Be Careful
50: Whom You Reassure
By Anne B. Walsh
Draco flattened himself against the wall as Peeves swooped past, swathed in a long black robe and white mask. "Everybody expects the Hogwarts Inquisition!" the poltergeist bellowed. "Beware the soft cushions! Beware the comfy chair!"
"Gimme those back, you!" snarled Amycus, pelting by Draco in hot pursuit. "I can 'ave you thrown outta this castle!"
Good luck. Teachers have been trying that for years. Draco smirked. Besides, Hogwarts wouldn't really be Hogwarts without Peeves. Just like the holidays wouldn't be the holidays without homework. I can't believe they start tomorrow—where did the term go?
Draco allowed himself a small sigh of relief for getting through the fall without being caught out of character by anyone who mattered.
Like I told Mum, I think Luna may suspect, but as long as she's willing to keep it all pushy-shovy in the halls, so am I. Even if I have started blushing every time I see her, just like the Weaslette used to do around Potter… at least I've learned to hide it a bit better than she ever did…
And Mum's going to help me work out a way I can talk to Luna without being caught over the holidays. Which are going to be amazing—I don't think Abby's shut up about Christmas since I mentioned we didn't have many traditions when I was growing up…
Grinning at the prospect of two separate Christmases and two separate piles of presents, not to mention a whole new way to celebrate, Draco went on his way, cheerfully whistling the song that best described his life as it currently stood.
He did not see the dark figure which emerged from a cross-corridor and turned slowly to watch him go.
Severus sat down at his desk, shaking his head. "Did you still want to be informed about odd behavior on the part of the Malfoy boy, Dumbledore?" he asked.
"Of course, Severus," said the voice of Albus Dumbledore from behind him. "I do feel somewhat responsible for him, after the events of last summer."
"He scarcely merits such attention," Severus objected. "He may not be a killer, but he seems to have no trouble with the other two Unforgivables, or with random acts of violence in the hallways. And I do not like his obsession with Luna Lovegood."
"I think Miss Lovegood can take care of herself, Severus. What has Draco done that would warrant your asking if I want to know about it?"
"Nothing terrible." Severus turned to face Dumbledore's portrait. "But rather puzzling. The scion of the House of Malfoy, the Dark Lord's current favorite among the younger generation of Death Eaters, passed me in the hall a few moments ago whistling the Paradox Trio from The Pirates of Penzance. I cannot imagine where he could have learned it, unless he has been listening to one of those wireless programs which claims all achievements of culture are accomplished by wizards and Muggles merely steal them."
Dumbledore nodded gravely, tapping his fingers against the side of his frame in a complex rhythm. "Interesting that it should be from the same production you described to me in September," he said. "You had mentioned that one of the players had a look of Draco about him…"
Severus snorted. "Yes, and there was also a girl who favored Sirius Black's late Muggleborn paramour, and a male version of Hermione Granger to match the female. Not to mention that if confronted with a choice between appearing as a pirate in a musical show and being summarily executed, Draco Malfoy might well choose execution. I fail to see why you are interested in my impossible dreams."
"Perhaps, Severus, it is because I can no longer dream," Dumbledore said, seating himself. "And even impossible dreams can help to rest and relax the mind. But to business—Phineas, what luck in overhearing where they are, or in getting them to speak Ron Weasley's name aloud?"
Severus sat back, intending to listen to the portraits planning together, but his mind slipped back to the subject of dreams, to one he had experienced only a few weeks before…
The sound of a woman weeping, the muffled sobs of hopelessness, sent him across the courtyard and into the garden at a run. Her head snapped up as he rounded the corner, and she stared at him as a Muggle at a ghost. "How—" she breathed. "You cannot—I saw you—"
"I am here," he told her, crossing to her swiftly and kneeling beside her, taking her into his arms. "Whatever you feared, my love, it has not happened. What is it? What could frighten you so?"
She clung to him, shaking. "May we postpone discussing it until I have had a few moments to comprehend that it was not real?" she whispered. "Or perhaps a few days, or weeks? Oh, Severus, Severus, I thought I had lost you forever…"
"Hush, my darling," he murmured into her hair, stroking it with his free hand. "Hush, my Cecilia. I am here now. All is well."
Ginny looked up from her book, frowning at the inside of the compartment door. "Luna's been gone for a while, hasn't she?" she asked.
Neville shrugged. "I thought girls always took longer about it than boys did."
"That's because we usually go together. She's alone." Ginny set the book aside. "I'm going to check on her."
"I'll go with you. Not inside," Neville added hastily. "Just…"
"I know what you mean." Ginny smiled at him. "And thanks."
Hands casually near their wands, the two Gryffindors walked down the length of the train car to the girls’ toilet at its far end. Ginny listened at the door for a moment, then opened it and stepped inside. Neville leaned against the wall, trying to shake off the feeling that he was caught in a nightmare.
Harry's out there, he reminded himself. He hasn't been caught. Neither has Ron. And Hermione escaped. The Carrows hadn't been able to hush up the story entirely, not when Malfoy had been bragging on catching the Granger Mudblood and the reward he'd received for half of term.
Neville clenched his teeth. I swear he plays with that stupid Galleon he got from Bellatrix in front of me on purpose. Flicking it into the air and catching it again, over and over, until I want to punch his pointy little nose. We understand already, Malfoy, your family's filthy rich on both sides, plus you're the ones in power now, so you can do anything you please…
A strangled snarl from within the toilet interrupted his thoughts. Ginny, her freckles standing out starkly against her rage-pale face, shoved the door open so hard it crashed against its stops on the opposite wall. "Luna's gone," she growled. "And look what I found on the floor."
She held out her hand. Cradled in her palm was one of Luna's favorite dirigible plum earrings, half-crushed by the tread of a heavy boot.
Neville felt his stomach crumple inwards. "It's because of her dad," he said, swallowing against a strong urge to be sick. "Because of what he's been writing in The Quibbler. They've taken her to get him to stop." He met Ginny's eyes, certain that the frustrated fury in them mirrored his own. "She'll probably be in Azkaban by now."
Ginny swore, an oath Neville was sure she'd learned from the twins. "Whoever took her had better hope they never meet me in a dark alley…"
She trailed off, and Neville could see her shoulders beginning to shake. "Dementors," she whispered. "She'll have to listen to her mum dying over and over, and all the times she's been picked on—she really does mind it, you know, she hates it when people are mean to her, she just pretends that it doesn't bother her, when all the time it does—she'll have to keep living through what Malfoy's been doing to her all term, and she won't ever be able to get away from it…"
Awkwardly, Neville put an arm around Ginny. "Luna's strong," he said, trying to convince himself with the words. "She'll get through it. And it won't be for very long. Only a couple months. Harry will come back, and we'll fight, and it will all be over."
One way or another. Either we'll win… or we'll be dead.
But this he did not say aloud. "We should tell the rest of the DA," he said instead. "Do you want to do it? It's still safe while we're on the train, the Trace won't go active until we get to King's Cross…"
"I know that," Ginny snapped. "I'm not a first year."
Neville looked away. "Sorry."
"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted at you." Ginny slipped the tiny red earring into her pocket. "I just can't help wishing…"
"Wishing what?"
"Lots of things." Digging her Galleon out as she went, Ginny led the way back to their compartment. "That there was never a You-Know-Who. That there was never a war. That we had a better idea what we were doing. That Harry were still here. That I could have…" She stopped and bit her lip.
"Gone with him?" Neville suggested, and glanced at Ginny's face from the corner of his eye. "Ginny, are the Slytherins bothering you again?"
"What do you mean again, they've never stopped." Ginny turned into their compartment and sank down on the seat, shivering. "They don't do anything," she murmured. "Not since Professor Snape gave them that lecture on proper respect for purebloods. But they hang around, and they look, and they leer, and they snicker, and they whisper about what they'd like to do, and they make sure it's just loud enough for me to hear it…"
Neville shut the compartment door firmly. "You're going home for the holidays," he reminded her. "You made it through fall term. Now you get to spend some time with your mum and dad, and your brothers, and have Christmas even if we are in the middle of a war. And when we come back for winter term, we'll keep on fighting. We're Gryffindors. It's what we do."
"Too brave to know when we're beaten," Ginny muttered, drawing her wand. "All right, help me figure out how to make this short enough to go all in one message…"
Unseen by anyone but his fellow portraits, Albus Dumbledore smiled in satisfaction. His quiet conversation with the only free and sober house-elf currently working at Hogwarts had gone far better than he had believed possible.
Perhaps my original plan in regards to a certain object of power can still be used. Suitably modified, of course. The happenings of today will be crucial—a moderating influence will be necessary if it is to work out…
He glanced at the clock and nodded. The Hogwarts Express will be in soon. The students will disembark and make their way to their homes.
And one will find something there he does not expect.
Humming "The Twelve Days of Christmas" under his breath, Draco trotted up the front walk of Malfoy Manor. He was home, he would be hugging his mother in just a few moments, and enduring Lucius’ dutiful greetings…
That's if he wants to see me at all. I don't think he likes me very much at the moment.
He grinned to himself. He'd like me even less if he knew I set him up to take the fall for Ollivander's and "Granger's" escape. Maybe I can tell him, just before I make my final jump. "Guess what, Father? I've been secretly working against you and the Dark Lord for nearly a year now, and I'm the reason he's about to fall." Merlin's snow boots, that'd be satisfying…
The door swung open at Draco's approach. He hurried inside, glad to be out of the cold.
Raucous laughter and shouts greeted him. Ten or twelve Death Eaters were grouped beside the stairs, shoving a smaller figure back and forth among them. Draco peered closer, recognizing the elder Crabbe and Goyle, Macnair, Dolohov, Greyback—the person being tossed about wore black robes like Draco's own, and had a great deal of dirty-blonde hair—
The feral werewolf gave his rasping laugh and hoisted the object of the game into the air at arm's length, smacking his lips. "I do hope your dad has a bit of backbone to him," he said, hefting her as if testing her weight. "There's enough on you to share…"
Draco slammed his shoulder into Greyback, knocking the girl from the werewolf's grasp. Catching her wrist with his left hand, he pulled her behind him and drew his wand in the same breath. The other Death Eaters murmured as Greyback bent double, wheezing.
"Paws off, Fenrir," Draco sneered in his best Malfoy tones. "And that goes for all of you," he added, looking around the circle, making eye contact with every Death Eater present. "Keep away from this one." He glanced over his shoulder into wondering blue-gray eyes. "She's mine."