A Dream For The Dead

A Dream for the Dead

Chapter 6
Walk Away A Saviour

The chest was not that large. It was really little more than the size of a jewelry box. That is, if you had a jewelry collection comparable to the Queen. It stood on a table to itself. The table was wrought iron and glass to support it. The chest itself, while it’s size was relative to the observer, was rather heavy. Made of hand-carved mahogany and carefully varnished, it gleamed in even the lowest lighting. The ornate pattern on its top was mirrored around a Latin phrase.

Sanctitas in Sanguis. Purity in blood.

The scrawled words shone brightly against the dark, glazed wood. They were magically inlaid into the wood. The curling carved lines snaking outwards from the phrase and over the sides of the top towards the ornate lock on the front. It was shaped like no keyhole. There were leaves and vines of silver entwined around to leave bare a hole shaped like a thin ‘M’.

Draco studied the chest from a distance. He did not like to be close to it, knowing what was inside. It was warded and locked. The contents themselves were no dangerous. They would not hurt him physically if he opened the chest. But the knowledge of them was enough to make him give the chest and table a wide berth when he passed by.

Draco took a step towards the chest and let his finger run lightly over the strange lock. He traced the ‘M’ with his forefinger. The hole began to emit a faint light. He took a deep breath and then pressed his palm to the lock. It burned hot under his skin for a moment before there was a tiny click and it opened.

Opening the chest, Draco’s eyes fell on a stack of neatly tied letters. Short slips of parchment of every kind, colour and weight, piled atop one another were the only contents of this chest. He refused to touch them, refused to look at them for long.

There was a new one in his hand. It was written on dark, unrefined parchment. It was heavy and uneven. The scrawl across the front was untidy and the ink was iridescent green. The words of the letter were the dangerous part. They were the words that rang in Draco’s mind and halted his sleep. They impeded his thoughts and blurred his vision. They were the words that constricted his heart and sucked the air from his lungs.

He refolded the letter carefully and placed it within the chest. He watched it as it settled onto its brothers as if expecting it to sizzle and reveal itself as venomous. Instead, it simply sat in the chest, completely innocuous and inoffensive. Just like any old letter. Sent by anyone.

It could have been sent by anyone.

Draco swallowed hard and shut the lid of the chest. He raised his wand and murmured an incantation, locking and warding it. No one but a Malfoy could penetrate the wards.

And Inky.

Draco stepped back from the chest as soon as it locked. He stared at it as though it was about to explode, about to send him flying and destroy its surroundings. It did none of these things.

When he was certain that it was safe, Draco turned and left the room, locking the door behind him for good measure.

The letter was safe in the chest. He was safe from the letter.

++++++

“You have got to be joking.”

“I’m afraid not, Potter. This is all I’ve got.”

Harry ran his fingers distractedly through his messy hair and paced about Boot’s office. It was somewhat less cluttered than usual. The desk was clear and organized. There were only two files in the inbox.

Harry noticed all these things, these tell-tale signs of a lull in activity, and yet still expected better. He expected Boot to take him seriously rather than offer him a joke.

“There aren’t anymore Death Eaters released? No serial killers with a penchant for Muggleborns? No dragons escaped from… wherever dragons might escape from?” Harry began rambling. “I’ll even take a break-in with slight traces of Dark Magic. I’ll take anything, but this… this is ridiculous.”

Boot shook his head and held out the file he had offered Harry. It hung from his hand, imploring him to give up and check himself into St Mungo’s, for surely, if this was the best and most urgent case for the Auror department, either the world had gone mad or Harry had. Harry was quite sure the world was still somewhat sane and so began to fear for his own mental stability.

“This is all I’ve got, Potter,” Boot repeated him solemnly. “If you don’t want it, then you get nothing.”

Harry glared at him and shook his head. He couldn’t believe this.

He would never have believed that once Voldemort was defeated and all the Death Eaters caught the world would simply give up on evil. At least in England. At least in his jurisdiction. He couldn’t believe that there was no one out there who was willing to use an Unforgivable Curse, that no one was considering an attack on Hogwarts, or the Minister, or bloody Gringotts. He couldn’t believe that with Knockturn Alley still in business there was no one buying dark artifacts, no one plotting murder, plotting genocide.

Surely there was at least one madman in the world somewhere.

“I can’t take it,” he said, almost hysterical from the lack of work. He was slowly but surely losing his mind. “I can’t believe that’s all there is.”

Boot frowned at him and sighed heavily, as though he was very tired. Harry stopped pacing.

“Potter, you are one of the only Aurors left, you realize,” he said, the weariness very clear in his voice. “We hardly have reason for this department anymore. Unless another Voldemort or Grindelwald comes along, soon the Ministry is going to be less one department. No one believed it would happen, but it seems as though it has.” He lowered his outstretched hand and flipped through the file himself. “This has potential to be a real case, Potter. It’s the best I’ve got to offer you.”

Harry slumped into the chair in front of Boot’s desk and held his head in his hands. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it and did not really want to try. Boot got to his feet and walked around his desk, leaning against it to face Harry. He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder just as the world began to slip away and the darkness started to swirl in. Harry focused on the touch and forced the darkness back.

“You’re going to have to come to terms with it, Harry,” Boot told him quietly. “Life just didn’t turn out the way you thought it would.”

Harry fought the urge to laugh in his hysterical state. He fought the urge to let out a bark of dry laughter, to throw it in Boot’s face. He had come to terms with the fact that his life had not turned out as he had expected many years ago. He had known for a while now and it did not take one of his former followers for him to come to terms with it. He knew.

“I won’t do it,” he said gruffly. He glared at the ground before looking up. “That’s not an Auror’s job.”

Boot sighed and picked up the file again. He closed it and shoved it into Harry’s hands.

“Just take it with you,” he said. “Look it over. You don’t have to take it now. But if you change your mind, it’ll be yours.”

Harry grasped the file tightly, his fingers straining to rip it to pieces. He got to his feet and tried to calm himself. He held the file between his fingertips, afraid that if he held it closer it would mean giving in.

“I’ll take it,” he answered. “But I’m not going to take it.”

++++++

“Hey Malfoy.” The voice called out but Draco considered ignoring it. He stared at the photo of his son that he brought with him to every game. He was standing in his team uniform, holding the robe in his hands and taking deep and even breaths. He knew what he had to do. “Malfoy!”

Draco rolled his eyes and turned around.

“What is it, Peakes?” he shot, the aggravation clear in his voice. Peakes shrugged at him and pointed to the doorway.

“There’s a bloke here says he’s got a package for you,” Peakes told him. Draco blinked and turned to the doorway to the change rooms.

There was, indeed, a boy standing there. He was rather small and wiry with dirty blond hair and light freckling across his nose. His front teeth jutted out past the line of his lip and gave him the look of a mouse. Draco walked over to him, his arms crossed over his chest. The boy clutched a long, thin package as though it was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

“Your broomstick, Mr. Malfoy,” the boy squeaked, offering up the package. Draco’s eyes widened and he snatched it away from the boy. He unwrapped it quickly and the shiny new Firebolt 250 lifted itself lightly from the box to hover in front of him. He ran his hand along the sleek handle and smirked to himself.

“We’ll it’s about bloody time!” Draco snapped at the boy, whose fault it was clearly not. He sneered at the boy. “The people at your store are bloody useless. Merlin! I was about to go into a League match with a dated broom!” The boy shook violently from the weight of Draco’s voice.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he squealed before Draco took an intimidating step towards him. The boy bolted from the room in fear and Draco went back to his locker.

“Malfoy, you got it?!” Wood called to him. He rushed over to examine the broom, apparently to ensure that it was not a fake, or another practical joke. As though the first time had been nothing more than a laugh.

“Yeah and right in time for the game,” he murmured. “I hope I can handle it well enough.”

Wood clapped him on the shoulder and grinned brightly at him. There was a shiny new Captain’s badge on his left breast. Draco eyed it briefly.

“You’ll do great,” he reassured his Seeker. “Haven’t met a broom yet you couldn’t dominate, have you?” There was a cheeky grin on his face now as he spoke. Draco chuckled a moment, a smirk on his mouth.

“Not yet,” he answered. He pulled on his robes and stroked the broomstick, wanting to get a good feel for it before he rode it.

“Alright, listen up team!” Wood suddenly called out, right next to Draco’s ear. Draco winced slightly and glared. He turned around along with everyone else. “Tonight’s game is important. Winning is the only option. We don’t need any particular lead on them, so there’s no need to draw things out unless we do poorly – which we won’t. “ He turned to Draco now that the entire team was listening. “Now, Malfoy. That means that your job is to catch the snitch as quickly as possible. As soon as you see it, you go for it. Got it?”

Draco thought over his words very carefully. He mulled them over on his tongue.

“As soon as I see it?” Draco asked, to be sure that he understood. Wood nodded brightly.

“Yes, absolutely,” he answered. “Now let’s go out there and kick their bloody arses!”

The whole team cheered and lined up at the entrance to the pitch in their order. Draco was in last, Wood first, being Captain. They called out the team members’ names by rank and then by alphabetical order. Seeker was always last.

One by one, the Catapults’ players hopped onto their brooms and took off for their entrances. Draco was directly in the doorway, entirely alone. He felt the roar of the crowd assault him even from that distance. He listened intently for his name to be called. He mounted his broom and gripped the handle tightly.

His throat was tight and his chest felt hollow but for the pounding of his heart against his sternum. He swallowed hard.

“And finally,” the voice announced. “Seeker Draco Malfoy!”

Draco kicked off and soared out into the air, painfully aware of the raucous cries coming from the stadium. He ignored the voices and screaming in favour of the air. He breathed it in, getting a feel for the broom. It was much faster than his old Firebolt and it moved with his thoughts rather than his direction. At least it seemed that way.

He opened his eyes and flung himself upwards, legs in the air and hands gripping the broom as it cartwheeled in the air. As it leveled again Draco dropped onto it and spun around the pitch, flying as close to the stands as possible. He could feel the hot breath of the massive audience pass over him as he moved.

He finally joined his team formation as they flew in their pattern around the pitch to the welcome of their fans. Draco allowed himself a smile as he felt the wind whip his hair and robes back. He felt free and ready. His body was taut and prepared. His mind was clear and unfettered. He was focused.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the Caerphilly Catapults!” The announcer concluded as they each took their positions on the pitch. Wood clapping him on the shoulder as he flew by towards the goalposts.

Draco stretched and cracked his neck as he loosened his muscles for the game. He waited patiently as the other team was called.

One by one, the Tutshill Tornadoes were summoned onto the pitch. Draco watched their blue forms carefully. They all seemed small and insignificant from his vantage point. He hung high above the pitch for their entrance. He would drop down for the start of the game.

He watched like a hawk as the final Tornadoes player was called. Asher Blightman flew out onto the pitch and pulled a spiral in the air before pulling up and taking his team formation. The crowd was cheering him as well, but Draco couldn’t help but feel they had been louder for him than for Blightman.

The opposing Seeker took his position on the pitch and Draco dropped twenty feet to meet his position. He studied Blightman from his side of the pitch. Blightman looked somewhat green at the sight of Draco but made a defiant motion with his chin. He was trying to intimidate Draco but Draco simply stared, completely unimpressed.

Eventually, Blightman stopped his buffoonery and waited for Draco to make a move in return. Draco simply cocked his eyebrows once before turning his attention down to the referee.

Elodie Baronet was standing in the centre of the pitch, with a massive chest. She flipped it open and removed the Quaffle, holding it under her arm. She released the bludgers which immediately went careening around the pitch, intent on hitting whatever got in their way. Draco swerved very slightly out of their path, his eyes still focused on the referee. She opened a small compartment in the chest and pulled out a tiny golden ball. Thin silver wings emerged from its core and began to flap wildly. Draco’s eyes trained on the Snitch like a sniper trains on a target. From the moment it appeared he saw nothing else.

She released it into the air and it zoomed off. Draco’s eyes followed it and, suddenly, nothing else on the pitch mattered. Nothing else was moving but the Snitch. The air was calm and everything was frozen around him. He watched it move through the air, cutting it like a knife as it did. He could feel the movement of it in ripples. He could see the trail it left as it moved because he saw nothing else.

Draco knew that Baronet was in the air now and about to release the Quaffle. His muscles ached to move the broom, waiting desperately for the signal.

When it came, it happened in a way no one but a swimmer could understand. Rather than hear the whistle blow, Draco felt it. He did not wait for it to stop, but as soon as the referee’s lips were on the device, as soon as the slightest bit of air passed through the metal, Draco was moving. His broom was soaring and cutting the air like the snitch had done before him.

As he moved, all was chaos and all was confusion. He saw nothing but the Snitch and everyone in the audience was on baited breath to see who got the Quaffle first. But just as Abigail caught the Quaffle for the Catapults, Draco spun around, his arm in the air, fisting something in a symbol of victory.

Everyone continued moving for a moment before they realized what had happened.

“It- no, it can’t be!” the announcer cried, his voice ringing out through the suddenly stunned and silent crowd. “Malfoy’s got the Snitch! He caught the Snitch! And it’s… it’s only TWO SECONDS into the game!”

Everyone on the pitch stopped abruptly to stare at him. Blightman hadn’t even moved from hims position when he realized what had happened. His mouth was hanging open and his grip was loose on his broomstick. He looked much as though he had been hit in the face with a bludger.

“Draco Malfoy has just beat the record for fastest catch in Quidditch history!” The announcer was laughing hysterically as he proclaimed the news to the confused fans. “He not only stole the win from the Tornadoes but stole the title from Plumpton as well! This is remarkable, ladies and gentlemen! Wood certainly knows how to train his players!” The crowd was still silent as Draco zoomed around the pitch, the Snitch struggling in his hand. He paused before the announcer’s box and brought his fist to his mouth, kissing the tiny golden ball before winking and flying off. “And, he’s just kissed the Snitch! He’s kissed it and winked at me!”

Draco soared off towards the change rooms, having done what he promised to do. He hoped that the little girls would appreciate it, that they would remember that once, a record breaking Quidditch player, kissed the snitch for them.

He sighed to himself as he landed in the entrance to the change rooms.

“The game is over!” the announcer was still saying, clearly enjoying this turn of events immensely. “Malfoy caught the Snitch in his hand, as well! Certainly no question about whether or not it was an accident for this one! The game is officially over! The Catapults win, one hundred and fifty to nothing!!”

The crowd had suddenly come to understand what had happened. They broke out in a violent roar and the Tornadoes Captain soared over to the referee to argue the conclusion, argue the win. The Catapults, however, had shrugged and zoomed off to their change rooms. Wood was in the lead. He landed gracelessly and jumped Draco, wrapping his arms around Draco’s neck and screaming his excitement into his ear. The rest of the team mobbed him and forced him to the centre of a circle, lifting him onto their hands to celebrate him. Draco couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole situation, of his win.

“I didn’t realize you meant business!” Wood roared grabbing Draco roughly into a hug. His face was split in an ecstatic grin. Draco tried to ignore the sudden cavernousness that opened beneath him in the ground, threatening to swallow him whole. He let the team lift and support him, smacking him on the back and mussing his hair. He let them touch and push him to celebrate him so that he could ground himself and celebrate with them.

“Oy! We’re going for drinks, lads!” Fitzgerald cried out over the din. “And they’re on Malfoy!”

Draco smirked and shoved him.

That was about when the riot broke out.

------
A/N: SORRY no post yesterday. My sister's wedding is tomorrow and yesterday was the rehearsal dinner. I'm maid of honor so... yeah. I'm intrinsic in all the craziness apparently, LOL. So that also means no post tomorrow. Although, she's getting married at a place called The Manor, which is AWESOME to me. I encouraged her to pick that location because I could then pretend I was at Malfoy Manor because I fail at life and being cool. XD *sigh* I'll get back to posting and all on Sunday once it's all over. I hope you like this chapter. I enjoyed writing the Quidditch bit, hehe.

Thrnbrooke: I cannot answer yet lol. XD <3 You'll get answers to everything sooooon. Well, not terribly soon. But by the end for sure, lol.

AnaDenay18: I'm glad I'm back too! YAY! *throws love and hearts at you* I hope you like this story!

Reviews = my undying love. Always.