Be Careful
9: What You Say You'll Do
By Anne B. Walsh
Draco sat at one of the small tables, a drink held loosely in his right hand, and watched the dancers swirl around the floor. He’d danced in some of the patterns earlier, but this was a waltz, and he didn’t have a partner for it. Besides, his feet were starting to hurt, and there was a thought niggling at him he wanted to tease out.
Here thought. Nice thought. Come get a Thought Treat…
His own silliness made him smile. He’d have to tell Abby that one. It would make her giggle.
Abby. She’s part of it. Whatever it is.
A moment’s searching found her, on the other side of the dance floor, chattering away with Susie Black, both of them watching the dancers with a bit of envy.
They’re so little. They’d never be at any dance like this at home…
Those two words brought the thought from hiding.
I’ve been to dances all my life at home, but none like this. Draco let his eyes sweep across the room. None where everyone looked happy. None where the girls were dancing with the boys because they wanted to, not because their parents made them. Maybe a few of them, but they were the exception, not the rule.
He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his drink. I’ve fit in so quickly here because it is like home, in a lot of ways. But there’s also a lot of ways it’s not. Mum can help me with some of those, Ray and Neenie have got me through a few others, but there are some I’ll have to do on my own…
A deep sigh. I suppose part of my problem is, I can’t help feeling that this is home. Or that it ought to be. That my real life has been a bad dream—that this is what it always should have been—
"It should, shouldn’t it?" Draco murmured aloud as the orchestra brought the music to a swelling conclusion. "This is what it should really be like. All the traditions, but with life in them. Not just going through the motions."
Girls sank into deep curtseys, boys bowed to their partners, and the waltz was finished. Draco applauded with the rest of the spectators.
But ‘going through the motions’ is what I’m going to spend my life, my real life, doing. I don’t think I’m strong enough to challenge it. Maybe I could introduce a few new things, but I wouldn’t dare do too much.
At least I can come here to get ideas. To see what things work. And to have a rest when real life is too much.
He finished his drink in one quick swallow and started towards the buffet, set along the far wall, to get another.
It’s better than nothing.
"Excuse me," said a wizard, slipping between two tables to intercept Draco. "Are you Malfoy?"
"Yes, that’s me." Draco dipped a shallow bow, looking the man over. Dark hair starting to silver, frank brown eyes set in a strong-jawed face which seemed somehow familiar, though he couldn’t place it. "Are you… Professor Riddle?"
"I am." The man held out a hand, and Draco shook it. "I understand you’ll be coming to Hogwarts this fall."
"If I can, sir." The honorific attached itself to the sentence naturally. Something about Professor Riddle seemed to demand it. "I’m not here all the time."
"Yes, Cecy’s told me a bit about your unusual circumstances. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions, find out more about your world and how it differs from our own. It doesn’t have to be tonight, if you’re enjoying the ball…"
Draco glanced over his shoulder. Ray had led Luna off the floor and was now fanning her vigorously, disarranging her hair and making her laugh. "Tonight would be fine, sir. If that’s all right with you."
"If it weren’t, I wouldn’t have offered. Let me go and tell my wife where I’ll be." Professor Riddle chuckled. "She will scold me, but such is my lot in life. Pardon me a moment?"
Draco nodded and watched the Professor make his way to the other end of the ballroom, to a table where several older witches were sitting. Mrs. Weasley was there, and Neville’s mother, and—
Well, well. Is that—yes, I do believe it is.
Professor Riddle was addressing himself to a black-haired witch in dark robes with a tartan sash, who wore a look of disapproval on her face that Draco knew all too well.
I guess there are two Professor Riddles. Unless she kept her maiden name, to make it easier.
Draco was suddenly grateful he wouldn’t be going back to Hogwarts, the real Hogwarts, this fall. He’d never have been able to keep a straight face in Transfiguration after this.
Maybe that’s why Mum’s laughed every time she brings up my meeting Professor Riddle. I’ve told her a lot about home, and she probably knows more from the times she’s touched my mind…
Professor Riddle bowed to kiss his wife’s hand, then straightened up. As he did, a trick of the light turned the bit of his face that Draco could see the color of new parchment and threw his cheekbone into high relief, making him look almost skeletal.
Draco took a step back, his palms suddenly damp. The tentative feeling of recognition he’d had when he’d first seen Professor Riddle surged to the fore, followed by rumors he’d thought stupid and discarded at the time he’d heard them, but which were making all too much sense now. Rumors about the Dark Lord’s childhood, about his parentage, about the name he’d had before he chose the one no one now dared to speak…
Which is stupid, if you really think about it, his mind babbled. I mean, who picks out a name for himself if he doesn’t want people using it? Who goes around saying, "Oh, I want to be known as such-and-so, but you can’t say that or I’ll kill you?" No one here would do that—they’ve all got too much sense—if they pick a nickname, they want you to use it. Like Lord and Lady Beauvoi—Moony and Danger—or Neenie and Ray, but not Ron, he goes after people who call him Ronniekins, but that’s because he didn’t pick that, someone else picked it for him…
Draco laughed aloud, a bit shakily at first, but more strongly as his heart slowed from its first terrified rush.
I’ve probably got it all wrong. I’m remembering the stories cocked-up because of what I thought I saw. And even if I’m not wrong, he’s not the same person he is at home. He teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts, for Merlin’s sake! And he’s married to McGonagall—no, wait, I don’t want to think about that.
But it was too late. His mind had already seized on the concept and was busily constructing scenarios, complete with visual aids.
Gaahhh. Draco scrubbed his hands against his eyes, trying to distract himself with the kaleidoscopic colors against his eyelids. Some things were just not meant to be imagined.
"All right, there?" asked Professor Riddle’s voice, half-concerned and half-amused.
"Fine, sir," Draco said automatically, letting his hands drop. His vision cleared with a few blinks, and he shook his head, shooing the thoughts away. "I’m fine."
"Good." Professor Riddle beckoned Draco to follow him, then led the way towards a side door. "Do you mind that I’ve asked the Headmaster to sit in on our conversation? He’d like to meet you, and we often work together in magical research, so it would be helpful to me to have his opinion on this matter."
"I don’t mind." It might be useful. Help me keep the worlds separate. And keep from panicking when I think about who I’m actually talking to. Draco rubbed self-consciously at his left arm, though the Mark hadn’t so much as twinged.
He might be able to help you with that, whispered a voice at the back of his mind. If one Riddle put it on you, maybe another one can take it off…
"Shut up," Draco muttered.
"I’m sorry?" Professor Riddle turned back to look at him.
"Nothing, sir. I was… thinking aloud."
"I do that myself." The older wizard smiled. "My grandson walks around the house muttering to himself, and when his mother asks him what he’s doing, he says, ‘I’m being Granddad!’"
He’s got grandchildren? Someone kill me now…
In the middle of Draco’s explanation about inter-House politics at his own Hogwarts, someone tapped on the door of the side room Professor Riddle had led him to.
"Come in," called Dumbledore—Lord Albus, they call him, Ray told me that my first day here.
The door opened, and Draco jumped up. "Mum!"
"Hello, love." Mum smiled at him. "Albus. Tom."
"Hello, Cecilia," said Dumbledore, standing up, as did Professor Riddle. "Come to make sure we’re not mistreating your child?"
"You? Mistreat a child?" Mum laughed. "If it’s possible, I’ve yet to see it. I came to tell you the main event of the evening is about to start."
"Thank you, Cecy," Professor Riddle said, waving his wand at the DictaQuill and parchment he’d been using to shrink them to pocket size. "I wouldn’t want to miss that."
"Nor I. Shall we?" Dumbledore bowed to Mum, then stepped past her into the hall. Professor Riddle murmured something in her ear as he passed, and she watched him go pensively, then turned to face Draco.
"Did you know?" Draco asked before she could speak. "About…" He glanced down the hall. "About him?"
"I suspected." Mum came inside the room and closed the door behind herself. "Forgive me for finding it funny."
"No, it is. It is funny. It’s just…" Draco stopped and turned away.
It’s just, this is everything I’ve ever wanted. And it can’t ever really be mine. As much as I love it here, it’s a dream place, and I’m a real person. I need a real life. Not all the dreams in the world can change that.
And even if it were real, I don’t belong here. I never will. I can pretend to belong for a while, but that’s all it will ever be, a pretense. And all pretenses fail sooner or later.
"What’s troubling you?" asked the quiet voice behind him.
I wish she wouldn’t do that. "It doesn’t matter. It’s stupid."
"We have been over this. I will not laugh at you. With you, perhaps, but not at you."
"Hard to tell the difference sometimes." Draco heard the bitterness creeping into his voice and didn’t care.
"Then that is my failure, and I apologize for it." Footsteps, and then a hand on his shoulder. "Please, Draco. Tell me."
"No!" Draco spun, shoving her hand away. "This isn’t real, don’t you understand that? None of this is real! I’m just deluding myself, trying to play like I belong here, like this is anything more than a dream—"
"Are dreams unimportant, then?" asked Mum calmly.
No, she’s not my mum, I can’t let myself think like that anymore… "Compared to real life? Yes."
"Yet dreams are often all that gives us the strength to continue in real life."
"Real dreams do that. Dreams about real places, real people, things that might someday come true. Not complete fantasies." Draco stared at a corner of the wood paneling, tracing patterns in the grain with his eyes. "Not things that could never happen."
"Fantasies give the mind a place to rest. A game to play, before returning to the hard work of real life." She circled him until she was in front of him again, intercepting his gaze. "Would you deny yourself sleep because it was a waste of time?"
"You need sleep. You don’t need dreams."
"I disagree."
"You do that." Draco started for the door. "I’m leaving."
"Where will you go?"
"Upstairs. To bed. Back to the real world."
"And then?"
"Then I figure out what’s making me dream this, and I stop it happening, and it’s over."
"As easy as that?"
The undertones of pain in the words nearly stopped Draco, but he steeled his soul against it. Just a dream, he reminded himself. Not a real person. "Yeah. As easy as that."
"I will miss you."
"Thanks for that." Draco was slightly disturbed to realize he meant it.
She is not real. Stop thinking as if she were.
As he stepped out into the hall, leaving the door open behind him, he heard the first hesitant sob from within. He hesitated for one instant, then kept walking.
Give into emotional blackmail once, you’ll always do it. I should know—Mother’s used it on me my whole life.
Ahead of him, the lights of the ballroom seemed to brighten. People were cheering and applauding, and the orchestra was beginning to play another waltz. Same composer as the last one. That Russian bloke, whatever his name is, the one who no one’s quite sure if he was a wizard or just a Muggle genius…
Draco turned left halfway down the hall, headed for the back stairs. As he did, a flicker of movement caught his eye in the direction he’d come from. Someone, the edge of their robes just visible in the half-darkness, had entered the room he’d left.
Good. He rubbed his arms, trying to force down his sudden goose pimples. They can deal with her, so I don’t have to…
A woman’s choked cry broke off abruptly, just as the guttering lamp on the opposite wall went out.
Draco snatched out his wand, lit it, and charged back down the corridor and into the room.
His mum lay crumpled where she’d fallen. The black-robed, unhooded thing floating beside her was just reaching out its rotting hands to lift her to its mockery of a face.
"Get away from her!" Draco screamed, pointing his wand at it. "Expecto patronum!"