Almost Human

Almost Human

Chapter 9

Sacrificial Magic

"I thought we should talk," Dumbledore said.

"Professor Snape already did," Draco said

"Hm. Yes. I suppose Ron Weasley did you a bit of a favor, down on the Quidditch pitch."

"What, blacking my eye for me?"

"Giving you someone to be legitimately angry with."

He was probably right. "Do you want some tea, or something?" Might as well take a leaf from the Headmaster's book.

"No, thank you. I understand you and Professor Snape appear to have made up."

"Yes, we have," he bluffed.

"But you haven't."

He supposed Snape had told him. "We decided to say we had so people would stop bothering us." Wasn't working very well, was it?

"Very clever." Dumbledore settled down on Draco's sofa. Snuffy climbed into his lap. "This is the infamous teapot?"

"Yes."

Dumbledore admired him, then said, "I know your fight with Professor Snape was never really about your teapot."

Draco thought about saying, "Yes it was," but gave it up as a bad risk. "He doesn't really care about me," he said instead.

"He does."

Draco ignored him. "Everybody goes on about how he saved my life, but they don't want to notice that the thing he saved me from was him killing me." Draco waited to be told that wasn't it at all.

"That's true. If he wasn't working as a Death Eater, you'd never have been in danger. But he was working for me. You might blame me for it, if you like."

How generous of him. "He didn't have to do it, just because you told him to. But don't worry, I do blame you for taking advantage of the fact he's got no conscience."

Dumbledore sidestepped the charge. "He has, you know. A conscience. He would have killed you if he hadn't."

"He would have, if he thought you wanted him to." As he did, every time Draco fell asleep.

"That's where you're wrong. He did think I would want him to kill you to preserve his cover. He was wrong. But that's what he thought."

Draco's head jerked up. "He didn't." If he had, it would change everything.

"He did. I had quite a job to do to convince him I approved of his decision."

"Why did he do it, then?" Draco asked. Snape had to have thought Dumbledore wanted him to save him. There wasn't any other explanation that would make sense.

"You should ask him."

"I did. He said he didn't know."

Dumbledore swore. Draco was mildly shocked. "We're going to straighten this out," the Headmaster said, "Once and for all. Dobby!"

The House Elf appeared. "Headmaster Dumbledore is wanting Dobby?" he squeaked.

"Go and fetch Professor Snape, please, Dobby."

His ears drooped, but he said, "Yes, Headmaster," and left with a pop.

"We're straightening things out just fine on our own," Draco said, once Dobby has gone.

"Indeed. You seem to be coming around nicely." There wasn't a trace of sarcasm in Dumbledore's tone; Draco was listening for it.

Snape strode in without knocking and looked between them. "I thought you weren't meddling, Albus. 'Give him time,' you said, I believe."

"I didn't realize you were going to make such a dog's dinner of it," Albus said mildly.

"I didn't realize allowing time to pass could be made a dog's dinner of. I thought it happened naturally."

"Do sit down, Severus, and stop trying to be difficult."

"That happens naturally as well," he said, but did sit down.

"Draco, I think tea might be a good idea after all," Dumbledore directed.

"Right." He was glad enough to escape, even if there was a chance he'd miss something good. After putting the kettle on, he dug around in his cupboards for some cauldron cakes to put on a plate. Then there was some washing up to do--two of his teacups were dirty, and he only had three. Usually, he'd gladly do without tea to avoid having to wash up between Dobby's rounds, but since he had guests, he'd have to wash the cups himself this time.

He stood up to do it, which added a slight thrill of danger to the chore, but managed to avoid falling over.

When he turned off the faucet, Snape was saying, "--shouldn't make up with me, really. He's absolutely right--if I'd any innate sense of right and wrong, I'd have thought better of killing his pet."

Draco missed the first part of Dumbledore's reply when the teakettle screamed. He shut it off quickly.

"--not entirely orthodox, but you've as much a sense of right and wrong as anybody. It's a sense of appropriate social behavior you don't have. People often confuse the two."

If Snape replied, Draco didn't hear it.

He couldn't take much longer messing around with the tea things, and he wasn't quite up to stomping into the room in an obvious way. Instead, he called, "Does anyone take lemon? Only I don't have any, so we'll have to get Dobby back in if anyone wants it."

"You can come back in, Draco," Snape said dryly.

He did, floating the tea-tray along beside him. "That's no, on the lemon, then?" he asked brightly.

No one answered. He poured and handed cups around.

"Dumbledore seems to think," Snape said, "That if I can explain to your satisfaction why I didn't kill you, everything will be all right."

Draco thought about it. "Depends what the reason was," he said, though he thought maybe he knew.

"I already told you, I don't know," Snape muttered.

"Yes, you do," Dumbledore told him.

"I thought," Draco volunteered, "That you did it because you thought he'd want you to," he said, tilting his head at Dumbledore. "At least, I'm fairly sure that's why Voldemort keeps turning into him in my nightmares."

"He does?" Snape asked.

"Yes. He turns into him, he tells you to kill me, then you kill me," Draco explained.

"And that's what you call 'pretty much what you'd expect'?"

"Yes."

"I wouldn't kill you if Albus told me to," Snape said flatly. "Not that he would. But I still wouldn't. Actually, I thought--I thought he'd want me to preserve my cover. And I still didn't do it."

"Why not?" Draco asked, not willing to let him stray from the subject for long.

"I don't know."

"Yes you do," Dumbledore said.

"I really don't." Snape sat stiffly for a while, as Dumbledore stared at him. "Because you're my friend," he finally said. "Because I knew I'd have to kill myself if I did it, and I thought I might as well let the Death Eaters kill us both instead."

Draco thought he'd have been willing to leave it at that, but Dumbledore prompted, "And?"

"And because I love you," Snape said, and muttered something that might have been, "Idiot."

"All right then," Draco said, embarrassed. "I'm reasonably convinced you've got a sense of right and wrong. Even if 'killing Draco' is the only thing in the 'wrong' column." He'd meant it as a joke, but the Professor flinched visibly. He continued quickly, "Personally, I think 'Not buying Draco a car,' should be in there, too."

That worked; Snape rolled his eyes and said, "Do shut up."

"And we might want to talk about 'making Draco write long essays,' and--"

"And the longer that list gets, the less funny it'll be."

Draco, always alert to an appeal to his comedic timing, let it drop. "So you're done wallowing now?"

"I am not wallowing," the Professor said stiffly.

"Wallowing, sulking, whatever you want to call it. Are you through?" Draco demanded.

Snape hesitated. "Brooding," he said.

"What?"

"That's what I wish to call it."

"Fine. Are you finished brooding now?"

"For now. I might start again later."

"Good!" Dumbledore drained his teacup and looked satisfied. "Now that that's settled, I must get back to running the school. And Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Tell your Professor about Mr. Weasley's letter." He swept out, leaving Draco staring after him.

"What letter?" Snape wanted to know.

"After we got back from the Ministry," Draco said distractedly. He hadn't mentioned the letter to Dumbledore, had he? He was almost certain he hadn't. "I wrote to tell him we hadn't stopped by because I was tired...you remember, we talked about it."

"Yes. What did he say?"

"That he'd been out of the office all day."

Snape swore. "Then who sent you that note."

"That's what I'd like to know," Draco answered.

"We have to find out," Snape said, getting up as though he was going to go to the Ministry and interrogate people just then.

"I don't have the note anymore. It could have been anyone."

"Anyone who knew Arthur Weasley was out that day."

"And he's the most discrete person in the universe, so that should be a short list," Draco said sarcastically.

Snape cursed again. "Why didn't you tell me about this right away?"

"I didn't realize people wanting me dead was news," Draco answered stiffly. "Since it seems to happen every other week." Besides, they had been in a fight.

"Wanting you dead might not be news, but doing something about it is."

"I'll remember that in future." Funny, he hadn't thought of that as a significant distinction.

"Do. Draco, even if we're quarreling, you have to tell me about this sort of thing. Or tell someone."
"Okay," he said, mildly chastened. "I will."

#

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?" Severus demanded. As soon as he'd left Draco's rooms, he'd hurried up to Dumbledore's tower office to explain the necessity of charging after Draco's would-be assailants.

"Because going to the Ministry will only give whomever tried to ambush you last week a second chance."

"I wasn't going to take Draco along!"

"Are you certain Draco was the target?"

That hadn't occurred to him.

"I'll make inquiries," Dumbledore continued. "We'll find out who sent that note. Until then, neither you nor Draco should leave the school."

"Fine." He wondered why he hadn't thought sooner that the ambush might have been for him. He was the one Voldemort really wanted dead--Draco had only been a pawn. "We weren't going anywhere, anyway."

"Indeed." Dumbledore looked at him hard. "You're all right now?"

"Yes." It was, he realized with some surprise, true. It was embarrassing to realize how much Draco's opinion mattered to him. More than it should, probably.

"Good."

#

"Today, we'll be talking about sacrificial magic," Professor Snape stood at the lectern in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He hadn't bothered to explain that Professor Lupin was "indisposed." Everyone knew, anyway. "It's a subject I happen to know a great deal about. There are a number of branches of sacrificial magic. At least one you've probably heard of." He was silent for a while. "Well?" he demanded.

Granger raised her hand.

Snape sighed heavily. "Yes?"

"Necromancy, sir. Raising the dead."

"Correct," Snape said, sounding like he wished it wasn't. "Raising the dead requires a sacrifice--usually of a life. An animal, sometimes, or a human. The number and type of sacrifices depends on for how long and to what degree the subject is to be raised--a small sacrifice, say, a rabbit, say, or a cat, will raise a person not long dead for a short time. Perhaps an hour. The subject will be animate, that is, but not truly alive. He will move, perhaps even speak if the necromancer is a skilled one. An animal sacrifice will usually not restore the subject's memories and personality. A human sacrifice will raise a simulacrum that might be mistaken for the real person. However, the subject's soul--if you believe in such things--cannot be restored through necromancy."

Snape didn't look once at his notes during this speech. Draco thought he probably hadn't intended to make it. Necromancy was not on the Hogwarts curriculum.

"From the twelfth to the 20^th centuries, incidentally, there was an order of necromancers on the Continent who styled themselves the Order Necrophagus. Voldemort--" Snape hit the name hard, and students throughout the room flinched, "--co-opted their name and some of their rituals. But he isn't truly a necromancer--he's interested in immortality and power, which is not the same thing at all."

The Professor glanced down at his notes and continued, "Sacrificial magic does not require power. Nor does it create power. Most sacrificial magic is a form of power sharing--or power stealing. Most of the time, the sacrifice is not a willing participant, which is why sacrificial magic is classified as a Dark Art.

"But sacrificial magic is a very ancient art, and has not always been considered Dark. It's difficult to say how old, because it was developed independently throughout the world. Several times it has even been discovered by muggles, who generally performed sacrifices in the name of their gods, and termed the results miracles. Occasionally, martyrs--a martyr is a muggle term for a person who has suffered and died in the name of a god--have managed to put the magic released by their torment to their own purposes, rather than those of their tormentors." Snape paused. "That might in fact be a miracle. No one has been able to explain it."

"What about self-sacrifice?"

It was Potter who asked, but Snape didn't bother to chastise him for speaking out of turn. "Self sacrifice is a special case of sacrificial magic. In a sense, most magic is self-sacrificial, since when you so much as light a candle you give up a portion of your personal energy. But I suppose you mean self-sacrifice of life. It can be done." Snape seemed to realize for the first time that it was, after all, Potter who had asked--but he only said, "As you well know," with a trace of his usual sneer. "There are a number of spells--very powerful and very dangerous spells--that require a smaller sacrifice of the caster's blood, or flesh, or--" he shrugged. "Some classify these as Dark magic as well." He looked at Potter. "You saw a potion, once, that did."

Potter nodded, pale.

His mentioning Potions made Draco think of something else. "Is there such a thing as notional sacrifice?" Snape had been telling him about notional ingredients in potions--love's first kiss, friend's betrayal, that sort of thing. They were tricky to collect, but essential for some complex potions.

Snape glared at him mildly. Maybe he hadn't wanted to talk about that. "Yes," he said shortly.

"What's that, then?" Granger raised her hand as she spoke, scribbling in her notebook with the other one.

"Intangibiles," Snape said flatly. "Time. Pain." He continued swiftly, "Most sacrificial magical workings require a larger sacrifice than a single wizard could survive. Large-scale workings require a continuous supply of victims. In ancient history, cults could sometimes raise willing sacrifices, and captured prisoners of war have also been routinely used for sacrificial magic in ages past. In the present day, most of Voldemort's sacrifices are muggles. In the recent war--" as opposed to the present one "--Blood traitors and wizards of muggle heritage were also used."

Snape went on to talk about various kinds of sacrificial magic, other than necromancy. Most of his examples were drawn from ancient history, but toward the end of the period, he leaned heavily on the lectern and told them, "Sacrificial magic can also amplify quite ordinary spells. Once, in the last war, we were attempting to trace a blood traitor who had fled to the continent. He'd covered his tracks well, but by killing his daughter and adding her sacrifice to a simple seeking spell, we were able to find him quite easily. In Romania, incidentally."

Now the students were looking back and forth at each other. "You mean," a Gryffindor girl asked, "When you were a Death Eater?"

"No, Miss Hinkle, when I was a boy scout," the Professor drawled. "Obviously."

No one said anything for a while. Granger, chewing on the end of her quill, asked, "when you joined, did you know it wasn't the same as the--" she flipped back in her notes, "--Order Necrophagus?"

"It would be very convenient to say that I hadn't, wouldn't it?" he asked, instead of answering.

Draco wasn't all that sure--saying he wanted to be a necromancer wasn't all that much more respectable than saying he had wanted to be a Death Eater, was it?

"Why did you, then?" Potter, this time.

Snape drew himself up. "That, Potter, is non of your business."

When Defense was over and Draco left, Violet Huffnargle, running down the corridor from Charms, barely managed to stop before running into him.

"Can I have a ride?" she demanded.

"Hello, Violet," Draco said pointedly.

"Hi. Can I have a ride?"

"All right, but we have to wait until Professor Snape's left, or I'll get another lecture on how the wheelchair is not a plaything."

"Oh, is he doing Defense again this month? I have it this afternoon." Violet tried not to sound disappointed.

"He told us about Sacrificial magic--it was a really good lesson. Don't you think it was good, Granger?" He asked Hermione, who had just come out of the classroom.

"Yes, it was good." He couldn't tell if she was humoring him or not.

"Yeah, Snape really knows his Dark Arts," Weasley put in sarcastically. "Who'd have thought?"

"Grow up, Ron," Granger said disgustedly.

Snape really was good at teaching Defense. He got so into it that he talked with his hands, and even forgot to be nasty on occasion. That never happened in Potions--maybe because there he was kept busy trying to keep anybody from getting killed. Since his Defense lessons were always theoretical, the problem didn't come up.

"I think he's gone," Draco told Violet. "All aboard."

"Are you giving rides again?" Granger asked disapprovingly as Violet clambered into his lap.

"Yes, but Violet's taking this one." It amused Draco to pretend she was jealous.

"You're going to break it," Granger informed them.

"Are not," Violet said.

"Ready? Let's go." He levitated the chair down the stairs and delivered Violet to History of Magic. "See you later."

Violet hopped off his lap. Then--to his horror--she kissed him on the cheek and ran away, giggling.

#

"It was horrible," Draco said. "She's a first-year. And she giggled."

"She has a crush on you," Granger said matter-of-factly, twirling spaghetti on her fork. "Didn't you know?"

"No! My god! She was on my lap!"

"Yes," Granger said patiently. "Didn't you wonder why she wanted to do something so idiotic?"

"She's--she's twelve! And she's a girl! I assumed she didn't know...."

"That boys have crotches?" Granger supplied. "Trust me, she knows."

"Cheer up, Malfoy," Potter said. "At least she isn't likely to try to kill you, like your last girlfriend did."

"She is not my girlfriend! She's a child!" He turned to Granger. "You have to stop her."

"Stop her?" Granger echoed.

"Yes, stop her! Tell her I'm not interested."

"You tell her," Granger said.

"I can't tell her!"

"I'll tell her," Weasley volunteered.

"Shut up, Weasley," Draco said. "

"Look," Granger said. "Next time you see her, just tell her she's a nice kid, you think of her as a little sister, and you hope she didn't think there was anything else going on."

"I said something like that to Ginny," Potter said, "And she didn't speak to me for weeks. Then she pretended it never happened."

"I could live with that," Draco said, "As long as she was over it by our next match, which since it won't be for four months, I think she will be."

"She pretended it never happened," Potter amplified, "Meaning she kept on having a crush on my for another year."

"Oh." He brooded. "I'm just too handsome for my own good."