After dinner that evening, Draco found himself back in the library and laid out on his back on the sofa by the fireplace. He stared up at the ceiling, frowning slightly as his thoughts bounced around. He wondered about Leif and Alexei. Leif had finally returned from the Ministry part way through dinner, pulling Alexei away immediately and sequestering them away in the downstairs study. Once dinner ended, Snape disappeared into the lab and Potter returned to his bedroom.

This was it. In a little over twelve hours, whatever that summer had been would be over. He, Potter, and Snape would go back to how they used to be, and Leif and Alexei would leave forever. He would never see Prince Manor again. The thought of all of it filled him with emotions he was sure he’d never felt before; he couldn’t even really identify them. He didn’t want to know. It would only make it harder to leave. He needed to be ‘Malfoy’ again and he should have gotten back to that version of himself long before now. He should have prepared for the return to reality, and his reality did not include anything from the last seven weeks.

Yet, he couldn’t just leave. He couldn’t just forget. So, he let his magic out one last time. His eyes drifted shut and his magic instantly began searching, but it wasn’t out of control. It seemed completely happy to stay calm because, for once, it was allowed to do what it wanted.

There were remnants of all their magic all over the place and his magic twirled with every bit as it reached further away from the library. He directed it downstairs first to find Leif and Alexei. He hadn’t interacted with their magic often as his was always distracted by Snape and Potter, but there were still incredible feelings connected to the two immortals. He wasn’t so deep in the magic that he could see it, but he could feel it and knew immediately when he found Leif and Alexei. Both were familiar given they were the same magic he and Potter had, but they were more powerful and still felt different in ways. He almost felt rejuvenated whenever he connected with Leif, likely due to the shared magic type. He also felt what seemed to be a mix between what he felt with Snape’s and Potter’s magic: playfulness and protectiveness. It was the same with Alexei’s magic. There was so much, dare he say, care and affection in both men’s magic.

He smiled to himself as his magic tangled with theirs, feeling the way theirs twirled around and encompassed his. He would never say, but he was going to miss Leif and Alexei.

He gently pulled his magic away, feeling the reluctance in Leif’s and Alexei’s magic to let him go. It increased the little spot of painful pressure in his chest that he had been ignoring for days now.

He guided his magic back upstairs and to Potter, feeling the instant pulse in his magic when it found Potter’s. He didn’t need to see to know his silver-white threads were twirling, twisting, and dancing with Potter’s multicoloured ones. There was such joy when their magic connected, it was nearly overwhelming, especially when the emotion didn’t transfer to them and their actual interactions. There was something about their magic when it connected, the feeling of strength and protection and support. It was like their magic was meant to connect and work together. How unfortunate that he and Potter were definitely not meant to work together, given the polar opposition of their lives. While he doubted he would miss Potter, it would be odd not to have his magic around like this. He wasn’t sure how to feel.

Once again, he tugged his magic away. If magic could pout, he would swear that’s what Potter’s magic was doing as it released his. The pressure in his chest got just a little larger.

Finally, he pushed his magic down to the lab, it jumping excitedly to meet with Snape’s. The professor’s magic was so different to the others’, but he couldn’t explain it. It was like a power being pulled in different directions, each hoping to win the fight. When he interacted, it was like the pulling stopped and all sides focused on him, filling him with the strangest feelings. His magic wrapped around Snape’s, happily accepting the way Snape’s seemed to try and hold it. Like with Potter’s magic, it was overwhelming, but one of the best, unexplainable things he’d ever felt. If he was honest, he loathed to let it go, knowing, after this, he would never feel it again, whatever it was.

How was he supposed to act like none of this had happened? How could he ignore it all when it felt so…right? How could they all abandon this?

They had all helped him accept this magic as his, as something he was worthy of. How could he leave that behind without a second look or thought?

His contentment had waned and he was about to pull his magic back when he felt something he’d never felt before. Even Snape’s magic reacted, partly pulling away, partly shielding. There was a new magic, a throbbing power that had Snape’s magic on guard.

Confused, he dove deeper so he could see the magic. His magic had mostly stopped fluttering around, encompassed by Snape’s golden strands, the spots of black glaringly obvious against his own silvery-white threads. He saw a large amount of the man’s magic flowing away from him and his core, so Draco reached around with some of his magic to follow. It didn’t take him long to find the source of the throbbing, draining power. There, sitting on some currently unknown to him spot on Snape, was a deep back mess of magical threads. These, however, were different and nearly made him recoil.

This magic was the deepest black, looking like a void, and sat in a tight ball. The threads, instead of being light and wispy, were solid and sharp. He reached out tentatively and quickly pulled back with a hiss of pain. The sharp, coiled magic burned and felt like it wanted to rip him apart. He watched as it pulled Snape’s magic to it and as the thick, jagged strand that connected the ball to Snape’s core pulsed ominously.

It was dark magic, purely dark magic. It wanted nothing more than to hurt and control. It was one of the various directions constantly pulling at Snape’s magic, twisting the magic together so Snape had no choice but to feel it. He knew then what it was.

It was the Dark Mark and it was active. Snape was being summoned.

Draco’s eyes snapped open and he flew up on the sofa with a gasp. The loud dong from the grandfather clock in the sitting room downstairs startled him and his eyes swung to the clock on the wall above the fireplace.

Midnight.

And he understood.

The deadline to bring him to Voldemort had just ended.

He gazed down at the two bowed heads before him, contemplating how to deal with their failures. He had given them every opportunity to get him the boy that was meant to lead the new generation of Death Eaters, yet they failed repeatedly. They were his best, yet they had been unable to complete the simple task of finding and delivering a fifteen-year-old boy. Perhaps they needed to be reminded of whom their loyalties were meant to be with. They seemed to have forgotten their place.

He flicked his wand with a sneer and watched as both men’s bodies trembled and twitched, their only reaction to the torture ravaging their bodies. He cancelled the curse and saw a shiver of relief run up their spines.

“Severus,” he said in a drawn-out hiss.

“My lord,” Severus said, remining knelt and bowed.

“Have you brought any news of value?”

“Potter will be brought to King’s Cross by members of the Order, my lord,” Severus said. “The boy has learned of the prophecy and Dumbledore intends to begin training him.”

“So, the Ministry disturbance was the prophecy?”

“Yes, my lord,” Severus said.

“I need the prophecy. I must hear it in its entirety,” he said. “You are to do this, Severus, however you must. Now that the boy knows, he will not be vulnerable to my…enticing dreams.”

“Yes, my lord,” Severus said.

“While this information has its value, you have failed to discover anything about Draco, or to bring him to me.”

“Apologies, my lord.”

“Such failure from my best, from my spy,” he drawled. “What to do about such failure?”

“I will accept anything you deem necessary,” Severus said. “I will not fail you again, my lord.”

“No, you won’t,” he said and flicked his wand, moving it slowly through the air. He watched as thick black ropes snaked their way around Severus’ arms, moving from wrist to shoulders. They kept slithering along, one wrapping around Severus’ neck and another around his chest. Then, they stopped and he flicked his wand again. The ropes began to tighten and pulsed red every few seconds. The robes and clothing underneath tore under the ropes and, each time they pulsed, the now visible skin cut apart under the ropes and began to trickle blood. He watched with sadistic glee as Severus’ bent leg fell so he was on both knees, more stable as his fists clenched and his back straightened as he rolled his head minutely, clearly wanting to fight. He didn’t make the rope on the neck go any deeper, but the ones around the arms and chest kept digging deeper and deeper, the trickle of blood turning to steady rivulets.

Finally, he cancelled the ropes and they disappeared, Severus letting out a barely audible gasp as he was able to breathe fully. He gave the man little reprieve, however, as he, almost immediately, cast a Cruciatus. Severus’ body shook and his eyes narrowed, flashing, while his knuckles turned white, but no sound escaped the man. Normally he loved the stoicism, but not this time.

He pushed at the curse, making it stronger, as he strolled slowly behind the man. He bent down so he was level with Severus’ ear.

“Scream for me, Severus,” he whispered and felt the shudder that ran down the man’s back, a shudder that had nothing to do with the torture he was still experiencing.

After several more seconds, he cancelled the Cruciatus when no scream was forthcoming. He let the tip of his wand rest on the nape of Severus’ neck, dragging it lightly around as he returned to stand in front of the man. He lifted the man’s head with his wand under Severus’ chin.

“Nothing?” he drawled. “Clearly you have not learned from your failure.”

Severus’ dark eyes just met his. He moved his wand to Severus’ sternum and poured magic into it. It wasn’t long before the man started trembling violently as his blood began to heat as it flowed through his body.

Excruciating. Especially as he interspersed it with short Cruciatus Curses. He saw Severus fight back his reaction, but soon couldn’t and released a reluctant cry of agony.

He relished the moment of weakness and cancelled the torture, leaving Severus gasping for breaths, his hands splayed on the ground before him to hold him up. Blood pooled on the wood around his pale hands.

“Have you learned your mistakes, Severus?” he drawled.

“Yes, my lord,” Severus said, his voice more raspy than normal.

His lip curled in a sneer. “Return to your place. I believe it is Lucius’ turn.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Severus stood shakily, though he tried to hide it, and returned to the circle that surrounded him and Lucius. His satisfaction disappeared as he turned to Lucius who, wisely, had not moved at all during Severus’ torture.

“Lucius,” he hissed. “Your failure and incompetence have lost me the most promising legacy sworn to my service.”

“There are no words, my lord,” Lucius said and he sneered again.

“No, there’s not,” he snapped and slashed his wand. Lucius was unlike Severus and released a cry of pain immediately as he writhed on his hands and knees, fighting to stay upright. “Did I not warn of severe consequences if you were to fail in retrieving your traitorous son?”

“You did, my lord,” Lucius said, a slight wobble in his voice.

He looked over Lucius’ head and nodded at two Death Eaters at the back of the circle. They disappeared briefly, returning with Narcissa between them. Her head was held high, keeping hold of her reputation in the face of her fear. It was clear in her eyes. She was stood a few meters behind Lucius, her eyes briefly flicking down to her husband.

“Turn, Lucius, and look upon your punishment,” he ordered.

Lucius did so, remaining knelt but lifting his head to gaze at his wife.

“You have taken something dear from me, Lucius,” he said. “Thus, I will take something dear from you.”

He saw the tremble in Lucius’ body as he stared at his wife. Narcissa gazed back, her face remaining blank, but a small tremble wracking her body as well. He gave them that singular moment before waving his wand and watching the green light hit Narcissa in the chest. She fell in a heap on the floor, her empty eyes staring straight ahead. Lucius released an agonized choking sob and crawled over to Narcissa, pulling her into his lap.

He sneered at the display, but ignored it to look at his circle of Death Eaters.

“Tomorrow students return to Hogwarts,” he said. “If you have a child that attends, go home and tell them this. If Draco Malfoy returns to Hogwarts, they are to show him what happens to traitors.”

A murmur of assent ran through the circle.

“Whoever finds a way to get Draco to me will receive a wonderful honour,” he said. “Now, go.”

He watched with satisfaction as they all disappeared in black smoke, leaving him with the sobbing Lucius and dead Narcissa.

What a pity.

Harry flew up in bed, flailing and a strangled scream still leaving his throat. He could feel hot tears pouring down his face and his skull was splitting in half. His screams settled into heavy sobs as he pulled his knees to his chest, pressed his forehead to his knees, and buried his fingers in his hair, clenching tightly. He flinched and whimpered when a weight fell on his knee.

“Potter, it’s just me,” a deep, calm voice said. “You are alright. You are in your room.”

Harry recognized Snape’s voice and presence, but couldn’t stop shaking with pain and fear. He’d had plenty of visions that summer, but never one so terrible.

“Potter, look at me,” Snape said, his tone commanding, but still gentle, at least for Snape.

Harry released his hair and raised his head, still sobbing as the movement caused searing pain in his head while his scar burned. It all made him feel ill.

“Drink,” Snape said and when the glass of a vial touched his lip, Harry immediately opened his mouth.

As soon as he swallowed, the effects were immediate, telling him it was the modified Pain Reliever Snape had created for him, and he’d never been so thankful for the man in his life. In that moment, he didn’t care that he was supposed to be angry with Snape and distancing himself. He’d do that later. Right then, he wanted whatever the professor was willing to give him and he didn’t give a damn that it was Snape of all people.

He was still shaking and his scar burning, but the headache was ebbing away. He let his head fall back against the wall, eyes closed and hands falling between his thighs and stomach. He jumped when his damp hair was pushed from his forehead, but relaxed as gentle fingers covered his scar with a cool gel. As the burning eased, he knew it had to be the other concoction Snape invented for him.

Once applied, the hand retreated, much to Harry’s confused disappointment, but returned, much to Harry’s confused delight, as a comforting weight on his knee. It wasn’t like Snape at all, but he didn’t care. He needed it, the grounding feeling. Despite all their issues, Snape had been there all summer and he needed it this one last time.

Aside from his own shuddering breaths that echoed in his ears, it was completely silent around him, as it usually was. He wasn’t sure Snape realized how much he appreciated the quiet that allowed him to calm down and gather clear thoughts. He had to stop himself from thinking about the odd comfort he’d begun to feel with Snape’s presence. It would be gone forever tomorrow, so best not to acknowledge it.

“Potter?”

He finally opened his eyes and they instantly fell on the professor who was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him with the dark eyes he realized he was no longer terrified of. They were as unreadable as always, but the paler than usual complexion made him remember and his eyes widened as they flew to the man’s neck, the only part of the injury he could see.

“Professor! You…you’re…I…” he stuttered, the horror of what he’d seen setting in. He started coughing as his strained throat stung. His eyes watered and his chest restricted at the harsh coughs. He managed to open his eyes when he felt something tap against his arm and found Snape holding a glass of water. He took it and gulped it down gratefully before lowering it to hold against his thighs, glad for another distraction.

“I am alright, Potter. It wasn’t you,” Snape said and Harry nodded, trying to remember that truth. “What did you see?”

“All of it,” Harry whispered. He then noticed movement behind Snape and his eyes flicked over the man’s shoulder, finding Malfoy hovering in the doorway with wide eyes. He knew it was worry he saw in the grey eyes and cursed everything that had allowed things to change only for it to have to be taken away.

“What happened?” Malfoy asked quietly.

Harry swallowed thickly as he remembered, squeezing his eyes shut as they burned with tears and the vision. “He…he killed her,” he breathed, pained, “as punishment.”

“Who?” Malfoy asked and, meeting the grey eyes, Harry could tell the blonde was terrified to know.

He felt a squeeze on his knee and choked on a sob at the softness he swore he could see in Snape’s eyes. Tears fell as he moved his eyes back to Malfoy.

“Your mother,” he whispered, watching the grey eyes shatter and the face turn white. “He killed her to punish Lucius for failing to find you.”

Snape’s hand on his knee tightened again. This was so unlike Snape—the comfort, the physical touches, the near affection—that it compounded all of Harry’s already existing pain. He wished it was real, wished it was his, wished he could keep it forever. It didn’t even matter that it was Snape. It felt like more because it was Snape. He so badly wished they were all someone else so he could keep hold of it and it would make sense.

He watched the professor turn and gesture for Malfoy to join them on the bed. The blonde did so with faraway eyes, falling heavily beside Snape near the foot of the bed, staring ahead unseeing. In another astonishing action, Snape settled his free hand on Malfoy’s thigh.

“It’s my fault,” Malfoy whispered brokenly into the deafening silence.

Harry felt his heart twist, remembering the Dursleys. He wanted to say something, wanted to tell Malfoy that, if what they’d been saying all summer was true and he wasn’t to blame for the Dursleys, then Malfoy certainly wasn’t to blame for this. Malfoy had done nothing but refuse to be trapped in clearly potentially fatal servitude and escape to survive.

“No, child, it’s not,” Snape said and Harry watched Malfoy turn teary eyes to the professor. “They made their choices.”

“They…she didn’t choose to die,” Malfoy said.

“Perhaps not, but they also did not choose you as they should have,” Snape said. “They chose him and that was their mistake.”

Harry remembered then the rest of the vision. “Sir, Malfoy’s in trouble.”

Snape looked back at him and nodded gravely. “Yes.”

“What do you mean?” Malfoy asked, fear joining his agony.

“He…he told all the Death Eaters with kids at Hogwarts…he told them to tell their kids to…to show you what happens to traitors,” Harry said.

Snape’s hand tightened on his knee for a third time and Malfoy’s ashen face pulled at his heart. A death warrant had just been assigned to Malfoy the second he entered Hogwarts.

Severus closed the door to Malfoy’s room, having finally gotten both boys back to sleep and released a shuddering groan of pain. He headed downstairs quietly, not wanting to disturb the sleeping teens, no matter how fitful their sleep may be. As soon as he entered the downstairs study, he wordlessly summoned the Pain Reliever tailored to the effects of the Cruciatus and downed it. He dropped the vial carelessly on a desk and moved to the fireplace. How badly he wanted to just heal himself and go to bed, but the conversation had to be had.

So, he tossed in the Floo Powder and called out, “Albus Dumbledore!”

“Severus?”

“Might you step through for a moment? There is much to discuss,” Severus said.

“Of course, my boy.”

Severus grabbed the back of a desk chair to stay steady as he watched Dumbledore step out of the fireplace.

“Are you alright, Severus?” Dumbledore asked.

“I’m fine,” Severus snapped, ignoring the tears in his clothing and the blood that was continuing to soak into his shirt under his robe.

“The hell you are. Sit down.”

Severus turned his head and rolled his eyes at Alexei and Leif. “Join us, please, I insist,” he said dryly, glaring at them.

“Enough of that,” Leif said.

“You are seriously injured. I can smell it,” Alexei said. “Now, sit.”

Considering the strength of a vampire, Severus really didn’t have a choice as he was pushed into the chair he had been leaning on. He gave Alexei another scowl for good measure as he somewhat cooperated in getting his robe and tattered, bloody shirt off. He winced as the shirt pulled the skin, having begun to dry to his body in spots. He listened to Alexei mutter away in Russian while summoning items from the lab to begin treating the deep gashes that encircled his arms, chest, and neck and were still seeping blood. When Leif joined in with his own Greek accent-laden Russian, Severus turned back to Dumbledore.

“He wants me to find a way to make Potter get the prophecy,” Severus said. “He is aware of the link they share. He had been sending the boy dreams to make him eventually go after the prophecy.”

“Harry’s Occlumency?” Dumbledore asked and Severus glared.

“No recent progress given we have been at odds for the last two weeks since he discovered the prophecy,” Severus said.

“He must learn, especially if Voldemort is aware of the connection,” Dumbledore said. “Who knows what he may do with it.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Severus snapped, hissing as Alexei touched a wound, gaining a quiet apology from the vampire. “Trust is needed and any I may have gained has effectively been broken. Not to mention, you are the one who said we must all break ties made this summer. How am I to do that if you also wish me to teach Potter Occlumency?”

“Given you do not care for young Harry, I have faith in your ability to remain professional as you have the last four years,” Dumbledore said with an oddly pointed tone. “Gentleness is not what Harry needs now, not if he is to survive and learn to fight.”

Leif and Alexei’s Russian conversation seemed to grow more fervent, both shooting glares at the headmaster.

“And what of Malfoy?” Severus asked, choosing not to argue about Dumbledore’s continued insistence that Potter be treated like a soldier. “The Dark Lord no longer wants him for recruitment. Malfoy is a traitor that he wants dead and he has put a bounty on the boy’s head the minute he enters Hogwarts.”

“What are you asking of me, Severus?” Dumbledore asked.

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “You know perfectly well.”

“What would you have me do?” Dumbledore asked. “Expel any suspected Death Eater children? Pull Draco out of Slytherin house? Have an armed guard follow Draco around?”

“Some protection, yes! The boy is in danger,” Severus said loudly.

“He has made his choices,” Dumbledore said almost lightly.

Severus glowered. “He did not choose his parents. He did not choose this.”

“He chose to leave.” It was said so casually, Severus was surprised the headmaster didn't shrug.

“Would you have rather he become a Death Eater?” Severus snapped.

“No, but there is nothing I can do for him,” Dumbledore said.

“No, there’s nothing you will do,” Severus spat.

“We will,” Leif said suddenly and Severus frowned at his friend. “I think you’ve been allowed to play your game for far too long.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Marcus, but, outside Hogwarts and with no connection to the boy, there is truly nothing you can do,” Dumbledore said.

Severus watched as Leif stepped up to Dumbledore, a cold smirk accompanying his hard, green eyes. “Well, Lady Magic seems to have her own ideas.” He pulled out a roll of parchment and held it out to Dumbledore who read it curiously. “Best make some room at the dinner table, Albus. We’ll send along our schedules.”

Severus watched the two curiously. Whatever Leif had given Dumbledore had not made the headmaster overly happy. He couldn’t find it in him to care, not when Dumbledore was so adamantly refusing Malfoy protection and forcing Potter to be a soldier. How was the man so willing to harm these two boys? Couldn’t Dumbledore see that they weren’t what he wanted and, if he forced it, they would break, the way Severus himself had?

“You keep going like this, you can expect another document soon,” Leif said, his voice low. “You will have no ties or claims to them beyond ‘headmaster’. Best be ready to lose your soldiers.”

Dumbledore handed the parchment back to Leif. “I appreciate the quick report, Severus. I will see what I can do about the position you have been put in. I will see you tomorrow, my boy. Good night.”

Severus just gave a sharp nod and they all watched Dumbledore disappear back through the fireplace. He, Leif, and Alexei were silent for a moment while Alexei finished healing Severus’ lacerations.

“Do you see now?” Leif said, turning around.

“What would you have me do? Risk our lives?” Severus said.

“You are already at risk, all of you,” Alexei said. “But Dumbledore will use that risk against you.”

“You can’t let him have them,” Leif said. “What do we want you to do? Fight, for them, because besides us, no one else is going to.”

“Their powers need us,” Alexei said. “Their hearts need you.”