Broken
By Angel Of Music
Spoilers: Books 1-5 (for all of you who haven't finished reading book five yet, what the hell are you doing sitting here reading my story? Go, my child, go! Read "The Order of the Phoenix!" That's right, now!)
Author's note: Well, I finished reading the fifth book the Monday after the book came out- it took me only 2 days to read, I guess I'm a slow reader...I'm so sad...*sigh* I had to watch about 4 comedic movies that night to wash the depression from my mind for at least a moment; not even comedy central did any good for me. Then I kept seeing commercials for Sirius mp3 players...God, it was awful. Well, I just want to let you all know, there's not much from the fifth book that needs to be tied in with this story, except how Lucius escaped from Azkaban, so I'll be explaining that in this chapter. Thanks for listening to my craved ranting; I just wanted to let you all know that I MISS SIRIUS!! Whelp, happy reading, all.
Chapter Four: Inquiries and Discoveries
"Draco? Draco!? DRACO!" Drenched in chilled sweat, Draco Malfoy sat bolt upright in his four poster. Gregory Crabbe stood in the arch of the doorway, his elbow against the frame, his stupid expression twisted into one of confusion. The look well suited him. The chrome haired boy remained silent for a moment, excluding the heavy breathing that issued from his lips, holding onto his chest as it rose an fell in his fright. "What's your problem?" Came the gruff voice of his disciple a second time.
"Nothing, nothing." He promised automatically.
"I just opened the door and you were, eh, talking. In your sleep."
"I was?" He began sharply. "What sort of things was I talking about?"
"Well, er, you said something like, 'He doesn't love you, he only wants you to lure you into Voldemort's clutches...' or something." Crabbe imitated rather badly. Draco screwed up his face.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He stated, more to himself then to Crabbe, who was standing, nearly dumbstruck. Draco shut his eyes and massaged his temples. And then it happened. It occurred so quickly that it was like lightening: quick and bright. A pain seared through his left forearm, a pain so great he felt it would explode if he didn't keep his fist clenched. A vision shot through his mind so fast that Draco fell to his knees- it was Lucius, and his cold voice was whispering fiercely, "you love my son..." Draco's eyes shot open to stare at Crabbe's knees. He stood, rather shakily, and before answering the lug's question of where he was off to, he'd pushed his way down the stone stairwell and out of the common room.
* * *
"Sir, you look distraught." Implied the stone gargoyle as Draco rounded the corner to Dumbledore's office and shouted the password. "Well, pumpkin pasties it is...you may pass." Draco shot up the winding stairs and threw his fist against the door.
"Come in." Came a muffled voice from behind it. Cautiously, the blonde entered, gazing thoughtfully at his surroundings and entering. "Well, well, Mr. Malfoy. I haven't seen you here in sometime without a good reason- what's the matter?" The half moon-spectacled, pearly-haired man added, noting the expression etched on Draco's face.
"Professor Dumbledore, sir, I keep having these visions...the same sentence keeps entering my mind. It's as if it's taking over my mind: I can do nothing to stop it. I need to know- is there any connection between myself, my father, and Professor Snape?" There was a moment after the conclusion of this statement that Draco could have sworn he saw Dumbledore's dancing periwinkle eyes widen considerably.
"Perhaps. I knew that your father and Professor Snape were very close as children. You may want to investigate him further on the subject, although you'll probably find that Professor Snape sees the subject as quite touchy."
"So I've noticed." Agreed Draco uncertainly. "But they both keep coming into my mind, talking about death and love and, egh." He sunk into his chair, the weight of these forseeings thrown upon him heavily. "I just don't understand, Headmaster. Why?! Why do I keep seeing these things? Why me, of all people?"
"Draco, that is something that must be told when you are older- when you are able to handle the news more easily. I'm not sure it would be wise to tell you just yet." The boy exhaled sharply in annoyance.
"Why do people keep telling me that? I'm seventeen- I'm almost through with Hogwarts- why can't I know, Headmaster, why?!" He huffed, sounding more desperate than he intended. The man before him sighed softly, his large, icy eyes shut in thought.
"I'm sorry, Draco, it's not in my place. The only person I'd trust to tell you is your father. Him, and Professor Snape." The man added thoughtfully.
"Professor Snape?" Draco asked incredulously. "Headmaster, please. I have to know. Perhaps you, of all people, can help me. What did my vision mean?" He explained his prophecy in a few detailed sentences, and as he concluded, Dumbledore frowned.
"I suppose I'll tell you the beginning. Mind, I'm not explaining the whole thing. I'll leave that either to Severus or your father." He bit his lip in pondering, then began. "As I explained before, your father and Professor Snape were rather friendly when they were in school. They were comrades beyond everything; they never left each other's side, it seemed. As you know, they were both in Slytherin, and in the same year. They were like brothers to one another. Your father was the only human being Severus could comply in- his parents passed away at an early age, which left him with no one until he met Lucius. Nearly everyone else in Hogwarts felt him to be an...outcast. Except perhaps Lily Evans." He trailed off, his eyes flickering boldly.
"James Potter's wife?" Draco promoted. Dumbledore nodded curtly.
"Yes. She found him rather enchanting, really. I knew this well. But Snape treated her like a common cauldron; he ignored her, tantalized her, called her names, and laughed at her. Every time something happened, she would come to my office and tell me everything. Lily Evans had a strong admiration for your professor."
"But I really thought that Lily fancied James- I mean they were wed- she had to admire him, didn't she?" Professor Dumbledore's pallid eyes drooped in consideration.
"Not straight away, I'm afraid." He sighed. "She was deeply taken by his erratic reputation- she'd never known anyone as fascinating as Severus Snape. There was always something...not quite natural...about Severus since the start, and though she could not place her finger on what it was, she admired it. But Severus, on the other hand, was the persistent, cunning Slytherin that the Sorting Hat intended for him to be. He would have nothing to do with her."
"Why?" Draco questioned, without the intention of doing so.
"Numerous reasons. She was muggle born, firstly, and it is quite rare to find a Slytherin who does not have, or at least acquire, a loathing for no-bloods." Draco bit his lip. He nearly wished to argue back, and then came to the realization that for once, the man presented a strong point. He asphyxiated a frown at his own childish ignorance. As the silence grew thicker, another inquiry meandered across Draco's thoughts.
"But did professor Snape ever return Lily's admiration?" Dumbledore exhaled sadly once again.
"No." He began shortly. "I'm afraid he never did." The wilting man shut his eyes, drumming his long, blanched fingers against one another, the absence of fret in his actions startling Draco. "Lily, besides being muggle-born, had a few certain qualities that dissatisfied Severus." He paused, taking a moment to allow his periwinkle eyes to dart soundlessly to the locked door. "Draco," He then commenced, pursing his lips. "I refuse to make the same mistake with you that I did with Harry Potter, so I will explain to you as much as I can." The chrome haired boy nodded stoutly. "You may find some of this rather shocking, Draco, I am warning you in advance." For a curt moment Draco's thoughts asked him what could possibly be so splendid, but as he acknowledged another silence, he frowned.
"I'm tough." He promised dryly. Albus Dumbledore's expression broke into a timid smile that played upon his thin salmon lips visibly.
"We'll see, Mr. Malfoy, we'll see." He chewed upon his tongue for an elongated moment, apparently in pondering, his penetrating gaze directed straight at Draco. Then he inhaled deeply and continued. "One quality that irked Severus was the fact that she was a Gryffindor, and a highly intelligent one at that. She was very good at defense against the dark arts- just as she was. Aside from the fact that Lily was a pretty, youthful woman, Snape found her quite common, which I was sorry for. Poor young Lily used to visit me weekly and weep for hours over Severus's apparent cruelty. I was distraught, for had your professor taken an interest in Lily, I would most certainly promote that this war may not have begun in the firstly. But, of course, there was always that other problem that kept Professor Snape from pursuing something with Miss Evans." Dumbledore halted, taking a stifled breath.
"Which would be..." Draco urged as he realized his headmaster was not about to continue. The man remained silent for a moment, then stuttered,
"S- Severus Snape was already involved with someone."
"Aha!" Draco proclaimed, overjoyed with the stories intensifying plot. "I knew that there must have been a catch. I mean, if someone admires you- although I can see his reasoning for not taking Lily- you can't completely throw that admiration aside."
"Well, Severus easily could. He was too wrapped in his relationship to give a second thought about Miss Evans. Maybe in your days, Mr. Malfoy, people tend to be less monogamous, but not then. But of course, you know, I cannot always say for sure." He chuckled softly. "Anyhow, may I continue, then?" Draco nodded in response.
"So who was the lucky girl?" He asked lightheartedly, running a palm through his glinting locks.
"I feel as if the question should be rephrased, Mr. Malfoy, for Severus's partner was not a female." He trailed off, looking slightly distraught. "I mustn't deceive you, Draco, Professor Snape's suitor was your father." If one thousand air horns had sounded at that particular moment proceeding Dumbledore's proposal, Draco would not have heard them. He was much too busy blatantly staring at the old man, his eyes unblinkingly fixated upon the headmaster.
"What- what do you mean, my father?" Dumbledore once again sighed softly, his snowy moustache fluttering lightly as he did so. "They were only friends- comrades, you said!"
"Draco-" The headmaster snapped suddenly. "You must promise not to say anything to Professor Snape about this. Do you promise me?" The boy nodded sullenly, and with his hand, urged the man to continue.
"So do you mean to say that my father and Snape were- dating?"
"That's professor Snape. And they were very much in love, yes." He answered, nodding slightly. "Your father found him nearly as entrancing as Lily did, I'm afraid, and though he wanted nothing more than to hide from the truth, his emotions for Severus were so strong that he could not shelter himself from them."
"But-" Protested Draco, trying to swallow the mass of information word by word. "Then-" He could not seem to project fragments of more than one word at a time. "What about- what about my mother?" Dumbledore pursed his lips and inhaled sadly.
"Draco, after all that your father has taught you about blocking your feelings away, did you really believe that he and your mother were really in love? I really do hate to break it to you this way, especially after your mother's unexpected illness, but it is true, your father only ever loved one person, and it was not Narcissa. She was of the most respected family after the Malfoys- the Blacks. Mrs. Black, her aunt, held a strong pureblood pride, and she was well-liked for this. Your father thought it best to never show anyone his unexpected leap of emotion, for this was very much unlike anything a Malfoy had ever done. Malfoys were known for being, well you understand, stoic, and marrying purely for the reputation of the Malfoy legacy. And your mother, not realizing of Lucius and Severus's relationship, grew to admire your father. I could not, of course, intervene, for this has always been, and most probably always will be, the way of the Malfoy." With this, Dumbledore broke off, ringing his trembling fingers together soundlessly. "Your father, although very much in love with Snape, knew that everything his life had been built upon- ever since the day he was told that emotion was frowned at- would be destroyed if anyone ever found out about their relationship." He continued wearily. "And so he seized the opportunity and married your mother- a Gryffindor." Draco took a moment to allow himself to stare ahead incredulously at the headmaster.
"But- But then why didn't Professor Snape retaliate on his own and go for Lily?" He asked softly.
"A rather admirable query, if I may say. The problem was, however, that Severus's heart was so shattered that he could not even find the emotion to gather a wanting for revenge. You see, Severus felt that, although he'd been horribly betrayed, he still loved your father, and could be with not other- ever." Draco's lips parted with a small, crisp snap without his intention. His eyes fluttered in acknowledgement of this idea for a second, then he motioned for Dumbledore to continue. "And so he's been alone ever since...alone and rather indifferent to Gryffindors. Not only was it a bunch of unruly Gryffindors who played a cruel trick on him, but because of Narcissa, your mother, he detested the particular house even more." Dumbledore's eyes flashed with a sullen, broken sadness which twinkled in his eyes like evil stars polluting the sky. He put a hand to his forehead, his sullen, pallid face contouring with an entrancingly grand amount of emotion. "But Hogwarts has always been Severus's only home, for his family was truly not exemplary, and he was mostly an independent young man during his whole school career. Hogwarts gave, and still gives, Professor Snape a rather new, exciting, less lonely sense of the world, and that, of course, is why he chose to work here. Your father always said-" Dumbledore started with a mirthful chuckle and the wrinkled smile of a nostalgic old man, "that Severus would make the perfect teacher." He broke off, his wrapped grin fading slightly, looking ruthlessly disconcerted in his gaze. Draco, after a moment of thought, gazed up at the less-than-delicate antique of a man before him.
"Why should I believe this all?" He stuttered curtly as he began inspecting his shoes.
"You have the right to believe whatever you wish, I'm just dictating to you what I know. Lemon drop?" He added, thrusting a near-empty tin of rattling sweets at the blonde, who in return, refused. The headmaster, frowning, placed the tin back upon his finished oak desktop and put a withered finger to his chin. "Draco, I realize that this is a bit much for you, but, as even you said, you have the right to know." After considering this, the young heir to the Malfoy legacy nodded ever so slightly and lifted himself from the scarlet armchair, placing a trembling palm upon the door handle. He pivoted to depart, but before his pale body had been pulled completely through the arch, Dumbledore's voice sounded once more. "Draco? I know that you're off to see the minister today, and though I really hate to admit it, I've seen him become a bit thick at times. For your father's sake, please keep what I've said under wraps."
"That, headmaster, I think I can do." He responded sincerely. And with one last look at the smiling old man, he inhaled a breath of fresh Hogwarts air, and slammed the wood door as hard as he could behind him.
* * *
The cement droppings that littered the ceiling had never seemed so interesting in Draco's entire life, until that moment. Upon the emerald carpeted ground he lay, one hour later, his eyes shut in deep thought. It was afternoon, and he was left quite alone in his dormitory, with only his limited imagination to keep him company. HIS father. HIS professor. His father and his professor together- romantically entangled and separated by a web of nasty reputation and greed- lost between love and lust, legacy and supremacy. He wasn't completely certain that he wanted to believe the headmaster- or rather if he could possibly believe him at all- ...but there was something about Dumbledore's proposal that was so sincere, and made so much sense, that Draco wondered why he hadn't noticed their affection before. When he was a child, his father had always been away- away visiting Snape, perhaps- and he usually came back glowing with warmth. In the days when he began aiding Voldemort once again, however, he'd come home with bruises and blemishes, and he would never allow his nurse to heal the wounds. Because Severus Snape had joined Dumbledore's forces.
Draco remembered a time, when he was very small, wandering childishly into his fathers quarters, and now he recalled that Snape had been there- and they had been staring at each other so silently that the passion seemed to pour through the walls, drawing Lucius Malfoy's little son into the room. Draco had been intrigued, and he did not, until this moment, remember why. He'd witnessed love then: a feat he couldn't even imagine was real. But he'd forgotten about that, and now he retained it clearly, like his mind had just pinned the thought up on a corkboard in his brain. But he was confused, somehow, and strangely forlorn all at once.
A stout knock came upon the door, tearing Draco from his mind's eye. He briefly and thoughtlessly considered who would bother to knock upon a dormitory door, but as he threw it ajar on his hinges after he had stood, his pondering was answered immediately. "P-Professor Snape?" He was met with an almost non-existent bow.
"I've completed your potion." He began softly, almost with a snake-like hiss. Draco could not have been expecting to see someone less, especially when the very man before him was running through his mind for the last hour quite blatantly. Some of his emotions must have run through his expression, for Snape continued, "You look stunned to see me; I DID tell you I'd be coming." He smirked devilishly, running an unsteady hand through his waxy raven hair.
"Of course, of course- you caught me slightly off-guard, I apologize. Uh, come in." To the boy's utter horror and disbelief, Snape actually obeyed and pulled himself from the stony landing into the glowing, candle-lit room. For a moment, silence surged between them, and Draco stared coldly and angrily into his professor's endlessly tormented eyes, his outlets to the devastation that seemingly was his life. Light from the window pooled across Snape's blanched cheeks, and in that very moment, Draco did not recognize the man before him as his teacher, but as his father's first love, and an urge to respect him suddenly shone in his heart.
"Is there something wrong, Draco?" He asked sharply, shattering the intense quiet. He almost considered telling the man everything he felt at that time, which was more than he felt he ever had, but he vetoed that idea when he mentally slapped himself in the face. Snape was only his professor, not his therapist, and he had a right to jail his own thoughts in his head, to never let them touch his lips or tongue, to keep them hidden from any mortal- or immortal, at that- being. For, of course, he must keep his head, and his own secrets, because that was what he had learned from his hypocrite of a father- to be stoic. He shook his head.
"Nothing's wrong." He attempted to say convincingly. Snape raised his dark eyebrows and took a seat upon Draco's canopy. It occurred to the blonde at that moment that he rarely saw the professor sit down. "Just, er- you knew my father very well in school, didn't you? I mean, even when I was a kid you two were with each other quite often, weren't you?" Snape's lip curled visibly.
"I suppose that one could say that."
"Did you know him inside and out?" Before Draco could stop himself, he had used the innuendo he had tried so hard not to. Fuck. If it was possible, the man's eyebrows now rose even higher, and they now seemed to be spilling off of the top of his forehead.
"Call it what you wish...we were comrades, yes." He stifled an exhale. "Why do you ask, may I inquire?" He asked shrewdly.
"Oh, oh I dunno." He began quickly, trying to pull a fast lie out of his ass. "Just curious about his past, that's all. He never really speaks of it."
"Then he must have something to hide, Mister Malfoy, that should be obvious. Apparently he does not care enough about the relations of his history to share them with his family. But you must remember that curiosity killed the cat."
"I'll retain that, thank you."
"You'd best do that." Once again, silence prevailed, and both man and budding adult stared into one another's pupils, in which hid so much emotion; passion, desire, enmity- and both, for that moment, were content. "I'll be taking my departure, then. Here's your potion." He trust the steel flask into Draco's palms, inhaling sharply as he did so. Their hands met, and Draco, for the first time, felt the raw touch of Severus Snape, which within it held security and warmth. For a curt second, he clasped onto that hand like he was a desperate child once again, searching, beneath all the lies, hatred, and animosity, to find some homely comfort in it's parent's hand. He retained times when he has a similar feeling clutching to his mother's soft skinned fingers, trotting down Diagon Alley as a child. It was something that made him feel- admiration. Caring. The security withheld in only Snape's palm nearly took his breath away, and he caught the oxygen in his throat, coughing slightly. Feeling he'd held on too long, he released the vibrating digits and brought the bottle to his chest. "Good-bye, Draco, remember to apply that twice daily."
Draco wished for some strange reason that Snape hadn't said the last bit, for he really knew it, and wanted desperately to be left with only a simple good-bye. He didn't quite know why, but it would have justified the fact that, despite his emotionless core, he'd just felt love.
* * *
Cornelius Fudge's fireplace, much like his own father's, was primped and used only for the frequent visitor. Fudge did not- and would not- care to have ashes and soot polluting his perfectly trimmed marble hearth, for it might obstruct the attempted beauty of the pearly marble stone. Draco, after breathing in a puff of floo powder, felt himself tumble, knee-first, onto the matching shined floor of the Minister of Magic's office, letting a sharp cough roll off of his tongue as he stood. Fudge himself was just above him, a small grin etched on his lips like a child collecting a bar of chocolate.
The office was a rather large place, adorned in smiling photographs and portraits of a placid, blonde-haired witch- appearing youthful still, by the look of it- with sapphire eyes and a shoddy scarlet ribbon knotted around her slim, attractive neck. The walls we papered in a Victorian copper design, swirls of gold bordering the ceiling. Fudge's desk was of polished cherry, and a large stack of parchment teetered on the upper corner of it, threatening procrastination. A large, potted rubber plant stood alone next to the glinting golden door, which, with was seemed extraneous, bars placed carefully across the tiny window. A couch balanced lazily across from Fudge's desk, with a matching Victorian motif. Next to this stood a forgotten pot of coffee on an end table, which sat lazily, a trickle of steam rising from it's lid. The minister motioned toward the sofa for Draco to sit in, and the boy made his way toward it. Fudge himself sat in a squashy emerald armchair across the table. "So." He began, his fingers intertwining on the desktop. "You said you saw something, did you?"
"You cut right to the chase, don't you, minister. Don't offer me coffee or biscuits- you just pull me in here expecting immediate answers. Are you like that with your wife, or just those you expect something out of?" Draco did not have a strong admiration for Fudge, in fact far from. He felt that the minister was thick-headed and dull, but he helped him nonetheless. After all, halfway through his sixth year, he'd decided that life on Voldemort's side was not safe, and finally, for once, betrayed his father. The same father he'd admired for so long became a rogue in his mind, and he began to think for himself, and not under some false pretension of his father's. He convinced Fudge of his innocence and lent him his visions, which sometimes where prophetic, turning into a sort of spy for his own side, much like Snape, feeding Voldemort false prophecies. His father had escaped from Azkaban by means he did not know, nor could he imagine, and had been traveling ever since on duty for his lord.
"You never fail to remind me of your hatred toward me, do you?" Draco pouted slightly.
"Well, I would like a cup of coffee. Enchanted to stay hot, am I right?" he continued as if he had not heard the minister. Standing, he made his way toward the pot.
"We haven't got much time, I'm in a bit of a hurry."
"We could have all day if I called for it." He smirked. It was his delight to hold the minister of magic in the palm of his hand. The man narrowed his eyes slowly.
"O...k..." He started lethargically. "That may be..."
"That may be." Draco mimicked, chuckling softly to himself and asphyxiating a snort. "Damnit, Fudge, sometimes you can be so empty." Cornelius was now beginning to grow irritated.
"Let's just begin, shall we?"
"Mm, we shall, we shall." Draco began tentatively, pouring himself a stingy cardboard cup of hazelnut coffee. "And if I may say you have some good house elves? This stuff isn't shit." Fudge furrowed a frown.
"Well we can all be thankful for that. My wife made it, actually." He stated curtly, some irreverence in his fact.
"And that's your wife?" The boy asked, indicating toward the nearest portrait. "You like them young, Fudge, don't you?"
"God, no!" The man gasped, almost too quickly. "That's my daughter, Aurora." Draco felt his eyebrows dance higher on his forehead, a looks of curiosity etched onto his face as he inspected the picture more carefully. Aurora was young and beautifully mysterious, her long golden hair tied in an intricate knot upon the back of her head. A few meek strands fell across her eyes, and every so often, she would push them aside, only to have them tumble back into her face. Her complexion was pallid, but lovely and prepossessing, and her secrecy of beauty intrigued him. She was petit, but her eyes were huge and almond shaped like two glittering, driving gems.
"I didn't know you had a daughter." Draco put simply as he ran a finger absent-mindedly about the copper frame.
"Sometimes I don't either, I'm afraid. Training to be an Auror, you know. Never quite around, really. Always has work. Either that, or she's out with her friends."
"How old IS she, Fudge? She seems a bit young for the Auror trade. Did she go to Hogwarts?"
"Beaubaxtons, actually." Cornelius put wisely, as if this were one of the only sure things he knew about his daughter. His eyes widened as he articulated this. "And she's twenty. Or rather, she'll be twenty in a few days." Draco nodded in recognition. "But we aren't here to talk about Aurora, are we? Why don't you tell Cornelius what you saw?" The minister promoted in a cool, calm voice.
"We aren't here to treat your only hope like a four-year-old, either, are we Fudge?" He snapped in a fierce, mocking tone. The man scowled, but turned to the portrait of Aurora and rephrased his question.
In twenty minutes, Draco had spilled out his vision- in tragic detail- to Fudge, who proved to be completely extraneous. He would pause every once and a while to swoon over the dream, or to ask a pointless question, and when he had halted, Draco found himself thinking that the trip to the ministry was a sincere loss. Shaking his head slightly, he ignored Fudge's last sugar-coated good-bye, and threw a handful of glinting floo-powder into the fireplace, and within a moment, had gone.
* * *
October bloomed like a sullen, lone flower; beautiful, but almost undesired. It was the new sort of season that students were waiting for to justify the fact that they were indeed back for another school year. The Hogsmeade weekend had been set at an early date in accordance with the quidditch league team captains, who had all decided that every weekend in November was crucial for practice.
The village of Hogsmeade was a transformed place in Autumn- a painted menagerie of scarlet, orange, and gold. Shops drew in visitors with competitions of decor; one shop- Zonkos, actually- had filled the floor with leaves that stacked four feet high, and had unintentionally brought with these leaves a herd of wood-nymphs that showered unsuspecting customers with handfuls of the dried, dying objects for recreation.
Draco spent the afternoon alone, wandering the village with strange thoughts in his mind. Snape was once or twice included in these strange day-dreams, but as soon as the man entered his thoughts, Draco attempted to wipe him out immediately.
As the day drew itself closer to an end, Draco decided to grab a quick butterbeer before he parted for the sincerely unenjoyable real world. Pursing his thin lips, he slowly drew open the door, and was hit, head first, with a burst of ear-splittingly volumed music. Entering cautiously, he looked about the Three Broomsticks, which was hardly recognizable. He didn't know what to ponder first: the music, or the crowd of unfamiliar people, looking youthful but still older than he, dancing raucously about the broad of the room, not bothering to notice that they had knocked aside tables, which created a makeshift dance floor, or the fact that a stage had been magicked across the way, and the Weird Sisters were blasting their harmonies, apparently very lost in their own tunes. He inspected the people. They all seemed to be enveloping a tall, thin girl, with a twist of golden hair down her back that he was sure he'd met before. She was dancing wildly and passionately, and she looked very sexy as she did so, bobbing her head to the beat, holding an empty tankard of what looked like the remains of fire-whiskey high over her head, as if signaling for more. Sure enough, a timid looking busboy dawdled over and re-filled the mug with a flaming scarlet liquid, and with a wide grin, she took a sip. When the tankard had parted from her lips, she let out a wave of maniacal, but somehow delicate laughter, and continued to absorb herself in the clumsily moving crowd.
Curiously, Draco made his way to a still-standing table, and climbed upon it with agility to have a closer look. "Oy, oy!" He called sharply. The golden-locked girl looked up suddenly, her gaze meeting Draco's, and broke into an attractive smile.
"Are you a Hogwarts student?" She shouted across the sweep of people still robotically dancing about her. He nodded.
"If you'll excused me fore being rude, but what in the flying hell is going on?"
"Good question!" She yelled back defiantly. "A party."
"Obviously!" He screeched at her. "I'm Draco Malfoy. And you are...?" Perhaps it was just his imagination, or maybe it was just the dim light, but Draco could have sworn he saw her smile flicker and fade ever so slightly.
"I'm Aurora. Aurora Fudge."
* * *
By Angel Of Music
Spoilers: Books 1-5 (for all of you who haven't finished reading book five yet, what the hell are you doing sitting here reading my story? Go, my child, go! Read "The Order of the Phoenix!" That's right, now!)
Author's note: Well, I finished reading the fifth book the Monday after the book came out- it took me only 2 days to read, I guess I'm a slow reader...I'm so sad...*sigh* I had to watch about 4 comedic movies that night to wash the depression from my mind for at least a moment; not even comedy central did any good for me. Then I kept seeing commercials for Sirius mp3 players...God, it was awful. Well, I just want to let you all know, there's not much from the fifth book that needs to be tied in with this story, except how Lucius escaped from Azkaban, so I'll be explaining that in this chapter. Thanks for listening to my craved ranting; I just wanted to let you all know that I MISS SIRIUS!! Whelp, happy reading, all.
Chapter Four: Inquiries and Discoveries
"Draco? Draco!? DRACO!" Drenched in chilled sweat, Draco Malfoy sat bolt upright in his four poster. Gregory Crabbe stood in the arch of the doorway, his elbow against the frame, his stupid expression twisted into one of confusion. The look well suited him. The chrome haired boy remained silent for a moment, excluding the heavy breathing that issued from his lips, holding onto his chest as it rose an fell in his fright. "What's your problem?" Came the gruff voice of his disciple a second time.
"Nothing, nothing." He promised automatically.
"I just opened the door and you were, eh, talking. In your sleep."
"I was?" He began sharply. "What sort of things was I talking about?"
"Well, er, you said something like, 'He doesn't love you, he only wants you to lure you into Voldemort's clutches...' or something." Crabbe imitated rather badly. Draco screwed up his face.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He stated, more to himself then to Crabbe, who was standing, nearly dumbstruck. Draco shut his eyes and massaged his temples. And then it happened. It occurred so quickly that it was like lightening: quick and bright. A pain seared through his left forearm, a pain so great he felt it would explode if he didn't keep his fist clenched. A vision shot through his mind so fast that Draco fell to his knees- it was Lucius, and his cold voice was whispering fiercely, "you love my son..." Draco's eyes shot open to stare at Crabbe's knees. He stood, rather shakily, and before answering the lug's question of where he was off to, he'd pushed his way down the stone stairwell and out of the common room.
* * *
"Sir, you look distraught." Implied the stone gargoyle as Draco rounded the corner to Dumbledore's office and shouted the password. "Well, pumpkin pasties it is...you may pass." Draco shot up the winding stairs and threw his fist against the door.
"Come in." Came a muffled voice from behind it. Cautiously, the blonde entered, gazing thoughtfully at his surroundings and entering. "Well, well, Mr. Malfoy. I haven't seen you here in sometime without a good reason- what's the matter?" The half moon-spectacled, pearly-haired man added, noting the expression etched on Draco's face.
"Professor Dumbledore, sir, I keep having these visions...the same sentence keeps entering my mind. It's as if it's taking over my mind: I can do nothing to stop it. I need to know- is there any connection between myself, my father, and Professor Snape?" There was a moment after the conclusion of this statement that Draco could have sworn he saw Dumbledore's dancing periwinkle eyes widen considerably.
"Perhaps. I knew that your father and Professor Snape were very close as children. You may want to investigate him further on the subject, although you'll probably find that Professor Snape sees the subject as quite touchy."
"So I've noticed." Agreed Draco uncertainly. "But they both keep coming into my mind, talking about death and love and, egh." He sunk into his chair, the weight of these forseeings thrown upon him heavily. "I just don't understand, Headmaster. Why?! Why do I keep seeing these things? Why me, of all people?"
"Draco, that is something that must be told when you are older- when you are able to handle the news more easily. I'm not sure it would be wise to tell you just yet." The boy exhaled sharply in annoyance.
"Why do people keep telling me that? I'm seventeen- I'm almost through with Hogwarts- why can't I know, Headmaster, why?!" He huffed, sounding more desperate than he intended. The man before him sighed softly, his large, icy eyes shut in thought.
"I'm sorry, Draco, it's not in my place. The only person I'd trust to tell you is your father. Him, and Professor Snape." The man added thoughtfully.
"Professor Snape?" Draco asked incredulously. "Headmaster, please. I have to know. Perhaps you, of all people, can help me. What did my vision mean?" He explained his prophecy in a few detailed sentences, and as he concluded, Dumbledore frowned.
"I suppose I'll tell you the beginning. Mind, I'm not explaining the whole thing. I'll leave that either to Severus or your father." He bit his lip in pondering, then began. "As I explained before, your father and Professor Snape were rather friendly when they were in school. They were comrades beyond everything; they never left each other's side, it seemed. As you know, they were both in Slytherin, and in the same year. They were like brothers to one another. Your father was the only human being Severus could comply in- his parents passed away at an early age, which left him with no one until he met Lucius. Nearly everyone else in Hogwarts felt him to be an...outcast. Except perhaps Lily Evans." He trailed off, his eyes flickering boldly.
"James Potter's wife?" Draco promoted. Dumbledore nodded curtly.
"Yes. She found him rather enchanting, really. I knew this well. But Snape treated her like a common cauldron; he ignored her, tantalized her, called her names, and laughed at her. Every time something happened, she would come to my office and tell me everything. Lily Evans had a strong admiration for your professor."
"But I really thought that Lily fancied James- I mean they were wed- she had to admire him, didn't she?" Professor Dumbledore's pallid eyes drooped in consideration.
"Not straight away, I'm afraid." He sighed. "She was deeply taken by his erratic reputation- she'd never known anyone as fascinating as Severus Snape. There was always something...not quite natural...about Severus since the start, and though she could not place her finger on what it was, she admired it. But Severus, on the other hand, was the persistent, cunning Slytherin that the Sorting Hat intended for him to be. He would have nothing to do with her."
"Why?" Draco questioned, without the intention of doing so.
"Numerous reasons. She was muggle born, firstly, and it is quite rare to find a Slytherin who does not have, or at least acquire, a loathing for no-bloods." Draco bit his lip. He nearly wished to argue back, and then came to the realization that for once, the man presented a strong point. He asphyxiated a frown at his own childish ignorance. As the silence grew thicker, another inquiry meandered across Draco's thoughts.
"But did professor Snape ever return Lily's admiration?" Dumbledore exhaled sadly once again.
"No." He began shortly. "I'm afraid he never did." The wilting man shut his eyes, drumming his long, blanched fingers against one another, the absence of fret in his actions startling Draco. "Lily, besides being muggle-born, had a few certain qualities that dissatisfied Severus." He paused, taking a moment to allow his periwinkle eyes to dart soundlessly to the locked door. "Draco," He then commenced, pursing his lips. "I refuse to make the same mistake with you that I did with Harry Potter, so I will explain to you as much as I can." The chrome haired boy nodded stoutly. "You may find some of this rather shocking, Draco, I am warning you in advance." For a curt moment Draco's thoughts asked him what could possibly be so splendid, but as he acknowledged another silence, he frowned.
"I'm tough." He promised dryly. Albus Dumbledore's expression broke into a timid smile that played upon his thin salmon lips visibly.
"We'll see, Mr. Malfoy, we'll see." He chewed upon his tongue for an elongated moment, apparently in pondering, his penetrating gaze directed straight at Draco. Then he inhaled deeply and continued. "One quality that irked Severus was the fact that she was a Gryffindor, and a highly intelligent one at that. She was very good at defense against the dark arts- just as she was. Aside from the fact that Lily was a pretty, youthful woman, Snape found her quite common, which I was sorry for. Poor young Lily used to visit me weekly and weep for hours over Severus's apparent cruelty. I was distraught, for had your professor taken an interest in Lily, I would most certainly promote that this war may not have begun in the firstly. But, of course, there was always that other problem that kept Professor Snape from pursuing something with Miss Evans." Dumbledore halted, taking a stifled breath.
"Which would be..." Draco urged as he realized his headmaster was not about to continue. The man remained silent for a moment, then stuttered,
"S- Severus Snape was already involved with someone."
"Aha!" Draco proclaimed, overjoyed with the stories intensifying plot. "I knew that there must have been a catch. I mean, if someone admires you- although I can see his reasoning for not taking Lily- you can't completely throw that admiration aside."
"Well, Severus easily could. He was too wrapped in his relationship to give a second thought about Miss Evans. Maybe in your days, Mr. Malfoy, people tend to be less monogamous, but not then. But of course, you know, I cannot always say for sure." He chuckled softly. "Anyhow, may I continue, then?" Draco nodded in response.
"So who was the lucky girl?" He asked lightheartedly, running a palm through his glinting locks.
"I feel as if the question should be rephrased, Mr. Malfoy, for Severus's partner was not a female." He trailed off, looking slightly distraught. "I mustn't deceive you, Draco, Professor Snape's suitor was your father." If one thousand air horns had sounded at that particular moment proceeding Dumbledore's proposal, Draco would not have heard them. He was much too busy blatantly staring at the old man, his eyes unblinkingly fixated upon the headmaster.
"What- what do you mean, my father?" Dumbledore once again sighed softly, his snowy moustache fluttering lightly as he did so. "They were only friends- comrades, you said!"
"Draco-" The headmaster snapped suddenly. "You must promise not to say anything to Professor Snape about this. Do you promise me?" The boy nodded sullenly, and with his hand, urged the man to continue.
"So do you mean to say that my father and Snape were- dating?"
"That's professor Snape. And they were very much in love, yes." He answered, nodding slightly. "Your father found him nearly as entrancing as Lily did, I'm afraid, and though he wanted nothing more than to hide from the truth, his emotions for Severus were so strong that he could not shelter himself from them."
"But-" Protested Draco, trying to swallow the mass of information word by word. "Then-" He could not seem to project fragments of more than one word at a time. "What about- what about my mother?" Dumbledore pursed his lips and inhaled sadly.
"Draco, after all that your father has taught you about blocking your feelings away, did you really believe that he and your mother were really in love? I really do hate to break it to you this way, especially after your mother's unexpected illness, but it is true, your father only ever loved one person, and it was not Narcissa. She was of the most respected family after the Malfoys- the Blacks. Mrs. Black, her aunt, held a strong pureblood pride, and she was well-liked for this. Your father thought it best to never show anyone his unexpected leap of emotion, for this was very much unlike anything a Malfoy had ever done. Malfoys were known for being, well you understand, stoic, and marrying purely for the reputation of the Malfoy legacy. And your mother, not realizing of Lucius and Severus's relationship, grew to admire your father. I could not, of course, intervene, for this has always been, and most probably always will be, the way of the Malfoy." With this, Dumbledore broke off, ringing his trembling fingers together soundlessly. "Your father, although very much in love with Snape, knew that everything his life had been built upon- ever since the day he was told that emotion was frowned at- would be destroyed if anyone ever found out about their relationship." He continued wearily. "And so he seized the opportunity and married your mother- a Gryffindor." Draco took a moment to allow himself to stare ahead incredulously at the headmaster.
"But- But then why didn't Professor Snape retaliate on his own and go for Lily?" He asked softly.
"A rather admirable query, if I may say. The problem was, however, that Severus's heart was so shattered that he could not even find the emotion to gather a wanting for revenge. You see, Severus felt that, although he'd been horribly betrayed, he still loved your father, and could be with not other- ever." Draco's lips parted with a small, crisp snap without his intention. His eyes fluttered in acknowledgement of this idea for a second, then he motioned for Dumbledore to continue. "And so he's been alone ever since...alone and rather indifferent to Gryffindors. Not only was it a bunch of unruly Gryffindors who played a cruel trick on him, but because of Narcissa, your mother, he detested the particular house even more." Dumbledore's eyes flashed with a sullen, broken sadness which twinkled in his eyes like evil stars polluting the sky. He put a hand to his forehead, his sullen, pallid face contouring with an entrancingly grand amount of emotion. "But Hogwarts has always been Severus's only home, for his family was truly not exemplary, and he was mostly an independent young man during his whole school career. Hogwarts gave, and still gives, Professor Snape a rather new, exciting, less lonely sense of the world, and that, of course, is why he chose to work here. Your father always said-" Dumbledore started with a mirthful chuckle and the wrinkled smile of a nostalgic old man, "that Severus would make the perfect teacher." He broke off, his wrapped grin fading slightly, looking ruthlessly disconcerted in his gaze. Draco, after a moment of thought, gazed up at the less-than-delicate antique of a man before him.
"Why should I believe this all?" He stuttered curtly as he began inspecting his shoes.
"You have the right to believe whatever you wish, I'm just dictating to you what I know. Lemon drop?" He added, thrusting a near-empty tin of rattling sweets at the blonde, who in return, refused. The headmaster, frowning, placed the tin back upon his finished oak desktop and put a withered finger to his chin. "Draco, I realize that this is a bit much for you, but, as even you said, you have the right to know." After considering this, the young heir to the Malfoy legacy nodded ever so slightly and lifted himself from the scarlet armchair, placing a trembling palm upon the door handle. He pivoted to depart, but before his pale body had been pulled completely through the arch, Dumbledore's voice sounded once more. "Draco? I know that you're off to see the minister today, and though I really hate to admit it, I've seen him become a bit thick at times. For your father's sake, please keep what I've said under wraps."
"That, headmaster, I think I can do." He responded sincerely. And with one last look at the smiling old man, he inhaled a breath of fresh Hogwarts air, and slammed the wood door as hard as he could behind him.
* * *
The cement droppings that littered the ceiling had never seemed so interesting in Draco's entire life, until that moment. Upon the emerald carpeted ground he lay, one hour later, his eyes shut in deep thought. It was afternoon, and he was left quite alone in his dormitory, with only his limited imagination to keep him company. HIS father. HIS professor. His father and his professor together- romantically entangled and separated by a web of nasty reputation and greed- lost between love and lust, legacy and supremacy. He wasn't completely certain that he wanted to believe the headmaster- or rather if he could possibly believe him at all- ...but there was something about Dumbledore's proposal that was so sincere, and made so much sense, that Draco wondered why he hadn't noticed their affection before. When he was a child, his father had always been away- away visiting Snape, perhaps- and he usually came back glowing with warmth. In the days when he began aiding Voldemort once again, however, he'd come home with bruises and blemishes, and he would never allow his nurse to heal the wounds. Because Severus Snape had joined Dumbledore's forces.
Draco remembered a time, when he was very small, wandering childishly into his fathers quarters, and now he recalled that Snape had been there- and they had been staring at each other so silently that the passion seemed to pour through the walls, drawing Lucius Malfoy's little son into the room. Draco had been intrigued, and he did not, until this moment, remember why. He'd witnessed love then: a feat he couldn't even imagine was real. But he'd forgotten about that, and now he retained it clearly, like his mind had just pinned the thought up on a corkboard in his brain. But he was confused, somehow, and strangely forlorn all at once.
A stout knock came upon the door, tearing Draco from his mind's eye. He briefly and thoughtlessly considered who would bother to knock upon a dormitory door, but as he threw it ajar on his hinges after he had stood, his pondering was answered immediately. "P-Professor Snape?" He was met with an almost non-existent bow.
"I've completed your potion." He began softly, almost with a snake-like hiss. Draco could not have been expecting to see someone less, especially when the very man before him was running through his mind for the last hour quite blatantly. Some of his emotions must have run through his expression, for Snape continued, "You look stunned to see me; I DID tell you I'd be coming." He smirked devilishly, running an unsteady hand through his waxy raven hair.
"Of course, of course- you caught me slightly off-guard, I apologize. Uh, come in." To the boy's utter horror and disbelief, Snape actually obeyed and pulled himself from the stony landing into the glowing, candle-lit room. For a moment, silence surged between them, and Draco stared coldly and angrily into his professor's endlessly tormented eyes, his outlets to the devastation that seemingly was his life. Light from the window pooled across Snape's blanched cheeks, and in that very moment, Draco did not recognize the man before him as his teacher, but as his father's first love, and an urge to respect him suddenly shone in his heart.
"Is there something wrong, Draco?" He asked sharply, shattering the intense quiet. He almost considered telling the man everything he felt at that time, which was more than he felt he ever had, but he vetoed that idea when he mentally slapped himself in the face. Snape was only his professor, not his therapist, and he had a right to jail his own thoughts in his head, to never let them touch his lips or tongue, to keep them hidden from any mortal- or immortal, at that- being. For, of course, he must keep his head, and his own secrets, because that was what he had learned from his hypocrite of a father- to be stoic. He shook his head.
"Nothing's wrong." He attempted to say convincingly. Snape raised his dark eyebrows and took a seat upon Draco's canopy. It occurred to the blonde at that moment that he rarely saw the professor sit down. "Just, er- you knew my father very well in school, didn't you? I mean, even when I was a kid you two were with each other quite often, weren't you?" Snape's lip curled visibly.
"I suppose that one could say that."
"Did you know him inside and out?" Before Draco could stop himself, he had used the innuendo he had tried so hard not to. Fuck. If it was possible, the man's eyebrows now rose even higher, and they now seemed to be spilling off of the top of his forehead.
"Call it what you wish...we were comrades, yes." He stifled an exhale. "Why do you ask, may I inquire?" He asked shrewdly.
"Oh, oh I dunno." He began quickly, trying to pull a fast lie out of his ass. "Just curious about his past, that's all. He never really speaks of it."
"Then he must have something to hide, Mister Malfoy, that should be obvious. Apparently he does not care enough about the relations of his history to share them with his family. But you must remember that curiosity killed the cat."
"I'll retain that, thank you."
"You'd best do that." Once again, silence prevailed, and both man and budding adult stared into one another's pupils, in which hid so much emotion; passion, desire, enmity- and both, for that moment, were content. "I'll be taking my departure, then. Here's your potion." He trust the steel flask into Draco's palms, inhaling sharply as he did so. Their hands met, and Draco, for the first time, felt the raw touch of Severus Snape, which within it held security and warmth. For a curt second, he clasped onto that hand like he was a desperate child once again, searching, beneath all the lies, hatred, and animosity, to find some homely comfort in it's parent's hand. He retained times when he has a similar feeling clutching to his mother's soft skinned fingers, trotting down Diagon Alley as a child. It was something that made him feel- admiration. Caring. The security withheld in only Snape's palm nearly took his breath away, and he caught the oxygen in his throat, coughing slightly. Feeling he'd held on too long, he released the vibrating digits and brought the bottle to his chest. "Good-bye, Draco, remember to apply that twice daily."
Draco wished for some strange reason that Snape hadn't said the last bit, for he really knew it, and wanted desperately to be left with only a simple good-bye. He didn't quite know why, but it would have justified the fact that, despite his emotionless core, he'd just felt love.
* * *
Cornelius Fudge's fireplace, much like his own father's, was primped and used only for the frequent visitor. Fudge did not- and would not- care to have ashes and soot polluting his perfectly trimmed marble hearth, for it might obstruct the attempted beauty of the pearly marble stone. Draco, after breathing in a puff of floo powder, felt himself tumble, knee-first, onto the matching shined floor of the Minister of Magic's office, letting a sharp cough roll off of his tongue as he stood. Fudge himself was just above him, a small grin etched on his lips like a child collecting a bar of chocolate.
The office was a rather large place, adorned in smiling photographs and portraits of a placid, blonde-haired witch- appearing youthful still, by the look of it- with sapphire eyes and a shoddy scarlet ribbon knotted around her slim, attractive neck. The walls we papered in a Victorian copper design, swirls of gold bordering the ceiling. Fudge's desk was of polished cherry, and a large stack of parchment teetered on the upper corner of it, threatening procrastination. A large, potted rubber plant stood alone next to the glinting golden door, which, with was seemed extraneous, bars placed carefully across the tiny window. A couch balanced lazily across from Fudge's desk, with a matching Victorian motif. Next to this stood a forgotten pot of coffee on an end table, which sat lazily, a trickle of steam rising from it's lid. The minister motioned toward the sofa for Draco to sit in, and the boy made his way toward it. Fudge himself sat in a squashy emerald armchair across the table. "So." He began, his fingers intertwining on the desktop. "You said you saw something, did you?"
"You cut right to the chase, don't you, minister. Don't offer me coffee or biscuits- you just pull me in here expecting immediate answers. Are you like that with your wife, or just those you expect something out of?" Draco did not have a strong admiration for Fudge, in fact far from. He felt that the minister was thick-headed and dull, but he helped him nonetheless. After all, halfway through his sixth year, he'd decided that life on Voldemort's side was not safe, and finally, for once, betrayed his father. The same father he'd admired for so long became a rogue in his mind, and he began to think for himself, and not under some false pretension of his father's. He convinced Fudge of his innocence and lent him his visions, which sometimes where prophetic, turning into a sort of spy for his own side, much like Snape, feeding Voldemort false prophecies. His father had escaped from Azkaban by means he did not know, nor could he imagine, and had been traveling ever since on duty for his lord.
"You never fail to remind me of your hatred toward me, do you?" Draco pouted slightly.
"Well, I would like a cup of coffee. Enchanted to stay hot, am I right?" he continued as if he had not heard the minister. Standing, he made his way toward the pot.
"We haven't got much time, I'm in a bit of a hurry."
"We could have all day if I called for it." He smirked. It was his delight to hold the minister of magic in the palm of his hand. The man narrowed his eyes slowly.
"O...k..." He started lethargically. "That may be..."
"That may be." Draco mimicked, chuckling softly to himself and asphyxiating a snort. "Damnit, Fudge, sometimes you can be so empty." Cornelius was now beginning to grow irritated.
"Let's just begin, shall we?"
"Mm, we shall, we shall." Draco began tentatively, pouring himself a stingy cardboard cup of hazelnut coffee. "And if I may say you have some good house elves? This stuff isn't shit." Fudge furrowed a frown.
"Well we can all be thankful for that. My wife made it, actually." He stated curtly, some irreverence in his fact.
"And that's your wife?" The boy asked, indicating toward the nearest portrait. "You like them young, Fudge, don't you?"
"God, no!" The man gasped, almost too quickly. "That's my daughter, Aurora." Draco felt his eyebrows dance higher on his forehead, a looks of curiosity etched onto his face as he inspected the picture more carefully. Aurora was young and beautifully mysterious, her long golden hair tied in an intricate knot upon the back of her head. A few meek strands fell across her eyes, and every so often, she would push them aside, only to have them tumble back into her face. Her complexion was pallid, but lovely and prepossessing, and her secrecy of beauty intrigued him. She was petit, but her eyes were huge and almond shaped like two glittering, driving gems.
"I didn't know you had a daughter." Draco put simply as he ran a finger absent-mindedly about the copper frame.
"Sometimes I don't either, I'm afraid. Training to be an Auror, you know. Never quite around, really. Always has work. Either that, or she's out with her friends."
"How old IS she, Fudge? She seems a bit young for the Auror trade. Did she go to Hogwarts?"
"Beaubaxtons, actually." Cornelius put wisely, as if this were one of the only sure things he knew about his daughter. His eyes widened as he articulated this. "And she's twenty. Or rather, she'll be twenty in a few days." Draco nodded in recognition. "But we aren't here to talk about Aurora, are we? Why don't you tell Cornelius what you saw?" The minister promoted in a cool, calm voice.
"We aren't here to treat your only hope like a four-year-old, either, are we Fudge?" He snapped in a fierce, mocking tone. The man scowled, but turned to the portrait of Aurora and rephrased his question.
In twenty minutes, Draco had spilled out his vision- in tragic detail- to Fudge, who proved to be completely extraneous. He would pause every once and a while to swoon over the dream, or to ask a pointless question, and when he had halted, Draco found himself thinking that the trip to the ministry was a sincere loss. Shaking his head slightly, he ignored Fudge's last sugar-coated good-bye, and threw a handful of glinting floo-powder into the fireplace, and within a moment, had gone.
* * *
October bloomed like a sullen, lone flower; beautiful, but almost undesired. It was the new sort of season that students were waiting for to justify the fact that they were indeed back for another school year. The Hogsmeade weekend had been set at an early date in accordance with the quidditch league team captains, who had all decided that every weekend in November was crucial for practice.
The village of Hogsmeade was a transformed place in Autumn- a painted menagerie of scarlet, orange, and gold. Shops drew in visitors with competitions of decor; one shop- Zonkos, actually- had filled the floor with leaves that stacked four feet high, and had unintentionally brought with these leaves a herd of wood-nymphs that showered unsuspecting customers with handfuls of the dried, dying objects for recreation.
Draco spent the afternoon alone, wandering the village with strange thoughts in his mind. Snape was once or twice included in these strange day-dreams, but as soon as the man entered his thoughts, Draco attempted to wipe him out immediately.
As the day drew itself closer to an end, Draco decided to grab a quick butterbeer before he parted for the sincerely unenjoyable real world. Pursing his thin lips, he slowly drew open the door, and was hit, head first, with a burst of ear-splittingly volumed music. Entering cautiously, he looked about the Three Broomsticks, which was hardly recognizable. He didn't know what to ponder first: the music, or the crowd of unfamiliar people, looking youthful but still older than he, dancing raucously about the broad of the room, not bothering to notice that they had knocked aside tables, which created a makeshift dance floor, or the fact that a stage had been magicked across the way, and the Weird Sisters were blasting their harmonies, apparently very lost in their own tunes. He inspected the people. They all seemed to be enveloping a tall, thin girl, with a twist of golden hair down her back that he was sure he'd met before. She was dancing wildly and passionately, and she looked very sexy as she did so, bobbing her head to the beat, holding an empty tankard of what looked like the remains of fire-whiskey high over her head, as if signaling for more. Sure enough, a timid looking busboy dawdled over and re-filled the mug with a flaming scarlet liquid, and with a wide grin, she took a sip. When the tankard had parted from her lips, she let out a wave of maniacal, but somehow delicate laughter, and continued to absorb herself in the clumsily moving crowd.
Curiously, Draco made his way to a still-standing table, and climbed upon it with agility to have a closer look. "Oy, oy!" He called sharply. The golden-locked girl looked up suddenly, her gaze meeting Draco's, and broke into an attractive smile.
"Are you a Hogwarts student?" She shouted across the sweep of people still robotically dancing about her. He nodded.
"If you'll excused me fore being rude, but what in the flying hell is going on?"
"Good question!" She yelled back defiantly. "A party."
"Obviously!" He screeched at her. "I'm Draco Malfoy. And you are...?" Perhaps it was just his imagination, or maybe it was just the dim light, but Draco could have sworn he saw her smile flicker and fade ever so slightly.
"I'm Aurora. Aurora Fudge."
* * *