52. The New Blood
He was the farthest thing from her mind when she and Neville were in bed together a few days later. She'd affixed a note to the door of his dormitory that said, Come back in a couple of hours. Usually the only chances they had to be alone together were during Quidditch games, when the entire school was outside in the stands. But the whole "incident" with Snape had left her rather charged up, and after three days of walking around with all that unreleased energy, she had practically jumped Neville when he'd let her in the Gryffindor common room.
And by God, if it wasn't the best sex they'd had so far. The boy knew how to take direction, and once they'd found the right angle, it hadn't been long before she was going over the edge. After they had come back down to earth, they lay in bed, Callie resting her head on his chest and looking out the window at the falling rain. After a while, she suggested, "Let's go outside."
He furrowed his brow and asked, "Now? In the middle of a storm?"
"Why not?"
A slight grin curled his lip, and he said with amusement in his tone, "You really are an oddity. Do you ever do anything like a normal person?"
"No," she replied, "I like the rain, thunderstorms." After a pause, she went on, "I didn't always. When I was a little girl, I was afraid of them."
"Really?"
"Mhm. The loud noise was jarring, and I always thought the lightning was going to strike me."
He chuckled, and said, "I don't mean to laugh, but... that's kind of adorable."
"Well, I'm glad you get a kick out of my childhood trauma," she joked.
"Sorry. So what happened, how'd you get over it?"
She smiled to herself as she explained, "For the longest time, my dad tried to tell me it was harmless, that we were perfectly safe inside, that it was only noise." After a pause, "That didn't work. It was much too reasonable for a young'un, I suppose. So one night he tried a different tactic. He told me that every time lightning struck, God was taking our picture. 'Get ready to smile for the camera,' he said. He made a game out of it. He was brilliant, he got me to laugh through the terror." Again, she paused, realizing that this was exactly how a Boggart was defeated. "After a while," she continued, "I started to enjoy the game, and I'd actually look forward to the next storm."
Neville pondered that a moment, then rose up and grabbed his clothes. "Let's go," he said. They got dressed and made their way down to the first floor and out onto the grounds. "I suppose it's not so bad," he said, trying and failing to shield his face from the rain. "Refreshing, it is."
"Exactly!" Callie replied, grinning at his obvious discomfort as she spun around gleefully, her arms outstretched. "Remember - Slytherin's associated element is water."
"And a nice, calming bath would've been too boring?"
"Right. Soak it up, Neville, purify yourself!"
He raised a brow at her as though she had gone a little bit mad. "You really are weird, sometimes," he remarked.
"I keep things interesting, though, don't I?"
"Very," he conceded.
She gestured him over, and he came to stand before her, brushing away the soaking wet strands of her hair. She looked up at him, unbothered by the cold rainwater that hit her face - enjoying it actually. "It is refreshing," she said. "Invigorating." Then with a mischievous grin, she nodded towards the lake and said, "Wanna go for a swim?"
He looked out over the dark water apprehensively. "With the giant squid and the merpeople and the grindylows?" he asked.
"What, are you scared, Longbottom?" she teased, moving towards the lake and holding her hand out for him. "Join me in my element, why don't you?" Reluctantly, he let her lead him a ways away from where anybody would see them. But he perked up when she pulled off her clothes and tossed them into the grass. "Let us give those merpeople something to talk about," she said, and dove in.
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One night in May, she sat in the bathtub - the best place to be alone - with tears streaming down her face. I should be over it, she thought. It's been over two years.
You never get over it. You only learn how to move with it.
She had learned how to move again, but the weight was still there. And if anything, it had only been growing heavier since the start of the second war.
He was brilliant, he got me to laugh through the terror.
How protected he had made her feel during those storms. Safe, secure, and believing that everything would be all right. And how she wished he could be here now to give her that same sense of security. It wasn't only during times of crisis, but always she had felt safe, comforted, knowing he was there. Usually she hadn't even been conscious of it, but ever since he had died, she'd felt so... shaky, so vulnerable. Alone.
Why did you have to go? I needed you.
Now, of all times, she needed the comfort of knowing he was there, that she could go home and run into his arms and have him tell her it would be all right. That he'd be watching over her mum and protecting her. That she wouldn't have to worry about being pulled out of class one day, like Hannah Abbott had been, and told that her mother had been killed.
You should be here. I miss you.
She thought back on her conversation with Snape about why someone might not be able to produce a Patronus - incompetent, malicious, or unhappy.
I'm happy, she'd said. But how true was that? Everything that had been going on in the last year was enough to make anyone depressed, and the additional element of not having her father alive only compounded it. She let out a little sobbing sound and Bela, who'd been hanging from the railing above, swept down to lick a tear off her cheek. "You're a good boy," she muttered, giving him a pet.
He then flew over to the sink, where she'd left a bowl of grapes for him. He picked one up in his mouth, returned to the tub, and dropped it into her hand. This was one of his little tricks; he often tried to share his treats with her, as if they were a token of his love. "Naughty cretin," she teased, petting him again. "Who's my good little vampire boy?" He tapped his nose against hers, and she had to admit that she was a bit cheered up.
She kept the creature tucked away in a pocket she had sown into the inside of her robes. He seemed perfectly content to rest there with his grapes as she went about her duties in the hospital wing, and he was quite a hit with a first-year patient she'd shown him off to.
"Bela's a real charmer, isn't he?" she said to the bat, reaching in to give his ear a rub. As she refastened her robes, the door to the hospital wing banged open and she looked up in surprise. Snape was ushering Malfoy in, and the boy's white shirt was ripped and covered in blood.
"Good Heavens!" Madam Pomfrey said, moving over to them. "What's happened to him?"
But Snape ignored the woman, spotting Callie and gesturing her over.
He and Pomfrey helped Malfoy into a bed as Callie joined them. She glanced at the boy, who was soaking wet and rather shaken, taking in the very fresh-looking scar on his face. She then turned her attention to Snape and prodded, "Sir?"
"He's all right," the man informed her. "He's had a bit of blood loss, though. He needs a dose of hemogenia." Callie turned to go retrieve the blood-replenishing potion, and Snape called out, "Bring back a bottle of dittany as well."
She grabbed the supplies and brought them over. Pomfrey administered the hemogenia, explaining that Malfoy would need a second dose in an hour. "Keep an eye on him," Snape instructed. He had said it not to Pomfrey, but Callie. Handing her the dittany, he added, "Apply this to the scars. Use a generous amount." After that he stormed off, leaving the girl bewildered.
Pomfrey looked down at Malfoy and asked, "What happened to you?" But he didn't reply. He kept his jaw set and his eyes averted from either of them, still trembling slightly.
"Eh," Callie prompted, "answer her."
"It's none of her concern," the boy replied angrily. "It's not either of yours." He held out his hand, still refusing to meet either of their eyes, and said, "Give me the dittany, I'll do it myself."
"No," Callie said. There was no reason for her to deny his request, other than the fact that she refused to submit to him.
"Give me the fucking dittany!" he shouted, and Madam Pomfrey blanched.
"Watch your mouth!" she warned.
"It's all right, ma'am," Callie said calmly. "I'll take care of this. You go on ahead."
The matron hesitated, but turned away, giving Malfoy a scornful look. When she was gone, Callie pulled the bedcurtains closed and dipped a cloth into the dittany.
"Get out," Malfoy growled, but she stood her ground.
"Snape told me to do it," she replied coolly. "I try to make it a point not to defy him."
He finally turned on her, a disbelieving look on his face. "Since when?" he asked.
"Never you mind." She took him by the chin to hold him in place, and swiped the dittany over the still-healing scar that ran from his forehead to his cheek. "So," she said after a moment, "are you going to tell me what happened?"
"No. What do you care anyway?" he asked bitterly.
With a shrug, she replied, "Just mildly curious." He kept quiet, and after she was done with his face, she looked down at his ripped shirt and went to unbutton it.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, pulling away.
"I'm assuming there's another one here?" she replied, gesturing over the hole.
"I can do it myself," he said with a sneer. "I don't want you looking at me."
"Oh, for God's sake," she exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "Think you have anything I haven't seen before?" She tried again, but he slapped her hands away. "Have it your way, then." She paused as an idea came to her. Then she said, "I'll give you the dittany if you tell me what happened. I am a bit more than only mildly curious."
"You really want to know?" he asked, still with a pissy attitude. "All right - your pal Potter cursed me."
Again, she rolled her eyes and said, "He did not." She wouldn't put it past Harry to curse Malfoy, but not like this.
"You don't believe me? Ask Moaning Myrtle, she was there, she saw the whole thing."
Callie furrowed her brow at him. "Myrtle? She never comes out of her bathroom, what was she doing there?"
"We were in the bathroom," Malfoy explained.
"What the bloody hell were you and Harry doing in Myrtle's bathroom together?" The mental image of the three of them gathered in there for whatever reason was almost comical.
"The stupid bastard followed me in, and then he cursed me!"
"Just for the hell of it? Now that's a load of dung. What'd you do?"
"I didn't do anything! He's a lunatic, he is!"
"Oh, so we're back to that, are we?" Just like when You Know Who had first returned, and everyone had thought that Harry was mad, making up ridiculous stories.
Malfoy sighed and held out his hand. "Give me the damn dittany," he demanded. She shoved it into his palm, glaring down at him as he undid his shirt. "Why are you watching me?" he asked, pausing at the second button.
"Snape told me to keep an eye on you," she reminded.
"And all of a sudden you do everything your master tells you?" He scoffed. "What's he holding over you, I wonder."
"Nothing at all," she replied airily. "I've got nothing to hide, unlike some people."
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
She hesitated, eyeing him, before she reached for his left arm and snatched up his sleeve.
"Oi!" he yelled, batting her away and covering the Mark. "Don't you touch me!"
"Oh, don't bother getting your knickers in a twist. I've known all along." After a pause, she asked in a mocking tone, "Stepping in for daddy, are we?" The man had been in Azkaban since his capture at the Ministry battle.
Sneering at her, Malfoy warned, "Don't you dare speak a word about my father!"
She raised her brows and said, "After all the words you're spoken of my mum? That's rich."
They held each other's mutually contemptuous gaze for a moment, before he sat back and asked, "How did you figure it out? Did Snape tell you?" There was a strong note of bitterness in his voice. "Your 'precious head of house'?"
She furrowed her brow. "Have you got some kind of beef with him all of a sudden? I thought the two of you were best buds." She said that last part with a resentful tone.
He scoffed and replied derisively, "God, you're so stupid, Warbeck. You think you know it all, just like Granger." He shook his head before concluding, "But you're oblivious."
"Am I?" she shot back. "Figured out your dirty little secret, didn't I?"
"And have you figured out his?" he asked. "Hadn't you wondered how Snape could've known about me?"
Fuck. It occurred to her that she wasn't supposed to know the man was working for You Know Who. If she did, then wouldn't Malfoy be a bit suspicious as to why she wasn't horrified at that fact? She certainly couldn't explain that it was all a ruse, that he was really bringing information back to Dumbledore.
Play dumb, she told herself. "Isn't he a family friend of yours?" she asked. "How could he not know?"
"'Family friend,'" he echoed bitterly. "You are daft, aren't you?"
She rolled her eyes again, but remained quiet.
"I'm not the only one who's marked," he went on. "I bet he's even told you that he's working for the Order of the Phoenix. You know all about that, don't you? Dumbledore's 'secret society'?"
"Oh, I do," she replied. "I also know that you're the one who tried to send him that cursed necklace. And you poisoned Slughorn's mead." She figured that whoever was responsible for Katie's curse had also been behind the poisoning. "What was that, payback 'cause he didn't let you into his club? Or had that been meant for Dumbledore too?"
He glared at her, though she could tell from his unsettled expression that all of her hunches had been correct. Bloody hell, she thought. I know too much.
Attempting to play it cool, she went on, "Christ, Draco, if I could figure all that out, don't you think Dumbledore has some idea what's going on?"
He tried to remain calm and composed, but there was fear in his eyes; she could see it. However, he, too, tried to play it all off. "Like I said," he remarked, "oblivious. You haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about."
Good, let him think I know nothing. "Whatever you say," she muttered.
He was quiet for a moment, before he said, "You think I'm trying to kill Dumbledore? You really think the Dark Lord would task me with something that important?"
Callie stayed quiet, but it did make sense. Who else would make for a better assassin than someone who was right there in the castle with the target?
"I'm not the only one who's marked," he repeated. "Don't tell me you really have no clue who I'm talking about."
"I suppose I really am daft, Draco - like you said."
He kept his eyes on her, studying her, and the extremely unsettling idea that he could perform Legilimency crossed her mind. Oh, he's not that powerful, the little voice in the back of her head remarked. Look at him, he's pathetic.
And now that she really thought about it, he did appear rather... sickly. Dark circles underlined his eyes, his skin had an unhealthy tinge to it, and he seemed a lot bonier than usually. She could remember him being almost handsome back in the day, but now he sort of looked as though he were dying.
Biting her lip in thought, she asked, "Are you going to put that dittany on?"
No longer so shy about undressing in front of her, he undid his shirt, and Callie's eyes widened. He was skinny enough that his ribs were sticking out, and his stomach curved deeply inwards. He wasn't always like this, she thought, guessing that he must've been a good twenty pounds underweight. As he applied the dittany to the scar on his chest, she cautiously brought her fingers to his ribs, pressing them gently. He froze.
"Get... your hand... off me," he growled, and she did as he said. Not out of fear, but because she had seen and felt enough to know that he was sickly.
"Bloody hell, Draco," she breathed, looking him up and down. "What's happened to you?"
"None of your God damn business," he replied, continuing with the dittany.
She thought back over the last several months, and how different he was compared to every other year. Not just physically, but also his behavior had changed. He used to be a foul little shit heel, but at least he'd had some spirit to him. Now he walked around looking stressed out and anxious all the time, he kept to himself for the most part, and he'd barely said one word to her - or anyone, for that matter - since the start of term.
His father's in prison, the little voice reminded her. Stepping in for daddy, he is.
"Not all it's cracked up to be, is it?" she said in a low voice. "Serving the Dark Lord?"
He paused again, but stayed silent. Though he wouldn't look at her, she could see that there was something... sad in his expression. He regrets it.
"Did you think it was all just a game?" she asked. "That it was going to be fun? He did tell you to kill Dumbledore, didn't he?" she whispered. "But you're in over your head."
He took a deep, shaky breath before he said, "You shut your mouth, Warbeck. Keep your ruddy nose out of matters that don't concern you, for once."
"In case you haven't noticed," she said scornfully, "I am trying to be sympathetic."
"I don't need your sympathy," he shot back.
"Why? Who else are you getting it from?" Nobody, she thought. He didn't even seem to be on such good terms with his usual cronies - Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy... And it wasn't as though he could confide in any of his fellows in the Dark Lord's circle.
And the son of a bitch had tasked him with killing Dumbledore, who was probably the greatest wizard of their time, and could tear Mafloy apart if he wanted to? He was going to fail, and how would You Know Who respond to that? Plus his father was in Azkaban, and surely their precious master could've broken him out like he had the Lestranges and everyone else the previous year. Was leaving him to rot in the place a punishment for his failure at the Ministry battle? What would be Draco's punishment for failing to accomplish his assassination task?
No wonder the boy looks like hell. But why did she give a damn?
Because he reminds me of me - or the way I was two years ago, A.D.D. The weight loss, the dark circles under the eyes from lack of sleep, the isolation, the torture of losing her father.
You used to have some fire in your veins, but now you're just a sorry sack of misery, Snape had told her. And she could apply that to Malfoy now. She wasn't only sympathetic, she was empathetic - towards a person she had absolutely hated for years.
Is this how Snape had felt when he'd talked to me about Dad? she wondered vaguely.
"Draco," she said in a soft voice, "you don't want this." He didn't reply, but she took his silence as confirmation. "And you don't have to go on serving him. Defect," she suggested. After a pause, she said, "Snape did. He was a Death Eater in the first war."
At that, the boy scoffed. "Bloody hell, Warbeck, he didn't defect - he's still a Death Eater!"
"No, he isn't," she replied calmly. But she couldn't explain the truth to him, so she decided to keep playing dumb. "You think Dumbledore would keep him on if he was?"
"Dumbledore's a fool, he trusts Snape and he shouldn't." Leaning closer to whisper to his housemate, he went on, "It's all a lie, his work for the Order, his loyalty to Dumbledore. Hell, he's the one that wants to kill him! He's trying to get in my way so he can take all the glory. That was probably the Dark Lord's plan all along, to use me as a distraction so Snape could come up behind Dumbledore and get him by surprise."
Callie gaped at him, and something that Snape had said to her during one of their private lessons came to mind - Don't go running towards the enemy. Approach from the side or behind them. Stay hidden as long as possible.
But she wasn't going to let Malfoy try and confuse her. She knew Snape, and she trusted him. Despite her empathy for Malfoy's situation, he had always been a rat, and now that she knew of his criminal actions, he would obviously say anything to throw the blame off himself. Rolling her eyes, she said, "You're full of it."
"You don't believe that Snape would do that?" he asked. "That he isn't just as dark as all the rest of us?"
Callie sighed. "No, I don't," she said.
He gave her a disbelieving look and said, "Why, are you sweet on him or something?" He was obviously being sarcastic, but her heart still skipped a beat. "He treated you like dung for years and now you're defending the man? You, of all people?"
"If Snape were that evil, he'd have killed me a long time ago," she argued. "And he's had plenty of time to do away with Dumbledore. Sixteen years, and he hasn't touched the man! If he wanted to win favor with the Dark Lord, then Dumbledore would already be dead." After a pause, she added, "I'm not defending him, I'm being reasonable. Perhaps you should try it out sometime."
Again, he glared at her, before the bedcurtain flew open, pulling their attention away from each other and towards Pansy, who stood looking absolutely horrified at the sight of her wet, bloodied boyfriend. "My God, Draco!" she exclaimed, jumping up on his bed and throwing her arms around his neck. Callie couldn't help but smile to herself, as he seemed rather irritated when she started planting kisses all over his face. After a moment, she finally turned on Callie and sneered. "What are you doing here?" she asked.
"I'm working," Callie replied matter-of-factly.
"'Working'?" Pansy echoed derisively.
"Yes, I'm Madam Pomfrey's assistant," Callie explained. "I've been doing it for three months. I'm quite certain I've mentioned it at some point."
"Well, you can go work on someone else." Placing a hand on Malfoy's bare chest, she said, "I'll take care of him."
She raised a brow, but Malfoy didn't respond, and he didn't look at either of the girls. Finally, Callie sighed and said, "If you insist." She held up the bottle of blood-replenishing potion and explained, "He needs one ounce of this in about-" she checked her watch "-forty minutes." Setting the potion back on his bedside table, she added, "Make sure he gets it. I don't want to be held responsible if anything should happen to the bloke." With that, she pulled the curtain closed and left them to themselves.