The Darkest Night

Chapter 8: Anti-Career Day

Professor Snape's office was much as Draco had remembered it from the last time. Then again, last time he had been here he hadn't had super senses. It had always been so dark that he could never really make out what the room contained. But, after seeing what was in it, Draco decided that it had been a good thing, as most of the items were slimy, disgusting, horrifying, or a combination of the three. He didn't let his eyes linger too long.

Snape looked up briefly. "Come in, and take a seat," he said gruffly, and resumed his work.

None of the objects ever changed places, with the exception of a quill or a stack or two of papers. For a scientist, Snape was very organized. Everything else was tediously labeled and stored upon shelves and shelves that contained potions ingredients which lined the walls. The only light that was present shined from a glowing orb that hovered silently over Snape's desk. Natural light was nice and all, but it had a tendency to ruin potions ingredients; much like sunlight can fade a good painting. The ingredients could lose their magical properties, which is why potions classes were almost always held in dungeons.

A fine layer of mist had collected around the ceiling, but it was anyone's guess as to what it actually was. If there was any decent amount of proper lighting, Draco would have liked to examine the mist more closely to satisfy his innate curiosity.

Once more, the scent nearly overwhelmed him when Draco walked in. It was putrid, and that was putting it kindly. Although that would make sense, considering how most potions ingredients are remains of organic material in some way. But this didn't mean Draco had to like it, even if Potions was one of his better subjects.

Draco sat down in an old and considerably weathered chair across from Snape, but did nothing to relax. He could feel his wand, hidden in his right sleeve and just asking to be pulled out, and he forced himself to focus on the man before him. The Slytherin couldn't afford a mishap, not when in the company of one of Voldemort's Deatheaters. Even though he had known this man all of his life, and even though Draco actually liked the professor (when Snape wasn't trying to kill him or hand him over to Voldemort, because that's surely what was happening now), he knew it could all change. And Draco would be ready.

Snape was hunched over his desk like usual, with only the faintest portion of light hitting his sallow face. He was grading papers once more, but this time he didn't look nearly as vindictive. It must be the Ravenclaws' homework, decided Draco. If it had belonged to a Gryffindor, then Snape would certainly be in a much better mood. As it was, he had very few mistakes to correct and even fewer malicious comments to write. Snape finished writing a single sentence, replaced the quill into its holder, and set the paper aside. Only when these tasks were finished did he look up.

Snape glanced up then paused, and let his eyes slowly travel from the boy's face to the crown of his head, and then studied him for several seconds. Draco sat tensely as Snape's greasy brow drew into a severe scowl.

"Unless I'm mistaken Draco, and you actually changed your hair to that ridiculous color, I believe someone has gotten the better of you," Snape stated as he raised a single dark eyebrow. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back into his seat, eyeing Draco the way an uncle would look at naughty nephew. A tight smile quirked his thin lips, barely visible to those who didn't know him.

Draco drew a thin breath. Snape didn't look like he was preparing to attack. Then again, that smile, that gleam in his eyes...he was probably playing with Draco - luring him into a false sense of security, and as soon as Draco was comfortable, the professor would surely attack. Snape was preparing to kill him, and he was enjoying it!

Oh, I've got you now professor, thought Draco deviously. Just try and get the upper hand, and I'll become a force to reckon with.

Draco drew his hands together and locked eyes with Professor Snape, waiting for him to make the next move. He would prove that he wasn't a coward. Every next move would have to be cold and calculated. No mercy could be shown. He pretended to be nonchalant, and tried to forget about his imminent death that was sure to come within the next few moments. He forced a sheepish smile to his lips, although felt he like doing anything but smile right now.

"I'm afraid I'm not really sure what happened to my hair. It just...happened, while I was eating. And it was all rather embarrassing." Draco grimaced and drew a hand through his hair, as if he was making sure that it was still there.

Now it was Snape's turn to be confused. Black brows knit together in puzzlement. He leaned back in his chair and crossed a leg over a knee, resting his hands before him. "What do you mean "happened"? Either someone did it to you, or you did it yourself, and I highly doubt you did that Draco," declared Snape, with a measured amount of good natured contempt. "So the logical conclusion would be that it was a prank, most probably a potion or a charm. And since you came to my office with the color still intact, would I also be correct to assume that it does not come out with a simple shampoo?"

He probably knows exactly how my hair changed color, determined Draco. Snape probably planned the whole thing, knowing that I would ask him for help, and therefore wouldn't be suspicious of the meeting tonight. Oh, very sneaky once again Professor. And teaming with the Gryffindors for this plan? Low, but tricky. You've planned well, reflected Draco silently.

"I assume so, and yes, it doesn't come out with shampoo no matter how many times I wash it" conceded Draco as he reasoned with himself. Agree with him, and he'll be caught off guard. Even boost his ego if you have to, as long as you can get the upper hand. Yes, it's demeaning, and no, no one else would have to know that you were sucking up.

"Sir," said Draco, feigning the utmost sincerity. "With your vast amount of knowledge of potions and their uses, do you think you could possibly find an antidote? I'm sure my father would be most grateful as well, and I could even arrange a sum of money in exchange for your highly skilled and professional assistance."

"Don't be ridiculous Malfoy. I can't let a member of Slytherin walk around with such a revolting hair color such as yours, even if he was stupid enough to put himself in the position in the first place. You should be on your guard from now on."

Snape cradled his chin in his hand and stared at Draco with his dark piercing eyes for a few intense seconds, making Draco extremely uncomfortable, yet meeting his gaze all the same. Finally, Snape took a deep breath, and quickly reached under his desk.

Draco stiffened, knowing what was coming. So Snape was going to try and get rid of him early, huh? No time for chit chat professor? That won't do.

Draco bolted from the chair, so fast that it tipped over. The boy was quick on his feet, and had his wand out in the split second that it took for Snape to look back up. Snape's eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly recovered and ducked (or fell, no one could really be sure) behind his desk as Draco shot a slashing hex straight at the potion master's ashen face.

Draco ran for cover and dived behind a shelf full of boxes that smelled heavily of fish. It was either that or duck behind the potted plant (it provided little actual coverage from hexes), so he begrudgingly chose the fish.

He was panting heavily and prepared himself for a direct attack. But Snape wasn't moving. A cold silence hung in the air, and only the sound of his own breathing reached his ears. In fact, he didn't even hear Snape's heartbeat. Had he actually hit him with the first hex? Even if the hex had found its mark, Snape should have been recovering by now.

Draco tensed. He could have sworn he heard a noise, but he wasn't positive. It was a pop, like an apparition pop, but that was impossible. His senses were playing tricks on him.

Draco slid across the floor, forsaking the fish shelf, and crouched behind another one of the shelves in case Snape happened to be playing dead. And there was only one way to find out. With a mighty Wingardium Leviosa, Draco lifted the heavy wooden desk into the air and sent it hurling against the back shelves in an attempt to root Snape out of his hiding place. The desk crashed against the shelves, which gave an impressive crack as wood and hangings were wrenched from their ancient stone bindings. The sound must have unquestionably alarmed every student in the dungeons, but silence was of little matter right now. Papers flew in all directions as glass shattered and cracked and potions ingredients oozed out of their broken jars onto the stone floor. Liquids sizzled like acid and devoured whatever it hit, yet Snape was no where in sight.

With the desk gone, Draco had a clear view of the floor. He searched about anxiously. Nothing.

Draco nearly became frantic. No body, no Snape, no blood, no bloody sign of him! And he couldn't just leave. Snape was probably lying in wait as soon as he walked out the door. But how did he leave? You can't apparate in Hogwarts, it's a well known fact. And Snape couldn't have used a trap door, or he would have heard it. And Snape definitely didn't retreat, because that would be a good thing, and good things never happened to Draco Malfoy.

His ears pricked and he sucked in a quick breath as he heard the grate of a boot against stone behind him. Too late, he whipped his body around only to come face to face with Snape, who had a wand pointed straight as his chest and a look of murder on his pale face. All too soon, Snape opened his ugly mouth, lips curling above uneven yellow teeth, and shouted his spell. Draco felt his body jerk and become rigid as he fell to the ground, knowing that he was defeated and completely helpless. His last conscious thought was of a sallow face glaring down at him, and Draco silently hoped that he would wake up from this nightmare.

"Enervate."

Draco blinked slowly and lifted his chin from his chest. His eyes were still blurry and he tried to focus them. If he could see himself now, he was sure that he'd see some slack-jawed idiot looking off into space. It was a good thing no one was here to see him in this state. Except Snape.

"Just wait a few moments and don't try to move too quickly, or you'll seriously regret it.

Ugh. He had a pounding headache, and some black blob in front of him was talking. Was that Professor Snape? Then again, that black blob did seem to have a distinguishable face, with an unusually large nose. There, his vision was finally clearing. Definitely Snape. But he didn't look too happy, and that was never a good sign. Indeed, Snape seemed to be sneering more than usual, which most people would find to be quite a feat.

Draco realized that he had come back to consciousness in a seriously different predicament than when he had left it. Now he saw, too close for comfort, why Snape had told him not to move.

He was sitting in a chair, rather ordinary in nature, with the exception of three metal bars that restrained him: one across his chest, one over his ankles, and another that went over his lap and ended at the arm rests, restraining both of his wrists (which were bound with leather straps). Some sort of heat emanated from the bars, and Draco was pretty sure what the bars were made of. He felt like an ant trapped under a magnifying glass. All hail Severus Snape: Master of the Do-It-Yourself Torture Chamber. Victims not included.

Snape had rebuilt some of his destroyed and ruined office, although most of his potions ingredients, glasses, and tattered books remained in shambles. His desk, however, remained intact, and he sat behind it once more, presenting a very imposing and equally greasy figure.

"Shall I begin, or would you wish to," asked Snape in a very calm voice. His arms rested on his desk, hands together with the fingers making a small pyramid before him.

Draco watched his professor for any sign of attack or trickery. But, seeing as Draco was already completely helpless, he gave up and decided to have a civil conversation. As it was, Draco felt like Snape was about to have some sort of torture session.

"First off, are you going to kill me anytime soon, or is this chair just for entertainment purposes," began Draco in a much more confident voice than he actually felt. "It's highly uncomfortable, and my wrists are chafing. Isn't this a bit over the top?" He raised a pale eyebrow and looked expectantly at Snape.

Snape's eyes snapped wide with anger. "If I may remind you Draco, you were the one that attacked ME. Why should I release you when I just narrowly missed getting a permanent haircut?"

"ME?! I wasn't the first one to attack," protested Draco defensively. "You were the one reaching for your wand. I was just reacting."

"Wand?" An expression of realization passed across Snape's face. "Since when do I keep my wand in a desk drawer?" he answered. Draco glared angrily at Snape's condescending look. Snape reached into his robes and pulled out his wand, lifted it into the air, and said "Accio scissors" in a voice that made Draco grind his teeth in annoyance.

"This is what I was looking for," stated Snape, and he slammed the scissors back onto his desk. "I wanted a lock of your hair to test, so I could HELP you. Idiot boy." He waited for Draco to respond.

Now Draco was confused, and more than just a little humiliated.

"Alright, so you were reaching for scissors. But why use scissors, when you could have used your wand for the same purpose? It's a bit suspicious, Professor."

Snape stared at Draco, with a glare that just shouted "You're an idiot."

"I don't see how you've come all the way to Advanced Potions. I thought I was a good judge of stupidity, but obviously there are some people who surprise you."

Draco glowered.

"You can't use magic on something that is already affected by magic if you want to test it in a potions experiment. The magical properties of whatever you're testing could change if you expose it to other magics. In other words Draco, if you're too slow to follow me tonight," said Snape smoothly, "I can't cut your hair with magic or the chemical properties of whatever changed your hair color could also change. Then the antidote would be tainted, and you could possibly LOSE all of your hair instead of simply changing the color."

Draco gulped as his mask of defiance slipped to one of befuddlement and apprehension. Having a different hair color was suddenly sounding a lot better than losing his hair.

Snape resumed his look of smug arrogance and smirked in a very irritating fashion, at least for someone in Draco's position.

So Snape wasn't trying to kill him? Capture him? Cut him up into tiny pieces and feed him to the skrewts?

"OK. You were right, I was wrong," admitted Draco begrudgingly, struggling ever so slightly against the bars. It seemed as if they were becoming tighter by the minute. "And what the hell are these bars doing," finished Draco with a shout, becoming progressively more frustrated by the second.

"They're quite simple to be honest, and not usually my style. But I find even the most uncomplicated of methods are usually the best. The more you struggle, the tighter the silver bars become. I thought you would have familiarized yourself with the sensation by now."

"What do you do? Keep one in handy in case a werewolf happens to come by and you need to torture it?" asked Draco disgustedly. "You're bound to get a chocolate frog wizard card for that one."

Snape sniffed indignantly. "There are better uses for my talents. Besides, better that than being stuck in that chair."

Snape gracefully moved to the front of his desk and leaned back against it. He crossed his arms over his black-clad chest and inclined his head down towards Draco, letting his black locks fall forward and frame his face. He didn't seem quite as angry as he had before, which was a good indication to say the least.

"Alright, let's back up a bit," suggested Draco. "You called me to your office, most probably for heinous acts of torture, degradation, or maybe a little of both. Sound correct so far?"

Snape lifted an eyebrow in amusement, but said nothing.

"Alright...so you called me in, made some small talk, and made a very suspicious looking move which I interpreted-"

"Wrongly," interjected Snape.

"-which I interpreted wrongly," Draco emphasized, rolling his eyes, "and I reacted in a way that I saw fit. Now, you've got me trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey and at your mercy. Is there anything else that I..." Draco's words trailed off, as Snape's own smirking countenance slowly turned into a smile, yellow teeth appearing behind a grinning mouth. But what really stopped Draco was when Snape's Cheshire grin turned into a chuckle, then a full out laugh that shook his entire body. He leaned against his desk for support as his laughing wound down.

Draco was angry, if nothing else. He didn't like to be laughed at, especially when he had no idea why someone was laughing. Making fun of people actually did give him a lot of pleasure, as he had plenty of practice, but this was plain infuriating.

"Excuse me," he yelled in the rudest voice he could muster, which wasn't difficult at all. He was stuck in a werewolf death chair, and Snape was having the time of his life. "Could we get on with the torture, or are you going to stop laughing and release me?"

"Calm down," demanded Snape shortly. With a flick of his wand, the bars flew open and dissolved into nothingness with a hiss, releasing Draco from his prison of humiliation. He was grateful.

"You're always so impatient, just like your father. Merlin knows how you've managed to survive this long."

"With my piles of money and boyishly good looks?" suggested Draco.

"Point taken." Snape crossed behind his heavy oaken desk and sat down tiredly in his chair.

"So," he began. "The reason you're here." Draco looked on expectantly as Snape paused to collect his thoughts.

"I guess Dumbledore's already given you the talk, correct?"

"You mean the one where he says you have power and you have to use it properly? You have a choice, something like that?"

Snape looked at Draco with a bemused expression. "Yes, something like that. He loves that speech, uses it when he can. But the point is, he was right, and you have to take him seriously. I know by your look right now that you're confused, which is why I've called you down, hopefully to answer some of your questions."

"So I guess it's a safe assumption that Dumbledore told you about my...condition." Draco frowned.

"You mean the werewolfism. Yes, I know. I probably knew before Dumbledore knew." Snape pushed a lock of hair away from his eyes and reclined farther back.

"Does everyone know my secret?" bellowed Draco incredulously, leaning forward and gripping the arms of the chair. "Hagrid, Pompfrey, Dumbledore, McGonagall, you. Is there anyone else I'm leaving out?"

"Voldemort knows."

These words brought a cold sweat to the back of Draco's neck. He felt his mouth go dry.

"And what does that mean to me?" he frowned. He hated himself for that small trimmer of cold fear that ran down his back like ice water. If he couldn't even talk about Voldemort without becoming afraid, what was he going to do when if he actually had to face him?

"It means," answered Snape gravely, "that like all men, you have to make a choice: to be your own man and make your own future, or to let others rule your life and make the decisions for you. And don't for one second think that you don't have a choice to make. I presume that your father has already tried to persuade you to one side, has he not?"

Draco nodded as his brows drew into a severe scowl. "He can be quite...persuasive," confirmed Draco, rekindling old memories. His scowl deepened. He knew he was about to dig his own grave, but Draco just couldn't let it go unspoken. "But what does it matter to you? You're just as bad as my father, or any other Deatheater - you've killed, you've tortured, and for what? You're a Deatheater, for Merlin's sake! What gives you the right to preach to me, when you're just as much of a hypocrite?"

There, he had said it. If he wasn't going to be killed before, it would surely happen now.

Snape appeared to become angry for about half a second, but his rage quickly subsided as he considered the question seriously. Draco couldn't believe his luck! Snape paused for several moments and an intent expression settled on his features, as if he were in deep thought. Finally, Snape spoke.

"I was once the same way as you were Draco," the professor admitted. "Full of ambition. With lots of hopes and lots of thoughts about what I thought was right and wrong. And too stupid to know when to keep my mouth shut." He looked pointedly at Draco. "But the one difference between you and I was that I never had anyone sit me down and tell me to slow down, because after I started going there was no stopping me. And I didn't realize how much muck and mire I'd trapped myself in until it was too late to pull myself out. Voldemort is like quicksand. The more you struggle, the more you're weighed down and the farther down you sink, until there's nothing left but to give in and let yourself drown. Very few can save themselves, and none without help."

So Snape HAD assumed that he was going to join Voldemort. He guessed that it was a reasonable assumption, although Draco kind of felt put out by it. He thought Snape would have given him a bit more credit than that.

"I have many bad memories, and there are many things that I've done that I'm not proud of. Sometimes at night I wake up in a cold sweat, and I can still hear the screams of the innocent women and children that have died at my hands. I can warn you now that anything Voldemort could offer you is never worth that price, and is for his benefit alone. If you become worthless to him, he won't spend the extra energy or effort to keep you around. I realized this, which is why," Snape took a deep breath, knowing that he was putting his life in Draco's hands, "which is why I took control and made my own choices, by siding with Dumbledore."

You could have heard a pin drop. Draco had heard the rumors from his fellow Slytherins for years, but had never really believed them. Snape was a Deatheater, they all knew that. But then there were others. Snape was a double agent, but he was passing Dumbledore false information. Snape was passing false information to Voldemort and working for Dumbledore. Snape was lying to both Dumbledore and Voldemort and planned to take over the wizarding world himself. Snape was a vampire, and had been for years, and was planning to make the entire world a population of slaves. Snape wore women's underwear. Snape wore women's underwear, but only on Saturdays. It had all been a load of nonsense and had gotten wilder as the years wore on, until now. Draco wondered how many of those rumors were actually true.

"So," tried Draco. "You worked for Voldemort, but then started working for Dumbledore while under the guise of being a Deatheater? Because of your conscience?"

"One reason of many," he informed. "Conscience, yes. But I, like any other self respecting man, don't like to risk my life for a man that considers me worthless. I'm too smart to continue like that, and so are you."

Draco pondered for a moment. "Alright, I don't want to be anyone's lapdog. I've known that for a while. But that doesn't solve my predicament. If I don't join Voldemort, it's a sure bet that he'll kill me, or torture me beyond recognition. Is there anything I could do, anyway I could avoid Voldemort?"

"I highly doubt it," Snape snorted, and reached up to scratch the side of his face. At Draco's despondent look however, he quickly added "The most we can hope for now is to keep you safe here, under Dumbledore's protection."

"You mean hide?" stated Draco bluntly. How cowardly and degrading, thought Draco, yet he silently thought that it was probably his only way of survival right now, dignified or not.

"Hide is such a strong word," said Snape with a wave of his slender hand. "Think of it as 'waiting until the opportune moment'. You need a proper defense to prepare against an attack. If we ever do make a move, we'll use stealth and cunning. None of that 'running in, swords flashing and banners waving' crap that Gryffindors so love."

"How can you use stealth when the man you're fighting against can read minds," asked Draco glumly. He rested his elbow on the chair arm and his chin in his hand and looked at his professor through glazed eyes. It was getting quite late.

"Minor details to work out. Don't underestimate your enemies, but don't underestimate your allies either," said Snape with satisfaction.

"Does father know? About the lycanthropy?" He had been dreading this answer almost as much as the previous one.

"Lucius? Most probably."

"That's it then. He gave my life to Voldemort at birth, what's to stop him from doing it again," cried Draco. He had a lot of pent up anger.

"Don't blame Lucius completely," Snape reminded. "I have a feeling that he will be most unpleased with this turn of events. But back to the matter at hand. It's getting late, and after tonight I most definitely think that you need some rest." He shifted in his seat. "Do you want to mention any of this to Dumbledore, or keep quiet on the matter?"

"You mean that I won't go running to Voldemort the first chance I get?" said Draco, his mouth curving with amusement. He would just love to see the look on that crazy old codger's face if he found out that half of the Slytherins were already planning to join Old Voldy as soon as they became of age. "Could you tell him? Every time I talk to him, he goes off on some weird tangent and starts babbling nonsense."

"Yes, he has a tendency to do that."

"I was supposed to talk to him earlier, but I guess I've just been putting it off." Draco rubbed his forehead, collecting his thoughts.

"The headmaster probably knows as much, and wanted to give you a chance to make up your mind. But remember, he's not asking you to do anything for him. He only wants to help."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "No favor is for free."

"You're quite correct, and there will probably come a time when he asks a favor from you, but for now, I think it best if you focus your attention on the next full moon, which is approaching quickly, and how you want to deal with it. Have you worked on the details with Poppy?"

"Yes, some of them." Draco didn't like to speak on the subject too much. In truth, he really had no idea what he was going to do on the next full moon, but he wasn't comfortable talking to Snape about it. He kind of felt like it was one of those taboo subjects that you're not supposed to talk about when people like your professor or your parents are around - like Sex Ed. or the stuff you do when you go off to university. It also made him uncomfortable knowing that more people knew his secret, and even the walls had ears at Hogwarts.

"Wait a second," said Draco, suddenly thinking back. "How did you sneak up on me after I almost hexed you? I could have sworn that you never moved, and then you came up on me without a sound."

Snape smirked, but a sharp eye could tell that it held no malice. "You have your secrets, I have mine. I believe that's a conversation for another time."

All these secrets. But Snape wasn't budging, so Draco decided not to burrow any deeper. For now.

"Is there anything else on your mind?"

"Not that I can think of."

"Good. One last thing then. Dumbledore has sent a letter out, perhaps to get you some help in the next coming months."

"Help?" sneered Draco. "I'm perfectly fine on my own. I always have been."

"I don't doubt your ability to survive, Draco. But you could make it easier on yourself and everyone around you."

Draco suddenly felt guilty. He had never thought about what kind of burden he was putting on other people, only about himself. Considering it now, it must be difficult for Snape to make the Wolfsbane potion or for Poppy to work with an endangering patient, or for Dumbledore to risk his position as headmaster to keep him at school. Very guilty indeed.

Draco relinquished. "Okay. Who's coming to help?"

"I'm not positive, but I've got a pretty good idea whom," sneered Snape.

"Lupin," sighed Draco dejectedly.

"Lupin," Snape seethed. "But as much as I hate to admit it, Lupin knows his subject matter, and he'll be able to help you through some of the tougher aspects, I suppose. You won't have long to learn, as Lupin is quite busy doing things for Dumbledore (Draco didn't ask what, although he was curious as to what an aging werewolf could do in the fight against Voldemort), but what you do learn will be invaluable. Eventually, we'll set up a schedule. When's a good night of the week for you?"

"Not tonight. I've got detention with McGonagall. The whole owlery has to be cleaned, without magic. In fact, I'm already late." Draco stared gloomily at his feet, dreading the coming hours, and then rose to leave.

"Really," said Snape, in a way that made Draco stop in his tracks. He turned around to face his professor, whose face took on a contemplative and cunning look.

"I've got an idea. That is, if you don't mind bending the rules a bit?"

"Bending? I don't mind breaking them as long as I don't get caught," declared Draco with a grin. He smiled craftily and sat back down.