that, however, and you will discover what the Gryffindors have known all along, Mr. Malfoy."
Severus continued smirking at the boy then, cocking an eyebrow, daring him to ask. It was an even proposition whether Draco would take him up on it. A Gryffindor, of course, couldn't have refused the challenge -- well, perhaps except Longbottom, who seemed to swallow his tongue as well as every tiny bit of dexterity he might have ordinarily possessed whenever he came within sighting distance of Severus. A Slytherin, like Draco, would first weight the consequences of what could be taken as impertinence.
"And what would that be?" Draco asked warily, wisely sensing a trap, but evidently having decided the risk was worth the information.
Severus snorted; either that, or he doubted the Gryffindors could possibly know anything he didn't. Leaning forward slightly, Severus hissed his words. "Just how vicious I can be in handing out detention chores," he said, enjoying the way Draco's eyes widened comically as he spun on one heel fully intending to stalk off and give the boy time to think about what had been said.
"Professor Snape!"
Glaring in the direction of the shout, Severus stopped and waited. It didn't take the out of breath apprentice long to reach them.
"Madam pant Pomfrey gasp needs a gulp special--"
Now irritated in earnest, Severus raised a hand to silence the idiotic child. "Catch your breath before you speak," he scolded scathingly, wondering why Madam Pomfrey, an otherwise competent medi-witch, always seemed to choose the worst sort of simpering idiots as apprentices. Unfortunately, it seemed that Miss Wolffe was not to be the exception. "You are incomprehensible and sound absolutely inane, otherwise."
Nodding, Miss Wolffe took the time to gulp in lungfuls of air before trying again. "Madam Pomfrey says Miss Granger needs a special calming potion because of the baby."
A horrified gasp sounded behind him even as rage shot through Severus. "Be thankful I can no longer assign detention nor remove house points from you Miss Wolffe, or Hufflepuff would be in the negative, and you would be spending the next year shoveling dung for Professor Hagrid!" he snapped, his expression hardening unforgiveably. "You can also be assured," he continued, drawling disdainfully, "Madam Pomfrey will hear of your heinous breach of patient confidentiality!"
"Come with me, Mr. Malfoy," he snapped, leaving the startled apprentice gaping after them. Merlin's ghost and Circe on a crutch! Severus sputtered silently. This was all he needed now.
Draco caught up with him, grabbing his arm. "Tell me it was someone else! Tell me she's wrong. Tell me what I'm thinking is wrong!"
Closing his eyes briefly, Severus shook his head. "I cannot." Too much evidence had been discovered. It wasn't just Potter's nightmares; they had merely set things in motion. When questioned under veritaserum, two separate surviving death-eaters had confirmed Malfoy's actions and the timing of the order's attack.
"Oh, Merlin," Draco gasped, going decidedly green.
Severus grabbed hold of the boy's arm as Draco gagged, his body jerking. "Don't fall apart now, Mr. Malfoy," he snapped, dragging Draco forward. "I have to make that potion. You can heave to your heart's content once we reach my lab."
Thank Circe, there are facilities attached! He really didn't have time for this if Madam Pomfrey wanted the likes of a calming potion -- considering Miss Granger's full circumstances -- but he couldn't just leave the boy here.
The potion would take almost an hour to make without the delays Miss Wolffe's criminal insensitivity had caused. Livid, didn't begin to describe what he was feeling toward that girl.
She couldn't have known who the baby's father was.
Severus snarled to himself, startling the pale boy in his grasp.
"I'm sorry, Professor," Draco muttered.
"Do not concern yourself, Mr. Malfoy," Severus replied firmly, not once slowing his pace.
**********
Chapter Twelve
**********
Draco sagged as Professor Snape manhandled him onto a stool. Cold fingers circled the back of his neck, and he suddenly found himself being pushed forward until his head was between his knees.
Oh! That helps.
His mind wouldn't stop, though. He couldn't push out the unwanted thoughts, the vile images that would flash through his brain as disgustingly vivid portraits. The one thing that wouldn't quit, that kept recycling over and over, bothered him the most.
Why is Professor Snape so sure? How can I believe it?
"Stay put," Professor Snape snapped. "If you feel the need to heave, however, at least attempt to make it through the door opposite the entrance."
Draco mumbled a, 'yes, Sir,' which came out garbled but sounding vaguely affirmative, and heard the professor move away, to gather potion ingredients -- Draco assumed.
He didn't move. It was all too much. He couldn't sort through any of it, one thing after another coming without any time to process in between, jumbled it all in his mind. He wished he could just shut off his brain for a while, then maybe he could get his stomach to quit trying to twist itself outside his body.
He tried to think rationally, allowing the regular sounds of Professor Snape's movements about the room soothe him. There wasn't any proof, he reasoned. This was all assumptions. The fact that she'd screamed as soon as she saw him only hinted that his father had been there, nothing else. There could have been any number of reasons she'd reacted badly.
Taking up lying to yourself now?
Slowly raising his head, Draco stared at Professor Snape, confusion giving way to anger. He wished he dared scream and shout and demand answers. The desire grew inside him as the professor continued about his work, seemingly completely at ease, totally ignoring him.
"You're sure, aren't you!" he shouted, suddenly desperate to hear the professor deny it.
Please say no!
"Yes."
Draco seethed. The bastard hadn't even looked up from his preparations as he'd crushed Draco's hopes. How long have you known?
"Is that why you killed him?" Draco pushed, wanting, needing confirmation, a reaction, anything from Snape that wasn't the absolute calm the man was projecting. He needed to know that someone besides him was feeling out of control, that it wasn't just his world falling apart.
Professor Snape's head snapped up, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles along the jawline twitched.
Looks like I got my reaction! Draco thought uneasily, wondering if maybe he shouldn't have pushed so hard.
"No, Mr. Malfoy," Snape replied tightly, immediately returning his attention to his work. "It was not."
Look at me, you son-of-a-bitch!
"At the time, I was not even aware that Miss Granger was still alive."
How do you know he did anything to her at all, then!? Draco screamed silently, but didn't ask. "Then why did you?" he asked instead. "Why didn't--"
Professor Snape rounded on him then, startling him. Draco stumbled back in surprise -- a not a little fear -- not sure if he hadn't just crossed a very important line in his driving need to simply know.
"Mr. Malfoy, I do not have time for this nonsense right now."
It's not nonsense!
"If you want to know the whys and wherefors of every single blasted death I was witness to in this accursed war, I will be happy to pull out my entire supply of firewhiskey, force feed it to you, and discuss it with you until you pass out from alcohol poisoning -- later. Until then, I suggest you quit wasting my time and cut to the chase. Ask what you really want to know and be done with it!"
Draco clenched his fists at his sides, white hot rage surging through him. "Why are you so bloody sure it was him, then, damn it!? You weren't there!" he shouted, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper as he continued. "Why am I so certain?"
"Draco," Professor Snape said, his voice firm, certain, but for a change it was not unkind. "I do not have time to try and be comforting. If I answer the questions you ask, you will not like the answers. Before you ask again, I suggest you consider that well."
Draco stood defiantly, waiting, watching as the professor's hands never stopped their work. Well if that didn't just already answer anyway! he thought sourly. Unfortunately, that didn't stop his insane urge to make sure. Hints weren't enough. If he didn't hear the words, he would never be sure. He'd never know for sure that he wasn't believing totally vile slander.
"I have to know," he whispered, inching forward until he stood across the work bench from the potions master.
Without so much as a nanosecond of hesitation, Professor Snape began to speak, his voice flat, monotone. "I have ample evidence to believe your father raped--"
Draco cringed, his stomach rebelling yet again.
"Miss Granger. I--"
"Did she tell you that?"
"If you interrupt me, Mr. Malfoy, I will cease giving you the information you say you want. Understood?"
Draco nodded reluctantly.
"No, she did not. At the time of our meeting, she recalled absolutely nothing about her life."
"Amnesia," Draco breathed, not really intending to interrupt, but unable to keep the word inside. The very idea was . . . repellent, like a memory charm gone bad.
Professor Snape glared at him, briefly glancing up from the final stages of brewing. "Yes. And no, before you ask, I will not reveal my source. It is accurate. It has been confirmed by two other separate sources. Leave it at that."
Reluctantly, Draco nodded again.
"The evidence I witnessed also suggests that the Order's attack took place immediately after, allowing Miss Granger to escape further injury during the confusion. And that, Mr. Malfoy, is the bald truth. You wanted it. You got it. Now, you must live with it."
What evidence? Draco thought, his mind whirling. Had someone been there, watching? Several someones? A sudden image flashed through his mind, a whole circle of death-eaters cheering like a bunch of school boys cheering on a schoolyard fight. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed convulsively. I will not be sick!
For long moments, Draco worked through his thoughts, desperate to reconcile what he used to know with what he now knew. He kept coming back around to one vital piece of information. It stuck in his craw and made it all seem so much more hideous than it already was. Granger was his age. How could his father--
Swallowing again, Draco forced his focus outward. Desperate to quiet his unwanted thoughts, he watched, focusing all his attention on Professor Snape as he put out the flame and carefully decanted the potion into a waiting vial. Draco continued watching, waiting, until the potion was safely stoppered, then spoke. This time, he kept his voice quiet and calm, afraid too much of anything and he would once again be lost. It was a frightening feeling, like he was holding onto the ledge of a cliff with just his fingertips to keep him from falling into an abyss.
"Were you going to tell me?" he asked as Professor Snape began to move away.
Ahead of him, the professor's shoulders slumped as he let out a deep sigh. "It wasn't my place, Draco. Who knows what, is Miss Granger's decision. Other than some of the staff, and that deeply stupid apprentice, you are the only one to know. If--"
"Weasley knows I think it was my father that hurt her," Draco said quickly, ignoring the glare he received for interrupting. "We . . . talked."
"Draco, I'm glad you have someone to talk to, but this is not something you can share with him."
"Professor, please. I'm not slow. But, despite all appearances, neither is Weasley, as soon as it's obvious, he'll figure it out anyway."
Where this sudden calm was coming from, Draco didn't know, but he was thankful for it. Being so out of control was anathema to him. He wasn't naive enough to believe he was finished with his little flirtations with insanity, however. He just hoped he could have a little more privacy for the next one. Two in one day with witnesses was more than enough for him.
"Professor?" he asked trailing beside the older man.
"What?!" Professor Snape snarled.
"Do you think she'll abort it?"
I sure as hell would!
"That, Mr. Malfoy, is none of your concern, and where I draw the line," Professor Snape said with a quelling glare. "What ever gave you the idea that I would be willing to speculate with you about the actions of one of your fellow students?"
Not my concern!? Draco thought rebelliously. As little as anyone may like the idea -- myself included -- that baby is my--
The hallway spun around him, flashing to almost pitch black. Panic shooting through him, Draco heard a faint, "oh, hell!" as the world went away.
