Springfic: "Honour Where It's Due" for catsintheattic
Title: Honour Where It's Due
Author: Leni_Jess
Recipient: catsintheattic
Character(s): Draco and his parents, Neville
Rating: G
Word-count: 3,757
Warnings (highlight to view): References to canonical death of a character
Summary: Draco at last sees what Snape has done, and what the future might be
Author's Notes: Thanks to the mods for incredible patience/long-suffering. catsintheattic asked for "the wizarding world after the war, maybe find out ifand how the Malfoys gained back their position in society." Draco is making a start on it, okay?
Beta: Kennahijja, who did a wonderful job despite the pressures of mid-fest modding! My thanks also to inamac for sekrit services
Honour Where It's Due
Draco sat between his parents at the Slytherin table. He was much calmer now, recovering from the wild joy of that family hug after they met when the battle was at last over. He still felt grief and anger and confusion, but the big, the terrible, problem, the threat Voldemort had posed to his parents and himself, was gone.
At least they didn't have to worry about what the Ministry was going to do to them. For a long time they had huddled, distrustful and uncertain. They were all wary of the Aurors and Order members high on victory far more than on punch, or whatever they were drinking. Then the new Minister (and Draco supposed Shacklebolt would do as well as any) had come up to them.
Shacklebolt, stately despite his battle-soiled robes, said to Draco's mother, "To the best of our knowledge, Mrs Malfoy, you've done nothing illegal. Indeed, the wizarding world has cause to be grateful to you. You may expect acknowledgement of that."
He turned to Draco's father, speaking more coldly. "Malfoy, you can expect to be called before the Wizengamot to have your Azkaban imprisonment reviewed. However, you weren't tried, but simply shoved into prison on the authority of Minister Fudge."
Already he was talking like an official instead of a man, but it sounded promising for them.
"Since Fudge has been shown to be corrupt," Shacklebolt continued, "and since you would at worst be charged with attempted robbery with violence, I believe the year you've already served will suffice." He looked hard at Draco's father, then went on, "I can't speak for the Wizengamot, but I shall put that view to them strongly. They'll also be advised that Harry Potter has witnessed, through his link to Voldemort's mind, that for the last year you've not had a wand, and couldn't have participated in Death Eater activities."
Though Draco's father scowled, he didn't flinch, despite the horrific implications of this statement for his standing as a wizard, and as a man.
Instead he asked coolly, "If I'm to be tried, Minister, will they accept my word that I had no wand?"
"There are several witnesses besides Harry Potter," Shacklebolt said.
Then he spoke to Draco himself. "You, on the other hand, attempted to do a number of thoroughly illegal things, and by blind luck succeeded in none of them, save casting Imperius. There are witnesses to your actions being under extreme duress, and precedent for that to be taken into account."
Shacklebolt demanded, looking at Draco as challengingly as he had at his father, "Did you take the Mark, though? Because that may influence MLE's decision on whether to bring you to trial or not - I believe there may be a need for a general exemption for the casting of Unforgivables during the war."
Draco returned the hard look as strongly as he could, thinking grimly that any exemption would probably be for the benefit of the Aurors who had used them as freely as the Death Eaters for many years, and recently Potter himself, too, Draco had heard. Perhaps it was a sign that Shacklebolt intended to be impartial, and to encourage the Wizengamot to do the same. Extraordinary.
He replied, "I wasn't deemed worthy," glad of that yet again, and pushed up his robes and shirtsleeve. The skin of his left forearm was pale, unmarked, save by the grime of conflict that he hadn't yet felt strong enough to wash off.
"Of course, last time the Mark faded after Voldemort was - discorporated, would you say?" Shacklebolt observed, and turned to Draco's father again. "Mr Malfoy, would you allow me to see your left arm?"
It would be common knowledge, at least among the Aurors, that after the first war ended the Mark had disappeared. It must have made prosecutions more complicated. How ironic that one of the precedents for letting Draco go might be that his father had successfully pleaded duress in the form of the Imperius Curse last time, visible Mark or not.
Draco had already seen what Shacklebolt would see, but his father nodded. He rolled up his sleeves carefully, turning his arm to expose his forearm. It did not reveal the Mark itself, but nor was there the flawless skin Draco had been able to show. There was a stigma, like a long-faded burn, which didn't compare in size to the Mark that had once been there.
"Thank you. Interesting." Shacklebolt was polite enough not to ask if it had looked like that before. The Malfoys, and almost certainly the Minister, knew it hadn't.
"Have any of you wands?"
Draco wasn't going to admit to the wand he had acquired a short while before, but spoke before his parents could. "My mother lent me hers, after Potter took mine, and then Potter took that, too. It's lost; burned. And my father's," - he shrugged - "Voldemort managed to break that on Potter's wand last year."
Shacklebolt took that at face value, though if he had any sense he must be able to guess that Lucius Malfoy had re-armed himself long ago, even if it had rarely been safe for him to use the wand acquired from a very junior Death Eater who had been unacceptably impudent as well as careless.
"Use the Knight Bus to get home, then, unless you have friends here able to side-along Apparate you. One of the Aurors will call it for you, or anyone else here in the Hall who needs it." So Greg would get home too.
Shacklebolt continued to dispense orders disguised as information. "I understand Mr Ollivander can be expected to reopen his shop soon. There'll be an announcement on the wizarding wireless. Magical Law Enforcement will be in touch as soon as possible about Voldemort's effects. If you wish for assistance in, um, defumigating your house, apply to Nerida Maple, of Mysteries. She will arrange it."
"Thank you," Draco's father said, though without any indication that he planned to accept the offer. "May we anticipate any other inspections?"
Austerely the Minister replied, "Not unless you are formally charged with a further offence." He added, "I'd suggest, though, that you remain quietly at home as much as possible, for some time."
Draco's mother spoke up, defusing any challenge her husband might have uttered in response. "We shall be busy restoring our home to decency and comfort, once we have wands again. And Draco will be studying, with a view to repeating his seventh year at Hogwarts."
Draco opened his mouth to say that he never wanted to see Hogwarts again, but glares from both parents silenced him as his mother went on, "There may be some children who managed to study this last year, but I imagine many weren't able to concentrate as final year demands, with the stress they suffered here."
At least she hadn't said that having Voldemort in their home, and doing his bidding, however disgusting, had made Draco sick to his gut and to his soul. That had been even worse than being hounded by the Carrows as the son of a man out of favour with their lord. They had tried to make him use the same curses the Dark Lord had demanded of him, but they hadn't succeeded. Before school began Draco had known he preferred punishment to cursing the helpless; the Carrows' punishments had been easier to evade than the Dark Lord's.
Shacklebolt nodded in agreement. "I've appointed Professor McGonagall Headmistress pro tem, and I expect that promotion will soon be made permanent. She too has said she expects many students, not just the seventh years, will need to repeat the year. Also, none of the Muggleborn students had the opportunity to go to school last year." He looked at Draco. "You'll have plenty of company."
So he wasn't planning to exclude the Slytherins, whether for punishment or out of fear. That was good, since Draco could see his parents didn't want him to finish his studies somewhere else - Beauxbatons would have been his preference. He'd better see about talking Greg into coming back, too. Pansy might get a harder time from the other students than anyone else, after her public insistence that they give Potter up to the Dark Lord; but she would just have to live it down, like the rest of them who had made mistakes.
The Minister inclined his head briefly to Draco's mother, and moved on. Maybe he was making the rounds of the Great Hall, speaking to everyone, at least those who were still sober. It was a good opportunity to clarify what his policies might be.
Draco might not want to return to Hogwarts, but he didn't want to be as far away from home as France, either. He wanted to be able to see his parents, to reassure himself that they were safe, and that he was safe. Perhaps his mother understood that. His father was probably more intent on making a point to their enemies: that Draco wasn't afraid to return, that he was entitled to return. They were British wizards, like anyone else, even if they had lost the war.
They were silent after Shacklebolt left, until Draco's mother asked, "Where did you get that wand, Draco?"
It wasn't an accusation, but he started guiltily all the same.
"Don't do that," she said mildly. "I can’t imagine what else could be tucked up your sleeve."
"On the battlefield, Mother."
"Really? I thought you'd never left the castle."
Mothers. Still, he would have to tell them some time. He met his father's eyes, and saw his face grow serious, then his mother's.
"It's Severus's wand," he said simply. "I did leave the castle, while you were talking with Professor Slughorn - not for long..."
<<<|||>>>
Potter had taunted the Dark Lord, destroying all his assumptions: that Potter himself was dead; whom Snape had been loyal to; why Snape had killed Dumbledore. And most distressing of all, it seemed, who was the master of this thing Draco had never heard of, this Elder Wand, that the Dark Lord prized so much. He thought he had stolen it from Snape, who was supposed to have taken it from Dumbledore... Only, because Potter had taken Draco's wand, long after Draco had disarmed Dumbledore, Potter was the master of Dumbledore's wand? Which was this Elder thing? Draco decided to try to sort that out when his head was less inclined to reel. Then the Dark Lord had thrown Avada Kedavra at Potter, and the spell bounced off Potter's Expelliarmus, destroying the creature who cast it.
Not that Draco had cared who killed his father's former lord, so long as someone did it; he was quite ready to be grateful to Potter for managing it.
What mattered most, apart from that, was Severus Snape. Professor Snape; Headmaster Snape. Snape, who had tried all the previous year to help him out from under the burden of the Dark Lord's murderous expectations, and whom Draco had rejected because he had thought Snape wanted to steal his glory. Ha. Some glory that had been. After Dumbledore's death, a year of fear and pain and revulsion and regret. Now Snape had died for some fancy of Voldemort's - yes, time to start calling him that. Three hours and more ago, from what Voldemort said. Yet no one had brought his body in, though even Voldemort's had been taken into a side room, out of the way. Potter's new respect didn't seem to go very far.
That was something Draco could do, even without a wand. He might be able to pick one up out there; people bringing dead bodies in probably hadn't gone looking for wands. But if not, he thought he could probably carry Professor Snape, who had grown thinner than ever this year.
He slipped unobtrusively down the side of the Hall when his parents went to speak with his Head of House, avoiding the clumps of rejoicing and grief. He would grieve later. He was still in a state of shocked surprise that Vincent Crabbe had hated him, after knowing him all his life, not just their seven years at Hogwarts. Greg didn't seem to feel like that, which was something else he was grateful for. He couldn't see Greg, otherwise he might have asked him to help; but this job wouldn't wait.
In the end he didn't bother to look for a wand, just walked as quickly as he could towards Hogsmeade, towards the Shrieking Shack, which Potter had said, after his speech to Voldemort, was Severus Snape's dying place. Near the entrance he ran unexpectedly into Longbottom. It was broad daylight by now, but each of them shocked the other; each started back.
Longbottom lifted his wand, and even more quickly Draco lifted his hands, empty, spreading them wide. He had read Longbottom right; the other put his wand back in his robe.
"What are you doing out here, Malfoy?" Longbottom didn't sound hostile. It was more as if he were curious; but he asked as if he had a right to an answer, something that was new. Lopping off Nagini's head with the Sword of Gryffindor, come magically to his hand, might do that for a young wizard, Draco thought.
"What about you?"
Longbottom shrugged, and replied peacefully, "I've been bringing in the bodies. I wanted to make sure there were no more, now that it's daylight."
"I've come for a body."
"A particular - Oh. Of course. Headmaster Snape was killed out here, somewhere."
"In there." Draco tipped his head sideways at the Shack.
"Want a hand? He deserves to be laid out properly, to have his body honoured, after all he did for us."
"And after all he did for me. I've come to get him. Yes," Draco said, "you can help. I'd be glad of it: I don't have a wand, and it'll be more dignified if we can carry him between us."
Draco led the way in. A quick glance showed nothing in the single ground floor room, so they went up the rickety stairs to the first floor, where Draco stopped, abruptly, in the doorway.
The window was filthy, but it let in enough light for him to see the blood. Puddles of it, drying in some places, on the floorboards, but still thickly wet on Severus's robes, and clotted in his hair. His face and neck and hands were smeared with it.
Draco went slowly forward, allowing Longbottom to enter, and heard the intake of breath behind him. So, for all his carrying in the dead, Longbottom hadn't seen anything like this.
"Harry said Nagini bit him," Longbottom said softly. "She's ripped his neck open. But he was still able to give Harry his memories..."
Longbottom shook his head. "A very brave man, as Harry said. Right to the end."
"And brave for others," Draco answered, as softly. "He did everything he could for me; helped my mother, my father. All last year, he kept us out of the Carrows' hands, as much as he could; except for their favourites, the Slytherins needed that help as much as anyone."
Longbottom nodded. "It took me forever to realise. If I hadn't been convinced he was a Death Eater I'd have noticed earlier."
He looked at Draco. "How do you want to do this? Should we clean off the blood?"
"If you'd Scourgify his robes - but not his face or his hands. Can you summon a bowl of water, towels? I'd like to treat him - with honour."
Longbottom did as he asked. Draco knelt beside the dead man, whom he now respected like no one else, and began washing his face and neck, gently sponging away the dried blood, rinsing the first towel free of clots from the hair by Severus's neck. Without speaking Longbottom renewed the water. Draco nodded thanks, and continued to wipe the blood off Severus's hair. He was trying to think of nothing but the work, but it forced him to become accustomed to knowing that Severus Snape was gone, and that this was all he could now do in acknowledgement.
It took a long while, and Severus's hair was quite wet before he was done, but at least it was clean. Longbottom had soon knelt beside him, taken up another towel, and began washing Severus's left hand. Then he used his wand to cleanse the blood from the cuffs of Severus's white shirt and from his coat.
Draco moved around to the other side of the body and took up Severus's right hand, patiently washing the blood off the long fingers, the narrow palm. He shifted again, and drew Severus's robes on that side down, smoothing their bunched folds. And there, on the floor, hidden by Severus's robes, was his wand, as bloody as everything else. Draco reached for it respectfully, and wiped it down, making quite sure no blood remained in the lightly carved ornamentation of the handle, designed to give a firmer grip than a smooth cylinder would.
Only then did he raise it as one did a wand, and murmured the drying charm he always used on his own hair. Severus's was as fine as his, and this particular charm made sure that hair would lie straight and smooth, not fluff up or fuzz out. Then he summoned a comb. When it smacked into his hand, he recognised it as his own, from the dresser in his dormitory.
The wand felt strange in his hand, not like his own hawthorn wand that Potter was still using in preference to the mysteriously powerful one he was the master of, that Voldemort had aspired to. It felt warm, though, and if not welcoming - one couldn't expect anything of Severus Snape's to be welcoming - it didn't reject him, either.
He set the wand down to comb out Severus's hair, lifting the head onto his knee.
Longbottom made no comment on his using Severus's wand. Draco slipped it into his sleeve and laid Severus's head gently down again on the dusty floor, before he rose to his feet.
"Ready?" Longbottom asked, rising also.
"We should carry him, if you don't mind." It seemed a long time since Draco had spoken. "It's more respectful."
'That's what Oliver and I did," Longbottom agreed.
Draco nodded, and gripped Severus under his armpits. Longbottom took the hands and crossed them on his breast, then murmured something that sounded like a variant on a sticking charm before bending to take Severus's ankles. They lifted together, and Longbottom backed down the stair, carefully, but much surer on his feet than Draco would have expected.
As they left the Shack behind Draco said, "I don't think he should be buried here. Certainly not put in a mass grave with those who have no families to claim them. I want him buried at my home, where he'll be among friends."
Longbottom replied, "Hogwarts has a claim on him, but he might have preferred to be free of claims like that, now he's done all that was needed. To lie in peace."
"That's what I want for him."
Longbottom suggested that rather than entering by the great door, they should take a side entrance. In the end they left Severus Snape lying on his own bed, body straight, robes neat, hands crossed, still, and with a bloodless face that showed fewer lines than either of them had ever seen in it. Draco shut the door carefully behind them.
"Unless I'm asked by someone with a right to the answer," Longbottom said as they walked up the stairs, out of Slytherin territory, "I don't need to mention any of this."
Draco found it wasn't hard to say "Thank you," to a Gryffindor after all.
It had felt like Draco had been gone from the Great Hall a long time, but when he re-entered his parents were still talking with a professor, though it was McGonagall this time, and people were still circulating like bubbles in a pot of almost boiling water instead of going home to enjoy the peace with their families.
<<<|||>>>
By the time the Malfoys arrived home, Draco side-along Apparating his mother and his father carrying Severus Snape, Draco felt as if he had been awake and running for three days straight.
He didn't want to sleep yet, though; there were things to do first.
Very few wizarding homes, even the largest, had a chapel, but in houses like Malfoy Manor there was a room set aside for the dead, until they were buried. Draco and his father carried Severus there, and lit the candles and the torches on the wall, which would burn until the funeral. His mother took charge of laying Severus out, and Draco realised and was glad that death had spared Severus some indignities; that he and Longbottom hadn't had forced upon them awareness that Severus no longer controlled his body.
His father went away, and came back with clothing that was probably finer than Severus Snape had ever worn in life: fine woollen and linen undergarments, a robe of heavy wool silk, that draped beautifully, a silk scarf to cover the wounds on his neck, and soft shoes, unlike the sturdy boots the professor had always worn at school. His father's wand was adequate to the task of transforming the shoes to fit.
When they had finished Draco lingered, unwilling to leave Severus alone, but his mother spoke gently. Her face was dead white with weariness, but her back was straight. "Go and sleep, both of you. I'll watch over Severus. We can take turns."
Relieved that his mother felt as he did, and thinking that she might have things to say to the dead man in private, Draco at last felt able to go back to his bedroom and lie down. He barely remembered to take his boots off. Before he went to sleep he wondered how much of the Manor's furnishings his parents, between them, would have the house-elves burn. Everything that Voldemort had touched, if Draco got his wish.
It looked as if he would be returning to Hogwarts whether he wanted to or not. But life there would be different, if working together with Longbottom was a sign of the way things could be. And if Severus Snape was not sufficiently honoured once life at Hogwarts had returned to normal, Draco rather thought that Longbottom might be interested in helping with that, too.
Maybe he could keep Severus's wand; it might help to make him as strong as Severus had been.
<<<||| The Beginning |||>>>
Author: Leni_Jess
Recipient: catsintheattic
Character(s): Draco and his parents, Neville
Rating: G
Word-count: 3,757
Warnings (highlight to view): References to canonical death of a character
Summary: Draco at last sees what Snape has done, and what the future might be
Author's Notes: Thanks to the mods for incredible patience/long-suffering. catsintheattic asked for "the wizarding world after the war, maybe find out ifand how the Malfoys gained back their position in society." Draco is making a start on it, okay?
Beta: Kennahijja, who did a wonderful job despite the pressures of mid-fest modding! My thanks also to inamac for sekrit services
Honour Where It's Due
Draco sat between his parents at the Slytherin table. He was much calmer now, recovering from the wild joy of that family hug after they met when the battle was at last over. He still felt grief and anger and confusion, but the big, the terrible, problem, the threat Voldemort had posed to his parents and himself, was gone.
At least they didn't have to worry about what the Ministry was going to do to them. For a long time they had huddled, distrustful and uncertain. They were all wary of the Aurors and Order members high on victory far more than on punch, or whatever they were drinking. Then the new Minister (and Draco supposed Shacklebolt would do as well as any) had come up to them.
Shacklebolt, stately despite his battle-soiled robes, said to Draco's mother, "To the best of our knowledge, Mrs Malfoy, you've done nothing illegal. Indeed, the wizarding world has cause to be grateful to you. You may expect acknowledgement of that."
He turned to Draco's father, speaking more coldly. "Malfoy, you can expect to be called before the Wizengamot to have your Azkaban imprisonment reviewed. However, you weren't tried, but simply shoved into prison on the authority of Minister Fudge."
Already he was talking like an official instead of a man, but it sounded promising for them.
"Since Fudge has been shown to be corrupt," Shacklebolt continued, "and since you would at worst be charged with attempted robbery with violence, I believe the year you've already served will suffice." He looked hard at Draco's father, then went on, "I can't speak for the Wizengamot, but I shall put that view to them strongly. They'll also be advised that Harry Potter has witnessed, through his link to Voldemort's mind, that for the last year you've not had a wand, and couldn't have participated in Death Eater activities."
Though Draco's father scowled, he didn't flinch, despite the horrific implications of this statement for his standing as a wizard, and as a man.
Instead he asked coolly, "If I'm to be tried, Minister, will they accept my word that I had no wand?"
"There are several witnesses besides Harry Potter," Shacklebolt said.
Then he spoke to Draco himself. "You, on the other hand, attempted to do a number of thoroughly illegal things, and by blind luck succeeded in none of them, save casting Imperius. There are witnesses to your actions being under extreme duress, and precedent for that to be taken into account."
Shacklebolt demanded, looking at Draco as challengingly as he had at his father, "Did you take the Mark, though? Because that may influence MLE's decision on whether to bring you to trial or not - I believe there may be a need for a general exemption for the casting of Unforgivables during the war."
Draco returned the hard look as strongly as he could, thinking grimly that any exemption would probably be for the benefit of the Aurors who had used them as freely as the Death Eaters for many years, and recently Potter himself, too, Draco had heard. Perhaps it was a sign that Shacklebolt intended to be impartial, and to encourage the Wizengamot to do the same. Extraordinary.
He replied, "I wasn't deemed worthy," glad of that yet again, and pushed up his robes and shirtsleeve. The skin of his left forearm was pale, unmarked, save by the grime of conflict that he hadn't yet felt strong enough to wash off.
"Of course, last time the Mark faded after Voldemort was - discorporated, would you say?" Shacklebolt observed, and turned to Draco's father again. "Mr Malfoy, would you allow me to see your left arm?"
It would be common knowledge, at least among the Aurors, that after the first war ended the Mark had disappeared. It must have made prosecutions more complicated. How ironic that one of the precedents for letting Draco go might be that his father had successfully pleaded duress in the form of the Imperius Curse last time, visible Mark or not.
Draco had already seen what Shacklebolt would see, but his father nodded. He rolled up his sleeves carefully, turning his arm to expose his forearm. It did not reveal the Mark itself, but nor was there the flawless skin Draco had been able to show. There was a stigma, like a long-faded burn, which didn't compare in size to the Mark that had once been there.
"Thank you. Interesting." Shacklebolt was polite enough not to ask if it had looked like that before. The Malfoys, and almost certainly the Minister, knew it hadn't.
"Have any of you wands?"
Draco wasn't going to admit to the wand he had acquired a short while before, but spoke before his parents could. "My mother lent me hers, after Potter took mine, and then Potter took that, too. It's lost; burned. And my father's," - he shrugged - "Voldemort managed to break that on Potter's wand last year."
Shacklebolt took that at face value, though if he had any sense he must be able to guess that Lucius Malfoy had re-armed himself long ago, even if it had rarely been safe for him to use the wand acquired from a very junior Death Eater who had been unacceptably impudent as well as careless.
"Use the Knight Bus to get home, then, unless you have friends here able to side-along Apparate you. One of the Aurors will call it for you, or anyone else here in the Hall who needs it." So Greg would get home too.
Shacklebolt continued to dispense orders disguised as information. "I understand Mr Ollivander can be expected to reopen his shop soon. There'll be an announcement on the wizarding wireless. Magical Law Enforcement will be in touch as soon as possible about Voldemort's effects. If you wish for assistance in, um, defumigating your house, apply to Nerida Maple, of Mysteries. She will arrange it."
"Thank you," Draco's father said, though without any indication that he planned to accept the offer. "May we anticipate any other inspections?"
Austerely the Minister replied, "Not unless you are formally charged with a further offence." He added, "I'd suggest, though, that you remain quietly at home as much as possible, for some time."
Draco's mother spoke up, defusing any challenge her husband might have uttered in response. "We shall be busy restoring our home to decency and comfort, once we have wands again. And Draco will be studying, with a view to repeating his seventh year at Hogwarts."
Draco opened his mouth to say that he never wanted to see Hogwarts again, but glares from both parents silenced him as his mother went on, "There may be some children who managed to study this last year, but I imagine many weren't able to concentrate as final year demands, with the stress they suffered here."
At least she hadn't said that having Voldemort in their home, and doing his bidding, however disgusting, had made Draco sick to his gut and to his soul. That had been even worse than being hounded by the Carrows as the son of a man out of favour with their lord. They had tried to make him use the same curses the Dark Lord had demanded of him, but they hadn't succeeded. Before school began Draco had known he preferred punishment to cursing the helpless; the Carrows' punishments had been easier to evade than the Dark Lord's.
Shacklebolt nodded in agreement. "I've appointed Professor McGonagall Headmistress pro tem, and I expect that promotion will soon be made permanent. She too has said she expects many students, not just the seventh years, will need to repeat the year. Also, none of the Muggleborn students had the opportunity to go to school last year." He looked at Draco. "You'll have plenty of company."
So he wasn't planning to exclude the Slytherins, whether for punishment or out of fear. That was good, since Draco could see his parents didn't want him to finish his studies somewhere else - Beauxbatons would have been his preference. He'd better see about talking Greg into coming back, too. Pansy might get a harder time from the other students than anyone else, after her public insistence that they give Potter up to the Dark Lord; but she would just have to live it down, like the rest of them who had made mistakes.
The Minister inclined his head briefly to Draco's mother, and moved on. Maybe he was making the rounds of the Great Hall, speaking to everyone, at least those who were still sober. It was a good opportunity to clarify what his policies might be.
Draco might not want to return to Hogwarts, but he didn't want to be as far away from home as France, either. He wanted to be able to see his parents, to reassure himself that they were safe, and that he was safe. Perhaps his mother understood that. His father was probably more intent on making a point to their enemies: that Draco wasn't afraid to return, that he was entitled to return. They were British wizards, like anyone else, even if they had lost the war.
They were silent after Shacklebolt left, until Draco's mother asked, "Where did you get that wand, Draco?"
It wasn't an accusation, but he started guiltily all the same.
"Don't do that," she said mildly. "I can’t imagine what else could be tucked up your sleeve."
"On the battlefield, Mother."
"Really? I thought you'd never left the castle."
Mothers. Still, he would have to tell them some time. He met his father's eyes, and saw his face grow serious, then his mother's.
"It's Severus's wand," he said simply. "I did leave the castle, while you were talking with Professor Slughorn - not for long..."
<<<|||>>>
Potter had taunted the Dark Lord, destroying all his assumptions: that Potter himself was dead; whom Snape had been loyal to; why Snape had killed Dumbledore. And most distressing of all, it seemed, who was the master of this thing Draco had never heard of, this Elder Wand, that the Dark Lord prized so much. He thought he had stolen it from Snape, who was supposed to have taken it from Dumbledore... Only, because Potter had taken Draco's wand, long after Draco had disarmed Dumbledore, Potter was the master of Dumbledore's wand? Which was this Elder thing? Draco decided to try to sort that out when his head was less inclined to reel. Then the Dark Lord had thrown Avada Kedavra at Potter, and the spell bounced off Potter's Expelliarmus, destroying the creature who cast it.
Not that Draco had cared who killed his father's former lord, so long as someone did it; he was quite ready to be grateful to Potter for managing it.
What mattered most, apart from that, was Severus Snape. Professor Snape; Headmaster Snape. Snape, who had tried all the previous year to help him out from under the burden of the Dark Lord's murderous expectations, and whom Draco had rejected because he had thought Snape wanted to steal his glory. Ha. Some glory that had been. After Dumbledore's death, a year of fear and pain and revulsion and regret. Now Snape had died for some fancy of Voldemort's - yes, time to start calling him that. Three hours and more ago, from what Voldemort said. Yet no one had brought his body in, though even Voldemort's had been taken into a side room, out of the way. Potter's new respect didn't seem to go very far.
That was something Draco could do, even without a wand. He might be able to pick one up out there; people bringing dead bodies in probably hadn't gone looking for wands. But if not, he thought he could probably carry Professor Snape, who had grown thinner than ever this year.
He slipped unobtrusively down the side of the Hall when his parents went to speak with his Head of House, avoiding the clumps of rejoicing and grief. He would grieve later. He was still in a state of shocked surprise that Vincent Crabbe had hated him, after knowing him all his life, not just their seven years at Hogwarts. Greg didn't seem to feel like that, which was something else he was grateful for. He couldn't see Greg, otherwise he might have asked him to help; but this job wouldn't wait.
In the end he didn't bother to look for a wand, just walked as quickly as he could towards Hogsmeade, towards the Shrieking Shack, which Potter had said, after his speech to Voldemort, was Severus Snape's dying place. Near the entrance he ran unexpectedly into Longbottom. It was broad daylight by now, but each of them shocked the other; each started back.
Longbottom lifted his wand, and even more quickly Draco lifted his hands, empty, spreading them wide. He had read Longbottom right; the other put his wand back in his robe.
"What are you doing out here, Malfoy?" Longbottom didn't sound hostile. It was more as if he were curious; but he asked as if he had a right to an answer, something that was new. Lopping off Nagini's head with the Sword of Gryffindor, come magically to his hand, might do that for a young wizard, Draco thought.
"What about you?"
Longbottom shrugged, and replied peacefully, "I've been bringing in the bodies. I wanted to make sure there were no more, now that it's daylight."
"I've come for a body."
"A particular - Oh. Of course. Headmaster Snape was killed out here, somewhere."
"In there." Draco tipped his head sideways at the Shack.
"Want a hand? He deserves to be laid out properly, to have his body honoured, after all he did for us."
"And after all he did for me. I've come to get him. Yes," Draco said, "you can help. I'd be glad of it: I don't have a wand, and it'll be more dignified if we can carry him between us."
Draco led the way in. A quick glance showed nothing in the single ground floor room, so they went up the rickety stairs to the first floor, where Draco stopped, abruptly, in the doorway.
The window was filthy, but it let in enough light for him to see the blood. Puddles of it, drying in some places, on the floorboards, but still thickly wet on Severus's robes, and clotted in his hair. His face and neck and hands were smeared with it.
Draco went slowly forward, allowing Longbottom to enter, and heard the intake of breath behind him. So, for all his carrying in the dead, Longbottom hadn't seen anything like this.
"Harry said Nagini bit him," Longbottom said softly. "She's ripped his neck open. But he was still able to give Harry his memories..."
Longbottom shook his head. "A very brave man, as Harry said. Right to the end."
"And brave for others," Draco answered, as softly. "He did everything he could for me; helped my mother, my father. All last year, he kept us out of the Carrows' hands, as much as he could; except for their favourites, the Slytherins needed that help as much as anyone."
Longbottom nodded. "It took me forever to realise. If I hadn't been convinced he was a Death Eater I'd have noticed earlier."
He looked at Draco. "How do you want to do this? Should we clean off the blood?"
"If you'd Scourgify his robes - but not his face or his hands. Can you summon a bowl of water, towels? I'd like to treat him - with honour."
Longbottom did as he asked. Draco knelt beside the dead man, whom he now respected like no one else, and began washing his face and neck, gently sponging away the dried blood, rinsing the first towel free of clots from the hair by Severus's neck. Without speaking Longbottom renewed the water. Draco nodded thanks, and continued to wipe the blood off Severus's hair. He was trying to think of nothing but the work, but it forced him to become accustomed to knowing that Severus Snape was gone, and that this was all he could now do in acknowledgement.
It took a long while, and Severus's hair was quite wet before he was done, but at least it was clean. Longbottom had soon knelt beside him, taken up another towel, and began washing Severus's left hand. Then he used his wand to cleanse the blood from the cuffs of Severus's white shirt and from his coat.
Draco moved around to the other side of the body and took up Severus's right hand, patiently washing the blood off the long fingers, the narrow palm. He shifted again, and drew Severus's robes on that side down, smoothing their bunched folds. And there, on the floor, hidden by Severus's robes, was his wand, as bloody as everything else. Draco reached for it respectfully, and wiped it down, making quite sure no blood remained in the lightly carved ornamentation of the handle, designed to give a firmer grip than a smooth cylinder would.
Only then did he raise it as one did a wand, and murmured the drying charm he always used on his own hair. Severus's was as fine as his, and this particular charm made sure that hair would lie straight and smooth, not fluff up or fuzz out. Then he summoned a comb. When it smacked into his hand, he recognised it as his own, from the dresser in his dormitory.
The wand felt strange in his hand, not like his own hawthorn wand that Potter was still using in preference to the mysteriously powerful one he was the master of, that Voldemort had aspired to. It felt warm, though, and if not welcoming - one couldn't expect anything of Severus Snape's to be welcoming - it didn't reject him, either.
He set the wand down to comb out Severus's hair, lifting the head onto his knee.
Longbottom made no comment on his using Severus's wand. Draco slipped it into his sleeve and laid Severus's head gently down again on the dusty floor, before he rose to his feet.
"Ready?" Longbottom asked, rising also.
"We should carry him, if you don't mind." It seemed a long time since Draco had spoken. "It's more respectful."
'That's what Oliver and I did," Longbottom agreed.
Draco nodded, and gripped Severus under his armpits. Longbottom took the hands and crossed them on his breast, then murmured something that sounded like a variant on a sticking charm before bending to take Severus's ankles. They lifted together, and Longbottom backed down the stair, carefully, but much surer on his feet than Draco would have expected.
As they left the Shack behind Draco said, "I don't think he should be buried here. Certainly not put in a mass grave with those who have no families to claim them. I want him buried at my home, where he'll be among friends."
Longbottom replied, "Hogwarts has a claim on him, but he might have preferred to be free of claims like that, now he's done all that was needed. To lie in peace."
"That's what I want for him."
Longbottom suggested that rather than entering by the great door, they should take a side entrance. In the end they left Severus Snape lying on his own bed, body straight, robes neat, hands crossed, still, and with a bloodless face that showed fewer lines than either of them had ever seen in it. Draco shut the door carefully behind them.
"Unless I'm asked by someone with a right to the answer," Longbottom said as they walked up the stairs, out of Slytherin territory, "I don't need to mention any of this."
Draco found it wasn't hard to say "Thank you," to a Gryffindor after all.
It had felt like Draco had been gone from the Great Hall a long time, but when he re-entered his parents were still talking with a professor, though it was McGonagall this time, and people were still circulating like bubbles in a pot of almost boiling water instead of going home to enjoy the peace with their families.
<<<|||>>>
By the time the Malfoys arrived home, Draco side-along Apparating his mother and his father carrying Severus Snape, Draco felt as if he had been awake and running for three days straight.
He didn't want to sleep yet, though; there were things to do first.
Very few wizarding homes, even the largest, had a chapel, but in houses like Malfoy Manor there was a room set aside for the dead, until they were buried. Draco and his father carried Severus there, and lit the candles and the torches on the wall, which would burn until the funeral. His mother took charge of laying Severus out, and Draco realised and was glad that death had spared Severus some indignities; that he and Longbottom hadn't had forced upon them awareness that Severus no longer controlled his body.
His father went away, and came back with clothing that was probably finer than Severus Snape had ever worn in life: fine woollen and linen undergarments, a robe of heavy wool silk, that draped beautifully, a silk scarf to cover the wounds on his neck, and soft shoes, unlike the sturdy boots the professor had always worn at school. His father's wand was adequate to the task of transforming the shoes to fit.
When they had finished Draco lingered, unwilling to leave Severus alone, but his mother spoke gently. Her face was dead white with weariness, but her back was straight. "Go and sleep, both of you. I'll watch over Severus. We can take turns."
Relieved that his mother felt as he did, and thinking that she might have things to say to the dead man in private, Draco at last felt able to go back to his bedroom and lie down. He barely remembered to take his boots off. Before he went to sleep he wondered how much of the Manor's furnishings his parents, between them, would have the house-elves burn. Everything that Voldemort had touched, if Draco got his wish.
It looked as if he would be returning to Hogwarts whether he wanted to or not. But life there would be different, if working together with Longbottom was a sign of the way things could be. And if Severus Snape was not sufficiently honoured once life at Hogwarts had returned to normal, Draco rather thought that Longbottom might be interested in helping with that, too.
Maybe he could keep Severus's wand; it might help to make him as strong as Severus had been.
<<<||| The Beginning |||>>>