While Harry settled down to the final weeks of his first year, Snape decided to make a much-needed visit. He wanted to avoid leaving Hogwarts at the end of the term when not only Harry but all the other students as well would be in a highly excited state and his workload as Head of House and Potions professor would reach a peak. That meant that he had better go sooner rather than later, and frankly, he had neither reason nor desire to delay. He dispatched Harry’s owl with a letter and was unsurprised when he received a terse invitation in reply.

“Well, well, Severus – this is a surprise,” Lucius Malfoy drawled as he stepped through the floo and into Lucius’ study at the appointed time. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

Snape rolled his eyes at Lucius’ false modesty. Malfoy Manor was no more humble than its owner. “I assumed you would want to talk to me.”

Lucius frowned. “About what?”

“The debacle of your little plan to test Potter.”

Lucius’ eyes narrowed further. “What test?”

Snape sighed and seated himself, not waiting for an invitation to do so. “The Diary, Lucius. Need we play these tiresome games? Are you asking me to believe that a Dark artifact just happened to show up at the school at the same time you had to speak with Dumbledore?”

Lucius smirked. “Dear, dear! A Dark artifact at Hogwarts? I hadn’t heard anything about it. Was some poor little Gryffindor badly injured? Perhaps dear Harry himself?”

“No, you wouldn’t have heard of it, nor will the matter become public. There’s no reason to spread panic now that the artifact has been utterly destroyed.”

This time Lucius couldn’t mask his surprise. “Potter destroyed the Di – Dark artifact you mentioned?” he tried to cover his slip.

“For Merlin’s sake, Lucius, you need to realize you’re not as bright as you like to pretend,” Snape snapped. “Do you really imagine that I wouldn’t know that a diary that belonged to the Dark Lord as a boy would have to come from one of His inner circle? Or that I would forget your boasting that your manor holds one of the largest collections of Dark artifacts in Europe?”

“Not that I’m admitting anything,” Lucius replied carefully, thinking quickly, “but what exactly happened to this object?”

“It was destroyed, along with Nagini and Salazar Slytherin’s familiar, which had been roused out of its hibernation.”

The blunt announcement destroyed any hope Malfoy had of masking his feelings. He stared at Snape, gobsmacked. “Nagini is dead?”

Snape tugged down his high collar, revealing the healing fang marks. “She came after me. Harry objected.”

Lucius gulped. Audibly. “She – you – and the boy saved you?”

“He did. And then he led the way to Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets where the Diary and the basilisk were destroyed. All before dinner, by the way.”

Lucius wet his lips. Maybe the Potter brat’s defeat of the Dark Lord hadn’t been a fluke after all. He stepped over and sloshed some fire whiskey into a glass.

Snape leaned forward. “And Lucius, to be clear, I don’t appreciate your little games.”

Malfoy managed to sneer. “Since when do I care what you appreciate?” But the speed with which he gulped the whiskey belied his arrogant tones.

Snape ignored the jibe. “What is more, you’re getting sloppy. Leaving the Diary out for anyone to pick up?”

Lucius shrugged. “Not my problem. I made sure Draco knows enough not to touch anything suspicious.”

“Not all of your confederates have been so careful in raising their offspring,” Snape said silkily, leaning back in his chair. “I think perhaps the Parkinsons might like to know how Pansy got hold of the Diary that nearly drained her magic and soul.”

Lucius nearly dropped the decanter. “The Parkinson girl was the one who found it? But I put it–“ He abruptly broke off.

“I spoke with her, Lucius. I know where you put it, but you were slipshod. You didn’t make sure of your victim, and one of my students has paid the price for your carelessness.”

Malfoy’s head jerked up proudly. “Do you imagine I care? Parkinson may be a, shall we say, colleague – but he’s hardly a powerful wizard. I don’t fear his wrath. Tell him if you wish.”

Snape studied his steepled fingers. “You purebloods are always so interested in lineage. Do you know who Pansy’s maternal grandmother is?”

Lucius shrugged, uncaring. “Some Pureblood – I made sure of that before considering her as a wife for Draco. A Thistlethwaite, isn’t she?”

“Yes. And the granddaughter of Anna Lucia Emilia Borgia.”

He waited.

There was a distinct pause, then: “One of THE Borgias?” Lucius asked faintly.

“Yes – I understand it’s a very close knit Italian family in Italy and closely allied with the de Medicis as well.” Snape gave him a mocking look. “Of course, you’d know all this much better than I.”

Lucius managed to regain his bravado. “So? I know better than to fall victim to a poison.”

Snape looked mildly quizzical. “Why do you imagine that you would be the target, Lucius? Surely to the Borgias, the fact that you nearly killed a daughter of their family whilst she studied at Hogwarts would suggest that their logical target would be-”

“Draco!” Now Lucius was genuinely terrified. It was one thing for him to spot poisons from behind his manor’s wards – quite another for Draco to be able to remain safe with neither his father’s experience nor the manor’s safety spells.

Snape watched with satisfaction. Malfoy was a typical pureblood parent. He was stern, remote, aloof, and quick with a slap or a thrashing if he believed his son was not living up to his high standards. He also had an explosive temper that his son had obviously learned to fear. But for all that, he loved Draco, and not merely as a continuation of the family line.

Snape remembered Lucius’ pride when Draco had been born – the man had come as close to a sappy grin as his arrogant features would allow when he first held his infant son, and Snape was well aware that for all his many flaws as a parent, Lucius adored the boy. Of course, he adhered to the purebred code which insisted that any show of emotion – even parental affection – was undignified, so he tended to demonstrate his love through material goods and austere comments and using a slipper to communicate displeasure instead of the Crucio that his own father had preferred.

Snape knew that Draco’s bottom was left marked and smarting after his punishments, but he was a far cry from the shuddering wreck that Lucius had been after his father had got through with him. Nor were the smackings Lucius administered to Draco as bad or as frequent as the beatings Harry had received at the hands of his Muggle relatives, though they were still awful enough to make Draco dread the thought of angering his father.

Snape sniffed contemptuously. Obviously the man had never heard of positive reinforcement!

Still, for all his many faults, Lucius loved his son, and that was his biggest weakness. Accordingly, Snape went straight for the jugular. “Have you heard that the Borgias claim to have invented at least nine untraceable, excruciating poisons that are impervious to the effects of a bezoar? Of course, those Italians are quite devious. I wouldn’t be surprised it the actual number was even higher.”

As he had anticipated, Lucius quickly capitulated. “All right, damn you! You’ve made your point. What do you want for your silence?”

Instead of answering the question, Snape asked another question. This was the tricky part. If he didn’t get the response he sought, he would either have to obliviate Malfoy or kill him. He still wasn’t sure which would be the better option in the long run.

“Are you familiar with a horcrux?”

Lucius blinked. “A what?”

“Tell me of your long term plans, Lucius. When you joined the Dark Lord and became a member of His inner circle, did you assume that someday you would inherit the throne from He Who Must Not Be Named? That you would be the Dark Lord’s successor or be able to groom Draco for that position?”

Lucius considered, but in the end he could see no reason not to answer the question. “Yes. Why not? Who else could hold such a position? Crazy Bella? The Carrows, who practically share a single brain between the two of them?”

“The Dark Lord is immortal,” Snape told him brutally. “He has used horcruxes to ensure he cannot be killed by normal means. He will never die, so he has no need for an heir. You are not setting yourself or your family up to rule the world, but to be slaves to the Dark Lord in perpetuity. The proud House of Malfoy,” he mocked, “eternally groveling to a Muggle’s unwanted son.”

Lucius was too confused to attack Snape for this blasphemy. If the Potion Master knew what he was talking about – and Snape had a nasty habit of being right – then supporting the Dark Lord was hardly the path to power that he had long sought. Rather it led either to a quick death, if Potter slew Voldemort then turned on his followers, or a lingering one, if an immortal Voldemort slew Potter, then proceeded to Crucio and Avada everyone around him for the next millennium or more. Malfoy’s past service to the Dark Lord had conclusively demonstrated that loyalty was a foreign concept to Voldemort, and thanks to the Dark Lord’s impossibly high standards and utter intolerance of failure, his followers felt his wrath far more often and far more painfully than anyone else.

If Voldemort really were immortal – or trying to be – that might explain why there had always been mutterings about Potter being the Chosen One. No wonder Voldemort had feared him, even as a baby, more than the Aurors or Ministry. To defeat an unbeatable foe required a prophecy, an unlikely hero with special powers… the complete package as defined in myths and stories. And Harry Potter certainly seemed to fit that bill, which lent strength to Snape’s claims.

And if those claims were true… Suddenly Lucius began to feel an overwhelming fondness for the current system. Ministers were notoriously stupid and biddable, and he foresaw no difficulty in remaining the power behind the throne. And one day, if he – or Draco – grew tired of that role, what was to stop him from becoming Minister himself? And not a puppet Minister under some invulnerable Dark Lord, but an independent, Dark, and powerful Minister in his own right. That definitely had more appeal than playing henchman – even top henchman – to an unstable demi-god.

Malfoy swallowed hard. “And if I choose to break with Him? Do you guarantee my safety and that of my family?”

Snape gave him a long, calculating look. “I can give you no guarantees, particularly with regard to your own life, but I promise I will do everything within reason to safeguard your son and keep him from the Dark Lord’s clutches.”

Lucius was far from satisfied, but he knew that this was the best he was going to get. “Fine. I’m with you.” Unconsciously, he rubbed his left forearm and shivered with dread. The Dark Lord’s punishment of traitors was legendary. If Voldemort ever rose again, he had just signed his own death warrant and likely ensured the eradication of his entire House.

“Excellent,” Snape said coolly, not allowing his exultation to show. “Now, for the price of my silence…”

“WHAT?” Lucius exploded. “Didn’t I just swear allegiance to you, risking everything in my life? And now you want more?”

“Save your histrionics for someone who will be swayed by them.” Snape’s tone was bored. “We both know you made your decision based on your own self-interests. Don’t expect me to be impressed by your efforts to rectify the mess you’ve made. You threw in with the strongest side, and you’re lucky we’ll have you.”

Lucius blinked. Never before had anyone been anything but slavishly grateful for his gracious support. Fudge had practically wet himself when Malfoy had agreed to back him for Minister. And now this hook-nosed half-blood was saying that he was the lucky one?

Obscurely, Snape’s offensive tone made him feel better. The Potion Master was certainly acting like his side was sure to win, and they had vanquished Voldemort – in several guises – already… Maybe he and his family would survive the inevitable conflict.

“All right,” he said in calmer tones, “what do you want?”

“In exchange for my not revealing the source of the Diary to the Parkinson family,” Snape answered, “you will give me the house elf Dobby.”

Lucius had been mentally inventorying the contents of his vaults and wondering how much he could afford to lose without having to mention anything to Narcissa, and Snape’s meager demand for a house elf, and a peculiar one at that, made his jaw drop for the second time that day.

“Dobby?” he echoed, bewildered. “Why on earth would you ask for him?”

“I want him,” came the unhelpful reply.

“But why?” Lucius asked blankly.

“I need a house elf. You have one.”

“I have several,” Lucius sneered automatically. “But why do you want one of mine? Why don’t you buy your own? Dobby is the only one who knows how to make my cocktails properly, and he always does our inventories. I’ll never find my summer robes without –“ He caught sight of Snape’s glare and grumpily agreed. “Oh, all right.”

“Now.”

“Fine,” Lucius sulked. “Dobby!”

The little house elf popped into the room and immediately cowered away from his master. “Master is calling Dobby?”

Lucius glared at him. “I have just given you to Professor Snape. You belong to him from this moment forward.”

Dobby’s big eyes widened still further. “I – I is belonging to Master Potion Master Sir now?” he breathed disbelievingly.

“Yes,” Lucius snapped petulantly.

“Go to my quarters at Hogwarts and wait for me there,” Snape ordered quickly. He didn’t want the deranged little elf blurting out something indiscreet.

“Oh, yes, Master Potion Master Sir! Dobby is going right now! Dobby is –“

“GO!” Snape’s bellow thundered over the elf’s babble and with a squeak, Dobby vanished.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “You seem well able to handle the house elf, Severus,” he said in mingled surprise and approval. “I have misjudged you all these years.”

“Mm. Some people are more perceptive than others,” Snape remarked pointedly. “And some are better suited to carrying out plans than making them. I will be in contact shortly with your first assignment.”

“Assignment?” Lucius sputtered. “Am I your errand boy now?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Just consider yourself lucky that you are no longer subject to a ridiculous dress code or to kissing a madman’s soiled robe.” At Lucius’ genuinely outraged expression, he relented. “I can promise you will enjoy this task. It will appeal to your… tastes,” he offered, giving Lucius a meaningful look.

“Oh?” Lucius began to perk up. Even without Voldemort’s return, it seemed he’d be given the opportunity to torture a few people. Things were looking more promising. “All right then,” he conceded, mollified.

Snape snorted to himself as he headed to the floo. The Dark Lord’s habit of Crucio’ing his followers into abject obedience suddenly made a lot more sense.

He returned to Hogwarts and checked on Pansy in the Infirmary. The girl was sleeping, but Madame Pomfrey was confident of her recovery. Both parents were there and – as Snape had expected – livid.

“Who is responsible?” Mr Parkinson shouted furiously. “I’ll make them wish they were never born!”

“I want a name, Professor Snape.” Mrs Parkinson was quieter, but no less menacing.

Snape cast a privacy ward around them. “I am afraid that Pansy’s injuries were inflicted by someone you know… and serve.”

Parkinson’s shouts broke off with a gasp of horror. He might not be bright, but he wasn’t that stupid. “Y-you mean You-Know-Who? He- he’s back? And He hurt our little girl?”

Snape looked sympathetic. “He required the life force and magical core of someone. Pansy was that someone,” he explained, carefully omitting a great deal of the story.

“But we’re purebloods!” Parkinson nearly wailed. “He’s not supposed to attack us! We support him!”

Snape’s expression was one of gentle surprise. “You have never been present when the Dark Lord saw fit to ‘chastise’ a follower?” he asked, knowing full well that the man had seen many such examples.

Snape fought back a laugh at the look of ludicrous dismay on Parkinson’s face. It was a good thing that Voldemort had treated his Death Eaters with such casual brutality. If he had reserved his tortures for mudbloods and muggles, the Parkinsons would never have believed his claims.

Mrs Parkinson’s face twisted with rage. “I told you he was an unstable maniac!” she hissed at her husband. “No one ever knew where he came from! What kind of pureblood would hide his ancestry like that?”

“But he said he was the Heir of Slytherin,” Parkinson protested pitifully. His world was collapsing around his ears, and he was poorly suited to handle such stress. He preferred to shout and hex things until they went away. “Everyone thought he was a Black with the way Bella fawned all over him…”

“Even the Blacks weren’t that incestuous!” Mrs Parkinson spat back viciously. “And if the Blacks were descendents of Salazar Slytherin, don’t you think they would have been boasting about it for the last ten centuries?”

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Snape’s tone was innocent. “The Dark Lord is the child of a Muggle and the last of the Gaunts. Merope used a love potion to snare a muggle husband, and she was related to Slytherin.”

“A love potion!” Mrs Parkinson’s expression curdled in contempt. “What kind of woman has to use a love potion?”

“She was probably insane,” Snape offered helpfully.

“This is your savior?” Mrs Parkinson spun back to her husband. “A half-blood? The product of a crazy witch too feeble to trap a husband without Dark Arts? Someone who sacrifices the children of his own loyal followers?”

“I – I – “ Parkinson stared helplessly at the pinched, white face of his only daughter. “I didn’t know.”

“We are asking my family for assistance,” Mrs Parkinson told him in tones that permitted no argument. “I will not serve that –“ she trailed off into Italian oaths.

Snape listened in admiration for a few moments then said mildly, “I take it you would then be interested in allying yourself with a group dedicated to the Dark Lord’s final defeat?”

“Not those bloody Order idiots!” Parkinson managed to rally momentarily. “They’re all a bunch of sodding Gryffindors!”

Snape glared at him. “Do I look like a Gryffindor?”

Mrs Parkinson elbowed her husband into silence. “Our apologies, Professor. Now we understand why you accepted the care of the Potter bra – er, boy. I regret that we were slow in realizing your strategy. Of course you may count on our support, and that of my mother’s family.” She tilted her head proudly.

“No Potion Master can be unaware of your family’s skills,” Snape replied courteously. “I am glad to welcome such allies.”

“My family’s powerful too,” Parkinson put in, a bit jealously.

His wife rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I was of course referring to both your families’ resources,” Snape soothed.

“Call us when you need us,” Mrs Parkinson advised, then turned back to her daughter’s bedside.

Snape exchanged a nod of farewell with Parkinson, then left the Infirmary. He managed to avoid rubbing his hands with glee, but inwardly he was rejoicing. His plans were working out brilliantly!

He headed to his quarters, intent upon celebrating his successes with a fire whiskey, only to halt on the threshold at the wreckage in his living room.

“Hi, Da!” Harry waved.

“Hello, Professor!” Hermione Granger called, her greeting echoed by Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy, and Neville Longbottom.

A house elf cannoned into his knees and hugged his legs with abandon. “Ooooooh, Master Potion Master Sir is home! What can Dobby be getting for the wonderful Master Potion Master Sir? Would Master Potion Master Sir like tea?”

Using his formidable powers of mental discipline, Snape managed to ignore the importunate elf. “What is going on here?” he demanded of Harry.

“We’re teaching Dobby to play Exploding Snap,” Harry explained innocently. “We tried Wizards’ Chess, but he didn’t like it when the pieces yelled at me.”

“Yeah! He broke them all for bein’ rude!” Ron chortled, pointing to the rubble of Snape’s once-expensive chess set, before grabbing another handful of crisps from one of the many bowls of snack food that littered the room.

“I tried to use Reparo, but it didn’t work very well,” Neville confessed apologetically, glancing at the three shredded cushions now propped next to the remains of the chess set.

“How come Dobby is yours now, Professor?” Draco asked curiously. “He’s been in our family for, like, forever!”

“You know, Professor, enslaving house elves is a terrible tradition,” Hermione said sententiously. “Muggles gave up slavery centuries ago.”

Draco made a rude noise and she turned on him angrily, and within seconds they were noisily squabbling. Harry, Neville, and Ron tried to help and the decibel level soared.

“Capuccino? Lemonade? Pumpkin juice?” Dobby was still trying to secure a drink order from his new master.

“ENOUGH!” Snape roared, and instantly silence fell.

“Miss Granger, I will not engage in a debate about the ethics of house elf ownership with you at this time, but you should know better than to take a position before you have done sufficient research. The nature of the bond between wizard and house elf is significantly different than that used in Muggle servitude.” Hermione subsided, looking thoughtful.

“Mr Malfoy, your father owed me a debt, which he repaid with this house elf. I suggest that you do not inquire further as to your father’s private affairs and that you take care not to lapse into such sloppy speech patterns upon your return home.” Draco paled and nodded.

“Mr Longbottom, kindly do not practice your spells on my belongings again. I will expect you here after supper for an hour of detention practicing Reparo under my strict supervision.” Neville brightened up. Finally someone was going to give him special coaching.

“Mr Weasley, since you have obviously been gorging yourself on unhealthy treats for the last several hours, I will expect to see you enjoying double portions of vegetables or fruit at every meal for the next week.” Ron’s face screwed up as if to protest. “Of course, if you feel your appetite will be insufficient for that task, you can always go without dessert for that time period.” Ron quickly shut up and shook his head vigorously.

“And as for you, Mr Potter, you will remain here after the others have left.” A pointed look at the other children left them in no doubt that he expected them to leave now.

There was a rapid scramble for the door, and soon Harry, Snape, and Dobby were alone in the messy room. “Clean this up,” he snapped at the elf, and Dobby happily whizzed around, tidying and repairing the room.

“Are you mad?” Harry asked cautiously, eyeing his da.

Snape gave him a Look. “To come home and find my living room in tatters? Why would I be angry?”

“We just wanted to make Dobby feel at home here,” Harry protested. “Draco said we should just shut him in a cupboard until we needed him, but…” he broke off, looking away.

Snape huffed angrily. “What a ridiculous idea,” he grumbled, sitting down on the sofa next to Harry and unconsciously dropping his arm around the boy’s shoulders.

Harry snuggled closer to his father. He hated being reminded of his time at the Dursleys. “We won’t ever lock him in a cupboard, will we, Da?” he said stoutly.

“Hardly. Dobby!”

“Yes, Master Potion Master Sir?” Dobby asked, reappearing before them. “Is you wanting tea? Coffee? Pumpkin juice?”

“Dobby, you are now bound to me, correct?”

“Oh yes, Master Potion Master Sir! Dobby is now your house elf. Dobby is not belonging to Master Malfoy any longer.”

“Good. Now I am giving you to Harry. You belong to him now.”

Harry’s choke of surprise was nearly drowned out by Dobby’s shriek of delight. “I is belonging to Master Harry Potter Sir?” He threw himself at Snape’s knees. “Thank you thank you thank you, Master Potion Master Sir!”

“Da! I don’t think I want a house elf,” Harry tugged frantically on his guardian’s sleeve and finally managed to make himself heard. “Erm, not that Dobby’s not great an’ all. And if I did want a house elf, I’m sure it’d be Dobby, but I don’t want –“

“Then it is a good thing I did not consult you,” Snape told him firmly. “The house elf is now bound to you. He will protect you –“

“Oh, YES!” Dobby agreed ecstatically. “Dobby will take good, good care of Master Harry Potter Sir!”

“ –and we will be able to control his excesses.” At Harry’s distressed expression, Snape softened. “When you reach maturity, you can free him, Harry, but the elf is hardly upset with his current situation.”

Even Harry had to admit that the little elf, who was dancing around the apartment in a paroxysm of glee, was anything but unhappy. “Well, okay…” he agreed reluctantly. “But I don’t really know what to do with an elf, Da.”

“Order him to obey me as well as yourself and I will see to it that he is kept out of mischief,” Snape told him. “He can help out the castle elves since we will not require his services most of the time.”

“Okay.” Harry did as he was told, and Snape had to listen to the elf again proclaim his loyalty and joy and obedience.

“Yes, fine.” He finally managed to shut the little creature up without having to resort to a hex. “Go speak with the Hogwarts elves, and I’m sure you can work something out.”

“Yes, Master Potion Master Sir! Goodbye, Master Harry Potter Sir!” Dobby vanished, and Harry sagged against his father.

“Whew! He makes me tired, Da!”

“Yes, but he is clearly devoted to you, and as such will be a good –“ Snape caught himself. He had nearly said “protector”, but he didn’t want the boy to realize that, with the horcrux hunt about to get underway, the danger they faced was about to increase dramatically. If Voldemort realized what they were trying to do, he would strike now – as hard and as brutally as he could. Snape intended to ensure that Harry was as well-protected as possible should that happen, and house elves could be fierce protectors when roused. “…a good house elf to have.”

“Hermione’s gonna hate me,” Harry sighed.

“If she is difficult, tell Dobby that she doesn’t want you to be his owner any more,” Snape suggested drily. “I suspect that he will make his displeasure at her interference abundantly clear.”

Harry snickered. “Yeah, I bet he would.” He paused. “Hey, I forgot to ask. Did you have a good day, Da?”

Snape leaned back on the sofa, preening at the thought of all he had accomplished. “Yes, Harry. I did, rather.”