Reading the Will

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Reading the Will

Chapter 5

Draco stepped into the Hog's Head, stopping just inside the door until his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the main room. He was here to meet someone, but was unsure as to whom. The only message he had received was a missive strapped to the leg of a small tawny owl as to the time and place, and now that he was here he regretted that he had succumbed to his curiosity.

He looked around, seeing mostly empty tables, and then caught the eye of Aberforth, who indicated with a nod of his head that Draco was to go into the small room in the back. He nodded back and raised his eyebrow in question only to see the old man lower his head and continue to wipe at the dirty glasses lined up in front of him. Draco curled his lip in distaste, sneering at the ill-kempt man, and strode to the back.

He saw only one figure in the small room. One small figure covered with a hood pulled down over her face and wrapped in a dark cloak. He knew this was a witch by the long, slender fingers that reached out of the sleeve and held the hood in place. He crossed over to her and pulled out the chair opposite her noisily, lifting it and slamming the legs down on the floor.

"I have already placed a silencing spell on the room. So if your intent is to call attention to this conversation or to me, I would suggest you save your energy."

"Who are you?" He flopped in the chair and leaned back, folding his arms across his chest and looking down at her arrogantly.

"That doesn't matter. Your godfather sent me."

Draco sucked in his breath and stood up so quickly the chair fell back, clattering to the floor, adding a sound to the room that had otherwise grown silent.

"Sit down, fool boy, he's dead. This isn't a Dickens Carol," she chuckled, seeing his reaction. "He kept a journal that has your name on it. I think he meant for you to have it."

She pushed a deep red journal across the table toward him, her hand staying on top of the cover until he righted the chair and sat back down quietly. She kept her hand steady until he reached for it greedily, then pulled it back out of his reach just to anger him.

"You said it was mine, so give it to me," he sneered, reaching over quickly and snatching it out from under her palm. "What are you doing with it?"

She shook her head sadly, wanting this over, wanting to leave this boy who had played so much a part of their last time together. She heard the practiced boredom in his voice and knew that no matter what had happened at the final battle he had not changed. She wanted to slap his face and scream that it was his fault, that Dumbledore alone was not the guilty party, that if he had not followed his father like a blind pig perhaps he would still be here.

"What is this?" He sat flipping through the blank pages, looking at her with suspicion. "You called me all this way just to give me a cheap notebook? What kind of joke is this?"

"Call it what you will, but take it. He gave a lot for you, more than you know, but had no regrets over what he did. You understand that, right? You understand that he would have done anything to save your worthless hide?"

"Snape never did anything that didn't serve his needs first, don't try to make..."

"Stop, Draco, it's over. He's gone and no one cares what you do anymore. Not that thing you call a father or the mother that let him do as he pleased with you, and certainly not those you used to call friends. Don't you understand that even now?"

"I don't have to sit here and listen to you, old woman," he hissed.

"No, but you will. You will because you are too eager to hear ill of him. You have always delighted in hearing the worst of people and I expect nothing different now."

"Who the fuck are you to sit there and..."

"I am the person he entrusted this to, now shut your mouth and for once in your life pretend to be interested in someone other than yourself."

"He was a traitor, you know. I understand that he needed to change sides at the end, we all did," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "But at the beginning, he was with the Dark Lord, don't tell me he wasn't. He and my father fought together. He told me things about Snape that no one else knows."

"I don't care what your opinion of him is, or what your father told you. I don't care if you drop dead thirty seconds after you walk out of here. Snape, however, did care. Don't ask me why, you are a vile creature that reminds me of your father too much for comfort."

"You could have sent this by owl." Draco tossed the journal on the table with a look of contempt. "Bloody hell, you could have saved us both time and tossed it in the bin."

Angelica stood up, drawing the hood lower and her cloak tighter.

"I don't know what he saw in you, boy. I think it was a type of hope that only he understood, I never did. There's no other way of saying it. He hoped you would do better. He would be sorely disappointed to hear you today. But then again, you don't really care about that, do you? You don't care that his last months on this earth were spent in a hell only he could see, that you and people like you put him in."

She stood up and turned her back on him and walked out of the room quickly, her cloak fanning out behind her and her heels clicking against the floor as sound again came to the back room from the pub in front. Draco heard the silencing spell fall and turned back to look at the journal that lay on the table in front of him.

He pulled his wand from his pocket and raised it over the book, thinking of reducing it to ash. Instead, he paused and studied the cover. She had said it had his name on it, yet all he saw was a tiny S.S. engraved in the lower left hand corner. Using his wand to flip it open, he found the inscription on the inside.

.

.

.

Mr. Draco Malfoy

I have spent the past few years of my life in the pursuit of correcting mistakes I have made, or could have prevented. Each of these acts of penance is contained in a journal such as this.

Not all journals are deliverable. Some do not concern transgressions against individuals; rather, spells or potions which I developed over the years and the antidotes and repealing spells useful in combating them. These journals will be sent to the places best able to disseminate the information once it is safe for my messenger to do so.

I have no illusions of surviving the war, nor do I regret the path I have now taken. I assure you, the path I now follow is the correct one, and the one I hope you will consider taking yourself.

As your godfather, I would be remiss in not sending this journal to you, in hopes that you will have no need of it. I do not wish for you to spend the last years of your life filling empty pages with regrets instead of living the life so many have died to enable you to live.

The choice is yours, and time is your only constraint. Consider this journal the first of many you will fill if you continue to follow your father's way, but only a reminder of what was not, if you choose differently.

Your Godfather

Severus Tobias Snape .

.

.

.

Draco reached the end of the page only to let his eyes again drift to the top to read it again. He placed his finger on the second of the two words over the sender's name, and, moving his thumb to cover the first three letters, felt the sting of tears prickle his eyes.

He stood, looking around to make sure he had not been observed, then shoved the journal in the inside pocket of his robes and took a deep breath as he raised his head. He did not like the sudden feeling of loss and hopelessness that filled him. He did not want to think of his mother, who had only turned sides at the end to save him, but now returned to her husband's side. And he certainly did not want to think of his father, who still spoke highly of the Dark Lord. He could only think of the one person who had ever fought for him.