Trust Me

Chapter 5--I'm Taken

His mind kept slipping back to the mirror. He wasn't sure why--he just felt that it was important, especially how Voldemort had come specifically to him to crack the mirror exactly halfway, and how it had begun glowing a faint gold colour that was certainly not there before. Draco rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Why does it matter? he thought, irritably. It's just some dumb thing I had to do. Really. It's not like I hurt anyone, or anything and, besides, I kept myself in one piece. No harm done. Catswalupt. But he remembered the Dark Lord saying something--that he still had pureness, that's the reason he could crack, not blast, the mirror. Draco didn't like this thought.

Pure, he thought. I'm not pure. I'm completely opposite of goody-goody Potter. He smirked. Potter, always the Hero who'd die for everyone. Who'd give his life to save another's. He felt that it wasn't his fault he wasn't so giving. Truly, Draco considered himself very much like Harry Potter. But Harry Potter, he had friends--people who he cared for, who cared for him just as much.

You have friends, too, thought Draco forcefully. All the people in the Slytherin house. They aren't your friends? They worship you, they honour you, they'd die for you--Draco stopped. He sighed and cradled his head. Since when did he begin to sit down and consider stupid and hopeless things as this? But he knew the truth was dancing in front of him, wearing his old house elf's tea cozy.

They won't die for you. They don't care about you. They don't love you.

Rather to be loved by no one than have Granger and Weasley kissing your footprints, argued Draco. They don't care about him either. Who wouldn't want to befriend him? He's famous Harry Potter. Date him and you'll have a steady stream of reporters running at your heels.

They do love him, said a voice swirling in his head. They'd die for him. Didn't you hear about how Ron sacrificed himself in the first year?

Ron? You mean Weasley? Well, the damn Queen couldn't kill him, he knew that.

So? He knew Harry needed to go into that room. He'd swap with his friends in an instant.

So would I, snapped Draco, mentally. I would too. I'm not a coward.

That's self-deception, dear, the voice said wheezily, sounding like the mirror in the Leaky Cauldron room he owned. And besides, you have no friends. Oh, and running away from that what-do-you-call-it thing in the Forbidden Forest is called uncowardly?

I didn't want to be eaten, but Potter. He was too stunned to move anyway.

Sure.

I am!

You can't love anymore, Draco. Said the voice gently, sadly. It's beyond you, I think. You've got too much inside that disrupts such soft and pure feelings.

I don't want to be pure. I'm going to be a goddamn Death Eater. You try to stop me!

I won't. I'm not. But sometimes I wonder if you had been loved...how you'd be different.

Love is weakness. Father says so.

Do you believe that?

Yes.

Are you sure?

Draco wasn't so sure. Go away. I'm sure. I'm sure. I'm very sure...

He turned over. How'd we get into this conversation anyways? I mean, how did I get into this argument with myself?

The voice didn't answer. Draco smiled with satisfaction it wasn't plaguing him anymore. He clambered into bed again, between the soft silk sheets and goose-down blanket. "I should sleep more," he murmured sleepily...

What if you had someone that loved you?

And he drifted into a dream...

* * *

Harry felt like showing off. "Have you been above the clouds?" he whispered to Miyara, who was silently looking over his shoulder.

"No, I haven't flown, ever," she replied, startled. They hadn't been talking for a while.

"There's a first for everything," he said, and lurched the broomstick upwards in one fast motion. Miyara grabbed him. "Don't worry," Harry said, and sped through the thick misty haze of clouds and skimmed the top, grinning. He had never gone so far up. He had never needed to in Quidditch matches and he never tried to be so far away from ground. It felt like he was in another world...

He heard someone, singing softly in his ear...

"Sleep, baby, sleep,

don't you wake up,

till the dawn is bright...

Sleep, baby dear, sleep,

Through the dark night,

And the shadows so deep...

Sleep, my baby boy,

Till the sun sweeps,

Across your face...

Sleep, my darling child,

May the cold never

touch you...

Oh, my lovely son...

The last blooming flower,

Into your hands...

I love you so,

My lovely dear,

So sleep till...

The day is near..."

It was his mother's voice.

* * *

It felt so real. He was in a house--he didn't know whose--and there was a beautiful lady cradling him, rocking him, smiling fondly--no, lovingly--at him, and singing quietly. He could see a dark-haired baby gurgling in another cradle, where a man was playing with him, enchanting a miniature broomstick to fly in circles around the baby's head. The lady caressed his cheek, a wavy curl of her deep, amber-red hair tickling his forehead. Her eyes were deep-sea green, and they were so warm, like green fire. He smiled happily at her.

"You're such a cute baby," she whispered to him. "I love you, but--" she looked wistfully at the other excited baby, "I already have my own baby son. But I'll love you, always." She touched his nose.

"James!" she called to her husband, who was now struggling to get his round-framed glasses back from the baby, who was apparently nibbling at the rims. "Bring Harry here--let's swap for a while. Harry loves this song..."

The image dissolved.

He was now in his own Malfoy Manor room, in a high maple cradle, and engraved on the top was Draco Lucius Malfoy, August 23^rd. He could hear voices from the hallway.

"Lucius, do we really need the child? I'm sure...if we need one, at another time...we could always make another one. It'd only take a night."

"Narcissa, this is important. The Dark Lord said your seventh child would be vital for him. I will not disobey."

There was an "hmph".

"Fine. But, frankly, I don't care about the boy. You can spoil him. You can goggle at him. But I'm not taking care of him."

"Narcissa, honey, I wouldn't give half a galleon for the boy, either. But evidently the Dark Lord does."

"Lily's taking care of him."

"Oh, really." A tinge of amusement was evident. "The family who will be dead quite soon."

"But--well, spare Lily. She needs to care for Draco. Damn him, I think he's crying."

"I'm not sure I can, Narcissa."

"Well, kill the others. Lily's a Mudblood. Who cares? Not like she's extraordinary. I don't give half a Knut for that James Potter, and what's their son's name? Hammy...Harold, Arnold..."

The answer was grave. "Harry Potter."

The world spun crazily and Draco woke up. He discovered he was almost crying. He was sure it wasn't a dream. He wouldn't just dream of Harry's parents. No--it was his past. A memory from long, long ago. Now, he was angrier at his enemy than ever before; so angry he wanted to kill him right now, or at least kill someone he cared about. Harry Potter got that love from his family. His own parents wouldn't care if he fell into the sewer if it wasn't for Voldemort. Harry could listen to that song all day, all night...and whatshername, Lily Potter, would coo at him, kiss him, sing to him, and James Potter would play with him, tease him...

It wasn't fair.

Better to have loved and lost, than have never loved at all, the voice said. Loved and lost...but still loved once...

Life wasn't fair. No--it was completely unjust. How could they take away this kind of affection he had received? It was so extraordinary--something, in his fifteen years, he had never received from his own parents.

And that affection was called Love.

Draco buried his head in his lacy pillow and wept silently.

*

All that I did was walk over,

Start off by shaking your hands,

That's how it went...

I had a smile on my face,

And I sat up straight...

Oh yeah...yeah...

I wanted to know you,

I wanted to show ya'...

You don't know me

Don't ignore me

You don't want me there,

You just shut me out...

You don't know me,

Don't ignore me,

If you had your way

You'd just shut me up...

Make me go away...

No...I just don't understand why you

Won't talk me...

It hurts that I'm so unwanted for nothing...

Don't talk words against me

I wanted to know you,

I wanted to show you...

*chorus*

I tried to belong

It didn't seem wrong

My head aches

It's been...so long...I'll

Write the song if that's what it takes...

*Chorus 2x*

-Avril Lavingne, "Unwanted" Let Go. Arista Records.

* * *

"FINE!"

Hermione was boiling mad. Her cheeks were flushed so hotly it looked as if someone had painted them red. Her hands were clenched into fists, her knuckles white, her curly brown hair almost standing up with static.

She glared across the room at Ron Weasley, her best friend, who was just as angry and flushed as she. He was squeezing the life out of the rubber duck Fred and George's fake wand had transformed into.

The duck quaked helplessly.

He glared at it, then scowled at her. "Fine," he said, breathing very fast and very hard. "Go with the git. See if I care."

"That's the point I've been trying to make for TWO HOURS!" yelled Hermione, her temper at overdrive.

"I DON'T CARE!" he yelled back. Pig glanced uneasily between them, silent for once.

"Then why are you yelling at me? He's my boyfriend. I have every right to be with him. I want to be with him! What do you have to do with all of this?"

"Nothing," snapped Ron, angrily. "He's just worthless and probably is going to dump you for the next pretty girl he finds--"

That was the last straw. Hermione whipped out her wand. "Don't you dare say that about Viktor," she snarled. "He does not just go out and sleep with girls he finds pretty. He is not a player. Leave me ALONE Ron. Why can't you be like Harry? Why do you care so much?"

"I'M NOT HARRY!" roared Ron, eyes blazing. "Don't compare me to Harry! And I DON'T CARE!"

"Don't ever talk to me again," said Hermione, quietly, pocketing her wand. She turned around and was about to walk out of the room when a movement outside the window caught her eye. She stared in shock. It was Harry, doing the Wronski Feint with such accuracy and speed she was stupefied. She wondered why Harry was here. Then realized he shouldn't be. What about Sirius? Her stomach dropped.

Was he caught? Is Harry just delivering the news? He dived out of sight and she waited for him to pull back up. Ron had noticed too. He went silent and looked out the window.

"Oh my god," he said, his anger gone. "He's not pulling up. He must've hit the ground."

They both paled and scrambled in a mad frenzy down the stairs.

* * *

They were wrong--Harry hadn't hit the ground.

But Miyara had.

He mentally slapped himself. What had he been doing? Right after he heard his mother's song Miyara had gasped behind him, that same pained gasp from the Knight Bus, and clutched violently at her chest.

The wrong move.

Her violent jerk had pulled Harry's trunk along jerkily, as a string attached Miyara and the trunk. It had swooped down then (as it was supposed to be levitating) flew back up again. This had thrown Miyara off balance and, with a huge shriek, she had toppled over. Harry turned sharply on his broom and saw Miyara hit the trunk, fall unconscious, and with the extra weight on the trunk, it began rapidly plummeting downwards.

Harry stared, helplessly, as he dived. He couldn't go under them, as the trunk would crash into him--or his broomstick--and it would simply continue falling. His best bet was to try and grab Miyara so she didn't crash-land. Pulling into the Wronski Fient with no intending of feinting, he zoomed towards the ground at breakneck speed.

He was so close--only a meter away--when she hit the ground, the trunk thudding against the dry yellow grass as she rolled off, blood trickling from her forehead. Harry practically slid off his broom, but, instead, he jumped off and held Miyara.

"Miyara? Miyara?" he whispered urgently. "Wake up!"

Harry heard footsteps running towards him.

"Harry!" He looked up, dazed, to see Ron and Hermione standing over him, staring at Miyara.

"Who is she? Is she ok?" said Hermione faintly. She was so pale. "Are you ok? Ron and I saw you outside the window...and you never came up and we thought you crashed."

"I'll explain later," said Harry. He realized he was right outside the Burrow. He had never been gladder to see the cheery, titled house the Weasleys lived in. "Is she still alive? She fell from mid-air...we were flying and she..."

Ron held a finger to Miyara's wrist. "Alive," he said. "Get her inside. Mum has lots of those injury books. We could look up a spell."

"We're under-aged," said Hermione.

"Why does it matter?" snapped Ron, his anger coming back again. "She probably broke her spinal cord. If we don't do this fast, she'll be crippled for life, like Moody."

Hermione took her deep breath, but didn't argue. "Mobilicorpus," she said and directed Miyara off the ground and into the Burrow.

Ron fell in stride with Harry, who watching anxiously. "Who the hell is that?" he asked, curiously. "New girlfriend? Why didn't you tell us?" He sounded hurt.

Harry turned to Ron. "No, Ron," he said. "That's my godsister. Sirius's daughter."

"Really? What's her name?" Ron looked surprised.

"Miyara."

"Huh. Where's Sirius? I saw that article. Spotted near Godric's Hollow. Really, that lady sounds almost as bad as our dear Rita."

"Why did Fudge rebuild my house?" asked Harry, thoughtfully.

They were at the door now. Ron opened it and Harry hurried up the stairs where Hermione had lain Miyara on Ginny's bed and was frantically skimming texts.

"Dunno," lied Ron, darkly. Harry instantly knew he knew.

"Tell me," he ordered.

Ron avoided his stare. "You don't want to know," he whispered softly.

"Yes I do. Why is Fudge rebuilding a goddamn useless house that will be never lived in now that Voldemort has come back?"

His best friend flinched. "Ok, ok..." Ron glanced uneasily at Harry. "I'll tell you."

"Yes?"

"Lucius Malfoy asked them to build it. He even paid for it."