They squeezed out of that horrible, constricted feeling of Apparition into the dark, shabby night of a nearly-deserted village.

"Up the street, here. Come on, hurry!"

"Sir, why didn't we - ?"

"Shut up, and get inside!" He threw the creaky door open, and shoved his student up the stairs into the house.

Draco stumbled into the musty, dim room as Snape slammed the door behind them. Before he could even turn to gauge his professor's mood, Snape started shouting, "Stupid boy! Stupid, stupid boy! Do you have even the slightest concept of what you have done?"

Draco's heart dropped to his knees, paradoxically racing as it did so. His eyes started to itch and his mouth trembled and he kept his face turned away so his Head of House would not see him fighting off tears.

Former Head of House, he reminded himself. Obviously, neither of them would be welcome back at the school after what they'd done.

His mind was racing. He'd failed. He'd actually failed. His life was forfeit. His mother would be murdered as soon as the Dark Lord heard. His mother - !

Draco lunged for the hearth, grappling at the small dish of powder on the mantle. He was about to toss the handful into the fireplace when Snape knocked it out of his fist.

"Are you mad? You can't go anywhere!"

"I have to warn my mother!"

"You can't. Any attempt you make to contact her will be intercepted."

"But the Dark Lord -"

For the first time, the hard lines in Snape's face went almost imperceptibly softer. "I know, Draco. But it's probably too late already."

Draco's last shreds of hope crumbled, and he threw himself into the nearest chair, sobbing into his sleeves. His humiliation overwhelmed him, but he couldn't compose himself for several minutes. When he finally did, Snape was still standing over him.

"Yes," said Snape enigmatically with a small frown, as though responding to a question Draco hadn't heard. He handed Draco a clean handkerchief, and stepped away toward one of the bookcases behind him.

When Draco had finished drying his eyes, Snape tapped the bookcase with his wand, opening a hidden door behind it. "Come quickly," he said. "I don't know how long Wormtail will be out."

Draco followed closely up the dark, creaky stairs to the dusty upper story. Snape ducked into the first room on the left, which was clearly a very musty bedchamber. The windows were hung with heavy, mouldy curtains, and the only light came from a few flickering sconces.

On the desk sat a shallow stone basin. Its sides were roughhewn, the edges carved in symbols.

"You keep a Pensieve?" asked Draco, breaking the silence.

"It's not a Pensieve. Have a seat." Snape indicated the chair in front of the desk.

Draco sat. He couldn't ignore the very strong feeling that he was in no position to argue.

"Take out your wand." Again, Draco complied immediately.

Snape walked to the other side of the desk, facing Draco, and looked down at him. "Draco, I need you to trust me completely. I need to know some things before I can help you, and you will need to give me the knowledge willingly."

Draco could only stare up at him uncomprehendingly. Snape's gaze turned fierce and impatient, so Draco nodded, recognising no alternative.

"Good," said Snape with a grim smile. "Now listen to me. I need you to focus on what happened tonight, on top of that tower. I need you to think about all of it, starting as early as you like, but certainly no later than the moment you reached the top and disarmed Dumbledore."

Draco could feel his face begin to crumble again. The enormity of what he'd done was overwhelming, and he couldn't face the memory, not yet, hopefully not ever.

If he was lucky, he wouldn't live long enough to have to think about it.

"Think, Draco! Come on!" Something flickered behind Snape's impenetrable black eyes, and Draco felt his tears begin again.

"Good," murmured Snape quietly, almost soothingly. He stepped forward, taking Draco's wand hand across the desk, and touched the tip of the wand to Draco's chest, above his heart.

Draco opened his watery, wondering eyes to watch a small thread of gold emerge, as though sticking to his wand. Snape guided his hand until the wand tip reached the basin, then the thread broke off and began swirling mistily there.

"Oh," said Draco lamely. His stomach still clenched and ached.

Snape released Draco's hand, letting it fall. He drew his own wand, then, and transfigured his large bed into two twin beds.

He gestured toward the farther one. "Now get some rest," he told Draco, already turning his back on him.

Draco didn't have to be told twice. He collapsed, fully clothed, onto the indicated bed, and curled up on his side, exhausted but not remotely sleepy.

As he watched, Snape stood and leaned over the basin until the tip of his long, hooked nose touched the surface, and then disappeared. Confused and miserable, Draco stared at the faintly glowing basin, terrified and full of dread for what the remaining few moments of his short life might have in store.

Snape had said he would help, Draco knew, but couldn't imagine how his 'help' could extend any further than convincing the Dark Lord to kill him in a slightly quicker and less-painful way than he would have done otherwise.

He didn't even remember closing his eyes, but suddenly Snape was shaking him awake. The room didn't look much changed; he imagined he couldn't have been asleep for more than a few minutes.

Snape's face looked more tired than ever, but somehow more at ease; the crevices in his worn, young face were shallower, his forehead smoother.

"Get up," he said quietly, without the gruffness that had been present earlier. "You're going to be alright. But you need to hurry."

Draco glanced past Snape's shoulder at the basin on the desk. Its glow had changed shade subtly.

"Get up," repeated Snape, so Draco scrambled stiffly to his feet. His head ached, his back was sore, and his knees cried out in agony. His eyes didn't want to open fully. He only wanted to sleep more, to sleep forever, until he could make it all evaporate like a nightmare.

Allowing no time for finding balance or bearings, Snape dragged Draco over to the basin on the table. "I need you to look at this, right now," he told him.

Draco looked questioningly at Snape, but Snape merely gestured impatiently toward the swirling, golden fog and stepped back. Once again left with no choices whatsoever, Draco leaned over the basin, peering down until he felt himself falling, and landed on his feet on top of the Astronomy Tower.

It was all there, exactly as it had happened, only the perspective was slightly shifted. He saw himself, tumbled over as if recently pushed, near Dumbledore's prone form; he felt a bizarre surge of impatient anger, surprise, protectiveness, and fear, all bundled together, when he looked at the tall, blond teenager. His focus turned to Dumbledore, and his heartrate trebled; panic seized him like a steel glove, along with gratitude, sorrow, admiration and grief. A black sense of resignation enfolded him, and the wizard's voice echoed in his head, saying, 'Severus ...'

But where was Snape? It took Draco a few more seconds to compare the scene he was experiencing to the one he remembered. In those few seconds, the realisation came crashing in: he was living the scene exactly as Snape, himself, had. He was seeing it through Snape's eyes.

He was feeling it through Snape's emotions.

'Severus ... please ...' repeated the crumpled form on the ground, and the-heart-that-wasn't-really-his swelled with the pain of abandonment, tragedy, and a fierce loyalty that felt almost like love. He felt the emotions steeling themselves like a pole-vaulter who flexes before running toward the crossbar. He sensed the gathering-up of every ounce of loyalty and trust and empathy in the soul he was inhabiting, felt Snape bite down against a sob that wanted to rise in his throat, and heard the words, 'Avada Kedavra.'

The moment the words had left his mouth, his stomach clenched itself, and he felt his gorge rise. He watched the body hang suspended, for a brief moment, illuminated with the glow of the curse which had taken its life, and then the entire scene went a strange, greyish blank. Draco barely had time to wonder what had happened when he felt a renewed resolve kick in, and the scene swam back into focus.

For a fleeting second, he looked at the blond boy and had to fight down an urge to tear his stupid, pride-filled head off his worthless shoulders. Instead, he grabbed the boy, anger already turning to fierce, terrified protectiveness, and pushed him down the stairs.

"Alright, that's enough," said the real Snape from somewhere above, and Draco felt himself being lifted out of the scene, back into his own body and mind.

He staggered slightly as he returned to himself. "What - ?" he gasped, but couldn't do more than gesture at the basin, which Snape was carefully emptying into a phial he then threw into the fire.

"Sensieve," answered Snape briskly. "As you have seen, its function is very similar to that of a Pensieve, but instead of allowing one to store and share the objective, factual memory of events, it has more to do with the emotions one experiences in the course of these events."

Draco blinked, clutched his writhing stomach, and blinked again. "So then you -" he began. Snape looked at him steadily, and waited for him to continue. "You're -" was all Draco had the chance to say again, before the world went a hazy, sparkly white and he had to sit down, hard.

"I can help you," said Snape quietly. "I can save you."

Draco's eyes threatened to well up for the third time in one night, but now from gratitude rather than fear; the shame he felt, while changed in tenor, was undiminished.

"I'm sorry, sir," he told Snape, finally feeling the enormity of his error. "I'm so sorry."

"I know, Draco." He stowed the basin in a drawer, then straightened up suddenly. Draco had also heard the unmistakable sound of a slamming door and thumping footsteps. "Wormtail is back. You must tell no one - not him, not your mother, no one about what I've shown you. We will have allies, many of them, but for now, you must trust no one but myself."

Draco nodded distantly.

"Good. Now rest. I need to let Wormtail know that you'll be staying with us for awhile. Are you alright staying here until we can make a room up for you tomorrow?"

Already curling up on his bed, Draco closed his eyes and nodded sleepily. In his heart, he heard a tiny, golden, wordless song, that gave him hope. Perhaps, even with Dumbledore gone, it wasn't too late to accept that painfully tempting offer of redemption.

With that thought, Draco was reminded of his mother, probably already dead. He turned his face into the pillow and sobbed himself to sleep.