Chapter 6: Death on the Bridge
As Draco leant against the bridge's rail, he let go of a huff of warm breath and watched as it drifted off, vanishing into the crisp air. The sun had set over Hogwarts hours ago, gifting the land with delicate shades of purple and orange which settled over the snow in hazy hues. All that was left now was darkness and a bitter chill, like cold water dripping down Draco's spine. Not even the half-moon nor the stars were visible, their silver glow hidden by navy-tinted clouds hanging about the air. He'd spotted a few Dementors hanging around the treetops of the Forbidden Forest – he'd have to tell Luna not to venture there to feed 'Toad' and the Thestrals alone again.
Petite birds – three black and one white – swam around him, darting between the decorative wooden carvings on the bridge. He'd conjured them when he'd gotten here, needing to give his magic a challenge. This particular conjuring charm had been taught by McGonagall and had been one of the few lessons he'd paid attention to in sixth year.
Holding a finger out, the white bird twittered over and sat on his finger. Frowning, he decided it looked too much like the dead bird from the vanishing cabinet, and so he flung it away, watching as his magic faltered and made the bird poof into feathers.
He sighed, focusing on keeping the black birds intact.
Tomorrow students would be leaving for the Christmas holidays, a daunting task for Draco. The last time he'd seen his father was a visit to Azkaban. His eyes had been as dark as the visiting room's coal-grey walls and his skin had been paler than normal, matching the whiteness of his hair – as white as the snow around Hogwarts. His striped uniform had been buttoned up to the top as if he were trying to suffocate himself. Draco saw the slight tremor running through Lucius's shoulders as he tried to keep composed.
When he stepped off the express and onto Platform 9¾ tomorrow, Draco would be going back to a new set of parents, shiny and not at all as scattered and frail as when they had been under the constant watch of the Dark Lord or the year that followed, full of hearings and crucifying headlines.
Draco could foresee tomorrow as if it were a plan.
Mother will smile as he steps from the train and walks over to them. Father's smile will only enter his eyes.
Once with them, Narcissa will kiss Draco's forehead.
Lucius will clap a hand onto Draco's shoulder.
They'll leave: drive outside of muggle London in the Ministry appointed car.
Arrive home
Talk quietly over dinner, ask questions about Draco and his time at school.
This had been the plan up until fifth year. Then Lucius was incarcerated. The real world and all of its darkness crept over the three Malfoys, trapping them beneath dark paws as if they were something nice to eat.
As for number 6, the questions this year would be ones Draco did not wish to answer, questions he did not know how to answer. He simply wasn't aware of how to be their boy anymore; he was almost a man, yet his temper was marred by this body's hormonal development, and his mind was stunted by trauma. Confliction weighed heavy in his gut; he didn't wish for his mother to deduce that he was different as that would cause a world of problems, yet he couldn't help but wish for that. He wanted her to know all that he'd been through and to hug him, to love him, not flee to France as soon as she legally could. He wanted her sympathy and for her to give him chocolate – the fancy French kind that they loved.
His stomach growled. The rest of the castle was dining, but he'd skipped, in favour of seeking a final moment of solace with Hogwarts upon the bridge overlooking the castle and the great ravine beneath where he now stood. Nott had been getting on his nerves. Crabbe and Goyle – almost constants in his life – had drifted to his side just after Pansy had stopped bothering him in favour of Nott's attentions. It stung, he couldn't lie. Even in this time, none of them wished to be his friend. Though, he supposed he hadn't even tried to keep them. He'd pushed them away just as they'd done to him when the Dark Lord fell.
Pursing his lips, his fingers played with a loose thread on his green and silver scarf.
He hadn't given much thought to his problems; preferring the simplicity of third year essays and homework over the enigma of time and apologies. He figured it didn't really matter how long it took to get back, eighth year could wait. The only negative was missing the bonds he'd began to form, and with each passing day, he felt the tether to eighth year Luna and the others weaken a little as if their friendships were a plant he'd neglected to water.
Rubbing his forehead, he admitted to himself that he didn't even know if he wanted forgiveness. Surely not everything he'd said to people had been terrible. Surely, he wasn't that bad of a person. But there was also a wriggle of worry inside him; if he apologised and tried to be 'nice' then people would expect that from him. He didn't know if he was capable of that, and his incapability would only lead to disappointment from those he sought to please. There was one silver lining though: at least their disappointment would not lead to a swift Crusio as it once would have, nor would it end with the death of his parents.
Snidely, he laughed to himself. Most people were not as temperamental as his family's bald and noseless house guest had been.
"What's so funny?" Asked a familiar voice. Lupin was stood not far from him, sheathed in the shadows of the bridge. Draco supposed that his own visage didn't look much different, only visible because of the hints of silver on his uniform and the whiteness of his windswept hair.
Draco shook his head, "Nothing, Professor."
Lupin walked to him, mirroring Draco's position by leaning against the railing. The moon decided to creep out from under the looming clouds, illuminating the flecks of grey in Lupin's brown hair. Apart from the grey, he was quite young looking, albeit seemingly ill. Draco had experienced it enough to know that the transformation from man into beast was not something that exhausted you only on and around a full moon; it was a constant overhanging cloud blighting the brightness from your days. The hunger disturbed you, the overpowering scents exhausted you, the stress drove you to sleepless nights of checking the sky for a full moon just in case you messed up your lunar chart.
"I saw you in the entrance to the Great Hall," Lupin said, holding out a hand to tempt the birds to sit there. "I thought you'd join everyone for the final evening meal, but instead you're here."
"So are you." Draco frowned. With his mind, he nudged one of the birds from the circuit around his head they had absently found and made it sit on Lupin's palm.
"I came to check on you." He said, smiling at the small creature. "These birds… they're marvellous, by the way."
Draco pressed his lips together, cautiously smiling and giving a nod in thanks.
"Takes a very talented wizard to conjure such creatures in third year." He smiled, nudging Draco's shoulder proudly. Draco's stomach plummeted; he felt like a fraud. "McGonagall would love them. She says you're a very talented, driven boy."
"Oh?"
"She also says your temperament around other students has changed a great deal."
"How so?" Draco said before failing to swallow down the enlarged lump in his throat. If McGonagall had noticed, his mother surely would know something was off over Christmas.
"She said you're becoming less of a boy, more focused on learning than gloating."
"She hates me."
"Nonsense." Lupin smoothed a finger down the bird's back. "She's a teacher, and many of us have our…" His brow wrinkled as he mulled over the right word. "…differences with students, yet I do not believe that any of us hate the ones we teach."
"Except Snape."
Lupin chortled, eyes widening in shock before firmly pressing his lips together to muffle his laughter, but he couldn't hide the twinkle in his eyes. "I would try to remain partial and professional, but, yes, I do think he hates many students."
"And we cannot forget Filch, who isn't a teacher, but certainly hates us." Smirked Draco.
"Oh, yes, he hates all." Lupin cringed.
Draco laughed softly, joined by Lupin. The professor held his palm near Draco's shoulder and watched as the bird scooted from palm to luxury coat, before the bird nestled into Draco's scarf, feathers tickling his cheek.
"See?" Lupin smiled. "Perfect work, these birds are."
Draco bowed his head and vanished the birds, much to Lupin's disappointment.
"You know," Lupin began. "I followed you here out of concern. I'm concerned in a few ways, you see."
"Yes?"
"The first, well, you're out here alone in the dark when you should be back in the hall. There are Dementors and an escaped convict on the loose, and you're just a child."
A smile tugged at Draco's chapped lips. "You didn't call Black a killer."
"That brings us to the second area of concern. Your theory about Peter Pettigrew…" Lupin nodded, mostly to himself. "It's plausible, so very plausible." Without thinking, Draco smiled fully causing Lupin to place a hand on his shoulder. "Your theory, as far as we can tell, is still a theory."
"A good theory." Draco raised his chin.
Lupin nodded though his grip on Draco's shoulder grew tighter. "Promise me you won't go looking for Black."
Draco nodded sheepishly, already thinking of the great black dog he'd chased near the Thestrals.
"As much as I don't want to believe the theory, I can't stop thinking about it." Lupin shook his head, eyes settled firmly on the half-moon.
"Is there a third reason for concern?" Draco gave a withering smile.
Lupin crouched to his eyelevel, "Earlier this year, after the boggart incident, I asked if you were safe at home… and you replied 'much safer than last year'…"
"This again?" Draco nodded, bitter as the corners of his mouth tipped downwards. "You're afraid for me now that I'm going home for Christmas? There's no need for it. I'm fine."
"You're just as blasé as Dumbledore I see." Lupin said, making Draco's frown transform into a scowl. "Draco, I've heard stories… about Pure-blood families. I've seen what family can do to each other. If there's any way your father is connected to Greyback-"
"Since you won't drop the topic, I'll enlighten you." Draco said, chest puffing. "My father is not associated with Greyback!" …yet.
Lupin's head bowed some in acquiescence. "Draco," his voice was low. "What did you mean when you replied 'much safer than last year'? And if that is at all tied to Greyback, I want to know."
Draco scoffed, "Why can't you be like everyone else here? They don't give a shit about me or my problems unless it gets in the way of something they want."
"I'd like an answer, please."
"What if I tell you that I am safe? Unbelievably so. Will you drop this?"
Lupin raised a brow.
"My mother and father love me. They wouldn't hurt me." He said, unable to keep his lip from trembling – it was the cold, not the memory of father watching as his son was blinded by the pain of being marked by the Dark Lord. The memories of war seeped into his body as if freezing water were streaming through his veins. His breath came out in a shaking huff much whiter than it had been just a minute ago, and the air around them grew icy. Draco felt his deepest fears running wild across his body, making his heart bash against his ribs like an electric storm trapped in a glass cage.
As if sensing something was there, he leant over the railing overlooking the ravine. His hair flopped from his forehead, hanging dully. He studied the drop from here to down there; way down where Potter had led a dragon, where the bridge's debris had fallen after Longbottom had blown the bridge up, where Slytherins would fold parchment into birds and see how far down they could fly.
One thing he knew: the drop, unaided by magic, would kill him.
A haunting rasp came from beneath the bridge. At first, Draco thought he'd made the noise. He hadn't.
A wraithlike swath of darkness rose from under the bridge, slicing through the air until it hovered before Draco. The Dementor inhaled sharply, its breath pulling out every spec of joy Draco had ever felt in a stream of foggy white ribbon.
Distantly, he heard Lupin shout as his vision swirled. Draco fell to the deck, shaking. His palms grew as slick as his cheeks and forehead. Lupin launched the Dementor away with a Patronus and it screeched, crow-like, as it returned to the darkness of the ravine.
Lupin's Patronus faded away, its ghostly silver glow fading into nothing and leaving them under the shy moonlight.
"They shouldn't be this close to the castle." Lupin said, stern as he leant next to Draco. "Are you alright?" His eyes swept over Draco's pallid face, frowning when he found that he was clearly not alright. He fumbled as he searched his tatty robes for his pocket, finally finding it and revealing a long and thin rectangle wrapped in silver. It shone under the moon; a dull star in Lupin's palm. "Here." He passed it to Draco.
"What is it?" Draco pulled back a corner of the wrapper, nausea making his actions slow.
"Chocolate."
Draco's stomach audibly growled.
"We must go to the Hospital Wing, get Pomfrey to see if you're alright."
"If I spend another minute in that place, it'll be one minute too long." Draco frowned before biting into the bar. Almost immediately, he felt a tingle go from the tip of his tongue to his toes, warming him and relieving the feeling of utter depression the Dementor had left in him.
"Let's at least get back inside the castle. I can't feel my toes." Lupin said, helping Draco up.
They walked along the bridge and into the courtyard, finally escaping the darkness when they passed into the clocktower. Lupin dodged the great pendulum, pulling a comical face as if to say 'phew' as it missed him. Draco smiled, though it was shaky. The life was still coming back to him, aided by small bites of chocolate.
"That was terrible." Sighed Draco.
"Dementors are." Lupin nodded, hand reaching out to pat Draco's shoulder.
"Why did it go for me?" Draco scowled. "You were stood right there, so, why me?"
"They-"
"Oh, I know!" Draco interrupted, sarcastic. "I must be the weak one."
"You are not weak." Lupin said, voice hardening. "Dementors are among the foulest creatures on the earth, feeding on every good feeling and every happy memory until a person is left with nothing but their worst experiences. I had a similar discussion the other day with another student who seems to think he is also weak around Dementors."
"Potter?"
Lupin's brows rose.
Draco gave a weak smirk, "He's the only other one I know to have a Dementor boggart and he's been attacked by one."
Lupin gave a little smile, "Bright, you are."
Draco shook his head, guilty and still feeling like a cheat. He was skilled for an eighteen-year-old, and in this version of third year, he'd argue he was on the same level as Granger – finally.
"You're more similar than you know." Said Lupin, faintly smiling.
Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes in that great way that made him dizzy.
"Both of you seem to have gone through horrors that your classmates can scarcely imagine." Lupin said, and the familiar – and entirely unwelcome – feeling of empathy for Saint bloody Potter wrenched in Draco's guts. "That is why the Dementors are attracted to you and Harry."
Draco's jaw clenched, before he looked Lupin dead in the eye. "I want to do what you did. To- to cast a Patronus."
Lupin's brows arched, "I'm not an expert."
"Teach me." Said Draco, before nibbling on more of the chocolate.
"Tell you what, I'll give you a few lessons after Christmas."
A smile lit Draco's eyes. "I know the theory work, but I've never been able to cast one."
Draco hadn't given up hope that he could conjure one – he just hoped his Patronus was not a bloody ferret.
"Of course, you know the theory behind a Patronus." Lupin smiled proudly. "The feast is still going. I'll escort you there myself, and then I want you to gorge yourself on carrots and sprouts…"
Draco pulled a face.
"But first," Lupin smiled, mischievous. "I want you to finish your chocolate on the way there."
"Yes, professor." Draco said, happily scoffing down a large bite. The joy was returning to his body, running along his spine like a calming hand tracing patterns along his spine.
"Merry Christmas, Draco." Lupin smiled, eyes as warm and gentle as candlelight.
Smiling up at Lupin, Draco spoke around a lump of chocolate, "Merry Christmas, Professor."
…
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