The Rain Before the Storm

Slytherin's first Quidditch match of the year was against Hufflepuff.  Draco had 
left our Quidditch team before the final match of his seventh year, but our 
reserve Seeker, Cassius Montague, had done quite well, and was back on the team 
this year.

Minerva, as usual, was overseeing the announcing; only Gryffindor students tended 
toward the combination of loudness and self-exhibition necessary to call matches.  
Potter sat by me, "Hell Transfigured" open on his knees.

I leaned over to him.  "I hope you're using Minerva's translation," I said.  "The 
library has several others, but hers is the best."  He flipped the cover so that I 
could see her name embossed along the bottom edge.  "Ah. Good."

He smiled and went back to reading; he'd be trying a Horrific Transfiguration on 
me within the next few days.  I was not looking forward to it.

On the pitch, Hufflepuff scored, amid much anti-Slytherin propaganda, and I shot 
Minerva a look.  She clamped her hand on the shoulder of the announcer, and I saw 
her mouth move: "Enough!"

She looked back at me.

"You'll have to do better than that," I said, through gritted teeth; she could 
read my expression if not hear my words.

Beside me, Potter fell backwards.  I caught the book as it slid off of his lap.  
"Mr. Potter--"

He sat up, holding a tiny owl to his chest.  "Pig!"

It hooted at him.

"Pig?" I said, eying the owl with distaste.  Potter owned a snowy owl; I didn't 
recognize this one.

"Pigwidgeon," he said.  "Ron's owl."

How boring.  

The Gryffindor child calling the match spouted more propaganda, and Minerva 
removed him from duty.

"Ron's here at Hogwarts," Potter said.  "His father sent him to see Dumbledore--
this message is for you and me.  We're to go up at once."

He held it out to me, but I waved it off and stood.  "Very well."  Arthur Weasley 
had many faults--his having set Albion on me just one of them--but he was, at 
least, not a bleeding idiot like Fudge.  If he saw fit to send his youngest son 
here with a message, I could at least treat it as important.

Potter tossed the owl into the air and took his book from me, and we headed back 
into the castle.

As expected, Weasley did not appear happy to see me, but the grave expression 
Albus wore was a surprise.  "Sir?" I said, as Potter seated himself next to his 
old friend.

"Ron brings us--rather distressing news from the Ministry," Albus said.  "Severus.  
Sit down."

I turned instead to Weasley, who shook his head and said, "Draco Malfoy has 
vanished."

Draco.  Vanished. I searched Weasley's face.  "Go on."

"He withdrew from all his classes and has disappeared.  No one seems to know where 
he is--the Ministry thought he might've gone home, but Malfoy Manor's boarded up.  
There weren't even any house-elves around."

"Draco closed it off when his parents died," I said.  "He was supposed to be 
living with the De la Salles while at university--they promised to take care of 
him--"

"He didn't come in last night," Weasley said.  "They sent an owl to the Ministry 
early this morning; my father sent me here as soon as we had confirmed that he 
wasn't at the manor."

"Albus--" I began, but he waved me to silence.

"Severus.  Harry.  Do either of you have any idea where Draco might've gone?"

I laughed bitterly.  As if Draco would confide in me.  My apprentice shook his 
head before answering.  "No, Headmaster.  Pansy Parkinson might know, though--they 
used to go out together."

"Father sent an owl to her," Weasley said.  "There's--some people are worried that 
You-Know-Who--"

"Voldemort!" I said.  "Use his name, you stupid--"

"Severus!"  Albus in a grim mood is not a man to trifle with.  I held my tongue.

With a nervous look on his face, Weasley continued.  "Some people are worried that 
*he* might be on the rise again.  That Draco's gone to join him.  Others think 
that Draco wants to--to become the next Dark Lord himself."

Hrr.  Not Draco.  Never Draco.  "Draco Malfoy doesn't have it in him," I said.  
"To join Voldemort, yes, that he might do.  To try to become Voldemort?"  I shook 
my head.  "No."

"So certain," Albus said, and there was a question in his voice.  I met his eyes 
but did not speak.  "Very well," he said, after a moment.  "I trust that I may 
rely on your discretion--all of you."

"'Course," Weasley and my apprentice said together.  I merely inclined my head.

Albus sighed.  "Very well.  You may all go--Ron, would you like a carriage to 
Hogsmeade, or would you rather walk?"

"Walk, sir."

"Good lad."  He patted Ron on the shoulder and turned to me.  "Severus, come by 
tonight and we'll talk."

Of course.  I nodded sharply and jerked my chin at Potter: follow me.

As we headed back towards our shared quarters, Potter touched my sleeve.  The 
contact made my Mark itch; it was a sensation I had grown used to since he had 
begun his apprenticeship.  "Why don't you think Draco could be a Dark Lord?" he 
asked.

I sighed and pressed my palm down over the Mark, willing it not to burn.  "His 
parents spoiled him beyond belief," I said.  "Do you know what happens when you 
take a creature you have petted and sheltered and spoilt and suddenly show it 
everything truly ugly about you and your world?"

He shook his head.  

"You snap its pretty romantic notions," I said. "If you're lucky, you merely break 
its will; if you are unlucky, you drive it mad."  I looked at him and did not 
bother to hide my sorrow.  "Draco Malfoy is a broken man, Mr. Potter.  Such men 
may be desperate, but they haven't the will to be truly dangerous."

As we walked past the courtyard, students spilled in around us.  Jessica Parkinson 
spun around me, laughing--"We won, Professor!  We won, we won!"

"Excellent," I said, and she smiled and ran off; I looked after her thoughtfully.  
Pansy had been much quieter at that age, less able to conceal her ruthlessness, 
and yet I had no doubt that Jessica was Slytherin to the bone.  I wondered what 
resources of cunning she must have developed, growing up with Pansy as a sibling.

"Master?" Potter said.  "Are you all right?"

"Just thinking, Potter," I answered.  "Just thinking."

* * *

Albus held out a glass of whisky to me.  "You didn't fail the boy, Severus."

I took it, but did not drink.  "Did I not?"

"No more than I," he said, settling back into his armchair, "and certainly less 
than his own parents."

"That is damning with faint praise indeed, Albus."

He sighed.  "Severus--"

"Think!" I said.  "Think, and then tell me I didn't fail him."

"What did you say to Harry, earlier?" he asked.  "'Draco Malfoy is a broken man.'"

I sat down heavily.  "Is there anything that happens at this damned place that you 
don't know about?"

"Very little," he said.  "Now.  How are you and Harry doing?"

"Well.  We've been working on the Horrific Transfigurations." I wet my lips with 
my drink.  "I'll need Hagrid's assistance for some of what I intend to do."

Albus waved his hand.  "Of course.  But that's not what I meant."

"Then what *did* you mean?"

He leaned forward and tapped me on the back of my hand.  "Apprenticeship changes a 
person.  As a student or as a master.  Minerva and I--we were never the same, 
afterwards.  And we were neither of us prepared."

Hrr.  "It is a trifle strange, sir.  But we shall adapt to it."

He wrapped his fingers around my hand, held it still.  "Severus.  Minerva came to 
me an adult, a witch in the full bloom of her power, and yet we nearly consumed 
each other."

If they had, it had never seemed so to me, as a boy.  But then, I had hardly been 
in a position to know.  I twitched my hand in his.  "And Potter is young yet," I 
said, "and therefore vulnerable."  Vulnerable to me--that was a terrible thought.  
He had proven himself against Voldemort, and no matter how I disliked him, I would 
not see him fall to me.

Albus was watching me closely.  I swirled my whisky with my free hand.  "Do you 
think I do not know what it is to be consumed?  Do you think I would permit it?"

"No," he said, sitting back, picking up his own drink.  "No, I don't.  And part of 
me rejoices in that--but part of me is afraid for you."

"Afraid?"  I raised my eyebrows.  "For me?"

"For you, and for him."  He shook his head and let out a long breath.  "Together, 
you could be immensely powerful.  Or you could destroy each other.  Only time will 
tell."

I took a sip.  "And yet you encouraged him in this.  Knowing what it could be--"

"I encouraged you both."

I narrowed my eyes and stilled the crawling of my skin.  Albus, my lord in all but 
name, and his infernal 'encouragement'--
 
"Yes," I said.  "Yes, I suppose you did."

* * *

When I returned to my chambers, Potter was sitting at the desk I had bought for 
him.  "What are you doing?"

"Trying to think of places Draco could be," he answered, nibbling on the end of a 
quill.

"Go to bed," I said, irritated.  I wanted no reminders of Draco and no part of my 
obnoxiously noble apprentice.

"I'm not tired yet, Master," he said, and scribbled something on his roll of 
parchment.

Blast the boy--I walked over to him and pressed my left palm to his forehead.  
Pain shot up my arm.  "Sleep," I hissed, through clenched teeth, and he collapsed 
against me.

"Mobilicorpus."

I gestured at Potter's bedroom, and his body floated inside.

I sat down at his desk and read over the list.

The Shrieking Shack.
Italy with Pansy.
The Forbidden Forest.
Muggle London.
The caves on the Malfoy lands.

Hrr.  Not a bad list, all told.

I'd have Hagrid tell the centaurs to search the Forest.  Pansy had already been 
owled, and the Ministry would have checked the caves and the Shack, if I knew 
Arthur Weasley.

Muggle London.

Now, there was somewhere I hadn't thought of, and likely no one else, either.

Perhaps Potter and I should venture out and take a look around.