I do not own the characters; they belong to the brilliant JK. I’m only taking them for a little spin around the block. I promise not to harm them (ok, maybe I’ll harm them a little bit, but only for drama’s sake!), so please do not send any lawyers after me.
Friends in Low Places
By Nola Ryan
The Past is Prologue
Snape apparated just outside the gates of Hogwarts and strode quickly through them toward the castle. He glanced up at the blazing lights visible from the Great Hall as he hurried toward the front door of the school. “Another bloody feast," he muttered. "I see nothing to celebrate."
Snape approached the steps of the school, but rather than enter he diverted into the hedges to the left of the stairs. A series of taps with his wand on the stone wall triggered it to open inward, revealing a steep staircase. Snape quickly went down it, his feet sure despite the pitch darkness that descended when the wall closed behind him. The stairs dead-ended at another stone wall, which Snape again tapped with his wand, making a door appear. He stepped through it, coming into his office from behind the bookcase behind his desk, which blended back into the wall seamlessly once he was through. Snape started toward the other bookcase on the far wall but was stopped when a voice called out of the darkness “How did it go?”
Snape jumped, scowling at both his guest and at himself for letting his surprise show. “He doesn’t give a damn if the boy dies,” he muttered.
“Lucius wouldn’t agree to let Draco be treated?” asked a surprised Dumbledore, who was sitting in a chair in front of Snape’s desk.
“I know he never let himself get attached to the boy, but Draco is his flesh and blood,” ranted Snape, more to himself than to Dumbledore. “And to let him die just to further his own agenda…”
He stopped, realizing he was saying too much.
“Go on,” Dumbledore prompted.
“Can’t you do anything?” Snape almost pleaded.
“We’ll find a way to help him,” Dumbledore promised. “Perhaps you have a suggestion?” Dumbledore tented his fingers and rested his chin on them, staring over his half-moon spectacles at Snape. Snape tensed at the penetrating stare but returned Dumbledore’s gaze steadily.
“I have…” Snape started, but then thought better of what he was going to say. “I have some books I can research, there may be something in one of them to help.”
“Very well, if that’s the way you’d like to do it,” Dumbledore told him, as Snape began glancing at the tomes on the bookshelf behind him. “However, I think it might be more helpful to the boy to try a potion from your private collection.”
Snape whirled around, not even trying to hide his surprise. “Headmaster…”
“There is very little going on in this school I don’t know about,” Dumbledore said softly. “You are quite skilled at blocking your mind, but I have other means of gathering information. However, I did not see your continued research into those potions as a threat. In fact, I thought they might be quite useful someday. And now it appears I was right.” Snape gaped at him in stunned silence. “You are surprised I approve?”
“I must admit I am,” Snape confessed. “I know you don’t approve of the Dark Lord’s quest for immortality.”
“I only think it foolish to fear death so,” explained Dumbledore. “Did you keep the potions for your own use?”
Snape shook his head. “I no longer fear death.”
Dumbledore nodded. “You did not want your work to go to waste, then?”
“It’s foolish, I know.”
“Pride in your work is never foolish,” Dumbledore told him.
“No matter what the work?” wondered Snape.
Dumbledore didn’t answer. “Does Lucius know of these potions?” he asked instead.
“He suspects I may have kept some of the ones I created for our…for the Dark Lord,” Snape admitted.
“Did he ever try any of them himself?”
“No, the Dark Lord would not allow anyone else to try them,” Snape informed him.
“So we don’t know what they might do to someone who has not undergone the magical transformations Tom did?”
“No, I can’t guarantee they won’t do Draco more harm than good,” said an anguished Snape. “And I don’t know which, if any, of the potions was what kept the Dark Lord alive. It could have been some other kind of magic that saved him at the Potters that day.”
“Yet Lucius is willing to gamble his son’s life to see if these potions are effective,” said Dumbledore with a frown.
“Can’t you do anything, sir?” Snape asked again.
“The restrictions Lucius has put on the boy very much tie my hands,” Dumbledore admitted. “As you may know, there are a great many charms on young Draco to keep me from having any kind of influence over him. Unfortunately they also keep me from coming to his aid when needed.”
“Could you not break those charms?” questioned Snape.
“Lucius would know,” explained Dumbledore. “And I doubt he would allow Draco to stay here after that. Wouldn’t you rather have the boy here, where you can keep an eye on him?”
“Of course.”
“Gather those potions,” Dumbledore requested. “I need to go speak with the students at the feast, but I will meet you back at the hospital wing when I’m done.”
Snape nodded. Dumbledore rose to go, but a voice from the fireplace stopped him from leaving.
“Excuse me, Professor Snape?”
Snape waved his wand at the fireplace and Madame Pomfrey’s head appeared there. “Yes?”
“Healer Parkinson is here from St. Mungo’s,” the matron informed him. “Is the headmaster there with you?”
“I am indeed, Poppy,” Dumbledore spoke up. “Does the healer have permission to treat young Mr. Malfoy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent. I’ll be right up,” he told Madame Pomfrey, who nodded and disappeared from the fire. “It looks as if you got through to Lucius afterall, Severus.”
Snape shook his head. “It’s too easy.”
“I’ll question it after we get Draco fixed up,” Dumbledore decided. He started out, but then turned back. “Perhaps you should gather those potions anyway, and meet us up there.”
“Yes, sir,” said Snape as he rose from his desk. He escorted Dumbledore to the door, putting up the wards on the office again after he’d gone. Then he went to the bookcase opposite his desk.
Tapping the second shelf with his wand led the bookcase to swing inward, revealing the private potion lab inside. Snape stepped into the room and went immediately to the far wall, tracing a pattern on a stone midway down the wall, which opened outward. He reached inside the opening and pulled out a wooden box. Snape ran his hand over the carved snakes that covered it and they sprung to life, slithering along the side of the box until they reached the lock on the front. The lock sprung open at their touch. Taking a deep breath, Snape lifted the lid on the box.
*************
The Weasleys sat silently around Ginny’s bed as she slept peacefully, curled up in a ball with her hand still in Ron’s. He sat closest to her bedside, with Harry, Fred and George standing behind him. Mr. Weasley sat in a chair on the other side of Ginny’s bed. All of them were listening as the twins questioned Harry about his battle with the basilisk, but Harry was deflecting their demands for details.
“It was nothing, really,” Harry insisted. “I got lucky and got the right angle on the sword to kill it.”
“But it managed to get a fang in you,” George spoke up.
“Yes. Dumbledore’s phoenix fixed me right up, though,” he explained. “And then I used the fang on the diary to destroy Riddle.”
“Cool,” said Fred and George in unison.
“Boys, leave Harry be,” scolded Mrs. Weasley.
She was hovering over an upset Percy, who was standing away from the others, just inside the curtains surrounding Ginny’s bed. “Mum, I can’t,” he was insisting.
“Don’t argue with me, Percy,” Mrs. Weasley commanded.
“But if I hadn’t left her before…if I’d paid more attention…”
“Stop it!” Mrs. Weasley ordered. “Stop blaming yourself for this.”
“It was my responsibility to look out…”
“You were looking out for her,” Mrs. Weasley reminded him. “You sent her to see Madame Pomfrey when you noticed something wasn’t right. You couldn’t possibly have known it wasn’t anything rest and a Pepper-Up potion couldn’t fix.”
“I could never have imagined something like this,” Percy admitted, glancing over at Ginny.
“Exactly,” said Mrs. Weasley. “So how could you have protected her from it?”
“I would have found a way,” Percy insisted. “As the oldest here, it was my responsibility…”
“Right now your responsibility is with the students you are supposed to be overseeing,” Mrs. Weasley told him. “So I think you should go down to the feast.”
“But Ginny….”
“Your sister will be sleeping the rest of the night if we leave her be,” announced Mrs. Weasley to all of her family. “And she is in very good hands with your father and me. So there is no reason for all of you boys not to go down the Great Hall for the celebration.”
“But Mum,” chorused Ron, Fred and George together.
“No arguments,” Mrs. Weasley proclaimed, in a voice that left no room for argument. “There is nothing for you to do here. Go downstairs, celebrate Ginny being alive and well and the school being safe. Enjoy being heroes, you two.” She pointed to Harry and Ron, who both looked away in embarrassment. “And you go look after the other Gryffindors, as you’re supposed to,” she told Percy, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “And you two…”
She pointed to Fred and George, shook her head and sighed. “Just try not to blow anything up.”
“Yes, Mum,” Fred and George promised in unison as the others laughed.
All but Ron, who looked somberly at his mother. “She asked me not to leave.”
Mrs. Weasley crossed over to him. “She won’t even know you’re gone,” she assured Ron, stroking his hair tenderly. “That potion will make her sleep the rest of the night, so you go enjoy yourself and then get some rest. You can come back first thing in the morning.”
“I can’t enjoy myself,” Ron insisted.
“C’mon, Ron,” George said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I bet Hermione is anxious to see you and Harry. Let’s go make sure she’s fully recovered.”
“Good idea,” Harry spoke up. “We can thank her for helping us figure this all out.”
Ron nodded reluctantly and stood up. Mrs. Weasley hugged him tightly, and for once Ron didn’t protest, instead clinging to her for a moment. Mrs. Weasley went on tiptoe so she could kiss him on the cheek and murmured, “She’s going to be fine.” Then she smoothed down his robes and let him go, moving on to Fred and George, who accepted her hugs and kisses more reluctantly. Harry tensed when Mrs. Weasley enveloped him in a hug, too, not used to the affection, but relaxed quickly and gave her a warm smile as he pulled away. Mrs. Weasley ruffled his hair affectionately.
As the boys left the hospital wing, they passed Dumbledore on his way in. “You boys aren’t at the feast yet?” he asked them.
“On our way, sir,” Fred answered.
“Good, good,” said Dumbledore. “I’ll see you there in a bit.”
The Weasleys and Harry proceeded out as Dumbledore went to Draco’s bedside. Patrick Parkinson was there, administering a potion to the unconscious boy.
“Patrick, this is a surprise,” said Dumbledore with a warm smile.
“Professor Dumbledore,” acknowledged Patrick with a nod.
“Lucius summoned you?”
“Yes, sir. He said Draco wasn’t well enough to make the trip to St. Mungo’s,” Patrick explained. He noticed the group of redheads disappearing out the door. “Were they Weasleys?” he asked sharply. “Are they the ones who did this to Draco?”
“No, Draco’s injuries came from someone a bit…a bit closer to home,” he told Patrick delicately.
The sight of a disheveled Lucius flashed suddenly through Patrick’s mind, and he realized to whom Dumbledore was referring. “Damn him,” Patrick muttered.
He looked guiltily at Dumbledore, realizing he’d spoken aloud, but Dumbledore pretended not to have heard him. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” Dumbledore asked with a smile. The healer shook his head. “Will you be transferring him to St. Mungo’s?” questioned Dumbledore.
“The trip would only worsen his condition,” Patrick informed him. “And he needs to be treated immediately. I’ve brought most of what I’ll need to care for him, and whatever I don’t have, I can get from Madame Pomfrey or have the hospital send.”
“Very well, then I’ll leave you to your work,” said Dumbledore. “I must go speak to the students.” He glanced over at Ginny’s bed. “It has been quite a day here.”
“I hope you will fill me in later,” Patrick told him.
“I’ll have something to say to all the parents,” promised Dumbledore. “Shall I let Pansy know you’re here?”
“No, please don’t,” Patrick requested. “It will only upset her. I’ll speak to her once Draco’s condition is stabilized, so I can assure her he’s going to be fine.”
“As you wish,” Dumbledore told him with a polite nod. “If you need anything I will be in the Great Hall.”
Patrick nodded in acknowledgement as Dumbledore left the ward.
*****************
The hospital ward was silent hours later when Ron crept in. He glanced at the bed next to Ginny’s, just visible behind the curtain pulled haphazardly around it, and saw an unconscious Malfoy lying there. There was a table full of potion bottles on one side of the bed, and Snape dozed in a chair on the other side. Ron watched the injured Malfoy for a long moment, until Draco shifted in his sleep and let out a moan, waking Snape. The professor noticed Ron lurking.
“What is it, Weasley?” he growled.
“Just enjoying the little git’s suffering after what he and his father did to my sister,” Ron admitted savagely.
“Draco is not responsible for his father’s actions,” Snape informed Ron, who gave a contemptuous snort.
“He is every bit the bastard his father is,” Ron declared hotly.
“He did nothing to harm your sister,” Snape reminded Ron. “And yet Draco has had to pay the price for what happened tonight.”
“I didn’t do this to him!” Ron protested. “As much as I would like to pound his pointy rat face most of the time.”
“That’s quite enough, Ronald,” came Mrs. Weasley’s voice from behind him. She put a hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing back here?” she asked as she led Ron away from a scowling Snape and over to Ginny’s bed. “I told you that your sister would be sleeping the rest of the night.”
“I couldn’t sleep worrying about her,” confessed Ron. He noticed Mr. Weasley was gone. “Where’s Dad?”
“I made him go home,” Mrs. Weasley revealed. “He’s going to be quite busy tomorrow at the office, he needs proper rest.”
“He’s going into the office, with all that’s happened to Ginny?” Ron asked incredulously.
“He’s going because of what happened to Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley explained. “That diary was a Muggle artifact.”
“Dad’s going to go after Lucius Malfoy?” wondered Ron in awe.
His mother sighed. “Lucius will surely have covered his tracks. However, your father is going to do what he can to get some kind of justice.”
“Nothing he does is going to take back what happened to Ginny,” Ron murmured.
“I know.”
They both stared at Ginny silently for a long moment.
“What was it like down there?” Mrs. Weasley asked suddenly, her voice no more than a whisper.
Ron shuddered. “It was horrible. Bones all over the floor, and this snake skin about 60 feet long,” he recounted. “I didn’t even see the Chamber itself, so I can only imagine what that was like. I got stuck before we reached the door of it, when Lockhart nearly blew us all up with that ruddy wand of mine.”
He stopped, suddenly looking sheepish. “Mum, you’re going to kill me. My wand…I forgot to pick it up, I was too concerned with making a way for Harry to get out after he found Ginny. It’s still down there, in the corridor leading to the Chamber. And I don’t rightly feel like going back down there to get it.”
“No, of course not,” Mrs. Weasley told him. “We’ll find you another one. You’ve been needing a proper one for months.”
“Could I have a new one?” Ron asked hopefully.
Mrs. Weasley nodded. “I certainly think you’ve earned it.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
“I can’t believe Gilderoy Lockhart turned out to be such a terrible man,” lamented Mrs. Weasley. “He certainly didn’t look it.”
“Harry and I always suspected there was something off about him,” Ron admitted. “But we never imagined he’d be cowardly enough to let Ginny die rather than face what was in that Chamber.”
He crashed into the chair next to Ginny’s bed and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “He didn’t even care, Mum,” Ron said softly, looking up at his mother. He took Ginny’s hand, stroking the top of it with his thumb. “He was just going to let Ginny stay down there, let that monster….” He trailed off, dropping his head so his mother couldn’t see his face.
Mrs. Weasley rubbed his back comfortingly as Ron collected himself. “Harry won’t tell me everything that happened with Riddle down there,” Ron murmured. “He says I don’t want to know.” He looked up at his mother again, his eyes bright. “What could be so bad that he won’t tell me? Harry tells me everything.”
As if in answer, Ginny suddenly let out a cry and pulled her hand away from Ron’s, rolling to the other side of the bed. Ron stood up to try to comfort her, but stopped dead in his tracks when Ginny cried out, “No, please stop, Tom. You’re hurting me!”
Mrs. Weasley caught Ron under his arms as his legs buckled and eased him back into the chair. Then she hurried to the now-screaming Ginny, casting a last worried glance at Ron as she gathered her daughter in her arms.
Draco’s eyes flew open at Ginny’s first scream. “Mum,” he called frantically, trying to sit up. Snape put a hand on his shoulder to settle him but quickly pulled it back when Draco hissed in pain. He put a hand on Draco’s arm instead as the boy continued to try to push himself up, muttering ‘I’m coming, Mum.”
“That’s not your mother, Draco, your mother’s fine,” Snape assured him, patting Draco’s arm awkwardly.
“He’s hurting her again,” Draco murmured, fighting to keep his eyes open. “Can’t let him hurt her again.”
Snape took a small blue bottle half-full of potion from the table by Draco’s bed. “She’s fine, Draco, your mother’s fine,” he repeated. He held the potion bottle to Draco’s lips. “Here, drink this, it will help,” he said as he tipped the potion into Draco’s mouth.
Draco swallowed and almost immediately settled back against the pillows, his eyes drifting shut. Snape brushed the hair out of Draco’s eyes with uncharacteristic tenderness, but stopped when it registered what Ginny was screaming.
“I don’t want to, Tom. Please don’t make me,” she was crying.
“Tom,” Snape murmured. “Lucius, you didn’t.”
*****************
(15 Years Earlier)
Snape was working at a long table full of potions, carefully watching the simmering cauldron in front of him. Suddenly the door burst open, banging off the wall behind it from the force, but Snape did not startle.
“I’m busy, Lucius,” he murmured, taking a pinch of something from a small bowl next to the cauldron and adding it, sparking a burst of bright blue light.
“I don’t care,” Lucius growled. “The Master wants you.”
Snape flinched. “I am not a house elf. I do not have a master,” he thought to himself. And yet here he was, doing the Dark Lord’s bidding, no better than an elf.
“Why?” he asked Lucius.
“I wasn’t stupid enough to question him,” Lucius snapped. “He said bring you to him, so that’s what I’m doing.”
“Very well,” said Snape with a sigh, pushing away from the table. He silently followed Lucius out into the dark hallway of the Malfoy dungeon and up a steep staircase lit only by a flickering torch. From the staircase they emerged into the library, appearing behind a glass case full of weapons, which opened outward as Lucius muttered a password that Snape didn’t catch.
Voldemort sat in an overstuffed leather armchair pulled close to the blazing fire. A trunk lay open at his feet. Lucius settled into the chair next to him, tossing Snape a look of superiority. Snape scowled.
“Now, now, boys, play nicely,” Voldemort scolded, flicking his wand and making a chair appear on the other side of his. He motioned for Snape to sit, which he did. “I’m glad you could join us, Severus,” Voldemort told him, his slash of a mouth twisting into what Snape guessed was his attempt at a smile. “I was just about the show Lucius some of my old school things, and I thought you might also like a look.”
“Of course, my lord,” Snape told him. “Thank you.”
He leaned forward in his chair as Voldemort reached into the trunk, lifting out a wooden box covered with ornate carvings of snakes.
“Some potion ingredients you won’t have in your collection,” Voldemort told Snape, handing him the box. “Even in your private collection.”
“M’ lord…”
“It will do you no good to lie,” Voldemort warned him. “I know about the potions and everything else you try to hide from me.”
As Snape fought not to react to this statement, Voldemort reached into the trunk again, pulling out a small black book. “And this, Lucius, is for you,” he announced, handing Lucius the book. “My diary.”
“Your diary, my lord?” Lucius questioned, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
“Not the prattling that most students put into the ones they keep,” Voldemort explained, seeing Lucius’ bewildered look as he flipped through the empty pages. “I’ve put something very special in this book.”
“Is there a spell on it, Master?” wondered Lucius. “Something to reveal what’s written in it?”
“You have to write in it first and it will write back. I will write back,” Voldemort revealed.
“You, my lord?”
“My teenaged self, 16-year old Tom Riddle,” Voldemort explained. “I charmed that diary when I was at Hogwarts, so that someday my younger self could return to the school to lead another student to finish the work I started there.”
“What kind of work?” Snape blurted out. Voldemort narrowed his red eyes at him. “I’m sorry, my lord,” Snape murmured quickly.
“It’s quite alright, Severus, I will tell you of my work,” Voldemort offered. “I wished to honor the desire of my great ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, to rid the school of Mudbloods.”
“And how do we do that, Master?” Lucius asked excitedly.
“Get a student to write in the diary, to pour his soul into it,” Voldemort told him. “My younger self will feed on that soul until he is totally under my control, and then I can use that person to execute my plan. He will unleash a monster hidden deep within Hogwarts, and it will attack the Mudbloods, purifying the school as Salazar always wanted.”
“Whom shall I give it to, Master?” asked Lucius.
“Hold on to it for now,” Voldemort instructed. “The time is not yet right to use it. I will let you know when that time comes.”
***************
Another scream from Ginny brought Snape out of his thoughts. “Can’t you give her a dreamless sleep potion?” Snape snapped at Madame Pomfrey as she rushed by. “I think the poor girl has been through enough to justify it.”
Madame Pomfrey ignored him and went to Ginny’s bedside. Ginny was sobbing in Ron’s arms, and Mrs. Weasley had her arm around both of them.
“Here, Molly, give her this,” Madame Pomfrey said softly, handing Mrs. Weasley a small green bottle.
“The sleep potion isn’t working,” Ron complained.
“This will stop the nightmares,” the matron assured him. “That will allow the sleeping draft to work properly.”
Ron nodded warily and held his hand out to his mother, who handed him the potion bottle. “Here, Ginger Snap, drink this,” Ron coaxed, holding the bottle to her lips.
Ginny yanked her head away. “What is it?”
“Something to make all the bad things go away,” Ron told her with a reassuring smile.
“No potion is that powerful,” Ginny murmured, but she let Ron pour the liquid down her throat. Her eyes started to droop almost immediately.
Ron pulled her onto his lap. Ginny lay her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh and curled up against his chest as she drifted off to sleep. Ron looked up at Madame Pomfrey, who was still hovering nearby. “What did you give her?”
“A dreamless sleep potion,” she explained. “It’s quite powerful, she should sleep well into tomorrow.”
“I guess it’s no use telling you to go,” Mrs. Weasley said to Ron, who was propping up the pillow against the headboard behind his back.
“No use at all,” Ron told her, leaning back against the pillow wearily as he clutched Ginny tightly to him.
****************
Ron and Ginny were both sound asleep when a moan woke a dozing Mrs. Weasley. After checking to see it wasn’t one of her own children in pain, she rose and peered behind the curtain separating Ginny’s bed from Draco’s. Draco was asleep but occasionally woke with a whimper, shifting painfully in the bed. Snape was gone, so Mrs. Weasley went over to the bed. She gently stroked Draco’s hair, which quieted him immediately.
“Mum,” Draco murmured.
“Shh, little one, sleep,” said Mrs. Weasley, continuing to stroke Draco’s hair.
“You do know who he is, don’t you?” came a soft voice from behind her.
“He’s a little boy who’s hurting,” answered Mrs. Weasley, starting to stroke Draco’s hair again as he nuzzled against her hand.
“He’s none of your concern,” Snape told her.
“My boys didn’t do this, did they?” Mrs. Weasley questioned.
“He fell.”
“He didn’t fall,” Mrs. Weasley declared. “I have six boys, I know what it looks like when they beat on each other.”
“As much as I’d like to blame your children, Draco’s injuries are not their fault,” Snape admitted. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to your daughter? She seemed quite upset earlier.”
“She’s better now. She’s sleeping. Is anyone coming to look after the boy?” Mrs. Weasley wanted to know.
“I’m looking after him,” Snape told her. “And as I said, he is none of your concern.”
“The boy needs a mother right now,” Mrs. Weasley insisted. “He needs comfort.”
“And you don’t feel I can give him that?” asked Snape, his eyebrow arching upward.
“No I do not,” Mrs. Weasley declared. “Not the way I can.”
“Why would you comfort a Malfoy?” Snape wondered. “If the boy were at all awake he would have nothing to do with you.”
“Perhaps my showing him kindness despite knowing who he is will convince him not to judge someone by name only.”
Snape shook his head, muttering something that sounded very much like “Bloody stupid Gryffindors,” but he did not offer Mrs. Weasley any further resistance. Instead he took the chair on the other side of Draco’s bed, sitting ramrod straight in it as he glared over at Mrs. Weasley. She ignored him and began singing softly to Draco.
******************
The Gryffindor common room was still dark and empty when Ron trudged in wearily the next morning.
“There you are!” Hermione proclaimed, sitting up from the sofa on which she was lying and letting the book she had been reading fall to the floor.
“What are you doing up?” Ron wondered. “As late as that feast went last night, I thought everyone would still be asleep now.”
“I have too much work to do to catch up on to sleep,” announced Hermione with a sigh. “I can’t believe how far behind I am.”
Ron gave her a small smile. “Guess I don’t have to worry about you if you’re already back to hitting the books.”
“Oh no, don’t worry about me,” Hermione exclaimed. “You have far too much else on your mind. How’s Ginny?”
“Sleeping,” Ron told her. “She probably will be for the next couple hours. You should be, too. We all had a hell of a night last night.”
“You more than me,” Hermione declared. “And I can’t possibly sleep after being in bed for two months.”
“What did it feel like, being petrified?” Ron wondered, sitting down next to her.
“It didn’t feel like anything, really,” Hermione admitted. “One day I’m walking down the corridor, checking with my mirror to make sure I didn’t come across the basilisk, since Harry had heard it again that day. The next thing I know I’m in a bed in the hospital wing with Madame Pomfrey standing over me telling me I’d been petrified. The weirdest thing is the way everyone else went on with their lives during that time. They went to classes and did homework and had adventures in the Dark Forest.”
“Harry told you about that, did he?” Hermione nodded. “Did he tell you how useless we were without you?” Ron wondered.
Hermione smiled. “No, he must have left out that part.”
“Harry and I were pulling our hair out trying to figure out all that Chamber of Secrets stuff, and the whole time I kept thinking, ‘If only Hermione were here, we would have solved this ages ago.’”
Hermione’s cheeks flushed. “Really?”
“You know we’re no good at research,” Ron told her with a smile. “Harry, all he’s good at is nearly getting me killed.”
“I heard about the spiders,” said Hermione with a frown. “The trouble the two of you get into…” She shook her head. “Both of you could have died in there and in the Chamber, and then where would I be?”
“We didn’t have a choice about the Chamber, we had to save Ginny,” Ron reminded her.
“You must have been terrified,” said Hermione softly.
“I wasn’t thinking about me, I was thinking about Gin,” confessed Ron. “What she must be going through down there, how terrified she must be.” He hesitated a minute, then asked. “What did Harry tell you about the Chamber? What did he say about when he found Ginny?”
“The same thing he told you, I suppose,” Hermione answered. “He saw Ginny lying there when he got into the Chamber, and then Riddle appeared and summoned the basilisk, and Harry had to fight it with the sword that appeared in the sorting hat Fawkes brought him, and he managed to kill the basilisk, but not before one of its fangs pierced Harry’s arm, but Fawkes healed Harry, and Harry used the fang to destroy the diary and then he got Ginny out,” she blurted out, barely pausing for a breath.
“He didn’t say anything else?” Ron asked. “Anything about what Riddle said about Ginny or how she was when Harry found her?”
“She was unconscious,” Hermione reminded him. “And she was cold. Harry said that a couple times, how cold she was. Like she was dead.” Ron flinched. “Oh Ron, I’m sorry, that was awful of me to say. I swear, I think part of my brain is still petrified.”
“It’s okay,” Ron assured her softly. “She was almost dead. She’d be dead right now if it weren’t for Harry.”
“But she’s going to be okay now, right?” worried Hermione. “Madame Pomfrey is only keeping her in the hospital ward for a bit as a precaution.”
Ron leaned back against the pillows of the sofa with a sigh, pulling his hand through his hair. “I honestly don’t know, Hermione,” he admitted. “She was…she said….” He closed his eyes, trying to block out the memory of Ginny’s screaming. “Last night was bad.”
“She was having nightmares?” Hermione guessed.
Ron nodded. “Pomfrey finally had to give her a dreamless sleep potion, to stop the screaming.”
He shuddered, and Hermione put a comforting hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry, Ron.”
Ron pulled his arm away uncomfortably and stood up. “I need some sleep,” he declared. “I’ll see you in a couple hours, okay?”
Hermione nodded. “Ginny’s going to be fine,” she called after Ron. “Her family and friends will get her through.”
Ron nodded as he forced a smile, but Hermione could tell by the slump of his shoulders that he didn’t believe a word of it.
Thanks to Karen, as always, for being the world’s best beta. And also to Anise for giving me the thrill of getting a positive review from one of my fave D/G authors!
Friends in Low Places
By Nola Ryan
The Past is Prologue
Snape apparated just outside the gates of Hogwarts and strode quickly through them toward the castle. He glanced up at the blazing lights visible from the Great Hall as he hurried toward the front door of the school. “Another bloody feast," he muttered. "I see nothing to celebrate."
Snape approached the steps of the school, but rather than enter he diverted into the hedges to the left of the stairs. A series of taps with his wand on the stone wall triggered it to open inward, revealing a steep staircase. Snape quickly went down it, his feet sure despite the pitch darkness that descended when the wall closed behind him. The stairs dead-ended at another stone wall, which Snape again tapped with his wand, making a door appear. He stepped through it, coming into his office from behind the bookcase behind his desk, which blended back into the wall seamlessly once he was through. Snape started toward the other bookcase on the far wall but was stopped when a voice called out of the darkness “How did it go?”
Snape jumped, scowling at both his guest and at himself for letting his surprise show. “He doesn’t give a damn if the boy dies,” he muttered.
“Lucius wouldn’t agree to let Draco be treated?” asked a surprised Dumbledore, who was sitting in a chair in front of Snape’s desk.
“I know he never let himself get attached to the boy, but Draco is his flesh and blood,” ranted Snape, more to himself than to Dumbledore. “And to let him die just to further his own agenda…”
He stopped, realizing he was saying too much.
“Go on,” Dumbledore prompted.
“Can’t you do anything?” Snape almost pleaded.
“We’ll find a way to help him,” Dumbledore promised. “Perhaps you have a suggestion?” Dumbledore tented his fingers and rested his chin on them, staring over his half-moon spectacles at Snape. Snape tensed at the penetrating stare but returned Dumbledore’s gaze steadily.
“I have…” Snape started, but then thought better of what he was going to say. “I have some books I can research, there may be something in one of them to help.”
“Very well, if that’s the way you’d like to do it,” Dumbledore told him, as Snape began glancing at the tomes on the bookshelf behind him. “However, I think it might be more helpful to the boy to try a potion from your private collection.”
Snape whirled around, not even trying to hide his surprise. “Headmaster…”
“There is very little going on in this school I don’t know about,” Dumbledore said softly. “You are quite skilled at blocking your mind, but I have other means of gathering information. However, I did not see your continued research into those potions as a threat. In fact, I thought they might be quite useful someday. And now it appears I was right.” Snape gaped at him in stunned silence. “You are surprised I approve?”
“I must admit I am,” Snape confessed. “I know you don’t approve of the Dark Lord’s quest for immortality.”
“I only think it foolish to fear death so,” explained Dumbledore. “Did you keep the potions for your own use?”
Snape shook his head. “I no longer fear death.”
Dumbledore nodded. “You did not want your work to go to waste, then?”
“It’s foolish, I know.”
“Pride in your work is never foolish,” Dumbledore told him.
“No matter what the work?” wondered Snape.
Dumbledore didn’t answer. “Does Lucius know of these potions?” he asked instead.
“He suspects I may have kept some of the ones I created for our…for the Dark Lord,” Snape admitted.
“Did he ever try any of them himself?”
“No, the Dark Lord would not allow anyone else to try them,” Snape informed him.
“So we don’t know what they might do to someone who has not undergone the magical transformations Tom did?”
“No, I can’t guarantee they won’t do Draco more harm than good,” said an anguished Snape. “And I don’t know which, if any, of the potions was what kept the Dark Lord alive. It could have been some other kind of magic that saved him at the Potters that day.”
“Yet Lucius is willing to gamble his son’s life to see if these potions are effective,” said Dumbledore with a frown.
“Can’t you do anything, sir?” Snape asked again.
“The restrictions Lucius has put on the boy very much tie my hands,” Dumbledore admitted. “As you may know, there are a great many charms on young Draco to keep me from having any kind of influence over him. Unfortunately they also keep me from coming to his aid when needed.”
“Could you not break those charms?” questioned Snape.
“Lucius would know,” explained Dumbledore. “And I doubt he would allow Draco to stay here after that. Wouldn’t you rather have the boy here, where you can keep an eye on him?”
“Of course.”
“Gather those potions,” Dumbledore requested. “I need to go speak with the students at the feast, but I will meet you back at the hospital wing when I’m done.”
Snape nodded. Dumbledore rose to go, but a voice from the fireplace stopped him from leaving.
“Excuse me, Professor Snape?”
Snape waved his wand at the fireplace and Madame Pomfrey’s head appeared there. “Yes?”
“Healer Parkinson is here from St. Mungo’s,” the matron informed him. “Is the headmaster there with you?”
“I am indeed, Poppy,” Dumbledore spoke up. “Does the healer have permission to treat young Mr. Malfoy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent. I’ll be right up,” he told Madame Pomfrey, who nodded and disappeared from the fire. “It looks as if you got through to Lucius afterall, Severus.”
Snape shook his head. “It’s too easy.”
“I’ll question it after we get Draco fixed up,” Dumbledore decided. He started out, but then turned back. “Perhaps you should gather those potions anyway, and meet us up there.”
“Yes, sir,” said Snape as he rose from his desk. He escorted Dumbledore to the door, putting up the wards on the office again after he’d gone. Then he went to the bookcase opposite his desk.
Tapping the second shelf with his wand led the bookcase to swing inward, revealing the private potion lab inside. Snape stepped into the room and went immediately to the far wall, tracing a pattern on a stone midway down the wall, which opened outward. He reached inside the opening and pulled out a wooden box. Snape ran his hand over the carved snakes that covered it and they sprung to life, slithering along the side of the box until they reached the lock on the front. The lock sprung open at their touch. Taking a deep breath, Snape lifted the lid on the box.
*************
The Weasleys sat silently around Ginny’s bed as she slept peacefully, curled up in a ball with her hand still in Ron’s. He sat closest to her bedside, with Harry, Fred and George standing behind him. Mr. Weasley sat in a chair on the other side of Ginny’s bed. All of them were listening as the twins questioned Harry about his battle with the basilisk, but Harry was deflecting their demands for details.
“It was nothing, really,” Harry insisted. “I got lucky and got the right angle on the sword to kill it.”
“But it managed to get a fang in you,” George spoke up.
“Yes. Dumbledore’s phoenix fixed me right up, though,” he explained. “And then I used the fang on the diary to destroy Riddle.”
“Cool,” said Fred and George in unison.
“Boys, leave Harry be,” scolded Mrs. Weasley.
She was hovering over an upset Percy, who was standing away from the others, just inside the curtains surrounding Ginny’s bed. “Mum, I can’t,” he was insisting.
“Don’t argue with me, Percy,” Mrs. Weasley commanded.
“But if I hadn’t left her before…if I’d paid more attention…”
“Stop it!” Mrs. Weasley ordered. “Stop blaming yourself for this.”
“It was my responsibility to look out…”
“You were looking out for her,” Mrs. Weasley reminded him. “You sent her to see Madame Pomfrey when you noticed something wasn’t right. You couldn’t possibly have known it wasn’t anything rest and a Pepper-Up potion couldn’t fix.”
“I could never have imagined something like this,” Percy admitted, glancing over at Ginny.
“Exactly,” said Mrs. Weasley. “So how could you have protected her from it?”
“I would have found a way,” Percy insisted. “As the oldest here, it was my responsibility…”
“Right now your responsibility is with the students you are supposed to be overseeing,” Mrs. Weasley told him. “So I think you should go down to the feast.”
“But Ginny….”
“Your sister will be sleeping the rest of the night if we leave her be,” announced Mrs. Weasley to all of her family. “And she is in very good hands with your father and me. So there is no reason for all of you boys not to go down the Great Hall for the celebration.”
“But Mum,” chorused Ron, Fred and George together.
“No arguments,” Mrs. Weasley proclaimed, in a voice that left no room for argument. “There is nothing for you to do here. Go downstairs, celebrate Ginny being alive and well and the school being safe. Enjoy being heroes, you two.” She pointed to Harry and Ron, who both looked away in embarrassment. “And you go look after the other Gryffindors, as you’re supposed to,” she told Percy, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “And you two…”
She pointed to Fred and George, shook her head and sighed. “Just try not to blow anything up.”
“Yes, Mum,” Fred and George promised in unison as the others laughed.
All but Ron, who looked somberly at his mother. “She asked me not to leave.”
Mrs. Weasley crossed over to him. “She won’t even know you’re gone,” she assured Ron, stroking his hair tenderly. “That potion will make her sleep the rest of the night, so you go enjoy yourself and then get some rest. You can come back first thing in the morning.”
“I can’t enjoy myself,” Ron insisted.
“C’mon, Ron,” George said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I bet Hermione is anxious to see you and Harry. Let’s go make sure she’s fully recovered.”
“Good idea,” Harry spoke up. “We can thank her for helping us figure this all out.”
Ron nodded reluctantly and stood up. Mrs. Weasley hugged him tightly, and for once Ron didn’t protest, instead clinging to her for a moment. Mrs. Weasley went on tiptoe so she could kiss him on the cheek and murmured, “She’s going to be fine.” Then she smoothed down his robes and let him go, moving on to Fred and George, who accepted her hugs and kisses more reluctantly. Harry tensed when Mrs. Weasley enveloped him in a hug, too, not used to the affection, but relaxed quickly and gave her a warm smile as he pulled away. Mrs. Weasley ruffled his hair affectionately.
As the boys left the hospital wing, they passed Dumbledore on his way in. “You boys aren’t at the feast yet?” he asked them.
“On our way, sir,” Fred answered.
“Good, good,” said Dumbledore. “I’ll see you there in a bit.”
The Weasleys and Harry proceeded out as Dumbledore went to Draco’s bedside. Patrick Parkinson was there, administering a potion to the unconscious boy.
“Patrick, this is a surprise,” said Dumbledore with a warm smile.
“Professor Dumbledore,” acknowledged Patrick with a nod.
“Lucius summoned you?”
“Yes, sir. He said Draco wasn’t well enough to make the trip to St. Mungo’s,” Patrick explained. He noticed the group of redheads disappearing out the door. “Were they Weasleys?” he asked sharply. “Are they the ones who did this to Draco?”
“No, Draco’s injuries came from someone a bit…a bit closer to home,” he told Patrick delicately.
The sight of a disheveled Lucius flashed suddenly through Patrick’s mind, and he realized to whom Dumbledore was referring. “Damn him,” Patrick muttered.
He looked guiltily at Dumbledore, realizing he’d spoken aloud, but Dumbledore pretended not to have heard him. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” Dumbledore asked with a smile. The healer shook his head. “Will you be transferring him to St. Mungo’s?” questioned Dumbledore.
“The trip would only worsen his condition,” Patrick informed him. “And he needs to be treated immediately. I’ve brought most of what I’ll need to care for him, and whatever I don’t have, I can get from Madame Pomfrey or have the hospital send.”
“Very well, then I’ll leave you to your work,” said Dumbledore. “I must go speak to the students.” He glanced over at Ginny’s bed. “It has been quite a day here.”
“I hope you will fill me in later,” Patrick told him.
“I’ll have something to say to all the parents,” promised Dumbledore. “Shall I let Pansy know you’re here?”
“No, please don’t,” Patrick requested. “It will only upset her. I’ll speak to her once Draco’s condition is stabilized, so I can assure her he’s going to be fine.”
“As you wish,” Dumbledore told him with a polite nod. “If you need anything I will be in the Great Hall.”
Patrick nodded in acknowledgement as Dumbledore left the ward.
*****************
The hospital ward was silent hours later when Ron crept in. He glanced at the bed next to Ginny’s, just visible behind the curtain pulled haphazardly around it, and saw an unconscious Malfoy lying there. There was a table full of potion bottles on one side of the bed, and Snape dozed in a chair on the other side. Ron watched the injured Malfoy for a long moment, until Draco shifted in his sleep and let out a moan, waking Snape. The professor noticed Ron lurking.
“What is it, Weasley?” he growled.
“Just enjoying the little git’s suffering after what he and his father did to my sister,” Ron admitted savagely.
“Draco is not responsible for his father’s actions,” Snape informed Ron, who gave a contemptuous snort.
“He is every bit the bastard his father is,” Ron declared hotly.
“He did nothing to harm your sister,” Snape reminded Ron. “And yet Draco has had to pay the price for what happened tonight.”
“I didn’t do this to him!” Ron protested. “As much as I would like to pound his pointy rat face most of the time.”
“That’s quite enough, Ronald,” came Mrs. Weasley’s voice from behind him. She put a hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing back here?” she asked as she led Ron away from a scowling Snape and over to Ginny’s bed. “I told you that your sister would be sleeping the rest of the night.”
“I couldn’t sleep worrying about her,” confessed Ron. He noticed Mr. Weasley was gone. “Where’s Dad?”
“I made him go home,” Mrs. Weasley revealed. “He’s going to be quite busy tomorrow at the office, he needs proper rest.”
“He’s going into the office, with all that’s happened to Ginny?” Ron asked incredulously.
“He’s going because of what happened to Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley explained. “That diary was a Muggle artifact.”
“Dad’s going to go after Lucius Malfoy?” wondered Ron in awe.
His mother sighed. “Lucius will surely have covered his tracks. However, your father is going to do what he can to get some kind of justice.”
“Nothing he does is going to take back what happened to Ginny,” Ron murmured.
“I know.”
They both stared at Ginny silently for a long moment.
“What was it like down there?” Mrs. Weasley asked suddenly, her voice no more than a whisper.
Ron shuddered. “It was horrible. Bones all over the floor, and this snake skin about 60 feet long,” he recounted. “I didn’t even see the Chamber itself, so I can only imagine what that was like. I got stuck before we reached the door of it, when Lockhart nearly blew us all up with that ruddy wand of mine.”
He stopped, suddenly looking sheepish. “Mum, you’re going to kill me. My wand…I forgot to pick it up, I was too concerned with making a way for Harry to get out after he found Ginny. It’s still down there, in the corridor leading to the Chamber. And I don’t rightly feel like going back down there to get it.”
“No, of course not,” Mrs. Weasley told him. “We’ll find you another one. You’ve been needing a proper one for months.”
“Could I have a new one?” Ron asked hopefully.
Mrs. Weasley nodded. “I certainly think you’ve earned it.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
“I can’t believe Gilderoy Lockhart turned out to be such a terrible man,” lamented Mrs. Weasley. “He certainly didn’t look it.”
“Harry and I always suspected there was something off about him,” Ron admitted. “But we never imagined he’d be cowardly enough to let Ginny die rather than face what was in that Chamber.”
He crashed into the chair next to Ginny’s bed and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “He didn’t even care, Mum,” Ron said softly, looking up at his mother. He took Ginny’s hand, stroking the top of it with his thumb. “He was just going to let Ginny stay down there, let that monster….” He trailed off, dropping his head so his mother couldn’t see his face.
Mrs. Weasley rubbed his back comfortingly as Ron collected himself. “Harry won’t tell me everything that happened with Riddle down there,” Ron murmured. “He says I don’t want to know.” He looked up at his mother again, his eyes bright. “What could be so bad that he won’t tell me? Harry tells me everything.”
As if in answer, Ginny suddenly let out a cry and pulled her hand away from Ron’s, rolling to the other side of the bed. Ron stood up to try to comfort her, but stopped dead in his tracks when Ginny cried out, “No, please stop, Tom. You’re hurting me!”
Mrs. Weasley caught Ron under his arms as his legs buckled and eased him back into the chair. Then she hurried to the now-screaming Ginny, casting a last worried glance at Ron as she gathered her daughter in her arms.
Draco’s eyes flew open at Ginny’s first scream. “Mum,” he called frantically, trying to sit up. Snape put a hand on his shoulder to settle him but quickly pulled it back when Draco hissed in pain. He put a hand on Draco’s arm instead as the boy continued to try to push himself up, muttering ‘I’m coming, Mum.”
“That’s not your mother, Draco, your mother’s fine,” Snape assured him, patting Draco’s arm awkwardly.
“He’s hurting her again,” Draco murmured, fighting to keep his eyes open. “Can’t let him hurt her again.”
Snape took a small blue bottle half-full of potion from the table by Draco’s bed. “She’s fine, Draco, your mother’s fine,” he repeated. He held the potion bottle to Draco’s lips. “Here, drink this, it will help,” he said as he tipped the potion into Draco’s mouth.
Draco swallowed and almost immediately settled back against the pillows, his eyes drifting shut. Snape brushed the hair out of Draco’s eyes with uncharacteristic tenderness, but stopped when it registered what Ginny was screaming.
“I don’t want to, Tom. Please don’t make me,” she was crying.
“Tom,” Snape murmured. “Lucius, you didn’t.”
*****************
(15 Years Earlier)
Snape was working at a long table full of potions, carefully watching the simmering cauldron in front of him. Suddenly the door burst open, banging off the wall behind it from the force, but Snape did not startle.
“I’m busy, Lucius,” he murmured, taking a pinch of something from a small bowl next to the cauldron and adding it, sparking a burst of bright blue light.
“I don’t care,” Lucius growled. “The Master wants you.”
Snape flinched. “I am not a house elf. I do not have a master,” he thought to himself. And yet here he was, doing the Dark Lord’s bidding, no better than an elf.
“Why?” he asked Lucius.
“I wasn’t stupid enough to question him,” Lucius snapped. “He said bring you to him, so that’s what I’m doing.”
“Very well,” said Snape with a sigh, pushing away from the table. He silently followed Lucius out into the dark hallway of the Malfoy dungeon and up a steep staircase lit only by a flickering torch. From the staircase they emerged into the library, appearing behind a glass case full of weapons, which opened outward as Lucius muttered a password that Snape didn’t catch.
Voldemort sat in an overstuffed leather armchair pulled close to the blazing fire. A trunk lay open at his feet. Lucius settled into the chair next to him, tossing Snape a look of superiority. Snape scowled.
“Now, now, boys, play nicely,” Voldemort scolded, flicking his wand and making a chair appear on the other side of his. He motioned for Snape to sit, which he did. “I’m glad you could join us, Severus,” Voldemort told him, his slash of a mouth twisting into what Snape guessed was his attempt at a smile. “I was just about the show Lucius some of my old school things, and I thought you might also like a look.”
“Of course, my lord,” Snape told him. “Thank you.”
He leaned forward in his chair as Voldemort reached into the trunk, lifting out a wooden box covered with ornate carvings of snakes.
“Some potion ingredients you won’t have in your collection,” Voldemort told Snape, handing him the box. “Even in your private collection.”
“M’ lord…”
“It will do you no good to lie,” Voldemort warned him. “I know about the potions and everything else you try to hide from me.”
As Snape fought not to react to this statement, Voldemort reached into the trunk again, pulling out a small black book. “And this, Lucius, is for you,” he announced, handing Lucius the book. “My diary.”
“Your diary, my lord?” Lucius questioned, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
“Not the prattling that most students put into the ones they keep,” Voldemort explained, seeing Lucius’ bewildered look as he flipped through the empty pages. “I’ve put something very special in this book.”
“Is there a spell on it, Master?” wondered Lucius. “Something to reveal what’s written in it?”
“You have to write in it first and it will write back. I will write back,” Voldemort revealed.
“You, my lord?”
“My teenaged self, 16-year old Tom Riddle,” Voldemort explained. “I charmed that diary when I was at Hogwarts, so that someday my younger self could return to the school to lead another student to finish the work I started there.”
“What kind of work?” Snape blurted out. Voldemort narrowed his red eyes at him. “I’m sorry, my lord,” Snape murmured quickly.
“It’s quite alright, Severus, I will tell you of my work,” Voldemort offered. “I wished to honor the desire of my great ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, to rid the school of Mudbloods.”
“And how do we do that, Master?” Lucius asked excitedly.
“Get a student to write in the diary, to pour his soul into it,” Voldemort told him. “My younger self will feed on that soul until he is totally under my control, and then I can use that person to execute my plan. He will unleash a monster hidden deep within Hogwarts, and it will attack the Mudbloods, purifying the school as Salazar always wanted.”
“Whom shall I give it to, Master?” asked Lucius.
“Hold on to it for now,” Voldemort instructed. “The time is not yet right to use it. I will let you know when that time comes.”
***************
Another scream from Ginny brought Snape out of his thoughts. “Can’t you give her a dreamless sleep potion?” Snape snapped at Madame Pomfrey as she rushed by. “I think the poor girl has been through enough to justify it.”
Madame Pomfrey ignored him and went to Ginny’s bedside. Ginny was sobbing in Ron’s arms, and Mrs. Weasley had her arm around both of them.
“Here, Molly, give her this,” Madame Pomfrey said softly, handing Mrs. Weasley a small green bottle.
“The sleep potion isn’t working,” Ron complained.
“This will stop the nightmares,” the matron assured him. “That will allow the sleeping draft to work properly.”
Ron nodded warily and held his hand out to his mother, who handed him the potion bottle. “Here, Ginger Snap, drink this,” Ron coaxed, holding the bottle to her lips.
Ginny yanked her head away. “What is it?”
“Something to make all the bad things go away,” Ron told her with a reassuring smile.
“No potion is that powerful,” Ginny murmured, but she let Ron pour the liquid down her throat. Her eyes started to droop almost immediately.
Ron pulled her onto his lap. Ginny lay her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh and curled up against his chest as she drifted off to sleep. Ron looked up at Madame Pomfrey, who was still hovering nearby. “What did you give her?”
“A dreamless sleep potion,” she explained. “It’s quite powerful, she should sleep well into tomorrow.”
“I guess it’s no use telling you to go,” Mrs. Weasley said to Ron, who was propping up the pillow against the headboard behind his back.
“No use at all,” Ron told her, leaning back against the pillow wearily as he clutched Ginny tightly to him.
****************
Ron and Ginny were both sound asleep when a moan woke a dozing Mrs. Weasley. After checking to see it wasn’t one of her own children in pain, she rose and peered behind the curtain separating Ginny’s bed from Draco’s. Draco was asleep but occasionally woke with a whimper, shifting painfully in the bed. Snape was gone, so Mrs. Weasley went over to the bed. She gently stroked Draco’s hair, which quieted him immediately.
“Mum,” Draco murmured.
“Shh, little one, sleep,” said Mrs. Weasley, continuing to stroke Draco’s hair.
“You do know who he is, don’t you?” came a soft voice from behind her.
“He’s a little boy who’s hurting,” answered Mrs. Weasley, starting to stroke Draco’s hair again as he nuzzled against her hand.
“He’s none of your concern,” Snape told her.
“My boys didn’t do this, did they?” Mrs. Weasley questioned.
“He fell.”
“He didn’t fall,” Mrs. Weasley declared. “I have six boys, I know what it looks like when they beat on each other.”
“As much as I’d like to blame your children, Draco’s injuries are not their fault,” Snape admitted. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to your daughter? She seemed quite upset earlier.”
“She’s better now. She’s sleeping. Is anyone coming to look after the boy?” Mrs. Weasley wanted to know.
“I’m looking after him,” Snape told her. “And as I said, he is none of your concern.”
“The boy needs a mother right now,” Mrs. Weasley insisted. “He needs comfort.”
“And you don’t feel I can give him that?” asked Snape, his eyebrow arching upward.
“No I do not,” Mrs. Weasley declared. “Not the way I can.”
“Why would you comfort a Malfoy?” Snape wondered. “If the boy were at all awake he would have nothing to do with you.”
“Perhaps my showing him kindness despite knowing who he is will convince him not to judge someone by name only.”
Snape shook his head, muttering something that sounded very much like “Bloody stupid Gryffindors,” but he did not offer Mrs. Weasley any further resistance. Instead he took the chair on the other side of Draco’s bed, sitting ramrod straight in it as he glared over at Mrs. Weasley. She ignored him and began singing softly to Draco.
******************
The Gryffindor common room was still dark and empty when Ron trudged in wearily the next morning.
“There you are!” Hermione proclaimed, sitting up from the sofa on which she was lying and letting the book she had been reading fall to the floor.
“What are you doing up?” Ron wondered. “As late as that feast went last night, I thought everyone would still be asleep now.”
“I have too much work to do to catch up on to sleep,” announced Hermione with a sigh. “I can’t believe how far behind I am.”
Ron gave her a small smile. “Guess I don’t have to worry about you if you’re already back to hitting the books.”
“Oh no, don’t worry about me,” Hermione exclaimed. “You have far too much else on your mind. How’s Ginny?”
“Sleeping,” Ron told her. “She probably will be for the next couple hours. You should be, too. We all had a hell of a night last night.”
“You more than me,” Hermione declared. “And I can’t possibly sleep after being in bed for two months.”
“What did it feel like, being petrified?” Ron wondered, sitting down next to her.
“It didn’t feel like anything, really,” Hermione admitted. “One day I’m walking down the corridor, checking with my mirror to make sure I didn’t come across the basilisk, since Harry had heard it again that day. The next thing I know I’m in a bed in the hospital wing with Madame Pomfrey standing over me telling me I’d been petrified. The weirdest thing is the way everyone else went on with their lives during that time. They went to classes and did homework and had adventures in the Dark Forest.”
“Harry told you about that, did he?” Hermione nodded. “Did he tell you how useless we were without you?” Ron wondered.
Hermione smiled. “No, he must have left out that part.”
“Harry and I were pulling our hair out trying to figure out all that Chamber of Secrets stuff, and the whole time I kept thinking, ‘If only Hermione were here, we would have solved this ages ago.’”
Hermione’s cheeks flushed. “Really?”
“You know we’re no good at research,” Ron told her with a smile. “Harry, all he’s good at is nearly getting me killed.”
“I heard about the spiders,” said Hermione with a frown. “The trouble the two of you get into…” She shook her head. “Both of you could have died in there and in the Chamber, and then where would I be?”
“We didn’t have a choice about the Chamber, we had to save Ginny,” Ron reminded her.
“You must have been terrified,” said Hermione softly.
“I wasn’t thinking about me, I was thinking about Gin,” confessed Ron. “What she must be going through down there, how terrified she must be.” He hesitated a minute, then asked. “What did Harry tell you about the Chamber? What did he say about when he found Ginny?”
“The same thing he told you, I suppose,” Hermione answered. “He saw Ginny lying there when he got into the Chamber, and then Riddle appeared and summoned the basilisk, and Harry had to fight it with the sword that appeared in the sorting hat Fawkes brought him, and he managed to kill the basilisk, but not before one of its fangs pierced Harry’s arm, but Fawkes healed Harry, and Harry used the fang to destroy the diary and then he got Ginny out,” she blurted out, barely pausing for a breath.
“He didn’t say anything else?” Ron asked. “Anything about what Riddle said about Ginny or how she was when Harry found her?”
“She was unconscious,” Hermione reminded him. “And she was cold. Harry said that a couple times, how cold she was. Like she was dead.” Ron flinched. “Oh Ron, I’m sorry, that was awful of me to say. I swear, I think part of my brain is still petrified.”
“It’s okay,” Ron assured her softly. “She was almost dead. She’d be dead right now if it weren’t for Harry.”
“But she’s going to be okay now, right?” worried Hermione. “Madame Pomfrey is only keeping her in the hospital ward for a bit as a precaution.”
Ron leaned back against the pillows of the sofa with a sigh, pulling his hand through his hair. “I honestly don’t know, Hermione,” he admitted. “She was…she said….” He closed his eyes, trying to block out the memory of Ginny’s screaming. “Last night was bad.”
“She was having nightmares?” Hermione guessed.
Ron nodded. “Pomfrey finally had to give her a dreamless sleep potion, to stop the screaming.”
He shuddered, and Hermione put a comforting hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry, Ron.”
Ron pulled his arm away uncomfortably and stood up. “I need some sleep,” he declared. “I’ll see you in a couple hours, okay?”
Hermione nodded. “Ginny’s going to be fine,” she called after Ron. “Her family and friends will get her through.”
Ron nodded as he forced a smile, but Hermione could tell by the slump of his shoulders that he didn’t believe a word of it.
Thanks to Karen, as always, for being the world’s best beta. And also to Anise for giving me the thrill of getting a positive review from one of my fave D/G authors!
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