Slytherin's Warning

When Silas woketh, it was like unto clawing one's way up from the depths of a deep-dug well. His limbs layeth heavily and strangely, as not his own. Bonds were setteth over him and the healers cast fearful glances. They spake not to him, even unto his despairing cries.

The Auror did come and sayeth, "Why didst thou slay them?"

And Silas crieth, "What hath I done? Where art we? Woe upon such an awakening!"

--from "Thy Cursed Talysmann: A Wizarding Mysterey" (First published 1694)

For a moment when he woke Draco was confused; then it all came rushing back. First he'd failed the Dark Lord--twice!--then defied him. Whatever had possessed him? But in his heart, Draco knew--knew that truly as he believed in the Dark Lord's vision, he found personal survival more important than an ideological crusade. He was as good as dead anyway, he knew. But the important question at hand was, where was he now? Where had Master Snape sent him?

He was in a small room, with one window a bit too high to see out of properly from the bed. The bedposts appeared to be handmade, and there was a nondescript wardrobe in one corner. The linens were coarse but clean, and there was an (empty) wood chair a few feet from the bed, his school robes neatly folded over it. There seemed to be little in the way of comfort, but there were soft bandages on his wounds, and he had the deceptively healthy feeling that sometimes accompanied healing potions.

Just as Draco was deliberating whether it would be more advantageous to stay in the bed or to explore his surroundings more thoroughly, the door opened and he reflexively exclaimed, "You!" He would never have expected it, but there in the doorway was his third-year Defense teacher, the werewolf!

It was carrying a small steaming cup and said with a smile, "Oh good, you're awake. How are you feeling?"

Draco turned his head away, his head swimming with confused thoughts. He couldn't possibly talk to a known werewolf! It was appalling enough he'd had to deal with it for a whole school year. The werewolf said in a gentle tone, like Draco didn't know all about its true nature, "You seem as surprised to see me as I was to see you last night. I admit I had no idea what to do when you appeared, by Portkey I think...?" Draco didn't respond. "It certainly raised a number of questions," the wolf continued, sipping whatever was in its teacup. Blood, maybe. "But I find myself unwilling to go to the Ministry just yet. There is a warrant for you arrest, of course." Draco looked at the wolf sharply. He'd expected that, yet.... It called itself Lupin, he remembered. Remus Lupin.

"I've never trusted blindly in the Ministry, and our elected officials,"--this with a dry tone--"have been led astray before. Very often, in fact. And now their drive to see justice done is swinging to the other extreme. To prove something to the public, I fear you would be in Azkaban or Kissed before you could say one thing about what really happened. I can at least promise that I'll listen."

What game was this? What was the werewolf up to? Draco knew perfectly well that it was one of the Old Fool's little pets, remembered how it fawned over Potter all third year. And Draco had never hidden his disdain for the shabby teacher. Perhaps on some level he'd sensed what it was. Now it was--what? Trying to make Draco trust it? Why? For information, perhaps? Yet... Master Snape had sent Draco here. Draco was healing, and in this small bright room instead of a Ministry cell. He didn't want to talk to it, but didn't see any other options yet. He needed more information, so... "This is your house, then?" Draco ventured, still not looking at the other.

"Yes." Lupin took another sip.

"Does anyone else live here?"

"No." So Draco would have to talk to it, or to no one. Lupin used one hand to pick up Draco's robes, which Draco saw had been mended and cleaned of dirt and blood, placing them at the foot of the bed before sitting. "May I call you Draco?"

"No."

"Mr. Malfoy then... tell me what happened?"

Although he hardly wanted to be addressed by his given name, Draco still felt a small pang at hearing his family name. His father's name. What a disgrace he'd become; he'd be struck from the family tapestry, his name forever taboo. It would have to be said at some point, so he admitted, "I failed to complete my mission. And I ran away from my due punishment. I was weak."

"Could you be more specific?" When Draco didn't respond, ashamed at how quickly he'd given up an answer at all, Lupin wrapped his hands around his cup and leaned forward. "Being unable to kill in cold blood does not make a man weak, just as being able to do so does not make him strong."

"And what would you know?" Draco reflexively snarled.

"If nothing else, I lived through Voldemort's first rise. Many of my own classmates were killers before they died, on both sides of the war. So many funerals every day, so many bodies never found." The wolf seemed lost in thought for a moment, then shook himself and Draco, still looking at his hands on the faded blanket, could feel his gaze. "They were dark times that nevertheless taught everyone to live through them a great deal about what makes a man of quality.

"Those times are starting again. Albus--" the wolf's voice trembled over this name in a way it had not over the Dark Lord's--"Albus was laid to rest only yesterday, and last night the attacks began. Thirty people are dead already, according to this morning's Prophet, and another forty unaccounted for." The mudblood killed last night would be one of the missing, then. The body might be dumped with the rubbish somewhere, or might be disposed of at the stronghold, its fate permanently shrouded in mystery.

The werewolf waited a beat, as though expecting Draco to speak. When he did not, the wolf sighed and said, "Let me tell you what I know. I know last summer you were given the task of murdering the Headmaster." They hadn't called it murder, Draco thought. "You accepted eagerly. You made various attempts throughout the school year, never quite succeeding. Finally, you managed to bring Death Eaters, Fenrir Greyback among them, into the school and sent up the Dark Mark. But for whatever reason, when it came right down to the act itself, you weren't a killer. Severus incanted the curse and you left with him, the others covering your escape."

Draco still felt unsettled to hear the names of such powerful wizards used so casually; Albus, Severus, even that of the Dark Lord. How dare it speak of Draco's master with so little respect? Draco bit back a retort and said dully, "You know more than I thought." He didn't know where the wolf came by his information, but it was all more than he could deal with at the moment.

Draco stifled a yawn, and Lupin noticed. "More talk can wait. Your body is still recovering. If you need me, I'll be just outside." He got up slowly and closed the door behind him. Draco made an effort to organize his thoughts, but fell asleep almost instantly.

When he woke again a few hours later, Draco wished the strange conversation had been a dream, but he knew it wasn't. He squinted against the light that fell from the window neatly across his face and deduced with some irritability that it was what woke him. No sooner had he finished the thought than a faded blue cloth appeared from nowhere over the window, dimming the room. Draco was accustomed to the little surprises a magical household often offered, but a command which required mere thought and not speech as well... that was a fair bit of magic.

Now that he was more awake, Draco was acutely aware of his vulnerable position. His wand was gone, the Ministry would arrest him, his peers would hunt him down and execute him, and he was in the home of a werewolf. He surely had to leave, but where could he go? He didn't even know when the next full moon was, though he seemed to remember his last night at Hogwarts before... everything, the moon was small in the night sky. He didn't recall whether it was waxing or waning, though. He ought to have a few weeks at least.

Just then, Draco's stomach growled loudly. He was about to get up when a small bed-tray with a bowl of watery-looking soup appeared. Draco took a careful sip and immediately made a face; it practically was water. He doubted he'd ever tasted something so bland his entire life. He pushed it aside and gingerly stood up. Some remnants of his punishment lingered, but by and large he was on the mend. Draco's hand brushed his school robes, and he considered changing into them, but they seemed to belong to someone much younger. The overlarge nightshirt he was wearing seemed enough and in any case there was no one here worth bothering about his appearance for.

The door swung of its own accord when he reached it, and Draco eyed the handle he'd been about to reach for with some suspicion--this anticipation of his needs was becoming rather unnerving. But he pushed his unease aside and took a slow look around. It quickly became apparent that he was in a mere cottage, not a house as he'd first supposed. There were two doors to his right. The first was the toilet, the door slightly ajar. The other door was closed.

In front of him was a large room with no dividing walls. The left side was a kitchen area, including a small table with three wood chairs, and on the right was a simple sitting-room of sorts, with a few armchairs, a sofa, and a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, completely full. Save a few rugs on the floor, there was no decoration of any kind. The building's front door was between the two sides. And Lupin was nowhere in sight.

Draco walked down to the closed door on his right. He hesitated over how to address the werewolf, and in the end decided to simply knock. There was no answer. Perhaps the werewolf was outside--perhaps it was gone to fetch the Ministry--even as Draco's fingers closed over the handle, the front door opened, and Draco instinctively scanned his surroundings for anything he might use as a weapon, but saw nothing.

It was Lupin, who said only, "I'm sorry--I thought I could be back before you woke."

"Where were you?"

"I was strengthening the wards," Lupin said, looking pensive. "Or at least, trying to. I've set them to keep out anyone bearing a Dark Mark. That's my office, by the way. And while I realize I have little to offer you here, I must ask you not to enter it."

Draco's hand jerked away from the doorknob. He'd nearly forgotten about it. Now, obviously, he'd go inside the room the first chance he got. Stupid Gryffindor teacher. "How do you know I don't have the Mark?" he challenged.

Lupin raised his eyebrows. "I looked when I treated your injuries. As I was saying, the wards ought to keep out most Death Eaters. Some more powerful ones or those... familiar with my wards could undoubtedly break them, though." He sighed. "You did not come here of your own accord; could not, in fact. I can guess who sent you here. It's the why I don't understand. Can you guess, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco hedged, "Who do you think sent me?"

"Severus, of course. Who else?"

"You never seemed to be friends."

Lupin looked surprised. "Oh, we weren't. He's hated me since our school days. We were in the same year. But we were--colleagues, of a sort."

Draco couldn't imagine Master Snape as a schoolboy. He'd have to get more information later. But for now.... "Master Snape said if he didn't give me a chance to escape, he'd die as well. He made an Unbreakable Vow to protect me."

"I'd heard. Perhaps it is that simple. I believe that you at least think so."

"Why else would he have sent me here?" Draco couldn't help but ask.

Lupin shrugged. "Perhaps you are part of a larger plan on his part; perhaps he is not so lost to the side of Light as we'd supposed; perhaps you are a trap for me, or the Order." Draco knew about the Order of the Phoenix, of course. His father had alternately mocked and cursed the group many times. It was Dumbledore's group, created to oppose the Dark Lord. Some members were obvious, like McGonagall, but generally the members stayed anonymous. Many were also members of the Ministry, he knew, though not in such numbers as the servants of the Dark Lord. He hadn't known Lupin was a member.

"Please, sit down."

Draco realized his legs were trembling. He didn't want to seem to be obeying Lup--the werewolf--but now that he was aware of his weakness, he could think of nothing else. Reluctantly he moved forward to the nearest armchair and sank into it. Lupin also sat in an armchair facing Draco.

"You're in the Order? Of the Phoenix?" Draco asked, trying to wrap his mind around the concept. A werewolf, fighting for the side of Light? It was laughable, but given that the Old Fool was involved, it somehow made sense.

Lupin smiled without humour. "Mr. Malfoy, Severus was a member of the Order."

Draco groped for words. "He was... what, a spy? How--what....?"

Now Lupin's expression was the opposite; he wasn't quite smiling, but his eyes were amused. "Oh, he was certainly a spy. The question to ask is who he was spying for. His information saved countless lives during Voldemort's first rise to power, my own included. He was in the Order's inner circle, and held the Headmaster's complete trust."

"The more fool him," Draco scoffed.

"A great and sublime fool," Lupin said fondly, as though remembering an old conversation. "He always seemed to be many things, and was always much more than he seemed. He may have felt that his death at this time was somehow necessary, or even had an agreement with Severus regarding the Unbreakable Vow. Certainly his faith in Severus was unshakable, no matter the doubts of the rest of us. When I first heard that Severus... well, I was blinded by fury and grief. Now I wonder if Albus' death, like everything about him, was so simple as it first appeared."

That was ridiculous, Draco thought, of course Master Snape's allegiance was to the Dark Lord alone and anything that appeared otherwise was part of some ultimate plan. He was one of the Dark Lord's most trusted advisors, his chosen Potions Master, Strategist, Recruiter, Informant at Hogwarts, even the Secret Keeper for some of the Dark Lord's fortresses. But Lupin was still speaking, eyes distant as though he was thinking aloud rather than addressing Draco. "Severus knew how I would react, at least. Knew I would take you in and shelter you here. There were no spells to trace your route, but they wouldn't be needed anyway. He knows where to find me. Perhaps the Ministry will get an anonymous tip that I'm helping a fugitive. You'd be caught and I'd be executed before either of us could call for help."

Draco broke in. "I hope you've also warded against people from the Ministry then."

"Don't be foolish. Ministry workers don't share any single, identifying mark I can enchant the wards to recognize. Besides, several members of the Order work for the Ministry, and they must be able to reach me."

"So when the Ministry comes for me, you'll... what?"

"We don't know if the Ministry will come for you," Lupin pointed out. "Though if there is somewhere else you wish to go, I won't force you to stay here."

"You would let me leave?" Draco asked, incredulous.

"I would." Lupin paused. "However... forgive me for saying this... I don't believe you do have anywhere else to go."

Draco flushed and stood, staggering slightly. "Maybe I will leave!" Even as he took the first step towards the door, he realized how ridiculous he sounded. He could barely walk, he was dressed in an old nightshirt, and... Lupin was right. He could not think of a single place to go. So he stiffly turned towards the small bedroom, his posture daring Lupin to comment. But though he could feel the werewolf's gaze, the older man said nothing.

Draco flopped onto the bed, limbs trembling, but his mind unable to slow down. Was he sent here simply to trap the werewolf? He doubted it. Why would the Dark Lord or Master Snape bother, when if the wolf proved a nuisance, a Death Eater could be sent to eliminate it easily enough? No, Master Snape only sought to fulfill the Vow he'd made. But did that mean it was safe here? Should he, or indeed could he, go somewhere else? But where to? His money and influence were gone, and he could hardly go among his extended family or in Eastern Europe, where he'd traveled extensively. Yet Draco had never traveled outside of Europe, where Malfoy influence extended.

Perhaps, loathsome though the thought was, he could do some sort of work around the cottage for Lupin, and the werewolf would aid him in getting a new wand and getting out of the country. Once gone, Draco could devote himself entirely to learning the Dark Arts and overcoming his weakness. Then he could earn his way back into the ranks of the Death Eaters and come home. It would be nearly impossible, and he still doubted the wolf would willingly let him go, but he could use this time to regroup and plan his next move.

There was a knock on the bedroom door and Lupin's muffled voice said, "Supper is ready." Draco didn't answer. He had the information he needed, and had no desire to make small-talk with the beast. After a pause, Lupin said, "I'll leave the tray outside the door." There was a soft metallic clank, then footsteps walking away.

Draco lay still for a long time, staring up at the plain ceiling without really seeing it. Eventually the shadows in the room grew longer, casting vaguely threatening shapes against the walls. Draco shuddered, acutely feeling his isolation, and a few candles he hadn't previously noticed flickered to life. Draco wasn't sure if the flickering light actually helped, and the magic working in the room obligingly put the candles out.

Draco's stomach growled, and a new bowl of soup appeared, but he ignored it. He slipped out of bed and padded to the door, listening for the wolf. Everything was quiet, so Draco opened the door. The metal tray reflected up at him. He could see the werewolf slumped in the sofa, chest rising and falling evenly. Draco's nose wrinkled in disgust when it hit him that of course he'd been in the werewolf's bed. But he'd rather have a room to himself, even if he had to sleep in the bed of a monster. He quietly picked up the tray and retreated back inside. One directed thought and the roast chicken and boiled potatoes warmed up nicely.

Once he started to eat, Draco realized just how hungry he was. He scraped every last bit of food from the plate before setting the tray on the floor. Feeling thoroughly wrung out, he eventually drifted off into an uneasy sleep.