Malfoy Manor.

It is a beautiful place – truly. A large stone mansion surrounded by tastefully arranged gardens, well away from the nearest muggle town. The house is not overtly showy or ostentatious – it simply sits there, confident in its superiority.

The front door is large, made of dark brown wood that stands out against the soft grey of the stone. Inset into the door too high for a man to reach is a knocker. It amuses me, this petty play towards magical superiority. The house is well protected – muggles could never find it, and even wizards would never reach the door without an invitation from the host. And yet, one is required to knock – and do so in a way that requires the use of a wand.

I suppose it sets a first impression.

With a lazy twirl of my wand, the knocker raps the door sharply. The door opens by itself, and I step forward, into the waiting parlor while I wait for my host to greet me. The elves remain hidden – they do not dare allow their master's guest to see them, and they have no interest in my affairs – my admittance into the house more than proof enough of my allowance to be here.

I hear quick footsteps coming down the hall – obviously, despite my presence, I am unexpected.

"Good afterno-" Astoria stops, her scripted introduction cut off as she looks at my face. Three years, and I have no doubt she recognizes me instantly.

And I am not disappointed. Her eyes betray the exact moment she realizes who I am – a delightful concoction of fear and worship – though the quickly masked shock is unacceptable. It ought to never have been in doubt that I would leave that hovel behind – no power on earth can keep me caged.

"Hello, Astoria," I say slowly, walking forward towards her, my hand raising as if to cup her face. She flinches, ever so slightly, and I can see her tense as she quashes down her natural reaction to back away.

"Where is everyone?" I would like to take more time to torment my little pet, but security is always the first issue – duty before desire and what have you.

"Draco is in Bristol for the day... I don't know what his business is, but he's never home before late evening." She gushes, her pace frantic, unsure if this knowledge pleases me or not. "Narcissa is at the summer residence in the south of France. She will not be returning until mid-August, at the earliest."

"Narcissa," I drawl, when it is clear she has finished speaking and I have no risk of interruption. "You must think highly of yourself, to call the matriarch of your new family by her given name. Have we forgotten our place, since last we met."

She looks down, suddenly intent to study her feet. Oh, the delicious irony of watching one of the pureblood elite not daring to look me in the eye, both lacking the strength and sense of self worth to do so... a lovely twist from what I endured through my early years at Hogwarts.

"After your... removal of the former head of this house, the marriage contract between myself and Draco was very much in flux. With my new status as heir-apparent of my family after my – afterwards – my father was able to renegotiate from a position of strength." Her eyes flick up for an instant, stopping at my chin, before she looks down once more.

"One of the conditions was the immediate acquisition of the familial title of Lady of the House. As such, proper etiquette says I may call her by her given name."

I nod, uninterested. I simply like to watch her fluster. I've been lacking any real form of entertainment for quite some time now – it is a nice reintroduction to it.

"How is your sister?" I ask airily, picking up on her choice of words from earlier.

She flushes, no amount of pureblood etiquette able to prevent her from fidgeting nervously. "I have not spoken to her since her banishment. Last I heard, she was living on her own, somewhere around London." She pauses, a trickle of nervous hope in her voice when she speaks again. "Do you wish to see her. I am sure I can find her if you so desire."

"No, not particularly," I reply with measured disregard, pleased to quash that desire that is I hope is the last bond of familial love between the two estranged sisters. I smile, gently lifting her chin to force her to meet my eyes. "It's you who I want – you're my special girl."

It is a sign of just how fucked up the wizarding world is that in a nutshell, that's how I won over the youngest Greengrass those many years ago. The younger sibling of a family without sons, she was a conflict of personal ambition and greater obligations. She was one of the few I was able to reach outside my own house at Hogwarts, and she was not coincidentally one of my greatest works. I played the sisters against one another, ultimately promising Astoria everything she thought she wanted – for the price of her sister.

Silly thing she was, she agreed without a moments hesitation.

And so I destroyed Daphne – took everything from her knowing that with the clockwork precision of the old families, Astoria would fill the role her sister was banished from. I tore the family apart, whispering promises to Daphne, promises that tempted her outside the future her father had so carefully planned. And then I took them all away the moment she jumped. Like a very twisted phoenix, Astoria rose from the ashes of her father's reputation.

In the end, he got off lucky. He only lost his life and reputation. His daughters lost their souls.

She's helpless now. She knows what it cost for her to gain everything I have given her – the luxury and for all of Malfoy's blusterings – the degree of independence she could never have hoped for otherwise. But it is all a farce, and she knows how trapped she is. She is to weak, to accustomed, to give up the lifestyle she is so enamoured with, and even if she could, she is not strong enough to endure what I put her sister through – her all but guaranteed fate if she chose to cross me.

Yes, through her own weakness, Astoria sold herself to me, mind, body, and soul.

Sometimes, I suspect she tells herself that even that is too good for her.

"Now then," I say, bringing myself out of my own memories as I remove my hand, her eyes immediately leaving my own once more. "We have much to discuss – my absence will have already been discovered, and the search will soon be underway. Prepare me a meal – I need to get out of these rags and I have not been afforded the luxury of running water for some time. Your chambers remain on the west wing?"

She nods, before withdrawing to the main parlor, where she will undoubtedly call upon the elves to prepare my lunch. It is amusing once again, to see the lady of the manor react like a serving girl. I did this twice before my incarceration, both times during Draco's trial. It is nice to see some things never grow tiresome.

The hot water running down my body is a glorious sensation. I am quick about it – I am not joking when I say these first few hours are valuable. Too soon, the wizards will prepare themselves, and while I do not doubt I am stronger than any number of them, the last three years prove that I am not infallible. Everything I do after the general alert will be that much harder – once a new status quo has been established, I shall allow myself these little pleasures.

I step out the washroom, pleased to see that a fresh selection of clothes have been laid out for me. A fresh, neatly pressed robe – it is not uncommon for the old families to keep an updated wardrobe of new clothes for overnight visitors – another sign of extravagant wealth and a tribute to the old rules of hospitality that has not quite died away with the modern reality of the needlessness of such traditions. That, or Astoria sent out for them while I was washing – she would not dare test my anger if forced to wear Malfoy's clothes, despite my seemingly desperate situation.

She is standing to the side of the dining table when I enter, a plate of roast lamb and vegetables waiting for me on a self warming plate. "Is it Sunday?" I ask, nodding towards the food. She nods.

"Huh." I reply with a shrug. "Nice to know."

I bite into the food. I am not utterly famished – I stole a pork pie at the muggle station in Birmingham – but I have not eaten real food in a very long time. Logically, I know I must be careful not to eat too much, too soon, but I am unable to resist the first few bites of such a delicious meal.

"You should have prepared soup," I exclaim as I prepare to take another bite of potato. "How foolish are you, to feed a man who has eaten nothing but bread and water a massive meal before he has time to adjust?"

She nods, making hushed promises to do so in the future, but makes no move on way or another. Scowling, I point to the seat across from me, motioning her to sit.

"Sit," I growl, when she makes no move, and she nods, rushing to comply.

"Your meekness is infuriating – I did not seek the assistance of a house elf by mistake, perhaps?" She shakes her head furiously, and I am happy to see that for the first time, there is a spark of defiance. But

only a spark. And even that is carefully guarded.

Anything more would be unacceptable.

"I love you, you know that, don't you my sweet?" I ask, voice uncharacteristically tender. She nods – I think she might very well break down in a moment. "I only want to see you rise to your full potential."

"Thank you," she whispers.

"So..." I pause, unsure where to start. My unwitting accomplice on my guard duty seldom talked of anything important – too much would have given my game away, and she was hardly 'in the know' of anything relevant anyway.

"I recall I left you with instructions regarding my finances. I require a new wand, and though I doubt my old flat would be an option at this time, I would like to arrange for a new residence until a more permanent situation can be reached."

"Your accounts have been frozen." She begins quickly, continuing before I can cut her off. "Ministry passed unanimously the right to freeze monetary holdings of convicted cri- wizards. The goblins went along with it – they've been on much friendlier terms with the new ministry after Voldemort's short occupation of Gringotts itself before the end of the war..."

I nod – this was not wholly unexpected, but I can see the clear relief on her face that I am not going to punish her for this regardless. Slower, she continues, "However, the accounts we created in Zurich have gone on unnoticed – the gnomes neutrality fully adhered to, and their offshore location..." she shrugs, letting out a breath she had been holding, "there is enough money there to ensure a year's living – much less so if you use it to buy a home, more if you live frugally."

At my look of obvious distaste at the notion, she delves on. "Of course, you are more than welcome to stay in any of the Malfoy homes or residences for as long as you desire, and the Malfoy vaults are at your disposal as well." She pauses, looking down, a slight sense of shame obvious in her tone. "Of course, we must prepare for discovery and subsequent refusal by either Draco or his mother."

"They will be dealt with soon enough," I reply, neither elaborating on that nor explicitly accepting her invitation. "I will entrust you to arrange for my immediate necessities, save the wand. Arrange one of the smaller properties up north for my use – something Draco would hardly remember exists, let alone ever visit. It will suffice for now."

"What time is it?" I ask suddenly, the overwhelming task ahead of my pushing my thoughts in many directions.

"Around two... you came in at around half-past," she replies, uncertain as to why I am asking.

Thinking quickly, I struggle to remember time. After so long, such small amounts of time - hours - lose any real meaning. "I have been missing for about half a day I suppose – if I am lucky then at most I had a half shift before my escape would have been noticed. Where is Cho?"

"Cho?" Astoria repeats dumbly, trying to follow my illogical jumps of thought. "Chang?"

I nod, gesturing for her to hurry up.

"St. Mungo's. Officially, in the long term trauma ward."

Officially. I hate that word. Officially, Hogwarts is a school to train young wizards and witches. Officially, Voldemort had not returned until well the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Officially, Harry Potter lived in a closet because his aunt's protection kept him safe... Officially, Harry Potter never lived in a broom closet...

It is nothing but lies and filth and rot, packaged up nice and neat so nobody suspects its true nature.

"And unofficially," I whisper, though even I can hear the underlying malice in my words.

"Unofficially... she's being kept there under heavy doses of potions. The minister... they all feared that she would have the desire and the contacts on the outside to break you out of Azkaban. They all but know she's the secret keeper to something, but they can't get it out of her what it is – they're terrified, how unwaveringly loyal she is to you. But... they can't try her in court – no hard evidence, nothing that could get her put in Azkaban, and she's too high profile and there is too much sympathy for her to be thrown in anyway. So they went for a compromise solution – not very elegant, but it's worked thus far."

My eyes narrow – she told me too much, too easily. "You knew all this... you knew what they were doing to her, and you did nothing to get her out." Her face registers that she recognizes her mistake.

"I tried! I promise...I know how much she mean- "

"No," I hiss, "you have no idea. A thing like you could never know just how much I value another human being – and the one I cherish the most at that. As for what she meant... if you are hinting that she is no longer capable of being what she once was, I will make what happened to your sister seem a dreamworld in comparison. Are we clear?"

A twin set of tears roll down her cheeks, and she sobs out a silent yes.

"Hey now, no tears my sweet," I hush, leaning across the table to stroke her cheek softly with my right hand. "I could never stand to see you cry." She trembles, her body shaking from stifled sobs. "It's ok,
I assure, "you can only do what you are capable of, and sometime I forget just how much more capable than everyone else I am." She pauses, unsure as how she is to respond, before she settles once more for a slight nod of the head.

"Tonight is the best time for a rescue then – anything after that will just give them more time to prepare for me. They know I have to come for her – better when they are still unsure how I have escaped, much less where I have gone to."

She says nothing, sitting their in tear-stained silk, even after all these years walking the fine line of loving and hating me.

Say what you will about the girl, but she's passionate. Whatever she does, she does with all her heart.

It must be the most vicious tug-of-war game ever played, right inside her chest.

"I'll give you an hour to prepare my new residence. I need practice – come see me in the dueling chambers when you are finished – I want to be out of here long before Draco is in any danger of returning."

I stand up, leaving my empty plate and heading down the stairs to the old dungeons that Draco's great grandfather – a master dueler of his time – had converted into one of the greatest dueling chambers I have ever seen. Elegant in its simplicity and beautiful in its functionality – one day I will have my own, just like it.

But for now, I need to practice, and quickly, My own natural talents notwithstanding, I am still rusty from lack of practice. It is unfortunate that I should be forced to make my move tonight, but it is critical I rescue mine before she is moved to an unaccessible location, even for one of my talents. It is unfortunate, but there is no other option.

Because unlike Dumbledore and Voldemort and the Dursley's and the Ministry and every other excuse of a human being out there, I have never lied about my goal.

To make the world a better place. For me and mine.

I never exclude that caveat, never pretend to be something I am not.

Nonetheless, it is remarkable how many consider themselves to be part of that number. Of all who aren't, only one witch ever had the foresight to recognize her own exclusion, and the sheer lack of common sense to dare to confront me over it, to force my hand, to blackmail me.

Hermione Granger – a girl who was very rarely outright wrong, but had a very naive set of notions on the value of being right.

I am digressing once more – it is hard to remain focused, the time in Azkaban was ripe for disjointed thoughts and plans, leaping from one end of the spectrum to the other without bothering about the middle ground. But now, that needs to be addressed because there is no more room for error.

To make the world better for me and mine. To punish those who escaped their earned justice.

But for tonight, the lens is much more focused.

I need to rescue Cho – the girl who loves me.


"The wand has been destroyed sir, both bits have been left in vault B." comes the disembodied voice of Tonks from the small bird-shaped patronus currently flying in lazy circles of Shackebolt's head.

Both men take the announcement with a professional distaste. It is... sloppy, but no investigation can now prove that either the Head Auror or the Minister himself has come in contact with the wand, and if Auror Tonks is caught, then she might possibly be let off without a dishonorable discharge on the grounds that clearly, a senior official must have ordered her to snap it, given the clearances required to do so. Plausible deniability all around, even if any amount of common sense shows just how implausible it really is.

"Right then," Scrimgeour sighs, pulling out a simple silver pocket watch from his robes. "She'll be at St. Mungo's in twenty minutes, another ten to explain the situation and another ten after that to move the subject on site... we can go home in an hour – pretend to sleep a bit so we can get up and deal with the fallout," he finishs grimly, letting out a morbid sounding chuckle.

Kingsley nods solemnly, tracking the seconds silently as he to counted down until this first phase, at least, can be checked off as complete.

It will be, all things considered, a laughably small victory, given the events of the last twenty-four hours. Still, his years on the force has made him acutely aware of the need to never give up a win, no matter how small.

"Any minute now," he whispers quietly to himself. "Any minute now."

Across London, Cho Chang smiles.