Snakes and Lions Extended Ending

Author's Note:I finished Snakes and Lions in a hurry, because I wanted it out before Order of the Phoenix was published. Later, I felt I had rushed the end, and started this extended ending, posting chapters on my livejournal as I wrote them. Recently, I started a real sequel to Snakes and Lions (Teamwork), and I plan to post an expurgated version of that here. If you plan to read the sequel, you should definitely read this extension to Snakes and Lions first.

Keep in mind that Snakes and Lions was written before Order of the Phoenix came out, and I have complied with the original over complying with later canon. Sirius Black is alive, Arthur Weasley is dead, and Blaise Zabini is a poor white boy. Enjoy!

Complications of Family

Harry found the day after the attack strange. He spent the morning helping Draco settle in his new room and accustoming him to the idea that Snape was not loyal to Voldemort. After lunch, they had some classes, but with two professors in the hospital wing, and two others entirely occupied with the rebuilding, not many. The time that the pupils would have spent in Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, or Care of Magical Creatures, was now all designated for somewhat related labor. During what would have been Herbology, the Gryffindor and Slytherin sixth years were assigned to sorting lumber and glass from the greenhouse ruined by Draco's pursuers. When Parvati protested that she wasn't a servant, she was moved to repotting and pruning damaged plants with Pansy Parkinson and another Slytherin.

Draco paused to watch. "Well," he commented, "she can't say it's not Herbology."

"More of yours than ours over there."

"I expect Pansy protested immediately." Draco laughed bitterly. "For myself, I'm just trying to stay where none of this debris could 'accidentally' fall on me. I don't mind being sent to Coventry, if I can just get there alive."

Harry straightened and looked around. Nott was watching them with murderous intensity. Deliberately, Harry levitated some rubble off the top of their heap and set it on the grass, where it could be sorted with danger to no more than fingers and toes.

"How's that?"

Malfoy looked in surprise. He wiped his sweaty hair back, leaving a line of dirt on his cheek. Harry had seldom seen him so dirty, and could not help considering it cute.

"Thanks. I'm still not thinking clearly."

"It's easier for me."

Malfoy nodded. "Still. Any trouble from, um...." He looked around at Harry's classmates. Ron and Seamus, at least, were watching them curiously.

"Not much. I went through most of the trouble when I admitted we were friends. By house standards, I haven't done anything considerably worse." Harry bit his lip. "That they know about, anyway."

The next morning, mail fell around Harry's breakfast in alarming volume. Quite a bit of it was from total strangers, but he had the knack of picking out Sirius's handwriting from any number of envelopes.

Harry --

Congratulations! Dumbledore says I shouldn't tell you that, but I can't not. Surviving Lestrange or a dragon would be impressive; beating both is a major accomplishment.

That said, I worry that you're still mucking about with the Slytherin boy -- a Malfoy at that! Dumbledore tells me he refused the Dark Mark, but you should still watch your step, Harry. He's a Slytherin, and he will use you. Don't think I don't know -- most of my family were Slytherins. You can't trust them -- any of them.

Don't think you're safe, either, just because Lestrange is dead. You-Know-Who will want vengeance for her and for your Slytherin friend's father. Still, it's better news than the last time I was contacted about you. (Don't suppose any of the prisoners will oblige me and mention Peter in testimony, do you? I can't help thinking that might clear my name.)

Moony is well, and sends his love, and being Moony, is fretting that you might be upset at having caused a death. He suggests a purifying bath -- oh, hell, he's going to make me write it out! Okay, this assumes you can get into the Prefects' bathroom, but we expect you can. The tap with the lavender stone is, oddly enough, lavender, and he says to use that and add a pinch of powdered unicorn horn, if you can get it, and soak until you're completely relaxed, then dry off, burn some rosemary, and meditate. Personally, I think that while you were sitting around smelling like that, someone might accidentally stick an apple in your mouth and roast you, but do whatever you like. It's just his way of saying that he cares. Oh, wait -- he says that should be followed by a nice cup of tea and an evening in the company of friends. Personally, I'd go right to that last bit, with the added advice that if you're feeling bad about it, just don't. We're all better off.

Warmly,

Padfoot

Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked across the lawn in the afternoon sun. Classes and work were over for the day, and Harry had said he still wanted to be outside, so outside they stayed. By unspoken agreement, they moved out of sight of the ruined greenhouse, and finally settled near a tree and some flowering bushes, with a view of the lake. For several minutes, they were silent. Finally, Ron cleared his throat.

"Anyone seen the squid?"

"Dennis Creevey saw it this morning," Harry answered. "I'm awfully glad. I'd have felt horrible if I killed it."

"Wouldn't have been your fault," Ron assured him. "You couldn't know a panicked dragon would head for the water."

Harry pulled up a stalk of grass. He split it from end to end, tinting his thumbnail green.

"Harry?" Hermione asked.

"I didn't panic it."

"What?" Ron looked puzzled.

"I was controlling it with the Imperius Curse."

Harry looked up in time to see Ron's eyes open wide. Hermione's narrowed.

"Malfoy teach you that?" Ron asked indignantly.

"No." Harry glanced over at Hermione. "That's what I was learning from -- in my other lessons. That's what Draco and I fought about."

"Harry...." Hermione looked desperately at him.

"You don't need to fret about whether to tell or not. I told Dumbledore everything yesterday morning. Just ... Don't tell anyone else, please?"

"I will talk with Professor Dumbledore."

"That's fine."

They were silent, again. Hermione was still frowning at Harry, while Ron stared unseeing out across the lake. Peripherally, Harry saw someone walking towards them. He turned his head enough to recognize Draco, then, contentedly, went back to watching the water.

"This patch of grass available?"

Ron jumped. Hermione looked quizzically up. Harry smiled. "Of course," he said. Draco sat down next to Harry and smiled back at him until Harry needed to remind himself that he should not shift any closer.

"How's it going?" Hermione asked.

"I really couldn't say," Draco drawled. "It's far too soon."

"You back in Slytherin?" Ron asked cautiously.

"Well, it's still my house, of course," Draco retorted. "I'm not back to sleeping in a Slytherin dormitory, though. Probably not until next term; it should be safer after the trial, as there will be less benefit to my death. For now, Dumbledore moved a doorway to annex a room to Professor Snape's quarters, and I'm staying there." He smirked. "So I haven't even lost my private bedchamber."

Harry shot Ron a warning glare, and Ron, who had opened his mouth to say something, shut it again.

"That's a bit odd, isn't it?" Hermione asked. "Putting a student with a professor?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't think even Dumbledore would, usually, but Professor Snape isn't just my head of house. He's also my spellfather."

"That's like a godfather, isn't it?"

"In a way. 'Godfather' implies a shared religion. One's godparents, as I understand it, are responsible for one's spiritual education."

"Technically, I suppose. People use it more loosely now."

Harry thought that was probably a good thing. He couldn't imagine Sirius providing any sort of spiritual guidance whatsoever.

"Well, one's spellparents -- I don't have a spellmother; Father has little use for women, beyond the obvious -- are responsible for one's magical education."

"You mean, you knew Snape before you came here?" Ron asked.

"Slightly. He was at the manor frequently, when I was little. I liked him." Draco frowned. "When I was six, he stopped visiting so often." He glanced at Harry. For just a moment, Harry could see that he was frightened. "Apparently, that was after he showed up in time to see my younger sister fail the Decernenti. He wasn't supposed to be there, for that. My mother --"

"Decernenti?" Hermione squawked.

Draco needed to talk about this, Harry thought. It wasn't something he would mention accidentally.

"Professor Snape believes my mother hoped Father wouldn't do it with a witness present. She sent Snape word when she went into labor, instead of after the birth, as she was supposed to do." Draco hesitated. Hermione stared. Harry could see Ron mouthing the word "Decernenti" as if trying to identify it. "Snape was brewing, of course, and didn't get the message immediately. He told me he arrived just in time to see her break against the courtyard." Draco looked down. His voice became somewhat less airy, but only for a sentence. "He ... he wasn't around as much, after that. Mostly just at parties. We were only distantly acquainted when I started here."

"The Decernenti is illegal, isn't it?" Hermione insisted. "Wasn't it banned? A long time ago?"

"Do you think my father bothers about laws, Granger?" Draco drawled. "Father respects tradition, not laws."

"It's barbaric!" Hermione snapped.

"Yes," Draco said. "And how do you think I feel, suddenly being told I should have had three sisters?" Anger grew in his voice. "And this from Father, who complains that the Muggles are overwhelming us with numbers. I never understood why he didn't have a second child, to at least maintain the wizarding population, but it's worse that he had more and killed them!"

"Shhh," Harry soothed, reaching over.

"Don't touch me!" Draco shouted. He curled his arms in around his chest. Harry could hear his breath, shallow and quick with panic. "Sorry," he said more quietly, after a minute had passed.

Harry eyed him appraisingly. "Is this because you don't want to be touched, or because your mother might mind ..." He didn't know how to phrase it. "... you being, well, with a man?"

Draco didn't seem to notice his uncertainty.

"I can't take being touched, right now. And my mother won't mind that," he added dismissively. "At least, I don't expect so. She may mind me having you."

"Oh."

"She might consider it ... that I am betraying Father over a crush."

Hermione snorted. "I don't think that's it."

"Of course it's not. But it might seem that way to her. He," Draco nodded at Harry, "is the enemy, after all."

"I am?"

"Yes. You are. To Father, at any rate. With Mother, it's harder to tell, because she agrees with Father on all public matters. She considers it her duty as his wife. Now that I'm trying to deal with her separately, I'm realizing how little I know about what she thinks."

"Well, if you're right about why she called Snape early, she doesn't approve of Decernenti, anyway," Hermione said.

Draco snorted. "At least on her own babies. Of course, that story was all from Snape, yesterday, and he may have his own purposes in telling me this." Draco rubbed his forehead. "I should see what Mother will tell me about it. If it's all true, she may hold it against him -- Father, I mean."

"How could she not?!" Hermione demanded.

Draco shrugged "She may have agreed," he answered. "Snape may be wrong about why she called him early."

"If she bothered to read any of the studies ---"

"Hermione, this is my mother. Of course she didn't read any of the studies."

"Why not?!"

"Because that's not what well-bred ladies do." Draco sighed. "Look, I've no objection to witches being educated --"

"How progressive!" Hermione snapped.

"-- but it wasn't what she was raised to aspire to. She is supposed to be beautiful, gracious to her peers, publicly obedient to her husband, and willing to produce children. She needs only enough knowledge to be an interesting conversationalist."

"And would you marry a woman like that?" Hermione demanded. She glanced at Harry, suddenly, and blushed.

Draco looked at Harry.

"I expect to marry as a business relationship," he said steadily. "I would not mind an independent woman -- it might be preferable -- as long as our goals and views as to propriety in that relationship are compatible. Mostly, I want someone who will give me my life back, when the time comes."

Hermione spluttered.

"Oh, they'll be lining up for that," Harry commented sarcastically.

Draco looked down. "I don't want to talk about this, now."

"So, about the Decernenti --" Hermione began.

"I don't want to talk about that, either!" Draco fumed. "I'm disgusted. The only good thing about this is that it will make it much easier for me to testify against him."

Hermione bit her lip and nodded. "As long as you don't plan on continuing it."

"If I wanted to kill babies, I would have become a Death Eater."

For a few minutes after that flat statement, everyone was silent.

"I... um, think I should head back to Gryffindor," Ron said finally. He looked rather pale when he stood up. "Coming, Hermione?"

She smiled at him, but settled back against the tree behind her. "Not just yet. I haven't heard anything about Draco's holidays, yet. You go along -- I'll be in for dinner."

Ron looked as if he might object, but finally nodded and turned away. Draco shifted so that he, Hermione, and Harry were sitting in a triangle.

"You want to hear about my holidays?" he asked. He gave her a wry smile. "Are you certain?"

"Days of practicing Dark Arts?" Harry guessed.

"Surprisingly, no. We went through everything on his list at least once -- some a few times -- then the Cruciatus Curse a few times and the Killing Curse twice, but that was all in the first two days. And I was starting to feel comfortable -- no, pleased with it, as I was afraid I would. Then cousin Isabelle showed up, with Marcella and Desiree."

"And how is Marcella?" Harry asked solicitously.

"Who is Marcella?" Hermione asked.

"My favorite cousin," Draco said promptly. "She's eleven, as of a few weeks ago, pretty, charming, and vivacious. I'm also her favorite cousin, which has caused her nanny some distress. I suspect her mother is none too happy about it, either, though she would not be so reckless as to show displeasure."

"And you shouldn't be her favorite because..?" Hermione began questioningly.

Draco shrugged.

"She wants to be you," Harry said.

"Yes. So last summer she turned into the extra-junior Death Eater girl." Draco smiled slightly. "It was cute. Sick, perhaps, but cute. I transfigured some of her clothes to black and silver, when she asked."

"And her mother disapproves?"

"Her mother would at least rather she was trailing around after a girl, of whatever political leanings, learning useful things like how to bat her eyelashes." Draco frowned. "At least, that's been my impression. I suppose I should sound her out on politics," he said hesitantly. "She might disapprove."

"Her mother also leaves politics to her husband?" Hermione asked contemptuously.

"Isabelle, like many other members of the family, both men and women, also leaves politics to my father, on whom she is somewhat financially dependent. She's widowed. Also, she's French, so she may be deluding herself that the Dark Lord is not relevant to her home life." Draco lay back on the grass. "So there was my darling little pet, still in black and silver, her hair pulled back like a man's, striding about trying to look dangerous ... and it bothered me."

Hermione nodded. "Fred and George have had problems with Ginny, like that."

"Not with Ron?"

"I'm not sure about Ron." Hermione smiled. "But I think it would have been Charlie with Ron."

Harry met Hermione's eyes. "But Bill's the cool one," he teased.

"Definitely Bill," Hermione agreed, blushing. She looked at Draco. "So, what did you do about it?"

"I told her that she looked too severe, and I'd like to see her in something pretty for the evening, in blue to bring out the color in her eyes...."

"Did she get mad?"

"No. I'd made sure not to be wearing black myself, when I spoke to her. She said I could redo her clothes." Draco rolled onto his side and went up on one elbow. "I'd gotten in trouble for transfiguring her clothing before, so this time I thought I'd be clever and take her to my room, so her nanny wouldn't catch us. So I had her skirt and robes off and laid out, and she was lying on my bed beside me, watching me --"

"Naked?" Hermione interrupted, her nose wrinkling.

"In her underwear, which was perfectly decent, though she was kicking her feet behind her -- it's not like she's a Muggle girl with a few wisps of clothing -- she was still wearing a camisole, and layers of petticoats, and stockings, and I expect things I didn't see -- but anyway, Father walked in."

"Oops," Harry said.

"I had this moment of panic, thinking I would get in trouble for transfiguring her clothes again, and then he leered at me, and I realized that wasn't what he thought I was doing, and I was petrified."

"What did he do?" Hermione gasped.

"He said," Draco smoothed out his voice in imitation of his father, and quoted, in a rather bored manner, "'So sorry, Draco -- I hadn't realized you were ... occupied. Please come see me this evening, at your convenience.' Then he left."

"He what?" Hermione yelped.

"Exactly. It was essentially, 'Oh, are you busy molesting your cousin, now? Carry on, then.' I was furious. If I thought someone was doing that to her I would kill him!"

"Was that it?" Harry asked.

"Oh no -- it got stranger. I went ahead with doing her robes -- bright sky blue with gold -- then changed mine to darker versions of the same colors, which pleased her. I warned her, though, that my father was being odd, and gave her what were probably the strangest instructions I have ever given one of my cousins -- 'If anybody asks what we did in my room, tell them exactly and completely what we did.'"

Harry laughed, which got him an angry look from Hermione.

"Then it was time for dinner, so we went down to dinner. She sat with Desiree and their nanny, and father motioned me to sit next to him."

"And?" Harry prompted. Draco was biting his lip, and had his eyes either closed or focused on the ground.

"Then he... He started by saying he had no idea that I was 'interested' in my little cousin, and if I thought I would remain so when she was older ... well, she is only my second cousin, and we haven't had any similarly close unions on that side in recent generations, and 'really, she would be a fine blood match for you, Draco, and her mother would not dare refuse me' and 'I've been concerned about your lack of interest in suitable girls at school,' and altogether seemed so pleased that I didn't dare tell him he'd misunderstood."

Hermione stared. "That's sick."

"Well, I didn't say I was.... I just didn't correct him. I had started thinking about our plans, again, and just told myself I was leaving anyway, so there was no point in causing myself trouble." Draco looked up and gave Harry a wan smile. "Your sort of lying. So I demurred on the matter of my future interest, pointing out that girls do change considerably, around fifteen. Father immediately started reviewing the breast sizes of all of Marcella's adult female relatives, and I had to clarify -- their behavior changes. He agreed, but said that if I wanted a girl biddable, it was best to train her young.

"I pretended to think the matter over, and asked if the end of summer would be soon enough to decide. He agreed to that, stipulating only that if I got her pregnant, or even just took her ... technical virginity, he would force me to marry her." Draco raked his fingers through the grass.

"And anything else...?" Harry asked.

"He said quite plainly that I could do whatever else I pleased." Draco made a face. "I told him I'd behave sensibly. I'd rather lost my appetite, by then, and left as soon as I could." Draco frowned. "I ought to tell cousin Isabelle about it. She should know how badly he protects her daughters -- she leaves them there for a few weeks each year." Draco frowned. "Anyway, it was the perfect reminder of why I was risking my life and fortune on a mad Gryffy scheme."

Harry recalled Draco's speculations about the girl his father had handed to him on Halloween.

"He probably wasn't testing you, then." Harry said vaguely.

"No. I asked -- I told him I had thought that. He said, 'How could she look like Marcella, Draco? She was a Muggle!'"

"Who?" Hermione asked.

"I... A Muggle girl."

"Well, obviously! But --"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Harry looked sharply at Hermione, quelling any further questions. "We should go in," he said. He stood up. "Together?" he asked, "or will you follow, Draco?"

Draco stood up and cast a quick cleaning spell on his robe. "Simple association with the two of you has done all the damage it will. I'd be glad of the company."

They walked back across the lawn, the setting sun sending long shadows before them. Harry badly wanted to take Draco's hand. He bumped into him, instead, and Draco pushed him companionably back, laughing. They settled into a sedate walk, and Harry reached an arm around Hermione and drew her close. He couldn't help thinking that he was substituting, but she didn't object. He looked back at Draco.

"Shall we meet up, tonight?"

Draco scowled. "Little chance of that. I'm with Snape, remember?" He frowned, thinking. "Remember the picnic, after we'd had the Facilis potion?"

"Of course."

"Let's do that, again. Tomorrow."

"All right. Meet me in the kitchens?"

"As soon as my last morning class is out."