A Dream For The Dead

A Dream For The Dead

Chapter 16

Sometimes I See Flames

Harry saw it all too late.

He never reacted slowly. The war, as well as years of experience as an Auror, taught him that delayed reactions were deadly. He knew the importance of constant vigilance, of finely tuned reflexes.

When Malfoy soared back up into the air, with the Snitch firmly in his grasp, after a dive that nobody –not Victor Krum at his peak, not Harry, himself –could have survived, Harry felt himself in awe of the blond for the first time in his life. He was at a loss for words entirely. He had known Malfoy was good, but never did he consider that he could be this good.

Harry had been on the ground, near the doorway, when Malfoy rocketed towards the ground. Harry watched, muted and amazed, as he reached out for the tiny golden ball hovering in the mown grass. He felt the air leave his lungs and his muscles turn to stone as Malfoy’s outstretched fingers scooped it up –almost gently –and carried it off. He hadn’t even disturbed a single blade of grass in the process. Anyone else would have pulled away with a fistful of grass.

Not Malfoy.

So, he couldn’t quite be blamed for his inability to react when the explosion happened. He had been completely flabbergasted by the catch and his mind couldn’t process anything else. Awe was a very dangerous thing.

Or so Harry tried to convince himself later.

The truth was that he had felt, in those moments watching the explosion, a very familiar feeling wash over him. He was frozen and terrified, watching as the broom pulsed and then burst outward in every direction. Life itself had slowed to a crawl. Everything around him was a blur, but for the broomstick and Malfoy’s body. He had stopped breathing entirely, he was sure. It was like watching yourself be hurtled towards a brick wall and being completely incapable of stopping it. Like looking into your rearview mirror, seeing the car about to collide with yours, and knowing there was no way to avoid it.

Harry had been completely unable to act to halt events in their tracks, to stop time or the inevitable.

He had felt that same feeling twice in the past. The first time he had watched Cedric Diggory die. The second he had watch Sirius die.

He was crushed by the sudden realization that he might have just watched Malfoy die.

And, somehow, he felt just as bad as he had the previous two times.

The moments that followed the explosion were a different story.

Harry had been able to react, then, however late his actions might have been.

He pulled his wand as Malfoy’s limp body was hurtled towards the hard ground. He cast slowing spells first and then a Cushionning Charm on the ground. The velocity of Malfoy’s body changed. Rather than appear as though he was a Bludger with a determined trajectory for the ground, he began to fall slowly and more aimlessly, like a feather caught on the air. When he did touch the ground, he draped gently over the Cushioning Charm Harry had cast.

The crowd was instantly deafening and Harry knew there would be another riot. He knew that the spectators would be reminded of the Quidditch World Cup in Harry’s fourth year. Their minds would travel back to horrible times. They would panic and try to flee, all at once.

Except for those, of course, who might believe it was a coup from the opposing team. Harry supposed those people would try to fight.

Harry didn’t care about any of them, in that moment. He only cared about Malfoy, though later he would convince himself it was just his Auror training that made him care so fiercely.

Wood was already speeding towards the ground, to Malfoy’s side. Harry growled as he realized that others were doing the same. He ran out to the pitch, only a few feet from Malfoy, and cast a massive Shield Charm to keep others from getting closer and mobbing him.

Harry shot them all looks as they tried to protest or break the charm. They hesitated long enough for him to turn to Malfoy and collect him into his arms. He was heavy though surprisingly easy to carry.

Harry, unfortunately, couldn’t tell if he was breathing or if he still had a pulse. He tried not to think about the fact that Malfoy’s face was raw and red, splattered with blood and burned from the explosion. He tried not to think of the fact that there was blood gushing from his left shoulder, underneath his robes, soaking through to Harry’s clothes. He fought to ignore the fact that the force of the explosion might have left Malfoy with a spinal injury. He did a very poor job of ignoring these things. His heart hammered in his chest and he tried not to panic. There was no time for panic, no time for concerns. He focused hard and Disapparated with Malfoy to St Mungo’s.

Harry appeared on the Fourth Floor of the hospital. The Healers behind the central desk immediately rushed out to offer him help. They ignored the fact that Harry held Draco Malfoy in his arms because it was Harry Potter demanding assistance. Harry knew, and it burned him from within, that they were only acting at all because of him, not because of Malfoy.

“There was an attack,” he said abruptly as the Healers took Malfoy from him and lifted him onto a conjured stretcher. “His broom exploded. Check for everything, every spell and curse you can think of. Everything.” Harry’s voice was forceful and desperate. He sounded ragged and hoarse.

“Absolutely, Mr. Potter,” they answered him. They pulled him off to a room and Harry immediately felt the ground disappear from beneath him. No pull, no slow tug or black vortex. It was just gone in a sudden and violent snap. Every muscle in his body gave out and he collapsed on the floor, face hitting the tiles as he could not brace for impact.

The world swirled around him and threatened to engulf him in shadows. Harry growled deeply and forced it back by sheer power of will. He had a job to do first.

The darkness could have him later.

He pushed himself to his knees mustering strength from nowhere. He pulled out his wand and Apparated back to the pitch. In the time he had been gone, the stands had erupted with madness. People were throwing themselves over the edges in an effort to escape more quickly. The cries were explosive and agonizing to Harry’s ears.

The Falcons had flown away from the pitch, apparently too frightened to remain. The remaining Catapults had formed a tight circle on the ground, just around the spot where Malfoy had fallen, and they were holding out their wands, prepared for any attack.

Now that he didn’t have Malfoy directly in front of him to worry about, he could see what it was, more than the attack itself, that caused the havoc.

There was still a sphere of fire and debris in the air at the exact spot where the broom had decided to explode. The cloud of fire, wood and magic had expanded as normal explosions do, but did not dissipate, nor did it continue to expand. Instead, it seemed as though it had filled up every crevice of an invisible container and stopped there. That, in itself, was not the issue. The issue was the shape of the container.

The fire had wrapped itself into a massive, glittering hot, red skull with a serpent tongue, hissing at the crowd.

It was a red, fiery version of the Dark Mark.

As Harry continued to watch, finding himself unable to act for the second time in one night, the snake retreated into the skull’s mouth and the whole image transformed. It unfurled in massive sheets of fire and twisted into a gigantic bird. Then, from somewhere unknown, it cried out a familiar song, before screeching and vanishing as if in a gust of wind.

It had turned into a Phoenix.

Harry was immediately struck by the symbolism and swallowed hard, his mouth having gone completely dry. He rushed forward as the flames disappeared and the small splinters of scorched wood remaining from the broomstick fell to the ground. He collected them up and sealed them in a magical case.

Then Harry turned, his face alight with fury and his eyes burning with danger. The rest of Malfoy’s team looked at him with terrified expressions.

“All of you,” he barked. “You’re coming with me to St Mungo’s. Now.”

+++++

Seven.

The most powerful magical number, the most fundamentally infused with strength, the most commonly used, the most often relied upon. Seven was what Harry was relying upon now. Seven was the number of Healers that were busily working over Malfoy’s limp frame, casting spell after spell and slathering him with salves and potions. Seven was the number of Owls Harry had sent out to inform the necessary people of what had occurred. Seven was number of the room in which Malfoy was lying.

Alright, so it’s room 407, but still.

Seven was, most importantly, the number of hours Harry had waited, interrogating each of Malfoy’s teammates in the waiting room of the Hospital. Harry had unconsciously been hoping that it would take only seven hours for the Healers to work their magic –forgiving the pun –and manage to rouse Malfoy from his unconscious state.

But, it seemed, that seven was going to fail him now.

It was nearly the end of the seventh hour and still the Healers had not come to collect him, nor to offer any new information.

He chewed determinately at his lip as he stared at the ground before him. He had been pacing the small room for what felt like an hour but was probably longer. No one in the team had the nerve to stop him. None of them seemed to be able to do anything but mimic him, at least in thought.

The six of them stared at the ground, all lost in their own minds, fears flashing in their eyes, followed by concern and confusion. But Harry found himself unable to ignore the fact that they all had light in their eyes. Each and every one of the Catapults had a light shining in their gazes, no matter how frightened they might be.

Harry had no light in his eyes. He knew that.

He had lost it years ago.

“So none of you ever touched his broom? Not since last game?” Harry asked for the seventh time, more to give himself something to do than to expect a different answer. Each member shook their heads, apparently aware of the routine and too tired to show any signs of dissension. “And you believe that Malfoy had the broomstick in his possession at all times?”

“We can’t know that,” Wood answered gravely. He was leaning on his knees, lines of worry creasing his handsome face. Harry felt a strange pang in his stomach at the sight. “Draco was assaulted just after last game and spent four days in hospital then. He didn’t have his broomstick for that time. After that, I imagine he had it with him at home. But he doesn’t lock up his equipment.”

Harry stared at him, his eyes trying to pierce through Wood’s body and bones, to find the true nature of his soul.

“So you’re suggesting that he tampered with it himself?” Harry shot roughly, his tone grinding like a rock against gravel. “Or perhaps that someone in his household has sabotaged him?”

Wood’s eyes shot wide and his head snapped up to give Harry a disbelieving look. His expression moved swiftly from anger and resentment to fear and concern. He shook his head and shrugged.

“Obviously Draco didn’t tamper with it himself,” he snarled, though there was little power behind the effort. “I don’t know about the alternative. Perhaps he had a guest that is plotting against him. A foe in friend’s clothing. Or Aurora…”

Wood didn’t get to finish his sentence. Just as he seemed to be offering up an opinion on Malfoy’s wife, the door burst open and a shriek filled the small room. Harry spun on his heel and pulled out his wand to defend the players and fight. He half-expected to see a Banshee standing before him, given the power and pitch of the screech. Instead, he saw Malfoy’s usually collected wife hovering in the doorway, her hair flying everywhere, her face stretched in fury and accusation. Her chest was heaving and she held out an accusing finger.

At first Harry thought she was accusing him of something, but then he realized she was pointing at Wood.

“You!” Aurora Malfoy shrieked, stepping into the room, Harry instinctively moved in between her and Wood to stop her advancing much further. She did not seem to notice Harry at all. “You are responsible! You are to blame!”

Wood got to his feet behind Harry and Harry turned slightly so that he could hold them both back if need be. Wood’s face was contorted in angry confusion.

“What are you on about?” Wood cried. The rest of the team stirred, but did not seem to want to get involved until there was an actual threat. Harry was inclined to agree with them, normally, but the volume of Aurora’s screams were hard to ignore and he needed to ensure that the rest of the hospital was not disturbed.

“This is all your doing!” she cried out defiantly, apparently unfazed by the impressive bulk and height Wood had over her. “You are the reason my Draco is in the hospital again!”

Harry felt his own face knit into a mask of confusion as she spoke. Wood was livid and completely dumbfounded in one.

“What??” he hollered and Harry found himself pressing one hand to Wood’s chest to keep him front advancing on her. “How could you, how dare you suggest I have something to do with this?!”

Harry felt heat radiating from Wood’s chest and he vibrated with the force of his words. Aurora threw her arms in the air dramatically and Harry idly remarked to himself that she was quite the fit to the Malfoy clan, with her hysterics and dramatics.

Or, at least, she would have been when Malfoy was still a young prat. Now he was a mature prat. Quite the difference there.

“You have everything to do with this!” she insisted. With every passing second Harry realized that she looked more and more like an angry Veela. But that was impossible. Malfoy would never deign to marry someone with less than pure blood. “If it weren’t for your constant insistence on him working long hours, on him practicing into the night, he wouldn’t be in the hospital now! If you didn’t convince him to keep playing that wretched game, Draco could have retired years ago and been safe from all this madness! You are the only reason he is still playing!”

Harry raised his eyebrows and glanced questioningly at Wood. He was surprised to see that Wood was fighting back what seemed to be a hysterical smile. He laughed twice, breathily and without hope, before shaking his head.

“You’re mad, woman,” Wood told her wildly. “Completely mad. Do you even know what you’re saying? Do you know your husband at all?”

Aurora shook with rage and sputtered a stream of intelligible shrieks before the rest of the team had gotten to their feet to help separate them. Harry turned to Aurora and gently placed his hands on her shoulders to try and calm her. She swatted them away and the spot where she hit his flesh stung oddly. He pulled his wand again and aimed it at her.

“Auror!” she cried, suddenly aware of Harry. “You must arrest him! He is involved in Draco’s attack!” Harry gazed steadily at her and took deep breaths.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry began quietly, his tone meant to soothe and relax her while also taking control of the situation. “I’ve already questioned Oliver Wood. As well as the rest of the team. They haven’t committed any crimes.” He maintained her gaze, reminded of staring down a Hippogriff. He decided that, to spare her pride and quell her tantrum, he should probably employ the same tactics. “I understand you are upset. I will do everything in my power to find out who attacked your husband.” He bowed slightly to her and noticed that she did, in fact, calm slightly at the sight of it. “But for now, perhaps your efforts would be better expended on talking to the Healers upstairs. I’m sure they have questions for you.”

She huffed haughtily and stood straighter. The resemblance to a bird, whether it be the hooked beak of an angry Veela or the haughty pride of a Hippogriff, was only sharpened by the act.

“I have already seen them,” she informed him, spitting the final word. “They suggested, rather rudely, that I go home and rest.”

Harry groaned inwardly and took a step forward, carefully placing his hand on her shoulder again, this time in a more friendly and equal manner. She did not swat it away. He offered her kind eyes and a small smile.

“Perhaps they are right,” he hummed quietly. Her skin shivered beneath his. “Though they should have known to treat you with more politeness,” he added for the benefit of her pride. “But you cannot do anything for your husband here. I’m sure he would want you to be well rested for when he comes home. He wouldn’t want you to take ill over him, would he?” Harry immediately wondered, as he spoke the words, whether Malfoy wouldn’t actually want his wife worrying herself into illness. He perished the thought and smiled at her again.

“I suppose,” she sniffed, apparently just as unconvinced as Harry was. She nodded once to him and then shot a scathing look at Wood. “I will repay you for this, Wood. You mark my words.”

Then she left with a toss of her long blonde hair and disappeared out the door. When Harry believed that she was far enough away that she wouldn’t hear them talking, he turned to Wood with a demanding stare.

“What was that?” Harry demanded sharply. Wood’s body sagged back into the chair as he heaved a sigh. He shook his head and looked back up at Harry, apparently wondering the same thing himself.

“She’s bloody mad, Potter,” he answered with no hint of derision. “Completely nutter.” The rest of the team stirred in agreement but did not seem to see it as their place to explain.

“She seemed much like every worried wife I’ve encountered,” Harry replied evenly. “Driven to hysterics over an attack on their husband.” Wood look up, his eyebrows high near his hairline and his eyes wide.

“You think that’s it?” Wood asked, his tone betraying his disbelieving amusement. There was also bitterness. “Right. Of course. You haven’t really met her, have you?” Wood swallowed and craned his neck to the side, as though adjusting his muscles. “She’s like that, one minute. She’s caring and concerned about Draco and whatever is happening. The next minute she’s berating him for not being good enough, telling him that he’ll never win the cup because he doesn’t have enough focus, enough strength, enough stamina. She taunts him and beats him down, demanding that he be better than himself, better than the best.”

Harry clenched his teeth and thinned his lips. His look was hard and his eyes promised sharp edges.

“She’s shown up to practice before,” Abigail Turner suddenly piped in. She shifted uncomfortably when Harry’s attention was turned to her. “She’ll watch and Malfoy will do amazing things, just to impress her. He’s always brilliant, but he’ll work even harder than he needs to. He’ll catch the Snitch upside-down, or in the middle of a spin, or something completely insane.” Her eyes were wide as she recalled images of Malfoy, no doubt. Harry could tell that she was in awe of him, much as he had been at the match. He believed her. “And then she’ll scold him. She’ll say that he was needlessly ornamented, that he should be more straightforward and just catch the Snitch. She’ll tell him that, unless he learns to fly better, he’ll never make it to play for England.”

Harry’s face softened slightly, wondering why she would tell him things like that if she loved him.

“She’ll tell him that,” Jimmy Peakes added, his voice distant. “That he’s nothing but a disappointment to his family, that he’s a disappointment to Scorpius and a terrible father.”

Harry’s eyes widened and suddenly he was filled with anger and disbelief. In the little time he had spent with Malfoy in the hospital the first time, Harry had realized that, before anything else, Malfoy was a father. He could see the fierce loyalty and love in his eyes when he spoke of his son. He could see the power in Malfoy’s every breath when he promised to kill the fool who tried to hurt Scorpius.

Aurora must have either been blind to think that Malfoy was a bad father, or else intent on hurting him. But she seemed to love him so, just a moment ago. Was that an act for Harry’s sake? She hadn’t even known he was there…

“But her moods change faster than the time,” Wood continued, seeing the odd argument Harry was having with himself. “She’ll say he’s not good enough and then turn cold and calculating to negotiate improvements to his contract with the owners of the team. She’ll insist on changes that make his contract more lucrative and tell them they have to submit because they’ll never find another Seeker like him.” Wood shrugged, desperate and lost. “One second she’s listing off his appointments for the day like a manager, telling him he needs to keep up his reputation and finding ways to get him in the news again. The next minute she’s complaining that he doesn’t spend enough time with her and that he should quit playing professionally so that they can be together. She’ll start whispering sweet nothings in his ear, touching him and holding him every moment she can. She’ll tell him she loves him and she wants nothing more than to please him, to make him happy. She bloody fawns over him, inviting him to touch her and then slaps his hand the next.”

“Why does he bear that?” Harry asked, realizing his voice had softened. “If she really is so erratic in her behaviour, then why doesn’t he leave her? Or scold her in return? Or something? The Malfoy I knew was never one to take abuse. Not from anyone.”

Wood’s eyes grew darker and everyone in the room stilled. They stared at the ground again and Wood offered him a sad smile.

“I know,” he answered. “He does it for Scorpius. He’s afraid that it would hurt his son too much to be without his mother. He’s afraid that forcing her away would mean betraying Scorpius’ trust, or something. He endures it all for his son.” Wood swallowed what seemed to be a bitter pill of truth. “Draco would do anything for Scorpius, and bearing madness and abuse is only one of them.”

Harry swallowed and felt his throat close, a flood of emotions tearing through him. He realized, in that moment, that he was jealous of Malfoy, for the first time in his life. He realized his own shortcomings abruptly and sank into a chair, thinking of his own children and was overcome with guilt for what he had done and what he had not done.

Draco Malfoy was precisely the kind of father Harry wished he could be.

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A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting. I meant to post yesterday but visitors put a stop to that. XD I hope you like this chapter.

Also, Cyr1988, you didn't leave me your email to send you alerts! If you don't want to post it online, that's ok. Just email me at solace_grint@hotmail.com :) I'll add you.

Reviews = LOVE. Also I'm thinking of drawing fanart. I'll let you know if I do anything... worthwhile, lol. *hugs to all*