Chapter One “ A Portkey to Safety
A dark figure moved quietly through the thick silence of the warm summer night, moving stealthily toward a run-down manor house at the top of a small hill. Its cloak billowed softly in the slight breeze that touched the trees and stirred the tall grass on either side of the dirt track on which it walked. As the figure approached the house, several other cloaked forms stepped from guarded positions to intercept it. The traveling figure threw her hood back to glare at them through heavy-lidded eyes, and was immediately allowed to pass.
The woman entered the manor brusquely, moving with deliberate purpose. She hurried through the dim hallways of the dilapidated mansion to the parlor, where she found the Dark Lord seated in a tall leather chair. His red eyes stared into the fire over long fingers arched near his thin-lipped mouth. Holding back a shudder, the woman knelt before her master, bowing her head and waiting for him to speak.
“You’re late, Bella,” he whispered with the sibilant hiss in his voice that marked him as more “ or less “ than human. “What news do you have of the traitors?”
Bellatrix Black stood slowly, holding herself straight and proud, though she knew she had failed her master once again. “I am sorry, my Lord. I was unable to track down any sign of the spy or the boy.”
Voldemort was silent for a long moment; Bellatrix felt her heart begin to beat faster as she waited for the Dark Lord’s response. Finally he stood, and she faced his angry red eyes with her own glittering back in defiance, but her heart pounding in fear.
“You have failed me for the last time, Bella,” he said softly, then whirled toward the Death Eater standing guard at the entrance to the parlor. “Bring the prisoner,” he demanded, and Bellatrix felt her chest constrict with fear. She fell to her knees once more.
“My Lord, she doesn’t know anything! Please spare her, she can’t tell you where they are. I’ll find them, I swear “ “ There was a desperate, pleading tone to her voice, and the Dark Lord’s lips curled in disgust as he lashed out and viciously backhanded Bellatrix across the face, sending her sprawling to the floor of the dark room.
“Silence, wench!” he hissed. “I warned you what would happen if you didn’t find them. It has been almost a month now, and I want them at my feet, bound, gagged, and ready to die for disobeying my orders and betraying me with their lack of faith.”
Bellatrix moved a shaky hand toward her mouth, and felt something warm and sticky trickling down her chin from a split lip. She drew herself to her feet, grimly prepared to meet her fate. Nevertheless, she felt the blood drain from her face when her sister was led in with shackles around her wrists. Narcissa Malfoy was pale and dirty, and weak from her cruel imprisonment. Her head hung weakly from slumped shoulders, and her eyes were downcast; but when she looked up at her dark-haired sister, they were still full of defiant life, and Bellatrix felt her breath catch in her throat for fear of what punishment that look would earn Narcissa.
“Welcome back, Narcissa,” said the Dark Lord, his voice almost seductive as he circled around the captive woman. Narcissa stared straight ahead, refusing to meet his gaze. “I will find them, you know. Why prolong their suffering by letting them run when they will never escape? Tell me where they are, and I will spare Draco.”
Narcissa’s face crumpled at the mention of her son before she took a deep breath and reset her determination. “No,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “You’ll kill them. They are safer on the run.”
Voldemort narrowed his red eyes, and stepped back. He raised his wand and pointed it at Narcissa’s heart. “If that is the way you want it, then so be it. Crucio!” A jet of brilliant red light shot from the tip of his wand and hit Narcissa in the chest. She collapsed immediately, screaming in pain. Bellatrix took a single step toward her sister before she stopped, unwilling to risk the Dark Lord’s wrath.
“Where are they?” he hissed at the gasping woman once more. Narcissa could only moan as she shook her head, her face twisted in pain. Voldemort smiled cruelly and sent a second stream of red light at his prisoner, who shrieked and writhed in agony. Bellatrix took a second step forward.
“Stop!” she cried, unable to hold it in any longer. “I’ll find them, I swear. Please, you’ll kill her!”
Voldemort lifted his wand with an exaggerated flourish. “Kill her? What an excellent idea.” He towered over Bellatrix, glaring down at her with his red eyes, his thin lips grinning cruelly as he advanced on her. “Shall I, then?”
Bellatrix swallowed hard as she was slowly forced backwards. She shook her head, deathly afraid that she had finally said the one thing that would cost her - or her sister - their lives. “Please, my Lord, I beg your forgiveness. She’s my sister; you must understand. . ." He silenced her with his hateful stare.
“I understand that she betrayed me,” he said, leaning in to whisper softly, almost regretfully, in her ear. “And so did you.” He turned his back on Bellatrix, and advanced on Narcissa once more. He flicked his wrist and levitated her to eye level. Her disheveled hair fell into her dazed face, and the look of defiance in her eyes was now touched by fear. “I believe I have finally tired of playing this game, Narcissa, so I will ask you once last time: where are Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy?”
Bellatrix held her breath, silently pleading with her sister to say something, anything, in order to save her life. Narcissa took a deep breath, releasing it with a long sigh before looking into the Dark Lord’s face. “I don’t know, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”
Voldemort was silent for a very long time as he stared into Narcissa’s pale blue eyes. “I believe you,” he finally said, and there was a frightening finality to his voice. He let her fall to the floor and gazed almost sadly at her crumpled form. “You are useless to me, Narcissa. Perhaps your death will bring me what I want.” He pointed his wand toward her heart once more.
“NO!” shouted Bellatrix, but she was too late: the jet of green light from the Dark Lord’s wand hit Narcissa in the chest, and she lay staring at the ceiling, dead.
“Find them,” hissed Voldemort as he returned to his chair. Bellatrix threw herself to the floor, sobbing over her sister’s cold body. “Find them both or you’re next.”
Knockturn Alley was already bustling with activity as a pale young man with drab colored hair and eyes made his way toward the Apothecary early the following morning. He wore nondescript grey robes and walked furtively, glancing nervously over his shoulder every so often as if he were afraid of being followed. When he finally came to the shop front he pushed open the door and entered quickly with one last look behind him.
“What can I get for you, young sir?” simpered a wrinkled old wizard from behind the counter opposite the door. His greasy white hair fell past his stooped shoulders, and a dirty beard was tucked into the belt of his robes. He was missing his left eye, but whereas some wizards replaced their missing eye with a magical one, this man chose to wear a dark patch instead, lending him a grim and suspicious look.
The young man made his way up to the counter and glanced at the old wizard with distaste. “I’ll need lacewing flies, fluxweed, and boomslang skin - and no questions.”
The old man bowed with a toothless grin. “Of course, young master. We don’t ask questions here in Knockturn Alley.”
“I know, I just wanted to be sure,” snapped the young man, glancing about nervously. “And make it quick, I’m in a hurry.”
“Yes, sir,” wheezed the Apothecary from the back of the shop, where he began to gather the necessary ingredients. The drab-haired young man paced anxiously around the store. He noticed a copy of that morning’s Daily Prophet on the counter and stopped to read the latest news in the fight against the Dark Lord. Turning the page, a headline immediately caught his attention: ‘Ministry Looks Into New Murder’. As he scanned the article, the young man’s face went white, and his hands began to shake. The old wizard returned from the back of the shop to find the pale faced young wizard retching into an empty pot.
“Are you all right, sir?” the Apothecary asked, his voice laced with false concern. He noticed the open paper on the counter, and narrowed his eyes at the young man in front of him. “Have you seen the latest news then? Did you know Narcissa Malfoy?” He came around the counter, his good eye watching the stranger intently.
The young man straightened and turned, his face composed; but the old wizard could see in the man’s eyes a look of panic and grief that immediately answered his question. “I knew of her,” replied the stranger, his voice hollow but steady. “It is a loss for the magical community to lose such a worthy pureblood.”
The Apothecary handed the young man a wrapped package with the ingredients he had requested. “Indeed it is, young sir. I hope her son survives to avenge her death.”
The young man started in surprise, almost dropping the package. “Her son?” he repeated blankly.
“Young Draco Malfoy, sir. The papers say he is on the run. I hope he makes it back safely. We need more young men like him.” The old man returned to the counter, watching the stranger carefully. Several emotions passed across the young man’s face before he inclined his head and turned to leave.
“As do I, Apothecary. As do I.” He left the shop, his steps hurried, and the Apothecary watched him go with narrowed eye. Then he grabbed his cloak and set out to find Bellatrix Lestrange.
Severus Snape paced up and down the threadbare carpet of the tiny, cramped room where he was currently hiding. A run-down old building in Muggle London had afforded him the opportunity to stop running, his whereabouts unknown as he brewed the complicated potion that would save his life, as well as the boy he protected. He waited impatiently for Draco Malfoy to return from Knockturn Alley with the last of the ingredients they would need to complete the Polyjuice Potion. Snape had Transfigured him a temporary disguise which he hoped would allow the boy to remain unrecognized.
He himself had just made another attempt to contact the Order of the Phoenix, and once again had found his communication ignored. He couldn’t blame them; they didn’t understand, because they couldn’t. They only knew that he had killed Albus Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower, and for that he was a traitor. The irony of it all was that it made him a traitor to both sides, and neither would have him back.
A small black owl pecked at the window, interrupting his anxious waiting. He threw open the glass panes and grabbed the paper held in bird’s beak. After dropping a coin into the small purse on the owl’s leg, he roughly pushed it out the window. It gave him an indignant hoot as he shut the glass behind it. Digusted by the fact that the Daily Prophet was his only source of news, Snape glanced irritably at the front page as he continued his pacing.
‘Investigation Continues into Murder at Hogwarts’ read the headline. Snape noticed his name still sprinkled liberally throughout the article, and grimaced. Potter had seen him, and had named him as the headmaster’s killer immediately. The ignorant boy had once again acted too soon, not even bothering to consider what had actually happened that fateful night; instead he had opened his big mouth and condemned Snape to the world without thought for the consequences.
The paper had been reporting it for weeks, forcing Snape to take Draco and flee. He would never be accepted back into the Order, that much he accepted; but neither would he be allowed back into the Death Eaters. The task had been Draco’s, and the Dark Lord would be furious that Snape had stepped in. Snape knew perfectly well that the Dark Lord had intended for Draco to die; more importantly, the Dark Lord had wanted push Dumbledore across that dark moral line he had yet to cross, forcing him to kill one of his own students in order to protect himself. Killing Draco would have demoralized Dumbledore, and tarnished his reputation; it would have also firmly punished the Malfoys for their failure to serve the Dark Lord successfully. Instead, Snape had taken a vow to protect the boy, and he had been forced to kill the headmaster in Draco’s place. It had been the most difficult thing he had ever done, and it had now sent him on the run with Draco, struggling to stay hidden from both sides while the Polyjuice Potion brewed them new identities.
Snape continued to glance through the paper, his eyes scanning the tiny print for news of the war outside the confines of their hidden location. He was immediately drawn to a headline on the second page.
Ministry Investigates New Murder
The Ministry of Magic is currently investigating an unsolved murder at Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. Late last night a squad of Aurors were sent to the Manor when a local wizard reported the sign of the Dark Mark above the Malfoy residence. Upon entering, they found Narcissa Malfoy, 42, dead in her second floor bedroom. Preliminary investigations revealed that she was killed by the Killing Curse.
Cornelius Fudge, spokeswizard for Minister for Magic Rufus Scrimgeour, told the Daily Prophet. . .
Snape didn’t bother to continue reading. Narcissa Malfoy was dead, which meant the Dark Lord was angry indeed. He tossed the paper aside, hoping Draco had not heard of his mother’s death in Knockturn Alley; but he knew the murder of a prominent pureblood would be news, and that Draco would surely hear the grim story before he returned. Muttering under his breath, Snape began pacing again, furious at Narcissa Malfoy for making him take an Unbreakable Vow, for getting herself captured, and now killed.
Without warning the door to the tiny flat flew open, and Draco stood there, wild-eyed and panting. His hair and eyes were drab colored, his pointed face slightly altered to conceal his true identity. Even as he stood catching his breath, his features began to shift back to normal, and Snape recognized the look of panic on the boy’s pale face.
“What’s happened?” he demanded. “What did you do?”
Draco was breathing hard, as if he had run all the way up the stairs. “My mother’s dead, he killed her!” he gasped, and his face twisted in anger and pain before he continued. “I think the Apothecary recognized me.”
Snape narrowed his eyes. “Fool!” he snapped. “A month’s worth of work and now we are lost! Gather your things, we must leave immediately.” He glanced around the room and found an empty potions bottle, which he quickly tucked in the pocket of his robes with a quiet murmur. He began to gather his belongings, regretfully staring at the potion simmering softly in the fireplace; they would have to leave it behind now, and start over wherever they could find safe hiding.
Within minutes they were ready to leave. They were just about to abandon their cramped hiding place of the past month when they heard several loud pops in the corridor. The door of the flat was suddenly blasted open, sending shards of wood flying throughout the room. Six Death Eaters marched in, hooded and masked, with wands drawn. Draco raised his wand but one of the Death Eaters cried, “Expelliarmus!” and it flew across the room. Snape reached quickly into his pocket for the potions bottle before raising his hands. They were quickly forced against the wall.
A seventh Death Eater strode into the apartment. The cloaked figure removed its hood and lowered its mask to reveal the dark hair and cruel face of Bellatrix Lestrange. “Hello, nephew,” she said softly. Draco blanched. “I’ve been looking for you. The Dark Lord would like to speak with you. It seems there are some ugly rumors going around which he’d like to clear up.” She turned to Snape and sneered, though Snape was surprised to see a great deal of pain behind her eyes. “You too, Severus. You’re in terrible trouble.”
Snape raised his eyebrow, unafraid. “What for, Bellatrix?” he asked blandly, hoping to bait her anger. He succeeded as she sucked in a breath and drew very close to his face.
“For betraying the Dark Lord, Snape,” she hissed. “For taking a vow you should never have taken.” She backed off, and her face was dark with fury. “For the death of my sister.”
Draco made a sound, and a look of pain flashed across Bellatrix’s face as she placed her wand at Snape’s throat. “I blame you, Snape. If the Dark Lord doesn’t kill you, I will.”
Snape glanced down at the wand, unconcerned. “The Dark Lord needs me,” he replied, projecting confidence into his voice, knowing it would infuriate her. “I have always been his most trusted spy; that has not changed.”
“The Dark Lord is finished with you!” she suddenly screamed, her eyes wild. “Bind them, and bring them to the mansion!” She turned her back on him and began to walk toward the door, her body rigid with anger.
Snape narrowed his eyes and silently called for her wand. The instant it touched his hand he fired a Stunning Spell that caught her in the chest as she turned in surprise. Without a sound she crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Before any of the others had a chance to react, Snape elbowed the Death Eater nearest him and hexed the wizard guarding Draco. Draco stared at Snape in surprise.
“What are you doing?” he shouted, as Snape grabbed his arm and pushed him toward the door, ducking a stream of red light. The older man threw up a Shield Charm as the remaining Death Eaters began firing curses.
“I’m keeping my vow!” Snape shouted back. He forced the empty potions bottle into Draco’s hand, and waved the wand over it, causing it to glow a light blue color. “GO!”
He shoved Draco through the doorway, before turning back to the remaining Death Eaters. He swore as a curse struck his shoulder, and retaliated with a brutal hex of his own. As Draco fell backwards into the hallway, he felt an unmistakable pull beginning to form in the pit of his stomach, and with a shock of surprise, he realized what was happening.
He never hit the ground. The last thing Draco saw was Severus Snape, fighting desperately against the remaining Death Eaters. The next moment he was gone, whisked off by a Portkey to the safety of a run-down house just outside Ottery St. Catchpole.
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A/N: This story was written for the extra credit New Year’s challenge prompt, which called for the first chapter to the final book in the series. I had already written a story which I felt might open book seven, so I decided to try something different. The Boy Who Left is a bit more traditional in that it opens from Harry’s point of view at Privet Drive. This story is more akin to the opening of book six, in which we begin the tale away from Harry. It was fun to work with these characters, and I certainly think it’s possible something similar could happen at some point in the last book. However, I have no plans to continue the story from this point, particularly now that the release of Deathly Hallows is so close. Many thanks to myownmuggle, my lovely beta, for tweaking it up for me.