A Dream For The Dead

A Dream for the Dead

Chapter 7

Cry Wolf

The Muggle belief that sound and light move at different speeds is correct, for the most part. The idea that light and sound are intangible, however, is not.

Light moves in shapes and spaces like water. It fills every corner of every area available to it. It moulds itself to its container and forces outwards all the time. It eats away at shadows just as shadows try to consume it. It is felt, as much as seen, as tasted. Draco could taste the light.

Sound moves in wavelengths on the air, in the absence of air. It can move freely through solids in a way similar to gasses; that is to say, it can seem to be contained but is never truly. You cannot catch and hold a sound any more easily than you can catch and hold the wind. You may think you have it for a moment but then it is gone, as though it was never there. Sounds are powerful and felt. They affect the body just as much as a physical touch. Words can cut and they can burn. They can soothe and ghost over skin. They can hang on the air and linger around your lips. They can shatter and consume. They can suffocate, too.

Draco had felt sounds suffocate him.

The light and the sound travelling throughout Diagon Alley travelled far and wide to condense inside the little pub Wood had chosen for their celebration.

The Serpent’s Tooth, it was called, though it had been known by as many names as there were now patrons crammed into the tiny establishment. The small pub was packed stiff with fans who had been nearby and wanted to celebrate with the team. Draco had been clapped on the back so many times he was sure that a wide and deep purple bruise was blooming beneath his skin.

His team mates were all around him, drinking butterbeers and firewhiskey to their hearts content as they laughed and chanted his praises. Draco clinked his bottle of butterbeer against Woods as he offered up a toast to him and then took a gulp. He always enjoyed the warming sensation that passed through him.

“Draco Malfoy, Prince of Snakes,
He caught the Snitch and won the game,
Malfoy, Malfoy cut the stakes
And put the Tornadoes to shame!”

The crowd in the bar was chanting the drunken poem as they all raised their glasses to him. Some of the fans were already stumbling about, dribbling down their fronts from their sloshed state. Others were trying to hold up the drunks while laughing merrily.

Draco watched them all and tried to believe that the ground was shaking because of all the stomping, because of the celebrations. He tried to believe that it was not because he was being pulled downward by his soul.

“How did you do it, Draco?” James was asking him, already stumbling over his words. He couldn’t stand alone and needed to lean on Peakes. His butterbeer sloshed messily, back and forth, as the two of them swayed to the discordant roar of the pub. “How did you catch the snitch so fast? It’s like you just… you just knew!” His eyes widened with amazement as he stared at Draco. “’As’ it, innit? You knew where the Snitch was! You’ve got… some kind of fifth sense or summat!”


“Sixth sense, you nincompoop,” Abigail shot at him, shaking her head and laughing. “Enough of the sauce for James. If we let him keep going he might lose whatever brains he might have had to begin with.”

“ ‘Ey, ‘ey, ‘ey…” James attempted, still swaying and hanging more limply off of Peakes, who was having trouble standing for laughing. “I’m perfectly fine! I gots me faculties right where I want them.”

“In the toilet?” Stewart offered and James nodded sagely for a moment before realizing what had been said. He spun around to hit Ackerly but missed terribly and ended up tumbling to the floor. The team roared with laughter as they tried to help him up.

Draco snickered to himself and finished his drink, dropping it loudly on the counter and shaking his head. He never would have thought that he would be friendly, let alone drinking in a pub, with the assortment of people on his team. Not a Slytherin among them, all of different magical backgrounds and most of them he had insulted at one point or another while at Hogwarts.

Yet here they were, all dancing and singing together, clinking their drinks and laughing at their own foolishness, nineteen years after the war that changed it all. One of Draco’s closest friends, though he was tentative about the title, was a man who once captained his schoolyard rival. Draco surveyed Wood for a moment, wondering how this had happened, how he had somehow found himself on good terms with a handful of Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws while he rarely spoke to his Slytherin friends; how these people could have forgiven him for what he did, years ago, a scared boy, and laugh so carelessly with him now.

“What’re yeh thinking, Draco?” Wood asked, suddenly draping his arm around the blond. He wasn’t nearly as lost as James, but he was pleasantly tipsy. His face was hot close to Draco’s and he wore a bright smile. “Look far too serious for such an amazing victory!”

Draco smirked and shook his head.

“Just thinking about how ridiculous you lot look,” he snickered, nodding to James with his chin. “Drunk off your arses and singing my name.” He licked his lips and leaned back against the bar. “If you party like this after such a simple win, imagine what you’ll get into when we take home the Cup.”

Wood growled happily and mussed Draco’s hair as they watched James down half a bottle of firewhiskey, his team mates egging him on.

“Next time we’ll celebrate proper,” Wood told him gesturing to the barkeep for another drink. “We’ll shut down all of Wales and throw a massive party that’ll last through the night.”

Draco snorted and brushed his hair back from his face. His body tensed briefly and the stool shook beneath him. He shut his eyes and tried to calm down. He wanted to have one night. Just one night when he could celebrate and not think about it. One night.

“Dray-coooooo,” James’ voice came suddenly, drawing out his name until it became more of a phrase than a word. Draco opened his eyes to see James’ head upside-down on his lap, his eyes wide as his mouth. “Why so glum, chum?”

James seemed to have regressed to the behaviour of a child in his inebriated state. Draco laughed and pushed him off.

“Not glum,” he answered with a pout. “Trying to figure out how I can avoid being the one to hold your hair back when you sick up later.”

“I haven’t got hair to hold back!” James responded, genuinely shocked at the notion. He placed his hand on his chest as though to further illustrate his offence at the idea, but lost his balance and went tumbling back into some nearby fans. They cheered oddly and lifted him over their heads. Draco rolled his eyes and shook his head, suddenly hitting someone’s hand.

Jimmy Peakes had tried to throw his arm around Draco’s neck and had inadvertently ended up punching him in the cheek. Draco groaned a moment before Jimmy started laughing and spilled half his drink.

“You’re not nearly… drank… drunk ‘nuff, M-alf.. Draco,” he proclaimed, waving his hand in the air before him to swat away his stammered words. “Barkeep! Another round. All for the superest seeker of all time!” He seemed to be trying to form the letters of Draco’s name with his lips but did not trust himself to speak them. Instead, he satisfied himself by pointing and shoving Draco’s shoulder.

A row of shot glasses slid Draco’s way, all filled with various magical draughts and spirits. He tried to shake his head but suddenly the whole team was egging him on, demanding that he do them all in one go. Draco felt the world pull at him and threw caution to the wind.

He picked up each glass, one by one, and downed the shots. Twelve in all, he hardly felt the burn as they skipped over his tongue and proceeded straight down his throat. Draco grasped the last glass in his hand, screwing his eyes shut from the overwhelming sensation of twelve shots taken so suddenly and slammed it down on the counter.

Everyone screamed and cheered beginning another chorus of their song.

“Draco Malfoy faster than air,
Flies like the Snitch and drinks like a bear,
Nothing will stop him, you watch and see,
He’ll win us the Cup and make history!”

Draco got off his stool, feeling the effects of his rapid-fire shots starting to take effect. He grabbed out for Wood and caught his shirt, pulling him over as he stumbled slightly. Wood tried to catch him but they both just fell into one another, laughing at the childish image.

He grasped Wood’s neck and he righted himself, Oliver’s hands on his hips as they laughed. Draco wondered if this was what it was like to feel good. It had been such a long time since he’d felt that way, he couldn’t quite recall.

“Oy, let’s take it outside!” Wood called, leading Draco to the door. They all needed to get some air.

The night was cool and the fresh air felt good on his face. He breathed deeply clutching Wood’s wrist over his neck and flouncing about down the winding alleyway. He didn’t care now about the pull, about the shadows moving around him. He didn’t care about the tug at his soul and the whispers on the air. Draco felt good for the first time in what seemed like forever and nothing was going to take that from him now.

“Malfoy!” a thick voice called from behind him. He paused mid-step and turned his head, trying to find the owner of the voice. A large man was standing directly behind him, only a few feet away. He had broad enough shoulders to make a Troll jealous and his fists looked like boulders. He was surrounded by a handful of other men, varying in size and stature. They all, however, shared one commonality in their features.

They were scowling at him.

“You cheated.”

+++++

There was screaming and chaos and magic flying everywhere. It was dark and frightening and the air was thick with bodies and anger. Sweat and blood splattered the ground.

This was something.

Harry stood with his wand held out in front of him, casting jinxes and hexes as he could. He was calmer than he had been in months, his heart beating fast in his chest and his blood pumping hot. He could only hear the sound of his own breathing as he broke up fights and separated bodies. He body-bound some, disarmed others and generally tried to quiet the rabble.

He was his most calm, his most at ease, in the face of a riot.

He was Flooed while he was playing with Lily, teaching her how to play Wizard’s Chess. He was told that the Quidditch match between the Catapults and the Tornadoes had ended in less than three seconds and that the crowd was angry. There was rioting throughout the area from the angry fans, demanding to get their money’s worth, demanding a rematch, demanding some form of justice they did not believe was served them.

Harry left at once, practically jumping at the chance for some real action. This was much better. It was much more realistic of a job for him and the Aurors than the file Boot had given him. This was real. It was dangerous and it was meaningful.

Granted, it was a result of something Malfoy had ultimately done, but Harry didn’t care. He would take it, any day, over the alternative.

He had shown up at the location, just off of Cambridge, and been greeted with the side of a Quidditch Pitch nearly aflame. There were streams of people rushing from the stands and towards the Muggle establishments nearby. There was screaming and cursing and fire falling from the stands, burning with the anger of the patrons.

Harry and the other Aurors started to put out the fires and arrest the rabble-rousers. The Hit Wizards showed up to help those who had been trampled or hurt in the rush. The order was to stun anyone caught causing mischief or defacing the property and arrest them at the end.

“Stupefy!” Harry cried, shooting a jet of red light at a man who had been trying to direct the bludgers out of the Quidditch grounds and towards the Muggles. He fell to the ground in a lump and Harry moved on.

He felt alive and excited. Magic was flying everywhere around him. He was fighting again. He never thought he would miss it but he did. He missed the drive, the supreme feeling of justice that came with putting away those who committed crimes.

He pushed through the crowd of people, trying to decipher between those that were simply trying to escape and those that were causing the problems. There was a group of teenagers who had decided to send up magical fireworks over the town. They were Tornadoes themes and so released massive, burning cyclones over the ground to wreck anything in their paths. Harry waved his wand and put an end to the incantation before binding the four teenagers to a post and sending up a signal for the Hit Wizards to come an deal with them.

He bolted off. All of the rioters would be charged with reckless endangerment of Muggles and direct disregard of the Statute of Secrecy.

Harry slowed when he saw a group of witches and wizards duelling. One side were wearing Tornadoes colours and the others were decked out in Catapults’ paraphernalia. One witch had died her hair white-blonde and was wearing a shirt with the scrawled slogan Tame me, Draco! in glittering green letters. Another witch wore a shirt proclaiming her to be “Mrs. Malfoy”.

Harry tried to fight the urge to laugh as he realized that they were throwing dark spells at one another.

“You’re stupid Seeker cheated!” A Tornadoes fan hollered, shooting a dark spell Harry recognized. It was meant to choke the victim by forcing their throat closed.

“He did not! Asher Blightman is just a wanker!” One of the witches shot back, dodging the curse. She shot a bat bogey hex at her attacker. “Couldn’t catch the Snitch if it landed in his hand!”

“Malfoy is a Death Eater,” another Tornadoes fan screamed, shooting curses Harry had not heard of. “He’s scum! People like that don’t change! He could never have won if he hadn’t cheated! He should be kicked out of the league and thrown in Azkaban!”

“Bitch!” The second Catapults’ fan shrieked, throwing a curse of her own. “You decide that because Malfoy turned you down? I saw you looking at him when he came out! You looked like you wanted to suck him off so bad… But you’re out of luck, little slag. Draco Malfoy doesn’t fuck Mudblood whores!”

“Cruci-” the Tornadoes supporter shrieked, about to curse the girl who had insulted her. Harry growled to himself and jumped between them.

“Stupefy!” he hollered, stunning the girl about to use an Unforgivable, then binding the others who were involved. He shot up a signal again, this time a different colour to signify use of Dark Magic and then shot the group a dirty look.

He was breathing heavily and sauntered off, looking for more people to stop, fights to break up. He felt his heart race and sweat pour down his face. He had not seen someone use an Unforgivable so lightly since the war. It was just a Quidditch match, just the defiant banter of sports fans. It wasn’t worth a life-sentence in Azkaban.

Harry couldn’t understand how something meant to be exciting and enjoyable could so easily dissolved into madness and chaos. However much he felt good fighting through the insanity, putting away people who disobeyed the law and tried to use Dark Magic to their advantage, he couldn’t help but be glad, even in the slightest, for the way the world had changed.

He felt deeply torn now. He knew it was horrible to want more Dark Wizards to emerge so that his life would have purpose, meaning, outside of his family. He wanted to enjoy his job again, to feel as though he was still making a difference. But he did not want to sacrifice the safety of the innocent, did not want to watch youth tainted by anger and rage.

Harry knew that he could not have it both ways and ground his teeth together as he stunned a woman who cast exploding spells on the houses nearby. He didn’t know how to feel anymore, but he knew one thing for certain. Well, two things.

He couldn’t allow his own disappointment with his life to cause the world suffering when it had come so far. And…

“Somehow, it’s always Malfoy’s fault.”

+++++

Draco sobered quickly, letting go of Wood’s wrist. He stood straight and turned fully to face his accusers. He frowned, wishing that he could go one day, one bloody day without having to deal with idiots.

“What was that?” Draco asked, his tone icy and his eyes sharp. Wood removed his arm from Draco’s shoulders and stood tall as well, apparently prepared to defend Draco is necessary. It wouldn’t be.

“I said,” the man spat, his heavyset jaw wide with the distaste on his face. “You. Cheated. You bloody fucking cheated!” He took a step towards Draco but Draco did not back down.

His mouth was pulled into a grimace and he placed his hands on his hips. Cocking his head back in a show of defiant arrogance, Draco allowed himself to sneer.

“How do you figure that?” he asked quietly. His fingers were carefully placed above the pocket that held his wand. Wood’s broad shoulders were squared next to him and his hand already grasped his wand. He had no intention of being subtle. It was a warning to the other men. Don’t try anything, it said.

“No one could have caught the Snitch so fast,” the nameless man explained, the words rolling, gravelly, off his tongue. He cracked his neck. “I saw you move. You started for it before the whistle finished blowing.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed and his grimace turned into a strange mixture of a sneer and growl.

“My apologies,” he drawled, his voice venomous and condescending. “Next time I shall try to move more slowly so you brainless trolls can follow my intentions more adequately. Perhaps you should appeal to the League as well and have all the broomsticks slowed so that the game is easier to follow. It must be difficult for you, having a brain the size of a flobberworm and all. Perhaps we should also slow down the Snitch. That way it’s fair for everyone!”

“Listen, you sac of shite,” the man growled, sounding remarkably like a bear. Draco did not back down. “I know what you are.” There was a threat in his tone that was completely unabashed. “I know what your father did, you fucking sod. I know that your Marked.” He spat the word as though it was a bad taste in his mouth. “You’re lucky to be alive, let alone out of Azkaban. You’re nothing but slime; dirty skullsucker.” Draco felt the rage rise within him but he did nothing. He could do nothing until the man attempted to attack him. His cronies chortled behind him.

“Step back,” Draco spat slowly, his jaw tight and his muscles aching to lunge at the troll in front of him.

“You’re filth,” the man spat, ignoring Draco’s words. “Fucking ponce. I bet your daddy sucked up to old Voldemort, quite good. Had to take up his job when daddy went to prison, did you?” The man was so close now Draco could smell his putrid breath. “How did it taste, Malfoy? How did it taste to suck off the most evil wizard of all time and know that that’s what you were. A fucking whore for Voldemort and his Death Eaters?”

“Fuck off, arsehole,” Wood snapped, pushing the man back. The man swung an arm around to hit Wood but Draco’s leg snapped around and his foot hit the man square in the stomach, sending him backwards into his friends.

Draco pulled his wand and the man got back to his feet. The others pulled their wands as well and circled them.

“You’ll pay for that, Malfoy,” the man roared. “I’m going to crush that pretty little face of yours and send a picture to the Prophet. Then you’re snivelling worm of a son can see you as you really are: a bent little wanker.”

Draco snapped and shot a jet of white hot light at the man, roaring and throwing himself at the boor, intent on strangling him with his bare hands. He punched and kicked as he could before he was dragged backwards by innumerable hands.

“Draco!!” Wood’s voice called as he shot spells. Draco saw only flashes of light before he felt something massive and hard collide with his face. Sparks of a whole different type emerged behind his eyes. He felt a hot gush of blood stream down his face and steady blows were dealt to his stomach and face.

“Draco!! Get up! Draco!!”

The voice was distant now. Draco tried to claw and punch and kick at those around him but there were too many. He couldn’t hear anymore. He could hardly feel anything but pain and his eye had swelled shut.

His wand slipped from his hand and he muttered spells under his breath, trying to defend himself. Something thick and hard was suddenly shoved into his mouth, forcing his jaw opened in a gag.

He wouldn’t let himself scream. He wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.

Something that felt remarkably like a rock smashed into his skull and he fell backwards into swirling black. The tug was stronger than he had ever felt, like the undertow during a tidal wave. Draco saw nothing, felt nothing, heard nothing…

“DRACO!”

-----

A/N: Back from the wedding and writing again. Again, I ask for feedback for this story so that I can judge its worth. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as the action is starting now. O_o I still don't know how long this will be. I might have to break it up into parts, but we'll see. Please, please, R and R.

*love*