Two: Potions

On the second morning of the term, Severus Snape found himself in a good mood before breakfast. This was so rare an occurence that it almost alarmed him; usually, his work kept him awake late, his nightmares kept him from sleeping well, and the sheer indignity of having to leave his bed at half past seven put him in a foul mood that lasted most of the day. Of course, this was the beginning of the term, so there were as yet no assignments to grade. That didn't explain the lack of nightmares, though, nor the fact that here he was, striding down the corridor to breakfast, as refreshed and enervated as though he'd had two cups of Darjeeling already.

As he entered the hall, the first person he noticed was Malfoy, slumped in a chair at the far end of the professors' table looking sullen and hung over. Severus took the chair opposite him, noticing that Malfoy had nothing on his plate more substantial than dry toast.

"You know," he couldn't help saying, "you'll never get through classes today if you don't eat something." He helped himself to some sausages as he spoke.

Malfoy glared at him. "Not hungry." The scar down the right side of his face made his glare more imposing than it used to be.

"If you find yourself wanting a cure for headache or nausea, then, stop by before class." Malfoy grunted in response and took a bite of the toast.

Why am I even bothering with the spoiled little git? Severus wondered. Yes, it was good to have someone at the table with whom to make conversation -- though not, apparently, at breakfast -- and he did sympathize with the young man's suffering in the war. They sat across the table from each other in silence for a few minutes while Severus ate his breakfast.

"I think I'd like to take you up on that offer, if you don't mind," Malfoy said calmly when Severus had finished.

It was probably the nearest thing to an apology he could manage. "I don't mind in the slightest." Severus checked his watch. "Quarter past eight. We should just have time before morning classes." They rose to their feet simultaneously, and Severus was sure he caught a dark stare from Charlie Weasley as they swept out of the hall, black robes billowing threateningly behind them. Behind him he thought he heard Malfoy snort contemptuously.

If I'm being honest with myself, this is probably what made this morning tolerable. He'd spent so many years now being the loner, the friendless one at Hogwarts. It was hard sometimes to remember what it had been like to be part of a group. There had been a Malfoy involved then, too, he remembered, though the balance of power had been quite different. He'd never known where he stood with Lucius. Privately, he doubted that anyone, even Voldemort, had ever known where they stood with Lucius; the man had taken concepts like "capricious" and "self-serving" to new levels.

The door to the Potions classroom swung smoothly open and Severus found himself, as usual, soothed by the complex scent that enveloped him. He realized that most people found it unpleasant -- too many bitter and pungent smells involved there -- but to him it simply meant he was back in his own territory, in control of his surroundings. The hangover cure was the work of moments, especially with Malfoy there to fetch ingredients while he stirred.

"Bitter stuff," Malfoy shuddered as he choked down a cup of the result. Severus just watched him. A few seconds later, it hit, and the young man's clouded gaze smoothed into clarity. "Works, though."

Severus allowed himself a bit of a smirk. "The precise result I aim for." He watched Malfoy appreciate the broader application of his comment and felt that same abstract satisfaction he'd had during their dinner conversation the night before. It was a pleasant change of pace to have discussions with someone, rather than only opening his mouth to snipe, berate, or harangue. He could get used to having Malfoy around.

"I'll bottle the rest of it for you," he offered, "in case you have a need for it again."

Malfoy nodded. "Thank you." The words actually sounded almost natural, only slightly awkward. These last few years had changed him so much. "I'd like to be able to stay and converse with you, but the time being what it is..."

"I know." Severus almost smiled, again. "Good luck getting through the day without casting any Unforgivables."

Malfoy smiled back, though his scar twisted the expression. "I'll do my best."

* * *

Of course, collegial pleasantries or no, the teaching day was a long one, and Severus was exhausted by the end of it. He'd wanted to do some reading after dinner, but was disappointed to find that the new issue of Alchimical Quarterly contained nothing that really held his attention. His mind kept wandering, prodding at the past like it was a rotten tooth, trying to gauge how much it hurt. He sighed.

* * * * *

When Minerva knocked on his door that night, to tell him about the infirmary's new charges, he couldn't believe his ears.

"Tell me again."

"Draco Malfoy is upstairs in the hospital wing with his mother, who is seriously injured. The boy himself is quite distraught. I would appreciate it if you would come and take charge of him, as his Head of House." She regarded him levelly through those spectacles, looking far more owlish than catlike.

"Of course." Severus threw his robes back on and followed her out the door, buttoning them as he walked. "How did it happen?"

"We don't know the whole story. He's in shock and the mother's unconscious." Minerva's tone was as brisk as her stride. "He seems to have Apparated as near to the grounds as he could manage -- quite a feat, with his training incomplete and carrying another person -- and then walked from there. I warn you," she added as they reached the hospital, "he's not well at all."

"Just let me see him," Severus replied brusquely. "I'll do what I can."

Narcissa Malfoy lay in one of the hospital beds, looking lovely and broken as Poppy Pomfrey fussed over her. Draco sat in a chair next to the bed, his hands in his lap, staring at the floor. His hair was a mess and there were dark stains on his green robes. Severus knelt down in front of him and placed a hand on the boy's arm.

"Mr. Malfoy," he said quietly. "Draco."

"Please save her." Sounding exhausted, drained.

"We're taking care of her, Draco." He tried to make his voice gentle, reassuring. He'd had very little practice at this. "She'll be alright. Can you tell me what happened? Your robes are covered in blood."

"It's not mine."

Good, because you'd be in worse shape than your mother if it were. "Whose is it?"

The boy raised his head, and his eyes were the flattest, coldest gray Severus had ever seen them. "My father's." Ever so slowly, the world ground to a halt. "I killed him." That roaring sound, Severus realized after a minute, was the blood pounding in his ears. Lucius was dead. That changed everything.

* * * * *

He was probably one of the only people who'd been grateful for the change, he thought. For most of them, the shift from covert operations to frontal attacks was an increase in risk. For him, by contrast, it meant no more Cruciatus "loyalty tests," no more kissing the hem of Voldemort's robe and abasing himself, no more awkward balancing of truth and deception. The war "proper," the straightforward contrast between his position at Albus' side and the Death Eaters' position at Voldemort's, was so much easier on his soul. Despite all the arguments about how Slytherin it was to be a spy, to lurk in shadows and deceive, it was incredibly wearying. And besides, even for a Head of House, there was a limit to how far stereotypes could hold. Any way he looked at it, Severus was glad to be out of that mess.