Mundungus’ Fate

Hermione was seated on the very edge of the small cot, staring directly across at the stone wall. The food, which was sitting below the particular stone she was admiring, held no appeal. She was waiting for something, though what, her mind could not quite grasp.

Her breath came out in slow and steady billowing puffs of white smoke, and she thought she must have been a dragon in a previous life, making such nice white clouds of smoke. She lifted one hand from her lap and placed it in front of her face, cupping it to her mouth as she imagined herself soaring high above the ground, looking down on the earth from a great distance. Her hand dropped to her side, and she closed her eyes as she felt the wind rustling through her hair.

She opened her eyes abruptly, her thoughts about being a dragon quickly forgotten when she became aware of him, her master, as he stood outside the cell door. The sconces on the wall flared to life, temporarily blinding her, and she blinked her eyes a few times to focus them before quickly jumping off the cot and lying prostrate on the floor beside the bed.

“I have brought you a present, Mudblood,” Lucius spoke casually as he entered the cell and with a flick of his wand, dumped the body of Mundungus in a heap on the floor. He had wanted to test a theory ever since he had read about it in a Dark text he had pursued when looking for the key to the collar his slave wore around her neck, and this was the first opportunity he had had to do so.

As the stench met her nostrils, she tried not to gag; she did not dare to look up to greet her master, as she had paid once, quite dearly, for that offence. So instead, she lay there on the unpleasantly cold and hard stone floor awaiting his commands.

“Oh, do get up,” Lucius mocked in feigned indignation. There was a tinge of excitement lacing his voice, and Hermione shuddered inwardly. She realised that this would be another one of his tests.

Rising, she chanced a look at the gift her master had brought her; it was most certainly the cause of her sinus passages flaring, and there was something wrong with the thing that made her want to growl and snarl. She contained the harsh sound that was bubbling up into her throat and took a deep breath.

“Tsk, not eating again, I see.” Lucius's voice broke through her thoughts as he spun around from the table upon which her meagre meal sat, placing his wand into its casing as he looked at her.

“I want you to eat everything that I provide for you,” he said.

‘Yes, Master,’ she replied into his mind as she studied a crack in the stone floor. How could she explain to him that the food made her feel ill?

“Now, is that the way you show your Master your appreciation for the gift he has brought you?” Lucius asked, his voice growing more aggressive as he neared the end of his sentence.

‘Sorry, Master,’ Hermione replied as she quickly scrambled to kneel before him, scraping her already abused knees on the stone floor.

Her small hands reached up to brush his robes out of the way as she made quick work of his belt and trousers. Lucius stopped her with the head of his cane at her throat just as she was about to reach inside, her mouth open to receive him.

“That is not the proper way to treat your guest, slave,” he snarled out, and Hermione was once again struggling to do or say the right thing so as not to anger him. He had a nasty temper, as she had learnt, but if she went through the motions and pleased him before he got to that stage, she knew that she would come off relatively unscathed.

Hermione dared not move from where she was kneeling before him; in her fear, she did not shift even a millimetre.

“Tut, tut…” Lucius sounded as though he was bitterly disappointed in her, which made her heart break a little. If only she could come up with the right thing to say or do; but she was no mind reader.

Lucius removed his cane from her throat, and pulling his wand from its casing, he pointed it at the thing that was causing the sickening odour in the room. She had almost forgotten about it, as she was so focused on satisfying the man before her. Anything to please him.

“Ennervate,” said Lucius in a half sigh, and she heard a groan from the other side of the room, though she dared not take a second glance over towards it.

Mundungus awoke to a splitting headache. He felt as if he had been run over repeatedly by the Knight Bus. Cradling his head in his hand, he squinted in the light, and his eyes widened as his focus returned.

“So pleased that you could join us,” Lucius drawled in a haughty voice.

Mundungus couldn’t do anything but stare at the scene before him, his mouth gaping open as he sat glued to the spot. The senior Malfoy was standing not two metres away from him with a woman kneeling at his feet, her hands reaching up towards him, though what she was grasping at he couldn’t tell from this angle, as her back was to him. She had not a stitch of clothing on, except for a metal collar adorning her neck, though what it was for, Mundungus couldn’t begin to guess. He blinked and shook his head a few times to clear it, but that only made the headache worse, so he stilled his movements.

“Slave, shouldn’t you greet your guest?” Lucius spoke, his eyes never leaving those of Mundungus.

‘Yes, Master,’ her mind supplied, although Lucius could feel the tension radiating from her body.

Excellent, he thought to himself as he watched her slowly turn around to face the other wizard in the cell.

She could not help the low growl that came from her throat. Her body was shaking with the pressure of holding herself still, and her mind screamed at her to get the intruder out of her cell.

Lucius almost laughed out loud when he heard the growl coming from the Mudblood.

Oh, this will be fun, he thought as he did up his pants, but still hung onto his wand.

He made his way over to the prisoner, wand held firmly in one hand as he started tapping it into his other hand.

Mundungus sat transfixed as he stared at the naked woman, who was still kneeling. She looked vaguely familiar, and he tried to rack his abused memory for where he had seen her before. Suddenly a gasp left his throat as he recognised her. His stomach plummeted into the floor. This was Harry Potter’s friend, Hermione Granger.

“Hermione,” he choked out, rubbing his eyes with his one good hand in case it was an illusion conjured by the demon in the cell.

The sound of laughter met his ears, but he couldn’t for the life of him tear his eyes from the vision of a naked Miss Granger in front of him.

“I see that you two are already acquainted,” Lucius said, the laughter still ringing in his voice. “This will make what happens next all the more delicious.”

It was then that Mundungus looked up into the eyes of Lucius Malfoy; he cringed back in fear as he saw the wizard’s features take on a look of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

“Mudblood,” he said to the girl as though she were an encumbrance at best, “go greet your guest.” Mundungus watched on as he saw her move jerkily towards him. He noticed the hesitation with which she did so.

“Now!” Lucius spoke with the promise of retribution if his orders were not carried out immediately, and Mundungus hastily held up both hands, his throbbing head and shoulder forgotten, as she let out a pure, animalistic cry and lunged towards him.

She was upon him in the blink of an eye, and Mundungus did not have a chance to retaliate. She was biting and scratching him, and he registered that she was quite strong for such a small thing.

He brought his left leg up and kicked out with all of his strength, sending her sprawling across the cell and into the cot against the wall as he stumbled to his feet. His broken shoulder, ribs and head made themselves felt once more as he swayed on the spot, his back leaning heavily on the wall behind him as he waited for her to come at him again.

“Now, is that any way to treat a woman, even if she is Mudblood filth?” Lucius protested, but Mundungus didn’t take his eyes off Hermione. He realised, to his horror, that the metal collar must be controlling her and making her lash out at him. They had never been close; he couldn’t even remember having talked to her, but he had never seen her raise a hand in violence. In fact, he remembered her as being a polite young lady on the few occasions he had seen her at Grimmauld Place. Surely she must recognise him.

Lucius sighed as he raised his wand and pointed it towards the wizard in the cell. If he wasn’t going to play fair then neither would Lucius.

“Petrificus Totalus,” Lucius said, and Mundungus felt his body stiffen like a board, and a second later he crashed to the floor. The pain radiating from his shoulder and ribs was too much to bear, and he lost consciousness for a brief moment.

When he awoke, he found himself staring at the ceiling, his wide eyes darting around. He couldn’t move as he struggled against the invisible bindings that held him. He thought his heart would come crashing out of his chest, it was beating so fast. It did no good to struggle, for he couldn’t break the curse, so instead he strained to hear what was going on in the room.

Now that the waste of breathing space was bound, Lucius walked calmly over towards his slave. No one would hurt her except for him, and he was furious with himself for not binding the man sooner.

He crouched down towards the Mudblood and pushed her wayward hair out of her eyes tenderly.

Hermione groaned; the stench was all-encompassing, and she couldn’t breathe. It was in her nose and on her body and hands, and she felt like ripping her skin off to get rid of it. But then she felt the hand of her master pushing her hair aside, and she leant into it for a brief second, nuzzling it as if she were an animal instead of a human being.

“Can you stand?” Lucius asked, concern infusing the question.

Hermione nodded her head once as she replied, ‘Yes, Master,’ into his mind.

Lucius helped her stand as he sighed with relief. She had a big egg-shaped bump on her head, and there was blood trickling down her forehead from a nasty, ragged gash, probably from her collision with the metal bed frame.

She let out another snarl as her eyes focused beadily on the man now bound in her cell.

“Do hold still,” Lucius remarked as he held on to her by the arm, bringing up his wand to close the wound and heal the bump on her head.

“Better?” he asked, and she again answered him with the same words he had heard a thousand times in his mind.

“He is all yours now, Mudblood. He is bound and will do you no harm. Do your worst.” And with that, he released her arm and watched her rush over to the prostrate man like a starving buzzard, ready to gorge herself on his flesh.

Lucius watched, his eyes shining with pride, as she ripped into the man, and as the sounds of tearing flesh met his ears, a sadistic grin made its way onto his face as he made his way towards his Mudblood slave and the wizard.

It was times like this he loved being a Malfoy.

***

Lucius reappeared from behind the hidden stones that held the Mudblood’s prison, a look of pure bliss on his face. Who would have thought that it would end so well for him? It was beyond his wildest imagination.

So it was true; she would destroy anyone without the Dark Mark on their forearm.

He smiled to himself as he made his way into his personal study, the wand of the wizard whom he had just had the pleasure of seeing annihilated now taken out of his breast pocket and resting in his hand. He swung his cane around in a circle as he reached the door. Lowering the wards that were in place, he strode purposefully to the fireplace. Tapping the stones above it, he laid the wand into the crevice that appeared. Taking one look at the Mudblood’s wand, he thought back to what had just occurred in his slave’s cell.

She had ripped into the wizard as though he were an overripe tomato. The blood and flesh oozed from her open mouth, her teeth were bared, and her fingers, hands and breasts were coated in red. One look at his slave, and Lucius was instantly hard. He had taken her right there on the stone floor while the disfigured remains of the wizard were rapidly cooling. She was still hunched over the wizard, breathing heavily, although she knew he was dead. He had forced his hard cock into her from behind, but not before placing a cushioning charm on the floor, as he hung onto her hips in a bruising manner and pulled her roughly towards him, entering her in one cruel stroke. The wizard had looked a fright when his slave had finished with him, and that made their coupling even more frenzied, as the sight of all that blood had made his groin twist in anticipation. He never took his eyes off the glazed, blank eyes of the dead wizard, now wide open and staring. His body was twisted and mangled to a point of almost non-recognition, and Lucius had fucked the Mudblood harder because of it. Her small body was covered with the drying blood of the man she had just killed. It was magnificent.

After he had finished, shouting out his completion, he had called a house-elf to dispose of the body and clean up the mess. He then cast an air-purifying charm around the room. After all, he was responsible for the Mudblood’s safety and sanity.

He came back to himself as he heard a disturbance at the door and whirled around quickly, dropping the wand that was in his hand and not bothering to close up the hole.

Narcissa stood just over the threshold of the room, her mouth agape and her eyes held wide open with a look of terror upon her face.

“Lucius, you promised me.” The voice of his wife met his ears, as she took in his appearance.

“No more,” she continued shaking her head, “it stops here. I let you drag our son into this madness, but you promised me that there would be no more of it in our home. I’m taking Draco to France in the morning.” Her hands were balled into fists at her side; she was shaking with adrenaline, and she had the look of a very determined woman.

“How many times have I told you not to disturb me whilst I am in my private rooms?” Lucius’s tone was quiet, so quiet that Narcissa had to strain to hear him. Then he was advancing, and Narcissa could not will her body to move; it was as though she were attached to the spot, and it was all happening in slow motion.

Suddenly, Lucius was upon her, his gloved hand around her throat.

Narcissa could still smell the blood on her husband and was startled into action. “The door was open, I just thought…” she started, true terror in her voice as she began to plead with her husband.

“You thought what? That you would come into my sanctuary and disturb my peace?” Lucius spat as the hand around her throat grew tighter. “You thought you could take my son away from me? You thought that you could stand up against me? I am your husband,” he yelled in her face, and she could feel the bits of spit and his hot, panting breath on her cheek. Her eyes bulged as she struggled for air.

Narcissa's perfectly-manicured fingernails clawed at his hand, tightening around her throat, though it was doing her no good. She needed air and realised with fear that if she didn’t get it soon, she would pass out or possibly die.

She used every ounce of strength in her body to bring her knee up to meet her husband's groin. As her knee made contact, Lucius let out a shriek of surprise as his hand dropped to protect his assets.

Narcissa stood gasping for air as she watched her husband fall to his knees, cradling his crotch. She had never done anything so undignified in her life, and the implications of her actions were only now starting to become visible as she gasped for air.

She scrambled for footing on the highly polished marble floor as she turned around and ran as best she could in her high heels. If only she could get to the foyer and Apparate anywhere, she knew she would be safe.

As that thought entered her mind she laughed out loud at the absurdity of that statement. Pureblood witches didn’t run for their lives from their husbands; they stood there and took whatever was coming their way, as her mother and grandmother had done.

Narcissa could see the foyer within her reach as she rounded the corner and saw the daunting staircase in her way. Suddenly, she was knocked off her feet and sent sprawling to the floor. The wind had been knocked out of her, and she struggled for air.

She felt herself flipped over to face her abuser, her husband, as he straddled her body so she could not move. Her arms were pinned to her side by his knees as she felt his hands close once more around her throat.

She tried to fight back, but her attempt was in vain; her eyes bulged, and the last image she saw was that of her husband’s unrecognisable face, twisted in madness, as her vision slowly faded.

***

Ron flopped onto Harry’s bed in his room. Ron Weasley had been inducted into The Order almost a month ago, and since then he had seen many changes in his best mate. The most startling was the fact that he no longer hated Snape; in fact, he seemed almost cosy with him in the few interactions that he had seen.

Ron narrowed his eyes as he watched Harry pace.

“Oh, sit down,” the redhead said, patting the bed beside him, “you’re making me nervous pacing like that.”

Harry stood still and slowly turned to face Ron.

“Sorry,” he said, looking up awkwardly. “Just trying to use up some of my pent-up energy.”

“It’s okay, it’s just that you remind me of Snape when you do that.”

Harry cocked one eyebrow as he tried his best impersonation of Severus that he could manage.

“Gods,” Ron moaned; he threw a pillow at Harry, which was narrowly deflected. “Now you’re even starting to look like him.” Ron hid his head in his arms. The sound of amusement made him look up to see Harry holding onto his belly and trying very hard to clamp down on his laughter.

“Prat,” Ron said, smiling, and slowly getting up off Harry’s bed.

Harry’s laughter ended, and he looked at Ron. A serious look crossed his face.

“Everything is changing, Ron,” Harry said in a small voice, and for a split second, Ron was reminded of the thin, young boy Harry used to be.

“I know,” Ron replied looking at Harry honestly. “But it will be all right; after all, you have me by your side, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Ron smiled then, one of those smiles that could chase away all of Harry’s fears and doubts, and he smiled back at him.

“It’s you and me against the world, Harry,” Ron stated, his face serious now.

“Thanks, Ron. You’re the best mate a friend could ask for,” Harry replied, his hand coming up to rest on Ron’s shoulder.

Ron’s smile grew at that. “I know,” Ron said plainly.

Harry’s arm dropped from Ron’s shoulder as he punched him good naturedly in the shoulder.

“Ow,” Ron cried out, his arm automatically coming up to rub his shoulder. He looked up to find Harry holding in his laughter once more.

“You’ll pay for that,” said Ron as he crash tackled Harry onto the floor.

Yes, Harry thought as he narrowly missed Ron’s elbow to the ribs, I have really missed horsing around with Ron. He is the best friend a person can ask for.

When they were both struggling to breathe, sitting up and rubbing their various wounds, Harry’s eyes caught sight of the Marauder’s Map, lying open to his side. Reaching over towards it, while straightening up his glasses, he saw a familiar name appearing near the gates and then proceeding up the front lawns of Hogwarts.

“Bloody hell,” he swore under his breath as he reached over and pulled the map towards himself.

“What’s the matter?” Ron wheezed, as he leant towards Harry to take a look at the map, which was now clutched in his hands.

Pointing at the map, Harry replied, “He has some nerve showing his Death Eater face around here,” a tinge of bitterness lacing his voice.

Ron saw now what Harry was so worked up about as his eyes caught sight of the name Draco Malfoy, entering a passageway that led down to the dungeons.

“Wonder what he wants?” Ron said, screwing his face up as he stared at the dot on the map.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to go check it out,” Harry replied, as he struggled awkwardly to his feet.

Ron hastily stood too, as he clamped his hand down onto Harry’s arm to prevent him from doing anything rash.

“Hold on a second, Harry, you don’t have your cloak, and we don’t know when Remus will be back with it. Besides, it looks as though he’s heading towards Snape’s office, and won’t your newest pal tell you everything?” He looked over at Harry and smiled a mischievous smile which calmed his friend down a little. “Remus is probably off snogging Tonks in an unused classroom or something,” he added as an afterthought.

“You’re right,” Harry said, running a hand through his dark, tousled hair. “I guess I’m just going to have to be patient with this one.”

Harry looked down at the map once more, and therefore he missed the look of confusion that passed across Ron’s face.

***

Draco detested this feeling in the pit of his stomach. He found himself trudging up the front lawns to meet his godfather in Hogwarts, a place he had sworn to himself he would never, ever set foot in again. But this was a matter of the utmost importance, at least to the son of a Malfoy.

It was dark, and Draco was under a Disillusionment Charm, so he felt confident that he would meet with no one until he made it to his destination. He felt no resistance crossing the wards into Hogwarts as he marched his way up the front lawns making his journey up to the ancient castle. Instead of heading for the entrance doors, he veered left and slid silently through a little known door at the side of the castle. His footsteps echoed almost musically off the stone floors and walls as he made his way down into the dungeons where he was counting on his godfather being present.

Peering around to make sure he was indeed alone, he lifted his wand up to his head, dropping the spell that hid his body and proceeded to knock respectfully on the heavy door leading into the Potions classroom. Draco was willing to bet that Severus was within. If not, he wasn’t sure what he would do. After a moment had passed, the door was flung open, and Severus was standing in the doorway in the usual tight black robes he favoured.

“Draco,” he said, his voice registering some surprise. Draco wondered if he was expecting someone else, but pushed that thought aside in favour of his own needs.

“Godfather, may I come in?” Draco asked politely.

“Of course.” Severus stood aside and ushered him into the room.

Draco walked in as though he owned the classroom, his head held high and his back straight. The perfect picture of an aristocrat that would have made Lucius proud. But he didn’t want to make his father proud, not with what he now suspected his father of doing.

“What can I do for you?” Severus asked civilly when the door was firmly closed, and he faced the boy once more.

Draco’s face relayed that he had come to talk on a matter of grave importance and he opened his mouth a few times then closed it again as though he were trying to come up with a good way to start this conversation.

Severus didn’t rush him; instead, he made his way over to his office before motioning Draco to follow him.

Once seated inside, Severus flicked his wand to the door and erected a heavy silencing charm. He noticed that Draco was fidgeting in his chair as he turned back to face the blond.

“There,” he stated, “Now no one but you and I shall hear what you have to say. And I can only assume that you came here with a certain problem that you wished no one else be made aware of.”

Draco nodded his head once.

Severus was a patient man and waited for Draco to tell him in his own time just what was so important as to bring him out here in the middle of the night.

Draco’s thoughts were in turmoil. On his march up to the castle, he had come up with a roundabout way of hinting to his godfather that he suspected his father had done something dreadful to his mother. He had noticed the way she had become withdrawn, and the signs of abuse at his father’s hand were becoming a frequent sight at the manor; but now, sitting in this small office with the wards erected against prying ears and eyes, his mind drew a blank.

Draco knew that Severus was waiting for him to begin talking, but he had no idea how to start the conversation. One does not just blurt out the fact that one thinks his father has taken his mother’s life. His father was the most

influential person in his life, the right-hand man of the most powerful Dark wizard alive, and to blurt out his misgivings… well, it just wasn’t done.

After sitting for what felt like an eternity in utter silence, Severus cleared his throat.

“Would you like something to drink? Tea? Or perhaps something stronger?” Severus asked, raising one elegant eyebrow.

Draco glanced up, “No, thank you, sir.” He lapsed back into the eerie silence. He thought about all the repercussions of coming here today behind his father’s back. And if his godfather was half as loyal to the Dark Lord’s cause as he had led him to believe, he had to consider carefully what he could and couldn’t tell him.

“Then perhaps this isn’t a social visit, Draco. Maybe it would be best just to state what is on your mind.”

Startled, Draco spoke, “It’s complex, and I don’t know where to begin.” Draco’s fingers were drumming on his thigh, a movement that exposed his anxiety.

“The beginning is usually the best place, though I would be open to anything at this point in time,” Severus sighed. He was concerned for his godson. He hadn’t seen him since he had left Hogwarts and feared he had become too much like his father to be saved. Although now, looking at the young man’s face, so much like Narcissa’s, he pondered whether he was wrong on that front.

Severus was startled when Draco spoke up. “I know he killed my mother,” Draco whispered, head bent towards the desk.

“Who, Draco? Who has killed Narcissa?” Severus asked. He was startled by the fact that anyone would kill the pureblood matriarch, let alone leave the proof behind for her son to find.

Draco looked up and into Severus’s eyes. “My father.”

The two stared at each other, Severus trying to come to terms with what the young man was saying. One look into those grey eyes, and Severus knew he was speaking the truth.

“Do you have the necessary evidence? You cannot just go around accusing your father, a high-ranking member of the Dark Lord’s army, of such a thing.”

“I saw my mother,” Draco replied solemnly.

“When?” Severus sat up straighter.

“It was last night, she came to me as a spirit and told me to be a good man. To live my life not under anyone else’s thumb, but for myself.”

Severus felt deflated. He could not go to Dumbledore with the fancies of a child. Although Draco was a young man, he was still considered a child within the Wizarding world.

Draco could see the disappointment on his godfather’s face and hurried to explain himself.

“I haven’t seen her in two weeks, and whenever I ask my father where she is, he states that she has gone to France and then refuses to shed any light on the situation. I fear that he could be somehow involved in my mother’s disappearance. I know I shouldn’t be telling you this, but you’re my last hope. You always treated me fairly here, and I would like to think that, as my godfather, you would help me.” Draco finished with a whisper. He looked up, and Severus could tell that this was clearly plaguing him.

“Why do you think that Lucius has anything to do with your mother suddenly going away to France? Have you even tried to contact her?” Severus asked. He wouldn’t put it past the elder Malfoy to get rid of Narcissa if it would further his own agenda, but thought it best to hear the boy’s full story before making his views known.

Draco scrunched up his face, a look of concentration on his countenance. “Yes – don’t you think I have tried?” he cried out, dropping his head into his hands. His harsh breathing was the only sound to be heard in the office for a minute.

Severus stared at the younger man who was trying, and failing, to compose himself. He would offer the boy no coddling, as he wanted to hear the rest of the story first.

Finally, Draco looked up to see his godfather studying him. He laughed shakily before adding, “I tried to Floo to our holiday home in France, but that didn’t work. It seems that the fireplace has been turned off; my letters come back unopened; I even tried Apparating there, but the house was closed up,” Draco explained, rubbing at his temples.

“I saw my mother become a shell of herself after I left Hogwarts and spent more time at home. Or perhaps she was always this way, and I hadn't noticed. Either way, I saw the evidence of my father’s hand upon her too often to call it a mere coincidence. I should not have merely stood by when my mother, the woman who loved and raised me, was being beaten by that animal; I should have done something,” Draco yelled, slamming his fist onto the desk before him.

“And what precisely could you have done, Draco?” Severus asked, his tone sceptical. Perhaps the boy could be saved after all, though he hated that it was Narcissa who had to be sacrificed before the boy could see the error of his ways.

“I don’t know. Anything. Stood up to my father and told him not to strike mother. You know, he never once allowed her to heal herself afterwards; it was as though she couldn’t even perform a simply healing charm upon herself. Either that, or she was simply not allowed to. I watched my mother, when I did see her, limp around the manor with huge, ugly bruises upon her face, and I’m sure her clothing concealed more. I was at my wit’s end last night and was about to go and demand answers from my father when mother appeared before me.”

Severus could see he was working himself into a frenzy and stood up from his desk. Walking over to his cupboard, he opened it and brought down two vials, which he put before Draco on the desk.

Eyeing the vials suspiciously, Draco looked up into his godfather’s face.

“It is not poison, if that is indeed what you are thinking. If I wanted to poison you I would have done so a long time ago, Draco. The first one is one of my stronger draughts for that headache that you are experiencing. The second is a calming draught.”

Draco’s cheeks reddened momentarily as he brought a shaking hand up to the desk and reached for the first vial. Uncorking it, he swallowed it in a single gulp, sighing with relief as the brew worked instantly.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, his thoughts no longer a jumbled mess and his head clearer than it had been in a long time. He reached for the next vial and swallowed it the same way.

“Don’t mention it,” Severus replied, flicking his wand at the vials and sending them to rest below the cupboard. He would wash them later.

Seating himself once more behind his desk, Severus steepled his hands before him and looked across at Draco. The boy seemed unsure, as though it all sounded a little crazy, even to himself. He had said that Severus was his last hope, though for what Severus was uncertain.

“So why, Draco, have you come here to see me? I imagine that having your mother missing and showing up in your dreams,” he sneered at this before continuing, “and your father feeding you misinformation was not the real reason for your visit. Was it just to get your misgivings off your chest, or was it something more?” Severus asked. Draco just shook his head as though he were fighting against an invisible barrier.

“So, I ask you once more, what are you looking for? Absolution? For you will not find it here.” Severus tried to keep his face open and relaxed. He hoped the boy had come to his senses about the Dark Lord. He was brighter than Lucius was at the same age, and Severus knew he had better judgement then his father.

“Do you really think my father could have had something to do with it?” Draco asked, his grey eyes looking a little too bright, as if he might break down at any moment. Severus hated to be the one to break the boy's last illusions about his father.

“What do you think, Draco?”

When Draco refused to answer, Severus continued. “I know you are not brainless, Draco, and I thought after my teaching you to think for yourself for seven years, you would have come to the obvious conclusion.”

“I did,” Draco whispered, breaking eye contact.

Silence encompassed the room once more. Both men were deep in thought.

Draco used to love the fact that he had an influential father within the rank of the Death Eaters, and although he himself was quite lowly in their ranks, he was never treated like the other recruits were because of who his father was. However, it now seemed as though it were a curse instead of the advantage it once was. There was no one he could turn to for help; his so-called friends were busy with their own lives, and if his godfather could not help him, then he was truly lost.

“I hear, from father, that you have killed the Order's werewolf.” Severus was so taken aback by the sudden change of topic that he had to hold himself upright with his arms on the chair he was seated on so that he didn’t fall face first onto his desk.

Looking up towards Severus, Draco saw a moment of shock on his face.

“What?” Draco sounded surprised. “You can’t tell me you cared for the mutt?” Draco scoffed when his godfather made no reply.

“Every life is precious, Draco,” Severus replied. “Say I had been given the task to kill you instead of Lupin, how would that make you feel?” the dark-haired wizard asked.

Draco looked astonished, his eyes wide as he stared back at his godfather.

“You wouldn’t?” he breathed out hesitantly.

“Wouldn’t I? If I am given a command, I am to carry it out no matter how ludicrous it may be. This has not been the first, nor the last, order that I will have to see through.”

Draco looked thoughtful for a second, his eyes unfocused briefly before they returned to their natural state as he stared up at the man he had looked up to as a second father when his own was too busy to be concerned with him. “But isn’t that going against everything that the Dark Lord believes in? What I mean to say is, isn’t our Lord always going on about blood purity?” he whispered, as though someone were listening in.

Severus sighed. He could always Obliviate the boy if things didn’t go the way he hoped.

“You are the closest thing I will ever have to a son, Draco, and therefore I shall share some of my pearls of wisdom with you. Think for yourself; never follow anyone unless it furthers your own agenda; and never, ever, think that a half-blood–” Draco started at this and Severus nodded his head. “Yes, you heard me right – a half-blood wizard, even one as powerful as the Dark Lord, holds anything over you. Are you a Slytherin or not?” he asked the young man, who just sat there with his mouth agape, his eyes threatening to bulge out of their sockets.

“But I thought you were on his side,” Draco said when he had recovered somewhat.

“I am on no one's side but my own, and you would do well to remember that. Slytherins look out for no one but themselves, and the sooner you realise that the madman you call your Lord would just as soon strike you down for a real or imaginary indiscretion, the better off you will be. I stand by Dumbledore because he is fair and just.” Severus had to sneer at his own sentimentality. He wasn’t being totally honest with Draco, but if he could get him to switch sides and somehow protect the boy, then he thought that he could die a happy man.

“I have given you enough to digest for the moment,” Severus said as he stood slowly from behind the desk. “I shall make the necessary arrangements to meet with your father and see what I can deduce about this situation.” He held up a hand when Draco was about to speak, stilling the boy for a moment. “I don’t promise that I shall get to the bottom of this, but I do promise you that I shall try my best.”

With that Draco stood and nodded his head once before following Severus to the classroom door.

His godfather had indeed given him enough to think about, and he knew that he would be in for some sleepless nights ahead. The thought made his stomach clench in fear. Could he go against everything he was taught from the very beginning of his life? An image of his mother flashed before his eyes, and he set his jaw.

He would try, for her.

***

A/N: If you enjoyed it, please be brave and leave a review. To my regular reviewers, I love you guys.

I’m not sure what you want to see next, so suggestions would be most welcome.

To my incredible beta, AmyLouise, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You are truly the best, babe, and I’m glad you can join me on this journey.