Title: By Any Other Name, Part 1 of 5
Words: 1443 this segment, 12,000 overall
Genre: Adventure, Slash, Darkfic
Warnings: Adult Language, Sexual Content, Non-con, Torture
Summary: The story picks up from the place in HBP when Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape flee Hogwarts. Where do they go? Draco quickly finds that among the Death Eaters a “safe” house is a relative term.
Author’s Note: This was the very first new fanfic I posted upon starting my LJ back in 2006. It wasn’t for a fest or anything, just to fulfill the urge to write. At the time I started writing it, I still thought I hated Draco and wasn’t feeling too kindly toward Snape, either. I was in love with both, individually and as a pairing, by the end of writing it. Here’s what the naive me wrote at the time: “I’m a little shocked I decided to start with something that gets quite brutal, which is a departure from my usual fare, somewhat. Not every story I write will be this packed with cruelty and nonconsensual situations (not every story will be so packed with Slytherins…)” Well, it’s true not EVERY story… but…!
By Any Other Name, Part 1 of 5
by Ravenna C. Tan
Draco Malfoy hated the feeling of Side-Along Apparition. The horrible squeezing sensation was somehow more bearable when he directed it himself, but he had no idea where they were going. Death Eaters were still shouting, a dog was howling, curses were still being flung everywhere, and Snape now had a death grip on his wrist and was pulling him at a full run toward the gates. He barely had time to take a breath before the potions master snapped them away from the chaotic scene, the Disapparition so sudden that Draco found himself coughing when they appeared at their destination.
It took a few moments for him to shake the cough and then he looked around. They appeared to be in the parlor of a house. All was quiet. “Are we safe?”
“That depends on what you mean,” Snape said as he set a few of the room’s lamps alight with a bare flick of his wand. “For the moment, we are in no immediate danger. As to what will happen now that you and I will no longer have the safety of Hogwarts at our disposal, only Fate can tell.”
“The safety… what do you mean?” If there was one thing Draco hated about Snape, it was the man’s tendency to blather as if he always knew infinitely more than his listener and had no inclination to illuminate. It was a condescension Malfoy felt others might have deserved, but this past year Snape had turned that tone on him more and more often. It made no sense. Malfoy himself was a Death Eater now, why had Snape suddenly started treating him like a child? “If the Aurors had caught onto us…”
Snape turned on him, his wand tip raised between them like a scolding finger. “If! Yes, I daresay you’d be sharing a cell with your father right now if that were the case. But at least in Azkaban you’d be in no immediate danger.”
“You just said we aren’t in immediate danger.” A glance around the room showed it to be an ordinary-looking, if slightly decrepit parlor. There was a loud crack outside the door, and another, then a third.
“That will be our cohort arriving,” Snape said, his voice low and cold. “And you will quickly learn, young Malfoy, that there are many immediate dangers that come with being in the Dark Lord’s service.”
He went to the door and opened it, and three Death Eaters stumbled in. Draco saw, though he doubted anyone else detected, the slight relaxing of Snape’s shoulders. Or maybe Draco imagined Snape to be as relieved as Draco was that Fenrir, the werewolf, did not appear to be with them.
“Here we are then, safe as houses!” said the stocky female with a cackle as if she had made a particularly good joke.
“Yes, Alecto,” Snape said. “I will set the wards. Malfoy, with me.”
Draco welcomed the opportunity to get away from the others. The way his father had always spoken of being in the Dark Lord’s service, it had never occurred to him that he might have to mix with such coarse people as the Carrows. He followed Snape down the front steps of the house. He’d known, of course, that not all purebloods were of Malfoy caliber–look at that dog pack called the Weasleys. The Carrows, Alecto and her brother Amycus, were little better.
He followed Snape around the perimeter of the property, the picket fence in need of repair enclosing a small yard, as the professor spoke words of protection. Draco was about to open his mouth to ask where they were when Snape spoke first.
“Can you see the lines?”
If he looked sideways where they had walked, Draco could see a faint green glow, like a faraway star that you have to look to the side of to see in the night sky. “Yes, glowing green.”
“Excellent.” Snape gripped Draco’s forearm, brushed back the robe, and touched his wand to the Dark Mark. Draco thought he saw some of the green glow travel down the wand and into his skin.
“Hey, what are you…?”
“Listen to me, Draco. I swore an oath to your mother than I would protect you, but even my magic has limits.” Snape glanced at the house, a three storey Victorian affair the same color as its slate roof. Lights were now burning in the upper windows. “Death Eaters are not like your feeble classmates. You will not be the prince of this gaggle…”
“Oh, and I suppose you are?” Draco cut in, tired of being spoken to like a child.
Snape’s mouth twitched. “That is unlikely, though perhaps they will afford me slightly more credence now that I have done the deed.”
Draco couldn’t help but blanch a bit at the thought. The deed, of course, was the murder of Dumbledore. “And what about Him?”
“That, too, remains to be seen.”
“Do you think He’ll be angry that I didn’t, that I wasn’t…”
“This is not the place to speak of that.” Snape glanced around once more, then shooed Draco toward the door. “But I do not think much happened tonight that the Dark Lord did not anticipate.”
“You mean he knew I would fail?”
“The mind and feelings of the Dark Lord are not ours to comprehend,” Snape said. “Let us find you a room.”
Draco found himself in an upstairs room, the bed set into the gabled alcove of the roof. Snape had brought him a pot of chamomile tea, muttering something about the old potions being the best, and then left him there. Draco thought, though he was not sure, that the door knob had glowed briefly green as Snape had shut it behind him when he left.
Draco hung his robes in the empty wardrobe and sat on the bed. He loosened his tie. The green tie, shot through with Slytherin silver, seemed ridiculous now. He took it off and flung it away in disgust. It was no wonder Dumbledore had treated him like a schoolboy, and that Snape was continuing to do so. He got up off the bed then, took his wand from the bedside table, and pointed it at the tie.
“Obliteratus!” The tie shivered and blew apart into a million pieces which then dissipated like smoke. Draco smiled. That was not a schoolboy spell. Snape hadn’t been such a mother hen when he’d taught him that one, had he?
Draco flung himself onto the bed. It was all to do with that damnable vow Snape had made to his mother. Narcissa had always babied him, and now she had convinced Snape to do so as well. It had been a disappointing year in that regard. Draco had looked forward to the private instruction he had been privileged with. Snape had taught him many dark spells over the years, and Draco had been an eager pupil. This year, Draco had anticipated getting into some truly dark subjects with his mentor. But it hadn’t worked out that way. Not with Draco refusing Snape’s summons to his office, refusing his help with his mission.
He took off his socks, his pants, but decided to leave his button down shirt as a dressing gown. He didn’t like to see where there were still faint white scars on his skin, the result of that nasty spell Potter had unleashed in the bathroom a few months before. Sectumsempra was no schoolboy spell either. Draco shivered.
The last thing he remembered from that horrible afternoon was feeling like a giant claw had just rent him from stem to stern and the look of absolute horror on Potter’s face. Then he woke up in the hospital wing, Snape sitting there at his bedside. Draco had a nagging feeling there was something he had forgotten, something missing from his memory of those events.
The teapot, in a ridiculously mundane white and blue cozy, sat on the side table next to Draco’s wand. There was no way he was going to get to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Dumbledore, or Fenrir, or Potter’s face.
Well, if he wasn’t going to fall asleep, what was the harm in drinking a little chamomile? He sat up, poured some into the china cup sitting there, and sipped it. Still passably warm. He wondered if the cozy were charmed. He drained the cup and lay back down.
In minutes he was asleep, the tension and travails of the day finally draining away and leaving him only dreams.