It was not the sluggishness in his mind or the creeping numbness in his limbs that most alarmed him — it was the aching loss of his glasses. There was no comforting weight on his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. He knew even if he opened his eyes, he would not be able to ascertain his surroundings. It was a horrifying realization, even more so than the knowledge he was tied to a chair, his arms yanked cruelly behind his back.

Harry was tempted to flex his fingers against the numbness creeping from his hands up his wrists, but he suddenly thought the better of it. It tested the very limits of his self control, trying to regulate his breathing, drawing and releasing steady breaths despite the terror that choked his throat. He could hear footsteps close at hand — scuffling across the ground, echoing faintly in the cold, stale air. He kept his eyes closed, knowing his poor vision would not serve him in the least, and breathed deeply, trying to figure some way of escape. Lucius could very well be waiting until he was awake to torture or kill him.

Then again, why would he wait for Harry to wake up of his own accord?

He was waiting for something else. But what?

Or who?

Harry’s heart raced in his chest. He tried not to dwell upon the possibilities.

In the distance, someone suddenly gave an impatient huff. Harry almost betrayed himself by jumping.

“What are we waiting for?” Draco Malfoy’s nervous voice demanded. “Why don’t we just take him to the Dark Lord and get done with it?”

“Because He does not wish it,” was Lucius’s cool reply. “Just as I do not wish to hear more of your pathetic whining — such a display is unworthy of a Malfoy.”

Harry almost smirked, remembering how Lucius had played upon the family pride just hours (was it hours…?) earlier to persuade Draco to see things his way. Now he was using it to berate him.

And indeed, Draco had fallen silent. His father’s rebuff had obviously stung his pride.

Harry could picture the polished aristocrat surveying his son through those merciless, scornful eyes. Lucius was apparently expressing his resentment now for Draco’s attempted betrayal.

How do you like that, Draco? Harry thought unsympathetically, remembering how the other boy had sold him out. If you’d gone over to Snape, at least Lucius would have respected you for it!

Well, he’d made his choice. And Harry was glad he could feel angry about it; it at least helped him ignore that mindless, animal panic threatening at the edge of his consciousness.

“What does He want, then?” Draco persisted.

His curiosity and nervousness evidently impelled him to risk his father’s wrath.

Lucius gave a long-suffering sigh.

“What do you think, fool? He wishes to ascertain the contents of the prophecy. He suspects that old man has revealed it to Potter… Once he knows, he will know how to destroy him.”

“So that’s why he didn’t fall over himself to thank you,” Draco said snidely. “He must still be pretty angry if he’s sending —”

“ENOUGH!” Lucius roared. His voice dropped back to its usual polished, collected tones. “He will show his favor in due time, when Potter is dead. He is merely being cautious. As for his… choice of legilimens—”

Harry felt his heart leap in sudden hope. Could it be..?

“I made the request myself.” A moment of silence. “That surprises you, I see.”

He could hear the smile in Lucius’s voice, and Harry felt a sudden pang of fear. If it was Snape, and Lucius was allowing him to come here, it couldn’t be for any good reason.

“I don’t understand,” Draco said. “Why would you ask —”

“Because, my imbecile son, a rare stroke of good fortune such as this —”

A cold finger touched Harry’s cheek. It took every ounce of his self-control not to betray himself by flinching.

“— does not happen every day, and I intend to take full advantage of it. If that means succoring my enemies to win them as friends, I will do so. If it means destroying them because they remain implacable foes —” Harry could almost see Lucius’s dangerous smile through his lids, “Well, then, I shall be very happy to do so.”

“And that’s why you want me to —”

“But of course,” Lucius said silkily. Then, “You look uneasy.”

“Snape isn’t stupid. He’ll know —”

“Then occlude your mind. You were only too happy to do this six hours ago —”

“I told you I’d already decided —”

“— It shouldn’t be too difficult to do it again now… He doesn’t need to trust you, Draco… In fact, I’m counting on him not trusting you. I’m certain he’ll go along with it, at least in the beginning, pretend to be tricked. And that’s all I want him to do.”

Harry could feel the dark, smug satisfaction radiating from Malfoy.

“I’ll make a show of playing our usual games. Severus doesn’t need to be fooled, he doesn’t need to be trapped. He merely needs to do nothing… With the Dark Lord’s favor on our side, none shall intervene… And all I need, Draco, is a single moment when he drops his guard.”

Lucius chuckled then, as though delighted with himself.

“The greatest wizard inevitably blinks, my son. All Severus needs to do, just for a single moment — is close his eyes.” Lucius’s footsteps drew closer to Harry, and then his breath suddenly caressed the boy’s cheek. It took everything in Harry not to flinch away.

“And then, I’ll have him.”

The words chilled Harry. He didn’t know what Lucius had in mind for Snape, but he didn’t want him to have the chance. If only--

The air was suddenly split by the distant crack of an Apparating wizard.

“Ah, it seems our guest is here,” Lucius said smoothly. “Go about your business, Draco. You know what to do.”

Harry was torn between hope and fright, knowing Snape had arrived. He felt a blissful relief, knowing Snape could save him, but he was terrified of what ruin Lucius was plotting to rain down upon his father.

Lucius’s next words, however, plunged him into cold horror.

“Ah, Bellatrix — how good of you to come.”

~*~"We found his wand."

A deep chill swept over him as Severus surveyed the eleven inches of phoenix feather and holly, resting innocuously on the Headmaster's desk. The Aurors had unearthed it within minutes of beginning their search.

He knew what it meant.

"Severus?" queried Lupin from somewhere behind him. "What are you thinking?”

"I think," Snape said, still transfixed by the wand, "that we now have our answer."

He picked it up and held it before him, as though it were just another wand, as though it signified nothing.

"The boy is dead."

"We don't know--"

Snape gritted his teeth, fighting the impulse to hex the werewolf. "The little idiot is dead."

"We don't know that," Lupin maintained. "He could have wandered into the forest--"

"'Wandered into the forest'?" Snape sneered, sending him venomous glare. "And I suppose he left his sole means of defense in a hedge for safe-keeping?”

Lupin flinched.

“Of course," Snape said scathingly, "I quite forgot that you were his instructor in Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

His attacks upon Lupin weren't helping the situation, he knew, but on some level, he relished the distress his words were causing. Shattering the werewolf’s disgusting optimism gave him a marginal satisfaction, a momentary relief.

“Let me disillusion you, then, Lupin," Snape said ruthlessly,” his wand is currently in my hand because an assailant disarmed him. Make no mistake -- if he still lives, it's merely because the Dark Lord wishes to torture the Order’s secrets from him before he executes him. The boy is dead -- or he will be very soon!"

Lupin looked devastated. Snape’s lips twisted into a bitter smile at the sight.

Dumbledore must have perceived immediately that Severus was about to vent more frustrations upon Lupin, for he chose that moment to assert his venerable authority.

"We may know nothing as of yet, Remus,” Dumbledore said reassuringly, “but Harry is resourceful. He’s survived worse than this —”

Name one instance, Snape thought darkly, thinking of the wand in his hand.

“-- And many have underestimated him at their cost. As for our part, we’ll use every resource we have… We’ll bring him home yet, Remus.”

The idiot seemed reassured by Dumbledore’s compelling tone. Snape watched with a jaundiced eye, knowing they were words of comfort, empty sentiments. Dumbledore hadn’t said they’d bring the boy home alive, and he fancied the omission purposeful.

Crafty old bastard. How he loathed him.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, please," Dumbledore said gently, gesturing for Lupin to leave them to speak privately.

The pale, haggard man looked reluctantly between the two, but an objection seemed to die upon his lips. He dragged himself from the office as though his legs were made of the heaviest steel, and Dumbledore instantly spelled the door shut behind him.

The Headmaster's gaze returned to Snape. Severus made no move to acknowledge him. His temples pounded violently, his vision seeming to narrow in upon the wand clenched in his hand. His pale knuckles had become a stark white, but for the life of him, he couldn't seem to loosen his fist.

A short time ago, it had been a day like any other. And now this.

It had only been an hour since they'd realized Harry was missing… a single hour that had changed everything. The boy hadn't arrived for his Transfiguration class, and Weasley had rushed to the Headmaster in a panic, saying Harry hadn't been in their room that morning. The stupid boy had been so deathly pale, gabbling that he’d been sure Harry would show up at class… He’d been so sure! He hadn’t known!

To Severus, it meant one thing -- Harry had been missing all night, and no one had realized it. There was no way to know.

He could have been murdered hours ago.

His mind turned involuntarily to his own activities over the course of his sleepless night -- he’d brewed an antibiotic serum; he’d read an inane novel by torchlight; he’d taken a bloody shower. His son was being — kidnapped..? tortured..? murdered..? -- and all the while, Severus had been consumed with dread over grading the abominations his students called essays.

The memory mocked him now.

Perhaps the greatest frustration was not merely his ignorance — it was his sheer helplessness; he’d requested a summons the moment he received Dumbledore’s missive… He was the only Death Eater with the ability to request one, and he’d always felt as though it imbued him with a certain power. But sometimes -- as in this infuriating instance -- the Dark Lord failed to respond with a summons. Staring at his Dark Mark, waiting for any response, the sheer lack of that burning pain had never felt so horrid as it did now.

Either his master believed Snape had nothing of import to tell him, or he was too busy torturing his new prisoner. It made bile rise in Severus’s throat, just to think of it.

"Severus,” Dumbledore’s grave voice broke into his thoughts, “Have you considered all of the possibilities as to why you have not been summoned?”

Snape closed his eyes, knowing what he was being asked. “I assume you’re alluding to the possibility he’s extracted information about me from the boy?” Snape opened his eyes, a queer smile stretching his thin lips. “Oh, I know well the Dark Lord might be aware I’m Harry Potter’s father… and a thrice-cursed traitor.”

“If he summons you,” Dumbledore said, watching him closely, “it may be for your execution.”

Snape smiled bitterly at the boy’s wand. The wand his son lacked. The wand that meant his son was utterly defenseless. Helpless.

"Yes, it’s very likely." Once they’re finished with him.

"Have you devised a contingency plan?”

Snape looked up at him, somehow disbelieving. He hadn’t thought for a moment of a backup plan to ensure his own survival. Some part of him was amazed the Headmaster had even asked.

"No,” said Snape, shocked by the flicker of worry in Dumbledore’s eyes. It came to him suddenly that even amidst his fear for Harry — the boy he loved so dearly — he was also afraid for Severus.

The thought somehow enraged him. Now he cared. Now, when everything was lost!

Severus had never hated him more than in that instant.

“I have no backup plan. But what difference does it make?” He fixed Dumbledore with a nasty smile. "If your prophecy is accurate and his death spells the doom of us all…. Well, I've certainly never been one to dawdle."

"Severus--"

"If he’s dead -- I'm finished!” Snape said hatefully. “Let him execute me. Let him submerge the world in a pit of fire, for all I care! I'm done with this — and I’m done with you!"

Dumbledore drew a breath to speak, but Snape cut him off.

"Do not say another word to me," Snape said venomously. "This is your fault."

Seeing something that resembled hurt on Dumbledore’s face, Snape’s heart rejoiced, and he continued on a wave of exultant anger -- "This is ALL your fault!" His pain and rage suddenly latched upon their justification: "I could have prevented this if you hadn't stolen him from me!"

Surprise washed over Dumbledore's face at the unexpected words. Severus whirled away, seething with fury, finding at the moment only a single focus for the ugly emotions boiling within him.

"You knew, didn't you?" His voice betrayed him by trembling, but he forged on, wishing he could curse Dumbledore into ashes. "You knew what would happen if he were mine — I would never have given you my son!"

His thoughts were filled suddenly with those half-remembered notions, those scenarios that had flickered only briefly through his mind these last few months without leaving an active impression. They spilled from his mouth now, lethal weapons in the hands of a man lost to his fears.

"I would have taken him to some distant corner of this earth… somewhere far away from all of you... If He’d followed, then I would have appeased him — I would have raised my son to slobber over his robes — to be his most faithful Death Eater before I would have given him up!”

He saw it before him -- the existence Dumbledore had stolen from him — and his heart raged at the knowledge.

“You would never have seen your precious golden boy so debased — the depths he would have reached -- and I would have allowed them before I would have given him up! He would never have stretched out his neck in sacrifice… not my son…. not for anyone!”

Snape twisted back around, wanting to see Dumbledore's hateful old face when he threw the accusations at him.

"And you knew it! You ALWAYS knew it!”

But from the look on the older wizard's face, as though Severus’s words cut him to his very heart, he hadn't known it. And Snape hated him all the more for it, because even now, he felt base and unworthy in his rage. Even now, he knew his words for the lies they were.

Because whatever the circumstances, whatever winding path fate might have taken, Harry’s true nature would have come forth.

If the abuse of the Muggles and the burden of his destiny had not succeeded in robbing him of that disgustingly noble and worthy nature, then even Severus could not have saved him from it. Harry would always have been a hero. Harry would always have defended the weak. And Harry would always have died for it.

It was a bittersweet truth, knowing he’d finally come to cherish someone who virtually embodied those qualities he’d always scorned — nobility, compassion, self-sacrifice. And now the boy threatened to be lost forever, and Severus couldn't say whether he'd survive it.

He wondered that he’d ever forgotten how cruelly the world could be flipped on its head.

"There were many things I did not know then, Severus," Dumbledore said softly at last; his voice was thick with sorrow, and he suddenly appeared ancient. "If I had, my actions might have been very different."

Snape couldn’t bear to look at him. He glanced sharply away, lest he betray more of himself than he already had.

"If my son dies,” Severus said quietly, barely able to voice the words, “I'm through.”

Dumbledore nodded, almost imperceptibly. There was a sorrow in his blue eyes that told Snape the older wizard had come to understand him at last.

~*~The hours of the day had dragged by like centuries. Snape lived in the seconds ticking by, conscious only of the shadows playing across the dungeon walls, and the emptiness he felt would haunt his every last moment of life.

It wasn’t until the first hours of evening that the summons came, and it was not for Severus alone, but for all the faithful. His questions would now be answered, and he dreaded the answers as much as he desired them. A large meeting was not a good sign. He dared not hope for anything but the worst -- the news of the Boy-Who-Lived’s ignominious death, the announcement of the pending death of a traitor. It was infinitely less painful than nourishing hopes that would be disappointed.

Down to the last fiber of his being, he felt numb. He couldn’t fear for Harry now, knowing how he did the likelihood the boy was already dead. He didn’t fear for himself, knowing the enormity of what he may already have lost.

But to Snape’s shock, the meeting was entirely unremarkable — as though on the cusp of his triumph, the Dark Lord had only sought to reaffirm his grip on his troops. Through ruthless, red eyes, he glared at his assembly of masked, robed followers. When the question of Potter’s widely publicized disappearance came up, a smile touched his bloodless lips, but he merely stated,

“Harry Potter is no longer a concern of ours.”

All the while, Snape scrutinized the company, wondering who of their number knew the boy’s fate. He counted the numbers quickly, and realized that two were missing. With the masks on, however, he had no way to discern the identities of those who were gone.

“Stay after, Severus.”

The words hissed sibilantly through the night air. Snape obeyed, hoping with a twisting heart he might soon be enlightened about his son’s status. Instead he was subjected to an interrogation about the state of Hogwarts after the boy’s disappearance. How did Dumbledore take it? How did the students react? How did his young Death Eaters respond? More questions, and an abrupt dismissal that left him without answers.

Even his veiled inquiries were met only with that mysterious statement — that the boy was no longer a concern.

Snape was forced at last to retreat with his horrendous failure. He’d barely exited the Dark Lord’s presence chamber, when a figure slipped out from the shadows, a young voice halting him.

“Professor Snape!”

Severus was tempted to strike the boy down, or at least severely injure him. He had no use for Draco Malfoy now. Not anymore.

“Draco,” he said, his voice as empty as he felt. The boy slid off his mask to reveal a pale, troubled face. “What a surprise.”

He couldn’t manage to call it ‘pleasant’.

Draco looked around uneasily. “Should we talk here? I have — private things to discuss with you.”

Draco cast a pointed glance at the Death Eaters milling about in the distance, the ones who had not yet Disapparated.

“I quite like this location,” Snape said, unimpressed by the pedantic attempt at intrigue.

“Look —” Draco said urgently, “I can’t talk to you here. Not where — not where my father might find out.”

A few days earlier Snape might have been thrilled at this opportunity. Now he felt cold.

“I don’t care a whit for your father. If you wish to speak to me, speak.”

Yet he found his legs moving, almost against his volition, and at length he faced the boy within the confines of a private chamber.

Without further hesitation, Draco launched into his business. The boy made no further show of unease — not even wondering if someone was eavesdropping at the door -- and Severus smirked inwardly at his carelessness; he’d already betrayed himself, proving to Severus that his fear of his father was merely for Snape’s benefit.

What does Lucius have to offer me today? Snape thought darkly. He’d already deemed unlikely the possibility Lucius was behind Harry’s disappearance; he was too low in the Dark Lord’s favor to be entrusted with such a task, and he would never succeed in luring Harry out of the school by means either fair or foul. But perhaps he should lend an ear to listen. Perhaps Lucius’s foolish son had gleaned something more than he himself had.

Draco launched into his fabricated story -- It was his father. Draco was angry with him. He’d recently been distressed to find out Lucius had murdered his mother. He knew Snape was Lucius’s enemy, and he wanted to help him get revenge —

The words droned into a mindless buzz in Snape’s mind, an annoyance. So, Lucius was moving. And he was using Draco for it. He didn’t realize that with the death of Harry Potter, he would no longer be a threat to Severus. He didn’t know that Snape would no longer need to protect Septimus.

After all, there was no need to safeguard a dead son.

The thought felt like a sharp pain. All the breath seemed to rush from his body.

“-- help you, and…” Draco’s trailed off, his pale eyes betraying his unease when Snape’s face twisted into a sour, unfamiliar expression. Terrified of his father’s wrath if he failed to draw Snape in, Draco reflected uneasily that he didn't have the faintest clue how Snape was receiving this.

“Professor —” Draco said with mounting desperation. “You’re not even listening to me! I’m telling you, it’s important!”

“Important?” Snape echoed caustically. “Frankly, I see nothing of import in pathetic mewling.”

Pathetic.

Draco flinched as though struck, his skin taking on an unpleasant shade of gray. His eyes raised to Snape, feverish with anger at being deemed ‘pathetic’ yet again, caught with dread at the reception he was likely to receive upon failing his father… After he’d cast his lot in with Lucius once and for all.

“Fine, don’t listen to me!” Draco cried. Snape thought for a second he would break into angry tears. “You’ll be sorry — you’ll wish you’d listened to me soon enough!”

He spun around to flee, but not before uttering the fatal words that revealed everything.

Snape’s black eyes riveted to the boy, the numbness that permeated to his very depths suddenly dissolving into a sharp, lethal focus.

‘Soon enough’.

Something was going to happen soon, something to render Lucius more of a threat…

That could only be something to set him high in the Dark Lord’s favor!

The words rang in his mind, and he lanced forward like lightning, seizing Draco by the scruff of the neck, hauling the boy back from his intended flight.

“What are you —” Draco yelped as Snape wrenched him around, shoving his sour face up to the boy’s.

“What did you mean by that?” Severus snarled, shaking the boy hard enough to make his head whip back. “’ I’ll be sorry soon’ — what’s going to happen soon?”

“Let go of me!” Draco cried, struggling to squirm out of his grip. He was taller and slightly heavier than Harry, but Snape’s rage gave him strength the lithe young man could never hope to match. “LET ME GO!”

He then remembered his wand, but Snape wrenched it from his plucking fingers and threw it into the distance. Draco tried to flee again, but Snape yanked him closer, his free hand locking in an iron grip around the boy’s neck. Then squeezing.

Draco’s eyes went so wide with terror they seemed to pop out of his head; the boy scratched and clawed — even kicked at Snape’s shins-- but Severus didn’t feel a thing.

“Your father has him, doesn’t he?” Snape whispered dangerously. “Your father’s taken Potter!”

Draco’s eyes rolled up, as though he would pass out, and Snape threw him roughly onto the ground.

“Answer me.”

The boy crouched there on all fours, trembling, wheezing for breath.

“ANSWER ME!”

He slashed his wand through the air, and Draco screamed with pain. He raised his hand incredulously to his cheek, where a jagged red slash marred his pale flesh. The boy looked disbelievingly at the blood on his fingers, then fixed Snape with eyes wide with terror.

“Why are you doing this?”

Snape drew closer. Terrified, Draco let out a scream and scrambled back as if from a madman.

Snape raised his wand as Draco made a dash for the door.

“Crucio.”

The curse sent the boy crumpling to the ground, shrieking with agony. Snape drew closer, a pitiless tormentor, watching the boy who had once been a protégée to him suffer the cruelest agony of all.

When he ended the curse, Draco was sobbing. He curled into a tight ball, resembling nothing more than the frightened child he was.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you doing this?” he babbled over and over, trembling as Snape stalked closer.

“Your father has Potter, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, he has him!” Draco cried pitifully.

Snape froze, almost unable to believe it.

“What do you care?” Draco whimpered. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Severus hadn’t truly believed it; it had only been the smallest clue… to Draco’s misfortune, it had been the only one he had.

Yet it was enough.

Blood roared in his ears like thunder. Lucius had Harry. He had him.

And it seemed — still alive. Hidden away.

Hidden.

Draco let out a small cry when Snape grabbed him by the hair and hauled him up to his knees.

“Where is your father now?”

Draco wept, his hands flying up to pry off Snape’s grip. He screamed when Snape slashed his wand, carving a terrible red gash in his other cheek.

“Where is your father now?” Snape hissed menacingly. “You must be his Secret Keeper — I can tell! He would trust no other!”

Before he realized what was happening, Draco somehow managed to twist his head around and bite Snape’s hand -- hard. Startled, Severus instinctively released his grip.

Draco scrambled to his feet and sprinted out the door.

Snape followed quickly, catching up to him in the main hall. The boy sprinted towards the distant Death Eaters.

“HELP! HELP ME! HE’S —”

Snape’s curse brought the shrieking boy down. He quickly tore off his mask, lest one of his comrades think it advisable to intercede and win the favor of Lucius Malfoy by rescuing his son.

Spotting him, the Death Eaters in the distance, a few of whom had tentatively stepped forward, immediately fell back. Others were admiring the scene with derisive laughter.

Draco saw this with astonishment — it seemed it had never occurred to him that his father’s friends were not going to help him.

Snape drew steadily closer to him, his black eyes fixed on Draco in dark triumph.

“What did you expect, you stupid boy?” he taunted softly, reading Draco’s shock. “Did you truly believe they would step in and save you from me? Did you entertain for one moment the delusion they care what happens to you?”

Draco stood there, trembling, paralyzed by horror as Snape drew ever closer to him like some monster from an old fairytale.

“This is not Dumbledore’s territory anymore, boy,” Severus whispered. “We’re not playing a delightful game for our amusement. You’re a Death Eater now, Draco. Fear is our currency. And they're far more afraid of me than they are of you.”

Draco swayed, as though he was trying not to faint.

“It's high time, I think —” Snape said with a malevolent smile, “that I acquainted you with why.”

~*~ “What are you going to do with my father?”

Draco’s voice had been reduced to a mere whisper from five minutes under the Cruciatus Curse.

Snape couldn’t say why he deigned to answer the question, instead of stepping over the boy and simply leaving now that he’d divulged his father’s location.

A reluctant measure of respect, perhaps. He hadn’t expected the boy to hold out for nearly so long.

“Please —” Draco whimpered, raising pleading eyes to Snape’s. “What are you going to do with him?”

“Why, I thought that was obvious,” Snape said coldly. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Don’t.”

Now he did step over the boy, intent on leaving the broken mess where it lay and heading to the Apparition point.

A weak grip on his ankle stopped him.

“Don’t. Please!”

Snape kicked at Draco’s grip, but it tightened as though the boy had suddenly found a reserve of strength. He lurched forward, wrapping both arms around Snape’s leg, almost hugging it to his chest.

“Please, please don’t hurt him,” begged Draco, his voice scratchy. “I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt him, please don’t —”

He let out a shriek of horror when Snape raised his wand in warning, but to Severus’s surprise — and reluctant admiration — he held still held on.

“Please don’t,” Draco whimpered again, his eyes filling with tears. “He’s all I have.”

Snape’s wand sank back down to his side, a knot in his throat rising at the devastation in the child’s — for he was little more than a child -- gray eyes. Inside him stirred the almost foreign sensation of pity.

“I can’t lose him…” Draco said with a violent sob, burying his face in Snape’s robes. “I can’t lose him… He’s all I have left now!... He’s all I have!”

Severus closed his eyes, hating himself for this unwelcome pity. Lucius would die tonight. There was no other option, not anymore.

But Draco would not have to live out his days knowing he’d betrayed his father to his murderer.

“Obliviate.”

He had no skill in the spell, he knew the instant he spoke it that something had gone wrong and the boy’s mind had buckled entirely beneath its force.

Draco Malfoy stared up at him now, his eyes bereft of comprehension.

Peering into his unguarded mind, Snape glimpsed straight into the boy’s thoughts — curiosity about this strange, dark-haired man… confusion about why he was hugging this stranger’s leg…

Curiosity about whether this stranger was his father…

“No, I am not your father,” Snape said shortly, prying himself from the boy’s grip.

It had been necessary.

The thought was of little comfort as he left, feeling those uncomprehending gray eyes on his back… But, it was for Harry.

It was all for Harry.

And his conscience troubled him no more.