The Valley of the Shadow of Death

Draco hurried to the Slytherin dormitories at 9:10 Saturday morning to change, thinking that if somebody had told him two weeks ago that he would ever be late on the day of the Slytherin-Gryffindor match, because he'd lost track of time in the library, he would have politely - or not-so-politely - suggested that that person pay an extended visit to St. Mungo's.

Especially if they'd told him he would be preferring to spend the day in the library.

He'd been up since six that morning, after a rather restless night. He couldn't remember what he'd been dreaming about, but he had a feeling it had something to do with the singing ghost back at home, because he'd woken up sweating, with a strong sense that he must figure out how to drive away unwanted ghosts, today, so he'd know how to survive the summer holidays without giving anything away to his father. Never mind that the summer holidays were four months away - it still suddenly seemed far more urgent than any game.

Draco had quickly showered and was waiting at the library door when it opened at seven. He was, of course, the only one at the library besides Madame Pince (and a couple ghosts, whom he ignored almost easily, even the one that talked to himself nonstop); not even Granger studied on match-days. Draco was very grateful for this fact - the last thing he needed was for Granger to catch him studying random texts on Mediums, ghosts, and exorcisms. There were many things he called Granger in public and in private, but "stupid" had never once been one of them. She'd figure it out in about 15 seconds.

Two hours later, he was in his favorite studying spot - sprawled out on the floor between the stacks, within arms reach of all the texts on ghosts. He snarled in frustration as yet another text yielded nothing. Every single one of the texts that mentioned exorcisms said that they required, not only the name of the ghost, but three people, to perform. There was absolutely nothing on how a person could perform an exorcism by himself. He shoved the book back into its place on the shelf, causing the book to grumble at the abuse.

"Oh, shut up," he muttered at the book, then glanced at his watch, and practically screamed when he saw the time. Avery, a sixth-year and the new team captain, had called a pre-match practice and strategy meeting at nine (the match was at eleven), and he was already five minutes late.

So, now, he gasped the password at the gargoyle at the Slytherin entrance, looking at his watch every ten seconds, willing it to turn back a half an hour, so he'd be on time for practice. Or maybe two hours, so he could go back to the library and maybe figure something out.

The gargoyle seemed to take several minutes to open, but it was of course only a few seconds. He raced in, grabbed his Quidditch robes and changed in ten seconds flat, and was almost out the door again before he realized he'd forgotten his broomstick. Rolling his eyes at himself (get a grip, Draco!), he raced back to get it, then ran back out the door.

He considered stopping at the Great Hall for a bite to eat. Flint, their old captain, had been a fanatic on the subject of his team eating breakfast before a match, and so Draco had gotten used to always eating something, no matter how little appetite he had. Then he decided it would be too dangerous. Not only in terms of time (he was now twenty minutes late!), but because he couldn't be sure he was completely over being sick, and he didn't want to risk flying with anything in his stomach.

Please, whoever's listening, don't let me be sick today, please... came the thought, as Draco suddenly had a horrifying vision of himself vomiting during the match.

He raced three floors up, through two corridors, trying not to hit his Firebolt against anything. Before going outside, he glanced out a window looking out on the Pitch, and seeing his team was not out there, he ran to the locker rooms, stopping just outside.

The last week of illness had apparently taken its toll on him. He was completely out of breath, and he felt dizzy. He spent some time outside the locker rooms gasping for air, waiting a couple minutes until he was somewhat composed, before opening the door and sauntering into the locker rooms.

"Well, well. His High-and-Mightiness has decided to grace us with his presence," Avery's snapped sarcastically, almost before Draco had made it all the way into the room. Draco gave him a tight smile, inwardly seething that he had to suck up at all to this lowlife.

Sometimes, Draco had fun wondering just how people in the other houses could think of Slytherin as a unit, when everyone in the house hated each other. Well, not everyone. Nobody hated Crabbe or Goyle, for example - they were lackeys, and hatred was always wasted on lackeys. And there were alliances made - it was necessary to survive. Draco's own alliances consisted mostly of Pansy Parkinson and several third and fourth years, along with Crabbe and Goyle. He also made it a point to stay on good terms with the members of Slytherin who were determinedly neutral and solitary, like Millicent Bulstrode - making enemies of such people was never a good idea.

But that didn't mean Draco particularly liked them, or they him.

Since his second year, Avery had been his primary rival within Slytherin, much to his father's dismay (his father and Avery's father were allies, and his father had hoped Draco would follow suit, but Draco just couldn't go through with it). Avery had the advantage of being a year ahead of Draco, but Draco had more charisma, a larger following, and much more prestige behind his name. So Avery had reigned in his hostility - until this year, when he was made captain.

Draco had, of course, wanted to be captain himself. He didn't ask his father to help the decision along, though. In his second year, Potter and gang (particularly Granger) had insinuated that he'd bought his way onto the team. This was not true (his father had decided that since Draco was on the team, the team should have decent brooms. He'd bought the brooms because Draco was on the team - NOT the other way around!), but the insinuation had rankled him just enough to make Draco refrain from asking any further Quidditch-related favors from his father. He'd regretted that decision immensely when Avery was made captain instead of Draco.

Draco's opinion of Avery had sunk to an all-time low when Avery had decided new team positions. Blaise Zabini was, quite frankly, a horrendous Keeper. In the tryouts, she'd failed to save a single Quaffle, and she hadn't done much better in practice, nor had she ever really tried. Draco had once overheard the Ravenclaw captain wondering aloud just how Blaise had gotten on the team, but it really was no secret to the Slytherins - she'd slept with Avery for the position.

Avery didn't even have the decency to keep quiet about this fact. Apparently, he truly didn't know when to be proud of such a thing, and when to be ashamed. And choosing a Keeper who couldn't keep the Quaffle from going through the hoops to save her life, in exchange for sexual favors, definitely fell into the second category.

"Don't tell me I missed anything important," Draco said now as he sat down. "Because we both know it's not true." He gave Avery another tight-lipped smile.

"Oh, no, nothing that Your Greatness needs to hear," responded Avery, his voice still dripping sarcasm. "Unless, of course, you actually care whether we win..." Draco merely smirked at him, inwardly wondering what he'd ever done to deserve this - thing - that was speaking to him.

Blaise chuckled at Avery's comment; most of the others on the team were too determinedly neutral, and so they pretended they didn't hear the argument at all. Avery must have figured out that Draco was in no mood to continue the argument, because he suddenly returned to the strategy meeting.

A very boring hour and a half later, the team filed out, and Draco got his first good view of the Pitch that day.

His stomach dropped at least three feet.

He was looking out on a sea of silvery-blue. Apparently, every single ghost in Britain had decided to watch the Slytherin-Gryffindor match. And, apparently, they saw no reason to watch from the stands like normal spectators. No, they were all right in the middle of the playing field. Most were 40 to 50 feet above the ground, at the level of the hoops, but some were floating a good 70 feet above the ground, apparently to watch the Seekers up close.

They were everywhere.

He was never going to see the Snitch.

Idly, he started calculating the odds of coming out better if they just forfeited the match. Forfeiting a match was equivalent to losing by 200 points (the extra 50 points was a deterrent to forfeiting just because one's Seeker is out of commission - which Draco very nearly was).

So the question was whether they would lose by more than 200 points. Draco had studied the Gryffindor practices, of course, and if he forced himself to be objective, he had to admit that their team, as a whole, was better than his. Their Chasers (including the Weasley girl, who was new), were excellent, the twins of course were legendary Beaters, and even Ron Weasley (although Draco would die before admitting it to anybody else) was a pretty decent Keeper. Much better than Blaise. Of course, a trained chimpanzee would be a better Keeper than Blaise...

All of this, of course, was rather a moot point. Avery was never going to forfeit the match. Not even if Draco collapsed and died right here, which... he actually considered doing for a moment, just so he wouldn't have to fly out there with all the ghosts.

Time to go out. Draco mounted his broomstick, took a deep breath, and followed Avery out, dimly hearing a chorus of cheers (from the Slytherins) and boos (from everybody else), as they took their lap around the pitch and took their positions.

As he took his lap, he noticed the ghosts all dodge the players, often overlapping each other as they did so. It was a very uncanny sight, this sea of randomly-moving silver in the middle of the Quidditch field, but in a way Draco was relieved. Apparently, the ghosts didn't care for people passing through them, so they avoided it whenever possible. This was good - it meant Draco wouldn't have to worry about dodging them and leading everybody in the stands to wonder what in the hell he was doing.

He took his position and found himself looking straight at Potter, whom he'd almost (but not quite) forgotten was playing. Potter glared back at him. Draco automatically smirked outwardly, but inwardly sighed. The game hadn't even started yet, and he was already exhausted from dread.

Up went the Bludgers and the Snitch, and Draco watched as it soared up to the clouds. He wondered whether his chances of catching it up there would be greater. There were no ghosts up there.

Up went the Quaffle, and suddenly, out of nowhere, Draco remembered the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match in third year. Chang had tailed Potter the entire game, never once looking for the Snitch herself. This, he realized, was not a bad idea - Potter was considerably easier to see, among this sea of ghosts, than the Snitch.

Of course, he noted wryly as he glanced at Potter, Potter's crush on Chang was nearly as famous as he himself was, and he was visibly trying to be chivalrous in that game. It had been quite funny to watch. But it also meant Chang had a much easier time tailing Potter than Draco was likely to have.

Draco flew up and hovered a few feet above Potter. Potter, noticing this, glared briefly at him, shot about twenty feet away, stopped, and resumed searching below him for the Snitch. Draco stayed where he was - he could see Potter just fine from here, and he didn't need to be right next to him to follow his movements.

A few minutes went by, and there were many cheers and hisses as Gryffindor scored goal after goal. Draco found himself hoping that Potter would find the Snitch soon - even if Potter caught it, the Slytherins were better off with the game ending sooner rather than later. And since he himself had no hope of finding the thing...

Suddenly, Potter took off, slightly upwards. Draco followed automatically, then followed Potters gaze and saw the Snitch - and realized with dismay that Potter was much, much closer to it. He was going to catch it in a couple seconds if Draco didn't do something.

Forgetting his earlier thought that the sooner the match ended, the better, Draco swerved, and shot as quickly as possible towards a spot in Potter's path. His Firebolt, which was a newer and very-slightly faster model than Potter's, made it to the point in Potter's path just in time to block him. Potter had to swerve so suddenly, to keep from crashing into Draco, that he briefly was sent into a spin and dive. Draco heard a collective gasp and a couple screams from the spectators and watched Potter, who'd gone several shades whiter for a moment, clutching his broomstick to keep from falling off.

After a moment, as expected, Potter managed to right his broomstick, and he turned and glared at Draco as if hoping that, by looking at him hard enough, he could make Draco spontaneously combust. His face had gone from white to bright red with fury in two seconds flat, and his bright green eyes were flashing. Draco smirked, gleeful as always to have gotten such a reaction.

He heard a distant chorus of cheers from the Slytherins for his block, and a distant chorus of "FOUL!" from everybody else. From much more close by, he heard the same things from the ghosts. Several of them had floated up and proceeded to either congratulate him or tell him off, not knowing he could hear them. They were all speaking at once, of course, since they couldn't hear each other. Draco, with some difficulty, ignored them, and kept his eyes focused on Potter.

Potter had resumed his search for the Snitch, which had been lost when Draco blocked him. He was still breathing heavily and visibly seething. Meanwhile, the Weasley girl had put away a penalty shot (why do we even bother having a Keeper?), and play had resumed.

A few minutes later, they were now 80 points behind, and Draco was wondering why he hadn't had the foresight to fake a coma so Avery would have had little choice but to forfeit. Not that Avery would have anyway - he probably would have thought their team actually stood a chance in winning against the Gryffindors, just through goal-making, even when the Gryffindors had an infinitely better team. Draco sighed to himself, then caught his breath as Potter took off again.

Again, Draco took off in the same direction automatically, then followed Potter's gaze and saw the Snitch. This time, Potter was only a little closer. Draco, however, had a slightly faster broomstick, and so he figured their chances were about even. He put on another burst of speed, noticing as Potter did the same.

Suddenly, a ghost flew up, calling, "Go, Go, GRYFFINDOR!" This ghost was looking at Potter, and didn't seem to notice that he had floated directly into Draco's path.

For a split-second, Draco panicked, and he started to swerve before he could get hold of himself. Then he realized that if he did swerve, two things would happen: 1) he would lose a precious second of time, which was more than Potter needed to catch the Snitch before him, and 2) he would appear to the entire population of Hogwarts to be dodging nothing at all. They would wonder. And they might figure it out.

There really was only one choice. Draco focused again on the Snitch, and charged straight through the ghost as quickly as he could.

This was a Very Big Mistake.

Draco had never passed all the way through a ghost before, but ghosts had, of course, touched him in the past, just as they did most witches and wizards. He should have remembered the cold.

It felt like every cell in his body had frozen. It started in his stomach, and a fraction of a second later, as he continued to race towards the Snitch, it had spread in all directions, to his arms and fingers, to his legs and toes, and to his head. An all-too-familiar buzzing started in his ears, and his peripheral vision started to go.

He took a great gasp of air. Oh no. Oh, Merlin, no, please, no no no no no no no...

Time slowed down. For the next fraction of a second, he continued to race towards the Snitch, frantically racing through his options in his head. He could keep going, pass out in front of everybody, fall off his broomstick, and die. Draco rather doubted Dumbledore would put as much effort into cushioning his fall as he did his Pet Potter. Or, he could abandon the game in front of everybody, get back to the ground, pass out, and be killed later upon returning to his dorm. Of those two options, the first was preferable.

He could no longer see the Snitch. He no longer cared about catching the Snitch. He put all his effort into staying conscious until Potter caught the Snitch. This was his only chance - if the game was over, then he would not be abandoning it if he left, and he wouldn't be killed.

Breathe in. Come on, where's the whistle? Breathe out. Stay awake, Draco. POTTER, WHAT THE HELL IS TAKING YOU SO LONG?

One breath. Two. Then, he heard it. The whistle, and Jordan's voice announcing, "Harry Potter has caught the Snitch!"

Draco dimly heard a chorus of cheers and groans. Not caring that he was supposed to join the rest of his team in a lap around the Pitch, he immediately swerved in the direction of Hogwarts, diving at the same time to get to the door as quickly as possible. There was a tightening in his chest; breathing was starting to become more difficult.

He flew (literally) in the team entrance door of Hogwarts, landing only when he was already inside. He jumped off his broomstick and half-blindly stumbled and half-crawled down a random corridor until he saw a door. He went in, not caring what room it was, only briefly glancing around to note that there were no large creatures waiting there to eat him. He slammed the door behind him, dropped his broomstick, and collapsed on the floor, lying flat on his back and lifting his knees, just as he'd been taught to do since before he could remember.

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out...

He lay there like that, staring at the ceiling, for quite some time, unable to move, unable to think of anything other than breathing.

Several minutes later, the buzzing and the blackness around the periphery of his vision started to recede, and some warmth finally came back into his body. He continued to lie there, concentrating on breathing, knowing from vast experience he was only safe after he felt completely all right for at least five minutes.

Some time after that, he felt it was safe to get up, although he wondered whether he really wanted to. He'd heard his team come in several minutes before, and they were all mad as hell, mostly at Draco (although Potter received a few insults and threats as well). Very thankfully, they hadn't thought to look in here (wherever "here" was) - if they had, they would have found Draco nearly-comatose and completely defenseless.

Oh well. Best to get it over with.

Draco slowly rolled onto his stomach and slowly pushed himself up, prepared to lie back down immediately if he felt at all dizzy. When nothing happened, he stood up, grabbed his broomstick, and left.

Avery was waiting for him in the Slytherin Common Room. He stood up when Draco came in and took out his wand. Bad sign, that...

That wasn't what alarmed Draco, though. What alarmed him was that Lily was also there, standing directly behind Avery and waiting for Draco with her arms crossed over her chest, quite obviously intent on talking to him, in public or not.

"Well. Mr. Cut-and-Run-After-Losing-Our-Match makes an appearance," Avery snarled.

At the same moment, Lily gave him an exaggerated smile, and said, "isn't this a beautiful day?"

"Shut up," Draco said, to both of them, and strode to the boys' dorm to lock his broomstick in his trunk. Avery and Lily followed.

Draco's mind apparently decided that Lily was the one worth paying attention to, because he didn't have the faintest idea what Avery said next.

Lily's smile immediately disappeared, and her eyes narrowed and flashed dangerously, reminding Draco once more of Potter. "No, I don't think I will shut up. I think, instead, I'll use this little opportunity as an object lesson on Why Trying To Kill My Son Doesn't Pay!" she snapped. Draco concentrated on at least appearing to pay attention to Avery, anger threatening to make his head explode.

Lily continued, an edge of hysteria entering her voice. On second glance, it looked like she'd been crying. "How could you do that, Draco?! I know you don't care for him, but did you have to try to knock him off his broom? He could have died! As if I don't have enough to worry about with Voldemort trying to kill him every day, I have to worry about you too? What, did you wake up this morning and think, 'I know how I'll repay Lily for everything she's doing for me - I'll MURDER HER CHILD!'"

This was absolutely the last straw. Thinking fast, he whipped out his wand, pointed it at Avery, and glared at him, interrupting whatever Avery was saying and telling him, "I've had enough. I've got things to do. Don't even think of following me." This last, he said specifically to Avery, hoping Lily would get the message. Then, Draco backed out the door, still wielding his wand, until Avery was out of sight. Avery would not follow him - a year older or not, Draco was much, much better at hexes than everybody else in his house combined, and would win any duel hands-down. Avery's best chances of getting Draco were to catch him asleep.

He headed for the abandoned classroom in the dungeons and quickly secured it with six wards so if anybody did follow him, he'd get plenty of warning before they got in. He was in the middle of a Silencing Charm when Lily floated in, still glaring at him.

He finished the charm, and rounded on Lily before she could say a word. "Stop," he ordered, cutting off whatever she was about to say. For some reason, he was utterly furious. "For the record, Mrs. Potter, I did not try to kill him. I have never tried to kill him! Why doesn't anyone ever realize that? You sound just like McGonagall, calling my joke in third year 'a low, cowardly attempt to sabotage the Gryffindor Seeker!' Like Potter was really going to faint at the sight of a hooded cloak! I thought you said you knew me!" He stopped suddenly, hurt and anger rendering him momentarily speechless.

There was a long silence, as they both glared at each other. Finally, Lily said quietly, "you were not trying to kill him?"

"Of course not!"

"You did a pretty damn good impression. He could have been knocked off his broom."

"No, he couldn't have, Lily! That's the entire point! Flint did the exact same thing to him first year, first game ever, and he didn't fall off! Then, if memory serves, his broom actually tried to buck him off, and he didn't fall off! Then, second year, he was hit with a Bludger hard enough to break his arm, and he didn't fall off! The only time Potter ever falls off his broom is when he's unconscious, and did you see me trying to knock him out? No! That's because I didn't! I blocked him from catching the Snitch, end of story - I'd do it again, any day. There was no way he was going to die. I came a hell of a lot closer to dying than he did today, Lily, and just once, I wish someone would - "

He choked back the word, "care," scowled, and looked away, biting the inside of his lip. He felt his chin start to spasm and tears start to prick the back of his eyes, and he scowled. What is wrong with you, Draco? This is twice in two days! A Malfoy does not burst into tears at the drop of a hat!

There was another long silence as Lily considered his words. Then she sighed, visibly mollified, wiped away a ghostly tear, and looked away. "All right. Just... don't do that to me again, please, Draco. Every time I see Harry come that close to death, and I can't do anything about it..." she took a ragged breath, then looked straight at Draco. "And I do care about you, Draco. And I was worried when I saw you just go white at the end of the game. Quite a lot, actually. But I will always be more worried about Harry than about anybody else. He's my son," she finished simply. When Draco didn't say anything, she continued after a moment, "what happened up there? You looked like you were going to faint."

"I was," he said shortly, still a little resentful, although he supposed he could see her point. She blinked and looked at him in concern, and his anger abruptly disappeared. "I flew through a ghost," he explained.

She flinched and shivered, and Draco wondered whether she was identifying with him or the ghost. "Yeah," she said, "that's not generally a good idea..."

"Thank you, Lily. I think I figured that out. Was it really that obvious?"

"Was what?"

"That I was going to pass out..."

"Oh. Well, you did go very white. And your flying became a little erratic, but it wasn't that noticeable. I think only people who saw your face knew anything was wrong, and not that many people can see your face from that far away."

Good. "Fine," he said. "I need to go to the library now." It now seemed more important than ever to get some sort of control over his life back.

Lily looked surprised. "Studying? Today?"

Draco just shrugged, not wanting to tell Lily he was trying to find means to keep ghosts away. "Finite Incantatem," he said, and the wards on the room disappeared. He opened the door and peeked out to make sure he wasn't about to be ambushed. Nobody was there, so he exited and took off for the library.

He'd gotten two corridors when he ran into Dumbledore. Literally.

Dumbledore didn't look at all surprised at seeing Draco there, or at being nearly knocked down. "Ah! Draco Malfoy. Precisely the person I wanted to see."

"What a coincidence that you ran into him here, then," said Lily from behind Draco, chuckling.

"That was a most interesting game," Dumbledore was saying, not hearing Lily. "I don't - " here he cleared his throat and looked at Draco sternly, " - approve of such rough play generally. That block could have been quite dangerous." He looked at Draco pointedly.

"I quite agree," said Lily.

Draco muttered the requisite apology to Dumbledore, trying not to turn and glare at Lily. If it had been anybody else but Dumbledore, Draco would have argued with him, but it was just too risky to argue with the Headmaster.

"But that is not the reason I wanted to see you," continued Dumbledore. "I noticed that you looked rather... ill... before you flew away after the match, and I need to ask, are you quite all right?"

Dumbledore had noticed that Draco looked ill? Dumbledore had sought him out personally because he thought Draco looked ill? That made no sense. "Yes, Professor, I'm fine," Draco said aloud.

Dumbledore gave him a penetrating look, and Draco, for the first time, started to doubt whether his father was right about him. "Indeed? You looked remarkably pale."

"Tell him, Draco," said Lily, with a strange note of urgency in her voice.

What? Are you insane? "Yes, Professor. I think I got a little dizzy, but that's it."

"Hmm." Dumbledore continued to stare at him. "And there is nothing else you'd like to tell me? Anything at all?" Draco blinked. He can't already know...

"Tell him, Draco!" said Lily again. "You need to tell him!"

There is absolutely no way I'm telling anyone, Lily! Especially not him! Draco simply shook his head, trying to look innocent.

Dumbledore stared at him for a moment longer, then a rather sad look came into his eyes. He nodded. "Very well," he said. "But Draco, I do hope that if there ever was anything that was troubling you, that you would be able to tell somebody. If not me, then Professor Snape."

Right. Tell one of my father's best friends, who is a Death Eater and who would tell Voldemort immediately. Because that's smart. Outwardly, Draco continued to meet Dumbledore's rather unnerving gaze, trying to look as if he had no clue what Dumbledore was talking about.

"You need to tell him, Draco..." Lily said, yet again.

"And now, I must return to the Great Hall," Dumbledore suddenly declared out of nowhere. "Minerva is holding a celebratory luncheon. It should be quite good." Draco scowled as Dumbledore smiled at him, almost mischievously, and continued on his way.

"Draco, you have to - "

" - tell him," Draco interrupted in a low voice. "Yes, I heard you the first five times. There is absolutely no way I'm telling him, Lily, so forget it!"

"So who are you going to tell?" Lily asked pointedly and very seriously.

"Nobody, Lily! No one can know about this!"

"But somebody has to, Draco. I've actually been meaning to talk to you about this since yesterday. You have to tell somebody. Someone has to arrange for you to be trained."

Draco stopped in his tracks. He quickly glanced around to make sure nobody was within hearing distance, then turned and hissed Lily, "What? I have absolutely no intention of being trained! That's for professional Mediums, which I am not going to be!"

"No, Draco, that's for all Mediums, not just professionals. You have to be trained. I had a friend at Hogwarts - a Hufflepuff girl - who became a Medium during fifth year, and she tried to hide it too. And then she found out, almost too late, what happens when Mediums don't get trained." She fixed Draco with a serious, urgent stare. "They go insane, Draco. Untrained Mediums always go insane."