Aftermaths, Part 116

by Geri ([email protected])

Rating: Mostly PG-13, but NC-17 for overall story

Pairing: Snape/Lupin, Theodore/Blaise

Warning: AU; events that occurred at the end of Order of the Phoenix were significantly altered from the book.

Sequel to: Always, Summer Vacation, For Old Time's Sake, Three's a Crowd, Return of the Raven, Phoenix Reborn, and Phoenix Rising.

Summary: The various characters deal with the aftermath of the war, and Snape and Lupin try to build a family together with Theodore and Dylan. However, some people are unable to let go of the past...

Author's note: {} Indicates character's unspoken thoughts.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to J.K. Rowling, except Hob, who belongs to William Mayne; no money is being made off this story; consider it a little wish fulfillment on my part.
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Aric was miserable and angry for the rest of the day after receiving the letter. Lupin kept giving him anxious and concerned looks during DADA class, which irritated Aric further. Even Snape, while he did not appear to be concerned, exactly, regarded Aric with a thoughtful frown in Potions class, as if he were trying to figure what Aric was thinking. And when Aric, distracted by that damned letter, botched his potion, Snape didn't call him an imbecile and give him zero marks, but simply told him in a curt voice to start over again. The other students looked as surprised as Aric by this unexpected bit of mercy, but of course no one dared to question Snape about it.

He couldn't even concentrate in his favorite class, Physical Defense. Aric was the best swordsman in the class (other than Master Diggory, of course), but while sparring with the Ron Weasley, he suddenly found himself flat on his back with the tip of Weasley's wooden sword touching his throat. Bested by Weasley, of all people, who had only recently been healed of his injuries and allowed to resume the Defense classes! It was positively mortifying.

"You're dead, Dietrich," Diggory told him. "Or you would be if these swords were real. Weasley, go spar with Finnigan."

"Yes, sir."

Diggory offered Aric a hand up and pulled him to his feet. "I don't know what's troubling you, Aric, but you can't allow yourself to be distracted like that during a fight. It could get you killed."

"They're only practice swords," Aric said sullenly.

"That's not the point," Diggory said sharply. "The point is that I'm supposed to be preparing you to defend yourself in real life. And in real life, an attack can come at any time; you must always be prepared." With inhuman speed, Diggory suddenly snatched up Aric's fallen sword and attacked him in one smooth, swift movement. Aric just barely managed to evade the blow in time.

"That's better," Diggory said approvingly.

"Am I supposed to spend every waking moment on edge, waiting for someone to stab me in the back?" Aric demanded.

There was a strange, feral look in Diggory's yellow-green eyes as he gazed at Aric in silence for a moment. "That is how I have lived for over twenty years," he finally said in quiet voice. "That is how I have managed to stay alive for so long." Then he smiled bitterly. "But you should not find that so unusual, Mr. Dietrich. Is that not how most of the purebloods live? Always on guard, never trusting anyone, always expecting to be stabbed in the back--figuratively, if not literally?"

Aric didn't know how to reply to that. Hadn't his own parents just betrayed him, after all?

Diggory lunged at him again, and again, Aric just barely managed to avoid getting hit. However, the movement left him off-balance, and Diggory kicked out with one leg and swept Aric's feet out from under him. He found himself on the floor again, and saw the wooden blade plunging down towards him. He quickly rolled away, and a few seconds later, the wooden sword hit the floor with such force that it snapped in two. Aric stared at the broken, splintered blade in horror; if he had still been in that spot when it struck...

"Never forget, Mr. Dietrich," Diggory said gravely, "that even wooden blades can kill."

"B-b-but," stuttered Aric, "wh-what if I hadn't been able to dodge that in time?"

Diggory gave him a toothy, wolfish grin. "Oh, then I would have pulled my blow. The question is, do you trust my reflexes?"

Aric knew that his teacher could react more quickly than normal humans, but... "I'd rather trust mine," he said.

Diggory laughed, appearing genuinely amused, his bitterness gone. "A good answer, Mr. Dietrich."

Aric sparred with the werewolf for the rest of the period, being careful to keep his attention focused on what he was doing. Strangely enough, he wasn't angry at his teacher, but rather was grateful to have his worries driven from his mind for at least a little while.

His reprieve was all too short, though. Snape had some errand to run after school, so he turned Aric over to Filch for his detention, and Filch had him scrub some graffiti off the walls of the boys' bathrooms. It was unpleasant work, though not as bad as what the Potions Master would probably have assigned him. But what Aric really disliked about the job was that it kept his hands busy but not his mind, giving him plenty of time to brood about the letter from home.

{What's wrong with me?} Aric wondered. A year, or even six months ago, he might have welcomed the news. After all, every pureblood coveted a position in the Ministry of Magic, particularly one with the opportunity for advancement. And if his bride-to-be left something to be desired, well, he could do far worse. She was a beautiful girl of good blood; if she was a little wild, well, Aric was no angel himself. Maybe they might actually like each other. And if not, then he could always discreetly seek his pleasures elsewhere, once he sired an heir. He had always known that his parents would arrange a marriage for him when the time came. He hadn't been thrilled about it, but he had accepted it as a fact of life. He had been prepared to do his duty, trusting his parents to pick out a compatible wife for him.

But...he did not want to marry Miranda. The very thought made him sick to his stomach, and he didn't know why. She was quite pretty, and it wasn't as if he actually disliked her; he didn't know her well enough to like or dislike her. Although the carefully-worded description in the letter seemed to hint at an unpleasant personality...

"I thought they'd at least let me meet the girl before they started negotiating the contract," Aric whispered to himself. But with the Tierneys dangling a Ministry position as bait, he supposed that his parents had found it too good an opportunity to pass up. They probably even thought that they were doing it for his own good. Maybe...maybe if he explained to them how much he wanted to be a mediwizard, they would change their minds.

Then he laughed at himself bitterly. Who was he kidding? His parents would never allow him to turn down a Ministry position; they would think he was crazy. They would say that it was nice that he wanted to honor Rafe's memory, but that he wasn't a child anymore and he had to think of his duty to his family. He knew how his parents thought; they would try to placate him by saying that he could make a generous donation to St. Mungo's in Rafe's name once he became established at the Ministry. If he worked his way up to a high enough position (with a correspondingly high salary), they might even name a wing after him. But that wasn't what Aric wanted. He wanted to actually heal people, to help them the way Rafe would have. He wanted the challenge of brewing the Wolfsbane Potion or casting healing spells, of doing actual magic rather than pushing paper and playing politics in some Ministry office.

But his parents and grandparents would never understand this. They had always indulged Aric and Erika in small ways, buying them whatever clothes or toys they wanted, and they had even paid for Aric's fencing lessons even though they thought it was a waste of time, but they would never give way when it came to the family honor. They would consider it his duty to go through with this marriage alliance, whether he liked his bride or not, whether he wanted the Ministry job or not.

He suddenly wanted to cry, and he blinked hard to keep the tears from falling, his eyes stinging and his vision blurry. It was stupid to cry just because he wasn't going to be a mediwizard; after all, how bad could a Ministry job be? He'd be the envy of all his housemates. Or was it the marriage that made him want to weep? But what did it matter whom he married? Surely Miranda could be no worse than Yvonne or Pansy or any of the other Slytherin girls who might be considered potential brides. It wasn't as if there was someone else that he was in love with...

His mind quickly shied away from that thought. One girl was as good as another, he supposed. No, it was the thought of giving up his future career as a mediwizard that upset him. Maybe it was silly and childish, but he had set his heart on it, and had been working hard preparing for his N.E.W.T.s with that goal in mind. It had made him feel closer to his uncle, to feel as if he was carrying on Rafe's work. And now it was being taken away from him...

"Mr. Dietrich," Filch said, and Aric jumped. "Well, that wall seems to be very clean," Filch said with grudging approval. Aric stared at the wall in front of him; lost in thought, he had kept scrubbing it over and over long after the graffiti was gone, until it was practically sparkling. "I'm glad to see that you take your punishment seriously," Filch continued. "You're dismissed; dinner will start in fifteen minutes."

Aric had no appetite, though. He hurled a few halfhearted insults Theodore's way, but his cousin ignored them, and Aric couldn't seem to summon up the energy to pick a real fight. From the head table, Lupin was still staring at him with that wide-eyed look of concern. Lupin said something to Master Diggory, who also began looking Aric's way, although his expression was harder to read. Aric wondered if Lupin was going to try to get the entire faculty concerned about him. No doubt Lupin would call Aric into his office tomorrow for "a little chat" and ask him, in that oh-so-compassionate voice of his, what was wrong and if there was anything he could do to help. Aric wished that Lupin and the others would all just leave him alone. There was nothing they could do to help him, and he didn't want their pity.

But despite that, he was feeling very sorry for himself by the time dinner was over. His housemates' chatter about trivial things got on his nerves, so he left the common room and sulked in his room. He tried to study, but couldn't concentrate. He didn't finish his homework, but he didn't care. It hardly seemed to matter anymore; he no longer needed to study become a mediwizard, and his future father-in-law would see that he got a job at the Ministry no matter what his grades were. Although he supposed that for appearance's sake, he ought to try for a decent score on his N.E.W.T.s, which shouldn't be that hard. But there was no need to exert himself.

He decided that he might as well go to bed early, but he couldn't sleep, and was still tossing and turning after the rest of the House was in bed. He finally got dressed, grabbed a bottle of Firewhiskey he had hidden in the back of his closet, and quietly slipped out of his room. He wanted two things: to get drunk enough to forget about the marriage alliance, and to get away from everyone around him. Even sitting alone in his room, he could feel the presence of his housemates around him like an oppressive fog.

He snuck out of the dorm and headed for the Astronomy Tower. There were no Astronomy classes tonight, and it was quiet and peaceful out here, with only the stars for company. It was a clear night, and the stars looked beautiful, like handfuls of diamonds carelessly strewn across a black velvet backdrop. The sight eased the pain in his heart just a little.

He had not noticed Draco following him out of the dorm.
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Draco was still in a rotten mood, but Dietrich piqued his curiosity, and like everyone else, he wondered what was in the letter that had upset him so much. It couldn't be a death in the family, because there was no black ribbon on the envelope as there would for a death announcement, and there was no news of it in the Daily Prophet. Aric's family might not be as influential as the Malfoys had been, but they were of high enough stature to rate a full obituary, possibly even a front-page article on a slow news day, and there was none.

Draco had another nightmare about his father in the middle of the night, which was why he was awake to hear the door to Aric's room, which was near his, open and then close with a very quiet click. Draco got up and opened his own door just a crack, and saw Aric tiptoeing down the hallway. He waited a couple of minutes, letting Aric get far enough ahead so that he wouldn't notice Draco following him, but not so far ahead that Draco would lose sight of him. He thought, with dark humor, that perhaps his Death Eater father would have been proud of how stealthily he was following Dietrich. But then again, probably not. Nothing Draco did had ever seemed to impress Lucius Malfoy very much.

Aric headed for the Astronomy Tower, and Draco slowed down, letting the other boy get further ahead. There was no danger of losing him now, and Draco didn't want Aric to hear his footsteps on the stairs behind him. He wondered if Aric was meeting a girl; the Tower was a popular place for assignations. But no girl appeared to follow Aric, and when Draco cautiously approached the top of the Tower, there was no one waiting for him there, either, and Aric didn't seem to be expecting anyone. Instead he sat down, leaned back against the wall of the Tower, stared up at the sky with a melancholy look on his face, and took a swig from what looked to be a bottle of Firewhiskey.

"Dietrich?" Draco said.

Aric jumped up, spun around, and choked on the mouthful of whiskey. He doubled over, coughing and spraying Firewhiskey from his mouth; Draco remained at a distance to avoid getting any on his robes. "Malfoy!" Aric snarled when he was able to speak. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Draco smirked. "Why, I was just about to ask you the same thing, Dietrich."

"Bugger off, Malfoy."

"Fine," Draco said with a shrug. "I guess you don't mind if I go tell Snape about your little late night excursion."

Aric scowled at him. "What's it going to cost me for you to keep your mouth shut, you little prick?"

"Language, language," Draco admonished, enjoying himself thoroughly. It was nice to have the advantage over someone for a change; it was almost like old times. "What have you got?"

Aric searched his pockets, but apparently they were empty. He hesitated for a moment, then held out the bottle of Firewhiskey. "This is all I have on me right now. It's good stuff."

Draco frowned at the bottle. "I don't suppose you have a glass on you."

"Oh, for God's sake, Malfoy, how much of a pansy are you?" Aric asked, giving him a disgusted look. "Just drink from the bloody bottle."

"I can still go to Snape, you know," Draco snapped, but his pride was stung. He wiped the lip of the bottle with the corner of his robe. "I just don't want to catch any germs from you. Merlin only knows where your mouth has been."

"Either drink or shut up, Malfoy," Aric said. "And anyway, you'd get in trouble, too, for being out after hours."

"I'm a prefect," Draco said. "I was only following you to see what kind of trouble you were getting into. Snape won't punish me." But he wasn't really sure of that. He was no longer Snape's pet, and the Potions Master wouldn't like being woken up in the middle of the night, or worse, being interrupted in bed with Lupin. And he suddenly remembered the time that he had followed Potter and his friends out of the castle one night during first year to get them into trouble. He had reported them to McGonagall, and she had given them detention, but she had given him detention, too, because he had also broken the rules--as Aric had pointed out. It was probably safer to say nothing. So he took a gulp from the bottle, and true to its name, the liquor felt like fire going down his throat. And suddenly he was the one choking and coughing as Aric laughed his head off.

"Shut up, Dietrich!" Draco wheezed. He was surprised that he could still talk, since it felt like the lining of his throat had been burned away. "Merlin's beard, are you trying to kill me? This thing must be poisoned!"

Aric took the bottle from Draco and took a long swig from it. He swallowed with no apparent discomfort, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, grinning widely. "What's the matter, Malfoy--a little too strong for you?"

"I am used to drinking fine wines and champagnes at home," Draco said haughtily, and it was only a slight exaggeration. He did have the occasional glass of wine at dinner when he was home at Malfoy Manor. "Not cheap whiskey."

"It's not cheap," Aric said indignantly. "It's very good--and very expensive--Firewhiskey." He took another swig.

Draco felt a little jealous of how easily the other boy could drink that stuff. It made him look cool and experienced, and made Draco look like a kid getting into his parents' liquor cabinet for the first time in comparison. "Where did you get that, anyway?" he asked in a sulky voice.

"Bought it in Hogsmeade during our last trip," Aric replied casually.

"They sold alcohol to a student?" Draco asked, his eyes widening in disbelief.

"I'm eighteen now," Aric said with a shrug. "It's perfectly legal. The shopkeeper was still a little leery of selling alcohol to a student in a Hogwarts uniform, but a few extra Galleons made him see things my way." He offered the bottle to Draco again; Draco eyed it dubiously. "Try drinking it a little slower this time," Aric suggested, in an almost friendly tone of voice.

Draco took a cautious sip. It still burned going down and brought tears to his eyes, but it wasn't quite so bad this time. And he felt the warmth slowly beginning to spread from his throat and stomach to the rest of his body. It felt good. He took another sip and said, "It's not so bad, once you get used to it."

"Well, don't hog it," Aric said.

"This is supposed to be my bribe for not squealing on you," Draco complained, but he handed the bottle over. Aric took a swig and then handed it back. Draco noticed that Aric was taking much bigger gulps than he was, and decided to follow suit so as to get his fair share. He took a good, long swig and managed not to cough it back up again.

"You're getting the hang of it, Malfoy," Aric laughed, but not in a mean way. Feeling a little mellow under the influence of the Firewhiskey, Draco thought to himself that maybe Dietrich wasn't such a bad guy after all, at least once you got a few drinks into him.

They continued to pass the bottle back and forth in an almost companionable way, both of them growing more relaxed and loquacious with each drink. "So why did you come up here, anyway, Dietrich?" Draco asked.

"It's nice up here," Aric replied, taking another drink. "Peaceful. Wanted to get away from it all."

"Get away from what?" Draco asked, taking the bottle from Aric. The whiskey no longer seemed to burn, but flowed down his throat smoothly, filling his body with a kind of warm, pleasant glow.

"From everything," Aric said with an expansive gesture that seemed to take in the whole school. "You lot." Draco supposed that he meant the Slytherins. "The teachers, especially that stupid do-gooding werewolf. My cousin." Aric grabbed the bottle and took another swig. "My parents."

"Your parents?" Draco asked in confusion; his brain seemed to feel a bit fuzzy. "They aren't at Hogwarts."

"No, but they sent me that letter." Aric tilted his head back, pouring more whiskey down his throat.

Draco grabbed the bottle away from him. "Hey, it's my turn!" he objected. He frowned at the bottle. It was half-empty...or maybe half-full, depending on how you looked at it. Well, it was a pretty big bottle, Draco decided. There was still a lot left, which was good. He took one drink, and then another, since Aric had taken two last time. It was only fair, after all. "What was in the letter?" he asked, handing the bottle back. "You seemed pretty upshet...er..." He paused, then enunciated very carefully, "I mean, upset."

Aric took a very big gulp before handing the bottle back to Draco. "They want to arrange a marriage for me," he said gloomily.

"Really?" said Draco. "To who? Er...whom?"

"Miranda Torry...no, Terry...no, uh...Ti...er...ney. Miranda Tierney."

"Oh, right, she's going to Beauxbatons, isn't she?" Draco asked. He took a sip of whiskey.

"Just graduated," Aric said, still sounding gloomy. He grabbed the bottle from Draco and took a long pull from it. "Don't wanna marry her," he said sullenly.

"Why not?" Draco asked. "Saw her at a party a couple years ago. She's pretty hot. Or at least, she was. Dunno what she looks like now."

"Don't wanna get married," Aric sulked, cradling the bottle of whiskey in his arms.

"Why not?" Draco repeated. "There some other girl you wanna marry?"

Aric frowned, thinking over Draco's question. "No," he said slowly. "No other girl I wanna marry."

Draco snatched the bottle away from him and took a drink. "Well then, what's the problem?"

"I don't wanna get married!" Aric shouted.

"Shh, keep your voice down, Dietrich!" Draco hissed. "Do you want the whole bloody school to hear you?"

"I don't wanna get married," Aric whimpered in a softer voice. "I wanna be a mediwizard."

"What does one have to do with the other?" Draco asked, feeling puzzled.

Aric grabbed the bottle back and took a drink before answering. "Her dad's gonna get me a job at the Ministry after we're engaged."

"But that's great!" Draco said enviously. That was what he had always wanted, a job at the Ministry like his dad.

"Haven't you been listening, Malfoy?" Aric demanded. "I don't WANNA work at the Ministry! I wanna be a mediwizard!"

"Sheesh, all right, calm down!" Draco said, trying to shush him. "Here, have another drink."

"Thanks," Aric said, seeming to forget that it was his bottle in the first place. "You're not so bad, Malfoy." He grinned and slapped Draco on the back.

"Oof!" Draco said. The blow nearly knocked him off-balance, but it seemed to be a friendly gesture rather than an attack. "Thanks," he said, as Aric handed the bottle back to him. "You're not so bad yourself, Dietrich." He took a sip and asked, "Can't you marry this girl and still be a mediwizard?"

"No," Aric said glumly. "Whole point of marrying her is to get the Ministry position. I hate my parents. They don't care what I want." He sniffled a little. "If they did, they'd let me be a mediwizard like Rafe."

Draco didn't know who "Rafe" was supposed to be. The name sounded familiar, but the fuzzy feeling in his brain made it too difficult to recall why. He took another swig of the whiskey as his mind latched onto the one part of Aric's rant that was easy to understand. "I hate mine, too."

"Mine what?" Aric asked, eyes dull and confused.

"Not yours, mine," Draco clarified. "My parents. My dad tried to kill me."

"Yeah, I know," Aric said, pulling the bottle out of Draco's hands and taking a drink. "That sucks."

"And my mum..."

"You hate your mum?"

Draco frowned, confused by the question. "Yes...no...I dunno." He thought of what he had seen by the lake on Valentine's Day, and suddenly a burst of anger cut through the alcohol-induced haze. "I hate the werewolf!" he said fiercely.

"Huh?" Aric asked, puzzled by the sudden change in subject. "You hate Lupin?"

"Not him, the other werewolf! Blethri...I mean, Bleddri..." Draco said, his speech slurring.

"It's Diggory now," Aric reminded him.

"I don' care what his name is! I hate him!"

Aric suddenly seemed to get angry. "Why? What'd he do to you?"

"Stained my family honor!" Draco declared dramatically. "Can't keep his grubby werewolf paws to himself!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy."

"Gonna kill him," Draco said, staggering to his feet. He was struck by a sudden burst of inspiration. "I'll challenge him to a duel! For the family honor!"

"What?" cried Aric. "Now? Are you nuts? You'll get detention!"

"Don't care!" Draco said, filled with determination. "Gonna nail his pelt to my wall!"

"No, you won't!" Aric shouted, unexpectedly lunging at and tackling Draco, knocking him to the ground.

"What're you doing, you crazy git?!"

"You're the crazy one!" Aric retorted. "I won't let you hurt him!"

"What's it to you, you werewolf-lover?!"

"Slimy git!"

They rolled on the ground, flailing at each other. Not all of the blows connected, thanks to their alcohol-dulled reflexes, but Draco managed to split open Aric's lower lip, and Aric, more by chance than intent, struck Draco square on the nose.

"Ow!" Draco wailed. "Nod my node again!"

"God, don't be such a baby, Malfoy!" Aric said contemptuously.

"WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME IS GOING ON UP HERE?!" a deep and very familiar voice bellowed.

Draco and Aric looked up to see three teachers standing over them: Professor Sinistra, who frowned down at them disapprovingly; Snape, who looked furious; and Lupin, who seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh.

Draco and Aric exchanged looks. "Uh-oh," Draco said.

"We're in deep shit, aren't we?" Aric asked.

"Very deep," Lupin agreed, trying to hold back a smile, and Snape glared at him.

Chapter 117