Without Wand or Wire

Dumbledore finally arrived outside number twelve -- or rather, the bit of wall between eleven and thirteen -- with Oliver Wood, one of the Orders' more recent recruits, who had yet to have ever even been to the Order headquarters. Oliver had been mildly injured during the battle, but had stayed with Dumbledore to help out, and now the Headmaster was bringing the boy to see Madam Pomfrey's crew and get fixed up. Dumbledore whispered the location of the headquarters in Wood's ear, and the door suddenly appeared.

"Oliver!" Fred called cheerfully as he spotted his old Quidditch captain. George, Lee, Alicia, Katie, and Angelina all cried out greetings, beckoning to him to come sit on the kitchen stair with them and have a butterbeer. Dumbledore nodded for him to go ahead, saying he would bring Poppy down for a break shortly, and she could see him then.

Albus noted a strange little song wafting down the stairs from one of the other floors, and smiled as the hallway portraits began to complain. "Silencio!" he told the painted figures. Now all that could be heard was the odd tune. His eyes twinkled.

The light in his eyes quickly died when he walked into the drawing room.

So many of his friends, as well as good people who were still veritable strangers to him, sat there in varying states of health. Innocent lives, the lot of them, disrupted by such needless suffering and heartache, all because of one man: himself. Riddle may have been the one causing the actual harm, but it was he, Dumbledore, who had asked these people to fight the dark wizard. It was he, Albus, who had failed to put an end to Tom when he was a boy, because he was foolish enough to believe in giving people a chance to change.

His eyes alighted on Severus. Well, at least sometimes giving people a chance had turned out to be the right decision.

Then he remembered what Severus was supposed to be doing. He looked at the bed the DADA teacher had stationed himself at, and his stomach did a flop.

Harry.

His back to the door, and the youths on the kitchen stair being thoroughly caught up in their conversation, no one noticed the figure that made its determined way up the stairs. Of course, Albus hadn't noticed it standing by when he'd told Oliver the location of their headquarters, either.

* * *

Draco was still on his hands and knees, shivering uncontrollably, his eyes closed tight. He didn’t seem to have heard Ginny's question. "It's so cold," he whispered. "Why is it so cold?" He sat back on his feet and clutched Pooky close, rocking back and forth as he continued to shake, his breath rattling as he whispered something so faintly they had to strain to hear.

"I'm sorry. ..." he was saying over and over.

Ron looked uncomfortable, and Ginny guessed he was feeling the same thing she was: a natural inclination to hate Malfoy battling with an equally natural inclination to pity a being in pain. "He's a nutter! Completely out of his gourd!" Ron observed rather pointedly.

Hermione suddenly rubbed her shoulders. "Brrr! It is cold in here! And if he's in shock, like I think he is, then he's probably feeling it worse than we are. I think we should try to get him downstairs."

Ron scoffed. "And how're we gonna do that? He can't seem to walk, and I'm sure as hell not carry--"

"SHHHHH!" Ginny told him, tilting her head. Yes, there it was, she thought she'd heard something. "Someone's in my room!"

"Huh? How do you know?" Ron asked.

"Because I know I turned the wireless off, Mum told me to, and it's on now!"

Run away, run away from the pain
Run away, run away from the pain
Run away, run away,
run, run away

Even Draco heard it. He stopped shivering and stood up, toy still grasped tight in one hand at his side. He stared at the door as if he could see the music coming in. I want to do that, run away from the pain. Can you tell me how? he silently asked the music.

What did her daddy do?
It's Janie's last I-O-U
She had to take him down easy,
and put a bullet in his brain
She said 'cause nobody believes me,
the man was such a sleaze
he ain't never gonna be the same ...

"What ..." he tried to ask, his voice rasping. He tried again. "That's a Muggle song, isn't it? What's it saying?" He didn’t know why it was important, but he had to know.

Knowing the song herself, and not wanting to push him back into catatonia, Hermione answered his question, instead of asking any of the millions that were in her own head. "It's about a girl who kills her father because he ... a ... abuses her." She just couldn’t bring herself to say the word "rapes" to Malfoy. "A gun is a Muggle thing hurls lethal projectiles at whatever you point it towards. Kind of like it's a wand that can only do the Killing Curse."

Draco flinched when she said that, and looked at her with wide eyes, breathing hard.

"You'd know all about that, wouldn’t you Draco?" came a voice from beyond the door. A moment later, Lucius Malfoy came into view.

Below, the radio played one verse of a song.

The cat came back,
the very next day
The cat came back
We thought he was a goner
But the cat came back
It just wouldn't stay awaaaaay ...

* * *

Pomfrey had seen to Harry's most recent injuries and was pulling the boy's shirt back over his head while Dumbledore cast a Privacy Spell about the small group. The Headmaster listened quietly while Snape filled him, Lupin, Molly, and Poppy in on what had happened in Diagon Alley. Albus seemed to grow ancient and weary right before their eyes.

"I think Harry's been doing this to himself," he told them when the tale -- which included the discovery of The Boy's scars, as well as Petunia's denial that she was responsible -- was done.

"But why," Molly asked, her tear-swollen eyes on The Boy as she caressed his cheek, Harry being every much her son in her mind now as the ones she'd actually given birth to.

Lupin looked green, and his lip trembled. Snape looked angry, something Lupin, Molly, and Poppy couldn’t understand, given his legendary animosity for The Boy.

Fae looked a bit sad, but more world-weary than actually worried. Dumbledore suspected that Fae had seen plenty of this sort of thing while working at St. Mungo's -- or even in the Muggle world, a place in which she'd spent more time than the average witch or wizard. He hoped that she was only familiar with the affliction by proxy, and not actual experience. ...

"I think that's something we need to let Harry tell us, in his own time," Dumbledore decided. "For now, let it be his secret -- don’t confront him, and don't tell anyone else. We know about it at least, and can keep an eye on him, find ways to distract him. Just let him know we're here for him."

"Why the hell shouldn't we confront him about this?" Lupin protested. "He's grieving Sirius and blames himself for his death! This is an obvious cry for help!"

"Is it, Lupin, or are you just projecting your own feelings on him?" Snape asked, frowning. "It doesn't seem so obvious to me, since he's keeping himself so well covered up," he continued. "There are a lot of different reasons people indulge in self-harm; not everyone is looking for pity. Very few of them, in fact. Many of them like having such a dark secret, it makes them feel martyred. If you confront Potter, he's likley to get obstinant and further withdrawn, not confessional. Then again," he added, sneering, "since Potter's always tended to seek out the spotlight before, I guess can see how you might think he would want the attention now. ..." Any indication of the outrage Snape had exhibited on Harry's behalf, when he'd thought the boy had been abused, was now quite gone.

"Severus. ..." Dumbledore warned.

"Seen a lot of 'cutting' in Slytherin, have you, Snape?" Lupin asked with mock-sweetness. "Your students do seem the ones most likely to get into that sort of thing."

"Remus." Dumbledore did not look amused.

"Well, not so much," Snape replied, uncharacteristically conversational, as if unaware of the insult. "It's a rather commonplace affliction among teenagers, they're always so damn sure they're misunderstood. They think it makes them special, when in fact it just puts them in the same club as countless other idiots among their peers. Had you lasted more than a term and a half as a teacher, you might have seen more of it yourself, Lup--"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Madam Pomfrey snapped before Dumbledore had a chance to open his mouth. "If you two can't be civil to eachother, then I'll stick you each in seperate corners for a 'time out', as if you were the First Years you're acting like!"

Lupin and Snape both looked properly chastised.

Just then, Dumbledore noticed movement out of the corner of his eye, and realised Shacklebolt was trying to get their attention. He quickly dropped the Privacy Spell.

"--e's awake! Tonks is awake!"

While nearly everyone else rushed around the Metamorphamagus' bed, and Snape and Fae stayed with Harry, Dumbledore went to Petunia's bedside and used Ennervate on her. Fae raised a brow, but said nothing, trusting that the Headmaster had his reasons for disturbing the Muggle's rest.

Petunia opened a groggy eye, and found a sad old face looking down at her. She might have been frightened, if the face hadn't also looked so kindly, and somewhat resembled her dear Uncle Malcolm.

"Hello, Petunia. I'm Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Harry's school."

She sat up with a jolt. "Harry!"

"He'll be all right," Albus told her, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder. And she could see the boy sleeping peacfully in the next bed.

"Now, Petunia, there are things I must discuss with you," Dumbledore told her firmly but gently. She never would have guessed it was his voice that had come from the scary red envelope if he hadn't told her who he was.

"You're going to have words with me about how Harry was treated in my home," Petunia reckoned, eyes downcast.

"No, actually, I'm not," he said with a slight smile. "I dare say you already know what you did was wrong, and that you are sorry for it, so I'm not worried that it might happen again."

She looked up quickly. "I didn't cause those scars! And neither would my husband or son, you've got to believe me! I swear, I don't know how he got them!"

"We know, Petunia. Now, I must insist that you don't try to confront Harry about this -- I want him to tell us when he's ready -- but we believe that Harry inflicted those wounds on himself."

"What?! Why would he do something like that?!"

It would have made Albus smile, this sudden similarity between Mrs. Dursely and Mrs. Weasley, if not for the grave circumstances surrounding it. "I believe he might have been doing it as a way to combat the attacks from a dark wizard named Lord Voldemort. I don't know how much Harry has told you about his life at school, or how much you know about the death of his parents. ..."

Petunia watched the rise and fall of her nephew's chest as she spoke. "He told me all about it last night, and showed me his photo album. I know that he's connected to this Lord Voldemort through the scar on his head. I know that man ki ... k-killed my sister and her husband and a lot of other people. And I know he's back, and has been trying to kill H-Harry. ..." She pursed her lips, and her eyes shone.

Albus nodded. "That's about the jist of it. Your nephew is a very special boy, Petunia. We would do anything to keep him safe, most especially, but not entirely, because there is a prophecy that says he is the only man who can defeat Voldemort."

"A prophecy? But .. that's just fortune-telling, isn't it? Can you be sure?"

"I believe it. But in the end, it doesn't matter of the prophecy is actually accurate or not -- Voldemort believes it, and will do anything to make sure Harry doesn't have a chance to defeat him. So whether Harry's destined to fight him or not -- and I believe he is -- he still needs protecting."

"And that's why you brought him to stay with us, and why you send him back to us every summer." It wasn't a question.

Albus nodded anyway. "I know what you're thinking. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish Harry could have a normal life like any other boy. But so long as Voldemort is out there, it doesn't matter what either of us wish -- no one, none of us, not wizard nor Muggle, can be entirely free of fear. Voldemort wants all Muggles and Muggle-born wizards dead, and will kill any wizard who stands in his way. Which brings me to another thing I need to talk to you about. But first, I ... I need you to come with me somewhere."

She frowned, looking again at her nephew. "When? I want to be here when he wakes up."

"I'm afraid it can't wait. But don't worry, Harry has been here before, and I dare say he knows more than half the people here; he won't be frightened."

You mean he won't miss me if I'm not here, she thought bitterly, but nodded. Dumbledore helped her to her feet and led her to the fireplace.

"Now, you may find this a bit disorienting, so I suggest you hold very tight to my hand." And he took a bit of Floo Powder and dropped it in the fire. Before she could protest, he dragged her bodily into the strange green fire.

Petunia screamed the entire dizzying trip, her cries stopped only by the sudden impact of their arrival and the soot that caused her to choke for a moment or two. When she regained her breath and balance and blinked the soot from her eyes, she found herself disoriented again, as she took in her surroundings. This definitely wasn't the same room they'd been in a moment ago.

Now they were in some cold, dark, wet, and distinctly rank cellar. A place where there were tables and tables covered in lumpy, sparkly tablecloths. The lumps vaguely resembled ...

Oh dear god in heaven! Those are--

She glanced sharply at Dumbledore, backing away slowly. "So you brought me here to kill me?"

He blinked in surprise. "No, that's not it at all! I mean, yes, this is a morgue of sorts, if that's what your thinking, but ... well, I can’t say that I'm not about to hurt you, but I assure you I would give anything to not have to show you this ..."

Before she could retort, he gently gestured with one arm to a nearby table, and her eye was instinctively drawn to follow the movement of his billowing sleeve to an exceptionally lumpy star-spangled tablecloth.

The lump was horribly familiar; it had been nearly a week since she'd last laid eyes on it, but it was so dear to her heart, she didn't doubt her eyes for a moment. And suddenly she understood that the stink of the cellar wasn't entirely born of mildew. And then she was choking again, not on the smell or the soot, but on her grief as Dumbledore pulled back the cloth, revealing the now-eternal rest of Vernon Dursley.

* * *

"Well, Draco, I hope you’re proud of yourself," Lucius commented from his place at the door. He floated about a foot from the floor, and was washed of most of his colour.

The four youths stared at the apparition, each of them dumbfounded, albeit Draco for different reasons than the other three. Ginny pulled out her wand, reflexively, and aimed it at the ghost, though somewhere in her head she knew she could do nothing against him with it. Buckbeak made an angry noise and pawed at the ground in seeming frustration, and Draco thought the beast somehow knew he couldn’t attack the newcomer.

"What's the matter, boy?" Draco's not-so-dearly-departed sire asked, floating into the room until he was looking nearly straight down at his son. "Haven't you started bragging all about it to your new friends yet? About how you betrayed me? Murdered your own father?" The three Gryffindors gasped. "I was a Death Eater, after all," he continued, floating slowly around Draco, who stood still, save for his ragged breathing. "I'm sure they'll welcome you with open arms and a medal for it!"

The Gryffindors wore mirror expressions of wonderment tinged with horror. Draco had killed a man? His own father, the man he'd spoken of with nothing but the utmost respect and pride his whole life? Ron didn't know whether to revile the young man now or pat him on the back. But if nothing else, it was hard not to feel sympathy for Draco at that moment, seeing the look of grief and pain he wore as he was confronted by the ghost of the man he'd killed. Until just then, Ron never would have believed a Malfoy capable of such a feeling as regret.

The ghost spotted Pooky, clutched tight in Draco's hand. "And here you are with that toy again! Didn’t I take that from you in this very spot, when you were five?" Ron gave Hermione a significant glance; at least that little mystery was solved. She thought with pride that Ron wore a look of pity rather than mirth at this new information. "Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you came back for it," Lucius continued. "So do you remember what I told you that day, Draco?" He floated back in front of Draco. "ANSWER ME!"

Draco flinched, and answered in a rush, "That love is a weakness! That ... to love someone is to give others a weapon, something they can take away from you and hurt you with." What was the matter with him? Why couldn’t he stop obeying his father? What happened to the Draco that had faced the portrait of this man with such derision?

That was only painting.

But didn’t you decide that the real Lucius was just as worthless? Why are you still afraid of a man you'd decided was a coward? ...

"And what happened to you today, Draco?" Lucius prompted. "That Muggle took your Pansy away--"

"YOU tried to take her away from me!" Draco spat back. "And look where it got you! Killed by your own son!"

Lucius' eyes seemed to glow, his expression livid. "And where did that get you, boy? The tortures of the Furies are reserved for those who murder their parents! Imagine what fun they'll have with you, having killed your mother, then me ...."

"Your master killed my mother!" Draco snarled back. "He tortured her into madness, because she begged him not to brand me with this!" He pulled up his sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark, and the three Gryffindors shared another sharp intake of air.

"I knew it," Ron muttered, his eyes narrowing. Hermione shushed him, sensing there was more to the story yet.

"The next day, I woke up and found Mother outside, in a puddle of her own blood! She'd jumped out the window! Because she believed he had killed you, and that she had failed me! She died in my arms, Father! And where the hell were you? She might still be alive if you had only come home when you escaped from Azkaban!"

Unable to get any paler, Lucius seemed to fade a little at that, becoming even more transparent.

Hermione exchanged a look with Ginny, who was openly crying now. Hermione didn’t think she could take things getting any more surreal. The Malfoys might have been two of the few people in the world she could honestly say she hated, but she never would have wished such things as had happened to Draco on anyone. To see your mother die, and be forced to kill your maniac of a father ... for Hermione had no doubt now that the younger Malfoy had been put into some sort of situation where he'd had no real choice in killing the man. A glance at Ron told her he was coming to the same conclusion.

The music drifting to them from below, which after Lucius' entrance had settled into a tense, lyric-less piece, changed to a new song again. Though he'd never heard the tune before, Draco found the words pouring from his mouth,

"Watching me, haunting me
I can feel you pull me down
Fearing you, loving you
I won't let you pull me down!"

Though his eyes glittered with unshed tears, his face was determined and defiant, his voice clear and strong. The Gryffindors might have appreciated it, if they could get past the initial bizarreness factors of hearing Malfoy sing at all, and hearing him speak ill towards the man he'd always worshipped. As it was, Ron shuddered, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. There was some sort of magic going on, he was sure of it.

Lucius laughed. "What's this? You’re going to serenade me now? Do you think that will make me go away? I'm a ghost, Draco! I'm going to haunt you for the rest of your oh-so-numbered days!"

"Is this supposed to surprise me?" Draco drawled, looking bored. "You've already haunted me every day of my life. All I ever wanted was to please you, but nothing I did ever could! All those times you used the Cruciatus Curse on me, and I believed I deserved it!" Hermione and Ginny both let out a cry of outrage. The idea of any parent using one of the Unforgivable Curses as a punishment for their child! It was unthinkable! Draco went on, oblivious to their anger on his behalf. "I told myself that you loved me and that I was forcing you to do those things to me, for my own good!" He closed his eyes and the music changed. More words from another song he didn’t know left his lips, but the words spoke so well of what he felt,

"Oh Father,
You never wanted to live that way
You never wanted to hurt me
Why am I running away?

"But I'm not a child anymore," Draco spoke. "I can no longer lie to myself for your sake. I don’t believe in Father Christmas, and I don't believe in you." He sang again,

"It's funny that way,
you can get used
To the tears and the pain
What a child will believe ...
But you never loved me!

"You can't hurt me now
I got away from you!
I never thought I would ...
You can't make me cry! You once had the power
I never felt so good about myself!"

That seemed to unsettle the ghost a moment, but he quickly recovered. "I may not be able to touch you with my hand or a curse anymore, Draco, but I can still drive you mad!"

"And I told you, it won't make a difference. I'm already haunted." And the music changed again as he continued to sing,

"I'm haunted
By the lives that I have loved
And actions I have hated
I'm haunted
By the promises I've made
And others I have broken, and I ...
I'm haunted
By the lies that wove the web
Inside my haunted head ..."

Draco gripped his head in mental agony, eyes closed as if that would banish his father from the room.

Still there, Lucius tried a different track. "So what will you do now, then, Draco? Work with these Muggle-lovers?" he taunted, "Even though they are so far beneath your station? Coud you willingly rub shoulders with a Mudblood?"

"Hey!" Ron yelled at the ghost, stepping forward menacingly.

Lucius laughed, and flew straight through the Weasley boy, reminding him that there was nothing he could do to the ghost. Ron shuddered, both from the cold and in revulsion at the contact. Hermione linked her arm through his, looking grateful for the attempt. Ron suddenly felt very warm.

"Draco," Lucius cooed, changing tactics yet again, "I only wanted what was best for you: a world where your heritage is given the respect it deserves! How does that make me the villain here?"

"You don't listen very well, do you, Father? I told you I don't believe in you anymore." Tears were flowing freely down Draco's face now. And the music changed again.

"Don't try to tell me
more lies about a world that
never was and never will be
You don't know how you've betrayed me!
Somehow you had everybody fooled
But I know the truth now,
I know who you are,
and I don't love you anymore!
It never was and never will be
You're not real and you can't 'save' me
And somehow now you're everybody's fool!"

With those final words sung, Draco grabbed Ginny's wand and aimed it at the ghost. There was a strange glint in his eye as he cried "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

The silvery form of a dragon sprang forth from the wand, its mass quickly filling the room. Lucius started floating backwards, his face a mask of terror, but the dragon snapped its jaws shut on his vaporous body before he could make his escape. He let out a blood-curdling scream. The four youngsters watched in disbelief as the dragon shook the ghost apart like a dog worrying a pillow, then faded away itself when the deed was done.

[Draco casts the Patronus ...]

Draco started trembling, his eyes wide as he stared at the vacant spot his father and the dragon had occupied just a moment before. His now-numb fingers could no longer hold Ginny's wand, which hit the floor with a clatter, or Pooky, which made a quiet thud as it struck wood. He fell to his knees a moment later. "Whuh ... what the hell was that?" he asked as Ginny picked her wand back up and pocketed it, then tentatively picked up Pooky as well, needing something to occupy her own shaking hands.

Hermione, meanwhile, shot Draco an incredulous look. "You cast a fully-fledged Patronus and didn't even know what you were casting?"

He scowled in confusion at her. "What do you mean, 'fully-fledged'? Fa--Lucius had me learn the Patronus, he said I needed to know it for being around the dementors, but all that ever happened was a funny white light came out of the wand!" Something clicked in his mind. "That time Potter sent that ... that thing at ..." he faltered, realising that bringing up this past event wasn't going to exactly endear him to the Griffindors, but dedided he needed answers more than their friendship, and continued, " ... well, at me and my friends when ... when we were dressed as dementors on the Quiddicth pitch ... that was his Patronus?"

Hermione nodded, still eyeing Malfoy warily.

Draco echoed her nod absently, still in mild shock. Then, quietly, "I was only hoping the Patronus would drive him off like it does dementors. Did ... did that dragon kill him?"

She knew he meant Lucius. "You know, I-I think it did. ... I didn't know Patronuses could do that, though -- or that ghosts could die! Maybe it's because they're both made of spirit energy, and are projections of the self?"

Since she was the most knowlegable one in the room, all the others could do was shrug in reply. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment.

"Then I've killed him again." Draco whispered. He bent his head in shame, his face screwed up in agony. He brought his hands to his head, entwining his fists in his hair as he doubled over, keening.

Buckbeak came over and lay down beside him, nudging him comfortingly. Draco looked up at the hippogiff and wrapped his arms around it, collapsing against it's side and burying his face in the creature's feathers.

Tears still streaming unabashed down her own face, Ginny knelt on his other side, hesitantly reaching out and stroking his hair while she cradled Pooky in one arm. She looked up at her companions, helplessly.

After casting an uncertain glance at Ron, Hermione came over to them, kneeling behind Buckbeak, putting one arm over Draco's shoulder in a sort of half-hug, squeezing comfortingly. Ron's features warred between pity for a being in pain and disgust at the image of his sister and Hermione touching Malfoy. But in the end, even he knelt bedside his old family enemy, between Hermione and Ginny, patting him awkwardly on the back.

He wasn't about to give the boy a hug or anything, though.