Chapter 3

Draco Malfoy sat at the dining room table and sipped his tea as he tried not to stare at the Daily Prophet on the table. The headline on the front page screamed 'Wizarding Hero and Friends Attacked in Diagon Alley!' He'd already read the article three times, unable to believe its words.

Golden Boy Potter had not only been attacked, he'd been beaten and left shattered. And the ministry aurors had absolutely no idea by whom or why. In fact, they were apparently baffled by the very magic used and those, who'd witnessed it, claimed the woman hadn't used a visible wand. It just didn't make sense: who spelled their wand invisible? And why?!

Draco sighed and took another sip of tea. The plate of food in front of him looked as though someone had made a valiant effort of nibbling at it, but his stomach felt too heavy for anymore. Finally, he gave up and simply pushed it away.

He looked around the room. This was the smaller dining room, the one used for private family dinners, though it was no less elegant than the larger one. The table was a polished dark mahogany with grape vines carved into its legs. Above it hung an elaborate crystal chandelier brought from Prague some two hundred years ago. Its base was made of blue-coloured glass with tiny embossed flowers lining its upper part, just below a strip of gold-painted detailing from which eight twisted crystal glass arms grew out. Each of the arms ended with cups of the same blue glass as the base and with similar flower and gold detailing. Within each cup stood a candle and, from its rim, several long beads of cut crystal caught the morning sunlight streaming in from the large widows as they dangled.

There were paintings on the walls. The largest depicted a legendary battle between two wizards – Taurin the Fire-master and Draconis the Watersnake. It had always been Draco's favourite in the entire manor – and not just because he shared the same name with one of the wizards. It was so old no one could quite remember which Malfoy had originally acquired it and as such its movements were a bit sluggish. Yet he used to love coming into the dining room and sit on a chair watching the two great wizards fight the same battle, cast the same spells and wishing that one day he too could be as great as them.

Of course, that was hardly going to happen. But perhaps he could take the painting with them when they left.

Just then the door opened and his mother walked in. Draco immediately straightened, attempting to look more alert and less depressed. At least he and his mother had managed to escape the Dementor's Kiss – unlike his father.

Naturally, he didn't fool her for a second.

Her eyes softened and her jaw tensed in that way it did when she was gritting her teeth in order to force back tears. She crossed the room and bent down to embrace him. Draco returned the embrace, breathing in her comforting scent. During the last year of the war, it had been as though something in his mother had broken and suddenly she had become more affectionate than he ever remembered her being.

Despite knowing its cause, Draco couldn't bring himself to dislike the change.

"We'll get through this, Draco," she whispered into his ear and Draco hated the forced bravery he could hear in her voice.

"Of course we will," he answered, knowing his own determined bravery was likely just as noticeable. "We're Malfoys even if they take this manor away from us."

He could feel his mother shake as she chuckled. Then she relaxed her hold on him and stepped away with a slight smile.

"Yes, we are."

Then she spied the newspaper on the table and smile disappeared from her face, replaced by a look of disgust.

"Who in Merlin's name could possibly want to start the war again?" she asked.

Draco shrugged. "They haven't actually confirmed the woman was a Death Eater. I certainly don't recognize her."

Narcissa picked up the Daily Prophet and sat down as she skimmed the article. Draco waited for her to finish.

"No, neither do I," she finally said. "The description almost sounds like my sister when she was much younger. However Bella is first of all dead and second of all much older than this woman apparently is."

"They'll likely know more when Potter finally wakes up."

She nodded. Her eyes were already skimming some of the other headlines. Draco cast a quick Tempus charm and cursed inwardly. He stood up from the table.

"Mother, if you'll excuse me, that idiot from the ministry will likely be here within the hour. There's a trinket I want to retrieve from grand-uncle Lividicus' old study."

His mother's head shot up in alarm. "Draco, it's not anything-"

"No, of course not," he answered, waving off her concern. "It's just... you know that ivory quill rest and ink bottle set he brought back from Africa? I've always liked it and it's such a small thing, but I'd rather not leave it there in case a prospective buyer sees it and decides they really like it.

His mother smiled.

"Of course dear, go on then. The ministry still hasn't told us how much we'll be able to take with us, so you might as well get what you can out of their sight right away."

Draco nodded to her and left, each step, each minute, taking him closer to a reality and a future he wasn't entirely sure he was brave enough to face.


When George Weasley entered St. Mungo's he was surprised by the sheer number of people in the lobby. The waiting room was fuller than he'd ever seen it, though, oddly enough, many of those sitting in the chairs didn't seem to have any visible ailment. Aurors stood guard by the hallway that led to the hospital wards and beside each entrance several reporters hovered with their parchment and quills ready for the slightest hint of news.

George rolled his eyes. Gawkers.

"George!"

He turned when he saw his name and looked over the crowd, until he finally noticed the hand held daintily up to catch his attention. Well, the part-veela was certainly catching everyone else's attention. Quickly, he walked to her and then let himself be dragged out of the lobby when his sister-in-law evidently decided to forgo any sort of greeting in favour of grabbing his arm.

"'arry has just woken up," she said once they were out of the lobby and inside the much quieter hallways. "The doctors are examining him now."

George let out a breath of relief.

"That's good to hear," he said. "And Ron?"

"Awake and hungry."

That was also good news. Though his brother had come out of the attack the best off of all those involved, seeing him pale and exhausted last night (once the aurors had finally managed to get him, Longbottom and Finnigan out of their stone prisons) hadn't been comforting. George had seen part of the aftermath yesterday, having closed the shop and run to see what the commotion was.

Some of his worst nightmares featured Diagon Alley burning. It hadn't looked any less horrific when he'd been awake. The fire hadn't been spreading – stone sidewalks didn't exactly burn well usually - but the flames were tall and clearly surrounding the front of the quidditch store. Just in front of the flames stood three tall pillars of stone, which seemed to have grown out of the street.

When he asked those around him about them, his horror grew. There were people inside those pillars. They were certainly protected from the flames, but being slowly baked alive wasn't exactly a better fate.

He ran to the flames and cast a water spell, the same sort his mother used to water the garden. It did nothing. So, he cast a slightly stronger variation of the spell, which sent a strong spray of water that was more localized. He kept it up for a few minutes, before he realized it too was doing nothing. Several people had joined him in his effort, with similar results.

Then he heard the name 'Harry Potter' and his blood went cold. Harry was in the middle of those flames? His brother had been with Harry. Suddenly, he looked at the three pillars and felt the urge to vomit.

He remembered somehow managing to pull himself together and finding the strength inside him to realize he had to do something. If they couldn't stop the flames, they had to at least make sure the boys inside the pillars didn't die from the heat. He cast a freezing charm on the outside of the first stone pillar. It worked, but the ice sizzled and evaporated away within seconds. He cast it again. And again.

Finally, a fine sheet of ice formed around the outside of the first pillar. George felt exhausted, but turned to the next pillar. Only to find it too was covered in ice. So was the third one.

"That was a good idea, boy," said an older witch George recognized as the owner of one of the charm stalls that usually stood in front of Madame Malkin's. Her wand was out and she looked exhausted. Further away, a stout wizard, who couldn't have been more than ten years his senior, grinned back at him.

Then the aurors finally arrived.

It took them nearly five hours to douse the flames. Thankfully, they managed to get Harry and Hermione out long before then by flying in from the top on a broomstick. However, Ron and the other two boys weren't so lucky. The pillars, as it happened, weren't sealed at the top, so they could breathe, but they were so narrow they couldn't move.

Bill had come down from Gringott's in order to attempt to remove the curse, but after only ten mintues he'd shaken his head and told the aurors the spell used to create the pillars wasn't a curse at all. Several people from the Department of Mysteries then spent nearly an hour, while the flames still raged, trying to figure out just what spell had been used.

Finally, a muggle-born auror had decided enough was enough and asked if they couldn't just cut the damn things open. He said he'd seen muggle rescue workers use drills and some sort of jaws in order to get people out of things, so why couldn't wizards simply use a spell to break the stone. No one had any objections and twenty minutes later, a dazed and severely-dehydrated Neville Longbottom was tumbling out of the first pillar.

All three boys were exhausted, overheated, dehydrated and likely in possession of a severe dislike for enclosed spaces, but alive.

Thank Merlin.

All five of them had been put into the same room once the healers were done working on Harry and Hermione. A room that currently looked like it was just as full as the lobby downstairs.

Harry was, indeed, awake and George saw his mother sitting in a chair next to his bed while a healer hovered on the other side of it and a group of three aurors spoke to him in quiet tones. Kingsley Shacklebolt stood leaning against the wall next to his father, listening in on the conversation silently. George nodded to them as he entered and then turned to his brother and the others. Fleur had already taken a seat beside Bill, who was apparently also on lunch break. Ginny sat on a chair between Ron and Hermione, although she was watching Harry's bed and hadn't even looked over when George had entered.

"Well, you lot are looking better than the last time I saw you," George said with a grin.

"Couldn't imagine how we could look worse really," said Finnigan.

George saw Fred's limp lifeless body in front of his eyes, but quickly shook the image away.

"I hear we have you to thank for being here at all," Neville Longbottom said quietly. "So, thank you."

"Yeah, thanks, mate," Finnigan echoed.

George smiled. "Not sure how much I saved anyone's life, but you're welcome."

"According to the healers, it could've been much worse if you hadn't thought to freeze the outside of the stone things we were trapped in," said Ron, shivering as he spoke of the 'things'. "It was 'orrible being trapped inside there. Couldn't tell what was going on, but I could feel the 'eat. Felt like I was being baked alive... I'm really glad we didn't die there, so thank you."

"Is it true that none of the usual spells worked against that fire?" Hermione suddenly asked.

George welcomed the change in conversation and turned to her with enthusiasm.

"No, they didn't. I tried a few and there were a few other witches and wizards that tried some and then the aurors tried even more, but none of them worked. I'm not entirely sure the fire didn't just die out on its own in the end."

"That stone wasn't any normal spell," Bill added. "Though it did break like regular stone."

"None of what she used were regular spells either," said Hermione solemnly.

Just then, an owl flew through the open window and landed at her bedside, diverting her thoughts for the moment as she reached down to take a small scroll from its leg, apologizing for not having anything for it. The owl flew off while Hermione unrolled the message and began to read.

The aurors left a few minutes later, the healer following shortly after that, with a stern look to everyone present to allow her patients to rest. Ginny immediately made her way to the other side of Harry's bed.

Kingsley closed the door after the healer and turned to Harry with a worried look.

"Is there anything you didn't tell the aurors, Harry?" he asked.

Harry shook his head.

"No, not that I remember," he said. "I mean, so much of it is a blur, but I know that whoever she was, she didn't introduce herself and I'm pretty sure she didn't say anything about Voldemort or about being a Death Eater or, well, about anything that might explain why she attacked me."

Harry paused. In the meantime, Ron spoke up.

"I don't think she was with You-Know-Who," he said. "Wouldn't make sense for him to not use her if he had her. She was powerful, real powerful."

"You know, I also don't remember her ever using a wand," Seamus added. "Not unless it was really well-hidden."

"She didn't have a wand," said Hermione softly. Kingsley noticed the expression on the girl's face as she stared down at the scroll in her hands and decided he didn't like it one bit.

Suddenly, Harry gasped. "Oh God, my wand," he said with wide eyes. "She took my wand."

Molly frowned. "But Harry, your wand is right here, on the nightstand."

Harry turned to look and, sure enough, there it was. Slowly, he reached over and picked it up. He held it in his hands and turned it over.

"This is definitely my wand," he finally said softly. "But, I know... I mean, I remember that I was holding it and she just sort of took it... at least I think that's what-"

"It wasn't your wand she took, Harry," Hermione suddenly interrupted his confused ramblings.

Harry's head shot up to look at her, wincing when the movement jarred something. Everyone else turned to look at the girl as well. Kingsley still didn't like the look on her face and, when she looked up, he liked the fear he saw in her eyes even less.

"You were already half-unconscious, I think, so you didn't quite see her, but after she let you fall to the ground, she chanted some sort of spell. A fairly long one."

Harry nodded. "I heard her, but didn't understand a single word. Of course, by then I was also in so much pain I can't really be sure of anything."

"It was a summoning spell of some sort." She held up the note in her hand. "And this confirms what I was afraid of. I asked Professor McGonagall to check and she's just written back that the Elder Wand is missing from Professor Dumbledore's memorial. That's the wand she took, Harry. She summoned it to you and after you picked it up, she magically disarmed you. Which would now make her its master."

"The Elder Wand?" Neville pipped up into the silence that followed. "Harry was master of the Elder Wand?!"

Harry just stared at Hermione with wide eyes.

"But it makes no sense," Fleur's voice cut through the silence. "What did she need a wand for? If she was as powerful as you say without one, why would she want one?"

"The Elder Wand is an incredibly powerful wand-" Bill cut his explanation short at the venomous glare he received from his wife.

"I know what the Elder Wand is," she snapped. "But if she 'as that much control over her magic without one, then a wand would only limit her."

"But surely it's dangerous to attempt to control wild magic like that," said Molly with a frown.

"It is not wild magic!" Fleur looked annoyed now. "We have books in the library at my family's. I will floo my mother later and 'ave her send them."

That seemed to solve that problem, though most people still looked sceptical. Kingsley couldn't help but think that what Fleur said made a lot of sense. Why go to all the effort of stealing a wand if you didn't need one at all. Not, he realized, that any of what she'd done had seemed to be much effort to her.

"She also needn't have done it so publicly either," he said out loud. "I wonder if part of it wasn't simply to make a statement, or something to that effect. To show off even."

Harry stared at him. "You think that crazy bitch attacked me and my friends to make a statement?!"

Kingsley shrugged.

"Like it or not, Harry, you're a symbol, a hero of the Wizarding World. So yes, if this is meant to be a message it's a fairly powerful one."

Whatever Harry's furious response had meant to be, it was cut off when the healer bustled back into the room and threw everyone out. The rest of them dispersed afterwards, but not until after Kingsley promised he'd keep them informed.


Wandering through the forests of Albion never failed to fill him with a sense of tranquillity. Merlin felt a peace here amongst the trees, shrubs and animal life he never managed to find anywhere else. And, like a proper home, it welcomed him with open arms. It had been his home once, too; for almost a century he'd shunned all human contact and lived within the forests, moving around to where the wind blew him.

But the heartsickness that had steadily grown like a cancer as the last of his friends disappeared from this life, eventually became a tired ache instead of a piercing pain. So, he'd left the forest and gone to explore the changes the century had wrought.

He'd introduced each of his children to the forest and some had taken to it more than others - of course, some had known more about him than others. To a few he'd been nothing more than an enigmatic old man who'd offered them a home out of loneliness and a desire for company and to many he'd been a bit of a magician. There'd once been a sweet little Irish girl named Frances, who'd possessed some talents of her own. He sometimes wondered if she'd guessed the truth.

However, none of them knew him as well as Archie did. The angry boy hadn't let him keep any secrets from him and Merlin had laughingly given them away. The man he was now knew Merlin better than anyone, save a lover, ever could (and most of Merlin's lovers hadn't known him half as well). And, as he followed a deep path that ran along a narrow, rocky stream, Merlin wondered if that in and of itself was a sign. That he had somehow, subconsciously, known he would need a stronger ally this time.

The fae had been somewhat helpful.

They'd felt Albion calling for him. And confirmed that there was some sort of shadow of darkness in the land – a different darkness than the one caused by the Wizard's War. Although, even that, they'd said, had been a bit strange.

They'd felt the magic being drawn from the land as the wizards fought. The Dark Wizard had been a poisonous snake, whose darkness was unnatural and cursed. When he'd finally been killed, his dark magic had gone into the land, as magic does. And then it had disappeared.

That worried Merlin. Residual dark magic would, over time, be gradually purified and absorbed by the land and its natural magic, but it did not suddenly disappear. Unless someone had purified it... or absorbed it themselves.

Wizards didn't generally purify magic. Merlin wasn't entirely sure they knew how, not being connected closely enough to the land to feel it.

After speaking to the faeries, he'd then stopped at a pub in Avebury and spent the night at Stonehenge. Being connected to several powerful leylines meant the Druidic monument was often the first place to feel any changes to the land, but he felt nothing unusual.

When the sun came up, he'd left for the forest again.

This time, the creatures of the forest seemed to sense he had no true purpose but to wander around at will and Merlin found himself accompanied by a choir of songbirds. A family of deer crossed his path at one point and several little fawns approached him curiously while their mothers looked on patiently. Merlin offered each of them a piece of apple from his pack and they accepted it happily.

As the sun passed its highest point, Merlin felt a shadow of darkness in the distance. He began to walk in its direction.

Now, Merlin felt it close, but he could also sense more than just the darkness. He felt wards, old wards, spells that had clearly been in place for centuries. A wizarding residence.

He stopped just in front of the wards; he could feel them attempting to push him away, but the push felt halfhearted at best. He brought a hand up to touch them, gently sending his magic out, to feel their measure. He was surprised to find them undamaged and yet unsteady, fluctuating as though they were ready to collapse. Ah, he realized - suddenly remembering the article he'd read in the Daily Prophet – this must've been a Death Eater's residence. If the master of the land had died and his successor had not been allowed to properly inherit it, because the house was being sold off by order of the ministry, then that would explain the wards.

He felt sorry for the land. He could tell even from the outside that it had housed the family on it for quite some time. Judging by the wards, it had probably been several centuries at least and, judging by what he could see of the beautifully lush lawn that sprawled out past the forest, it had obviously been well-cared for.

Merlin slipped between the unsteady wards and went to take a look.


Draco knew that gritting his teeth was not helping his headache – in fact, it was probably the main cause of it. Well, no, Eugine Whitman was the main cause of his headache. The ministry bureaucrat currently pretending to know something about real estate and his horde of spectators, who'd shown up to witness the final humiliation of one of the oldest pureblood families in England, were the true cause of his headache. However, the only way Draco could endure their presence with anything resembling dignity was through intense teeth-grinding and copious ignoring of the horrible butchering his family history was going through.

He refused to show any of these vultures just how angry, helpless and frustrated he felt by the entire proceedings. And they were vultures. Of the twenty people who'd shown up, only two of them looked like they could afford to buy the manor at all and Draco highly doubted even they could, unless they planned to make some of the money by selling off items from within the manor to make up for the difference.

He wasn't entirely sure what was going to happen to everything inside the manor. Draco knew that he and his mother were going to be allowed to keep ten percent of the amount for which the manor was sold for with the rest was going to go towards 'reconstruction'. They were being allowed to take their own personal possessions and one, un-magicked trunk. And by 'personal possessions', Draco assumed they meant clothing, personal documents and photographs, but he and his mother were going to stretch the term as far as they could.

So many family heirlooms would have to be left behind: left to complete strangers who knew nothing of their history and would probably not treat them with the respect they deserved.

Draco wished he'd been allowed to stay out of the entire process, but the ministry idiot had demanded either Draco or his mother accompany the tour in case anyone had any questions. He refused to let his mother go through this nightmare and therefore ended up trailing along with the idiot and the simpering creatures following behind him. They'd spent three hours inside the manor – the highlight of which had been when one of the griffin statues by the library had bitten one of the women when she'd pet it the wrong way – and were now touring the grounds.

The upside to this, was fresh air. The downside, was the absolute knowledge that tomorrow, he'd have to repeat the entire, torturous process.

Draco had just turned away from two witches, who were discussing how they would redo the gardens if the property were theirs and what trees and bushes they would tear out and which flowers they would replace, when he saw the approaching figure. He glanced back to the ministry idiot, but the man didn't look like he was expecting anyone. Draco didn't bother saying anything just yet.

As the figure got closer, he made out short hair and clothes that most certainly weren't wizard robes. A muggle? How in the world did a muggle get onto the property?

Eventually, someone else noticed him as well. By the time the man was within speaking distance, everyone was watching him with open curiosity. His steps had become a bit warier the closer he came and Draco found he could hardly blame him, even if he somehow was a muggle. However, he didn't stop or turn around, but grinned.

Draco's eyes widened in surprise. He recognized that grin.

"Hello there," the man called out. "Sorry if I'm interrupting anything. I sort of slipped in from the back, I'm afraid. Been hiking through the forest since yesterday and was wondering if you could maybe let me know exactly where I am."

Draco blinked and then took another look at the young man. His boots were dusty and encrusted with dried mud, his leg-coverings were coated in grass and dirt stains and there were a few leaves stuck into the folds of the thin jacket he was wearing. On his back he carried a pack with a bedroll perched on its top. Yes, the man – Merlin, Draco remembered – certainly looked like someone who had spent the night in the forest.

"Through the back?" Eugine Whitman said, surprised. "I thought there wasn't anything wrong with the wards in the back?"

He hissed the second part in Draco's direction with an angry glare. Draco grit his teeth again in order to bite down the first thing that sprang onto his tongue.

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with the wards," Merlin said, raising a placating hand. "They're a bit unsteady is all, but that likely has something to do with inheritance not having been done properly. And, well, I'm also very good with wards."

Draco blinked and took another look at the man. Yes, Draco knew the wards were unsteady because his father was... not in a position to be a proper lord of the lands... and a formal succession had never been done in order to pass them onto him as rightful heir. However, it would take someone not just good, but brilliant, in order to be able to tell that in passing without actually attacking them.

The explanation appeased the ministry idiot and that just further convinced Draco of the man's utter stupidity. It also helped to prove Merlin wasn't actually the muggle he appeared to be and that was enough for Whitman to introduce himself and explain what it was they were doing.

"Oh, I see," Merlin said, nodding. "Yes, I figured it was something like that. Read about it in the paper a few days ago." He looked out into the grounds, towards where the lake shimmered under the afternoon sun. "It is a beautiful property, isn't it?"

There was something in his eyes that made Draco relax just a fraction, as though he was looking at more than just the trees and flowerbeds.

"It's very powerful land," Merlin continued with a slightly wistful smile. "And it's obviously been well-loved and cared for."

Draco felt his jaw relax for the first time since Eugine Whitman appeared at their door mid-morning. Somehow, knowing that at least one person could see the grounds for what they were, was enough. For now. Sadly, Merlin obviously wasn't in any sort of position to put a serious bid on the property.

One of the ladies snorted.

"Hardly," she said, sneering at Draco in the process. "You do realize this is the manor You-Know-Who made his main base of operations, don't you?"

"You-Know- oh! You mean Voldemort! No, I didn't know that. Did he really? Hmm... that certainly explains a few things."

Draco stared at the young man. He wasn't the only one.

"Of course he did, why it's practically common knowledge," a middle-aged wizard with a rather sizable beer belly declared, looking rather incredulous. "Where in Merlin's name have you been that you don't know that?!"

Draco nearly sniggered at the raised eyebrow the man received.

"Japan, actually," Merlin replied with obvious amusement. "And China before that, with a few months in Nepal in between. Beautiful place, Nepal. Only watch out for the tigers; when they get up close it means they're hungry not trying to be friendly."

The man was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. The entire situation was. The dirty wizard (or so he claimed, as he had yet to produce a wand from anywhere) dressed in muggle clothes, who'd admitted shamelessly to having spent the night in the forest, following at the end of the procession was simply the icing on the cake. Draco couldn't wait to tell his mother about this: it would give them both something to laugh hysterically over.

As they continued past the gardens his mother loved and then around the lake, Merlin somehow managed to side in next to Draco.

"What's that over there?" he asked, pointing to the large stone buildings at the opposite edge of the property.

"Old dragon stables leftover from a time when it was still legal for wizarding families to own them," Draco finally answered. "They've mostly got quidditch and gardening equipment in them now."

"Hmm... owning dragons..." Merlin chuckled and shook his head. "What a silly notion. No one owns a dragon. If a dragon likes you, they stick around. That's all there is to it."

"And what exactly would you know about that?" Draco hissed.

"Quite a lot, actually."

"I suppose with your lack of knowledge of wizarding attire there must be plenty of room left behind for other, less useful things."

Merlin made a face. "Have you ever tried hiking in the woods in wizard robes? It's a damned nuisance and trees and birds hardly care whether what I'm wearing is of the latest fashion."

"You could've just apparated or, perhaps, used floo powder. Neither are particularly new inventions and I'm certain even China and Japan have heard of them."

"I like the forest," he said with a shrug. "Besides, if you zip quickly from one place to the next, you miss everything in the middle."

Draco was certain that remark was meant to be profound, but he wasn't in the mood for philosophy. Justice itself was a philosophy and thanks to it he was about to lose his home. With a derisive snort, he took a different path and left Merlin behind.

He didn't notice Merlin's eyes following him as he stalked off. He also didn't notice when Merlin's eyes turned thoughtful as he stopped and looked around the manor grounds once more, pausing in a few places as though analyzing them specifically. Eventually, he nodded once and then ran to catch up to the group, which was almost back up to the manor by then.

Draco scowled at Merlin as he rejoined the group. He'd been very carefully making sure everyone who'd entered the Malfoy Manor grounds was accounted for so that he could make certain they all left as well. He did not appreciate dawdlers.

"Well, now that you've seen the entire property and had a chance to examine it and determine whether it is to your liking," Whitman was saying – as though any of the vultures were actually going to buy it. "You may, of course, take your time in making your decisions about purchasing this fine example of old wizarding opulence, however do bear in mind that we are conducting similar viewings every day for the next two weeks or until a buyer is found. And, of course, the ministry is willing to send in their best team of curse-breakers in order to rid the house of any remaining, unwanted curses or malicious traps left behind by its previous-"

"Oh, that won't be necessary," Merlin interrupted him. He grinned at the man. "I'll take it."

Draco stopped gritting his teeth in favour of gaping at him. Eugine Whitman gaped at him. The entire pack of vultures turned as one in order to gape at him. Merlin blinked at them, as though wondering what the problem was.

"You- you'll take it?" Whitman finally stammered out. "Do you even know how much the asking price is, young man?"

Merlin waved him off. "Of course I do, you repeated it often enough. And I'll take it." Then he frowned. "I am good for it, you know. If you don't believe me we can go down to Gringotts right now and have the goblins confirm it."

Draco swallowed. Well, this was rather unexpected. Not to mentioned sudden.

"I'll go get mother," he announced, before Whitman managed to say anything else.

Narcissa Malfoy had paled when Draco had found her and delivered the news. But she'd simply nodded and went to retrieve her travel cloak.

Draco was relieved to discover the vultures gone when he and his mother finally came out of the manor – all eager to get home and spread the newest bit of juicy gossip, no doubt. Amusingly enough, Whitman actually sounded like he was trying to talk Merlin out of the purchase, which made Draco wonder whether the ministry had intended the entire viewing process to be nothing but a token gesture to precede something else. If so, he was incredibly happy to know Merlin was foiling those plans even if he was nothing but a mudblood.

Narcissa had been warned by her son as to the state of the prospective buyer, but the torn, dirty muggle clothes and messy hair were still a bit of a shock. He'd looked like much less of a vagabond when she'd met him in Diagon Alley. If he absolutely had to trapeze about the woods surely, he could've at least done a quick cleaning charm before entering civilized company?

He was, however, looking about as impressed with the ministry idiot as she and Draco had been.

"It is rather late, you know," Eugine Whitman tried again. "And perhaps you would like to take some time to reconsider the offer. It will, after all, still be available tomorrow and a young man like you might want to think about his options, talk it over with your parents, perhaps-"

"My parents have been dead for a while now, Mister Whitman," Merlin finally snapped. "So if you'll stop patronizing me and assuming that, just because I look young, I'm a naive fool." He paused and narrowed his eyes speculatively. "One would almost think from your attitude that you didn't want me to buy the manor."

Whitman stepped back as if he'd been slapped and Narcissa secretly applauded Merlin. Perhaps there was more to this young man than met the eye. The annoyance disappeared from his face when he spied her and was replaced by a friendly grin.

"Lady Malfoy," he greeted her with a slight bow that honestly surprised her. "We meet again, it seems, though I wish it could've been under better circumstances."

"Mister Kingsman, I must say I hardly expected to see you again," she replied with a slight smile. "And certainly not under these circumstances."

Merlin looked down at himself and his expression turned sheepish.

"Look a right mess, don't I?" he said. "Never quite managed to learn how to dress to impress. Of course I wasn't exactly expecting to buy a manor house when I got up this morning either. Funny where fate takes us, isn't it?"

Narcissa raised an eyebrow at him. "Indeed," was all she said.

"Well, if you'll just excuse me for a moment, I need to contact my attorney to let him know to meet us at Gringotts," Merlin said. "I'll meet you there in ten, if you want to go ahead."

"Y-yes, that will be fine," Whitman answered. "I, um, I need to stop by the ministry in order to collect the deed of sale."

Merlin nodded and then turned and walked off the property. As soon as he disappeared behind the stone gateway, Whitman turned to her and Draco with a nasty smirk.

"Well, it seems all your pureblood heritage will soon be in the hands of a lowly muggleborn," he said.

Beside her, she felt Draco stiffen and she could almost hear him grinding his teeth in frustration. She placed a steadying hand on his arm and held her chin up.

"Shouldn't we be heading to the ministry, Mister Whitman?" she asked icily.

He sneered at her, but quickly turned to lead the way to the apparition point by the main gate.


Merlin Kingsman was already waiting for them in front of the bank by the time they arrived. He'd evidently taken the time to apparate home as well. He was still wearing muggle clothes, but they were at least cleaner and the dried leaves were gone from his hair. Narcissa looked at the time and wondered whether the goblins would even still serve them. She had a feeling Whitman assumed they wouldn't by the slightly self-satisfied look on his face.

It had taken them nearly half an hour at the ministry and Narcissa couldn't help but wonder if that was on purpose. Draco had confided his suspicions to her and, having paid careful attention to Whitman's interactions at the ministry, she couldn't help but agree with him. The ministry hadn't actually expected anyone to want to buy the property where the Dark Lord had taken residence and thus already had their own plans for it.

In which case, she was rather happy for Merlin to step in and ruin them. She only wondered why she'd never heard of him before.

"I do apologize for our delay," Whitman began immediately after arriving. "I fear it may be too late to-"

Merlin merely waved him off before turning to enter the bank. They followed. Inside, the bank was fairly quiet. Most of the goblins were already closing off their lanes and there were only three wizards in the que and one of them appeared to be waiting for someone to return. A goblin greeted them as they entered.

"If you wish to make a withdrawal, you'll have to come back tomorrow," it said in the usual gruff goblin manner. "We are closing soon."

"Oh," said Merlin, before looking at some sort of muggle contraption strapped to his wrist. "Damn, sorry, I've gotten so used to muggle hours, I didn't realize you still close so early. Sorry, we've still got a few minutes, though, right?"

"Yes."

"Then would it be possible for you to please just confirm that my account is good for this sale?"

Merlin turned to Whitman and held out his hand. Whitman almost seemed reluctant to hand the scroll over, but he did and Merlin then gave it to the goblin. The goblin unrolled it, eyebrows raising slightly when it realized what it was and then skimmed down to the amount of the purchase. It then looked up at Merlin over and held out a hand.

"Your key then, please."

Merlin blinked. "Oh, right."

He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out an unusually elaborate-looking key. Though the gold had blackened with time, Narcissa could still see the slight embellishments in the metal and the top was made of two pieces that came together and curled inward in a sort of heart shape with a small red stone set at the point of their joining.

The goblin's eyes widened and it took the key almost reverently, before looking up to Merlin and giving him a slight bow.

"I shall return shortly," it said.

"Thank you," Merlin answered with a wide smile.

Nearly ten minutes passed in silence, during which time the last of the goblin's other customers had been ushered out. They all glanced at them curiously as they passed, but Narcissa held her head high and ignored them. Merlin, meanwhile, was examining the paintings on the walls.

Then the goblin returned with a second one in tow. Narcissa immediately recognized the elaborate gold trim on the second goblin's jacket and her eyes widened. It was the bank manager himself. Merlin looked up when they approached and grinned. Then gobsmacked them all by greeting the bank manager by name and launching into a discussion with him in what sounded like perfectly fluent Goblin.

The bank manager didn't seem at all surprised by this, which meant he obviously knew Merlin. At first, their conversation seemed mere polite talk and Narcissa could imagine Merlin asking about the manager's wife and children (though why he would care was beyond her) and how business was going. The goblin seemed happy to answer his questions and, in turn, posed a few of his own. Then it seemed the conversation took a turn and Merlin shook his head, while the manager was clearly attempting to persuade him of something.

Narcissa glanced beside her and only barely suppressed a smirk at the sweat that had begun to appear on Whitman's brow, although there seemed to be a sliver of hope shining in the corner of his eyes.

"No, I insist, Mister Kingsman," the bank manager finally snapped out in English. "You may use one of our conference rooms. You are not a man to linger once you've made a decision, nor are you going to suddenly change your mind, so there is no point in waiting."

Merlin threw his hands out in defeat.

"Alright, fine," he exclaimed. "Then thank you very much, Crishtook and, if you don't mind, would you please be so kind as to let my attorney in. I believe he's waiting outside the doors for me."

The bank manager bowed and motioned to one of the other goblins, who had gathered around in the meantime to watch the exchange.

Said goblin scurried off to open the door and let in a slim figure wearing a deep burgundy cloak, hood drawn over to cover their head despite the lack of any sort of precipitation in the air. As soon as the figure entered, it pushed the hood back to reveal a pale-skinned man with dark blonde hair and a monocle. He looked to be somewhere in his mid-thirties, though it was difficult to tell as he had incredibly smooth skin, yet bore evidence of laugh lines around his eyes.

"Good evening," he said in smooth, cultured voice. "I received your message. You certainly enjoying keeping me on my toes, Merlin. Since when have you been interested in acquiring more property?"

"Since this afternoon when I found myself standing on it," Merlin answered with a grin. He turned to the rest of them and gestured towards the man. "This is my attorney, Barnaby Willows."

The man bowed respectfully at the introduction and then seemed to glide over to Merlin's side.

"Well, let's see what you've gotten yourself into this time, shall we?" he said, holding his hand out for the scroll, which the goblin holding it handed to him directly. He unravelled it and rolled his eyes. "Whatever happened to your desire for keeping a low profile? One would almost think you were preparing for something."

"Hm, perhaps."

The man, already a rather still and composed person, froze for several seconds. He raised his eyes up from the scroll to look at Merlin with eyes that were suddenly greener and more piercing than they'd appeared on first glance.

"I suppose it would be a good idea for me to close up a few of my outstanding cases then?"

"Might be a good idea, yes."

"I see. I'll take that into consideration then."

He returned his eyes to the scroll. Narcissa and Draco exchanged looks, wondering what that exchange had meant.

"I will take you to the conference room now," the bank manager declared and then turned and walked away, leaving them to follow behind him.

Out of the corner of her eye, Narcissa saw Merlin place a hand on his attorney's wrist. When the man looked up at him, their eyes met and for a while neither one of them spoke. Finally, Willows shrugged and looked back down at the scroll.

"I don't see why not," she heard him say quietly.

Merlin nodded and let go of his wrist, before smiling at Narcissa and following the bank manager. When they entered the conference room, there was a tea setting waiting for them. Amongst the tea cups was a single crystal glass filled with red wine. The bank manager had to know Merlin well indeed, thought Narcissa, if he knew his wine tastes that well.

To her surprise, Merlin wasn't the one, who picked up the glass. Barnaby Willows looked away from his reading as he was sitting down and smiled approvingly before reaching for the glass. As he drank, Narcissa realized the liquid was too thick to be wine and coated the side of the glass too thoroughly when he placed it back down. There was a ring of red around his pupils now.

Narcissa gasped. "You're a vampire!" She grabbed Draco's hand and squeezed tightly, her heart suddenly beating at twice its usual speed.

Willows glanced up. "Indeed I am," he said with an amused smile and a flash of fang.

Whitman yelped and dropped the spoon he was using to heap sugar into his tea cup, splashing tea over himself. He glared at Merlin.

"You employ a v-vampire as your attorney," he said, eyes wide and voice suddenly an octave higher.

Merlin merely shrugged.

"He's fully licensed," he said. "And at least he'd honest about the blood-sucking part."

The vampire snorted.

"Speaking of which," he said, rolling the scroll back up and placing it onto the table. "Is the ministry planning on having a lawyer present for this as well?"

"Ah, well, no, there weren't any plans of such, no..." Whitman said. He took out a handkerchief and dabbed his face with it. "Our legal office has, of course, gone over the document before and everything should be there in order, unless you want to contest anything..."

Willows looked at Merlin, who shrugged.

"Not particularly..."

Merlin met Narcissa's eyes and smiled.

"Lady Malfoy," he said. "Before we actually sign anything, I was wondering if I might talk to you in private first. I have an additional proposition for you, if you're interested."

Narcissa blinked, surprised. A proposition? Well, she could hardly deny she wasn't curious about whatever this young man had planned.

"Very well," she said and let go of Draco's hand in order to stand up.

"Mother?" Draco said, looking up at her anxiously.

"Don't worry, child, I'm not going to eat her," Willows said. "I'm much more interested in plundering chequebooks than arteries these days."

Merlin snorted. "You're very good at that, too."

The vampire smiled proudly. "Of course I am. I have over one hundred years of experience."

Narcissa looked down at her son and smiled.

"Don't worry, Draco, I'll be fine."

"You may use the office across the hall," said the goblin bank manager.

Merlin thanked him and the three of them walked across the hall. Merlin closed the door behind Narcissa and then pulled up a chair around the back of the desk, so that he and his attorney were sitting across from her.

"Barnaby?" Merlin asked.

"Hm?" The vampire was looking through the bunch of quills sitting in a stand on the right-hand side of the desk – apparently he was rather particular about the quills he used. "Oh, you're right, of course, the ministry clearly had no intention of actually selling the property. That deed of sale is the most ridiculously straightforward legal document I've ever read. It's clearly been put together only for the sake of being able to say they have one prepared. That idiot across the hall had evidently been expecting you to back out at the last moment."

He finally selected a quill and then reached for a blank sheet of parchment paper.

"Now, while I cringe at the ludicrously vague term of 'personal possessions' and, under normal circumstances, would demand to have that reworded and clarified, I do believe that time is of the essence here. If we give Eugine Whitman the opportunity to confer with his superiors they will no doubt come up with some reason as to why the sale can't happen or at least attempt to stall indefinitely. Which won't benefit either one of you. Furthermore, since you... well, actually this is your idea, so I'll let you do the explaining."

Having said his part – and, in the process confirming what Narcissa had already suspected – Willows sat back and looked to Merlin. Merlin nodded to him and leaned forward across the table, towards Narcissa.

"Lady Malfoy, I realize what I'm about to propose is a bit, er, unusual, but after I've bought the manor grounds, I would like you and your son to continue living there."

Narcissa didn't think she could've been more shocked had he suddenly announced he was the Dark Lord's biological son. Which, come to think of it, would explain a few things, so perhaps she wouldn't discount that theory just yet.

"What do you mean?" she finally managed to ask.

Merlin grinned at her.

"Although this is all happening very suddenly, I actually do have a reason for purchasing the property, but I don't suppose I'll be needing it indefinitely, nor will I have anyone to bequeath it to after my death. The only person I have, to whom I would leave anything of such value to, wouldn't want the Malfoy Manor for several reasons. More importantly though, the land knows you. The Malfoy family has lived on that land for so long, your blood is a part of it and it recognizes you. For you to suddenly leave like the ministry wants you to, would weaken the land and I don't want that, especially not now."

He paused, waiting for her to digest the information. She looked at him sceptically.

"You're a bit young to be planning on not having children to pass property onto," she said. At least, he didn't look old, although the way he spoke... If Draco hadn't seen him walking around the manor grounds in broad daylight, she might've wondered if he were a vampire like his lawyer.

"I have other property elsewhere," he said with a shrug. "It's just that none of it's suitable for what I'm going to need just now. And, as I told Draco, the grounds are beautiful and extensive and I'm absolute pants at managing things like that. My small house in London is about as big as I've ever managed to keep organized and well-maintained. You, on the other hand, have had years to learn the household and run it efficiently."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"So, that's my proposal, I suppose. Remain living at the manor and manage the household for me and, in return, I will leave Draco as its heir."

Narcissa could scarce believe her ears. Was this man real or had she accidentally fallen asleep reading? She clamped down on the happiness attempting to worm its way into her expression.

"What about Draco now?" she asked.

Merlin seemed to think about it. "I was hoping he'd be willing to act as a secretary and companion to me. I mean, obviously, I don't expect you to agree on his behalf without speaking to him first, but I did want you to hear it first without any prying ears about." He gestured to the vampire, who was busy writing something out onto the scroll. "Barnaby will, of course, write up a legal document for the whole arrangement, which you are welcome to peruse before you sign anything."

Narcissa nodded.

"Very well, I would like to talk this over with my son."

Merlin nodded and stood.

When they entered the conference room, Willows retook his seat and continued writing – Narcissa could only assume he was writing out the agreement between her and Merlin. Narcissa's hands were shaking when she sat down next to Draco.

"Mother?" her son asked immediately. "What's going on?"

She looked up at him, embarrassed at the tears she could feel gathering in her eyes. She smiled at him. By the door Merlin was talking to the bank manager quietly. They left a few moments later. Behind her, Eugine Whitman was wheezing steadily. If the ministry truly hadn't intended to sell the property, then he was likely to be in quite a lot of trouble tomorrow.

She told her son about Merlin's proposal. Draco's eyes widened as he listened, silently. When she finished, he frowned, looking away as he considered it. Obviously, like any proper Slytherin, he was no doubt analyzing every aspect of the proposal and trying to figure out whether there were any insurmountable problems in it.

Someone cleared their throat beside them. Narcissa started and looked beside her to where Willows had somehow managed to silently appear. He held out the scroll he'd been working on out to her.

"Here's the written agreement, if you'd like to read it over," he said.

Draco took it from him and began to read. Narcissa nodded to the vampire in thanks and he retreated back to his crystal goblet of blood. Narcissa reached over and poured herself some tea. Whitman looked about ready to have an instant coronary. It made her smile.

When Merlin finally returned, Draco placed the scroll in front of him and took a deep breath.

"Very well," he said. "I agree to the terms of this contract."

Merlin smiled widely.

"Excellent!" he said. "Then we really shouldn't keep Crishtook any longer than we have to, since he's already been so generous."

"It has been no problem, Mister Kingsman," the bank manager assured him.

Nevertheless, they did get down to business immediately. Narcissa and Merlin both signed the Deed of Sale and then Narcissa, Draco and Merlin all signed their separate agreement, which Willows had entitled simply 'Malfoy Manor Inheritence Contract'. Both documents were witnessed by Eugine G. Whitman, Barnaby Willows and Goblin Crishtook. They were also sealed with magic, for which Merlin finally managed to produce a wand. Legal documents signed, Merlin then signed off on the bank transfer, instructing Gringotts to transfer the sale amount directly into the Ministry of Magic's vault, except for the ten percent, which was to go to the Malfoy Family vault.

By the time they were done, it was nearly midnight.

Crishtook let them out of the front of the bank, where Whitman disaparated away with barely a mumbled goodnight. Narcissa and Draco nodded to Merlin and then did the same. In the end, Merlin and the vampire attorney were left standing on their own.

"Well, thank you for coming on such short notice," said Merlin, turning to Barnaby.

Barnaby smiled. "I would only do it for you, in case you were wondering."

Merlin laughed. "Well then I'm all the more grateful. It was good to see you again, my friend."

"You as well. Good luck, Emrys."

"Thank you. To you as well."

Barnaby nodded, before disappearing into the shadows of Diagon Alley.

There was a flash of gold and in a whirl of wind, Merlin was also gone.