Better Angels

Better Angels

Chapter 12

We Fools Who Love

"Just exhausted himself, poor man, double-apparating halfway across the country."

He'd recognize Poppy Pomfrey's brisk tones in any state. A softer voice said something he couldn't quite catch.

"It looks like he bit through to the bone."

"And Mr. Malfoy?" It was Albus. He cringed inwardly.

"He's another story. There's substantial nerve damage. Most of it's probably reversible, but I think we ought to transfer him to St. Mungo's."

"I'll have a Healer in to see him. I believe Severus has joined us."

Damn the man. He kept his eyes closed.

"Albus..." he said softly.

"Yes, it's all right, Severus." A hand settled on his forehead. "You're safe now."

"I've ruined my career," he confessed. Nothing was all right.

"I rather thought so." Albus's robes rustled as he sat down. "What happened?"

"Voldemort. Ordered me to kill him. I couldn't do it. I just....grabbed him and Apparated out."

"I'm so sorry, Severus."

What for? What was Dumbledore going to do to him? "I just couldn't do it," he repeated.

"I know. Wouldn't have asked you to."

Of course he couldn't. He loved Dumbledore, but the man lacked the ruthlessness necessary in an undercover operative. He needed Severus to counterbalance his sentimental weakness. "I know," he said miserably.

"Get some rest. Draco will be fine."

The Pomfrey woman cast a sleeping charm on him, and he succumbed.

#

Draco awoke to pain. It was as though the lower half of his body had been dipped in fire. He tried to scream, and realized he already was.

Strong hands raised his head and put a cup to his lips. "Drink this."

It was Snape. He drank. The pain eased, and turned into numbness. "Professor," he said hoarsely.

"Yes."

"You saved me."

"I know."

He hadn't expected to be saved. Professor Snape had a cover to maintain. After Voldemort had pronounced his death sentence, there was nothing he could do. Father would have killed him without hesitation.

He'd known it would cost Snape to do it. He'd almost been glad he was about to die. The Professor would have to live with the memory of watching him die, and that would have been worse.

Then the pain had started, and he hadn't really followed what was happening, until he'd heard Voldemort order Snape to kill him. As a test of loyalty.

He wouldn't imagine anything worse.

But Snape hadn't done it.

"Thanks," he said weakly.

"You're welcome."

He slept.

#

Severus sat by Draco's bedside day and night. A medi-wizard came and went, examining him and explaining new treatment options to Pomfrey. Dumbledore visited, patting his shoulder and saying comforting things Severus didn't bother trying to understand.

Every few hours Draco woke screaming, and Severus poured potions down his throat. The repeated use of the Cruciatus curse had--apparently--affected his nervous system, causing him constant pain. It could have been worse. Some people lost their minds.

Draco hadn't. He had a few lucid, pain-free moments where he'd look up at Severus, recognize him, and speak.

Those moments were the only times he was free of the guilt that left him unable to look at Dumbledore. He had saved Draco's life but many more people would die because of it. His only excuse was that they were strangers, and Draco was someone he cared for.

He was selfish, and he was weak.

Draco looked up at him. "You--okay?"

He forced himself to smile. "Yes. Yes, I'm not hurt." Draco had asked him that at least six times.

"Good. I....how long?"

How long what? "It's been ...five days since it happened. The Healers will come up with something soon."

"It hurts."

"Yes, I know."

"You mad at me?" he asked timidly.

That was new. "Of course not. Why would I be?"

"Mm. Gettin' caught?"

"Not your fault."

"I stayed in the castle, like you said."

"I know." Parkinson had told him what they had planed, and he'd been too stupid to understand.

"You sure you're not mad?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Okay. 'm going back to sleep."

"You do that." He needed his rest, more than Severus needed his company.

Draco slept, and Severus sat and watched him.

"Severus."

It was Dumbledore. He kept his eyes fixed on Draco's blanket-covered form. "Albus," he said hollowly.

He wasn't allowing himself to wonder what would happen to him when Draco was better. His work was gone. He supposed Dumbledore would let him keep his job--but it wasn't the same. His work for the Order was the only thing about him that mattered.

It would be easier if Dumbledore would acknowledge that Severus had betrayed him. But he just kept saying that it was all right and he understood.

"Poppy says you haven't been eating."

"I'm not hungry." Before, he'd said that he didn't want to leave Draco. When the trays started appearing, he'd had to devise new excuses for ignoring them.

"You won't be any use to Draco if you starve yourself."

He already wasn't any use to Dumbledore. He sighed.

Dumbledore pilled up a chair beside him. Then he waved his wand and, with a pop, a small table appeared, laden with food.

"I'm not hungry," he repeated.

"So you said." Dumbledore filled a plate with Shepherd's pie and put it in front of him. "Eat."

He could do this. He turned in his chair, dragging his gaze from Draco to the food, without raising his eyes to meet Dumbledore's. He did have to eat.

"He's really going to be fine," Albus was saying. "I have the utmost confidence in Healer Stout."

Severus flinched.

"What's wrong?" Dumledore's eyes bored into the top of his head. "My dear boy..."

"Don't call me that." He couldn't bear it.

"Severus..."

Pointedly, he took a bite of the food. After swallowing, he changed the subject. "I told you about the Parkinson brat and the others, didn't I?" Not that his information was reliable. They could have been feeding him misinformation for weeks.

"Yes. They're being protected."

"And that I killed Nathan Ragier."

"Yes. You don't have to report to me, Severus. We can just talk."

It was his last report. Ever. He'd probably given it at least a half a dozen times already.

"Are you going to wait until Draco wakes up and makes you talk to me?"

"We're talking now," he lied. He wasn't a spy anymore; he could lie to Dumbledore if he wanted.

"I don't understand why you're behaving like this. Draco's going to be fine."

Did he have to keep saying that? "Behaving like what?" he asked acidly.

"Like you're keeping a deathbed vigil."

"Maybe I am." He shouldn't have said anything. Now Dumbledore was going to ask...

"Whose?"

Exactly. "Mine."

But Dumbledore didn't understand. "They won't be able to get to you here. We've improved security--"

"That isn't what I meant, and you know it."

"I'm afraid I don't, my dear boy."

Much against his will, he looked up at Dumbledore. The Headmaster's kindly blue eyes held none of the reproach he'd been expecting. "Why don't you just admit that I've ballsed-up my assignment, put the Order in danger, and given up any chance I may have had to help you win this war? Stop being so God damn nice."

Dumbledore gazed at him over his spectacles. "I suppose you have. But you didn't have much choice."

"Yes I did."

"Well....I suppose you could have killed Draco." He sounded puzzled.

"Precisely."

Comprehension dawned. "You--you regret--saving him?"

"No, I don't. That's the point." He had replayed the scene a hundred times in his mind. Had dreamed of it every time he slept. Not once had he even been able to imagine doing other than he had. He could imagine a hundred ways I could have failed--he was still, in some way, not entirely convinced they had gotten out alive--but he couldn't imagine not trying. Even had he known as a fact that trying to save Draco would get them both killed, he's still have tried.

"I don't understand."

"Yes you do."

Dumbledore sighed.

"I shouldn't have saved him. If I'd killed him, I'd have solidified my cover and ensured I'd be in place for the end of the war. I'm not speaking out of an exaggerated sense of my own importance when I saw that we could lose the war because of this. Because of me."

"We could," Dumbledore agreed.

Finally, he was getting it. "So you do see."

"Then why did you do it?"

Severus turned his face away and busied himself straightening Draco's blankets.

"Severus. Why?" He spoke in a tone Severus couldn't ignore.

"Because I couldn't live with myself if I didn't," he said harshly. "No better reason than that." He faced Dumbledore. "I threw away my work because I reached the limit of the Dark I could swallow."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "I can think of no better reason." he said simply.

"I've killed innocent people before," he argued.

"But this time was different."

"It shouldn't have been." Draco was no more important, no more deserved to live, than the muggle woman he had killed a few months ago. He had been able to do it then. He should have done it now.

"It was different because you love him," Dumbledore pressed.

He felt a strange sort of pain in his stomach, like something tearing lose. "Perhaps."

"That is why it's different," Dumbledore informed him.

He was right, of course. Severus had never put that word to it, but that was why. He loved Draco, and that was why he hadn't been able to kill him.

"It you had been able to do it--"

Severus tensed.

"I'd have known I'd lost you to the Dark forever." He settled back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him. "I have done you a great disservice , allowing you do this work. I was not sure you could survive it, and keep your humanity. If you should do Dark things, without becoming of the Dark. I put you at risk, not only of death, but of that which is far worse than death, every time I sent you to Voldemort."

"You had no choice."

"I did. I had the same choice you did that night." Dumbledore anticipated his objection. "And you made the right choice. You have always placed abstract principles before you own feelings, and done what was right, even when it was difficult. It took tremendous bravery for you to follow your heart this time. I'm very proud of you."

He swallowed hard. He'd never before been praised for his feelings. He wasn't sure he could believe it.

"I release you," Dumbledore said, like a benediction, "From your duty as my worser angel." "What happens now?"

"Now, my dear boy, you rejoin the human race." Then he added kindly, "I daresay the Order will have some use for you yet."

He nodded, and managed to say, "Yes, I...whatever I can do."

"Of course." Dumbledore stood up. "Now--I have some owls to send, and a promise to young Malfoy that I had best be ready to fulfill once he comes round." Dumbledore fished a Chocolate Frog out of one of his pockets, gave it to him, and left.