Almost Human

Almost Human

Chapter 8

An Exchange of Hostages

Draco sent off a note to Mr. Weasley after he got up from his nap. Coming up with the wording was difficult, but eventually he came up with something he was happy with--something that was mostly gratitude for his help and just a little bit of "Malfoys don't socialize with Weasleys, thanks."

The reply surprised him. "Dear Draco," the note said. "I'm glad to hear that the wheelchair is working out for you. However, I didn't even know you were in the Ministry today--I was out of my office all day, so it's just as well you didn't drop by. Let me know next time you'll be in the neighborhood, and maybe we can have a chat. Yours sincerely, Arthur Weasley."

At first he was annoyed--he had meant for Weasley to understand that he didn't want to talk to him if he could avoid it, and now the man had apparently gotten the idea that Draco was panting to sit down for a tête-à-tête with him.

But his irritation only lasted a moment, before he realized that there was something even more sinister going on. Someone had sent him that note, and if Weasley hadn't, who had?

#

Two days later, Snape was enjoying a quiet afternoon in his dungeon--most of the students were in Hogsmeade, and Draco was who-knows-where--when three Aurors silently loomed in the doorway. They were two men and a woman. The one man was old enough that Snape might have known him--but he didn't.

He hadn't known until they arrived that he had been expecting them. Dumbledore's reach was long, but now that Snape wasn't of use anymore, it was unsurprising that the great man couldn't protect him anymore.

He did wish, however, that Dumbledore had warned him. Perhaps he thought it would be better if Severus didn't have time to worry.

For a moment, he considered going down fighting--even outnumbered, he could get off a curse or two before they overpowered him. The impulse passed, and he turned to face them with quiet resignation.

"What do you want?" he asked, as if he didn't know.

"We heard--from Auror Moody--about the Cruciatus remedy you developed," the older man explained.

"That's not illegal. I only tested it on myself, and I haven't sold it to anyone."

"Yes. We're interested in the remedy--if you can do further testing and refinement, and send a thorough report to our labs on its precise effects and composition."

Maybe he had misread the situation. Maybe they just wanted the potion, and they'd leave him alone once they had it.

"Now that we don't have to worry about You-Know-Who finding out where we got the potion, we're very eager to have it," the Auror continued. "What do you say?"

But they had skipped the part about what happened to him if he didn't give them what they wanted. "Have you talked to Dumbledore?" If Dumbledore had already approved, that would explain why they were forgoing the usual threats and intimidation.

"No." The Auror managed a credible imitation of someone who was genuinely confused. "Our request is separate from your duties at Hogwarts."

Of course it was. "If Dumbledore wants me to do it, then I'll do it."

"You aren't interested in helping the Ministry?"

Had he said that? "I'll do it if Dumbledore tells me to," he repeated.

"But--"

"Grum," the woman Auror interrupted, "It might be easier just to ask Dumbledore than to try to reason with him."

The older man glared at Snape. "Fine. Come along, you."

Snape allowed himself to be swept up to Dumbledore's rooms. The Headmaster was surprised to see Severus, and even more surprised to see him escorted by Aurors.

"What's going on? Severus--"

Snape gestured at the Aurors irritably. "They want my Cruciatus potion."

"Oh! Well, that's very nice." He settled back, looking puzzled but pleased.

"He says he won't do it without your approval," Grum growled.

"I see," Dumbledore said, sounding like he didn't. "Well, I think it's a fine idea. Send the details--payment, deadlines, research budget--to my solicitor. I'll have him review the details for you, Severus."

Grum scowled. "Some would consider it a duty to help the Ministry at a time like this."

"Indeed." Dumbledore looked pleasantly blank.

"Fine. Expect our owl," the Auror capitulated.

"Lovely. Good day, gentleman. And lady."

The Aurors left, and Snape dropped into a chair. "Are you sure that was wise?"

"I know you aren't fond of Aurors, but there's no harm in you getting some recognition for your potions work."

"It's not that I'm worried about. It's what they'll do with it once they have it." At Dumbledore's puzzled look, he explained, "Any Auror the Dark Lord gets the opportunity to cruciate, the Ministry won't get back. Not in any state where my remedy will do any good."

"I'm sure they'll find a use for it."

"Yes," Snape said heavily. "I'm sure they will."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean they want it so they can torture suspected Death Eaters and still present them in a semblance of sanity for a show trial."

"Surely not. You aren't serious." And Albus really did look as though he thought Severus might be joking.

"If you think they have it coming, that's fine," Severus hastened to assure him. "I just wasn't sure you'd approve."

"I wouldn't approve...necessarily...if I thought the Ministry would do such a thing. Your feelings are understandable, but--"

"You think they wouldn't? I think the only reason they use Cruciatus as little as they do is some vestige of moral repugnance. If they got the idea there was an antidote....I don't expect the imbeciles understand that the potion doesn't negate the curse, it only alleviates some of the aftereffects."

"I won't presume to tell you what the Order of Aurors won't stoop to in times of desperate need," Albus said slowly. "But I think they intend to use it for any innocent victims they happen to find. I expect there will be a few. If it had existed when the Longbottoms were attacked, for example...but only you can decide if the benefits are worth the risk of misuse."

"No," he said, "I can't." Dumbledore didn't understand. He couldn't'decide what benefits outweighed what horrors. Albus had always done that for him. "Just tell me what you want me to do."

"I don't want to ask you to do something you're not comfortable with."

"Now's a good time to become squeamish about that," he said acerbically.

"Now, now, my dear boy. I never forced you to do anything."

"No," Snape agreed. "You didn't." He hadn't needed to be forced. "Just tell me. If you think torturing a few Death Eaters is all right if it means helping some innocent people--or Aurors, even." He wasn't sure there was such a thing as an innocent Auror. But there certainly wasn't such a thing as an innocent Death Eater.

"What do you think?" Dumbledore asked gently.

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

"I think it isn't," Severus admitted. Which only proved how deeply flawed his morals were. If he even had any. He felt sick.

"I really don't think the Ministry will take your potion as license to cruciate Death Eaters. But if you think they will, you shouldn't give it to them."

He wasn't surprised that Dumbledore considered his fears unreasonable. But... "I shouldn't?" he asked stupidly.

"No. However, you might consider letting St. Mungo's know you have it. Unless you can think of some evil thing they might do with it."

"Nothing springs to mind." He'd have to think about it. He wasn't unaware that Dumbledore had talked him around very nearly to his original position--but Severus wouldn't have resisted giving up the potion in the first place if anyone but Aurors had asked for it.

"Good." Dumbledore beamed. "On a happier note, I understand you and Draco have mended fences?"

He had been hoping Albus wouldn't ask that. He couldn't lie to Dumbledore, but if there was any point at all to the pretence, the Headmaster couldn't know the truth. "It seems that way," he said carefully.

Dumbledore, to his lack of surprise, noticed the evasion. "It's a start, I suppose."

"Yes. Going to the Ministry was hard for him. I'm glad I was with him." That, at least, was the truth. He couldn't wish for Draco to forgive him--he was a monster--but he was glad the boy was willing to accept help from him.

"I'm sure you were more of a comfort to him than Minerva would have been. He needs an adult he can trust."

He didn't have that. He had Snape.

"Now that the crisis is past, with Draco, I have a small assignment for you."

Severus sat up straighter. "You do?"

"It's nothing dangerous."

"Oh."

"Now that you're out of the cupboard, so to speak, you have a unique opportunity to influence the children under your care."

"I daresay their parents have more influence over them than I do." Couldn't he go back to consorting with murderers and risking his life?

"Perhaps. But if you tell them how--no only how dangerous, but how unsatisfying you found Voldemort's service, some might be persuaded to, at the very least, remain neutral.

Severus tried again to demur. "I don't think I'm...exactly...suited to..."

"Nonsense. You were quite eloquent on the subject when speaking to Draco."

That was hardly the same thing, and Dumbledore knew it.

Still, Albus had told him to do it. "I'll try," he agreed.

"Excellent." The Headmaster beamed.

#

"Er--Malfoy," Granger said to him after Arithmancy, looking a little sheepish. "The Dragons are practicing today--I hope you don't mind we're carrying on without you--"

"No, of course not," he answered, even though he did.

"You might as well come down to the pitch, if you feel up to it," she suggested. "The younger kids are wondering how you're doing. It would probably cheer them up if you came."

About the last thing he wanted was to watch a lot of kids play Quidditch when he couldn't--but he didn't have anything better to do with his afternoons. The alternative was sitting in his rooms trying not to think about Snape killing him, while the others were still playing Quidditch while he couldn't. "Okay, I'll come watch for a bit."

"Good!" Granger said briskly. "The fresh air will do you good. Do you need a jumper? I could get one for you, if--"

"I'm fine," he said irritably, as they passed into the courtyard, where the only students wearing sweaters were a couple of first-years with asthma. Many of the students were lounging around in their shirtsleeves.

When they reached the pitch, he automatically started toward the broom shed, then stopped, realizing that since he wouldn't be flying his broomstick, there was no point even going in.

A few of the others had already arrived and gotten their brooms. Violet and Grumbine detached themselves from the group and hurried over to meet him.

"Draco! I'm so glad you're doing better," Violet squealed.

Grumbine added, "Good of you to come," Grumbine added. "I expect the fresh air--"

"Yes, fresh air is nice," he said. "Very fresh. How are your upward passes coming along, Violet?" If he was going to be here, he might as well at least talk Quidditch.

"Fine," Violet said. "Lots better. Do you want anything? I could get you something to drink. Or a jacket? There's a bit of a draft--"

"I'm fine, thanks." He was beginning to think this had been a mistake. The students in his classes he gotten used to Draco-the-wonder-cripple, but his Dragons kept darting nervous glances at him, like he was a Care of Magical Creatures specimen they weren't sure it was safe to stare at.

"All right, Draco?" a voice boomed in his ear.

He turned. Hillwood, a third-year boy who played Beater, was standing two feet behind him.

"Hi, Hillwood."

"Can I get you anything?" he bellowed.

"No, thanks," Draco shouted back.

"Why are you shouting?" Hillwood shouted.

"Why are you?"

"Er, sorry!" Hillwood replied in a slightly-louder-than-normal voice.

As the Dragons assembled and collected their broomsticks, they came over in ones and twos to greet him. Many expressed their pleasure that he was outdoors in the fresh air, nearly all offered to bring him jumpers, drinks, chocolate, binoculars, and an assortment of other items, and more than a few apparently, like Hillwood, though he'd gone slightly deaf.

Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, he saw Weasley and Potter heading down the lawn toward the Quidditch pitch.

"Gryffindor finally give you the boot?" he asked, when they came into earshot.

"Er--no," Potter said. To Draco's relief, he didn't shout. "Ginny said Hermione was down here."

"Try the broom shed," Draco advised. "She was just there." Though she seemed to be taking an awfully long time. "Tell her if she's having trouble finding something usable, she might as well borrow my Nimbus."

"She'll borrow my broom, if she borrows anybody's," Weasley said pugnaciously.

But before they could get into an argument, Granger hove into view. "Draco," she said, before she saw her friends. "I brought you a jumper, just in case--"

Draco had had enough. "I do not need a fucking jumper!" he shouted. All of the Dragons stopped what they were doing to stare at him. "I've already got a mum, thanks, and I can get my own bloody jumper if I want one!"

Granger looked highly affronted, and Draco was just warming to his subject when Weasley--to the vast astonishment of everyone present--punched him in the eye.

Draco grabbed his tie and yanked him down to his own level. Matter progressed quickly, and in moments they were rolling around on the ground. Weasley, enjoying the advantage of a head in height and two stone in weight, not to mention four fully functional limbs, soon had him pinned. But Draco wormed a hand free, and was going for his eyes, when--

"Mister Weasley! You should be ashamed of yourself!" Madame Hooch hauled him off bodily

Draco hauled himself into a sitting position, and Weasley attempted to staunch a flow of blood from his nose with his sleeve while Madame Hooch berated him. "--beating up a crippled boy! Your parents are going to hear about this, and so is the Headmaster."

"But he--"

"I don't care what he did, you don't attack someone who's not able to defend himself! I hope you're proud of yourself."

"What makes you think he started it?" Draco demanded.

Madame Hooch turned to stare at him.

"He did, as it happens, but a month ago you'd have assumed it was me." It was as bad, in a way, as Hermione and her jumpers. Granted, he was generally smart enough not to start a fistfight he couldn't win--he'd have used a hex--but it was the principle of the thing.

"Well--" She looked back and forth between them. "Both of you had best go to the hospital wing. I shall be informing the Headmaster and your Heads of House."

Weasley trudged up to the castle alongside Draco's wheelchair.

"I'll have to apologize to Granger," Draco said moodily. "She wasn't to know she was the hundredth person to offer to get me a jumper."

"Huh," Weasley said. After trudging along in silence for a moment he said, "She can be a bit bossy sometimes."

"Just a bit." Draco managed to moderate his tone from one of biting sarcasm to mild agreement in mid-utterance.

"Shouldn't've hit you," Weasley grunted. "You being--you know."

"I'm not made of glass," Draco said.

But when they got to the infirmary, Madame Pomfrey acted as though he was, immediately putting him on a hospital bed and wondering aloud if she ought to send for Healer Archon.

"I think I'm fine," he said.

"We'll see about that."

"Don't you want to do something about Weasley's nose? His robe's all over blood, and I bet he only has the one." Anything to stop her fussing at him.

"Mr. Weasley can wait." She murmured a charm and slowly swept her wand over him. "Hold out you arms, please." He did. "Now take off your shoes--no, I'll do it for you." She tapped his feet with her wand, and his shoes clattered to the floor. Draco sighed.

He was wondering if he could kick her and pass it off as a muscle spasm when the Professor hurried into the hospital wing, looking harassed. "Is he hurt?" he demanded. "I'll kill Weasley if--"

"He doesn't appear to be," Madame Pomfrey answered.

"Good," Snape said, glaring at Weasley.

"I'm fine," Draco said. "Me and Weasley got in a fight, that's all."

"You shouldn't be fighting," Snape said severely.

"He started it," Draco protested.

"I don't care if he did." Snape straightened Draco's tie, still looking at him with concern.

McGonagall barged into the hospital wing. "Mr. Weasley! I have never been so ashamed in my life. First of all, I do not expect my students to fight, much less against someone in Draco's condition! Your parents will be hearing about this, and I hope you're ashamed of yourself, too!"

She paused for breath, and Weasley said, "He's not completely innocent. He swore at Hermione--"

"There is no excuse for your behavior," McGonagall interrupted. "You will serve a full week of detention, and be grateful it isn't more."

"What's going to happen to him?" Weasley wanted to know.

"That's no concern of yours. Report to my office as soon as Madame Pomfrey's stopped your nosebleed." She turned to the nurse. "Is Draco all right?"

"He doesn't appear to be injured."

"Good." She swept out of the room.

"Can I go now?" Draco asked.

"I'd like to keep you under observation for a bit longer," she said.

"I've never heard that getting hit in the face can affect post-Cruciatus paralysis," Draco said. "Can it?"

"Very unlikely," the Professor said. "I'll keep an eye on him, Poppy."

"Well...all right. Mr. Malfoy, you may go."

Snape helped him into his wheelchair and they started down for the dungeons. Draco reflected that the Professor was doing a very good job of pretending he was actually concerned. They went into Snape's rooms, and Snape made tea. "What happened?" he asked, sitting down across from Draco at the kitchen table.

"I went down to watch Quidditch practice." He really wanted to tell the Professor everything--how much he hated being crippled and dependent, how Snape was the only one who treated him like nothing had really changed, how he wished they really were friends again, instead of just pretending. Because Draco really did still like him, even if he was a murderer. But, he supposed, Snape had really been pretending all along. He was just really good at it.

But instead he said, "Granger kept asking me if I wanted a jumper." He frowned. "No, she actually just asked me once, on the way down there, and I said I didn't. Then she went to get her broom, and about fifty other people asked me if I wanted one. Then she came back, and she'd decided to go and get me a jumper anyway."

"I see," Snape said, and Draco thought he probably did.

"So I told her I didn't need a fucking jumper, and I already have a mum--which is funny because I sort of don't--and Weasley slugged me."

"Well--no matter how provoking being given a jumper must have been, I think you had better have a couple of detentions, for the look of things if nothing else."

"Weasley started it," he pointed out, mostly for the look of things.

"And he got seven."

"Yeah, but six of them are for beating up a cripple."

"From the look of things, I daresay you managed to hold you own," Snape said dryly.

"Yeah, I think if Madame Hooch hadn't come along, I'd have managed to do some real damage."

"Don't be too proud of yourself. Mr. Weasley is not exactly a master of the pugilist's art."

"Eh." He shrugged. "It was fun, anyway."

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." Snape sipped idly at his tea. "What else have you been doing with yourself?"

"Not much." He had thought about telling Snape about the letter from Arthur Weasley, but he hadn't. It was no surprise that there was someone in the Ministry who had it out for him. "You?"

"The usual." They looked at their cups, the table, the sugar bowl, anything but each other for a while.

"Headmaster wants me to talk to some of the Slytherins about why being a Death Eater is a bad idea."

"You'll be good at that." As a negative example, at very least.

"I'm not so sure. I've never seen myself as a motivational speaker."

Draco remembered that he wasn't supposed to have heard Snape talking to Dumbledore about how Voldemort had destroyed Draco's parents.

And he remembered the Professor saying that he had taken care of Draco when he was a baby. Because it made him feel human.

"Still, somebody ought to do it," Snape was saying., "They don't know what it's really like."

"I guess not." He wasn't sure he did, either. Except that it had turned his own parents into people who didn't care whether he lived or died. And it had turned Snape into someone who'd bite through his own hand to stop himself screaming if he had to see Draco hurt.

"It's not something you can just do, and then go home and be a real person. It's not like being a tax inspector or something. An unpleasant job that somebody has to do." He shook his head. "I shouldn't be telling you this."

"Yeah." It wasn't as if they were close anymore, like they had been.

"You're well out of it, anyway. At least I did that much."

"You've done loads of stuff for me."

Snape shrugged. "I really am sorry about killing your--teapot. I didn't realize you'd care."

"I know. I guess I shouldn't have gotten so upset. Since he's okay and everything."

"That's hardly the point."

"No," Draco agreed. But he was beginning to lose sight of exactly what the point was. It was supposed to be that Snape was a ruthless killer.

Only he didn't act much like one. Draco had seen plenty of ruthless killers, and even in his nightmares, Snape didn't act like one.

"Why'd you do it, then?"

"Because he was getting on my nerves."

"What?" Draco was momentarily confused, until he remembered what they'd actually been talking about. "Sorry, I meant, why didn't you kill me?"

Snape blinked. "Oh. That."

"Yeah, that."

"I just couldn't."

"Well, yeah. Why not?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't know. I have a great deal to do, Draco, if we're through talking."

Draco returned to his rooms, slightly hurt, but he wasn't alone there long before Dumbledore swept in. " I thought we should talk," he said.