Chapter Text
"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter."
The last person in the world whom Harry Potter wished to see smiled insincerely at him from the doorway of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Not that Harry was in the mood for any company at all. He had sent Ron and Hermione on their way a few minutes earlier with a curt explanation about needing to finish paperwork for the Ministry. Probably they recognized the excuse for what it was, considering that Ron's father worked for the Ministry and had told them what a shambles the place was in at the moment, but they had departed without protest.
Hermione thought Harry was in mourning for Lupin, while Ron assumed Harry was as upset about Fred's death as all the Weasleys. Those things were true, but Harry didn't have the heart to try to explain what was really eating at him. He certainly didn't have the heart to be polite to the man standing outside his door, who gestured as if he couldn't understand why Harry hadn't yet asked him to come in.
"What are you doing here?" Harry demanded, fingers closing around his wand.
Lucius Malfoy stopped smiling. "I require your assistance," he replied, sweeping inside without waiting for an invitation. Harry reminded himself to find out what spells would be necessary to make the house Unplottable again, since apparently the mere act of opening the door served to override the wards that kept intruders away.
"What makes you think I'd want to help you?" he asked Malfoy coldly.
Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Because Severus Snape is alive, and I know where he is."
Harry closed the door, since it didn't look like Malfoy was going to be sweeping back out as quickly as he'd come in. "That's a lie," he accused, swallowing before he turned. "I saw him die myself." He would never forget the sight of the life dimming from Snape's dark eyes.
"You saw what you believed to be his last moments," Malfoy said with the kind of smirk that had always made Harry's hand itch to slap him. "Only a fool would believe that Severus is as easy to kill as that."
It was a lie, it had to be. Harry couldn't think of a reason why Malfoy would make up such a story unless he needed something desperately from Harry. But that supposed Malfoy knew the regrets and aches that had been keeping Harry awake since the defeat of Voldemort. And Harry had been very careful not to tell anyone that he hadn't been sleeping. "Why do you think you can use him to get my help?" Harry asked, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back against the door. "We didn't exactly like each other."
Malfoy's smirk quickly turned to one of disbelief. "With the praises you've been singing to the Ministry about what a hero he is? Or do you only tolerate competing heroes posthumously?" His cold gaze raked Harry from head to foot then he shook his head. "Perhaps I was mistaken," he said, and stepped beside Harry, reaching for the door.
Harry's hand shot out and stopped him. "I'll hear you out," he said, "though you'd better have more proof than just your word that he's alive."
Malfoy looked like he wanted to shake Harry's hand off but he didn't. Slowly Harry let his hand drop and he stepped away from the door. The older man turned, no longer looking interested in leaving. In fact, Harry saw a flash of something that would have looked like desperation in any other face.
Whatever it was, Malfoy needed it very badly. Perhaps as badly as Harry needed to know that he hadn't killed Severus Snape by leaving him to die on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. "Why don't we start with you telling me what assistance you need." If Malfoy was planning to demand something outrageous -- and Harry wouldn't have put anything past him from procuring a Philosopher's Stone to proclaiming himself Minister of Magic -- then Harry needed to find out right away.
"Why don't we sit down?" asked Malfoy with a smile that didn't cover his annoyance at Harry's reluctant manners. "You still have a house elf, don't you? Perhaps he could bring us some tea."
Mentioning the house elf had been a miscalculation on Malfoy's part. Harry might have forgiven Kreacher for his role in Sirius's death, but he would never forgive the Malfoys for theirs. And that was only one in a very long list of crimes. "If you need my help so badly, you can talk right here," he said, not bothering to disguise his anger. "What do you want from me?"
Again Malfoy looked painfully unhappy. "It's my son," he said.
This wasn't the best route to Harry's heart, either. "Has the Ministry snapped his wand, then?" he asked calmly. "Or has he merely been kicked off the Slytherin Quidditch team?"
"This is not a trivial matter, Potter!" Malfoy's cold blue eyes glittered. "He blames himself for what happened -- as if those failures were his own and not the Dark Lord's."
"Poor Draco," said Harry, not trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "What's he sorry about now? That he failed to kill Dumbledore himself? Or that he didn't stop Crabbe from getting killed by the curse he meant for my friends?"
Malfoy's lips thinned but Harry couldn't find it in himself to care about his feelings. "My son's indiscretions are not the issue here," Malfoy replied, fingers tightening on the head of his cane.
"Indiscretions?" Harry said, his mouth dropping open. "Is that what you call attempted murder?"
"He was forced into --" But then Malfoy paused, seemingly to rein in his temper, which was flaring to match Harry's. "Excuse me. I misspoke. Draco's indiscretions are exactly why I've come. I know you have no love for him --" Harry snorted. "But as difficult as you find it to believe, he had as little choice about his actions as Severus."
"Don't you dare compare them!" shouted Harry, surprising himself. Oddly enough, Malfoy did not look angry in return. In fact, he looked disconcertingly satisfied about Harry's outburst.
"You can help them both," Malfoy said slyly. His hands had relaxed over the ribbed snake's head mount of his cane. Harry vividly remembered that he kept his wand concealed inside it. This was all pointless -- Harry had seen Snape get bitten, seen his life bleeding out, seen -- what, exactly? A grievous wound. An unconscious, probably dying man. No, not probably: definitely. At least, in theory. What if he'd seen only what Snape had wanted Harry, or anyone who found him, to see?
"Come into the sitting room," he said finally, turning without a word toward the first room off the hallway.
Malfoy looked much more at home in the faded richness of the parlor than Harry felt. The aristocratic gaze swept the peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet. Had Lucius and Narcissa visited this house while Sirius's mother was still alive? Harry thought it likely, and wondered how decrepit it must look now by comparison. Indeed, Malfoy sighed softly. "I remember sitting with Regulus Black in this room. I suspected that he intended to flee the Dark Lord's service. I tried to give him one last chance; I warned him of the consequences."
"Then how could you have been foolish enough to let your own son join the Death Eaters?" demanded Harry, sitting on the worn sofa and gesturing for Malfoy to take the chair opposite.
"I had no choice in the matter," Malfoy replied curtly, smoothing his robes as he sat. "Potter, I am aware that you dislike me..."
"'Despise' would be a better word," Harry interrupted.
Malfoy appeared unconcerned. "Albus Dumbledore disliked me as well. Yet you testified to the Ministry that he asked Severus Snape to kill him in order to protect my son from a murder charge."
Of course the Malfoys would think that the horror of murder lay in the risk of being sent to Azkaban, not in the deed itself. "I didn't testify to defend Draco. I testified so that the Ministry would understand that Snape didn't murder Dumbledore, but was acting on Dumbledore's wishes," Harry said.
"Yes, yes." Malfoy nodded impatiently. "But why do you suppose Dumbledore would have wished to protect my son?"
Harry studied a worn, fraying spot on the carpet. Reluctantly, he admitted, "I suppose Dumbledore must have believed Draco could still be a good person."
"The Headmaster saw something in Draco he believed was worth preserving." Malfoy sounded satisfied. One ringed finger stroked between the glittering gem-set eyes of the snake head on top of his cane.
Harry wanted to leap out of his seat and shout that Dumbledore believed that of nearly everyone, even someone as undeserving as Lucius Malfoy himself; Dumbledore's code of honor would have required that he protect the soul of Draco Malfoy even if Draco had been a squib or a Muggle. But Harry didn't want to waste time arguing. "You still haven't told me what any of this has to do with me. Or with Snape," he said. "I assume you must have been the one who took his body from the Shrieking Shack -- "
"He is not dead," Malfoy repeated. "I'll take you to him as soon as Draco is cleared of all charges. Do we have an agreement?"
Harry sat back in the chair, ignoring the creaking sound it made. He still didn't quite believe that Snape might be alive, but it was almost as hard to believe that Lucius Malfoy had come to Harry's house to ask for help. "You want me to help Draco. Me," he muttered. It wasn't that he hadn't known Malfoy would do anything for his son; it was that Malfoy would think Harry might cooperate. Strangely, the dislike on Malfoy's face restored Harry's equilibrium. Malfoy did seem truly desperate, which meant, in theory, that what he was saying might be true as well. "What exactly is it that you want me to do? Has Draco been arrested?" He hadn't been reading the Daily Prophet but he thought Hermione would have mentioned it if news like that had broken.
Malfoy shook his head. "Not yet." Emotion flashed momentarily across the aristocratic features. "I have reason to believe a list of charges is being drawn up," he continued, striving to keep his voice level.
Harry nodded. That sounded more like the Ministry. "You can't bribe his way out of it?"
For the first time Malfoy looked away, seemingly observing the progress of the glittering dust motes caught in the sunshine pouring in the parlor window. "There is a mood at the Ministry that is more unrestrained than after the previous downfall of the Dark Lord."
That sounded like they were out for blood. Unwittingly the image of Draco as he'd looked in the bathroom at Hogwarts after Harry had slashed him with the Sectumsempra spell swam into Harry's mind. "Why Draco and not you?" he asked somewhat belligerently.
"Because, Potter, I am a man of influence and means, with extremely loyal friends. Moreover, I have already served time in Azkaban, and the testimony of your friends helped convince others that I was compelled to obey the Dark Lord or suffer immediate death."
Unfortunately, that was probably true. Ron had taken great glee in describing Lucius Malfoy's terror of Voldemort, and the quotes had made it into the Prophet. Now Malfoy was using his own cowardice as evidence that he had had no choice. "Why doesn't Draco tell them the same thing, then? Tell them he only joined the Death Eaters to protect you and his mother, then he couldn't see a way out without being killed?"
"Minerva McGonagall." Malfoy spat the name, "Her testimony will ruin him. She is set on destroying Draco for the unfortunate incidents at Hogwarts. And she is not alone -- that blood traitor Horace Slughorn has always held a grudge against my family."
Harry did not mention that he had always thought that to be one of Slughorn's finest qualities. "Professor McGonagall might not insist that Draco deserved to be in Azkaban if she was sure he couldn't hurt anyone at Hogwarts again," he said. "Maybe if you withdrew him from school and sent him far away, Durmstrang perhaps..."
"Durmstrang is not accepting transfer students at this time." A muscle twitched in Malfoy's jaw. Harry was about to laugh about the fact that Draco's preferred school refused to have him when Malfoy continued, "It isn't that simple. Even with the Dark Lord gone, the Ministry requires a living scapegoat -- someone to serve as the public face for their own failures. The more obvious candidates are all dead."
"Which leaves Draco," Harry nodded. An ugly suspicion had begun to form. "Though if Snape isn't dead, he's an obvious candidate as well." Malfoy waved his fingers negligently in response. It chilled Harry that Snape's life was the sole leverage point between them. He took a steadying breath. "Are you telling me that you hid Snape away so you would have someone else to toss them if you couldn't figure out a way to save your son?"
Malfoy's eyes were full of loathing. "You understand nothing, Potter. Severus saved Draco's life. He protected my wife. I did not hide him away only to bargain --"
"Then let me see him." Immediately Harry regretted the urgency in his voice, for Malfoy's expression turned calculating, but it was too late to change tactics. Harry put away the litany of questions to which he wanted to demand answers and said, "If you want my help, you'll bring me to Snape first."
Malfoy schooled his features so that they showed regret that Harry was certain he did not feel. "I'm afraid that's impossible at this moment." One hand slid off the head of his cane and into his robes. "I did, however, anticipate your skepticism, and have brought proof of my claim." He pulled out a folded piece of parchment and held it out between them. Harry took it, staring down at the square of parchment before unfolding it. "I presume you will recognize the handwriting," Malfoy said. "In case you believe that it was faked, Severus said that only you would understand the contents."
Harry's heart was in his throat. His hand trembled. Rather than allow Malfoy to watch him reading the letter, he got to his feet, striding over to the window and turning his back on his visitor.
Potter, the letter began. Indeed, the handwriting was perfectly familiar to anyone who'd read the Prince's Potions text as closely as Harry had. I trust that you have not tossed Lucius out on his arse despite your hot-headed inclination to do so. I told him that you would demand proof of my continued existence, which you now hold in your hand. There is something I believe only you and I are aware of: your guide through the Forest of Dean toward the Sword of Gryffindor. If young Weasley had not dived into the icy pool to rescue you, I would have been forced to get my robes wet that evening.
I have no reason to expect your cooperation, knowing your feelings for me --
Harry's chest clenched, until he realized Snape thought he still hated him. The words swam a moment before he found his place again and continued reading.
-- and I have nothing to offer on my own behalf. Lucius has outlined his plan to keep Draco out of Azkaban to me and I find it sound, though naturally, I told him you would not go along with it. In theory, if you reviewed the memories I provided for you --
Harry smiled despite himself. Leave it to Snape to think of the desperate struggle to retrieve his dying memories in such bland terms.
--you will understand that your mother was not always unkindly disposed toward me. If there is any part of her in you, perhaps you will take this into consideration when deciding whether to aid Lucius in his quest. Draco made many of the same mistakes that I did as a young man. Your assistance will cost you very little and may do a great deal of good.
Lucius has a list of potion ingredients that will aid me in my recovery. If you have any questions to ask me, you may deliver them in person. Lucius will not hinder you if he thinks there is any hope you will help him. He believes that you represent Draco's last chance for freedom, and he seems certain that I must have some mystical influence over you because we haven't killed each other yet.
The note was signed with Snape's usual scrawl. Harry read it over again before folding it up. It still might have been some sort of trick, but he couldn't guess why Snape would try to trick him now, certainly not with the assistance of the Malfoys. If there was some critical bit of the story that neither Malfoy nor Snape had told him, after what he had been through with Voldemort, Harry thought he would be ready to deal with it once he figured it out.
"I'll help you," he said without turning around.
He could tell Malfoy had expected more of an argument when he finally did turn back to face him. "I --" Malfoy began then stopped. "Thank you," he said finally.
"But I'll want to see Snape first. Do you have the list of ingredients?" Harry waved the note, presuming Malfoy had read it. Malfoy was already pulling another sheet from his robes. Harry went back to his chair and took it. "He's really alive?"
"The Malfoy fortune can do many things, but bringing Severus Snape back from the dead is not one of them."
Apparently keeping Draco out of Azkaban was another. It all still seemed too straightforward; Malfoy had never once dealt fairly with Harry, and Snape had never been completely honest with him either, at least not until he'd had to be. The list of ingredients was clear enough...a few rare items, plus one that Harry doubted was legal, but nothing Malfoy couldn't have procured himself without raising suspicion. There was no reason Snape would have had to suggest Harry come to him with questions unless, for some reason, Snape wanted to talk to him.
"We'll go tomorrow," Harry told Malfoy. He wished he could insist on seeing Snape right away, but it would take him a few hours to track down everything on the list. "Just tell me where."