Unexamined Lives

CHAPTER 3

He was at a complete loss. Over the last four and a half years, he had died in the most gruesome and contrived ways countless times, had been mauled by every beast with a M.O.M. rating of XXX or higher (even a few XX ones had ganged up on him), been unlucky in love, lost at every form of gambling and sport, and had every conceivable misfortune heaped upon his head.

But he still had a few more months of Divination to get through, and Ron could not think of one more creative misadventure to foretell for himself.

That's it! He thought, and then wrote, "Due to an ascendant Neptune, I will fail one of my courses. My family will be shamed by this, and will cast me out."

That should please the old hag, he told himself. He had staved off disaster for another month.

He knew he had started repeating his predictions, but until recently Ron had figured it was safe to do so. That was before a few comments from Professor Trelawney made him realize that, although her Inner Eye was undeniably clouded, there was nothing wrong with her memory.

The old fraud had called him on it, forcing him to new flights of fancy when it came to auguring disaster. He had briefly considered he was due for some good fortune, but she would have none of it. Nothing but the juiciest mishaps would satisfy her.

Finally completing his predictions for the following month, he felt drained. His resources were tapped out. He felt a massive headache coming on, and an idea formed in its wake. Why didn't I think of this sooner! He made a note to remind himself for the following month. "Ask Pomfrey about incurable diseases, focus on disfiguring and painful ones."

Hermione had long since stopped ranting about his practice of lying in his Divination homework. So many times had he simply reworded the old standby of "a friend will disapprove of your actions," she figured it amounted to doing his homework for him.

He rolled up the parchment, and put it away with a final sigh. Collecting his quill, ink and wand, he got up and looked around the common room. Not many people were still up. It was quite late, and he realized he had been working by the faint light of the fireplace for the last hour or so.

Harry was snoring softly on one of the large armchairs, glasses crookedly hanging off his nose. Ron nudged him with his knee, saw him sit up with an unfocused gaze, and started up the steps to the dormitory. "Wouldn't you sleep better in your bed?" he shot over his shoulder.

A grunt was the closest thing to a verbal reply Ron got, but he did hear his friend slowly and creakily getting up to follow. They silently climbed the stairs, and with almost perfect synchronicity, fell upon their respective beds; Ron, the less groggy of the two, perfunctorily casting a Waking Charm over both of them for the next morning, before surrendering to sleep.

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VOLDEMORT!

Death Eaters!

...Hermione?

Harry's eyes shot open in the darkened room, and it took him a moment to figure out what or who exactly was shaking him relentlessly out of his well-deserved rest. He fumbled to straighten his glasses, which he hadn't even removed the night before. He was still fully dressed, although his robes smelled sour, and had spent the entire night on top of his bedcovers.

"All right, I'm awake, what is it?" he croaked through dry lips.

Hermione glared at him. It was too early for her to be glaring; he knew he couldn't possibly have done anything to deserve it yet. He was still in bed!

"You two were supposed to meet me in the library almost an hour ago. Honestly, you ask for my help to study for NEWTs, and then you leave me waiting! I do have other things to do!"

"Is Ron up?" Harry started to ask, but drowsy mumbling for the bed next to his told him his friend was in just as hot water. He heard his friend saying something about casting a Waking Charm.

"Sorry, I don't even know how I got to bed last night, I remember sitting with Ron downstairs, and then you started shaking me and I woke here. I guess Ron ..." but his bed and Ron's suddenly tipped them out unceremoniously. The Waking Charm. Ron had apparently set it for the wrong time. Harry vaguely wondered if Hermione would be content with seeing them sprawled on the floor, but it did not seem to appease her as much as he had hoped.

"Hermione, sorry. But now we need a shower, we still have to get dressed, and have breakfast, and then go to Divination... I don't think we'll be able to meet this morning. How about tonight after dinner?" Ron offered in a conciliatory tone.

Through all this, Hermione's lips had tightened and tightened, until only a fine crimson line indicated where her mouth should have been. As a rule, she did not swear, and she could not think of anything to say that would not be in direct contravention to that custom. She had lost an entire hour of sleep, or even better, of work on her paper, and they had not shown up! She knew she would have forgiven them by lunchtime, so she decided to simply turn around and leave before saying anything. She was fully aware that she was tired and cranky, so she had the good sense of not taking it out on the boys, with would also mean wasting even more of her morning.

As Hermione was tearing down the stairs back to the common room, Lavender crossed her path and started to say something, but when she noticed Hermione's expression, she simply squeaked, and almost dove into an alcove to let her pass.

Her fury in front of her like a shield, Hermione crossed the portrait hole, and stalked through the corridors back to the library.

As she irately turned a corner, she virtually careened into Malfoy, and sent them both sprawling. This was just too much. "JUST WHAT IN THE WORLD DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, MALFOY? DIDN'T DADDY TEACH YOU TO LOOK WHERE YOU ARE GOING? AND WHAT ON EARTH WAS SHE THINKING, GIVE YOU A CHANCE?" All this spouted from her lips without pause, as she got up violently and left him, without missing a beat.

Malfoy did not look quite his composed self, but then, composure usually suffers when finding yourself lying spread eagled among all your scattered books in the middle of a crowded hallway. He could feel a scathing answer form in the back of his throat, but before it could come out, Granger had picked herself and her things up, and ran off again. He couldn't help but notice she was crying. He thoughtfully picked up his parchments and books, waving away Crabbe's help. Draco absentmindedly stuffed what he could in the large pockets of his cloak, and proceeded on to class.

What in the world was that? He had made an art of upsetting and wheedling Potter & Co. for the past six and a half years. In spite of this, he had no illusions as to his effectiveness. He knew he could make the Weasel snap without the smallest effort, but that required no great flair. Potter was a little harder to really get to, having to appeal to the Gryffindorness in him. But he had only been able to cut into Granger twice before, once in third year, provoking her to the point of physical violence, and once with a cruel comment about Diggory's death, of which, if he had to be perfectly honest, he was not particularly proud.

Granger's cool head had always presented him with a challenge, and he could appreciate that. This time he had cut through her rational veneer, and he had no clue as to how, or what he could do to replicate it. And what was that about someone asking her to give me a chance? Can this mean that Lisa started some sort of goodwill campaign on my behalf, in spite of my rejection of her? Damn her good intentions, that could make my life very complicated.

His brow darkened, part in ire, part in question. He had to get things in hand again; his grasp was slipping if this could go on beneath his notice. He cursed under his breath, and settled down for class.

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It was not until later that day that Draco saw the girl again. Granger was sitting by herself in the library, surrounded by the ever-present piles of books, the more arcane, the better. On impulse, he decided to talk to her as, given that Lisa Turpin would probably deny everything, he could not figure out a simpler way of finding out what he wanted. Not to say that he had to be any more civil than strictly required.

"Granger, what a surprise to find you here. Finally got rid of your entourage, I see," he observed as he sprawled on the chair across from her.

Bright hazel eyes flashed at him, "I'm busy, Malfoy, what do you want?"

"Nothing you could give me. But I have been wondering about your outburst this morning..."

Hermione interrupted, "If you are looking for an apology, you will be sadly disappointed. Just consider the incident payback for years of ignoring your cheap jabs."

A dismissive curl on his lip, he explained in the condescending tone she had heard him use towards house elves, "Granger, I do not expect manners from the likes of you. Now, you may be flattered to learn I'm curious as to something you said. I'm not under the same delusion as everyone in this school seems to be, that you are a rational being. But even you tend to make somewhat more sense in your usual ramblings than you did this morning."

"If you're trying to flatter me you are going about it the wrong way. Just tell me how I aroused your curiosity, Malfoy, and be done with it. I have better things to do than trade insults with you, however worthy of insulting you may be."

"Fine, let's cut to it. You babbled on about someone asking you to give me a chance. What was that about?"

"Ask Lisa Turpin. She has the strange notion that you are not the despicable snake everyone else knows you to be. Are we done with this delightful interlude now?"

"Thankfully, we are. A pleasure, as usual," he drawled, taking his leave, his cloak fluttering and then falling around him in a cascade of black as he stepped away from the table.

Hermione could not let him go without asking a question of her own. "Malfoy, why do you care?"

"What makes you think I do?" he volleyed back without breaking stride, while inwardly cringing. If you only knew...

Hermione only spared this another few seconds of her attention, before shrugging and turning back to her book.

# # # # # # # # #

Something had to be done. Draco couldn't help but notice what Granger had been working on, and now he was certain it had been her who had left the passages marked in the books he had been reading. So, she had an interest in the matter as well. But why?

Of course, he could not delude himself that her motivations would be the same as his. His point of view was simply anathema to her. So, it stood to reason that she was taking the opposite view. And she would be using the same basis for her arguments! An annotated copy of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy had been among the texts on her pile. One of the German books he had unsuccessfully been looking for was there, and he thought he had noticed a scroll from the Merlin archives poking out of the lot. Typically methodic of her to get all the materials available at once, to have them handy as she took notes.

So much for the element of surprise. Draco had not counted on having someone who knew him in the audience when he made his presentation. If she would be there when he carried out his plan, he'd better rethink his strategy, or he'd be in a lot of trouble. And it did not help any that Lisa Turpin had such good intentions, and such terrible timing.

Yes, he needed help if he was going to succeed.

# # # # # # # # #

"Professor, could I have a moment?"

Potions class was over, but Draco Malfoy had stayed behind, taking longer than usual to clear his worktable. Finally the last student had left, and he could ask Professor Snape for the meeting he hoped would solve his problem.

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy. Is something the matter? I did not see any problem with your results today, so I assume this is not about the healing draught we worked on..."

"You are right, sir, it's rather of a personal nature. I would appreciate your advice." A moment of doubt crossed the grey eyes, but immediately calm asserted itself again.

A black eyebrow shot up, though Severus Snape's face did not evince any other emotion. The request was unexpected, but not unwelcome. "Absolutely, Draco. Let's finish here, and we'll talk in my quarters. We'll be more comfortable, if that is alright with you."

"Thank you, Professor." Draco allowed himself a relieved sigh.

Student and teacher finished clearing up the Potions dungeon in companionable silence and, after carefully locking up the supplies, found themselves in front of a large oak door just down the corridor. Its massive bulk swung into Snape's apartment, a rather pleasant affair, starkly elegant, though lacking the luxury evident in the Slytherin dorms.

The setting suited its owner. Dark wood shelving ran along three walls, punctuated only by the impressive entrance door and another one, less grandiose, presumably leading to the bedroom. The fourth wall sported a fireplace, currently in use, flanked on both sides by windows, which constituted a small luxury in a dungeon. A solid, weighty-looking desk and dark green leather chair dug their shapes onto an intricately patterned rug. Curiously, no vials, bottles, scales or other such paraphernalia were in evidence anywhere in the room. The air was redolent of leather, smoke and parchment, forming a comforting presence that enveloped any visitor to sit on one of the matched wingback chairs by the fire.

All in all, a very masculine, very academic room, which hinted to a facet of its occupant most people could not see in daily interactions. High above the topmost shelf along two walls, Quidditch memorabilia attested to a keen interest in the sport. Curiously enough, what looked like Muggle fishing implements completed the decoration on the top of the third wall. No photographs or other hints of familial delights adorned any surface.

With a swish of robes, Professor Snape took a seat in the more worn of the armchairs, gesturing for Draco to sit in the other one. Tea and scones were set on the small table flanking the Professor's seat, which he magicked to move between their chairs while also conjuring a second cup for his guest. Once the fragrant beverage was poured, Severus simply sat watching Draco, waiting for him to begin the conversation.

It did not take long. A sharp intake of air preceded the words, as if Draco was preparing for a long exposition. "I am sorry to ask for your involvement in affairs I believe you probably would rather stay out of, Professor, but I don't know who else to turn to."

"I must ask you one personal question before I begin, and I understand if you choose not to answer. This is a sensitive topic and I could not discuss it with you if I were wrong as to your standing on several subjects which will come up." Draco paused for a moment, as if to weight his next words, and give the older man another chance to back out before too much was said.

The young Slytherin was unusually tentative, but the risk was great. If he had made a mistake in his assessment of his professor, some quick thinking would be in order, and he wished he had it in him to walk out of this unscathed.

Severus Snape watched his favorite student without even a flicker of emotion. Under normal circumstances, he would have expected to be consulted about future plans, possible career decisions, more infrequently family or emotional matters. But he knew Draco Malfoy was not the type to ask for such assistance. He was curious as to what was going through the mind of this young man who had given him plenty of reasons to respect him for his clear thinking and calm self-assurance. He felt strangely honored to be taken into his confidence.

Could this be precipitating the conversation I considered having with young Malfoy later this term? Severus had put it off numerous times, for all sorts of reasons. He hoped he knew his student well enough to answer his question correctly, if indeed it came to that. Impassively, he motioned for Draco to continue.

Malfoy braced himself, determined to set the older man at ease as to his motives, but weighing each word he would soon pronounce. How to put this so that he would not compromise his position if Snape's answer was not what he had hoped?

With another deep breath, he continued. "Please forgive my indiscretion, sir. Understand I would not presume to ask, if I could think of any way to proceed without your assistance. I assure you, if you'd rather not discuss this matter I will not pry into your private affairs, nor will my respect for you be lessened in any way. I know I can trust you to keep this conversation in confidence, I'd like to set your mind at ease that I will do the same, regardless of outcome."

Snape regarded him in silence, as if weighing the seriousness of the situation, the maturity of the young man sitting across from him. Rather than break the silence he had kept until then, he nodded his acquiescence, almost as if he knew what question to expect.

Lowering his gaze, but in a clear and firm voice, Draco asked it. "Professor, are you still a loyal Death Eater?"