War's End

Lucius Malfoy lounged regally on the floor of his cell in Azkaban, as only a pompous, absurdly wealthy, Pure-blooded socialite could. The cold stones cut into his backside and a part of him knew he'd carry the scars for the rest of his life, a choice to be sure. For once he was free from the wretched hellhole, his magic restored, he could easily wipe his body clean of the imperfections, rid himself of any indication of his stay at the worst place known to Wizardkind. But he wouldn't. No, the scars would remain, for hideous as they were, he took pleasure in them, as he did in all his markings. No Malfoy had completely healed a wound since the beginning of their line and he wasn't about to break the cycle. Besides, they were honourable scars, acquired in service to his Lord.

A smile graced his lips and Lucius stared up into the ceiling of the turret that was his temporary home. Voldemort had visited him that night and nearly every night since his imprisonment. Angry at first, the Dark Lord had quickly forgiven his favourite servant, his second-in-command. Severus might have been most trusted and Bellatrix most faithful, but Lucius held the favour and the closest thing to friendship the Dark Lord had ever known. In secret council, the Dark Lord had even expressed his wishes to one day declare Draco his heir, as he was past the point of being able to produce one of his own blood.

"My son," Lucius proudly whispered. "The next Dark Lord."

No matter what the public assumed, Lucius loved his family dearly. Of course, he was not a sentimental man, especially in public, but there was never a father more proud, more dedicated, more self-sacrificing for his child than Lucius Malfoy, albeit his ways were a bit unorthodox in comparison to the current norm. And, while he would have loved nothing more than to contact his son and tell him of the latest plans the Dark Lord had underway, he would have to wait. Dream-walking was a dangerous and powerful thing and, if he were to initiate communication when Draco was in class, forcing his son into a deep sleep, suspicions would rise and there could be trouble indeed.

And Lucius was quite certain Hogwarts was in session. If he was correct, and he most assuredly was, it was September 2, the beginning of Draco's sixth year and, more importantly, his twenty-second anniversary with Narcissa. His smile turned into a grin. Oh yes, he would visit his loyal wife and offer her what pleasure he could. It would be the first anniversary they'd spend without each other and their bonds enabled him to feel her disappointment, though try as she might to hide it.

As he closed his eyes and allowed his mind to fall into a peaceful darkness, Lucius delved through the layers of his subconscious until he found the tie he shared with Narcissa. It was a fine thread, crystal blue, the colour of her eyes, and he gave a gentle tug on it. The thread illuminated and flooded his mind with a blinding light, washing away the darkness like a tidal wave. And then there was peace and he was in the pleasure gardens of the Tahj Mahal, or at least his mind's recreation of it. He had rid himself of the tatter cloths of Azkaban and was dressed in blue Wizarding robes, darker than night. In front of him, sitting on a golden bench, was his wife, radiant as ever in rose-colored robes, their eyes locked onto each other.

Lucius walked quietly over to her, never breaking their gaze, and kissed the top of her hand. "Je t'aime mon bijou."

Narcissa smiled at him, her normally icy eyes soft and yielding, and pressed his hand to her heart. "Je t'aime mon âme."

They passed a few hours talking, and many more partaking in less chaste activities. When they were spent, lying naked in the floral fields of this reverie of theirs, Lucius whispered into her ear, though there was no need to speak softly. He regaled Narcissa with the prisoners' latest attempts to break out of Azkaban and she told him of all that the summer had brought, all that he'd missed. They spoke of times past and yet to come, of pureblood rule and the power their family would gain. And, in the comfort of her arms, Lucius told his wife what the Dark Lord aspired for, how their family's position would be forever secured once all the plans were set into motion and the Boy-Who-Lived was finally defeated come the vernal equinox.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Rotten luck, Harry," said Ron through a mouthful of potatoes. Hermione wrinkled her nose at his crudeness, but otherwise ignored him and turned to face Harry, who was staring woefully at his school schedule.

"There's nothing rotten about it. You should be glad you made it into Advanced Potions. You have to take it in order to train as an Auror."

Harry scowled and stabbed at his chicken breast, itching to throw it across the Great Hall so that it would smack Snape (whose black eyes were shooting daggers his way, as if somehow he'd cheated on his OWLS) in the face. Not that Harry was happy about the arrangement either. True, he wanted to be an Auror, but if that meant spending another two years being taught by Snape... well, perhaps another career wouldn't be so bad.

"I don't know how I scored an O on the test anyway. I must have been channeling you, Hermione, because I could never have done that well on my own."

Ron snorted. "You got that right."

Ginny, who was sitting beside Hermione, turned from her conversation with her current boyfriend, Dean, and eyed Ron in amusement. "Says the boy who barely got 6 OWLs."

"Shut up, Ginny," he answered, blushing despite his efforts not to. "Fifth year's a hard one, let's see how well you do."

At this, Ginny and Hermione shared a knowing glance and tried to keep from laughing. Though she'd never admit it out loud, Ginny was one of the smartest witches in her year, possibly even the school. And she worked hard for those marks, despite her other mischievous behaviours, which was something else that Ron didn't know about. No one knew about it, except perhaps Dumbledore, who knew nearly everything that went on in his school.

Ginny Weasley suffered from a mild case of insomnia, not that she needed much sleep to begin with. Five hours was typically enough for her and on the off day that it wasn't, a Replenishing Potion usually did the trick. In the wee hours of the morning, after most sensible people had been enchanted by Morpheus, God of Dreams, Ginny would roam the halls of Hogwarts. After five years of wandering, she knew every nook, every secret room, even the other Houses' dorms, save for Slytherin. For what self-respecting Slytherin would allow a Gryffindor into their lair?

Her favourite room was, of course, the Room of Requirement, which she'd known about well before it'd been used as the DA's headquarters the previous year. It offered an infinite amount of knowledge and endless possibilities. In the past two years, since she'd uncovered this little treasure in her third year, Ginny had learned to speak French, begun practicing to be an Animagus, and had learned spells and charms that were above even that of a seventh years' skill. All this was done in secret and Ginny doubted even Dumbledore knew what went on inside the Room of Requirement when it found itself in her possession. Because if he did know, he surely would have put a stop to some of her activities. Not everything she did in the room was completely legal, to say the least.

"I'm sure she'll do fine, Ron." Hermione answered. "Unlike some people, who I shall not name, Ginny doesn't leave everything to the last minute. Really, the OWLs wouldn't have been so hard if you-"

"Just hadn't procrastinated," Ron finished, rolling his eyes. "I know, Hermione. You've only said it about five hundred thousand times."

Hermione blushed and ducked her head, taking a small bite of her Yorkshire pudding. "I have not."

Harry and Ginny smiled at each other over their goblets of Pumpkin juice. "Good to see nothing's changed since I've been gone," she said.

Hermione's head snapped up at this, her eyes alit with curiosity. "Oh yes, how was Romania, Ginny? You must have learned all sorts of stuff from the Healers and what a wonderful place to be, all those dragons and injuries for you to work on."

As the dinner continued, Ginny entertained her Housemates, who'd all leaned in towards the group upon Hermione's question, with tales of her summer spent in Romania training with the Healers on Charlie's dragon reservation. The conversation continued as they congregated in the common room and by ten o'clock, Ginny was answering the last few questions they had. No, she hadn't tried to ride the dragons, did she look suicidal? Yes, she'd stayed in a tent with the other Healers-in-training and no they weren't all female (at this Ron began to turn an awful sort of purple colour, until Ginny assured him that nothing had happened and she could take care of herself, thankyouverymuch). When the crowd had started to disperse, leaving Ginny in peace, one listener had remained and asked a final question, one that took Ginny by surprise.

"Did you see anyone die?" came the soft voice of Luna Lovegood.

Ginny turned to look at her best friend who, weird as she may be, was always welcome in the Gryffindor common room, especially after the incident at the Department of Mysteries. Luna's wide blue eyes waited patiently for an answer and Ginny glanced around to see if anyone else had heard her question. Ron, Hermione, and Harry had retired to the couch by the fire and were speaking in hushed tones, as always, their heads bent and faces serious.

"Come on Luna, I'll walk you back to your common room."

The pair made their way out of the common room and trekked to Ravenclaw's tower, mostly in silence. They were nearly to the entrance, which was guarded by a statue of some ancient, yet well-known wizard, when Ginny finally spoke again.

"His name was Ollie. He was eighteen and from America and he died from a gut wound he got from a Hungarian Horntail. He was dead in less than a minute."

Luna placed a hand on Ginny's shoulder, offering comfort for the pain she saw in those mahogany eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Ginny shook her head. "Not now."

"I understand," Luna replied and the two continued without speaking, each merely content with the other's presence.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was precisely twelve thirty-two and Draco Malfoy was sprawled out on one of the many leather couches of the green and silver Slytherin common room, his head resting in Pansy's lap as her manicured fingers ran through his silvery blonde locks. On the floor in front of the Prince of Slytherin were the only other people Draco liked enough to call his friends. And no, they were not Crabbe and Goyle. Those two served only as bodyguards, nothing more, not that Draco particularly wanted their attentions. But they insisted on trailing behind him like lost dogs and were therefore treated as such. They took up position behind him, standing straight, their faces emotionless and ready for orders.

No, Draco's friends were much brighter and far less acquiescent, which he admired. They surrounded him in a semi-circle, Blaise Zabini, Dorian Urquhart, and Endora Vaisey. Each brought something different to the group; each had their own unique abilities for which Draco had chosen them. And there could be no other word for it because Draco Malfoy had indeed formed this group, his inner circle.

"Choose wisely," his father had said. "For one day you will lead the world and you must be sure your councilors are both faithful and competent."

They undeniably were. Blaise, with his dark skin, olive eyes, and sinewy features, could only be described as beautiful and was the most persuasive Slytherin Draco had ever met. There wasn't a person he couldn't entrance with his charm, if it was his wish, even a Gryffindor. Dorian, on the other hand, was ruggedly handsome and a model example of what a Slytherin should be: aggressive and cunning. He had a permanent five o'clock shadow, curly dirty blonde hair that constantly fell in front of his dark brown eyes, and could nearly rival Goyle in size, though Dorian was pure muscle.

Endora was a part of the group for the sole fact that she reminded Draco of his mother, though he'd never admit to it. She was tall and lean, like Narcissa, and had clever, light blue eyes. Endora had a knack for noticing little details and spoke only when she had something important to say, which made her all the more intriguing. Not to mention there was not a person alive Endora was unable to seduce, which was a power Draco admired. And yet, though Draco knew his parents would approve if he asked for her as a bride, he could never convince himself that the match would make him happy. Regardless of what people thought of him, Draco wanted to love his wife, or at the very least carry some sort of romantic feelings for her. While he was attracted to Endora, he knew he'd never love her, not in that way. Tradition be damned, but Draco was not going to suffer through an arranged marriage.

Pansy's involvement with the group had never even been a question. The Parkinson family was one of the few who could compete with the Malfoys in financial matters. They still fell short, mind you, but they were in the upper echelon of the Pureblood hierarchy. Besides, Draco and Pansy had been raised together and had been friends before they ever even knew of Hogwarts. And, despite what the rest of the school thought, Pansy was smart, maybe even smarter than that stupid Mudblood Granger.

If she'd been able to apply herself to her schooling, as she'd really wanted to, she could have easily scored an O on all nine OWLs, but such intellect was intimidating to men. Or at least that was the belief of her mother. So Pansy was forced to take an easier class load than she'd desired and had to purposefully score lower on her OWLs than she could have. That was one of the few things the Parkinson and Malfoy families did not see eye to eye on. Narcissa thought Kendal Parkinson was too old-fashioned when it came to the raising of her daughter and Draco quite agreed.

But it worked to their advantage. No one suspected Pansy to be intellectual and she played her part so well that adults often slipped in front of her, affording her information that she could have acquired in no other way. Yes, Pansy was a powerful ally to be sure. And an even better friend.

"Have you spoken to him lately?" Dorian asked and Draco didn't need to ask who "he" was.

"It's been a few days," he replied with a shake of his head, "but I suspected as much. What with school just starting and all, but I'll initiate contact tonight, after I take care of some business."

They all eyed each other knowingly. "When do you have to leave?"

Draco turned his head up to look at Pansy. "Soon," he said.

"Que ferez-vous?" Blaise asked, his hands idly playing with the bearskin rug that lay under him.

Draco smiled and watched the shadows that the light from the flames of the fireplace cast about the room. They twisted and turned like snakes, there one moment, gone the next, completely transformed into something else. The room was utterly dark and empty otherwise, all its other normal inhabitants dutifully in bed. It was common knowledge that to be in the common room past twelve without a direct invitation from one of Les Dirigeants Sombres, as their housemates had come to know them, was to place oneself in a situation best left not experienced. And so Draco and the others often held their meetings in the middle of the night when they were sure of their privacy and security of their surroundings. Of course, as an extra precaution, the group set impenetrable charms around the room and temporarily deafened Crabbe and Goyle. Some called it paranoid, but Draco preferred to think of it as a necessary precaution.

"Les enchères de notre Seigneur, mon ami," Draco replied, subconsciously rubbing at his left forearm.

Blaise's eyes widened and he abruptly sat up from his reclining position. He leaned forward, dark green eyes wide and filled with excited curiosity, and licked his lips. "Avez-vous été choisi déjà?"

"Non, vous n'y savez Ses sentiments."

"Le seront fait bientôt assez," Endora said, her voice soft but commanding and hopeful.

The others nodded in agreement as Draco rose. He straightened the silk, ebony robes he'd changed into that complemented his black trousers and indigo shirt and inclined his head in farewell. "It's time," he said, easily switching back to his native language and quickly removing the charms on Crabbe and Goyle as well as those on the room itself.

"When will you be back?" Pansy inquired, standing with the others and stretching her stiff muscles as politely as she could.

Draco shrugged. "Don't wait up. It could be a while."

With that, the Malfoy heir swept out of Slytherin's common room. However, he was not alone. A silent shadow had followed him from the darkest corner of the room and gone unnoticed by all, including Endora. The figure's steps were sure and soft as they continued in the same path Draco walked. They were nearly to one of Hogwarts' many hidden exits when the youngest Malfoy abruptly stopped and turned. He saw and heard nothing, but he knew better than to trust his senses.

"You can come out. I know you're following me."

The figure emerged from the shadows to reveal the impressive Millicent Bulstrode. Her black hair was swept back in a tight braid and her harsh features were accentuated by the torchlight. An uneasy smile found its way onto her face and she bowed her head.

"Malfoy."

Draco smirked, but it was void of any of its usual malice and could even be considered slightly friendly. "Millicent. You don't have to stick to the shadows when it's just the two of us."

"Old habit, I'm afraid."

Like Pansy, many assumed Millicent was some brainless clod, but this was not true. Ugly she may be, Millicent was sharp and strong and had served as Draco Malfoy's true protector since their acceptance into Hogwarts. Though some might find it strange that a mere girl would be in charge of guarding the sole Malfoy heir, this had been the Bulstrode family's duty for many centuries now, dating back to a thousand years before. Arneath Bulstrode, one of Millicent's forefathers, had been madly in love with Kalissa Malfoy, and she with him.

Yet, in those days, all marriages were arranged and Kalissa had been promised to another. Arneath, in a last desperate attempt to win favour with the Malfoys, had challenged one of their most deadly enemies to a duel. He lost and, as he lay dying on the field, Kalissa came to him. Using black magic that had yet to be banned, she sacrificed her own life to save his. On that very day, Arneath, so distraught by the death of his beloved, took a blood oath that would bind his descendants to ensure the survival of future Malfoys to come. So it had been since and so it always would be.

Millicent's father, Thaddeus, had dedicated his life to protecting Lucius and so it was Millicent's duty to protect Draco. She was one of the few people Draco trusted and, though she played a dumb, friendless brute, she was anything but and Draco had promised he would one day reward her for her dedication and loyalty.

The two continued their steady journey in silence. Millicent's hands rested on the sides of her broad hips, one on her wand and the other fingering the hilt of her dagger. Draco's eyes scanned the darkness, ready for whatever was to come.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

With footsteps light as air, Ginny made her way swiftly around the lake, running so fast that she could not suck in breath quickly enough. Her lungs screamed and her legs burned, but still she did not stop. Almost there, she thought. Just a little bit further and you'll be done. It was nearly two in the morning and still Ginny could not force herself to sleep. So she'd headed out to the lake to run a few laps, hoping to exhaust her body to the point of collapse. Twenty strides later, Ginny had reached the edge of the lake, where it met the wall that guarded Hogwarts and all that dwelled within. She happily fell against the wall and sunk to the ground, her knees giving out on her.

For a moment, Ginny just sat there, taking in the sights and smells of all that surrounded her. The clean scent of water, the fresh smell of freshly cut grass, and the musk of the forest. As her eyes glanced about, she was struck by an odd sight. Her eyes narrowed, tried to ensure she was not seeing things. But Ginny knew that was unlikely. She had excellent vision, better than most at least. And she knew what moved towards her was not a creation of her mind.

It was an amber haze, warm and inviting. It crept along the grass, out of the darkness of the Forbidden Forest. Every blade it touched prickled with energy and a low hum emanated from it. Slowly, the mist floated over to Ginny. It did not touch her, but formed a cocoon of mystical energy around her, heating her to her very core. It felt like home and her mother's arms and for one moment, one blissful instant, Ginny felt pure, like freshly fallen snow. The memories of her past, the Chamber of Secrets, the Department of Mysteries, Ollie's death, none of them mattered anymore. They did not cut her like knives, they did not demand retribution. She was renewed, washed clean, and her soul had never felt so light.

But the peace was not to last forever and suddenly it was ripped away from Ginny, eliciting a cry from her. Her eyes, which had fluttered shut in ecstasy, snapped open, raw and hurt. The pain was back, the guilt weighed heavy on her soul once more, and the amber haze was quickly returning to the forest. Before she even knew what she was doing, Ginny was up and on her feet and running towards it. Her feet were bare, as she'd removed her shoes earlier, and the fallen branches of the forest's great trees sliced into her sensitive soles, but she didn't care. Ginny ran further, faster, frantically trying to regain the sense of peace the haze had offered. But she'd lost track of the mist and now she was blindly turning in circles, her red hair whipping about her and her brown eyes wide and wild. Another scream tore from her throat and she fell to her knees as sobs wracked her body.

"Why me? Dear gods above, why me?'

"Why not?" came the reply from somewhere behind her.

Ginny stopped crying, her fear taking over her sorrow. She lifted her head and pivoted her body slowly. When she faced her unexpected companion, Ginny gasped, her hands flying to her breast, as if she were afraid her rapidly beating heart would pound its way out of her chest. He was huge, probably at least six and a half feet tall, and, though he was gaunt and pale, there was no doubt he was at least three times as strong as her. And twice as fast. Before she could think, instinct took over and Ginny whipped out her wand, casting a curse at the vampire before her. He merely chuckled and ducked the spell. In the blink of an eye, he was next to her, tossing her wand from her grasp and jerking her body up so that it pressed against his.

Ginny struggled and tried to fight him, but it was useless. His strong fingers held her still and when she kneed him in the groin, he simply grimaced and threw them both at the ground. Now her fear froze her, for she realized it wasn't just blood he wanted. He pushed himself against her body, hard and ready, and Ginny whimpered as he moved to suck on the delicate place between neck and collarbone. She bucked against him and the vampire snarled. Their eyes locked for a moment and Ginny cursed herself as she realized her mistake. Those startling black eyes paralyzed her, stole her will and bent it completely to their own purposes. He released her then, for there would be no more resistance, and took his time as he fondled her body.

She could no longer fight, no longer scream, but she could feel. Ginny could feel his cold hands on her bare flesh, taking liberties even Dean had not been granted yet. Tears leaked out of her eyes and flowed down her freckled cheeks. He grabbed roughly at her breasts and it hurt. Her body convulsed of its own accord and the vampire chuckled. He stood then and for one foolish moment, Ginny thought perhaps he would let her go; perhaps he would not do this awful thing. But as he removed his shirt and trousers, leaving himself bare before her, Ginny's fear returned tenfold.

Artemis, Ginny began to pray in earnest. Help me please!

"No god can save you now," the vampire replied and Ginny's heart sank. If he was powerful enough to read her mind, then no one could save her, even on the off chance that someone might find her. He moved to undo Ginny's jeans and her heart cried out again for compassion from her patron goddess.

"Unsuspecting virgins are always the best," he whispered in her ear. "Because blood always tastes better from the cunt."

When the vampire had finally finished removing her trousers and started on her underwear, Ginny knew all was lost and again prayed, but this time to Thanatos in hopes that he would take her life and spare her the pain that was surely to come.