Chapter Text
“And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that you have known me.” – The Little Prince
It was summer once again.
And though Harry had been back at Number Four, Privet Drive for only two days, the feeling was remarkably different from his previous homecomings. The familiar, suffocating misery had been replaced by a strange tension that was working entirely in his favour.
For starters, Aunt Petunia had hardly spoken a word to him. Whenever Uncle Vernon began to puff out his chest as though preparing to bellow an order, she would cast a sharp, terrified look at her husband and press her lips together so tightly they nearly vanished. It was clear she was living in a state of constant, low-grade panic, worried that Harry might send word to a certain someone who had just visited her for the second time days ago.
Furthermore, Harry had been moved to the guest bedroom. It was a significant upgrade from the cramped, smallest bedroom that had been his for the last years, and a world away from the cupboard under the stairs. All his things…well the few he owned… had been taken into the large, airy room usually reserved for Aunt Marge. It had a comfortable double bed that Harry found almost too large, and while he knew it was a minor triumph in the grand scheme of things, he couldn’t help but imagine Aunt Marge’s face if she were ever to find his things scattered across her (his) room. It was certainly larger than Dudley’s room, though not quite as grand as the master bedroom
Dudley himself was behaving strangely. He had become uncharacteristically quiet, spending more time brooding in the house and staring out of windows than out running with his gang and bullying kids. Harry didn't quite know what to make of it. On one hand, he still felt he was owed an apology for being pushed off the roof, yet he couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity; Dudley looked certainly unhappy.
It was almost a shame that he was about to leave. Harry felt a mix of relief and a very dark slight curiosity; he wanted to see exactly how long Uncle Vernon could maintain his self-control before Aunt Petunia finally snapped under the weight of her own nerves. But perhaps it was for the best; if they did push him too far, there was no telling what Professor Snape would do in retaliation. Whatever Snape had said to Petunia during their last conversation… it had clearly left her profoundly shaken.
To think that only a year ago he would have sooner believed himself under the Imperius Curse than admit he would rather stay with his most ‘hated’ Professor than the Dursleys. It was a change Harry found both deeply ironic and immensely welcome.
Still, not everything was as good as it seemed; the nightmares had increased, dragging him back to the cold, echoing halls of the Department of Mysteries and the haunting, final silence of Sirius falling into the veil.
Or sometimes it was just the prophecy.
Knock–Knock
Harry was jerked from his angst filled thinking. He checked his watch and reached out and stopped the record player, silencing Frank Sinatra’s smooth voice mid-verse. He crossed the room and pulled open the door. Dudley was standing there, looking everywhere but at Harry.
“Dad just went out... there was a thing in the office,” Dudley said quietly, his voice lacking its usual aggressive edge. “I need... you to come with me.”
“To where...?” Harry asked, his curiosity piqued as he watched him. Apart from staring out of windows depressingly, Dudley also left yesterday with Aunt Petunia to who knows where.
“Just out…” Dudley shrugged.
Harry watched him closely, noting the way Dudley’s sausage-like fingers were twitching nervously at the hem of his shirt. “Are you going to tell me, or is this a guessing game?” Harry asked. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Dudley, but the world isn't exactly safe right now. That bridge collapsing in the news wasn't an accident, and I'm not going anywhere until you tell me exactly where we're headed. I’m not risking my neck or yours on a whim.”
“Why can’t you just…”
“Ehm… I told you there are dark wizards on the loose,” Harry interrupted. “I’m not doing it, Dudley. And by the way, you owe me an…”
“It’s an appointment!” Dudley blurted out, his face turning a blotchy, panicked pink.
“An appointment for what…?” Harry asked impatiently.
“It’s none of…”
“It is my business, because like I told you, I’m not risking it.”
“Mum and Dad told me not to tell you… nobody knows…” Dudley muttered.
Harry raised an eyebrow in mock-disbelief. “Not even Piers Polkiss?”
Dudley gave a jerky shake of his head, a dull flush creeping up his thick neck. It was a sight so rare that Harry thought that maybe the sky was going to fall over; he had never, in all his years at Privet Drive, seen Dudley look truly embarrassed. “They forgot that I had the appointment today…”
“Why can’t you go alone…?”
“I just can’t…” Dudley murmured. After a moment, he added in a voice barely audible, “I don’t like going alone.”
“And you still haven’t told me what sort of appointment this is,” Harry reminded him.
“Because it’s stupid.”
“What is?”
“The appointment.”
“It can’t be more stupid than the time you tried to convince the neighbours you’d been scouted for a professional wrestling tour.” Harry said honestly.
Dudley flushed a deeper, more violent purple. Harry had a thousand things he could have said but he bit them back. It would have been unkind, and Dudley had been… decent enough. Besides, a nagging curiosity was getting the better of him. Whatever this appointment was, it didn't sound like an escape to London or an attempt to break into the Ministry.
“It’s not far, right?” Harry asked cautiously.
“No... it’s near the rec centre,” Dudley said. “There’s a boxing club nearby and a pool where we spent my seventh birth…” He cut himself off, his face falling as he realized Harry had never been there; he hadn't exactly been invited to Dudley's parties in those days. “Anyway, it’s very close. It will only be an hour.”
“Fine,” Harry sighed. He reached down and tightened the strap of his watch more firmly. If something were to go wrong, not that Harry was actively counting on a disaster, though his life generally invited them, at least Snape would know. “As long as we don't take too long.”
They stepped out into the humid June air that was coming into July, the silence between them thick and awkward. Harry kept his eyes moving, scanning the manicured lawns and identical driveways of Privet Drive for anything that didn't belong, while Dudley seemed preoccupied with a different sort of surveillance. He was twitching his head back and forth as if he expected a neighbour to jump out from behind a garden hedge.
“What are you looking for, Dudley?” Harry asked after a minute of watching his neck moving at all directions.
“People…” Dudley mumbled. “They aren’t supposed to know about… you know.”
“Why? Honestly, Big D, it’s a bit late to start being self-conscious about what the neighbours think,” Harry pointed out as they passed the park. “Since when did you care about keeping secrets, anyway?”
“It’s just… I… do you know what happened? To me? After you left last summer?”
“Mmm… well, it’s a bit foggy,” said Harry, there was a sharp, sarcastic edge to his voice now. “You and your lot did give me a rather impressive concussion, you know. I tend to forget the finer details when my brain is rattling around my skull. A bit of short-term memory loss, you understand.” It wasn't meant to be serious at all, but Dudley seemed to take the sarcasm to heart and stopped walking altogether.
“Do you really? Have memory loss?”
“I… No, Dudley… I was joking,” Harry said awkwardly, feeling a flicker of guilt and reassurance that he didn't quite know why Dudley needed it. “I know you were attacked by Dementors. I don’t know the rest of what happened to you, but I know it isn't a nice experience. I’m sorry it happened to you, though.”
“I…” Dudley seemed to run out of words. “Well… I did spend some time in the hospital, and then I returned to school. My teacher sent me to this woman in school… and they sent word to Mum and Dad that I needed to talk to someone. Mum and Dad didn't want me to go because they didn't want…”
“The neighbours to talk about it?” Harry finished for him. Dudley nodded miserably.
It all made sense now, though Harry wasn't sure what Dudley could possibly discuss in an appointment. He found it quite ironic that Dudley, of all people, needed someone to talk to, but he decided not to judge him for it. If it helped him be less of a bully and a prat, then in Harry’s book, that was a marked improvement. He briefly wondered if Snape would benefit from that sort of thing; perhaps the man would be under less stress if he had someone to talk to. But Snape would surely throw him out of a window for the suggestion alone. The man already struggled enough to talk about his own feelings. It was about as likely as Snape ever deciding to adopt him.
“Mum and Dad don't really like to talk about it,” Dudley said, cutting through Harry’s imagination. “But my professor insisted I go. If anyone asks where we’re going, they just tell them I’m heading to my boxing class.”
Harry simply nodded and his eyes continued to scan the street. They continued to walk in a heavy, uncomfortable silence for some time, though Harry became increasingly aware that Dudley was staring at him with a sort of nervous attentiveness.
“What is it?” Harry asked eventually.
“Maybe you could go there someday... and talk about your nightmares,” Dudley said quietly. “I hear them at night... you talk about your... Sirius?”
“Yeah, thanks...” Harry sighed, the mention of the name sending a sharp, cold guilty pang through his chest. “What I have, Dudley, is a bit bigger than something you can just talk away, but thanks anyway...”
“I mean, I want to…”
“You know, it's alright. Are we there yet?” Harry asked, his voice adopting a flat, final tone that Dudley understood immediately. Harry did not want to talk about it, and his hand stayed firmly gripped on his wand as he continued to watch for any sign of danger.
“Yes,” Dudley whispered, pointing a finger toward the building ahead.
Harry’s shoulders finally relaxed, as they walked inside he sank into a chair in the waiting room, his eyes fixed on a television set in the corner. There was a movie playing without sound; a man was leaping across the screen, shooting people around. Harry had heard of it before, years ago; Dudley and his friends had rented the VHS while Harry had been busy weeding the garden, and back then, the movie had seemed dreadfully boring. Now, however, with nothing else to do but sit, he found himself staring at the screen with a flicker of interest. He had only to wait another three days; surely he could survive three more days. He was bored and, if he were honest, a bit miserable.
Many, many miles away from the hot streets of Surrey, the grand manor in Wiltshire sat in a state of unnatural stillness. Darker energies seemed to pulse from within the stone walls, a cold joy radiating from the master who occupied the high-backed chair in the drawing room.
Severus Snape was on his knees.
The cold marble pressed into his joints as he marked the passing of the tenth minute. He was not here for punishment; after all Emmeline Vance was dead… another death he had been unable to prevent, though he had privately hoped Albus might have had the foresight to warn her. Yet, his position was paramount, a necessity that felt heavier with every life sacrificed to maintain it. She had been dispatched an hour ago by Rowle and Yaxley, and now Severus stood as the messenger of her end.
A high-pitched chuckle broke the silence.
"You may stand, Severus," the Dark Lord said with pleasure. "You have provided a most excellent service; Dumbledore’s circle is diminished by yet another."
Severus rose stiffly, keeping his face inclined toward the floor. He wished for nothing more than to leave this place without further injury, for the Dark Lord’s paranoia had become eratic recently. "Thank you, my Lord," he replied.
"Look upon me, Severus," commanded the Dark Lord.
Severus lifted his head, meeting those red eyes that usually burned with an insatiable hatred. He braced for the inevitable intrusion into his thoughts, but the blow never came.
"You appear surprised," The Dark Lord observed, his tone dangerously light. "For days, I harboured profound doubts about your intentions. What I glimpsed within the mind of Harry Potter was... unsettlingly full of nonsense." He trailed off for a moment. "However, you have provided proof of a loyalty that far outstrips what Bellatrix managed following the battle in London. And with our resources dwindling, I believe something or someone… new may finally be of use to us.”
“What is that, my Lord?” Severus asked, his tone carefully neutral, though a cold stone of dread was beginning to settle in his stomach.
The Dark Lord stood and glided toward the heavy oak doors and flicked his wand. They swung open with a groan of iron. Standing in the hallway, silhouetted against the light of the corridor, was a boy who had not been there when Severus arrived.
“Draco?” Severus breathed.
Draco looked dreadful.
He had returned from Hogwarts only two days prior, but the swagger of the school year had vanished, replaced by a haunting, grayish pallor. His hands were trembling. Severus knew the Dark Lord remained incensed with Lucius, who was currently rotting in Azkaban… a failure further humiliated by the lingering effects of a spell from a dead Sirius Black that had cost the man an eye. To see the son standing here, in the shadow of such a father, made the nature of this use chillingly clear.
“My Lord,” Severus said carefully, “I do not believe Mr. Malfoy will be of immediate use.”
“Oh, but how he begs for it,” The Dark Lord interrupted, his voice dropping to a mocking whisper as he stared at the shaking boy. “He did so this very morning, did you not, young Draco? He craves the chance to restore the honour his father so carelessly threw away”
The Dark Lord turned back to Severus, a dark, predatory glint in his eyes.
“What do you say, Severus?”
Severus did not answer immediately. He knew that to speak in favour of this was to damn another soul to the service of a master who had no heart, yet to remain silent was to invite a suspicion he could not afford for there was someone else, far from this place, who still needed him and was mourning already a deep loss.
“He is... capable, my lord,” Severus said, his voice smooth and devoid of any warmth. “But I would not say he is quite ready. Perhaps when he matures... when his judgment is less clouded by a teenager’s impulsiveness.” He allowed a faint, arrogant sneer to curl his lip. He needed the Dark Lord to believe he was merely piqued by the attention being shown to a mere boy.
“I am ready!” Draco burst out. He stepped forward, his eyes bright with a stolen, desperate confidence. “It would be an honour. I will do the right of what my father did wrong. I am not a coward.”
Severus wanted, sickeningly, to close his eyes.
“Can you not see he is willing, Severus?” The Dark Lord said, looking pleased. “That is the eagerness we need. Show me your left hand, Draco.”
Severus tried one final, desperate protest. “My lord, the boy is sixteen. If he should fail, the consequences for our cause…”
“He will not fail,” The Dark Lord said cuttingly.
Draco extended his arm, his hand trembling. The Dark Lord gestured impatiently, and Severus stepped forward. It was expected of him. He seized Draco’s arm, his grip firm and unrelenting, holding the boy steady for the unimaginable pain to come. Draco flinched at his touch, his eyes burning with a hatred that Severus accepted as his due.
“You will be of great service to me, won’t you, Draco?” The Dark Lord said softly, lifting his wand to the boy’s forearm.
“Ye–yes, my lord.”
“And so you shall be a new man... a righteous man.”
The Dark Lord touched the tip of his wand to the pale skin. Severus’s fingers dug into Draco’s flesh as the boy’s legs began to shake. A terrible, searing heat erupted where the wand met skin; Draco began to cry, the sound muffled and raw. Severus could only occlude, for the screams would surely haunt him in dreams. Draco tried to pull away, to escape the agony that was the hallmark of his new master, but Severus held him fast until it was finished.
When the Dark Lord finally withdrew his wand, the black ink of the Mark pulsed like a fresh bruise. Draco’s knees buckled. He pushed himself away from Severus with a desperate, frantic strength, collapsing onto the floor.
Severus knelt, reaching out a hand to steady the boy, but Draco recoiled as though he had been burned. It was understandable, Severus reflected bitterly, in the boy’s eyes, he was the favourite who had remained free while his father rotted in Azkaban.
The Dark Lord reached out and placed a hand in Draco’s blond hair, forcing his head up.
“Face your new master, Draco.”
The boy looked up, his face tear-stained but his expression hardening into something cold and lost.
“Tell me what to do,” Draco whispered. “I am ready to serve you.”
“Your first task, young Malfoy, shall be one that I originally designated for the man standing before you when he was but a youth. A task he has yet to bring to fruition. I shall thrust this honour upon you now, for I believe that where age and caution have faltered, youth and desperation may prove more successful.”
He looked at Draco’s pale face and realized with sickening clarity that this was the true price of Lucius’s failure at the Ministry.
“You shall have one year,” The Dark Lord continued. “Fail me, as your father did, and the punishment will be far worse than a simple death. It will not be your blood alone that pays the debt. Now... leave us.”
Draco bowed, his movements stiff and weak. As he turned to leave, the Dark Lord watched him with a thin, cruel smile. The heavy door closed, leaving Severus alone with his master.
“My Lord,” Severus said. “I do not believe the boy is yet capable of a task of this magnitude. I have already laid the groundwork, and there is time still for me to ensure you are not disappointed.”
“You have not failed me, Severus,” The Dark Lord said, and for a second, the gleam in his eyes seemed almost fond. “In truth, you have done me a great service. You and I both know that the boy will fail… Furthermore, I have something else to give you before we part. Wormtail shall be at your service this summer.”
The mention of the name sent a surge of pure, unadulterated loathing through Severus. It took every ounce of his Occlumency to keep his control. The thought of that sniveling, rat-like creature… the man whose cowardice and betrayal had led death directly to Lily’s door… living under his roof was almost more than he could bear.
Moreover, it was a tactical disaster.
He had promised Potter that his time at Privet Drive would be limited to a mere five days, and h had yet to arrange a safe alternative. If Wormtail was installed at Spinner's End, Severus would have a spy in his very midst, making it impossible for Potter to stay with him. Which meant that Potter would have to stay in Privet Drive.
That was unacceptable.
Severus bowed his head, his hair veiling his expression. “I am quite honoured, my Lord, but if I may voice an opinion...”
The Dark Lord’s eyes flashed, and for a heartbeat, it seemed he would object, but he gave a sharp, impatient nod for Severus to continue.
“I believe that Wormtail,” Sevrus began, the name leaving his lips with a hiss of pure disdain, “would be of far greater service if he were to remain at Malfoy Manor to watch over Draco and Narcissa. Draco is young and, as you noted, likely to falter. He requires more than a mother’s coddling; he needs a constant reminder of the price of failure. Wormtail is a coward, but he is a coward who knows the weight of your mark. If he is stationed at the Manor, he can act as a secondary pair of eyes, reporting any sign of hesitation or treachery from the Malfoys before it can jeopardize your designs.”
“I see your desire to be useful, Severus,” The Dark Lord murmured, “but I have Bellatrix here. What more use would I get from Wormtail if she is already present to oversee the boy?”
“I fear, My Lord,” Severus said, his tone carefully neutral, “that her particular brand of devotion may lack the… subtlety required for this stage. She is prone to theatrics, and after the fiasco at the Ministry, her judgement remains… compromised.”
“If what she has told me of her planning comes true, then she will prove to be more useful than even you, Severus.”
Severus did not speak.
He knew when a door had shut, and he knew the danger of trying to force it open. He waited, wondering what exactly Bellatrix could be planning.
“The blood wards at the boy’s home,” The Dark Lord mused. “Bellatrix believes she may find a fracture.”
An icy sensation gripped Severus.
At this moment, he felt nothing through the connection of the watch, but he needed to leave, and he needed to leave now.
“I doubt she could accomplish such a feat, my Lord. The blood wards are ancient magic, and Bellatrix has already proven her inability to handle the boy with the necessary... finesse. I still believe that stationing Wormtail at the Manor is the more prudent course to ensure the Malfoy boy completes his task without faltering.”
“I shall consider it. Should Bellatrix find herself unsuccessful in this venture, then Wormtail shall remain within Wiltshire to ensure the Malfoys do not lose their nerve. You may leave, Severus.”
He did not hurry from the room. He walked at the same measured pace with which he had entered, neither too swift nor too slow, his face arranged into the bored composure of a man leaving one unpleasant errand for another. Only when the drawing room door closed behind him did he allow his fingers to curl once inside the sleeve of his robe. Sensing the coming danger.
Draco was gone from the corridor.
It was getting more difficult every day to remain faithful to a monstrous cause that demanded an accumulation of deaths and sacrifices as its tithe. More and more people were being hurt, the list of names he could not save growing longer with every sunrise.