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Chapter 6
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A different view of chapter 9 of Runaway Dragon
http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=431805&chapter=9
Poor damn kid.
He's really not coping is he. Wrenched from his world into this, and now I'm kicking him out. No certainties left, no wonder he's trying to hang onto anything he can that stabilises him.
Billy, the dog, the cat, Munin.
It has to be the reason he's handling the backpack like that, it could have been anything as long as it's in his hands and he can focus on it.
Once he settles down he'll be alright, he won't need that security blanket anymore. He won't want it, everyone will laugh at him for having a scuffed cheap thing like that.
A Raker's cap will be less embarassing, but how can I tell him that he can't keep that allegiance once he finds his new home? That he'll have to forget everything here and forge new alliances? Maybe I won't have to tell him, once he's back in his own world he'll forget this one.
Sarah bundles us both out the door, hurrying for the train. The kids come with us, but I don't know Draco's even noticing, he's looking about him as though nothing's real. Slowing his steps in a most irritating way. damn it boy I know you are upset but pull yourself together!
We just make the train, the timing does my already difficult mood no good. Only the Gods know why I bother to bring this damn dog, but it might give Draco something else to think about other than his helplessness. To spend long hours trapped and helpless at the mercy of faceless others and not knowing your fate is something I know all too well. At least you are getting cushioned seats and a window to look out of Draco, as prisons go this train is better than most.
I watch him try to deal. He pokes at the bird, watches the dog, the scenery, the dog, me, the bird, the dog... Does he know he's wrapping his arms around himself in the classic body language of fear and longing for protection?
Well, I suppose I may as well try Sarah's suggestion. I told her she was being ridiculous but she gave me that "not fit to be let out without a keeper" look and reminded me that her track record on dealing with troubled kids and emotions in general is a lot better than mine. Which is true, she always seems to see her way to a solution for the damaged. No matter how damaged. Sometimes I feel like her master work...
So like a good apprentice, I follow my master's instructions. Trying very hard to look like I think this is a perfectly sensible idea, I hand him the parcel. He looks as unconfortable as I feel. This is going to go dreadfully wrong, I just know it. "Just open it. You'll see"
Oh Gods, he's now convinced I'm insane. He's looking at me as though he should call St Mungos.
Except he's hugging the thing. Holding it like he holds Billy.
Why do I doubt her? Why do I think she's incapable given the constant reminders of the opposite?
"And just look at the way you're holding that teddy. I think you've needed something to cuddle for a long time."
And I am sending him away from Billy and the dog and even that wartorn feline. He'd prefer child to bear, but he can't take Billy, as I tell him he can't exactly turn up with a child in an owl cage!
The image dispells his mood and mine, and we laugh together. Somewhere in there the train has changed from a rolling prison to.. well.. a train. I didn't realise how dark I'd been feeling until the laughter dispelled it.
Tight emotions released in laughter, who would have thought dogs and teddybears so useful?
Some laughter would do that sourfaced old prune some good, but I doubt she'll realise it. And if watching boy and bird playing silly games doesn't do it, nothing will!
I ignore her and relax, enjoying this very unaccustomed feeling of contentment. Later I realised just how happy and relaxed I was when I didn't get that conditioned reflex of attention and worry when confronted by an obvious Ministry bureaucrat. It's not as bad as when I see an Auror, but you can't spend years dealing with fear and pain and despair dealt out by the Ministry without some reaction.
Mind you, the words out of the fool's mouth would have dispelled any such learned fear. I have dealt with many many Ministry incompetents in my time, but I don't think I've ever come across one quite so foolish.
Or who offers me such a tempting morsel.
I play with him a bit, how not? I'll take my minor revenges where I can get them. Smith eh? Well, there are many Smiths, but I somehow feel this one's son will be quite obvious. I am quite capable of visiting the sins of the father upon the son, especially if the child talks like that! As he almost certainly will, they always seem to.
And the child will probably be as blind as the father, how could anyone look at Draco and me and think we are related? He's got Lucius's blonde good looks, and I am the pantomime villain. But then we are not acting like ex-Death-Eater with potential-Death-Eater are we. Or teacher and student. Is this father and son? Would this fool know more than I do about that? I suppose that Lucius wasn't much of a father really. Progenitor maybe, but father never.
Damn! Why did I have to ruin the mood like that? Reminding him of Azkaban? Of family? Of what he has to do? He's depressed now, eyeing the path, realising that he's about to lose Munin and the dog and all his certainty.
Don't even think about you not wanting to lose him Severus Snape. You must let him go. You have to. You can't ruin his life by holding onto him.
But maybe long enough for lunch won't hurt.
And I can pick up some information while I'm at it. Salve my conscience that way. I have the skills of getting information out of people who don't realise they are giving it, may as well use them. If I have to send Draco away, I must be sure to send him to someone better than Lucius.
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I have sometimes wanted a house-elf to spare Sarah the drudgery of housework, but this particular specimen reminds me of why I try to do my share. I have the ones at Hogwarts more-or-less trained not to come near me and to speak decently when they do, so I'd forgotten just how irritating they can be. I spare an eye for the boy, who isn't coping either. Scared of a house-elf? What on Earth was life like at Malfoy Manor? The few times I'd been there I saw nothing out of the ordinary...
Ah. Old, well dressed, smells of magic. This will be Thomas Malfoy then, with all the Malfoy arrogance. You'll see you don't affect me with that look, I've faced far worse than you. I am far worse than you.
And better than you too. In that I was willing to help a boy who isn't even my blood relative, knowing far more than you do about what he was exposed to.
Out-sneered and out-glared, Mr Malfoy retreats. And we are almost where we started, with just a name. Will the son be any better than the father, as a guardian for Draco?
So back to the village, and some more information gathering. The forest is pleasant and peaceful and empty of ears, and I think young Draco needs some more education. A little information about the world he nearly joined, and the people who would have killed him if he did.
And why being dead would probably be better than being Voldermort's. He must learn that now, because if he hears that voice the way I heard it, he won't realise until far too late.
I watch him think, watch him try and make what I tell him fit with what he thinks he knows. Does he trust me enough to discard what he's been raised to believe? Not in this one afternoon of course, but at least it's a start. I didn't think I could save him and so never tried, I have a lot of time to make up.
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A long day. And although not productive in one way, quite possibly so in another. If I can innoculate him against the sweet seduction of the Dark Lord and his followers and fellow travellers, even a little, then maybe I won't have lost him altogether. Even if I never see him again.
Teenagers. Like puppydogs, they seem to have an inexhaustible supply of energy. I should be used to it, but I don't think I've been in one's company non-stop for this length of time, ever.
Or wanted to be.
Enough. You'll have to give him up Severus Snape, these days snatched from fate are just that, they won't last. Be thankful for the ones you have a right to love, don't get caught up in this one you have no right to.
You can't have him. You can't afford to keep him, you can't protect him. Not from any of those bastards who want his bloodlines and his name and whatever he knows, and not from the Ministry who give dogs bad names then gleefully hang them.
Sarah, of course, understands the problem. And neatly gets his mind off wanting to live somewhere just like this, with people just like us, and into the idea of somewhere different.
I hope she can make me feel happy about it too.
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