A Capacity for Love

Chapter 16

The Last of the Holidays

He felt like he was being forced to drag his nails across a blackboard and listen to the sound, magnified a thousand times. His entire body was tense, and a gnawing panic lurked at the edge of his mind, even as he forced himself to outward calm.

He was sitting in the front room at Spinner's End; the lights were on, electric ones, making the tattered furniture appear even more sickly in their dim yellow glow. He was pretending to read a book; pretending to be normal. He couldn't hear Pettigrew, but he knew he was there, hovering at the door or holed up in his room. It wasn't that the traitor (for that's what he was, even if he had helped 'their' side) ever gave Severus the feeling of being watched; in fact, Severus was grateful, in a twisted way, that he was there: Pettigrew's presence was the only thing, of this Severus was certain, preventing him from simply letting himself sink down underneath the black waves pounding at his sanity.

He wanted to let go of the guilt and sense of duty; he truly did. He wished he could be more like Pettigrew, who seemingly had felt nothing more upon betraying his best friends to death and Azkaban than an immense sense of relief.

It wasn't that he cared about the girl. No; her fate touched him not in the least. It was that he had failed, again. It was that he had been manipulated, again. The Dark Lord had him right where he wanted him, had set up the entire thing in order to clinch his hold on Snape, ensure that he knew he was a lost cause, beyond redemption. And so Snape would be able to kill Dumbledore, because he had nothing left to lose. He was already the devil's plaything; one murder more wouldn't make any odds.

The ironic thing was, he was playing into both of their hands; he was in the unique position to serve both diametrically opposed masters, and he was the only one who could do it. Another man might have been proud, might have become cocky and tried to use the situation to his personal advantage. But for Snape, there was no advantage to be had. The only thing he wanted was to be free of the burdens he bore on his conscience. And the only way to do that was to be rid of his soul.

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The rest of the holiday passed uneventfully for Hermione, and she began to feel her old self again, physically at least. She made the effort to wash her hair daily and put on the new clothes her mother had bought her for Christmas. Her witch's robes lay forgotten in a crumple at the bottom of her school bag, and she didn't open a single school book. With the worry of pregnancy behind her, she was almost able to forget she was different now. More different than she had been, anyway. She had always been different: first she had been precocious; then magical; and now she was also the victim of a violent crime. That wasn't the way Theresa would have wanted her to say it. But it was true. She was still a victim, even now, weeks later. Everything was different. Everything was filtered through that one night.

Both of her parents took a separate day off, so they could each spend time alone with their daughter. With her father, she visited the medical museum, a favorite of her childhood, he dropping not-too-subtle hints about her studying medicine out of Hogwarts ('You'll be taking your exams next year, won't you? Magical or not, everyone needs a doctor, right?'). Ever since it had become clear she was extremely intelligent, her parents gently joked about her becoming a doctor, and she'd gone along with it, not really having any idea what doctors did, aside from tracking one's growth, peering into one's ears, giving injections and, where warranted, prescribing foul-tasting medicines. It had all seemed fairly innocuous. And, to be sure, she had discussed the possibility of becoming a Healer with Professor McGonagall during her careers talk at the beginning of fifth year, along with several other options.

But now that she had actually smelt blood, had her own abdomen sliced open by Dolohov just a few months ago, seen Lisa's bruises and Oonagh's scars ... She didn't think she'd be able to do what Madam Pomfrey had when she tended to her after the attack. The matron had been so calm as she questioned her on her injuries; her hands had been so steady as she probed for unseen wounds. And then there was the issue of bodies. As a practicing doctor, she would have to touch other people's bodies, their skin, their intimate places. She would have to get close to them, look into their mouths, smell their breath. And they would be close to her, close enough to touch her, grab her-- And now they arrived at the case with the aborted fetuses preserved in formaldehyde. Something like that was inside Sandy now, all shriveled and yellowish-grey, only its heart was beating, and it was sucking her blood in, taking what it needed from her body. She walked quickly away and asked her father if they mightn't leave, but the image remained with her.

With her mother, Hermione went to see "The Perfume", the movie with Dustin Hoffman, which had just come out. She found the Richis character particularly disturbing, so much so that she had to avert her eyes whenever he came onscreen, but for some reason, that almost made it worse, because it was his voice, that smooth, rumbling stream, delivering the lines, the incredible, duplicitous lines, begging the murderer of his daughter to become his son, which made her shiver.

On Silvester, she crawled into bed early and cast a Muffling Charm over herself to block out the sounds of the firecrackers, one Apparition after another right outside her house. The echoes of the fireworks on her bedroom walls flashed Stunner red and Avada Kedavra green. In the morning, she slept late.

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"How are Mr. Malfoy's plans coming along?" Dumbledore asked the question casually, while watching as Snape applied a lotion to his deadened hand.

"Tortuously slowly, if I am any judge of character," Snape droned, then straightened up to survey his handiwork.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Good. It looks like his aversion to hard work is going to play in our favour."

Snape stiffened visibly and withdrew to return the pot of lotion to his cabinet. "I did not say he was not working at it; in fact, I believe he does little else, judging from the amount of time which he spends absent from the Slytherin dungeons, even late into the night. I have made sure his helpers are available as little as possible, which should slow things down even further. He wants to keep his hands clean, and that means something elaborate, perhaps involving equipment, machinery even. I doubt he will attempt to purchase another such powerfully Cursed item as the opal necklace; he must suspect now that such transactions will be monitored. And if he is hoping to do the enchantments himself, the magic necessary would be more advanced than anything he has learned. He will have to do extensive experimentation. The evidence from that incident also points to another possibility, namely having someone else do the actual deed at his behest--"

"I concur entirely, Severus," Dumbledore said in a way that indicated he was not interested in hearing further ramblings. "The boy is no killer. He simply doesn't have it in him."

"No," Snape agreed, and added, more softly, "Although he may yet be made into one."

"You must not allow it," Dumbledore said plainly. "Enough lives have been lost, enough irreparable damage done."

Snape frowned, reiterating with fervour, "I have sworn to do my best to protect him. On my honour to you, and on pain of death to Narcissa."

"It is more than his physical wellbeing we are discussing here, you know that, Severus. You must not allow him to be corrupted," the headmaster said sharply.

"You are asking something which is beyond my power and influence," Snape growled, his voice becoming tight. "I may be able to prevent him committing murder, but corruption of the type you mean comes from within. If his heart turns black, it will not be because of anything I do or do not do. The terms of my Vow cover only his physical health, until his Geas has been completed or lifted."

"The terms of your Vow to his mother, perhaps. But as you said, you swore to me on your honour that you would see to it Draco does not become a murderer. A murder must be committed in the heart before it can be carried out. Draco has not yet committed to it; that is why he is directing all of his energy into the planning of it, why he is relying on machinations and complex chains of events. It is clear the act is still an abstract to him, something foreign to him, and that he wishes to remain far removed from. But it will not necessarily remain so.

"Halloween was, I believe, a second turning point for him, following Tom's branding him with his Mark. He committed horrible, unspeakable acts of violence on another human being... Was there truly no way he could have been spared?" Dumbledore's voice took on a pleading tone.

"None," Snape answered curtly. "Other than deserting the ranks, equivalent to a death sentence."

Dumbledore's brow furrowed in concern. "It has already begun to deaden him. He has become callous, unfeeling." He paused briefly, then asked, rather abruptly, "Have you spoken to him about the restitution fund for Miss Ploppe?"

Snape felt a wave of anger rise in him, but quickly quashed it. This was another one of Dumbledore's hare-brained ideas: Draco was to secretly fund a bank account for the benefit of Sandy Ploppe, the unfortunate girl he impregnated on Halloween. It was impossible, of course. It would be tantamount to admitting wrongdoing and recognizing the child as his. If it were ever to come out, ever, he would be disowned by his family and severely disciplined by the Dark Lord. But Dumbledore didn't see that; he said it was important for Draco to make restitution, in some way, both for the girl's sake, but also for his own. An evil deed left unrepented would burn a hole in his soul, or some such rot. And the old manipulative goat was leaving it up to him, Snape, to convince Draco of this. For of course it was also impossible for Dumbledore to let on that he knew of Draco's involvement, because that would expose Snape's duplicity.

"No, I have not," Snape hissed, "and I shan't be doing so. He has made his bed. He will have to lie in it, as do we all. As I said, I can protect him, physically, to a certain degree, but I cannot be made responsible for the blackening of his heart. You are asking too much this time, Headmaster!"

"I must ask it, Severus! It is not only he who I am trying to save, but you as well."

"Don't do me any more favours, I beg you," Snape said bitterly.

Dumbledore's face fell. "Severus. Don't. You know that if I saw any way to avoid it... You must give yourself the chance. Help Draco. See to it he doesn't--"

"...follow in my footsteps?" Snape blurted out. "Since he has been placed under my care, he has become expert at casting two of the three Unforgivables, tortured and violated an innocent girl, and spends the greater part of his life plotting your death! I'd say I'm doing a bang-up job!" His eyes flashed darkly.

"That is Tom's doing, not yours," Dumbledore said quietly.

"It's me who failed to protect him from it! Just as it was me who didn't put two and two together and prevent Potter from finishing that damned maze, or force him to close his mind to the Dark Lord's influence."

Dumbledore reached out his good hand and laid it on Snape's sleeve. "Severus. You mustn't do this to yourself. What you wanted to do for Harry, what you have done, is commendable. As are your reasons for doing it. I think you have more than made up for that error in judgment in your youth. But you must focus now on what is coming. I fear you are trying to spread yourself too thin. Harry has his friends. What is most important, vitally important, is you ... and Draco. He still has a strong emotional bond with his mother. Use that. He is not Tom's yet."

"A paltry sum in an anonymous bank account will not prevent him from falling further under the Dark Lord's influence," Snape said with a sneer.

"It will. It will mean he recognizes that he did wrong; and that it is in his power to try to make things a little bit right again. These are things which Tom Riddle does not want his followers to see. He wants them to believe evil is all-encompassing; that there is no other choice."

"Isn't it? What you would have me do isn't exactly a virtuous act."

"To kill me, you mean? It worries me that you cannot even say it. That means to me you think it is something dirty. But you will do it out of love for me, Severus. Won't you? You must believe it is an act of mercy. Because it is. You have seen what the curse is doing to me." He held up his left arm. "You know what will happen eventually, even with your best ministrations. Don't you want to spare me that fate?"

"I do, you know that. But to... kill you..."

"Think of it as putting an end to my suffering," Dumbledore said lightly. "I want you to promise me, Severus, that at the moment when you speak the curse, when the words pass your lips, you will feel nothing but love and compassion in your heart. Do you promise me? Severus?"

Snape looked away. "I promise."

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Author's Note: Better short than delayed. Next chapter coming soon. Promise!