2 - Down the Rabbit Hole

After a fall such as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling downstairs!

~ Alice, "Alice in Wonderland"

A/N: Remember: First part is present, second part is past.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I write to learn. No money is being made.

Chapter 2 – Down the Rabbit Hole

The task of sorting through Severus Snape's personal effects fell to Harry. Snape's will was discovered in the Headmaster's office two weeks after the final battle, and for some reason, he had left everything to Harry for one week following the reading of his will; after that, ownership transferred to Draco. There was no explanation, and no one who had known Snape could offer any enlightenment.

Snape's portrait had not yet been activated, and it wouldn't be until after the transfer of ownership had taken place.

One thing Hermione knew, however, was that Snape had wanted Harry to find something among his belongings. She was convinced of this, and so she persuaded her friend to turn oversight of the task over to her, so that she could keep proper records of everything and lay eyes on every single item Snape had owned.

Harry had easily agreed, wanting to be quite out of sight from anyone, and so Hermione was at Hogwarts, in Snape's quarters, with Ron, Ginny, and Neville. She had a system in place, and everything was going according to plan.

As she watched her friends go through Snape's things, Hermione couldn't help but feel slightly ill at ease. The things in this room and his classroom had meant something to their former Potions professor, and they were now being treated with the respect one gave to something they didn't care about. She sighed; it was to be expected, she realized. There was no way they could care for Snape's things the way he had. She only wished they hadn't needed to be caring for them at all and that Snape had somehow lived through the war. The more she learned about him, the true tragedy of his life was laid open before her, and she wished that she had taken the time to see through his cold, hard exterior when she had the chance.

"Look at this," said Ron, pulling a small, wooden box from one of the desk drawers. He brought it to Hermione excitedly, clearly hoping for some kind of recognition from her. They still hadn't been able to talk about the kiss, and Hermione kept putting it off.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, peering into the box. Set into the box was a thin strip with six holes. Three of them were empty, but the other three contained vials in which a pale blue, silvery liquid floated and swirled of its own accord.

"Memories," said Ron, pulling one of the vials out. "Two of them have Malfoy's name on them."

Hermione frowned. "Malfoy? Let me see."

Ron handed her the one he was holding.

Sure enough, there was a label on it, Malfoy's name written in abrupt scrawl. Her thoughts dashed back to the night on the tower when she'd come across Malfoy. He had said that Snape was the only one could help him ... What had he meant? Could these vials have something to do with it?

"Thanks, Ron," she said, giving him a hurried smile and taking the box from him.

He stood there for a moment longer before returning to his task, and Hermione felt awful. She had been the one to kiss him, and she had barely paid him any attention since. Granted, it had been a tumultuous week for everyone. No one really had much time for anyone, with everything that had to be done. There had already been so many funerals that Hermione had been grateful for the opportunity to do something worthwhile that would take her mind off things. Ron and Ginny were with her now for the same reason: something to do to take their minds off their grief.

Hermione added the box of vials to her inventory and looked at all three. Only two were labeled "Draco," which made her even more curious about the third. She set the box to the side so she wouldn't get it mixed in with everything else.

ooo

Hermione tapped her foot impatiently, her arms folded across her chest and a look of annoyance on her face. This lift was too bloody slow.

"You know, Miss, the lift won't move any faster just because you wish it."

She looked at the man beside her, a tall wizard in the traditional garb of a warden of Azkaban prison, and fought the urge to scowl at him. When she turned away, she stopped tapping her foot, but that did not make her any more patient.

Finally, the lift stopped, and Hermione followed the man down a long hallway and through a door with the number twenty-three written on the outside in red.

"Here you are, Miss Granger, as requested. Prisoner number fifty-seven forty-two. Please knock on the door when you are finished." Without a second glance, the man returned through the door, shutting it behind him.

Slowly, Hermione turned her gaze to the center of the room, where prisoner fifty-seven forty-two sat at a wide table. He wore grey prison robes and his hands were magically bound, like handcuffs, keeping them together. The color complimented his pale complexion and his eyes, but she was disturbed to see that his hair had been shorn.

Bald was not a good look on Draco Malfoy.

When her eyes finally found his, he quirked an eyebrow. "Granger."

His voice broke whatever spell she'd been under, and she crossed to the chair opposite his, sat down, and then pulled the vials from her purse, setting them on the table.

Draco frowned as he watched her.

"Do you know what these are?" she asked.

"No," he said simply, looking back at her.

"Allow me to enlighten you. The substance inside each of these vials is called Memoriola liquoris. They are memories, Malfoy." His expression still showed no sign of recognition. "We found them in Snape's things," she added quietly.

Then his eyes widened, and he turned interested eyes back on the vials. "What do they have to do with me?"

"Two of them have your name on them, and the other, though unlabeled, is also about you."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "I take it you've viewed them, then?"

"I have," she replied, averting her eyes from his piercing gaze. "They were given to Harry, through Snape's will, but they will become your property tomorrow night at midnight." She took the vials in her hand. "I think Snape wanted us to find these. That he knew you'd be sent to prison, and so someone would have to search his things to uncover these. He left everything at first to Harry because he knew that I would take care with his things and successfully recover the memories."

"I've known ..." Draco paused, pain flashing briefly through his eyes. "I knew Snape all of my life. Those memories could be about anything."

Hermione sighed. "They aren't simply random memories, Malfoy." She started absently fidgeting with one of the vials. "What I want to know is ... why?"

Their eyes met, and Draco stared at her, hard. "Why what?" he asked finally.

"Why didn't you tell ... anyone?" she asked, not wanting to say what she was thinking. Why didn't you tell me?

"I couldn't," he replied. "Snape forbade it. Besides, who could I tell? None of my friends, none of the teachers; I certainly couldn't tell my parents."

She looked at him with a slight frown. How could he not have thought of her? After what he had done, saving her life ... They had formed a bond that night, or so she had thought. Surely he knew he could trust her!

"What?" he said.

"Well," she started, not sure if she wanted to say what she'd been thinking. "You might have considered possibly telling me."

Draco frowned. "You?"

"Forget it," she said quickly, rummaging through her purse so she wouldn't have to look at him. "Here. The wizard representing you before the Wizengamot wants you to go over this list of questions and prepared answers."

Draco took the scroll from Hermione and looked at it warily. "When is it? The trial, I mean."

"It starts in two weeks," she replied softly.

"Did you look into that cream I told you about?" he asked suddenly.

Hermione blinked, surprised at the change in conversation. "I did, yes. It works very well. The longer I use it, the more it's supposed to help."

"I'm glad," Draco said with a lopsided smile. "I, um, researched the curse Blaise used, and the lasting effects of the poison. Most sufferers recommended that cream."

She stared at him in surprise. He had spent time looking up a remedy that would alleviate her symptoms. She was rather flattered, which only added to the confusion she had been feeling for over a year.

"Thanks," she mumbled, looking at her hands.

"So, these memories," Draco said, picking up one of the vials and turning it in his fingers. "What are they, exactly? I'm guessing you wouldn't have brought them unless you thought they could be useful."

Hermione nodded, slipping into information-mode. "If these are accurate...we've got an appointment to have them verified tomorrow...they could go a long way toward ensuring that you get little to no prison time. Considering the circumstances behind your actions, I think we can get the Wizengamot to sympathize with your predicament. Harry can attest as well that Dumbledore knew of your task and wanted Snape to complete it. He's got his own set of memories, already authenticated, and..."

Draco held up a hand, his bonds forcing him to lift both. "Wait," he said. "What's all of this 'we' business? I have a court-appointed representative."

"I know," Hermione said. "I thought, seeing as I ... well, Ron, really, found these memories, that I would help."

"Help the court-appointed representative, who has been doing this for probably fifty years by the look of him?" Draco asked amusedly. "What exactly are you going to do? And, more importantly, why? Why would you help me?"

She frowned. "You saved my life. Isn't that enough?"

Draco let out an exasperated sigh and stood up. "After everything?" he said finally, leaning against the wall. "You want to help me?"

"Would you rather I not?" she asked defensively.

"No, I ... okay. Please continue. The memories."

Hermione didn't continue right away. "They contain evidence that you provided Snape with information for the Order. As I said, they need to be authenticated and checked against the timeline, but Snape was careful to always say the date in these. Once that's done, two of these would seem to indicate that your data was used by the Order, to good results. That, combined with everything else ... I think you've got a shot at avoiding a prison sentence."

---

---

September the first was a day Draco usually looked forward to. It meant the beginning of a new school term and seeing his friends again. This year, however, the last place on earth he wanted to be was Hogwarts. Well, scratch that. Hogwarts was second to last, just before anywhere the Dark Lord happened to be.

Narcissa stood with him, tall and proud, fussing over his robes.

Draco attempted to shrug her off, but she wouldn't be dissuaded.

"Head Boy," she said, a beautiful smile on her lips. "I'm so proud. You should be as well...you've earned it."

"Snape made me Head Boy to make Father happy," he replied dully.

Narcissa tutted. "Your grades speak for themselves."

There was no point in arguing with her, so Draco kept quiet. The platform was greatly subdued as compared with years past. None of the students were running around, greeting their friends, or laughing, or smiling. He spotted Longbottom with the youngest Weasley, saying goodbye to her parents in hushed voices, with suspicious eyes.

This year would certainly be different, Draco thought, looking around for Potter, Weasley, and ... Granger. He had thought of her more often then he would ever admit, usually under the pretense of thinking about her scar. Was it hurting her? Had she told anyone? Did she hate him now?

"There you are," said a new voice, one he recognized as belonging to his friend, Crabbe. "Let's get on the train and find a compartment. Maybe we can toss some first-years out of theirs." He chuckled to himself.

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes. He doubted he would be doing much bullying this year. His heart simply wasn't in it anymore.

"Hello, Vincent. Yes, Draco, hurry on," said Narcissa, adjusting Draco's tie one last time. "Do write to let me know how you are."

Draco didn't miss the anxious look in her eyes. "I will, Mum," he said and then left with Crabbe.

He couldn't remain too melancholy, or his friends would pick up on it and question him. So he joined in the conversation and echoed the sentiment that the year would be infinitely better without the old coot, despite the fact that he felt slightly nauseous at any mention of their former Headmaster.

Pansy was just as clingy, Crabbe and Goyle as dense, and Zabini as indifferent and aloof as ever. All Draco had to do was act pompous and he could get through without attracting any unwanted attention.

Halfway through the trip, Draco was summoned by a Prefect and told that he was required in McGonagall's cabin to discuss Head duties. He dreaded the thought of being faced with the woman, knowing she probably wanted to dismember him slowly and painfully and then torture him in pieces.

When he arrived, he saw Daphne Greengrass already inside, talking with McGonagall.

"Oh, good, Mr. Malfoy, you're here," said the older woman without looking at him. "I have just finished discussing your duties with Miss Greengrass. She can fill you in." With that, McGonagall left them alone in the compartment.

He looked at Daphne, who shrugged. "Can't really blame her, can you?" she said.

Draco scowled and mumbled, "Whatever."

Daphne sat across from him and started rattling off things McGonagall had told her. Draco barely paid her any attention, staring out the window, grateful for a moment where he didn't have to pretend that he was miserable.

"Draco? Did you hear me?"

He turned to look at the girl, and she huffed in annoyance. "I can't do all of this by myself, you know. I never imagined I'd be Head Girl, not with Granger in our year. I didn't want this either."

Granger? It only just occurred to him that she wasn't the one sitting across from him. Daphne was Head Girl, which meant that Snape had kept the Head positions in his own house. Interesting.

"You won't," Draco assured her. "Will you start over?"

ooo

The opening feast was vastly different without Dumbledore leading it. Snape was short, curt, and to the point, introducing the new teachers and laying down the new rules. Draco cringed when he learned that the Carrows, Amycus and Alecto, would be joining the staff. He had known that Snape had been given the position of Headmaster, but only now did he fully grasp that he Dark Lord had total control over the school.

About halfway through the meal, Draco received a slip of parchment from a small boy who could only have been a first-year. Puzzled, he opened it discreetly.

Draco –

Come to my office immediately following dinner. The password is leirion.

S.S.

He frowned, stuffed the note into an inner pocket, and continued his meal. Since promising Draco that he would help him, Snape hadn't spoken to him once. Granted, Draco only saw him when he came around for meetings, but even then, he didn't spare Draco a glance. It was terribly frustrating, as Draco had kept up his end. He sought the company of his parents, his father in particular, as often as possible in order to pick up any scraps of information he thought Snape might want. He had ten sections of parchment, two feet each, full of detailed notes. Perhaps Snape would want them tonight?

After dinner, Draco shrugged Pansy off and solemnly made his way to the Headmaster's office. He had only been there a couple of times before and always when he had gotten in trouble. Dumbledore had only ever been understanding and fair. Draco's stomach threatened to return his meal if he continued to think about the old man.

"Leirion," Draco muttered to the gargoyle.

He knocked on the door, and Snape admitted him.

"Please, take a seat," Snape instructed, pouring two cups of tea. He set one of them before Draco and began sipping from his own. "What do you think of the changes?" Snape asked.

Draco added a lump of sugar to his tea and took a swallow. "Interesting," he said, his thoughts turning to Professor Burbage, the former ... the late Professor of Muggle Studies. Draco took another large drink, hoping to quash the image that had been burned into his brain that awful night. Then his head felt thick and foggy, and ...

Then Draco yawned and opened his eyes, squinting in the light. A glance out the window told him the sun had set, but just a second ago, it had been light. "Did I ... did I fall asleep?" Draco asked.

"No," said Snape, who was standing by the window now, where moments earlier he had been sitting at his desk. "I used Veritaserum on you."

Draco looked at his tea cup, now sitting on Snape's desk, half-consumed. "You ... why?"

"I knew that you could trust me, but you did not," Snape stated, returning to sit at his desk. "I had to be sure that I could trust you, and this was the most expedient way."

"Trust me?" Draco repeated. "About what?"

Snape didn't answer, only put his wand to his head and whispered a spell. When he removed his wand, a thin wisp of silvery-fluid followed, attached to the tip of his wand. Snape then pulled the wisp fully from his head and deposited it into a basin that shimmered with a blue light.

"Would you like to see what we discussed?" Snape asked, putting his wand away.

"Uh ... sure." Draco had no idea what he was agreeing to.

"Good," said Snape. "Just touch the liquid in the Pensieve, and I will follow you through."

Draco hesitantly reached his hand out, pausing to glance at his professor and long-time mentor before dipping a single finger into the substance. Instantly, he was pulled in and then dropped into the same room, a few feet from Snape's desk. He looked around and then started when he saw himself sitting in the seat opposite Snape. Neither his other self nor Snape paid him any attention.

"This is my memory of our conversation," said Snape's voice behind him. "They ... well, we cannot hear or see us."

Draco jumped. "You startled me."

"Just watch," said Snape, moving to look around the room.

Draco turned his attention to the memory, already in progress.

"What is your name?" Snape asked.

"Draco Abraxas Malfoy."

Draco moved closer to his memory-self and saw that his eyes were glazed over and he stared unseeingly ahead, not at Snape, not at anything.

"How old are you, and when is your birthday?"

"Seventeen. June 5."

"Where is your birthmark located?" Snape continued.

"My inner right thigh."

Draco glanced at Snape, slightly embarrassed that he had been asked that question, and more so that Snape knew the answer.

"Did you know that your mother and I took an Unbreakable Vow before you began school last year?"

Draco's eyes widened as his memory-self gave a monotone negative response. "What?"

"Just watch," Snape drawled.

"Did you willingly take the Mark?" the memory-Snape asked.

"Yes."

"Do you still wish to be a Death Eater?"

Draco gaped at the memory, anxious for what he would answer. The memory-Draco didn't even hesitate, if such a thing was possible under the Truth Serum.

"No."

Draco glanced at Snape, who was still perusing the office. Snape was one of the Dark Lord's most trusted and revered followers. If he shared this conversation with anyone, it could get Draco in a lot of trouble. Or killed. No one expressed any other sentiment than that they wanted to follow the Dark Lord above all else.

"Are you interested in taking action against the Dark Lord?"

Draco's eyes widened, and the blood drained from his face. Snape was trying to get him to say something that would amount to treason against the Dark Lord. He would be killed for sure! Why? Why would he...

"Yes. I don't know," said memory-Draco.

"I take it you haven't given this course much thought."

"No."

"Why is that?" Snape asked.

"There is no other course," his memory-self replied. "I'm in now, and everyone knows that no one gets out."

"I wasn't suggesting that you would ... leave his services," memory-Snape replied slowly. "Have you been collecting information this summer, as I instructed?"

"Yes, sir."

The memory-Snape nodded, pleased. "That is good, Draco. How do you feel about continuing this task through the school year and reporting to me on a regular basis?"

"That would be fine."

"That is enough," said Snape, taking Draco's arm firmly in hand.

As the vision swirled, Draco saw the memory-Snape tap his memory-self with his wand. Then they were back in Snape's office, the windows once again dark. Draco sank heavily into his chair and put his head in his hands.

"Are you going to turn me in?" he asked dejectedly.

He heard the sound of Snape's robes rustling as the older man spun around to look at him. "What gives you the idea I would do such a thing?"

"You ... those questions!" Draco replied, feeling as though the room were shrinking around him. "What else would you want to do with that information?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "You are forgetting everything that led up to that conversation, Draco." Then, in a lower voice, he added, "You and Potter are not so dissimilar." Louder, "Neither of you listen."

Draco frowned, trying to recall what they had said before. "You wanted to know if you could trust me."

"Exactly. If I had asked you those same questions without the Truth Serum, you would have been afraid to give me the truthful answer. I could have sensed your dishonesty through Legilimency, but our time would still have been wasted. Now I know that you are at least somewhat willing to work against him."

"Sir," said Draco, shifting in his seat, unable to get comfortable. "Why ... why would you want me to do that?"

Snape peered down at him for a moment and then sat down, folding his hands on the desk. "Draco. I understand the position you were in last year. I know that you do not wish to be where you are right now...in the Dark Lord's service. Not only are you too young for such a terrible burden, but clearly you aren't cut out for the job."

Draco opened his mouth to protest and then shut it again. At one time, he would have vehemently argued that he did, in fact, want to work for the Dark Lord and that he had what was necessary to be an efficient soldier in the Dark army. Now, however, he knew that it wasn't so, and for some reason didn't mind Snape knowing the truth.

"You've been forced to grow up early," Snape said. "And you have a maturity now that few of your schoolmates share. To them, it's still a glorious concept to be one of the Dark Lord's chosen." He looked intently at Draco. "You have a choice. You may either work against the Dark Lord or for him; there is truly no in between. If you are not actively resisting, then you are allowing his reign of terror to continue."

Draco's jaw dropped, and once again, he quickly shut it, staring in amazement at the newest Headmaster. "Sir?" he began. "I ... I don't understand." What Snape had just said would get him killed, no questions asked, if Draco repeated it to anyone.

I knew that you could trust me, but you did not. I had to be sure that I could trust you.

Snape waited patiently, watching Draco while his mind spun in a hundred different directions. No matter which path he took, they all led to the same conclusion. "You really are a spy?"

"Yes," Snape said simply.

Draco felt as though he might lose his dinner after all. How? ... Why? ... What ... what about ... "Dumbledore?" Draco gasped.

Snape sighed. "He knew about your duty as well. I was entrusted with the task of making sure you did not complete yours. He wanted you to have the chance to decide your future without the impossible circumstances laid on you."

The room suddenly felt oppressively hot, and Draco looked frantically for something to do about it. Upon spotting a bin in the corner, he bolted from his seat and retched until there was nothing left inside him. When he'd finished, Snape handed him a wet rag and a glass of water.

Draco accepted both and wiped his mouth, then downed the water, feeling his body begin to cool after being sick. He knew he would soon be shivering, and he remained seated on the floor, moving away from the bin and pulling his knees to his chest.

The old man had known. Well, he had said as much that night on the tower, but he truly had wanted Draco to have another chance, a different future than the one that had kept him up night after night.

Draco ... you are not a killer ...

He had a choice now, just as he had on the tower that night. He had almost made the right one then, but it would have been too late even if he had. Now ...

"What must I do?"

ooo

End Notes: Okay, okay, the last line is totally from "Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring." I even picture Draco closing his hand around a solid gold ring. Well, maybe not. :D

Many thanks to Shug, Pokeystar, and elyaeru for the excellent betas!