What Else Can We Do?

Part 2:

The Dream Walker

Chapter 17:

'In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.'

~ 'Invictus' by William Ernest Henley

2000

There are some things that make my hands tremble too much to write. The mere act of remembering sends a feverish cold down my body even now. The panic it inspires is slow to rise, rumbling closer like wind down a tunnel, my breath quickening, heart thundering, gasping, crying, leaving me huddled on the floor. The memories are too much in me, clawing at my insides.

So I write. I refused to let my soul bow down to the Dark Lord when the time came so I will not submit to this. I know I am strong enough to face these ghosts that haunt me, because an old friend told me so.

And he is the one I listen to when everything is at its darkest. His words are light.

So I write, for it pulls the wound wide open and stitches it closed in one stroke. I wonder if you knew, Albus, what a vile and beautiful thing you asked me to do. To write is to bleed, to vomit, to finally breathe fresh air, anew.

xXx

1995

It was a dreary day in Wiltshire, made up of grey skies and clouds that threatened rain. A white manor house rose up from sprawling green lawns, both land and home just as proud as the white peacocks that strutted across and past them. Behind oaken doors, beneath the great marble pillars of the entrance hall, a boy sat in a corner, an open book on his lap.

Draco was about to turn to another page when he heard it – an Apparition crack that made him jump. The laughter that followed it rang down the hall, sending shivers down his arms. He'd closed his book and gotten to his feet before he knew it, all his instincts telling him to run. Living in a house full of Death Eaters without his father in his right mind to protect him had taught him to trust those instincts. It wouldn't be hard. He knew these halls, how to walk them silently. No one knew them better than he.

But as he slid away, his curiosity got the better of him. He slipped behind a statue of his grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy, and peered out, fear and foreboding making him instantly regret doing so. What he saw made him stare. Two Death Eaters – the Carrow siblings if he wasn't mistaken – were dragging someone between them, a person too small to be a man. Had they sunk so low as to kidnap muggle children now? A paralysing panic spread through him when he thought of what those screams would sound like, compared to the others that echoed in the night.

Shock ran through him when he realised he recognised that hair, those eyes. They were bigger without his glasses in the way. They were dazed when they should've been angry, righteous. A trail of blood ran from the corner of the boy's mouth. One of the Death Eaters backhanded that face out of sight. Draco heard the slap as Potter hit the floor.

He ran, for as long and as far as he dared. He stopped only when he found a spot he knew the Death Eater's wouldn't go: the dustiest corner of the oldest wing. He sat down, knees to his chest, jamming his eyes shut. He put his fists against his eyelids and whispered to himself, rocking back and forth, 'Come on, come on - '

He willed himself to be calm, centred, even though his heart was pounding in his chest. He had to do something. Anything before it was too late. A part of him asked: why, why does it have to be me? But another demanded why not.

And it was louder.

He knew what he had to do.

Sleep finally began to tug at him. The last thing he knew was his head sagging back against the wall, his arms flopping down onto his lap like they were leaden. He opened his eyes to find darkness. Draco turned around and in the distance he saw the red glow of a fire. It took one thought with a burst of will so ferocious that it almost scared him to appear by that fire's side.

'They've got Potter,' Draco said immediately.

Red stopped mid-word in what looked like a rendition of his favourite joke, his arms halting in the air, face falling from ridiculous to a frown in a second. Draco looked at all of them. He barely acknowledged the frenetic panic that buzzed in his veins. There was no time.

Brand looked over at Red and Light, the strangest expression of resignation on his face. Red came closer and squeezed the man's shoulder once, gravely. 'Leave them be, Draco,' Brand said quietly, a cross-legged statue on the other side of the flames, silver skin reflecting firelight, hiding just as much shadow.

'But they're hurting him - '

Brand went incredibly still. 'Then here's what you can do,' he began.

'Ha-' Light stopped and swallowed hard, her expression torn. 'We agreed.'

'Not to him suffering,' Brand replied, distant and resolute. He turned back to Draco. 'Here's what you can do. Call Snape. Tell him what you told us.'

Draco blinked. 'Why . . . why Uncle Severus? I don't understand.'

'If you want to help, that's the only way you can.'

'Please don't do anything reckless, Draco,' Light burst out, flushing in embarrassment. She lowered her head and looked to the side. 'I don't think Albus would forgive us if you got hurt.'

Draco stared at her, then at the others in turn, uncertain suddenly. Red got up with a sigh and ruffled Draco's hair, something that would've gotten his best look of scorn if it was any other time. If each second didn't count. If he hadn't heard skin hit marble.

Red looked him straight in the eye. 'Do what you think is right, kid.'

Draco nodded mutely.

'But what if . . .' Light let out a huff of air and scowled when Red looked over his shoulder at her.

'He'll be fine,' he said. 'Hell, we survived all kinds of scrapes at his age.'

'But we had each other.'

'And he's got us, Momma,' Albus added as he walked into the circle of light. He smiled at Draco warmly before he went to sit on his mother's lap, his head under her chin, her arms about him. Draco sorely wanted to return that smile as easily as it was given. But he couldn't, not when he knew how they'd hurt Potter in these moments he wasted. Yes, Potter was undeniably a prat who put his nose where it didn't belong, but he didn't deserve this. No one deserved what the Death Eaters had in store for him. It was all they talked about these months they'd stayed in the manor.

I won't stand by this time.

'I'm trusting you. Please don't make me regret this,' Draco said. An angry, traitorous thought darted through his head and nearly came out of his mouth: I know you have the power, and more, to save him. Why don't you do anything? Why don't you help people?

They helped you, part of him hissed back.

Brand nodded solemnly at him. Light did the same, though her nod was smaller, tighter, angrier. Red had an odd look on his face like he'd heard the strangest thing. The smile was now in Albus' eyes. Draco felt a bubbling need to explain himself to his friend, but the boy spoke first, 'You go do what you need to. I'll see you later, yeah?'

'Yeah,' Draco replied, wondering at the relief that seeped into his bones. 'Maybe we'll find a flying dream this time.'

Albus closed his eyes and hid his face behind Light's arm. 'I'd like that,' he murmured slowly, happily.

xXx

Draco took in a deep breath then let it out. He cast one last anxious glance at the door before he turned to the fireplace once more. He stepped inside, angling himself over the ashy grate, and threw a handful of Floo powder at his feet. 'Spinner's End,' he said as loudly as he dared, shutting his eyes tight as the emerald flames engulfed him.

The fireplace of Spinner's End spat him out, sending him rolling across wooden floorboards that groaned and creaked under his unwelcome weight. As Draco found his feet again, he couldn't help but think of Lucius' expression if he saw his son now with none of the grace he'd made sure to instil in him.

When Draco turned around, coughing as he dusted the ash off his robe, he found himself face to face with Severus Snape, who simply stared at him, a scroll on his lap, a cup of tea in hand.

'Sir, they're got Potter,' he blurted out.

If Draco didn't know him, he'd have missed the slight widening of Severus' inky black eyes. 'Draco, being ambiguous is not a trait I suggest you foster,' the man said as he placed his cup on the table with deliberate nonchalance. 'Now, will you please tell me why - '

'Stop pretending you don't know. He's hurt. I think they mean to kill him.'

'Why are you doing this?'

Draco floundered for a moment. How could he explain? No, no, he couldn't. There were too many truths he had no right to tell. Truths that wouldn't be believed. Excuses popped into his head, but honesty of a kind he knew could exist between friends – between him and Albus – burned at the back of his throat. 'Because someone has to,' he said in the end.

'You'll start down a dangerous road.'

The boy swallowed hard, fought the fear, the ground-stealing prospect of what he'd pay for this . . . 'I know.'

Severus gave him a discerning look, almost intrigued but pitying at the same time. It soon disappeared and was replaced with disdain. 'Why do you think I'd help the brat?' Severus asked.

Draco stared at him, helplessness feeding a hollow pit in his stomach. He had hoped it wouldn't come to this. Every word hurt as he said them, 'Because you know that if you don't, I will try and fail. There'd be no mercy for me at their hands, Malfoy or no.'

'Damn you, boy. I won't have you trying to manipulate me in own house, especially in such a pathetic manner. Not after what I've done for you. Get out,' Severus spat. When Draco stood his ground, silent and glowering, fists trembling at his sides, the man closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'I thought you too kind to try something like this, Draco. Perhaps there is a bit of your father in you after all.'

Draco flinched.

'You ask too much of me,' Severus continued in a flat voice. 'But I will do it.'

The boy's heart soared. 'Thank you.'

'I don't need you thanks. I need you to leave. I have much planning to do.'

xXx

The tray clattered as it slid across the cobblestone. Draco winced at the sound, eyes darting down the passageway. When the guard on duty didn't come rushing in, he allowed himself a small sigh of relief.

There was a rustling from a shadowed corner of the cell. Draco peered through the bars hopefully, waiting, his heartbeat like the ticking of a clock. A head of messy hair slid into the light. Potter looked from the tray, laden with a meagre fare of bread and cheese, to Draco suspiciously. He'd heard that Potter was as blind as a bat without his glasses, so that accounted for the scrunched-up frown he was getting. He shouldn't have expected anything else really, though him being grateful rather than stunned would've been nice.

'Help is coming,' Draco whispered.

'What? Who are you?'

But Draco was already gone.

xXx

I watched from the shadows as the manor went wild.

I saw Severus' handiwork in everything: in the house-elf caught with a used Portkey and in the guard found sleeping on his watch. In the fact that Potter was gone without a trace. No witnesses. No trail to follow.

Brand chose well. Few can match Severus Snape in skill.

When I heard the shouts, the screaming of those unfortunates under the Cruciatus Curse, saw the Death Eaters trashing every room in their search, I remember feeling like I'd fall apart. The relief left me with buckling knees and a silly grin I had to fight to keep off my face. I'd done it. Despite everything, I'd done it.

But it was too late.

I didn't know it yet, but they had Potter's blood. It was all they needed.

It has taken me quite some time to write this. Every time I tried, it didn't feel right. Words are small, unable to convey the horror of those first few hours, days, months. For years, I have wondered how different my life would've been if I'd gotten there in time, been faster, not as afraid. If I'd saved him instead of Severus.

But it is done and these thoughts are my burden alone.

The Dark Lord rose again with Potter's blood. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, I learnt later from the awed whispers of the Death Eaters under our roof. The ritual blighted the very ground it was performed on.

When I was brought before the reborn Dark Lord, I was questioned as to why a Malfoy house-elf had deflected. I made my excuses, emphasised my ignorance, my youth, my father's illness, pleaded for mercy and got it of a sort. Through the pain of the Cruciatus Curse, behind the strongest of my Occlumency shields, there was a fierce pride that nothing could touch.

They didn't have Potter because of me.

And they would never know.