Killer In Me

I used to be a little boy
So old in my shoes
And what I choose is my choice
What's a boy supposed to do?
The killer in me is the killer in you

(Smashing Pumpkins - Disarm)

Killer In Me

"What are you waiting for, boy?" he snarled, breathing heavily. "Open that door!"

Like stung from a wasp Draco made a startled jump at the sudden outburst. Apart from panting and occasional low cursing Snape hadn't uttered another sound on their way from the Apparition spot to the end of the street in that run-down industrial area. For a couple of moments Snape almost hysterically tried to clutch his trembling wand steadily to lift the protecting charm on the lock of the door. Finally the wand dropped to the ground from his injured hands, that had been slashed open by the Hippogriff's sharp claws. Biting his lower lip he had leaned against the wall beside the entrance, blood seeping from a deep gash on his forehead into his eyes. He blinked and wiped away the mixture of blood and sweat with the sleeve of his robes, knowing that he couldn't even think of summoning the strength to turn the doorknob.

Draco awoke from the trance he had seemingly been in after realising their current location.

"Is this where you live?" he asked incredulously while opening the wooden door. Obviously his mother had never told him about Snape's whereabouts when he wasn't in Hogwarts. Maybe she wanted to keep up a kind of façade for her son's sake on this close friend of the family.

Snape didn't answer. Instead he curtly tilted his head, indicating the boy to enter. "Get in", he hissed.

After both had entered the house and Draco had closed the door, Snape limped over to one of the shabby armchairs at the fireplace and gingerly sat down, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. Draco, however, remained standing in the middle of the small room, a shadow of disbelief over his face.

"If this is really your..." he started reluctantly, "...your home, wouldn't this be exactly the place they would search for us first?"

Snape examined the wounds on his hands and then looked up. "No," he answered. "Apart from some of the Dark Lord's followers no one knows of this place - except..." He pressed his lips together as his stomach clenched uncomfortably. "Never mind about that now, it's none of your business." He felt sick.

"Thank you, professor," Draco said, suddenly looking uneasy. "Thank you for saving my life."

"There is no more 'professor', Draco. And it is not like I had a lot more options to choose from, is it?" the man answered wearily, again looking down to his hands. "Wretched creature!"

"Is there anything I can do to help? Is there any potion..." The young man examined the book-stuffed walls.

"No. This is no potions storeroom, as you might already have noticed," Snape answered. "There is a disinfecting liquid in the bathroom cupboard, though," he added, turning his head to a door to the left and Draco obeyed his unspoken request without further delay.

While he heard the boy rummaging next door, Snape leaned back in the armchair and closed his eyes. He felt nausea rise again. The killer in me... He had murdered - again. Killed his saviour, killed his future. Anger rose within him - how could he! How could Dumbledore demand such a thing from him, knowing that this action not only would kill him but also Snape's only chance to prove his honest efforts for the Order! There was no one left to know the truth now except for him, the murderer of his mentor. Blast!

"Prof... sir?"

Snape's eyes snapped open. Draco stood in front of him, a small bottle in his one hand while conjuring some bandages out of midair with a wink of his wand. He drew a stool closer and sat down by the man's side.

"Put your hands out, please," said the boy quietly, while he soaked a piece of gauze. "I'm not sure, but I guess this is going to burn a bit."

"Just go ahead," Snape snapped and Draco started to carefully dab the wounds with the damp cloth.

And what now? Where should he go? There had never been an opt-out scenario on this, the Slytherin thought, ignoring the pain. Dumbledore had coaxed him into that fatal plan without caring about the aftermath. Back to the Dark Lord? To join the celebrations? He wanted to throw up.

"You look sick," he heard Draco's concerned voice as the young man turned to clean the gashes on his former professor's face. "Don't flinch!" he added, as Snape involuntarily let out a hiss of pain when the liquid made contact with the open wound.

"And now?" Draco asked after he had finished covering the injuries with bandages. He stood up again. "What are we doing now?" he repeated.

Honestly, I don't know. "I assume your mother will know what happened by now," Snape answered. "We will wait for her here to pick you up for your audience with the Lord."

"And you?"

"Me? I am going to have a drink now."

Supporting himself on his elbows he rose and went over to the mantelpiece to fetch a bottle and a glass. A bandaged and trembling hand awkwardly tilted the bottle to pour the golden-brown liquid.

"To the future," Snape said, raising his glass and then draining it. To the future...