What Else Can We Do?

Part 2:

The Dream Walker

Chapter 13:

'I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.'

~ 'Frankenstein' by Mary Shelley

2000

When I look back, everything seems to have a touch of destiny to it.

Draco sank further into his chair, flicking the end of his quill back and forth across his palm, distracted by the thought. When his head became too full of it, he sighed and went to work again, dipping the nib of his quill in its inkwell, knowing the worth of words that demanded to be written would take the night and the dawn if it could.

It has an odd way of reassuring me that all of my choices, good or bad, played some part in ushering me to this moment. Maybe I want it all to have a purpose. The kinder side of me is more forgiving of such conceit, but the harsher side is always there, ready to tear it down to survival instinct.

Up until now, I never knew that I'd been asking the question of why. Oh, it lingered in the background of things, causing an uneasiness I couldn't pinpoint or explain I have no doubt. But there's no point to it truly, because the answer will always be Albus. That boy . . .

Draco paused, then gave out a breathless laugh against the hand at his mouth, his heart light enough for the smile to linger.

Words on a page can scarcely convey the debt I owe him and his kin. I hope they know how grateful I am, and always will be, for what they did.

It's strange to think that at first they were just figures in the dark that filled me with dread, associated with pain and a scar. Then they were a presence that followed me in the Dreaming. I remember wanting to yell, so sure that it was the shadows again, certain that I'd do anything in the end to stop the scratching at the back of my skull when they crowded close. But I began to recognise their magic for what it was: the same kind that made the brand on my chest. They had little reason to trust me yet, least of all with their only son, so I left the Dreaming as respectfully as I could whenever they loomed close.

There was no way to tell them that the very idea of hurting Albus was anathema to me. He was like family even then and Malfoys look after family. I suppose it's a good thing that Albus is very proficient in the art of getting his own way (even if I am his main victim now) and decided that this stalemate would not do. Insistence was the boy's weapon of choice in this matter – that and a smiling dismissiveness that managed to weasel past enough of my reservations. For his parents, he served the same, but added a bored, unimpressed look in the face of their attempts to convince us to keep the status quo.

And somehow, we found ourselves in the dark place where we met and I was marked, two resisting forces that touched only when Albus was added to the mix.

You see, the answer is and always will be Albus.

xXx

1991

The divide between them wasn't much, just the fire crackling and spitting as the wood collapsed bit by stubborn bit into embers, but it was enough. A delighted squeal from Albus made Draco look up and watch as he was swung around in the air by one of his parents, the tall one that had the biggest smile of the lot. His mother was laughing along with them while she sat resting against the dark-haired man's chest, his arm around her shoulders. Now and then, she'd tilt her head back and whisper something that'd elicit a chuckle from the man and much shaking of his head. Draco hugged his knees tighter and stared at the flames.

He knew he was being rude, but silence had found and kept him after he'd stuttered a 'hello'. He just hoped his nods had been considered enough acknowledgement of his hosts. He didn't want them to think badly of him.

The nagging feeling grew though with each joke he didn't understand, every laugh he didn't join in on. He wished he hadn't given in and agreed to come here. He wasn't a creature of the Dreaming like them. Sure, he was a Dream Walker, but that didn't mean much. . . It made him into no more than observer, an outsider, subject to the tides and turns of the Dreaming when they were the shakers.

He felt something brush against his leg and saw King staring up at him, blue eyes wide and body vibrating from the force of her purring. He scooped the kitten up and hugged her against his chest. At least someone had noticed him.

His silence did allow him one thing though: the time to find out just what Albus had of his parents in him. It made for an oddly fascinating study. The boy had the dark-haired man's quietness, the same half-frown look when he was considering someone or something. He also had his tendency to let his head catch up with his heart before he spoke. He had his mother's seriousness, but also her readiness to smile and the ability to convey so much with a look. He had the redhead's warmth, but while his father couldn't help showing it with all of him, Albus showed it with just his eyes. There was also a feeling of solidness that they both shared. Though it was far too early to tell, Draco liked to think Albus had the very best of them. He certainly had little of the power that made Draco want to run whenever they were near, thank Merlin.

He didn't know how it all worked, but Albus assured him that they were all his real parents. Must be a daemon thing, he thought and left it at that.

When Albus was set on the ground again, his redheaded father sat down with a happy huff and began nonchalantly, 'So, Malfoy. . .'

The sound of his name made Draco's heart race. He looked up, stopping mid-stroke to lay his hand on King's belly, taking in the reassuring rumble of her purr. He had an inkling the first time and it solidified with the second: the way they said his surname made him sure that they had history with his family. He didn't know what had happened, or why his father hadn't warned him, but he wasn't surprised. Father was a hard man even to those he loved. Was this another test?

'Draco,' Albus corrected his father sternly as he ducked under arms and found himself a spot on the redhead's lap. King's ears pricked up and with a twist, a jump, she was there too, insistently licking the boy's hands whenever he tried to pet her. Draco didn't try stop her – she went where she wanted – but that didn't mean he didn't want her back on this side of the flames.

The redhead blinked, before continuing as if he hadn't been interrupted, 'So, Draco, how's the Dreaming been treating you? No more nightmares?'

It was hard to think, his palms were distracting him with how sweaty they were. 'No, sir,' Draco replied quickly, making sure to sit properly like his father taught him: back straight, shoulders relaxed, arms uncrossed.

That got a surprised laugh out of them for some reason. Draco looked around, unsure of what he'd done wrong.

'No need for you to call him 'sir', Draco - '

'I wouldn't mind being called 'sir' actually,' the redhead butted in, for which he got a smack on his head from Albus' mother.

'Then what should I call you, ma'm?' Draco asked.

The woman made a face at the honorific, but with a glance at Albus, her expression gentled, became kind again. 'We don't really have a need for names, not here at least, so you can call us whatever you like.'

Draco stared back at them, lost. He didn't know what to call them. He really didn't know. In his head, they were just Albus' parents – his Momma, his Papa, his Dad. He wasn't from their world and had no place in it - of that he was sure. But they had saved his life. He was indebted to them and he didn't know how to repay that, even when it came to the simplest thing: calling them a name that gave them the respect they deserved. He hated feeling this useless.

'How about you call me 'Brand'?'

Draco's head shot up and he stared at the dark-haired man for a moment, shock mingling with relief. Just as Draco nodded and was about to reply, the red-head cut to the chase, 'I don't mind having an honorific. But it's got to be something epic like 'your majesty' or -' He looked down and winked at Albus, for which he got a giggle. '- maybe 'your brilliantness'. I'm not picky.'

'Actually I've been calling you 'Red' in my head,' Draco admitted, ducking his head slightly.

Red quirked an eyebrow at a grinning Brand, who had decided it'd be better to look at anything but him, lest he laugh like Albus and his mother were. 'A bit anticlimactic, I suppose,' he sniffed before he shrugged. 'Well, it is better than nothing.'

The woman sat up after the laughter died down with a breathless smiling sigh. 'What do you call me?' she asked, eyes bright and eager and so much like Albus that he wanted to smile back just as wide.

'Mum,' he blurted out without a thought. Draco paled, floundering in the quiet, stunned moment that followed before he rushed to brush it aside. 'I'm sorry,' he managed. 'Something else would be better, right? I thought of . . . of - '

He didn't know when Albus had done it, but he was there, kneeling by Draco's side, taking his hand and shushing him gently. 'Why not?' the boy asked softly.

Mortified, Draco shook his head. He grabbed onto the first thought that came to him and held on for dear life. 'Light. Can I call you Light?' he asked, almost wincing at the desperate edge he heard in his own voice.

'I don't mind. But may I ask why?' she said, honestly bemused.

He hadn't thought of it before, but the answer came to him with her words: 'Because that's what your magic feels like to me.'

That got a smile out of her. At first it was surprised, but it became considering and warm and with it he knew it would all be all right.