Be Careful
46: What You Destroy
By Anne B. Walsh
"So why don't you just destroy them, then?" Hermione asked, watching the image of Draco setting Hufflepuff's cup inside the cupboard which was marked by Ravenclaw's diadem.
"With what?" Draco inquired, balancing his wand on one finger. "You've read the same books I have—there are only three proven ways to destroy a Horcrux. All the rest are unsubstantiated stories, one-offs, and I'm not about to try anything I'm not certain of. Especially not magic that might well be beyond my level."
"What are the sure ways, then?" said Ginny.
Draco ticked them off on his fingers. "Basilisk venom, Fiendfyre, and a potion called Animattero. Which I'm not about to attempt making, not when it requires five months of constant boiling, eats through a cauldron a month, and is so volatile it'll blow up everything for twenty yards if a drop of it gets into the fire."
"Sounds like a good plan," said Harry. "So that leaves you with two. Could Sangre do something about the venom?"
Ray shook his head, taking his hand away from the TVP and making the image disappear. "Those caps on her fangs are permanent. Her idea, to make sure no one could ever use her to hurt people again. If we'd known another version of me would show up from another world in fifty-odd years and need her venom, I'm sure we'd have done it differently," he added to Draco.
"Thanks." Draco tossed his wand into the air and caught it again. "As for my side, the basilisk's dead there, and unlike some people, I'm no Parselmouth, so I've got no way into the Chamber." And I doubt it's anything like what it is here—basically a second Great Hall, one they only use for special occasions like Halloween, where they can shut off all the lights and have Sangre tell scary stories with Professor Riddle translating…
"I've been a little worried about that," said Hermione. "Harry, your Harry, he shouldn't be able to speak Parseltongue like he does. That, and the connection between him and Voldemort…" She shook her head. "I just have a feeling it's not good."
"I thought it was Abby who was the Seer in your family," Ron teased, rubbing Hermione's shoulders. "Her and your mum. So what's the third one, Draco? Fiendfyre, did you call it?"
"Yeah." Draco grinned. "And here's irony for you—we've just covered it in Dark Arts. It's a cursed fire, not terribly hard to call up, but unless you catch it within about thirty seconds with this specific counterspell that turns it into ordinary fire, there's no way to stop it until it burns out on its own."
"No way at all?" Harry said idly, swirling a finger and creating a curlicue of flame in midair.
"Yes, well, I can't do that either, and I'm fairly sure neither can Potter."
"Which is a bit odd," said Ginny. "If Harry's the Heir in this world, why wouldn't he be in yours?"
"He might be," said Harry, snuffing his spiral with a waved hand. "He just may not know about it. How old was he when his parents died, Draco?"
"A year and a bit. Why?"
"Tradition in our family." Harry sketched a knot design that looked like an eight-petaled flower. "Babies get their powers bound at birth, so they don't go around setting the furniture on fire if they don't like what's for dinner. The unbinding ceremony's usually at about age seven, but it depends on the kid. Since his parents died before he was two, he might still have the powers, but bound. Or it could be another thing like you and Ray, and he's not the Heir at all."
"You two look alike, though," Meghan said. "If I could meet him, touch him, I'd be able to tell for sure…"
"I'm not taking you back with me," Draco cautioned. "You're just going to have to stay curious. Forever."
"And I'm not even a cat." Meghan rolled over on her back and pretended to bat at a piece of string. Neville pulled a dried vine from his pocket and lowered it down for her.
"About the venom thing," said Ron. "The day I left, the other me, they figured out Gryffindor's sword had venom in it, didn't they? So if you could get hold of that, the real one, wherever it is…"
"And therein lies the problem," said Hermione, squirming to reposition Ron's hands. "We don't know where it is, we don't know who does know, and we can't go looking for it from here, because a sword doesn't have a soul."
"Perhaps Professor Dumbledore could look," Luna said. "He was most likely the one who made the copy in Draco's world, so if he looked back in time, he might be able to see what was done with it."
"Trouble is, we haven't even got a time frame to work with." Ray flexed his fingers. "It could have been any time between end of second year and end of sixth. That's a lot of ground to cover. I think we may just have to wait and see on this one."
"Wait and see works for me… hey, that rhymed." Draco leaned back into the sun. "I'm a poet."
"And didn't know it," chorused three or four people.
"How is your Animagus work coming, Draco?" Luna asked. "I know you don't care for Transfiguration, but it has to be easier for you than it is for the younger students, because you've learned more about it already."
Draco nodded without opening his eyes, which he'd closed against the direct light. "Going faster than I thought it would," he said. "Helps that I studied Latin when I was younger. I've almost got my incantation done already. The partial transfigurations are taking a while, but Professor McGonagall said I ought to be done by Easter holidays if not sooner."
"Speaking of holidays," said Hermione. "We were going to do Peter Pan for our family pantomime this year. Did you want a part?"
"I don't know, what's the story about?"
"Well, there's a boy who never grows up, except the part is always played by a girl, and he lives in a place called Never Land…"
Half-listening to the story, Draco let his mind roam free. Hogwarts tried to do a pantomime of The Fountain of Fair Fortune once, but everything went wrong and there's been a ban on shows at the school ever since. Which is a shame, considering how much fun we had with Pirates. Maybe it's only magical shows that are jinxed…
Lucius always hated that story. Probably because it's got a witch going off with a Muggle. I wonder how he'd do here, where they're looking into a law to make any other kind of marriage than that illegal?
He amused himself for a few moments, imagining his blood father transported into this world. He'd probably try to throw Moony and Danger out of the Manor. And the Manor would throw him out instead, and serve him right. Then he'd go looking for the rest of his buddies, and find out that they're all either dead, or nothing like he expects them to be. Vince and Greg flitted across his mind, chatting with the rest of the House at meals, sitting out in the courtyard with their friends on breaks, raising their hands in class. And if he managed to catch up with me, and see who I hang around with…
Well, let's just say I'd enjoy seeing his face. As long as I was sure he couldn't reach me afterwards.
The imagining spread, until he had several of the Death Eaters pictured against the background of the world where he was currently basking in the sun. None of them fit very well, for which he was grateful.
Though Aunt Bella did have a counterpart here. Mum and Aunt Andy had a big sister named Isabelle. Operative word, had—she's dead, she died in the Troubles, which I've finally learned more about now…
Though he was fairly sure it was his random answers on the History of Magic exam which had put him in a beginner-level class, Draco thought he might have placed there even if he'd tried. The history being taught was quite different from his own world's, and he occasionally wondered how much of that was due to actual differences and how much to pressure from purebloods in his own world to teach what "should have" happened, instead of what actually had.
But let's be fair, Binns didn't need any help to make us all forget everything he'd said ten seconds after he'd said it. And I'm no Neenie, to go looking for my own answers. History never concerned me overmuch—it was in the past, over and done with, who cared about it?
Except that now he did, inasmuch as learning about the past helped him understand why this present was different than his own.
So, the Troubles. They were what Mum called them, the "last hurrah" of the wizards who'd fought tooth and nail against the repealing of the Code of Secrecy for reasons of their own. After all, if Muggles don't know there's such a thing as magic, they can't turn you in for using it on them…
Several things that had puzzled him about this world dated to the Troubles. Neville's father, of course, had died in them, defending a Muggle family from three Blood Purists—and I probably could have told you it was Isabelle and Rudolph and Bastable Lestrange who did it, too, if I'd had to. He took the brothers with him, though, and this world's version of dear Auntie Bella died in hospital before she could go on trial…
However, the absence of Rubeus Hagrid from this Hogwarts could also be traced to the Troubles, though it was for a happier reason.
Since there was never the whole Chamber of Secrets flap here, he finished his training, went to work for Regulation and Control, and was part of a team sent out to help deal with an infestation of acromantulae in France that were preying on Muggles… met a teacher from Beauxbatons, name of Olympe Maxime, and it was love at first enormous sight… he's been there ever since, and apparently his accent in French is just as bloody awful as it is in English… they said he might come over for a look-in around Christmas, might even bring his kids…
The thought of Christmas sent Draco's mind in several directions at once. Danger's baby was due around Christmas, they'd finally know if the seventh little Beauvoi was a boy or a girl—he rather thought he did want a spot in the Beauvoi family pantomime, especially as he had a good guess who would be taking the lead role as Peter Pan—Moony was hoping for a breakthrough in his "bitter wards" technique in time for the holidays so that everyone could go home for them…
Hogwarts is nice, but there's no place like home for the holidays.
Predictably, "home" fragmented his thoughts still further. There were his two Manor homes, one seeming far more real than the other, and his two homes at Hogwarts, again with one rather more solid in his mind—
Glad Ray thought up that little trick with my bedcurtains. I'd be confused every morning without it.
After an embarrassing incident in which Draco had nearly hexed Greg through the far wall of the dorm, Ray had suggested Draco sew a strip of bright yellow cloth all around the inside of the curtains of his four-poster in Ray's own world, so that he'd know the instant he woke up which world he was in.
‘Course, his first two suggestions were red, for Abby, and blue, for…
Draco shook his head hard, dismissing that suggestion. He's wrong. We may be counterparts, but that doesn't mean we have to like the same girl!
Though Luna, his own world's Luna, was awfully cute in a pixie-ish sort of way, and she'd been a far better sport about his taunting than he'd expected. It was almost as if she suspected, as if she knew, that he'd changed his mind about her and her friends, that he didn't really want to hurt them anymore, that he was more on their side than not these days…
She said that stuff in the Forest when she had her detention. It was as if she knew I was there. And right at the end, she said she wouldn't mind if the somni-thing—me—if I came back another time…
"No," Draco muttered aloud, trying to get the idea to go away. "No. Not happening."
Ray claims I tease her because I like her. Fat lot he knows. I've just been teasing her because she isn't getting herself into trouble enough for me to keep up appearances with her any other way. Longbottom and Weasley and the rest of the Gryffindors, and even some of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, they're getting themselves detentions at a fine old rate—I can barely keep up with all of them—but not her. Not Luna.
Such a smart girl, she is…
"Stop that." Draco pounded the heel of his hand into his forehead. "Stop. Now. Stop."
"Who are you talking to?" said Neville, looking over at him.
"Myself."
"Are you listening?"
"I don't think so."
"Sorry to hear it."
"Thanks," Draco said, or thought he did. The word was drowned out by a rising scream, as if a banshee had invaded the castle—everyone else shot upright, their eyes wide and wands in their hands instantly—
What is that?
The sound cut off just as abruptly as it had started. "Come on," Ray said, waving towards the door. "Mustering point."
"What's wrong?" Draco asked, pulling out his own wand and following his friends into the hall.
"That's the alarm for the wards starting to fail," said Harry grimly. "It might be just a drill, but we have to treat every incident like it's real. Slacking off is how you get Kissed… or how your friends do."
Draco nodded, attempting not to swallow visibly.
If Hogwarts’ wards fail… will there be any place left safe?
They took turns approaching the sweet-burning barrier. The living one who tasted like them shielded them from the burning, so that it was merely sweet, and they drank deeply of that sweetness.
Soon the barrier would be gone. They would be able to enter the forbidden place and find the food they were so often denied. It would be an epic feast, remembered forever by both those who fed and those who were born into the dark life from it.
Just so long, after all, did their kind live.