Title: Trick me Twice
Chapter: 1. Once Doesn't Count
Author: MajinSakuko
E-Mail: MajinSakukoyahoo.de
Beta-Reader: Persephone Lupin
Dedication: Zwergin, for her important input ;P
Disclaimer: I own nothing, JKR everything else
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Main-Chara: SS, DM
Rating: PG-13
Genre/s: Drama
Warning/s: hints of slash (HP/DM), abrupt ending
A/N: Inspired both by Twisted Usia's "Seeking You" and Persephone Lupin's "The Last Boat"
Summary: Nobody likes to be tricked. Least of all Snape. Draco, though, manages – and turns his world upside down within days.
-
He never saw it coming.
Even if Severus Snape prided himself in knowing how to read his students (especially his Slytherins), he had not foreseen the turn that Draco Malfoy would take for his future. Never had he wanted to let his self-proclaimed charge follow his father's path – or his path for that matter. Sometimes, however, the decision was not his to make. And sometimes, even the almighty Albus Dumbledore failed one of his sheep.
---
Snape was on his way to the dungeons to prepare for his next class of dunderheads when he heard yelling and shouting coming from one of the side hallways. Years of experience told him it had to be the Potter brat, and from the choice of curse words (ferret, albino and so on) it didn't need a genius to figure out whom the boy had a quarrel with – once again.
"Stop acting as if it were the end of the world, Potty," Draco drawled. "You'll surely accommodate in time."
"I won't stop anything until you stop calling me Potty, you deceiving little ferret! How-" It sounded as if Potter was choking halfway. "HOW DARE YOU?!"
Then a crash was heard, and Snape deemed it time to make his presence known. Surely he would find the brat once again in a compromising situation that would cost Gryffindor at least ten points. Ten points might appear insignificant today but they would prove essential in the greater schemes of the House rivalry. This thought in mind, Snape rounded the corner, sneer firmly in place, his arms crossed in a haughty manner.
Potter held Draco pinned to the stonewall, pressing his forearm to the blond's throat to hinder any movement. One hand was clamped around his wand, pointing at Draco's face.
"Tell me, Blondie," Potter whispered furiously, and Snape found he couldn't bring himself to interrupt just yet. Maybe if he waited a few more seconds and the brat actually uttered a threat, the Potions master could start deducting points and giving detentions in earnest. "Just tell me one good reason why I shouldn't curse you to the moon and back. You know I can do it, don't you? Because you know me, not as well as I thought I knew you, but you know me a bit, at least. Tell me – Draco."
Snape was taken aback by the uncanny serenity of the brat. He had seen him introverted, had sneered when he was down and even Potter ablaze with fury was nothing new to the man. However, these coolly calculated words suited a Slytherin far better than the unruly Golden Boy. Snape couldn't see the brat's face, as he was standing with his back to him, slightly towering over the smaller Draco, but he knew he wouldn't like what he might see.
"Hexing me to the moon and back would require an awful lot of power," the blond drawled far too condescendingly for someone in his position. "How would you manage to win against the Dark Lord, then?"
Potter's left hand slammed into Draco's chest, causing the boy to bend over convulsively, gasping for breath.
"Don't say that name!" the Gryffindor screamed, grabbing the blond again and shaking him angrily. "Don't you dare utter that NAME!!"
Snape needed a couple of seconds to react; he was surprised by the unusual event of Harry Potter, of all people, saying that line. 'Don't utter that name!' Snape felt his heart clench at the thought that Draco had said it. 'The Dark Lord.' The phrase to speak of Voldemort that was only used by Death Eaters and himself on occasion.
"Potter!" he snarled before his throat constricted any more. "Fighting in the hallway, are we now? Twenty points from Gryffindor!"
The boy jerked but didn't turn around. He leant forwards quickly, whispering something in Draco's ear, causing the blond to flush, whether from anger or from embarrassment Snape didn't know.
"Let go off Mr. Malfoy this instance, Potter, or it will be twenty points more – or should I say less?" he added forcefully.
Potter pushed the other boy back with a huff. "I don't care how many points you deduct," he growled, turning around in a flash and storming past the Potions master.
Snape gritted his teeth, determined not to show how angry he was at this disrespectful behaviour. The next time he saw Potter he would make sure to deduct twice as many points. Yes, that was definitely something to look forward to.
The next task, however, certainly was not.
Carefully schooling his features into a blank mask, Snape regarded Draco, who had fallen to the floor, coolly. Squishing the urge to ask whether he was all right (because, really, why would he still be lying ungracefully on the ground when he was?), Snape's hand clamped down on the boy's shoulder, hauling him roughly to his feet.
"You are a Slytherin, are you not?" he asked lowly. "So, if you cared to heed my advice at all, it would probably be wise to consider the possibility of holding your potential future fights with Mr. Potter somewhere not that public."
Draco shrugged Snape's hand off with a sharp jerk, lowering his head, and glaring up through his fringes at the much taller man. "I don't think I need any advice from you – sir," he snorted, and then, without a backward glance, strutted away, around the corner and out of sight.
Snape was left standing alone, oblivious to how fast his life would turn upside down.
---
Two days had passed. Snape had used every free minute – which wasn't really all that much, mind – to wrack his brain over the problem with Draco. He couldn't let the boy run headfirst into his doom. Of course, Snape hadn't told Dumbledore a single word; he would do this on his own. Draco was his charge, not Dumbledore's, never Dumbledore's.
He himself had believed the great Headmaster could prevent Lucius from forcing him over to the Dark Side but obviously, Dumbledore had failed.
Snape wouldn't give him the chance to fail a second time.
Not Draco.
Never Draco.
---
Snape was grading papers, scribbling nasty comments in crimson ink all over the pages, as the door to his office was ripped open. Before he had the chance to snarl at the intrusion on his privacy (office hours be damned,) however, the annoying Granger-girl was already babbling something incoherent.
"Although, judging by your behaviour, I can deduct that my immediate presence is requested somewhere," he drawled in his most sarcastic voice, hoping to all deities that the know-it-all wouldn't start crying as well, because she sure looked precariously close, "you will have to start speaking in English, Granger."
The girl nearly choked on her words, but took the hint, drawing one quick soothing breath, before crying out, "It's Malfoy!"
That was all the incentive Snape needed, and in a flash he was on his feet, rushing past Granger, not really caring whether she followed or not, because he was, by all means, a Slytherin. And he knew that, from the earthy smell of the girl, they had to have either Herbology or Care for Magical Creatures. However, as Slytherin had Herbology together with Ravenclaw, that only left the latter.
Remembering the episode with the Hippogriff, Snape stopped his mind from coming up with horrible scenarios. Draco couldn't be injured, at least not too severely. But then, why would Granger look for him and not merely Pomfrey?
"It- it was horrible," the girl panted, jogging to keep up with his brisk pace, "all the blood ..."
"Quiet!" Snape hissed, shooting a quick glare at Granger that shut her up instantly. He didn't want to hear any of it, couldn't bear the mental images. Surely she was exaggerating. Hagrid might be a great oaf with a preference for far too dangerous creatures, but he was not that incompetent. The half-giant couldn't possibly let one of his students get seriously hurt, could he?
Together they rushed towards Hagrid's hut. Even from afar, Snape was able to make out the rather large group of students standing huddled around something, and his heartbeat quickened.
The nearer they got, however, the more Snape decelerated, a slow sense of dread filling him.
Draco was standing a bit offside, obviously well and healthy, though a bit annoyed, judging by him rolling his eyes. Hagrid was towering over him, lecturing him, trying – and obviously failing – to intimidate the boy.
Snape stopped dead in his tracks as he caught sight of the blood that had splattered Hagrid's clothes. His eyes flickered to the crowd to the side, glimpsing a sudden flash of something big, hairy – and obviously dead.
"-he sneered and just like that," the Granger-girl was babbling again, and Snape let her, needing the time for his brain to accommodate, "-it must have been some Dark Arts spell- never heard of it before- Harry couldn't even-"
Snape took another deep breath, reorganising his void thoughts, before heading for Draco. Draco looked up at him as he advanced, smirking, and Snape fought hard not to falter in his step.
Hagrid, clearly close to losing his temper, grabbed Draco by the front of his robes, but before he could shake him – or whatever he intended to do – Snape interfered.
"That should be enough," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion since he couldn't decide yet what to feel. Relief about the fact that Draco wasn't injured; consternation about that he hadn't prevented his stupid act; regret at that he hadn't seen any signs earlier? "I believe it's time for a visit with the Headmaster, Mr. Malfoy." Even if Snape didn't want to tell Dumbledore about his worries, he certainly could not let this go unmentioned. Hagrid was sure to inform him, in any case.
Draco smirked again, wiping his hands and then clamping them behind his back. "As you believe," he said sweetly, starting towards the castle.
"Me poor baby," Hagrid wailed, blowing his nose into a tablecloth-like tissue. "Las' time Malfoy was teh way a'ready, if on'y I'd paid summat more attention an' now," he sobbed, "me poor baby!"
Snape remained emotionless – after all, who cared for whatever creature had been killed when the murderer was none other than Draco?
---
From there on, everything was going downhill. Draco spent more time being lectured by Dumbledore than in the Slytherin common room – as if the old meddling coot could talk some sense into the boy. Dumbledore was everything a Malfoy had learned to despise; he couldn't succeed in changing his mind.
Snape should have been able. He should have been able to prevent it from ever happening in the first place. However, he had failed. Again. And this time, it was not his life he'd gambled away but the life of a – previously – innocent.
---
Five days later, things were not only going downhill, they were going downcliff – without bungee or wand for that matter.
Being called by Voldemort usually was bad enough – being treated as suspected spy took the blame for that. This time, however, it was even worse.
Having to grovel at the feet of his so-called master was more than humiliating already; moreover, being subjected to the occasional Crucio was not that high on his top ten list of leisure activities, either.
Voldemort let his gaze sweep about the ring of Death Eaters assembled around him, his demeanour one of utter calmness, as if there wasn't a teenage boy who was the bane of his existence, who refused to be killed, and who would soon be trained enough to kill him instead.
"Much time has gone by," Voldemort said softly, a cool breeze seeming to rush through the dungeon room, and Snape repressed a shiver. "Much time, indeed. Harry Potter should not have the means to be so elusive ..." his voice trailed off, and he turned around. Wormtail scrambled out of the way as Voldemort leisurely made his way over to his stone throne.
"Dumbledore is nothing more than a fool," he continued, and if the Dark Lord hadn't behaved so strangely, the Death Eaters would have agreed with his statement. But they kept silent, and Snape began feeling queasy.
Voldemort motioned for Nagini to slither over to him, which she did elegantly. Her dark green scales glittered in the shine of the hearth. Flickering her tongue in the air, she hissed softly, letting herself be petted by the skeletal hand of her master.
"There are, however, more fools than Dumbledore," he went on, his burning eyes fixed on Nagini. "Fools who think they can deceive me."
Snape began to sweat but forced himself to stay calm. This was hardly the first time that Voldemort uttered accusations about potential spies – and it had never been him who had died so far.
"Macnair?" Voldemort said, and Snape breathed a short-lived sigh of relief. "Do you have anything of importance to report?"
"No, Master. Nothing of immediate importance."
"Very well," Voldemort almost sighed. Then he flicked his gaze over Snape's left and right neighbour, not resting his eyes as long on the Potions master as on the others. "Then we shall continue with a not so pleasant point on our agenda."
Nagini jerked backwards roughly as if hit by an invisible energy blast.
"I have long suspected that there is one black – or should I say white? - sheep amongst our midst as you all surely remember," the Dark Lord said in a soft voice, again letting his gaze sweep along the circle of his followers. "He has eluded my grasp for long enough now. He has tried to play me," his eyes flashed a dangerous crimson colour, "for a fool. He will not succeed because his identity will be revealed this very night. I am almost sorry to say that I will miss his very dedicated service."
Snape cleared his mind as thoroughly as his nervousness allowed. It wouldn't do for the Dark Lord to receive guilty feelings from him, would it? He had done this a hundred times already; why should this time be any different?
Voldemort rose again, crossing the chamber and entering the circle of his supposedly devoted Death Eaters. He walked slowly, his eyes searching the faces of everyone, and Snape cursed the fact that they had been forced to not wear their masks that day.
"I am severely disappointed," the Dark Lord whispered now, gazing disapprovingly at Crabbe who started shaking visibly.
Snape almost snorted. 'Stupid idiot.'
Voldemort continued his way, nearing Snape, only Goyle and Malfoy still in between them.
"So disappointed," he whispered again, locking his red eyes with Goyle. "How could you deceive me in that manner," he said, Goyle's eyes widened in shock, but before he could start stammering out assurances that he was no traitor – and please, please don't kill me! -, Voldemort tilted his head sideways, flickering his gaze upwards, and ended with a soft, "Severus?"
There was a sudden flash of movement, and Snape found himself tackled and pressed down to the cold floor in a vice grip. Blood trickled slowly from his brow where his forehead had been smashed brutally against the stone and he was feeling faintly dizzy.
'Not like the other times, then,' Snape thought in dark and very inappropriate amusement.
"Oh, and Lucius," Voldemort said softly. "My sincerest congratulations."
"Thank you, Master," Malfoy muttered humbly. "Without your gracious help I wouldn't have been able-"
"That will be enough," Voldemort interrupted gently and Malfoy fell silent immediately.
Snape frowned, an icy chill racing down his spine that had nothing to do with the floor. Cautiously, he lifted his head, and instantly wished he hadn't.
He looked directly into Draco's smirking face.