Better Angels

Better Angels

Chapter One

Draco was sitting in the darkened parlour, with a stick across his lap. Snape lit a lamp.

It was his father's swagger stick. Lucius had gotten that thing as a birthday present before his fifth year at Hogwarts.

It had seemed incredibly cool. Then.

"Where did you get that?"

"Found it in the hall cupboard," he said dully. "Sully said the Ministry sent it back when...you know. When he was arrested."

That made sense. They'd hardly have let him have it in Azkaban. He'd barely been allowed to have it at Hogwarts.

"What are you going to do with it?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know." He held it up by the middle, so the silver serpent glinted in the lamplight. "I never thought..."

"What?" Severus prodded.

"For some reason, it never occurred to me he was unarmed when they killed him."

Snape wasn't sure how that made a difference.

But clearly, to Draco, it did. "Well..." He couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Do you think he was afraid?"

If he had any sense, he would have been. "He might not have had time."

"Yeah. Maybe not."

It might even have been true, in a sense. He had, perhaps, not known the exact moment of the fatal curse. But he had surely known that if Azkaban didn't kill him, Voldemort would. He'd had plenty of time to realized he was utterly and irredeemably doomed.

He couldn't find it in himself to be glad. Instead, he was sorry--not for Lucius as he had been, but for the boy he'd been, and the man he might have been had he lived in happier times.

Draco twirled the stick in his hands, and for a moment Severus saw Lucius, swaggering across the school courtyard like the prince of Hogwarts. "I always hated this thing," he said. "It bites, you know." He swallowed hard. "Can't really imagine Father without it."

"Neither can I."

"Do you think...Would it be really stupid if I wanted to put it in the mausoleum with him?"

Snape hadn't dared to wonder if he was thinking of taking it back to school with him. He didn't think he could have stood for that. "No, not at all. I think that's a good idea."

"Good. I....he'd want it."

The thing had been confiscated once, in Lucius's final year at school, after he'd been caught using it to lift girls' robes. He'd gone about like he was missing an arm for the entire month until he got it back. "Yes, I'm sure he would." If he wasn't dead, and not in a position to want anything. Snape couldn't quite sit easily with sentimentalizing the dead--they were dead, and they didn't care whether the living rent their garments or tried to enjoy themselves or any of the other things people tried to convince themselves would somehow suit the deceased's desires.

But at the same time, the thought of Lucius going into that undiscovered country--unarmed--without his swagger stick made him feel deeply and irrepressibly sad. If he was in any way aware of anything that went on after he died...

He would want it.

#

So it was that Severus found himself standing in front of the Malfoy mausoleum on the last day of the Christmas holidays. The family tomb was a small, gothic structure that sat on the edge of the Malfoy property, near the wood that backed up to the side garden. If you didn't know what it was, it might have looked like a folly, echoing as it did the lines of the main house.

Draco took an oversized key from his pocket and unlocked the iron grill over the doorway to the crypt. "Come with me?" he asked, trying for casual and missing by a wide margin.

Snape nodded. "Of course."

He was glad they weren't doing this in summer.

Inside, they were surrounded by coffins, each on a shelf bearing a nameplate. Like a library, or a museum. There were spaces for "Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black" and "Draco Augustus Malfoy III."

Empty, of course.

"It's that one," Draco said unnecessarily. Lucius's coffin was the most ornate of them all. Maybe only because it was newest. The wood--mahogany, like his wand--was glossy, the silver fittings hadn't yet started to tarnish. Each of the handles and latches was figured like a snake rampant.

"I thought I'd...I can't just sit it there on the shelf. It's got his wand in it, can't leave that just lying out. It'll have to go in the...box."

Snape was sure Draco had never seen a four-month-old corpse, and this would not be a good time to start. "Maybe I should do it," he suggested.

Draco looked over at him, understanding. "I thought I'd just open it a few inches, and sort of shove the stick in."

If it was summer, Snape wouldn't let him do even that. "Let's get it over with, then." He examined the latches. "Looks like...there." He found that they opened by pressing on one of the snake's eyes. Quickly, he opened the other latches and held the coffin-lid open just enough to admit Lucius's swagger stick.

The lid was heavy, and once Draco had put the stick in, he let it close with a bang. Draco jumped back.

"That's that," Snape said, snapping the latches closed. "Do you want to say anything?"

Draco considered it. "No," he decided. "There's nothing to say, really."

That night they had a last game of chess and went to bed early, so as to be fresh for the journey back to Hogwarts. Severus slept surprisingly well--the first few nights in the house of his old enemy, he had been uneasy, but their time at the Manor had done much to exorcise the old ghosts. It was simply Draco's house now.

Dumbledore had written in his Christmas letter, "My gifts to you, my dear boy, are a reminder, as always, not to take yourself too seriously, and that you do have family, and are loved." Severus supposed he was right--about the latter point, at least. He still planned to have words with Albus about the damned penguin.

The journey back to school passed quickly. Severus had the latest Potions Research Quarterly to read, and Draco visited Longbottom in his compartment for a little while. Longbottom was not the friend he'd have chosen for Draco, but he supposed the boy had to take what he could get.

Back at school, it was difficult for Severus to adopt his public attitude of sneering contempt for Draco, but he managed to get back into the school routine quickly. For the first few days he punctuated his lessons with tirades, when students' conversations about what they had done on their holidays became too obtrusive to ignore. He knew from experience that the approaching spectre of exams would quickly lead to the attitude of studiousness that was so often missing in the Fall term.

He and Draco visited the Headmaster on the fourth evening back, for mulled cider and spriced cookies. After the pleasantries had been exchanged, Dumbledore said, "I understand you had some visitors on Christmas Day."

Of course he did; Severus had owled him a report that very evening. "Draco handled them very well. Having denied him will have...repercussions...but he could hardly have done otherwise."

"Indeed. But I was speaking, in fact, of your other visitors."

Severus winced. Even the memory of Mrs. Longbottom made him shudder. "Oh. Them."

"Madame Longbottom sent me quite a long letter about her opinion of my decision to allow one of my pupils to spend the holidays 'squatting in bachelor squalor,' I believe was her phrase, and in the company of..." he peered at Severus over his spectacles "...a Dark artefact."

Damn.

"The penguin," Draco said. "Neville saw it, and we had to tell them something."

Dumbledore smiled broadly. "I see."

"As for the squalor, I'd given the house-elves the day off," Draco added.

"Well, she seems to have taken the pair of your under her, ah--wing. Which means you can expect her to send me lengthy critiques of your deportment on any future encounters."

Severus glanced at Draco. "We'll keep that in mind."

#

The morning after the first weekend back, Madame Hooch swept into the staff room and plunked at stack of parchment on his teacup. "You'll need to see those are posted in the Slytherin common room. Prefects are seeing to them for the other Houses, but you might want to do yours personally."

The leaflets featured a snitch fluttering in the upper right hand corner and a broomstick circling the bottom. They read:

Inter-House Quidditch Squad

Hone your skills, promote Inter-House Cooperation

And, Most Importantly,

Have fun!

Open to all not selected for a House team.

Everyone participates!

Need not have own broom.

Interested Parties see Madame Hooch or Draco Malfoy

"Malfoy?" he asked, looking up at the Games Mistress.

"It was his idea," she said briskly. "And a corking good one, if you ask me. Dumbledore agreed." Yes, it was a good idea. But why hadn't Draco come to him first?

"Give the less experienced players a chance to participate," Hooch continued. "You won't stop any of your Slytherins from taking part if they wish." It was not a question.

Of course he wouldn't. Not that any of them would be likely to join Draco's personal Quidditch team.

"I'll be supervising," she continued, "to ensure that the terms we agreed to are met. He wanted a selective team, but I couldn't agree to that. The should already has four Quidditch teams. But an open squad is a new idea that will benefit the entire school."

"Yes, yes, I know." She seemed to think he would oppose the idea. Which he supposed he would, if he were truly interested in seeing that Draco was as miserable as possible. "If you ask me, the brat's still sore about being thrown off the real team," he said snidely. "But if he wants to throw the ball around with the other Houses' rejects, I won't stop him."

"See that you don't."

#

After Draco's Quidditch leaflets went up, some of the younger Slytherins made snide remarks, along the lines that he wasn't good enough for a real team. He had been expecting that. But a number of people had seemed genuinely interested, which had hadn't, quite, expected. He told them that the first meeting would be next Wednesday on the Quidditch pitch.

He was a little nervous going into Potions. He was anxious to find out what Snape thought about his idea, and since he hadn't made time to speak to him privately, he'd have to suffer through the public version of his opinion before he could find out what he really thought.

"Ridigio Principia reduced any substance to its constituent elements," Snape explained when the lesson began. "Your cauldron must be made of solid iron to create this potion, as must any instruments placed into the potion itself. Can anyone tell me what would happen if one of you were unfortunate enough to come into physical contact with the completed potion?"

Everyone looked around nervously. Granger's hand leapt into the air. Snape ignored her. "Malfoy," he said.

"It wouldn't be very good for you?" he offered.

Snape glared at him. "Obviously."

"You'd lose whatever part of you it touched," he amplified.

"Yes. 'Whatever part of you it touched' would be reduced to its component elements--iron, hydrogen, carbon, and whatnot. Depending on what part it was, the damage might or might not be reversible. I will tolerate absolutely no carelessness or horseplay in this lesson."

No wonder.

"This potion must be prepared in a well-ventilated area," he continued. "Why?"

Granger raised her hand, and nobody else. Snape rolled his eyes. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"The air we breathe is composed of several elements, primarily oxygen and nitrogen. If it separates, the lighter elements would rise to the top of the room. Ventilation will ensure that we have regular air to breathe."

Snape scowled. "Also, oxygen is highly combustible," he allowed, tacitly admitting that the answer was substantially correct. "Homework, list and describe five practical uses of the potion. Ingredients and method are on the chalkboard. Begin."

Everyone began copying down the instructions. The potion wasn't as fiddly as some they had done this year, but it was dangerous enough that Draco could see why they hadn't done it in an earlier year. The instructions on the chalkboard said nothing about protective gear, but many of the students were putting on dragonhide gloves and aprons. Draco did as well.

Granger had her hand up again. What had she thought of that he hadn't?

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Are there safety goggles, sir?"

"In drawer under the store cupboard." And, grudgingly, "Five points for Gryffindor. Everyone, don gloves, aprons, and goggles before you begin."

Draco wondered if he'd have let them brew the potion without goggles if Granger hadn't mentioned it.

He'd probably have stopped them partway through.

He hoped.

A few girls complained about the effect of the goggles on their hair. Granger stopped the complaints by speculating about the probably effects of Ridigio Principia on the human eyeball. By the time he had finished, most of the girls wanted to wear dragonhide balaclavas too.

Draco's potion was going well, until it came time to add the mercury. Parkinson, on her way back to her cauldron from the slug tank in the corner of the room, shoved him hard, just as he was tipping the bottle over his cauldron.

He staggered, and just barely managed to miss plunging his hand into the cauldron. His potion immediately started to bubble and hiss alarmingly.

Snape appeared at his side, and, after glancing him up and down, said loudly, "Dear, dear, you seem to have made a little mistake, Malfoy."

"Er...yes, Professor," he agreed.

"How much mercury do the instructions say to add?"

"Three drops, sir."

"And how much did you add?"

The potion had overflowed the cauldron and was spreading across the floor toward his feet. He took a step backwards and said, "The whole bottle, sir."

Snape made the potion disappear with a flick of his wand. "And the bottle as well, I daresay."

"Er...Rather." He had little doubt that Snape had seen what Pansy had done, but he did wonder how he was going to manage to call her on it.

"This is quite ruined. You'll have to redo it in detention."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Longbottom's hand jump into the air. Snape saw it too. "Mr. Longbottom, you have something to add?"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor. Pansy Parkinson shoved him." When he'd finished, Neville gulped and went bright red.

Snape stared at him, and then snapped, "If you and Malfoy are such good friends, Longbottom, then you may join him in detention." Then he rounded on Pansy. "Is this true?" he demanded.

"I tripped, Professor," she said, not even attempting to sound sorry about it.

"I see." Then he sat down at his desk and wrote something on a piece of parchment. For a moment, Draco thought he was going to leave it at that, but when he'd sealed the parchment he presented it to Pansy and said, "You'll take this to the Headmaster, with my compliments."

She looked baffled. "But--"

"Now!"

She left, without even taking her things.

#

"Severus..." Dumbledore was holding his note when Snape arrived at his office.

"We work with some very dangerous substances in that class. I won't have it."

"Indeed. But I do think having Miss Parkinson tried for attempted murder might be a tad excessive."

"I don't," Severus said rebelliously.

"I've assigned her two weeks of detention with Filch, and informed her that she is not longer permitted to take N.E.W.T. potions."

Severus stared at him. "Expulsion. At the very least." Hanging was too good for the little bitch, but he had no illusions he would convince Dumbledore of that.

"I'm sorry, Severus, but this specific offense does not merit expulsion. The school governors--of whom Mr. Parkinson is one, I need not remind you--would never permit it, even if I would."

"He could have died."

Albus glanced at the note. "Principia, before the arsenic was added? Second-degree burns, at the very most."

"She didn't know that. I'd just got done telling them what a dangerous potion it was."

"Severus..."

"What does she have to do, try to feed him to a bloody werewolf? No, I don't suppose that would do it either, would it?" he snarled. Some analytical part of him was aware that he had crossed a line. He ignored it.

Dumbledore looked pained. "That isn't--"

"What? Isn't fair? On the contrary." Dumbledore had apologized once for the Shrieking Shack, and they had never spoken about it again. Suddenly, he decided that a conversation on the subject was long overdue. "Maybe you don't care if nasty little Death Eaters get themselves killed, but Draco isn't like that, and I for one won't stand idly by and wait for those animals to murder him!"

"I assure you, Professor, that if I require a lecture on morality, I will not be asking you," Dumbledore said pointedly.

For a moment, Snape couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You...bloody...bastard," he snarled, and stormed out of the office.

#

Draco was sitting at his kitchen table, studying, when his door banged open. The door slammed into the wall, its knob taking a chunk of plaster out of the wall.

Snape strode in, looking angrier than Draco'd ever seen him.

What in hell had he done? Draco was out of his chair and flattening himself against the wall before he had a chance to think. "Professor?" he said in a small voice. "I didn't--"

Snape kicked the ottoman, sending it sailing across the room. "What?" he snarled.

"Ummm..."

"Remind me," he said, "Why I ever trusted that naïve old goat!"

Who?

"First he let Potter get away with almost killing me, and now he's letting Parkinson..."

Snape wasn't angry at him, then. Cautiously, he slipped back into his chair.

"Did I frighten you?" The Professor realized belatedly. "I'm sorry. I...Dumbledore," he finished.

"What happened?"

Snape came and sat across from him. Draco tensed, but he was apparently done yelling and attacking innocent furniture.

"And when did Potter try to kill you?" He hadn't known that. He'd have to knock him down the next time he saw him.

"Not him, his father. We were at school together. It's not important. Except that Dumbledore didn't care when it happened, and he doesn't care now that Pansy's tried to kill you again."

"She did? When?" He'd been in his room since the Potions disaster.

"In class," Snape reminded him.

Draco frowned. "She wasn't actually trying to kill me was, she? I thought she was just being obnoxious." He waited to see if Snape was going to start throwing things again.

"I specifically said it was a dangerous lesson!"

"Yeah, but she's not all that bright," he pointed out.

Snape looked uncomfortable. "Well, all he did was permanently ban her from my lessons."

Draco considered. "That ought to do it, really. Her mother's relatives in France have a perfume business, and she plans on going to work for them. She needs N.E.W.T. potions for that, so she'll have to hire a cram tutor or go to summer school. I'd say she'll probably learn her lesson from that."

"Really?" Snape looked unconvinced.

"Yeah. She'll probably do something else, anyway. To mean, I mean. You can get her next time."

Snape said slowly, "If you feel that way about it, possibly I shouldn't have called Dumbledore a bloody bastard."

Draco blinked. "What? To his face? You're going to get sacked." This was very bad. Hogwarts would be unbearable without the Professor. "We have to fix this." He stood up. Snape didn't. "Come on. Maybe if you go tell him you're sorry he won't..."

"It's very complicated," Snape said.

"Don't be an idiot. Who's going to look after me if you get sacked?"

"I'm not going to get sacked." But Snape didn't sound very confident about it.

"You'd better not." He puzzled over the situation. Snape had been so upset about Parkinson shoving him that he'd gone and called Dumbledore a bloody bastard? "If you were going to completely lose it, I'm not sure you wouldn't have been better off doing it in front of the entire class than Dumbledore."

"I didn't...well, I suppose I did," Snape mused. "He was rather angry as well."

Being the object of Dumbledore's wrath didn't sound like much fun at all. "Well, you two have to make up, once you've both calmed down," he said firmly. He knew that Dumbledore was important to Snape, and he couldn't have the Professor losing that on his account. Even if there wasn't a chance he'd be sacked.

"Yes, I know."

Draco decided to put the kettle on. "We'll have some tea, settle your nerves," he said.

"Very well."

"What are you going to do to Neville?" he wanted to know. "You shouldn't send him to Filch for that; he'll wet his pants." Not that he'd enjoy a detention with Snape much more. "If we do our detentions at the same time, you'll have to make mine look like a real detention, too."

"Hadn't though of that. But you do have to re-do that potion--it often comes up on the N.E.W.T. And I have something rather special in mind for Longbottom."

"What?"

"No, you'll spoil the surprise. You'll have to wait and see."

That didn't sound good. "Remember, he didn't really do anything wrong."

"When has that ever stopped me? Don't worry, it'll be educational. He needs all the Potions work he can get."

Draco supposed he was right. The kettle was screaming, so he said, "I'll just wet the tea, then," and did so.

When he returned with the pot and two cups, Snape said suddenly, "Your Quidditch thing."

"What about it?"

"Madame Hooch gave me some leaflets this morning."

"Oh. The wording was hers," he explained. "I wanted them to say, 'Didn't make your House team? Hone your skills and make them rue the day they doubted you,' but she insisted on that twaddle about having fun."

"It's a good idea. It'll be good for you to spend time with other young people. And Dumbledore will like the inter-House cooperation angle."

"Madame Hooch said I have to let anyone who shows up play, so I'll probably wind up with a bunch of hopeless losers. But it was the only way she'd let me use school facilities. I hope somebody shows up," he added. He was a little worried he'd be left standing on the pitch all by himself on Wednesday.

"It might--"

The door swung open again, interrupting him. Dumbledore strode in. "Mr. Malfoy, have you seen--oh, there you are!" he said happily.

Draco wondered why he bothered having a door, if people were just going to barge in whenever they liked. But he just said, "I'll get another teacup, shall I?"

He took rather a long time about it, listening anxiously for raised voices from the main room. When he returned, Dumbledore was saying, "Of course I care for you, my dear boy. Both of you. But I have an image to maintain, just as you do. And you seem to forget that my powers are not absolute."

"I know."

"Not dealing more severely with Sirius was a terrible mistake. I didn't--and still don't--believe that he really intended to kill you. But you're right that he could have. Those four boys were a lot easier to like than you were, but I shouldn't have let that blind me."

"No, you shouldn't have." Stiffly.

"I didn't realize how much it still bothered you."

Draco realized belatedly that he was eavesdropping again. They could hardly blame him since they were in his rooms, but he cleared his throat obtrusively anyway. "Found that teacup."

"Oh," Snape said. "Good."

Draco sat down with them and poured. "All right then?'

"We've made up," Snape told him. "He was worried I was going to get myself sacked," he explained to Dumbledore.

"I daresay it would take more than that," Dumbledore said lightly. "And," more seriously, "You are one of the most moral men I know, Severus. In your own way."

The Professor smiled thinly. "My own highly individual way," he suggested.

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. "But I don't know where I'd be without you."

"The south of France, probably. Having a well-deserved rest," Snape suggested.

"I've always fancied Tuscany." Then he added, "Joking aside, we are doing everything in our power to keep Draco safe and happy. He's far better protected then you ever were."

Draco wasn't sure if that was supposed to be comforting, but Snape looked mollified. "That's true," he allowed.

"That's right," Draco added. "I've got you, after all."

"There is that."

"And me," Dumbledore added. "I have learned from the mistake I made with you, Severus."

Draco wondered what they were alluding to, but it didn't seem like the time to ask. He could get it out of the Professor later.

"And," Dumbledore added to Draco, "I realize we aren't eighth cousins, but I hope you can think of me as your family too."

"Yes, know," Draco said.

Dumbledore looked blank.

"You took me out of a family photo and put me in with you and the Professor," he explained. He had been studying magic since before he could walk; he did have some grasp of symbolism.

"I wasn't sure you'd understand that," he said, pleased.

"I got the Chocolate Frog card, too." Snape belonged in the ranks of heroes.

"Good."

"Your Quidditch team," Snape said suddenly.

Draco cocked his head to one side. "What about it?"

"You might have come to me first."

"I wanted to see what I could accomplish without overt nepotism," he explained. "I was going to see what strings you could pull if I couldn't do it on my own."

"I had to find out about it from Madame Hooch," Snape said, a little irritably.

Draco was confused. What was wrong with that?

Dumbledore came to his rescue. "Severus," he explained, "Is feeling a little hurt that you didn't talk to him about it, even if you didn't want help just yet."

"Oh." Draco wasn't sure what to make of that. "Why?"

"It doesn't really matter," Snape said awkwardly.

Dumbledore continued, "Because he likes you, and he wants to know what you're doing, whether it directly involves him or not."

That was a strange thought. Father hadn't cared about anything Draco did, except in how it would affect his reputation. "Is that right?" he asked the Professor.

"I suppose," Snape said. "Albus is usually right about that sort of thing."

"Well--I'll try to remember that." He'd have to work out what was important enough to tell Snape about, other than emotional crises and attempts on his life.

They chatted a bit more, before Dumbledore announced, "This has been very nice, but I have other, less enjoyable, duties to attend to. Good night, Draco, Severus."