Surpassing Danger
Chapter 37: Greetings and Farewells (Arc 7)
By Anne B. Walsh
Author Notes:
Do have the tissues available for some of the thoughts, but nothing terrible happens. Yet.
Luna stood over the cauldron containing the Imprimatus Potion, gazing down into its depths. When it was ready to be used, it would turn as clear as water, as clear as glass. Draco had left a message for her at the bottom of the cauldron, to be sure she would know when the potion was ready, even if he wasn't there himself.
I could cheat. She closed her eyes and imagined opening them with their focus just slightly off, with Hermione, pacing back and forth along the sinks, casting the shadow of Neenie the cat, with Myrtle, hovering above Hermione's head, glowing an even more brilliant silver than was usual. But I won't. He didn't want me to see it until the potion was ready, and the potion isn't ready.
Even if it is the fourth of June, and coming close to midnight.
"I don't understand," said Hermione, as she had already, several times. "We did everything right. It should be finished."
"It does say 'final boiling times may vary'," Luna pointed out, as she had every time Hermione had lamented this fact. "The temperature in the room, how much water is in the air, how we're feeling while we work on it, even having Myrtle here—" She nodded to the ghost, who blushed. "All of that could change how long it takes to finish."
Hermione growled, crooking her fingers like claws. "But we need it now!"
"No, we don't." Luna sat down beside the cauldron, enjoying the warmth of the bluebell fire in its jar underneath. "We won't need it for another few days."
"How can you be so calm about this?" Hermione worked her hands through her hair, rendering it, improbably, wilder than it had been a few moments before. "I can't do this, Luna. What they're all expecting, what we've been planning. I just can't go through with it. How am I supposed to look at him, to talk to him, when all the time I know—"
"Forget what you know."
"What?" Hermione stared at her. "How? And more importantly—why?"
"Why is simple. To trick the Death Eaters. To make them think their plan is working, and we don't have any idea what they're doing. But how…" Luna tapped her fingertips together thoughtfully. "Imagine how you would feel tonight if things were different," she said at last. "If he'd only been taken prisoner, not Marked or put under any magic. That's how it would be, isn't it, if he were your born brother, instead of beginning as a Malfoy? They would want him more as a hostage, then, to control you and the Pack. So he'd be well-treated. And if he was careful to act frightened, and not too smart, or even to pretend he was slowly seeing things their way, they might not watch him as closely as they should, and he could have had the chance to escape."
"If only." Hermione rubbed her hands up and down her arms. "But I don't—no, wait, yes I do." She began to smile. "I do see what you're getting at. For all the Death Eaters know, that's exactly what we think has happened. They won't want to believe we have spies there—or if they do, well, then, obviously we're just delusional enough to explain away Draco's acting like a Malfoy again as his making the best of a bad situation, going along with the person in charge until he gets a chance to run. And who knows?" She sighed. "Maybe it even is like that, somehow. Neville did say his magic was hidden, and a little twisted, but not broken."
"Neville's right." Luna turned her head as a very particular sense inside her mind, one to which she'd paid close and careful attention since the day her Seeing returned to her, pulsed three times like a triumphant firework. "And you need to go find your parents and get ready. He's coming."
Hermione shivered once, throughout her body, then exhaled a long breath. "He's coming. All right." A shaky little laugh found its way out of her. "How is it harder to be getting ready to see him again than to say goodbye to him?"
"Hope," said Luna simply. "It's a difficult thing."
"But human." Hermione leaned against one of the cubicle walls. "Very human. Or Pack, I suppose." She pushed herself upright. "You're sure you don't want to be a part of this?"
"Draco knows what I can do." Luna twirled a finger in the steam rising from the cauldron. "It's been so much a part of our lives that I don't think even his pendant jewel could have made him quite forget it. He'd be nervous if I came too near him, afraid that I would know what had happened to him, and he might make a big mistake."
"This whole night is a big mistake." Hermione grimaced. "This whole war is one. Why can't the purebloods just shut themselves up behind their fancy walls and dance their little pattern dances until they inbreed themselves to death?"
"Because there are good things in the wizarding traditions. We just have to find them, and mix them properly with the good things from the Muggle world, so that we can make everyone as close to happy as we can." Luna made a flicking motion with both hands. "Go, hurry. He'll expect to see you first of all, or nearly."
Hermione went. Luna waited until her friend was well out of sight, then bent over the cauldron and blew onto the surface of the potion she hoped would avenge what became of her love this night.
And I will see it. I will see all of it.
If I don't, I might make an even bigger mistake than Alecto Carrow.
The thought of the unintended consequences of the Death Eater witch's stupidity buoyed Luna's spirits. Of those Slytherins who remained at Hogwarts now that the tests of intent were finished, fully half had joined the DA, walking into meetings openly and proudly, as though daring their Housemates to judge them for their choice. Quite a few of them had told Blaise, who'd acted as their unofficial sponsor into the club, that they had come because of what had happened to Graham.
One of my yearmates said it best. Freese, I think his name is. Luna gazed into the potion, which was now revealing a typical, if rather tense, evening scene in Professor Aletha Black's office. "I'll climb over a few bodies to get what I want if I have to, but they're damn well not going to be little girls and babies that I stood by and let get killed from behind. Blood or no blood, I'd have done the same as Pritchard."
And that sentiment, Luna knew, was what would eventually bring down the Death Eater movement, from all around and from within.
But first, we need to get through tonight.
She peered eagerly into the cauldron as everyone's heads turned sharply towards the door.
Sirius looked up from the tin of mints he'd been transfiguring into a pencil and back again as a knock sounded at Aletha's office door. Across the room, Meghan sprang up, Harry dodging out of the way of yelling chess pieces as the board between them went flying.
"Sit," Aletha said firmly, freezing everything where it was with a sweeping circle of her wand, then aimed a backhanded flick at her door. "Come in, Severus."
Snape, in the corridor, looked mildly nonplussed as the door swung open in front of him. "Don't ask," Sirius advised him, getting up. "This is it?"
"Thank you, I will not. And yes." Snape looked past Sirius at Meghan, who was plucking chessmen out of the air and restoring them to the board which Harry had righted. "You will be more hindrance than help if you have so little control tonight, Miss Black," he said coldly. "Restrain yourself, if you can."
Sirius almost objected, but then thought better of it. For all Snape's presumption in giving Meghan orders in front of her parents, he'd taken exactly the right tone with her. Indeed, her chin was already on its way into the air.
Challenge Pearl to do anything, and it's as good as done.
"Mint?" he said instead, holding out what he had in his hand to Snape. Snape looked at it, then up at Sirius with an expression mingling disbelief and annoyance. Sirius glanced down himself. "Oh. Sorry." A quick stab with his wand, and the pencil he'd been offering Snape writhed in his grasp and changed forms. "Mint?" he said again, this time holding out the tin with which he'd started.
"No. Thank you." Snape turned to leave, then paused, looking around at the Blacks and Harry. "Depending on how this night ends, I may not see you again," he said, the words coming slowly, as though he had to think about every one. "If I do not…take care of one another."
"You do the same," Sirius answered, marveling at the ease of the exchange. He could recall a time when something along these lines would have come out of either or both of their mouths with such utter reluctance that they might as well have been grinding their teeth through the words.
Guess we've both grown up some. Took us long enough.
"I shall." Snape's eyes shifted back to Harry, who was standing near the back of the room in something suspiciously like the pose of attention he used when he was listening to Dumbledore. "Tell me, Potter," he said coolly. "Do you own the original of that…unusual Potions text you once used as a distraction in our lessons?"
"Yes, sir." Harry seemed surprised by the question. "Why?"
"I had always wondered what became of it, after your father decided it would be an enjoyable last-day-of-school prank to purloin it from my bag." Snape nodded, as though this were no more than he had expected. "Be so kind as not to lose it. Should we both survive this war, I will want it back."
With a final nod to Aletha and a long look at Sirius, Severus Snape turned and left, shutting the door behind him.
Meghan had both hands pressed firmly to her lips. Harry opened and closed his mouth once, twice, then rounded on his Pack-mother, pointing at the door. "You never told me he was the Half-Blood Prince!"
"You never asked." Aletha rattled the latch on the cupboard in which she kept her dangerous ingredients and her samples of completed potions, nodding as she confirmed it was firmly shut. Sirius knew the password which would open it (the same one to which her office door was set), as did the rest of the Pack and Pride, but he doubted anyone else would have had the first clue.
Even with "When does a fireplace not chime?" written there on the wall beside it, and outside in the corridor. Only one of us would be able to trace that all the way back to the London Den and the charm Moony thought was funny to put on the Floo fire there, to tell us when someone was connecting into it, and from there come up with "Howl" as the word…
He smiled a little as Harry and Meghan hurried out through that same door, talking in quiet, urgent voices, as his wife waved him out before her so that she could lock it behind them.
The last time we had it set up that way was late July of '84, when we first brought Draco home with us.
Sounds like a good omen for tonight to me.
Letting his nerves flow away from him, as he did before a battle, Sirius accepted Aletha's offered hand and kept pace with her towards the stairs.
Here we go. And may the best side win.
That, of course, being us.
Draco leaned against the castle wall, breathing hard, trying not to stare upwards at the fantastic array of towers and battlements which was Hogwarts. The person the Pack had deluded themselves into thinking he was would have seen this sight often.
Let me go over it one more time before I invoke that spell all the way. He ducked back a little further into the shadows, watching and listening for any sign that he'd been detected, but there was nothing. We arrived outside Hogsmeade, and Father Side-Along-Apparated me into the Shrieking Shack. Not sure how they think I would have done that one on my own, but he says they won't be too surprised I was able to get in. We said our goodbyes over there, and then I headed down through the passage…
He had half-expected the barely-seen wards in the middle of the cramped tunnel to halt him—he did carry the Mark, after all—but after a long moment of seeming consideration, the magic had allowed him past with barely a tingle across his skin. That was when he'd begun to feel uneasy about this night.
Of course the wards let me past, he tried to tell himself. Father couldn't forget a precaution that basic. And even if he had, the Dark Lord wouldn't. It's some new technique, something that will only work once or twice, or only on a single person, not an army, so that's why they're using me.
Still, he couldn't help but wish he were somewhere else. Fox's warnings about getting caught kept recurring to him.
You said you'd help me, if I got in trouble, he thought tentatively towards the middle of his mind. Did you mean that?
Silence, for so long a moment that Draco began to wonder if Fox were there at all. Then—
I meant it, his dream-relation said curtly. But remember what else I said. I'm not helping you with this mission of yours. Even if I didn't respect and like Professor Dumbledore, which I do, you shouldn't be killing people just because your daddy said so.
That's not why I'm doing this, Draco shot back, stung. I'm doing it for me. To prove I deserve the place I lucked into—to show everyone that I'm a Malfoy, born and bred—
Fox's answer was brief, profane, and ended with the feeling of a slammed door. Draco scowled. "Well, fine," he whispered. "Be that way."
He reached into another part of his mind, for the spell his father had laid on him just before they left. Compiled from the reports of spies and informers who'd watched the Order of the Phoenix, and the Pack within it, for as long as either had existed, it would help to prompt him with the forms of address and the mannerisms the Pack would expect from the Draco they'd concocted in their minds, the one who'd been raised as an equal with their other children—
Cubs, the spell whispered as it took hold, they're called cubs—we're called cubs—the bigger girl is Neenie, and the littler one is Pearl, and, and, and, and…
He staggered a step or two under the deluge of information, but then straightened. Moving a few more steps to his right, he located the stone with the carving of the school motto on it. With a grin, he slapped his hand against his own name.
A section of wall just underneath the carved one disappeared, and he climbed briskly inside.
It was time to earn his life.
Harry pulled his Galleon out of his pocket as it warmed. "Ginny and Ron report all teams in place," he said, reading the message from it. "As soon as the Death Eaters are inside, they'll be followed, and anything they leave behind will either be removed or…altered."
"Rerouted to the Arctic, perhaps." Danger grinned once, savagely. "Or into the middle of a volcano."
"Feeling bloodthirsty tonight, love?" inquired Moony.
"Feeling motherly." Danger stroked her hands down her hips, her scent eddying with anger, patience, eagerness, fear. "And disinclined to believe that visions are what they seem to be." She clenched her fists, then relaxed them, a flare of fire appearing and disappearing in the air above her. "But whatever else happens tonight, we'll have him for a little while. One more time."
"Speaking of which." Moony hooked a thumb down the corridor next to the one where they were standing. "Places, everyone. And where's—"
"Here I am," panted Hermione, rounding the last corner at a run. "Here I am, I just got caught up in something, I'm sorry to be late…"
"Calm," Harry told her, touching her arm to bring her around to face him, then straightening her robes and motioning for her to fix her hair, as much as this would make any difference. "He may not remember it now, but he's still got Snow Fox's nose, and he'll panic if we give him a reason to."
"Right. Got it." Hermione breathed deeply, in, then out. "Calm."
"Better." Harry tweaked her nose to hear her growl. "Shall we?"
The spell took firmer and firmer hold as Draco hurried through the passage, bent almost double because of the low ceiling (he suspected it had been built for house-elves), until he stepped out into the ground floor corridor feeling strangely detached from himself, as though he were floating a little ways away from his body. He could still do things, say things, he wasn't completely cut off, but his father's magic surrounded him like armor, warding him safe from the corrosive, lying "love" of the Pack—
"—telling you, there's someone down here!" The girl's voice rang out around the corner, as strident as it was familiar. Draco almost cringed, but the spell turned it into a hopeful step towards the light cast by the branch of candles mounted to the wall near the corridors' intersection. "I can feel it!"
"If I had a Knut for every time you've 'felt' something in this last month—" responded a boy's voice, wearily tolerant, equally familiar.
Prompted by the spell, Draco stepped forward again as the speakers rounded the corner.
Harry Potter checked abruptly, his green eyes widening behind his glasses. Beside him, Hermione Granger-Lupin gasped, then cast a triumphant glance at him. "See?" she demanded. "I told you so."
Draco smothered a choke of laughter and instead spoke up. "Hi, Neenie," he said, a little diffidently, as he imagined she would expect. "Hi, Harry. I'm back."
"What, no 'well' on the front?" Hermione's eyes shone bright in the light from the candles, and with a small jolt Draco realized she was actually crying. "We've missed you so much, I can't believe you got away—"
"Don't!" The word shot abruptly from him as Hermione started forward with her hands held out, and internally he swore, but he'd stopped her from touching him, and that was what mattered most. If they touched, skin to skin, she'd be able to see inside his mind, understand what had happened to him, and drag him back under her control, for that was how the blood-magic worked. The only problem was that he'd have to come up with a reason that would convince her to stay away, but he thought he had that handled.
"It's…" He had no trouble coming up with a shiver. "I'm…I just don't want to be touched right now. Not after…"
"Don't worry about explaining," said Harry, beckoning Hermione back to his side. "Not until you're ready. Come on, we can camp in the kitchens, the house-elves won't mind, they never have before."
"Sounds good." The spell offered a tidbit of information, making Draco smile. "How'd the Quidditch team do against Ravenclaw?" he asked. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there."
"We won, but it wasn't the same." Harry grimaced. "It shouldn't have been me hoisting up the Quidditch Cup first, Seeker or no Seeker—that's the captain's right, it should have been you…"
"I'm sure you led the team just fine," said Draco magnanimously. "And there's always next year, right?"
"There always is," Harry agreed, glancing once at Hermione before he turned to lead the way to the kitchens.
Deep in the back of his mind, Draco sensed sniggering. What? he snapped irritably in Fox's direction.
Oh, nothing. Fox got his mental laughter under control, but the sense of vast amusement lingered. It's just that your dad's information gatherers aren't nearly as good as they think they are.
What? Why not? Draco ran over the brief conversation in his mind, frowning. Wasn't it Ravenclaw they played a couple weeks back?
Oh, it was. You were right about that. No, this is something else, something small. They might not even have noticed it…
Draco was about to persist on this point when a breathy shriek dragged his attention back to the world around him. From a cross-corridor ahead, a tiny battering ram in Hogwarts robes came charging at him, silver eyes shining, braids flying out behind her. Automatically he turned to face her, opened his arms, braced himself—
"Fox!" Meghan Black wailed aloud, and flung herself into Draco's embrace.
Losing his footing in shock, Draco sat down hard under the impact, barely noticing how naturally his arms curved around this small, sobbing person. "It's okay," he said with what breath he had, fending off Harry's grab for the back of Meghan's robes, "she's all right, leave her be…"
Inwardly, his attention was all focused on one point.
Why did she just call me by your name? he demanded as loudly as he could without giving himself a headache. What is going on here?
Which question do you want me to answer? Fox still seemed mightily amused by something. Look, we don't have time for this right now. They're going to get suspicious if you stop answering them for longer than a few seconds. And with this part, I can help you. Want it?
Yes. Please. Draco realized one instant too late that he hadn't defined his terms very well. But what are you going to—
Fox's mental arms came around him before he could finish the sentence, lifting him up as easily as ever his dream-form lifted the four-year-old Draco, setting him in what felt like a comfortable chair to one side, where he could see and hear and even feel, but it was Fox who was now in control of the body. "Easy, Pearl," his voice soothed, as his hand came up to stroke the side of the little girl's face until she looked up with her eyes filled with tears, "it's all right. I'm here." He looked up at Harry, his lips curving in Fox's comfortable smirk. "And if you're going to tell me Ginny let you be captain instead of her, I'm going to call you a bigger liar than Padfoot in one of his storytelling moods."
Harry's face hardened, his smile twisting downwards into a scowl. "Are you saying I wouldn't make a good captain?" he said coldly.
You're messing it up! Draco protested. He's getting angry—
He's challenging me. Fox was unruffled. Teasing me, even. It's in his scent.
His scent? Cautiously, Draco turned his attention to the mingled smells and tastes in the air. There did seem to be more of them than usual, or perhaps he was simply recognizing them better—
"No," Fox said to Harry while he was so occupied. "I'm saying you're so damn busy with your classes and the DA that if you tried to run the Gryffindor Quidditch team too, you'd never have time to sleep. O.W.L. year or not, Ginny's got more time for that than you do. And speaking of the DA…" He adjusted his hold of Meghan so that she was seated more comfortably within the curl of his arm, drawing her closer to him. "Pearl, I was so sorry to hear about Graham."
Draco withdrew his attention a little ways, satisfied. Fox was doing what he'd said he would, helping with the first part of the mission, getting him inside Hogwarts, accepted as one of these people, allowed to be left alone. The second part of the mission would be up to Draco himself, but that was fine by him.
Wonder how he knows so much of this stuff, though. He shrugged, accepting it as just another quirk of Fox. Probably his own family's like this, all lovey-dovey and things, so he knows how it goes. And wherever he is right now, he's obviously got lots of time to spare, so he's been able to pay better attention to the information about the Pack that the Dark Lord's spies have brought in, where I've had to spend most of my time trying to train up to the level in magic I ought to be at…
It was plausible. It was logical. It hung together.
He wondered why it didn't, quite, convince him.
"Well?" Danger murmured to Aletha as they stood together near the back of the Hogwarts kitchens, watching as Draco accepted a cup of tea from one of the house-elves with a smile, Meghan still cuddled against his side, Harry and Hermione seated nearby, making light conversation about what Draco had missed in his month away. "Is he or isn't he?"
"I can't quite tell." Aletha sounded frustrated, which feeling Danger shared fully. Having their missing one physically back among them, but with no guarantee that the animating soul was truly that of the cub they'd raised and loved, was coming close to making her tear her hair out. "He's under some strong compulsions, I can tell you that much. I'm astounded he can so much as breathe for himself. And I think those spells may be the problem—they're blurring everything to the point where I can't tell anything else about him." She looked over at Danger. "Do you want to try?"
"I suppose I'd better." Danger sent a pulse of reassurance to Remus, who was lurking outside the kitchens with Sirius as a backup if things went too badly wrong, and began to meander towards her cubs. She knew by the changes in their scent when first Harry, then Hermione, noticed her approach, but Draco, his back to her, seemed still oblivious—
No, he's got me now. She smiled as Draco craned his neck to see her, moving to one side so that he would have a better view. "I'm glad to see you again for real, love," she said, testing the waters. Hermione had reported her twin's original slip out in the corridors, then the self-correction a few moments later, but this was still more obscure, something no spy of the Death Eaters could possibly have learned—
"I'm still not sure it is real." Draco looked down at Meghan, across at Harry and Hermione, then back to Danger, his eyes holding just the right shades of fear, worry, relief. "Is it?"
Very good. And now the final test. "It's as real," Danger said, stroking her fingers across her right cheek, "as you are."
Draco lifted his own hand to his face, mimicking her motion, then reached out in tandem with her, his scent taking on a hint of—warning? But not that he wants me to stop, more that he wants me to be careful—
Danger held herself tightly in check, allowing her perceptions to open only for the instant that her fingers brushed against her Pack-son's cheek and his tapped against hers, completing the scent-touch on both sides.
It was long enough for her to understand.
"I love you, little Fox," she said, kissing her fingertips this time and stroking that kiss along his hair. "And I always will."
"I know." Draco smiled wistfully at her. "I always did."
Oh, well done. Drifting back while Harry began a conversation about Snape's latest misdeeds in Defense class, Danger let her hand casually float into Hermione's line of sight. A moment later, her fingers were seized.
What is going on with him? Hermione demanded, her mental tone, far shriller than usual, speaking to her confusion and fear. First he wasn't himself, he was a terribly bad imitation, he wouldn't even let me touch him, and now all of a sudden he is himself again, he's getting everything right, but that might be just a stronger blind, a better disguise, and I don't know what to do, how much to tell him, how to treat him—
For now, treat him as himself, but tell him nothing at all, Danger interrupted, opening what she'd seen both to Hermione's eyes and to Remus's. Because he is himself, but he's not alone.
So there is someone else sharing his mind with him. Hermione frowned, trying to make sense of the brief glimpse Danger had caught of the two sets of thoughts, the one currently controlling the body clear and cool and known, the other more chaotic and fractured, as though their originating mind belonged to a child younger even than Bernie Pritchard, though the compulsion spells would force a certain amount of clarity upon them. But who? And how? It doesn't make any sense—
Does it need to, Kitten? Remus interrupted gently. We know the most important thing now. The promise was true. Our Fox was protected. Lucius hasn't destroyed or broken him. And if tonight goes the way Albus thinks it will, he may have a chance to find out more of the details, and you and Harry between you will catch anything he misses…
Draco was beginning to see why he'd been placed under so many careful layers of shielding spells, and why he'd needed to learn as much magic as possible, before he was permitted to embark on this mission. The allure of the Pack, especially once they were all gathered in one place, was almost tangible, a slow spiral of scent in the air around him that promised peace and calm and happiness if he would only let go, surrender, allow himself to become one with it, one with Fox, one with—
No. He pulled back sharply, reminding himself of his memories, the true memories of what his life had been like before his father's successful rescue. That's a lie. All of it is a lie. They've hurt me as long as I can remember, and they'll do it again if I give them half a chance.
But it was hard to keep that in mind, especially when Meghan was curled so warm and trusting against his side, when his ears were filled with the barking laughter of Sirius Black (who had ruffled his hair in a startlingly familiar gesture when he'd first come in), when the man's wife Aletha kept humming something he could half-hear, something that reminded him of a song Fox had sung to him once or twice, all about rainbows and stars and wishes—
They're nothing to do with me anymore, and how could they be anything to do with Fox? Firmly, he pulled his mind back to the task at hand. It's just a weird coincidence that Meghan called me that. Or maybe they know there's someone related to me named that, and they were trying to scare me with it. Fox is my friend, so he's handling them for me, keeping me from getting caught in all their fancy mystical love-and-kisses gunk. Especially…
He hardly dared to look towards the spot where the werewolf and his wife were sitting, for fear his disgust and horror would override Fox's control of the body and give him away on the spot. Granted, Remus Lupin bore very little resemblance to the monsters of his pre-Fox bedtime stories—if he liked to eat his meat extra bloody, there was no sign of that on his person or clothing, and his smile was as free of stained, pointed teeth as that of any wizard of Draco's acquaintance—but that didn't change what he was.
And then there's Danger. He glanced quickly towards the woman, then away again before she could catch him looking. I can't help feeling like she saw me when she did that cheek-touch thing, but how could she have? Father set my shielding spells so well that the Dark Lord himself would have trouble seeing through them, not to mention some stupid jumped-up Muggle borrowing her husband's magic. I'm just nervous, on edge, because this part's going so well that I'm afraid something will go wrong next.
But the only thing that would be likely to go wrong—he stole a look at his watch—would be his going overtime and making his father, and the other Death Eaters waiting for his signal, start to fret about him.
And if I wait too long, Father might take my magic away again.
Even Fox's current control of the body couldn't stop Draco from shivering at that one. Lucius had been forced to that expedient only once since his son had returned to his proper place, but that once had been enough to convince Draco not to disobey.
Fox was pretty steamed at me for it too. What was it even about? Some stupid little thing—oh, that's right. I was in the library without his permission, poking at one of the walls. Why would I want to be in there anyway? I can't remember what I went in for, but I do know I haven't been back. That hurt, when he grabbed onto my hand and pulled my magic out of me like that. And even when I promised I'd be good, and he gave it back to me, it still stung to do anything magical for a day and a half afterwards…
To one side of him, Harry yelped in comic dismay and punched his godfather in the shoulder in an attempt to recover his snatched glasses, as Aletha shook her head with a sigh. To the other, Hermione listened intently to something Remus was telling her, while holding onto Danger's hand. Beside him, Meghan snuggled closer, pulling his arm more tightly around her, as though nothing could be wrong with the world while he held her by his side.
We need to get going, Draco thought toward Fox, trying his best to make the words sound intense and grown-up rather than childish and whiny. I'll get in trouble if I'm late.
I know. Fox sounded…not sad, exactly, Draco decided after considering it. More resigned, as if he'd expected this and was only sad at how quickly it had come. Let me make your excuses and get you alone, and then you can have the body back. But just fair warning—if you do get within range of Dumbledore…
Yes, I know. Draco kept his mental voice level with an effort. You won't help me.
More than that. Fox's answering tone was dark. I'll try to stop you. Just so we're clear.
Understood, Draco sent back, and quickly closed himself off for a few moments of private thought, all the more welcome since he had no reason to want to watch Fox be disgustingly goopy with the Pack.
He may try and stop me, but it's my body when all's said and done. Oh, he took over pretty smoothly a little while ago, but that was with my permission, because even the spell wasn't enough to make me act the way they were expecting. He won't be able to do that when I don't give permission, when I'm actively against it. That's just not possible.
Opening himself back up a bit, he observed with bewildered admiration as Fox accepted an embrace from both Lupins without so much as a shudder, as he actually hugged them as tightly as Draco sometimes wished he dared hug his own father, though he knew any such public demonstration of affection would be punished as befit a vulgar display by a young man of his breeding. Malfoys simply did not require such things, and that was all there was to it.
Though I do like it, in the dreams, when Fox hugs me or holds me, when he picks me up. Even sometimes when he gives me a kiss on the cheek, and I always thought kissing was for girls…
And a girl was kissing him now, he noted. Fox had lowered his body to one knee, and Meghan stretched herself upwards, to administer a kiss in the middle of his forehead. "Be well," she told him intently, gazing into his eyes. "And come back to us soon."
"I'll try." Fox returned the salute, addressing it to Meghan's cheek, then nodded to Harry and Hermione as they followed the Lupins and Sirius out of the kitchens. Aletha was waiting by the door, and smiled as she saw him looking her way.
"Come on, love," she said. "I know where you can have a little time to yourself."
And a little is all it's going to be. Draco mentally hugged himself in glee, as Fox obediently went to the side of the tall, dark witch. Just long enough to change over who's in control here, and plant the first Portkey target where no one will see my father and his friends using it, and then it's time for me to prove I deserve to be called a Malfoy…
Albus Dumbledore stroked a hand along the back of the gargoyle which guarded the stairway leading upward to the office occupied by the Head of Hogwarts. Helga Hufflepuff, he thought, might well have touched this same statue in this same place, on the night she walked out of the castle and into the Forest, never to return.
Turning away, he too began to walk, though his feet took him not only down but up as well, rambling aimlessly along corridors and past classrooms. At last he paused, leaning against a windowsill, looking out into the warm June night. The little alcove he had chosen was in one of Hogwarts's many isolated towers, away from statues and paintings.
Perfect for what must happen here. The only eyes and ears will be the ones I intend.
Idly, he drew his wand and tapped it once against the stones beside the window, then began to sketch a pretty drawing on the night air, a picture of three animals playing together, a dark-furred wolf sneaking up on a white fox, while a tricolored cat prepared to pounce on the wolf's back. A little more definition on the cat's eyes, but not too much, or it would seem to have been drinking certain highly regulated potions—
"Expelliarmus," hissed a boy's triumphant voice, and Dumbledore lost his grip on his wand, the force of the spell driving him into the stones he had softened only a moment before. He made sure to erase all traces of his own smile from his face before turning to face his attacker, moving slowly, as might an aged, injured man.
The fair-haired boy who stood before him with Dumbledore's wand resting in his off hand, pureblood pride written in his every line of body and face, was unmistakably the son of Lucius Malfoy. But deep within the gray eyes—or perhaps not so deep, for it was stirring even as Dumbledore looked for it—
"Hello, Draco," he said calmly, directing his words at both personages his Legilimency could sense within the young man before him. "I'm glad to see you well."
"Really?" Draco Malfoy scoffed, tucking the wand of elder wood inside his robes, his own hawthorn wand lowered to his side. "You're glad to see me? You shouldn't be. Don't you know what I'm here to do, old man? Can't you guess why I might have come here, here where I should have been all along?"
"I can guess what you believe. But why should I, when you wish to tell me?" Dumbledore spread his hands. "Please, continue."
"I'm here to kill you." The word seemed to bring Draco pleasure, as he lingered over it for a long, loving moment. "To tear down everything you stand for, and get my own back for everything your precious Pack ever did to me and mine. And there's nothing you can do to stop me."
"Without my wand, I would surely seem to be at your mercy." Dumbledore nodded once. "Proceed, then."
Draco frowned, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "What, just like that? You're not even going to try?"
"But perhaps I am trying, Draco." Dumbledore allowed his smile to return to his face, for the boy he was addressing would surely misinterpret it, and the other presences now witnessing this little interplay would just as surely understand it aright. "Perhaps I believe that you are not a killer. Certainly not without good cause."
"Good cause?" Draco sneered, and spat on the stones beside his feet. "You want good cause? Your friends killed my mother, dragged my father off to rot in prison, turned me into their servant boy—did their level best to wreck my life and keep me away from the one person who really cared for me for almost thirteen years—but it didn't last, old man. It couldn't. And now I'm here to bring you down, to get my revenge on the people who tried to destroy me and prove that I deserve to stand with my father at his Master's side. All with just two little words." He smirked and began to raise his wand into casting position. "Say good night, Headmaster."
Halfway to its target, Draco's arm locked into place, as though his joints had suddenly frozen. Draco stiffened, his eyes unfocusing, as though he looked within. "Fox?" he breathed aloud, incredulously. "But you can't—"
I haven't, up until now. The voice was silent, but as distinct to Dumbledore's Legilimency as the audible one was to his ears, and as well-known. Because I didn't want to scare you, or take the chance of hurting you. But you kept pushing ahead, you wouldn't listen, and I can't let you do this, Draco, especially not with my body—
"Your body?" Draco blinked at his arm, still obstinately refusing to rise above a forty-five-degree angle. "You're out of your mind—"
"In fact, he is not," said Dumbledore, his heart aching for the confusion and fear he could see warring for place on the features of the young man before him. "For those same thirteen years you mentioned, there has been no one in existence by the name of Draco Malfoy. The body you are currently using has belonged instead to a young man whose name is Draco Black, after the mother who asked her cousin and his family to adopt her child and bring him up in love. Though he is more commonly known, by that same family and by his friends here at Hogwarts…" He inclined his head to the person he could see watching him from behind the gray eyes. "…as Fox."
Author Notes:
And so it begins…
More soon! Please don't forget to review! Though I don't think I could stop now, not after seven years of plotting and planning these very scenes…
This story has been marked as suitable for adult readers only.