Redemption of a Snake

The Redemption of a Snake

Chapter 2 : In the depths of Malfoy Manor

Tuesday, May the 10th

One full month had fled by since Draco’s disappearance in the forest. Some hours after Dumbledore called Olivander, the headmaster received a call stating the boy had got back his wand. But after that, it had been deathly silence.

On the contrary, newspaper used well the little pieces of information they were provided. Not a year after the Malfoy senior getting sent to Azkaban for being a death-eater, his son joined the dark lord! Of course there was no proof. But the times of war were enough to make some rumours become reality. That sufficed to feed an article and the stupid brains that read such non-sense. This was the sort of speech that Snape theatrically made with each new publication. That’s to say, everyday. And everyday he worked off his irritation on the Gryffindors. They were responsible for this situation; they had to pay.

As good little heroes of their house, they had proposed their help. ‘To do what?’ Snape had angrily yelled at them, ‘To run to Voldemort and get killed? To yell at the Slytherins and death-eaters that the Order has no idea where Draco and his father could be?’ Severus was certain they would attempt something nonetheless. The gene of stupidity had to run in the Potter family! The boy was supposed to be their saviour against the darkness! Things didn’t look good for the world…

And the Weasley and mudblood helped nothing! How this girl could be first of all her classes, Snape was astonished at. Ah… MOST of her classes. Never would she be first in Potions! He wouldn’t accept it! Such a bookworm! She recited pages and pages of recipes’ books without the lesser notion of what they truly meant! The concept of Potions was totally unknown to her. If one day she discovered she was an animagus and morphed into one of her little cherished books, Severus wouldn’t be surprised.

No wonder the three of them hadn’t managed to keep Draco at bay of his secret room for more than two minutes. The Slytherin ought to have suspected the trap. And no more wonder that they had entered the room exactly at the most inopportune moment, at the exact time when they were changing Draco’s mind to run away, when he considered staying. The Gryffindors would be the death of him, Severus thought bitterly.

From the Slytherins, nothing. Either they wanted to keep what they knew a secret, or they truly knew nothing. That was Snape’s opinion. Draco hadn’t gone to Voldemort and hadn’t been found yet. But it was only a matter of time.

“You plan on staying as long as yesterday?” Severus asked raggedly.

Lupin had got used to coming and staying in Snape’s apartments in the evening. In this place, he could stare at the potions master brewing what made his speciality and this sole activity occupied his mind. The silence was companionable, despite the fake disgust Snape showed for their meetings. Remus could think of Draco in peace, of where could be the boy, if he was well. He feared for the child. And he wondered: how had Draco managed? Remus had always been impressed by the feats of Harry, Ron and Hermione but what Draco had succeeded at alone! Remus was left agape. Draco had searched for his father in Azkaban, put a false body in his place, kept him hidden in Hogwarts, under their noses, and they had seen nothing! Had it not been for a coincidence, they would never have discovered it! It was impressive; there was no other word.

Remus recalled again the look the boy had sent him in Salazar’s experiment room. He had wanted to be saved then, had looked at the werewolf for help. How much Remus regretted his failing… If only he could go back in time.

Snape violently crushed some herbs and Lupin comprehended he wasn’t sole with this self-reproaching thought. But he couldn’t go on with them as an owl perched on the small and unique fanlight of the lab. Severus growled at the distraction. Not that he was concentrating much, added Remus to himself, more like he didn’t want news from the outer world.

Snape went to the disrupter and furiously caught the package it bore. Immediately the man frowned and Remus tilted.

“What is it?” inquired Lupin.

“A vial,” answered Severus as he opened the letter that accompanied it. He glanced at it and blanched. Suspicious, Remus got up and looked at the parchment over the potions master’s shoulder. In a quick move, Snape gave it to him and went to the door, opened it slightly and listened to the corridors before closing back the door. Then he looked at the werewolf, hesitating, the vial still firmly clutched in his hand. Lupin took the time to read the message. He froze.

It contained two sentences, which had apparently been written in haste. ‘Aurors are coming for you. Pour it on your mark.’

So short and yet so full of sense. Someone had denounced Snape and officials were coming to arrest him. The dark mark burnt deep black on the man’s arm, showing the hatred Voldemort had for his former servant. In no way could they miss it. Yet… What if it was a trap? The aurors were still to arrive, for Moony heard no racket from the silent outside corridors. The vial could very well contain a poison that would kill Snape: as soon as the content touched his skin, it could exult a mortal reaction. That wouldn’t be an unprecedented case.

In front of him Severus was still hesitating. He looked alternatively at the paper and the vial, obviously pondering on what to do. “Albus,” he finally decided and announced.

Both ran to the headmaster’s office. If aurors were truly coming, they couldn’t afford to lose time. They entered it and weren’t surprised to discover the man waiting for them. Snape and Lupin panted from the exhaustion at the numerous stairs they had traversed and Severus showed him the parchment. Dumbledore read it quickly and eyed the two professors, his eyebrow frowned by concern.

“It’s Draco’s writing,” said Snape to Remus’s amazement. Truly? He hadn’t recognised it; he had never paid much attention to the writing of people…

“Or an imitation,” corrected Dumbledore.

At that moment, a house-elf appeared in the office, and automatically covered in fear at Snape’s presence. The man hadn’t spared the creatures any more than he had the humans from his bad mood. They had learnt to protect themselves from the dangerous potions master.

“Professor,” the elf addressed Dumbledore, “aurors just entered the school… Histy wanted to tell because the aurors seem angry,” it added quickly in justification, never letting Snape out of its sight. This particular elf had suffered at Snape’s hands from a fly of vials filled with different potions. It had apparated out of the lab covered in various substances that stank horribly and created blue spots on its body.

The headmaster reacted quickly and shoved them in a secluded room, whose door had appeared in a wall. One more secret place of Hogwarts that had remained unknown to them till now. How many of them were there left? And how had Draco discovered Salazar’s experiment room?

The chamber they were in was completely dark, and Remus used his wand and a Lumos spell to light it. It was an enormous and empty cupboard. They heard nothing of what was going on outside. Then he noticed Snape’s distraught. He laid his hand on the man’s arm. “Maybe they came for something else?” he tempted.

“Are you stupid?!” spat Snape. “That would be too much of a coincidence!”

Remus didn’t know what to answer. He had only wanted to reassure the Slytherin, but deep down, he also was aware of the fact that the aurors were truly coming for him. Snape clutched the vial in a tight grip.

“Severus, it could kill you…” reminded Remus.

It was rare that he called his colleague by his first name: Snape hated it and generally responded violently or scornfully. But this time there was no retaliation. The potions master’s eyes were fixed on the liquid in the vial. In a move, he lifted his left sleeve and brought the dark mark to light. Remus winced at the sight. The skin was burnt all around it in a dark red pole. He didn’t want to know how many painkilling potions Snape daily drank to keep himself from screaming in a pain that ought to be unbearable.

Then Severus uncorked the vial and sniffed it. His face showed no expression, no indication that he had recognised the content or not. That didn’t stop him from pouring it on his mark.

Remus looked at the silvering blue streak falling on the bare arm then raining on the floor. When the vial was empty, they looked at each other and remembered they hadn’t any idea of what the potion was even supposed to do.

Suddenly, Snape gripped his left arm with his right hand, driving nails in the skin, drawing blood at the surface. He pressed his body against a wall, hoping to stop from falling but failed. As Severus’ knees abandoned him, Remus ran to his side. The professor’s eyes were opened wide in suffering, his mouth voicing a silent scream. On his arm, the liquid above the mark was boiling, emulsifying in black and red with blood bubbles.

Remus caught his robe’s tail and the man’s arm, then proceeded to dry it from the potion. But as soon as he had wiped a part of it, blood poured again from the mark. A red puddle was quickly forming under them. If this went on this way, Snape would be dead within minutes. Remus headed to the entrance of the cupboard and went to open it despite the aurors danger. He needed Madam Pomfrey or Dumbledore this instant!

A whimper from Snape made him turn back. The man was lying on the floor, his robes moistening in his own blood. “It stopped,” he murmured weakly.

Remus knelt next to him. The longer they could wait before going out, the better.

Severus convulsed in a spasm and vomited. Everything that he had eaten in the past hours was regurgitated on the pavement. His body was shivering violently in torture.

Remus placed his hand on the man’s shoulders, transmitting energy, easing the act. But his eyes opened wide when the substance Snape was throwing up turned in a black trickle. It had the appearance of very concentrated liquid and fumed when reaching the floor.

The convulsions ended at last after a few minutes and Remus made blood, vomit and the unknown thing vanish with a flick of his wand. Snape was panting and his face reflected the dolour he had endured. He had leaned against a wall to support his weight.

Then the potion master lifted the sleeve that had fallen back down as he was bent over the ground. He looked at his arm, pensive. He cleaned it from some blood remnants and caressed it with his fingertips. Pure again, as it hadn’t been for twenty years; it was free of the mark. He observed it, not realising fully.

Listening to his gentle instinct, Remus encircled the man in his arms and touched Severus where the dark mark once was. “It disappeared,” he said, “It really disappeared.”

Snape convulsed again but it wasn’t in pain. Remus pressed the man’s head against him and let the tears flow.

When he had been in school, Severus had heard everyday about the death-eaters, the defenders of the true wizarding community, those who would save the purebloods from the invasion of mudbloods and the growing number of mudblood-lovers. He had admired them and waited for his turn. At eighteen, he had joined Voldemort. It was the time of the death-eaters’ glory. They were feared everywhere. He was proud to show his mark during reunions.

His first killing had cleared him from any of these thoughts. He had murdered a human, a woman who had done nothing but exist. Around him, death-eaters had been slaughtering every muggle. He was for the superiority of wizards over muggles and the interdiction of good schools to muggleborns, but he had never intended to kill someone. He had wanted to create a world where wizards would govern, not destroy. This butchery was… repulsing.

He had remained in his house for days, not getting out of his room. He had destroyed every mirror, not supporting his reflection. He was a murderer. After a month, despaired, he had gone to the only man he could think of: Dumbledore. It had been his redemption to help the headmaster of Hogwarts. The others members of the Order of the Phoenix hadn’t trust him; he hadn’t care. The only thing that had counted at that time was the acceptance and congratulation in the old eyes. It had been enough to make him go on.

When Voldemort had come back, it had also been enough to make Snape resume his spying activities. Then he had been discovered and tortured, barely escaping with his life.

He hadn’t been an active death-eater. But he hadn’t been either an honest man: the dark mark proved it, spy or not. It had been a reminder of what he had done, of the woman he had killed. That was the reason he never wore short sleeves, even in private. He couldn’t bare the sight of it.

And now it had disappeared. He was free, and his conscience was at peace.

Holding him, Remus said nothing. They all had their own demons. Severus had been liberated from his. The tears that dampened Moony’s robe were nothing. He would never make use of them, for he knew that, should someone discover a way to rid him of the wolf, he would react the same way.

After a moment spent in eerie silence, Snape escaped from Lupin’s arms and gained his feet. Neither of them commented and they went out. Dumbledore was showing the aurors to the door and they turned back on them. The officials eyed the headmaster suspiciously. Obviously, he had fed them a good lie.

“Already back?” asked Dumbledore innocently.

“Yes, they hadn’t what I searched for,” answered Severus in the same tone. During the time they had worked together, they had always used the same fiction: Snape was out to buy potions ingredients. Easy to cover and perfectly logical, given his job. “The elves told me you wanted to see me,” the man added to make a show of Dumbledore’s goodwill in front of the aurors.

The headmaster opened the mouth to speak but was cut off by an auror who raised his wand. “Lift your sleeves,” he ordered.

Snape was astonished. “My sleeves? Why?”

“Lift your sleeves!” repeated the other auror menacingly, also pointing his wand at the potions master.

Snape frowned and obeyed. Right then left. There was no mark. The aurors gaped and Dumbledore’s eyebrow slightly hooked.

“I’ve worked here as a teacher for twenty years. Don’t you think someone would have discovered me if I had been a death-eater?” inquired Severus, tilting his head in reproving of their obvious stupidity.

The aurors covered and fled the office as valiantly and officially as they could after having made such a fuss for nothing.

When they were out, Snape smirked. “I’ll do it again as many times as they want,” he announced. Then he twitched, fell backwards and caught himself to a chair.

Remus sighed. “You should lie down and rest. You lost a lot of blood,” he recalled.

“I don’t need a baby-sitter,” growled Snape. As Dumbledore was staring intently at his arm, Severus presented it, trying desperately to stop the proud and happy grin from boasting. It would be at the antipodes of Slytherinish behaviour.

“So he indeed succeeded,” said Albus, talking about Draco. “This boy is incredible. I wonder how he knew about the aurors.”

“That, I don’t know, but on the other hand, I have an idea of where he might be,” announced Severus.

-

Honestly… The way he had broken down in front of them… How un-Malfoyish of him! If his father learnt of that, he would be disgusted by such a show of weakness. Of course, Draco had an excuse: for months he hadn’t slept correctly, using any free time he had in performing experiences, hoping that, at length, he would find what was keeping his father from getting better. Tiredness and desperation had drained him of his energy and the dread he had felt when realising his secret had been discovered had been his undoing. What would happen to his father? He had then feared. Would they send him back to Azkaban? Would they offer them to Voldemort in retaliation or revenge? Would they lock up the both of them? Of every possibility that came to his mind, Draco preferred the last one. Despite what he had claimed back in the secret room, he knew that the dark lord would kill him. After all, he had refused to let his father join his master again…

When Lucius had been out of Azkaban then declared dead by the Ministry, Voldemort had felt the liaison with his death-eater still active, through the dark mark’s bond. He had of course understood there was a deception somewhere. Was it a trick of Dumbledore? Of the ministry? Of Malfoy himself? The high lord was intelligent: he could very well have considered that his side in the war wasn’t so strong anymore that he could risk remaining in it, then imagined this plan to escape from Azkaban. After that, Lucius would have gone to Dumbledore and proposed an alliance. That was only logical. Lucius wasn’t a man one could trust: he only had his family in mind and would betray anyone to ensure the Malfoys’ surviving among the most powerful side. But death-eaters presents at Malfoy’s funeral had revealed that the body was real and not a polyjuiced imitation. How was this possible? Lucius was dead and alive at the same time!

Voldemort reflected on this problem for days. A little piece of information had placed him on the way to the truth: Draco hadn’t been present at Lucius’s funeral. Why? The boy almost venerated his father! And he had refused to attend to his burial? It was highly and quaintly in contradiction with his Malfoy heritage and education. Then why? There was obligatorily an explanation as to why Draco had wished to remain in Hogwarts… Slytherin students had reported that Draco was preparing Wolfsbane Potion for the werewolf, as Severus wasn’t able to anymore. Voldemort smirked at the memory. Torturing the traitor had been a pleasure. A pity that he had fled…

So Draco was playing Potions Master for a Gryffindor… Lucius had bragged one day how his son was gifted at potions. And he had taught him well… Could it be that? Could Draco have imagined this complicated story to take his father away from prison? Lucius had been ill, and dying. Azkaban was run by a virus that killed its prisoners, maybe placed on purpose by the Ministry to definitely take care of the arrested death-eaters, since they had no dementors anymore.

Voldemort ordered his death-eaters to commit their children to secrecy and to keep a close eye on Draco. After weeks of observation, his thoughts were confirmed. Draco’s health was declining, but he was in his bed every night; and he made a large use of ingredients and Snape’s lab. Lucius simply HAD to be hidden somewhere, under Draco’s care. And the boy used the same means to meet with his father that he had to create a second Lucius: a duplication.

Voldemort admired the boy’s intelligence. Now he had to know if Draco was in connivance with Dumbledore or not. He entrusted the Parkinson girl with a message for the Malfoy junior, asking that Draco hand over his father and meet with him as soon as he could. Not bothering with denying, the boy argued that his father was ill. Voldemort insisted, stating they could cure him outside of Hogwarts. The boy refused. He refused!! He wouldn’t give his father away, and he wouldn’t become a death-eater. That was a declaration of war!

Draco sighed profoundly over his cauldron. Voldemort wasn’t an option anymore. And if the Ministry caught them, it would be Azkaban and a quick death: he was too dangerous alive. The third side was Dumbledore’s… It wasn’t really an opportunity either: too many people wanted Lucius dead there and would at least manage to send them to prison. The idea of being locked in a cell only frightened Draco because of his father’s health. Would he be able to survive another passage in this hole? He had scarcely been alive when Draco had come to rescue him, and there was much chance that, despite his being better now, a single week of prison would achieve him.

Draco loomed over his new concoction, gingerly pouring drops of eucalyptus oil in it. His eyes were stinging, both by lack of sleep and the fumes. His hands shivered slightly, and he had difficulties concentrating on what he was presently doing. The harsh beating of his heart in his ribcage indicated he much needed to take a break. Else, he would be forced into oblivion by his body’s limits. Should he faint, his boiling and only half-brewed potion could result into a dangerous bomb. He couldn’t risk that. Still, he hesitated: nightmares plagued his sleep, stealing from him any rest he could find in it. He dreaded the scenes he would revive if he abandoned himself to his bed. Hitherto, he had relied on potions to divert him from tiredness, but there ought to be a maximum in the number of nights a human could spend without sleeping…

The Slytherin sighed again and cast a spell on the cauldron to freeze it in his current state then headed over to a cot in the next room. In the sole neighbouring bed was his father, whose health had well improved over the last weeks. He now awoke regularly for handfuls of minutes and was eating something else than potions.

The Malfoy lands had been bewitched long ago so that one could perform magic in it without being detected by the Ministry. The use of his wand allowed Draco a certain liberty, and it was reassuring to know that it could back him should need arise.

-

Snape led Dumbledore and Lupin through the fireplace, reaching the place Severus had chosen as their destination. Neither of the two men knew what induced the Potions Master into thinking that Draco could be hidden there, especially since it had been searched numerous times by the aurors.

“What gives you the right to break into my house?!” shrieked a woman’s voice at their arriving.

“Till Draco is declared dead, this is all his. Moreover, I may go to the Ministry and ask for an official search warrant. Do I need to?” retorted Snape.

Narcissa fumed and pursed her lips in indignation at the menace. “Fine!” She accepted in a scanty tone. “What do you want?” She had had enough of aurors searching the Manor. She’d rather let the three of them do as they wished than to suffer through another investigation.

“I want to see Draco’s room,” replied Severus.

“Of course… Every person that enters the house comes for his room…” she sarcastically muttered while directing them toward the stairs and preceding them. “Why you think you’ll find anything useful in here is above me.”

“So you affirm he isn’t here?” inquired Dumbledore curiously.

“Of course I affirm it!” she haughtily answered, “And it is better for him! Should he be here that he would receive the severe correction he deserves! To stain the family reputation in such a way… After Lucius, Draco!”

“Oh please, spare us your little outraged speech!” Snape cut through, “We all know you were aware of Lucius being a death-eater and helped him. You ran to the dark lord when he was sent to Azkaban,” he recalled.

Since the Malfoy senior had been officially proven of being a death-eater, Narcissa had conducted political affairs. She had gained the good graces of Voldemort thanks to her husband’s sacrifice for his master and earned the Ministry’s absolution by publicly denouncing some of Lucius’ behaviours. Yet, she had always affirmed she didn’t know he had been a death-eater, that it surprised her that Lucius would accept a master. Dumbledore wondered why: she could have claimed to have been forced into silence by her husband.

Narcissa stopped abruptly and slowly turned her head toward Severus, glaring at him. “I remember you licking his boots for twenty years. I have no lesson to receive from you.”

Then they went on walking, Dumbledore softly restraining Severus from lashing on the woman. Suspicious, they followed. They’d have to discuss that later on, thought Dumbledore. After leading them through other corridors, she opened a door to let them enter and disappeared another way. As soon as the door was closed back, Severus cast an anti-spying curse on the three of them. This way, if someone tried to observe them without their knowledge, they would sense it.

“No wonder the aurors didn’t find anything useful in here,” commented Remus at the room’s sight.

The chamber was perfectly ordered, nothing out of place. A four-poster bed in the middle, a desk in a corner, a large bookcase that covered a full wall, and paintings. There were two doors other than the entrance: the first led to a private bathroom, the second to a wardrobe. Such cleanliness was strange, especially after a visit of aurors. Surely the house-elves had ordered everything back after the official’s passage.

“Severus, there is nothing here. And if there was, they ought to have found it,” said Moony.

“Because they’re all fools. Draco is pursued by death-eaters and aurors; of course he didn’t leave a note stating his residence. Just now, they’ll all have learnt or suspected my mark’s disappearance; that’s to say, something made it disappear. Voldemort will understand it’s Draco’s work and will search for him twice as much.”

“Such a potion could protect the death-eaters from prison…” pondered Remus.

“On the contrary!” cut Snape, “Death-eaters are cowards for the most part. If they feel the dark lord is falling, they’ll abandon him; especially if they have the certainty that the mark can disappear. The Ministry has very few evidence against death-eaters other than the mark’s presence. This potion is a danger for Voldemort. He will want to destroy it.”

As he talked, Severus had been rummaging in the desk’s drawers, without result. He sighed and scoped again the impeccable room. It was despairing. He dropped on the bed. In silence, Dumbledore went to the bookcase and cast a spell on it. A red glow ran the shelves swiftly, wandering through the numerous books and above a black box, then came back to his wand. Severus examined him with interest. “What did you do?” the Potions master asked.

“A simple detecting spell,” explained the old man with a sigh, “It would have detected any handwriting in the books.”

Severus’ head tilted. “Handwriting?” he echoed, “Do the aurors know of this spell?”

“Some of them do, I suppose. Depending on who led the investigations, they may have already used it or not.”

“Could Draco know of this spell?” Snape asked again.

“It is possible.”

Severus screwed up his eyes in concentration.

“By the way… How do you know there is something useful here?” inquired Remus. They still weren’t aware of the reason why the professor had taken them in Malfoy Manor. It rather seemed like the last place Draco would logically hide in.

Snape smirked, then took a vial out of his robe’s interior pocket. “Because of this.” he showed it to them. It was the one that Draco had sent not an hour ago. “This vial is called a Highbred Container. It is used to transport powerful and fragile potions. I won’t develop the details, but the glass it is made of is rare, which make them very expensive. Also, many of the potions they’re usually used for are now classified as dark. Only two places in Great Britain sell them. Both are in Knockturn Alley. Draco is searched by the death-eaters, he couldn’t have gone there for one. So he found it somewhere else. And… They had one in Malfoy Manor. I had seen it by chance long ago. Some days ago, it was in Draco’s possession,” he affirmed.

“How can you be so sure?” Remus was dumbfounded at the logic. Dumbledore was listening with attention.

Severus got up in a dash and joined the headmaster next to the shelves, then opened the box. A red velvet cloth filled it, espousing the form of a vial. Vial that wasn’t there. “The Containers are sold in charm boxes that conserve their magical capacities when they are not used. There are two solutions. First: Draco took the vial very few time ago. Second: he took it just after disappearing and projected to use it as a indication for us. I prefer the second. If he had removed the vial just before sending the owl, he could as well have waited for us. No, he is hidden somewhere else. But he couldn’t send an indication with the owl, in case it was intercepted. So he used this vial.”

“Or he simply needed it for the potion,” proposed Remus, doubtful.

“But he would have taken the box with him then. Why let it here? In his room? Among books…” Severus stopped his sentence in the middle and looked at the shelves with interest. “He could have let it on his desk, or where it was stowed by Lucius. But he chose to put in just here…” He eyed the titles of the books, one after the other, opened some of them then closed them again. There were all sorts: in English or Latin; of Potions, Dragons, novels, theatre pieces or others. “I can’t claim that I knew Draco well, but I could observe him personally for more than five years. He likes to brag about Lucius, but when he has got a real and important secret, he hides it so well that no one would be able to find it. No one but the people he wants to follow… He’s too proud to ask for help but if he wants it, it is here.”

Remus and Albus searched too among the books for an anomaly, anything out of place. Suddenly, Dumbledore extended the hand to caught a rather thin book; a novel, “The secret garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett,” he read.

“It is a girlish book,” pointed out Severus, shrugging. Why would Draco read that? It was exactly the sort of hint they had been searching for. “Look inside,” he said.

Dumbledore opened the book and smiled. He showed the page to them. It read: “From the Earth to the Moon.” From Jules Verne. The three men looked at each other. The cover had been changed with another book. Severus quickly discovered the book with the cover of ‘From the Earth to the Moon’ and opened it. It contained the ‘The secret garden’ text.

“Let’s go,” declared Severus authoritatively.

-

They had been back in Dumbledore’s office for half an hour. It was almost midnight. They had inspected the book for any mark in it, but there was nothing. The hint they contained had to be in the titles.

“It could refer to Astrology,” suggested Remus, in reference to ‘From the Earth to the Moon’.

“But why the garden then?” asked Severus, talking about ‘The secret garden.’

“The Astronomic Centre of Ben Nevis is a neighbour of the Magical Reserve of Scotland,” put forward Dumbledore. “And in the middle of the labyrinth is the Dragon’s Den,” he recalled.

In the Grampian Mountains of Scotland, on the top of the mount Ben Levis, the wizard observatory of Great Britain was edified. Around it, the forest had been declared a national reserve. Many centuries ago, these lands had been the property of a wizard high lord, fanatic of dragons: MacNash. The man was a legend among the dragons’ keepers: he had succeeded in soothing then taming an Hebridean Black adult female which had fled its native Islands of Outer Hebrides for Scotland. To this day, he is still the only one to have performed such an achievement. After him, some wizards had tempted their chance the same way and were gravely burned in return, if not killed. Many then had preferred to get dragons’ eggs and to educate the animal from its birth. For one or two decades, the method had appeared as the good one, but as the dragons reached their adult age, they revolted and slaughtered every near human. At that point and for this reason, dragons’ eggs had been classed A in the forbidden trade goods. Time had passed and the Hebridean Black of MacNash had died of old age. He had never really passed over it and got forged a full sized silvered dragon, that he had installed in the middle of a labyrinth, on his lands. He had ruined his family in the process.

Now, the lands were the Ministry’s property and a magical animals’ reserve. But the labyrinth and dragon had been conserved intact. And the south labyrinth was connected to the northern part of the Malfoy grounds…

“We won’t be granted access tonight…” acknowledged Severus.

“I need some days to obtain passes,” said Dumbledore.

The reserve was well protected, due to the number of rare animals it sheltered. They should be able to enter undetected but to search for Draco could take them a long time. They could be uncovered by magical captors. They had to use the official way for that. A danger: the aurors would be notified of their demand in no time. They surely would then spy on them the moment the Hogwarts’ teachers penetrated the reserve. But it was a risk they had to take; they only would need to be very prudent not to reveal anything they would discover there.

-

Wednesday, May the 11th

Severus was overjoyed. He hid it well though. Students and teachers thought him to be so angry they’d better not walk by him in any place. He had begun his day by a surprise visit in the Slytherin dungeons, taking points off his own house –who would know?- for messy dorms. It wasn’t much, but it sufficed to relieve part of his vengeful feeling. For more than fifteen years, he had had to favour some Slytherins that were so dumb… it had been torture to praise such imbeciles because of their fathers’ rank among the death-eaters, or because they all knew of his secret: that he was a death-eater. But the fun was: he wasn’t anymore!

Then he had had two hours of Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw fourth year. The first were fine, they kept in rank, never opened their mouth, and worked in an eerie silence. It happened that they boiled some cauldrons but not many. They were prudent and learned their potions’ lessons in advance, out of fear of the professor. The second were different… Ravenclaws had the tendency to be full of their own importance when it came to work. They imagined themselves as grand discoverers and never stopped to think before testing. That often resulted in horrible explosions that partly destroyed the lab. But this time, he had done so well that they would never attempt anything again. They had been terrorised to death!

And after that, the best part! Sixth year Slytherin/GRYFFINDOR! Snape had reached the summit of pleasure. He feasted this beautiful day by a raid against the red ones. The regulars: Potter and Weasley. The extra: Granger. The shock on her face had been a delight. And all the others: Gryffindors and even Slytherins. Well, no… not all… only one escaped. One that no one would think of: Longbottom. He had been so afraid of the lash against his friends that he hadn’t done any wrong during the couple of hours. There had been some rectification that could have been done but globally, it had been a very good work… for his level of clumsiness… Besides, Longbottom was more of a Hufflepuff than a Gryffindor: that’s to say it was funnier to let him go unpunished and hark back the happenings in his mind. Finally, his father had been a very good man, back in his young years, very tolerant, contrarily to most Gryffindors… All that meant that Longbottom was the only student to get out of the classroom without having made his house lose points.

At lunch, he headed toward the teachers’ table with the same happy feeling. That was to be abruptly accosted by McGonagall.

“Severus! What did you do to the Gryffindors?! They reported you took a hundred points off of them!!” she reproached. Dumbledore tilted and smiled in his beard when he heard.

“Who? Me? No… Only eighty. But I thing they forgot to narrate to you how the Slytherins lost as many of them… Hum?” He hypocritically recalled, while looking at the group of sixth year Gryffindors behind her. As long as he didn’t play favouritism, no one could complain. The four houses were all in the same boat.

“Ah… No, they didn’t say,” acknowledged the Transfiguration Professor. She frowned. That was rather unfair of them not to have mentioned such a point. If Severus had taken points off his own house, it had had to be important. “What happened?” she asked with resignation. At this rate, they would count the negative points at the end of the year.

“I’m feasting the event,” Snape declared.

“What event?” she inquired, eyebrows arched by surprise.

But Severus didn’t answer and simply smirked before joining Dumbledore at the table. It was when he sat that she noticed and gaped. His sleeves were lifted up. In public.

Fine. It had to be a joyous event. To Hell with the points.

Three days later, they received the passes for the reserve.

-

Saturday, May the 14th

Draco awoke with a start, his forehead soaked with cold sweat, body trembling with fear. Again this nightmare… Never would it stop. These images, memories of when he had… no! He shouldn’t think about it. It only made it worse. If only he had a Pensieve, he could have relieved his mind of such horrors; but what with death-eaters and aurors watching the round grounds… The owl he had sent Professor Snape had been his last, it wouldn’t come back: too dangerous. The departing of the little bird had attracted Draco’s pursuers, and it was only a matter of days before they discovered his hiding place. It was by chance only that the owl hadn’t been caught. He couldn’t afford to receive news of his contacts. Draco was in an impasse. In front: the Ministry, that wanted his father dead and him locked up. Behind: the death-eaters, that wanted his father to give his opinion of this situation, that’s to say to come back or to die, and to kill him because of the potion. Rather, Voldemort wanted to kill Draco. The death-eaters had surely been fed a good lie or simply ordered to kill him. They weren’t to know why.

Draco paused to consider this again. There was a last possibility that he hadn’t thought of previously: the dark lord had some fanatics among his death-eaters, people that were ready to go to Hell for him. The existence of this potion wouldn’t change their behaviour and the obedience they had for their master. Voldemort ought to have entrusted them with Draco’s case.

The boy sighed. He should have gone back to Dumbledore. The old man had given him his wand back after all. He couldn’t be SO bad as to try luring Draco into a trap, was he? He was a Gryffindor, they don’t do traps; they rush ahead and discover the consequences when they fall on them… No? No. There was at least one person, Gryffindor or not, that didn’t play by Gryffindor rules. And this one person was one too many.

Some months ago, Draco would have thought: you shouldn’t trust a Gryffindor; they could have a spy among them and never notice it. But Snape had been a spy too, and among Slytherins. It was treason! Moreover, how had Dumbledore known of the attack at the Department of Mysteries? Surely from the Potions Master. And that had sent Lucius to prison, where he had almost been killed! Yes, BEEN killed: such a deadly virus couldn’t have developed there so quickly especially at the exact time death-eaters were sent to Azkaban.

Draco had got to his father just in time. He had cured him, but even when the disease had been drained from his body, Lucius hadn’t been cured. There had been something else, something Draco had hoped wouldn’t cause a problem. He had underestimated his own potion.

He hated Snape for what he had done. Didn’t he? Why had the Potions Master betrayed them so? Why had he betrayed Draco?! Had it been long since he joined Dumbledore? When Draco had been younger, and the man taught him the rudiments of the potion’s art, had it been for Dumbledore too? Had Snape only been spying on Draco’s father? The boy sighed. These problems wouldn’t be resolved by turning them over in his mind. And in no way would he talk to the professor about it. He had his dignity! To admit he had been hurt by Snape’s announce of treason… No… Let’s forget that too. That made many things leave his mind.

-

At the same moment

The same three men flooed to the observatory of Ben Levis then walked to the reserve. They were keeping silent. Dumbledore had warned them not to converse orally. Aurors surely would be spying on them. What to say about death-eaters? Thankfully, the old man was part telepathist. That sufficed.

To be granted access to the reserve, Dumbledore had had to say that death-eaters lacked a very important ritual item that could possibly be found in the centre of the labyrinth. He also suspected that Voldemort had remained hidden there for a while to search for it but hadn’t discovered it yet. It was very possible that the Ministry had dispatched aurors immediately at the news. If the headmaster had received a positive answer to his demand, it was that the officials hadn’t disclosed anything during their three days of research. And it meant they were watching the newcomers even more closely.

The influence Dumbledore had at the Ministry was a thing he often mused on. Fudge was a dangerous fool: he changed sides continually. He accepted the great wizard’s help when thinking he wouldn’t succeed alone, but as soon as he saw an opening, he took it. Meaning, the minister was as much of a menace as Voldemort. Both of them were extremists. The dark lord wanted to enslave the muggles, but since his enemy’s official return, Fudge had expressed his will to rid England of every potential death-eater. This epidemic in Azkaban was… suspicious to the least. Some of the prisoners there could be saved from Voldemort… if they were still alive. But Dumbledore couldn’t openly oppose the Ministry on such a controversial subject that was the Azkaban’s prisoners. The population’s reaction would be immediate and against him. This same population was the only power Dumbledore had against the Ministry. That was why he needed Draco.

The boy had more than earned a safe place to rest. He was in danger and had to be saved. More: Draco’s choices and the importance with which Lucius considered his family could force the man to change sides in this war. It could be a great achievement for the light side. Despite the public opinion, the Malfoys were very important to the dark lord and not simply the inverse way. This family was ancient, maybe as old as Hogwarts itself. It was surrounded by powerful magic, a magic that couldn’t be seen or manipulated by wand. And Voldemort extracted an enormous part of his powers from his death-eaters’ magic. It was no wonder he searched for his servants among the finest families. And Slytherin was a concentration of them. They had been his first targets, and they had been more than ready to follow, for he had offered the promise of wizard’s supremacy over muggleborns.

They had already been walking for a while when they finally reached the labyrinth’s entrance. If this part of the park had been conserved, it sure hadn’t been taken care of. Plants ran widely wild and they wondered if they would be able to pass. Centuries of growing vegetation ought to have filled every empty passage.

Dumbledore contemplated the work of nature. The two professors were actively trying to discover a way to enter the labyrinth, but the headmaster remained in his place, immobile and silent. Suddenly, he grumbled in his beard and called the others.

“We’re going back,” he simply said without adding further explanation.

Remus and Severus glanced at each other in surprise, both of them pondering what nurtured the old man to act as he did. Had he felt a danger? Had he felt Draco? They wouldn’t have an answer before their return to the school. Besides, they wouldn’t have asked, attentive to this constant watching of them.

As they arrived near their departing zone, the astronomic centre, a dozen of aurors accosted them. They weren’t menacing or frightening, but Severus appreciated Dumbledore’s presence at his side. He had never felt comfortable surrounded by aurors, and this bad impression surely would remain till the end of his life.

“Already back?” an auror asked with an obviously faked neutral tone.

“The orb isn’t here anymore,” answered Dumbledore angrily, “We are too late.” It implied he blamed the aurors for this failing. If they hadn’t lost three days with faked forms, maybe would they have found it in time. Severus flinched and Remus frowned anxiously. Were they really too late? Had Draco been taken by the death-eaters? Had he been found by the aurors? The officials could have led Dumbledore here so that he would reveal if he had been aware of Malfoy’s hiding place by searching for him.

But the great wizard didn’t pronounce any other word apart from his destination at the fireplace. They were returning to Hogwarts, not that Snape would complain for leaving the so appreciating aurors’ company. From the glares the officials were sending them as they disappeared, this situation wasn’t the one they had desired. Remus wondered for a moment which side they were on, but this thought was put rapidly aside by his concern for Draco.

As they reappeared in Dumbledore’s office, Snape and Lupin could barely contain their questions while the headmaster closed the floo-network. One never knew: the aurors could have been listening from the other side. Then Dumbledore sat in his armchair, summoned a teapot and three cups and looked at the two waiting professors. Eyes enlarged by desire of knowledge, pupils dilated by care.

Dumbledore sighed and affirmed, “They weren’t there.”

They gaped, “How do you know?” asked Remus, subjugated by the apparently so simple deduction, but that had to come from a very complicated way of thought.

“I should have understood three days ago. Draco is intelligent. He sent the vial specifically to you, Severus, because you are one of the very few that practices both potion art and dark magic and because he trusts you. Why would he then use as a next hint such a non-personal place? He ought to have imagined a scenario in which the aurors would have noticed the two books and thought of the labyrinth… So, the books are to be a very precise information that only one of you can decode. Remus, what was it about these children of yours that he would teach quidditch to?”

A gleam of hope suddenly lightened Lupin’s eyes. “Of course! Albus, you’re a genius! I know where he is!”

“Where?” asked Severus as suddenly at the revelation.

“Is there a way to enter the Malfoy lands undetected by Narcissa?” asked Lupin back, inattentive to the question.

“No,” deceived Dumbledore. As Hogwarts, the Malfoy grounds were powerfully charmed to detect every person that penetrated them. The headmaster tilted. He hadn’t felt Draco as he should have when the boy had brought and hidden his father in the school. But he had had to go to the Ministry two times around Christmas… Had Draco learned of it and used this time he was provided? Minerva had talked of his visit to Fudge during the midnight supper. The boy ought to have heard. Dumbledore smiled: one should never underestimate a Slytherin. They were chosen for their ambition, bad… or good. If only a little part of the house could join their side, they would be assured of victory. And the reversibility of Lucius could play a very important role in that. The man had been the sole influence that took many of his fellows into joining the dark lord. A direct opposing could change many things.

Remus was pondering on Dumbledore’s negative answer. He obviously needed to enter the Malfoy lands.

“You shouldn’t worry about Narcissa when it concerns the grounds. She has no legal power over them. The aurors are another matter,” counselled the headmaster.

“The aurors are no problem. We’re going then,” declared Remus, suddenly very authoritative.

It was decided that Dumbledore would stay at the school. The presence of the two professors would already attract much of the aurors’ attention. No need to worsen it. Remus sole had an excuse to go there. Severus would play the friend’s role. It wouldn’t fool any person that knew them, but some officials shouldn’t cause problem.

They flooed to Hogsmeade then apparated next to the limit of the high lord’s lands. One couldn’t apparate directly in it, thanks to a four centuries old charm. They traversed the border by foot and headed toward South.

Deep forest composed half of this magical territory. It was by far the largest wizard property of Great Britain. It was said that a thousand years ago, a child of the unknown Malfoy family had served the Duke of Erkas, who was among the most powerful wizard of the time, counterpart of the founders. Erkas had lived in the retired and inhabited misty deserts of North Scotland. Despite his isolation, he had reigned over almost the full country, making an art of connections, menaces and favours. At the Duke’s death, the Malfoy family had gone on serving his son, then grand-son, and it had gone on this way for three centuries. After so many years of good and loyal services, the Duke’s family had been extinguished during a High Clans war. A decade later, an alliance of the Malfoys with some other families of Scotland had assured them the victory against the same high clan that had destroyed the Erkas. It marked the apparition of the future dark lands.

The Malfoys associated anew with their allies and lived under a partake ruling for two centuries. Each family possessed a part of the grounds. The official laws were voted by a council, constituted of members of the families. The number of representatives they had at the council was proportional to the surface of their lands. For a time, it assured their union of a strong power against the other high clans of Scotland. After that, it became Hell and the Malfoys rejoiced. In many families, the first born had inherited the title of ruler. But for the younger children, to find allies had been a difficult and impossible task. The high clans had refused their services because they came from the common lands and they had had to resolve into marrying lesser people. Generations were born and dead, and the number of pushed aside had increased dangerously. They laid claimed to part of their family grounds. Some insisting ones had to be executed as a demonstration. The power was to remain in the heir’s hands solely. The revolution cracked. Many families were ruined or completely destroyed.

After the disaster, the Malfoys arrived and proposed to buy some of their grounds so that they would have the necessary money to reconstruct the rest. Contrarily to the others, they had had only one child per generation, ensuring there would be no problem with the inheritance moment. It had been a risk: should the heir die too soon, the family would disappear. But they had survived. And with the power they acquired at the end of the civil war, they were face to face with the high lords. These ones didn’t see well the growing importance of a lower family, especially one that had served an enemy of their.

As protection, the Malfoys joined what remained of the Slytherin family. Later, they severed their bond as the disastrous episode of Salem was taking place in America. At that time, the Malfoys had become largely capable of surviving alone.

Remus wondered how they considered their familial history. It was no more and no less than a millennia of services. The Malfoys had long remained in shadow, right hands of the most powerful ones of their respective times. Never had they really been in charge. But they were intelligent, cunning, of good counsel and very rich, able to counter any financial crisis that could arise. That sufficed for them to be chosen among many others by those who searched for a second. But Lupin pondered how people could trust them: the Malfoys weren’t known for their fidelity except that to their own family… No, the only ones they had served till the end had been the Erkas. What had been different then? It couldn’t simply be an affair of power, for the Erkas had been going downhill for a time already when they were attacked. But never the Malfoys had abandoned them…There had to be something, something that could insure of their fidelity. Had Voldemort discovered what it was? Rather, had he not? Remus had once heard Snape narrating to Dumbledore how Lucius Malfoy took liberty of doing or saying some things that would get any other death-eater crucioed. Dumbledore seemed to know about it, but as usual, he didn’t talk of it. It was disconcerting to be let in the dark but after all, the less that knew of Voldemort’s methods, the less chances there was of a second dark lord.

Last but not least, when Lucius realise his son and himself were on different sides, what would he do? Family was always first, but which one of them would crack up first? Had Draco got the nerves to resist his father? Dumbledore affirmed there was nothing to fear, that Lucius would keep his son at bay from his master; but what reason would he have? If Lucius vouched for Draco and the boy demonstrated his good will by accepting some mission, Remus’s work of many months could very well be reduced to ashes.

Remus scoped the vast valley and caught sight of the house they had been heading to. Aurors were waiting at the doorstep, staring in the newcomers’ direction. Lupin glanced at Snape. The man had noticed too that they weren’t the sole visitors of the day. They traversed the last meters that separated them from the group and confronted them.

“You again Dars?” stated Severus gravely. In his mind, Oliver Dars was part of the worse aurors. Fifteen years ago, he had actively searched proof against the potions master, and quite rightly for Snape had never been kind to him. Remus suspected vaguely that he had attacked the auror during his service as former death-eater, but it was a subject one that desired to remain alive didn’t tackle, so he hadn’t got confirmation.

“I may reverse the compliment.” Dars pursed his lips. “You’re everywhere today.”

… So they had already heard of their excursion to Ben Levis…

“What are you doing here?” asked another official they didn’t know.

Snape frowned his eyebrows. “Is there a law that forbids to visit former friends?” he inquired back.

“When said friend lives on the Malfoy grounds, it should,” denounced Dars before turning toward Remus, “You shouldn’t associate with such people, Lupin. It could get dangerous.”

With this half menace, they went away. But even if the officials had disappeared from sight, the professors could feel their eyes on them. They were observing, crouching in shadow, waiting for them to let go of pieces of information.

Lupin went to the door and knocked. After some seconds, steps were heard behind it and an old woman opened them. She looked at them for a time and smiled when she recognised Remus, then invited them to enter.

“How are you?” she asked when they sat with tea and cookies.

Remus narrated the events of the past ten years, time that had apparently elapsed since their last encounter. She listened to him, questioning here and there, nice and smiling. Severus was loosing patience and fought not to show it. They had come here to have news of Draco, not to engage in grandmother talk. Still, Snape learnt what had convinced Remus that they would find information there: long ago, the werewolf had been found by the old woman in her garden, a night of full moon. Draco had been present.

An hour after his arriving, his patience was awarded. The old woman went to her chimney and attentively eyed a sculpture of squirrel. The animal was superbly crafted in copper, his green emerald eyes gleaming strangely. When she was assured of what she had been waiting for, she came back to the table, suddenly serious.

“You’re here for Draco?” she verified.

Remus nodded. “He let us have information that conducted here,” he explained.

She sighed. “I was waiting for you much sooner. I received no news from him since last week.”

Severus eyed them with suspicion, unsure of their dialogue. The aurors had been spying on them. Did they give up? It was strange of them. When seeing his look, the old woman softly smiled and said “I have a detection spell on the garden. If they attempt to magically or physically spy on me, the squirrel’s eyes become red.”

Snape bent in admiration. “Do you know where Draco is?”

“I am not sure, but I may have an idea. I think he is in the old crypt.”

They frowned. “What crypt?”

“It dates from his great grandfather. He used it for a dark ritual of demons invocation. It was destroyed in an explosion during the fifties. Some years ago, Draco wanted to restore it and use it to play hide and seek, but his father forbade him. The place was dangerous due to remnants of potions and gases, not to forget minor demons. But the obstinate boy had to tidy it still! It is liveable and no one apart from us knows about it. He ought to be hidden there,” she affirmed.

They gaped. “As simple as this?” asked Remus.

“No,” she darkly answered. “Death-eaters have been turning around the place for days. They are aware of him being near here and won’t stop till they get him…” she stopped abruptly and turned to the squirrel. The emerald eyes were gleaming above the chimney. “But I won’t delay you any longer, you surely have much work at the school.”

The aurors were back. It was no use to stay anymore. They took leave, and she gave them a full box of cookies, her speciality. When the professors exited the house, the officials were waiting outside, raging. They had fathomed they had been tricked and had missed the important part. They examined the box and stopped when they discovered that it contained nothing more than cakes. Too much could lead them into transgression of human’s liberties.

Out of the Malfoy lands, they apparated to Hogsmeade, ran to a pub and flooed to Hogwarts. Dumbledore was waiting for them in his office.

“Ah… Effectively, I recall old Alayin. She came to Hogwarts when I was transfiguration teacher. Students feared her because of her white hair. She always had a thing for extraordinary hiding places.” As he talked, the headmaster opened the box, took out a cookie and broke it. Rumples fell on his desk. Disappointed, he took another and repeated the move. Again and again until he found what he had been searching for. From his last broken cookie, and under the bemused eyes of the adults, he extracted a folded paper. It was a drawn map of the Malfoy’s lands Southwest part. On it was indicated some paths, a little river and the entrance of the crypt.

“We should hurry.” Dumbledore got up. His face was anxious. They needn’t narrate what they had been said. No sooner had they entered the room that Severus had let him access to his mind, transmitting his last memories. If death-eaters had been prowling Draco’s retreat, they ought to have seen the owl he had sent Severus. It was bad news. He went again to the chimney and directed to Malfoy Manor.

When Severus and Remus followed in the large Hall, they discovered a flustered Narcissa animatedly discussing with Dumbledore. She was completely frantic, so out of place in the strict house. She headed toward a window and scanned the outside. Frowning, she examine the map, reversed her feet to a darkened wall and muttered incomprehensible words, making it open.

Snape had never doubted there were secret passages in Malfoy Manor, but to see Narcissa revealing one to them was something he hadn’t be prepared for, and he took some time to regain his stopped breath before following them onto the stairs. When had she changed sides? Or rather, when had Dumbledore discovered that she would help them?

They ran almost two kilometres underground, in a tunnel illuminated by torches that lightened up at their approach. Finally, they reached another flight of stairs that led them back to air and deep forest. They heard the noise of pouring water: they were near a cascade. Never stopping, wand out, Narcissa led the headmaster toward a dark and well camouflaged gothic building.

Suddenly, Dumbledore cast a double stunning spell in the woods. All turned to him at the act. But the old man quickly went to the crypt door and moved the large and heavy forged piece of metal. The door was only slightly opened so that they heard racket coming from the catacombs.

A death-eater launched on them and was immobilised by a curse from Narcissa. Another tried to stun Dumbledore and was projected against a stoned wall by the impact of his spell on the old wizard’s magical buckler. They went on running in the spiralling stairs, entered the crypt’s catacombs…

Voldemort was there, accompanied by four death-eaters, but all were too occupied to notice the newcomers. Behind them, Lucius fell on the floor. Behind the dark lord, hidden in shadows, Draco extended the hand and caught Voldemort’s wand. At the same time, the wizard raged and wandlessly accioed it; Dumbledore cast a freezing spell on both the adult and child, and Draco made to crack the piece of wood.

“Draco, stop!!” shouted the headmaster.

The spells rebounded as an enormous explosion trembled the crypt’s walls and projected Draco metres away.

-

The same day, some hours sooner

Lucius stirred in his bed and awoke. A reflex he had caught during the last handful of days made him turn his head toward the cot which Draco was resting in. The boy was contemplating the ceiling, his eyes in the vague. The young hand was clutching a sheet, so tightly that it could have reduced it to shreds without noticing. How much his world had changed in a mere year, Lucius pondered. During the last spring, the dark lord had slowly been rising; Malfoy had taken back his place of right hand and they had been plotting the attack at the Department of Mysteries. Then it had been Azkaban. A traitor had denounced them. Then it had been death. The Ministry wanted them to disappear. This was Draco’s opinion. It sounded true.

The boy had matured. He had taken decisions many would rather have fled. He had taken a part in the war no one would have imagined. Not that many knew about it, but the ones who did were the most important. Lucius had been horrified. His son had defied Voldemort!!!

“You fool! You don’t know what you risk!” the man had yelled when first hearing about it.

But Draco’s eyes had saddened as he softly answered: “I knew what danger I gambled when refusing the dark lord and tricking the Ministry. But you’re right, I hadn’t foreseen the rest.”

What rest? Draco had avoided the topic. But if the boy thought his father hadn’t noticed his many nightmares, he was very wrong. Still, there was no point in questioning him further for the moment, for Draco had not only grown up mentally, he had also learnt to direct his life. He now was his own influence and evolved in a way he solely chose. He wouldn’t answer.

Feeling he was watched, Draco turned his head, meeting his father’s gaze. He smiled genuinely. “You’re awake?” he half asked, half noticed.

Lucius sat on the mattress. He felt fine. The virus was a bad memory. “I am,” he acknowledged.

The both of them had lunch in silence. One month of loneliness. It was surely the longest time Lucius had ever spent alone with his son. Maybe had he needed it, to remember Draco wasn’t a pawn to be directed at his will, but a person that could make choices, choices that his father didn’t want to but would have to accept and to respect.

Draco had used a subterfuge only the boy knew of to enter Azkaban, the most guarded prison of the entire wizarding world. He had duplicated his father and, who knew how, taken one of them out with him. He had managed to penetrate Hogwarts with a dying body, to hide it and to cure it partly with the full Slytherin house watching his every move. But why stop there when all was getting on so well?

Lucius had always underestimated Potions. He hadn’t seen Severus’s treason, he hadn’t seen the influence the man had on his son, and he hadn’t seen the power this art could give Draco. The dark mark, sole proof the aurors had against many death-eaters, could disappear. This put the boy into immeasurable danger: the Ministry wanted him dead so that he couldn’t protect death-eaters, and Voldemort wanted him dead so that he wouldn’t tempt his servants into abandoning him. And Dumbledore? What did the old imbecile think of it? He had to know about it, by Severus. By the way, what had convinced Draco to save the Potions Master? The traitor would have been better in Azkaban among the ones he had sent there, partaking in the deadly civilities of the aurors. But no, Draco had created this potion and now owed Snape’s debt. That’s to say, if everything had taken place as anticipated. Draco had cast a spell on the owl, to be informed when it reached Hogwarts’ barriers, but maybe the aurors had arrived too soon. Maybe the death-eaters had intercepted the bird, discovered the curse and taken him to the school as a diversion.

Lucius sighed. Draco had said he expected help. Frankly, Lucius thought it was a bad idea. There was many chances that they were found by the death-eaters before said help arrive. The problem was: one can’t apparate on the Malfoy grounds. So they had no way out other that running. That wasn’t a good idea either. It came back to waiting, something he hated. Draco had led his affairs well for a year; let’s do as he said.

The day passed as everyday. Draco brewed potions and Lucius read potions books. He had long exhausted the dark arts ones and had had to fall back on the others. And they were the two sole subjects that Draco had taken with him…

Night fell. Lucius tilted. Had it been a step noise that he just heard? “Draco!” he ordered, “Give me your wand.”

The boy frowned, understanding immediately the implication. They had only one wand, for Lucius’s had been confiscated by the Ministry when he was arrested, and if a duel had to occur, he was by far the strongest. Draco went to the shelves and retired vials full of potions that Lucius didn’t want to know of. He gave one to his father to drink, which the man did, vaguely wondering what there was in it for it to taste so horrible. He failed to resist wrinkling his nose in disgust. Draco clutched another vial firmly in his hand and they waited.

They didn’t have to wait for long. The exterior door opened violently, clacking the walls, shacking the fragile shelves. A vial fell on the floor and exploded in black smoke. Two death-eaters penetrated the room, immediately deprived of breath by a curse of Lucius. They choked and panicked before fainting. But that, the other death-eaters didn’t see, for Draco had broken his cherished vial next to the door and vile black fumes had filled the room.

Thanks to the liquid he had drank sooner, Lucius directed vaguely in the foul frog. But Voldemort remained at the threshold, untouched by the fumes, and for him, a simple spell wouldn’t suffice. Lucius had in mind one that would give them the time to escape the place, but Draco’s wand wasn’t used to such rushes of power and would brake. How then would they counter the death-eaters that ought to be outside on guard?

Draco was still behind him, and the fumes were starting to disintegrate. They had to choose quickly. Lucius pointed the wand at Draco’s forehead and established mental speak.

‘I curse him and we run,’ he simply informed as a plan. Draco nodded in approbation, even if his eyes showed his lack of trust in it.

Lucius crisped the wand in his fingers, and inspired profoundly. Suddenly, he cast a Soul Departing curse on Voldemort and pushed Draco toward the door, faking to follow. Lucius looked at his son disappearing in the stairs and turned back. He saw nothing as he was hit by a Crucio. He countered it and faced Voldemort.

“A sacrifice. It’s so beautiful, so Gryffindor,” the wizard spat. Lucius had known that both Draco and he wouldn’t be able to pass Voldemort untouched, even after the curse. They would have been followed outside and by the time that they reached the lands’ limits, the detection and stunning spells would have made good prey of them.

Lucius attempted to place some useful spells but they were easily fought by his former master. How stupid had he been. He should have taught Draco more dark arts rather than waiting for him to grow up. His wand would have been more trained. This month hadn’t sufficed to catch back ten years of empty training. But it was too late for regrets. The wand fled from his hand and Voldemort smirked.

“You’re so stupid sometimes, Lucius. I know more of your son than you, his father, do. And I know that he would never ever abandon you. He probably ran outside, but quickly turned back as he didn’t see you behind him. Then he met Bella. You will die for nothing. Avada Kedavra.”

But the curse hadn’t totally got out of the wand when a hand reached the piece of wood from behind and caught it. Draco had never gone to the upper part of the stairs. He had stopped mid-way and immediately realised what his father had done, then ran back, determined not to let him die, especially after so much work. He had seen Voldemort, ready to cast the Death curse on Lucius, and had only thought of one thought: stop the man.

And here he was, a metre away from the most dangerous of all wizards, a stolen wand in the hand. He could try using it, but Voldemort would take it back in a mere second. Draco saw the spell coming on him. He heard someone calling him behind, a voice that he knew. But he hadn’t time to think. He went to break the wand.

His fingers had only twisted the wood when from inside the wand flashed sparks of energy, projecting him far away. He hit a wall violently and passed out.

-

End of Chapter 2