The Hanged Man

Chapter Four: There But for the Grace of God

June, 1997

Apparently her threats to floo the Ministry had been a bluff. He ought to have known that: ought to have remembered that Lina Branch was the last person in England--with the possible exception of the Dark Lord--who wish to connect to the Floo network. It required registration with the Ministry: and, these days, the Ministry could be every bit as frightening as the Other Side.

His side, he reminded himself, setting down the silver vial gently.

He should have thought of that. He wasn't usually one to miss things.

But then, his mind wasn't at its clearest at present.

And, of course, she couldn't have registered the address anyway. She was in a Fidelius kept house of which she was not the Keeper. Even messier to explain.

Get a grip, Snape, his mind insisted as he ran a heavy hand through rows of greasy, blood-clotted hair--an unconscious mimic of her habit. You can't start overlooking things now. In a handful of hours, he'd be standing in the Circle, staring down the advancing forces of Voldemort's mind. Not the time to start waxing nostalgic or--worse--going suddenly obtuse.

The breath he forced was still tinged with lingering spice and flame. Just one more thing: just one more piece of work and then--

And then who bloody well cares. The Order or the Death Eaters--either could claim him. At the moment, he was feeling a bit apathetic about both. He'd been a pawn for so long, it hardly seemed to matter whose fingers were on the pieces anymore.

That's it: remember that game--that game of chess with Lina. If he could remember how to move for just a few more hours...Then, one way or another, the Game could go on without him for all he cared.

Drawing another stinging lungful, he pushed his stiff, exhausted body up, and up, and up the stairs--too many stairs--to find her.

But somehow--as if they'd never stopped playing the game at all--he knew precisely where she'd be.

The sight rang familiar, threads of the past in her hunched back. She sat, moonlight filtering through the now opened curtains, sliding like frost down the muted dark of her hair. Curved forward, chin cradled, eyes damp but still, she was locked, focused, on the inert form rising and falling in sleep beneath the sheets. It was a cruel, melancholic satire of mother and child as she reached out, fingers long and deliberate, and pushed a damp strand of moonlight-shining blonde from the boy's pressed eyes.

He didn't need Legilmency to know the thought sighing through her brain, causing those white, careful fingers to shiver over the boy's face. There but for the Grace of God...

The tender register of her voice, soft as the moonlight. "What--happened to Lucius?"

If the dark, muted shadows hadn't seemed so elegiac, he might have smirked. Her tone was different than even a half hour before. Just like it had been then, never knowing what she would be from one moment to the next.

But this change, at least, he could comprehend. The dull emptiness of a heart too full and a mind too overwhelmed.

"You don't know?" He'd assumed she'd been keeping appraised, in her own unique way, of all the tumultuous goings-on in the wizarding world.

"You know very well I avoid any--knowledge--of my dear father when possible."

Odd she should mention that, he thought, as now, side by side, he saw how much the two young Malfoys resembled one another. Totally different lives: but they'd grown together to a familial point and, when summed, equaled the full presence of the despicable man in question. Draco had the features, Lina had the presence, the keenness. And, then, of course, like anyone born to the legacy of Lucius Malfoy, they both looked like absolute wrecks.

"He was arrested last year along with a few others. They broke into the Ministry."

He remembered enough of her mannerisms to know when she needed no further information. She nodded, withdrawing from the boy, tired eyes retreating inwards. "I see. And a thoroughly displeased basilisk-snogging bastard decided to throw the son into the flames. Along, it seems, with you."

"As far as I know, I was never out of them."

It felt good, through the haze of fatigue, to see that half-quirk smile. Again, as it had been then. Yell and snark and tear one another to bits--and, when all demons were purged and there was nothing left for raging, they could sit back in surrender. And, sometimes, in those moments, he could make her smile--if they both forgot themselves long enough.

The Game, Severus. You haven't the time.

He cleared his throat, leaning his burdened back against the door jamb. "Lina, I--we don't have time. I'd ask you to reconsider Albus' request--"

"I want to see it."

He paused, all too afraid he knew what she was asking. "See--?"

"I want to see Albus. I want to hear the request and reasons from his own lips."

On the bed, Draco groaned, rolling away.

"I told you, he's--"

"Dead." Something in the way she said it made him feel the word down at the spongy root of his stomach. Something in those innocent dentals made his throat tighten. "Yes, I remember. But if you're going to break into my house, a fugitive, just a few minutes after murdering Albus Dumbledore and just a few hours before returning to You-Bloody-Well-Know-Who, I don't think a little request of proof should be out of the question."

At least the rising irritation was reawakening his mind, injecting a little Slytherin energy through his weary veins. "Don't toy with me, Lina. You know it's true. Nimue's knees, you're the only one in the entire bleeding wizarding world who could know that! You already said you'd discussed it with Dumbledore himself!"

"The sooner you agree, Snape, the sooner we can get on with it." Standing, bringing her unhappy face to his chin, she offered him a paltry concession. "I have my reasons."

He'd damn well had enough of people's sodding reasons. People were always using those unnamed reasons to drag him around by his hooked nose.

But she was the worst about it: asking for answers, giving none back. Even worse than Albus.

Even worse than Albus had been, his mind reminded him.

Damn.

Better get used to being led about, Severus, it reminded further. That's how these last damned days were going to unfold. At least he had some small, nagging faith in her reasons. She, on occasion, had that Albus ability to induce trust.

And she was, after all, offering more help than half an hour earlier.

So he followed her back down--it was easier on the way down, like collapsing--and back to the cupboard where she'd kept the vial of memories.

The pensieve did little to keep his reminiscing at bay. The stone oval--shallow and barely large enough to hold more than a couple of thoughts--was cold in his hand, and he allowed himself only a very brief moment to run his fingers over the three letters carved deep in the bowl's nadir. E.A.P.

She didn't miss it. "You should take that back, when you go. I don't use it anymore, and it's yours, after all."

Ignoring this, his wand at his temple, he realized he'd mistaken apprehension for irritation. He wasn't upset that she'd asked: she had the right, Merlin knew. But he didn't want to see it again. It could play through his mind--as it undoubtedly would--'til the end of his miserable days: but standing in it, feeling choked again by the wide-open reality of it...

What he wanted, however, hadn't mattered for a very, very long time.

The two memories, a sickly mixture of silver and green, swirled together, lapping up at the pensieve's lip like an overfull glass. Dancing across the surface, the brilliant, terrible light of the Dark Mark shone, even through the past.

"You--don't have to--with me--if--" The horrible green dappled her wide gray eyes, a perfect mirror of the basin.

No. No running. If this was what she'd wanted...

He seized her wrist and prodded the glowing substance viciously.

Light faded into driving darkness. His eyes were blind, leaving only the crunching sound of steps in his ears and the fresh, cool air of early spring on his skin. Insects were sighing, night birds were flapping and swooping through the distance. As his sight adjusted, slow, he could make out the murky lace of branches swaying overhead.

And then, all at once, as his vision returned in focusing patches, he was staring straight into that face--that haunting face. The eyes, however, were not twinkling. It had been the only way he'd ever been able to tell when the old man was seriously troubled.

Alive. Alive again.

His guts twisted. But not for long., And, even then, at that moment he had been planning--

"Damnit, Albus! Listen to me and stop behaving like a ruddy Gryffindor first year. It won't work." His alter-self was, of course, a perfect contrast to the Headmaster, pacing, roaring, thrashing like a pinned snake.

"Severus, need I remind you of our--"

"No!" Venemous rage reverberated through the hollow, drowning out the myriad calls of surrounding creatures. He fought the urge to shush him memory-self--and the urge to agree with him all over again.

"No, you needn't remind me. But perhaps someone should remind you of the situation. Narcissa wasn't asking me to help Draco pass his apparition test, Albus. You--you can't be serious."

Present day-Snape allowed his gaze to dart, briefly, to Lina's watching eyes. She'd withdrawn a few respectful feet, observing, solemn and inscrutable. What she'd be making of this--what she knew already--he couldn't guess.

"I am quite serious, Severus. As you well know."

His memory-self apparently had nothing to howl about in response, snorting derisively and continuing his frantic path through the underbrush in noxious silence.

"Severus, you and I both know I'm dying--"

"Bollocks! In a few more months we'll have worked out a way to heal that blasted thing--"

"Severus."

The soft interruption had only infuriated him further. It had the same effect on the second go-round.

"There's nothing noble about this, Albus. There's nothing noble about a death wish--isn't that what you bloody well told me?"

And then, oh gods. The bastard--that bastard--smiled. Infuriating, indulgent calm. "I'm glad you took those words to heart."

"Damnit, Albus!"

"Severus, I have explained this to you. If Draco fails, it is in everyone's best interest that you fulfill your Vow. I have only half a year left at best: and you will be of much more use alive."

"So will you, you barmy--"

"Severus." The calm, strong voice, for the first time, grew stern: stern and solid as the trees around them. It had the desired effect of halting both Snapes completely. Like a goddamned chastened child.

"I realize there is still a great deal to be done. I am working tirelessly with every breath remaining--"

"With Potter," memory-Snape growled.

"Yes, for his part. And this is yours. You will return to Miss Branch. She could have the answers I do not."

He saw--as he remembered--the rise of bile and anger. Just another pawn in Potter's quest, am I. Albus was going to lie down and leave him to lead the Boy Wonder straight into the snake's den.

"And if the situation comes to a head, you will fulfill your Vow to Mrs. Malfoy. And proceed as discussed."

For all the anger and hate in his memory-voice, he could feel the truth again: not hate but despair, gnawing at every bone, shaking every nerve. "I'm sick of it, Albus! I'm sick of all these games--on both sides! Ask me to face an Unforgivable. I'll do it. I won't even bat a goddamned eye. But this is madness. You've taken too much for granted. There are too many ifs and--"

"That is why Miss Branch's services may prove invaluable."

As he breathed, the whole forest stilled. Wind froze, trees petrified, the wailing of insects fell into hypnotic, entranced oblivion.

"Maybe I--don't want to do this anymore."

The oppressive silence crushed the words between black fingers.

"Severus Snape."

Only his heart had the courage to stir.

"You will fulfill our agreement. It's an order, if nothing else. You took the Defense position: you knew it would be your last year--you knew your part. You will do this, and I should not have to remind you why."

He allowed himself to do now what he had not then. The burning of the tears stoppered, unborn, in his throat--the farthest he'd ever allowed them since childhood.

"Make investigations into your House. See what you can discover in the way of young Malfoy's progress--"

Tangible and vertiginous, the darkness of the forest twisted, morphed into the tall, narrow of tower stairs. The silence shattered with the blasting of wands, the crashing of stone.

And he was running past himself, terrible moment blurring seamlessly into terrible moment. It was almost too much, to have the two aching memories played, one atop the other.

But he took off after himself, tiredness of limb forgotten, lost in the desperation, as if somehow, this time, he could change it. He was only vaguely aware of Lina's light steps behind him--behind them--as they wound upward into the exposed night.

It waited, just as it had been. Bathed in the eerie green glow of snake and skull. Death Eaters skulking. Fenrir gnashing his inhuman teeth. Small, white Draco shivering like an uncertain star.

But, again, he saw only the Headmaster, crumpled, bent, and pale against the rampart.

Turn back, Severus, he wished at his memory-self, aching. Throw yourself on one of those wands. Let one of those ruddy children keep you from--

But the past didn't change. He'd learned that lesson the hardest way imaginable.

We've got a problem, Snape.

He could only take his advice now. He turned away, letting the scene work to its own, inexorable conclusion.

Severus...

Dead. Dead. Albus Dumbledore was dead. No matter how many times it happened, that was it. He'd followed orders: he'd done his duty. And, once again, someone was--

Severus...please...

Dead.

He'd read it, quick and harsh, in the wizard's failing, pleading thoughts. He was dying, one way or another. Do it, Severus. Remember our agreement.

Even through closed eyes, the hatred stormed the walls of his heart. The one pain that even Dumbledore couldn't wash away, beat, mantra-like, through his mind.

I remember. For all your faith and your wisdom and your second chances-- I'm still nothing more than a killer.

And the green, the blast, the thud, the castle--the swirling madness disappeared, and he was back in the house, back in the present. The naked, barren now.

Breath. Breath.

Still bloody here.

Noble or not, that death wish was sounding better all the time.

"Severus--"

Her voice jarred against him, quiet and haunting echo of the memory.

His eyes opened grudgingly. Her pale face shone, mottled with tear-streaked glass of shadow.

"I'll do it, of course."

Dull register, numb, in the background of reality.

"It will take me some time to prepare."

Hands cradled his blood-dried shoulders, leading him, shell and guts, to the soft embrace of the couch. "Try and--get some rest."

Her hands, remembering their earlier path, smoothed the hair from his eyes, warm pads on fevered flesh. "Get some sleep. I'll wake you."

His eyes shut once more, leaden and unwilling.

Defenses razed, mind beset, he knew sleep wouldn't come. Probably would never come again.

The memories rushed in instead. He no longer had the strength to hold them back.

*********

A/N: Phew! That was a tough one to write: I hope I managed a version of events that is both HBP compliant and plausible.

The title of course comes from the phrase "There but for the Grace of God go I" (somehow, my friend and beta had never heard it) and refers to Snape/Lina's reflection of what her fate could have been had she been raised by Lucius as Draco was.

Next chapter, back to the "past" (1991). More Snape and Branch, more answers and--yikes--the beginnings of an actual plot!

Please R/R!