Be Careful
104: What Fate You Deserve
By Anne B. Walsh
Author Notes:
I disclaim the brief quote from DH.
“Why doesn’t it work for me, Severus?”
”My lord?” Severus hedged, his heart beating out a rhythm of failure in his ears. I was so close. So close to finding the Potter brat and telling him what he must hear, so close to ensuring we could win. And now this. There is no justice and no mercy in this world, nothing but blind chance and whatever we can make and keep for ourselves...
The door at the other end of the room opened. Voldemort turned, scowling. “Who dares—”
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Lucius said. "This cannot wait."
He advanced into the room, supporting—
Merlin's boots. “And where have you been?” Severus asked a dusty and tattered Draco acerbically.
Draco directed a vicious glare at Severus’ left ear. “As if you didn’t know.” He turned towards Voldemort and executed as much of a bow as he was able without falling over. “My lord, forgive the lack of ceremony, and my personal appearance. I’ve been imprisoned for the last... well, since whenever you last heard about me. One loses track of time.”
“Imprisoned?” Voldemort repeated, glancing sidelong at Severus. “Where?”
“At Hogwarts. Or so I assume, since I don’t recall leaving and that’s certainly where I was when I broke out.”
“Nonsense,” Severus snapped, wondering in the back of his mind what the boy was playing at now. “How could you be imprisoned at Hogwarts without my knowing about it?”
A vindictive smile made its appearance on Draco’s face. “Who said you didn’t know about it, sir?” He faced Voldemort squarely. “My lord, I can tell you why the Elder Wand doesn’t work for you. It doesn’t work because Severus Snape is a traitor to your cause. He’s Dumbledore’s, he always has been, ever since you threatened the Mudblood who spawned Harry Potter!”
Severus forced himself to remain still, but could not stop his fists from clenching. He dares—after I pitied him, thought him worthy of better than he was born to, he dares—
“Explain,” Voldemort said slowly. “And do it well.”
“It began earlier this year.” Draco had his arms pressed against his stomach, and Severus noticed irrelevantly that the left had a bit of white cloth covering it halfway up the forearm. “I was out by the lake one evening when I saw someone in black robes headed for that stupid tomb. They bent over it a while, then went back inside. I followed. They went up to the Head’s office and never came out. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, just one of those things that happens at Hogwarts sometimes.”
Who in the world... Severus banished his curiosity. This was no time for idle questions.
“But then yesterday afternoon, I finally found out what I’d been trying to for a week. The spot where Longbottom and his little gang of malcontents were hiding.” Draco curled his lip as he pronounced the Gryffindor’s name. “I thought that should go straight to the Headmaster, so I went up to his office—I’d got the password from Professor Carrow a few days ago when he asked me to carry a note—and I was about to go in when I heard voices.”
Voices in my office, yesterday afternoon? I was never in it until well into the night...
“He,” Draco’s finger stabbed towards Severus though his eyes never left Voldemort’s face, “was talking with that portrait of Dumbledore. Joking about how well they’d fooled you, how you couldn’t see the truth even when it was right in front of your eyes. Reminding each other of all the times he’s ruined your plans, the things he’s told the Order of the Phoenix in plain sight, the lies he’s fed you to keep Dumbledore’s plans going. Finally they had a bloody good laugh over the way they’d kept you from getting your hands on the Elder Wand!”
“And what was that?” Voldemort’s voice was at its quietest, its silkiest smoothness; his face was as placid as a pond. This was the Dark Lord’s most dangerous mood, and Severus felt his grasp on his Occlumency slipping.
Having Lucius smirking at me from across the room does not help. How Draco knows these things, when the conversations he quotes so blithely never happened... but more than half of what he says is true, and I doubt I can hide that any longer...
“Have Snape kill Dumbledore against your orders, and then hide the Elder Wand before you could find it,” Draco replied promptly. “It was in a compartment back of Dumbledore’s portrait, so the old coot could decide who got their hands on it even after he was gone. Lucky for me he’s off seeing the fighting just now. But I’m getting ahead of myself.”
“So you are.” Voldemort ran his fingers up and down the wand he still held in his hand. “Why did you not press your Mark to summon me so that I could hear this treason for myself?”
“I was about to, when old bat ears over there heard me outside his door.” Draco shot another look at Severus, this time past his right shoulder. “He grabbed me before I could get my sleeve pulled back, tied me up, and threw me in a corner. Then he and his painty friend had a lovely long discussion about what to do with me, making sure I could hear every word of it. They finally decided not to kill me—he’s still Headmaster, I’m still a student, it’s not nice, you know—but they’d lock me up until, direct quote, ‘it’s all over with.’ After that, they said, it wouldn’t matter what I knew.”
Voldemort smiled, a flickering expression like the dart of a snake’s tongue. “That makes sense. But they could scarcely leave you tied for an indefinite period, and once you had the freedom of your hands you could easily press your Mark.”
“Of course I could.” Draco lifted his arms to chest level, letting his sleeves fall away from them. “If I still had it.”
Severus barely had time to notice the shortening of Draco’s left arm, the dirty white bandage that wrapped it, when Lucius spat an oath and yanked his wand clear of his pocket. “Crucio!”
Ducking the Unforgivable and fumbling out his own wand, Severus opened his mouth to cast Sectumsempra—
“Enough.”
The word reverberated through the room as though it had been shouted, though the tone was even and calm. Severus clenched his teeth against the pain in his head. Lucius clapped his hands over his ears. Draco winced, but returned to unwinding the bandage around his stump at Voldemort’s twitch of a finger. “Done with Fiendfyre, my lord,” he said, holding up the angry red flesh for observation. “Dumbledore told him it was the only way to counter the level of magic you’d put into the Mark.”
“Did he.” Voldemort gave the remains of the arm a cursory examination, then nodded once. Draco quickly whipped the bandage around it once more and let the sleeve of his robes cover it from view.
“Lucius, kindly allow me to deal with this,” the Dark Lord continued. “I realize you want to avenge your son’s wrongs, but my claims must take precedence.”
“Forgive me, my lord.” Lucius slid his wand away, casting a gloating look at Severus. “I was carried away by paternal affection. It won’t happen again.”
Seeking somewhere to look that didn’t inspire him with the urge to punch Lucius in the face, Severus happened to glance towards Draco, and caught the boy’s lips moving in the tail end of a silent phrase.
Did he just say “I bet it won’t”?
Something here is very far from right.
As though I did not know that already.
“Look into my eyes, Draco,” the Dark Lord commanded. “Let me be sure you have told me the truth, before I do anything irreversible.”
“Yes, my lord.” Draco straightened his shoulders and looked fearlessly into the slit-pupiled red eyes.
Last Christmas, he could keep me out with Occlumency, but only because I did not care to take the time and effort of breaking down his barriers, and run the risk of harming him thereby. The Dark Lord has no such scruples, and proved that less than a year ago. Has Draco improved so very much since then, that he can convince Voldemort of these senseless, baseless lies?
“I see.” Voldemort turned away. Draco slumped, but caught himself on the wall, and Lucius hurried forward to hold him up. “I see now. It makes sense of a great deal.”
Apparently he has.
Draco tilted his head to look affectionately up at his father. The pose put Severus in mind of—
No. No! I cannot—not now—
“Severus.” The voice had lost all semblance of humor. “Look at me.”
Ruthlessly, Severus buried his thoughts of Cecilia behind a torrent of other memories. There would be that much of him unsullied, even after what was to come.
And in some respects, it will be its own reward.
“As you wish,” he said, summoning all the bitterness he had masked for eighteen years. “My lord.”
Exactly as Draco had done, he looked Voldemort straight in the eye, and summoned what he most wanted the Dark Lord to see.
Yes, I loved Lily Evans. She was worthy of any man’s love, her blood notwithstanding. The day I broke with her was the day I regret the most from my entire life. If I have any claim to goodness at all, it is because of her and my love for her. And I have never stopped hating the vile creature in the shape of a man who killed her, and the even viler one who condemned her to die because he thought carrying tales would bring him favor. If I had known what harm my words could do to her, I would have cut out my own tongue first...
The contact ended. Severus could not stop himself from gasping, but managed to remain upright without staggering more than a step. His throat was tight and dry, as though he had been crying, or screaming.
Perhaps I was.
“You wish you had cut out your tongue rather than harm your precious Mudblood, Severus,” Voldemort said aloud, smiling openly now. “I may grant your wish, or the half of it which remains in my power. But first...” He turned away. “Draco, my wand.”
Draco reached into his pocket and withdrew the long, slender rod of elder wood Severus had seen in Dumbledore’s hand so many times. “Here it is, my lord,” he said, extending it to Voldemort, grip first. “When the castle was attacked, all the portraits ran away to see the fun, even Dumblesnore. Won’t it be fun telling him how he doomed his own precious plan?”
“Yes, it will.” Voldemort closed his fingers about the Elder Wand. “Before I take his portrait from the wall and destroy it, and him, forever. But that can wait until after I have dealt with Harry Potter, and that in its turn must wait until this wand is truly mine.” He looked up at the two Malfoys. “Await me in the Forest. Lucius, you know the way.”
Lucius bowed and turned to go, but Draco twisted his fingers into his empty sleeve and looked up through his eyelashes. “Please, my lord,” he said, his tone syrup-sweet and wheedling. “I’ve never seen anyone’s tongue cut out before...”
Voldemort laughed aloud. “Now, now, Draco, my mind is not made up yet. I may only kill him after all.”
“But then I’ll get to see him die instead. And I do want to see that.” Draco’s eyes were alight with unholy glee. “Please, my lord? To make up for losing my Mark?”
“If you insist.” Voldemort’s tone was that of an indulgent uncle to a petted nephew. “I will see what can be done for your arm after this night is over, and find out what you would like best for a reward. For now, I must settle for gratifying this one desire. Can you find your own way to the acromantulas’ clearing in the Forest?”
Severus heard Draco’s affirmative answer through a distant buzzing in his ears, as though his own Muffliato charm had been laid over him. So this is your son’s gratitude, Narcissa. This is how he repays me for saving his worthless life. I wish I had let the Vow kill me—it would have been a better ending than this squalid disgrace...
From his pocket, Voldemort drew something long and curved and obscenely sharp. “A last gift from my dear Nagini,” he said, sliding a finger along the smooth surface of the fang. “Shed only days before she died. This seems the proper occasion for its use.”
Lucius stood in the doorway, his sunken eyes glittering in triumph. Draco had his back to the wall; his breath came in quick gasps, and his hand pressed against his chest as though the excitement were too much for him.
“Goodbye, Severus,” said Voldemort, and thrust the fang into Severus’ neck.
The initial explosion of pain was followed so quickly by paralyzing weakness that Severus never had a chance to cry out. He felt himself falling to the floor, saw Voldemort drawing Lucius out of the room in his wake in the same glance as he noticed his own robes becoming saturated with blood below the wound—Draco was straightening up, his lips were moving, he was saying something—
“Come on”? Who—
Movement on his other side, disjointed, fragmented, suddenly became an impossible vision, a dark-haired boy kneeling beside him, staring down with stricken eyes—Lily’s eyes—
“Take it,” Severus choked, forcing the memories that held his story to the front of his mind, thrusting them out in a form that could be collected and watched. “Take it...”
The boy’s wand shook in his hand, but he drew the silver fog into the flask and capped it safely, and Severus felt a great peace overcome him. He had not failed his trust.
“Look... at... me...”
He was not sure if the words were a command or a plea, but Harry Potter bent over him once more, and their eyes locked. Without meaning to, he saw a flicker of Harry’s memories, of Draco’s hand curled around a flask like the one Harry still held, and thrust it angrily away. He wanted to think of Lily, of Lily and all she had meant to him, all he had done for her sake. It was a profanation to think of Draco Malfoy in his last moments of life, even if Draco did remind him in some indefinable way of Cecilia...
Darkness wiped out his vision, silence filled his hearing. He floated alone in nothingness, the dimmest light imaginable gleaming far above him. If he desired to go towards it, he wondered, would he? Might it grow brighter as he approached? Were the stories of his childhood, the tales of peace and forgiveness and loved ones waiting, true after all?
He set his will towards that distant light, and felt his self, his soul as it must be, beginning to rise up—
An indefinable force snatched at him, caught him, pulled him backwards and flung him against a stiffly yielding surface. With a soundless slam, the light disappeared, and he was trapped in blackness absolute and unchanging. Control fled; Severus Snape screamed like a little boy afraid of the dark.
He has won. Voldemort has defeated me. His Mark is on the soul as well as the body, and that lets him bind me to the world even past my death. He can hold me here forever, conjure whatever torments he pleases, or simply leave me in eternal night, and no one will ever know...
Author Notes:
I was going to add more on here but it’s quite late and on reflection this is the most evil spot I could possibly leave it. So I will.
Yes, yes, I know. This isn’t Friday. Blame the MIT Mystery Hunt. ‘Twas fun. More as soon as I can find the time.