Be Careful
55: What You Assume
By Anne B. Walsh
Author Notes:
I disclaim the quotes from Deathly Hallows I've used in this chapter. Also, credit for the Fiendfyre spell goes to my bigger brother--thanks!
"Harry, stop," said the squeaky female voice.
"What’s wrong?" answered a wavering male.
"There’s someone there. Someone watching us. I can tell. There, over by the bushes."
Draco and Luna flattened themselves against the ground, holding their breaths. If he looked up, Draco knew, he would see a balding man and a mousy woman standing in the middle of the Godric’s Hollow churchyard, peering their way—Potter and Granger under Polyjuice.
They really have been using it up. Good thing they’re about to get a resupply. That is, as long as they go where we left it.
He’d been in favor of leaving their Christmas package on the grave of the Potters, but Luna had vetoed it. "It’s not right," she’d said firmly. "It’s not what graves are for. There are other places they’ll visit. We can leave it at one of them, and follow along to make sure they find it..."
"It’s a cat," Potter’s voice broke into Draco’s memories, "or a bird. If it was a Death Eater we’d be dead by now."
Luna turned her head to grin at Draco, who tapped his lips to remind her to keep quiet but returned the grin. That’s ex-Death-Eater to you, Potter. Along with my sidekick, a member in good standing of Dumbledore’s Army. God, won’t your face be a treat when you find out what I’ve been up to this year...
Potter and Granger slipped out through the kissing gate and vanished as they pulled on Potter’s Invisibility Cloak. Draco counted a slow ten before performing a Disillusionment on Luna as she did the same for him (his early Christmas present to her, given three days earlier, had been nine and three-quarter inches of willow with a unicorn tail hair core).
Good thing her birthday really was last week. Starwing’s is in June. Ray’s Luna, in her practical way, had announced that as she was the younger of the two Lunas, she would hitherto be known by her nickname, leaving her elder counterpart to use their given name. It’d be a nuisance if she was still under the Trace. I’d have to do all the magic, and even doing a spell on her might set it off—it’s tricky that way...
Luna caught his hand and led him towards the street, their fingers gripping tightly inside their spell-warmed gloves. "They’re going the right way," she whispered. "We won’t have to lure them."
"Good." Draco hurried his pace to take the lead. Luna had her own Animagus amulet now—no one had been surprised to find her form, like Starwing’s, was that of the snowy owl—but it would have been a shame to use up one of her three transformations on nothing more than leading Potter and Granger to their Christmas box.
Of course, with the way I used my first one, I’ve got no room to talk.
A spell Meghan had taught Luna quieted their steps and gave them sure footing as they turned onto the icy pavement and ran up the street towards the destroyed cottage where James and Lily Potter had once lived. As they approached, a hand appeared from nowhere and closed around the rusty gate. Draco heard Luna draw a breath of excitement, and felt a matching surge himself. Here we go.
"You’re not going to go inside?" Granger’s voice objected. "It looks unsafe, it might—oh, Harry, look!"
The sign Draco and Luna had discovered on their own investigative tour of the village the day before rose from the ground. On it—Draco grinned to see that his idea had worked—rested a small white box, about eight inches on a side, tastefully ornamented with a sprig of holly and a Dirigible Plum.
They’ll need all the help they can get, accepting this little lot.
"What is it?" Granger whispered after a silent moment.
"It’s a box."
"I can see that, Harry! I mean—"
"Who sent it, what’s it doing here, that sort of thing. I know." Potter’s hand released the gate and was joined in visibility by its partner. Together, they lifted the box from the sign, which sank back into the ground. Box and hands vanished with a brief flurry of silver cloth. "Give us some light, Hermione?"
"Lumos," Granger murmured. Draco imagined the scene, the two Muggles who were actually Potter and Granger stooped together under the Cloak, its shimmering interior now lit by Granger’s wandlight, Potter leaning over the box, on which Luna had written—
"To Harry and Hermione," Potter read aloud, "and Ron if you’re..." He trailed off, and Draco recalled how sore a point Weasley’s name seemed to be with the pair since he’d left.
I guess they don’t want to think about him too much. But now they’ve said it...
"The Deluminator," Luna breathed into his ear. "It’ll work now. Lord Albus said so."
"That’s right." Draco backed away a short distance, pulling Luna with him, to be sure their voices wouldn’t be heard. Dumbledore had been able to clear up the mystery of the item his now-deceased counterpart had left to Weasley; it would light his way back to the people he’d first used it around, as soon as they spoke his name aloud to activate it.
Which they’ve just done. One reunited Golden Trio, coming up.
"If you’re what?" Granger asked when Potter didn’t finish the sentence. "Harry, what’s wrong?"
"How did they know?" Potter said absently, as though he were thinking hard about something. "How did they know Ron wasn’t with us anymore?"
"No one’s supposed to know he’s with us at all, Harry, they think he’s ill at home! This was probably sent by someone who suspects that’s a trick but doesn’t know for sure—let me see it, I might know the writing—"
Luna pressed her face into Draco’s shoulder, and he heard the little sounds Snape had mistaken for whimpers, which he knew now were her giggles trying to escape. That’s my girl, keep it quiet. He slid an arm around her and held her close. As soon as we’re sure they’ll take it with them, we can go home and go to bed, and wake up to Christmas Eve morning and those nut-topped sweet rolls I saw Dobby working on yesterday...
"Someone’s coming," Potter said. "Put it away for now, we can look at it later."
Success! Draco pumped his fist in jubilation. Happy Christmas, Potter, hope you like your gift—gifts, I should say, you’ll probably consider it a good thing to have Weasley back, though why I can’t imagine...
"Yes, you can," Luna murmured, lifting her head just enough to let the words escape. "You like Ron well enough, when he’s not being rude."
"Just like a girl, bring sense into a good rant," Draco muttered back. "And how’d you know what I was thinking anyway?"
"You were thinking aloud. It’s a bad habit of yours." Luna leaned up and kissed his ear. "Are we going home now?"
"In just a second. I want to see who this is." Draco maneuvered them both backwards between the Potters’ cottage and the one next to it, wondering idly what the Muggles had been told about the events of that fateful Halloween. A gas leak, perhaps, that seemed to be a favorite explanation of the Ministry’s...
A stooped figure, wrapped in layers of cloth, shuffled into view and stopped, staring at the place where Potter and Granger apparently weren’t. Draco squinted at it. The coverings made it hard to tell, but he thought this might be a witch, and quite an old one at that—she wasn’t likely to be a Muggle, as she’d come straight to the Potters’ house, which Muggles couldn’t see—
Beside him, Luna went rigid, then released his arm and dashed away from the street.
Draco stopped himself cursing with a strong effort of will and spun in place, pulling his wand and canceling the Disillusionment just in time to see Luna’s heels vanishing around the back of the next cottage over. Blessing Meghan for the Padfoot Spell they were both still under, he followed at a run, catching up with Luna several gardens away. She was on her knees, being wretchedly sick into the soft snow covering someone’s aspidistras.
"What’s wrong?" he asked urgently, removing his own Disillusionment as he dropped down beside her. "What is it?"
"Her," Luna panted between coughs. "That—witch—" Another heave interrupted her, and Draco caught her shoulders and held her upright as she gave up the last remains of her dinner.
"What about her?" he asked, releasing one of her shoulders to offer her a handful of clean snow. "I know she looked old, but did she smell that bad?"
"It wasn’t that." Luna shoved the snow into her mouth, chewed it a moment, and spat it back out. "It was—" She gagged, but held it back this time. "Magic, Draco, it was Dark magic, very Dark—she’s dead, she’s only moving because there’s something inside her—"
Draco felt his own stomach attempt to revolt. "Something inside her?" he repeated. "Like what?"
"A snake," Luna whispered. "A great huge snake with fangs. And it looked familiar, the magic—it looked like—" She glanced around, then back at him, and her eyes went even wider than usual. "That," she breathed, pointing. "It looked like that."
Draco followed her finger and swallowed hard.
Luna was pointing at his left forearm.
A great huge snake with the Dark Lord’s magic on it—walking around looking like an old witch—possibly even someone Potter would want to talk to—
"Bagshot," he hissed, just as Luna cried, "Bathilda!"
They were on their feet, sprinting back towards the Potters’ ruined home, Luna leaning into him for support, not bothering to hide themselves again, staying secret wouldn’t help either of them much if Nagini managed to kill Potter, or stall him long enough for the Dark Lord to arrive and do it—
Draco swore as they reached the street. Potter, Granger, and the snake in Bathilda Bagshot’s body were gone.
"There!" Luna cried. Draco swung around. Several cottages away, a door was closing.
They’ve only just gone in—we might still be in time—
He took off running and got three houses away before realizing Luna wasn’t with him. She stood in the center of the street, whispering into her wand. Before he could start back, she pointed it into the air and spoke two words. A silver streak of light shot from it and vanished into the distance, and she turned and ran towards him.
"What were you doing?" he asked as she came abreast him.
"Sending for help." Luna’s eyes seemed to take up half her face, but her voice was strong. "Draco, we can’t go in there, not either of us. The snake is a Horcrux, she’ll be connected to him the way Harry is, she’ll be able to tell him we’re there. We can’t go inside unless the snake’s gone and so is Harry." She glanced at him again. "And even then, I don’t think you should."
Draco nodded as they stopped at the gate of the house they’d seen entered. "I’m probably head of Hermione’s hex-on-sight list still." Charming the hinges silent, he noticed an unusual look on Luna’s face. "What?"
"Nothing. Let’s get closer. Hide me again?"
Two quick Disillusionments, and the gate opened and closed again silently. Up the path they stole, wands out and ready, Luna’s free hand on Draco’s arm, whether for comfort or to keep them together he didn’t know.
"Why?" Hermione’s voice rang out clearly from within the house, where the light of candles was now visible.
"Maybe Dumbledore told her to give the sword to me, and only to me?" Harry answered.
"Do you really think she knows who you are?"
Draco frowned. Something Luna had said earlier was niggling at his mind.
The snake is a Horcrux... connected to the Dark Lord the same way Harry is...
"Yes," Harry’s voice interrupted his train of thought. "I think she does."
Draco shoved the thought into the back of his mind for later examination as Hermione said, "Well, okay then, but be quick, Harry."
"Lead the way," Harry said, probably to the person he thought was Bathilda Bagshot, and footsteps sounded within.
"You said you were sending for help," Draco whispered to Luna as they edged off the path together, angling for a look in the windows of the room where the voices had been. "What kind of help?"
A thunderous crack sounded as a very tall person Apparated into the front garden and charged into the house, leaving the door open behind him.
"That kind of help," said Luna as Hermione gasped.
"Where’s Harry?" Ron demanded.
"Upstairs—how did you—"
"Patronus." From the sound of it, Ron was running for the stairs, Hermione just behind him. "Said danger—thought it was yours—"
"Not mine, I haven’t sent one, I don’t even know if I can—"
Over the end of this sentence, a door crashed open, and Hermione screamed as Ron bellowed, "Diffindo!"
"Come on," Luna breathed, and ran for the house, Draco a step behind her. Harry was coughing upstairs, trying to say something through his struggle for air.
"Just breathe a second, mate, you’ll be all right," Ron said, his voice shaking.
"No," Harry managed to force out. "He’s coming—he knows—"
Ron swore. "Let’s get out of here—come on, Hermione, I can Apparate you both—"
"But the snake!" Hermione protested. "We should destroy it—"
"Its head’s over there and its body’s over here, I think it’s destroyed enough," said Ron impatiently. "And it won’t matter if we’re caught. Come here, I promise I won’t splinch us."
Light footsteps ran across the floor, a crack split the night even louder than the first, and silence fell.
Draco gripped the bottom of the banister tightly. We have to get out of here, clamored a familiar voice in his mind. You heard Harry—he’s coming, the Dark Lord’s on his way, you can’t let him find you—you can’t let him see Luna—
The snake’s up there, whispered a newer voice, one he’d only begun to hear in the last few months. Ron killed it, but that’s not enough and you know it—it has to be destroyed like any other Horcrux, if it’s just dead the Dark Lord can make an Inferius out of it, that’ll be even harder to get rid of than the living snake and he’ll guard it like his most precious possession—
"Follow me," Draco said shortly, and ran up the stairs, feeling Luna at his heels. She’s counting on you, Malfoy, don’t muff this up—you won’t have long—
"Stay back a bit," he warned as they entered the dark, foul-smelling bedroom. "I haven’t done this before."
"Right." Luna’s near-silent footsteps backed away, and her invisible wand cast a beam of light over the room. Draco grimaced at the sight of Bathilda’s body, cast aside like another piece of the dirty laundry that littered the place, but there was no time, he had to deal with the snake—
"Ignis diabolus," he said, pointing his wand at the limp serpentine body that lay under the window. Roaring flames shot from the wand’s tip, flames that crumbled the snake into soot at their first touch, and Draco played his wand up its entire length, counting in the back of his mind—ten seconds—fifteen—
"Cessum diabolum!" he snapped, jerking his wand roughly sideways, and the flames cut off. The clothing behind the snake was still afire, but the flames were a normal size now, and he and Luna would be safely gone before the house caught. The Dark Lord would arrive at an inferno with no sign of either his snake or the one who had destroyed it.
Serves him right.
"Did you see where the head went?" he asked Luna, turning.
"Here." She had removed her Disillusionment, and did the same for him as she pointed to the foot of the bed. "Just here—hurry, Draco, please—"
Draco started towards the place Luna was indicating. His foot caught in one of the pieces of discarded clothing, and he fell headlong, catching himself on his forearms, nearly dropping his wand—he could see the head now, it lay alongside his left hand, he’d burn it just as soon as he could get his breath back—
The serpent’s hood flared open, and it struck, latching onto his arm.
Luna’s scream was distant in his ears as ice-cold purpose flooded him—or was that Nagini’s venom, seeking her last revenge? Draco didn’t know, and didn’t care. His world had narrowed to one purpose and one only.
Destroy the snake. Kill the thing that’s killing me.
He brought his wand to bear.
"Ignis diabolus!"
The blast of flame incinerated not just the snake’s head, but the flesh onto which it was fastened. Draco’s arm suddenly ended at the elbow, and the burning pain seemed to snap the trance into which he’d fallen. He sucked in air, and nearly choked on the thickening smoke in the room.
"Draco!" Luna fell to her knees beside him. "Draco—we have to go—you need help—"
"Fire," Draco coughed, cradling his truncated arm to his chest. "Stop it—you have to—"
Luna turned her wand on the Fiendfyre which was beginning to rage up the bottom of Bathilda’s bed. "Cessum diabolum!" she cried, then spun back to Draco. "Now we have to go. Where should I hold on?"
"Shoulder." Everything was starting to spin, and was that the sound of a door being blasted open below? "Tie yourself on—"
Luna’s wand spun, cocooning her hand and Draco’s right shoulder together. "Done," she said, throwing her cloak over both their heads. "Hurry—"
Draco aimed his wand at her. "Dormio." She crumpled in place, and he let her weight carry him down to the floor.
Can’t hold on—going to pass out—not the same as sleep—he’ll catch us—
He tilted his wand back up towards himself as footsteps pounded on the stairs.
"Alucino," he said, or thought he said.
The world slid away into shrieking darkness.
Draco awakened all at once. His throat was tight and sore, as though he’d breathed smoke—
Maybe because I did.
His left arm, or what remained of it, throbbed in time with his heartbeat, driving a whimper from him. His right seemed intact, but was pinioned to his side by some swathing material. Heavy weights lay over his legs, holding him still.
Did I finish the spell? Did we make it out?
The room around him was completely dark, the surface on which he lay too narrow and too hard to be his bed. His heart began to pound faster, the pain in his arm increasing to match.
We didn’t. We were caught. The Dark Lord caught us himself, destroying one of his Horcruxes, helping his enemies—
As if in response to the thought, a woman screamed somewhere close by, a full-throated cry of anguish.
He’s got Luna, he’s torturing her already—he’ll start with me as soon as he’s finished with her, or maybe do some together to see us hurt for each other—
A second scream, and Draco squeezed his eyes shut as he realized the screamer wasn’t Luna, couldn’t be Luna, he’d have known her voice from a million—
Which leaves only one person it can be.
Mother.
I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I never meant this to happen—I never meant any of this to happen—I honestly thought I could do it, could do some good—
A tear escaped from the corner of his left eye and rolled down his face. One from his right eye joined it a second later.
At least I tried. That’s got to be worth something.
He lay in darkness, listening to his mother’s shrieks of pain, and waited for his turn to die.
Author Notes:
Remember, dead authors can't update...