Be Careful
26: Whom You Show Love
By Anne B. Walsh
Draco lay on the floor of his bedroom, his Charms book open in front of him, the very picture of a studious young wizard finishing up his summer homework before school started again the next day.
Or that's what anybody who might see me ought to think.
In reality, the edge of the book formed the top of a screen like that of a Muggle television, with Draco's bare forearms as the sides and a line between his elbows the bottom. Tiny voices spoke from the figures moving in its depths, voices and figures that only he could see or hear, as he had found out two weeks before when Narcissa had accidentally walked in on him viewing a meeting on the wall above his desk.
She thought I looked so startled because I hadn't heard her coming, and I was sure she was about to ask me how I'd made the picture move and have sound, but she never looked at it at all, not even when Rowle started yelling…
Draco grinned savagely at the thought of the blond man who had looked at him with a wary respect ever since the first of August. Wrong it may have been, but that was fun. He was one of the biggest bastards to me after Hogwarts, so I can't say I'm sorry I got to hit him with a few Cruciatuses. And that the Dark Lord commanded me to do it, and he and Lucius were obviously both expecting me to refuse or go over all faint, was the foam on the butterbeer…
The grin turned into a snicker as Draco recalled the look on the elder Malfoy's face.
He looked like he'd just heard Mad-Eye Moody was back from the dead and looking to get his wand back.
An uneasy shiver prickled between Draco's shoulder blades. He'd never liked the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—being turned into a ferret by someone tended to do that—and even finding out Moody'd been impersonated the entire year by the younger Barty Crouch hadn't changed Draco's opinion, because in order to do a good impersonation, Crouch had had to act exactly as the real Moody would have, which meant the real Moody would have done the same. Still, it had been Draco's wand that had taken Moody's life, even if Lucius had been the one wielding it at the time, and Draco wasn't sure he was happy with that.
At least it means I get it back for good. It won't be doing any more killing.
A loud cough from within the picture drew Draco's attention back to it, and he shook off thoughts of dead Aurors and Death Eaters in favor of live ones.
"Report," said the Dark Lord, settling himself into his chair.
"All is in readiness for the school year, my lord," said Snape's voice from down the table. "News of my appointment by the board of governors should be released tomorrow, along with those of Alecto and Amycus. We shall ensure the students are… properly treated, and that the other teachers do not interfere."
"Properly treated." Right. Draco made a face at the tiny figure of the new headmaster of Hogwarts. I get the feeling I'm going to be glad I can pretend this year is nothing but a nightmare.
"Harry Potter?" the Dark Lord asked, looking to the other side of the table.
"We continue to watch the house, my lord," said the voice of a Death Eater Draco knew only by sight. "Or the place where it should be—we cannot see the house itself due to the Fidelius Charm still active on it, as you well know…" A gasp of pain.
"If I know it, you have no need to repeat it," said the Dark Lord in a bored tone. "If nothing has changed, report that in plain language and let us move on."
"Nothing has changed, my lord!" the man babbled instantly. "No sign of Potter or anyone else, none at all, it's been a week since we thought we caught a glimpse of anything!"
"So if they are present, they are being quite careful." The Dark Lord tapped his fingertips together. "A pity. Yaxley, what news of Potter's friends?"
"The Granger Mudblood disappeared the same night Potter did, my lord," Yaxley answered from his place across the table from Snape. "Dolohov and Rowle reported she was with him in the café where they found him, but they also reported the youngest Weasley brat was there, and he's since been sighted at home with spattergroit…"
"So we cannot be certain," the Dark Lord finished. "She will be a hindrance to him, if they are together. Rabastan, see about finding her family—broadcasting that we have them could draw the girl out of hiding, and Potter with her."
"Of course, my lord," answered the younger Lestrange brother from near the foot of the table.
"Potter's other friends are preparing for Hogwarts as usual," Yaxley picked up his narrative again. "The Weasley girl and the Longbottom boy seem the most likely to start trouble—the Lovegood girl might as well, if she can ever stop mooning over the ridiculous long enough to notice the real world."
"There is nothing wrong with believing in dreams," Draco said through gritted teeth as the table laughed uproariously. "If Luna wants to think a few things are real that aren't, what harm is that to you?"
Strange, how fast I can switch allegiances. Two months ago, I'd have been in there laughing with them, and now I'm defending her, if where no one can hear me…
"But it's not really strange at all, if you think about it another way," he murmured aloud. "I'm a Malfoy born and bred. We follow the side that gives us the greatest advantage. And I sure as hell wasn't getting any great advantage out of this lot."
Lucius's lessons, the reason I've become a warrior for the light.
Life, thy name is irony.
He snickered to himself, then returned to watching. It would be his last chance for a while, and he wanted to gather as much information as he could.
Don't know how I'm going to get it to anyone who can use it, but I might be able to sabotage a few plans myself. Quietly, of course. My objective here is to survive the war—not that it wasn't always, but now I have an actual reason for it instead of "living is probably better than dying".
And I know where I have to be, and when…
The great magical minds of the other world had considered the problem, then tested their hypothesis and been proven tentatively correct. It seemed that the Dark Lord himself was the cause of the magical imbalance which had allowed Draco to make his first jump.
Makes sense. It was him I wanted to get away from so badly, him and everything he stands for. Without him, I'd still have been a spoiled pureblood brat, but that might not have meant I had to learn to be actively evil. Just closed-minded and stuck-up.
Since the Dark Lord was the cause of the imbalance, it followed that his death, if and when it occurred, would end Draco's ability to change worlds in his sleep. Whichever world he was in at the moment Lord Voldemort died, that was the world where he would stay.
Which means I am now Harry Potter's biggest fan—as long as he doesn't succeed too quickly for me to cast a sleep spell on myself before he finishes it!
Grinning, Draco thumped the heels of his shoes together, thinking of the two films he'd watched with his friends on his last visit. "There's no place like home," he chanted, "there's no place like home…"
Chanting changed to whistling, a jaunty tune about the proper thing to be if one wanted to succeed. It wasn't necessary to be intelligent, the song claimed, or even to know very much at all. The only requirement was to be well-liked.
Draco glanced down at the meeting again. Or at least to have the power to make people pretend they like you.
"And with an assist from me, to be who you'll be, instead of dreary who you were, um, are…" he sang under his breath, then changed the tune entirely, to something he needed to know better. "With catlike tread, upon our way we steal; in silence dread, our cautious way we feel…"
The Pirates of Penzance was opening tomorrow night, and Abby had hatched a plan to get Draco into the cast. The other person involved had agreed, on the condition that both Draco and Abby now owed him a favor, and Draco had been practicing like mad ever since to be sure he'd be ready.
Making a fool of myself there might not be as lethal as it is here, but it would be far more embarrassing.
Besides, his mum would be there, and he wanted to give her a good show.
It's been ridiculous. Every single time I've managed to get there in my body, she's been somewhere else—all right, it's only been twice since Ray and Neenie's coming of age, but still. I haven't been able to hug Mum properly for more than a month…
Draco stopped for a moment to examine the probable response if anyone should ever happen to hear him say this aloud.
Narcissa, coming upstairs to call Draco to dinner, found him lying on the floor of his bedroom, hooting in helpless laughter, though he refused to explain why.
"Sorry, Mother," he said, giving her a smile that reminded her painfully of his earliest childhood, when he had sometimes managed to sneak out of his nursery and find her elsewhere in the house. "It'd take too long to give you all the background."
"If you ever care to take the time, I could use a reason to laugh," Narcissa said, laying a hand on her son's shoulder.
"I'll remember that." Draco turned towards the door, then, as if on impulse, turned back and hugged her. Narcissa managed not to stiffen in shock, which he would have felt as rejection, and hugged him back after only the slightest of hesitations.
I must find out what has come over him this summer. He has never been spontaneously affectionate to me in his life.
"See you downstairs," Draco said, breaking off the hug and crossing to the door. "Thanks."
He was gone. Narcissa sank onto the bed, shaking.
If anything exists beyond this world, she prayed silently, if anyone is listening in the heavens, watch over my son, keep him safe in a world gone mad, for he is becoming against the odds the man I had hoped he could be, and for that he may be murdered by those of his own party…
The next morning, after a night of sleep without either dreams or spirit-travel, Draco was up early, pacing his room restlessly.
This is going to be the strangest year ever. In many, many ways.
After breakfast, Lucius and Narcissa escorted him to King's Cross. Draco shivered as he walked onto platform nine and three-quarters, though the day was not particularly cold.
It's quiet. It's never quiet here. The only people making noise are the Death Eaters and their kids—everyone else is silent as the tomb…
He winced. Possibly bad choice of simile there.
"Learn well this year," Lucius said when Draco's trunk was loaded on the train, clapping him on the arm. "Make me proud."
In your dreams. "Yes, sir." Draco turned to Narcissa. "Goodbye, Mother."
She clasped his hands in hers, looking into his face hungrily. "Be strong," she murmured. "Stay safe. I…" Her voice trailed off, as if even here and now she did not dare to voice the thought.
Draco glanced at Lucius, then stepped forward and put his arms around Narcissa again. "You too," he said, answering what she hadn't been able to say. "I'll see you at Christmas."
Mentally, he upgraded his birth mother to first cousin status in terms of his feelings towards her. She actually cares about me. I never knew, unless you count fussing over me as a sign of caring. Which I suppose it is, but it always irked me more than anything else…
The whistle blew. Draco gently loosened Narcissa's arms around him. "I have to go," he told her. "You don't want me to get left behind, do you?"
"No. Of course not." Narcissa smiled up at him. "Not when you are going back where you belong. Goodbye, Draco. Be careful."
"I will." Draco leapt into the nearest doorway as the train began to move and hung out of it for a few seconds to wave. Narcissa waved back eagerly, and Lucius inclined his head.
He's taking public notice of me? Quick, somebody give me a sky-proof umbrella.
But even if the sky had actually been falling, Draco wouldn't have cared. He'd survived the summer, he was headed back to Hogwarts, and he had a purpose in his life at last.
Get through the war alive, and be somewhere else when the Dark Lord is killed…
Why do I have the feeling it won't be nearly as easy as that?
Easy or not, though, he was going to do it.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled. He turned to look over his shoulder.
Luna Lovegood stood in the door into one of the cars behind him, regarding him gravely.
"What're you looking at?" Draco snapped, his surprise throwing him into his old habits of speech.
"You." Luna's eyes never wavered from his face. "There's something different about you this year."
"Yeah." Draco shut the outer door of the train and mounted the two steps to the level Luna was standing on. "My side's winning." He summoned the smirk he'd always used towards Potter and his gang, though it felt forced. "So keep your head down if you know what's good for you."
"You know I can't do that." Luna might have been telling him what was going to be served at the feast that night, or what she'd helped her father put in The Quibbler over the summer. "None of us can. Not and be able to look at ourselves in a mirror after this is all over. It steals a piece of your soul, when you let evil win. Or help it."
"I think my soul's just fine, thank you," Draco drawled. "Why don't you go find Potter and your other little friends? Or didn't they dare come back to school this year?"
"No, Harry's not here. Neither are Ron or Hermione, though I understand Ron's ill." Luna bowed her head. "It's a shame. He should have been helping us to fight."
"What's the point in fighting? It's over, Lovegood. We win." A feeling he couldn't yet identify was surging in Draco, filling his words. "Stay out of the way and you won't get hurt. Even you ought to be able to understand that."
"I've already told you I can't do that," Luna said quietly. "No more than you can."
"Me?" Draco snorted. "I don't have to do a thing. Just sit back and enjoy it. Hogwarts is finally going to be run the way it always should've been."
"If you say so." Luna turned to go into the car, humming as she did. The notes caught Draco's ear, and he listened until the door snicked shut behind her.
Where have I heard that song before?
It was not until he was sitting down in the compartment where he and Lucius had stowed his trunk that the snatch of melody came to him, its lyrics sung in the same silvery voice he'd just heard humming it a few moments before.
But the devil's to blame
And the angels proclaim…
It's a dangerous game
Draco bolted back upright, nearly bashing his head on the rack above him.
Luna taught me that song. The other Luna. And now this Luna knows it.
It's a coincidence. It has to be.
Or…
He sank back onto the seat.
Or it could be a warning…
There might be many words he'd use to describe this year, Draco thought, but "boring" would surely never be one of them.