Worser Angels

Chapter 11

Voldemort

Things got better after that. The Gryffindors were not exactly friends, but they were a bit more welcoming. Draco and the Thomas kid did have some conversations about footie. His team was facing Leeds U later in the season, and he agreed to show Draco the press clipping about the match when his parents sent them. Hermione took to giving him little tips about how decent people behaved--such as, "When they run into somebody in the corridors, they say 'sorry,' not 'Watch where you're going, idiot,'" and "They take only the books they need from the library, and return them promptly, rather than hiding them so they can get higher marks than everybody else." Since she wasn't much less bossy with her actual friends, Draco managed to take most of it in good grace. Occasionally in class teachers would be about to bestow (or take away) House points and stammer "Five points to....er, well done, Malfoy."

The Ministry finally released his inheritance, and he was amused to find that Dumbledore's idea of a reasonable quarterly allowance was more generous than Father's. Father had preferred to keep him on a short lead, making him ask when he wanted something. And, he got two quarters' worth at once, to make up for the long time he'd been without any pocket money. He paid the Professor back, and drew up a monthly budget covering his anticipated Chocolate Frog expenditures until the next allowance, and still had plenty of money left over. Since he couldn't go anywhere, he amassed a collection of owl-order catalogs and spent his free time circling things he wanted to buy.

Snape called him in for a chat two or three times a week, sometimes assigning him detention as a cover, others just sending Dobby with a message. In these meetings, he alternated between making wisecracks, talking about his classes, and weeping uncontrollably.

One such evening in November, he was in the middle of talking about a difficult problem in Arithmancy that he thought he'd finally found the solution to when Snape said abruptly, "What do you want for Christmas?"

"What?" he said stupidly.

"Christmas. It's coming up."

"Father said I was too old for that sort of thing when I started school," he said automatically. He knew that was a lie, of course--the others at school got presents from home. "Mother usually sent some galleons around then." He couldn't think of anything to tell Snape he wanted. There were lots of things he did want, but none of them could be bought and wrapped up in paper.

"If you think of something, tell me."

"What I'd really like," he began, then stopped abruptly. "Never mind, it's a stupid idea."

"What?"

"I was thinking I wanted to go home. But I suppose it's not safe."

"Home? The Manor?"

"Yeah. Thinking I was going to lose it kind of made me miss the old place. Plus, I haven't seen it since I inherited it."

He wasn't sure if he felt drawn towards home or away from Hogwarts. Maybe a little of both. He'd been at Hogwarts nearly every Christmas since he'd started. Getting away from the school would get him away from some pretty painful associations--there were some things about his old life that he still missed so much it hurt. Like having people do his bidding and laugh sycophantically at his jokes. He knew he ought to value the occasional genuine friendliness he got from the Gryffindors to the toadying of his old cronies--but it was just so much work having to be likeable so that people would like him.

And, he was far from sure how he'd fill two weeks at school without classes. He'd be just as bored at home, but at least he wouldn't be surrounded by people having fun.

No, he'd have no one to talk to at all except the house-elves.

"No place is as well defended against intrusion as Hogwarts," Snape said. "On the other hand, any threat is likelier to come from your fellow students than....elsewhere. I'll see what Dumbledore has to say."

"Come with me," Draco said suddenly. He didn't want to go home by himself, but if the Professor was along, it would be the best of both worlds.

Snape raised his head. "I wasn't thinking of letting you spend two weeks at the Manor alone."

#

Dumbledore gave permission for them to go to the Manor for the holidays. Draco even got the idea from something Snape said that he sort of approved.

He got started on his Christmas plans, making lists and ordering things by owl. He had boxes of wizard crackers, decorations, and the makings for a feast sent directly to the Manor. After a conference with Granger, he ordered new pillowcases and a case of butterbeer as gifts for the house-elves at the Manor (she lobbied heavily that he ought to give them clothes, but was overruled), and some striped socks for Dobby. From one of the muggle catalogues he sent a large hamper of treats to the adolescent psychiatric ward at Leeds General Infirmary, and a smaller, sugar-free one to the Grangers.

He wrote notes of thanks to go along with the hampers, and showed Hermione the one for her parents, to make sure he hadn't inadvertently said something offensive. On reading it, she said, "You have to tone down the language. 'Abject gratitude'? 'Mortal peril'? They'll think you're having them on."

"But I did tone down the language. You should've seen the first draft." His first draft had followed exactly the model in his etiquette book for "Salvation from Certain Death."

"And take out the part about your firstborn. They won't know if you're joking or not. Try something like, 'Thank your for helping me get out of hospital. I really appreciate it. Hermione and I are getting on better now. Sincerely, Draco Malfoy.'"

"But that sounds so....curt!"

"Trust me." She passed the note back to him, then noticed the second note underneath it. "What's this? 'Happy Christmas to the gang in Leeds lockdown. Kisses to Lydia and Jenna, if you're still there. Love--' excuse me, 'L-U-V Draco "Dangerously Mad" Malfoy.' Dangerously Mad?"

He snatched it back. "Give me that! It's sort of a... nom de guerre. I couldn't tell them my real name, of course, and I had some monogrammed things with me."

"Dangerously Mad?" Weasley was goggling at him.

"Oh, shut up."

The remainder of his Christmas list was more difficult: Professor Snape. He looked through every catalogue dozens of times, but nothing seemed right. A catalogue of potions supplies looked promising at first, but Draco quickly realized that anything in that line Snape didn't already have, he didn't want. Liquor would be safe, but was terribly impersonal. Snape was his....professor, not his tax accountant.

What he really needed was a decent shampoo and skin cleanser, but that would just be insulting.

A book seemed like a good idea, but, again, anything the Professor couldn't get from the Hogwarts library wasn't worth having. Something in a first edition, maybe, the sort of thing one kept as a keepsake, but he still had no idea which one.

He turned in desperation to the muggle catalogues. A globe with each country inlaid in a different stone was appealing, but on reflection he decided it wasn't the Professor's taste. Another catalogue offered a range of products with "World's Greatest Teacher" printed on, which had definite potential as a joke, but he still needed a serious gift.

In desperation, he decided to ask the Headmaster. If anyone had any ideas, he would.

Dumbledore gave him tea and a chocolate biscuit, and asked over his health.

"I'm all right, sir. Nothing horrible has happened in weeks--" if one didn't count the Gryffindors calling him "Dangerously Mad"-- "And I'm getting quite cocky about it."

"There is more to life than mortal peril." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"That's what I'm here about, actually. Christmas."

"Oh?"

"I want to get something for Professor Snape, but I don't know what."

"He is a difficult man to buy for," Dumbledore agreed. "I find he's generally pleased to have been thought of."

"Yes, but I can't have it looking as though I just went into the shop and grabbed the nearest thing to hand." He wanted to get this right, damn it.

"I'm afraid I have no easy answers," Dumbledore told him.

Did he ever? "What to get the man who doesn't have much, but doesn't want anything else?" he asked rhetorically.

"I daresay he wants a great many things, but none of them are within my power to give him."

"That's what I meant," he said irritably.

"Spending some time away from school will be good for him. I'm sure he's glad you asked him. Having family means something to him."

Draco nodded. "It does to me, too."

"Eighth cousins, you said?"

"Several times removed. On the distaff side."

"Eh." Dumbledore shrugged. "It's something."

#

Severus dragged himself out of the big fireplace in the entrance hall at Hogwarts. He didn't quite trust himself standing up. His hands shook too badly to hold his wand. And Dumbledore's office was very far away.

He brought himself painfully to his knees.

Bad idea. He slumped back onto the flagstones.

"Help," he said.

Damn Dumbledore for thinking he couldn't say it.

He lay on the floor and waited for someone to find him.

And swam into consciousness giving his report. "--move against the Wizengamot. Bones, Fudge, Delacroix, and Wheeler they plan to kill immediately. Gough, Filigree, and Mendicus they think they can suborn. They already have..." He continued his report, despite Albus's look for concern and the fact that he was in the hospital wing. And that he couldn't feel much of anything below the neck. "--Gautier. That's all."

"Except for how you came to be in this state," Dumbledore reminded him.

"Oh, that. Voldemort doubted my loyalty. He's convinced now." At least, Severus hoped he was.

"What happened?"

"A little crucio, a little old-fashioned arse kicking. I didn't give anything up."

"I know you didn't, my dear boy." Albus put a hand on his forehead. "I'm sure you did well."

"What's Poppy say?"

Dumbledore didn't quite answer. "She has you under a healing spell. You're not to move for twelve hours, until your bones mend."

"What about--"

"Someone will take your lessons. Try to rest."

He was dimly aware of Dumbledore sitting down in a chair by his bed. Keeping watch.

He slept.

#

Draco was on his way down to breakfast when Dumbledore stopped him. "I have an announcement to make to the school, which I thought you should hear privately."

Oh no. "What?"

"Professor Snape had a ....meeting last night."

A Death Eater meeting.

"It did not go well."

Draco recognized that Dumbledore was doing what was called breaking the news.

"Your father attempted to escape from Azkaban prison last night. He did not succeed."

Draco swallowed hard. "Is he dead?"

He shouldn't have asked. If he had let Dumbledore carry on, he could have had a few more seconds not knowing.

But Dumbledore was saying, "Goodness no. He's badly hurt, but he'll recover."

It took Draco a moment to realize what he had said. "He's alive?"

"Yes. He's in the hospital wing."

"And he'll be all right?"

"Yes. I'll be telling the school he's unwell. Perhaps," Dumbledore seemed to have an idea, "You'd like to sit with him. I'm sure he'd welcome a little company."

"Can I?" He had missed a lot of lessons already this term.

"I'll alert your teachers. Take your books with you."

He trotted down to the hospital wing.

The Professor was very still, and looked small under the blankets that were pulled up to his chest.

"Professor?" He sat down in a chair by the bed, with his book satchel on his lap. "It's Draco. Malfoy."

"I know. I'm no brain damaged."

"Oh. I didn't realize you were conscious."

"Well I am. I suppose you're here to brighten my convalescence."

"...Dumbledore sent me." Perhaps Snape didn't want him visiting after all.

"I see."

"The cheering you're about to hear will be him telling the school you're not well."

"..."

"Sorry, wasn't that funny?"

"Tolerably. I'm not in a laughing mood."

"I suppose not." He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but... "What happened?"

"Not much."

"That was going to be my second guess, right after 'royal ass kicking.'"

"If you already knew, why did you ask?"

"I don't know. Are you in much pain?"

"No. Can't feel much of anything below the neck, actually. Poppy's done something."

"Oh." That was a little disturbing.

"You'll be pleased to know I was in considerable discomfort earlier."

"I'm not." Draco was a bit offended.

"Wasn't that funny?"

"I didn't realize it was supposed to be."

"I shall endeavor to be more amusing once I regain the use of my limbs." He closed his eyes.

"Do--do you want me to go?"

He didn't quite answer. "I'll probably sleep most of the day." Then, "Stay. Please."

"Sure. I'll stay."

Snape did sleep then, and Draco spread out his books on one of the other beds. Madame Pomfrey stuck her head in a few times and said, "Is he still sleeping?"

Draco told her, "Yes," and she disappeared back into her office.

The third time this happened, after she had gone Snape asked quietly, "Has she left?"

"Yes."

"Thank God. How long have I been sleeping?"

"A few hours."

He sighed. "Have you ever lain without moving for twelve hours?"

"Can't say as I have."

"Endeavour to avoid doing so. It's not an experience with much to recommend it."

Draco realized belatedly that the Professor was probably bored. What would Granger say decent people did when visiting the sick? "Would you like me to read to you?" he essayed.

"Not just now. We haven't talked in a few days. What's new?"

"Mm." He tried to think of innocuous topics. "Committed a horrible visual pun in transfigurations."

"What?"

"It's really bad," he warned. "We were supposed to be turning mace into mice."

"I think I see where this is going."

"Well, I was trying to turn the mice into a mace. Came out more like a morningstar, but since it's all medieval bashing thingies to that lot, it didn't matter much. Then I had to explain the joke, and you know nothing's funny if you have to explain it."
"Indeed."

"So my apotheosis from evil git to class clown could be going better. My work's just too cerebral for Hogwarts."

"Transfiguration pranks are rarely cerebral," Snape noted. "You might want to try something with a cream pie."

"There are some depths to which even I am unwilling to sink," he said lightly.

It was really a thoughtless thing to say. But the Professor just said, "Good."

"What do you think they're saying out there about why you're not teaching today?"

"Probably that I'm out drinking blood and worshipping the Dark Lord."

"Boring," Draco commented.

"Indeed."

"I should start some rumours. How about...you ate the last scone in the staff room, and McGonagall turned you into a yak?"

"A yak?"

"You're right. Something small and cute would be funnier. How about a budgie?"

"You're stooping."

"A guinea pig?"

"No rumours. Of any kind."

"You realize people are going to assume I know."

"Lie. I expect you remember how?"

"I can probably manage."

Madame Pomfrey bustled in. "Are you tiring Professor Snape?" She asked Draco. "He needs his rest."

"I'm fine, Poppy," Snape said.

"Well, since you're awake, I should check how you're healing up." She looked pointedly at Draco.

"I'll just wait in the hall for a bit, shall I?"

"If you would be so good," Snape said.

#

Poppy felt his pulse, took his temperature, waved her wand, and made tsk-ing sounds. You'd heal faster, Severus, if you took decent care of yourself in between injuries."

He raised an eyebrow.

"And I'd like to know how you get yourself into these situations. Fell off your broomstick, my Aunt Fanny."

"I rather suspect you don't. Actually. Want to know." She knew more than she was letting on, but Albus always provided a highly-implausible cover story, for the sake of deniability if anyone questioned her.

"I suppose not. Still, I've never seen anyone's pelvis broken in twenty-eight places before. To say nothing of the state of your feet. You're going to limp for days," she warned.

He wasn't surprised. "And--nerve damage?"

"Oh, yes. From your--broomstick accident. It looks an awful lot as if you fell into a rather large group of people very determinedly practicing the Cruciatus Curse."

"I'm very unlucky that way," Severus deadpanned.

For a moment, she gave him a look that was almost sympathetic. "I suppose you are," she said quietly. Then, in her usual brisk tones, "There may be a little residual nerve damage. You'll need to take a nerve tonic three times a day until it clears up."

He supposed he could live with that.

Not that he had much choice.

"Nothing permanent, then. That's good."

"Nothing permanent this time. I do hope you'll be more careful next time you...fall off your broomstick."

"I shall certainly try."

"Well. Would you like young Mr. Malfoy in with you again? I can send him on his way if he's being a bother."

"He isn't, actually."

Draco came back in, carrying a large stack of envelopes. "One of the school owls brought these for you. Looks like a lot of get-well cards. Want me to open them for you?"

Who would be sending him cards? Draco and Albus had already been by in person. "You might as well."

Draco perched on the next bed over and selected an envelope. "'Dear Professor Snape,'" he read. "'Professor McGonagall's making us write to say we hope you feel better soon. Your friend'--f-r-e-i-n-d-- 'Susanne Groutwort.' And she's drawn something on the front that's either a horse or a vegetable marrow with legs."

"First year Slytherins have Potions this morning. Minerva must be covering the class."

"Well, that's thoughtful of her. Making them write, I mean. Shall I skip any others like that?"

"Please."

Draco opened two more envelopes and put the cards aside. "The charm on this one's rather good. See how she got the daisy to look like it's waving?"

The smiling daisy on the card was, in fact, waving. "Who is it, Griselda?" At Draco's nod, he said, "I'll have to show Flitwick. She ought to have House points for that."

"Spelled your name right, too." He opened a few more cards, "Here we go. 'Dear Professor. I am so sorry to hear that you are not well. Potions is not the same without you. Best wishes for a speedy recovery, Daedalus Blurtfleck.' At least some families still send their children to cotillion."

Draco opened a few more cards. "Oh dear. She must have made the Gryffindors write, too. This one's rather nasty."

He considered briefly whether he ought to insist on hearing it, then decided he'd leave it till he felt stronger.

"I like that, sending rude notes to a man on his sick-bed." Draco sounded genuinely indignant. "Want me to knock him around a bit for you?"

"I don't believe that will be necessary." Or discrete.

"It's just petty, that's all. If they knew--"

"But they don't, and they won't. What kind of covert agent would I be if the entire school knew about it? My cover is far more important than the dislike of a few students."

"It's more than a few," Draco said rebelliously.

Indeed. The majority of Slytherin House was suspicious of him because he did not openly support Voldemort; the rest of the school reviled him for not openly opposing him. But he was used to that. Of more concern was Draco's reaction.

He briefly considered having Dumbledore speak to the boy, but Malfoy wouldn't listen to the Headmaster. He'd have to do it himself. He said severely, "You must not allow your affection for me to goad you into doing or saying anything that would damage my cover. No matter what anyone says. It could mean my life. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand. It's just--"

"I know. But I must have your word."

Draco hesitated. "All right. On my honour as the last of the Malfoys, I pledge to you that I won't do anything to threaten your identity as a covert agent."

Severus considered the oath carefully. It didn't seem to offer any loopholes. "Thank you." He was much more concerned about Draco's knowing his double agent role than Potter's. Potter hated him, and would never be tempted to challenge anyone's perception that Snape was the worst sort of Dark wizard imaginable.

"And I have been to cotillion," Draco added, "So I know better than to break my sworn word."

"Of that I have no doubt." The Malfoy name didn't have much honour left, but Draco wouldn't hazard it lightly.

"Well," he said, "Best have a look at the rest of those letters."

#

"What on Earth do you suppose he wants?" Draco asked, carefully folding up the note.

"He probably just wants to talk to you," Snape said. "He does that."

"Doesn't he have better things to do with his time?"

"I've always wondered. Perhaps he doesn't sleep." The Professor added, "I'm sure you're not in trouble."

"I know. I haven't done anything recently. Except a little fooling around in class." He stood up. "I suppose I should go and get it over with. Should I come back when I'm done?"

"Yes--I'll be getting out of this dank hellhole, and I'll need you to help me gather up the cards, flowers, and baskets of fruit sent by my many well-wishers."

Snape had been growing steadily testier all day. "All right then."

He trotted up the stairs to Dumbledore's room.

"Cocoa? And a shortbread?"

"Please." Draco sat on the flowered sofa. What was it with him and giving people hot drinks and sweets? He'd have to ask the Professor.

"How is our Severus?"

"About like usual. Mad as hell."

"Indeed." The Headmaster bit into a shortbread. "You understand that his work frequently puts him in danger."

"Yes. You oughtn't to let him." Draco was surprised to hear himself say it. "It's not just the danger. It's filthy work. He might believe he deserved better if it was you telling him so."

Dumbledore, characteristically, came at this attack from the flank, rather than head-on. "Severus calls himself my worser angel. He believes--or tells himself--I'm unable to sacrifice individuals to the greater good. He ought to know better, but perhaps you're right, and he doesn't understand how much sacrificing him costs me. His happiness has to be less important than the good he can do for the Order. He understands that."

"That doesn't make it right," Draco said stubbornly.

"No. It doesn't." Dumbledore's calm agreement took him by surprise. "The good side has to make moral compromises. The other side--Voldemort's side--makes more of them. Our intentions are good. That counts for something."

"The ends justify the means? That's a Slytherin answer."

"Slytherin is not a byword for evil. We need our worser angels. If only to make the sacrifices others cannot."

"He's not a sacrificial lamb."

"You might want to read more muggle religion." There was a long silence, and then he added, "Severus thinks himself a complex man. In many ways he is one. But his emotional range has two notes--disdain and fanaticism. If I didn't allow him to lay his sacrifices at my feet, he'd lay them at someone else's. Or so I fear."

Draco wanted to protest. But he thought instead, and he saw it. He wasn't sure he agreed. Or that it was a tendency Dumbledore ought to encourage.

But what would the Professor do, if Dumbledore told him his sacrifices were no longer required? Go meekly into a life free of mortal peril? And of the possibility for redemption?

Probably not.

"You understand my dilemma. But if he survives Voldemort's second defeat, I won't allow his role to be swept under the carpet again. I'll drag him kicking and screaming into the light of day."

If he survived, too. If Voldemort was defeated.

"I just don't want him to die," Draco admitted.

"Neither do I."

"And I want to see him getting his second Order of Merlin on the front page of the Prophet. I'll know who to hold accountable if I don't."

Which was a hell of thing to say to one's Headmaster. But Dumbledore just said, "As will I."

#

Draco returned to the hospital wing in a bit of a snit.

"What did you talk about with Dumbledore?"

"You, mostly."

"That's fair, I suppose. Since he and I usually talk about you these days."

"How...alarming. I think I said more than I should have."

"It doesn't matter. He knows everything. I take it he said something that upset you?"

"Oh--well, that you'd rather follow anyone to hell than to heaven, I guess."

Odd--Dumbledore wasn't usually given to religious imagery.

"The turn of phrase was mine," Draco added. "But that's the gist."

"Ah. I expect he's right." He sat up, enjoying Draco's look of surprise.

"I'd forgotten what you looked like vertical."

"Very funny. Do you see where that woman put my boots?"

That woman appeared. "You ought to have waited for me." She handed him his boots from under the bed. "Feeling all right, then?"

"Yes."

As he pulled on his boots, Poppy added, "You might thank me for saving your life."

"Why?" He got unsteadily to his feet. "Come, then, Draco."

His rooms in the dungeon seemed further away than they used to be. His feet and back hurt more than he remembered from last night.

He had been pretty out of it last night.

At his rooms, he managed to mumble the password and slump onto his sofa.

Which led to a whole new world of pain.

Draco set down his pile of get well cards--why he'd brought them, Severus had no idea. "Erm--"

"There's a --blue--square bottle--over there--shelf," he managed to get out.

Even though he wasn't able to produce a complete sentence, Draco found the bottle.

Severus uncorked the bottle with shaking hands, and promptly spilled half of it down his front. "Damn!"

"Here." Briskly, Draco guided the bottle to his lips.

He took two good swallows. "Thank you."

"Does--Does Madame Pomfrey know what shape you're in?"

"Yes." She also knew he was more comfortable in his own rooms. "I'll be all right. Few days." Except he had to brew a nerve tonic, which he wouldn't be able to do if he couldn't keep his hands steady.

He could ask Poppy to do it, but he wasn't sure he wouldn't rather poison himself.

Drawing his wand from his sleeve, he...dropped it.

Draco retrieved it for him. "Scourgify?" He asked.

"Please."

Draco cleaned him up. "There. Do you want...well, anything?"

"No thank you. I'd prefer to humiliate myself in private, if you don't mind."

"Sure. I'll--be next door."

#

Severus slept on his sofa that night--his bed seemed too far away. He dragged himself to his first class.

McGonagall was there. "Snape. I thought--"

"You were mistaken."

He only fumbled his wand once in putting the second-year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuffs' assignment on the chalkboard.

There were a few snickers, and he said severely, "Fifty House points from the next person who laughs at me. I've been very badly injured, and I'm in no mood to be trifled with."

"Are you all right, Professor?" a Ravenclaw girl asked.

"I just said I wasn't. Can anyone tell me the principle properties of fleabane?"

The class progressed. If anyone noticed that he sat behind his desk for the whole lesson, instead of prowling around the room as he usually did, no one was unwise enough to mention it. By the second lesson of the day, word had gotten 'round that he was in an unusually foul temper. But he was unwilling to expend the energy necessary to make his displeasure felt, so man students probably remembered the lesson as one of the least miserable of their school careers.

He found he didn't much care.

At lunchtime, Dumbledore made a rare appearance in the dungeon to suggest that he take the afternoon off.

Severus waved off his concern. "I assure you, I'm more than capable of fulfilling my responsibilities," he said stiffly.

"Of that I have no doubt. But you might do better with a rest."

"I rested all day yesterday."

"I assure you, the school can manage without you two afternoons in a row."

Snape stiffened. "If my services are no longer required--"

"Don't be foolish, my dear boy."

"Thank you," he said carefully, "For your concern. I can manage."

Dumbledore sighed. "Very well. Let me know if you change your mind."

That afternoon, he had the bright idea of asking the sixth-year class to make his nerve tonic. Between Draco and Granger he ought to get a batch he was willing to risk drinking. He'd be far happier doing it himself, but his hands were still shaking so badly, he'd have been better off with Longbottom's effort.