Be Careful
80: What Life You Take
By Anne B. Walsh
"Lucius," said Lord Voldemort, enunciating each syllable of the name with painfully obvious care. Lucius Malfoy winced away from it, but rose to his feet and faced the Darkest wizard in a hundred years, the master he had chosen to serve.
He shows more courage than I thought he would, after the punishments he has already merited, Severus Snape mused from his place two or three paces behind the other man. I wonder if he hopes that the loss of his son and his home will shield him from his Master’s wrath?
"My lord!"
Snape, Lucius, and Voldemort all turned to look at Narcissa, who was still on her knees, pale and trembling. "My lord, I know my son is alive—my sister may be as well—please, let us go and find them, before it is too late!"
Voldemort flicked a hand, granting the necessary permission, and Narcissa sprang up and ran towards the house, her wand already in her hand. Severus stood up to follow her, glancing for a moment at Fenrir Greyback, the only other member of the party to make it out of the collapsing Malfoy Manor. The werewolf lay half-conscious among some bushes several yards away, sucking air through his teeth as his burns pained him.
I somehow doubt anyone here will lift a finger to help him, unless the Dark Lord decides he is more useful alive than dead and commands it. And speaking of life and death...
"Why are you so certain Draco lives?" he asked Narcissa, joining her in the rubble of the front room.
"Because." She levitated a stout timber out of the way. "If he were dead, so would you be."
"What are you talking about?" Severus stepped back and cast a quick Hominem revelio over the whole area, finding two distinct signatures which he marked with small blue flames.
"The Vow you swore to me, Severus." Narcissa pushed sweat-soaked hair out of her eyes. "You staked your life on watching over my son, on protecting him from harm."
"To the best of my ability," Severus countered. "I could hardly have protected him from a house falling on him, especially when I did not arrive until it had already happened!"
Narcissa laughed shortly. "Be that as it may, I choose to believe my child is alive. I will believe it until I see his lifeless body, and even then I will continue to hope—what was that?"
Severus dropped to one knee to listen more closely. From somewhere beneath their feet, a faint noise was emanating. It could have been made by creaking timbers, or by the settling of fallen bricks...
But it could also be a human voice.
"Draco?" Narcissa went to her knees beside Severus. "Draco, is that you?"
The noise paused, then returned louder. This time, it was clearly a voice, though the words were indistinct. Another pause, a sound as of shifting material, and suddenly Severus understood what was being said: "Hello? Is someone up there?"
"Draco!" The cry was straight from a mother’s heart, and Severus backed away several paces as Narcissa flung herself to the ground. "Draco, are you hurt, are you trapped? Speak to me, tell me where you are..."
I doubt I am needed here any longer. Severus made a tactful withdrawal, beginning to excavate instead the other location his spell had indicated. A few moments’ work discovered the ruins of a large and ornate couch, and under the couch, a battered but still breathing Bellatrix Lestrange. His cursory examination made Severus wince in sympathy—it seemed that Hermione Granger, if it truly was she who had flung Bella into the wall, had done so with enough power to shatter three of Bella’s vertebrae, along with several bones in both her legs and her arms.
But it was done in a Muggle fashion, with simple brute force, not with any form of magic which resists healing. If we take her to St. Mungo’s immediately, they may be able to reverse the damage. She will be a few weeks recovering, of course, and with any luck she will try to do too much too soon and paralyze herself for life...
Quickly shielding those thoughts from sight, Severus turned back around in time to see Draco Malfoy’s head and shoulders emerge from a hole in the rubble as from the shell of an oversized egg.
That would make Narcissa the mother hen, which part she seems to delight in playing. The youngest of the Black sisters was weeping openly for joy, wiping away her tears with the hand not wielding her wand, which was enlarging the hole to allow her son to extract himself better. Somehow I doubt she will get quite the reward she craves.
Draco pulled his right leg out, its calf wrapped in a white bandage spotted with red, and rested it alongside the hole, then leaned around its edge to embrace his mother tightly.
Of course, I could always be wrong.
Severus frowned, a false note striking him about the two. From the manner in which they were reacting to this disaster, anyone would have thought Narcissa had been the one rescued from a hideous death by crushing or suffocation under tons of rubble, and Draco the heroic rescuer who was doing only what was expected of him.
Narcissa’s overreaction I can understand—she has lived her life among people so desensitized to emotion that a grand display must be made to get any point across at all. But Draco... even as a child, he would wail for hours if he so much as skinned his knee or dropped his sweet in the dirt, and he did not become more tolerant of pain and suffering as he grew older. Too, he has never paid much attention to the feelings of others; he is too busy worrying about his own. And here he is, comforting Narcissa.
A fragment of Draco’s conversation drifted back to Severus’ ears: "...barely hurt at all, I’ve had worse in class, and tomorrow we won’t even remember it was there..."
I would expect this level of solicitude for another from a Weasley, not a Malfoy. And this Malfoy least of all.
What has happened to him over the past year—and why have I not seen it before tonight?
Lucius had never in his life been closer to true panic. He had told his story, placing the best possible interpretation on facts which were not conducive to such an exercise, and now he was kneeling before his Master and waiting, waiting for a sentence which he knew could only be one thing.
Death. And not only for me, but for Narcissa and for Draco, if it has not already come to my child, trapped in the wreck of our home by a mad girl’s magic.
Though, if Narcissa is right, she may also have been my child.
The idea, as unpalatable as it was, that he had accidentally fathered Hermione Granger made more sense the more Lucius thought about it. It would explain her undoubtedly excellent magic and intelligence, as well as the way she had escaped from their house once and destroyed it on her second visit.
If I had only known what she might someday wreak, I would have killed her mother after I was finished with her, or perhaps never gone out that night at all...
"Severus," the Dark Lord’s voice broke into Lucius’ scattered thoughts. "What have you found?"
"Bellatrix is badly injured but alive, my lord," said Snape, whose black boots Lucius could now see from the corner of his eye. "She will need prompt treatment, but I believe she can be saved."
"Good. And the boy?"
Lucius forced his jaw to relax, as his teeth ached with the strain of willing the other man to answer.
"Draco, it seems, retained both his wand and a modicum of wit," Snape said. "He was able to form a shelter around himself, and his only real injury is to the back of one leg, messy but easily healed. Narcissa is bringing him out now."
The wild relief that rushed over Lucius was tempered almost instantly by renewed fear. Draco might have survived for the moment, but the Dark Lord knew many ways to kill that were slower and more painful than being crushed by rubble or suffocating on one’s own exhaled breath...
"Rise, Lucius," his Master commanded, and Lucius rose, half-turning just long enough to catch sight of his son leaning heavily on his wife as they made their way out of the destroyed house before returning his gaze to the snake-like face before him.
"It seems fate has been kind to you," the Dark Lord said, tapping his wand idly against his fingertips. "Perhaps I shall see my way clear to do the same."
"M-my lord?" Lucius forced down his hope, keeping his tone simply querying with a great effort.
"Come now, Lucius, you know what I would usually mete out for a failure of this scope." The smile which appeared on the lipless mouth was frightening even to one who had seen many of its kind. "Tell me, what would it be?"
"It would be... death, my lord." Lucius swallowed, trying to keep his throat from drying out completely, before continuing. "Both to the one who failed, and to his family."
"Exactly. To ensure that the regrettable trend of failure does not continue. But as I said, fate has been kind to you tonight." Red eyes rested on Narcissa as she helped Draco sit down on one of the ornamental stone benches which adorned the front garden. "So I believe I shall also be kind. I shall give you a choice."
"A choice, my lord?"
"Yes, Lucius, a choice. A very simple one." The Dark Lord returned his gaze to Lucius, red eyes boring into grey, and Lucius felt his mind gripped in the irresistible power of his Master. "Take your wand in your hand."
Without his conscious direction, Lucius’ hand slid into his wand pocket and brought out the wand which had once belonged to Alastor Moody.
"Good. Now, I give you the freedom to make your choice." The mental pressure vanished. "Choose one of three, and choose wisely."
"One of three what, my lord?" Lucius asked, though his throat closed on the end of the last word as the answer came to him unprompted.
"I had not thought you so slow, Lucius." The tone was chiding, as a teacher to a favorite but foolish pupil. "Malfoys. There are three Malfoys. All of you wear my Mark, therefore you belong to me, and I say there are too many of you. I give you the power to decide which one shall be removed, but decide quickly. Otherwise, I may change my mind and conclude I need no Malfoys at all..."
Severus, listening quietly to one side, buried his tiny sympathy for Lucius under a flood of gloating glee that at long last the great Malfoys would be permanently brought low.
I could tell him the wisest choice to make, but I doubt he would listen to me. Both listening, and the answer I would give him, go against his grain, and even in this extremity he has his pride.
Narcissa and Draco had been observing the conversation between Lucius and Voldemort, though Severus doubted they could hear much from where they were. Now Narcissa stood up from where she had been kneeling by the bench and came a few paces forward, holding Lucius’ eyes with her own.
Draco frowned, shifting sideways on the bench to try to see his mother’s face. Severus was at a far better angle, and felt his heart contract as he read Narcissa’s expression.
She knows. She knows what has been demanded. And she is demanding something of her own—she is forcing Lucius into perhaps the worst decision he could possibly make—
"Mother?" Draco started to stand up. "What’s—"
"Avada Kedavra," Lucius breathed, the words almost without sound. The bolt of green sprang from his wand and caught Narcissa full on the chest, and she fell like the blossom she was named for.
Draco froze, halfway upright. Lucius stood with his wand still outstretched, visibly shaking. The Dark Lord gave a slow, satisfied nod and turned away, moving towards the place where Severus had uncovered Bellatrix.
The worst decision he could possibly make. Severus backed away two paces, watching the silent tableau of father and son. For his own sake, if for no one else’s.
Lucius’ wand came down at last, and he sank to his knees, his shoulders quivering. The movement seemed to release Draco from his stillness, and he straightened completely, throwing his own shoulders back. In slow, deliberate steps, he closed the distance between himself and his mother’s body, limping not at all on his wounded leg.
When he reached Narcissa’s side, Draco knelt. Gently, he straightened her limbs and robes, closing her eyes with fingers light as a breath of wind, until she lay at peace, seemingly sleeping. Reaching into her pocket, he brought out her wand, and drew his own across it once. It trembled in his hand, then became a slender green stem, from the end of which blossomed a white rose. He laid it on her chest, arranged her hands around it, and stood once more.
Lucius stirred, lifting his head. "Draco," he croaked, reaching out a hand to his son.
Draco made neither sound nor motion that might have indicated he had heard. His eyes roved the gardens until they found Severus, and he started across the grounds towards the Headmaster, still moving at the careful pace that allowed him to walk without favoring his injury. "Sir," he said when he was close enough to be heard. "May I spend the rest of the holidays at Hogwarts?"
"You may," Severus said, resisting his urge to give the boy—no, the young man—a hand to steady him. It would not be kindly received at the moment. "Wait for me past the Apparition boundaries."
Draco inclined his head and started up the lane, his steps firm and unwavering.
So it seems I must eat all my words in regards to Draco Malfoy. He is more, far more, than his father has ever been or can ever hope to be.
But I cannot help wondering, how has it happened—and why now?
A choked sob drew his attention back to Lucius, who had his face in his hands. Submitting to a small, wicked urge, Severus crossed to the other wizard, going to one knee beside him. "My condolences on your choice," he said, glancing at Narcissa’s body.
Lucius raised his head and glared at Severus. "What is that supposed to mean?" he spat.
"She might someday have forgiven you." Severus turned to watch Draco, who was just levitating the twisted gates of Malfoy Manor out of his way in order to cross into the world beyond them. "He never will."
He rose and went to attend the Dark Lord, leaving Lucius alone with his guilt and his grief.
Well, there it is, the big evil twist. Like it? Hate it? Hate me? Let me know...