Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor anything affiliated with it; if you recognize it, it isn't mine.
Rating: M (language) (adult themes)
WARNING: This chapter contains ongoing references to subjects warned about in previous chapters.
Spoilers: I might refer to content from the books; be forewarned.
Author's Note: I'm so pleased that people are actually enjoying this. I am feeling really passionate about writing this story, so I hope it continues to be worthwhile. =)
In the Face of Death
Chapter 3: Unrest
Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley arrived at the Auror department within the Ministry late into the night. The offices were nearly still as death, the night-desk manned by a nervous low-ranking Auror who knew nothing but where he was meant to send people in the event of their arrival. Everyone else was either home for the night, having missed the summons, or in the field. By morning, the field work at the scene would be done, and this place would be a flurry of activity, and not only because of the case itself; when the Minister made his announcement in the morning, the very framework of wizarding society would be thrown into upheaval. They had to be ready.
"I want all branch offices of magical law enforcement put on full alert for the Minister's announcement in the morning," Malfoy barked as he passed the night desk, knowing the underling wouldn't have any idea what he was talking about. It hardly mattered; the man's rank didn't entitle him to an explanation anyway. "See to it."
"Sir?" the lackey questioned.
"Just do it," Ron said as he followed on Malfoy's heels. Jaansen, he thought the rookie's name was, stared after them with wide eyes, then set about making Floo calls and charming interdepartmental memos to the right people.
They cut through the department swiftly, bypassing Malfoy's office, and heading straight through to the big door at the back. They heard someone else arrive behind them, the individual inquiring at the night desk and being told off by a flustered Jaansen for interrupting important work, and Seamus Finnegan caught up with them a moment later as Malfoy drew his wand and waved it at the door to the head's office.
"Ron," he called out, rushing to join them. "I missed the recall, can you fuckin' believe it? I was with my girlfriend and Neville didn't get me on the Floo. What the bloody hell's gone down?" Finnegan paused to watch Malfoy. "And what the hell is he doing?"
"The office seals itself in the event of the death of the Auror holding that office, for evidentiary purposes," Malfoy replied as the door opened for him.
"Harry was killed tonight," Ron added soberly.
"Oh, bloody Christ," Seamus moaned, and crossed himself, a practice learned from his Catholic Muggle father.
The letters that spelt out Harry's name on the door sank back into the surface, and new ones rose, so that it now read Draco Malfoy. The letters were still in the process of etching themselves gold against the black surface of the door when Malfoy pushed through and immediately spotted the letter on the desk that he had expected would be waiting.
"Wait a minute," Finnegan turned to Ron, looking confused. "Why's the office letting him in? You don't expect me to believe he's the head Auror. It's his job to investigate us… er… not that we have anything to hide…"
Malfoy sized up Seamus Finnegan. Gryffindor. Same year as Potter and himself at Hogwarts… probably trustworthy. So what was he worried about hiding? Ah, yes, the rumor that had circulated the year before, Malfoy guessed.
"I know all about the pig and the firewhiskey, Finnegan, and the office would let me in either way, seeing as I'd still be the Auror assigned the case even if I hadn't been made the department head. Which, incidentally, I have," he said blandly before addressing Ron. "Do you trust him, Weasley?"
"What?" Ron asked, his face blank.
"I'm asking if you trust Finnegan with your life and the lives of those you care about."
'Er… yeah?"
"Thanks for that ringing vote of confidence," Seamus grumbled with a scowl.
"Yeah, fine, I trust you with my life, okay?" Ron snapped. "What about it?"
"Then bloody shut it, get in here, and close the fucking door," Malfoy hissed with impatience.
When they had done so, he opened the letter, read it through, and signed the bottom, handing it to them to sign as witnesses. As they did, the parchment glowed and vanished, undoubtedly to reappear in some secret file in the bowels of the Ministry.
"I have now officially taken the oath of office," Malfoy announced. "Weasley, you already know some of this; Finnegan, this case is being treated with the highest level of classification. What we know is that Harry Potter was killed at around seven this evening in an attack on his home that has left his wife in critical condition at St. Mungo's. I discovered the scene myself."
"Ginny was home? Oh, bloody hell," Seamus exclaimed.
"What were you doing there?" Ron asked, surprised; this was new information.
"I was there in response to this note, which is hereby entered into evidence," Malfoy replied, producing the dinner invitation, and watched the others pale as they read it. "Potter believed someone inside this department couldn't be trusted, which means I need to be very careful whom I trust, as do you."
They all paused for a moment, Ron and Seamus processing that information.
"Fucking hell," Seamus breathed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Potter got onto something and got killed for it," Malfoy confirmed.
"So you think it was someone in the department that killed him?" Ron asked bitterly. "I'll bloody kill them myself, whoever it is."
"Either that, or the person or persons who have been receiving inside information," Malfoy replied, "as to which, by the way, I still don't know what information was supposedly leaked. Potter never got that far, so we're going to have to comb his files until we find something. We need people on this first thing when the scene is cleared."
Malfoy hesitated, knowing the last would be the most difficult piece of information for them to accept.
"There is one last thing: when I arrived on the scene, someone had already put up the Dark Mark over the house."
Finnegan swore vehemently as Ron stared at Malfoy across the desk that had, only hours ago, belonged to Harry.
"And they put you in charge?" he asked incredulously. "It's bloody mental!"
"At least you're willing to come out and say it," Malfoy muttered. "Potter trusted me with this, Merlin knows why. Kingsley Shacklebolt has chosen to uphold that trust. I am asking you to do the same."
"You've got mine," Seamus said unexpectedly as they both stared at him. "If Harry said so, it's good enough for me. And we all know that if you were trying to cover your own tracks, the last thing you'd be doing is trying to bring us closer where we could see what you were up to."
"Yeah… yeah, he's got a point," Ron sighed finally. "Fine, I trust you. But what are we going to do about this?"
"You said you trust Finnegan?"
"Yeah, I do," Ron replied.
"Then I want him posted on your sister's door through the night. We'll figure out someone to replace him in the morning. I suspect we'll know a great deal better where we stand by then, but in the meantime I don't want to take any chances someone might come around to finish the job. Finnegan, see to it that at least one of the Weasleys is with her son at all times, while you're at it. I don't think he's at risk since whomever hit the house wasn't looking for him very hard but there's no sense taking a chance. And Finnegan, you don't breathe a word of what you've been told tonight, understood?"
"Yes, sir," Seamus replied as he departed for the hospital.
"The Dark Mark," Ron murmured, sinking weakly into the chair opposite the desk. "So it's Death Eaters again, after all these years."
"Maybe," Malfoy admitted grudgingly. "It certainly felt like a Death Eater attack, but I haven't heard of anyone from the old days being active in that kind of thing. And believe me, I would know."
"Yeah… I guess you would," Ron replied. "They'd have tried to recruit you, to have someone inside the Ministry, wouldn't they?"
"And likely killed me if they couldn't turn me," Malfoy added.
"Making it all the more suspicious that you're alive," Ron said, a light smirk playing on his face.
"We both know you don't believe that," Malfoy stated. "If you thought for even a second that I was involved in Potter's death, you'd have done a lot more than knock me down in the hallway at St. Mungo's."
"Er… about that. I'm not going to be sacked, am I?" Ron asked. "Because I've got a wife at home and a baby on the way, you know, and I didn't rightly know you were my boss at the time…"
"You married Granger, didn't you?" Malfoy asked. When Ron nodded, he continued. "I don't think I need to do much of anything about it. You know you'll end up telling her eventually, and then there'll be no end to the nagging about how you could have been sacked and it was so very irresponsible, and how now that I'm your boss you have no choice but to listen to me. It'll me so much worse than getting sacked, on top of which I won't be left an Auror short."
"Oh gods. I changed my mind. Fire me. No, better yet, obliviate me and leave me in the loony bin, will you?" Ron sighed miserably.
"Don't tempt me, Weasley," Malfoy sneered as he coaxed Harry's file cabinet into unlocking for him. It finally submitted to his authority on the third try.
After that, the night was spent combing through Harry's personal files. There were too many case files in the department to go through them all on their own, especially since they didn't know what they were looking for, but the material Potter had felt was important enough to keep in his office was bound to be the most sensitive. If he'd actually written whatever it was down anywhere, at least; it was completely possible he'd intended to keep it unofficial, in which case there might not be a written record on the subject of any kind, anywhere.
At two in the morning, Ron fell asleep, slumped over the desk with his face in a case file, and Malfoy chose to leave him to it. There wasn't much else to be done until Longbottom finished at the crime scene. Exhausted though he was from the rescue, the sheer adrenaline that had coursed through him while he had moved through the house kept him awake; Ron hadn't had that, and it had to be a wearying thing to worry over a badly injured relative while grieving the loss of someone as close to him as Potter had been.
Malfoy didn't have anyone that close to him. His losses had already been grieved, and at least his parents hadn't lived to witness the shameful state in which Astoria had left him. There was some mercy in such small favors, he supposed.
As it was, he badly wanted a drink, but that would have to wait.
xxxxx
With dawn came the Minister's announcement that Harry Potter was dead, killed in an attack by assailants that remained unknown. He gave his word that top people were working on it – Malfoy scoffed at this as it came over the wireless, as the choice of Aurors working the case was essentially a minefield to sort out – and beseeched the public to be dutiful to their society and remain calm.
The public didn't listen.
By the time Malfoy finished sifting through preliminary evidence reports and handing out duty assignments, it had all begun to fall apart. There were riots and sporadic outbursts of lesser violence, as well as several suicide attempts and a few successes. The only thing good that came of it was that in the days of unrest that followed, the magical law enforcement offices across the nation responded with exceptional preparedness. Malfoy made a note to recommend Jaansen for a commendation, assuming he didn't turn out to be the leak.
The evidence reports had turned up nothing. There had been no witnesses; Malfoy had himself arrived too late to see anything of importance, and it became increasingly clear that unless they found some shred of evidence, even a suggestion of a direction to take the case, the investigation was going to hinge entirely on what Ginevra Potter had to say when she woke up.
When they arrived at St. Mungo's, they found that chaos awaited them. Hurt, angry, desperate people were everywhere; mostly it was being managed, though the hospital's resources were clearly being stretched thin. One man, apparently believing he had been waiting too long to be seen, would not be calmed, and, seizing upon a healer's wand, had attempted to fire hexes at random into the waiting throng, and Malfoy had been obligated to draw his wand and drop the bastard where he stood so that order could be restored. To the gentleman's benefit, his place in line advanced considerably as a result.
Seamus Finnegan's presence in Ginny's ward had left that area relatively calm, and he was dismissed on their arrival to assist in the larger issues plaguing the hospital on the understanding that one of Ginny's older brothers would be arriving soon to watch over her. The war had left each of the Weasleys as capable as any Auror.
Malfoy didn't know what drew him into the room; curiosity perhaps, or some sense of responsibility for the life he'd saved. Possibly even concern. It was his job to take an interest in her well-being; she was a part of his case now, the living part. Whatever resolution he could bring about in the matter of Harry Potter's death would benefit the whole of the wizarding world, but not nearly so much as it would benefit Harry Potter's widow.
In any case, Ron had asked him to wait there briefly while he went to consult his parents, who were checking James out of the hospital with a clean bill of health, intent on taking the boy home to what Malfoy hoped would be relative safety. Malfoy, against his better judgment, entered the room.
The room was not brightly lit, though not dark; bright enough for the healers to do their work, but dimmed restfully to promote an aura of calm. Malfoy had not seen Ginny since she was taken from his side upon arrival at the hospital the night before; she had been cleaned and cared for, her skin no longer obscured by clotting blood and fallen ash. Her external wounds had been bandaged, her internal injuries treated to the best of the healers' abilities, and now, only time assisted by healing magic would tell.
For all that, she looked no better. While the blood had been cleaned away, her skin was marred by livid purple bruises, interrupted by the bandages that covered a myriad of gashes and cuts. Where her skin was not bruised, it was pale as death; her face seemed gray and bloodless, as was the hand that lay limp upon the bed, left there by whomever had held it last. Malfoy remembered clearly that hand, outstretched against the floor as though reaching for her son, without which the boy might have been overlooked and left behind in the burning remnants of his home.
Malfoy repressed a shudder at the memory. If he closed his eyes, he could relive in vivid detail and perfect clarity every step he took through the house, and he would do so when necessary in the course of the investigation, but he did not want to do it now, while looking at her.
Already he could imagine all too easily how it had played out; Potter killed in the initial wave of the attack, probably didn't know what hit him, and Ginevra running to the nursery. Was it maternal instinct that drove her to protect her son? Was it simply that she was closer to him than to her husband? Or was it that, in the aftermath of that first strike, she had already known Harry was beyond help, and had run to protect what she still had left?
He could only guess at that point; those details would be filled in if possible when she woke. What seemed clear, however, was that once in the nursery, she had stunned her son and hidden him, tucked away under his crib, a desperate gamble but obviously one she considered the best chance at keeping him alive. Then the door had been blasted in, possibly before she'd managed to stand, and she'd taken a blow from part of the blasting curse used, knocking her down and delivering the bruises that were now horribly evident. And then, her attacker had cursed her with some obscure dark magic, whether to end her life along with Potter's or to toy with her like a cat with a mouse, nearly killing her even as it ended the life she unknowingly carried within her body before it had a chance to really begin.
It made him feel sick and angry; it was the kind of thing he'd never had the stomach for in those brief, horrible days when he had followed the Dark Lord, whose mark still lingered on his skin as a permanent reminder of his misdeeds. Whether it was truly an attack by resurgent Death Eaters was a matter for the investigation, but whatever the case proved to be, there was clearly dark wizard involvement, for no one else could be so ruthless, so savage, and the spells used…
Malfoy would find them. There would be no justice for the things the woman lying broken in the bed before him had lost, not in any meaningful sense, but he would do what he could.
She shifted slightly, not enough, he hoped, to worsen her injuries, but it was the low, whimpering moan she uttered that sent him into a hall to flag down the healer; it was the same rather irritable one from the night before, no doubt pulling a double shift in the wake of the civil unrest that had flooded the hospital.
"It was good you came and got me," the healer said, waving her wand over Ginny's body. "She's been doing this, fighting the sedation spell, but it's too soon. Healing is a process, and so is the miscarriage, and we're aiming to keep her under for both… it's just that she's incredibly strong-willed."
"You mean the miscarriage isn't over with?" he asked, brow furrowed.
"It varies. The initial incident in this case was fairly sudden, and she was barely a few weeks along so there hasn't been much for her body to do, but it still needs to recover. Think of it as resetting itself, which is increasingly difficult for it to do since the rest of her isn't functioning as it should."
Another whimper, and Ginny's fingers flexed.
"She's dreaming, we think; we don't know of what, but it could well be that whatever it is, it's what's driving her to try to wake. She needs a few more days, but we're hoping she'll show the same spirit when we need her to. In the meantime, it seems to calm her when someone's with her. You could hold her hand if you wish."
"I'm not someone for whom she has any particular fondness," he replied.
"You saved her life, didn't you?"
"It was my job, same as it is yours. Besides, she doesn't know that."
"We have no way of knowing what she knows. Only time will tell," the healer shrugged and made her way out of the room.
It was true that Ginevra Potter, formerly Ginny Weasley, formerly the Weasley girl in his days at Hogwarts, had no great liking for him. He couldn't imagine she felt anything but dislike toward him after their school years, and their contact since had been incidental since then; the odd Ministry function, if he was invited; the odd Christmas party, if he bothered to go. Astoria had enjoyed rubbing elbows with his superiors in a way that he didn't particularly, at least at first, before she figured out he'd never be one of them. Although he essentially was now, come to think of it, even if the position was on a temporary basis until the case was resolved. Perhaps if it was resolved favorably, it wouldn't be that temporary after all.
Not that he was sure he wanted it, seeing where it had gotten Potter.
No, he doubted very much that Ginevra Potter wanted anything to do with him, especially now, though he would see the case through for her sake most of all, but also for his own. If he did, maybe he would one day be able to forget what she looked like here, in this hospital room, battered, bruised, and torn inside in more ways than one, and what she had looked like in the ruins of her house, the home that had housed her life with Potter, both gone to ash that had fallen in soft flakes upon her deathly-pale hand.
That hand flexed again, fingers stretching and curling as though reaching for something, and he recalled what the healer had said, that she liked it when someone held her hand, that she knew they were there with her. He knew he wasn't the person she would want; likely, even her parents and brothers were not the person she was reaching for. That person would not come, his body presently at rest in a room in the Department of Mysteries, the only place deemed appropriately secure to perform the necessary post-mortem examinations.
But he, Draco Malfoy, was here, and that hand haunted him, and he moved to her bedside and took it in his own as he sat. Her fingers were cool to the touch, even to his touch which was not known for being warm; even Astoria had said so when he touched her. He was a cold person, physically and emotionally, it seemed, but while his was just a natural state of being, Ginny Potter's coldness felt unnatural indeed, a lingering remnant from her brush with death.
Her fingers curled gently around his. The room was relaxingly dim, calm and silent indeed, but for the sound of Ginny's shallow, rasping breaths, and even those were at least reassuringly regular. Malfoy thought he might chance, just for a moment, resting his head on the edge of the bed while he dutifully held her hand as he waited for her brother to come back, seeing as it had been a long and rather arduous night, and before he could think on it further, the world slipped away.
For the first time in his adult, working life, while the wizarding world shuddered in chaos around him, Draco Malfoy fell asleep on the job.
A/N: So, finally some Draco/Ginny. It's hard to write a character who's unconscious, you know? If you liked this chapter, please review and let me know!
My thanks to hannah askance, rainbowwizard1, Dippy x Lor xx, angelale8, purple389, Greenstuff, and Crazy Girl Writer for reviewing the last chapter!
