Chapter Fourteen: Same Bed, Different Dreams

Eventually --though it seemed an eternity—Malfoy Manor melted away into the cloudy sky, and the scenery flying past her window transformed into nothing more than rolling hills, colorless and dull like static. Seeing the imposing black fortress disappear, her muscles loosened slightly through a deep but guarded breath.

She had spent the last four days wound tightly within herself, waiting. At every moment expecting some disaster. Every time her bedroom door opened, she knew it must be Malfoy. Or worse.

But the last days of her stay had passed quietly, filled with textbooks and meals taken in her bedroom, alone. Though she had long recovered from her illness, she continued to feign weakness and nausea, and, soon, the Malfoys stopped asking her to come down for dinner and left her in the care of the houselves. She did indeed feel weak, but it was not from sickness. Her sleep had been scarce, and when she could manage to nod off, horrible specters filled every corner of her dreams. Thin, dark circles were beginning to taint the pale skin beneath her eyes, and she wondered, vaguely, if this was how Professor Snape's shadow-lined gaze had begun. The thought was none too pleasant, and she pulled her cloak closer to herself, trying to smother the distasteful idea in warmth. At Hogwarts, she told herself resolutely, she'd teach herself to make Dreamless Sleep potions. Problem solved. Above all, she wasn't going to let herself get lost in self-pity again. She was going back to Hogwarts, and she would be unreachable there. She would have several months to figure things out; self-pity was only a waste of valuable time.

A long-fingered hand touched the sensitive crook of her left elbow. She jumped slightly.

"Are you cold?" Draco was reaching across the seat, looking at her through the gray glass of his eyes. "I can ask the driver to turn up the heat if you like."

She forced a smile, pulling her arm back cautiously. "No, no. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You look a little pale," he pressed, leaning back towards his half of the car, flat-lipped. "Are you feeling alright?"

His voice was slow, concerned; something different than in all their time at Malfoy Manor. She wondered if being around his father was like some sort of a spell; now he seemed like the Draco she had met that day in Potions class, like the Draco who had come to comfort her in the Slytherin common room after the letter from her father. Her forced smile melted into a smaller, genuine one. "No, I'm fine, really. I'm actually feeling better. I think I'm getting over my illness." An illness called Malfoy Manor, she thought to herself. Her smile faded.

"That's good to hear." He had turned back to his own window and was resting his head on his hand, elbow propped somewhat precariously on the door's armrest.

She watched him out the corner of her eye for a long while, trying to decide what to think. Part of her still wondered if he was— she bit her lip--salvageable. She had seen so many of his faces she was given to wonder which was genuine; --if any of them was genuine. She wished she could ask him—just ask.

But that wasn't the Slytherin way. And it certainly wasn't the way for a Death Eater; --especially a reluctant one. Her gaze floated back to the scenery that rolled past her window, drenched in the overcast gray of the sky. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the gentle rumble of the road beneath the tires, a heavy feeling turning in her stomach.

"Lili."

She lifted her eyelids in surprise. His voice was all but a whisper. "Yes?"

His face met hers, lips pressed tight together, two thin, pink lines. "Um—is your arm still…sore?"

The heaviness in her stomach tumbled over itself. She had never expected him to—talk about it. It felt to weighty and distasteful to mention in such conversation. "Um…no. It's feeling better." She swallowed, making a quick decision. "What about yours?"

His brow furled. "What do you mean? I've had the Mark for ages."

"You—you have?" Her heart gave one heavy thump, then sank deep into her stomach.

He nodded solemnly. "Yes. My father had it put on me when I was a child. As a symbol of our family's undying loyalty to—" He paused a split second before whispering the name. "Lord Voldemort."

She realized quite suddenly that he too was afraid to say the name. That at least was a small bit of hope. "You were—a child?"

"Eight." She looked down and saw him fingering the familiar spot on his left forearm subconsciously.

She couldn't suppress a shudder. He had been so young, and the pain—all for something he couldn't possibly have understood. Deep, aching pity forced her to reach out and touch his arm gently.

He shied away from the touch, eyes sunk heavily on the seat beside him. "I—I talked to my father. He says it's—" He stopped, turning his eyes back towards the window for a moment, then letting them sink once again to the seat. "He says it's not such a good idea for us to—you know—"

She searched his pained face questioningly. "To—to what?"

"To keep—seeing each other. Um, going out. And stuff." He was unable or unwilling to meet her eyes.

Her throat went suddenly dry. Malfoy didn't trust her. He'd seen through the act. He knew she'd been faking and now— "Why?" she asked frantically. "Why? Did I do something wrong?"

His head jerked up, wide-eyed and shaking vehemently. "Oh, no, no. It's not that. It's just…Father says it's not a good idea for two—for two people like us—" By his strained gaze she was able to fill in the words. Death Eaters. "People like us shouldn't make alliances with each other. We should keep our loyalties simple. And when two people are both—er, in the same business—it's too dangerous."

She shook her head. "I don't understand."

He swallowed. "I—I'm not sure I do either," he confessed, sitting back against the seat, looking defeated. "But he explained it to me this way. If, say, we were out on a—" he paused. "If we were out doing something, you know—" He gave her a deliberate look. She nodded. "And, it came down to it, I'd be too worried about you getting killed. I might not make decisions that were—in the best interests of—"

"Lord Voldemort." The name stung every inch of her tongue.

Draco nodded, running a hand through his white-gold hair. "He said that's why he never wanted Mom to get involved. It's best to keep romance and business separate." He looked into her eyes and forced a tight smile. Somehow it seemed sadder than if he had simply frowned. "I'm sorry."

She sat back, leaning lightly against the car door, armrest jutting uncomfortably into her side. "No, no. It's okay. I mean—he's probably right." The odd thing was, Lili suddenly realized, it wasn't okay. Some part of her would greatly miss Draco; but that wasn't it. It was the coldness, the harsh, calculated dismissal of emotion that was expected of them. They would be forced to forget any fondness, any love or loyalty in place of the bare-bones friendship she had seen play out so flatly at Malfoy Manor.

But, what was more, though this was obviously causing Draco more pain than he wanted to let on, he accepted it because he knew he must. She began, slowly, to appreciate the horrible gravity of Draco's life: Malfoy Manor had almost driven her to madness and despair in a mere two weeks. Draco had lived it.

Her heart was aching, and she realized that her hands were trembling slightly.

"I'm sorry," Draco repeated, leaning closer towards her. "I—I really wish it could be different. But—in the end my father said you'd be too valuable an asset to the Dark Lord, and that I—I had to give you up. You know?" He swallowed deeply again. "I'm sorry."

And then, with a look of mixed confusion and sadness on his face, he leaned over across the car, and kissed her lips lightly.

Her entire body flushed and heated in surprise, but she didn't move away. It was a gentle kiss, and, cautiously, she kissed back.

As soon as he had moved away, she realized that, no matter what, it was both a first and a last kiss. A farewell.

Both of them turned their eyes away. The scenery was now washed out, the sickly color of chalk, drenched in the falling tears of rain.

Though the curtains of her four-poster were drawn tight, the bright afternoon sunlight still managed to pierce through and into her closed eyes.

Every part of her body was heavy with exhaustion. Somehow, though the bed was soft and the blankets warm, she had been unable to sleep soundly for three nights.

She turned on her side, yanking at the blankets in frustration. Every inch of her burned with the desire to sleep, but, closing her eyes, no relief came, and when she did drift off, it was only into brief and heavy nightmares. She remembered, bitterly, the many days she had slept in this same bed, comfortable, Artibius snuggled at her shoulder.

Things change, she thought, tears stinging her already burning, tired eyes. Tong chuang, yi meng: same bed, different dreams.

It wasn't only her dreams, however, that were different.

Around her she could hear Millicent and Dia scrawling at the massive amounts of homework they had been given for the weekend. Occasionally, they would whisper back and forth; a question or a rumor or some comment about their Christmas holidays. It was the sort of conversation Lili could no longer bring herself to have. Somehow, the words seemed to light for her heavy tongue: these were Slytherins and she was—something far worse. She retreated to her four-poster bed, Hui calling after her from the wall. She didn't answer.

He was talking to her again now. "Xiao nu; ni cai shui jiao ma?"

She turned over again.

"Ahh, not asleep yet," he whispered. "Good. I want to talk with you."

She didn't say anything. She heard him clear his throat and shuffle across the rice paper to the side of the frame nearest her bed.

"Dia says you—you've been very quiet lately," he said, popping a small plum in his mouth. She could tell he was arranging the words with great care and concern. "She says you haven't been yourself. And—and you haven't been sleeping. Xiao nu, is something bothering you? What happened during the holidays?"

She pressed her eyelids tighter together, feeling the warm tears on her cheeks. If only she could tell him: Hogwarts wasn't the same. She couldn't go back to the way things had been, though it was all she wanted in the world. She couldn't be the Queen of Slytherin, sitting in on all the gossip, starting rumors and thinking up new pranks to play on some targeted Gryffindor first-year. Every time she felt herself slipping into some old fun, something jerked her back, something cold and heavy pulling down on her left arm. Every time she looked Dia in the eyes, she wondered if her friend could see something lurking there. If she could, Lili would be mortified, ashamed. If not, Lili felt tainted by the lie. She wanted to tell someone. To tell everyone. But she couldn't. And if she did, who would understand? Any decent Slytherin would be repulsed or reverent: she wasn't strong enough to deal with either.

Only two people knew what had changed her: she was forbidden from all but the barest friendship with one. And the other—

She bit her tongue hard in her mouth to keep from sobbing.

The other had completely ignored her.

Snape had not so much as glanced at her since her return. No detentions, no extra credits, no after-hours potion-making. It was as if he, too, knew nothing. He had promised to help her, to do anything to help her.

But he, too, walked about as if nothing had changed, partnering her with Harry Potter and sniffing over their potions with poison in his eyes. He complimented her coolly. He cursed Potter. But there was nothing more, nothing different.

And everything inside her was too different to handle this.

"Xiao nu, did something happen while you were with the Malfoys," Hui continued. She could hear the rice paper crackling as he shifted his weight. "Are you still feeling ill? I don't understand why you don't talk to me."

Silence. She pressed down hard on her heart to keep it from exploding.

"Ni yiqian lao gen wo tan tan a," he complained.

She knew she could no longer keep the sobs quiet. Blood pounding in her ears, she sat up and tore the curtains open, meeting Hui's black-ink eyes a severe gaze. "Maybe things aren't the same as they were before!" she spat, standing and pulling her robes close around her. "And speak English, for Merlin's sake! We're not—in—China—anymore—" Her voice fell off, shaking in sobs.

Hui stared back at her in disbelief, ink-lined hands limp at his sides.

She turned, and, uncertain as to where she was going, ran towards the door, ripping it open wildly.

To her surprise, a tall, warm figure stood in her way, hand outstretched as if to knock.

"Oh, Miss Lee," said Headmaster Dumbledore, eyes wide behind his moon-shaped spectacles. He smiled.

Lili looked up at him, mouth open on its hinges, heart still pounding. "Head--Headmaster?"

Dia and Millicent were looking at Dumbledore with similar disbelief. It had been quite a long time since the Headmaster had visited Slytherin. Well, actually, no one was quite sure they did remember him ever visiting Slytherin.

He offered the other two girls quick smiles before turning his gentle, blue gaze back to Lili. "Miss Lee. What an odd coincidence. I was just coming to see you."

Breath stopped cold in her throat. "To see—me?" She did her best to seem nonchalant in wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"Yes, I think it's time we talked. Would you join me for an afternoon tea?"

Blood drummed in Lili's ears. He had found out. Snape had told him—this was it. She was going to be expelled. She nodded, following him out the door and into the hall.

He turned back to her with the kind of smile that, surprisingly, could still put her more at ease. "Perhaps, Miss Lee, we best take our tea in my office, away from prying eyes. And ears."

He was just as aware as she that Dia and Millicent had their ears pressed against the door. There was the sound of rapid scuffling away as Dumbledore said this.

Lili followed him down the stairs and out through the common room, painfully aware of every probing glance that trailed her like a shadow.

Despite the bright light beating in through the thin window of Dumbledore's office, the air about her was still heavy with cold and, breathing out, she could see her breath jump up in puffs of white. Dumbledore levitated a cup of tea across his desk and into her hands. The dark blue porcelain radiated warmth.

"I'm sure it's not like what you were used to in China," Dumbledore said, flicking his wand at the teapot, causing it to pour another cup. "I really found the tea there quite extraordinary."

She nodded, silent, hands shaking but gripping the cup firmly. She leaned down and blew on the hot liquid, causing a rush of warm steam to billow up in front of her face. The sudden heat sent shivers down her already tense muscles.

"So tell me, Miss Lee," he said, lifting his cup from its saucer and settling down behind his desk with a smile. "How were your holidays?"

She wriggled in her seat slightly, taking a sip of tea out of frustration. It was bitter and tasteless, but the heat filled her and calmed the roiling of her stomach. She forced a wan smile. "Um…they were nice. The Malfoys were very…hospitable." She hoped it hadn't sounded as sarcastic outside of her head as it did inside. "And you, Headmaster? How were your holidays?"

His eyes twinkled like hot, blue stones. "Oh, I made out like a bandit. Why, look at these!" He hefted his feet onto the desk and, as his robes slid down to reveal his ankles, she spied a pair of thick socks, garish yellow and covered with all types of odd astrological symbols Lili didn't recognize. "Wool socks," he explained with a broad grin. "They were a gift from Professor Trelawney. She was most adamant that they were the best color and material for me during this present alignment of the heavens." He chuckled a bubbling sort of laugh. "Lucky me."

She grinned as the Headmaster took his feet down from the desk and leaned back slightly in her chair. Despite all the vitriolic Slytherin rhetoric about Dumbledore, he certainly could make her feel comfortable. And, at the moment, there was nothing that could have made her more grateful.

A silence set in, and the Dumbledore merely sipped at his tea, letting his eyes wander around his office, resting on a sleeping Fawkes, and, occasionally flitting over her warmly. She went on, trying to drink her tea and pretend she wasn't petrified of what was coming...

"I heard, Miss Lee, that you were rather ill over the holidays," he said at last, eyes still fixed across the room on the dozing phoenix. "I trust you've quite recovered your strength?"

"Um, yes, Headmaster. I'm feeling much better, thank you." For a split second she wondered how he'd know about her illness but guessed at the answer quickly enough.

"Good," he said with a sigh, and, as he turned his head slowly towards her, she was surprised to notice that the twinkle in his eyes had disappeared, replaced with a solid gravity. Her heart sank.

"You'll need all the strength you can get, Miss Lee. All of it."

She set the porcelain cup down in its saucer with a slight clink. Her heart was beating slow, in violent, shivering bursts. "Then—you know. Professor Snape told you." Her voice, though at first strong, sank into a tremulous whisper.

Dumbledore said nothing, merely turned his solemn gaze away once more, setting it heavily on Fawkes.

Even Dumbledore could find no words for his disappointment. Even he, so kind and open, could offer her no word of support or encouragement. Inwardly, she cursed Snape for telling him; but, more strongly, she cursed herself. Tears rolled hot down her cheeks, and she found herself once more shaken by sobs. It's over, Lili. You've destroyed your own future. What now?

And then an even harsher thought stabbed through her mind.

He'll turn you in.

She was a Death Eater: how could he not turn her over to the Ministry? And she knew what that meant. Azkaban. For life; --or what little there would be of life for her there. She shivered and the tears poured out more readily. She crumpled forward, body jerking violently.

And then, suddenly, the cold silence erupted with the most beautiful and unearthly sound she had ever before heard. It was strong and yet somehow light and smooth, as if someone had changed the beauty of silk into music. She lifted her head, and her swollen eyes met Fawkes the phoenix, who had swooped down onto the desk in front of her and was singing, beak open wide, beautiful eyes staring at her with a piercing warmth. The tears froze on her cheeks, and she swallowed the last of her sobs. In every note of his song she heard a comforting voice. Everthing will be fine. And then, as she met the phoenix's eyes, lips trembling, she heard it even more strongly. You have a good heart. She sat back in her seat, stunned and in reverent awe. Fawkes, flapped forward and, landing in her lap, nestled against her and stopped singing.

Though the song had stopped, the heavy, cold air seemed to have cleared from the room, and she could still hear the hope of its exquisite notes echoing in her ears. She looked up and met Dumbledore's solemn blue eyes with as much strength as she could muster. "I'll leave Hogwarts, of course. And, if I could, please let me speak to my father before you—" But, even with a phoenix song fresh in her ears, she couldn't bring herself to say it.

Dumbledore leaned forward and steepled his fingers below his lips, eyes darting between Lili and Fawkes, who was now dozing in her lap. "I don't think, Miss Lee, that will be necessary."

"What do you mean?" Her heart was pumping blood under her skin. Her brow furled. "Did Professor Snape tell you—everything?" She hoped and prayed now that he had. How could she bring herself to tell him, Headmaster Dumbledore; the man who had been the tireless opponent of You-Know-Who (of Voldemort, she corrected herself firmly); the man who had spent his whole life trying to ensure that the Dark Lord did not triumph-- what words did she have for him? "I—I'm a D--"

"Yes, Miss Lee," Dumbledore interrupted, seeming unwilling to hear her say the words. "Professor Snape told me everything. Including, you might be interested to know, that he was willing to go to Voldemort himself to ask that you be let out of your role in the Dark Lord's service."

Lili's skin grew hot and her lips parted helplessly. "Wh-what? He—he said that?"

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "I advised him that this, of course, was a hasty and rather unwise course of action."

Lili let out a thin breath of relief. She could only imagine the consequences of such an action. She couldn't imagine why he would have even considered—

"He also mentioned," Dumbledore continued, cutting off her thought, "that the Mark was put on your skin against your will. That is, you had no other choice." He looked at her very closely, and she was, for a moment, sure she saw a remnant of that warm sparkle leap back into his gaze. "He said you have a good heart and a rare mind and that you, like so many, have been drawn into a net which, perhaps, you would not have found yourself in under better circumstances."

She nodded. At least Dumbledore knew that. She pressed her lips tighter, glad that she had Snape to tell Dumbledore afterall. He had been—very generous. "So—what will I do? If you don't want me to leave Hogwarts, and you're not going to—to—" Even now she had to pull in a heavy breath to manage the words. "To turn me in. What's to be done with me?"

Dumbledore sat in silence for a long while, looking down at his cup of tea as if hoping to divine some answers from the depth of the brown liquid. Her heart sank realizing that even Dumbledore had no easy solution.

"I think, Miss Lee, there is a great deal of hope for you," he said at last, not lifting his eyes to her but keeping them on the teacup. "I have seen many turn to darkness and never look back." He shook his head, and, looked, at that moment, quite old. "Too many. Too many good people."

There was a moment more silence, before he breathed in deeply and finally, met her gaze. "But I have also seen such people, like you, who turn back. And, in my experience, those are the type who will battle most fiercely, sacrifice themselves to fight against the darkness." He considered this a moment. "Probably because they know its power only too well."

Her hands were shaking, and she tried to steady them by running them lightly along Fawkes' smooth, red feathers. "I—I don't want to be—" She swallowed. In front of Dumbledore, to say the words "Death Eater" seemed too much like cursing. "I don't want my life to be ruled by…by anyone but myself."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, leaning forward. "Then, I believe, you have three options, Miss Lee," he said, his voice an uneven, heavy sigh. "All equally unpleasant, I will admit. And all quite dangerous."

She could say nothing, only nodding for him to continue.

"Your first option you have, no doubt, considered," he said, steepling his fingers once more. "You could run. Perhaps back to China, perhaps not since that would be a bit obvious. But you can leave Hogwarts if you choose, and leave England. And, I assure you, I would see that you were protected as far as my reach extends and to whatever degree possible."

Her stomach turned. "Professor Snape said that running wouldn't work."

"And he's likely right," Dumbledore answered, looking grim. "No one has ever been able to run from Voldemort for long, especially those in his service. That Mark is more than a symbol of loyalty, Miss Lee," he said, frowning briefly at the crook of her left forearm now hidden beneath robes and a cloak. "It is filled with magic I don't fully understand. But it is connected to Voldemort, and he will use it to find you and to torture you. Running, though it seems easy, would be as dangerous as remaining. It would simply put your uncertainty on a longer timeline."

She nodded.

"The second option," Dumbledore continued, looking even unhappier about this one, "is to attempt to play your way out of favor with the Dark Lord." His voice creaked, uncertain.

'What do you mean, 'play my way out of favor'?" She leaned forward, hopeful.

He sighed. "Bungle things up. Make yourself look less attractive to him: less intelligent, less powerful –less the perfect Slytherin."

She swallowed. She had considered this as well, with none too much relish. "I—I'm not sure I would know how." In her lap, Fawkes cooed and turned over, a small ball of feathered heat.

"Yes, this option is far more dangerous than running," he said, his long, thin fingers tracing the lip of his porcelain teacup bleakly. "It is a fine line to walk. And there is certainly nothing to keep him from merely killing you rather than deciding to forget about you. As you might have noticed, the Dark Lord uses all the resources given him, though they are not the most intelligent or perfect. And, when they are no longer useful, he has no reason to keep them alive."

She blanched.

"It is a horrifying way of thinking, but it is all too real in the world of Dark Magic."

Her heart seemed to have stopped altogether, and the blood was thick and cold in her veins. "And my last option?" Her lips could barely move, breath escaping her in a whisper.

Dumbledore was quiet, and stood, moving to the thin and shining window, his gait that of a man delivering a death sentence.

Lili took a deep breath and pushed her fingers deeper into Fawkes' warm, reassuring feathers.

"Your last option is perhaps the most dangerous and difficult of all."

Her heart gave a single thump, then returned to its heavy sleep.

"You could, if you chose, use your misfortune to benefit the greater good," he said, leaning forward in the window, his back to her. "You could turn informant for the Ministry, pass along what information you get from Voldemort and the other Death Eaters." He paused. "It has been done before and to our great advantage."

Her heart jumped into life once more, blood pounding again, color returning to her icy skin. "What—you mean—be a spy?"

Dumbledore turned towards her, his form silhouetted in the quickly waning daylight outside. "Yes, of a sort. It means you will have to turn yourself in to the Ministry; but I will speak on your behalf. They will make sure no one knows."

She swallowed, her dry throat contracting. "But—how can I—it must be impossible," she said at last, leaning back and moving her hand lightly from Fawkes' plumage to her lips. "What if—what if they ask me to help them with wuzhang? What if they ask me to kill?" She looked up at Dumbledore frantically.

He pressed his lips together, and his shoulders lifted with a solemn sigh. "It is an incredible sacrifice. Your life would becomes a balancing act between two worlds. You would constantly be forced to play a part in a very serious game. It is likely such an option would end in a very terrible death. You would be faced with many volatile situations, many chances to give yourself away." He paused, considering this. "But you must know something of putting on faces. It is a Slytherin survival skill, or so Severus tells me."

She pressed her back hard against her chair as if, otherwise, she might fall out of it. "I—I don't think I could do that. I mean, Slytherin games are one thing. This is entirely another."

He nodded, stepping forward and putting his long, gnarled hands on the back of his chair. "Yes. It is very difficult and very serious. I'm afraid, Miss Lee, it's the last option I have to offer you." His eyes met her, and they were twinkling again, this time full of warm concern.

She straightened her back, feeling a frantic wish to bury herself in her bed once more. She closed her eyes, trying to calm her mind and the frantic beating of her heart. "How could I go through my life pretending to be something I'm not? How could I look into those horrible red eyes and not feel naked and revealed? How could anyone do it?"

For the first time since the woolen socks, Dumbledore's face lit up with a smile. "Honestly, Miss Lee, I have no idea," he said, shaking his head. "Perhaps you should ask Professor Snape."