Monsters Aren't Real, Son

Chapter 4: Faceoff

October 20, 2008

12:05 a.m.

Seconds later, George found himself inside the darkened mansion. Ron shouted at the other two to take the ground floor, then waved for George to follow him up the stairs. Harry and the one called Abercrombie were already up the stairs, nearly toward the landing.

Shouts, bangs, and flashes of lights erupted in several places at once as the house itself attempted to repel the invasion. The auror force encountered no human resistance, though.

Is the place empty? George wondered. Were they tipped off? Have they scarpered off like the cowards they'd so often proven themselves to be?

George and Ron silently worked their way down the hallway, casting revealing spells along the corridor until they finally came across an occupied bedroom.

"What the hell is going on?" Draco roared as George and Ron kicked the door in and disarmed the occupants of the bed.

"Just another house call, Ferret," Ron barked with glee, summoning their wands and pocketing them beneath his shield-protected jumper. "You ought to be used to this by now."

"There's absolutely no excuse for a Weasley to be in my home, ever!" Draco snarled.

The woman in bed beside him was clinging to him. She whimpered in protest as he roughly extricated himself from her clutches, then leaped out of bed with a haughty snap of the sheets.

"Your kind belongs in the stable with the other livestock, Weasel. You will pay for this! I'll have your job! My father..."

George bristled at the conceited gall of the little prick. The Malfoy superiority complex was a well-known phenomenon - by the Weasley clan, especially. But... "Your kind"!? Really?

Ron leveled his wand an inch from Draco's little pointy nose. "Save it for the Wizengamot, Ferret. They might give a shit about your precious pedigree," Ron taunted him. "I don't."

The cowardly man's indignation fled in an instant. He bit his lip to keep it from quivering.

George instinctually spun around toward the door at the sound of a baby crying. He poked his head out the door. A few moments later, a young woman he presumed was the nanny came running down the hall, arms full of a bundle, jabbering in an unfamiliar language.

"Scorpius!" the woman in bed wailed.

The nanny bolted into the room carrying the baby, still yammering. George couldn't understand the words, but her tone made it clear: she was confused and terrified.

"Speak in English, you fucking cow!" Draco snapped as his wife, Astoria, gathered the child from the distraught woman.

"Enough!" Ron barked. A second later, Draco's hands were magically bound together in front of his body. "Come with us, all of you," Ron directed.

Astoria slid off the satin-bedecked bed. The little boy was now howling in protest. George took up a position behind them, escorting her and the nanny out the door.

"If you harm a hair on their heads, I'll kill you," Draco hissed.

"You're not really in a position to threaten, Ferret, but by all means do feel free to say something to further incriminate yourself in front of all these witnesses," Ron retorted.

Downstairs, Ron and George met up with the rest of the team as they delivered their prisoners to the agreed upon rendezvous point.

Lucius Malfoy was there already, sneering and seething. "What is the meaning of this invasion? I demand to speak to the Minister. You will all be brought up on charges!" he raged.

The nanny kept blubbering in her native language despite Draco's demands for her silence and subsequent threats of punishment for her disobedience. Astoria was proving herself incompetent in soothing baby Scorpius, who continued his crying. All in all, it was a cacophonous mess.

"Shut up, all of you!" Harry shouted.

As if he'd cast a silencing charm, merciful quiet descended. George wondered if it was, in fact, some sort of spell.

Harry leveled his gaze at Lucius. "You, especially."

Lucius shook his head and shoulders, as if attempting to cast something off.

"Is this everyone in the house?" Harry asked.

The one named Petersen responded. "All floors are now accounted for, sir."

"Where's the mother?" Harry asked.

"Mr. Malfoy claims she's abroad at the moment," Sykes replied.

Harry stared hard into Lucius's eyes for several moments. Lucius glared right back.

"You barely know what the truth is, anymore," Harry muttered, disgusted.

Lucius sneered once more. "I survived the Dark Lord, and you think you can see anything in my mind I don't want you to see?"

Harry switched his focus onto Draco.

Draco screwed his eyes shut. "Get out, Potter!" he yelled.

"Concentrate, Draco!" Lucius growled quietly.

A moment later, Draco roared in fury.

"Narcissa's in Haiti?" Harry stated rather than asked, his tone smug. "What a remarkable coincidence."

"Draco!" Lucius scolded his son with a hiss. Then he turned to Harry. "Since when does the Ministry condone such questionable interrogation tactics?" he snarled with indignant disdain.

Harry turned back to Lucius. "Tell me what I want to know. Where is the body?"

There it was again - that commanding voice. In all George's previous dealings with Harry in combat situations, Harry'd proven himself an excellent leader by simply being himself. People did what he told them to do out of respect and admiration, secure in the knowledge he'd never ask them to do anything that wasn't necessary, or that he wasn't willing to do himself.

But this was entirely different, dealing with an antagonistic source. George was now convinced Harry was using some sort of compulsion spellwork, almost like a veritaserum in charm form, if possible. George had never dreamt such Dark-leaning, aggressive magic could be used legally by the aurors. And if it had been anybody but Harry doing it - a person whose morality George trusted implicitly - he'd have been scared shitless.

Lucius appeared to have some difficulty responding now. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied, stammering slightly.

"I am authorized to ask once more - a second refusal to cooperate will result in a full search of the premises," Harry said softly, warningly.

"You won't find a damn thing, Potter!" Draco bellowed in arrogance.

Harry ignored Draco completely. Staring hard into Lucius' eyes, he asked once more, "Where is the body?"

Several long, quiet moments passed as the two men glared at each other. Lucius began to squirm slightly, then emitted a quiet grunt of effort. "Are you hard of hearing or simply stupid, Potter?" he retorted, a little out of breath. But the haughty sneer was gone now, and he was beginning to sweat.

"Abercrombie?" Harry barked.

"Yes, sir."

"Your report?"

Abercrombie responded by rattling off a list. "Numerous wall niches in the library and the drawing room, next door. One bunker off the master bedroom. Passageways leading from the bunker, butler's pantry and library underground, ending beyond the hedge to the west. Oh, and a large chamber below the drawing room."

Harry snorted. "Yes, I'm acquainted with that particular room."

"This invasion of privacy is illegal!" Lucius shouted at everyone but Harry. "You'll all be sacked by morning if you do not leave this instant!"

Harry wore a faint, smug smile. "Getting nervous now, are we? Last chance to cooperate, Lucius...."

Lucius chewed on his lip.

"Father?" Draco asked, his voice unsure.

His son's faltering voice seemed to strengthen Lucius' resolve. "You won't find it!" he hissed.

"Where is it?" Harry bellowed, and everyone in the room flinched.

Lucius stood pointedly silent, staring at the wall across the room.

Harry took a deep breath. In a calm, collected voice, he began issuing directives. "Break the wards, Abercrombie. Every single one. Sykes, get the women and child out of here."

Sykes nodded curtly, then took the other two women by the arm and escorted the nanny and Astoria out of the room.

"Where are you taking them?" Draco roared.

Harry turned toward his schoolboy nemesis. "Into custody, of course," he replied evenly. "You remember how this works, don't you, Draco?"

Harry faced the other men under his command. "Petersen, Abercrombie, come with me. We'll search every drawer, every box, every closet, every cupboard. We'll rip up the floors and tear out the walls. Be on your guard - the human residents aren't the only nasty things in this house."

He turned to his brothers-in-law. "Ron..."

"We'll keep an eye on the Ferret and the Snake," Ron assured Harry without him having to issue further directives.

The house was quiet and their prisoners relatively docile (discounting the murderous glares, of course) for nearly half an hour. They stood with their hands bound, bodies leaning against adjacent walls of the room, under Ron's and George's watchful eyes and drawn wands.

It was at that point when someone from the underground level shouted, "Mr. Potter, sir! I think I might have found something here!"

Lucius took advantage of a moment's distraction by lunging toward the room's exit.

George blocked him with a body slam that sent Lucius crashing back against the wall. He shoved his wand up, jabbing the point of it into Lucius' throat. He saw Lucius' eyes dart around the room, searching for any weapon.

"Go for it," George snarled. "I beg you to give me a bloody reason..."

"George!" Ron barked.

"Look the other way, Ron," George suggested, glancing sideways at his brother for only a millisecond before his vengeful gaze returned to his quarry.

"Ever heard of karma, Malfoy?" George said, his voice filled with soft menace. He leaned into the odious, quintessential Slytherin and increased the pressure on his wand until a large crater now formed on Lucius' neck.

Lucius glared back silently, baring his teeth in a large grimace.

"No? Too enlightened a concept for you?" George taunted him. "How about the golden fucking rule, then? Do unto others as you'd have done to you? How many Crucios does the world owe you, Malfoy?"

Lucius only sneered. "Don't forget, you've got to mean it. Unforgivables aren't the sort of things for children to play at. You don't have the balls, boy."

George's free hand darted up and curled around Lucius' throat. He drew back his wand, aiming right between the eyes. This was the monster who had been behind it all. For Art's nightmares. For the ambush at Bill's wedding. For Ginny's ordeal in the Chamber. For the attempt on Annie's life....

Lucius flinched as George's fingers tightened.

"But what if I do mean it, Malfoy?" George hissed so quietly it was barely audible.

From somewhere in his mind surfaced an ages old, long buried vision of Malfoy crumpling before him, writhing on the ground in pain, begging for mercy. No... no mercy for you....

"George!" Ron barked again.

George came back to himself in that instant. His brother's voice reminded him of the husband and father he now was, of the wounded, imperfect yet decent human being he'd always attempted to be. Nothing was worth losing what he'd made of his life since the war. He would not ruin his mind, his soul, for this piece of shit.

Lucius snickered smugly as George's wand hand dropped.

Fury flaring, George hauled off and punched Lucius in the nose, grabbed him by the lapels of his dressing gown and slammed him against the wall, knocking a portrait off. The other paintings began screaming and shouting in protest.

"What I don't have is a slimy, rotten cesspool for a soul," George growled over the racket. "And I don't have a single fucking thing to prove to you."

Suddenly, magic erupted. Draco somehow managed to summon his and his wife's confiscated wands out of Ron's pocket during the scuffle between his father and George. Aiming at George, he shouted, "Crucio!"

George managed to dodge most of the force of the spell and deflect the rest with a hasty shield charm, but still staggered back a little as sharp little stabs of pain stung him all over. Taking advantage of his guards' surprise, Lucius threw his body forward, knocking George to the floor. Stumbling, Lucius staggered toward the doorway.

"Father!" Draco screamed, heaving his wife's wand in Lucius' direction.

But instead of catching it, Lucius' flailing arms batted the wand to the floor.

"Attero animus!" Ron bellowed, wand leveled at Draco.

Draco's eyes glazed over and he sank to the floor, head lolling. His wand clattered to the floor beside him.

George scrambled to his feet just in time to launch himself toward Lucius, hoping to head him off at the door. "Stupefy!" he thundered, blasting the hex across the room.

His aim was off, though. It missed Lucius, but did manage to hit the wayward wand, scattering it across the floor in the second before Lucius' hand closed around it.

"Corpus ingravesco!" Ron shouted.

This one hit its target broadside. Lucius crashed heavily onto the floor with a guttural groan, unable to move.

Ron dashed to the immobilized prisoners, binding them with multiple spells and gags this time, while George, still recovering from Draco's attempted curse - his joints were throbbing at the moment - staggered a bit around the room, collecting the wands. They shoved the father and son into a seated position on the floor, backs propped against the wall.

"Everything all right up there?" Harry called out from the room below them.

"Under control, mate!" Ron shouted back.

George sank heavily into a chair, grunting in discomfort as he did so.

Ron dug into another jumper pocket, withdrew a vial, and handed it to George. "Analgesic potion. It'll take the edge off the effects of the Cruciatus."

George gratefully took the proffered potion and downed it. As he felt the throbbing begin to subside, he looked quizzically at his little brother.

"Where the hell did you learn those?" he demanded in his usual teasing, older-brother voice he nearly always used when addressing Ron or Ginny. "I've never heard of them."

Ron grinned smugly. "One of the perks of spending your time with Hermione thumpin' Granger, that," he quipped.

George smirked, recalling how the fact that Hermione had chosen to keep her maiden name after marrying Ron had made their mother do her nut. "Not even bloody hyphenated!" Molly had shrieked for several years afterward whenever the subject had inadvertently come up. More than a few Weasleys had their noses a little out of joint for that one, actually. What was so bad about the Weasley name, after all? But then again, Hermione's so damn touchy about any whiff of patriarchal pureblood traditional bullshit, George grumbled silently.

"She taught you that?" George asked aloud. If she did, you were most likely on the receiving end, he thought with amusement as a vision of all six-and-a-half feet of Ron crashing to the linoleum in front of the fridge in their flat came to mind.

"Not exactly," Ron confessed with a chuckle. "She's always got her nose in some bloody book or another, and you know how she can prattle on. Most of the time, I ignore it," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "All that elves' rights rubbish..." Suddenly remembering who he was talking to, he rushed to add, "Not that I don't agree, mind you. But she never gives it a bloody rest, does she?"

"Back to the subject at hand..." George prompted his mentally wandering brother impatiently.

"Oh, right. Well, every so often I'll notice she's spoutin' off something remotely interesting or useful about an old spell that's fallen out of favor or the like. Or, once in a while, I'll thumb through one of those moldy old books of hers.

"It's not that they're all that powerful," he explained. "It's more the element of surprise, actually. That, and nobody remembers the counterspells anymore," he added with a grin George was confident would have earned him a swat from either his mother or his wife.

"So you're a parasite, really," George countered.

Ron pasted on a mock-pensive expression, gazing at the ceiling and stroking his chin. "I prefer to think of myself as a sponge, soaking up all that knowledge at my fingertips," he said, wiggling his fingers and winking at the innuendo.

George shook his head, pretending to disapprove. "I see you have Hermione to thank for your glorious auror reputation, then."

"I'm the one casting the bloody spells when it counts!" Ron protested in his characteristic whine.

"Which you'd never have the gumption or intelligence to find on your own, prat," George insisted.

"I'm damn good at my job!" Ron argued, bristling.

George realized then he'd gone a bit too far with the teasing. The matter of Ron's career as a subordinate to Harry in the Auror Department could sometimes prove to be a touchy subject with him. After all, there were always the whispers and rumors that he was still riding Harry's coattails, even now.

Not that he had ever really done so. Ron was an adequately intelligent, perfectly capable wizard gifted with an occasional flash of insightful brilliance - in other words, he was no different from the rest of the world. In any other scenario, he'd be accepted or rejected completely on his own merit, succeeding or failing in life with little public notice.

But it just so happened he was best mates with Harry friggin' Potter. No matter how much the Boy Who Lived tried to avoid it, the spotlight always shone on him, leaving everyone else around him in the shadow. On some level, Ron had to have always known he'd be the sidekick in a friendship like that. Still, George reckoned, it had to rankle sometimes.

"Not all of us can save the world selling dungbombs and exploding underpants, can we?" Ron snapped testily.

"Only the cleverest ones," George parried, carefully softening both his voice and his smile.

"You stole half those ideas from your wife anyhow," Ron countered, a grin beginning to turn up the corners of his mouth once more.

George could tell from his tone that Ron had forgiven him. "I've never denied it," he chuckled.

Ron laughed along with him. "Maybe that's another thing that runs in the family," he suggested.

"What's that?" George asked.

Ron beamed with mischief. "We may not be geniuses, but Weasley men consistently marry above their intelligence."