Our Fathers

Chapter Twenty-Three — And Blood Spilling

A loud roar came echoing down the corridor as Harry approached the room Hermione had found on the map, and he sped up immediately in response. Something was most certainly wrong — was Voldemort already in the building? It had sounded like the voice of an adult man. Had a teacher been in the line of fire?

Wand already in hand, he rounded the corner, and nearly screamed at what he saw. A closet door in the back of the dank classroom hung open on one hinge, exposing a dark passage leading off to unknown ends — the secret passage of Slytherin, open for the first time in a thousand years. Off to the right stood half a dozen Death Eaters, surrounding the hunched form of their leader. Another six stood across the room, the familiar bulk of one — Vincent Crabbe — pinning Professor Snape to the ground. And, most horribly, Draco Malfoy was held firm in the grip of Voldemort, a dagger of glinting silver shining at the Slytherin’s throat in the old man’s hand.

Before he knew what he was doing, Harry dashed forward, slamming against the nearest of the Death Eaters — a skinny, tall man whose skin was pale beneath his mask. "Let him go, Voldemort — he’s the son of one of your supporters! Do you honestly think killing him will help your recruiting?"

The old man moved as Harry did, jerking Malfoy around in his hold. "This isn’t your business, Potter. What’s the loss of a Slytherin to a noble Gryffindor? One less to go bad, isn’t that what they say?"

Harry stayed half behind the Death Eater he’d trapped, using the man as a shield just as Voldemort used Malfoy. However, Harry was quite aware that, should Voldemort wish it, the man Harry held hostage would be nothing more than cannon fodder. Only a temporary hiding place. "I don’t care what House he’s in. He has as much of a right to life as anyone."

"This is ridiculous — I’m not here to waste my time on you. Avery, keep chanting! Just stand there and watch, Potter, there’s not a thing you can do to stop this." Malfoy went rigid as Voldemort spoke and opened his eyes, staring across the space between at Harry in resignation.

A cloaked man — Avery, Harry supposed — chanted, and Voldemort was right — there wasn’t anything he could do. The words rose and fell in a lyrical tongue, totally unfamiliar to Harry. Dumbledore would be too late, he thought. Draco Malfoy’s life could be counted in mere minutes.

The chanting rose to a climax, but the unexpected occurred. Before the knife could slide across Malfoy’s throat, Snape twisted under Crabbe’s bulk and made a grab for Voldemort — and his reach was enough. He caught the hem of Voldemort’s robe and gave a yank; it wasn’t enough to startle him into dropping the knife, but the blade did slip. Malfoy gave a cry as the dagger cut, not across his throat, but was driven into the flesh of his shoulder.

Voldemort cursed loudly, kicking the side of Snape’s head and keeping Malfoy pinned against him. The magic was beginning — a glow enveloped the bent form of Voldemort almost immediately. "Crabbe, kill the traitor! Hemophilae," he shouted.

Harry knew that word — hemophilia, it was the disease that kept blood from clotting. If Hermione was right, then, Voldemort would certainly win, since Voldemort’s spell would keep Malfoy bleeding. And if Harry knew his magic... it meant he’d have to counter the hemophilae before casting an asceptio to close the wound. Two spells? He’d never be able to cast two before Voldemort could kill Malfoy simply out of spite —

And then, in a split second, the other half of Voldemort’s statement connected. Crabbe grabbed a handful of Snape’s long (and greasy) hair and pulled back the professor’s head, raising his wand to end the man’s life eye to eye. Harry dropped his hostage and pounced, catching Crabbe’s wand in his free hand and smashing his other (wand in hand) into the former student’s face. Crabbe toppled to the side, carrying Harry with him, and gave Snape a chance to clamber away.

During it all, Malfoy slumped in Voldemort’s grasp. His school robes were plastered to his torso, wet with blood, and his shirt plainly showed the spreading stain. As Harry finally managed to knock Crabbe from the fight completely, he turned to take the rest of the scene into account. More Death Eaters were approaching him. Snape had his wand, but from the slightly glazed look hovering on the professor’s features, Voldemort’s kick had hit true. Avery, still chanting, had taken to cowering by Voldemort’s side, and Voldemort — the Dark Lord looked no more than sixty. Malfoy was losing blood, and fast.

There were two avenues of escape for Voldemort — the classroom door, right into the heart of the fortress, and back out the way he’d come. With a quick "Expelliarmus," Harry sent another Death Eater flying away and made a dash for the closet. He slammed it closed and locked it with a spell, insuring that no reinforcements would arrive from that direction before a flunky grabbed ahold of his robe and dragged him back.

He fought with all his might, and saw Snape doing the same, but two people could only hold for so long against a dozen Death Eaters. Voldemort had reached fifty. Malfoy was fading too fast.

*

"Professor!" Hermione screamed, pushing through a crowd of Ravenclaws. She reached Lupin first — Dumbledore wasn’t to be seen in the crowd, and McGonagall was wading through a sea of first and second-years a ways down. "Oh, Professor Lupin, I was wrong!"

"Wrong about what?" Lupin asked. He took a step away from a seventh-year (Hermione didn’t know him well) and crossed the hallway. "There’s no passageway?"

Hermione let out an unintentional sob and launched into her story. "No- No, there’s certainly a passage, Professor, but it’s not into the Ravenclaw dormitories. Slytherin had an escapeway built from his Tower into the hall, probably in case of a fire! There’s a classroom there — It’s just around the corner, what if You Know Who comes through and finds all the Ravenclaws in the hall -?"

Throughout, Lupin’s face slowly paled. "We haven’t time," he broke in, half-turning from Hermione. "Minerva, get them back inside! He’s not coming through there! They’re all in the way!"

McGonagall roughly shoved a boy from in front of her, face frozen in horror. "Where?" she demanded, ignoring the queries sent her way by dozens of Ravenclaws. "Where’s he coming? How do I get them out of the way?"

"The Great Hall, by way of the Fat Lady," Hermione suggested. "I’m almost positive it’s this classroom, but just in case I was wrong -"

She didn’t wait for Hermione to finish. "Prefects! We’re evacuating to the Great Hall! Remus, go with Miss Granger — Granger, stay out of the line of fire, I’ll send Albus — Miss Karema, please follow the prefects, I promise you’ll be fine -"

Lupin grabbed Hermione’s shoulder as McGonagall went on with her work. "Hermione, where’s Harry?"

"Gone to warn the Hufflepuffs. He said he’d meet us outside the classroom. Do you remember the spell, Professor? It’s absolutely imperative -"

"Yes, Hermione, this is Harry’s life we’re talking about. I won’t forget the spell! Now, which classroom do you mean?" He turned her from the crowd, and Hermione took the initiative, pulling out her wand just in case.

The classroom really was only a hallway away. Harry wasn’t waiting, but Hermione could hear a scuffle inside — and a sick feeling flooded into her stomach.

*

Remus saw the open the door and left Hermione behind as he went into a desperate dash for the classroom. It was as he feared, as he passed the doorjam — Severus was backed into one corner, Harry fighting for his life in another, and Voldemort shouting orders from the center, Draco Malfoy’s life bleeding over the Dark Lord’s hands. Voldemort looked in his forties — barely older than Remus.

He didn’t dare distract Harry in the midst of a fight, but disarmed two Death Eaters before his surprise was lost. Voldemort was roaring something in anger, but Remus ignored him. The Death Eater beside the Dark Lord caught Remus’ attention, but first things had to come first — he raised his arms, trusted in Severus and Harry, and closed his eyes. He didn’t understand the words that flowed from his mouth after weeks of obsessive practice in the fear — hope? — that Voldemort might show his face. He knew the translation, though: "shelter the mind, cut the bond, save the soul." Dramatic, yes, but Hermione had assured him that it would work, and the words rolled from his tongue, and light shot from his wand and broke in two...

Voldemort let out a cry and dropped Draco Malfoy, the silver dagger going flying. He collapsed to his knees and cradled his head. Harry did the same, falling forward against his attackers — he was hidden in the crush of two Death Eaters, and Remus let out a cry louder than Voldemort’s as he fully ignored the Dark Lord and went charging into the few upright Death Eaters near Harry. He could hear Hermione disarming others, but Harry was in danger. Remus didn’t hesitate to send a man flying using every ounce of the unnatural strength gifted by his curse. The other tasted Remus’ fist before slumping to the side and allowing the werewolf in.

Harry was breathing — and conscious; he looked up, eyes slightly off, and gave a strained smile. "It snapped — like a rubber band, it snapped and hit me straight on -"

"Are you alright?" Remus demanded. "Did I hurt you? Oh, God... did what I do hurt you?"

"No! I’m alright, I’m fine -"

Harry’s response was cut off by a shriek. Remus spun in place, coming face to face with a Voldemort who could be no older than Remus himself. His eyes — brown, not unnaturally red — were slightly glassy, just like Harry’s, and the tip of his wand was jammed against Hermione’s temple.

Severus could be seen over the Dark Lord’s shoulder, triumphant over his multitude of enemies. Draco Malfoy was slumped on the floor, no longer conscious. But something was missing from the picture — the chanting and the eerie light surrounding Voldemort were both gone. Avery lay on the floor, the victim of one of Severus’ curses.

Instantly, Remus recognized what had happened. Hermione had grabbed Draco Malfoy as he fell and closed the wound before Voldemort overcame the shock of the severing of the magical contact. In response, he’d grabbed Hermione. "Let her go — a hostage won’t help you any," Remus snapped.

Harry let out a moan and grabbed Remus’ hand, eyes wide in worry over his friend. Voldemort laughed in response. "It helps plenty — you daren’t harm me when she’s in the way..."

And it was true. Stalemate.

*

Harry’s head was spinning in pain. It felt odd — detached— he was firmly planted within his own head. He trusted Hermione’s spell, but could only hope that he’d not have another vision of Voldemort’s killings. But the man standing over Malfoy’s inert body wasn’t Lord Voldemort anymore. He was sadly and truly Tom Riddle. And he had Hermione.

It was Harry’s worst nightmare. He’d never wanted to put his friends in danger, but every move he made pulled Hermione and Ron into the thick of things. And now, she might die for his mistake... His hand shook as he tried to raise his wand, but exhaustion took over. There wasn’t a possibility that he still had enough strength to fight anyone, let alone Tom Riddle at the height of his power.

And then a shadow fell across the doorway. "You look well, Tom," a restrained voice greeted from just outside of Harry’s vision.

Tom’s eyes narrowed and he kept Hermione between him and the door. "Professor Dumbledore... I... what are you doing here?"

"You needn’t hold her captive, Tom. Please, let my student free. Haven’t you caused enough trouble today?" Dumbledore came through the door, wand held limply at his side.

"I won’t give in to you. I’m not human to you, am I? I wasn’t worth your time." Riddle accused. "You won’t get the best of me this time — you moulder while I’m young again. Young, healthy, and HUMAN. Even Pettigrew couldn’t do that for me."

Dumbledore sighed deeply, face creased with every year. "I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from yourself, Tom."

A flash of anger crossed the Dark Lord’s young face. "No — you will not win! I’ll show you just how much power I have! Everything you’ve thrown at me, I’ve overcome!"

"Overcome, and slipped farther toward your own destruction. You play with forces beyond your control." Dumbledore took another step forward. "It isn’t too late for you... you’ve a second chance, now, even if it was bought with blood."

"I don’t believe in second chances." Riddle’s back was to the door, Hermione firmly planted in front of him. Safe from his opponents, Riddle turned his wand to the door. "Alohomora," he murmured, and the click of the lock opening rang through the small classroom. "This isn’t over, you know. The brat isn’t dead, but I’ve enough youth to let me defeat anyone — even you, old man."

Dumbledore gave a sigh. "If that’s what you want... just leave the girl behind. I won’t follow you. Not today." Slowly, with a flourish, he pocketed his wand.

Harry couldn’t believe his eyes — he’d never known Dumbledore to make a foolish mistake, but putting his wand away certainly qualified. Riddle was a threat, in any guise; and more of a threat now that he looked like an average man in his early thirties. He could walk into a Muggle home and destroy it even before the owners realized he was something other than the milkman. He was a danger. And did Dumbledore think that Riddle would change — could change?

For a horrifying moment, Harry expected Riddle to kill Hermione and make a run for it, but he didn’t. Instead, he met Dumbledore’s gaze and nodded shortly. "Another day, Professor." He shoved Hermione forward and opened the door in the same swift movement, and was gone before Hermione tripped over Draco’s inert body and hit the floor.

Harry and Snape were at their sides in an instant, Dumbledore and Remus only a step behind. Hermione burst into tears and let Harry drag her to her feet while Snape lowered himself to the ground and pulled Malfoy into his arms. "He’s breathing," he reported. "Granger, you did an adequate job with the wound."

"Adequate?" Remus asked with a snort. He patted Hermione’s shoulder. "More than adequate, under the circumstances. I’d say... heroic. Worthy of the title Gryffindor?"

"Certainly an act worthy of any Gryffindor," Dumbledore murmured. "Now, Severus, let us get young Malfoy down to the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey should be able to fix him right up... he’s certainly out of danger now."

Snape slung Malfoy up into his arms like a child and nodded curtly, ignoring the others as he rushed from the room. Dumbledore followed with a smile for the students and Remus, leaving the three amid the pools of blood and unconscious Death Eaters. "We should wait until Minerva arrives," Remus suggested. "Argus won’t be at all happy... he’s had enough of cleaning blood out of stone, I think..."

"I think it’s over, for now," Harry murmured. Hermione sniffled loudly and wiped at her face, nodding as Harry continued. "He’ll have to rebuild his followers... after killing the Malfoys, that might be a problem..."

"Professor Dumbledore thinks he can change," Hermione whispered, voice a bit watery in the aftermath of tears. "Do you think it’s possible?"

Remus shrugged. "Everything is possible... but once again, I think the professor is looking for innocence, when none remains. He’s done it before."

"Then it’s our job to make sure he won’t do it again," Harry asserted. "We still have a bad guy to beat."

"But we have plenty of time in which to do it," finished Remus. "Right now, I think I’d like to go find some butterbeer. Madame Rosmerta owed me one as I left two years back. If we sneak out through the tunnels, no one will notice... Think she’ll pay me back now?"

Harry grinned. "I’m sure of it. We can take Hermione and Ron too, right?"

Remus beamed back. "Of course. We can take anyone you want."

And Harry knew it for the truth. The fight wasn’t over yet, but for once, life had to take precedence.

*

The pain in his shoulder was nothing compared to the elation Draco felt as he opened his eyes to find Snape and Dumbledore standing beside his bed. He tried to sit up immediately, but Snape caught his shoulder — the uninjured one — and pushed him back down. "Don’t even think about it. You’ve lost an incredible amount of blood."

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Indeed. If it hadn’t been for Miss Granger’s courageous actions, there would be no more Malfoys."

At that, Draco couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose. "Granger? I owe Granger a life-debt?" The Mudblood? The shame! He’d never live that down... although, there weren’t any friends to tease him about it...

"You do," Snape said, smirking. "I’ve no doubt she’ll find a use for you."

It was good to see the smirk. "Ugh... what else did I miss? Obviously Voldemort’s dead, or I wouldn’t be ali -"

"Voldemort is alive," Dumbledore cut in, frowning, "but not the creature he was. He is Thomas Riddle again... he appears to be your godfather’s age. I doubt we’ve seen the last of him... but you are safe. You will not be a target again."

"Oh, I’ll be a target," Draco growled, grimacing past the pain. "He is not getting away with murdering my parents and stabbing a hole in my body. Just count me in to whatever plans you’ve concocted — I may not be much use now, but by the time I graduate, I’m sure I’ll be of use."

And then, shockingly, Snape smiled. "I’ve wanted to hear that from you for years."

"Yes, well, he’s underestimated me." Draco pushed away offered help and worked his way into a sitting position. "So it’s over for now? Potter’s not dying, Granger gets my life-debt, Lupin’s a being?"

Dumbledore nodded and ruffled Draco’s hair. Draco, of course, scowled and set about putting it to rights before Dumbledore had even finished speaking. "It’s over for now. I should be getting down to give the all-clear, but I wanted to assure myself that you were alright. We were quite worried about you, Mr. Malfoy. Rest now... there’s a game of chess waiting to be played up in my office, though you’ll have term finals to take in a few weeks..."

Even term finals sounded good — at least he’d be breathing to take them. Dumbledore left and Snape remained in the Infirmary. His smile faded away. "We need to finish the conversation we were having when Riddle so rudely intruded."

"We do," Draco mumbled. Taking a deep breath, he summoned all the regrets and hopes of the last months and, in perhaps his most mature act yet, remained calm. "I didn’t mean to snap, but I’m so sick of being compared to Potter — he’s not a bad bloke, really, but he’s not the bloody messiah or anything. I’m not Potter, nor do I want to be. I want a family, but I’ve lost it. I want someone to be there when I need them, even if I can take care of myself. I didn’t have the best childhood, because of everything my father was into, but that doesn’t mean I should have to be alone for the rest of my life." He crossed his arms, poking lightly at the bandages across his shoulder as a way of avoiding Snape’s gaze.

"You’re right, you know," was the surprising response. "You deserve a parent. Lucius and Narcissa asked me to do it, and I’ve been doing a ridiculously bad job up until this point. I can’t promise I’ll be any better."

"And I can’t promise I’ll be perfect Potter," Draco countered, "I can only be what I am."

Snape nodded slowly. "Well, then, I think that’s sorted. I have one question first — what do you really think of Potter?"

Draco snorted loudly, rolling his eyes. "If his ego’s inflated anymore by Granger, he’ll float right off the Quidditch pitch. And I’m sure this last bit won’t help any — he faced Riddle and survived yet again. Will we ever hear the end of it?"

Snape laughed loudly, clapping Draco on the shoulder. "That’s it then — any other answer, and it might’ve been all off... I think, if we try hard enough, we’ll both get on just fine..."

And they did.