Legacy's Fall

"Malfoy," Ginny repeated. "Malfoy?"

"That's what I said."

"Malfoy?"

"Alright," said Harry slowly. "You sit there and repeat 'Malfoy,'... real helpful, Ginny. While you're doing that, I'll be over here making sense of this."

"What is there to make sense of?" cried Ginny. "It can't be sincere! It's got to be a part of some plan, his father probably put him up to it!"

"Well, of course!" snapped Harry. "It's just another stupid trick of his, don't think that I'm taking this seriously!"

"Can I see it?" Ginny reached out a hand. Harry handed it over and sat back in the chair while Ginny unrolled it.

"Good luck," said Harry. "It's easier to get through one of Hermione's moldy old library books." Harry had had trouble deciphering some parts of Malfoy's letter. Obviously, the git was trying to sound clever just to annoy him. He was fairly sure he'd been seriously insulted- not that he expected different from Malfoy- but he wasn't completely sure how. And what did Malfoy know about his friends anyway, powerful or not? He couldn't know about the Order of the Phoenix, could he? Harry's heart sank. What if he did? Malfoy seemed to know a little too much about things at times, and Harry had always blown it off. Malfoy was the sort who would use any occasion to brag about what he knew, and Harry's lack of patience with the obnoxious Slytherin didn't grant him any further insight than assuming it was something his father had told him. And Lucius Malfoy had never done anything that wasn't purely motivated by evil. As far as Harry was concerned, Malfoy's mother was no better. She had been the one who had taken in Kreacher and betrayed Sirius's location! How was that working for his side? If Malfoy thought that the idea of his mother in trouble was going to rouse Harry to heroics, he was even more deluded than Harry had thought.

"Well, this is a piece of work," announced Ginny, having finished reading the letter for herself.

"Yeah," said Harry distractedly. His brain had latched onto something. "How could his father put him up to anything right now? He's in Azkaban."

"Then his mother put him up to it! They're all the same, Harry, and they'd all like to see you dead!"

Harry knew nothing else of Narcissa Malfoy besides the fact that she was Sirius's cousin and - he suppressed a shudder - Bellatrix Lestrange's sister. "Do you know anything about her?"

Ginny looked surprised. "Does it matter? She married into that lot, didn't she? Rumor has it she hardly ever leaves Malfoy Manor. That's all people say, besides that she's supposedly very good-looking. And if that's all that can be said about you, you haven't got much going."

"She's pretty, I guess. She didn't look too happy when we saw her at the World Cup."

"She hangs about with Malfoys. I wouldn't look too happy, either."

Harry sat back in his chair. "Could I have that letter back?" Ginny complied, and Harry scanned through it again.

"He thinks he's going to die."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Harry, nothing's going to happen to him. He's invented a load of bollocks to try and trap you."

Certain parties were made aware... of what?... as of last night. "Last night," said Harry suddenly. "I had a nightmare last night. Voldemort was angry about something."

"You think it had something to do with this," Ginny said accusingly. "You're starting to believe it."

"Not really," said Harry. "But...if Malfoy's mum was spying or whatever, and Voldemort found out last night..."

"He could have planted that in your mind, Harry!" Ginny was raising her voice, and Harry made a violent shushing motion.

"It wasn't the same! It wasn't like... Sirius. It was fainter. I couldn't make any sense of it."

"Stop it, Harry! Throw the damn letter away!" Confusion Harry could understand, but this blind terror threw him off his guard. He scrambled to say something reassuring.

"If Malfoy was trying to trick me," Harry paused to collect his thoughts. "He wouldn't be so, I don't know, such an arse. And he'd say it was him. He'd say he changed his mind and wanted me to help him get out. He doesn't care about himself, he said so. He thinks he'll be dead."

"He's a Slytherin. They never say what they mean, and he knows full well you wouldn't lift a finger for him!"

"Ginny, be quiet!" he hissed. He wasn't convinced about the letter either way, but if Ginny didn't stop bellowing, they'd have bigger problems, in the very literal sense of Uncle Vernon kicking the door down.

As it was, he was leaning towards taking Ginny's advice and pitching the letter in the wastebasket. He didn't often think to count Malfoy among the ranks of people he knew, but he had known him for five years, and he had never seen Malfoy care one bit about the welfare of other people. Harry had a fleeting vision of Malfoy gleefully restraining the fleeing members of the D.A., and for a moment, he couldn't believe he had tried to justify the letter. A million lectures at the hands of Hermione flashed through his head, about a million hunches and suppositions that had turned out be wrong. Last time he'd thought someone was in danger, he hadn't questioned it, and it had cost him his godfather. Hermione had always nagged him about seeking an adult's advice, and if he'd done that in the case of Sirius, swallowed his pride and asked Dumbledore or called on Lupin or something, he'd have avoided drawing Sirius into a mess that had gotten him killed.

Ginny slammed a hand down on the bedspread, startling Harry out of his reverie. "Harry, don't just sit there thinking. I know I won't like the outcome."

"I'm going to write to Remus Lupin," said Harry.

Ginny blinked. "Oh."

Apparently she was going to shut up for a few minutes, and Harry took full advantage of it to scribble a note to his former teacher, explaining the substance of Malfoy's letter and being sure to explicitly state that he wasn't planning on doing anything, he just wanted to be sure. Hedwig, only too glad to leave again, was off within minutes. Harry turned back to his guest. "You told me not to let you stay too long. If you want to get home before dark, you should go now."

"And miss Professor Lupin's reply? I don't think so." It was obvious from death grip she was maintaining on the bedclothes that he wasn't getting rid of her anytime soon. Harry rolled his eyes. He really shouldn't have expected her to go home. He supposed he wouldn't, in her place, without knowing what was going to happen, but he still wasn't sure if he wanted her to stay.

"Fine," he growled out finally.

"Should I worry about your relatives?"

"Not as long as you keep your voice down. If you're hungry I can go get some food."

"I'm starving, but if it's trouble, don't bother."

Harry glared at her for what felt like the eighteenth time. "Oh, now you're worried about being trouble."

"I'm beginning to feel a bit unloved," muttered Ginny, ducking her head and folding her arms around her middle.

"I'll go get food," Harry said quickly, and slipped out. He wasn't sure that Ginny was honestly upset at all, but he really did not possess the patience to witness someone else's range of emotions anytime in the near future.

Harry slunk into the kitchen for the second day in a row, and for the second day in a row, he went ignored. He was even more grateful for it this time, because he didn't want anyone to notice that he was fixing two plates, but then again his aunt and uncle might not care if he had two heads at this point. He hoped no one noticed his quick exit and took it upon themselves to find out what he was doing, because he wasn't sure that he wanted to be responsible for the level of confusion that would be created if a girl, crying or otherwise, were discovered in his bedroom. He more fervently hoped that Ginny had gotten over her pouting episode by the time he returned, because he wanted nothing more than to sit in relative peace for a while and wait for the answer to his letter.

Ginny was not pouting, nor was she crying. She pounced on the plate and appeared to be currently devoting all emotional energy to eating. He'd thought that he was getting hungry, but Ginny put him to shame. She had polished off all of her sandwiches before Harry was finished with his second. He sort of wished that she would remove herself from the bed, so he could maybe get a nap in before something happened, but she looked pretty comfortable and Harry did not push the issue.

He tried to make an estimation as to when he might actually receive an answer to his letter. If Malfoy was telling the truth, and help was needed the next night, there wasn't going to be much time to do anything if Lupin happened to be far away. If he were relatively close, and if he wrote back immediately after Hedwig got to him, Harry could expect his owl back within an hour or two. But then, he didn't know how long it would take to round up anyone else to help them, and it might be a few more hours yet before they could all be off, and if Malfoy really needed help, he should have given more notice.

Ginny had picked up a spellbook from Harry's bedside table and was paging through it absently. Apparently she had nothing more to say to Harry, and he didn't feel inclined to break the silence himself. He wondered why she didn't just go. The longer she stayed, the worse her trouble at home would be, and if she was so convinced that the letter from Malfoy was a trick, why was she waiting on confirmation? Harry couldn't think about that anymore without developing a headache, and he turned his attention outside, having nothing more compelling to fix it on.

The sun had gone down, but the air was still muggy and uncomfortably hot. The sunset was actually rather lovely, even obscured as it was by the houses across the street. It painted the walls of Harry's room red and orange, and for a moment it didn't look like the miserable place it was. He had not heard Dudley come home, and in another minute, Aunt Petunia put the porch light on and stepped out into the front drive. She put one hand up over her eyes and peered down the street both ways. Even Aunt Petunia didn't look nearly so unpleasant when she was gilded by the dying sunlight. Harry watched her return to the house, shaking her head and muttering to herself, and he heard the door close firmly behind her. Then a rock came sailing through the open window.

Harry started so badly that he nearly fell out of his chair. Ginny let out a yelp. The rock, unperturbed by all of this, skidded harmlessly to a stop on the floor. They both stared at it for a few seconds, baffled. Harry picked it up warily, struggling to untie the string that bound a small piece of paper to it. It contained a short, nearly illegible message.

Meet me at the nearest street corner. The coast is clear. Bring that letter. - R.L.

He handed it to Ginny without a word, figuring there was no way he could stop her from following. "I'm not risking the window again," she said firmly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "If we hurry, we can make to the front door before anyone sees us."

Aunt Petunia was occupied in the kitchen, and Uncle Vernon was nowhere to be seen, which did not really reassure Harry, and he put a hand between Ginny's shoulder blades and steered her all the way to the door. They were quicker than they were quiet, and when Harry shut the front door behind them, he distinctly heard Aunt Petunia call out, "Dudley, is that you?"

"Run," hissed Harry. They cut across the yard and took off down the sidewalk, not stopping until they were nearly at the corner.

"Where is he?" Ginny panted.

Harry rested his hands on his knees and tried to get control of his breathing. "Professor Lupin?" he called quietly.

"Over here," came the urgent voice from behind a stand of trees. "And don't call me Professor; I haven't been your teacher in two years."

Harry ducked behind the trees, and Remus Lupin came into view, looking just as tired as he had the last time Harry had seen him, but appearing oddly younger in jeans, trainers, and T-shirt, with his hair tied back.

"Why did you come all the way here, Prof- uh- Remus?" He hadn't really addressed him as anything since he'd called him Professor, and "Mr. Lupin" seemed absurdly formal to him.

"This was important," Remus said sharply.

He reached out for the letter, but Ginny, who had not immediately followed, now slunk into the clearing, looking guilty and not meeting anyone's eyes.

Remus looked at her with some surprise. "Oh," he said dryly, "there's Ginny Weasley."

She cringed visibly, and came no closer. "You," said Remus firmly, "have caused a bit of a fuss. Your mother is frantic; she thinks you've been kidnapped."

"Kidnapped!" cried Ginny. "That's going a bit far! Then Ron must think his broom's been kidnapped, too. He's probably got reward notices posted all the way to Diagon Alley - "

"Can I see that letter, please?"

Harry handed it over, glad to have it out of his hands. Remus's face got whiter as he read, and real fear played across his features for a moment before he recollected himself. His eyes glanced over it three times, and then he quickly stuck the letter out for Harry to take back. Harry hesitated, confused, but Remus shook the letter rather violently until Harry took it from him.

Remus put one hand up to his face, pinched the bridge of his nose firmly, and took several deep breaths. "Well," he said shakily, "well, that... answers some questions."

Harry had never seen the man quite so agitated, and what he had said wasn't nearly a satisfying enough response for the situation at hand. He stared down at the letter dumbly. Remus has too visibly concerned for this to be a lie. "This is true," Harry said flatly. "It's not a trick."

Remus regarded them both. He looked as though he were about to say something, but changed his mind. He stared pointedly at the ground and said softly, "Harry, you did the right thing. It was a good thing you wrote to me."

Here it comes, thought Harry. He's going to tell us both to run along home and be good. This would have been the downside of soliciting adult help. Once it was in their hands, all they seemed to want to do was get him out of the way when he was the one who had pointed out the problem in the first place.

Determined not to leave under he had some answers, and certain Ginny wouldn't, either, he blurted out, "So Malfoy's mum is a spy?" at the same time that Ginny asked, "Why was it a good thing we wrote to you?"

Remus's head snapped back up. "If you must know," he said briskly, "the short answers are yes and because. And I don't have time for more questions. I have to go take care of this, and I have to go now." He left the clearing in a hurry and burst back out onto the sidewalk with Harry and Ginny behind him, struggling to keep up. They exchanged a nervous look. Neither one had ever seen him act like this, and he hadn't explained his panic one bit. And it had become increasingly clear that Remus was planning on leaving them behind.

"Wait," said Harry. Remus stopped so suddenly they almost plowed into him, and whipped back around. "You can't just leave me here. If you're going off to Malfoy Manor- I mean, If you're really going to go off there- you can't go alone, and besides, Malfoy asked for my help." He held the letter up. "He expects me to be there. He said so."

"Harry, Dumbledore would have my hide if I let anything happen to you. I cannot in good conscience drag you off into danger. However," he said with a heavy sigh, "I don't really have the authority to tell you what to do. I don't recommend it as a friend, but if you were to decide to come along, I could not stop you. But you," he said, turning to Ginny, "do have concerned parents at home, and you don't have the degree of emancipation Harry does. You should go home."

Harry was gratified that there would be no opposition for him, as he had already decided that he very definitely was going along, at the very least to have this whole mystery explained to him. As for the opposition to Ginny, he knew it would trigger an explosion, and he discreetly moved a few inches further away from her.

To his surprise, no explosion came. "I'm already involved, aren't I?" she said evenly. "Two people aren't much better than one, and I'd be at least as much help as Harry. I can't very well go home, knowing that you two are off to do something so dangerous."

Remus looked extremely strained. "We don't have time to argue. This is a very serious matter, and while I'd be happier if neither one of you came with me, I'd rather have you in front of me where I can keep track of you than sneaking along behind me somewhere. Hurry up if you're coming, and please save your questions - I'll try and explain when we're on our way."

They took off down the sidewalk again at a brisk walk, Remus having decreed that running was going to draw too much attention. He made to turn off down a side street and thus skirt the Dursleys', when Ginny spoke up.

"I have to get Ron's broomstick. I left it in the yard."

"Hurry," was all Remus said. To Harry: "Do you need to get anything?"

Harry shrugged. "I have my wand. Do I need my broomstick, too?"

Remus shook his head. "Flying will attract too much attention." He was silent a moment and then said, "I still hesitate to bring her along, but I have my reasons for not wanting her to go home. I'm going to take every measure I can to keep her away from actual danger." He leveled his gaze at Harry. "I know full well I never could have stopped you, and the selfish part of me is glad you're along for this. I know I'm not..." he closed his eyes, "but you're nearly all I've got right now."

Harry, who had not considered the idea that he might be important to Remus, swallowed painfully. He knew Remus had just stopped short of actually speaking Sirius's name, and Harry wondered how the older man felt, with all of his friends dead or lost to him, standing there looking at someone else's son, someone else's godson. He didn't have any claim on Harry, and yet, by virtue of association, he did. "Yeah," he said finally, "you, too."

They shared a brief, tenuous smile before Ginny came barreling back into view, clutching the broomstick. "Sorry," she gasped out. "Somebody saw me, so I just took off running."

"Where are they?" snapped Harry. "Did they come after you?"

"No, but they gave me an odd look."

"We'd better move on," Harry said to Remus. "The neighbors are a bit nosy and I wouldn't put it past them to call the police if they saw something strange."

"Tremendous," Remus said dryly. "Come on."

The three set off even faster than before, Ginny and the broomstick bringing up the rear. Harry felt a touch of déjà vu as they careened around the corner onto Wisteria Walk. He was spending yet another hot summer night in peril on the streets of Little Whinging, and it was not a scenario he had ever cared to revisit. Remus was slowing down ahead of them now, and Harry realized that they were approaching Mrs. Figg's house.

"Is Mrs. Figg going to help us?" Harry asked, drawing alongside of Remus.

"In a manner of speaking," was the opaque reply. Remus bypassed the front door and disappeared into the shadows beside the house. Harry heard his foot connect with something hard, and a muttered curse word. In the wake of the noise, several cats came flying out of the darkness.

"Get back here out of sight," he hissed at Harry and Ginny. As they drew closer, Harry could make out Remus's silhouette. He was on hands and knees, scrabbling under the front tire of an old, rather shabby-looking car. "Keys have got to be around here somewhere - ah!" He stood up, dangling a key triumphantly from his hand. "It should be unlocked. Get in."

Close on the heels of the very odd thought that Mrs. Figg should own a car, was the thought of how upset she would be to awaken tomorrow morning to find it gone. "We're stealing Mrs. Figg's car?" At least if that neighbor had called the police, it would give them a real crime to pursue.

"We're borrowing Mrs. Figg's car," said Remus, entirely too calmly. "She hardly uses it, and I think she let her driving license lapse anyway."

This did not entirely convince Harry, but he climbed on into the passenger seat.

"Why do you get to sit up front?" groused Ginny.

"I'm not the one dragging a broomstick along, am I!"

Remus cleared his throat significantly. "Is this what I should expect from you two the entire trip?"

Harry and Ginny were silent.

"Good," said Remus cheerfully. The engine came alive with a little protest, but it soon evened out, and Remus eased the car down the drive and into the street.

Harry waited until they were out of the neighborhood before preparing to launch a barrage of questions, but Ginny, who had leaned up over the seat, beat him to it. "Where exactly are we going?"

"Malfoy Manor is near Marlborough."

"That's what, maybe fifty miles from here?" Harry said in surprise. "Why the rush?"

"We can't drive up to the front doors, Harry," said Remus. "We can't even drive in very close to the property, because there are no roads out there. The car will have to be left somewhere, and I'm afraid we'll be doing a great deal of walking, since neither of you can Apparate."

"Why can't we just ask someone else in the Order to help us?" asked Harry.

"That's just not a good idea," snapped Remus. "Quiet a minute, I have to get on the motorway."

As Remus interpreted the traffic signs and got them headed in the right direction, Harry stared out the front window very resolutely, nearly having to bite his tongue to keep from resuming the inquisition. After a minute or two, when no travel considerations could distract Remus any longer, he started speaking.

"I owe you at least some explanation. I'll try to make this as short as possible." Harry, amazed to be acquiring information that was not gotten by persistence, stubbornness, or a great deal of whinging, allowed Remus the silence in which to tell his story. He felt Ginny stir behind him, and mostly to forestall any outbursts on her part and partly because he just plain wanted to, he reached back and pinched her on the arm. She slapped at his hand, but stayed mercifully quiet.

"I've known Narcissa Black ever since I was at school- we were all in the same year. My friends didn't care for her, but I always got on with her. Well," he spared a sideways glance at Harry, "your mother liked her well enough, too. I didn't see much of Narcissa after she married, but several months before her son was born, I heard from her again.

"She wrote to me out of nowhere, said she was in trouble, and asked me to meet her at such and such a place. I honestly had no reason not to trust her, so I went. She looked terrible." Remus shook his head and refocused on the road. "She said that congratulations were in order, she was having a baby, and she was a complete crying mess all around."

Harry found it amusing that the impending arrival of Draco Malfoy would cause his mother to cry, but he forced himself to hold back a snort of laughter.

"Then she told me what not even the Aurors had managed to find out- that Lucius was a Death Eater."

"Was there ever any question of that?" Ginny interjected.

"Oh, yes," said Remus. "There certainly was. He did manage to escape any conviction on that count. He's no fool, and at least in those days, he was very discreet. There were plenty of people who stayed out of things completely. Lucius kept his nose so clean for most of the war that even when it was obvious where his loyalties lay at the end, he was able to claim brainwashing, and he was believed."

Which explained very well why Lucius Malfoy had walked free for so long, but caused Harry some shock. The elder Malfoy had been so clear a villain in Harry's mind that he couldn't understand why anyone would believe in his innocence, or at the very least, his lack of involvement.

"Narcissa was always a bit of a fence-sitter herself, but when she found out about Lucius, she got... well, angry. We set up a few methods of contact, and if she found out anything she thought would be of interest to me, she passed it along. She... thought I would do the right thing. I was forever between jobs and about the country, she had to know I had no influence with anyone. All I had was the Order, and Narcissa had asked me to keep our communications between the two of us, for fear of her own safety and her son's."

"If you couldn't tell anyone about her, what did you do with any of the information?" Ginny demanded.

Remus laughed bitterly. "Well, there was my conundrum. I didn't exactly want to go blabbing about her at any rate, even if she'd given me leave to, because everyone in the Order knew that there were leaks within our ranks, even if nobody knew quite where they were." He gave an apologetic grimace, and Harry knew he was thinking of Wormtail. "My work for the Order has always been rather independent, so I was able to act on some things alone. If I needed help, I could usually claim that I'd overheard something on one of my rambles. And if nothing else, I fell back on the tactic of 'anonymous letters.' It really wasn't so hard, and it's not as if she could tell me much, besides a few comings and goings and bits of conversations she'd overheard."

The reminder of Wormtail jogged something else in Harry's memory. "Sirius thought you were the spy."

In an instant, he was sorry he had said it. There was a brief screech of tires as the car swerved almost off of the road, and Remus's entire demeanor changed, his face contorted in pain. "Yes," he said in a carefully neutral tone. "Yes, he did. I will admit, I didn't come off very innocently. I lived with him. We-" another rapid shake of the head. "I do not need to explain everything that happened. It became very evident that I was concealing something, and that did not make me look very good."

"Didn't you ever tell him the truth?"

"No. I never did. I should have, I suppose, but I was afraid for Narcissa where she didn't have the sense- or I should say she never had the ability- to be afraid for herself. What was it she always said? 'Information not shared goes no further than yourself,' or something to that effect. I've kept her secret until now, although it appears that the secret is now obsolete."

"So you still talked to her after the war?" Harry asked.

Remus shrugged. "Not much, really. I asked that the channels be kept open, because I worried about her. I heard from her less and less often, but she always seemed to get in touch with me just as I was becoming truly alarmed. When... things started happening again, the frequency of her communications increased, if not the substance." His mouth twisted into a rueful smile. "There was a code word she was supposed to use if she thought she had been found out, and she never did, and so I told myself that she wasn't in any trouble. I hadn't heard from her in over a month when you wrote to me. There, Ginny, that answers your earlier question, at least. It was a very good thing that Harry asked me about it. Anyone else would have told you it was a hoax."

"And now they're really going to kill her," said Ginny softly.

"They are really not, if I have anything to say about it," Remus declared.

"They who?" Harry put in. "Who exactly are we facing?" He swallowed, a knot of fear forming in his stomach. "Voldemort?"

"Gods, no!" Remus said vehemently. "If I thought that, I would most certainly never have brought you two along! This is a task for his underlings. I'm sure he's properly enraged with Narcissa, but he's not about to bother himself with personally going after her. No, I'm sure there's only the one Death Eater standing guard, although I'm sure it would certainly not have troubled young Mr. Malfoy too much to say who."

"Who do you think it is?" asked Ginny.

Remus turned his head back to her for a split second. "I wish I could say for sure, there are certainly a few possibilities." He snorted. "That's why that letter is so infuriating. He's given us just enough to go on, but he didn't fully explain everything."

"He's always like that, because he's an annoying arse," Harry supplied helpfully.

A long suffering sigh. "I realize that you have a long-standing conflict with Draco Malfoy. I hope you realize that I do not intend to leave Malfoy Manor without both of them."

Harry had known this as a matter of fact, but he hadn't quite internalized it yet. His mind had only gone so far as to hope that Narcissa was an agreeable enough person to have to spend a little time with. He'd never had the concrete thought that if Malfoy wasn't dead as he rather overdramatically assumed he would be, Harry would be leaving the Manor with the ferret-face himself in tow. And it wasn't likely that he would be discovering a use for Malfoy's company anytime soon.

"Well, yeah," he said slowly. "But I guess I thought he wouldn't really want to leave as long as we got his mum out."

Remus's voice turned tight and clipped. "Regardless, he'll have to leave, or end up getting killed. It sounds like he's come up with some sort of plan of his own, and that is not going to go over very well. In some respects, he's in even worse danger than his mother."

Harry chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. He disliked Malfoy tremendously, but he didn't really want to see him dead. Shut up for life sure, both verbally and physically, and he did wish he didn't have to spend actual time around Malfoy, but he couldn't wish death on anybody. He expelled a breath so viciously that it sent the hair over his face flying upward. He really had to go rescue Malfoy. Dammit. The little weasel probably wouldn't even be grateful enough to stop being completely horrible to Harry, either. Hopefully they could offload him and his mother at the first available opportunity. He turned half around to see how Ginny was reacting to all of this, but she had fallen asleep across the backseat. Harry rolled his eyes. He didn't see how she could manage to sleep right now, but then he didn't really know what she was adding to this little adventure when she was conscious, anyway.

"How much further?" he asked Remus.

"Twenty minutes or so, depending on how close in we can get. Then it's on foot, and we'll have to wait it out." Remus pushed a loose piece of hair behind his ear, glanced at his watch, and sped up. "You might want to follow her example and get a brief nap."

Harry shook his head. "I wouldn't be able to sleep."

Silence settled in on them for about five minutes, and then Remus cleared his throat.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Harry turned his head, and caught Remus's eyes briefly. They were shadowed and unreadable in the dark, but Harry thought he detected a little wetness in them.

"For what?" was all he could manage to say.

"I hope that's a rhetorical question," said Remus mysteriously, and Harry could conceive no answer to that, so he remained silent.

Outside, the darkness passed by swiftly.

******************************************

Draco jerked himself out of sleep and scrambled for his watch frantically. Daylight was pouring through his windows, and judging by the angle of the sun, he had slept much later than he'd needed to.

It was going on nine o'clock, and he'd missed breakfast. He bit off a curse and punched the bed angrily. He'd done so well at playing normal yesterday, but now he was already making mistakes in this crucial last stretch.

There was nothing to be done about it now. He could always come up with a credible excuse for making a rather late appearance. Draco arched his back in a vain attempt to rid himself of the ache in his muscles. His mouth felt like he had swallowed a desert, and the light was stabbing him between the eyes. He groaned and sat up, raking his hair out of his face. He hadn't bothered to cut it in a while, and he rather liked the way it looked, but he didn't care for the way it adhered to his skin overnight. Not that he'd have to worry about messy hair for too much longer.

Draco decided to skip his shower, because the sooner he got downstairs, the better, and it wasn't as though it mattered very much right now if he were clean. He stumbled, stiffly and groggily, into his closet, and grabbed an old, comfortable set of clothes. Black, he thought, very appropriate, very theatrical. Really, Draco. He got dressed in them regardless, because even if he was going to be dead later, he didn't care for the thought of a violent, messy death ruining his nicer clothing. He retrieved his wand and the paperweight from under his pillow and stashed them in a pocket. He wasn't letting either one get out of reach.

He only needed to collect his book, and then he was going to force himself to go downstairs. The book had been his short-term escape plan. He'd been carrying it around, even to meals, pretending complete absorption so that he would be left alone. It had worked remarkably well, even though he'd drawn some arch looks from Narcissa for reading at the table. The thing was, he thought glumly, was that he would have been completely absorbed under normal circumstances. It was a book on Potions theory that he'd bought for himself in Hogsmeade last year, and what with one thing or another, he'd only gotten through a few chapters. Draco stroked the cover idly. He'd been looking forward to finishing it.

It was getting harder and harder to shake off thoughts like that one, but Draco forced himself to do it. There was a lump in his throat, but at least his eyes were too painfully dry to tear up.

Draco stopped in at his mother's door to check on her, but Narcissa was not in her room. That meant that his first problem was solved, for the moment at least. He wanted her out and about and aware of what was going on. It would make it that much easier for Potter and company to find her and get her out of here.

There was a thought that almost could make him cry. He'd actually gone and invited Harry Potter to his house, and though it was far from a friendly get-together, it still galled him. Draco comforted himself with the knowledge that he would not have to actually suffer Potter's presence, and that the four-eyed imbecile would be the one dealing with the aftermath. Of course, Potter would probably go crowing to the rest of the world that Draco Malfoy's last conscious act was to beg for his particular brand of heroic salvation, which was a horrible concept, but it would honestly not be Draco's problem by that point. Besides, if the powers that be could be reasoned with at all, Draco would be taunting Potter from beyond the grave as long as possible. Some things could just not be counted on to change.

His mother and aunt were still in the breakfast room, and although Bellatrix appeared to be following the script by sending knowing smirks at her sister and methodically twirling her wand, Narcissa was sprawled in her customary chair, surreptitiously blowing her cigarette smoke in Bellatrix's direction, calmly reading the paper and drinking... coffee? Good girl, Draco thought, feeling a faint stirring of pride.

His mother looked up upon his entrance. "Good morning, dear," she said with unaffected cheeriness.

"Um," Draco said dumbly. "Morning, Mum."

"I hope you slept well. Here, have a scone," she said, thrusting a plate at him.

Here, have some vodka, Draco's brain blurted out. He managed to stop the impulse before it reached his mouth, and he stood there blinking for a moment, holding the plate woodenly. He was not entirely sure that sobriety was agreeing with his mother. Of course, it might have just been the environment that was throwing him off. A pervasive quiet hung over the room when no one was speaking, and even the air seemed brittle.

He realized that Bellatrix was looking at him oddly, and Draco collected himself. "Good morning," he said to her as evenly as he could manage.

Bellatrix smiled her sickeningly sweet smile at him. "You don't look very well this morning, Draco," she simpered.

"I'm fine, thanks." Draco sat down and reflected that now might be a good time to open his book. Bellatrix was a fine one to talk, anyway. At least her robes were tidy enough this morning, but with her lank hair and the way her parchment-thin skin stretched over her face, she looked like a malnourished madwoman.

"You've been up half the night reading, I'm sure."

Draco nodded absently and turned yet another page that he hadn't read a word of. The crackle of parchment echoed loudly in the stillness of the room. The paperweight was pressing into his thigh, but Draco found it reassuring rather than uncomfortable.

"He's a very intelligent sort of boy." This remark appeared to have been addressed to Narcissa, who did not outwardly acknowledge it. "If he applies himself this diligently in all aspects of his life, you and Lucius should expect great things from him."

Draco thought it was a very admirable thing that he kept his mouth shut and his anger from showing. You have no idea, you decrepit hag, he thought viciously. On the heels of that was the foreign thought that Narcissa and Lucius would be expecting anything in tandem.

Bellatrix seemed to be awaiting a response, and at length Narcissa flicked her eyes up from the paper and said, "Hmm? Oh, I can hardly disagree with that."

This will be the rest of my life. I will spend my last hours listening to crazy women trying to kill each other with pleasantries. He didn't think he could make it twelve more hours like this. He might end up trying to papercut himself to death with this very book.

He assumed that Narcissa's nonchalant behavior was a smoke screen intended to at least provoke Bellatrix, if not throw her off guard completely. Admirable tactic, but that didn't stop it from getting on Draco's nerves. He was not up to maintaining that level himself, and was banking on being borderline rude to get him through. Maybe age, maturity, and lack of general sanity had something to do with her coping technique - after all, she was expecting to end up dead, too - but Draco half wondered if she didn't have something up her sleeve.

All he could do now was bide his time and hope that she wasn't up to anything that was going to run counter to his objectives, and that she would be receptive to the last-minute warning he had planned.

Bellatrix made an observation on what a lovely day it had turned out to be, which Narcissa also could not disagree with, and Draco was trying to decide if he should add a third opinion when he was saved by the entrance of a house-elf bearing a letter.

Draco was sure that no house-elf in the entire history of Malfoy Manor had ever been favored with such interested attention from three people. It handed the letter off to Bellatrix without a word, and had turned to leave before realization struck Draco. He would be the first person to admit that he paid little mind to house-elves in general, but he did tend to recognize all of the Manor's house-elves by sight and he had never seen this one before. It was as dirty and decrepit as Bellatrix herself was, and so elderly and stooped that it was a wonder to Draco that it managed to get around at all. Bellatrix must have brought it along with her; it certainly looked like something she would own.

Narcissa was staring daggers at it, which Draco assumed that she was doing on general principle and confirmed his suspicions of the house-elf's ownership. It regarded Draco with curiosity and Narcissa with such open disdain that Draco fought the impulse to kick it as it passed by.

The snap of fresh parchment brought Draco's attention back to the room. Bellatrix opened her letter, smiled so widely that her canines were visible, flashed the paper ostentatiously at Narcissa, and left the room, the house-elf on her heels.

Immediately, Narcissa stood and crossed the room to the window, beckoning Draco along with her. When she had him within range, she grabbed his arm and steered him into the corner, mouthing something that he couldn't make out.

"What?" Narcissa scowled and clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Quiet," she muttered so low that it was almost indistinct. "Do you know what you're going to do?"

She had not removed her hand, so Draco could do little but give her an incredulous look.

"Allow me," she continued, "to suggest that you get on your broomstick, get as far away as you can, and hide."

There were several things wrong with that suggestion, starting with the fact that the wards meant he wouldn't get any further than the greenhouse and ending with the fact that he'd spent a week and a half developing a cunning rescue plan that wasn't going to get ruined because she was trying to be noble.

He shook his head and pulled her hand away. "I can't go, Mum."

"You can't go?" Her words were icy and clipped, something unreadable building behind her eyes.

That was what he had said, wasn't it? "I'm not going anywhere, Mother," he said slowly and distinctly. He didn't really want to deliver his warning this early on, when she still had time to stop him, but if she didn't stop badgering him, he might have to.

"Fine, then," she said coldly. "You stay here."

There was a slight break in posture, but she straightened up almost immediately and backed away a few steps. She nodded once, firmly, and turned.

It took Draco a few precious seconds to realize what she thought he was saying. He reached out for her arm, to make her turn around, to tell her he'd chosen her, that he didn't mean it like that. In the split second where Draco's hand was suspended midair, before the door opened to admit Bellatrix into the room, a coherent train of thought pulled itself out of the confusion. Narcissa would have to doubt him, at least for a few hours. It would be safer now that she wasn't looking to him for support, now she wouldn't notice anything was amiss with him until the end, and if she picked up on any part of his plan, she would stop him. It was just better this way. Draco was surprised, though, at how much it hurt. His mother had never turned her back on him before, and he couldn't bear to have her think that he had chosen to stand back and let her die. But suddenly, fate had given him less time with a bloody vengeance, because Bellatrix was back and Draco had to pull himself together.

Bellatrix raised one eyebrow at seeing the two of them on the other side of the room, but before she could comment, Draco broke in. "I was just telling Mum that I thought I'd take a walk."

"Were you?" she said interestedly.

Draco made a noise of assent, and smiled pleasantly. "I'd like to go read in the garden. Excuse me," he said as he brushed past Bellatrix on the way out. She caught his arm, not firmly, but she held on until he looked up at her face. She narrowed her dark eyes down at him, and Draco had to remind himself that he was not intimidated by people just because they were all taller than him, and he mustered up what he hoped was a pleasant half-smile.

"Did you need something, Aunt Bella?"

"Oh, no," she said airily. "You enjoy your walk."

His mother was safe until midnight, he told himself. Everything would be good and over by then, so he had nothing to worry about, really, in leaving her for a few hours. Besides, he was going to indulge himself in this one thing and take a last walk around the park. It was immaterial what Narcissa thought right now, although he hated to be the one who had put that look on her face. She would know soon enough what his choice had been.

As he crossed through the entrance hall, he put his hand in his pocket and closed it around the paperweight. It wasn't as though it was going anywhere, but he still felt the need to keep up with it. He trailed his fingers along its smooth surface once, idly, before withdrawing his hand and straightening his robes in an effort to appear nonchalant.

Branwyn's portrait was empty, which was odd, but even more out of the ordinary was hearing Taliesin call his name softly. Draco whipped around and tilted his face up to the portrait. Taliesin was shaking his head and pointing vehemently away from the front doors.

Draco stood there dumbly for moment. He wasn't sure which was the greater shock: the warning itself, or the fact that Taliesin even knew his name. "What's out there?" He wasn't expecting an answer and he didn't get one, but he knew better than to ignore the only direct communication he'd ever received from Taliesin, and he backtracked quickly.

There were no agitated ancestors gesturing at the rear entrance, and Draco left the house with an inward sigh of relief. He was going to at least try and enjoy his walk, and hopefully he'd have a chance to check up on his handiwork, if he could find an opportunity to do so discreetly. The day was beautiful, with enough of a breeze to keep the heat from soaking straight through him. Draco's feet took him to the gardens out of habit; there were several spots he was fond of stretching out in during the summer, the favorite being on a rise overlooking the house. There was a bench shadowed by flowering trees, which Draco bypassed in favor of sitting on the grass. He opened his book on his lap in case anyone happened along to question him, but he didn't bother to look at it. Instead, he tried to gather up his racing thoughts and put them in some sort of order.

He wished he had some guarantees, so that even a small part of his uncertainty could be dispelled. He wished he knew that his spells were going to work as they were meant to, he wished he knew for certain that his death would pay for his mother's life, and he really wished he knew if he could count on Potter to arrive on time - or at all. Draco did not care for the unknown, and he had no use for mysteries. He always planned ahead, and he had to be reasonably assured of success before he took a risk. He was not impulsive, and he did not tend to stick his neck out.

And he'd had to do the best he could in this situation, and he simply didn't have the means to find out if his best would be good enough. That was why he'd called on Potter. Yes, he was probably the only person Draco personally knew with the means to help him in this situation, but in addition to that, things always worked out in Potter's favor no matter how haphazardly he went about them. It had angered Draco enough in the past that he had discarded logic and just lunged, which wasn't a particularly helpful thought to have when Potter wasn't around for Draco to take out his frustration on.

Draco contented himself with slamming his fist into the ground, and resolved not to think about it any more. Potter wouldn't be his problem for much longer, and it was actually a rather cheerful thought that he would never have to look at his face again. He really ought to feel sorry for his mother, since he was condemning her to Potter's irritating company.

Draco sighed. Maybe, if his father stayed in Azkaban, his mother could come back and live here. It wasn't like he'd get to have any personal say in the matter, but it might be possible. He'd rather think of Narcissa living here alone than anyone else. The Manor was the one thing that really panicked him now, since it was the one thing in the world that he was actually grateful to have. He didn't want to see it pass from family hands. The enormity of it settled over him, and Draco closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at the Manor for a moment. A thousand years, and he was making the conscious decision to end it tonight.

But then again, there was really nothing else he could do. Any thoughts he'd had about inaction had left him with a sick feeling in his stomach. Of course, so had any thoughts about his father, and Draco still couldn't manage to think of Lucius without panic. He actually shivered to think of what his father would do once he heard of Draco's betrayal. In that particular case, Draco was sure he would be glad to be dead, rather than have to contemplate Lucius's rage, and the look on his face. All Draco knew with certainty was that he could not bear to think of his mother dying, much less being executed by her own sister, and that whatever Lucius's reaction, Draco would not see it. He would not have to face any unpleasant emotions, and he would never need to make another difficult choice again.

Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The momentary feeling of peace that gave him would have to be enough. He hoped it lasted him for the next few hours.

******************************

There was a hand on her shoulder, poking her rather violently out of sleep, and Ginny swatted it away groggily.

"Not now, Ron," she slurred sleepily.

"I'm not Ron, and we need to get moving, so wake up!" The voice really wasn't at all like Ron's, she mused, it was more like Harry's, but why was Harry in her room, and why was he being such an arse?

She tried to stretch, but her legs met resistance, and her elbow banged into something hard. Her eyes flew open. Right. She wasn't at home, and Harry was being a arse because he was an arse.

"How far out are we?" she asked, sitting up and yawning. Harry was still slumped over the back of the seat, which Ginny assumed had been the vantage point for the poking.

He shrugged. "Ten miles? You'll have to ask Remus. He just said this was as far as we could go." He pulled back and looked at her. "You were really out," he said, almost in awe. "I can't believe you didn't wake up when we turned off the road."

Ginny looked out the rear window, and saw trees and undergrowth illuminated in the waning moonlight, nearly covering up a dirt trail.

"I guess it's a hiking trail or something," Harry said from behind her. "He drove down as far as he could before we couldn't see it anymore. Come on, let's get going, he's waiting."

Ginny climbed slowly out of the car. In hindsight, the nap didn't seem like such a good idea. She felt more tired than ever, and sleeping in a cramped space had done little for already aching muscles.

Remus was leaning against the side of the car, unwrapping a sandwich. "Good morning," he said dryly to Ginny. "Here, you'd better eat something."

There was a small pile of food on the hood of the car, and several bottles of water. Ginny selected a pastry and nibbled at it half-heartedly. She really wasn't hungry, but her mother's training wouldn't let her refuse someone's hospitality, even in such an unusual setting. "Where did you get all this?" she asked between bites.

"When we stopped to refuel," Harry said. "You slept through that, too."

She shot him a dirty look. "I was tired."

"Don't even start," Remus said warningly. "We're going to be spending all day in each other's company, so no sniping, please!"

"Are you kidding?" Ginny said, surprised. "That was mild!"

Harry actually laughed, and Remus gave her a wry half-smile. "Be forewarned. When 'authority figure' stops working, I'm switching to 'friend who has had enough.' I'm very experienced with that, and neither one of you is going to like it." His tone was light, but Ginny suspected that underneath the teasing he meant business.

Remus and Harry finished eating in relative silence, and Ginny gave her best impression of it. Remus gathered their discarded wrappers together and tossed them into the car, muttering that now he owed Arabella a thorough cleaning as well. He picked up a bag from the seat and made to lock the car when Ginny stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Wait," she said, "I'm going to bring the broomstick, just in case."

"If you want to carry it." Remus said mildly. "Come on, then, we'll have to move quickly." He slung his bag over his shoulder, and the three of them set off down the trail, Remus in the lead.

"What's the plan, then?" asked Harry.

"We hike back out to the road. Unfortunately, we'll be off it again soon enough, because I think it ends up here. Then it's through the woods."

"Great," Ginny grumbled.

"We'll cross the boundaries of the Malfoy estate a few miles before we actually see the house. This is essentially the back door, and I hope no one's watching it. From what I remember, the heavy wards are only around the house proper and the gardens."

"Won't the Malfoys know if we're trespassing on their property, though?" Harry asked worriedly.

"Considering that the only Malfoy there at present invited us, I doubt we'll have any trouble on that account." He smiled. "Once again, it's a good thing you asked me for help. The Manor is Unplottable, and you can't get there unless you're told how."

Ginny was incredulous. "How difficult did Malfoy want to make this? He could have given us directions, the little-" she cut herself off abruptly, not entirely sure she wanted to say something that bad in front of an adult.

Remus sighed. "I am sure he didn't mean to be difficult on purpose, Ginny." Ginny and Harry snorted in unison, which Remus ignored. "He didn't expect Harry to come on his own, and there are plenty of people who know where Malfoy Manor is. It's just that they usually get to a certain point and um, stop."

"And their bodies were never found," Ginny intoned solemnly.

"You're just a little patch of sunshine, aren't you?" Harry retorted.

"Pot, kettle," Ginny said sweetly.

"Anyway," Remus broke in, "that won't be a problem, either, since Draco is being kind enough to remove the wards for us."

"If they're such an obstacle, how is he managing to do it?" Harry asked, as though he were indignant that anyone else were capable of great acts.

"That," said Remus, "I could not tell you. Frankly, I'm amazed at it. Wizards with much more experience have tried and failed to get through those wards. I suppose we'll just have to ask him."

"Great," muttered Harry. "Something else for Malfoy to brag about."

After about ten minutes, during which Harry was blessedly silent, Ginny discerned a rickety wooden barrier up ahead, which stood out a little from the thick trees beyond it. "So much for the easy part," Ginny groaned, as they ventured into the woods. Rough terrain, dense underbrush, and pestering bugs had never particularly appealed to her. She loved the outdoors as much as anyone, but she had always been more comfortable in open spaces, or open sky. As desperate as she had been to leave the Burrow, she couldn't help but think of her own back yard wistfully, and wish that she were taking a run across a field or chasing her brothers around on a broomstick. Homesickness welled up in her, and she quashed it down angrily. It wouldn't do her any good to dwell on how much she wanted to go home now. She had made the decision to come along, and she believed that it was the right decision, even if it was hardly the easy one. Ginny never could have left these two to go off without her, not because she thought she'd be such a great help, but because she couldn't have lived with any outcome without wondering if anything would have been different had she been along.

She had to wonder, though, if she could make a difference in this. First of all, she had to consider her companions. Remus Lupin she had all due respect for, but the fact remained that he had just lost his best friend, and not once in two years had she heard of him doing anything impulsive or secretive. Now he was dragging underage schoolchildren off into the woods on an insane rescue mission. And he had insisted that no one else in the Order could help him... or maybe they wouldn't help him. That thought didn't seem quite right - she'd never noticed anyone treating Remus with suspicion or disdain other than Snape - but he was the one Dumbledore sent off on long, solitary endeavors. And unless Harry didn't know what he was talking about, Sirius, Remus's closest friend, had thought him untrustworthy at one time. Obviously, he hadn't thought so last summer, since Remus was living at Grimmauld Place, but Ginny had to wonder what had bred the suspicion in the first place. Ginny had complete trust in Remus herself, and knew enough of the ways of the world to realize that unfounded accusations probably came with the territory of being a werewolf, but she had to ponder what that would tend to do to one's mental state over an extended period of time.

Ginny scrambled over a rock to catch up with the men, who were a provoking twenty feet or so in front of her. "Wait up for the little people, please," she called out to them.

"Sorry," said Remus, while Harry fidgeted and looked annoyed. Harry was a different matter entirely. Ginny had never considered herself a cynical person, but she was realistic. She had to be as the last of seven children in a family without much money, and as the final resting place for all hand-me-downs. She never had the luxury of taking anything for granted, and she'd also had the opportunity to witness five older siblings- well, six if she counted Fred and George as separate entities- make their way through the various stages of life before she had to deal with them herself. Harry had charmed her early on with his sheltered naiveté, but she'd seen it veer towards arrogance and self-righteousness at times, and although she had to make certain allowances for lack of example, she quite often lost her patience with him. He'd had more handed to him already than Ginny was ever very likely to get in life, and he too frequently took the easy route of looking at it as his due rather than proving that he was worthy of it.

Her childhood crush had died away without really causing her pain, but his shortcomings still got under her skin. She'd felt it before, when she'd discovered glaring faults in one of her brothers, this overwhelming frustration that someone she cared about could do a lot better.

A gnat buzzed near her ear, and Ginny slapped it away. It was getting steadily hotter, even under the shade of all the trees, and her shirt was beginning to stick to her back. She was already regretting keeping the broomstick with her; it seemed to grow heavier with every step she took. It had obviously rained recently, and the ground was still soft enough from it for Ginny's shoes to sink in a little. It made walking more of an effort, and she was gratified to see that it was wearing on Harry and Remus as well.

"I hope no one's too tired," said Remus. "We don't really have time to stop. It's not very much further through the woods, but we'll have to take the long way around to the Manor itself if we want to avoid being seen."

Ginny was too drained to reply, and Harry made only a noncommittal grunt. She was not sorry they were leaving the woods behind. She slowed a bit and let herself fall back. There was no sense in getting exhausted trying to keep up with those two if they would be on even ground soon enough. She shifted the broomstick to her other hand and slogged on.

She had to admit to a certain morbid curiosity to see Malfoy Manor. The wizarding world was a small and contained one, and unless life-altering events were happening, it had few people and things to talk about. The Malfoys were a well-traversed topic at times, and although Ginny had the sense to sort through idle gossip and the "new" stories that were simply the old ones in a different guise, she supposed she knew as much about them as anyone else. The Manor itself was reportedly very grand and very beautiful, though Ginny suspected that sheer size and the net worth of the owners had more to do with it than aesthetics. She was expecting a gloomy stone edifice, maybe with a dark cloud hanging over it or something.

As for the Malfoys themselves... honestly, Ginny could go the rest of her life without laying eyes on one of them again and count it as no great loss. Actually, she'd count it as great relief. Draco Malfoy she considered a basically ineffective nuisance most of the time, but he showed every inclination of growing up to be exactly like his father, and if Ginny were pinned down and forced to admit that she was afraid of anyone, it would be Lucius Malfoy.

Knowing that he wasn't actually at the Manor did little to reassure Ginny. Privately, she felt that she had an even greater reason to dislike Draco than Harry did. Their schoolboy squabbles could hardly be interesting to anyone but themselves, and maybe Ron out of solidarity, no matter that they treated it like life or death. Ginny felt as though she was the one who'd had a taste of Malfoy's real menace, if only because of his father. She'd been able to subdue him easily enough in Umbridge's office, but the look on his face had been a mirror of the one on Lucius Malfoy's face in the bookshop her first year, that look that said he'd like to hurt her if he got the chance. And if Draco knew anything, had anything to do with first year...

Ginny shuddered, glad she was still behind Harry and Remus. Her strict sense of justice told her not to hold the son accountable for what the father had done, but she couldn't help but think that Draco would have done the same as Lucius had the means been within his reach.

There was daylight visible through the trees ahead, and Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. Rousing all of her deepest fears in the middle of a dark forest had not been the brightest idea, and she was looking forward to seeing the sun.

As they burst through into the clearing, Ginny and Harry drew up close to Remus. "We'll have to skirt the edges of these hills," he said. "Naturally, the quickest way in is to go over them, but we'd be spotted."

"I don't suppose there's a chance no one's looking," Harry said hopefully.

Remus smiled ruefully. "It's not a chance we're going to take. Don't worry, I think it's pretty easy going."

Which was easy enough for the werewolf used to roughing it to say, and easy enough for the wiry Quidditch star to agree with, but Ginny was smaller than both of them and carrying an awkward load. As angry as Ron was probably going to be at her, she hoped he would at least appreciate the great lengths she'd gone to making sure nothing happened to his beloved broomstick.

She may have been uncomfortably hot and her legs may have been burning, but she could still manage to appreciate the scenery. Far from the bleak wasteland she had supposed it to be, the Malfoy land was all rolling hills and well-placed stands of trees and shaded paths. Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that it was beautiful and well-kept. As they rounded a bend in the trail, Remus stopped and pointed upward.

"Look over there," he said. "If you're in any way interested in history, you'll appreciate that."

"You're stopping to appreciate history?" Ginny said in disbelief. She couldn't really see anything, save for what looked like a pile of stones on top of a tall hill.

"What is that?" Harry asked.

"That's what's left of the original house. Those ruins are ten centuries old." There was a wistful tone to Remus's voice. "Then I think it was some sort of lookout post until it went into disrepair. I always wanted to get up there and take a look."

"If moldy rocks are your thing," said Ginny.

Remus laughed and resumed walking. "Not if that's all they were, but it's supposed to be one of the most magical spots in Britain."

"Figures that the Malfoys have it," groused Harry.

"The Malfoys made it, I suppose they can keep it," Remus said lightly.

"You're awfully indulgent, aren't you?" Ginny gasped out. She had doubled her pace to keep up with Remus and Harry and follow the conversation.

"Ginny, that family's been around since the time of the Founders. Believe me, not every one of them has been a villain. Far from it, actually."

"That doesn't excuse the Malfoys I've met," Ginny said irritably.

"No, but it does allow for the possibility of change, doesn't it?"

"You remember Draco Malfoy, right?" Harry put in.

"Yes," said Remus, and fell silent. Harry craned his neck back to trade a puzzled glance with Ginny, but she didn't give him more than a second of her attention. Her eyes wandered back up to the ruins. From a slightly different angle, she could see that it was not merely a pile of stone up on the hill, but the definite outline of a building. Two walls were still partially standing, joined together in a corner that jutted out into the sky like a cathedral spire. It was hard to make out in the mild breeze, but she could see a banner tangled within the wreckage of the walls, deep blue with some sort of starburst pattern.

She gave the ruins a last once-over and turned forward. The back of Harry's head was directly in her line of sight. Ginny felt a slight twinge of empathy despite his persistent grumpiness. The Malfoy issue had to be bothering him, too, and Ginny was sure he firmly believed that it bothered him more than anyone else. That was typical Harry, she mused, always thinking he was the only one who'd ever had a particular problem. He had been very trying, and Ginny had to wonder why. She didn't think that she was all that difficult to get on with, but Harry seemed to be overly irritated by her presence. Ginny had been described as blunt by even her closest friends, and she tended to keep her personal complexes well below the surface, so she was not very impressed with anyone else's. She supposed that was it, after all. Ron wouldn't know a personal problem if it walked up and introduced itself, and Hermione tended to take her general attitude of patient indulgence to superhuman lengths for Harry. Ginny was just having none of it, and Harry probably didn't know how to react.

Up ahead, the path was widening and gradually becoming flatter. Ginny's sigh of relief came out as more of a wheeze. Their trail emptied into a wide crossroad that bordered a wall of light-colored stone about ten feet high. Ginny could see nothing beyond it but the vague outlines of a few treetops and open sky. Remus motioned them into the underbrush before they got that far and they drew up into a huddle. He passed around a bottle of water, which Ginny gulped from gratefully. Remus finished it off and tossed the empty bottle on the ground, shrugging it off. Ginny was sure it was the first time anything plastic had crossed the borders of the Malfoy land.

Remus stared onward thoughtfully. "I believe the wards start at the wall, so this is as far in as we go. We'll wait it out across from the gate there. When they go down, I'll wrench the gate open and then... well, then we'll just run like hell to the house."

Ginny raised an eyebrow.

"It's downhill," Remus said in a conciliatory manner.

"There's the gate," Harry said importantly. He had pushed on ahead of the other two, and he had for some reason found it necessary to prop one foot up on a rock and gesture heroically onward with his wand while backlit by the sunset.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, congratulations, Mister Obvious" she muttered under her breath.

The gate in question stood higher than the stone wall, and was a rather pretty ornate number in what looked like silver. The dominating feature was the same starburst that Ginny had seen on the banner in the ruins. Beyond it there was a gentle downward slope leading to a pond that was shimmering a deep red in the waning sunlight. Perched on a peninsula that nearly bisected the pond was the Manor itself. Even at this distance, Ginny supposed it was half the size of Hogwarts, and even though it actually was an uncommonly pretty building, it looked twice as imposing.

For once, Harry echoed her thoughts. "How," he asked quietly, "are we supposed to get into that?"

Remus sighed. "Fortunately, we have time to come up with a plan."

******************************************

One hour. Draco's hand reached slowly back to his cloak pockets.

Wand, right pocket. Paperweight, left pocket. He resettled his cloak on the back of the chair and checked the time yet again.

Draco looked up from his watch to see Bellatrix chewing with her mouth open, which he could have done without witnessing, and to observe his mother staring intently at her untouched plate while taking another infinitesimal sip of wine. She hadn't so much as looked at him since that morning, and at some point, she'd apparently decided to at least pretend that she'd picked up the bottle again. He wished she would eat something. She'd need her strength, later.

It wasn't as though he had room to talk, however. He'd forced himself to take a few bites of dinner, which was dry and tasteless in his mouth and nearly made him gag. Apparently neither he nor Narcissa was much for the concept of a last meal.

He'd stayed outside as long as he could. He hadn't particularly known what to do with himself, or which spots were worthy of a last visit, but he had known that he couldn't stand to be in the house one minute longer than necessary. Heavy silence pervaded every room, thick enough that Draco almost felt it like a weight on his body.

His book had been strategically left behind in the drawing room on his favorite chair, thus leaving him an excuse to disappear after dinner in search of it. He'd destroy the inhibitor from there, and ... wait.

There had been nothing but waiting tonight, and it was starting to make him nervous. Fifty minutes, Draco, he told himself sternly, you do not go crazy in the last fifty minutes. Wand. Paperweight. You are fine.

Both mother and aunt were across the table from him, Narcissa humming under her breath to herself on his left, idly toying with her fork, and Bellatrix to his right, occasionally contorting her face into a slow, eager smile. The seating arrangement left Draco with something of a dilemma. He was waiting on Bellatrix to turn her gaze away from them for a moment so that he could get his mother's attention, but as he was within Bellatrix's line of sight, that was proving somewhat difficult. If he could just get Narcissa to look at him, that would be a start. He glanced down the table at her desperately, but her gaze had not moved.

When Bellatrix leaned down to take another bite, Draco quietly slipped a napkin into his lap, wadded it up, and pitched it at his mother under the table. Apparently, the juvenile was all that was going to work for him in this particular situation.

And apparently even that wasn't going to do it. He was fairly sure he'd hit her with the napkin, but she didn't look up. Didn't the stupid woman know that you were supposed to look up when you were pelted with napkins?

Draco, hysteria is not going to help. Alright, he had to do something else. He didn't want to venture to break the silence. It had closed around him, closed him off like a living and fragile thing, and he was irrationally afraid that once he punctured that barrier that everything would come spilling out of him like a flood and condemn them all. Draco forced himself to breathe, and think of something credible to say. 'Mum, can I get you another drink' was out, because he ought to be supportive of this new pretend- drinking movement, asking about her general health was ludicrous at this point, and it was too dark to see what the weather was like, so even the tried-and-true wasn't going to work. He had to bring up something personal, something she couldn't help but respond to...

"Well, son," she said out of the blue, so suddenly that Draco almost snapped his wineglass in half, "how was your walk?"

"Fine, Mum," he replied, amazed that he'd managed to remember basic English, "it was refreshing."

"Indeed?" said Bellatrix brightly.

Draco had never really considered himself a boring person, but he honestly didn't think that every remark of his merited such immediate acclaim as Bellatrix seemed to give them, as though he'd pronounced a stunning new magical theorem that would bring the wizarding world to its knees.

He nodded absently in response to his aunt, but she was not through being amazed with him. "And where did you go?"

"Around the gardens."

"And how were the gardens?" Narcissa chimed in loudly, in pitch-perfect imitation of Bellatrix.

"Still there," said Draco in a small voice. He hooked his legs around those of the chair to curb his sudden impulse to bolt from the room.

Narcissa laughed loudly. "Now, there's something interesting. Still there." She drew the last two words out in a sing-song drawl, leaned back, and went about lighting a cigarette.

Draco glanced up at her in sudden alarm, and just as quickly back at his plate, lest Bellatrix catch anything. Oh, ye gods, he thought wretchedly, she's come unhinged.

Between drags, Narcissa was burning holes in a napkin, introducing the acrid smell of singed cloth into the room, and Draco knew it was the napkin he'd thrown at her; her own was folded neatly beside her plate. She looked at him sideways, and smiled.

"Draco," she said thoughtfully, and what with the napkin and the fact that she hardly ever used his actual name, he knew he'd probably never have her attention more than he did at that moment. "I think that I would like to buy you a new broomstick."

Draco knew very well that Narcissa did not care two straws for broomsticks or Quidditch, and barely acknowledged the fact that he played, so there had to be a distinct purpose to this line of conversation. And he had to follow it wherever she was taking it, because it was the only chance he'd have left.

"That's very generous, Mum."

"Well," she said, "you have been very good."

"Has he?" put in Bellatrix, queen of the irritating brief questions. "Lucius seemed to think he was quite troublesome at times."

Draco was too flat-out nervous to be properly enraged by this remark. Narcissa merely raised an eyebrow and replied, "oh, no, he doesn't give us much trouble."

"So," she continued, turning her eyes back to Draco. "you just tell me what you want. I'm sure there are all sorts of ..." she gestured expansively at the window, "... good ones out there."

Oh, yes, she was doing this, and right in front of Bellatrix, too. Draco swallowed. "There are," he said slowly, "good ones out there."

"Is something wrong with the one you have?" came the imperious voice to his right.

Draco turned to face Bellatrix. The whole ruse was fairly transparent, and she had to know that something was being discussed in code, but that was no reason to include her in it.

Unless it worked to his advantage.

"Nothing, really," he said, as casually as he could. "It's just time to replace it. The Nimbus series is about... nine years old."

"Don't tease your poor know-nothing mother," Narcissa said cheerfully, "and don't exaggerate. You've only had that broom for three years."

"Right," said Draco, looking her in the eye. "Sorry." Her eyes flicked over to the clock behind her, and she raised an eyebrow. Draco risked a glance at his watch. Eight-thirty. Lovely.

"You run along," said Narcissa lightly. "Since I don't know the difference between one broomstick and another, or a mop, I'll just talk it over with your aunt here, and then... I'll surprise you with something."

Draco stood up to leave, and for a split second he locked eyes with his mother. Her flippant cheeriness had vanished, and her eyes were hard and angry. Draco almost flinched, certain that had he been within range, she would have shaken him, or probably strangled him. He knew she likely wanted nothing more than to let loose and really shout at him, but she didn't have the freedom to do it and there just wasn't time. In another instant, she was smiling again, and he thought he detected something like pride in it. He gave her the best return attempt at a smile he could manage, but he knew it wasn't much. She lifted her glass in mock salute and motioned him onward with it, then turned back to keep the tiger at bay for while, to give him time. He was pretty sure that was what she meant to do, and he supposed it had to be enough to count as a goodbye.

He wouldn't let himself do otherwise than assume that Bellatrix had gleaned little or nothing from the entire conversation. He couldn't afford to worry about it right now, and he had twenty-five minutes left. He turned at the door to look at his mother, probably for the last time. She was swirling the wineglass around and staring thoughtfully at the wall. It was so quintessentially Narcissa that Draco felt a lump forming in his throat.

Hold up, Draco, you're not finished yet.

He turned away and started towards the drawing room. If anyone asked, he was just going to get his book. Which was a perfectly normal thing for a boy who was about to get killed to be doing. Draco pulled his cloak more securely around his neck and reached into his pockets.

Wand and paperweight.

Not there.

Draco stopped abruptly in the hallway, his shoes screeching in protest on the floor. Your paranoia has gone too far. They have to be there. Get a hold of yourself. Slowly, he reached into his pockets again. They must have slipped down further, that was all.

His hands connected with nothing but fabric on either side. His wand and the inhibitor were gone.

Draco glanced around to make sure he was still alone, and darted into the nearest room, which happened to be his father's study. He threw his cloak over Lucius's desk and turned the pockets out. Maybe they were still in there somewhere, maybe there were holes in his cloak, there had to be some explanation.

No wand, no paperweight, no holes.

Draco leaned back against the desk and put his hands over his mouth, breathing hard. If the inhibitor was gone, the wards didn't come down. There was no other way to do it. Without his wand, he couldn't defend himself.

But there was the small matter to consider of where they were, if not in his pockets. If they'd just been lost, he wouldn't need to defend himself, because no one would know about his plan, and no one would be coming after him. He'd have until midnight to think of something else. But Draco knew, irrefutably, that there was no way he'd simply lost two extremely important objects. They had to have been taken, but that didn't make any sense, either. His mother had had no opportunity to do it, not that she would have gone digging in his pockets, anyway. The only other person in the house was Bellatrix, and she hadn't moved from her chair at all during dinner.

Draco wiped the sweat away from his brow and looked at his watch. Eight forty-five. And somebody had the tools he needed to bring the wards down. And Potter and whoever else were out there waiting, and he had no way to warn them that things had gone wrong, and sooner or later, they'd be noticed. Not only would he then have Narcissa's death on his hands, he'd be responsible for the deaths of an army of do-gooders, and that would be enough to sink the name of Malfoy like a rock.

He pushed off the desk and launched back to his feet. He was not sunk. He was going to figure something out. Frantically, he looked around the room for anything that could even remotely be useful. There had to be something good in here, he'd never even been allowed in this room alone, which meant his father had a stash of something somewhere...

Or that.

Draco flew towards the glass case on the opposite wall, scrabbling for a switch, a catch, for anything that would open it. It was nothing but a smooth glass façade, with no visible way in, and he'd spent his entire childhood wanting to get at what was inside. Taliesin, who had never quite relinquished the role of common blacksmith, had continued to fashion this and that out of odd bits of metal even after he'd become a great lord. Most of the relics in the case were plain functional swords that were probably too dull to do Draco any good, and there were a few pretty curiosities, but the centerpiece was an ornamental dagger, dangerously sharp-looking and small enough to conceal. If he could just get at it, he could hide it, in his trouser pocket this time, and he could go get his book and go back to the dining room and follow the women around, pretending to read and acting bored, and then when Bellatrix dropped her guard he could run in and stab her, and there, problem solved, and so ridiculously easy that Draco wondered why he didn't think of it in the first place.

There appeared to be no way into the case, and Draco didn't really have the time to reason it out. He seized on a heavy vase that was on an end table, dumped the contents on the floor, and heaved his makeshift projectile into the case.

Both vase and case shattered with stunning force, sending shards flying and relics clattering to the floor. Draco got his arms up in time to avoid a face full of glass, but he could feel cuts opening up on his hands. He consoled himself with the thought that he just didn't have the time to be more delicate, and snatched the dagger from the floor. He allowed himself a momentary wince at the destruction, considering that the vase had probably been a couple hundred years old and that he'd scattered some absolutely priceless family heirlooms on the floor. Not to mention that he'd just made an incredibly loud noise that was likely to send everybody running.

He had probably better be running himself, because Bellatrix would be after him very soon, which was fine, because he was armed now, and he was going to put an end to this. He'd figure out how to get the wards down later.

Draco ran full speed to the entrance hall and into the drawing room, not caring that his footfalls were echoing like thunder, because he'd pretty much screwed himself anyway and it hardly mattered if he were quiet. He stashed the dagger in his pocket on the way to the chair where he'd left his book, and had just laid a hand on the cover when he heard someone enter the room behind him.

He spun around so fast that he nearly overbalanced, and he caught himself on the chair, half-standing, while Bellatrix towered over him, smirking.

"Well, well," she simpered. "What are we doing running around late at night, making so much noise?"

"I was looking for my book," he said shakily.

Bellatrix tsked at him and stepped closer, hovering like a predator, lips stretching over her teeth in a gruesome parody of a smile. "That's hardly responsible of you, Draco, losing something like that. We aren't very careful with the things our father has given us, are we?"

"I didn't lose it, I misplaced it." Draco was sure his heart was pounding audibly, and he wished it would slow down, the blood rushing in his ears was making it nearly impossible to think. He hadn't quite managed to get his feet under him yet, and he had the dim thought that he really needed to stand up and get to the dagger, but his body didn't seem to be working.

Bellatrix laughed, a low, cracked sound. "That seems to be a trend with you, my dear little nephew. You've lost an awful lot of things tonight, haven't you?"

Draco straightened up and moved back. Maybe he could get behind the chair, maybe he could just manage to get away, to not be so close to her.

As soon as he'd had the thought, she leaned in, reaching one skeletal hand out to his face, brushing his cheek with a cold finger. "Perhaps," she said in a light, airy voice, "Auntie Bella can keep you from losing one more thing if you would just be a good, cooperative boy and tell me just what it was you were planning to do with this?"

With her other hand she pulled something from her robes, a small, round object that glinted green in the dim light. Draco held his breath. The inhibitor. Swirling around in his mind amidst the fear and panic was the question of how in the world she had gotten possession of it, and was there any way he could get it back?

It was as though the mere sight of it reenergized Draco. If it still existed, if it was in the same room, there was a chance he could still do this. He still had a few minutes. His natural defenses slowly clicked into place. He didn't know what she knew. Maybe he could play dumb until he thought of something.

"What is that?" he said in what he hoped sounded like a neutral voice.

"No, no, no," said Bellatrix with another rasping laugh. "It was in your pocket, dear, I think you know the answer to that better than me, don't you?"

"I'm sorry, I can't help you there."

"I don't know what you think you're up to," Bellatrix said in a singsong voice. "You can't change what's going to happen."

"And what is that?" Draco inched his way slowly to the table in front of the window, trying to put some distance between them, aware that Bellatrix was moving in counterpoint to him a few feet away. Draco had a vague idea of getting between her and the door, thus limiting her avenues of escape and hopefully giving him a chance to do something.

"Don't play ignorant with me, Draco," the girlish voice had deepened to a dangerous purr. "In fact, you don't want to play with me at all. Now you tell me what your little plot is all about, or I'm going to get very angry with you."

"Then I suppose you'll just have to get angry." When all else failed, Draco tended to revert to obnoxious.

And as usual, obnoxious got him into trouble. Bellatrix advanced on him, effectively pinning him against the table. He jerked back and met only solid wood. She was mere inches from him, her face so close to him that her breath ghosted across his face, and all he could see were her eyes, dark and wild with anger. When she spoke, her voice was low and silky smooth, a thin veneer of civility over her rage.

"This little effort won't save any of you. You haven't been taught anything, you've forgotten what's right, and you don't know what you owe your family and your name. Perhaps your loyalty is to be commended, but it has been most grievously misapplied. I don't know what they've told you, but there is nothing to be gained from defying the Dark Lord. You shame me, Draco. I thought the Malfoys were better at keeping their word than this."

... They? Playing stupid would hardly help anymore, but Draco's confusion was growing. Shouldn't it be obvious to Bellatrix what was happening? "She's your sister," he shouted at her, not certain what else to say. "What do you owe your family?"

Bellatrix raised her hand to him, and Draco flinched away, but the blow never fell. He looked up to see Bellatrix grinning, and cackling softly.

"Oh, concerned about Mummy, aren't we? Poor misguided little boy," she said. "I owe her nothing. She's nothing but a traitor, and what I owe her is to put her out of her miserable existence."

Draco lunged forward without thinking, but Bellatrix threw him back. The base of his spine hit the table hard, sending a spike of pain up his back.

"And what will your dear father say, Draco, when he sees this little mess of yours?"

"I really couldn't say," he ground out in reply, not wanting her to know she'd hit a nerve.

"I'm quite curious myself, to see what Lucius would say. Especially since you've never given him any trouble at all." An unholy light came into her eyes. "You haven't, have you?"

Draco, shaking with rage and unable to bear one more word about Lucius, opened his mouth to reply, but Bellatrix put a finger over it to silence him. She leaned in closer to his ear, lowering her voice.

"You have a chance, you know," she hissed. "There can still be mercy for you." Draco, staring straight ahead at the far wall, tried to shake off the twisting, sibilant words. "All you have to do, dear, is renounce this, let them have the fate they have chosen, and swear allegiance to the Dark Lord. There may be... punishment..." Draco shuddered and tried to pull away, but Bellatrix dug her nails into his arm and held him still. "...but it is the only path you can choose, and you will be rewarded handsomely for it. All you have to do is call off this little attack of yours, and everything will be put right, you'll see."

Imminent death was weighing on him so heavily he could barely think. Was he really prepared to die for this, or did he want to live? In the midst of all of this panic, this uncertainty, these plans gone all to hell, Bellatrix was offering him a way out of something he was no longer sure he could carry out. It would be easier, her way.

At least at first. But Draco didn't submit to anyone, least of all this infernal woman, who... who... thoughts surfaced out of the terror Bellatrix's speech had caused, and they tore Draco away from his panic long enough to form a coherent sequence. She didn't know everything. She thought he was working on a much grander scale than he was. All of this needling, all of these barbed comments, it was a test, she'd been testing their reactions, both of them, and he'd never heard Narcissa speak of herself and Lucius as "we" until that morning... if Bellatrix was double-crossing Lucius, it stood to reason that she'd expect him to double-cross her...

And then Draco caught on to the idea his mother had planted, and all he had to do was make Bellatrix believe it, just long enough to get them out of here. Bellatrix knew nothing of his internal struggles. All she knew was that some sort of plot was unfolding. She didn't know who he'd called on, and she'd never expect it to be Potter and company... and for all she knew it was Lucius coming to take her down.

"I can't call it off." He straightened up his aching back and looked her in the eyes. "My duty- any Malfoy's duty- is to the family first."

Bellatrix backed away from him then, cold rage almost visibly emanating from her body, but her voice was calm. "Very well, then."

He tilted his nose up and fixed her with a smirk. "My friends will be here soon, and they'll find a way in. You can't stop them, and there are too many for you to fight off." .

She laughed, long and loud, and it sent a sick shudder through Draco. "I've heard this before," she said maniacally. "You sound like such a little hero despite all this underhanded treachery, Draco. I've heard many variations on this, many times. People bigger and more powerful than you, little nephew, have fed me that sentiment right before I bled the arrogance out of them."

She leveled her wand at him. "I so used to love destroying that in a person. Crucio!"

There was never a chance to get out of the way, even if he'd seen it coming. Through the haze of pain, he vaguely felt his body being slammed full force into the table before he landed hard on the floor, and even that barely registered above the nerve-splitting pain and the high-pitched screeching sound in his ears. He couldn't get away from the pain, it was everywhere, it wasn't letting up, he was... not going to die like this. He struggled to focus on something else, something besides the pain, because apparently that was never going to stop, for the rest of his life his breath was going to be forced out of his lungs, and every bone in his body was going to be broken and useless...

Then it suddenly stopped. Draco sucked in as much air as he could, and triggered a coughing fit that hurt nearly as badly as the Cruciatus curse had. The screeching had not stopped, and he realized that what he had been hearing was laughter, high, cold, piercing laughter from his own aunt who had broken him in half and sent him sprawling on the floor, and in that instant, Draco hated her more than he'd hated anyone and anything in his life.

"And how do you feel now, little hero?" Bellatrix cooed.

Draco coughed again, and he realized dully that it had left a spot of blood on the floor. Slowly, laboriously, he drew his right arm up to wipe the blood away from his mouth and turned his head to her, throwing all of his anger and hatred behind his glare.

"Well, well, obviously we haven't learned our lesson. Daddy certainly never taught you anything about obedience."

Before he could call on his aching body to move, the pain was back again, more intense, more all-consuming than before. Through the torment, he could see her clearly, holding her wand high, face contorted and mouth wide open, laughing. Draco's thoughts blurred together, and dark spots danced in front of his vision. He struggled against unconsciousness, struggled to fix his concentration on anything, and suddenly a black and white blur streaked in and collided with Bellatrix, and the pain stopped again.

Draco fought through the fog in his mind, tried to forcibly shove the pain away for a moment, so he could see what was happening, and vaguely, he discerned his mother's figure, clinging to Bellatrix, clawing at her face, trying to knock her over. She was screaming something that Draco couldn't make out, and fighting for all she was worth, but her sister was taller and stronger, and she threw Narcissa off violently. Draco's anger surged up again as he saw his mother thrown into an end table, saw her head strike the corner of it, and he tried to pick himself up, maybe he could still help her, but there was no strength in his arms and he was in too much pain to move. Narcissa was on her feet again, and Draco couldn't see what was happening, he thought he heard his mother speaking, thought he heard her laughing, but why would she be laughing, his vision was too hazy now, he could barely make out their shapes in the distance, and a glint of green on the floor, coming towards him.

The inhibitor, rolling across the floor, and headed right for him.

It would figure that the last thing Draco would have to do in his life would be the hardest. He didn't know how he had convinced his right arm to move again, but it was moving, painfully slowly, to catch the paperweight, and he didn't have the strength to grasp it, so he let his hand fall heavily on top of it to stop it rolling, and then he had it but he didn't know how he was going to destroy it, and then Bellatrix was there, and Draco thought she was going to take it from him, but oddly enough she only lifted her foot and stepped on his hand. What a strange move on her part, he thought dully as he felt the glass splinter under his palm, feeling almost grateful towards Bellatrix for taking care of his last problem. He thought vaguely that his hand was really going to hurt quite a bit if he ever woke up, not that he could tell the difference between the pain in his hand and the pain everywhere else right now. And then he felt it, felt the wards crashing down, felt the power leaving the house even as it left his body, heard the window behind him shatter with a ear-splitting crash.

I did it.

He'd thought that your life was supposed to flash before your eyes when you died, but all Draco felt was a vague sense of flying, and lying in the grass somewhere in the sun with his mother holding her hand out and calling him home. Then purple fire blazed in front of his eyes and everything went black.