Living without Danger
Chapter 13: Telling the Truth (Year 1)
By Anne B. Walsh
Chapter 13: Telling the Truth
"So what did you tell him?" asked Remus. The three adult Marauders had excused themselves from the party and were currently camped in an empty classroom, from which Sirius had evicted Peeves by conjuring a number of water bombs which also contained soap and encouraging him to go give Snape a shampoo.
Aletha sighed. "I told him, yes. He was right."
Remus groaned. "Wonderful."
"I did not give him a name, and I swore him to secrecy until we have a chance to tell his parents ourselves — which we probably should have done before this."
Remus’ face flashed into annoyance, verging on anger. "Easy for you to say — you’re not the one it affects!"
"This affects all of us, Remus—"
"Yes, but I think I can honestly say it affects me a little more than it does you! You don’t know what it’s like, watching people get nervous around you, watching them edge away from you like you might jump on them any second—"
"Oh, come on, not everyone acts that way. I didn’t."
"You’re a Muggleborn. Arthur and Molly are purebloods. I know how pureblood wizards think about werewolves—"
"Enlighten me," said Sirius ever so blandly.
Remus took a breath to speak, stopped, and let it out in a semi-humorous sigh. "Bastard."
"No, I don’t think so. My parents never pretended to love each other, but they wouldn’t have done anything to endanger the family line. Now Regulus — possibly."
Aletha chuckled, and even Remus had to smile. "Do you ever take anything seriously?"
"Is there any other way I can take things?"
Remus pulled his wand out of his pocket by the tip, balanced it on his left palm and looked down its length with one eye as if trying to see if it were straight or not. "Well, you could always try looking at life from a different perspective."
Aletha pushed her chair back about a foot as Sirius’ wand appeared just in time to block the Conjunctivitis Curse Remus threw at him. Remus dodged Sirius’ return jinx and fired off two of his own, and the duel was fairly begun, each man popping up from behind a desk just long enough to cast spells furiously at the other before ducking back down. Aletha had to shield herself once or twice when two spells hit in midair and ricocheted, but other than that she was free to watch the battle.
Sirius is faster with his wand, but Remus is sneakier — better at faking.
She tucked the observation away for another day.
"Finished?" she asked briskly a few minutes later, when neither had thrown a spell for a short while.
The men eyed each other warily, then nodded at the same moment.
"Fine, hold still."
She removed the Jelly-Legs Jinx from Sirius, but let him deal with his own Twitchy Ears. Likewise, she dealt with the boils Remus had developed on one cheek (he’d ducked partly out of the way of Sirius’ Furnunculus), but allowed him to handle un-Petrifying his left hand.
"Feeling better?"
"Yes, I think so," said Remus, flexing his newly softened hand.
"You look better. Not as tense, not as worried." Sirius was testing his legs, making sure they’d hold him.
"Excellent. Let’s try to keep it that way for the rest of the night." Aletha opened the door of the classroom.
I should have known better than to try to bring this up now. Remus doesn’t handle trouble well without Danger present, and vice versa. Ron promised me he wouldn’t talk about it with anyone, so there’s no emergency. We’ll discuss it tomorrow, when we’re all functioning again.
xXxXx
"Snape was trying to ask Quirrell questions?" said Ron in surprise. The five friends were in the red bedroom of the Hogwarts Den, the only place they knew for sure they wouldn’t be overheard.
"Yeah. First it was about how he was knocked out — Quirrell said it was magic, but not a Stunner, and he didn’t know what it was or who did it — and then Snape asked something about a door and Halloween."
"Third-floor corridor," said Hermione and Draco simultaneously.
"Quirrell was there—" Draco began.
"Snape saved him—" Hermione spoke over him.
"Quirrell said something about a diversion—"
"He thought the troll might have been one—"
"I don’t think Snape believed him—"
"He must have been trying to find out what was there—"
Draco, about to speak, stopped as he realized Harry, Ron, and Neville were all staring at him and Hermione. "What?"
Ron shook his head. "That’s scary enough when Fred and George do it. You two... it’s just... weird."
"Do what?" the two asked in unison.
"When you… twin-talk."
Hermione and Draco looked at each other and shrugged, still in unison. "We pretended to be twins for three years," said Hermione.
"And we’ve been around each other for seven."
"It shouldn’t be all that surprising…"
"That we can finish each other’s sentences by now."
"What do you think Snape wanted to find out?" Neville asked Harry over this.
"Don’t know. Maybe why Quirrell was really trying to get through the door... you’re sure it was Quirrell at that door on Halloween?" Harry asked the "twins."
Draco nodded. "Someone did an Opening Spell — Alohomora — and then started screaming, and then the door slammed and Snape did a Locking Charm. His voice is pretty distinctive, I think we would have known if it was him doing the Opening Spell too."
"So unless Quirrell had a friend along, he opened the door," said Ron. "Wonder why?"
"Maybe he wanted to steal the Stone," suggested Hermione in a "well-that-should-have-been-obvious" tone.
"Or maybe he really was trying to keep it safe," said Harry slowly, "and Snape wants to steal it."
Silence filled the room as everyone thought about that.
xXxXx
It was a pleasant day for early March, but still rather cold and rainy, so Arthur Weasley was putting off working on his car until the weather got a bit better, since some of the alterations he made to it did tend to fill enclosed spaces with smoke. Instead, he and his neighbors were spending their Sunday investigating some of the more interesting items he’d confiscated.
Sirius seemed rather taken with the pencil sharpener which made the pencil longer and blunter instead of shorter and sharper, and was off in a corner by himself with that and an inkpot. "I’d imagine he’s trying to see if the charm can be modified to blunt a quill," said Remus, handing Arthur a part for the singing toaster he was reassembling. "I’m staying well out of it — if he’s going to be foolish enough to provoke either Danger or Letha that way, I want to be able to say honestly that I had nothing to do with it."
Arthur chuckled. "Wise man. Your lovely wives can be quite formidable when they’re minded to be."
Remus raised his eyebrows. "Allow me to reciprocate."
Arthur laughed aloud. "Yes, Molly can be quite the tyrant, can’t she?"
"I’ve been meaning to ask you something about that."
"About Molly?"
"Yes, in a way." Remus leaned against the counter, casually. Perhaps a bit too casually — he seemed tense about something, Arthur noticed. "Suppose one had something to tell Molly. Something which might... unsettle her. For instance, if we had decided to reveal our true identities before everything happened. Would you be able to give me some guidance on how to go about that?"
Arthur set his tools down and looked searchingly at Remus. "Is there something of that sort which needs to be told?"
Remus nodded.
"Would you be willing to tell me?"
"Of course — damn, I made it sound as if I wasn’t going to tell you, didn’t I? I’m sorry, this has me a bit on edge."
"This is something about you, then. Something personal."
"Yes. Quite personal. Although the whole family knows about it. And your Ron figured it out from things our three were saying — for which we probably ought to punish them, since they’ve actually put us in danger, in a way... but they trust Ron, and they haven’t told it to anyone else, and as far as I know they wouldn’t..." Remus shook his head, smiling self-deprecatingly. "I’m babbling, I know; I think I’m trying to get out of telling you."
"I’m listening."
Remus took one deep breath, then looked him in the eye. "I’m a werewolf, Arthur."
Arthur was glad he wasn’t holding anything at the moment, since he was sure if he had been he would have dropped whatever it was, and some of his things were decidedly fragile.
"That’s our last remaining family secret, and I think you can understand why we tend to keep it under wraps. I’m not in any way dangerous — we have a certain sort of magic that keeps me under control on full moons — but I doubt we could convince anyone else of that. And with the children being who they are..." Remus sighed. "At the very least, there would be an uproar. At the most, there might be talk about unfit guardians. We might even lose custody of some of them, or should I say, they might lose custody, since I’m not a legal guardian for any of the children — I can’t be."
His eyes, which had moved to the far wall as he talked about the children, returned to Arthur’s face. "So, there it is. The truth."
Arthur was rather proud that he hadn’t shown his first reaction, which had been, understandably, fear. He’d grown up on bedtime stories which featured werewolves as the scary things which came to get bad children. But the fear was inappropriate, he told himself sternly — he was a grown man now, and Remus was not about to hurt him. Moreover, Remus was his friend, and Arthur hoped he was a better man than to give up a friendship over something this trivial. He ignored the frantic mental voice insisting that lycanthropy was hardly trivial.
We survived finding out about Sirius. We can survive this.
"You’re... not dangerous on full moons?" He wanted to be sure he understood perfectly before he started thinking about how to break this news to Molly.
"No. If I were, we’d never have set up the household the way we have, with the children living with all of us — I would have visited them, but not lived in the same house, it wouldn’t be safe at all. You may have noticed, Danger’s not very good with a wand, and I think you know that she never attended Hogwarts. Her magic was latent until around the age of twenty, and it seems that latent magic sometimes manifests, if it ever does, in unusual forms. In her case, what we somewhat melodramatically call ‘werewolf taming.’ She prevents me from losing my mind during the full moon. The physical change still occurs — I take the form of a wolf — but mentally, I remain human and sane."
"As sane as you ever are," said a voice from the corner.
Arthur handed Remus one of the small rubber feet that had come off the toaster. Remus bounced it off the back of Sirius’ head.
"Ow!"
"I assume you knew about this," said Arthur, turning to his other neighbor, who was looking indignantly at Remus and rubbing the place of impact.
"Since I was twelve and we were at Hogwarts together. His story of going home every month to visit his poor sick mother just didn’t fit together — especially not when he looked sick every time he got back..."
xXxXx
Dear Ron,
You should have been here when Mr. Lupin told Mum what he is (and why didn’t you tell me? And don’t say because they made you swear you wouldn’t... that’s not good enough). She went completely white and her eyes got really big. Then she looked around like she wanted someone to shout "April Fool!" Then she heard me on the stairs. I tried to run, but she knew I was there.
My ears are still ringing. I think she yelled at me for half an hour straight. Now I’m grounded until July. Really and truly grounded — she’s password-locked the broomshed and locked up all the Floo powder where I can’t get to it, and I’m not allowed out of the house without her say-so. I don’t think that’s fair. All I did was listen in on one conversation, and you or one of the others would have told me soon enough anyway. Right?
See you at Easter,
Ginny
xXxXx
"What does she want me to tell her?" asked Ron grumpily, handing Ginny’s letter to Harry. "That is why I didn’t tell her."
Harry read the first few lines, enough to know what Ron was talking about, then shrugged. "What are you asking me for? She’s your sister."
"What do you do when Hermione does something weird?"
Harry made sure that Hermione was deep in discussion of their latest Charms class with Draco before answering. "Usually either ignore her or tease her about it."
"And your family doesn’t even care?"
"As long as nothing gets destroyed and no one gets hurt."
Ron sighed enviously. "Must be nice."
Across the table, Neville was rereading his letter.
xXxXx
Dear Neville,
I’m sorry to hear about the Slytherins. I hope they give up soon. You could always tell Draco or Harry about it, or Ron — they’ll help you. And you are not a bad wizard. Mama Letha says lots of good wizards start off slow and just take some time to get used to magic.
Something funny happened today. Yesterday, Danger made a big cake for Moony’s birthday, and we all had pieces, so there was about two-thirds of it left. Then she told everyone to keep their hands off it, especially Dadfoot. We all promised we would. This morning, there was just a little piece of the cake left, and it had teethmarks on it.
You might not know this, but my Dadfoot is an Animagus. He can turn into a big dog. And he turned into a dog and ate the cake with his mouth, so he didn’t lay a hand on it, just like he promised. Danger didn’t think it was funny. She isn’t letting him have any dessert for a week. Dadfoot says it isn’t fair — he did just what she told him. I think it’s funny.
Please write back soon and tell me everything that’s happening there.
Your friend,
Meghan
xXxXx
Deciding to make as clean a sweep as possible, Remus found an opportunity later in the month to tell Gerald Lovegood about himself. He wasn’t entirely surprised when the other man, far from being put off, was intrigued, and when Remus indicated he didn’t mind questions, proceeded to ask quite a few.
"At least they were mostly intelligent questions," said Remus at home. "I’d expect no less from Gerald — eccentric he may be, stupid he’s not — but I couldn’t help being a bit wary. I had to tell a few people in the years between Hogwarts and the Pack, and they would always ask the most infuriatingly stupid questions. I once had someone ask me if I went looking for a mate on my transformation nights."
Do you?
Not anymore.
Both conversations ceased for a moment as Danger showered the table and Aletha with a mouthful of water.
"Hey!"
"I’m sorry, I’m sorry — blame him, he made me do it." Danger indicated Remus by tone, her hands being busy cleaning up the mess she’d inadvertently made. "And what is that supposed to mean, anyway? ‘Not anymore’?"
"If you can’t figure it out, I’m not about to tell you."
The women matched gazes.
"Men," they said at the same moment, and in the same exasperated tone.
xXxXx
Valentina Jett’s first collection of short stories, The Window into Winter, was published in early April. Sirius had been writing short pieces for years, usually when he was blocked on something longer, and he had finally realized he had enough to make a book out of them.
"It’s a good thing, too," he said, pacing around moodily. "The publishers were getting restless, and I seem to have dried up some."
"What happened to that story we were working on together back in September?" asked Danger, hands busy with her loom.
"It’s one of these — the longest one, it’s probably more of a novella than a short story — but it was too long as it was. I was stretching it beyond where it wanted to go. It’s better that way. But now I feel like I’m just out of ideas." He rolled his shoulders. "I don’t like it. I feel incomplete without something to be working on."
"Part of it is probably spring fever," said Aletha, leaning into the music room from the small room which had been made by enclosing part of the back patio, where she did her brewing, and where she was currently supervising Meghan’s first attempts at a simple potion. "I’ll make you a deal. As soon as Danger and I get comfortable in our Animagus forms — which should be any day now — we’ll take one day, let Pearl stay with the Weasleys or the Lovegoods, and just go running somewhere."
"That sounds good. What’s my side of the deal?"
"You need to quit griping."
"I am not griping."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I’m not."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I’m just stating how I feel."
"Three days ago, this was stating how you feel. Since it hasn’t stopped since then, it now qualifies as griping."
"You know what you need, Padfoot?" asked Remus, looking up from the forms he was filling out. "You need something to get you out of the house. You need a job."
"I don’t want a job."
"I know — but if you keep moping around here, we’re going to get you one and make you go out of self-defense."
"I am not moping, and I am not griping. What is this, Pick on Me Day?"
"Yes, of course it is," said Danger with a wicked smile. "Every day is Pick on Sirius Day around here. Didn’t you know that by now?"
"No, but it sure explains a hell of a lot."
Further conversation was distracted by a flash of blue light from the cauldron room and a happy cry.
xXxXx
Dear Meghan,
I’m glad to hear that you brewed a potion right. Maybe you can help teach me how to do it better. Even with Hermione to help me, I still make a lot of mistakes in Potions. Professor Snape scares me. I think he wants me to make mistakes so he can laugh at me and take points from Gryffindor.
No, the Slytherins haven’t stopped bothering me yet. I keep hoping if I stay out of their way they’ll get tired of it, but they keep going looking for me. I wish I could be an Animagus like we found out over Christmas. Then I could be invisible and they couldn’t find me. Do you really think your brothers would help me?
Herbology is going really well. We’re still working with Muggle plants that have magical properties, but Professor Sprout says next year we’ll be studying some magical things that Muggles don’t grow — maybe even Mandrakes! I can’t wait!
Some of my other classes aren’t so much fun. I keep doing things wrong in Charms and setting the classroom on fire. Professor Flitwick watches me closely, though, so I’ve never hurt anyone except me. I’m starting to get better at it, too — I only had to go to the hospital wing twice last month. And I haven’t vanished anything in Transfiguration since January.
I really don’t like Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Lockhart doesn’t like me, ever since I knocked his wig off. I didn’t mean to, it was an accident, and I already apologized, but he keeps on giving me nasty looks in class anyway. He gives Harry nasty looks too, when he thinks no one’s looking. I don’t know why.
I’m kind of worried about what I’ll mess up when we get to higher levels. I don’t want to really hurt anyone. But I guess that’s what Gran calls borrowing trouble. Maybe I’ll get better as I get older.
Thank you for your letters. I really love getting mail from you. Please write back soon and tell me everything fun you’re doing.
Your friend,
Neville
xXxXx
Draco was coming in from flying, some of his mandated time with the Nimbus Two Thousand so that it wouldn’t be just Harry’s broom and break the rules, when he heard raised voices and laughter nearby. He followed the sounds.
As he got closer, he began to identify the voices, and what he heard made him shift his weight onto the balls of his feet, check that he could get at his wand quickly, and set the broom aside behind a convenient statue, since it would only weigh him down if he did have to fight.
"Yeah, dance for us, Longbottom!"
"Hey, if he falls on it, will that make it a short bottom?"
"No, a flat bottom!"
"Come on, it’s right up there, you can get it if you really try…"
Draco stepped around the corner and felt a surge of anger. All he could see was a circle of Slytherin backs, but he’d wager good money on who was in the middle of that circle — and from the wand Goyle was holding above his head, they weren’t exactly being nice to Neville either.
Arseholes. It’s five to one. Ten, if you count the girls.
He grinned. Except now it’s ten to two. And one of the two is a Marauder.
But I need to be in a better position.
He slipped back out of the corridor and found another one which would lead him around and in on the other side of the Slytherins. As he had hoped, their circle wasn’t quite complete — he could see Neville from this side. The other boy’s legs looked to be stuck together.
The Leg-Locker Curse.
Still, Neville hadn’t given up — he was determinedly jumping for his wand, which Goyle continued to hold out of his reach, a stupid grin all over his big dumb face. The other Slytherins — Draco wasn’t certain about all their names, especially not the girls, but he was sure that all of them in his year were there — were howling their heads off watching.
No, not all of them. That one boy doesn’t look like he thinks it’s quite so funny as everyone else does… damn it, what’s his name, I can never remember it…
Never mind. They’re messing with the Pack.
Time to let them know why that’s a really bad idea.
He stepped around the corner and cast the countercurse to the Leg-Locker. Neville, suddenly unbalanced by his legs springing apart in mid-jump, missed his landing and fell on his behind. Wincing at the delay, Draco crossed the fingers on his left hand and hoped his next spell would work properly.
"Expelliarmus!"
The wand Goyle was holding flew from his hand and rocketed toward Draco, who caught it, taking care not to let the Slytherins see how worried he’d been — he’d never tried to disarm a real opponent before, just Harry or Hermione or Ron in mock-duels at den-night…
"Nobody move," he instructed quickly, seeing hands going for wands. "Just let us leave and everything’s all right."
Nott shook his head in disbelief. "What the hell, Black? Why are you doing this? For him?" His voice dripped contempt for Neville, who had recovered his breath and moved out of grabbing range on all fours, and was just now getting up. "A pathetic little magicless worm?"
"Stop calling him names."
"Why? It’s true."
"First place, no, it’s not, second place, just because you’re a gutless coward who can’t pick on anyone who can defend themselves properly doesn’t mean I have to say it — but oops, I did." Draco knew it wasn’t the smartest thing in the world to be provoking a gang of Slytherins, but he had his wand out and they didn’t, he’d bet on himself as a better wizard than any of them, and he was trying to buy Neville some time to get away. He was not doing it just because it was fun, he told himself firmly.
Though it was. A wave of gasps had gone around the Slytherins at the word "coward," and Nott’s face was darkening in anger.
"Not only that, you can’t even take him on alone. You had to gang up on him. Ten to one, Nott — ten to one. Even if your opponent’s good, that’s stacking the deck a little, don’t you think?"
"None of them did anything," snapped Nott. "I did the magic."
"And then you let Crabbe — no, wait, sorry, you’re Goyle," Draco corrected himself as the boy in question made a grunt of protest. "Sorry, I tend to get you mixed up. You’re both Slytherin, muscle-bound, stupid, and mean. You can see how I’d get confused."
Both boys scowled and cracked their knuckles.
"And Dursley. Is it true you lick Nott’s boots? I hear such funny things about the Slytherins, it’s hard to be sure." Draco looked around the group. "Girls, I’d suggest cross-house dating," he said. "This bunch doesn’t show much promise."
"You’re one to talk," said Nott, his narrowed eyes fixed on Draco. "You should have been a Slytherin."
"Should have been? What, are you the Sorting Hat now?"
"I know who you are."
"Well done. We’ve been at school together for the past seven months and you’ve finally figured out who I am."
"No, I know who you really are. Who you should have been. Who you still could be, if you could just see past what they’ve done to you."
"They? Who’s they?"
"The Mudbloods."
"Watch your mouth," Draco warned, lifting his wand as if he were about to cast.
"Fine, the Muggleborns, if you insist. Whatever you call them, they’ve brainwashed you, blinded you to who you ought to be. Who you were born to be."
"And who’s that?"
Nott rolled his eyes. "You really do think we’re stupid, don’t you?"
Don’t answer that, don’t answer that, don’t answer that, don’t…
"Yes."
Why does my mouth never listen to my brain?
Nott scowled. "Guess what. We’re not."
"No, you’re Nott. They’re Dursley and Crabbe and Goyle and Parkinson and…"
"Shut up!"
"Love to, but you’re not saying anything intelligent, and one of us has to, or this hallway will get so full of stupid it’ll collapse."
"Shut up," repeated Nott. "You’re just trying to confuse me."
"Like that’s real hard."
"I said, shut up!"
Draco gave Nott his most gracious smile and sketched a shallow bow in his direction. "The floor is yours."
"I was saying that you ought to be Draco Malfoy. You were born a Malfoy, and that should never have changed."
What, so I could end up like you? A narrow-minded bigot and your daddy’s good little boy?
"You ought to be a Slytherin. You ought to be one of us. And you still could be. If you wanted."
"Yeah, well, guess what. I don’t want. So I’ll just be going now." Draco deliberately turned his back on the Slytherins and started to walk away.
"You can’t change some things," Nott said in a knowing tone. "You can’t change your face. Or your blood. Whatever you do, whatever you pretend, you’ll always be the son of Lucius Malfoy."
Fear rushed over Draco at the mention of the name, old fear made suddenly new at Christmas with his dream and the realization that his birth father was everything he’d ever been told and more. Without thinking about it, he seized the fear and transmuted it into anger, white-hot anger, and felt the heat echoed in his pendant, which had been warm all this time but now was blazing hot —
He spun. "Attonitus!" he shouted, using his momentum to help him swing his wand in an arc across the Slytherins.
All ten were knocked off balance, some of them into the walls of the corridor, the rest onto their backs. Draco threw the curse again, this time straight at Goyle, knocking him backwards into a wall, possibly knocking him out, as he didn’t show much interest in running, which the rest of the group did — Draco pursued them, shouting spells as he ran, and knocked one of the girls to the floor just before they all burst into the entrance hall — Nott was turning, pulling out his wand, apparently determined to fight now that he had room —
"Expelliarmus!"
The force of the spell slammed him into a wall, where he slid down it to the floor, out cold. Only one person Draco knew cast with that much power.
Harry!
And Hermione, he realized a moment later as two of the fleeing girls screeched and started trying to stamp out the flames suddenly licking at their robes. Only she can do that kind of blue fire.
Draco threw spells and hexes at the Slytherins, ducking their return fire. At one point, he felt something graze past him from behind, but when he turned, there was no one there. Daphne Greengrass was the closest person, and she was four feet away to one side, sitting on the floor staring at her leg, which had gone oddly wobbly.
Harry snatched up the Nimbus Two Thousand, shouldered it, and whistled the two notes that meant "retreat" as Hermione hit Dursley, the last Slytherin standing, with a Joint-Reversing Curse. Dursley fell to the floor, his knees bending the opposite way from usual, and the cubs scurried up the marble stairs, Neville coming seemingly out of nowhere to join them halfway up. They didn’t stop running until they were safely in the Gryffindor common room.
"I only counted eight," said Harry when they had caught their breath. "Did we miss some?"
"No, I got two in the hallway," said Draco. "How did you know where I was?"
"Lucky guess," said Hermione, flexing her wand hand. "We knew you’d been out flying, so we figured if we worked our way downwards and listened, we’d find you eventually. And then we ran into Neville on the first floor, and he told us you were taking on all of Slytherin House by yourself."
"How did that get started, anyway?" asked Harry, half curious brother and half disapproving alpha.
Draco shrugged. "I was bored."
"You were bored," repeated Hermione. "You cursed all the Slytherins in our year because you were bored?"
"No, I teased them because I was bored. I cursed them because they insulted me. Happy now?"
"He’s not telling the truth," said Neville suddenly.
Harry and Hermione both looked at him.
"They were… bothering me. They cursed me and took my wand. Draco stopped them. If I hadn’t been there, none of this would have happened."
"It’s not your fault, Neville," said Draco, swallowing against a kind of sick feeling. The anger had faded now, and to replace it had come the awareness that he’d well and truly broken the rules this time. Even the Pack wasn’t likely to let him off this one lightly, to say nothing of what Professor McGonagall was likely to do… "Oh. Here." He pulled Neville’s wand out of his robes and handed it over.
"So did you curse them because they cursed Neville?" asked Hermione.
"No. I was going to tease them some and then walk away. But Nott…"
"Insulted you?" asked Harry.
Draco nodded.
"What did he call you that made you so mad? I thought this thing was going to burn my robes off." He tapped his pendant.
Draco stared at the carpet. "It was really stupid," he admitted in a half-hearted mumble. "I shouldn’t have been so mad about it. It really doesn’t matter."
"It mattered then," said Hermione. Draco heard her moving, standing up and coming around behind him, leaning over the back of his chair. Her hand rested for a moment on his shoulder, then she came around and sat on the arm of his chair. "It mattered to you. You know we won’t laugh. You can tell us."
"He said… first he said I should have been a Slytherin."
Harry snorted. "What is he, the Sorting Hat?"
Draco smiled slightly. "That’s what I said." The smile faded. "And we argued some, and then he said no matter what I did, or what I pretended, I’d always be the son of Lucius Malfoy."
There was a long silence.
Hermione’s hand made its way down onto Draco’s lap and found one of his. "Brother," she said quietly. "Sort-of twin. Annoying little git."
"I’m not little — I’m older than you are," protested Draco reflexively.
"Fine, annoying big git."
Harry chuckled with them. "Brother," he said in his turn, sliding to the floor beside Draco’s chair and punching him lightly on the knee. "Friend. Best beta any alpha could want."
"Meghan was right," said Neville from across the circle of chairs. "She said I should ask you for help. But I didn’t even need to ask. You just helped me."
We claim you, said their words silently. You belong to us, not to them. You belong in our world, not in theirs. We are not pretending, and we will not give you up.
Draco swallowed again, but this time against another kind of emotion. Unwilling to speak aloud for fear of letting it out, he lifted the hand Hermione wasn’t holding and made a sign.
Thank you.
"You’re welcome," said Harry. "Come on, Neenie — Hermione — we need to think of an excuse."
"Excuse?"
"For why we cursed all of Slytherin House. You do realize we’re going to be in enormous trouble."
"We were helping Draco — he was outnumbered!"
"Fine, Draco needs an excuse. Do you mind if we think one up for you?" asked Harry.
Draco shook his head.
"Come on, Neville, three heads are better than two. Four would be even better — has anyone seen Ron?"
Draco tuned out the discussion in favor of his own thoughts.
Whatever they come up with, I’ll tell Professor McGonagall the truth later. I overreacted to what Nott said and lost my temper. They were just trying to get me out of a bad situation I got myself into. I’m the only one who should be punished for it.
That decision made, his mind rebounded to the way his family and friends had told him, although in far more polite terms, that Nott was full of it. It reminded him somewhat of Danger’s words the night she had intervened in his dream.
Draco knew only too well what his father would say about that the next time they met — for there was almost bound to be a next time; if they could dream together, they were too tightly linked, as much as he wished otherwise, not to meet again. Whether it was, as he hoped, only in dreams, or if by some unforeseen circumstance they came face to face in the waking world, he was almost certain what Lucius would taunt him with.
"Can’t fight me by yourself, boy? Need a woman to do your fighting for you?"
As he had just been reminded, it was those things which he had not settled to his own satisfaction that his enemies could successfully make him angry with.
And Lucius is my enemy, and much older and more experienced than I am. I can’t afford to lose any edge I might have, and getting angry will make me do that.
He recalled a breathing exercise Aletha had taught him, a combination of clearing out the lungs and relaxing the spirit. Inhale to a five-count, exhale in six beats, rest for four, repeat…
Once he had settled into his rhythm, he quickly found the answer to why he shouldn’t be ashamed that Danger had helped him.
I’m only eleven — I shouldn’t be expected to fight a full-grown wizard on my own yet. When I’m older and stronger, the Pack will let me fight my own battles. But for right now, I still need their help. And it doesn’t matter, or it shouldn’t, that it was one of the Pack-mothers who helped me. She knows the most about dreams, and besides, she beat you, didn’t she?
Draco smiled, realizing he was already subconsciously addressing his justification to an imagined Lucius.
Maybe he won’t think it’s good enough. But I do.
That’s what matters.
"Mr. Black," said an icy voice from right in front of him. He jumped and looked up.
Professor McGonagall was standing over him, arms crossed, looking angrier than Draco had ever seen her.
"Come with me," she said.