Better Angels

Better Angels

Chapter Eleven

Death Eater Revels Redux

On Saturday morning when Severus packed the pockets of his traveling cloak with supplies, he found a carefully folded scrap of parchment. He unfolded it with some trepidation.

"Don't forget the milk," it read. "Dangerously Mad."

Against his will, he smiled.

He tucked the note into his shirt pocket, wrapped his cloak around himself, and set off through the quiet castle.

The sun wasn't up yet, and the only creatures abroad were himself, the ghosts, and Dumbledore, who was waiting in the entrance hall.

He took one of Severus's hands in his and patted it. "Be careful, my dear boy."

"I always am."

Dumbledore looked at him over his spectacles. "If this wasn't so important..."

"I know. I'll see you tomorrow."

Albus patted his hand again, and released him.

He stepped into the fireplace.

After six transfers, he stepped out of the grade in the drawing room at Ragier Manor.

"Severus."

"Nathan." Ragier was sitting in a wing chair, legs crossed knee over knee, cradling a brandy snifter. "Where is everyone?"

"In the ballroom. The Dark Lord's not here yet."

He nodded.

"Care for a drink before we start?"

"Sun's not even close to the yardarm yet," he pointed out. It hadn't even risen.

"I haven't slept, have you?"

He had a point. "Just a little one."

Ragier poured him a glass of brandy, and he sipped at it. "Good stuff," he said. It was. Better than he could afford on a teacher's salary.

"Mm. What do you think he's got planned?"

Severus shrugged. "No idea."

"I've heard there's a big push planned, but, you know, rumours."

He nodded.

"What's in your pocket?"

"What?" he asked blankly. He had any number of things in his pockets, at least half a dozen of which he wouldn't want known about.

Ragier patted his chest, where his shirt pocket would be. "Picture of your dear old mum?"

"Not hardly." Damn. He must have been checking his note, unconsciously. He thought he had better control over himself than that. Ought to have thrown it in the fire before he left. "Pulled a muscle," he explained.

Ragier nodded, and changed the subject. "I've a new Ayershire bull. You should come down to the barn and see him after the meeting. Sixty five stone if he's an ounce, horns like that--" he held his hands about a yard apart "--and he's only a yearling. Cost me ten thousand pounds, but he's worth every knut."

"What's that in galleons?" He asked pointedly.

"Er. Have to deal with muggles, you know, that sort of thing. No way around it."

Ragier had built a substantial operation breeding heirloom livestock during the interbellum. Severus couldn't help but wonder at his retaining an interest in his hobby now that Voldemort's work had returned. He couldn't resist needling the man. "Good," he said mildly. "Bull's blood has some invaluable potions applications."

Nathan Ragier choked on his brandy. "Are you mad? That's m prize bull you're talking about!"

He raised an eyebrow. "You mean to say if He required it, you'd refuse him? I'm shocked," he drawled.

"Uh...no, of course not. If it was for Him, that'd be a different story," he said unconvincingly.

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me." He drained his glass. "Better go see what that lot's getting up to, oughtn't we?"

#

"That's just the protections on the castle," Severus said wearily. "There are also substantial protections on the boy himself, and even I don't know what all of them are."

Voldemort had held court for two hours (after arriving two hours later than he'd told the rest of them to show up), and now Severus was having his brain picked by the committee charged with formulating a plan to capture Harry Potter. He was tired, and worried, and hadn't put anything in his stomach since the brandy with Ragier, eons ago. He feared that at any second he'd snap, "If Voldemort hadn't insisted on plying with him like a cat with a bloody mouse the last time, we wouldn't be in this mess." And he'd mean it. If Potter had fallen, the Order could concentrate on defeating Voldemort, rather than keeping Potter's scrawny neck out of the noose.

"Doesn't he trust you anymore?"

"Of course he does. No one person knows all of the protections on Potter, except Dumbledore himself. Doesn't want anyone getting captured and spilling it." Parkinson pater had been needling him all day about Dumbledore losing trust in him. Snape wondered how he knew it was a sore spot, or if he was just guessing.

"We've been thinking about making a recognizance run, maybe even snatching another student, just to see if we can do it."

"That's not a bad idea. I can't help on the ground, of course--it's not worth blowing my cover for anything but the final push." And we would blow his cover, sky-high, in the final push. He was almost looking forward to it. "I'd even have to fight against you, if the situation arose," he pointed out.

"Might do it while you're out of the castle. That'll protect your...cover."

That didn't sound good. If he was out of the castle, he couldn't help Dumbledore. "You'll keep me apprised, of course." As long as he could warn him, it would be all right.

"I don't know. We might take a leaf from the old goat's book and keep you in the dark. For your own protection, of course." Mr. Parkinson smirked.

"That reminds me, I need something to take back to him. Other than the fact that you're still wringing your hands over how to lay hands on Potter."

Now Parkinson looked discomfited. Avery took up the thread. "You can tell him we're planning a raid on Azkaban to get your students out before they go to trial."

"You intend to fail, then? Good."

"No, we intend to kill them."

Mr. Parkinson's face displayed no shock. He must have already known.

Shit. "That's probably wise," he said levelly. "I don't see any of that lot keeping their heads down if we did manage to spring them."

"Indeed," Parkinson said. "But I for one won't forget who's had charge of them ten months out of the year. You might have managed to teach them a few lessons about discretion in between showing them how to shred shrivelfigs and dice guinea pig spleens."

They were discussing his daughter's death, and he was busy assigning blame? If it was him, he'd be finding a way--any way--to stop it.

The thought disturbed him.

"Good to know you aren't thinking of turning coat to save the little cow's miserable hide," Snape said, half-hoping his words would plant the idea in Parkinson's thick skull.

"I'd have thought you'd be glad," the man riposted, "Since she laid Crucio on your catamite."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Just because if you were locked up with a bunch of children, you wouldn't be able to think of anything better to do than bed them..."

#

Draco took his books and went to the library. The weekend was a Hogsmeade one, so most of his teammates were out of the castle. The first and second years were about, but he was a bit too proud to socialize with kids so much younger than himself. If the Professor were here, he'd probably have spent the day in his office, doing homework and helping him with lab chores.

In the library, he did a page of Arithmancy problems and then rewarded himself with a look at his cars book. He tried to focus on the boring chapter about the muggle identification documents required to get a driving license and purchase a car, but kept turning to the photographs of different makes and models.

He liked the Lamborghini and Ferarri, but some of the American cars weren't bad either. The Corvette had a sleekly serpentine look, with fenders like the hood of a cobra.

"What are you doing here?"

Potter.

"Studying."

"Why aren't you in Hogsmeade?"

"Same as you, I reckon. Isn't safe."

"Who'd want to kill you?" Present company excepted, his tone implied.

"Hm....Death Eaters, for one, and for the other, any idiot who fancies himself an amateur Auror." Draco looked around. Granger and Weasley weren't around. "Your fan club went without you?"

"Shut up."

Draco shrugged. "Do you have a driving license?"

"Are you kidding? The Dursleys will barely let me ride in their car, much less drive it."

"I'm going to get a car. Which one do you like?" He turned the book toward Potter.

He glanced at it disinterestedly. "Land Rovers are okay, I guess."

He wasn't sure if he had one of those in the book. He paged through. "Oh, yeah, that isn't bad." It was a boxy car, with big tyres. "Says it can go off-road. That might be fun." Might be useful, too, on the Manor grounds, if he wanted to check on some of his more remote outbuildings without flying or Apparating.

"When are you getting it?"

"I don't know. Maybe not until I'm twenty-five. Professor Snape won't let me get one now."

"Oh." Potter looked even more bored than before. "I guess you know about his...thing."

"You mean about his being a bloody war hero? Yes, I know."

"He's not--"

"Yes he is. At this very second he's walking into hell, in part to save your worthless arse, so I don't want to hear another word against him." He was expecting--and more than half hoping for--a right.

But Potter just said, "Okay."

Draco glared at him for a moment, then said, "Okay."

Potter opened his textbooks, and after a moment, Draco did too.

#

Severus dozed for an while on a sofa in Ragier's drawing room, in between meetings. He hated sleeping among these people, but he was so tired, and Nathan told him there was something special planned for tonight. He half expected, as he always did in these situations, to wake up with a knife between his ribs.

It would simplify things so much.

Instead, he awoke to find a carafe of coffee and a plate of sandwiches.

They could be poisoned, he thought hopefully.

Ordering himself to stop wallowing, he ate and drank. Say what you like for Ragier, he was a considerate host.

He wished he could hide in the drawing room forever, but once he'd finished his lunch--supper--whatever it was, he steeled himself and ventured out.

He met Ragier in the passage. "I was just coming to fetch you. It's about to start."

Severus nodded. "How long was I out?"

"Couple of hours. You didn't miss much."

"Good."

The group was assembled in the ballroom. They were lined up around the walls this time, facing the center of the room. Severus and Ragier found places near the main doors. Voldemort sat on a throne on the stage, flanked by Parkinson and Pettigrew.

His stomach clenched. Whatever was coming, it was going to be unusually ugly.

There was a scuffle in the passage, and two robed and masked figures--burly men, probably youths recruited for brawn, not brains--marched in a bound and hooded figure in plain black robes between them

They threw the bound figure on the floor at the foot of the stage and bowed low.

"My Lord," one said in a disconcertingly high voice. "We have brought the boy."

Not Potter, Severus prayed to a god he didn't believe in. It was too soon. The order wouldn't be in place, he'd have to go own protecting him, he wasn't ready to die--

The bound figure staggered to his feet, and one of the thugs ripped the hood off.

It wasn't Potter.

Draco looked around the room. His eyes fell on Snape, and he mouthed the word Fuck.

Voldemort spoke. "You have before you the traitorous spawn of two traitors. We have allowed him to live, and our...mercy...has led to the loss of our young supporters. Now he must die. But first--crucio."

Draco fell, screaming. Snape stuffed his hand in his mouth to stop his own screaming.

He knew what he had to do. It was only when he caught himself mentally reviewing Ragier Manor's defenses that he realized he wasn't going to do it.

Was, instead, going to betray the principles by which he had lived the last seventeen years. Worse, he was going to betray Albus Dumbledore.

While the assembled Death Eaters took their revenge on the Malfoy traitors, Severus waited for his moment. He trembled, wondering if he would have the courage to do what he had--somehow--decided to do.

Draco kept his eyes away from him. Did not ask for help.. Protecting his cover to the end.

He wavered.

"Sssnape."

He stepped forward.

"I have been given causssse to doubt your...loyalty."

He knelt. Perhaps he was going to be killed, too. It seemed a mercy.

But it wasn't to be. "You will kill the traitor."

He nodded. "As you command, my lord." He rose, and stepped forward.

Draco looked up at him, nodded once, and closed his eyes.

Severus stepped forward, and took out his wand.

#

The afterlife looked an awful lot like a wood at night.

"Lumos."

Wandlight fell on his face, and lit the Professor's from below. The ropes binding his arms and legs fell away, and Snape was saying, "We have to hurry, they'll be after us any second."

"What--"

"Hush."

He tried to stand, but his legs went out from under him, like a Jelly-legs jinx, only worse.

Snape muttered and oath and a charm in one breath. "Put your arms around my neck."

He did, and the Professor lifted him like a child.

#

He couldn't Apparate off the Manor grounds--they were warded against Apparation. They would have to get over the walls somehow, and then Apparate to safety. He got his bearings by the stars and ran. He'd enchanted Draco to reduce his weight, but he was still awkward to carry, and Severus stumbled several times.

They probably wouldn't make it. The Death Eaters would be searching for them--they'd know he was somewhere on the grounds. It wouldn't take long to find them.

He thought he heard voices behind him.

Picking up speed, he scrambled over a paddock fence. It would be just his luck to be stuck in with Ragier's bull. But he made it over the other fence, and the estate walls came into sight.

Almost there. There should be a gate nearby. He cast his wand light back and forth, looking for it.

"Snape."

Ragier waited by the gate. "I can't let you--"

Snape had his wand out. It would take only seconds to cast the killing curse.

But Ragier thought of himself as Severus's friend.

"If you don't stand aside, I'll have to kill you," he said. He couldn't just stupefy him. The other would catch up, revive him, and know which way he'd gone.

Ragier looked surprised. He should have. Severus wasn't known for giving warning. He almost seemed to be considering it. "Severus, what's gotten--"

"Avada Kedavra."

He fell, and Snape let himself out the gate.

A little bit further. He ran until he felt himself pass outside of the estate's wards.

Wouldn't it just be perfect if he got this far and splinched them both?

At least then he wouldn't have to face Dumbledore.

He Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron--it was closest--and fought his way through the Saturday night crowd to the fireplace. He had floo powder in his pockets somewhere....

He shoved Draco into the grate, shouted "Obliviate!"

...and they fell out onto Albus's hearth.

The Headmaster was sitting in an armchair with his phoenix on his knee.

"Albus," he said. "I'm so sorry."

And then his consciousness left him.