Abyss

Abyss

Harry quietly observed Malfoy and Snape as they all stood in the cramped space of the kitchen. He glanced at Dumbledore, and found him to be also intent in watching the two. Clearly, they were both waiting for one of the Slytherins to start talking. Harry, though, was adamant on thinking that Malfoy wouldn't speak first, so his eyes flickered towards Snape, silently goading him to get the ball rolling, so to speak.

The professor seemed to feel that the burden to talk was on him. He adjusted the neckline of his robe, as though it was suffocating him, before he started. "How did you get here?"

"They both just appeared out of--"

"I was under the distinct impression that I was talking to Draco, Potter," Snape said, looking at him with that annoying, belittling sneer on his face. The oily git. "If I were to speak to you, rest assured that I would address you first."

Harry barely repressed the urge to roll his eyes. Even after saving him from a near-death experience due to a choking death hold, it looked as though favoritisms still applied anywhere...

"Well, Draco?"

"We apparated," he answered, his face still tight. Harry could almost see the suppressed anger beneath Malfoy's passive expression, for he remembered it so well; that was the expression he wore when he learned Harry was responsible why his father ended up in Azkaban two years ago. "Is that enough an answer for you?"

Snape looked at Dumbledore, his appearance conveying nothing out of the ordinary. But somehow, the Headmaster was able to read this, and he nodded. "Mr. Malfoy," he began, "would you like to tell us the circumstances that lead to the need to apparate out of your home? Severus mentioned to me that when he came to visit, you were perfectly content and confident in hiding your secret, and--"

"Oh he did, did he," Malfoy sneered, glancing at Snape.

Dumbledore stopped talking. "Politeness, Draco," he reminded, with a reprimanding tone.

"Sorry." Of course he didn't sound sorry enough.

But the word seemed to have satisfied the Headmaster. "As I was saying, or asking, rather, could you tell us why you have to escape from your own house?"

Malfoy glanced at Harry, then at Snape, and finally focused on Dumbledore. "There were Death Eaters with my parents when they arrived from their trip," he said, looking as though he was very reluctant to talk. "Mrs. Parkinson was among them. She accused me of killing Pansy, and demanded that she see my wand. One of the other Death Eaters tested it, and--"

"Ah, yes, the infamous wand testing procedure," the Headmaster interrupted. "Oh, do forgive me, Mr. Malfoy. Please continue."

"Well, it's enough to say that my... guilt was evident after that. Mrs. Parkinson... she was ready to kill me, especially when she discovered that I was hiding Granger in my room at that time. So, I used my other wand to get us out of there, and we ended up here."

"Wait," Harry said suddenly, earning the attention of the three. "Hermione was... she was inside your room all the time she stayed in your house?"

"Why yes, Harry," Malfoy said, fixing him a look of annoyance. "Let's get fixated at that really small aspect. Do you even want to know where she slept? Because I'd be glad to tell you she'd been sleeping on my bed all those nights she stayed with me."

The desire to erase that sickening expression on Malfoy's face was very strong indeed. Harry could feel his fingers itching, burning for a punch or two...

"Now, now, Draco," Snape drawled, sounding very much pleased that the Slytherin was able to taunt the Gryffindor. "No need to share the more useless information."

Malfoy turned to the professor as though he had remembered he was there. "You're a spy, huh?" he asked, sarcasm blatantly covering every syllable. "Well look at that. Who would have thought? My parents' best friend, a bloody spy. I take it Voldemort doesn't know?"

Harry snorted. "That's the whole idea of being a spy, you idiot."

"Harry," Dumbledore cautioned.

Malfoy glared at him, before he continued with his verbal attack. "So all those plans that were busted, all the attempts that were foiled, were because of you."

"And those plans that succeeded, like the attack, were those that were executed without my knowledge," Snape admitted.

Malfoy gestured at the Headmaster. "Then how come he escaped? No offense, Dumbledore, but even with your abilities you could still be overpowered by more than enough Death Eaters. And as I recall, the whole point of the attack was to kill you. "

"None taken," Dumbledore assured him. "And to answer the question: Severus apparated into my office just in time to give me a warning."

That caught Harry by surprise. "But isn't apparating inside Hogwarts an impossible thing to do?" he asked, thinking how proud Hermione must be if she learned that he remembered a thing or two from reading Hogwarts: A History.

Dumbledore looked at him kindly. "In the special circumstances that the situation held, I was allowed to make a few exceptions."

"Meaning?"

"Potter," Snape said, curling his lip in that usual, disgusted manner, "it saddens me to think that even after seven years of constant tutelage you still are an abysmal thinker. Though of course, not much was expected from you in the first place."

This time, Harry did roll his eyes. "Spare me the insults," he muttered low.

"What Albus meant was, because the knowledge that apparating was not allowed inside Hogwarts was very much widespread, no one in his proper mind would dare think of doing it. That signified that the Headmaster could, in fact, lift the spells that prohibit apparating every once in a while."

"But it's stated in Hogwarts: A History that--"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Yes, well, books are indeed very useful tools in reinforcing a fact already known to all."

Harry was quiet after that, thinking that Hermione would have a fit when she learned that not all the "facts" written in her favorite book were true...

"So, any more lies in that damned book that we ought to know?" Malfoy demanded.

"We'll tell you if ever the need arises," Dumbledore returned, still cheerful.

"Great," Harry said.

Few minutes of silence engulfed them. Then, very slowly, Malfoy asked, "My parents... where are they? How are they doing?"

Snape's expression turned grimmer. "I haven't seen your mother for quite some time now, and Lucius... well, as far as I know your father is in close association with Emilia. He hadn't disclosed any information to me about anything, for we haven't had the opportunity to talk in a long while. At least, not after I visited you in your house."

"But do you... do you know if they are looking for me? For... us?"

The professor was quiet, looking at Malfoy as if considering his answer. Then, "If they are," Snape began, "my guess is that they would be doing it in utmost secrecy. Your parents would not risk anyone, most especially Emilia, know that they are searching for you. It would only be logical to keep their every act to themselves."

Malfoy took that in with a nod, but the look on his face clearly depicted his apprehension and doubt at all that was being fed to him. Not that Harry blamed him; he knew for some time that Snape was on their side and yet he still disliked and suspected the oily git. He looked at Dumbledore as he cleared his throat.

"Mr. Malfoy," the Headmaster said gently, walking towards him, "you are entitled to doubt your professor, seeing as this is, most naturally, a surprise to you. But if I may say this, as I hope it will be of some help: before he knew of your presence in this house, Severus was the most agitated person I have ever seen. His concern for your well-being could never be doubted or questioned."

Harry raised his eyebrows and looked at Snape. He saw that the professor was pursing his lips, and looking at anywhere but at the Headmaster. Briefly, their eyes met, and Harry gladly returned the sneer that formed on Snape's mouth.

"You are in the presence of people who want nothing but the best for you and Miss Granger," Dumbledore continued, still with the appeasing tone. "Trust, Draco. In these times where treachery and deceit is rampant, I understand that it is the most precious, therefore the most difficult, thing to give. But this I ask you, to put your trust in me, to trust us. We would not fail." He placed a hand on Malfoy's shoulder, patted it several times, and then headed towards the door. But before he exited, the Headmaster turned and said, "Harry, a word please."

Harry understood what he was telling him. He quickly went towards Dumbledore, and together they left the kitchen and the Slytherins to themselves.

"How is Miss Granger?" the Headmaster asked, as they entered the living room.

Harry glanced at the couch, where Hermione still slept. "Feverish," he answered, a twang of concern evident in his voice. "We've run out of medical supplies, and..." Inspiration struck. "Maybe you can just heal her. You can do that, can you?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I have no such ability," he said, sounding regretful. "But Severus might have something inside his robes that could help her. He always does."

"Like a first aid kit," Harry said, defeated.

"Exactly." The Headmaster smiled at him. "Do not worry much, Harry. Miss Granger will rise from this, you'll see. She is stronger than she seems. You of all people should know this."

"I do," Harry quickly asserted. "But still, I can't help but worry about her... and the other students."

"Would you mind telling me the reason?" Dumbledore asked, inclining his head.

Harry mentally patted himself on the back. "You see, these past few days we have been eating nothing but bread and cheese. I think that's partly the reason why Hermione got sick. I was thinking... maybe...you could give us..."

"A feast?" Dumbledore chuckled again. "Ah. Then show me the rooms, for it is time the children have a taste of Hogwarts food once again, especially before they do what needs to be done."

*

"Trust us. We would not fail."

Dumbledore's words played in Draco's ears once again. He looked at his professor, and saw that Snape was watching him just as intently as he was. Trust, he thought, almost sneering. How could he trust someone he was raised to hate? And how could he ever trust again the one person who made him believe that he was the closest thing to a friend his whole family had? He looked away, still finding it hard to digest everything he had learned.

"How is Miss Granger?" Snape finally asked, breaking the pregnant silence.

"Sick," Draco answered succinctly, instantly on the alert. "Fever."

The professor inclined his head to one side, as if in deep thought. He then placed a hand inside his sleeves and withdrew something. "Here," he said, throwing it.

Draco caught it instinctively. The thing he received was a slender little vial filled to the brim with deep green liquid and covered with a cork. "What is this?" he inquired.

"Fusion of ginger root, unicorn horn, and beetle leg. It's an ointment. Rub it on her temples, and her fever would be gone by tonight."

He scrutinized the ointment he held. "Are you sure it won't harm her? Because, if it does--"

"It won't," Snape answered, his jaw visibly tightening. And then, he closed his eyes and breathed out loud. "I know this must be hard for you, Draco--"

"Hard?" he repeated, mockingly. "Oh, no. What made you think this is hard for me? You've only fooled my entire family all my life!"

"I can see," Snape said, looking tired and weary all of a sudden, "that you do not trust me anymore. Perhaps you never did. But that is acceptable, I feel. You would've never amounted to what you are now if you were too trustful of people."

"I wasn't raised to be one," Draco countered. "So forgive me if I am taking this truth a little too difficultly, because it's not everyday I learn that someone in the little circle of people I trusted betrayed me."

"I did not betray you."

"You just betrayed everything we believed in."

"But wasn't that what you did when you saved Miss Granger, Draco?"

He stilled, the soft words and the subtle mocking in them shaking him harder than anything else in his entire life.

"Wasn't that exactly what you did when you killed Pansy for her?"

"Shut up," Draco gritted out. "If you don't--"

"You dare accuse me of betrayal, but isn't this what you are doing right now? Hiding with the students instead of revealing their existence to the others?"

"Shut the fu--"

"I want to believe I know the reason why you do these things," Snape continued, his beady eyes looking straight at him, like he was peering at his very soul. "But I very much doubt that you do."

"You don't," snapped Draco, his fists clenched at his sides. The glass vial in his grip seemed fragile, but it bore his force. "You don't know a thing about me."

But Snape was definitely not stopping, his claws out and striking mercilessly. "You wanted out, didn't you, Draco? You learned the truth about being a Death Eater, that it's all about abiding orders, and murdering. You're too proud to stoop that low, to follow a halfblood. In the end, you wanted nothing to do with it. In the end, you wanted nothing but salvation."

Draco closed his eyes and breathed deeply, finding it hard to keep in control. "Stop plundering my thoughts, you bastard," he said low.

"I never did, and I don't need to," Snape answered. "Your emotions have become too easy to read. Perhaps... Miss Granger's influence?"

Draco's eyes flew open, and he advanced on Snape. To hell with control. "Don't include her in this," he almost growled. "Get out. Get out before I do something I'll enjoy and you'll regret."

The professor merely raised his chin, and for a minute their eyes met, a duel of will and resolve.

"All right," Snape said, finally. "I would leave. But know this: you are not safe here anymore, Draco. The only reason you see me is that I told Dumbledore I needed to inform Voldemort the location of Minas Deep. He begins to suspect my allegiance, and the only way to calm him is to make him believe I found the sanctuary of his enemies."

That sure did change Draco's mood. Anger turned to alarm and, surprisingly, fear. "When are you going to tell them?"

"Tonight. I advise you to prepare for an attack soon."

*

"Soon is not enough," Draco said to Potter, after Snape and Dumbledore had left. "We have to know the exact details of this attack, if it were to come."

The rain outside finally abated, but the day had yet to brighten. And, given the late hour, it seemed like it never would. Draco told the other boy what Snape had said, and Potter confirmed this, saying that Dumbledore had anticipated it and already found a place to transfer that students. The aurors, though, were still busy preparing the location, placing charms and spells to make it as safe as Minas Deep. The students could not go there unless all was properly set up.

"How?" Potter asked. "It's not like we have contacts with the Death Eaters or something. The best we could do is hope they won't attack tonight so we could leave and head for Languid Valley safely."

Draco thought for a minute, his eyes just resting at Granger. Then, he stood up. He went and kneeled beside her, and retrieved the vial he had hidden in his pocket.

"What's that?" Potter asked, also standing up.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Do you really have to question everything I do?"

He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I do if it concerns her."

"If it concerns her, do you think I'll do anything bad?"

"Well..."

"Oh, just shut up, you idiot. It's an ointment. Snape gave it to me. He told me it'd cure Granger. That okay with you?"

Potter walked towards them, standing just behind the couch and watching warily. "Do it."

Draco opened the vial and poured some liquid on his fingers. It felt warm against his skin, and it had a spicy-sweet smell to it. He touched her temples, making two wet marks on either side of her face, before Draco gently but firmly rubbed the liquid on her skin using slow, circular strokes. Granger sighed, and inhaled deeply. She leaned towards his touch, and he found himself distracted, staring at her for a little while. Remembering they had an audience, Draco glanced at Potter, suddenly self-conscious.

"Will that work?" Potter inquired.

"It should if Snape wants to wake up tomorrow," Draco answered, recapping the vial. "But to be absolutely certain, you have to rub some on her forehead every once in a while until this runs out." He stood up.

"Why don't you do it?"

"I have an errand to do." He handed him the vial.

"Where are you going?" Potter asked, taking it.

"Out," Draco answered. He walked towards the door and stepped outside. "When she wakes up, don't tell her I left."