A Capacity for Love

Chapter 19

Another Death Eater Meeting

Snape had a dinner invitation for that evening. It was an invitation he could not refuse, although he would have dearly loved to.

He waved his wand at his cravat to make it knot itself - ridiculous frippery - and scowled when the mirror suggested he might want to try a purple one rather than 'that same old dreary black'.

He was already five minutes late for meeting Draco, but he thought it would do the boy good to wait. Show him who was in charge, after all. The two of them would leave together much as they had on Halloween night, but this time there was no need to sneak out under cover of darkness - and there were extra protections in place to ensure that no one was able to sneak in at the same time.

It being Narcissa's birthday, as a special concession to the son of a former Hogwarts governor (Lucius not being entirely without allies on the board), Draco had received permission to leave the grounds for the evening, with the understanding that he be closely supervised by his Head of House and that he return by midnight. Snape had not been given a say in the matter, and his cooperation had been taken for granted. Well, here he was, after all.

"You're late." Draco, wearing dress robes, was waiting on the steps outside the castle. The obviously expensive clothing did nothing to conceal his pasty complexion or anxious expression.

Snape breezed past the boy without a word, but did allow himself to shoot a very minor stinging hex in his direction. He smirked at Draco's cry of protest, and noted with satisfaction that there were no further reproaches forthcoming.

When they arrived at the manor, Narcissa made a great show of showering Draco with kisses and exclaiming over the present he had brought, but one thing seemed to be uppermost in her mind.

"Draco," she pleaded, searching his face hungrily. "Tell me you have completed the task you were set!"

Draco shook his head and looked down.

"But Draco! You must!" She then implored Snape, "You were to see to it that he completed it! What is taking so long? Every day that it goes undone is one day more on which my son could die!"

"Narcissa, really," Snape said with slight disgust. "You are being much too melodramatic. It is in no one's interest, especially our Master's, to see Draco dead. He is grooming him to take his rightful place in the ranks. This is a test of his mettle, nothing more. He will succeed, never fear. A thing like this cannot be rushed. One must strike when, and only when, the iron is hot. It is merely lukewarm. The moment will come" -sooner than I should like, Snape added to himself-- "but until then, difficult as it may be, you must exercise patience."

"Cissy! What are you doing out here in the hall?" Bellatrix Lestrange emerged from a door on the left, holding a tall glass halfway filled with a luminous blue drink. Judging by her unsteady gait, Snape thought it probably wasn't her first drink of the evening.

Her eyes lit up when she saw Draco. "Nephew!" she exclaimed, rushing over to press his head to her bosom. Draco allowed the procedure, mumbling a half-hearted greeting and forcing a wretched smile to his lips. "What a dutiful son you are," she gushed, "coming all the way from Hogwarts to wish Mummy a happy birthday! And what have you brought with you?" She stared at Snape in wide-eyed mock surprise. "A playmate? For yourself or for Mummy? Or for me?" She giggled dangerously at her joke.

"Bella, please," Narcissa hissed. "Wouldn't you like another drink?"

"No, I wouldn't," she replied, sounding suddenly much more sober than Snape had thought at first. "I don't half like the one I've got." She thrust it toward Snape. "Fetch me another." It was an order, not a coquettish request.

Snape took the glass, relieved at the ready excuse to leave the family scene. Narcissa's affection for her son was a bit too much for him to take at times. He probably should have stayed and argued Draco's case against Bellatrix, but frankly, her entire act was beginning to wear on him. Of course she would proceed to put the fear of hellfire into the boy and Narcissa because of the unfinished task, but Snape was sure that Bellatrix wouldn't actually do anything without Voldemort's express instructions, meaning that Draco was safe until Dumbledore was dead.

The reception room was populated by a sparse crowd of perhaps a couple of dozen people. Snape quickly ascertained that they were in the main Death Eaters (without their regalia, of course) and their spouses, although there were some others - Madam Zabini in her gold turban caught his eye immediately - who were unallied: purebloods who were probably either personal friends of Narcissa's or else hedging their bets against the current political regime.

The mood was subdued, despite the tasteful lights, festive decorations, and open bar serving only the best from the legendary Malfoy reserves. Snape ignored all that, however. It was clear that Bellatrix had meant for him to leave and not return. He was about to deposit the half-full glass behind a potted palm when he decided it was a good prop to keep people at bay. No one would ask him if he would like a drink as long as he was already holding one. He found himself an out-of-the-way wall space and proceeded to wait out the tedium.

When Narcissa and Draco came in, they both looked slightly shaken - Draco appeared downright green -- but it didn't take long for them both to recover and begin moving around the room, playing the host and hostess. Draco was certainly no Lucius, trotting after his mother and clearly ill at ease, but at least he was able to go through the motions.

Snape found the entire affair to be ill-considered. The man of the house was incarcerated, the heir apparent a nervous wreck. There was something to be said for keeping up appearances, but in Snape's opinion, Narcissa was pushing things a bit too far. Not that anyone had asked his opinion. She probably wanted to thumb her nose at the Ministry and show that the Malfoys would not be cowed or intimidated, but the meagre turnout and Draco's mediocre showing would most likely be crowed over by many of the Malfoys' enemies.

They had been there for over an hour, Snape managing to scare off the few people present who were foolhardy enough to approach him, when a throbbing in his left arm caused an icy chill to spread throughout his body. Judging by the startled looks which many of the guests were giving each other, they felt it too. There was an ordered confusion as wizards began slipping out without so much as a word to the hostess, leaving their wives to smile more brightly than ever and continue chattering as if nothing were going on.

Snape hastily sought Draco out, pushing past an elderly witch who was asking her companion, "Is dinner being served?" He found him with his aunt and mother, both holding on to one of the youth's arms. Draco looked like he didn't know what to do, and his eyes showed relief at the sight of Snape.

"He has to come, Cissa!" Bellatrix was hissing. "No matter what you're afraid of, disregarding a direct Summons will result in punishment."

"Don't! Please, just say that he had to stay here, for the party," Narcissa pleaded. "It's my birthday."

Snape cringed at the childish tone in her voice. Narcissa's pleas were desperate and obviously unreasonable. He greatly disliked having to take sides between the sisters, but it was clear what had to be done.

"Draco, come," he said imperiously as soon as he was within earshot. "Your mother can make your excuses for you." He levelled a stern look at Narcissa.

She turned her appeals to him, her blue eyes large and moist. "Severus, you know what will happen. He isn't ready yet, you said so yourself."

"Bellatrix is right," Snape said tonelessly. "He cannot stay here. The only excuse would be if he were dead. So unless you wish me to bring that circumstance to pass, you will release him and let him come with us."

Narcissa's grip on Draco's arm faltered just enough at Snape's awful words for Bellatrix to be able to wrench him away. Narcissa immediately launched herself toward them. "No!" she cried. "Take me with you, then."

"Why, baby sister, are you saying you want to join us?" Bellatrix's eyes flashed with greed and surprise. She had always held it against Narcissa that she had never been Marked.

Narcissa hesitated. "No, I..." Her gaze flickered between Snape and Bellatrix. "Just take me with you. So I can keep an eye on him. I've been there before. With Lucius. He won't mind me." She sounded more certain than she really was.

"How dare you surmise what is in the Dark Lord's mind!" Bellatrix screeched, drawing shocked stares from the remaining guests.

Snape grimly herded the three through the nearest door, which happened to lead into a humidor. The smell of tobacco was sharp and thick, mixed with sweet and smoky undertones.

"Now," he said rapidly, having made sure that the door was firmly closed, "there is no time left for argument. In the interest of efficiency, I will bring you along," he told Narcissa. "But be warned, your presence will do nothing to help Draco. If you wish to be witness to his fate, so be it. But you will not be allowed to do anything more."

"Thank you," Narcissa whispered, and clutched his arm in preparation for the Apparition. With a curt nod, he signalled that Draco should go ahead. The young man, who had remained silent throughout the discussion, looked peaked and nearly transparent. He swallowed hard, squeezed his eyes shut, turned on his heel, and disappeared with a soft popping sound.

In a moment, two more pops followed in quick succession, and the smoking room was empty again.

+++000+++000+++

Hermione couldn't help thinking that she'd made a rather poor deal with Snape. The paltry snippet of information would do Harry no good - she wasn't even sure whether she would tell him about the visit, so foolish did she feel about it -- and it meant that Slughorn must indeed know something that no one else did, although how he had come upon his information was a complete mystery.

And she had all but sold her soul for that bit of nothing. She couldn't explain why, but she believed that he was telling the truth. She had agreed to his terms, effectively releasing him from any further obligation toward her. Not that he had any obligation in the first place, not really. Morally, perhaps, but not legally, not as long as she didn't pursue a case against him, and not magically, either, not even something along the lines of the wizard's debt which was incurred when one wizard saved the life of another. And moral obligations were something which Hermione felt sure that Snape found utterly laughable.

Why had he even offered it to her, then? He could have simply refused to tell them anything. Why had he felt the need to be released from obligation to her? Could it be...? But that was ridiculous, of course. Could it be that he felt... guilty? Did he simply want to assuage his own conscience by making a token repayment? It was completely unfair and insufficient, of course, but to his twisted mind, it might seem just.

Hermione unhappily pushed her textbook away. She couldn't concentrate on her homework. She had been to see Theresa, the Muggle therapist, that morning, having re-started her visits following a two-week break over the holidays, but, as with her schoolwork, her heart simply wasn't in it; she only did it (both the schoolwork and the therapy sessions) because there was a system in place that it was easier to go along with than to buck.

When she spoke to Theresa, they hardly ever discussed the attack any more. Hermione would tell about life at Hogwarts (a Muggle-ified version, to be sure), sometimes about her family, or what her plans were for the future.

She supposed, thinking about it now, that Theresa might have guided her to such topics intentionally. Hogwarts because she needed to deal with her life now, not dwell on past events; her family because they were truly the only ones who would always be there for her (Ron and Harry having proven that they were unreliable friends); and her future plans because making new goals was important for her self-esteem.

She needed to feel that she was worth something, that she could achieve something. That she was not simply a rape survivor, but that she could be a teacher, a Healer, an author. Goals were important. She had the power to make changes and have an effect on others, hopefully in a positive manner.

It all sounded good in theory, but that wasn't how she felt at all. Far from moving past what had happened, she couldn't stop thinking of it; no, that wasn't exactly right. She never thought directly of what had happened at all. It was like a huge, gaping wound in her memory. She knew it was there, but avoided looking directly at it. Yet she worried at it, picked at its scabs, couldn't let it be.

It was also a nice theory about her parents being there for her. They were, of course, inasmuch as they knew what Hermione needed from them. But Hermione hadn't told them what had happened, so they weren't able to help her, show her that they still loved her, that she was still their little girl and the same person she had been before.

And as for the future, or any feelings of empowerment, those were just whispers in the wind. Hermione couldn't imagine what she wanted to do after Hogwarts, nor what good she could possibly do for anyone else. She couldn't even help herself.

Feeling slightly depressed and not wanting to think about it any more, Hermione swept her books and parchments into a pile and wandered back up to Gryffindor Tower.

Before stepping throught the portrait hole, she had to steel herself against the very probable scene of Ron and Lavender pawing each other on the couch by the fire. She mentally went over the most direct path she would need to take to get to the girls' staircase, then clenched her fists and recited the password.

To her relief, Ron and Lavender were nowhere in sight, but Harry was seated at the corner table, nearly hidden behind a large pile of books. This so surprised Hermione (since when did Harry do research, willingly, on his own?) that she detoured from her planned march up to bed to look over his shoulder.

At the sound of her approaching, Harry started and hastily flipped down the book he had propped open before him, effectively obscuring whatever it was he was working on. When he saw that it was Hermione, however, he relaxed and motioned for her to join him.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she slid into the chair catty-corner from him.

After making a quick check that no one else was listening in, he whispered, "I'm watching the Map," his green eyes large and serious behind his glasses. He lifted the book so that Hermione could see the Marauder's Map open and activated before him.

"Harry!" she scolded, likewise checking anxiously that no one was watching them. "What if someone sees and tells Professor McGonagall!"

"I'm being careful," he said, appearing slightly hurt at her lack of faith in him. "And I couldn't look at it up in my room anymore."

"Why not?"

Harry suddenly appeared uncomfortable. "Er... Too many people."

"And there aren't too many here?" Hermione indicated the half dozen or so students chatting and studying around the common room, then narrowed her eyes at Harry. "You mean that a certain someone has a visitor up there, don't you, and he wanted to be alone with her."

"No! That's not it at all. It's Dean. He's got a bunch of blokes up there with him talking about football. It was too crowded. I couldn't even sit on my own bed."

"Right. Look, why can't you just be straight with me? I don't care about Won-Won. Not a bit. He can have the entire Holyhead Harpies team in bed with him. He's got a good head start with the one harpy, anyway," she added viciously.

Harry held up his hands in surrender. "Whoa. I don't want to be in the middle of this. You two need to talk to each other."

"Harry, I've tried. He's so defensive about everything, though, it's impossible."

"Really? You tried to talk to Ron?"

"Really." It was true, the two of them had briefly touched on Ron and Lavender's relationship when Hermione had approached Ron about going with her to Snape. "I told him I was happy for him, and that was that."

"So is everything back to normal between you two then?" Harry looked hopeful.

"Sure," Hermione agreed. "It's all back to normal."

"Great." Harry grinned broadly. "That's really great."

"Yeah, great," Hermione repeated, trying to sound as enthusiastic as Harry.

"All right, look at this then," Harry said, smoothing out the Map. "I've been tracking Malfoy."

Hermione scanned the Map for a dot labeled 'Draco Malfoy', but Harry shook his head. "He and Snape left the castle about an hour ago. They went out the front door. Where do you think they went?"

Hermione instantly knew where the two of them had gone. Another Death Eater gathering. A very uneasy feeling settled on her. "I'm not sure. What do you think?"

Harry snorted. "Probably out for some fancy dinner. He gets all the privileges."

Hermione forced a smile. "Yes, that must be it. They're probably sitting in some posh restaurant in Diagon Alley, coming up with more ways to steal points from Gryffindor."

"If I didn't know how much Dumbledore trusted Snape, I'd almost have guessed they'd gone to a Death Eater meeting."

Hermone let out an unnatural, high-pitched laugh. "That's ridiculous, Harry. Dumbledore would never let a Death Eater teach here." It was scary how she was able to parrot the party line so easily, knowing what she did now.

"I know, I said," Harry agreed. "Plus, Malfoy's gone off the Map plenty of other times when Snape was still sitting in his office. Those were the times he was probably meeting with the Death Eaters. If I could just see where he leaves from on those occasions. But it's always as if he disappears into thin air. It's almost as if he's found a way to Apparate out of the castle."

"You can't--" Hermione began automatically.

"--Apparate in or out of Hogwarts, I know, Hermione," Harry said with a chuckle. "Anyway, one of these times, I'm going to catch him. I guess it won't be tonight, though."

"Harry, speaking of Snape," Hermione dived in. She might as well get it over with. "I asked him about the Horcruxes."

Harry's eyes became round with shock. "You what? Dumbledore told me not to talk to anyone else about it, other than you two!"

"I know, Harry," Hermione said, trying to placate him, "but look, you didn't. You followed instructions. But I got to thinking, maybe Dumbledore told you that you could tell me and Ron because he thought that we could help you get the information. And I was also thinking, maybe Horcruxes are something to do with potions. After all, Slughorn teaches Potions. And so did Snape. But don't worry. He didn't know anything." Hermione sighed. "Whatever it is, it looks like you'll have to get it from Slughorn himself."

"Oh. Well, thanks for trying anyway. But I reckon if Snape did know anything, he'd tell Dumbledore. Slughorn's trickier. He definitely knows something, and he's trying to hide it from Dumbledore on purpose. I'm just going to have to figure out how to out-trick him."

"I'm sure you will, Harry. Things always have a way of working out for you."

+++000+++000+++

"Enough!" Voldemort pounded on the table where he was standing, causing the witches and wizards seated around it to jump and fall into an uneasy silence, their arguments dying in their throats. "Time is getting short. I have been made to wait too long, been delayed too often, both by incompetent idiots such as Quirrell and by my oh-so-illustrious adversary. Do not imagine for a moment that I will tolerate any discussion or dissension from amongst you, my most devoted followers. I will not be denied - we shall not be denied - what is rightfully ours." As he stared around the table, there were few who were able to meet his unnatural, slit-eyed gaze. Severus Snape was one of those who could. Voldemort paused at him briefly, his expression inscrutable, then continued, "If our man in the Ministry says that Thicknesse is the man for the job, who are the rest of you to argue?" He swept his arm theatrically across his body.

"But my Lord--" a balding wizard with deeply lined features began.

In an instant, Voldemort had made a slashing motion with his wand. "I said, enough, Rookwood!"

The wizard cried out and flew backwards, as if backhanded by a giant hand. Snape sensed, rather than saw, Draco cringe in his chair beside him. Narcissa had been relegated to a seat somewhere in the shadows behind them, where she had, Snape had to admit, been doing an admirable job of keeping silent.

"Everything must be in place as soon as possible. Once the dominos begin to fall, there must not be any gaps. Which brings us to young Mr Malfoy." Voldemort leaned his head to one side in a gesture disturbingly reminiscent of Bellatrix and regarded Draco, who was gripping the arms of his chair tightly.

Snape heard Narcissa shift behind him.

"My Lord?" Draco's voice was barely audible. He cleared his throat and repeated himself, slightly louder but no more confident: "My Lord?"

Voldemort pushed his chair back and walked slowly around to where Draco was sitting. Snape kept his eyes straight ahead.

"Draco..." Voldemort whispered, leaning down to speak directly in the young man's ear. It was surely no coincidence that he had chosen the side on which Snape sat.

"Yes, my Lord," Draco whispered back.

Voldemort ran a finger along the side of Draco's neck. "You are the key to this entire operation. We are all waiting for a signal from you to proceed. Even I, Lord Voldemort, await your move. Do you think that fair? Do you think it fair that the only thing standing between myself and my rightful inheritance is you?"

Draco shook his head.

"What's that?" Voldemort prompted.

"No, my Lord," Draco said as steadily as he could.

"I am very glad to hear you say that," Voldemort purred. "Because it means that you are ready. Are you ready, Draco?" He stayed there, hovering between Snape and Draco, breathing softly into the young wizard's ear.

"No, my Lord," Draco said again.

"No?" Voldemort sounded slightly disappointed as he straightened up. "That is a pity. Crucio."

Draco's face contorted as he twisted and turned, emitting a strangled sound from his throat.

Snape kept his poker face, silently willing Narcissa to remain silent. He could see Bellatrix grinning on the other side of the table.

After a very few seconds, Voldemort released the spell. Draco sank into himself, breathing hard.

Voldemort spoke again, putting on a show of exaggerated patience. "When, Draco? When will you deign to comply with my wishes?"

"As soon as possible, my Lord," he gasped.

"I believe I have made it clear that we do not have the luxury of time." Voldemort's voice was no longer gentle. "The Order is making plans, too. Events will come to a head soon, one way or the other. We must be the ones to take the initiative. And so I ask you again: Will it be done tonight? Tomorrow? This week? It is a small thing. Why, Dolohov could do it if given the opportunity, couldn't you, Dolohov?"

"In a second, my Lord," he said, watching Draco closely. "Tell me what it is you need."

Voldemort chuckled, a chilling sound. "Ah, that's a little secret between Malfoy and myself. It wouldn't do to have word getting out, now would it? Hm? It is simple and yet, I admit, delicate. Even so, it has taken far longer than I imagined. I am beginning to wonder if you have not, in fact, failed. Perhaps it would be the kindest thing at this point to assign the task to someone else and put you out of your misery." He held his wand up behind Draco's head, poised like a cobra about to strike.

"No!" Narcissa screamed out and flung herself at Voldemort's feet.

Bellatrix's countenance took on a look of outrage and she jumped out of her chair and shrieked, "Incarcerous!"

Black, writhing ropes flew out of her wand and whipped themselves around Narcissa, who cried out.

Voldemort laughed. "Very good, Bella, very good. But I do not think she meant to harm me." He stepped back to admire Narcissa, pitiful and weeping on the floor. "Did you, Madam Malfoy?"

"Please," she whimpered, "please don't hurt my son. He's just a boy. Take me instead to atone for my husband's failure."

"No! Mother!" Draco protested, horrified. "I will do it," he said, speaking to Voldemort. "I'm working on another plan now. Every spare moment I have..." He risked a glance at Snape, but apparently decided it wasn't wise to bring up tutoring sessions at that particular time.

Voldemort sneered coldly down at Narcissa. "As touching as the gesture is, I'm afraid that you simply don't mean as much to Lucius as your son does. If he succeeds, he will rightly take over his father's place in my ranks. If not..." He shrugged. "Lucius will feel the cost of failure a hundred-fold. Which just goes to show..." He addressed the entire group. "Love is a weakness that has no place here! It is useful only in bringing down our enemies. Do not let that old fool Dumbledore tell you any differently!"

Bellatrix's face glowed with rapture and she hung on Voldemort's every word as he continued his tirade.

Snape listened with half an ear; it wasn't anything he hadn't heard before, and he happened to agree wholeheartedly with the basic sentiment: love was a weakness. He had loved Lily once. He still did. Pathetic, really. Without that love, he would have turned his back on the Potter brat long ago, as well as on this entire stinking pack that he had been forced to associate with for the sake of maintaining his cover. What would Lily think of him now? Would she admire him? Hardly. He had become a criminal in the name of that love.

It was true that he had joined the Death Eaters of his own free volition, knowing what they stood for, and in order to prove his loyalty to their ideals had revealed to them what he knew of the Prophecy. But had that been an evil thing to do? He had never held much store in divination, soothsaying, or fortune-telling anyway. Reporting the contents of that bubble-brained Trelawney's ramblings had seemed an easy way to get into the good graces of the Dark Lord. It hadn't directly harmed anyone. When he realized that the Potters were being targeted, he'd warned Dumbledore and tried to get out, but Dumbledore had sent him back, and then he was stuck.

He had had to go along with the Death Eaters' sick plans, in order to hold out a hope of keeping Lily safe. When he'd watched as entire families were wiped out, his only thought had been that in doing so, he was guaranteeing the Order an inside line on any planned strikes against the Potters. He couldn't send a warning every time without arousing suspicions and jeopardizing his position, and so he had to sit by and allow innocent people to be tortured and murdered.

And then, when the time finally came, he had rushed to tell Dumbledore, certain that his gambit had finally paid off, but the Headmaster assured him that Lily and her family were safe, protected by the Fidelius Charm. No one knew of Pettigrew's treachery, of course. But it didn't matter. It had all been for naught. Any hope of there being a meaning behind the evil he'd been party to had come to an abrupt end with the triple casting of the Killing Curse that Halloween night.

After Lily's death, he'd been racked with guilt and remorse, and would have killed himself, too, had Dumbledore not convinced him to stay and help protect Lily's son when he arrived at Hogwarts. He hadn't expected the boy to look so much like James. That had made it hard, and the constant reminder of his youthful follies only fueled his dislike of the boy, but he had made a promise, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he imagined that Lily was looking down on him, or that he would meet her ghost one day, and he wanted to have something to show her, something that would erase her memory of all his past mistakes.

But as it happened, that romantic idea had faded rather quickly, even if his feelings for Lily hadn't, and all he was left with was a grudging sense of duty. He knew that he was unnecessarily hard on Harry, even mistreated him. And yet he had kept his word, and he had kept him from harm, several times.

It wasn't enough, though. The hurt in Lily's eyes when she had broken off their friendship would forever haunt him and stand proxy for the accusations of all of his later victims.

+++000+++000+++

Dumbledore was pleased to hear Snape's report of the meeting.

"It is remarkable, the power of a mother's love," he mentioned, watching as Snape prepared the familiar treatment for his blackened hand.

Snape's lips curved down into a frown. "It was a stupid, senseless display of sentimentality. The Dark Lord did not want to kill Draco, it is as simple as that."

"Hm... You are probably correct. I do not believe he learned anything from Lily's example."

Snape stiffened at the mention of her name. How did Dumbledore know that Lily was on his mind? "On the contrary," he replied. "He learned that Potter is a tough nut to crack. He cannot do away with him directly, yet he cannot rely on anyone else to do it for him. That is the crux of that blasted prophecy. Turn, please."

Dumbledore rotated his arm to give Snape access to the underside.

"That is why he is being so cautious," Snape continued as he examined the injury intently. "It is a good thing, as it gives us that much more time." He clicked his tongue, seeing the extent of the damage to the tissue.

Dumbledore regarded Severus kindly over his half-moon glasses. "My death will not change anything. You know that, don't you, Severus?"

"What do you mean?" Snape asked, irritated. "Of course it will change things. That is what he is planning on. Without your protection, he will have a free shot at Potter."

"Ah, so he believes. But he is mistaken. I am not mentioned in the prophecy. I am nothing in this battle. Tom has been distracted by what he perceives to be my power. It is nothing more than a sound-and-light show. The true power lies with Harry."

"Spare me the diatribe on love, if you please. I've had it already tonight." He rubbed a bit more firmly at Dumbledore's arm than was strictly necessary.

"I would not dream of insulting your sensibilities, Severus," Dumbledore said with a faint smile.

Snape worked in silence for a bit, then announced, grudgingly, "Draco has found a way to take care of the Ploppe girl."

"Has he? That is good news. Very good news indeed. You may pass on to him that she is in good health. I have heard that she is making plans to resume her Muggle schooling after the baby is born."

"Mm," Snape grunted noncomittally. He rather thought that Draco would prefer not to receive that little update.

"That just leaves you, then. Have you found a way to 'take care of', as you so nicely put it, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore inquired politely.

"She is not with child!" Snape snapped, pushing himself back in his seat. "She does not need any support. But yes, she has been 'taken care of'." He had the feeling that the trade he and Hermione had agreed would not be sufficient to placate Dumbledore, but then it wasn't any of the old man's business, really.

The Headmaster's face showed surprise. "Really? Please go on."

Snape kept his focus on Dumbledore's arm as he said, "She has agreed to release me from any obligation I might be under to her, in return for certain information which I delivered to her."

Dumbledore's surprise cleared. "That must have been quite some information," he said nonchalantly.

"I suppose it was, for her," Snape muttered.

"And for you? Did it cost you anything to give it?" he prodded, with an iron undertone to his gentleness.

"A great deal of patience at having to sit through her and Weasley's bumbling attempts at blackmail," Snape replied irritably.

Dumbledore dropped the pretense and allowed his tone to become severe. "But was it a fair trade? Do you feel that you have atoned for what she was put through? It is not the letter of the law that is important here. It is the impulse behind it. The admission of wrongdoing and the attempt at repayment. She needs to forgive as much as you need forgiveness."

"I do not need her forgiveness! I am finished here." He stood abruptly and snatched up his materials from the table.

"You may not want her forgiveness, because it would mean owning up to your errors," Dumbledore said, his eyes now steely and hard. "You have made up to Lily for what happened. I believe you can consider any debt you might have owed her and James to have been repaid. But you are not finished yet. I will not allow you to go on with this blemish on your soul!" It was rare that Dumbledore raised his voice, but when he did, it sent a shiver through all who were present. Snape was no exception.

"You should have thought of that before you sent me back there! It--" He faltered at the stricken look on the old man's face. "--it doesn't matter," he muttered. "I will do what is necessary. ...to protect Draco!" he clarified, seeing the renewed flash of surprise on Dumbledore's face as he apparently interpreted the statement to mean that Snape would attempt to make amends with Hermione. "And to do the task for him," he added darkly, both of them knowing what was meant.

"Severus--" Dumbledore reached out to grab Snape's elbow with his good hand in a supplicating gesture. "You don't hate me, do you? I'm afraid I may have pushed you too far. I saw such goodness in you, such a great capacity for love. Your feelings for Lily Evans were true and pure, even though she had chosen James Potter. I thought that could never be broken. But maybe it has been, through all the evil you have been forced to endure. Have I made a mistake? Please, tell me that I haven't. Tell me that there is still a corner of your heart that hasn't been completely corrupted."

Snape writhed in embarrassment at the question. He wasn't proud of his feelings for Lily. How many times he had wished them gone, to end the spiritual anguish they had put him through. The words of Voldemort still rang in his ears: Love is a weakness. And yet, it was true, he still harbored those feelings. Maybe he loved the memory of an image, rather than what she had really been, but it was still powerful enough to fill him with a welling of emotion whenever he needed to conjure a Patronus. So, yes.

"It is still there," he said gruffly, mainly because he knew that was what Dumbledore needed to hear.

"Then use it! I realize it is painful, but it will give you peace in the end. What if it were Lily who had been violated? Would you not try to make amends, even as you have done all these many years? Hermione Granger is someone's daughter. She is someone's sweetheart. One day, she may be someone's mother. Would you have her life ruined by an act of a moment?"

"Her life is not ruined! She is not Lily Evans! She's alive! She escaped mental and physical injury, thanks to me! Look at the other girls! If I hadn't been there, she would have been as badly off as they, maybe even worse." Even as he defended himself, he knew that Dumbledore was right. But wasn't it enough already? He was only one man!

Dumbledore looked hurt. "Severus. No one is saying that you didn't do the best you could in the situation. You are both victims in this case. But I think you will agree that we can hardly expect Tom to see the error of his ways - more's the pity. I wish there had been another way to do this than to leave you under his thumb. I do, believe me," he pleaded. "You can't know the agony I've gone through over it - I knew that it would be difficult, but I suppose I never realized just how far you had been drawn in. The best we can hope for now is that once I'm gone, things will move quickly to Harry's advantage, and you will be free as well."

Snape couldn't look Dumbledore in the eye at that, knowing as he did that he would never be free.

"And looking forward to that eventuality, I implore you once again, free yourself of this burden."

"The only burden I have is that I am expected to save everyone from themselves!" Snape retorted. "I have done what is necessary to move your plans forward. Let that be enough!"

The slamming of the door echoed off of the bare stone of the small room's walls and left the Headmaster with a ringing in his ears.

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The parallel was not lost on Snape. Narcissa had offered her life to save Draco's, just as Lily had done for her son. The fact that Narcissa was still alive was due to a whim of the Dark Lord, just as Lily's death had been. Both had been stupid, senseless displays of sentimentality.

Both had been acts born of love. He agreed with Voldemort: it was a weakness to be beholden to anyone, and he was tied both to Potter and to Dumbledore.

He had sworn to serve Dumbledore in return for his protection, and he had sworn to protect Lily's child, to assuage his guilt over having been party to Lily's murder. But those two tasks would soon be complete, the one with Dumbledore's death and the other with Harry's coming of age. Then he would be free.

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