Chapter 14 - Reckless
"Disaster," Blaise sighed as he slumped into the plush armchair.
"What else did you expect?" Draco replied, sullenly kicking at the side of Blaise's chair. At least, he hadn't expected much else. Trust, friendship and good will only stretched so far, only lasted so long. His dissolution with Ginny. Hermione's with the Boy Wonder and his freckled sidekick. Examples that promising starts did not promise anything.
"I mean, it's ridiculous, isn't it?" Blaise growled, standing up and pacing in front of the other boy.
"Sure," Draco said, shrugging his shoulders noncommittally. Of course, it was ridiculous. And of course, it made sense too. The Gryffindors, with the exception of Longbottom (he was always the exception), had been suspicious of the Slytherins in their midst and followed the Great Harry Potter's example in shunning them. Not that Gryffindors and Slytherins interacted much beyond the occasional insult and scuffle on the pitch anyway. But with Hermione involved, the matter was entirely different. Because in shunning them, the Gryffindors shunned one of their own. And in helping her, Draco and Blaise isolated her even further.
She never said a word about it but the despondency was written on her pretty face, in the dark circles under her eyes, in the strain around her mouth. She thanked them for their concern, assured them that she valued their support, but insisted that only she could right the misunderstanding. Of course, this required the Boy Wonder and his sidekick to actually listen to her first. But they all had their own battles to fight.
Meanwhile, Blaise doted on her. Escorted her to class, to the tower, to the greenhouse. He even neglected Draco. Not that the blond minded. It was all part of a cycle. Or rather, downfall that characterized his life. But then, Blaise had to unload himself onto Draco at the end of the day.
[Did he have to hear all of Blaise's righteous rants?] Draco rubbed his temple. Suffice to say, Draco Malfoy didn't particularly enjoy Blaise's company now that the other boy's thoughts were consumed by Hermione. And his irritation was further compounded by the prospect of spending all of winter hols with Blaise after stupidly agreeing to plans without actually listening to them.
Had it only been a week since Blaise had tricked him while walking back from the pitch? Surely everything belonged to another lifetime.
"Calm down, mate. The whole bloody castle can hear you."
"No one's even here," Blaise scoffed.
Draco sighed. That was true. Hardly anyone had stayed at Hogwarts for the break. Not now when rumors of war compelled parents to keep their children close to home. But for some, there were no parents and there was no home.
The flames in the hearth leaped up, and Blaise jumped back in surprise. Draco merely blinked as Remus Lupin stumbled out of the fireplace and into the cold gray common room. Remus hastily dusted his robes before smiling tiredly at the two Slytherins.
"Are you boys ready to head over to the Zabini estate?"
Blaise, who had almost choked on his own breath, managed to croak, "Just a moment," before scrambling to his room.
"Well, I assume you, Draco, have been ready for some time," Remus said as he sat down heavily in the nearest armchair.
"Of course," Draco said brusquely. He didn't like Remus' kind eyes. They made him uncomfortable.
They sat in silence for a few moments, the seconds stretching into eternity in the emptiness.
"I can take you somewhere else instead."
Draco shook his head. Where else? The Manor? The hovel Remus called a home? Grimmauld Place? It didn't really matter where he was. But then again, perhaps he could go to 12 Grimmauld and see his mother. Sit by her. Look at her beautiful face. He leaned forward, the request on his lips. But then, he sat back again. Did it even matter? She was practically a corpse already.
Remus saw the conflict in the quicksilver eyes of the boy before him. He gently patted Draco's pale hand. As though he read the Slytherin's mind, he said, "Perhaps you could visit your mother."
"Why did you give up on her?" Draco asked instead.
"I haven't," Remus replied, his voice unsteady. He sat back in the chair.
"You know that's not what I mean. I mean," Draco's voice was quiet, vulnerable, "all those years ago. Why did you let her go?" He straightened his posture. "How could you let her go?"
"It's complicated," Remus replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
"Life," Draco replied slowly, "is complicated."
A pregnant pause. The air hummed. Finally, Remus said, "I couldn't give her what she wanted."
"And you think my father did?"
Remus sighed and ran a hand through his ragged hair. He was nothing like the Malfoys, nothing like the cool elegant boy that sat before him. "You know, your grandparents would have never approved."
"That didn't stop Andromeda."
"No. But your mother was not Andromeda."
"So you don't think she loved you enough?"
"No, that's…" Why did Draco have to ask all the hard questions? "I don't know what she would have been willing to give up for me, for us, but I was not going to let her do it."
"You left her then?"
"Draco." Remus said, almost sternly. He couldn't let the boy break down all the walls he had built over the years. He couldn't let him deny all the excuses that kept him sane. "I had to step back and let her live her life. She wanted children. She wanted a home, a family. She would've been chained to a werewolf, to poverty, to shame."
Draco thought he should have been angry. But he wasn't. He understood. "You thought she would have hated you. I don't think she ever could." Though he already knew the answer, Draco asked it anyway. "Do you regret it?"
"Of course. Everyday of my life."
"If you had married her instead, I wouldn't have been born." Draco paused and looked Remus in the eye. "She would've been happy. She would've been content with you. I don't think you would have disappointed her the way I have. It would've been better that way."
"Dra-" Remus began.
"Oi! I'm ready," Blaise called. The next moment, he was in the Common Room. "Ay, professor, do you think I could pop in the kitchens before we go? My mum doesn't keep any sweets at home."
As Remus escorted Blaise to the kitchens, Draco rolled his eyes. It was a flimsy excuse and made even weaker by Blaise's request that their former professor occupy him; in case, he got lost.
It was his birthday today. Sixteen useless years. Fossett had served him breakfast in bed and fussed over him like a mother hen. Draco had hoped that would've been the end of it, especially given Blaise's recent distraction. But hope was a thing long fled.
"Child Rowland to the dark tower came,
His word was still, Fee, fie, foh, fum,
I smell the blood of an Englishman."*
Draco recited the lines slowly, as though from a dream. He didn't remember exactly where he had read the verse and he half-thought perhaps it was all a dream. He began imagining Blaise and Remus entering the drab Common Room with fake smiles plastered on their faces and a double chocolate treacle cake at hand. But then, a tall redhead man in worn robes stumbled from the fireplace and Draco was no longer merely living in his head.
"Er, Mr. Weasley?" Draco asked, his palms flat against the arms of his chair, holding him up in a half-seated, half-standing position.
Arthur Weasley was a mess. His sparse hair stuck out in all directions and his eyes were wide and troubled. He moved towards Draco in jerked, frantic movements.
If Draco had known what fear was, he would have been fearful. But he had moved past that and only watched Arthur Weasley come towards him without feeling, without a sense of connection to the scene before him. The blond just stood and waited.
"Draco," Arthur managed. He placed a shaking hand on the boy's shoulder. "I need your help. It's Fred."
Draco blinked for a moment. Arthur knew better than to make such a request. The Slytherin wasn't suppose to be healing anyone anymore. Even sealing skin over a simple parchment cut had sapped his strength. Draco looked down at his finger, at the thin scar running along its length, almost down to the edge of his family ring, and then, at the entrance of the Common Room. Blaise and Remus would come back in any moment. He had to act now. It was perhaps one of the few proactive things he had done all year. He turned to the older man and nodded, and Arthur Weasley ushered the blond into the fireplace.
~*~
Harry's present sat on top of the pile. Ginny had wrapped it last. It could have been a nod to tradition. She had always wrapped Harry's present last ever since she met him as an awestruck ten-year-old girl who didn't know any better. Ginny didn't think she knew any better now. But this time around, she had not savored the moment it took to wrap Harry's gift as she had done only last year. She had not reserved the shiny emerald wrapping paper expressively for him either. She had wrapped the darn thing with green paper because it was all she had left. And Harry's present had been last because when she had turned to the remaining items, her heart had lurched up into her throat.
On the faded brown carpet of her room laid three objects. One, a box of chocolate from Honeydukes, was for Dean. Ginny pried the lid off and popped a truffle in her mouth. At least, it was suppose to be for Dean. The next was a book for Hermione. You could never fail with a book. Really, she could have given the older girl any book and she would have been ecstatic. But Ginny had searched the used stacks for nearly three hours before she found something special for Hermione. It was a Muggle book about art. Ginny didn't understand much about Muggle drawings but there were beautiful pictures of women with long flowing hair and intriguing expressions, all painted by a man named Waterhouse. Ginny had wanted to see the look on Hermione's face when she opened her gift. But Ginny had bought the book before school even started. Before everything had started.
Ginny shook her head and picked up the last item, a black obsidian pendant on a leather string. It was a healing stone, a strengthening stone. She had saved up for weeks to buy it. And now it rested on the palm of her hand, cold and hard. Just like the person she had purchased it for.
Ginny gripped the stone and its glass edge dug into her skin as she stared out into the night sky. It was the winter solstice, the longest night of the year, the beginning of winter. Molly Weasley would have described it otherwise. She would have said it marked the return of the sun. But Ginny had since looked at things differently.
A knock at the door. "Oi, Ginny. It's dinnertime."
Rather than put up a fuss about it, Ginny slipped the stone into her pocket and followed her youngest brother. They walked sullenly down the stairs, each occupied with their own thoughts.
"Harry's suppose to come in a few days."
"I know."
"Just trying to make conversation, is all."
Ron's gloom somehow made her feel guilty. As though it were her fault that Hermione snogged Draco Malfoy. Of course, how much worse would it have been if he knew she had also snogged the Prince of Slytherin? As they entered the kitchen, Ginny tried not to think of how betrayed Ron might've felt. She was half-afraid that he would've cared less.
It took her a moment to realize something was wrong. The food laid invitingly on the table but Molly Weasley was nowhere near it. Instead, the plump matron was standing beside the door to the living room, staring blankly into space and wringing her hands.
"Mum?" Even Ron stopped mid-step to look at their mother. Perhaps the entire Hermione business had given him more perspicacity. Normally he would have been halfway through his meal before he had noticed anything was amiss.
Molly Weasley's head snapped towards them. "Oh my babies!" she exclaimed, clearly agitated. "Why don't you eat? Dinner's ready. On the table," she finished with a careless wave behind her.
Ron and Ginny exchanged troubled looks. As their gazes slipped away from each other, they heard a cry issue from the living room. They all rushed out of the kitchen.
Molly ran straight to Fred, who had been laid out on the coffee table. Of course, Bill had lengthened and elevated it into a makeshift cot while Fleur was busily flicking her wand over Fred's wounded chest.
Ginny had never seen Fred cry before. But big fat tears were now rolling from the corner of his eyes as he tried to hold in his screams of pain. Ginny crept up, next to the makeshift bed, and was horrified to see the deep angry slashes across her brother's chest. She almost fell back in an unequal mix of awe and dread when she realized that each wound Fleur closed reopened mere seconds later.
"What are you doing?" she muttered in shock. "Why aren't you closing them up?"
Strong hands fell on her shoulders and moved her back, as though physical distance could and would dull the pain and horror. "Fleur is doing everything she can," Bill said close to her ear. "But these are Dark wounds. They're different from common ones."
"Why can't we close them? How are they different?" Ron asked quietly.
Of course, Ron and Ginny knew about magic that destroyed, magic that killed, but that didn't make it any easier for their oldest brother to talk about it, to describe it and most of all, to acknowledge that, even at their young ages, they had already experienced it. Indeed, Ron and Ginny had often barreled forth into danger without consulting anyone other than themselves or anything more than their own sense of righteousness; yet, now they looked to him for answers, for guidance and he had nothing, absolutely nothing for them. "We don't always understand the Dark side," he finally said. "To best fight it, we need to know it." He didn't think he could say any more.
Another piercing cry from Fred. "Just end it," he sobbed. "Just let me…"
"No!" Molly half-hissed, half-sobbed. "Don't you give up, don't you dare-"
The flames in the fireplace leapt up bright and green. Bill sighed with relief as a figure stumbled out. His father. But no, as the smoke cleared, it became apparent that instead of a gangly balding man, stood a thin, angular boy with white-blond hair.
Draco's eyes swept past the nearly identical mops of red hair. He hadn't been looking for Ginny but of course, he could not help but notice her. She was standing beside her brother, Ron; her eyes wide with surprise and fear. He felt something pull inside of him but before he let himself think any further of it, of her, he moved forward. Fleur was hovering over a damaged Fred Weasley.
"Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé ici?" he asked the Veela.
Fleur hadn't noticed Draco's entrance but his question drew her attention. Her head snapped up and she looked at him with her expressive eyes. "Non," she replied, shaking her head. "Aie besoin de partir."
As Fleur pushed him away, back towards the fireplace where Arthur Weasley had just stumbled out, Draco stepped to the side and circled the cot where Fred laid. Molly moved out of the way for him.
"No, youz canzt let 'im do it! Youz canzt. Hez a boi!" Fleur was shooting.
But Draco had already posed his hands above Fred's bleeding wounds and he was already feeling that dizzying surge of power that often accompanied this course of action. But looking at Fred Weasley's injuries, looking at the deep gashes that tore his chest apart, made Draco pause. They were slowly opening up again, despite Fleur's latest ministrations. For Fred, it must've felt like he was receiving the wounds anew. Except from the people who we trying to help him.
Draco knew of this magic. Though he had spent most of last year dodging Aunt Bella's advances, he also absorbed a lot of information from her. Information about Dark magic, of course. After all, she had been - was - steeped in it. All of the Death Eaters were. He had seen them tweak with magic. At least, the more talented and unhinged ones like his aunt. And Bellatrix, especially, was brilliant at it.
Sometimes, it was frighteningly simple and thus, even more perverse. The first time she did a demonstration for Draco, she lured a stout Muggle man who had smiled winsomely at her only to beg for a quick death on his knees just moments later. But no, Bella wanted to play. She explained to Draco that it was merely a simple cutting spell, laced with a healing charm that prevented blood clots. "Clever, isn't it, Draco darling?" Bella had smiled beatifically. "Using something good to serve an entirely different purpose. That's all Dark magic really is. What you make of it, what you put into it. " And she laughed as the man at her feet bled to death from razor thin cuts along his forearms that shouldn't have killed anyone.
Draco did not know what made him turn to Ginny but he did, his grey eyes locking with her cinnamon ones. As they silently looked at each, really looked at each other for the first time in over a fortnight, Draco realized that for some reason, he needed her reassurance, her strength, to go through with it. He had never done anything like this before. Never battled a Dark power that was still alive, still working on its victim. The most draining thing he had ever worked on was Dumbledore's hand. It had been black and withered, burnt by some magical fire, Draco mused. But by a force that had already been destroyed.
And why he should turn to her at this time was incomprehensible to him. She who betrayed him. She that nearly broke him. But still...a voice in the back of his mind told him that she had taught him, despite the anger and despite the despair he had spiraled into because of her faithlessness, he was capable of being a better person than he had ever thought he could ever be. He had went with Arthur Weasley on his own accord, hadn't he? And now, he was here and he could save her brother because he willed it to be so. Not because of what the Order could do for him in return and not because of anything he wanted from her. And with Gryffindor recklessness, he turned to Fred and placed his hands over his Dark marks.
Ron looked around him. Everyone's eyes were trained on Draco and Fred. "What the bloody hell is going on here? What is he doing? Why isn't anyone stopping him?"
The power surged from within him, from the very core of him. Beneath his trembling fingers, Fred's wounds were closing. But he had to go further, he had to go deeper, he had to ensure the vicious slashes would not open again. He closed his eyes, letting his tactile senses take over. He concentrated his strength on extracting the Dark magic from the flesh. And he felt his will win over.
Jumbled pieces of Fred's memories began flashing behind his eyes. He saw a toddler looking curiously at a redhead infant. Arthur Weasley with hair. A well-built young man expertly handling a dragon. Piles and piles of books. Garden gnomes. A riotous Christmas dinner with too much red. And then, the feelings came.
He had never experienced anything quite like it. He wanted to alternatively laugh, cry, and smile as Fred's montage continued through him, passed into him, invaded him. He felt what Fred felt at each moment and he wanted to continue watching, to continue feeling what it was to be happy. But everything tore apart as an agonized scream rent the air. Draco wanted to pull his hands away from Fred and cover his ears. But he couldn't. He couldn't do anything but listen to that terrible sound burn through his chest and only afterwards would he learn that it had been him screaming.
Draco had started trembling early on and Fleur had rushed forward to pry his hands off of Fred. But his usually cool skin was burning hot and she jumped back as the contact with his flesh scorched hers. That was when Ginny began panicking. She, of course, knew nothing about Draco's healing powers, only that they existed, only that it made him tired when he did too much. But from the looks of those around her, it was evident something was wrong. Deadly wrong.
And then he had begun screaming.
Everyone seemed to burst into activity but Ginny stood still, rooted to the spot. She listened to his agony and felt it run deep into her own chest. She thought she would collapse.
But she didn't. It was Draco who did. His hands suddenly slid off of Fred. And it was Ron, Ron of all Weasleys, who caught Draco as the blond's legs gave out from under him. And just when things seemed to finally slow down, they sped up to twice their previous pace. Fred sat up, feeling his unmarked chest, with disbelief apparent in his movements and in his face. Molly rushed forward, followed by Bill. Fleur was running around the cot to Draco. Remus Lupin and Blaise Zabini burst into the living room. And Draco Malfoy began coughing up blood.
Remus was instantly at Draco's side, nearly pushing Ron out of the way while Blaise watched, making agitated side-steps that would have been amusing in a different situation. "We need to get him help," Remus said, nodding to Blaise. Blaise leaned down and brought his arm across Draco's back and helped haul him up. They practically dragged him to the fireplace where Arthur stood, an apology already on his lips.
With a fury perhaps Remus himself did not know he was capable of, the former Professor cut Arthur's speech short and snarled, "Of course you would be willing to sacrifice someone else's son for your own purposes."
And then they were gone, leaving Arthur to sag against the fireplace. He had a feeling that Remus had not been referring to Narcissa per se when he had said that. He turned tired blue eyes to his family. Molly, Bill and Fleur had taken Fred upstairs. But Ginny and Ron were still there. Ginny, with an entirely blanked look on her face. Ron, with a bowed head. Arthur echoed his son's stance. They had all done Draco Malfoy a disservice.
A/N: After much deliberation, I have decided to post only on the ficjournal, We3Sisters, at http://community.livejournal.com/we3sisters/. All are welcome and you don't have to be an LJ user to access these stories. Because I have started posting "A Common Cure" here but not at We3Sisters, I will continue posting ACC here until it is finished or I have caught up at the site. If you are interested, I have other stories posted on that site but not here, including, "At the World's End" (http://community.livejournal.com/we3sisters/33597.html) and "And the Twilight Sounds," a four part fic (http://community.livejournal.com/we3sisters/35513.html). Thanks so much.