CHAPTER THREE
When that morning the Prophet announced the appointment of Professor Snape to headmaster and the Carrow twins to the Defense Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies posts, not even Ginny put up any complaint to going back to Hogwarts. The argument had been exhausted; there was no more anyone could say; she and Draco would be on the train in hours and under the Death Eaters' watch that night. Admittedly, Draco was unsure whether Ginny or even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley knew that the Carrows were Death Eaters—or what terrible teachers they were. Draco, who had already studied with them at Durmstrang, pushed his scrambled eggs around the plate and said nothing.
Fred and George had hung a sign in the window the night before announcing the shop's closure for today, intending to see them off. "We want our little sister to have a guard," Fred explained.
Ginny protested, "I'm not a kid anymore, Fred," but, though her hands were on her hips, she smiled as she tried to glare at him.
Mr. Weasley, thoroughly excited for the excuse to use his felly-tone ("Can't use wizard transport. Don't know who could be driving. Wouldn't dare," he told Draco, beaming more broadly than Draco had seen him do for some time.), hired them two taxis to King's Cross. Draco eyed the auto with great distrust as George hoisted Ginny's trunk into the boot beside Draco's. Despite the assurances of the Weasleys (Mrs. Weasley's given with only a little more confidence than he felt), Draco was not convinced that the autos would not go to pieces on the journey between Devonshire and London. Luck hadn't exactly been with them this holiday.
He slid most uneasily into a seat beside Ginny, with George in front with the driver and Mrs. Weasley on Ginny's other side. Fred and Mr. Weasley said that they would follow in the auto behind, "With our wands out and ready," Fred assured them all, though looking particularly at his mother, who was biting her lip in a way that had become almost normal. "Just in case." As Fred and George were paying the fare for both taxis, no one objected to these arrangements.
The taxi ride was a long one, though Draco suspected that the presence of George made it slightly more bearable. His buoyant personality and humor held up even now, and he cracked jokes that had even Ginny and Mrs. Weasley smiling despite themselves.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters looked like it always did on 1 September: crowded with parents seeing their children off and children skirting parents and carriages to meet up with friends, owls hooting, cats mewling, the babble of summer gossip as thick as the steam that still billowed from the red engine and covered them all in a haze, though Draco noticed that smiles seemed more strained, eyes scoured the crowd with more intensity, and the babble was of a lower tone than was usual, if not quieter.
The Muggle taxis had not been as fast as they'd hoped. They had only fifteen minutes to say goodbye. Draco hovered awkwardly beside them as Mrs. Weasley threw her arms around Ginny and began to sob. Mr. Weasley put an arm on her shoulders. "There now, Molly. She'll be all right."
Draco watched the people through the steam. Mrs. Weasley was far from the only parent having a hard time letting her child onto the train. Two cars down, he saw Neville Longbottom embracing his stern-looking grandmother. Draco recognized her by the vulture-topped hat it was rumored that Longbottom had put on a boggart-Snape in their third year. Longbottom looked somehow different than Draco remembered him, but he couldn't figure out just what had—
"Oh, Draco, dear!"
Draco was caught by surprise as Mrs. Weasley, still sobbing, threw herself upon him with all the force of a maddened hippogriff. Over her shoulder, he could see Ginny now saying goodbye to her father and brothers.
"It's been so wonderful having you with us this holiday." Mrs. Weasley's voice was muffled as she pressed her face into his shoulder. "It really has. I don't know what we would have done without— You can forgive us, can't you? We can't have been the best company, but you've been so absolutely won—"
Draco patted her awkwardly on the back. "Mrs. Weasley, there's absolutely nothing for me to forgive. You've been worried. I've been worried too, but your own family has been—well, we've been worried about them."
"You really are sweet." Mrs. Weasley pulled back and caught hold of his shoulders. She looked at him carefully. "Promise you'll write—once a week as often as you can. I've told Ginny she must too, but I won't be able to sleep, not knowing if the two of you are safe."
"I'll be fine, Mrs. Weasley. We both will. But I'll write," he promised hastily.
"You're a good boy," she said, smiling at him. She hesitated a moment then swooped in and kissed him on the forehead as Draco had seen her do so often to her own sons, to Ginny, to Harry, the force of the kiss warm with her love in a way that Draco's mother's had never...
Draco smiled as she pulled away. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," he whispered, and he hoped that she understood.
The whistle of the train sounded.
"Oh! Only five minutes till the train takes off. You'd better hurry. Ginny!"
Draco was shunted forward. Ginny and the other Weasleys soon appeared beside them. As Mrs. Weasley handed Ginny into the train, Draco said his last goodbyes to the others. Fred and George clapped him genially on the back.
"Watch over our sister," Fred was sure to say.
"We're counting on you, Draco," George added. "As a Weasley by election, it's your duty to the family."
"I will," Draco promised them both. "Take care."
"Don't worry about us," Fred told him.
Arthur took his hand. "You take care," he told Draco. "We'll tell you what we're doing as often as we can."
Fred winked. "It won't be often though."
"Come on, dear, hurry up," Mrs. Weasley said, sweeping up to him.
"Oh, Mum. Mum, it'll be all right. I promise it will."
Draco looked around. At the end of the next car, Alana O'Toule was wrapped around her mother, who was sobbing even harder than Mrs. Weasley had.
"I've already lost your father to him, Alana. I couldn't bear to lose you too."
"Mum, I'll be fine. He won't kill me."
"You can't possibly know that. What if I put you on that train, and I never see you again?"
"I'll see you at Christmas," Draco promised the Weasleys and headed off.
"But Draco, the train!" Mrs. Weasley called.
"I'll catch it," he promised. "Just a minute."
Draco had never met Mrs. O'Toule. He only knew that she had never approved of him. He wasn't at all sure how to address her, particularly now. "Erm, Mrs. O'Toule?"
Alana jerked back in her mother's arms. "Draco!" she cried, her face breaking into a strained smile. She looked as though she hadn't smiled or slept much for a while. But she stretched out her hand, and Draco took it, letting her lead him closer.
"Draco?" Mrs. O'Toule yelped, looking at her daughter, who only smiled at her a little warily. Though they were red from crying, when Mrs. O'Toule turned narrowed eyes on Draco, he almost wanted to recoil—might have, if Alana had not held him fast. "So you're the infamous Draco Malfoy. Yes, you look like your father."
Draco flinched. "Mrs. O'Toule," he started again, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I couldn't help overhearing. I was just over there—" he waved a hand in the direction of the Weaselys. Ginny had stuck her head out the open window and was glancing his way as she talked with her mother. He took a deep breath. "I want you to know that I will do absolutely everything possible to keep your daughter safe. I'd be in shambles without her and—"
"And what can you do? What can any of us do?"
"I—I'd do anything for her, Mrs. O'Toule, I really would."
Mrs. O'Toule sniffed. "The word of a seventeen-year-old wizard. And a Malfoy at that."
"Mum!"
"I know you trust him, Alana. You've told me so— God! I couldn't count the times! But really—a seventeen-year-old against—against—him!"
"He's stood up to him before, Mum."
Draco looked away. Alana didn't know the deal that he had made. She didn't know he was again working for him, didn't know that he hadn't been able to fight this time...
The train's whistle sounded again, and the pistons began to move, the wheels to turn.
"Draco!" Mrs. Weasley called.
"Please, Mrs. O'Toule," Draco said quickly. "I know you don't trust me, and I know I'm young—"
"Alana is all I have in this world."
"Mum," Alana cut in, "I'll see you at Christmas, I promise. Draco will take care of me. And I'll look after myself."
"But, Alana—"
The train was picking up speed quickly. Alana let go of her mother, and Draco hurried with her over to the train. He opened one of the doors, leapt inside, and held out a hand for Alana.
"Mum, I promise, please—" she called, as she reached for his hand.
"Be careful, Alana."
"I will, Mum." She caught his hand and leapt too. The force of the train, of her jump threw them both backward onto the steps, Draco beneath her. The door slammed shut. Draco groaned, aching and bruised, and shook his head to clear it.
Above the churn of the pistons and the clacking of the wheels on the track, students calling to one another behind them, he heard a moan, then cracked, sobbing breaths. Alana was crying now, in earnest, her tears falling onto his chest.
"Are you all right?" He made to sit up, putting an arm around her to steady her. If she should be hurt now... just after he'd promised her mother... Her body shook beneath his hand. She seemed thinner than he remembered.
"I'm sorry," she muttered thickly as he moved to rearrange himself. "It's just—"
He managed to disentangle their legs and sit her upright too, though she leaned all her weight on his chest, seemed unable or unwilling to support herself.
"It's just— Mum's right," she choked. "What if I don't see her again? I—I have you, but Mum's alone—out there. Anything could happen. She could be killed too. And I can't do anything from Hogwarts, can't be with her. And it's tearing her apart to send me away—into all this."
"Mrs. Weasley too," Draco admitted, pulling her nearer. "But we'll see them again."
"How can you be so sure?"
Draco hesitated. Alana knew more than anyone else did about him—anyone else other than the Dark Lord himself, who knew more—and as much as Snape knew or Dumbledore had known—Dumbledore simply seemed to have known everything about everyone sometimes. She knew that he was supposed to have been raised by the Dark Lord, knew what he would have been had the Dark Lord had his way. She had not abandoned him. This was worse, though, than any of that. But, for once, he wanted to tell her, needed to tell her. He wanted to explain himself, before she found out by watching him, because he would have to do as he was told, and she would find out.
"He made me Head Boy, Alana."
"After everything you've—"
"Alana, he came to the Burrow over the summer. The Death Eaters overwhelmed us at Bill and Fleur's wedding. He wanted to know about Harry. He interrogated all of us, one by one. Well, no," Draco amended. "He only interrogated me; the Death Eaters did everyone else. And that's why—" The words sank as he looked into her eyes, innocent eyes, red now from crying. But even now she was not looking away from him; she wasn't recoiling. She pressed a hand into his.
"Alana, I had to tell him. I told him what he wanted to know because I had to. I knew and he knew that otherwise he was just going to get it from me by Legilimency. No one else had cracked, even though they hurt them, but I—I couldn't—"
"Draco—"
"Listen! Alana, I'm working for him again. I'm working for him because I had no choice, but I gave in. It means though that I'll have some sort of power at Hogwarts. It means I can look after you, and I can look after Ginny. If I tell them to leave you alone—"
"Hey there!"
Draco looked around fast. "Macnair."
The Death Eater started when he saw Draco's face. "Oh, er, my lord, I—"
"What, Macnair?"
"That—that can't be the most comfortable place to..." The Death Eater's eyes flitted to Alana.
"That's not really your concern, is it, Macnair?"
"Er, no, but I'm, er, supposed to patrol the cars and—"
"So patrol them. I'm not stopping you. In fact, go up to the front. I'm supposed to be meeting someone—one of the others—there. Tell whomever it is that I'll be late."
"Er, of course." Macnair dropped into an awkward bow and slipped away.
Draco looked back at Alana, who looked small in the circle of his arms, her head bent.
"One of the Death Eaters?"
"Yeah," Draco sighed.
"He called you 'my lord.'"
"He did." Draco didn't like it. It was too like the Dark Lord.
Alana hesitated then looked up into his face. There was a plea there but not fear. "Let's go find a compartment."
"Let's go find Ginny," Draco agreed. "She should be in the next car, I think. Then I have to go get the instructions for this year's prefects."
Alana shook her head. "I don't want to leave you."
"But I don't want you to meet the Death Eaters."
Alana turned up her chin. "Take me with you."
"I don't know who's coming. If my aunt shows up—but he has better sense than to send her here; she's insane," Draco muttered, more to himself than Alana, but she heard, close as they were.
"So he'll send someone sane. He'll send someone who'll listen to you."
"Unless he wants to test me."
"You saw what that man was like. Just tell whomever it is not to touch me, and I'll be fine."
"It's not that simple," Draco muttered, looking away from her confident face. "The Dark Lord," Draco paused to consider how best to phrase what he meant, "he doesn't understand love. I don't know how he'll react. I don't want him getting the idea that you're interested in all this, that you want to help me. He might just demand that you do—and that would kill me—and you."
"Where are you meeting—whomever?"
"Up in the first compartment of the first car."
Alana thought about this a moment. "Let me come up to the car," she suggested. "That's where the prefects will be, right? I'll wait with them. Kari will be there."
"That'll leave Ginny alone…."
"Please, Draco. I won't follow you into the compartment, if you want. I'll just feel better if you're nearby."
"Honestly," Draco said, "so will I." He stood and offered her his hand to help her up.
Draco looked around when they entered the first car, where were mostly open bench seats instead of compartments. Pansy Parkinson was there, and she glared at Alana as she came in, towed by Draco's hand. Draco also recognized Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff, the Patil twins, Anthony Goldstein, and Neville Longbottom. Kari waved, her smile and gesture nervous. Hermione and Ron, of course, ought to have been there instead of Parvati Patil and Longbottom. Draco grimaced and wondered again where they were, what they were thinking.
Alana kissed his cheek, squeezed his hand, and went over to Kari.
Even though Kari was there, Draco thought he would feel better leaving Alana with— "Longbottom," he called softly. He knew Neville had been training in Defense Against the Dark Arts with Harry. He knew that he had no desire to comply with the Death Eaters. If they asked for Alana, he would defend her.
Longbottom narrowed his eyes, but called, "What?"
"Look after Alana?"
"I suppose you must be a prefect now," Parkinson sneered. Draco's rise had hardly followed the usual route. Blaise Zabini had been the second Slytherin prefect for his fifth and sixth year, not Draco. But Zabini had fled Hogwarts last June, joined the Death Eaters and aided in Dumbledore's murder, and that had left Draco as the last of the boys from his dorm at Hogwarts. He'd have been a prefect this year even without the Dark Lord's intervention but only by elimination.
"But," Parkinson continued, "she can't be. Why's she here? And why should she need looking after?"
Draco looked at her, looked at them all. "I'm Head Boy." He noticed then that there didn't seem to be a Head Girl, or if there was, that she wasn't wearing her badge either.
"I thought maybe they did away with the Heads," Padma Patil said, looking at the others, at Pansy and Hannah Abbott.
"Not," Draco grimaced, "me. Will you, Longbottom?"
Longbottom nodded, and Draco nodded in return, tried to offer him a smile. "Has anyone come through here? Any of the—adults?" he hastily substituted. If they didn't know that they were surrounded, he wasn't going to tell them—yet. Not with a Death Eater possibly so near.
"Macnair came through," Macmillan offered. "He ducked into that compartment"—Macmillan indicated one of two—"for a few minutes, then left."
"Thanks."
Draco crossed to the compartment door. As he reached out to push it open, his hand grew warm, and that warmth crept up his arm to his Mark. His hand passed through the barrier, which cooled, before it came in contact with the wood. He pushed open the door.
Sitting alone in the compartment was an old man with silvered hair. He looked around when the door opened. Mulciber's eyes were still deep-set from his years in Azkaban.
"My Lord Draco." Mulciber waved a hand toward the seat opposite him, ignoring Draco's flinch at the title.
"Mulciber," Draco returned, composing himself and taking the seat.
"I made your favorite." Mulciber had set up a small table in the space between the two seats. He poured Draco a cup of Earl Grey tea and passed it to him.
Draco couldn't accept it without a, "Thanks."
Mulciber smiled. "Your father taught you well."
"Or Molly Weasley did," Draco said, taking a sip.
"Your father first, whatever your loyalties now."
"I'm here, aren't I? I'll do what I've told him I will."
"You will," Mulciber agreed, nodding.
Draco took another sip of the tea, hoping that the drink would settle the tightness in his stomach. "So what are his orders?"
"Things won't be the same at Hogwarts this year."
"I never imagined they would be."
"Prefects will dock and add points as they see fit, as always. They'll report to you, but you'll report to the Carrows, instead of the deputy headmistress."
"The Carrows?" Draco yelped.
"The Carrows are in charge of all discipline."
Draco looked away. "I was hoping to avoid them as much as possible."
Mulciber smiled, "A lord must sometimes deal with those he'd rather not."
Draco frowned. "Is McGonagall still deputy?"
"She is."
"If she's not in charge of discipline, if I don't report to her, what does she do?"
"If she's a wise woman, she'll do nothing."
This did not lift Draco's frown. "Go on, Mulciber. What else is new?"
"Prefects will check all letters coming into and being sent out of Hogwarts. Any letters that complain too loudly of the policy changes at Hogwarts or which contain information that might be valuable to the Dark Lord are to be brought to you. You will take note of who tried to send them and of whom they were writing to and keep a list. This list will be given to the headmaster. Letters containing information you will read and bring to Snape to read. From there, I believe the Dark Lord will have them."
"Information..."
"We're still looking for Potter, Weasley, and Granger, you know—"
"Oh I know," Draco mumbled darkly, glaring at his tea.
"—and members of the Order of the Phoenix, though the Dark Lord has a good plan to catch them. I expect that will soon bear fruit."
Draco frowned more deeply, but he didn't quite dare ask for details, even from Mulciber, who had always considered himself chummy with Draco. "What," Draco asked instead, "do I do with the letters after they've come to me? The ones that just complain too loudly. Censor them?"
"Burn them."
"What? Just burn them? No one will ever get any mail out."
"And I don't think that'll displease him. He wants the wizarding world's cooperation. Parents don't like to hear their children complain. Gets them thinking there's a need for change, gets them thinking about rebelling. And we can't have that." Mulciber paused, looked at Draco with narrowed eyes. "You'll do as he says."
Draco hesitated. "Yes, I said I would," he sighed. He took a swallow of tea, but it didn't settle his stomach or nerves.
"He knows what he's doing."
Draco bit his lip to bite back the comments that came to his tongue. That's what worries me. I wish he didn't.
xxx
As the list went on, Draco felt more and more unsettled, imagining Hogwarts as the Dark Lord did.
Mulciber followed him fearlessly out of the compartment, not apparently worried that any of the prefects would recognize him from his wanted posters—or perhaps only confident that there would be no repercussions if they did. He stood beside Draco as they faced the carriage. With a nervous look in Mulciber's direction Draco related all that he had been told in as authoritarian a manner as he dared.
Only when the last dictum had been explained, when no one seemed to have any more questions did Mulciber pat Draco once on the shoulder, saying, "Good man," and mutter, "Good luck, my lord," before Disapparating.
The hail of questions really began then.
"You can't actually expect us to enforce all this?" Longbottom demanded.
"You'll do as you're told, Longbottom, or feel his wrath," Pansy snarled, glancing sideways at Draco.
"Malfoy's?" Longbottom chortled.
"No."
Draco looked back at him, at his set face and remembered a spineless Longbottom, whom he had cursed without a care in their first year. He wondered what had happened to that boy. "She's right, Longbottom."
"You? You'd have us— You, Draco Malfoy? The Death Eater who ran off? The one who tried so hard to convince us all he'd left—"
"He did leave," Alana chimed in, setting her glare on Longbottom.
"And now he's back as his lapdog? Maybe Harry was right after all. Maybe he did come to Hogwarts to spy."
"Neville!" Alana cried. "Harry is one of Draco's best friends!"
"Has he seen him since this happened?"
"Are you going to let him talk about you like that?" Pansy asked curiously.
Draco looked at her a moment. "I've said what I have to say," he told her evenly. "Last year and the year before that when you were saying worse about me."
Pansy colored. "Well that— That was then. And now—"
"Now I have power," Draco finished for her. "Longbottom can say what he wants; it doesn't change things. You do as I tell you to and know that my orders come from—higher up," he finished delicately.
"You-Know-Who, you mean," Longbottom growled.
"I do. He's running this school now."
"And you're running his errands."
"Longbottom—" Draco stopped. He looked around the car. The prefects had all split off. The Slytherins and Alana had all shifted towards him, but almost everyone else was migrating towards Longbottom. Kari lingered somewhat uncertainly in the middle. "This isn't the place," Draco said finally. "Longbottom, come with me. We'll talk this out—alone."
He walked back to the compartment he'd just left. Mulciber had disabled the barrier. When Alana made to follow, he glanced at Neville, who had started after him after waving off Macmillan and Parvati Patil. "Mind if she comes?" Draco asked. "A mediator?"
Longbottom looked from Alana to Draco and shook his head shortly, though he frowned.
Inside the compartment, with the door closed, Draco sat down beside Alana. Alana, glancing at Neville, laid her hand on the seat beside Draco, near enough that he knew that she was reaching for him. She thanked Draco with a smile when he laid his hand so that their fingers intertwined atop the leather seat. Draco was glad of her hand in his too.
Longbottom flung himself on the opposite bench, crossed his arms, and glared at Draco across the narrow aisle. He sat, Draco noted with a frown, as far from Draco as he could, by the compartment door.
"I thought I could trust you," Longbottom growled. "Harry trusted you. Now—"
"Stop, Neville."
Neville did.
Draco's authoritarian façade had not yet fallen from him. "Before you say a word more, you're exactly right. And I think I need you, Neville."
Alana looked up at Draco, her eyes wide. She might well be surprised. Admitting needing anyone was not something that Draco did easily.
Draco offered her a half-smile before Longbottom scoffed, "You? Need me?"
Draco, returning his attention to Longbottom, steadily confirmed, "Yes. I need you."
Longbottom's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Because I don't want to uphold his rules anymore than you do. But we can't just jump in there and expect to defy him—or the Carrows, for that matter—outright. I especially can't. We need a plan. You're thinking like a Gryffindor. You think you can get what you want by pure nerve—"
"Sometimes, we can," Alana reminded him quietly.
"Maybe," he relented, feeling an odd tug at the corner of his mouth. He was sure nerve had driven Alana to face him at first. "But not now. You don't know the Carrows. They're like Erumpet horns, the pair of them. One light touch and they'll blow up you and anyone in twenty feet. And the Dark Lord's as clever as a snake, the cleverest— We need a plan," he repeated.
Longbottom had his arms still firmly crossed over his chest, was slumped in the seat. He was silent for several long moments as Draco watched him.
"And I suppose you have an idea?" Longbottom asked Draco finally.
Draco let go of his held breath. "I need some time, Neville. This has all been pretty sudden, and I didn't know what we were dealing with till just now. But..." he looked at Alana, "I'm not sure I can make plans alone. And I know I can't pull them off alone, whatever they may be. It'll take all four Houses, as many prefects as can be trusted, as many as dislike him. Maybe we'll get the other students too. I saw the prefects out there; I don't know if you did. You dug into me, and the others rallied to you. Will you help me, Neville?"
Longbottom maintained his sullen silence for some time before saying slowly, "When one person stands up to—to—"
"To him, shall we say?"
Longbottom nodded. "It gives others courage. It gives them hope."
"And I'm not opposed to hope. But it won't give anyone hope if—God! I don't even know what they'd do to us—to you, but it wouldn't be pretty. The Carrows are ruthless as well as stupid. It's a terrible combination. We have to move quietly, Neville. I can't promise we'll make it out alive if we don't. I can't promise we'll make it out alive if we do, but we'll have a better chance."
"You keep saying 'we.'"
Draco shook his head. "I told you, Neville: I can't do this alone. I'm under his constant scrutiny. And I've messed up before. Again and again. I made a promise this time. I gave him what he wanted because I saw no way around it. Because—" He looked at Alana, and she met his stare. "Because I have people—friends—family to protect now. Before, when I ran away, it was just me and him. And I could risk myself. There was no one else to consider, and running gave me a better chance than staying did. It wasn't a good chance, but it was enough—enough for me to risk it. I had nothing to lose. My life was at stake either way. But—"
"Now you stop," Longbottom said. When Draco looked at him, he had unfolded himself, was sitting upright in the seat. There was a hint of a smile on his face, still boyish in its way. "You're making me ill."
Draco hid a smile and pressed the advantage. "Help me, Neville."
Longbottom nodded. "I will. I'll do what I can, for as long as I trust you. You've got a lot to make up for. You'll have to earn it."
Draco held out his hand. Neville looked at it for a minute before taking it.
xxx
The three of them remained in the compartment for some time, trying to find some way to attack their situation—or, more accurately, Neville and Alana made wild suggestions, and Draco found the gaping holes in their plans.
"Short-term," Draco sighed after forty minutes or so. "Let's think short-term. Let's get through the first week. Let's give ourselves time to think, to plan. We need a way to look like we're doing as he's told us, without actually following it to the letter, without getting caught. We—" Draco thought of Dumbledore. "There are the first years. If their first year at Hogwarts can't be a good one, we have to make it as bearable as possible."
"Short-term can't we just— The prefects report to you, right?" Neville said.
"Right."
"Well, then can't you just lie to the Carrows?"
"For a while that might work, but thick as they are, the Carrows'll get suspicious eventually."
"Well, until then. You said you only wanted to buy time."
"And I can't lie to him."
"You don't report to him directly."
Draco shifted his eyes away. He didn't want to go into the details of his situation with Neville. "All right, so I lie—to the Carrows, and the Carrows tell what they think is the truth to him." And I avoid him; I use Occlumency. Draco pulled a face. He'd never learned Occlumency well—certainly not well enough. "We handle it ourselves," Draco continued. "I'll have to come up with punishments, then, I suppose, if they're ever needed... Can prefects give detentions?" he mused. "And we'll have to tell the prefects that I'm handing down the sentences instead of—no, from the Carrows—and that they aren't to be questioned, and aren't to be repeated to others, that they have to be kept quiet. Will they buy that? We have to keep those punishments quiet from the Carrows. Oh God." Draco threw his hands to his face. "This all requires so much lying, so many allies."
"You're good at that," Neville pointed out. "Making allies."
Draco looked up. "Oh yes, I'm simply rolling in friends. Mind, right now, most of them are Death Eaters, and I wouldn't say that the feeling's mutual so—"
"You made an ally of me."
Draco fought a smile and lost. But he lost the smile quickly when a small voice crept into his mind, telling him how like the Dark Lord he'd have to act, managing a team of minions—
Allies, Draco told himself. It's not the same. I'll trust them. The Dark Lord doesn't trust the Death Eaters.
And where, the voice wondered, will trust get you? Trust them with too many secrets and the lie becomes too thinly spread, too transparent. Too many people could slip.
Draco swallowed. "Lying, I think," Draco said aloud to drown the voice, "we can get around the Carrows for a little while. If the prefects report to me, if we handle it ourselves, I can tell the Carrows there haven't been any disturbances, nothing to punish, nothing to report. If they get suspicious, I might have to hand over a few of the least offensive—"
"Draco, you can't!" Alana cried.
"War," Neville sighed. When Draco looked, Neville had already turned to stare out the window past Draco.
"War," Draco agreed, leaving Neville to whatever thoughts he had to return to Alana.
She bit her lip. "I don't like it."
"No," Draco said, biting back a chuckle, worried that she'd take it wrongly, not see it as an outburst of his affection for her. He settled for wrapping his fingers into hers. She allowed him, but still looked very uneasy. "I wouldn't expect you would. Not you."
"And what about the mail?" Neville wondered, turning back around. "Parents—grandparents will want to hear from their kids."
"We'll have the prefects tell their Houses about the censorship. Mulciber didn't say the prefects couldn't. We'll tell everyone that the first letter home should be simple. Just let the parents know they're at school, let the first years tell them which House they got in."
"Afterwards?"
Draco hesitated. "I don't know that we can get around that one... We'll have to turn some in, I'm afraid. He won't believe that everyone's happy here. If we can just keep more going out than being stopped... And if we can keep information going out, that would be brilliant. I'll keep thinking," he promised.
Neville nodded. "Will…. You stayed with the Weasleys, and we all know that they— I mean," he hastened, "will there be anyone to use the information? Is the Order of the Phoenix— With Dumbledore—"
"They've—they've met once… since."
Neville nodded again, smiling. "Good."
"It's not," Draco sighed, "or not entirely. I suppose I should be glad there are people fighting, but I just can't help thinking…."
"How can that be bad?" Alana wondered. "They're fighting."
"You bloody Gryffindors," Draco snorted. "Do you all think it's about just showing up? I can't help thinking that—well, they're in the same position we are. If they act, it's a matter of time before— They weren't the craftiest lot when Dumbledore was heading them. They've lost Snape. And Mulciber said the Dark Lord had a plan. It might…." Draco glanced at Alana, then at Neville, whose expression had become surly again. Draco looked down at his knotted hands. "It might be better if they'd just lay low, hide—till this is all over, or at least till things have settled and they can plan."
"If it's all plans and no action—" Neville grumbled.
"I'm not saying they should never act," Draco argued. "I'm saying they shouldn't act till—till they're ready, till the time's ripe, till they have an opening. That's how they'll keep alive. But I doubt they will wait. They're Gryffindors, most of them, and as impulsive as any of you. You're such trouble! In school or out, it'll be the Gryffindors fighting hardest and first."
Neville's stony frown broke in a smile, in which Alana joined him.
"It's nothing to be proud of!" Draco stormed. "You don't realize what trouble we could get into this year. You don't understand what the Carrows—"
A knock on the door made them all jump, and they stared as the door was pushed open.
The trolley witch poked her head in. "They told me to pass you by earlier, but I'm going up to the front. Anything for you?"
All three released a collective breath, and Neville jumped up, fishing in his pocket for coins.
"Two forty," Alana said, consulting her watch and looking up at Draco.
"For you, dears?"
Alana glanced at Draco and asked if she served tea.
"Don't," Draco hurried. Living with the Weasleys, he had learned the value of saving money when he had a little, and he had only a very little.
"You need it. It's on me," Alana said, paying the witch, taking the sturdy mugs from her, and handing one to Draco. As the witch closed the door, Alana murmured, taking Draco's free hand in her own, "You can't save the world, Draco."
"What?"
"You can't save the world. You said it earlier. You need Neville. You need all the prefects. You can't do this alone." She looked around to include Neville. "We need Harry."
"No word?" Neville asked Draco, biting into a cauldron cake. "The Weasleys must know if anyone."
"He was at the Burrow. Then he, Ron, and Hermione fled when the Death Eaters showed up."
"What?" Neville cried, and the last bit of cake fell into his lap.
Briefly, Draco explained the scene at the wedding.
Neville swore, and Draco started and stared at him.
"At least they got out," Alana reminded. "Do you think we'll see them again?" she asked Draco.
Draco tore his eyes from Neville. "Yeah. I mean, yes. I think we'll have to. In the end. In the end I think it'll have to be him. Won't it?"
"He turned to you as the expert on You-Know-Who," Neville pointed out.
"Yes, but—but I don't think the Dark Lord—he doesn't see this ending like I—like we hope that it will. He thinks he'll kill Harry, and the world will be his. I suppose that might be the end of the war. If he had some idea of the end of his life, I think it'd be a featherbed somewhere in a quiet corner of the country with the world mourning his passing."
Neville snorted.
"Well, yes," Draco agreed, "it's unlikely but— Have you ever thought about it? How you'd like to—"
"Die?" Neville prompted. He pulled a face. "I hope it'll be quick. And I hope I don't leave anyone behind."
Alana shifted beside Draco, and when he looked at her, she had curled into a corner of the seat, her face hanging over the steaming mug.
"You?" Neville asked.
Draco pulled a face too, looked again at Alana. "Quietly—very quietly and with—with friends around—maybe a family—maybe a big family," he added and was assailed by an image of himself, Alana kneeling beside him, her hair white and longer than it was now, her hand in his, both of them with withered and wrinkled skin, but Alana's eyes still shining behind her tears. He tried to look beyond her, but the room was in dark shadow.
"You've been with the Weasleys too long already, Malfoy," Neville chortled.
"Maybe I have," Draco agreed, but the image hung before his eyes, and he still tried to distinguish shapes in the shadows.
xxx
He, Alana, and Neville emerged from their carriage not long after finishing their tea and snacks, and Draco asked the fifth years to explain the new mail regulations to the first years as they were taken up to their Houses. He asked all the prefects to explain it to their own dorms before bed tonight, and to spread the word as they could among the second, third, and fourth years. Any questions that the prefects couldn't answer were to be directed towards him. He warned them too to come to him for punishments, that he'd decided to be liaison between them and the Carrows; he didn't think the Carrows would mind the lighter load.
Draco passed around a piece of parchment and had them all sign up in pairs for days during the first two weeks to read the mail that students tried to send. Even as he watched the sheet pass, the prefects lean toward one another to form bands, barter for days off he felt a squirm of guilt over the assigning the task. Pansy Parkinson bullied one of the Slytherin fifth years into partnering with her, leaving Draco to pair with the other, who eyed him warily.
Many prefects darted glances between Draco and Neville. Neville and Draco both kept from looking at the other, maintaining an act of hard-won truce by silent agreement.