Remedial History

Chapter Sixteen: “Because I am a Slytherin”

Theo was lying on the drawing room sofa when he came to. A plump, motherly-looking witch with red hair was holding an ice pack on his forehead. “Don’t try to sit up just yet, dear,” she said. She kept patting him on the shoulder, which made him uncomfortable.

“I’m all right, really,” Theo insisted, raising his head and looking around the room. Several people were clustered around the sofa, including Professor Lupin and Regulus, both of whom looked rather battered. Professor Snape was nowhere to be seen.

“What happened?” he asked.

“You met the usual fate of peacemakers,” said Professor Lupin with a wry smile. “You settled our argument pretty effectively, though. Neither Peter Pettigrew nor Bardolph Avery would have done what you did.”

“Where’s Professor Snape?”

“Asleep upstairs. He’ll be fine too, although Reg and I managed to do some damage between us. He’s an expert duelist, but it’s hard to parry two spells at once.”

“I thought two-on-one fights were ungentlemanly and dishonorable?” Theo murmured. His perceptions had shifted on some fundamental level, and he no longer felt inclined to defer to the adults in his life without question.

“They are. We were behaving disgracefully and you were absolutely right to call us on it.”

“Everybody’s entitled to a second, Moony,” Regulus put in. “It’s not our fault if nobody likes Snape enough to be his.”

“We. Will. Discuss. That. In. Private,” said Lupin in a tone that did not bode well for Regulus.

“Yes, Mr. Prefect, sir,” said Regulus, not looking even slightly chastened. “You did good, kid. I’m proud of you.”

Lupin gave him an exasperated look, but decided not to pursue the subject. “I’m proud of you too – although, for future reference, I do not advise walking directly into a crossfire. Severus said it was very Gryffindor of you.”

“That’s the worst insult he knows.”

Lupin shook his head. “I’ve heard him say far worse. I’ll also tell you that he refused to leave the room or let anyone see to his injuries until he was certain you were going to be all right. Don’t let him find out you know this, because I’m sure he’d die before admitting it.”

Theo tried to take this in, but it made his head hurt worse than before. People were confusing. He recalled that he’d been struggling with an even more confusing idea just before the fight broke out. He shut his eyes, trying to remember...

He opened his eyes suddenly. “What made you ask me whether I’d said anything to Blaise?”

Lupin looked miserable. “I hoped I wouldn’t have to tell you this, but I think you’d better know.” He removed a crumpled piece of parchment from his briefcase. Theo recognized Blaise’s handwriting. It looked like a school essay, but it wasn’t written in English. Theo read the title, upside down: Mode de reconnaître et tuer les loups-garous. “Do you read French, Theo?”

“No.”

Lupin looked around the drawing room. “Does anyone here know French?” Nobody spoke up. “Very well. We could get in touch with Fleur Delacour and have her translate, but she’s gone to Prague with Bill, and I don’t know when they’ll be back. Or I could. Will you trust me?”

Theo nodded.

“One of the third-year students pushed this under my office door three years ago. The author didn’t sign it. It is the essay about how to recognize and kill werewolves that Professor Snape assigned, and it is a very well-researched and well-written piece of work. A thorough, correct, and conventional treatment of the subject, except for the last two lines.” He turned the parchment over and coughed. “‘There is an old legend that werewolves have an exceptionally acute sense of hearing. If this is true, the most effective way to destroy one would be to make too much noise.’ Do you understand what that means?”

Theo’s world splintered into tiny fragments and then, almost immediately, re-formed itself in a new and strange shape. So many little things that had made him wonder all fit together. He had no doubt that the new idea that had come into his head was the truth, but it made him feel sick to his stomach.

“Blaise ... was blackmailing you,” he said at last. “You called him into your office, didn’t you? I heard you telling him about Azkaban.”

“Yes,” said Lupin quietly. “Do you believe me?”

“Yeah,” said Theo. “I – I think you're right. I’m sure he was the one who did it to Neville as well, but I didn’t help him. He’d already found out about Neville’s parents on his own. When Draco asked me to recruit Neville, he told me that he’d looked up the people who fought in the last war, and that I had my work cut out for me. And ... his dad didn’t seem to care much about him, but he stopped looking short of money in our second year. I think he might’ve been blackmailing Professor Lockhart too. Blaise was the bad wizard Kreacher was afraid of, not my father.”

He stared at Lupin’s worn robes and beat-up briefcase. It was easy to see why Gilderoy Lockhart might have been worth blackmailing, and Draco had been putting pressure on him to recruit Neville into the P.Y.L., but he didn’t understand what Blaise could possibly have wanted from their third-year Defence professor. “But – but why did he do it to you? He liked you. He thought you were a good teacher.”

“I don’t know. He didn’t make any demands. And when I confronted him, he asked for an absurdly large amount of money, a sum I’m sure he knew I didn’t have. I believe he did it for power, Theo. It didn’t matter who he liked or didn’t like, he simply enjoyed having that hold over people.” Lupin stared off into the distance for a moment and added thoughtfully, “You asked me about Blaise’s boggart once. I think it is the visible representation of powerlessness – the old family home from which he was excluded. And his way of banishing it was to burn it to ashes. I remember thinking at the time that he had a very odd sense of humor.”

“Why didn’t you tell anybody about this?” asked the red-haired woman sharply.

“One doesn’t publicize these things when there’s a thirteen-year-old involved, Molly. Or so I thought at the time. But I did tell a few people. Severus Snape – although Merlin only knows whether he made any attempt to discipline the boy – and I wrote a letter to my successor, Alastor Moody, only of course it fell into the hands of Bartemius Crouch, Jr. instead. When that came to light, I assumed that Blaise had given up his blackmailing ways after my talk with him – because, frankly, if he’d tried that trick on Crouch, he wouldn’t be alive today.”

“But he didn’t,” said Theo dully. “And for all I know, he might have lied to me about Draco thinking I was a traitor, just to get me out of the way. He was trying to be president of the P.Y.L., and there I was, trying to talk people into leaving.”

He thought of the last toast he and Blaise had drunk in the Come and Go Room. He had seemed so friendly. So sympathetic and reasonable, even though Theo was about to do the unthinkable. And so very, very interested in getting Theo to spill his reasons.

Everything he had learned in the last few weeks – about his father and Medea, about Blaise, about himself – seemed to fall together like a building collapsing on itself. For the first time, he felt really angry instead of numb and dazed. “I’m going to kill him, I swear I will.”

“Not advisable,” said Lupin firmly. “This is a matter for your Head of House to deal with, or if he ... refuses,” (his tone suggested that he had been on the verge of a much ruder turn of phrase) “for Professor Dumbledore. The only thing that kept me from telling him three years ago was my own foolish pride ... I felt that it would be the equivalent of admitting that my condition compromised my ability to do my job, and I was determined not to do that. Allow me, Molly.” He took the ice pack from the red-haired woman and held it against Theo’s head with a steady hand. “Everything about this situation is the fault of those of us who were appointed to be your teachers. We were the ones who failed you. Let us deal with it.”

Theo said nothing, but as far as he was concerned, everything about the situation was Blaise’s fault. He wanted to be the one who made his former friend pay.

 

                                                            *          *          *

It was evening before Professor Snape appeared in the drawing room, rubbing his eyes and nursing several fresh hex marks from the duel. He also had a pair of small bat wings sprouting from behind each of his ears, although everybody did their best to ignore them.

“Why didn’t anybody wake me up?” he demanded. “I’ve missed yet another day of classes, the collective I.Q. of my pupils has almost certainly slid into negative numbers by now, and That Grubbly-Plank Woman has probably been teaching my second-years how to chew tobacco.”

“You weren’t in any condition to teach, dear,” said the woman named Molly placidly. Theo had to stifle a snort at the thought of anyone addressing Snape as “dear,” but to his surprise the Potions Master refrained from murdering her.

“I want a word with Nott. Alone,” he said, favoring everyone else in the room with a collective glare.

They all filed out, including Regulus, who punched Theo on the shoulder and said in a much-too-loud whisper, “Just call Moony and me if he gives you a hard time, kid.”

Snape rummaged through a wardrobe standing in the corner and came up with a tall pointed hat which he pulled down over his ears in an attempt to hide his new set of wings. “Tell me everything about this Pureblood Youth League. Everything,” he ordered.

Theo recapped the whole story, and this time he didn’t leave out the part about the Unforgivable curses. Professor Snape interrupted him when he got to that point.

“Do I understand you correctly? You were able to resist Mr. Zabini’s attempt to cast Imperius on you?”

“Not completely. Almost. I would have been there if I’d had another go or two, but I asked Blaise to do another practice session with me and he kept putting me off...” Theo’s voice trailed off. Of course Blaise wouldn’t have wanted him to learn how to fight off the curse. He would have had one less person he could control.

“Interesting. It would appear that you have more natural talent than you have ever shown any sign of in my classes. Go on.”

Theo continued his story, concluding with his own guess about what might have happened in his absence. “Blaise kept saying he was going to call another election so he could become leader of the P.Y.L. I’m pretty sure he would have tried it yesterday evening and probably succeeded. He must have had some reason for wanting me out of the way, and after the last meeting everybody was kind of edgy about having Draco in charge.”

“That seems probable. Apparently you can think when you put your mind to it.” Snape’s dark eyes met Theo’s. “Now, listen to me. Do not repeat a word of this conversation to anybody. I am not going to interfere directly with the activities of this Pureblood Youth League, and you must never, under any circumstances, inform anyone that I know of its existence or imply that I would be anything less than fully supportive if I did know. But rest assured that I shall be monitoring your housemates. Very closely indeed.”

“They aren’t all my housemates,” Theo reminded him. “There are quite a few Ravenclaws involved now, and a Hufflepuff or two. Blaise did a lot of recruiting among the other houses.”

Professor Snape looked away at the mention of Blaise. “So much intellect, so little sense.” The words were curt, but his voice sounded as if his heart were breaking.

“Sir? How are you going to go about monitoring them?”

“That is my affair, not yours. Let it be enough to say that I will have my informants.”

Theo considered this for a moment, and decided his Head of House was speaking of Draco Malfoy, and maybe Crabbe and Goyle. Suddenly he understood Professor Lupin’s remark about caramel-coated opium: most of his housemates were so firmly convinced that Snape was their ally that it was as if they had been drugged into a stupor.

But, he thought, if he keeps pumping them for information they’re bound to figure it out sooner or later, just like I figured out what Medea was up to. He shouldn’t have to depend on them. It’s too risky.

Another idea was forming in the back of his mind, but he didn’t dare articulate it yet.

“Let me see the mark from that binding ritual,” said Professor Snape abruptly, taking Theo’s wrist in both hands.

Theo flinched instinctively; his scar was still tender and he remembered the scene in the Great Hall at the beginning of term. But to his surprise, his Head of House seemed to be doing his best not to cause him pain.

“You were a fool to do it,” he said softly, “but you’ve got a fool’s luck as well, because this sort of mark isn’t permanent. Consider yourself fairly warned. Never do this to yourself again – or let anyone else do anything similar to you.” He tapped Theo’s wrist with the end of his wand. “Sanesco.”

The scar vanished as if it had never been there at all.

“You did it to yourself,” said Theo.

“Yes. And far worse.” As if the admission cost him a great effort to make, Snape added, “I was a greater fool than you. And no less so because I had been blessed with a sharper intellect,” he added quickly.

Theo looked at the smooth, perfectly healed skin on the inside of his own wrist, and at the scar on Snape’s. “Did you ... cut yourself again so the other people who did the binding ritual with you wouldn’t know what had happened?”

“Yes. I did it with a kitchen knife. It looked just like the other mark when it healed, but it has no power to tell tales.” He continued in a sharper tone, “You, of course, will not have to do that. Professor Dumbledore informs me that has already arranged new sleeping arrangements for you in Gryffindor Tower – where you will enjoy the company of your new friends, famous Mr. Potter and incompetent Mr. Longbottom, remain under our protection, and, incidentally, never plague me outside of Potions class again. An admirable arrangement for all of us.” But he didn’t sound as if he considered it admirable. His voice had suddenly become choked with rage and – Theo was almost certain – envy.

Theo looked the Potions Master in the eye. “I will not,” he said.

Before Snape could reply, Professor Dumbledore Apparated into the room with a sudden, loud pop. He looked graver than Theo had ever seen him, and his ancient face was lined with exhaustion.

“Severus,” he said urgently, “we need you to return to school at once. It’s Miss Bulstrode. Her housemates have ...” He noticed Theo for the first time and gave him a remote, slightly pained smile. “Good evening, Theodore. Please excuse us for a moment.”

The two professors went out into the hallway and closed the door. Left alone in the room, Theo knelt down by the keyhole and strained to catch fragments of their conversation.

... discovered she was a half-blood and made up their minds she was the traitor ... Draco Malfoy and his crowd, some of the younger ones too. The Baddock boy ... No, not dead, but she’ll be in the hospital wing for a good long while ... what is happening to our children ... never seen a gang attack this vicious ...

No, Headmaster, you did not see it. But it has happened before ...

... getting old, Severus ... can’t bear much more of this ...

... interview all of them tonight and find out how much they know. And then ...

The men lowered their voices even further; Theo could no longer hear anything of substance, although he was sure he caught his own name once or twice.

At last, he was able to distinguish Dumbledore’s voice once again, firm and clear: Severus, you’ve often said that if you saved even one of them, it would be enough. You have. Be proud of him. And then he heard them both Disapparate.

Theo backed away from the door and considered. If Draco and the others had decided Millicent was the traitor, there was a fair chance his idea would work. All he had to do was persuade the adults to accept his decision.

He put on his shoes and went downstairs quietly. After a few minutes of wandering, he found himself outside a warm kitchen that smelled of rosemary and garlic. The red-haired woman, Molly, was standing at the counter, chopping what looked like enough potatoes to feed an army. The lid of a pot began to rattle at the other end of the room, and Molly went to the stove to lower the flame under it.

Moving quickly, Theo entered the kitchen and picked up the knife she had abandoned.

Molly turned and caught sight of him for the first time. “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING WITH THAT KNIFE?” she shouted. “YOU’RE GOING TO HURT YOURSELF!”

“That’s the general idea, yes,” said Theo.

He set the point of the knife against his wrist and cut a neat little X, this time swiftly and without hesitation.

Molly stifled a scream.

“Poor child,” she said in a soothing voice, taking the knife out of his hand. “You’ve had a terrible shock. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I’m not a child and I know exactly what I’m doing,” said Theo. He picked up a dishcloth to stanch the bleeding. “Er ... I suppose you’ll want to find another knife for the potatoes. Sorry about that.”

She reached for her wand. “Let me heal that.”

“No. I’ll let you bind it, but that’s all. If you heal it, I’m only going to do it again.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. “Why?”

“Because I am a Slytherin,” he said.