Thanks for all your reviews! Chapter 1 here.
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24 Years Later
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Hermione giggled as Ron's sorry face met her gaze. She sent a newspaper flying through the air to hit him square in the nose, and he let out a yelp, glaring at her. Harry, Ginny on his lap, snickered at Ron's lethal gaze.
"Oh, come on, Ron," she laughed. "It won't be that bad, I promise."
He muttered something under his breath before standing, his gangly feature hovering over her desk in the Ministry.
"I just don't like the idea, Hermione."
"Ron," she stated with a great deal of patience, as if explaining to a young child. "I survived a war. I came best at everything in Hogwarts. I kicked arses all around the place and I'm Head of a whole division in the Ministry. It's not as if I can't look after myself."
"But Hermione," he whined. "They say that there are plenty of things in that Forest. Werewolves and vampires and huge flesh-eating monsters and escapees of justice. And," he added, a tad lower and shivering all over, "there are spiders."
Ginny let out a bark of laughter at that, burying her head in her fiancé's shoulder to escape her brother's furious glare.
"Cut it, Ginny," he snapped before turning on Hermione. "Please. Don't go."
"It's not like I'm going in the Winter Forest unprepared, Ron," she sighed for the umpteenth time that day. "I sent out a patrol first."
Ron nodded in reluctance.
Hermione, at twenty-five years old, was Head of the Magical Creature's Welfare and Protection division in the Magical Being's department of the Ministry. As such, she travelled across the world to find, register and protect magical species, with ten people under her orders. However, this time, she wouldn't be scouring deserts in Africa or walking across jungles in Asia. The Winter Forest in Wiltshire, England, was home to an unique population of Scampbees, tiny pink bees who scampered around on two feet kissing flowers to make them multiply. She needed to register the Scampbees, and as this was the biggest colony ever reported, had decided to go herself, even though the Winter Forest was an awful place, icy and dark all year round and, as Ron said, full of uncomely monsters. She would have been foolish to storm into the Forest all alone, and Hermione was anything but, so she had decided to send a couple of her employees to scan the place first.
"All right, guys," she said, standing up, "let's go have some lunch. But first, Ron, please call in Daria Williams and Old Bill. I'll send them first."
As her friends left to wait for her in the corridor, Daria Williams and Old Bill entered her office. Daria was a pretty, blond young woman, always smiling and nice. Old Bill aka Bill Hensley was quite the opposite. He was limping, always snapping at everyone and everything, and was at least seventy, but he wouldn't leave the job.
Hermione explained that they must go that afternoon to the woods to have a look round before she went in alone. They nodded, and she finally left for lunch.
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"Stop complaining," moaned Daria as they approached the Scampbee nests. "I'm sick of it."
"How dare you," growled Old Bill, casting her a nasty look. "Geez, you are such a bitch, aren't you? All because you're young and pretty and servile...well, I tell you this, lass. I'm better a Magical Creature Officer than you'll ever be."
"Oh, please," she scoffed in disbelief, smiling at the Scampbees that hovered around her, curious. "You are far too old for the job now, Old Bill. Find a nice cottage and stay put."
Old Bill growled again then announced:
"I need a pee."
"Charming."
She rolled her eyes as the old git went further into the woods out of her sight. He peed quietly against a tree, then suddenly, his eyes were drawn to something. Beyond the trees, it seemed to the old man like he saw a crumbling wall. Intrigued, Old Bill slipped through the woods, forgetting his partner, and arrived in front of a huge mansion, half falling in ruins. His eyes widened and, curious, he walked up to the gate, ornated with two giant metal snakes coiled and poised that did intimidate him.
He caressed softly the gate, and it creaked open under his hands. He knew exactly where he was.
Several years before, at the end of the war, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had been murdered here. The corpse of their son had not been found, though his blood was found in several places over the Manor. The violence of the crimes had shocked the Wizarding world, even though the Malfoys were hated by many. The killers had never been found, even though some suspected Bellatrix Lestrange, the Dark Lord's loving follower, to have done the task. The only problem was that Bellatrix had herself perished during the battle in Hogwarts. Others suspected Draco Malfoy, the son himself, to have murdered his parents, even though he had no reason to do so. And, the enquiry had pointed out that, though Draco's body wasn't found, the young man had to be dead himself: so much blood had been lost by the Malfoy heir that it was impossible for a human being to survive the loss.
No witnesses had been there either, which was quite strange. Early in the evening, the House Elf servants of the Manor had all been sent by Lucius and Narcissa on different errands, and they had no visitors that night. No-one had breached the powerful wards, so they must have known their killer, who simply had to knock on the door. Unless of course, Draco himself had committed the deed, but, deeply hurt from the ensuing fight, had dragged himself out of the home and died somewhere in the Forest, leaving his body for the scavengers to eat.
Things had never been cleared, and truth be told, Old Bill had completely forgotten that the famous Manor was around here. Thrilled about the thought to have a morbid stroll through the place and by the idea of leaving the meddling little Daria to fend for herself in the woods a moment, Old Bill walked into the huge garden.
Immediately, the gates slammed shut behind him, making him whimper. Old Bill was no brave man. He turned back to the Manor, and decided that, since he couldn't go back, he must go forward. Suddenly afraid, Old Bill limped across the forlorn grounds, up the outdoor steps, and stopped in front of the huge, iron-wrought, oak door. He gulped. Magic was in the air, very old magic, whispering in his ears, grasping onto his heart, breaking his bones. And before Old Bill could try to open the door, it swung on its hinges.
He blinked, looking down. A small house elf, female, with a long, pointed nose and short ears, gazed up in fear.
"You must leaves," squeaked the creature in a scared voice, glancing all around, knuckles turning white as it held onto the door knob. "The Master shall not bes happy, oh no, nots happy at alls."
Old Bill was at a loss. He thought the Malfoy Manor empty, as its owners were dead since almost eight years know. And here turned up a tiny, scared elf, warning him away without even asking him who he was or what he wanted?
"You must leaves," repeated the tiny elf, pushing against his leg. "Leaves, and never returns. The Master woulds be furious. Yes, furious."
"What are you talking about?" asked Old Bill slyly, peeping into the night-black hall behind the elf. "Which Master? Who lives in this place? Did some homeless person turn up here? This was the home of the Malfoys, surely you know that? You are trespassing!"
Sure, he was too. But he felt entitled to, in a strange way. The elf was clearly anxious now, pulling her short ears and moaning.
"You must leaves! The Master is comings, I knows it! You must leaves if you wants to lives!"
As Old Bill opened his mouth to answer, a huge, ferocious roar resounded through the Manor and the night. The old man stilled, eyes widening.
"I trieds," whimpered the elf, "Bonny trieds to protects you, but you nots listenings. Master knows you is here nows. He is comings for you..."
With a shudder, the tiny creature retreated from the doorway, leaving it half open. Old Bill hesitated between running far away from this haunted place and stepping in to meet the monster head-on. He was a Magical Creatures Officer after all. He was entitled to curiosity.
And then it was too late to decide. A magical force propelled him inside, door slamming behind his forced entry, and he landed hard upon a dusty, marble floor. He grunted in pain, before looking up, to find himself on the business end of a hawthorn wand.
The person behind the wand wass clearly tall, and amazingly, a set of two jet black, feathered wings sprouted out of its back. It being hooded, Old Bill could not recognize any face. It was wearing gloves too. Old Bill scrunched up his features in fright and pain. Those wings resembled those of a Veela, but...Veela's wings were a pure white, not black like this. He shuddered. Was the person a mix between a Veela and a kind of demon?
Now that he thought about it, a Veela was a naturally proud creature. It would never hide its figure if it could help it.
Something else struck the old man too. The person had a strange way of standing, as if it was hunchbacked. Its legs seemed to have knees far lower than the usual man or woman. And it truly was huge. Old Bill cowered as an icy cold, but rasping voice, came out from under the hood. Cutting, unforgivable.
"Who are you? How dare you trespass my land?"
Old Bill caughed, and tried to stand, but a menacing wave of the wand kept him kneeling.
"I'm sorry, Sir," he breathed in distress. "I didn't mean...I was in the Forest and I saw the Manor and I...I didn't think..."
"Apparently not," cut the cold voice, that was definitely male. "Came to see if the legends were true, did you? If blood was splattered on the walls? If, maybe, Draco Malfoy's dead body was rotting somewhere where none other looked before?"
Old Bill whined, and a cruel laugh came from the hooded feature.
"Now tell me," said the voice, "why I should not kill you."
"No!" squealed Old Bill, cowering upon his sorry self. "No, please, no! I'll give you anything, everything, please!"
"Because you think, foolish idiot, that you might have something that interests me?"
"Please, Sir, I swear! I'll give you what you want..."
"Shut up, bickering fool! Legilimens!"
Old Bill whimpered. He couldn't keep the stranger out of his head, and besides, maybe the man would find something to his liking in there. Images of his money, his home, his long-lost wife and his traitor son, his young years, his deepest secrets flew past his eyes, giving him a headache. Then suddenly, as the stranger flitted through his memories and thoughts of work, Hermione Granger's face appeared. Instantly, the man was out of his head, choking on his own breath, clutching his chest. The elf, Bonny, worried, trotted up, but the man stopped her with a gloved hand up in her direction. He then proceeded to mutter something to himself, while absent-mindedly stalking up and down the entry. Suddenly, he was hovering over Old Bill, wings flapping in an aggressive manner, the old man's neck squeezed between gloved fingers.
"What business do you have," he hissed, "with Hermione Granger? Speak, or you shall not live to see another day!"
Old Bill gulped, choking on his spit, and managed to gurgle as unnaturally sharp nails, more like claws, pierced the gloves and drew blood drops from his flesh.
"She's...my...boss," he managed to get out at last.
"Where is she," snarled the stranger.
"I...I don't know! At the Ministry, at her home..."
The man let go and resumed his pacing and muttering, tense. He seemed to be taking a life-saving decision.
"Tomorrow," he finally said, "you shall bring her to me."
"W...What?" spluttered Old Bill.
"Do I need to repeat?" hissed the stranger. "If you do not, I shall find you and I shall kill you...and if you need an incentive..."
The man suddenly pulled his hood down.
Old Bill began to scream in utter horror. He screeched, a never-lasting sound torn from his throat, as he scrambled away. The man, or rather, the thing, the Beast, fluttered its black wings in annoyance.
"Bring her to me, talk to no-one about this," he growled. "Or you shall die..."
Old Bill, terrified, managed to jump to his trembling feet, nodding furiously, and bolted for the door, still screaming.
As soon as his screams were lost in the air, the Beast's head hung low, and two thick tears streamed down its face. Bonny, the elf, approached, and let a soothing hand pat her Master's own.
"Did you sees her?" asked the elf brightly, hoping to up his mood. "Master. Did you sees her?"
"I did," responded softly the Master. "I know her well. Helas, of all the women on this Earth, it had to be her..."
"I is sures," said Bonny gently, "that if shes is the ones chosen for beings my Master's mate, she wills love you nos matter what."
"I doubt that," he said sadly. "And it is only three months before my twenty-fifth birthday, Bonny."
"Bonny is sures," insisted the elf. "If shes is the one chosen for beings yours mate, she is soft enough to loves you no matter what."
The Master turned away, then shuddered as his wings retracted into his back.
"Go," he said. "Go to the kitchens, and prepare supper with your son."
At the mention of Laddy, Bonny's son, her face brightened and she trotted off.
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A/N: Read and review, please.