Montane Hope

Chapter 3 (of 16)

"You again," said Madam Pince as Draco leafed through the catalogue on her desk. A loud 'tuh' sound came from the direction of Hermione Granger's usual table.

"Well, well," he said, choosing a table further down. "Saturday morning, where else would we find Miss Granger?" Takes a lot of study to make up for that muddy blood he thought - last week he would have said it as well. Once again she ignored him. He looked over to see her gazing into the distance as if she wasn't aware of him. The bruising had almost faded. Still watching, he slid his hand towards his wand pocket. Her eyelids flickered. "Jumpy today," he remarked, returning his hand to the desk. He had resolved not to let those three provoke him any more - after all, his expulsion would be a great embarrassment to his family.

She wasn't the only one with a lot of catch up study to do. He was in a far worse position, having fumed or dreamed or plotted his next piece of nastiness through every lesson for the first six weeks of term. He already knew that he could forget about learning Subneorancia if Snape didn't see that he was up to date with everything. Wearily, he opened his Arithmancy textbook and turned back three chapters to start taking notes. After a few minutes he pulled a napkin out of his pocket, licked his finger and dipped it into the light brown granules heaped in the centre of the folded napkin. He'd remembered the sugar this time, making a neat package of it in a napkin before Crabbe got hold of the container at breakfast-time. He couldn't imagine studying without it.

An hour later Potter and Weasley walked in, along with a fresh winter breeze that followed them through the door. Longbottom and Lovegood had arrived twenty minutes previously and Granger had sent several annoyed glances in their direction, while they chatted on, completely oblivious.

"Hermione, come on, don't you ever stop working?" Potter said, picking up a book - the ten-inch tome she'd been reading from the previous week.

"What's that, light reading?" asked Weasley.

Granger lowered her voice so that Draco had to strain to hear - thankfully the girl had an extremely clear voice. "I need to catch up. I missed four whole days and this year is really important. And I'm working on it Harry, really I am."

"Oh don't worry about that," said Potter. "Just come and have lunch now, we can go outside afterwards."

"No Harry." Her voice sounded strangled. "I want to get on with this. There was heaps of stuff I wanted to look up for preparing your house."

His house? Longbottom and Lovegood joined them, Luna Lovegood holding her hand out to Granger. She still limped slightly, he noticed as they left. Ten minutes later he went to join Blaise and Pansy in the Great Hall. Crabbe and Goyle were at the other end of the table - with Marv Elddir, who was holding forth at great length on his wonderful flying abilities.

* * * * *

A heavy bird whirred through the topmost branches, then another followed. They were pigeons, Draco realised, looking up at the white chest of one of them. Their heads looked ridiculously small against their large bodies. Not huge, but large in comparison to most of the birds he'd seen since he arrived. There was a little fantail living in the garden. When people came home it would flutter down to meet them, then follow them to the door. Dylan's mother flipped out if she ever thought it might come inside. She seemed to think it had supernatural powers.

Was that a frog? It was a noise that could only have been described as a croak. Footsteps sounded - some-one running up steps. He turned round but there was no-one there. What wouldn't I give for some chocolate frogs? Already he was aware of a hollow feeling inside. While studying last year he had often found himself visualising a set of scales, representing his energy levels. The scales stayed level until the energy balance was zero, then it started tipping ever so slightly, drawing all the sugars out of his brain until he realised that he was either dizzy or unable to concentrate. Sometimes the dizziness could start when he'd been so engrossed in the subject that he hadn't realised he was getting hungry.

The ground was soft and dry, yielding gently to the pressure of his boots. The result of centuries of composting magic, a magic that started working perhaps even before any human settled the land he was standing on. He thought of the moon-like landscapes he had seen when he and his parents had first went to the volcanoes. The ground had been flat and dark, strewn with boulders and jagged-edged rock pillars. It had looked like a children's playground, a place you would want to explore. They hadn't walked down there; Narcissa had been too enthralled by the colours of the lakes and Lucius couldn't drag his eyes off the steaming hillside. In the middle of the path, tucked against a rock he had found a fumarole that spewed hot steam against their legs. Ever since then Draco suspected he apparated there first thing every morning - certainly he was never in the house when Draco and Dylan got up with the daylight.

Dylan's mother had been with them that day, eagerly pointing out the herbs and flowers that she most loved. They coloured the ground in lilac and white, yellow-green hebes and red rushes. Around them the mountains stood, conical, dredged as if with icing sugar and gently steaming. Dylan was as excited as a little kid - not because of the flowers, or the rocks or the sulphuric gases, but because he'd never seen snow before. They had passed a patch about six feet square and three inches deep and he'd wanted to make a snowman. Draco talked him out of it.

This soft ground he was standing on now was part of a volcano. Has this hill ever looked so harsh and rugged? Draco doubted it. Yet there was no doubt that at some time, perhaps tens of thousands of years ago, lava had flowed down the slope on which he stood. A cow mooed below, out in the harsh white landscape beyond the trees. A loud vroom and clatter signalled a tipping truck on one of the farms.

Dylan was part of the earth. He lived it, breathed it as he daily worked, turning it over with a tractor, or with his own strength and a spade. Setting up fences and standing cows on it to graze, then taking them off again to allow the grass to replenish itself, drawing the nutrients up from down below. His wizardry showed a raw, untrained power. Draco had asked him to show what he could do, as he believed that living an almost Muggle lifestyle would surely have sapped the innate abilities of his cousin. Apparently not.

Dylan had never been to a school of any sort. In six months time (the school year started in February over here) he was going over to Australia for a year to get his licenses. For all of his nearly eighteen years he had learned at home, working with his father on the farm during the day and studying with him from old scrolls at night, after his mother had retired to her room. There was little use for magic around the house. Draco had never seen a place like it.

Australia had a different appearance entirely. He had wanted to stop there on the way over, but his father insisted that their time was limited and Apparating between countries was tiring enough without doing it twice. Draco had to admit he was right when they arrived.

Don't those birds ever quit their racket? The pips, chirps and warbles continued; the noise of the stream now fainter. Draco initially thought the tree ahead of him was one, but when he looked saw that it was two, entwined around a large rock at the roots they curved and embraced upwards well above his head before separating, spreading their canopies turned away from each other. He placed his hand on the rough surface of one of them as he walked past, then gazed at the intricate designs etched on the bark. The thumping noise sounded again and he realised it was not footsteps at all, but someone hammering on a roof below.

* * * * *

Draco clung to the back of a chair and lifted his leg back, leaning forward slightly as he did so. "Hold that," called Lisa, flipping back on to her hands and over. "Count to twenty."

How on earth can you talk and do that at the same time?" Draco asked as she completed her circuit of backflips. He lowered his leg and lifted the other, feeling the muscles tighten and strain.

"Practise - 14 years of practise." She had conjured a mat from somewhere. He joined her, fluent with the moves now. He put his hands round her waist and lifted her, spun, threw, caught, then held her hands as she finished the routine. "This is heaps better with a partner," she gasped. "I'm glad you came - I usually have to wait till the holidays and practise that with my dad." Draco rubbed his arms kneading the strain out of them. At four foot eight inches, she was much heavier than she looked.

"What are we doing for Halloween this year?" he asked. "We should have another school ball since you've taught me so much."

"You're a quick learner Draco - and I suspect you're practising. Most people wouldn't be this good after a week." Draco rolled his eyes back - prompting a fit of giggles. Fact was, he'd nearly been 'caught' practising so many times it wasn't funny. He seemed to be able to read for hours without any-one disturbing him, but the moment he threw the books aside with the intention of doing a few exercises, a door would slam downstairs, or Zabini would charge up to the dorm for something he'd forgotten. Luckily they all moved about like a herd of elephants. Snape was the dangerous one, you never quite knew when he was about.

"Fact is," Lisa gasped once the vision of Draco being caught with his robes tied out of the way had subsided, "us girls have got some plans."

"Plans?"

"You've lost your touch Draco. You've almost become nice - and I sure hope that's none of my doing."

Draco shook his head.

"Hermione wasn't so bad when she came back. But now she's caught up with everything she's getting very uppity again. We need to bring her down a peg or two - not hurt her, just humiliate, since you're not up to the job any more. Me, Pansy, Su Li, Padma, Parvati and Mandy. Girls' night out after the feast. You won't tell, will you?"

"Of course not, what do you think I am."

"She's so highly strung, you just can't tell what she'll do. She's worse than any of the Ravenclaws, even Luna."

"What are you going to do?"

"Come on Draco, that would be telling. We're not going to push her out of the Astronomy tower, if that's what you're hoping but - well... no, you can't come. Let's just say, Halloween's a time for tricks."

"Show me that visualisation thing then."

"Alright. I'll bet you no-one else in the school knows this trick. You have to close your eyes - tense every muscle, then relax." Draco peeked under his eyelids at her. She was following her own advice, and her voice became softer as she continued.

"Imagine a box inside your head. Now look at the clutter, the thoughts that whir back and forth. In the corner there's a broom. Find it, imagine it sweeping the floor. Sweep everything up and put it in the box - don't examine the thoughts, just put them in. Everything should be bare now, just the big box sitting in the middle of a clean room. Look closely, it's got doors all round the bottom. Find the door marked 'visualise' and open it"

Draco tried. A few thoughts were still scurrying about, trying to avoid the broom when everything was supposed to be bare. He sent Granger and her ginger cat into the box (what are they doing there?). The cat jumped out while he was chasing after another thought. He put it back in, then watched it jump out again. Someone tapped him on the shoulder as he held the broom. It was Granger. "How dare you interfere with my cat," she was yelling, "Crookshanks is a free spirit." All right, so they're not going in the box. She sat down in a corner with Crookshanks on her lap. The other thoughts meekly stayed put. What are those two doing in my head anyway? He was wondering this when he realised Lisa's voice was still describing what he should be seeing - she was on sandy beaches listening to waves while he had got lost in his thoughts.

He opened his eyes and waited for her to finish. She had wandered far far away. When she finally opened her eyes and saw him watching her she said, "It takes practise. You can't expect to succeed first time."

"I'll see you at the feast tomorrow night" she called as she ran to change before dinner. Draco went back to the dorm. He'd smuggled in some food earlier so that he could have more time to study. On his way there he passed little Marv Elddir. Crabbe and Goyle were with him and he was telling some story about a werewolf that had almost killed him, but he'd killed it instead.

*

Draco woke up suddenly. Zabini was snoring gently. Crabbe and Goyle were silent, which meant they probably weren't there. He tried to snatch the images of the dream, but they fled. He remembered a cat. A ginger cat with a squashed face that had jumped on to his lap and sat there, purring. Some-one else had been there. He was sorry the dream was gone.

Stretching, he stood up and bent over to pick up the book that had fallen to the floor when he fell asleep. His stomach growled with hunger. Late though it was, he decided to take the risk of sneaking into the kitchen.

Elddir, Crabbe and Goyle were in the common room. He suspected Crabbe and Goyle were both sound asleep. Elddir was sitting under one of the lights, turning the pages of a book that looked suspiciously like children's fairy tales. Draco crept past unnoticed.

The journey to the kitchen was uneventful. A house elf brought him some food, and laid a place for him, giving him a little bag of cakes to take away with him once he'd finished, 'in case he should wake up hungry later.' Draco rather doubted he would, after that meal. On the way back he crept behind a suit of armour as Professor McGonagall swept past. She reached the corner and Draco breathed in, ready to leave his hiding place, when he heard footsteps. He saw McGonagall pause, and look back. She moved on, apparently deciding it had been nothing. Draco wasn't so sure. As soon as she'd gone he ran in the direction of the noise. He was a prefect after all; it was surely his responsibility if there were students out of bed.

Another noise pulled him up sharply. He pressed quickly against the wall. A voice he knew whispered clearly, "You idiot Neville, some-one might have heard." He knew that voice, he just couldn't quite place it. As he stood there wondering, a cat rubbed against his leg, purring, and Draco suddenly decided it was time to die. That was Crookshanks and Granger - he still couldn't remember the details of the dream - but it had been good. If the cat was here, then that was Granger's disembodied voice only a few feet away.

The footsteps moved away. He let them get round the corner before following. The front door swung open, apparently holding itself slightly ajar for a few seconds before quietly falling closed again. Draco hesitated. If they were leaving the castle, surely there was only one place they would go. Last time he'd looked though Hagrid's window he'd been seen, and ended up having to serve detention thanks to Potter and Granger's plotting, not long after. If not Hagrid's, it would be the forest. Slightly reluctantly, Draco turned round and headed back to the dungeon. He wasn't foolhardy.

He did wish though, as he drifted back to sleep, that he could be a nice normal guy and dream about someone like Lisa.

*

The Halloween feast was as good as ever, though Draco thought he detected a slight tension among the students, especially the older ones. Pansy put every-one's thoughts into words when she whispered, "What's it going to be this year; trolls, petrified cats or escaped convicts?"

"When we're old we can write about our exciting school days," Blaise replied. The two of them had been hanging onto each other all evening. Draco scowled. Potter, Weasley and Granger were chatting animatedly at the Gryffindor table. No doubt they knew what great disaster was just round the corner, they'd probably spent most of the previous night planning for it.

That morning he'd received his first owl in three days. His mother had been rather... occupied since Lucius was imprisoned. It was no wonder, he speculated angrily, that she couldn't remember her only son. Her note informed him that his father was going to ask for release on good behaviour. Draco knew it wouldn't work. All summer he'd had his hopes raised, and then smashed again when he learned that his father was still imprisoned. Circumstances had changed now, and since the dementors no longer controlled Azkaban his chances of escape or release were far poorer. The watchwizards guarding the island had some brains. They wouldn't let a Malfoy go as long as the Dark Lord was still loose.

Draco glanced at Elddir. The boy had purple circles under his eyes, as though he hadn't slept for a week. Perhaps that was why, as soon as the feast was over Draco went into a bathroom to check his own appearance. He didn't look so bad, just rather pale. He was making a mental note to spend more time on the Quidditch pitch - it is possible to study too much, after all - when he realised that he recognised the rather crumpled grey sock just visible on a foot in one of the cubicles. Instead of leaving the bathroom, he smoothed his hair down and leaned back against the wall, arms folded.

Potter and Weasley emerged together. Draco raised his eyebrows. "Well, I never would have thought... you and the Weasel. And there I was thinking Blaise and Pansy were on the outside edge of disgusting."

He fingered his wand lightly, not intending to use it, just prepared in case they over-reacted. To his surprise Potter threw his head back and laughed, punching Weasley on the arm. "Whaddya reckon Ron? I wouldn't go spreading any rumours, Malfoy. I've heard a few things I could use about you."

Draco stiffened. Potter knew about his mother? He'd thought Weasley's remark a fortnight ago had been a shot in the dark. "Never mind that," he said, abruptly. "I want to know exactly what you, Longbottom and Granger were doing out of bed last night."

They both looked stunned, Weasley's normal ruddy colouring fading almost white. Draco immediately decided that there was no need for them to know that he hadn't followed them outside.

"Go on," he said. "Let's hear it - if you don't want me to report you to Professor Snape, that is." They looked at each other. Potter cleared his throat.

"Ron here - well, you know he doesn't like spiders. Hermione figured that the only way to cure him is by letting him uh, spend time with them."

Draco looked very disbelieving. "It would be better if you told the truth, Potter," he said silkily, in a parody of Snape's tones. Weasley shuddered; he obviously didn't like spiders, not even talk about them.

"That is the truth Malfoy." Potter looked away anxiously. "We'll take you with us tonight if you want to see, Ron's not too keen on going back."

*

"Are you serious Harry, he could blow everything," he heard Weasley say as the pair hurried away. What were they hiding? He didn't for one moment believe they'd been doing anything other than making a clandestine potion in that toilet cubicle. He was sure he'd caught the scent of crushed herbs as he walked in. That wasn't unusual, only last week he'd found a first year trying to make veritaserum in a cauldron under his bed. But Potter, Weasley, Granger and Longbottom? He shook his head. If they were up to something, it was sure to be important.