sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-07 01:22 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-07 01:22 pm
Entry tags:
Laocoon's Children, Year III, Ch. 15
There could now be no doubt in Dumbledore's mind that Lucius and Peter were together, and that they were in the forest.
Harry's testimony might have been befuddled by his encounter with the Dementors, but he was very clear on some things: he had seen Peter Pettigrew's goat-eyed stare. He had seen him struggling with a tall man that had to be Lucius Malfoy. A picture began to emerge of what had happened earlier that day on the Pitch -- Lucius and Peter had come, possibly to harm Harry, likely to harm Draco. The Dementors had been drawn by the high emotions of the game and had fixed on Lucius Malfoy when they were close enough; they surged across the grounds and Pettigrew and Malfoy had fled.
Harry, caught in backlash as the Dementors went past, had fallen from his broomstick. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Remus, and Snape had cast charms at about the same time, Tonks shortly after. Dumbledore had slowed Harry's fall enough for Sirius to reach him. Remus remembered only the urge to cast a Patronus; he had cast it sitting down, his wand half-caught in his sleeve, and had fallen over shortly after.
Padma had assumed Draco was with Neville, and Neville thought he was with Padma, so neither missed him. When Draco finally turned up missing during a headcount in Hufflepuff Dormitory, the alarm was raised and the castle searched. Nobody thought to look in the Hospital Wing, assuming that Pomfrey would have sent him down to his dormitory if he came to visit Harry.
Magical Law Enforcement were summoned and sent into the Forbidden Forest, though Dumbledore made no mention of Lucius Malfoy. Others searched the building with the help of the professors until the child turned up perfectly fine and a little sleepy in the bed one over from Harry. Kingsley Shacklebolt, called to lead the search, shook his head in disgust.
Narcissa Malfoy and Andromeda Tonks were also summoned, Narcissa because she was his mother and Andromeda because only Andromeda could have handled Narcissa without someone getting slapped. As it was, Draco came close. Narcissa was furious that her Hufflepuff of a son had caused her to be called away from a manicure, one hand spiked with long red nails and the other hand's nails still pale and short. If Andromeda had not been there, Draco would have suffered his mother's wrath longer and much more painfully; if Sirius had been there -- and he had demanded it at first -- Narcissa's pretty red nails would have been broken, and probably a few fingers too.
And still nothing was said of Lucius Malfoy.
It was not until that evening, after Narcissa had gone back to her manicure and the MLE agents had left, that Dumbledore called Shacklebolt into his study to dine with him privately. Harry had been woken for dinner and spent a long time speaking to Dumbledore; now Kingsley listened to what Harry had said, nodded gravely, and steepled his long fingers against his lips.
"You have two options, Headmaster," he said cautiously. "Neither of them good ones."
"Endanger a boy or endanger a school," Dumbledore sighed.
"If you formally report a witness account of Lucius Malfoy on your grounds, you can request Auror guards to protect the lad. He clearly needs it," he added sternly.
"Impetuous youth," Dumbledore replied.
"Yes, too impetuous. If Lucius is reported, however, we must insist on allowing the Dementors into the castle. I don't like them any more than you do, but those are my orders. I don't have the political power to disobey or countermand the Minister for Magic."
"And I cannot reason with him, much as I have tried."
"You have wards against Malfoy and Pettigrew encircling the castle. If you choose not to report his presence, what you've told me goes no further than this room. But you won't get guards, and you can't possibly hope to keep every child forever in the castle."
"I don't even propose to try," Dumbledore said.
"You said Lupin could protect him. I asked you to consider Moody."
"If the Dementors were not here, there would have been no need to protect him," Dumbledore said pointedly.
"Dementors or not, Pettigrew and Malfoy would have come up from the forest. And the Dementors did drive them back." Shacklebolt held up his hands appeasingly. "I know, and I agree -- but I speak as a representative of the Aurors in this case. This is what they will say."
"I will not allow them in the castle."
"Then you will have to ensure his safety yourself."
Dumbledore nodded. "And what becomes of Malfoy the Elder?"
"Now that I have a confirmed presence in the forest, I'm prepared to take a risk," Shacklebolt answered. "I have five or six very loyal, very discreet men and women who can search. Nymphadora among them. If they are caught, you will no longer have a say in the matter. But they will do this for me."
Dumbledore offered his hand, and Shacklebolt shook it.
"What will you do? You still have another search to carry out," he observed as he showed Shacklebolt to the door.
"The decoy search is not entirely useless. We have good intelligence from the continent, and some of our people are tracking where Pettigrew and Malfoy went once they left Azkaban."
"When you have the time, come up to the castle again. There are people I should like you to speak to."
"From the war?"
"Just so. Lupin, Black, Snape -- "
Shacklebolt stopped on the threshold and turned to face him.
"Dumbledore, when Voldemort was in power, these men where eighteen, nineteen years old. I've met them briefly and they seem capable, but then they were inexperienced, and it showed. You nearly lost. Is it wise to depend on them now?"
"Minerva McGonagall was neither young nor inexperienced. Alastor Moody was in his prime. My brother and I were not without some little knowledge. We had no-one else but young volunteers upon whom to depend; the Ministry would not support us then, as it will not now. And these young, inexperienced men survived direct battles with Death Eaters and with Voldemort himself. They are now older and wiser, and have more reason to fight."
Shacklebolt gave him a measuring look, then nodded. "James trusted Lupin and Black, but James sometimes misplaced his trust, and I never knew them; it was not my war. I look forward to the meeting. Good evening, Headmaster."
"Good evening, Auror Shacklebolt."
***
At the same time that Shacklebolt was questioning Dumbledore about his chosen sons, Remus was setting a tray of food on Harry's bed and seating himself in a chair that Madam Pomfrey provided. She had fond memories of Remus from his boyhood, when he had been an earnest young man who spent too much time in the infirmary for a problem far beyond his control.
"How's Sirius?" Harry asked, picking up the cup of warm soup and sipping it slowly.
"He's fine. All this fuss and worry tired him out; he's sleeping in my rooms."
"Didn't tire you out?"
"I was told to sit still for most of it. I'm all right."
Harry nodded. Remus took one of the plates on the heavily-laden tray and cut open his baked potato, spreading butter on the inside.
"I know you've told Dumbledore a lot about what you saw," he said. "But I think there's also more, Harry, and there are things I need to tell you, too. Peter didn't knock you from your broom; that was something the Dementors did."
Harry swallowed. "I heard screaming."
"Did you recognise the voice?"
"Not -- not really," he answered. "But I think I know who it was."
"Oh?"
"I think it was my mum."
Remus froze, a chunk of potato halfway to his mouth.
"I heard a woman asking someone not to kill -- Harry, to kill me," Harry continued. "And someone laughing. Then the screams."
"Laughing?"
"High, shrill -- "
"Like a pain in your head," Remus finished. Harry blinked at him.
"How did you know?"
"I've heard it."
"When?"
Remus set the plate down. "Harry, you must understand...you were born in very desperate days. Nearly every day someone was killed, sometimes whole families together. It was our job to try to stop it. There wasn't much more we could do than that. We had no way of attacking directly. The Dark Lord was much too powerful for that, and he moved fast. Often he sent underlings to do his dirty work, but not always."
Harry stared into his soup.
"One night we heard that someone was going to try and kill a woman named Dorcas Meadowes, a friend of ours and a powerful witch in the fight. We didn't know who, but we got there as fast as we could -- your father and Caradoc Dearborn and I. We weren't in time, and I don't know why we even survived. Voldemort was there, you see. Killed her personally." Remus shuddered. "We saw him standing there over her body and he laughed."
Harry looked at him, pale and tired, enormous dark smudges under his eyes.
"James went for him, but by then he'd already vanished. I think all three of us heard that laugh for days."
"What happened to C -- Car -- "
"Caradoc? He disappeared, eventually. Died, we assumed. We never found a body. These are heavy things, Harry, and I'm sorry I can't protect you from them. Better you have a name to put with it, though. What you heard was your mother dying, at the hands of the man she died to protect you from. If you can call him a man."
He reached out and brushed Harry's hair off his scar, stroking it with his thumb.
"You know that sometimes I see things, things that never happened," he continued. "Things I hope will never happen. Today one of them did, and there will be more, I think. So I need to ask you something I have never asked you before."
Harry nodded.
"Sirius and I have always allowed you to question us and our decisions, even when we knew better, and have allowed you a great deal of leeway, because that is how children discover the world. For now, however, I need to know that you will obey us. Without question and without hesitation. If I tell you to do something, however foolish or unnecessary it may seem, I need to know that you will do it at once. Do you understand why?"
"Sometimes there's no time," Harry whispered.
"Yes. I promise I won't abuse the power," Remus added with a smile. Harry smiled back, hesitantly. "Now -- eat your dinner."
***
It seemed as though something must break, something must happen next, but as the days passed things returned almost to normal. Remus was well enough to teach on Monday, and by then Harry had been sent back to the Slytherins. He was not in good odor with the masses, having lost them the game, but Towler and Ackerly put down the most vehement protestors and Harry was capable of dealing with the rest. There was bad blood between Slytherin and Gryffindor, of that there could be no doubt, but the professors kept a close eye on them and eventually it died away. November passed in a blur of lectures and homework, even if they were restricted from going out on the grounds without a professor along. By the end of it, the seventh-years were already swotting for NEWTs and everyone else was preparing for end-of-term exams.
Sirius returned to the house in Hogsmeade, still unnamed. With Dobby's help, he painted and papered, tore things out and installed other things in their place, and built a shed onto the side of the house for his motorbike. By the end of the month he was running out of things to do. More and more, Padfoot could be seen heeling at Remus' side or lazing under a student's desk, usually Harry or Draco but also Padma and Neville on occasion.
Remus moved slowly for a few days after the game, but soon he began to walk more quickly, smile more readily, and joke more openly with the students. Yes, the castle was under what amounted to a two-man siege, but even adults have short memories for danger and as days turned into weeks they all relaxed by fractions.
Draco, on the other hand, became progressively more nervous as his first Quidditch match approached. Hufflepuff was playing Ravenclaw on the last Saturday in November, and it would be his first real test as a Beater. It helped not at all that Snape continued to heap scorn on him in Potions, and that the other students each had two carefully-supervised weekends in Hogsmeade while he had none. He might have tolerated it better if he could have sought out Remus again, but Remus had to go along to chaperone, and Draco had many yards of parchment to write for his extra Transfiguration tutoring.
Harry was civil to the twins, but had still not forgiven them. He bided and waited, and thought a great deal. His classwork never slipped, but he was quiet and watchful, and Sirius fretted over him. Remus, who saw him every day and had once been a watchful thirteen-year-old himself, did not worry so much.
On the morning of the match, Draco picked at his food, and all Harry's assurances that he hadn't eaten before his first match either fell on deaf ears. Draco knew that; he'd been there. Half of it was the sinking sensation that he was in far over his head and would never live up to the really pretty meager expectations Cedric Diggory had of him; the other half was the overwhelming terror of his mother finding out.
"Least it's not raining," Diggory said, as the Hufflepuff team changed into its flying robes. Draco double-checked his broomstick; he'd borrowed Harry's Nimbus and wanted to make sure everything was just-so. "Some small mercy, eh?" Diggory continued.
"Good flying weather," added Hawkins, the other Beater. He was a solid and dependable fourth-year, and next to him Draco looked like he was made of sticks.
"Be a good game. All right everyone, form up," Cedric added, and the rest of the team gathered in a circle just inside the changing-room doors. "Come on, Malfoy."
Draco, confused, joined the circle between Hawkins and Cedric. To his surprise, both boys took his hands. All around the circle, the teammates were joining hands and looking at one another expectantly.
"There is no game without players," Cedric said.
"Gamesmanship," the others replied.
"There is no team without people," Cedric continued.
"Loyalty," they said.
"There is no win without sacrifice."
"Humanity."
"There is no failure if we try."
"Triumph," everyone said, and after a collective breath they all chanted together, "Gamesmanship, Loyalty, Humanity, Triumph!"
Draco found it all a little weird.
"What was that?" he asked Hawkins in an undertone as they headed for the field.
"The Catechism of Diggory," Hawkins said with a grin. "We do it before every game. Old Hufflepuff tradition. Boyle used to do it when he was Captain too."
"Oh," Draco said, and suddenly they were there.
Cedric stepped forward and shook hands with Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw Captain. Draco tried to breathe, failed, took another deep breath, and was caught with a lungful of air and nowhere to put it as the balls rose in the air and he jerked upwards with the rest of the team.
***
Below, not in the stands but beneath and behind them, a small knot of Aurors heard the cheers as the game began. Shacklebolt, in the centre, crossed his arms.
"Let me take a moment to remind everyone that we are not here to watch the game. That's Tonks' job. She'll signal if anything in-game goes wrong. Keep your eyes on the forest and the bounds of the stands. Your job is not over until every student is safely back in the castle."
"Yessir," they chorused quietly.
"If you see Pettigrew or Malfoy, do not engage. Call for backup and track their movements. If they're going for the children, you are personally authorised by me to use Avada Kedavra, and I will stand responsible for your actions. Don't get yourselves killed."
They scattered efficiently, covering the ground assigned to them without overlap into anyone else's territory. From the stands above came a cheer; Shacklebolt looked up briefly, but from here all he saw were the sides of the seating areas.
He had not fought in the last war, at least not at Dumbledore's side; he had been a raw recruit in the MLE, his Auror's badge still shiny and new. He had fought as Aurors could fight. He sensed that Moody had sounded him out about another kind of war and at the time found him wanting -- as a young man he had been too upstanding, too moral, too unable to get round the regulations that the Aurors imposed on their officers to keep them from becoming unregulated killers. He hadn't learned Auror cunning until after the war, during the cleanup, when the older officers took the younger ones under their wings and showed them what was good and what was not good to do. In its own way, chasing after the last remnants of the Death Eaters was more dangerous -- they were desperate then, without the arrogance that made them easier to catch (or evade, depending).
It was only after the war that Mad-Eye Moody had recommended him to Dumbledore, and he had begun to piece together from Moody and Dumbledore and from others he met what must have gone on while he was busy learning his trade.
He heard Lee Jordan call out a score for Ravenclaw, and Kingsley, former Ravenclaw Prefect, smiled a little. It sounded as though young Draco Malfoy was faring well; good, let him. Kingsley had heard enough of his father, and in truth enough of his half-mad mother as well, to wish the boy no ill.
There were two more scores, one by Ravenclaw and one by Hufflepuff, while Kingsley watched and waited. The bait should have been irresistible. Lucius Malfoy, he felt certain, would want to see his son play. On the other hand, Lucius was a madman, and who could predict what madmen would do?
Kingsley turned his head slightly; there was shouting in the match.
"Cho Chang is diving -- this may be the Snitch -- it is! Ravenclaw in hot pursuit with Hufflepuff right behind -- OH!"
The crowds of students cried out; Kingsley turned back to the forest, scanning intently. Wind ruffled the grass.
"Draco Malfoy blocks the Ravenclaw Seeker with a well-timed Bludger -- Malfoy, a new player this -- HUFFLEPUFF! HUFFLEPUFF HAS THE SNITCH! GAME TO HUFFLEPUFF!"
Kingsley let out a resigned sigh and lifted his wand. A bright blue streak shot up from it, and corresponding streaks of colour appeared on the grounds and along the edge of the Forest. Game over; time to come in and make sure the students got safely back.
He hated biding his time and waiting and playing defence; Kingsley was a cautious and patient man, but his instincts told him to fight, if only he could find his target.
The grass rippled and waved as he gathered his people together again and the students began to head back to the castle, crowding around the Quidditch players and shouting in triumph or booing at the triumphant, as the mood took them.
***
"HEY MALFOY!"
Draco, who was already sore and suspected he may have pulled a muscle swatting that last Bludger, turned at the shout just in time to see Harry, Neville, and Padma bearing down on him. Harry punched him in the arm and Neville pounded on his back; he feared Padma might slap him or something, but she grinned and punched his other arm.
"Ow!" he said, rubbing the sore muscle. "Hey, leave off!"
"Great game!" Neville cried, miming a very inexpert swing with an imaginary Beater's bat. Harry took Draco's from him and held it up like a baton, marching proudly in front. The other Hufflepuffs grinned good-naturedly and smacked him on the back of the head or gave him a thumbs-up as they passed. Cedric Diggory fell into step with the four of them, beaming.
"I've got to run and tell everyone good game and handshake and everything," he said. "Brilliant match, Malfoy. Hey Potter, you scout for my team any time you feel like it, okay?"
"Just wait till I get on the pitch with you," Harry replied, and Cedric ran on. Draco was warm down to his fingertips, though he felt as though he'd been used as a punching-bag.
"That was brilliant, Draco, really," Padma said.
"Malfoy, you and me, cricket!" Towler shouted as he ran past with a horde of Slytherins.
"I declare myself king of the pitch," Draco announced, strutting just a little. Then he stopped, because strutting made his arm hurt worse. He unstrapped his Quidditch glove and rubbed it ruefully.
"Better have Pomfrey see to that," Neville said.
"Wounds of battle. Wrap it up in some bandages and show off," Harry suggested.
"Let's go rob the kitchen," Padma said.
"Got to get changed first," Draco grunted. "And there's bound to be a party in the common room."
"Now, aren't you glad we made you try out?" Harry asked.
"All right, all right, you were right," Draco admitted, but it was a sort of triumphant apology. It was ruined, only slightly, by a guilty twinge. Even while he was playing, he hadn't quite forgotten that his mum didn't know. His mum, who wouldn't even let owls in the house because they were unhygenic, his mum who had forbidden him to run in the house (or anywhere else) -- she didn't know that today he had been a hundred feet up in the air, swinging a bat at Bludgers, dodging other children on broomsticks and spraining muscles he didn't even know he had. And if she found out...
He forced himself not to think about that. He'd earned his place, after all. He might be a Malfoy but he was a Black too. Blacks were proud and loud and never afraid of their mothers.
The locker room was filled with the boisterous laughter of normally quiet boys and girls who secretly, in their heart of hearts, were never sure that playing well was its own reward. Lockers slammed, buckles clinked, water roared, bats and broomsticks clattered. Draco felt suddenly shy, and he put away his things carefully and quietly, though he joined in the good-natured banter with a happy heart.
Most of the team were still in towels, or just doing up the buttons on their robes, when there was a rap on the locker room door. Cedric, in worn trousers with a towel slung around his neck, cracked it open to see who it was. Draco was startled to see him fling the door open after a second and step back to allow Cho Chang to enter the locker room. The Hufflepuff team made loud smacking noises and giggled.
Cho held out her hand with a grin, and Cedric took it with a bigger grin; in half a second he'd pulled her forward and wrapped his arms around her waist. Someone blew a raspberry.
Cedric kissed Cho and then hugged her tightly before letting go just enough to preserve the image of decency. Draco felt as if he'd intruded, though clearly this was a common post-game ritual for them. It was odd, really -- he saw the older students holding hands in the halls sometimes and always thought it was sort of show-offy and a little gross, but looking at Cedric and Cho, he felt his stomach tighten unaccountably. It wasn't jealousy, Draco knew what jealousy felt like. It was almost like -- like he was a part of what they were doing, or could feel a part of it. The skin along his shoulders tingled. He wondered, for the first time, if he'd be in that situation one day.
He shook his head, reminding himself that it was creepy to stare.
The rest of the team shoved carelessly past the pair, who were clearly lost to the world, but Draco sidled around them as he left. Still, his shoulder brushed the back of Cho's shirt, and his face flushed.
He ran all the way to the Hufflepuff entrance, confusion replaced with an almost insane exuberance once he was out in the air again. The common room was filled with Hufflepuffs who, in their own way, were celebrating a clean win for the House and a really fun game, too. Draco didn't particularly want to celebrate -- too many people shouting too many questions, too much noise -- but he did his best and was finally allowed to retire to his dormitory. There was a gift on his bed from the House-Elves: a chocolate cupcake topped with three marzipan broomsticks. He ate it ravenously.
He didn't think he'd be able to sleep, but once he got into bed, even with the other boys chattering loudly about the game, he felt his eyes closing of their own accord. He lifted one sleepy eyelid as a plain white card appeared on the table next to his bed. He recognised Remus' handwriting.
Congratulations, Draco. Fame already crowns your sandy head. RL.
And below that, in slightly different ink and very different handwriting, Sirius Black.
Draco smiled, closed his eyes, and slept.
To the Next Part
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Page 1 of 2