Half-Blood Prince

"Severus! I need you, quick!" the all too familiar voice calls from the fireplace. I look up to see the very end of Albus' beard as he withdraws from the flames. With a tired sigh I place the dusty tome I've been perusing upon the table beside me, the gold letters glinting in the firelight as I stand to gather a few supplies. I shiver in the damn dungeon that is my home away from hell. With the mist that has shrouded the land; the depths of the castle seem even colder. I've only just returned to Hogwarts this morning; after my encounter with the Black sisters I needed to inform Albus of the situation. Besides, it is nice to be away from that pestilent rodent.

Damn Narcissa and her emotions. Lucius has always said she was too weak, that her love for her son would blind her. She would have made a deal with the devil if it meant to protect that brat. Don't get me wrong, I had once cared for Draco...before she spoiled him and Lucius made him into that headstrong, infinitely vain creature.

I would never have agreed to that blasted Vow if Bellatrix hadn't been there. It was rather laughable to see the utter disbelief in her eyes when I revealed that I too knew of the plan. How could I not know? I'm the Dark Lord's only access to Hogwarts, the only one who can guide the young Malfoy, make sure he doesn't fail and, if he does, finish the job. Damn me! Damn me for being so blasted compassionate. When did I become such a fool?

I turn to face my fireplace and pause. "Blast you, old man!" I curse as I realize that it wasn't his office he was in. Instead it was that room, their favourite room, the room they used for their special torture. I narrow my eyes, remembering a scared boy being lost within that room and I shake the thought before sprinting out of my chambers and dashing up the stairs. I come to that place in the hall where a door ought not be, and yet there is that oak door, taunting me. I cast it a hateful look before proceeding within.

"Headmaster, you..." I freeze in my tracks. Before me is a horrible sight; something within me squeezes against my heart and I swallow hard. Dumbledore is in a circular room, there's a pedestal in the centre with a gold ring perched upon it, he sits beside a small fireplace. He holds his arm, the same one he'd only just recently injured, cradled against his chest. It takes a second for my mind to restart and I begin to pull two potions from my bag as I kneel before Albus. "What happened?" I ask, sternly.

"Just a silly old man forgetting that he isn't as young as he used to be," he replies in that infuriatingly light fashion, as if he were asking me to look at a splinter.

I pull his arm gently towards me, he has burned his already ruined hand. I cannot believe he has tried to destroy the ring he'd only just mentioned to me this morning. I had offered to help, he is so bloody-minded. "Albus, this is serious, let me get Poppy..."

"No," he says in a stern voice. "I called you, Severus. This is something I know only you can control." His blue eyes are penetrating my very soul. He knows I'd do anything for him, he is my redeemer. He saved me from myself and everyday I owe him my life. Lowering my head, I acknowledge the trust he has in me and I pray I do not let him down as I begin to move my wand over the wound.

There is dark magic being used here, very dark. I almost recoil from the familiarity of it but I do not, instead I pour a greenish potion over the wound and wait. "This will never fully heal, sir."

"I know, Severus. Some wounds never do." With a sigh, he leans back against the wall and it frightens me to see how old and tired he really looks. "I am quite grateful that you arrived back at the school earlier than you'd planned." He pats me on the shoulder with his good hand.

I turn my attention back to the pedestal and the ring upon it. "Sir, can you tell me what you thought you were..." I break off as I stand, seeing the crack in the once smooth onyx. Slowly, I take a tentative step forward. My hand itches to touch the ring as it reaches forward. I pause. "Sir, did you -? Is it really -?"

Behind me I hear the old man shuffling to his feet. I should turn to help him, but I'm transfixed by the way the flames from the sconces reflect off the onyx.

"That, my dear boy," he says, sidling up beside me, "is no longer anything to be worried about." He pats my shoulder again, this time in a less affectionate manner, pulling my attention from the cursed ring. "Come my boy, let's head back to my office. I feel the need for a spot of tea and a large brandy. The room will keep the ring for now." I can feel him pulling my arm and then my gaze from the bauble.

Reluctantly, I follow, cursing him and his bloody-mindedness. I believe I know what he has been doing, but I do not speak. I hold my tongue until well after we've arrived in his office and the tea and brandy have been served. As he's holding out his crystal bowl of sherbet lemons, I finally find my voice.

"Sir, have you thought about what we discussed this morning?" Merlin, I sound like a bloody student. He has always had that effect on me and it kills me sometimes to think that I almost...enjoy it.

"I have," he replies, simply. I did not expect this, I expected him to wax rhapsodically about how he only had a few hours and that 'these things take time, my dear boy'. Instead, I feel my hands tremble and I fight to control them, lest I spill my tea.

"Sir?" The look in his eyes causes my heart to jump. It isn't his usual twinkle, no, this is a dull flat look of sincerity. It causes a curl of discomfort to wrap around my heart.

He takes a deep breath, turning his flat gaze toward the fire, where the twinkle resumes, but artificially, caused by the flames. "Young Malfoy must be allowed to believe we know nothing. You need to help him in this venture."

I nod my head, though my stomach turns.

With a deep sigh, he continues, "Between the two of us, he must not be allowed to finish his task."

"But sir, that would mean..."

"Severus, you must kill me."

His words continue to hang in the air like a wool blanket over my face, smothering me, holding back my words of protest. Kill him? How can he say such a thing? I'd sooner...

I eventually find my voice, "Sir, I'd sooner die than kill you. How dare you demand such a thing from me!" I stand up, slamming my cup down and begin to pace. I know I should leave, tender my resignation and leave. Take my chances with the Dark Lord, who though he challenges my morals, does not challenge my...

But I don't have a heart, just ask Potter.

"Calm down, Severus. Would it help you if I told you that I'm one hundred fifty five this year and I am ready to die?" Albus attempts to make me feel better. This is what he calls help?

I turn on him, feeling the bottom drop out of my stomach. "Are you mad? Did that ring do something to addle your brains? Honestly," I hiss, "I'm beginning to think that your brain was addled well before the ring. What would possess you to take on one of his horcruxes without help? And then you demand me to kill you to protect the boy. What are you thinking? I'll protect Draco, I took the Vow, but I will sooner die than take your life."

I'm so angry that without allowing him to speak I head for the door. I need to return to the solitude and solace of my dungeon. But his voice stops me in my tracks.

"Severus, I wondered if you were still interested in the Defence position?"

I spin on my heel, "What?"

He repeats, slowly placing his glass of brandy upon the table and looking at me with that blasted twinkle. Why does it always return when I least want it to? "Are you still interested in teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

My mind takes a few moments to wrap around this new situation. I take a tentative step forward, "What are you playing at?"

He offers me a sad smile. "Severus, I will not lie. There aren't many within the Order who trust you as I do. They won't understand this thing I ask of you and you will be hunted. For this, my dear boy, I am sorry. But I cannot let you die for me, not when it is up to you to finish my work. I am offering you this position so you may teach Harry what he needs to know without fuss or muss. You do remember that fiasco last year?"

He smiles at the narrow-eyed glare I offer him.

"Oh don't give me that look, Severus. I know you do not hate the boy the way you proclaim." I must have an odd expression on my face because he only smiles as he slowly comes to his feet and walks over to me. I stand there, fists clenched, utterly confused and horribly angry.

"How dare you, sir!" What was he insinuating? My temper is simmering under the surface and I'm only just barely able to hold back. "How dare you stand there and tell me, in such a bloody casual way, that I am to protect that boy while a few moments earlier you told me to be your murderer? You offer the position I coveted on a silver platter and tell me that I'll be hunted like a dog. What do you want from me?"

With a sigh, he turns his back on me and heads toward his desk. "Nothing, Severus, absolutely nothing. There is nothing from you that I want," he pauses to turn around and lifts the finger of his good hand. "But, Severus, I expect that you'll do the right thing. Thank you for tending to my hand. I will see you at lunch tomorrow. I believe I'll be having a bit of a lie in come morning. Good night, Severus." And he turns back to his desk.

I stand there for a moment, completely dumbfounded. He does this every time, and every time I question why it is that I follow him. Sometimes it feels as though he keeps me within his pocket the same as the Dark Lord and that, dare I think it, the Dark Lord allows me more free will.

These are the thoughts that haunt me as I open the door to my office, not remembering actually leaving Albus nor the walk down here. I walk over toward my cupboard and pull out a glass and a bottle, fuming all the time.

"Kill me, Severus. I know you'll do the right thing, Severus. Protect young Malfoy, protect bloody Potter, Severus. Oh and by the way, here is the position you've longed to have for almost two bleeding decades." I rant and rave, finally throwing myself into the wing chair beside the fire. I lift the bottle of my best scotch and the glass, I stare at the two and forego the glass and drink directly from the bottle. I don't believe I'll be at breakfast either.