Where Lies Will Not Blossom

Akumu Suta-Raito

Fandom: Harry Potter

Rating: R (Adult)

Genre: Romance, Drama, Angst, H/C

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Warnings: Language, Anal, Explicit Torture, Disturbing imagery.
Disclaimer: In no way shape or form do I own any portion of the Harry Potter Universe. I am not making any profit from this fanfiction.

Summary: When Draco disobeys everything he’s learned in a single action, he is made a prisoner in his own home. Can Harry and Severus save him, or will he be destroyed by an obsessive Dark Lord's plans? Can bonds of love and friendship triumph over ultimate evil? Harry/Draco, H/C, Tort, Lang, Anal

Author’s Note: Okay, so now I’m going to do some Lucius-bashing. Nothing new there in the realm of Harry/Draco fanfiction, but I hope mine will be a little bit more original than ‘daddy stole my teddy bear.’ Also, doing a new POV, so I hope that it turned out well.

Thanks to my wonderful beta, Vittani, for editing this extra-long chapter super fast!

Chapter Eleven: Brainwashing and Manipulating

Draco awoke slowly, surprising himself immensely. He supposed it was true that if one was tired enough, they could sleep anywhere. The Dark Lord’s chambers, despite the sinfully comfortable bed, were not exactly the perfect place to relax in. Especially considering the Dark Lord had some sort of predilection for touching him.

But his body had needed sleep. And who was he to deny it something it had obviously needed so desperately.
Before he’d woken, Draco had odd, half-remembered dreams of events he’d never seen and places he’d never been. While this may have been unsettling for most, it was a small comfort to the blonde in light of his situation. His dreams had always been that way – explicably having little to nothing to do with his life on a whole.

It was stabilizing to know that some things about him would never change.

What wasn’t stabilizing, however, was Voldemort’s increasingly strange behavior. The Dark Lord seemed to accept his declarations of loyalty rather quickly – too quickly, in fact. Draco had been expecting a battle – some show of doubt towards his intentions. Instead he got a waving white flag and a treaty before the war even started. It was most disconcerting.

And while Draco wasn’t one to look a gift-owl in the beak, he was distrustful of the entire situation. It was obvious the Dark Lord didn’t trust him completely – if he did, the blond doubted that the collar around his neck would still be in place. Not to mention the little fact of him still being blind. Naturally, this all pointed to a vast amount of mistrust on the Dark Lord’s part, but Draco could not sense it when he was spoken to.

He was, thankfully, left alone for most of the day. Draco guessed being a Dark Overlord hell-bent on controlling the world was a time-consuming profession, to say the least. Plans to make, minions to punish, spirits to crush… it was a plethora of responsibility for just one lonesome monster, no matter the fools that decided to follow him.

And to think there was a time when Draco had wanted to become part of the motley crew. No, not just part of it, the best Death Eater – the most talented and loyal follower of the Dark Lord. As a young boy, Draco had often dreamed up fanciful futures for himself in the Dark Lord’s forces. Usually, after doing something else wrong in the eyes of his father and being punished for it, he would think of how one day Lucius would be proud of his only son. Of how his father would one day touch him with kindness, instead of striking out in anger. He imagined what Lucius’ eyes would look like when lit with pride instead of smoldering with disappointment.

His small back had been bowed with the tremendous and relentless pressure of being the Malfoy heir. From the hour of his birth, it seemed, Draco had been taught the ‘correct’ way to speak and act. This all centered on being as unemotional as possible – of being a human shell filled only with contempt for those weaker and less fortunate than himself. A child barely older than a toddler, however, would have difficulty hiding his happiness and excitement at seeing his father for the first time in weeks.

It was a day remembered vividly, the day his father came back after nearly a month of being abroad. Draco, still ignorant in the ways of Malfoy, had rushed down the sprawling stairs, planning on jumping into his daddy’s arms. He remembered his own innocent laughter, his cheeks flushed with joy as he neared Lucius. This perfect little reunion was ruined when his father grabbed his small arm viciously to halt Draco’s movement, before backhanding him so hard that Draco would have fallen if he hadn’t been held up.

“Daddy,” he remembered whimpering, shaking and crying as blood ran down his chin.

His father had dropped him to the floor then, looming over him with full height. The man’s lip had been curled up in disgust when he said, “Running like a heathen is a disgrace to a blood line, and to show so much emotion is despicable. Your childish little letters… ‘I miss you, daddy. Come home soon’ were sickening. I would have been shamed had anyone seen such a weak display. We are Malfoys, boy! Even now, sniveling on the floor like a simpleton… how could I have raised such a pathetic son?” Lucius looked down at him once more, and although Draco barely understood half of the words spoken, he understood enough.

“Narcissa,” the man had spoken as he walked away. “Come and collect him. My journey has been long and I already tire of him.” His father had said other things as well, scolding his mother for failing to teach him proper decorum. But Draco, curled up in a little ball on the cold marble of the floor, blocked out all of the hurtful words as he cried.

He couldn’t have been more than four, maybe five.

Maybe a normal, sane child would have hated their father for such cruelty. Not Draco, however. Perhaps he’d truly been his father’s mindless fool, or perhaps it was just because of his young age. But he’d believed Lucius’ insanity and attempted to reach those impossible standards, tried to make himself an unemotional puppet, wanted to earn his father’s love, wanted to gain his mother’s attention enough to drag her from the mirror.

So, naturally, he would grasp at anything that made those goals possible. The only time Lucius had ever been remotely kind was when he was retelling his experiences as the Dark Lord’s servant. He spoke of the honor, of how he’d been a part of restoring the Wizarding World to its natural order. He’d spoke of the glory, but not of the pain – the sacrifice of one’s soul while playing a part in the fight for the ‘greater good.’

Lucius painted the Muggles as violent, uncontrollable beasts who waited in every shadow with crude weapons to murder kind Wizarding folk. Draco used to have nightmares of troll-like creatures coming from his closet, wanting to kill him because of his magic. Lucius had told him once, “You must understand, Draco, it is either them or us. That is the only choice given to those pure of blood. They would see us wiped out, our great heritage erased from all history.”

And Muggleborns, of course, were misshapen and monstrous – unworthy Muggles gifted with magic because of some cosmic joke. They were especially dangerous, as their true loyalty was to their magic-less family and they actually had power to challenge pureblood’s status in the world, although purebloods were far superior, of course.

The lies didn’t stop there, however. Draco was told that merely being in the presence of a Mudblood would sap his power because they had gotten their magic by unknown means and weren’t above stealing his. Every squib born to a pureblood family was proof of Muggleborn treachery – angry, jealous Muggles had stolen the magic from the unborn child, using it to pass into a world they didn’t belong in. Imagine a child who’d been born into a household of magic hearing such things. Imagine the fear it would inspire.

And the way that the Light side was portrayed…

“And the worse out of all our enemies, perhaps, are the blood-traitors,” Lucius had nearly growled out one afternoon before Draco’s eight birthday. “Wizard-folk who protect the lives of Mudblood and Muggles, even… procreating with the creatures as if they were the same as us.” Lucius had closed his eyes then, as if the thought nearly made him faint with disgust. Draco, rarely seeing any emotion on his father’s face, had been fascinated by the rant. “Do you know they would have me killed, Draco, for putting those creatures in their place? Can you imagine your father imprisoned in Azkaban, nothing more than sustenance for the Dementors, for protecting my family from a threat they refuse to see exists? They allow Mudbloods to invade Wizarding Britain, breaking their own laws to inform the families of the little fiends about magic. I tell nothing but the truth, my son. The allow Muggles to know about us, to visit our places of commerce as if they were Wizarding folk and not pushing us to the brink of extinction.”

Draco’s mouth had been hanging in shock, his eyes wide and horrified by the tale his father was spinning. The truth and lies had been woven together so skillfully that Draco had no hope of picking them apart.

“You must never, ever be taken in by their lies, Draco. Their leader, Albus Dumbledore, would have you believe that there is no danger, that we should all co-exist.”

“But Father,” He recalled asking timidly, “isn’t Albus Dumbledore the Headmaster of Hogwarts?”

His father had nodded at him solemnly before continuing. “Yes, and that is why your mother would rather I send you to Durmstrang when the time comes. But I want you to understand the workings of the world now, and learn how to maneuver in the midst of our enemies. Hogwarts is not simply a school, Draco. It is a battle ground, far more than it was during my time there. That is because they have grown smug, believing that our great Lord was defeated by a half-blood infant. They will believe they have all the power, but you must never listen to them, my son. You must fight for our way of life, be ready to defend yourself against hoards of Mudbloods and blood-traitors. You will do our ancestors proud, won’t you, Draco?”

Draco had nodded eagerly, ready to promise everything and anything to see that sparkle of satisfaction in his father’s eyes.

Of course, he believed every word. How could he not? Draco had never even seen Muggle or Muggleborn at that point; he had nothing to contradict or challenge his father’s words. Not only that, but he was given a purpose by his father’s prejudices – savior of Wizarding kind. He would be a warrior in the Dark Lord’s forces, fighting to preserve his way of life.

Draco never imagined that his enemies would bleed, that they could cry out in pain and anguish. That they would be defenseless children – Lucius had described their young as similar to Manticore cubs, who tore themselves out of their mother’s stomachs when born. He’d been taught to believe they had no souls, that Draco would be doing them a service by ending their lives. The lives of Muggles and Mudbloods, after all, were a cursed existence. Draco never expected to see golden eyes look up at him pleading, asking for absolution, to see a little girl tortured needlessly for –

He froze, his thoughts fleeing as the sound of a door opening pierced through the silence.


Bill Weasley was more than a little confused.

Going to Grimmauld Place, Order of the Phoenix Headquarters, had long since stopped being a novel experience for him. After first swearing an oath of fealty against his mother’s wishes over a year ago, Bill was inducted into the Order – part of the first wave of newcomers willing to fight in the second war, a war not yet acknowledged by the greater part of the Wizarding World.

He’d been firm in his decision, knowing that someone with his skills in curse-breaking would be needed in Britain more than just as another curse-breaker under Gringotts employ. And, of course, Bill would be telling a flat-out lie if he didn’t admit that he was spellbound (no pun intended) by the prestige and honor of joining such an institution against injustice. Plus, there was the added bonus of getting to help the enchanting (also no pun intended) Fleur Delacour with her ‘Eengleesh.’

Ahh, dear Fleur. Yes, she was quite something – to say the least. She was very… generous in her rewards for those little lessons. Even now, Bill had trouble keeping the lecherous grin off his face while thinking about it – an expression he knew made him look startlingly like his siblings Gred and Forge, as they preferred to be called. The gits.

But these thoughts would have to wait for another time.

Anyway, he’d been honored to become part of the Order – and understandably excited when he was first escorted to Headquarters. Bill had been, dare he say, gleeful as he read the little paper with Dumbledore’s handwriting (who was the Secret Keeper and how cool was that) then watched in awe as the house sprung out of nowhere. As his Art dealt with plenty of protection spells, he could feel the tingle of powerful wards carefully interwoven with one another. To put it bluntly, he was impressed.

Nothing could have prepared him, of course, for actually stepping foot in Grimmauld Place.

Dingy, dirty, and damn near uninhabitable Grimmauld Place. Which had once been home to several generations of Dark wizards, and yes, the irony had not escaped him. It was then that Bill learned his ‘noble calling’ was to be nothing more than a glorified servant, for the moment. Not that he complained. So he cleaned and scrubbed and got attacked by little disgusting creatures as he prepared the house for human habitation.
There were a couple of others there cleaning, but everyone mostly kept to themselves. Well, except for Tonks. But she was such a goof half the time; she could fit right between Fred and George in the Weasley clan. Things were kinda quiet, peaceful almost.

Then, suddenly, people starting disappearing. Not enough to notice anything was wrong unless one already knew the Dark Lord was back. But Bill had been expecting it; almost waiting for it to a certain extent. Although most of his brother’s tended to forget it, he’d been eleven and in Hogwarts before the last Great War had ended. (1) And he knew that these little disappearances were the sign of something more sinister – the return of the Dark Lord.

There was an explosion of activity as Grimmauld was rapidly occupied and truly became Order Headquarters. By the middle of the summer, it had felt like the war was truly breaking out – for the Order of the Phoenix anyway. There had already been a number of battles between Order members and Death Eaters. Well, to call them battles would be a bit much, but several duels and skirmishes that resulted in injury or death had occurred. These were mostly due to the timely intervention of the murder and torture of Muggles and Muggleborns; at least, when Snape was able to give them a heads up. Bill soon wised up after being part of many successful – and failed – rescues. There was little excitement or glory to be had in war.

It was dirtier than he’d thought it’d be – and not in a literal sense. Duels were rarely fought ‘fair’ in the truest sense of the word, even by Order members. He remembered one time that he had to literally spell mud into a Death Eater’s eyes to avoid being killed. Bill learned one important thing about himself: if keeping himself and fellow Order members alive meant he had to kill, he didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second.

He often wondered if that made him a monster.

But that’s how it was – kill or be killed. The only people who hadn’t followed that rule were the ones that died early on.

But he was still thinking about things that didn’t really pertain to current events, wasn’t he? To sum
things up, Bill had long since seen the realities of wartime action and it wasn’t pretty – but it was often repetitive. Which was why he was surprised to find a rather interesting letter in his London apartment the day before, one unlike any other he’d received.

Physically, it had been nondescript – the starch white paper wouldn’t catch anyone’s eye for beauty or uniqueness. His name hadn’t even been on the outside of it – something that would have usually been worrying – but the fact that it’d passed his wards made it safe to open. He’d shaken the paper open, which immediately caused his eyes to widen in shock. The handwriting had been utterly stunning. Bill was so used to seeing disorderly and almost illegible scrawls that the nearly calligraphic script took him by surprise.

Written with a green so dark it was nearly black, the words had seemed to make the utilitarian paper into a work of art. Each letter was made with straight, narrow strokes that curved slightly at the ends. Not every letter connected as it would with proper script, but it only made the handwriting more unique.
Bill had snatched his hand away with a start as he realized that, at some point, he started to stroke the paper.

The letter read as:

'W. Weasley, (the small symbol of a dark red bird followed, signifying it to be official and binding Order business)

Your attendance is requested at Birch tomorrow at 10:00 A.M. regarding your possible prescence in an upcoming raid. Because of the sensitive nature of this raid, any other information shall be given at the meeting. You may choose to not take part in this meeting, as it is to your digression. But be aware that time activated charms will prevent you from remembering the contents of this letter. A life hangs in the balance.

More than kisses, letters mingle souls. (2)'

The man (and Bill could tell the handwriting was that of a man’s for some reason) hadn’t left a signature.
Bill had started at this, immediately understanding the seriousness of the situation. First off, there was no doubt that this letter was the real deal, as two Order codes were used. The calling Grimmauld Place ‘Birch,’ as well as the last line, ‘More than kisses, letters mingle souls.’ The latter was only to be used in emergency correspondences between Order members, as well as allowing one another to verify that the person sending the letter was indeed from the Order.

The most Bill had ever gotten in way of official Order notes were ‘Meeting 7:00 P.M.’ And he’d always been told what raids he would be participating in – either that or he readily volunteered for them. Nothing was ever truly secret, either. Even if he didn’t personally participate in an operation, he was well aware of what was going on. This letter sounded as if no one but those involved would have an inkling about the raid. This was the first that Bill was hearing about secret raids; they weren’t the norm, to say the least.

But what resonated in him the most was the line ‘A life hangs in the balance.’ It sounded almost like some sort of a rescue mission, not just part of the normal preventive actions taken to stop Death Eaters from creating more mayhem. And as soon as the thought went through his head, he immediately thought of the unknown recruit who the Order was currently working nonstop to rescue. Did this have something to do with that?

But that hadn’t made any sense either. Everyone in the Order knew about that. Hell, even his baby brother Ron and his two friends were well aware of the situation! So it had to be something else. But what?
Bill took one long look at the letter before making a decision. He would make it to that meeting, if only to put his wildly spinning mind at ease. He didn’t want a life to be lost due to his inaction.

A day later, and here he was at Order Headquarters, excited and nervous for the first time since he’d actually been brought to the place by Dumbledore. He stepped through the threshold, closing the door silently to avoid waking that blasted portrait. Afterwards, he made his way to the kitchen, expecting to see a small congregation of people, as was usual for any type of meeting.

Obviously, this was not the case. The kitchen was silent and still, a half-full cup of tea the only evidence that someone had visited it this morning. It took Bill a moment to realize what an idiot he was being. Of course the meeting wouldn’t take place in the kitchen – it was supposed to be a bloody secret!

That left him with a little dilemma, however. Where was meeting going to take place if not in the kitchen?

He wracked his brain for a moment before pulling out the folded letter and skimming over the entrancing handwriting. No, there was no hint given. Perhaps he should have waited by the doorway?
Bill turned to do exactly that when someone stumbled into him, nearly knocking him flat.

“Whoa, there,” he exclaimed straightening himself and the ever-clumsy Tonks, using his hands to steady the young woman.

Tonks, who was sporting lavender eyes and ramrod straight hair of a startling cerulean color, flushed deeply as she got her bearings and stepped away slightly. “Sorry, Billy,” she said sheepishly, grinning easily as ever. “Tripped over the carpet. Gets me every bloody time I round the corner.”

Bill frowned for a moment, trying to give that disapproving look his mother was fond of, but found himself smiling back. It was hard not to with Tonks being such a goof. “I’ve told you a million times not to call me Billy. It’s Bill, Bill – Tonks.”

“I can’t help it, Billy. That’s just what I call you,” she shrugged carelessly with a wicked gleam in her eyes, obviously enjoying his annoyance. But ‘Billy,’ honestly! He hadn’t been Billy since he was seven years old.

“Watch it, Nymphadora.”

Tonks glared at him, grumbling slightly. “So, anyway Billy – Bill. Whatcha doin’ here so early? You wouldn’t happen to be going to a meeting, now would you?” She said the last part pseudo-carelessly, but was obviously watching his reaction to the words.

Bill’s eyes furrowed for a moment before he caught on. “Oh. Oh. You too?”

“Yup.”

Bill couldn’t have been more relieved. At least he wasn’t going to be bumbling around like a fool on his
own. “You wouldn’t have any idea where the hell we’re supposed to meet, would you?”

She shrugged her shoulders once more. “No. My letter didn’t say anything. A bit short on the details, it was.”

So, back to square one really. But at least he wasn’t alone in his confusion this time. “Come on,” He muttered. “Let’s see if we can find anyone upstairs.”

Bill turned, not looking to see if she was following (he already knew because she stumbled into a chair on her way out) and walked through the foyer. When he began to travel up the stairs, he heard Tonks grouse something about ‘stupid wooden stools.’ It took him a moment to realize that someone was going down the stairs and he slowly brought himself to a stop, ready to step aside. His eyebrows rose slightly when he saw the person was Severus Snape, whose dark gaze took in him and Tonks for a moment with an unreadable expression.

After a pregnant, awkward pause the man said, “Weasley, Tonks, we’ve been waiting for you. Follow me.”

Bill nodded slightly, looking at the older man’s back speculatively. He really didn’t know Snape too well; not having been taught by him in school like his other brothers had. As a matter of fact, they weren’t that far apart in age – the dark man was probably no more than ten years older than himself. But he’d heard the horror stories from his siblings; apparently Snape was the Potion’s professor from hell – biased, abrasive, sarcastic, just a complete bastard. (3)

And while Bill hadn’t seen much to contest any of these claims – he’d witnessed the man’s acerbic tongue in action plenty of times – there was something oddly intriguing about Severus Snape. While the man might not be able to win any contests with his personality or looks, he was perhaps the most important member of the Order. Oh, they each did their part, but without Snape as an informant they would be in the proverbial dark. There would be no way to prevent the Dark Lord’s ‘little’ plans – hell; they wouldn’t have even known Voldemort was going to go after the prophecy if it hadn’t been for Snape! And that would have been a complete disaster, more than it had already been.

Ironically enough, while Snape was an invaluable member of the Order of the Phoenix, he was also the most mistrusted. Most thought that Snape had to be a bit twisted himself to be so close to the Dark Lord all the time, and were waiting for him to show his ‘true colors.’ After all, everyone knew that he’d gotten that mark on his arm voluntarily and that Snape was considered a high ranking Death Eater. And Snape’s attitude didn’t reassure anyone of his loyalty to the Light. But Bill thought the man to be rather brave, spying on one of the most powerful Dark Wizards to have ever lived. Not to mention remarkably cunning to have done it for such a long time without rousing suspicion.

But what intrigued Bill the most about Severus Snape was that small, nearly unnoticeable spark of magic that surrounded him at all times. It was true that Snape was an extremely powerful wizard, but the aura Bill felt coming off of him had nothing to do with magical power. And Bill was more than exceptionally adept at noticing the difference between such things, at one time being the top curse-breaker employed at Gringotts Bank. His background was the only thing that caused him to notice the aura as it was, it being very skillfully hidden. The shimmer was something oddly familiar to Bill. The spell or enchantment had the particular feel of a glamour, so that meant Snape was hiding something. What that was remained to be seen, but the red-head’s curiosity wouldn’t rest until –

Bill was snapped out of his thoughts when they reached a door not too far down the hall from the second landing. Snape opened the door and ushered them in quietly before closing it after himself. The room was small, but there was more than enough room for the amount of people in it. Besides him and Tonks, there was Harry Potter and Remus Lupin.

Well. Things had suddenly got a million times more interesting.


Severus came to a stop in front of the door, closing it silently behind him. He took a moment to read the people before him by categorizing their expressions, hoping to catch insight into what tactics would work
best.

Nymphadora Tonks, who was rubbing her arm from hitting it on the doorway, was frowning. That probably had much to do with the fact that she was unbelievably inept and couldn’t go through an hour without somehow damaging herself. However, besides her ungainliness, Nymphadora happened to be a remarkably competent Auror with a surprising unbiased view of the world. It was just as well – she wouldn’t have been selected otherwise. Her hair was an ungodly shade of blue, although it was rather straight than in the spikes she usually favored. It was commonly known that a Metamorphmagus’ appearance was often ruled by their emotion. Nymphadora’s state alluded that she was feeling unusually calm and clear-headed today; that would work to his advantage. Severus grimaced and reminded himself to call her Tonks when addressing her today. While he usually wouldn’t give a damn about offending her (it wasn’t his problem her mother had been sniffing potions fumes when she came up with that name), it would be detrimental to anger her. So, Tonks it was.

His eyes drifted over to Bill Weasley. The red-headed man was, once again, staring at him with thinly veiled interest. Severus bit back a growl and found himself wanting to shift slightly under the intense gaze, to his disgust. For some unidentifiable reason, Weasley’s eyes were always drawn to him when they were in a room together – it made him highly uncomfortable, to say the least. Severus was used to others staring at him in mistrust, aversion, or even hatred, but it unsettled him that Weasley’s – Bill’s – gaze contained none of these, only that odd interest.

It bothered him so much, in fact, that if it wasn’t for the fact that Bill was an extraordinary curse-breaker, then the man wouldn’t have been chosen. Then there was that fact that he was the most level-headed of the Weasleys and it wouldn’t hurt to have someone that could sooth the volatile family once Draco was safely retrieved. He was also one of two Weasleys to have never gone to school with a Malfoy. And
that counted for plenty as well.

His breath caught in his throat slightly as Weasley locked eyes with his for a moment, the other man’s hazel gaze seeming oddly wide and guileless. The man flushed for a moment, obviously acknowledging that he’d been caught staring. Then he did something shocking – Bill’s eyes sparkled for a moment and he gave Severus an easy grin, shrugging his shoulders slightly. Severus was so startled at the oddly apologetic and friendly gesture that he broke gazes with the other man, inordinately relieved when his eyes settled on Remus Lupin.

Lupin’s uncomfortably golden eyes were contemplative and slightly soft, but that was hardly unusual. The wolf had rarely lost that dreamy quality to his eyes ever since Black had returned from the dead. Pity, that. But Lupin’s happiness at Black’s return could come to his advantage, since manipulating a love-struck fool was much easier than a level-headed individual. The werewolf wasn’t his favorite person – and if that wasn’t the understatement of the century he didn’t know what was – but he held a substantial amount of power in the Order. People looked to Lupin as a voice of reason, someone who was logical and fair without fault. Severus almost didn’t contain his snort. If Lupin was behind something, people would be less likely to break out with the pitchforks and torches, so to speak.

And Lupin, who understood the Dark better than he’d like to admit, would be more amendable to forgive Draco’s past behavior in light of his recent actions. Yes, Lupin is all about redemption, he thought sardonically, barely able to keep his lip from curling.

And when his eyes roved to the last person, Severus lost the battle of the curling lip.

Potter.

He’d rather if the boy wasn’t here at all, but Albus insisted that it would be better to keep Potter informed as Severus had promised. He was beginning to regret that promise. He couldn’t contest, however, that it would be better to keep an eye on Potter and make sure he didn’t do something stupid. Although how Severus was supposed to break the habit of a lifetime, he didn’t know. There was also the added bonus of Potter being able to lend Severus some credibility, due to his vision.

Staring at Potter a bit more intensely than he needed to, Severus couldn’t help but notice that the boy was looking worn and tired – he wondered briefly if he’d had any more visions. Potter was also moving around rather oddly, his movements jerky and nervous as he if were hiding something. Which he probably was, considering Potter’s pathetic attempts to wave off Lupin’s looks of concern. Severus couldn’t contain his snort. Gryffindors.

It took him a moment to realize that his sound of disgust had broken the silence in the room and everyone was looking at him expectantly. It seemed like the past couple of weeks had relied plenty on his ability to put on a good performance. Severus was coming to think of himself as quite the actor.

“You are all probably wondering what you’re doing here,” Severus drawled out. It was better to state the obvious in lieu of the group he was addressing. If his sentences got too complicated, their pea brains would get overloaded.

They all nodded slowly. All except for Potter, that is. He already had an inkling about the meetings topic – or at least, he would if his brain functioned properly. Which was debatable.

“After careful consideration amongst myself and Dumbledore, everyone here today, excluding Mr. Potter,” Severus spared Potter a glance, whom actually looked a bit outraged. “have been chosen to participate in a raid which would tentatively take place in four days. Before I release any more information, I will express that the mission will be extremely perilous to those involved. There is no guarantee that any of you, should you agree to participate, will come back alive. To anyone who does not feel that they are willing to take the risk, I advise you leave now.”

No one moved. He hadn’t expected them to, really; he was dealing with Gryffindors, after all. Well, Gryffindors and Hufflepuff. Both houses were too idiotic to understand that dangerous situations were typically avoided by those of at least average intelligence. If he wasn’t imagining things, Weasley and Tonks had perked up after hearing they might not come back alive.

Severus decided to continue after a small pause. “The mission’s objectives are very simple to understand: we are to infiltrate a Death Eater stronghold and remove a prisoner from the depths of it. Obviously, there are several complications to consider before attempting such a goal. There will be more time to talk of those later. The Death Eater stronghold is Malfoy Manor – and anyone with half a brain should have realized by now exactly who we are going to rescue.” Severus paused once more, waiting for someone to ask the inevitable question.

He didn’t have to wait long. “I don’t get it. If we’re going to Malfoy Manor, then that means we must be going to get that recruit as far as I can tell. But if that’s the case, then why all the secrecy? Everyone knows about that! That’s all we’ve been talking about for the past couple of days, anyway. Why isn’t everyone else being let in on this?”

Snape opened his mouth to answer Tonks’ question when the werewolf asked, “And why is Harry here? He’s not an official member of the Order and you’ve already said that he wasn’t going to be in the raid.”
Great. So now the wolf was protecting his cub. “Potter is here under Dumbledore’s orders. That should be enough for you, Lupin,” Severus bit out shortly, before addressing Tonks once more. Potter, mercifully, remained silent.

“Every one else has not been told the full truth about this mission, nor the identity of the recruit. If they were to be told at this very moment, some members would be reluctant to go through the trouble. That is not something that can be allowed to happen.”

It was Weasley who spoke next. “But how could the recruit’s identity affect his rescue? He’s being tortured for trying to save that muggle girl. What’s his name got to do with that?” Severus took a moment to congratulate himself – Bill Weasley had been a perfect choice.

“Because it’s Malfoy,” someone spoke from the left side of the room. Severus nearly closed his eyes and groaned – Potter, the numbskull! What did he think he was doing, blurting his godson’s identity like that?

Severus glanced around a moment, looking for the damage. Everyone looked a bit shell-shocked; that, he could deal with. At the very least, no one was yelling belligerently about traitors and traps.

“Lucius Malfoy,” Tonks exclaimed, flabbergasted.

“No, of course not! Draco Malfoy, his son.” Gods, did anyone in this godforsaken Order have a mediocre of intelligence? Lucius had been a Death Eater long before Tonks had gotten her wand – he was no new recruit, to say the least. Severus wondered when it became acceptable to speak before thinking.

“Oh,” the young woman said with comprehension. “Oh! This could be really bad, Snape. They would never agree to rescue him – not if they knew.”

“I’m not following,” Weasley murmured quietly, glancing between Tonks and Severus in confusion. “Just because the boy’s a Malfoy shouldn’t mean anything. The Order would understand that – I’m positive of it.”

Just as Severus was about to give Weasley the same speech he’d given Potter not long ago, Tonks stepped in.
Surprisingly enough.

“But it would matter, Billy. It shouldn’t – but people just don’t think the way you do,” She paused for a moment, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. Her hair darkened a shade. “You’re a Weasley, so you’re family’s always been considered Light. You wouldn’t know. See, me dad’s a Muggle-born, but my mum’s a Black – and, well, it’s harder than you would think. Since my mum married da, they reckon that she’s, yanno, safe or whatever. For the most part, at least. They don’t really expect her to start throwing Unforgivables all about the place, but they know who my aunt is. Bellatrix Lestrange. Everyone knows what her and her husband did to the Longbottoms. So, when I first applied into the Academy to become an Auror I was denied. Said they were full – didn’t have any room.”

She snorted. “As if. So I go to the Ministry, wanting to find out why my application didn’t go through and they told me ‘We don’t want Lestrange’s niece hanging around.’ Just because I’d put my mother down as ‘Andromeda Tonks nee Black.’ And all I’d ever wanted to be was an Auror – went through all that Potions just to be qualified,” Tonks glanced at Severus, eyes twinkling for a moment. Insolent brat. “And here they were telling me I couldn’t even get into the program because me mum’s got Dark Wizards in her family. So, I nagged and nagged until they finally let me in – Kingsley was the only one who wanted to give me a chance – and I had to work twice as hard as everyone else just to prove I belonged there. But the fact that I was a Metamorphmagus caused Mad-Eye to take a shine to me, and everyone pretty much left me alone after that. But, what I’m trying to say is, people hear the name Malfoy or Black or Lestrange or Carrow and they automatically believe the worst. If Snape tells them that it’s Draco Malfoy they’re about the rescue, they’ll say it’s all a trap and accuse him of being a traitor.” By the end of her speech, Tonks’ hair was a very dark, midnight blue.

Well. It seems like Nymphadora wasn’t such a terrible choice, either.

Weasley still looked as if he wanted to protest, but then Lupin spoke up. “I wish it were an exaggeration, but people can be frightfully prejudiced when they want to be. I haven’t been able to hold a job since I was outted as a werewolf.”

“Well, I’m telling you that no one in my family is so selfish as to let the boy die because of a little family grudge,” Bill pointed out stubbornly, still holding on to his naïve beliefs.

Severus felt as if it was truly time for him to step in. “And no one’s saying that they wouldn’t see reason. Eventually. But does Draco need to be rescued now, or in a couple of weeks when everyone in the Order has battled it out? We don’t have the time it would take for Albus to restore order – Draco doesn’t have that long. He will be brought here afterwards, so everyone will be informed after the mission. But we can’t risk that now. Surely you must understand that, Weasley.”

Bill frowned deeply and for a moment Severus thought he would argue his point. To his surprise, however,
the red-head nodded slowly. “I do see your point,” the man conceded. He obviously couldn’t contest that his relatives were rather blockheaded. “I just don’t understand how we’re going to pull this off with only four people.”

Severus was near ecstatic to see Lupin and Tonks nod as well. They were actually considering themselves part of the mission!

“Albus has a plan,” Severus started carefully. “That is, if everyone is willing to play their part in the rescue.”

He was satisfied to see agreement on every face. Severus had to admit that this was much easier than he thought it’d be – the first true step had been taken to getting Draco away from that monster. He only prayed they were not too late.

TBC

1. Bill Weasley – Okay, I’ve done my bit of research on William. As far as I can find, his birthday is November 29, 1970. Since Voldemort first fell in 1981 that means Bill was around to experience some of the First War. While Harry and Ron might not know what to expect during the Second War, Bill should have more of an idea.

2. This awesome little quote is by John Donne.

3. Let’s just pretend that Bill wasn’t taught by Severus, although the timeline would suggest otherwise. It makes a couple of things I’m planning on doing later way easier. In this world, Snape started teaching in 1989-ish, just a couple of years before Harry got there.

Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers!

Alpha Infidel – Thanks, I’m really glad that my story stopped you from dropping off the fandom chart. Writing that little bit of Sirius/Remus is really a treat, since it’s going to take Harry and Draco much longer to get together. Hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

thrnbrooke – Here’s your chapter eleven, hope you like it! Thanks for the review!

Vittani – I wasn’t sure how to address a scene between Voldemort and Severus – I wanted to show how perilous his job as spy was. So I decided to take a semi-humorous/sarcastic approach to it, as well as add an edge of hysteria into the mix. This was the first time that Severus had seen the Dark Lord since finding out what he planned on doing to Draco. He wasn’t exactly at his best because of that. Thanks for the review, you know I appreciate it!

Me Obviously – Good to know that my fic brought out the stalker in you, lol. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long for an update. Thanks for the review, I appreciate the feedback!

Raxephon – Really, really glad that you like this story. And it’s no problem at all to email you, none at all. Thanks for the feedback!