Chapter Fifty-Three of 'Wolf's Choice'- In Mourning
Chapter Fifty-Two.
Title: Wolf’s Choice (53/60)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Main story is gen, a few GoF canon pairings mentioned
Content Notes: AU of GoF, angst, gore, violence, torture, present tense, minor character death
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU of GoF. Harry begins his summer with horrific visions that come true much faster than he was expecting. He’ll have to rely on his circle of friends, both his guardians, and all his allies to cope with the results.
Author’s Notes: This is a long fic that is a sequel to my fic Other People’s Choices. Make sure you read that first before you start this one.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Fifty-Three-In Mourning
“I don’t understand what Father thought he was doing.”
Narcissa puts aside her book on the history of the Unforgivables and focuses entirely on Draco. He’s sitting on the couch in the corner of the drawing room at Grimmauld Place, staring down at his hands. He’s either been doing that or ranting at her about Lucius and death and revenge and dragons for most of the last two days.
Narcissa has let him do it, because he needed to get it out. She hugged him and got Kreacher to bring his favorite sweets and told him when he needed to hear it that she missed Lucius, too. And that much is true. She misses Lucius-the man she thought he was, the man he perhaps used to be, not the monster who died in that forest glade.
But Draco is young. He can’t be expected to make that distinction yet. Narcissa doesn’t think he means half the darkly-muttered promises of revenge, either. Part of him knows he couldn’t achieve it, part of him wouldn’t want to achieve it, and part of him is too sensible to try.
Of course, one might not understand that, hearing it from the outside only and not knowing him as a mother does. Narcissa is not surprised about the careful conversation she had with Severus through the Floo on the afternoon of the day she want to Hogwarts to collect Draco. It is best, for everyone, that Draco is away from the school for now, with family.
On the other hand, it sounds like he’s ready to ask real questions and hear the answers now. So Narcissa says, “What do you mean?”
“He-he was there. He tortured-” Draco pauses, because he has trouble admitting that his father tortured his friend. Narcissa understands. She might have trouble admitting that Lucius tortured someone so influential if she had not given up hope of her husband long ago. “What was the reason? He used to tell me a Malfoy should always have a goal. What was it?”
Narcissa sighs a little. Draco asked the hard questions first even as a child. She stands and walks across the drawing room to him, gathering him into her arms. Draco allows it, but doesn’t tuck his head against her shoulder the way he has in the past few days. He stares at her, hard and bright-eyed, waiting.
“It was serving the Dark Lord.”
“But it couldn’t have been. He has-he had to know that Voldemort is going to lose.”
Narcissa sublimates the flinch with an ease that is entirely born of listening to Sirius rant about the Dark Lord using that name for the last few days. She nods. “I know it seems inevitable to you, but it did not to your father, dear. After all, the Dark Lord had returned from being a bodiless wraith for thirteen years. I suspect that was impressive to your father.”
“He must have wanted something else.”
“What did he say he wanted in the letters he sent you?” Narcissa asks quietly. She’s smart enough to know that Lucius was communicating independently with Draco even if Draco never showed her any of the letters.
Draco averts his eyes, his cheeks flushing. Narcissa tilts her head. An interesting reaction. “Draco?”
“He wanted me to follow the Dark Lord, and think about betraying Harry into his hands.”
Narcissa nods. “It is one reason I left him. He only thought of using people, for his own ends. He had little to no concept of friendship or alliance.” She pauses and strokes Draco’s hair, down around the shell of his ear, the way she used to when he was a baby. “Draco, dearest, I don’t want you to follow his path.”
Draco jerks back, although he doesn’t go that far with her arms confining him, and glares at her in apparent betrayal. “Do you think I would be that stupid? I’ll never become a Death Eater or do anything like that!”
“I know.” Narcissa holds his eyes. “But you might let your disappointment and grief drive you into doing something you would regret. Perhaps not betraying people, but betraying principles and goals that are yours.”
Draco looks away, swallowing. “I just-Father didn’t deserve to die by dragonfire.”
Narcissa only nods, because she does not believe anyone does. “And what do you think someone should do to address this injustice?”
Draco’s shoulders gave a sharp shiver. “I don’t know. I wanted the dragon to-face justice for what she did.”
“Dragons who kill people often are put to death, unless they are defending their nests and eggs.” Narcissa leaves unspoken her thought that Chaos might have fallen under that exemption had she lived. It would have depended on what the International Confederation of Wizards thought of her bond to Harry. One like that has never existed before, to Narcissa’s knowledge. “But she is dead.”
“I want Harry to be sorry for it. He could have done something other than killing Father!”
“Interesting that you think he did it directly, or ordered his dragon to do it. What did he say to convince you of it?”
Tears glisten for a second on Draco’s cheek, and he uses his sleeve to wipe them off. Narcissa clucks her tongue and uses her wand instead. Draco nods once. He knows as well as she does that she doesn’t think standards should fall when one is grieving, and she knows as well as he does that she isn’t about to say that aloud right now.
“No, he didn’t say that. But if he hadn’t been in danger, he wouldn’t have gone, and Chaos wouldn’t have killed Father.”
Narcissa nods. She thinks they’ve arrived at the heart of it, or the second heart, after his grief for Lucius. “And you knew something about that danger, and didn’t tell Professor Snape until it was too late.”
“I didn’t know everything.”
“I know,” Narcissa says softly, because Draco’s voice is cracking, and she doesn’t want him to think she blames him. She leans towards him and runs her fingers through his hair, drawing his head to rest against her shoulder. Draco resists, but not strenuously. “You made decisions that you couldn’t have known would have catastrophic consequences. You feel guilt, and that’s natural. But don’t let it eat you alive.”
Draco swallows. “The others blame me. I know they do.”
“Some of them may. But Professor Snape Flooed me again today, and said that you are welcome back at school whenever you wish to return.”
“Some of them are going to hate me.”
“And does that matter?”
“What?” Draco draws back enough so that he can blink up at her.
“What do Malfoys care what others think of them? Random others. Our friends and allies, yes.” And Narcissa feels a painful stab under the breastbone, because if Lucius was still alive she never would have got away with speaking the word “friends,” and Draco wouldn’t be staring at her with this painful hope in his eyes. “Yes, you may have apologies to make. But do not run scared of them, Draco. Do not humiliate yourself. Make the apology, sincerely, straightforwardly, and with the full measure of your dignity and pride. Anyone who objects to that is not someone you need to pay attention to.”
Draco bows his head. “I want…”
“Yes?”
“I want everything to go back to the way it was right after Dumbledore attacked Grimmauld Place and Chaos stopped him,” Draco whispers. Narcissa thinks that only someone who was sitting as close to him as she is would be able to feel his flinch when he speaks the dragon’s name. “They thought of me as a real friend and ally then.”
“And need it matter?”
“What?”
“You cannot turn the clock back, not truly, even with a Time-Turner. You will still retain the experiences and thoughts that happened to you in that time, and so will others.” Narcissa touches his cheek. “Wishing for the return of the past is one of the few true mistakes you could make in this situation. Look to the future instead.”
Draco is silent, still struggling. Then he asks, “How do I know their forgiveness is sincere, and they’re not just waiting for me to make some other kind of mistake so they can tell me they told me so?”
“Who do you think might do that?”
“Not Harry. He’ll forgive me right away just because. But Theo and Blaise and maybe Daphne. And Granger.”
Narcissa shrugs. “You don’t care that much about Granger’s opinion, I know that. Blaise will not say such a thing. What you must do is simply behave in the best way you can, and you won’t have to worry about condemnation from him.”
“And Daphne and Theo?”
“I frankly don’t know Miss Greengrass well enough to say,” Narcissa murmurs, which is not a lie. She hasn’t spent enough time around the young woman. It was always Miss Parkinson that came over to the Manor to chat with Draco and cling to his arm. “And with Mr. Nott-he disturbs me, Draco. I think what you should worry more about with him is whether or not he will explode into violence, and count more on avoiding that than taunting words. If you don’t let your pride or your grief get the better of you, he’ll probably ignore you.”
“It’s just so humiliating,” Draco whispers. “Theo and Blaise were my friends first, and now they just follow Harry around all the time. It’s disgusting.”
“Blaise’s circumstances mean he will always be alert to shifting political currents and seek to protect himself from them.” Narcissa knows about Blaise’s mother, and she grieves that the practicalities of the situation and the fact that Naarah Zabini lives in a different country means there is little she can do about it. “And Mr. Nott’s reaction is easier to explain, Draco. He’s taken Harry for his Lord.”
Draco’s jaw drops a little. “It-no. He can’t. Harry would never consent to being a Lord.”
“In name, or putting a brand on other people? No, he will never be that much like the Dark Lord. But he is very much going to be a lord to certain people. They will devote themselves to his cause and protect him with their lives. Mr. Nott is doing that.”
Draco shakes his head in something that might be wonder or might be denial. Narcissa hopes it’s not the latter. Draco is an intelligent child, a talented child and right now, a grieving child. She doesn’t want him to sacrifice all the good parts of his character to that grief.
He proves her faith in him by whispering a second later, “I thought Theo was too stubborn and intelligent to follow anyone.”
“That would be the case in most times and places, I’m sure. But right now, it’s not. And there’s not much Harry could do that would push Mr. Nott away from him, I think. Make your apologies and stay away from Theo Nott, Draco. Don’t worry about obtaining his forgiveness. It may be impossible to obtain, and I won’t have you turn yourself inside-out trying.”
Draco swallows and nods, and then, for the first time in two days, begins to speak of something else, the impact that he expects the Dark Lord’s resurrection to have on their exams. Narcissa listens and offers what advice she can-which is limited, because nothing like this happened at Hogwarts in her time. But Draco seems comforted just to have someone who will talk about the idea with him.
Later, when Draco is sleeping, worn out with his grief again, Narcissa takes out the letter an owl delivered yesterday. She intercepted it, although it was addressed to him, because she didn’t know the contents and wanted to guard her son against any anger.
It’s not that. It’s from Harry Potter, and it only says, I want you to know I forgive you and I’m going to prevent anyone from attacking you when you come back. I can’t promise other people won’t be angry, though.
Narcissa sighs as she looks at it. Harry Potter is a dangerous friend for her son, but he’s doing what he can to mitigate that danger, and she is grateful. She thinks she’ll show the letter to Draco tomorrow.
And she puts it away now and stares out the window. They have another problem, one she hasn’t yet told Draco about. She visited Malfoy Manor and found it locked and warded, not a surprise-but what happened when she tried to get inside was.
She only hopes that she is wrong, and that Lucius’s final orders may not have deprived his son of Draco’s inheritance.
*
Harry sits on the bank of the lake and cradles Chaos’s stone in his hand. Hedwig perches on his right shoulder, her head tucked under a wing, and Lion is on the other one. He knows Severus and Sirius and Remus are all watching him through charms, but they’re far enough away that none of them can hear what he’s saying.
That’s all he wanted, a bit of privacy. And even his friends eventually respected that.
There’s no point in having a funeral for a dragon, Harry knows they’ll say if he tells them what he wants to do. Chaos is gone beyond reach. There’s no body to bury. There’s no long relationship to mourn. He had her company for a few months. He would have had to give her up anyway when she got big enough to live on her own and not want to be bonded to a human anymore.
Harry knows all that. He still wants a funeral.
When he’s sure that no one is going to come wandering along and “accidentally” interrupt him, he stands up and puts the firestone on the ground in front of him. He went to the library yesterday to look up a spell. He was prepared to break into the Restricted Section if he had to, but it turned out that things were a lot simpler than that. The spell is legal, probably because people would want to use it in their own funerals, or did once.
Harry extends his hands and says, “I don’t know what to say to you. I can’t make up for what it cost you. But I want to say farewell.” The words feel odd and stiff in his mouth at first, but they flow better and better as he speaks. Maybe this is part of the spell, too, even though it’s not part of the incantation.
Harry clears his throat, ignores the tears on his cheeks, and waves his wand in front of him, tracing the symbol of an arrow, then a spread wing. It would usually be a human hand, but this is the variant that feels right to him. “Vale amici mei.”
There is a long silence that hovers around him, and Harry wonders if the spell is going to work. But then he feels it stirring, gathering, reaching out, and he gasps as magic abruptly drains from him. He sways on his feet. Hedwig digs her talons in, and Lion hisses, “Be careful.”
Harry raises his head, and the magic is shaping Chaos’s form in front of him.
Tears blur his sight for a second, but he retains his feet, stubbornly. She looks as she did when she came to rescue him, an outline of light around her fiery body. Dying, but shining.
Harry swallows. “I wanted to say good-bye,” he says. “And thank you. I hope-I hope that anything that’s left of you is happy.”
The shining dragon looks at him. Her eyes are stars. Harry doesn’t know if she can understand. He switches to Parseltongue. “Thank you for saving my life. I know that it might have seemed like I didn’t want to live it at first, but I do. Thank you.”
The fiery figure moves forwards, and bows her head for a second. Harry holds his hands as close as he can. He can no more completely touch her fire than he could have touched it when she was right there, breathing, in front of him.
Chaos spreads her wings, and Lion spreads his in response. Harry looks up at her, absorbing what he can. “Thank you for my life,” he repeats. “I’ll think of you every time I fly.”
Chaos bows her head as if to say that that’s enough tribute, and then she turns into purest flame, burning in front of him like the hearth in the Slytherin common room. Harry stands through the fading shower of sparks, and sighs as the wound in his mind where their bond was aches a little.
Maybe a little less than it has been. Maybe.
Life is what she gave me. Living is what she would want me to do.
Harry wipes at his tears one more time, and picks up the firestone. He slips it into his robe pocket and wonders if he could hook it onto a chain or something. He wants to keep it with him forever. The problem would be keeping the metal from heating up.
Already Severus is striding towards him, Sirius and Remus right behind him. Harry smiles sadly. They can’t keep away from him. He thinks they think he’s going to fade and die like Chaos did.
He won’t do that. It would dishonor her sacrifice too much, and he already promised. But he does wonder, as Severus hugs him, if the world around him will ever stop feeling so diminished without the sound of dragon wings.
Chapter Fifty-Four.
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