Chapter Text
Towering hedges cast eerie shadows over Severus and Minerva as they patrolled the outskirts of the maze. The Quidditch Pitch had been decked out with magically enhanced floodlights to illuminate the Final Task, but the hedges themselves were so tall that even the brightest glow couldn’t begin to penetrate the gloom that Severus found himself shrouded in.
He shivered, and drew his cloak closer around himself, fiddling with the clasp at his throat. Severus wasn’t a particularly fidgety man - in fact, the habit was one he regularly berated his students for indulging in - but he thought that he could be forgiven for such a tell under the circumstances.
Not for the first time, Severus wished for Mad Eye Moody’s x-ray vision, so that he might peer beyond these blasted hedges and watch what was happening to Harry. Questions buzzed in Severus’ mind like a swarm of angry bees. Was Harry alright? Had he put all those months of Severus’ training to use? And one final ridiculous and prideful question - was Harry going to win?
Black, who was spectating in the stands, seemed certain that Harry would emerge as the Triwizard Champion. Severus was far less certain. He twirled his wand between his long fingers and sighed. “I don’t like this.”
“Really?” Minerva turned to him, quirking an eyebrow. “And here I thought you were overjoyed to have your underage son competing in the Triwizard Tournament…”
“He shouldn’t be competing,” Severus said stiffly.
“And as I’ve said to you countless times, I agree. Complaining won’t get him out of a magically binding contract any quicker, you know!”
“Well, it makes me feel better,” he grumbled, even though it really didn’t.
Severus returned to staring at the maze, hoping in vain that he might be able to glean what was occurring beyond its impenetrable walls. So far, the audience’s experience had largely been auditory; occasional blasts, roars and screeches carried through the stadium to a delighted crowd. The only other signs of life came in the form of two showers of bright red sparks. At each call for help, Severus had paced madly at the designated evacuation points, waiting to see Harry’s broken, bloodied body be dragged from the maze’s maw. When Miss Delacour and Mr Krum’s unconscious forms had instead been recovered, Severus was torn between relief and displeasure.
He didn’t want Harry to be injured, naturally, but it would at least put Harry out of the running and therefore out of continued danger. For now, he was still a participant in the sick games of whoever had entered him; games that Severus didn’t know the rules to.
It was between Diggory and Harry, now…. Who would emerge victorious? Could Harry beat Diggory? Severus was uncertain. Diggory had two extra years of magical education on Potter, but Harry had shown remarkable raw talent and ability during his shorter lifetime… Maybe, just maybe, Harry had an unexpected edge…
Blast it all, Severus did hope that Harry would win. Wouldn’t any parent feel similarly? If Harry had made it this far in a tournament that he was never supposed to compete in, then was it truly ludicrous to harbour a small fantasy of his victory? If he not only managed to survive but came out on top, Severus thought it would be the perfect slap in the face to whoever had orchestrated Harry’s entry into the competition.
But just as Severus was beginning to find hope within the darkness, his left forearm began to sear.
The pain was so intense that Severus’ vision whited out. He crumpled to his knees, a soundless cry of agony contorting his features. Severus’ fingers scrabbled at his blistering forearm, praying to gods he did not believe in for the torment to end, for him to be put out of his misery…
When the pain finally faded to a dull, constant ache, Severus finally became aware of his surroundings again. Minerva was shaking him by the shoulder. Her mouth was moving, but her frantic and concerned questions swirled nonsensically around Severus’ head as he ripped past the buttons at his cuff and yanked his sleeve beyond the elbow. On his forearm sat a writhing Dark Mark that had burned black for the first time in thirteen years.
“No!”
Minerva released Severus’ shoulder to clap her hands over her mouth. Her eyes glistened with furious, horrified tears; she clearly understood the gravity of the situation. Severus shakily rose to his feet, pulled his sleeve back in place, and drew his wand. His hand was trembling.
“He’s back,” Severus rasped. “We must get to Harry - he’s in terrible danger.”
“And Mr Krum has begun conferring with the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge,” Bagman’s magically enhanced voice boomed into the air. “He appears to be rather agitated by the look of things - let's hope we can pinpoint where Karkaroff’s gone soon…”
Draco shifted in his place on the bleachers, trying and failing to get comfortable. He stared at the hedge maze and huffed loudly. “Merlin’s beard, this is the shittest Task ever!”
“Draco!” Hermione said reprovingly.
“What? It’s true!” Draco jabbed a finger at the maze. “Isn’t this supposed to be a spectator event? I didn’t sign up to spend my evening staring at a hedge, waiting for unconscious champions to get dragged out by the teachers!”
“At least this is better than the second task,” Ron commented. “We can actually hear bits and pieces… the lake was way more boring.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Draco grumbled. “I had to spend half of it lying at the bottom of that bloody lake…”
Draco was still annoyed about that entire affair. One minute, he’d been in the Headmaster’s office with Hermione, Chang and Delacour’s little sister, and the next thing he knew, he was being dragged out of a lake by Harry and Madam Pomfrey, freezing cold and soaked to the bone! The lakewater had done the most terrible things to his hair, too; it had taken over a month for his locks to regain their usual lustre.
“It really wasn’t that bad,” Hermione huffed. “I was down there, too, but you don’t see me whining about it every other day -”
“Quiet, Granger.”
It significantly downplayed Draco’s ability to complain when she didn’t back up the story.
“This whole tournament is a mess,” he muttered. “I can’t wait for it all to be over.”
Hermione, of course, was perceptive enough to see beyond his mask of irritation. She gave him a sympathetic look. “He’s going to be fine.”
“Is he?” Draco rubbed his arms, staring anxiously at the maze. “He got sliced up by a dragon in the First Task, and then he almost drowned in the lake. Who knows what’s going to happen to Harry this time?”
“He’s practiced those spells Professor Snape taught him until he could do them in his sleep,” Hermione reassured him. “Harry will be fine. It’s all going to be over soon.”
“And with Fleur and Krum out of the competition, Harry might even win, now!” Ron said excitedly. “How wicked would that be?”
As much as Draco believed in brotherly support, he wholeheartedly doubted that. He and Severus had spent the entirety of the year training Harry in every possible spell they thought could be useful in the Tournament, but at the end of the day, Harry was still a fourth-year facing off against a sixth-year. He wasn’t going to come out of this one on top.
“Hang on,” Ron said, craning his neck. “What’s going on with Snape and Dumbledore?”
Draco, who wasn’t as tall as Ron, got to his feet for a better look over the sea of heads to properly observe the judges table. Dumbledore was hurriedly following Severus to a quieter spot away from the other panellists while the rather oblivious Ludo Bagman prattled on about the prize money.
It was obvious that something was wrong. Severus was gesticulating quite aggressively, jabbing a finger between his left forearm and the maze. Dumbledore reached out to touch Severus’ sleeve, but upon contact, Severus flinched away and cradled his arm against his torso. After a minute of trying to make sense of their bizarre behaviour, Draco’s blood ran cold.
Severus’ left forearm bore the Dark Mark.
It had been getting darker for months, Draco knew. Severus hated to discuss it, but he’d mentioned it once or twice when Harry had grown weary of spell practice as a way of driving home the seriousness of their situation. The Dark Lord had been growing stronger and stronger for quite a while. Had something new happened involving him?
Draco chanced a look back at Ron and Hermione, both watching him closely, faces bearing twin frowns.
“I’m going to go down and ask what’s happening,” he said quietly, trying to scan for a way out of the stands.
“Is that really the best idea?” Hermione winced. “Professor Snape looks quite - er…”
Draco glanced back over to the professors and tensed. Severus had gone white, and a vein was bulging in his forehead as he shouted at Dumbledore, who had a weathered hand on top of Severus’ shoulder. Still, it was the Headmaster’s face that made Draco really recoil. He was used to seeing Severus angry, but to see that same look of rage on the face of the typically serene Dumbledore was sickening. The idea of interrupting, of having that look of fury levelled upon him, suddenly seemed insane.
“Something’s really wrong,” Draco said, subconsciously reaching for his wand.
“Should we try and listen in?” Ron suggested.
Hermione scoffed. “Don’t be stupid, Ron! We’re miles away!”
Ron looked as though he was gearing up to argue, but before he could get a word out, a great flash of light exploded at the mouth of the maze. The crowd burst into noise, and Draco stood on his tiptoes to try and see what had happened. Two people were lying in the grass, not moving. He could just about make out his brother’s messy black hair from this distance.
Harry.
Relief washed through Draco, kneading the tension from his body. Whatever Severus and Dumbledore were so worried about didn’t have anything to do with Harry. He was safe.
Or was he? Severus and Dumbledore seemed to have put aside their frantic conversation to sprint in the direction of the boys, who still hadn’t moved. Why were they just lying there?
“What’s wrong with them?” Hermione said in a very high-pitched voice.
Draco tugged at his collar, struck dumb with a new wave of fear. Something was wrong… dreadfully, horribly wrong.
But that fear paled in comparison to what Draco felt at the next screech from the crowd.
“My God, Dumbledore, he’s dead!”
The ensuing screams dulled into a soft roar as Draco’s heart plummeted out of his chest. The words began to echo in his mind, over and over, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead -
Harry couldn’t be dead! Draco had just spoken to him right before he entered the maze, nervous as anything, but quietly confident in that brash, Gryffindorish way…
He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear - the crowd were all pushing and shoving forwards, blocking his view. Now Draco was amongst them, running like his feet were on fire, trying to press down the urge to vomit, trying to get to Harry from his position far, far away. People were shoving at him from all sides, all trying to press closer in, and Draco wanted to scream in frustration. What was going on?
Finally, he broke through onto the field, and caught a glimpse of what was happening at the mouth of the maze. Amos Diggory was slumped over Cedric, howling and wailing, while the Minister and Dumbledore held a heated discussion. Then, he saw Severus.
His arm was around Harry, who was standing, breathing, living.
Draco could have wept as he watched Severus half-carry Harry away through the crowd, wand at the ready, snarling at anybody who came close to them. Draco let out a ragged gasp and tried to push forwards, needing desperately to get to them -
But before he could move any further, a hand clamped down on his elbow. Draco jumped as he met mismatched brown and electric-blue eyes, staring at him out of Mad-Eye Moody’s scarred face.
The professor had never liked Draco. He didn’t know if that was because Moody had caught him and Harry breaking into the Ministry or because of his relation to Lucius Malfoy, but Moody had treated him with nothing but the utmost contempt this entire year. Despite that, Draco was relieved beyond measure to see a professor under these circumstances.
“I need to go after them!” he shouted, voice cracking. “I have to get to Harry!”
“I’ll help you,” Moody growled. “I know a shortcut.”
“Okay,” Draco gasped, allowing himself to be dragged along.
The crowds parted seamlessly around the ex-Auror, even in their panic, giving them a clear path towards the castle. Draco heard a strangely familiar bark from somewhere to the right - it sounded like Sirius’ dog form. He tried to look around for Harry’s godfather, but they were in the castle before Draco could make out anything aside from panicked students. From there, the corridors and staircases blurred into one as Draco was dragged along and into Moody’s office…
Moody’s office?
“Why are we here?” Draco demanded, as the professor shut the door behind them. “Are we Flooing to Harry?”
“You need to sit down.” Moody roughly shoved Draco into a hard-backed wooden chair. He tried to spring up, but the grizzled man was alarmingly strong.
“No!” he bellowed. “I need to get to Harry!”
“Calm down.” Moody kept him moored in place, eye whizzing madly. “They’ll need a minute in the Hospital Wing to sort Potter out before you can go barging in.”
“I want to see him!” Draco shouted, struggling with all his might. “He needs me -”
“He needs space, that’s what!” Moody roared. “Now stop fighting me and be patient, boy!”
Moody gave him one last warning glare, then let go of his shoulder. As frightened and furious as Draco was, he didn’t dare move from the chair. This man was a professor and an Auror, after all; he wasn’t suicidal.
The office was silent, excluding a strange, faint thudding noise that seemed to come from a locked wooden trunk. As Draco met Moody’s eyes, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Moody was eyeing him up like a predator stalking its prey.
He’s just like this, Draco tried to reassure himself. A creepy ex-Auror who hates Lucius, and me by extension. Everything is fine.
But Draco couldn’t stop the shiver from running through him as Moody clunked off to the window. The only other time he could recall feeling dread like this was as a small child, hiding from the sinister friends his parents hosted during dinner parties at Malfoy Manor. There were certain people who carried an energy of wickedness about them, whose eyes were cold and sharp behind the indifferent masks they put on.
Moody had given Draco that same feeling of unease for the entirety of fourth year. He’d never managed to work out why.
“Do you understand what’s happened here tonight?” Moody said, face hidden.
“Something terrible,” Draco said shakily.
Moody grunted, and gripped the windowsill tightly. “The Dark Lord is back.”
Draco’s heart plunged into his stomach. “But - professor, how can you possibly know -”
“I just do.” Moody whipped his head around at breakneck speed, and let out an odd, triumphant noise. “The Dark Lord has returned tonight!”
And, though it beggared all belief, the man smiled.
Draco felt like a bucket of ice had been poured over his head. Several important pieces began to fall into place, but not in time for Draco to escape the wand that was being pointed at his chest.
“Tell me about your father,” he said suddenly.
Draco’s mouth fell open. “Huh?”
“He didn’t go to Azkaban with the Dark Lord’s true followers, all those years ago,” Moody said, mouth doing a funny twitch, “and if there’s one thing I hate more than anything, it’s a Death Eater who walked free. Do you think the Dark Lord will forgive Lucius for what he’s done - will Lucius be an equal to his true supporters? Do you think that it’s fair for bits of filth who fled the sight of the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup to walk alongside the Dark Lord once more?”
Draco’s brain had not quite caught up to the conversation Moody was attempting to have. “You’re a Death Eater? So Karkaroff wasn’t behind Harry’s entry into the Triwizard Tournament?”
Moody let out a scornful chuckle. “That coward? He fled Hogwarts the moment he felt the Mark burn! No matter; he’ll be found and punished soon enough… so well the rest of the traitors and cowards, including your dear old Severus…”
“Severus is a good man!” Draco shouted, surprising himself. “Don’t you dare bring him into this!”
Moody didn’t react; he just kept smiling, mouth a sinister slash. “He’ll be brought in one way or another…”
“Huh?”
“The intention was always to get Potter to the Dark Lord,” Moody said quietly. “That’s why I did all of this, you know. I put his name in the Goblet of Fire; kept an eye on things from a distance, stepping in Snape couldn’t manage him… Why else do you think he decided to summon his broomstick and fly during the First Task? I knew that Potter couldn’t manage the Conjunctivitis Hex you were all hopelessly forcing him to grapple with…”
“I hinted to Severus in the staff room about submerging the egg, so he’d know how to help Potter crack the clue. I patrolled that maze to give Potter an easier time of it, blasting obstacles out of the way… I subdued Krum and Delacour, so he’d have an easy path to the Cup…”
“Yes, I did everything that I could to get Potter to the Dark Lord tonight.” Moody’s face was glowing with fervour. “But when I became a professor at Hogwarts, I couldn’t have imagined just how useful you and Severus would be to the cause…”
Draco tried and failed not to flinch as Moody shuffled closer.
“Imagine my surprise when upon my employment, Dumbledore told me that Severus had decided to play house with you and the Boy-Who-Lived,” Moody said mockingly. “The Dark Lord was most interested in your… touching little arrangement, and he was too wise to put all of his eggs in one basket. Should his plan tonight fail, I was to bring him the next best option.”
Moody began to shuffle forward, until his wand was pointed directly between Draco’s eyes.
“Potter is always under guard, under Dumbledore’s nose… but you? Who would give a damn about Lucius’ worthless son except for the two people the Dark Lord wants most dearly to have an audience with?” Moody looked quite insane, now, towering over Draco. “Tell me, Malfoy, will Potter and Snape throw themselves at the Dark Lord to get you back? When I bring you to my Master as bait, I will be his most honoured, dearest supporter… the only one truly loyal to him… closer than even a son!”
The trembling Draco squeezed his eyes shut as Moody drew his wand arm back, preparing to cast. Due to this, he heard, rather than saw, the door to Moody’s office being blown off its hinges. His eyes flew open, and where Moody’s face had been, Draco instead saw the furious faces of Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and Sirius staring back at him.
Draco wondered how wrong his life must have gone for him to be so relieved to see a bunch of Gryffindors.
McGonagall and Sirius were upon him in an instant, pulling Draco from the chair, dusting him off and speaking over each other nonsensically. McGonagall’s mouth was twitching strangely, like she was struggling not to cry, and Sirius’ chest was heaving in an odd and unnatural way. They asked worried questions that didn’t quite break through the ringing in Draco’s ears. He looked past them, and found himself staring at the cold, blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore.
For the first time, Draco saw past the benign Headmaster that he’d become accustomed to and found himself staring at the powerful wizard his father had reviled and feared in equal measure. The anger and power surrounded Dumbledore like a cracking thunderstorm as he kicked the unconscious Moody onto his back, face stony and brimming with rage.
If Draco’s mind hadn’t been made up to end up on the right side of history already, it certainly was now. Right thing to do be damned; it was a foolish man who dared to cross Albus Dumbledore.
“What happened?” Dumbledore asked, keeping his wand trained on Moody.
“He was going to take me to the Dark Lord,” Draco said shakily. “He wanted me as bait…”
He flinched as Dumbledore’s livid blue eyes met his. “I see.”
Draco shoved his hands in his pockets to hide how badly they were trembling. He stared at Sirius, whose face looked gaunt and haunted.
“We’ll take him to Snape,” Sirius rasped. He was holding onto Draco like he couldn’t quite believe the boy was real. “He’s in the Hospital Wing with Harry -”
“No,” Dumbledore interrupted.
“Albus, Malfoy needs medical attention,” Professor McGonagall said weakly, “the boy’s had an awful shock -”
“He deserves to stay,” Dumbledore said curtly. “Draco has been dragged into this, and he deserves to know why. It is only fair for him to understand what this imposter wanted with him.”
“Imposter?” Draco echoed incredulously.
“This man is not Alastor Moody,” he said quietly. “Going to such lengths to usher you away from the chaos while we were preoccupied with Harry was completely out of character. We are very lucky that Sirius had his wits about him and noticed him taking you away.”
“I saw him dragging you off,” Sirius chimed in, “and I instantly knew that something was wrong. I worked with Mad-Eye quite often before I went to Azkaban, so I know how he operates. He’d be with Dumbledore trying to manage the situation, not yanking you away somewhere.”
Draco didn’t have it in him to comprehend the confusion of the situation, nor the danger he’d very narrowly escaped. His mind was preoccupied with the greater peril that the imposter had alluded to before Draco’s rescue…
“He said…” Draco’s voice went very croaky; he swallowed several times before attempting to speak again. “He said that the Dark Lord is back. Is that true?”
Sirius and Professor McGonagall also fixed their eyes on Dumbledore, who suddenly looked every one of his many years. After a moment’s pause, he gravely nodded his head.
Draco stopped paying attention entirely as he tried to reckon with that nod; that singular motion that changed life as he knew it forever. A million thoughts, conflicting stories and memories, all clamoured for attention in his head.
They were the glory days, his father’s voice said, honeyed and forthcoming after several glasses of wine. The Mudbloods knew their place, and we were more powerful, more influential than you have ever known us to be…
He was a wretched, villainous man, Severus’ voice countered. The Dark Lord preyed on the greedy, weak and lonely…
He is the greatest wizard who ever lived, Lucius proclaimed. He wished to shape the world in his image, to bring power and glory to the Purebloods who deserved it -
There is no glory in serving the Dark Lord, Draco. Severus’ voice was harsh and bitter. Being his servant - though ‘slave’ is a more appropriate title - is not an honourable life. The Dark Lord’s followers lived in constant fear, just as his opponents did.
And finally, floating above it all, was Harry’s face. Draco’s brother, whose parents had been murdered by the Dark Lord, who had faced attempt after attempt on his life, who the Dark Lord seemed determined to kill for no particular reason. Harry, who was now in terrible danger.
Draco thought this must be how it felt to watch the world fall apart.
As Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall and Sirius began to try and deal with the imposter, Draco paid them no mind, lost in his thoughts. Somewhere, locked away in Azkaban, Father’s Dark Mark had burned black tonight. Draco wondered if he was jubilant at the return of those ‘glory days’ he had once revered, or if Lucius felt just as terrified as the Dark Lord’s opponents surely did.
In the aftermath, Severus sat in silence next to Harry’s hospital bed. The even, steady breathing of his sleeping son did nothing to calm Severus’ panic, so he kept his face hidden in his hands. He couldn’t look up; Draco was next to him, keeping vigil at his brother’s bedside, and Severus couldn’t bear for his other son to see his face right now. The boy was terrified enough after what he’d endured at Crouch’s hands, and Severus needed to be strong for him.
Draco couldn’t know that Severus was more scared than he’d ever been in his life.
I nearly lost them both tonight, a voice chanted in the back of his head. I nearly lost them both…
Severus was growing weak. How could he have failed to anticipate that the Dark Lord would want to take Harry to a second location, not cause his death through the danger of the Triwizard Tournament? How could Severus have been blinded by panic over one son, and fail to properly factor in the second? His second son, who the Dark Lord would obviously know about, and who the Dark Lord would clearly love to use as bait.
He was worse than useless; an active danger to his children; a former Death Eater who had lost his edge, but not his tarnished reputation as a traitor. They’d all be dead by July…
“I just don’t understand,” Draco said hesitantly, breaking an extended silence that had fallen over the Hospital Wing. “After everything that happened tonight, how can Fudge not believe us?”
“Because he’s a fool,” Severus said bitterly, straightening up at last. Anger was twisting his face, a much safer emotion than fear. “A fool, and a coward. It’s easy to lie to yourself when your idiocy destroys the only evidence we had of the Dark Lord’s treachery!”
He slammed a hand against the nightstand and sank back again, trying his best to Occlude. It was nearly impossible; the throbbing of the Dark Mark on Severus’ forearm wholly prevented him from focusing on the Cornish seas he used as mental shields. How long would it be until the Dark Lord used that blasted tattoo to torture him from afar with summons Severus could not answer? How would he stop the pain from paralysing him?
Severus wanted to vomit as the events of that evening unfolded in his head again. Blood and bone. Harry's dull eyes. Cedric Diggory’s crumpled corpse, half-hidden by his screaming, sobbing father… If their roles had been reversed, how would Serverus have reacted? Would his grief have been silent and withheld, or would his last few strands of sanity be snipped away, rendering him a screaming, wailing hysteric?
Even now, Severus wasn’t entirely certain he was holding it together as he stared at the small body of his son, unconscious in a hospital bed. The sight of it felt like a poison-tipped blade being slowly, steadily twisted into his gut.
Harry had been bled for the Dark Lord's purposes. He trembled against his will with the aftermath of the Cruciatus Curse. Something in the child’s spirit had been slaughtered in that graveyard.
Never before had Severus craved murder as fiercely as he did now.
Making Severus a father had been dangerous. He couldn't forget how it felt to clutch Harry against his chest, mercifully and unbelievably alive, but entirely transformed from the boy that had walked into the maze that evening. As Severus had half-carried him to the Hospital Wing, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking that Harry’s dead weight felt much like a corpse did. It had set something alight in him that he couldn’t control.
The Death Eater inside of him longed for suffering. Was he really supposed to witness the last shreds of innocence be ripped from his son and not bay for blood?
When he glanced up again, pulse still pounding, Draco was staring at Severus, eyes the size of dinner plates. Severus struggled not to swear. His reactions were only making things worse, but he just couldn’t help himself!
Weak. Useless. Failure.
Severus clenched his hands into fists and glanced over to Harry. Even in sleep, his face looked pained and troubled. He brushed back the hair on Harry’s forehead and took in a shuddering breath. The pain that Severus felt in his chest was worse than the Dark Mark’s burn by a landslide.
It was his fault that this boy had gone through such trauma. Severus should have worked harder to get him out of the tournament; he should have forced his way past Dumbledore and Apparated into that graveyard himself; he should have done everything and more to protect his son…
And even now, Severus was failing Harry and Draco both. He should have been smarter, somehow, should have convinced Albus that it would be wise to carry on using him as a spy! Without that, they had nothing - no information, no means to discern the Dark Lord’s plans. They were sitting ducks.
Severus was about to leap to his feet and pace when he caught sight of Draco’s face. The boy was staring pointedly at the ground, but in the faint candlelight he could make out a glossy quality to Draco’s eyes that renewed his desire to curse and lash out at the universe…
But letting his temper fly wasn’t an option. Severus couldn’t do any of the things he wanted to do because he was a parent first, and a frightened man second. Draco needed to be taken care of, and there wasn’t time to indulge in childish fits of rage. He reached over and took Draco’s hand in his own.
“We’re going to be fine,” he said in the gentlest voice he could manage.
Draco snatched his hand away and shot Severus a truly withering glare, eyes still glistening with tears. “You can’t promise me that!”
“I can. I swear, Draco, that no harm will come to you on my watch.”
“But look what’s happened to Harry already!” Draco pointed at the bed with trembling fingers. “I know what sort of man the Dark Lord is, I know what his return means, and -”
“We are going to be fine,” Severus said fiercely, “because I say we will. The Dark Lord caught us off guard today. I will not allow such a thing to happen again.”
He took Draco’s hand again, and this time, the boy didn’t brush him off. Severus could feel him shaking.
“Do you truly think that the Dark Lord can best me?” Severus drawled, doing his best to project a confidence he did not truly feel. “He and his Death Eaters failed twice tonight already, even when we were unprepared. With my full force against him, he and his followers won’t get within a hundred miles of you two.”
“O-Okay…”
Then suddenly, Draco was throwing his arms around Severus’ neck. He jumped slightly, surprised by the action. Draco didn’t tend to initiate physical contact; it was a remnant of his distant upbringing. If he was embracing Severus, that meant Draco was more distraught by his encounter with Crouch than he’d suspected. Severus reached up to pat the boy’s shoulder, feeling helpless.
“Nobody is going to get close enough to any of us for the events of tonight to be repeated, Draco,” he said softly. “You do not need to fear for your safety again. Crouch has been neutralised.”
“It’s not me I’m scared about!” Draco said indignantly. “It’s him! I - I thought Harry was dead tonight!”
Severus felt his heart seize painfully once again. He understood far too intimately how Draco must be feeling; he’d thought the same thing himself that evening. The minutes between the Dark Mark’s burn to the moment that Harry and Diggory had reappeared on the lawn had been some of the longest of his life, to say nothing of the saga with Moody’s imposter. If it hadn’t been for a quick bit of spellwork on Albus’ part, and the watchful eyes of Black, of all people, who knew what Crouch would have done to Draco?
Failure, failure, failure, chanted the voice in the back of his head.
Severus could not fail these boys again. He had grown soft in the last thirteen years, but that didn’t mean a seasoned Death Eater wasn’t lurking beneath the surface. Severus didn’t care what he had to do; if he needed to burn the Wizarding World to ashes for the sake of his children, he wouldn’t hesitate.
The Dark Lord was not going to get the better of him again. He would regret making a fool out of Severus Snape.
“I am going to protect you,” Severus murmured into Draco’s hair. “You have nothing to fear, do you understand me? Nothing.”
He was assuring himself just as much as Draco. In fact, he was clutching the boy like a life raft, trying to assure himself that his child was still here, still well, and safe from the perils of the twisted, dark world that he had been born into.
“The Headmaster briefly discussed some plans with me,” Severus said. “There’s an organisation - the Order of the Phoenix - which is reconvening as we speak. Once the members have a chance to organise, you, Harry and I will go into hiding.”
“Hiding?” Draco finally lifted his head up to meet Severus’ eyes, and he felt a pang of pain. He was barely fifteen. No matter how reluctant Draco was to admit it, he was still just a child, and the burden he bore was more than what a fully-grown man should have to cope with.
“Yes, hiding.” Severus sighed. “We’re all in danger - the incident with Crouch proved that tonight. Anybody associated with your brother has a target on their back, to say nothing of those closely linked to me…”
“Oh.” Draco’s voice had gone unnaturally high.
“The Headmaster himself will take charge of our safety; you needn’t worry. There’s a reason the Dark Lord fears him so deeply.”
“But what about school?” Draco whispered.
“We’ll be leaving before term concludes, and I cannot say for certain if we will return in September,” Severus said grimly. “In all likelihood, we will - if the Dark Lord can break into Hogwarts under Albus Dumbledore’s nose, we have bigger things to worry about - but after that incident with the imposter, we must take precautions to ensure Hogwarts is safe.”
“Okay.” There was a noticeable quaver in Draco’s voice. He pulled away from Severus and returned to his own chair, but kept clutching at Severus’ hand with a painfully tight grip.
“We’ll leave before school finishes to throw the Dark Lord off,” Severus said. “You cannot tell a soul - not even Granger and Weasley. They’ll be joining us at the end of term, since they are also in danger.”
Draco shot him a curious look. “Where are we going, anyway?”
Severus pressed his lips into a grim impression of a smile. “How much do you remember about your Great Aunt Walburga?”