Saving your life

“Draco Malfoy.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Severus knew he had a chance. Rage and confusion mixed in Voldemort’s expression, but that rage was no longer directed at him.

“That is not possible,” Voldemort hissed, taking another step back. “There is no way he could have known…”

“Perhaps he found…” Severus started, but again cough overtook him and he couldn’t speak. He felt the metallic taste on blood in his mouth, and once more he wondered just how badly hurt he was. His arms shook beneath his body, not strong enough to support him, but he refused to collapse again. His gaze was locked with Voldemort’s, and he wouldn’t look away.

With an exasperated sigh, Voldemort waved his hand once more, and instead of the pain Severus had been expecting, he felt relief. He carefully rose to his knees, but knew better than to stand up, not only because it might give the wrong impression, but also because he knew Voldemort had only taken the pain away; he had not been healed.

“What makes you think it is he?” Voldemort questioned, but at the same time took a step back, giving Severus some more room; he knew it was a sign that he was, at least, willing to hear his story, and he took the opportunity.

“He was with them, Master. He was with the Order when I found them.”

Anger flashed through Voldemort’s eyes again, but he didn’t speak, so Severus continued.

“I believe he has been spying for the Order for some time now.”

“You are my spy, Severus, how could you not have known this until now?”

“I have not been with them long enough to regain their absolute trust, my Lord. They are still reticent to trust me with their most important secrets. I imagine Draco somehow found a way to them.”

“How could you not have known?” Voldemort hissed, angrily.

“I believe he might be the reason why the Order seemed to be always one step ahead of us, Master. They found out where our headquarters were, that we were targeting its members’ Muggle families...”

“Draco didn’t know most of those things.”

“Perhaps not directly, Master, but there are other ways.”

“What are you implying, Severus, that there is more than just one spy among my army?”

“No, my Lord. But many of your Death Eaters discuss information related to their meetings with you and their missions at headquarters. Perhaps the boy has been hearing more than he should have.”

“You said Bellatrix had been captured, and that Narcissa had been killed during that same attack. The Malfoys are an ancient family that takes care of their own above everything else. If he were the spy, he would never have let his mother die. What you are saying makes no sense.”

He could feel he was losing, that Voldemort doubted his words, and he had to convince him. The more questions he asked, the harder the lie would be to maintain.

“I was told Narcissa was dead, but I did not see her body,” he said, and hid the small smile that threatened to reach his lips when he saw Voldemort turn back to him, his eyes locked with Severus, contemplative.

“If he had betrayed me, Bellatrix would have found out and informed me immediately,” Voldemort said, although he did not sound as certain as before.

“Not if she didn’t know. Perhaps she found out, and Draco had to resort to desperate actions. That would explain a seemingly pointless attack to a small group of Death Eaters by enough Order members to kill most and take prisoners without any loses for them.”

At Voldemort’s expression, Severus felt some of his hopes return. He was fleshing out the story as he spoke, but years of lying gave him the ability to do it good enough to perhaps deceive Voldemort himself once again.

“Still, no one but myself knew of the location of those objects,” he said thoughtfully.

“It would seem someone else did as well, and I believe the person that Rabastan spoke of and the one that went with the Order to the place you sent me were the same.”

After a few moments of silence, Voldemort stepped closer to Severus again, the expression on his face unreadable.

“Those are easy accusations to make, with no one to respond to them.”

It was now or never, he knew, and so he said the only possible thing at the moment.

“I will prove it to you, Master. I will bring Draco here.”

“You will bring the boy to me?” he asked, and Severus nodded. “I asked you to bring him before, and you said you did not know where he was. My other Death Eaters cannot find him or Lucius. If he really is working for the Order, as you say, what makes you think you can, not only find him, but also bring him before the wizard he betrayed?”

“I will find him, my Lord. I will let you hear of his betrayal from his own lips.”

“Very well,” Voldemort agreed after a few moments. “You have two hours. Do not disappoint me, Severus, or I will be forced to reconsider your punishment for not fulfilling your mission earlier,” he hissed threateningly, his red eyes flicking to the dismembered bodies lying a few feet from Severus for a moment.

“Yes, Master,” he said, slowly reaching for his wand and performing a few basic healing charms before carefully getting up and making his way to the door. He would take care of the other wounds once he was out of there.

“Send Wormtail in,” Voldemort called after him, as he left the room, and he did as told, finding the pale, trembling wizard in the same spot he had been when he had last seen him and sneering down at him when he gasped in shock at seeing Severus still alive.

“The Dark Lord wishes to speak to you,” he hissed before turning around and walking down the hallway and towards the exit, smirking to himself at the sound of the wizard’s pleas for help. Whatever the man got, it was less than he deserved.

Taking a deep breath, Severus tightened his hold on the wand and focused on the house in Plymouth where he had left Draco. Closing his eyes, he Apparated away, feeling the wounds reopen as he did, collapsing on the floor the second his feet touched the ground.

“Who’s there? Hermione?” he heard Draco call, the voice sounding far away. At least he knew he had managed to Apparate to the right place.

With a groan, he pushed himself upwards as best he could, his arms still not strong enough to support his weight, but he finally managed to turn around and sit.

“Merlin,” he heard the boy gasp as he turned on the lights. “Severus? What’s happened?” he asked, his voice closer now, although Severus couldn’t see him, his eyes still trying to adjust to the sudden brightness. “Is my mother all right? Hermione?”

“They’re fine,” he snarled, wanting Draco to shut up. His head felt as if it was about to explode, and the boy wasn’t helping.

With a loud, pained groan, Severus reached for his wand, which had fallen by his side after he had Apparated, and repeated the basic healing spells he had used before.

“What are you looking at, boy?” he snarled, while healing the superficial wounds.

“I’m just trying to decide whether I should offer to help you or finished what I can only assume the Dark Lord started. My life would probably be easier without you in it.”

Severus lifted his head to look at him, glaring even as he told himself he shouldn’t be surprised by the boy’s words in the least. If he had been in Draco’s position, he probably wouldn’t have given it much thought; he would have gone for the kill. Draco would probably be safer with him dead.

Still, Severus tightened his hold on the wand at hearing the boy’s words, ready to defend himself if it came to that, when Draco stepped closer to him and reached out to help him stand.

A part of him wanted to refuse his help, wanted to tell Draco he would be better off killing him, but there was nothing to be gained by it, so he took the help offered and let the boy walk him to a chair.

“Do you have potions here?” he asked, his hand flying to his side as he felt what could only be a broken rib pinch the flesh, as if trying to break through it.

“Yes, what do you need?”

“I will need a Blood Replenishing potion, another for the internal wounds, and a few to mend the broken bones.”

“One for the pain too, I’d say,” Draco added, when he saw him lean back and wince in pain again.

“Do you have all that here?”

“Yes. My father made sure we would have everything we could need in a situation such as this,” he said, walking out of the room and returning only a few minutes later, with a few vials on each hand.

Taking the first potion from the boy’s hand, Severus lifted his wand and waved it over the vial, carefully checking its contents before drinking them down.

“There is no need for that,” Draco said, as he handed Severus the second vial. “If I wanted you dead, why bother with poison? The state you are in, it would probably take only a few minor curses to kill you.”

He took a moment to look at Draco, but did not respond. Instead, he checked the contents of the other vials before drinking them as well, the pain turning into a slight discomfort as he felt them work quickly, the bones snapping back into place and the organs healing.

“What’s happened?” Draco asked again, after Severus had taken the last one.

“The Dark Lord found out the cup had been taken.”

“The one I gave Hermione?” he asked, and Severus nodded. “Does he know it was me?”

“He suspects it,” he said, knowing he couldn’t tell Draco the truth.

“So what will happen now?” he asked, a hint of fear in his voice.

“I have to take you to him.”

“What? No,” Draco gasped, shaking his head vehemently as he took a step back. “I can’t go back, you said it yourself. He will kill me.”

“If I don’t take you to him, he will kill me, and then he will find you and kill you as well.”

“So you’re saying I’m doomed, and you want me to go to him only so you will survive? That is crazy, why would I do that?” he asked angrily.

“This isn’t about you, or about me.”

“I won’t let you do it,” Draco said, still shaking his head and taking another step away from him, as if readying himself to run. “I won’t let you use me as some sort of…of sacrificial lamb, only to save yourself. You betrayed him long before I did; you have been spying for the Order for years, why do I have to die so you can live?” he asked, desperation clear in his voice.

“What did you expect would happen, Draco?” he asked angrily, rising from the chair and walking to him. “Did you think he would never find out? Did you think he was a fool, that he would never suspect you? You might not know what the cup you took was, but you knew it was important. Did you think he would just let it lie, that he would forget it had been stolen?”

“Why would he suspect me? I didn’t even know the thing existed until Hermione told me about it…why would he ever think I had anything to do with it?”

“You suddenly went missing, boy,” he snarled. “You didn’t even answer his summons. Your mother and father disappeared too. Did you honestly think he would not link those facts together, and reach the obvious conclusion? Even if he had had no idea the cup had been stolen, he would have, at the very least, suspected betrayal.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Draco muttered, and then his eyes narrowed as he glanced at Severus, a look of suspicion on his face that made him tense and tighten his hold on his wand.

“If this is all about me, then why did he hurt you? By the way you looked when you arrived here; I would say you were a curse away from being killed. Why did he do that to you?”

“That is none of your business. I am here to discuss other matters.”

Severus kept a calm façade, his voice firm, his expression calm, even as Draco took a step closer, his eyes still searching his face with suspicion until a look of sudden understanding changed his features.

“You sold me out, didn’t you?” he asked angrily. “You did something to upset him, and then sold me out to save yourself.”

If Severus hadn’t been expecting it, Draco might have stood a chance, but he had seen in the boy’s face that he was ready to attack, and as soon as he lifted his arm, Severus flicked his wand, wordlessly disarming him.

“I did what I had to do,” Severus hissed, watching Draco struggle against the invisible magic preventing him to move, “You are right, boy, I have been doing this for far longer than you, and I did what I have always done, whatever it takes to protect my position amongst the Death Eaters. Without a spy in the enemy’s ranks, the Order doesn’t stand a chance. But you have one thing wrong,” he said, his gaze locked with Draco’s, wanting him to see the truth in his words. “I did not do it to save myself; I did it because the war has to end, and the Order will never have another spy as close to the Dark Lord as I am.”

“You are just making up excuses; you should at least have the courage to face the truth,” he yelled.

“The position you are now in,” Severus said, ignoring his comment, “is one you got yourself into. You let your aunt trick you into spying for her, and then betrayed the Dark Lord over a silly crush. You have done this to yourself, so do not try to blame it on me.”

“It’s not a silly crush,” Draco hissed, and Severus knew the boy was about to say more, to speak words of love he had fooled himself into believing, but he thankfully held back. Instead, his expression turned calm and his struggling ceased as a calculating look took over his features. “You told my mother you would help me, and I know you said the same thing to Hermione, or she would never have helped you find me. The Order knows I am willing to help them, and they want me to. What will they do when they find out what you did? What will Hermione think of you, if you take me to the Dark Lord, if you let him kill me? And don’t try to fool me; I know you care about her, about what she thinks of you, more than you are willing to admit.”

“I do not owe anyone any explanations. I have found myself in far worse situations, boy,” he snarled, “Do you honestly think your death would affect my work in the least?”

“I didn’t kill you, not when I found you in the cabin, and not here, when you arrived. I trusted your word when you said you would help me; I even gave you the potions you needed, helped you heal. Is this how you repay me, by taking me to my death?”

“I have nothing to repay you for,” Severus said just as calmly, although he saw the truth in Draco’s words, “and I said I came here to take you to the Dark Lord, not to your death.”

“What are you talking about? If you take me to him he will kill me.”

“How willing are you to trust me?” Severus asked, freeing Draco from the magical bindings with a flick of his wand.

“Trust you? With what?” he asked, confused.

“With your very life. Will you trust me?”

“Why should I?”

“Because there is no need for you to die tonight.”

“I don’t understand,” Draco said, in a low voice.

“I cannot guarantee anything, but if you do as I say, then I might be able to save your life. Will you trust me?” he asked again.

Draco looked at him silently for a few moments, his expression unreadable as he tried to make a decision.

For a moment, Severus feared the boy would refuse, and knew that, if he did, he would be forced to take extreme measures. The choice was between modifying his memories, which would be a great risk to himself once he took him to the Dark Lord, or kill the boy himself, right then and there, and tell Voldemort Draco had put up a fight and he had had no other option.

Unwilling to do either until he was certain there was no other way, he waited, his eyes set on the boy, ready to stop him if he tried something as foolish as attacking him or escaping. Minutes passed in silence, but finally Draco spoke.

“Yes,” he said, his voice hesitant, barely above a whisper.

“Good,” Severus replied and walked towards the entrance. “Come now, there is not much time.”

“For what?”

“Trust me, boy, the least you know, the better.”