Evanesco

Evanesco

Chapter 4 - In Which Draco Malfoy has Serious Parenting Issues.

"What do you mean, left?" Ron managed to choke out on his fourth breath. Hermione squeaked something unintelligible in agreement.

"It was too much," Dumbledore muttered almost to himself, passing his hands over Tonks' broken arm. It shifted slightly. "That kind of weight was never meant to be borne on the shoulders of a teenage boy."

"What - so he just ran off?" Ron spluttered.

"That is my fear."

"But Harry wouldn't do that," Hermione protested, as Ron seemed to be suffering from some form of apoplexy and couldn't continue his argument. "Professor Lupin - tell him!"

No one had ever seen Lupin so grim, except perhaps for the days after Sirius' death. "That depends on what you told him," he addressed Dumbledore directly.

Dumbledore did not meet his former student's eyes. "That, only Harry can tell you," he said. "And he is gone."

"Stop talking about him like he's dead!" Ron yelled. "Look - I know Harry. Even if he had run away - and I wouldn't blame him, the things he has to put up with at his Aunt and Uncle's house - he would never ever do anything like this to Tonks - to anyone!"

"It's not a case of whether he would or not, Ron," Lupin said quietly. "It's whether he could, right Headmaster?"

Dumbledore nodded sadly. "This has long been my fear," he said. "Harry has great power, but not the ability to control it. If he lets his fear and anger take control of his power, there is no telling what might happen."

Ron was lost. He looked hopelessly at Hermione, who seemed to have calmed considerably, and was wearing her studious expression. "Are you saying," she said slowly, "that Harry might become another Voldemort?"

"What?" Ron exclaimed. "He didn't say that - when did he say that?"

"Quite correct, Miss Granger, as always," said Dumbledore. He looked as though all his years had come crashing down on him in one go. 'Except possibly worse, I'm afraid."

"Stop it!" Ron yelled. He didn't want to hear this - he shouldn't have to be hearing it. "Stop saying you're afraid! 'I'm afraid', 'it is my fear'," he mimicked, "you're not meant to get afraid - especially not of Harry! You may all be willing to give up on him just like that - well I'm his best friend and I'm not going to. He's going to come back - you'll see."

And with that, he stormed up the stairs to his room. Hermione made to follow him - but turned when she reached the door.

"Professor," she asked quietly. "Do you think he will come back?"

"I do not doubt it," Dumbledore told her. "What I do not know is the state of mind in which he will return."

When Hermione had left, Dumbledore turned to Lupin, Arthur and Molly. "Tonks will have to go to St. Mungos."

"The press will get wind of this, Albus," said Mrs. Weasley.

Dumbledore sighed. "I know it," he said. "It can't be helped. If you must answer a question they ask you, try not to give too many details. I'll contact the other Order members and there'll be an emergency meeting tomorrow at noon." He closed the door softly behind him.

The remaining conscious people in the room looked at each other. It was clear to all of them - though none could bear to say it out loud - that Albus Dumbledore was on the verge of giving up.

~

Draco Malfoy was having what could easily be described the worst overall week of his life. He'd had worse days - a few lost Quidditch matches came to mind, as did the incident in his fourth year when he'd been turned into a rodent by a certain Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

But this had just been a succession of bad days, starting with his father announcing that they were going on a mission. He'd been jubilant at first - until he'd realised that it was going to be more than a hit and run job. It was a hit, capture, run and deliver job that could take weeks, if not months. Then he'd been told that the job was to involve his least favourite person in the world - Harry Potter - and he hadn't minded so much.

Until the bastard had broken his arm. Then he'd started getting fed up with the whole affair and had let his father know about it. Lucius Malfoy, under a lot of stress after his escape from Azkaban, had also shared his feelings. With a curse.

Draco's mother called it stress. Draco called it insane. No one could be in Azkaban prison for more than a day without it affecting them.

The boat trip had been hell - no one had followed his orders but a couple of the more uncouth idiots had laughed at him and called him 'Lord of the Manor'.

Then, as if someone had heard him reassuring himself that the situation couldn't possibly get any worse, one of them had told his father he'd been slowing down the trip. Draco had had to sit for hours listening to his father rant about how he was disgracing the family name and bringing dishonour on the house. As if the house needed any more dishonour, Draco thought bitterly. I'm not the one who got himself chucked into Azkaban. Mad as a brush.

And now, he was sleeping on the ground. Perfect. He tried to convince himself it was better than the passenger seat of a moving van, and failed.

If he poked his head out of the tent flap he could only just see his father leaning against the side of the vehicle out of the corner of his eye if he craned his head all the way around. Lucius had picked the spot for Draco's tent so that he wouldn't be able to see what his father was doing over there. Angry, Draco turned to the other side so he could see the prisoners. They were whispering to each other. Potter looked like he was trying to comfort Longbottom. Pathetic, Draco thought. He'd had a momentary lapse of sense earlier when the boys had been dragged out of the truck and dumped on the ground when he'd wondered - what was the point of that? They hadn't done anything.

Stop that, his inner voice said. You're evil. That's what you do.

He'd had to think about it, though.

Draco jumped. Potter had spotted him staring at them and was glaring straight back at him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"What? Nothing."

Potter squinted at him. "You're acting even weirder than usual, Malfoy. Hope it isn't sour grapes about the other day."

The old sneer finally found its way back onto Draco's face. "Why would I have sour grapes? We won, didn't we?"

"What happened to your sling, Malfoy?" Longbottom chimed in. "Someone finally get around to fixing your arm for you?" Something was different about Longbottom.

"I say, Longbottom. When did you grow a backbone?"

Longbottom made a futile attempt to glare. Potter put a hand on his ankle. "Leave it, Neville. Malfoy's just tickled 'cos his Daddy is paying more attention to us than he is to him."

The most irritating thing about this was that it was true. Draco made out he didn't care and pulled the tent flap shut, violently. He hoped it rained. That'd show Potter and his new half-witted sidekick.

Feeling very undignified and glad that no one could see him, Draco turned around so his back was facing the tent flap. He took his wand slowly from his pocket and touched it gently to the back wall of the tent. "Discerpo," he whispered, and his wand drew a thin slit in the canvas.

Ready to duck out of sight at any time, Draco pulled the slit slightly apart and peeked through it.

~

The Death Eaters had at last settled, some muttering mutinously amongst themselves at the inconvenience of the stop. Lucius Malfoy seemed to be keeping watch, although it seemed to Harry that he was waiting for something in particular to happen.

"I hate Malfoy," Neville muttered under his breath. "I absolutely hate him. He's picked on me ever since we started Hogwarts and I'm not having it anymore. Him and his goons can just watch out."

Harry, distracted, half smiled at this. "Neville, last time you took on Crabbe and Goyle by yourself you were unconscious in the Hospital wing for almost a whole day."

"Good point," said Neville, picking at a root embedded in the ground. "I'll just wait till I've got Malfoy alone in a corridor, somewhere."

He's talking as though he thinks everything's still ok, Harry realised. He actually believes that we're going back to Hogwarts in September.

"Will you let me watch?" he asked, not meeting Neville's eyes but watching Lucius Malfoy pace slowly over on the opposite side of the tiny man-made clearing.

"Sure," said Neville. "As long as you hide somewhere and don't interf-"

"Shut up," Harry whispered. "Look over there."

Something was coming out of the trees. No one else had noticed it yet except Malfoy, who'd taken quiet hold of his wand.

"What is-"

"Shut up," Harry said again. "Watch."

The thing emerging from the woods was a figure in black. Malfoy replaced his wand and moved over to it. A couple of the assembled Death Eaters looked up, noticed and punched their neighbours, and soon everyone was staring up at the two.

The figure lowered its hood, Harry frowned, and Neville hissed softly. It was Bellatrix Lestrange. She'd washed and combed her hair, and it looked quite pretty as she pulled it out from her cloak and let it fall in a sheet down her back. Her face was clean and white, and her black robes showed no sign of dirt or travel. But her eyes, Harry could tell even from this distance - were madder than ever.

"Hello, Bellatrix," said Lucius, taking her hand, gently.

"Lucius," Bellatrix giggled, lifting her other hand and touching Malfoy's forehead. "Poor, silly Lucius. Who's been a naughty boy, then?"

"Hush, Bellatrix. Welcome to our fold."

"You have been naughty, you know. Someone will have to punish you. Won't that be nice, Lucius my sweet? You should be punished."

"Yes," said Lucius, apparently unaware that ten Death Eaters were observing the entire spectacle. "I know. I got you something - just what you wanted. Do you want to see them?"

"To see what? What to see? What to spy? I spy, with my little eye..." the mad witch turned until she was looking right at Harry and Neville. "Two little boys," she said. "Two little toys. One is black, and one is brown, both are scared, and both tied down."

Neville was shivering. "She's crazy," Harry muttered. "Don't listen to her - she's insane... they're both insane..."

Suddenly Bellatrix reached out and grabbed the front of Malfoy's robes. "What do they say?" she demanded of him. "They talk behind my back, hear? Little rats, squeaking away, they are!"

"Nothing to worry about," Malfoy told her. "Fear not."

"Fear? I fear nothing." Bellatrix' eyes swivelled from the boys to the van. Her smile widened. "What a pretty carriage you've brought for me, my sweet," she said, putting her thin arms around Malfoy's neck. "Let me see inside?"

Malfoy smiled slowly. It disgusted Harry and he closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, Malfoy was helping Bellatrix to climb into the back of the van. Without even looking at any of his colleagues, he pulled the door shut.

"I hate her," Neville murmured to himself. "I hate her, I hate her, I hate her."

"Don't," Harry whispered. "She's trying to scare you. Don't let her get to you." He spoke with little confidence. The truth was, Harry had seen a lot of terrifying things in the last five years - but for some reason, Bellatrix scared him a lot more than Voldemort or anyone else ever had.

~

Draco distractedly let his fingers fall from the slit he'd made in the tent wall. He stared dumbstruck into thin air, almost unable to move. Anger and confusion froze him in place.

"What is she doing here?" he asked himself. Sitting up, he pressed the palms of his hands hard against his eyes as if it would make the image of his father and Bellatrix Lestrange vanish from his mind. He'd never felt more belligerent towards his father than at this moment.

His mother would throw a fit.

Azkaban had definitely driven Lucius Malfoy to the brink of insanity.

What sickened Draco the most was that both Potter and Longbottom had witnessed the whole frightful exhibit. What had the mad witch said? Two little boys - two little toys. One is black, and one is brown - both are scared, and both tied down. Draco didn't care much for the woman's rhyming skills. Longbottom didn't even have brown hair, it was more sort of sandy...

Stop it, Draco. You're losing it. You're being pushed over the edge. Focus.

Draco leaned over and pinched open the slit. A ray of sunlight made a yellow line across his knees. He punched the ground, hard, then nursed his hand and prayed for night to come.

--