Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Disfigured

Snape came to an abrupt halt when he entered the boys' bedroom and caught sight of the wall where the enchanted picture frame used to hang. With that wanded spell still active, the entire wall was still doing as Harry had demanded, and showing Draco. But since now, Draco was right there in the bedroom, cradled protectively against Snape's chest, the wall had become rather like a mirror, reflecting all three of them.

For just an instant, Severus gaped. But then he glared.

At Harry.

"I can't possibly discuss this right now," he scathed. "Just restore the wall and frame."

Harry quickly nodded, though inside he was a little unsure about how to go about it.

"Now, if you would!" his father barked.

Harry turned away, his face flushed as he took a stance similar to the one he'd used before, though of course he didn't lean this time. He merely set his palm against the patch of air where the frame should be, and held his wand at the angle he'd used previously, and looked straight ahead at his own reflection, at the crest which would enable his Parseltongue to flow free. Concentrating on how good it was to have Draco back home where he belonged, he whispered, "Go back the way you were," hoping that would do it.

Thankfully, it did. Harry watched as the wall hardened and the frame materialised to hang upon it.

By the time he turned around, Snape had settled Draco atop his green-and-silver bedcovers, and was sitting on the bed beside him as though observing a vigil. But it was nothing like that, Harry knew; his father was deep in thought, considering what they knew about the Owlery, and how best to proceed now. Loath to break his concentration, Harry thought better than to sit down on the bed as well. But he wanted to be close alongside when Draco woke.

For the moment, Harry refused to consider that the operative word might be if . . . if Draco woke.

He lifted a hand to Accio a chair from the dining room, then realised two things all at once. One, he was so tired that he'd forgotten his father's restriction against getting in the habit of displaying his wandless magic. He hardly needed to hand Severus yet more reasons to be irritated with him . . . and two, after forcing the enchanted picture frame to do his bidding, his magic felt shaky and depleted.

Or maybe that was just Harry himself feeling the effects of accelerating personal time. His father had re-hydrated him, but as far as his body was concerned, it had still gone two or three days without food or rest.

Either way, it just seemed simpler to trudge out of the bedroom to fetch the chair he wanted. Funny . . . under certain circumstances, doing something through physical means was actually less work than using magic.

Snape didn't appear to notice him leaving.

As Harry crossed back from the dining alcove, fire erupted in the hearth, and there was Dumbledore's face, creased with worry. "Harry? You're safe, are you?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, setting down the straight-backed chair and standing behind it. He knew he couldn't claim that everything was perfectly fine, not with his eye in the awful state it was in. The way it was throbbing reminded him he'd better use the ice again, but he pushed that thought aside as the headmaster spoke once more.

"I have Miss Granger and Mr Weasley here with me. They're most concerned about you, and I can certainly see why. Did Mr Malfoy give you that bruise, Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, not at all sure what to say, but then the answer came to him. "I think maybe you'd better talk to my dad," he announced, his voice a bit wobbly as he wondered how on earth they were going to get Draco out of this mess. "But can you tell Ron and Hermione I'm fine and that they shouldn't come back down just now? Severus is taking care of everything. And tell them not to tell anybody about my eye, all right? They don't know what happened. Tell them that. They don't know what happened!"

Dumbledore peered closely at him, then slowly nodded. "Very well. For the moment, I will accede to your wishes, my boy. But I expect a thorough accounting of everything from your father, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Harry murmured, spotting his invisibility cloak on the floor. He hoped the headmaster hadn't noticed it . . . but what chance was there of that? Albus Dumbledore rarely missed anything. "Thank you, sir," he added as he changed positions slightly to block the swath of multicoloured fabric.

"One moment," the headmaster murmured, his face vanishing. Hoping that the interruption was so that Dumbledore could dismiss Ron and Hermione before anything more about Draco was discussed, Harry hurriedly stuffed the invisibility cloak into a pocket. When the headmaster came back, it was to ask with a deliberate sort of calm a question Harry had definitely not expected. "Have you been out of the dungeons in the past few moments, Harry?"

"No!" Harry instantly denied. Good God, was he going to be accused of Pansy's murder? "What on earth would make you think I had?"

"Is it common practice for you to wear your school cloak about down there?"

Harry could have groaned as he realised that was a bit strange. "Trying it on," he brazened. "New. Severus gave it to me. What do you think of the crest? It's not a Hogwarts' regulation one; do you think it will do?"

"Seeing as a Head of House has personally commissioned it, I expect so," Dumbledore murmured, his tone saying that he was aware he was being managed. And also, that he'd had enough of it. "I'll speak with Severus, now."

"Uh, he's rather busy; I don't know if he can talk just now--"

A familiar voice interrupted him from behind. "Harry. Go sit with your brother. I'll be back in a moment."

Harry gave his father a doubtful look, then carried the chair on through into the bedroom, deliberately leaving the door ajar. He figured Snape had noticed that, but as the man didn't object, Harry figured that he didn't mind being overheard.

"Brother?" the headmaster questioned. "Isn't that rather overstating that case? But no matter. It is my duty to inform you that there has been a death in your house, Severus. Something tells me that this comes as no great shock to you?"

"You are misinformed, Headmaster," Snape coldly bit out. "It comes to me as a horrible shock indeed--"

"Mr Malfoy is obviously there with you now," Dumbledore interrupted. "I have been informed, however, that he was absent from the dungeons a short while ago, during which time Miss Parkinson fell to her death from the Owlery. Miss Parkinson, Severus, whom as you well know your charge threatened with a gruesome death some months past!"

Harry reached out and took Draco's hand, holding it tight as he listened.

"Have you informed the family?" Snape asked, just as though he'd not noticed the implication of Draco's guilt.

"Severus--"

"Or shall I, as the decedent's Head of House?" the Potions Master smoothly went on.

"You don't appear surprised to hear that it is Miss Parkinson who has died!" Dumbledore sharply rebuked, his voice so much louder that Harry suspected he'd given up on firechatting and had stepped into the dungeon. "You have obviously received advance notice of this news, so how am I to believe that Mr Malfoy has said nothing whatsoever of his . . . antics this afternoon?"

"Mr Malfoy," Snape roared, "even now lies in a potion-induced coma that defies proper diagnosis because he was hexed half to death first! I know nothing definitive of his antics, as you call them, save that he and Harry came to blows earlier!"

"And doesn't that demonstrate to you that the boy is dangerous?" Albus softly hissed as footsteps came closer. "I know you've long wished to safeguard him from his father's evil influence, but surely now you can see that the effort was wasted? He's a liability, Severus, and one we can ill afford--"

"He is my son," the Potions Master spat.

"I know you've taken fairly well to fatherhood but isn't that taking things a bit far, Severus? He hit Harry, the very boy he swore he would support and protect in return for our protecting him!"

"He shall have to answer for it," Snape promised. "If he can. Albus, the boy lies ill and may well never wake!"

The headmaster appeared not to have heard that last bit. His voice still taut, Albus ground out, "He shall have to answer for Miss Parkinson as well--"

Harry jumped up the instant Snape and the headmaster pushed open the bedroom door. "Draco said this would happen!" he burst out, too angry to hold it in. "He said that if anybody else was accused of murder there'd need to be some actual evidence, but if he ever was, his last name would be enough to get him sent to Azkaban! Where's your proof, eh? That's what I'd like to know!"

Dumbledore glanced once at Harry before turning his attention to the boy on the bed. "This condition he's in, it wouldn't be your handiwork, Severus? A desperate attempt to stave off justice?"

"What justice? You've got him convicted already!" Harry shouted in complaint.

"That is not true," Dumbledore rebuked him, his voice stern. "Mr Malfoy shall have all the due process to which he is entitled as a student of Hogwarts and a member of the wizarding community. Now, Severus, answer me."

"As flattering as your unqualified confidence is," Snape sneered, narrowing his eyes, "I am not, in fact, in the habit of deceiving you!"

Albus was hardly intimidated. "By your own account you regard the boy as a son. You can hardly fault me for suspecting you would go to any length to protect him, Severus. And you are well practiced at deceit!"

"After years of spying for you, I should be!" the Potions Master retorted. "You may believe what you like; that is your prerogative. But the fact of the matter is that Draco was dosed with Somulus, but not by my hand. I have administered the antidote, which if it works at all, will have a delayed effect. I believe I already mentioned that Draco had been thoroughly hexed before the potion was administered?"

Dumbledore appeared to consider that for a moment. "Very well. The Parkinsons have been informed--"

"You told them by owl that their daughter was dead?"

"Harry." Snape was the one to rebuke him that time. "I am sure Albus merely meant that the Parkinsons have been informed they must come speak with him."

"With us," the headmaster corrected. "Yes. However, anticipating that I might need a while to sort matters out, I applied a slight Confundus charm to the owl. The message will take longer than usual to be delivered. I have also taken the precaution of recalling all other owls and ensuring that no more go out until further notice. Before the wizarding world at large becomes aware of matters, I must understand just what it is we are dealing with." The headmaster paused, his gaze straying to Draco, lying pale and prone on the bed. "So, Severus. Explain."

"Would that I could, Headmaster," Snape said on a sigh as he sank back down to sit beside the boy. "This whole incident appears to be the fulfilment of a seer dream."

"I dreamed it, that's right," Harry put in. "But we don't understand what happened. But whatever did, it was fate."

"Not guilty by reason of foreordination? There is no such thing." Albus Dumbledore patted Harry lightly on the shoulder.

Harry twisted away. He wanted to say that not guilty by reason of self-defence, or even Imperius, was more to the point, but he didn't want to admit that he knew Draco had been alone with Pansy in the Owlery. Better to keep that a secret if they possibly could. Frustrated, he scathed, "You're just angry that he hit me. You want to see him sent to Azkaban--"

"Albus would not see an innocent boy sent to prison," Snape announced. "Yes, Headmaster, innocent. When all the facts are arrayed, I believe that is the only conclusion to be reached. We are meant to believe Draco guilty; matters have been arranged to suggest just that. But to proceed with accusation and trial would be playing into Lucius' hands."

Framed . . . Draco had been framed, that was what his father meant . . .

Harry gave a sharp nod of agreement. Of course Draco had been framed. Somebody had given him Somulus, after all. Somebody who wanted him found, looking like he was fleeing the scene of a crime.

"Lucius is trying to condemn him to Azkaban?" Harry questioned aloud. That was awful. Very Lucius, of course . . . but an awful thing for Draco to have to contemplate. It was bad enough that the man who had raised him now wanted him dead. Draco didn't talk about it much, but from what little the Slytherin boy had said, Harry knew that Lucius' attitude hurt him deeply. And now Draco might never wake up . . . that would probably suit Lucius just fine, wouldn't it? Then again, knowing Lucius . . .

"Oh, God. What if Draco doesn't ever get better? Could Malfoy still insist he stand trial?" Harry clenched his hands. "They wouldn't send him to Azkaban in this state, would they? He'd have no defence against the Dementors, none at all . . ."

"I doubt very much that Azkaban figures into Lucius' plans," Snape answered, his fingers stroking through Draco's blond hair until with a slight jerking motion, he appeared to realise that he'd yet to offer the headmaster a seat. Gesturing irritably, Snape indicated that Dumbledore should help himself to the chair Harry had brought in earlier.

Harry glanced at his bed, but realised he didn't feel like sitting down as well. He almost would have started pacing again, except that he thought it would make him look nervous, which was the wrong way to look.

"We lack true knowledge, but I suspect the scheme was thus," Snape quietly began to explain. "Lucius has wanted to remove the boy from the school's protection ever since he turned Harry's wand over to us. His plans in that regard have come to nothing, thanks to your swift intervention to emancipate Draco and your assistance in smoothing over the incident in my class."

Albus snorted, his eyes hard as they studied the Potions Master. "I suggest you cease all flattery. I may be old, but I am not yet so far into my dotage that I have lost my reason, Severus. The incident, as you so delicately put it, nearly got Mr Malfoy expelled, and for good reason. Do you know what it took to sway the Governors to my point of view, when the boy's own father was urging expulsion, saying that students here would remain in danger just so long as Draco attended?"

"Oh, and he said it with such concern," Snape sneered. "As if he deeply regretted the prospect of Draco being deprived an education, when all along he wanted the boy gone from Hogwarts so that he might be brought before Voldemort and killed! And ever since he has revisited the theme of expulsion, using such flimsy excuses as the fact that emancipated students have never before attended, or for Merlin's sake, non-attendance from classes when it was his determination in the first place that Draco was too dangerous to be permitted near other students!"

"Neither will your rage and indignation sway me," Albus coldly announced. "It is unfortunate that Lucius was permitted to resume his place on the Board after he endangered students himself, but as he was, he will use these events to press for expulsion once again. Not to mention, there will have to be a criminal investigation. As such, if you wish me to conclude the young man innocent, you had better begin discussing the evidence, as Harry stressed."

"Guilty until proven innocent, is it then?" Harry at once objected. "I learned in primary school it was the other way around, but I suppose I should know from my own experience that wizarding justice is pretty doubtful! Sirius still hasn't been exonerated, not to mention that I very nearly had my wand broken or something--"

"That's quite enough," Snape interrupted, his tone weary. "For good or ill, the world is what it is, Harry. The headmaster is correct. Our best hope of helping Draco is to focus on the evidence. So, here it is." The Potions Master paused a moment as though to assemble his thoughts, then plunged ahead. "Draco, as you well know, has scrupulously obeyed our dictates ever since he came to you after Samhain. He befriended Harry, and you have my word that Harry most decidedly did not make that easy. But Draco was not to be deterred. He allowed himself to be confined and did his best to sway his house. In fact, he was so cooperative to the cause of Light that when it turned out that the blood-sacrifice wards had interfered with the alarms that would alert me to either boy leaving my quarters, I was not unduly concerned--"

"You put alarms on us?" Harry gasped, so outraged that he began sputtering. "That's . . . that's--"

"Slytherin, I believe, is the word that fits," the Potions Master dryly announced. "Of course I had alarms on you. Sixteen-year-olds are not noted for their restraint in the face of temptation. I attempted to re-establish them, but when I realised they would not work in conjunction with the blood wards, I desisted. Actually, I rather doubted you would go sneaking out sans your magic--you are reckless but not a complete nitwit. And as Draco had by then been utterly obedient for some weeks . . ." Snape shrugged. "To continue. At some point Lucius must have concluded that to get his hands on Draco, he would need to force matters. Therefore, Draco was sent a letter, ostensibly from Pansy, to lure him out of the dungeons--"

Harry made a noise of protest, horrified that Snape was confirming that much, but the man went right on.

"The basic plan must surely have been to kidnap him from Hogwarts once he left my rooms, but just in case that was somehow thwarted, Lucius arranged circumstances to ensure that Draco would be removed from our protection via an arrest. Therefore, before the kidnap scheme was implemented, Draco was implicated in another student's death. For if Draco were to fall into Ministry custody . . ."

"Bribes would do the rest," Dumbledore thoughtfully finished. "Soundly reasoned, Severus. But entirely conjecture, all the same."

"Not entirely," Snape corrected, strands of black hair hiding his features for an instant as he shook his head. "I've seen this type of gambit before from Lucius. Power struggles among the Death Eaters, wizards discrediting each other with plots that make this one pale. Believe me, Albus, being found out as a spy was most definitely not the worst danger I faced among those ranks."

Harry walked over to lay a hand on his father's shoulder, wishing he could communicate with his touch the same comfort Snape was obviously trying to impart to Draco.

"I think we must conclude this series of events to be Lucius' doing," Snape murmured, thinking out loud. "For nothing else makes rational sense. Imagine that Draco did commit a murder. Do you think he would seek to evade capture only to sabotage his own escape with self-administered hexes and potions? And how could he have removed the hex --it is indeed since gone-- after he had imbibed Somulus, which as you know works instantaneously?"

The headmaster stroked his beard as though carefully considering all possible scenarios. "Perhaps the young man unhexed himself and then took the potion?"

"No. Somulus has interacted with the hex," Snape said with regret so clearly painted in his voice that Harry tightened his fingers a bit. He wished he could say that everything would be all right, but he knew his father better than to think the man could be comforted by meaningless platitudes. Above all else, Severus was a realist.

And a strategist also, a fact the headmaster knew only too well. "We have only your word for that, Severus?"

"If you are suggesting yet again that I am lying through my teeth, Albus--"

"No." Albus shook his head. "I am suggesting merely that whoever attacked young Mr Malfoy was not in fact aware that his methods would alert us to his existence."

Snape inclined his head. "Someone in addition to Lucius was involved in the plot, then. He would not make such a mistake."

"Indeed not," the headmaster calmly agreed. "And this other person is not a Death Eater, or at least, not one of long standing. It is a wizard who has no true sense of your expertise, who never saw you in your capacity as Voldemort's Potions expert."

Harry flinched a little bit, hating to hear his father described that way.

"A student then, or several," Snape announced, shrugging off Harry's hand to sneer, "Students who thought they could rub a few herbs across Draco's teeth and lips to mask the scent of Somulus. We were all meant to think he had run away, and lost consciousness en route."

"So it seems," the headmaster concurred.

Harry sat down on his bed then, and regarded both the adults. "So that's it? Lucius' plan is foiled? We can prove Draco's been framed?"

"We have no direct proof whatsoever that Draco was hexed," Snape reminded him. "The perpetrator covered his . . . or her . . . tracks too well for that."

"Yeah, but what about the Somulus?"

Snape glared briefly. "It has been metabolised. We've nothing but my testimony which will be regarded as partisan if not biased."

"But . . . he's still comatose! That must count for something!"

"Not unless we can prove how he got that way."

Harry huffed. "Well, there's no real proof against Draco, either," he announced in a loud voice, resolved that he'd never mention the map to a soul. "So, I'll just convince Ron and Hermione not to say anything about him leaving the rooms--"

"Good luck with that endeavour," Snape muttered, moving his hands to clasp both of Draco's.

"Listen, I know you hate Gryffindors on principle but my friends aren't so bad--"

"Your friends know Draco to be responsible for your black eye," Snape snapped. "And pray tell, what did high-minded Miss Granger do the last time she suspected you were being . . . mistreated here? Not to mention that Weasley's antagonism for Draco is evident in his every word! I think it will suit both your friends admirably to see Draco locked away where he can never, ever threaten you again!"

The headmaster cleared his throat. "Ah . . . so Mr Malfoy threatens you, does he, Harry?"

"No, he's been great," Harry retorted, his tone short.

The headmaster peered at him over the top of his half-moon glasses, his gaze inscrutable.

"Look, he's not perfect," Harry admitted. "He's full of himself and irritating as hell sometimes, and yeah, you've seen my eye. But that's just . . . um, normal brothers stuff. You have to believe me, Professor Dumbledore! Whatever happened to Pansy was Lucius' doing. Or someone else's. It's not Draco who killed her, it's just not."

"Unfortunately," Snape drawled, "the conspirators will provide proof to the contrary. Draco's wand is missing."

Harry gasped.

"You might have mentioned that earlier," the headmaster pointed out.

The Potions Master glared. "I ascertained its loss while I was in Hagrid's hut with the boy, but since then I have been rather occupied with other matters, Albus!"

His palms sweating, Harry tried to reason his way out of a mire. "But can't we use that to prove that Draco's been . . . um, tampered with? I mean, come on! He wouldn't lose his wand! It's obviously been taken--"

Dumbledore's quiet voice broke across Harry's objections. "The presumption, I am afraid, will be that in a moment of panic after killing the girl, Draco dropped his wand."

"He didn't kill her."

Harry was pretty depressed when the headmaster said nothing to that, but he didn't have long to consider it. Snape's posture all at once went rigid, his black eyes studying the boy on the bed more intently. "I thought I saw--"

"What?" Harry pressed. "What?"

The Potions Master leaned forward, his hands shaking slightly as he lay them on Draco's chest. "Thank Merlin! He's beginning to stir, I do believe." He hovered over the boy for a moment more, then, as if aware it might be better to give Draco some room, Snape moved back and beckoned for Harry to come stand alongside him.

"Oh God," Harry moaned, a sick feeling roiling up through his belly. He tried to kill the sensation with a heady dose of hope. "What's it been, only about ten, fifteen minutes since you gave him the antidote? That's pretty quick, right? That must mean there won't be any . . . uh, brain damage like you said?"

"It all depends on the type of hex used on him," Snape tightly reminded him. "If it encompassed a degree of mind control, we can expect there to be . . . ramifications."

The headmaster cleared his throat, all at once sounding a bit regretful. "Oh, my word. Imperius and Somulus . . . yes, that would be an exceedingly bad combination."

"To say the least," Snape murmured, his eyes growing more worried the longer he stared at his ailing son.

All at once, Draco's breathing hitched, his mouth opening as he began gasping for air. He pulled in one breath, two, three . . . and then his body seemed to adjust and he began breathing regularly, his chest moving up and down in an encouraging rhythm.

Harry couldn't stand it. "Come on, Draco, come on. Wake up!," he whispered, the sound intense. "It'll be all right, Severus and I will stand by you . . ."

The Potions Master leaned an arm across Harry's shoulders and pulled him close as they watched and waited for some sign that Draco would indeed pull through this all right.

Another moment passed. An eternity.

Then Draco's fingers twitched, his feet moving ever so slightly as he seemed to come to an awareness that he was awake, that he was alive . . .

Without any warning whatsoever, the Slytherin boy lunged upwards on the bed to sit bolt upright, and from between his lips came the most appalling scream Harry had heard in years.

"Ow, shite, owww!" Draco yelled the minute he was lucid enough to start screaming in words. "Get it off, get it off!" His hands began scrabbling at the back of his neck, frantically jerking at something until with one frenzied motion, he yanked something over his head and flung it to the floor, where it lay a dusky blue against the grey stones.

A turquoise blue.

And yet Draco still screamed, his hands now tearing at his shirt. A couple of buttons popped free as he struggled with it.

"Calm yourself!" Snape insisted, raising his voice. "Whatever is the matter?"

"That fucking amulet burned me to a crisp, that's what!" Draco yelled, his angry gaze seeking out Harry. "You didn't tell me it would get that hot, did you! Some Christmas present that turned out to be--" Then he seemed to notice Harry's appearance. "Oh, shite. Sorry about your eye."

Recriminations could wait, Harry thought. "The amulet heated up when you . . ." Oh God, the headmaster was still there, listening to every word, so Harry hardly wanted to admit that Draco had not only got a letter from Pansy but had actually left the rooms to go meet her . . .

As it turned out, the cat was let out of the bag by Draco himself. He hadn't yet seen the headmaster, who was behind him now that Draco was sitting up in bed.

"Is Pansy all right?" he gasped, his voice turning urgent.

Snape glanced at Harry, as though in warning to let him handle this.

"Why do you ask?" the Potions Master inquired, no hint in his tone that the girl was in fact dead.

Draco shook, his hands clenching the coverlet as he detailed, "Because they hexed her, too! Is she all right?"

"They," Snape pressed. "To whom do you refer?"

"I don't know!" Draco yelled. "Tell me about Pansy! She had the most awful look on her face! We were in the closet, and the door behind me opened . . . Look, all I know is that the damned amulet blazed to life just as I saw yellow jets of fire hit her. And before I could even turn around, I felt them hit me, too, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up here! So where is she?"

"Draco . . ." From the tone of his father's voice, Harry knew to brace himself.

And yet it was the headmaster who finished the sentence, who rose to his feet and came into Draco's field of vision to say, his eyes intent on the boy all the while, "Mr Malfoy, I'm afraid we must tell you that Miss Parkinson was found dead at the foot of the Owlery tower just a short while ago."

Draco's eyes went huge in his face, the tendons in his throat distending as he swallowed several times in succession. "D-- d-- dead?" he stammered, shock etched across his every feature, his hands practically shredding the coverlet, he was grasping it with such force.

Draco, who couldn't lie well unless he was being led . . .

If they hadn't reasoned it out before, Harry would have known the truth then: Draco was innocent.

Questions remained, of course. The map. The wards. The hex. The Somulus.

But Draco hadn't killed Pansy; he hadn't even been conscious when the Slytherin girl had died. That was the most important thing. The rest could be sorted out later.

Harry went to sit on the bed, and said in what he hoped was a soothing tone, "We don't know much, Draco, but yes, Pansy died. She either fell from the Owlery or she was pushed."

"The Owlery? The Owlery like you dreamed about, that Owlery?"

Harry winced a bit, but nodded.

Draco's eyes were wet as they searched out Snape's face. "But . . . the wards, the protections . . . Things like that don't happen at Hogwarts--" Harry saw his throat distend as he gulped, "It's not true. It can't be. That dream of his was bloody ridiculous--"

"It was prescient, and I should have known as much." Snape swore under his breath. "I was so obstinate, so certain of my own powers of deduction!"

The Slytherin boy went positively grey. "You knew? You and Harry both thought I was fated to get thrown from a tower and you didn't tell me, didn't warn me?"

"I did warn you, Draco!"

"Oh sure, Potter, when I wanted to leave and was just about guaranteed to not believe you!"

"The entire problem," Snape pointed out, running his hand haphazardly through his lank hair, "was that we didn't think it was fated. As indeed it was not, as we misunderstood everything. Harry's dream was true, but it was about you being accused of murder, not a victim of it."

Listening to that, Harry was eerily reminded of the prophecy that ruled his life.

Gasping, Draco suddenly reached out and clutched the Potions Master's hand. "True," he whispered, almost fearfully. "True . . . oh sweet Merlin, then it was a seer dream, just as Harry tried to tell me. That means it's true, the other part as well! Lucius . . . it seems incredible, but he's been helping French Muggleborns escape the Dark Lord!" Draco's silver eyes went slightly wild as he babbled, "He probably can't do it here, too much danger he'd be recognised, but he must want to escape that madman like I did, don't you think?"

Albus Dumbledore took a step back as Snape shook his head. "Don't do this to yourself, Draco," the Potions Master implored. "I cannot explain that part of Harry's dream, but you know as well as I do that Lucius would not defy Voldemort by attempting to rescue those already marked for death--"

"You did," Draco breathed, his gaze skittering to Harry and back. "You saw his shite for what it was!" Then, with a deep sigh, the boy was admitting, "But he's a far cry from being you. I know that, Severus. After all, if he really was reformed, he'd want me to stay here where I'm safe instead of constantly trying to get his damned friends on the Board to expel me."

With that, Draco seemed to recall that the headmaster was with them. His gaze, not so much wild as panicked, sought out Albus. "Accused, that's what Severus said, and that's why you're here, isn't it? I'm expelled already? No, wait, the Board wouldn't have had any chance to meet yet, would they? Unless . . . is it still Friday? No, wait, you said 'a short while ago' so I suppose it must be." Draco paused and heaved in a breath, looking as though he was aware he'd better get in control of his mouth. "Sir . . . I have a right to speak to them before they kick me out, don't I?"

"You do," Albus murmured, his wizened gaze firmly fixed on Draco's eyes. Legilimency, Harry felt sure. "As things stand, however, your father has not yet called a meeting. Nor will he, I feel certain, until news of the death has become public."

"My father's right here," Draco crossly erupted. "And I wish to Hades I had his blood in my veins instead of Lucius' swill! Maybe then, I might stand a chance of not being expelled! As far as being accused goes, though, Severus is not going to stand idly by while you turn me over to the Aurors, he just isn't!"

"The Aurors don't even know yet," Harry assured his brother.

"They will know soon, however," Albus corrected, "and they will need to speak with you."

"Why, for fuck's sake? I wasn't even bloody awake when it happened!"

"Language," Snape reproved, which Harry thought a trifle silly under the circumstances. Perhaps, however, the Potions Master thought it best if the headmaster perceived Draco as respectful rather than the opposite.

"Tell us about this state of non-consciousness," Albus broke in to prompt.

"Well, seeing as I was knocked out cold the entire time," Draco exclaimed, "I don't know what I could possibly have to say!"

"I think they're trying to find out if you were hit with Imperius," Harry murmured.

"Oh, that's just bloody wonderful," the Slytherin boy snarled. "Another Malfoy excusing his crimes by means of Imperius. I don't think the Wizengamot will buy that a second time around, especially seeing as I don't have the political pull of a Lucius Malfoy! Why don't we just skip the fucking trial and send me straight to Azkaban?"

"Show some decorum in front of the headmaster!"

That brought Draco up short, though he muttered, "I just . . . I apologise, Professor Dumbledore. I just don't much like the idea of Imperius."

"With your family history, I should imagine not," Albus replied in a soothing tone.

Draco rolled his eyes but didn't bother saying my family's here. Maybe he was trying to be respectful, as Snape had said. Or maybe it was tactics, Harry thought. He'd realised that arguing with the headmaster wasn't the best possible strategy.

"There was no Imperius," Snape asserted. "We can treat that as a certainty, now."

"Yeah, Draco seems to be thinking all right," Harry agreed. "I don't think his brain's been . . . ah, damaged."

Draco looked from father to son and back, shuddering. "You . . . you thought I was going to wake up a mental incompetent, or something?"

"We worried," Snape briskly corrected.

Harry gave a shaky laugh. "Yeah, I even thought you might, um . . . have amnesia, forget Samhain, something like that. Go back to hating me and wanting me dead, I mean."

"Dead," Draco blankly repeated, his eyes seeming to go into shadows, almost looking sunken. "I . . . look, my brain's all right, I can think, but I can't seem to think my way around it. With . . . um, Pansy, that is. Are you sure there hasn't been some mistake? Pansy can't be d- d- dead; she was just with me! She was so warm . . ."

"You must face reality," Snape calmly advised. "Think strategy, Draco, and prepare yourself to be interrogated. Rumours about your involvement have no doubt already reached every house in Hogwarts."

Draco glared at Snape for a moment, then wiped furiously at his eyes. "What rumours? Nobody saw me except Pansy and whoever hexed us . . . oh, no... I'm really in it deep."

Lost by the turn in the conversation, Harry gestured for someone to explain.

"Whoever hexed me will be busy planting little seeds of suspicion everywhere. They'll make sure the Aurors come to the 'right' conclusion." Draco swallowed hard, one hand sliding into his trouser pocket and fishing about. He swiftly checked his other pocket, and when his hand came up empty fluidly swore, "Fuck, fuck, fuck! They took my wand, the motherfuckers--"

"Draco, impulse control!"

The Slytherin boy snapped his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.

Snape waited, but when Draco said nothing further, went on, "No doubt the conspirators will plant it in some compromising location. Most likely, they used it to cast additional hexes on Miss Parkinson once they had you both in the Owlery. Your own wand will incriminate you."

"No, it won't," Draco disagreed, opening his eyes, something like agony coating them as his dart glanced from Snape to the headmaster, and back. "I . . . um, just trust me, it won't."

"I think you'd better explain," Albus insisted, the command gentle yet firm.

Draco hesitated a moment, and then, as if knowing himself lost, groaned, "I . . . ah, well . . . I was reading this book of Severus', about kinship potions, and I . . ." Draco hung his head in his hands. "I found one that keyed magical items to one family name." Defensive, he muttered, "It wasn't Dark Arts, not exactly."

"Not exactly?" growled Snape.

"Well, I was just dabbling, really--"

"Dabbling!"

"Can you stop repeating me, Severus?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat and directed a stern glance at both father and son. "The consequence for Mr Malfoy's dabbling can wait until the matter of Miss Parkinson's death is resolved, is that clear?"

"I should have just let Pansy take the Mark," Draco groaned. "What good were all those letters I wrote her? All they did was get her killed!"

Harry recognised that tone of voice; he'd heard it enough inside his own mind. "Draco, whatever happened in the Owlery, it wasn't your fault--"

Draco shook his head. "She wanted to break with the Dark Lord's supporters here, Harry. She died for no other reason than because she came to meet me--"

"She was bait," Harry quietly insisted. "Pansy wanted to lure you into the open so the others involved could grab you and take you to Voldemort!"

Harry wasn't prepared for Draco to suddenly start yelling.

Blond hair flew in all directions as the Slytherin boy violently shook his head, "You weren't in that closet with us, Potter! You don't know anything! She loved me, she did! She cried when she saw me after so long, and Pansy never cried! And if she was bait, if she was with them, huh, then why'd they kill her, eh!"

"They double-crossed her is all--"

Snape stepped between the two boys. "The girl has passed on, and for the moment, I see no advantage in debating Miss Parkinson's true loyalties," he sternly announced.

Good point, Harry thought, deciding a radical change of subject was in order. It was no wonder Draco's emotions were seesawing all over the place. The girlfriend he'd wanted to reconcile with was dead, and he was implicated; the man who had raised him had arranged it all; and as if that wasn't enough, he was in trouble with Snape for his poor judgment and with Hogwarts for his dabbling. "Let's just get your burn seen to," Harry suggested. "Everybody seems to have forgotten that but it probably needs some salve or something. Can you take off your shirt?"

"Well, of course I can take off my shirt," Draco scathed, undoing the two buttons that hadn't ripped free earlier. "I'm hardly incapacitated. It's just a little--" As the silk fabric slid off his shoulders and he looked down, the Slytherin boy gasped.

"It looks pretty bad," Harry agreed in a level voice, deliberately understating the case. The burn was enormous, a furious crimson splotch almost the size of a dinner plate, the whole of it puckered and blistered. It was a miracle Draco hadn't complained more, but maybe the shock of hearing that Pansy had died had blunted his awareness of the pain. "I'm sorry the amulet hurt you--"

"I'd think you'd be delighted, considering," the other boy huffed, glancing down at his chest and then back up at Harry. His eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. "Why in Merlin's name is your eye already so . . . black?"

"I'm afraid that bruised tissue doesn't react well to being flung in and out of Petrificus!" Snape harshly returned. "And neither do magically healed eyes take well to being pummelled! We'll be lucky if Harry doesn't go blind again!"

Draco's lower lip began to quiver, but then resolve seemed to fill him and it firmed. "Oh, very good," he snarled. "It's not punishment enough that I got my g- girlfriend killed? Go on, make me think I've blinded Harry! Make me think I'm as bad as Lucius! You're not Head of Slytherin for nothing, are you, Severus--"

"So you think I speak in jest, do you?" Snape ground out, his eyes blazing anger by then. "You think I haven't healed his eye because I've not had the time to fetch a potion? Are you an utter imbecile? Perhaps you have suffered some brain damage, you completely irresponsible twit--"

"That's enough!" Harry shouted, hoping to calm them both. "He shouldn't have hit me, and his paltry little sorry hardly makes up for it, and he sure shouldn't have wrecked Sals' box and scared her right back into hiding in the Floo, but he's my brother and I love him, so enough said, all right?"

Dead silence descended, broken only when Draco gasped, "You . . . excuse me, you what me?"

"I thought you were going to be thrown from the Owlery, remember?" Harry bit out, glaring because Snape had raised an eyebrow at the sudden declaration. Defensive, he insisted, "When you think someone's about to die, you . . . realise things."

Suddenly embarrassed, Harry ducked his head down to look more closely at the huge swath of burn marring Draco's chest. "The books I consulted didn't mention anything like this ever happening. Let's get it healed so it won't scar over. I'm not sure Scaradicate Salve would work on this." He looked to his father for confirmation.

Snape jabbed his wand toward the furious scarlet tissue and frowned. "It's akin to a curse scar in a way . . . magically induced . . ."

Draco, Harry noticed, looked a bit ill, though he had enough presence of mind to object, "Scaradicate Salve healed those needle pricks on Harry after Samhain, and they were magical in nature, weren't they? Lucius made the needles heat up?"

"Physical heat," Snape discounted that. "This injury isn't primarily physical. If it were, the burn would match the shape of the amulet instead of being so widespread." He quickly performed a slightly longer examination. "Waves of magical energy running amuck caused this. It's really quite odd . . . at any rate, if left unhealed, the resultant scar may well be permanent. Nonetheless, I must insist the burn remain until this entire matter is resolved."

Harry frowned. "I know you're angry, but um . . . that's a really bad way to punish Draco for hitting me--"

"Merlin's balls!" Snape yelled. "First he thinks I'm misdirecting him about the prospect of blindness in that eye, and now you suspect I want to see my own son scarred? The pair of you are fit for nothing but sheep fodder!"

"Now Severus, calm down," Albus soothed. "Harry's not dealt with the Aurors as you have. He simply needs a bit of explanation."

"I'll thank you not to tell me what my son needs, Albus!" Snape snapped. But then he was explaining, "The burn is evidence, Harry. It demonstrates that Draco must have spent a considerable amount of time in close proximity to wizards who wished him dead." Calming finally as Albus had said, Snape pushed a strand of sodden hair away from his face. "When Draco did not react to its warning, the amulet must have intensified its efforts to get his attention. Of course as he was unconscious the effort was in vain."

"So we can use the burn to prove Draco was under threat?"

"It is so nice to be discussed like I'm not even in the room!" Draco shouted. "I'm just to be disfigured, is that it? I'm supposed to just live with a hideous blotch of a scar all over my chest?"

"Would you rather be thrown to the Dementors?" Snape scathed, his eyes gleaming with fury. "If you think I will destroy exculpatory evidence merely to assuage your vanity, you are deeply deluded!" Those black eyes began to glitter, then, and Harry thought so much for calm, just before the Potions Master exploded, "Perhaps you'll consider the consequences beforehand next time you are possessed of an urge to do something so phenomenally stupid! You should be thankful it's only a burn you suffered! You could have been thrown off the Owlery while unconscious, I hope you realise! Flinging yourself into the path of danger as if you've no cunning at all! Are you mad? Do you remotely believe I want two Gryffindor sons?"

"All right, that's enough," Harry levelly announced.

"On the contrary, Potter, I've barely got started!" Snape snapped.

"You've said enough," Harry repeated. "Look at Draco, would you? Really look!"

The Potions Master's nostrils flared in irritation, but then he did look. Harry just hoped he could see past his anger. Draco had backed up all the way to his headboard, his feet tangled in the covers, his expression speaking volumes. That last question of Snape's had broken through the façade Draco so often projected, and now, his emotions were flayed wide open for them all to see.

He was expecting to be tossed out on his ear, no matter that Snape had said they were family. Or maybe, because Snape had said it. After all, Draco had admitted to them both that to him, family meant people who would turn on you the moment they decided you weren't worth the effort of keeping around . . .

A heavy sigh emanated from Snape's direction, and then the Potions Master was gruffly conceding, "I am not about to abandon you, Draco. Idiot child though you are."

Still slightly huddled, Draco sort of sniffled.

"The scar won't be bad," Harry rushed to console him. "Really. I mean, it won't show unless you take off your shirt, and anyway, you can always tell people it's a battle scar, that's sort of dashing--"

"It's a mark of defeat," Draco muttered, wiping a bit at his eyes as he unbent from his crumpled posture.

"You did your best--"

"You think that makes things better, Potter?"

"Do you hear me whinging on that you got the best of me, Malfoy?" Harry shot back.

"Yeah, well at least Petrificus doesn't sting like the devil!"

Harry was about to say that a blow to the eye did, but before he could speak, he felt his father laying hand on his forearm. "There's no need for you to be in pain, Draco. Harry and I will go fetch a potion that should serve to block sensation."

Block sensation . . . "Why don't we use that charm, the one that helped when my hands would get so sore?"

Snape gave him a rather significant glance, Harry thought, as he insisted, "The potion will be more effective in this case. Come with me."

"Uh, all right . . ."

Puzzled, Harry followed his father into the lab, where Snape said in a low whisper, "You do realise that there is no way to keep Draco from the Aurors? They will insist on interrogating him."

Remembering what Draco had said about the last time, Harry whispered back, "Don't leave him alone with them--"

"I will not," Snape promised. "Harry, listen carefully. We must keep knowledge of your dark powers from Ministry hands. Voldemort has too many moles . . . Therefore, say nothing whatsoever to Draco about breaking that hex on your own. Let him continue to assume I countered his Petrificus, is that clear?"

Harry blinked. He didn't like the idea of keeping secrets from his own brother . . . but considering that Veritaserum might be used on Draco, he supposed he'd better. Still . . . "Ron and Hermione saw me right after--"

"They have no idea that you were hexed in the first place, only that you were physically struck," Snape said with distaste. "I will tell Albus the truth, but only we three should be cognizant of the event in question. Do you understand me?"

Harry nodded.

Snape studied his expression, and then, apparently satisfied, went on, "The Aurors will perform Priori Incantatem on Draco's wand the moment it is turned over to them, you realise. When the spell reveals a Petrificus--"

"They'll assume he hexed Pansy so he could push her out!" Harry leapt to the conclusion. "But wouldn't she have . . . um, shattered, in that case?"

"You take Petrificus a bit too literally. At any rate, Draco will be forced to explain that it was in fact you he hexed, which will hardly endear him to his interrogators, I should imagine. Their next question will be who broke the hex . . ."

"Oh, I get it. Your wand has to be able to disgorge the counter to Petrificus," Harry finished. "Yes, I understand."

Snape vaguely gestured towards a squat glass box on a nearby counter. "As I doubt anyone will think to Priori Incantatem your fingers, be so good as to Petrificus one of those live centipedes for me."

Harry scooped Sals from his pocket as he pointed his hand and spoke in Parseltongue. "Be made of stone . . ."

He flinched a bit as one of the centipedes snapped into a straight line and stopped moving. Ugh. Petrificus was really a horrid thing to inflict, and now that he knew what it was to suffer it himself, he felt worse than ever about first year and Neville. He couldn't even remember if he and Hermione and Ron had ever properly apologised . . .

Snape made short work of ending the spell on the centipede. It was a good thing, Harry realised then, that his father could counter the spell. When Harry used wanded magic, only a Parseltongue incantation could undo the effects, but at least his wandless magic seemed to behave a bit more normally.

Without another word, Snape scooped up a vial of violent purple fluid and was striding back toward the bedroom where Draco waited.

To Harry's great surprise, when they entered, Dumbledore was sitting on the bed with the boy, both Draco's hands in his own, his voice soft with reassurance, though Harry couldn't hear the words.

By then, Draco looked like he was struggling not to cry.

The headmaster patted his hands before standing up to announce, "I fear I can no longer delay the inevitable, Severus. The Parkinsons will be here shortly; you and I both will need to speak with them, and it would be prudent for Ministry Aurors to already be present in the castle by the time they arrive. In case the worst comes to pass, I would like Mr Malfoy removed from Hogwarts at once."

Draco didn't react to that, though he seemed to shrink a bit, as though trying to hide from an unpleasant necessity.

"You can't make Draco leave Hogwarts!" Harry blurted. "Lucius will take him to Voldemort to be tortured!"

Dumbledore sighed as he looked at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. "You must trust me, Harry. I will use my influence to see to it that we get Order Aurors to handle the investigation into Miss Parkinson's death, but if I am thwarted in that, we may well have to deal with some quite unpleasant types who will demand Draco be taken into custody. He must not be here to be taken."

"Severus and I won't let them in--"

"They will force their way in, Harry," the Potions Master clarified, grimacing. "Aurors can be quite . . . zealous."

"Your wards," Harry scoffed, but then he remembered. Whatever can be warded can be unwarded . . . "Fine, then. I'll ward your quarters, Severus. With my wand in full force. Let them try to get in after that."

"You have no experience at warding," Snape began.

Draco interrupted him. "It's all right, Harry. I'll be safe in Devon, you know that, and I'd really rather you didn't let slip any hint of your dark powers before you absolutely have to."

"They'll think the wards were constructed by Severus," Harry argued.

"At first. When they can't break them they'll investigate. They have pretty good detection spells . . ." Draco sighed. "It really is better that I not be here. Better for you, better for me. I hardly want to think what'll end up of me if you lose in battle because the Dark Lord finds out too early about your dark powers."

Harry sighed. "Right, then." He turned to his father. "How long will Draco have to stay away?"

"Until the Aurors have declined to charge him, I would think," Severus murmured. "Headmaster. I will see to Draco's departure. If you inform me when the Parkinsons arrive, I shall join you to assist with any . . . arrangements they desire."

He meant the funeral, Harry realised with a sick sort of dread.

Draco must have thought so too, for he suddenly blurted, "I didn't kill her! I swear I didn't, I was knocked out like I said, I don't know anything--"

"Hush, my boy," the headmaster soothed. "We will all do what we can." And then, to Snape, "I will expect a full accounting later this evening of everything you know about this entire matter. Everything. Is that clear, Severus?"

The room remained silent as the headmaster left through the Floo, though Snape had nodded in answer to that last question. The moment the three of them were alone, the room exploded in noise.

"What happened, how did I even get back here?" Draco was asking, while Harry insisted, "You don't mean we're going to tell him about . . . er . . ." Realizing that he didn't want to mention the map in case Draco was treated to a dose of Veritaserum, Harry fell silent.

"What?" Draco wanted to know, his grey eyes still panicked and wide in his face.

"We haven't much time." Snape thrust the vial of potion towards Draco. "Topical. Use only enough to blunt the worst of the pain. The Aurors will need to see that burn, and the amulet that occasioned it. Now, as it's not wise to trust one's Apparition after all you've been through in the past hour, I will accompany you to Devon."

Harry nodded his agreement. They didn't want Draco to splinch himself as he had on Samhain.

Draco dribbled a bit of potion on his chest, his features rigid as it steamed against his burn, then dressed himself in a clean shirt. Then he yanked on some robes and stuffed the vial of potion into a trouser pocket.

"Can I come along to keep him company--" Harry suggested.

"No." Snape glowered. "I will need you here."

The Potions Master put his hands on Draco's shoulders and gave him a sharp shake. "I'm tempted not to mention this at all, but I feel I must. I will show you where I keep a spare wand. You may need it to Incendio a fire; the cottage is still quite chill at this time of year. Don't you dare use it to attempt any healing spells on that burn."

Draco trembled slightly under the weight of Snape's disappointed gaze. "I . . . thank you, Severus. I won't do anything I shouldn't."

"You had best not. Extracting you from this situation will prove trial enough." Relenting somewhat, Snape gave the boy's shoulders a gentle squeeze. "Now, come to the Floo. It's time you were gone from here."

Draco swallowed, and glanced at Harry. "I . . . I am sorry, all right?" he said in a more contrite voice than last time. "Um, you should put some ice on that eye." And then to Snape. "You can make it all right, can't you? Make him see?"

"I do not yet know."

"Shite." Draco stepped out to the living room, but when he reached for the missing urn of Floo powder, his arm went stiff. "Sorry about your snake, too," he muttered. It seemed his mind was going in several directions at once, for then he said, "Think the headmaster can conjure Floo powder? Don't know how he left otherwise. And Pansy. Are you sure she's . . . er, gone? Did you see the . . . er . . . I mean, did you check for Polyjuice? Did she . . . have any last words?"

"Draco, you are going into shock, I suspect," Snape quietly explained, pushing the boy into the Floo.

"No." Harry could hear Draco gulping as he struggled for control. "I'm just . . . no. Malfoys don't get afraid. I'm not. I'm not."

Snape reached for a wooden box inlaid with ivory, opening it to reveal more Floo powder. A small amount in hand, the Potions Master joined the boy in the Floo, though he spoke to Harry, his voice stern. "I expect to find you resting when I return, is that clear? But you must eat something first. Accio wizard's ice . . ." He tossed it to Harry. "There. Now keep it on your eye for a few minutes at a stretch this time."

"I will . . . Draco? It'll be all right. Don't worry."

The Potions Master looked down at his other son. "Are you ready?"

Draco managed a shaky nod. "You . . . I . . . Harry . . . oh, bloody hell."

"Number Twelve Grimmauld Place!" Snape commanded, flinging down the powder. And then they were both gone and Harry was left alone.

Too tired to even reach for the Floo powder himself, Harry went with an instinct and simply shouted, "Dobby!"

And just like that, the house-elf was there with him, beaming ear to ear. It was an expression that didn't last long, however.

"What has happened to Harry Potter's eye?" Dobby demanded, hopping up and down in agitation.

"Oh . . . um, slipped in the shower," Harry invented, so tired he couldn't think of anything more plausible. "Listen, you did worse to me with that rogue Bludger that time, all right? It's fine."

Apparently Dobby couldn't conceive of Harry lying, for his beatific smile returned at once as he began bouncing so enthusiastically that his tower of hats threatened to cascade straight off his head. "How can Dobby serve Harry Potter, sir? Whatever Harry Potter is wanting, Dobby is doing it already!"

Flopping down onto the couch, Harry blearily requested, "Orange juice. Grilled cheese sandwich . . . " When the food glittered into existence just inches from his hand, he sighed in appreciation. Three swallows of orange juice and he was feeling slightly better. Enough, certainly, to realise that a house-elf like Dobby could come in handy at a time like this.

"Do me a favour, Dobby. Pop up to the Owlery. Don't let anybody see you, all right? But check around for Master Draco's wand and bring it back. Check at the foot of the tower, too, all right? And on the stairs, and out onto the grounds a bit. Just, try to find it. I need it. Accio it if you have to. I suppose elves can do that, if the wand hasn't had some sort of anti-summoning charm put on it . . . And whether you find it or not, don't ever ever tell anyone that I asked you to go look, all right?"

A sly grin curled Dobby's wrinkled features. "Oh, now Harry Potter is giving Dobby orders more like what Dobby used to get, back before Harry Potter freed Dobby! Harry Potter is plotting, eh? But Dobby is happy to be helping! Dobby is trusting Harry Potter!"

One snap of his fingers, and Dobby was gone in a sparkling shower of silver dust.

Plotting? Harry almost laughed as he bit into his sandwich. At least Dobby knew him well enough to know that his plots would be benign. Or maybe he approved because he thought Harry was plotting against Draco . . . well, either way, he knew Dobby would do as he had asked.

When he was done eating, Harry lay back on the couch. He was horribly tired, which stood to reason, but he didn't think he could sleep until his father came home and told him how Draco was doing. Or at least, until Dobby arrived with some news . . .

Before he knew it, a hand on his shoulder was gently prodding him awake.

Harry opened his eyes to see Snape leaning over him. Shaking his head to clear it of bleary thoughts, Harry sat up. "Is Draco all right? I mean . . . he seemed more than a little unsettled when he left here. He probably needs some food and rest too . . ."

Picking up the ice Harry had left on the table, Snape pushed it into Harry's hand and gestured for the boy to use it.

"Sorry," Harry apologised. He kept forgetting about the ice, and wondered why that was. Maybe he just had too much on his mind? "Um . . . so did you get Draco settled in, you got him the wand and all that? It is possible to start a fire without using magic, you know."

Snape sighed. "Draco's more dependent on sorcery than you are. In some ways your experience with those Muggles is an asset." With that, he was hanging his robes and withdrawing a folded wad of parchment from a trouser pocket.

The Marauder's Map.

The map they'd relied on to condemn Draco. They'd thought him a murderer . . . but he couldn't have pushed Pansy out of the Owlery, let alone have snuck down the stairs or run out onto the grounds. He'd been senseless the whole time! So had someone impersonated him? But no, the map had led Snape straight to his unconscious body! And what about the wards? What about--

Harry stopped asking himself questions when his father sat down next to him and began to speak, slow deliberation in every word.

"You may well hold your brother's life in your hands," Snape heavily announced. "And this may be the key that frees him."

"It . . . it lied," Harry groaned, feeling awful as he took it in hand. The dots swarming over the surface looked hideous to him, now. "I thought that was impossible! I thought the map was perfect. It sees through Polyjuice, it knew that Moody was really Crouch! It's always been dependable, it knew all along that Scabbers was Peter Pettigrew--"

"It knows, I suspect, more than it chose to show," Snape interrupted, reaching out a hand to still his son's shaking shoulders. "Understand me, Harry. I intend no disrespect; I can understand why you trusted the map. James helped make it, and Lupin, and Black. Three wizards you've put your faith in, in one way or another."

"Not Wormtail." Harry grimaced.

Snape waved his free hand in a contemptuous arc. "He was useless in school. But the others . . . Well. The map is an impressive work of magic, to be sure. But something is wrong with it, and it is up to us to fathom out precisely what."

"I don't even know how it works . . ."

"Nor I," Snape admitted. "But we are going to find out what it is concealing, all the same."

"How?"

"Let us begin," the Potions Master decided, "with you telling me every last thing you know about this spare bit of parchment."


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