Legacy's Fall

She'd lost track of how long she'd been running, though she knew it was farther and probably faster than she'd ever run in her life. She couldn't remember a time, either, when her thoughts had piled up at such a rapid pace, while yielding such little sense. An irrational fear came over her as her feet pounded relentlessly down the too-hard Muggle road. Someone was going to die, even if it was only Malfoy, and he was no longer looking like the most likely candidate. Someone was going to be hurt, or double-crossed, or poisoned by that seriously unhinged woman back there, and Remus was going to remain trusting and oblivious, and Harry couldn't see anything beyond the length of his own nose, and Ginny was desperately hoping that she careened headlong into a pack of Aurors the instant she reached her destination.

The village came into sight after a sudden twist in the road, and Ginny jerked to a stop. It was just as well; the pace had been about to do her in anyway. Her breathing wouldn't come under her control, and her burning lungs spitefully threw back every bit of humid, muggy air she tried to force into them. She gave the breathing up as a lost cause and made a few more tentative steps before the massive exertion she'd just undertaken on a very empty stomach caught up to her. She tried to steady herself as a tide of nausea swept through her head, but her body was too worn out to fight much of anything, and the air was too thick and hot and wet to sustain her.

Yes, she was really going to be sick, on the side of a Muggle road in the middle of who-knew-where. Ginny stumbled blindly to the ditch and promptly lost the meagre contents of her stomach. She wiped the back of her mouth with a hand that wouldn't stop shaking, and willed herself not to cry. She closed her eyes tightly for a few seconds, half hoping to see something familiar when she opened them, but the nightmare was still firmly in its place and she saw nothing but the woods and the pavement and the hazy outline of buildings up ahead. Ginny sank to her knees, hoping that gathering herself together physically might keep the nausea down as well. There was nothing left to throw up, but her body insisted on trying again, until her throat was on fire with the effort and her eyes were streaming.

Get yourself together, Ginny. Regardless of the fear surging through her, she couldn't keep on retching on the roadside forever. Certain that she would later consider getting to her feet again on this particular occasion to be one of the hardest things she'd ever done, she forced herself to rise. Panic had always been a powerful motivating force for Ginny, and she was determined that it would serve her well today, even if nothing else was.

Remus had told her not to attract attention, but that was going to be impossible. She was a complete stranger who had walked into town out of the woods, for starters, and a stranger who looked like hell at that. Ginny had no illusions that she was even vaguely presentable. She hadn't bathed in two days now, she'd just run for what had to be nearly two miles, her clothes were filthy, and her jeans were torn open at the knee. To top it off, she probably smelled like a puddle of Stinksap, and her ponytail, limp and heavy on the back of her neck, was greasier than Snape's hair on his worst day.

Everyone was going to look at her, especially at her flushed and sweaty face, and her dirty clothes. Ginny tugged at the hem of her T-shirt self-consciously. It was one of Bill's old shirts, and Ginny desperately hoped that she was advertising the name of a Muggle band, rather than something any wizards would recognize. She hadn't expected so many people to be about this early in the morning, but apparently the entire population of this small town had chosen this particular day for errands. Several of the residents regarded her curiously, and though Ginny doubted there was a local policy of immediately converging on strangers with intent to interrogate, her caution encouraged her to keep to the sidewalk with her gaze lowered.

Movement caught at the edge of her range of vision; a man was walking slowly towards her from the opposite direction. There was nothing particularly remarkable about a middle-aged man in a rumpled suit, since there was more than one of them on the street, but this one had his eyes fixed on Ginny, and they were not wavering. A few covert upward glances told her that the expression on his face was ranging from suspicious to determined, and as he passed her, he seemed on the point of reversing course to step in beside her. Ginny quickly feigned interest in a bookshop, and ducked inside. The interior was, unfortunately, well lit, and afforded her no place to hide. She spent ten increasingly tense minutes wandering up and down the aisle and flipping through books at random. An elderly woman appeared to be half-asleep behind the counter with her face propped up on her hand, and she took no notice of Ginny whatsoever.

Ginny reasoned that the overly nosy man must have lost interest and gone on about his business by now, and replaced an imposing volume of ancient Roman history back on its shelf. The air was noticeably cooler when she exited, and the street less crowded, thus affording her an excellent view of the other side of it, where rumpled-suit man was standing a little too casually and pretending to examine his watch.

Ginny gave a squeak of alarm that didn't do much to keep her inconspicuous and slunk off quickly down the street, desperately hoping that the man didn't see her. It was only a matter of time before he did, if she stayed in the open. The sign for a pub presented itself; she darted through the door. It was dark within, and cloudy with smoke, and full of shadows. Heart pounding, Ginny clung to the walls and carefully made her way back towards the toilets. A few patrons looked up, but as Ginny was not an alcoholic beverage or possessed of a more mature and shapely form, they immediately turned back to their own concerns. Relieved, she tucked into an alcove beside the ladies' room and waited.

All greater questions were pushed aside in favor of her immediate situation. Who the bleeding hell was this man, and why had he taken such an interest in her? If he were local law enforcement...well, she hadn't done anything, unless looking like death warmed over was a crime. She didn't think he was a wizard- if he was, he surely would have used some kind of concealment spell to follow her instead of trailing along behind her in plain view.

And he had just entered the pub. He scanned the crowd, briefly, and approached the bar. Ginny flattened herself against the wall and tried not to hyperventilate. She felt as though all of the blood in her body was currently rushing behind her eyelids, so it took her a few minutes to realize that something was out of place. She didn't quite pin down what it was until the man had hailed the landlord for a drink. Ginny's experience with pubs was fairly limited, but she'd spent some time in the Three Broomsticks, and despite the varied clientele of Hogsmeade, there had not been an occasion when she hadn't been greeted inside by three or four people she knew, or when she had seen Madam Rosmerta unable to recognize a face, at least.

No one seemed to recognize this man. No one acknowledged him by name, or gave him so much as a wave in greeting. He had received only a stiff nod from the landlord in response to his request for service. He was a stranger, too. A stranger who was behaving very oddly and chasing teenage girls down the street.

He received his drink and sat down at the bar, continuing to scan the room at intervals. The instant his back was turned to her, Ginny took off, retracing the same route by which she'd entered. Once on the sidewalk, she chanced a quick look in the window. He still had his back turned, but it was only a matter of time before he realized she wasn't in the pub any longer.

Choking down the panic rising in her throat, she firmly reminded herself that the offending party was out of sight for now, and she had a few more minutes in which to disappear. I've got things to accomplish, she repeated mentally, and no matter what happens, I am not going to look at Malfoys in bloody clothes for the foreseeable future.

Ginny shivered in the sudden breeze that whipped around the corner of a building. Her desire to be indoors for reasons of personal and physical comfort sent her in and out of several shops before she stumbled into a clothing shop largely by mistake. There was a rack of knit hats near the door, and Ginny fingered a plain brown one thoughtfully. The man hadn't gotten a very clear look at her face, she was certain. If she had something to cover her hair, and her clothes, well, she wouldn't fool him for long, but it might buy her a few seconds if she encountered him again. She snatched up the hat and pulled a lightweight coat from a nearby display. Assuming that the Muggle rules of purchasing things were the same as anywhere else, Ginny paid for the items and pulled the hat down over her hair before doing the rest of her shopping.

"Bit warm for all that, isn't it, dearie?" The woman behind the counter was about her mother's age, and Ginny was unfortunate enough to be receiving the full brunt of her overly pleasant attention by virtue of being the only patron in the store.

Afraid to speak, she offered the woman a weak shrug in response, and moved behind a tall rack of garish T-shirts to collect herself. Just get the sodding clothes, Ginny, you can do this. She would figure out what to do. She would. But thinking about the man, or Malfoys, or having to go back to the cottage, or wanting to go home right now was only going to make her upset again, and then any hope of functioning normally would be gone...

Ginny rubbed her arms in an attempt to vanquish the goosebumps, and felt the hot pressure of tears at the corners of her eyes.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" the woman's voice was not so pleasant now, and Ginny realized she'd been standing out of sight for a long time. She heard heavy footsteps approaching, and she began frantically to grab T-shirts at random and throw them over her arm, guessing at sizes and hoping everyone else would elect to keep their mouths shut and not quibble over the quality of her selections. She did the same with a stack of jeans (which Malfoy and Narcissa would just have to get over) while the shop assistant eyed her warily.

"I'm finished," Ginny muttered, and staggered to the counter under the awkward load.

"This is going to come to quite a lot of money," the woman said warningly. "And you can't return them."

Ginny, who had never liked the implications of that kind of statement, blurted out angrily, "I don't need to; I'm donating to the poor," and then mentally slapped herself for saying something so monumentally stupid. Although if it made the woman think she was rich, it would likely shut her up.

The amount did seem high, even to Ginny, who had little idea of what Muggles paid for things, but she refused to let the number visibly shock her the way the shop assistant seemed to think it would. She pulled out Remus's money, added up the numbers that were printed on the bills, and shoved what she hoped was an appropriate amount across the counter with a regal air. She thought she'd gotten it pretty much right; she got only a few bills in return, and she shoved them hastily into her pocket and departed with her bags.

Ginny felt a slight renewal of confidence, enough so that she was able to look for a grocer's purposely rather than haphazardly. She thought she saw a likely candidate a few doors further on, but before heading in that direction, she zipped her new jacket up over her T-shirt and tucked her ponytail up into the hat. With her appearance thus obscured, she took the time to turn a full circle and take a good look at all of her surroundings. The streets were a little more deserted, and the sky had dulled to a faint grey. Her too-interested little friend was nowhere to be seen. Ginny sighed with relief. Maybe she could get through this and leave town without further trouble.

She'd almost forgotten her intention of finding help, and hadn't given much thought to how it could be found, until she went around a bend in the road and saw a telephone in a glass box.

She could ring someone! Who, Ginny, the Muggle police? The only person they're going to find suspicious and potentially dangerous right now is you. Well, there was always Hermione, but Ginny wasn't sure how to actually go about initiating contact. Her knowledge of telephones was purely theoretical, but she did seem to remember something about having to know a specific number if you wanted a certain person, and she doubted that anything constructive would happen if she simply picked the telephone up and told it that she wanted to speak with Hermione Granger.

A woman with two children in tow passed her by, and one of the kids cast a long look at Ginny, who realized that she was staring blankly at a telephone and pulled her hat down over her ears. She was pathetically glad for the hat. Not only was it concealing the greasy disaster that was her hair, but even if no one here knew what a Weasley was, bright red hair was too much of a distinguishing characteristic. And that man had certainly gotten an eyeful of it.

It suddenly struck her how ridiculous it was to be standing on a Muggle street corner, paranoid and trembling because of one man who most likely wasn't even a wizard. It wasn't as though she were the guilty party here, as though she were the one with a stockpile of poisons and secrets to keep hidden and authorities to evade. Ginny wasn't guilty of anything besides getting sick and bloody tired of secrecy, and here she was perpetuating the very same thing. She stalked away from the telephone angrily, bags in tow. What could she do? What, aside from giving up and going home, and there was no way that was going to happen.

She could send the Aurors an anonymous tip. Yes, certainly, because anonymity worked so well in the Wizarding world, which had a maddening way of knowing where everyone had been and where everyone was going. And it wasn't even as if Ginny knew there were Aurors here. She hadn't seen a single sign of wizards being here, so they must be few in number and well hidden. Remus had insisted that there were wizards about, but they should have showed themselves somehow, in the form of a window display with a few unusual goods or moving advertisements that were invisible to Muggle eyes. Ginny turned a slow, full circle on the sidewalk. No, everything was depressingly Muggle here.

And even if she had known where to find the wizards, she didn't know who they were, or if she could trust them, or what their reaction would be to hearing a bedraggled Ginny Weasley harping on about Malfoys and poisons and conspiracies involving werewolves and Harry Potter. She'd end up on the next cover of The Quibbler as the basket case of the week.

Ginny sporadically kicked at the curb in frustration as she walked, interrupted only by the angry blare of a car's horn, no doubt sounded by some fussy motorist who thought she was too close to the street. With her hands full, she could do nothing but glare at the car as it passed, and hope that the noise hadn't drawn anyone's attention to her.

Relief for her tired nerves didn't come when she finally found the grocer's, either. At least the shop was crowded enough so that no one singled her out for undue notice, but it was too large, and she couldn't find anything, and apparently Muggles had different names for some of the herbs Remus wanted. As for groceries in general, Ginny was forced to limit her choices to things that weren't too heavy to carry for a mile, which pretty much narrowed her diet of the immediate future down to bread, crisps, and bags of noodles.

Frustrated and bewildered beyond compare, Ginny lugged her basket to the checkout line and tried not to notice that people were edging away from her. She amended her earlier assessment to "Stinksap and bubotuber pus." She read the headlines of the Muggle publications to distract herself while she waited. Some of them, she found, were actually quite amusing. One particular magazine proclaimed that the world would end two weeks from now, and also featured a story with the curious headline "Aliens Kidnapped My Baby!"

Perhaps it was the very sight of such absurdity that made Ginny's thoughts start up again full force, but it didn't matter what had done it, because a concurrent image rose up of her mother's panicked face, screaming, "Death Eaters Kidnapped My Daughter," and something went off like an explosion in Ginny's brain. Hermione had said it. Remus had said it, too, hadn't he, before they went for the car. They think you've been kidnapped. She'd laughed it off. She had the broomstick. She'd taken off through her bedroom window. It was so bloody obvious she'd left of her own free will, and yes, they would panic, they would worry, but it hadn't occurred to her until now that they wouldn't just be somehow waiting for her to come home.

There wouldn't actually be a headline in the papers, of course. It wasn't her parents' style to make their private troubles public, not to mention that two Order members would be risking a little too much scrutiny for making such an attitude change at present. But they'd be actively looking for her, and it would only be a matter of time before someone would decide to check with Hermione. And she'd mentioned to Hermione that she'd been concerned about Harry. It was too important a point of their conversation for Hermione to have forgotten it. So then Harry's house would be checked, and of course, the Dursleys hadn't seen Ginny, but Harry's disappearance would be discovered. Then, Mrs. Figg would likely be questioned, and she could say nothing but that her car had been stolen... and there the trail ended, unless... Ginny's eyes widened with a half-realized thought--

"Miss?" a sharp, irritated voice broke in, "miss, you're holding up the line."

Ginny jumped, and nearly upset the contents of her basket. Her "sorry" came out in a nearly inaudible squeak. The man in line behind her stepped up and glanced up at her with entirely too much interest. The man. Ginny cursed herself for her momentary lack of awareness. It was the same man who'd been following her, and he'd been standing in line behind her for five minutes, and she hadn't noticed. And he'd certainly gotten a clear look at her face, now, because she was staring at him, shocked and open-mouthed. The cashier prompted her again to move along.

She'd never lost such complete control of her motor skills in her life. Her heart pounded painfully, her hands refused to close around any of her purchases, and she finally gave up and dumped everything in a pile in front of the clerk. She dropped the basket on the floor with a resounding clang that drew stares from all directions.

Ginny couldn't even muster up enough breath for another apology. Her throat seemed to have closed off. She reached into her pocket, and pulled out all of the contents in a single swift motion. Her hands were still trembling, and there was really nothing she could do but watch as Remus's money spilled out all over the counter, and the bound-up roll of bills Narcissa had given her, untouched until now, separated themselves from the pile and tumbled to a stop right in front of the stunned clerk. In a split second, Ginny counted up the numbers and realized that Narcissa had given her five hundred pounds. Even Ginny knew that was a lot of money.

And the man was behind her, and he'd seen it, too, and his voice was strangely paternal when he leaned in and said, "that's an awful lot of money for a little girl to be carrying around." Now he had due cause to wonder, and he was most likely thinking that she'd stolen it. Even if she suddenly regained her faculties of speech, she couldn't think of a single thing to say to him in explanation. Her body was several steps ahead of her mind, anyway, and by the time she'd considered trying to talk her way out of it, she'd snatched up the five hundred, and the bags, and was already running.

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

"What can he have done to himself?" said Harry, incredulous and still reeling from the thought that Malfoy's actions could have any connection to his own mother. "We all saw it, didn't we?"

"We saw very little," said Remus, too calmly for Harry's liking.

"I don't think he would have crushed his own hand," Harry muttered resentfully, and mostly to himself, though Narcissa appeared to have heard him. She shot him a dirty look, which he countered with one of his own. Which turned out to be utterly lost on her, since she had turned back to Remus.

"He got those wards down, and without help," mused Remus. "There's really no way he should have been able to do that, especially with what's in place at the Manor."

"I lived there for seventeen years," said Narcissa thoughtfully, "and I never was able to affect them. Trying to find a way around them - and believe me, I did try - just exhausted me."

"Well, he can't just be tired," said Harry, who was beginning to feel as though he were listening to a conversation between two Hermiones, and as usual, no one was bothering to break it down for him.

"No," said Remus, "but if Narcissa never found a less dramatic way out, then there simply isn't one."

Narcissa lifted her head and beamed at him.

"Therefore, the only way out was this complete collapse, and I don't see how anyone could have done it, with magic that ancient in place."

Narcissa straightened up and threw her hair out of her face. "The wards have been there on some level since before the Manor itself was built, so I'm sure they've undergone a few changes. Actually, I know they have. They were extra-sensitive to Draco's movements when he was small, for example, so I would be alerted if he took it into his head to wander off. They've also been more restrictive of my movements at times- and I'm not sure that was ever done to Draco. I thought it was Lucius... I mean, that he had some kind of conscious control over them, that they would be acting on his last orders."

"That could be, but without him there, I wonder if control didn't fall to the next best candidate." Remus glanced down at Malfoy's too-still form on the table.

Narcissa looked rather surprised. "I don't know if they're blood-based. I would have thought there needed to be some sort of voluntary switch. But I'd be lying if I said I really knew anything about the defenses of that house."

"A house that old surely has a mind of its own, to some degree," said Remus.

"What do you mean by that?" Remus and Narcissa both looked at Harry in surprise as he spoke. "Yeah, I'm still here," he snapped. "And that's not really a great defense you've got going on at the Manor, if you're saying the owner's connected to the wards. If someone tried to attack the house and damaged the wards, what, the person would just collapse?"

"That's not bad reasoning, Harry," Remus said, "but-"

"That is bad reasoning," Narcissa broke in abruptly. "Sorry, Harry, but it is. Stop playing professor, Remus, if it never leads you around to making a point." Her posture, as she turned to face Harry, looked as though she was squaring off for a fight, and Harry ran though a mental list of places to seek cover and came up with nothing.

"The thing is, dear, if you are aware of magical forces acting on you, you can control them to some degree and shield yourself from their effects. That's why Imperius is effective. The recipient of the curse has no idea they're being cursed at all, and the caster has greater power over them because of it. And, Remus, if you accuse me of sounding like a professor, I'll hex you."

"Like... Legilimancy," said Harry, choosing to ignore Narcissa's last remark, because she had sounded like a teacher, and he didn't want to be the one who pointed it out. "You have to know how to fight it."

"Well, I suppose," said Narcissa, apparently disappointed that Harry had understood what she said.

"Sort of, Harry," said Remus. "If this theory is even true, being unaware meant that the state of the wards had a stronger tie to the state of the controller than they're meant to. But we have to take into account that Bellatrix dealt some of this damage. There's no question that Draco absorbed some kind of destructive force that he didn't intend to. And that he doesn't have the training to shield himself from that."

Narcissa slammed a hand down on the table. "If the Manor has a mind of its own, I don't know what the hell it was thinking! You can't foist something like that off on a teenager who isn't even a fully trained wizard. It's like... like handing a broomstick to a three-year-old and saying, 'Go play Quidditch!'"

"So he is just tired." Harry tried not to sound too impatient. The thing about these intellectuals, he mused, was that they spent entirely too long dressing up a very simple thing.

Remus opened his mouth to speak, but Narcissa waved a hand to silence him. "Let him think so," she said shortly. "I think there's quite a bit wrong with this line of reasoning anyway. That sort of a tie ... it doesn't make sense. There would have to be a failsafe, right? We don't know what happened- we don't know anything! The only way to start understanding it is to ask Draco. And that's not going to happen for a while."

Remus rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. "He'll likely be awake soon enough, and the sooner the better, because we can't stay here forever. And he's been stable since we brought him in here, so I wonder if we ought to move him upstairs."

"Shouldn't we wait for that little angry girl to come back?" Narcissa said worriedly. Harry got a grip on his laughter at the last possible moment. "I thought she was bringing you things you needed for Draco. And if he's got internal injuries... hell, I don't know what he's got, so ought we not carry him all over this place until we do know?"

"She's bringing me the necessities to make more of what we already have. Even if I could have sent her after some of the more exotic ingredients, I'm no Potions Master. We're limited to a few painkillers and a basic internal healing potion, so we might as well get Draco comfortable." Remus leaned in and rested a hand on Narcissa's, which was twitching arythmically on the tabletop. "Maybe when Ginny comes back, I can brew a Fever-Reducing Draught if we need it."

Narcissa kicked the table leg and replied with something foul, which Harry also chose to ignore, and he'd had half a thought that perhaps Malfoy's behavior was so generally objectionable because he had two very bad examples to follow when he realized that one of the bad examples was training a look at him.

"Don't look at me," he said indignantly, "I'm rubbish at Potions."

"Well, then the only person present who isn't is currently unconscious." She let out a strangled noise, halfway between a laugh and a sob. "A lot of good you do me," she said in Malfoy's general direction, her tone varying from scolding to frustration, and settling on the latter. "Let's take him upstairs, then."

Narcissa pushed away from the table, promptly overbalanced, and stumbled backwards a few steps. "I'm fine," she announced.

"I can see that," said Remus. "Harry, can you help me? I'll use a Levitation Charm, since we have more time to be delicate, but try and hold him steady and make sure his legs don't bump into anything."

Harry's tired body appreciated the charm, even though Malfoy wasn't exactly heavy under his own power. It was tedious going up the staircase and into one of the bedrooms, and Harry kept up a fervent and constant prayer that the robe covering Malfoy wouldn't slip off. Malfoy nudity was not something Harry wanted to confront; it was bad enough that he'd been Malfoy's personal footrest in the car, and now he was being compelled to grab at a bare ankle to keep Malfoy's legs from colliding with the banister.

The bedroom was, not surprisingly, completely filthy, and Remus took one hand from under Malfoy's head long enough to pull out his wand and mutter "Scourgify," a few times and smooth out the bedsheets. Narcissa moved forward to help them settle Malfoy on the bed. Her movements appeared to be slightly more coordinated when they were slow and deliberate, but her hands were beginning to tremble slightly.

"You should take some of that Healing Potion yourself," Remus said gently. Narcissa nodded absently, which Harry took to mean that she intended to do nothing of the sort.

"Right then," said Remus in exasperation. "At least stay still for a minute. I need to go and get the water running in these pipes. Conjuring up water gets to be a hassle, and I want to keep the use of magic to a minimum."

"I'll take care of that," said Narcissa decisively. Her exit from the room commenced with a rather clumsy lurch, and although it drew a sigh from Remus, he made no move to stop her.

"When she passes out, I'll just throw her in the other bedroom," he muttered, apparently to himself.

There was a thump from next door, a rattling noise, and then a muffled something that sounded suspiciously like "Wingardium Leviosa." A loud bang and a flash of sickly yellow light that lit up the hallway for a brief second accompanied this seemingly inappropriate charm. Harry, too mystified to be startled, watched in bewilderment as Narcissa shuffled back into the bedroom, a sheepish smile on her face. Remus shot her a look that verged on disdain.

"What?" she said indignantly. "Every charm I've ever performed has produced that exact effect, so why would I bother learning more than one? Besides, it does some good. The water's running in that bathroom."

"Let me take care of the faucet downstairs, please," Remus said irritably.

"Suit yourself," said Narcissa. "I'll take the first bath, if you don't mind. I'm bloodier than you two." She laughed and shook her head. "Professor Flitwick used to cringe when he saw me coming."

"I can't imagine why," Remus said dryly. When she had left again, Remus turned to Harry. "You haven't been saying much. How are you holding up?"

Harry was gratified that someone had finally asked, but he still wasn't sure how to respond. He gave a half-hearted shrug. "I'm in one piece," he said lamely. "And, ah, I don't want to mess anything up."

"You're doing fine, you know," Remus said quietly. "You've been a real help, and besides, Narcissa will take offense if you suggest that you're more of a liability than she is."

Harry was relieved to hear a compliment, given just how much he'd been feeling like a useless bystander in the middle of a bizarre tragedy. Even though he hadn't been able to stop a single thing from happening... Harry glanced over at the unconscious Malfoy, and felt the slight pang of frustration coming back to him. But then, he thought, Remus wouldn't have said that he was being a help if he wasn't. As the older man turned to leave the room, Harry's gaze fell on the dark burns on Malfoy's neck, and he suddenly remembered something...

"Remus," he said hesitantly, "I wanted to ask you... but if you'd rather talk about it later, that's... I mean, my mum had burns like that..."

Remus smiled sadly at him. "It's alright. I expected you to ask, I only wish my explanation was more complete." His voice softened, and he dropped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "It... looked like she'd tried to cast some sort of a shield, and it didn't have quite enough time to work, even if ... well, even if it would have worked. It was a theory that we'd discussed, but it's not as though a charm to repel the Killing Curse was something anyone could have tested. It was very like Lily to try, but... she didn't have enough time, Harry."

He wasn't sure he wanted to hear any more, but he hardly had enough information about his parents to start being choosy now, and he found he wasn't willing to let the subject go. "She thought the Killing Curse could be repelled?"

"Everyone was so afraid of the Unforgiveables because there supposedly weren't any counter-curses. Lily was convinced that there wasn't any kind of magic that couldn't be countered somehow, and we started floating theories."

Harry sat up straighter in the chair. "You and my mum discussed that?"

"We were the perpetrators of the original conversation, yes," said Remus lightly. "Most of what we discussed is probably better left as theory." He gave Harry's shoulder a decisive pat and offered one of his pained smiles. "I've got to finish up downstairs. I'm sure you wouldn't mind keeping an eye on Draco for a while. Let me know if anything changes. I'm not sure Cissy's much help right now."

He was gone before Harry really had any chance to protest, not that he knew what to say in response. It wasn't like Harry was some stupid kid who needed to be put off like that. Remus had been more than willing to bring the subject up earlier, but apparently Harry had stumbled into yet another mystery that yet another adult wasn't willing to unravel.

He wasn't really angry about it, though, Harry realized with a kind of dull surprise. He wanted to know, but for the first time, it occurred to him that Remus didn't want to tell. Remus had been the one who actually knew his mother, and maybe, because of everything that had been happening, Remus wasn't yet able to talk about anything to do with loss. Harry could certainly relate- it wasn't as though he felt able to even think about Sirius yet, much less talk about it.

Especially since the idea of loss was hanging over the room like a shroud. Now that the discussions were over and the distractions were no longer present, Harry had no choice but to face the fact that he was playing nursemaid to an unconscious Draco Malfoy, and moreover, Malfoy looked terrible. The dried bloodstains on the sheet probably had a lot to do with the general grimness of the scene, but even if Harry could manage to ignore that, he could barely keep looking.

Between the burns and the feverish flush on his cheeks, it was more color than Harry had ever seen on Malfoy, and it was just wrong. Malfoy was supposed to be a pale, colorless, malevolent presence, and he was supposed to keep to the fringe of Harry's life and not stare him in the face like this. Malfoy's proximity was very nearly as wrong as the fact that Harry still felt sorry for him, for getting hurt so badly, for apparently making a mess of things, for having to make a harder decision than he'd ever had to make before. He wondered how much Malfoy knew about what had happened to him, if he'd be as confused as everyone else was. Harry couldn't imagine him admitting to confusion, but then again, Malfoy was technically on their side now and just maybe he would actually be worth talking to when he woke up.

If he ever woke up. He barely even seemed to be breathing, now. Harry could hardly detect any sort of rise and fall in the thin sheet covering Malfoy's body. It was stuck to him in places, too, with either blood or sweat, and Harry wished someone would clean him up, so he didn't look so ... messy. Well, he wished someone other than him would clean him up.

Harry stretched his aching legs out in front of him and wondered where Malfoy had come up with the whole idea. He had probably just had to pick something that he thought might work... that it had worked would likely be as much of a surprise to Malfoy himself as it had been to his rescuers. Harry wasn't sure if he would have been able to do anything similar in that situation, and Malfoy had, and a disturbing tendril of envy crept in amongst the pity.

As for their being nice to each other, it was almost too foreign a thought to contemplate. He was genuinely curious to find out what exactly Malfoy had done back at the Manor, both to facilitate the rescue and to put himself in such a state, and Harry hoped that he could at least get some of the details. He supposed he had nothing to worry about, though, since Malfoy loved nothing more than to brag, and he'd accomplished something fairly spectacular the night before. If the architect of this particular spectacular idea wasn't struggling for breath on the bed in front of him, Harry might have been, well... somewhat jealous.

Harry wasn't sure when he'd dozed off, and he wasn't sure if it was the echoing thump from downstairs that roused him, or the scream, or Malfoy's weak coughing, or the rustle of the sheets as his hand convulsed once and went still.

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

In retrospect, taking off like a woman possessed hadn't been the best way to proclaim general innocence to the world at large, but Ginny was beyond caring. She had dared a look back from the street corner; the man had stepped outside shortly after her exit, and was coming towards her. He was not taking any pains to conceal himself, and Ginny thought that he may not have been the most successful covert operative in history, but it seemed a sure thing that he planned to follow her.

A fine, misting rain had begun to fall while she'd been indoors, and the obscured visibility was both a blessing and a curse. He couldn't see her as clearly from a distance, but the pavement was slick, and hindered her speed.

Ginny had very little experience with espionage tactics, but she thought it might throw him off if she tried to double back. She slipped around the corner into a dingy alley that came out behind the row of shops. She moved as quickly as she could manage with the load she was carrying, splashing awkwardly through a series of puddles as muddy water seeped into her shoes and rain trickled coldly into her collar and down her back. The walls loomed beside and above her, dirty and grey and imposing, catching the sound of her rapid breathing and throwing it back to her. It became increasingly difficult to fight back claustrophobia, and Ginny gave a whimper of relief when an exit presented itself.

She emerged on the street, further along than the grocer's, but close enough to see the man turn the corner into the alley. So she had a few minutes, maybe, but she'd have to go past the entrance to the alley again in order to get to the road out of town. Ginny glanced behind her, nervously. Maybe he'd give up on searching the alley and she could run back that way, concealed by the buildings, until she was out of town. But if he was still back there, and she met him somewhere in that narrow lane, she'd have nowhere to run and no way to evade him. Shuddering at the idea, she crouched down and shoved the bags into each other until she had only three to carry. She'd have to run for it. She slung her load across her back and pelted down the sidewalk.

Ginny had one final errand, and she nearly gave up the idea of it, but she didn't want to see the look on Narcissa's face if Ginny returned without her precious cigarettes. She slowed down in front of a newsstand with a tobacco display. The man had to be in the alley, still. Even if he was running, it would take him a few minutes, maybe longer, since the rain was coming down harder now.

Ginny was sure she'd done the right thing by stopping once more. She was one of the few who knew that Charlie smoked, and she knew that his frequent irritability at family functions was due to the fact that he was unable to sneak off for a fag. If easygoing Charlie got that worked up without his cigarettes, Ginny didn't want to imagine what Narcissa would do. She'd have them poisoned by dinnertime.

It was really only that last thought that convinced Ginny to stop. It was certainly the wrong thing to hand over the slip of parchment containing Narcissa's explicit instructions on what brand to buy, but Ginny didn't trust her voice anymore, and she didn't have time for miscommunication. Then man wrinkled his brow at the parchment as though Ginny had handed him a sheet of hieroglyphics to decipher, but he said nothing, for which Ginny thanked every spiritual force she could think of. The transaction was completed quickly, and Ginny didn't wait for the change.

She glanced back up the street, and although she couldn't see much, she thought she made out a man's silhouette moving her way. It could have been the byproduct of her paranoid mind, but she wasn't taking that chance. A large rubbish bin hulked around the corner, and with the large bags she was carrying, she could blend in very well.

In theory, this hiding place should have brought her some small comfort. But no sooner had she settled in than a new reason for panic presented itself. Disguised as a pile of garbage, soaked to the skin and freezing cold in an obscure Muggle village, Ginny began to wish for the relative familiarity of her unknown pursuer. Because now there were two men, too close to her for any sort of comfort, out of sight around the corner, and they were nearly completely dry. The rain appeared to strike some invisible point above their heads, and it streamed down around the protective bubble enveloping them. A Repelling Charm.

There are your wizards, Ginny, the section of her brain devoted to the obvious announced to her. Hiding from the Muggles because they don't want to get wet. They were stupid, of course, anyone could happen around the corner and see them, and Ginny wished she hadn't. One of them put his hand on his hip; the motion pushed his coat back a few inches, and in the most drawn-out split second of her life, several images converged. There was a wand poking out of the waistband of his trousers, and a badge on his belt with a moving logo that the Muggles couldn't see. At least that one man was Magical Law Enforcement, probably one of the foot soldiers rather than an Auror. Laughter washed down the alley and hit Ginny full force.

"A stake?" said the MLE man, "nah, that's fer vampires. Silver bullet's the only thing that'ud take down a werewolf..."

"But your method doesn't matter righ' now. Ye don't even know where ter look," said the other man.

Ginny scrunched down further under cover of her bags, heart pounding madly. She'd been hiding from suspected Muggle police, and here were two of the wizarding version ten feet away from her. Of course, they couldn't be the finest that MLE had to offer, or they wouldn't be stationed out here in the middle of nothing and nowhere, and they couldn't possibly be looking for her, but the fact of it still sent her stomach down somewhere below her knees.

And what if they were looking for her? Or would be, soon? The man following her could have been one of them, for all Ginny knew, and maybe these two were going to meet up with him, and he'd tell them all about that nervous girl with red hair and too much money.

Time to run for it, her sense of self-preservation announced.

She didn't think that the two men had even noticed her in the first place, and she doubted that her original pursuer could track her any longer through the downpour. The rain was going to slow Ginny down considerably in the woods, but at least it would wash away any trail she left behind her. Just to be sure of her safety, she dared a look back as she found the road out, but she wasn't sure what she was trying to see. If the three men were all MLE, they certainly wouldn't be having a conference about strategy in the middle of the street.

The journey from the cottage had been so adrenaline fueled that Ginny hadn't quite noticed that it was all downhill until she was headed in the opposite direction. Her physical exhaustion was catching up to her, and she began dragging the bags through the muck more than she was carrying them. She stared upwards, sighed, and trudged on the way she'd come.

Ginny wouldn't have stayed on the open road for anything, and she wished she had her bearings well enough not to have to follow its general path. She flipped up the collar of her coat and pulled her hat down to try and stop the cold rain from streaming down her neck. The way back was going to be long, and Ginny intended to make it even longer, though she'd be lucky if she didn't slip in the mud and break a leg. The way things were currently going in her world, it wouldn't be a simple fall. She'd probably sink up to her neck in it, ugly clothes, cheap food, and all.

Ginny, you are not going to go back to that house without your head in the right place and your thoughts in some kind of order. Although she had a feeling that once she got her thoughts in order, she wasn't going to like the results. She carried on through increasingly slippery terrain, and tried to let her thoughts progress.

Ginny indulged herself with a few angry words that in less trying times would have cost her a few house points from Gryffindor. After that entire pursuit-and-evasion game, she had to walk away knowing absolutely nothing concrete about any of those men and what they were really after.

The only thing she knew was that at least two of them were looking for a werewolf. It could have been a theoretical conversation, certainly, she thought as she took a few steps into the soggy underbrush and paused. It could have been. It could have been the byproduct of idle bragging amongst two not-so-bright members of the MLE who hadn't even been doing a particularly good job of patrolling. There was always that possibility, so she shouldn't panic just yet. She needed to at least be out of sight of the village before she panicked.

Those wizards hadn't looked at her once. Ironically enough, they were probably the only two people in the village who hadn't. She hadn't meant to cause such a fuss, but in her defense, it was a very small town and no one had seen her face before that morning. Of course they were going to notice her! And now, they'd remember her, if anyone asked. I don't have to go back there again, she reminded herself, and no one's following me now.

And it wasn't just those two idle wizards by the rubbish bins, but Magical Law Enforcement itself that was looking for a werewolf, and if any potentially Dark creature was involved, then the Aurors probably had an ear to the ground as well. It could have been a random werewolf on the loose, which happened from time to time, but after the past few days, Ginny was no longer comfortable with placing a bet on "random."

The facts were that several startling events had unfolded yesterday in the Wizarding world. Ginny, Harry, and Mrs. Figg's car were all currently unaccounted for, and shortly after they had gone missing, the wards surrounding Malfoy Manor had simply collapsed for no apparent reason. And Remus had said that those wards were impossible to breach. Now that the Manor was unguarded and unoccupied, it was sure to be swarming with Aurors and Order members... Order members like Remus, only he had disappeared, too, and there was a note in Harry's bedroom with his handwriting on it, and now, Aurors were standing over a pool of blood at the Manor and the authorities were looking for a werewolf.

Ginny hefted her bags over a mud puddle with a soft grunt, and tried to slow down her racing heartbeat. She felt as though she were drawing the world's most overblown conclusion, but really, what other conclusion could the world come to, given the evidence? For all they knew, Ginny and Harry had been lured away by an adult they trusted and dragged off to the lair of the Malfoys - well, that part was true enough - and the whole thing had resulted in an horrible, bloody mess, and the Aurors wouldn't know whose blood it was, and they would never suspect that it was Draco Malfoy's.

Wonderful, she thought dully. Remus is under suspicion of kidnapping and possibly murder, and that involving Harry Potter, of all people.

Ginny knew enough about the law to know that werewolves were rarely given the chance to explain.

And if she knew these things, Remus knew them heartbreakingly well. So why would he risk this sort of implication by acting so irrationally? Ginny rubbed her temples in a futile effort to get rid of the pounding between her ears. No one was telling Remus he'd have to run straight to the Ministry of Magic with his problems. He had the Order, who trusted him, who were his friends, and surely if he'd sat down with Tonks or somebody and explained the situation, he could have had the help. In fact, Narcissa could have had the help, too, long ago, and things never would have gotten this bad.

So, why didn't he? There were plenty of things about Narcissa that would raise an eyebrow, but anyone who knew Remus would know that he couldn't be up to anything. Unless there was some sort of hidden doubt, unless...Harry's voice echoed in her head, half matter-of-fact and half surprised...

"Sirius thought you were the spy..."

Everyone had doubted him, Sirius included, and Sirius had the built-in liability of being Narcissa's cousin in a family that wasn't particularly close-knit. It wasn't how many minds Remus had to change, it was which particular minds he had to reason with. Ginny thought she'd known Sirius as well as anyone, and his opinions had been so set that it must have been a near-impossible task to get him to reconsider anything. He wouldn't have listened. He would have jumped to conclusions, he... would have told anyone and everyone he could that Narcissa, and by extension, Remus, couldn't be believed. It pained her to think that way of someone she had liked, and someone who was no longer around to defend himself, but it was most likely the truth.

After all, Sirius had still been enchanted enough by his own cleverness to appear in his not-so-secret Animagus form in public when he was a wanted man. He wouldn't be caught because he hadn't been yet. All of his tricks were still a novelty, and if any idea in his head was long-standing enough, he had built his very reality around it.

"It became very evident that I was concealing something..."

Concealing something like that, and even keeping it hidden from Sirius? Ginny had had her own theories about what was really going on between the two of them, and needless to say, Remus had likely been in a position where it would have done him some good to be completely honest with Sirius, on a daily and ongoing basis.

And even though this intense level of secrecy, scrupulously maintained over such a long period of time, made little sense to Ginny, she was forced to admit one thing. Remus trusted Narcissa implicitly, and probably with good reason, if he was willing to risk his friends, his good name, and well, Sirius over this. Of course, Ginny had no idea what the good reason was, and she doubted that she would be enlightened anytime soon, but she did know that Remus Lupin was not stupid, no matter how eager-to-please he may have seemed at times. There was certainly no way he would have let himself in for what he was now facing if Narcissa wasn't worth saving, and if all of this skulking around wasn't completely necessary.

Ginny knew this, logically, and it wasn't too difficult to exonerate Remus. After all, the world had some very preconceived notions about him and Narcissa, not to mention that Remus hardly had any friends he could afford to lose by this point. The suspicious part of Ginny's nature wouldn't let Narcissa off the hook so easily. She wasn't doing Remus any favors by her behavior, that was for sure. If Remus ever did decide to come clean to the world about his clandestine activities, what on earth could he say that would be believed? Well, here's my secret- a barmy, drunken spy who doesn't actually know anything useful, and spawned a right evil little bastard, besides!

And what was Narcissa up to with those poisons? If one had the time to choose what items one was going to run away with, why not bring healing potions or something actually useful? Or... well, anything else really, besides instruments of death. And just who was she planning to use them on? Narcissa had been acting as though she were pathetically dependent on Remus; Ginny was willing to concede that she most likely meant him no harm.

The most maddening of all was the idea in sixteen years, Remus had not seen fit to breathe a word to anyone, including Dumbledore, who most certainly would have believed him, and if it turned out that she was only fleeing through inhospitable, rain-soaked forests because Remus Lupin had severe personal issues, she was going to have to hurt someone. No one had better have the nerve to suggest that she be sent home again. Ginny glared up at the slate-grey sky and the dripping treetops. She was not leaving until someone gave her a full explanation for just why she'd had to go through this. At least she could comfort herself with the idea that if Remus's little band of Malfoys wanted to stay hidden, they were rather unlikely to allow Ginny to go home and squeal on them.

Not that that idea was particularly comforting, but she was exhausted, and soaked to the bone, and weary of thinking, and she'd best take what little comfort she could get. Ginny worried her lower lip with her teeth, and maneuvered around some low-hanging branches that she managed to keep out of her face, but they sent a stream of chilly rainwater down her back regardless. She couldn't see the house yet, but she could just make out the shape of the car, and could hear the difference in tone where the rain was striking metal instead of dirt. So here she was, back at the house, less visibly panicked but probably in worse mental turmoil than she'd been in her life. Ginny supposed an outward calm would just have to carry her through.

She was sure that it was hardly concern for Malfoy's delicate state that made her re-enter the house quietly. Nevertheless, she did it, and then almost sort of wished she hadn't. Not when Narcissa was striding around the kitchen table aimlessly and frantically, with a look of panicked determination on her face and not when she was saying things like, "well, he had better stop asking questions or he's going to hit on the one that we really don't need to answer right now."

And since Ginny was internally quite busy with inventing various new and dramatic ways of expressing the concept of enough, already, she let the water-logged bags fall to the floor with a rather disgusting squelching sound, and loudly said, "I'm back!"

Narcissa perked up in an alarmingly quick manner. "Cigarettes!" she cried, with all the glee of a child at Christmas.

"Fennel!" said Remus, with great relief in his voice. "And ginger root. This will help. Thank you, Ginny. Are you okay? You're soaked through."

"That's what happens when rain falls on your head for over an hour," said Ginny. "I'm fine, I suppose."

"You're an exceptional child, truly," said Narcissa, while tearing into a carton with such vigor that packets of cigarettes went flying across the room.

Ginny glared at her. Narcissa had cleaned up, and without the bloody face and hair, she wasn't quite so intimidating. The fact that she seemed to be having an inordinate amount of trouble in getting her cigarette lit made her even less so. Ginny therefore felt free to express her displeasure. "That was entirely too much money you gave me."

"Are you suggesting that there is such a thing as entirely too much money?"

"Hush," said Remus, with more patience than Ginny was feeling equal to at present. "Did you have any trouble?"

Ginny paused, uncertain how much of her considerable trouble was necessary to relate, and how much of it was her own paranoia.

"I don't know exactly what you're worried about," she began cautiously, "but I saw two men that I think were Magical Law Enforcement." Ginny glanced between the two adults, who both seemed annoyingly unperturbed by this news. "They didn't see me. And I didn't see any other wizards."

"You're sure they didn't see you?" said Remus.

"Positive. I hid from them, and they weren't paying much attention to anything, anyway."

"No trouble, then." A degree of cheerfulness had crept back into Remus's voice.

"Well..."

Narcissa groaned and exhaled a cloud of smoke that Ginny sidestepped in annoyance. "There's always a qualifier, isn't there? Well what?"

Both sets of eyes turned to Ginny expectantly. She had to tell them about the man. It might have been nothing, he might have been no one, but she had to be sure. Besides, having come back to the house and being confronted with Remus's kind face, Ginny felt enormously guilty for having suspected him of anything, even for a few minutes. If omitting this information was going to hurt him, she'd never really forgive herself.

"Someone followed me around for a while. I lost him, but... he chased me through some shops and I dropped all of the money in front of him-"

"What?" Narcissa said sharply. "You got it back, right?"

"Oh, here," Ginny pulled Narcissa's change from her pocket and flung it in the other woman's direction. Narcissa snatched it up and proceeded to count it. Ginny rolled her eyes and turned back to Remus. "Look, I wasn't going to go completely unnoticed. I was a stranger, and I he probably thought I was a runaway. I think he might have just been Muggle police."

"Why do you say that?" Remus asked as calmly as though he were quizzing her on the identifying features of a grindylow.

"He was dressed like a Muggle, and I didn't see a wand or anything- he didn't use any magic. He seemed out of place, though. No one in the town seemed to know him."

"Find an anomaly, and you've most likely found a problem," Narcissa said darkly.

"True," said Remus. "What did he look like, Ginny?"

Ginny sighed and struggled to remember. She hadn't really taken the time to stop and look at the man, and she hadn't been too close to him, either, except for in the grocer's...

"He was older, and sort of fat and red-faced, and he was wearing a brown Muggle suit. An ugly brown suit." Something unreadable flashed across Remus's face.

"Remus, does that sound like anyone you know?" Narcissa cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. "Remus, darling, are you with us?"

So much for the groundless paranoia theory, Ginny thought. Remus was frozen in place, save for the stray hair that had fallen across his face and was moving slowly in time with his breathing. A few seconds and a nearly visible internal conflict passed.

"Yes, it's just that... Ginny could be right, you know. But somehow, I doubt it. Well... well... that... complicates things."

"Who is he?" Ginny asked worriedly.

"Let's just say he's someone I'd rather not have to deal with at present," Remus said tightly.

"Let's not just say that," snapped Narcissa. "Let's just explain it all, shall we?"

Yes, let's! screamed Ginny's over-active brain, even though she was perfectly aware that Narcissa was not speaking literally, and the chances of everyone coming squeaky clean at present were slim to nonexistent.

"If he finds me, it's going to cause us some problems," said Remus. Ginny was taken aback by the bitterness in his voice. "It's apparently what he lives for. I suppose we'll need to move on sooner than we thought, because thanks to me, we may be in some trouble." Remus very suddenly slammed his fist into the wall behind him, and Ginny decided to blame this uncharacteristic behavior and her overwrought nerves for her rather embarrassing reaction of jumping nearly a foot into the air and yelping.

Narcissa snorted. "And if you've brought on trouble, that means I'm due to cause the apocalypse any second now."

Ginny jumped again as something came clattering down the stairs. "You might want to get up there now," Harry shouted. "He's not breathing!"