Our Fathers

Chapter Twenty-Two — A World Full of Killing

An attack, the rumors had stated. Draco had run from visions of happiness in Lupin and Potter to word of his own death. Hiding behind a tapestry near Slytherin House the story had come to light. Greg and Ross were in on it — Pansy too — eagerly awaiting the coming of Lord Voldemort. Greg thought Vincent Crabbe would be there as well, apparently a full-fledged Death Eater now, instead of a student. Voldemort was coming, bringing someone to finish the job and kill Draco.

It was too late to run, and yet Draco had found himself running yet again. Was there nothing else for him? There wasn’t time to disappear into hiding with Blaise, even though such a move would be suicide. Voldemort wouldn’t back down. He wouldn’t be ignored. The spell was already in motion. Only a flick of the wrist, and Voldemort would be Tom Riddle again.

He found himself in the long hallway between the Ravenclaw Tower and the Hufflepuff Tower. There were few rooms through here, but one abandoned classroom drew him on. It was cozier than the rest — a fireplace dominated the room, and a doorway led into a shallow, useless closet near the back. It seemed almost residential, which was why Draco had taken it over as a private retreat after his father’s death. Even the ceiling was painted, with a mural of birds. Despite the layer of dust, it had become his.

Voldemort was coming, and Draco’s life would provide immortality of a sort — lengthening of life, at the least. He’d panicked about it for too long. And now the moment was here... what choice was there to be made? Voldemort would come, Voldemort would find him wherever he hid, and Voldemort would win the night.

Except...

Except Draco could take matters into his own hands. He’d considered the idea before, of course, but something had always interfered and made life worth living again. Even in the darkest hours of his despair after his father’s death, Blaise had been there. He couldn’t help but wonder if Blaise’s family being a target hadn’t something to do with their friendship... and now the whole school was in danger because of him.

Voldemort was coming, but Draco would take matters into his own hands, and Voldemort would miss him. The sun was dipping below the horizon outside as Draco rummaged through the drawer of the old teacher’s desk. Yes, and a letter opener was there, among quills and broken bottles of ink. A whispered spell sharpened and lengthened the blade and another numbed him to deaden the pain.

No need for the pain. After all, he was doing everyone a favor. Voldemort would stay an old, feeble man. Hogwarts would be safe, at least for a while. Blaise wouldn’t be any more of a target. Potter wouldn’t have to share the limelight. And Snape... Snape wouldn’t be burdened by a charge he didn’t want. No pain at all as a long, deep gash was opened from wrist to elbow. He felt a bit guilty for staining the floor, but there were plenty of stains from years of student use anyways.

The blood trickled, and pooled — and Draco studied the veins on his arm detachedly, one last time, before giving up to whatever was on the other side. At least in this, Voldemort wouldn’t win.

"Alright, settle down," Ron commanded. Seamus had asked him to fill in for Hermione, as she was researching for Dumbledore and unable to do her prefect duties. Seamus hadn’t wanted to tell the other Gryffindors of the danger they’d soon be facing — he was worried about the littlest ones — but Ron trusted them with the information. They were Gryffindors after all; the proud and brave. "There’s nothing much we can do about it," he continued.

They’d been in an uproar for a good long time before Ron could even hear his voice over the din. Predictably, most of the older students wanted to go out and fight. "We’re not Aurors. We can’t possibly beat them without help, we’re just a load of students," he argued.

Katie Bell didn’t seem to agree. "Ron, we can’t simply let the teachers sacrifice themselves! The staff is only so large — and if they make it past the staff, they may be coming here."

Angelina Johnson nodded. "If there’s any group they’ll want to destroy, it’s us. Gryffindors always fight for the Light. Once we all graduate, we’ll be more of a threat to the lot of them than we are now."

Not always for the Light, Ron mused, thinking of Peter Pettigrew and Harry’s uncle, Henry, Jr. Both had been Gryffindors, and both ended up in You Know Who’s clutches. "Dumbledore said they were after Malfoy," Ron countered. "Kill Malfoy, get out, before they’re killed in turn. The professors can certainly take out a good number of them before they get away."

"Not good enough," Lavender snapped. "We all know what happened to Parvati’s mum. What if one of us is next? I don’t know about you, but I need to be out there and fighting, for my family’s sake!"

Ron stopped short. Lavender’s argument sounded suspiciously like his own would be, but for a bit of new knowledge. "Lavender," he murmured, "going out to attack will do anything but help your family."

"I don’t understand," she shot back.

Dean nodded in agreement. "Ron, you’re not making sense. Getting rid of You Know Who will help all our families in the end. I’m Muggleborn, you know that... if he’s gone, I can stop worrying about my parents and my brother being murdered because of what I am."

"But I don’t think we can kill him," Ron admitted. "As hard as we try... I think he’s beyond both our skill and our mortality. Dean, Lavender... he’s had unicorn blood. He’s been resurrected with Harry’s own blood. He’s not a human being anymore... he’s something different. Oh, if he kills Malfoy, he’ll be as vulnerable as the rest of us — but as little as I like Malfoy, I don’t wish him dead. We can’t kill You Know Who. That’s Harry’s role someday. If we oppose him face to face right now... he’ll remember."

"So what if he remembers?" Katie countered. "I firmly intend to fight with my last breath, if I must. He can remember if he wishes!"

"Remember, and learn who you are. And who your family is. And then, instead of hearing about Parvati’s mum, you’ll go home one morning and find a skull over your house, and it’ll be you going into hiding. Or you dead." Ron was well aware of the looks of disgust directed at him from all quarters, accusing him of cowardice. He gave a shrug. "If You Know Who... if Voldemort regains the power he once had, it will happen. It’s not our time to strike yet. That time will come. Right now, we need to stay here, in case the professors do lose. Someone has to protect the first-years."

Ron stood taller as Lavender stared in something akin to awe. He’d done it — he’d said the name. Even his father couldn’t do that. And the day would come to fight — just not today. Surprisingly, they all started to agree.

Severus Snape was running out of places to search for his godson. According to Albus, the boy had run off upon seeing Lupin and Potter standing together as father and son. It was disgusting — Draco was a Slytherin, he should’ve been stronger than that. It would’ve been painful, yes. Severus had never had the kind of relationship with his father that Draco had managed with his, but even after the old man’s death, he’d missed him. He’d been Severus’ father, after all. One always had to stop and mourn for one’s parents, no matter how one had been treated in youth.

He didn’t understand why Draco had changed in the aftermath of the murders. True, Voldemort had gone from friend to enemy, but Severus had been trying to engineer that change of attitude in the boy since day one. It seemed to be more than that, though — oftentimes, Severus would find Draco waiting in the front room of his quarters. Just sitting, waiting for something... some promise Severus had mentioned but forgotten, or some event that seemed to the Potions Master unimportant. And each and every time, his response had been the wrong one. Albus spent more time with Draco than his own godfather did.

Not on purpose, of course. It’s just that Severus was a very busy man. He had fourteen Potions classes a week to teach — two for each form — and papers and tests to grade for each class. Severus had never wished to be a father or a guardian to anyone or anything. He didn’t trust himself enough for the job, and didn’t wish to part with the time. Draco was fifteen, though — he shouldn’t have needed more than an hour a week of attention from his guardian, according to Severus’ calculations. Wasn’t fifteen the age when all young men rebelled?

He reached the corridor between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw dormitories. Severus would have to give up in only a few moments — the sun was on the horizon, and Voldemort would show his face soon. And, after all, if Severus couldn’t find Draco, Voldemort wouldn’t have a chance. They’d just have to send the boy into hiding, that was the answer, even if Albus wouldn’t admit it. Hogwarts was the worst place for him — and having Severus as a guardian certainly didn’t help any. Severus remained near the very top of Voldemort’s hit list, and would continue to do so.

The classrooms here were all unused. Covered in dust... a few months earlier, Severus would’ve bet a million Galleons that Draco wouldn’t be caught dead in such filth. But then he’d found Draco, one night, crouching in the cinders of the fireplace of the Common Room to keep Russell Blake from finding him. Severus wouldn’t have pegged Ross as much of a threat to his charge, but Draco knew much more about it than Severus.

Something was off. A door was hanging open down the hall. Severus sped up immediately — maybe a dirty hovel was the place Draco would pick to hide after all. But something was visible right through the opening as Severus approached — a hand, covered in blood, peeking around the door.

"Draco?" he called. He could see the sleeve cuff — it was green, the same colour Draco preferred to wear beneath his robes, in fine Slytherin tradition.

And indeed, it was Draco lying there. Severus was at the boy’s side in an instant, healing up the self-inflicted wound before another drop of blood could be lost. He was alive — the amount of blood pooled beneath his arm was alarming, but not nearly enough to have killed him. His breathing was steady.

"Enervate," Severus muttered, looping his free arm around Draco’s shoulders and drawing the boy’s frame against him. "Draco, what in the name of God were you thinking?"

Draco glanced around in confusion before fixing on Severus. "Damnit... why did you have to choose now to start being around? Has he attacked yet?" Draco tried to pull away, but loss of blood surely made his limbs shaky. His hand slipped in a pool of red and sent him collapsing back into Severus’ grasp.

"What were you thinking?" he demanded again.

"It was the only answer! I won’t let anyone else get hurt because of what’s in my veins, and I won’t let bloody Voldemort be the one to kill me!" Draco tried to pull away again, managing to make it to his knees without collapsing completely. "Can’t you let me make any choices for myself?"

Severus grabbed Draco’s shoulder to keep him upright, shoving his wand out of the way. "Damnit... it’s not an answer at all. You knew we had plans to keep him from getting to you! This is stupid — you’ve your entire life ahead of you!"

"My entire life — alone. I’ll be trapped here until the day Voldemort is killed! I’ll have to spend all summer playing solitaire because I’m not important enough for a moment of your precious time! Do you think I haven’t been lonely? Hell, even Potter finally ended up with a father — I lost mine, and got stuck with you!" Draco snapped.

His eyes narrowed in response. "I’ve never pretended to be good at caring for children -"

"Caring?" Draco cut in. "Not caring! Ignoring! You’ve done nothing but leave me to my own devices. Professor, I just lost my entire life! I lost everything — and not only did you cast me adrift in Slytherin House, you finally took away my only friend and expected me to be fine! I’m not fine — I’m in pain, and you haven’t bothered to notice!"

Severus was caught dumb. Draco had always seemed... fine. Well, there had been the awkward moment. Sometimes he’d stood there, as if expecting Severus to do... something... but he’d never known what. He wasn’t used to dealing with a child constantly, how could he know what all the signals meant? "Why didn’t you say something?" he finally asked.

"Because," Draco answered, sneering, "if you’d cared a bit, you’d have bothered to ask me. When I was sick, you never came to see me. When I was lonely, you ignored me and started a new potion. When I needed help, you sent me off to Dumbledore. Didn’t you ever once think that maybe, just maybe, I had nothing left to live for?"

"I... I’m sorry..." Severus stuttered. It was the first time he’d said the words in years. "I didn’t know- I’m not a parent, I- I can’t take the place of Lucius or Narcissa. You’re not like Potter, you knew your parents, and I can hardly measure up -"

"I know I’m not like Potter!" Obviously, that had been the wrong comment to make. "I’m not the savior of the wizarding world, and I’m not Dumbledore’s pet, and I’m not a natural at Quidditch, and I’m not surrounded by a dozen admirers! Does that mean I’m not allowed to feel lonely or want someone to take over for my father? He wasn’t that great at the job either! I just want somebody to be there — isn’t that what my parents asked you to do?" Draco slumped forward, burying his face in his hands. "This is ridiculous. You don’t care what happens to me, you’ve shown that well enough."

Severus opened his mouth to respond — of course he cared — but a click followed by a loud slam snapped him back to the present. There had been a closet at the back of the room — but it wasn’t really a closet. He couldn’t get to his wand fast enough.

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded. Ignoring the possibility that Voldemort might be watching, he leaned forward in his chair and reached across the table to grab Hermione’s hand. The touch snapped her out of her horror and brought her to focus. "What is it? What are we wrong about?"

Hermione snatched her hand away as if burned — Harry was strangely hurt by the move — and turned the book on the table. She pointed to the blueprint and waited.

Harry saw nothing special there. "It’s a classroom," he said lamely. "Um... that’s where Slytherin’s tower was?"

"Yes, that’s where it was," Hermione said, stabbing her finger against the page in a slightly different spot. "Back here. There was a secret passage, Harry, but it wasn’t to Ravenclaw’s rooms. It was a passage from Slytherin’s rooms at the top of the tower to a point slightly down the hall... this classroom here. Can you see how thick the walls are, compared to elsewhere?" Harry didn’t, but he wasn’t about to admit. "It just lets out near Ravenclaw Tower," Hermione continued. "That’s where the stories of the affair came from... they weren’t really lovers, students just saw him lingering near Ravenclaw’s rooms when they walked by!"

So every story did have some kernel of truth — just not the truth they’d expected. "So what does that mean?" Harry demanded. "How far are we set up from the actual passage?"

Hermione turned the book around and stared down at it. "The Ravenclaw students are all just around the corner. And the Hufflepuff students are very nearby. Oh, Harry, this could turn out very badly... we’ve only a few minutes, we can’t possibly alert everyone in time -"

Harry jumped to his feet. "We have to hurry, then. Go find Dumbledore and the others! I’ll head to Hufflepuff Tower — if I bang on the door, they’ll answer. I’m sure they’ve been warned that something’s to happen tonight. Tell Uncle Re I’ll meet him outside of that room? I have to be there — to stop the visions -"

"Yes, I know," Hermione murmured. She set the book back on the shelf and followed Harry at a dash, past an angered Madame Pince, for the door. "I’ll send them there right away!" she called as they parted ways. "Be careful — he might already be in the building!"

Harry headed in the direction of the Hufflepuff Tower — but his destination was the room, instead. Someone had to make it there first; to bar the door... otherwise Voldemort would have free-reign of the school before anyone could stop him. He glanced outside as he ran past a window — the sun was dipping below the horizon. Time had run out.

Draco watched an expression of horror spread across his godfather’s face as a click and a slam echoed through the nearly empty room. Snape was reaching for his wand, but it was too late — a "Petrificus Totalus" sent a burst of magic past Draco’s ear, and Snape toppled, frozen, to the side. He hadn’t the time to spin around before a long, gnarled hand grabbed at his shoulder and another wrapped around his neck, pulling him — choking — to his feet.

"My, my," hissed a voice, so familiar from his nightmares, into his ear. "Thank goodness Severus made it here in time. I would’ve been so angry if you’d managed to take your life before I arrived. That is what you were doing, wasn’t it?" Draco made a gurgle — he hadn’t breath to do anything else — and Voldemort laughed. "Avery, wake up dear Severus. I’d like him to watch, aware... oh yes, and I mustn’t cut off all your air, little Malfoy. I do need you alive for the next few minutes."

His next breath was bitter — it would be one of his last, after all. Snape was already unfrozen and hauled to his feet by a Death Eater Draco didn’t recognize, and none other than Vincent Crabbe. He knew his face betrayed his fear. It no longer mattered. Voldemort slid his arm around Draco’s torso entirely, trapping his arms. "Now, then... where’s that dagger, Avery? Shame to slit such a perfect little neck, but one can’t be choosy, where magic is concerned..."

There was no reason to plead. He might as well die as his father had — proudly. Snape lunged forward, trying to break away from his captors, but the flat of a blade was suddenly pressed against Draco’s skin, and Snape stopped cold. "Don’t do it," Snape growled, "he’s just a boy! I thought this was too low for even you!"

"Why should I care what happens to a Malfoy brat? They’re not even entirely human. I’d threaten to slit his throat if you move, but what’s the point? I’ll do it whether you do or not."

The chanting hadn’t started yet. Draco vividly remembered Baker and Avery chanting as his mother was murdered. He jerked forward, cringing against the pain he intended to cause himself, but Voldemort was faster. "No, no, not yet, boy." The blade was pulled away, skin unbroken. "Avery, why don’t you go ahead and start?"

Snape gave a roar and lunged again, managing to pull away from his captors. Avery was his target — the blade was too close to Draco. Crabbe kicked his legs from under him, and the Potions Master crumpled to the ground, Vince’s entire bulk pinning him there, and the boy’s new wand to his throat. Snape wrenched his head to the side and managed to meet Draco’s eyes — his were filled with apology.

So were Draco’s. There was nothing left to do but hold still and hope it was as fast for him as it had been for his mother. The chant started in the background. And Draco closed his eyes as the dagger came down.