Better Angels

Better Angels

Chapter Seven

When Draco went down to the Great Hall--it was hard to believe that, what with everything that had happened, he hadn't missed dinner--he paused in the doorway, looking for his people. The Slytherin table was strangely empty. The younger kids from the afternoon's--adventure--were at their own tables, looking far more excited than they would have done if they had any real notion what had just happened. Zenobia was with Grumbine at the Ravenclaw table.

He paused there. "All right, Zenobia?"

She nodded. "They called me a blood traitor when I came in, but--" She shrugged expressively.

"Professor Snape will have words with them, but...you might want to stick with well-populated areas for a while."

"I'd figured," she said dryly.

"Probably won't be any trouble, but you can't be too careful. Those six were the really dangerous element, but they had friends. One thing you might want to use...You-Know-Who is extremely likely to take a dim view of this...endeavor. It was...indiscrete. The chances of getting caught, even if you guys hadn't happened along in time, were extremely high, and the payoff virtually nil. He likes his cost-benefit ratios tipped in the opposite direction. Any, ah, member of my father's old crowd with common sense will be distancing themselves from the...incident...as quickly and emphatically as they can. In fact, if you've got ambitions in that direction--which I hope you don't--you could easily spin this thing to your advantage. I imagine Snape will be taking that line."

Zenobia's face took on a calculating look, and she nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

Grumbine, who was looking quite worried at the line this conversation was taking, said, "I thought Zen might do well to stay over with me for a night or two."

"Good idea--do it. If Flitwick poses a problem, have him talk to Professor Snape."

Zenobia didn't look happy, but she agreed. "Okay. Just for a day or two."

He went on to his usual place, next to Longbottom. Granger, as soon as she saw him, asked, "Are you all right, Draco?"

He nodded. "Yes, thanks."

"Are you sure? The Unforgivable curses can have some nasty after-effects."

She had probably read about that in a book somewhere. "Yes, I know." He'd had a nasty few minutes up in Dumbledore's office, where he'd thought he was going to faint. "Professor Snape gave me an antidote."

"I didn't know there was one."

"Still a bit experimental, I think. His...line of work, you know."

Granger nodded understanding.

He looked distastefully at the platters of pork chops and roasted potatoes on the table. He did not--precisely--feel hungry, but the Professor had told him diminished appetite was a side effect of either the potion or the curses it was meant to relieve, and that if he didn't manage to eat anyway, he'd regret it later.

With a sigh, he selected a chop.

"Hermione," Weasley was saying, "Why didn't you get us before you went up there?"

She gave them an appraising look. "I suppose I didn't think you'd want to come. And we managed just find without you," she said matter-of-factly.

"But--" Then Weasley's eye fell on him. "Well, you have a point." Looking thoughtful--not a good look for him--he continued, "I suppose if You-Know-Who wants him dead, he can't be all bad."

"The Dark Lord, I have it on good authority, is indifferent to my continued existence. Pansy was acting on her own there." Pansy. It was still hard to wrap his head around the notion that a group of kids he's known, for the most part, since toddling age, spearheaded by a girl he had dated, had tried earnestly to kill him. "I suppose I'm well shut of her--supposed we'd kept on, and years down the road I'd forgotten our anniversary?"

"The mind reels," Granger said dryly.

Hesitated, he added, "I ought to have said, while we were all still upstairs...suppose I'll have to track everyone down individually now..."

"Said what?" Granger asked.

"Er...thanks. Saving my life and all. You too, Neville."

Neville chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, and said, "You're welcome."

#

"Morning, Professor." Draco leaned against his doorframe.

Severus looked him over for damage. He looked all right, if a little haggard. "Morning."

"Have you a paper? I wanted to see, before I go up for breakfast..."

"Yes, I was just checking. Come in."

He'd made a pot of tea, so he located a second cup and poured some for Draco. "Here, you look like you could use it."

"Thanks. Didn't sleep real well."

"Bad dreams?" He knew a little bit about those.

"Rather."

The Prophet was open on his table; Severus scanned the front pages as he knotted his tie. "Here. 'Six Hogwarts students taken into Ministry custody after allegedly using Unforgivable Curses against a fellow student. The names of the juveniles and the alleged victim have not be released. Sources at Hogwarts were unavailable for comment--' told them to sod off, I would imagine '--Five of the juveniles have been charged with aggravated use of proscribed curses, the sixth with a lesser crime. A spokesman for the families said, "this was a prank that got out of hand. I'm sure it will be cleared up quickly."' That's all, but you can be sure they'll have more for the evening edition. Probably didn't have time to invent anything really scurrilous." He paged through the rest of the paper. "Here's something on the editorial page--'We refuse to comment on rumours that Harry Potter was the student attacked at Hogwarts last evening.'"

"Huh," Draco said, looking affronted.

"Then, of course, they proceed to comment on them. Speculation on whether Dumbledore has provided adequate security for the Boy Who Lived--hah." It was impossible to provide adequate security for Potter; he actively sought out danger. "So they haven't gotten your name yet." There was sure to be unpleasantness when they did.

Draco appeared to be thinking along the same lines. "I can hardly wait. What angle do you think they'll go with?"

"Chances are they'll simultaneously suggest you made it all up, had it coming, and actually did the curses yourself to set the others up."

"Don't forget 'seriously disturbed.' Wish they'd go with 'dangerously mad,' personally."

Severus smiled indulgently. "We'd best go."

#

"I suppose by now everyone's heard...some version...of what happened in the Astronomy Tower yesterday." Draco had called a special meeting of the Dragons for rumor- and damage-control. "I was lured up there by a group of...my former Housemates. They...we believe they were planning to kill me. Zenobia, Grumbine, Granger, Longbottom, Neddington, Knotroach, Huffnargle, Clouth, Hillwood, and Banger-Jones came to my rescue, in the nick of time."

"It is true they're all Death Eaters?"

"Yes. Most of them, anyway. Bulstrode might not be. That brings me to my next point. While appreciate it--very much--having no particular desire to die--if you ever again have reason to believe I'm in any danger, I strongly recommend going to the first teacher you can find. Don't try to handle it yourselves. I have enemies who play with live ammo." Some of the kids looked confused. "Who are very dangerous," he clarified. Some of the kids who had been in on the rescue mission still seemed to be treating it as a bit of a lark, and those who hadn't been there were jealous. "We could all have been killed. Honestly."

They looked a bit chastened. "I don't want to frighten you, but you have to understand the danger. They've all been expelled, but some of them have friends, brothers, sisters still here at school. There could be...repercussions." He continued carefully, "All of you should be careful for the next few weeks. Stick close to your friends, and if you get any notes telling you to go to an isolated place alone, don't go. The chances of anything happening are small, but you don't need to take any unnecessary risks. Okay?"

They nodded.

"Do you really think we're in danger?" Banger-Jones asked nervously.

"It's possible. Of course, if anyone wants to quite the team--distance yourselves from me--no one will hold it against you." He doubted it would help if they did, really. "Those who weren't in on the rescue probably won't be bothered, but it doesn't hurt to be careful."

"Just don't take any stupid risks," Granger put in, obviously vying for the "Most Ironic Advice Ever" title. "Now that the Death Eaters are out of the school, were probably safer than before--but don't be too confident."

"Right." Draco continued, "There's also the press to contend with. They hadn't gotten any names in time for this morning's edition, but you can be sure that once they do they'll be very interested. If you go to Hogsmeade this weekend, you might be approached for comment."

"Neville and I have had owls asking for interviews already," Granger confessed. "Of course, they still thought it was Harry when they sent them."

"The stories will probably not be complimentary. If you decide to talk, don't count on being presented in a flattering light." Understatement. "I strongly urge you to refuse to comment. If you do talk, be very careful what you say. Think before you talk. Reporters have a depressing tendency to decide what they want to write ahead of time and tailor the quotes to fit. If they decided on 'Innocent Kiddies Lured Into Slytherin Love Nest' or 'Disturbed Malfoy Heir Dupes Schoolmates into Perilous Rescue,' you'll be made to come across as plucky-but-stupid no matter what you actually say."

"He's not kidding," Granger put in. "Remember what they wrote about Harry last year?"

"Or about me this year," Draco said. "Again, you're best off keeping clear of the press entirely."

"How can we stop them from saying bad things about you?" Violet Huffnargle asked.

"You can't." It was, he supposed, rather sweet of her to ask. "If it gets bad enough that it seems like a good idea for you lot to defend me, I'll ask for volunteers and have my solicitors set something up," he decided. "Until then, if you want to help me, stay out of it. Getting involved is only likely to keep the stories coming and make your parents worry."

Granger added, "If someone called Rita Skeeter approaches you, run the other way. She's awful."

"Of course, if you've an uncontrollable urge to see your name in print, there's nothing I can do to stop you, except remind you once again that after you've given them a quote you've no say over what they do with it. Anybody have any questions?"

They did. He and the others who had been in the Astronomy Tower spent the better part of half an hour dispelling some of the wilder rumours, including some Draco hadn't even heard yet (the one about him stumbling unwittingly into a trap laid for Potter was especially galling).

"No, they didn't turn me into a ferret," he answered a first-year girl patiently. "That was a couple of years ago, and it was Barty Crouch disguised as Mad-Eye Moody, not the Slytherins."

"Then is it true Milliecent Bulstrode wanted revenge on your for dumping her?"

"No, she and I were never an item. It was Pansy I was seeing, and she left me when the thing with Father happened." He did think that Millicent had fancied him--in the old days she had mooned about making eyes at him in a pathetic and obvious fashion--but that wasn't the sort of thing he had to mention.

Another first year said, "My older sister says you're making the whole thing up."

"I'm not. Ask them, they were there." He nodded toward the rescue party.

"I believe you," he said nervously. "I just thought you ought to know."

He already had known, but he just nodded and said, "Thanks." Then, "If there are any more questions, let's get some practice in before it gets dark."

#

Severus knocked on Draco's door the next morning, a copy of that day's Prophet in his hand.

The door opened. "Oh, hi." Draco's eyes fell on the newspaper. "What's the damage?"

"Not any worse than we expected, really. They've opened with Making-It-All-Up with a dash of delusional, and there's an editorial exploring the 'set it all up and Imperio'd innocent kiddies' option."

"Oh?" Draco rummaged about, apparently looking for his shoes.

"Yes, apparently you were about to cast Avada Kedavra on Parkinson et. al., and when the Dragons--your innocent dupes--interrupted, you used the Imperius curse to compel them to testify as they did."

"Damned clever of me," Draco observed, fishing his boots out from under the sofa and sitting to put them on.

"Indeed. Though why you didn't simply use a memory charm, I'm not sure."

"Oh, I'm far too evil to use a simply memory charm when I could use an Unforgivable instead. Snoffles, stop that!" He batted away a furry object that was attempting to suck his bootlaces up its...spout?

"What on Earth is that?"

Draco looked up at him guiltily. "It's...uh...my teapot."

"I can see that." It looked at lot like the teapot he'd half-transfigured into a marmot last term: essentially teapot-shaped, but with four stubby legs, fur, and a flexible spout. While the original teapot creature had been brown, this one was white with Dalmatian-like spots.

"I Transfigured it one time when you were away, and never got around to turning it back. I know I technically already have an owl, but..."

Translation: he'd gotten lonely, and the eagle-owl Lucius had gotten for him was too nasty to really count as a pet, so he'd transfigured his teapot for a little company.

"Does it eat?"

"Yeah--it sucks up soup through its spout. And Dobby's fixed up a litter tray."

"Very clever." He picked up the teapot, which wriggled and snuffled eagerly at his hands.

"It's very friendly," Draco said. "Kind of annoying, actually. Do I have to change it back?"

"I don't see why." Other than rules about the number and type of animals students were permitted to bring to school, which he was fully prepared to ignore. "I take it it's harmless?"

"As far as I know. I've had it about a month."

"Then don't worry about it. Ah....I'm not sure 'Snuffles' is an entirely appropriate choice of name."

"It won't answer to 'Ripper,' Draco said mournfully. "And anything Latinate and obscure just seems a little absurd for an animate teapot."

He had a point. And snuffling seemed to be primary activity in the creature's repertoire. He set it down carefully, and the teapot waddled across the carpet to Draco, who patted it and said, "Bye, Snuffy. Be good while I'm away." Then he stood and gave Severus a half-sheepish, half-defiant look. "Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"But you were thinking something," Draco accused.

"How could I not? Merlin's beard, you've got a pet teapot. And you call it Snuffy."

"If you tell anyone, I'll..." he hesitated, evidently trying to think of a sufficiently dire threat. "Tell them you gave it to me."

Severus shuddered.

#

Over the next few days, the Prophet stories got even wilder, but Draco didn't seem to be much bothered, so Severus didn't pay much attention either. On the Saturday after the Astronomy Tower incident, he was summoned to the Dark Lord's presence, where he was, unsurprisingly, held responsible for the colossal cock-up that had taken place right under his nose.

He made the mistake of reminding Voldemort that he had said the children were too immature to be trusted, and got an unusually nasty jolt of Crucio for his troubles. Nobody likes to hear "I told you so," and evil overlords were, emphatically, no exception.

Severus thought that his life would be very different if he had managed to fix that simple point in his consciousness.

After assuring the Dark Lord that he had handled the situation in such a away as not to arouse Dumbledore's suspicions--asking to kill the responsible parties certainly qualified--he was allowed to take himself home to the castle and his Cruciatus remedy.

He Apparated just outside the gates and let himself in, stopping by the dungeons to pick up his potions on the way to Dumbledore's office.

"Severus, you look ghastly," the Headmaster said, settling him in a comfortable chair.

"Thanks," he said. Good to know he looked better than he felt. He uncorked the two vials with his teeth and drained them both in the same motion. "Not much to report," he said, by way of excusing the second dose. "Called me on the carpet for letting those idiotic children pull such a moronic stunt on my watch. The hell of it is, he had a point." The fac me certiorum he'd taken was hitting his synapses. There went the dizziness....

Albus watched him. He'd seen Severus take fac me often enough to know what he was seeing. So he didn't ask what the point was; he knew it was coming.

"I told the Dark Lord I couldn't do much in the way of mentoring them, it would do too much damage to my cover. Utter rot. The real reason was...squeamishness. I didn't want to have anything to do with them once they were lost. Ironic, no?" Dumbledore didn't comment. "But if I'd kept a closer watch on them, I might have had a chance of stopping this idiocy before it started. Not only was Draco at risk, but they're all likely to be killed. He's that angry. If the ministry can't hang on to them, they're going to die. I don't--actually--care about that, but I know I should. If I had been willing to soil my hands dealing with them..."

"Then Voldemort would have six more supporters at large," Dumbledore said mildly.

"There is that." But his conscience--strange beast that it was--wouldn't accept that excuse. "I saw Parkinson use Cruciatus and Imperio with my own eyes. That sort of thing's addictive. Anyone would know that if the Dark Lord didn't give her an opportunity to try them again, she'd find one on her own." He hadn't thought of it--or if he had, he'd immediately catalogued it as "not my problem." "And the others....their fathers' not having as much pull as Parkinson pater, they'd not had a chance to try the Unforgivables since they'd learned them." It wasn't the kind of knowledge a person without much willpower could have and not use. And "without much willpower" described nearly every person under twenty, as far as Severus was concerned. "It was entirely predictable that they'd get up to some kind of trouble. If I'd taken them in hand, I could at least have steered them toward something less boneheaded." He dug a little deeper. "Except Parkinson, none of them had committed any capital crimes yet." He'd clawed his way back from far worse.

"A few days ago, you wanted to kill them yourself," Dumbledore reminded him.

Severus winced. "I've calmed down since then."

"Good."

"I...I'm afraid I've lost my taste for death." I'm afraid was no mere polite expression. He was afraid. The ability to kill convincingly and sacrifice ruthlessly were absolute necessities in his line of work. And it wasn't a career he'd likely live through being made redundant from.

But Dumbledore just nodded. "Good," he said again.

He didn't understand.

Severus tried to clarify it for him. "I decided years ago I'd sell them to Voldemort if it meant I could keep Draco. Now....I'm not sure I could do it again, if I had the chance." Which he didn't; they were irredeemably lost. But if he'd tried to save them all, he'd have lost Draco too, probably.

"Miss Bulstrode requested my presence earlier today. She appears to have decided to renounce the Dark Lord and all his works. I've my suspicions where she came by that idea." Dumbledore sounded amused.

"Yes--I told her you might be able to pull her out of the fire."

"So that's two. Your record's a bit better than mine."

"I doubt he particularly wanted Bulstrode."

"Severus--I've a bit more experience than you have saving young people from themselves," Dumbledore said delicately. "Chances are, had you tried, you wouldn't have succeeded. By not having tried, you made yourself available for other tasks. A difficult choice, but not ethically indefensible."

"I'm going soft," he confessed. "What's going to happen when I can't make the hard choices anymore?"

"Hard decisions...have a way of requiring themselves to be made. You may choose differently than you once would have...but I trust you, when there is no one right thing, to do a right thing. That's all I require of you."

He was being gnomic again. Perhaps the fac me was wearing off, or being overwhelmed by the Cruciatus remedy.

Dumbledore saw it. "Go to sleep," he said, with a flick of his wand summoning a blanket and rearranging Severus so he was stretched out on the sofa. He tucked him in with his own hands, and before Severus fell asleep he felt--as he was supposed to--blessed.