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The world had ended, once before.
It had ended; not with a bang, nor a whimper, but with a prophecy and a cry of please, not my son. It had ended with pleas that went unheeded. It had ended with an unforgiving flash of green.
But it hadn’t started that way.
It had started with a lonely boy meeting a girl like him – magical – and she had shone so brightly that it had been second nature to follow like a moth to a flame.
And it had continued that way, through a meeting of time and circumstance, through the forging of a childhood friendship and its eventual falling out, through a memory to uphold and a side to fight for, but that would be later.
The world had ended, or at the very least, it certainly felt like it had, on an October night in 1981.
It sounded like this: A man, face pressed into his hands, trying and failing to muffle an anguished cry; as he demanded, begged, accused, “You said you would keep her safe!”
But there were no miracles to be had, and safety meant nothing to the dead.
***
The world was ending, once again.
Even if Severus didn’t know it yet.
Especially because he didn’t know it yet.
It began like this: Draco coming to his rooms late at night, far too late, summoning him for a talk that would not be short. There was no distress, not yet, just annoyance at the disturbance, and a resignation as he acquiesced to conversation.
Draco set about his carefully planned conversation, about three mirrors, about the second mirror in particular; about the Mirror of Ecidyrue and its powers to send an individual to the past. It was a bold claim without veracity, and Severus had said as much, asking if Draco had indeed verified the story was true.
Draco opened his mouth, lips forming a response but sound lacking. His hesitation was an answer in itself; but even still, Severus didn’t interrupt as Draco swallowed back his reservation and spoke the words aloud.
“Yes,” Draco said, and the verbal confirmation felt all the more weighty amidst the pieces coming together in Severus’s mind. “Yes, I have.”
A powerful silence fell between them.
Whereas: Draco had confirmed that the story of the mirror’s time travel powers were true because he knew it to be true.
Whereas: Such a tale could not be known with such surety unless it had been discovered firsthand, something that had been witnessed or—
“No,” he breathed. “It’s not possible.” Severus’s mind whirled. It can’t be, it can’t, but how could Draco know for sure, he couldn’t know with this much certainty, “Except…” …through experience.
—it was an unbelievable explanation, and yet, yet—
“It is,” Draco said quietly, hesitantly, “It is possible, Severus.”
—it made sense—
“Believe me. I know it’s hard to, but it’s true, Severus.”
—all of the knowledge Draco had possessed, the skills he should not have had, and the shift in personality had been so drastic—
“I went through time,” Draco continued, “from when I was eighteen to when I was…”
—it had been so simple to attribute it all to the influence of the talon wand back then, it was the plausible conclusion, considering the timing; how it all seemed to connect back to Draco’s first year at Hogwarts, back when he was—
“…eleven,” Severus breathed, his realization made verbal.
Draco listened apprehensively, providing input that served to further solidify the previously jumbled facts and mysteries into a coherent picture.
Severus leaned back in his chair, “It appears you have quite a tale to unfold.”
Draco nodded, offering a faint smile, before he began to unravel his story, explaining the blue loop and red line, and recounting his first time around as a First Year and Second Year at Hogwarts.
It was evident from the start that Draco had not befriended Granger or Potter his first time around, but his relationship dynamics of the blue loop only became more prominent when Draco went over his Third Year, mentioning that he had been uninvolved with Black’s misadventures, and further had never been shown Severus’s memories.
It would imply a distance between them, a reality where Draco wasn’t the ever-present menace that Severus had known him to be in this time, from his first night at Hogwarts when Severus had caught him in his potion ingredient stores through the increasingly dangerous misadventures he wrapped himself into.
“So we were not...” Severus faltered.
Close, was on the tip of his tongue, but he could not bring himself to verbalize it, even now; even at what he was being told, it seemed as though admitting it aloud was a vulnerability that he was still unable to convey in the best of times.
(Despite the fact that he had expressed as much, and more, through his actions over the years – had sacrificed his cover for it, had tolerated Black for it, had come to terms with Potter for it. Perhaps that was why Severus always found himself being laid bare at his worst and lowest, for lack of expression in any other case.)
“We weren’t close,” Draco confirmed, but Severus privately thought there must have been some level of grace for events to have gone this way, this time, for bonds to have been forged here, where they hadn't been in the blue loop. It was a terribly maudlin notion.
Draco continued to tell his tale of his Fourth Year, though similar to his Third Year, it was rather lacking in detail. Regardless, his retelling of the original outcome of the Triwizard Tournament and the hijacked portkey revealed a death prevented, setting a precedent for many deaths in the blue loop that had never come to be due to Draco’s intervention.
But, evidently not all, if Theodore Nott’s disappearance was anything to go by. Severus said as much aloud. Draco’s eyes widened at his words, expression frozen in terror. Severus smirked, “What? It is clear from his disappearance from every battle this year that the boy must have perished. An occupational hazard in the life of a Death Eater, to be sure—”
“Theo didn’t die in the blue loop,” Draco interrupted, shutting his eyes, shoulders tense with apprehension. Severus hesitated at his words. The rest of his confession came spilling out then, of the events during the fall of Hogwarts, of the Chamber of Secrets and the resurrected basilisk, of who was aware of the death that had taken place.
Though the differences in the timeline did leave a glaring question, “If Theodore Nott did not let the Death Eaters into the school in the blue loop, then who did?”
“Um,” Draco started, hesitantly lifting a hand before rushing through the next words like he was trying to expel them from his conscience. “That was me. I did it. I was a Death Eater in the blue loop. That's what I've been building up to telling you. Sorry.”
“No,” Severus voiced in automatic denial. “Surely not.”
He could not fathom a reality with Draco being tainted like that, the Mark of the Dark Lord inked upon Draco left forearm, a malevolent stain that left echoes even after Voldemort’s demise and the physical mark faded away. Severus had been foolish enough to take the Mark, but he could not imagine that life for Draco.
“Not you,” Severus continued, unsure if his insistence was meant to convince Draco or himself, perhaps both. “You have always been destined for greater things.”
“Not the first time around,” Draco said quietly, and began to spill his admission of training under Bellatrix, of repairing a Vanishing cabinet, of letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts. “I will never be able to atone for that.”
And his voice was filled with such resignation that Severus found himself responding in the gentle tone that he reserved for few and used hardly ever. “Draco, if your actions in the blue loop and the lives you have saved are any gauge, you have more than atoned for what you did in a different life.”
Draco shook his head with a pained expression, protesting, “But you don't know everything I've done,” and began another string of confessions with an increased fervor, seemingly desperate to be condemned. Severus held up a hand, unwilling to listen to Draco berate himself for any longer; and still, Draco continued with his tale of the Unbreakable Vow and the task of Dumbledore’s death.
It was a wonder, in a sense, how even with the many ripples that had been made in this time, some things did not change. Draco seemed slightly abated with the knowledge that Dumbledore had planned his death, as morbid as the thought was, to have that guilt be lifted from his shoulders, at least in part. Severus shared a similar sentiment.
“But if you were given the chance I was,” Draco said suddenly, “to go back in time before all your mistakes and fix them, you wouldn't have been a Death Eater, would you? You'd be free of that too. It's not fair, you deserve that chance too—”
Severus considered the thought. It was a line of thinking he had indulged in often, the what ifs and lives that might have been had he the foresight to make different choices – if he had chosen to leave Hogwarts, deciding he’d had enough after one too many confrontations with the Marauders; if he had asked the Sorting Hat for a different House, how his life might have been as a Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff or Gryffindor; if he had been forgiven and joined the Order properly in the first war, not as a spy, but as a member, never having been marred by Voldemort’s Mark.
He firmly pushed the thoughts aside, suppressing a sigh, “There is no point in wondering what might have been. This mirror chose you, for whatever reason, and—”
Draco’s head jerked in disagreement, “There was a spell on it hiding it in the cellars of Malfoy Manor. It would only appear to a worthy member of the Malfoy line.”
“Worthy,” Severus echoed. It brought to question what stipulated worthiness, especially what would could for worth in the Malfoy line, but perhaps it had been for the best, if Draco at eighteen had fulfilled it. “So, you looked back upon your life, knowing what the mirror was, and made the decision to step back in time to try and right your many wrongs?”
“Actually,” he began, expression going inexplicably bashful at the proposed question. “I did it by accident,” Draco let out an awkward cough, before admitting, “when I was drunk.”
“Drunk!” Severus’s mind stuttered to a halt as that, of all things, startled a laugh out of him. He repeated the exclamation, trying to process the utter absurdity of the newest revelation. It was absolutely preposterous to think that the course of history had been irrevocably altered due to the drunken actions of his godson. “Drunk! What other lives have you saved that perished in the blue loop? Who besides Cedric Diggory walks this earth today, simply because my vain godson decided one day to get drunk?”
“Sirius and Remus,” Draco responded heavily. The solemn air returned once more as he continued to list names and instances and occasions. It was a point of gratitude, that regardless of how this path had originally come to be, that many more futures now had a chance to be, where they had been cut short before.
***
The world was ending, not so differently from the first time.
Severus may have suspected, but he still didn’t know it; he would, soon – very soon.
It continued like this: the sudden appearance of a mirror, an abrupt end to a discussion about quidditch teams, a sense of foreboding. Severus was on his feet immediately, his wand drawn, only hesitating at Draco’s voice.
“This is the Mirror of Ecidyrue,” Draco stood slower, reaching for the object he introduced, continuing to speak as though he was entranced, “The mirror I went through,” and Severus’s attention snapped back to his godson, whose fingers were tracing over the inscription on the frame.
Llehfo tuokcabb mil cyamen oylno.
It was gibberish, almost. Not quite.
Ecidyrue was Eurydice backwards, so the inscription reversed was—
“The mirror I made a bargain with.”
Severus’s thoughts halted, struck with dread, and he only managed to echo, “A bargain?”
His voice pitched upward, tentative, almost like a question, but Severus thought he knew what was coming next. Relevant memories came to the forefront of his mind rapidfire, the puzzle fitting together to form a picture that Severus dreaded.
Ecidyrue. Eurydice. The Mirror of Eurydice.
The mirror in question solidified further with each passing moment, growing so opaque that Severus could almost feel the weight of its significance.
The world was ending, Severus was starting to understand, and it sounded like a man coming undone, unraveling like a spool of thread at the words of his godson.
The inverted inscription grew bolder.
Only one may climb back out of hell.
Like Orpheus and Eurydice.
He had gone down to hell for his love, but they could not both return.
Orpheus returned to life, still bereft.
Only one.
“I lied to you, Severus,” Draco was speaking quicker now, like he was racing to beat a deadline, something that was not wholly untrue. “You died too, at the hands of Voldemort, this very instant.”
Draco meant to – no.
“The life I really came back to save was yours.”
No, no, no—
Draco was standing before him wearing the expression that Severus dreaded, one that crossed his face far too often. It was one that said his life didn’t matter – or rather, that his life didn’t matter as much as it did when up against others Draco had staked his life against. Others that Severus thought were unworthy, who could not even deign to compare, and yet—
“I DESERVE TO DIE!” Draco had screamed at thirteen amidst other claims of his own unworthiness, statements that were blatantly false in Severus’s eyes, but that Draco seemed to believe in; wholly, desperately and completely – it was a declaration that had shaken Severus to his core, so thoroughly that he had shouted for silence.
Draco at sixteen – again – breaking down at revelations that Severus had tried so hard to keep from him. “I wouldn't have let my friends become dependent on a monster,” and Severus had to intervene there, because if anyone was a monster, it wasn’t Draco; though Draco couldn’t see it that way. Had he always thought as such?
But even earlier than that, the Black dagger and Bellatrix’s challenge, Draco sobbing, “But it was because of me! I knew it, I knew I would ruin things for you...I knew I would make you suffer, get you killed – you're going to die and it will be all my fault,” only to be superseded minutes later with the steadfast conviction of: “YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DIE!”
—there had been signs. There were so many signs. Severus should have known, he should have seen, he should have – why hadn’t he realized?
Then, the damning words, striking a blow like an executioner swinging the axe, yet said with a serenity that belied the gravity of the situation: “But in order to save it, I have to make a sacrifice.”
“No!” Severus cried, the desperation plain in his voice, casting aside any remaining pretense of peace in bid of vulnerability he would never have tolerated had the situation been less dire. “A sacrifice – no, Draco – do not tell me – a life for a life—”
“—a life for a life,” Draco agreed, stepping forward to wrap his arms around Severus. Severus did not have the mental capacity to respond to the motion, much less protest it. “I'm going to miss you, Severus. Good luck.”
This was meant to be a goodbye.
“No!” Severus pushed Draco away, focusing on his godson as though he could anchor Draco to reality with his gaze alone, with the sheer depth of agony that he was projecting, begging, pleading: stay, you cannot trade your life, you must not, not for me. “I cannot allow you to make this bargain for me!” It is not worth it, he knew. Draco’s life was not worth sacrificing, not for Severus. “Not for me! It must be you to live, Draco, if one must die then you must be the one to survive—”
“It’s too late now,” Draco said, turning away from him.
Dismissal.
Draco’s mind was made up. Severus’s heart squeezed painfully.
The mirror was solid now, almost ethereal in its presence. It was mocking, almost, how an object of such beauty could hold such malice, that it would rob a future from a brilliant boy in exchange for a man that did not deserve it.
He could not allow this, he would not.
A woman’s voice spoke from the mirror, and there was no more time. Draco was prompted to make a choice: “Will you make the Orphean Bargain? Will you die so another may live?”
“No!” Severus screamed with an intensity that would have brought pause to anyone else. It had brought pause to Albus Dumbledore on a windy hilltop, so many years ago, as Severus made a plea for the life of a different person, though in the end, it had not spared her life.
The world was ending, Severus thought, it had to be, because surely nothing else could be causing such intense feelings of dread, of loss, of grief.
Severus seized Draco by the arm, shaking it like he could shake some sense into his godson, perhaps convincing Draco to reconsider his decision. It felt like he was watching history play out before his eyes once more, with the same inevitable outcome, but Severus would try—
—but Draco did not falter – stubborn boy – even as the despair increased to overwhelming heights alongside the mantra of not him, not him, please not Draco.
The world was on the edge of a precipice, teetering towards the fall; and Draco’s voice was clear as he spoke the words that would be his damnation.
A life for life –
– hide them, hide them all –
– not him, please, do not take him –
– you said you would keep her safe –
– will you die so another may live?
The world was ending, and it sounded like this: “Yes, I will.”
Draco brushed Severus aside, stepping towards the mirror, towards the voice that beckoned him inside, and without another backwards glance, walked into the Mirror of Ecidyrue.
“No! Draco, do not trade yourself for me!” Severus cried, but there was nothing that could be done.
The world was ending, crumbling at his feet not as ash and rubble but as a shattered mirror, as a splintering light, taking Draco with it, piece by piece. It sounded like a gorgeous, hateful melody – only one, only one, only one – a harmony drowning out the ever-growing cacophony of agony, of screams, of wails, of sobs, of pain and disregarded pleas. It sounded like the chime of a clock, marking the end with an echoing finality.
Severus reached forward, intending to grasp the frame, as if he could demand Draco back if only he tried hard enough, if only he could force the mirror to heed his pleas, if only he could undo the terms of the bargain, if only he could alter the choice that had been made, if only—
—the Mirror of Eurydice was gone.
The light in the room had faded as quickly as it had arrived, and so too, did the song. The mirror disappeared to the ether from which it came, leaving Severus to drown in the silence, bereft.
He couldn’t bear it, the suffocating feeling of loss, he could not bear it, not again, the world could not possibly be so cruel, but it was, it was, and that was a lesson Severus had to learn over and over and over again because he was foolish enough to let himself care.
Severus fell to his knees, collapsing, crumbling, feeling as though it were he who the mirror had shattered, just a scattered collection of broken reflections, of people he wanted to be, of a person he should have been, with rough jagged edges, corners sharp enough to cut and make himself bleed until he was—
—numb.
It was the only way to describe the loss of control; his trembling hands, the fervent pleas for a trade – no, no, don’t take him, please, no, take me, bring Draco back, please, take me instead – to an empty room that could not listen, to a mirror that would not respond, nor heed his requests.
Severus wished he were dead.
He wished he were dead in Draco’s place. He wanted to cease his existence, to move onto whatever exists beyond, where Lily is, where Draco must also be now, to where the few – very few – people he has chosen to love have left to.
His eyes burned against their will when they closed. The room was empty now, there was no person, no mirror, and still, Severus pleaded, “No, do not take him, take me instead...”
Then—
There was a light touch on his shoulder, and a gentle voice saying, “Severus.”
His throat was tightening, but he could not choke up now. He does not acknowledge it. He cannot. He will not. He refused to. Instead, he focused his attention back on his pleas; wishing, hoping, praying that the bargain can be undone, that terms could be renegotiated.
“Severus, I'm not dead,” the same voice continued, and Severus forced his head upward to look at the person kneeling in front of him.
Draco is looking back at him with a soft expression, a hopeful, disbelieving smile on his face; it is not reassuring enough to calm him. Severus swallows thickly. It is the scene he’d want to see, the words he’d want to hear, but when has wanting ever been enough to…
“I’m – I’m here. I’m not dead,” Draco repeated, like he was trying to convince himself as well, “I’m not dead. I’m – I’m alive,” and his hand is still on Severus’s shoulder, the contact solid and real and—
“Oh, god,” Severus breathed. “Draco.”
In a heartbeat, he closed the negligible distance between them, and in an impulsive gesture of relief, pulled Draco into his arms.
Draco was startled by the action, if his small noise of surprise is anything to go by, but Draco returned the embrace without comment. Severus was still shaking – with anguish, with grief, with fury – but he’s grounded like this, anchoring himself to reality. He hopes this is reality, with the Mirror of Eurydice gone and Draco here, alive.
He prayed that it was.
“Draco,” Severus said again, “how did you—?”
“Dante,” Draco responded bleakly, his voice muffled from where his face was pressed into Severus’s robes, “He saved me. He made a bargain with Death. He – Dante took my place. The Orphean bargain is still fulfilled – Dante is me, as much as I am Dante. He saved me.”
Severus hardly processed the words beyond registering that Draco hadn’t planned to live. He hadn’t planned a way around the Orphean Bargain. It seemed that Dantanian Noir had simply chosen to intervene on Draco’s behalf. It was something that Severus was grateful for, but…
“How dare you,” Severus seethed, separating himself from Draco, cupping his godson’s face in his hands and tilting it upward so he could meet Draco’s eyes, “How dare you, Draco Black, to do something so – so—”
It’s a testament to how shaken Severus was, in the way he was unable to compose proper sentences. Draco’s expression had fallen into something painfully open, regretful and despairing, and Severus hated the reminder that Draco had been ready and willing to die when he walked into that mirror.
Draco may have been here now, at the current moment, but he had walked into that mirror, he had chosen to, and he would have died if not for Dantanian’s intervention. He would have died despite Severus’s efforts. Severus’s efforts weren’t enough, it wasn’t enough, it was never enough—
“I – Severus…”
“Draco,” Severus began severely, effectively silencing any words Draco had thought to say. “Don’t—” he paused, jaw tight, looking into Draco’s eyes once more, and took a steadying breath, “—don’t you dare frighten me like this again. Never – never again…”
Never again would Severus let Draco out of his sight – this foolish child, bright and alive and breathing still, his burdensome godson, who he would do everything in his power to keep safe, and there was little point in trying to deny the affection now.
“I’m sorry,” Draco gasped, a sob wrenching itself past his lips. He buried his face in Severus’s chest. Severus let him. “Severus, I’m sorry, but – but it was me or you. I couldn’t let you die. I could never—”
“Not at the cost of your life, Draco,” Severus said softly. “I am not worth a sacrifice so weighty.”
“You are, though,” Draco met his eyes meaningfully. “You are worth it to me, Severus.”
“Draco…” Severus began.
“You are worth it to me,” Draco repeated with a fiery insistence.
Severus closed his eyes, but made no protest as Draco pulled him into another embrace.