The Only Thing To Fear Is....

Fear.

That one little word can mean so many different things to so many different people. It also brings about some interesting questions.

What causes our fears? Why do they seem to manifest at the worst of times? Why can some people control their fears while others can't? Is it genetics, or is it the power of one's mind?

Fear can be a simple thing: a fear of spiders, enclosed spaces, or crowds. But even those seemingly unpretentious things can turn some people into a huddling mass, overtaken by their fear of the mundane. We've all seen a spider, we've all been in an enclosed space, and we've all walked through or have been part of a crowd.

But for some, these fears are more than just something that can be pushed back. It has to be overcome, defeated, left broken and battered in a dark corner in order for these people to get on with their lives.

So when a fear is something more than the commonplace, above any ordinary (if there is such a thing) fear, the person who must face this monster has only two choices: defeat it, or be defeated. There is no way that their fear can be shoved aside until the dark watches of the night, when the world shrinks and there is nothing left but what is in the blackest recesses of the mind.

Some see fear as a weakness, something that cannot be tolerated and its very existence cannot be acknowledged, because there is no fear. To fear something, to be frightened, terrorized, or scared, is to be weak. To fear something is to grant it power over you. And when fear knows it has the power, it is mightier than any strength of the human will. It will not just conquer you, but tear you apart piece by piece, until there is nothing left but the ruined, tattered remains of your soul. An empty vessel of skin, blood and bones will be all that lingers, a harrowing flag to all those who are losing the battle with their fear.

Fear is nothing but a state of mind, and it will not be tolerated.

Pure-bloods fear nothing.

Or, at least that is what his father says. Pure-bloods are pure for the simple reason that they are better than everyone else, chosen to be a race above and beyond the normal mortal coil, Muggle or wizard. It is destiny to serve those who have the vision to advance their race.

But Draco knew differently, on two subjects concerning his father. Lucius Malfoy was a selfish bastard who would take Voldemort's power in a second, if he knew how and if he had the courage to do so. But as yellow-bellied as his father could be, Draco understood why the eldest Malfoy did not seek to gain Voldemort's power, at least not right now. Despite all his so-called beliefs that the Voldemort would succeed in taking over the magical world, Lucius was not one to stay loyal to a party should said party begin to crumble or be defeated. This was evident the first time Voldemort was defeated; Lucius went running to the Ministry, claiming he'd been under the Dark Lord's spell....he really didn't mean any of it! He was powerless against such a dark and sinister force, and he knew that he had done wrong and sought to make amends.

"Amends" Draco scoffed quietly as the thought passed through his mind. "Amends" meant money, money given to the Ministry in order to stave off prison time in Azkaban. But he did wind up in prison, ultimately, many years later, to the disgrace of his son, who then had to deal with the stories about his jailbird father, but also about how, just a few months later, the older Malfoy had, once again, bought his way out of prison. Then he had to hear it from that Potter, the Weasel, and their Mudblood bitch.

They'd get theirs, eventually. No one's luck ran for that long of a streak...Potter would be dead by the end of this, and hopefully his little pals, too. He'd Avada Kadavra them in an instant if he wouldn't reap serious revenge from the Dark Lord for it.

Dark Lord.

Yeah right.

If Voldemort was a Dark Lord, then Draco was a was a Mudblood.

He preferred using Voldemort's name. The idea of fear in a name isn't a stupid one, but Draco just didn't care. Dark Lord. What a load of bullshit. Voldemort sounded more frightening, in all honesty. Dark Lord sounded like the villain in a Muggle fantasy book.

But he did have to admire Voldemort's plans for dominion over the wizarding world. Noble idea, indeed, putting the Mudbloods in their place, getting rid of scum like Potter and Dumbledore. But the thing that he didn't get was why Voldemort just didn't get it over with...just kill Potter already. Be done with it. Quit fucking around, and do it. End of story. No more Potter.

God, the world would be sweet.

And then someone with real power, real vision, could take over. Definitely not his father...despite everything he ever told or intimidated into Draco, his father had fear. Had weaknesses. He had seen them at one time or another, thinly veiled under his father's mask of cunning cruelness and his mane of blonde hair, but Draco knew better. His father would always be a follower.

Now, him, on the other hand, he had big plans. Maybe not world-domination big, but still...a man had a right to his dreams. But he didn't want the Voldemort's responsibilities...the power, yes, but unfortunately, the minute you gain power, people suddenly become dependent on you. He did not want that. But power without the strings would be great.

The only person he knew that really was capable of handling Voldemort's power and responsibilities didn't want the power. Or at least, that's what he told everyone at the meetings his father held in the basement of their manor. That he didn't want the power, the responsibilities, the followers, the whole bit.

The Death Eaters had discussed what would happen once Potter, Dumbledore, and most, if not the rest, of the Order of the Phoenix were dead, and Voldemort had control over the wizarding world. There had been the normal talk of enslaving the Mudbloods, how great the world would be again once they were back on top...yadda, yadda, yadda. A bunch of talk...that's exactly what it was. And the one person whom he thought had the vision to carry it beyond the death of a few people and total control was brought into the conversation. Unwillingly, yes, but he had always been a bit of a loner when it came to the conversations.

Yet someone had brought up what everyone had been thinking about : what happens after it's all over. After the Order is gone, after Voldemort had control. They had yet to decide who would take the Dark Lord's power, and he had been called into the conversation. And he didn't want that, Draco knew. This man was different, more stand-offish. But powerful, yes, and driven.

Severus Snape could handle Voldemort's power. Draco didn't doubt it. What he did doubt was Snape's will. He'd softened with age and his cushy job at Hogwarts. But take him out of the elements that loaded his weaknesses, and he could be a force all unto himself. A mighty gale and all that. But Snape's will was another question...his ability to govern, if you will.

Draco's thoughts paused as he heard the raucous laughter of....someone downstairs. The meeting. The one his father didn't want him to participate in. The one that was "too vital to the uprise of the Dark Lord".

It really didn't matter to Draco...he had his own plans to work on. What his father didn't know certainly wouldn't kill him...but that didn't mean Draco's plan didn't involve some kind of...conspiracy against his father, perhaps. He knew his father lacked the balls, to put it in Muggle terms, to really take power. And he knew Snape could handle the power, but he was uncertain as to the strength of the older man's foresight, his capability.

So Draco kept on building his scheme...he'd need the assistance of the Potions Professor, for certain...but would Snape provide it? Draco was unsure of this, and knew that if he spilled his strategy to the greasy-haired man, and he did not wish to participate, his plan could indeed turn into pure go-se.

In other words, utter and complete shit.

See, he had picked up something from his father's library...his private library, where he kept the dark magic textbooks, in various languages and flavors of dark deeds. There was a spell that literally translated to "The Shit Spell" in one of the milder books in the outer library.

Not exactly dark, the spell made the victim have uncontrollable bowel movements for 24 hours. But it was classified, technically, a dark spell because usually the spell eventually dehydrated the person so badly that they wound up gravely ill or even dead.

Not exactly dark, but funny as hell. Draco hadn't quite mastered it yet, but he'd been practicing on the animals the lived in the surrounding woods. Again, not quite perfect, because the spell was meant for use on a human being, but he'd gotten a rather good image of what it could do....that one time with the deer had been particularly hilarious....

His musings turned back to his plans and how to incorporate Snape in them. He'd already figured that Snape, who hated the older Malfoy with a burning passion that almost equated to a homo-erotic tension, might just see an opportunity to spite Draco's old man by helping his offspring, on top of other reasons. Or, at least, that's what Draco was counting on. Plus, if Snape didn't help him, he could always concoct a story that Snape really was working for the Order of the Phoenix in the "knight-in-battle-scarred-and-dark-magic-tarnished armor", the redeemed, the forgiven, the tragic hero. It was possible, but if it was true, then Snape was a hell of an actor.

Just the thought of redemption made Draco sick, but he couldn't help but wonder sometimes if the Potions Professor had really changed his ways. Why play the double agent? Why not just hide underneath Dumbledore's skirts, waiting for the events to play themselves out, for people to die, for one side to win....for the wizarding world to be left in shock, the ashes of the fallen still smoldering on the battlefields.

Draco had always envisioned the "final battle" to be like two forces clashing on a barren field, spells being slung, wizards falling as they take the blunt of curses and spells, shouts, darkness...death awaiting each person, some skittering around it, others facing it head-on, and others never coming back. Something glorious and awe-inspiring, but frightening at the same time. Like Tolkien's great battles, there would be death, destruction, carnage, the screams of the dying...but with one slight change. Dark would rule...wouldn't that be a bitch.

Tolkien would turn over in his grave right now at the thought of that.

Of course, it was well-known in the wizarding community that Tolkien had been a wizard, but had renounced the magical ways of his lineage to live amongst the Muggles, reason or reasons unknown. But not before he wrote The Lord of the Rings. Waste of a life, Draco thought. For someone so talented and brilliant to live amongst the scum of the world. Pathetic, really. But Tolkien was dead, and it did not do well to dwell on the dead. Now, bringing the dead back....that had possibilities.

Necromancy was the darkest of magics, one that very few dared to even read about. Draco had been once tried to open the one volume of necromonicon that his father owned, locked away in a panel in the wall of his study, and had come away with singed eyebrows and nightmares for three months. He didn't want power that bad.

He, daresay, even feared that brand of dark magic.

"Your father requests your presence downstairs, Mr. Malfoy."

Snape's voice came from behind the tall leather armchair Draco was seated in. Draco took a deep breath, having been startled from his thoughts. "So suddenly I'm allowed into your top-secrets meetings, eh Snape?"

With a swish of robes, Severus Snape appeared to the right of the chair, arms crossed.

"It's Professor Snape to you, Mr. Malfoy. Even outside of school, I am still your superior."

Draco snorted. "Don't I know it," he mumbled as he stood slowly. He turned and met the older man's eyes. He took two steps toward Snape, the smirk on the man's aquiline features both annoying and magnetic. "So why do you think I'm suddenly invited to such a meeting of the minds?"

Severus's eyes narrowed as he backed up slightly. "I don't know, and I don't believe it is any of my business why your father requests your presence." He paused, bending his head slightly to look Draco in the eye. "But I do know I was sent up here to fetch you, and I know you're wanted downstairs." Without another word, he turned and headed for the door.

"Severus."

Snape froze in the doorway, the tone to Draco's voice making him turn back. Draco hadn't moved from beside the chair, but suddenly his expression was very different. They stood regarding each other for a few moments, when Draco said, rather haughtily, "No matter. I'll be down." He gestured to the books strewn around the floor. "Just tell my father that I'm cleaning up."

Draco bent to pick up the books when the click of the lock on the door made him look up. Snape had not only shut the door, but locked it from the inside, and was now leaning against it with an unreadable look strewn over his features. His hair had fallen over one eye, and the exposed one was watching Draco. Draco gathered the few books he had picked up in his arms, the unasked question hanging in the air.

"Your father," Snape drawled, "wants you downstairs to start your initiation to becoming a Death Eater." He paused, shook his hair from his face, and continued. "However, you and I both know that you've been involved for years."

Draco nodded as Snape stepped toward him. "Yes, but my father doesn't know. I never intended him to."

"Just as I never did."

Draco tossed the books into the chair he had been sitting in, perching himself on the arm, the leather squeaking beneath his weight. "So I do what? Play along, be the obedient son like I have for years, waiting for my father to throw me a bone?"

Snape smiled, just slightly. "Why not continue? You are rather good at it. Everyone is ignorant of what has really been going on."

"I'd rather keep it that way."

"As would I. Your father takes an inane pleasure in thinking that he is your role model, of a sorts." Snape slowly walked over to the young man. Draco stood as Snape withdrew a small volume from his robes and handed it to him. "Read this. You have two weeks to complete it. Then we will discuss it."

Draco took the book from his mentor and put it in his own robes, a sneer on his face. "Tell me this is better than the last one."

Snape lifted an eyebrow. "I find that a student who does not take his studies seriously can never truly reach full potential."

"Oh, I'll study it, Severus. Don't worry about that."

"Excellent." A quick study of the young man's face told Snape that his earlier thoughts were right. "But there is something bothering you."

"Not at all."

Quicker than Draco could see, Snape grabbed the front of teenager's robes and drew him close. "Never lie to me!" he roared. And even faster than he had seized Draco's robes, Snape saw fear flicker in young Malfoy's eyes. He loosened his grip and pushed Draco back. "Or do you forget that I know when you lie?"

Draco straightened his robes, his ears ringing. "It's none of your business, Severus," he said in a biting tone.

"Everything you do, think and feel is my business, Draco," Snape shot back. "I am responsible for you."

Draco hung his head, chastised. The two men remained silent for a few minutes until Draco looked up again, his eyes soft. "I apologize, Professor Snape."

Snape snorted. "Now I'm 'Professor' again. Your contempt is frustrating, Malfoy."

"I've been told that. Among other things."

Snape's eyes narrowed, but his voice gave him away...deep, rumbling...Draco had heard it before. "I'm not sure what you're suggesting, Mr. Malfoy, but I assume your intentions are entirely innocent."

"Entirely."

"Hmm." Snape put his hand on Draco's shoulder, running it down his chest until he came to the inner pocket of the outer robe and reached in. "I think, perhaps, I might have something more challenging for you," he said, pulling out the book. He started to put the book back inside his own robes when Draco's hand stilled his.

"I'll read it, on top of what you give me for the next two weeks." Draco's eyes met the older man's, and Draco moved his hand up around Snape's wrist while taking the book with his other. The book tucked safely away in his robes, Draco took Snape's hand with both of his. "I'll read it, you'll teach me what I need to know, and we'll both be satisfied."

"Satisfied?"

"Do you have to ask?"

Snape cocked an eyebrow, looking down at his hand entrapped between Draco's.

"Feeling....inferior about your abilities and talents, Draco?"

Draco smiled, the twist on his lips carrying unspoken promises. "I'm young yet, remember? "

Snape leaned forward, his lips on Draco's ear. "Age is far more important, however, when it comes to experience."

A shudder went through Draco's body, a reverberation that Snape felt. He gently pulled his hand from Draco's and stepped away. "When are you available for your next practical lesson, Draco?"

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but Snape put a finger to his lips. "I don't need an answer right now. You know how to reach me when you need to." He rose and walked the length of the room, his hand on the doorknob. He flipped the lock, and with one more look at Draco, opened the door.

"What is keeping you, Severus?"

Snape's face instantly fell into a blank mask as he stared at the older Malfoy. "Your son had a few questions about some potions he ran across in his reading. Potions is, after all, a precise art." His eyes narrowed. "One slip," he said, snapping his wrist, "can lead to disastrous results."

Lucius's mouth set in a firm line as he looked over Snape's shoulder to see his son perched on the arm of his favorite chair. "What did I tell you about sitting in that chair, Draco?"

"My apologies, Father." Lucius motioned for him to follow, and Draco walked to the door. As Snape moved aside for Draco to pass through the doorway, their shoulders touched, their eyes met, and for a brief, brief moment, Draco remembered everything Snape had taught him. Had shown him.

"Draco, now."

Draco ducked his head as he followed his father down the hallway, and nearly ran into his back when Lucius realized that Snape had not also followed. "Severus, are you coming? We can't, after all, start without you."

Snape's eyebrows raised as he shut the door to the study and walked down the hallway, passing by Lucius to go down the stairs. He gave Lucius a look, one that Draco had seen pass between the men before, but he only recently understood it.

Lucius Malfoy feared Severus. It showed in his eyes.

And so it came back to that primal force, that ultimate equalizer of men....fear. Everyone fears something. The older Malfoy feared Severus Snape like a child fears the monsters in his closet, late at night, while huddled under the bed sheets.

And although Snape may not have seen it, Draco certainly did. Amongst all that fear and loathing that resided in the eyes of his father when he looked at Severus Snape, there was the tiniest spark of jealousy. It burned red for just a fleeting moment, and then it disappeared.

His old man was jealous of Draco's situation, that his son was not afraid of the same man whom he feared. But most importantly, but not all that surprising to Draco, Lucius was jealous of his son's favor with Snape. That Severus preferred the son over the father was not just a personal slap in the face, but it also showed Lucius whom Severus respected more.

The moment passed, and Snape walked down the stairs. Lucius watched him descend until he couldn't see Snape's head anymore, and then he whipped around and jerked his hand toward Draco. "Downstairs, now."

Draco nodded and followed his father down into living area. The older Malfoy went on ahead, but right before he opened the big oak doors into the first floor study, his eyes caught his mother's blonde head looking around the corner. Narcissa nodded at her son, her eyes telling Draco something he didn't quite understand.

But he knew, in time, he would.

He knew what his father was afraid of...he knew what he was afraid of.

The only nagging thought that lingered in Draco's mind was what Severus Snape was afraid of?