A Dream For The Dead

A Dream For The Dead

Chapter 27

I Can’t Make You Stay

Draco wasn’t sure what bothered him more: the fact that his wife had been taken from him or the fact that Potter did not seem to particularly care. In fact, Potter seemed downright pleased with the turn of events. Draco was livid.

He paced up and down his study, idly combing his fingers through his hair, incessantly pushing it back and out of his face in a vague imitation of the way he used to wear it at Hogwarts. He had been pacing for just over two hours now. From the moment he had received the letter.

Potter had arrived not ten minutes later, Apparating directly into the house and nearly triggering a heart attack in Draco. Only Potter had the audacity to use his passage through the wards to just Apparate in. Still, given the situation, Draco overlooked the rudeness of the action in favour of the more pressing matter.

Potter had, after ensuring Draco’s safety, asked him all forms of inane questions. What happened? When did Draco notice that Aurora was gone? Did he hear anything? Did he see anything? How could he be sure that she was taken? When did the letter arrive, precisely? What type of owl delivered it? And a thousand more useless questions that Draco had answered with as much patience as possible before barking at Potter that if he asked one more foolish question, Draco was going to allow Potter to become much more personally acquainted with his floor.

The Auror had then proclaimed that he needed to search the house and perform all sorts of magical tests to assess something or other that Draco could not be bothered to listen to. During that time, Draco had begun planning how he would locate the culprit and all manner of terrible curses he would unleash upon said culprit when he found them. He also had every intention of drastically increasing the security of his wards. First Potter and now this.

It was, as of yet, unclear where and when Aurora had been abducted. She had informed Draco that she was going to visit Diagon Alley to pick up some new robes for the winter, but that had been early in the morning. She should have returned before lunch. Draco had not heard anything, but that was not unusual. He generally did not know when she came or left. The wards did not acknowledge her entrance or departure as significant, nor was the house small enough to hear every arrival.

Draco had never considered that a problem until now.

All the while Draco was plotting revenge and – figuratively –tearing his hair out, Potter was studying his diagnostic spells and various items around the house with a look of plain curiosity. He was not agitated at all. He was not angry or concerned. To the uninformed observer it might have seemed as though he was only studying a particularly difficult riddle.

Draco could very well have punched him if he weren’t so Gryffindor an act.

I wager he wouldn’t be so calm if it was his precious wife who had been taken.

“I’m going to need to see all of the letters that mention Aurora,” Potter had eventually proclaimed, sitting himself down in his usual chair. Draco tried not to think about Potter claiming ownership of a particular chair in his study.

Draco had summoned all two of them. Out of the numerous missives, there were only two regarding Aurora in any way. Neither of these letters did not directly threaten her. In fact, when mentioned at all, generally the letters made reference to Draco’s ‘picturesque family’, or ‘beautiful family’, or even, once, to his ‘perfect wife’. That was all. No threats against Aurora, no slander, no insults of any kind. There were more references to Lucius and Narcissa then there were to Aurora.

Draco stopped his pacing after what felt like an eternity. Since he had given Potter the correct letters, the idiot hadn’t looked up or spoken at all. Draco might have assumed him dead were it not for the occasional shift in position. He stared at Potter and eventually, despite that his age called for more maturity, huffed loudly.

Potter looked up with an expression of mild alarm. Draco glared at him.

“Anytime now, Potter,” he drawled sardonically. “Do think think you could get up and start looking for my wife?”

Potter frowned and glared back at him.

“I am, Malfoy,” he answered shortly. He flicked his wrist and the parchment made a muffled thunder sound as it moved through the air. “What do you think I’ve been doing for the past two hours?” Draco opened his mouth to answer but Potter held up a hand to silence him. Draco felt rage flood him. He was not a child, to be shushed by hand motions. “Never mind. The point is, I’m an Auror. I know what I’m doing. So sit down and untwist your knickers.”

Draco ignored the command and his glare hardened.

“Then tell me, oh wondrous Auror,” he sneered. “What is it you have discovered in the past two hours of dawdling about my house?”

A light stroke of colour tinged Potter’s cheeks as he glared pointedly at Draco. He shook his head.

“Let’s see,” he began with a feigned air of pleasantry. “Your wards are set so that they will fire curses as unwanted trespassers and set off alarms if someone is removed without their consent. Given that none of your wards were tripped, I have come to the conclusion that either Aurora left of her own accord, perhaps because she knew her kidnapper, or else she was not, in fact, taken from here but kidnapped while she was beyond the wards, earlier in the day. That gives us at least one new lead: people Aurora knew well enough that she would not have objected to their unexpected presence, nor leaving with them.”

Potter took a moment to adjust his glasses, cleaning them with his robes as he had a habit of doing. Draco gritted his teeth.

“The only people Aurora knows well enough for that,” Draco ground out coolly. “Are my agents, solicitors and teammates. She doesn’t get out much and, for what I would have thought were obvious reasons, doesn’t have many friends. The only others she interacts with are my parents and Scorpius –whom I highly doubt is involved in this –and Blaise and Pansy Zabini. But she wouldn’t trust Pansy or Blaise further than she could throw them.”

Potter listened intently to the listing and nodded absently. His body seemed to be working of its own accord as his mind traced all sorts of lines across the information he was given.

“Very well,” he said eventually. “Your teammates could not be behind this. No matter their feelings in regards to Aurora, they love you too much to threaten your life or your family.” Draco’s body jerked involuntarily. He knew that Wood never liked Aurora, but he wasn’t aware that the rest of the team had any particular feelings toward her. He swallowed and wondered what else Potter knew of his teammates that he did not. “And while Blaise and Pansy… Zabini?” Potter paused, a look of confusion on his face. “They’re married?” Draco’s face pulled into a snarl and Potter shook off the thought to get back on track. “Anyway, while they are possibilities, I suppose, I think it is far more likely that she was actually taken while away from your home.”

“House,” Draco found himself answering automatically, before he could stop himself. Potter’s eyebrows drew upwards and Draco glanced at the hearth. He shifted and frowned. “This will never be my home, Potter. Malfoy Manor is my home.”

Potter said nothing in response to that, but his mouth drew into a thin line. He nodded and then trifled with the letters in his hands.

“Well, if she was, in fact, taken while away,” Potter continued, pointedly omitting any reference to the house. “There is a good chance that someone saw her. I’ll look into the shops she routinely visits and find out if anyone witnessed something strange.” Draco cracked his neck and walked over to the desk. He picked up a bottle of mead and poured himself a glass. He lifted the glass to Potter by way of offering but Potter shook his head, still staring at the paper. He made a hand motion as well, dismissing the alcohol and Draco was suddenly aware of the level of comfort that had grown between them.

He lifted the glass to his mouth and let the liquid flood his tongue. Grimacing at the taste, he downed the rest of the cup in one. He hated mead, but felt that nothing else would serve him well enough. Not in that moment.

“All that is well and good,” Draco finally said, once he alcohol had burned a pleasant path down his throat. “But that doesn’t explain why you are still here and not eagerly trying to seek out answers as to my wife’s disappearance.”

“Well, it is ten o’clock at night, Malfoy,” he offered, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. Draco grasped the glass so hard he nearly shattered it. “I doubt that questioning people at this hour would encourage anyone to be particularly cooperative.”

“Potter!” Draco spat, whirling around. He was seething, his chest rising and falling heavily as he snarled. His silver eyes were sharp and fiery. The smirk that played on Potter’s lips vanished instantly. “I don’t know what your problem is, but I suggest you get over it. My wife is missing. She’s been kidnapped by the same person of questionable sanity that has been threatening both my son’s and my life and soul.” Potter’s eyes hardened. “So, while it might be infinitely amusing to you to picture Aurora being tortured or Kissed, I don’t really fancy the image. Your coolness is out of place.”

Potter sucked on his teeth for a moment before taking a deep and steadying breath. Draco nearly lunged at him. He couldn’t stand how calm Potter was. He couldn’t bear it.

“They aren’t going to hurt her,” Potter stated, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Draco very nearly gaped at him. He made some kind of gesture that Potter interpreted as a question. Draco just couldn’t quite control himself anymore. “Have you not noticed that the letters rarely make reference to her at all?” Draco grimaced at him and gripped the desk behind him.

“Of course I’ve noticed, Potter,” he shot venomously. Potter leaned forward on the chair.

“Then you’ve noticed that there are no threats to her life or soul,” he said rather than asked. It was a petulant tone that Draco did not appreciate. “You’ve also noticed, I’m sure, that whenever she is mentioned, it is regards to her relationship to you She’s included in your family unit, or else as your wife, rather than by her name. She is referred to as one might refer to a pet, or property.” Draco’s frown deepened as he listened. “The tone used to speak of Aurora is similar to the town used to speak of the victims in the letters. This suggests that the person doesn’t want any harm to come to Aurora.” Potter paused and reconsidered the letter a moment. “No, in fact, I think they took her more as a means of hurting you.”

Draco stared at Potter as his mind worked to assimilate the revelation.

“They took her to hurt me,” Draco reiterated. He felt the steady burn of acid rising in his throat and fought to push it back down. Potter nodded. Draco stared into nothingness as he considered the words. His brows knitted together and he shook his head. “You’re basing this conclusion off of letters written by a psychopath. How can you possibly trust a psychopath not to change his mind?”

Potter shifted and looked at him seriously. His green eyes were blazing and cut right through Draco. The blond felt himself falter and realized that he was tired. So very tired. He had been worn thin by constantly fighting. Everything. He fought everything.

Draco waged a war on all sides in his life and this was really the icing on the cake. He had to fight for his wife now, fight to get her back when, to be completely honest, he wasn’t sure it was better for either of them that way. He by no means wished her ill, but neither did he wish Aurora’s return. He had been more horrified by the idea that someone had infiltrated his carefully established defenses to snatch her than he had been by her actual disappearance.

Still, she was his wife. She was Scorpius’ mother. She was a Malfoy and Malfoys never abandoned one of their own.

“Contrary to what you may believe, Malfoy,” Potter told him not unkindly. “I am very serious about my job and this case. I know what I’m doing. I’ve had to deal with my share –and rather the shares of a number of other people –of madmen in my time. The one thing that psychopaths have in common is that they rarely deviate for their own psychopathic intentions.” Draco blinked, mildly confused by the statement. Potter sounded mildly like a psychopath as he spoke. “He won’t hurt her unless you give him reason to. He thinks that it’s much more effective to hold her hostage and allow you to stew in your own concerns. The mind is its own form of cruel punishment.”

Draco found himself nodding. He had been forced to acknowledge the truth of Potter’s words, given the memories he had been reliving. He had locked them away so as to rid himself from their power. The truth was that the memories, in themselves, held no power at all. It was the way his mind used them that made them frightening.

“You’re rather insightful, Potter,” Draco conceded, walking over to his chair and sliding into it. His body sighed and groaned as the cushions enveloped him. “When you want to be.” Draco stared uneasily at the ground. Something was nagging him. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it…”

“Neither can I, actually,” the Auror agreed. Draco wasn’t aware he had spoken this thoughts. He froze momentarily and forced himself to continue staring at the ground. His mind raced through the events of the day.

Why had he not stopped to consider that the kidnapper would only want Aurora as a means of psychologically torturing him? He knew without looking at the letters that they didn’t threaten her. He knew that there had been snide remarks running through the words about how he did not deserve to have such a ‘perfect family’, or such a dutiful wife. It was completely possible that this person believed that, in kidnapping Aurora, they would leave Draco in misery, pining for her and driving himself mad with worry. Hell, not only was it possible, it was plausible.

“I got the letter,” he said in an undertone, more to himself than to Potter. “I received it directly, which is unusual. Often the post arrives without my knowledge and is collected by the house-elves to be delivered to me. Or else, it accumulates on my desk.” Draco paused, his finger tapping against the armrest unconsciously. Potter was staring at him. “I took it from the owl and it flew away before I realized who had sent it.” He replayed the events in his mind. “I scanned the contents like I always do. When I read that Aurora was gone, I dropped it and searched the house. I called Inky and the other elves to help me.” He felt a familiar surge of horror at the knowledge that his wife had been snatched away from him without his knowledge. “All I could think to do was send you a Patronus message before tearing everything apart, checking the wards and going back through all the letters.” Draco felt his face pull into a mask of displeasure. It was a mix of anger and disgust. “I was panicked.”

He hated panic. He hated the feel of it, the burn in his throat, the buzzing in his ear. He loathed the rapid and erratic pumping of his heart, the surge of adrenaline and short, gasping breaths. He hated the fear. He told himself that after Voldemort and the war he would never allow himself to feel that fear ever again. He told himself he would protect Scorpius from that fear as well.

Never panic.

He hated panic.

But this… this person... they stole all those promises from him. They stole his freedom, his safety, his health. They stole from him things that Draco would never allow anone to take. Not since Voldemort.

Draco was reminded remarkably of the Dark Lord, in that moment. The writer was clearly a victim of the Death Eaters in some way, shape or form. And yet, their hatred and grief, their desire for revenge was driving them to behaviour that was just as cruel, just as insane as that of Voldemort himself. Wasn’t it?

The force that drives you to intentionally hurt another person has the same root, regardless of history and justification. Voldemort thought he was justified in killing muggleborns and half-bloods, after all. He thought it was a righteous goal.

They were all the same, weren’t they? Murderers…

“I didn’t know you could produce a Patronus,” Potter said suddenly, tearing Draco from his muddled thoughts. He blinked and looked incredulously at the Auror. Potter nibbled his lower lip. “I didn’t think you would bother to learn that kind of incantation.”

Draco stared at him. One moment, Harry Potter was spouting off insightful assessments of the minds of lunatics, reading between the lines and inferring meanings where others could not see them. The next, he was back to being the complete and utter nincompoop that had proclaimed that the difference between ghosts and Inferi was that ghosts were transparent.

“You just deduced that Aurora’s kidnapping was meant as a stab at me,” Draco ground out, one eyebrow arched skeptically. “Based off of suggestive letters. But a person threatens me overtly with a Dementor’s Kiss and it doesn’t occur to you that I might consider learning the Patronus Charm as a means of protecting myself?” Potter flushed brightly, apparently aware of his own stupidity. “How do you manage to not fall down more often, Potter?”

The Auror shot him a withering look before readjusting his robes and clearing his throat.

“I just…” he stammered before huffing and squaring his shoulders. “I was just surprised by the gyrfalcon, is all. Why the bird? I would have expected a great snake or something, knowing you.”

Draco’s face became almost completely expressionless. The muscles in his shoulders were tense, but nowhere else.

“You really don’t know me at all, Potter,” he drawled in a near whisper. Something unidentifiable flashed across Potter’s face. “The gyrfalcon is featured on the Malfoy family crest.” His eyes were flat, the shadows in them unmoving. Potter shifted visibly.

“Oh,” he answered, nodding sheepishly. “It was really strong. I mean, the falcon was rather blinding.” He offered an uncomfortable smile. “What memory did you use?”

Draco might have been taken aback by the nosiness of Potter’s question. But this was Harry Potter, king of inappropriate questions, Saviour of the Wizarding World who, apparently, believed he was entitled to any knowledge he wanted.

“That is none of your business, Potter,” Draco snapped, his face tinted with pink at the thought of which memory he had, in fact, used. It had been unconscious. He had been panicked. He could not be held accountable for which memory his mind offered him when he was in a rush. “Now, can we get back to the actual matter at hand and figure out how to find my missing wife?” There was a harsh and cutting edge to his words. Draco’s eyes flashed and Potter looked somewhat surprised. Draco rolled his eyes and cocked his head. “What is so shocking to you, Potter?”

“I didn’t expect,” he started awkwardly. He hesitated and adjusted his spectacles. “I didn’t expect you to… well… care so much. I mean, obviously you should be concerned. But, given what she’s like… and how you act, well…” Potter trailed off and Draco felt fury boil his blood.

“You thought I would be glad, did you?” Draco snarled dangerously. Potter’s eyes widened slightly and he stared Draco down. “You thought that because I’m not in love with my wife that I wouldn’t care what became of her? That I wouldn’t mind if she was kidnapped right under my nose? You thought that I was so heartless and selfish that I would want to be rid of my wife for good, just because she isn’t a simpering little damsel who would do anything to please me?” Draco’s voice rose steadily with each word. His entire body shook with the force of his anger and the void from the otherworld, the pull of Death resurfaced and began tugging at them from the hearth. “Draco Malfoy’s such a bastard that he probably wants his wife to be killed so he can be free of her without having to be responsible. Too much of a coward to take care of her myself so you thought I would just be glad someone took her off my hands??”

“Draco, I…” Potter began, clearly caught between alarm and insult. Draco didn’t let him speak. He wasn’t sure if he was angry because Potter had assumed such things so candidly, or because they were mostly true.

“No, Potter!” he shouted, somehow finding himself on his feet. “My wife is not perfect, Potter. She doesn’t darn my socks and cook my dinners. We don’t cuddle at night after we make love. I don’t touch her, Potter. I don’t fuck her every night after we go over how wonderful our lives are. She’s controlling and demanding. She can never be pleased and she joyfully informs me on a daily basis how much of a disappointment I am to her, one way or another. She has taken on the role of my father quite adequately, if I do say so.” Draco was heaving now and an angry look had painted itself on Potter’s face. “But she’s still my wife, Potter. She’s still the mother of my son.” His tone was fierce and full of venom. “Just because we’re not like your perfect little family, with your precious school sweetheart as a wife and hordes of children who worship you, with your family dinners and happy little home…. Just because my family isn’t the picture of the perfect nuclear family like yours, does not mean we are any less of a family.” Potter was glaring back at him, his fists clenched and his knuckles white, but Draco didn’t care. “Go back to your fucking perfect wife, Potter. Go home and have a good laugh with her about how fucked up my family is and how you pity me. Go fuck the Weasley bint and leave me the hell alone. I don’t fucking need you.”

Draco was about to turn around when he found himself thrown back against the wall, Potter’s fist colliding with his cheek. His head was thrown sideways and pain erupted behind his left eye. He brought his hands up to push Potter back but his wrists were caught and forced up against the wall to either side of him. Draco blinked away the blackness and considered headbutting Potter for a moment. He stared into those acidic green eyes, his face pulled into a snarl.

“Fuck you , Malfoy!” Potter spat at him. “Fuck you, don’t put words in my mouth. Don’t assume you know what I’m thinking.” His fingers tightened painfully around Draco’s wrists. “You have no idea what my family is like. You have no clue. It’s not fucking perfect.”

“As close to perfect as you can get,” Draco sneered with all the venom he possessed. “Three kids and a happy little wife. What else could you want, Potter? Or is it that you don’t fuck the Weasley slut every night? Just every other night.”

“Fuck you! Don’t talk about Ginny like that! You’ve got no fucking clue!” Potter hollered, releasing one of his hands to punch him again. Draco dodged out of the way and Potter’s fist collided with the stone wall behind him. He cried in pain and released the blond. Draco pushed him violently until Potter landed in the chair, knocking it backwards.

“Then tell me, Potter!” Draco yelled harshly, advancing on him. “Tell me about how fucked up your family is. Tell me how the world was hard on you and how you’ve suffered. Tell me about how no one loves you.” Draco pinned him where he was, moving his face dangerously close to Potter’s. “Tell me what’s wrong with your fucking family.”

“Ginny and I are divorced!” Potter bellowed dramatically. Draco pulled back slightly, a look of confusion on his face. He shook his head.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he shot, unwilling to released Potter from his position. Potter’s face fell suddenly, all of the anger seeming to drain from him with those simple and incomprehensible words. He still glared at Draco, but it lacked the same directed hatred. He seemed to bear the hatred toward himself, not Draco.

“It’s a Muggle word,” he explained through gritted teeth. “More clinical. Detached. I… I can’t use the wizarding terms.” He looked up into Draco’s eyes and his gaze did not falter but Draco could tell that he wanted to look away. “Because in the Wizarding World, when you separate from your wife, it means you’ve…. You’ve…”

He couldn’t seem to finish but he didn’t need to. Realization dawned on Draco and he pulled back slightly. When he spoke, his voice was very low.

“You’ve broken an Unbreakable Vow.”

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A/N: AHHH I'm SORRY! This is late, I know. *headdesk* Life got so DEMANDING all of a sudden. School sucks. I'm also working on artwork for this and trying to write during all of my bloody reading. T_T But fear not, I will keep at it, of course. Also, explanations for this chapter will follow... in the next one, lol. But I hate the next chapter so I might, if I CAN, post two next time instead of one. I will do my best.

Also, here's a tidbit: In the epilogue of DH, NEVER is Ginny ACTUALLY referred to as Harry's wife. Never. Not once. She's just... there. :D So I interpreted that as I pleased. This is what I pleased, apparently. Ahhh *runs away*

LOVE for reviews! Keep me aliveeeee! *hugs*