Montane Hope

Chapter 5 (of 16)

Christmas came around far too fast. Draco had decided weeks before that there was no point in going home. Two or three times he'd gone back to Madam Pomfrey for some more of the strawberry flavoured medicine. It made him cry every time, but once the tears were finished he always found enough energy to go on studying.

Lucius' appeal had failed. He was still in prison, but his mother wrote that he was being well fed and taking classes. Her picture had been in Witch Weekly a couple of times now. Each time Draco tried to ignore it - after he'd taken careful note of the reporter's name. There would be time for revenge later and few of the students would recognise her as his mother, provided no-one pointed it out. As far as he could tell, his family wasn't the subject of school gossip... meantime, he had the downfall of two or three reporters to plot.

He was glad he didn't have to see either of them. Her letter replying to his request to stay had been short and dismissive, 'of course, Draco, whatever you want...' a fact that had made him unaccountably angry. Not that he'd expected her to make a fuss over him staying, but at least if she'd said she was disappointed, he'd know she cared. He threw her latest box of sweets under his bed and flounced out, going to sit down by the lake and watch the bitter wind whip up the surface of the water. No-one else was staying. He threw stones at the water, wondering morosely how he was going to get through the holidays without Lisa to laugh with. If his parents had been together he would have been looking forward to going home right now, but as it was... he threw another stone into the water, hearing it break the surface with a satisfying 'plop'.

The morning after the last day of term Draco woke to a castle that looked, sounded and felt abandoned. Empty. Stiller and more quiet than he'd ever seen it before. There was no-one now to interrupt him when he practised Lisa's exercises, or come barging into the dorm when he was trying to read. He could fly over the Quidditch pitch at any time of day or wander in the snow that fell the day after Christmas until his skin turned blue and his fingers and cheeks pinched painfully when he returned to the castle. Even some of the teachers were missing, and the long house tables had been pushed against the wall, forcing him to suffer the ordeal of facing Potter, Weasely, Granger, Weaselette and Loony Lovegood over nearly every meal.

After Christmas Snape returned. Draco considered approaching him about learning Subneorancia again. He had finally caught up with all his classwork and was spending hours each week studying anything that interested him. Before he could ask Snape, however, Dumbledore invited him into his office.

Draco had never been inside Dumbledore's office before. The portraits of ex-headmasters on the wall all snoozed, except for one old guy who winked at him and waved. That was Phineas Nigellus Black, an ancestor of Draco's, and former headmaster. The phoenix he had heard so much about - it was reputed to have saved Potter several times - stood alertly in a golden cage. Some of the instruments on the desk Draco recognised, others were unlike anything he had ever seen. He looked at one, discovering that it was just two pieces of metal in the shape of dolphins balancing on a bar. The whole contraption swung back and forth without falling when touched.

"Muggle ornament," said Dumbledore. "Very clever piece of work." He pulled up a seat with his wand and asked Draco to sit on it.

"Now Draco," he said, tapping his long fingers together, "I understand you asked Professor Snape some weeks ago if he would teach you Subneorancia. I wonder why you asked that." He looked over his glasses at Draco, but didn't seem to expect an answer. Draco didn't answer.

"Professor Snape continues to be very busy. I, however, am prepared to teach you myself to start with- if you have decided you still want to learn."

Draco nodded. Since first finding out about Subneorancia the idea had so taken hold of him that he lived for the sake of learning.

"That is well. We start with simple things - the same skills you use to cast a spell, but a little more advanced. You will learn to observe, and to order your thoughts. The greatest mystery a wizard can learn is to know how to control the mind, and bring every faculty and power to bear on its operations."

With that he showed Draco out. "Professor McGonagall," Draco heard him say as she approached them. "Could you fetch Miss Hermione Granger please. I have a few words I wish to say to her."

* * * * *

Draco stopped as the slope levelled out, breathing fast. His stomach started growling, turning over and over on itself, but he paid no attention. Ahead and looking up he saw a grand expanse of dull green. Open, welcome green. He knew it was only trees, but it felt like... like a cathedral. A pleasant place to be, where spirits were light. It was time to go forward and up.

The undergrowth flourished, ferns dripping off the tree trunks. A single tree fern, black and thick, soared over his head, branching out in the lower part of the upper canopy. He looked around and saw two more, taller ones that basked in full daylight. The creepers that had so intimidated him earlier weaved thick nets, twining and dropping - like silk stockings, he decided. A laugh sounded from uphill. Muggles. He crept off the path.

Crouched on his haunches, he waited for the intruders to pass. Small plants pressed against his legs, leaves flapped in front of his face. He couldn't find it in himself to feel impatient at the slow pace with which the Muggles travelled, although every noise carried to where he squatted.

Once they had gone he waited a moment then continued on. It really was cold now.

The hill demanded attention. Sometimes the steps were slippery. Sometimes the path was strewn with a myriad of tree roots. Draco noticed marks in the soft ground where Muggles had slipped. On the steeper bits they were almost everywhere and he felt superior about not slipping - his footing was sure and firm, if slow. The path wound down and around. When he could see open sky on either side through the trees he realised that he must be walking on a ridge. The ground was grey and rustled slightly as he stepped on the fallen, dead leaves.

Dylan wanted to marry a witch! Draco had raised his eyebrows when he mentioned his concern. "You surprise me."

"Surprise? Some-one's got to continue the line."

"Dylan, your line has been adulterated by your darling mother. Besides, what about all those Muggles? You're surely not going to abandon dear Anna? And Sophie is convinced she's your one and only. And Emily..."

Dylan shook his head. "I'm not going to marry any of them."

Draco frowned, his eyes cold. Meddling with Muggles was bad enough, but going with a girl you knew you'd never have a future with - it went against all his training and conscience.

"Do you know any decent witches at your school? I mean, ones that wouldn't mind living on a farm, among Muggles."

Draco shook his head.

"Oh - and it helps if they're pretty."

Draco smirked. "Tell you what. I've got a school year book in my trunk. I couldn't figure out why I packed it." He had gone upstairs to get it. It fell open automatically at the girls in his year. He glanced at Lisa, on the end of the front row, but his gaze as always was drawn to the girl with bushy brown hair and brown eyes, waving from the middle of the row.

Dylan couldn't decide between the Patil twins in the end, until flipping back a page. Draco winced when he saw where he was looking. "No Dylan, she'd burn you that one. Steer clear." Even in the photo there was a certain look of determination about the way Ginny Weasley held her head. The year book was still in the living room. Dylan occasionally glanced at the Patil twins, but seemed to be trying to memorise Ginny's photo. Draco felt himself unaccountably annoyed that he'd never even mentioned Lisa, and had passed over Hermione Granger with a brief comment - "pretty."

That girl just would not stay out of his dreams. He remembered a few instances early in the year, but it seemed to have gotten worse after Christmas when Pansy had collected Crookshanks' kitten from Luna Lovegood. She'd called it Proctor. Crookshanks himself had followed Pansy and Proctor into the common room several times, hissing at Elddir till the boy started chasing him out every time he saw him. Then Crookshanks started wandering through his dreams too, and usually Hermione Granger followed.

* * * * *

Draco's first Subneorancia lesson was on the Monday before the New Year. He had sat in the empty Transfiguration classroom with Dumbledore, and followed the instructions to clear his mind.

"Come back Draco." Draco looked up. He was smiling. "You've obviously had some practise at this. I warn you now that when you repeat this exercise I am going to perform a little spell. It is part of the art of Occlumency. If you can clear your mind completely and remain unemotional - much as you did a moment ago - I should find nothing at all when I start probing your thoughts."

Draco concentrated hard on clearing every corner - thankful that Crookshanks wasn't wandering around in his head. Nevertheless, he was anxious about the whole thing and although Dumbledore assured him he was doing very well, he still felt quite fearful that he might leave something out. The image of his mother kissing a strange man, Pansy lying on the floor bubbling over with happiness as she conjured bumble bees or worse, the girl that stubbornly refused to be 'boxed'.

After half an hour Dumbledore asked him to take his wand out and try the spell. Draco could get no further than some cloudy wisps. When Dumbledore asked him what he saw he could provide only a few vague images.

"That is fine Draco. I didn't get much further with you. You would be well advised to spend time getting in touch with your emotions - no more of Poppy's pink medicine. Don't do anything silly, just practise being angry and I think next time you will fare better. It is possible to be too good at concealing things. Come in Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy and I are nearly done."

Hermione Granger looked suspiciously at Draco. An unpleasant thought occurred to him - she had thought the passage on Subneorancia important enough to read out, perhaps she had also decided it was important enough to spend time learning.

*

Almost too soon school started again. Draco had missed the company during the day, but he hadn't realised how much he relished having the dormitory all to himself. Zabini wasn't bad, but Crabbe and Goyle snored like diesel trucks, and Nott wasn't much better.

Lisa was on top form. She'd been practising for several hours a day during her holidays and had lost weight. The first day back she started teaching Draco the new floor routines she had learned, and coaching him further in lifting. With Quidditch practices and the Subneorancia lessons as well, Draco found very little spare time to think of anything else. As much as possible he practised the Subneorancia skills, so that within a fortnight he could recover the thoughts Dumbledore made available to him - but he still couldn't reach any of the concealed ones.

"Just as well," Dumbledore laughed. "Where would the world be if Voldemort" -Draco winced at the name "could come in here and read my mind. He knows all these useful little spells, of course." Draco shuddered. How many wizards know this - and can you tell when they're reading your mind? Dumbledore, of course, always told him what he was about to do and said the spell aloud.

Pansy was a different person since she'd returned. She and Blaise had gone to Diagon Alley the day before school started to buy her new wand. She showed it proudly to Draco as soon as she saw him, "Mountain Ash and dragon heartstring - unusual. Isn't it beautiful." She had never had a new wand before. Now she was an extremely scary witch - Draco hoped that the concentrated power was simply due to the difficulties of using the other wand, and would soon diminish. Then Luna arrived at the Slytherin table one morning with a ginger and black tabby kitten with a peculiarly squashed looking nose. The kitten proved devoted to its new mistress, and took an instant dislike to some of the other pets - and people - in the Slytherin common room. Nowadays it was not unusual for students to slip out and talk or play exploding snap in the corridors when either Pansy or Proctor turned up.

Draco's resolve to avoid antagonising the Gryffindors had slipped somewhat over the holidays, but now that every-one was back he rarely saw them. When he did spot the three of them, and occasionally Longbottom and Ginny Weasley as well, they were always huddled together talking animatedly. He heard enough of their supposedly inaudible conversations to know that they were still preparing Potter's 'house', and that they were all involved in extra Defence against the Dark Arts tuition, along with a number of other students. Last year it had been an illicitly formed club, but Dumbledore had approved and this year the new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher taught it. Draco had been tempted to go along, but didn't think he could put up with the company. Besides, he was busy enough.

Long before Draco felt he had mastered Occlumency Dumbledore had moved to Observation and Meditation - using candle flames, found objects, rocks, even crystals with jagged, gleaming edges. Using a variation of the air writing Flitwick had showed him, Dumbledore instructed him to cover whichever classroom or room they worked in with colours, patterns, pictures, anything he liked. When he had finished Dumbledore would restore normality with a sweep of his hand. It was weird, but fun. Over time the colours he chose changed, on some days they would be bright and vibrant - Pansy or Lisa type colours, others days muted and grey. Somehow, on the grey days Granger always seemed to be striding around his thoughts. Dumbledore had found her and Crookshanks there one time, and had burst out laughing, then informed him regretfully that Miss Granger was not so good as he at concealing her thoughts, but he was quite certain there were no Draco Malfoys lurking in her mind.

* * * * *

The path turned up hill again. Like a snake it meandered and rose and fell. Steadily Draco walked up and down and along ridges. At one stage he passed a large rock, sitting all on its own under a little opening in the canopy. It was grooved and furrowed so much that the surface looked like the pleats in a newly pressed kilt. The trees over head dripped water on this rock dissolving the stone ever so slightly each time the drops ran their regular path from top to bottom. A little further on Draco climbed from rock to rock steeply up a stream bed. The water was about a foot below, cut deeply into the rock. He could see it rushing down hill, deepening and changing the path as it went.

Occasional glimpses through the trees showed a vast area of flat grassland. Little fences and miniature trees carved the land into small blocks. Single wires strung between fences carved the blocks up smaller still, so that the herd could get four or five days out of a single field. The cows accepted this segregation from their food in a docile manner, grazing for a few hours and then lying down, or just standing looking at the view for the rest of the day. The neighbour's cows bellowed and ran to the fence if they saw anyone, but not Dylan's.

From the farm he could see the hills - even the one he was on now. Some days it disappeared under cloud and he forgot about it, but most days it was there, blue and distant, brooding over the farmland for miles around. There were smaller, closer hills as well. One that looked for all the world like a cone - classic volcano shape. Another had a flattened top with a little peak on the end, and single trees sticking up against the sky. Dairy cows grazed all the way up its side.

The first day that Draco spent on the farm he had gone with Dylan to the far end of the farm. Alongside a hedge Dylan was digging a drain. Digging with a spade and shovel. Draco thought he was crazy, and then he'd accidentally touched the fence and it had bitten him, throwing him backwards on to the short, stubby grass. Dylan laughed.

After a little while Draco saw a steady rhythm in the work, a communing with the black, soft earth that he had never known. On Dylan's suggestion he took the spade for a while, but found the work difficult and frustrating. When Dylan did it the movements were smooth and graceful. Draco took a handful of the earth, being careful not to touch the electric fence wire. He studied it and thought of the plants that grew from it. It had been easier to think about herbs flowing from the ground when he was at school. Out here, seeing the harmonious relationship between earth, plant and animal, it looked like nothing more than dirt. The grass was brown and dead in the bottom of the sward when it was grazed, the weeds lank and straggly. Dylan explained - as if talking to a child - that the whole process was dependent on rain and sun. Often in New Zealand it didn't rain for three weeks, and the grass would stop growing. Then when it rained again the herbage would turn soft and slushy and the dead material in the centre would rot. Dylan's eyes were soft when he said this and Draco knew he was thinking of the cows. His brow would furrow, almost as if he were in pain when he thought of the cows being underfed.

In the bottom of the drain, where Dylan dug deepest, the earth was white clay. Draco took large handfuls of it and made cups and cauldrons, snakes and horses. Dylan made cows and calves when he stopped for a break. They left the models on fence posts, to wither and crumble in the sun.

On the way back Dylan chased a hawk away from something that looked like a strip of dried leather. It was pink and black and had tiny legs and hooves. He crossed the wire into the herd and walked back and forward till he found what he was looking for.

"How can you be so sure?" Draco had asked. He hadn't seen anything wrong with the cow. Dylan leaned forward and pulled a transparent strip of something that looked like plastic off her haunch. He handed it to Draco. Part of the water bag, he explained. And there's mud all along her side - she's been lying flat out for a while.

The cow had looked at Dylan with her soft, dark eyes and mooed out when he left.

After leaving the stream the path climbed steeply up tree roots, then levelled out for a section. Draco's stomach started growling again as he climbed a steep, grassy bank. After five minutes the grass petered out and he found himself looking at a steep rock face. He started to climb, moving slowly from one tiny ledge or gap to the next up the near-vertical peak.

* * * * *

Marv Elddir was telling stories again, a favourite occupation of his. He was standing with his back to the fire when Draco, Pansy and Blaise walked in after dinner. Draco looked sternly at him - as far as he was concerned, a second year had no right being in the most favoured spot in the common room.

"Move over," he instructed Crabbe. Crabbe was sitting on the sofa, looking at Elddir with an expression of rapt attention on his face. Pansy and Blaise pulled up an armchair on the other side of the fire and Elddir looked rather nervously at Pansy as she settled herself on Blaise's knee.

"Carry on," said Draco, waving his hand imperiously. Elddir continued to look at Pansy as though she was about to turn him into a puddle of goo. "Don't let us interrupt your discourse - if you've got anything important to say, that is."

Elddir coughed. "My uncle, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named..." Pansy laughed openly.

"Your uncle?" said Draco, raising his eyebrows. "You've been keeping that quiet."

"Well, sort of a cousin. We're both named after Marvolo Degussa, the greatest wizard of his generation." Pansy looked disgusted.

"I don't think so Marv. That distinction goes to his first wife - no relation of yours I believe."

Nor a wizard, I doubt, thought Draco Elddir did not appear to have noticed this gap in her argument, he just continued unflustered.

"My uncle says that when he is returned to his full power, he is going to close the school."

"When did you ever meet the Dark Lord," asked Draco, curiously. The boy squirmed, clearly unwilling to say that he had never met him

"When that idiot, Dumbledore is out of the way, he is going to come and see me," Marv insisted.

"That's right,' said Pansy. "He's going to take you and Harry Potter off on a nice long holiday together, isn't he?" She drew out the word 'holiday' to emphasise it. Elddir edged away from her, so that Draco felt the warmth of the fire.

"No, I just mean... that is, he'll want to get to know his relations. He doesn't have any others."

"I don't think the Dark Lord wants relations," said Draco, remembering his father's descriptions, "especially not little kids like yourself." Elddir threw him a look a loathing, and left. Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other, bewildered. After a few minutes they got up and headed for the dormitory.

"What was all that about?" asked Pansy. "D'you reckon it's true?"

"C'mon, the kid's famous for his tall tales. He's actually quite a good storyteller," said Blaise. "We should have given him a chance to spit it out. Could have been funny."

"You know what, I reckon he should apply for the Dark arts post, he'd be brill."

"That kid?" Pansy looked as though she thought Draco had lost his head.

"No, You-Know-Who," Draco explained. "That would be the best ever. Course, Potter wouldn't last long. And I think some of the other students would leave. It's not as if any of our previous Defence against the Dark Arts teachers have lasted more than a year, it's sure to be vacant again this summer."

"It's time you met him Draco, if that's what you think. I don't suppose you'd last much longer than Potter in his company." Pansy got up and flounced off in the direction of the girls' dormitory.

"What's up with her?' Draco asked, puzzled.

"Pansy? Lives with her aunt and uncle, didn't you know? She's still bitter about her parents."

"Oh." Draco's father had told him about those times, sometimes it was hard to stop him talking about it. He wondered who Pansy's parents had been.

"Have you done the arithmancy homework yet? There's a bit I just can't figure out."

Hours later Blaise and Draco packed their books away for the night. Pansy hadn't returned.