Year V

Chapter Twelve

"Talking with Shadows"

Draco Malfoy watched the stranger standing in the middle of the garden at Malfoy Manor as he pondered all that had happened in the last couple weeks. His father had become more distant and Draco could sense his anger. Something was bothering his father, especially since that meeting with the Dark Lord a few weeks earlier. Every time he asked his father what was wrong, Lucius would dismiss him and say that it did not concern him.

A week ago, Lucius had called his son to the study and Draco had expected to hear the usual speech from his father about disgracing the Malfoy name. However, the conversation took a startling turn.

"Draco, I want you to stay clear of Harry Potter and his friends this year."

"Father, I do not intend to make the same mistake like I did on the train…"

"I don't care what happened on the train!" snapped Lucius. "Something has happened and I don't want you to risk any further embarrassment to our family by going after Potter or any of his friends."

Draco remembered seeing the anger in his father's eyes as he spoke…but he also saw something else…something he had never seen before: fear. He could understand his father warning him to be cautious around Potter, but why the concern about Potter's friends? Granger and Weasley were nothing special…then he remembered something he had seen at Diagon Alley, there was someone else there with Potter and his friends, someone he had not recognized.

"Father, I was wondering…do you know who that boy was that I saw with Potter and the others?"

Lucius' face had become more pale and Draco could see his father trying to hide his fear behind a mask of disgust when he spoke.

"He is an American student from the Colonies…nothing to worry about, and I want you to have nothing to do with him."

That revelation struck Draco as kind of odd. Like many others, he had considered the "Colonial" Wizards of America to be a joke…but the fear he saw on his father's face told a different story.

"If he's nothing to worry about, then why-"

"That is enough on the matter! I want you to stay clear of Potter and any of those closely associated with him. Are we clear on that?"

"Yes father."

As he left his father's study, Draco kept asking himself the same question over and over again: what was his father afraid of?

Then, a few days ago, things took an even more interesting turn. The Dark Lord himself arrived with a few guests, an old black man named Dimitrias and two wizards wearing black and scarlet robes. The Dark Lord ordered Lucius to provide accommodations for the three visitors until his return and then promptly left. It was obvious that Lucius did not care for the visitors, but the three men didn't seem to notice.

"Dealing with Colonials is bad enough," Draco heard his father mutter. "But now we're dealing with the damn Guilds."

The Guilds…those words triggered a memory in Draco…where had he heard that term before? Yes, he remembered now. In his third year, he remembered Professor Binns lecturing about an "outcast" society called the Guilds that practiced a "backwards and antiquated caste" system in North America.

From what Draco saw of the visitors, they did not look "backwards and antiquated"…strange, yes, but not backwards. The two cloaked wizards never lowered their hoods and always stayed near Dimitrias. At one point, Draco had seen one of them cleaning a very elegant looking sword before placing it back in the folds of their cloak. They were obviously some sort of guard and from the way they moved, Draco got the impression they could easily dispatch a couple Aurors if they were ordered to do so.

Then there was the man they were guarding, the man Draco was now watching from the entrance to the family garden, the man called Dimitrias. Yes, he was old and blind, but Draco could sense power within him. When the Dark Lord was around, Dimitrias was the only one who showed no fear…he did show the master proper respect, but he did not apparently fear the Dark Lord.

Draco watched as the old man knelt down and smelled one of the Arcadian fire-roses his mother had spent several years growing. After a few moments, the man straightened himself up and turned his head in Draco's direction. "Is there anything I can do for you, young Malfoy, or are you going to burn the last day of your holidays watching an old man smell flowers?"

Draco hesitated a moment before he said anything. "How long have you known I was here?"

Dimitrias chuckled softly and leaned on his cane. "I may be blind, but that does not mean my other senses are impaired." He gestured with his right hand and Draco saw the air shimmer a few feet behind the old man as his guards appeared out of nowhere. "It also helps to have sentries watching and reporting in every ten minutes."

He then said something that sounded a little like French, Draco wasn't sure, but it was definitely some sort of command. The two hooded wizards nodded and left the garden, leaving Dimitrias alone with Draco.

"Do you think it's wise to be without your guards?" asked Draco as he approached the old man.

"Young Malfoy, we Guilders have a reputation of being paranoid, but we are not careless. I sincerely doubt that you wish to do me any harm, although I'm certain your father wouldn't mind zapping me with the Cruciatus curse. However, I doubt he would risk his master's wrath again by attempting to harm me."

"What makes you so sure that I won't harm you?"

"You're more than welcome to try, my young friend. After all, you've been watching me for nearly an hour and I must appear as a blind old man and probably not much of a challenge."

"It would appear that way," said Draco with a smirk. "But I'm starting to learn that appearances can be deceiving."

"Yes…a simple lesson to be learned, but very few choose to learn it." Dimitrias waved an arm at the Arcadian fire-roses. "Take a look at these fire-roses for example…they probably look as lovely as they smell. Your mother obviously takes good care of them, but what do you see when you look at them?"

Draco shrugged. "They look like your normal exotic flower, nothing special."

"Yes, but feel the texture of the petals."

Draco did as he was told and gently reached out to touch one of the petals, then suddenly pulled his hand back as he felt a burning sensation in his finger tips. He examined his fingers and saw them starting to blister where he they that made contact with the flower.

Dimitrias chuckled again and shook his head. "As you said, young Malfoy, appearances can be deceiving. The flower is beautiful, yes, and very rare. It also secretes a substance that burns anything that comes in contact with it. That substance is also a base used in some of the deadliest poisons that very few potion-masters know how to make."

"Well, that's nice," Draco drawled. "So you made me burn my hand because…"

"Because I simply showed that you haven't fully learned the lesson. Yes, you know appearances are deceiving, but you have yet to actually apply that lesson when it comes to living your life."

"Yes, well, I'll try not to make that same mistake again," said Draco irritably as he rubbed the burned areas of his fingers.

"I wouldn't be so flippant if I were you, young Malfoy. It's a lesson your father has failed to learn, and you are doomed to walk his path should you not heed it."

Draco wasn't sure what bothered him more, Dimitrias' blunt attitude towards his father or the comparison he was making. "You make it sound like that's a bad thing."

The old man nodded as he turned to face Draco. "Oh, it is a bad thing, but perhaps I've said enough."

"Oh, not all," said Draco, making sure the humour in his voice didn't sound as forced as it was. For some reason, this conversation was starting to scare him, but he didn't know why. However, he did not want to run and show fear in front of this man. "Please, by all means, I would like to hear this."

Dimitrias smiled approvingly at Draco and chuckled. "Very brave, boy…very brave indeed. You're afraid, and yet you don't want to run…there may be hope for you yet. Very well then…here's the situation, and feel free to correct me if I'm wrong. Your father is obsessed with two things, power and the purity of the bloodline. He has done what he can to achieve his goal of power by allying himself with the Dark Lord. However, when it comes to his bloodline, he sees you as a minor disappointment."

He paused for a moment as he waited for Draco to say something, but Draco remained silent. "From your silence, I'm going to assume that I hit something, didn't I?"

"You assume too much, old man," said Draco.

"Really?" asked Dimitrias as he arched an eyebrow in curiosity. "Then why do you sound so guarded?"

"Whatever issues I have with my father are none of your concern."

"You're right, young Malfoy, I'm merely a guest, a bystander. However, I hate seeing someone with such potential being doomed to the same fate as his father."

"Now you're starting to sound like some crazed seer," snapped Draco.

"No," laughed Dimitrias, "that was my mother. However, I did inherit part of her gift. You could say that I can catch occasional glimpses of possible futures, and some of them do come true, but I would never dare to call myself a seer."

"Oh really…and do tell me, blind one…what is it that you 'see'? What is to happen to me should I be doomed to the path of my father?"

Dimitrias sighed and shook his head, but when he spoke, there was something in his voice that chilled Draco to the bone. "Young Malfoy, I hear hundreds of thousands of voices calling out your name."

"Let me guess," smirked Draco, "my followers?"

"Your victims."

Draco was about to chide the old man for speaking such rubbish when the air went cold around him and the world suddenly changed. He was still standing in the garden of his family mansion, except the mansion was a crumbling ruin and he stood in the middle of what appeared to be blackened earth, the exotic plants and well kept garden were gone…and the bones…he could see the skeletal remains of people littered everywhere around him.

And then…just as suddenly as it had appeared…the world rippled around him and he was standing back in the garden with Dimitrias.

"What the hell was that?" snarled Draco.

Dimitrias only shrugged. "Like I told you, young Malfoy…that was only a glimpse, a glimpse of the very possible future."

"You're saying that's my destiny?"

"Not exactly," said Dimitrias. "It all depends on you, young Malfoy."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"There are two kinds of people in the world, Draco Malfoy, those that choose to make their own destiny, or those that let a destiny choose them. You can make your own, or simply embrace the one that is set before you."

"And how am I supposed to do anything about it if it's my destiny?"

Dimitrias leaned forward on his cane again. "Perhaps it's best that you ask yourself this: Who are you? Are you just Lucius Malfoy's son, willing to follow the path to stagnation and ultimate failure? Or are you your own man, willing to brave the unknown?"

Once again, Draco fell silent as he pondered the old man's words. While the old man may be an "outsider", Draco couldn't help wondering if some of what Dimitrias had told him was true. He wasn't quite sure what happened or what he saw, but he knew the vision was true…he wasn't sure how he knew…but he could sense it. "Dimitrias?"

"Yes?"

"What about you? Did you choose your destiny?"

The old man shook his head. "No, young Malfoy, I did not. I had a chance to make a choice, but by failing to act and hiding behind laws and traditions…"

"By failing to act, your destiny chose you," Draco finished for him.

The old man nodded and smiled sadly at him. "Another lesson learned, young Malfoy. Now, how are you going to apply it?"

Before Draco could answer, someone else interrupted him.

"Draco?"

They both turned to see Narcissa Malfoy enter the garden. Dimitrias bowed his head in a gesture of respect as she approached them. "Lady Malfoy."

Narcissa nodded at the old man then looked over at her son. "We will be leaving early tomorrow, Draco, so make sure you have everything packed. The house-elves informed me that dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Dimitrias…you are welcome to join us."

"Thank you, Lady Malfoy, but I'm afraid I will have to decline," said Dimitrias. "I don't think your husband would appreciate having a 'damn Guilder' at his table."

Draco saw the hint of a smile tug at the corner of his mother's mouth when she spoke. "I understand. Draco, get washed up for dinner, there's a few healing herbs in the small cabinet in the bathroom, you can use those to treat the burns on your fingers."

"But I-" Draco cut himself off as he caught a sharp look from his mother. It was obvious that she wanted to talk to their visitor alone. As he entered the mansion and made his way towards the bathroom, he couldn't help thinking about the conversation with Dimitrias.

Choose your destiny before a destiny chooses you.

The words echoed through his mind…good advice, but also a warning. But a warning of what? While he didn't know the answer to the question, Draco feared that he was now part of that answer. Then there was the other question…was he choosing his destiny, or was a destiny choosing him?

Back in the garden, Narcissa waited until she was certain Draco had gone back in the house. She wanted to make sure that he didn't overhear the conversation. However, before she could say anything, it was Dimitrias who broke the silence.

"So, how much did you hear?" asked Dimitrias.

"I heard enough." Narcissa kept an even tone, but she didn't bother hiding the edge in her voice. "'Choose a destiny before a destiny chooses you'? If I didn't know any better, I would say that you were goading my son into turning against his father."

"Believe what you want…I only spoke the truth." Dimitrias shrugged. "The decision is ultimately his to make…and if it puts him at odds with his father, well…that's the destiny he has chosen."

"His destiny is none of your concern," hissed Narcissa.

"No, and neither is it yours," said Dimitrias, his voice a calm contrast to Narcissa's cold anger.

"He is my son. As his mother, I have every reason to be concerned about his destiny."

"No," said Dimitrias as he limped over to a bench and sat down. "You are more concerned about your control over him than his destiny."

"How dare you!" said Narcissa angrily, dropping her normally cool demeanor. "You have no right to make that accusation."

"It wasn't an accusation, " said Dimitrias, his voice still calm, "merely an observation."

Narcissa took a moment to regain her composure and study the old man. Very subtle, old man. Lucius may underestimate you, but I do not. You may be a blind cripple, but you are far more than what you claim to be.

"Well," she said as she pretended to look at a blooming cyanic orchid, "I would appreciate it if you kept your observations to yourself. The master may have ordered us to take you in, but we do not have to listen to your quasi-mystical drivel."

Dimitrias bowed his head, a gesture of respect, but Narcissa suspected that it wasn't sincere and her suspicions were confirmed when she heard the amusement in the old man's voice.

"Very well, Lady Malfoy. I shall keep my…'quasi-mystical' musings to myself."

"I mean it, Dimitrias. Stay away from my son or you will discover that having your eyes ripped out of your head was one of the more cheerful moments of your life."

"Well, when you put it that way, I have no choice but to heed your request."

"Good, I'm glad that we finally understand each other." Then she turned around and headed back into the mansion, leaving Dimitrias alone in the garden.

For several seconds, Dimitrias sat there in silence before he chuckled bitterly into the evening air. "Alas, Narcissa, it is not Draco's destiny you should be concerned about…at least he has a future."

* * * * *

It was about eleven in the evening when Nicholas St. John-Dupuis and his two fellow misfits made their way down the nearly empty street. Actually, to be honest, Nicholas was staggering down the sidewalk followed closely by Marie and Lucas who exchanged concerned looks as their leader leaned against a wall and readjusted the bloody bandage on his hand.

"Um…Nick."

"Yo," said Nicholas as he reached into his coat and pulled out a bottle of butterbeer. He took a couple gulps and looked up at the night sky. "Cool…you can see Mars."

"Are you gonna' be okay?"

"Relax, Lucas…I'm just a little lightheaded from the blood loss. That's all."

"You shouldn't have summoned all those Shaders last night," said Lucas. "You used well over a couple pints."

"Hey, fifteen Shaders isn't that many!" Nicholas pushed himself off the wall and stumbled a few steps before leaning against the wall again. "Okay…maybe I'm a little woozy." He drained the rest of the butterbeer out of the bottle then rubbed his head. "Damn…head rush."

Marie looked around at the street they were on and wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Okay…you mind telling me why we're in the equivalent of the British slums? I mean…look at this place. Shabby buildings, a sleazy pub, graffiti painted walls, a vacant lot with an overloaded garbage dumpster…you know, we got all this crap back home."

"Ah," said Nicholas, staggering back to his feet, "but this is more than just your normal slum. It's a special slum…it's a British slum! Can't you tell?" He paused as he took a deep breath. "The smells are more cleaner, more vibrant, and there isn't that nice fresh stench of a dead body rotting in a vacant alley…but I can fix that last part."

"What are you gonna' do," muttered Marie, "find some stray puppy to kill?"

"Hey…that'll work. I'd prefer killing an actual person, but puppies will work."

"They do have a high whimper factor," offered Lucas.

"That's true," said Nicholas, "and it's so cool to hear them yelp when you snap a leg."

"WILL YOU TWO KNOCK IT OFF!?!" hollered Marie.

Nicholas and Lucas glanced at each other.

"Uh-oh," said Lucas.

"Yep," said Nicholas, "here comes the speech."

"All you two talk about is killing." Marie shook her head. "Jeez, Nicholas, I swear that's the only thing you seem to care about."

"Of course that's all I care about," snapped Nicholas. "Because it's the only thing I'm good at…well, that and ballroom dancing, but that's a different matter."

"Three-time ballroom dancing champion, I might add," interjected Lucas.

"Four-time champion," corrected Nicholas. "Get it right."

"Okay, I give up," said Marie. "Look, can you at least tell me why we're here? I thought we were supposed to be casing the Ministry."

Nicholas grinned at her. "Actually, Marie…we are casing the Ministry." He pointed at the empty lot across the street. "Look at that vacant lot over there and that wall with a bunch of graffiti on it. See anything?"

Marie shook her head. "No, just that old phone booth." Then her eyes widened in realization. "No way!"

"Yep."

"You can't be serious."

"Uh-huh." Nicholas pulled out a cigarette and lit it by tapping it against the end of his index finger. He took a puff off it and smiled at Marie. "You gotta' give the British Wizarding Community some credit…they're very creative when it comes to camouflage."

"We've come all this way, just so you can destroy a phone booth?" asked Lucas.

"Yep…and everything underneath."

"Cool."